#^ guy who has been drawing the same staircase for almost a week

[kornyo]

ppl don't appreciate well made stairs enough.

[lulu-zodiac]

Hidden in Plain Sight

Pairing: Dean Winchester/Jeremy Bradshaw

Tags: Early seasons Dean, pre-podcast Professor Bradshaw, denial, unresolved sexual tension, bickering, smut, gratuitous owl references, case fic

Summary: It's the fall of 2006, and a string of grisly deaths linked to local lore brings Sam and Dean to the village of Bridgewater. There, Dean finds himself working closely with the frustrating and unexpectedly compelling Professor Bradshaw.

---

Dean feels about as comfortable in old colleges as he does in churches. There’s the same sense of exclusivity, that same reverence of things Dean has spent his life stuck on wrong side of. This campus even feels a little like a church, with its old architecture and sprawling ruby ivy and slit windows like narrowed eyes. His footfalls echo heavily along the cold stone corridor, making him feel uncomfortably aware of his own existence.

The door he’s looking for is old and made of oak, nestled in an alcove near the staircase, with a small plaque on it that reads Professor J Bradshaw.

Dean pauses for a moment, then knocks abruptly, suddenly noticing his knuckles are still smudged with earth. From within, a muffled voice instructs him to enter, and he does so, wiping his hand surreptitiously against the side of his leather jacket.

The first thing that hits him is the sheer volume of books in the room; they clutter every available surface, piled high in front of the big bay window like a strange line of defense. There are stacks of loose papers everywhere too, haphazard but clearly organized, some held in place by empty coffee mugs or odd-looking artefacts. The air is bright and warm, like this room catches the sun when it’s slow and mellow in the afternoons.

The second thing that hits him is the man sitting at the desk.

He doesn’t look up at Dean’s entrance, continuing to scribble away in a leather-bound notebook with intent dexterity, seemingly utterly lost in his own thoughts. He’s not what Dean expected; surprisingly young, maybe approaching forty, with a sharp jaw and tousled hair that just brushes his broad shoulders. When Dean clears his throat awkwardly, the man finally looks up with striking blue eyes that immediately pin Dean in place.

“Yes?” his voice is inquiring and several octaves deeper than Dean would have imagined, low and gravelly. He sets down his pen, looking at Dean with piercing focus.

“Uh – hey. Professor Bradshaw?” Dean feels distinctly self-conscious.

“Who wants to know?” the man closes his notebook with a snap and stands with surprisingly fluid ease, eyes still intent on Dean as though he’s cataloguing him.

He’s wearing a faded navy-blue sweater with the sleeves rolled up, slightly crumpled shirt tails poking out at the hem, just visible.

Drawing on years of sizing people up, Dean guesses that the guy probably has no one to go home to at night. If he goes home much at all, that is; the office has a distinctly lived-in look. It’s strangely reminiscent of the makeshift home feel of the impala’s interior.

“Um – Dean. Dean Collins,” Dean answers hastily, suddenly realizing he’s spent a little too long looking. “I’m uh – a student in one of your classes,” he lies the best way he knows how: with a charming smile. “I was wondering if you’ve got a moment? I was hoping to ask you a couple of questions about your work.”

“Come in, please,” Professor Bradshaw sits back down behind his desk, and gestures for Dean to close the door. “Take a seat.”

“Thanks,” Dean shuts the door and awkwardly removes three hardback books and a small, slightly drooping fern from the only available seat in front of Professor Bradshaw’s desk.

“Sorry – let me –” Professor Bradshaw leans over the desk to relieve Dean of the books and the plant. Close up, Dean can see faint lines softening the corners of his vivid eyes, and when he breathes in, he catches a hint of peppermint and the musk of warm skin, strangely compelling. Their hands brush for a moment as Professor Bradshaw takes the items, and Dean flinches, jerking away and planting himself firmly on the chair.

“So – Dean, yes?” Professor Bradshaw settles back into his seat. He’s still looking intently at Dean, gaze startlingly blue.

Wordlessly, Dean nods. He doesn’t know why he can feel the heat creeping up his cheeks.

“You’re not in any of my classes, Dean,” Professor Bradshaw says, with a slight edge to his voice. He reaches for a half-drunk mug of tea on his desk, expression skeptical.

Dean feels his stomach drop. “Uh, yeah – I’m new, just transferred a couple weeks back,” he bluffs quickly, but it sounds weak even to his own ears. He feels strangely flustered, visible.

“No, I don’t think so,” Professor Bradshaw says, flatly. “I believe I would have noticed,” he adds, wryly, with a kind of impatient warmth in his expression that makes Dean’s cheeks flare with heat all over again. Professor Bradshaw merely swallows a mouthful of tea and sets the mug back down, still looking at Dean. “So. Who are you?”

“Alright,” Dean puts his hands up in mock-surrender, smiling wide even though he feels stupidly on edge, knocked off course. “You got me. I’m – uh – a journalist. My boss has me writing a piece on local legends, and I was hoping to pick your brains. Heard you’re the expert on all that stuff around here, and thought I might be in with a better chance of talking to you as a student instead of some annoying reporter.”

“I see,” Professor Bradshaw leans back in his chair, contemplative. A shaft of sunlight filters through the bay window behind him, illuminating a hint of tawny in his dark, untidy hair. Dust motes hang everywhere like suspended snow. “Well, luckily for you, Dean, I find that my students can be just as annoying as reporters. And I still talk to them on a daily basis.”

Dean grins a little awkwardly, “Yeah?”

“Of course, I do get paid to do that,” Professor Bradshaw adds, dryly. “But perhaps I do them a disservice. Some of them are really quite inspiring.” He pauses, raising his mug to his lips. It has an owl on it, Dean notices absently. An overly fluffy one, with a slightly threatening glare. “I daresay I can spare five minutes. What is it that I can do for you, Dean?”

“Uh, so you study the supernatural, right?” Dean asks, clumsily. His hands are sweating where they’re shoved in the pockets of his jacket. “Ghosts and demons and all that shit?”

“I study the lore and mythology of supernatural beings, and why it’s important to humans to create such stories,” Professor Bradshaw clarifies, shortly.

“Right, got it,” Dean agrees, hastily. “But you’d know a bit about the Bridgewater coven?”

“I am familiar with the legends, yes,” Professor Bradshaw replies, reaching for his mug again. There’s an ink stain on the side of his index finger, smudged deep blue. Dean fleetingly wonders if it would rub off easily if he touched it, if it would leave a ghostly imprint on his own skin.

“Yeah – uh – so there’s been quite a lot of interest in the coven recently,” Dean blusters, annoyed with himself for how stupidly flustered he feels, “You know, since those bodies were found last week? At the burial site in Bridgewater Forest that’s associated with the legend? Yeah. Well, anyway, I was – hoping you might be able to tell me a little more about the legend of the coven.”

“I don’t see what the recent tragedies could possibly have to do with the legend,” Professor Bradshaw narrows his eyes skeptically.

“Right – yeah – nothing, I’m sure,” Dean lies hastily, “But the location of the crimes has definitely raised awareness about the existence of the legend, and that’s what we really want to provide for our readers.”

“Well, certainly, I can tell you the history,” Professor Bradshaw replies, briskly, “In fact, I teach an undergrad course on witchcraft in history and my lecture this Wednesday actually covers the legend of the coven. If you want a more detailed, nuanced version, you’re more than welcome to come along then – it’s at 11am in the Milton building. But I’m happy to give you the short version now, if that would be helpful?”

“Thanks – yeah, that’d be great,” Dean says, gratefully. “On a bit of a tight schedule today.”

“Well, the local legend about the Bridgewater coven has existed for almost two hundred years,” Professor Bradshaw starts, and immediately Dean can picture him talking in front of a lecture theatre full of kids. He’s a natural, something inherently captivating about the way he speaks. “In the 1800s, this village was an important site of religious pilgrimage. However, according to the legend, the village was also home to a small coven lead by a witch named Iris. Iris’s coven was said to have lived in secrecy in the forest on the outskirts of Bridgewater for years, and not to have troubled the village people. However, by 1816, the legend claims the coven had become very hostile, specifically towards the church. There were fears the coven had begun indoctrinating – or bewitching – members of the congregation.”

Professor Bradshaw pauses, swallowing another mouthful of tea. The muscles in his throat work, drawing Dean’s attention to the way his pale blue shirt isn’t buttoned up properly. He’s filled with the sudden, inexplicable urge to button it up correctly.

“More and more people started disappearing in connection with the coven,” Professor Bradshaw continues, setting his mug back down on the desk, and Dean jerks his gaze guiltily away from the line of his throat, clenching his hands into fists inside the pockets of his leather jacket. “The rapidly diminishing congregation lived in terror. The remaining members of the church all turned against each other. Then, at the height of local hysteria, Iris is said to have murdered Blanche, the minister’s daughter, in what is portrayed in the lore as some kind of statement of the coven’s power over the church.”

“Bet that didn’t go down too well,” Dean remarks, sardonically.

“Quite,” Professor Bradshaw catches Dean’s eye, an amused smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Anyway, according to the legend, the tragedy of Blanche’s death united the warring members of the congregation. They captured Iris and entombed her alive, using her own magic against her to keep her trapped. Iris’s death broke the spell on the members of the congregation who’d been indoctrinated against their will, and peace was restored to the village. The few remaining members of the original coven fled and were never seen again.”

“Wow,” Dean raises his eyebrows, “Very love-thy-neighbor.”

Professor Bradshaw snorts, “Yes. Religious leaders in the 1800s were renowned for sitting down and resolving their problems through compassionate discussion,” he remarks, dryly.

“Okay, but what about the other versions of the legend?” Dean asks, trying to remember the things Sam had told him to ask about, but drawing a total blank. His brain feels weirdly scrambled. It’s hard to remember what happened before walking into Professor Bradshaw’s office. “The other stories about the coven I’ve come across so far all seem pretty different.”

Professor Bradshaw frowns slightly. “It’s true, there are many conflicting accounts. Which is often the case with legends, being human constructions of the past,” he regards Dean slightly disapprovingly over the rim of his owl mug, a kind of skeptical stubbornness in the set of his mouth. “It’s not about knowing which ‘to believe’ – it’s about looking at why historically people have favored one version over the other and what that tells us about them.”

“Right, yeah, but aren’t legends often based on fact?” Dean pushes.

Professor Bradshaw pauses, contemplatively, “Yes. That’s certainly true in some cases.”

“Do you think it’s the case in this one?”

“Possibly,” Professor Bradshaw replies, haltingly. His expression is serious and he hesitates for a moment before elaborating; “In fact, I’m currently writing a paper about the historical figures who feature in the legend of the Bridgewater coven.”

“Yeah? Which ones?” Dean presses. He’s used to having to fake interest to get information out of people like Professor Bradshaw, but for once, he finds he’s genuinely interested. There’s something compelling about Professor Bradshaw’s evidently obsessive quest for obscure answers, something that resonates with all too much familiarity.

“Iris, predominantly,” Professor Bradshaw replies. “I’m very interested in the historical reasons women were condemned as witches. Often, it’s as simple as jilted male lovers using accusations of witchcraft as a means of revenge, or the women using herbal remedies that threatened contemporary male ideas of medicine and the body. Sometimes it’s to do with female homosexuality and society’s unacceptance of same sex relationships or women as sexual beings. Of course, it wasn’t uncommon for gay men to be condemned for witchcraft either. But statistically, more homosexual women died as a result of such accusations.”

“Uh – right –” Dean swallows, looking away. His hands are sweating again, and he wipes them surreptitiously on the insides of his pockets. Clearing his throat, he changes the subject, suddenly remembering the other thing Sam had told him to ask Professor Bradshaw about, “What about the runes?”

“Ah yes, the runes on Iris’s supposed tomb,” Professor Bradshaw’s gaze is suddenly inscrutable in a way that makes Dean’s heart thud uncomfortably in his chest. It sweeps over Dean, lingering and unnervingly blue for a moment, before he continues, “Very interesting. I’ve been studying them a great deal as part of my research. The true nature of them has always remained a mystery, and any attempts to discern their meaning haven’t fitted with the legend at all. I believe they may be key to understanding the history behind the creation of the legend. But,” he smiles, wryly, “It’s not an easy task. They’re unlike any runes I’ve come across anywhere else before.”

“Can I see?” Dean asks, partly out of interest, and partly for some way of distracting himself from the way his heart is still thumping uncomfortably fast.

“You’d have to visit the forest burial site to see them in person, but I do have a couple of sketches of the lines I’m working on at the moment,” Professor Bradshaw gets to his feet and crosses to the cabinet by the window, pulling the top drawer open.

The fall chestnut trees outside smolder amber behind his silhouette, midday sunshine pale gold and still where it filters through the window. Time seems strangely irrelevant. Dean watches as Professor Bradshaw flicks through a green binder, fingers quick and dexterous, skilled and uncalloused in a way Dean’s have never had the chance to be.

Dean swallows and looks away, ignoring the thud of his heart as he stares around at the rest of the room. He clocks a bunch of compendiums of mythology on the bookcase nearest him, and two other eccentric and slightly neglected looking plants. There’s a thick plaid rug on the couch in the corner, not quite concealing a plate of half-eaten toast. On the windowsill, there’s a little tin mug with a toothbrush in it that makes Dean wonder again just how often Professor Bradshaw goes home at all. He finds himself wondering whether Professor Bradshaw has always had nothing but an empty house to return to, or whether that’s a more recent development. He’s definitely old enough to be going through a divorce. The thought sits uncomfortably in Dean’s chest for reasons he doesn’t particularly want to identify.

“Here we are.” Professor Bradshaw’s gravelly voice, suddenly much closer, makes Dean jump. He glances around to find Professor Bradshaw standing beside him, holding out a sheet of paper. The smell of warm skin and peppermint catches Dean off guard, stronger this time, and still strangely compelling.

“Uh – thanks,” Dean says awkwardly, taking the proffered page. He feels Professor Bradshaw’s fingers brush against his fleetingly, warm and ink-stained.

Dean swallows, forcing himself to focus on the page in front of him even though his cheeks are hot with something he doesn’t want to think about. The sketches are good, a few strange vaguely Norse reminiscent symbols drawn hastily with accompanying, scrawled notes in the margins. There’s something about the runes that niggles at Dean’s brain, familiar and unfamiliar all at once, like something he’s known his whole life but can’t put his finger on.

“These are interesting,” Dean he frowns, tracing his finger along the two last symbols.

When he glances up, he finds Professor Bradshaw looking at him intently, blue eyes inscrutable. “Yes,” he says, leaning back against the desk and folding his arms across his chest. “Those are the ones which struck me too,” he’s speaking a little quieter, low voice distracting Dean from why the runes are so familiar. He hopes he can remember them, that Sam will be able to place what he can’t about them.

“So, uh, this tomb. The one with the runes on it – that’s definitely where that guy’s body was found last week? It wasn’t just nearby or something?” Dean forces himself to ask, ignoring the way his heart is suddenly thumping again. “And the girl found the week before – she was directly linked to the burial site too?”

Professor Bradshaw clears his throat, unfolding his arms. “I believe so, yes.”

“And that doesn’t seem – I don’t know – a little strange, to you?”

“Human beings committing violent acts against each other is generally something I find a little strange,” Professor Bradshaw replies, in clipped tones. “But beyond that – no. Now –” he breaks off, glancing at his watch. “I’m afraid I have a seminar to deliver in ten minutes,” he confesses, and there’s something unfinished about the way he says it, something almost reluctant. Like he half wants to stay here talking with Dean.

“No problem,” Dean stands, and takes a last glance at the sketches before handing them back, trying to commit them to memory. “Thanks, Professor.”

Their eyes meet as Professor Bradshaw accepts the page, and the room suddenly feels very airless, a pause suspended between them. Neither of them moves away.

This close, Dean can see miniscule flecks of grey like tiny stars lost in blue of Professor Bradshaw’s eyes, the way that his full lips are slightly chapped, like maybe he worries them between his teeth when he’s thinking. They’re soft pink and warm-looking, and Dean wonders fleetingly if they taste like peppermint tea.

“It was nice meeting you, Dean,” Professor Bradshaw says, gently, and his eyes are so blue.

“Uh – yeah – you too. Thanks. I’d – uh – I’d better get going,” Dean stammers, shoving his hands deep in his pockets and cursing the way his cheeks are suddenly flaming with heat. His thoughts churn unsteadily; he ignores them the way he’s learnt to.

Still feeling strangely wound-up, he nods awkwardly at Professor Bradshaw and turns reluctantly towards the door.

“Wait a moment, Dean –” Professor Bradshaw’s voice halts Dean in his tracks as he reaches the door, and Dean turns expectantly, heat thumping a little painfully.

“Yeah?”

“Here – you’re welcome to borrow a couple of books on local history,” Professor Bradshaw is pulling a couple of books down from the overflowing cabinet by the window. “They should have a bit more about the legend of the coven that you might find interesting. Divergences of the legend and so forth. I’ll need them back by Thursday morning as I’m teaching a class on them in the afternoon, but you’re welcome to borrow them until then if they’d be helpful.”

“You sure?” Dean takes the proffered books awkwardly, and swallows the strange disappointment sinks in him like a stone as Professor Bradshaw steps back again. “Thanks.”

“As I said, I’m also giving a lecture on Wednesday where I’ll be examining the history behind the legend of the coven. I meant what I said - you’d be more than welcome to attend,” Professor Bradshaw says, sincerely. His eyes are intent, and there’s a hint of something almost like hopefulness hidden in the depths of his gravelly voice. Working on long ingrained instinct, Dean chooses to ignore it.

“Thanks, I’ll – I’ll see what my schedule’s like,” Dean replies, haltingly.

“Of course,” Professor Bradshaw agrees. He turns back to his desk.

“Can I ask –” Dean pauses, watching Professor Bradshaw stuff another notebook and a stack of handouts into his briefcase. “You said you’re writing a paper about the runes at the forest burial site– do you go to there much?”

Professor Bradshaw glances up, distractedly. “Yes, I spend time there every week.”

“So you haven’t noticed anything – I don’t know – anything unusual when you’ve been there recently?” Dean ventures.

“Unusual how?” Professor Bradshaw closes his briefcase with a snap and looks up at Dean properly, eyes narrowed with sudden skepticism. It’s stronger than the hints Dean has caught at other points during their conversation, sharp and blue, a world away from the observant warmth of a few moments ago.

“I dunno – odd noises, sudden drops in temperature, shadows –”

“Just what are you asking me?” Professor Bradshaw demands, voice clipped and defensive.

“Have you seen anything like that?” Dean presses, stubbornly. Irritation prickles his skin.

“No, I haven’t,” Professor Bradshaw says, bluntly. “And you know why? Because yes, I study the supernatural – but it’s not real, Dean. I don’t know what kind of sensational article you’re writing about local lore, but I can assure you, lore is all it is.” He winds a striped scarf haphazardly around his neck, and grabs his briefcase off the desk. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a class to teach.”

-

Sam is eating some gross looking granola yoghurt pot with a plastic spoon when Dean eventually clambers back into the car, feeling distinctly frustrated.

“You took your time,” he remarks idly, raising an eyebrow as Dean adjusts the mirror with an unnecessary amount of force and turns on the ignition.

“Goddamn waste of time was what it was,” Dean mutters mutinously, pulling out of the space and then immediately being forced to hit the brakes when a cluster of students cross the parking lot in front of him. He grinds his teeth and resists the urge to honk the horn. “Thought I was getting somewhere but he completely shut down the minute I asked him if he’d noticed anything weird at the burial site.”

“Suspicious?” Sam frowns, through a mouthful of granola.

“No, don’t think so. Just really damn touchy,” Dean drums his fingers impatiently against the wheel as he waits for the students to move, “And a bit of an asshole. I dunno, suppose working in his field he’s probably used to people thinking he’s just some lunatic who believes in the supernatural.”

“And does he?”

Dean snorts. “No way. He’s got a real bee in his bonnet about it. You’d think someone who’s spent the last twenty years with their head buried in books about ghosts and covens and demonic possession might be a little more open to the idea,” he shrugs, and gives in to the temptation to lean on the horn, reveling in the brief satisfaction of making the students jump and scurry out of the way, “But no. The guy’s absolutely blind to it all, and could rival you on stubbornness.”

Sam purses his mouth in annoyance, but doesn’t rise to the bait. “Get anything useful at all?”

“He did lend me a couple books,” Dean admits, nodding in the direction of the backseat. “Have to take them back on Thursday morning, though. He needs them for some class.”

“He leant you his books?” Sam raises his eyebrows.

“Yeah,” Dean shrugs, skin prickling in annoyance, “What of it?”

“Dunno, that’s just,” Sam swallows a mouthful of yoghurt, “Pretty trusting. Academics usually treat their books as if they’re their first borns.”

“Don’t mess them up when you read them, then,” Dean says, dismissively, as they pull out onto the main street. “You find out anything useful about the victims?”

“Not really,” Sam leans back in his seat with a sigh, “Both from middle class, religious families. Seem to have been pretty well liked by people. Hard to establish any link more than that. The wife of the guy that was killed last week seemed a bit cagey, though,” he shrugs, “Might be worth a second visit to see if she’s holding out on us about something.”

“Right,” Dean drums his fingers impatiently against the wheel as they wait for a light to change. It’s starting to drizzle, tiny flecks of grey hitting the windshield. “Are we still definitely thinking ghost?”

“Seems like it,” Sam affirms, “The way the victims died definitely points to a vengeful spirit. But the place they were killed – connected to the burial site associated with the coven? I don’t know, I was thinking maybe it’s no ordinary ghost. Maybe it’s the vengeful spirit of a witch, and that’s why it’s so powerful?”

“Hm,” Dean mulls it over, flicking the windscreen wipers on as they continue to wait. They squeak slightly, repetitive and familiar. “You could be onto something there.”

“Yeah?”

“Professor Bradshaw was telling me about the local legend of the coven. Apparently, its leader was entombed alive by a bunch of angry churchgoers,” Dean steps on the accelerator as the light finally changes, and the rain-slicked village slides past in a blur. “That’s got to be some pretty good vengeful spirit material right there. And you said the victims were both religious, right? Can’t be a coincidence.”

“Why now, though?” Sam frowns. “It’s been what – two hundred years? There must have been plenty of churchgoers who walked by the burial site before now.”

“Dunno,” Dean shrugs, staring out at the rainy smudge of fall colors. The chestnuts trees lining the street are the same smoldering hue of amber as the one outside Professor Bradshaw’s window.

They drive in silence for a few moments, wipers squeaking.

“Okay,” Sam says, at length, “So I’m thinking – we go check into a motel, get through as much of these books from your professor as we can while we wait for the rain to stop, and then check out the burial site later this afternoon before it gets dark?” Sam asks, chucking his plastic spoon in the empty yoghurt container.

“He’s not ‘my professor’,” Dean says defensively, and suddenly has to step a little too hard on the breaks to avoid running a red light.

“Alright,” Sam says, slowly. “Okay.”

“Anyway, yeah,” Dean blusters, hastily, ignoring the weight of Sam’s gaze on the side of his face, “Works for me. But first,” he flicks on the indicator and pulls into a space near a little line of local shops. “Food. Not that yoghurty shit you’ve been eating. Real food.”

-

The forest is steeped in quiet in the way all ancient places are, fall singing the leaves on the gnarled branches that claw their way towards the fading gold of the late afternoon sun. Dean breathes in the wet, cloying smell of moss and follows Sam’s careful path through the trees. There’s a chill in the air, but the handle of Dean’s blade is hot in the palm of his hand.

“How much further to this place?” he hisses at Sam’s back, swatting a frond of bracken out of his face and casting his gaze edgily through the twisting branches and burnt amber.

“Nearly there, according to –” Sam stops so abruptly that Dean nearly collides with him, throwing out a cautionary arm.

“What?” Dean whispers urgently, instantly drawing his blade. His heart is racing now, whole body tense, coiled, ready to attack. His gaze flickers rapidly through the mess of branches and he stands on his tiptoes, trying to see past Sam’s stupidly large frame. “Sammy,” he hisses, impatiently, when Sam doesn’t immediately answer, “What is it?”

“There’s something there,” Sam breathes, almost inaudible. His posture is still, alert. Dean can see Sam’s hold on the gun in his back pocket tighten.

“What kind of something?” Dean whispers, craning his neck to try and see. The light seems somehow dimmer already, the fading sun sliding further towards the ground. When he breathes in, the smell of wet leaves is stronger, now that they’re in the heart of the forest. His heart is thrumming so fast but everything else feels suspended in time, unnaturally still.

“I think it’s a person,” Sam murmurs, and somewhere close, Dean hears the brittle rustle of dead leaves, loud and unnerving in the wooded quiet. He watches the quickened rise and fall of Sam’s shoulders as his breathing suddenly sharpens. “They’re holding something. They – shit, Dean, they’re coming this way.”

Dean reacts immediately and on nearly twenty years of protective instinct; he shoves Sam out of the way and stumbles out into the clearing, blade brandished in front of him.

---

[softcallofdutyimagines]

More Then a Woman | Frank Woods x Fem!Reader | Chapter 7 - Finale

Summary:

It all comes down to this. Will Frank be able to make things right?

Tags: Slow burn, fluff, age difference, angst

Tag requests: @direwolfspostsrandomshit

Chpt 1 | Chpt 2 | Chpt 3 | Chpt 4 | Chpt 5 | Chpt 6 Warnings: strong language, age difference, and references to depression like symptoms and past childhood trauma

Another hour passes. Another beer down.

The television drones on in the background while he stares right through it. Why is he even watching this? He hates TV.

He should be training today, maybe the gym or the firing range, but… He just doesn’t feel like it.

His stomach growls. He looks at the clock. He should get something to eat, but… He doesn’t feel like that either.

At last the cramping moves him to action, and sluggishly he gets up and wanders to the kitchen. He grabs his go-to as of late, a bag of chocolate chips for baking. His diet’s been such shit lately, and he knows it’s not helping. He hates that. And he loves it. Because right now he’ll do anything just to get even a flicker of feeling.

Good. Bad. He doesn’t care.

He just wants to feel.

It’s been a couple weeks since he last saw you, out back behind the CIA gym, and he’s been numb ever since. Mason’s been trying to bring him out of it all this time.

‘You did the right thing’, he says. ‘She’s just a kid, she doesn’t know what she’s doing’, and then, ‘If anything, you did her a favor. She doesn’t really want to get caught up like that with an old guy, right?’, he laughs.

He eats another handful of chocolate and looks down at himself. ‘She doesn’t want to...’ Is he really that repulsive? He runs a hand over his belly. It’s been feeling more rounded than usual.

Fuck.

For a moment, that same old burning, consuming flare of fury he’s so used to getting rises up. He grips the plastic bag so tightly, his knuckles turn white.

His discipline has been getting looser and his belt has been getting tighter, the polar fucking opposite of how things should be. His nostrils flare and lips draw back to reveal tightly clenched teeth, like a dog readying for an attack. Every muscle in his body tenses as he bores holes into nothing in particular. He starts to cock his arm back.

Throwing something will help him feel better.

Right?

He aims for the wall and winds up for an all star pitch, and then…

and then…

He can’t even muster the motivation for that.

As quickly as it came, the anger leaves, and as he lets out the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, his entire body relaxes once more. What the fuck is wrong with him anyway?

What, mommy and daddy didn’t love him enough, so now he throws little tantrums whenever the fuck he feels like it? He mocks himself, feeling almost ashamed suddenly of all his outbursts, but when he thinks about it…

Yeah.

Maybe that...

He sighs, suddenly feeling extremely defeated and very alone. Maybe he shouldn't be surprised you left him. Everyone else who ever loved him did.

Woods drops the bag of chocolate from his limply hanging arm and watches the pieces scatter and roll all over the floor.

Whatever. He’ll eat something else.

This is how it’s been for weeks and this how it’ll be for the foreseeable future. He lazes around, completely numb to the outside world, grazing his pantry and doing anything to distract himself from his thoughts. If only any of it worked. Then at night he’ll lay awake well past midnight, until either regular exhaustion or exertion from shedding tears sends him to sleep.

But it wasn’t always like this.

After the first few days since he chased you off, he tried to make up for it.

He called.

He tried to see you at work.

He even sent you some fucking flowers and a letter.

Not a word back.

Well, aside from the ‘Get the fuck out of here, and don’t you fucking dare come back�� he got when he came to your office. After that one…

He hasn’t cried that hard over a woman in… Well… Ever.

And that’s what really gets to him, isn’t it? Just a woman. You’re just a fucking woman. There’s billions of others out there… And yet, he can’t manage to land even one, can he?

This message plays back in his mind over, and over, and over again.

Even now, as a slow stream of tears leak from his eyes to his pillowcase. He looks over just a few inches away to the empty half of his bed. Frank sniffs and swipes at his nose before gently plopping his hand on the pillow beside his. The fabric is icy cold against his skin.

You know, Alex told him once that he’ll lay in his wife's spot on the bed to warm up the sheets for her at night.

She hates the cold, and Alaskan nights are no joke. Would you like that? He wonders. He heard once that women are always fucking cold. He’d warm up your sheets for you, you know. Or maybe, you’d like a blanket? He’d get you one. A nice one! Fresh and new, not any of the tattered shit he keeps in his linen closet.

Or, maybe, you’d like it more if he just… Held you? He could keep you warm all by himself if you wanted him to. Would you even like him to?

Would that make you happy?

Would he make you happy?

A fresh round of tears breaks over him.

He closes his eyes and curls in on himself as he lets the sobs take over him. Damn it, he promised himself he wouldn’t do this again… He thinks about you far too much. All the time, really. And where does it get him? Somewhere about like he is now, he supposes.

He stews in his own wretchedness like this for quite some time, and it’s not until a few days later that anything changes.

Mason pounds on the door of the dingy little house, “Frank?”, he calls, “Frank, open up you bastard, I know you’re in there!”

Truthfully, he’s only in town on some work related business, but… He can’t just stand by and let his friend suffer like this.

So, he waits and waits, and pounds and pounds until he's sure the door is about to come off the hinges. Mason cups his hands to the crack of the door, shouting into it as loud as he dare, “I’m not leaving until you come out here asshole!”

At last, a quiet voice comes from the other side, “What do you want?”

For a moment, Mason is rather dumbfounded. Never before has he ever heard his friend sound so soulless. So… broken. He shakes his head, and pulls himself out of it, “Frank will you open up? I’m here to check on you man!”

Woods sighs, “Don’t waste your time”, the voice trails off as though he’s walking away.

“Hey!”, Mason pounds on the door again, “Son of a bitch, get back here!”

The door swings open abruptly, and Mason nearly falls over as the door’s taken out from him. He stumbles a moment, then catches himself as he stands up straight.

Mason locks eyes with his old friend, and Woods says nothing. Alex takes in the sight of him. His stubble is out of control, the bags under his eyes are dark and purple, and the undershirt he’s wearing could’ve used a wash about a week ago.

“Jesus…You look like shit”

“Thanks”, Woods replies flatly, “Now go away”

He makes to close the door, but Mason stops him, “Wait wait wait… Ok, I’m sorry, I just… Wow, um… Can I come in at least? Let’s talk about this”, Alex motions to Woods in his entirety.

“Do I have a choice?”

Mason pushes the door all the way open, letting himself in and taking his friend by the shoulders as he leads him further into the house, “No, we’re having a fucking intervention”

He leads him to the living room and clears a pile of clothes and trash off the cushions so they can sit down. Alex commands his friend to take a seat, then follows suit. Once they’re both settled, Mason grows serious but maintains a cautious, sympathetic veneer.

Mason rubs his hands together and gives it to him straight, “Look, I know you feel like you fucked up. I know you’re feeling lonely and it’s got you in the dumps. But… Come on man, look what’s been going on with you!”, He gestures to the living space around them.

Dirty laundry and neglected trash sit in little piles all around in a room that smells of old must with a faint, queasy scent of booze. “This is no way to live, buddy!”

Frank says nothing. Instead, he sits and listens without even attempting to make eye contact, like a child receiving a tiresome lecture.

Alex grits his teeth and tries to keep his temper in check. “So… What I’m trying to say is…. Maybe you need to get out of here, you know? Go to a game, take a vacation, something!”, he scoots a bit closer, taking on a more personal tone with his old friend, “I don’t want to see you destroy yourself like this Frank…”

Woods recoils at that, snapping to life as though he’d just now entered the conversation, “I’m not! I just… I need some time to get over this, alright!”

Mason casts an exaggeratedly doubtful look at the other man. Frank jumps to defend himself once more, but Alex cuts him off, “Ok ok! How about this, let’s you and me go out for a little bit huh? Have some beers, some guy time! I just want you to get out of this place for a little while, is that so bad?”

Frank grumbles a bit, but somewhere in there is an agreement. Mason cheers, "That's the spirit!", and drags his friend upstairs to clean up. He pushes him off to shave and shower before going downstairs to help himself to the kitchen.

It takes far longer than he anticipated, but Alex doesn’t go up to pressure the old Sargent even once. At last, the staircase creaks softly as Woods descends. He looks like a new man. Clean clothes, shaped up beard, and a gentle wafting of clean, musky shampoo emanating from him.

Woods walks up without much fanfare for himself, but Alex offers him a smile and a firm pat on the back, “There, now isn’t that better? You look great!”

Frank grunts and perhaps even mutters a thank you, but Mason is too busy trying to keep the momentum up. Once more, he drags his friend along and out to the car. The sun is starting to set and options for places to go are beginning to dwindle. Woods wonders where they’re going, and yet as the streets race by, he finds himself caring less and less.

By the time the car comes to a stop, he’s nearly fallen asleep.

Mason turns off the engine and shakes him awake, “Hey don’t fall asleep on me now, we’re just getting started!”

Woods snaps awake, but has to shield his eyes immediately. It seems impossibly bright out considering how late it is. He blinks a few times and rubs his eyes. Once they're fully adjusted, he finds that what he sees does nearly nothing to alleviate his confusion.

Before him stands the front of a pulsating night club. Blue and purple neon blaze in the dusky twilight. He can only imagine how they must look in the dead of night. A pounding beat comes from somewhere within, no doubt the drum track to some popular, modern song. Small clusters of younger people and a handful of adults hang around the doors pregaming for what they must be anticipating to be a long, wild night.

The pair get out of the car, but Woods is bewildered all the while. When Alex finally comes around to him, he can’t keep silent any longer, “What the fuck did you bring me here for?”

Mason seems almost taken aback, “For some fun? Come on, I know this isn’t really your scene but maybe that’s exactly what you need! Something new and fun, right?”, he doesn’t wait for a response, instead he pushes his friend along as they head towards the entrance.

The air seems thick and hazy around him, a fact only highlighted by the glowing miasma created by the neon interior. If Alex wasn’t pulling him along, he’s sure he’d get lost.

Alex takes him over to a table buried back in the corner. They take a seat and despite being right across from each other, Mason nearly has to shout to be heard over all the noise, “Want a drink?”

Woods thinks about it for a moment, still taking in the environment as he does so. He’s trying to find the bar, and when he does he figures it’s impossible to miss. A huge back wall of glass bottles, all lit up by a halo of purple neon and cool fluorescent lights stands bright as a beacon behind a solid bar top and array of stools and customers.

“Sure, I can get my own”

“Great! Hey, grab my usual would ya? I’m gonna take a leak real quick”, he points over his shoulder and excuses himself as he makes for the restrooms.

This… is not at all what he wanted.

Suddenly, Woods feels trapped and alone again, no better than he was back in his own home. Except now he’s surrounded by the heat, noise, and stench of over a hundred other people.

The lights feel heavy and blinding, the pulsating pop music, deafening. He trudges up to the bar slowly yet surely, but with every step he comes closer to committing to his plan of escaping back to Alex’s car.

He never should’ve went along with this… he was just fine at home, damn it.

Lost in his thoughts and half blinded by the smoke and lights, he runs smack into another person. With a dampened thud, they hit the ground hard. Wood swears under his breath and figures he can at least offer a hand. He bends down to help up the fallen individual, only to see…

You.

Suddenly, it’s as if all the haze and fog has cleared from his eyes. He can see you clear as day down here, and the noise and smells of the crowd all fade away. A soft blue glow highlights your features, and an electric magenta bounces off your hair. The sparkling, sequined little dress you wear glitters in the halo of light descending around you, and a thousand flecks of light reflect back onto his worn, tired face.

Woods' hand hangs in mid air, half way through it’s journey to assist you. He whispers your name, quietly and fondly, as though he never thought he’d see you again.

For the first time in what must have been days, a smile breaks free from his stern glower.

But all you see is the asshole who teased you along for weeks, only to give you the highest embarrassment by sending you off like a misbehaving child after you were at your most vulnerable with him.

You were ready to give him your very body, and he only felt up what he wanted and sent you off.

With a sneer, you slap his hand away and hop up on your own. You don’t even bother to spare him a word. Instead, you stare daggers into him and walk off.

For a moment. For a second time… He watches you go.

He should let you walk away.

After what he did, you deserve at least the privacy. And that’s aside from the fact that you’re clearly pissed.

But he can’t. Not again.

“Hey, wait!”, he dashes after you, shoving his way through the crowd. A little too roughly, he grabs your upper arm and spins you around. You yank yourself free from his grip and glare right through him. Even through all the rage…

You look so beautiful in this light.

“I… I- uh. Hey”

“Hey?”, your blood is boiling. Is that all he has to say for himself?

The venom in your voice makes him recoil, shrinking back into himself. But still… “I uh, I just… H-how are you… I didn’t think you’d be in a place like this, heh…”

Out of pure manners, you respond, “Fine. What are you doing here?”, you cross your arms, defensive, but genuinely curious.

Woods looks over his shoulder then all round, searching for any sign of Mason. Nothing. He snaps his attention back to you, trying to come up with any reason at all to explain himself. Frank stutters for an answer, but you end your indulgent lapse before he can say anything coherent and turn to walk away.

“Wait! I… I-I miss you...”

You whip around, seething with anger. Then, very seriously, you ask, “Are you following me?”

“What? No! Fuck no! I just… I miss you, that’s all!”

You scoff, “Well maybe you should’ve fucking thought of that first”

“...You’re right”

That stops you dead. This is nothing like the Woods you know… You can’t recall a single time he’s had the humility, let alone the balls, to admit that he’s wrong.

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah…”, he sighs, and even in the darkness of the club you can see a glimpse of just how much pain he’s in, “Look… I shouldn’t have done that, back there behind the gym. You trusted me and I fucked it up. I know. It’s just… I was scared”

A biting edge creeps back into your voice. You don’t buy that. “Scared? Of what, getting caught?”

“What? No! I was scared… that I was taking advantage of you, alright?”

You blink, and suddenly all the rage leaves you, as though the hot air was deflated right out of you. “Wh-what do you mean?”

“Well I mean… You know… Y-you’re just a kid, and I’m… not. I just- It didn’t feel right. Hell, I didn’t even get a chance to ask if you really wanted all that, I just… went for it”

You take a little step closer, your hard gaze softening just a touch, “Well… It’s not like I was saying no”, you chuckle

“Yeah, but that’s not the fucking same, you know?”

You look away, “Yeah…”

“So… Anyway… I’m sorry, alright?”

At last, you turn back and smile at him, “Alright. I forgive you, and… thanks. For saying that”

Woods nods and accepts your thanks. The two of you share a little smile and a short pause of uncertain silence until he breaks the silence, “So… What now?”

You look him up and down. He’s wearing jeans and a tightly fitting flannel, a stark contrast to all the trendy, flashy fashion of the rest of the clubbers, and yet it’s so… him. You trace a finger down his limp, tattooed arm, stopping at his fingers to intertwine them with yours.

“How about a dance?”, you tug his hand gently, then nod towards the dance floor.

A feeling like euphoria washes over him, and time seems slow as he floats along while you tug him through the crowd. Somewhere in the beautiful, prismatic show of lights, he hears himself agree. You lead him to a cramped, but vacant spot on the glowing dance floor and turn an ear to the music, “Hey, I love this song…”

Woods perks up to listen, just in time to catch the start of More Than A Woman, muffled slightly by all the noise and bustle of the crowd.

It’s like it’s playing from within a dream.

You rest your hands on his chest, letting them slide down so that the heels of your palms sit where the curve of his stomach begins to swell out. Frank has his hands on your waist, swaying in time with you slowly to the music. He clears his throat and looks away from your sparkling, gorgeous eyes, a nervous blush creeping up his neck.

He knows you’ve been over this before, but… “Yeah, uh… so, you know, I’ve been thinking I should lose some weight... You know, while you’ve been… gone”, he moves your hands up from his belly to clasp behind his neck.

You quirk up your brow, a confused smile on your lips, “Why?”

“Uh, I don’t know… I think it makes me look old, I guess”

You laugh and come a little closer, your bodies nearly touching, “Well, if it means anything... I don’t think so”, You inch up and kiss his cheek, bringing one hand down to rest on his softened pect. He huffs a nervous laugh and masks the flattered embarrassment with a timid smile as he covers your hand with his, holding it there just a little while more.

He's never forgotten how amazing your touch alone feels.

He clears his throat and re-establishes eye contact. A whole kaleidoscope of color plays inside your eyes. He could get lost in them for the rest of his life. “You uh… wow. You- you look beautiful tonight...”, he steals a quick glance as your little, sparkly dress and the neon rainbow refracting off the thousands of tiny sequins, “Nearly gave this old man a heart attack when I first saw you”, he laughs.

“Oh?”, you smirk and lead him into a turn, “ In that case, you should see me take it off”

His heart pounds underneath your palm, but his face looks frozen with surprise. He doesn’t hear women say that kind of stuff to him often…

“D-do you… Do you mean that?”

“Well, I mean… Maybe after this, I’d love t-”

“No, not that. I mean… Me. D-do you really feel that way about me?”

You stop dancing for a moment.

His words cut deeply with the quiver of hope they carry, as though it had never crossed his mind that someone would want to be with him.

“Of course I do. But… I want you more then just for that you know”, you chuckle.

His cheeks go pink, “Oh. Damn, so you like that kind of st-?”

You place a single finger to his lips, shushing him. “I meant… I love you”

Your words echo back to him in slow motion, as though reality and time itself are breaking all around him to unveil a haven of euphoria. His heart is beating in his ears, and yet it sounds slow and calm, just like the wild crowd and the blaring music all around him.

Everything grows quieter and softer until it all fades away, leaving behind just you and him.

He wracks his brain, trying to remember the last time he heard those words, only to come up empty handed. It’s been so long… He can’t even remember.

Frank looks back at you, a little neon angel clinging to his beat up old shirt. Gorgeous. That’s all he can think of when he sees you. He almost feels like he shouldn't even have the privilege to do so. You bat long lashes up at him and a slow smile draws across your soft, glossy lips.

More than a woman…

Slowly, you come up to meet your lips to his. You’ve kissed before, but this… It feels like the first kiss of his entire life.

He presses back gently, sucking softly as he draws you close. You smell like dark cherry and amber, some combination of perfume and lip gloss. The faint smell of whisky and musk radiating off of him mingles with the divine scent of you.

He can taste it all on his tongue, even as he slides it over to flick across yours.

More than a woman to me…

At long last you part, breathing softly as your eyes drift up to meet one another's. And when he looks down into those deep, glittering pools, he wonders how he never saw all the love and warmth they hold for him. The love they always had.

“I love you too…”, he whispers, tears stinging at his eyes and voice, before he leans in to press a kiss to your forehead.

And now? The love they always will.

[ave-aria]

Rewind

Ectober Week 2020 Day 3: Rewind Summary: Maddie can't believe what she's seeing on the security tape. In shock, she hits rewind. Tags: Reveal fic, Blood, Angst, Implications of character death, Tragedy, Trauma, Oneshot

-

Rewind.

Maddie keeps her eyes on the tv screen as the figures wind their way backwards to the start of the video. She won't look away. Can't. Doesn't dare.

If she looks away, she'll have to focus on something else. The quiet, dusty lab around her. The uncleaned ecto-weapons by the door. The green blood smattered on the blade.

The hollow, empty house looming over her head…

The video hiccups a bit as she hits the start of the feed. Old VHS tapes are odd like that, buzzing out with static where the film wore thin from too many pauses and restarts. It's a sign she's hit the beginning. Maddie presses play.

"Mom and Dad would kill me if they knew I let you down here."

It was an old security tape, filched from the lab. Onscreen, three teenagers, her son at the lead, slip into the camera's field of view. Maddie leans closer, enraptured by the movement, even though she's seen this moment enough times to have it seared into her brain.

Maybe, if she focuses hard enough, she can learn the secret - how to rewind her own mistakes, go back to a time when none of it has happened, just like in the video.

"Whoa, check it out! This thing's huge! I can't believe your parents built this!" A pause, while the kid adjusts his glasses. "Bummer that it doesn't work though, dude."

"Damn. Was it really supposed to open a portal to the underworld?"

"It's 'The Ghost Zone,' Sam. And yeah. My parents were pretty heartbroken when it didn't work. It kinda just… fizzled out. I hope they're not too upset."

The detached, clinical angle of the shot doesn't do the moment justice. Danny'd always been such a kind boy, thoughtful and empathetic to a fault. Maddie's throat closes up a little, leaving her struggling to breathe. They had been upset. Unbearably so. Their life's work - as Danny put it - fizzled out before their very eyes. It'd been a hard loss to take, one that she and Jack might never have recovered from, had the Portal not miraculously started working on its own, days later.

God. Now she almost wishes it hadn't.

A bright flash draws her from her reverie. Maddie blinks at the screen. A camera flash. In her distraction, she's missed part of the video; Tucker's casual "Lighten up, dude,", Sam's request for a photo op, Danny grabbing a hazmat suit to pose with while she dug the device from her backpack.

"—Got it," Sam waves the printed Polaroid to air out the negative.

"Okay. I showed you the portal. Can we get out of here now? My parents could be back here any minute."

Where had they been that day, anyway? Maddie wonders. Grocery shopping? Visiting the park? Moping, as they tried anything to get their minds off of their most recent failure? If they'd been there —

If they'd been there—

"Come on, Danny," comes Sam's voice, treacherous in its fascination. "A Ghost Zone? Aren't you curious?"

Danny looks into the Portal, clutching the custom white suit made specially for him. Sam smirks, knowing. "You gotta check it out."

Maddie hits pause.

Rewind.

"You gotta check it out."

Pause. Rewind.

"You gotta check it out."

Rewind.

"—gotta check it out."

The remote feels cold and heavy, like ice in her hand. In that moment, a selfishness grips her. She could blame Sam. For all if it. Everything that happened, it all started here, and it started because—

—But she can't blame Sam, because the next moment, Danny turns back, his eyes sparkling with an adventurous spirit. It's a spark of curiosity, brimming at the thought of the unknown; a look she's all too familiar with, one she's seen often on her daughter's face, her husband's - even her own, in the mirror.

"You know what? You're right. Who knows what kind of awesome, super cool things exist on the other side of that Portal?"

That curiosity, it's a Fenton trait, not one that needs to be stoked like a fire. That spark's been burning within him, since the cradle.

"Don't go in," she whispers, as if her advice could change the course of history. Even if he could hear her, though, it would be no use. He can no more resist the call than he can resist breathing.

He pulls on the hazmat suit. Skintight, white with black edging. It's like staring at a photo-negative. Watching her son, Maddie's stomach twists.

How couldn't she see it before?

"Alright. I'm going in." He says. His first footsteps echo, loud, in the hollow of the blacked out Portal…

Maddie's breath shudders in. She grips the remote and, before she can stop herself, hits the button.

Rewind.

She watches as her son walks backwards, double-time, out of the entrance to the Portal. The panic that gripped her fades.

"Mads?" From somewhere up above, echoing down the staircase, comes her husband's voice. Maddie is glued to the video screen, and almost doesn't hear him. Regardless, she definitely can't answer. What would she even say?

"Maddie?" His heavy footsteps echo in the stairwell, trudging closer. "Are you down there?"

A hitch in the tape. Maddie presses play.

"Mom and Dad would kill me if they knew I let you down here."

Drawn by the sound, Jack trudges the rest of the way down the narrow staircase. She feels a slight reverberation in the floor when he reaches the landing behind her. She doesn't turn around.

"The police called back. Officer McNally said he'd file a missing persons report, and they promised to keep their eyes open. But—" she hears the way uncertainty causes his voice to die in his throat when she doesn't turn to greet him. After a long moment of silence, he draws up to her side. "What are you watching?" he asks at last.

"It kinda just… fizzled out. I hope they're not too upset."

Question. He'd asked a question. Maddie swallows and struggles to answer. "Security tapes," she chokes out.

Understanding, an incomplete kind, dawns on Jack, and vigor jumps back into his bones. "Mads, that's brilliant!" he booms. "Why didn't I think of it? He comes into the lab all the time! We can use the security tapes to see when he last—"

"I found this tape in Danny's room," she interrupts.

Again, his voice falters in confusion.

"Under the bed," she elaborates, as if that will help. And continues watching, detached.

"Can we get out of here now? My parents could be back any minute."

The flickering light of the tv fills the lab, ominous in its glow. Jack hesitates. Maybe he's picked up on the subtext by now. Maddie can picture his eyes drifting from the staticy screen to the items in front of it, scattered across the table. He reaches out fro the shoebox sitting beside the tv. Taped to its front, written in the cursive, unmistakable scrawl of their son's handwriting, is a note that reads:

'If I Never Come Home'

"Maddie, what is this." Jack's voice is uncharacteristically heavy. Looking to her for guidance. For answers.

For once, she has none to give.

"Watch," Maddie whispers, still trapped by the screen. Automatic, her fingers hit the button.

Rewind.

With no other options to grasp at, he does.

"Mom and Dad would kill me if they knew I let you down here."

Watches as the kids approach the Portal.

"Aren't you curious?"

Watches as their son zips up the hazmat suit.

"Alright, I'm going in."

Watches as he disappears into the empty cavity of their greatest invention.

Click.

Watches as it thrums to life, with a scream.

"Da—Danny no!" Jack yells in tandem with the two remaining teens. He lurches forward, hand outstretched, to stop the agony onscreen. "He's not - when did he -"

"It's old, Jack," Maddie whispers. "From when the Portal started working."

Jack spins to stare at her. "You mean - Danny's the one who—" he's visibly struggling with the information, the same way she did, on her first viewing. "But—he never said—"

Right, Madie thinks. He never said anything. Jack's confusion is laughable, though. Why Danny never told them—that much is painfully clear.

"Guys?" Over the yelling and the panicking and the electric cackle from the Portal, their son's terrified voice cuts through the din. "G-guys help, what's happening?!"

Tucker and Sam are black silhouettes stumbling backwards from a swirling green glow, but they freeze and scramble to right themselves, lurching forward to catch someone as he stumbles through the gate.

Phantom - Danny - emerges from the portal, falling to his knees.

"…No," Jack says. Disbelief is thick in his voice. "That can't be… no."

Maddie lifts the remote.

Rewind.

A flash of light. A curdling scream. A shock of confusion, panic, scramble.

Danny Phantom stumbles from the portal.

Jack stares for a long time. Then he reaches out, snatching the lid of the shoebox for a second look at the evidence. The note, accusatory, stares back at them.

"This is how he tells us." Jack doesn't often whisper, but it seems like he can't do anything else. Her husband looks at the empty shoebox, the screen, the VCR. "Our son is Danny Phantom, and this is how he tells us. I…" he trails off.

Maddie almost can't believe it, how easily Jack arrives at the conclusion. It took her twelve viewings for her to wrap her mind around it, and it still hasn't really sunk in. But then, that's always been Jack's strong poing - those intuitive leaps of logic. Ones every scientist both loathed and envied.

"Did it kill him?" he moves seamlessly onto the next question that tripped her. Somehow, Jack's voice is even quieter this time.

Maddie shakes her head no. If they watch the video long enough, about ten minutes in, Danny manages to change his way back to human. If their invention did kill him, it wasn't permanent. Not that time, at least.

She's too close to thinking about it.

Rewind.

"But—" she can't stop Jack from thinking, though. He barrels on, heedless of breaking the fragile grasp Maddie has on her sanity. "But if all this time — Phantom—"

A hitch in the tape.

"We've been—"

Press play.

"Mom and Dad would kill me if they knew I let you down here."

"—Don't tell me we've been trying to waste our own kid—"

If Maddie weren't so detached, she might laugh. Waste. God, he can't even say it.

"Trying?" she asks instead. Bitter, the word sticks to her tongue.

She's not looking at the tape now. She's looking at him. And Jack, oh, Jack, he just stares down at her, a dark horror growing in his eyes.

He whips around to look at the bloodied weapons sitting at the base of the stairs.

Exactly where they left them two days ago, after that nasty ghost fight. When they came home to find a broken house, their daughter crying at the kitchen table, and their son just - gone.

"No." Jack backs up a step. "No no no no no no no—"

A flash of light. A curdling scream—

In an instant, Jack is moving. He snatches up weapons, whatever he can find, and bolts for the staircase, vaulting his way up to ground floor. Distantly, Maddie hears the doors slam. The RV thrumming to life. The screech of tires as Jack peels out of the driveway.

In the cold wake of his departure, Maddie turns back to the tv. She should go after him, she knows. But she's not quite done watching. Jack's always been a man of action, after all, but she's the analytical one, who studies, who marvels, who gathers the facts she sees.

Phantom, onscreen, slumps against his friends while he drips ectoplasm to the floor. He stares down at his white-gloved hands, his glowing green eyes wide in shock. Maddie wonders if he knew, then, what would become of him. What his parents, who raised him, who swore to protect him, would do.

She can't face those questions. Not yet. Not yet. Instead, she lifts the remote.

And rewinds.

A good scientist, a rational scientist, never draws conclusions while she's still gathering evidence. So as long as she's still watching—

A hitch in the tape. She's at the beginning. Maddie presses play.

"Mom and Dad would kill me if they knew I let you down here."

As long as she keeps watching, she doesn't have to do anything with this information. All she has to do is watch.

So she watches. She rewinds. And she plays. She can't look away—

"Mom and Dad would kill me if they knew I let you down here—"

She doesn't dare.

"Mom and Dad would kill me if they knew I let you down h—"

All she can do is rewind—

"Mom and Dad would kill me if they knew I let y—"

And rewind—and rewind—

"Mom and Dad would kill me if—"

Until she finds evidence contrary to her theory…

"Mom and Dad would kill me—"

Or she finds Its inevitable End.

"Mom and Dad would kill me if they knew I let you down here."

Rewind.

"Mom and Dad would kill me if they—"

Rewind.

"Mom—"

Rewind.

"Mom—"

Rewind.

"Mom—"

-

[AO3] [FFN]

[bluerosesburnblue]

And that’s Game Over. It’s become a bit of a tradition for me to give my final thoughts on beating a game at this point, and boy do I have a lot to say about NEO: The World Ends With You. Pretty much every part of my blog’s aesthetic has been a thinly-veiled TWEWY reference from the start, so this probably shouldn’t shock anyone

That being said, I haven’t read any of the Secret Reports except for #3 and #4, and I haven’t seen any of Another Day except for the opening scene, so I can’t comment on either of those points

I should also say what I knew about before going into the game, because I did look into the demo datamine and a little bit of the Switch leak. So I wasn’t 100% blind, but I don’t think that anything that I saw really ruined the game for me. What I knew was:

Shoka, Neku, and Beat are party members. It was around the time that I saw this from the demo datamine that I started suspecting that the boy in the hoodie was Beat, but since he was listed after even Neku there was still a little doubt there until I played the game proper. I could tell it was Beat the second that he actually showed up in Gen Kobayashi’s artstyle, since he draws his and Neku’s eyes differently (which makes it pretty brilliant that they almost solely showed him with either his eyes not visible or drawn by Nomura before the game released)

Shoka is Swallow, also said in the demo datamine. It made it pretty amusing to watch everyone overthink the hell out of Swallow’s identity and dissect the symbolism, when you can actually figure it out pretty easily in the demo if you pay attention to what actually happens. Why do Rindo and Fret go to the Scramble Crossing? To look for Swallow. Who’s the first named character that they meet there (who’s shown with her phone a lot, too?) Shoka. Frankly, I’m surprised that they saved the reveal of Swallow’s identity until the very end, it’s so simple

The game is three weeks long, with the last week having two extra days, from the demo datamine

Josh is the one who gives Rindo his pin back at the start, from the demo datamine but everyone assumed it was him, anyway

Haz exists and is the Composer of Shinjuku, from the Switch leak and I went looking for this one specifically because I was way too curious about staircase guy

I also know the general gist of Tsugumi’s situation and her brother, which I think is in the Secret Reports

Honestly, nothing that I saw before I played was something that I felt ruined the game for me. The three weeks was just continuing the pattern of the first game. Shoka and hoodie boy were probably gonna be party members since they’re on the cover. Neku was almost certainly going to be one after A New Day. Haz’s situation isn’t actually explained if you’re just playing the game, so I’m actually glad I knew what was up before then because otherwise I would’ve just been confused

Anyway, I guess I should start with the negatives first. Don’t get me wrong, I do love this game. It’s not just a good game, but it’s also an excellent sequel that ticked off way more of the boxes on my “perfect TWEWY sequel” list than I was expecting

That being said, it’s really unfortunate that I can’t say that it redeemed A New Day. I does recover from A New Day, and it recovers shockingly well, but every time they referenced something from A New Day, all I could think was “this could’ve been executed so much better if they weren’t forced to reference that shitty sequel hook.” NTWEWY actually makes A New Day look worse in comparison

Biggest one is... Neku didn’t have to be dead for three years. His role in this game was actually so small that they could’ve easily had it be “Neku went missing a year ago. Shiba started his deal with the modded pins to try and drag Neku into things, so Josh made sure to get to Neku first. The two came up with a plan to get Neku out of Shiba’s reach and do recon at the same time in Shinjuku.” Like... fuck, it feels like poor Shiki, Beat, and Rhyme were forced to suffer without one of their dearest friends for years because the devs tacking his death onto their remaster was the cheapest solution at the time

Literally NOTHING that Coco did mattered. Shinjuku still got destroyed with or without Neku’s death and Sho didn’t NEED to be revived by her

I cannot stress enough that Sho didn’t need to be revived. I don’t totally blame the devs for this due to the gap in years between TWEWY and Final Remix, but the reason that there was so much fan clamor for Sho to return was that it was set up in the original TWEWY. The last time that we see Sho, his body is crushed under one of Josh’s junk piles. Reapers don’t leave bodies, they just get Erased. It was also known that Josh knew that Sho wanted to take his spot, but he kept him around anyway. People wanted Sho back because it looked like he hadn’t actually been destroyed and it would be in Josh’s character to keep him in the game. They literally could’ve just started NTWEWY as is and put a line in somewhere about Sho wanting to make Josh regret that he didn’t finish him off when he had the chance. No Coco required

Coco doesn’t even do anything unique for the Tsugumi plot that couldn’t have been done by someone else, like Hishima or Susukichi. Or Kaie. Frankly, any of the Shinjuku Reapers could’ve had a subplot about trying to free Tsugumi’s soul from Mr. Mew

Why does Tsugumi even have the Mr. Mew plush, anyway? Shinjuku was destroyed three years ago, and that’s when her soul was sealed in there. So do you mean to tell me that Shiki already established Gatto Nero and had a branch in Shinjuku mere months or even weeks after getting out of the Game? Nope, not buying that timeline

What the FUCK is up with the Dissonance Tapir? No, seriously, if Dissonance is some Angel-level power with such destructive properties and is almost exclusively employed in destroying cities, then how the FUCK can Coco just create a massive Dissonance Noise and why the fuck did she bother? Mr. H in A New Day even mentions that this is such an amazing power beyond most Reapers and how oh-so-special Coco is for it. NTWEWY does not address how Coco has this at all

Coco’s still such a nothing character, too. She accomplishes jack shit and her personality is still just “obnoxious, entitled brat.” They even did that thing that I hate where they act like she’s just totally forgiven, no harm done for all the shit she pulled just because she had understandable motives. Like, no, this little shit hasn’t changed at all and has done nothing to earn forgiveness! Just... ugh. Toss Coco on the pile with Janne Angard, Merula Snyde, and Lusamine of “characters I’m never gonna fucking like no matter how much the authors push them on me because they refuse to be better people but I’m expected to forgive them anyway”

We ever gonna expand on Coco’s illusion Yoshiya? No? Alright, fuck me, then

Coco revives Sho specifically to have him partner with Neku, and the two don’t even interact until the final week and it’s mostly for Neku to kick Sho’s ass

Not... to turn this into yet another rant about A New Day. It’s just a real shame that I know this game could’ve been better if A New Day hadn’t been such garbage. I did like the reveal that Neku and Rindo’s visions were actually Tsugumi’s Psych, though

A few other, non-AND nitpicks in no particular order:

Did anyone else find it weird that, like, there wasn’t a single girl on any of the other three teams besides Kanon? Logically, I get that they wanted to save on resources and most of the other team members were just recolors of each other, but... not even one female design for any of them? What’s the implication there? Is it just that no women ever die, somehow? Or that girls overall don’t qualify for the Game? It was just weird in a mildly immersion-breaking way once I noticed it, especially since the original TWEWY was fairly balanced. It did still favor male characters, but pretty much every player’s first team was male-female (Neku/Shiki, Beat/Rhyme, Sota/Nao) and Kariya and Uzuki were a consistent pair, too, despite being Reapers since they were basically foils to the Players. So having the Players so overwhelmingly male this time around just felt noticeable

Motoi had a lot more potential than I felt like he lived up to. He and Kubo paired together make really interesting negative split-foils to Mr. H. Kubo took the idea of an Angel influencing the game and guiding the Players to his desired outcome for the city and went “what if his goal was malicious?” He’s pretty much the perfect dark counterpoint to Hanekoma

That left Motoi open to take the other half of Mr. H’s character, namely the “artist that the protagonist greatly looks up to and admires” to its alternate conclusion. I think that’s what they were going for, because he is so perfectly set up as a foil to Mr. H. While Neku started growing paranoid and suspecting that Mr. H aka CAT was the Composer and a villain, trying and failing to shake the thought, Rindo refused to think of An0ther/Motoi as a villain despite the hints (like the false intel on Susukichi) until the truth was thrown in his face over and over again

The issue is that what made Neku’s concern over Mr. H so compelling was that Mr. H was in a position of authority. He was THE source of info on the Game the real-life players had, he clearly had some clout to make Uzuki cut her shit out, etc. Neku and the player respected him, so it we also felt betrayed by the idea that he could’ve been playing us. Motoi never felt like he had any authority to me. Nominally, he was at the same rank as Rindo. Sure, he told us a bit about the game, but so did Susukichi and Shoka. I wish they had just done a little more with him. Maybe establish that while the Ruinbringers always win, the Purehearts have always come in a close second. Like, they are THE other team to beat, so that Motoi ends up on a pedestal. You could even run with that, with a major conflict in Week 2 being that Kanon wants to set the Twisters up to win, but Motoi wants to use the Twisters to help the Purehearts win. Then we get the conflict of it seeming like a better idea to help the Purehearts since they’re always in second anyway (and knowing that if the Twisters win, Kanon’s team would be sure to lose to the Purehearts the next week) until it’s revealed that Motoi was just using the Twisters to try and take a spot with the Reapers and leave his team behind because he doesn’t actually believe that there’s any beating the Ruinbringers. I dunno, the Motoi plot just felt like it needed a little editing

He also needs a better design, tbh. All I can think of when I think of Motoi is “bright blue.” Like... he’s just a blue blob. He needs differently colored pants, or a pattern, or something. Maybe a better hairstyle. His design just screams “NPC who dies in Week 2.” Motoi looking more like a main character who’d be sticking around to the end (maybe even a teammate?) would’ve heightened the reveal. There’s just no detail work anywhere on his clothes

Week 2 in general felt like it dragged a bit. Week 1 we know we’re still in the “learning the Game” phase, so it’s expected to go a little slow. But it really doesn’t feel like much happens in Week 2 until the last couple of days, and the missions start getting really drawn out. Especially the second Scramble Slam and the amount of points they want you to rack up for the prizes. I tried my best and didn’t even come close to the lowest prize. And then they do ANOTHER Scramble Slam (though this one had mercifully low point scores and I did get all the prizes for once). Like, it was a neat idea for a mission the first time, but it just got formulaic fast

The Plague Noise felt a little half-assed. Not really in terms of their part in Shibuya Syndrome, more in the design and their weakness. They feel like a Taboo analogue, but they just don’t have the same spark to them

Their weakness is ultraviolet light? Really? So I just, like, have to believe that they shoved a battery-powered blacklight into Nagi’s backpack or something, and it never runs out of juice, and they always have the time to whip it out and turn it on whenever the Plague Noise show up? It seems like they wanted an excuse to have them come across as untouchable and scary, but then realized that it was clunky for gameplay so it just does not apply after the heroes figure out the weakness, even if that weakness isn’t just something that you can do on the fly. Thing is, they already perfected this with the Taboo Noise by having them take so little damage without the sync boost or Josh’s powers. The blacklight thing just feels like an inelegant solution, when something like “attacks do almost no damage unless you get off a single Mashup” would’ve made more sense

I also just hate their design? Applying a uniform metallic-prism texture to the whole body just looks beyond lazy and... has really nothing to do with them thematically? I don’t mind them being recolors of regular Noise types, I just think this was the laziest way to recolor them. They’re supposed to be draining people’s souls, right? And regular Noise are neon? Then maybe we could go with the idea of “true black” for the Plague Noise, where their bodies are pitch black and shading effects can’t be seen on them, like they absorb all light and color in their surroundings (maybe even have a slight filter around them that makes the area around them look grey?) and a hollow, wireframe-esque mesh on the parts that would glow on regular Noise. This is just an off-the-top-of-my-head design idea. I don’t know how feasible it would’ve been to program, but visually it would probably be more striking

It’s also kind of weird that Ayano’s Noise form is a flower. And just her, too. If all of the Shinjuku Reapers had their Noise forms based on plants with Shiba as the butterfly, that would’ve felt more cohesive and made them feel more “other” when compared to the Shibuya Reapers

I can’t give this one too much of a hard time because it’s not like the Shibuya Reapers in TWEWY had any real theme to their Noise forms other than “were animals,” with Sheep (Higashizawa) > Lion (Minamimoto) > Tiger (Konishi) > Snake/Dragon (Kitaniji). Just more of a missed opportunity brought on by Ayano having a noticeably different Noise form than any other Reaper in the series for seemingly no reason

Unpainted is a better boss theme for Phoenix Cantus and World is Yours is a better boss theme for Shiba. They should’ve been switched, and I cannot believe that the song all about painting a happy ending was not used for the rainbow bird final boss (and I just didn’t care for World is Yours. Definitely a mid-tier song in the soundtrack, imo, which is not something you want for your final boss)

Speaking of, why is it called Phoenix Cantus anyway? “Cantus” is usually reserved for Reaper Noise forms, which Phoenix Cantus is definitely not. Was “Phoenix Pulvis” not cool enough? I know that “Pulvis” means “dust” (and Soul Pulvis is just... Noise made of soul dust basically), so maybe “Phoenix Coetus” since it’s a group of Soul Pulvis and still sounds similar to Phoenix Cantus?

Those are all literally my biggest criticisms, though. And if “still couldn’t fix shitty writing from a few years ago and they ignored it instead” and a handful of actual nitpicks is all I have against the game, then it’s a really good game

Like, okay, holy shit. Reverb Shibuya with the alien sky and ever darkening buildings and people. What a fucking cool setting for the final week. For anyone who read my FFXV sort-of-rant, this is exactly what I wanted out of FFXV’s World of Ruin. It’s so freaky and chilling to wander a Shibuya, which you’ve had two in-game weeks (or five if you played TWEWY) to get to love in this distorted state with a dark, unnatural sky and everything slowly getting progressive more and more warped. And it’s fully explorable. The first time I saw someone under the Reverb, with the “...” thoughts and the “@DownWiththeSyndrome” username was kinda freaky, but I just brushed it off as this game’s version of the “what a wonderful world such would be” Red Skull Pin stuff. But the first time I saw one of the mid-Reverb thoughts? A person almost completely gone, but still spitting out a broken, distorted version of a familiar thought bubble I’d seen throughout the game as though those half-remembered thoughts were the only thing they could hold onto... THAT was chilling

I almost wanted Plague Noise wandering around like the Taboo used to, too, to give just a little more sense of edge. Maybe it’s a blessing, though, since the regular Noise in Week 3 hit a pretty big difficulty spike. Kinda surprised that the Plague Noise weren’t called Reverb Noise, though

Also, the music for the first couple of days heavily featuring DIVIDE and Revelation (NEO Mix) was sooooooo wonderful. I fell in love with both of those songs when I heard them in the trailers and they set the mood so well. Mmmmmmmm the start of Week 3′s atmosphere is so good. And then they start adding in SCRAMBLE and LAST CALL and I’m just like... yo they saved some of the best songs in my opinion for last

Reverb Shibuya is almost what my mental image for TWEWY’s Week 3 always was, even though I know that TWEWY’s Week 3 was just... regular Shibuya. But for some reason I always visualize it as dusty and distorted. But NTWEWY’s Week 3 executes a Shibuya on the verge of destruction so much better than even my weird, imagined version of TWEWY’s Week 3

Kubo’s a perfect Mr. H foil. Older gentleman who ends up being a major source of info on the Game, constantly showing up to offer advice, who ends up being an Angel trying to guide you to specific end, except this time he’s a villain? It’s so good. Especially with the implication that Kubo is what the Angels want, as someone who’s a scheming asshole willing to destroy or “cleanse” cities in a horrific way regardless of suffering, while Mr. H was the Fallen Angel for trying to do the right thing and save the city. It paints a really interesting picture of the world of TWEWY. The Angels already came across as assholes in the original, and I’m so glad they leaned into that

On that note: HELLO worldbuilding. I’m legitimately shocked that they didn’t expand on the alternate worlds from the first game since those are definitely canon and played a huge part in Josh’s survival. But then they expanded on other things and in ways that recontextualize the first game in a much more interesting light so I’m okay with what they did

The biggest one being the “destruction of Shibuya” that the first game was about. Pretty much everyone was under the impression that Josh was just going to destroy the UG, but now with the destruction of Shinjuku it seems obvious that it was more than that. He could’ve eradicated the whole city and everyone in it and no one would know. Memories of Inverted cities and their inhabitants are erased, and the people in the cities are so beyond gone that the only things left are fragmented thoughts. We see a girl from Shinjuku like that, who’s so far gone that she’s barely even a ghost to people in the UG. It’s horrifying, but makes the stakes of the first TWEWY so much more real and Josh so much more of a threat (and, conversely, his mind change more impactful)

Glad that they implied Shinjuku could be brought back with work at the end of the game. Unclear if the people could be restored, probably not, but at least we get something. Would’ve been too dark otherwise

Living Players were touched on slightly because Kariya mistakes Josh for one in TWEWY, now we get to see the full extent of that. Like how a person can’t exist in two planes at once, so their existence in the UG is effectively forgotten while they’re in the RG (except, it seems, to past Players who this game seems to imply have had a sort of sixth sense awakened). I wouldn’t have expected them to take this route, but I like the fact that the stakes are different enough. In TWEWY, everyone just stays dead. In NTWEWY, Rindo, Fret, Nagi, and Beat risk their existences being wiped from the world

I was totally not expecting them to actually answer what happens to people from timelines that Rindo changed. Horrifying. Horrifying is what happens, as they simply cease to exist but the energy that they were has to go somewhere, so it collects in the main timeline as distorted Noise

Actually, on this, I was kind of expecting Rindo’s time travel to have some sort of drawback at least partway through the game when they pointed out his pin was changing. The twist was very Madoka Magica-esque in the way that Homura’s constant resets to get the best timeline were building up Madoka’s potential, so that when Madoka did become a witch it was more and more powerful every time. Once the pin was pointed out, I was able to guess that something like Phoenix Cantus was where they were headed, though part of me was a little worried that Rindo was going to be part of it and we’d have to fight against him

Speaking of, this twist really was beautifully foreshadowed. I connected the birds appearing to Rindo’s time travel about the second time it happened, but I didn’t notice his pin. The first time they pointed out that his pin was different than the others, my first thought was “Was it always like this? I can’t remember. Did Josh hand him a special pin back?” The second time it showed up and was obviously changing, I was suspicious as hell and kept my eye on that thing every single day, until at one point I went “that’s definitely a fucking bird.” It’s such a tiny detail on the HUD, but I looked back and it’s changing as early as the beginning of the game. You could spot it, but why would you think to?

Beat. Ohhhhhh, my boy. I feel bad because half the time I forget him in the original group (Shiki being first partner and Josh making the biggest impression) but he’s actually the best character in this game. I adore how he starts getting all “protective big brother” with the team (even though Nagi’s older than him), he’s still a lovable doofus with so much energy, and how easily he got back into the groove with Neku was just so heartwarming and just... I love Beat. I love my boy

The fucking... battle dialogue where Beat shouts “BOOYAKA” and then there’s half a second before Rindo awkwardly goes “Rrrrrrrright” kills me every time

And Soundsurf is just so smart. Turning the run mechanic into a mini rhythm game that gives combat bonuses is so brilliant for a game as music-oriented as this and it just feels nice to have the song title in the corner

Speaking of the cast, I think it’s really incredible how naturally the new characters integrate with the old cast. Rindo, Fret, Nagi, and Shoka are all really distinct from the TWEWY kids, but they feel like they belong there either in spite of or because of the massive diversity of personality among them. And the only bad thing I can say about either Neku or the Shinjuku Reapers is that I feel they were underutilized, but “I want MORE” isn’t all that negative! I don’t think there’s a single bad TWEWY character except for Coco

I’m actually so glad that they went with what they did. Two points on my “perfect sequel” list were “new cast because the old ones had their arcs, if the old cast shows up it’s in mentor roles” which gets a big old check, and “the Game’s rules are changed to reflect both Shinjuku’s different style and the fact that the controls are different” and the team structure does exactly that

I’m eternally grateful for Kanon Tachibana. Rest in peace, you were such a cool lady and we were blessed to have you, especially since your first appearance set you up to be a major antagonist

Uzuki got that promotion and even made Game Master! Hot damn, real proud of that girl and I’m so glad that she and Kariya are still a duo

Pretty much all of the voice work was GREAT, too. One of the things I love about TWEWY is how obscure most of the VAs are, because when I know too much about a VA or if I hear their work too much it actually kills my immersion no matter how good of a job they do because all I can think about is their other roles or IRL personality. So not only does TWEWY sidestep that entirely, but the VAs they do use do a fantastic job which gives the game such a unique audio experience. Andy Hirsch as Sho Minamimoto, Crawford Wilson as Beat, and Bailey Gambertoglio as Shoka Sakurane were all big standouts

Frankly, it’s a miracle that they made Shibuya so much easier to navigate for me. I think it’s the way that the streets are drawn on the map. Made it a lot easier for me to visualize how things were connected and where I was going. The camera does take a little getting used to

I really can’t commend how creative the gameplay is enough. I didn’t think they could top what they did with the DS’s dual screens to have you control two characters at once, but they manage to have you controlling an entire PARTY OF SIX at once. And yet, they still manage to keep the “team working together” feeling that was so integral to TWEWY’s combat with the Beatdrops and Mashups/Killer Remix. It feels both very TWEWY and very distinct from TWEWY. It’s such a natural evolution

SPEAKING OF NATURAL EVOLUTIONS THEY STREAMLINED THE PIN EVOS. No branching evolutions thank GOD

The compact collections menu with percentages made me so happy as a completionist you have NO IDEA

My only issue with the gameplay was entirely personal, because I’ve been playing a lot FFXV and I kept accidentally hitting the Mashup button when I meant to dodge because of muscle memory. Goddammit, I had to unlearn my KH muscle memory when playing FFXV and now I’ve gotta unlearn THAT. Square! Standardize your damn buttons!

It was so interesting how they went and expanded on the themes of the first game, which was about opening up to other people. This game still has that, as Rindo doesn’t really put himself out there, Fret is disingenuous to appear friendly but protect his emotions, Nagi is too empathetic that she gets overwhelmed, and Shoka is so aggressive that she scares others off, and they have to learn teamwork. But then it takes it a step farther when Haz comes in. Friends help you grow, like in the first game, but they also make the world around you special, too

At this point I’m kind of running out of things to say about the game, but it really is a worthy successor to the original TWEWY, and I say this as someone who 100% completed the DS version. It was actually one of the first games that I ever did 100% complete (can’t remember if I did this before or after Bravely Default). The game oozes style, and really all I want is just... more, if it’s going to be of this quality

I would never want this series to turn into KH (and don’t even get me started on how much the KH fandom pissed me off in the leadup to this game. Jesus Christ shut the FUCK UP about the “Nomuraverse,” there’s no such thing), but... I think they have the groundwork to pull a sort of 358/2 Days-style game with the Shinjuku Reapers telling the story of Tsugumi and the fall of Shinjuku. An “Another Side,” if you will. I hear the Secret Reports mention some of it, but I want to see it. I want to see the Shinjuku Reapers as the big family they claimed they were and how it fell apart, especially with how that would compare to the Shibuya Reapers in TWEWY who were always in the middle of power games and ready to backstab each other. What made the Angels and Haz want the place “cleansed?” And I know they set this game in Shibuya because they felt it was iconic to the games, but... I dunno, I feel like the visual style and worlbuilding are more important than it being in Shibuya, specifically

Also, still wouldn’t pass up that Josh prequel. Just saying

Might have more to say once I play Another Day and read the Secret Reports, but I’m gonna take a break from NTWEWY for a bit to finish up the FFXV postgame stuff and DLC so it may be a while before I actually do say anything. But I am looking forward to getting back to it when I do! Given how much I tend to get into a “you must COMPLETE THIS GAME and cannot move onto another until you do” mindset, I think it says a lot that I took the time to start playing this game at launch and didn’t stop at all. Great game, would recommend this to anyone, would love to see more as long as more looks nothing like A New Day

[dreamescapeswriting]

BTS Reaction || They Regret A Break up

A/N: Hope this is what you wanted 💜💜💜

Seokjin:

Jin stared down at the photo in his hand, it was of you and him in Paris when he took you on tour with him, back before you broke up...long before you broke up. He ran his thumb over your face in the picture and elt a few of the tears go that were threatening to come out, he'd been putting off coming to the old shared apartment to empty it for so long, he didn't want to go back there without you with him it didn't feel right to be in the shared apartment you'd owned together, packing up his stuff and leaving, but he could tell you'd already been to the apartment. All of your shoes were gone from the porchway, all of your books and collectables were gone from the living room but you'd left all the photos of you together he sighed putting the picture into his box and then going up to the bedroom, stopping when he heard your light snores coming from inside of the door, he debated going downstairs and leaving but something inside of him was telling him to walk inside to see you, even if it was just one last time. He quietly pushed the door open and saw you asleep on the bed, you were clutching his RJ's teddy, and you were covered up by a thick blanket, he smiled walking closer to the bed you looked so peaceful and happy, you had a small smile on your face as you clutched RJ closer to your body you looked better than the last time he saw you. The last time he saw you, you were crying heavily and screaming at one another, neither of you meaning the words flying from your mouth but both of you heated. Namjoon told Jin it was because you'd never fought in the two years you'd been together, only occasionally having small bickers but never a real fight and that the big one had been a long time coming. He placed his hand on your cheek and rubbed his thumb along your cheek, smiling to himself as you shivered in your sleep from his cold hands, whining from the sudden coldness on your cheek, as soon as you began to stir he walked out of the room going down the staircase and trying to act as though he wasn't just in the room with you.

"Jin?" You asked groggily from the top of stairs he looked up at you and tried to stop himself from smiling, you were in nothing but an oversized shirt, shorts and you were still clutching RJ tightly in your arms as you rubbed the sleep from your eyes like a toddler who'd just been woken up from their afternoon nap,

"Are you wearing my shirt?" Is what came out of his mouth instead of, 'You look cute' which is what he wanted to say but stopped himself because it came to him that he wasn't your boyfriend anymore and you weren't his girlfriend anymore. You glanced down at yourself, you'd forgotten you put it on in the first place, you looked down at the floor nervously not wanting to meet his eyes, you had no idea if he still hated you for the fight,

"Yeah, I guess it is." You answered not knowing what to do with yourself now he was standing there in front of you, you'd been waiting for this day for a while, you'd been wanting to see him since the moment he walked out of the door but you couldn't tell him that, he was the one that ended things and left maybe he didn't want you back like you wanted him back.

"You're still staying here? I thought you went to live with your friend." Which was true, you'd gone to live with her after the relationship ended and when you came to pack your stuff up you couldn't leave, you'd been staying there since.

"I came to get my stuff last week...I couldn't bring myself to leave again." You admitted sitting down on the top step and looking at Jin who walked up to join you on the step, sitting next to you and debating if he should take hold of your hand like he used to.

"Can you even remember what we were fighting about?" You questioned not looking Jin in the face, you didn't want to stare at him in case he did remember, you couldn't remember why it started, all you remember is the screaming and then him ending it.

"I--No, actually, No, I can't." He admitted turning to look at you but you were frowning at the floor, he took in your features wanting to stop you from frowning by holding you in his arms,

"I can't either." You admitted glancing up for a second to see him staring at you already,

"Then why don't we-" He stopped himself as he took hold of your hand and interlocked your fingers with his and took a deep breath,

"Why don't we forget this ever happened, a lovers spat." You slowly turned to face him thinking about it, you had missed him more than words would ever be able to describe and you did love him a lot,

"I'd love that Jin." You whispered to him looking at RJ who was sitting next to you on the step, you picked him up and placed him on your lap,

"But can we go to sleep, me and RJ missed you." You mumbled standing up and lifting his arm up so he would follow you into the bedroom. You both fell asleep tucked up in each other's arms, the best night sleep either of you had had in the time you'd been apart.

Yoongi:

After your relationship ended with Yoongi for seemingly no reason, it just ended, you spent the first four months trying to put yourself back together, slowly picking up the pieces of your heart and building yourself back together, it was hard at first...Not having there every day when you woke up, or not waiting for when he came home from the studio but you slowly got used to it, you'd convinced yourself for the first week or two that he was just away on tour and he'd be home soon but once that trick stopped working on your mind and your friends got sick of you dragging yourself around like you'd lost a limb, they decided to make you feel better. They began giving you a 'glow up', which meant they were taking you out every other weekend to find someone else or taking you to spa's to make your feel better, none of it was working and you told them that clubs weren't your thing and that when you were ready to meet someone you would, but that time wasn't now and you didn't want it to be either, you wanted to take your time to get over Yoongi, from that moment you spent your time getting a new job and quitting your old one that was on the same route Yoongi took to the studio, it was how you met. You worked in the small coffee down the road from the studio and he went every morning for the same order so you started drawing hearts on his cup, or little messages to get his attention and in the end, he asked you for your number, a cute love story but now it was a nightmare going to work, praying every day he wouldn't walk in, or one of the others guys would walk in so you quit and moved further into the city so he couldn't just walk in.

"I'm not going on a blind date." You said as you served your friends in the cafe you were now working in, your shift was almost over and they were insisting you go out on a blind date after you finished but you weren't ready for that. You didn't want to do that anyway, blind dates were terrible and always ended badly no matter what.

"Just give him a try, he's funny...We met him outside your old work." You rolled your eyes at them, taking their order to the back and putting it down, ordering yourself something and going to sit back down with them.

"Do you even know his name?" You questioned sitting down at the table, they stared at one another and then at you.

"Well, we didn't get that far..." You blinked at them, they couldn't be serious, could they?

"What did you say to him?" They both stared at one another.

"We showed him your picture, asked if he'd go on a date with you and he said yes. He has your phone number and said he'll text you." You wanted to slap them for being so stupid.

"You gave my number to a stranger? Someone neither of you knows and I don't know?" They nodded not seeing the problem with what they'd done but you did, you saw a huge problem with it, it was a huge invasion of privacy and what if he was some weird internet hacker who would hack into everything with just a cellphone number and your name and picture.

"You're idiots." You grumbled laying your head on the table, your friend started tapping your shoulder you lifted your head from the table and she pointed your head in the direction of the door, standing there was someone who used to work with Yoongi a lot, you recognised him from company parties that Yoongi used to drag you along to.

"That's him, he's coming here." They both left the table and the guy, whose name you still couldn't remember was coming over to the table, smiling at you and holding out his hand for you to shake.

"It's nice to see you again Y/n," You smiled at him and tried not to be rude about asking him his name but he could see you were struggling.

"Kim Chung-ho, It's okay. You used to meet a lot of different people." He joked asking if he could sit down and you nodded to the chair in front of you.

(X)

Yoongi, on the other hand, hadn't been taking the break up well, he'd spent the last four months avoiding everything he could because everything just brought back memories of you, everywhere he turned you were there, but it was the fourth month and he was starting to get back to the real him, he'd been buried in so much work that he'd pretty much written two albums and one solo album on his own with all the feelings he was experiencing and now was going to the coffee shop to get himself a drink, in the past, he'd been sending people to go for him in case you were working but as he got to the door he chickened out, backing down the street and deciding to go further into town was the better option, he didn't want to risk upsetting you or upsetting himself.

He was walking towards the next shop when he saw you sitting in the window in from of Kim Chung-ho one of the producers they'd just fired at BigHit for leaking information to press sources and trying to steal music, he looked at you to see you smiling, the smile you used to have on your face whenever you were with him but that smile wasn't bringing him joy like it used to, it was making him angry, he stormed into the shop and up to your table.

"Why are you with him? he's not good for you." He said to you not even looking in Chung-Ho's direction, you stared up at Yoongi as if it was the first time you were ever seeing him, the feelings from that first text coming flying back to you, the butterflies flying around in your stomach, your heart thumping so fast it could run a marathon and your brain racing for something to say to him.

"Yoongi, I didn't know you and Y/n still saw one another, I was just coming to say hello to her." You frowned looking at the man in front of you.

"You were just quizzing me on him..."

"Trying to find out information to sell to the press, come on Y/n, we're leaving." You didn't even take a minute to think about it, you grabbed your jacket and followed him out of the cafe and down the road, rushing back with him to the studio, as soon as you were both inside that was it, the tension was so thick that you just kissed, your hands going into his hair and his hands making their way to your waist, tugging you as close as possible to him, he didn't want to let go in case you walked out of the studio, and you didn't want to let go in case he broke up with you again, you didn't want the moment to end but at some point, you were both going to have to breathe again.

"You won't leave will you?" He questioned his hands still locked onto your hips as you toyed with his long hair, he'd been growing out since the day you left.

"I won't...You won't throw me out will you?" He shook his head and you smiled, it was like a silent agreement to never speak of the break up ever again.

"You need a haircut." You grumbled playing with the strands in your hair and giggling as he put on a fake pout.

Hoseok:

Looking back on it now it wasn't the best thing to do, but it was the only thing that Hoseok could do in the situation. They were threatening to fire both of you if he didn't finish what he had with you and that was two months ago, in those two months you stopped going to work, you would only go to your group meetings where you'd be in the studio for an hour before leaving to go home to your apartment again. Your manager explained to Hoseok that you didn't want to be in the same building with him...but that's because you didn't know the real reason you and Hoseok broke up, Hoseok told you it's because he didn't love you and never could which was the hardest thing he'd ever had to do, all that because he wasn't allowed to tell you the reason, that both yours and his managers were forcing the relationship to a finish.

The first month you spent writing music for your groups' albums and the second month you were catching up on dance practises at home you couldn't go into the BigHit building if Hoseok was going to be there and you knew he was there most days because he was an amazing guy who loved to create music for people.

"You have to come in today, there's no way around it. It's for the company." Your manager said through gritted teeth to you over the phone, she was trying to get you to go in for the company photoshoot. All of the groups and solo artists were going to have photos together and it sounded like a great idea on paper until you realised you would have to be around Hoseok and you still weren't over, hearing his name nevermind seeing his face but you also knew it was go or be fired.

"I'll be there." You mumbled hanging up the phone and going to the car that was waiting for you outside

(X)

You'd been managing to avoid Hoseok all day, neither of your shots was close together until the end of the day but the end of the day was coming up quicker than you wanted it to, you started to feel sick at the thought of seeing him again. The last time you saw him he was telling you about how he could never love you, how he was ending the relationship because he didn't want to hurt you further down the line, not knowing he was crushing your heart right there in the moment.

"Y/n!" You heard Jungkook scream before you were picked up and span around in the air by the youngest member, you giggled as he placed you back down on the ground, you threw your arms around him to greet him.

"I've missed you Kookie." You said to him pulling away to see Hoseok standing behind him, you felt your heartbreak as he looked you up and down. You straightened the outfit out as Jungkook spoke to you about what he'd been up to since the last time he saw you, you'd always been really close with him even before you were dating Hoseok.

"Are you listening- Oh you're looking at Hobi-Hyung." You stared down at the floor feeling tears rushing to your eyes as you shook your head,

"No, sorry Kookie. Please keep going, I'm just a little tired." You lied as you felt eyes on you, you knew it was Hoseok who was watching you interact with the Maknae.

"He's missed you," Jungkook whispered so that only you could hear him now, you stared at Jungkook and he nodded.

"I heard him talking with Joonie-Hyung about how he never wanted to break up with you...I shouldn't be telling you this but the managers made him, threatened both of your jobs." Before Jungkook could continue Namjoon yelled him back over to them and your group was shouting you over, you sent a soft smile to Hoseok who was staring at you and you went to go over to your friends. You next shoot was with BTS, and you were going to have to be close to Hoseok and the other members.

(X)

The shot was over and you were looking around the makeup room for your phone, you could have sworn you left it in there but it was like it had grown legs and walked away on its own.

"Want some help?" You looked up to see Hoseok and instead of denying it you just accepted his help and you both started looking around. Finding it under the main sofa, Hoseok lifted the sofa up while you kicked your phone out from underneath.

"Kookie told me why you really did it..." You said as he went to leave the room again, he turned to look at you and you swallowed the lump in your throat.

"They said I couldn't tell you the real reason." You nodded, you knew that whatever the managers or higher up said was like gospel and there was no going against it, you both stood there awkwardly for a couple of seconds before Hobi finally spoke up.

"Wanna, like- I mean if you're not busy...We could go and get coffee, as friends." You nodded at him, it was going to be hard being around him as just friends but having him in your life as a friend was better than not having him in your life at all.

"I'd love that Hobi."

Namjoon:

The day had come to meet up with Namjoon to give him all of his things back, you'd both been avoiding facing each other since the relationship ended. It ended in a heated argument that you couldn't remember how started, or who started it but you remembered how it ended. It ended with Namjoon telling you it would be better to end the relationship and with you walking out of the apartment at 3 am and showing up on your best friends door with nothing but Namjoon's shirt you were wearing and some shorts, she took you back the next day when he was at work to get your things without having another fight or getting upset again. Namjoon came home that night half-expecting to see you sitting on the sofa curled up with Koya but when he got in from work and half of your wardrobe was missing he was disappointed and upset when he realised you were gone but he also knew you were going to be back for more of your stuff and was going to have to pack it all up for you, so he spent all his time finding your things and boxing them up for you.

(X)

"Just go, it won't kill you." Your friend said as she rushed around her apartment, she was supposed to be going with you to your old apartment to see Namjoon but now she was telling you she had to work an extra shift and you were going to have to go alone.

"It might." You tried to convince her but it wasn't going to work because she was already out of the door and in her car, so you were left to getting ready and taking yourself to go and see him.

(X)

You were both standing awkwardly in the living room of your once shared apartment, Namjoon was a mess his hair was pushed backwards and greasy, he was wearing a tank top and sweatpants but even then he still looked good, you were in sweatpants and the shirt you walked out in, your hair was up in a messy bun and you hadn't worn makeup in three weeks.

"You look good--" He stopped as he saw you crying, he didn't know if he was supposed to drag you into a hug or leave you to cry.

"I look like shit." You said through your tears, a small laugh coming through at the thought of him thinking you looked good but Namjoon, always thought you looked good no matter what you were wearing or looked like. You were his girl and you always looked great to him.

"You always look good, except when you're crying." He mumbled running his thumb under your eye to wipe the tears away from your face, you sniffled and snuggled into his hand having his touch on you felt good again. You'd missed him so much in the time you'd been away, it wasn't like when he was away on tour because when he was away you can call him, text him and video chat with him but when you were broken up you couldn't do all of those things.

"Is it wrong if I say I miss you?" You mumbled to him, he dropped his hand from your face to his side and sighed, sitting on the sofa and patting the space next to him.

"I miss you too." He mumbled as you sat down on the sofa, far away from him but still close enough that you could feel the heat radiating from his body.

"You know- I can still remember practising how to ask you out in the mirror." He chuckled to himself causing you to let out a giggle, seeing his smile made your stomach flip and your world light up.

"I remember when you asked me, I got home and screamed into my pillow like a teenage girl." He chuckled and turned to look at you, both of your staring back at one another.

"Do we have to stay broken up?" You questioned eyes not tearing away from his for even a second, you didn't want to in case it was the last time you were ever going to see him again.

"Not if you don't want to..."

"I don't want to. I want to wake up to you snoring every morning, or coming in late from work and waking me up cause I've taken over the bed." You admitted edging yourself closer to him on the sofa.

"I want that too baby." He admitted pulling you onto his lap and staring into your eyes.

"I promise next time we fight over something stupid, I'll never walk out." He wrapped his arms around your waist and kissed your nose.

"I promise to never fight over something stupid." You hummed and laid your head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat as he patted your back, humming softly to you.

Jimin:

Why of all days did you have to go into the BigHit building today to get your stuff, you were going to see Jungkook who was meeting you with all of your clothes from Jimin's apartment, he promised you Jimin wasn't going to be there and that he was going to be at a shooting all day but as soon as you walked into the building Jimin was there, you put your hood up as you waited for the elevator with him, looking around for something to distract yourself with. How did he look that good despite you both break up less than a week ago, he was dressed in a suit, his hair slicked back and he looked like he'd slept better than other. You, on the other hand, were dress in a hoodie, sweatpants and looked like you'd not slept in over a year even though it had only been a week of broken sleep, you stepped inside the elevator and Jimin followed you inside, he must not have noticed it was you unless he did and he was choosing to ignore you. Three more floors and you were off the hook, you would be out of the elevator and going to see Jungkook and then you could leave, three more floors and your personal hell would be over in no time.

Two more floors- Okay...Why was the lift shaking and light flickering, you stumbled backwards against the wall as the lift came to an abrupt stop, your hood flew off and you were clutching onto the railing. Jimin turned to look at you before turning back to the buttons and then back at you,

"Y/n?" You hummed as you clutched onto the railing trying to calm your breathing down, you'd never been good at being in small confined spaces.

"Yeah, it's me." He quickly pushed the alarm button picking up the small phone that was inside and waited for someone to answer,

"Hi yeah, We're stuck in the lift...Yeah, it's me and my friend, right, Okay...Yes...Thank you." He hung up and turned around, dropping to his knees in front of you and trying to calm you down, he knew you hated being stuck somewhere and you were going to need help through this.

"It looks like we'll be trapped for a while, so just breathe okay, we'll get you through this." He repeated, sitting you down on the floor and trying to help you breathe.

"C-Can I hold your hand?" He shook his head, sitting back against the wall and spreading his legs for you to sit in between them, he wrapped his arms around you as he took deep breathes with you trying to calm you down.

(X)

"You feeling better?" You hummed laying your head back against his shoulder, too tired to move away from him.

"Should we talk?" He questioned as he fiddled with your fingers, you raised an eyebrow at home.

"What about?"

"The breakup."

"We talked about it." You answered trying to move away from him now but his grip tightened on you and you sighed, too tired from the panic attack to fight him.

"We didn't, we fought. I ended things because I was an idiot and didn't realise what I had until it was gone." He admitted,

"Jungkook told me you were coming today so I knew I had to come and see you, I had to try and make things up to you." You were frozen in his arms, did he mean everything he was saying.

"I want you back...If you'll take me back that is?" You looked at him and the elevator jolted into action so you stood up from the floor, holding your hand out for him to take and stand up with.

"Jimin are you sure...You're not just going to get bored and ditch me again?" He shook his head and kept your hands locked together, both of you lost in each other's eyes you hadn't noticed the door opening and Jungkook standing here.

"My plan worked then." You both slowly turned to look at him with a glare on your faces.

"You trapped her in there?!" Jimin yelled feeling angry with the Maknae but he didn't know you were scared of tight spaces.

"Jimin, it's okay...He didn't know." You defended trying to get him to calm down but he was red in the face, you touched his arm and you saw him physically relax instantly.

"I'm sorry Y/n." You shook your head at Jungkook and he ran off down the hall while you took Jimin to an empty studio to calm him down.

Taehyung:

You and Tae had a clean and easy breakup, you both decided it was better for the both of you if you went your separate ways, not that either of you wanted to, you were both madly in love with one another but that was the reason it had to end. You'd been dating behind Jin, your older brother's back and it felt wrong to hide it but you knew Jin would never approve of the relationship so it was better to end it, then more people get hurt because of it and tonight was the first time you would be seeing Taehyung since it ended three weeks ago, Jin had invited you over to stay with him while you apartment was being renovated and you couldn't say no because he would ask why you'd rather spend time alone in a hotel rather than spending time with the best brother in the world, his words not yours.

You'd spent most of the day hiding away in Jin's room, binging movies together and then cooking dinner for everyone but it was getting late and you knew it was time to go to sleep, Jin was taking the sofa and giving you his bed which meant when the thundering started and the lightning flashed you were alone in his room, clutching onto the TaTae stuffed animal you'd had since before you dated and broke up with Tae.

"It's just bad weather." You reminded yourself, closing your eyes and trying to drift off to sleep, putting some earphones in and turning on one of the boys' playlists to fall asleep too, drowning out the storm that was raging on outside.

(X)

Tae had spent the day trying to avoid you, he didn't want to get in your way, you were still friends but it hurt to be near you and not be able to hold you all night. He laid awake in the storm, staring up at the ceiling and thinking about everything you'd done that day, the way you looked when you showed up on the doorstep, the way you looked when you were cooking with Jin and the way you looked standing at the foot of his bed with TaTa in your hands...The way you looked at the bottom of his bed?! He shot up in the bed and stared at you, you'd been crying and you were clutching onto TaTa as if he was going to run off.

"I had a nightmare...Can I stay with you tonight?" He said nothing, only moved over in the bed and laid back down when you laid beside him, neither of you said anything but you jumped when you heard the thunderclap and Tae's instincts took over, he cradled you in his arms as he spooned you, holding you tightly as a reminder that he was there and wasn't going to go anywhere. You could feel his heart rate and you were sure he could feel yours beating just as fast as his was, neither of you were going to be sleeping it was obvious, you couldn't stop your mind from racing about him holding you again.

"Do you think we could ever make it work?" You whispered to him as you tried to stop shaking from the fear of the thunder.

"Make us work?" He questioned wanting to make sure you were on the same page about what you were talking about.

"Yeah." He sighed and rested his head against your shoulder,

"What about your brother?" You grumbled something in response that he didn't understand and you sighed turning over in his arms so you were face to face with him.

"What about him? I love you Tae, I knew I loved you from the moment I saw you and asked Jin your name...I knew I loved you when we broke up but I can't let Jin come between us...If we make each other happy Jin will see that and understand that." You whispered to him, Tae looked down at you and jumped as the thunder clapped again scaring both of you when you heard Jin standing in the doorway.

"Jin does know how happy you were." You jumped out of Tae's arms and sat up in the bed staring at your brother.

"You knew?" You questioned glancing to and from Tae who looked just as confused as you about Jin knowing about you both.

"Of course, you think you could hide something like that from me. I knew Tae was sneaking off to your apartment when he was 'at the studio'." He chuckled to you,

"We broke up and you didn't say anything?" You questioned him,

"I knew it wouldn't last long, knew there was a storm tonight so knew you'd go running to him." You glared at your brother as he walked out of the room leaving you and Taehyung alone to talk everything through.

"Shall we..."

"Get back together?" He finished for you, holding your hand causing you to smile brightly before leaning over and giving him a kiss on the lips.

Jungkook:

You'd gotten the tickets to the party when you were still together with Jungkook, it was Namjoon's birthday party and you didn't want to be rude by not going to see him on his birthday so you decided to pull on your big boy pants and go to see him since he was one of your close friends when you were dating Jungkook and it wasn't going to change just because you and Jungkook broke up. You'd only broken up a couple of weeks ago and the wound was still fresh but you weren't going to let that stop you seeing Namjoon, you'd gone out to get a new dress and decided you were going try and put on a front that you were fine when you weren't. You hadn't handled the breakup well, you'd stopped bothering to try and make an effort, and you let yourself go.

Jungkook was a mess too, as soon as he ended the relationship he hated himself for it, he did it because he was being a jealous idiot over something that was going through his mind. He'd seen you hanging around Kai from TXT more and more while he was busy with other things and he somehow got it into his head that you were going to leave him for Kai, and started getting overprotective of you. Stopping you from seeing him unless he was next to you, and stopping you from going to see him on your own, which caused a huge fight between you and the eventual split of you both came and you walked out wishing you hadn't and he cried over the fact that he was as jealous as he was over nothing.

(X)

You walked through the packed out venue and tried to find Namjoon, you'd arrived an hour ago and couldn't find him anywhere, he'd text you telling you he was by the front but you still couldn't see him.

"Y/n?! I didn't expect to see you here!" Kai called when he saw you struggling to look around the room, you embraced him in a hug.

"Yeah I came to see Joonie, have you seen him?" He nodded and pointed over at the DJ booth and you saw him standing there with Jin, you thanked Kai and continued walking through the crowd, finding Namjoon and giving him and hug and handing him the bag with his gifts on.

"They're from me and Jungkook...We got them before we...We broke up." You said trying to act as though you weren't bothered but Namjoon could tell you were, Namjoon could read anyone like a book.

"It's okay, thank you for coming." He hugged you again and then you hugged Jin who was shouting over the music to you about how Jungkook wasn't there yet so you could relax, but you couldn't you were on edge in case he just showed up...It excited you and scared you all at the same time about the thought of him coming up and seeing you but you tried to ignore the feelings, telling Namjoon that you were going to get something to eat.

(X)

"Kai where's the bathroom?" You questioned later that night as soon as you spotted Jungkook from across the room, Kai told you the directions to the women's toilets and you went on the hunt, trying to get out of the hall before Jungkook spotted you.

"Excuse me, sorry." You said to some people at the doors, pushing yourself into the hallway and trying to calm yourself down, nothing had even happened but seeing him there brought all of the feelings crashing back. How was it fair that he got to look so good after a breakup while you looked like you'd been hit by a bus?

"Y/n?" You turned to see him walking towards you, the hall was too crowded to make a run for it so you plastered this biggest fake smile you could manage and turning around to face him.

"Jungkook." You said with a smile, hugging him back as he brought you into his arms, squeezing you tightly.

"You looked amazing in there,"

"You saw me?" You questioned looking back through the doors at the crowded room,

"When don't I see you? You could be in a room full of a million people, you will be all I see." You shook your head at him.

"No...Don't do that Jungkook, don't try and act cute." You pleaded moving away from his arms and going over to some seats in the hall, he couldn't do that, he did this to your relationship, he broke it.

"I was an idiot Y/n, a jealous idiot...I was worried about something I shouldn't have been. I trust you, I've always trusted you but I was just worried about you leaving me for someone who could treat you better." You stared at him, the last time you talked about this it involved screaming at one another about how he couldn't trust you, and how he thought you were trying to leave him.

"I love you though Kookie...Kai is like a little brother to me, not a boyfriend. No one could ever treat me better because you treat me better than I deserve," You told him, he stared up at you and then over at the packed out venue room,

"Let's ditch, I'll tell Joonie I was here and he'll understand. We can go on a date, make up for everything...Cuddle on the sofa, I'll do anything Y/n, just take me back." You stared at him, he was tearing up and you knew in your heart you couldn't say no to him, he was the love of your life and it was a silly break up.

"Let's go say bye to Joonie and then go home, these heels are my worst nightmare." You giggled taking his hand and standing up, he bent down to kiss you before walking into the hall together, passing Kai and sending him a shy smile and then going to find the birthday boy.

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[illyrian-lover-flower]

The chosen forest keeper 1

 Everything should have gone for the better after the war with Hybern. Everything should have turned out fine, but it didn’t.

_Feyre still had nightmares of Rhys dying in her arms. _

Nesta would have already fucked and drunken herself to death, if she still would have been human.

And Elain, sweet, gentle and seemingly happy, Elain -commited suicide.

_ Jumping off a cliff outside of Velaris into the depths of the dark sea. Offering her life as well as the pieces of the hearts of her family. _

Her dead body was never found, but a wittnesser who tried to stopp her, saw everything.

Never would have anyone guessed that a visit to the normally so rebelious tribes, years later changed everything.

__________________________________________________

                      The world is small, but forever is long  now,

                                             since you’re gone  

Death.

It always followed him.

Why would this time be an exception?

How could he go that far as to hope for an exception? An exception he hoped would be Elain Archeron - but she wasn’t.

Sweet Elain Archeron who was a bright light in the dark for all of them, a bright light that left and instead of the calming light - she left an uneasy twisting shadow behind.  

A shadow that was casted over every member of his family as they sat in the living room. The living room that suddenly turned too bright by the colourfulness of the flowers she left behind.

His throat went dry as the desert as he listened to the weeping sounds of his High Lady.  

The weeping sounds of a sister that just lost a part of her family.  

His brother sat close to his mate on the couch, an arm slung around her shaking back as she buried her palms in her wet eye sockets. The female he loved, her golden light not dimmed at all by the news, sat on the other side of their High Lady and rubbed calming circles on one of her shaking shoulders. Her gaze was worried as she took in her friend.  While Amren just sat in the back of the room.

Her arms crossed over her small chest and her gaze turned out off the window - to the colourful garden that now had no owner anymore.

Even her heart wasn’t left cold by the sweet seer. The seer who had struggles with her powers, but never made them look like as if they were that serious.

The seer who laughed with them. The seer who studied with them. The seer that simply made the day of her family with a soft laugh and sweetened it even up with a little baked good.

Her warm smiles the sunshine for all of them. Even for Amren - who seemed to have taken a liking to all of the three Archeron sisters.

The stranger on the couch opposite the one of Feyre, Rhys and Mor looked lost as he took in the view of his High Lady crying her eyes out, because of the news.  

The sad news he just brought upon them.

“… she jumped off a cliff near the borders of Velaris.”

As Azriel first entered the room - having returned exhausted from a two weeks mission- he didn’t know who they talked about, but as Feyre started crying and Rhys face paled with each second that past, a bad foreshowing already settled into his guts as he saw the flower grower nowhere near by.

His shadows curled restless through the whole house and garden, but could find her nowhere.

The steel cold look Amren gave him, as he entered the room, made him pale - but more of the realization her slowly shaking head brought with it.

The room went cold as he realized. As he realized why his High Lady cried almost as much as she did when Rhys died.  

But Rhys was back. Even though she still had nightmares about him dead - it were all just that.  

Nightmares.  

Rhys had come back to life.  

But Elain would not.

His heart lowered its speed to an almost cold and slow pace, his blood having probably all gone to his feet as he stood there in the archway of the living room, like a salt pillar. Refusing to sit down.

Never in his life did he wish to be clueless, but for now - for this once - he would gladly be.

Not having to know that he would have to tell his other brother, Cassian eventually about his dead friend.

The friend he would have welcomed like a little sister - with a bone crashing hug. But Elain would not stand in the entrance hall and welcome him with a big smile, no.

Elain was probably floating somewhere in the water of the ocean. Enjoying the freedom of this world with her dead body.

His heart dropped as he realized it. As he realized that not only would he have to tell Cassian, no - he would also be in the need to tell Nesta Archeron.  

Nesta Archeron who will either way burn them all for not taking care of her sister better, or who will let herself suffer even more than the last year.

Drinking up every little drop of alcohol that is hidden away in Windhaven.

Azriel didn’t want to cry, but he couldn’t help the tears in his eyes as he took in his family.  

Broken once again. Shattered hearts lying on the clean, white floor to their feet, trampled by some words. Words that turned everything upside down.

The male with the blue skin and the black hair lowered his head as he quietly said “I’m sorry for your lose.” and got up. Hurrying out of the house that was cloaked with sadness as a storm started to rage outside.  

The thunder trying to drown out Feyre’s sobs, but it was no use.

Feyre’s cries in the bright lit room, were the darkness to everyone. Cries that already once held a deathly message behind them.

But it were cries that everyone wanted to let lose, but didn’t dare.

Mor and Rhys trying to stay strong for Feyre, while Azriel and Amren simply refused to show how deep it affected both of them.  

The bobbing throats from both of them an evidence most people would have overseen, but not he and Elain.  

But now, since Elain was gone, it was only him to point out the signs of the helplessness of his family.

He hated himself for just standing there and watching them, he hated himself for locking eyes with Rhys, who just looked up for a moment from his mate, only to reveal the same sadness he tried to hide in alcohol when Feyre was about to get married to Tamlin.

Azriel knew why Rhys was affected so much by the death of the seer. He knew that she was like a second little sister to him. He knew that Rhys would make himself live in a personal hell for the next month's again. Blaming himself that he once again wasn't able to protect his little sister.

His heart sunk ones he saw the reflection of Amren in the window glass. The small female that sat on a chunky arm chair and looked stubbornly out into the dark. No one seemed to notice, that even the tiny female whipped away a tear in secret. Her glazy silver eyes piercing holes into the ground outside the window.  

Even Mor, who spent barely time with Elain -since she was out partying rather often-, had tears in her eyes as she comforted Feyre.  

As he took her in, he might have gone that far as to say to be happy, that the bright golden female wasn’t a close friend of the seer. Knowing that a breakdown of her would shatter his heart even more.  

No one knew how much time past as the sound of booming wings was heard over the loud thunder of the storm, Feyre’s loud weeping having ebbed down into quiet sobs.  

Azriel didn’t know where her body still got the strength to cry. After all, his struggled with even standing straight.  

“Guys?” yelled Cassian's booming voice into the house suddenly, the front door having been swung open with a lot of force. Just the same amount as it was closed with.  

The sounds of his wet boots made a splashing noise on the glassy white floor.

Shattering the silence into millions of tiny pieces around them.

Making now everyone realize that one of them had to draw the short straw and tell him and the fierce female back in Windhaven about the past away sister.

No one dared to move, as Cassian rounded the corner and stepped next to Azriel into the doorway, a bright smile on his face and looking like a wet dog as he approached them.  

The bun at the back of his head, as well as the lose strands of hair, clinging close to him. Dripping water down on the dry floor.

If it would have been any other moment Azriel might have had a sassy comment for his brother, but right now the shock sat too deep in him, that he could not even prevent his brother from asking, as he took in all of their dejected forms.

Cassian rose his brows at them.

“What? I’m flying for hours over here - from across that damn court- and yet no one of you has at least a little ‘Hello you prick!’ or ‘If it isn’t our beloved commander showing up at the door!’ to say?”

He sighed and shook his head in frustration, shaking the water off and a bit on Azriel, but the shadowsinger was still too frozen as to wipe away the drops on his leathers.

Cassian eyed him curious, but left it be. He didn’t question why Feyre looked like as if she had cut a dozen of onions, only millimetres away from her face, too.  

The commander most often knew that it was better not to question why their High Lady was crying, no one of them was a good choice to comfort her anyway, expect  for Rhys and Mor.  

And they already comforted her, so it was better not to pry anymore about it, but for once Azriel wished he would have done it, as he took off happily into the house with a whistle on his lips.

“Well, at least my little Lainy will be happy to see me!” he shouted back at them as an accusation and a warning to Elain, that a bone crushing hug would be the death of her.

Azriel grew nauseous at the thought and as Feyre started to weep loudly again - it shook him out of his trance. And he decided for all of them to draw the short straw.

Cassian stood confused at the foot of the winged staircase as he listened to Feyre’s weeping. Azriel just gestured him to move to the kitchen, there they could sit and talk in peace, but he’d also be able to listen to his torture.

His High Lady, the younger sister of a lovely fawn, cried because of his uselessness. She cried, because he wasn’t able to protect Elain the way he should have. She cried, because he hadn't pointed out the signs right.

And now he needed to listen.  

It just pained him that his brothers had to do it too.

Even though Feyre’s cries were only muffled audible in the kitchen, they still could be heard.

But as he sat down with Cassian at the small table, near one of the large windows that showed the street down to Velaris, it might not have been the best idea of his life to have this talk there.

There, in the kitchen, where everything still smelled like her. Her and her baked goods, he could also almost hear her sweet laugh echoing off the wall as she once had a flour fight with Nuala and Cerridwen.  

If the pain wouldn’t have been rotten in his heart, he would have smiled at the picture in his head. Elain in a mint green, light gown covered in a white layer of dust, throwing flour at the twins - just as they did at her. Her laugh as well of the twins echoing off the walls.

But now it was silent.  

And for once did his comfortable companion unnerve him. The silence around him and his fiery brother so thick he could have cut it with Truth Teller.

As Azriel gathered all his courage to tell his brother, who looked around confused for the seer, who would have been normally in here if she wasn’t in the garden or with her family.

Cassian eyed him with a worried look as his gaze ripped away from the clean kitchen counters. Not even covered by the ingredients the twins would use for dinner, but Azriel knew that there would be no dinner - maybe not even breakfast tomorrow. He knew that the twins heard the news as well and by the deep bond they shared with sweet Elain, he knew that they were off somewhere too.

Drowning in their own sadness - just like the rest of them did.

Only Cassian wasn’t - he was still confused by the lack of laughter and the seer. But all of his confused attention focused on Azriel - as he heard him swallow hard.

“Ask your question.” was all the Spymaster could rasp out, his voice thick from trying to swallow his cries.

Cassian only nodded and asked in a  whispered voice, as to no wake any more demons by asking the wrong question. “Where is Elain?”

Azriel’s shoulders tensed.  

Damn him and his direct route! Damn him and his piercing eyes, that looked into every soul!

But as much as Azriel hated that about his brother - he was glad about it too. Not having to start the topic.  

Perhaps he should have turned his hate towards himself as he realized that he would take the direct route too. Not able to pamper the fall of his brother as he would hear the news.

He just swallowed again.

The toxic word on his tongue felt like a handful of belladonnas in his mouth.

“Dead.” he simply said. Trying to get the bitter taste, in the back of his throat, out somehow, but he wasn’t able to.

Not when he heard his own words with so less emotion in them.  

This one word that made Cassian sink back in his chair. A chuckle on his pale lips as his shaking hands grabbed for the table edge with such force it started to splinter.  

His voice was not even a whisper, barely audible even for Azriel, as silver lined his eyes.

“You’re joking!”

Azriel just looked down at the table. Not able to meet the eyes of his brother as he shook his head, the shadows that curled restless around for the whole day, settled around him like a cloak.

As if they now too realized what was going on.

Cassian started to growl, a sound that sounded more like a strangled last breath, as he tried to hide his sobs.  

The table cracked as he asked, “Wich Bastard did this to her?!” his voice louder than before.

And now the even harder part would begin. Azriel shook his head again, his ink black hair hanging like a short curtain in his eyes. Blocking his own burning eyes out of view. His eyes that wanted to spill tears; tears he wouldn’t allow him to cry.

At least not now.

“No one.” was all he could breathe out.  

The words made Cassian sink back in his chair even more.

Azriel knew that he could have stabbed his brother in his big heart, it would have hurt him less as to tell him the truth.

The unspoken venomous word hanging in the air, like a deathly fog.

Suicide

Cassian didn’t ask any more questions, his heart already shattered.  

Azriel knew, he too lost a little sister.

The spymaster almost left in quietness to his room, to let his brother cry without any shame, the last words he told him hopefully a little salvation.

“I will be the one to tell Nesta.”  

Cassian only chocked as Azriel vanished into the shadows and stepped into his room.

His dark room - that now more than ever - felt like the little cell, he was imprisoned in for years.  

The walls coming suddenly very close, making him feel like as if they squished his large body into a small package.  

A package that fell to the floor like a rock - into a deep black sea of shadows.

Everything came crushing down on him as he lay there. A broken heart in a pit of salt.  

Azriel cried as everything seemed to stop moving. Time not a thing to worry about anymore.  

He cried as he remembered.

He remembered how his last conversation went with her.

He remembered how he wanted to apologize, for his horrible gift and his pushy behaviour.  

Fucking four Months after Winter Solstice!

He remembered how her skin went pale as she unpacked the dagger, he gifted her.  

She still smiled at him and told him she loved it, even though he could foresee the lie miles away.  

He remembered how he wanted to push her into training.  

He remembered how her golden-brown eyes swelled with tears as she screamed at him ‘I thought you, of all people, would understand at least a little bit!’

What he never told her, was that he truly understood her, but thought that she would understand too, why she needed training.

But she didn’t.

And so, he left.  

Left her alone in her garden once again. For days, for weeks, for months.

Never apologizing for his behaviour.

Never giving her the other present he got her.  

But now it was too late, too late for him to apologize, too late to talk.

Now the only thing he could do was weep over the hole she left. A hole who he didn’t even knew who filled it.

He knew that Elain filled a hole in him, which he didn’t even know existed, but he never got to find out if it was a friend, a sister or someone else who filled it and winded it into the shape of a black hole.

Azriel knew that Rhys, Cass and Nesta had lost a little sister. While Feyre lost an older sister. Morrigan lost a stranger that was part of her family and Amren lost a friend, a friend that was her student in casting spells.

But Azriel didn’t know who he lost as he lay on the floor and cried. Tears he would never allow anyone to see, as he listened to the sob's downstairs.

He closed his eyes as he tried to take heavy breaths, breaths that felt like shattered glass in his lungs, as he tried to calm down.

His arms wrapped around him.

His shivering form covered in black in the pitch-black room.

His shadows a blanket that brought him a sleep full of nightmares, but also an answer.

Only a whisper in the back of his head.  

Lover.

                                                *******

The wind was unbending as she landed on the muddy forest floor.  

Setting the companion, she just carried here, down carefully.  

“Where are we?” asked her companion in the dark.  

The sky was even darker than usual, the storm having hung the sky with heavy black clouds.  

“Don’t worry my Goldenrod, we’re almost home.”  

A sweet sigh from the cloaked form beside her was heard, as she started to marsh over the clearing. The mud of the forest making her old boots heavy with the sticky earth.  

Thunder was heard in the far distance, yet her frightened companion rushed to her, as only moments later the next flash of a lightning tremored through the dark sky.  

Tinting the clearing for a short moment in a bright white light.  

The sound of thunder was heard again.

The young fae female, cloaked in a white cloak, rushed to her arm and clung to it.  

The Illyrian female only giggled, which was barely audible in the pouring of the rain, but she still heard it.

The female that saved her life two weeks ago, heard, and looked up at her with a wipe of her head.

Her white, with gold lined hood covered the piercing gaze she’d thrown at her now for the thousands time. Her dunning words, stumbled slowly over her chattering teeth as she wrapped the cloak closer.

“D-don’t l-laugh at me!”  

Every part of her petite body shivered from the cold. The wind whipping and howling around them, like a pack of wolves.

The rain having already seeped into their cold skin - thanks to the hour-long flight in the rain.

Both were cold, just was the Illyrian female used to ignoring it, while her innocent, white companion only knew the warmth of a hearth.  

Out of instinct did the taller female put a wing around her, as well as an arm as she practically dragged her companion over to the rim of the dark forest.

“Don’t worry. We’re almost there.”  

She repeated again.  

Her Goldenrod giggled. “You’re repeating yourself, Fersia.”

Fersia smiled down at her, of course her Goldenrod was the first to make her repeat herself again.

Of course, was this petite female the exception to the rule.

She would always be, after all she was the first to save her life.

And now she was the first Fersia would ever bring to her home.

She would also be the first one she would introduce to her Mother.

Fresia tugged her a little closer into her side as they entered the thick line of pine trees that led the way to her home.

She wanted to pick up her pace, but her Goldenrod stopped suddenly, looking worriedly back to the clearing instead, whispering to her in a hushed voice, “Did you hear that?”  

Fresia started to listen closer to her surroundings, but heard nothing over the thunder and the pouring rain. The forest was dangerous in the night, it was dangerous during day too, but most of all was it dangerous when it rained.

The fact that it was night and it rained made the whole situation only worse and Fersia just wanted to get home with her Goldenrod as soon and as save as possible, so she shook it off and started to walk again - dragging her white companion with her.

Fersia noticed that she kept looking back again from time to time, but kept continuing walking.

With little knowledge that her greatest danger had long approached.

___________________________________________________________

That was it so far :)

Second seed:  My shadows are demons, but so is my sunshine

Please tell me in the comments if you liked it or not. 

Tag list (If you want to be added just ask right away) :

@tanaquilpriscilla​   @generousfanfan 

[capricornus-rex]

Stronger Than Blood (6)

Chapter 6: Lines Are Drawn | Cal Kestis x Reader

Requested by Anon

Summary: Meeting another Force-sensitive was one thing, but having them related to one of the most formidable known duelers was a whole other story to tell. While being stranded in another planet after barely escaping the Haxion Brood, Cal crosses paths with someone who’s at a crossroads with their own identity and lineage.

A/N: Wow, progress is a little slow now. I’m slightly bummed for some odd reason. With the chaos ensuing anywhere in the world, I’m also affected, one way or another. Given that I’ve come back to my work, the good thing is my company has shortened the work hours, though traffic is still a bitch. I’m beginning to see the new pattern to my work-life balance here. I’ve learned that coffee at night while writing gives me a boost of energy to keep writing. But I’m glad you guys are still looking at my stuff, even if only a few of you stop by every now and then. 💞💞💕💕 You guys have no idea how much it means a whole lot to me, the same way you guys matter. The world’s gone fucked, I hope you guys are safe, wherever you are. 🥺😪💝💖

Also tagging: @ayamenimthiriel​

Also posted in AO3

Tags: Force-User! Reader, Force-Sensitive Reader, Sith-Related! Reader

Chapters: 1 – 2 – 3 – 4 | Previous: Part 5 | Next: Part 7 | Masterlist

6 of ?

7 YEARS AGO, BEFORE THE JEDI PURGE

Serenno.

You were only a week shy from being ten years old.

You’ve lived a comfortable childhood. Back then, you didn’t understand the vastness of the family manor—it was so vast that it might have been identical to the palaces in Naboo, but of course in the eyes of a child. The only thing that ran in your mind was the games you’d play in the gardens or the foyer, running around and playing house all with your dolls.

Your parents were perhaps the kindest people you’ve known, especially your mother, Jezria. But there were times that the anger in her voice scared you—even if those harsh, loud words were never meant for you in the first place.

They were for that man, with a snowy white head of hair and a bearded face atop a black ensemble, who comes by your house every once in a while. The only thing that stood out in your eye was the expensive silver chain that clasped the cape behind his back.

“So, you’ve come here again,” Jezria growled as she descended the stairs, greeting the guest rather coldly compared to the welcoming vibe that she usually gives off during gatherings. The skirt of her dress billowed over the marble steps, as her manicured fingers slid down the glossed wooden bannister, complementing her regal yet fierce demeanor.

As soon as Jezria’s heels touched the smooth floor, she took you under her arm, shielding you from the visitor’s sight albeit being quite a futile effort.

“Mommy, who is he?” you muttered.

The man’s head tilted downward, proving that he’d heard you. His serious eyes made you hide away behind your mother’s skirt, leaving only a peep at the corner of your eye.

“So, you haven’t told your daughter of her own uncle,” his voice was baritone and spoke in an aristocratic, firm accent. He shakes his head. “Is that how much you hate me, Jezria?”

“Because her life is better without knowing who you are to her!!”

“Foolish woman! Do you think altering your surname into “Moorken” changes anything!? You can change your name, your face, but never your blood!” he bellowed back, cutting the air with a swift sweep of his arm. “You don’t know what your own child is capable of! Only my master and I know the true potential of her power. No matter how many times you deny it, my sister, [y/n] will always have the eyes of Darth Sidious.”

“Whoever he is… No, frankly I don’t give a damn who he is!” Jezria’s teeth were clenched so tightly that her words nearly incoherent. “He will not touch my [y/n]!”

“Underestimating him may not be the wisest thing you’ll ever do, Jezria. And as far as I know you are an intelligent woman.”

With one step forward from your supposed uncle, Jezria—with you still hiding behind her hip—takes one step back away from her brother. Your mother further shielded you with the wide sleeve that dangled from her slender arm, almost veiling you from the eyes of her brother.

“Leave my home, you Separatist parasite! And if you come for [y/n] to try and take her from me, you will never hear the end of me, my dear brother.” she snarled, a true dragon-lady baring her teeth.

The visitor’s beard quivered as he harrumphed, his eyebrows furrowed so much that wrinkles formed across his forehead and the bags under his eyes became more prominent. He strode the grand aisle of the vast foyer, the hem of his cape swept the marble as he departed until he disappeared from the hollow thud of the great doors.

Jezria had kept her ferocious façade on until her brother was gone. Finally, with the dying echo of the door’s thud, her shoulders relaxed and her lungs loosened, but her hand never removed you from her embrace. You repeated the question, hoping that she would answer.

Having no choice, she sighed and melted to her knees, levelling herself to you.

“Darling, you heard him…” she sighed, quite disappointingly at the fact that you’re related to that visitor.

“My uncle? You never told me much about him, mom.”

“I know, dear, and I’m sorry I didn’t tell you soon enough,” she gulped. “But… I’ll explain it to you later. I hope that one day you’ll understand.”

Understanding that her ten-year-old daughter had no full grasp of the concept that she and her brother were fighting about, the least she could do was simplify it; and while her elder brother departed their home, Jezria had already concocted a plan for her family.

——————————————————–

“No, you have no right!!” your mother roared.

“I told you it would come to this!” your uncle rebutted.

The same exchange occurred just a few days turning ten years old. You may not have understood it, but it’s as if this man has timed the exact moment where he would have to cause another commotion in your household. Only this time, it has become more physical than the first time—you watched your mother attempt to push your uncle farther away from reaching the staircase, where you’re perched by the railings. Using his forearm as a shield to fight off Jezria’s pushing, he shoved her away as they went verbally ballistic against one another.

“And I told you that you won’t get anywhere near [y/n]!”

“Then I have no choice, Jezria, I will do what I must!”

He pushed her away to give himself some space. Jezria had the foresight that her brother would reach for his weapon—a curved black hilt strapped to his brown leather belt—and she beat him to it. A sleek, silver blaster—a streak of white shine underneath the chandelier light gleamed and adorned the body and barrel—pressed cold against the forehead of her brother.

The drawing of their weapons made you shift from where you perched in full view of them downstairs.

“I will put a hole between your eyes if you even do so much as touch your weapon with your finger,” Jezria snarled, her thumb flicking the safety.

“Are you really challenging me, dear sister?”

“If that’s what it takes, Count.” She firmly said, hinting sarcasm on his title, albeit her voice shuddering.

Your uncle sensed the trembling of her hands, he could feel it from the slight twitching of the barrel against the flesh of his forehead; an arrogant smirk popped out of his snowy beard, he slowly lured his hand away from his weapon, but Jezria knows full well that he’s not yet done with this charade.

“Leave. My. Home.”

Her finger hovered just a hair strand’s length away from the trigger.

Silence. A single heave of breath lifted the man’s broad shoulders.

“NOW!!!”

“This is not over, Jezria. Not until my master has what he wants!”

The Count—as your mother addressed him—backed away slowly until the barrel isn’t touching his head anymore. Again, as he turned tail, his maroon cape swooshed and billowed in the stale air which his heated exchange with his sister remained with. For the first time, you saw that he—in a way—was similar to you: with a single wave of his hand, the door opened at his whim, and he didn’t even lay a finger on the shiny doorknobs!

You’ve had such experience before: making things move at your whim without having the need to touch them. Your mother educated you what she knows—but her brother’s knowledge towers over hers, it didn’t matter, she only told you what you needed to know about the unseen entity they call the Force.

His presence always gave you anxiety, although you couldn’t help but stand witness to the ballistic trade of words between him and your mother. It felt like you were unfurling a family mystery all on your own, and to some extent, you were—but you never imagined it to be like this. As a child, you always had the precedent that whatever adults say are true—and your uncle’s words haunted you ever since he stepped through the front door.

He’s going to take me?

Will I ever see Mommy and Papa if he brings me with him?

Who is the other man they were talking about?

These were the questions that troubled you at night, until they have bothered you to exhaustion that you slept on them and worried about them in the next.

That next evening, the Count didn’t think of paying another visit, but this worried Jezria to a tee. Prior today, she had already put her plan into play: her husband already went ahead, disappearing from the gargantuan family manor to secure a safe route for your escape to the next planet, as she made herself busy getting changed and packing her bags, as well as yours.

Not meaning to disturb you or scare you—even though you’re already the latter—she barged into your bedroom. You were already instructed to get changed as well; and so you’ve been waiting for your mother’s signal to leave. The moment she popped her head into the space of the door she opened, you hopped out of your bed and took her hand.

“Keep up with me, darling!” she whispered, keeping her breath low in the dark.

“Where are we going?”

“To the ship, we’re going someplace far away from here… where he can’t take you,”

Perhaps Jezria’s constant underestimation of her brother—and indirectly the so-called master he always referred to—was her undoing, despite her best intentions of keeping her family safe.

Of course, she did not have that foresight or realization. What only mattered to Jezria weren’t the threats but her husband and daughter and that they were together—carefree and perfect, before her brother’s ugly head poked itself through her doorstep.

Mother and child boarded a shuttle. Jezria alone piloted the ship, prepped it and took off, while you sat buckled up in the co-pilot seat, observing her graceful fingers fluidly dancing across the dashboard controls; beeps chimed into your ears that it was nearly nauseating, the twinkling of the screens blinded you and made you see double, until the rumble of the ship hovering from the ground caused you to sink into your seat.

“Hold tight, dear,”

“Okay, Mom,” you said, ever so obediently.

This was actually your very first time to see the outside of Serenno. You were educated about the different planets and systems from your tutors, but everything you’ve learned about them failed to slam you with the celestial-scale oomph right in the face when you saw the endless sheet of black riddled with stars.

The sight was breathtaking, the neighboring planets’ sizes in a little ten-year-old’s eyes were simply impossible to fathom. Jezria relished the sight of your innocent smile, the fascination twinkling in your eyes, and the gaping smile that remained as your head spanned only a fraction of the galaxy. She hoped that she’d live to see that face again once the family has established a peaceful life, away from the eyes of the Count.

Jezria was finally able to relax and breathe easy as she cruised the shuttle through space. For once, the silence was comforting, she would banter with you, make little guessing games about the planets the shuttle has passed by or what system you could be in.

“Can you name at least another planet in the same space region?” your mother quizzed.

“Well, since home is in the Outer Rim, then another Outer Rim planet could be… Felucia!”

“That’s right, Felucia is also in the Outer Rim Territories!” your mother beamed. “You sure kept your lessons to heart.”

That smooth sailing was interrupted in the blink of an eye when another ship from behind has opened fire, damaging the stern of the shuttle. The screens flashed erratically while Jezria desperately multitasked in stabilizing the ship while taking damage.

“Mom!” you shrieked, tongue-tied and terrified that you were mute for a second.

“It’s okay, [y/n]! It’s going to be okay!”

From the graceful dancing of fingers that you saw moments ago, your mother’s arms flailed in all directions trying to stabilize the ship while being tailed and fired at the ship.

“An assassin, of course!” she growled under her breath.

“What’s going on!?”

“We’re being tailed. Hold on, [y/n]! Whatever happens, just hold on!”

You continued to observe your mother throwing her hands to all sides, attempting to keep the ship flying. The center screen, the widest in the dashboard, flashed a bright orange while projecting the cross-section view of the engines. Whatever button Jezria presses, the orange on the screen never disappeared, rather it gradually turned red to emphasize the severity of the damage.

Suddenly, she could no longer steer the ship forward. The shuttle had been caught into a tractor beam for boarding. A brief thud shook the ship. The magnetic field of the beam has already taken hold of your shuttle.

There’s nothing much she can do right now.

She hopped out of her seat and took you out of yours as well. In her burst of adrenaline, she was able to carry your entirely—the same way she has cradled you as a toddler—to the escape pods. The banging against the door pounded at the same time your heart beats. The assassin has boarded the ship. A single unit can only fit one person, and there were two; before shutting the pod, she cupped your face so that you heed her well.

“[y/n], listen to me. You’re safe in this escape pod, the coordinates have already been entered in the controls. I’ll go in the second pod. And we’ll go see Papa together, okay?”

At face value, you understood well enough that you’re being separated from your mother. You began to choke while fighting back tears, never have you ever clutched your mother’s arm, and the fright was too great for you to bear alone. You weren’t even sure if you’d keep up with her in your own escape pod.

“Mom, please don’t leave me,” you cracked.

“I won’t, darling,” she kissed your forehead. Another bang from the door. “You know what to do, don’t you? I taught you this, remember?”

You nodded nervously, suddenly unconfident, but the lessons were still intact.

“You will be alright,” she removed her necklace and wore it around your neck. She pulled you in the tightest embrace she has ever given you, it was almost suffocating but you didn’t care. “I love you, darling. Oh my baby. My baby [y/n].”

You could hear her sobbing. It took a lot of her willpower to pull away, you sensed it that much. Just when she was about to board her own pod, the assassin had already broken down the door and attacked your mother. By sheer instinct, she slammed the eject button with her fist—but only for your escape pod.

“NOOOOOOOOO!!!!!” you screeched at the top of your lungs, the fiberglass window muffling the full volume of your cries. Your tiny fist pounded the door but it was too thick. From that small circular window that only occupied the whole of your face, you watched your mother defend herself against the assassin.

The assailant was fully covered from helmet to boot. Not even a peek of the eyes through the visor. Jezria and the assassin traded strikes with their vibroblades. You were so caught up with crying for your mother that you didn’t feel the loss of gravity around your escape pod. As the vessel throttles minutes later after ejection and drifts away into space, the less you saw of your mother. You continued to shriek through the door, unable to realize that there’s nothing much you could do except repeat the words “No” and “Mom.”

Farther away, you had full view of the shuttle, but no better view of Jezria. The next moment, the shuttle burst into flames. It felt like time had frozen itself, cruelly forcing you watch it for as long as the galaxy could take. Orange and red coated the original color of your irises, you held your breath even though you still had enough oxygen, you couldn’t take your eyes off of the destruction.

Your mother was in there.

You didn’t see the second escape pod be jettisoned. It never did.

You know the words, you just don’t have the strength to utter it through your mouth or your mind.

You’re now alone, stuck in the middle of space in a claustrophobic vessel that well may be your casket. Just when you were close to sulk on the floor and give up, the temperature around the pod flared, the turbulence rattled the pod so strongly that you practically shook with it.

Luckily, dejection still hasn’t devoured you fully. You followed the safety protocols of the escape pod from entering the atmosphere until you’ve landed and touched a planet’s surface. You buckled up, remembering what your mother taught you; upon realizing that your mother never entered any coordinates and just jettisoned your pod to safety before the assassin could reach you, now you could never reunite with your father as well, the only thing left to do is try to land the pod as daintily as you can.

“I hope this works…!” you groaned as you parroted the same dexterity your mother possessed when manning the ship.

The escape pod had a rough landing, but following the procedure greatly factored in your survival. You emerge out of the crash, bruised and dirtied, you gathered what you can from the wreckage and hiked your way to nowhere. With every step, you attempt to register every single thing has transpired. You may only be ten years old, but you were able to put the pieces together and assume the worst.

It was your uncle. No doubt about it.

“Now he’s done it,” you snarled, the searing heat of the sun burned along with the rage that colored your cheeks.

You decided to stick with that, overlooking one crucial question: can you prove it?

It all seemed hopeless. You’ve been wandering around in this temperate planet for hours now with little supplies. You’ve fought off the temptation of rummaging your bag for rations, you’re too famished to even think about conserving them.

That is until you met a kindly Iktotchi, the same Iktotchi who will foster you in the next few years into the woman you’ve grown to be now.

[sincerelyreidburke]

Ok I have no idea where this is coming from but I want to hear about Nando and Quinn's first New Year's Eve together

First, Isabelle, please let me apologize for my delay on this ask fill. Rest assured I had never forgotten or abandoned this idea! It’s very soft, and here’s a ficlet to quell your curiosity.

I’m not taking “first New Year’s” super literally here, because this is set during junior year winter break. The reason I’m doing that is because while they’re dating for two winter breaks prior to this one, this is the first time they get to spend New Year’s physically together. I’ll enlighten you about the two New Year’s that occur prior to this one...

Freshman year: Nando goes to his hometown friend’s party, and Quinn watches a movie by himself. They FaceTime at midnight. Nando is kind of drunk, but being safe, and Quinn finds it endearing. They’re schmoopy, and Nando gets chirped by his friends when he comes back from whatever random room he stepped aside in to make the call.

Sophomore year: Nando goes to that party again, and Quinn is once again by himself, but this time, Quinn accidentally falls asleep at, like, 10:30. Nando wakes him up with another midnight call, and makes fun of him for being a weakling who can’t stay up late. Quinn is slightly grouchy because he’s half-asleep, but misses Nando very much, and therefore lets his grouch fade into soft.

Junior year: this. Long live the return of Gabi and Rosa Hernandez!

(Ask me anything about the crickets!)

//

junior year | december/january

 “Gabi! Rosa! Wake up; it’s almost midnight!”

Nando watches, with so much glee that he’s holding back a laugh, as both of his sisters rouse in unison. They sit bolt upright on the basement couch, in two different shades of alarm. Gabi rubs her eyes and makes some kind of half-asleep grunting noise, and Rosa is immediately wide awake. “What?” she cries, flailing her arms in panic. “Did we miss it?”

“No!” Nando replies, and next to him, wrapped up in his arm, Quinn is shaking his head for emphasis.

“You woke up just in time,” Quinn adds, then points to the clock on the basement wall.

Gabi and Rosa both look that way, and Nando holds up his watch, gesturing to its face. “See?” he says. “It’s 11:57.”

Rosa marvels at his watch. “I didn’t know we slept that long…”

“Yeah!” Gabi frowns, with a little hmph , and folds her arms. She’s wearing the nightgown she got for Christmas; it’s lavender, with sugar-plum fairies all over it. “Why didn’t you guys wake us up?”

“Well, we did wake you up,” Quinn points out, evenly. “There are three minutes left to go.”

“I didn’t mean to fall asleep ,” she whines. “I said I was gonna stay up this year!”

“It’s a good thing you have us,” Nando quips, and she sticks her tongue out at him.

Quinn, who is infinitely more patient with Gabi and Rosa than Nando feels like being with his little sisters right now, pats Gabi on the shoulder and remarks, “It’s okay, Gabi. Staying up on New Year’s isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, anyway.”

“But you’re doing it,” Gabi points out.

Quinn tips his head into Nando’s arm, and Nando grins down at him, squeezing him around the shoulders. “I am,” Quinn says, “because I’m with you guys.” He pauses. “I fell asleep before midnight last New Year’s, by accident.”

“It’s true,” Nando says, chuckling, because that really is true— he remembers Quinn’s sleepy face picking up his FaceTime call at midnight last year, rubbing his eyes with a raspy voice over the phone. It was the cutest shit he’s ever seen, not to be dramatic.

Now, a year later, he nudges his boyfriend— who is sitting on his mama’s basement couch, live and in person, his for the entirety of the holidays. The end of Quinn’s fall semester may have been beyond shitty from a home life standpoint, but it led to this: Quinn, home with him, in Arizona, for all of winter break. And summer, once it comes. And the winter break after that, and, well—

Nando loves having him here, more than he can even say.

“Quinn’s a weakling,” he chirps, with eyes on the boy himself. “He’s no good at staying up late.”

Quinn squirms, with a little laugh, and swats upward towards Nando’s general chest region. “ Sebastián ,” he says, easily. Nando kisses his temple.

“Staying up late is cool !” Gabi cries. “Sometimes I use Mama’s phone to text Sebastián when it’s midnight at college, and he’s still awake .”

“Mm.” Quinn nods, with his cheek pressed into Nando’s shoulder. “Your brother has a habit of letting Ben have an influence on his bedtime.”

“I mean.” Nando wonders if defending himself is even worth it. Quinn is sort of right. “He lives right on the other side of the bathroom. He, like… invades my room.”

Rosa is studying the wall clock intently. “I’ll tell you guys when,” she announces, like counting down to midnight is a mission she is taking very seriously. “We have a minute and thirty-seven seconds left. Now it’s thirty-six. Thirty-five—”

“Aw, don’t count the whole time,” Gabi says, shoving her in the shoulder. “You’ll kill all the fun.”

“It’s okay, Rosa.” Once again, Quinn seeks to pacify the sisterly disagreements. He’s a natural, Nando notices. It sends him into thoughts of Quinn as a dad, which is so much for his extremely in love, extremely gay brain. “It’ll be midnight soon.”

Nando buries his face in Quinn’s hair to mask his smile, and plants a kiss at the top of his head. With three weeks in the Arizona sun under his belt— because even in the winter, the sun here is aplenty, something Nando will never stop loving about his home state— the usual strawberry tones of Quinn’s blond have lightened significantly. Not only that, but he has more freckles today than the number he showed up with when they stepped off the plane after finals. It’s a good look on him, and Nando hasn’t been able to stop himself from imagining what that means for Quinn if he lives here after graduation.

They’ve talked about that a little, which is plenty for Nando’s brain to run wild with.

“Wait!” Gabi draws something out from between couch pillows. The four of them are all stationed on the basement couch; Nando is resting against the end with his arm around Quinn, and the girls are right where they fell asleep for their accidental nap. It’s a smallish couch, but a comfy one, with a green plush cover that’s easy to sink into.

Gabi brandishes her finding— a silver noisemaker, the cardboard kind you blow into to unfurl it and make a sound. “I forgot about these,” she says.

“Oh, goodness,” Quinn chuckles. “Are you going to blow into that at midnight?”

“Uh, duh ,” Gabi replies. She tests it out once, sort of in his face, and Nando feels Quinn wince under him.

“ Gabi .” He huddles Quinn closer. “Remember, his ears aren’t like yours.”

“Oops.” Gabi’s cheeks flush just a little. “Sorry.”

Quinn smiles at her. “It’s okay. Don’t worry. I know you’re excited.”

“Thirty seconds!” Rosa cries, eyes still glued to the clock. “When should we start counting?”

“At ten?” Quinn volunteers, and she seems to like this, because she nods.

“At ten,” she echoes. “It’s twenty-five now.”

Gabi bounces on her cushion, which sort of moves the whole couch just a little. “I’m so excited!”

Nando rests his hand on Quinn’s knee, who promptly tips his face up to smile at him. Nando bites back another laugh, and kisses his nose instead. Quinn’s smile is normal, but there’s humor dancing in his blue-green eyes, a little sparkle.

“Twenty!” Rosa, who’s usually pretty quiet, is even seeming excited now. She chews on the edge of her nightgown’s sleeve; it’s the same style as Gabi’s, but with gingerbreads and candies instead of fairies. Her hair is still in the fishtail braid Quinn gave her, while they were watching TV an hour ago. “Fifteen… aaaaand— okay, ten!”

“Nine!” Gabi joins her, bouncing once in her seat for each number. “Eight… seven…”

Nando participates in the countdown, as does Quinn, quietly, next to him. “Six… five… four… three… two… one—”

“ Happy New Year !” Gabi and Rosa yell, in unison, and Gabi blows into her noisemaker again, but this time angles it away from Quinn. Nando laughs, finally, and Quinn claps a little, for the girls’ excitement. Gabi jumps off the couch to dance around in front of it, and that’s about when Nando realizes that Quinn is looking up at him expectantly.

“Oh!” In a hurry, he pecks him on the mouth. Quinn is smiling when they pull away.

Gabi finishes her dance with a little bow, which Quinn claps, again, for, and Rosa sits calmly on the couch with both hands in her lap, still staring at the clock as the second hand moves 15 seconds psat 12. “I…” Rosa pauses. “Don’t feel any different.”

“I never do,” Quinn confesses. “New Year’s is an odd holiday, don’t you think?”

“I do think,” Rosa replies, with a nod, and then Gabi lets off a very loud yawn, collapsing back into the abyss of the couch cushions.

“Hm…” Quinn says, looking between them. “Are you guys tired? You stayed up really late.”

Rosa, because yawning is contagious, is also yawning. Nando feels like he might be about to yawn, even though he’s barely tired. “I think so,” she announces, and so, without much ceremony, they’re able to get them to go upstairs relatively easily.

They patter up the basement steps to the ground floor, and they’ll go from there to the second floor, where they’ll nestle all snug in their beds like it’s the night before Christmas and not the night before 2020. “Night, guys,” Nando calls after them, as they’re going. “Happy new year.”

“G’night!” Gabi calls, and Rosa waves over her shoulder. “Don’t stay up late!” Gabi adds, in a singsong voice, and they disappear through the door to the ground floor in a flurry of giggles.

Nando looks to the ceiling, and listens to their feet on the kitchen floor above them, still holding Quinn around the shoulders. He hears them cross to the other staircase, and then, slowly, their steps fade away entirely.

Nando waits at least three seconds after he’s lost track of the noise, then looks down to Quinn, with the shit-eating grin he’s been holding back for the past five minutes finally giving way. “Nice work, baby,” he remarks, holding his hand up.

Quinn laughs. He high-fives him, then leans into his chest. “I feel bad,” he sighs. “They were so excited.”

“ Pff .” He stands from the couch, lifting Quinn right up with him, and says, “Are you kidding me? They’ll never know.”

“I suppose.” Quinn hooks his arms around his neck. “Are we resetting the clock?”

“Sure, yeah.” He looks to the clock above the TV. “Let’s do that.”

The same way they did ten minutes ago, he helps Quinn onto his shoulders until he can reach to change the time on the clock. Nando holds him steady as he turns it back two hours, landing it correctly at 10:04 rather than the 12:04 Rosa and Gabi think it is right now. When Quinn is done, he hangs the clock back up, flashes a thumbs-up, and announces, “All set!”

“Perfect.” Nando grins, then reaches for his waist, bends over, and says, “Hold on tight.”

Quinn puts his hands down on his shoulders. “Holding.”

In a maneuver they’ve gotten down to a science, he moves Quinn from his shoulders to his back, where he gets a kiss to the cheek from him on his way by. From there, Quinn hops down, and Nando turns, lifting him so he’s facing him. Quinn winds his legs around his waist, and kisses him properly.

“We’re evil,” Quinn mumbles, nose-to-nose with him, when they pull away. “We lie to children.”

“Baby.” He closes his eyes. “They were never gonna make it to midnight anyway.”

“That’s likely true.” Quinn kisses him again, then eyes the couch, so Nando takes it as a cue to lead him back there. Once they’re settled, Quinn tucks himself right up into his lap, resting his cheek against his shoulder, and all is right in the world.

“What now?” Nando asks, like his mind isn’t already wandering. “You… wanna watch TV?”

“Sure,” Quinn murmurs, “we can turn it on.” He doesn’t sound opposed to it, but he also sounds relatively indifferent, like it doesn’t really matter if the TV is on or not.

So Nando meets his eyes. “We could…” He raises his eyebrows, with the tiniest smile. “ Not watch TV?”

Quinn swats him for the second time in ten minutes. “ Sebastián . Your mother said—”

“I know, I know.” He chuckles, kissing Quinn’s forehead. Leave it to his boyfriend to keep Mama’s spirit hovering over them even while she’s safely five miles away at work. She pretty much threatened his life before she left for tonight’s night shift re: funny business in her basement, and he shouldn’t try to go behind her back (despite the multiple times he’s done that during winter break already, at strategic times when they have the house all to themselves). Tonight, Nando won’t tempt fate. He leans toward the empty part of the couch and tells Quinn, “Hold on. I’ll get the remote.”

It’s buried in couch pillows, but he draws it up after a second of rooting around. He looks past Quinn to hit the power button, and flicks through the channels until he lands on the ball drop countdown. Two news anchors are doing shots, live on the air in Times Square. “This?”

Quinn isn’t even facing the TV, but he nods. “Anything’s good.”

So Nando drops the remote down into the cushiony abyss again, securing his hands on Quinn’s tiny waist. He’s in one of his many stolen Kiersey Hockey sweatshirts (this is a really nice one, actually, with his name and number on the sleeve), and a worn pair of blue shorts, which Nando can tell are his own because of how short they are. His socks reach nearly to his knees, and under the sweatshirt, he’s wearing a tight t-shirt that rides up his waist. So in other words, he wants Nando dead. And him being in his lap isn’t helping.

Nando edges his hands under the hoodie until he’s touching warm skin on his middle. He looks down into his eyes and murmurs, “God, you’re fucking cute.”

Quinn giggles like being cute has been his plan this whole time. “You’re not so bad yourself, papi.”

That gets Nando in just the right place, apparently, because the only thing he can think to want to do until midnight is just absolutely kiss the hell out of him. He gives him a kiss that starts soft and turns tender, and Quinn scoots up as far into his lap as he can go. Nando smiles as Quinn presses his thumb into his cheek, and when they pause to breathe, Quinn murmurs, “This is better than TV.”

He laughs, kisses him again, and nods. “Glad you agree, cariño .”

More or less, that’s how they pass the next two hours— making out on and off, occasionally sneaking a glance to the TV to comment on the absurdity of how news anchors entertain themselves waiting for midnight to come, trading bits and pieces of miscellaneous conversation. Between bouts of kissing, Quinn rests against his chest, his legs thrown snug around his waist, and Nando rubs his back under the shirt he’s wearing. His skin is a little sunburnt, thanks to his first taste of Arizona weather (and if he’s already burning in December, Nando can’t imagine what it’ll be like when they come home this summer) (which, by the way, is a wonderful thing to remember is happening).

That’s how they are when the countdown arrives— in fact, Nando doesn’t even realize it’s so close to midnight until he sees the TV out of the corner of his eye, and the ball is falling, with forty seconds left until the New Year.

“Oh— baby.” To get his attention, he rubs Quinn’s thigh right under the spot where his shorts end; he’s been holding him there for the last little while.

Quinn lifts his face from his chest; he’s been resting there so long that there’s a warm spot where his head was. On his way up, he turns his hearing aids on, since he shut them off sometime over the course of the past two hours. Nando supplies, “It’s almost midnight.”

Quinn rubs his left eye and asks, in this little, raspy voice, “Already?”

God , he’s so fucking cute. Nando is too gay to function. “Already,” he says, with an affirming now, and then chuckles a little and adds, “For real this time.”

Quinn laughs, pressing his face into his shoulder, and Nando takes the opportunity to squeeze him tight, with a kiss to the top of his head. His hair is so messy by now, a look he’d never show to the public. Nando loves his rumpled boyfriend more than there are words to express.

“Well,” Quinn mumbles, turning his head to the TV. “Perhaps I should actually watch it.”

Nando holds him close, and he watches, too. He hasn’t seen the ball drop in awhile, because for the past handful of years, he’s usually been at Antonio’s New Year’s party down the street. He and Quinn were invited to it tonight, but Mama had already taken the shift at work, so they gently declined in favor of babysitting the girls.

Nando loves hanging out with his friends, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t prefer this— a snuggly New Year’s Eve in his basement with the love of his life— to a house party.

When the ball hits ten seconds to midnight, the crowd in Times Square ramps up the noise. It’s all flashy and loud, and Nando used to think that going there one year would be fun, as a bucket list kind of thing— but it would be so much for Quinn, he would never do it now. He debates counting along with them, but he just watches and listens instead. Quinn is quiet in his arms, head rested against his shoulder.

Five… four… three… two… one— happy new year!!!!

On the TV, a symphony of confetti and cheering erupts. But Nando does not care, at all, what’s happening in Times Square at that moment, because as they ring in the first seconds of 2020, he’s looking down at Quinn. He keeps his eyes on the TV for just a second after the stroke of midnight, before he looks back up to Nando, with a gentle, knowing smile.

Nando tugs him close in his lap to kiss him, and that’s how they ring in 2020— wrapped up in each other with their first official New Year’s kiss. “Happy new year, baby,” he hums, when they pull away.

“Happy new year,” Quinn echoes. He’s cupping Nando’s face in his hand again, and his eyes are searching. “I love you.”

Nando beams. “I love you so much,” he replies, and kisses him again, for good measure. They’re playing Auld Lang Syne on the TV. The noise is a million miles away.

They’ve been together for over two years now, but thanks to the woes of a long-distance relationship, this feels a lot like their first real New Year’s together than the way they rang in 2018 and 2019. Nando wouldn’t change a thing, but FaceTiming at midnight just isn’t the same as holding him in your arms.

So, yeah. Happy new year, indeed.

*

They keep the TV on, and some time later, after more kissing and vigorous snuggling, they wind up just resting on the couch together. Quinn is still wrapped around him, half in his lap and half to his side, and Nando is rubbing very gently at the back of his neck. He thinks Quinn is maybe asleep, or definitely at least not tuned in on his hearing aids, so it comes as a surprise when he hears him mumble. “Sebastián… I was thinking.”

“Huh?” He looks down at him, threading his fingers into his hair. “What about, baby?”

Quinn is quiet while he takes a deep breath, then he snuggles impossibly closer into his chest. “Well, I was just… I wanted to tell you that I love it here.”

Something flutters in Nando’s stomach, but he holds back on saying anything, because Quinn sounded like he wasn’t done with his thought. It turns out he’s right, after a second. “I could completely see myself living here, you know. I mean— of course, I could see myself living here before, because it would be with you, but— well, I suppose being here? It’s made it more real. If you know what I mean?”

“I do know,” he replies, trying not to sound completely like an excited puppy, but probably failing. He can’t help it. They’ve talked about the future, and made clear with each other what they want; they’ve made a plan that fits them accordingly. But Quinn is right. Being home, with him, makes so many future plans so much more real in his head. For two years, he’s daydreamed about taking Quinn home. Now that he’s done that… it’s a lot easier to picture moving here with him, after graduation. And buying their own house. And marrying him. And having a family. And so on.

So, yeah. He gets it. “It makes me really happy to hear you say that,” he tells Quinn.

“Well, it’s the truth,” Quinn remarks, in that little know-it-all voice that Nando is so fucking head over heels for. He pauses a moment, pressing his palm flat against his belly, before he adds, “I can’t wait to live here with you.”

“ God , baby,” he says, and he can’t stop smiling. “I can’t wait for that, either.” He squeezes lightly at the back of his neck. “C’mere.”

Quinn lifts his head for a lazy kiss, and then snuggles right back in. He holds him so close, and that’s how they stay. Going to bed doesn’t even cross either of their radars for a very long time.

Nando wants to ring in every single year, for the rest of his life, just like this.

[freebooter4ever]

Eugene’s Third Date

AU where Eugene and Merriell meet before the war. The boys have been seeing each other for a number of weeks now, sharing lunches and kisses. But Eugene is disappointed by Merriell’s lack of enthusiasm for supporting the war and going off to fight - he is jealous of the fact that Merriell has a choice over enlisting while Eugene’s choice has been made for him due to physical limitations. At first Eugene avoids Merriell for an entire day, but of course the stupid lovebirds can’t stay away from each other so that night, pining hard full of remorse, he hunts Merriell down, and discovers Merriell doesn’t have many choices either.

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

After missing third and fourth period for a month, the school finally sends a letter home to his parents. Eugene learns of this when he comes home one day to find both his mother and father waiting for him in the parlor with grim expressions.

"You've been missing class?" his father asks. His father sounds doubtful, like he is ready to listen to his dutiful son explain how the school made a mistake.

Eugene wonders if the trust he built up with his parents over the years will survive this. "I went today," he says sourly. He had thought about meeting Shelton for lunch again, but Eugene's eyes were still red and puffy, and his pride still hurt. He won't go back until Shelton asks him to.

"Eugene, we are worried you are risking your future," his mother says.

"What future?" Eugene demands, "Because from where I stand, mine looks awfully constrained."

"I hope you still plan on attending college?" his father asks, always the calm one.

"Of course, father," Eugene sighs, "What else would I do?"

"Good," his father nods, "Luckily the school informed us none of your grades have dropped, so as long as you return to class and make up assignments, things will go back to normal."

The minute Eugene's father says the word 'normal', Eugene realizes what life has been missing lately. Nothing has felt 'normal' for a long time - not since meeting Shelton - not even since a year ago when Mobile started filling with impoverished migrant workers answering the demands of the war effort. He doesn't know how to put any of this into words. And he definitely doesn't know how to make his father understand his need to do something beyond sitting by and watching from a safe distance.

His mother notices his silence. She's the observant one in the family. Eugene's father will take his son's word at face value, but his mother always knows. "Where have you been disappearing to all day if not at school?" she asks.

"The docks…" Eugene answers, "And I've only been missing lunch and a few minutes of each class. They're light subjects, nothing important like math or literature."

"Why are you going to the docks?" his mother clutches her necklace, "Eugene, it's become downright dangerous there nowadays…"

"I've been perfectly safe, mother," Eugene says impatiently, "I've been drawing the ships before they are sent overseas. Been watching their construction." And locking lips with Merriell Shelton who makes Eugene feel like he doesn't even need normal because he's already lost his mind to him.

"I hardly think drawing ships is a worthwhile expenditure of your time…" his mother begins.

Eugene doesn't listen to the rest of her sentence. He tosses his books on the hall table, sets his lunchbox down next to it, and walks right out the door.

"Where are you going?" his mother insists.

"Out," he says sharply.

He collects his bike from where he last left it and turns in the direction of town. The sun is setting by the time he reaches the docks. Shelton is nowhere to be seen. He cycles several laps around the area until he finds someone working late who recognizes Merriell's name. 

"Sent him home early," the man says, "Doubt he went there though. He got so distracted during the second half of the day he almost cut a finger off. Dumb kid, I couldn't have him hurt himself. Told him to sleep it off, whatever it is. Hope he took my advice but if I had to guess...I'd bet he's at the gambling tables again."

The man points Eugene in the direction of a bar.

Eugene parks his bike outside the place, and is very grateful he had the foresight to bring a lock. It's not a nice building and not in a nice area. There are no windows, only a single door built into the wood siding. It looks like an early pioneer building, or the kind of house a child might draw. And it leans, just a little, to the side.

The minute he steps inside he wants to turn around. He doesn't belong here, not in the way the grizzled looking older men hanging around the bar do. They eye him like he's a creature in the zoo. He tries not to stare back. This is the kind of place where a person has to earn their welcome. 

Somehow, deep in the reserves of his stubborn personality, he shoves all his feelings of inadequacy aside in order to ask after Merriell Shelton. He fakes confidence, but he feels a fool.

The bartender nods in recognition and directs him towards a walled-in circular staircase at the front of the dark room. Eugene tries to act as casual as possible when he starts to climb to the second floor. 

He hears Merriell's voice before he sees him.

He stops himself just as he hits the top of the staircase. At this level he can peer into the room without being seen himself, and he decides he needs to assess the situation before stumbling into it.

Eugene lifts his head ever so slowly and Merriell comes into view.

Merriell is laughing, his smile is wide. He's seated at a table with six other guys, all of whom are significantly older than him. And whatever card game they're playing, Merriell seems to be winning. If the large stack on the table cradled possessively just inside his elbow is anything to go by.

Merriell is beautiful. He plays cards with a confidence that can't be faked. And underneath the smiles and jolly banter, Eugene sees keen shrewdness in Shelton's eyes. The boy is calculating every move he takes in the game, while making it seem effortless.

Suddenly someone jostles into Eugene on the stairs. The man had been coming up with a full beer in hand. The beer spills down Eugene's shoulder, and the man complains, making a scene. Eugene tries to flatten himself against the stair wall and turn invisible.

But any attempts to hide are useless, the game is up, the minute Eugene dares to peek at Merriell's table again his gaze is met by pale ocean eyes staring directly at him. Eugene stays frozen in the stairwell, watching, unsure what his next move should be.

Merriell drains his beer, and says something to the men around him that makes them all groan with disappointment. Merriell stands and starts folding his large stack.

"You'll have plenty opportunity to win it back," he tells the table good naturedly as he weaves across the floor to the staircase. He's still smiling but that disappears by the time he reaches Eugene. Partially because Merriell trips over his own two feet and goes sprawling to the floor. He picks himself up pretty neatly - nearly gracefully, but he's still unsteady on his feet as he continues on.

Merriell takes the stairs two at a time till he and Eugene are on the same level. He collides into the wall in order to stop his downward momentum, and stares blankly at Eugene for what feels like a full minute.

"You weren't at the docks," Merriell comments with a slight shrug and a sway.

"I know," Eugene responds, "I'm sorry."

Merriell steps close and presses his lips against Eugene's so quick Eugene barely feels it. Eugene catches his elbow, shoves him away, and tries to keep him at a distance. They're hidden from view by the staircase but someone could go up or down at any time.

"Let's go someplace to talk," Eugene says low in Merriell's ear. He keeps his hand on Merriell's wrist, light enough to be a suggestion rather than a demand.

Merriell laughs and staggers backward. He lifts his chin and says, "Ain't going nowhere. Can't walk, can't drive," as if he is proud of the fact. As if determined to prove his own words wrong, Merriell walks down the rest of the stairs backwards and it's only a small miracle that he doesn't trip.

Eugene almost trips himself in his haste to keep pace with Shelton. At the base of the stairs he loops one of Merriell's arms over his own shoulder and supports him around his waist. The very second Eugene's arm tightens protectively around his hips, Merriell's body goes limp like a marionette with its strings cut. It forces all of Merriell's weight onto Eugene and for such a skinny guy he's as heavy and slippery as a giant catfish.

Eugene barely remembers to thank the bartender as the two of them stumble out the door. The night is unusually quiet, and the street they are on is even quieter, which is the only excuse Eugene can think of for why Merriell throws caution to the wind and throws both arms around Eugene's neck. Mer drags him into a sloppy, searing kiss while simultaneously flopping against him like he's trying to get his leg up around Eugene's hip.

Rather a lot like how Eugene imagines kissing a giant floppy catfish might be.

He pries Merriell's hands off his body and, having had enough, scoops him up bridal style. Merriell offers little resistance to this and instead seems to enjoy it immensely.

"How drunk are you?" Eugene asks, not actually expecting an answer.

"Shamefully so," Merriell croons into Eugene's ear while putting heavy emphasis on the word 'shame'.

"Are you even old enough to drink legally?" Eugene asks. He tries to ignore the jolt of arousal he feels at hearing Merriell's voice so full of mischief and so close to his ear.

"Eighteen," Merriell says, "Old enough to die." He pantomimes a salute.

Eugene sighs, "Where did you park?"

"Don't remember," is exactly the answer Eugene is expecting.

They manage to make it to an alley near Eugene's bike. He gently lowers Merriell to the ground where Merriell sits up against the wall.

Eugene pokes and prods Merriell's limbs about trying to find his car keys. Merriell gets giggly and twitchy. Apparently he's ticklish.

Luckily he's also responsible enough to not have lost his keys and Eugene finds them in his pants.

"Wrong pocket," Merriell drawls. Merriell's hands find the button on his own trousers and he starts to undo them.

Eugene hastily stops him, "Mer. Please. Slow down."

And surprisingly, Merriell listens. "I'm sorry," he says, staring at Eugene with remorse.

Eugene sits heavily on the ground beside Merriell's legs, facing him. Merriell leans forward and slumps his forehead against Eugene's shoulder. Eugene gives in. He scoots closer and cradles his arms around Merriell's body in a hug.

"Gene," Merriell breathes, sounding completely content with the world.

"Where's Mairzy?" Eugene asks quietly.

"Old lady," Merriell answers, "Better parent than me. Better home than me."

"As long as she's safe," Eugene says and tightens his hold around Merriell.

Merriell nods.

And then goes quiet, except for his breathing. And Eugene realizes he's sleeping. His idle daydream of rocking Merriell in his arms all night is coming true. Just not exactly in the way he expected. It surprises him to discover he's not disappointed one bit.

"God, I might be falling in love with you," Eugene despairs.

Merriell says nothing. He's fast asleep. He doesn't even snore.

When he does start to stir it's near dawn. The sky is lighter, and Eugene feels drawn and haggard. Merriell lifts his head. He meets Eugene's eyes. And looks very confused.

Eugene chuckles. He leans his forehead against Merriell's and smiles tiredly. "You forgot where you parked," he informs him.

Merriell starts laughing, "Didn't drive to work. Took the bus. Knew it would be a hard night after you didn't..." He trails off.

At first Eugene is irritated. Blinding, sharp irritation. But after seeing Merriell's soppy smile, Eugene laughs along. Together they wobble to their feet, limbs and extremities sore from sitting on cobblestone for a few long hours. Eugene unlocks his bike. And they start to walk. Merriell leads the way. Most of their time is spent in silence.

When they reach the park and are coming up on the boarding house, Merriell leans his head back and says to the sky, "Didn't think I'd ever see you again." And then rolls his neck to glance cautiously back at Eugene.

"Don't be dramatic," Eugene says.

"You stormed off in a huff, I think I'm allowed a little dramatics," Merriell argues. Eugene can hear the damn smirk on his face even though he's walking behind him.

"I shouldn't have left," Eugene answers, "Not without finishing the conversation."

"What else did you want to say?"

"Well, I thought about it," Eugene starts. He takes a deep breath, "I've decided I'm going to convince you to enlist."

Merriell snorts and turns back to Eugene in amusement. "Yeah?" he asks. His eyes linger over Eugene's form, "You that good with your mouth?"

Eugene stops short. He glances down at Merriell's crotch, and then back at his face. "Would that work? To convince you, I mean."

Merriell laughs and continues walking. "I ain't fighting for Uncle Sam," he says.

"Why not?" Eugene asks.

"You see anybody around here to take care of Mairzy if I go?" Merriell extends his arms wide.

"The old woman…"

"Is someone I rely on too much already," Merriell says.

"Your parents?" Eugene asks.

Merriel stops and pivots to face him, "You really think, if my parents were alive, I'd have brought my nine year old sister out here to live in a shitty migrant hut? When if I came alone I could've rented the night shift in a boarding room and saved a third of my pay?"

"You have no living relatives?" he asks.

Merriell shakes his head, "I'm all she has."

"All right," Eugene sighs. He takes Merriell's hand in his and places the truck keys in his palm. "Go collect your truck. Put my bike in the back for me. I'm going to go tell the generous elderly lady you're ill and will be in bed for the day."

"Why do I need my truck if I'm gonna be in bed?" Merriell asks.

"Cause it's my bed you'll be in," Eugene replies glibly. He's already halfway across the street heading towards the old woman's house, so he doesn't see Merriell's reaction. There's no parting comment thrown Eugene's way, though. For once Merriell doesn't insist on having the last word. So perhaps Eugene won this round.

The little old lady who answers the door looks terribly exhausted with worry. She is happy to hear Merriell is being looked after, and avidly agrees that Mairzy should be kept away for a short time so Merriell can heal up. She informs Eugene she already knows where Mairzy's school is, and has all her things, so he is not to worry his head about it.

After that, all that's left is sneaking Shelton into his parents home.

Eugene drives. Merriell lies down with his head on Eugene's lap and groans every time they go over the slightest bump. Luckily the sun isn't even up yet so the streets remain empty. Getting Merriell into his house is easy. Leaving the truck on the side of the driveway is a bit too obvious, but Eugene's parents are good at not noticing things they don't want to see, so he doesn't worry about it.

Eugene quietly leads Merriell to his room and turns on the light. He points Merriell to the bed, and pulls a set of pajamas out of his drawers. Merriell takes it without a word.

"I'll be right back," Eugene whispers. He kisses Merriell quickly to reassure him.

He goes to find Rose, who is already awake and baking bread for the day. He grabs a bowl of biscuits, gives Rose a kiss on the cheek, and asks if she would bring food up to his room for lunch today. She pats him on the shoulder and agrees, and if she suspects it won't be Eugene in his room eating the food, she shows no sign.

When Eugene does return to his room the lights are out, the curtains drawn, and everything is silent. Eugene sits on the bed next to the lump of covers he assumes is Merriell.

"Mer?" he whispers.

A bony wrist reaches out and takes Eugene's hand. Eugene smiles and follows the trajectory of the arm to find an opening in the blankets where he eventually uncovers a boy with big eyes and an even bigger mess of curls. He leans down to kiss him.

"I'm going to school," Eugene says.

Merriell starts to try to get up, "I thought you'd stay?"

Eugene shakes his head and weighs him down. "You stay. Sleep. Please stick to the room as much as possible. Rose will bring you food."

Merriell flops back onto the pillows and closes his eyes, "Too much shame for me to be seen?" When Merriell's brain latches onto a topic it does not let go.

"Pretty sure my parents would kick out anyone they found in my bed, no matter who, shame or no shame," Eugene grins.

"Fair enough," Merriell agrees. He rolls over, drags the covers with him, and for all appearances goes to sleep.

At breakfast Eugene's parents are unusually quiet. Perhaps they saw the truck.

"Eugene, we talked it over," his mother starts, "And if your teacher agrees, we think you can do an apprenticeship down at the docks in place of fourth period woodshop."

"You'll get a lot more worldly experience and industrial woodworking knowledge there than at school, that's for certain," his father adds.

"Third period art class would also have to be waived, obviously," his mother concludes.

"That's perfect," Eugene perks up, "Yes. I'd like that."

"Good," his mother smiles with relief.

The rest of the day goes by like normal. He shows his art teacher the sketches in his journal of the docks, and they both agree that Eugene will come into class once a week to receive guidance but otherwise will be under self study. The teacher lingers on the one sketch of Shelton that Eugene liked enough to not destroy. He looks at Eugene curiously. But he closes the journal, hands it back, and says nothing.

The wood shop teacher is less amenable and instead grumps about Eugene being useless at carpentry anyway. Eugene resolves to convince Merriell to do all of his wood shop work from then on in order to ace the class and make the teacher eat his words.

When he returns home his bedroom door is safely closed and inside there is a tray full of empty dirty dishes, signifying the lump on the bed moved at least once. Eugene smiles and sits next to it again.

This time Merriell is awake because he shoves the covers off his face and looks at Eugene.

"I don't think I've spent a whole day in bed since I was five," Merriell confesses.

"Not even when you're sick?" Eugene asks.

"I don't get sick."

"You looked ill last night."

"Just drunk." He sits up to better face Eugene. His expression is apologetic. Maybe a little bit guilty.

Eugene leans in to reassure him, places a hand on Merriell's hip, and notices the rough fabric.

"You slept in your work clothes?" he asks in disbelief, "In my bed?"

"No one took me out of 'em," Merriell whines. He slithers back down underneath the covers and grins at Eugene from a safe distance.

"I gave you pajamas," Eugene protests. He kicks off his own shoes and crawls onto the bed.

"Never said what to do with them," Merriell argues.

"These can't be comfortable," Eugene flicks at the metal hooks on Merriell's overalls.

"I did succeed in one act of personal hygiene," Merriell says, as if the bare minimum is all that can be expected from him, "Used your toothbrush."

"Well," Eugene says, feigning exasperation, "Thank god for small mercies."

Merriell smiles and bites his lip. His hips shift underneath the covers, and Eugene playfully leans on top of him to stop his wiggling.

"You up for dinner with my parents tonight?" Eugene asks, "I was thinking you could take the truck, pick up Mairzy, then come back at seven when my father's home."

Merriell nods, eyes wide.

"Good," Eugene says. He settles more comfortably on top of Shelton's chest and pillows his head in his arms while still keeping an eye on the boy underneath him. Eugene can feel every breath Merriell takes, even through the thick layer of quilts between them.

"I'm sorry," Eugene says quietly.

"Why are you apologizing?" Merriell asks. He scowls and shifts uncomfortably.

"I'm sorry for assuming your life is like mine," Eugene says. It was the thought that had been bouncing around in his head all day, and the thing that made him realize neither of their choices about the war were formed in a vacuum.

Merriell's expression switches over to surprise. He frowns a little. And then tentatively wriggles an arm out from underneath the blankets and combs his fingers through Eugene's hair.

"I guess I'm sorry too then," he says, still frowning about it, "For acting like an ass and going out to get piss drunk the first minute you break my heart."

"I didn't break your heart," Eugene scoffs.

"You walked away from me…"

"Never said I wasn't coming back."

Merriell laughs.

"Besides, I took your stand-in with me when I turned away," Eugene props himself up on his elbows and reaches over Shelton's shoulder to grab the stuffed teddy bear, "I had him to keep me company." He uses the bear for a pillow, and it's very comfortable until he notices something. "Why does my teddy smell like you?"

Shelton looks guilty.

"Were you hugging my teddy bear all day?" Eugene demands to know.

"You left me here all alone…"

"Well, now I'm jealous," Eugene says with movk seriousness. He discards the bear (safely against the corner of the wall where it can't fall off the bed) and drags the quilts down till he frees both of Merriell's arms. "You dirty my bed with greasy overalls, ignore me when I get home, deny me kisses, and I find out you've been cuddling my teddy bear," Eugene accuses.

"Ain't denying no one kisses," Merriell protests.

Eugene crawls over him till their faces are level. "Yeah?" he asks.

"Try me," Merriell says, tilting his head stubbornly.

So Eugene does.

Holding Merriell in bed is infinitely better than holding a stuffed animal. For one thing, Merriell moves in response to every one of Eugene's touches. And he kisses back with equal desperation. The only downside is - he makes noise.

"Shhh!" Eugene covers Merriell's mouth with his hand, "If we get caught…"

Merriell sucks in his lips and then licks Eugene's palm. Merriell's mouth is wet, and warm, and plush. And his tongue slides across Eugene's skin like velvet. The feeling sends tingles through Eugene's body so intense it startles him and he pulls away. 

"Gross!" Eugene retracts his hand hastily and wipes the spit off on Merriell's shirt sleeve.

"If that grosses you out, I don't know what to tell you about what comes next…" Merriell teases, a big grin on his face.

"Just stop talking," Eugene prompts, "Please!" He seals his lips to Merriell's - seemingly the only thing capable of keeping the other boy quiet.

He notices Merriell slows down after that. Merriell still kisses Eugene passionately, but he stops pulling at Eugene's clothes, and doesn't grab at Eugene's body so demandingly. It's up to Eugene to pull his own shirt over his head and toss it into the depths of his room.

Merriell stops him with a hand to his chest before Eugene can lean down to resume the kissing.

Eugene sits on the bed, somewhere on top of Merriell's legs under the quilts.

Merriell's hand trails over Eugene's bare chest and down his arm.

"Wow," Merriell says reverently.

Eugene huffs a laugh, "Don't see what all the fuss is." he looks down at his own chest.

"I'd marry you," Merriell declares, "Just like that. If I could see this."

"Don't think they'd let me into the church to get married without a shirt," Eugene says, wry.

"Don't think they'd let me in any church period," Merriell retorts.

"Then shut up about marriage and let me kiss you again," Eugene complains with a smile.

"What, I can't take a minute to admire you?" Merriell grins. His hand moves from Eugene's arm down to his belly and then to his hip.

"Not if you're gonna be this loud about it," Eugene says. He gets an idea and looks around his room for the old radio he used as a kid. He briefly gets up from the bed - Merriell whines - and grabs the radio to bring it closer. Eugene flicks it on and fiddles with the dial until he finds music loud enough to hide the noises Shelton won't stop making.

"What you gonna do now, Sledge?" Merriell taunts, "Under the cover of ambiance?"

"Admire you," Eugene answers as he rejoins Merriell in bed and straddles his waist. Eugene snaps the hooks off Shelton's overalls and lets the flap drop down. He gets his hands under the hem of Shelton's thin undershirt and pushes it up till he can feel the bare skin of his stomach. He follows the trail of hair below Merriell's stomach with his thumb, drawing it up from the waistband of his underwear to his belly button. And from there the next obvious destination is to explore Merriell's chest.

Eugene cups a hand around Merriell's pec and swipes his thumb across his nipple.

"Gene…" Merriell sighs. He closes his eyes and stretches on the bed like a cat.

Eugene leans down and kisses him, keeping one hand on his chest. The deeper the kiss gets, the farther Eugene leans in, until the quilts get squashed to the end of the bed and Merriell's legs become entwined with his, and Eugene's chest is flush against Merriell's. Eugene rolls his hips into Merriell and it relieves some of the tension twisted up through his body. Merriell wraps his arms around Eugene's neck and encourages him.

Eugene rocks into Merriell again, falls into a rhythm with him, and then starts to pick up the pace.

He's lost in their movement together until it feels so fucking good Eugene almost feels dizzy, and he realizes in his haste he keeps forgetting to breathe.

Eugene pauses for a minute to take a gasping breath. He loses his concentration and the music playing in the background filters into his thoughts - 'If it's a crime then I'm guilty, guilty of dreaming of you' Al Bowlly croons.

Eugene freezes, sudden pressure crashing down over his shoulders and deadening all sensation.

"Eugene?" Merriell whispers.

Eugene can't seem to catch his breath. He presses himself in as tight as he can get next to Merriell, and wraps legs and arms around the other boy's body. And then holds on for dear life.

"Gene…?" Merriell sounds concerned.

"Heart might be murmuring again," Eugene warns him in a scared whisper.

Merriell gently rolls them over so they are lying next to each other and he can put his hand to Eugene's cheek. "Okay, Gene…" Merriell says calmly though his voice is nervous, "It's gonna be okay...don't think about that just...just hold me," Merriell cradles him loosely, "Quiet your mind."

"Feeling too much for you," Eugene whispers.

Merriell pulls away and meets Eugene's eyes. He swallows thickly. And drags Eugene into a tight embrace. Merriell's arms wrap around Eugene's shoulders. He presses his face into Eugene's hair. And takes a shuddering breath.

Eugene runs his hands down Merriell's back and then returns the embrace. His arms against Merriell's skin

"I don't know how I ever lived without you," Eugene confesses.

"Probably lived a good deal more responsibly back then," Merriell jokes, "No missed classes."

"But none of this," Eugene replies with honest need.

Merriell has no counter arguement for that.

They lie together listening to the radio as Eugene's heart calms down. Slowly the one song ends and another begins. Eugene doesn't recognize the tune, but Merriell does. He starts singing along while brushing Eugene's hair with his hands.

"Here we are out of cigarettes - Holding hands and yawning," Merriell sings, quiet and low, "Look how late it gets. Two sleepy people by dawn's early light, and too much in love to say goodnight."

Eugene likes Merriell's voice. It does soothe him as Merriell intended. Unfortunately it soothes him a little too much. Eugene isn't sure who falls asleep first but he's the one to wake when he hears a knock on his bedroom door. The song previously playing is long over and Merriell's hand lies next to Eugene's head instead of in his hair. Merriell himself is sleeping peacefully.

"Eugene," his mother calls through the door, "Supper in an hour."

"Thank you, mother," Eugene replies. He shakes Merriell awake and cups a hand over his mouth to keep him quiet. Merriell nods in understanding, his eyes wide and unblinking.

As soon as Eugene stops hearing his mother's footsteps in the hall he stumbles out of bed and opens the window. 

Merriell follows close on Eugene's heels. He barely makes it out the window with his clothes still on. The bib of his overalls flaps wildly as he sneaks around the bushes and runs to his truck. He keeps one hand gripped tight on the hip of his jeans or else the whole thing would fall off entirely.

Eugene watches him go with amusement. When Shelton makes it to the truck and climbs into the cab, the boy throws one final grin in Eugene's direction before starting the engine and backing off down the driveway.

Once Merriell is safe, Eugene leaves his room to find his mother and do damage control.

"Who was coming up the drive?" his mother asks him when he finds her in the dining room.

"That was my friend, Merriell Shelton," Eugene replies, "He's the one who works down at the docks for the war effort. He stopped by to ask why he didn't see me today. I invited him for dinner tonight, is that okay?"

"Of course!" his mother agrees, ever eager for guests.

"He's gone home to get cleaned up, but he'll be back soon," Eugene says, "And he's bringing his little sister."

"I'll arrange everything," his mother nods, "You go get ready, and make sure to use a comb, your hair looks like it's been slept on."

Eugene runs a hand over his hair, and sure enough it's tangled and clumped together in tufts from where Merriell had been playing with it. He smiles involuntarily at the memory. "I did take a nap earlier," he explains truthfully.

He smiles at Merriell too, when the Shelton siblings arrive on Eugene's doorstep at precisely seven. Both Merriell and Mairzy are pristine, with neatly pressed clothes, twin new bows in Mairzy's hair, and shiny clean shoes on Merriell's feet.

"We wore our Sunday best," Merriell whispers when Eugene pulls him into a quick hug before anyone else sees.

"Good evening!" Eugene's mother announces, bustling to the door from the dining room. Her step falters when she sees Mairzy's curly hair, and she sends a startled glance Eugene's way.

"Mother, you've met Merriell Shelton of course. After he helped out with the mailbox I destroyed," Eugene says and claps his arm around Shelton's shoulder casually, "This is his sister, Mairzy."

"Pleased to meet you ma'am," Mairzy attempts a curtsey.

Eugene's mother beams and disguises all traces of hesitation in her face. "How wonderful!" she exclaims, "Come in, come in." His mother leads Mairzy inside and Eugene can hear her asking if Mairzy likes pecan pie.

Her voice fades into the distance, which leaves Shelton and Eugene standing alone on the porch in silence.

"Sorry about her," Eugene says quietly, "My mother's social circle is narrow."

Merriell shrugs. He steps close, slides his hand into Eugene's pants pocket, and uses it to pull Eugene closer. He looks deep into Eugene's eyes and smirks. This close Eugene can smell some kind of cologne on him. And whatever gel Merriell used to slick his hair back so neatly.

But underneath all that is something else, more familiar; a smell Eugene recognizes as that of his own room.

"Missed you, cher," Merriell murmurs and plants a sensual kiss on Eugene's lips before letting him go and following his sister into the house.

Eugene breathes out the tension he hadn't even realized he was holding. He takes a minute to school his emotions. And when he's confident he won't fall all over himself trying to swoon into Shelton's arms every time Merriell looks at him, Eugene finally decides to join the party. He also comes up with a proper counter argument to Shelton's parting comment.

"You've only been gone five minutes," Eugene mutters - to himself since Shelton's long out of hearing range - and closes the door. 

Edit: I always forget to add the tags, i get so nervous about posting, im sorry! @xmxisxforxmaybe @diasimar

[neighborhoodmoonchild]

Follow The Light (Warlock!Yoongi x Wisp!Reader)

Genre: Supernatural Au, Fluff, Angst

Warnings: Explicit language (a tad), brief mention of cheating and death, P.O.V. switching, that’s about it

Word Count: 9K (oops)

It wasn’t every day that Yoongi was visited by an unnerved stranger with nothing but revenge on their minds. Well, it didn’t use to be, but ever since he took that idiot’s offer to help him get revenge on a cheating girlfriend in exchange for some monetary compensation, it seems that’s all he could attract nowadays. 

In fact, he can’t even remember the last time someone came in for something as simple as an herbal remedy, or maybe a spell to keep flowers from wilting, or hell, even just to say hi and see how he was doing.

He couldn’t hold it against anyone though; his friends were off far away with lives of their own to attend to and the strangers coming and going all seemingly had worse things to worry about than the feelings of the town warlock. 

If he’s being honest, vengeful souls looking for a quick fix were better than no interaction at all. It’s when he’s alone in that dark house with his thoughts and demons that scared him the most, so any company is good company in his mind.

The only problem is, revenge comes with a price, and the darkness doesn’t just come for the seeker, it comes for the creator as well. 

Yoongi is not unfamiliar with treading the line between good and evil, in fact, it’s a balancing act he’s been doing his whole life. Every action has either good or bad consequences, and those are tripled when you’re using magic. 

At first, it was easy to make the right choice, stay the path of light, deny the darkness, and keep the peace. However, as he grew and learned the truth of the worlds, he realized nothing was as simple as it all may seem on the outside. 

It was much easier (and fun) to take a walk on the dark side sometimes. Dark magic had less rules, less strings attached, at least, that’s what Yoongi first assumed. 

Turns out, the price of black magic is much higher than he thought, and Yoongi has racked up an enormous tab. 

Now it was a daily internal battle to keep his demons at bay, and honestly, he’s fucking exhausted. Should he give in to the temptation of the darkness, or should he fight to follow the light? If he thought about that question one more time, he swears he’d have a stroke. 

Yoongi was honestly done with wondering what if, he wanted answers and he wanted them now. Maybe that’s how he found himself wandering a path not often taken, searching the woods for an answer, a sign, anything. 

If anyone saw him right now, they’d think he’s crazier than they already do. What kind of all-powerful warlock wanders the edge of town for a sign of the right path? Answer, the stupid kind. 

Yoongi shakes his head, the corner of his mouth turning up a bit, “If the boys could see me now.” 

He knows they’d have a field day. The ever-so wise and sure Yoongi, asking the universe for guidance? Hysterical. 

Yoongi was the type of guy who fronted that he knew all the answers, when in reality, he didn’t know a damn thing. He could fake smooth confidence, but it was a different story actually trying to have it. 

But he couldn’t let his reputation deteriorate, not when it was one of the only things keeping him afloat. If people lost their confidence in him, he’d lose his livelihood. 

He was the scary warlock who lives alone at the edge of town who solves people’s vengeance problems. People seeking revenge wanted the worst of the worst, so that’s what Yoongi provided. 

To be honest, Yoongi took walks more often than he’d care to admit. It wasn’t just to look for a sign, but to clear his mind, calm his soul, and keep the negative thoughts at bay. It is harder to do good when you are consumed with bad. To keep on the line, he took the time to clear himself of some of the negative energy. 

The woods were a place of solitude. Nature, the sounds of life bustling around him helped him center himself. It was the only time he left the house, and he liked getting away. He likes watching the clouds roll by, the leaves rustle in the wind, and feel with cold air against his skin. It was these things that made him feel almost human, like he was just a normal person living a normal life. 

It gave him a break in the constant tug of war, one that he desperately needed to keep a somewhat sane mind. 

Yoongi followed the dirt path at the edge of the wood, hands in his pockets, eyes following the line of trees. It was late October and the colorful array of leaves gave him something interesting to look at instead of the ground. 

He thanked the spirits that he’d decided to bring a scarf with him, winding it around his neck to ease the chill that seeped from his veins into his bones. Not to say Yoongi didn’t like the cold, he actually much rather preferred it over the heat. Sweaty Yoongi = Grumpy Yoongi.

The surrounding area took on an illuminated cast as the sun began to sink into the horizon. Sunsets were great, but in his opinion, when the stars begin to glitter in the dark abyss of space, now that was truly a beautiful sight. 

He was amazed at how bright these little things could shine when enveloped by such a thick darkness. 

Stars gave him hope. 

Feeling a wave of calm rush over him as the night takes over, Yoongi pauses a second to breath. The air was magical at the shift between day and night. He could feel the surge of energy in every fiber of his being. It was what being alive felt like. 

But just as Yoongi felt complete and utter peace, a new, unfamiliar feeling crept its way in. He could sense something was there, something he’d never encountered before. His sense of peace was replaced with uneasiness; a feeling that set him on edge and ruined his good mood. 

‘Why does something always have to ruin my serenity?’ He thinks to himself as he cautiously scans the surrounding area. Yoongi is really hoping it’s nothing serious, because he doesn’t have the energy for a fight right now, or ever for that matter. 

He’s about to brush it off as a minor bout of insanity, when he catches a glimpse of light disappear down one of the old trails in the woods. 

Adventure is not Yoongi’s forte by any means, and he’s definitely not one to chase a mysterious figure into the dark woods at night. He wants to keep walking, forget it and go home. 

His legs even start carrying him away, yet when he comes upon another trail, he sees that same glimpse of light disappear into the darkness. 

“I’m seeing things. I’m totally just seeing things.” He whispers to himself, rubbing his face harshly in his hands as if to wake himself up. He keeps walking. 

It’s when he stumbles upon a third path that he finds himself standing his ground, staring out to see if it would happen again. He stays still for a few seconds, but sees nothing.

“I knew it.” He turns to keep walking home, but this time sees the light in his path. It stays still for a moment, mirroring him, and if he squints hard enough, it almost looks like...hair?

With no other choice, he slowly trails after it, the light keeping its distance but almost beckoning him forward. 

It’s almost like it wants him to follow it?

A few minutes pass, and Yoongi becomes impatient. He wants to know what the hell this thing is and what it wants: now. 

He picks up his pace, but just as he gets close enough to make out a figure, it suddenly disappears. 

His eyes blink rapidly, mouth agape. Standing frozen, staring at the spot this thing was before it disappeared. Yoongi had never encountered anything like this in all his years, and let me tell you, he has seen some weird shit. 

But never had he seen something as strange as this. A light that beckoned him forward only to disappear. The craziest part? He swears it looked like... a girl.

-

It’s an incessant knocking that draws Yoongi from his slumber. If it wasn’t for that, he’d probably have stayed in bed all day. He’d been pushing himself harder these past few weeks, and magic drained him of every ounce of energy he had. 

Rubbing his eyes to rid them of the sleepy haze, he waves his hand, sending his clothes to him, quickly dressing as he descends the staircase. A loud freak escapes a loose floorboard, but he pays no mind to it. 

As soon as he approaches the door, he knows who’s waiting for him outside, letting out a long sigh before turning the knob. He doesn’t even have time to greet the intruder before he’s already pushing his way inside. 

Too tired to deal with pretty much everything, a quick wave of his hand sends his guest gliding right back to the open doorway, shock overtaking his features. 

Yoongi would like to say he doesn’t use his powers to control people very often, but he definitely does because people often do stupid things Yoongi doesn’t appreciate. 

One being storming into his house like they own the place. 

“You Satanist bastard! You ruined my life, you hear me!” The man screams in Yoongi’s face. Most people would’ve shrunk back at the level and harshness of his words. Yoongi stood there, face void of emotion trying to block out the words to avoid hearing loss. 

Ah, the best part of the job, unsatisfied customers. While Yoongi is incredibly good at what he does, he’s not incapable of making mistakes. Sometimes things don’t work out as planned, but in most cases, that was customer error, not Yoongi’s. 

As the man continued to throw insults left and right, Yoongi searched his mind far and wide for recognition of the man and what his service was. Knowing what they asked for made it easier for Yoongi to deduce whose fault it was when things go wrong. 

After a few seconds, it pops in his head, and he tunes back into the scene unfolding before him.

Red covers every inch of the man’s face, but Yoongi overlooks that to finally speak out.

“You came in last week, a memory spell, wasn’t it?” He stays silent, the man taking in heavy breaths after his outburst. 

“You wanted your wife to forget your unfaithfulness, correct?” Yoongi knows without a shadow of a doubt this was true. He tried to make it a habit of keeping track of things he sells and who he sells them to, just in case. Information like this came in real handy during times like these, and he was grateful his memory had actually held onto this particular order. 

The man nods furiously, “Yeah, I did, and you said it’d work. A few days later, she doesn’t even remember her own name!” He’s shaking, fists balled up at his sides, eyes turning glassy.

“All of a sudden she couldn’t remember how to speak, or eat, and I found her-“ he chokes back a sob, tears dripping down his face, “I found her face down in the backyard, she was dead, dammit. Dead!” 

Now this threw Yoongi for a bit of a loop. Never had something as simple as a forgetfulness spell ended in something as serious as death. In fact, when death came about during magic use, it was more times than not the human’s fault, not the magic. 

Before he could question the man further, there was swift whistle through the air as the man’s fist landed sharply into Yoongi’s jaw, sending his head reeling to the side. As he lifted his hand to hold his injury, the man suddenly took off, most likely scared Yoongi would use his magic to retaliate.

Did he want to? Of course, there was no better feeling than sending an asshole flying after daring to lay a finger on a warlock like Yoongi. Retaliation was one of the pleasure Yoongi took in making many enemies, because the adrenaline that coursed through your veins when you used magic in such a way was a fucking rush. 

However, Yoongi was too sidetracked by the fact that something he had created had led to an innocent woman’s death. First she’s cheated on, then void of everything she’s ever learned, and then suddenly she’s dead. She’d done nothing wrong.

Yoongi had.  

Turns out, not only does black magic have a high price, it also can be highly unpredictable, especially when not in the right frame of mind. After so many dark spells, overuse of his magic, and fighting with himself, Yoongi had been left vulnerable to malpractice. 

His carelessness cost someone their life.

-

This time Yoongi didn’t take a scarf to keep warm. He opted for a flask of whiskey instead to warm himself from the inside out, though the guilt building a fire in his stomach kept it warm enough as it is. Maybe that’s what he needed right now, to feel like he was burning. 

He’d lost track of how long he’d been walking, but judging by the fact that he no longer had any idea of where he was, he figured either he’d consumed much too much alcohol, or he was very far from his normal path. 

Not that he cared about either anyways. Alcohol dulls the sting of emotion while distance tries to leave it behind. Both of which sounded great to Yoongi right now.

Not one case had bothered him as much as this one. He was usually better at separating himself from his work, building a wall between his personal beliefs and what he had to do to keep on living. Once the spell, potion, hex, whatever it was, was out of his hands, it was no longer his problem. 

Out of sight, out of mind. 

And it’s not like Yoongi had never dealt with an upset customer or a violent one for that matter. He’s had his fair share of scuffles with pissed customers who didn’t read the fine print. Sometimes he actually enjoyed it, standing his ground and belittling the idiots who start things. 

It wasn’t everyday he got a chance to prove how cunning and powerful he was, so he really took advantage of it when it happened. 

This hit differently though. It’s like the darkness inside of him liked the taste of death on its tongue, which greatly contrasted the sick pang of guilt Yoongi felt. His demons were bloodthirsty, and this may have been the tipping point. After the man had left, Yoongi spent a solid 10 minutes trying not to vomit from the tearing of his insides as his two sides fought over the feeling. 

Murder took Yoongi’s line and crumpled it up in its hand, tossing it into oblivion. He could feel the evil inside of him seeping into his veins, reveling in the news that Yoongi had made a grave mistake. 

One that could cost him his light. 

The devil doesn’t care about intention, he only cares about results. 

And the result was blood on Yoongi’s hands. 

He takes another swig from the flask, a slight sway in his step as the alcohol really settles in. He should be scared that dulling his senses could make it easier for the darkness to take hold, but he figures he’s probably already screwed, so bottoms up. 

Looking around him to get a feel for where to head, Yoongi stops all together.

While the whiskey sure does make it hard to focus, it’s not to the point where he could hallucinate. And he’s definitely seeing a little light flickering at the edge of the woods. 

After taking a second to collect himself as much as he can, he takes a step forward, keeping his sight on the glow. 

It seems to glow brighter, edging him on, and he can’t stop himself as he lunges forward, chasing after it like a dog after a rabbit. 

Yoongi’s mind warns him that he could scare it away, make it disappear, but the light only moves faster, further into the woods, almost like a game of tag. 

Alright, if this thing wants a race, fine, he’ll give it one. Maybe it’s the alcohol giving him liquid courage or rock bottom feeling that his life couldn’t get any worse than it already is, but he’s flying through the trees, swerving and dodging limbs, after the little light. 

The sober, sane part of his brain is kicking himself for how ridiculous he looks right now, but the rest of him doesn't give a shit. His filters gone and walls down, he was going to find out what the hell this thing was if it killed him.

Yoongi hates to admit it, more than happy to put the fall on the alcohol, but he was tiring quickly and the light didn’t seem like it was giving up anytime soon. So, no matter how badly his lungs and limbs ached, he pushed forward. He wasn’t going to let it get away this time. 

Minutes that felt more like hours passed, when the light stopped just before a large opening at the edge of the tree line. 

Tired as hell and dizzy from the whiskey sloshing around in his stomach, Yoongi heaves himself to a halt, resting his hands on his knees as he leans forward, trying to catch his breath.

That, needless to say, was more than enough exercise for Yoongi for one lifetime, maybe even two. 

When his heart rate had returned to a safe pace, he peeked up between his fringe at the place he saw the light stop. It took a second for his eyes to adjust, but he could finally see what he was chasing after, and despite his efforts to dismiss what he thought was an insomnia-induced hallucination, he really did see the figure of a girl.

She was standing at the edge of an old fountain, back facing him. He wasn’t sure if he should be proud or terrified for the fact that he was also right about the light coming from her hair. It wasn’t as bright as before, but it cast a soft glow that mesmerized every atom of Yoongi’s mind.

Yep, this was definitely something he’d never seen before. 

Yoongi collected himself, even straightening his clothes and hair, not that he was trying to impress her or anything, he’s just a gentleman is all. 

As he went to take a step forward, he found himself unable to move his feet. He was scared she’d disappear again. What if this was his last chance to uncover the mystery and he blows it?

What if this is his sign?

Just as he was about to pull it together and go for it, she turned her head, a smile visible even in the dark of night. He stepped forward, cautiously, and when she remained constant, he took that as an okay to proceed. 

The closer he got, the more features of the girl he discovered. The color and flow of her hair, gently swaying in the night breeze. The curve of her cheeks, her smile pushing them high, a red tinge blossoming at the apples. 

She didn’t look at him, but he could see the frame of her eyes, soft and wide, cute. 

For a creature of which Yoongi knew nothing about, she looked seemingly human, save for the whole glowing hair thing. Her outfit was simple and warm, smothering her small frame in layers to stave off the cold. 

If he had seen her in any other setting, he might’ve given her a second glance, maybe even indulged in some light conversation. He couldn’t deny that she was pretty, but the fact that she is running around the woods at night, seemingly taunting Yoongi to follow, made him leery. 

He knew of other mystical beings, from simple to complex, but he’d never come across something like her before. He’d tried, after the first sighting, searching his library for a book on moving masses of light. Of course, he always ended up with nothing. 

Learning she actually was a she and not just a ball of energy or something, only further complicated things. 

What in the hell is she?

“I like the woods at night,” she says, voice soft and light from not being used. Yoongi stops next to her, looking up from the ground to her, but she remains focused on the fountain ahead.

“It’s quiet and peaceful,” she lifts her gaze to him, smile growing, “the perfect place to think.” 

He’s not sure if he’s to respond or stay quiet, so he opts for the latter and turns back to the fountain, placing his hands in his pockets to avoid swaying them like an idiot like he does when he’s nervous. 

Yoongi hears her take a deep breath, releasing it and then speaks again, “So many paths to take, yet they all led here.”

Yoongi finally takes a second to survey his surroundings, and he indeed sees several other trails all leading to the fountain. When he looks at the thing, he notes the vines wound around the edges, leaves caked in the bottom, and only the lightest of trickles coming from the top. 

It was pitiful, honestly.

“Do you believe in fate?” Her question addressed to him startles him. His mind almost tricked him into thinking this was all just a figment of his imagination, but when he turned to see her waiting for his answer, he feels a cold sensation in his hand.

Her fingers wrap gently around one of his own, holding it softly, and he looks back up into her eyes, smile still present. 

Clearing his throat, he turns his attention back to the fountain to avoid showing how pink stained his cheeks grew. He’d never really had many intimate interactions with girls, or anyone really. He’d preferred solitude in the relationship aspect. He didn’t really trust others, and found keeping up with humans and their emotions rather exhausting. 

The only friends he’d ever had were the ones he’d met when he was younger. The seven of them used to stir up trouble any chance they could get. 

Now that they were older, though, most of them moved on to other things, from starting families, to stable jobs, to traveling the world. 

Yoongi was the only one who remained in the same place, following the same path in an endless circle, repeating every day just the same as the last. 

He didn’t know how to break free from it, or if he even wanted to. 

After standing in silence for a while, Yoongi realizes he still hasn’t answered her question.

“I guess,” he states, hoping it will satisfy her, but she holds her ground, waiting, so he continues, “I mean, do I think we all have a destiny we can’t outrun, then sure. And, we’re here, right now, for some reason, so maybe?” 

She releases his hand to settle at the edge of the fountain, looking out into the woods, almost searching for something. 

Yoongi is about to ask her what she’s looking for when she speaks before he can get the words out. 

“I can sense something in you.” She says, soft smile gracing her lips, eyes moving to look at him, as if actually seeing something inside of him. 

Rubbing his neck as he circles her, dropping down to rest on the edge next to her, he sighs, eyes dropping to the ground.

“Yeah, well, I’m kind of a bad person, you’re not the first person to come to that conclusion.” 

Yoongi doesn’t lift his eyes from their spot trained on a leaf settled on the ground. He does, however, feel her turn towards him, feels her hand as it comes to rest on his knee. 

Slowly, he looks up and meets her eyes, seriousness swirling in them though her mouth stays curved upwards. 

“It’s actually quite the opposite Yoongi. Everyone makes mistakes, it’s how you learn from them that matters.”

It was like time had stopped; everything around him had frozen in place and he couldn’t tear his eyes from hers. He wasn’t sure if he’d heard her right. How could she, let alone anyone, possibly see anything but evil in him, especially if she knew what he had done. He could feel it in himself every day, and by the way people gossiped about him, he knew others could too.

And how had she known his name?

She removes her hand from his knee to clasp them together in front of her, “So, what and how will you change?”

-

After that, he avoided answering you by grilling you instead; you could tell he was startled by your revelations. You liked the mystery, though, so you’d offered him no answers and disappeared into the night before he could object. 

It probably wasn’t fair, no, it definitely wasn’t fair, but it sure was fun. 

You’d woken up with the sudden urge to visit a place you’d never heard of. Leaving on a whim, you found yourself in a small town with an abundance of hiking trails and the story of an evil warlock surrounding it. 

The whole thing felt eerily familiar, but you couldn’t put your finger on it. This wasn’t the first time you’d gotten a feeling so strong it carried you away from home. 

In reality, there was no true home for you. You moved around so much, no place was ever permanent, but that was just how your life worked. 

You couldn’t ignore destiny.

So here you are, waking up in a little inn on the east side of town, wondering if you’d go to him this time, or continue to let him chase you.

You figured he’d be pretty shaken up after last night, especially considering how intoxicated he’d been, and decided you’d take the initiative.

Packing a small bag for the journey ahead, you quickly showered and got dressed, locking the door behind you and heading off. 

You’d known the first time you heard about him that he was the reason you were here. 

You didn’t show up in a strange place on a whim just for fun, it was more like, work.

Since you were little you’d been given the task of guiding others to their fate. It started off with little things, because as a child you didn’t truly understand what fate even was. As you got older, the tasks became higher stakes. You’d had some charges that refused to believe, and it pained a small part inside of you knowing there was nothing you could do.

Sometimes, people just needed to figure out their path on their own. When they needed a little extra help, that’s when you came in. 

You were here to help Yoongi find his way, and from the second the feeling sparked within you, you knew it’d be more difficult than the rest.

You hadn’t even really met him  and you knew he’d be a tough nut to crack. 

You did, however, sense his desire to find the right path, so you had hope this wouldn’t end in a total lost cause. 

Still, as you trekked your way across town in the direction the innkeeper said he lived, you couldn’t help the nervous tick growing inside of you.

You hadn’t worked with many magical folk, and if his reputation precedes him, then Yoongi is as powerful as they come. Humans were one thing, they could easily be persuaded and helped into understanding.

Warlocks were an entirely different story. Most witches and warlocks pride themselves on knowing everything there is to know about all the worlds. So when a force beyond their knowledge comes in to guide them, they have a hard time releasing the reins. 

No matter how difficult this would be, you were determined to give it your all. Yoongi has something incredibly beautiful inside of him and you want to help him find it. 

This is the case that would change your life. 

You just knew it. 

-

The hangover was worse than any he’d encountered before. Alcohol and startling revelations create quite the nasty combo. It hit Yoongi like a K.O. and he was sure this is where he would die. 

In his bed.

Same clothes from last night.

It’d be one hell of an obituary. 

What he wasn’t expecting at 8 a.m., just when he finally fell asleep, was a knock on the door. It was softer than the one from yesterday, but it was a pain in the ass nonetheless. 

He got up, not even bothering to fix his appearance. He was too exhausted and grumpy for that, and he wanted to make sure whoever was bothering him at this hour could tell. 

He took the stairs two at a time, swifter than someone with a hangover should, but let’s blame that on the magic. 

Yoongi doesn’t even grab the door handle, he just flicks his wrist and makes the door fly open, hitting the wall behind it so hard, some bits of the plaster break off and fall to the ground. 

“This better be good or else-“ and he’s suddenly wishing he could take all of the theatrics back, because he definitely did not think it’s be the beautifully mysterious girl from last night knocking at his door. 

He almost forgets that your the reason he’d gotten no sleep last night, but as quickly as his face turns red from embarrassment, it shifts to a shade of aggravation. 

It was almost sad that you could tell the difference between the colors, having seen it so many times before. 

He stormed off into the kitchen to make himself some coffee to wake himself up, and you stand in the doorway, not exactly sure what to do. 

He hadn’t invited you in, in fact, it looked like quite the opposite. 

Before you could apologize and walk away, though, your body is pulled forward, the door swinging shut behind you. 

This should be interesting. 

“Why are you here? Don’t you have woods to wander and people to scare?” He yells from the kitchen, not bothering to come to you, instead beckoning you to find him. 

What a reversal of roles. 

You take cautious steps forward until you find yourself in the little kitchen, dimly lit by skylights and a door leading out into what looked like a greenhouse. 

The smell of freshly brewed coffee filling the air, it was incredibly homey, something you didn’t expect from Yoongi. 

“Well?” He sighs, pulling you from your survey of the room. He takes a sip from the mug held tight in his hands, the steam rising softly and enveloping his face. 

“I thought I’d switch it up, come to you this time.” He chuckles into his mug, amused that this was actually happening. It wasn’t just some weird dream he’d conjured in the depths of his mind. 

No, this was all really happening. 

After the initial silence radiating between the two of you as you both tried to figure out where to go from here, Yoongi beckoned you through another doorway, leading to a quaint sitting room. You sat down in the large sofa across from a beat up chair, which Yoongi took his place in. 

“Ok, so, you’re here, I’m here, now what?” He seemed impatient. It was probably the lack of sleep, which you could see in the discoloration under his eyes. 

“I think the best course of action is to tell you the truth and go from there.” 9 times out of 10 you’d never tell your charge the truth of why you were there. It usually just complicated things and drew them out longer than they needed to be.

Most times you’d just pose as a random character introduced in their life, subtly guide them where they needed to be, and get out of there. 

You knew that this was to be treated differently, because Yoongi was different, so you thought he’d appreciate a little honesty.

“Alright, I’ll bite.” Yoongi takes a big swig of his coffee, sets it down on the stand next to him, and leans forward, elbows on his knees. He was genuinely curious as to what you’d drop on him, but he was also still dealing with the repercussions of copious amounts of alcohol mixed with insomnia, so he didn’t exactly seem all that interested. 

That didn’t stop you from going forward anyways. 

“My name is Y/N, I’m a guide. I help people toward their fate. It’s kind of my thing.” You say, albeit a bit cocky, but you were proud of what you did. 

You see the corner of his mouth turn up, but continue, “I’m here to guide you, help you back on track.” 

That sends him into a fit of laughter he has a hard time trying to contain. You sit there, staring at him, not sure how to react. 

Was he laughing at you or the whole thing?

Yoongi calms himself when he sees the discomfort paling your face. He didn’t mean to make you feel bad, it was just so fucking ironic that he’d been feeling a bit lost and the universe throws him, what, some supernatural spirit guide? 

It’s just too hilarious.

“So,” he starts, wiping his eyes as his laughter dies out, “You’re here to get me on the right path?” You nod your head and he has to try really hard not to bust out in another fit.

“What’s so funny about that? I’m serious Yoongi.” 

He stops, “And is that how you know my name, Y/N? Some magic man in the sky gave you a prophecy about guiding me towards the light and now you’re here?” 

You jumped up, red tinging your ears and flowing into your cheeks. How dare he make fun of your job. This was serious business and he was treating it like some kid’s fairy tale book. 

You turn on your heel to storm out, but your body stays frozen just beyond the doorway as Yoongi follows after you. 

“Wait, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you, I’m just kind of an asshole when I’m tired.” 

You ignore his apology, turning to face him, closing the distance, your finger pointed threateningly in his face.

“Do not use your magic on me.” Yoongi pales, lending away from you in retreat, and watches as you open the front door, slamming it behind you. 

Some more plaster flies to the ground. 

He insisted on following you all the way back into town, keeping at a safe distance, though, in fear you’d reprimand him again. 

You didn’t pay him any mind, stomping your way back, posture making it blatantly obvious you were pissed. Maybe Yoongi didn’t have anything good in him at all, maybe he’s not meant to be saved. Maybe you didn’t want to help even if he was. 

You hear his footsteps suddenly pick up pace, and he’s now beside you, not too close, but close enough he can feel the anger radiating off of you. Once again, he’d gone too far. 

Idiot.

You didn’t feel like going back to the inn, let alone letting him know where you were staying, just in case, so you opted to wander around for a while to blow of steam. After a while, your anger dissipated, and much to your surprise, Yoongi made quite good company. 

He stayed silent for the most part, except when showing you different places as you walked. He’d point out little things about the town and watch as you discovered new things, in awe of the place. 

There were many things that were different here places you’d been before. With so many lost souls in larger areas, you tended to surface in cities, finding person after person to guide. 

This place was so small and secluded, it was like a little paradise. Tiny mom and pop shops, a cute park with a playground, a little bridge over a calm river settling at the center.

It was peaceful. 

As you explored, you let yourself fall into casual conversation with Yoongi, swapping stories of childhood and life in general. 

You’d hate to admit it, but you were actually starting to feel the warmth from the good in him again. Now you’d definitely have to help him, not that you weren’t going to in the first place, you just liked to make empty threats when you were upset. 

Night quickly snuck up on the two of you, but instead of parting ways Yoongi offers to make you dinner to make it up to you.

“It’s the least I can do, I was a dick.” He rubs the back of his neck and you smile, nodding to accept his offer. 

“Yeah, you were.” Yoongi smirks at you, and you just walk by him, back to his place. He quickly catches up and you both walk in peaceful silence. 

You were growing on each other. 

Dinner was simple and quiet, but a nice quiet, one that made both of your souls feel warm and content. He bids you goodnight and you make your way back to the inn, thinking partially of a plan on how to help Yoongi, and partially of the way his face lights up when he smiles and the sound of his laughter.

This job is turning out to be more than you thought it would be. 

-

  The following weeks are filled with various activities and tasks to help Yoongi find his way. You start off with the simple things, like tidying up his house, getting his things organized, finding him a proper routine to follow. 

He’s hesitant at first, his things were all where he liked them and change wasn’t something he enjoyed, but if you were there to help him, he guesses it isn’t that bad. 

Watching Yoongi haul boxes of books, candles, and herbs was a hilarious sight to see, but you didn’t patronize him too much. 

You could tell what little tidying he did was done with magic, so forcing him into manual labor was a foreign concept, and one that brought plenty of whining. 

It would be good for him to take a step back and remember the human part of him, and tapping into that required a break from the magic. 

Eventually, he got into the rhythm and focused on the task at hand instead of focusing all his energy on pouting, and, while you found his pout quite adorable, you were thankful he was finally taking you seriously.

Even though the little things did help get Yoongi on track, he still felt the darkness in him growing, and it was starting to kill his hope. 

Every time he looked at you, smiling as you organized his potion recipes or laughing when he dropped a box, though, it pushed all of that evil away and replaced it with a warm fuzzy feeling Yoongi had not been privy to before. 

When his friends were around, he felt light and happy, but this was different. This was something sweeter, something more complicated. 

Was he...falling for you? 

Yoongi didn’t want to dwell on that thought, reminding himself you were only here for a job and that was it. He’d be nothing more than a customer to you, and Yoongi knew all about that type of relationship. 

Once you were done helping him, you’d be on your way and he’d be left with nothing but the receipt. There was no room for getting attached. 

Yoongi did, however, let himself indulge in some harmless flirting while you were here. It couldn’t hurt, and he liked knowing your smile after a silly pickup line was because of him. 

Believe it or not, meeting you opened up a whole new side of Yoongi, and he was growing fond of it. 

You talk to him, listen, annoy him, help him. You do so many things for him outside of what he would consider part of your job. 

He liked that you pulled him from his dependence on his powers, even if carrying heavy ass boxes up and down the stairs on his own was hell. Doing things the ‘human’ way distracted him from the storm inside. 

It made his life a little simpler. 

“Alright, I think that’s enough for today, what about you?” Setting the duster down on the counter, you turn back just in time to see Yoongi plop the box he was carrying down on the floor and collapse on the couch.

A giggle escapes your lips, watching him huff a big breath, blowing his fringe all over the place, his cheeks bright red from the exertion. 

Yoongi doesn’t even bother to open his eyes as he reclines back on the couch. He’s physically drained and while he doesn’t want to show it in front of you, he doesn’t have the energy to do anything else. 

You didn’t mind though. You knew it’d be a change, finding the right path always was, and you admire the amount of effort he put in. 

You make your way over to the couch, falling down next to him, mirroring him as you let your head fall back on the cushion. The couch was old, but hell was it comfortable. Now you knew why he enjoyed sprawling out across it all the time. 

Closing your eyes, you let silence take over the air, enjoying the peace and tranquility of each other’s company. You hadn’t realized how exhausted you were as well, not noticing how Yoongi peeked one eye open to stare at you.

He mapped your face in his mind. Every detail, from the curve of your lips, to the frame of your nose, all the way to the curl of your lashes. He could stare at you forever given the chance. 

When you let out the smallest, softest sigh, the best of his heart increased ten-fold, and he found himself smiling like an idiot just watching you breath. 

In a perfect world, he’d lean in and kiss you, and you’d kiss him back, and then you’d live happily ever after. 

This was not a perfect world, however.

This was reality, so he’d enjoy the view while he can, at an appropriate distance. 

Eventually your eyes opened, turning your head to meet his. You just stared at each other for a while, not saying anything, scared it’d ruin whatever moment you were having. 

You thought you saw his head start to move forward, snapping you quickly from your daze.

Clearing your throat, you speak up, causing him to pause, “It’s getting pretty late, I should probably head home.” 

That was the last thing Yoongi wanted. He watched as you stood up and began gathering your things. 

He felt the sudden urge to use his powers to stop you, to convince you to stay, but he stopped himself. You’d warned him against using his magic on you, so he figured if he wanted this to go right, he’d have to do it the old fashioned way. 

He leaps up, taking your bag from the hook it hung from right before you could grab it. You looked at him with a smirk, about to tell him to stop messing around, but he just stares at you, a look of pleading spreading across his face.

“Or you could stay?” Your eyes widen a bit; he’d never been this forward before. You knew there was something brewing between the two of you, no matter how professional you tried to be. There was just something about him that reeled you in; it sent shivers down your spine and felt like butterflies in your stomach. 

You’d never taken such a liking to a charge before, but he didn’t feel like a ‘client’ to you. He was more like a best friend, the person you could come to with anything, could lay your heart out to. 

He became warm and familiar and all you wanted to do was spend time with him, get to know him, maybe even love him. 

You’d spent so much time helping others, you’d neglected yourself and your own needs. If others had paths, you surely did too, right? There was no way, no timeline or universe you could fathom in which Yoongi didn’t fit into yours. He was the only thing you felt sure of.

You knew, however, that there was a possibility that you were not on his, and that after he found his way, you’d be gone and on to a new soul. 

You didn’t want to think about leaving Yoongi behind, the possibility of never being able to be like you were now scaring you more than anything else ever could. 

Your job wasn’t one you could just quit, and love only complicated everything. 

You could enjoy it for now, but it could be nothing more. 

Setting Yoongi up to only get hurt in the end would not be an option. 

“I don’t know...” you sigh, your own internal battle raging on. If things went too far, you’d never be able to forgive yourself.

“Hey,” Yoongi says, grasping your hand in his. The warmth from his hand envelops yours, soothing your warring mind, “It’s dark out and I don’t want you to go back alone. Plus, you’d just have to come all the way back tomorrow, so if you’re already here, we can get more done, right?” 

The hope that illuminates his face is what ultimately convinces you to stay. He quickly sets up the couch for himself, offering you his bed, which you decline but he insists anyways. 

He puts on a movie and cuddles up with you on the couch to help you both fall asleep. 

Halfway in, your breathing slows to a steady rhythm, your head resting on his shoulder. 

Yoongi is about to get up and carry you to bed, but as he shifts, you snuggle closer, burying your face in his chest. He opts instead for leaning back and letting you use him as a pillow. He wraps his arms gently around you, pulling the blanket on the arm of the couch over the two of you. 

He doesn’t know how the movie ends, falling asleep not long after you both get comfy. It was the best night’s sleep he’d ever had, holding you in his arms gave him the most peaceful sense of security. 

You both slept in well past morning wrapped in each other’s arms. 

-

The more time spent with you, the harder Yoongi fell for you, until every time he saw you, he couldn’t resist the urge to entwine your hands or place a quick kiss to the top of your head. 

The more time you spent with Yoongi, the easier it was to let yourself get swept up in the romance of it all. It became a natural occurrence, the skin-ship between the two of you, earning its place in your routine. 

The tasks set to help Yoongi find his path turned into domestic activities you shared together, enjoying each other’s company. Checking out of the inn a week or two ago, Yoongi had lent you his spare bedroom so you wouldn’t have to make the trip across town every day. 

After the first week, the spare bedroom became spare once more as you decided snuggling up next to Yoongi in his room was the only way you’d be able to get any sleep, not the Yoongi was complaining. 

There was never an awkward moment between you two since then, it was almost like you’d lived together your whole lives. 

You wake up, obviously before Yoongi, and make a pot of coffee and some breakfast every morning. Yoongi usually smells the food and makes his way downstairs a few minutes later, jointing you for the meal. Your routine has become a joint effort to make each other as happy as possible. 

You’d earn a point for every time you made Yoongi a cute egg and bacon smile for breakfast, and he’d earn one for every time he helped you wash the dishes.

You’d earn one for every time you’d surprise him with a quick peck on the cheek and he’d earn one every time he holds you tight and kissed your forehead. 

All plans of keeping your distance was promptly thrown out the window long ago. 

You’d shared your fears of leaving with Yoongi, and he’d assured you he would never let that happen. 

You wouldn’t tell him, but you had your doubts. You couldn’t stay just because Yoongi didn’t want you to go, and there was no physical way possible you knew of for him to keep you with him. 

You were pulled by a force not even you fully understood, and disappeared at the end of the job without a trace usually. When you show up to the next soul, your precious soul moves on, forgetting you were even there. 

Despite believing Yoongi would come to forget you and move on, you still decided to give everything you had to him while you could. 

You wanted to feel love, be loved, but most importantly love Yoongi. You felt it in your bones that this is what you were meant to do, love him with every fiber of your being no matter how long you had. 

Yoongi felt the same way. He was perturbed that he couldn’t help ease your mind or find a way to help you stay. You’d helped him so much in the months he’s known you, and he couldn’t imagine living even for a minute without you. 

Not knowing anything about who or what was behind your job aggravated him. The fact that you didn’t know either yet could still be taken away from him at any moment without a choice didn’t seem fair to him at all. 

He wanted to find your ‘boss’ and make them let you stay with him, or at least try to help them understand that he needed you.

The only thing he could do for sure, was hold you tight and love you with all his might, because the only thing he knew he could give you was himself. 

Yoongi couldn’t even remember what it was like to live before he knew you. He credited you for making him a better person, but you knew he had it in him all along. 

Every day was filled with so much laughter, so many smiles, and so much love, that the darkness in him had suffocated; the black flame snuffed out. 

As he leans in the doorway to the kitchen, watching you wash the dishes from this morning’s breakfast, he realizes you’d shown him the light inside of him was still alive, and even helped it burn ten times brighter. He was excited to wake up every morning, knowing he could wake up next to you.

Yoongi, after the first week of meeting you, had decided to put the vengeance business to rest, and went back to making simple, safe potions for mundane things. He’d dotted all of his ‘i’s and crossed all of his ‘t’s and he felt so good because of it. 

People no longer gossiped about the ‘evil warlock in the woods,’ but rather referred to him as ‘Yoongi, the nice boy attached to Y/N’s hip,’ which he much rather preferred. 

When the two of you wandered through town, whether it be a grocery run or a romantic stroll, people would offer a smile or a small wave instead of side eye. 

Yoongi was finally living his life; truly living.

Yoongi slowly walked to stand behind you. You felt his hands slide from your hips to wrap his arms around your waist. A smile forming as he leaned his head into the crook of your neck, placing a small kiss to your shoulder. 

But the sweet feeling was quickly replaced with one you knew all too well. One you had been dreading.

Setting the dishes in the sink, you turn around and Yoongi’s face pales at the sight of your scared expression. 

His grip around you tightens.

“It’s time isn’t it.” He said it more as a statement, and you couldn’t help the tears quickly forming in your eyes. Yoongi quickly wipes them away, nuzzling your nose with his to soothe the ache as much as he could. 

As soon as he came to the realization that you’d changed his life, he understood what that meant. Now that he was on the right path, it was time for you to go.

He wanted so badly to let tears escape, to hold you so tight they couldn’t take you away. He wanted to scream at the universe, how dare it take away the only thing he cared about.

Yoongi didn’t do any of that, though. He wanted to stay strong for you. There was nothing he could do but hold your hand, kiss you softly, and tell you it was going to be okay.

“I love you. I always will.” 

And just like that, you were gone. 

Yoongi stood in the kitchen, alone, and finally let a few tears slip down his cheeks. 

-

The universe probably expected Yoongi to fall apart after you’d left, then forget you all together. Hell, he expected that himself. 

He couldn’t disappoint you though and he knew that this wouldn’t be the end. 

You’d become such a huge part of his life, that even the universe couldn’t strip you from his memory. You are his soulmate, and he is yours, and that’s a bond that can't be broken. 

You’d taught him an important lesson about fate, and he knew you were his.

So, he didn’t break down, fall into the darkness, and waste all the effort you’d put into him.

No, he held himself high, and smiled knowing you were out there, somewhere.

He’d broken free from his old cycle of life and dedicated the new one not only to loving you, but loving himself as well. 

The universe could throw whatever it wanted at him, he was done taking it lying down.

This life was his, and he wanted to share every bit of it with you, the person who showed him just how much he deserved it. 

He doesn’t care how long it’ll take, he’ll find you. 

After all, you can’t outrun destiny.

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

  Guys, 

    My main man Yoongles’ story is out ya’ll. Honestly, this one was the most difficult for me to finish, don’t know why. Again, came out longer than expected, but I think that'll be a theme from now on. Still love how it came out though, sorry it’s not exactly the happiest of endings, but hey, they can’t all be! Hope you guys like it, and if you find any errors, let me know (there are probably a lot, I suck). Anyways, thank you all for the support of this “series” so far, it means a lot! Enjoy!

-Moonie🌙

[madlori]

Unveiled - Chapter 3

You guys have been super encouraging today so...surprise! Here’s Chapter 3 early. And it’s kinda short, so. Might as well tack it right on.

Aaaaand chapter 4 will likely show up tomorrow sometime. I’M WEAK. 

BTW make sure you’ve read chapter 2, I posted it earlier today. Links are beneath the header image.

Chapter 1 || Chapter 2 || Chapter 3 || Chapter 4 || Chapter 5 || Chapter 6 || Chapter 7 || Chapter 8 || Chapter 9 || Chapter 10 || Chapter 11 || Chapter 12 || Chapter 13 || Epilogue

by MadLori Word Count: 2000 Fandom: Men’s Hockey RPF Pairing: Sidney Crosby/Evgeni Malkin Rating: NC-17 (like, heed this, please) Tags: Arranged Marriage, Modern Royalty AU, Mpreg, Not Omegaverse, No Consent Issues, Veiled Sex, Weird Traditions, Don’t Think Too Hard, Handwavey Biology

Definitely sex in this one.

Read it on AO3

The Royal Bedchamber that his consort had mentioned in his message was not Zhenya’s bedroom, nor was it the Consort’s. Their respective rooms were almost next to each other, but not quite -- between them, and with a door leading to each, was the so-called Royal Bedchamber, which was used only during embargo for intimate relations. Once the Consort had conceived and the embargo was lifted, any intimacy they chose to engage in would take place in either of their own rooms.

Zhenya showered, scrubbing himself well. This was the first time he’d really be having relations with his husband -- the ritualized consummation during the wedding hardly counted. It was rare for sex between embargoed partners to reach the level of passionate lovemaking, but they could be more relaxed with each other, and enjoy a more personal experience, than they could do with a cleric standing over them.

The best part, though, was that even though Zhenya would still not see his husband’s face or even most of his body, he would definitely get to see his cock, and he was looking forward to it.

He suspected that his new husband was a man who appreciated punctuality, so he waited until precisely 3:00 pm, then opened the door into the bedchamber.

The consort was sitting on the large, low bed that was the main piece of furniture in the room. He’d changed out of the black drapings he’d been wearing earlier in the garden and into lighter, flesh-toned veils that still concealed him while being a little less forbidding. They covered him only to the middle of his chest and were entirely opaque; Zhenya wondered, not for the first time, how the consort could see through them. He straightened up as Zhenya entered. Sitting there on the bed with his legs folded under him, perked up at attention, the man looked like an eager schoolchild waiting to be called on. His consort had yet to speak a single word to him, but Zhenya was utterly charmed.

Zhenya shut the door behind him and lurked there for a moment, not quite sure how, exactly, to approach having sex with this man. Should he just climb aboard and go to it? Seemed so abrupt, and borderline rude. There was no need for pretense  -- they both knew why they were here -- but that didn’t seem like any reason to abandon all niceties, just because they couldn’t make small talk or kiss.

His consort seemed to sense his hesitation -- he took a breath, unfolded his legs, stretched out and...well, there was no other way to put it...displayed himself.

Zhenya’s breath caught. His husband -- it still felt new and strange to even think the word --  was toned and muscular, with magnificent thighs and a narrow waist, the V of his hips drawing Zhenya’s gaze to his impressive cock, sizable even in its flaccid state. Zhenya couldn’t see the man’s face, but he knew that the consort was watching him.

Zhenya slipped out of his dressing gown, revealing his own nudity. His cock was filling rapidly; his balls felt heavy beneath it, as if the task he was here to accomplish weighed upon them. He let his eyes roam up his consort’s strong legs and hips, and all at once he knew what he wanted.

He stepped to the foot of the bed and made a “turn over” motion with one hand. The consort rolled over, keeping his drapings carefully in place, and Zhenya’s cock plumped further at the sight of him. He knelt on the bed and slid his hands to his consort’s hips, urging him up to his knees. Free now to do so, he palmed the smooth, muscled globes, slipping his thumbs between them. The consort arched his back and pressed into Zhenya’s touch in a silent urge to keep going.

Zhenya parted his cheeks, exposing his hole, and then swiftly buried his face there, swiping his tongue up the center with a low growl. He’d wanted to eat this ass since he’d first laid eyes on it, and the reality was even better than his fantasy. The consort smelled clean and masculine, electric like the scent that rose from the earth after a thunderstorm, and Zhenya felt him jump and shudder at the sudden contact. He slipped off his hands where he’d braced on them and sank down to rest on his elbows, dipping his back lower and pressing his ass into Zhenya’s face.

Zhenya relished in the breathy gasps he was wringing from his mate as he worked him over with his mouth. The consort’s cock hung heavy and hard now between his thighs, dripping; Zhenya reached up and stroked it in time with the thrusts of his tongue. He could feel his consort’s pussy getting slick as well; he dipped his tongue lower to swipe across it, drawing a deeper shudder. His own arousal was cresting; he might come without even a hand to himself at this rate, and he had a job to do.

He left off his attentions and knelt up behind his husband, who read the change and moved to spread his thighs and present himself. Zhenya grasped his hips and mounted him quickly, not wanting to finish prematurely and cause an awkward delay while he worked back up to hardness. The consort met his thrusts eagerly, his erection still bobbing free; Zhenya wanted to hang on long enough to bring him to completion as well. He grasped his husband’s cock again and stroked him, keeping a rhythm he hoped would be pleasing; evidently it was, for after only a few strokes the consort stiffened and came over Zhenya’s hand, his passage pulsing and clenching and drawing Zhenya’s orgasm from him. He thrust deep and came hard into his husband’s body, visualizing again a successful conception.

As they both came down, breathing deeply in counterpoint, Zhenya withdrew and collapsed onto his back at the consort’s side. His mate stayed where he was for a moment, then he rolled to his back and tucked his legs close to his chest, wrapping his arms around them. Zhenya recognized this as a superstitious posture to maximize the chances of conception. He had his doubts about its effectiveness, but it wasn’t his place to judge his consort’s habits, or his superstitions. What was the harm? After a few minutes during which Zhenya looked his fill at his husband’s fine body while he was otherwise occupied, the consort uncurled himself and rose. He turned to face Zhenya, put his hand to his chest and gave him a little bow, then quickly left the room. Zhenya lingered for a moment, enjoying the lazy post-sex lassitude, before he began to feel self-conscious and retreated to his own chamber to clean up and dress before dinner.

------

Zhenya was restless that night. He hadn’t eaten much at dinner, so distracted had he been by thoughts of the surprisingly good sex he’d had with his new husband, not to mention everyone’s endless teasing about his newlywed status. His consort had not been present; it was nearly impossible for embargoed spouses to share meals given the drapings and veils required, not to mention the restriction on both of their speech, so consorts typically ate privately, in the company of their own guards and attendants where they would be allowed to remove their veils. In fact, Zhenya hadn’t seen his consort all evening, and would very likely not see him again until the next day’s 3:00 appointment.

He wondered how many of those appointments they would have. Their wedding would have been scheduled to coincide with his consort’s most receptive time, which would last for as long as a week, but after that the odds of conception were low. The usual custom was that relations took place only if both parties desired them to, until the next cycle of fertility came around. His consort had seemed to enjoy their appointment today, but would he wish to continue when his chances of conceiving dropped? Zhenya would leave that decision to him. 

Dammit. Now he was restless and hungry. He glanced at the clock -- after midnight. The kitchens would be deserted.

He rose and put on slippers and his dressing gown and snuck down the back staircase to the kitchen.

Which...was not deserted.

Sitting at the long stainless-steel prep table, holding a large bowl of ice cream and spoon frozen halfway to his mouth, staring at Zhenya with wide, surprised eyes, was one of his consort’s guards, the one he’d noticed earlier with the bow legs and the handsome face. As Zhenya watched, a dribble of ice cream slid from the corner of his mouth and fell to the spotless tabletop. He looked like a child, caught stealing sweets from the cupboard.

“Well, you’re caught,” Zhenya said. “Off to the gallows with you.”

The man seemed to remember himself. He dropped the bowl and spoon with a clatter and jumped to his feet, saluting smartly -- it looked odd on a man clad in a threadbare t--shirt and loose sleeping pants. “Your Royal Highness, my apologies. I…”

“At ease,” Zhenya said, flapping a hand. “I just came down for a late night snack myself. Looks like you had the same idea.” He went to the cabinet, in search of the graham cookies that were his favorite. “Ah ha,” he said, pulling out a tin. He poured some milk and joined his mystery guest at the island. The guard had resumed his ice cream binge. Zhenya peered over. “What flavor is that?”

The guard licked his lips. “Butter pecan.”

“Mmm. My favorite.”

“Mine, too.” He looked down at his bowl of ice cream, then cleared his throat. “Sir, I really do apologize. I’m…”

“Never mind. You don’t report to me, right? We’re...colleagues. If anything. Besides, I’d be a fool not to make friends with one of the men who guards my husband.”

The guard tilted his head to the side with a shrug, a “that’s a good point” sort of gesture. He thought for a moment, then stuck out his hand. “I’m Sidney,” he said.

Zhenya shook it. “Call me Zhenya.”

“Hoo, I don’t know if I can do that.”

“How about just here in the kitchen, and only after midnight?”

“I’ll try.”

Zhenya ate two cookies and washed them down with milk. “Have you been guarding His Highness for long?”

Sidney swallowed. “I’m new. Transferred into the Consort’s detail from the Prime Minister’s.”

“So you transfer in and immediately get stationed halfway across the world?”

This statement was met with a blank look. “That’s why I transferred. I wanted to come. See another place, experience a different kind of life. I’d never left New Scotland before, so when the Earl -- sorry, the Consort -- asked me if I’d like to join his guard, I said yes.”

Zhenya wondered if this new guard would be more amenable to divulging intelligence than his captain was. The consort might be dedicated to the integrity of the embargo, but Zhenya wasn’t above a little snooping. “So you don’t know the Consort very well yet?”

“No, I’ve known him since we were kids. I just never guarded him before.”

“He seems like a good man.”

“That’s not for me to judge.” He hesitated. “But that’s what’s said of him.”

“What does he look like?”

A smirk spread over Sidney’s mouth. “You know I’m not supposed to talk to you about him like that. The embargo and all.”

“Is he handsome? Tell me that much.”

Sidney flushed a little and looked away. Zhenya wondered why he’d find that question embarrassing. “He’s...often told that he is.”

“Hmm. Well, I hope I’ll get to see for myself.”

“I’m sure he does, too.”

“His mother said he had a lot of marriage proposals.”

Sidney snorted. “Yeah. Most of them boring as shit, or rich people who wanted a spouse with a title.”

“You knew who’d proposed to him?”

“Everyone talked about it. Heck, people were laying bets on who he’d accept.”

“What were my odds?”

Sidney grinned. “Even. Best odds in the pool. I told him he should bet on one of the long shots then pick him, take the money and run off to the country.”

“Not a bad plan.”

He shrugged. “He’s the one who has to marry the guy.” He blinked, hearing what he’d just said. “Sorry. That wasn’t...I didn’t mean to insult you. I’m glad he picked you.”

“No insult taken.” Zhenya ate another cookie. “I hope he’s glad, too.”

Sidney smiled. “Yeah. I think he is.”

Next Chapter

[pug-bitch]

That’s not why I’m going (40)

Team Peacock

Book: The Royal Romance

Pairing: Drake Walker x Amara Suarez

Rating: some foul language, some extremely suggestive. This is absolutely NOT appropriate for people under 18.

Word count: around 5,500 - oops (once again I’m on my iPad and can’t figure out the ‘keep reading’ thing, I’m sorry for the huge post!)

Notes: This picks up pretty much where we left off, after Drake, Amara, Max, and Michael leave the Ball, starting with Michael’s POV. This is the last chapter of Book 1, I will come back soon with the 1st chapter of Book 2, with a slightly altered title :) Thank you everyone for your awesome feedback, I’ve been super spoiled with you all! ❤️

*****

Michael has been silent the entire car ride. As soon as Amara suggested she and Drake get out of there, Max offered to give everyone a ride back to Ramsford. Michael knows his sister; there is no way to make her change her mind when she’s sure of something.

She and Drake had a contingency plan, and they are heading to Paris as soon as they can get a flight out. They’re going to find Drake’s sister, who has dropped off the face of the Earth a while ago. Amara apparently found out where she lives, and now they’re going there.

That’s his girl, the woman who puts her awesome detective skills at the service of those who need it.

But he worries that she’s leaving for the wrong reasons. That she’s acting out of fear, out of anger, out of all those impulsive feelings that got woken up when everyone got a glimpse of the night when she almost got assaulted.

Right now, she and Drake are in the backseat, on their phones, looking up flights. Drake’s brow is furrowed, and so is Maxwell’s, which lets Michael believe that they are on the same boat as he is: worried about the reasons why Amara’s so adamant about leaving.

Again, he knows her. She is as stubborn as Sergio was, and there’s little to no way to make her change her mind.

But he’d sure like to try.

*****

‘Babe, do you have space in your bag for this?’ Amara asks him as she holds out a bulky toiletry bag, filled with lotions.

Drake nods. ‘Sure. Give it to me.’ He pauses. There’s no right way of telling her about his doubts. ‘Suarez, are you certain you wanna do this?’

She snorts, as she energetically zips up her suitcase. ‘Yeah, fuck that. I���m not staying one more minute in this toxic place.’

He understands. Of course he understands. But he also knows that running away is not the solution, and maybe she will regret doing that, as soon as they’ve found Savannah and she no longer has a short-term goal. They’d been happy here, hadn’t they? Of course they were sneaking around, but they made amazing memories with their friends, and life was pretty good here. He knows that Amara agrees with that. He knows she loves Cordonia, probably even more than Drake does.

Maybe they should just stay put, wait until this blows over, and live at the cabin or something.

Amara stops moving for a second, and sighs. ‘I know what you’re thinking. You think I’m running. But what else can I do? Keep letting myself be victimized by this whole fucking country? No, I’m done turning the other cheek.’

Drake nods. ‘I get it. I can’t take much more, either.’

She smiles and approaches him to give him a warm hug. ‘Babe, this is temporary, we’ll see everyone again, you know that? We just need to find your sister, she needs you more than anyone here.’

He smiles and places a soft kiss on her lips. She kisses him back, deeper, until they’re so far gone in their bubble that they forget what they were even talking about. Amara breaks their kiss for a second, and says, ‘I love you, Drake.’

He smiles. ‘I love you too.’

At the end of the day, he’ll do whatever she wants him to do. This is the woman he loves. This is the woman who brought him back to life. Whatever she wants, she’ll get.

But he can’t shake the feeling that giving up on clearing her name means that the people who wanted to bring her down have won.

*****

Olivia swings the door to Ramsford open. She and Hana heard by Bertrand that the others had left and Amara and Drake were on their way to Paris, and Olivia was furious. She demanded that Bertrand drive them back to Ramsford immediately, and when his driving was way too slow for her liking, she took it upon herself to be the pilot. Upon entering his mansion, Bertrand’s coloring was very similar to that of his sweater vest. Olive green.

‘Where the fuck is she?’ Liv groans as she spots Michael and Max having a drink in the living room.

‘In her bedroom,’ Max responds, ‘they’re packing.’

Olivia stops right in front of Maxwell and points an angry finger at him. ‘And you’re letting this happen? What the fuck, Beaumont? Weren’t you supposed to be the voice of reason? She’s running away from her life, again? No offense, Michael.’

‘None taken,’ Michael says, visibly terrified.

Maxwell takes a deep breath. ‘Liv, there is no convincing her. She is adamant. Plus, can you blame her? Two nights in a row, she is put on the spot and humiliated in public. Tonight was the last straw.’

Liv chuckles. ‘Oh, that’s rich. The last straw was when this one—‘ she gestures to Hana— ‘was outed at court. We should have just thrown in the towel that day, because it was the last fucking straw, but we stuck it out! The country is at the hands of a manchild and a psychopath, and now she’s leaving?’ She strides to the staircase and makes her way upstairs.

*****

Hana sits at the table with Maxwell, Michael and Bertrand. She grabs a tumbler and pours herself a large dose of whiskey. Tonight, she needs it.

‘Guys,’ she says softly, ‘Liam told me he still plans to give her Valtoria. But she needs to clear her name. We need to investigate and make this right.’

Maxwell throws his hands up. ‘I know, hun, but she doesn’t want to. She kept saying that Cordonia can go fuck itself, and that she’s outta here.’

Bertrand scoffs. ‘Oh! That can’t be right. It’s not Cordonia’s fault if some...bastards are taking pleasure in humiliating nice ladies.’

Hana smiles and puts her hand on Bertrand’s forearm. ‘She’s angry, Bertrand. She’s tired. I get it. But she can’t give up. We have to convince her. This whole affair needs justice, we can’t let them win.’

Michael nods curtly. ‘Agreed.’

*****

Amara and Drake are in the middle of getting undressed. Drake’s belt is undone and his shirt open, and Amara’s dress is on the floor. As Drake took it off her, she said ‘Take that fucking thing off me, I don’t wanna see another stupid gown ever.’ Now he’s working on unhooking her bra and kissing her neck, drawing low groans from her.

‘Suarez!’ Olivia screams as she flings the door open.

Amara jumps up and Drake gasps in surprise. ‘Liv!’ Amara screams, covering herself with her discarded gown.

‘Oh please,’ Liv says as she closes the door behind her, ‘nothing I haven’t seen.’ A pause ensues. She continues. ‘What, too soon? Come on. What happened tonight was a fucking disgrace, and if you’re leaving town because of it, it’s the dumbest fucking thing you’ve ever done. You need to face your demons for once in your fucking life, Amara.’

Amara freezes upon hearing her friend’s cutting words. ‘You—you don’t mean that, Liv. I’ve been doing my best—‘

‘It’s not enough!’ Liv screams. ‘You can’t just up and leave. You’ve been so worried about Walker ruining his friendship with Liam, and now you’re forcing him to come to Paris with you, and miss his supposed best friend’s engagement tour? Please. All you’ve ever cared about is yourself.’

Drake steps toward Liv, not even bothering to cover his bare chest. ‘Liv, you’re crossing a line. We’re going to Paris because Amara has found my sister, and you call her selfish?’

Liv rolls her eyes. ‘Please. You two aren’t going on a normal trip to reunite with little Savannah, no, you’re fleeing, there’s a difference.’ She looks down. ‘And you didn’t even have the decency to say goodbye. If I hadn’t come back—‘

Amara feels tears coming up. She fights them down. ‘Liv, I was gonna call you…’

‘Bullshit. Call me? Pff. That’s the fucking bare minimum. Just say it, be honest, Amara. You didn’t even think about how I would feel.’

Olivia’s voice cracks on the last word, and so does Amara’s heart. Olivia’s half-right. Amara didn’t want to see her before leaving, because she knew this very thing would happen: she would try to convince her not to give up. Except that she’s tired. She doesn’t have it in her. She takes a deep breath and says, ‘That’s not true, Olivia. I did think about it, and frankly, I didn’t think I could take the confrontation.’

Olivia gets up and heads for the door. ‘Well, I was wrong about you, Suarez. I never pegged you for a quitter.’

*****

After a tense goodbye session with Maxwell, Michael, Hana, and Bertrand, Drake ordered a car to the airport. They managed to get last minute tickets to Paris, with a million connections. The trip will be tedious, especially since Amara is still upset from her fight with Olivia. Drake knows how close the two women had gotten over the past few weeks, and their fight today was very ugly. He wishes he could do more, to make Amara feel better, but she doesn’t seem to be open to conversation.

He flashes back to when they first met, and she refused to tell him anything about her old life. At the time, it was mysterious, endearing, and even sexy. Now, as they’re in a committed relationship, her silence is grueling. This isn’t how she’s been ever since they got together. During the months she spent in Cordonia, she had opened up to the world, had laughed more, and had talked about her trauma. Now, she was silent, and on the verge of tears, in the back of an Uber.

He strokes her hand. She smiles faintly, and rests her head on his shoulder. He kisses her hair.

‘I promise I’ll be more fun when we get to Paris,’ she whispers. ‘It’s just a little hard right now.’

He gets it. It’s hard for him, too. Amara is his home now, obviously he’ll follow her wherever. But these circumstances… He hates to admit it, but it really feels like Olivia is right. They’re not travelling, they’re fleeing.

His phone buzzes. He reaches inside his pocket and takes it out. Liam.

Drake, tonight was crazy. Hope you guys are ok. Call me when you can.

He sighs. After everything, he does feel bad for Liam. He’s been manipulated into a toxic engagement, and if nothing changes, he’ll be stuck in an awful marriage.

They’ve had their differences, and Drake sure doesn’t appreciate his change of personality, but he still feels responsible. He was supposed to be there for him. He texts back.

Everything ok for now. I’ll call you soon, I might have gotten a hold of Sav.

Dots appear right away.

Wow!! That is great. Some good news in this ocean of shit… Keep me posted.

He puts his phone away. Amara snuggles up to him more, and whispers. ‘I’m sorry. I ruined everything.’

He kisses her head. ‘How can you ruin everything when you are everything? Relax. Everything will be ok.’

*****

‘I’m sorry you came here to see Amara, and now she’s gone,’ Maxwell says sadly.

Michael smiles and takes another sip of his whiskey. ‘It’s fine, I can change my flight.’

Maxwell waves him off. ‘No, you should stay and enjoy. Plenty of space here. Hana, same for you, honey. Please stay as long as you want.’ He pauses and looks into his glass. ‘I’m not ready to lose everybody at once.’

Michael sets down his glass in a loud thump, which draws a gasp from everyone at the table. ‘Yeah, Max, you’re not losing anyone. Feel like a good old-fashioned airport chase?’

Maxwell gasps excitedly. ‘OMG...always.’

*****

Liam sighs as he puts his phone aside, anxiously waiting for a sign from his best friend. He can’t shake the feeling that he fucked up badly. He glances at the mirror, not ready to get out of the bathroom. Madeleine is waiting for him in the study, and he doesn’t want any of the options that are going to be presented to him.

‘Li, open up,’ he hears his brother’s voice say.

Liam opens the door to see Leo, his bow tie undone, and a chilled bottle of white wine in hand.

‘Dude, let’s pop this open. You’re gonna need it if you wanna survive your engagement. I should know.’

Liam chuckles as he takes the bottle to open it. Yes, Leo knows how Madeleine is. But does he, though? He fled as soon as their engagement was pronounced, and plus, Madeleine seems to have gotten a lot worse this time around. Liam pours two glasses and hands one to his brother. ‘Leo, this whole thing—‘

‘It was very messy, I’m not gonna lie,’ Leo interrupts as he grabs his glass and raises it before bringing it to his lips. ‘Any news from everyone who fucked off before it was over?’

Liam nods. ‘Yes. Maxwell called me, and Drake texted, I’m waiting for his call, actually.’

Leo nods and opens his mouth to say something, but closes it immediately. Liam frowns. Since when does he brother think before he talks? Leo takes another sips and says, ‘What about Lady Amara? Did you have any idea she was boning Tariq?’

Liam shakes his head vigorously. ‘No, and she isn’t. Those pictures were staged. She was almost assaulted by him, and I suppose someone took those photos at the exact right moment.’

Leo frowns. ‘So that’s why she looked on the verge of tears. Wow. Whoever did this is a fucking bastard.’

Liam nods as he takes a sip. ‘Agreed. I just don’t know what to do now, Leo. I don’t want her to leave, but I also don’t blame her.’ He pauses. ‘I want to give her Valtoria, still. But right now, the press is having a field day, and it wouldn’t be received well. This needs to be sorted out. I need to make this right.’

Leo nods. ‘How are you gonna do this all the while being engaged to Regina George?’

Liam chuckles. Leave it to Leo to make obscure references that no one understands. ‘I can’t make waves right now,’ he replies. ‘But I can guarantee you that if I could break this engagement right this second, I would.’

*****

‘Here you go,’ Drake smiles as he hands Amara a cup of coffee. Probably not the most indicated before hopping on a multiple-layover flight, but she insisted.

‘Thank you,’ she says softly. She sips in silence.

Drake sits down next to her and rests his hand on her knee. They passed security very easily and are now at their gate, with some time to spare. Drake bought them beverages and a bunch of snacks, while Amara was sitting in silence.

What he wouldn’t do to rewind back to earlier today, when they were at the pool. He wouldn’t make the same mistake again, he wouldn’t let her go to the ball. They’d go to the cabin instead, and she’d be happy right now. She’d be catching up with Michael, and Drake would get to know him. No one would have been humiliated and exposed in public.

He keeps flashing back to the moment when the lights went off. For the first couple of seconds, his heart stopped. It was exactly like the day when his father died. The total blackout. The assassination attempt that led Jackson Walker to push the King out of the way.

The last time Drake had seen his father.

What had happened tonight broke his heart. Seeing those pictures up on the screen, and Amara’s facial expression upon seeing them, the trauma, the humiliation, the desire to get the fuck out.

He understands.

Of course he’s happy to be on his way to Savannah.

Of course he’s happy to be with Amara. But he would be, regardless of the plan. He’s not going anywhere without her.

Maybe she thinks he wants this. Maybe she thinks he’s so sick of the court that they both need to get out. Maybe she thinks this is the perfect opportunity.

But it’s not. All it will accomplish is take her away from the little stability she’s known recently. From the connections she’s made with her friends. Olivia is already pissed. Not that it’s a reason not to go, Liv is always pissed. But never at Amara.

He kisses the top of Amara’s head. She squeezes his hand, ever so slightly, her head still lowered. Drake could swear that she’s sniffling.

‘Amara!!!’

They both jump up in surprise, as they see Maxwell and Michael running towards them, out of breath.

‘Guys!’ Drake exclaims, suddenly as relieved as he’s ever been, even though he has no idea what’s going on. ‘What are you doing here?’

Maxwell stops in front of them, completely out of breath. ‘I—‘ he huffs and puffs, as if he’d been smoking a pack of cigarettes à la Don Draper, ‘Jeez, I’m out of shape.’ He sits on the floor, clearly about to die. ‘We got here as fast as we could. We bought the cheapest tickets to go past security, don’t tell Bertrand.’

Michael, so far still silent, walks up to Amara and wraps her in a tight hug. ‘Don’t go,’ he says.

Maxwell smiles at Drake. Drake smiles back, and says, ‘Guys, Max and I are gonna go to that bar over there. Max needs a drink. We’ll catch up with you later.’

*****

‘Michael, come on,’ Amara says, breaking away from their hug. ‘You’ve seen what happened, you know I have no choice.’

He holds out his hand and gestures towards the seats. She obliges. He sighs and says, ‘Hear me out. I know this is fucked up, I know this was not okay, what happened tonight.’

‘Fuck no it wasn’t,’ Amara says, suddenly worried her voice might break. ‘I can’t look any of them in the eye.’

Michael’s eyes widen. ‘Who’s ‘them’? People at court?’ She nods. ‘All of them?’ She shrugs. Michael throws his hands up. ‘You can’t rule out everyone just because a bunch of dicks did something terrible. Plus, by running, you’re kind of accepting their narrative.’

Amara pauses. No, he can’t be right. ‘I’m not running,’ she protests. ‘I’m going to Paris to find Drake’s sister. Max told you, right?’

Michael smiles and takes her hand. ‘I know the official reason. But I also know that Savannah isn’t going anywhere, and that you could very well go to Paris in a couple of weeks once you have processed this whole thing.’ He looks down and squeezes her hand harder. ‘I know your MO, Amara. You block it all out, you don’t want to hear about anything, and you think things are gonna go away if you proceed like that. But they’re not.’

Amara fights back tears. Second time today someone confronts her in a friendly intervention. She’s not gonna cry, dammit. ‘This has nothing to do with...with two years ago.’

Michael smiles at her, in a way that breaks her heart. She knows that, despite what she’d like to believe, he understands her more than anyone. He saw her at her low point. He whispers, ‘You can’t even say the words, Amara. That’s how running away feels. You can’t confront it, two years later. You say ‘two years ago’, or, as I call it, when Sergio was shot. And I lost my sister, because she couldn’t face me, and I made mistakes, and I wasn’t there for you like I should, and I let you isolate yourself. Well fuck that, I’m not doing that again.’ His voice is louder now, and he catches himself almost shouting. He continues, calmer now. ‘You can’t run away from what you’ve got, here. Drake is wonderful. I know he’s coming with you, wherever you decide to go, but you know what I mean. You fell in love here. There is something for you in Cordonia. You found amazing friends. Maxwell took it upon himself to fix our bond, and he did it. That’s the kind of friends you surround yourself with. Are you willing to not see them for a while because you can’t face, what? Two people at court? The media?’

Amara can’t fight the tears anymore. They’re falling down no matter what. She knows he’s right. ‘But—‘ she protests, ‘but everyone thinks I was sleeping with Tariq, and I wasn’t, but on some level, I kinda did what they accuse me of, you know. I am in a relationship with Liam’s best friend.’

Michael makes an annoyed face. ‘Oh, and you owe the court your body and your heart? Honey, by leaving now, you are giving everyone the impression that you’re ashamed. When really, what happened is that you were almost sexually assaulted by a dirtbag who has now fled the country. You are the victim here. Of that Tariq, but also of the people who staged this whole thing. Don’t you think you deserve justice?’

Damn, Amara thinks. Being a lawyer really was Michael’s calling. She sighs. ‘I can’t abandon Drake, I promised him to find his sister.’

Michael smiles. ‘And you will. But don’t leave now, please. It would mean too much if you did. To others, yes, but mostly...to yourself, hun.’ He kisses her hand. ‘You have to face this. You’re Amara Motherfucking Suarez, you can face anything. Stop believing that you can’t.’

*****

Amara and Michael are still talking near the gate, and Drake can’t stop looking over to see what’s going on. Maxwell puts his hand on Drake’s arm, reassuringly. ‘Hey,’ he says, pushing his beer towards him, ‘drink this, you didn’t pay airport prices for nothing.’

Drake smiles weakly. ‘Max,’ he whispers, ‘I don’t know what to do. I don’t want to go to Paris just yet, I wish we could stay. Amara will regret it if we just run, you know. And...maybe I will, too.’

Maxwell nods. ‘I know. We all agree. But let Michael work his magic,’ he gestures towards the gate, ‘he’s a lawyer, he knows what he’s doing.’

Drake chuckles. ‘True.’

Maxwell pauses and continues. ‘Drake, are you ok? I thought of you, too, tonight, when the lights went off. It must have brought up terrible memories.’

Drake sighs deeply. ‘Yeah, it did. But I have to move forward, you know.’ He takes a sip of his overpriced beer. ‘Thank you for thinking of me, though.’

Max smiles broadly. ‘Of course. We’re co-uncles, after all!’

‘Right! Well, don’t get me wrong, I can’t wait to meet the little guy and to see Sav again, but…’

Maxwell nods. ‘I know. Now feels rushed. Plus, I don’t know what you think, but I believe it would be more fun if we were all to come with you guys. Make a trip out of it.’

Drake smiles. A few months ago, a collective trip would have sounded like a nightmare. Now, he would love it. Of course, being alone with Amara is still what he wants most, but that’s what locked doors are for.

Maxwell continues. ‘Plus, there might be a way to arrange for that to happen. Two birds, one stone.’

Drake raises an eyebrow. ‘Do tell.’

‘Well, we can all go on the engagement tour. We can arrange it with Liam. It goes through Paris in a couple of weeks, we can look for Sav then. It would allow for Amara to clear her name and to show she’s not hiding. And also…’ He pauses, a guilty look on his face.

‘What, Max?’ Drake asks, worried.

‘Well, I know Liam has been a dick. I know he’s been very self-centered and all, and I haven’t forgiven him for his attitude towards Amara. But…’

Drake nods. ‘I know. I feel the same. I don’t feel good about leaving him to be engaged to a woman who manipulates and forcefully outs people.’

Maxwell smiles. ‘We’re on the same page, then.’

Drake gasps. Amara and Michael are walking over to them, a faint smile on their faces. They are both holding Drake and Amara’s carry-ons. Maxwell grabs Drake’s arm excitedly.

Without saying a word, Amara plants a kiss on Max’s cheek, and goes straight to Drake. She wraps him in a tight hug, which draws a relieved sigh from him. She kisses his neck a million times, and whispers in his ear, ‘I’m sorry babe. I acted like a coward, when you clearly told me that you were partial to staying. Please forgive me.’

He breaks away from her hug, only to kiss her passionately. ‘I know this was hard for you. I didn’t want to push you. And for what it’s worth, you could never be a coward.’

Michael chuckles. ‘That’s what I said. She’s Amara Motherfucking Suarez, after all.’

Drake laughs. ‘Exactly.’

Amara pulls Drake closer again. ‘Do you mind if we stay? I want to face this head-on. We’ll find Savannah soon, but leaving now…’

Maxwell smiles broadly. ‘We were just saying the exact same thing. In fact, we have a plan.’

*****

Amara listens carefully and nods. Maxwell is right. She needs to clear her name, even if she doesn’t care what other people think. She needs to stand up for what’s right and she won’t accept the blame for something she was a victim of.

She’s sitting as close to Drake as possible, not wanting to let go of him. She feels like a terrible partner right now. He clearly expressed his opinion earlier, and she brushed him off with her desire to get out as fast as possible. They’re a team, and she kinda forgot that for a second. She’s not used to people being on her team, not since two years ago. Not since Sergio died, and she isolated herself.

But now, she has other people to think of. Drake, the man she loves. Her family. Her friends.

Drake strokes her arm lovingly, his other arm around her. ‘So, what do you say, babe? We completely get it if you don’t want to go on the tour. You can say no at any time.’

She nods. ‘I’m in. Let’s do this.’

Maxwell squeals. ‘Woo! Overpriced beer for everybody!’

Amara laughs. ‘Plus, it will feel like an undercover mission, you know. Old times.’

Michael smiles. ‘You’ve missed it, huh?’

Amara blushes. Yes, yes she has. ‘Yup.’ She plays with Drake’s glass absentmindedly. ‘Captain Braugher would be impressed, an undercover job with royalty…’

Michael laughs. ‘That man always terrified me, but he had a real soft spot for you.’ He reaches for Amara’s hand. ‘I’m glad you’re staying, hun. You’re running out of continents.’

Amara lets out a throaty laugh and playfully swats his hand. ‘You bastard,’ she jokes.

Drake laughs along and says, ‘Guys, keep my expensive beer cold for me, I have a phone call to make.’

*****

The phone doesn’t ring for long. Drake can’t help but think that Liam has been waiting for his call, which breaks his heart a little bit. ‘Hi, Drake,’ Liam says.

‘Hey, Li. Sorry it took me so long. I was making some last minute decisions regarding Sav,’ he lies. Well, half-lies. It’ll do, for now. ‘How are you holding up?’

Liam sighs. ‘Not great. I’ve been with Leo, I’m delaying meeting Madeleine, I just don’t know what to do.’

‘Look, I’ve talked to Max, and we want to help you break your engagement. We think we can pull it off, along with clearing Amara’s name. All we need to do is some sleuthing, to find out about who leaked all those pics. Maybe find Tariq, he’s gotta be somewhere. As you know, Amara’s a detective, and she can do that sort of stuff.’

Liam quickly replies, ‘That sounds great. Do you think you can all come on the engagement tour? It starts on Friday, so you have a few days to move things around. We’ve commissioned a train, we’ll go to Rome, Paris, and London. Then, we’re all flying to New York for the last leg of the trip.’

Drake nods. ‘We’re all in. To tell you the truth, I’m happy we’re going to Paris. It’s, um… it’s where Savannah has been.’

Liam gasps. ‘Oh my God, Drake, really? Well that’s wonderful. We’ll be in Paris two weeks from now. You’ll see her then. Is that ok?’

Drake smiles. ‘Yeah. And Liam?’

‘Hm?’

Drake pauses. ‘I’m sorry I’ve been distant. I want to make up for it. I’m gonna help you get your life back.’

Liam sighs. ‘Thank you, Drake. Oh, and you can tell Max that I’m hiring a PR person for Amara. We’re all in this together, she’ll have her name cleared in no time, and she’ll be able to claim Valtoria.’

Drake swallows hard and slow. ‘That’s great,’ he forces himself to say. ‘I’ll let Max and Amara know. Hey, Li, don’t sweat it, ok? Just be normal with Madeleine, don’t force yourself to do or say anything. Be yourself, everything will be fine.’

‘Thanks, man, I appreciate it. I’ll be in touch for the planning of the tour.’

*****

‘Bertrand, pop the champagne!’ Maxwell shouts out as he plops down on the couch back at Ramsford.

Bertrand comes out of his study wearing a burgundy silk robe with so many tassels that Amara can’t even count them. ‘Maxwell,’ he whispers, ���it’s very late, I was worried about you all. Hana just turned in, please keep your voices down.’

Maxwell mouths ‘I’m sorry’, and walks to the kitchen with his brother to fill him in.

‘If you’ll excuse me,’ Michael says softly, ‘I’m gonna go to the kitchen too to see if I can find a snack… Is it just me, or is the food at court a little scarce?’

Drake’s eyes widen. ‘That’s what I’ve been saying for YEARS, Mike.’

Amara smiles and sits down on the couch. Drake follows suit. She stares at her phone and puts it away, sadly.

Drake looks at her and raises an eyebrow. ‘Still nothing from Nevrakis?’

She shakes her head. ‘Nope. She won’t take my calls, or answer my texts. I really pissed her off.’

Drake smiles. ‘You’ll find her tomorrow. Once she sees you listened to her and stayed, she’ll cool down.’

Amara nods. ‘Thanks for being there for me,’ she says. ‘I’ll never thank you enough.’

He kisses her tenderly. ‘I’ll always be there.’

She nods. ‘So will I. I need to tell you something.’

He looks panicked for a second. ‘What?’

She smiles and strokes his cheek. Her heart feels full. ‘I was a shitty girlfriend today. Only thought of myself and the quickest way out of here. There’s a bunch of things I didn’t see.’

He smiles and takes her hand. ‘Suarez, you had something traumatic happen to you tonight. You’re allowed to think about your own feelings for…’ He glances at his watch. ‘What, five hours? It’s a pretty sweet deal.’

She smiles and kisses his lips. ‘Still. When the lights went dark, I heard several people freak out, and I realized that they must have thought it was some kind of attack…’ she pauses and strokes his hand with her thumb. ‘Like the one that killed your dad.’

He blushes, and looks down. ‘Babe, I’m fine. I promise. It did cross my mind but then, all I wanted was to protect you.’

‘I know, and I want to protect you, too. We’re a team, Drake. Partners. I just want you to know that you can talk to me about anything, anytime, like I can do with you.’

Drake smiles broadly, his face beaming. ‘What the fuck did I do to deserve you?’

Maxwell barges in with a bottle of champagne, followed by Bertrand and Michael, each holding a tray of snacks. ‘Woooo!’ Maxwell says softly. ‘To Amara fighting back!’ He says as he pops the cork. ‘Team Peacock for the win.’

Bertrand chuckles. ‘Team Peacock? Who is that?’

Maxwell shrugs. ‘It’s us, Bertrand! We’re Team Peacock! They’re the best animals, plus no one takes them seriously because they’re fabulous, but they are smart as hell.’

‘Are they?’ Drake asks, dubious.

‘Who cares?’ Maxwell laughs. ‘They’re awesome. Like Bertrand’s robe.’

Bertrand blushes and grumbles, ‘Well, no one was supposed to see it, you know.’

Amara grabs the glass that Maxwell is holding out to her and raises it. ‘To you guys. To Drake, the best partner I could dream of, and to the three of you, the best brothers a bitch can hope for.’

Maxwell clinks his glass with Amara’s. ‘To brothers!’

*****

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[jungkookienoona]

Would You Like A Taste? (M)

|Part 1|Part 2|

|Masterlist| Support Me on Ko-fi

Summary:

Jungkook has to face the consequences of his actions.

Genre: Smut, Vampire AU, Supernatural, elements of erotic horror

Pairing: Vampire!Jungkook X Reader (Y/N)

Warnings: Swearing, Sexual Situations, Blood, slight cannibalism (it’s like a 3 sentence paragraph), Jungkook’s personality flip-flops between precious bunny and sadist.

Would You Like A Taste has taken 2 years and has been in development since before Can I Have A Taste was rewritten please show it and me some love. I love getting asks or reading tags in reblogs. And remember, my writing can’t improve without feedback.

Word Count: 6769

Jungkook snapped out of his haze when his lips met yours. What had he done? He had only given into his lust for a moment, he didn’t think it would lead into a bloodlust. He fell to his knees with you in his arms. He never wanted to hurt you. His main priority was keeping you safe. But you just had to change your regular Friday routine.

He remembered following your scent to the club; you had looked so beautiful and he couldn’t help the old feelings that crept up. How he had crushed hard on you, how he had been planning on asking you on a date. How he never got that opportunity because he got talked into going to some stupid party, where he found himself getting cornered by some chick and waking up in a ditch about a week later.

“No… No no no no! Shit!”

One of his hands stroked the hair out of your face while the other held you firm to him, your breathing growing shallower by the second. How could he fix this? Could he save you at all? His heart sank at the only option that presented itself. No. He couldn’t do that to you. But time was running out.

“Please don’t hate me Noona.” He whispered before biting down on his own wrist.

A member of staff at the club discovered your lifeless body in the alley. She shrieked drawing the attention of others in the vicinity. It wasn’t long before the police turned up.

After a few days of investigation, it was deduced that your death was due to the over-consumption of alcohol. Your family to arrange your funeral, quickly wanting you to be at peace as soon as possible. They made sure you were buried in your hometown near the graves of your ancestors. The funeral was a family event so strange looks were given to the young man dressed in a black suit who stood near the back. He watched as the members of your family went up to your open casket saying their last tearful goodbyes; waiting patiently for them all to have their turn so that he would be the last to approach. When his time finally came, he was slow to move. Guilt washed over him. He was the reason you were in there, why your family would never see you again. Upon seeing your pallored face he couldn’t hold back the need to touch you, a hand coming to rest on your cheek. You were cold.

“This was never meant to happen... It’s all my fault... I’m so sorry Noona. I’m sorry” His voice was barely louder than the deafening silence as tears ran unbidden down his cheeks, falling to his knees.

Your family watched him break down into sobs; the young man dressed in black that no one knew yet vaguely recognised.

A month passed and there was still no sign of life from you. Jungkook had been sat by your grave every night with a shovel, waiting to dig you up. But as more time passed the more he grew to doubt himself. He hadn’t been quick enough. He had drained you of too much blood. Those thoughts circled his mind for hours on end as he sat there waiting. He even wore the same black suit that he had worn to your funeral. He watched as the colours of the sky changed from navy to black and then eventually to the peach of dawn. His head hung low, accepting the fact that he had killed you, that you would not be waking up and he would not be able to beg for your forgiveness. The sun began to crest on the horizon and Jungkook picked himself off the ground. He was reaching for his shovel when he heard it. When he heard you.

You woke with a gasp, surrounded by darkness. The fuck was going on? Where were you? Last thing you remembered was getting fucked in an alley outside the club and blood red eyes. Your breathing grew rapid as you realised you couldn’t see a thing and as you wriggled in your panicked state you found you were shut in a confined space. You were so focused on yourself you didn’t hear the sound of metal scraping against dirt at an inhuman speed. But what you did notice was the sudden light that shone into, what you now realised to be, your coffin as Jungkook wrenched the lid open. His smile was almost as radiant and bright as the dawn light that haloed him.

“Noona!” He shouted in glee.

“Asshole!” You shouted back with venom.

Jungkook’s smile dropped which brought you some satisfaction. His face became serious as he placed a hand over your eyes.

“Go back to sleep Noona. Don’t worry I’m taking you somewhere safe.”

Almost as if he had cast a spell over you, you fell back into darkness.

As soon as you had called him ‘asshole’ Jungkook knew you would struggle against him. It would be much easier to carry an unconscious you than a kicking and scratching you. So, he did the first thing that came to mind. He used his creator bond to knock you out.

The second time you woke up, you were on a plush sofa in a large living room. You sat up, taking in your surroundings. The sofa you were on was pink and Victorian-esque while the walls were teal and were decorated with what appeared to be family photos. Your curiosity got the better of you. You got off the sofa, walking up to the pictures. The first one that caught your eye was a group picture. Jungkook was in the centre, awkwardly smiling with six older looking boys surrounding him. Two of them had a hand on his shoulders, a guy with purple hair and a brunette. That wasn’t the only group picture of them either, nearly every picture on the wall was one. Except for six of them. In the six remaining pictures, each boy other than Jungkook was paired up with what appeared to be their significant other. You almost felt bad for him. Until you remembered what he had done to you. Anger flowed fresh through your veins once more.

“Yah! Jungkook-ah! Where are you?” You took another look around, “What the fuck is this place?!”

You heard footsteps approaching after. From the sounds of it they were coming from above you then down a staircase and when they stopped a sheepish Jungkook poked his head through the door. He had finally changed his clothes for the first time in a month. Not that you would’ve known. He was now wearing a form fitting white top that had a few holes here and there with three-quarter-length sleeves, and a pair of leather trousers that clung to his muscular legs like they were painted on. It appeared he had decided to forgo wearing shoes.

“You’re awake again.”

“No shit Sherlock; now tell me where I am.”

“We’re in my  family’s home.”

“Family?” Confusion was evident in your tone.

“Pop culture would call us a ‘coven’ but thanks to Twilight, we hate that word.”

Well... that explained nothing to you. You saw him take a step towards and instinctively took a step back. His features looked pained at your action.

“Please... Noona... don’t be afraid of me.”

Don’t be afraid of him? After what he had done to you? Did he really think he could get away with it?

“YOU KILLED ME!”

You noticed a newspaper, the front page had a picture of you smiling and the title read ‘Girl found dead in alley by female bartender’. A bit of a long-winded title that gave away the entire story of the article and it seemed a bit strange that there happened to be a newspaper with what happened to you on its front cover in the room; but it helped you to know what had happened.

“You left me in an alley to be found by a bartender?! The poor girl is probably traumatised!” Your voice portrayed how scandalised you felt at having been left there like that.

“I left you there for you own good! At least you got found.”

“I DIED! You should’ve taken me to a hospital!”

“It was too late, Noona. I didn’t have time. I had no choice but to turn yo-”

“Don’t try and reason your way out of this-”

“Y/N, please listen to me-”

“If you say that you did this for my own good, I swear I will-”

“I KILLED YOU. I was selfish. I drained you of your blood and this was the only way…” His fists were clenched as his voice strained with emotion at first before quieting down to a barely heard whisper, tears in his eyes threatening to spill over. “I lost control. I wanted you so bad and you felt so good… It brought up a hunger for you I didn’t know I had.”

You diverted your gaze, taking another step back when he reached for you.

“Kookie…”

His eyes widened, the nickname striking a cord, “Kookie?”

You shuffled from foot to foot.

“Jungkook…”

He stepped closer and you stepped back; your back coming into contact with a wooden side table causing a vase of flowers to wobble and fall. He caught it, placing it back on the surface but not retracting his hand from beside you. You were pinned in.

“Noona, please. You have to understand.”

“How could I possibly understand?! You disappeared! Do you know how many nights I stayed up crying when you vanished? Then you suddenly reappeared years later looking almost unrecognisable! You killed me on something less than a whim!”

You pushed his chest, Jungkook stumbled backwards at the force.

“I’m sorry.”

“That’s not good enough.”

“Noona…”

He reached for you again and you stumbled to the side, knees giving out. He was there, catching you before you fell with his arms around your waist as you both sunk to the floor. Your head was tucked against his chest and at first, he thought you had passed out until he heard a sniffle. He brushed a hand over your forehead, pushing back your fringe.

“You cried when I was gone? I thought you wouldn’t have cared.”

“Of course I cared. You were the sweet dongsaeng that kept sneaking snacks and vitamins into my bag when you thought I wasn’t looking while I was studying in the library.”

He was silent for a moment, hand carding through your hair,

“I was planning to ask you out before I was turned. But I went to a party, I was turned under similar circumstances to you… just without the sex.” He let out a soft chuckle at the last part.

You snorted, “Definitely wasn’t expecting to be shoved up against a wall and fucked by a vampire who just so happened to be my middle school crush.”

You felt his hand still, “I-I was your crush?”

Your cheeks grew warmer.

“Uh… surprise?”

He laughed to himself, nuzzling his nose into your hair, “I should’ve asked you out sooner. I’m so stupid.”

There was a pause in the conversation as you took a moment to think about how you would word what you wanted to say next.

“How long was I dead for?”

“A month. I almost lost hope. But at least you had a funeral; which I attended by the way, accidentally made quite the scene too. When I was turned I woke up in a ditch on a country road. I was lucky to have been found wandering lost and confused by Namjoon before I could attack someone.”

You finally looked up at him, your gaze meeting his as you realised that even though he was the one that killed you, he had at least shown some remorse and tried to give you a better start in your unlife than he had had. Even if that did mean leaving your body in an alley.

“The person that turned you… did you ever see them again?”

A grimace appeared on his lips as his eyes hazed over in memory, “I killed her about 2 months after I woke up, with the rest of my new family’s help. We had to wait for the creator bond to wear off before I could confront her but the other members kept tabs on where she was. Turns out she was considered a criminal in the vampire world.” He saw your puzzled look. “There’s a limit on how many we are allowed to turn, to keep our numbers in check. But she went way over the limit, basically turning anyone she bit. So my revenge was not looked down upon, I was getting rid of a pest.”

You felt your stomach drop at the thought of Jungkook being able to murder in cold blood. At least your death was more or less an accident on his part. But his creator’s death was premeditated. That wasn’t the Kookie you knew. Almost as if he could sense the fear that was making itself known to you again he pulled you closer to him in an attempted to comfort you.

“I was angry, Noona, much like you were- are. I had my life snatched away from me. My future was gone. I couldn’t see my family, friends or you again. I think that’s the thing that angered me most actually. That she had stolen my opportunity to ask you on a date. Even if it turns out you would’ve rejected me, I had wanted that opportunity to see if my feelings were returned.”

He had shifted you a bit while he was talking so that he could nuzzled into your neck and take in your scent, almost like he was trying to use it to soothe himself as shadows of his hatred towards his creator returned.

“You mentioned a ‘creator bond’. What is it that exactly?”

He hesitated for a second then leaned back to look at you again.

“It’s a type of… control that allows creators to control their creations for a month after they wake. It’s how I got you to fall back to sleep.”

Your eyes widened in alarm knowing that he could take away your free will at any moment, that he had already done so once. He felt you tense.

“I promise to use it as a last resort. Like if you present yourself as a danger.”

“How can I trust you not to abuse that power?”

“Because I never wanted this for you… I love you, always have. It’s never faded. But after what I’ve done to you I don’t blame you for distrusting me… If it will make you feel more comfortable I could ask one of the members’ mates to look after you for the first month? They live next door.”

You found yourself confused again. So much so it over rid your fear. Mates? These ‘mates’ living next door?

“What are mates?”

He smiled fondly at you, you felt his grip on you tighten slightly.

“‘Mates’ is short for soulmate. You know, people we’re destined to be with. Most mates are turned by the other. Though that wasn’t the case for Jin-hyung. He said that he met his mate a couple centuries ago because she was following him. He confronted her and, apparently, she had told him she couldn’t help herself, he was just too handsome.”

You laughed. You didn’t know who this Jin was but you laughed. Because from Jungkook’s tone of voice, he didn’t believe Jin’s story. You were somewhat surprised at how short lived your anger towards him was, being replaced by curiosity instead as he explained aspects of the life you would now be living.

“If you’re destined to be with them, why do you live separately?”

“Yoongi-hyung told me it was ‘to stop an eternity together from getting boring’. And though we’re one big family, we all like to have our alone time at points. You can’t exactly have that when sharing a room.”

“You said I could live with them if I wanted to. Implying that it would be fine if I decide I want to stay here with you. Why is it fine that I stay?”

He chuckled, finding your inquisitiveness cute.

“Because you’re unmated. And you’re the newbie. It just coincidence that all the females decided to live together. We would be totally okay with co-ed housing.”

“Oh… how does someone get a mate?”

One of his arms let go of you, his free hand coming up to awkwardly scratch that back of his neck, red dusting his cheeks. You realised that he was giving you what could be considered Vampire Sex Ed.

“Well first, you have to be a vampire. Then, uh, then… then you need to um… do the do…” You giggled at his awkwardness, this was the Kookie you knew. “When doing the do… uh I mean… when you’re nearing your finish… you and your partner need to b-b-bite each other and take in some of their blood. It creates a mating bond that leaves a permanent mark on the area you were bitten.”

As Jungkook described how vampires become mates you couldn’t help but think back to how you died. He had bitten you as he came. Something in your head clicked as the two pieces of information came together.

“K-K-Kookie… I think you tried to mate with me-”

“What?!”

You saw emotions flicker across his face. First confusion, then understanding, then embarrassment.

“Oh god.” His forehead came to rest on your shoulder as he came to realise that you were probably correct. The actions of that night matching up to the actions he had just described. “Lord kill me now.”

“Where would the fun be in that? I think you should continue living so you can look at me and forever be reminded that you tried to mate a non-vampire. Live with the shame.”

“Noona~!” He howled in humiliation, his face moving from your shoulder to your neck as if doing so could help him vanish into thin air. You had to stop yourself from shivering at the feel of his breath on your skin.

“Did your hyungs not educate you well enough?”

At that he lifted his head to look at you again, looking almost scandalised that you would try and place some of the blame on his hyungs. Then a playful glare made its way onto his features.

“They did. But I think I just love you so much I temporarily lost all rationality. You looked fucking hot that night Noona. Like damn.”

A thought came to mind.

“Jungkook, you ripped off my panties that night. Please tell me I was found wearing underwear.”

“Does it look like I carry a spare pair of panties in my pocket?”

“You could have given me your own.”

“I was commando, Noona, you know that! You saw!”

“I’m sorry if my memory is a bit foggy I was DEAD for a MONTH!”

At that reminder, his face fell a little, he gaze turning away from you as he scratched the back of his neck again.

“I went back to yours and grabbed a pair before rushing back to you. So, yes, you were found wearing underwear.” A small smile graced his lips at the thought of having done something right.

You couldn’t help but stare at him as he smiled, you brain noticing how much he had changed, physically. When you had last saw him, human him, he was a sweet 14-year-old with puppy fat, wide eyes and an emo style hair do. He had very much reminded you of a cute bunny. It was part of the reason you had had a crush on him. But now the Kookie that held you in his arms was chiselled, with a jawline as sharp as a knife. His eyes were still wide and doe-like but they held a maturity to them that hadn’t been there when he was younger. He had even had a growth spurt because you could remember him being shorter than you; now he towered over you. He was no longer a small fluffy bunny but a grown predator. It made him attractive in a different way. This observation caused a new question to bubble to your lips.

“I thought vampires didn’t age. Why don’t you look the same as you did back then?”

“A lot of my physical changes happened as a direct result of being turned. It kind of put my puberty into overdrive. When I looked at myself for the first time after being turned, I had completely missed out on maturing naturally and the person staring back at me was a full-grown adult. The clothes I had worn when I was turned were very… snug.”

Your eyes widened in shock. If he had changed after being turned, had you? Your hands flew to your face mapping out the surface of it to see if you could feel any changes. All you noticed was that your lingering acne problem had disappeared.

“Don’t worry, you still look like my beautiful Noona.”

You blushed.

“You still haven’t told me if you want to spend your first month here or in the mates’ house.”

“Do you want me to stay?”

“I want what makes you feel most comfortable.”

You took a second to think about it before looking at him and smiling.

“I think what would make me most comfortable would be staying with familiar face.”

The smile he gave you could’ve rivalled the sun in its brightness. You felt his hand twist in the material at the base of your spine and instinctively arched into the touch. Your chest grazed his and were suddenly aware of how close you were. His eyes, slightly narrowed as he too was wrapped up in the tension, glistened in the light streaming through the parted curtains behind you. You held your breath. If you were to lean in… His head dipped, lips meeting yours tenderly, so different to the rushed hungry kisses of the night you died. You almost felt like that Jungkook and the Jungkook that held you in his arms were two different people. One was dangerous and all-consuming the other gentle and loving. He broke the kiss, pulling away to look at you with half-lidded eyes.

“I’ve missed the feel of your lips,” He breathed, eyes falling shut as he rested his forehead against yours, “I don’t expect you to forgive me easily, I know that you must resent me for what I’ve done. Nor do I expect you to love me like I do you. Knowing that you once reciprocated my feelings when I was human is enough for now.”

You felt the need to reach out to him, to comfort him. But one last thing lingered in your thoughts.

“You… On that night, you said you had been wanting me for a while, yet today you say that you never wanted to hurt me. Which one is the truth?”

“Both.”

You frowned, anger bubbling in you again but he continued speaking, not giving you the opportunity to voice it.

“After I killed my creator you were all I could think about. Were you safe? Were you healthy? Had you been accepted into that specialist highschool I had overheard you talking about every now and then in middle school? I had spent nearly every night years patrolling the area you lived in to make sure it was vampire free. There were a few incidents but they were dealt with quickly.”

He shifted the both of you so he was led on the floor with your head resting on his chest as you led beside him. One of his arms rested behind his own head while his free hand stroked your hair, the sensation soothing you causing you to relax into him.

“At the same time, I craved you. I wanted nothing more than to hold you in my arms, to hear you moan my name, to taste the salt of your skin on my tongue. I wanted to watch you wither in pleasure that only I could give. And until that night I had been successful in holding back those desires.”

You felt a faint trickle of desire spread through you at his words but couldn’t stop yourself from trying to embarrass him.

“And you ended up trying to mate me but killed me instead.”

“Obviously I didn’t realise what I was trying to do at the time.”

“Does that mean you would try to mate me again?”

“Would you be adverse to it?”

“Depends, will I die?”

“For fuck sake Noona, I just explained it all to you.” He playfully slapped your arm as a show of mock agitation, you looked up at him confused.

“Yeah, I didn’t feel that.”

“Really? I put at least some effort into that,” You nodded causing him to grin like a cheshire cat, “I made a sturdy one. I don’t have to worry about breaking you now.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Answer my question and I’ll let you know what I meant.”

You looked away from him, a light blush on your cheeks as you thought about what he had asked moments earlier. Would you be against it? He had killed you and you were still pissed about it to an extent. But at the same time you died because he was just following instinct, he didn’t mean to kill you. And if mates were people destined to be together, was it fate that Jungkook didn’t know what the fuck he was doing? That he had unknowingly tried to mate a human.

“I’m not exactly against it. Doesn’t mean I forgive you… just… the sex was good.”

“Would you like another taste?” He said, quirking an eyebrow.

You sat up, “Another taste of what?”

“Me.”

“I don’t think I have tasted you, Kook.”

“Well, I’m not wearing underwe-”

“Are you asking me to-”

“Yes.”

“You really are a master of seduction.”

Jungkook waggled his eyebrows suggestively. “Don’t worry I shall teach you my ways”

“You ain’t teaching me shit”

“But Noona~!”

You straddled his lap causing him to look shook. You wiggled a bit to get comfortable accidentally creating friction over his crotch. Jungkook went from being shook to closing his eyes and moaning at your actions, hands coming up to your hips to stop you from moving so much.

“Noona, I need your answer, will you accept me as your mate? Because if you don’t want to or not ready then you need to get off me right now.”

You smirked, a plan forming in your mind, “And what would happen if I don’t move?”

“If you don’t then I’ll have you under me begging for me to mark you as mine. I’ll fuck you until your voice turns hoarse from screaming my name and my name alone. I won’t stop until you know how much I want you for myself. How much I need to have you. I’ve already gone so many years without you, I’m not willing to go a day more if I can.”

Your breathing stopped at the slight growl to his voice combined with his words. That little trickle of desire had suddenly become raging, you never knew such possessiveness could make you wet. He hadn’t even touched you. You placed your hands on his chest as your hips involuntarily ground against his growing hardness, a whimper escaping from you. You hadn’t realised your eyes had closed until a feral sound from Jungkook caused them to snap open. He grabbed the front of your dress, using it as leverage to pull you down into a heated kiss. You let out a little yelp as he flipped your positions then lightly bit your bottom lip. He trailed kisses from your lips to your neck, which he nipped and sucked at, creating small purplish marks that bloomed.

A small part of you realised that this was the Jungkook from that night. Yet you weren’t afraid. You were as welcoming of him now as you were back then. Your fingers clutched at his hair, breathing uneven. You felt his hands slip behind your back, locating the zipper of your dress and pulling it down. He sat back up and you noticed his eyes. They had gone from dark chocolate to coal black in his lust. Were your eyes the same?

“Dress. Off.” Came his gravelly voice and you were quick to comply, pulling the material up and over your head in seconds, tossing away.

He smirked at the sight of you, clearly enjoying seeing you in your underwear. A part of you wondered who had dressed you for your funeral because, honestly, when did a dead person need undies?

“Deep red suits you Noona but sadly that’s gonna need to come off too.”

You pouted, “It won’t be fair if I’m the only one naked.”

“Noona if I got undressed now this would end all too quickly. I want to savour this.” He took his top off anyway. “There. Does that make you happier?”

You hesitated, raising a hand to rest on his shoulder. It was the first time you had seen him shirtless and you marvelled at his muscular physique. Your hand moved to his bicep, giving it a light squeeze and feeling the hard flesh. Your other hand went to his pecs and travelled downwards to his abdominal muscles, feeling his breathing stutter as your fingers traced over a sensitive area just above the waistband of his leather pants.

“Enjoying yourself?”

You hummed and nodded, “I didn’t get to see you last time.”

“I didn’t really see you either. You were still wearing a dress back then.”

He grasped your waist and pulled you closer to him. His hands once again snaking up your back to undo your bra. When it came loose he tugged the material down your arms, carelessly tossing it behind him. His hand went to your shoulder, apply enough pressure for you to understand that he wanted you to lie back down. As you led back down a part of you wondered if vampires could get carpet burn.

You watched as he crawled up your body, his muscles tightened and relaxed as he moved, reminding you of a cheetah stalking its prey. He stopped once he was hovering over your form, his lips ghosting against yours as he rested his weight on his elbows either side of your head. You propped yourself up in order to capture his lips with your own, fed up with the distance that kept appearing between the two of you. One of your hands came up to grip the back of his hair so that the kiss wouldn’t break as you led back down, taking him with you. The kiss quickly growing in intensity; the naked flesh of your torsos coming into contact sending sparks of electricity through the both of you. Your other hand joined its partner in Jungkook’s hair, moaning into the kiss. Jungkook hips bucked against you at the sound, drawing another from you.

He was the one to break the kiss, eagerly kissing his way down to the tops of your heaving chest. You felt him gently run his teeth, no, his fangs over the tender flesh a moment before biting into it. There was a sharp pain at first that had your breath catching in your throat then coming out as a husky moan of pleasure. He moved away slightly, licking his lips, a cheeky grin appearing on his face.

“You’ll find that most vampires are sadomasochists. We naturally enjoy giving and receiving pain. Though if I remember correctly, you enjoyed being bitten as a human… until you realised you were dying.”

He went back to the bitemark, softly lapping at it to soothe the red area and a small moan slipped through your lips again. He chuckled, trailing his lips to your nipple and giving it a few quick teasing licks before taking the small bud into his mouth and sucking. This definitely felt way better than the quick fuck in the alleyway you had with him and he wasn’t even inside you yet. You knew he said he wanted to savour it but it was beginning to be too much, you wanted his teasing to stop. He pulled away from your nipple with a barely audible pop.

“I said I would make you beg for me Noona. I intended to do just that.”

He moved to your other breast to give it a similar treatment to the first making you keen and arch into his attentions, your hands’ grip tightening in his locks. But then he was moving again. His lips mapping your dips and curves while he travelled further down your body, every now and then biting you just hard enough to break the skin so he could lap up any of the delicious crimson that surfaced. Every piercing nip caused a burning pleasure to originate from the bleeding area.

“Does... my blood... really taste that good?” You managed to pant out. He wasn’t going to make you beg easily.

He hummed as he kissed the area he had just bitten, pulling back slightly to watch the bite mark heal and vanish, “Better than anything I’ve had before.”

A shiver ran down your spine as those red eyes from that night stared up at you. But it wasn’t fear.

“Do your eye always turn red when you taste blood?”

He smirked, “Yeah. Yours will do the same when you drink blood. In fact… I think you should know how it feels…”

He raised himself off you and shuffled forward, bringing a wrist to your lips.

“I’ll ask you what I did before. Would you like a taste?”

You hesitated. This was all new to you and quite honestly you felt as if you were thrown into the deep end. But you couldn’t deny, you felt a strong pull to bite down on the limb at your lips. So why fight against something so willingly offered? For the sake of maintaining humanity? You weren’t human anymore and it's not like humans are free from committing ‘monstrous’ acts.  Something in your gut told you to follow Jungkook’s orders.

Casting aside what reluctance you had, you allowed yourself to follow your new baser instincts. Lips parting to dig your fangs into the offered flesh. You marvelled at how easily it gave way. How the splash of life’s nectar that hit your tongue made you need more of it. Each gulp had you chasing a building high. Moans slipped out between every mouthful swallowed. In the back of your mind you registered Jungkook hitching your legs around his waist and his owns sounds of pleasure as he rutted against you. The whole act was carnal and vulgar and new. Your hips thrust upwards to meet him, making your high build quicker until, with a muffled scream, you came.

Jungkook ripped his arm from your mouth, not caring about the chunk of flesh it left behind, it would heal. He watched as you prepared to spit it out but he covered your lips with his hand.

“Swallow it, don’t want it going to waste now do we?”

Wasn’t that cannibalism? Surely Jungkook must’ve been joking. But his gaze was hard, no sign of amusement held in them. He was serious. With a shaky exhale through your nose, you chewed the meat, thrill seeping into your bones as the blood hidden inside was released, allowing you to swallow without a second though.

“Such a good Noona. Following my orders so nicely.” Jungkook cooed, caressing your cheek, “And as much as I would love to hear you beg, I’ve lost at my own game. I can’t wait any longer.”

He leant back, unravelling your legs from around him to slide your panties down your legs.

“It would be such a waste to ruin these. So I’ll just have to ruin you instead.”

“Yes Master.”

There was a beat of silence and then it dawned on you, what you had just said. Your face darkened in embarrassment, hands flying up to hide it. To hide you from your shame. Jungkook chuckled, shaking his head before focusing on your womanhood.

“My Noona has such a pretty cunt, I still remember how you tasted that night.”

You squealed when you felt his tongue lap at you slick.

“Your cum is so sweet, I would choose this over blood any day.”

You peeked from between your fingers, “D-d-don’t say things like that K-Kookie-” You cut yourself of with a cry when he sucked on you clit, two fingers working their way inside you.

“What happened to ‘Master’? I quite liked that word coming from those lovely lips of yours.”

You whined, turning your face away from the erotic view in front of you. Too embarrassed to look at him. “It-It was an a-HA-ccident.”

Jungkook paused, “Oh really? So you won’t say it again.”

You shook your head.

“Okay then, I guess I’ll stop.”

You snapped back to look at him, “Please don’t.”

He smirked up at you, “Then say it again. Call me ‘Master’.”

“P-please d-don’t stop M…. Master.”

Without wasting another second Jungkook had his tongue back on you, playing with your clit, his fingers curling you rub against your sweet spot. Hands tangled into his hair, pulling him impossibly closer as your hips bucked up, grinding against the wet muscle that dragged out whines and pleas for more. But all too soon he was drawing away from you despite the tugs on his hair.

“As much as I’d love for you to cum on my tongue, I’d much rather you came on my cock.”

He made quick work of the fastenings of his pants and even quicker in removing them. You wiggled in anticipation of what was to come, unable to keep still in your excitement. Aligned with your centre, he pushed into you with one smooth thrust, the two of you groaning in unison.

“Fuck, so tight. So hot. Just for me.”

His head fell to nestle into you neck, his body weight supported by his forearms, the sounds of his pleasure floating directly into your ear, sending shivers of desire down your spine. You legs came to wrap around his waist yet again, anchoring him to you as you encouraged him to go deeper with breathy pleas. Your hands tried to find purchase in his back, leaving red rivulets in their wake as they dug into muscle. Nips at the delicate skin of your neck sent jolts down to your core leading you to the euphoria to come.

“Keep clenching around me like that and I’ll come too soon Noona.”

You whimpered, your high not building quick enough for you, something was missing. You wanted to cum so badly. Jungkook lifted one your legs to his shoulder, the change in angle causing his pelvis to rub against your neglected clit. You withered beneath him, his name broken on your lips, a sight he had always wanted to see and Jungkook would be damned if he didn’t commit it to memory.  Catching a nipple in his mouth, he lightly bit at the nub, little droplets welling to the surface as you gave an erotic keen making his cock twitch inside you.

“I wanna cum, please make me cum.” You sobbed, fingers digging into his back, warm wet blood slicking their tips as you accidentally broke the skin.

Jungkook growled, sweat slicked hair strands sticking to his forehead as intense crimson eyes stared into your dazed ones, “Please what?”

“Please make me cum Master, I can’t take anymore.”

“Good Noona.”

A slap to your sensitive clit was all it took to send you hurtling over the edge into rapture, your back arching as your fangs embedded into Jungkook’s throat which he willingly bore to you. So caught up in you pleasure, you didn’t hear Jungkook’s cry of release, the sound of the door opening or the feeling of your own neck being bitten.

When your senses came back to you, the first thing you noticed was that Jungkook was growling, his arms wrapped possessively around you. And as you went to pull away, he refused to do the same, effectively blocking you from being able to turn your head. It seemed rather odd to you. Well odd until-

“Dammit brat this is why we have the basement!”

[dregstrash]

"bad idea" from waitress for zoyalai? 💙 -k

I’ve been wanting to listen to the Waitress soundtrack for forever, and this was a perfect excuse to do it. I love this song, and adding it to the musicals I should have listened to earlier.

So this is modern Zoyalai. And basically her and Nikolai have been best friends for forever, and to celebrate Genya and David’s engagement, they gather their friends and have a party. The night is ending and of course someone starts Truth or Dare. It’s all downhill from there.

It’s a bad idea, me and you. Let’s just keep kissing til we come to

Being locked in a closet with your best friend was one thing. Being ordered to kiss by your other drunk friends was quite another.

Although, it was at least validating to be right about all the terrible nature of playing Truth or Dare– it only made things awkward and forced people to spill secrets that shouldn’t be heard by anyone (already, Tamar had almost beat up Tolya for admitting that he had a thing for her girlfriend. And don’t get her started on what Nadia had done for her dare). So at least next time someone suggested they play, Zoya can go back to this moment as the best example of why she will never ever play. 

Of course for there to be a next time, she needed to get out of this closet. And to do that she had to kiss her best friend. Maybe she should have played it different. Genya got so much more determined when she was drunk, and if Zoya had been more compliant or played it off like it was whatever she would have convinced her friend to pick another dare. But her mistake was the first, loud, “No.” Her next mistake was continuing to say no, and then didn’t fight Tolya hard enough when she was shoved into the closet with Nikolai following close behind.

It shouldn’t even have been that big of a deal. It was just Nikolai. He’s kissed other girls. She’s kissed other guys. Why would it matter if they just gave each other quick peck on the lips? In theory, it wouldn’t have been any different from a simple touch of lips on lips. It was a middle school kind of kiss. She should not be over thinking this. And yet here she was, overthinking it and adamantly refusing to look at Nikolai.

 Here was the crux of the problem: things were different with them recently. It wasn’t anything pronounced or obvious. Something between them felt out of the ordinary and off-beat, like the feeling of reaching for milk in the fridge and pulling out a carton of half and half. It was the skipped step on the staircase. The uneven table. The hour before your alarm wakes you up. It was this strange feeling that things were never going to be the same. 

And Zoya had suffered this shift in feelings when Nikolai showed up to her housewarming party last week with a date on his arm. It was all cleared up when Nikolai introduced Zoya to Ehri, a family friend who was moving back to the west coast, but the feeling lasted. It was the first time Zoya considered the idea that Nikolai would find some other woman to be by his side. He would meet someone, go on a bunch of dates, and eventually marry someone else. Some other woman was going to be on the receiving end of his crooked smiles or smart-ass flirting. Someone else was going to notice the light in his eyes when he talks about the designs he’s working on for his tech company. Someone else was going to be there to hear his annoying laugh. 

The realization wasn’t a pleasant one, and she’s been repressing the hell out of the feelings that tried to stir in her chest. 

Zoya swallowed the awkwardness filling the space, and took a deep breath, “Let’s just get this over with.”

She turned to face Nikolai who was scrolling through his phone. He raised both his eyebrows in surprise as he tucked it back in his pocket.

“It’s just a kiss, don’t make it into a big deal.” She said again.

“Well between you and me, you were the one who got us thrown here in the first place.”

“Whatever.” She waved her hand. She took her own phone out and pulled up the camera. “Just come over here, so we can take a picture of the proof, and get out of this closet.”

“Ever the romantic,” Nikolai rolled his eyes, but stepped closer to her. “So, how do you wanna go about this. I could–”

Nikolai was cut off as Zoya slammed her mouth against his. Making the contact long enough to take the picture. 

“Damn, Zoya!” Nikolai exclaimed as she drew back and confirmed that the picture was clear enough to serve as proof. “Give a guy a warning before you attack him.”

It was her turn to roll her eyes, “Don’t be so melodramatic. I didn’t attack you.”

“Some would call head-butting a dirty move, you know.” He said pressing his fingers to his lips. “If that’s how you kiss, I hope your next boyfriend comes with a helmet.”

“Ha ha very funny.” She said as she pulled up Genya’s messages to send her the picture, “It’s not like I’d kiss you for real.” 

He snorted, “Yeah, because we both know it’d be a bad idea.”

Zoya’s thumb hovered over the send button, but she hesitated as she processed what he said.

She looked up and felt a heat flush up her neck as she realized that he hadn’t moved from his spot. He was still impossibly close and was staring at her. 

“Yeah,” She mimicked, “It’s a bad idea.”

“Because God forbid someone properly kisses you,” He said. His lips twitched upward, and Zoya tracked the movement unconsciously. Her skin was still tingling from the memory of his mouth on hers. Would it be so bad to just indulge one more time?

She scoffed, “Like you would know how to kiss me properly.” 

Nikolai didn’t say anything to that. He continued to draw closer. His face inching towards hers, and Zoya stayed completely still. Her mind was caught in between what ifs.

What if she let him kiss her?

What if this becomes more than one kiss?

What if she let herself imagine a world where Nikolai would actually want to date her?

What if it doesn’t work out?

What if, what if, what if

He paused just as his mouth hung over hers. He was giving her a chance to turn away. He was giving her the option to say no. 

It was a bad idea. 

But then again, being friends with Nikolai was chockfull of bad ideas.

She pushed herself up on her toes, and she felt Nikolai’s smile as he cupped the back of her head and tangled his hands in her hair.

Zoya would never admit this aloud to anyone, ever. But maybe Nikolai was right. Because she’s never been kissed the way he was kissing her now. He kissed like she was the only thing that was worth touching. His lips moved against her own with a rhythm that matched the cadence of her heart. He treated every movement like a rehearsed dance, and when she felt the gentle pressure of his tongue against the seam of her lips, she was thrust into another dimension of warmth as she let him in.

Her breath hitched as he moved her against the door. His mouth never leaving and the kiss just deepening with every second. His hand moved down her waist just as she wound her arms around his neck. She didn’t even realize that her legs had left the floor until he moved away from her mouth and began to kiss under jaw and up her neck.

She tightened her legs around him as she felt his teeth sink down on the spot where her neck met her shoulder, and her mind was spinning with all the other things he could do with that mouth. 

“Zo,” He whispered after a few more delicious moments. 

“What?” Her voice was rough, at the sudden interruption

“We-uh-” His breaths came in short pants, and she could relate. He gently placed her back on the floor and brought his hands up to her face. “I don’t-uh-”

“Just spit it out, Lantsov.” Zoya’s stomach tightened, bracing herself for whatever had brought Nikolai out of the moment.

“As fun as this is, I don’t want our first time to be in a shitty closet.” He said. The small smile on his face so different from the arrogant smirk that he showed to the rest of the world. 

Zoya laughed. She actually laughed as she remembered who exactly she was making out with. Nikolai was always the sentimental type. 

“I guess, we’ll just have to get out of here then.” Zoya said, picking her phone back up and sent the picture evidence to Genya.

[airis-paris14]

Dress Up 1

Summary: She’s not his fiancee, but no one else needs to know.

Warnings: None

A/N: Before we get started, I know the Xhosa is not translated. That is done on purpose, as you read I am sure you will understand why. It was a deliberate stylistic choice. I hope you guys enjoy as I am truly having a blast writing this story, Redemption will be back soon. I’ve just gotta take a moment to get myself back on track with that story. Please Reblog, like, and comment! I love hearing what you guys have to say. Much love. 

“Eh, you’ve got another letter to mail?” The post office clerk smiled as the young woman made her way through the front door. “Actually I’ve got three for you today Mrs. Zula.” Sirobie grinned, her hand buried in her art bag. She emerged a second later with three sealed envelopes. “I would just like to let you know, that you, are single handedly keeping this post office open.” the clerk teased, a gentle beep emerging from her tablet as she scanned each of the envelope postmarks. “You do know you are in Wakanda right? Most technologically advanced country in the world ring a bell?” Oni Zula teased, jumping out of her chair to sort the letters into the appropriate bins.

“Yes, I just prefer to write my parents the old fashioned way,” Sirobie shrugged. “So you aren’t in here mailing letters to your secret lover every week?” the older woman teased, climbing back into her seat. “Ha ha ha, very funny,”Sirobie frowned. “Well are they gonna write you back? It’s been two months and I haven’t gotten any letter back for you.”

“It’s complicated.” Sirobie frowned. “Well, you know my offer still stands. My and Ebram’s front door are always open,” Mrs. Zula smiled. ‘I’ll keep that in mind.” Sirobie waved goodbye, her bag flapping against her as she began her trek to the park.

The city was alive around. Children's laughter floated through the air. Mixing with the throng of voices floating towards her from the market. Gossip, bartering, and lover’s sweet nothings glided through the air. Sirobie sighed deeply as she came upon the large expanse of green space in the city center. The midday sun reflected off of the glass of the palace before her. She shaded her eyes, and choose to settle under a large tree in the corner of the park. She quickly set up her easel and unpacked her supplies. A cardboard sign advertising watercolor portraits for $10 dollars attested to her existence. She pulled a tiny clipboard from her bag and canvases the area around her. A mother and daughter dancing a short distance from her draws her attention. She begins to sketch the two dancing.

“Excuse me,” a voice broke through the sound of her pencils on the parchment paper. “I’d like a portrait,” Sirobie pulled her braids out of her face. She squinted up into the sunlight, unable to make out the face of her customer. “Umm sure, she gestured at the stool in front of her easel. It’ll take about 20 minutes,” she began to explain. She observed her subject before pulling the appropriate watercolor pencils and beginning to outline her portrait. “You’re not from around here are you,” the lady asks.

“Is it that obvious?” Sirobie quickly glances at the woman once more. “Many of our artists don’t do this kind of work.” the stranger replies, “ I saw it once in an American movie. You are from America, yes?”

“Uh yeah,” Sirobie stutters, her mouth falling slightly open as she actually looks at her subject for the first time. Her large brown eyes sat nestled in her face the same way Sirboie’s did. Her round face accentuated the cupid’s bow of her lips and her box braids were parted in the same manner as Sirobie’s. “Um, yeah. I am an exchange student from Howard University in DC.”

“That is the place where your president lives correct? That’s a state but not really a state?” The woman smiled. Sirobie froze, the woman’s  smile was eerily reminiscent of her own. “Yeah, I guess,” she finally answered, finishing off a basic sketch of the woman’s face. “What is your classification?”

“My what?” Sirobie, shook her head out of the daze. “Your classification. Freshman, Sophomore, Junior, Senior? I was under the impression that American universities and colleges did not refer to students by year,” the woman explained. “Oh yeah, I am a senior. I graduate in about two months.”

That must be exciting,” the woman smiled. Sirobie nodded, grabbing her pencils and beginning to fill in the woman’s face. “It is.”

“How long are you in Wakanda?”

“Another two  months, then I head back to finish preparing for graduation. Sirobie worked quickly and efficiently to spread color to the rest of the sketch. Relishing in how the subject  came alive on the page. “We have quite an uncanny resemblance do we not?”

Sirobie snorted, “I don’t think that even begins to describe it.”

“It seems like we could almost be sisters,” the woman insisted. “Yeah, we could,” the artist smiled. She sat back to admire the woman on the page. “Would you like to see it?” she offered.

The woman moved to stand next to her. “That is beautiful! How much do I owe you?” the woman opened her purse to grab her wallet. “Ten dollars please,” Sirobie replied leaning close to sign the work of art.”

“Shoot, I knew I forgot something at the house,” the woman cursed. “Here love, take these,” the woman replied handing over her kimoyo beads, “now hand me your student ID.”

“What why?” Sirobie frowned. “As collateral. Proof that I am going to come back and pay you. I have to come back and get my kimoyo beads from you as well. I am just going to run to my house and grab my wallet so I can pay you.”

“I don't know,” sirobie hesitated. “Trust me, it’s not like I am going to leave the country with it. This is  Wakanda. You are a foreign exchange student. Your ID would not be of any use to me anyway.”

Sirobie sighed and handed over her ID. I’ll be back in ten minutes,” the woman ran off into the crowd. “Wait! I don’t even know your name,” she yelled after her. Once she had disappeared into the crowd Sirobie sighed, settling back into sketching the mother and daughter.

The smell and sound of her charcoal pencils calmed the young student. She gently wet her brush opening the expensive paints that sat at her side. She glanced up once more, then proceeded to begin painting the mother’s clothes. She lost herself in the intricate pattern of the fabric. The darkening of the sky around her startled her out of her focus. “Oh you found it,” the student smiled, wiping her hands on her rag before looking up. “Oh I’m sorry, I thought  you were,” Sirboie closed her mouth as the soldier in front of her began speaking. “Ubuphi?

Bakukhangela kuyo yonke indawo.”the bald headed woman fussed. She motioned for two of the other women to grab her things. “Wait what are you doing?” Sirobie fought back. Grabbing her things from the women’s arms. “Ukusinda kwakho okuncinci sekuphelile. Sifanele sibuyele kwibhotwe ngoku. Ube efuna wena.”

“I don’t speak xhosa!” Sirobie yelled as the leader physically restrained her. “Udala indawo,” Okoye hissed. “You have the wrong person! I do not know what you are saying!”

“UNksz Kamyra, nceda uze nathi ngokuthula. U kumkani akayidingi isikhalazo esingaphambi kwesango lakhe,” Okoye calmed, leading Sirobie away from her seat in the park.

The guards encircled the woman as they walked through the park. Sirobie shrunk in to herself as she was marched through the streets. The miniature procession caught many the wondering eyes around the marketplace. The 23 year old had never ventured this far into the city. Often opting to stay within her own triangle of comfort. Her apartment, The Zula’s home, and the park.

“Where are you taking me?” The fine arts major asked again. “The palace,” the leader replied. “So you understand English?” Sirobie exclaimed.

“Yes. And you know this. What I do not understand is why you refuse to speak your native tongue,” The warrior scowled. “English is my native tongue!” Sirobie insisted. The warrior led Sirobie up the grand staircase at the palace before pulling her aside. “Look Kamyra,” The woman hissed. “You’re hurting me,” Sirobie whimpered.

“I do not like you. I know you do not like me either, but T’Challa is my friend. And for some reason he insists that he must marry you. I do not know what game you're playing. But stop it this instant. You have worried everyone in this building sick for the past few hours. Now the game is over. Your engagement ball is tonight. So you have four hours to get your act together.”

“I am not Kamyra,” Sirobie cried once more. “Kamyra, I swear to Bast if you do not stop this instant…”

“Okoye, did you find Kamyra?” An older woman stood at the top of the stairs. Her headdress stretched up towards the sky. She looked very familiar but Sirobie could not place her face. A teenager emerged from the palace to stand next to her. “Queen mother,” Okoye bowed her head slightly, “Yes, we found her in the park but she insists that she is not herself.”

“Okoye thrust Sirobie out in front of her. The poor girl went stumbling. “What do you mean?” Ramonda frowned, eyeing the young girl. “She only speaks in English.”

“I have yet to her her speak,” Ramona replied. “No good morning today?”

“I am so sorry, but you all really have the wrong girl,” Sirobie tried to explain. Ramonda raised both eyebrows, she glides down the stairs to Sirobie’s side. She gently raised Sirobie’s chin. “Who are you?”

“My name is Sirobie Johnson,” the girl replied.

“I believe you. But if you are here, the where the hell is my daughter in law,” Ramonda frowned. “Okoye,send a search party.”

“This is not my son’s fiancée.”

The general signaled for the rest of the Dora’s to leave. The women marched off in a professional line, as the Queen guided Sirobie down the palaces intricate hallways. The Queen pulled Sirobie rather quickly, ushering her into an empty bedroom.

Sirobie settled in a chair, as did Queen Mother. Shuri opted for the couch and Okoye stood behind them. Sirobie gulped under their gazes. Bowing her head, her fingers suddenly very interesting.

“The resemblance is uncanny,” Queen Mother murmured, one finger perched under her chin. “They look exactly the same,” The teenager added in.

“I see how you got them confused General,” The queen sighed. She pulled off her crown and set it on the table beside her. Her gray locs fell from their bun down her back.

 “What is your name?” The teenager asked moving closer. “Sirobie,” The college student smiled slightly. “Shuri,” The teen smiled. “May I?” She gestured at the bracelet. Sirobie nodded.

“Where did you get these,” Shuri pulled the beads off of her wrist. “I think the woman you all are looking for gave them to me.”

“You saw Kamyra?” Okoye asked, moving closer to the woman. Sirobie backed away, nodding. “She never told me her name. She asked me paint her picture. She said she was going to get her wallet to pay me. She took my student ID in exchange.”

“Where exactly are you in school?” The older woman asked. “I attend Howard University. In the States.”

“With your ID where could she have gone?” Shuri asked. “Nowhere really. It just grants access to my dorm room. You can’t buy anything outside of the cafeteria with it.”

“Queen mother, should we alert T’Challa?” Okoye asked. All eyes fell to the older woman. “Whatever for general?”

“Mother, his fiancée is missing,” Shuri frowned. “What do you mean? She is right here,” Queen mother smiled at Sirobie. The student’s eyes widen as everyone began to grin at her. “No, No. No! I am too young to be marrying anyone,” Sirobie dismissed. “Kamyra is only a year older than you. T’Challa is only two years older than you.” The queen moved to sit next to the young woman. “Still. I haven’t finished college yet. I’m only here for two more months.”

“We just need you to pretend to be Kamyra while we search for her. We hope it will not take that long to locate her.” The queen reassured. “Wakanda will owe you a great debt.”

“This all just sounds a little too crazy to me,” sirobie waved her hands. “How are you paying for your education?” the queen asked. Sirobie bit her lip and looked down. “Loans,” she murmured. “If you do this, Wakanda will pay off all of your schooling debt. No questions asked. You will also live here in the palace and live the life of a princess.”

“Are you joking?” Sirobie looked up. “No. Why would I be joking? This how Wakanda will repay her debt to you.”

“Please?” Shuri spoke up from the corner of the room.

“You’ll let me go home after you find her?” Sirobie asked again. “If that is what you desire,” the queen nodded.

“I’ll do it.” Sirobie sighed.

The three women broke out into grins. “Okoye, please find the nearest maid and ask her to fetch the stylist, hairdresser, and make up artist. As well as send someone to grab a late lunch for Shuri, Sirobie, and myself. I have a feeling we are going to be here for a while.”

Okoye saluted the Queen. She tapped her staff twice before leaving the room.

“Now, Sirobie. Tonight, my son is throwing a ball in honor of his fiancée. All eyes will be on you and we must prepare you for that. Physically and mentally. First, I suggest you get a quick bath while Shuri and I find a dress for you. We’ve got much to do. With little time to do it.”

Sirobie nodded quietly. “The bathroom is right through that door. Please be quick, but do everything you need to do.” The Queen gestured to the door. “Thank you,” Sirobie half curtsied. “Please, don’t do that tonight,”  The Queen grimaced, “We’ll work on that later.” The young woman blushed before fleeing to the bathroom.

“Do you think she can do it?” Shuri moved to stand by her mother. “I know she can.

Transforming Sirobie into a royal fiancée was very easy. Physically at least. Following Kamyra’s routines turned the student into a carbon copy of the woman.  Until she spoke. Or ate. Or moved, at all.  “Now, you move your spoon away from you at all times.” Ramonda demonstrated, tilting the spoon in the opposite direction in the empty bowl. “That just makes it unnecessarily complicated,” Sirobie sighed copying the queens movement. “It is to help deter you from overeating.” Ramonda explained.

“No when do you stop eating?” Ramonda quizzed, signaling for a maid to switch out the dishes in front of them. “I have to stop?” Sirobie sighed, letting her head fall into her hands. “Please Sirobie. I know this is hard, but you’ve got to try.” The Queen soothed. “I don’t think I can do this,” the girl murmured into her hands.

“My Queen,” The stylist called. “We have one hour till the party, we must dress the lady soon.”

“Of course,” Ramonda sighed. “Sirobie, I believe in you, we all do,” The Queen whispered the girl’s ear. Sirobie smiles sadly as the queen stood. “Shuri, let's give ,Kamyra, some privacy. We will be back before T’Challa arrives to escort you.”

“I have to walk in with him?” Sirobie paled.

“Yes! He is your fiancée,” Shuri laughed overzealously. Her apology written all over her face. “We’ll be back soon.”

After much prodding and poking. Shape wear and fashion tricks, Sirobie looked absolutely regal. The white fabric fell in waves around her. The center of the dress adhered to her figure, carefully outlining every curve perfectly. The silver thread and diamonds littering the bodice of the dress glittered in the light of the setting sun. The student spun slowly as the beauty team observed her appearance. The college student ran her hands over the embroidery. Gently fingering each of the flowers and vines that traced their way over the gown.

“I think she is ready for the final touch,” the lead stylist nodded. The others murmured their agreement and watched as she walked over to a black box.

.

The woman walked over to her box and pulled out a  set of jewelry. “These are royal family antiques,” she explained, gently displaying the large drop diamond earrings. “Queen mother wore these necklace on her coronation day.” She gently lifted a simple diamond necklace from the box as well. “Those look perfect,” Sirobie smiled. The seamstress nodded beginning to adorn the student with jewelry. When she was finished she lead Sirobie over to a large full body mirror. Sirobie bit her tongue to keep her jaw from dropping open. She allowed a small grin to slip through. “Thank you so much,” The 22 year old smiled at each of the staff in turn. “It was a pleasure your grace,”She smiled before two knocks rang through the room.

“Come in,” Sirobie called. The Queen and Shuri walked into the room and smiled as Sirobie came into view. “A carbon copy,” the queen smiled. “Just one more thing,” the queen approached, her day wear replaced by an elegant blue gown. Her crown had also changed,now draped in the same fabric as her dress. She gently grabbed sirobie’s left hand and slid a large diamond ring onto her finger. “There, absolutely breathtaking.”

Sirobie smiled sadly at the ring. “What’s wrong my child.?” Ramonda raised the woman’s  chin. “I had just always hoped,” Sirobie sighed, fiddling with the ring, “That the first time i wore one of these, it would be from someone I love.”

“Oh, my child,” Ramonda cooed, “I know it’s dumb. Im literally living the life of a princess and I am complaining,” Sirobie rolled her shoulders back. Ramonda gripped her hands gently, “ you have every right to any emotion you may have right now. You will meet him someday, and it will make you feel just as joyous as you hope. That is was love does to people, it brings you indescribable joy.” The queen smiled, gently cupping the student’s cheek. Sirobie smiled back.

“Actually it’s perfectly describable.” Both of the women turned to the sudden interruption of their conversation, “ You know love releases endorphins. Endorphins make you happy. It’s all one big cycle of chemical reactions in your brain. Reactions which are catalysed by the stimulation of certain neurons in the temporal lobe. All of the reactions happen instantaneously, or almost, hence the butterfly feeling. Studies have shown that the feeling can be considered comparable to the same high that is felt when one is doing cocaine. So if you want to feel it now, it is much more convenient to just go and get high on the closest thing. I mean obviously not cocaine, but maybe we-” Shuri trailed off. Her mother’s frown quickly causing her to back track, “ I mean not that I have ever tried it myself. I mean-” She turned to Sirobie and mouthed, “I’ll explain it to you later.”

Ramonda and Sirobie burst into laughter.“My love,” T’Challa’s voice sailed through the door, “I can hear that you are having a good time but, we will  be late if you do not,” The king froze as he noticed his mother and shuri in the room. “Brother, you are early.”

“No you all are ten minutes late. Is everything alright?” T’Challa strolled further into the room. “Everything is fine. Why would it not be?” Ramonda glided over to her son to place a kiss on his cheek. The king allowed her to pull him close as he eyed Sirobie. “You all tell me,” the king started moving closer to Sirobie. “No greeting today my love?”

“Hello,” Sirobie replied cautiously. Shuri facepalmed behind her brother. “What is going on,” the king demanded, his eyes never leaving Sirobie. “T’Challa,” Queen Mother started, moving to stand next to the girl. “Meet Sirobie. Your fiance.”

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