#“and i cannot take a single step towards leaving this forest until i know its over”

[oldshittydog]

1.07 // 2.05 // 4.10

[thetempleofthemasaigoddess]

Plenilune

Haldir x reader - NSFW!

Fun fact: in Tolkien's legendarium the Moon is male since it is guided by a male Maia, Tilion, while the Sun is guided by a female Maia, Arien, and is therefore female.

*****

The murmuring of the wind through the leaves is almost comforting to your ears, as if the forest wished to hearten you against the danger you have deliberately put yourself in for the thirteenth time, as you spur your mare towards your destination galloping among woods and meadows. The moon and the stars illuminate the path enough to keep you and your mare from falling, and no evil that you ought to fear has ever entered Lothlórien; but yes, you are in peril, and you don't even want to think about the consequences if he found out what you are doing.

It is late, you sadly reflect as you cover your head with your hood in the remote case someone sees you, and obviously you cannot help it, since you couldn't leave until he had gone to bed and it would take the fastest horse almost an hour to reach your destination, but still you feel yourself trembling, your heart beating twice as fast as normal with haste, and fear... and another emotion, much more pleasant, that makes you wish you had wings.

A few minutes later, you and your mare have finally reached your destination: the gates of Caras Galadhon are a stone's throw from you, the high trees surrounded by talan standing out, solemn and majestic, against the hilltops behind them. You tie your mare to the trunk of another tree, leaving her to rest after the ride and graze pacefully, and walk towards the gate, your pace slow and your arms spread to show you carry no weapon and are therefore not a danger to the city and its people: you lived here for many years and most of the guards know you, but you know how seriously they take their duty to protect the borders, and it is better for all of you to avoid an incident.

You are now close enough to discern the shapes of the two Elves on duty, both fitted with one of the great bows of the Galadhrim and a quiver full of arrows; one of them softly calls your name.

"Orophin?" you answer in the same tone, not bothering to hide your relief, even more because next to him you have recognized Rúmil, his braided hair easily identifiable in the soft moonlight; after more than a year you must have met most of the guards, who serve on rotation, and none of them has ever tried to forbid you from entering -you are pretty sure they all sympathize with your predicament and are willing to help, even if it means turning a blind eye on your visits, but still, the fact that every single marchwarden is aware of your tryst is more than a little embarassing- but you are happy to be welcomed by the only two Elves in Caras Galadhon who have been personally informed of your visits... and of the reason behind them.

The moon is full; perfect in his circular shape, he shines above you, surrounded by the stars as a lord by his courtiers. You smile as you look at him, and then step across the high gate in white wood and iron that Rúmil has opened for you. "Hannon le" you thank him softly, and he simply smiles in return, while Orophin looks around you anxiously; the Lord and Lady of Lothlorien know you personally and know you pose no danger to their people, but strictly speaking they are failing in their duties letting you in after sundown, since the gates are closed during the night, and the fewer people know you are there, the better.

There is so much at stake for them, for you, and for the one who you know is anxiously waiting for you at his talan; you don't even want to know what would happen if you were discovered, but you persist, month after month, each time the full moon rises in the sky. And one day, soon you hope, your efforts will bear fruit, and you won't have to hide anymore...

"I thought you had decided not to come." Rúmil jokes as he closes the gate, and you wink in response. "Not even if the Valar themselves attempted to stop me."

"Stop wasting time, both of you!" Orophin hisses "The sun will rise in a few hours, and (name) must have left by then; you should go now, and be careful!"

If someone heard you, they could think you are plotting some heinous crime; at first the thought amused you, since the reason that brings you to the city every plenilune goes against no law, but by now, after a whole fruitless year, bitterness has grown inside you, a vague sadness and a sense of helplessness that make it almost impossible to joke about it. You would never give up on your hopes, and you would never renounce him, but sometimes you feel trapped, powerless against the will of the Powers and that of your own body, as if your dearest dream will never come true...

You would never express those doubts in front of your friends, who promised to help you in any way they can and are deliberately failing in their duty to do so; because of this you thank them both and proceed, quickly leaving the gate behind you.

The high Mallorn trees rise up all around you, the sight of the starry sky blocked by the talan built around their trunks; large oil lamps hang from the branches, most of them dark as it is normal during the night, but another lamp is lit, a lamp whose handle is grasped by someone who is waiting at the base of one of the trees, a tree you have reached without hesitation, moving among the maze.

You see him, you see his deep blue eyes in the noble face, a joyful and relieved smile breaking over his lips as he sees you, and it is as if you are finally able to breathe after a month spent struggling for air.

"Haldir..." you murmur, breathless for much more than just the speed of your pace; he almost lets the lamp fall from his hand, and a moment later you have started running towards each other.

*****

You still remembered the day you met Haldir; he was the guard on duty at the gate, you the new handmaiden lady Galadriel had just admitted in her entourage. As he walked you to the main talan, you were immediately struck with his noble beauty, the solemn face with the hint of a smile on his lips; you spent only a few minutes together since he had to return to the gate, but in the following days, when your path crossed as you were both busy with your duties, he never failed to offer you a smile and a nod, as if you were friends. With time, you learnt to appreciate him beyond his loveliness and a quiet friendship had started developing between the two of you, but you never thought he would be interested in you, until leaving your room one day you found a folded piece of parchment waiting in front of the door, under a niphredil flower: Haldir invited you for a walk, that very night; if you accepted, you were meet him at the gate at the end of his shift.

You felt your heart bursting with happiness when, that night, you walked to the gate wearing your favorite dress, your hair brushed until it shone, and the niphredil flower behind your ear; you couldn't wait to be alone with him, and you smiled at Haldir, busy talking to the guard who had come to take over from him. He smiled back, but you didn't notice how perplexed he looked when he saw you.

"Thanks for your message, I couldn't wait for our walk. Shall we?"

"... Yes. Oh course, let us go."

You spent two lovely hours together, walking along a trail in a beech wood just outside the city and sitting next to a stream; you talked, freely as you had never done before, about your families and your dreams, your pasts and your fears. You enjoyed Haldir's company and he appeared to appreciate yours, and for you it didn't matter what would have happened after that day, if that pleasant evening would be the beginning of something special or would remain a single event to think back to wistfully, and in the end, you didn't care: those few hours under a clear blue sky, when you didn't have to worry about duties and responsibilities and were free to be simply yourself, were a treasure in their own right, and whether Haldir's invitation was extended out of friendship or something else, in the end it didn't matter: simply being with him made you happy.

In the end it was only when Haldir insisted on walking you to your room, that he confessed the truth - simply because he felt he had to, being too fair and honest to take advantage of a scam, even though it hadn't been his fault.

"I must admit... I never invited you on a walk; the message that you received was probably sent by my brothers." he confessed, too ashamed to look you in the eyes, his long hair barely covering the flush that had spread on his fair face. He told you that Rúmil and Orophin, who you knew well and had noticed him staring longingly at you, had tried to convince him to approach you. Haldir had refused, both because he was sure you wouldn't be interested and simply because he would have rather faced Melkor than tell you about his feelings, and in the end his brothers must have decided to take the matter in their own hands.

"You are lucky to have brothers who care so much about your happiness." you said, your back pressed against the trunk of the tree, the talan you shared with two other of the Lady's maidens high above you; the night was falling on Caras Galadhon, a gentle breeze caressing your hair and dress. You would have flushed, and even perhaps run away in embarrassment, but apparently Rúmil and Orophin's intervention was due to their brother's indecision, not to his lack of interest, and because of this you stayed where you were, ready to reassure him that you were happy to have spent the evening with him nonetheless... and that if he wanted to invite you again, you wouldn't have said no.

"You think? At the moment I sincerely wish my parents had stopped after having me. Please don't misinterpret, I am very happy you came and I couldn't think of a better way to spend an evening; but they shouldn't have meddled."

You almost asked him if he would have ever confessed his feelings for you, had his brothers not intervened, but in the end, what difference would it have made? Despite everything, you were grateful to Rúmil and Orophin for what they had done, but now, and from now on, the two of you would have walked at your own pace.

"I am supposed to wait on the lady Galadriel at the banquet tonight." you said in the end "Shall we have dinner together before that? If you have nothing more important to do."

Relief was clear on Haldir's fair face as he answered that no, of course not, nothing on all of Arda would have been more important than spending more time with you. Expressing his feelings didn't come natural to him, at least not before he had spent some, or a long, time with someone, which could have made the other person -namely, you- interpret that reticence as indifference, even disregard, but you didn't; you were still learning to know each other, and as any other couple you would have your misunderstandings and disagreements, but in that moment at least everything was perfect, as if you just needed to share a look to understand what you were feeling. You cared about each other, more that you could express, and that was enough.

It was beautiful, and it made you happy.

"May I take your hand?" he asked, and the question was deeper than it appeared, since friends didn't walk holding hands, but a couple who was courting did; he seemed uncertain, even shy - quite a difference from the steadfast, capable soldier you had learnt to know. That sight filled your heart with affection... and an answer you couldn't have given to him faster.

"Of course. I would love to."

You let him take your hand, you took his, and since then neither of you has ever let go.

*****

Neither of you speaks as you climb the slim rope-ladder to reach the talan Haldir shares with his brothers, identical to the many others where the guards live, in groups of two or three; wooden screens, carved in shapes of trees and animals, separate the communal area from the smaller ones reserved to each of them. As soon as the door of the large chamber, built all around the tree trunk, closes behind you, Haldir takes your hands once more, brings them to his lips, and kisses them devotedly. "You came." he murmurs, his eyes full of affection and relief; he knows your feelings, he knows that you will never give up on him and nothing, not even Melkor himself, could forbid you to go to him on a full moon night, but you know that every time he fears he will never see you again, and you will never have the family you both wish for.

He is so afraid, your Haldir, but so gentle and reverent as he holds you against him, his hand caressing your hair as you rest your cheek on his chest to listen to his heartbeat. He doesn't ask whether someone saw you, after you passed the city's gate, along the way or, worst of all, as you left your village; he knows you are as careful as you can be to slip away unnoticed and to ride along hidden paths, but you both know the risk, and accept it, because being together once more, one more night, even just one more hour, is worth the most dire consequences.

"I am sorry, I am late." you tell him in the end, after you part just enough to look at each other; so many years after you have shared your first kiss he is more handsome than ever, so handsome you feel yourself shivering as his warm hands find your shoulders under your cape and run along your naked arms, leaving a trail of goosebumps behind them. He is wearing a grey tunic with a brown leather belt, his long hair spread on his shoulder and chest; many Silvan Elves have blonde hair, but no one's is as beautiful as his, and sometimes, as you lie next to each other, your passion dormant but not forgotten, you like to play with it, braiding and running your hair through it, or rubbing it against your skin.

Maybe you will do it once more, tonight; before you have will to go.

"I had to stay until he went to bed, and he had some friends visiting, so..."

"It it all right, don't concern yourself." he reassures you, and you love him for it, because every moment you lose during those nights is a wasted opportunity, a loss you could pay dearly if you were discovered, but still he cannot stand to see you upset "I am just glad you came. Eru... you are so beautiful..."

"You have seen me wear this dress at least ten times."

"True, but I wasn't talking about the dress. My darling, my beloved flower... how I have missed you..."

Maybe the distance plays a part in it, as well as the fact that you haven't laid together often, even through you have been courting for years, or maybe not; maybe it is just that you love him desperately, with all your heart and your mind, your fëa and your hröa harmonius in desiring him, the warmth of his body, the soothing sensation of his embrace. No one could ever call you naive, and after a year you know your beloved's skin as well as yours, but, and maybe because of this, your heart is pounding in your chest as you offer Haldir your mouth, that he claims in a kiss as he holds your face in his hands.

You kiss avidly for a while, your hands moving from Haldir's strong shoulders to his back and chest to caress and stimulate and revere; he moans in your mouth, the sound lurid and heavenly at the same time, as he takes off your cape and let it fall on the floor - which betrays the state he is in, since he would never leave something, especially clothes, lying around instead of finding an appropriate place for them, tidy and even fastidious as he is. Evidently you really have an effect on him, you think pleased, so much that you make him forget himself...

"Why are you smiling as we kiss?" he asks, feigning a contrariness he is physically unable to feel; a moment later his kisses move to your neck, and the goosebumps are no longer limited to your arms.

"I am simply -oh yes, right there!- happy we are together, that is all."

"I am happy as well, my flower. And I wish... we didn't have to wait the full moon..."

You would like to jest that the moon is a capricious master, who only allows you to meet once every twenty-eight nights, and you should ask him to assume his most complete form more often, but you can't; you cannot joke about it, not anymore. This night coincides with the most fertile moment of your cycle, and this is why you have chosen it to meet; often enough to give you a realistic opportunity, as well as to alleviate the pain of your separation, but at the same time your visits to Haldir would be sufficently sporadic not to arouse suspicion - you hope. It is not much, but you make do. It seemed a good compromise when you decided on it, since you make the most of your time together, clinging to each other until you are both panting breathless, and you thought you would have achieved your goal by now.

You haven't.

You often feel as if time itself works against you, but nonetheless you take your time, savoring the intimacy and the joy of being together once more before you can taste each other's flesh. Haldir's hand has guided you behind the wooden screen that separates his area of the room from those of his brothers'. Rúmil and Orophin are on duty until dawn, and since they both respect your privacy they would never interrupt you in any case, but your beloved doesn't feel at ease laying with you if you are not as hidden as you can be: he is such a modest, demure person, and you love him for it... as well as for everything else.

"How I have missed you..." you murmur as you once more find your beloved's mouth with yours; he moans into it, his hands moving hungry and greedy on your body as those of a sculptor molding a block of clay, and this is exactly how you feel, as if you are nothing, raw, shapeless, aimless, if you are not close to him, able to touch and be touched.

Neither of you speak as your clothes start falling to the floor. You free Haldir of his tunic, and his skin is like marble in the semi-darkness around you, smooth and cool and made for you to touch and caress; he moans, his head bent backwards, as you hold his hips in your hands and fill the distance between the two of you to kiss his neck, his chest, and his stomach. You feel, as well as hear, the rumble of pleasure escaping his lips as you close yours around his right nipple, licking and sucking as you stimulate the other one with your fingertips. You love Haldir like you have never loved anything and anyone, you love his kindness and his intelligence, his sense of duty and his wit; you love his stubborness and his rigidity and melancholy. And you love his body -strong, agile, so deliciously masculine, a source of warmth and pleasure and life; you cling to it, exploring and stimulating it until he is moaning and whispering your name and his desire is presses against your belly, hard and warm.

"Please." he begs; Eru, how you love hearing him like that "Please, my darling, let me have you..."

You don't answer, but you smile, and you break the kiss to turn and offer him your back; Haldir's agile fingers make quick works of the knots of your dress, and soon the cloth is sliding down your body, and you are naked under it, no shift or undergarments, because you have so little time to spend together and you don't want to waste it taking off your drawers.

That, and he tore your favourite shift six months ago, in his haste to take it off you; mortified, he apologized and promised to replace it, you simply told him he would have to make your loss worth it.

There is awe on his face, as well as desire, as he admires you, his fingertips barely brushing against you but leaving a trail of fire behind them. "Come." he invites you taking your hand once more, and his bed -the only element present in the small area behind the screen, apart from a chest and a chair- is only three steps away, but you like being led, being welcomed to it just like he has opened his heart to you.

You have already started kissing as you lower yourself on the bed, Haldir's arms keeping you close enough that you can feel his heartbeat matching yours, your hands fiddling with his belt; you brush your hand against his hardness, and your beloved has the audacity to snigger.

"Have patience, my love; it is yours, you know it, and you can have it any time you want."

You pout. "I want it now, Haldir..." you tell him, and he kisses you once more, and tells you to "Take it, then."

Getting undressed while one is laying is not easy, but finally your beloved is as naked as you are, his fair skin pressed against yours; you take his hardness in your hands as he moans, fondling and kissing it, and in the end he asks you to stop, because it is not on your hands that he wants to spill. You let him push you on your back, and a moment later Haldir's strong body is above you, his golden hair spilling all around him; you pass your fingers through it, mesmerized, and you brush them against your breasts, and there is something so alluring, so enticing in that sight, that when your eyes met his, you know that his desire has taken over - he cannot think clearly, he has forgotten everything that is not you, and what you share, and what he will feel once he is inside you. He is the most rigorous and even-tempered person you know, devoted to his duties and able to keep his composure in times of danger and hardship, but when he is with you... especially like this... it is as if another Elf takes his place, an Elf who would be ready to forget his responsiblities and his honour for the opportunity to lay between your thighs, once more.

It is beautiful, and terrifying; and it should be a source of pride for you, but instead it humbles you, and fills your heart with awe, because you feel the same. Haldir is your intended, your future husband, your lover, your best friend, and one day he will be the father of your children; you promised him, and you promised yourself, and you will do whatever you need to make that dream come true.

You have opened your legs for him, Haldir's fingers gently caressing them as you cross your ankles on his back, giving him full access; you have surrended yourself, offering your body and your soul and your love to the one you know deserve them and will always cherish them, and that is why you don't feel it as a loss. You moan as he lowers his mouth to suck on the side of your neck, murmuring your name as he would with that of Varda, and you groan when his fingers brush against your mound, eliciting a jolt of pleasure through your body. Please, you tell him, and you don't know whether you are actually articulating the words or just thinking them, your moans and sighs betraying your desires, please take me, I need it now, I need you...

And a moment later you have him, fully and perfectly like so many times before. You are clinging to his shoulders, his name blossoming again and again on your lips as a litany, as a prayer, as the sinuous movement of his hips makes stars explode behind your eyelids. He moans your name, fierce and greedy and so loving, and you could almost cry with emotion, were you not too busy simply feeling, and you love all of it - his love, his passion, his reverence, the promise you have shared years ago and that you renew every time, without the need for words.

The fire is burning inside and all around you; and it is the kind of flames you are happy to be consumed by.

*****

It is all your father's fault.

It is not nice to say, but it is true. Your current predicament, the need for secrecy and to meet on full moon nights, everything is due to the fact that your father didn't approve of Haldir as your intended, and he explicitly stated that he would never give his consent for you to marry. Not because he dislikes Haldir, or because he considers your beloved unable to take care of you and make you happy; the reason is way more personal.

Your father and his dearest friend have always planned to have their children marry, so as to unite their families in one. As fate would have it, your father's friend has a son who is exactly the same age as you -was it deliberate, a pact that they made and that also involved their wives? Two years ago you would have considered it absurd, but now you would not put it past him- which, in the two fathers' opinion, made things easier and ensured the continuation of both of their lineages.

You knew the pact with his friend was important for your father; you just hadn't realized the lenghts he would go to see his dream come true. His friend lived too far away to make frequent visits possible, and the few times you had met, his son seemed nice enough, a good company for a walk or to sit next to at dinner; you never talked about your fathers' plans, simply trying not to bore each other. Marriage prospects were the last thing on your mind, at least until you moved to Caras Galadhon to serve lady Galadriel, you met Haldir, and he stole your heart.

You never thought your father would oppose your relationship with Haldir; you only mentioned him in your letters as a friend, since you didn't want him and your mother to come and make sure his intentions were pure and serious -they were, obviously; but you didn't want your beloved to feel he had to prove himself- but you were sure that when they got to meet him, they would love him, just like you did.

They didn't. Well, he didn't; when you, radiant with joy, returned home with Haldir to introduce him to your parents and announce you were engaged, your mother was ready to welcome your beloved in the family within ten minutes after meeting him; your father, unfortunately, was a whole different matter.

"What? Surely you are joking. You cannot pledge to marry him; you are already engaged and you know it. I was going to write you about it next month: my friend and I decided it is time for the two of you to wed. His son was going to move with you in Caras Galadhon, but since I don't want you to be... distracted by your friend here, you better leave the service of the Lady and go live with him in his village. Now, do not argue with me; I am your father and I know what is best for you."

He clearly didn't, but try as you might you couldn't change his mind, or convince him to relent. Your father was determined to get his own way, no matter how much you cried -and it was a lot, so much that it filled you with shame, particularly because it was all in vain- argued, locked yourself up in your room and threatened to hurt yourself; he had decided to have you marry the son of his friend, and that he would do, even if it meant forbidding you to leave home until you relented. Poor Haldir had to return home alone, because your father forbade you to return even just to say goodbye to your friends; he was too honourable to challenge your father's authority under his roof, or to kidnap you from your home, and your mother begged you to obey your father as a good daughter should. You grudgingly did... but still, you were determined to marry your beloved, whatever the price.

Your only real ally in the family was your sister, who sympathized with your and your beloved's plight and promised to help; in front of your father she feigned disinterest in the whole matter, so as not to arouse suspicion, but secretly she was the one who sent your letters to Haldir and received his for you, pretending to be corrisponding with her friends in other villages.

Deciding what to do was painful, and at the same time surprisingly easy. You dearly loved your father, and since you were little you had only wanted to make him proud; likewise, Haldir respected him and only wanted to be accepted in your family. But since all your hopes had been dashed, you were only allowed to leave your home if escorted by one of your parents and he was struck in Caras Galadhon, there was only one thing you could do.

Elven marriages are usually conducted in front of families and friends, and include the exchange of rings and a blessing imposed by each pair of parents on their new child-in-law. On the other hand, your people's oldest tradition has it that the union of the bodies symbolizes the union of the soul, and that the birth of a child is enough to consider a couple married on a factual, and as a consequence formal, prospective, just as the first Elves who awoke at Cuiviénen wed each other. So, you agreed as the letters were sent and received between the city and your village, this is what you would do; you would get pregnant, and then your father would be forced to recognize your relationship, for the sake of his grandchild if not for yours... and because at that point his friend would hardly accept you in his family. And if your father decides to repudiate you, throwing you in the streets and forbidding you from ever returning... you will accept it. It would break your heart, because you love him, and your mother, and you never wished to cause a rift between you, but Haldir is the husband you have chosen, the other and the better part of you, and you are willing to sacrifice it all to be with him. You knew Lady Galadriel would welcome you back among her maidens, not caring about the shame you would have brought to your family, and you and your beloved would then marry and move to a talan of your own.

It would be a nice life; a perfect life, with your husband and the first of the many children you had already planned on having. And it will be, one day, hopefully soon. It was exactly thirteen moon cycles ago that, once more with the help of your sister, you ran away during the full moon to visit Haldir in Caras Galadhon, and even though this is supposed to be your most fertile period and you make at least two attempt per night his seed still hasn't taken root in your womb. You are sure, since it is known that Elf women are able to perceive a pregnancy as soon as it begins, the first tiny sparkle of life inside them making itself known not by voice or movement, but with a peculiar sensation that nothing else in Arda can compare with; a new entity making itself known to the world, too small and young to have a gender and an appearance and a personality, but that exists... and that would be enough to change your life forever.

You and your beloved are waiting for it; dreaming it; praying for it, even, although until now your efforts have been in vain. Laying with Haldir is lovely, passionate and sweet, and you would be more than happy to keep doing it every single night until the end of the world; to share his bed has allowed the two of you to reach a new level of intimacy, to experience each other as you had never done before. It is not that you love Haldir more now that you know the pleasure his body can give yours; you have found a new way to love him, in addition to those you already knew, which is different, and more precious. For him, you know, it is the same; he awaits your visits with trepidation, already happy and excited and looking forward for when you will be unclothed, in his arms, and moaning with his flesh in yours, but you know that he would be equally satisfied if you spent those nights walking in the woods, or sitting in front of the fire talking and exchanging stories.

You would never say that for more than a year you have wasted your time, especially since these are the only moments you are able to spend together, and you miss your beloved so much; but still... why haven't you gotten pregnant already?

*****

You sigh, happy and satisfied, as you turn on your back, sharing a smile with Haldir, panting by your side. "It was... it was absolutely..." you begin, but the words fail you, because even after a whole year, you cannot describe exactly how you feel, how he makes you feel, the joy and the pleasure you experience and that you know no one else could ever give you, because no one is like him, no one is him, and you are blessed to have met him, and earned his love.

"It was." Haldir agrees, as he once more takes you in his arms to hold you close; he kisses your brow "And it always will be, I promise."

You should leave soon, since you need to be at home before your parents awake and notice you are gone -and unfortunately your father is the earliest riser you know!- and you both know it, but you don't move, your cheek resting on Haldir's chest as his fingers gently run through your hair. You don't need to be as close as the two of you are to know the same thought is filling both of your minds, the same thought that has tormented you for a whole year now...

"Do you feel... something?" Haldir hesitantly asks in the end, and you sigh; he doesn't blame you, and the guilt and the disappointment weighting on your heart are probably even worse than what he feels, but still, in that moment, despite all the joy and the pleasure still warming your body, you feel so ashamed you cannot even look him in the eyes. You don't know exactly what you are waiting for since you have never been pregnant before, how it will feel to know that you have conceived, but of one thing you are sure: that right now, satisfied and happy and aching in the most pleasant way as you are, you feel exactly as before, exactly as you did at the end of the previous twelve attempts: empty.

You have failed. Again.

A sob escapes your lips, a sob that Haldir is too close not to hear, but you still try to hide your face against his shoulder. "I am sorry. Haldir, forgive me, I don't know what I am doing wrong..."

"No, no... It is not..."

"I started drinking a tea that is supposed to render a maiden more fertile, it tastes disgusting but I drink it every day, I swear, I don't know what else..."

There is no accusation or resentment in your beloved's bright blue eyes, only understanding and sadness, and that is enough to make you feel the worst Elf on Arda, undeserving of his love, undeserving of the joy of motherhood.

"Maybe the fault is mine." Haldir whispers in the end, his hand on your cheek "I know these things require time, and we have only one night every moon cycle to try, but if I were able to... if I had to rest less... maybe three times is not enough..."

"My darling, you have to rise at dawn to go on patrol; you need rest. What we do cannot hinder your duties as marchwarden."

"I know, I know..."

He looks so dejected, so guilty and disheartened, that you find yourself forgetting your sadness to try and alleviate his.

"Listen to me; we have no reason to feel guilty, since we are doing everything we can; as you said, it takes time to conceive a child, and we cannot let disappointment and bitterness make us forget how lucky we are. We love each other, and we are together, albeit just for a few hours; just for that, I am grateful."

"If we had a child, though, we could be together without having to hide." Haldir points out; but then he smiles "But you are right; we will keep trying for as long as we need to, and in the meantime we will enjoy the time we can spend together. I cannot wait to give you a child, to raise a family together... but I just need to be with you, and to know that you are mine, to be happy."

"I am, Haldir; and I always will be, I promise."

In the end you are forced to leave your beloved's bed and get dressed; Haldir needs all the rest he can get, but as always he rises with you to walk you to the gate. You don't talk as you leave the talan behind you, your hand in his, the quiet murmuring of the night holding you in a gentle embrace. You love moments like this, when words are not needed, a simple moment is a treasure, and every little gesture speaks about you. You would stay here for hours, just enjoying your beloved's company and the beauty of the night, but the full moon has already started his descend towards the horizon: it is time to go.

Rúmil and Orophin look at you expectantly as you reach the gate, but they are quick to pretend to be otherwise occupied when they notice the lack of joy and relief on your faces. You smile, and

"We will try once more." you tell them, as Haldir kisses your temple.

"We will try for as long as we need to."

You and your beloved say your goodbyes with a long hug, and a last kiss. "Be safe." he tells you, and you nod, too busy committing his face, his scent, the feel of his arms around you, to memory, to talk. A minute later you have passed the gate, alone once more but not lonely, disappointed but not sad; you had a night with him, and you will have another on the next full moon, and that is enough.

You wave your hand in farewell, and he responds in kind, before stepping away and letting the darkness of the night surround you.

TAGGING @starlady66 and @elvenenby. Hope you like this!

[luna-writes-stuff]

Motion Sickness, Xu Shangqi

Yes, I wrote this out self projection. I myself have a very weak stomach and can therefor very easily and quickly catch motion sickness.

For those interested about what motion sickness is and what it means for me: Quick story of it, my stomach cannot stand a lot of motion, especially when my brain is unaware of the direction my body is moving in. I get nauseous and light headed and just feel the bile rising up in my throat. So when I go on long car rides for vacation and I cannot see the navigation, I could easily throw up in the car in a matter of seconds. When I sit on the wrong side of the car, I get sick. When I look anywhere else but outside in the car, I get sick. When the car is taking turns instead of driving straight ahead, I get sick. It’s really annoying and it’s still something I struggle with a lot. I get it on amusement rides, rollercoasters, boats; even when I just move around to quickly or too much. So when I was watching that scene in Shang-Chi where they drive to Ta Lo, all I could think about was how terrible I would’ve been in that situation. And it inspired me to write this (stupid as it may sound.) Yes, I am aware there is medication for this, but it happens a lot of the times and would I keep using and buying it, I would spend way more money than I actually need to. I only use it for long car rides and boat trips.

Fanfic, female! reader

Fluff, bit of angst

Tw: SPOILERS, motion sickness, description of nausea, lightheadedness, description of vomiting, rising temperature, half consciousness, self projected, description of losing consciousness (but not really), Shang-Chi being worried, established relationship, use of Y/N. Also, I could not find the script anywhere, so half of the dialogue is probably wrong.

Summary: When escaping Wenwu’s home, you join the ride to Ta Lo, even as you are aware that you get severe motion sickness in cars and most definitely will end up throwing up later. Shang-Chi knows this and tries to help, but you can’t talk nausea out of someone. Upon arriving in Ta Lo, you’re barely conscious and Shang-Chi gets concerned.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Shang-Chi asked, as you sat outside the car you just escaped in.

The ride from Wenwu’s home had been difficult to say the least. You got very nauseous in car rides, and you knew that, yet you wanted to be there for Shang-Chi when he would travel to his mother’s village. It was already clear it was not going to be an easy journey, but you insisted on joining the ride.

At the moment, you were catching some fresh air after the eventful car ride earlier. You forced your nausea down, smiling up at Shang-Chi.

“Oh yeah. I’ll be fine.” You assured, standing up and taking a deep breath in.

“You know you don’t have to come along.” He tried again, but you ignored his offer.

“I said I’ll be fine.” You insisted, walking back towards the car. Shang-Chi let out a sigh of defeat before opening the door to the passenger seat.

“Actually, Trevor was going to sit there. Seeing as he kind of holds the information and stuff.” Katy said, gesturing towards the man behind you two.

“He can do that from the back.” Shang-Chi said, but you shoo’d him, opening the door behind the passenger seat.

“I can sit here too.” You announced, sitting down before your boyfriend could say anything about it.

“Y/N-“ “Don’t Y/N me.” You interrupted. “If I get sick, it’s my own damn fault.”

He groaned before stepping in on the other side, his sister seated between the two of you.

“Is something wrong?” She asked, looking towards you with a worried glance.

“She gets sick in car rides.” Shang-Chi announced, putting on his seatbelt.

“Don’t worry.” You reassured her, “If I’m going to throw up, I’m going to aim for Shang-Chi. You’ll be fine.”

“You’re going to throw up?” She questioned, frowning at the statement.

“I’ll try not to, if it’s any consolation to you.” You offered, throwing off your jacket before bundling it up and letting it rest on your lap, holding it against your stomach lightly.

“I hope you’re strapped in. Morris tells us we need to leave now.” Trevor announced, simultaneously making Katy push the gas.

As you’re driving, Katy keeps a steady pace, causing a feeling of relief to wash through you. If this was going to be the pace you’d keep during the ride, nothing could really go wrong.

In front of the car, the trees suddenly started to separate, creating a road for Katy to drive on. You gasped at the sight, having never seen anything like it before.

“This is so cool.” Katy quietly awed. You hummed in agreement, staring at the greens out of the window.

“Morris says you might want to speed up.” Trevor announced, looking at the rearview mirror. Katy followed his look, before letting a curse word slip and speeding up. All three of you in the back quickly looked behind, eyes widening at the sight of the trees closing back.

You turned around the second you saw what was happening, not ready to move forward while looking back.

“Take a left.” Trevor instructed.

“When?” Katy wondered, sparing the man a single glance.

“Now!” He ushered.

Katy took a sharp turn at his words, causing you to immediately grab hold of the handle on the door. Xialing and Shang-Chi both fell towards your side, not having prepared for the turn. You let out a little chuckle at the sight of them, but stopped as the familiar feeling of nausea hit you again.

“Right!” Trevor instructed. Yet again, Katy listened to him, taking a sharp right turn as the woods split into two again.

You had yet to let go of the handle, but you figured it might the closest thing you’d get to grounding at the moment. You felt Shang-Chi’s eyes drill holes into your head, but you refused to look at him. Instead, you kept you eyes on the window outside, knowing shooting your glance anywhere else might lead to some unfortunate consequences.

“Right again!” And at those words, the car stumbled around. Your stomach started feeling heavy as your head grew lighter, but you refused to acknowledge it, silently wishing for it to be over soon. You knew what would happen. You brought this upon yourself and you had no one to blame but yourself. You were in this now and you would not complain about it.

“Left!”

The next turn came completely unexpected to you, causing you to lose grip of the handle and the jacket on your lap, your hands trying to hold onto the seat in front of you.

As the car was on a straight line again, Shang-Chi quickly leaned over, grabbing your jacket and handing it to you, before opening your window slightly, allowing fresh air to fill the car. He shot you a silent look before returning to his seat.

“Drive faster!” Trevor urged, looking in the rearview mirror again. The forest seemed to close in behind you in an even faster rate now.

Katy just followed his lead, pushing the gas pedal down all the way. The car was hurled forward as your stomach began to flip. You leant your head against the window, your jacket pressed tightly against your stomach.

“Right!” Trevor yelled, the wind that blew into the car now becoming louder than his voice.

As Katy followed his directions, your clothes began to uncomfortably cling to your body, your hair slowly sticking to your forehead. You felt the bile rising up your throat, but you swallowed it back down, knowing there was no way of stopping now.

As Trevor kept shouting instructions, you began to wonder when this maze would end. It had been more terrible than you predicted. Perhaps the nausea of the earlier car-ride still lay heavy on your stomach, which only increased with the current journey. Or maybe the fact that there were no blinkers or navigation used, made your brain confused and uncomfortable, leaving you with a sickening feeling. Perhaps it was a combination of both.

Had this been a bad idea?

Definitely.

Would you ever confess it?

Never.

“Close the window!” Trevor yelled to Katy, holding his hands over his ears.

“Do not close the window!” Shang-Chi shot after him, holding his hand beside Katy’s seat, leaving her unable to access the window buttons.

Your head rested against the backside of the chair in front of you, trying to keep the dizziness at bay, but with every following turn, you felt that uncomfortable substance rising back up. Your head felt too light to lift it now, but your stomach forced you to keep it up before everything would come back out.

You let your head fall towards the window, keeping it up in order to swallow everything down again. The sour feeling stung your throat, nearly making you gasp in uneasiness, but you did your best not to show it. The open window that provided you with fresh air, had begun to lose its purpose, now only filling you with a loud pounding in the ears, every other word suddenly passing by unheard. It wasn’t until you felt a warm hand on the one that clung to your jacket, that you moved your head.

Before even looking, you knew it was Shang-Chi, but there was little he could do for you now. He didn’t say anything. Instead, he held out a bottle of cold water and a plastic bag. You gratefully took the offer, taking small sips from the bottle before placing the plastic bag on top of your jacket, just in case things would go sideways.

Your hands had grown all warm and soggy, nearly gliding off of the fabric. Your shirt was now nearly glued to your back. The hair you had refused to put up earlier was now suffocating your neck with a heat attack. You could feel the sweat of it fall down your body, making you move uncomfortably in your seat. A sharp ringing filled your ears, your vision showing black dots from time to time.

The car increased its speed suddenly. You had no idea what was happening, but you closed your eyes, not willing to look outside anymore. You needed your focus on your body, trying so desperately to maintain it.

Katy’s screaming disturbed the ringing in your ears as you felt an annoying banging against your brain.

And just like that, the car stopped moving. Heavy breathing was heard all around the car, but you had yet to open your eyes. The nauseating feeling was far from over. You figured it was best to continue driving before you would have to experience everything again.

“Everyone okay?” Katy asked, which went answered by multiple hums.

“Morris says to go right through there.” The man in front of you announced.

“Through the waterfall?” Katy asked incredulously.

“Yes.” Was the simple answer.

And then, the car was moving again. You heard the window beside you shut, but you made no intention to open your eyes yet.

“Y/N?” You heard Shang-Chi ask, but you ignored him, waving your hand towards him in a “let it go” manner.

How long the car had been driving afterwards, you did not know. You didn’t look outside, the earlier trip still heavy on your stomach. It wasn’t until the car suddenly stopped, that your stomach decided enough was enough, and resorted to throwing everything out.

You were hunched over the bag in your hands, the vomit slowly leaving your throat, much to your discomfort. You felt two gentle, yet unfamiliar hands wrap around your hair before tying it in a simple pony tail.

Your body felt as if it was on fire, your shirt definitely drenched by now. You tried to catch your breath, but you threw yourself back over the bag before you knew it. A second round falling out just as terrible as the first one.

You could hardly comprehend the door beside you opening, followed by a hand slowly, but steadily rubbing your back. You kept yourself above the bag, even though you were fairly sure you were done now. You began tying it, but it was taken from you before you could grab the ends.

As you unbuckled yourself and stood back up, black spots appeared in your vision again, making you stumble outside, before forcing you to sit down, your back against the car.

“Babe, can you hear me?” You faintly heard, making you hum silently, leaning your head against the car too, your eyes closing again.

“Are you okay?” He asked again, the voice now nearer.

“I just threw up twice. What do you think?” You mumbled.

Your statement went ignored, a soft hand being placed on top of your head instead.

“You’re burning up.” He remarked, untying your hair and wrapping it in a bun instead, making you sigh in relief.

“Give me a few minutes.” You stated quietly.

“Can you give me that bottle of water?” You followed up in a whisper. It was quiet for a moment before you felt the cold bottle back in your hands. You finished it quickly, handing it back when you were done.

“Do you need anything else?” He wondered again, his hand softly touching your cheek.

“A cold shower.” You mustered out, throwing your head forward, making it rest against Shang-Chi’s chest. “And a few painkillers.”

A low chuckle escaped his throat as his hand rested on your back, making you since slightly at the hot and sweaty shirt now being pushed against your body.

“Can you move yet?” He whispered patiently, letting you go, though he allowed your head to keep resting against him.

“Give me a moment.” You muttered, one of your hands falling to your stomach as if it would calm it down.

“That’s okay.” He answered, shifting a little bit before resting his head on top of yours, one of his his hands connecting with the one that was on your stomach.

“Xialing is doing the talking anyway.” He explained, his second hand falling to your neck and stroking it affectionately.

“Tell me when to get up.” He proposed, letting you pick your time and comfort.

You hummed in response, happy to be in his arms back on solid ground. You tried turning in your position, but your body quickly show down the idea, fresh nausea returning fast.

Shang-Chi understood what you were trying to do, luckily. He grabbed your waist, carefully turning you around, making your back rest against his chest.

“You’re drenched in sweat.” He noticed aloud, though that was the only thing he did about it.

Your head fell back in the crook of his neck, making Shang-Chi smile and rest his head against yours. Your hand tried reaching for his, even though you could not see anything right now.

“You want more water?” He misunderstood, his voice vibrating through his chest.

You just shook your head lightly, grabbing his arm and letting your hand slide down it until your hand connected with his. He squeezed it in comfort, before wrapping his arms around your body, holding you against him tightly, your hands toying with his fingers.

“I’m tired.” You whispered. “Do you mind if I fall asleep right here?”

Once more, Shang-Chi chuckled. “Of course not, babe.”

“Thank you.” You mumbled, sinking into his arms, nausea slowly subsiding as your mind finally drifted off.

You were glad he had been understanding, instead of cocky and full of himself at the moment. He did not mention your stubbornness earlier or your stupid comments. And you were thankful for that. You were far too tired or nauseous to deal with these comments now. They’d have to wait until tomorrow morning. Besides, a cold shower was next on the agenda, whether Ta Lo had that or not.

Taglist: @wlfstxr

[sylverstorms]

Bela x Maiden ----Songbird Ch. 5

Ch.1 Ch.2 Ch.3 Ch.4

Ever since you were little, you've always hated thunderstorms.

Maybe it's because you were almost struck by lightning at the fragile age of five. The deafening crack of thunder and the harrowing rumbling of the ground left a scar in your mind that refuses to fade. Now, every time the sky flashes stark white your body automatically locks up and braces for the impact.

The rain was just a soothing drizzle during the initial hours of your shift. It was only after you stepped into the auditorium that the nightmarish booms began.

You grit your teeth and try to focus on your work, but your whole being is on edge. Your breathing feels shallow. Your hands aren't steady enough to be trusted with delicate objects.

From the corner of your vision, the large piano at the center of the chamber gleams in a promise of comfort. You approach it slowly, carefully; it would calm you to play, except you aren't foolish enough to touch a single key without permission. The sound is bound to attract unwanted attention... and you value your fingers.

But, surely, admiring the proud instrument while you meticulously polish its surface cannot be a crime...?

“Fitting, that you would be assigned to this section.” A familiar voice comes from behind you and you nearly jump. The damn storm made it impossible to hear anyone's approach.

Perhaps you should count your blessings it is Bela that crosses the threshold towards you, rather than one of her sisters. Better the devil you know.

“Good evening.” you greet quietly, though it's actually the small hours of the morning. “I am almost done here, so I could leave if you need the room.”

The blonde comes to a halt in front of you, a slight frown settled over her fine features. “Your heart.” she comments. “It's beating erratically.” Then a faint, teasing little smirk curls her lip. “Are you that excited to see me, or?”

The sky decides that is a good moment to light up, illuminating the grand chamber through the flimsy drapes covering the windows. Every molecule in your form tenses.

“Um. Just happy to see you.” you lie, in a way you know doesn't sound very convincing.

When the roar of thunder comes, despite your best efforts, you jolt. You only come to your senses after the booms have completely faded...

And realize, with great embarrassment, you practically leaped into Bela. Your hands are so tight on her biceps her outfit is left crinkled as you shakingly release your grip.

Momentarily, you wonder if she's mad, but one look up dispels your fears. She's merely observing you like a curious cat, as she often does.

“Astraphobia?” she asks. You mutely nod.

It doesn't help that the castle is the tallest structure in its vicinity either, towering above the forest and the village. If lightning is to strike anywhere near, it has high chances to do so directly over your head. You try not to think too hard about that or you won't be able to function at all.

Bela walks around you and takes a seat on the bench before the piano. You feel that's your cue to leave, until she turns around and looks at you expectantly.

“You may join me, if you wish.”

Seven small words that make you pause. Surely, she isn't being nice out of the goodness of her heart, yet you can't find it in you to be difficult right now. You gladly take the distraction.

“Do you play?” Bela asks when you slide next to her, on the furthest edge possible.

“Well enough.” you reply.

“Show me a duet that's not too difficult.” she speaks, eyes alight with a sort of eagerness that renders her face softer, almost unbearably beautiful.

You focus on the keys in front of you so your traitorous eyes stop being drawn to hers. And you may have pictured it strange at first, but you find that it's surprisingly easy to instruct her on what to do and when. The few times you both mess up your timing you chuckle and start over.

The storm outside fades into the background as minutes tick by.

“Who taught you to play?” you inquire after you finally succeed in playing a part the piece right and take a break.

“There was a maid, professional pianist, a while back, but... Daniela saw to it that the lessons didn't last long.” Bela makes a sour face at that. Poor woman, you think and hope you don't meet her end.

Then again, it's going to come sooner rather than later in the castle, isn't it?

“Well if anyone is to off me... I'd rather it be you.” You won't have a choice in the matter, exactly, so you wonder why the words leave your lips at all.

Bela turns to face you fully. “Why is that?” she asks.

Because you find an odd type of comfort in her pretty face, is what you think yet cannot say. Because you would accept death just a little easier if it was brought by her cool hands around your neck, or her fangs into it. Because there's a poetic irony the angsty artist in you appreciates, being attracted to your killer.

Bela's face becomes illuminated by white once more.

You do not have time to brace for it.

Lightning strikes the castle so swiftly, so suddenly, your breath is stolen from right within your lungs. The sheer sound drives you to a cry, your legs and spine ache from the stress and you cannot breathe—

Until you feel inhumanly strong arms grip at your sides, bringing you back to reality.

Yellow eyes are the first thing you see when you open yours. They're close, too close, glowing from within like cinders. Your nails are sunk into Bela's shoulders as if she's the only anchor left in a tilted, unsteady world. The distance between you is nonexistent, her colder body keeps yours pinned against the smooth lid secured over the piano keys, even though ‘trapped’ is the last word that comes to mind.

For a moment suspended in time, neither of you moves.

Then, instead of letting go and apologizing, you hook your nails a little firmer into her. Hypnotic amber eyes darken like the sky outside as she leans closer...

“If anyone else were to touch me like you do, they'd be missing their fingers right now.” Bela whispers in the sliver of space left between you. You do not doubt it.

A cool thumb and pointer move up to grip your chin. Every inch of you they accidentally brush over along the way is left humming.

“What are you doing to me, Rhiannon?” her lips brush over the very edge of yours with the words.

There is one thing you'd regret if you were to die tomorrow, or even sooner than that. And that is not confirming whether her mouth really does feel as soft and good as it looks.

You close the last millimeter separating you, lips finally slotting into hers with a sigh.

Bela doesn't really move for a hot second, frozen still, though you aren't dissuaded. Perhaps it's terribly selfish, yet you will take what you want from her like she has taken from you, so many times.

A nip on her lower lip gives you the opening you need to slip your tongue into her velvet mouth, dipping ever-so-slightly in, coaxing hers to indulge you. She tastes like expensive wine and God, everything about this is so wrong and so utterly gratifying at the same time.

Bela lets out a tiny, throaty moan that you know will haunt your lonely nights in bed. She surges forward to meet you with equal passion in the kiss, her hands roaming your stomach and sides. The thought she can all too easily crush you if she loses control of her strength shouldn't be such an immense turn on, but it is.

Neither should the faint pain from how hard she's pressing your waist against the piano, yet your body is thrumming, all too willing to unravel under her. The apex of your legs is starting to ache and the way her thigh keeps them parted isn't helping. You've only moved against each other a little and you're already so wet, you can barely keep yourself from grinding off on her.

If she were to touch you there now, you're sure you'd come instantly. You almost push her fingers down, too...

But Bela hastily draws away from you, alarmed. Her hand grabs yours and immediately pulls you sit back on the bench, just as a ginger head peeks into the room.

“Hey~ I heard music.” Daniela’s deceptively sweet voice comes. Bela does a far better job controlling her breathing than you are. “Didn't know you were here with your little songbird~”

“Yes and you're staying yards away from this one, Daniela.” There's a little growl in Bela's voice that's so insanely hot—

What's wrong with me?

“You can't just hog one of the most interesting maids!” The younger sibling complains in a very younger-sister fashion. You'd know.

“Don't be annoying.”

“Don't be a dull.”

Bela huffs and her eyes fleetingly meet yours. “The human's just finished her shift, anyway. She's going to bed before she collapses on us.”

The human.

Yeah, that stings.

Daniela lets out an overly dramatic sigh and walks into the room just as Bela guides you up and around her. You don't miss the way she keeps her body between her sister and you until she's made sure the redhead harbors no secret plans to pounce.

“Get going now.” Bela orders, flat and expressionless as she looks at you. It almost makes you want to slap her, but you muse dying for that probably isn't worth it. Even if right now it feels like it might be.

The human. The distasteful way she said it plays on repeat in your head. Yes, the human whose mouth she had her tongue in, mere moments ago. The human she stared at with such blatant desire you felt you may burn from that alone.

The human.

You bite down the acidic ‘fuck you’ that's on the very tip of your tongue and taste iron.

Then you nod, turn and walk away in quick steps. You're so frustrated you throw your clothes at the nearest wall when you enter the showers near your room.

The cold water, you find, does little to ease the want gnawing at your insides. You get to bed rubbing your thighs together, but you're far too stubborn to give in and relieve yourself of the tension Bela has caused.

You don't want to think about her or the way her gorgeous damn face can go from soft to ice-cold in milliseconds. Or her stupid low moan or her full, silky lips that you now intimately know the exact feel of.

Yet that's precisely what you see in your dreams, her lithe body hovering above you in the dark.

[heliads]

Our Paths are One

You recently became a Ranger, traveling the North to protect the land and its people from monster attacks. When you meet Strider, you cannot help but wonder why you seem to keep finding each other in the wilderness, even by accident.

masterlist

The woods of the North are cold this time of night; cruel winds whisper between the trees, carrying with them reports of steel blades to the West and monsters to the East. There is no safe place to rest without keeping one eye open and one hand on the hilt of your sword. It’s a dangerous place, out here in the wilderness, and the threats only grow in number once darkness falls across the hills. All the same, you prowl in the dark with a smile on your face.

Your footsteps, at least, are silent. You’ve been in the forest many times before, and it knows your scent. It’s best not to let it know your footfalls too. That being said, you can still hear a dense shuffling and stomping sound coming from the trees to your right, down a ravine. Your fingers close around your sword, slipping past the pommel to wrap firmly around the grip. The air is thick with the promise of a coming fight. You can only hope to strike now, while you still have surprise on your side.

You’d heard rumors of a pack of orcs traveling somewhere in the vicinity, after a harried traveler had collapsed in a nearby pub last night, bawling stories about how his party had been attacked and had to flee for their lives. There are no doubt many boastful groups looking around for the same monsters, but the title of killing them can only go to one, and you intend it to be you. You only became a Ranger recently- it’s time you earned your stripes and cemented a place for yourself amongst their ranks.

You drop down into the ravine silently, using a patch of moss to disguise the sound of your heels landing on the packed earth. You unsheathe your sword, paying no heed to the bitter glint of moonlight along its edge before you begin your work. You’re able to stab two orcs in the eye and slash one’s throat before one of the beasts finally lets out a dying gurgle of blood and the rest discover that you’re there.

They yell gutturally at you in anger and charge, although you’re ready for them. Their lunges are strong but clumsy, and you’re able to dance around them as if you were part elf instead of fully human. You parry a fierce blow, forcing the nearest orc’s weapon down into the earth before quickly riposting to cut through its chest. Normally, you keep your sword as sharp as possible; tonight, it slices through orc flesh as if it were the thinnest of silks. You smile. It is not the gentlest of looks.

You move steadily through the pack. Trapping them in the narrow ravine had been a smart move, and they’re limited to attacking you in groups of two or three, which you can dispatch quickly before more manage to climb over their fallen brethren to reach you. In fact, you’re just readying yourself for a final swing towards the last pair before the orc in front of you lets out a startled sound, strangled by the blood knotting in its throat and the sword suddenly jutting out of its chest.

The blade is quickly removed, and seconds later, the final orc’s head is spinning off into the ground near its feet. The body falls as if kicked, and you’re face to face with your apparent savior. However, you don’t feel grateful for the rescue, only annoyed. “I had them down. Why would you interfere?” The man before you is tall and dark-haired, his eyes piercing even when lined by a splash of orc blood. His lips are slashed by a smirk. Evidently, he’s proud of himself for ruining your string of kills.

“I wanted to make sure that you would not be hurt. You are one of the newest Rangers, after all. I have yet to see you on this side of the forest before.” You raise an eyebrow. “Are you this welcoming to all new Rangers, or only me?” The corner of his lips twitch again. “You could simply thank me, you know. Let’s just leave it at that.”

You scoff, reaching forward to wipe the blood from your sword on a nearby patch of grass. “Oh, of course. I shall sing your praises to the archangels themselves, mysterious stranger. Now, if you don’t mind, I will be on my way. Or are you going to take over my later travels as well?” There’s a glint of something in the man’s eyes. It could be irritation, could be satisfaction. Perhaps a bit of both.

“Only if I was certain that you would be this upset over it. Who are you, then?” You consider him for a second longer, then nod. Whoever this man is, he’s a fellow Ranger, and committed to ridding this world of orcs, even if the kills are meant to be yours. “Y/N. Y/N L/N.” He inclines his head. “They call me Strider.” You sheath your sword, tapping the hilt once before making for the hills once more. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Strider. With all respect, I hope our paths should never cross again, or I’d fear for my other quests lest you add yourself to them as well.” You can practically hear his grin as you walk away. “The same with you, Y/N.”

You assume that your leaving will be the end of this. The forests and grasslands scattering the North are vast; canvassing them by yourself could take years. The chances of running into this Strider fellow are slim to none. 

That being said, when you find yourself crossing through a particularly dark patch of the wilderness and hear the sound of conflict carried to you by the winds, you can’t help but shake your head. You can hear the clang of steel and the snarl of what appears to be half-trolls, but every now and then, you hear a grunt of exertion coming from the swordsman taking on these monsters. It’s a familiar sound, and a familiar voice, despite the fact that you’ve only heard it once before. You grin to yourself. This is going to be fun.

You come across the scene soon enough. You have to admire Strider’s courage- he’s taking on a trio of these half-trolls without an apparent care for his own safety. Then again, you can spot the fleeing silhouettes of a family of travelers. Strider has likely taken on these monsters to save the journeyers, but he’s now left with the difficult task of saving his own skin. He’s so concerned with making it out alive that he hasn’t spotted you yet.

You wait until his back is turned to you, sword holding back the blow of one of the half-trolls’ stone clubs, until you strike. You can see Strider’s eyes widen slightly as your knife buries itself in the chest of the monster in front of him, which sways back and forth before crumpling to the fallen ground. It was an excellent throw, you can admit that yourself. You drop to the ground, rolling under a looming fist before coming up on your feet behind the beast, your sword already in your hand and slashing at its back. The half-troll groans in agony, twisting around to swat at you, but by the time it’s facing you again you have relieved the monster of its arm. It cries out again before turning to run, although it doesn’t make it far before Strider’s sword lodges firmly between its ribs.

When you turn to face the battle scene, you note that the other troll has been dispatched. The clearing is empty save for you, Strider, and a few half-troll carcasses. Strider moves towards you, eyes roving over your arms to check for cuts and scrapes that aren’t there. “May I ask why you chose to intervene?” You can’t help a satisfied smile. “I wanted to make sure that you would not be hurt. You are one of the most maddening Rangers, after all. I couldn’t just leave you to die.”

You walk forward to retrieve your knife from the chest of the fallen half-troll, so you don’t see the slight incredulity washing over Strider’s face. You can hear it in his voice, though, along with the undercurrent of humor that always seems to be present within him. “I appreciate you looking out for me. That’s the sign of a good Ranger, you know. However, seeing as I wouldn’t want you to get hurt, I might advise you to not take on enemies that might be too much for you.”

You stare at him now, before roughly yanking your dagger from the dead monster’s trunk. It comes directly from its heart, and shines darkly from the blood coating it down to the hilt. You hold it up, heedless of the scarlet starting to drip down over your knuckles. “If I thought I couldn’t handle those things, I wouldn’t have gotten involved. I’d argue that I’m worth a little more than you might think, Strider.”

You step forward slowly, until you’re only a few feet away. “We are both Rangers now. It would be best for you to stop seeing me solely as a commoner who stole a weapon from a nearby blacksmith.” You say, yet Strider’s hands close quietly over your knife. You’re not sure why you let him take it, but you watch as he walks a few feet away to wipe the blood from the metal. He does not say another word until he has come back to you, pressing the weapon gently into your awaiting palms. “I would not dare, Y/N.” Something almost like a smile plays over your lips. “I should hope not.”

You see Strider again, and then again. You don’t plan it, honestly, this meeting up with him, it just happens. You’re trying to rid the forest of some thieves, he appears on the path behind you to stop you from being cut off at all sides. He’s cornered by some rogue orcs, you find yourself charging the lot to ensure that the one Ranger you know won’t find a lonely death in the forest. You’re not sure whether you would consider him a rival, a friend, or any mixture of those terms, only that it does make you smile every time you see him.

Then, in the midst of a nighttime journey, you get the sensation that something is wrong. The feeling washes over your skin, raising the hairs on your arms and chilling your bones. You dismount from your horse, walking forward to look over the edge of a nearby bluff for any signs that another conflict has come upon you. You see it then- a rocky outcropping not far from you, a single curl of smoke piercing the sky. It is quiet, and suddenly a shriek shatters through the night.

You clap a hand over your mouth to stop a gasp of shock. You’ve never heard that deathly wail before, yet you can recognize it instantly: a ringwraith. It could be nothing else. Even by hearing the sound, you can conjure up the mental picture: darkly clothed figures, rattling breaths, the stench of death even before they strike. Somehow, you know that the wraiths are approaching that mountaintop, and somehow you know that there is a Ranger there who will attempt take them on alone.

You’ve jumped onto your horse before you can muster up a second thought, lashing the reins and charging forward in a thunderous gallop. You’re not bothering with silence this time, only speed. Your steed canters forward as fast as it can, racing between low-hanging boughs and up the side of the rocky mountaintop. You can only hope that you’ll arrive fast enough. The thought alone is not enough to stop your nerves from threatening to tear you asunder.

You approach the rocky clearing soon enough, and your heart catches in your throat to see the scene. Across the space from you, you can see four of what appears to be hobbits, one of them lying painfully on the ground as if injured. Then, closer to you, one man armed with a torch and a sword, taking on five Nȃzgul as if they were no more than garden-variety thieves. You could almost laugh at his selflessness, were it not for the fact that he’s about to get himself killed.

You have a torch of your own, and hold it in the air. Your horse raises itself on its hind legs, neighing loudly in the still air. The attention of the ringwraiths is diverted to you, as is Strider’s, although you cannot tell whether or not the look in his eyes is driven by relief or regret. You charge forward, torch held at the ready. Your horse bears down upon the cloaked beings, moving forward swiftly despite their shrieks and calls. You swat at first one then the other, beating them back with the fire. 

You can feel your horse panicking beneath you, so you jump down after a second, trusting it to remain close. You and Strider fight side by side, forming a barrier of flaming torches and steel that does not allow any of the Nȃzgul to approach. At last, Strider lunges forward, forcing the last of them back. All of a sudden, you are alone once more, the air seeming to heat up again now that the soul-sucking chill of the ringwraiths has been removed.

You do not have a chance to speak with him immediately. The dark-haired hobbit, Frodo, is gravely injured from a wraith’s blade, and is rushed away with an elf who smiles at you briefly before taking off once more. Then, you have to watch over the remaining hobbits, and make sure they don’t manage to call attention to themselves once more. Only once it is far later into the night, when Strider has allowed the three hobbits to rest, do you follow his unspoken request and go with him a ways away from the meager camp to talk.

Strider waits until you’re sufficiently out of earshot of the camp before he begins. He is pacing away, away, and then he whirls back to you. There’s a fierce sort of light in his gaze that has never been there before; it becomes him, in a way. “What were you doing here? You could have been killed!” You raise an eyebrow. “You could have been killed as well. That’s why I was here, actually, making sure that you weren’t murdered when you tried to take on a swarm of Nȃzgul.”

His eyes flash in the darkness. “Do not put the blame of this on me. I will not have your death on my conscience.” You let out a surprised, bitter laugh. “You won’t, I’m still alive. How are you upset about this? This is what we do, we save each other. You want to avoid thinking that I could have died because of you? How do you think I would feel if you died when I did nothing about it? I would rather have been killed than know that you were going up against ringwraiths while I sat back and watched.”

Strider’s expression is merciless. “I would rather have your grief if it meant you were alive. There are only so many rangers in the forest. We cannot afford to lose one because you wanted to get involved in something like this.” You shake your head, disbelieving. “That’s what this is all about? You would chide me for saving your life, all because you are worried about the numbers of rangers?” 

There’s a pause, and then he speaks again. “No. It is not for that.” All of a sudden, his fierce stance is gone, replaced by a man, just a man. Out of some indescribable emotion, you reach forward and take his hand. He stares at your interlocked fingers, and so do you. “Then what is it, Strider? What would make you speak this way?” He looks at you for a second longer, then his gaze flicks away again. “Aragorn. That is my true name. I would have you use it.”

Your fire is gone now, as is his. All that remains is a few embers, catching light in the dark night of this section of the forest. “Then, Aragorn, what would make you afraid to lose me?” Your tone is light. You cannot think about the consequences of what this all means. “This is a lonely life, Y/N. All the same, I have still had you. Do you know how large the wilderness is, how great the expanse of territory that we rangers pursue? Yet, every week or two, I still see you. Somehow, our paths keep crossing. If I lost you tonight, and I had to go back into the forest without knowing that you were there somewhere with me, I would feel more lost than the first time I stepped from my doorstep.”

His voice is quiet. Yours is too. “Then you understand why I had to fight too, don’t you? It is the same for me. Your loss is mine.” Aragorn looks up at you. “The same?” You nod. His eyes have warmed again, the fire warm this time, not meant to burn but to encourage you to stay a little longer. He glances towards the camp, no doubting wondering what trouble the hobbits have managed to get themselves into. “We go to Rivendell, after Frodo. Will you go with us?” You smile at him. “Anywhere, Aragorn. My path is yours.” He kisses you before he goes, and you watch him walk back to the camp, silhouetted by the soft starlight. You will follow soon enough. For now, you sit and think to yourself, wondering how you managed to get this lucky.

lotr tag list: your compliments would lead me to swear undying allegiance to you @underc0vercryptid​

[sophie-jen]

“Prove it”

answer to @jilytoberfest prompt: “Prove it”

read on ao3 / ffn

Hidden by the cover of night, an eerie castle loomed in the darkness. Woodland creatures never strayed too close, for there were tales of dreadful goings-on within the tall stone walls. The sound of tinkling glass and polite conversation drifted out into the surrounding forest, curling through twisted trees like smoke, while pale moonlight poured in through the narrow windows, illuminating the sinister soirée taking place inside.  

Two gentlemen stood beneath a cluster of candles, speaking agitatedly and paying no heed to the other party-goers. One had artfully coiffed shoulder-length black hair, and was swatting repeatedly at the candles floating not far above as he spoke, while the other, who was bespectacled and had a head of hair that could only be described as the opposite of coiffed, eyed the nearby window like he was considering defenestrating himself at any moment. 

Candle swatter’s voice rose in pitch as he gleefully hammered the final nail in his interlocutor’s coffin. 

“Prove it,” he sneered, watching the confused man in front of him with poorly hidden jubilation. In his excitement, he gripped his wine glass so hard he risked shattering it, spilling the viscous red contents in the process. He had the idiot cornered, and he would relish it like a cat playing with its food.

“Excuse me?” the man asked. 

“I don’t believe you,” he said again.  

“Well, what do you suppose I do, Mr. Black? Go into anaphylaxis to reassure you I’m not lying?” the flustered gentleman responded, trying his best to hold his ground. 

“Except I know there won’t be any anaphylaxis, Mr. Potter,” Mr. Black retorted, “because you’re not really allergic.” 

Mr. Potter ran a hand tensely through his hair, at a loss for words. He was saved from further interrogation by someone calling his name. 

They both turned to see a woman in a black evening gown holding two glasses and walking toward them, eyes trained on Mr. Potter. “James, you’ll never believe what Morticia told me...” 

“Honey!” James practically yelled, relief immediately apparent in his slumped shoulders and softening face. He took a step toward her, grabbing onto her forearm as though anchoring himself. 

The woman smiled bemusedly at him, unsure how to interpret the outburst. She had hair as striking as her husband’s, though hers was a deep, blood red, and fell past her shoulders. James gratefully accepted the glass she handed him, taking a long drink, before remembering that they weren’t alone and turning back to his tormentor with a look of dread. 

“This is Sirius Black.” James gestured toward Sirius, though he did not take a step back towards him. “Mr. Black, this is my wife.”

The redhead looked over, noticing for the first time the particularly pale looking gentleman standing across from her husband, who was going to great pains to look moody and mysterious. 

“I hadn’t realized I was interrupting,” she said. “Lillian Potter, but you can just call me Lily.” She strode closer, James following reluctantly behind, and held a manicured hand out, the nails deadly sharp. 

“Pleasure to meet you, Lily,” Sirius greeted her, watching her claws carefully as they shook hands. 

There followed an awkward pause as they all stood looking at each other. Lily had evidently been expecting them to continue their previous conversation, which James did not seem eager to do, and Sirius didn’t feel quite as confident in his attack in her presence. 

“So, Sirius– is it alright if I call you Sirius?” The man in question nodded, not seeing any other option. Lily continued. “How was your trip? We’re holding this little party in quite a remote location this year.”

“The trip was very pleasant. My car– er, carriage, I mean, kept me shielded from the inclement weather.”

“Your carriage?” The couple looked surprised at this. “I haven’t heard of anyone coming in a carriage in years. It’s quite an old tradition,” Lily commented with a smile. “Why didn’t you fly?”

Sirius took a moment to ponder the question, swirling the liquid in his glass, though he did not drink any. “Naturally, I couldn’t risk ruining my hair. A lot of work goes into maintaining it, you know.” He smoothed the black strands delicately. “Funnily enough, I wanted to check it earlier and couldn’t find a single mirror here,” he added. 

Lily burst into laughter, as though the notion of having a mirror was uproariously funny. “Yes, that took me some getting used to at first.”

James, having grown less weary now that Sirius was acting civilly, finally chimed in. “I don’t mean to pry, but I can’t say I’ve heard of the name Black before. Are you...” he winced, not knowing how to broach the sensitive topic, “new?” 

A flash of confusion disappeared in Sirius’ eyes as quickly as it had appeared. “Yes, yes I am,” he answered, putting on a sorrowful face, which seemed to fit the tone of the question.

“I’m so sorry,” said Lily. “That must be so hard for you. We’re glad you could make it to this little gathering though. Having a sense of community was very comforting for us in the beginning.” 

James hummed softly at the words, settling a reassuring arm around Lily’s shoulders. 

“What about you?” inquired Sirius. “Are you new?”

“No, not at all. It’s been–” James began, and looked down at Lily. She shrugged, a sad smile on her face. “Years,” he sighed. “You lose count eventually.”

Sirius had no idea what response would be appropriate in this situation. “You’ve aged quite well,” he said.  

“Well, we were quite young when it happened,” Lily remarked. The small party sank back into silence, Lily and James looking on with wise solemnity, while Sirius looked a little lost. 

“So!” exclaimed James, in an attempt to liven the mood. “What do you think of the refreshments?” He winked at Sirius. 

“Marvelous!” Sirius held his glass up, which was still just as full as it had been at the beginning of the evening. 

“They’re particularly delicious this year,” said Lily. “But you haven’t drunk anything. Are you not feeling well?”

“You know, now that you mention it–” started Sirius.

“Oh, he was doing just fine earlier, sweetie,” interrupted James with a scoff. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Sirius’ apprehension grew as he realized that James was no longer turning the other cheek, instead choosing to bite back. 

Lily looked confused at the sudden display of animosity. “James...” she muttered, warning in her tone as she placed a placating hand on his arm.

“He was full of energy right up until you got back!” James accused, his voice growing louder.  

“I don’t know what he’s talking about, Lily.” Sirius leaned towards her and spoke in a conspiratorial tone, as though her husband shouldn’t be privy to what he had to say. 

James looked affronted. “He tried to make me eat garlic!” he cried, pointing at Sirius like he was tattling to a teacher. 

“I did not!” lied Sirius, with the instinct of a 4-year-old being accused of stealing his classmate’s pencils. 

Lily simply stared. At length, the poor woman asked, “What?”

“He asked me whether I’m allergic to garlic,” James explained, “and when I told him I was, he said he didn’t believe me. He tried to convince me to prove it to him by eating some in front of him!” he finished, a whiny edge to his voice. 

She whirled on Sirius. “You tried to convince my husband to eat garlic?” 

Sirius only stared, figuring it was best to keep his mouth shut. 

“Why would you–” Lily looked at him in confusion for a beat, and suddenly her eyes widened in comprehension. Sirius’ heart dropped as he watched her turn to James, who was having a revelation of his own, and saw the understanding pass between them. They looked back at him in unison. 

Before he could understand what was happening, Lily had grabbed him by the wrist and was dragging him out of the room, James following quickly behind. She pulled him into an empty corridor, lit only by a few sconces hanging on the stone walls. 

“Who are you?” she hissed, her eyes glowing red in the murky darkness. 

“Please don’t drink my blood!” howled Sirius, “I’m young! I’ve got a long life ahead of me!” 

“Shut up, you prat,” growled James, slapping a hand over the prat’s mouth. 

“We’re not going to hurt you, but you need to tell us who you are and what you’re doing here right this instant, or I cannot promise that things won’t get ugly,” threatened Lily. She nodded at James to let go of the whimpering intruder. 

It all came spilling out. “I’m not a vampire! The invitation was delivered to me by mistake and I figured it was a joke, but when I got here and realized you were all actually drinking blood out of bloody wine glasses it was too late to leave! I just did my best to blend in,” he finished meekly. 

“By accusing a vampire of lying about his garlic allergy?” Lily asked incredulously. 

“You’re shitting me,” came the sound of James’ voice from off to the side. 

Sirius looked over at him apprehensively, expecting to see anger, or worse, hunger. But James was looking at him with an expression of such wondrous awe that Sirius thought for a moment he might kiss him. “Mate,” James said hoarsely, “that’s wicked.” His face split into a shit-eating grin. 

Puzzled yet thrilled by the development, Sirius grinned back. The two boys immediately began chattering, speaking over each other in their excitement. 

“–the balls to do something like this–”

“–really like the taste of blood?”

“–a carriage? Oh yes, it’s delicious–”

“–it seemed old-fashioned, and you’re, like, old. Can you really not see your reflection?” 

“No, it’s a bloody nightmare. But we never age! On the other hand–” 

“Sorry about the garlic thing, by the–”

“–no more cake. No worries, but I really am seriously allergic–”

“–can fly?!”

At the mention of flying, James’ eyes lit up. “Wanna see?” he asked excitedly. He took a few steps back and turned into a bat to the sound of Sirius’ whoops of delight. 

Lily watched her husband fly around a cheering Sirius from a safe distance away. “Un-fucking-believable,” she muttered, pinching the bridge of her nose so hard she looked like she might draw blood. Had there been any blood to draw. 

Several minutes later, after an aerial demonstration and a tour of James’ fangs, they were finally able to discuss more pressing matters. Sirius now had to field Lily’s questions, which weren’t quite as easy to answer as James’. 

“Why would you go all the way out to the middle of nowhere, to a party you weren’t invited to, with people you didn’t know?” she inquired. 

“Because he’s awesome.”

“James, please.”

“Right. Er, this is very serious.” James waggled his finger gravely in his newfound soulmate’s face. “We do need to figure out a way to get him out of here though,” he remarked, looking back at Lily. 

“Can’t you just fly me out?” Sirius asked, all inhibitions lost now that he had James to back him up. 

“You think a bat can carry your body weight?” Lily snapped, at her wit’s end. 

“I read about a passage through the cellar that leads out into the forest, I think,” offered James, feeling guilty for having left Lily on her own to try and solve the very real issue of Sirius’ presence at a party of bloodsuckers.  

“That might work. Lead the way.” She exhaled tiredly, then hummed appreciatively when James wrapped a supportive arm around her waist.  

The unlikely trio made their way down the hallway together, Lily’s head resting on James’ shoulder as she grudgingly answered Sirius’ barrage of questions about the ethics of vampirism. 

The two vampires and the impostor snuck out of the castle and disappeared into the gloomy night.

[di-kut]

Fairy Dust

Pairing: Fem Reader x Ezra (Prospect) 

Word Count: 16k i kNOW

Rating: MA (Extremely explicit sex scenes I don’t know what else to tell ya)

Summary: While collecting rare gems on an unpopular prospecting planet you are both infected with a sex pollen. (Porn with a mild attempt at plot?) 

Warnings: Ok saddle up boys here we go Dirty talk, oral sex (m/f receiving), sex pollen, elements of dub con implied (although they do not do the do while under the influence!), non-established dom/sub dynamic, masturbation, orgasm denial, pharmaceutical drug use, saliva/cum play, nipple play, breath play, overstimulation (sorta), multiple orgasms, vaginal fingering, clit slapping, unprotected sex, pleading, general kind of explicit sexual things 

A/N: This is 29 A4 pages of absolute porn. I really can’t make a single excuse for this. As always this started as something much smaller and got way WAY out of hand. There is lots of yearning and pining in this for a sex pollen fic, and also lots of sex so there’s that. Um pls be kind to me? 

The ground is soggy from the downpour. Your boots sink into the mud and stick. It’s hard going to climb out of the valley, even now, long after the rain has ended. You hike your case higher against you, have to pause and flex your hold around it. Heavy with a cargo which has made the whole descent worth every sodden footstep and fighting against the rain. A rare aquatic gem encased in a bloom which only surfaced during complete submersion. A field of water flowers, nothing but green swaying grass under the sun, suddenly appearing after the rain flooded the valley. The whole planet covered in flora which changed with the weather, almost terraformed with the climate.

The hill is steep, green except for the worn path of mud you had tracked into the grass on the way down it. The peak is near now, grass swaying lazily against a brilliant blue sky. The pod is over the rise, down in the next valley. You dig your feet into the sliding earth, feel it try to pull you back down the hill and into the gorge below, still filled with crystalline pools of clear water. No longer glistening with the purple heads of the gems, those are stowed in your cases. Enough to set you up for months. A year maybe. Rare enough that they will fetch a high price, high enough to have a holiday even. You smile at the thought, forget to check your steps and you shift your weight onto a patch of sliding mud. You stagger, yell, nearly drop. The earth beneath you keeps shifting down, pulls you with it. A hand catches your elbow, stops you from your inevitable fall back down the hill.

“Are you alright, Starlight?”

Ezra’s voice sounds distant through the earpiece. Crackles with static. Your heart is pounding, you can feel it sitting at the back of your throat. You twist your helmet around far enough to look at him and nod. He helps you right yourself, lets you hold onto his arm until you get your balance again.

You continue your climb. The hill wants to slide out from beneath you. Every footstep less steady than the last as you reach the top, the landscape more battered by the rain so close to the peak of the hill. But you don’t slip again, and Ezra is steady on his feet behind you. When you crest the top of the peak the sun emerges from the clouds still curled around the horizon, a halo of threatening grey, the cracking of thunder just audible, carried over the endless lulls of valleys and peaks. A surface of craters – each one filled with a forest, or a lake, or a jungle, on and on, disappearing into the distance. The storm seems far away, but the planet is not just unpopular for prospecting because the gems are hard to find. The weather systems fluctuate quickly, and change can happen in minutes. You eye the clouds with distrust, even as the valleys all around you are bathed in golden afternoon light.

Your breathing bounces around between your headsets, the echo of your own breathing reverberating back to you through the Ezra’s mouthpiece. He stops beside you, balances his case between his feet and sighs. Puts his hands on his hips and stares out with you. A beautiful planet, really, if you can forget the threat of the weather.

“One certainly does crave for the smell of dampened soil.”

“Ezra…” You warn.

“The atmosphere is perfectly breathable, I checked multiple times.”

“Don’t – ”

But he is lifting his arm and releasing the helmet. Movements sure and easy with his only remaining hand. He had been clumsy at it still, when you had first met him, just months after he had lost his right arm. But he no longer avoids your offers for help – doesn’t need them. He holds his helmet against his cocked hip and makes a show of sucking in a long breath. Turn his head to peer at you from the corner of his eye.

You sigh. “It might not be safe.”

“You shall have to take your helmet off, Starlight, without the assistance of our earpieces I cannot hear you.”

“I know you can hear me,” you mutter.

He chuckles at you and the sound curls the familiar sensation of tingling deep in the pit of your stomach. Ezra lets his eyes slip closed, a light breeze ruffling his hair, pushing it up and away from his face. Without the helmet you can see the shape of his profile, strong against the distant clouds. Skin glowing golden in the sunlight, blond streak almost white. You study the lines of his brow, the hook of his nose. Give yourself this moment while he is distracted to commit this memory of him to the same place you keep all precious memories of Ezra. Secret and deep. Almost let yourself think for a moment what it would be like if you took your helmet off too, if you gave in to him. But his eyes are fluttering open and you turn away.

You start the trek back down the other side of the slope. The pod is within sight now, nestled in against the tree line, facing out over a sodden field. Ezra is laughing at you, at your stubbornness. He calls something teasing you ignore, do not let the flood of colour rush to your cheeks. Concentrate on the squelching of your boots through the mud, and the sounds of his joining you as well, never far behind.

His voice marks a constant melody behind you, a soothing sound after almost two years. It’s deep and clear without the static of the helmet to interfere, rings out around you as he chatters. Content mostly just for you to listen, as he always is. The way down is easier than the way up had been, not so steep as the other side of the hill. Your case is heavy enough that you have to lean against its weight at steeper parts. The gloves of your suit are covered in mud from the extraction, so are the knees and fronts of your legs. You are glad a second trip won’t be required to make the journey worthwhile. Glad you will be able to wait out the departure safe from the rain and the storms from the inside of the pod. You glimpse at Ezra, can’t help the fond smile you don’t let him see. Think he was made for this, really, to be always exploring under the shine of the sun.

“We shouldn’t stay out here too long, Ezra.”

He has stopped at the base of one of the trees. Almost fifty metres from the pod. It’s not a tall tree, only Ezra’s height twice again, but its trunk is thick, broad enough that if you stood on either side of it your hands would not touch his. The bark is a smooth grey, covered over with glistening moss, still wet from the downpour. He’s close to it, staring up at something in the canopy above. His helmet pressed between his arm and his hip, the case hanging from his hand below. Small droplets of water occasionally fall from shuddering leaves, catch the light as the drop, the air filled with gems all around him.

“The flora of this planet truly renders one speechless.” He ignores your warning. “A blossoming kaleidoscopic gallery which changes with the weather.”

He places his case on the ground, then his helmet. Tilts his head at you to come closer. You step towards him, close the distance between you with sticky steps. He points up at something, whatever had caught his attention. You stop next to him and turn to see it. The canopy is not far above your heads, a dark leafy green shade from the blue of the sky. Drooping under the weight of the rainfall. Nestled in the green there are buds, yellow and small. They are what has captured Ezra, flowers unopened. Invisible when you had passed through hours before on your way from the pod, but now under the bloom of the sun they are opening. You stand together, shoulder to shoulder under the leaves, watching as dozens, hundreds of them appear above you. More of the local plants which change with the weather, just like your gems. Hidden away, something secret and magical. You can’t deny him this, this little piece of wonder in such a cruel world. Couldn’t deny him anything, not really. You will never tell him that, because the world is cruel, and has been cruel to you both. And you trust him. Know you will never find another partner like him. So it stays within you, locked away, with the little pieces of happiness you find with him. His smile, face turned towards the sun.

He’s watching you, when you turn. His skin golden in the sunlight. Magical himself. And then the blossoms open above you, not flowers after all. Petal-less buds which release a floating snow of yellow pollen which drifts through the air. Settles against his shoulders and into his hair. His smile is soft, changes when you catch his eye. He lifts his hand and knocks his fist  gently against your helmet.

“Rather like fairy dust,” he says quietly. Pinches some of it from where it’s settled on your suit and holds it up between you. Blows it away. The pollen in the air between you comes to life, from a drifting snow to a dance, twisting and writhing through the air on his breath. “Do you think it would heal our wounds, Starlight? Bless the paint which brushes our lives with luck as well?” His eyes glimmer, playfully conspiratorial. Drawing you in towards him, in the way Ezra has of making you feel a part of something. A confidant. “Shall we bottle some, do you think?”

“We’d need a lot.”

He laughs. “That we would.” He closes his eyes and inhales. Exhales. Makes the yellow clouds of pollen chase each other through the air. “The aroma is divine. You ought to smell it.”

You sigh. “Just because the atmosphere is breathable…”

“The helmets were merely to protect our persons from the deluge and keep us from discomfort.” He hikes his own helmet up on his hip as if to demonstrate. “I have not come to harm from the removal of my own.”

“Yet.”

You fidget for a moment, think about saying no. But you can’t, not when he is smiling at you like that, like maybe if you remove the helmet you can make him happy. Like you are someone important. He doesn’t hide his emotions like you, he wears them open and honest on his face and in his eyes. A trait so at odds with his profession. You think he might want you, sometimes, when he looks at you like this. But know him well enough to know he is a wanderer, and that craving your body, after weeks alone in space, is very different to wanting you forever. The way you might know you want him, if you would ever let yourself think about it.

So you place your case carefully between your feet as well and lift your hands to your helmet. It releases with a soft hiss of the pressure and a click and you pull it away. The air is cool and sharp. The soil smells of rain. Ezra is right. The smell of the pollen is incredible. Sweet and sharp and bright. Unlike anything you’ve ever smelt before. Intoxicating, almost. Even more after the staleness of the air in your helmet and in your pod. You can smell him as well, a more familiar smell through the pollen. His eyes are catching the sunlight, the brown shifting between shade and light, sometimes golden sometimes orange and sometimes almost black. More beautiful than the trees and the dancing yellow pollen and the gems in your cases.

“Wonders of the universe, hey?” Ezra murmurs. He’s studying your eyes as intensely as you are studying his.

You throat closes a little. He leans towards you and you shrug away from him. Turn your head to hide your blush. “We should get back to the pod.”

You pick up your helmet in one hand and your case in the other. Ezra is quiet the rest of the walk. Your hair becomes coated with a fine yellow dust, your eyelashes, the tip of your nose. It lands on your shoulders and sticks to the mud on your suit. You feel the gnawing of guilt in your stomach, know you were too quick to turn. Too sharp with him. You turn back several times, get so far as opening your mouth to apologise. But he is staring at the ground beneath his feet, brows furrowed. As he has been other times when you have broken away too soon, when there has been a moment building between you. Only for you to shut it down. Close yourself off.

The pod is cool inside. You brush off the worst of the pollen outside it in silence. Awful, unfamiliar silence. Step inside and remove your suits without a word. But the tension breaks when you giggle at the cloud of yellow which puffs into the air when Ezra shakes his head. He laughs with you, and you settle back into normal, fall into your easy routine. Ezra stores the gems away while you pack the suits, try to get the worst of the pollen off them by shaking them out the door. Pack them away. Dinner; protein bars and supplements and flasks of water. Ezra has a field guide up for the planet, is flicking through the local flora and telling you anything which catches his fancy, reads out descriptions with a melody they do not deserve. It lulls you, makes your stomach turn more than normal. You catch his eyes resting on your face or your body several times before he looks away. It makes your skin break out in goosebumps.

“Ah look,” he says, kicks his feet up onto the bunk. You are still wearing your undersuit, a thick warm lining, but Ezra has shucked his, is wearing only his compression clothing. Your eyes linger where his shirt has ridden up and reveals a sliver of skin over his hipbone. “Our magical tree outside. Not a remnant of some fairy civilisation I’m afraid, and rather well documented.”

You hum encouragingly, distracted.

“Wide trunk… short height… a wider family of flowering trees which covers the planet’s surface. Names after a botanist… species is known for its pink flowers – ”

“It’s flowers weren’t pink.”

“Let me finish, if you would be so kind. Known for its pink flower which do not pollinate, as the pollen is enclosed in a separate yellow bract rather than the sepals of the petals. The pollen is of renown – maybe we should have bottled it – due to its – ”

He cuts himself off. You are fiddling with the zip of your undersuit, still staring at the gap between his shirt and pants. It takes several long moments of silence for you to be able to draw your gaze away from his skin and up to his face. “Renown due to?”

He is gone pale. Stares blankly at his screen.

“Ezra?” You straighten. “Ezra, what’s wrong? The pollen, what is it?”

He doesn’t say anything.

“Is it poisonous?” You are oddly calm. Start running an inventory of the contents of your med kit, try to remember how long since you’d been exposed to it. “Ezra, are we in danger?”

“No,” he croaks. “It’s not poisonous.”

You deflate back against your bunk. Throw an empty protein bar packet in his direction and huff. Want to kick him in his shin for the dramatics. “You scared me. Don’t – ”

“It’s an aphrodisiac.”

You blink at him. “A… A what?”

“An aphrodisiac. It’s harvested for its high potency but it difficult to acquire because of the plant’s unique quality of blooming in certain conditions. The buds are only visible when exposed to extended periods of rainfall, and release pollen only under UV light.” He’s still reading the article aloud. His face slack in horror. “It contains hallucinogenic properties, and is known to create both psychological and physiological – ”

“Ezra, plain English, please.” You say. “So it’s – it’s what? We’re going to be horny?”

“Incomparably aroused.” He looks at you and then away again. Starts to flick through other articles with desperation. “It’s a hallucinogenic. It will not simply make us feel horny, we will be unable to think of anything else. It will make us feel things, phantom sensations, we will experience corporeal responses without other stimulation.”

You blanche. “Maybe it’s the wrong tree, maybe it’s – ”

“It’s not the wrong tree.”

“So what do we do?” You feel too hot, the space around you is suddenly too small and your undersuit too heavy. You think it must be a trick of your mind, but paranoia makes the flush worse.

Ezra clicks through article after article. He estimates you have maybe an hour before it takes effect, maybe less. The pollen was generally harvested, and the chemicals extracted to use as additives for drugs. There is next to nothing on direct inhalation. Not documented, not tested. He tells you it should only last a few hours – three to four. But you can feel your hands shaking, are only half listening. He’s speaking so quickly now, and you curl your feet onto the bed in front of you, wrap your arms around your knees. Was the flush from nerves or from the pollen? Were you shaking because of it as well? Ezra is still talking.

“What?” You say. Head shooting up.

“It does not seem to matter if you… if you finish. The effects of the pollen will not dissipate until it leaves your system.”

Your face colours. “Okay. Okay. Four hours though, that’s what you said.” You think you must look sick. You feel sick, as if all the blood has left you. “We’re both adults, we can just,” but you can’t even finish the sentence. Stare down at your knees.

Ezra makes a pained noise in the back of his throat.

.

It’s getting harder to breathe. Harder to see. The walls around you have started to blur. The bright white lights in the pod are too much, hurt the space behind your eyes. You shuffle to the edge of the bed and swing your legs to the ground. Feel the buzzing in your hands and feet. The switch has never felt so far away, and yet the air around you keep compressing, the walls closing in. It hasn’t been anywhere near an hour. Twenty minutes at most and you feel like your mouth is full of wool and your head too. Ezra has turned on his side, his back to you, the quiet sound of his long deliberate breathing the only noise he makes. You finally reach the switch, grasp at it with shaking hands. Ezra turns over his good shoulder, and you catch the sight of his hair – wet and flattened to his head.

“Don’t – ”

But you already have the lights dimmed. Still bright enough to see, but not painful anymore. Ezra seems vivid even in the dim, like he’s brought into hyper-focus, safe and solid in the pulsating world around you. Without thinking you begin to shuffle towards him. Lick your lips. Think maybe it would be better to stay close to him. Would make you feel better.

“What are you doing?” He pushes himself up on his arm, half facing you. The prominent muscles of his neck straining at the twist.

“I – I – ” You shake your head. Try to clear it of the fuzzy feeling which has settled over your thoughts. Suck in a deep breath which doesn’t reach your lungs. “I don’t know.”

“It’s the pollen.” He’s short. You can hear the tension in his jaw. See the ticking of the muscle under the skin. It distracts you. He kicks his foot to get your attention. “Lie down. Over there.”

You listen without question; the commanding tone sends a lick of heat up your spine. Your knees buckle when they hit your bunk, and you fall against it, boneless. Suddenly weak. It’s so hot. You can feel sweat forming along your top lip, sink over your brow and into your hair. You push the strands away with shaking hands, shove it back off your face. It’s too hot in the pod. Your mouth is so dry. So hot. The undersuit, you’re still wearing it, and your compression clothes beneath. Ezra has lowered himself back to the mattress, stares at the wall ahead of him, but his whole body jerks when he hears the pull of your zip. You turn your head to the side to watch him, stare at his back. Watch his shoulders pull tight through his thin compression shirt, damp with sweat. Watch the muscle tense. Catch your tongue between your teeth. His neck is so tight you can see every dip, see the veins stand out beneath the skin.

You get the zip undone and start to wriggle your arms free. The cold air of the pod is a relief until Ezra groans, deep and pained. The sound shoots down your spine, sparks across your lower back and into your stomach. Makes your cunt pulse. You echo the sound back at him, feel your body temperature climb again, impossibly. You slump, half out of the suit, your skin feels like the crackle of static, alive and humming. You are on fire. Can feel your chest and stomach and the creases beneath your breasts growing slick with sweat. You shift in the suit, still halfway down your waist, and the inseam of the crotch catches against your underwear. Without thinking, without meaning to, you are bending your knees, digging the heels of your feet into the bed and pulling yourself down. Feel the thickness of the seam, too much and not enough all at once dig into you and your back curves. Relish in the feeling of friction, and the release which dribbles, stick and warm, down your slit.

You choke on another moan.

Ezra is so stiff he is almost shaking. Pulled so taut he might snap. You can’t take your eyes off him, watch the way his ragged breathing fills him and rushes out again. Like he’s been running. Sweat soaking through his shirt now, making it cling to him. His voice is cracked and hoarse. “Be quiet.”

You can’t help it. Another moan slips out before you can stop it, louder at the sound of his voice. You bend your knees again and work your hips against the inside of the suit. Become aware of how swollen your cunt is, tingling. Worse than tingling. Somehow better. Your legs are shaking, breath coming in fast pants. It’s too loud in the pod, bounces around and comes back to you. Makes you dimly embarrassed, a small place in the back of your mind is mortified. But you can’t concentrate on why, can’t hold any thought in your head long enough to remember why you shouldn’t give in. Can’t remember why you’re holding back from the throbbing need in the first place.

“Ezra.” It’s too breathy. Too soft. That’s what you want, you realise. The taste of his name in your mouth makes it fill, hot and wet. Ezra, Ezra, Ezra. “It’s hurting.”

“It’s the pollen.” His voice is tight. He turns his head enough that you can see a sliver of cheekbone. “A few hours, remember? Then it will be over.”

The pod is getting hotter. You are getting hotter. Your breasts ache, you feel your nipples hardening, feel them catch against the sweat drenched fabric of your singlet and it stings. Another throb, so long you think it won’t end, makes you whimper. And then. Wet. Not dribbling, leaking. Flowing. The suit is still tangled around your legs. Your hands are shaking so badly you have to kick at it to get it off, manage to catch it and have it twisted around one ankle. Finally kick it onto the floor. Your compression pants are slick, and you are vibrating. Weak. The heat is still growing even now the suit is gone, like you are on fire. You still haven’t looked away from Ezra.

“You were in it for longer,” you say. Barely get the words out. Can’t think. Can’t breathe. “You had – had – ” a barely stifled moan “ – had your helmet off. For so long. Why aren’t you like this?”

He swallows loud enough that you can hear it. “I am well practiced. This feeling is one I am quite used to concealing from you.” His voice is like honey. Fills your head and your mouth and your body with syrup. But the words. The words make you weak. Make you utter another quiet whimper. “The effects of the pollen will wear off in a few hours, Starlight.”

You have to put a hand over your mouth to muffle the sound which threatens to escape from it. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes. You realise you can smell yourself. It makes you dizzy. And him. The sharp scent of his sweat on hot skin. Familiar. Unbearable. You kick your legs out, hit your head back against the bunk and fist your hands into the sheets. Struggle to hold on to the embarrassed part of your mind, feel it slipping away. Try to stop your hands from reaching between your legs at his confession.

“Ezra.” It’s almost a sob. “Ezra, please.”

“I ask of you only that you are quiet,” he says. Tight, pained. “Whatever you do to deal with – with this, just do it quietly. I can’t – it’s – ”

You have never heard him stumble before. Not with words. Never with words. You think sometimes that he must know them all, certainly knows many more than you. So much of your time together has been filled with his voice, wrapped in them, the way he rolls them in his mouth and holds them. But now he has none. And instead of being filled with his words, the space between your is hot and pulsing. Fills with other things. Aching.

You forget your embarrassment.

“We could, we could help each other.” You lick you lips. Pull yourself up onto your elbows with shaking arms. “We could deal with it together.”

“No.”

“Ezra!” It’s a petulant wail. His chest is heaving. The smell of him is everywhere, all around you. Mixing with the smell of you. “Please. Please, please, please.”

“I said be quiet.” He snarls at you. Full of venom. This is the Ezra he is with other prospectors. The Ezra that steals and kills. Cruel. Mean. The sting of tears in your eyes well and slip and fall. And still you feel your cunt weep with you.

“Do you… do you hate me?”

“No.”

“You do! Why else would you make me hurt like this?” A full sob works its way up your throat. Nearly chokes you. Makes your breathing stutter. “I only want you to touch me. You hate me so much you won’t even touch me.”

He says your name. Not Starlight. Says it with a bite which stings and clears your head long enough for you to finally wrench gaze away from him. You turn your head, press it against the cool wall of the pod nearest you. Close your eyes so tightly white bursts behind your lids and crushes your lashes against your cheeks. You try to breathe, but every mouthful is full of the taste of you both. You try to concentrate. And Ezra is panting as well, ragged and loud. Sounds closer, and you turn your head back to him, and realise your mistake. He has pushed himself back up onto his good arm and twisted to stare at you over his shoulder. His eyes are dark, face dripping with sweat, hair wet with it. Compression shirt almost transparent against the heaving mass of his chest. His mouth hangs open with his breath. You have to bite your lip, roll it into your mouth and dig your teeth into it hard enough to sting.

He is furious. “Do not speak to me as if I have no heart. It is because of my heart I am denying you.”

“Why?” You don’t understand him. “Why don’t you just – ”

“Stop.”

He twists fully now. Rolls onto his back. Your eyes follow his length, slip over his chest and stomach and – you think you might die. Think you will explode. His cock is tented in his compression pants. Even in the dim you can see the shape of it pressed against the grey fabric. The thickness of it. See the dark patch around the head where it leaks precum. Such a huge patch you think surely, truly, he must have already come. Know he hasn’t. You press your legs together with a strangled moan.

“Be quiet!” He squeezes and his eyes shut at the sound.

You writhe against the mattress. “All I want is for you to touch me Ezra, please, please, why don’t you want – ”

“Do you know how badly I crave you?” He cuts you off. “Do you know how often I have dreamt of you, like this, begging me to take you? How many times I have dreamt of fucking your cunt? Of the taste of you? God,” he makes a sound, half deranged. It might have been a laugh in a different time, a different place. “Have you any conception of the ways I have imagined having you? How many nights we have laid here while you sleep, and I bit my fist to stop myself from waking you while I come all over my hand?”

You heart must have stopped. Must have swollen until it was too large for your chest and been crushed. Outgrown its place. Blocked your lungs as well because you can’t breathe.

But he’s still going. Still talking.

“I have had to fuck my hand for months. Pretend it was your pussy. Or your mouth. Your pretty little mouth. And every night you are there, not four feet from me, oblivious and dreaming. I think of you licking up all my cum, cleaning it off my fingers. Fucking it straight down your throat. Fuck.” His words become lost in the deep groan which forces its way out of his mouth. His dick jumps in his pants. “Fuck.”

You are clenching around nothing, the tightness in your stomach and centre coiled so badly now it is painful. You pull your feet up nearer to you so you can lift your hips off the bed and grind them into nothing, into the air. Tears of frustration slip, never so frustrated before, so desperate and shaking. You hold the sheets tighter, know once you touch yourself you won’t be able to stop, but coming won’t help. The symptoms won’t stop until the pollen leaves your system. You drop your hips back to the bed with a harsh sound, something between a sob and a gasp. Ezra is breathless, groaning in response to every sound your make. You are so wet it has soaked through your compression pants, down around the crux of your thighs and into the seat of your underwear. Mixing with sweat. Sliding between your lips and your cheeks and making the drag of the fabric against you almost painful.

“Keep going. Ezra, please.”

“Don’t. Don’t make me… not fair.”

“Love your voice.” You twist. Jerk your hips forward against the bunk. “Could… could come to just your voice. Wouldn’t – wouldn’t even need to touch myself.”

The sound he makes is tormented. Guttural and deep. Sparks through you. “Fuck. Fuck. Shit. This is torture, it must be. Condemned for every lascivious thought I have had of you. Punished more my lewd cogitations. Every time I have pictured your pussy. Thought of what my dick would look like filling you up.” He chokes on the words. “I have imagined fucking you on every surface of this damnable pod. And the pod before that and the one before that.”

“Please Ezra. Please. I want you to fuck me. Anywhere, anywhere you want.”

You are looking him when he opens his eyes. He looks wild. Almost unhinged. He sucks his lips between his teeth and hisses when he rolls them back out. Is staring at the hardened buds beneath your drenched singlet. His breathing cracks, and for a moment, a second, you think he is going to break and move towards you.

“No.” It’s drawn out. Hard for him to say. He closes his eyes and faces the ceiling. “No. Do not make such requests of me. Not now. It’s not fair to ask me to take you now when you will surface from this haze and hate me for it. You will hate me for all of it.”

“I won’t.” Quiet. Timid. Desperate.

“You wish to hear my fantasies? Do you want to know what all of my fantasies of you have in common?” He waits. He is looking at you again, and he waits until you have focused on him. “In every way I have imagined you, in every way I have dreamed of taking you, you have wanted me as badly as I want you, Starlight.”

You can’t say anything. Your tongue is lead in your mouth. You are throbbing so relentlessly it’s almost impossible to think of anything else. The pain at the base of your stomach is growing, spreading, and you feel like your limbs are beginning to lock down. You have to roll onto your side and curl around yourself. More fluid moves at the action, leaking over your lips and thighs and soaking into the sheets below you. It somehow makes everything worse. It’s too much. So much. You are too full and not full enough. All you can think about is the feeling of him pushing inside you, tearing you apart, pounding into you as relentlessly as your cunt throbs for him. You sob again.

“I want you Ezra. I do, I do want you.”

“You would want anyone,” he spits. “It’s the pollen. You’ve been drugged.”

“But I want you! I always want you!”

“You think you do but you will live through this and then you will not want me anymore.” He turns over his good arm again and rolls onto his side. Faces away from you again. “This is torture enough for a lifetime of sins. I can’t – ”

You aren’t sure where the strength comes from, but you know you must move. Your body screams to move towards him, almost convinces you he will make the pain fade. You hold onto one thought, the sound of the pain in his voice, hold it tight as you can and roll yourself out of your bunk. He flinches away from you at the sounds of movement, and you almost forget yourself when you see his hips jerk involuntarily. Mouth-watering, knowing he must feel the need for you as desperately as you need for him. But you can’t. You burn the sound of his pleas across every thought you have and stumble to the corner of the pod, struggle to open the compartment with shaking hands, and when you do you drop the med kit on the floor. You are vibrating, and if you had thought you couldn’t see before then now it is blindness. You blunder through the kit, splaying its contents half onto the ground around it before you find the packet. A packet full of pills the size of pin heads, but powerful. Meant to be for adjusting to new planets time cycles. Getting back to Ezra’s bunk is easier than moving away from it, invisible strings inside you pulling you to him.

“Here,” you say. Voice hoarse like you’ve been screaming. Grates at your throat. “Ezra.”

“What?” He doesn’t turn.

“Sleeping pills. They… they can knock us out.”

He turns his head, just enough to see you. Up close he looks worse. Better, so much better. His pupils are blown so wide the brown around them is barely visible. His pillow drenched in sweat. His face is flushed, the back of his neck and ears and forehead are red. His mouth open in wet pants. You crumple, drop to your knees in front of him, or risk throwing yourself into the bed with him. You drop the pill on his pillow, think if you touch him you will snap and give in. He’s looking at you the same, like if you move wrong he will not be able to stop himself. You lift your pill to your lips.

“Wait – ” He says. “The pollen, the pills, we don’t – we don’t know if it’s safe.”

“Ezra.” You feel a hot tear slip down your cheek. Your singlet and your compression tights hurt your skin where they touch you. The cold of the floor is burning against your legs and hand. The air around you is almost too much. “I won’t get through this. It hurts too much.”

You swallow the pill before he can stop you.

He says something, but the sound of his voice is too much. You stumble off your knees and towards the wet room. Your control is stretched taut within you, about to snap. Kneeling next to his bunk you can smell more of him, see more. You get to the door and it takes your shaking hands two tries to get it open. You catch him slip his pill between his lips and swallow, and the flex of the muscles in his neck nearly has you trip over yourself to get back to him. But you slam the door closed between you. Slump immediately into a cold wall and slide down it until you’re crouched against the plastic floor. The wet room is tiny, nothing more than an insulated storage cupboard with a hose and shower nozzle. The pills are strong, you lean back against the wall, feel them mixing with the effects of the pollen so that the world swims before your eyes. You close your eyes. Try and count your breathing. You try to count three times and lose count every time. You can’t feel the floor beneath you. Can’t feel the wall behind you. The world is slipping so that it is only the fire of your muscles and the throbbing between your legs. Time warps into a tunnel, feel like you are suspended and falling through it at the same time.

There is no world around you when you finally shove the heel of your palms between your legs. Don’t care when you start moaning, writing against it. You couldn’t remember your own name if someone asked, where you were. Anything. Your knees drop out, one against the floor and the other shoved against the wall in the tight space. You head knocks hard against the wall behind you. You shove your other hand down, unwilling to stop rocking your hips into your palm until you can get the tips of your fingers down your compression pants and find your clit. The first roll over the bundle of nerves makes you scream. Forces it up out of some place in your stomach and up, up through your chest and throat. You do not ease yourself forward, you rub against the throbbing spot with enough force that your arm shakes from the effort. Stop long enough to pull the tights down your thighs so you can rub your clit and sink your fingers into your pulsing cunt at the same time. The knot in your stomach becomes unbearable. Your cunt spasms and clenches around your fingers, three of them, and still you feel empty, and yet somehow so full you are almost sick with it. Keening. Desperate. You are speaking, blabbering nonsense. Your hips jerk off the floor.

But there is no release.

You have no idea how long you lie there, rubbing yourself, fucking yourself with your fingers before you give up. Boneless and whimpering. Sobbing. You can feel how wet you are, feel it all over the floor beneath you and smeared up over your wrist. You drop your hands, the blackness closing around your peripheries enough to dull the burning. The sleeping pill clouds the last of your consciousness and you slip.

When you wake the first time it is sweating and with the dream taste of Ezra in your mouth. An imaginary taste you have conjured many times before this but made to feel so real by the pollen. You’re panting so fast they begin to run together, your body trembling and shaking. The wall of the wet room is hard and cold against your back. You don’t even have to touch yourself to come when the memories of your drug induced sleep return to you, the dream of Ezra’s cock heavy on your tongue and full to the back of your throat. Your release is so long and intense you slump further into the ground. Your forehead against the door. You are barely conscious of the shock tremors afterwards, of the jolting aftershocks of the pollen and dream induced orgasm. The place just below your stomach is still as tight as before.

You fade in and out, the sleeping pill enough to keep you under most of the time. You wake a few more times, coming or on the edge of it. Have slipped into a dark place where everything except the buzzing of your body does not exist. The pollen continues to conjure hallucinations, the feel of hands all over you, impossibly hot and rough, of being filled and fucked, again and again. Ezra. Always Ezra. Haunting you.

Hours after crawling into the wet room, your sweat has broken. Shivering, drenched and pressed against the cold walls in the tight space. You are dizzy, can taste the sourness of dehydration coating your mouth and the back of your throat. You yank the door open again, can’t walk, so you fumble on hands and knees to the water and raise a flask with shaking hands. Drink three of them. You get to your bunk and pull of your clothes – wet and dripping with cold sweat – throw them at the foot of your mattress. Defeated and exhausted when you pull the sheets over yourself. Cold. Ezra is quiet, a still ball on his bunk, still facing the wall. You wait until you see him breathe, watch his chest rise and fall. Let yourself give into the relief of exhaustion.

.

When you wake next it is to the sound of rain against the roof of the pod. There is a deep aching in your limbs and the muscles around your stomach, but no burn of satisfaction to ease the pain. You are still dehydrated. Eyelids like sandpaper against your eyes, so you don’t open them. You can barely roll over you are so stiff. The rain sounds heavy. Another torrential flood.

You drift for some time in the place between wakefulness and sleep. You can hear Ezra, awake and moving around the pod, bare feet against the floor. He stops near you and he pulls the sheet higher over your shoulder where it has slipped, covering your bare back from the cool air. Pulls a heavier blanket over you as well. You continue to wander, sometimes dreaming. Sometimes listening to the sounds of him moving about, the hose turn on in the wet room. Turn off again sometime later. Smell the soap when Ezra emerges and feel the waft or warm, steaming air against the top of your head. Not long after his hand is on your covered shoulder, gently shaking.

“Starlight.” He says. “You need to drink. Wake up.”

He waits until you start to move, wraps his arm beneath you to help you to sit. Holds up the blanket when it falls and tugs it tighter around your shoulders. Gives you water and a protein bar and leaves you. You stare at the things in your hands, then at his back. Feel like you are floating.

And then the day before begins to bleed into your thoughts like a poison, and as you wake the horror of embarrassment makes it impossible to sit still. You can’t look at Ezra, where he crouches with his back to you not three feet away. Digging through the med kit you had left on the floor. You force yourself to eat but the protein bar tastes like cardboard in your mouth. You are hyperaware of your nudity, feel small and exposed, and you pull the thin blanket around your shoulders as high around you neck as it will go. Think of Ezra opening the door to the wet room to find the mess you had undoubtedly left there. Think of yourself begging him to fuck you while he desperately refused. You feel sick.

He brings the med kit to you. You can’t look at him, can feel his eyes searching your face. He sighs and gently reaches for the blanket. You flinch before he can reach it and he drops his hand.

“I will not hurt you. I assure you.” He shows you his empty palm. “I only wish to ensure you are well. I need to check if you are still suffering any effects of the pollen.”

You shake your head, hold your hands against your chest beneath your shield of bedding. “I’m not.” Your voice is raw from screaming and then hours of sleep. You think he must hate you. Must hate you for being so weak.

“I need to check.” His voice is so gentle. So soft. “May I please have your hand?”

You do not move, can’t look at him. And then you slowly release your hold on yourself and worm one hand out through the blankets, careful to keep yourself covered and let him take you by the wrist. Lay your hand palm up on your lap. His fingers make your blood spark where they touch you and you wish he wouldn’t. Wish you hadn’t been so awful to him while he tried to refuse you. He clips a small device to your fingertip, warns you of the prick of it taking your blood. Checks your pulse, checks your temperature. When the device beeps he removes it and compares the reading with a small manual in the med kit.

“The pollen is out of your system.”

“How… how long has it been?”

“Nearly two days since we were infected.”

You look up in shock. He is staring at you, warm eyes soft and tired. Marred by the dark circles around them. His hair still damp from his shower. You burn red and look away again.

“Two days?”

“You’ve been unconscious for some time.” He packs everything away and moves. You glance at his back when he goes, watch a droplet of water from his hair drip a slow path along the back of his neck and disappear under his soft clean shirt. Images of the days before rise behind your eyes before you can stop them, memories of dreams. Memories of hallucinations and fantasies. Your stomach churns. “Do you need more water?”

You shake your head. “No.”

He nods and comes to sit opposite you on his own bunk, his arm braced across his knee. You try to hold his gaze but humiliation crawls its way up your throat and you squeeze your eyes shut. Keep remembering trying to convince him to fuck you through the effects of the pollen, remember the hazy, sordid details of everything you said to him. You don’t know how you will ever face him again, every be able to meet his eyes. Its all made so much worse by the memory of how badly you wanted him, a desperate need which tore you apart. Feelings which you had supressed and kept dormant before now refused to be ignored and you are full of guilt and affection, tearing you apart. Feel them push up against your heart when you look at him and twist.

“Ezra…”

You hear him sigh, lift your eyes to look at him. He’s smiling, soft and sweet and sad. “It’s quite alright, Starlight. We do not have to talk about it if you do not wish to.”

You fidget you fingers beneath the blanket. “I… I think.” You pause and swallow. “I think we have to talk about it, Ezra. I said – I said – ”

You wish you didn’t have to think about what you said, but you do. And Ezra’s words chase each other around and around in your mind and tangle inside your head. You can’t ignore those. Can’t ignore everything said between you and go back to the way things were. Can’t look at him without remembering the throbbing ache between your legs at the way his voice wrapped around his words and filled you up with fantasies of fucking you in the pod. You need to apologise to him.

Ezra shakes his head. “The pollen was very strong. It put us under extreme duress, and we acted against our natures.”

“Against our natures?” You stomach drops. You know you should not hurt so badly at the implication but your heart begins to crack. Of course he did not want to tell you those things.

“I quite understand.” He looks to his hand, clenched into a fist on his knee. “And you do not need to explain your words to me, I understand they were brought on by the pollen. I shall consider the things which you have said to me to be banished from my mind if,” he releases his clenched fist and inhales slowly, deliberately. “If you will extend to me the same courtesy.”

Your mind goes terrible, horribly blank. Your head begins to throb and you lift your hand to press against it, massage the tightness between your brows. Ezra wants to you forget it all, to forget the whole thing ever happened. Everything said between you was a terrible mistake, and it was, and he is giving you an out. You understand that much – no apology required, no rehash of the painful events. Ashamed when the burn of tears threatens behind your eyes. You should say yes, you think. You should agree to forget it and move on with your lives. But there is the awful feeling, a gnawing in your gut, that if you turned away from him this time it would be the last time. That the space between you would grow and grow until you could not find your way back together. And you owe him an apology.

“Ezra I… I don’t know if I can.” You pick at the blanket in your lap. “I don’t think I can just forget.”

He’s silent. Unnervingly silent.

“I have spent so much of our time together trying to forget.” You whisper. “I don’t want to forget anymore.”

He frowns. “What have you tried to forget before this?”

You shift in your spot. Glance at him and then away. “You know. You must know. All the times… all the time when we could have,” your nerves fill your throat and you have to pause. “Like before this. When we were outside. When you helped me up the hill. When you said – when you said we were seeing the wonders of the universe.” Every moment I could have told you I loved you. You can’t say it. “I can’t forget them anymore.”

Ezra is staring at you. You look to him, find his eyes, because he deserves you to look him in the eye while you say this to him. He deserves more than your cowardice – the cowardice you have given him for the better part of two years. His face is slack at your revelation and then crumples. Collapses in on himself. He looks like he’s in pain.

“These are moments you wish to forget?” His voice is hoarse.

“No! No, Ezra they aren’t!” And you realise what he has thought. “I… they are my favourite memories. But I can never let myself have them because – because – ” You suck in a shaking breath. “I’m not good with words like you. I don’t know.”

“Tell me. Try.”

He is leaning towards you, guarded. Hopeful, maybe. You feel your heart beating so hard you can barely concentrate. “Every time there is something between us, I try to crush it. Because – because I’m scared. But I save them all and I think about them later. I – I think about what you look like when you’re smiling in the sun, or what words you use when you’re happy. Or when you… when you look at me like how you looked at me under the trees outside.”

Ezra pushes himself from his bunk and crosses the space to you. Sits close enough to touch you, but he doesn’t. You are looking into his eyes and can’t look away now. Transfixed. He is so wide and open now. His eyes so warm. You did that, you think. And you swell with the pride of it. So you take a breath and continue.

“I’m scared one day you’ll leave me.” You confess. “Or if I… if I say anything then you will want me to go. And I can’t – I don’t want another partner. I just want you.” Your cheeks go brilliant red. And Ezra smiles, blooms, so bright it’s like looking at the sun. Your hands are shaking again. “I’m scared if I let myself feel everything all at once I might break. And I don’t want to break. And I don’t want to lose you. I want to – I want to have you forever.” You’re talking faster now, more urgent. Your voice drops almost to a whisper. “That’s why I try to forget them, every moment, and its chipping away at my heart Ezra, and I’m worried I won’t have any heart left. I think it…” You close your eyes. Breathe. In and out. Open them again and look at him. Really look at him, and let yourself be seen. All of you. The parts of you which you try to hide. “I think my heart already belongs to you.”

Ezra shifts again. His thigh presses against yours now, burning and hot. He twists his body towards you. Stares at you, his face crinkled in a blinding smile. “Your heart belongs to me?”

Your breath shakes on your exhale and you nod.

He inches closer. “I find myself without words, Starlight. Of course, it would be you that renders me speechless.”

You lean towards him again, pulled by his gravity. His body leans to yours. Not touching anywhere except along your thighs, still pushed together below you. But you grow towards each other, closer and closer, until you can feel the almost press of his body against yours. His face is so close you can see every line, every freckle and mark.

“Surely you know how I feel for you,” he says. His quiet words wash over your face, you could catch them on your tongue you are so close, but you do not, you hover. Just away. “You conceal your heart so well, but I have not concealed mine. Every word I spoke to you while under the influence of that pollen was true. I only wish I could have told them to you in some different way.”

Your heart kicks in your chest. “Ezra, I’m so sorry, I tried to make you – I said awful things when you told me you didn’t want – ”

He shushes you gently. Closes his eyes and shakes his head so minutely. “You did not act on them. I said far more depraved things to you.” He sighs softly. “I truly am sorry it had to happen that way.”

You hesitate. Nod and relax back towards him. He smiles so softly, opens his eyes.

“I dream not only of your body. Everything that I am is yours. The pieces left of me belong to you. Only to you, Starlight. They have for some time now.”

Ezra presses his forehead to yours, his hair tickling your skin. You let your eyes slip closed. Twist slightly and push back against him, rub your nose closer until his cheek brushes the tip of yours and you feel his eyelashes flutter on your skin. His lips close and open and trace the shape of a kiss ghosting against your mouth. Not quite touching. His hot breath mixing with yours. Less than a hair between you. You push you chin just enough to catch his bottom lip with your teeth, tug it down and let it go with a sigh. Lick against the imprint of the bite to soothe it.

He groans your name.

“Ezra,” you say into his mouth. Try to catch him in a kiss but he shifts and move away. Retreats from you so that his eyes can find yours.

“Are you sure?”

You carefully move your hands, touch them against his chest and move them up, lightly over his shirt. Clutch the back of his neck. “I don’t need pollen to want you, Ezra. I never have.”

He stares down at you, his eyes fill up everything around you, until he is everything. Just Ezra. Only Ezra. For a moment you are worries he doesn’t believe you but then he surges forward. Teeth and noses clash. His mouth hits yours hard enough to bruise, is hot and open. His tongue inside you, no building, no warning. He pushes against you and you let him, twist your hands into the damp hair at the nape of his neck and pull him to you. Tighter. Nearer. Can’t get him close enough. He yanks himself away and you gasp at the sudden loss. Remember to breathe. His arm readjusts its hold around you back and he shifts himself, uses his knee to shove your legs apart and move between them. You lift yourself off the bed to your knees and he pulls you forward again so that you fall into his lap, still wrapped in blankets. Brings his mouth back to yours. Kisses you until you’re dizzy.

He moves his mouth sideways, open and wet and drags it down your jaw to your neck and back up again. Panting. “Can I touch you?”

“Please.”

He leans all his weight forward and tips you backwards. You fall against the bed, the blankets bunched under your back. Naked. He is staring, transfixed, between your legs. You try to close them, but he catches your knee, pushes his body into the space and forces them open. You burn, conscious of the dried mess which must still be there from the pollen.

“Don’t try and hide yourself from me, Starlight.” He is still staring at your cunt. Uses his torso to push against one of your legs and his arm to move the other. He forces your leg down by the inside of your knee, so slowly, until it touches the bed. Pushes it outwards slightly just to watch your pussy better. “And the other one.”

His hand stays on your knee, his eyes stay between your leg as you do as he says. Watches as the stretch makes your lips part and reveals the almost purple inner flesh of your pussy. He coos, and the sound changes to a groan when you flutter around nothing, a bead of fluid forming at your hole and then dribbling outwards. Your hips jerk at the sound and when your knees lift away from the bed Ezra holds the one he can with such forcefulness that you make a soft cry.

“Can I still touch you?” He asks. His voice surprisingly soft, at odds with the iron grip he has around your leg.

You nod.

You think he means your cunt. You think his hand will dig straight into you with the way he is staring at it. Hungrily. Instead he releases you knee, draws around it with just the tip of his fingers, a featherlight circle over the soft skin and then trails his hand along your thigh. Your hips lift when he approaches the crux of it, traces the crease between your centre and your thigh and then back up over your hipbone. Makes you whimper when he leaves you aching and untouched. He flattens his palm over it, grabs a handful of the flesh of your hip and kneads it gently, before releasing it, moving his flattened palm over the curve of your stomach. Feels it move with every shortened breath. Drifts up slowly and spreads his fingers over the shape of your ribs. Up again and beneath the crease of your breast.

“I imagine you all the time,” he says idly. His eyes look up finally, sees that you have twisted your head to the side and squeezed your eyes closed, trying to hold yourself together. “Look at me, Starlight. There’s a good girl. I imagine you often, when we are outside and you are covered by your suit, and I think of what you look like beneath it. Think about the shape of you when we are supposed to be harvesting our livelihoods.”

You keen. Writhe upwards and try to lift yourself towards him. He shushes you and flattens his palm over your sternum, long fingers push up between your breasts and his thumb and pinky hook beneath them. Not touching them. Forces you back to the mattress, keeps his hand on you and smiles as you gasp. Feels the vibrations of your moaning, exposed beneath him. He waits until you still and look back to him. Dark eyes watching you.

“Keep your legs open.” You realise you have pushed them up off the bed again. It makes you pink and splotchy over your chest and neck and face but you slowly, shakily part them again. Let them drop on either side of him. “You are more than I deserve, Starlight. More beautiful than I could have ever painted you in my mind’s eye.”

His hand moves again, up over your chest and along the lines of your collarbones. Out over your left shoulder and then down the length of your arm. Lets his fingers rest still at the velvety soft skin at the inside of your elbow and then follows the path of your veins through the skin to your wrist. Encloses his hand around yours and brushes his thumb over the pulse point at your wrist. Presses in and feels your blood sing in response. And then he lifts your arm up over your head and rests it above you. Presses it once into the mattress and fixes you with a look. Do not move it, he doesn’t have to say. He releases it again and this time his fingers trail the other side of your arm down and gently through your armpit and over your ribs to your other arm. You are already lifting it and he catches it to and finishes the motion for you. Holds your wrists together in one large hand. Surprises you by pushing up onto his knees and pressing a soft kiss to your mouth. Sweet. Chaste.

He pulls away. When your eyes flutter back open, he is close and smiling. “Starlight does not do justice to how bright you are,” he whispers gently. Presses a kiss to your temple. “There is no star in any galaxy which could pit itself against you and come out the victor. You would put them all to shame.”

Your eyes are wet. You have to swallow the lump in your throat. “Ezra.”

His mouth brushes your temple again. Your brow. The bridge of your nose and your cheekbone. Hovers hot and open over your mouth but when you move towards him he is gone, his mouth open along your jaw. He tongues the length of your neck, dipping into the pit at the centre of your clavicle. You lift off the bed again and his mouth moves down, finally to your breasts in wet kisses until he reaches your nipple. Looks up to catch your eyes when he gathers saliva in his mouth and licks it. Makes your toes curl into the sheets. He coats you until the bud is shining with wetness and then pulls away and blows on it, a gust of cold air, freezing against your wet flesh. You groan, both watch the way it grows hard and pebbled, the skin around it pulling together. Then his hot mouth is around it, burning after the coolness and you whine and arch into his mouth. Use the leverage of your knees on the bed to push yourself into him.

He releases you with an obscene noise, deliberately wet. Lays his cheek against your heaving breast so that your nipple is being brushed by the tip of his nose and smiles at you. Saccharine, like he hadn’t just been suckling at you. Like he wasn’t forcing you to stare at the painfully hard nipple between you. And then he moves and gives the same treatment to the other side. Warm and cold and hot. Until you are desperately trying to lift your hips against his stomach and roll your centre against him for any relief. Can feel the wetness dripping from you, running down your slit and back. Probably staining the already ruined sheets.

“Please Ezra,” you are panting. “Please.”

He chuckles and pulls away from your tits. Admires the two wet and hard peaks of them. Leans down to peck your right nipple so lightly you might not have felt it if he hadn’t just driven you to the point of overstimulation.  

“I am sensitive to your plight, my sweet Starlight. But I hope I cannot be expected to rush this. I have many months of painful imaginations to fuel this encounter and I want to enjoy you.”

He lowers his mouth to the centre of your breasts. The heaving, solid spot there and leaves another wet kiss there. And then licks a long, hot stripe through your middle and readjusts his one arm beneath your middle, and you lift to make room for it, his forearm completely covered to the elbow beneath the mass of your body. Has to wrap it up under your right thigh and pulls the leg up higher to your side, stretching you so far open your thighs shake in protest. Then resumes his path of kisses over your stomach and down. You are clenching viciously around nothing, hips jerking even though you try to still them. His chin tickles the hair at the top of your slit. His eyes look up at you, smile at you even though his mouth is open beneath your naval, his tongue making lazy circles against the skin.

“Don’t move,” he says. “Or I will lose my balance.”

You bite down on your lip. Can’t speak, because you can feel another desperate noise building at the back of your throat. You nod.

He finally returns his gaze to your neglected cunt. Watches your hole flutter and spasm at the attention, watches as it leaks more wetness out and as it sinks down your slit and your crack. Makes a patch of wet beneath you. He leans closer and breathes you in. Smells you. It makes your head spin, makes your face so red you have to close your because you can’t think. You feel his nose almost against you and then his breath, hot and his tongue wet, so close to your hole you jerk before you can stop. But he doesn’t enter you, instead just barely lets the tip of his tongue run the length of your inner lips, all the way to where they encase your clit, stopping agonisingly just before it. First one side and then the other. Almost the same feeling as his fingertips had been over the rest of your body. But so much more.

You choke his name and he wraps his lips around your clit. You think you might black out, the attention so much more intense after the neglect. You feel a sob work its way from the back of your throat, force your hips to stay flat on the bed, try not to clench your right thigh around his arm in case he falls. He alternates sucking you, drawing patterns with his tongue and sometimes, when you release more wetness, he will lick a long broad stroke up your whole length and moan with his mouth stretched around as much of you as he can. Gather you on his tongue and dribble it back over your clit and pull away just to watch it slide back down your pussy. And then his mouth will be on you again, relentless. You feel his teeth more than once, grazing, experimental nips. Never hard enough to sting but enough to make you clench at the promise of it. Makes you leak more.

He pulls away.

“I have dreamed of the taste of you many times, Starlight. It is one of my favourites, one which I will often indulge myself. Look at me.” You have to force your eyes open, heaving from the effort of breathing. Tilt your head down and the sight of him makes you clench again and cry out. His hair is a mess, his blonde streak stuck straight up, and his face coated from his nose to his chin in your juices. The pink of his lips gleaming with fluid. “I will lay in my bunk long after you are sleeping and I will conjure ways in my mind to imagine how you will taste. I will try not to look at you, but I always do. And my hand is never enough when I think of how perfect I know you are, and so close, always so close to me, that I can hear the gentle undulation of your breath. I like the imagine you like this, beneath me, coming for hours so I can taste you and imprint the memory of it forever in my mind.”

He ducks his head back and licks up your length again, gathers you up and works his cheeks to mix you with his own saliva in his mouth, and then leans over your clit. Dribbles it over your clit, lets it land on the bundle of nerves and the skin and hair around it. And then blows on it like he had on your nipples. You let out a shriek and your head falls back at the cold air. Makes you draw up deep in your belly. Pulling tighter and tighter. So close. So close.

“My other favourite is that you will sit on my face, allow me to let myself be of use to you, let you fuck yourself on my tongue and rub yourself against me until you come.”

“Ezra,” you can barely speak. “Ezra, I’m going – I’m – ”

Your thighs are shaking so badly it hurts. Your arms straining above your head.

“Come.”

He latches his mouth over you as you do. Finally puts his tongue inside you and his nose brushes against your clit. Laps at you as you finally break and release over his face. You see white burst behind your eyes. Your whole body shakes at the force of it. You sob, hot tears streaking down your face. But Ezra doesn’t stop his ministrations, fucks his tongue in and out of you the whole time and when you think you might finish he moves his mouth back to you clit and moans against it, the vibrations of the sound pulse through your cunt and you scream.

“Ezra, no, I can’t – I can’t – I won’t – ”

You break again, not sure if it’s a second orgasm or the first. So, so wet. You can feel your pussy weeping. It lasts somehow, impossibly, longer than the first. You are boneless when it ends. Legs jerking, shoulders twitching off the bunk. Ezra laps at you until it almost hurts and when you flinch, he pulls back. Kisses your clit gently and slowly extracts himself from beneath you. Eases your leg around his body and pushes your knees together so you are on your side with your back to him. Kisses your thigh, and then your hip. Your shoulder. Lowers himself onto the bunk behind you and wraps his one arm around you and tucks his knees up behind yours. Flush and warm against you. Cradles you through the aftershocks of the orgasm with soft kisses to your neck and shoulder.

You turn slowly. Feel like you’re moving through water. You twist to face him and nuzzle you face into his neck. Let his arm pull you closer and his leg wrap over yours. “I love you,” you say into his skin. “Ezra. I love you. So much.”

He kisses the crown of your head, his hand gathers your hair and brushes his thumb over your scalp. “I would pour all that I am into you if you would give me the chance. I have spent my life in the pursuit of collecting treasures and now I have found one which I wish to keep always for myself. I would hoard you away from the world. I would give you the world if you asked for it.” Another soft kiss. He hums against your head. “I love you, my Starlight. My beautiful girl.”

And you are content to lay there, listening to the rain outside and the sound of his breathing, laboured at first but evening out into a gentle rhythm. You let your eyes close, press yourself between his neck and the mattress and sigh against his skin. Feel him tighten his arm around you and press his mouth into your hair. He’s wearing clean underclothes. Smells of soap. You know you should move and clean yourself from days of sweat and cum but you can’t bring yourself to leave him.

You jolt when you feel him unwind his legs from yours, had almost fallen asleep against him. There’s an awkward moment of shuffling before he can get untangled enough to push himself to sitting. You moan, reach for him and he chuckles. Leans over you again so that he can press another lingering kiss to your shoulder. And then he pushes himself from the bed and pads away. Comes back with a small towel, damp with hot water and settles himself by your feet. Tells you to sleep with a gentle voice and begins to gently scrub your skin. Your feet, your ankles, up and around your calves. All the way up your legs to your centre, wiping away the sweat and then very gently the cum which is drying between your legs and over your thighs. Your hips jerk away from the action, still sore and oversensitive, but you settle and allow him to work. He rinses the towel and returns. Sits you up and rubs your torso and your arms. You are aching from coming and twitch at the rub of the sheets against your centre. But your nipples still pebble at his touch and he chuckles.

“Come now, Starlight. To the other bunk. The sheets are clean.”

He helps you to stand and catches you when your legs buckle. Seats you in his bunk, against the clean sheets and leaves to discard the towel. You can see the tent of his dick in his pants when he returns, another patch of precum on the clean fabric. Your mouth fills at the sight.

“Ezra,” you breathe. “Ezra. I want to – ”

You fidget. Can’t say it. Years of keeping your feelings bottled deeply within you make the habit a hard one to break. Suddenly shy even after he had just made you scream. Made you orgasm twice. He stands before you, cock at your eye level and you can’t look away. Tiredness fading, soreness fading into something else. You lick at your lips and he groans.

“Can I please, Ezra?” You look up at him. Shuffle yourself closer to the edge of the bunk, and closer to him. Back down at his cock and then to his eyes. Dark and hungry and watching your mouth. “You’re not the only one with fantasies.”

He lets out a pained noise and nods. Chest heaving. “Yes. Yes.”

You scoot forward and slowly, carefully brace your hands on his thighs. Watch his dick kick slightly at the contact. Squeeze the thick muscle in his legs and bring yourself closer to him. Glance up at his eyes once more and he is watching you. Transfixed. You graze the head of him through his pants with your nose and then your mouth. Soak up the choked groan he makes, let it fill you up. Press open mouthed kisses to the already wet fabric, make them loud so that he will hear them. Let your mouth fall open further and further until you can almost close it around him. Hum in quiet satisfaction. He’s big. Just the tip of him makes you shiver.

You pull away and reach for the waistband of his pants, slung low on his hips already, and pull it slowly down. Take your time watching as his smooth skin is revealed, the patch of thick, dark hair at the base of him, and then the length of his cock. Just enough that he comes over the top of his waistband. Stare at it, slack jawed and nervous. Eager. Your mouth watering. He is big, bigger than you had realised. You hear the slap of skin against the pod and look up. Ezra has braced his elbow and forearm against the low roof and is leaning towards you, seeking your mouth.

You grant it to him. Lick the slit at the tip of his dick and then around it. Make sure you look into his eyes when you open your mouth and suck him in. Pause while you work your jaw to accommodate for his thickness and test the heavy weight of him against your tongue, taste him. Feel against him and massage your tongue against the shape of the prominent vein on the underside of his cock. He groans, stutters his hips forward into your mouth. You slacken your jaw as best you can, have to open your mouth so wide to fit him you can feel it stretch at the corner of your lips. You pull back, try to relax, take him back in again. Watch the way his head tilts back and the soft shape of his stomach heaves under his shirt. You lift your hand to work at his base, easing it up over the path of your mouth to spread the mixture of saliva and pre-cum down to his base. Bob your mouth over as much of him as you can, relish the feeling of his stuttering hips trying not to choke you. Trying to allow you to set the pace.

You move your hand from his thigh, up around to his ass, dig your fingers into the firm muscle hard. You push him forward from behind, force his hips forward and his cock deeper into your mouth, almost into your throat. More than is comfortable, but it makes you hot and aching, the feeling of the thick head of him pushing into you so hard you can barely breathe. You push again when you feel him try to fight another jerk of his hips, use your hand to show him you want him to fuck into you, still your head when he gives in to the feeling of it and groans. Lets his head all back and sinks himself into your mouth. His whole cock pulses hard and you moan, as loud as you can, to make him feel it. His hips hold in your mouth, almost too long, almost stops your breathing for too long. And then he pulls out and thrusts in again and again and again.

He’s cursing softly, using your mouth, his thrusts becoming stronger and deeper. Hitting the back of your throat. It brings tears to your eyes. He pulls out, rests just the head of his dick inside your lips and the sight of him, of his dick hanging just over the waistband of his pants and his thermal shirt covering him while you sit before him naked makes you thrill. You swallow him down, so far back it stings your eyes and makes you choke on him, sputter.

His knees half buckle and he yanks himself away. His dick falls from your mouth with a wet noise and a trail of saliva connecting you. He stares at it, swearing and panting until the string of fluid breaks. You whine, reach forward, try to pull him back again but he twists away.

He is breathless. Heaving. “I need… but a moment to collect myself.”

“I don’t want you to collect yourself.” You push yourself up onto both knees and sit on your ankles. Grip the clean sheets on either side of you. “I want you to fuck my throat. Please Ezra, please.”

His dick jumps again. Leaks a steady track of precum down the underside of its length and you moan again, twitch in your spot and mourn the loss of tasting it. Of the feel of it running down your throat. He closes his eyes and breathes, his fingers gripping against the ceiling so hard his hand turns white at the knuckles.

“I want to taste your cum, Ezra.” You blink up at him. Tears of frustration in your eyes.

You reach for him again and this time he catches both your hands in his. Yanks you from the bed with a yelp and pulls you to your feet. Turns you both and shoves you back, lands you on your own sullied sheets. Your bare ass bounces against the covers and you scramble backwards. Ezra is kicking out of his sweats and tugging off his shirt. Joins you on the bed. Bronzed skin exposed and dick hard and pink and pointed upwards. Shining with your saliva. You pussy begins to leak again.

“I want to cum down your throat, my beautiful Starlight,” he says, kneeling in front of you. “I want to fuck your throat until you cry and I want you to drink down everything I have to give you.” He grabs your ankle and yanks it towards him. You slide across the covers. “But first I want to cum inside your pretty little pussy. Is that okay?”

You nod. Nod so fast you dizzy yourself with it. He sits back onto his feet and yanks your ankle again, shoves your legs apart with his hand. Then his hand is on your clit. He is not soft or gentle this time. He pinches the bundle of nerves hard enough to make your cry out in shock. His hand leaves you, spans the width of your chest and forces your back to the bed. Then he is at your clit again, drawing harsh circles around it which make you scream. He doesn’t stop, not even when you can barely breathe, except to scoop your own juices from where they leak and smear them across your lips and clit. His finger is inside you, fucking you, and then back out. His hand disappears and you blubber, crying and humping your hips towards nothing at the loss.

The light slap against your clit makes you yelp. Makes you jerk your whole body in surprise, and then utter a low moan, feel the dribble of wetness down your slit and over his fingers.

“You have the prettiest pussy I have ever seen, Starlight.” Ezra grits. Sweat beading at his forehead and dripping around the curve of his brow. “I could watch your spasming little cunt clench around nothing all day. I could rub you like this and see how much your pretty pussy wants my dick in it. I could not give it to you, just make you lie here for hours and watch you and every time you almost come I could stop.” You are uttering fast, breathy little moans. Feel your pussy sputter and more wetness ooze from it. Your thighs jumping. He slaps your clit again, the sting much harder this time. You think if he doesn’t stop you will come again without having him inside you and the thought makes you want to scream. “You like this, don’t you? You like hearing me say what I wish to do to you. You like me spanking your cunt.”

“Please, Ezra.” You’re blubbering. Shaking. “Please, please, please!”

His hand lifts away from you again and you cry out. It comes back, but not between your legs. His hand is on your hip, holding you down. You start to push against him, start to whine.

“How long?” He asks. His voice almost conversational.

You’re panting too hard to answer him. Can’t figure out what he means. “H-how… how long w-what?”

His fingertips dig into your skin. “How long have you wanted me to fuck you?”

You groan. Leak. Can’t think, can’t form any words. Everything is bright and buzzing around you, your clit throbbing. And he wants – he wants – you toss your head to the side, screw your face up, try to think.

“S-since Arla-7,” you gasp. “Arla-7.”

He goes still. His hand turns to stone, pressing into you so hard. You sob, loud and needy. But he doesn’t move at all, just sits there. You turn your head back and open your eyes, have trouble seeing him through the tears caught in your lashes. He is not how you expect him to look. He is no longer harsh and snarling and telling you what to do. His face is soft. His hand moves from your hip to brush a tear from your cheek and then cradle your face. Tender and sweet.

“So long?” He whispers. “Arla-7 was – ”

“Nearly two years ago.”

He groans and then is crowding you into the mattress. Looms over you, his weight skewed, so he has to slide his arm beneath your head to keep himself balance. You feel the weight of his dick rest against your lower stomach. Let out a whimper. He rubs himself slowly along you, catches himself between your wet lips and drags his dick between you. You lift your hips to help, seek out the tip of him. Realise his arm is shaking in exertion. You drop back to the bunk.

“Would it – would it be easier if we swapped?”

He blinks down at you. Then nods and rolls onto his side and the back, over his good shoulder. Uses his arm behind your neck to pull you up off the bunk and with him. You swing up and gingerly sit yourself next to him. Loop your leg over his hips and balance your hands on his shoulders. For a moment there is a settling feeling, something softer and more peaceful works its way between you. Ezra lifts his arm and pushes your hair from your face and he smiles at you. One of his rare, small smiles. Like you are the centre of the galaxy. Makes you feel like maybe you actually are starlight. You smile back, press your lips to his wrist.

He drops his hand, grabs himself and you feel the blunt head of his cock push up against you. You moan, test your weight back and forward slightly and start to sink slowly. Feel the stretch of him inside you, so, so big. You sink lower and have to stop, feel your thighs shaking, your eyes fill with tears. Then lower again and you feel him at the back of your throat. You still, both hands on his shoulders, quaking at the effort of just having him inside you. The burn of the stretch doesn’t stop, and holding yourself up hurts too, so you lower again, couldn’t go any faster even if you tried, the friction of his dick against your walls so intense from the tightness of the fit. He’s murmuring to you, telling you to breathe, asking if you are okay. You keep sinking, feel a sob break your lips as you finally, finally cover him completely. Sit your thighs over his hips.

He’s holding your hip, his thumb drawing light circles against you. Still talking, still saying something. Your brain has blacked out, completely shut off.

Slowly you start to swivel your hips, gently rocking forward and back again. Feeling the burn turn slowly to something easier, something better. His words of concern turn into words of encouragement. You lift yourself off him just slightly and drop again. Feel his moan reverberate through his whole body. Feel his dick twitch inside you. You lift again, further this time and drop slowly, start to feel your toes curl again, start to ride him properly. He shifts beneath you, starts to match your strokes. Follows your pace with every thrust of his hips. Gentle at first and then faster. The wet sound of slapping skin fills the pod, drowns out the sounds of the rain outside. When you can finally open your eyes Ezra is staring between you at where his dick disappears inside you, brow furrowed, face red and damp with sweat. You groan and he grunts beneath you, tightens his grip on your hip and steadies you. Holds you still. He braces his feet against the bed and starts to thrust into you. Each hit jolts your body, you feel the slap of him under your thighs, against your ass. Bouncing your whole body at every impact, moans turn to sharp cries as he fills you, pumping into you.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” you pant with each thrust.

He’s out of breath. “Touch yourself.”

You do. You lean to one side so you can reach a hand between your bodies and rub at your clit. It makes you cry loudly and buck into your hand, back against his cock. He’s staring at your bouncing tits, down at his dick sinking into you. You rub vicious little circles around your clit so hard your arm is shaking.

“Where – ”

“I-in-inside me.” Your words break with every slap of his balls against your ass, sending you scooting forward on your knees. “Inside me. Please Ezra, please, safe – ”

He yanks your hips down over him, not humping anymore, almost vibrating. You watch him come undone beneath you. His jaw locks, neck bulges and tips back. Covered in sweat, slick with it. His chest heaving. You feel the hot pumping of his release inside you and tweak your clit, panting until you join him. Stars burst behind your eyes and you slump forward. Clenching so tightly around his dick you wonder how he fits. It only makes Ezra groan beneath you, surprisingly quiet when he comes. You slump into him.

You lay panting together, chests heaving and slipping, pressed against each other. His dick still inside you, your trembling thighs wrapped around his hips. You can’t think anything, except for his twitching length inside you, the last of his release mixing with yours and starting to swell at the place where you meet but trapped, because his cock fills you so completely that there is no room for anything else. You let your head fall into the crook of his neck, drop completely into him. Feel his arm slowly lift and wrap over your shoulders. Hug you into him while he tries to catch his breath. When you gain enough sense to think anything it is that you must be in heaven with him. He is hot and alive beneath you. And in love with you. You sniffle and kiss his collarbone, hug your arms around him as best you can.

You must lie there for some time because you feel the sweat dry and cooling against your skin and Ezra tugs the meagre blanket over you both. You are boneless against him, happy at the feel of his warmth trapped beneath you and inside you. He tries to shift, and you feel him start to slide out of you. You tighten your thighs around his hips and squeeze your cunt around him with as much force as you can muster. He groans and stills. Hot breath fanning against your cheek.

“Stay,” you whisper. Face burning hot with embarrassment at this request. At admitting how good he feels, soft inside you. “Just for a little while.”

He hums and stills. Drops his hand to your hips and pushes you down further into his crotch. Lifts his hips a little to sheath himself inside you to the hilt. You groan into his neck.

“Who am I to deny you anything,” he says into your temple.

“Was – ”

He waits, and when you don’t continue. “Was what?”

“Was it…” You squirm, and still when you both groan at the feeling of your releases trickle out of you and trail down his dick and over his balls. You still before anymore can escape, red at how much you resent any of it leaving you. You suck in a deep breath. “Was it as good as you imagined it?”

“Better, Starlight. Better.” He brushes hair back over your shoulder, lets his hand linger on the skin and trace the length of your spine. You feel his smile when your skin lifts into goosebumps beneath his fingertips. “No phantom conjuring in my mind will ever compete with you.”

Your eyes well with tears and you are as usual left without words. So unlike Ezra. So you show him in your own way. You turn your head to press a kiss to the thick column of his throat. A chaste one first, and then open your mouth and breathe over the spot. Press another wet kiss to the same spot. You feel his dick, still inside you, jump.

“You are truly fortuitous we have made our fortunes worth on those aquatic gems.” His fingers trail further down your back. Lower. Ghost the bump at the base of your spine and lower still. Almost, almost touching. Glimpsing against the top of the crack of your ass and then retreating. Tracing over the swell of it and back over your hip. His breath his hot against your hair. “I do not think I could be convinced by anything to leave you. I have two years of craving to account for, my Starlight.”

. 

Permanent tags: @btillys​ @vercopaanir​

[tenthgrove]

Sorbet and Gelato Drabble- The Foundling in the Woods

(Cut for length. Child Reader, parental relationship)

This is a very strange forest. The leaves above you gather so thickly you cannot see the sky above them, as though night suddenly fell as you stepped in. They are tall trees, even taller than the temples at Arigento your father took you to pray when the hunger began. They are spindly and twisted, like looming figures staring down with malice. With the worst ones, the ones whose branches hang out in great arcs over you with an impossible stillness, your little legs run across the forest floor to get to the other side of the shadows as fast as you can. You are deathly afraid that one of those trees is going to fall on you.

You do not know this forest. It is very different from the outlying woodlands your father takes you to hunt in the summer. You do not know this forest and you are scared.

Why did father leave you here? Were you one of your older brothers you would understand as they are big, and strong and capable, but you are not yet five years old. Maybe he saw a god and fled in terror- your aunt the priestess says there are a number of gods and spirits who live amongst these trees, but now you think about it your father did not run at all. He just left.

You continue on through the woods nervously, scrambling over roots and standing on stumps to try and see more of the route ahead. If there really are gods in these woods, or at very least hunters, maybe you will find a house eventually to rest in. You are small, and could easily slip through a window and under a bed so you are not found. That way they would not be angry at you. You hope the gods have food in their houses as well, because you are starting to feel hungry.

A wolf howls in the distance. It is not the first time. You are scared because the wolf-howls keep getting louder and louder and you cannot hear the human voices that would suggest they are hunters’ wolves. You start to walk faster. Maybe if they are like the dogs in your village they will not bother you if you aren’t afraid. But you are afraid. Will they notice?

Another sound comes from the forest. A low, angry snarl. A flash of silver darts between the leaves. You run.

Many paws bound against the ground as your chase begins. You look behind yourself briefly, terror only growing each time you see the number of angry, snarling wolves behind you increasing. Your breaths are sharp, panicked little whimpers that grow louder as your chest starts to hurt. You’ve never had to run like this before, and it’s painful. But you know if you stop they’ll catch you.

A giant oak lies ahead of you, bark withered with age. You are not very good at climbing but you can manage it when the trees are bumpy like this one, so maybe if you try, the wolves will go away.

Arriving at the base of the tree, you halt in terror. Wrapped around the lowest branch is the biggest snake you’ve ever seen, big blue eyes and coal black scales and teeth bigger than your own that are sharp as blades. The snake hisses, rearing up as it unfurls itself from the branch. Behind you the wolves close in. You scream, and fall to the ground.

You are not bitten.

One of the wolves starts to whimper and scream behind you. The rest seem to be running away judging by the sounds their paws are making but you dare not look to see. The wolf that was in pain goes quiet, something large slumping to the ground. You dare to peek.

The blue-eyed snake has its enormous body wrapped around the wolf, teeth sunk into its neck at the base of a trail of blood. When the wolf is still, the snake removes its fangs, clear venom still dripping from its mouth. You get up and start to back away slowly, but the snake notices. It doesn’t attack like you fear it might, only moves towards you slowly.

You try to run. It’s only natural after what you’ve just seen it do. The snake is quicker than you are, getting in front of you in seconds and wrapping itself around your feet. You scurry to a stop so you do not fall over, and the snake does something strange. It reaches up for a low hanging branch and pulls off a small, white flower. It rears up so its head is at your height, as though offering the flower to you. Nervously, you take it, and the snake lies down, satisfied. You don’t think it’s going to hurt you now.

Exhausted from your run and the hours of wandering in the forest, you sit down. The snake circles itself around you once, forming a protective ring around your body. You pet its scales. They are smooth and cool.

Some time later, you fall asleep.

____________________

The first thing you are aware of when you wake up is that you are not being held by the snake anymore. There is still the sensation of its scales under your hand but the creature holding you is larger now, warmer, and with hands of its own that trail through the softness of your hair. Has a person found you?

“Excuse me, mister? Could you please help me find my father?” you ask.

“Hush little one,” the man replies. “We’re working on it right this moment.”

Satisfied with the answer that your father may be returned to you soon, you relax, and lie content in the man’s arms. You soon realise why it is you thought you could still feel the snake in your hand- he is wearing a long-sleeved tunic made entirely of snakeskin. You wonder why he would choose to do that.

Another man steps out from behind the trees. It is still dark, more-so than before you fell asleep. And yet, you can see this man as clearly as a summer day. He is blond, youthful and husky with a woven weight tunic embellished with gold. Is he a rich man? Where are all his servants? He wears a cloth armguard that weaves itself as he walks, string extending from nowhere as it darts between the trees. He doesn’t seem to notice you awake.

“Sorbet, I have searched this entire forest and found not a single trace of mortals. Other than this child! There’s no way one that small could have wandered this far alone, especially with all the wolves around! Sorbet, this can only mean-”

“Gelato, save your anger. We both know what has happened. All that matters is we found them in time,” the man holding you intercedes. He sighs deeply. “It disgusts me as much as you, but humans have been doing this since time immemorial. In some kingdoms it is routine, when the child is deemed weak enough. Any attempts to return them to their family will not end well.”

“I know,” the golden man sighs. He snaps a twig beneath his feet and steps closer. “I’m still hunting them down after this,” he maintains.

“In which you will have my full support,” the one holding you agrees. There’s a hint of joy in his voice as he accepts the proposition. Still holding you, he stands. He passes you over into the golden man’s arms.

“Though it’s hard to tell on such little interaction, they seem a very sweet child. I’d wager they would do very well with us. Furthermore, our current standing with Athena should make it very easy to procure some artefact to immortalise this child, so now is as good a time as any to take them in.”

“Good. After Tithonus I’d rather not go through Zeus,” the blond man agrees.

“Who would?” the other snarls.

The next thing you know you are lifted into the air, the two men flying high above the canopy with you in their arms. The forest grows smaller beneath you.

____________________

At the deepest part of the forest. There is a house. It is a large house, grander than any king’s but empty, aside from two, now three, lone inhabitants.

Sorbet and Gelato do not sleep that night, not that their divine bodies have any need for rest other than their own pleasure. They remain awake for the sake of their child, who sleeps soundly in their new chambers, thanks in no small part to the healing serum applied to the many scrapes from their forest expedition.

Gelato traces his finger in a circle across their tiny palm. Sorbet sits across from him, checking frequently the temperature of the sheepskin pouch they filled with hot water to keep the little one warm. It is a very cold winter, after all. They look between each other, a silent acknowledgement for the mutual adoration for this sleeping little stranger. It’s a moment so… human.

It is not an act uncommon, amongst the gods, to take in a mortal child. Many are raised to be great heroes, to spread reverence of their patron’s dominion across the human world until fate comes to claim them. Sorbet and Gelato have no such wish for this child. They simply want you to feel loved.

[theodora3022]

Claim (Yandere Chuuya Nakahara)

Pairing: Yandere! Chuuya Nakahara X Fem reader

Summary: You have the courage to mock Dazai when he flirts with you casually, different from almost every other woman Dazai throws himself on. Seeing his nemesis being stepped on brings Chuuya great joy, which escalates to him taking a special interest in you.

Notes: So...If you read my BNHA fics you should know I have a thing for wind superpowers, so reader is going to have a wind ability in here as well. Be gone if you have problems with that. My first take on BSD, on Chuuya nevertheless... Hopefully this does not flop. I thought about writing Kunikida for this one, but I just could not get Chuuya’s smirk off my mind (Along with Fyodor’s but that is for another day) Also this is self indulgent as hell, so be warned. I’m not satifised with the final result, as some parts feels a bit forced...But there you have it. 

Word count: 2.8k 

Warnings: Drugging, coercion, mention of knife and blood, implied non con  at the end

You were sitting beside a floor window of a café when Chuuya first saw you, when he was on his way to get some beer. At first, it was not you that drawn his attention, it was that guy on the opposite end of the coffee table.

Osamu Dazai. Also known as the bane of Chuuya Nakahara’s existence and his greatest adversary. Out womanizing again, he never changes. He was about to ignore those shady behaviours and just carry on, until he hears how you are attacking Dazai with your words.

“Dazai, please. I bet you said that to every woman you met.” Slowly stirring your hot beverage, you smirk as you took a little sip. “It is a miracle how you got this far unscathed.” You seem to see right through Dazai, how clever. Now Chuuya have to hear how this can go down. His own drink can wait, this little comedy show is more worthwhile.

“But beautiful! Your eyes shine like the brightest stars, I just cannot let that go unappreciated.” “If you are so found of shining things, I can get you a pack of glitter to stare at. I would actually appreciate it if you stop staring right into my eyes, thank you.” This is a mistake, you thought. You thought Dazai was just being a good Senpai when he invites you to join him for a quick coffee at lunch. And of course being the naïve new recruit, you said yes without hesitation.

A pack of glitter? Oh dear. Out of all those years Chuuya has known Dazai, he had never seen the brunette getting such a good roast. Placing a hand over his mouth to muffle his chuckles, Chuuya is beyond amused. Most women would be too busy swooning over that pretty face, but you did not even flinch and insulted him just like that. You got some sass!  That is the first time the mafia executive had taken a formal notice of you. You are indeed a fair woman, no wonder Dazai would choose to hit on you.

He does vaguely recall recently hearing about the ADA obtaining a new recruit. A young woman with a wind ability. But you are far more interesting then that. “This has been pleasant, but I think it is time to head back to the office.” When Kunikida told you Dazai can be a handful yesterday, you did not expect this is how you would find out. You stopped him from taking out his wallet, shaking your head: “Dazai. I will pay for myself. Besides, you are in enough debt as you are now. See you back at the agency.”

Not even Chuuya can make Dazai appear this defeated, this discouraged. Just who are you exactly? Forget the beer, Chuuya needs to know all about you at once. 

Reading through your file back at the headquarters, your info is enough to make even Chuuya raise his eyebrows a couple of times.

You can command any gas to your will? That is a rare gift, even the Port Mafia had yet to secure that. Too bad you are on the wrong side, Chuuya can just think of so many ways of using your ability to its full potential. The file was put back to the storage, sure. But you had impressed him back at that café and peaked his interests. It would be hard to make him unsee Dazai being humiliated. But you did not linger on his mind much after. 

However, that would not be lasting too long. Chuuya was shocked to hear some of the members has died in dark alleys of yokohoma, apparently from lack of oxygen, but without any traces of choking or even a cut. Mori even called him to the office to discuss about this.

Pictures of you, in causal and business attire lay across the expensive office desk. You were smiling in all of them, although that smile does not look like an amused one to Chuuya now.

“Do you recognize this woman?”

How can Chuuya forget about you? The woman who gave him the best comedy show, who stomped on Dazai’s philanderer ways so mercilessly. “A new recruit of ADA. Her air control abilities must have enabled her to suck the oxygen particles out of human bodies. It also gives her the ability to levitate and an incredible speed, which is such a headache. Even Akutagawa cannot seem to finish her.”

What a little troublemaker you are. Consider Chuuya motivated. He knows you are strong, but not anyone can escape from Akutagawa. Where is the fun without a little challenge?

“I will go. My abilities would allow me to get the job done.” Heck, this once he would get something Dazai cannot have! In this mini game, at least, Chuuya would be the winner. 

“Chuuya, you seem awfully enthusiastic about this. May I ask why that is?” Stroking Elise’s hair, Mori carefully observe the young man’s expressions. “She has the guts to insult Dazai, should be a fun one. I do not plan to kill her, however. That would be such a waste.”

“Yes, that would be most ideal. Her ability would be a valueble asset, here’s some drugs if she is being too difficult.”

Oh but you are so much more then the wielder of a powerful ability to Chuuya.

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

Work has been a pain in the ass lately, so on your afternoon off, you choose to take a walk along the water in the park. Everything looks so peaceful, children running amok, couples holding hands, the sound of the birds chirping, all sounds so natural and calming. You let out a sigh of relief as you settled on a bench beside a tree and closed your eyes, breathing in the forest scent, still sleep deprived from the nightmares.

Although you only killed those gangsters to defend a civilian, you regret it somewhat afterwards. You expected revenge, but not from someone like Akutagawa? You can only remove the target’s oxygen from their bodies when you are standing still and concentrated, never while fleeing for your life. If it is not for your unparalleled speed, you were sure one of those dark spikes is going to be your ultimate demise. It was too close for your liking. Before you were always able to leave safely with your ability, but this time you barely made it.

Dozing off in a park while the Port Mafia is on your trail? Chuuya would advise against that. 

However, he would say he much prefer this compliant, soft look on your face compare your sarcastic, confident grin towards Dazai. Dark circles under your eyes? Have you been having sleeping problems? Looks like the little hero is not as brave as she lets on.

Now, he needs to be careful. Even though you look as harmless as a little bunny now, Chuuya can still recall the last expressions his deceased subordinates made. Dying from oxygen loss surely does not look pleasant. While the file said you can only use that special method once per week, Chuuya cannot leave any room for errors. 

Ah, it seems you had carelessly dropped your handkerchief on the ground. You did not seem to notice. As if you want him to come near. Who is he to decline a lady’s invitations?

Sensing his approach, you jumped out the bench and distanced yourself from Chuuya. Always on your guard, this should be interesting. Instead of kept closing in the distance, Chuuya bend down and picked up your handkerchief. “Did you drop this?”

See, you were overreacting! He is only trying to tell you that you dropped something. Feeling the guilt of mistaking him for an assassin churns in your stomach, you put up an apologetic smile: “My apologies, sir.  And thank you very much.” Yet you cannot shake off the feeling of you saw him before. Is he a government official? Or perhaps a store clerk? It would be rude if you actually do know him. Yes, you definitely seen his handsome face somewhere. Reaching out to his outstretched hand, you tried to retrieve your handkerchief. But as you take the little square cloth into your hand, his slim but firm fingers snapped around your wrist like handcuffs, seizing you with a smug smirk on his face. “Let go of me, Sir. You wouldn’t want me to use my ability on you.” 

Your gaze turned cold as the winter snow, as if you are willing to punch him in the face then and there. 

A good chance to observe your ability in action. How can Chuuya miss this opportunity? You tried to wiggle out of his grasp while activating your winds, but to your horror, it does not seem to have any effect on Chuuya. Sure, his hat and hair are flowing because of the strong wind, but he has not moved a single inch, still clenching your left wrist in his hand, lips still curling upwards. Turning to your second solution: bringing rocks to hit him until unconsciousness. Why wouldn’t the rocks move? Just who is this man? “Are you with the Port Mafia?”

That took you long enough. Chuuya let out a sinister chuckle, pulls you into his embrace with ease. Locking his right arm around your waist, he whispers beside your ear: “Of course, cutie. And you just walked straight into my trap. Now, it is best if you do not move, I would hate for this knife to leave a scar on your fragile little neck.” Feeling a thin, cold blade pressed against your throat, threatening to cut into your skin, you nervously gulped. Who is he exactly? You should have memorized the faces of the big names of the mafia-

Your ability is impressive. Even Chuuya has to admit that much. If it were not for the reinforced gravity he applied on himself, he would be on the other side of the park by now. Such a shame you are working for that little agency. Crap. You finally remember. Cursing sleep depravation under your breath, you recall where you had seen his face: the files back in the agency. One of the executives, Chuuya Nakahara, with the powers of manipulating gravity. That is why your winds cannot push him away. Just how did you end up with an executive’s knife pressing against your throat? 

Under ideal circumstances, you would order the oxygen particles to stay away from this man, but that ability could only be used once per week. You have not recharged enough, and the fact that you are not in best condition does not help either. 

“Now, you got two options, sweet. First, you can try to get away, and it would not end pretty.” Chuuya laughs he feels you shiver, clearly frightened by the idea of your blood spilling out like a fountain once he slices open your throat. Your resistance has pathetic impacts on him, but you have to at least try. You have been neglecting your physical training because you often rely on that extraordinary speed your ability grants you. However, that also means you are helpless in close up situations such as present. Not so confident now, aren’t you? “Second, pay a visit to our headquarters. The boss would like an audience with you.” You certainly do not want to fall into the hands of the port mafia. However, there are civilians in the park. They did not seem to notice how Chuuya is holding you at knifepoint.  Letting yourself, an ADA agent die here would mean the agency’s reputation is done for. Getting yourself killed in broad daylight, in a public place no less! How incompetent. Looks like the only option is to go with him, for now. “Fine. I will go with you.” “Smart choice. But I would expect no less from an intelligent woman like you.” He carefully removed the knife, and just when you were about to relax and think of a retaliate method, you felt a sharp pain on your left arm. A syringe. Just what did he injected you? Watching you fall onto the ground by your knees, barely able to lift a finger due to the sedation drugs, brings him a strange sense of contentment. Chuuya does not consider himself as a sadist by any means, but after seeing how you treated Dazai, shining with confidence and smugness, only made this submissive version of you so much more satisfactory. “Do not look at me like that, dear (y/n). Just a little insurance that you would not leave without permission. I hope you understand.” You do not, but that does not concern him. Swooping you up effortlessly, Chuuya carries your weak body out of the park, straight to a van that awaits there for a long time.

You never imagined, not even in your wildest dreams, that you would be in the Port Mafia’s headquarters like this. Being carried through corridor after corridor ,by one of their executives like a doll, although not by your own free will. Guards everywhere, almost at every turn point. Maybe you can break one of the windows and fly out? Alas, that would not possible if all you can generate is little breezes due to your present condition. 

“Do not worry, (y/n).” Feeling your body tense up, Chuuya choose to reassure you, or at least try to. “If simple murder was my objective, you would be dead in that park.” 

There are worse things then death. You really did mess up this time. You do not even want to imagine what they could do to you. 

“Enter.”

Placing you gently on the carpted floor, like a fragile china artifact, Chuuya bowed to the man behind the desk. “I brought (y/n) here, as you requested.” A cloved finger lifts your chin up, forcing you too look up into his eyes. You did not flinch, instead you stared back with unveil anger burning in your (e/c) eyes. 

“Quite a feisty one. Would you like to join us? Your wind ability completely outclasses my other assassins. That speed and that special method! Truly impressive. You should not waste your talents in that agency. The Port Mafia could offer you more.”

Using the little strength you had left, you got away from the mafia’s boss’s reach and shook your head: “I would rather die a gruesome death then working for you. If you want to kill me, you can do it now.” 

“Then, I suppose we need to change our method of negotiation-” Great, you can already feel those cold torture instruments.

“I can handle it.” To your surprise, Chuuya stopped the man from saying any more. 

The older man looks to his subordinate with curious eyes. “Chuuya? Are you sure? Wouldn’t it be better to leave this to our experts?” 

“Leave it to me, boss. She would be compliant within a week, I can guarantee.” Why would he want to trouble himself with this? Well, he merely wants to claim what Dazai cannot, as simple as that. 

“As you wish, then. As long as you do not break her beyond repair, she is all yours.”

You want to shout, to scream that you are not some object to be hand over, but you just do not have the energy to do so. There is not much you can do beside being a silent observer on the ground. 

Instead of a torture chamber, Chuuya took you to his personal quarters in the Mafia base. Perhaps he wants to do this the tender way? Sway you with high salary or numerous other perks of working in this mafia? 

It is when he thrown you on the bed, straddling over your helpless form, tearing your clothes off mercilessly, you realize how wrong you were.

“You look so good under me, where you belong.” He did not even bother to unbutton your blouse, just ripped the fine fabric off swiftly, grinning at your horrified expressions. “Come on, do not look so scared. This is not like you. Where is your fierce spirts when you insult Dazai?” Has he been stalking you? How could he-

“Ah, no matter. That jerk tried to win you over, but it is me who would get you.You would forget all about him when you are busy screaming my name later. Do you think you can handle my torture methods, dear (y/n)? Gods, you are beautiful. No wonder why Dazai would be head over heels for you.” 

How you bit your lip to supress your tears, trying to cover your chest for some modesty, only made his lust increase drastically. This time, Chuuya can finally be proud of his accomplishment: claiming a prize Dazai can never possibly won.

[sanktnikolais]

lost in the echo

A/N: this was supposed to be posted some time later before the actual release of Rule of Wolves, but it’s been released early so :>

or me just finding an excuse to write demon Nik going feral after seeing Zoya hurt :>

Word count: 3591

The King continues to fight his battle with his own demon. After seeing his General hurt in the war that they had fought tooth and nail for, Nikolai is one step closer to letting the darkness consume him.

Pain. 

          It was something that Nikolai knew so well and yet he could never get used to it. Whether it was entirely physical or emotional, it was always there, lurking and lingering like his own shadow. 

          Why? 

          The question came to his mind as another shout tore from his throat. It sounded almost like a wail, a desperate call for help. For himself? For his people? For everyone else that died in every war the country had been under for centuries? 

          For Ravka? 

          A head-splitting ache hit him, and he doubled over. He held onto the feeling, that one fleeting moment he felt the ground under his hands, before he was back to trying to regain control again. But despite the war for control in his mind, he realized that for once, there was one thing he and the demon shared the same sentiment—revenge. 

          For what? 

          Images flashed in his eyes. A shade of blue rushing towards him. A crack of gunshot. Blood. The excruciating pain in his chest. 

          Then nothing. 

          You cannot even protect and save her, young king. 

          There was another piercing pain in his chest, and this time, it felt like his heart was being torn out from his chest as he remembered looking at Zoya’s frail, bleeding form in his arms—

          Zoya? Did something happen to her?

          At that, the demon pushed back for control. The urge—the need—to destroy everything in his path was suddenly stronger than his will to get back to himself. Fury was the only thing driving him forward. Nothing else mattered.

          Yield, demon king, there's nothing else you can do for her, the monster said. Let the darkness come and take over.

          Nikolai closed his eyes and calmed.

          Let go. 

          He felt the monster’s claws on his shoulders, its grip tightening as the shadows slowly shrouded him in a veil of hushed whispers and angry voices. It felt almost natural, like welcoming a long lost friend after being apart for so long. Because in reality, he never really got free from the darkness the Darkling inflicted upon him; it chose the right time to let itself show again, when he was backed in a corner without any means of escape aside from accepting the demon that lurked within his heart. 

          Perhaps it was the main reason why it never left him, so he would have a last resort to turn to when things left him with no other choice. 

          All else faded to a blur, and then to darkness, his thoughts flitting away as if they were mere leaves easily carried by the winds until there was nothing left other than rage. 

          Talons extended from his scarred hands again, followed by the sound of an inhuman growl coming out from his lips. His wings burst from his back, and he braced his feet on the ground to launch himself in the air—

          Giving up so easily, King Wretch? 

          He froze. That voice—it sounded so familiar. Where had he heard it? He was sure he knew it. 

          A heavy feeling stirred in his chest, the nagging sensation of something begging to be released, to be free. He held on to that, a small speck of light amidst the endless darkness. For a moment, his mind quieted. Even the demon stayed silent, lurking. Listening. 

          It came again shortly after. This is not who you are. 

          But who was he? The nagging feeling became heavier and stronger as if something was forcing its way out and trying to escape whatever confines caged it down. 

          An irritated hiss escaped his mouth. It had come from the demon, the sound coming out like it was in pain. The question still lingered in his mind. Who was he? 

          The claws around his shoulders loosened, the shadows started to dissipate. He could still feel the monster reach out for them, but this time, he himself was holding back. 

          Who was he? 

          Come back to me, Nikolai. 

          Then there was like the sound of a glass shattering, and everything came rushing back to him. 

          Nikolai opened his eyes and fought back. 

          As he had expected, the monster tried to pull him back, its grip on him becoming much stronger than before. Still fighting the losing battle, young king? 

          He gritted his teeth. He knew the monster was goading him, throwing him off by telling him he was already losing. But he also knew it was starting to get weaker fighting against his sudden, newfound strength that allowed him to resurface again. 

          And it definitely didn't know how many times he had been backed to a corner and yet still found a way out. 

          Yield, the demon demanded again. 

          "I am the King of Ravka," he said, his voice hoarse from the demon's control but it was nevertheless his. "I do not yield to anyone." 

          But then the monster decided to show him his failure: Zoya taking the bullet that was meant for him. 

          For a moment, his will faltered, and the demon grabbed the chance to push the knife deeper into his resolve—into his heart. 

          You cannot do anything for her.  

          A shout of pure anguish tore from his throat as his mind focused on the person that mattered the world to him. 

          Zoya saving him from falling in the Fold. Zoya staying up with him most nights to grudgingly help him with the ton of correspondence. Zoya defending them from the dukes that dared to insult them during political gatherings. Zoya staying in his chambers and holding his hand tightly when his fears got the better of him. 

          Zoya, always Zoya.

          And yet you failed her. 

          The shadows overwhelmed him again, suffocating him. He knew he must fight them back but his resolve started crumbling again. 

          It was no use. He failed her. He failed her like he had failed Dominik, and then Alina. 

          Now everyone else. 

          And yet a small part of him still pushed back and never believed Zoya was gone. Because he would know. She was the other half of his soul, the other end of the red string tied around his wrist. There wasn't a single thing that she wasn't to him. 

          She was all and everything more.

          "She's still alive," Nikolai growled, and he felt the demon flinch like it had been burned. "I have not failed her. Only at the untimely end of my short life will I ever stop protecting her, then I will continue doing so in the next one I’ll live." 

          The monster cackled, and it could only do so much as its grip on him loosened again. He pushed back, feeling its clutches around him go weaker and weaker. 

          Come back, her voice from the day he took the thornwood to his heart echoed in his mind again, and he held onto it like his lifeline. Promise you'll come back to us. 

          Come back to me, Nikolai. 

          "I will." 

          The demon let out an angry hiss, the last threads of its ties around him snapping, and it grudgingly shrunk back to whatever darkness it hid. 

          Then there was nothing. 

***

There was still pain when Nikolai finally opened his eyes. But it was more of the physical rather than the one inside his heart. 

          His vision swirled as it slowly adjusted to the surroundings. The sky was bathed in a bright orange glow, the first signs of the approaching nightfall. It was when he realized that he was lying on the ground somewhere in the middle of the woods. 

          He sat up, but immediately regretted it when pain shot up to his side, making him stop his movements. Where was he? And how did he get here? 

          As if to answer his question, his head throbbed, and it hurt enough for him to double over to his side. Everything tilted sideways again. 

          "Saints," Nikolai groaned. He blinked several times to clear his vision, and when it adjusted again, he stopped. 

          Amidst the dimming light from the sky and the dark scars on his hands, he saw a single thread of a blue ribbon clutched in his palm. 

          The memory flashed back in his mind. Zoya fighting beside him. Zoya pushing him out of harm's way. Zoya bleeding in his arms. Zoya's hand falling from where she touched his face. 

          Zoyazoyazoyazoya—

          "Zoya." Nikolai's voice trembled when he called her name. "Zoya!" He looked around wildly, as if she would appear in front of him, alive and well, scowling at him and demanding him where he had been. But she didn't. 

          Tears fell from his eyes. Find her. He pushed up to his feet, forcing himself to stay upright, though his surroundings were swaying. 

          Find her. 

          Tying the blue ribbon around his wrist, he limped forward. And even when his body screamed in pain, he continued on. There was no assurance that he was going in the right direction, but it was better than staying put and not doing anything. Nikolai would trust his instincts. 

          Find her. 

          The woods seemed to be endless, the cluster of trees becoming thicker as he walked deeper into the forest. He didn’t know how long he had been walking—minutes? Hours? Days? He didn’t know. His foot found an uneven surface on the ground, and Nikolai stumbled forward. "She's alright," he hissed through the pain that shot up to his hands when he fell. With another growl of frustration, he repeated, "She's alright."

          She had to be. He didn’t know what he would do if she wasn’t. 

          “I’m coming back to you, Zoya,” he said, his voice breaking as he tried not to think of the worst case scenario that made another wave of tears fall from his eyes. He tried to push back up to his feet, but the images of Zoya looking so small and so frail in his arms kept appearing in his mind, and it made him feel weaker than he already was. “I’m coming back to you.”

          Get up, then, he chastised through his lamenting. Get up and find her. 

          Whatever strength he had before was slowly fading, dissipating into the thin air. The thought of seeing Zoya again was the only thing driving him forward. He wasn’t going to let go of that smallest sliver of hope he had in his heart, but its spark that continued to light his path was dwindling the more he tried to stay optimistic.

          Optimism was his strong suit, but it could also be the one to bring down the axe and shatter his heart for being too hopeful. 

          “She’s alright,” Nikolai repeated, but the saints knew how it was getting harder for him to convince himself that she was. His next words came out in a desperate, begging sob. “Zoya, please.”

          The blue ribbon around his wrist caught his gaze, the sight of it causing another sob from his throat. He clutched it to his chest as the sobs continued to rack out from his body. The helplessness he was feeling overpowered his logic. This wasn’t the time to grieve over things that he wasn’t sure of yet. But for someone who had always used his heart over his head, he could only do so much not letting his emotions take over. 

          It’s not you to let your guard down and quit, Lantsov, her voice came again, steady and strong like her will to set things right, the personality that Nikolai had grown to love dearly. Oh, how he wished to hear her voice again. Up on your feet, Your Highness. 

          A huffed laugh escaped his lips through his tears. Even in his imagination, she lingered. He really was a goner for her. 

          With the last ounce of strength he had, he willed his tears to stop and forced himself back up to his feet. He would come back to her. He would always come back to her, even if it meant fighting another thousand lifetimes and wars. Anything for her. 

          Nikolai took the path forward again. He hadn't gone that far when there was a rustle of leaves somewhere nearby. There wasn't a time for him to find a place to hide when there were suddenly people coming out from the bushes in front. 

          One moment he was standing upright, then the next second he was doubling over, gasping for breath. He fell down to his knees with his hand braced on the ground and the other on his chest. 

          "What—" He stopped. Grisha. 

          There was a series of clicks that followed, and the feel of the barrel of a rifle being trained at his temple. 

          "Identify yourself." 

          If Nikolai wasn't being deprived of his ability to breathe, he knew he still would stop breathing when he heard the voice. Tears stung his eyes, and it wasn't because of being suffocated to death. 

          Could it be—

          He lifted his head up. His current state made it very difficult, but he forced his way through the restrain. 

          And when his eyes met with the familiar blue ones that always appeared in his dreams, Nikolai felt as if he could breathe freely again. 

          Her grip on her powers faltered, and he drew in a breath when his airway cleared. 

          She's alive.

          The soldier holding the gun to his head sprung back, going down on his knees instantly with his rifle to the ground. His other First Army companions followed suit, but Nikolai couldn't acknowledge them, not when his mind had tunneled to focusing on her, and only her. 

          Tamar and Tolya stood their ground, relief obvious on their expressions, though there was still a lingering suspicion in their eyes. 

          His legs trembled as he slowly stood up. She's alive. Tears stung his eyes again, and he didn't bother to hold them back. He didn't care if the King of Ravka was crying openly. He didn't care if it was in front of his soldiers that expected him to be the tough figurehead he was supposed to be. 

          There was only one thing that mattered to him right now. 

          Nikolai took a step forward, his heart in his throat. His voice trembled when he called her name. "Zoya—"

          Tamar held out an axe and pointed it at him, making him stop abruptly. Confusion clouded his mind when he stared back at the woman, and then at Zoya. 

          Her eyes were bright, the longing in them not unnoticeable by him, who had been too blind to see the same looks being sent his way ever since he announced his engagement. What an utter fool, he was. 

          Zoya lifted her chin, the stoic face of the General of Ravka returning, and her voice was shaking when she said, "How do we know it's you?" 

          Nikolai huffed a laugh. Of course, precautions first before anything. He gave her a grin through his tear-stained face. "Is there any other king this handsome and idiotic and also afraid of spiders in suit?" he said. It was nonsense and he didn't know what else he could say. He just desperately wanted to run to her and pull her in his arms. "Should I retell the time I once tried to butcher geese?" 

          There was a short silence, and then he heard Zoya let out a disbelieving breath, but there was only an obvious relief on her expression. She looked tired; her bloodshot eyes gave away the worry she’d seemed to have since he disappeared, and her slightly pale skin and strained only meant she was still reeling from her injury. 

          And yet when he looked at her, he couldn’t think of anything else to describe her other than beautiful.

          Tamar let out a light laugh and lowered her axe. Her face softened when she gave him a smile and a nod, mouthing, "Good to see you, Your Highness."

          He mirrored her smile with his own before he turned his attention back to Zoya, his heart reaching out to her, the missing piece he had been finding for a long time. But she was already running towards him, her steps rushed as if the world would crumble down under her feet if she didn't reach him fast enough. 

          Nikolai met her halfway, his arms wide open as their bodies collided in a tight embrace, and finally, his heart was whole again. 

          She’s alright. She’s breathing. She’s alive. 

          “You’re alright,” he said, burying his face to her hair. He felt her arms tighten around his neck, and the feel of her warmth against him only made it clear that this was real. Another sob racked his body when he said, “Oh, saints. You’re alive.”

          Zoya let out a tired laugh. “You’re a mess,” she said against his neck as her hand came to clutch at his back. “You were gone for most of the day so I guess it’s only fair.”

          Nikolai pulled away just enough to look down in her eyes, seeing the old fire that never stopped burning even at their worst times, the same one that he thought was extinguished when she saved his life. She had always been the light to his darkness, the healing to his pain, and he vowed he would keep it that way even if he had to give his life over and over again.

          He reached a hand to her cheek as his eyes searched her face. “I thought I lost you,” he breathed, his voice coming out broken when another wave of tears hit him. His vision blurred. “I can’t believe I almost lost you.” 

          She closed her eyes and turned her face to his palm, her fingers coming around his wrist to rub soothing circles to his pulsepoint. “You worry too much,” she said. There was a smirk on her lips that she usually had, and it washed away the worry off her face. But the moment was short-lived, because she was suddenly heaving, her eyebrows knitting tightly together as if she were in pain. Her hand tightened on his wrist as a tear fell from her closed eyes. And then in a broken whisper, she said, “I thought I lost you too.”

          “I guess we both worried for each other so much today,” Nikolai murmured, resting his forehead against hers. He brought his other hand to her face and closed his eyes as well. “I’m here now.” 

          “You weren’t there when I woke, Nikolai,” said Zoya. Tears he never thought he would see her shed again fell freely from her eyes. “They said you were gone and I couldn’t do anything—”

          “Zoya, Zoya, my love,” he said, tilting her face up to his, and she opened her eyes. There was both fear and desperation in them, the same one she had when her amplifiers broke in the Fold. He gave her reassuring smile. "You saved me. Just like always." He gently wiped her tears with the pads of his thumbs. "You did everything you can, and it gave me another chance to live. Never forget that." 

          Zoya searched his eyes frantically, possibly to see if there were some underlying lies in his words. But if there was something Nikolai didn't want to do, it was to lie to her. They had faced enough problems to fill up for their next lives, shed blood and tears fighting for their forsaken country, for them just to let lies hang between them as their thread to keep them together. 

          They were the King and the General. The Too-Clever Fox and the Stormwitch. Nikolai and Zoya. 

          They were two halves of a whole, the one wouldn't function well without the other. 

          Together, they completed each other. 

          Without any more hesitation in her eyes, Zoya pulled him down to her level and pressed her mouth to his. 

          It was like coming home, the warm and light feeling in your chest when encountering something so familiar, and it was all Nikolai could have dreamed how kissing Zoya Nazyalensky would be like. 

          Years of longing stares and stolen glances and conversations that had hid their true feelings flowed through their kiss, the love they had been trying to hide burning brighter than any light that shone in the night. 

          Nikolai was aware of the people around them, of what they could have been thinking as they witnessed the king and his general crossing the line they had set for themselves, and yet he didn't care. Neither of them did. He buried his hand to her hair as his other arm snaked around her waist to pull her even closer to him, and Zoya responded by kissing him deeper, her lips opening under his. 

          The war was still ongoing but they could have this one stolen moment for just the two of them. 

          A moment that had been long overdue.

          When the need for air became stronger than the taste of each other's lips, Nikolai reluctantly pulled away, resting his forehead back to hers. She still had her eyes closed and he could feel her breaths ghosting on his lips.

          "I love you," Zoya said, and it left him floored in euphoria after hearing those sweetest words from her mouth. She opened her eyes to look back at him. "I love you so much." 

          He huffed a laugh, feeling as if his heart would burst with all his love for her any second. This was more than he could have asked for. With a contented sigh, he said, "I love you too, General."

          And when he met her halfway as she pulled him down to kiss him again, Nikolai finally felt the one thing he had always longed for. 

          Peace. 

[belit0]

Anonymous:

Hey can you do Indra with a partner who's equally power thirsty as he is? (s/o is already strong and absolutely a top)

Power couple goals!

Power couple goals for our King🧙‍♀️

After trying to kill each other countless times, Indra and [Y/N] finally understood that they could not erase each other’s existence. They are both highly powerful, and for every attack or defense that one presents, the other has an equally strong trump card up the sleeve.

Your life was relatively quiet until you came face to face with the deserter from the Ōtsutsuki clan, who with airs and graces of violence and revenge sought to increase his power at all costs. The problem is that you were looking for the same thing. Your story is different, you were not betrayed by your family, you were not turned away by your village, but the darkness hovers over your soul in the same way.

This is something that you notice in Indra from the first moment that you cross glances. How his only desire is to dominate, to destroy, to conquer, to impose himself. But this is a disadvantage in your plans, because in a world as broken as the one you both live in, there cannot be two rulers over the underdogs.

From your first meeting, you were both destined to try to kill each other. He underestimated you, believing that your power and intelligence would never compare to his, and it was at that moment that he condemned the encounter to an infinite draw.

The village you were in was big, with a largely developed self-sustaining system, a stable place to dominate and make your home, your empire. With determination, you knew that you would stay there, fight any villager or warrior who wanted to challenge your rules and build your much-desired kingdom.

And that’s what you’ve been doing for the past three months. You had found this place by pure chance while walking through the forest, looking for a location where you could rest and recharge your supplies to continue your journey. But just in the same way that you arrived as a terrifying stampede for the helpless village, so did Indra.

The people tried to fight against your orders, in fact, you annihilated almost the entire military unit that the village had. It was a struggle to be heard, you had to repress and punish them all over, but eventually, they dropped their rebellion, giving in to your inevitable command.

When things were going relatively well for you, a suspicious traveler appeared at the entrance to the village, and invaded the settlement carelessly. Killing villagers in the blink of an eye, the very same Indra Ōtsutsuki appeared in your home, attempting to steal everything that was yours.

Of course, you had heard the legends about this man. Myths run as fast as the shooting stars in the sky. But that did not mean that you believed the stories that reached your ears when you were traveling from place to place. If the tongues didn’t lie, this warrior wasn’t someone normal, but someone on your level. You were always smart and learned that underestimating your enemies was the fastest way to dig your own grave, so when Indra demanded to speak to the village leader, you waited and tested his patience.

“If you don’t bring the head of this wretched place here this instant, I will have to get rid of all of you, one by one… the choice is yours.”

Faced with the man’s threat, a desperate villager looked directly in your direction. Hiding among the sea of people watching Indra’s massacre, you listened to his speech. You prayed internally that this villager would not be so foolish as to give away your identity in front of your enemy, but of course, you could not expect much from people so inferior to you.

“[Y/N]-SAMA! PLEASE SAVE US PLEASE THIS MAN IS INSA- ”

Before he could speak any further, you pierced his right eye with a sharp Senbon, thrown towards your victim from a formidable distance. No one noticed the weapon that struck the villager, but of course, Indra was able to track and detect the movements, and when the villager fell dead in front of the crowd, he already had his eyes on you.

A long dark red cape covered you completely, from head to toe. Its hood covered your eyes, preventing your enemy from using his visual powers on you. That was the first thing you noticed when he burst into your village, confirming that the stories about him were real.

“What kind of leader is such a coward enough to hide among those who are the lowest followers… [Y/N]-Sama… I despise you; I should do you a favor and kill you here and now.”

“You should try, Ōtsutsuki Indra. I don’t guarantee your fate, anyway. Take the risk.”

That’s how the first fight between the two happened. It lasted an incalculable amount of time, occupying days, and nights of physical fatigue. The chakra exhaustion attacked the two of you at the same time, signaling the same level of accumulation. On the battlefield, where they had fought vigorously and relentlessly, they collapsed.

By the time you woke up, Indra was sitting next to you, and his intentions felt different. You were no longer detecting homicidal feelings towards you. The man was calm, relaxed in some way. His clothes were torn and dirty, and you assumed that yours were too. You were unable to move your body, as the pain spread mercilessly through all your limbs, so you just watched him.

If for some reason he decided to kill you at that very moment, there would be nothing you could do to prevent it. But instead, he simply stared at you when he heard your groans of bodily pain, and you gazed in confusion at his countenance. The man who fought you seemed to have vanished.

“Why didn’t you kill me? Keeping me alive and watching me die is quite cynical…”

“I have no intention of killing you, not yet. You have proven to be efficient, and you could work in my plans.”

“Your plans… Why would I be interested in participating in them? Just kill me.”

“I’m afraid I won’t do that. I’m proposing an alliance, if you don’t accept, I’ll leave you here on the floor, incapacitated and at your mercy. You know, someone said to me a few days ago ‘You should try Indra, I’m not assuring your luck, anyway. Take the risk’. I don’t assure your luck [Y/N], take the risk”.

“Shut up, you idiot, cocky, annoying, fucking asshole… Did you say days? Has it been days?”

“You know how to fight, but you don’t know how to calculate the time it takes to beat your opponent… too bad, you’re missing points. Are you in or not?”

“What exactly should I do…”

“Help me, to form my clan. Once you conceive my heirs, you are free. Until then, you are bound to comply.”

“You’re crazy to think I’ll help you with that.”

“Very well, then, I will set out again on my journey. It’s a shame about your dreadful village… we killed everyone with our fight and destroyed the land. Good luck surviving.”

“Wait! … Shit… I’ll go with you, but we’ll share the power equally.”

“You think you’re in a position to negotiate? How delusional.”

“Not at this moment, but when you want to impose yourself again, we’ll solve it by fighting.”

“You sound very confident… I accept, but when you have to surrender to me, don’t expect me not to enjoy the victory.”

"Be quiet and help me.”

Abruptly, he stood up as if nothing had happened, and lifted you off the ground with him. Quickly, you were positioned on his shoulder, just like a rag doll. The only thing you could focus on was the painful ways your body bounced with each step from Indra, who showed no compassion for your poor health.

That’s how the two of you started a complicated relationship, which, between fights and provocations, became something addictive that neither of you could give up. Suddenly years had passed since the first encounter, and your days were filled with challenges for power.

Neither of you wanted to give in to the other. You knew that Indra would not abandon you even if you continued to extend the time to conceive his heirs, you could feel it in his soul and see it in his eyes. The Ōtsutsuki had developed a strong attachment to you, love, I would dare to call it, and even if it took a lifetime to form your family, he would never change you for anyone.

So, in the meantime, both of you were playing a little game. Your routine was based on constantly provoking the other, pushing the other to the limit so that the situation would end in an inevitable fight to the death. The funny thing is that, as both maintained the same level of power, there was never a winner. Weeks could pass in a single confrontation, but no one was ever victorious over the other.

For years, the two would travel around the world. With no need to settle in one specific place, terrifying legends about the couple spread throughout the villages and towns, telling how the most powerful partners in history wandered the Earth, looking for power and control to feed on. Your days were joyous as you found a small village to destroy together, delighting in the screams of the villagers, making love over the blood of the murdered people.

Everyone began to fear your presence, escaping the sighting of [Y/N] and Indra, reincarnations of hellish beings.

At some point, Indra became somewhat impatient. Without warning, he began to show the need to find a place to build a real-life for both of you, where he could give birth to his family with you. Without any complaint, you accepted the request and decided that maybe it was time to listen to his desire.

A déjà vu hit you when you found yourself standing in front of the big door of a village, your man next to you, looking straight at the frightened people who were turning pale in front of you both. The satisfaction of power ran through your veins, and from the strong grip Indra held in your hand, you knew he felt the same way.

The Ōtsutsuki began to talk to the villagers, explaining what you both wanted from them, when you felt it necessary to interrupt him and continue with the task yourself.

“We are here to take control of this community. We don’t care who the ruler is, we are both the leaders now. Whoever opposes our supreme authority will perish on the spot. Inform your people of this, for we have come a long way and only wish to rest. When we deem it appropriate, we will announce the changes to come”.

In terror, the people who received you two at the door looked at the floor and nodded their heads. Without saying anything, they slipped inside, carrying out your errands.

One of them guided the two of you towards the main house, where there was privacy.

“I was in charge of the situation [Y/N].”

“Oh honey… I can’t help but think that since you want to start our family you have become a little more… Weak? Soft? I don’t know… I think I’m the only one who still wants to dominate everything around here…”

“It would be unwise to start a fight in the village we just occupied.”

“Are you chickening out? Where is my Indra and what did you do with him, stranger?”

“[Y/N]… you are really getting on my nerves…”

“I’m glad, darling.”

“You know what? If you want to fight so bad, fine, let’s do it. But this time, the rules are different.”

“Well, well, what do we have here? Indra-Sama wants a harder challenge… tell me, with weapons? Without Jutsus? Blindfolded?”

“No dear… I’m not talking about any physical fight you can imagine.”

“So…?”

“Whoever exhausts the other in bed first is the absolute leader of this filthy place. Until our clan rises above the unpleasant people who live here.”

“If I manage to dominate you during our entire fuck, will I be the supreme leader? No tricks, Ōtsutsuki.”

“No tricks, love.”

“Let’s get started.”

[beautifulterriblequeen]

I've been thinking about your Ruthari angst prompts and idk if that's even allowed 😅 but what do you think about a mixture of 3 and 11? 👀

Okay, so I wanted to play with the arranged marriage au for a bit, and these two lines landed like they might be part of negotiations. So here you go:

“What would you do if I didn’t come back?” and “How am I supposed to go on?”  

“What would you do if I didn’t come back?” Runaan paced slowly at Ethari’s side as they circled the fog-shrouded gardens of the Silvergrove Council House for the seventh time, matching the craftsman’s easy amble. The assassin had begun their negotiations with his hands clasped behind his back as they trod the well-worn path just inside the pale filigree wall that ringed the grounds. Now they hung loose at his sides, after over an hour of conversation that gradually found its rhythm. Ethari was surprisingly easy to converse with, so far. Runaan wasn’t certain he really approved of the taller elf’s playful mindset, but his easy forgiveness and acceptance had soothed away a lot of Runaan’s initial worries.

Runaan kept his face carefully forward as they walked, not wishing to indicate any weakness by glancing Ethari’s way too often, but he kept Ethari’s boots in the corner of his eye so he didn’t walk too fast and leave him behind.

I could. I could leave him behind. I’m faster, stronger. But my life has never been mine to direct. It belongs to Xadia. And so does my heart. Runaan took a slow breath as Ethari thoughtfully contemplated his reply, nibbling at his lip. My heart for Xadia. So, my heart for Ethari, as much as I can manage it.

“I suppose,” Ethari began slowly, “I would do whatever the council wished me to do.”

That was the best answer Runaan could have expected. Ethari had a deep sense of duty that overrode his personal feelings, just as Runaan did. Another thread of tension loosened in his shoulders. No one understood duty like an assassin, but the council had selected Ethari from among all the eligible craftsmen in the Silvergrove. He was the best they could find. But Runaan was the one who’d marry him, and he needed to be sure, too. And now, to his relief, he was sure. Ethari was willing to do his duty, no matter what.

Good. He’ll need that as much as I do.

“Would they make me marry the next assassin leader, too, do you suppose?” Ethari continued. He looked further ahead on their circular path, as if he could see such a dark future already looming.

Runaan blinked in surprise. He shifted himself out of the equation--an easy habit of long practice--and considered the idea. “It depends on what sort of match we have, I think.”

“How do you mean?” Ethari’s voice was carefully distant, unwilling to give any indication of interest either way.

Runaan pouted thoughtfully. “Well, if we match well in skill, if your crafting is of high quality and I perform admirably with your weapons, then the council will be inclined to match you with another assassin so you can continue to perform your valuable services.”

“Hmm.”

Runaan glanced over from beneath a single raised brow at Ethari’s noncommittal noise. “You don’t agree?”

“Does the council take feelings into consideration in situations like that?” Ethari asked.

“Feelings?” Runaan scoffed lightly. Feelings never protected anyone from anything. They were more likely to cause chaos than bring order.

Ethari shot him an uncertain glance. “Yes, feelings. What if...?” He looked away abruptly.

“You worry they would match you with a woman?” Runaan guessed.

A tiny smile flickered at the corner of Ethari’s lips and vanished. “That wouldn’t be a problem.”

“Oh. What, then?”

Ethari glanced across the gardens, to where the lacy arches of the Council House faded into the mist. “Can I ask you for a favor, Runaan?”

Runaan’s spine straightened. A personal request from his intended? This was the sort of thing he would be expected to agree to, wasn’t it? They were to be partners, allies, for the protection of Xadia and the Silvergrove. But soft subjects were merely practice for the important things. That was Runaan’s takeaway after Tiadrin sat him down and gave him a thorough talking-to, anyway. “Of course,” he responded. He had no idea what to expect, but he was intensely curious what could prompt Ethari to ask for a personal boon just then. “Anything you like.”

The craftsman’s eyes scanned the foggy garden until he spotted something that met with his approval. He held out a broad-palmed hand toward Runaan. “Will you come with me for a moment?”

Runaan stilled, studying the outstretched hand so easily offered. I suppose I should get used to this elf’s touch sooner rather than later, he reasoned. Slowly, he placed his gloved hand in Ethari’s, resting it there as lightly as a landing bird.

Ethari grinned warmly and gave Runaan’s hand a gentle squeeze. Then he towed him past a couple of short fruit trees that were just budding their spring leaves, until they were entirely hidden from sight, against the outer wall of the gardens. He pulled Runaan to face him and gave him a secretive smile. “Here, this’ll do.”

Runaan glanced around uncertainly. “For what?”

Ethari glanced down, suddenly bashful. “I, I thought we should kiss. To get used to it. They’ll expect it of us in public from time to time.”

Runaan’s brows lowered. “We don’t have to kiss.”

Ethari’s shoulders slumped a little. “Do you mean right now, or... ever...?”

Runaan’s expression tightened as he struggled with these unfamiliar notions Ethari was creating in him. “We are to be wed for the good of the SIlvergrove, Ethari. You are a craftsman of immense skill, and I am to become the leader of the assassins. Our union will stabilize the chaos of the past few years and ensure a brighter future for everyone. Kissing...” Runaan shook his head slowly, baffled. “Kissing doesn’t enter into it.”

“Kissing doesn’t--?” Ethari blurted. “Runaan...”

Perplexed at Ethari’s sudden outburst, the assassin took a moment to look him up and down, seeking some reason for his intense reaction. But he saw only a tall, frustrated craftsman before him, clearly in on some secret Runaan did not possess. It seemed he’d have to ask out loud for it. “What?”

“You fool.” Ethari’s hands were on his cheeks in a heartbeat, pulling him closer. Runaan’s sound of protest was trapped in his mouth as Ethari’s lips found his, hard and urgent, driving him back against the garden wall. Runaan backed into it with enough force to  draw a grunt from his chest.

Ethari chased him there, pressing himself flush against Runaan, pinning him with writhing eagerness. At the sound of Runaan’s grunt, he let out a low, grinding moan to match, sieving his fingers into the assassin’s hair.

Don’t stab him. Do not stab him. He wouldn’t understand. This is for Xadia. The thought flared red in Runaan’s mind, tangled and fragmented by a truly frightening amount of heated sensations that burst out of nowhere and swarmed him like a cloud of moon moths seeking escape, finding none. What is... what is he doing to me... what is this...

A stifled groan slipped through Runaan’s teeth. Instead of shoving Ethari away as he felt would be proper for such an uninvited assault, Runaan found his hands knotting in Ethari’s shirt and tugging him closer still. He wrapped a leg around Ethari’s ass and snugged their bodies together, lost in the grip of unreasoning neediness.

“Nnngh.” Ethari’s moan nibbled its way along Runaan’s jaw and nipped at the delicate skin beneath his ear. Runaan arched against his lips, tilting his chin up, bucking his hips forward with a soft cry.

Ethari steadied himself with a grip on a swirly amid the pattern in the filigree wall. His other hand teased beneath the lower edge of Runaan’s shirt, and his words rang breathlessly in Runaan’s ear.  “Runaan... I’ve always loved you... always... You make me so happy, this is a dream come true...”

“Aah!” Runaan tore himself away and stumbled a couple of steps sideways, panting heavily. His body throbbed in all the best places, his skin was flushed, his pupils blown. But he held out a hand to ward Ethari off. “You tricked the council?” he puffed. “You lied to them?”

Bereft, shocked, Ethari made an abortive reach toward Runaan and then stopped. “What? No!”

“They asked me if I had any attachments.” Runaan’s voice was cold, but why wouldn’t Runaan’s heart settle? It insisted on galloping across the Forest like a wild moonstrider. “I said no, so I was approved for consideration. And it was the truth.”

“I... Runaan, it wasn’t a lie! I’d never told you. There was no attachment to lie about.”

“There was in your heart.”

Baffled, breathless, desperate, Ethari took a step forward with his hands out pleadingly. “How is that a bad thing? I told them nothing of my feelings. I let them decide, for the good of the Silvergrove. And now that it’s decided, I’m telling you the truth! Isn’t that what couples do when they trust each other?”

Runaan’s brows drew down, and he thought searchingly through the wild storm of his feelings, seeking the hard edges of something reliable. Ah. There. He tucked his hands behind his back--the better to keep them off this deceptively charming elf before him--and straightened up into a formal assassin pose. “That’s just it, Ethari. I don’t trust you. We don’t know each other that well. And we’re not a couple. We’re a team--or trying to be--serving Xadia first and foremost. And you just admitted that you’re capable of deceiving the whole village council--and me--to get what you want. You told me you’d marry whoever the council paired you with, if I fell, but that’s not true, is it? You’ve put your needs above those of the many. And that, I cannot abide.”

Genuine fear bled across Ethari’s face as Runaan’s words sank in. “Runaan, please don’t... Are you calling this off?” His bottom lip trembled, and he pressed a shaking fist against his mouth. “Please don’t tell me I’ve ruined everything, please, please...” He closed his eyes and stood there, vulnerable, exposed. “You’re right. You’re right. It probably isn’t true. If I lose you to the humans someday, I won’t want to marry another. I just want to be with you. If...” His sunset eyes searched the mists for answers and flew back to meet Runaan’s stern gaze. “If I lose you--later, or right now--how am I supposed to go on?”

Runaan’s jaw worked as he stared at the pleading craftsman. His touch had been electric, dazzling. Runaan craved it again already. But such neediness would be an imbalance that could cost him in a critical moment--and if he fell, then his entire purpose was at risk. His head scrambled for distance even as his heart thrummed with eager heat. “I cannot trust you, Ethari. That must be the base tenet of this relationship, or we cannot serve Xadia as it requires.”

In true distress, Ethari grabbed his own horns and turned away, pacing erratically, muttering “No, no, no” through his teeth. Then he whirled back to face Runaan. “Please, I promise you, I won’t give you any further cause to doubt me. Let me prove myself. I’ll do anything. Just tell me what you need.”

Runaan stalked closer until they stood nose to nose. “I need you to give your heart to Xadia. Not to me.”

“Done,” Ethari blurted. His gaze clung to Runaan’s face, and he trembled with tension, his fate hanging in the balance.

Runaan’s gaze betrayed him, falling for a single moment from those urgent eyes to his intended’s full lips, before snapping back up. He gritted his teeth, tugged his shirt smooth of Ethari’s recent elfhandling, and added roughly, “And don’t you dare kiss me again. You’re lucky I didn’t stab you.”

Ethari looked down. “I’m sorry. It... won’t happen again.” His voice faded to a whisper like a wounded animal crawling into the shadows to die.

“How am I supposed to go on?” Ethari’s words echoed in Runaan’s mind, and he relented a little. “Wait. This is to be an alliance. I must consider your feelings, however... misguided, if we are to make this work, yes?” Ethari will make a solid ally, at least. I cannot say the same for every craftsman in the Silvergrove. I may never find an easier or stronger connection than this.

Ethari looked up from beneath his downcast brows, curious but not hopeful. “I suppose so,” he allowed uncertainly.

Runaan nodded decisively. “Then I’ll do the kissing, when it’s appropriate. You were right: they will expect it from time to time. Does this meet with your satisfaction?”

Ethari stared at him for a long moment and sighed dully. “I’ll take it.“

Runaan’s brows drew together. He’d expected Ethari to be delighted, grateful, that Runaan had considered his feelings and made allowances. Wasn’t that how these negotiations were supposed to work? Moon help me, I may just be making this worse... is it too late to take it all back and just let him kiss me again? That was... hnnngh...

Runaan opened his mouth to admit he was wrong, but Ethari spoke first.

“My heart for Xadia.” The craftsman offered his hand again, hesitantly.

Runaan studied that open palm again. Holding hands. A decent compromise in itself. He took it softly and nodded.

Together, hand in hand and worlds apart, the betrothed elves made their way through the mists to the Council House. For Xadia.

[jamaisjoons]

bitten & knotted | jhs + knj

⟶ 𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦: as different as night and day, your two lovers have many differences, after all, one is a vampire and the other is a werewolf. they have their similarities too, namely their supernaturally long life. something you don’t share. something they’re going to rectify tonight. supernatural au.

⟶ 𝑝𝑎𝑖𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔: vampire!namjoon x princess!reader x werewolf!hoseok

⟶ 𝑔𝑒𝑛𝑟𝑒: fluff • smut • pwp (with more plot than was intended)

⟶ 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡: 10k

⟶ 𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠: dom!namjoon, dom!hoseok, sub!reader, joon and hobi both have big cocks xxx, this is somehow tender and hard at the same time, threesome: mfm, dirty talk, slight body worship, light spanking, nipple play, pussy eating, fingering, face riding, cock sucking, deep throating, gagging/choking (on cock), cum eating, degradation, praise, unprotected, sloppy seconds, rough sex, manhandling, hoseok goes feral, slight mentions of blood, cum play, spitting, knotting, breeding, creampie eating, slight mxm, multiple orgasms, multiple creampies, biting/marking, 

⟶ 𝑎/𝑛: hello! welcome to the first fic of SPOOKY MONTH! y’all know i can’t disrespect my 94 kings and not have THIS au be the first spooky themed fic i posted hehehe anyway this was supposed to be pwp but i guESS IT HAS PLOT ??? very lITTLE but definitely more than it needed ahahaHAHAHAHA 

⇥ special thanks to my beta @slashgashbridesmaid for reading and editing this for me ♡

Darkness fills the night, cloaking the sky in its cascading blanket of pitch black. Not a single star glimmers. Instead, thick grey clouds aimlessly float through the nighttime, obscuring the cold, distant light of the moon intermittently. You find yourself humming along the darkened corridors of your castle. Dense streams of moonlight filter through the long arched windows that line the fading brick walls - the heavy dark velvet curtains pulled to the side. Usually, mostly during day time, they were drawn shut in order to prevent rays of sunlight from penetrating the window.

Your castle was always dark and dreary during the day, lit up only by the weak flickering of candlelight. The walls of the castle haven’t seen sunlight for over two decades. Of course, they couldn’t. Not with the vampire love of your life who makes his home within these very walls. No, sunlight was deadly to him - and considering he tended to wander the castle during the day doing his usual duties of playing advisor to the kingdoms, the curtains have to remain drawn. You don’t mind so much - whenever you needed to bask in the sunlight, you would find yourself out in the palace gardens or roaming the forest with your werewolf lover keeping you company.

You can’t complain. No, not at all. You have the best of both worlds. During the days, you travel the forests that surround your home, Hoseok in his giant wolf form as he carries you on his back - and when he gets tired, you usually stop and let him rest in your lap as you bask in the sun, mindlessly playing with his hair - or fur if he stays in his shifted form. Then, during the nights, you find yourself walking hand in hand as you and Namjoon traverse the nearby meadows, enjoying the way the night blooms glistening flowers of white as moonbeams drip over them. Indeed, there’s not a single thing you could complain about.

When you get to your chamber doors, you stop abruptly at the unexpected sight. Namjoon nervously paces the length of the doorway while he chews on his fingers, muttering every now and then. Though, unlike your lovers, you are human - a facet of yourself they have yet to rectify so you can be with them for as long as they live - and cannot hear what he’s mumbling about. Hearing the pattering of your footsteps against the cold stone ground, Namjoon’s head snaps up.

“Fuck. You’re here,” Namjoon breathes out. Your brows knit together as you look at him in worry. You may not have their superhuman senses, but you still notice the way his hands tremble with anticipation - or maybe trepidation.

“Joonie? What’s going on?” you ask as you approach him. Namjoon lets out a heavy exhale before taking your hands within his and placing a soft kiss on each of the knuckles.

“You know I love you? That we love you?” Namjoon whispers, his voice hushed. His hands drop yours, instead, moving to rest on your hips. Tenderly, his thumb brushes against the silk of your dress, and you lowly hum.

“Of course, I love you too. You and Hoseok. Both. Equally. Forever,” you reply without hesitation. Then you pause before continuing, “what’s going on? You’re scaring me,” you say, looking up into his dark eyes. They glow in the moonlight, the bright crimson flecks mellowed by soft umber tones. They’re so completely different from the way his eyes looked when he had been human.

“Nothing’s wrong, love. We- we just decided tonight is the night,” Namjoon finally says. You freeze in his hold, your heart speeding up. It thunders in your chest, Namjoon swallowing thickly as he smells the blood rush through your veins. Immediately, you’re searching his eyes, looking for any inkling of dishonesty. You find none. They’re filled with nervousness, worry but more importantly, anticipation and certainty. He’s being serious. Your heart soars within your chest, and despite shaky hands, you throw yourself into his arms. Instantly, your lips find purchase on his.

Automatically, Namjoon’s arms circle your waist, and then he’s drawing you into his chest. You fall into his kiss, letting him guide your lips in a sensual dance filled with nothing but tender love. His lips are cold against yours. He’s always so cold - completely different from the practical furnace that is your werewolf. You sigh into his kiss before pulling away. You’re breathless, warm air fans his lips, yet he’s completely composed. You suppose it has more to do with the fact that he’s undead than unaffected. He smiles gently and brushes his nose against yours. Then, grabbing your hand, he slowly leads you inside.

The heavy wooden doors creak open, a sliver of soft amber light leaking through the crack before you’re flooded by its warmth. You let out a soft gasp at the sight that greets you. Hoseok is sitting on the edge of the large canopy bed that occupies the middle of the room. The soft amber glow of the low candlelight reflects off of his silken russet, wavy locks as he twiddles his thumbs nervously. The minute he hears the squeak of the door, however, his head instantly snaps up, and he lets out a heavy exhale. Abruptly, he stands to his feet. Darkened pools of golden brown stay transfixed onto your figure, Hoseok’s pupil’s dilating as Namjoon pulls you closer to him.

“Did… did Joon tell you?” Hoseok asks, unable to prevent the slight stutter of his words. His voice drips with a mix of anticipation and insecurity - completely unlike his usual confident tone. Biting your lip, you nod at him. Namjoon’s hand slips from yours as Hoseok reaches out to you. Large palms circle your waist before Hoseok pulls you into him. You gasp at the warm sensation of his heated palms - a juxtaposition to Namjoon’s chilled skin.

“What do you think?” Hoseok asks, his gaze momentarily flicking towards the vampire standing behind you. Their eyes lock, a silent conversation exchanging just through their eyes before you feel their gazes on you once again.

“Please. I want to be with you,” you plead. Hoseok sucks in a sharp breath at your words as he caresses your hips under his delicate touch. Namjoon steps closer to you until you’re sandwiched between their chests. The hairs on the back of your neck stand straight when you feel Namjoon move your hair to the side before cold lips brush against your warm skin. The tender attention they lavish on your body causes your eyes to slip shut under their ministrations, your chest warming with affection.

You’ve been dreaming of this day for as long as you can remember. The mortality of humanity wasn’t lost on you - you’d witnessed lots of death through the years. Your mother died when she’d given birth to you, her only child. Your father followed when you were merely eighteen, leaving you the last remaining heir to the throne. However, you weren’t left unprotected.

You’d met Namjoon and Hoseok when you were all children - the two boys chosen as guardians to you, the crown princess. Hoseok had been a bright-eyed pup back then, with darker, almost black, eyes and deep brown hair - completely different to the deep russet hair and golden brown eyes he possesses now: signs of his maturity into adulthood. Even Namjoon has changed over the years, you can’t help but muse to yourself. Born a vampire, not turned, Namjoon has aged with you and Hoseok. Though, when he reached twenty-one, he’d fully come into his vampiric powers and stopped ageing. You can still remember how frightened you’d been, the day after his 21st birthday, when you’d reached out to brush your lover’s hair out of his eyes, only to feel his cold skin.

The three of you have been lovers since you’d all turned eighteen. They’d helped you get over the death of your father, comforted you, and looked after you in the weeks you’d spent completely catatonic, mourning the loss of the only parent you’d ever known. If it weren’t for Hoseok and Namjoon, you were sure the kingdom would have fallen apart. They’d saved you - showed you there were still people who loved you - that they loved you. You loved them too. Still do - until your final days. Throughout your life, it was as if you gravitated to one another - how could you not? You spent all your time with them when you were growing up. They are all you know, all you had ever known, and all you would ever need to know.

Thus, the thought of leaving this world without them terrifies you. Hoseok’s wolf blood will keep him alive for hundreds of years to come, and Namjoon… well, Namjoon will live for roughly the same amount of time. Contrary to popular belief, vampires don’t live forever. While not dead, they aren’t alive either, instead encompassing the state of limbo between. However, the energy that keeps them living, the essence that grants them power eventually runs out too, and with that comes their death. Nothing is infinite after all.

You’re still only human. Your life isn’t as long or drawn out as theirs - your life essence will fade much quicker than theirs. That thought terrifies you. You want to be with them - for as long as you possibly can. So, you had urged Namjoon to turn you. Namjoon had completely refused at first. So, you’d asked Hoseok to bite you. Like Namjoon, however, he’d refused too. There was too much risk. The poison of a vampire’s kiss and the essence of a wolf’s bite were deadly. Most people didn’t make it through: the chances of someone turning were incredibly slim, and they’d both agreed they couldn’t bear to lose you - especially through their own actions.

So, you’d decided to take matters into your own end. At the very edge of your kingdom, nestled in the woods, lived a witch. A witch who, if rumours were to be believed, had lived millennia. A witch who knew things most wouldn’t - who had knowledge of even the most obscure of things. The kingdom trusted Min Yoongi - he’d supposedly lived a long time, looking after the royal bloodline - even if he did it from afar. You couldn’t exactly blame him for being a recluse; if you’d lived as long as he did, you too would probably live far from civilisation. However, the fact of the matter stood, Yoongi could be trusted, and if he had the information you were seeking, then you owed it to yourself and your lovers to find it.

So, one day, you’d snuck past the palace guards and Hoseok’s ever watchful eyes and found yourself wandering the woods and towards Yoongi’s little cottage. It had been a long arduous journey, the forest paths narrow and winding, and you’d feared getting lost without Hoseok’s expert nose and senses to guide you through the forest - but you had done it - and come out triumphant. There was a way. A way to be bonded to both Hoseok and Namjoon until the end of your time. A way to tie their life force to yours and ensure you live for as long as they do. It was rare, almost lost to the ages. A ritual forgotten by everyone. Except for Yoongi.

While not common, it wasn’t unusual for a vampire to choose a human mate or for a werewolf to imprint on one. What was rare, however, was for them to choose the same human. Rare - but not impossible. Lost to time was an ancient bonding ceremony that allowed both a vampire and a werewolf to claim the same mate. Armed with the knowledge, a vial of potion, and Yoongi’s promise that it would be fine, you’d approached them both. They’d been hesitant at first, even with Yoongi’s assurance, because despite its increased chance, the ritual wasn’t perfect. Things could still go wrong. They could still hurt you, and you could still die. Though, the chances were slim if they completed it properly. Finally, though, it seems that they are ready to go through with it.

“Please, I’m ready,” you affirm as you wrap your arms around Hoseok’s neck. Your fingers entangle in his long auburn locks, mindlessly playing with the sleek strands before you draw him closer to you. Heart-shaped lips are only a hair’s breadth apart from yours, and you shudder as his warm breath wafts over your skin. “Make me yours,” you continue, staring up into his honey brown eyes earnestly. A low growl resounds from Hoseok’s chest before he sinks his head lower.

You groan into his kiss, the soft pink flesh of his lips moulding into yours as he kisses you slowly. Namjoon, not one to be left out, wanders his hands up and down the sides of your torso while he feathers kisses along the back of your bare shoulder. Hoseok’s hand moves to hold your chin, lifting it up for easier access as he cups your jaw. Your lips move sensuously, Hoseok’s tongue jutting out to lick at the seam of them. Readily, you part them, allowing his tongue to push in between your teeth before it begins gliding across your own tongue in soft but firm twists.

Namjoon’s cold fingers dance along the nape of your neck before running down your back as he slowly unknots the silken straps that keep your dress tied to your body. With each inch of skin that he exposes to the air, he places a cold kiss against your skin - almost as if he’s revering your body. Once undone, his hands tenderly wander up your back and across your shoulders as he slips the dress off of your body. It falls to the floor in one motion, bunching around your feet in a pool of silk and leaving you completely bare.

“Ah-” you gasp, breaking away from Hoseok’s lips and throwing your head back when Namjoon’s cold palms meander around your ribcage so he can cup your breasts. Gently, he brushes the pads of his thumbs over your nipples, causing them to harden under his icy touch. Unbothered by you breaking the kiss, Hoseok begins peppering kisses along the outline of your jaw and towards your neck. When you let out another gasp, your fingers tightening into his hair, Hoseok smirks, lightly sucking the spot.

“By the moon, you’re so beautiful,” Hoseok reveres as he pulls away, his eyes shifting down your body. He lightly runs his palm along the middle of your stomach and down your hips before pushing his hand between your thighs. Tugging his hair harder, you cry out when he begins softly rolling your clit with his thumb.

“Oh God,” you whimper as Hoseok continues his torturously slow teasing. He smirks over you, flashing his pearly whites before his fingers move, one dipping into you easily. You let out another whine, and your head lolls back automatically, resting on Namjoon’s shoulder as your walls flitter around Hoseok’s finger.

“Fuck- she’s already wet,” Hoseok curses as he pushes a second finger into you. Letting out a soft mew, you buck into his hand, wanting to feel him deeper.

“Hmm. Of course, she is, our Princess is always ready for us. Aren’t you, my love?” Namjoon asks as he playfully nips your shoulder. Your breath hitches when his sharp incisor scrapes against your skin.

“Always! Love feeling you inside me,” you lowly groan as you twist your hand around to rub at Namjoon cloth-covered cock. He hisses against your ear, bucking into your hand.

“Get her on the bed, Namjoon,” Hoseok says as he steps away from you. You whimper when he pulls his fingers out, Hoseok lightly spanks your thigh, causing you to mewl as your pussy clenches around nothing.

“Patience, sweetheart,” Hoseok says before brushing a kiss against your forehead. Namjoon easily picks you up - forcing a squeal out of you as you’re suddenly lifted off the ground - before he deposits you onto the bed. They both stand on the side of the bed, eyes darkening with lust as their gaze roves over your body before stopping at the dewy folds between your thighs. Breaking their stare, Namjoon and Hoseok exchange a nervous glance.

“Before we continue, there’s something you need to know,” Hoseok breathes out. You look at him curiously, your head cocking to the side. You say nothing, waiting for them to continue.

“Hoseok… It’s not going to be like usual,” Namjoon tries to explain. Your eyebrows furrow slightly. Of course it wasn’t. You’d read through the ritual - you know that it’s going to be different.

“I kno-” you begin before Hoseok shakes his head, cutting you off.

“No, sweetheart. I’m not… In order to mark you as the ritual requires, I’ll need to give in to the animal instinct. My wolf will take over. I can’t promise he’ll be gentle either,” Hoseok finally breathes out, “he’s wanted you for so long,” he mutters under his breath. His words are almost inaudible, but you hear them anyway. Your eyes soften at the conflict written on his face. Shifting to your knees, you shuffle to the edge and pull him into you. Once again, your fingers thread through his locks as you gently play with the hair on the nape of his neck - just the way he likes it. Hoseok’s chest rumbles in a low purr at your actions, his nose nuzzling into your hair as he breathes in its scent.

“I don’t want to hurt you. I love you,” Hoseok whispers lowly against the crown of your head. Lips curling into a gentle smile, you lean forward and place a kiss against his chest, just over his heart.

“You won’t hurt me. You could never hurt me. I love you. All of you,” you reassure before tilting your head and pressing a kiss to his lower jaw. Soothed by your words, Hoseok allows you to pull him onto the bed. You smile gently at him, feeling the bed dip behind you as Namjoon crawls onto the mattress.

Lazily, your hands move to Hoseok’s shirt, pulling the strings that bind it together loose. With each undone tie, more and more of his smooth caramel skin is revealed to your eyes. Leaning forward, you push his shirt off of his shoulders before running your hands across his defined, sinewy muscles. You place an open-mouthed kiss on his skin, suckling and licking the flesh as your lips wander over his chest. When your mouth brushes over the bump that signifies his nipple, your smirk against his skin before you wrap your mouth around the small bud, lightly nipping it.

“Fuck. You’re such a tease. Lay down sweetheart, wanna eat your sweet little pussy,” Hoseok says as he pushes you to lie back. With Namjoon behind you, however, you find yourself draped against his chest, his arms automatically encircling your waist. You shudder at the frigid chill of his skin against yours. When had he taken off his shirt? You don’t have much time to ponder the thought, however, because immediately Hoseok begins kissing his way down your body. Arriving at your legs, Hoseok’s hands wrap around the flesh of your thighs before spreading them.

“Gonna make you scream for me tonight, sweetheart. Make you scream for us,” Hoseok says before warm lips brush against your folds. You whimper, Namjoon moving his hands to once again cup your breasts as he teases the erect peaks between his thumbs and forefingers while running his lips along the length of your neck. You moan at his actions, your back arching as you push your chest further into his palms. The walls of your cunt clench, fluttering around nothing. From the low growl of appreciation that resounds from Hoseok’s chest, you know he sees the movement. Immediately, he wraps his lips around your pussy before sucking - hard.

“Oh god,” you mewl, your hands shooting out and entangling into his hair at the sudden stimulation.

“You like the way I play with your tits while Hoseokie eats you, Princess?” Namjoon asks.

“Mhm,” you moan. Your thoughts completely fly out the window when Namjoon pinches your nipple lightly, tugging the bud.

“Don’t forget about me, my love,” Namjoon says before moving your neck to the side and pulling your lips in for a spellbinding kiss. Hoseok’s eyes stay transfixed to the way your mouth moves with Namjoon, his cock twitching at the sight. Lowering his head, but keeping his gaze locked onto you both, he licks a swipe up your folds, gathering your wetness onto his tongue until it’s doused in your heavy, heady taste. You groan against Namjoon’s lips, your hips reflexively bucking into Hoseok.

“So sweet. The prettiest pussy I’ve ever tasted,” Hoseok breathes out, lightly running his fingers through the folds, soaking his digits in your messy wetness. His eyes follow the thin filmy strings of your arousal that cling to his fingers, stretching as he pulls them away from your cunt. When they snap, his fixation is broken, and immediately he plunges his fingers into his mouth, suckling at them as he drinks your arousal.

“Mine’s the only pussy you’ve tasted,” you reply, breaking off your kiss with Namjoon. Your eyes sparkle mischievously, and Hoseok growls out, spanking your thigh immediately. You hiss at the stinging sensation that flares along your flesh - even if he knew how to control his supernatural strength, Hoseok was still incredibly strong.

“I’d be careful if I were you, Princess,” Hoseok warns before plunging two of his fingers inside you. You cry out at the sudden penetration. Hoseok begins thrusting his fingers in and out out of you, pushing them into your depths as his arm muscles flex. You let out a low moan, groaning out his name. His fingers are long - and he knows your body well enough to easily locate the sweet spot nestled inside you that drives you wild with relative ease.

Namjoon bends his neck down, pushing your breast up so he can draw your nipple into his mouth. Sharp incisors scrape against the soft skin, his silken tongue laving and swirling the bud as he wettens it with his saliva. Releasing it with a pop, Namjoon blows cool air over it, causing you to whimper his name. He smirks, his white teeth glinting in the low light before he presses a kiss to your temple and pushes you off of his chest.

“Hoseok, get her on your face… wanna fuck her throat,” Namjoon says as he slides off the bed. Hoseok pulls away from your thighs, his fingers retreating as he chuckles.

“Feeling left out Joonie?” Hoseok asks. Namjoon gives him a pointed look before pushing his trousers down and freeing his cock. The instant you see it, your mouth begins watering. He must definitely be feeling left out, you muse. The head of his cock is an angry shade of purple, weeping with translucent beads of precum that has his cockhead glistening in the low lighting of the room.

Namjoon doesn’t retaliate and instead begins pumping his cock. Hoseok wraps his arms around your thighs firmly, and before you know what’s happening, he uses his strength to completely flip you over. You gasp at the sudden movement, his muscles flexing as he braces the entirety of your weight while he holds you up. Getting comfortable, and with his head resting on the edge of the mattress, Hoseok grabs your thighs and draws you over his face before he lowers your hips. You suck in a sharp breath when his lips wrap around your clit, gently suckling the bud as he runs his fingers along your folds. Namjoon patters over to you, smiling gently before tenderly petting your hair. You coo at the tender touch, returning your own lazy smile.

“Come on love, be good and open up for me,” Namjoon says as he taps his cock against your lips. Already practically drooling at the thought of tasting him, your jaw instantly falls open. Namjoon lets out a pleased hum before gradually inching his cock inside you. You’re not a stranger to sucking off your vampire lover, and yet, every time he pushes into your mouth, your jaw aches from his girth.

“Be good and take my cock, Princess, and Hoseok will reward you, won’t he?” Namjoon says as he gently caresses your head. You keen under him, your lips wrapping tighter around his shaft while your jaw goes slack. Hoseok lets out a low moan of agreement, the vibrations reverberating through your folds as he laves your clit under his tongue.

“Mhm. Be good for Joonie, and I’ll let you cum on my mouth, sweetheart,” Hoseok assures as he lets your clit go. He pushes your hips up slightly so he can stare unabashedly at your cunt, licking his lips and tasting you on his mouth while he takes in the sight of your dewy folds and dripping cunt.

“Fuck, that’s hot. Could watch you drip for us forever, you know,” Hoseok says as he ghosts his fingers across your nether lips. With featherlight touches, his middle and pointer fingers circle the throbbing bud nestled in the hood of your cunt before he runs them along your slit. Long, slender fingers part your folds, gathering as much of your wetness as he can on them until they’re completely slick with your arousal. The dim lighting reflects off the thin film that coats his digits.

Imperceptibly, your thighs shake on either side of Hoseok’s head, the incredibly light, almost non-existent touch slowly driving you wild. You forget about Namjoon’s cock in your mouth, your lips loosening around the shaft as you lose yourself in the sensation of Hoseok’s fingers. Namjoon hisses slightly and grabs your hair roughly before forcing his cock into your mouth, suddenly hitting the back of your head. Instantly, you choke and splutter around his cock, your eyes tearing up. Namjoon holds your hair tightly, keeping his shaft buried against the back of your throat, even as you gag around him.

“Didn’t Hobi tell you to be good for me? Yet, here you are, forgetting about my cock. Is Hoseok a distraction? Does he need to stop so we can use your pretty throat the way it’s supposed to be used?” Namjoon asks, his voice heavy with dominance. Despite your teary eyes and the ache in both your jaw and your throat, you find yourself shaking your head, your cunt clenching.

“Do I need to stop, sweetheart?” Hoseok asks, drawing his fingers away. Again, you frantically shake your head, your words of protest muffled around Namjoon’s cock.

“So, you’ll be good?” Namjoon asks, and you nod your head quickly. Namjoon grunts at the way his cock shifts inside your mouth as you move your head.

“Hmm. We’ll see. Now hold still while I fuck your pretty throat,” Namjoon says. Your muscles instantly tense, twitching intermittently as you stare up at Namjoon through the thick of your lashes. He growls lowly, keeping his eyes fixed onto yours as he begins thrusting hard, but slowly, into your mouth. Every thrust of his hips has him hitting the back of your throat - you have no doubt that it’ll be completely raw and hoarse tomorrow - as you’re jerked on top of Hoseok.

“That’s a good Princess,” Hoseok praises. Then, suddenly, he plunges two fingers into you. You cry out around Namjoon’s cock, the vampire’s thrusts becoming stuttered at the sudden vibration of your mouth against his cock.

“Fuck.” Namjoon hisses through clenched teeth as he forces his cock further into your mouth. The muscles at the back of your throat flutter around his head, and you find yourself inadvertently swallowing. Namjoon let outs another hiss, his head falling back as you slowly swallow his cock down your pharynx.

“Did she take you down her throat, Joonie?” Hoseok asks, his ears twitching at the fucked out sigh that escapes Namjoon’s lips.

“Fuck. Yes-” Namjoon groans out, barely able to string together a rational sentence as he loses himself in the feel of your tight, hot throat pulsing around his shaft.

“Should I reward our princess?” Hoseok asks, lightly thrusting his fingers into you.

“Hmm. I think so. We promised we would if she was good for us - and she’s being really good right now,” Namjoon praises. One of his large hands moves to wrap around your throat, groaning as his thumb affectionately brushes against the outline of his cock in your oesophagus.

Hoseok doesn’t say anything. Instead, he slowly spreads the two fingers he has buried into you, opening you out for his viewing pleasure. He groans as you’re gradually opened out for him. Thick strings of your arousal coat your inner walls, leaking out of your cunt and running down his fingers. Lifting his head up, he plunges his tongue inside of you, swirling the wet appendage around your walls and drenching it in the thick of your taste.

Uncontrollably, your thighs begin shaking around his head as the ecstasy of your impending orgasm draws near. Your eyes shut, tears leaking down your cheeks - both from the sheer pleasure Hoseok wrought on your body and Namjoon’s deep thrusts down your throat as he uses your oesophagus as his own personal cocksleeve. When Hoseok’s thumb moves to press against your clit, rolling it in tight circles, you feel the knot inside your stomach unravel. Violently, you begin shaking as your orgasm sears through your nerves.

Namjoon abruptly pulls out your throat, and you let out a small shriek as you begin cumming around Hoseok’s tongue. Your throat strains, your moans coming out raspy from Namjoon’s thrusts. Hoseok groans as your walls begin clenching rhythmically around his tongue. The honey of your orgasm trickles out of you in thick streams, running along his tongue and straight into his mouth. Tauntingly slow, he continues circling your clit as he draws out your orgasm, wanting nothing more than to drown in your cum.

“Fuck, Hoseok,” you mewl. Your limbs turn into jelly, and you find yourself falling forward, unable to keep yourself upright. Instantly, Namjoon catches you, bracing you against his taut chest. You bury your face into his abdomen, eyes screwed shut as you cry out your pleasure into Namjoon’s flesh.

“Shh. It’s okay, we’ve got you,” Namjoon says tenderly as he lightly runs his fingers through your hair. Soothingly, he massages your scalp as you come down from the elation of your orgasmic high. Once you stop trembling around his face, Hoseok pulls away from your cunt. Licking his lips, he drinks down the remnants of your cum that soaks his mouth and chin. He strains his head and places a soft kiss against your clit before gently rolling you off of him.

Bonelessly, you fall onto the bed. Your chest heaves as you stare up at the ceiling, gaze completely unfocused from the strength of your orgasm. Vaguely, you hear your lovers shuffle around the room, but you’re too far into your orgasmic haze to really care.

Moments later, when you have more of your bearings, you feel the bed dip on either side of your body. Sluggishly, you roll your head towards them, smiling lazily. They’ve stripped completely naked, leaving them in all their glory. Your eyes brazenly rove over their figures, basking in how utterly beautiful your lovers are.

“Are you ready, sweetheart?” Hoseok asks. You nod languidly, and Hoseok lets out a soft chuckle from how completely fucked out you are, your eyes glassy. His arms wrap around your waist and pull you up. Your muscles protest the movement, but you let him manoeuvre you so that your back is rested against his hot chest, your hips between his thighs as his hard cock rests against the top of your ass.

“I know I usually fuck you first - but because of… because of the wolf - we thought it’d be easier if Namjoonie has you first,” Hoseok says softly as he presses a kiss against your neck. Your heart soars at his concern, and you let out a small nod.

“It’ll be fine. I trust you both,” you reply, turning your head and pressing a chaste kiss against Hoseok’s lips. Then, turning back, you lift your arms up and beckon Namjoon towards you. He smiles gently at you. Hoseok’s hands wrap around your thighs before spreading them, letting Namjoon crawl between. Your vampire presses a kiss to your forehead. Then, he uncorks the vial in his hand - the vial you hadn’t even noticed.

“Joonie?” you ask, staring curiously at the glass bottle.

“Did you forget about the bonding ceremony, my love?” Namjoon asks, a playful smile teasing his lips. You blink at him, your mind working sluggishly slow at it navigates the fog of euphoria that clouds it. Suddenly, it clicks. Oh yes, the vial of potion. The vial that would temporarily temper down the poison of his kiss and lower the chances of any fatalities.

“Oh. I forgot about that,” you whisper. Once again, the two of them exchange a nervous glance. Tenderly, Hoseok smooths his hands over the flesh of your thighs, massaging them as Namjoon looks at you warily.

“Are you sure about this? If you don’t want to, we can-” Namjoon begins.

“No. I want this. Please. I want to be yours and Hoseok’s forever,” you cut him off, your eyes staring earnestly into his. Namjoon nibbles his lower lip before nodding. Then, he uncorks the vial, the potion glimmering in a metallic pool of silver before he gulps it down. Namjoon’s nose scrunches up at the taste before he sputters.

“Damn, that’s awful,” he says as he swallows thickly before he turns his attention back to you. He takes in the sight of you, body sprawled across Hoseok’s chest and thighs spread wide for him.

“Fuck. Okay,” Namjoon says lowly. Taking his cock in his hand, he pumps it twice, spreading his precum over it before pressing the head against your entrance. You let out a low moan of appreciation as he runs his cockhead through your folds, wetting it in your arousal before he slowly begins pushing it inside you.

“Oh fuck,” you groan as your eyes screw shut. The girth of Namjoon’s cock slowly spreads you open, inch by inch, as he fills your walls.

“Fucking- how are you always so tight?” Namjoon hisses as he bottoms out. Your hands shoot out to rest against his hips, your fingers digging into his bones. When the walls of your cervix kiss the tip of his cock, Namjoon stills, waiting for you to slowly adjust. You take a couple of deep breaths, more than delirious over the way his cock feels inside you. The slight burn of the stretch soon fades away, and you experimentally clench your walls around him. The sensation of your silken walls clamping down around his shaft has him whining softly.

“Joon, hnn- Joonie, you can move,” you croak. Namjoon steadily eases himself out of you before thrusting back in one fluid motion. You cry out when he once again bottoms out, your head lolling onto Hoseok’s shoulder.

“Fuck her good Joonie. You’ll need to fuck that pretty pussy open so it’s easier for her to take my knot,” Hoseok breathes out. His words ring through your ears, and you involuntarily clench around Namjoon again. God, you’d almost forgotten about that. Hoseok had never knotted you before - he’d never let his wolf take control in the bedroom - but tonight, in order to complete your turning, he’d have to.

“Shit, she likes that. She just got so tight,” Namjoon gasps as he thrusts harder.

“Hmm. Is Joonie right, sweetheart? Do you want me to knot you? Does the Princess want to take my knot like a good little bitch?” Hoseok asks. Your eyes snap open at his words. His voice is considerably deeper and just slightly more gravelly. He sounds like your Hoseok, but different. More animalistic.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” Namjoon groans. The speed of his thrusts increases as his hips ram into yours. With each and every one of his movements, you’re jerked back into Hoseok’s chest. The wolf holds down your thighs, keeping you locked in place as Namjoon begins a brutal pace. Each surge of his cock hits slightly deeper - and with Hoseok holding you down, you have no choice but to take it.

“S-So good,” you whimper out. With each plunge, you can slowly feel yourself approaching the brink of your orgasm. Your thighs begin shaking around him, your hands digging harder into his hips. You clutch his narrow waist hard, holding onto it as if it's your last lifeline.

“Are you going to cum, Princess? I can feel your cunt tightening,” Namjoon asks, and you frantically nod. Flashes of heat run along your skin, your flesh prickling with your nearing peak.

Suddenly, Namjoon grips your hips and yanks them further into his cock. The abrupt movement causes your body to jerk down Hoseok’s chest before Namjoon bends over you, laying both you and Hoseok onto the bed. His chest pressed against yours, your back flush against Hoseok’s abdomen as your head rests on his chest. You cry out when Namjoon wraps your thighs around his hips, digging his knees into the bed and using them as leverage to fuck into your cunt harder and deeper. Imperceptibly, your thighs begin quivering, though Hoseok’s eyes catch the movement.

“She’s cumming Joonie,” Hoseok warns. Namjoon lets out a little grunt and tilts his hips. You let out a low shriek, the change of angle causing his cockhead to brush against the spongy tissue of your g-spot with every thrust.

“Make her cum. I’m not- fuck- gonna last long. She’s- hnng- so fucking tight,” Namjoon croaks, his voice coming out choked. One hand moving from your thigh, Hoseok pushes his fingers against your clit.

Instantly, your back arches, twisting almost painfully as you feel your orgasm ricochet through your body. Your walls rhythmically begin pulsing around the vampire’s cock, tightening around his shaft in almost a vice-like grip. The feel of your cunt milking around him pushes Namjoon over the edge. Thrusting inside of you one final time, Namjoon buries his cock as deep as it can go before cumming and spilling inside of you. Rope after rope of his semen shoots into you, coating your walls white in his thick essence.

Namjoon lets out a little roar, his incisors growing and sharpening until they’re like small daggers. Then, bending over, he latches onto your breast and immediately bites down. The sharpened teeth pierce your breast, the skin tearing as he fills you with a dulled version of his poison while blood rushes into his mouth. You let out a sharp cry as pain flares around your nipple before a cool heat floods through your veins. As soon as he’s done injecting you with his vampiric toxin, Namjoon unlatches his teeth. He begins running his tongue around the wound, inadvertently swirling the appendage around your nipple. The stinging pain of his bite soon begins to fade away as his saliva heals your wound, dulling the ache.

“One down, two more to go,” Namjoon mutters as he unlatches his mouth from your breast. He stares at dark mauve bruises already forming around the puncture marks, almost enraptured by them.

The bonding ritual seemed complicated. There was too much to do - too much that could go wrong, and at first, both he and Hoseok had been hesitant to go through with it - Yoongi’s assurance or not. They didn’t want to hurt you - or lose you because of their own actions. Some of it seemed easy enough - you had to be filled with their cum - or their ‘life essence’ as the instructions had called it - before they could even think about marking you. Then, they had to mark and bite you - at the exact same time, so that they could tie you to them, and that’s where it turned complicated. Due to the potion diluting the strength of his venom, he has to bite you three times, making sure the third time coincides with Hoseok’s bite. If they were off by even the slightest, it would result in your death.

Though, now, as he stares at the purple bruises blooming against your breast, he can’t help but hum in appreciation. Possession flares in his chest, knowing that you’d soon be marked as his and Hoseok’s forever. Soon, you’d be theirs forever: marked and bonded to them for the rest of your lives. Softly, he brushes his plush lips against your sternum in a sweet kiss, your chest heaving under him as you gasp for breath. Easing out of you gently, Namjoon pulls his cock out. The moment his cock leaves you, you let out a soft whine, his cum beginning to drip out.

Before you can catch your breath, you’re suddenly flipped over. Both you and Namjoon let out a gasp of surprise as Hoseok forces you onto your hands and knees, his strength even pushing Namjoon over. Hoseok bends your back, causing it to arch as he pulls your ass into the air. Your head falls between Namjoon’s thighs, his cum covered cock resting against your cheek as Hoseok palms your ass. A low growl emanates from Hoseok’s chest behind you, and instantly your knees go weak. It’s not like his usual growls, no, it’s far too carnal. Too animalistic.

“Look at my bitch’s pretty little ass,” Hoseok grunts, his large palms splaying over the fleshy cheeks. You let out a little whimper at the deep inclination of his voice, your cunt pulsing at the dominance dripping from his words. The wolf spreads the cheeks of your ass, letting out a soft purr of appreciation as he watches Namjoon’s cum drip along your folds.

“Your cunt looks so good filled with the vampire’s seed,” comes the appreciative rumble of Hoseok’s voice. You feel him run his fingers through the folds of your cunt, gathering the spilt cum onto his fingers before pushing them into you. You whimper slightly, your walls slightly raw and still sensitive from Namjoon’s hard thrusts. Hoseok pumps his fingers inside you, watching the way they displace Namjoon’s cum from your pussy. Pulling his fingers out, he smirks at the way Namjoon’s cum coats his fingers before placing them back against your cunt. Once again, he gathers Namjoon’s cum before plunging his fingers back into you, pushing Namjoon’s cum deep into your cunt.

“Such a messy little slut- you’re dripping like a good little bitch in heat. Hmm, I don’t know why he never let me play with you before,” the wolf muses, no doubt referring to Hoseok’s human personality. You feel him spread his fingers inside you, attempting to splay your walls, “tight too - but don’t worry, I’m sure you can take my knot,” Hoseok purrs. Then he pulls his fingers out, only for them to be replaced with the head of his cock.

Your eyes widen, hands shooting out to grip Namjoon’s thighs as Hoseok begins pushing into your entrance. He’s big - much bigger than he’s ever been. Your eyes screw shut at the sheer girth - somehow, he’s thicker than Namjoon. Despite your vampire lover fucking you not even minutes ago and the mix of both your cum, the bulbous head of Hoseok’s cock still struggles to push into the tightness of your cunt.

“Fuck. Be a good little bitch and relax,” Hoseok gnarls, but despite his harsh words, he soothingly rubs your back. Feeling the warmth of Hoseok’s touch, as well as the usual gentleness of your wolf lover, you find yourself relaxing enough for him to gently ease his head in. You let out a deep, low groan as he slowly fills you beyond anything you’ve ever felt before, your walls stretching around his cock. You’re unbelievably full.

Hoseok lets out a low growl, his chest rumbling behind you, “that’s a good bitch. You’re taking my cock so good. Gonna knot you, fill you with my cum, and breed you like my good bitch,” Hoseok snarls as he continues forcing his length inside you. Nails digging into Namjoon’s flesh, you let out a soft whimper, your head resting on the vampire’s thick thighs.

Inch by inch, Hoseok spreads your walls open. The girth is the same almost all the way down, and long, excruciating moments later, he finally bottoms out. Hoseok stills behind you, one hand tenderly rubbing the small of your back. He’s buried so deep in you, it’s almost like you can feel him at the back of your throat. Once you adjust to his girth, you let out a laboured breath and push your ass against him.

“Please,” you whimper, voice low and practically inaudible. Hoseok, however, hears you. You feel his hands move from your back to grip at your hips, sharp talons scraping against your skin.

“Ready for me?” Hoseok asks, and your chest flutters at the slightly higher-pitched tone. It’s Hoseok, your Hoseok - the human counterpart to the wolf.

“Mhm. Want you. All of you,” you reply. This time, when he growls, it’s back to the lower, more carnal sound, and you know the wolf is back.

“Then you’ll get all of me,” he snarls. You feel his grip on your hips tighten before he pulls out of you in one motion until only the tip of his cock in buried into you. Suddenly, he thrusts in deeply, burying his cock into your depths in one slick motion. You scream out his name, your body jerking forward from the abrupt thrust. Namjoon hisses when your nails curl into his legs once again before looking at you in worry.

“Are you okay?” Namjoon asks. Concern laces his voice as his gaze momentarily flicks towards Hoseok. The russet haired male’s eyes are completely gold, not a hint of brown present in them. His irises glow unnaturally in the low lighting of the room, and Namjoon curses as he realises Hoseok’s too far deep into his own baser, carnal need.

“F-Fine,” you stutter, barely able to get the words out as Hoseok begins impaling you with his cock. He’s so big, it feels like you’re being split open, and yet, with every thrust, his head brushes against your g-spot, causing your toes to curl in pleasure.

Hoseok moves his hands to your ass cheeks, spreading them open and groaning at the sight. The tight ring of your walls grips his shaft in a vice-like grip, the muscles stretching and pulling with each violent thrust of his cock. He finds himself mesmerised by the sight, gaze enthralled by the way his thick girth fucks your cunt open. His cock is slick, streaks of Namjoon’s cum running down the length as it glistens with the thin filmy wetness of your own cum.

The mixture of both your cum and Namjoon’s acts as a makeshift lubricant, allowing Hoseok to slide into you easier. You groan with each and every one of his thrusts, little whimpers and sighs of both pain and pleasure escaping your mouth. Hoseok’s hands grip your hips, yanking them back onto his cock over and over again as he brutally impales you on his cock. His ministrations only drive you wilder, the pain of his sheer girth stretching you out mixing with the pleasure he forces on your body.

“Fuck-” Hoseok snarls, his pace becoming stuttered. You let out a sharp gasp, practically choking on air as you feel his cock throb inside you. The rhythmic pulsing mirrors the clenching of your own walls, “gonna breed you. Gonna knot your tight little pussy and fuck it full of my cum- gonna make sure I fill your belly full of my pups” Hoseok hisses.

He yanks your hips towards him, his hips slamming against your ass as the sound of skin slapping fills the air. Holding you still, Hoseok leans over your back, plunging his cock into your depths even harder. Your eyes widen just a fraction, and you let out a little cry as you feel the base of his cock begin to swell. A whimper of pain escapes you, your eyes tearing up as you feel the walls of your cunt begin to stretch to their limit.

“Ah- Hoseok,” you gasp out, your hand twisting behind to get him to slow down. Hoseok barely acknowledges you, however, and instead, he continues jackhammering into you. The brute force of his thrusts causes his knot to brush against your walls, the thick knotted flesh threatening to penetrate you with each plunge of his hips. When a fraction of it slips into you, you cry out: this time in pain.

“Fuck! Hoseok, slow down,” Namjoon hisses, his brows scrunching in worry. Hoseok simply snarls at him. Namjoon curses as he realises just how lost into his animalistic urges the wolf is.

“Gotta breed her to complete the bonding,” Hoseok manages to growl out. Conflicted by Hoseok’s words, Namjoon freezes. On one hand, he knows that in order to bond and mate with you, you need to take Hoseok’s knot; however, on the other hand, he can’t stand to see you in pain. Contemplating whether he should stop Hoseok, Namjoon runs his tongue across the front of his teeth. Instantly, his eyes widen as an idea pops into his head.

Namjoon pushes Hoseok backwards, his supernatural strength forcing the wolf onto his ass. As he falls back, Hoseok keeps his grip firmly onto your hips, and you’re dragged back with him. The movement causes you to jerk onto his lap, Hoseok’s knot slipping further into you and causing you to cry out at the sudden intrusion, your walls being stretched open. Namjoon winces and places an apologetic kiss on your forehead. Hoseok ignores you both, instead, using your hips as leverage to slam you harder onto his cock. Your entire body bounces on top of his as he fucks into you, his hips thrusting upwards.

“Ahah- please,” you whimper, your breathing becoming laboured as your eyes screw shut from pain.

“Spread your thighs, love,” Namjoon softly orders. You whimper but do as asked, your legs falling open. The movement only causes Hoseok to growl as your cunt loosens up slightly.

The wolf grips your hips tighter, grinding you onto his cock and causing you to hiss when he sinks in deeper. Crawling between them, Namjoon winces at how swollen you are, your walls stretched immensely as Hoseok continues pushing the flared base of his cock into you. Gathering saliva into his mouth, Namjoon lets it pool onto his tongue before dribbling it onto your cunt. You hiss as the cool spit drips down your heated cunt and around Hoseok’s knot. Namjoon leans forward, lightly kissing and suckling your clit.

As Namjoon’s spit begins running over your entrance, you slowly feel the pain begin to ebb away. Your muscles relax slightly, twitching from the sudden loss of tension. Your eyelids flutter open as you let out a low moan - of pleasure this time - when Namjoon laves your clit. Swallowing thickly, you stare at the top of Namjoon’s head as he eats you out, the healing properties of his spit slowly working their magic and alleviating the ache of Hoseok’s knot.

“Better?” Namjoon asks, his words vibrating across the sensitive bundle of nerves. You throw your head back in pleasure before nodding. Namjoon smirks, keeping his eyes glued onto you as he continues lapping and suckling at your clit. You whine at the feeling of Hoseok’s knot slowly entering you. Now, with the aid of Namjoon’s spit, you can focus more on the pleasure, your skin flushing with heat as your toes curl.

Namjoon’s thick lips wrap around your clit before he draws the bud between his teeth. Gently rolling it, he lightly nibbles on it - teasing your clit until you find yourself tearing up from pleasure. You’re impossibly full, Hoseok still using your hips to pull you onto his cock over and over again - using your cunt as his own personal cocksleeve. With every slam of your hips onto his cock, his knot invades your cunt further. It continues swelling, enlarging under you as your eyes roll from how utterly filled you are. Your hips writhe on top of Hoseok’s, following his rhythm and causing him to let out a low growl of appreciation.

Suddenly, Namjoon unwraps his mouth from your clit, and instead, licks the seam of your stretched out cunt as it clings to Hoseok’s cock. He stares at the beads of his cum, your cum, and Hoseok’s precum that gathers around your entrance. It leaks out in little rivulets, down Hoseok’s shaft and along his knot. Unable to resist, Namjoon finds himself tentatively lapping it, before swallowing. He groans at the taste - the three of you heavy on his tongue.

Growing bolder, Namjoon furiously begins licking along your pussy and Hoseok’s knot, gathering as much of the mixture of cum as he can before swallowing it down thickly. You shiver, your thighs beginning to quake as his tongue darts across your pussy. Pulling away from your cunt, Namjoon replaces his mouth with his fingers. Expert fingers begin rolling your clit, pushing and prodding the little bud and drawing out small mews of pleasure from your lips. Namjoon’s lips ghost across the inside of your thighs, gently nipping the skin as he readies it for his second mark. You can feel your end nearing, your abdomen tightening with heat as your skin prickles with ecstasy.

Namjoon bites down on your thigh abruptly, forcing a grunt of pain from your lips when his incisors once again break your skin. You feel him inject his venom into you, and this time, it’s more potent. It mingles with the toxin already in you, cold heat searing every single one of your veins as your blood is pumped around your body. Namjoon quickly unlatches his mouth from you, running his tongue over the puncture wounds as he alleviates the pain. Plush lips brush against the bruising mark, ghosting soft kisses along the flesh in praise.

“You’re doing so good, love. Just a bit more,” Namjoon says. His gaze is fixed onto your cunt, watching the lewd way in which Hoseok’s knot stretches your cunt as he continues mindlessly playing with your clit. His thumb moves to your entrance, softly brushing the pad against where you and Hoseok are connected. You cry out, your walls clenching tightly around Hoseok.

“Hoseok, she’s not gonna last much longer,” Namjoon warns as he feels your blood rush around your body, your heart beating to the speed of hummingbird wings.

Namjoon kisses his way up your body, stopping briefly to lick and nip one of your nipples, all while continuously working your clit under his fingers. His head falls to the juncture of your neck, his mouth watering as he feels the pulse of your jugular. Lazily, he kisses the skin, gently suckling the tender flesh as he prepares it for his final mark. Hoseok moves his lips to the opposite side, his lips pushed against the crook as he lightly nibbles the skin causing you to gasp as his sharp canines scrape against the skin.

With one final thrust, Hoseok slams you onto his cock, pushing the final remaining inch of his knot inside you. The sudden stretch, paired with Namjoon’s fingers endlessly teasing your clit causes you to hurtle off the edge. You sob out both their names, your head thrown back and back arched into the air as you scream towards the heavens. Hoseok lets out a deep guttural howl before jets of his cum shoot out and into your cunt. You softly cry as the heat of his cum fills you from the inside. You find yourself drowning in its warmth. Your walls clench around his shaft, milking it for all it’s worth as his knot keeps both his and the remnants of Namjoon’s cum plugged up inside you.

Then, with one glance towards each other, Hoseok and Namjoon bite down onto your neck. You feel their sharpened teeth tear into your skin before power surges through your body. Eyes widening from the sheer energy that ricochets within your nerve fibres, you let out a curdling, ear-piercing scream. Their essence sears every single blood vessel as the pure ecstasy of your orgasm courses along your nerves. The two men wince as your howl thunders through their eardrums, your entire being intensely shaking as their power overwhelms you.

Namjoon keeps his eyes trained onto you, watching the way your eyes flash between white and their usual colour. When they finally stop flickering and return to normal, he lets out a sigh of relief. Both he and Hoseok unhook their fangs from your skin, Namjoon quickly running his tongue over the puncture wounds to allay the blood that begins forming around them. Humming against your skin, he licks up the sweet, metallic tasting droplets. Somehow, despite how completely exhausted you are, you feel every single one of your cells thrum with energy as they pulse with life.

Once the overpowering ecstasy ebbs away, leaving you drunk on the euphoria of your orgasmic high, you fall limply onto Hoseok. The wolf catches you easily, wrapping his arm around your waist as he presses his palm across your soft belly. Breath laboured, you gasp for air as your muscles erratically twitch and spasm between them. Hoseok whines as he comes back to his senses, nuzzling your neck as he presses apologetic kisses into your skin.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” Hoseok whimpers, repeating his words over and over again as he punctuates them with soft kisses. Vaguely, through your blissed-out state, you manage to process his words. You shake your head, letting it lazily loll onto Hoseok’s shoulder.

Sluggishly, your hand moves to sit on top of his large palm before you lace your fingers between his. Under both your palms, your belly feels warm, filled with Hoseok’s cock and a mixture of both your lovers’ warmth. The wolf gently caresses your abdomen and you bask in his tender touch. Briefly, you wonder if you’d be giving either of them children anytime soon. It sure felt like you would, just from how full of cum you are. With each caress of your abdomen, Hoseok whispers his apologies over and over again, his voice filled with remorse. You hum contentedly.

“You don’t need to apologise,” you finally rasp out, your throat straining.

“I shouldn’t have lost control like that. I hurt you,” Hoseok says and you hum once again.

“Only slightly - nothing I couldn’t handle. Besides, Joonie made it better. I can’t even remember the pain anymore,” your soft voice echoes through your bedchambers. Hoseok presses another kiss against the column of your throat before sending a grateful smile to the vampire, causing him to grin in return.

“I love you,” you soft whisper, words filled with nothing but adoration as you bring his hands to your lips. Then, flicking your gaze to your vampire, your lips curl into a lazy, content smile.

“And I love you too,” you affirm, one arm sluggishly reaching out for him. Namjoon’s grin deepens, his teeth on display and dimples indenting. Bending over you, he brushes his lips against the corner of your mouth.

“I love you too... so much,” Namjoon whispers. He’s so close to you that with every movement of his lips, you feel them ghost over yours.

“Mmm. Don’t forget about me- I love you too. We both do,” Hoseok says. Namjoon rolls his eyes before pushing both you and Hoseok down and onto the bed. You whimper when Hoseok’s cock refuses to dislodge from within you, Hoseok letting out a heavy exhale.

“Sorry, we’re gonna be like this a while,” Hoseok informs and you let out a deep sigh as Hoseok moves you into a more comfortable position on the bed.

Hoseok spoons you from behind, his arm tightly wrapped around your waist and his chest flush against your back. Your hips squirm over him, Hoseok hissing as you shuffle to find a cosier spot. Once finding it, you grin and sleepily beckon for Namjoon. The vampire moves to lie next to you, his head slightly lowered so he can press languid kisses against the tops of your breasts. Instinctively, your hands curl into Namjoon’s hair, mindlessly playing with the locks as both of them lavish your skin with tender kisses.

“I assume it worked? The bonding I mean,” you ask. Both your boys laugh at you, Hoseok’s warm breath fanning against the skin of your neck.

“If it didn’t, you’d be dead sweetheart,” Hoseok chuckles. You pout but don’t have the energy to move, your muscles smarting from the remnants of your orgasms.

“I definitely feel dead,” you mutter petulantly under your breath. Though, they still manage to hear your words; supernatural hearing and all, causing them to laugh once again.

You ignore them this time, instead, basking in Hoseok’s soothing warmth and Namjoon’s death-like chill. A smile teases your lips as you think about the years you have ahead. You can’t think of a better way to spend the rest of your life than with your two mates.

a/n: hENLO!! I hope you enjoyed hnnnn this as much as I did writing it 🥴 please don’t forget to leave some feedback and tell me what you think 🥺

[ikleesfiction]

Will you follow through if I fall for you?

Fandom : One Chicago Word count : 3,762 words Disclaimer

Previously on this fic : Part 1 🞂 Part 2 🞂 Part 3 🞂 Part 4 🞂 Part 5 🞂 Part 6 🞂 Part 7 🞂 Part 8 🞂 Part 9

Part 10

It's been almost 6 months since you left Chicago. You spent those months working yourself to the bones as a way to forget Jay. It certainly was not a successful attempt, but at least you were too busy to think about him. You accepted Alex's idea to make a duo project and lazily named it "alex&y/n". You both started doing gigs at various clubs around the world. Pyramid, Alex's record company where you work for, continuously releases new sounds that you discovered. You keep writing and producing songs after songs. Really, your career is flourished. But deep inside, you're empty.

You never had a chance to go back to Chicago. Part of you was relieved that you don't have to deal with it yet. The other part of you was missing it so much. You might only stay four months in Chicago, but somehow the city (and its people) have marked their place in your heart.

You love Amsterdam. It's still your home, but its charm hasn't called you as it did before. Sure, you have your parents here. But you only got to meet them twice a week at best. Your work and their jobs don't leave lots of time to be together. Also, even though you have most of your friends in the city, you don't get to hang out with them all the time since you travel a lot for work. You get to make new friends along the way instead, just like you did in Chicago.

Case in point, you are currently in Norway, working on a song with Oliver Dahl, the number #1 DJ in the country.

Oliver's home studio is one of the best places you ever work in. The studio setup is practically the same as the one Pyramid has. But Oliver has a baby grand piano on one corner where through the window, you can see a tranquil lake with a green forest on its side. The view is calming and inspiring. So although Oliver is a much better pianist than you, you park yourself there and relegate him to a Korg keyboard.

"Hey, it's almost dinner time. Let's take a break," Oliver suggests to you. He guides you out from the studio and moves downstairs to his kitchen. The glass-paneled dining room has a door that leads to the back porch. You thought the view from the studio was great, but the view from down here is even better. You sit on a swing at the porch, take a deep breath of fresh air there.

Oliver comes out with two bottles of beer and hands you one, which you gladly accept. You switch your phone back on since you didn't want to be disturbed when you were working. It relentlessly buzzes once it's on. "Well, somebody is famous," teases Oliver.

You peek at your phone screen before grimacing at him, "Sorry. Nick needs something. I gotta call him back." You walk a few steps away from the porch. Without the roof over your head, you can feel slight drops of rain on your face. "Hey, boss. How's the meeting in Brussels go?"

"Infuriatingly slow. That is why I'm calling. I was hoping you can help us," Nick replies. He didn't sound too worried, so you thought it's going to be an easy request, "Sure. What is it?"

"Alex was supposed to have a phone interview with one of Chicago radio show, to talk about the new single of alex&y/n. Since our meeting here runs longer, could you do it in his stead? I know you don't like doing an unprepared interview, but I promise it won't be long, 15 minutes max."

"Alright, I'll do that." It's not like you can say no anyway.

"Great! I'll set it up. It's going to be in an hour. So don't mute your phone." Nick reminds you.

"I won't. It probably falls during our dinner here. I can keep my phone on."

"Thanks, y/n," Nick hangs up the call.

◢◤

Joe Cruz walks into the common-room of Firehouse 51 with his phone on hand. "Guys, Chicago Top 40 is interviewing Y/N right now!"

"Turn the volume up. I cannot hear it from here," Mouch complains from the couch as he mutes the tv. Joe pushes the side button of his phone and sets the volume to the max. Everyone continues doing their things quietly as they listen to the interview.

"We got one half of alex&y/n on the phone with us here. Dare I say the prettier half. Let's say hi to Y/N!" They hear the radio host cheers from Joe's phone.

"Hi, how are you doing?" you chuckle and greet back.

"We're all good here, thank you. So please tell us more about the latest single of alex&y/n? How did you guys come up with it?"

"We started writing this song probably about 8 months ago. I was in Chicago at the time actually," you start to explain.

"Oh, really? I didn't know you were in town," the host shortly interrupts.

"Yeah, it was back before we had any idea for this project. Alex came up with it when we made this song. It was supposed to be the first single of alex&y/n. But when I came back to Amsterdam, we wrote "Void" The team decided that it fitted better as the first single. Hence this song "Fiery Love" got pushed to be the second one."

The conversation regarding the song and the duo project goes on for another ten minutes before the interviewer wraps it up. Joe is about to close the radio app when he sees Jay Halstead and Hailey Upton step into the common-room of Firehouse 51.

"Enjoy the rest of your day, Y/N," says the host on air. "What time is it anyway in your place right now? I haven't got a chance to ask where you are,"

Joe's thumb stills above his phone screen. "It's almost 7 PM in Bergen, Norway," you inform the radio. Jay stiffens as he hears your voice.

"Oh, you got a gig there tonight?" the host asks curiously.

"No. Just a bit writing and studio session," you answer vaguely.

"It must've been in a studio with a view, unlike our four wall booth here," the host retorts.

You snicker quietly, "If I could, I'd trade you in a heartbeat,"

"Oh, stop it! You're too kind," the host says, thinking you're jesting.

You let out a tiny laugh, "But no, I'm serious. I wish I didn't leave Chicago," you admit candidly on air. Totally unbeknownst to the strained atmosphere in the Firehouse 51 common-room.

"Come visit soon. We'll show you our fancy dig here," the radio host returns jokingly. Joe finally decides to close the radio app, as Matt Casey addresses their guests. "Detectives, how can we help you?"

Jay looks at his partner, neglecting the fact that everyone in the room is watching him, "Can you handle this by yourself? I.. I think I left my phone in the car," Hailey is sure that Jay didn't leave his phone, but she gives him an understanding nod.

"We need to see Chief Boden," Hailey answers Matt. He then guides her to the Chief's office. When both detectives are out of range, Hermann asks the room, "It was a bit awkward, wasn't it?" Everyone ignores Hermann's comment and back doing things they did before. Kelly Severide determinedly stands up from his seat and goes outside. He finds Jay standing in front of the squad truck.

"Hey, man," Kelly greets him. Jay just nods to acknowledge him. After a few moments of silence, Kelly breaks first, "She always asks about you whenever she calls."

Jay scoffs his disbelief, "Yeah, right."

"She is not a brave girl, Jay. But she really loves you. She still regrets hurting you." Kelly tells him. Jay stays silent, taking in Kelly's words. "I don't think she's doing well out there." Kelly continues. Jay glances at him before opening his mouth to say something. But at the same time, Hailey comes out with Matt. "Let's go," she tells Jay. He nods at Matt and leaves with her without saying anything.

As both detectives walk away, Kelly shouts to Jay, "Will you pick up? If she calls you?"

Jay halts and looks over his shoulder. Not sure what to answer, he just shrugs in response.

◢◤

The following week, you find yourself working alone in Alex's studio. You go through some demos, try to find a song that you'd like to work on. The door is suddenly opened and reveals Alex and Nick coming in.

"You planning on going home tonight?" Alex says as he hands you a mug of hot tea. It's not unusual for you to stay all night working. While it was beneficial for the company, your well being is still his priority.

"Maybe," you just shrug as you accept the mug. "Thanks. So what's up?"

"I got an offer for alex&y/n gig for an EDM festival," Nick starts. "What do you think about it?"

"Cool, I guess.." you answer indifferently.

"Yeah?" Alex tries to reconfirm your agreement. You never play a festival before, so far alex&y/n only do club gigs. Even though you're basically doing the same thing, the stage and crowd size sometimes could be overwhelming, especially for someone who doesn't like to perform live.

"Uhuh," you nod before sipping your tea.

"Don't you wanna know where it will be?" Nick pushes.

"No," you say in disinterest, already looking back at your laptop. Nick raises his eyebrow questioningly towards Alex, which he answers with a subtle nod. "Alright then, I'm gonna go home now. You two get some rest. We'll talk again tomorrow," Nick informs you before leaving the room.

Alex drags a chair and sits next to you. "Talk to me. Please"

"There's nothing to talk about," you reply to your cup. Alex nudges you. Once. Twice. Thrice. "Stop it!" you scold him as you roll your chair away.

"You know I can do this all night until you talk to me," Alex says as he slides closer to you.

You exhale loudly in defeat before quietly tell him, "It's just... I'm exhausted."

Somehow he knows that you're not only talking about your body. "I'll talk to Nick. We can cancel the rest of alex&y/n gigs,"

"You know we can't," you rebuff his idea.

"We might be able to do that if I offer to take them instead?" Alex offers a solution.

"And let you be the one who burnout? Hell no," you deny his suggestion. You tiredly rub your face with your palm, "It's alright, Lex. I should have just suck it up and do it,"

Both of you stay silent for a moment. You pick your tea mug from the table when Alex unsurely speaks again, "That gig Nick talked about is in Chicago," You freeze up until Alex prods you, "Still wanna do it?"

"What do you think?" you weakly ask for his opinion.

"I think we should do it. It'd be fun. We can try to arrange a few days off. You can take me to your favorite places in Chicago, meet your friends.." Alex tells you. It sounds nice, makes you want to say yes. But you still have doubt in the back of your mind. "It's been months, y/n. Time for you to face it. Face Jay." Alex continues as if he knows your thought.

"I can't!" you shake your head in resign. "And why is that?" Alex pushes further.

"Because I still love him!" you forcefully drop your mug on the table, the tea splashes out of it.

"Then tell that to Jay! Don't make the same mistake as you did before!" Alex yells back at you. You instantly feel like you've been slapped.

Avoiding Alex's stare, you start to pack up your things from the table. "I think I need to go home now. Don't think I can work on anything tonight." You grab your jacket and hastily walked out of the studio.

A couple hours later, Alex comes by to your place with a canvas bag on his shoulder, "I got a box of chocolate and a six-pack of La Trappe Tripel here,"

"I don't think they can help me feel better this time," you quip as you open the door for him. Alex pulls the beers and chocolate out from the bag and puts them on the coffee table in front of the couch. He reaches again to the bag, "Don't worry, I come prepared. Got jenever in here too," He sets the bottle next to the chocolate. You go to the kitchen and bring out two clean glasses.

"Are we starting right away?" Alex asks you in confusion.

"Are you waiting for something else?" you start to open one of the beer bottles.

"Don't you want to eat dinner first? Or maybe have bitterballen to snack on?" Alex suggests to you. You open the chocolate box and pop one candy into your mouth. "There, I ate something," you declare sarcastically before sipping the beer in your hand.

"Okay then," Alex accepts his defeat. He goes to your kitchen and sees what you have on your fridge. "You don't mind if I finish this leftover stew, right?" he hollers at you as he puts the container in the microwave.

You snort your answer, "Go ahead. It's not like you need permission to raid my pantry anyway,"

Alex comes back with a bowl of stew and sits next to you on the couch. You fiddle with your phone for a bit before a ballad song playing on your home speaker. Alex starts to talk about various things as he eats, updating you about his sister Sara, his meeting in Belgium. He even lets you know what he had for lunch today. He keeps talking because he knows you're not gonna say anything.

Alex cracks open his second beer while you finish your third one and start to pour the gin into your glass. "I'll Be Over You" by Toto is playing on your speaker. Alex exasperatedly rolls his eyes, thinking that his best friend could really be dramatic sometimes. You sprawl on the couch with your feet on top of Alex's lap. "What if he's moved on?" you say after long contemplation, ready to tackle more serious conversation. "Ready" as in drunk enough to talk about it.

"Well, you face that with head held high and moved on too," Alex replies. "Easier said than done, I know."

"Big chance he doesn't want to see me anyway," you mutter to yourself. But Alex still answers you, "Maybe. Maybe not. You'll never know without going there,"

◢◤

It's been 7 months since you left Chicago and Jay Halstead still kept your last voicemail on his phone. Even when he's so mad at you, Jay never had the heart to delete it. Because somewhere deep inside, he could hear your sincerity. Jay is desperate to believe that you honestly love him and care about him.

Before Severide approached him the other day, nobody ever talked to Jay about his ex-girlfriend. Jay never apologized for pushing Adam. His friends guessed that his relationship ended, but no one ever said anything about it. His brother always abruptly changed the radio whenever your song was played on-air, acting all annoyed. But he knows Will is secretly still a fan of your music, just not in front of Jay. He thinks they're all worried that talking about you would raise his temper. But the truth is Jay misses you.

After his anger passed by, Jay could understand your position. You were left alone, befriending strangers in some city that far from home. While Jay understood that you missed home, he's still disappointed over the fact that you didn't tell him sooner. But it already happened, you made your choice. Now Jay is left with a bruised heart and silently pined over his ex.

Jay is lost in his thoughts. He jolts in surprise when he feels something cold and wet on his cheek. Jay looks up to find Will, who hands him a glass of beer. "How is the game going? Anything interesting happens when I'm gone?" Will asks Jay as he sits and looks down to the ice rink. They are at the United Center arena, watching a Blackhawks game.

"Nah, you don't miss much," Jay tells his brother. "Thanks for taking me here, man."

"It's nothing. I want to do something for your birthday, but since I have to work double shifts tomorrow, we just have to celebrate early." Will raises his glass for a toast. The brothers shout wildly during the game, chant together with other spectators in the stadium, basically having a good time. When the game is on a break, Will and Jay trade a light banter between each other. The jumbotron above plays adverts that they ignore.

"This summer, coming back to the Soldier Field Arena. We proudly present, Spring Awakening Music Festival! Featuring..."

When they hear the ad's narrator mentions "alex&y/n" Jay spontaneously looks up at the jumbotron. There was a picture of you and Alex, standing back to back, staring hard through the camera. Even with the cold gaze and unsmiling face, Jay still thought you look good. The announcement was certainly a surprise. Jay remembered when you told him that you don't like to perform in front of crowds. Now here you are, headlining a big stage. Time's changed, he thinks to himself.

Jay keeps looking at the gigantic screen, even though now it's showing another ad. If anyone asks him, Jay cannot tell what this new ad is about. His mind is busy thinking about something/someone else. Will glances at his brother and notices the tightness of Jay's shoulders. "I won't come to see them, even if they give me free tickets," he remarks wittily. Jay burst out a laugh and elbow his brother, "Thanks, man." he is grateful for his brother's understanding.

◢◤

Jay wakes up late the next morning. He spent the night listening to your podcasts and fell asleep with your voice on his ears. Seeing you on the jumbotron made him missed you more. His phone battery was drained, his alarm didn't ring. It's only because of habits from his ranger days that he woke up and gets ready in time to go to work.

Just as he walks out of his place, a delivery man is stopping him. "I got a package for Jay Halstead?"

"Yeah, that's me," Jay says distractedly, trying to recall if he orders anything online. The guy hands him a bag and a receipt form. Jay skims the paper before signing it. On the shipper box, it is stated, "Belgian Chocolatier Piron, Inc." He returns the signed form to the courier. "Thank you. Have a nice day, Sir", chirps the man. Jay pauses slightly, looking at the bag, before running to his car once remembers that he's late for work.

Once Jay arrives at the district, he puts the suspicious package on his desk. He opens the bag cautiously and pulls out a golden cardboard box with a black bow tied around it. He digs deeper into the bag but finds nothing more, no notes or cards, just this golden box.

"You got a box of Piron?! Can I have one? Please?" Jay hears Kim Burgess squeals at him.

"What the hell is a Piron?" Adam Ruzek asks loudly from behind her. Kim starts to pull the bow, but Jay moves the box away quickly. "I don't even know who it's from. We should be careful. I'll send it to the lab.."

"Is that Piron?!" Hailey Upton shrieks as she steps closer to Jay's desk.

"What? You know about this Piron too?" Adam baffles even further.

"They are like one of the best chocolatiers in town." Hailey impatiently explains to Adam. "Is it yours, Jay?" She sounds rather demanding than asking.

"Yes, it's Jay's. And he wants to bring it to the forensic lab. Unbelievable..." Kim says disapprovingly.

"I don't even know who send it! Aren't you worried if it turns out to be a bomb or a deadly virus?" Jay tries to reason to his teammates, who are now circling around him.

"What bomb?" They all jump in surprise when they hear Voight from behind them.

"Ah, it's nothing, Sarge. There are no bombs anywhere. At least not in the city of Chicago... Maybe..." Jay rambles.

"Are you gonna open that box, Halstead?" Voight cuts him off, pointing at the innocent box.

"I'm not sure, Sarge," Jay meekly admits. Voight pulls the black bow that was half undone because of Kim and opens the box gently. "Oh no, it's a bomb," Adam whispers as he hides behind Kevin Atwater but peeks over his shoulder. The girls are excitedly bouncing on their heels, seeing the rows of chocolate inside the box. Voight takes one and confidently bites into it. "You should never waste good chocolate. By the way, happy birthday, Jay." He pats Jay's shoulder before stepping toward his office. Jay gives Voight a small smile, though he still confounds about the situation.

Jay looks at the rest of the team. Hailey bites a candy on her right hand as she picks another with her left. Kim got half-bitten chocolate on her fingers. Her eyes were closed as she savors the taste. Adam's hand hovers above the box, cautiously looking at his teammates, "You girls feel okay? No dizziness, nausea, anything?" His questions were left unanswered since the girls were too busy munching.

Kevin offers Jay a handshake and continues with a quick hug, "Happy birthday, bro!" Jay clasps his shoulder, "Thanks, Kev,"

"So someone sent you this as a birthday gift, huh? Quite special, isn't it?" Kevin picks one candy from the box.

"I guess. If only I knew who sent it..." Jay wonders. He also takes one piece of chocolate and nibbles into it. The bittersweet taste suddenly reminds him of a particular someone. At the same time, his phone chirps on his desk. Jay checks his phone and finds a voice memo from an unknown, international number. He moves to a quieter place and listens to the message.

"Hi, Jay," Jay holds his breath, recognizing the voice on the other end. "It's me, y/n... I just want to wish you a happy birthday... Hope you enjoy the chocolate," He waits as you hesitate to continue. "Err... Stay safe, alright? I love you." As if just realizing what you've said, Jay hears you curse in panic, "oh shi.." and the message briskly ends.

Next on this fic : Part 11

+x Taglist +x

@shipshipshipau @itsdesiree86 @thevelvetseries @annaallicce

[shera-dnd]

And we are back, this time with some wonderful backstory for our favorite cat.

Also featuring Ozpin being his usual weird self and Adam being a cunt

AND ANGST

so all the things we love here

The night was dark and the rain was loud. An army could march around this human village, and would have been none the wiser. But the fae didn’t need an army to wipe them out, all they needed was a single woman with just enough hurt to compel the world to act.

The Black Cat emerged from the nearby woods. Her mission was clear in her mind, and her pain fresh in her heart. Silently she stalked through the night and circled the human village.

Once.

Twice.

Thrice.

With each full circle she recited the crimes of their people. The true names of those they had killed, the forests they burned, the villages they destroyed. And with each circle the shadows grew longer and darkness grew deeper. Threatening to engulf the village entirely.

It was when she had finished the third circle that she saw him. A man standing alone in the pouring rain, his smell both impossibly old and incredibly young. The man raised his cane, and The Black Cat flinched as she saw the glint of metal, but it soon became clear that it was made of silver, not iron. Then he brought his cane down.

Once.

Twice.

Thrice.

And the shadows receded.

Though the Cat was certain that her magic still hid her from sight, the man looked into her eyes and addressed her directly.

“I was hoping to have a chat with one of your kind,” he spoke, more calmly than she liked.

Perhaps it was curiosity, perhaps it was a need to assert her power over the strange human, but something spurred the Cat to emerge from the shadows. She stood up now on her hind legs, easily towering over the man.

“You’re rather bold, human,” she snarled.

“Just an old man who knows a thing or two about magic,” he answered.

She had heard about people like him. Humans who had learned the secrets of magic. “A wizard then? And you think your magic can protect this village?”

“I am hoping it will not come to that,” his tone was as calm as ever even as he stood within mawling range of the large fae.

“Again, very bold for a human,” she commented.

He smiled at that.

“Now, tell me,” he began, “why exactly are you turning your ire towards these people?”

The Cat growled, “they’re too close!”

“And yet, for each tree cut down, a new one is planted. For each animal hunted, their bones are buried in the woods. When a circle of mushrooms is found, we step around them,” he explained, and the cat could tell that his voice matched his smell more than his face, “we shun iron, and abide by the ancient ways. Surely, this is the sort of cohabitation that could not possibly offend our fae neighbors?”

His words touched the tiniest ember of hope that still hid in her heart. It was the most insignificant remnant of her life before she became unseelie, and for a moment it sparked with life. The Cat was quick to bury it under a mountain of contempt.

“The unseelie do not seek cohabitation,” she countered, “you’re too close!”

“Can we not convince you to change your mind?” The man asked, unwilling to let go of hope.

“You cannot atone for humanity’s sins,” she snarled.

The man let out a tired sigh, and for a moment looked so old she was convinced he would crumble to dust before her.

“Humanity is divided, my friend,” he argued, though that statement seemed to hurt him to say, “you’ve clearly met those who arm themselves in iron and march into your woods, I’m sure. Now you’ve met those like us. Are we not as different from one another as your courts?”

That quiets her. Though he was human, he echoed the words of a fae she had abandoned long ago. Another black cat whose strength of body was matched only by his strength of heart.

“You’ve been chatting with me far too long for a true member of the unseelie courts,” he commented.

She growled and bared her teeth at him.

“My apologies,” he replied, hand raised in surrender, “it was simply an observation.”

“I’ve made my choice!” She shouted, “I do not intend to change my mind.”

That caught his attention, “so you chose to walk the path of the unseelie.”

She should kill him. Slit his throat. Bite his head off. Poison him, and leave him to die, it didn’t really matter how. He was human -a threat - she should return him to nature then and there. But something about that felt wrong. Something in her still truly wanted to believe what he had to say.

So instead she answered, “yes.”

“And yet, you have your doubts,” he said, clearly seeing the conflict within her, “please, listen to them, listen to what your heart has to say.”

She hesitated, unsure of the path she should take.

“Why do you seek this alliance with our kind?” She asked.

“Because that is the right thing to do,” he spoke with true faith, and conviction behind every word. It felt strange and familiar all the same.

Once more his words rang true, and once more she felt those embers ignite.

“I would like to make a statement, in the near future,” he continued to explain himself, “of hope and goodwill, and of harmony with the natural world. I do not rule this kingdom, but its lords value my insight, and have agreed that perhaps it is time...that a fae joined our ranks.”

“Join you?” Her words didn’t sound like mockery, as much as she wanted them to, “am I to be your diplomat? Your Servant? Or perhaps there is some heir of yours you’ll have me marry.”

“No, no. Goodness, nothing of the sorts,” he answered with a hearty chuckle, “if you’ll allow me to explain. Our four kingdoms are guarded by four sacred orders of knights, each led by a witch who grants us small boons of magic when the times allow. Though their primary function is to commune with our vacant divines.”

“So you want a fae to take that role? A faery witch for an order of human knights?”

“That would maybe be too bold for my colleagues’ tastes,” he replied, “but there is an empty seat in the Order of the Fall Maiden, and we would be honored to have one of yours fill it.”

She studied him for a moment, pondering his words. Something about the man still unsettled her, something that made him…not fully human. She couldn’t quite tell what that something was, but it unsettled her.

“Am I to be your appointed knight?” She asked, quietly now, like the embers that were burning would snuff out if she spoke any louder.

“You are the one they call The Black Cat, yes? Blake, I believe was the name,” he asked, the name he offered was wrong, and he knew that, was he offering her a courtesy? “Well, I think you may be more than qualified for the role.”

Years ago ‘Blake’ would have taken that offer without a second thought. To be the bridge between her people and the humans, to usher in an era of peace and cooperation between their people, it would be the greatest honor. But too many years, too many scars made sure she couldn’t just trust their kind like that.

“And why would I accept your offer?” She demanded.

“We can grant you a boon,” he answered, “and the Fall Witch already has one in mind for you.”

Blake raised an eyebrow and the man smirked.

“We can make you immune to iron.”

~~~

That night Blake ran through hidden trails, and down non-existent paths. She leaped from shadow to shadow, through roots and branches, until she reached the one place humanity had never, and would never, touch. She was back home, with the unseelie, though she didn’t approach her people just yet.

She stalked at the edges of their home, looking for the one man she wished to speak to. Thankfully he was - as always - the center of attention, boasting about the blow they were about to strike against humanity, and how his lover would be the one to deliver it.

Huh, that word had never bothered her before now.

Getting his attention on the other hand was a bit harder, but she asked the wind to whisper his name for her. Though he did not stop his speech immediately, he at least seemed to notice her presence. Thankfully his boasting did not last much longer and soon he walked up to meet her.

“My love,” he greeted, full of pride, “by the smell of human on you, I take it your mission has gone perfectly.”

Taurus.

Her love.

A great blind bull, with fur as red as blood, his body scarred from iron brandings. He was the rage of the fae given form, the epitome of everything the unseelie believed. But right now, Blake had to hope he would be her lover first.

“The villagers still live, my love,” she replied, shrinking in shame.

“What!?” Anger flashed in his voice, but he soothed it quickly, “I mean...did something go wrong?”

“Not exactly,” Blake answered. Explaining things to Taurus would be a delicate process, she had to choose her words carefully, “the night answered my call at first, but the villagers…they had a wizard with them.”

He huffed at that word, “if he as much as touched you with his filthy human magic tricks I swear on the moon and stars I’ll--!”

“He didn’t!” She interrupted, trying to keep his rage from rising once again, “he only used his magic to stop mine. He didn’t want to fight me, he just wanted to talk.”

“The human wanted to talk?” He scoffed.

“Yes!” She insisted.

“Tell me you did not allow the human to poison you with his words,” his tone turned demeaning, in a way it did far too often in these recent months.

“He did not poison me!” She bit back, her own fury flaring at his condescension, “we spoke and he made me an offer.”

“How bold of him,” he mocked.

“Will you at least listen to what he had to say!?” Blake snapped, tired of his derision, “he offered me a chance to help stop an all out war between our people!”

“And you believed him?” He accused, “don’t you see what that means? They fear us, beloved. They know they cannot stop us if we go to war, so they try to trick us instead.”

“This is no trick, my love,” she insisted, “we can finally have peace.”

“I do not want peace!” Taurus shouted, “you think I will accept anything less than retribution? You think I will rest until I have my revenge?”

When had her love become so self centered?

It was as if a glamour had begun to crack in front of her, and she did not like what hid behind it.

“What about the rest of us? Are we not allowed to choose peace!?” She countered.

“My love, don’t you understand?” He asked, voice turning sickly sweet, “the humans are just trying to divide us. They know how strong we are, and they know they don’t stand a chance if we fight together. Their peace is nothing but a deception meant to weaken us.”

“But love--”

“See?” He interrupted, moving closer and gently holding her in his arms, “If they can make us argue like this, can you imagine how easily they would split our people?”

She pushed him away and growled, “you think me some child who can be swayed by some treats? You think I let those humans live because some old man with a fancy cane dangled a boon in front of me?”

That made him quiet down for a moment, and she had hoped he had seen reason, but she had no such luck.

“What boon?”

“He promised to take away our only weakness,” Blake answered, “make me immune to the touch of iron.”

And so Taurus laughed, “you believed that?”

“Yes!” She roared back, “and it’s my choice to offer him my trust. I did not come here to ask for your permission. I came here to let you know I would be leaving.”

“What!? You’re just gonna leave me like that? Gonna choose some human lie over your people? Over us!?” He accused, hand reaching to grab her.

Her tail whipped and poisonous thorns scratched at his skin. Her toxin would not kill him, but it still caused him terrible pain.

“If this is truly about us. If you really do love me, then say my name, Taurus!” Blake demanded. His name that had once tasted like love in her lips, now tasted of rage, and bitterness, it was an accusation, and a challenge. Show me that you love me, or leave me forever!

And so Taurus made the biggest mistake he’d ever made.

He hesitated, and that told her all she had to know.

He would never see her again.

[vulturhythm]

until the blue ocean turns green - part two

part one

- - - - -

It's been years since Geralt left the merman alone by the shore.

Two, three?

He doesn't know.

Nearly six months since he left Yennefer behind.

She was too much, too soon... too intense.

They were doomed from the start.

Maybe... maybe, he admits, late at night when it's just him alone in his head, he should have stayed by the sea.

Maybe he should have stayed with Jaskier.

--

He travels.

He goes north.

He goes north, and he goes east, and he goes west.

Anywhere but south to the seas.

--

He takes contract after contract, kills creatures for peasants and nobility alike... never lays a hand upon a human, not again.

Every drop of blood he spills, he remembers the glistening silver of Jaskier's. He remembers how it laid upon the surface like liquid moonlight, how it soaked into the bandages and turned them a murky platinum...

Every time he meets the gaze of a monster, he thanks the gods that it isn't Jaskier's, that his merman isn't at the point of his sword.

Every time he makes camp near the river, he watches the water flow, and he wishes it were deep and rolling, capped with foam.

--

Five years pass, and then ten.

Time is kind to his type, his only claim to age an addition smattering of scars across his body, torn into his flesh by blades or teeth or claws.

There is one blessing time continues to withhold, however...

He has not yet managed to forget.

--

He sleeps with countless women, and yet, never with a man.

He tries, once - lets a young, pretty-eyed thing woo him with his words, gets as far as setting his teeth to the side of his throat, hands beneath his shirt and thigh between his legs...

... and the image of deep blue eyes and deeper scales flashes through his head, and bright, bright silver blood.

He draws away, steps back... leaves the man behind the tavern, mounts up on Roach, leaves the town he's only barely gotten to know and leaves it all behind.

That night, he doesn't sleep.

Every time he closes his eyes, he sees Jaskier floating in the sea.

--

It's when he sees the scales of sea things at a market that fear clogs his throat.

Harpy scales, selkie scales, merfolk scales... blacks and grays and greens and golds, and blues - bright blues, dark blues, ocean blues, sky blues...

He confronts the man running the stall, demands to know where - and why.

"They're quite coveted for jewelry nowadays," is the simple response, and there's fear in the man's eyes when Geralt looms closer. "I'm not the, ah, the collector, I don't hunt the things - I just sell them and split the profit - "

"Split it with who?" he growls, and he knows, almost before the answer comes...

"Why, the witcher, of course."

--

Months pass.

Slowly, he wanders south, along mountain trails and through little villages he hasn't seen in years, along the outskirts of kingdoms and through valleys and forests...

He sees the scales in nearly every market, and in the richer regions, he sees them around the necks of women, at the fastenings of men.

As time goes on, he realizes it's not just scales - there's teeth and claws, too, and feathers, and as Geralt rides on through or walks on by, he realizes the witcher is killing not for contracts, but for sport.

It sickens him to imagine.

Worse, however, is the nagging voice at the back of his head, the one that urges him to try and remember the exact shade of...

No.

--

Geralt loses track of time again, as he often does now. With more than a century of his life beneath his belt, the years feel more like months sometimes.

Cycles, as Jaskier would have said.

He's begun to think like that with increasing frequency, evaluating things from the merman's eyes... he wonders what Jaskier knew of the human realm before he met the witcher.

Wonders if he's found another human to tell him of tavern songs.

--

The air grows salty as he draws further south.

It feels... it feels like returning to a home he never truly had.

To a love he never allowed.

--

He awakens from a dream one night, a nightmare... awakens from the vision of Jaskier, split and flayed open on the shore, his beautiful, beautiful tail sawed off and skinned bare, his scales shorn off and cleaned and sent to be draped about the neck of a queen.

He's barely been asleep for an hour, yet if it weren't for Roach's weariness, he would have taken to the road again immediately.

--

Things begin to look familiar, though changed with the passage of time.

He remembers this tree, that stone... remembers when that husk of a farmhouse was once active and lively, remembers when this town was small, little more than houses.

He stops at the new tavern, buys himself some ale.

It's here that he learns the witcher has all but set up camp along the shore, where the rivers feed into the sea.

Geralt's stomach churns at the thought.

He pushes Roach hard the next day, urges her on, on, on...

--

It's nightfall when he reaches the edge of the sea.

The water is dark and calm, but there's clouds upon the horizon, clouds that roil with lightning and threaten to mask the crescent moon overhead.

Geralt leaves Roach tied to the fallen tree. It's splintered with age, no longer sturdy enough to support his weight. She shies from the wood, and it's no wonder - it's splashed with platinum blood, dried into the bark.

The air reeks of death. Coppery blood blends with salt and fish and sand, and Geralt snarls beneath his breath as he paces along the water's edge.

He comes to the tide pool before long.

Much the same as always, full of life, of clear and gentle water that sloshes when the tide eases in. Standing at its edge, Geralt remembers the deer hide he'd spread across the stones, the cloths he'd draped upon Jaskier's back.

His gaze wanders back to the sea.

As clear as ever, he can see Jaskier floating just past the shallows, testing the strength of his newly-healed tail, calling the songs of the sea to Geralt and laughing aloud at his bewildered stare.

The faintest of smiles tugs at Geralt's lips, but it's dashed away an instant later by the memory of that silver cloud of blood, drifting upon the surface, calling his attention to the body out in the water that night long ago.

He thanks the gods above that he wasn't greeted by the same tableau tonight.

That doesn't mean he won't encounter it soon.

Geralt heaves a quiet sigh, turns to look back at Roach, who's watching him with those soft, wise eyes. "Hopeless?" he half-asks, his voice low.

She whickers in response, and he turns his gaze back to the water.

--

Two weeks pass.

He comes across no other signs of the witcher, but, as he learned long ago, invisible demons are no less a threat than those that you can see, hear, feel.

Then again, he supposes he can see, sense, touch the evidence of the other witcher... he sees the blood splashed across the driftwood and stones. He hears the way the shore is all but silent except for the lapping of the waves, even the gulls overhead scarce. He feels the way every living thing seems to have drawn back in fear.

He hates it in a way that he cannot describe.

He's seen horrific things - battlefields sprayed with blood and brains, homes torn apart by violence, corpses left hanging half-eaten from trees or mountain ledges, bits of rotting flesh on the teeth of the creatures he's meant to kill - and yet, not in his century-odd of living has he ever encountered such a dreadful aura, such an air of gloom.

Distantly, he knows that it's because of the fear roiling deep within his chest, a constant ache that refuses to ease away. He sets up camp less than a half-mile from the sea, where the wind will waft the scent of blood in his direction, should anything... go awry.

For a while, nothing happens.

The days pass without event, and the nights, much the same.

--

It's about three days later that he begins to notice the gulls are returning.

At first, it's just a couple, cruising along overhead, their calls rare and quiet, as though they know better than to speak too loudly.

Later in the afternoon, as Geralt paces along the shoreline where he'd met Jaskier all those years ago, he notices more of them, perched upon a rock that crests above the sea a short distance out. The sight is oddly familiar, enough to jog Geralt's memory. He goes still, frowning toward the stone.

He doesn't think he's imagining the way the gulls are staring at him, tilting their heads, cawing between themselves.

It's unusual, to be frank, but...

... nothing comes of it that day.

--

The next day, there are more. A lot more.

One awakens him in the late evening by lighting upon a branch near his camp and squawking loud enough to wake the goddamn dead.

Geralt jerks upright with haste, staring at the bird in the sort of confusion he usually reserves for sorceresses and their type.

Realization strikes him a moment later, and he scrambles to his feet. Roach is already snorting her protest before he even approaches her. She seems far, far less than impressed to be saddled up and nudged into a trot all thanks to the appearance of a single gull, but Geralt pays her disgruntled sounds no mind, for a memory has risen to the surface...

... the memory of his merman, rambling on and on about the stories the gulls told him.

As soon as it sees Geralt is in motion, the gull springs into flight, rising up through the trees into the open air above. Geralt catches enough of a glimpse to track it westward; he's quick to spur Roach along, heart caught in his throat.

It's easier to follow the gull once they're beyond the trees, once it leads them out to the shoreline. It's now that the gull is joined by two - three - more, all circling impatiently then flying on ahead while Roach finds steady footing in the sand.

Geralt imagines they've gone nearly a mile before, suddenly, the wind shifts, and he's hit with -

with -

with the stench of blood, hot and wet and not... not red, no, silver, unicorn silver, a cloyingly sweet scent that bites the roof of Geralt's mouth when it settles there, horrific in its familiarity.

No longer minding the gulls above, he kicks his mare into a canter, praying to the whole damn pantheon that he isn't too late.

--

The moon is high overhead when he finally catches sight of the bleeding thing.

There's a fishing net halfway submerged in the shallows, one end tangled and tethered amongst the mess of rocks and logs on the sand. It's clear that the net was hauled ashore once it was full... hauled ashore so its contents would dehydrate and rot away in the heat of the day.

As Geralt draws near, he slows Roach to a walk, and then to a halt, his heart rising and catching in his throat.

Through the strands of the net, he can see pale skin and deep, deep blue scales.

He's out of the saddle and in motion almost before he realizes it, calling Jaskier's name, and the creature tangled in the net - they stir, they thrash, they try to pull away -

Geralt drops to his knees beside the mess of rope and blood and flaked-off scales, fumbling to pull his dagger from its home at his belt. "Jaskier," he says, and then, louder, when dazed blue eyes meet his own, "it's me, I'm here, you're - don't try to move, I don't want you hurt - "

"You came," croaks a familiar voice, weakened with illness, laden with relief. "You - I thought you were gone..."

"The gulls led me to you," was Geralt's simple response; he was frozen now, staring at - at all of it, trying to find the weak points in the rope, the points where he could cut through without hurting his siren any more than he already had. "I'm - I'm sorry, Jaskier, I should have come back before."

His merman shakes his head, or tries to, and fuck, the rope is digging into his face, and Geralt's heart fucking aches with the sight. "Don't blame yourself," he mumbles. "Don't."

All Geralt can do is look at him, look at him and try to fucking breathe.

It's been years since he's let himself cry, but he thinks he might now.

He shakes himself into motion with a muffled curse, grabs for the loosest part of the rope that he can see and - and tries to cut through, he fucking tries, but there's more resistance than he expects, and it's then that he realizes the rope is glinting with silver - silver for monsters - and the anger that rises in his chest gives him the strength to slice through the metal strands.

Jaskier, to his credit, lays still as Geralt reaches, grabs, pulls, cuts - shows no sign of fear - and Geralt breathes in, forces himself to listen, feels dread settle in his stomach when he realizes the merman's pulse is weak, so weak... when he realizes his merman is dying.

"Stay awake," Geralt grits out, and he knows he sounds harsh, he sounds cruel, but - but he doesn't know how else to sound, not when he thinks he may have to scare death off his own goddamn self, just to keep his mermaid safe. "Stay awake, Jaskier..."

It becomes a fucking mantra, one he repeats over and over again as he cuts the net apart, as he slices through what feels like fucking miles of silver thread, careful - so careful - not to cut into lacerated skin or shaved-off scales. It feels like a fucking eternity before the last of the net falls away and Geralt can breathe again, can sheathe his dagger in a hurry and look Jaskier over.

His anger returns tenfold as he takes him in.

The merman is badly sunburnt, bright and horrific red, a salmon shade joined by deep silver and deeper gray where he's bleeding and has bled. A closer look tells Geralt that the silver has done a fine job of eating into his skin in some places. As for his tail, well... it's easy to tell that it'll be marred by quite a few new scars, and the fan at the end is bordering on ruined.

"I'm sorry," says Geralt at last.

He's met with silence, and fear clogs his throat as he looks up to Jaskier's face.

Jaskier is merely... he's just watching him, those deep blue eyes glazed and unfocused.

He looks half-dead already, and yet, despite that - despite the blood on his skin - he looks... trusting.

Geralt can't quite wrap his head around that.

"Stay awake," he says again, reaching beneath the merman - just like years before - and lifting him with arms that want to shake despite his best efforts to the contrary. "Let me get you to the water..."

Jaskier gives a quiet sound in reply, and he tips his head to the side, resting against Geralt entirely even though he whines with pain. "They told me a witcher was nearby," he says, hoarse. "I thought... I thought it was you."

Anger wells up yet again - anger, and hate, and malice, and... and remorse.

Guilt.

He heaves a sigh as he carries his merman to the water's edge, wading into the shallows. "I'm sorry," he murmurs. "I'm going to set you down for a minute so you can cool off... I have potions in my saddlebag."

The other man doesn't respond, and Geralt fights the fear clenched tight about his heart. He kneels down, easing Jaskier into the water, and he can't help but grimace at the pitiful little sound of pain the sting of salt earns. "I'm sorry," says the witcher again.

He's as gentle as he's ever been as he sets the merman down in the shallows, eyes on Jaskier's tail as it rests limply upon the shifting sands. Jaskier, of course, offers no resistance, merely tenses and huffs when Geralt slips his arms out from beneath him. He dips his head back to submerge his face, and Geralt watches the subtle gills along his throat flex as he readjusts. It brings relief, almost, knowing that maybe he'll survive.

Geralt kneels there in the sands for... gods, he isn't sure how many minutes pass before Jaskier finally stirs again, opening his eyes and blinking up at Geralt from where he's only barely floating above the seafloor. He's almost limp, laying on his side, less-lacerated shoulder supporting him, tail motionless and arms halfheartedly folded.

It... hurts to see.

"I'm going to go get the potions," Geralt says, voice a bit louder than normal; he knows Jaskier can hear him. "Focus on resting."

The merman, once again, doesn't react, and Geralt tries to ignore the stab of pain that goes through his gut. He stands with a sigh, returning to Roach, who has been observing everything in telling silence. She stands patiently as he rummages through her saddlebags; he keeps the potions safe for humans and other non-witcher beings here, not wanting to clog up his own belts and pockets with things he can't grab and down in a heartbeat.

He picks out a vial full of a deep green liquid, one that glistens in the sunlight as he walks back into the gently-rolling water. Jaskier twists over onto his front when Geralt nears, and it's obvious the motion causes him pain; his tail convulses briefly, and his face contorts, but he rests his elbows on the sand to lift his head from the water regardless. "Can you drink?" Geralt asks.

Jaskier merely nods, watching him with an unreadable expression in those glossed-over eyes as Geralt kneels at his side once more. Deciding that's answer enough when Jaskier could well die before the sun rises, Geralt uncorks the vial, setting a gentle hand beneath Jaskier's chin to steady him as he tips the potion to his lips.

His eyes rake over the merman's body once more as he drinks, taking in the way his throat works, the deep and angry burns across his skin, the lacerations here and there...

He won't survive, not like this.

Suddenly lost within that train of thought, Geralt goes still.

It isn't until Jaskier begins to cough and choke that he jolts himself back into the present, pulling the half-empty vial away from the merman's mouth and waiting until he's steadied out some before he says, "Jaskier, you... is there any safe spot nearby? Like the tide pool?"

Something like pain flashes through the merman's eyes, but it's not physical pain.

Geralt recognizes it all too well.

"I'm not going to leave you," he breaks in, before Jaskier can get a word out. "Not again. I need to get you somewhere safe so I can treat the wounds and so you can rest. That's all."

Jaskier hesitates, looks away; finally, he nods, saying quietly, "Further south along the shore, there should - there's a little lagoon..."

"How far away?"

"Around the next bend," he mumbles, and he sounds tired, so tired...

Geralt curses under his breath, saying as he reaches for him yet again, "Stay awake... just a little longer."

--

It's maybe a ten, fifteen minute ride along the shore and around the curve.

Geralt keeps Jaskier cradled in his arms, clucking to Roach and nudging her with his heels to keep her straight, but the mare knows what to do; she moves slowly, head steady and pace even, as if she knows just how important the extra weight on her back is.

The lagoon is small, barely any wider across than your average tavern, shut off from the ocean by bits of shore that stretched too far into the waters and refused to draw away. The inland forest has crept up close, heavy trees fading into palms near the water's edge, and it's...

Well, it's beautiful.

Even Geralt, halfway blinded by the panic that rises in his chest with the merman's every labored breath, has to admit it.

"We're here," he says aloud, soft, and Jaskier jumps, his eyes blinking open. "I'm going to set you in the water, okay?"

He isn't surprised when Jaskier doesn't react.

That doesn't make it any easier to bear.

Heaving a sigh, he adjusts his grip on the merman, swinging his leg over Roach's back and sliding to the ground in as smooth a movement as he can manage, bearing a couple hundred extra pounds in his arms.

Jaskier stays quiet as Geralt carries him to the lagoon, stays quiet as he's laid down in the clear and shallow water. He rests his body on the sands without being told, deep enough that he's submerged except for his head and shoulders when he props himself up once again. Geralt's hand brushes over one of the worst cuts when he draws back, and Jaskier winces, nearly whines -

"I'm sorry," Geralt says, low, and turns back to Roach. He comes back with another potion and a small vial of salve, one he's opening as he kneels at Jaskier's side. "I'll set up camp here, just inside the trees..."

"Don't stay for me," Jaskier interrupts, and it's the first thing he's said in quite a while, and it's so soft, so uncertain...

Geralt feels his heart break.

He shakes his head, dipping his hand into the salve and reaching beneath the water's surface to smooth it along Jaskier's sun-raw back. It's waterproof, or at least waterproof enough, so he has few qualms with this. "I'm staying," he says, just as soft. "I won't leave you again. I shouldn't have left to begin with."

The merman says nothing.

Geralt didn't expect him to.

--

It's difficult, those first few days.

Jaskier lacks the strength to move much on his own - to do anything beyond sinking below the surface and raising back up to drink whatever potion or plant concoction Geralt is offering.

Food, he says, nauseates him to even contemplate.

Geralt tries to hide how badly that thought scares him.

--

The fourth day, Jaskier begins to decline.

Despite Geralt's best efforts - despite countless fucking hours of sitting at the shore, of kneeling beside him in the water, of pouring every potion he thinks could possibly be safe down his throat - the merman is weak.

He is weak, and he is dying, and, well...

Geralt sees only one option.

It's a day's ride to the nearest town, but it's less than a half day to the mouth of the river the other witcher is said to be stationed alongside.

Leaving Jaskier with a quiet whisper of, "I swear to you, I'll return," and a kiss upon his forehead, he mounts up on Roach, and turns for the trees.

He prays to the whole fucking pantheon that things will be okay.

- - - - -

@xdandelionxbloomx @w-s-kibela @justjessiehere @wrenbug @golden-aire-girl @the-little-red-queen @littleredhotsridinghood @ladyaulis @flootzavut @g-e-r-a-s-k-i-e-r @insert-cleverurl @animaniac1017 @brothers-of-the-heart @jaskierisanangel @gray-coal @weakforjaskier @xpixelle @teddylacroix @flustratedcas @1stbonesfan

i hope i didn’t miss anyone! thank you all. third part on the horizon!