#waking. his burns wouldn’t have been fully healed he was now missing and leg and half-blind. ouch.

[fissions-chips]

[nevertheless-moving]

Suicidal Misunderstanding Part Three: SW Time Travel AU #27

Part One

Part Two

Obi Wan woke with a dry mouth and a moderate headache. A fairly typical morning these days. 

He peered around his bedroom in the temple confused. Wasn’t he just with Cody? Shouldn’t he be on the Negotiator? No wait, the war was over, Cody tried to kill him, and the Negotiator was a part of the Imperial Armada, of course he wouldn’t be there. He closed his eyes, snuggling back under the covers. Before he could drift back to sleep, his sluggish mind processed that last thought. 

He BOLTED upright in bed. The temple had been razed, his personal chambers scorched with particular thoroughness. Just being on Coruscant was an automatic death sentence. Faint tendrils of panic began to curl around his throat before he remembered his decision to give Spice a try. He had reasoned that he should probably find at least one pleasure in his new life, instead of focusing incessantly on what was lost. 

So what if he lost a few brain cells? Good riddance. 

Obi-Wan had been a bit nervous, but this had ended up being his best decision in years. His goodbye to Cody had been painful, but deeply cathartic. Spice Hallucination Anakin didn’t scream like Nightmare Anakin, and the color of his eyes was perfect. Far better final memories to cling to than reality- a reminder of the good times. Comforted, he relaxed backwards in bed, pulling his blankets back around him.

He LURCHED out of bed, covers tossed aside, movement a blur.

He was still hallucinating?!? Spice shouldn’t last in the system this long! He might’ve been uncertain about whether he was supposed to smoke or snort the substance but it was a well known fact that its exhaustive but rapid passage through the body was half what made it so addictive. If nothing else, his well-restedness and thirst indicated it had been at least six hours. He looked frantically around the room, searching for some thread of unreality to pull at.

This...was not good. Hadn’t the subconscious manifestations of his friends mentioned drugs that interacted poorly with force users last night? He had dismissed it at the time but...

He clearly was stuck in some sort of drugged fantasy combined with force-enhanced memory recall. Kriff, he had to wake up in the real world before he died of an aneurysm. Or just dehydration.

He sat on the ‘temple floor’ to meditate. This could be tricky as he couldn’t risk lowering his outer shields to reach out to reality. It would be deeply embarrassing as well as horrifying if the Emperor managed to find him and, by extension, Luke because he got stuck in a bad spice trip.

The door to his room clicked open quietly. 

“Oh! You’re awake. Sorry to come in without knocking, Master. I wanted to let you sleep, but I’ve been checking on you every two hours to make sure you were still, you know, breathing. You were...pretty out of it last night and I would be a pretty bad ‘best friend in the whole galaxy’ if I let you choke on your own vomit, right?” His blue-eyed Padawan explained with a grin.

Obi-Wan just stared. Oh this- this hurt. It was easier last night, when the whole fantasy had a kind of drunken blurriness. Sleeping and waking had brought sober clarity to the dream world. He could see the bags under Anakin’s eyes as well as the sheepish slouch of his shoulders as he instinctively ducked at the door frame. It was just so real.

“Obi-Wan? Are you feeling ok? Do you still feel drunk?” Anakin asked concerned.

Obi-Wan shook his head. He hesitated, before deciding to just go along with the interaction. He didn’t want to risk his subconscious throwing a less idylic scene at him by pretending to ignore this one. And besides, last night had been, all totaled, a huge relief- an unburdening of things left unsaid. This was probably the closest thing to therapy available to him these days, he might as well take advantage.

“I’m just...processing. Not to mention dealing with some mild dehydration.” He finally answered.

“Processing, huh? So does that mean you, uh, remember last night?” Anakin asked nervously.

“I do.” Obi-Wan smiled gently. As heart-wrenching as this was, it was also adorably sweet. Maybe it was worth it to push off waking for a little while. He could get some closure, maybe even work through some of the past to see where the two of them had gone wrong. It might even be helpful for Luke! Force willing, he would probably end up training Anakin’s son someday.

(the boy wouldn’t have many masters to choose from)

If this dream world could help him figure out specifically how he had failed as a Master, then he owed it to the galaxy to see it through. Satisfied, he resolved to let the fantasy play out. At least for a few more more hours. And...he had missed what Anakin had said. Wonderful start.

“I’m very sorry, Anakin would you mind repeating that? I was still a little distracted, but I promise, I’m focused on you now.”

Anakin shuffled nervously. “It’s nothing.”

Obi-Wan tried to project reassurance without actually projecting. “Please Anakin, I’d like to hear what you have to say. I know I wasn’t the most observant or approachable Master, and I’m sorry for that. But I have always cared about your thoughts and feelings.” It was a struggle and the words caught in his throat, but the raw burn of the apology was cleansing in an almost addictive way.

Anakin flushed. “Did you mean everything you said?” he asked nervously.

“I’d...rather not talk about seeing the destruction of the temple, seeing you... Maybe later...but please, I just don’t want to focus on it while I’m sitting here, looking at you,” Obi-Wan said quietly.

“That actually wasn’t what I was talking about,” Anakin responded quickly. “I mean, I do want to help you with that at some point, but I get not wanting to talk about visions, even if you should probably should. Of course if you do want to talk about that stuff, that’s more important, but since you don’t we can talk about the other stuff you mentioned. I was more referring to, you know, us, and what you said about our friendship?” his voice got progressively higher the longer he rambled. 

Obi-Wan thought back. “Well some of it is a little hazy, but overall yes. I...for a very long time I’ve considered you my best friend, and its not so easy for me to let go of my affections. I miss spending time with you; there are times I turn to say something and am still shocked you’re not there. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, with real words, how much I cared. I’m sorry I didn’t hug you as much as I wanted, looking back that was a nonsensical Jedi custom. It’s not in the code; it’s just an affectation of dignity. All things considered, the fact that you often snuck out to see Padme doesn’t really bother me.” He paused. “Was that everything?”

“Oh. Yeah, that pretty much covered everything.” Anakin looked embarrassed, but happy. “I wasn’t sure if you were just saying that stuff because you were drugged, or really drunk or something.”

“No, I meant what I said. I suppose it just took an altered state for me to relax enough to actually say it instead of just thinking at you and assuming you would know. I must admit, its difficult for me to maintain this emotional honesty without feeling drunk, but it’s good. This is good.”

“Ah, that’s... wow. So you weren’t drugged? Cody was concerned you seemed to off for much you actually drank.”

Obi-Wan frowned. Hadn’t that been a trip? Vision blurring from desert hovel to some nameless Catina he once visited with Cody. The continuity since then was almost unsettling. But, then again, Obi-Wan always did have a remarkable talent for self-delusion, didn’t he. He waved away the concerns.

“My substance consumption was entirely deliberate and exactly what I needed. There might have been some unknown additions with some unforeseen after-affects, but like I said- I’m not drunk. I’m clear minded and in full control right now and I knowingly accept the current fallout from whatever I took. I could meditate and force purge to completely recenter, but I think it would be far wiser to just see where this goes. Do you disagree, Anakin?”

Anakin grinned widely. “Whatever you say, Obi-Wan. Just remember this is your idea. Also, I’m taking you to the healers tonight if you’re not completely back to yourself.”

Obi-Wan signed, “If I’m not back to myself in 12 hours, than I fully agree that’s a problem worthy of the halls of healing.”

“Right,” Anakin nodded decisively, “I’ll go get you some water then comm Cody to tell him you’re still alive.

Obi-Wan smiled weakly in response. This wasn’t just a hashed up memory; the responsiveness was more that. He quickly got dressed, hands lingering over soft fabrics and sand-free linens.

Anakin dropped off a cup of water; Obi-Wan sipped at it hesitantly. Dear force, this was dangerously vivid. It actually felt like a relief in his parched mouth. Clearly his subconscious was pulling out all the stops to trap him in this soft delusion. He would have to deal with the thirst and hunger until he woke up- it was probably the firmest link he had to his real body.

He took one last look around before rushing out of his room, eager to take advantage of the time.

Anakin looked nervously up from the comm when Obi-Wan started pulling his boots on. “You’re not going out in the temple like this, are you?”

“Of course! I want to visit the gardens and the Room of a Thousand Fountains. Not to mention spend some time with a few of the other Jedi. You might still be the dearest being in my heart, but there were other Jedi that I care for, and dammit I’m going to tell them that.” He finally finished lacing up his left leg and moved to the right.

Anakin was dumbstruck, presumably as burnt by the ‘dearest being’ comment as Obi-Wan was. Then he rallied, “Wow, wow, No. You are not running around the temple drugged so you can, I don’t know, give Mace Windu a hug. I thought when you said you were going to ‘deal with the fallout' from whatever the kriff you’re still on, you meant you were going to lounge around the quarters all day!”

His former padawan physically blocked the door when Obi-Wan started to leave, sounding vaguely hysterical, “You can’t run around loopy! You’re a High Council Member!”

“Not anymore,” Obi-Wan replied bitterly. 

“What do you mean not anymore,” Anakin said fiercely, grabbing on to his shoulders . “Did they kick you out? Is that why you’re acting crazy? Did you resign?”

Obi-Wan responded by pulling Anakin into a hug, which was immediately returned, “Of course not, don’t be absurd. Fine, I suppose I’m technically still a high council member, it just seems like a bit of a moot point.”

“What the kark does that mean? You used to dream about being on the council! You’re the wisest Master in any of those stupid chairs!”

‘Master of the High Council’ Kenobi just sighed heavily in response. He maneuvered around the confused errant Knight and into the hall. 

"Obi-Wan wait! At least eat something first! Or let me put my shoes on!”

“Very well, you have one minute to make yourself presentable. I only have a few hours before I’m going to need to get back to reality, and the longer I linger the more I fear extreme measures may be necessary.”

“What does that mean?” Anakin shouted from inside. “Extreme measures sounds really ominous, you know.”

“I’d rather not get into it, alright? Let’s just enjoy the here-and-now, eh, ad’ika?

Anakin crashed out the door with less than a second to spare. “What did you just call me?"

“Ad’ika,” Obi-Wan answered, striding down the hallway in the direction of the hanging gardens. “Surely you must have picked up some Mando’a from the troopers?”

“Yeah, but I wasn’t sure if I heard you right, bu- um- ori'vod,” Anakin fumbled out. “Uh, you’re not going to call me that in front of anyone else, right? You do remember that the council already gives us the side eye for over-attachment right?”

Obi-Wan hummed thought fully in responded. “There are far worse things a Jedi could do than admit to affection they already feel. Maybe if I had been honest about my attachments, they wouldn’t have ended the way that...” he trailed off quietly.

“The way that what,” Anakin asked frustrated. “You’re really giving me some emotional whiplash over here, and I’m starting to think that putting off dragging you to the healers is a stupid idea.

“There are far stupider things a Jedi could do,” he responded cheerily. “Oh look, there’s Plo Koon. MASTER KOON!” He shouted, startling the Kel Doran Jedi.

“Yes, Master Kenobi?” He replied slightly concerned as the two human Jedi came jogging over.

“I just wanted to say that I consider my former padawan my family. I raised him, I care for him deeply, and I don’t want to let go of those feelings.”

Plo Koon nodded seriously in response. “I feel just the same about my former padawans, and the Wolffe pack, of course. Denying my attachments isn’t, personally, a practical way to handle them. I’d rather honestly live as an imperfect Jedi than pretend to be a perfect example of the code. If I must have some imbalance, I’d rather it be an excess of compassion than a dearth,” he replied earnestly.

“I always admired that about you,” Obi-Wan replied ruefully. “This might be a little odd, but could I have a hug? I hold you in the highest regard and I’ve realized that there are so many Jedi that I never directly expressed my affection for and...”

Plo Koon didn’t wait for Obi-Wan to finish before wrapping his arms around him. “Of course, dear boy. You’ve had such heavy burdens placed on your shoulders during your life, especially in the last few years; it saddens me to see how deeply they’ve weighed you down. If there’s anything I can do to help, in any way, you simply have to ask.”

Obi-Wan sniffled slightly into Plo’s Shoulder while Plo rubbed soothing circles over his back.

A few passing Jedi gave the embracing Masters uncomfortable looks before hurrying on their way. Anakin stood slack-jawed.

When they finally pulled back, Plo Koon hesitated before finally asking, “I don’t mean to pry, but what brought all this on? I can sense much grief from you, even through your impressive shields.”

“It’s a long story,” Obi-Wan replied, wiping at the corner of his eyes. “I’d rather not get into it.”

“He’s high,” Anakin offered bluntly. “He took something last night and won’t go to medical wing.”

“Ah,” Plo said. “Is that true?”

Obi-Wan looked a little embarrassed. “I have the situation under control. My connection with reality might be...slightly altered right now, but my emotions, and what I chose to do with them are my own. I’m just, taking advantage of a unique opportunity to express myself.”

Plo Koon seemed to scrutinize him intensely, “If you’re sure this is what you need, than I support you. Just don’t do anything too foolish.” he finally offered.

Obi-Wan beamed. “I appreciate you saying so, I thought you would be supportive. Farewell, Master Koon”

Obi-Wan offered a respectful bow and then turned to walk away briskly. Before Anakin could follow, Plo rested a claw on his arm. 

“Feel free to comm me if his behavior reaches a point where you think he truly needs a healer. I’m happy to help you drag him there if need be. A little cathartic release isn’t in of itself such a bad thing, but if he starts acting too out of control...”

Anakin nodded in acknowledgment, then ran off to see who else Obi-Wan had chosen to throw himself at.

Part Four

[skellebonez]

He's Been Hurt Enough (Monkie Kid Cursed AU Fanfic)

And here it is, the follow up to Stop Lying To Me! This went through an overall minor rewrite after @winterpower98 posted some more Cursed AU art and I think it turned out much better for it.

Quick note: once again this is my interpretation of a possible way the revelation could go. I decided to go with a “Mac told Sun everything while MK was transformed last time and that’s part of why he got the stuffing beat out of him and was out of commission last fic” angle. (also no I definitely did not accidently post a draft of the summary by itself when I meant to queue this, that totally did not happen(that happened))

Summary: Wukong has questions, Macaque surprisingly has answers, and MK... well, MK is going to be just fine if Macaque has anything to say about it.

Warnings: mild descriptions of healing inuries from the last fic, hint of child neglect if you are familiar with the AU, Macaque is sightly (incredibly) out of it due to medicine

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The first thing Macaque noticed when he came to was that his head felt... wobbly, despite the fact he was clearly laying down and not moving. The second thing he noticed was a disgustingly bitter sweet taste sticking to his tongue. The third thing he noticed was that he laying chest down on a (very small and familiar smelling) pile of clothes. The fourth thing, oh it was a lot of things coming very slowly right after the other which was odd, was that he was completely shirtless and that the only reason he noticed this so slowly was half of his body was almost fascinatingly numb, outside of the warmth of the fire that seemed to be burning in front of him. The last thing he noticed was a very close, also very familiar, and very angry (worried?) looking face of a monkey right in front of his (coincidentally blocking most of that fire light).

"Congratulations," Wukong said flatly. "You are officially not dead."

Macaque stared at the other monkey for a moment before attempting to speak, coughing as the dryness of his throat hit him full force. Before he could move himself, Wukong grabbed his face (gently, more gently than he remembered being touched by the other in so long) and held something to his lips. When he tilted the object and water began to hit his lips he opened his mouth and drank, Wukong never allowing the water to flow from the canteen fast enough to risk him choking on it. It must have been emptied after a short while because the Monkey King took it away faster than Macaque would have liked, but it had been more than enough to quench his thirst and allow him to clear his throat and begin talking. "What... happened?"

The angry (worryied?) look on the other's face deepened. "Should I start when I woke up to you bleeding out over my sucessor? Or should I start when I tried to give you medicine the first time you woke up and you shoved the entire thing in your mouth?"

Well. That second bit explained part of the numbness. And the taste. And possibly why his head felt like it was swimming in that iced cream stuff MK liked so much. He was almost certainly, no definitely, very out of it from whatever Wukong had intended to use to dull his pain. Fantastic.

Instead of voicing all of this he simply said "The... first part?" His voice was rough, but firmer than it had been the first time. He had not realized how almost slurred his words has originally sounded. Wukong' expression softened and. Oh... OH, it was a worried look after all. Huh. Macaque did not expect that. That was... well, not new. But he hadn't seen that in a long time. He... missed that. He didn't realize he had missed that.

"I woke up and I smelled... blood," Wukong started softly. "I was confused, I thought that maybe I hadn't been out for very long after we calmed down MK and you hadn't treated my wounds yet but," his hand went to his side where the bandages Macaque and the kid had carefully applied still held tight. "When I looked around I saw you. Laying face down with one arm over him. And you were just. Just COVERED in blood Macaque. I thought you two had been attacked, I didn't know what kind of demon could do that to you and thought that both of you were hurt." He ran a hand down his face, taking a deep breath, reaching over to prepare something behind him. "It wasn't until I rushed over that I realized that MK was passed out and aside from scratches on his arms you were the only one that was badly hurt."

There it was, the memory of what happened finally came back to him. Telling the kid the truth. The kid losing it. Holding him until he was able to fight back the transformation. The claws. The bite. His arm throbbed, the first not numb thing about his body he felt (though not fully painful), and he was surprised that he hadn't noticed his injured arm laying out in front of him until that moment, fully bandaged and (thankfully) not looking like he was missing a chunk of himself after all.

"MK's been out since I got up. You were completely unresponsive until early sundown, and when you did wake up you were in too much pain to tell me anything. I tried to get you to take some medicine but you grabbed my arm and shoved the entire bundle in our mouth. You passed back out before you could try to eat the salve I put on your wounds too. I'm amazed y-"

"I told him," Macaque interupted without prompting, and when Wuking spun around (too fast you idiot you're going to hurt yourself) with a wet cloth in hand he just let the words fall from his mouth. Why stop them? He had already told Wukong as much as he had told the kid, and the evidence of what had transpired was litterally all over him. Not much he could hide now. It was the exact opposite of what happened then, no more tar and honey returning. Bittersweet and if he were to give it flavor it would be buttercups. "After he passed out the first time I treated your wounds and when he woke up he helped me and then started asking questions..."

Without saying a word Wukong sat and listened, face tightening as he gingerly removed something from his back (gauze perhaps, he had no bandages on) and ran the cloth over numb cuts. He looked only between the wounds and Macaque's face, letting him retell every detail. "Kid tried to fight it but I just. I didn't know what to do when he started to change again so I... I..." He coughed, throat growing dry again.

This time Wukong stopped him, holding the canteen (not empty after all) to his lips again. They sat in silence for a moment, him drinking and Wukong turning to grab a container and fresh gauze and bandages when he stopped. He nodded, going back to the other monkey's back and Macaque realized the container was healing salve for his wounds. He didn't need it or the medicine, not really, but even with his fast healing and sturdyness it never hurt to have extra help to speed up the healing process. "You what, Macaque?"

"I... think I... hugged him into submission?" Macaque scowled, not sure if he even believed what he was saying and not missing the shocked look on the other's face. "And he bit me." He added quickly.

"He BIT you!?" The Monkey King leaned sideways, looking at Macaque increduously before his gaze veered over to his bandaged arm. "Well. That explains... the everything. Your back and arms looked like you were nearly gored from behind, but with how long his claws get when... yeah, that adds up."

"Is he ok?" The question came out without him even thinking about it. Damn medicine... But this only seemed to make Wukong shake his head with a surprised chuckle.

"Yeah, MK is fine. Exhausted, but fine. I treated his arms after I got your back to stop bleeding." He went back to applying the salve, touch a bit more firm as he rubbed it through his now less matted fur. The pressure would have normally made Macaque tense but now it just made him relax further into the clothes he was resting on (which he now noticed were Wukong's top layers and a blanket the kid insisted they each got at one of the many villages they passed through).

For a while the two remained silent, the Monkey King dressing the wounds on the Six Eared Macaque's back. Maybe it was the exhaustion kicking back in or something else, but Macaque just allowed himself to lay there and not think of anything. His mind tried to wander a bit, somewhat toward the kid and somewhat toward the odd reactions of the king, but nothing really stuck with his head swimming as it was. He only opened his eyes (when had he let them close?) when he felt a gentle touch on his arm. He watched as the bandages were unwrapped slowly and the same treatment given to his back was repeated.

"You're lucky he didn't bite your dominant arm," Wukong said softly, finally breaking the silence with a shakiness in his voice that was almost missed. "Or break your arm completely. You'll heal fine, but if you were anyone else you wouldn't even have an arm to treat right now...." He shook his head and under his breath he heard the king mutter "What were you thinking?"

Macaque looked away, gaze catching the still sleeping form of MK on the other side of the low fire. The kid would be exhausted from his second (almost) transformation in 24 hours for a while yet and that made his chest hurt just like before. He remembered the betrayal on his face, so much like and yet so much worse than when he betrayed him by stealing his powers. He remembered how the kid seemed to need the hug he had offered him so long ago at the start of all this as much as he did. He remembered how scared he looked at the prospect of seeing his parents again when he asked about them. And he remembered how much he kid laughed on this journey, how happy he seemed every time he was praised for even the smallest things, how he offered Macaque so much without asking for anything in return even before he put that stupid headband on the kid. He remembered how, despite everything... MK wasn't giving up on him...

He looked back at Wukong, grabbing his leg with as much strength as he could muster in his hurt arm until the other returned his gaze. "He's been hurt enough."

There was an understanding in Sun Wukong's eyes. For the first time in more years than Six Eared Macaque would admit... they understood each other completely without needing more words. MK had been hurt enough. They would take as much hurt away from him as they could.

The moment was broken when his grip weakened he closed his eyes, unable to stay open for as long as he would like, and when he opened them back up Wukong had already finished bandaging up his arm. He noticed a soft pressure around his tail but said nothing, not right now, and he only moved when there was a gentle tapping on his side. "Can you sit up a bit? I need to put on bandages, then you should get some more rest."

Macaque complied, using his good arm to raise himself up just enough for the other's arms to go under and around him to pass the bandages between hands (no, it was not a "almost hug" no matter what his tired brain told him). It was done sooner than expected and a gentle hand on his shoulder pushed him down into the soft fabric beneath him, his gaze fixed firmly on the soundly sleeping form of the kid as he watched to make sure he was really just sleeping.

If he noticed that there were soft claws running through his hair he said nothing. And if Wukong noticed the squeeze of a tail against his own he said nothing either. Eventually he let his eyes slip closed once more, feelin his chest rumble in a soft purr. The claws against his scalp stopped and there was a warmth after a while, a weight around him. Wukong must have laid a blanet over him, but the claws returned and their tails remained intertwined even as he moved to his other side. It wasn't until he felt a rumble beside him that wasn't his own that he realized the blanket was over both of them. He said nothing, not caring about the implications as he allowed himself to drift off into sleep.

And if he, maybe, dreamed of watching the two people he had reluctantly grown to care most about happy... well, he wouldn't say anything about that either.

[pasteljeon]

Blood Bound (m)

Summary: Tragedy brought you home. Love made you stay. Despite all odds, Namjoon has always been yours.

Werewolf!AU

Pairing: Namjoon/Reader

Warnings: werewolf au, fluff, mild angst, heat sex, breeding kink, namjoon has a big cock ana oop, size kink, mating, brief mention of death

Length: 7.1k

Notes: after almost a year in the making, it’s finally here!! i worked really hard on it so sdjskd please let me know what you think !! <3

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There’s a wolf staring at you.

It’s misty. Wisps of fog curl around your wrist, skin pricking as the tendrils dissolve, droplets sliding from your fingertips to soak into the underlay of moss coating the ground.

There is no path here, only one worn through years of treading and the same footsteps sinking into rich soil. Only its eyes are visible, a deep amber hue peering from the thick smog, its body veiled by the equivalent shade.

Its gaze is unyielding, intense yet soft. Unmoving.

“Momma! Mommy, he’s hurting!”

The bundle of fur cradled in your small arms lay in silence, chest barely rising and falling unsteadily as rivets of crimson liquid stained his smoky coat alarmingly fast.

You waddled your way clumsily to the house, your mother stumbling out to the backyard in a panic at your yell with a first aid kit.

“Bring him here,” she beckoned. You placed him down gently, trying your best to keep from jostling him too much, lest the wounds were irritated. Your mother set to work immediately, clearing a work station on the patio tables.

You sniffled, watching as she cleans his injuries. “Is he going to be okay?”

“It’s hard to say, sweetheart. His cuts aren’t too deep, but there is still a chance for infection. We must act quickly.”

You ran to find your father, who’d been napping on the couch. It was a Sunday, the clinic closed and void of any patients.

“Dad! Daddy, come help! There’s a doggy and he’s really hurt! Mommy says she needs the – the t-tweasers?” You fumbled with the word, tentatively testing it out. He groaned, rolling from the sofa as he rubbed his neck. “A dog?” He yawned as he dug around the medical cabinet. He ruffled your hair as he passed, smiling fondly at the anxious look on your face.

“Your mom and I are going to help him, so don’t worry that little head of yours too much, okay?” You nodded, hot on his heels as he stepped out.

You clutched your skirt nervously, restless as you tried to focus on the book you were reading. The pictures failed to cheer you up as they usually did, and you closed it to take another look at the creature sleeping on the counter. Your father had carefully set him into a basket padded with cushioning and pulled a thin blanket of linen over his body. It was summer, warm enough so he wouldn’t need much more to keep comfortable.

It had been hours since they cleaned and dressed his wounds. A particularly long gash ran down his tummy, and your lips had quivered at the sight. The long rays of evening sun casted shadows, your stubborn insistence to take vigil over the puppy lasting until your mother came out again with some lemonade and sandwiches.

“Come inside, sweetie,” she said sympathetically. “He’s not going to get better just by you staring at him. The worst has passed. He’ll need a few weeks to heal fully.”

“Can he sleep with me?” You asked. She chuckled. It was against their policy to allow patients in their own rooms, but she could see how troubled you were. “Sure, baby.”

It took months before the puppy was strong enough to walk. Even then, he limped awkwardly, the abrasion on his calf closing slowly. Half a year passed swiftly, and he grew strong enough to run and jump. Your attachment to him was growing by the day. He seemed just as enamoured by you, never straying too far from your side, pulling at your leg to play with him or snoozing on your lap. He liked licking your cheek, and barked softly whenever he saw a mouse scurrying in the overgrowth.

“Ghost!” His ears perked, tail wagging as he trotted to you. You laughed as he leapt into your arms, sending the two of you sprawling onto the grass.

Just as a year slipped by, so did he.

“Ghost? Ghost!” Your sobs bubbled up, tears clouding your vision as you searched for him, knees scraped and dirty. Your mother put a hand over your shoulder, coaxing you up.

You turned around, giving the yard one last sweep as she led you back in. You wept.

He was gone.

You blink, and the memory fades. Your return your attention to the pair of golden eyes, but they’ve already disappeared.

.

.

.

The cottage is cold. A delicate layer of dust has already collected over the furniture. Picture frames litter the mantle, a family portrait over the centre top. Setting your luggage aside, you shrug off your coat and rummage for cleaning materials underneath the sink. Tossing wood into the fireplace, you start with the timber figurines lining the living room. Your father’s handiwork, for your mother. For every anniversary.

It’s dark when you finish. You think you’ve cried at least thrice as you pack away your mother’s jewellery.

Scrubbing the remains of grime from your body, you settle into your childhood room for the first time in fifteen years. Staring out the window, it’s hard to find sleep. There’s much grief swirling within you, and little means of coping. But you like it here, and you’ve missed it. Your friends had offered to accompany you, to which you declined. This was something you needed to do alone.

Saying goodbye has always been the hardest part, after all.

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You dream of him. Ghost, darting through the forest. He’s bigger, now twice your size. You’re older, too. 13, maybe.

He’s as playful as you remember, stopping to sniff every undergrowth and occasionally scratch at a tree. You follow him, tugged by something inexplicable. He leads you to a meadow, a quiet space privy to nothing but your breathing and the gentle whispers of wind. The tiny glen is moonlight dappled, with fireflies flickering like stars.

He pads to the centre of the field, waiting for you patiently, tail flicking slowly. He blinks up at you, head cocked, and then lays down, resting his head on his forearms. Come here, he seems to say. So you do.

Tentatively approaching him, he only watches you with sleepy eyes as you gingerly recline on top of his back. He promptly curls around you, tail coming around to rest protectively over your stomach.

Combing through his fur, you smile as he nudges your hand. His tail thumps happily the moment your nails scratch behind his ears, nearly knocking you breathless. He whines softly as an apology, nosing your palm as he peers up at you sorrowfully.

“It’s okay,” you murmur. A content rumble erupts from his muzzle and he ducks his head under your arm so both are now wrapped firmly around his neck.

You don’t say anything after, cheek pressed against his thick pelt, skin warm as you feel his chest rise and fall rhythmically. The two of you watch the stars twinkle in companionable silence for the remainder of the night.

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The fire burns strongly as you wake, though the last time you touched it was hours ago. You feel disoriented, nostalgia aching in your heart. Yet, you’re also oddly comforted by the memory of something sweet.

Grabbing your drawstring bag, you pour some silver coins into it, enough for a quick trip to the market for groceries and some material for the dress you’ve been working on the past week.

A hoarse whimper startles you as you step out of the lodge, and you fall to your knees instantly at the sight of the bloodstained bundle of fur strewn next to your entrance, crawling to it quickly. Upon closer inspection, you realize with a sharp exhale that it’s a wolf—male, the very one that you’d glimpsed at your arrival. He’s massive, out shadowing you easily and in obvious pain by the way it’s panting, barely able to lift its head.

“Hey, hey,” you coo. “It’s going to be okay. Let me help you.” He seems eager to trust you, the way he closes his eyes and slumps, like he’s tired of having to guard its six. Hauling a pail of cool water and the med kit, it’s history remade once more as you wash his wounds and stitch them up. He watches you work, quiet even as you disinfect the deep claw marks.

“Got into a fight, didn’t you?” You say absently as you begin rolling the bandages on his torso. He huffs, warm air ruffling your tied locks as he blinks those gold-rimmed orbs forlornly at you.

“I wonder if Ghost is as big as you.” Running a hand lightly over his unmarred neck, he allows you to stroke him gently. Your palm practically sinks into his fur, thick and soft; his silvery pelt a shockingly gossamer sheen. With difficulty, he shifts, nearly toppling you over in the process, but you steady yourself on your knees as he reveals his stomach.

“No,” you breathe. Your blood runs cold, paling as you reach with shaky fingers to touch the thin scar stretching across the soft line of his tummy. “Ghost?” You say, stunned. He whines faintly, ears flattening as if expecting resentment. “You’re a wolf.”

He lowers his head, expression rather doleful as he puffs out another breath. “You’ve grown so much,” you whisper, tears pricking at the corner of your eyes. He rolls over, concealing the old wound once more, and paws at the ground at your knees.

“Don’t move so much,” you warn immediately, swiping at your cheeks. You touch his jaw delicately. “I’m not mad, I promise. Just … surprised. In a good way.”

“Can you walk?” Normally you would feel a bit awkward speaking to an entirely different species incapable of similar speech, but the intelligence and wisdom glowing in those tender tawny irises suggest otherwise. He feels familiar, and warm.

He heaves himself up, limping slowly as he shoulders his way through the narrow doorway and staggers onto the centerpiece rug. “Sleep baby,” you murmur, dragging over a thin sheet over him. He watches you with half-lidded eyes, tail swishing leisurely as you move around. “I have to go to the market,” you say as you pour water into a hefty bowl you hauled from the lower cabinets.

Ghost wrinkles his nose at the basin, looking fairly offended as he scowls at the object. “You lost a lot of blood. I know it’s not ideal, but bear with me here,” you say, amused.

He stares at you stubbornly, the thumping against the muffed boards increasing in volume. It takes one glance at those pleading honey-coloured orbs of his for you to cave.

“It’s okay,” you say with a dramatic sigh. “I didn’t really want to go anyway.” If wolves could grin, you imagine that’s what it would look like. Ghost’s lips pull back, sharp canines glinting in the firelight as his tongue rolls out excitedly. “You really are just like a dog,” you giggle. “But bigger.”

He barks, just once, in defiance. You laugh again, lugging a spare coverlet next to him for a makeshift bed. You lean up to kiss the tip of his nose gently. “Rest up, baby.”

His every exhale ruffles your locks, and his tail stills as you close your eyes.

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The first rays of light peek from the horizon just as you rouse at dawn, having slept unexpectedly peacefully. Your nightmares seem to have ceased momentarily, and your mind is clearer than it has been for a long time now. You muse it likely has something to do with Ghost’s presence being a wordless comfort.

Ghost heals much quicker than you’d thought possible. When you peel away the gauze, fully prepared to clean and rebind his wounds, med kit sprawled at your side, you find the cut is no more than a fresh layer of skin.

“How …?” You stroke the tender patch cautiously, testing the depth of damage, but Ghost nuzzles your arm, seemingly unbothered. Examining the area, you realize his fur has also grown back to full. It’s disorienting, like the injury never occurred in the first place.

“Are you well enough to join me?” You ask as you rise to your feet and pull on a clean shirt. The wolf follows, shaking himself out before padding toward the door and taking a seat at the entrance, golden eyes patient as he waits silently.

With a giggle, you scratch under his chin in appreciation, his tail nearly dislodging the flooring beneath him in its intensity. He leans against you heavily when you reach the spot behind his ear, tongue loose as he pants.

“Found your weak spot, huh,” you tease. Ghost lets out a faint whine but remains lifeless against you save for the furious wagging of his tail. “So cute.”

He whimpers when you release him reluctantly. “I’ve gotta change and eat something quickly, and then we can go, okay?”

He huffs and straightens again, struggling to cast the drowsiness from his pelt, managing to look much more alert when he sits up once more.

When the sun is at its peak and you’ve showered, feeling a little more refreshed, and finished the small snack of grapes and apples you’d brought along for your journey, you sling your bag over your shoulder and the two of you set out to the market.

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This village is home.

And you’re reminded of it with every step you take into the crowded streets, the cheerful calls of merchandise and a wide assortment of edible goods from foreign lands set up in colourful arrays of stalls, the kind smiles flashed in every direction. You breathe in the familiar scents of traded spice and homemade concoctions alike.

Their gazes are strangely intimate, and you know it is because of the label you wear with the shape of your lips and structure of your cheekbones. You’d left so young, but your family had stayed. For them, this village was everything.

And they remember.

It’s not as painful as you thought it would be. The recognition and quiet sympathy don’t suffocate you like you anticipated. Instead, you feel warm. Ghost is pressed tightly by your side, and the sight of a Grey wolf should both alarm and frighten, but this is no ordinary town. Hidden in the mountains and protected by fog and legend, magic is whispered through generations of bloodlines.

“Hello, dear,” a merchant says. “Interested in some silk threads?” She’s old, deep crinkles at the edge of her eyes as she beams up at you. Still so lively, despite her age and deteriorating body. You like her.

“Hello,” you say shyly. “Would you have any spider silk on hand, by any chance?”

The trader brightens. “Of course! One moment.” Disappearing behind artistically beaded curtains, you wait patiently at the side, one hand absently scratching Ghost behind his ears as you peruse the charms and accessories on display.

“Princess. It’s so very good to see you again.” Startled, your fingers still, head raising slowly. Your companion seems to sense your uneasiness and nuzzles your palm as if to reassure you the newcomer is of no immediate threat.

“I’m sorry,” you say, puzzled. “Do I know you?”

He grins. “You don’t remember? I’m hurt. I thought we’d be friends forever. Granted, I was 6 at the time, but we had so much fun.”

Ebony-dark hair, plush lips, eyes that slit into crescent moons when he smiled. A silver chain rests at the dip of the dangerously low v of his cotton tee. Wrists adorned with more silver, as well as several rings.

“J-Jimin?” You blink, stunned. “Oh my God. It’s been so long.” He pulls you into him the instant you’re on your feet.

“I know. You look as beautiful as ever,” he says fondly when you pull back. “We’ve missed you. Why didn’t you ever write?”

You avoid the thinly veiled curiosity in his look, hands sliding down his arms to grip his elbows. Ghost presses himself closer, pushing his head onto your upper thigh as he lets out a quiet huff. “You’re so handsome now, Chimmy. You’ve grown up so well. I see you’ve been running with the pack. Beta, right? Mother told me.”

Jimin takes your hands gently. “Noona, it’s just me.”

You stare at his chest, tracing the dark ink that flaring across his ivory skin absently.

“Princess, please.” He tips your chin up, amber orbs soft and unguarded as he pleads. They can’t. They can’t.

“I can’t.” You close your eyes. “Please, Jimin. Don’t ask.”

“It’s safe here. You know that, right? We would never let anything happen to you,” he says tightly.

“I know,” you draw away, resting your hand on Ghost’s massive head lightly. “That’s not what I’m worried about, Jiminie. No one wants to talk about it because they trust you, but the treaty needs to be renegotiated before the blood moon rises.”

“Then come back,” Jimin insists, stepping closer. Your companion rumbles, though remains immobile.

You take a breath. “It’s not that easy.”

“He’s your mate.”

“Not by choice. He doesn’t really want me. I’m a means to an end, Jimin,” you exhale tiredly. “I always have been. It’s why I left. At least for a little while, I could pretend my life could be something more than just destiny.”

“___, please. You know what happens if the full moon comes and goes and you don’t bond with him. The treaty will end. The bloodline … it’s what keeps this place alive.” He’s imploring you, sympathetic but resolute.

“I don’t want this,” you say in a small voice. “He deserves to be happy, too.”

“What makes you think you wouldn’t make him?” It makes you pause for a moment, surprise flickering, and Jimin smiles wryly.

“Give this a chance, noona,” he says. “You are more suited for each other than you think. Fate is not a fool. You were chosen for a reason.”

From his pocket, he opens your palm, dropping the item and closing your fingers over it firmly. “Give him a chance. He might just be everything you never knew you needed.”

“Sorry for the delay, dear!” You jerk at the sound, slipping the object in your bag before turning on your heel. The merchant makes her way over, waving a roll of thin silk in her hand.

“It was in the back shelves. My assistant being mischievous again,” she explains, chuckling. You manage a polite smile. If she catches your sudden change of mood, she doesn’t comment, simply going about wrapping your goods cheerfully.

When you glance back, Jimin’s gone.

Ghost whines. You nod. “Thank you. How much?”

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It’s quiet.

A cool breeze ruffles your locks, the lawn freshly mowed. Morning dew sparkles from the afternoon glow, the sound of grass and the odd leaf crumpling beneath your shoes.

Ghost is silent as he pads next to you, steps light despite the sheer mass of his body. He’s keeping close to you, the extraordinary heat emanating from him a wordless comfort against the chill settling deep in your bones.

You stop.

You exhale shakily, bending to gently set the bouquet at the foot of the grave.

Ghost sweeps the area behind you with his tail, brushing away debris and droplets. You crack a tiny smile at the very humanlike gesture, rubbing his ears in gratitude before taking a seat.

He wraps himself around you, circling twice before settling, resting his chin on his forepaws.

You lean into him, and Ghost whimpers lowly, nudging you.

With a watery sigh, you bury your face in his fur, sobs muffled by the density and his tail curls around your stomach, a reassuring weight.

You cry until you’re empty and all that’s left is you and him.

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The skies are pink when you leave.

The sun peeks from over the horizon, dipping low. Your gait is slow, the mental exhaustion pulling on your physical form heavily.

Ghost trots beside you, echoing your steps, but pushes before you to stop at the foot of the entrance.

His head cocks to the side, golden eyes impossibly wise yet tender.

You scratch under his chin lightly, cracking a smile. “I’ll be okay. You don’t need to worry about me.”

The wolf licks a long stripe up your cheek, nosing your jaw. You kiss the bridge of his nose.

“Thank you.”

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Ghost weaves himself effortlessly back into your life.

He stays with you, guards you. Sleeps at the foot of your bed, keeping you grounded on nights sleep escaped you.

He’s there when the nightmares threaten to consume you, gently pawing at you, barking quietly. Your anguish was powerful, but Ghost never baulked.

Eventually the dreams faded. Your grief, like a storm, passed. The sorrow lessened, and breathing became easier.

Princess, still whispered but less so. With the White Wolf guarding your back, they wonder why you’re trying to run. No one prods, but you know they wonder.

The days continue to slip by peacefully. Despite this, you know time is ticking. The deadline is drawing near and you’re terrified.

You know they’re going to try to find you.

He’s going to try to find you.

And you have no idea what to do.

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Your next trip to the market, the sweet farmer you’ve been building a steady friendship with is absent.

“He’s out sick,” her replacement explains. She’s youthful, likely around your age. She’s beautiful, with long cerulean hair and cold green eyes, an uncommon set of characteristics found in your village. She’s not from here.

Ghost is tense beside you, ears flattened. She leers at him subtly. Your skin prickles at her smile.

Your lips quirk and you buy one bushel of strawberries from her.

“Meat?” You ask instead, glancing down at him. Ghost blinks.

Idly, you wonder if her presence here means any threat.

It’s not your place for concern, you remind yourself. Because it isn’t.

Not yet, anyway.

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The season is turning when he comes.

You wake to a warm, hard body pressed against you.

He’s gorgeous, with silky silver hair and a chiselled jaw line. Asleep, the broad expanse of his bare chest rises and falls rhythmically, an arm resting over your stomach.

In one swift maneuver, you flip him over, pressing the blade against his neck. “Where. Is. Ghost.”

He doesn’t flinch, eyes fluttering open to reveal beautiful molten gold irises. “Namjoon,” he says. “I’m sorry I lied to you.” His voice is deep, rumbly. Like velvet.

He shifts, hands up placidly when you push the blade harder in warning. You let him pull the sheets down to reveal his naked abdomen, where a long, healed laceration sits.

You falter, knife slipping from your grasp. He catches it easily, setting it to the side. His piercing gaze never drifts.

You get off him, move to your wardrobe. Throw him some old clothes. Your father’s, likely to be a bit loose on him. You hear him fumbling with them, mattress creaking as he stands.

You remain silent as you pull a shawl over yourself.

“You’re angry.”

He’s behind you, that supernatural heat radiating off him warming you despite your inner turmoil. Worry seeps into his tone.

He reaches for your hand, but you step away quickly. “Don’t touch me,” you say. Hiding your trembling fingers buried in your elbows.

“Please don’t push me away. I’m sorry. I didn’t—I didn’t know how else to—to approach you. To see beyond the labels.” Desperation. Frustration. “Please, Princess.”

“Don’t call me that,” you say automatically. Your feet lead you to the kitchen. To start your morning routine. Pulling out ingredients, striking a match to start the stove.

“Princ—___. Please. I—I was wrong, I know. I just—I wanted to be here for you. This was the only way you would ever let me in.” He follows you. Like a puppy, like he’s always done. All his life.

“When I was gone—did you ever—did you ever try with anyone else?” You ask bluntly, turning around to meet his gauge his reaction.

He runs a hand through his hair, exhaling. “Yes—yes, I tried. That’s what you wanted all along, right? But it doesn’t work. All I could think about was you. Even—even with my ruts. Nothing worked, nothing helped. I suffered, ___. It was torture being without you, all these years.”

“Not for me,” you say matter-of-factly before returning to your task. You concentrate on chopping onions to avoid the sound of his heart dropping to his stomach. You’re a fucking sadist, you tell yourself grimly. All you’ve ever done is hurt him. Even though he deserves the world.

“And … and you? Did you … did you—try?” He’s hesitant. He doesn’t really want an answer, but he wants to know. He wants to pretend the knowledge of his won’t kill him.

“Yes, and it works for me. I can’t feel the bond,” you say. “I’m not one of you, remember? All human, one hundred percent of the time.”

He thinks he’s going to kneel over with how powerful the pain crashing over him feels. It almost cripples him, but he also knows—

“You’re lying.”

You stop. “No, I’m not.” The cutting resumes.

“You’re cooking for me. Historically, females have accepted the mating bond through a demonstration of food,” he says casually.

You stare at the plates.

The table is set for two.

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The atmosphere is tense, the silence broken only by the occasional clink of silverware.

“___—”

“Namjoon, please.” You drop the fork you’re holding. “I don’t want to talk about this. There’s no discussion. I never wanted this, and I never will. End of story. I’m sorry, but you’ll have to find someone else.”

“There is no one else. I don’t think you understand. We can only choose once. That’s it. And my wolf chose you. I chose you.” He sounds like he’s choking up, voice caught in his throat. “I’m not asking for a definite answer. I just want you to try. I know you can feel the bond between us. I can hear your heart. It’s fluttering.” Like a hummingbird in your rib cage, eager to take flight, he wants to say. He is not good at wooing, has never needed to before. He has wanted, before, despite his position, personality, looks, everything. Despite all that he is, he has never wanted anything more than what he is, and yet here he sits, begging you to take all that he can be for a mere chance.

“Have you ever thought maybe, just maybe, all of this wasn’t your choice? That we’re simply meant to be because of destiny?” You say bitterly. The bigger part of you wants to say yes, yes, all I’ve ever wanted to say is yes, but what if all of this is a mistake, what if I can’t be the one you need, what if—

“I don’t care,” he says fiercely. “I want you. I know I want you. Every fibre of my being needs you. Close to me, always. You spirit, your soul. It calls to mine.”

“You don’t even know me,” you shoot back. Weaker. His eyes gleam.

“But I want to,” he insists. “I want to know everything about you. I already know your heart. It is gentle and kind and giving and that is enough for me. Please. I can be good for you, I promise.”

Your chair screeches loudly as you stand, half-finished plate in hand. Your hunger eludes you again.

He watches you warily.

You take a breath.

“The first time—why did you go?” Voice timid. Scared. –Because you’re nothing, you were never anything, can never be anything and—

“To keep you safe.” He’s firm. You risk a glance. His eyes are honest. He’s never lied to you before. Until now.

You cover your forgotten meal with a cloth.

“Okay.”

“Okay?” He perks up, disbelief and excitement sparkling. He can hardly dare to believe. Finally, finally—

“Yes. But slow. I don’t know—I still don’t know if I’m ready for this,” you say, leaning against the counter as you turn.

He rushes over, nearly tripping over the leg of the table, exhilarated and ecstatic.

“Yes—yes. Of course.” He skids to a stop, hands hovering near you, remembering the lines as he begins to withdraw, looking embarrassed at his childish enthusiasm.

“Kiss me.” You dare. He flushes. “I—I do not think that’s slow, exactly—”

“Namjoon.”

He cups your cheek gingerly, palms so large they engulf your entire face, dipping his head. You say his name again, breath sweet as it ghosts across his lips.

Kisses you softly.

You grip his shirt, swallowing his moan when his lips crash over yours again, dragging his tongue over your seam.

He parts your mouth easily, devours you, one hand braced around your waist where he crowds you against the marble counter.

Then you make a noise.

Namjoon groans, reluctantly tearing himself away, the movement sluggish and impossibly difficult given the way his body refuses to unglue itself from you.

He buries his face in your neck, suckling your skin tenderly.

“Slowly,” he rasps.

Your breathing is laboured and you nod against his chest, dazed. “Yeah.”

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“I see you took my advice.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be patrolling tonight?” You raise an eyebrow, not bothering to throw him a look as you continue patting in the soil. You know he’s sporting his signature smug grin.

“This is patrolling. It’s part of my route.” You hum, determined to engage in as little talk as possible. It’s already enough mortification to walk through the village with the tall, handsome leader by your side, with the knowing smiles and fond congratulations. You know they mean well, and this is a big deal, but—it’s a lot to take in. You’ve never enjoyed being the centre of attention. And now you’re exactly that.

“Jimin, don’t you have somewhere else to be?” Namjoon’s voice cuts in, annoyed.

The Beta pouts. “Way to ruin my fun, Joonie.”

“Jimin.” The warning tone has him sighing.

“Okay, okay. I’ll leave you lovebirds be, but remember! I get to name your first pup,” he calls as he jogs off.

“I hate him,” Namjoon says flatly, watching him leave with his arms crossed.

“No, you love him. He’s just being nosy because he cares about you,” you correct, smiling as you stretch. Dropping a kiss on his cheek, you tug him inside. “It’s time for dinner.”

Namjoon trails after you, glowing.

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He never discusses pack business with you.

He knows this relationship you’ve been building together is still preliminary, still just a trial run. It’s going well—so well, in fact, that he’s terrified something will happen that’ll flip all of it on its head. Things usually do, because he attracts disaster. He always has.

He’s never been happier. He feels at peace with you, content and bursting at the seams with every word, every smile, every touch.

His wolf is quiet, tamed at your very presence. Basking in your attention.

He’s just—so whole.

So it’s only natural, he supposes, that he’s the one that destroys it.

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It’s ironic that it’s raining.

You can hardly tell if it’s your tears or the rain that blurs your vision.

It doesn’t matter much, you think, as you stare at the scene of Namjoon kissing someone else.

Not just someone else—the girl from the stall. The one with blue hair and bright eyes.

Prettier. Smarter. Everything. Liar.

“Don’t. Touch. Me.” Your basket is dropped, somewhere, lost. Where should you go?

“___, please! I didn’t kiss her, she’s set this up so you’d reject me—so I’d have no choice but to go to her, but I won’t!” He’s loud, frantic, following you again.

A door, a door, your door. You fumble with the key.

“I don’t care. I don’t care,” you chant, teeth chattering. Cold. You’re soaked to the bone.

“I love you,” he breaks, a sob catching. His voice is strangled, throaty. “I love you. Please believe me. I don’t—I can’t do this life without you. Please. Don’t leave. Don’t leave.”

“Leave, Namjoon. I never want to see your face again. I hate you,” you say hollowly.

“You don’t mean that. You don’t mean that. Say you don’t mean that. Please. Please,” he repeats, crying earnestly now. He looks so small, clothes clinging to him, expression fearful and miserable. Hunched into himself. Reaching out for you.

“Stay away from me,” you grit. The lock clicks. His eyes widen, panicked. “No—no, no, no, no! Don’t—don’t shut me out, don’t do this, please, please, please, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

You slide to the ground, shivers wracking your body as you listen to him sob on the other side of the door.

Time loses meaning, the water from your clothes creating a puddle as you sit there, huddled.

He doesn’t stop whispering apologies until Jimin comes to collect him an hour later, dragging him away as he fights. You can hear him shouting and struggling, but Jimin’s firm, hauling him away.

When all that’s left is the quiet patter of rain on your rooftop, their voices fading into silence, you get up and draw yourself a bath.

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He’s so weak. You make him weak. His role as the pack leader, his senses, rationale, everything flies out the window when it comes to you. Everything he’s built the past decade, the person he’s become.

“Jimin, I fucked up,” he says wretchedly. The empty crater is growing, expanding each second he’s away from you. His wolf howls, the anguish too raw for him to bear much longer.

“You need to prep for your rut,” his Beta says instead. Jimin paces restlessly, rubbing his temples as he watches Namjoon bury his face in his hands. He’s never seen their leader so broken, it terrifies him.

“I—I need to see her,” Namjoon says suddenly, standing abruptly. Jimin rushes to the door, blocking the entrance.

“Now is not the time,” Jimin warns. “You’re entering your pre-rut. You could hurt her. She’s not ready.”

Namjoon sucks in a shuddery sigh. And then, “Jungkook.”

A beat.

“Yeah, hyung?”

“Set up the chains. And have Yoongi stand guard. Make sure I don’t get out,” Namjoon orders.

Jungkook meets Jimin’s gaze briefly. The Beta nods and he disappears from the room.

Namjoon collapses back in his seat, staring down at his hands silently.

The group looks at him worriedly. Jimin merely shakes his head, lips pursed. They’ve never seen their leader look so defeated before.

“It’s fine. It’ll be fine. They’ll talk it out and she’ll understand. She’s just hurting right now,” Jimin says.

But his tone wavers, uncertainty seeping in. He doesn’t know.

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You wake to the sounds of someone pounding at your door.

The moon is high, your camisole thin and your exhaustion wearing thin.

“Jimin, why are you—” Rubbing your eyes, you pull it open, only to be shoved into an overheating body. You let out a surprised gasp, stumbling back as you struggle to support the weight.

“Wha—Namjoon? What are you—what are you doing here? Why are you so warm?” He’s burning up, feverish. Your palm meets bare skin, sweat coating his chest. Half-naked and delirious, Namjoon slurs, “I—I have to … apologize. Can’t lose you, not like—like this, she did this, I don’t want her, I don’t care about her. I need you. I need you. Princess … Princess, come home.”

“Are you—are you sick?” You nearly topple over as he crumples on your bed, silver locks plastered to his forehead. Something tinkles, and you pale at the sight of broken chains around his wrists.

“You’re ignoring … ignoring me. Don’t, please,” he pants, sitting up with difficulty. He rakes a hand through his hair, eyes bright but hazy, golden irises a mere thin ring. It’s so hard to … to talk, to think with this heat running through his veins.

“Namjoon …”

“I know—I know what you’re thinking, but it’s not true! I didn’t kiss her back, I pushed her away, I—I—I—” he’s babbling, he’s losing it and you grab his face.

“I know,” you say simply. Namjoon closes his eyes, sagging in your hold as relief floods through him, the deliria fading momentarily.

“I know. I just … it hurt. I thought—maybe I was right. That your feelings for me aren’t real, that you’re just … settling.” He frowns, shaking his head rapidly as he takes your hands. “No, no that’s not true. I’ve always loved you, since we met, since we were kids.”

“As Ghost, I … I saw your compassion, your humanity,” he rasps. “I didn’t mean to chase you away. I didn’t even know what my feelings for you would entail back then.”

“No … I was being stupid. I was scared,” your gaze drops. “I’m sorry. I should’ve waited to hear you out. I was just afraid that you’d only wanted me out of convenience.”

“___. I love you. I want to know you, if you’d let me,” he says shyly. He’s flushed, the heat bleeding back, but he can’t lose focus.

“Complete the treaty, then,” you say breathlessly. You don’t want to run anymore. For once, you want to face your fate head-on. You step back, pulling your top off in one fluid motion.

Namjoon freezes, wide-eyed. “You … you don’t know what you’re saying. What that means,” he croaks. He leans back, struggling to breathe.

Your core clenches at the sight of him, silver hair raked back, muscles taut and rippling beneath smooth caramel skin. He’s beautiful.

“Are you sure? You know what happens after, right? You’ll become my Luna, the Pack’s Princess … are you sure you want this?” He’s still holding himself back, likely by his sheer will at this point. Ruts are powerful, even more so when he’s the Alpha.

“Yes,” you say, straddling him. His hands feel so large where they come to rest at your hips, squeezing gently.

With him, you feel safe.

“I want you … I’ve been waiting for you, all this time. I want you to be my mate. To be mine.” You can feel his length, hard and throbbing, beneath his slacks. His kind has always been well-endowed, and you can feel his tip nudging at your centre.

“Take me, then,” you whisper, nosing his jaw. Namjoon groans, hold tightening before he slams you against the mattress.

“You drive me crazy,” he growls, ripping your panties off impatiently with his teeth. Shoving down his jeans, he wastes no time aligning himself. You’re already so wet, and he preps you easily, sliding two fingers in and scissoring you gingerly. Your spine locks, the pleasure flooding your system like a forgotten drug.

You gasp his name and he nips at your throat, violet flowers blooming with every touch.

“Wanna breed you, make you mine, fill you to the brim with my seed,” he moans, hips jerking as he enters you, the feeling of your walls clenching around him sends his head spinning.

“N-Namjoon,” you mewl, clawing at his back helplessly as he punctures every word with a thrust. He sets a punishing pace, already edged and desperate. Having you splayed out like this, so ethereal and so wholly his, awakens something primal, darker. His wolf demands to be unchained.

“I can’t think, can’t focus on anything but fucking you senseless and knocking you up with a litter of my pup,” his voice is guttural, so deep you know it’s not quite the man you’ve gotten to know the past few weeks.

“Hello, Luna,” he drawls. His eyes are flecked with silver, lips curled into a lazy smirk. The other side of the same coin.

“Ghost,” you murmur, smiling. You reach up to stroke his cheek, and he nuzzles your palm, turning to kiss it gently.

His touch is sweeter, loving. The frenzy is lost for the moment, the heat and the need dissipating as he licks into your mouth eagerly. He exhales, cock twitching inside of you as he fucks into you slowly.

“With this vow, we are bound. In sickness and in health, to protect and to cherish. Let the moon be our witness,” he breathes, dragging his fangs over the delicate skin of your neck.

You hold him close as he marks you, lapping at your blood as you cry out softly.

Forevermore, he wants to say, but he refrains because though it’s part of the vow, it’s still too early, too much.

For now, this is enough.

.

.

.

You lose track of time after that. They switch periodically, taking turns fucking you into oblivion before waking you with their mouth on your breast, suckling hard as their fingers tease your clit. Between the sheets, they learn to worship every crevice of your body, how to make you sing and sigh and moan so beautifully.

You take breaks only to drink water and to feed each other pieces of fruit and bread. Showers become pointless after he takes you against the wall twice before falling back onto the bed for a third and fourth.

It’s dawn when he’s finally burned through most of his rut.

“Who was that girl?” Namjoon hums, fingers sliding through your locks as you trace figures on his bare chest absently.

You’re exhausted but glowing, and he can’t stop smiling.

“From a neighbouring pack. They wanted me to choose her instead, to solidify an alliance. We already had one, they were just being greedy. She knew about you and tried to sabotage me. Don’t worry, I had Jin take care of it,” he kisses your nose. “You know I only want you, right?”

You nod, cheeks colouring.

“It’s only ever been you.”

.

.

.

“And the bell?”

Jimin grins, twirling the spatula in his hand. “It’s the one Joon gave to you the first night he met you. He didn’t just pick it up out of nowhere, you know. It’s like a family heirloom. Only his mate can wield it and only he can hear it.”

“Where’d you find it? I thought I lost it when I moved.” The bell sways silently where it dangles from the red string.

“You didn’t,” he says simply, flipping the pancake.

“Huh.”

“___! Princess, are you okay?” Namjoon comes barrelling through the door, skidding to a stop in front of you with wide, panicked eyes.

“Jimin,” you say slowly. “Just how sensitive is this bell?”

“I wouldn’t use it. Like, ever, unless you’re about to die or you want those flaming hot cheetos when you’re carrying,” Jimin answers matter-of-factly.

Namjoon’s still fussing over you and you sigh.

“I fucking hate you, Park.”

[svtkillua]

milk and tea > 4

rating: [pg-13 / angst] genre: soulmate au pairing: todoroki shouto x reader warnings: cursing, heartbreak, angst! word count: 6.1k

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1 - 2 - 3 - chap 4 - 5 - 6 [final]

The sky was dull every day during the week that passed, like the rain had sucked all the color from it and drained it away, clouds thick and dark like a threat from up above. Most people had been staying inside, couped up with their mid day coffees and bundled in blankets, cuddled up with the person they loved to keep them warm. Part of you wondered if that was where Todoroki was, if he was at home curled up in Momo’s lap with his head on her shoulder, if he’d already washed away the emptiness from the week before. The same emptiness that was eating you whole, swallowing up any joy left inside you every time you remembered the way his lips had felt against your own. 

Todoroki was gone when you woke up that morning a week ago, the smell of his cologne still bathed into the sheets when you hugged them just a little bit tighter to your chest. The apartment had felt dead, as hollow as your chest did when your eyes opened to find nothing there beside you in bed. Everything was unfair, all of it, getting to kiss him once but knowing you never would again, getting to memorize how he sounded when he said ‘ I love you ‘ but never getting to utter it back to him for the rest of your lives. It had made your eyes burn, made you scream into your pillow to muffle the sound as much as you could, made your nails dig into your palms until they left marks. 

Your apartment had been suffocating, the ghost of Todoroki still vivid on your bed and beside your front door, still following you in a way that made it hard to breathe. You didn’t think you could be there for a while, could be in the place where both your desperate ‘I love you’s‘ were bouncing off the walls, reverberating into your bones and making them shake. You couldn’t do it anymore, couldn’t keep on acting like you were fine and continue trying to bottle everything up inside. The seal on your feelings had been broken and you couldn’t stuff them all back in where no one could see them, everything now up at the surface, letting you appear cracked and broken. 

Somehow that had lead you to Midoriya’s, where you cried into his chest for a solid hour while he held you on the sofa, where he listened to the words that poured past your lips without anything spewed back from his own mouth. He’d been more than kind, promising it would be okay, bringing you tea making you stay in their guest room so you wouldn’t have to go home just yet. He didn’t judge you, didn’t tell you how horrible you’d been to catch feelings for someone who was accounted for, his eyes full of worry for your distressed state every day since you’d shown up at his place one week ago. 

Your eyes fluttered shut as your head tipped back, body curled up on the sofa in Midoriya’s living room, his soulmate out of town, himself in the kitchen making the both of you lunch, his hums loud enough for you to hear. Todoroki had tried to call you every day, but you’d been too scared to talk to him just yet, guilt like a weight on your chest every time you hit the ignore button. Every time he’d send you a text after, simple texts that held so much love behind them, the words laced with worry and aching and all the pain you could feel in your chest mimicked in jumbled together letters. Everything hurt, like you’d worked out far too hard but didn’t stretch afterwords, like your muscles were contracted and too tight to loosen back to normal. 

When you opened your eyes again you caught sight of it, the diamond still placed on your finger as the ring twisted from the way your hands were wringing together, lungs burning like they were full of smoke as you skimmed your touch over it.

Todoroki hadn’t taken it when he left, the jewelry still on your finger when you’d woken up, and despite how heavy your chest felt, you couldn’t bring yourself to take it off. Maybe if you kept it on long enough you could pretend it was a part of you, maybe it could be what you looked at on days you were the most lonely and could think of Todoroki without the unimaginable pain that came laced with his image now. 

You wondered if it would get easier eventually, if maybe in a few months you wouldn’t regret getting to kiss him or tell him you loved him, that maybe you’d get to look back at it and feel thankful rather than devastated. It didn’t feel like it would, like a wound that was too big to heal, a gaping hole in the shape of your heart blown right through your rib cage. Maybe one morning you’d wake up beside another man and think that you loved him even more than you loved Todoroki, even if the mere idea made bile rise in your throat, the thought enough to make your head shake as Midoriya’s figure approached you on the sofa. 

“Here.” He hummed, hands extending as he plopped down beside you, passing over a bowl of whatever concoction he’d come up with, the tangy scent enough to make you mutter a soft thank you before you took a small bite. You weren’t hungry, you hadn’t been much of anything past upset all week, but Midoriya had been pretty insistent on making sure you ate and kept yourself from moping all the time, and at the moment you didn’t feel like arguing. He was being nice enough to let you stay there, you didn’t want to come across as rude to the one person you felt like you still fully had. “Taste okay?” 

“It’s great Midoriya, thank you.” You hummed faintly when your head bobbed in a nod, eyes downcasted to the bowl propped in your palm rather than focusing on his face. You could feel him staring at you, the concern oozing out of his pores like water raging down a river. He wanted you to talk about things, wanted you to open up and let yourself feel something openly rather than keeping things to a vocal minimum. Slowly your eyes floated over to his worry filled features, his huge eyes widening ever so slightly when he realized you’d caught him staring, lips pursed as he licked a bit of sauce off of them. “What?” 

“What?” 

“You’re staring at me.” 

“I’m not.” He shook his head dismissively and looked away, legs folding up under himself as he reached for the remote, flicking the volume up a few notches before smiling to himself. Your eyes rolled as you shoveled another bite of food past your lips, stomach unconsciously grumbling as your eyes flickered once down to your phone, watching the screen flash with light when it buzzed. “But if I was, it’d just be because I’m worried about you. Is that really so bad?” 

“I don’t want to talk about things.” You sighed and glanced at him, your phone buzzing again under your knee, the vibrations making it slip down the couch cushion towards your legs. “I know you just want to help Midoriya, and you are a lot, but you don’t get how I’m feeling. You never will. The only person who could come even close to getting how I feel is maybe Todoroki, and he’s the last person I want to talk to right now.” 

It was a lie, you wanted to talk to Todoroki so bad you could feel it in your bones. The problem was that you couldn’t handle it. Even saying his name out loud made your stomach twist, throat constricting until you forced down another bite of food. Everything felt harder without him, like you’d gotten tossed to the bottom of a mountain and told to climb back up with your bare hands, like you supposed to run a marathon with two broken ankles. You weren’t sure how to feel now besides depressed, weren’t sure how to make yourself move on from the hollow sensation in your chest when the person you wanted to fill it was in the arms of someone else. 

“You should talk to him, even if you don’t want to.” He sighed, leaning back on the couch once he abandoned his half empty bowl on the coffee table in front of him. Your eyes danced over his palm when it landed on your knee, savoring the comforting squeeze while you blinked away the burning hiding behind your lashes. “Todoroki, I mean. I know you don’t want to but I can guarantee he’s just as miserable as you are, maybe even more.” 

Your head shook as you set your bowl down, arms folding over your chest before your phone buzzed again beneath your leg, fingers clasping around the device and moving it up to rest on your blanket covered lap, glancing at Midoriya rather than the screen. He was staring at you again, eyebrows knitted together as he fidgeted his fingers in front of his long stomach, lips pressing into a thin line when you both recognized the sound of your phone vibrating another time in your lap. 

When you peeked down at the device you let out a shaky breathe, eyeing the string of messages all followed by Todoroki’s name, the text bubbles seeming like ghosts that had come back to haunt you. 

Todoroki [ 15:18 ] : 

You’re not at work again. 

Todoroki [ 15:20 ] : 

I don’t know if your okay or if you hate me now or what. 

Todoroki [ 15:22 ] : I miss you so fucking much. 

Todoroki [ 15:22 ] : 

Please talk to me.

You swallowed, hands shaky as you tossed the phone away from yourself, eyes drooping shut as Midoriya sighed beside you, arm looping around your shoulders before you were falling in his chest and crying quietly. His arms held you a little tighter the longer you stayed like that, like he was trying to protect you from the world still turning, like he wanted to shield you from your own thoughts that were trying to devour you. It’d been the theme of the week, you trying to shut yourself away from everyone else and Midoriya being there to help you when the cracks in your armor got too big to ignore. He wanted to help you but didn’t really know how, wanted to ease the pain in your chest but had no clue how to put himself in your shoes. 

Things had been easy for Midoriya, he’d met his soulmate right after highschool, their marks perfect matching swirls of blue. They’d gotten married, moved into an apartment, never had to be separated for more than a few days since they met. Their love had blossomed from day one, their relationship the perfect depiction of what soulmates were supposed to be, their personalities complimenting each other and their hearts beating in time with the others. You envied it so much, loathed yourself for how jealous you got on the nights his soulmate came home and you could hear them laughing quietly from their bedroom, despised watching them cook breakfast together before one of them left for work because they looked so genuinely happy and you’d never get that with Todoroki. 

Hell, maybe you’d never get that with anyone. 

It took awhile for you to calm down, the song of Midoriya quietly humming like the soundtrack lulling you back to calm, heartbeat slowing to its normal tempo as the sun peeked through the clouds out the window, flooding the floor beneath it with light. Everything was quiet when you shifted from his grasp, rubbing at your eye sockets as Midoriya took your phone and turned it off for you, setting it aside as his palm landed on your shoulder and left a comforting squeeze. Silence fell for a few minutes as the both of you stared at the television screen, though you weren’t taking any of it it, your body drained and eyes heavy from the crying, lungs exhausted from sucking in air so hard. 

“I’m gonna ask you something and I don’t want you to get upset with me.” 

Your head turned to look at him, vision hazy from the bit of moisture clinging to your eyelashes, Midoriya leaning forward to retrieve his drink from the coffee table. He took a sip, your eyebrow raising as if telling him to go on, arms folding over your chest lazily while your foot bounced unceremoniously against the carpet. 

“So I have this friend, Awase, he doesn’t have a soulmate either.” He huffed when you interjected him with a small groan, hands raising to your tired face as your head started to shake, already having a feeling you knew where his question was going. “Relax, I just want you to get lunch with him, not like a date. I just thought maybe talking to someone who has a better idea of what you have to deal with could be good for you. Please? For me?” 

You exhaled heavily, fingers parting from where they were resting over your eye sockets so you could look at him, his emerald eyes wide and pleading, like he was desperate for you to say yes. You knew he meant well, that he wanted to help you, that he wanted to let you live a life that wasn’t so clouded over with darkness but wasn’t sure how to get there. It made your stomach twist, a small bubble of guilt floating up your esophagus for all the stress and worries you’d dumped onto him. You felt like a burden at times even if he insisted you weren’t, like your suffering was making him suffer and it made you want to disappear. Sometimes it made you want to run away so you could start fresh where no one could hurt you and you could hurt no one, but you knew that was irrational. 

None the less, the guilt combined with the way his teeth gnawed on his bottom lip made you reluctantly bob your head in a nod, the shy but content smile that spread on Midoriya’s face enough to make you feel like it was the right decision. Even if it seemed useless, even if the idea of having to leave the house felt like too much work when everywhere you looked reminded you of what you didn’t have. You doubted it would work, were unconvinced simply talking to someone else could change anything, but if humoring Midoriya was all it took to make him feel even an ounce better than it was worth it. 

Because you knew how it felt to be miserable, and because of that, you’d never wish that upon someone else. 

The café was quiet when you walked inside, fingers clasped tightly together like a knot in front of your lap, the light spring breeze brushing your hair away from your neck as you peered around the outside seating area. It was beautiful, the few trees lining the courtyard dotted with flowers and bursts of green, the tables set with shining copper colored silverware. You felt out of place, eyes darting down to your black sweater and blue jean skirt, sneakers scuffed up on the ends from dragging your feet just a bit too much. You felt nervous, on edge, like somehow your heart knew something was happening but you didn’t know yourself, anxious with the arranged meeting with a guy you never knew, almost unusually scared by the idea of meeting someone like yourself. 

You didn’t know if you could handle it. On the one side you figured maybe Midoriya was right, that maybe talking to someone who also lacked a soulmate would help you feel a little less alone. Maybe he was content being alone like the rest of them, or maybe, just maybe, he was like you, desperate for love and affection, miserable watching the rest of the world get all the things he wanted. You weren’t sure you wanted to see so many similarities between the two of you, scared of what it would make you think of yourself, afraid that you’d see that depression sunk into his irises like it was your own. You couldn’t ignore your problems when they were staring you head on, even if having to admit how upset you were felt like you were getting your teeth pulled. It had taken a lot to make you even tell Midoriya. That longing for someone to care had been the nudge that pushed you into his apartment days before, and eventually led you to now.

Awase was easy to spot, his hair spiked upwards, poking out from under his blue patterned headband, his pale blue flannel unbuttoned and fluttering when the wind blew, white shirt beneath rising and falling with his breathes. His jeans looked a bit loose on him when he shifted in his seat, a large bandage poking out on his wrist from beneath a glove that was encasing one of his hands, free hand grabbing at the cup of coffee in front of him. He was handsome, a few girls glancing at him as they walked past to head back into the café, but his head didn’t lift up once, his phone beside his cup when he reached forward to check the time on his phone. 

“Awase?” 

Your voice made his head lift, a small, polite smile spreading on his lips as he pushed out from the table to stand, eyes never leaving you as you approached. You pretended not to notice the slight dark circles around his eyes, wondering if he’d notice your own as well, the pair of you settling into seats opposite each other as he waved the waitress over. You ordered a coffee, shifting in your seat as you took a nervous glance around, like if you avoided his gaze long enough he would disappear. 

“Midoriya told me a lot about you.” His voice was deep, soothing, the kind of sound you could fall asleep to if you listened long enough. Your eyes trailed back over to his face, wondering if he could see how bloodshot they were, questioning if the gentle laugh that fell from his lips was genuine when his head shook side to side. “He also told me you probably weren’t going to want to talk to me much.” 

Your eyes rolled, a small laugh bubbling up in your throat, his lips spreading into a gentle smile when he got a reaction from you. You shifted slightly in your seat, in an effort to get more comfortable, hands resting on the table top as he took a sip from his mug again, the light breeze making a few flower petals rustle above you. You tried to ignore the way the light caught the ring still on your finger, tried not to feel the rock that grew in your throat when you let your eyes focus on the jewelry. 

Looking at it was becoming some weird form of self torture, a constant reminder of who you were missing and why you were missing them, a physical representation of all the things you wanted but would never get to have. Despite that, you couldn’t bring yourself to take it off, like if you did that night would have just disappeared. Like if the ring was gone you’d forget how it had felt to have his lips on yours, like the memory of his heartbeat pounding against your eardrums would cease to exist. Then again, maybe that would be good for you, to just forget everything, to not find yourself unable to sleep anymore because you kept repeating his voice saying ‘I love you’ in your head like a broken record. 

It was hard to sleep when your desires were chasing you, strangling you with their bare hands and defining you with their whispered voices. 

“It’s not that I don’t want to talk to you, necessarily, I just don’t really know what to say.” You shrugged, teeth digging into your bottom lip as you blinked away your thoughts, eyes tearing away from your ring to instead glance at the waitress as she set down your coffee with a polite nod. “It just seems odd to dump all my feelings onto anyone, let alone someone I hardly even know. I don’t usually like to talk about the things that are bothering me.” 

Awase’s head bobbed in a nod as he pursed his lips slightly, a gentle ‘ah’ falling from them as he glanced away from you to instead look at the flowers on the tree above you. A petal fell down and landed near your hand, your fingertips grazing the soft surface, careful not to break it, feeling like it was as fragile as your heart had become. Somehow however, its fragility was beautiful. Yours felt like a flaw, like you were defined by how delicate your well being had become. When people looked at you, you doubted they saw a soft and gentle person. Instead they saw someone who was heartbroken and horrible at hiding it, someone they pitied, someone who didn’t know their place in the world. 

Someone who wasn’t even sure they had such a place anymore. 

“Your soulmark is beautiful.” Your eyes trialed down to your palm when Awase’s finger tapped against it, the line of gold seeming darker today than normal, brighter, like it was laughing at how hollow you had become. You swallowed down the nerves that spiked up every time you stared at the mark, trying to quiet down the self destructive thoughts that were threatening to cloud your conscious. “It’s a shame you probably hate it.” 

“Don’t you hate yours?” His lips spread slightly at your question, a sad smile gracing his features as his eyes trailed to his hand covered by a glove, shoulders hunching like the weight of the world had been dropped back onto them. For a moment you felt guilty for asking, fidgeting in your seat and picking up your cup to take a gulp of your scolding coffee as a distraction until he looked at you again. 

“Of course I do. Everyday.” 

The conversation started to blossom, Awase talking about what he struggled with, how the few people he’d met without soulmates always seemed so different than him. How everyone else seemed content alone, but he never could, how everyone else was happy but he never really seemed to feel that way fully. Every word that came out of his mouth felt like you had said it yourself, every syllable and emotion and wince that twitched across his features were once you’d also gotten used to, that familiar ache of being different than everyone else around you dissipating if even for a few seconds. 

Midoriya and Todoroki would try to sympathize for you on the odd times you vented to them but they never really could understand, no one ever had before besides Awase, because he actually understood how you felt when you poured out words about how lonely you were. No one else had ever grasped how incredibly depressing it was to feel empty all the time, to look around and see everyone else getting to have the things you so desperately wanted. Midoriya and Todoroki had soulmates, they didn’t know what it was like to know you were meant to be alone, didn’t understand how hard it was to keep on fighting every day when all your heart wanted to do was give up. 

You talked for well over an hour, about the world and your emotions and how similarly difficult things were for the both of you, your coffees being emptied and refilled twice before they were abandoned and began to grow cold. The sun had started to dip in the sky when you took a glance at the time on your phone, Awase’s voice trailing off as he laughed softly at something he had said, lips wrapping around the edge of his mug as he sipped at his chilled drink, a sense of calm washed over the both of you from the mutual comfort of having someone understand. He made you feel a little less alone, even if once you both left the restaurant you’d go back to remembering exactly what had been making you so upset. That it wasn’t just the lack of soulmates that was making things hard, but rather being in love with someone who already had one. 

Your phone buzzed when you locked it but you didn’t look, flipping it so the screen was facing the table as Awase pulled down on the sleeves of his shirt, which had been bunched up around his elbows. It buzzed a second time, his eyes drifting to it before lifting to your face, a faint smile on his lips as you cleared your throat and folded your hands in front of yourself on the table top, nodding once towards his glove covered hand before tipping your head to the side, admiring the way the sun was bouncing off his cheekbone. 

“Why are you wearing that, by the way?” 

“My palm got cut at work.” He lifted his hand up some, tongue poking out to wet his lips as he pulled the glove up just barely, so you could see the bandages covering his wrist. “It’s mostly healed now, but my doctor suggested I keep it until I have a check up with him again, so it doesn’t get infected. The bandages don’t really stay on that well alone.” 

“I’m sorry, I’m sure it’s annoying.” You sipped your coffee, cringing from the temperature of the liquid as it slid down your throat, ears faintly picking up the sound of the door opening behind your back, not bothering to look. His shoulders rose and fell as he let the glove go, glancing down at his fingers as he wiggled them slightly, his eyes glued to them like a little kid watching their favorite show. 

“It’s not so bad, though it gets hot sometimes.” He pressed his lips into a thin line, free hand raising to scrub at the back of his neck when his head lifted properly on his shoulders, foot barely knocking into yours as he let his blue eyes flutter shut when the wind blew past the pair of you. “It covers up my soulmark, which is nice, I don’t have to stare at it all the time when I write or cook or clean. Sometimes, when I can see it, I just focus on my mark and think about how much I wish it wasn’t there, that soulmates weren’t even a thing. Sometimes I wish I could just carve it out of my palm and never have to see it again.” 

“I wish that all the time.” 

“What are you doing here?” 

Your head whipped up as your spine locked up, Awase’s eyebrows bunching together as a shadow blocked the sun that had been hitting his face. He looked as confused as you felt panicked, eyes following your body as you turned enough to stare up at Todoroki, hands shaking on the table top as his irises locked onto your own, stealing the air from your lungs. For a second you almost thought you were imagining him, that you’d finally lost your mind and were just picturing him wherever you looked. 

“Todoroki-” You felt like you couldn’t breathe, taking in the way his lips were red and chapped, like he’d been biting them too much, something he always did when he was anxious. His eyes were underlined with deep blue circles, much like your own, like he hadn’t slept in days, his hair a mess and sticking in to many directions. Somehow he still looked beautiful, even with his sweater bunched oddly around his waist, his hands fidgeting inside his coat pockets as he blinked between yourself and Awase twice. 

“You haven’t been answering my texts all week. I thought something happened to you. I thought-” He trailed off, swallowing hard enough for you to see his adam’s apple bob, his jaw tightening and relaxing repeatedly, like he was trying to stop himself from screaming. He looked so small, like the world had crushed him into a ball and was forcing him to stay there, like you pulling away from him had been enough to make him start to lose his control on things. He could usually compose himself, could handle the weight of everyone pushing him in all directions, but he looked like he’d lost that now, like he was in the middle of a maze with no map to know how to escape. “Who is this?” 

“I’m Awase.” Awase awkwardly scratched at his hair, able to sense something was happening even if he didn’t know what, his eyes flickering between yourself and Todoroki as you stared at each other. Todoroki didn’t even glance at him when he spoke, taking a step closer to you as his eyes danced once to your shaking hands, your heart leaping to your throat when his lips parted as he stared at them, taking a glance and noticing the ring as it caught the bit of sun still poking through the tree branches up above. “I can give you guys a minute, if you want.” 

You could feel the pull in your chest, could sense the way your heart was dying to have his arms wrapped around you and feel his lips against your ear while he whispered to you. You were so desperate for him, so miserable just looking at him and knowing you couldn’t touch him, not there, not in public where anyone could see you. It made your eyes burn, them welling with tears so quickly it almost seemed fake, his tongue poking out to wet his lips as his bottom lip shook just slightly, nostrils flaring and head shaking side to side. You missed him so much you could taste it on your tongue, could feel the bile rising in your throat when his eyes tore away from your own as the door opened back up behind you. 

“Todoroki, c’mon, we’re leaving.”

Momo’s voice made your spine lock up, eyes glued to Todoroki when his gaze maneuvered back to your own, feet unmoving from his spot while his mouth opened and closed, like he had a thousands things to say but had forgotten how to speak. You’d of given anything to of been alone with him then, to get to say all the things you weren’t allowed to now, to have a few more hours of touching eachothers hands and tasting each others lips, even if it would only be more fuel to torture yourself with later. 

“Todoroki.” Momo’s body came into your view but you didn’t glance at her, her head down as she grabbed onto Todoroki’s hand and gave him a gentle tug in her direction. Everything was happening so fast, his feet scuffing on the concrete as Momo tugged on him once more, her hair covering her face from your view as you struggled to stop yourself from crying. You barely noticed the way Awase’s head rose, didn’t focus on the way he sucked in a sharp breathe as Todoroki got reluctantly pulled away from you “The cab is waiting, we have to go.” 

Your body turned to watch him as he left, whipping around like you were engrossed from a film and didn’t want to miss the ending, elbow knocking into your coffee mug and sending the liquid spilling out all over the table top. Your vision was blurry as you forced yourself to look away from the couple, choking slightly on air as you grabbed a wad of napkins and tried to clean up the mess, sniffling as Awase jumped back a bit while the coffee dribbled off the edge of the table onto the ground below. It’d splashed a few dots onto his shirt, his glove completely soaked as he laughed quietly, not mentioning the tears brimming in your eyes as he tugged the fabric off his fingers and tossed into onto a dry patch of the table. 

“I’m so sorry.” You breathed, using your sleeve to try and dry your eyes, swallowing down the emotions bubbling up in your esophagus, forcing the tears back down to let out later, when you were alone and the world couldn’t see you. It was almost funny how a few seconds of being in Todoroki’s presence was enough to totally derail you, mentally slapping yourself for not thinking about how close the café was to his and Momo’s apartment. Your body turned, arms extending as you took a few napkins off a nearby empty table, turning back around to Awase as you reached for his damped, now bare, hand, his bandages having lost their grip from the coffee soaking them, now laying beside his discarded glove. 

“It was an accident.” 

“Still.” You sighed, shaking your head as you dabbed the napkins onto the face of his palm, his skin warm as he didn’t fight you off, his eyes lingering on the door Todoroki and Momo had slipped out of, a look on his face you couldn’t quite place. You flipped his palm, pressing the bandages onto the skin gently, in case his cut was still sore, not glancing at it as you focused on his face for a moment longer. “I’m really sorry.” 

“It’s okay, really.” He smiled lazily, head shaking as he blinked a few times, like he was trying to snap himself out of a daze. Your head dipped down, throat clearing as you moved the napkins away from his palm and tossed them onto the table top. You paused, eyes squinting as you stared down at his skin, heart speeding up in your chest when you felt all the hairs on your body stand on end. His soulmark was visible, even with the small cut running across his palm, your fingers shaking as you traced hesitantly against it. 

Because there on his palm were dark, blueberry colored lines, branching out from the middle onto each of his fingertips, like the branches of a tree. Because there on his hand was his soulmark, bold and unmistakably recognizable, one you had memorized the shape of a long time ago, one you couldn’t forget if you ever even wanted to. 

You had seen his mark before. 

Because his mark was the same as Todoroki’s.

-

[previous] - [next]

[maaaddiexo]

The Lost Village (The Weeping Monk)

Mainlist | Serieslist

Warnings: none

part 4/4 (4 for now; maybe more after second season release)

-

It felt like hours for the group of three as they waited for the tattooed woman’s answer. She stared at all of them individually, sizing them up. Assessing them. Oddly enough, she stared at Y/N the longest.

“Fine. Blye! Get some blindfolds.”

The man who’d complained stepped forward with multiple strips of cloth in his hand. He wore a smug, sinister smile on his face.

“Not happening,” Y/N insisted. “Blindfolded or not, we’ll be able to track where you take us from where we are.”

“And what’s gonna stop us from blindfolding you?” Blye sneered. “You’re outnumbered.”

“And you’re outpowered.” Y/N lifted her hand, stared at Blye, and as she drew a circle in the air, she said, “Ignis.” A circle of fire immediately appeared around Blye and he screeched. He froze in his place and stared at Y/N. “Yes, I’m a witch. No, I don’t want to hurt you nor do I plan on it. I made a promise I wouldn’t hurt you and I don’t want to break it. But the only reason we came to you was because I saw your village in visions. We need help and we would like you to trust us just as we are trusting you not to take us into a trap.”

Alba lifted her head and contemplated again. “Alright. No blindfolds.”

Y/N lowered her hand and the fire around Blye disappeared. “Thank you.”

“But we still have no reason to trust each other. How do we know you guys won’t hurt us?”

“How about a blood pact?” The Monk suggested quietly. He cleared his throat when Y/N stared at him with a raised eyebrow. “Father Carden gave me full access to the reliquary to learn about the Fey. I read all of the books they had. I remember reading a spell book about types of magic. It mentioned a blood pact.”

“Those were my books he gave you.”

Alba looked at Y/N expectantly. “Can you do it.”

Y/N sighed, “I know which spell he’s talking about. I’ve never had any reason to do it before but I can try.”

“Do it.”

The Monk handed Y/N a small knife which she cut her palm with. Alba copied her with her own blade. Blood pooled in both of their hands. Y/N reached forward and clasped Alba’s hand in her own, as if they were going to shake hands. Y/N felt the familiar tingle and watched as a white glow began to emanate from between their palms.

“Alliges duplicia sanguine.” She retracted her hand and saw that her hand was still bleeding. She fisted her hand, saw it glow again, and when she opened her hand, the wound was healed completely.

“How do we know it worked?” Blye asked. Y/N tooked back the blade the Monk had given her and used the tip to prick the pad of her right thumb.

“Shit,” Alba cursed and there, on the pad of her right thumb, was a spot of blood.

“Whatever happens to me, happens to you, and vice versa. I’ll undo it when we leave.”

“Then let’s get this over with,” Alba grumbled. She turned around and walked away from them. “Come on, now.”

The Monk was helped back onto their horse and they were led through the forest, the fireflies still buzzing overhead. Y/N didn’t even know they’d arrived at the Lost Village until Alba said so. The village was so well disguised. The village was not on ground level. A few of the Lost Villagers climbed up the trees and disappeared into the night, but most disappeared between two large boulders covered in moss.

“You live underground.”

Alba nodded as they descended the makeshift set of stairs down into the ground. “Despite being smaller than most Fey villages, our tunnels are extensive. If the Red Paladins ever found our village, they’d never be able to follow us through the tunnels. Only the Scouts are above ground during the day. Even though the Red Paladins don’t come out here, we believe it’s safer to sleep during the day and work during the night.”

“It’s really smart,” the Monk praised. “The dirt makes it harder to smell you out when you’re underground.”

Underneath the ground, the tunnels were high enough where none of them had to crouch. Every few feet, alcoves had been carved to hold torches. Alba informed them that most of the villagers were in what they called the Hive, but they still passed a few people in the tunnels.

“Not all of them are Fey,” the Monk noted.

“Yes, a few are human. Some were kicked out because they were born with the mark of the devil or dark gods while others chose to leave because they sided with the Fey.”

The single tunnel branched out into a web of tunnels and Alba took a hard left. Having had to leave the horse above ground, Y/N and the Monk were a little way behind the group, but Alba walked slowly enough for them to keep sight of her. She stopped and pointed to a long room on the right of the tunnel hallway.

“This is the infirmary. Mary is the nurse working at the moment. Find an empty cot and she’ll come find you in a moment.”

There was an empty cot not too far from the entrance and the Monk collapsed in it. Immediately, Squirrel and Y/n began removing his weapons and cloak. His clothes were stuck to his body with dried blood, and when she pulled his hood back, she saw that the right side of his hair was matted with blood too.

“How do I look?” the Monk asked in a teasing tone.

“Like shit,” Squirrel replied honestly. He didn’t even miss a beat. Y/N laughed loudly and pushed the Monk’s hair out of his face. Beside the bed was a bowl of water and a dry cloth. She wet the cloth before dabbing at his head wound. Squirrel undid the tie at the top of the Monk’s shirt but then shrugged and cut his shirt up to take it off.

“Damn, I liked that shirt.”

“You also once liked the idea of burning a cross into your head. Soon enough, you’ll renege on your appreciation for it.”

“Was that an insult?”

Y/N only smiled. “How’s your side?”

“Something tells me it ain’t pretty.” The voice was new, and in the entrance, a short round lady stood smiling. Her long, braided hair had been pulled up into a tight bun and there was blood on the white apron tied around her neck and waist. “I’m Mary. I’m a healer.”

“I’m not a healer, but I can heal him,” Y/N said. “I just need to make the poultice.”

“You need to rest first,” the lady argued politely. “You’re welcome to sleep on the empty cots, and I’ll take care of him until morning.”

Y/N didn’t feel comfortable leaving the Monk in the hands of strangers – even though it was her idea to come to them – but the Monk’s hand on hers and his weak but sure nod were enough to push Y/N to her feet and over to the empty cot beside his. She was asleep before her head hit the pillow.

***

Y/N had no idea what time it was or how long she’d been asleep when she finally woke up. Squirrel was still asleep in the cot across from hers. Sluggishly, Y/N turned to see the Monk sitting up in bed, picking at a stark white bandage on his wrist.

“Don’t pick at it.”

The Monk dropped his hand and smiled at her. “Mornin’.”

“How long was I asleep?” Y/N rubbed her eyes and sat up.

“A day, I think. I slept for a little bit but the medication Mary gave me wasn’t very strong.”

“Here. Let me help.” Her bag was tucked underneath her cot and on the floor between their cots, she mixed an elixir in her pestle and mortar. She held the Monk’s head as she brought the mortar to his chapped lips. “This will help with the pain. I can apply a paste that will speed up the healing, but I’m not a good enough witch to fully heal them. Sorry.”

“It’s okay, Y/N.”

It didn’t feel okay to Y/N. Silently, she washed the mortar in a bowl of clean water and sorted through her bag for the proper ingredients. Together, they were ground into powder and then a paste when she added honey.

“A binding agent,” the Monk concluded. Y/N could see the pride in his eyes as she unwound the dressing around his wrist. The wound had been cleaned and wasn’t bleeding. With a clean hand, she applied the paste to the cut and then redressed the wound. After she was done applying the paste to his other wounds, she asked,

“You think you can walk?” The Monk nodded and after Y/N helped him up, she went to wake Squirrel, not wanting to leave him behind. “Come on. Let’s explore.”

With the medication and Y/N and Mary’s healing work, the Monk could already put a little more weight on his bad leg, but still clung to Y/N. They turned down a tunnel and felt a flitting breeze. In that short moment, he got a whiff of Y/N and thought she smelt nice.

“Do you hear that?” Squirrel asked, stopping in the tunnel. “Listen.”

Echoing through the tunnel from somewhere a head of them, they heard what sounded like a drum.

“Is that…music?”

“I haven’t heard music in years,” the Monk said longingly.

“Let’s go!” Squirrel exclaimed and ran ahead, following the beat of the drum. The soon found a set of stairs that brought them above ground. Immediately, they knew they were in the Hive. Above them, tree branches had woven to create a full-proof roof, but light still managed to filter in. Around them, people danced and laughed. What they thought was a drumbeat was actually the sound of people stomping their feet.

Alba walked up to them with a wooden cup in her hand. “Glad to see you on your feet again. You’re looking much better,” she said to the Monk.

“Mary was very kind. Thank you for letting us stay.”

“It won’t be forever,” Alba warned. “I won’t put my people in danger.”

“We understand. Still, thank you for offering what you have. It means a lot.”

Alba nodded and turned to walk away, “Enjoy the party.”

Squirrel had gone off to dance and Y/N helped the Monk to an empty spot on a bench. They sat and watched the people dance for a while, and at some point had accepted fruit that had been offered to them.

“The Red Paladins never had events like this,” the Monk said randomly. “I don’t think I’ve even seen the humans this happy during jousting events and such.”

“It’s quite beautiful, isn’t it?” Y/N said and rested her chin on her palm. She watched the different Fey and marked humans dance together in perfect unison and smiled at how quickly they had accepted Squirrel. “I’ve never seen anything like it either.”

“If I wasn’t so injured, I would ask you to dance.” Y/N blushed and admitted she didn’t know how to dance. “Maybe one day I could teach you.”

The girl smiled brightly. “I would like that.”

The Monk stuck out his hand and slipped hers into his to shake and confirm the deal. But it wasn’t a confirmation handshake.

“Hello, I’m Lancelot.”

[alia-turin]

Request:  I wish you would write a fic where Caranthir and Imlerith are being requested by their commander to capture a human sorceress, who is known for her healing powers, compel her to divulge her secrets and spells and then kill her, but things take an unexpected turn

Honestly guys I feel so bad because you sent these awesome requests and I feel like butcher them and turn them upside down :D 

In any case couple of notes - big HC that I was introduced to is that despite everything Imlerith has soft side for animals, so I’m sorry if he sounds a bit OOO, but that whole thing is really about his soft side. If you want more Imlerith + animals, please check out @erinbeast . I have also put some ideas for Caranthir that come from an old fic I posted and another fic I’m currently working on (which I might never post but there is that). I hope y’all enjoy tagging you 

AO3 Link

Warning: mentioning of injured animal 

Caranthir stepped through the portal and Imlerith followed. Neither of them was wearing their armor, at least not in full. His friend still wore gauntlets instead of gloves and some of the metal around his legs and torso. Caranthir on the other hand was more practical, no amount of armor was going to protect them where they were going so he was just wearing his normal clothes and a cloak. He knew roughly where their final destination was supposed to be, but he wasn’t sure so he ended up getting them in the forest and they were going to figure the rest.

“I still don’t understand what Eredin’s problem with that particular sorceress is.” Imlerith groaned as Carathir led the way. He could sense the bitch so it wouldn’t be that difficult to find her at that point.

“Does it matter?” they were alone, even the usual forest sounds were somehow dulled around them. He couldn’t hear birds, just the wind brushing against the leaves. “She is a human sorceress, she is better off dead.”

Imlerith raised an eyebrow but the younger man did not see him as he was leading. Since Caranthir had joined the Red Riders the two of them had become friends. He had trained him to use a sword and spear, art Caranthir never mastered, but he had become damn good with that staff of his even when he was not using magic. He had also seen him grow, become more of a Red Rider compared to the skinny kid who left Avallac’h.

“For someone who uses magic you hate other mages way too much. Jealous they might be better than you?” He mocked but also that was something Imlerith never fully understood. One day something had snapped in Caranthir. The man never showed any real hate to anything but Avallac’h, at most he would just show lack of interest in things which in Caranthir’s cold mind was probably equal to hate. But then something happened, first it was just the darker mood but then during one of their raids he saw the Navigator break the skull of a human sorcerer. Imlerith liked violence, he inflicted it however he could, it made his blood running, but that had been something new from Caranthir. Maybe their friendship was rubbing on him or maybe it was just the Eredin effect.

“There isn’t anybody who is better…” Caranthir suddenly stopped. “Do you hear that?”

Imlerith looked around and focused, he could hear it. It sounded like a dog whining somewhere close. Without thinking Imlerith traced the sound and Caranthir was following.

It didn’t take them too far until they found the wolf lying on a bed of leaves and dirt. It was injured, an arrow was sticking from one of its hind legs and another one from its abdomen. Imlerith’s jaw clenched. He liked hunting, but he never did it for sport, it had always been for food or fur and he always made sure to finish his kill fast. He had no issue killing humanoid creatures in an extremely painful way, he even took pleasure in it, but animals were innocent. Whoever did not finish that kill deserved slow and painful death.

The wolf looked at them and showed them his teeth but he looked weak. Imlerith stepped closer, the arrow in the leg did not seem so bad, but the one in the abdomen...that was nasty wound.

Caranthir just looked at the other man as he approached the wolf, the animal was growling, but there was no bite, no danger to it.

“Imlerith, it’s dying, mercy is the best thing you can do for it.” He knew his friend felt some kinship to animals. Everyone always thought Imlerith to be mindless brute, Eredin’s rabid dog, but that was just part of the story. There is a side that almost nobody had seen.

“Maybe Avallac’h should have shown you some mercy.” the other man pointed at his face where Caranthir’s scars were.

“Maybe your mother should have shown some mercy when she saw you are barely intelligent to get dressed.” the Navigator bit back without hesitation. That’s what they did, Imlerith made fun of the scars on his face, the only person he tolerated to do that, and he made fun of Imlerith’s intelligence, just like true brothers.

Caranthir sighed. He wasn’t heartless, he just didn’t see a point in letting the poor animal suffer. He knelt next to Imlerith and placed a hand on the wolf’s head despite the sharp teeth that were barren.

“What are you doing?” Imlerith grabbed his wrist and squeezed.

“I’m not killing it. I can relate to the need to protect innocence and purity in its clearest form.” Imlerith had no idea what that meant. Caranthir had the habit to speak like Avallac’h at times, half of a conversation that made no sense to anyone. He made fun of him for that, but not now. The navigator freed his hand and placed it on the wolf again. Second later the animal was asleep and the laboured breathing was calmer. “We can break the arrows, but we should not pull them out, we need to deal with that bitch, which would be a quick job and then we can take it to Tir na Lia. It should be asleep for about two hours and it doesn’t feel pain, just make sure it doesn’t lose any more blood, because that will kill it.”

Caranthir didn’t have much hope for the animal surviving, judging by the blood around, it had been like that for some time, and his healing powers have always been the weakest from his many talents.

Imlerith scooped the wolf in his arm and followed Caranthir. He constantly looked at the animal to make sure it was still breathing. He decided he would name it Treise, a strong name for a beast like that. It wasn’t too long when they found an old log cabin deep in the woods. Caranthir did not stop, the man had no fear from some human witch, Imlerith followed but left the wolf outside, to prevent any further harm. He had seen mages fight and he also knew the pleasure Caranthir felt in making them suffer.

The Navigator was the first to enter the log cabin, bending his neck in an awkward position to get through the human sized door. Nothing impressive inside, wooden table, chairs, a bed in the far corner. The bitch was sitting next to the fireplace and turned in surprise when they walked in.

“Who…” she started a question, but he never allowed her to finish. His first attack knocked her on the ground, he wasn’t going to kill her, he was going to take his time.

Imlerith watched as Caranthir attacked the witch, she was a pretty thing for a human, small and fragile. A predator grin decorated his lips. Maybe he would let Caranthir have his fun using her to mop the floor and then he will have his type of fun.

“Wait!” the woman was on her hands and knees, her hair was a mess and there was blood running from her mouth. “I can help you.” Caranthir laughed mockingly. “I know you brought an injured animal with you, I can sense it, I’m a healer, I can help.”

Without hesitation Imlerith placed a hand on the navigator’s shoulder. Caranthir turned toward him, there was cold fire burning in his eyes. Funny how usually the roles were reversed. It had always been the younger man stopping him, but now Imlerith had other concerns than simple bloodlust.

“Why would you do that?” he asked, digging his fingers a bit deeper in the other man’s shoulder, his hand sinking in the soft first of his cloak.

“I cannot beat him.” she nodded at Caranthir. “And I don’t know why you are here but it isn’t for fortune reading. I help your wolf, you let me live.”

“No.” Caranthir said, almost offended.

“Deal.” Imlerith spoke at the same time and they both exchanged looks.

The woman wasn’t stupid and she did not wait for the two of them to sort their small differences. She got on her feet with visible effort and slowly limped toward the door.

“Please tell me the plan is to let her heal the wolf and then we kill her?” Caranthir said through his teeth, his jaw clenched. Imlerith did not answer. He wasn’t sure what the plan was. “You will tell Eredin. I’m not dealing with that.”

When they went out Caranthir walked to the nearest tree and pressed his back against it, his arms crossed over his chest, his cold eyes just pinned on the woman.

“It’s very weak.” the witch said as she placed her hand on the animal.

“Oh great, it’s very weak. Must have missed that.” the navigator said sarcastically, Imlerith couldn’t stop the smile on his lips.

The woman ignored them and started working. She pulled what was left from the arrows, thick blood started pooling on the fur but she worked quickly. She chanted a spell and pulled some herbs from her pocket that she applied to the wounds. Couple of minutes later she got up, the animal was still asleep and Imlerith got worried for a moment. Did she trick them? Did she kill the wolf as a final ‘fuck you’? If that was the case, whatever Caranthir was planning to do to her, would be nothing compared to what he would do to her.

“I cannot do anything about the lost blood.” she finally said. “And I cannot wake it up because of his spell. But once it wakes up it will be weak, it won’t be able to take care of itself until its body recovers from the loss.”

Caranthir forced an arrogant smile on his lips. Of course she couldn’t she was just a stupid human mage. It was surprising that Imlerith had been so...soft, between the two of them he had always been the nicer one, had he changed so much? No, it wasn’t that. He felt pity for the animal as well and didn’t really want it to die, but he was the logical one, Imlerith was impulsive. Where was Avallac’h now to see him? Where was his old teacher to call him rash?

“Am I free to go?” the woman asked, her eyes shifting between the two of them. Imlerith nodded, Caranthir was not really sold on the idea, but nodded as well.

He opened a portal and waited for Imlerith to grab the wolf and step through it, then he followed. They went straight to Imlerith’s apartments in the castle in Tir na Lia.

“We are not telling Eredin.” his friend finally said as he gently placed the wolf on his bed. He had never seen Imlerith being gentle with anything.

“We are not telling Eredin.” Caranthir repeated. “You are telling Eredin.”

“No.” Imlerith was still looking at the wolf. “We are waiting for a couple of days, and then we will do what we were supposed to do.”

After Caranthir didn’t speak for a while, he turned to make sure the navigator was still there.

“Why?” the younger man finally asked.

“Because that wolf means more to me than any other life out there and I’m paying her by giving her a couple of days.” Imlerith wasn’t sure if the navigator understood, neither of them was affectionate to anything. He expressed his emotions with violence and Caranthir...emotions did not come easy with him.

Caranthir nodded. He could relate, probably the reason he reacted the way he did was just because he did not expect Imlerith to be so...kind. But he could understand the desire to protect something.

[florenceandthemachine]

BROKEN TUMBLR ASKS PART ??: WHY DOES THIS WEBSITE SUCK SO BAD.

anonymous  asked:

“For Buddie prompts: Eddie looking after a sick Buck?”

ooo, sorry, we actually all out of fluffy sickfics, here’s... this instead xoxo 

“You’re exhausting.”

Buck hears the words ringing in his head as he clears another room, smoke swirling above him, his gear heavy on his frame. The chatter on the radio was drowned out by the roar of the flames, and it was about all he could do to keep an ear open for his name.

Kicking another door in, Buck has to grit his teeth to keep a groan of pain behind his lips, his leg throbbing—not for the first time that night. The screws had come out of his leg months ago, but that didn’t mean he was back to 100, not yet anyway; sometimes he just hurt. Neuropathic pain was something he could expect to have flair up until the wound fully healed—which could take years, according to his doctor, but...

“We all have our problems, but you don’t see us whining about it.”

But he was not about to bring it up, not about to risk... everything. His team was finally talking to him again. He was finally being brought on calls again. He could keep this to himself. He could go on without whining about it.

He had to.

Fuck, his leg hurt. Neuropathic pain was supposedly a dull, throbbing pressure, but all Buck could feel was fire, like a hot knife had torn him to the bone. Not for the first time, he only allowed himself a moment of “it isn’t fair” before he bottled all that down, gritting his teeth as he braced himself against another door, prepared to burst through the brittle, burning wood.

“Get clear, everyone. The building is getting too unstable—that means you, Buck.”

“Right, Cap.”

As if Buck would have risked disobeying another order, as long as he lived. He wasn’t about to let his problems become someone else's problems, never again.

“Somehow, we all manage to suck it up.”

“Cap, I have another resident down here!”

“Got it, Eddie. Buck, give him a hand.”

They were both on the ground floor, thankfully, and the screen on Buck’s wrist led him right to Eddie, who was trying to help an older woman up and out of her bed. It was becoming rapidly clear that she was going to need to be carried, and Buck didn’t waste any time in latching his arm with Eddies, hoisting the woman out of the apartment and bringing her out to a waiting gurney.

“Somehow, we all manage to suck it up.”

They may have been free of the inferno, but Buck’s leg was on fire. He had to make sure he was the last on the engine before they took off so no one would notice his unsteady footing, and he managed to pass off his groan of relief as a sigh when he sat down, feeling the sway of the engine as Bobby started to drive away.

They still had a good six hours left on their shift—God willing, they wouldn’t get any other major calls, and Buck could get some rest. All that he wanted was a shower and some sleep.

“Somehow, we all manage to suck it up.”

He managed to hide his pain with a smile as he de-geared with the rest of the team, always making sure that he was back far enough that his gait would be ignored, but not so far as to arouse suspicion. As much as he wanted to jump into the shower, he wasn’t sure how well he would be able to hide his pain if he had to bend over, or if, God forbid, he were to slip against the tile. He chose a bed instead—he probably still smelled of soot and sweat, but he was beyond the point of caring, and found himself obscenely thankful that the quiet room was on the first floor, and not up the stairs where the loft was. Buck was usually the last to sleep on shift, too busy being around everyone else, working out, anything he could be doing to absorb the companionship and company that came with a shared 24 hour shift, but… that was just another thing that the lawsuit had taken from him, he thought to himself, blindly propping his hurt leg with a pillow as he collapsed into the nearest cot.

“Why can’t you?”

Six more hours. He could make it six more hours.

--

Eddie was not having the best day.

Week.

Month?

He had been struggling, okay?

Part of him had hoped, maybe naively, that once the lawsuit was done, once Buck was back on the house, that… things would be back to normal. He had hoped that he and Buck could be back to normal.

Buck, obviously, hadn’t gotten the memo, because somehow, things were even worse than they were when the lawsuit was in full swing. Buck was still there, he was going through the motions, but that was it. Eddie should have known it would be too easy to hope for the easy camaraderie that there was before, but he had at least hoped they would be able to talk—even that was proving to be harder than pulling teeth.

In hindsight, of course, Eddie had realized that a good amount of the distance that had grown between them was his fault—he knew his anger had gotten the best of him when the lawsuit had started (hell, the near fatality in his little fight ring had proven that), and once it was wrapped up, it was still nearly impossible for him to look Buck in the eye.

He wasn’t proud of it, but that opinion really didn’t change until he realized what Buck had given up just to get back on the squad.

Millions of dollars. Millions. Eddie loved his job, but if someone offered him a chunk of change like that, he would have taken it and never looked back, but all Buck wanted to do was come back to his team—his family—and didn’t that just dig the knife in a little deeper?

Now, though, Eddie was determined to make it right. Even if it meant waking Buck up, dragging his ass out of the sleep room, and forcing him in to a family dinner with the rest of the squad.

“Buck, you up?”

Eddie could see the other male splayed outing a cot, his silhouette barely visible in the dimmed light. He felt bad about waking the other up—especially after how hard he had known Buck had been working—but the best time to start to apologize would have been yesterday, and today was just delaying the inevitable.

He took a few steps into the room and gently shook Buck’s leg, blinking in surprise as his hand touched dampness—was Buck sweating?

He pulled his hand up, examining it in the light from the doorway. It was… dark?

It was red.

“Buck?”

Fuck, it was red.

“Buck… oh fuck, Buck, oh fuck—“

Eddie felt his hands flying now, his voice kicking up as he spoke, throwing blanket and pillows across the room. Buck was pale, inhumanly so, and he immediately started checking for vitals as he started to shout.

“Buck, come on, wake up, Buck!”

Pulse was present, barely, thready and weak.

“Buck! Hen, Chim! Help! Buck, no, Buck!!”

--

It was a laceration. A cut, only a few inches long, along his leg, that had cut right through his PPE, and right through the first few layers of tissue in his leg. The doctor that had cleaned out the wound had pulled out shards of splintered wood, which was concerning in its own right; even though he was off blood thinners, the constant motion had kept the wound open, for… fuck, for what must have been hours.

Eddie didn’t need a doctor to get that confirmation. The blood that had pooled around the cot certainly didn’t come from a few moments—and even before then, the spatters on the floor, the soaked tear in the pant leg... it was more than enough to set Eddie on edge.

He had sent up a silent thanks to Carla, patron saint of child care, as he sat beside Eddie in the emergency room, patiently waiting for Buck to regain consciousness. No surgery required, thank God—just a dozen or so stitches, about three pints of blood, and a steady drip of pain medication.

And, okay. Maybe he was indulging himself, holding onto Buck’s hand as he started to stir once more, not bothering to hide the massive wave of relief that crashed over him when Buck started to stir again.

The pain-medication-laced smile that Buck shot him was one of the most beautiful things Eddie had ever seen.

“Hi Eddie!”

“Hey Buckaroo.”

He even sounded happy. God, Eddie missed that, seeing a shadow of his old Buck, the one who smiled and was happy and pain free, and it definitely disturbed him that he couldn’t remember the last time Buck had seemed so happy.

The moment wasn’t designed to last, though—as Buck started to take in more and more of his surroundings, his smile slipped off of his face, and it didn’t take the heart rate monitor amping up its speed to tell Eddie that Buck was starting to panic.

“Hey, hey, you’re okay, Buck. You just needed to get patched up and you’re going to be okay.”

“Fuck, Eddie, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

Wait, what the fuck? “Buck, it was an accident. You’re okay.” He really hoped his voice was more soothing than confused, because Buck looked dangerously close to tears.

“It was an accident, Eddie, I promise. I swear I didn’t mean to, I was trying to be careful and I didn’t mean to get hurt, you can’t let Bobby kick me off the squad again, Eddie, please.”

Eddie felt like his voice might have been as raw as Bucks, shaking off the shock at that admission, moving to gently grip Buck’s shoulders. “Woah, Buck, we know you didn’t mean to. Bobby isn’t mad, he and the rest of the squad had to bring the rig back, they’ll be here soon, they wanna see you, and—”

“I just—I didn’t want to bother anyone, I know it’s exhausting trying to put up with me sometimes, so I didn’t want to—“

“Woah woah woah, Buck, slow down, you—you’re not exhausting, who the fuck even told you that?”

There was an auditable click as Buck shut his mouth, his eyes pained and his face bright red, and Eddie had a minute to look him over before reality came crashing around his head.

“…I said that, didn’t I? Oh fuck, Buck, you have to know I was just talking out of my ass, okay? I was just angry, of course I didn’t mean it.”

“But it’s true, Eds, I have to suck it up and deal with it, it’s not fair for me to lay all of it on you guys at work, and I’m sorry, but you can’t tell Bobby—it’s hard, but I’m getting better at it! I promise, I can’t lose you all again, please, I—“

His voice dies in his throat as Eddie pulls him into his arms, crushing him in a tight hug, and Buck can’t breathe, his eyes burning with tears as Eddie buries his head in his neck. Eddie didn’t speak until Buck finally started to hug him back, arms uncertain. “You’re not going to lose us, Buck. Never again. I promise, okay? You’re basically stuck with us until the end of time, I’m not going to let you go, and neither is Chris, and neither is the 118.”

The muffled sob that Buck let out into his shoulder told Eddie all he needed to know. They had all fucked up, hard, if that had been the looming fear behind all of Buck’s decisions lately. He had been self isolating from the team, he wasn’t cracking jokes, he didn’t even come up for family dinners unless he was specifically asked to—and while Eddie thought they had all just needed some time, Buck had been suffering in silence since he returned.

Fuck.

“Buck, listen to me. We are your family. We fight sometimes, and we all make mistakes, and I’m so, so sorry that we made this mistake, okay? But no matter what, we love you. Chim, Hen, Bobby, Mads, hell, even Athena, and... and me, Buck, we love you. I love you. So please, stop beating yourself up over it and just... let us love you, okay?”

Eddie reluctantly let go as he felt Buck start to pull back, his face contorted in fear and pain, but his expression started to smooth out as he nodded, the machine next to him beeping and whirring as his heart rate started to go down. The pain medicine couldn’t have picked a better time for another dose. Eddie started to ease him back onto the bed as Buck’s eyelids started to droop, only comforted by the even rise and fall of his chest.

"Thanks, Eddie...”

Eddie let out a short, wet laugh as Buck finally relaxed against the bed, treated to another smile before Buck slipped into unconsciousness.

“...love you, too.”

And Buck was out again.

Eddie didn’t even have time to process what Buck had said, distracted by the swoosh of automatic doors, multiple voices talking at once as the 118 poured back into the emergency room, officially off shift, and Eddie gave Bucks’ hand a squeeze—just one—before he stood up and left the curtained off bed, ready to face the team with the grim reality Buck had just tossed into his lap.

They had work to do.

But Buck... Buck was worth every minute of it.

[pitch-pearl-void]

Rest

The sun had been setting the last time Phantom saw Fenton. By now, the moon had risen to just before midnight, and Phantom worried Fenton had already gone to sleep, exhausted by a full day of school followed by an evening training with his parents. Phantom wouldn't blame him. In fact, it was probably better for Fenton if he was asleep.

Phantom flew faster toward Fenton Works regardless, all the while mentally scolding himself for being so selfish. Humans were fragile. Phantom knew that better now than he ever had in the past. When he had shared in Fenton's humanity, the gap hadn't seemed so wide. They had felt strong and immortal. But humans couldn't even stay awake a full 24 hours without it affecting them. Phantom on the other hand...he couldn't remember the last time he had slept. 

Fenton Works came into view, and Phantom felt a lead weight sink in his stomach. Fenton's bedroom light was off. 

Phantom slowed his flight until he hovered uncertainly outside Fenton's window. He should turn around, leave Fenton to his rest and try to shake off whatever was haunting him by flying into the stratosphere or rescuing someone or...

Something inside Phantom ached. He didn't need a distraction, he needed company. Human contact. Someone who saw him and not the hero.

He drifted toward Fenton's window, torn between not wanting to disturb him and not wanting to be alone. 

At the last minute, he switched out of the visible spectrum so his glow wouldn't wake Fenton, and then he flew inside. As ever, the wind's howls, the crickets' chirping, the distant roar of the traffic, it all became muffled as soon as he slipped inside, creating a bubble of isolation and privacy. No fans to hound him. No news crew to dodge. 

As Phantom had suspected, the room was dark and Fenton was in bed, but Phantom felt elation rush through him as he saw Fenton's phone illuminating the human's face. Phantom landed on the floor of Fenton's room, unable to maintain his flight any longer. Were he any less graceful, had he still held traces of Fenton's clumsiness, he might have stumbled forward on legs that suddenly felt weak with relief. As it was, he had to stand in place instead of stepping forward.

"You're awake," he gasped.

Fenton yelped and fumbled his phone. It fell on his face. "Shit!" 

Phantom laughed weakly. 

Fenton removed the phone from his face, casting himself in shadow as he switched it off. "Phantom?"

Phantom returned to the visible spectrum, and Fenton's eyes snapped to him as Phantom's glow illuminated the space beside Fenton's bed. Illuminated Fenton. Phantom smiled at him in greeting, half expecting Fenton to grumble about ghosts spooking people on purpose, but Fenton's eyebrows rose and he sat up on his elbows. 

"Have you been crying?" he gasped.

Phantom reached up and felt his cheek, forgetting for a moment his gloves wouldn't let him feel any tears. "Um. Perhaps. Spectra was...difficult. And then Skulker attacked."

Fenton sat up all the way, pushing back his blanket. "Are you hurt?"

"Hurt?" Phantom forced another smile. "My powers heal all injuries in minutes, Fenton, you know that."

"There's more than one kind of injury, especially when it comes to Spectra."

"Oh." Phantom lost his smile. "I...yes. Then. Yes. I am. Hurt."

Fenton stared up at him, looking suddenly small and helpless. "Oh..."

Phantom stared back, waiting. Unfortunately, Fenton seemed lost. He opened his mouth once or twice, but he didn't seem to know what to say. His expression was one of concern and sympathy, but emotions and navigating relationships weren't his forte. He may want to help Phantom, it may be a need that burned inside him, but that wouldn't mean he knew how to go about it.

Usually, Phantom would step in and give him a hint in the right direction. But after what Spectra said...how could he know for sure Fenton actually wanted him the same way he wanted Fenton? Phantom was always the one leading their relationship. He was the one who most often initiated contact. Fenton--

Fenton gave up on trying to find the right words and reached for Phantom's hand instead. Phantom raised an eyebrow. He didn't react immediately, not until he felt Fenton tug on his arm. He bent forward, assuming Fenton had realized he wanted a kiss, but instead of meeting Phantom halfway, Fenton leaned backward. Phantom didn't fully understand, but he followed him down. He didn't stop until Fenton's head rested on his pillow again and Phantom was bent awkwardly over him and the bed. Kissing from that angle was a little tricky...

Fenton snickered. "Holy shit, dude..." He wrapped an arm around Phantom's shoulder and pulled him down an inch. "Down. Lay down."

Phantom hesitated. "Lay down?"

"Yes." Fenton released Phantom's hand and lifted his blanket up in clear invitation. "You can even, like, lay on me? If you like?" He blushed, the color a pale red against Phantom's white light. "Just don't, um. You know. I have school tomorrow, and it's hard to, uh. Shut all that down. You know."

Phantom's body moved on autopilot. He set his knee on the mattress, causing it and Fenton to dip toward him. He took the blanket from Fenton, lifting it higher so he could slide under, ignoring or not noticing Fenton's flustered shifting. His mind was occupied deciphering the emotions rising inside himself at the realization Fenton was offering to cuddle with him under the blankets. Something they had never done before, something Phantom hadn't realized lay so directly at the core of his being it was as though Fenton had seen into his soul.

Embarrassingly, as Phantom lowered himself over Fenton and Fenton's other arm wrapped around his shoulders, tears pricked in Phantom's eyes and a small sound escaped his throat.

Phantom's legs brushed into position alongside Fenton's as he slid into place. Perhaps Fenton had only meant it as a suggestion, but Phantom took the offer to lay atop him seriously, forcing Fenton's legs to spread and make room for Phantom. Fenton didn't object. In fact, as Phantom finally rested against Fenton, laying his head on Fenton's chest instead of his shoulder as Fenton likely expected, Fenton's arms tightened around Phantom before relaxing. 

"Like this?" Fenton asked.

Phantom closed his eyes, listening as Fenton's heart pounded a slightly quickened beat beneath his ear. He tucked his arms against Fenton's sides, holding him as well as he could without pushing his arms under Fenton and making him uncomfortable. He shifted upward a little until he felt Fenton's chin touch the crown of his head, and then he sighed, the breath a little shaky. "Like this. Please."

Fenton waited a second longer to see if Phantom would move a little more, but Phantom was half convinced he could remain like that well into the morning. One of Fenton's arms moved, its absence missed, until Phantom felt Fenton adjust the blanket over them, pulling it up around Phantom's shoulders. 

Phantom gave up an internal battle and slipped his arms under Fenton's back so he could hug him tightly. "Fenton," he said, his voice shaking.

"Yeah?" Instead of draping his arm over Phantom as before, Fenton brushed his fingers through Phantom's hair, tickling his scalp near the back of his head. "Is it too hot? It was actually getting a little too hot for me before you, er, joined me. We could probably lose the blanket."

Even had Phantom not heard the nervousness in Fenton's tone or recognized it in the way Fenton spoke too fast, he heard it in the thumping of Fenton's heart. "You would get cold, then."

"Well..."

Phantom clenched his teeth against more tears and turned his head slightly to nuzzle against Fenton's chest, the slide of Fenton's pajama top soft against his cheek. "It's perfect, Fenton. I had missed feeling warm."

He hadn't even realized how much he had missed it until now. He felt like he was melting into Fenton, basking in his heat, his presence. The weight of Fenton's arm on Phantom's shoulders, the gentle stroking of his hair, the feel of his solid, heated form in Phantom's arms felt like a balm to his soul.

"Oh," Fenton said. His heart began to slow, the nervous tension leaving him as it always did after the initial flare-up. "It's just that. Well. You're crying again."

"I know." Phantom smiled, but this time it didn't feel forced despite the single tear leaking down his cheek. "Happy tears."

"Oh. Really?"

"Yes."

"...Just from cuddling?"

Phantom's smile grew, became a little more playful. "If I say yes, will you let us do it more often?"

Fenton hummed, his chest vibrating beneath Phantom's ear, throwing off the previous gentle rhythm of Fenton's breathing. "We can cuddle every night if it makes you that happy."

Phantom choked out a few chuckling sobs. "Yes. That would. That would be great."

"Yeah. It's...not that bad. It feels nice. Holding you like this, I mean. I don't think I'd mind."

"Does that mean spooning might be in our future?"

"Can I be the big spoon?"

Phantom laughed again. For real that time. "No. I want to hold you."

"Well I want to hold you. So."

Phantom turned his face into Fenton's chest. He lost the sound of Fenton's heartbeat, but he had to hide his smile. The lovestruck grin would have given too much of his feelings away. Fenton might have guessed anyway. Phantom wasn't sure what else could have prompted Fenton to kiss his temple. Phantom felt that kiss down to his toes, and he made a tiny sound against Fenton's chest.

"I need to sleep," Fenton said, speaking more softly. "I'll prove how good a spoon I am tomorrow."

"Little spoon," Phantom whispered. 

"No."

"We shall just have to cuddle like this until we find a solution then," Phantom suggested. "Face to face."

Fenton hummed.

Phantom rested his cheek on Fenton's chest, ear against his heart. "New tradition. I want to sleep with you every night."

"You don't sleep," Fenton mumbled. "You'll get bored."

Phantom listened to Fenton's heart, wondering if it was slowing already or if he was only imagining it. Phantom wasn't tired, he never felt tired anymore, but he felt a lassitude overtaking him, sweeping his thoughts aside. Tension that had haunted him all day--all week--felt like it was draining away. It was almost as if, laying there, soaking in Fenton's warmth, Phantom had found peace. Home. Somewhere he could rest.

He whispered, "I don't think I will..."

[wolfs-hunt1]

Soaring Love 2

Pairing: Severus Snape x reader

Word count: 2645

Warnings: none so far, sorry for any typo

A/N: I did this mood board for this fic because I thought it would look better if we had some visuals to help, and I had a lot of fun doing it.

Part 1

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

Breakfast is a breeze, compared to the cold shoulder Severus gives you all the time since then. But all the rest of the faculty treated you warmly since most of them had been your teacher from the year you had had in Hogwarts.

You go back to your room, to start unpacking. You look around for a few seconds, accessing the room, and well everything could go. You reach inside your bag and rummage for a few moments until you can feel your fingers brush over a rectangular wooden object, pulling it out to reveal a bookcase. You walked to the wall that had a window, and put the tiny toy-sized bookcase on the ground, taking out your wand and performing an enlargement charm to restore the bookcase back to its original size.

Taking a step back to look at it, and make sure it fitted in that corner, you start to take the rest of your furniture out and placing them on the ground before enlarging them back to normal so you could decorate your room before the school term would start. After all, you would be living here until the term of the year, so you wanted to make it feel as homey as you could.

Books were flying out of the bag, floating themselves to the shelves with a swish of your wand. and your clothes were folding themselves in the air, before neatly laying themselves at the bottom of the drawers. The room looked like chaos if someone were to walk in, but it was little by little getting tidier, looking like a proper room and not an empty dusty space.

It took you the entire day to finish, but once you did, the room resembled a better-looking copy of your previous apartment, and it also seemed to be bigger as well, wish wasn't complicated since it was an overpriced matchbox.

Once your room was fully furnished and all you had packed before coming to Hogwarts was fully stored away you walked down your tower, to go to one of the many school courtyards to soak in the sun and enjoy the rest of the afternoon exploring the castle grounds and getting reacquainted with them. The school was bigger than what you remembered, even more so now that you had more places you could go to without getting into trouble since you are no longer a student. So many new shortcuts and hidden passages you were afraid to get lost eventually. Maybe you should get a map of the place, just as a precaution.

During the two next weeks you still had before term started you spend most of it with Madam Pomfrey, getting to know the Hospital wing like the back of your hand and where all the potions and salves were stored. She also showed you to the teacher's ingredients cupboard, where you could take all ingredients you might need for anything at all, and the staff room where you would spend your free time between classes to rest and prepare for the next one.

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

The term has started but for a week, and already you could hear all the students complaining about the potions master and his classes, dreading the times they had to go to the cold damp dungeons to have potions. You never minded your potions professor when you had been in Hogwarts in your time, but from the small amount of time you had known Severus, you could see how the kids would dread him for his cold demeanor.

Your first year's classes hadn't started yet, so you had a bit more time to prepare them for next week when the easily impressed youngsters would be having their first flying class. You had prepared a simple first day, to just teach them the basics, and let them have a bit of fun at the end of the class. If they all behaved.

The older years had started their flying classes though and they were taking it pretty well to the fact they had a new flying instructor. They already knew the basics of flying, so they really enjoyed the practical classes where they learned different maneuvers and how to play quidditch. They were all extremely excited, especially second years, since they would have the opportunity to try out for the teams in a few weeks, so they were all showing off their moves and speed on the brooms to try and impress the team's captains.

In the meantime, you were being kept busy helping out Madame Pomfrey, that had asked you to help her with bandaging and healing some students that seem to attract trouble since day one. One second year, in particular, that seemed to have been pricked repeatedly in an herbology class by a particular spiteful Spiky Prickly Plant, that kept shooting its thorns directly at him, no matter how far he backed away.

With both classes and helping out in the hospital wing, you were being kept pretty busy, often time getting to your room existed and ready to sleep right away. Especially after the night, you had night patrol walking the corridors at night to make sure no student was out of bed after hours. Waking up after those days was harsh, and often time you wished you didn't have morning classes to give, so you could stay in bed for a few more minutes to soak in the warmth of the heavy blankets, that were a welcome addition to your bed once the temperature in the castle started to drop on the last months of the year.

Often you found yourself, in your free time, down at the quidditch pitch, just soaring calmly in your broom, letting it float in the gentle breeze, laying down in your broom while looking up at the passing clouds. Sometimes you timed yourself, racing around the goalposts and back to see if you still had in you to do all the maneuvers in a timely manner. Trying to beat your own personal best times. All this made time pass so quickly that it was almost Christmas break when you blinked next.

It's been a tiresome week, so once you reach your room you basically pass out from exhaustion in your comfy four-poster and sleep on. At least until you are rudely awoken by the shooting pain in your leg and back, causing you to almost jump from the bed because of it. You try to take deep calming breaths to try and clear your head long enough to get up and limp to your desk where you kept your spare potions, only to find all the bottles empty, the pain giving an extra jolt through you as if mocking you for not being prepared.

You made up your mind and start walking to the supply cupboard, many many flights of stairs below you. You curse every step of the way, cursing whoever thought having that many stairs were a good idea. thirty painful minutes later you find yourself searching the cupboard in search of the correct ingredients only to find that there was no dragon liver in it. You sighed and started to walk over to the potion classroom down in the dungeons, there should be some in the storage of the ingredients there, or… you though, if you went directly to Severus office, he would have some for sure.

Taking the solution that provided you with certainty and not a 'might have' you decided to walk to Severus office, a crushing pain in your leg almost rendering it useless, making you have to clutch at the walls for support so you wouldn't collapse.

You walked down the corridor and knocked on the door, not expecting at all the gruff voice that came from the inside, sounding tired and annoyed to be getting disturbed at this late hour. You opened the door and walked in, slowly, taking in all the details of Severus' office. You could see him at his desk, buried behind heavy potion tomes, reading them diligently and taking in its knowledge.

"Good night Severus." you say in a low voice.

"(Y/N). It's late, should you not be asleep?"

"I would, but I ran out of my potion for the pain. And ingredients were missing in the teacher's cupboard… so I thought you might have some here in your office. I just wasn't expecting you to still be awake at this time working." you could hear his sigh and the scrape of his chair while he rose, pointing at the chair in the corner of his office for you to take a seat.

"You do seem in a lot of pain, is everything alright?" despite his blank facade, there was worry in his voice when he asked it, walking to a small cauldron in the corner and lighting a fire underneath it and pouring some ingredients inside of it, starting to turn a murky grey color.

"It's from an old injury that never truly left. Sometimes the pain comes back, and I usually have potions to take, but my stash has run out without me noticing and replenishing it back. You know you can just give me some dragon liver and I'll be on my way back to my room where I can brew the potions myself, no need to burned you with it."

"No need for that, I am after all the potions master in this school. I am more than capable of making you the potions and it would be no burned what so ever." he interrupts you, making you sink down further into the plush of the chair you were seated on.

"Very well then." you concede, while you keep watching him move around his office collecting all the ingredients he would need to make the potions, and then adding them to the steaming cauldron, the liquid inside changing colors occasionally.

"You know, you can let me be the one brewing them from now on, that way you would make sure you always have a reserved stash brewed on time, whenever you might need them." the offer surprised you. Severus was willingly offering himself to go out of his way to brew you your pain potions whenever you would need some more, and that seemed so out of character for him that you just stared blankly at him for a few moments before nodding in agreement, not trusting your voice to make itself be heard with the amount of pain you were still on.

"Very well then." he said, getting his attention back to the potion bubbling away in his cauldron. The pain had subsided a bit, but not enough to let you go back up the stairs to your room. "Dumbledore said you used to be the greatest player on top of a broom Hogwarts had seen for a while." was he really trying to make small talk?

"Hum…. yes, I guess. I left Hogwarts in my third year, so I was only here for a little while. It was enough to get me noticed by some quidditch teams. But after my accident, no one would take the chances."

"Accident?"

"It was in my last year of school in Ilvermorny, I had already been invited to make the team of Haileybury Hammers once I finished the school year, when it happened. I was playing a school match when a rogue bludger came hurtling at me and made me fall from my broom." he was intently looking at you, while stirring the cauldron, not wanting to lose any part of the story.

"What happened next?"

"I broke almost every bone in my body, spent the rest of the school year in the hospital wing in a coma, recovering. I was at risk of never walking again, let alone pick up a broom, so the team revoked their invite, and after I recovered, no other team would take me in, they didn't want to risk it."

"And the pain?"

"It resurfaces once in a while, there's only so much magic can heal. So I use the potions to numb the pain so I can go on with the rest of my day." he was now searching his shelves for an empty bottle to pour the liquid potion inside of it, having one vial to you right away so you could take it. "Thank you, Severus." the potion took a few minutes to start working, but once it did, you could feel all the pain ebbing away right away, instead of just numbing it like your potions usually did. "This one is quite a strong potion."

"Well, I wouldn't be much of a potions master if I couldn't make the potions stronger. Besides you seemed about to pass out from the pain, so I thought something stronger could be of help."

"Thank you, once again for it."

"I'll have new batched ready for you every week, if you need more sooner let me know, for now, I'll bottle the rest of the cauldron and deliver it to you in the morning." he walked to the door to open it, so you started to rise from the chair so you could leave the man alone, he was clearly done with your presence bothering him so late into the night, when he surprised you by supporting your back with his arm, accompany you to the door and out to the cold dungeon. "I'll accompany you to your room, to make sure you don't fall."

"You don't need to, I'll be okay…" he interrupts you by making a dismissive sound and waving his other hand around.

"It's no big trouble, I couldn't sleep anyway, so maybe having a walk before going to bed will help. So… is that why you took the flying instructor's position here?" he asked after a long pause of somewhat awkward silence.

"Yes. Flying was my everything, my parents were always on the move, so I learned how to fly in a broom from a very young age, being up in the clouds was my safe haven. Flying was one of my only constants, I never keep many friends since I rarely stayed for even one year in the same school. Hogwarts was the only one I stayed more time. Once I woke up, and they told me I might not walk again I wasn't worried about it, really, I was more worried I would have to give up on flying in my broom." Severus looked at you once you said that, almost like he understood the pain of what had to give up on something that you loved doing did.

"Dumbledor talks highly of your skills, he even said he was most pleased that you took the position, and he could see you teach the first years with all the knowledge you had." that made you smile. The students were taking your classes very seriously and because of that, you always let them have little games at the end of your classes, like dodgeball, but on a broom, training their fast reflexes on the broom, and letting them have fun in the process.

"I'm glad I took the position. I missed the bustle hustle of quidditch, so teaching it is the next best thing. And the students make it worth it."

"They could do with more discipline and attention in classes." he complained, making you stifle a giggle by the annoyed look he had on his face while talking about the students. But you could still hear the fondness he held for teaching them. The two of you reached your door and after helping you inside, and making sure you wouldn't fall off, Severus walked to the door slowly. "Good night (Y/N)." he said and left without much noise, leaving you to think about all that happened since you walked down to the dungeons a couple of hours before.

[karoiseka]

Forgotten Home

Spoilers for End of 5.0-takes place 5.1-2 ish. ((This is finally digging into a bit more of Karo’s backstory.  I really took my time with this one, and am very proud of it.  Hope you enjoy!))

The Twelveswood felt different. That was the only way Karoiseka could describe it.  The First was saved, and she was back on the Source again, giving an update to the Scions still here, but had felt a pull to the woods just to the South of Camp Tranquil.  The forest giants of years past had given way to a younger growth bordering Thanalan, the warm air from the desert colliding with the cool shade under the trees.  She could feel Ardbert's curiosity at what they were doing there, paired with her own.  The paths she had walked most of her life held an extra forgotten meaning that was clawing its way back into her memories. This wasn't just a hunting trail, like so many others, there--beneath the tall oak--she could remember her first hunting kill with her new larger bow, a gift from-- 

There was almost a physical pain as the forgotten memory surfaced, almost an Echo manifestation, and she could see a snapshot of the moment, Seirlait--her Da--proudly standing nearby.  Her heart ached as she saw his face in her mind as clear as it had been that day. As clear as it had been when she had waved good-bye to them-both her fathers- a smile on her face as they headed out to help with the preparations for the clash at Carteneau as she stayed to look after the cabin.  How? How had she forgotten them? Da and Pa both, the memories assailing her senses as feet tore along the trail heading to a destination her mind had not reconciled yet. 

There- that tree had been so good for climbing.

The little stream that held such wonders to the small child she once was. 

That clearing holding the best herbs for the evening stew to be cooked over the fire.

Tiny fingers weaving a flower crown, placing it triumphantly on Feophaux's (Pa’s) head.

The boughs of a willow creating a curtain to play hide and seek in--learning more skills from both her fathers. 

The perfect reading nook nestled high in the treetops with just enough light.

Eyes unseeing of the present, Karo lived in the flashbacks of her past as every step closer to- closer to home.  The word burned in her mind as a beacon, blinding her to all else. Was this what she had been seeking all these years? Wasn't that the Rising Stones?  Hadn’t she found her other home in the Crystal Tower on the First?  She vaguely remembered in her unforgotten recollections the Highlander and Duskwight, eyes full of grief as they watched her escape the cabin that she had lived in after the Calamity--and before she now knew again.  The pain in their voices as they pleaded with her to remember them, and the anguish when she told them to stop calling her their daughter.  She left shortly after, headed to Gridania to find her own way, adrift with scant more than the short bow she had been teaching-reteaching-herself to use, and a small pack. 

The Calamity.  It had to have been the catalyst of the memory loss, for she could see clearly now that nothing but muscle memory and a vague sense of what felt right were all that had remained from before that fateful day.  Now she wondered what had changed again, even as the sheepish feeling from Ardbert guided her to an answer.  The shock of living through the initial seventh rejoining of souls must have triggered the amnesia in the first place, her mind blocking the trauma of the moment.  The acceptance and welcoming of Ardbert's soul to her own had healed all those splintered parts, even those that were unknown to her to begin with.  It had taken time to come back to her, and a slightly longer stay on the Source than she had taken in a long while, but now that the trickle had started, the dam was broken--her mind filled with all that she had forgotten.  Ardbert ensured that they didn't stumble through the frantic rush she made down the trail--not caring about the tracks she was leaving in her wake. 

Malms later, her feet stopped and past and present collided as her eyes saw again. The small cabin was sealed tight against the elements, and the overgrowth in the garden and clearing spoke of no one having tended to them for at least two years. The Bard fell to her knees, a low keening sound filling the air--she vaguely recognized it as her own voice, grief overwhelming her.  The run, much less the mental exertion, had taken a huge chuck of energy from her, and Karo wept, broken at the sight of her childhood home--empty.

As the sun crawled across the sky, Karo slowly took in the details of the clearing.  Not much had changed in the years since she had left.  The garden was overgrown, but the perennial plants fought for their place among the weeds.  The archery targets were still affixed to the surrounding trees, all at different heights, some now hidden from the growth.  Bluebells covered the small meadow, and she remembered stubbornly throwing the seeds all over instead of planting them in neat rows in the flowerbeds because they were her favorite and she couldn't see the flowerbeds from her bedroom window.  Looking carefully, finally pacing forward on shaking legs, Karo noticed that the cabin was carefully secured--just as it had been every time they had left for their summer journey.  The only thing that concerned her was that it looked as if they hadn't been back in at least one winter--maybe even two or three--not even passing through during the warmer months. 

Digging into her newfound memories, she spun and headed to the tree that was surrounded by the most bluebells.  The archery target there was still attached to one of the lower branches, but the Bard still had to climb a bit to reach it.  Fiddling with the back of it, the small compartment made itself known, and the prize ended up in her nimble fingers.  The front door key.  Jumping down, she forced herself to walk fully around the house, checking for any breaches that could mean that the house wasn’t secure, or that someone or something, was residing within.  Not finding even so much as something that would let a draft in, she braced herself and headed to the door.

The key slid into the lock, and only needed a slight bit of jiggling to get it to turn, the door itself stiff from disuse and the hinges creaking with the rust buildup.  Karo was hit with the sweet smell of dried lavender, vanilla, and sweet cedar; all the smells she remembered that hearkened to what home meant.  The curtains being drawn left the main room in shadows, the light from the doorway streaming into the air laden with the dust she had kicked up by entering.  The cabin was one main room split with partitions into areas for cooking, dining, and leisure.  There was a bedroom for her fathers off to one side, and a small bathing chamber on the other.  The tiny loft above the bath area had been hers to claim, curtains creating a small wall for her privacy.

Leaving the door open for the light, and to air the place out a bit, Karo started to open the curtains to let in more natural light before she looked around for any clues to where Seirlait and Feophaux had disappeared to.  Absentmindedly, she headed to the kitchen sink, and ran the tap for a few moments, letting the components loosen up and water to come back through the pipes since it had obviously been a while.  Grabbing a rag, she wet it with the first bit of water that came through, and wiped down the counters, removing the thin layer of dust that had gathered.  A quick peek at the pantry showed that beyond some items that kept for seasons, naught had been left.  That was normal enough, so she continued on to the all-purpose room.  The large fireplace on one end was one of two in the house that provided most of the heat in the winter, as well as some basic charms.  The wall was lined with books of all types, and one of the racks of shelves was full of supplies for writing, and hooks for instruments that had obviously gone wherever their owners were.  

Karo’s attention was pulled to her left, for there, lying on the table near the fireplace, was a folded piece of paper, her full name carefully written across it.  Hands shaking, she picked it up carefully, blowing dust off of it as she broke the seal on the back and started to read.

Dearest Karoiseka,

If you’re reading this, it means, we hope, that you have found your way back home and that beyond our wildest dreams that you have finally remembered all that occurred prior to Carteneau.  

After you left, we continued on best we could, despite missing you dearly.  We know that we had spent a long time at Carteneau helping to clean up and transport people all over Eorzea, but we had not anticipated you not remembering us at all or anything from your childhood.

Some time after you left, at least a year, we started hearing your name out of Gridania--how you were a bit of a local legend as an adventurer.  You had cleared out several dens of evil, and were becoming beloved by all that crossed your path.  Incredulous, we followed any scrap of information we could get, hearing about the Scion, Primals, and Garlean forces and your role in taking them down only made us fear for your safety.

Then came the accusations from Ul’dah.  None of which could be true.  Word of you dropped off except for hushed whispers, before rushing back in a whirlwind of fantastical stories of you bringing the Dragonsong War to an end in Ishgard.  We even made the trek to Mor Dhona hoping to catch a glimpse of you, but left before we did--partially because we feared you still wouldn’t recognize us.  We heard that you were part of the Scions of the Seventh Dawn there, and even talked with an Ironworks engineer who said he had worked with you before.  Knowing you were safe among friends eased our hearts for a bit as we headed home.

Another year passed and the uprisings in Ala Mhigo are now all that the city-states are talking about.  The Scions are said to be helping with the organization and negotiations , so we have decided to pack up for this year and help.  I know not if we shall cross paths while there, or if you will ever see this, but we must do what we can to help.  Not only for those that live there, but for you as well.  Knowing that we can hopefully take even a little of the burden off of your shoulders is all that we can hope to do.

We love you, and miss you, and pray that you stay safe and healthy through it all. 

~Da an Pa

A hot tear splashed onto the paper in her hands as Karo put together the timeframe that they had been gone.  They hadn't yet returned from the liberation of Ala Mhigo--and they had left near the beginning of the conflict, well over two years ago.  Considering they had taken almost five years to return from Carteneau, she shouldn't be much surprised.  They were probably helping courier refugees back home, and the wounded to the respective city-states.  She paced the length of the room, worrying for their safety throughout the conflict as well.  It had been extremely wide-spread with the Garlemald forces targeting anything and anybody they even thought were helping the Resistance.  She had seen it time and time again from the small villages and hamlets throughout the region in the aftermath as she tried to ease her own guilt from not being there for them and tried to help with the smallest of tasks from anyone who asked.  She knew logically she could only be in one place at a time, and that the forces she had been helping were the same.  If they hadn’t done what they had, there was a chance the country would still be occupied even now..

Had she seen them though? Walked right by with unseeing eyes?  Had they greeted her, only to get her strained public smile in return and a generic platitude--all that she could muster?  Had she passed by their graves not knowing who lay there?  She had talked to so many people all over the broken country, her mind raced, but all the faces were a blur.  She had spent plenty of time in Doma as well, not counting for all the travel back and forth, during that time-paths may have crossed, or may have been missed without even the chance of happening.  

Karo wasn’t sure how many times she re-read the pages, and wasn’t fully aware that she had curled up in the large armchair until the evening light hit her eyes streaming in from the still open door. Blinking blearily, she stood and lit a couple of the candles to provide some light in the growing dark.  The house had electricity, however, she didn’t feel like finding and turning on the generator quite yet.  She closed the door, and got a glass of water from the tap, scrounging for some trail rations that were still in her pack from earlier.  The Bard didn’t remember relinquishing her bow and pack at the door, but old habits die hard, and they were neatly hung by the door on the pegs meant for that very purpose.

Tucking the letter safely in her bag she cleaned up the small mess she had made and went to the washroom to clean her face of the salt-crusted tears that had dried there.  Not a thing had changed, towels and soap stored neatly away in the same places they always had been.   The vase on the sink, usually filled with wildflowers picked during the day, was empty for the time--and she longed to fill it and keep the room cheery, but knew not how long she would be there herself.  Responsibilities still loomed both here and on the First, her comrades bodies still laying still in the Dawn’s Respite.

As she climbed up to her loft, not much had changed since she had last been up here.  When her memories had first escaped her, she had stayed down in the main bedroom, not realizing that it wasn’t her’s.  The loft she had never quite gone up the ladder-like stairs, and so it remained very similar to when she last called it her own. The bed was made, but with an additional sheet covering it all to keep the dust off, ready to be used at a moment’s notice.  The hope that lived in her parent’s hearts nearly broke her own, as she caved to exhaustion finally, Ardbert’s comforting presence allowing her to drift off to sleep when she thought it was the furthest thing from her mind.  

On the morrow, Karo would write her reply and leave it where she had found her own letter, secure the cabin once more and return the key to it's hiding place.  She wouldn't forget again now that her soul was healed, yet her obligations would keep her busy, she knew.  When she had time, she would ask her various contacts, hoping beyond hope that someone has news, and if they didn't, that her note would be read, and that they would return once more to the Rising Stones, asking for her proudly by name. 

[stop-breaking-my-heart-telltale]

[that’s just what the cold really is]

Sometimes I wake up at one o’clock in the morning to drink some tea and write a briolet oneshot. 

Don’t ask why because I don’t know what this is either. 

Read on AO3

---

Frost kisses the glass, starting from the wooden frame and spreading across the window. Violet stares past the ice, allowing her mind to clear itself, content to exist and be. How long has she sat there, cross-legged on her desk, watching the stillness of the night? Who knows. Long enough for her nose to become cold enough it stung to breathe through it.

Pressing a finger against the foggy glass, Violet glides it across to draw two eyes and a smile. Dumb and lopsided, she thinks, before smearing away one of the eyes. 

With a sigh, Violet climbs off the desk, stiff muscles wincing as her bare feet hit the hardwood floors, so cold it almost hurts to walk. 

Another sleepless night in the beginnings of winter, not an unusual occurrence these days. Not when thoughts of the undead and loved ones long lost haunt the most inner workings of her mind, and not when the cold irritates her eye to the point where she could just rub it better.  

If only she could put some pressure on it, warm it up enough to be uncomfortably comfortable, but the healing process for the loss of an eyeball is apparently a long and agonizing one. Possibly more so than the actual removal itself, though that’s debatable-- Violet doesn’t have nightmares about healing.

No, these days she still has nightmares about a cell much colder than her dorm, about disfigured faces holding her down as she struggles, spitting more curses than pleas. Lilly’s smug voice echoes in her ear from far away and a woman with a cold, dead stare hovers over her, knife in hand as she commands her to stay still.

Violet reaches her arm out to grab the bar belonging to the top bunk of her bed, the metal cold enough to burn her fingertips. She lets her hand drag along it as she makes her way closer to the door. She wouldn’t want to accidentally walk too close and stub her toe again. 

The hallway’s just as dark and still, and it occurs to her that it might be dangerous to walk around here barefoot. Sure, the school’s clearer than it’s ever been thanks to Ruby putting her foot down about everyone being a bunch of pigs, but that doesn’t mean Violet won’t step on a missed piece of glass or a tracked in rock. 

Does that scare her enough to turn around and head back into the forlorn darkness of her dorm to try and get some sleep? 

Violet makes it down the hall with ease, keeping a hand dragging along to wall to steady her. Not that she really needs to do that. It’s not like she’s completely blind. She still has one eye that’s as good as new, but having only one good eye makes for some poor depth perception most of the time. 

The outside chill cuts right through the thin material of her shirt, sinking down into her bones to bring involuntary tremors through her limbs. Rubbing her arms in an attempt to warm them,  she ventures into the yard, setting her sight on the stairs leading into the admin building. 

She doubts anyone will be in the music room tonight, though she is a little hopeful that Louis might be there. She’d enjoy a song or two tonight, she thinks. He could always was make her laugh, and perhaps that’s what she needed right now. 

Louis has his fair share of sleepless nights, and like her, he wanders out here to the music room. Work out frustrations by ‘tickling the ivories,’ as he puts it, or to comfort himself after a bad dream. Violet just hopes that if he’s here tonight that he’s alone. While she enjoys the company of both Louis and Clementine, the two of them being in there together at this time of night probably wouldn’t be the most innocent outing. Violet’s lone eye can only unsee so many things. 

“Jesus,” she curses. A particularly harsh gust of wind nearly knocks her down as she climbs the stairs. “Yeah, great, thanks for that.”

Well, if they are in there together, at least they aren’t freezing their asses off. 

Violet glares up at the sky, wrinkling her nose at the thought. 

Hell, even if they’re both back at the dorms, they’re still warmer together than Violet is out here by herself. Everyone who remains in their bed is warmer than her. Probably. 

Her face softens, gaze falling down to the steps beneath her. 

Maybe cold nights exist as a reason to drawer people closer to one another, to seek and feel the natural warmth only they could provide. Except what does that mean for those who are cold but lonely? Maybe that’s just what the cold really is, Violet thinks. 

Loneliness. Huh. 

Shit.

Maybe it’s her pride or the fact that she’s never felt weaker than she has the past six or so months after escaping the delta’s clutch, leaving her eye with them. Fronting that she’s tougher than she really is made her feel better, acting as though she’s content being alone or that she doesn’t need to rely on others for help even if she knows it’s bullshit.

Doing this always bit her in the ass on nights just like this one. 

It’s silent within the admin building, so it’s safe to conclude that Louis isn’t here. 

She’d never admit her disappointment aloud, but that doesn’t stop the feeling from tugging at her gut. She really hoped he’d be here, hoped they could talk for a while. For as loud and obnoxious as Louis could be, he could listen just as well, be just as quiet and sincere. It’s stupid now to think that she once thought him incapable of serious, deep conversation, not that she ever gave him much of a chance. Not that he gave her much of a chance, either. 

Just a couple of dumbasses, she thinks. Oh well.

Violet turns the corner to see the door to the music room wide open, inviting her in. Moonlight leaks in through the curtain slits, reflecting off the floor and the old piano. Strangely, it doesn’t feel as cold in here. At least, not as much as it is outside, or even in the hallway. 

She approaches the piano, contemplating if she should sit down. She has no idea how to play, nor does she have any desire to. Resting a hand on the worn-out wood, she curiously admires the inner workings of the piano with all its strings and doohickeys. 

Louis offered to teach her once, and she told him that piano music sucks. He never made another offer. 

“Vi?” 

Violet nearly jumps a foot in the air. 

Whipping around, she finds Brody curled up on the couch with a thin blanket over her leg and a mug in hand, wide eyes gazing up at her. 

“Shit, sorry,” Brody apologizes, setting her mug on the table beside the armrest. “Didn’t mean to startle you. Just didn’t think you saw me and I didn’t want to be, well, creepin’ over here without ya knowin.’” 

Violet presses a hand against her frantic heart, taking a deep breath and nodding. 

“No, yeah, definitely didn’t see you. Y’know,” she motions to the patch over her eye, “blind spot.” 

Brody seems to stiffen up, but gives an unsure nod, face falling as she glances down at her hands. She stretches out her legs, making like she’s going to stand but changes her mind. 

Violet frowns, silently scolding herself. 

“What’re you doin’ up?” Brody finally asks. 

Violet gives a halfhearted shrug. 

“Can’t sleep. Obviously.”

“Your eye?” 

“Among other things.”

Brody nods once more, and Violet can’t help but stare at her, even though Brody can probably feel it. Even from here, and with her vision impairment, Brody’s scare is harshly prominent against her more delicate features. Right above her brow, long and discolored now, fully healed. 

Violet almost scoffs aloud. Fucking Marlon. She hopes he’s freezing his ass off living down in the old train station now. After what he did to Brody, after finding out what he did to Minnie and Sophie, they kicked him out of Ericson. And even after everything with the raiders, after Marlon helped them escape the boat before it exploded, he’s still not welcome here. 

Well, more so Marlon decided it’d be in everyone’s best interest if he didn’t live at Ericson anymore, instead settling in the train station so that he was close enough if they ever needed him. Everyone agreed, even Louis. That was a surprise, but he agreed that Marlon being here with them wouldn’t work anymore, and maybe knowing where Marlon was and that he was safe helped Louis be content with the decision. 

Violet’s just glad she doesn’t have to see him every day, and that he’s far away from Brody, but even gone he’s left marks all over this school... all over Brody’s face. 

“What about you?” Violet asks to break the awkward pause. “Can’t sleep either?”

“Nah,” Brody finally looks at her, tucking a wild strand of hair behind her ear. Bedhead, Violet thinks. Funny. “Tossin’ and turnin’ don’t suit me. If I’m gonna be awake, I might as well be outta bed and doin’ something.” 

“Something like sitting in the dark like a weirdo?”

That gets a small smile from Brody. 

“Yeah, somethin’ like that,” she says. “Just wanted some tea and a change of scenery. Wasn’t expecting company...” she trails off, but keeps her gaze on Violet as she quietly adds, “but it’s a welcome surprise.”

Violet almost smiles despite herself, having to bite the inside of her cheek. 

Ever since they lost the twins, things have been rocky with Brody. After Clementine and AJ showed up, Violet felt for the first time in a so long that her friendship with Brody was salvageable, that maybe they could be close again. Clementine forced her to see what was really bothering her about Brody and why things were so shitty between them, and Violet found herself wanting to fix it. 

Then the truth Marlon and Brody were hiding from them came out, and Violet was beyond pissed. Even with Brody lying in bed, bandages wrapped around her head and her skin sticky and pale, Violet hated her. 

Yeah, hated her. Hated her for lying to her face for over a year, for keeping that secret to hide her and Marlon’s guilt, for trying to grow close with her knowing what she had done. 

Violet never fathomed that she’d ever forgive Brody, but then Brody healed and could explain everything. 

Then the raiders attacked, and she and Brody were taken away, forced to share a cell on the raider’s boat. When Violet failed to cooperate, and they... well, Brody was the one to hold her, sob into her shoulder from within that cell.  

Suddenly, a lot of things didn’t seem to matter anymore. 

“You want some tea?” Brody offers, holding up her own mug. “It’s minty.”

“No, no...” Violet shakes her head, shifting her weight from one leg to the other. 

“It’ll warm ya up. Can see ya shakin’ from over here.”

“Maybe I like the cold.”

“No one likes the cold.”

“Maybe I do.”

Brody rolls her eyes, throwing the blanket off and standing. Over by the fireplace, she lights a match to ignite her makeshift warmer to boil more water. 

Violet abandons the piano, finding a place on the opposite side of the couch as Brody wanders about the room, humming to herself. She comes back with another blanket, this one heavier. Violet accepts gratefully, covering her body up to her chin.

Brody hands her to streaming mug, the scent of warm mint clearing her senses. Violet can’t help but groan after taking a sip, the heat spreading through her body. 

“Good?”

“It’s okay,” Violet lies. ”I guess.”

Brody smiles. Violet wonders how close she’ll sit now that she’s here, but Brody doesn’t move to do so. Instead, she grabs one of the candles off the piano, flicking a match to light it. Violet raises a brow up at her, which Brody meets with a playful shrug. 

“it’s cold,” she says simply, setting the candle down on the small round table. 

Violet can’t help it. She laughs. That makes Brody smile. 

Her laughter dies when the couch dips with Brody’s weight beside her. 

“C’mon,” Brody grins, tugging at the comforter. “Don’t be a hog.”

Violet doesn’t bother putting up a fight, lifting the blanket to let Brody scoot closer. Shoulder to shoulder, they get comfortable. 

“Y’know what I miss?” Brody asks. 

“Summer?”

“No-- well, actually yes, I do miss summer, but that’s not what I was gonna say,” she brings her long legs us, tucking them beneath her. This makes her lean more into Violet and it takes all her concentration to not spill hot tea over her hands. “I was thinkin’ that I miss jerky.”

“Jerky?”

“Yeah. I used to go on these trips once a year with my dad to see my grandpa. Was always just to two of us, and we’d be on the road for hours, but we’d stop at this gas station-- the same one every time, and he’d get us these long sticks of spicy jerky that you could barely chew without feelin’ like ya were gonna break a tooth.”

“Gross,” Violet wrinkles her nose. “Ever break a tooth?”

“Nah, not really. Sure made my jaw sore by the time I was finished, though. Take ya about an hour to get through the whole thing properly. But Daddy said that was the point. Ya gotta chew it long enough to get all the flavor outta it, otherwise, it’s just a waste.” 

“He couldn’t’ve brought you a hotdog or something?”

“You ever have a hotdog from a gas stop?” Brody makes a gagging noise. “Wouldn’t be surprised if those things were made of roadkill off the highway.” 

“How’s that any different than what we eat now?” Violet asks, teasing. “It’s just in stew form instead.”

“I’ll tell him you compared his famous stew to flea-bitten roadkill.” 

“Do it,” Violet challenges with a smirk, setting her tea aside. “I can take him.”

Brody snorts out a laugh, hand flying up to cover her mouth to muffle the outburst, managing an, “Oh god,” out. 

Once Brody gets a hold of herself, Violet says, “Never had jerky like that. Though I didn’t go on many road trips.” 

“We could go on one,” Brody suggests lightly, nudging her. “Get away from here, go find a beach somewhere and sit in the sun.”

“Only if I get to drive.” 

Brody, a soft smile tugging at her lips, wraps an arm around Violet’s shoulders to pull her close, gently rubbing more heat into her arm.

Despite the heaviness in Violet’s stomach, it flutters at the feeling of her body pressed against Brody’s. She hesitates, but eventually leans into the warmth of her side, resting her head in the crook of Brody’s neck while slipping her arms around her waist. 

“Can’t tell anyone we’re goin,’ though,” Brody mumbles. “I’m not spending days in a car with Louis and his singalongs.”

“Twenty-five bottles of beers on the wall, twenty-five bottles of beer-”

“Oh god.”

“-take one down--”

“No!”

“-pass it around-”

Brody’s hand presses over Violet’s mouth to silence her, all while the both of them laugh together. For the first time that night, Violet doesn’t feel a single chill prick at her skin. She pulls Brody’s hand from her face, holding it in her own. When Brody doesn’t pull away, she takes a risk in lacing their fingers together. 

Brody squeezes her hand back in approval. 

The laughter dies down. Brody pulls the blanket closer over them, and together they sit for a while. 

Just as Violet’s eye begins to droop shut, the fatigue finally hitting her, Brody’s lips press against her forehead. Violet thinks to turn her head up to kiss Brody back, really kiss her, but doesn’t. 

Too tired, too comfortable, too warm. 

Violet allows sleep to take her. 

[unholyhelbig]

Werewolf Bechloe Prompt: Beca is away for the weekend to visit friends and/or family. One late night, Beca wakes up to a noise outside her window and finds a wolf looking straight at her.

A/N: So… It’s been over a year since I’ve updated this AU. This prompt has been in my inbox for close to two. But since it’s almost spooky season, I figured I’d give it another shot! 

Read the full Series here | Request Prompts here 

“It’s a full moon tonight, isn’t it Beca?” the question was innocent enough, wavered out and drawn between breaths. It took her great grandmother a lot to stir from her placid spot at the head of the table. That was her seat- had been since Beca was a young girl. She didn’t’ know if it had to do with age or if her grandmother would take over the place had she still been alive.

The sound of scraping forks picking up the last of watery gravy seemed to halt at the raspy voice. Her aunt Chrissy stopped tearing a doughy roll in half and her Uncle Roth kept the spoon halfway to the green beans, steaming and stinking. Beca herself stopped mid-chew and glanced at the older woman. Mute and quiet for as long as she could remember.

Her father nudged her shoulder like he was the first one to snap out of the trance. He raised his studious eyebrows and the whole family seemed to wait for an explanation. The potatoes and the roast and that awfully rancid gravy was left untouched in the historic-looking dining room. “Uh, I… I think it is, yes.”  

She nodded her shaking head and dug the prongs of her fork back into the garlic mashed potatoes before the room decided to pick up again. The conversation easy for family catching up after months of exchanging small texts or liking photo’s on Facebook. Beca fell into silence herself, pushing the dry meat around with her fork before zoning out completely.

Beca could stand the normal family interactions after a four-hour drive. She smiled and hugged and laughed when her cousins did. But she kept to herself, silently collecting the dishes as her father wheeled Grandmother May into the living room. She washed said dishes and let her hands grasp blindly through the hot water and bubbles before she ran a sponge over the unfinished meals.

“I haven’t heard her speak in years.”

The youngest of the family startled against the words of her older cousin. Josie was a tall and lanky woman with deep golden hair, a stark difference from the rest of the family with their stocky dispositions and deep midnight eyes. Hers were green, green, and cat-like. The black sheep of the family who still moved to Hollywood to set up lights on big-time movie sets. She and Beca had a lot in common; they spoke like equals.

Josie picked up a dishrag and moved to grab a rinsed plate “Mind if I help?”

“Hm, I was wondering if I was going to have to pick up all the slack myself,” Beca smirked, dunking another dish. “It’s weird though, the question about the full moon.”

Her Great Grandmother was right, however. The moon hung in the sky as if it were balancing from a velvet string. It illuminated the backyard, a little neon square blocked by their shadows cast against the grass. When Beca was younger she was always afraid an unearthed corpse from the cemetery up the road would make misty eye contact with her through the pane. She would cry when she had to do the dishes.

“She’s an old lady, I’m surprised she can follow the day of the week much less the lunar cycle.”

“Right,” Beca chuckled. She shut off the water and snatched a clean towel from the counter before drying her hands of the hot water. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard her voice. Maybe in tapes but it’s kind of unsettling you know? That she chose now, on our billionth family reunion to finally speak. And to me of all people.”

“Maybe you’re the favorite. Or maybe Great Grandma May is a shapeshifter bent on turning the whole family into wolves one by one-“Josie leaned close, her breath smelling of the strawberry candies that were kept on the front table. “Starting with you.”

Beca narrowed her eyes and mulled it over for a moment. “You’re a freak, you know that right?”

“You and me both, Bec’s.”

Beca hated to admit it, But Josie’s words clung to her like a tick on a deer. Not noticeable at first, not while they finished up the dishes and joked sparingly about the way their family would carry on for hours until their eyes grew heavy.

It wasn’t until she was balancing on the edge of a blow-up mattress with her aunt who snored, that she really gave the statement a once over. Her fingers traced absently at the scars against her arms from two months earlier. Still healing and red with irritation.

She stared at the ceiling, listening to the humidifier situated in the corner of the room. She tried to count the flowers that were plastered against the wall sometime in the late seventies. Shapeshifters. Ridiculous.

Beca had started to dose off, her breathing getting slow and her fingers curled into the t-shirt she wore. Eventually, she started to feel her body grow heavy. Her father used to tell her if she pretended to sleep, it wouldn’t be long until she actually drifted into unconsciousness.

Then there was a creak, an old floorboard in the hallway of the old ranch house. Her eyes show open and her heart pressed against the inside of her wrist. The blow-up mattress was starting to deflate and it crunched under her weight as she lifted herself up on her elbow.  

It was an old house, she told herself diligently, old houses made noises that were out of her control. The pipes would groan and the backup generator in the shed still sputtered black smoke even when it was idle- but wait- there it was again.

She blinked slowly and decided to rise to her feet as silently as possible to not disturb the other people in the room. The door hinges hissed and she hit the wrong floorboard that had settled in the first place.

Beca made it to the kitchen and grabbed a mug with a rooster on the side, filling it up with room temperature water. She gulped it down easily, reaching once more for the faucet- when she saw eyes.

Beca had been used to staring at her own reflection I the path of the full moon. It was pale and ghostly against the window-pane. She never looked for too long, never gazed where she wasn’t meant to. Everything that the pale moonlight touched didn’t seem tangible; it wasn’t of this world. The grass looked blue and the sky looked darker against the moon.

But those eyes, those orange eyes that nearly looked crimson, stared unwaveringly at her. Her fingers itched at the scars against her arms. They had mostly healed but they ached now. They burned and she scratched like it was a discomfort instead of an unpleasant memory.

Dogs didn’t scare her, and she wasn’t sure if she would admit it if they did. These eyes looked otherworldly. Another thing that was claimed by the moonlight. Even still, she set the mug down on the counter and leaned forward. She could feel the cold seeping through the glass. The creature blinked.

“I loved one once too.”

Beca felt her heart jump into her throat. If she was still holding the tacky glass it would have shattered against the floor into a million pieces, slicing into the bottoms of her feet. She turned abruptly, her back to the sink and to the wild animal that watched her like a vice.

Her great grandmother had wheeled herself into the kitchen. A blanket was draped over her legs, dragging on the floor. Her hands gripped the wheels and her ghostly grey eyes blinked at the glass patio doors. Beca was frozen in fear and curiosity. May’s stare focused on her in a matter of seconds- the only fast-moving thing about the woman.

“What?” Beca croaked out.

“I met him in the late ’30s.” She continued, ignoring Beca’s protests “he worked in a malt shop down by the coast in Maine. My parents used to vacation there for the month of June and the year I graduated high school was my last going. He was… beautiful.”

Beca nodded, and more than anything, she listened. She had seen pictures of her Grandmother May and her daughter after that. Her own mother was practically a spitting image of them both. She could almost imagine the choppy waves and the cold sand that wasn’t meant to be fully enjoyed.

“I knew from the start that he wasn’t human. His mannerisms, his strength, his possessiveness. There was something deep and wild against him but none of that mattered. I had never fallen in love so hard and so fast in my life.”

She swallowed “How did you know?”

“That I was in love or that he wasn’t like us?”

“Both, I suppose.”

Her Great Grandmother smiled sweetly, her stare returning to the moon-soaked yard. Beca knew the eyes were gone and the creature who gazed upon them had slinked back into the woods at the edge of the property. “He smelled like the forest.” She whispered.

They stood in a stifled quiet for what seemed like a long time before the same floorboards that gave her away in the first place creaked once more. Josie had stirred, seeing that she was missing. She flicked on the hall light and the dull yellow glow made Beca flinch.

“Jesus, what are you two doing out here?” She rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand “it’s nearly three am.”

Witching hour- Beca decided with a shrug as Josie grasped onto the padded handles of their grandmother’s wheelchair. May had gone back to her mute staring and her cousin shot her an odd look before speaking softly to the older woman, directing her back towards her room at the end of the hall.

Beca turned back towards the sink, placing the mug in the metal basin. She stared towards the forest, but it was no use, the hall light washed everything away. Even if the creature had returned, she wouldn’t know, and part of her didn’t want to.

[myownwutheringheights]

so i read “like daylight” which inspired me to make a bit of an nsfw request, if that’s okay? touch-starved malcolm becoming almost addicted to any contact with the reader, especially, but not limited to, sex. basically anything skin-in-skin drives him crazy in the best way. lots of fluff too :)

AN: I’m obsessed with this in every possible way. Dad!Malcolm is my favorite Malcolm, so I’m going to keep that up and continue from that story to fit this request and get some adorable feels in there too :) Readers, check out Like Daylight, but it’s not necessary to read this. 

Remember to send prompts to my main writing blog: shinebrightlikeamalcolm

Warnings: NSFW under the cut. 18+, reader has given birth, first time having sex postpartum. General Malcolm-ness. Angsty needy whump.

***

Malcolm bounced and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. A baby in his arms, and restraints on his wrists ready to be clipped into the system on the bed, the image would have been strange to anyone but the Bright’s. 

Lily was officially over a month old. Her schedule was varied and eclectic (as much as they tried for consistency, because the books Malcolm had ready all seemed to agree consistency was important), much like her father. For someone who had always claimed he would be a terrible father, Malcolm’s natural insomniac nature certainly fitted the schedule and needs of a newborn. He was eager to hold his daughter, help (y/n) get the sleep she needed and take care of Lily during the odd hours of the night.  And (y/n) certainly was not complaining. Between the milk she’d pumped earlier in the fridge, and a neurotic sleepless Malcolm who had read too much about child care, she was sleeping a lot more than the average new mother.

Both daughter and father could wake crying in their sleep, and Lily’s cries were not an annoyance but a pleasant distraction from his night terrors. She was a little blessing he’d never expected, and still felt he didn’t deserve. He bounced her gently in his arms, rubbing her little back in her warm pink onesie. He thought back to holding her for the first time, how he’d been filled with awe. She was this pure and perfect life, a part of him, and a part of (y/n). Malcolm kissed her head holding her close as her little fists held onto his gray t-shirt. She shifted and made the sweetest little sound and finally closed her eyes to return to sleep. 

Malcolm’s eyes glanced up towards the bed where (y/n) rested, and he saw her smiling softly as she watched her husband with their daughter. His eyes couldn’t help but lock on hers sweet gaze, on her sleepy smile. Her hair was cascading over the pillow, and bathed in the moonlight from the window, and she was the most divine thing he’d ever seen. 

He made quick but careful work of getting Lily back to her bassinet quietly. He quietly stepped away, turning the baby monitor back on, and bringing it back to the nightstand. He looked down at (y/n) then, and everything in him shifted to her, on her eyes looking up into his. And gods how he needed her. 

It had been a long time since they’d been intimate, for clear and obvious reasons. She needed to heal. She had to recover. They’d now exceeded her doctor’s recommended waiting period, but he still tried to remain patient. He’d been in therapy more often to deal with it, and taking on cases when he could with Gil and the team to distract him from that aching and painful need. It was constantly gnawing, an addiction that he’d developed for her so early in their relationship; for their connection, their intimacy. Their bond. It was special and precious to him, and so was everything that came from it - Lily - it was why he refused to tell Martin the name they had chosen for their daughter. 

Don’t think about him. Block him out. Lock him out. Focus on (y/n), he thought. Focus on her…. 

(Y/n) was a healing balm, a salve to fight away the darkness in him. They’d been incredibly intimate throughout her pregnancy and Malcolm had rightfully worried about how he would cope without her. Another human being couldn’t be a coping mechanism; but rightly or wrongly, her touch, her body, it was his. He’d promised he wouldn’t push her, no matter how much it ached. She needed time to heal and like hell if he’d get in the way of that. He wouldn’t be that kind of desperate monster. But he’s lie if he said it hadn’t had an effect on him. He knew perfectly well from his therapist what it meant to be touch starved. And here he was before her, close to begging.

Seeing her body change slowly from their child, seeing what her body was capable of, and how strong she had been…it had simply increased his love for her even more, if it was even possible, and he felt like he was starving for her. For her touch, for her kisses, for her body. Starving. 

He slowly slid under the covers to rest beside her and (y/n) rolled over to face him, her eyes and smile sleepy but shockingly content for a new mother. “You’re amazing with her,” (Y/n)’s hand came up to caress his cheek, her fingertips gliding over the stubble. Malcolm’s eyes closed, and he couldn’t stop the shudder that came from him as he leaned his head against her palm and into her light, gentle touch. “What is it?” She asked softly, knowing the answer and not surprised by his intense reaction. She knew the words that would come unbidden from his mouth. 

“I miss you…” Malcolm breathed out, desperation and a plea in his voice, a strain there too, to not react, to keep her safe. Resist. He had to resist. It was her choice, not his, when to resume intimacy. But it was the truth…he missed her. No, he longed for her. (Y/n) knew better; he needed her. It had been so long since they’d had sex that he was starved for anything she could or would offer him. She was his addiction and she knew that well enough. The joy of it was how much their longing was mutual; it always had been. 

(Y/n) smiled slightly, continuing to caress his cheek. She ran her fingers through his hair next and he moaned softly, leaning his head back, desperate. The movement exposed his neck more, and (Y/n) tenderly brought her lips to the sensitive skin. Malcolm gasped softly, not expecting the soft pressure of her lips, the tender nip from her teeth. It sent a shock through his body, sent a hiss from behind his teeth, it made his blood rise to his skin, and rush to his groin. He was hard and shifting beside her to find greater comfort. He needed friction, heat. Touch She knew what she was doing, and she knew what she wanted, and made her own choice and decision. Her legs shifted, rubbing together, her body slowly waking up and realizing it’s own longing and need. “I miss you too, Malcolm,” she whispered against his skin and it made his eyes go wide. The ache in his core became a burning inferno and he felt like he would cry out. 

It was an unnatural need, inhuman. It was what most people longed and searched for but never found. “Don’t say that unless you mean it, (y/n),” he begged. If she was just teasing him, he didn’t know what he would do. He felt at her mercy. She knew fully how plagued he’d been lately by desire and by her inevitable rejection when she hadn’t felt well enough. She knew how much she helped him, and how much her touch healed him. But she nodded this time, her smile brightening and reassuring him. She was ready.

She tugged his shirt off first, then pulled his hands up into her grasp, and unlocked the restraints. His pupils dilated as she unhooked him from the restraints; it was such a vulnerable and intimate action. Malcolm gasped as she lifted his wrists up to kiss them, her lips brushing over his pulse which was ever increasing. 

Her fingers slid over his pectorals, and down and over his abs, caressing over hard worked and earned line and a few scars of his strong body. His head leaned back at the sensation of every touch she graced him with. But it wasn’t enough to be touched by her; he needed his hands on her as well. 

He sat up and pulled up her sleep shirt. Malcolm couldn’t help but stare down at her breasts; they’d changed during her pregnancy, grown and more sensitive and heavier now with milk. He couldn’t wait, and brought his hands to her to tenderly massage her, cautious of hurting her. But her sigh and concealed moan made his cock grow even harder and he brought his mouth down to her, flicking over her nipple ever so softly, making her whimper. 

She held him to her breasts, her fingers lacing through his hair, running down his neck and as far as she could reach over his strong back, making him arch his back up into her hands, into her touch, while he kept his mouth on her, sucking her into his mouth, while he palmed and rubbed her other breast. With her free hands she pushed as best she could at his sweatpants and boxer-briefs. He kicked them down and pulled off the rest of her clothes, his eyes the darkest blue and gazing down at her. But she didn’t want to be stared at.

She pushed him up as best as she could and he laid back at her side, and she grasped her hand around his hard cock, and Malcolm’s eyes went wide and his throat ran dry as he gasped. No thought entered or left his mind, he was just suspended in that moment as her fingers knowingly moved up and down his manhood while they kissed. Soft flesh over hot steel. She gingerly cupped his balls in her grasp before sliding her hand back up him to spread the drip of pre cum over his head and Malcolm’s head rolled back, a moan escaping that he couldn’t contain. Every fiber of his being was screaming for her, begging for her.

He managed to think through the fog and he brought his hand to her center, finding that sweet sensitive pearl between her legs. Malcolm rubbed her tenderly at first, caution ruling for a moment. He wanted to take care of her over everything else. Even more than that, he wanted her to be safe. He bit at her lip the way he wanted to take every inch of her into his mouth. 

But he could barely think with her hand on his cock, and her sighs and whimpers against his mouth, echoing in his ears, and his own body crying out for her. He flicked his fingers harder over her clit, and she didn’t stop him, and showed no sign of pain. She bit down at her lip to hide any sounds, and her face showed budding pleasure. He felt over the soft lips between her legs and found her wet and wanting. He clawed at the sheets and at her, and she knew the time for any foreplay was done. They had forever for foreplay.

He needed her. Now

Breathless, his mouth crashed to hers, desperate in his yearning for her. He wanted all her kisses, to keep his mouth latched to hers for all time. He barely broke contact to breathe in the heat of it, but she gasped and broke the kiss to whisper to grab a condom. He nodded vaguely and reached into the dresser, ripping the little square and sliding the latex over himself. 

It was a blur of movement and motion as he settled back on top of her tenderly, kissing her again, bringing her up into his arms. “Are you sure?” He breathed out, feeling like his heart would be split in two if she refused him. He had known what it felt like to be in the brink of sanity, and he felt that again now, with her legs parted for him, with her wet and dripping with cream for him. But (y/n) smiled and nodded, urging him on. “I promise to be gentle...you have to tell me if it hurts.” 

“Hush, I know you won’t hurt me...I love you Malcolm Bright.” She whispered as she wrapped her arms about his neck. 

“I love you so much, (y/n),” He whispered against  her mouth as he kissed her sweetly, fighting to keep his own need at bay, to keep it in control in order to put her first. 

Malcolm took himself in his hand, and slowly guided himself through her entrance and he saw stars as he slowly joined them, filling her completely. She let out one small hiss and he stilled, his body shaking to keep control. (Y/n) nodded, telling him to keep going. “I’m alright, please don’t stop.” Her whisper brought him in even closer if it was possible, her arms wrapped around him tighter, bringing him in, pushing him in deeper to her, and she gripped him like a vise and he thought he’d lose his senses.

When she finally let out a sigh of contentment, that’s when he began to move. He pulled himself almost all the way out before thrusting back in, making her head lean back as she held him, her hips arching up to meet him and it only spurred her desperate touch starved husband on till he set a fierce pace with each thrust, hitting that sweet spot inside her that was alive and burning for him. She kissed him desperately, biting at his jaw and neck as he gathered her up into his arms, touching his forehead to her, their breath mingled as they panted together.

He kissed her back, trying to be quiet but also be fully in the moment. He sighed against her and settled once more into that fast, steady rhythm that filled her completely, and the sound of their thrusts, of his balls against her made her smile as Malcolm’s hair fell over his eyes, his face contorting in the beautiful way a man’s face does in pleasure; desperate and needing and vulnerable and holding back to wait out for her. He moved his fingers between them to tenderly rub her, spurring her on, hoping the pleasure would continue.

And it did. Gods did it continue for her. She felt her muscles begin to gather and tightened, clenching and she needed and longed for release. Malcolm urged her on, thrusting even harder and faster, till he felt her come undone. She spooled together till she was wound too tight and she spiraled under him in an explosion of white light behind her eyes, and a cry out. Her head leaned back as her nails raked down his back leaving marks, making his voice match hers as his own pleasure mounted and built inside him till it was almost painful. The way she gripped him, spasmed about him in that moment sent him over the edge and he cried out.

Malcolm’s cries of pleasure were only matched by the look on his face as he orgasmed, his eyes closing, and when they opened were the most incredible blue of the sea. He thrusted through both their climaxes, helping them to linger as long as possible as he came, and he missed coming inside her, spilling into her freely, filling her with warmth. But this was perfect for now. He panted for breath as (y/n) pushed his hair back, and he once against settled his cheek against her palm before he half collapsed on top of her, both of them recovering from the efforts of their passion and their love. She caressed his hair and scalp as he settled and relaxed, and she predicted Malcolm would sleep well tonight.

Perhaps tonight he wouldn’t be plagued by terrors. “Feel better?” She asked with a gentle giggle, shocked that Lily was still asleep after all the commotion. He nodded sleepily against her chest.

“Are you alright?” Malcolm asked, looking up, and her fingers grazed over his stubble. And she smiled; it was the most warm and reassuring thing.

“I’m way more than just “alright,” Malcolm,” She teased. He nodded, slowly shifted and pulled out of her with a groan, always hating to part from her. He dragged the condom off, and went to throw it away, clean himself up. He put his boxer-briefs back on for when he inevitably had to go fetch Lily. He went and got them both some water and he now pulled her in close to rest against his chest, and he lovingly tucked her hair behind her ear.

“I love you....with all that I am.” He whispered, gazing down at her. (Y/n) beamed back up at him, stretching up to bestow one more sweet kiss upon his lips.

“And I love you too Malcolm. Forever.”

When she looked up at him again, he was asleep. The hard won sleep from making love, he was passed out. When Lily did wake up, (y/n) let Malcom sleep. He didn’t even stir, and she couldn’t help but smile down at the handsome face and body of her husband. For his nights were usually restless and full for terrors, but tonight they were peaceful and deep.

He was a man starved no longer.

[alecmagnuslwb]

Fantasy

Writer’s Month 2020 Day Twenty-Eight

Read on AO3

The sunlight streams in through the parted curtains, a bright streaming light that tells him they’ve gotten to sleep in today. He closes his eyes peaceful.

��John, wake up,” Zatanna’s voice says from somewhere above him, melodic and slow.

John hums eyes still closed. “Five more minutes,” he grumbles tossing an arm over his closed eyes.

“No, John now,” she says picking up his arm. “You have to wake up now.”

Her tone has shifted, urgency in it he doesn’t understand.

“John, please wake up,” she says the tone growing more worried with every word. “Come back to me.”

Finally his eyes open and she’s over him looking well rested and bright, her face not matching her tone. The sunlight is streaming around her like a halo.

“Wake up Constantine,” she says once again. He’s about to tell her he is awake, he’s looking at her in the warm morning light awake and alert, but before he can she’s pressing a hand to his chest hard. A sharp jolt goes through him, his vision blurs.

When it clears there’s no longer sun streaming in, Zatanna’s face still hovers over him, but not well rested, she looks exhausted like she hasn’t slept in days a track of drying tears on her cheeks. A halo of light still surrounds her head, but it’s from a flickering cracked lightbulb instead.

“There you are,” she says her voice washing over in relief. The hand pressed to his chest moves to his neck rubbing gently.

“Zee?” he says groggily taking in his surroundings as he sits up, she helps him hands hovering in worry. No longer is he in a bed surrounded by golden silk sheets, he’s on a dirty basement floor the stench of death around them instead of the wafting scent of fresh coffee.

“You’re okay, the Djinn’s gone,” she says, he feels magic, her magic coursing over his skin softly checking him over for injury.

Djinn. He remembers now, the string of disappearances that Boston had caught onto, the bodies drained of their very lifeforce nothing left but husks. Then the Djinn he’d tracked without backup assuming it wasn’t strong enough to take him on yet. He’d been wrong, it hadn’t been one Djinn working alone. A struggle comes to memory but the details of where and how escape him. All he knows is it led to him here weak and tired in some abandoned old basement.

Clearer in his mind is the fantasy world the Djinn had sent him to, the world where he wasn’t being drained of his life slowly. The world the Djinn used to immobilize him and take his real life away.

“Help me get him up,” Zatanna says to someone. Andrew comes into view pulling John’s arm over his shoulders and helping him up, Zatanna settles his other arm on her own shoulders steadying him. His legs feel like jelly as he tries to walk. “Easy,” Zatanna says bringing her free hand to his chest.

“I can help you banish all of this,” she says turning her head to the side where John now sees Boston hovering.

“Go take care of him I got this,” he says shaking his head at her, a stern tone in his voice John’s rarely heard. He floats away after nodding at John leaving no room for argument.

“Portal me back here after I help you get him settled and I’ll make sure this mess gets cleaned up,” Andrew says shifting his hold on John. The shift allows him to survey the room, it’s a mess of death and destruction. Skeletons of god knows how many previous victims are piled around and three bodies that look nearly fresh probably not dead more than two days hang near where John had been hanging as well. The floor is soaked in black sludge, the blood of Djinn’s, the decapitated and demolished bodies of five of them laying in waste. He can sense Zatanna’s angry magic hovering around at least three of them still.

“You’ve used enough of your energy as is these past few days, leave the cleanup to us,” Andrew says pleading with Zee to let them handle things.  

Days? Has it really been days since he tracked down that single, scrawny looking Djinn, has he been missing all that time? No wonder Zee looks so tired.

Zatanna nods a grateful look in her tired eyes. She brings up a hand and quietly conjures up a portal that they all step through, John practically being carried by the both of them. Andrew helps Zee settle him on the bed in their shared room in the House of Mystery before she brings up another portal for him to go back to help Boston.

He settles a hand on Zee’s shoulder and squeezes once, she reaches up grabbing his hand for a moment and giving him a tired smile before he steps through the portal backwards.

He feels a little out of body as Zatanna strips him down to his underwear her hands softly healing every mark she comes across. The rope burns around his wrist and the ache in his arms from where the Djinn had suspended him from the ceiling slip away as she casts spells of healing under her breath. She leaves the room for a moment after that. He closes his eyes and when he opens them she’s gone and for a moment he worries this too has all been a fantasy.

She notices the panicked look on his face when she comes back in and rushes over sitting the tray in her hands down. She crouches between his knees, resting her hands on them.

“I’m here,” she says rubbing her hands slowly up and down his thighs. Her polish is chipped and her fishnets are ripped in little spots he notices, both the product of her nervous habit to pick at them when she’s stressed. “I’m here.”

She repeats it like a mantra till she’s certain his eyes clear and he reaches out a hand to run his knuckles down her soft cheek leaning into the touch. It’s only then she seems certain that he believes this is real.

After a few minutes she pulls away just enough to grab the glass of water she’d brought in encouraging him to drink it down. He does in a few quick gulps, his body realizing how thirsty he is at the first sip.

“I got the poison and paralytics all out of your system with magic, but it’ll probably be a few days before you get your energy back fully,” she says softly her hands still moving across his skin, reminding him she’s here and this is real while he picks at the food she’d brought in as well.

He eats about half of it before giving up.

“How long?” he asks the first thing he’s said aside from her name since she woke him up.

“Three days,” she says lifting up and moving the tray to sit beside him. She gently uses her fingers to tilt his head her way. “One more and I would have lost you.”

On the fourth day a Djinn’s victim dies in their fantasy and in real life, always without exception there is no turning back from that point. John swallows hard and nods.

“It all felt so fucking real,” he says, angry at himself for not figuring it out, for playing into the fantasy and letting the hold on him become so strong. “I should have known; I should have been able to fight back.”

The fantasy wasn’t some white picket fence life, but it was something that John knows deep down he’d give anything to have. It was a world where his mother never died, where he still had magic but not a darkness pulling at one hand constantly. A world where he met Zatanna in a bar one night and they bonded over magic and fell in love easy and simple. A world where he woke up next to her every day in a shared apartment and went to work at a club she owned and performed at every weekend.

A world where they weren’t constantly fighting off apocalypses, where Batman didn’t have their phone numbers and Boston and Andrew were just two living men that happened to be their best friends. Hell, Swampy was even there, Alec and Abby Holland their friendly neighbors they did regular date nights with.

It was a world where John wasn’t jaded and damned. A world where the magic in his blood isn’t the only thing he has to offer anyone. A world where he didn’t make the woman sitting next to him cry.

She turns pulling John in as close as she can from the angle she’s sitting, gripping his hands tightly.

“It’s not your fault,” she says. It is. He shouldn’t have followed that thing without backup, without telling her where he was. Then she wouldn’t look as tired as he feels. “You couldn’t have fought back, you fight a Djinn once it has its hooks in you, you die faster. By living out the fantasy you gave me more time to find you.”

Logically he knows that, but he’s John Constantine if anyone could have pissed off a Djinn enough and fought back he likes to think it’s him.

“Still,” he says looking at her with defeated eyes. She shakes her head pulling him into a strong embrace. She doesn’t say anything just holds him close, her fingers carding through his hair.

In the fantasy the Djinn had expertly crafted up for him from his subconscious he felt like he could give her everything, here he has nothing to offer her and yet she takes everything without hesitation.

She pulls back after a while running a hand across the more than a stubble that’s grown across his chin.

“You should get some sleep,” she says resting her forehead against his. He protests despite the fact his body is begging for a good night’s rest.

“I just slept for three full days, Zee,” he says. She lets out a deep breath her eyes closing slowly, but her head staying put resting against his.

“A paralytically induced dreamscape while hanging from the ceiling for three days and being drained of your life force is not real sleep,” she says. She pulls back then her eyebrow raised in challenge. A look on her tired, beautiful face that’s daring him to argue with her right now.

He thinks of the fantasy world where she never looked tired, where she never had to challenge his stubbornness over such serious things and relents.

“Only if you join me, I know you haven’t slept in three days either,” he says brushing a stray hair from her face.

“Damn, I look that bad, huh?” she says, the joke falling a little flat with how tired her words are.

“You’re gorgeous, but you’re also exhausted,” he says cause it’s the simple truth.

She smiles softly and nods.

“Okay, give me a minute,” she says standing up from the bed. “Can you get settled?”

“I may have been on death’s door, but I think I can lift some sheets and get under them,” he says a bit of his usual snark returning.

She snorts and steps away. John moves and damn he might have been wrong about his capability to lift some sheets and get under them. His whole body feels heavy, but he manages somehow to move around leaning back against the headboard and watching as she changes from her battle-ready outfit to an old The Clash t-shirt that used to be his.

It speaks to just how tired she is, how tired her magic is that she’s doing this manually. John’s seen her banish her clothes and change full outfits with a wave of her hand more times than he could possibly count.

Once she’s done she flips the light switch off and crawls into her side of the bed. John slides down slowly to settle on his side as she does the same. He winces slightly once he settles the tiredness in his bones leaving him sore in certain spots still.

Zatanna’s hand is on his arm in an instant the start of healing spell at the tip of her tongue.

“It’s alright, luv, just tired. Save your energy,” he says grabbing her hand lightly and pulling it so he can thread their fingers together near his heart.

She looks him in the eyes for a moment searching for a lie before settling believing what he says. She scoots over keeping their hands joined between them and wrapping her other arm tightly around him like he’s not the only one in need of confirmation this is real.

Maybe tomorrow he’ll tell her about the fantasy world he saw, about the old insecurities it brought up of how he’s no good for her, but for tonight he’ll choose to get lost in what he has, in what’s real and perfect as is and hold on.

[ericsonclan]

Safe From the Cold

Summary: On a rainy night, Clementine snuggles in bed with Louis and A.J. to keep warm.

Word count: 953

Read on A03: 

Clementine could hear the rain tapping against the broken glass of her windowpanes and dripping onto the chest of drawers between the bunkbeds. The wind was blowing outside and moving the sheet they’d draped on the side of the bed facing the windows in order to keep the rain from reaching them. Clementine blinked sleepily, not sure what had woken her. Perhaps a loud noise outside? Whatever it had been, it was gone. And she was safe inside, safe and warm.

Clementine looked around at the fort the three of them had constructed to keep safe from the rain. There was the sheet that ran all along the exposed side of the bed frame, keeping out the wind and rain. Louis had also brought out his pillow stash and tucked the pillows along the sides that touched the wall, ensuring that none of them would grow cold from the chill of rolling against the cold wall or bedframe in the middle of the night. They had stripped A.J.’s bed as well as Louis’ old bed of all sheets and blankets, meaning they had three times the usual amount to keep them warm. Then they had curled up together, A.J. in the middle, and told stories until each of them fell asleep.

Louis’ breath was tickling her forehead, gently rustling her hair. Clementine smiled over at her boyfriend. It was so comforting having him here. Back before Ericson on nights when it was rainy or cold, Clementine and A.J. would have to make do with whatever makeshift shelter they could find. Oftentimes they would sleep in the car, crowded together in the backseat for warmth, both of them struggling to find a comfortable enough position for sleep to take them. When A.J. was little Clementine would take off her jacket to use as a sort of blanket to shield him from the cold. As he grew older though, he insisted she stop, noticing how much Clementine shivered without it. He had to take on so much responsibility at such a young age… sometimes it still made Clementine’s heart hurt.

She looked down to see A.J. nestled amidst the blankets, kept warm on both sides by her and Louis. His expression was peaceful, the smallest hint of a smile at the corners of his lips. Maybe he was dreaming about something happy. Resting her head back upon her pillow, Clementine felt her nose drift into A.J.’s afro. It certainly was a snug fit having three in a bed, but it only helped keep things all the warmer. Louis’ legs were tangled with Clementine’s under the bedsheets. Her stump now fully healed, Clementine could move without fear of pain or injury. Her full leg shifted slightly and Louis stirred for a moment in his sleep only for his arm to stretch further around Clementine’s waist before he settled down once more.

Clementine watched Louis with amusement, internally giggling as a single dreadlock swayed back and forth across his face with each breath. He always seemed able to conk out like a light whenever they slept in the same bed. At first she’d envied him that, but with time Clementine had found the same effect rubbing off on her: she’d drift to sleep without even realizing it was happening and wake up long after the sun had risen. Violet said Louis was having a bad effect on Clementine and Clementine did have to admit she’d missed a few shifts while lost in the warmth of his arms on days she was meant to rise early, but that seemed like the best sort of problem to have.

She didn’t used to sleep well at all. Hunger and fear kept her on edge at all times, but she’d learn to accept them as ever-present facts of life. It was the nightmares she never got used to, memories of that night when she’d come upon McCarroll Ranch. The events of that night played again and again within her dreams for years, haunting her. Sometimes the faces were of those she killed, other times those she had known and loved took their place. Alvin giving her the finger, his other hand struggling to keep his lifeblood from seeping through his neck. Mark, his face burned to charcoal, begging for her to kill him just as he’d begged for help that day at the farm. Ava drawing a knife on her and being shot in her efforts to protect the children. Katjaa lying dead upon the nursery room floor, a screaming child the only sound within the room.

The nightmares weren’t altogether gone, but they didn’t come as frequently or strongly as they used to, and once Clementine awoke she could bury her head within the warmth of Louis’ chest until her heart calmed and she could fall asleep once more. In the past on a night like this, stormy and cold, Clementine wouldn’t have slept a wink. Now here she was, warm, safe, and already drifting off to sleep once more. Letting out a yawn, Clementine shut her eyes, finding the sound of rain soothing for the first time since she was a child hiding under the covers of her parents’ bed tucked safely between them.

Snuggling closer, Clementine felt a contented sigh leave her body. There was a time when she thought those nights huddled in the car with A.J. were the best she could ever hope for. That she’d never be able to find something better, to build anything that would last. Yet here she was with a home, a family, a future, Drowsily, Clementine felt one last conscious thought drift through her mind. I’m definitely missing watch tomorrow morning.