#what wondrous times we live in

[chernobog13]

Okay, now that this film has won an Academy Award©, it's time to re-release it in theaters for a victory lap!

[yuelun]

Tag drop #2: Character things and dynamics (more will be added).

[roanofarcc]

GETTING EVEN

pairing. tyler owens x harding!reader

summary. after tyler owens saved your ass, you return the favor. (part 2 to this fic) 

warnings. descriptions of injuries and tornados. reader is the daughter of jo & bill harding (from the og movie!). hurt/comfort (tending to each other wounds? hot). tyler’s the number one loverboy and I stand by that.

a/n. fun fact, my sister's mother-in-law also survived a tornado by hugging a light pole!

word count. 3.7k || masterlist

You stabbed a piece of pancake on your plate, determined to ignore your mom as she spoke from the stove. “Would it be the worst thing in the world?” 

“Yes,” you and your dad answered at the same time, meeting each other's eyes with a small smile. 

Your mom, Jo, sighed deeply and spun around to face the two of you, one hand on her hip. “He’s nice! He’s handsome and-” 

You groaned, feeling a teenager again, mortified that your parents are bringing up any aspect of your love life. Ever since Tyler Owens had helped you to the hospital after a tornado took you and your friend by surprise during a chase, your mom wouldn’t let you go five minutes without bringing him up. 

You were back in town, staying at their farm as another slew of storms were forecast for the surrounding area. Your team was due in later that night, all crashing with your parents, which was their idea. They wouldn’t admit it outright, but that was one thing they missed the most about their storm-chasing days, the friendships formed within their team. Your mom brought out her aunt’s recipes and cooked a big dinner, and your dad was harassed into telling stories of their storm-chasing adventures- which he secretly loved. 

Since the storms were predicted to be pretty wicked, you knew Tyler and the rest of the Wranglers would be around. And while you would rather die than tell your mom, you were excited to see him again. The competition between the two of you for an arbitrary ‘best storm chaser’ title was left behind after you woke up in the hospital to see him still there with you. Instead, your relationship inched more toward friends; though, your mom seemed convinced it was something more. 

“Look, if our daughter isn’t interested in running away with some tornado-wrangling cowboy, I don’t think we should encourage her to,” your dad, Bill, said. 

“I don’t have time for a relationship, anyway,” you added. You were too engrossed in your research to think about a relationship, serious or not. You were content with your team. And your mom’s little fantasy would require Tyler to be interested in you, which you found unlikely.

Yet, your mom persisted. “We did it,” she said, pointing between herself and Bill. “We balanced both work and a relationship. It’s not impossible.” 

You snorted. “Yeah, and you two almost got divorced.” 

Your dad laughed into his coffee mug, hiding it as your mom huffed. 

The thrill of storm chasing, running down backroads as a twister roared beautifully across the ground, wasn’t the only reason you did it. That was only one part of the job. Then there was the research. But the hardest part was trying to help people. Tornados were wondrous but dangerous. They ruined lives, tearing through towns. And while warning systems and radars had advanced significantly since your parents' days, nothing was perfect. That’s why you were the first people to rush into a crowded town directly in the path of a storm and do what you could to ensure people’s safety. 

When a member of your team noticed one of the storm cells you were watching was heading towards a little downtown area not too far from your parents’ farm, you all decided that was where you needed to be, instead of chasing after the storm further west. 

You were close, beating the storm to town, and when you arrived you realized the Wranglers had the same idea. The second you stepped out of your truck, the harsh winds knocked into you. The sirens just started, warning the people of the quickly approaching storm. People were running down the sidewalks, hurrying into buildings to shelter. 

You jumped into action, hurrying some slightly dazed people to safety, along with your team. The storm inched closer, and you knew you only had a few more moments before you needed to take cover yourself to ensure you didn’t get whisked away. You’d lived through enough tornados to know what to do with little fear, but ever since your close call with your team member Frankie, earning you a couple stitches on the back of your head and a newfound appreciation for Tyler, your nerves were a little heighten; you become a little more cautious. 

You turned on your heel to hurry towards one of the buildings, but you caught sight of the tornado wrangler on the other side of a parking lot, searching for something. 

Pressing your lips in a hard line, ignoring the drum inside your chest that started to beat a little faster with the closeness of the storm, you took off after him. 

“Tyler!” you yelled above the howling wind that threatened to knock you off your feet. Rain beat down against your skin, soaking you to the bone. You called his name once more as you neared, finally earning his attention. 

“Harding? What the hell are you doing?” 

“What am I doing? What are you doing? Taking a mid-day stroll?” 

He shook his head, forced his wet hair out of his eyes. “Some kid’s dog got spooked, ran this way, but I can’t find her.” 

You glanced up at the sky, the dark clouds giving the allusion of nighttime. There was a little tremble in your hand, but you steeled your nerves. “Dogs are smart. She’ll find her way, but we’re goners if we don’t get a move on.” He frowned, clearly torn between helping a lost dog and saving himself. “My team and I will help you look after; I promise.” 

With a sigh lost to the wind, he nodded and pointed toward the building others had filed into. “There’s a basement in the library.” 

Together, you two took off in the direction of the library, but the storm rolled in much quicker than you anticipated. It came in with a vengeance, peeling objects off the ground, big and small, with ease and tossing them all around. You ducked, nearly missing a chair that once belonged to one of the downtown restaurants' patios. Your heart started to race uncomfortably, inching toward fearfully. 

Tyler grasped your hand, tugging you to the side as more debris whizzed past you. The rain made your grasp slippery, but you squeezed his hand tightly. There was too much distance to cover, and the tornado was determined to put every possible obstacle in your path. 

It became harder to run but you felt so sure you and Tyler would make it; that was, until the tornado came around the block, tearing into a building and sending the debris in your direction. You didn’t even know what hit you until you felt Tyler’s hand slip from yours and your chin collided with the pavement. A cry of pain fell from your lips, but you rolled over quickly, in search of Tyler. He wasn’t far, just out of arms reach, on the ground. 

You half crawled over to him, tugging on his shoulder until you noticed the look of pain twisted on his face. Your gaze trailed down to his leg and found his foot stuck under a heavy beam plucked from the building the tornado tore through. 

“Shit,” you whispered, grasping the beam with your slippery hands and desperately trying to lift it off. It wouldn’t budge, crushing Tyler’s ankle. 

“You gotta go!” he yelled, trying to wave you off with his hand frantically. 

You stared at him in disbelief. Adrenaline pumped through your veins and the rain clouded your vision. There wasn’t a chance you were going to leave him. Your chest felt impossibly tight, pulling more and more with an indescribable fear you’d never experienced before. Using some kind of strength you didn’t know you had until that moment, you managed to lift the beam just enough for Tyler to pull his bloodied ankle out from under it. 

“Come on,” you cried, trying to help him to his feet. He grunted in pain, pale and breath labored. 

“We’re not gonna make it,” he wheezed out, talking about the library the tornado was already upon. You made a sharp turn, bee-lining toward the building you landed directly in front of. 

There wasn’t even time to get inside. Instead, you half helped half dragged Tyler to where there was a large light post cemented to the ground. It wasn’t much, but there were no other options. Tyler sat on the ground, pulling you down quickly beside him before he wrapped his arms around the pole. You hooked one arm too but kept your other pressed against Tyler’s head. You could take another hit, but you weren’t sure he could. 

You closed your eyes, sending a silent prayer that everyone would be okay. The storm roared, stinging your ears and tugging on you harshly. But, somehow, the both of you remained hugging the light post until the tornado dissipated after an excruciating amount of time. That was the thing about tornados, when you were chasing them, they never seemed to last long enough, but when you were in them, they never seemed to end. 

Shaking from a mix of adrenaline, fear, and cold you unwound your arm from the pole before you brushed your hands along Tyler’s shoulders, drawing his attention, and making sure he was still there. 

You two sat nearly nose to nose, droplets of rain decorating his face, falling his lashes as he tried to blink them away. “Are you okay?” you muttered, voice shaky. 

He let out a breath and tried to shift in his position, but his face twisted up in pain once more before he cursed under his breath. You glanced at his ankle, his jeans were stained with a smear of crimson, but the rest was hidden under the fabric. 

“I think it’s just a sprain,” he said, trying to shrug it off but you saw through him. You struggled to your feet and moved to help him, but he tried to stand on own. He leaned heavily on the light pole, trying to hide a wince. 

You heard his and your name being called in the distance. You hooked an arm around his torso, gazing at him for a moment. “Come on,” you said, gently guiding him back towards the road. As soon as you stepped out onto the sidewalk, you spotted your team and a couple members of Tylers. 

“Holy shit!” Frankie gasped, running towards you. “What happened to you two? We thought you were right behind us?” 

Tyler tried not to lean on you, but you felt his grip tighten on your shoulders with each step. “I think we need to take him to the hospital,” you said, worry seeping into your voice. 

Kate and Javi snapped their gaze at Tyler, who shook his head. “No, really, I’m fine. I think it’s just a little sprain,” he repeated. 

Kate looked at you, half ignoring Tyler. “What happened?” 

“His ankle was crushed under some debris.” 

“I’m right here,” Tyler said. “And I said I’m fine. I don’t need to go to the hospital. But we’ve gotta find that dog-” 

“You mean this lil’ guy?” Boone asked. He and Lily stood with who you assumed was the kid who lost the dog, but who was now cuddling it in his arms with a wide smile on his lips despite the destruction all around them. “He came runnin’ out just a minute ago. Smart dog.” 

You smiled softly, looking at Tyler who sighed in relief. “I told you.” 

“I think the nearest hospital is…” Javi trailed off, looking at his phone with furrowed brows. “Twenty minutes south, just off the interstate.” 

“I’m not goin’ to a hospital. I’m telling you guys, I’m fine-” 

You huffed loudly. “Are you always this stubborn?” 

At the same time, Kate, Javi, Boone, and Lily all replied, “Yes.” 

You realized you probably weren’t going to convince Tyler to get his ankle checked out at the hospital. “Fine,” you sighed. “But you’re not gonna patch yourself up in some grimy motel, got it? My parents don’t live too far from here. You all can crash there.” 

“Are you sure?” Kate asked. 

“Positive. My parents were thrilled to have my team staying. They won’t mind a couple more people.” 

“Wait,” Javi said. “Your parents. Like, your parents as in Jo and Bill Harding?” 

You chuckled. “Yes.” 

He and Kate exchanged a look that bordered on giddy. 

Tyler shifted at your side, pulling out his truck keys and you thought he was out of his mind if he thought he was going to try to drive with his clearly busted ankle. You reached over and snatched the keys quickly. “You’re riding with me, cowboy,” you said before tossing the keys at Kate. She caught with between her two hands, eyes slightly wide before a smile broke out across her lips. 

“I’m driving!” Kate said before she quickly turned on her heel before anyone could protest, Javi following close behind her. 

“You be careful with my truck Sapulpa!” Tyler shouted. 

You all arrived at your parents' place and helped a limping Tyler out of your truck. He tried once more to hide just how much pain he was in, but it didn’t work. As you walked up the driveway, he smirked, a little lopsidedly. “Already taking me home to meet the parents, huh?” You wanted to smack him but decided his sprained ankle was enough punishment already. 

Instead, you rolled your eyes. “Don’t you be talking like that in front of my mom. She’ll start planning the wedding.” You were only half joking. You knew the second she opened the front door and saw you standing side by side with Tyler’s arm slung around you, even though it was strictly to keep himself upright and pressure off his ankle, her imagination would run wild. 

He was quiet for a moment before he cleared his throat and said, “At least let me buy you dinner first.” 

You didn’t get a chance to respond before the front door was swung open and out stepped your mom. Her eyes flickered between the two storm-chasing teams all trailing behind you before they landed on you and Tyler. You saw the little twinkle in her eye, but it vanished when she noticed the state everyone was in, soaked clothes, a little in pain, and in a slight daze. 

She hurried down the step, grasping your face and gazing at the nasty cut on your chin from where you collided with the road. “Everyone okay?” she asked, eyes drifting over to Tyler. 

“Not exactly,” you replied. “Tyler’s got a busted ankle. I think everyone else is pretty okay. But cold and hungry.” 

Your mom clapped her hands together. “Well then, let’s get you all fed and cleaned up then. Come on,” she said, ushering everyone inside and exchanging greetings. 

You helped Tyler into the bathroom before you dug around for the first aid kit underneath the sink. 

“You know-” Tyler started but you glared at him. 

“If you tell me you’re fine one more time Owens…” He held up his hands in defense, pressing his lips together. Once you found the kit, you sat on the floor and carefully rolled up the leg of his jeans. Whatever damage his ankle took was hidden under his boot. “This is probably gonna hurt,” you said. 

You tried to be as careful as you could, tugging off his boot, and he tried to act like it didn’t hurt like a bitch, but the way his eyes screwed shut and hands clenched into fists in his lap told you otherwise. As soon as it was off, he let out a shaky breath and you assessed the damage. His ankle was swollen, bloodied, and overall in pretty bad shape but considering he could put a little bit of pressure on it told you it wasn’t broken. He was right about the sprain, but it was a fairly bad one. 

Working quickly but carefully, you cleaned up the dirt and blood before wrapping his ankle. “Feel any better?” you asked. He nodded as you stood to your feet. “Good. Are you hungry? I’m sure my mom’s made enough food to feed an army-” 

“Wait,” he said, grasping your hand, turning you back around to face him before you could reach the door. “You fixed me up, now it’s your turn.” 

You furrowed your brows. “What?” His eyes dropped down to your chin, where you’d smacked it against the road when you fell. “Oh. No, it’s just a little scratch-” he cut you off. 

“Are you always this stubborn?” he teased, using your own words against you. With a sigh, you slumped your shoulders in defeat. 

“All right, but at least sit down. Your ankle’s not gonna heal otherwise.” He listened, retaking his place on the toilet lid as you sat on the edge of the tub right beside it. He grabbed an alcohol swap from the kit and grasped your face with one hand. His fingers were cold from the rain but gentle as they tilted your head upwards just slightly so he could clean the cut on your chin. 

You couldn’t help but study him. The brightness of his eyes and how they narrowed when he concentrated, and how he pulled his bottom lip just barely between his teeth. Something twisted in your stomach, and you were suddenly very aware of just how close he was. You had been nearly nose to nose with him earlier, in the aftermath of the storm, but the calmness of your current setting made the closeness feel different. The way his hand softly held onto your face made your breath hitch, and it was impossible for him not to notice. His eyes flickered up from your chin, awkwardly covered with a band aid, and met yours. 

“Thanks for saving my ass out there,” he said, voice just above a whisper, like he too didn’t want to break the calmness that was steady in the room. 

You tried to ignore the patter of your heart that quickened as with his little smile. “I owed you for saving mine.” 

“Guess we’re even know, huh?” 

You nodded, words lost on your tongue. Maybe it was just wishful thinking, but you dropped your gaze onto his lips for just a moment before you met his eyes, searching for something. But your wishful thinking died with a startling knock on the door that caused you both to flinch back and away from each other. 

“Everything all right in there?” your dad’s voice sounded from the other side of the door. 

You cleared your throat, quickly standing to your feet. “Y-Yeah. We’ll be out in a second!” A shaky laugh left your lips as your turned to Tyler, who stared back at you with cheeks slightly pink. “We should…” 

“Yeah, y-yeah.” 

After everyone showered and cleaned themselves up, your mom and dad handed out plates and everyone dug in. With full stomachs and dry clothes, the collection of storm chasers all crashed around the house. You lay in your childhood bed, squished alongside Frankie while two other members of your team were asleep on an air mattress on the floor. You tried to sleep, but all you could think about was Tyler, who was just downstairs in the living room. The rest of the evening consisted of you two tip toeing around each other, bordering on avoiding each other in the company of everyone else. 

With a quiet groan, you slipped out of bed and headed toward the kitchen, careful to be quiet. Your mom’s words followed you, gushing about Tyler. Would it be the worst thing in the world? You had said yes, but you didn’t really mean it, how could you? This was Tyler. Sure, he was a little reckless and you’d seen him get a little rowdy at a country bar, but he was also the kind of person that looked for lost dogs in the middle of a tornado and who stayed by your bedside at the hospital until you woke up. He was obnoxiously great. You didn’t know how to deal with it. 

In the bathroom, just hours ago, you wanted to kiss him. And a part of you thought he wanted to kiss you too, but the moment was broken too fast for you to know for certain. 

You poured yourself a glass of water before leaning against the counter, eyes focused out the window at the sliver of moon that poked out from behind the clouds. Somewhere behind you, the floorboards creaked, causing you to spin around with a start. 

Tyler paused, wincing at the noise he made before he whispered, “Sorry.” 

You didn’t do it on purpose, but it was like at the sight of him your lips automatically tugged upwards in a smile. You felt a little ridiculous about it but tried to play it off by clearing your throat. 

“I told you that couch was uncomfortable,” you said, voice low to not wake the snoring Wranglers in the next room. 

“It’s not,” he replied. 

“You should be elevating your ankle.” 

“I know, I know. Doctor’s orders, right?” He smiled too. “I was just grabbing some water.” 

You said nothing as you reached back into the cabinet and pulled out another glass before filling it at the sink. You handed it to him, your fingers brushing for just a second before he took the glass with a quiet ‘thanks’ and you pulled away. 

“I should…” You pointed behind you, ready to retreat back to your bedroom and let your Tyler-occupied mind slip away. But he caught your elbow and set down his glass of water. He didn’t say anything as his hand slid up your arm to your shoulder, then to your cheek in a similar way he held you earlier. You were back to being nearly nose-to-nose for the third time that day. Only this time, it was Tyler whose gaze flickered to your lips before he closed the short distance. 

Softly and quietly, you pressed your lips against his, pressing your hands against his chest. His hands were warm on the sides of your face as his lips moved against yours. You parted after a moment, breathing a little heavier, and your chest beat with something new. 

You leaned in once more, kissing him a little harder but pulling back quicker. “Good night, Tyler,” you breathed out. 

He beamed, cheeks rosy. “Good night, Harding.”

[macrolit]

The 100 Best Books of the 21st Century.

As voted on by 503 novelists, nonfiction writers, poets, critics and other book lovers — with a little help from the staff of The New York Times Book Review.

NYT Article.

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

Q: How many of the 100 have you read? Q: Which ones did you love/hate? Q: What's missing?

Here's the full list.

100. Tree of Smoke, Denis Johnson 99. How to Be Both, Ali Smith 98. Bel Canto, Ann Patchett 97. Men We Reaped, Jesmyn Ward 96. Wayward Lives, Beautiful Experiments, Saidiya Hartman 95. Bring Up the Bodies, Hilary Mantel 94. On Beauty, Zadie Smith 93. Station Eleven, Emily St. John Mandel 92. The Days of Abandonment, Elena Ferrante 91. The Human Stain, Philip Roth 90. The Sympathizer, Viet Thanh Nguyen 89. The Return, Hisham Matar 88. The Collected Stories of Lydia Davis 87. Detransition, Baby, Torrey Peters 86. Frederick Douglass, David W. Blight 85. Pastoralia, George Saunders 84. The Emperor of All Maladies, Siddhartha Mukherjee 83. When We Cease to Understand the World, Benjamin Labutat 82. Hurricane Season, Fernanda Melchor 81. Pulphead, John Jeremiah Sullivan 80. The Story of the Lost Child, Elena Ferrante 79. A Manual for Cleaning Women, Lucia Berlin 78. Septology, Jon Fosse 77. An American Marriage, Tayari Jones 76. Tomorrow, and Tomorrow, and Tomorrow, Gabrielle Zevin 75. Exit West, Mohsin Hamid 74. Olive Kitteridge, Elizabeth Strout 73. The Passage of Power, Robert Caro 72. Secondhand Time, Svetlana Alexievich 71. The Copenhagen Trilogy, Tove Ditlevsen 70. All Aunt Hagar's Children, Edward P. Jones 69. The New Jim Crow, Michelle Alexander 68. The Friend, Sigrid Nunez 67. Far From the Tree, Andrew Solomon 66. We the Animals, Justin Torres 65. The Plot Against America, Philip Roth 64. The Great Believers, Rebecca Makkai 63. Veronica, Mary Gaitskill 62. 10:04, Ben Lerner 61. Demon Copperhead, Barbara Kingsolver 60. Heavy, Kiese Laymon 59. Middlesex, Jeffrey Eugenides 58. Stay True, Hua Hsu 57. Nickel and Dimed, Barbara Ehrenreich 56. The Flamethrowers, Rachel Kushner 55. The Looming Tower, Lawrence Wright 54. Tenth of December, George Saunders 53. Runaway, Alice Munro 52. Train Dreams, Denis Johnson 51. Life After Life, Kate Atkinson 50. Trust, Hernan Diaz 49. The Vegetarian, Han Kang 48. Persepolis, Marjane Satrapi 47. A Mercy, Toni Morrison 46. The Goldfinch, Donna Tartt 45. The Argonauts, Maggie Nelson 44. The Fifth Season, N.K. Jemisin 43. Postwar, Tony Judt 42. A Brief History of Seven Killings, Marlon James 41. Small Things Like These, Claire Keegan 40. H Is for Hawk, Helen Macdonald 39. A Visit from the Goon Squad, Jennifer Egan 38. The Savage Detectives, Roberto Balano 37. The Years, Annie Ernaux 36. Between the World and Me, Ta-Nehisi Coates 35. Fun Home, Alison Bechdel 34. Citizen, Claudia Rankine 33. Salvage the Bones, Jesmyn Ward 32. The Lines of Beauty, Alan Hollinghurst 31. White Teeth, Zadie Smith 30. Sing, Unburied, Sing, Jesmyn Ward 29. The Last Samurai, Helen DeWitt 28. Cloud Atlas, David Mitchell 27. Americanah, Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie 26. Atonement, Ian McEwan 25. Random Family, Adrian Nicole LeBlanc 24. The Overstory, Richard Powers 23. Hateship, Friendship, Courtship, Loveship, Marriage, Alice Munro 22. Behind the Beautiful Forevers, Katherine Boo 21. Evicted, Matthew Desmond 20. Erasure, Percival Everett 19. Say Nothing, Patrick Radden Keefe 18. Lincoln in the Bardo, George Saunders 17. The Sellout, Paul Beatty 16. The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay, Michael Chabon 15. Pachinko, Min Jin Lee 14. Outline, Rachel Cusk 13. The Road, Cormac McCarthy 12. The Year of Magical Thinking, Joan Didion 11. The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao, Junot Diaz 10. Gilead, Marilynne Robinson 9. Never Let Me Go, Kazuo Ishiguro 8. Austerlitz, W.G. Sebald 7. The Underground Railroad, Colson Whitehead 6. 2666, Roberto Bolano 5. The Corrections, Jonathan Franzen 4. The Known World, Edward P. Jones 3. Wolf Hall, Hilary Mantel 2. The Warmth of Other Suns, Isabel Wilkerson 1. My Brilliant Friend, Elena Ferrante

[infiniteimaginings]

Omg your amazing at writing Anthony bridgerton angst. Pls write more😫😫😫💋

You caused this? (Anthony Bridgerton x GN!Reader)

Summary: You are complaining to your dearest friend Anthony about your lack of luck through the seasons but he is terribly silent. His silence brings answers that you never expected from him. Pronouns: You/Yours Warnings: Angst Word Count: 3.4k A/N: Thank youuu!! Here's more for you my love! (Also for the new thing below this, tagging, you guys can be asked to be tagged in any sort of fics lol!) Tagging: @etherynn

A stunning afternoon shone on the walking paths families decided to take for eloquent bonding times. Children were laughing, mothers were sending their daughters off to promenade with one another, and the men were keeping watchful eyes out. It was a perfect day for the courting season to bloom in its full beauty and potential.

It was lively around the grassy green parks where people conversated with each other, it was a lovely day.

Two of the people taking advantage of the wondrous day to promenade together were you and Anthony Bridgerton, the most inseparable friends in all of London. The two of you had been great friends ever since you were children, you had been there for him through the easy and the rough patches, and he had done the same for you. Neither of you questioned your roles in the other's life, you just fit together.

Anthony loved you dearly, you knew that. He treated you like his own sibling, sometimes you appreciated it, other times you had to give him a good wack for him to stop scaring the poor guests at parties you attended.

There was no need for that during this moment, no. There were only warm smiles, sweet treats, pleasant conversation, and why was that? It was because it was only the two of you, no one to interrupt, or drag you away.

Anthony walked with you along the path, holding his hand out when he reached the stony steps to the dock. You raised a brow and rolled your eyes, taking his hand with a playfully distasteful look on your face, causing him to chuckle ever so slightly.

You walked down the wooden planks of the dock, noticing how there were no boats out. “I wonder why there are no boats out when it’s such a beautiful day.” You hummed aloud, not really expecting any response to your comment.

Anthony looked around and shrugged, hands behind his back, “Would you care to go out on the water?”

“Oh, heavens no!” You answered a little loudly, a sheepish smile finding itself onto your face as you turned to face him. “I was simply expressing my passing curiosity.”

The Bridgerton shook his head and stood quietly, admiring how the waves rocked with one another. He thought of the water like a ball, each drop with its own partner to create a beautiful array of movement within the water, to create a somehow roaring image of tranquility.

You, on the other hand, adjusted your clothing and sat upon the wooden planks, smoothing out the fabric as you did so. You carefully took off your shoes and set them to the side.

“What are you doing?”

The sudden comment caused you to look up with fluttering eyes, “What does it look like I’m doing?”

Anthony walked a bit to you, looking down, “It looks as if you’re on the brink of putting your feet into the water.”

"A remarkable observation indeed," You responded sarcastically, a playful glint in your eyes. “I shall have to inform your mother that we have discovered you possess the brilliance of a prodigy.” You spoke, removing the last of any clothing surrounding your feet to enter the cold water. Once you made contact, you left out a soft sigh, your hands falling to the wood behind you, leaving you in a relaxed position.

Anthony sucked his teeth at your remark, but no one could mistake his mischievous grin for anything other than delight. “Let us not raise her expectations.” He mumbled to you with a shake of his head, kneeling to take off his own shoes, “She’s already enthusiastic enough about Daphne.”

You hummed, tilting your head over to him, squinting your eyes due to the bright sun. “Pray tell, how is the new Duchess of Hastings?”

The man rolled his neck a bit and sat next to you, dipping his feet into the water. His body blocked the sunlight so you had no need to squint as you gazed upon him, his eyes falling to yours. 

He let out a huff with a toothy smile, “She’s gone away with Simon.” Anthony informed you, looking out to the water now. He adjusted the collars of his wrist as he took a deep breath, “She swore she’d write letters so…”

“You’re looking forward to them, do not deny it.” You told him, scrunching your nose as you bumped your shoulder with his.

He chuckled and nodded, “Indeed, I eagerly await her thought filled letters.” He told you before biting the inside of his cheek, his eyes still looking forward, but they were further than ever. “I never imagined I’d miss her presence so much,” He confessed, blinking rapidly, “her ceaseless ramblings about finding her soulmate are over now.” He whispered, clearing his throat, adjusting himself once more, “My little sister is now gone, and I won’t be able to protect her anymore.” His voice with loss, his fingers clasped together as if he was grasping for something.

You placed your head on his shoulder, “She’s still your sister Anthony, she will visit.” You reminded him, placing one of your hands on his thigh. 

You felt the man take a sharp inhale of breath before letting it go slowly, “I know…” He nodded against you, placing his head over yours.

There was a moment of silence, the two of you kicking your feet in the water, enjoying the cool splashing against the warmth the sun brought.

You moved your head, looking to the families across the way, “Besides, there are plenty of others for you to protect, people still rely on you.” You reassured him with a supportive smile, remembering his other siblings, specifically his three younger sisters.

Anthony was not thinking the same as you though, he took his hand and placed it over yours, which hadn’t moved from his thigh. “Right, like you.” He smiled, rubbing his thumb along the edge of your hand.

You looked to your lap, laughing a bit, “I require little protection.” You muttered out, playing with a small string on your clothing.

Your friend furrowed his brows and scoffed, “There are dogs out there.”

“I mean, because no one approaches me anymore.” You spoke suddenly, looking at the water solemnly, lips in a frown. 

Anthony's smile dropped, and he turned his head to you, “Pardon?”

You scratched your head with a breathy laugh, “No one wishes to marry me.” You said, tone in a light song, but you knew it wasn’t a light hearted moment. It was a harsh truth you never wanted to face, but you had no choice as the season continued on.

The Bridgerton shook his head though, turning himself to you, his leg propped onto the wood, only one foot in the water. “That is not true, many do.” He assured you, but you shook your head in response.

You turned your body to him, feet still in the water, “Then why has no one called for me in weeks?” You asked, shoulders dropping in defeat. “Why has no one proposed?” You asked another unanswerable question as you looked back to the water.

Anthony felt an uncomfortable feeling bubble up in his stomach as you spoke. His blood grew cold, his heart beat faster than ever, his throat felt dry as if all the saliva in his mouth suddenly disappeared. He was suddenly aware of everything around him, all the sounds, the feeling of the wood on his calf, the water rushing around his foot, how hot the sun was.

You didn’t notice his sudden silence, you didn’t notice his expression, you were lost in your own mind. “I just feel as if I’ll never find someone.” You muttered, looking out to the empty body of water, “It’s as if I’m being avoided, and everyone knows to do so.” You continued, feeling pricks from the wood in your fingers. “I wish I knew why I was being avoided, because I swear,” You sighed, “I would change what they don’t like about me.” 

Anthony stayed silent but his eyes were filled with a deep sadness, his lips parted slightly, his hands clenching. He could feel his nails embedding themselves into his palms, leaving crescent shaped marks, his palms now red. 

You looked back over to him, wiping your eyes that began to water, “I didn’t mean to ramble on…” You trailed off as you caught sight of his expression. “What is it?” You asked, concerned as he had never looked at you so…upset before.

He shook his head, snapping himself out of his thoughts, “Nothing.”

“Anthony, what is it?”

The tone of your voice was heartbreaking to him, you were really worried about him after telling him your concerns. He slowly turned his head to you, almost reluctantly, and looked into your eyes that shine with sunlight. He could see the reflection of the clouds in your eyes, and it made him feel worse than he already did. When he looked into your eyes, he knew he could not lie to you. So he took a shaky breath and whispered out the words, “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” You answered immediately, confused by the sudden change in mood. You wished you had not spoken, perhaps if you kept quiet the two of you would be laughing and splashing each other. 

There was silence. 

“Anthony, for what?” You persisted, searching his expression for answers.

“I’m so sorry…” He continued to shake his head, gulping down his own breaths as if the world would run out of oxygen just for him. As if he was being tortured and couldn’t breath on his own. His grip on your hand was tighter than it had been, “I was just… I’m so sorry…”

His panic conveyed through his action, through his expression, through his words. You just couldn't understand why he was so anxious, why he was so scared. 

Until you realized, he didn’t seem scared over whatever he did, he seemed scared for how you would respond. His eyes kept snapping to you before looking down, he continued to clasp onto your hand, he closed his eyes as if he was silently praying for a better outcome.

Your brows knitted together and your lips pursed, “Sorry?” You repeated his apology, trying to think of what he was so apologetic about.

Suddenly, all of the memories flashed through your mind, quick as ever. The balls, the sitting rooms, the lack of dresses you needed to buy… it was because Anthony had never left your side. You thought he was being supportive, letting you know who would be better than the other for your bright future, but no. He wasn’t helping weed out those who weren’t good for you, he was clearing the field completely, so there was nothing left. No weeds, nor even blossoming flowers that you would’ve loved to pick.

Until there was no one left.

You blinked rapidly as you thought about this, finally making eye contact, “You didn’t.” You breathed out quietly.

You were met with silence and Anthony's sorrowful gaze, already begging for forgiveness.

You tried to remove your hand from his grip, but he wouldn't let up. Once you finally pulled yourself away, you stood quickly, not caring for the water dripping to your clothing from your quick movements. 

Your feet were wet, causing a dark spot to form onto the wooden dock. “Anthony, how could you?” You asked, exasperated, hands going to your face as you began to pace. 

Anthony scrambled up himself, trying to grasp your hands, but you continuously pulled away, making him face your back. “I just wanted to protect you!”

His words caused you to seethe, protect you? How was he protecting you? 

You turned to him, feet stomping once you were face to face with him, “You’re not protecting me!” You yelled, your volume caused him to fall back a bit, unused to your yells. “You’re labeling me as a…” You paused, taking a few small breaths, “bad contender.” You mumbled, clutching your chest, feeling your eyes begin to sting. You began to shake your head as you backed away, “At this rate I will not be married.” 

“What is the fault in that?”

“What is-?” You laughed, honestly not believing that this situation was happening. Your hands were up to your head, clutching at your ears, pinching, praying that this wasn’t really happening.

Anthony Bridgerton, the man of the Bridgerton home, the man who almost forced Daphne to marry a man who wanted nothing good for her. Anthony Bridgerton who was to duel a man for his sisters honor. Anthony Bridgerton, the man who took the responsibilities of his father for his family, because he knew how important it was for women to be married in this world.

You stood straight, face contorted in anger, “You are well aware, as I am, that our society revolves around marriage.” You spoke slowly, “My family wishes for me to be married or I will be a disgrace.” You reminded him, tilting your head, mouth opened in another sense of disbelief. “How is it that you now fail to comprehend such a thing?”

Anthony nodded with your words, but it seemed as if he wasn’t hearing you at all, he was being so frustrating. “I merely believe that you should pursue your own desires.”

“You did not consult me on what I desire!” You yelled, drawing the attention of passersby. You looked down, frown on your face as Anthony waved them off with a smile. You looked back to him with a harsh, cold glare, “You acted according to your own desires, but for what purpose?” 

He ran a hand through his hair before unbuttoning his vest and taking it off. Anthony felt like he was suffocating, and nothing was helping him breathe properly at the moment. “It’s because I hold deep regards for your well-being.”

You scoffed, “No one who truly cares about the other would do that.”

“I-”

You stopped him, holding up your finger, “No, you would never do this to Daphne.” You told him, causing him to fall silent. You could hear the harsh gulp he took as you continued. “You endeavored to secure a match for her, so why must you subject me to this treatment?…” You trailed off, turning away once again before turning right back to him, “You repelled every potential partner.”

Anthony didn’t make eye contact, he just mumbled out, “I have my reasons.”

“Please, list them.” You ordered, trying to meet his gaze, “For it appears that you do not wish the best for me.” 

That sentence brought him out of his thoughts, that sentence made him realize how you didn’t realize the true intentions of his actions. “I care deeply for you!” He spoke a bit loudly, “It is inexplicable, I can not put into words my concern for your future.” He continued to speak, and you were quiet, waiting for any valid reason, because you wanted to forgive him, you did. “I truly believe that none among the ton is truly suitable for you.”

You blinked at him, “No one of the…” You just stared at him, “You…what?”

“Please understand.”

Oh, you understood just fine. You crossed your arms with a raised brow, “No one but you, I assume?”

His eyes widened and he shook his head quickly, “That is not what I mean.” He spoke, breaths quickening as his thoughts swirled through his mind.

“So you harbor no romantic sentiments towards me?”

“If that is what I implied, I apologize.” 

You nodded, poking your cheek with your tongue, “Then why do all this?”

You were met with no response, so you continued, walking forward, poking his chest with your finger. “If you do not love me,” You began, “also being you do not wish to court me,” you clarified, tilting your head with a blank expression, “then your actions are malicious.”

Anthony shook his head, cupping your hand in his, “They are not, they are in good health.” He tried to convince you, but you wouldn’t budge. 

You pulled your hand from his grasp, “Is the idea of courting me so revolting to you that you must scare off all contenders with your jealousy,” You backed away, hands up, “and leave me as a spinster for the entire court to laugh at?”

“It was not my intention.” Is that all he could say, it was not his intention? 

“Then what was your intention?”

He sputtered and babbled out a response, but it was stutters of the beginning of sentences he would never finish. The only thing his pieces of words could convince you of, was that he had no idea why he would do such a thing. 

“Was it your intention to prompt me to recognize deeper emotions for you?” You asked him, and he continued to knock his brain for some sort of response that he couldn’t give you. “Well?”

The Bridgerton man put his head down, hands over his face before they went to the back of his neck, “I thought,” He spoke, dropping his hands to his sides, “if we spent more time together as if we were courting-”

“But we are not.” You interrupted with an obvious stare, “You are not courting me, you do not wish to court me Anthony.”

He nodded and clapped, eyes wide with promise as he strode towards you in a sudden burst of excitement. “But perhaps, if we acted as such, we could discover the wisdom in such an action.” He spoke, nodding along with his own words, “It is smart, surely, you see it through my perspective!”

You chuckled because, what else were you supposed to do at the sudden idiocy that escapes a man's mouth? “Anthony, this is not business.”

“I understand that,” He told you confidently, “but, consider the mutual benefits it could offer us.”

You chuckled once more, taking a step back with a shocked smile, “I don’t care if marrying you would take the trouble from my family for thousands of generations, Anthony.” You explained, waving your hands in a large ‘no’ motion. “I would never marry you!” You told him harshly, the words engraved in the air as a promise.

Anthony's eyes dimmed, his breath pausing as his shoulders began to droop, “Why not?”

“For the same reason you will not court me.” You answered, rolling your eyes a bit.

He didn’t understand so he stared at you expectantly, “Which is?”

You couldn’t believe he wasn’t aware of why he wasn’t courting you, why your marriage would never work. Since he couldn’t understand such a simple answer, you stepped forward, staring him into his eyes. His brown eyes looked at you, searching for answers.

You shook your head lightly, “ Anthony, I feel nothing when I look at you.”

Time has stopped completely for Anthony Bridgerton. You spoke the words so easily. He felt everything move so slowly, to the point he didn’t even realize that he stopped breathing. He didn’t stop staring at you until you waved your hand in his face to capture his attention. 

“Is that why you think I won’t court you?” He whispered to you, face falling.

You scoffed, again, at how he wasn’t understanding the conversation. “Wake up, Mr. Bridgerton!” You yelled, the first time you’ve ever used the title. “You just tried to propose a business deal with me, knowing that I have a better chance with any man over you.” You explained, hands falling to your sides as you paced across the doc, the man standing still, facing the same direction he was before you moved. “Yet, you still sabotaged any chance for me this season, and I will end up alone due to your selfish actions!” You spoke angrily, nostrils flaring once you finally looked at him again.

His eyes were the only thing that followed you, “I..I don’t…. I wasn’t thinking of-”

“You’re right!” You told him, clapping at his realization. “You were not thinking, which is exactly why you ruined everything for me!” You yelled, voice feeling strained due to the emotions you were currently feeling. “You ruin everything because you do not think.”

Anthony wiped his coming tears, opening his mouth for another apology.

You stopped him immediately, “I am utterly sick of every apology that leaves your mouth, because you do not mean it.” You spoke, not letting him speak any further.

You walked to the steps that separated the dock from the walking paths, “Goodbye Mr. Bridgerton.” were your final words before you left Anthony near the water.

He couldn’t say anything else, his gaze was trapped on the wooden flooring of the dock. What had he done? Why does he feel his heart squeezing every time he takes a deep breath in? Why was everything spinning?

More importantly, why did he do something so stupid, and push you away?

[jolapeno]

1. butterscotch orange

frankie morales x f!reader | chapter one of do me yourself

summary: a meet-cute in a hardware store? impossible, out of the question. except, that's exactly what happens. a need for screws leads you to a broad-shouldered, brown-eyed man who you're sure is about to change your day, never mind your life.

wordcount: 3.3k chapter warnings: [see masterlist for series warnings] meet cute, flirting. fluff. flirting in person and over <redacted>. frankie being a single!dad to a son. coffee date. an: it is finally here! this little thing has rotted me from the inside out and nothing brings me more joy than a romcom. so here we go. buckle in. all hail @secretelephanttattoo for the wondrous idea and support (seriously thank you, i know you know ily, but i don't think I've been this happy writing something in so long). a thank you to @thetriumphantpanda who i forced to read this when we had our sleepover, ily.

key: frankie is in bold, you are in italics [winks]

IF I CAN DO IT, ANYONE CAN DO IT. ALL YOU NEED—

It rings, echoes through your skull.

Has been doing so the whole ride over—your groan doing nothing to dilute it, even as you kill the engine of your car and are welcomed with silence.

There’s an element of regret you feel thrumming in you since discovering that perky voice, her high-pitched excitement becoming the bane of your existence. Forever replaying in your head. Regardless of whether it is actually playing. It remains on a loop in your mind—all light and sweet—grating on you from the amount you’ve had to watch it, just to get to this stage.

Realistically, you know you shouldn’t hate the voice, because it has been helpful—in that effortlessly playful way that’s kind of begun to fuck you off.

But then, you’re not even sure if any voice would fare much better. Because you just don’t feel like it’s just that easy—so possible, all simple and quick to do.

Because DIY apparently isn't that trouble-free for you. The bandaids on your palm, fingers, and forearm are proof of it.

Yet, somehow you’re outside of a hardware store.

One that Google promises will have all you need and more. Not that you know what that is.

The only thing you do know is that it at least gives you another reason to focus on something other than the mountain of boxes that never end. The ones not unpacked. In the home that’s now only slowly beginning to feel more like yours, and not the people you purchased it from.

Eyes flicking over the front of the store, the clutter of things all left outside—in judging various shades of buckets and plastic garden chairs—before your eyes land on the door to Harold’s Hardware.

There’s no breeze, but the door moves ever so slightly. Sitting, slightly ajar, as though once—a long time ago—it fit in the frame perfectly, but now remained warped and unwilling to even try. Then there’s the glass, all smeared and sitting inside (what you assume) would have been a bright-white frame that’s slightly yellowed and has been adorned in scuffs, swinging in its layered overuse.

But, at least it’s visited, you think. Shoving open the door, a bell sounds in some distant corner, ringing, it almost muffled by the voice from the video continuing to play in the space between your ears—a to-do list, a handful of items required, listing themselves on a never-ending loop, the billionth play through since you’d woken up.

It’s so much bigger inside than you banked on. Jaw-ticking to the side, eyes marvelling at the floor-to-ceiling display and the array of things all living and existing under hanging signs that appear worn and peeling.

With each second, more and more of the charm comes to you.

That there’s a radio, crackling away, a song from decades gone by playing with difficulty, as an array of scents swirl, fighting themselves for your attention. But, two stand out, fresh-cut wood and lemon disinfectant. The latter you assume kills dirt but doesn’t make the floor tiles gleam in the way they once did. Scuff marks adorning well-walked paths. But the former, you gravitate more to, wish for it to fill your nose and remain with you long after your visit.

Adjusting the strap of your bag, you glance about again, almost fidgeting your feet in your shoes, before it dawns on you. Slams into you as you flick your gaze from sign to sign—

You haven’t got a clue about where to start.

Listing the things from memory—suddenly distant and difficult to find amongst the dooming overwhelm—as your feet begin moving of their own accord. Choosing an aisle, selecting it—all eeny-meeny-miny-mo.

Because better that, than standing aimless, lost. Watched on some flickering CCTV in the back where you assume the person who works here is.

Dragging your eyes, scanning them up and down, taking in the varying types of paint brushes, different thicknesses, different intentions. Moving from single purchase to grouped, to multi-packs, and landing finally on rollers before you’re turning, heading down an entirely different aisle.

The next isn’t any less overwhelming.

If anything, it’s more, because it’s at least more of what you needed.

Screws, bolts, fixings.

Your brain assessing, attempting to assemble whether a bolt is what you need, a screw or—

“You need a hand?”

It throws you off, the voice.

Cuts through your processing, through the low replays of the video (the ones only in your head) and the cracking radio which has moved into an advert for migraines.

It’s low, a slight gravel that he rids with a clear of his throat as you look over your shoulder, eyes sweeping over the owner of the voice, eventually turning to face him.

And fuck.

He’s broad, dressed in a deep green t-shirt under a tan apron—name badge scratched over, only leaving the lingering marks of a “here to help” and the fading logo you’d seen outside.

You don’t mean to gawk, but yet you do all the same.

Practically swallowing, attempting to whir your brain into gear as you take in the rest of him. The thick loose curls atop his head, the strong nose and the round-brown eyes. His moustache, the wiry facial hair across his chin he slowly begins to scrape at, as he remains waiting for a response.

“Screws.”

“You… you need screws?”

Nodding, you will your brain to work, to function. But, he’s just so—

Lifting his chin, he runs his thumb up and down the underside of his chin, waiting, waiting, until he smiles. “Do you know the kind?”

Think. Think. Fucking think.

And then you do. Somehow able to unspool some thoughts, find sentences. Beginning to explain, in barely-there pauses and animated hand gestures about your move, and your new lease of life, and this video you found and how you felt inspired by it to the point it had led you to order wood cut to size and tools from the internet, but screws, screws and this and that are all that you’d forgotten.

And, he listens. Sliding a hand over the sleeve of his sun-scorched tee as he does. Just nodding on occasion. Thin lines appear along his forehead at certain parts of the story, but nonetheless listening.

“Show me.”

“Show… you?”

Then he smiles. Soft, it slides up in a slow, almost cautious way, but then it’s at his eyes, touching, brushing itself there and sending sparks up into the darker brown flecks.

Licking his lips, he gestures, “The video.”

You do.

A quick shuffle in your pocket, a slide to unlock your phone and then your fingers are brushing his. They’re warm, his. That you can tell.

Heat radiating from them, slowly blanketing yours as his hand and yours cradle the phone like a newborn in an announcement photo.

From there, your chest tightens, more so when you meet his eyes, finding them watching you as intently as you wish to look at him, and it makes your heart stammer, skip—a full chaos of beats following before he’s holding your phone independently.

That’s when a new crisis calls. A new thought is all set to erode your mind.

Because your phone looks tiny in his hand.

The plastic case is almost dwarfed by him as he tips his chin, watching the video, occasionally tapping at the screen to skip ahead before he nods to himself, you all but busy trying not to choke on your own drool.

“I know what you need.”

“You do?”

A foolish question, all escaping without thought or rationale.

He just smiles, in a way that seems to settle your incoming anxiousness.

“I do.”

And he does.

A tilt of his head, his back turned to you, a brief thought crossing your brain at the sight but you quickly rid, and you’re following. Listening as he explains, as he points out things with his long, thick finger, as you nod, as though nothing lives in the space between both of your ears.

It isn’t until you’re back in your car that it hits you. Do you suddenly wish as your engine ignites and your car roars to life, that you had asked for his number—or better yet, his name.

It’s been days, and you’re still wondering if some part of you’d concocted him, made him up—thrown up an illusion of a man and exaggerated how good he looked.

The more you thought about him, the more insane it got. Even hearing yourself explain it to a friend made you question if you'd been dreaming. That maybe you’d let days mould him, shaping perfection in your consciousness.

It has more weight when you walk past the older man at the till, all white hair in a slick-back style and who tips his head and looks more what you’d expect from the decor of the place.

But a part, one fighting, scrapping for a moment to exist, still believes. Hopes.

Forcing your legs to wander down aisles you don’t need, pausing at each corner, desiring to be proven wrong. Hovering, hoping—half-wondering if it was essential that to make him appear, you had to look lost and hopeless—or whether that had just been a coincidence that first time.

With each up and down, you almost give up. Hope almost gone, erasing itself with each step, all but fading.

But there, in the centre of the paint aisle, speckled in dried flecks, it clinging in varying shades—a kaleidoscope dream on his jeans and worn t-shirt—is him. The man you haven't stopped thinking about.

"It's you."

"It's me," you grin, heat flooding your cheeks, growing up into your neck.

Arm lifting, hand brushing the back of his curls not housed in a cap, as he matches your grin. "New project?"

"Something like that."

His gaze doesn't waver, doesn't lessen, not as his grin slopes into a shy smile, before he wipes his hand on his jeans, offering it out. "Realised... I never... I'm Frankie, by the way."

You hand him your name, dropping an octave as you do—all unmeaning, entirely accidental—fingers sliding past his as you shake his hand.

“I don’t… you’ve not got your apron on.”

Glancing down, you find him grinning when he looks up, “Not my day today. Here on personal business.”

“Oh is…” squinting at the paint can in his hand, “Butterscotch Orange on a hit list or something?”

His lips slide into his cheek, a tooth-filled smirk. “Should be, it’s a right bitc—pain in the ass to sell.”

Rolling your lips, you trace your tongue across your teeth as you grin. “It’s no…” eyes squinting. “Mt Rainier Grey.”

His brow arches. “That your shade of choice?”

“I like it—don’t hate the orange though. So, maybe it’s not the paint, but the seller.”

Something twinkles in his eye, lips still cocked to one side, smirk still ever-present.

And it’s a challenge to drag your eyes to look at the floor, you shift your weight. Trying, and failing, to think of an excuse, to leave before it gets weird—before you become too much and ruin this nondescript thing. But, his throat clearing stops you. It forces your chin up. Barely just able to catch it, the whisper, how it’s almost said to the can in his hand than to you.

“You… doing anything right now?”

Shaking your head slowly, you bite your cheek as you grin. “Just talking to a man holding a paint can.”

Tapping his fingers along the top, lips rolling, “You fancy getting a coffee? With me?”

You have to bite your smile, out of fear you’ll show how practically beaming you are. Mouth opening, but he adds an addition of I don’t usually do this that makes your lips curl into a smirk.

“What? Invite random customers for coffee or accost them with paint you can’t sell?”

Biting his upper lip, he shakes his head, tucking a curl behind his ear as your eyes glance over at them. How they glisten under the yellow-fluorescent light.

Letting your heart dance like leaves in the wind. “I’d love to get coffee with you, Frankie.”

It’s nice, the coffee place.

Not a far walk, a few doors down. The charm of it coaxes you in with sounds of crunching beans and strong scents of varying levels of caffeine sliding over and relaxing your shoulders from your ears.

Because suddenly you’re nervous.

A slight shake to your bones, a twitch of your fingers.

“Let me get this.”

Smiling, you find him watching you, not caring to drag his eyes away when you catch him.

“Because you never do this or because you’re hoping to persuade me to buy your unsellable paint?”

Smirking, he traces his eyes over you, “Both.”

The corner of his mouth slides back into his cheek, a dimple appearing, deepening—one you want to brush over with your thumb the longer he keeps looking at you the way he does.

All dark eyes, beedy, but sparkling.

'Who's next?' breaks the spell. Shatters the magic. It forces you both to blink, to focus on the task at hand. Both orders said, whirring and crunching sounding as you admire the place, glaze over the menu until he’s nudging you.

With your order in hand and tucked away in the corner—the large window letting in light and warmth from the sun on your back—you try not to moan at the taste of your drink once it hits your tongue.

Because it’s good. Brilliant, practically everything.

To the point you have to bite back a thank you, one that you feel would be never-ending, a constant swirl of words landing on the circular table between the two of you. Nothing napkins and good conversation could soak up.

Because good coffee is always great, but knowing where to find it in an unknown place is something else.

Distantly, you hear him say your name, chin dipped, eyes focused, realising—in a flood of embarrassment—he’s been talking to you.

“Sorry?”

“I said, I’ve not seen you in the store before…”

Swallowing, you take a steadying breath.

“You don’t have to…”

But, you do all the same. You pour open small bits of truth, words falling, tumbling half-strung together as your history rolls out in a timeline in front of you both. How you’d bought a new place, that it’s a bit run down, seen better days—a determination to prove friends wrong by doing it yourself.

Foolish, you comment with a shake of your head, I know fuck all about decorating.

And he listens—to the fact you’re alone, not even a pet; he listens even as you talk about your work, all boring, not entirely interesting. The two of you simply lost in one another, surrounded by coffee mug swirls and the sounds of sizzling food, coffee shop noises and mumbling daytime talk as you ask him about work, about his love for orange shades.

And your eyes glance down at his phone, how it’s turned over—his all undivided attention given to you—yet your eyes linger on the phone case. The one with a drawing, likely in pencil, a man in a hat on a hill, a child next to him and a sun with a smile on its face.

“I… I have a kid. Luca—shared custody,” he says, nodding, tongue peeking out between his teeth, hands leaving the table and wiping back on his jeans in slow slides up and down. “He… he made it me.”

It’s the grin that makes your heart swell.

Makes your hand cup your mug a little tighter so you don’t offer it out to him to hold, a thing which feels so natural, no thought required. Except you don’t know his last name—barely know a thing about him.

Yet, your body practically leans forward as you mirror the smile—all soft, as another piece of a missing puzzle sliding into place.

“Does he like drawing?”

Laughing, his palm slides along his jaw. “Loves it.”

“How old?”

“Five—does that… does that bother you?”

“That you’re a dad?” He nods, and you lick your lips, you make sure to hold his gaze. “Not in the slightest.”

You smile, watching him mirror you this time. It rushes out, kissing across every bit of his face—a shyness soon fluttering over him before he clears his throat.

“So, you freelance? You like being your own boss?”

“Not especially, but it does mean I can work at night.”

Nodding, he slides his hand around the white porcelain, hand practically dwarfing the mug. It makes you want to ask him to hold things, to see if IKEA pencils or children’s eating utensils look more ridiculous than your iPhone and a regular coffee mug.

“Prefer the night?”

“I prefer the quiet of it... to think. It’s why… why I began trying to do something in the day, needed to still be busy.”

“Sitting still not an option, Rainier Grey?”

Shrugging, you smile. “Says you Butterscotch and your three tins of unsellable paint in the bed of your truck.”

“You got me there.”

“I just… like to be busy, and with the new house, no partner—commitments, I thought why not try a bit of DIY.”

Nodding, he lifts his mug, and takes a sip—eyes remaining fixed on you as he does, as though it buys him time, lets him think up an opinion, an assessment. It makes your skin warm, but for all the uncomfortable reasons, the panicking ones—parts of you beginning to catastrophise that you’ve said the wrong thing.

“Open up your Instagram.”

You stare, blinking.

“Trust me.”

And you do. With another fumble, another slide of your phone screen open, and you follow his instructions as you type in the spelling he gives you. When you click the page, it’s hard not to grin, to not have your face explode into a smile so large it cuts into your cheeks.

“I don’t like to sit still either,” Frankie adds, as though the thousand photos and videos, the tutorials and follower count don’t say that on their own.

You’ve fallen down a hole—willingly.

It cracked open the moment you’d sat on your couch, drink in hand, blanket half over your body.

The moment you’d begun your scroll, you discovered you couldn’t stop. Starting with the latest and moving back, until you realise you’d rather see the story in the way it happened.

Choosing a moment, almost nine months ago, before you work your way forward to the present.

You were cautious, more careful than needed, to not like anything too late—to not give away how deep into his page you’d gone. Even if you were in awe, a little proud—your cheeks a little warm and lips turned up into your cheek—as you saw in real-time his confidence grow. The way he’d look at the camera, began experimenting with angles, all in all being smoother, more happy.

You suppose that’s why you type a comment under one picture:

Is that butterscotch orange in the flesh? 🟠

Stalking me are you?

Getting some tips from Mr DIY himself.

I know you went back some months, Rainy.

How do you know that?

Because as soon as you commented that’s what I did. You looked nice at the beach.

Now who’s the stalker, Butterscotch.

Me. Clearly. I’m being very upfront about it.

Out of interest, do you tutor at all? Give hands on help to beginner DIYers?

You genuinely asking or flirting?

Big-headed much?

I can help you with something if you need it.

I think I do.

Then I’m yours. Don’t worry, I promise to only snoop in your drawers when left alone.

Think we should get food first, show you what I’m thinking—make sure you’re up to the task.

You asking me on a date?

No. But if you keep showing off tools topless I’ll be tempted to ask you.

Knew you’d gone back further than a month.

FRANKIE’S INSTAGRAM 🌝

NEXT CHAPTER

an: you do not understand how giddy i am about this series. the chapters have flown out of me. i hope you enjoy it half as much as i'm enjoying writing it. see you soon xx

[writing-fanics]

When somebody loved me

Lucifer Morningstar x Reader

When somebody loved me

Everything was beautiful

You smiled as you flew through the skies with Lucifer, holding hands. Giggling and laughing, and you two flew through the skies. You loved spending time together soaring through the heavens together, dancing in the skies without a care in the world.

Every hour we spent together

Lives within my heart

And when he was sad

I was there to dry his tears

You wiped away his tears and smiled at him, hopefully as he sniffled. He placed his hand over yours and leaned into your touch. He looked at you and smiled, he was lucky to have you by his side.

And when he was happy, so was I

You giggled, as he showed you his magic and his wondrous ideas your eyes lighting up in wonder. You wanted nothing more than his dreams to become a reality.

For you to be by his side to help him achieve his dreams. Because you loved him more than anything. He sat down beside you and placed your head on his shoulder, your hand over his closing your eyes as he gently rubbed the back for your hand.

When he loved me

Through the summer and the fall

You giggled as you jumped into a pile of leaves, like a little kid. Leaves falling around you as you jumped in the giant pile of leaves. Lucifer watched you with a smile, you were always so carefree and filled with joy.

We had each other, that was all

Just he and I together

He kissed you on the lips as the leaves fell around you. You giggled, as you kissed him back wrapping your arms around his neck.

Like it was meant to be

And when he was lonely

I was there to comfort him

You wrapped your arms around him, holding him close. As you comforted him running your fingers through his hair as you listened to him talk. He loved that about you how you’d listen to him. He was lucky to have you as a partner and he loved you for that.

And I knew that

He loved me

So the years went by

Lucifer seemed to start going to the garden of Eden, a lot more often you thought it was for the new creation that the angels were working on. You didn’t know but he seemed to drift away further and further, while you stayed there on that hill waiting for him after finishing work.

When he would come back he’d be tired, and barely wanna spend time with you leaving you feeling understandable yet sad.

I stayed the same

But he began to drift away

You sat there alone on the hill sadly, Lucifer was becoming busier and busier. Slowly drifting further and further away, spending less and less time with you.

Before you could even speak he swiftly left you there standing alone, your hands falling to your side.

I was left alone

Still, I waited for the day

When he'd say, "I will always love you"

Lonely and forgotten

It was your anniversary and he still hadn’t returned, you missed him. Yet you were hopeful waiting for him everyday as he spent time in the garden, doing who knows what.

Never thought he'd look my way

And he smiled at me and held me

You say there alone hoping that he'd come back to you, and you'd feel his arms around you. But he was busy doing whatever he was doing. You missed him, and as you played with the ring around your finger. You felt a pair of arms wrap around your waist.

You smiled as he hugged you and you closed your eyes, smiling at the familiar warmth. That you so greatly missed, you nuzzled your head into the crook of your neck. You didn’t want to let go thinking that he’d leave you again. You didn't know this hug was a hug goodbye.

Just like he used to do

Like he loved me

When he loved me

You stared at him with a blank stare, as he was beginning judge for his actions. His crimes against Heaven, for bringing evil into the world. Because of him wanting to give free will to humans.

When somebody loved me

Everything was beautiful

As you stood there, your mind in a complete state of shock, you found yourself unable to process everything that was happening around you.

The words he spoke seemed to echo in your ears, but they didn't quite register in your mind. All you could do was stare at him, your heart aching with the realization that he no longer loved you in the same way that he used to.

Every hour we spent together

Lives within my heart

The memories of the past flooded your mind, and you couldn't help but wish that you could go back in time and relive those beautiful moments when his love for you was pure and unadulterated.

Despite the pain, your heart continued to beat for him, and you knew deep down that you would always love him, no matter what.

As the weight of everything you were experiencing became too heavy to bear, your eyes began to fill with tears and a lump formed in your throat as you tried to swallow.

You found yourself sitting alone on top of a hill, your knees pulled up to your chest as you sobbed uncontrollably.

The tears streamed down your face, leaving behind a trail of sadness and despair. You looked around, but there was no one to comfort you, no one to dry your tears, and no one to share your pain. The world seemed bleak and hopeless, and you felt lost and alone, drowning in your emotions.

When he loved me

[shadowandlightt]

Of Nightmares and Memories /two/ Azriel X Reader

Series Warnings: Kidnapping. Mistreatment. Cursing. Pining. Violence. Depression. Talks of suicide. Eventual smut

Part one Part Three

You dream of the blue of his siphons. The hazel of his eyes. You see him every night, whether you’d like to or not. He seems to invade everyone of your senses, always. Even from miles away. Even if he was dead. But you swore you’d know if he perished when Amerantha took over. You felt as if you would’ve felt his loss deep within your gut. 

But there had been no word of Velaris, or the people inside it. Had your brother truly been able to hide it all of these years? He’d been stripped of so much of his power, but did he have enough to keep your beloved city safe? 

“He wants you in the dining room for dinner.”

“And if I say no?” You question the red haired fox. 

His eyes, one golden and mechanical, narrowed on you, “He’ll drag you down by your hair.”

“I’d like to see him try,” You bark out a laugh, knowing you could shred him in a moment if only you had use of your power. 

The faebane they kept you full of made sure you were just a sliver of who you once were. Your skin was dull and lifeless, gone was the wondrous glow of immortality. Because you might as well have been mortal, plain and easy to kill. But you still had the self defense that your brothers taught you. You still had the ability to fight back. You were weak now, yes, but you could still just as easily use one of the butter knives on Tamlin. 

“Please,” Lucien begged, “Don’t be difficult. It’s been a hard day.”

“He lost another, then?” I question, head cocking to the side. 

“Don’t bring it up or he’s likely to skin you alive,” Lucien warned you. 

“Again, I’d like to see him try.”

Lucien’s eyes seem tired as he looks at you. Your fight seemed to dissipate as you looked at him. You knew time was running out, far too fast. Soon enough Amarantha would take control over every Fae, no matter where they lived. Tamlin was the only one keeping her at bay, and his power was almost hers for the taking. Then what would become of you? When her goons came for Tamlin and ransacked the house, surely they’d find you and drag you before her. Then you’d just be a tool to further your brother’s pain. 

“Ah, I can see it now,” He sighed, “You’ve realized your fate, if this doesn’t work.”

“He’ll never convince a human to love him,” You shake your head, “No matter how charming  he can be.”

“For your sake, you best hope he does.”

You follow him from your room, or your cell, whatever seems to fit one day to the next. The manor house is quiet as you make your way through it, servants not sparing you a second glance. They all knew you were being held prisoner, yet they could do little to change it, without incurring the High Lord’s wrath. 

For once in your life, you were helpless, and had been since that day in the clearing.

“It would’ve been so much easier for him,” You mutter, “Had he just let them kill me that day. Instead he had them spare me and now I stay a constant headache.”

“More like a constant thorn in his side,” Lucien smiled slightly.

The thought brought a sly smile to my face. You prepared your stone mask as you grew closer to the dining room. Lucien was the only one you allowed to see a sliver of who you were. You allowed him to see more of yourself than you should, because he saw someone who was a little more delicate, a little more capable of love and sadness. Not the stone exterior of the Night Court that we worked so hard to maintain.

“Play nice with him tonight,” Was Lucien’s last warning before we reached the golden doors. 

You schooled your face into a bored mask, as if all of this was beneath you. For centuries you’d been playing this part. Without so much as a break from it. Only when you were sure you were alone in my rooms did you let the mask fall. Only then did you cry out for my family, for my home. 

“Glad you decided to join us,” Tamlin’s voice carried from the end of the table. 

Your eyes roll, “As if I had a choice.”

A snarl escapes from Tamlin, claws slowly growing. You smile sweetly at him for a moment, before throwing out what little power you had left to reach into his head. Just enough to let him know you were there, just enough to be a pest when you wanted. But it wasn’t without difficulty. Sweat beaded on your forehead as you strained against the confines of your power. 

“Enough,” He yelled, slamming his hands down against the table. 

You flinch back, seeing the beast start to emerge. For a moment you allowed yourself to feel the slight fear that crept in. You were weak now, unable to protect yourself as you used to. He’d taken your power, your freedom, and your strength away from you. Stripped it away as if it were nothing. He should have just killed you in the forest that day. 

“Where is the little human?” You question, sniffing the air, “Her…stench is hard to miss.” 

“She’s getting cleaned up,” Lucien spoke up, “Might be best if you eat before Alis is finished with her.”

I turn slowly to glare at him, before turning back to Tamlin, “Still keeping me as your dirty little secret then?”

“She doesn’t need to know about you.”

“You know, I hope you can charm this one,” You snarl, “Because time is running out. Soon enough we’ll all be-”

“Enough!” He roars, “I know how much time we have left. I should have killed you when I had the chance.”

“Oh, you still have the chance, but the second he finds out I’m still alive,” You can’t help but laugh as you shake your head, “Well… then you’ll really wish you allowed them to kill me.”

“If she finds out you're alive…” Lucien trailed off with a look from Tamlin. 

I flop down into a chair and scoop up a glass of wine, “Well, this is going to be a fun couple of months, then, won’t it?”

“Behave,” Lucien snaps. 

“I am behaving,” I reply sweetly. 

“Eat, before I lock you up and forget about you.”

“Now now,” I sigh, “It’s been centuries, surely we can be a little more civil than that,”

“You’re too much like your brother,” Tamlin sighs, leaning back into his chair. 

“You almost sound sad about that,” You note, “Regretting crossing him?”

“No.” 

You hum and drink your wine before tucking into the food before you. Despite knowing there was faebane in it, you couldn’t stop eating. You hardly ate anymore. Just enough to keep you alive, but today you were starving. 

“Slow down before you make yourself sick,” Lucien said slowly. 

You growl at him before slowly down slightly. If only your brother could see you now. See what you’d become. If only Az and Cas could see you, what would they think? Or Mor or Amren. You weren’t sure what they would say if they could see you now. How different you’d become. 

Time passed slowly. The weeks dragged on, as you were only allowed out of your room when Feyre, the human, wasn’t around. Tamlin was doing well with dancing around your existence. Firenight was quickly approaching, and you felt the excitement deep in your bones. If there was one night that you would beg to be released it was Calanmai. 

“You know you can’t.”

“Please Lucien,” You all but beg, “He’ll be there, I know it.”

“Which is why you can’t leave the manor,” He explains.”

“I just want to see him for myself,” You whine, “I need to see him, just once before the fifty years is up. Just once.”

“He’ll know.”

“Tamlin will be too caught up in the rite to notice,” I remind him, “And you can manage a convincing glamor.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Just this once,” You say softly, “I wouldn’t ask if time wasn’t running out.”

“I know.”

“Just, please.”

“You stay next to me the whole time,” He explains, “Running off could get you killed.”

“I know.”

“Thirty minutes, that’s all you’ll get.”

“It’s more than I thought I’d get.”

Your heart hammered in your chest with the prospect of seeing your brother again after centuries of being apart from him. You knew you wouldn’t be able to tell him who you were, you wouldn’t be able to leave with him. Or speak with him. But you’d be able to lay eyes on him, and know that in whatever capacity, he was okay. He was alive, even if he was a slave to the bitch under the mountain. He’s still alive. And that’s all you could ask. Even if the rest of your family was dead, at least he lived on.

[fayes-fics]

Refuge

Pairings: Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader, Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader (throuple)

Summary: Fluff fic. The boys tend to you when you are sick.

Warnings: none... this is just sick/comfort and fluff.

Word Count: 1.1k

Authors Note: Unbetaed. Anon request fill (see HERE) requesting a fluffy comfort fic with the Bridgerton brothers. This isn't set in the Lessons-verse, but is a similar set-up, where the reader is in an established throuple with A & B and lives with them at Aubrey Hall. Nonny, I hope this fits your wishes. Enjoy! <3

A bed is only a refuge when it's by choice.

That's the thought preoccupying your melancholic mind as you sit in bed, propped against a mass of pillows, staring out the window across the sun-drenched fields of Aubrey Hall. Wishing you could be outside, enjoying the sun's rays on your skin. Instead, you are stuck inside, boredom reaching new heights as you contemplate restarting a book for the third time. 

For the past two days, a stomach complaint has left you feeling weak and without an appetite, but also frustratingly unable to sleep, seemingly worse at night. Also, you never sleep well when separated from your loves—it is all a recipe for a maudlin mood. The doctor does not think it is contagious but recommended bed rest and a foul-tasting tincture you must drink twice daily. The Bridgerton boys are coming back from business in London today, and usually, that would signify a wondrous, sensual reunion, but your traitorous body has decided otherwise.

Just as you are sullenly picking up the book you completed that morning, there is a soft knock at your door.

“Come in,” you call, defeated, expecting it to be someone bringing you more disgusting medicine.

“Darling, we are home! My valet informs me you are sick. Why did you not send word to London? We could have cut short our business,” Anthony’s worried tone seems to inhabit his whole frame as he strides in and makes a beeline for you.

“Are you alright?” Benedict adds, appearing behind him, his face also a picture of concern, rounding the other side of the bed.

The wondrous sight of them tips you over the edge. A bloom of pleasure mixed with frustration that your reunion cannot be in the manner you would like. It breaks the dam of emotions you have been keeping at bay, all bubbling over into tears. 

“Oh my love, no, please do not cry!” Benedict implores and softly takes a seat on the edge of the bed, taking your hand.

Anthony hovers, worry etched into his face but seemingly unsure what to do. Benedict frowns at him and signals for him to sit on the bed, which he does after a pause, taking your other hand.

“I've missed you both so very much,” you snuffle between tears, your gaze pinging between them. “I am just so sorry to disappoint you - I am not in a fit state to celebrate as we usually would,” you offer quietly, feeling guilty and biting your lip.

“You could never disappoint us,” Anthony avows sincerely, squeezing your hand reassuringly.

“We have missed you too, my love,” Benedict strokes your cheek delicately with his free hand, swiping a tear that falls with his thumb. “But please, you are obviously sick; we only care about you getting better.”

“Yes,” Anthony nods brusquely, “what can we do to alleviate your suffering? Open a window? Or is the room too cold? Perhaps a fire? Do you need more pillows? Or less? Perhaps some more tea?”

A glow behind your ribs flares at their loving concern in their unique ways—Anthony trying to solve the problem, Benedict offering sympathy. It is just so them.

“I would perhaps enjoy new reading material,” you confess quietly. “I have read all the books here in this room at least twice over now,” you admit sheepishly.

“I will have the staff move my entire library up here this afternoon,” Anthony declares solemnly, a hand over his heart.

“No, no, please, just a few books will be more than fine,” you assure with a feeble giggle, more tears welling at his outsized gesture.

“I think what she most needs from us, brother, is us,” Benedict assesses, lowering himself to buss a kiss on your forehead—always the one to intuit your emotional needs more than you can yourself.

“Yes, please,” you whisper, almost ashamed of your yearning to just be held by them, your weakened state making you feel fragile and in need of strong arms holding you close.

Anthony instantly pulls at his boots and then swings himself around until he can lie next to you. “Of course, how did I not see that?” he chastises himself, his lips running a soothing line over your right temple.

Benedict also takes off his boots and does the same, and a feeling like warmed honey spreads behind your ribs as they each wrap an arm around your middle, snuggling into your neck and face. 

“Thank you so much,” you murmur, your tears drying with their comforting presence.

“No more tears now,” Anthony lectures, but with a gentle sweetness that is him willing you to feel contentment. “We are here to do everything in our power to ensure you are all better soon.”

“Indeed,” Benedict confirms.

“Could you possibly get under the covers with me?” your ask is timid.

“Oh, of course!” both exclaim and stand up just long enough to shuck their jackets and waistcoats, pull back the bedding and slide in next to you. The heat of their bodies is an instant balm, seeping through their shirts through the thin cotton of your nightgown.

“Darling, your body is cold!” Anthony exclaims anxiously as his hand slides over your belly.

“I have not been able to keep food down, so I am always cold,” you admit. “All I can handle is weak, cooled tea.”

“My poor love,” Benedict sighs into your hairline. He runs gentle kisses over your cheek. “Then we will just have to stay here and keep you warm now, won't we?” 

“That would be truly wonderful,” you sigh, closing your eyes, feeling a bone-deep relief to be back in their joint, loving embrace. Something feels missing when they must both be gone. One is bearable; both being gone makes you ache for them. “Thank you, my loves,” you murmur as you feel the pull of sleep finally taking you.

The boys share a knowing silent glance - all other things they may have to attend to can wait; paramount is you and your recovery - before settling into the pillows next to you. Their legs entwining with yours, their arms holding you, their solid bodies bracketing yours. 

You sleep peacefully for the first time in days and awaken around dawn to beautiful birdsong, surrounded by Anthony and Benedict, their breath skittering over your skin in repose. During the night, your hands have ended up laced together. You feel warm for the first time this week, and your stomach rumbles, the urge to eat raring for the first time in days. It feels like you have turned a corner, although your desire to leave the bed is close to zero, snuggling down into them both - your wonderful boys.

A bed is only a refuge when it's by choice indeed.

Both Anthony & Benedict taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @margofiore @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @crowleysqueenofhell @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @sorryallonsy @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @fictionalmenloversblog @malpalgalz @panhoeofmanyfandoms @delehosies @m-rae23 @kmc1989 @desert-fern @corpseoftrees-queen @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @sya-skies

[amarynthian-chronicles]

Do you remember the stars?

Sebastian Solace x Reader

"You have been making questionable choices regarding your inventory lately. What is this nonsense? It only takes up precious space."

Sebastian had stolen the little bundle of photographs from your person, visibly upset with your unforgivable crime of permitting yourself the mistake of carrying such sentimental things.

You pouted at him.

"Practical value is not the only thing that matters to me, Seb. Give those back."

"These are a distraction that will get you killed. I am not allowing this. You will focus on your missions and the preservation of your life. I do not want to find your corpse for the umpteenth time because of this tomfoolery."

"Somebody is very worried about me, I see. Have I found a home in your heart, Seb? Or did I create a new heart in the place of the old one that had disappeared ages ago?"

"Such an abysmal tragedy that you cannot conjure a new brain for yourself, while you are at it, my beloved light."

You giggled, amused with his silly insults.

He didn't stop you when you approached him, gently caressing along his tail, admiring his scales. You felt him shudder under your touch, your tenderness. He would never admit how sensitive his tail was, despite you proving it time and time again with your caresses and kisses.

"Will you return my photographs?"

"No."

You slowly climbed into his lap, squeezing his sides, reaching for one of his hands, kissing it once, twice, an infinite amount of kisses.

"Pretty please?"

"Never."

You leaned your head onto his chest, waiting to hear the cadence of his heart, knowing well that it was only beating for you.

"Silly man. I would love to have a photograph of you, though."

"You know how I feel about flashing lights, dollface. No cameras near me."

You tried to sneakily take the photographs away, but he held them out of reach.

"Naughty, naughty. Do not play tricks with me. It may cost you dearly."

"You are impossible. Let's make a deal. We look at them together, I explain the meaning of each of them, and if you deem it fit, you will return them to me. If not, I will not ask for them again."

He pondered your offer for a few minutes, before grinning.

"Add a little kiss to seal the deal and we have an arrangement."

You made a sweet little moan as his lips claimed yours, savouring you, worshipping you. His sharp teeth grazed the tender flesh, tempted to draw blood, but he commanded his instincts to remain under control. He did not wish to lose himself. Not yet.

You had to gather your thoughts, submerged in the ocean of his desire. He was a dangerous being, and his love was a force to be reckoned with. Never forget that.

Clearing your throat, you began with your little presentation, showing him each photograph and what it represented from your former life. Your favourite town squares, flowers in bloom, silly pictures of kittens playing with toys, wondrous landscapes, beautiful and little things that made life worth living.

Sebastian observed you with a dull sorrow nesting in his chest. Such a darling you were, speaking of earthly things with a joy unlike no other. Your inner light had to be otherwordly, Fae magic, sorcery. It had the power to dissipate darkness and despair as if it were a mere nothing. A force of Life melting the clutches of Death.

A part of him feared that your faerie self would one day never return, leaving him in the shadows, rotting for all eternity. He deserved nothing less, he was well aware.

He felt you poke him several times, bringing him back from his dark thoughts.

"Seb! Hello? Look at this one. Dusk, the early appearance of the magnificent moon and the royal court of stars. Do you see how beautifully the light reflects off the clouds?"

Sebastian narrowed his glowing blue eyes at the small picture, admiring it from both a technical and aesthetic angle. Impressive night vision features of the camera that had taken such a picture. Marvellous angle.

It had been an eternity since he had enjoyed the scent of night air and the beauty of the stars. Constellations twinkling in the midnight sky. A promise of freedom.

They say that stars could fall and grant wishes. Were you his fallen star? His true fate?

You whispered gently, cupping his cheeks:

"Do you remember the stars, Sebastian? I promise you, we will see them once more. Together."

[shattersstar]

bound

pairing: vampire x reader

summary: He supposed this was his true home, not the house he had kept himself locked in, but the wooden box with your picture in it. Dutifully kept under his pillow, bringing you to the land of dreams with him—if he could dream. It was a bitter punishment for the life he lived, the transgression—sin—he supposed would be held against the two of you. For how he wanted you more than anything, how he would tear whole cities to shreds at your behest and let the hunters who lurked in your town meet his fangs if you so desired. It was gluttony, to take eternal life and still want more.

warning: horror-ish elements, blood mention., religious undertones (aka general vampire themes/concepts)

a/n: i have so much to say about this lil piece of writing omg okay, i wrote this back in May i believe around the time i was reading we have always lived in the castle and it Shows. its lowkey fantasy which is not like anything i write but the horror-ish vibes r pretty consistent with my original stuff. it is heavily inspired by a lot of the vampire media ive consumed too though even if its not based on one particular character. i have been thinking about it since i wrote it and while im a bit ehhh about posting something original i quite literally have nothing else to share and as i said before y’all keeping i’d still eat the fruit in my notifs is so :)))) so this is a thank you to y’all and a Step back into writing for me hopefully. ramble aside enjoy ! feedback and comments r always appreciated

—

It had rained, no—poured, stormed, hailed, cried, screamed. It had swept in during the day, white noise to him as he slept, while it greeted you during breakfast. The clouds wept over the lands in what felt like divine punishment. It was as if nature or something higher than that was against him, accosting or trying to stop him. As he stood at the edge of the great forest, rain pelting the top of his head he assumed there was nothing greater than nature. Not even him. There was nothing higher nor more humbling. God could spite someone, but nature enacted it. It flooded your sleepy town and even sleepier forest and he was on the other side. Confined to his home until the storm cleared and the sun rose.

He would not be graced with your presence yet again and he tried to ignore the call to change you, to have his fangs pierce your skin and his blood run across your tongue. He gritted his teeth, reminding himself of the hurt it brought and he would never cause that for his love. His dearest who lived on the other side of the forest he was unable to cross. His icy glare moved along the border, not even noticing the rain drenching his billowing black cloak anymore. Somewhere in the forest a branch snapped and animals chattered.

He would live for eternity, he could wait for you. It was his resolution before heading back to his home in the woods and trying not to be angry, to let fury run through his long dead veins and restart his stilled heart. If anything—anyone—could, he knew it was you.

He followed the path compacted over the years of those travelling to stare at his home, humans daring each other to go near it, but never following through when the windows shuddered and a figure moved past one of them like a ghost. Times had changed, but people were as superstitious as ever. They saw his decayed and rotted home and prescribed evil to it. It was overrun with vines, leaves would not grow on them. Even in spring. They stayed black, and gnarled, tightening their hold in his house each season. Thorns protruding from some of the thicker vines, protecting him it seemed. You had noted that, staring at his wondrous home with bright eyes.

It was in a clearing in the forest, grey stone withered away and swallowed by nature. It still stood strong, the outside a grotesque picture that did not reflect the inside. Oil lamps and lighting fixtures alike lit the space from the inside out. It warmed the walls, revealing the deep brown wood panelling that made up the older parts of the house. The stairs were still the original wood, a grand staircase that greeted no one, but him and you these days.

Many of the rooms upstairs had been closed off, sheets gently placed over the old furniture and doors closed forever. He had no need for such space, other vampires stopped visiting when hunters started lingering in your town. You had told him of your many encounters, most were smart enough to stay out the forest, but they still killed many of his kind. Finding them in their carriages amongst the cars rolling down the freshly paved roads. Horses killed along with whoever dwelled inside. They saw themselves as vigilantes, but you had told him most of your town considered them a nuisance. Urban men thinking they can save the more rural lands that bordered their great cities. Cities that forgot the magic that once thrived in places like the forest.

“Their thinking of building a highway through it, connecting us to other towns or one of the bigger cities.” You had explained one day, sitting in his lap and letting him hold you. He hummed, long fingers curling into the fabric of your sweater. You placed your warm hand over his and leaned further into his chest. He asked you to let him hold you and you had obliged like always.

He kept those memories in mind, the soft questions he would extend your way and how you listened so dutifully. May I hold you? Will you lay with me? Come walk through the cellar? Can I drink your—

His fist slammed against his dinning room table, nearly snapping it in two as a crack ran jagged through the centre of the chestnut coloured wood. His fangs were out, nails morphed into claws dug into his skin and blood dripped into the crack. He stared at it, muscles in his face twitching as he waited for it to end. Waited for the creature in him to return to laying dormant and his own clear, sound mind to return. Though he supposed it was never very clear or sound anymore, not when you had burrowed inside of him and promised to never leave. And as if his thoughts beckoned you themselves, the old telephone in his study rang. It’s shrill scream echoed through the quiet house, though the ring was discordant, snapping in two halfway through its loop and screeching a pitch higher. The noise made his pointed ears twitch and with a swoop of his cloak he was in his study. He answered it on the normal ring, cutting it off right before it went off tone.

He held the phone to his ear, but waited to speak. “Hello?” You asked, your voice soft and worried. You’d never called him before—truthfully he had no idea this phone even worked.

“Hello my love.” He returned, and you breathed out a happy sigh.

“Oh my god, hi! I found this number in some old directory—phone book thing,” You explained with an airy giddiness that he wished to share, “I wasn’t sure if it was going to work, but…” You trailed off and he was smiling fondly into the receiver.

“I have missed you.”

“I miss you too, I hate this weather I can never get through the forest when its so rainy.”

“I know.”

“Maybe they should build a highway through it, I could hitchhike my way to see you.” You laughed, but he turned somber. Industrialization finally touching the sacred land of the forest didn’t sit right within him. It may be the great divider that kept him away from you, but it was his home. A highway felt like you were asking to be swept away, to a new town or bigger city that he could not adventure too. He could ask you to stay—he knew you’d oblige—but it was not his place to keep you here. “Is your phone one of those spin, dial ones?” You asked suddenly, breaking through the tension he hadn’t meant to create.

“A rotary phone?” He corrected with a ghost of a grin, “Yes it is.”

“I want to see it when I come over again.”

“And so you will.” It was quiet again and he hadn’t noticed the tears running down his face. He didn’t know he was able to cry anymore.

“I love you.” You whispered, holding your cellphone close, likely curled up in bed and staring out your window at the rain and the forest beyond it.

“I love you dearest.” His voice did not betray the sadness building in him. “Sleep beloved, I will see you soon.”

“Yes, I’m gonna come see you and your rotary phone.” You laughed, forced and watery.

“Soon.”

“Soon.” You repeated, and hung up. He kept the black phone, laced with intricate gold details, to his ear for a moment longer. He had heard your voice at least and could sleep. He moved through his home, snuffing out candles and flicking off switches before finding the one room without windows. A coffin laid on the floor, dark brown and glistening with the finish that had been applied centuries ago.

He supposed this was his true home, not the house he had kept himself locked in, but the wooden box with your picture in it. Dutifully kept under his pillow, bringing you to the land of dreams with him—if he could dream. It was a bitter punishment for the life he lived, the transgression—sin—he supposed would be held against the two of you. For how he wanted you more than anything, how he would tear whole cities to shreds at your behest and let the hunters who lurked in your town meet his fangs if you so desired.

It was gluttony, to take eternal life and still want more.

Though it was hard to think of such evil things when looking at your face, he had taken the photo while you were on the roof. Wind had wiped your clothes into a frenzy and you laughed as the night sky twinkled behind you. He had taken it and was surprised when you’d given it to him only a few days later. He had kept up with modern technology as well as he could, but there was always something so magical about photographs to him. He collected hundreds over his life time, faces he knew and others he didn’t. Organized neatly into a collection of books, which he’d let you look through on occasion. He showed you photos from the many lives he’s lived, something about them bringing warmth rushing to your face.

He was always so devastatingly beautiful, regal and hypnotic across all eras. Yet, he couldn’t focus on the kind words that bubbled from your lips as the rushing of the blood under your skin nearly shattered something inside of him. His fangs threatened to meet your skin, but with calculated focus he reigned in his hunger. It was hard at first—you were the only human he had been around in decades—but he did it for love.

Everything he did was for love, it was his reason for existence it seemed. You had other reasons for your claim to life, but to him? You were all he had, the only reason to not let the sun engulf him or let a hunter kill him. He could not break your heart until you broke his. He let that thought dwell in his mind as sleep overtook him just as the sun rose and the rain ended. Its incessant pitter patter had ceased and he somehow dreamt of you standing golden in the forest and beckoning him closer.

He woke up to your face—maybe it wasn’t a dream—as you crouched next to his coffin. Maybe he had finally died and you were welcoming him to where God decided to send him. If you were there it couldn’t be hell. Could it be?

“My love—“ Your hand pressed to his chest, keeping him still. “It’s still daytime, sleep okay?” You whispered, hand moving to his jaw and cradling his face in your palm for a moment. “I’ll be back in a sec okay, I just need to change.” He nodded against you, kissing your hand before you let him reside in darkness. He had caught a glimpse of your pants caked in mud and could smell the blood from your skinned palms. Despite the slick terrain it seemed you ventured through the forest to see him. It made his chest shudder and for a moment he thought you had actually restarted his heart.

It was only a few minutes later when you were carefully opening his coffin again, now dawning a loose fitting silk shirt that made his red eyes alight with something wild. You had cleaned your scrapes and mud off your skin, smelling faintly of rain water and the lavender soap you gifted him. You stepped over him, nestling against his side and letting him enclose the two of you. One of his arms wrapped around your shoulders as your head rested on his chest, knuckles grazing over your hair while you stretched an arm across his torso. Your legs intertwined with his long ones and you let out a breathy sigh.

“Are you hurt?” He asked, and while you likely couldn’t see as thing, he could see you perfectly. You shook your head no against his chest, yawning into the fabric of his shirt.

“I just wanted to see you.” You murmured, chin resting in his chest as you made hit best attempt at eye contact in the blackness. “I saw the dining room table, are you okay?” You asked, somehow staring through him in the darkness. He offered his hand instead of finding the words in his throat, slowly unravelling his fist to reveal a mark free palm. He wasn’t sure you understand what he meant or if your eyes adjusted enough yet, until you carefully closed it once again, kissing his knuckles and placed your hand over his. You both were silent for a moment, until you looked up at him again and breathed, “You’re all I want.”

“And you’re all I have.” He held you closer, watching a grin pull at the corner of your lips. He was sure it was that devotion, obsession even, with you that would bring about his downfall. Centuries old and all powerful, but reduced to nothing without you. His strength and knowledge meant nothing if he didn’t have you to share it with.

And you could not stand your stagnant life in a town full of people who wished his kind dead. You chose a trek through the forest during the twilight hours of the morning to see him, bringing him soft kisses and silk under his hands as you let your mouth meet his. You kissed him with all the exhaustion and lethargy wrapped up in the two of you, molasses slow kisses that were just as sweet. It was how you fell asleep, lips to his neck and head tucked under his chin before your warm breathed puffed across his pale skin. He fell asleep not long after, engulfing you in his embrace, his cloak draping over your frame as he decided home was where you asked him to be.

[thatfreshi]

Appreciate the Astarion works!!! 💙💙💙

If you'd like another request, what about Tav gifting him something that allows him to see his reflection? Idk some kinda spell/amulet/potion? They're already to the point where he feeds from them or in a relationship and he's just beyond touched/ shocked they would do something for him like this? (Bc we know he's not ever had the most kindness shown to him)

he's been living rent free in my head and I just want to give him everything his undead lil heart desires.

Recommended Song: Mirrorball - Taylor Swift

(I just started listening to her music and holy shit this song is so them!!!)

It's late, the perfect time of day for the two of you. You and Astarion and out in your backyard, putting out some new furniture that he haggled for today. It's hard to say no to that smile, you would know. As you move nice chairs around debating where you should put them, you get into a playful argument.

"I know you're like, the house decorator, but gods why can't we put it in this corner?"

"Because darling, it'll ruin the feng shui. We should put the chairs here instead, and keep the plants over here."

You roll your eyes.

"I bet you don't even know what feng shui means."

"I don't, but it sure sounds fancy doesn't it?"

You giggle.

"What, I'm laughable because I don't know one tiny phrase? I bet there are plenty of words you don't know."

"Well, I don't know them, so I'm not worried about them."

You saunter over to him, throwing your arms up around his shoulders, and the two of you stare at each other for a moment.

"You know our anniversary is tomorrow right?"

"How could I forget my sweet?"

"I don't know, maybe the way you forgot what feng shui means."

"Okay, ouch. But yes of course, I have wondrous plans for the two of us."

"Okay but you can't have that good of plans because I really need to make sure you don't one-up this."

You walk back into the house for a brief moment, grabbing a scroll out of your bag.

"When I walked away while we were at the market, because I said I got tired of hearing you argue with that old lady? Well, I found this."

You hold the scroll out, and he gently grabs it out of your hands.

"I tried to get Gale to teach me, but you know I'm not very magically inclined so..."

He unrolls the scroll, reading the scrawled writing.

"This is-"

You cut him off in excitement.

"Mirror image! I thought maybe you could use it to make a reflection of yourself."

He stares at the scroll in shock.

"How much did you pay for this?"

"None of your damn business."

You grin at him, knowing all too well that you paid that guy way too much.

"This is very sweet my dear, I... I don't know what to say."

"Well you don't have to say anything, try it!"

After reading for a moment, he goes to cast the spell. He says a few words that go right over your head, and suddenly there were three more Astarions in your backyard.

"Gods!"

Astarion's cry of shock echoed through, all four of him? You're not quite sure how this works. After getting his bearings, Astarion looks around at his three reflections.

"Wow, this is certainly... wow."

You're so excited, you can finally show him all the little details you like about him, he gets to see how gorgeous he is, the list goes on and on.

"Okay, I have to do something funny, because I NEED you to see your little laugh lines. Hm..."

He furrows his brow at you, wondering what you're planning. And then you tickle his sides, causing an eruption of laughter.

"Quick, look!"

As he's still smiling, he catches a glimpse of one of the reflections, the little crow's feet he gets when he laughs.

"Oh, that was so important you had to attack me? If anything they make me look old."

"Well... you are kinda old."

He playfully pushes your shoulder. After the two of you quiet your laughter, he stands staring at one of the reflections, taking it all in. The eyes, the hair, trying to remember what he used to look like.

"What do you think?"

"I think... I think it's fitting."

He snarls to look at his fangs. Astarion has never seen just how menacing he can be, why people listen to him when he's threatening. You don't see anything scary though. Maybe you used to, long long ago. But now, he's just Astarion. That's all he has to be.

"This red really is quite bright."

He says, commenting on his eyes.

"Yeah, they're nice though. Piercing."

"At least my hair looks as good as I think it does. All my efforts haven't been wasted."

And just as fast as they came, the reflections vanish, fading out of existence. It's just the two of you again.

"Damn, I thought it would last a little longer."

You frown a little, wondering if it was really worth it. Astarion catches your glance, realizing your doubt. He tilts your chin up and cups your face in his hand.

"Even if it was short, it was a wondrous gift darling. I appreciate it, truly. Besides, now I know what kind of handsome devil you've ended up with."

"Yeah, trust me, I know."

You wrap yourselves up in each other, locking lips, somehow sharing your gratitude for each other in kisses. He gets a little handsy, and you jokingly whisper to him.

"Should've done this with the reflections."

He laughs quietly.

"Oh hush."

You end the evening tangled up in each other, and he seems to be more sure of himself than usual. Turns out seeing yourself after two hundred years can do something for the ego. Maybe one day, you'll find a more permanent soluton, but for now, one little scroll is enough. He's enough. You're both enough, as long as you have each other.

[srbachchan]

DAY 6039

Jalsa, Mumbai Aug 30, 2024/Aug 31 Fri/Sat 2:20 am

🪔 ,

August 31 .. birthday greetings to Aashish Palod .. Ef Amit Bothra .. and Ef Rabia Qureshi from Miami 🇺🇸 .. 🙏🏻❤️🚩

August 30 .. belated birthday greetings to Ef Amit Kumar Joshi from Bikaner .. 🙏🏻❤️🚩

my greetings to all the 👆🏼 Ef .. and my sincere wishes for this day in their lives filled with happiness and joys of life ..

you cannot tear yourself away from the life and circumstances of the contestants at KBC .. we live in a World that is alien to theirs , as do they .. and the realisation of this phenomena is a revelation for both .. their innocence gives a look into their World of the unseen unknown World of today .. and we are the ones that have no sense of the existence of them that survive and exist in the backwaters of a tier that can only be described in words, but never in its truest form .. and when the two doth meet , an explosion of the true vision appears before us in real time .. and that is as wondrous and challenging filled with their desire to know , and ours of knowing, but not knowing in the true sense ..

the wonder in their eyes is the genuine feel of them that experience the world beyond theirs, for the very first time .. and in ours the striking questionnaire of how ever does this happen ..

but it does .. and when it does the admiration and awe that we in this World experience, simply weakens our own livings and belief .. for theirs is in greater feel ..

there is much to express and write and share .. but .. but .. there is hesitation .. for there can be much that needs to be understood before it can be expressed ..

interpreters sit about in anticipation of what can be picked up and conceivably made into exclusive make belief content ..

Amitabh Bachchan

[chaoticallywriting]

☂Death and Her Companion☂

Prologue

Description - And so we meet the girl from the bunker, the hidden away secret. The one to powerful, to fearsome and to quick-witted. How sad it must be to be the harbinger of death and yet have such a kind soul. How odd it strikes the other Hargreaves that this wondrous woman is their 'little' brothers supposed ex. One must wonder what her role is in everything, which chest piece she is on Reginald Hargreaves board. One thing is for sure, to Five she is the all mighty queen.

A/N - Please don't expect much of me, I am dragging myself through work four cans of alani at a time. There are little time jumps throughout their time in the apocalypse. I plan on writing more cute apocalypse bonding moments for them throughout the series.

Warnings - Canon typical violence, use of y/n like twice. Needles, blood, syringes, abandonment issues. Self worth issues. Mentions of skinniness due to lack of food (from the apocalypse my dudes)

Pairing - Five x Reader

Word count - 6k

To tell a story, one must have a character or set of characters to follow. They may not be reliable or entirely likable nor good-hearted or kind, they may not be evil or extraordinary but simply intriguing. Intriguing enough to hold the reader's attention, to keep them coming back for more. And that is Y/N, a girl born on a day where something extraordinary happened and if given any other power she would have been one to marvel over. 

But the babe was born with fingertips dosed in inky darkness and killed her mother during birth. Then her grandmother who held the babes pinky and so on. Eventually she was kept hidden with the help of one Reginald Hargreaves, who agreed that her power was too strong for the world to bear. So said girl lived her life underground with a robot as a mother (to keep her from accidentally killing her too) and eventually a robotic companion that was meant to resemble her age. 

Even through glitches and random updates she didn’t know what normal really was, so she never batted an eye. As she grew so did the darkness upon her fingertips until eventually it stopped at her elbows. She read every book given to her, watched every movie and show and held a strict physical regiment to keep her in shape. 

She learned just about every fighting style known to man thanks to the updates her mother was given and regularly ran in the underground garden. Her bunker was her life and she never thought it odd until she was 14. You see, all those movies and books showed a different life than hers, exciting ones that showed the ocean and the sun, the moon, stars. There was romance and friendships, adventures galore. Suddenly her life which was once fulfilling felt… suffocatingly dull. 

Neither her companion nor mother would let her out nor sympathize with her. They only tried to distract the girl from her growing desires. But such desires only grew and mixed with the rage of a preteen girl came a moment in her life she’d always remember, the moment when the monotony would finally end. They didn’t listen, they tried placating, and they tried deflecting. At one point they tried to make her feel crazy, but her textbooks and ways of entertainment showed proof of a different life. So finally when all that rage and loneliness finished brewing it came time to try to escape.  

She didn’t make it past the second steel door before a syringe was put in her neck. She awoke, she tried again, she was kept locked in a more secure room, no longer allowed to roam her bunker. So when her mother and companion came to visit on the 5th day she used her upbringing to her advantage and killed them. Twitching metallic limbs were scattered about the padded room, oil seeping out instead of blood and the sound of frying wires filling the air. 

Finally, from doing this, she met the man who built her bunker. He kept himself protected behind a wall of plexiglass, staring her down through his monocle with a disapproving glare. “You have caused quite the mess.” 

The young girl was sobbing, she had just killed the only people - no things she ever knew. She was a monster, a murderer. “I just want out, please let me out!” 

“I cannot do that child, your power is beyond my control. You were able to suppress the medicine I tried to give you and are not fit for normal ways of living.” 

His voice was cold and stern, in her already fragile state his lack of empathy only made her feel small. He only seemed to validate her worst fears. 

“I can offer you something though, a way out from this life. All you must do is step through those doors and into the chamber I’ve built for you. It will let you out, I promise.” 

The young girl, having never seen him before, didn’t know how this man was full of deceit. With barely anything else to do, she simply nodded through her tears. Whilst sniffling the girl followed his instructions and clambered into the small chamber. As she turned to face him, she realized how tiny it was and began to panic, but it was too late. Before she could even open her mouth to protest, the chamber door slammed shut and a gas filled the space. 

It seemed like only seconds before air flooded the chamber, ragged gasps escaping her cracked lips. The pain she felt was overwhelming, it flooded her body and felt as though she was being torn in two. As her eyes rapidly blinked, she found the glass of the chamber had shattered and all around her was clouded by smoke and dust. As the terrified girl tried to move, that sharp pain halted her movements, causing her to crumble onto the floor. 

Her hands and knees fell against the ground, shards of glass embedding into them and as the metallic taste flooded her mouth the young girl found a sharp metal stuck within her abdomen. Her once pristine white dress now drenched in blood and covered in smears of charcoal gray from the soot surrounding her. Blood dripped from her lips as she started to wheeze, her body falling the short distance onto the surrounding rumble. The icy grip of death was squeezing her and in her final moments she saw a pair of small and childlike leather loafers appear before her eyes. 

Seconds turned to minutes as a confused and heart wrenched Five watched the young girl die. The only living being he’s seen since arriving in the future a mere eight hours ago, has perished within seconds of being within his presence. His confusion only heightens as he takes in her hands and forearms, then stares at the science fiction esque chamber she seemed to have fallen out of. It looked like something out of the comic books his brothers read- or well-used to read now that they are dead. The thought only hurt him more, causing tears to fill the pubescent eyes. 

This odd looking girl had been stored in their family home, for how long? Five doesn’t know. But what he does know is his family is dead, and the world has ended, he’s seemingly alone and all he wishes to do is mourn his siblings. He takes a step backwards, planning on going back to their remains, (where he had spent the last six hours, sitting numbly among them) when a finger of hers twitches. 

At first, he thinks he must be hallucinating from all the fumes and exhaustion due to all the tears he’s cried, but then it happens again and then her left arm jerks inwards, curling around her stomach. He’s stunned as he watches the young girl begin to slowly lift herself into a sitting position, the large piece of metal once lodged in her abdomen just… falling onto the ground, drenched in her blood. 

The gaping hole begins to slowly mend itself as she wheezes and groans. Even all the tiny scratches across her body from the glass begin to heal and Five is left standing before some undead fourteen-year-old in a mixture of shock and awe. His siblings would probably be horrified and while he won’t say it out loud there is a small part of him that is; but that morbid curiosity of his kicks in and overpowers the dull horror ebbing through his brain. Suddenly it makes sense on how she survived an entire building collapsing on her and her near indestructible pod, how somehow whatever killed everyone else around him didn’t harm her. 

“What are you?” He utters in a scratchy (he has been crying and screaming for hours) and awe filled tone.  

Her nose scrunches, bloodied features full of fear and offense at his question. Those inky hands lay flat against the rubble as she pulls herself to stand, all wounds once leaking blood now closed and scabbed over. Her tone is soft and barely audible, as if almost scared to speak. “I’m just Y/N.” 

The duffle slung over her shoulder is threadbare and has millions of random holes across it that have been half hazardously stitched back together. The uncomfortable strap digs into her shoulder as the weight of her valuables bogs her down. Their last source of shelter ended up collapsing not too long ago and so the sixteen-year-olds are once more on the hunt for a new place to call home. So they walk along a road cluttered with trash and rubble, dilapidated buildings lining both sides and the scorching sun beating down on them. 

“What do you think we’ll find this time?” 

He huffs, “I don’t know, something with a roof preferably.” Five has a duffle too along with a cart full of heavier items like their jars of food they’ve collected, jugs of barely drinkable water and makeshift tools. 

The heat from the sun has made the girl drenched in sweat, body glistening and dirty, misshapen clothes stuck to her. Perhaps if she took her gloves off she’d feel a little better, but ever since discovering them she’s kept them on no matter the weather. 

A year into the apocalypse they found a department store, one where Five became rather enamored by a mannequin. As he spent the better of twenty minutes simply staring at that torsoless thing, she hunted for any clothes they might need. Anything that didn’t seem within their size she set aside to eventually make a blanket out of it and began to softly hum to herself. 

Finally, Five abandoned the mannequin and tossed something at the girl. A pair of elbow length black gloves. “Try those on,” he said as he began sifting through her pile of maybes. These were on the mannequin, she realized. The whole time she was worried about him losing it, and he came back with these instead of a new “friend.”  

The gloves were a bit big but not enough that she had to worry about them slipping off. The inside felt silky and due to the size they went just passed her elbow instead. “These will be nice when winter hits, I won’t have to worry about potentially freezing any fingers off this year.” 

“You should try touching the next rat we catch before we kill it… I have a theory that may help.” 

And they did help, tremendously. The girl was shocked all it took to stop her powers was some cheap fabric. Her heart squeezed with appreciation as she finally began feeling less terrified of being around anything living. It felt ironic in the beginning how she finally felt free from not only herself but the chains that she was metaphorically born with, after the world had ended. Almost everyone was dead and she was finally at peace. 

Now at sixteen she wears the same pair of gloves which now fit perfectly. There are holes and tears that have also been stitched with random thread that they scavenged throughout the years. Despite the fabric containing her undesired power, she finds herself hardly ever touching anything she wouldn’t want to kill. Anything that isn’t Five is food and well Five isn’t a very tactical person. There are a few nights each winter that they’ll huddle together for warmth, which he always makes a face about; but beyond that it’s more of a safety precaution. A ‘just in case I bump against you or need to grab you before you fall’ kind of thing.

As she stares at the dirtied gloves, a thought that’s always drifted through her mind bubbles to the surface once more. While they usually scavenge in silence to keep them focused for danger, today feels like an okay day to break that. There haven't been any accidents in a while, and typically they tend to be some sort of problem with herself. She’s fallen on rebar and been bitten by rabid rats, caught deathly flus and been the taste tester for water since the very day she fell out of what she can only assume was some type of cryochamber. 

“Why do you think he never thought to do this to me?” 

He eyes her for a second, brow raised. They both step over some debris, worn shoes knocking small rocks out of the way as he speaks. “What? End the world?” 

A cockroach skitters by and for a brief second they both watch it in concentrated silence. There’s a silent debate between them, eyes locked, on whether they should hunt it and kill. Five makes the first move of ignoring it and moving on. They have jars of food, and it’s not that big. Plus they don’t have the necessities to pickle it like they did in the past. 

“No dumbo.-“ He glares at her, “-give me gloves, so I couldn’t harm anyone. He could have saved so much time and money and I could have been one of you guys! One of the umbrella academy, going on missions and having a real family.” 

“What we had wasn’t exactly a proper family,” he starts. The girl sighs, thinking of what her family was. While his wasn’t normal either, it wasn’t as insane sounding as hers. “I’m guessing you can’t really make a toddler or even a young child keep the gloves on, no matter how much you stress the importance of them.” 

“Then he should have just killed me when he adopted me.” 

He stops all together which she doesn’t pick up at first, too busy surveying their surroundings for anything useful. So far it’s just more collapsed buildings and dust. Sometimes she thinks of the old westerns Thomas (her childhood companion) liked, and imagines a tumbleweed lightly dancing across the street ahead of them. 

“You think so?” Finally, she turns, noticing the distance between them and the girl just shrugs. He eyes her, gaze critical. They’ve been at this whole apocalypse thing for a while now and a major part of staying alive has been having one another. Yes he has the motivation of seeing his family again to help keep him going, but it’s been her that’s helped keep him off that delicious looking precipice of madness. 

“I do, if he couldn’t trust me to simply keep some gloves on then he should have killed me. Obviously I was too dangerous for the world, and yet he wouldn’t just do the one thing that was probably best for everyone involved. I mean do you think he adopted me, realized my power and just shoved me in the bunker? Or do you think maybe he tried alternatives first?”

He rubs his face which is already smeared in dust and dirt, his hair is tangled and long and beyond greasy. She knows hers doesn’t look any better. It’s been a while since they’ve found anything sharp, the last sharp thing they had was a broken bottle that they used as a makeshift knife. It didn’t last long. 

“I think despite his cold nature, killing a baby was too heartless of a task even for the old man.” He finally walks again, stopping at her side. Neither move, simply staring at one another. “I don’t know why he kept you in there, maybe we can figure that out when we get back.” 

Despite his insistence of them returning, she finds herself hardly believing it. She’s never told him how she doubts him, worried it will cause a rift between the two. The idea of rocking the delicate balance between them has always been at the back of her mind. Sometimes she wakes in the middle of the night from a horrible dream of him abandoning her, claiming she’s too much of a liability or something. 

“You have caused quite the mess.”

It loops in her brain like clockwork, constantly there to remind her of the life she once lived. Even if they were robots, she killed the only two companions she ever had, and she wonders if Five has ever judged her for it. 

“Yeah,” she says in a slightly dejected, half-hearted tone. “Maybe.” 

Around her twenties, something happens. She’s not quite sure how or why, but she stops aging. Five continues to age as time drags on and she stays relatively the same. They theorize that it must be because of her whole ‘not dying’ shtick which then just springs forth a new panic inside her. She’s always worried about Five somehow dying but now no matter what she’ll end up alone. Because even if she wraps him in bubble wrap and always takes good care of him, he will die and she won’t. There is no old age for her and there most likely never will be. She can do everything in her power to keep him alive but one day he will die, and she will be eternally alone in this fiery hellscape. It’s befitting, she guesses, due to his nickname for her being Death. 

Death will be stuck in hell completely by herself because death always takes from others so why should it be given something in return. Why should it have companionship or a happy ending of some sort? 

They’ve grown closer recently, it’s odd and comforting all at once. Perhaps it’s due to the fact that they’ve managed to make a somewhat stable makeshift shelter. They’ve spent two and a half years there and just recently have come across a small packet of potato seeds. There’s little hope anything will grow but that small piece of happiness has caused them both to briefly stop thinking of what needs to be done next to keep from dying. 

They’re thirties now, or well she’s still physically twenty, and have recently been reading together at night. They huddle by their fire as the autumn chill sets in, and he reads a few passages before the flames die down. Shoulders bump and sometimes their heads lean against one another. He’s grown to be handsome in her eyes, and she wonders if she’d still think that if others were around. 

One day, after the embers dwindle and a cold breeze drifts through the cracks within their makeshift home, something odd occurs. Within the darkness she makes out his eyes still open as they huddle together, surveying her features. When they make eye contact he clears his throat and shifts to look at the metal sheet ceiling they’ve concocted. 

“What is it?” Death whispers. It’s not great to be loud at night, as time went on the rats got bigger and as did the roaches. They’ve become a sort of predator for them and while both are excellent fighters neither wants to deal with some sort of altercation this late at night. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he coldly responds. Ahh, so she gets to deal with defensive Five. The one who deflects and tries to turn it around on her. It’s funny and kinda cute that despite all the years that they’ve spent together, he still thinks he can lie to her. 

“You were staring at me,” she turns to her side to face him, trying and failing to hide a smirk. Her hands are flat underneath her head to act as a cushion against the flattened pillow she’s been using for the last six years. 

“You have dirt on your face.” 

“I always have dirt on my face-“ 

“Yeah well,” he drawls, “you have more than usual.” 

In a flash she turns to the other side, hand digging into the dirt nearby and smears it across his face. His mouth is gapping open, and she can’t stop the laughter that bubbles out. He clamps a hand over her mouth and for a moment, they stare into each other's eyes in silence as they wait to hear for any nearby creatures. His eyes are wide with anger and his grip against her mouth is rough, but she’s not scared. She could never be scared of him. 

They stay like that even once it’s clear they aren’t in danger. His grip on her mouth softens slightly but neither diverts their gaze. It almost feels like a contest on who can wimp out first. 

“You have beautiful eyes,” he mutters, his voice so soft it’s almost lost to the howling wind. “That’s what I was looking at.” 

Deaths mouth drops open as his hand falls away. 

“Oh.”

Her bravado is lost, and she feels something tighten within her chest. Her heart is beating rapidly, like whenever they're in danger, but they aren’t. She vaguely remembers watching heroines in romance movies describe this type of thing, this sort of rattling within her abdomen and sudden clamminess of the palms. 

“And your lips,” he starts- 

“What about them?” She whispers, far too nervous to let him continue without responding first.

“They suit your face perfectly.” His thumb comes to rest on her lower lip, and he slightly pulls at it. The woman’s breath hitches and unconsciously scoots closer to him. Their chests are touching as they lay on their sides, due to the closeness her hand comes to rest on the forearm of the hand that’s now moving to gently cradle her face. 

“And I can’t stop thinking about them. Even when we’re in danger, I’m not focusing on the task at hand because all I can think about is your lips.” 

She surges forward, closing the gap between them and pressing her lips against his own. He tastes of dirt and the saltiness of his sweat, but she doesn’t mind, she’s sure she tastes the same. It’s awkward and their teeth clash against one another, saliva dribbling down their chins and their touching each other everywhere they can think of. It’s messy and not romantic at all, holding this sense of life ending urgency. Like if she doesn’t kiss him until she can’t breathe then she’ll finally experience true mortality. 

Eventually they reluctantly pull apart, both gasping for breath as their noses bump against one another. He’s still cradling her face and her grip on his forearm is bruising, as if worried he might pull away with regret. 

“Esattamente come immaginavo” he whispers. She can’t help the smile that breaks out across her lips, nor the happy little sigh that escapes her. She kisses him again, and again and again. He indulges each one. 

She breathes the words against his lips, his fingers now gripping her hip to hold her close. It’s hard to concentrate with his thigh pressed against her. “Come lo hai immaginato?” She finally breathes out. 

“Perfetto.”

More years pass, that same shelter still works as their home, even if it is quite rickety. There’s a makeshift shelf lined with pickled roaches or rats and there’s new support poles throughout. With Fives age she does most of the intensive work now, which he hates and there’s always an argument about it. They are as close as can be though, despite everything and despite the wrinkles littering his face or the slight graying of his hair. She loves him, and he loves her in their own twisted little way. 

One day someone appears and breaks their routine. A woman who goes by the title of “The Handler,” explains the commission to them and its mission. Then she pitches a cushy contract to them and while Five hymns and haws over it, Death is about ready to sign on the dotted line. It’s not that she doesn’t understand the risks or thinks it’ll be enjoyable, but it’s out of this apocalyptic wasteland, and it gives Five a chance to live longer. If they get out of here they can retire in their original timeline and get the medical care he may need in his old age. 

Eventually, he concedes, and they leave behind what they’ve known as home for more than half their lives. It’s weird, being part of society again. At least for Five. Death was never fully part of society to begin with so it’s more of a whole panic inducing experience for her. They are given a small living space which consists of a queen bed and an en-suite bathroom. There’s a kitchenette against one wall with a small metal table that has two chairs pushed underneath it. Five says it looks like a motel straight outta the ‘50s. The Handler tells them that’s the current decade they are in. 

Proper clothes and toiletries are given to them and the first time she showers since before her cryochamber is an experience. The hot water hits her back and seemingly melts her hair, turning it from a ratty mess to complete wetness that hangs down her back. The woman hasn’t had a hair cut since she was a child and as she climbs out of the shower she realizes how much hair she currently possesses. A towel is wrapped tightly around her when there’s a knock on the bathroom door, and she cautiously opens it to let Five in. 

He whistles as he takes her in. Beads of water trail down her body and for once there’s not a speck of dirt on her. She spent forever scrubbing at every crevice and callous on her body, trying to rid herself of decades worth of dirt and survival. Her hands tightly grip the towel, afraid to be near him without her gloves. The commission took their old clothes away, claiming they were just trash now. She was promised new clothes and new gloves, but it hurt to part from the hole infested pair gifted to her by her partner. 

“You look like a whole new woman,” he states. She looks down at her body, all skin, and bones from feasting on scraps for so long. She can’t hold back the chuckle that leaves her. 

“I guess so,” she claims. He’s clean now too, even his beard is gone and all that’s left is a mustache. She’s shocked, he’s had one for so long. They’d try to cut it whenever they could to keep him cleanly but even then it’s not like they could do much. She grabs a pair of scissors from the counter and carefully hands them to him, holding her breath as she watches him take them from her. “Will you cut my hair?” 

Five is shocked, it seems the idea of her cutting her long mane never crossed his mind. But if they are going to be assassins then she needs to be practical and there’s no need for such excessive amounts of hair now that they have access to proper scissors. It’s quiet as he cuts, there’s the faint sound of some old song playing in the background, most likely from the little radio on their dresser. She can hear the snip of the metal each time he cuts away a chunk of her past, the weight slowly lessening. It’s symbolic in a way, as if it’s him shutting the door on that part of their life. 

Time drones on, many songs pass and neither of them speak. Eventually he turns her to him, careful to keep her away from the mirror. She watches him with bated breath, realizing now that maybe he won’t like her with shorter hair. It never crossed her mind, it’s only ever been them so the idea that he may suddenly lose interest just seemed… impossible. 

He snips at a few strands close to her face, her initial reaction being to jerk away which he just tuts at her for. Finally, she stays still, and he finishes his work with a few more snips. After slowly setting the scissors down he takes her in, a smile slowly creeping into his thinning lips. “Bellísimo“ he whispers. 

He always flirts with her in Italian, it causes her to flush. With all the dirt gone and the lights of the bathroom shining down on her, only a towel covering her naked frame, she suddenly feels insecure. She’s never felt that around him, never felt the need really. It was never about being pretty, there wasn’t time for pretty. But now there sort of is and there are the resources for it too. 

He turns her to the mirror and the woman before her isn’t apocalyptic Death. This is the new her, fresh into society and ready to kill anyone necessary for her. She hopes that she comes to like who she sees in the mirror, or at least recognize her. Right now it seems like a hollowed out stranger with bags under her eyes and a bony form. But she will admit, Five is a good hairdresser. 

The commission is smart, that she will give them. They hardly ever assign her and Five on missions together. They become ships passing in the night, barely seeing one another for an hour or so at a time before they are rushing off in a new mission, after a new target. Furthermore, they give her new silky black gloves and The Handler has dubbed her “The Belladonna” because she’s stealthy like a poison and quick like one too. Efficient and always out of sight. She loses count of the people she’s killed, at this point it’s instinctual to take off her gloves and just touch whenever need be. The horror of watching someone drop-dead mere moments later soon wears off, and instead she’s left feeling emptier each time. 

Five has always been trying to figure out how to get home, but now with the technology of the commission he’s really started cracking down on it. She tries to help when she can, offering insight and even solving one of the various problems. It’s late one night, a rare one where they are both in their room together. 

He’s got a drink in his hand, and she’s in one of his shirts with her gloves on. They’ve got papers scattered across the floor with various formulas and her brain hurts from all this thinking. She just got back from a mission, having successfully killed eight people who were at risk of disrupting the timeline. It was easy until the end, one slipped away and a chase began. She eventually got him but had to pull her gun on him which has always been her least favorite way to do it. It’s not like she’s bad at it, quite the contrary, but it’s messy. It’s brutal and suddenly it seems more impactful. With a simple touch they choke and freeze, then fall to the ground and boom! Dead. With a gun there’s a struggle and so much blood, there’s gasping and wheezing and pleads for a second chance. She feels less human every time she pulls the trigger. 

“What about your age?” She randomly asks. He’s sat on the edge of the bed and her question has his gaze whipping away from the papers to her pacing form. “I mean, if we can travel to the correct time to fix the apocalypse from happening then maybe we can do something about your age.” 

“What’s wrong with my age?” a white brow is raised and she sighs. She’s never really voiced her fear to him, worried he might end up becoming offended. In all honesty old age suits him, he’s always acted like an old man. Crotchety, opinionated with sarcasm dripping from his tone. He’s the kind who’d probably sit on his porch and yell at kids to get off his lawn. 

Death walks over to him, her hands coming to rest on his shoulders. They lock eyes, and she knows it’s time to finally tell him. “You’ll die in a couple of decades, and I’ll most likely still be a twenty-something year old woman. If we manage to get back to your family's timeline and retire then… Shouldn’t we be given the chance at a proper life together?” 

“What like kids and a house? I didn’t peg you for the whole suburban life.” 

She scoffs, eyes practically rolling into the back of her head. “No, I’m not talking about the whole white picket fence shebang.”

“I’m talking about us building a home together, finding a place with big windows in the living room that we’ll place two armchairs by so we can read in the sunlight. We’ll buy enough books to fill up a whole wall with them and a bar cart with your favorite spirits always stocked up.”

“We’ll get serious business-esque jobs and on the weekends we’ll lay in bed for an extra hour, cuddling or making love. You’ll get more time with not only me but your whole family too. Don’t you want that?” 

It’s quiet for far too long as he contemplates her words, his eyes scanning over her features before looking at the mess of papers behind her. She can tell he’s doing the logistics in his head, weighing the pros and cons. His hands rest on her hips, and she gently straddles his lap, her arms linking around his neck to keep him close. 

“It’ll complicate the formula even more,” he softly observes. “We’re so close to finishing this. I can tell.” 

Her hands slide up to cup the back of his head. She can’t help but frown as he lets her down, her heart squeezing as she thinks of what’s down the road. “Please, we’re both smart, and can easily figure it out. It’s just a couple extra numbe-“ 

“Death-“ 

“Please,” she practically begs, her hands tangling in his hair and slightly tugging. “I can’t go live a normal life if you aren’t part of it.” 

“I miss them, they’re my family, and they need me.”

She’s losing him, the wall is slowly going up, and she’s desperately trying to jump over it before the finality sets in. “What about me, don’t I need you too? Don’t we need each other I mean we survived the apocalypse together for fuck's sake!” 

“And I spent the entire time thinking about getting back to them. Surviving for them.” 

He doesn’t mean too, she knows that deep down, but his words cut her deeply. A wound on her barely beating heart is forming, and he’s just staring at her with a hardened expression. 

Her eyes well with unshed tears, voice quivering as she speaks. “What about me, about us? Didn’t you survive for me too?” 

It’s silent for two beats, then three and then four. They just stare at each other waiting for one to relent. Both of them are so stubborn and so set in their plan. She knows this is a pipe dream, but she was still holding out hope until this very moment. He thickly swallows and she just knows.

The wall is fully between them now. She couldn’t make the jump. His mind is made up, and she’s scared to hear what he’ll say. “I think I should go alone. There are less numbers if it’s just me.” 

And that scratch, that wound, only deepens. It’s a crater now, and she fears there’s very little of her heart left functioning. She’s died a million times, been stabbed in every place imaginable, contracted various deadly illnesses, died from fire and hypothermia and yet now, this hurts far more than all of those combined. She climbs off of him like his touch is hurting her and aggressively wipes at her eyes. 

“I didn’t realize I was hindering you so much-“ 

“I didn’t say that. I’m just sa-“ 

“I heard you loud and clear. If my presence is such a bother then I think I’ll request a different room.” She pulls on a pair of pants and quickly slips her feet into a pair of slippers. He just watches her too, doesn’t jump up to stop her. All this time she’s worried about what would happen if she voiced her thoughts, and it turns out her fears were warranted. All it took was her asking for something for once, begging for something even, for him to shut her out. 

Five is selfish and cold-hearted, and he doesn’t love her like she loves him. He’s a man obsessed with one mission only, and she bets he won’t even like his family once he gets there. He just wants to be some kind of hero to them, to prove to himself that he can be the savior. To make up for his absence all those years. 

With the click of the door, she severs the only love she’s ever known and changes the course of her life. 

[onskepa]

Hii can u write a mama Kataru fic? Lets say she survives the rda attack on her clan and a nomad clan takes her in and she goes to live with them. She thinks her kids are dead and doesnt know the rda took them. So after years of being with this clan they return to the area and rumors of a human resistance that has taken in some sarentu kids reach their ears and she goes to see if its true. And there she reunites with her daughter.

Thanks in advance!

helloooooooooooo~!! Oh mah goooooooosh!! This I can see happen in so many directions! And I chose a good path for this one, enjoy~!

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

Silpey

“Aha’ri, I understand you are upset. But you have to face the fact that your mother left you” Mercer says, trying to sound brave but fear hinted in his voice. Merely a child yet standing taller was ever so brave Aha’ri. Grabbing his wrist tightly, hate and disbelief in her eyes. 

“LIAR!” she accuses. 

Her fellow na’vi gasping. That word did not exist in their old forgotten language. 

Aha’ri remembers. She was young at that time. Gaps in her memories but one thing was certain. Her mother loved her, she loves aha’ari and her younger sister silpey. Their mother’s song chord was their treasure, proof of her love. 

Mercer, Cortez, everyone spewed stupid doubts and manipulation in their minds. Aha’ri remained stubborn, still sticking to her belief. 

Sad that she never got to see how true she was.

“Everyone! We have returned!” 

Loud cheers, reunions, hugs, cries of joy, relief all around. The two branches of the traveling Zeswa clan have united once again. The zakru they follow have joined those who lay already. 

Everyone joins, older members meeting young newborns, long time friends catching up, family recalling many good times. Everyone had someone. 

But Kataru had no one. 

Kataru lives with the zeswa but she is sarentu. 

Karatu of the Sarentu has no one to reunite. No one to call family, no one to call her own. 

The sarentu are no more. None have survived the massacre. The once beloved clan, friends to all, story tellers, artisans, musicians, gone. When word spread the ending of the Sarentu, all of Pandora grieved. Many say it was the Yava that took their lives, that a soulless tsahik spread her poison down their throats, or that natural disasters took them all. 

There is only one truth. 

A truth that is still left with many questions. 

And just as there is one truth, there is also one sarentu left. That is what she believes, the last of her clan, her people. 

Kataru, the remaining living Sarentu. Her mark on her cheek to prove it. 

For years kataru has remained hidden among a nomad clan. Keeping herself safe from the sky demons, as well as the hope to find her children who were tragically taken from her. Her precious children, her darling daughters. 

Aha’ri and silpey. 

Aha’ri was merely 5 and silpey was still a baby barely forming sentences. How did it go wrong? Where did it go wrong? 

For years Kataru was haunted by so many questions, none that she could find the answer to.

“Kataru '' Minang, the Tsahik of the Zeswa clan, calls the na’vi in question. 

Kataru greets the leader, both acknowledging each other. “How may I assist you Tsahik?” she asks softly. A few minutes ago kataru was summoned to see Minang in the leader’s hut. She prefers to hide in the background, not gather much attention to herself. So this was a surprise. 

Minang smiles kindly to kataru, placing her hand on the Sarentu’s shoulder. 

“I bring the more wondrous information for you” Minang says. Her smile grew by the second. Curiosity and anticipation grew within katari. Tilting her head to the side, “how so?” Kataru asks. 

“My sister has gone to visit the human resistance, their morals and beliefs align with ours. But kataru, there at their base,  there is a group of na’vi that you would love to meet” 

Kataru shakes her head, confusion taking over. 

“Kataru, you are not alone. There are Sarentu na’vi in the resistance. They survived the massacre” 

Never had kataru fled as fast as she could. Fast she went, beyond the land, beyond what the wind can go. Faster than pali. It was like she summoned great speed to get there by foot. It didn't matter what lands she had to cross, what mountains to climb. Kataru would do it. She would run halfway around the world if she had to. 

The moment Minang told her about the surviving sarentu’s, nothing else mattered. She needed to see them, feel their hands, look at their marks. What little dwindling hope she had all these years, it grew. Fast. 

As kataru runs, she sees flashes of her past. Her clan, her people. Their traditions, her friends, her family, her children. 

All of them. 

Who survived? How did they hide all this time? 

So when every step she took, every sharp edge that pokes her, every scrap or scratch on her, kataru welcomes these slight pains. It tells her, awakens her, that all of this is real. It is not a dream. Not like her false dreams that gave her false hopes. No, this is real, and the sooner she arrives at the base, the sooner this hope will bloom bigger. 

“Kataru? Wait slow down-”  

“I cannot wait any longer!” 

While she should respect the Olo’ykte of the clan that took her in, kataru’s anticipation and impatience took over her judgment. Nesim understood, holding her still as kataru catches her breath. Nesim was amazed how fast she ran, from base to the Zeswa grounds was very grand. 

To not sound so rustic, nesim was kind enough to hand her a pouch of water to kataru. The sarentu drank it gratefully. 

“Is she the other Sarentu you spoke of?” 

A deep male voice was heard behind kataru, turning around and she saw a fit male na’vi. Could be her state of mind, or it could be something else, but looking at the unknown male na’vi, more specifically, his tattoos, they seem oddly familiar. Perhaps from another clan. One she can't recall at the moment. 

“Yes, this is kataru. The only sarentu we have known that survived the massacre” Nesim replies. 

“I am sol’ek, not Sarentu but from another clan completely” Sol’ek greets her with the respectful “I see you” greeting. Kataru doing the same. 

“Is it true…? Are there sarentu here?” kataru asks, little doubt hinting in her voice. 

Sol’ek smiles a bit, “Yes, come, I will lead you to them. They will be very happy to see you” 

Every step felt like a mile to kataru. 

Time slowed, her vision becoming blurry and her heart beating in her head. 

Sol’ek lead her around the base and into a small cave, a bonfire was seen. She can hear laughter, unfamiliar voices, too human like their tones. As she gets closer, she can see 3 na’vi all sitting down around the bonfire. 

Sol’ek steps aside, gesturing to her to go further. “Go, they await for you” he says, and leaves to give them privacy. 

This was it, this was what she was waiting for 32 years. 

Carefully taking her steps, kataru goes deeper, letting the sounds of her footsteps notify the na’vi. One of them did, a young na’vi with short hair, nervous looking while wearing human clothing. Timid he seems, pointing at kataru. 

“Guys….” he tells the others. 

Everyone turns to look at kataru. 

Time froze. 

They all look so young. 

Kataru carefully analyzes their faces. They bear the Sarentu mark. 

A young female na’vi stands up. Fear and hope in her eyes and voice, “Are you…Sarentu…?” she asks. 

Tears leave kataru’s face, nodding “I am”  she answers. 

Soon enough, she was swarmed by the young na’vi, all hugging tightly. More tears were released, cries of sorrow, happiness, relief, everything. Kataru doesn't know if the cries she hears are of her own, or of the others. She traces their marks, the very thing that identifies them as sarentu. 

Never had kataru felt more grateful for Eywa. Her prayers were heard. 

“Another sarentu…..!! I can't believe it!” one of the young male sarentu says inbetween his sobs. 

“We thought we were truly alone,” the young female says. Kataru understands how they feel. She understands their pain. 

After what felt like hours, they all calmed down. Sniffles, hiccups, and few tears still there, but all rapid emotions have since withered down. 

“Tell me your names, my name is kataru” she introduces herself. 

Smiles, each one does the same. 

“I am nor” the oldest male says. 

“I am Ri’nela” the female points at herself. 

The one with the cap on his head looks down, very nervous, “im…Im teylan” he whispers. 

Yes, their faces seem more reconizable now with their names. 

“I remember….you were all babes…Ri’nela..you. You look so much like your mother, you even kept the beads” kataru comments. Seeing Ri’nela’s face, was like a copy of her fallen mother. 

“I do?” Ri’nela asks. Kataru nods. 

“You look so beautiful, I know your mother would have been so proud of you” she goes on. 

Turning, she looks at nor, “and you. I remember your parents would travel between our clans borders to the Kami’tire grounds for trading. You would always come back with some form of scratches” 

Nor blushes but smiles shyly. “I remember vaguely. I remember my father would take me all the time” 

And finally, kataru looks at teylan. 

She cant help but feel sadness for him. He was the youngest among the three. Was a baby when that night happened. 

“Your parents loved you teylan. I remember….when you were born, your father howled loud and mighty. First born, he was proud of you. Your mother would sing you of our peoples prayers to Eywa. You were very much, "Kataru told him. Her voice is soft and soothing. 

Teylan couldn't form words, so he let his actions do the talking. He hugged kataru tightly, afraid to think this was a dream. Since his earliest memory, Teylan was told his people abandoned him, that he wasn't loved. So to hear from another Sarentu, one who spent time out in Pandora, it made him feel things that he never thought he would feel. Genuine love. 

While Kataru is very grateful to see more Sarentu, happy to know where they were, there was still one thing left lingering in her mind. 

Looking at the three Sarentus, she spoke her more dreading, anticipating question. 

“Do….have any of you known of my children? Their names are Aha’ri and Silpey”

Dread. 

Dread, despair, sadness, guilt, regret, rage. 

It was like relieving that terrible night. 

Aha’ri. 

Her bright, clever, wonderful little girl was dead. At the hands of a sky demon. 

Died all because she wanted to go home. She never gave up on the belief that her mother loved her. 

Aha’ri was right. 

Kataru loved her so much it almost hurt. 

Aha’ri loved music, loved to dance, loved to tell stories, loved to be all that she was. A sarentu. Like the past Sarentu Olo’eyktan, aha’ri was brave, Fierce, and protective of others. Especially her young sibling. 

What Kataru would do to see aha’ri alive. To see her with the other surviving sarentu. To see her older, wiser, stronger, and free. Yet the cruel, heartless sky demon called “Mercer” took her life. Her chance. Her future. 

Kataru was never one to hate. Hate was strong, hate was something she viewed negatively. May Eywa forgive her. For now she hates, she hates this mercer demon. To kill a na’vi was evil, but to kill a child? Hate was all she felt for the demon who took everything from her. 

Taking her home, her clan, her children. 

Yet there is still hope. 

Kataru had lost one child, but there is another she so desperately wants to see. Her baby, Silpey. 

From what the others have said, Silpey is traveling to neighboring clans to learn how to be a warrior. How to fight. Sarentu’s were never warriors to begin with. Choosing peace over violence. To balance things over keeping things uneven. 

Tonight she returns. 

And kataru waits for her. 

The others leave the cave to give her privacy. Lighting the bonfire again, she sits patiently. Humming at her old tune. She doesn't have her song chord anymore, but she remembers how it was sung. Yes, kataru remembers her song so well. Singing loud, letting the stone cave walls echo her voice. 

Kataru sings her heart out, feeling happy, yet sad. Too lost in her song, she failed to hear footsteps coming towards her. A voice interrupts her song. 

“Sa’nu?” 

Okie, I put my all in this one. Hope you all like it! Until next time! See ya!

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Silpey: hope (with tsnì in subordinate clause, unless in independent clause)

[sanjoongie]

𝐇𝕠ռ𝜚𝘺𝘦𝒅 𐐛𝗶ҽ𝒔 𝑎𝒏𝖽 ɑ 𝓢ѡℯ𝟈𝘁 𝙱ꭵ𝚝ⅇ

📗Thrill of the Hunt collab Masterlist

📗Pairing: Hwang Hyunjin (Gean-Canach Fae) x Reader x Choi San (Part Fae Part Hound of the Hunt)

📗Au: Fae au, Artist au, Writer au

📗Trope: s2l, mated pair, lovers to enemies

📗Genre: smut, angst, dark themes

📗Warnings: ⚠Please be aware of the dark themes featured in this fic⚠ imprisonment, slave/servant treatment, mentions of blood, death, violence (choking), humans kept for breeding, cannibalism, torture, broken heart, pregnancy

📗Kinks: prey/predator, penetrative sex without a barrier, knot dynamics, imprinting "mated" sex, celibate! San, feral sex, biting, baiting San into fucking you, "just the tip" mentality but from the reader!, rip-able clothes, aphrodisiac (willingly taken by reader), slight hate sex mentality, breast worship

📗Summary: after being lured to the Fae Realm by Hyunjin on a false pretense, you decide enough is enough and risk attempting to escape your pretty prison. What you didn't expect was to fall for the Fae that was sent to bring you back.

📗Word Count: 10,331

📗Dedication: @mejuii speedy beta reader @stardragongalaxy provided Txt's Kelpie! Kai cameo, @flurrys-creativity 's winged Faerie! reader & Brownie! Changbin, and finally @anyamaris 's reader makes a cameo as well as Rose! @smallfrye who let me get excited about this and bounce ideas off of her

📗Songs to listen to while reading: Seventeen's Monster, Jackson's Bullet to the heart, Ateez's New World

“Oh human!” A melodic voice called into your room. 

You sighed loudly and closed the book you had been reading. You may live in a wondrous set of rooms in a tower at the end of a valley, but it was a prison all the same.

“Hyunjin,” You sighed, “You could at least refer to me by my name.”

Hyunjin threw the doors open to the room you currently inhabited. “Ash is so dull. Like you're what comes after a great fire.”

Your mouth felt like it was full of ash. Hyunjin never hid how quickly his passion for you became ash. Now you were simply a human caught in the fae realm, his muse for creativity when he, as an immortal, could find none.

Still, Hyunjin prattled on, not swayed by his purpose. “What have you been working on?”

There was no use trying to keep it away from him. He would cajole it out of you sooner or later. You tilted your book towards him and he peered over. His intelligent and bright eyes moved with alacrity, consuming the words you had put to paper. He smiled in glee, wicked and cunning. “I know the perfect painting for that.”

This was the ever-turning of your life. You couldn't tell the pass of time, not like in the mortal realm. There were different seasons, but Hyunjin lived in a valley that was permanently caught in the throws of high summer. So the only way to judge the passing of time was your works, and the works of Hyunjin that followed after. Either he would create from inspirations of your writing or you would write from inspirations of his paintings. It was a torturous pairing, and one that you would sever, if only you could.

You had first met Hyunjin when you were a burgeoning writer. You were young and fearless but also clueless. Hyunjin had been a gorgeous temptation. His sharp mind was what lured you in, another kindred spirit of the arts. You had fallen fast for the beautiful man, but he had a secret.

“If only I could bring you back with me,” Hyunjin sighed as the sun set. He leaned against the windowsill of your tiny cottage. 

“Back to the city?” You wondered curiously, interest suddenly piqued.

Hyunjin shrugged. “It’s amazing there. So many others like us, who love the arts and want to live their lives surrounded by the arts.”

“We can go!” You jumped up, cheeks flushing at the pleased look in Hyunjin’s eyes. 

“Are you sure? Didn’t you say your elder sister frowned upon our companionship?” He quirked an eyebrow at you.

You sighed heavily. “Oh, poo, she can sit on a stick. I want to live my own life.”

Despite your elder sister's warnings about Hyunjin, your head was full of dreams of creating a life with others that honored the arts--unlike everyone else in your tiny, back water village. You followed Hyunjin, hand in hand, down your well-worn road and into the forest. Hyunjin sent you a mischievous smile when you wondered why you had left the road.

“This is a special shortcut,” he said.

A jolt of excited electricity shot through you at the thought that perhaps shortcut was an euphemism for some slap and tickle, perhaps Hyunjin would indulge you with his head between your legs like you had fantasized--

“Over here,” Hyunjin brought you back to reality, tugging your arm towards a mushroom circle.

“You’re not about to lure me to a faerie circle, are you, Jinnie?” You teased back.

“And what if I was?” Hyunjin drew you into the circle of his arms just barely hovering before the circle.

“I would follow you there,” You murmured back, drunk on his attentions.

It took a while to settle into the fact that Hyunjin was Fae. As soon as the two of you crossed over into the Fae Realm, his glamor had been dismissed. The delicate curve of his ears was the most apparent, along with the blast of his power, it practically radiated off of him, alluring and warm like the sunshine of the realm you had crossed over into. 

The sex perhaps distracted you from the majority of the way Hyunjin mindfucked you into believing this was the life you had traded for. The first time he bent you over your desk to fuck you, was titillating. 

“I’m here to give you inspiration,” he murmured into the shell of your ear.

His flowing shirt fluttered over your lower back as he pressed into you. “My muse,” he cooed and continued to enter you until he hit the end of you. 

“Hyunjin!” You whimpered, nails digging into the oak wood below you.

“This is only the beginning of the pleasures I can give to you,” Hyunjin promised. 

He urged your upper body to lift up, so that he could whisper further honeyed lies into your ear. He waxed poetic of the world the two of you would live in; he would wrap himself around you for years and you would write and he would paint and your lives would be fulfilled. 

This was when he imprinted on you, biting into your shoulder and connecting you with himself forever. You heard from the lesser Fae that imprinting was usually meant to connect two Fae, like a pact of marriage. Your heart surged when you heard this, sure in your decision to follow Hyunjin away from your mortal life.

And for a decade or two, you were so utterly in love with Hyunjin, that you grew ignorant of the way he treated you. Hyunjin kept you locked up in a wonderful tower. He told you it was to keep you safe from the other Fae, even though he was never a threat to you. He told you the tower let you view the city, the valley, all the inspiration a writer would need. And it worked. 

Until he stopped visiting your bed, stopped whispering honeyed lies about how much you meant to him. Oh, he meant every word that you meant a lot to him for he could not lie, but it was not about love, like you had been interpreting it. Hyunjin valued you for your human emotions, for your human imagination. Being immortal meant that you grew bored, you lacked any new sights, but a human--a human was full of new eyes and thus the perfect muse.

When you caught up with his trickery, it was too late. You were bound in your pretty prison, bound to repeat whatever Hyunjin wanted in order for him to live his best immortal life. And that’s when your summary, lovely, warm life started to leak its colorfulness.

You started to rebel and truly learned what it was to be at the mercy of a Fae Master. Hyunjin didn’t take well to you refusing to create anything for him. Your first set of punishment was to be worked as a servant for the Fae. You spent a spell as a food server but the atrocities you were privy to truly opened you up to the world you were trapped in. Torture was a passing amusement for Fae while they ate. You once watched a starving human be served up their own foot and ate it. 

But nothing was worse than the months you were forced to serve the humans that were kept in the breeding pits. “You should watch your tongue, mortal, before I cast you in with that lot,” Hyunjin had threatened you when you broke your quill and threw your book out of your window.

Certain humans were kept in a series of cells in the very tower you were trapped in, unbeknownst to you. The Ciaradh court loved to study humans and they were constantly obsessed with creating new young. Some Fae theorized that getting a human fat with child was easier than bunnies fucking in spring, so there was a dedication to seeing if it was so true. 

There were chances when said breeding humans were ‘walked’, for their benefit of course. Hyunjin would also, upon feeling like boasting of his Human Muse, take you for a walk in the beautiful cultivated gardens surrounding the tower. Of the flowers that grew there, there was one that was a washed-out blue, a rose that seemed to get skimmed over, but you were drawn to it. It was an imperfect color that reminded you of the skies in the human realm, unlike the perfect summer-sky blue that this realm always seemed to maintain.

You remembered this particular poor human, in a ratty white dress that barely covered her modesty, whom you had fed in the breeding pits. This one you found a few times smiling at a bluebird singing to her. You had fondly called her Rose, for you two were the only ones who admired the washed-out blue rose that the Fae sneered at for its imperfection--that only made it more beautiful to the two of you. 

Back to the current time, where Hyunjin was painting something dark and seductive--which matched your mood to a T from your writings that you showed him. You couldn't help but resent the fact that he could still pull creatively from you, despite your connection to him remaining solely in the fact that he had imprinted on you because of his ambitions.

Hyunjin put down his paintbrush and sent a look your way; you knew what that look meant, he was going to torture you. You were starting to wonder if physical torture might be preferred to the methods Hyunjin enjoyed.

“Doesn’t she look like she’s enjoying herself?” Hyunjin wondered at his painting. 

The painting wasn’t completed but you couldn't help but agree. The human lady in question, flowing robes not bothering to conceal her nakedness, had a Fae at her throat and a Fae between her legs. She was giving and taking, caught between violence and passion; exactly where you wanted to be.

“Yes,” You said dryly.

“Oh, come on now!” Hyunjin stood up from his stool, “No need to be jealous!”

“I’m hardly jealous, Hyunjin,” You spat.

Hyunjin’s eyes, dark and cruel, focused on you. “That’s right. It could be worse. I could throw you to the hounds, see if they eat you up or create a new mongrel for the court.”

Your anger seethed through you, fear interwoven within. “You’re so very considerate,” You replied blandly, attempting not to rise to Hyunjin’s barbs, even though you knew he could tell exactly how you felt, through your bond.

Hyunjin rolled his eyes and sighed dramatically. “You’re no fun anymore, human.”

When Hyunjin left, you threw a fit. You threw books and tore papers, spilled ink and broke quills. And when you were done letting your anger course through you, you were left with a broken heart and a near-broken mind. You couldn't do this anymore, you simply couldn't. Centuries more like this and you were likely to truly go mad, and the worst thing was, that would delight Hyunjin all the more. That you could not let happen.

You had to escape.

You knew what happened to humans who ran. The stories were practically drummed into you after Hyunjin broke your heart but wanted to dissuade you from even risking the chance. You knew the consequences, the repercussions. But what if you could twist and tailor this escape to benefit you? You had lived amongst the Fae long enough to have learned a trick or two. 

For weeks, the plan coiled and formed in your mind. If you ran, Hyunjin’s bond would direct him where you were. But Hyunjin was a spoiled rotten Fae, he wouldn’t dirty his hands and go after you. He would run back to his parents, for he was from the Oidhche court originally. When you were still starry-eyed for the Fae world, Hyunjin would fill you with stories from the darker realm. He told you of how they would hunt humans for sport, to make you squeal and giggle. But you distinctly remember the stories about the Hound.  

The Hound was a cautionary tale but a useful one. During one of the many wars between the courts, a Fae Hound had been changed from a dog to a humanoid form. It had been a way to save one Fae from fighting teeth and claws. That Hound had survived the war, miraculously, and gone on to settle down with a Fae woman. They had copulated and made a child, who much to the horror of the mother, had his father’s characteristics that he had kept hidden. The child was left at the mercy of the dark forest within the Oidhche court’s borders, but had grown up, albeit a bit more wild than most Fae children, which was saying something, really. That Hound Child was indebted to Hyunjin’s father who had taken him in, and that particular Fae would be sent to bring you back.

How were you going to escape when a Fae who was part Hound of the Hunt was tracking you? Well, you had an answer for that. You see, Hyunjin had also taken great glee in telling you said Hound was celibate, and had been for as long as Hyunjin could remember. So if you could offer the hound sex, tempt him with breaking his vow, he would be forsworn and nothing meant more to a Fae than his word. He would be worthless and without standing in his court. He would be… at the same level as a human, basically a death sentence. You could work with that. You would need a liquid aphrodisiac to prepare yourself for the seduction but you knew in your gut you would need more to seduce a century’s old Fae.

Hyunjin found your rooms the next day in ruins. But the true fact that actually made his face cloud over in anger was his ruined painting. That sent you to servants quarters. They put you on duty to the breeding pits, delivering their pittance of food. 

You found Rose in a bad place and yet still she found a smile for you. An idea struck. It was very clear that Rose was recovering from a game played with her body and a Fae. You told Rose of your idea to escape and asked to exchange your clothes for the provocative dress that covered Rose’s body.

“Are you sure about this?” You couldn't help but worry that Rose would get in trouble for losing her dress.

Rose’s smile was strong despite her fragile appearance. “Even if they take it from me tomorrow, at least I’ll have slept in some clean clothes that were warm for one night.”

Rose’s attitude, despite what the world had thrown at her, only made you steel your spine. You were going to be like Rose and persevere. You were going to leave this place behind. 

Hyunjin’s visits, however, were throwing you in a loop. You had a pack prepared and stashed for weeks before you were given an opportunity. If you left and Hyunjin found you gone too quickly, your escape would be pointless. So you had to wait until Hyunjin visited you next but there was no rhyme or reason to Hyunjin’s visits. 

All you could do was work on perhaps the last thing you might write in your human life. 

You wrote a story thinking of your sister, of your childhood, of how not everything was better on the other side of the grass. You wrote and distracted yourself and soon enough Hyunjin visited. You showed him your work, his eyes gleamed with inspiration and then he visited for three days before his painting was finished. And if you were honest with yourself, his painting was one of his best in decades.

Hyunjin eyed you curiously. “What’s got you suddenly so fired up? You haven’t written something that refreshing in years?”

You shrugged. “I’ve got a new lover.”

Hyunjin blinked at you blankly for a few seconds and then burst into laughter. He would have felt your lust if you were having sex with someone else through the bond. He knew how lonely you were for companionship, it practically wafted off of you when he visited. Hyunjin clutched his arms around his belly before finally he wiped some tears from his eyes. “Well, whatever it is, keep it up. I might let you come back to court if you do.”

Honeyed lies were Hyunjin’s specialty. He had you living off hopes and dreams forever until you let your love for him die for him. He would promise the world and mean it but there was no keeping track of the amount of loopholes he could find. He was Fae after all. 

Once Hyunjin left, you could hardly contain yourself until nightfall. Then, during when the moon rose to its highest peak, you stole into the night in a dress that would lure every predator out. You ducked your head and told each guard passing that you were finally destined for the pits. They either made noises of sympathy or laughed at your demise, having seen you with Hyunjin during one time or another. 

That was how you made your way down the Tower. At the base, you brightly informed that guard that Hyunjin had finally taken you back. You watched as a romantic look passed through his eyes and he let you go. For Fae that twisted the truth to their own benefit, slipping through them as a lying human sure was satisfying. 

You pulled out a map and followed the landmarks to quickly get out of Ciaradh and cross over into Oidhche territory. Hyunjin would think you were an idiot, moving closer to the Fae that would be hunting you but that was all a part of your plan. You wanted the Hound to find you. 

First things first, you had to get out of Ciaradh. 

The various cities were easy to avoid. It was the faerie mounds and valleys that made it hard to travel. There was nowhere to hide. Just the beautiful rolling hills, which was the other reason why you wanted to get to Oidhche. 

There was one place that you spotted and thought perhaps it would give you relief. A tree had fallen high atop a hill. With its roots still clinging to the earth, it made an impromptu overhang. You’re not sure if an ogre had knocked down the beautiful, solitary tree or perhaps the earth was simply taking back what once it gave, but either way, the hair on your arms rose with the feel of power once you reached the shadow of the overhang. 

This was a well of the natural magic of the Fae realm. With it, you would be hidden from the majority of any Fae magic. The natural magic simply messed with anything else. Except you weren’t the only one that thought that it was a good hiding place for a human fleeing. 

During the early morning after you had slumbered in the well of magic, you heard talking and shouting, waking you up immediately. “Oh, Yeon-Yeon, are you hiding here?”

You froze as an adorable female Fae with wings poked their head from the top of the overhang. “You’re not my human,” she said, clearly perplexed. “He’s not here, Binnie!” The head disappeared and you thought perhaps your luck won out. It had not.

The female fairie yanked you by your arm and half flew, half dragged you out to show the other Fae she was with, that you were, in fact, not ‘Yeon-Yeon’. You protested and ended up landing on your ass in front of a very buff Brownie. “I told you he isn’t smart enough to hide here!” She scoffed.

He frowned down at you, arms having a hard time crossing over his chest, but contemplated you with a hand at his chin. “But I swore I smell him this way.”

“Are you sure we can’t just take this one? She’s adorable too!” The female cooed at you. You slapped her hand when she reached to bop your nose. 

Binnie’s frown deepened. “No. We have to find OUR human, Heart. This is not our hunt. And you know we must respect another’s hunt. Now respect ours and leave that human.”

The female sighed heavily. “Fine. I don't like that one anymore anyways. She’s not that cute if she slaps.”

After your encounter with the two Fae, you continued to hit your streak of bad luck. You almost got lured into a satyr’s traveling party, where the music got your feet tapping and dancing, and you would never stop. As a human, it was a death sentence. You ate a flower that you thought you read gave you night vision but in fact made you believe the opposite of everything you thought true. You almost backtracked a full day before it wore off--your feet trying to take you back to Hyunjin. 

You almost cried in relief when you saw a dark forest in the distance. That was the territory marker for Oidhche. You had felt Hyunjin’s rage a few nights ago zoom through your bond and you knew that the hound would be sent to retrieve you. The second part of your plan was about to come into effect and you couldn't help but be excited. And that’s when you downed the Faerie Dew, preparing to seduce a Fae.

🐕🐕🐕

“Get up, Hound.”

A boot kicked San’s foot and he rolled his eyes upwards slowly in response. “Hyunjin,” He acknowledged.

Hyunjn’s eyes scrunched up into half moons, malicious delight beaming from them. “I’ve got a job for you.”

“I don't do jobs for you,” San retorted and closed his eyes again.

“It’s an order from my father,” Hyunjin said tightly.

San sighed heavily. “What is it?”

“It’s time for you to hunt down a little lost human,” Hyunjin revealed.

San rolled his eyes and stood up. He rolled his neck, cracking it dramatically. “Why do I feel like this has to do with you?”

To say that San did not like Hyunjin was an understatement. San was a useful tool to have in the household he was adopted into but Hyunjin was the prized son. Where San was made to work and toil, sneered at by the majority of his peers, Hyunjin was sought after, praised and elevated. The two had never liked each other; Hyunjin because San was the son his father chose and San Hyunjin because he was never a beloved son. 

“It doesn’t matter why the command was given, just follow it like the good little doggie you are,” Hyunjin sneered.

“At least I didn’t flee my family because I couldn't live up to their expectations,” San shot back, balling his fists and readying for a fight.

But San would get none. Hyunjin’s power was not in his fists but in his words. “Go fetch my scraps, doggie. That’s all you’re good for, after all.” Hyunjin threw a piece of personal clothing of yours at San and turned around.

Every muscle in San’s body tensed but he knew he could not attack his benefactor’s son. He would lose the tiny foothold he had in the Oidhche Court, however tiny it was, it was something he clung to. He would always want to be a part of the Fae, to prove he was worthy of remaining amongst them; that he was not an animal.

Hyunjin walked away, confident that he came out on top, and from his point of view, he had. But San had the true last word. 

“I’ll fetch her and come back and be told that I am his most worthy son, that you are worthless, and that I should have been born to him.”

🐕🐕🐕

San transformed to his other form, a Hound of the hunt, in order to use his abilities to the best. His sleek, powerful form ran through the Oidhche dark woods and marshes, ruins and lakes. He followed your scent, nose to the ground, taking only time to drink water and rest only minutes at the time. His endurance could take him far but his determination even farther.

Something San did not call was that he would encounter another Fae on the hunt. He drew abreast with a horse that was not a horse. San recognized Kai in his other form, the dark horse with long fangs, a Kelpie. 

Kai, like himself, was a bit of an outcast within the Oidhche court. Kai had slowly become blind when he changed courts and was looked down upon, like San was as a half-breed. They weren’t friends but more like allies in a world that saw them as the bottom of the barrel of Fae.

Kai threw his head to signal that they should veer towards a nearby lake and San barked in reply. The two of them slowed their pace and then changed forms, to speak to each other. 

“Didn’t expect to see you here,” San said first, cupping his hands and pouring water over his head from the lake. 

Kai looked amused. “I’m hunting a human but what’s your excuse?”

“Fetching trash for the master’s son,” San grumbled.

Kai’s amusement slowly melted away. “You should snap it’s neck then.”

San ran a hand through his hair, shaking out access water, and stood up. “Wish I could. You know we can never interfere with a hunt. An escaped human is an escaped human.”

Kai’s slightly amused expression was back and present. San recognized it as Kai’s default face, the mask he wore at court. “Then we should do what’s in our power to help each other out.” Kai gestured with his chin towards the lake that spanned far and wide. “I’ll help you cross the lake.”

San shutdown the feeling of gratitude and surprise he felt immediately. Kai wouldn’t be able to see it anyways but his court training of not truly revealing what he felt kicked in regardless. “That would be appreciated.”

Kai waded into the water and changed form once again. This was his third form, his truest form. His upper half was that of a horse and the lower part of a fish. San rode on Kai’s upper back, amazed at the speed of the kelpie. That lower half that was tail helped them sail through the lake’s waters and Kai’s Kelpie presence kept all the other, nastier, baser Fae away. What would have been hours of circling around the lake was cut in half as Kai swam through the center of the lake and delivered San on the other shore.

Kai changed back to his human form to rest but jauntily saluted San as San turned back into a hound and went back to his hunt.

📗📗📗

Your attitude once you were inside the dark forest was a bit 50/50. Your heart was in your throat, knowing at any moment a Fae Hound would be on your heels, and you were excited for that, but what if he never changed into his human form? What if he simply clamped his jaws around your wrist and dragged you back to his master…back to Hyunjin?

Soon, you felt like the forest was fighting against you. Branches tore at your bare arms as if they were trying to slow you down. Roots threw themselves in your way, trying to trip you up. Noises, that which you had never heard during the years you had lived in the Fae Realm, haunted you. There was a small part of your human mind that knew you shouldn’t be here but was that a part of the dark spell that was this forest or was that instinct kicking in for you to survive?

Your lower half was slick and wet, preparing for someone to fuck you and that conflicted with your state of mind. How could you be so turned on but so terrified about what was around each thick, gnarled tree trunk? Did your heart beating in your throat add to the throbbing of your cunt? It had been so very long since the last time Hyunjin had fucked you, perhaps this hadn't been a good idea to tempt yourself, and fate, like this…

A loud howl broke through your inner thoughts and you shivered in response. The hound had found you. You knew it in your bones that this was the defining moment that would free you… or break you.

You broke out into a run, stumbling at first and then becoming hyper aware of everything. The rocks that you had to jump over, ducking under low-hanging branches, you ran in the opposite direction of where the howl had sounded. 

“Please, please, please, please,” You chanted to yourself. Tears pricked the corner of your eyes, the need to fuck and to survive prompting them. You dashed them away with the back of your hand. That wasn’t going to help.

Soon, the howls began to get closer, and you could hear sharp barks. Did he smell your scent as a human or did he smell how wet your sex was? Was he eager for the hunt or for your cunt? Your heart and mind were working a million miles per second, the unknown playing with your mind. 

A growl made you jump and you almost tripped and hit the ground. You caught yourself, pushing back up and running. You didn’t dare look back, afraid you would lose your courage in completing this if you did. You did hear a snapping of jaws and a snarl and you hoped that your planning would all work out in the end. It had to.

You gasped as something hard and real slammed into you and you finally fell. There were no nails digging into your shoulder blades nor teeth snapping at you, so you felt relief to know that the hound had changed into his humanoid form and sealed his fate.   

The snarl in your ear was just as real as the body pressed up against you, pushing you into the soft, forest floor. The snarling tampered down to a quiet, curious growl. You could feel puffs of air along the skin behind your ear and then down your neck. Your pulse was beating wildly and you were worried for a moment that instead of this moment pushing towards lust, it would turn towards bloodshed like its original intent.

You pushed your ass back into the body above you and the snarling started up again. “Do not struggle, human, it’s futile.” The one on top of you was Fae, you knew that, but his melodic voice was not what you had expected. 

“I think you like the struggle, pup,” You shot back at him. 

You pushed and rubbed your ass further into the hard body and struggled to halt your smirk. You could feel him hard against the soft material of your dress. His hips pressed forward to pin you harder but he only managed to choke on a moan at the friction.

Just as soon as your body had been pushed against the ground, you were flipped over and hauled up with a harsh hand around your upper arm. The sharp cut of his jaw and cheekbones almost took the breath from your lungs, despite living amongst the beautiful fae for so long. 

The hound opened his mouth to probably threaten you some more but no sound left it. His eyes scanned over your dress, that was ripped in a few places that definitely aided in your plan. The globes of your breasts were pushed up, the swell of your hips framed by the cut-outs in the dress, it was the perfect peekaboo dress.

His eyes snapped upwards to meet yours. “Where did you get such a garment?”

You smiled sweetly. “I live amongst the Fae. Is it so odd to acquire a few pieces of their beautiful clothing?”

The hound shook his head, almost as if he needed to clear it. “I’m taking you back now.”

You were still in close proximity, so you boldly pressed your hand to his tight leather pants. “This poses a problem, does it not?”

The whimper that escaped the hound’s lips made you clench your thighs tightly together. Anger immediately radiated from him. “Stop with your human tricks.”

You cocked your head. “Tricks? But I’m a mere human. What could I possibly offer?” The heel of your hand grinded down on the head of his cock and he gasped softly. 

The hound grabbed your wrist and wretched your hand from his cock. His shoulders moved slightly, indicating you’ve got his breathing increased at least. “I am under a vow of celibacy, you will cease your antics.”

You raised an eyebrow at him. “A willing vow of celibacy?”

The hound kept his grip on your wrist and began to tug you back the way he came. “I am a mongrel; I cannot further pollute the bloodlines,” He muttered over his shoulder.

You tugged back, trying to halt your movement, but just ended up slamming into the broad back of the Fae sent to bring you back to your life of torture and tedium. “I’m not Fae. You won’t muck up my bloodlines.”

You felt rather than heard the sigh from the hound. “A vow is a vow. Now, be quiet, it was hard enough tracking you down from one kingdom to another.”

Instead, you wrapped your arms around his tiny waist, fingers tracing his padded leather armor. “We don’t have to head back so soon,” you purred.

Once again, you were manhandled. Both of his hands clamped down on your wrists. With movement speed beyond a human’s comprehension, you were whisked around his body and pinned up against a tree now, your wrists in manacles made by his hands, the bark digging into your back.

“I don’t know what your intentions are, and I do not want to know. All I know is that I’ve been ordered to track a human pet that’s escaped from the Ciaradh kingdom and to drag her back. I’ve been ordered to bring you back alive but accidents can happen.” And in all his righteous anger, he was a glory to behold. You had struck gold, to be hunted by such a Fae.

You licked your lips in anticipation. You hooked one of your legs around his slim waist and arched your back. “Is it really breaking your vow if you slid into me just a wee bit? Surely getting your tip wet isn’t against the rules.”

You watched as the hound’s adam’s apple moved up and down as he swallowed. “Why do you tempt me?” He whined, perhaps already feeling the temptation you were offering.

“You are temptation itself,” You whispered back. Your eyes moved over his features, strong and handsome. “How could one not want to tempt you?”

He scoffed, looking away. “You are a human drunk on Fae magic.”

“I have lived for a long time amongst the Fae. Their magic isn’t as strong as it used to be on me. I speak no lies,” You pushed.

The hound examined you for a moment, pursed his lips and then looked away again. “You could be lying about a lie, you are human after all, and do not have to adhere to our ways.”

“What do they call you, hound?” You wondered, feeling yourself falling into your own trap, in a way.

The hound’s eyebrows furrowed in genuine confusion. “Why? I am nothing.” He shook his head. “You are a peculiar human.” When he saw you still waiting patiently, he professed his name was San. 

“San,” You tested it out, like it was candy on your tongue. “It’s a good name to scream during ecstasy.”

You watched as his eyes changed, a fraction from his righteous anger, to curiosity. He simply did not understand why you were offering what you were. Surely he was used to the games the Fae played, he was one of them after all. But he did mention he was a mongrel. Perhaps he did not get treated as one of them?

You took the moment to wrap your other leg around his waist. San’s arms flexed to balance out the weight so that your upper half was still pinned successfully as your lower half pressed against him. “I’m offering a taste. Don’t you want it?”

“I have been celibate for more years than you have been trapped here,” San whispered, a tinge of sadness coating his words.

You weren’t sure when was the last time Hyunjin touched you. It had been so long that you gave up ever hoping for it again. It was odd to have such a thing in common with one of them. Your body was practically singing for San. This was how you survived but couldn't you perhaps enjoy it as well?

You rolled your body against San’s again, groaning lowly when your completely uncovered bottom half ran against San’s leather-covered groin. “Please.”

San’s precarious control snapped like a leash on a feral dog. His lips slanted over yours, tongue tangling with yours. His hands released your wrists and connected at the small of your back, urging your body against his. He sighed into your mouth, this time of relief instead of defeat, still kissing you in earnest, messy and full of saliva. Your hands curled around his jaw in an attempt to hold him in place, to gain control, but there was none of that with San. 

He led the pace and the pace was grueling. He was rutting against you and you were very sensitive due to the aphrodisiac, the Faerie Dew, you had drunk. “Wait, wait,” You protested against his mouth, “You should be inside me, not against me.”

San panted heavily now, eyes wary and dangerous. “I should not. We can circumvent my vow this way. Simply take what I can give you, human.”

His sentence gave you a bad taste in your mouth, similar to how you felt after interactions with Hyunjin.

“Oh human!”

“My name is Ash,” You snapped. 

San narrowed his eyes on you. “And I'm the Fae in charge of hunting you down. The Hound. We all know our place by now.”

You reached between your bodies and desperately pulled at the ties of his pants, undoing them and revealing something mouth-watering. Hyunjin had always been long and slender, but San’s cock was heavy and thick, something that looked like it deserved to part lower lips. “Goddess,” you cursed under your breath.

“Just the tip, right?” San reminded you, tongue coming out to lick his lips.

“Just the tip,” You reassured him and then sunk down on his cockhead.

You both groaned in unison, eyes rolling into the back of your heads. You started to move your hips when San’s hands grasped them hard. “Don’t move,” He ordered you.

“I plan on doing more than moving,” You informed him, lifting a little only to push him further into your heat.

“You--you can’t,” San whined, his eyes getting a faraway look. 

“Who would imagine, a Fae pussy-drunk on a human’s cunt.”

San’s eyes sharpened on you. He pulled out of you completely and you almost cried out at the loss before he slammed into you full-hilt. Your breath was caught in your throat at that moment. You were so full and he was so thick--

“What’s wrong, Ash, stupid from my dumb mongrel cock?” San hissed into your ear. His nose ran along your neck, inhaling deeply.

“It’s so--” You desperately shook your head. You had a plan to enact, you couldn't afford to fall into the lust so deeply. Your life depended on this.

The hard snap of San’s hip against you had your body jolting. San’s eyes zeroed in on the mounds of your breast bouncing because of his harsh pace. He withdrew and then snapped into you, his head dipping low to lick the tops of your breasts. “So good,” He growled.

You wrapped your arms around San’s head, pushing him into your bosom. “Indulge in me,” You encouraged him.

“I--” San raised his head, looking as if he was barely treading water from his lust-filled mind.

“Take it,” You whispered, pressing your forehead back to his. “Take what’s freely offered. Take what you’ve been denied.”

San’s eyebrows furrowed again, pain and pleasure etched across his strong features. “I can?”

You reached down to the neckline of your dress and ripped it effectively freeing your breasts. “You can have whatever you want, San.”

It was off to the races after that. With the freedom to indulge, to experience, to take what he had been denied for so long, San was lost in his urges. He licked and sucked all over your breasts, leaving marks and bites, even whimpering when he fought over the need to hold them in place or leave his hands on your hips so he could hold you in place. His thrusts were calculated sometimes, looking to hit that sweet spot inside of you, to hear your moans of his name. The rest was lost to his passion, fucking into your wet pussy in search of his climax. 

“Oh, Goddess, yes,” You cried out, feeling your climax approach. “Fill me up, pup.”

San’s eyes took on a look of fear for a moment. “I can’t!” You realized you had said the wrong thing. 

“You can, you can!” You held his head between your hands, making him focus on just you. “I’m just a useless human cunt, right? You can just fuck me like you were fucking your hand. It’s the same thing.”

San shook his head. “It’s not the same. You don’t look at me with derision or perverse pleasure. You don’t play with me, you encourage me, you…”

You began to panic. Where was the feared Hound, the legendary Fae from the Oidhche court, who executed others with his teeth dug into their jugular, just at the whim of his master? Who was this creature peeking out of the mask, looking for softness, looking for heart? Fuck, what was that pushing feeling at the base of San’s cock?

You looked down and took San’s gaze with you as well. He paled at the sight of the base of his cock pushing outwards, almost as if-- “Nonono,” San began to chant, “I cannot--!”

You had to throw all caution to the wind, despite the worry that you were about to be connected to a Fae for a few hours, by the looks of things. Not what you wanted when you were about to make said Fae break a very important oath, but there was no avoidance of it, it seemed.

“Follow your instincts,” You whispered before slanting your lips over his. Your teeth tugged playfully with his bottom lip. “Let us both see the stars behind our eyes, come on, San.”

San whined but thrusted up into your cunt. “So close,” he allowed, closing his eyes as if he couldn't witness his own treachery. 

You moved your body up and down on his length, encouraging his head into your bosom once again. “Fuck me San, fuck me full of your cum, release inside of me, release your beast, let yourself go.”

With a loud howl, his back arched and his head thrown back, San ejaculated inside of you. He panted and sighed and then the knot at the base of his dick stopped, the copious amount of cum he had just dumped inside of you, firmly sealed inside of you. The knot pushed against your g-spot and sent you into a spiraling orgasm you didn’t see coming. 

You gasped, squeezing San even tighter to your breasts. “That’s it, pup, fuck, that feels so good.”

With a precious look sent up towards you, filled with raw emotion, San closed his eyes and then bit onto the mound of your tit. You were so deep into your climax that you almost didn’t register the pain but the flood of emotions that weren’t your own into your skull sure let you know what you had let happen a second time…

“San!” You panicked. “You! You imprinted on me!” What did that mean? Wait…

“Mine,” San said drowsily. A wave of satisfaction was felt through the new bond as he lazily lapped at your breast and then he started to sink to the ground.

“San? San!” You protested, your dress barely protecting you against the bark rubbing against you as you sunk with him.

“Tired,” He mumbled. His tongue absent-mindedly licked at his bite. 

You had a dick tight inside of you, a large Fae slumped against you, and your tit hurt from a bite. This was not really how you were looking to finish this plan but perhaps this worked even better in your favor. 

📗📗📗

“What have you done?!” 

That rage and fear woke you up reasonably fast. 

“What I had to do to get what I wanted,” You replied quickly.

“I have broken my vow!” San moaned, pacing a few steps from you.

You preened at your success. “And thus, you cannot go back. They will see your word broken. You will be worthless.”

San stopped his pacing. “...you planned this?”

“I've lived here for centuries and you think I'd just up and run away?” You sneered at him. “I may be human but I am not stupid.”

“And now I've even imprinted on you!” San looked horrified.

“That was your fault, I didn't do--” 

Your words were choked off as San’s hands wrapped around your throat, long nails digging into the thin flesh of your neck. Your fingers clawed at him to let you go. San bared his teeth at you, peaks of fangs flashing between his lips that had previously been kissing you. A mental image of San’s raw glance before he bit you rushed through your mind and you whimpered. 

San let you go just as fast as he started choking you. “You have ruined my life.”

You choked and coughed and gasped for air and choked again. “And I'd do it again. I'd do anything for my freedom.”

San started pacing again. “What is freedom when you have a home? You live in the Fae Realm, your life extended. All your days are warm and you do what you love. What is it that you're running away from?”

That's when it hit you. You weren't connected to Hyunjin anymore. You didn't have to feel anything of his mind or emotions again. You were finally free. You smiled in glee. 

“It's not what I'm running away from, it's what I'm running towards,” You rasped.

San sent you a look that could have cut diamonds. “Do not wax poetic to me, human. I will only fall for it once.”

You raised your chin. “You will escort me to the nearest mushroom circle. I will leave this place.”

San shook his head, grinning and shaking his head. “You are truly not right in the head! What if you crumble into a pile of dust once you leave?”

“Then I will die disconnected from a man who broke my heart and that will make me happy,” You said firmly.

San carded his hand through his hair in frustration. “I can feel how determined you are!” He didn't say anything about the broken heart. 

“And I'll have died after having some of the best sex I've ever had in my entire life.” San didn't need to know your only comparison was a village boy named Jake, Hyunjin and now he.

San frowned hard at you. “You still smell like it.”

“There's a lake back there--” 

San stepped in your way. “No, you won't bathe there.”

You fetched your pack and changed into the set of clothes in there. “Make up your mind, San.”

You examined the bite on your breast mid-change, tutting at the mark that was now going to be there for the rest of your life. You patted your shoulder for the mark you had on your shoulder but without a mirror, you were unsure if it had healed or it would remain as well, even though it was nothing more than a scar rather than a tool to use against you. 

“Do you have anything for the bite?” He asked.

“I have only food, water and clothing. I wanted to pack lightly for the journey,” You admitted.

San sighed. “I…I have a power. They don’t let me use it--I don’t want to use it! But… I’ve seen what happens to Fae when the one they’re imprinted with dies, so I will help you.”

You eyed him cautiously. “Pardon me if I don’t jump at the offer.”

“I’m not! Trying to trick you!” San insisted. His face was open and honest. 

But still, your trust was not easily won. You shook your head. “No. You’ve done enough damage.”

“Fine!” San huffed and immediately turned back into his hound form.

You swallowed hard, memories of that same hound hot on your heels, chasing you through the woods--you couldn't help it when a whimper escaped your throat.

San’s head cocked in curiosity and he padded over to you closely. You held still as he sniffed your head. You couldn't help but ease a bit when he licked your cheek. And then he licked your wound that you left uncovered in hopes it would heal in the open air. But when the bite started to tingle, you yelped backwards from him.

“What did you do?!” You demanded.

San whined and dug a foot into the soft ground. It seemed somewhat of an apology.

But when you looked down next, you watched as the bite healed. Oh, the scar was there, but it was as if it was days, even weeks healed. Did San’s tongue have healing abilities? Perhaps it was a result of his mixed heritage. 

You shook your finger at him. “Just because you're in dog form, that doesn’t mean I won’t hit you!”

San’s head lowered and then he began to sniff the ground. He slowly followed its meander trail until he was almost in between your legs. You slapped his snout and he yelped. “I get it, I smell like sex, that does not excuse your nose from going to where it shouldn’t.”

San sneezed and you rolled your eyes. “Can you lead us to the nearest faerie ring or not?”

You followed San in hound form in a quick jog, the pace that the hound of the hunt set grueling for someone who spent the majority of their time sitting and writing. San would only wait for a few minutes as you gasped for breath and then he would bark sharply at you and you two would start running again. 

“San! San, I can’t.” Eventually you called it quits, collapsing at a copse. 

San transformed into his human form and sent you a disappointed look. “We would be twice as far if you weren’t a human.”

“Sorry I can’t change into a dog,” You spat.

“No but you sure are a bitch,” San spat back.

“Takes one to know one,” You retorted.

The two of you snapped and snarled at each other for the entire journey it took to get to the nearest faerie ring. This one was located deep in one of the dark forests, surrounding a tree that had a gap in the front of it; almost as if it was a door to the Mortal Realms. 

“I can’t believe it.” It was almost too good to be true, that your plan had truly worked out and you were finally escaping the Fae--and leaving your past mistakes behind you. You knew the chances were slim that your sister was still alive, but if you had the chance to apologize to her, to tell her she had been right…

San stood a ways off, looking very closed off. “It’s not that different,” you conceded to him.

“I’ve never been there,” San admitted, face still very shut down.

“If a fragile human can live in your world,” You sent a knowing look his way.

You watched as San visibly straightened and shook his head. “You’re right.”

“Imagine that,” You muttered under your breath. 

The two of you stood shoulder to shoulder, and for a moment, you were both equals. You were unsure, San was unsure, and neither of you wanted to be the first. So when you brushed San’s hand against his, and after a moment of hesitation he took it, you both stepped through the faerie ring and back into the Mortal Realms

📗📗📗🐕🐕🐕

It was a rough month when you crossed over. You were very lucky that only a day had passed in the Mortal Realms instead of centuries. You found your sister and she was in tears that you had left but you had a lot of explaining to do--especially when you came back with a different man that you had left with. 

Eventually, with help from your sister, you and San were able to settle into a cottage that was in the next village over from where your sister still lived. For better or for worse, you and San had imprinted and that basically meant you two were married, so the illusion had to be maintained. You wrote and found a publisher in the closest big city, earning some coin in that regard, but San became a hunter for the surrounding villagers and that was truly how you were able to survive.

Regardless of how much San informed you on the daily that you had ruined his life and it was your fault he had to work for his keep, you saw a change in the Fae. The village was more than happy to receive the kills he took from the forest, unaware he actually took down the prey in his other form. San was very easily received in the village and that seemed to be the turning point for him. Other hunters and men of the village joked with him and you saw him lose the sharp edges he had acquired growing up in the Fae Realm.

One morning, when San had risen from your shared bed with the sun, to hunt, you lurched from the bed yourself and barely found your basin before you threw up into it. 

San wrinkled his nose at you, one leg lifting to be put into his boot. “If you’re sick--” He paused, sniffing the air and then his eyes widened. You felt fear and hope surge through your bond with him.

You waved him off. “I’m sure it’s nothing you can catch.”

San blushed and that threw you off. He quickly put both his boots on and found a cloth for you to wipe your face with. You stared at him with intense scrutiny. Although the two of you lived like husband and wife, San didn’t go out of his way to be kind to you. You were the reason he was reduced to a mortal’s boring life, after all. 

“Ash…” San offered his hand to you, and you took it, but you were confused.

“What’s going on?” You demanded. 

San looked a bit bashful, running his thumb over the back of your hand. “You are going to have to endure a change in me. It is a part of a Fae male to become extremely territorial when their partner is pregnant--”

“Excuse you!?” You screeched.

San flinched at your volume. “You’re pregnant, Ash.”

You blinked at him several times, still unable to comprehend. “But we haven’t…”

San’s eyes shot upwards to the ceiling. “It only takes one time.”

You felt your knees weaken and San quickly escorted you to your bed to sit. “It can’t be.”

“I can smell the change in your smell. You have morning sickness. Have you bled since we’ve been back?” San inquired gently.

You shook your head. “I just thought my body was adjusting from one realm to the other, I didn’t--”

A child only bound the two of you tighter. Your heart sank. San was only going to hate you more for this. “I promise, I didn’t plan this!” You protested.

“Human,” San started and you felt anger surge through you. 

“Don’t you dare make our baby hate me, you will not refer to me as such in their presence!”

San, the bugger, had the audacity to smile shyly. “I would never think of it.”

You frowned. “Why are you being so weird? Why aren’t you yelling at me?”

San shrugged. “I told you. Things are going to change.”

And change they did. Your sister was ecstatic. Not completely won over by San personally, she still admitted he was a good provider and in the very least, she was excited for a new niece or nephew. You worried about her approval but it seemed like she had no care for the fact that it was part Fae.

The biggest change was San. His shrewd eyes were always on you. You never seemed to have enough pillows or blankets to cover you or keep you comfortable. He was constantly asking if you needed more food. He worried about the baby non stop. But the minute he pushed his head against your stomach, to use his hound hearing to listen to the baby’s heart, a soft smile would pull at his lips and your own heart would feel as if it was about to burst.

Your mood swings affected you the most, after your morning sickness, and San took those in strides. There were times when you threw anything within arms length at him and then there were others where you sobbed into his arms, and he rocked you in sympathy. You didn’t know how you felt, carrying a child into this world that had been born from trickery. You felt slimy, truth be told, and you didn’t want the baby to carry that into this world.

Until one night, when you were reading in bed, San crawled into your shared bed and scooted over until you had to sit up to let his arm curl around you. “Ash,” He called out your fake name to grab your attention.

You hummed in acknowledgement and closed your book. “What is it, San?”

“I think I should tell you this, before our baby is born,” San said solemnly, hand slipping over your protruding belly. 

This was it. San was going to inform you that once the baby was born, things would go back to how they were before. He would despise every breath you breathed and it would grate your nerves to live with a man who hated you. You braced yourself; you had been somewhat preparing for this.

“Although it was not your intention, you bringing me into the Mortal Realm has let me realize that I was not living a life before this. In the Fae Realms, I was considered not of them. They begrudgingly even acknowledged I existed. But here… with your sister and the village… they are happy I'm here. They enjoy my presence. I have never known such a feeling of belonging.” San paused swallowing and you felt nervousness through your bond. “And you. You have had to endure living with me, who cut you any time my mouth opened. You are with child from a man… no, a mongrel, a monster, who despised you. Yet, don't think I haven't seen you retrieving the few paintings Hyunjin had gifted you of the place he had grown up in. You hung up paintings done by the Fae you despised, just so that I could have pieces of my home here. I know how much it means to have a reminder of him.”

You pressed your lips together. San had never mentioned the paintings. You didn't think he even noticed them. “Well--!”

“Let me finish,” San said, cutting you off firmly but gently. “I have every reason to thank you but my stubborn self could not. But you need to know that you are my mate, and I do not regret imprinting on you, because in that moment, you had truly made me feel like I was important and I will love a child that was born from that union.”

Your throat tightened and tears threatened to escape. “That's lovely, San.”

San lifted his hand from your belly and used it to tilt your head to meet his gaze. “I will love the child… just as I love you.”

You could feel it. There was no lying with the bond that existed between you two. San truly loved you. It wasn't the grand romance you had once felt for Hyunjin but that wasn't a bad thing. Your love for Hyunjin burned brightly but went out just as quickly. The love San had for you was fragile but it was hopeful. And if you nurtured it…

“San, I--” Your heart was beating wildly but you found that it was not as bruised as it once was from Hyunjin’s false words. You leaned to San’s cheek and whispered into his ear your true, real name.

San reeled back, surprise and shock all over his face. “You honor me, wife of mine.” By bestowing your name upon him, you acknowledged that you trusted him with something he could use to have complete control over you. It was better than saying I love you.

You smacked his chest at the ‘wife’ comment, however, and San let out a high pitch giggle that you weren't aware he was even capable of. You stared at San like he was a completely different person.

San’s eyes grew hooded and he drew you in close. You protested, sensing the taste of lust from the bond, but he didn’t let you go against your half-hearted struggle.

“The midwife suggested that mounting my wife would aid her in feeling like she wasn't a lump on the log and would ease her moods,” San purred.

“So you're saying you're doing this just because the midwife suggested it?” You raised your eyebrow at him.

“No, I wish to make my wife happy,” San said, leaning in, his lips whisper-close.

“I am happy, San,” You said softly.

San grinned. “Then let's make you elated.”

La Fin