#A Pale Moon Reverie

[frogkunlit]

Top 5 New English Light Novels of 2023

It’s that time of the year again! Looking back on this year’s English light novel debuts, there were a handful of titles that I was really looking forward to but which ultimately disappointed me (Agents of the Four Seasons, The Ephemeral Scenes of Setsuna’s Journey, and Days With My Stepsister, to name a few), but I was also blown away by some unexpected surprises, which I’ll talk about below.…

[ljaesch]

J-Novel Club Adds Seven New Light Novel and Three New Manga Licenses

J-Novel Club has announced that it has licensed seven new light novel and three manga titles. The light novel titles include: Title: Lady Bumpkin and Her Lord Villain Authors: Ageha Sakura (writer), Kurodeko (illustrator) Release Date: Available now with Parts 1 and 2 of Volume 1 (a J-Novel Heart title) Summary: “Lady Bumpkin”—that is what most of high society called Agnes Evantail, eldest…

[moonlight-prose]

WONDERING WHY

a/n: this is for the logan promptober hosted by the lovely @silverskyeline! i'm not gonna do the whole list cause i would stress myself out to an insane degree. but a few caught my eye. so i've thrown together some small fics for the man himself in the hopes of scattering them throughout october. this is also late one day cause of well me having a shitty time in life rn. but i hope y'all enjoy!

logan promptober: day six - cowboy

summary: loving logan howlett felt like loving a ghost. he returned when the moon hung low in the sky and his time gave way for freedom. but when you needed him most, he arrived on your doorstep with the promise of giving you exactly what you want.

word count: 3.5k+

pairing: cowboy!old man!logan x f!reader

warnings: EXPLICIT SO MDNI IT'S 18+ ONLY, romance, love, angst, longing, pining, they're obsessed with each other, filthy kissing, p in v sex, rough sex, spit, choking (sorta), calling the pussy her/she, he's an old man who fucks insanely well, feral old man logan.

Pale moonlight brushed across the Earth with strokes of paint. Stars were sprinkled along the night sky, glimmering in darkness as you leaned against the doorway of your home. The lantern flame flickered with each waft of cool air that breezed past you. Pooling inside where a fire cracked and sparked—offering enough warmth to keep you sated for the remainder of time.

At least until he returned home.

You listened for the familiar clop of hooves, the click of his tongue guiding the horse where to go. Hoping that eventually he’d turn the bend in the dirt road and find his way back to the safety of your shared bed.

This was a routine you knew well—one you found solace in as the days grew short and sunlight became sparse. In summer he often returned when the clock struck midnight; the weariness of a long day spent riding through towns and hunting with others was normal. If a little grueling. Although you never complained. You knew who he was when you met him—understood the ups and downs of what this relationship would be.

Logan wasn’t anything if true to his word right at the start. I’m not gonna be here every day sugar, but I’ll be here when you need me.

Eventually you’d have to blow out the lantern and amble back indoors. Calling it quits on yet another night spent alone. He didn’t like it when you were out past a certain time—raiders and hunters alike were more than willing to break in without remorse. Especially if they didn’t know who resided inside, who shared your bed on nights like tonight.

“I need you,” you sighed, shutting your eyes to the sight of an empty road.

They were empty words of hope strung together to make a wish on whatever star caught your eye. Rarely did they work. Although some nights you wondered if magic twined with your solemn prayer—summoning the man you so desperately wanted. It was wishful thinking, a well full of reverie you continuously drank from. Although maybe it was the poison that would one day cause you to drop dead. Maybe…Logan was a figment of all that you could never have.

He might not even exist.

Your eyes fluttered open, glancing up at the sky with anticipation of a falling star. The echo of hooves along dirt drew your attention from your nightly ritual—curiosity pulling you close and whispering promises of giving you everything you wanted. It was probably a stranger. Someone looking for an easy place to spend the night. Logan always told you to say no with a shotgun in your hands, and your body tensed in preparation to grab for the gun propped near the doorway.

Relief flooded your veins at the sight of a familiar dark brown leather coat, his hat tipped low enough to hide the eyes that loomed beneath—glinting with a darkness you'd only seen once or twice in your time together. Calloused and scarred hands gripped loosley at the reins as the horse trotted up the path—finding it's way home with ease.

There was a pull between the two of you. Insatiable and feral and strong enough to have him searching for you the second he drew closer to the house. Hazel eyes fatigued by the long trip back locked onto your form. Plush skin and curves hidden beneath layers of a dress you had yet to strip off.

You would leave that to him, knowing how much he enjoyed tugging at the strings of your corset—undoing the buttons to set you free.

"Gonna catch your fuckin' death," he muttered, his boots hitting the ground with a dull thud. You relished the sound, unable to stop your smile.

"I was waiting for you."

He huffed, wrapped the reins around the wooden fence he built steadily over the years—the leather bag on his saddle now strapped over his wide shoulder. "Shouldn't be waitin' on a man like me sugar."

"You always say that."

"And I'm always right."

"Would you prefer I wait on someone else?" you inquired, a challenge glinting in your eyes.

He bit back a growl, hand settling on your hip to drag you to the edge of the front step as he stepped to the one below. "Are you tryin' to tell me somethin'?"

The possession in his eyes made your heart race, your fingers digging into the soft leather permeated by the scent of cigars smoked in various saloons. He felt familiar, a home you didn't know could exist within another person. The house you two built resided in his heart; the missing piece you searched for on nights spent without him. But now you had it in your grasp—fitting it back into place with a sigh of bliss.

The picture of peace finally pressed itself to your soul, caressing a part of your love that left each time he mounted his horse—the promise of coming home on the tip of his tongue.

"I haven't found someone else yet, but I very well could-"

The rumble in his chest was layered with everything he'd never say with words. "Try it," he growled. "And I'll have to make a fuckin' graveyard out back."

Heat pooled rapidly into your stomach, elation fluttering through your heart. You knew an animal hid in the depths of his chest. Feral with claws and teeth that snapped at the thought of someone taking what was his. You'd never belong to someone else. You'd never want to. The echo of his words seared into your mind, a vow of forever etched into each vowel and consonant.

He was home. He was here. He was real.

"There's no one else," you murmured, leaning your forehead against his—lips brushing against his with each soft admission. "There could never be anyone else."

All that would go unspoken, all neither of you could say.

I love you. I'll love you forever. Whatever this is…it will only end when we're buried six feet under.

"Good," he replied gruffly. "Now give your old man a proper fuckin' welcome."

The smile you wore deepened as his warm hand cupped your cheek. His skin was dry from the leather and a few cuts were scattered here and there, but nothing could resemble this. The blooming heat that spread across your chest like the roots of an ancient tree. He held you with a tenderness that might have shocked you at first—the fear of harming you burning hot in his stomach.

But this was how he always touched you. With a love that couldn't be replaced. A promise soldified in the lines of his palm, fate driven and earthly bound, and yours forevermore.

Finding his lips beneath his hat, you let go of the breath held deep in your lungs. The taste of his cigars spread on your tongue. A familiar morsel of home you gravitated towards. Later in the evening—when you were both lethargic and naked and covered in all sorts of fluids—he'd puff on a brand new cigar. Giving you taste with lazy kisses and smiles traded in the dark of night.

"Missed you Logan," you mumbled, tongue sliding against his with a breathy moan. "I always miss you."

He chuckled, deep enough to vibrate against your chest—his hands sliding down to grip your waist. "You wanna show me how much?"

"You'd like that huh." Smiling into the kiss, you felt his teeth dig into your lips. He sucked it with a groan, fingers digging harshly into the layers of fabric.

"Mhm." His breath was harsh against your cheek, each kiss filled with a need to ravage what belonged to him. To prove he still held space in your heart. "Missed you every fuckin' day sugar."

You laughed, toying with the hair at the base of his skull—curling your fingers around it to tug him back. The moan he rewarded you with made saliva pool in your mouth. His eyes watched you, dazed with want, mouth parted and swollen from your kisses. And you burned the image of him in your mind.

"You wanna show me how much baby?" you breathed, brushing your lips to his with a teasing laugh.

A biting growl ripped from his throat. "Get inside before I take you out here."

"There's an idea."

The harsh slap to your hip dragged a peal of laughter out of your chest. Stumbling back, your hands yanking the hat off his heat and working the jacket down his arms, you kissed him as if you'd never get the chance to again. Wet and spit slicked. Until your teeth clashed together and his tongue was halfway down your throat. Each moan that dripped from his mouth into yours felt like a fucking reward.

A blissful reminder that you weren't alone; he stood before you, frenzied and aching to feel your skin on his.

Logan couldn't figure out how he wound up in this haven. A home, a lover that stole his breath with each look, and forever right on the horizon. Years spent alone only offered the promise of torment, of a life overflowing with an endless amount of pain.

But for some unknown reason, the sun that used to sear his skin now stood before him lighting the pathway home. The brilliance of you blinded him—warmed every cold aspect that resided in the depths of his chest. Yet he'd rather spend the rest of his life in your fierce heat than suffer in the biting cold again.

Oh how lucky he felt just getting the chance to burn.

Desire simmered sharply in the base of your stomach the further you got into the house—his teeth biting down to the column of your throat, fingers toying with the laces of your corest. He devoured you like a sweet thing to be had. A treat he rarely got to partake in tasting. And fuck if he wasn't going to take his time. You clawed at his shirt, pulling it up and off his body with a hoarse shout of glee—nails piercing the flesh of his shoulders as he yanked your leg around his hip.

He practically dragged you to the small bedroom, tearing off the clothing as he went with harsh snarls of want. You'd worry about mending the fabric later in the morning. Or perhaps the day after that. Given how you could feel the heft of his cock through his pants, pressing to your stomach with each small shift of your body.

"On the bed." The command was punctuated with a slap to your ass—a sharp bite against the skin of your collarbone drew a soft moan to the surface.

He tugged the front of your corset down, dropping to the ground with the remainder of your skirts. Baring yourself to Logan with a smile, you felt the emptiness slip down onto the wood of the bedroom floor. Expelling from your body with each panted breath and soft carress. He turned you inside out with the smallest of actions—the barest of touches.

The time he spent alone and wrapped in thoughts of you became all he lived off of. Your memory turned into the reason he stayed alive.

Unlike so much of his life he now held an answer to why he dragged himself home. Why he forced himself to keep going.

"Lemme see her." His hand wrapped around your leg, pulling open your thighs for him to catch a glimpse of what lay between.

You'd been dripping since he arrived. A sticky wet mess that begged for his attention. Logan salivated at the sight, his eyes zeroing in on the way you glistened for him. On any other night he'd sit you on his face in a quick attempt at gaining the close proximity he longed for when he was gone. Tonight served for a different want—a biting need that dug its teeth into his skin.

"She missed me huh," he mumbled, thumb sliding through your wet folds.

You moaned, breathy and restless. "She did baby."

"'M gonna give her what she needs."

"Logan," you sighed, hand outstretched for him to take. "Need you close."

Every nerve lit like a fuse when he gifted you with a full smile. "I will sugar. Lemme just look at ya first huh?"

With a nod you let your legs spread apart, arms draped above your head. The sight of you stole his breath, but you didn't fare any better. His skin scattered with scars you kissed a thousand times over still rendered you incapable of speaking. Hell you weren't even sure you'd taken a breath since he walked through the door.

Though his body was worn and his hair was graying, you couldn't deny he remained the most beautiful man you ever set your eyes on.

"Like what you're lookin' at?"

Your grin was lazy, eyes overflowing with a language Logan once thought he'd never learn yet now could be considered fluent in. Love.

"I really do," you whispered, sharing the secret with him. The words rarely spoken were shouted at the top of your lungs in each loving praise.

He shook them off when you first met him. Claimed they were false words to make yourself feel better about loving an animal who walked and talked like a human. Although, over time he allowed them to sink into his skin, bathe over his broken and weary soul.

They held him together like a ribbon tied through his soul, placed neatly in a bow on his heart.

His hand was swift in undoing his belt, pushing the remainder of his clothes off to join yours heaped on the floor. And you drank in the sight of the man you adored climbing over your body with a hungry gaze. Your heart flipped, grip sliding along his back as you welcomed him in between your legs—the heavy weight of his cock a warm press against your thigh.

"Welcome home." The smile melded into the kiss he placed on your lips, tongue sliding in the curve along your teeth, to taste every bit of you he could reach.

Bucking your hips into his, you dug your nails into his lower back in the hopes that he'd move. He swallowed your whine, spit trailing down your chin when he pulled back to catch his breath. Moving slowly never worked for you—entirely used to the man who broke you with the intent of putting you back together—and right now was no exception. The torment of not having him tore at your heart, put a splinter in the longing simply to crack you in two even further.

"Hold still," he grunted, his hand shoving your hips back onto the bed. "Movin' so fuckin' much I'm gonna have to tie you down."

Your gasp was wet—needy. "Please. Fuck please-"

"Right." His other hand slid up your torso to rest against the base of your throat—thumb running along the smooth skin that covered your racing pulse. "I forgot who you are, sugar. You'd like that huh?"

Teeth tore at your bottom lip, eyes glazed and pupils blown wide the longer he held you there. Anticipation fried your nerves with each second that passed. But Logan wasn't a cruel man. He knew what you ached for—what you'd give up everything for. The closeness of the man you loved; a chance to have his body, heart, and soul.

Gripping himself, he tapped his cock against your clit, sliding through your slick with a stunted moan. A smile bloomed across his lips at your responding moan—fire streaking down your spine, curling along your limbs. He could drive you to madness and yet you'd thank him each time.

You would be grateful for anything he gave you.

"Don't get quiet on me now." His lips trailed along your cheek as he notched himself at your entrance. "Go on and sing for me sweetheart."

He sunk in with a smooth thrust, stretching you with slickened pain and a hoarse moan against the shell of your ear. And you forgot how to breathe. The pinch of pain quickly dampened with the roll of his hips—the head of his cock pressing snugly against your walls. This is what you missed, what your body screamed for.

The potent euphoria that drowned you under its vicious waves.

"So tight," he grunted. "Guess she really did miss me."

"Logan-" Your head tipped back into the pillows, a loud moan breaking the silence that curled over your bodies like a blanket.

"There she is." Pulling back slightly, he slammed back into you, nearly shoving you up the bed. "My pretty little songbird."

Nothing held you back from the sounds he drew out of your mouth. Each one louder than the last. Until the room was filled with a symphony of your combined pleasure, the vulgar echo of skin slapping against skin and your slick dripping down onto the bed, became all you could think about.

He thrived off it. The sight of you whittled down to nothing but a needy mess, begging for a small hint of his love. Maybe that made him an old man far too fucking dirty to be with someone as prescious at you. But he'd let the guilt eat him alive later. He'd worry about stealing your youth out from under you in the afterglow of feeling you cum.

A harsh thrust that struck against the sensitive spongy part of your walls had your knees clamping around his hips—your fingers scratching at his back to get him to slow down. You needed a chance to breathe, to regain some sense. Logan merely smiled, his fingers tightening around your throat to drag your head up. His lips slotting against yours in a messy kiss.

"Where do ya think you're goin'?" he growled, repeating the move with a bitten out groan. "Thought you wanted me to fuck you. Now you're running?"

"T-Too much-"

The angle changed sharply and suddenly he was no longer grinding into you but fucking right on that spot. A sharp sob of his name only added fuel to the quickly forming flame, quickening his movements until you felt your entire body begin to grow taut.

Slick smeared on the inside of your thighs, sticky and warm and loud enough to make you dizzy each time you heard it. He panted into your mouth, using the hold on your throat as leverage to fuck you back onto his cock.

Logan didn't love softly. He couldn't. Brutality was all he was capable of giving you and like the sweetest angel you took it with a smile. You let him use you up until his name was all you could comprehend. The heady scent of his sweat filled your senses, the salty tang of his skin spread along your tongue as you bit into his shoulder—your teeth marring his already marked skin.

Eventually it would turn purple, fading quicker than usual, but he'd wear it with pride. His own trophy after tearing you apart beneath him.

"Gonna cum?" he asked, mouthing at your breast, moaning at the taste of your skin. "I can feel it."

You nodded frantically, body going taut with each slap of his hips on yours. "C-Can I?"

"So fuckin' polite," he groaned, sucking on your nipple before letting it loose with a pop. Spit dripping down to your stomach. "'Course you can sugar."

Tugging at his hair, you felt the tremble in your thighs spread to the rest of your body. His other hand slipped between your bodies, thumbing at your throbbing clit with a soft moan, dragging you right to the edge of a cliff. A sharp grind of his hips broke the dam within you, flooding you with a mind numbing bliss that scorched your skin.

You cried his name until your throat went raw, tears spilling hotly down your cheeks that he licked up with a smile. The fluttering of your walls dragged a hoarse shout from his chest, his teeth clamping down onto any part of he could reach. He followed you instantly, shoving his cock deep enough to hurt as he filled you with enough cum to spill out.

The echo of your breaths resounded off the wooden walls, his hand dipping down to smear his cum along the inside of your thighs. Coating you in his essence; claiming you with his scent that burned the inside of his nose.

"I did you know," you mumbled, kissing the newly formed bruise on his skin. "Miss you."

He sighed, his forehead dropping to yours. "I know sugar. I missed you too."

"Will you stay this time?"

A grin pulled at the corners of his lips, hips rolling into yours to pull another weak moan from those pretty lips he longed to kiss. "As long as ya want me."

The hesitancy clamped around your heart, filling your stomach with anxiety. You wanted to beg him to never leave again, to spend each moment in the safety of this house. But Logan had always been a ramblin man. He'd never stay in one place too long. Even if eventually he found his way back here, back in the safety of your home.

"Forever?" you breathed, eyes glistening with unshed tears.

Logan's heart twisted at the sight. "Yeah sugar," he replied, dipping down to drag his lips along yours. "I like the sound of that.”

[prythianpages]

Take Her To The Moon | Cassian

cassian x love witch reader | summary: Curious over what it'd be like to watch Velaris from above like the stars do every night, you ask Cassian to take you flying.

warnings: fluff

word count: a little under 2K

a/n: I already had a flying fic planned for this au and when I saw that Day 1 of @cassianappreciationweek was flying, I thought why not join? This is my first time participating in a character week! and ofc it's last minute, I promise I'll be more prepared next time.

A canvas of shimmering stars were stretched infinitely above you. Cassian sat beside you, on the rooftop of your shop, his membranous wings folded neatly behind him. Your legs dangled over the edge, the pale moonlight reflecting off your shiny, pink boots. Your eyes were bright as they traced the constellations.

Our child. Our beloved.

Cassian’s head turned to glance at you. “What was that?”

“What was what?”

“The voices.” Cassian replied, a faint furrow appearing on his forehead. Was he going mad? He was sure he had heard them–a distant echo of ancient voices. Yet, you continued to sit beside him, completely unfazed.

So beautiful.

“Oh!” Your eyebrows lifted in realization. Your fingers reached up to brush the earrings you wore, delicate pieces made from the dust shooting stars emitted. “It’s my earrings. They were made from the stars and sometimes speak to me.”

Cassian raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "What do they say?"

“They whisper compliments, mostly. Such as the way I'm as radiant as the cosmos, as beautiful as the night sky…”

Yes. Yes.

You tilted your head in amusement, your eyes reflecting the stars above as if they took residence there. A beauty from the cosmos, indeed. Cassian let out a small chuckle, his ears now being able to distinguish those ancient whispers. You grinned at him, leaning back on the palm of your hands, your hair falling gracefully off your shoulders. 

“They also whisper other things.” You added. “The stars, they see things we don’t. They’re always there, patient and watching. They know our secrets, our deepest desires. They hear our pleas, you know.”

Cassian’s head tilted upwards, lifting his gaze from you and toward the night sky. The moon was full and beautiful. The stars, eternal and steadfast, winking at him, sharp and bright. A sweet fondness had the corner of his lips tugging up. 

“I know.”

A blissful silence enveloped the two of you, both lost in deep thought. Memories of that lonely night swirled in Cassian’s mind—the night he had stood under these very stars, heart full of longing and soul overcome with loneliness. He yearned for someone to gaze up at the stars with, and pleaded with them to send him someone.

A soft sigh escaped you, pulling Cassian from his reverie. His wings fluttered in response, a subtle reminder of the present moment. Perhaps, his pleas had been answered. Because he was gazing up at the stars this very moment with you by his side.

You. Such a bright and beautiful soul. Like a fallen star reborn through the magic of love, and though he hasn’t known you for long, your presence was already illuminating his life in a way he had never imagined.

Take her to the moon.

Cassian's heart skipped a beat, head turning back to you. But you were still fixated on the sky, eyes full of longing, as if you hadn’t heard the whispers of the stars. He wondered what had you so deep in thought and the question was tumbling from his lips.

You blinked, the constellations gracing your cheeks enough for him to see the blush that had settled there. His eyes narrowed briefly. In the the time he’s known you, you have never shown an ounce of shyness.

“The stars are lovely tonight.” You said, dancing around the question. Sensing his gaze on you, you met his eyes, and something lit up in those sparkling eyes of yours. “Want to make a bet?”

“A bet?”

You nodded your head, a bit too eagerly, making him suspicious. Surely, you were plotting something. He could only hope it did not involve any of those pesky little lovebugs you’ve been talking about, another blind date or any more of your love altars. 

One day when he had visited your shop, you had suggested for him to light one of the candles to the altar that spoke to him the most and ask for its blessing. He had meant to light one at the altar dedicated to romantic love but Honey, your cat, had brushed against his leg and startled him. He accidentally lit one of the candles from the altar of erotic love.

It would’ve been fine, really. An honest mistake that could’ve gone unnoticed...if it hadn’t for the old fae woman who had chosen to light a candle at that altar not even a heartbeat before him.

“By The Cauldron, I’ve been blessed!” The woman, who could have easily been his great grandmother, had exclaimed as she threw her arms around him. You had to save him, sweetly coaxing the woman and sending her off with a sleeping potion that’d make her dream of her late husband.

You always meant well with your plans, carefully and thoughtfully scheming to bring Cassian closer to what he desired most—true love. But it seemed fate had a different plan, weaving its own tricks into your efforts. Despite your best intentions, your schemes often ended in failure, leading him back to you.

“If I can accurately guess how many stars are shining in the sky tonight, you have to take me flying.”

A small breath of relief escaped from Cassian. Flying was his territory, his expertise. But the stars…He eyed your earrings, gaze narrowing in on them. “That sounds like a bet you won’t lose.”

He caught the way your gaze lingered on his wings, a hint of longing still shimmering within your eyes. Realization dawned on him then. Is that why you had been sneaking glances at his wings earlier?

“Sweetheart,” he chuckled. “If you want me to take you flying, you could just ask, you know.”

“I can't just ask that! I'm shy!"

“You? Shy?” Cassian laughed again, finding the small glare you sent his way amusing. He shook his head in disbelief. There was a moment of silence and then: “So…are you going to ask me or not?”

You took a deep breath, and Cassian took pleasure in the sheepish look on your face, his wings twitching in anticipation. He watched as your mouth parted before shutting again and raised an eyebrow at you.

Then, finally, you said. “Will you take me flying?... Please."

Cassian stared at you, as if considering your words, even though he had already decided on his answer before you could ask the question. You’ve already done so much for him–have given him hope. He would do anything in return for you. He just wanted to tease you further for a bit but the longer he stared at you, the more he began to lose his resolve.

And when you batted your eyelashes at him, inadvertently striking him with your effortless charm, he was a goner. It was now him feeling bashful. Did you have to be so beautiful?

He barely managed to choke out a “yes” before standing. He could’ve sworn he heard raspy sounds coming from your earrings—like a snicker, almost.

˗ˏˋ ★ ★ ˏˋ˗ 

Cassian’s wings spread out magnificently behind him. He felt the blood rush to his neck at the way you regarded them in awe, stepping forward to admire them more closely. “Beautiful,” you murmured, the stars at your ears whispering in agreement and his wings shuddered at the compliment. “They’re so big. I’m envious.”

“Envious?” Cassian echoed. His chest swelled with pride. You had called them big.

You stepped back, leaving Cassian unsure whether to feel relieved or disappointed. He had anticipated the usual temptation many non-Illyrians succumb to—reaching out to touch his wings. But you hadn’t. 

“I always wondered what it’d be like to fly among the clouds and stars, to feel the wind rushing past and see the world from above. That's what I was thinking about earlier...and you can do it so easily with those.”

“It is nice,” Cassian commented thoughtfully. 

His wings, though scarred from countless battles and injuries, were one of the things he cherished the most. Each scar told a story of resilience, and he took immense pride in them–in their ability to let him soar through the skies.

And he loved flying. The joy, the exhilarating thrill that coursed through his veins. Flying connected him to his Illyrian heritage but also brought a profound sense of liberation. A way to escape and transcend the limits imposed by the ground and a way to be closer to the stars.

Take her to the moon. He heard those very stars whisper again.

He looked at you, the soft fabric of your ruffled blush top swaying gently in the night breeze. You were patient, hands clasped behind your back.

So with a smile, he said, “Well, what are we waiting for?”

Your eyes sparkled with excitement, and when he gestured for you to come closer, you approached without a word. His hazel eyes, tender and soft, lingered on you, silently asking for your permission. With a nod from you, he bent down slightly. One arm went beneath your knees the other behind your back and then he scooped you into his strong arms.

As you wrapped your arms around his neck, he felt the rapid, eager beat of your heart—a rhythm that matched his own. But his also carried an undercurrent of something deeper, more intense, spurred on by the feeling of you in his arms.

Standing at the edge of the rooftop, he glanced down at you, searching your face for any hint of hesitation or fear. “Ready?” 

“Yes.” You replied and he found nothing but your enthusiasm reflected back at him.

His smile widened and he made a show of his wings. They unfurled further behind him in a graceful manner, a delicate sound reminiscent of a sail watching the wind, resonating in the air. 

“Hold on tight, sweetheart.”

Your arms tightened around him and then you two were taking off, the ground disappearing beneath you.

˗ˏˋ ★ ★ ˏˋ˗ 

Your eyes were wide with wonder, the cool night air ruffling your hair as you gazed out at the world below. Moonlight wove silver patterns across the rooftops, and the Sidra River shimmered up at you. As the clouds drifted by, you reached out with a hand, pink magic fluttering from your fingertips. A gasp of delight escaped you as you felt the misty tendrils of the clouds brushing against your skin.

From this height, every scent was vivid—the fresh, earthy aroma of the forest below mingled with the sandalwood warmth enveloping you. It was all a sensory overload that left you breathless, but in the best way possible.

“This is incredible!”

Cassian chuckled but he couldn’t agree more. He was happy to share this joy with you, the powerful rhythm of his wings beating steadily as you soared through the night sky. The world stretched out in every direction, a vast expanse of shadow and light.

It felt as if you were the only two people in existence, suspended between the earth and the stars…and the stars…

The stars seemed so close that you could almost touch them, and your laughter rang out, pure and joyous. Cassian watched you, mesmerized by the radiant joy on your face, pink stardust fluttering around you both. As he flew higher, the moonlight bathed you in a soft glow that made you look as celestial as the stars themselves...

What if you had been that shimmering star he wished upon?

A strange, profound shift occurred within him, causing his wings to falter for a brief moment. You were too absorbed in your wonder to notice, but Cassian’s arms tightened around you, pulling you closer. 

He savored the sensation of having you so close, wishing this moment could stretch on forever as the stars did. 

a/n: The star earrings were inspired from Aquamarine's starfish earrings! I'm saving the fic of where Love witch meets the IC as part of my 2K celebration so the next part might be kind of an angsty one, depending on which comes first. If you asked to be on the tag list and don't see your name, please let me know!

series masterlist

series taglist: @mrsjna , @shadowsingercassia, @acourtofbatboydreams, @rcarbo1, @mvidaaaa ,

@stuff-i-found-while-crying , @lipstickmarks, @yamisukehoe , @mp-littlebit , @thecraziestcrayon, @talesofadragon, @ceoofyearning, @anuttellaa

General tag list: @scooobies, @kennedy-brooke, @sillysillygoose444, @lilah-asteria @the-sweet-psycho

@daycourtofficial, @milswrites, @stormhearty, @pit-and-the-pen, @mybestfriendmademe

@loving-and-dreaming @azriels-human, @mrsjna

[hyvyinjie]

CHANCE.

TW! implications of death.

bittersweet! melancholic

t. muichiro x f. reader

graciously requested by @muuumuiiii ! thank you so much for requesting, you sweet lovely lad<3

who would have anticipated it? the mist hashira, of all individuals, displaying a concern that surpassed anyone else's for you—the spirit pillar; a warrior whose technique came at the steep cost of a gradual erosion of your life.

THE MOON; THE BRIGHTEST PEARL SUSPENDED IN OUR VELVET SKY THAT FLOODED THE INKY DARKNESS WITH ITS SILVER GLOW.

a radiant disc it was. casting its ethereal glow upon the shadows of the night, while also heralding the relentless onslaught of a few infamous entities—demons.

a symbol of hope, this pale sentinel embodied a goddess-like presence, standing as a timeless guardian, observing the earth with an unwavering gaze as warriors valiantly battled the monstrous creatures scattered throughout.

above, the luminous orb commanded the vast expanse of stars, illuminating them all. yet, even in this peaceful night, two particular slayers found themselves immersed in the serenity, although one seemed burdened by a more pressing concern, far beyond the tranquility itself.

in a world where such creatures roamed, the perfect harmony would remain elusive.

thus, what purpose did survival serve if death constantly loomed, a persistent visitor at one's very doorstep?

well, the purpose of life is to be happy. or at least, that's what this young man believed.

said boy possessed an acute understanding of this belief, as if it had become ingrained in the very fabric of his being—an awareness that, perhaps, bordered on the excessive.

the sheer ecstasy of savoring every moment of existence, embracing its essence in its entirety, was undeniably a remarkable achievement—a feat that deserved to be celebrated with fervor.

thus, he found himself utterly incapable of comprehending—indeed, he never had—how she could nonchalantly dismiss the imminent cessation of her own existence, as if it were a trifling matter. the weight of her disregard for her own life gnawed at him, like a persistent ache that defied understanding.

..then again, had he been any different?

"—and…now you’re spacing out, again.”

ah, the sound of that melodious voice; both longed for and dreaded, resonated within him and snapped him out of his reverie. even though he had incessantly poured out his thoughts to her since he awakened from his coma, with her faithfully by his side, deep in slumber—despite her own exhaustion—she had remained.

as your words echoed in his ears, he shifted his gaze to meet your own—and oh, those eyes.

he would give anything to forever witness his own reflection in the depths of your eyes.

in a mesmerizing dance, your gazes intertwined; an exquisite tapestry woven with delicate threads of connection.

he couldn't help but be entranced by the sheer magnificence of your irises—their majesty akin to rare crystalline treasures, gleaming beneath the majestic canopy of the nocturnal sky.

as a gentle zephyr whispered sweet nothings, its delicate touch caressed their beings, a tender embrace from the invisible hands of nature. he watched, his eyelids descending to a half-closed state, surrendering to the enchanting symphony of the night.

the breeze, like a playful sprite, felt as if it alone, could carry away his worries and sorrows, dispersing them into the velvety darkness.

yet, amidst this reposeful tranquility, a question lingered in the depths of his soul, an enigma that remained elusive and enigmatic.

it was one of the few riddles that continued to elude his grasp, an enigmatic puzzle that defied comprehension, regardless of whether he had regained his former self or not.

why, he pondered ever so deeply, did your well-being hold such profound significance to him?

why did his heart ache with an inexplicable yearning to protect you, to ensure the radiance within you remained untouched by the shadows of the world? it was as if his very purpose revolved around safeguarding your light, shielding it from the encroaching darkness threatening to dim its brilliance.

no, he never intended to diminish your worth in any way.

on the contrary—he understood, with a profound certainty, that you’re fully capable of caring for yourself alone.

yet, despite his awareness, a veil of mystery draped over his consciousness—that of a delicate wisp of mist teasing the boundaries of his understanding. it remained tantalizingly close, yet perpetually out of his reach, an enigma that eluded his grasp.

similarly elusive was the faint, almost imperceptible yet weighty pang in his heart each time his gaze flickered to your bandages that dressed your wounds.

he struggled to fathom its origins, to decipher the emotions that coursed through him with every glance. was it concern, fear, or something different altogether?

of course, he chastised himself for overreacting. after all, you were healing, weren't you?

...right?

at least, that was the relentless mantra he repeated to himself, like a haunting melody, a lullaby of self-deception.

perhaps it was a lie he constructed, a defense mechanism to shield himself from the harsh reality. deep down, he knew all too well that you were pushing yourself to the brink, sacrificing fragments of your own well-being to save countless others from the clutches of death.

how he yearned to tell you—to implore you—to cease using the very essence that slowly, yet inexorably, eroded your own vitality. the desire to shield you from the self-inflicted harm, consumed him.

yet, who was he to stand in your way?

who was he to dictate how you should pursue your purpose—your solemn vow? who had the right to demand that you discard the only technique you knew, as if acquiring a new skill were a trivial matter?

perhaps, for you, it had maybe once been a tangible option—a plausible alternative.

however, it clashed with the very reason why you chose to persist in wielding the power of spirit breathing, despite its unfortunate and devastating toll on your own being.

it was a conundrum that weighed heavily upon his soul, yet another conflict that tugged at the frayed edges of his limited understanding.

then, abruptly—his consciousness snapped back to reality, like a fragile dream shattered by the gentle sweep of a waving hand.

in that instant, the symphony of your voice, a sweet and melodious tune, graced his senses once more, stirring his spirit from its slumber.

"hello? earth to tokito?"

your words danced in the air, adorned with a delicate blend of amusement and genuine concern—whilst he, silently observed your actions. his gaze lingering for a fleeting moment, as if capturing the essence of your graceful movements.

soon enough, his eyes blinked, like a dormant star awakening to illuminate the night sky, as he finally stirred from his reverie.

with a subtle tilt of his head, he emitted a soft hum—a melodic expression that intertwined intrigue and acknowledgment in response to your beckoning. the notes of his hum danced through the air, a secretive melody that conveyed both his curiosity and the recognition of your presence.

meanwhile, you watched him with an internal sigh of relief.

the young man, whom you had believed to be forever lost in the bewitching realm of his perpetual daydreams, had returned to the realm of the present. the transformation within him, from introspective to effervescent, had you spellbound, never failing to leave you even in but a speck of awe, of these rare moments of clarity that graced his being.

"seems like someone's finally awake."

a faint smile blossoming upon your lips, akin to the first delicate bloom of a spring flower. lowering your hand with graceful grace,

you adjusted yourself to a more comfortable position beside him on the edge of the engawa outside the butterfly manor—a perch where you and him had been leisurely spending time together, without a care in the world, rambling on about. relishing in the comfort in one another’s presence—like a normal pair of souls basking in the way of life.

"you’ve been staring at me for quite a while.”

pausing for a breath, you tilted your head—the radiance of your irises blooming with an enchanting glow, as if the secrets of the universe were hidden within their depths.

"what's wrong?"

in the midst of an enchanting moment, a subtle hint of wounded innocence played across your seductive countenance, evoking a mysterious allure.

"do i look that bad?"

your voice, though as mellow and gentle as always, carried an underlying touch of vulnerability.

in an instant, he reacted, tilting his head with a subtle mixture of surprise and denial.

"what? no."

aa he blinked, his words slipped out absent-mindedly, like a whisper from a dreamer's lips.

"far from it, actually."

he confessed, his sincerity palpable.

with a gaze that held a painter's eye for detail, he saw your flaws not as imperfections, but as intricate brush strokes that added depth to the masterpiece of your being. inexplicably, he adored you, to the point where it practically pained him.

and who could blame him? for you were way more than a mere beauty that could be captured in words. you were a tapestry of emotions, a symphony of sensations that defied description.

to him, you are everything.

your brows raised slightly, captivated by his ever-unpredictable nature. truly, like the wind, he embraced the freedom to wander in any direction he pleased.

reminiscent of an owl, you blinked a plenty amount of times, momentarily stunned by the sheer audacity of his flattery. it seeped into the recesses of your heart, stirring a delicate blend of bashfulness and gratitude.

"then..."

unintentionally mimicking his gestures, as if dancing in synchrony with his spirit, you then asked, avidly yearning to explore the depths of his thoughts.

"mind sharing what's got you so..distant?"

although it was not deemed uncommon for him, of all individuals, to maintain a silent disposition, you possessed a deeper understanding—having witnessed something greater, something more.

despite the mere span of a few days, you stood as a crucial observer to the sudden shift in his demeanor. having been privy to a bewildering yet endearingly interactive side of the boy since his awakening, it became slightly disconcerting to witness him potentially regress into his characteristic, distant, and dazed state.

the memory of those extraordinary moments lingered, and it was disheartening to question whether they were mere illusions or if they held the promise of something genuine.

as of now, the male in question pressed his lips together, creating a slender line as his gaze wandered away from yours, as though searching for a brief respite from reality.

seeing this, you reassured him. carefully observing these subtle occurrences with your keen irises.

"you don't have to tell me if you don't want to."

responding with a weary shake of his head and a sigh escaping his lips, his gaze flickered back to you, and as his eyes connected with yours once more, a subtle softness overcame them.

truly breathtaking were his eyes. they possessed a hue reminiscent of emerald, yet they gleamed like the replesdent glow of the moon above.

however, what truly captured your attention was the way his brows furrowed just as the corner of his lips downturned, for internally—a cascade of emotions crashed upon him all at once. moreover, a despairing layer seemed to coat his eyes, a poignant sorrow that caught you off guard.

"i don't like it."

he stated firmly, his words hanging in the air, leaving you perplexed.

your head tilted slightly further, eyes widening as you regarded him with curiosity and intrigue.

in response, he raised a hand to the area where his heart resided, his gaze lowering and narrowing towards the ground beneath you both.

"this feeling..."

his voice carried a weight of uncertainty, gaze delicately shifted back to meet yours—and in that moment, you could have sworn you saw his frown deepen as the hint of sorrow on his features became even more pronounced.

"and knowing you could..."

he trailed off, unable to bring himself to complete his sentence. yet, the unfinished words were enough for you to grasp the essence of his meaning.

your brows upturned, sensing the profound depth of emotions he struggled to express fully through words. you had a hunch that it might be something like this, but witnessing his reaction with such intensity was, without a doubt, enough to evoke a painful ache in anyone's heart.

the desire to comfort him welled up within you, an overwhelming longing to ease his burdens. yet, you couldn't help but question how you could possibly offer reassurance.

would it be by telling a blatant lie about something that was inevitable?

now, that would be nothing short of cruelty, no?

to suggest that you would overcome it would only exacerbate the pain. moreover, you were uncertain how to approach the situation without inadvertently triggering a devastating chain of events in the unavoidable future.

truth be told, if he were anyone else, you might have dismissed the matter with a casual remark, wouldn't you?

but with him, it was different.

you couldn't bring yourself to say so.

unable to find the right words in that moment, your gaze somberly shifted away from his, fixating on a distant point ahead. yet, in a sudden and unexpected instant, you were taken aback as you felt the weight of something new but vaguely familiar resting upon your shoulder—soft strands of supple hair gently brushing against you. along with it came a delicate warmth, enveloping you in an oddly soothing sensation.

"you don't have to say anything."

he quietly uttered, his honeyed voice carrying a mix of vulnerability and reassurance. he simply needed to release his thoughts into the open, to let them be heard, even if it was just a single sentence.

there had been no intention to pressurize or burden you, but rather a desire to be the one offering reassurance while subtly seeking comfort himself.

in a silent plea to convince himself that he wasn't caught in a dream, he gingerly leaned his head against your shoulder, and though was making sure not to add any more damage to your wounds, he did so without a hint of regret.

your heart skipped a beat, overwhelmed by the depth of his actions. turning your attention back to him, you found solace in this unspoken gesture of support. that tender gesture conveyed a profound understanding, a connection that surpassed the boundaries of words. it was a silent reassurance; of ones comforting presence for the other, especially in the face of uncertainty.

a sentimental smile graced your features as you felt immense gratitude for his selfless deeds. even in this moment, he made sure you were as comfortable as possible, going above and beyond to provide solace. the warmth of his actions filled you with a deep sense of appreciation and reinforced the unmatched bond between you.

"..thank you,"

you whispered in a hushed breath, your voice carrying the weight of profound appreciation.

though the words seemed simple, they held within them an entire universe of gratitude—a universe that bloomed with vivid colors, dreamlike aspirations, and meaningful connections.

with a delicate grace, you lifted your hand and allowed your fingertips to dance upon the canvas of his raven tresses. each strand, like a silken thread, wove a tapestry of sensations beneath your touch.

the texture was soft and supple, akin to the gentle caress of a summer breeze. as your fingers glided through the ebony strands, you embarked on a journey of intricate care, smoothing out the knots that dared to disrupt the harmony.

in this intimate act, time seemed to suspend, creating a space where the world faded away, leaving only the two of you in a transcendent moment. your touch, as mindful as the brushstrokes of an artist, traced a path of tenderness and care. each movement held intention, a pledge to protect and cherish him, ensuring no harm would befall his vulnerable spirit.

It was a silent symphony, where the language of trust and gratitude flowed effortlessly through the whispers of your fingertips.

as you continued this tender ministration, a vibrant tapestry of emotions unfurled within the depths of your heart. gratitude, like a delicate fragrance, mingled with a sense of wonder, weaving a spellbinding combination.

the tenderness you shared painted a tableau, akin to a cherished memory, where hues of warmth, understanding, and appreciation blended harmoniously.

pleased by your touch, a contented hum escaped your companion's lips, his eyes finding solace in the comfortable embrace of closed lids.

a smile, brimming with emotions, blossomed upon his visage, a testament to the profound impact of your presence.

his heart fluttered with a bittersweet ache, caught between the beauty of the present and the uncertainty of the future.

yet, even in the face of daunting odds, a glimmer of hope persisted within him. it discreetly clung to his being, refusing to be extinguished.

it was undeniably a childlike hope, both fragile and resilient; to yearn for the possibility of a miraculous turn of events.

still, muichiro wanted to embrace that chance, to patiently wait for the magic of a future with you.

[rainforestakiie]

Adamsapple Month Harvest

Pumpkins~

@adamsappleweek

whoa! i got it finished it in time! i wanted to write more and i might come back to this idea later! but for now, enjoy a creepy pumpkin twist! hope you all like it!

For as long as Adam could recall, he had dwelled in the shadowy embrace of Hallow-Eve, a town steeped in autumn's eerie charm. He had never ventured beyond its mist-shrouded borders; his family’s roots run deep in the soil of this peculiar place.

Even during their rare escapades, they merely retreated to the heart of the town, seeking solace at Miss Sera's Inn, where the air was thick with the whispers of the past. Hallow-Eve revelled in the spirit of Halloween year-round, its streets adorned with gnarled pumpkins and sinister decorations, dismissing the likes of Christmas or Easter. Instead, they celebrated with a chilling twist—exchanging sweets nestled in coffins for Easter and gathering around a 'dead tree' come winter, its branches draped with ghostly ornaments.

Adam had only ever known life on the town's enchanting pumpkin patch, a sprawling expanse of vibrant orange nestled among shadows, where townsfolk flocked daily in search of the most haunting harvests. While he supposed there was never a mundane moment amid the revelry, a weariness clung to him like a thick fog, suffocating his spirit.

He longed for the warmth of a traditional Christmas, the intoxicating aroma of a festive feast wafting through the air, instead of the relentless onslaught of skeletal decorations and pumpkin pies. Halloween’s nightly escapades, filled with children donning ghastly costumes, left him yearning for the innocent delights of chocolate eggs and lavish dinners that never seemed to grace their table.

It was as if Hallow-Eve existed in an eternal autumn, with summer and winter shunning its gloomy charm. The trees stood in perpetual decay, their leaves a tapestry of gold and crimson, forever caught in the throes of a hauntingly beautiful fall, the air crisp and unyielding.

Leaning against a towering stack of pumpkins, Adam's piercing green eyes surveyed the patch, glistening under the pale light of a waning moon. In a matter of hours, families would arrive, their excitement palpable as they sought the most spine-chilling pumpkins to carve. His mother, with her uncanny knack for the macabre, often hosted spirited carving mornings, teaching eager youngsters the art of transforming innocent gourds into grotesque visages. Renowned for her chilling creations, she wielded her carving knife with a flair that sent shivers down spines, bringing the town's Halloween spirit to life in the most haunting of ways.

A black crow suddenly soared overhead, its ominous shadow flitting across the ground before it landed directly in front of Adam. With a haunting croak, the bird flapped its sleek, obsidian wings, bobbing its pointed head as if sizing him up. Adam frowned, a wry smirk creeping onto his lips as he regarded the feathered omen. “I don’t suppose you’re here to warn me of misfortune?” he teased dryly. “Black crows are notorious harbingers of bad luck.”

The crow squawked again, flapping its wings and pecking its long beak beneath its wing, as if unconcerned by Adam’s quips. Clicking his tongue in dismissal, Adam turned away, a soft hum escaping his lips. In Hallow-Eve, it was common knowledge that a black crow’s appearance foreshadowed calamity. His grandmother had been the sort to throw salt at the birds whenever they crossed her path, and don’t even get him started on the folklore surrounding black cats.

Returning to his duties, Adam began inspecting the pumpkins, removing the rotting ones or the less desirable specimens. It was hard work, and while he had once relished tending to the vibrant gourds as a child, a suffocating boredom now clouded his enthusiasm. He craved something more, a taste of adventure beyond the confines of his routine.

“Adam!” a melodic voice called, pulling him from his reverie. His mother waved him over, beckoning him toward the towering wooden archway adorned with a macabre display of skulls and bone-like decorations.

“Can you come here for a moment?”

With a sigh, Adam straightened up, tugging off his gloves and tossing a small pebble aside. He approached the archway, the scent of damp earth and decaying leaves lingering in the cool air. As he emerged from the wall of pumpkins, he noticed three figures standing with his mother. One appeared noticeably shorter than the other two, and he squinted, trying to discern the peculiar scene.

“Adam, come meet our new neighbours!” His mother beamed, excitement dancing in her eyes. “They’ve just moved in.”

Just moved in?

Adam’s eyebrows shot up at the revelation. He’d never heard of anyone moving to or from Hallow-Eve; it was a town steeped in tradition, and this was utterly new.

“Hi,” he mumbled, shifting to stand beside his mother.

He blinked awkwardly, taking in the sight before him. The shorter figure seemed older than the two taller females. The blonde girl, with her cascading golden curls and flawless porcelain skin, could easily be mistaken for royalty—save for the unsettlingly vibrant red of her lips and the strange way her cheeks seemed to glow. For a fleeting moment, he could have sworn they both had red circles on their cheeks and no noses, but when he blinked, they were just… normal.

Weird.

The other girl was a stark contrast, with her long, thick braids of purple and grey that cascaded down her shoulders. She was slightly shorter than the blonde, sporting a hooked nose and soft, grey eyes that held secrets. Her black lips curled into an expression that straddled the line between a smile and a frown, leaving Adam uncertain of her feelings.

“Hello!” the shorter man exclaimed cheerfully, thrusting a gloved hand toward Adam. “Nice to meet you! I’ve just moved in with my daughters!”

Adam hesitated, eyeing the man’s gloves, which appeared oddly oversized, hinting at something more claw-like beneath the soft fabric. When his mother nudged him with her elbow, he sighed and reluctantly extended his hand. He jolted in surprise as the man’s grip tightened around his, nearly yanking him off his feet.

“My name is Lucifer!” the man declared, his eyes twinkling with mischief as a soft blush painted his cheeks. “This is my daughter, Charlie!”

The blonde girl beamed widely, her eyes sparkling with an unsettling charm that sent shivers racing down Adam’s spine. Dazed from the force of Lucifer’s handshake, he could only nod.

Charlie chirped, bouncing on her feet with an energy that felt almost infectious, “It’s nice to meet you!”

“And this is Vaggie, my daughter’s girlfriend, but I’ve taken her under my wing as my daughter as well!” Lucifer added, gesturing proudly to the purple-haired girl beside him. He flashed a bright grin at her, and Vaggie returned it with a delighted smile that still felt shrouded in mystery.

Adam slowly nodded, bewildered. He pulled his hand to his chest, stuttering slightly, “Wait, did you say Lucifer? Like, the devil?”

The look on Lucifer’s face sent a chill down Adam’s spine, his cherry-red lips curling back to reveal a row of sharp, gleaming teeth. His blue eyes sparkled with an unsettling allure, his long lashes fluttering as he leaned closer.

“Yes,” he hissed, his forked tongue slipping between his lips in a way that made Adam’s heart race. “Exactly~”

“But don’t worry, compared to what it looks like, he doesn’t bite,” Charlie joked, a mischievous glint in her eye.

Lucifer gasped dramatically, turning to his daughter with mock horror. “Don’t say that, Charlie! I like biting!”

The two burst into laughter, and even Adam’s mother joined in, her voice light and melodic. Vaggie, however, still smiled but facepalmed with a groan, leaving Adam feeling like an outsider in a bizarre joke he didn’t quite understand. He took a step back, a strained smile plastered on his face as the odd energy radiating from the new family felt too peculiar to bear.

Lucifer’s gaze bore into him, as if he were contemplating a delicious meal. As if reading Adam's thoughts, Charlie flashed a wide grin that revealed too many sharp teeth, her eyes gleaming like a predatory cat.

“Um, right…” Adam laughed awkwardly, glancing at his mother in disbelief.

His eyes screamed, ‘Are you seeing this bullshit?’ but his mother seemed blissfully oblivious to the spectacle unfolding before her.

“Er, I... I think I’ll go... you know, get back to work…” Adam stammered, desperate to escape from this sharp-toothed stranger who was eyeing him as though he were a delectable morsel. “Because, you know, these pumpkins won’t prepare themselves for the kids.”

His mother shot him a look that was both perplexing and disconcerting, one he couldn’t quite decipher and truly didn’t want to. He took another awkward step back, raising a hand in a half-hearted wave toward his bizarre new neighbours, preparing to make his escape.

“Oh! Please wait!” Charlie exclaimed, her delicate hand darting forward to grasp Adam's arm. Damn, she had her father’s strength, practically yanking him off his feet. “We’re actually here to pick up a couple of pumpkins; you can help us choose some, right?”

Adam’s green eyes widened in disbelief, a knot of dread tightening in his stomach. That was the last thing he wanted. He had no intention of spending time with them, not at all!

“I have to be honest; we don’t know a thing about pumpkins,” Lucifer chimed in cheerfully, perhaps a bit too cheerfully, his grin stretching wide enough to reveal his unnerving teeth. “We’ve got rocks for brains~”

Adam’s mouth opened in protest, the words of refusal hanging on his lips. He had too much work to do and didn’t want to deal with them. But as he caught sight of his mother’s face, which brightened with an unexpected glimmer of relief, his resolve began to waver.

“Of course! Adam would be thrilled to help you all out, wouldn’t you, Adam?” she said, her voice a strange mix of encouragement and something else he couldn’t quite identify.

Faced with that knowing look, Adam felt his stubbornness melt away. His cheeks flushed crimson as he noticed all three of his new neighbours’ eyes fixed intently on him. With a deep, resigned sigh, he nodded, gesturing for them to follow.

“Um, sure, yes, just… follow me,” Adam mumbled quietly, his heart racing as he led the way into the patch, feeling the weight of their curious gazes on his back.

His skin prickled with unease, every hair on his body standing on end as he led the trio down the winding pumpkin patch trail. A palpable sense of danger loomed in the air, as if something predatory lurked just beyond his peripheral vision, ready to pounce. Fear coiled tightly in his throat, making it hard to swallow.

Adam felt like a timid mouse, surrounded by three hungry cats—each one more menacing than the last. The weight of their gazes felt like a tangible force, pressing down on him, and he was filled with an overwhelming urge to bolt, to flee from the chilling atmosphere that seemed to thrum with unspoken threats. He had never experienced such a sensation before, the instinctive drive to escape prickling at his every nerve, urging him to run from the impending danger.

As Adam guided them into the sprawling rows of pumpkins, he couldn’t shake the feeling that the ground beneath his feet was somehow shifting with each step, as if the earth itself were alive and aware. Charlie’s reaction was immediate and infectious. She gasped, her eyes widening like bright, gleaming orbs of wonder, and she squealed with pure delight that echoed through the crisp autumn air. Her smile was so radiant, so sweetly innocent, that for a fleeting moment, Adam found himself questioning whether he had judged them too harshly at first.

“Look at all the pumpkins!” Charlie exclaimed, her voice a melodious chime as she clasped Vaggie’s hand, practically bouncing on her toes. “They’re stunning! Absolutely perfect!”

Vaggie chuckled, a warm, rich sound that wrapped around Adam like a comforting shawl.

“Calm down, babe, or you’ll lose your hair,” she teased, rolling her eyes affectionately.

Charlie pouted for a second before pressing a soft kiss on Vaggie's cheek, her exuberance bubbling over as she practically dragged her deeper into the patch, fully intent on selecting the finest pumpkins. Adam couldn’t help but feel a twinge of sympathy for Vaggie, watching her struggle to keep up with Charlie's electrifying energy. Yet there was a glow on Vaggie’s face, a happiness that seemed to radiate like the golden autumn sun, making Adam second guess his first impression of her.

But as they ventured further into the patch, leaving Adam momentarily isolated, he suddenly realized he was not alone. The air around him felt charged, and he stiffened under the weight of Lucifer's gaze, intense and unwavering. Adam turned his head to meet those striking blue eyes, deep and captivating like twin oceans swirling with secrets. An involuntary shiver danced along his spine as Lucifer broke into a grin, one that sent a fluttering thrill through Adam’s chest.

“Um,” Adam stuttered, sheepishly smiling back, unsure of how to bridge the strange silence enveloping them.

Desperate to dispel the eerie tension, he glanced around, his eyes landing on another black crow that had landed behind Lucifer, its glossy feathers glinting ominously in the fading light. The crow flapped its wings, adding an unsettling rhythm to the moment.

Unable to endure the silence any longer, Adam blurted out, “So, where did you live before moving to Hallow-Eve Town?”

Lucifer rocked on his heels, a low hum escaping his lips as he considered the question.

“Somewhere far away,” he mused, his voice smooth and melodious. “You’ve never been there before. It’s not like Hallow-Eve.”

Intrigued, Adam pressed, “What do you mean?”

With a fondness that surprised Adam, Lucifer’s gaze drifted across the autumnal landscape, lingering on the fiery hues of leaves swirling in the crisp breeze. “The place I came from was very hot and humid. It’s different from Hallow-Eve Town,” he replied, a soft smile tugging at his lips. “I like it very much.”

A chill skittered down Adam's spine at Lucifer’s words, the way he spoke made the hairs on the back of Adam’s neck stand on end. “I can’t say I agree with you,” he admitted awkwardly, forcing himself to maintain eye contact.

Instantly, Lucifer’s expression sharpened, those azure eyes widening as they locked onto Adam’s. “You don’t like Hallow-Eve Town?” he asked, his tone almost conspiratorial, as if he had uncovered a secret. “Do you want to leave, then?”

The way he asked it felt like a victory, as if he had struck gold in the midst of their strange exchange. Adam felt a heat rise to his cheeks as he sheepishly shrugged, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Yeah, I guess I don’t want to stay here… I really want to leave.”

Lucifer’s grin widened, revealing those sharp, gleaming teeth once more, as he leaned in slightly, his voice dripping with intrigue. “Where would you go? Somewhere hot?”

Adam paused, a flutter of uncertainty swirling in his chest. Somewhere hot? He had never truly contemplated a destination, only the fervent desire to escape. He released a soft hum, his thoughts swirling like the autumn leaves dancing around them. The idea of venturing somewhere beyond the pumpkin patch, away from the creeping shadows of Hallow-Eve Town, ignited a flicker of hope within him.

“I— I don’t know,” he finally admitted, glancing away, as if the weight of Lucifer’s gaze would pin him to the earth. “I’ve just… always wanted to go.”

With that, the air thickened with unspoken possibilities, the autumn night closing in around them like a velvet curtain, leaving Adam teetering on the precipice of something both thrilling and terrifying.

Adam hesitated, a nervous chuckle escaping his lips as he shifted on his feet.

“Yeah, maybe somewhere hot,” he mused aloud, letting his imagination wander. “I could see myself enjoying the sun... maybe a place where the warmth seeps into your bones and the nights are still.”

Lucifer’s pleased hum broke through the crisp autumn air, almost like a purr of satisfaction. The sound was unsettling, too intimate, as though Adam had unknowingly revealed something far deeper than a passing thought.

Lucifer's piercing blue eyes never wavered from Adam’s face as he asked, his voice low and curious, “Would you ever come back? To visit your family, I mean.”

The question caught Adam off guard, and he frowned, giving Lucifer a strange look.

“Of course I would,” he replied, confusion lacing his tone. “I love my family. Sure, they can be a bit... much sometimes, but they’re still my family.”

Lucifer’s grin stretched wide, his sharp teeth glinting in the soft light of the fading day.

“I like that,” he said, his voice rich with approval. “A family man. That’s perfect.”

The way Lucifer said "perfect" made Adam’s skin crawl, a strange mixture of flattery and something darker curling around the word. It felt like there was a hidden layer beneath his words, something Adam wasn’t catching. He opened his mouth to ask what Lucifer meant, but before he could, Charlie’s excited voice pierced the air.

“Dad! Come here, you’ve got to see these pumpkins!” she called, her voice like honey, dripping with enthusiasm.

Lucifer’s grin deepened, and without a moment’s hesitation, he turned and strode toward his daughter, leaving Adam standing alone in a swirl of confusion. Adam stared after them, feeling a sense of unease creep into his bones. It was as though a vital piece of the puzzle had slipped through his fingers, something important, something he should have caught but didn’t.

Awkwardly, he trailed after Lucifer, his steps slow and hesitant, his mind still trying to wrap itself around the strange interaction. His eyes flickered toward Vaggie, who was standing just beyond the rows of pumpkins, her purple-and-grey braids swaying slightly in the breeze. As his gaze met hers, he noticed something odd—her eyes held an emotion he hadn’t expected: pity.

Adam’s confusion deepened, his brow furrowing. Why would she look at him like that? Did she know something he didn’t? He wanted to ask, but the weight of her gaze made him feel even more out of place. He tore his eyes away from her, glancing back towards his house at the edge of the pumpkin patch.

His stomach twisted as he spotted his parents standing on the porch, their arms crossed, silhouettes dark against the dimming sky. He was too far away to make out their expressions, but something about their posture made a chill creep down his spine. They were just standing there, watching—watching him, Lucifer, the whole scene. The air around the house seemed to thrum with a strange, unsettling energy.

And then, as if drawn by some invisible force, Adam’s eyes lifted to the roof of the house. His breath caught in his throat.

A dozen black crows had gathered there, their sleek, inky feathers shimmering in the dying light. They stared down at him, silent and still, their dark eyes glinting like polished onyx. It was as if they were waiting for something, their presence an ominous, creeping shadow over the house. Adam’s heart hammered in his chest, a gnawing sense of dread settling in his gut.

“What’s going on?” he whispered to himself, the words barely audible.

The crows didn’t move, their eerie stillness amplifying the strange, heavy atmosphere that had been building all afternoon.

Adam’s mind raced, the strangeness of it all closing in around him. He didn’t know what was happening, but something in his gut told him this day wasn’t like the others. Something was shifting, and he was at the centre of it, though he couldn’t see how—or why.

He swallowed hard, feeling as though the world was watching him, waiting for him to make the next move. And as Lucifer’s voice floated back to him on the breeze, that same low, pleased hum, Adam couldn’t help but feel like he was being pulled deeper into something he didn’t fully understand. Something dangerous, something he might not be able to escape from once it had fully wrapped its tendrils around him.

Adam was ripped from his spiralling thoughts at the sound of his name, the touch of a hand sending a jolt through his body like ice water down his spine. He jerked around, blinking furiously as his gaze landed on Lucifer, standing much too close for comfort, his hand resting lightly on Adam’s arm.

The touch burned, though it was cold, and Adam bit his bottom lip nervously, trying to suppress the strange fluttering that came with it. His eyes darted awkwardly from one face to another, realizing all three of them—Lucifer, Charlie, and Vaggie—were staring at him again.

“Er… yes?” Adam managed, voice a bit too high, sheepish as he shifted under their combined gazes.

Lucifer’s pout was almost cartoonish, lips pursed in a teasing mock of disappointment. “What’s got your attention, Adam?”

His voice was smooth, too smooth, like silk wrapping around his name. Lucifer’s eyes flickered toward Adam’s house, the movement almost imperceptible, but Adam followed the glance instinctively.

He turned just in time to see the murder of black crows on the roof take off all at once, their wings exploding into the air like thunderous shadows, spiralling into the darkening sky. The sight was eerie, unnatural, as if the crows had been waiting for some silent cue. The flurry of feathers and ominous cawing made Adam’s blood run cold.

Lucifer snorted beside him, an amused sound that seemed too casual for the unsettling scene.

“Don’t pay attention to crows, Adam,” Lucifer teased, his grin widening as he tugged at Adam’s arm with surprising strength, pulling him away from the sight. “They flip-flop all the time—never can decide what they want.”

Adam barely had time to process Lucifer’s words before he was being dragged—rather forcefully—toward Charlie and Vaggie, who were still standing in the pumpkin patch. Charlie’s face lit up when they arrived, her smile bright and innocent, though something about it sent a shiver down Adam’s spine. Vaggie, always the quieter one, still had a small smile on her lips, but her gaze was steady, a little too knowing.

“Do you like apples, Adam?” Charlie chirped, bouncing on her heels as she reached out to pick up a small pumpkin, cradling it like a prize.

“No, not really,” he said, unsure why the question had been asked. Adam blinked; his confusion clear on his face.

Lucifer chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound that vibrated through the autumn air, but he said nothing, though his grin deepened, almost feral. Adam’s frown deepened in response, wondering if he was the butt of some joke he didn’t understand.

Vaggie shook her head, still smiling, and nudged Charlie playfully.

“Stop teasing him,” she chided lightly, though her own chuckle betrayed her amusement.

Adam furrowed his brow, glancing between them. “What’s going on? What’s so funny?”

Charlie waved her hand dismissively, still giggling. “Oh, it’s just an inside joke. Don’t worry about it!”

She grinned wider, eyes twinkling with mischief, and before Adam could pry further, she pointed to a large, misshapen pumpkin with a crooked stem. “I want that one.”

Adam blinked, staring at the pumpkin with a perplexed look. “You sure? It’s… kind of ugly.”

Vaggie snorted beside him, nodding her head in agreement. “I’m with Adam on this one, it’s not exactly winning any beauty contests.”

Charlie gasped dramatically, clutching Vaggie’s arm in mock offense.

“How dare you gang up on me with Adam!” she exclaimed, but her laughter broke through, her voice light and airy. She looped her arm through Vaggie’s, giggling as Vaggie leaned in to kiss her cheek teasingly.

Adam couldn’t help but smile at their playful affection, the sweet way they moved together like a pair of dancers caught in their own private rhythm. For a moment, the weight of the eerie atmosphere lifted. There was something undeniably charming about the way they looked at each other, like they were in their own world.

But just as Adam began to relax, that gnawing sense of unease slithered back in. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled as he became acutely aware of Lucifer’s gaze once more. It was intense, almost predatory, and when Adam met his eyes, he was caught in them—blue and impossibly deep, like staring into the abyss of an ocean.

Lucifer wasn’t smiling anymore. His expression was unreadable, but those eyes… they burned with something. Something that made Adam’s heart race, not with excitement, but with fear.

A cold sweat formed at Adam’s temples, and his throat tightened as he tried to break the spell Lucifer’s gaze had cast. The silence stretched between them, thick and heavy, and Adam suddenly wished he could disappear into the earth like the pumpkins they were surrounded by. There was a weight in Lucifer’s stare, something that made Adam feel like prey—like he was being sized up, toyed with.

His mouth went dry as he forced out a nervous chuckle, trying to break the tension.

“So, you really like that pumpkin, huh?” he said, addressing Charlie but feeling Lucifer’s presence looming beside him, a shadow that refused to go away.

Lucifer finally grinned again, but this time, it was slower, more deliberate.

“Oh, yes,” he murmured, his voice almost a purr, low and sweet. “There’s something… perfect about it, wouldn’t you agree?”

Adam’s stomach flipped as he glanced at the misshapen pumpkin. It wasn’t just the pumpkin Lucifer was talking about, was it?

~#~

The following weeks were strange—too strange. Adam couldn’t put his finger on it, but there was something off, something sinister weaving itself into the fabric of Hallow-Eve Town. The air had turned thick and heavy, almost oppressive, as though the atmosphere itself was conspiring to smother any sense of normalcy. The clouds hung lower now, swollen and dark, blocking out the sun more often than not, casting long, eerie shadows over the town. It wasn’t just the weather either; something darker, more intangible, had crept into the town. The shift was subtle but unmistakable, like the sensation of being watched when you’re certain no one is there.

And then there was the strangest part of all—Adam. Or rather, the way people had begun to treat him. It hurt more than he’d expected, like a knife slowly twisting in his chest. He’d grown up here, known these people his entire life, and yet suddenly, it was as if they no longer saw him. People who used to greet him with smiles and nods, who would chat with him on their porches or wave as they passed by, now acted like he didn’t even exist. It was like they were ghosts, or maybe he was. The town’s children, once eager to run up to him, to beg him to play guitar, now hurried past with vacant eyes, their laughter hollow, distant. No one met his gaze, no one asked him how he was doing, no one cared.

It was painful. Adam felt adrift, as though some invisible force had severed his ties to the town he once called home. He couldn't shake the suffocating feeling of isolation.

One afternoon, desperate for some kind of connection, Adam picked up his pace when he spotted Lute and Emily, the twins who’d been his childhood friends. They were as much a part of his life as the pumpkins in the fall or the first snowfall in winter. Surely they wouldn’t ignore him too, right? His heart lifted for the first time in days, and he called out to them, waving with a hopeful smile.

"Lute! Emily!" His voice sounded too loud, echoing unnaturally in the stillness of the street.

Lute didn’t even acknowledge him. Emily glanced at him for a fleeting second, her eyes unreadable, before turning her back and walking off, Lute following her without a word. Adam came to a halt, his chest tightening, the familiar ache of rejection spreading through him. His hands dropped limply to his sides, the air around him growing colder. He muttered to himself, “What did I do? Why am I losing my friends?”

The sting of tears pricked at his eyes, and he wiped them away roughly with his sleeve, not wanting to cry in the middle of the street. It hurt more than he cared to admit. But just as the loneliness started to suffocate him, a dry, familiar voice broke through the fog.

“It’ll get easier. Eventually, it won’t hurt at all.”

Adam blinked, startled. He hadn’t even noticed Vaggie standing there, her presence as sudden as a shadow slipping into view. She was leaning against a post, her grey bomber coat zipped up to her chin, the silver cross on her chest gleaming faintly in the muted light. Her braids swayed slightly as she pushed herself off the post and walked up to him, hands stuffed in her pockets.

“I didn’t notice you there,” Adam admitted, surprised by her words. He tried to smile, but it faltered.

Vaggie returned the smile, though hers was sharper, more knowing.

“People like us, we’re used to being ignored.” She gestured for them to walk together. “You look like you could use the company.”

Adam gave a small, grateful smile. “At least someone’s still willing to talk to me.”

Vaggie shrugged, her hands still buried deep in her pockets. “Don’t worry about them. It just proves no one here really cared about you in the first place. They can all fuck off.”

The sudden vulgarity from her caught Adam off guard. He hadn’t expected it from her, someone who always seemed so composed.

“You swear?” he asked, half amused, half surprised.

Vaggie raised an eyebrow and grinned slightly. “I do when it’s deserved. And trust me, they deserve it.”

Adam chuckled softly, the sound more sad than amused, and they fell into step together, the autumn streets unusually quiet. The carved pumpkins lining the sidewalks stared back at them with jagged, crooked grins, their hollow eyes flickering with candlelight. Everywhere they walked, the pumpkins watched, their expressions twisted, as if they knew something Adam didn’t.

Vaggie’s voice broke the silence again. “You can talk to me, you know,” she said, her tone softening. “I’ve been through something similar.”

Adam glanced at her curiously. “How similar?”

Vaggie sighed, her breath fogging in the chilly air. “Let’s just say that everyone I thought cared about me—family, friends—they turned on me the moment it suited them. Threw me under the bus to save themselves.”

Adam winced, the pain in her voice hitting too close to home. “I’m sorry.”

“Why are you apologizing? You didn’t do anything to me,” Vaggie snorted, though there was no bitterness in her tone. Still, Adam couldn’t help but feel guilty.

“Doesn’t matter. I’m just sorry you had to go through that,” he mumbled, looking down at his feet.

Vaggie smiled again, this time a little softer. “You’re a nice person, Adam. Too nice for this place.”

As they walked, the conversation turned lighter. They passed by more pumpkins—hundreds of them—each more grotesque than the last, their grins sharp and menacing.

“I didn’t care for pumpkins at first.” Vaggie confessed, her cheek turning pink. “I didn’t care for a lot of things until Charlie. She made me see the beauty in them.”

Vaggie’s face softened in the dimming autumn light as she spoke, her voice carrying a wistful note that Adam hadn’t heard from her before. "It’s been a long time now, me and Charlie," she said, her gaze distant, almost lost in memory. A faint blush crept over her pale cheeks, and her usual cool demeanour melted away like frost in the morning sun. “She was there when I needed someone the most. When everything felt like it was crumbling, when I didn’t think I had anyone left... she was there. No questions, no judgments. Just open arms.”

Adam smiled softly, teasing just enough to lighten the mood. “You must really love her, huh?”

Vaggie gave a half-shrug, her expression unreadable for a moment.

“I didn’t at first,” she admitted, her tone more vulnerable than Adam had ever heard from her. That caught his attention, and he tilted his head in confusion.

“What do you mean?” he asked, curiosity piqued. He couldn’t imagine anyone not loving Charlie instantly—she was so full of life, like sunlight breaking through clouds.

Vaggie sighed, her breath curling in the cool, thickening air. The pumpkins that lined the streets seemed to flicker with a ghostly light as she spoke, their crooked smiles and jagged teeth casting eerie shadows on the cobblestones.

 "It’s complicated," she said, her voice quiet, almost as if confessing to something she hadn’t shared with anyone in a long time. “For a long time, I resented her. Blamed her for... a lot of things. Things that weren’t even her fault. But I was hurting, and it was easier to be angry at someone than face what was really going on inside me.”

Adam frowned, slowly processing her words. There was an unspoken weight in her voice, a history thick with pain and regrets. He didn’t push for more, sensing that whatever had happened was something deeply personal, something that had shaped her in ways he couldn’t begin to understand.

“But Charlie...” Vaggie continued, her eyes growing distant as she spoke of her past, “Charlie never gave up on me. No matter how cold or distant I was, she stayed. She was kind, patient. She didn’t try to fix me—she just... she was there. She saw something in me when I couldn’t see it in myself.”

Her lips curled into a soft smile, almost bittersweet. “Eventually, I realized my life had become so much better because of her. She chose me, and I’d rather spend my days happy with her than be stuck in my own darkness.”

Adam stared at Vaggie, his heart warming despite the chill creeping through the air. There was something deeply moving about the way she spoke of Charlie, like the two of them were bound by something far stronger than mere affection—a kind of love that had been forged in the fire of hardship, shaped by resilience and trust. He found himself envying that connection, that deep, unwavering loyalty.

But before he could ask her more, a familiar, excited voice cut through the air, breaking the moment like the snap of a brittle twig.

“Adam! Vaggie!”

Charlie’s voice rang out with infectious joy, and when Adam glanced up, he saw her bounding toward them, practically glowing in the fading light. Her smile was radiant, her golden hair bouncing as she hurried toward them, and just behind her, as always, was Lucifer.

And of course, Lucifer was staring at Adam again. His intense, unnervingly blue eyes never seemed to leave him, watching him with a gaze that felt too sharp, too knowing. It was like being caught in the gaze of a predator—silent, patient, waiting for the perfect moment to pounce.

When was he not watching me? Adam thought with a shiver, his pulse quickening under that piercing stare. He tried to shake off the unease, telling himself it was all in his head, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t ignore the way Lucifer’s presence seemed to suffocate the air around him.

Charlie skipped toward Vaggie, her steps light and playful as autumn leaves crunched beneath her feet. In her hand, she held a small brown bag adorned with pink bows—delicate, almost childish, but in Charlie’s hands, it radiated a sweetness that made the dreary streets of Hallow-Eve Town feel just a little brighter.

"You have to try these apple slices," Charlie said with a breathless excitement, practically bouncing as she reached Vaggie. Her voice sparkled with enthusiasm. "They're so good!"

Vaggie smiled, a rare softness touching her lips as she watched Charlie. Her grey and violet hair swayed gently as she leaned in closer, her dark eyes glimmering with fondness.

“Oh yeah?” she teased, glancing at the bag with curiosity.

Charlie didn’t miss a beat, quickly retrieving an apple slice covered in sugar and cinnamon from the bag. She held it up in front of Vaggie, the sugary coating catching the dim light like a dusting of frost.

“Here,” Charlie said, almost shy, her voice sweetening like honey.

Instead of taking it, Vaggie leaned forward, sinking her teeth into the apple slice right from Charlie’s hand. The crunch echoed faintly in the cool air, and Vaggie’s lips curled into a smirk as she chewed. Charlie gasped, a blush blooming across her cheeks, her eyes wide and bright. There was something almost adorable about how flustered she got, like the simple act of feeding Vaggie had caught her off guard. She blinked, then beamed at Vaggie, the pink in her cheeks deepening.

Adam, standing just a few steps away, couldn’t help but smile, even as a pang of sadness twisted in his chest. Watching the two of them, their love so obvious, made him feel a strange mix of warmth and loneliness.

“It’s really good,” Vaggie said softly, her voice carrying a hint of affection. Charlie’s eyes flickered to Vaggie’s lips, lingering there for a moment longer than necessary.

“Can I...?” Charlie whispered, her voice trailing off, leaving the question hanging in the cool air between them.

Vaggie didn’t answer with words. Instead, she leaned in, closing the space between them as Charlie’s eyes fluttered shut. Their lips met in a soft, tender kiss, one that seemed to momentarily pause the world around them. Adam quickly turned away, his face flushing with bashful awkwardness, trying to give them their privacy.

Just as he did, though, a warm hand gently cupped his elbow, pulling him out of his own thoughts. The touch was soft yet firm, guiding him up the street. Adam’s heart skipped a beat as his green eyes met the deep, intense blue of Lucifer’s.

There he was again.

Lucifer grinned, his golden hair catching the faint light of the streetlamps, giving him an almost ethereal glow. He held up a small brown bag, identical to the one Charlie had been carrying.

“Don’t worry, Adam,” Lucifer said in a voice that was both playful and unnervingly soft. “I got you something too. Pumpkin slices, your favourite.”

“You... didn’t have to,” he stammered, feeling a strange flutter in his chest. Adam blinked in surprise, his cheeks warming despite the chill in the air.

Lucifer’s eyes sparkled mischievously as he reached into the bag, pulling out a pumpkin slice dusted with cinnamon.

“I know,” Lucifer replied, his voice lowering to a velvety purr. “But I wanted to.”

Before Adam could protest, Lucifer held the slice up to his lips, much like Charlie had done for Vaggie. The air between them thickened with an odd tension, something that felt both sweet and unsettling all at once. Adam hesitated, his heart racing, but then he leaned forward, biting into the pumpkin slice.

As the warm, spiced flavour spread across his tongue, Adam’s gaze dropped to the cobblestones, too flustered to meet Lucifer’s eyes.

He mumbled a quiet “Thanks,” his cheeks burning with embarrassment. When he dared to glance back at Lucifer, he noticed the blonde was still staring at him, a look of almost surprised warmth softening his sharp features.

Lucifer’s blue eyes widened briefly, then his lips curled into a slow, gentle smile that made Adam’s chest tighten in an odd way. Lucifer lifted the rest of the pumpkin slice to his own lips and—without warning—bit into it, finishing what Adam had started.

“Sorry,” Lucifer said, chuckling softly. “I couldn’t help myself.”

Adam’s face turned even redder as the realization hit him—Lucifer had just shared an indirect kiss. He swallowed hard, his heart beating too fast, his mind whirling.

“It’s... it’s fine,” he mumbled, desperately trying to ignore the way his gaze kept flicking to Lucifer’s cherry-red lips.

Lucifer watched him for another heartbeat, his gaze intense, searching, before finally looking away, seemingly satisfied with Adam’s response. He turned to glance at Charlie and Vaggie, who were still wrapped in each other’s arms up the street.

“What were you two doing before this?” Adam asked shyly, trying to break the tension, his voice a little unsteady.

“We were just out doing some grocery shopping,” Charlie beamed at him, still holding Vaggie close.

Vaggie leaned her head against Charlie’s shoulder, her usual stern demeanour softening in the glow of Charlie’s affection. “Do you need a hand in taking the bags home?”

“Don’t worry about it Vaggie!” Lucifer chimed. “They’re already back at the house!”

 “We were about to head home now.” Charlie sang before gasping, her eyes widening gleefully. “You should come with us!”

“Yeah, you should,” Vaggie agreed, though her voice was quieter, more casual.

“Wait, your groceries are already back at the house?” Adam blinked in surprise. “But... your place is, like, an hour and a half from here. How...?”

Before he could finish, Lucifer squeezed his hand—when had he taken Adam’s hand? —and grinned up at him.

“Don’t worry about it,” Lucifer said with a wink. “We’re efficient.”

Adam wasn’t sure what to make of that, but his thoughts were quickly interrupted as Lucifer’s grip tightened slightly.

“Come have dinner with us,” Lucifer said, his voice dropping to a low, persuasive whisper. “I’d love for you to join us.”

“Dad’s the best cook! You must try his pancakes, Adam!” she begged, bouncing excitedly on her heels. Charlie squealed in agreement, her golden eyes sparkling with hope.

Even Vaggie, usually more reserved, smirked and added, “They’re damn good. Best pancakes you’ll ever have.”

Adam hesitated, still feeling the weight of the town’s strange coldness toward him, the way people had started to ignore him. But here, with these people—the odd, charming, and slightly unsettling family—he felt... wanted.

Adam smiled, albeit shyly. “Pancakes are for breakfast.”

“Pancakes are an anytime food, Adam,” he said, his grin wide and infectious. Lucifer snorted in amusement.

Charlie clapped her hands, practically glowing with excitement. “Please say you’ll come!” she begged, her voice full of warmth and sincerity.

Lucifer leaned in just slightly, his voice soft but compelling. “Please.”

Adam’s resistance crumbled. How could he say no?

“Okay,” he said, his smile widening. “I’ll come.”

Charlie cheered, her joy infectious, while Lucifer’s blue eyes sparkled with something more intense, a warmth that lingered just a moment too long. Adam couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d just crossed some invisible threshold, and there was no turning back.

The crows cawed ominously overhead as they walked together into the deepening twilight, and the shadows seemed to stretch a little longer behind them.

~#~

As they walked through the dim, winding streets, the dying light of the autumn sun fading behind jagged rooftops, Adam couldn’t help but feel at ease. Talking with Lucifer, despite his unsettling name and the sharp, enigmatic aura he seemed to carry, was unexpectedly comforting. The crisp Halloween air swirled around them, carrying the faint scent of smoke and pumpkin spice, but the chill wasn’t unpleasant. In fact, Adam found the warmth in Lucifer’s presence more soothing than he'd anticipated. He had definitely misjudged him.

Their hour-and-a-half-long walk felt like a strange, enchanted passage, where time stretched in peculiar ways. It was as though the shadows grew deeper, the streets quieter, but within that eerie silence, Lucifer’s soft humming provided an odd sense of peace. Up ahead, Charlie and Vaggie had broken off, giggling to each other like a pair of mischievous ghosts, leaving Adam and Lucifer trailing behind in a more intimate solitude.

Adam glanced at Lucifer, who was kicking a small stone out of his path with casual indifference. His voice, when he spoke, was gentle, almost too quiet for the cool evening air.

“Charlie’s mother didn’t want her.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and dark, like a cloud of mist creeping through the barren trees. Adam winced as they hit him, feeling a sudden surge of regret for even asking. He stammered out an apology, his mind racing as he realized he had wandered too far into sensitive territory.

“I’m sorry—I shouldn’t have—"

Lucifer’s smile was soft, warm despite the cold sting of his revelation.

“It’s fine, Adam,” he assured him, his blue eyes meeting Adam’s with surprising tenderness. “It’s been a long time... and I’ve never really had anyone to talk to about Lilith.”

Adam blinked, taken aback by Lucifer’s openness, and the mention of that name made his stomach twist. He tried to shake off the unease, but Lucifer seemed to notice. With a playful chuckle, he leaned in slightly, nudging Adam with his shoulder, a teasing glint in his eyes.

“I can tell what you're thinking,” Lucifer mused, grinning slyly.

Adam flushed, his face heating up despite the cold that lingered in the air. “I-I’m not thinking anything!” he insisted, flustered, trying to look anywhere but at Lucifer.

“You’re wondering if everyone I know is named after a demon,” Lucifer said, his voice rich with amusement.

“I wasn’t!” he lied, but the way Lucifer’s sharp grin widened told Adam he wasn’t fooling anyone.

“Well,” Lucifer's eyes twinkled with mischief, his voice dipping to a playful purr, “You’ll just have to stick around and find out.”

Adam swallowed hard, feeling his heart skip a beat. His throat tightened, and before he could stop himself, he muttered shyly, “I... might.”

Lucifer didn’t miss a beat. He reached out again, curling his fingers around Adam’s hand, and squeezed gently. The contact sent a jolt through Adam, not unpleasant but unexpected, like a spark of static in the crisp October air.

“I was with Lilith for a short time,” Lucifer began, his tone softer now, almost reflective. “I was lonely... and she was looking for something—or someone—to entertain her. But when she became pregnant, everything changed.”

Adam’s breath hitched, and his gaze flicked toward Charlie, who was still walking ahead, blissfully unaware of the conversation behind her. He couldn’t imagine anyone not wanting Charlie in their life. Her joy was infectious, her kindness so bright that it almost hurt to think about her being unwanted.

“Lilith didn’t want the child,” Lucifer continued, his voice growing heavier. “I had to beg her not to...”

Adam gulped, feeling the weight of what Lucifer was about to say. His heart raced as he thought of Charlie, her sunny demeanour masking what must have been deep hurt.

“Not to abort her,” Lucifer finished, his voice barely more than a whisper, as though the words themselves were a curse.

Adam’s eyes widened in shock, the cold autumn air suddenly feeling a little more biting. He could only imagine the desperation Lucifer must have felt, pleading for the life of his daughter. And then, to his horror, he learned the price.

“Lilith only agreed to carry Charlie to term on one condition,” Lucifer continued, his voice tightening slightly.

“I had to give up half my King—” He stopped, catching himself before he revealed too much, then quickly added, “Half my estate.”

“She sounds like a... gold digger,” Adam muttered, trying to process the cruelty of it all. He blinked, his brows furrowing in confusion.

“That’s exactly what she was,” he replied with a sharp edge in his voice. Lucifer snorted, a dark, bitter chuckle slipping through his lips. “She got what she wanted, and once Charlie was born, she slammed the door. Never looked back.”

Even though Lucifer spoke with a casual tone, there was something broken in his words. Adam could feel the weight of those memories pressing down on him. And then, the final blow—Lucifer spoke of how Charlie, years later, had gone searching for her mother, yearning for a connection that Lilith would never give.

“When Charlie finally went looking for her... Lilith didn’t want to know her. Didn’t even want to look at her.” Lucifer sighed, a deep, weary sound. “Charlie was heartbroken. But Vaggie helped, more than I could ever thank her for.”

Adam exhaled slowly, the knot in his chest loosening slightly. Relief washed over him knowing that Charlie had Vaggie by her side during that painful time. He couldn’t bear the thought of Charlie—bright, joyful Charlie—being so hurt.

Without thinking, Adam squeezed Lucifer’s hand, offering him silent comfort.

“Charlie’s lucky to have you,” Adam said softly. “You’re... a wonderful father.”

Lucifer stopped walking for a moment, blinking in surprise. His usual mischievous grin faded, replaced by something far more genuine—something vulnerable. He looked at Adam, a blush creeping up his cheeks, as though the compliment had caught him off guard.

“I...” Lucifer started, his voice almost shy, a rare crack in his confident exterior. His lips curled into a small, grateful smile. “Thank you, Adam.”

As they continued walking together, the shadows seemed to close in around them, the eerie glow of jack-o’-lanterns flickering from porches and windows, casting long, twisted silhouettes that danced along the ground. Despite the creeping darkness, there was something warm between them—something real and tender beneath the surface.

And for the first time in a while, Adam felt... not so alone.

Lucifer’s fingers remained firmly intertwined with Adam’s all the way to his house, and no matter how much Adam tried to rationalize it, he couldn’t ignore the fluttering warmth in his chest. It was absurd. Maybe Lucifer was just naturally touchy-feely, and Adam was overthinking it. The man was clearly lonely. After all, Adam had learned that Lucifer’s past was a tangled mess of betrayal and heartbreak. No family to speak of beyond his daughter, and, apparently, no friends. So perhaps this was just… friendly.

But then, why did his heart keep racing every time Lucifer smiled at him?

By the time they turned the corner and reached their destination, Adam’s train of thought came screeching to a halt. His breath caught in his throat as he gazed up at the house—a towering, three-story Victorian marvel painted a rich, velvety red. It was framed by a glossy black roof, the eaves lined with elegant filigree and ivy that curled like skeletal fingers around the trim. Massive, arched windows with intricate latticework peeked out like watchful eyes from every floor, glowing faintly in the dusky light.

But it was the front yard that stole his breath completely.

Dozens of jack-o’-lanterns grinned wickedly up at him, filling the garden in rows and clusters, each one meticulously carved with its own unique expression. Some were twisted and monstrous, with gaping maws and crooked, wicked smiles; others were hauntingly beautiful, delicate patterns of swirling vines and spiderwebs etched into their skins. The flickering candlelight inside them seemed to dance and sway, casting eerie, shifting shadows across the yard and up the house’s red facade, making the entire place look as if it were caught in a ghostly, enchanting dream.

Adam could only gape, utterly stunned. He’d carved pumpkins every year with his mom, and she was the best pumpkin carver he knew. But this—this was something otherworldly.

“You… you live here?” Adam finally managed to choke out, his voice filled with awe.

Lucifer’s grin was smug, sharp as the crescent moon rising behind them. “Impressed, are you?”

Adam nodded; his eyes wide. “Of course I am! This is—this is amazing!”

Charlie, who had skipped ahead, spun around to face him, her blonde curls bouncing. She beamed at Adam; her smile as bright as the jack-o’-lanterns surrounding them.

“We love trying new things! We’re so happy you like them!” she chirped, practically glowing with excitement.

Adam blinked, shaking his head in disbelief. “Wait—you’re saying… you’ve never carved pumpkins before this?”

Charlie and Vaggie exchanged a knowing glance, sharing a secret smile.

“Yeah,” Vaggie replied with a nonchalant shrug, brushing a stray lock of silvery hair behind her ear. “This is the first time we’ve ever really touched a pumpkin. We only started after moving to Hallow-Eve Town.”

“You’re amazing,” Adam’s jaw dropped, the words slipping out before he could think.

Lucifer squeezed his hand, and Adam jolted, looking over at him. The blonde’s eyes glinted with a dark, playful light, and his grin widened.

“Oh, we have many skills, Adam,” he said, his voice dropping to a low, velvety purr. He leaned in slightly, his gaze locking onto Adam’s, teasing and intimate. “I’m sure you’ll come to learn them all—if you’re brave enough, that is.”

Adam felt his face flush hot. The sudden tension between them crackled like the air before a thunderstorm, sending shivers down his spine. Was he reading too much into this? Or was Lucifer actually…?

Lucifer just smirked, guiding him through the wrought-iron gates and up the cobblestone path. The gate creaked shut behind them with a soft, ominous groan. As they stepped onto the wide, shadowed porch, Adam’s attention was drawn to two dark figures sitting in front of the grand, lacquered doors.

Two black cats, their eyes gleaming like twin emeralds in the gloom, were perched on the stoop, staring up at them. Their sleek fur blended seamlessly into the creeping shadows, but the flick of their tails and the faint glow of their watchful eyes betrayed them.

“Black cats?” Adam murmured, surprised. Black cats were bad omens, a symbol of curses and ill fortune—especially on Halloween night.

But Charlie and Vaggie scooped the cats up without hesitation, cuddling them to their chests.

“This is Razzle and Dazzle!” Charlie introduced them proudly, cooing to the cats as they purred in her arms. “Aren’t they sweet?”

Adam couldn’t help but smile a little. “Razzle and Dazzle? Those are… unusual names for cats.”

Lucifer rolled his eyes good-naturedly. “Charlie named them when she was little,” he explained, shaking his head as if recalling some fond, exasperating memory. “She insisted they needed ‘sparkly’ names.”

“That makes sense,” Adam said softly, watching as the two girls disappeared into the house, the cats nuzzling into their arms. “They’re cute.”

Charlie glanced over her shoulder, grinning. “We’re going to finish up some homework before dinner!” she called, her voice echoing through the foyer.

“Okay! I’ll call you when dinners ready!” Lucifer called after her.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Vaggie paused at the base of the staircase, turning back to Adam and offering him a small, genuine smile. “We’ve been looking forward to it.”

Adam blinked, caught off guard. “Oh—um, thanks. I’m happy to be here, too.”

Charlie’s grin widened, and she gave him a quick wave before the two disappeared up the winding staircase, Razzle and Dazzle perched in their arms like living shadows.

Lucifer’s hand slipped from Adam’s, his touch lingering for just a moment longer than necessary.

“Come,” he murmured, his voice soft but insistent. “Let me show you around.”

Adam nodded dumbly, following Lucifer deeper into the house. The grand corridor stretched before them, lined with high, arched doorways and rich, dark wood panelling. And on the walls… Adam’s breath caught.

Paintings. Dozens of them. But not the eerie portraits of long-dead ancestors or the grim landscapes he would have expected. These were… different. Angels, bathed in ethereal light, their wings spread wide and luminous. Scenes of heaven, of divine glory and celestial battles. The artistry was breathtaking, almost blinding in its beauty, yet there was something unsettling beneath the perfection. The eyes of the angels seemed too sharp, too knowing. Their smiles were serene, yet their gazes held a strange, predatory hunger.

“You—” Adam swallowed hard, glancing at Lucifer, who was watching him with a dark, secret smile. “I… didn’t think you were into religion.”

Lucifer’s grin turned wicked, his eyes flashing with something wild and dangerous.

“Oh, Adam,” he purred, his voice dripping with dark amusement. “I’m not.”

“But sometimes,” he whispered, his lips curving into a sharp, predatory smile. He took a step closer, his gaze never leaving Adam’s, “I like to pretend the stories are true.”

A shiver ran down Adam’s spine, a mix of fear and something darker, something thrilling. And as Lucifer’s blue eyes bore into his, Adam couldn’t help but wonder what other stories the man liked to pretend were real.

Lucifer led Adam into the kitchen, and the moment Adam stepped inside, his breath caught in his throat. The room was enormous, gleaming under the soft glow of pendant lights that hung like eerie moons over the countertops. Every surface sparkled, polished to a mirror-like finish. The stainless-steel appliances reflected the light in cold, sharp glints, giving the whole space an almost sterile perfection. It was ten times the size of Adam’s own kitchen back home—no, more. It was the kind of kitchen you'd expect in a mansion, a place fit for a king. Adam couldn’t help but wonder just how rich Lucifer really was.

Noticing the awe-struck look on Adam’s face, Lucifer smiled smugly and stepped closer, his presence suddenly overwhelming. His fingers trailed up Adam’s arm in a slow, deliberate motion, the lightest touch that sent a shiver of sensation rippling across Adam’s skin. When Lucifer’s hand reached Adam’s chest, his fingers began to toy with the buttons of Adam’s coat. Adam gasped softly, startled by the intimacy of the gesture.

Lucifer's eyes twinkled with feigned innocence as he tilted his head, his voice a teasing whisper. "You don’t have to wear your coat indoors, Adam. Why don’t you take it off?"

Adam flushed, his face turning a shade of pink that matched the warmth now flooding the kitchen. He glanced down at himself, realizing the heat had seeped into his bones the moment they’d entered the house. He nodded shyly, fingers fumbling for the buttons of his coat, but before he could begin to unbutton it, Lucifer took his hands.

“Let me,” Lucifer whispered, his voice low, almost a purr.

Adam’s heart leaped into his throat, his mouth opening to respond, but nothing came out. He stood frozen, rooted to the spot, as Lucifer slowly undid each button of his coat, the sound of fabric brushing against fingers the only thing breaking the silence. With an almost reverent touch, Lucifer tugged the coat from Adam’s shoulders, the fabric sliding down his arms like a heavy, inevitable weight being lifted.

Lucifer hummed softly, his eyes sweeping across Adam’s form in a way that made Adam feel exposed, vulnerable. His fingers grazed the oversized shirt Adam wore beneath the coat, tugging at the hem with a playful flick.

“There,” Lucifer murmured approvingly. “Isn’t that better?”

Adam, flustered, could only nod, folding his arms awkwardly as he stood there, unsure what to do. Lucifer took the coat from him, moving with graceful ease to hang it up in a nearby cupboard. Adam watched him, his gaze following the sleek lines of Lucifer’s form until the man shrugged off his own coat, revealing something that made Adam blink in surprise.

Lucifer was wearing a Halloween-themed sweater—bright orange with a little cartoon duck in a witch’s hat plastered on the front. The sight of it, so unexpected and oddly adorable, made Adam quickly avert his gaze, but not before Lucifer caught him staring. A smug smirk curled across Lucifer’s cherry-red lips, his eyes glinting with mischievous amusement.

Adam fidgeted nervously, trying to find something—anything—to distract himself from the intensity of Lucifer’s gaze.

“Why did you choose to move to Hallow-Eve Town?” he asked softly, almost to himself. “Surely it wasn’t because of the pumpkins, right?”

Lucifer, now whistling a light, haunting tune, stepped up to one of the many pristine counters. He reached for an apron—one that, to Adam’s surprise, matched his sweater with more little ducks—and slipped it over his head, tying it neatly at his waist. The apron was frilly, white and red, with a cute little bow that sat snugly at Lucifer’s lower back. Adam blinked, wondering how someone could switch from eerie to adorable so seamlessly.

Rolling up the sleeves of his sweater to reveal pale arms with strange, dark patches that dusted his skin like shadows, Lucifer glanced at Adam. The markings caught Adam’s eye, but he quickly looked away, not wanting to be rude.

"No reason, really," he said in that same playful, lilting tone. Lucifer hummed as he tied the final knot. "We won’t be here for long."

Adam furrowed his brow, the cryptic answer making him uneasy. "Are you… planning to move again soon?"

Lucifer smiled, a slow, wicked curl of his lips. "Something like that. We came here to retrieve something." His voice dropped to a low, almost sinister murmur.

A chill crept down Adam’s spine at the way Lucifer said that—"retrieve something." It sounded ominous, like something out of a dark, forgotten legend. Adam shivered, resisting the urge to ask more, unsure if he wanted to know the answer.

Before Adam could dwell on it further, Lucifer snapped his sharp teeth playfully in the air, his blue eyes gleaming with a predatory light.

"Come closer," he teased, his grin widening. "I don’t bite."

“You said you liked to bite.” Adam pointed out.

Lucifer purred. “In the bedroom, I meant~”

Adam swallowed hard but managed to breathe in deeply, steadying himself. He stepped up beside Lucifer, his heart still racing.

"Can I help with anything?" he asked, eager to do something—anything—to distract himself from the tension hanging in the air. He didn’t want to just stand there while Lucifer did all the work.

Lucifer cooed softly in admiration, his hip pressing lightly against Adam’s in a casual, almost intimate gesture.

"That’s very sweet of you, Adam," Lucifer purred. His hand grazed Adam’s side as he handed him a bowl filled with fresh ingredients. "I appreciate the offer."

Adam smiled, feeling a bit more at ease. Despite everything—the cryptic comments, the playful snapping of teeth, and the tension that seemed to swirl like shadows around Lucifer—he was happy to help. He liked being useful. Besides, the kitchen felt warm and welcoming now, despite the eerie undercurrents of the house.

As they began working side by side, the tension in the air seemed to settle into something more comfortable, more familiar. Adam couldn’t help but glance at Lucifer every now and then, catching the faintest smile or the sly glint in those sharp blue eyes. There was something about the man—something both unsettling and irresistibly alluring.

And Adam wasn’t sure if he should be afraid of that or if he liked it.

As the two continued their playful banter, the air between them grew thick with an undeniable tension, charged like the crackle before a storm. Lucifer, ever the tease, slid closer to Adam’s side, his movements slow and deliberate, as if savouring every second of their proximity. Adam felt the subtle heat of Lucifer’s body as he leaned in, the smell of cinnamon and cloves clinging to the air between them—a scent that seemed almost too sweet, too tempting for someone so dangerous.

Lucifer’s fingers curled over Adam’s hand, guiding it towards the cutting board. His grip was firm, yet strangely gentle, his skin cool to the touch but leaving a trail of warmth where their hands connected. Adam's breath hitched as Lucifer pressed closer, his body lightly brushing against Adam’s side. The contact sent an involuntary shiver racing down Adam’s spine, his cheeks flushing a deep crimson. The heat crept all the way up to his ears as he felt Lucifer’s chest pressing into his back, close enough that every breath Lucifer took seemed to sync with his own.

"Careful now," Lucifer murmured, his voice a low, sultry whisper that sent a ripple of sensation through Adam.

His breath ghosted over Adam’s cheek, cool and soft like a breeze that carried whispers of something darker, something dangerous.

 "Hold the knife like this…" His fingers wrapped around Adam’s hand, tightening just enough to guide the blade as it hovered over the vegetables.

Adam’s heart pounded against his ribcage, the thrum of his pulse quickening under Lucifer’s touch. He swallowed hard, focusing on the feel of the blade rather than the man pressing against him. But it was impossible to ignore the way Lucifer’s breath tickled his skin, how close his lips were to the side of Adam’s neck—so close it felt like a dare, a tantalizing threat lingering just out of reach.

Lucifer’s voice dipped lower, a playful growl behind his words. "If you’re not careful, you might just nip your fingers. And we wouldn’t want that, would we?"

His lips hovered near Adam’s ear, as if sharing a secret. His tone was rich with amusement, the sharpness of it cutting through the air like the very blade Adam was gripping.

Adam blushed even harder, his entire body reacting to Lucifer’s presence, every nerve alight.

"I-I’ll be careful," Adam stammered, his voice unsteadies, betraying the whirlwind of emotions swirling within him.

His hands felt clumsy under Lucifer’s guidance, but with every movement, Lucifer’s touch steadied him, controlling the knife with such ease it felt like second nature.

"Good," Lucifer purred, his lips brushing ever so slightly against Adam’s ear, sending another electric shiver down Adam’s spine. "We wouldn’t want to ruin those pretty hands of yours."

The compliment, whispered so close, made Adam’s breath catch in his throat. He could feel Lucifer’s smile, could sense the way he was enjoying every second of this, pushing the boundaries, seeing how far he could go before Adam would pull away. But Adam didn’t pull away. Instead, he let himself be drawn in, feeling both trapped and comforted by Lucifer’s presence.

For a fleeting moment, everything else fell away—the eerie atmosphere of the house, the distant rustling sounds of the wind against the windows, even the faint creaks of the old floorboards beneath their feet. It was just the two of them in that moment, Lucifer's cool, almost predatory presence coiled around Adam like smoke. It was intoxicating, dangerous—but it was also undeniably thrilling.

Lucifer’s fingers finally released their hold on Adam’s hand, but he didn’t move away. His presence lingered, almost as if he was waiting for something. Adam exhaled shakily, his heart still pounding, trying to steady himself. He focused on the knife in front of him, his fingers shaking slightly as he continued to chop the vegetables, all the while acutely aware of Lucifer’s gaze, of the way those sharp blue eyes traced every movement.

"You’re a fast learner," Lucifer praised, his voice a velvet purr. He moved ever so slightly, his chest brushing Adam’s shoulder as he leaned in again. His breath was back, close to Adam’s ear, closer this time.

"But you know…" Lucifer's voice dropped, becoming an intimate whisper, "I’m even better at other things."

Adam’s blush deepened, and his hand faltered for a moment. He quickly caught himself, hoping Lucifer didn’t notice the sudden hitch in his movements. But of course, Lucifer noticed everything. Adam could feel the man’s smirk without even looking at him. It hung in the air like a well-placed trap, ready to ensnare him.

"Are you trying to make me nervous?" Adam muttered, glancing sideways at Lucifer, trying to muster some semblance of control over his own embarrassment.

Lucifer chuckled softly, the sound a low, dangerous rumble in his chest.

"Maybe." He tilted his head, his eyes gleaming mischievously. "Is it working?"

Adam opened his mouth to reply but found the words tangled on his tongue. He couldn’t deny the effect Lucifer was having on him—the heat, the tension, the way every touch seemed to set his skin alight.

He swallowed thickly, forcing a small laugh. "Maybe a little."

Lucifer grinned, satisfied with the answer, and finally stepped back, giving Adam a little space to breathe. But the absence of his presence was almost worse—it left the air cold, hollow, as if something vital had been pulled away.

"Don’t worry," Lucifer said, his tone light and playful once more. "I’ll let you finish without distraction. For now."

He winked, turning his attention to another counter, where various ingredients were laid out for the meal they were about to prepare.

Adam, now free from Lucifer’s proximity but still feeling the lingering weight of the moment, exhaled a shaky breath. He smiled to himself as he continued chopping, the ghost of Lucifer’s touch still tingling on his skin. This wasn’t just an ordinary evening—it was something far more unsettling, far more electrifying. And Adam wasn’t sure if he wanted it to stop.

Dinner unfolded with a strange mix of warmth and tension that Adam couldn’t quite shake. Charlie and Vaggie bounded down the stairs, clearly eager to eat, their playful energy filling the dimly lit room. The table was set with an array of food that looked and smelled so much better than anything Adam had been used to growing up. His fingers fidgeted with the fork as he tried to summon an appetite, despite the gnawing uncertainty in his chest.

As they all settled around the table, Charlie’s curious gaze fell on Adam, noticing his hesitation to eat. She cocked her head, her big eyes filled with concern.

"Do you have trouble with food, Adam?" she asked softly, her voice full of innocent curiosity.

Vaggie nudged her with a sharp elbow, whispering something about personal boundaries, and Charlie quickly flushed with embarrassment.

"I mean, you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to," Charlie quickly added, her cheeks turning a light shade of pink as she ducked her head.

Adam glanced around the table, suddenly feeling like all eyes were on him. Lucifer, who had chosen the seat beside him, was particularly attentive, his piercing blue eyes locking onto Adam with a soft, almost curious expression. Under the weight of those gazes, Adam swallowed nervously, his fingers playing with the cold metal of his fork.

"It’s fine," Adam muttered after a moment, forcing a small smile to ease the tension. "It’s not a big deal or anything. Growing up, there wasn’t a lot of food around. Not because we were poor, but… my parents didn’t like the idea of me eating too much. They didn’t want a fat kid."

Charlie’s frown was immediate, her brow creased in obvious disdain. She shook her head, muttering something too low for Adam to catch, but her expression said everything. Vaggie, ever her grounding presence, gently took Charlie’s hand in hers, squeezing it as if to remind her to stay calm.

Lucifer, on the other hand, gazed at Adam with a kind of quiet, knowing sympathy. His gaze softened, and he reached out, resting a hand lightly on Adam’s shoulder.

"You should never be ashamed to eat," Lucifer said, his voice low and smooth like silk sliding over velvet. His eyes glinted with something sincere as they met Adam’s. "It would make me very happy if you enjoyed this meal. Eat more than just enough to fill yourself—take pleasure in it."

Adam’s face flushed, heat creeping up his neck as Lucifer’s words hung in the air. Before Adam could respond, Lucifer, with a mischievous gleam in his eye, speared a slice of ham with his fork and held it up to Adam’s lips. The action was playful but intimate, far more than Adam had expected.

"Open your mouth, darling," Lucifer cooed, his voice a teasing lilt that made Adam’s heart skip.

Adam recoiled slightly, a flustered smile tugging at his lips. "I’m not a baby," he protested, trying to sound firm, but his voice betrayed him with its softness.

Lucifer’s grin widened, sharp and wolfish. "Then don’t act like one. Open your mouth and eat the tasty ham."

His voice took on an almost sing-song quality, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Or should I make airplane noises? Hmm?"

Charlie and Vaggie exchanged amused glances, their giggles filling the room as Adam’s blush deepened. Feeling like he was in some ridiculous situation he couldn’t escape, Adam dared Lucifer with a soft, "Go ahead, try it."

Lucifer’s grin only grew wider as he accepted the challenge. He leaned in closer, making exaggerated airplane noises, moving the fork toward Adam’s lips in slow, playful circles. The entire moment felt ridiculous, like something straight out of a cheesy movie, but the playful glint in Lucifer’s eyes made it impossible for Adam not to smile.

Finally, with a sigh of defeat and cheeks burning, Adam parted his lips and allowed Lucifer to feed him. The ham was savoury and delicious, but Adam barely registered the taste. His mind was too focused on the sensation of Lucifer being so close, of their playful connection weaving an odd but undeniable bond between them.

Lucifer, ever the tease, didn’t stop there. After Adam had swallowed, Lucifer leaned in and placed a soft, lingering kiss on his cheek. Adam froze, startled by the sudden affection. His heart raced in his chest, and his body tingled with the warmth of the unexpected gesture.

"Good boy," Lucifer whispered sweetly, his voice dripping with satisfaction as he hummed, pulling away as if nothing had happened.

 His movements were casual, but Adam could feel the heat radiating off his own skin, his mind still reeling from the subtle intimacy of it all.

As if to add fuel to the fire, Lucifer continued eating, but not before deliberately using the same fork that had just been in Adam’s mouth. There was something devilishly innocent about the way he did it, as though he were unaware of the unspoken implications. Adam’s eyes widened, his mind immediately jumping to the realization that it was an indirect kiss. He swallowed hard, trying to calm the fluttering in his chest, unsure of how to respond to Lucifer’s deliberate antics.

Dinner concluded soon after, Charlie and Vaggie disappearing upstairs to finish their homework, leaving Adam alone with Lucifer in the dimly lit kitchen. Adam felt a slight pang of nervousness but also an odd comfort—Lucifer’s presence, while mischievous and teasing, had grown familiar.

As Adam began to gather the dishes to clean up, Lucifer waved him off with a soft laugh.

"You don’t have to do that," he said, leaning against the counter with a grin. "I invited you here for dinner, not to work."

Adam shook his head, smiling despite the lingering warmth in his cheeks. "It’s the least I can do. You cooked dinner, after all. I want to help."

Lucifer’s eyes softened at Adam’s insistence, and he tilted his head slightly, a playful smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

"You really are sweet," he murmured, his voice low and affectionate. He stepped closer, just enough to brush against Adam’s side, his presence once again invading Adam’s space with an almost magnetic pull.

Adam couldn’t help but smile, his heart fluttering in his chest as he began to rinse the dishes. This house, this moment—it all felt surreal. A little eerie, a little romantic, and something else entirely, something that made his pulse quicken and his mind race with thoughts he wasn’t quite ready to confront.

The air between them thickened with a kind of intensity that left Adam breathless. The kitchen, once filled with playful teasing, now hummed with a palpable tension, something darker and more electric. Adam could feel Lucifer’s gaze on him, a warm weight that made his skin prickle and his face flush. Every glance, every lingering second stretched out, charged with an unspoken emotion that hovered between them.

Lucifer, with his golden hair catching the dim light and his sharp eyes smouldering, stepped closer to Adam, closing the space between them with graceful ease. His movements were slow, deliberate, almost predatory. Adam felt his breath hitch in his throat as Lucifer’s fingers, cool and soft, brushed against his hand. The touch was gentle but insistent, and before Adam could think to resist, Lucifer was tugging him away from the sink, the warm water and dishes forgotten.

"Leave them," Lucifer whispered, his voice low and velvety, curling around Adam like smoke.

Adam opened his mouth to protest, but before the words could form, Lucifer silenced him in the most unexpected way. His lips pressed against Adam’s in a kiss so soft, so fleeting, that it barely registered at first. The world seemed to still in that moment, time itself pausing as Adam’s wide, startled green eyes locked onto Lucifer’s.

Lucifer pulled back slightly, his eyes searching Adam’s face for something, some sign of acceptance or maybe hesitation. His fingers traced a slow, feather-light path up Adam’s arms, leaving a trail of shivers in their wake. Adam, still frozen in shock, felt his heart hammering wildly in his chest, his pulse loud in his ears.

Then, as if finding what he was looking for, Lucifer leaned in again. This time, the kiss was deeper, more deliberate. Their lips moved together, a slow and sensual dance, and Adam found himself instinctively leaning into it. The taste of Lucifer was intoxicating—dark, rich, with a sweetness that caught Adam off guard. His mind spun, and without realizing it, he was kissing back, his lips parting slightly as their tongues began to explore one another.

The sensation of it, the heat, the closeness—it was overwhelming. Adam’s entire body trembled, a mixture of desire and nervousness flooding his senses. He hadn’t expected this, hadn’t even imagined it, but now that it was happening, he couldn’t pull away. The feeling of Lucifer’s hands on him, his lips so confident and teasing, left Adam breathless and wanting more.

Lucifer broke the kiss just long enough to whisper against Adam’s lips, his breath warm and full of temptation.

"It’s late," he murmured, his voice low and persuasive, each word sending a shiver down Adam’s spine. "You should stay the night."

Adam’s heart raced; his chest tight with the weight of his pounding pulse. He tried to speak, tried to form some coherent response, but all that came out was a soft, breathless murmur. His mind was a whirlwind of conflicting emotions, his body betraying him with its eager trembling.

"Please," Lucifer added softly.

His voice laced with something almost vulnerable, as if the devil himself was asking for something more than just a kiss. His hand tightened gently around Adam’s, his thumb brushing across his knuckles in a tender, reassuring motion.

Adam’s resolve crumbled. His lips parted, but the only sound that escaped was a soft exhale, and with a shy nod, he surrendered to the moment. Lucifer’s lips curled into a satisfied smile, one that was as wicked as it was tender, before he leaned in again, claiming Adam’s lips once more with a kiss that promised much more than just a night.

The following morning would be first of many mornings where Adam was served fresh pancakes.

[phoward89]

Banner by me. Dividers by @saradika

Summary: In the Corso penthouse things escalate quickly between you and Coriolanus in the moonlight bedroom. Is this change for the better or worse?

Warnings: Coriolanus Snow is his own warning! Possessive!Coriolanus, Obsessive!Coriolanus, DelusionalCoriolanus, Dark!Coriolanus, Soft Dark!Coriolanus?, Head Gamemaker!Coriolanus, Cheating/infidelity (not on reader), Smut, Fingering (f receiving), Oral (m receiving), Degration. Slapping.

Story Masterlist

Chapter 3:

You were taken back by how large the penthouse was as Coriolanus guided you thru the front door. Even with only the silver-white light of the moon, you could see that the entrance foyer was larger than your front room back in your wooden shack of a house in 12. You couldn't help, but wonder how large the penthouse was as a whole. Would it be able to fit your entire house plus those of your neighbors on your street back in the Seam of District 12 in it? 

You were curious about the size of your new home, the 12th floor penthouse of a luxury Corso building. A building that had pillars and marble worthy of the ancient Roman Emperor Caesar himself.

Then it dawned on you, you were from District 12 and now you were in a 12th floor penthouse. Was that a coincidence or fate?

The door slammed shut behind you, pulling you out of your mental reverie and reminding you that you're not alone; that Coriolanus is right behind you.

“I promise, you'll get a tour of the place tomorrow.” His baritone, thick with exhaustion, echoed from the darkness. His black dress shoes clicked against the floor as he closed the space between you. 

Click, click. Click, click. Click, click.

Your breath was caught in your throat as you stared out into the moonlit room, awaiting your fate. Whatever that may be.

The large room was silent, too silent, and you felt like prey about to be attacked by their predator. Your ears strained to hear the movements of your predator since you were too nervous to turn around and find out where the imposing head gamemaker truly was. Suddenly, a scream caught in your throat as a large hand touched the small of your back; causing you to jump out of your skin in fear.

“Oh, darling, there's no reason to be so jumpy.” Coriolanus’ voice assured you from behind. His breath fanned over your cheek as he bent over slightly, towering over you like a weeping willow. His lips hovered over your ear as he reassuringly whispered, “You're safe here with me, your Coryo.” 

But were you truly safe with him? He was the man that had designed the deadly arena you were trapped in for days, battling for your life. How could you be safe with him? Surely you weren't in any danger in the Capitol. The dangers were back in the arena. Right?

Turning slightly, your eyes searched for his face. Coriolanus’ pale face was illuminated by the silvery light of the moon, making his pale skin have an ethereal glow while his normally icy eyes had a celestial glint in them. He looked as beautiful as an angel. 

A fallen angel.

Lucifer.

Yes, he was as beautiful as an angel turned devil.

You blinked away the thought of angels and devils alike only to avert your eyes from Coriolanus’ facial features and ask, “I survived the arena and I'm here in the Capitol now. Why wouldn't I be safe?”

A thin line crossed Coriolanus’ lips as he thought how to explain things to you. He didn't want to scare you with the harsh truths of the situation you were in by not just being his, but the victor of the First Quarter Quell. One truth being that he was a powerful man that had enemies posing as friends behind large fake smiles at every turn that wouldn't think twice about hurting the beautiful woman on his arm, who made his cold dead eyes flicker with life, to get to him. The other truth was a much darker one. You were a victor, HIS Victor, but still a victor and every high profile Capitol citizen knew that a desirable victor could be bought for a night if the prize was right. If the capitolite could pay a high price, then they could use the victor as their whore in any way they wished. 

Now that was a fate Coriolanus refused to subject you to. You were his and he didn't share what belonged to him. Sadly, that wouldn't stop horny, lecherous capitolites from salivating over you in lust though.

He was going to keep you close at all times during public appearances to make sure that nobody could steal what was rightfully his. He’d also have Tigris make your gowns match his event suits, just to drive it home to everyone in the Capitol that you were his and only his. If somebody so much as looked at you sideways he’d kill them and make it look like an accident. Coriolanus’ mind quickly weaved the words to say that would pacify you. Rubbing circles into your lower back, he gave you the sugar coated truth of, “The Capitol can be a dangerous pit of vipers, my darling rose. If you don't know how to play the game, well, you're in danger of being eaten alive.”

Tilting your head slightly, you countered him. “And I suppose you know how to play the game?”

“You supposed right, Y/N.” Coriolanus confirmed. Leaning his face dangerously close to yours, so your noses were barely touching, he vowed, “When the time is right, my darling rose, I'll teach you how to be a master chess player in the Capitol’s games.” His breath mingled with yours, that's how close his lush lips were to your cracked ones, as he suggested, “Let's get to bed, darling. It's late and I do have a busy day come sunrise.”

Your heart was beating out of control against your ribcage; your mouth went as dry as the desert. “Where-where’s my bedroom?” You slightly stuttered, feeling overwhelmed by the platinum devil’s looming presence over you. 

“I was just about to bring you there, my darling rose.” Coriolanus answered you.

“Okay, thank you.” 

As soon as you entered your new bedroom you realized that it was the master bedroom and even with the only light coming from the moon shining into the large floor to ceiling windows, you quickly took notice that the decor was fit for a man. Oh no. This wasn't just your room, but Coriolanus’ as well. Shuffling a bit into the room as the platinum blonde man shut the door, you stated, “We're sharing a room.”, although it did sound more like a question with how shaken your voice was.

“Well, considering it's my penthouse, yes, darling, we're sharing the room.” Coriolanus answered, crossing the room to a large closet. “Strip out of your dress; I'll give you a shirt to sleep in.” He told you, not even giving you time to make a remark about him owning the penthouse, as he slid open the closet door and reached inside of it.

“Where's your wife? Isn't this her room as well as yours?” You asked before you could think any better of it. You couldn't help it, sometimes your brain to mouth filter didn't work.

Coriolanus’ body shook as if he was possessed by an earthquake. He roughly yanked a white button down shirt off a hanger, causing the wire hanger to fly out of the closet and onto the floor somewhere. Slamming the closet door shut so hard that the thing bounced right off its track, he spun around and seethed, “I told you, Y/N, that I don't tolerate brats and back talk. I also told you in the car not to worry about Livia; that she won't be my wife too much longer.” He threw the shirt at you, causing it to hit you smack dab in the face, only to order with a careless wave of his hand, “Strip and put that on; then get into bed.” 

With the shirt in your hand, you went over to the bed while he started to take off his white fitted shirt. Pulling off your floral dress, you heard him tell you, “She's across town in the townhouse she lives in. I use this penthouse, my childhood home, as a getaway from the hateful shrew.” You didn't say a word, just slipped on the dress shirt he gave you to wear as a sleep shirt. 

The moonlight shined over Coriolanus’ back, which was turned to you, and highlighted his scars as he toed out of his dress shoes and pulled down his black slacks. You took note that one was a long silver thing, most likely from a knife or an ax wound, while the other was a burn scar that had marbled a large chunk of his shoulder and flank a white and pinkish shade. You've seen scars before, but those were always from mining accidents. Never like this. 

Before you could think twice about it, you crossed the room until you stopped right behind Coriolanus. Your hands, slightly raw from handling a knife and the elements in the hunger games, shook as you raised them. Your fingertips lightly ghosted over the scars on his back, scars that he let nobody (not even the wife that he hated) see for fear that they'd think him weak or lesser of a man.

Your feather-like touch burned his skin as if the wounds healed from 15 years ago had been reopened with a flaming hot poker.

“What happened, Coryo?” You asked, genuine concern flooding your voice, as Coriolanus stood in front of you in only his boxers and socks. Socks that he desperately wanted to take off, but couldn't due to your touch on his back rooting him in place like a tree.

It's been so long since he's been touched so lightly, so innocently, that he'd forgotten how good an affectionate touch of a woman felt.

He put all of his effort in steadying his breathing (he was a grown man and a politician, not a green boy in his academy days) so you wouldn't realize the effect you had on him. Oh, and the effect you had on him was intoxicating. He could feel his bulge growing in the confines of his boxers. Only your innocent touch and genuine concern over his scars from what seemed like another lifetime, when he was another person, would make all his blood rush to his cock.

“I was caught in some life and death situations when I was your age. I survived and was victorious.” Coriolanus answered, his voice clipped and measured, before he pulled away from you as if your touch burnt hotter than the flames of hellfire. Looking at you from over his shoulder, he sighed, “I'm not in the mood to share the story, my darling rose, so just be a good girl and go to bed.” His head turned back around, causing him to stare at his feet, as he added in as an afterthought, “I'll join you shortly.”

You didn't say a word, just turned around and made your way over to the large bed you'd be sharing with the head gamemaker. Your dress was strewn over the bottom edge of the bed, the soft cotton floral material contrasting against the dark silk duvet. You debated whether or not to fold up the dress and set it aside or just leave it there and crawl into bed. 

The bed was large enough that you could get in without rustling your dress, but you decided against it. While you folded your dress, you heard the sound of Coriolanus collecting his clothes from the floor. With your now folded dress in hand, you turned to find a place to put it, only to see Coriolanus draping his clothes over a nearby desk chair.

You knew that he wanted you in bed, but you needed to put your dress up. It'd get lost if you just left it on the bed. So, silently, you padded over to the desk and placed your folded up dress on the edge of it. 

His back was turned to you, so he didn't see you. Honestly, you didn't know if you wanted him to. His interactions seemed all over the place when It came to you and, right now, you didn't know how to feel about that.

Before the platinum blonde man could turn round, you quietly rushed over to the king sized bed. You thanked your lucky stars that it was so big. It meant that you didn't have to worry about any awkward sleeping positions with Coryo.

Hmm…or at least that's what you thought. 

Your Coryo had other plans for your sleeping arrangements.

You pulled back the dark pearly duvet only to reveal red sheets embroidered with white roses. The silky sheets were a pop of color against the duvet and pillows. Your knee crumpled the sheets as you climbed into bed.

Coriolanus made his way over to you, watching as you sunk down into the large bed, looking like an absolute angel in it. Before you could even reach for the duvet, to pull around your shoulders, his voice sounded out with a simple order of, “Leave it. I'll pull it around us once I join you.”

That right there, that simple sentence, was what tipped you off that you'd be sleeping close to the head gamemaker. A fact that had your stomach doing somersaults. You literally held your breath while the bed dipped beneath Coriolanus’ weight. He pulled the duvet over your bodies before slithering his arm around your waist; pulling you close to him. Oddly enough, his boa constrictor-like hold made you release the breath you were holding.

Quickly, you came to terms with your new sleeping arrangements. There was nothing you could do, but let him spoon you with his bulge brushing against the swell of your ass. 

He pressed a goodnight kiss to your temple.“Sleep well, my darling rose.”

“G’night, Coryo.” You responded as you heard his breathing start to even out, indicating that he'd found sleep shortly after his head touched his pillow.

Ha! Sleep well. That's rich, considering every time you closed your eyes you were transported back to your time in the arena. Different faces and names along with arena locations fluttered around your brain as you tried to sleep, causing your eyes to fly open. 

You doubt that you'll ever sleep well again. 

You began to toss and turn, causing Coriolanus’ hold on your middle to loosen. No matter what position you rolled into, your insomnia remained. Eventually you turned your head to the window, eyes locking onto the silhouette of the moon high up in the city’s black velvet sky. You couldn't help, but wonder how bright the moon was shining back in District 12 and if anyone back home was staring at it like you were due to insomnia.

“You need to sleep, darling.” Coriolanus' voice mumbled out, causing you to stop staring at the moon and to turn to stare at him instead.

“I can't sleep. Every time I close my eyes I'm back inside that arena, Coriolanus.” You honestly told him as you felt your eyes grow heavy with sleep that nightmares would never let you get.

“It’ll pass in time.” He told you in a tone that had a sense of foreshadowing in it. 

Coriolanus adjusted himself to sit up against his headboard, only to pull you close to his side. His large calloused hand wrapped around your neck, thumb caressing your pulse point as his prominent nose nudged against yours. “Y/N, you need to calm down and rest. Luckily for you, I know the perfect way to help you do that.” 

Before you could even ask him what he meant, his soft lips were hungrily pressed against yours. The fact that your lips were chapped and cracked from the elements you were exposed to didn't bother him. In fact the roughness of your lips seemed to turn him on.

Coriolanus’ hand traveled from your neck up to your jaw while his other one dug into your hip. His long fingers held your jaw in a firm grip, that was borderline bruising, as his teeth nipped and tugged at your bottom lip. 

Suddenly Coriolanus' teeth bit down into your lower lip, drawing both blood and a moan from you. Quickly his tongue soothingly lapped up the metallic liquid blooming on your lip, causing heat to pool between your legs. You let out a tiny whimper, giving him the opportunity to deepen the kiss by slipping his tongue into your mouth.

Your breathing sped up unevenly as Coriolanus’ tongue explored your mouth, entwining your tongues in an intimate dance. One of your hands dug into his bicep while the other found its way to the nape of his neck. He pulled away slightly, gasping for air, only to attack your lips once again. He kissed you like you were the air he needed to live and he was a man suffocating for a thousand years.

His hand ran up and down your thigh, causing you to subtly rub your thighs together to try and ease the dull ache between them. A dull ache that was becoming harder to ignore thanks to him swallowing all the air from your lungs with his sinfully plush lips.

Pulling away from you, only to pepper kisses up and down your jaw, he smirked, “I see you're needy for me, my darling.” 

“Um…” You stuttered, feeling any and all words slip from your mind due to the heavy feelings of want currently coursing through you.

Coriolanus stopped kissing your jaw, only to look at you with black, lust blown eyes. His baritone was rapsy, from the strain in his own boxers, as he orders, “Use your words, Y/N.” His large hand slung your leg over his hip as you sat next to him, slightly propped up on your side. His hand trailed up your inner thigh, teasingly. “Tell me what you need and I’ll give it to you.” 

All you could do was stare at him with lust filled in your eyes. You knew what you needed, but being inexperienced you were unsure of how to word it. Your breath hitched as his hand brushed your inner thigh, close to where you needed his touch the most to soothe the growing ache in you. It was as if he knew what you needed, but was purposely holding back and edging you on until you verbally confirmed what you needed; what you wanted from him.

Deciding that your growing ache overpowered your impending embarrassment, you shyly looked at Coryo and softly said, “I need you.”

A Cheshire grin of victory appeared on Coriolanus’ lips. “See, that wasn't so hard to say now was it, my Victor?” His hand slipped out from underneath the hem of your shirt (his white button up) and suddenly his pointer and middle fingers were pressed against your swollen bottom lip. “Open.” He demanded.

You opened your mouth, with the question of why on the tip of your tongue, but you never got to utter a word since he slipped his fingers into your mouth. “Suck on them.” He ordered in a raspy tone, causing you to obey. Your tongue swirled over his digits before sucking on them. “Oh, you suck my fingers like such a needy little slut. Can't wait until you suck my cock like one too.” 

Coriolanus removed his fingers from your mouth with a loud wet pop. “Unbutton your shirt, darling.” Coriolanus told you as his hand disappeared under the hem of your shirt. As his fingers teasingly touched your dripping folds, he all but moaned out, “You're so fucking wet. Is that all for me?”

“Yes.” You squeaked out, feeling yourself clench at his touch. A touch that felt both like fire and ice as he played with your folds, only to start rubbing gentle circles into your clit. “Coriolanus.” You called out in a breathless whisper, fingers shaking as you unbuttoned your shirt, like Coriolanus ordered, while feeling the pleasurable pressure of his thumb on your clit paired with a finger ghosting your wet entrance.

“How many times do I have to tell you to call me Coryo?” He asked, teeth grinding, while slapping your pussy with a punishing force.

“Coryo…” You whined, shifting as a result of feeling the sting the slap left on your pussy.

“Oh, now my needy little slut calls me Coryo? Hmm…you learn quickly, my darling rose.” Coriolanus told you in a tone dripping with a dark mix of authority and lust. His fingers went back to working your folds as if they were the strings of a fine instrument while devouring your mouth in a heated kiss that was more teeth than lips.

You had finished unbuttoning your shirt and went to reach for his neck, to use as an anchor as he kissed you and played with your soaking cunt, but to your surprise he broke the kiss and ordered, “Take off your shirt. I want to see your tits.”

You nodded and pushed your shirt off your shoulders, making it crumble behind you on the bed. Coryo’s eyes were black as coal and danced with the fires of lust as he looked upon your bare chest heaving up and down. He felt his cock get painfully harder in his boxers as he grabbed one of your tits; pressing an open mouthed kiss on the other. All while his middle finger slipped into the wet heat of your tight hole. 

Your mouth made an O shape as he slowly pumped his finger in and out of your tight hole, teasing you. One of your hands latched onto his shoulder while the other found itself entwined in his platinum blonde curls as his fingers greedily kneaded your tit while his teeth grazed your nipple.

“Oh…Coryo…” Fell from your lips like a prayer as you felt him slip a second finger inside of your cunt while twisting your nipple between his thumb and forefinger. 

Coryo pulled his lips from your nipple with a wet pop, only to darkly smirk, “That's it, Y/N. Beg for me, beg for me to finger fuck you like a good little slut.” 

Your face flushed every shade of red at his dirty, degrading words. Oh god, his words sent a warm tingle straight to your core. What was wrong with you that such filth turned you on?

Stilling the pair of fingers he had stuffed in your soaking wet pussy, he stared you down and ordered, “Beg or I won't fuck you. Won't let you cum hard on my fingers, my darling rose.”

Subconsciously, you darted your tongue out of your mouth and licked your lips. With your chest quickly rising and falling paired with an achy need in your pussy, you obeyed Coryo. “Please, Coryo, finger fuck me like your good little slut.” You pleaded, voice overcome with want.

Hearing you say ‘your good little slut’ instead of repeating his words of ‘a good little slut’ made Coriolanus go primal with an urge to devour you. Yes, you were his. You even confirmed it in your desperation for a pleasurable release. You knew you were his and that did so many things to Coryo. 

“Don't worry, my good little slut, I'll make you feel good. I'll make you cum.” Coryo promised, curling his fingers up into your cunt only to press against your spongy spot. The high pitch whine you let out paired with the way your hips bucked tipped him off that he found your g spot. “That's the spot that's going to make you soak my fingers with your cum, huh?”

“Uh huh.” You mumbled as you felt him begin to thrust his fingers harder into you, making sure to hit your spongy spot every time.

Coryo bent his head down, only to start roughly kissing your boobs while his hand worked your sopping wet pussy fast and hard. His teeth grazed the swell of your breast only to place a biting bruise there. 

“Coryo…don't leave a mark…” You breathlessly requested.

Coriolanus didn't like to be told what to do, especially in the bedroom where he was always the dominant one, so your request pissed him off. His eyes flashed dangerously as his head tilted up to look at you. Grabbing your hair into a rope and roughly tugging it, causing your head to snap, he warned, “Don't order me around or I’ll stop and won't let you cum.”

Your eyes searched his to see if he was bluffing, but all you could see was the truth behind his lust blown pupils. “I won't order you around. I promise, Coryo. Just, please, let me cum.” You told him, desperate to cum since, during his threat, he stilled his hand (one again).

He added a third finger inside of your tight pussy, causing you to feel a slight burn at the stretch, and rubbed your clit with his thumb all while telling you, “Consider this a warning, since your still so innocent, my darling rose, but if you pull this again I won't let you cum no matter how much you beg. I'll just stuff by cock in your mouth and call it a night.”

“O-Okay.” You nodded. 

Coryo smiled, happy that you learned your lesson, before latching his lips onto your collar bone. He pressed a few open mouthed kisses before sinking his teeth down into your flesh. His teeth grazed bone, causing you to let out a loud scream. His tongue tastes your metallic blood as he lapped at your wound. He soothed it with the swirl of a practiced tongue while pumping his fingers faster and faster into you.

You pulled his head away from your collar bone, only to look into his crazed eyes and declare, “I'm close, Coryo. So close.” 

Coryo captured your lips in his, quickly letting you taste the metallic tang of your blood, only to pull away and murmur, “I know, darling. I know you are.”

His forehead was leaning against yours as he pistoned his fingers in and out of your wet hole, causing obscene loud squelching sounds to fill the air. Your hips began canting up, chasing your high, as you held onto him like a lifeline. The knot in your stomach got tighter and you knew that any minute you were going to break and come undone.

“Coryo…” You moaned, clawing at him to anchor you in the moments before you came tumbling down.

“Cum right now, my darling rose. Cum right now like the little slut you are.” Coryo ordered, his voice thick and raspy, as he roughly pumped his fingers into your pussy while sloppily, but quickly, thumbing at your puffy clit.

You cum hard with his name loudly falling from your lips; your fingers digging into his shoulder and scalp. You stared into his lust blown black eyes as he slowly worked his fingers in and out of you, helping you ride wave after wave of orgasmic aftershocks. He only stops whenever you tug at his wrist while whimpering, “Too much, Coryo.”

With a proud smile on his face, Coryo removed his soaking wet hand from your pussy and brought it up for you both to see. “You're a very messy girl, Y/N. Soaked our sheets.” He chuckled before licking every single one of his fingers clean. Then he licked his palm clean and told you, “My darling rose, you're the sweetest thing I've ever tasted.”

He dipped his hand back between your legs, only to use his pointer finger to gather some of your juices. Removing his hand and placing his finger to your lips, he ordered, “Taste how sweet you are.”

Without even thinking about it, you wrapped your mouth around his finger and swirled your tongue to taste your tanginess.

“Good girl.” Coryo praised you while removing his finger from your mouth with a wet pop. Grabbing your hand, he brought it to rest on the large bulge in his boxers. “You feel that, my darling rose? That's what you do to me.”

Looking between his bulge and his face, you asked, “You want me to suck your cock, don’t you?” 

“Yes, well, it would be nice considering what I did to make you feel good.” Coryo countered, causing you to narrow your eyes at him. You were just asking him a question, he didn't have to be so condescending about it. 

“I've never-” You began to tell him, only for him to cut you off with a simple, “I know, Y/N.” 

He removed your leg from his hip and got out of bed, all the while telling you, “I’ll teach you what I like, my darling rose. Don't worry your pretty little head over it.”

You watched him pull down his boxers, causing his hard dick to bounce up against his stomach. Your eyes widened at the sight. Yes, you've never seen one before, but by looking at Coryo's you knew he had a big cock. It had to be at least 8 inches. It had veins running alongside it and the head was an angry shade of red. Precum was leaking from his tip and all you could do was stare at it. 

“It's so big.” You gasped as he rejoined you in bed.

“You really think so, Y/N?” Coryo asked. He knew he was blessed with a big cock, but hearing you say it gave him an ego boost.

“Yea.” You nodded, eyes flicking between his hard cock and his eyes.

Coriolanus made himself comfortable by leaning against the headboard and bending his knees slightly. “Get between my legs, darling.” He instructed.

“Do you want me laying down or crouching or?...” You trailed off while crawling down between his legs.

“Whatever’s more comfortable for you. It doesn't make any difference to me as long as my cock’s in your mouth.” Coriolanus crudely told you. His eyes were glued to you as you bent down on your knees while placing a hand on each of his thighs. When you looked at him with a nervous innocence in your eyes, it turned him on. “Place a hand at the base of my cock and start by licking the tip.” He told you, knowing that if he didn't you'd probably stare at his cock wide eyed all night (well morning, but it didn't make that much of a difference).

You nodded before placing your right hand at the base of him and licking his leaky tip. His precum had a salty, musky taste to it but it wasn't horrible. In fact, you found that you didn't mind the taste of him. You gave his tip another lick, only to flicker your tongue over his slit.

“Oh fuck…” Coriolanus gritted out. He felt his balls tighten and he knew that he had to get you to move this along. He couldn’t cum just from you teasing his tip. That would be embarrassing, not to mention beneath him. “Wrap your mouth around it and suck, darling.” He instructed you. 

Nodding, you did as you were told and put his cock into your mouth. You began to suck, only to discover that his size made your jaw hurt. Also, he was so big that you started to gag on his cock. You tried to calm yourself and breathe thru your nose, but it was easier said than done. 

Upon seeing tears leaking from your eyes, Coriolanus groaned. “Darling, take as much in as you can and use your hand to work the rest for now.” Reaching his hand into your hair, he added, “Don't worry, it won't be long until you'll be able to take all of me.”

You let his big cock fall out of your mouth with a wet plop, only to look up at him and say in a worried voice, “Okay, but are you sure this is going to feel good for you? You're the only man I've ever been with and…yea…” 

You honestly did want to make him feel good since he made you feel good. Right now in this moment the only thing that mattered was returning the favor. Anything else (like how he was cheating on his wife with you or how he designed the arena that you could've died in; get nightmares from) would be dealt with later.

Coryo's too small black heart clenched at your words. How could you think that you were unable to make him feel good because you've never been with a man up until now? Didn't he tell you he'd teach you; show you what he liked? Didn't you agree to let him be your teacher? Was it your youthful innocence making you second guess yourself?

Tucking your hair behind your ear, he assured you, “You’ll be able to make me feel very good, my darling rose, because I'll teach you what to do.” His thumb brushed over your swollen lips as he darkly added, “I'm the only man you'll ever be with, Y/N, because you're mine and I don't share what's mine.” 

“But I have to share you?” Came tumbling out of your mouth before you could think better of it. 

Coryo raised his hand up in the air only to bring it down against your already bruised cheekbone in a loud, punishing smack. Grabbing your chin tightly between his thumb and forefinger, he lowly hissed, “I don't fuck my wife so you're not sharing me, Y/N. Don't you dare accuse me of not being faithful to you because I am.” Tears began to roll down your cheeks, causing him to use the pads of his thumbs to wipe them away. “You have nothing to worry about, my darling rose, I'm obsessively loyal to you and would never taint what we have by cheating.”

If you weren't still half blissed out from your orgasm minutes earlier his words would've been a huge red flag waving wildly in the wind. But, since your brain was still up on cloud 9, his words went right over your head. All you could do was nod your head at him. 

Tenderly stroking your cheek, that he just struck, Coryo sighed, “I really didn't want to slap you again, Y/N, but you left me no choice by accusing me of making you share me with that awful bitch.” 

“I'm sorry I said that. I wasn't thinking.” You told him, mostly because it was the truth. You really didn't mean to make that remark. It just slipped out.

“Yes, well, you need to be more aware of your words. You're in the Capitol now and saying the wrong thing here, well…just don't do it if you want to keep your tongue.”

Holy shit! Was he threatening to make you an avox or just talking in general? Honestly, you didn't know and you didn't want to find out. 

Threading his fingers in your hair, he smiled, “Why don't you get back to sucking my cock so we can get to bed.”

So that's what you did. You swirl your tongue around the tip of his cock before taking as much of it as you could into your mouth. Using your hand, you worked what you couldn't fit into your mouth. Just like Coryo told you to do. Quickly, you realize that hollowing out your cheeks made it a bit easier to take in his cock. 

As your tongue slid up the underside of his veiny cock, while you sucked him, Coryo let out a low moan. “You're sucking my cock so good for your first time. You're such a good little slut for me.” His hand tightened in your hair as he ordered, “Go a bit faster now and play with my balls.”

You couldn't say a word, since his cock was in your mouth, but the look you gave him showed that you understood him. Quickly, you listened and started speeding up your movements while bringing your left hand to his balls. Your hand fondled his balls as spit began to spill from your mouth.

It was a messy site and it turned Coryo on. Seeing you, his innocent Victor, nearly choking on his cock with spittle falling from your mouth was better than any wet dream he could've ever imagined. Oh, and looking at you rolling and squeezing his balls full of his cum in your hand spurred him on. 

Suddenly, before you could even comprehend what was going on, Coryo tightened his hold on your hair and began to trust his hips up. “Fuck, you feel so good. I need to fuck your throat.” He groaned. 

His balls began to tighten up in your hand as he fucked up into your face with a wild feralness. It was as if he was possessed by the spirit of a wild animal. He needed to mark you as his and what better way than shoving the tip of his cock to the very back of your throat.

As he bucked his hips, bullying his cock down your throat, you continued to suck him and use your tongue on him. You never stopped playing with his balls either.

For your first time sucking cock, you seemed to figure out real quick how Coriolanus liked it. Perhaps next time it'll go over without a hitch, unlike tonight…

You felt the roots of your hair burning as Coryo’s grip on your hair grew tighter. “Fuck…Y/N, I'm gonna cum.” He bucked up in fast sloppy movements while ordering, “You better be a good little slut for me and swallow every drop.” 

You remembered how you heard some girls at school from the merchant sector gossiping in gym class about how one of the Seam girls was nasty because they heard a rumor that she swallowed. You remembered how when you got home you asked Ashlie, your older brother's girlfriend, what the merchant girls meant and she gave you a quick talking to about it. All she said was that girls who swallowed when going down on a man were considered dirty girls and not to do it. That no respectable man would want a girl that did that.

Well, it seems that all of that was bullshit because the head gamemaker of Panem was ordering you to swallow his cum with a look full of lust, neediness, and adoration in his baby blue turned black as coal eyes. Coriolanus Snow was a very respectable man. Hell he was listed as one of the richest men in Panem according to some late night talk show, so if he said to swallow then it wasn't such a dirty thing after all.

Suddenly, you felt thick, hot ropes of cum shoot onto your tongue and down your throat as Coriolanus let out moans and curses around the proper noun that was your name. 

You did what he wanted and swallowed down his salty seed.

When you let his cock fall from your mouth with a wet pop, he caressed your cheek. “I see you swallowed every drop I gave you. Very good, darling.” Using his other hand to pat the spot on the bed next to him, he said, “Come here, I’m tired and we both need some sleep.”

Crawling over to the spot next to him, you sighed, “I'm afraid I won't be able to go to sleep, Coryo. Every time I try I have flashbacks and nightmares.”

Coryo adjusted himself to lay comfortably on his back. Stretching an arm out, in an invitation for you to snuggle up to his side, he tiredly told you, “You’ll be able to fall asleep, Y/N.” As you settled in next to him, he added, “You're safe with me, my darling rose.” While laying your head down on his chest along with resting a hand there, he pulled the blankets over you both and said, “Just lay your head on my chest and remember that I'll always protect you.” Leaning down to press a kiss to your hair, he whispered, “I will kill for you, darling. To keep you safe with me, I swear I will kill half the Capitol if that's what it takes to keep you safe in my arms.” His sleep laden voice got even softer as he declared, “You're mine and I'll never let anything hurt you again. You'll always be safe with me, my darling rose.”

You drifted off to sleep with those odd last words of his (a promise of safety, possession, and murders to come) going in one ear and out the other.

Maybe if you weren't so exhausted, both mentally and physically, you would've paid more attention to those words. Maybe they would've made you run for the hills. Or maybe not. 

Even a monster needs somebody to love them. But what is a beast without his precious rose? 

Tags: @kuroosbby001, @purriteen, @poppyflower-22, @meetmeatyourworst, @whipwhoops, @bxtchopolis, @readingthingsonhere,@savagenctzen, @ryswritingrecord, @erikasurfer, @tulips2715, @universal-s1ut, @thesmutconnoisseur, @squidscottjeans, @sudek4l, @wearemadeofstardust0, @mashiromochi, @gracieroxzy, @belcalis9503, @shari-berri, @aoi-targaryen, @whiteoakoak

[thepascalparadox]

Chapter two: Everything feels...

Word Count | 1.9k Pairing | General Marcus Acacius x OC F!Reader Chapter Warnings | slow burn, mention of the activities of the colisium, Acacius being a confused man. There'll be some author's note in the end. “From where I stood, the general was the most striking man I had ever laid eyes upon.” “Oh, don’t be so dramatic, Vera. He looks... well, old and weary,” You said with a light tone.

“ I wouldn’t call him old. Word is, he hasn’t even seen thirty summers yet. And as for weary—he carries it as any soldier should” she replied with a grin.

Vera nudged your shoulder playfully, a gesture that spoke of the ease and familiarity between you. You feel tired and ready to take a good night of sleep—tomorrow would be a long day. Your father had planned a grand celebration in honor of General Marcus Acacius, with feasting and music from dawn till dusk.

Such celebrations always filled you with a peculiar joy. For at least one day, you could shed the weight of expectations, lose yourself in dancing and revelry, and be as free as any common citizen.

“Well,” You smirked, “tomorrow, you’ll have your chance to meet him. You could look into those famed eyes and say—”

Without hesitation, you took Vera by the waist, adopting a dramatic pose as if you were the general himself. Mocking the voice of a lady overcome with admiration, you declared: “General Marcus Acacius, you are the most handsome man I have ever beheld!”

Vera erupted into laughter, her mirth echoing through the room as your exaggerated performance ended.

· · ───────── ·𖥸· ───────── · · The celebration began, and the day unfurled with a vivid splendor. Everything feels perfect. The music, the food, the flowers, even the way your dress touches your skin feels perfect. Hours passed in laughter and dance until your feet ached, and the cacophony of music and merriment became overwhelming. Seeking a quiet place, you slipped into the cool solitude of the back garden. The night’s breeze kissed your flushed cheeks, and the stillness wrapped around you like a gentle embrace. You closed your eyes, savoring the moment. A soft laugh escaped you as you tried to recall the last time you had so much fun. No more wine for the night.

“I see the evening agrees with you, Lady Aurelia,” came a deep voice from behind, startling you from your reverie.

You turned quickly, your heart skipping a beat. There, standing tall under the pale light of the moon, was General Acacius himself.

“Dominus,” you greeted, offering a somewhat unsteady bow, made less graceful by the wine. “I—indeed—I am enjoying the festivities,” you added, a smile lingering on your lips despite yourself. You should definitely not be smiling like this alone with a man like him.

And yet, there was something about his presence that felt oddly reassuring, disarming even. To your surprise, his own lips curved into the faintest of smiles.

“The feast is remarkable,” he said, his tone warm with amusement. “Your father truly knows how to host a celebration worthy of the gods.” He paused, then added in a conspiratorial whisper, “Though I confess, after such a day, I long for nothing more than the embrace of my bed.”

The way he spoke, as if sharing a secret meant for you alone, made you chuckle softly. The conversation flowed easily as you strolled through the moonlit garden paths.

He humbly spoke of his long campaigns—two hundred days away from home, he said, with the weariness of a man who had seen much and yet carried it with quiet dignity. “If I could, I’d sleep for three days without stirring,” he mused.

Feigning seriousness, you teased: “So, you reject the grand festivities my father has arranged in your honor? Even the games in the arena tomorrow?”

He stopped abruptly, his expression turning grave. “Forgive me, Domina,” he said earnestly. “I meant no disrespect. Your father is as dear to me as my own. I would lay down my life for him. The celebrations are an honor beyond words. As for the arena—” He hesitated, his gaze shadowed. “I respect his traditions deeply.” You couldn’t help but laugh softly at how seriously he had taken your jest. Following Vera’s example from the night before, you nudged his shoulder lightly. “I was jesting, soldier,” you said with a grin.

But the moment the words left your lips, you faltered. Your familiarity had crossed a line, and you realized with a pang of regret that he was not a childhood friend to banter with so casually. Drawing back, you lowered your gaze, chastened.

“Forgive me, General,” you murmured, your voice tinged with shame. “The wine has loosened my tongue more than it should have. I fear I’ve overstepped my place.” With a hurried bow, you added, “I wish you a restful night. If you’ll excuse me, I must retire to my chambers.”

Before he could respond, you turned and left, your steps quickened by the heat of embarrassment. It felt as though you were fleeing a ghost—one whose presence had stirred something within you that you did not yet understand.

But the soldier was no ghost—not at all. If you had looked back, you would have seen how utterly taken by surprise the General was. He parted his lips, as if to say something—anything to make you stay—but no words came. He simply stood there, watching as you walked away.

If only you knew how his heart felt just a little weaker with your departure. · · ────────── ·𖥸· ────────── · ·

Your head throbbed. The deafening roars of the crowd, mingled with the clash of gladiators within the coliseum, did nothing to help. Attending the games was a duty you loathed above all others. You recalled your mother’s soft whispers when you were a child, not much older than six, as she leaned close during your first visit.

"You don’t have to look. Find something else to occupy your mind—count the soldiers in the stands, the women, the children..."

And so, every time you were forced to sit in that pit of violence, you obeyed her advice. Today, you noted there were more children and soldiers than before. The coliseum itself seemed different, too—three additional beams along the upper gallery, and a newly constructed gate to the prisons below.

Why does it grow larger every time I return?

You pressed your fingertips to your temples, moving them in slow circles to soothe the ache in your skull. The rhythmic motion was your only solace against the chaos surrounding you.

“I see the revelry of last night has caught up with you, Lady Aemilia.”

The voice was soft, tinged with humor. It came from the seat beside yours, where General Acacius sat. His words hung in the air, and with a light tone, his gaze lingered on you, searching for something.

Is he mocking me? Have I become his amusement?

Your eyes remained shut, but your tone turned sharp as you replied. “I expect respect from you, General, as I have shown you nothing but the same.”

Have you forgotten how to address a lady, Marcus?

The sting of your words landed precisely as intended. You heard him shift uncomfortably, and though your eyes were closed, you could sense the weight of his regret. Ever since your arrival, he had been looking for a way to earn your attention—desperate to hear your voice again, even if only to rebuke him.

Perhaps if I make her laugh...

He had misjudged, thinking of last night’s fleeting, playful moment when your shoulders had touched. He wished for that again—a simple touch, no matter how brief.

“I didn’t mean—” he stammered, pausing to collect himself. Then, taking a deep breath, he began again, his tone softer. “I wasn’t trying to mock you, Lady Aurelia. I only... Please, forgive me. I truly hope your headache eases soon.”

There was something in his voice that made your resolve falter, a sincerity that bordered on vulnerability.

If I could, I would take the pain from you and bear it myself, carissima.

You opened your eyes, finally meeting his gaze. For a moment, you saw the weariness etched into his face, more pronounced than the night before, as though he hadn’t slept at all. The sight gave you pause, but you said nothing.

Instead, his expression shifted, his features hardening into the same stoic mask he wore before his men. Diverting his eyes, he straightened in his seat, retreating behind his soldier’s composure.

Have I hurt him?

Before you could dwell on the thought, the cries of the crowd swelled around you. The word they chanted took a moment to register, and when it did, a familiar chill ran down your spine.

Death.

Your father rose from his seat, commanding the attention of the entire coliseum. Slowly, deliberately, he raised his hand. The crowd fell silent, holding its collective breath. But you knew what would come next.

His thumb turned downward. The crowd erupted in cheers, and another life was extinguished.

You flinched, as you always did. The hollow ache in your chest never lessened, no matter how many times you witnessed this. Bowing your head, you prayed silently for the soul of the fallen.

From the corner of your eye, you caught a glimpse of the General. He had risen as well, but the look in his eyes was not one of approval. Fury smoldered there, dark and restrained. Without a word, he turned and left his place, seeking an exit from the coliseum.

You felt an inexplicable longing to follow him. You weren’t sure if it was to escape the horrors of the arena or simply to be with him—anywhere, as long as he was there beside you. · · ─────── ·𖥸· ──────── · ·

You felt no inclination to read or write today, so you wandered to the principal garden instead. The serenity there always held a quiet magic for you. How you longed to see the untamed fields beyond the city walls, where birds soared freely and the wind danced through the trees, carrying with it the fragrance of wildflowers.

Your steps were slow as you moved among the blooms, the gentle rhythm of your walk an attempt to soothe the lingering ache in your head.

I am never drinking again. Never, ever.

“Lady Aemilia Aurelia,” came the voice of the guard assigned to you. His tone was respectful but firm, pulling you from your thoughts. “A letter has arrived for you.”

You turned to him, accepting the letter with a nod of thanks. Curiosity flickered in your mind as you examined it. It couldn’t have come from one of the maids—they had been dismissed for the day. And letters from beyond the palace, whether from princes or clandestine admirers, always passed through your father’s hands first.

Carefully, you opened it, and to your surprise, a small flower fell from within. Its delicate petals rested lightly in your palm, and you lifted it to your nose, inhaling the sweet, calming aroma.

The letter was brief, the handwriting unmistakably bold yet neat:

"This bloom is known for its healing properties, particularly for those burdened with aches of the head. I hope it brings you relief. Your loyal General, Marcus Acacius."

The ache in your head eased almost at once, but now, inexplicably, something else stirred—a gentle, unfamiliar ache in a different corner of your heart.

That night, as sleep claimed you, the faintest of smiles lingered on your lips. · · ────────── ·𖥸· ────────── · ·

AN: I know pedro is beyond thirty years but this is how I imagine him for this fic. It is actually very dificult to keep it historically accurate, but I hope you understand! I will insert some references to the balls that happened in Pride and Prejudice and Bridgerton, but I think it'll be all. There's nothing I love more than an unconfortable dance between too characters who love each other in secret!

[dawn-moths]

"I'm So Dreadful, But I Still Need You"

Werewolf!Dabi x Female Reader

word count: 16,300+

part 1 * part 2 * part 3

(As Keigo closes in, you and Dabi dream of foreign lands, of places where you could be free to love each other in peace. But the hunter is relentless, vowing never to stop the chase until he’s claimed you from the wolf’s vile clutches, dead or alive. So the only question that remains is… who will emerge victorious in the end? The hunter or the prey?)

disclaimer/content warning: 18+ content! minors dni! title taken from “RUINED” by WesGhost, size difference, reader is called “baby, good girl”, yandere Keigo, character death, some smut in the middle but mostly plot, some descriptions of body horror towards the end, reader is choked (and not in a fun way).

*ao3 mirror*

***

Dabi sat at the tavern’s bar counter, a half drunk pint slowly warming in its stein as he abandoned the idea of finishing his drink and instead became mesmerized by you— watching, guarding, protecting you from afar while you basked in the reverie of your fourth face-paced dance of the night.

You kept up with the quick yet precise patterns of the intricate footwork, your skirts bunched in your fists and slightly lifted to allow you more room to jig alongside the crowd of boisterous patrons, some stray men lining the walls shouting hoots and hollers towards the circle of dancers as the fiddle player picked up the tempo, other onlookers clapping in time with the beat to encourage all of those inhabiting the dancefloor to continue until the end of the song. When the final note rang out, the human circle in which you’d found yourself ensnared ceased its motion, everyone turning to face the outside of the ring and clapping with their hands over their heads.

When you turned, you were facing Dabi, seeing him staring at you from the barstool a few feet away. His patches of pale, scarred skin were bathed in a low amber glow from the lanterns hanging overhead, that entrancing cobalt gaze shimmering with mirth. There were no pointed ears perched upon his inky black spikes nor was there a mischievous ebony tail swishing at his heels. Tonight was the new moon, one of the handful of nights clustered together in the month where the notorious wolfman was free to see what life could’ve been like if only he’d been granted a different fate.

And he was smiling. Really, truly smiling. It took your breath away, the way he was looking at you now, like you were the only thing in his entire world worth protecting, like he loved you. 

And maybe he did.

It was just too bad he’d never be able to make himself admit it, that he’d never be able to trust in that kind of careless hope.

As you migrated closer to where he was perched, you were smiling too, big and bright and blinding him with your joy. Your forehead was shining with a thin sheen of sweat and your breathing was a little labored, as expected from how many dances you’d participated in tonight, but you didn’t care how hot or tired you became.

You knew you had to enjoy it while it lasted.

Back in your devout little town, there was only one tavern, mainly where the hunters gathered to relax on their way out into the woods or having just arrived back, a bundle of dead rabbits or ducks, or, one time, an entire deer dragged into the tiny brick building and heaped in a pile of bloody fur and mangled flesh on the floor at the foot of the counter.

Needless to say, whatever your village had to offer, it was nowhere near the freedom and frivolity this place provided, all the laughter and the lighthearted joking and pleasant conversation between men and women alike filling the room with its joyous melody.

Plus, even though the people back home also liked to talk, it was usually of scandals and gossip and suspicious speculation, so if you were ever spotted so much as peering in through one of the latticed windows to see what all the commotion was about, it was likely word would spread, rumors would start, and you wouldn’t feel comfortable enough to pass the place at night again.

“You should come do the next one with me,” you suggested to Dabi, hoping to entice him as you took his hand, his own instinctually outstretched towards you once you were within the range of his reach, still staring at you with that love-drunk grin. You even swore you could see a warm blush to his cheeks, only, you knew he wasn’t actually drunk. He’d been too intent on making sure he could stay sharp in order to protect you if anything went sideways. And, while you’d tried to assure him one night couldn’t hurt, promised you’d stay out of trouble, Dabi just wouldn’t hear of it.

“Anything could happen when we’re least expecting it,” he’d reminded you, the worry of the prey sounding odd when coming from the mouth of the predator. “And if he shows up, we gotta be ready.”

But that had been a week ago and you and Dabi had already crossed through three towns, having hidden on the outskirts of the first one, been bold enough to break into an abandoned farm house to escape the cold in the second, and then, by the time you’d reached the third— the one you were currently in— Dabi had shed all of his more obvious wolfish traits. And, though you’d had to beg him to let you explore, to actually enjoy some of what this place had to offer, he’d eventually given in.

“Tonight’s our last night…” he’d told you, hating the way disappointment filled your eyes, all the optimism in your gaze slowly dying out like embers in a hearth. He’d put his hand on your head, given it a gentle pat as you’d started sulking. Then he’d said, a new lightness to his usually dark and heavy tone, “So you better make the most of it.”

You’d looked up at him then like you didn’t actually believe him, yet still somehow hoped it were true. “Really?!” You’d exclaimed, glittering excitement refilling your gaze. “We can really go out? Oh, Dabi!” You’d flung your arms around his waist, buried your face into his chest, inhaling the familiar scent of pine and campfire smoke that always seemed to cling to him. “Thank you…” you’d murmured, words muffled by his shirt. “Thank you, Dabi…”

And so you two had tried a taste of what other young people did for fun when they weren’t burdened with a curse or kept cooped up inside a house on the hill. You ate delicious, foreign foods. You laughed with boisterous strangers. You danced until the music stole the breath from your lungs. You allowed yourself to live. Because, the truth was, neither of you really knew how much time you had left. Not with Keigo hot on your trail, knowing full well he’d hunt you to the ends of the earth or die trying.

But there was nowhere Keigo wouldn’t go, no path he wouldn’t follow, no choice he wouldn’t make, if you were somehow found at the end of it.

And so die trying it seemed to be…

***

TWO WEEKS AGO

Dawn broke over the horizon, painting the sky in an aurora of colors, a collision of amber and silver that gave way to the pale blue and gold of early morning. Among the newborn buds preparing to unfurl from the spindly twigs on the early-spring trees, Keigo sat beside the final dregs of serenity and watched the fledgling finches hopping among the natural debris gathered beneath where their nest lay.

They would be soon to leave their mother’s protection, venturing off into the cold, cruel labyrinth of the surrounding woods. Perhaps some would survive into adulthood. Others would fall into the sharp-taloned clutches of the falcons or the hawks. Only the strong would survive and only the lucky would evade a gruesome end.

The hunter stood from his perch among the open campsite he’d constructed, the small fire he’d made to keep warm for the short night stomped out before morning’s first light. He couldn’t have his mark catching sight of the smoke. Not when he was so close to his main territory. If he scared the wolf away now, he might risk losing you along with him.

Enough stalling, Keigo told himself as he tested the tension of his bow string, two calloused fingers curling around thin sinewy rope and envisioning an invisible arrow finding a new home between two flashes of sapphire. A wolf might not’ve been as fragile or easy to kill as a finch, but, Keigo felt confident, the hawk would still prevail.

Keigo began his stealthy approach towards the cabin, every step more careful than the last. He was intent to locate the wolfman, hopefully through one of the cracked windows, knock an arrow, and finish the job in one precise shot. But then something made him stop short, his next breath catching and sure footing staggering as he felt a rush of ice surge through his veins.

Because there you were, sitting at the villain’s table, unbound and of your own free will it seemed, given the carefree grin spread across your face as you shared breakfast with the beast.

Keigo could’ve been standing between those mammoth pines for six seconds, or six hours. In truth, he didn’t know. Because in that moment time seemed to flow in reverse, everything that had led him here— led you here— flashing through his mind in bright bursts of violent color.

For a while, caught in his stupor, Keigo merely observed, his hands going numb as they clutched his weapons, watching in equal horror and intrigue as the wolf sat across from you at the table, a snarky grin tugging at one corner of his lips before breaking out into a laugh, looking for a moment— dare Keigo even consider it— authentically human. 

You know, so long as you didn’t spend too much time focusing on the ears and the tail.

You were barely clothed, and while Keigo perhaps would’ve been inclined to blush under less dire situations, the emotion that replaced his bashfulness was betrayal and rage.

The loose shirt hanging comfortably from your form no doubt belonged to the monster with which you’d chosen to share a bed with.

But Keigo, despite having all the evidence he needed to convict you of witchcraft or whatever other crime that having such relations with a monster and a murderer would behold, still couldn’t quite bring himself to blame you.

Because you’d been seduced, hadn’t you? You’d been lured into sin, naive little Eve who’d been tempted by the sinister snake.

He could still save you.

All he had to do was not miss.

With trembling hands and shallow breath, Keigo drew back his first shot and aimed for the back of the wolfman’s head. He let out a shuddering exhale, hesitating a mere flicker of a moment, then let the arrow go.

The arrow struck home in the back of Dabi’s chair, the resounding twang of the shot causing his wolf’s ears to perk up at the same moment you sucked in a sharp, startled gasp. Neither of you had seen the arrow fly through the open window and bury itself in the chipped wood so much as you heard it, felt it, the evidence you were under attack only revealed once Dabi turned in his chair to peer around the back of it.

His eyes followed the weapon’s path out through the dew-speckled glass and between the barricade of trees until it found the hunter. Keigo knocked a second arrow, this time looking much more focused and determined than he had before, and prepared to fire again.

Dabi’s eyes widened with dread as he stood abruptly from his chair, backing towards you as he ordered, voice low and dark with severity, “Run.”

You didn’t think. Only acted. Every survival instinct you didn’t know you had flaring to life inside you as you sprinted towards the back door after Dabi, who made sure he had secured your hand before you departed the threshold of the cabin’s false sense of safety. It was only when you were halfway down the porch steps that you realized your clothes, or rather, lack thereof, and attempted to go back, but Dabi’s grip on you was firm. He made it apparent by his strength in pulling you along alone that there was no time for that now, lest you wish to leave the property wearing an arrow through your heart.

By the time you reached the forest’s edge, two more arrows were on your heels, and as you cast a terrified glance over your shoulder, the sight of Keigo growing smaller in your vision, watching with defeat and forlorn as the wolfman whisked you deeper into the lush evergreen, a small part of you couldn’t help but feel a slight pang of guilt.

Because what would your family think once he returned to tell them the news— to tell them that their sweet baby girl was caught so shamelessly uncouth with the very wolfman himself, the successor of your baby brother’s killer?

The hunter called your name, and the way it broke with a type of vengeful promise at the end of his shriek made you want to pull away from this path you’d chosen, something about hearing that level of pain in someone’s voice cracking something inside of you, even if a part of you still knew it was selfishly motivated.

“C’mon!” Dabi urged, continuing to pull you harshly after him, the two of you soon disappearing within the piney labyrinth and leaving the distraught, vindictive hunter before the empty wolf’s den. You realized that the two of you would never be able to return there again, Dabi’s cabin full of little keepsakes, trinkets, and mementos doomed to collect dust, rot, and collapse over time if it wasn’t burned to the ground all together. 

But Dabi didn’t care about the cabin right now. If the hunter so chose to strike a match, then let the cabin catch flame and disintegrate into bitter ash.

All he cared about— all he’d ever care about from that moment on— was protecting you.

***

The winds began to pick up as night fell, the dusk-tinted horizon fissured with the last wisps of pale peach as you and Dabi slunk through the last neighbourhood on the outskirts of the village’s perimeter, the sparse little homes dotting the sloping valley hosting glowing ghosts flickering in the windows, the candles placed on the sills likely to burn for only another hour or so before the residents turned in for the night.

You shivered beneath Dabi’s arm, the precursory chill warning of a long, cold night ahead, one that you and your meager means of clothing would suffer to endure.

“Just a little longer,” Dabi murmured, sympathetic, pulling you in closer to share some more of his abundant body heat. “We just have to wait till they kill the lights. Then I’ll sneak up and steal you something from the clothesline.”

In the dim dark, the breeze made the bedsheets and tunics flutter like lingering spirits. The laundry left out to dry was mostly men’s clothing, though there was one modest brown dress among the damp garments, and though it looked a few sizes too big, you supposed you’d have to find a way to make it work.

You just wished you had some of your sewing supplies with you, even just a simple needle and thread. With that, at least, you might’ve been able to tailor it to better suit your figure. Perhaps you’d be able to procure some along the way, or find another innocent clothesline to skim from, but for now, you just had to find a way to enter into the next town without being too conspicuous.

When the time came, Dabi told you to wait under the veil of shadow that had served as your cover while he skulked closer to the house. You watched him cautiously, stealthily making his way to the clotheslines, trying not to imagine a scenario where the cocking of a shotgun echoed out across the clearing before the heart-stuttering blast of two shots rang out as they tore through the thieving villain and left him twitching and gasping, his blood turning the crisp grass beneath his body black with death.

But Dabi was a professional when it came to swiping things that weren’t his. He’d survived the last decade on such methods. This was nothing new. So, in what felt all at once like too much time and the blink of an eye, Dabi returned with a bundle of brown fabric bunched in his wiry arms.

“It’s still a little wet…” he informed you as he handed it over, allowing you to unfurl the garment and hold it lightly against your form to gauge how much excess fabric you’d have to swim around in.

“That’s ok…” you sighed, draping the dress over your arm. “It’ll be dry by morning if I find a place to hang it…” You then considered him, studied those two pools of sapphire that always seemed to glow through the dark. You wanted to ask him now what? What would happen to the two of you from here?

Seeming to read the uncertainty in your gaze, Dabi let out his own sigh through his nose, pressed his lips into a firm line, then said, “I know…” He placed a soft, apologetic kiss to the top of your head, once again gently tugging you into his side. “I know, but we’ll figure it out…”

When you wrapped your arms around him, allowing Dabi to feel your weight sagging with exhaustion, he returned the gesture, more than willing and capable to carry you the rest of the way if you needed him to.

For a while now, he’d realized— at first to his own horror— that he felt more than just lust for you. He wasn’t sure if he could yet call it love. Love was still more terrifying than anything. But he knew he felt an innate sense to protect you, to cherish you and care for you and make sure you had what you needed to be satisfied.

Whether that lied with or without him, he still was on the fence about, but he was willing to fight like hell to prove to you that he was at least willing to try.

“Let’s find a place to camp for the night,” Dabi suggested, and your sleepy nod against his chest was more than enough confirmation of just how badly you needed to rest after such a long, arduous day. You worried about Keigo tracking you while you slept, but Dabi said he knew a place that not even the hunter would be able to find you. 

“It’s not exactly close…” he disclosed with an apology fringing his tone. “But if we can make it that far, we should be ok for a couple days at least.” He spoke of an old boat house on the edge of the shore, a place where he and his maker used to retreat to back when things in the village started to get a little dicey. He promised to make a plan, assured you you didn’t need to worry, but the moment you stopped moving and you closed your eyes, the rest of his words and your encroaching worries were lost to you.

***

NOW

The time of tavern dances and reckless reveries was bound to come to an end sooner or later, but when just two days after your carefree night of fun and joy Dabi’s signature ears and tail began to show the first signs of his dreadful moonlit monstrosity, it was time to kiss the cheerful twang of the bard’s fiddle and the buzzing warmth of overpoured drinks goodbye.

Going into hiding wasn’t anything new to the wolfman, but for you, it was quickly becoming unbearable. You wanted a bath and some clean clothes. You wanted a warm bed and a hot meal. You weren’t built for the scarcity and savagery of what a life confined to the edges of the wilderness beheld and, pretty soon, even Dabi was beginning to become concerned for how you were faring.

But you’d found an abandoned barn a few miles off from the nearest civilization, which, needless to say, was a much better, safer place to sleep than the open expanse of the woodlands. Discovering the shelter had helped raise your spirits, even if only a little, but there was one thing neither of you could deny much longer, and that was the fact that you needed something to eat.

“I’ll be back before you know it,” you promised him after he’d finally given in and agreed to let you take a quick trip into the nearest town. You were planning on, hopefully, swiping some fresh fruit or bread from the edge of a merchant’s kiosk while his back was turned and, while you had no doubt Dabi would’ve been able to pull that kind of brazen mission off without a hitch, he was currently indisposed.

“Don’t worry,” you further attempted to comfort him. “If I see Keigo I’ll turn right back around.”

But, while you wouldn’t admit to it out loud, you both knew that if the hunter really wanted to find you, he would. Dabi wasn’t worried about you seeing him. He was worried about him seeing you first.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to come?” he asked for about the tenth time. “I can just keep an eye on the perimeter, maybe see if I can sniff him out—”

“Dabi,” you cut in, sounding half firm, half contrite. “It’ll be fine, really. I promise I’ll be ok.” He wanted to remind you that you couldn’t promise that. Not really. But you were placing a peck on his cheek and telling him to get some rest while you were gone before he could.

He’d been so close to saying it as he watched you leave the barn’s lopsided embrace, so close to telling you he loved you, but he hadn’t.

Instead, he settled for watching you walk into the distance until your figure became an indistinguishable shadow amidst the trees, wishing he weren’t such a coward.

***

This town was much more intricate and lively than your own. From the outside it had been hard to tell just how hustling and bustling the inside became at the height of the day, the high stone walls that surrounded the place blocking most of your view even from the top of the cliff that served as the outlook at the forest’s edge.

Street vendors called out with booming voices at passersby with promises of fairly priced goods and wares, messenger boys ran to and fro with bundles of parchment clutched in their hands or overflowing from their satchels, busking musicians played and sang in the town square, and there were even ladies of the night already draped over the banisters and leaning in doorways of the many brothels that spotted this foreign civilization.

You had to remind yourself that you were here for a specific purpose and couldn’t afford to find yourself distracted by all the curiosities that shimmered from around every corner and turn. You hoped that if you just pretended to belong here that no one would mark you as an outsider. As a lone woman especially, that could prove particularly disastrous if you happened to find yourself in the wrong part of town. However, just when you were starting to think you’d have to approach another young woman in order to ask for some directions, you stumbled upon the market street.

The cobbled paths stretched on for what seemed like forever, the ever shifting crowd moving along like bees in a hive all with a different intention to their stride. First, before you made a move, you tried to survey your options. A little bit of fruit and bread wouldn’t get you far, not to mention you knew Dabi needed to eat too, but you didn’t see how snagging any more than that from the edge of a distracted vendor’s stand was going to allow you to sneak away unnoticed.

And if you did get caught, you had no idea how severe the consequences might be. It could be as simple as making you return it and exiling you from the vicinity of the city walls or as harsh as tossing you in a prison cell or, what you feared most, the loss of one of your hands, as you’d heard rumors of being the punishment for theft in some far off civilizations that some of the hunters frequented during the herding seasons.

You kept circling, slowly but surely studying each of the merchants until you found one that looked like your best chance. He was an old man, appearing like he was just a few more nods away from falling asleep based on how he sat back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest, eyes struggling to stay open as he kept jolting back awake. His stand was mostly empty so you knew that, if you approached now, his eyes would be on only you.

So you waited for someone else to take interest in his goods.

You were just about to lose hope and move onto your next best bet when finally a mother and her three young, rowdy children stepped up to his stand. The two boys kept trying to chase and hit each other with sticks they were pretending were swords, much to the embarrassment and exhaustion of their mother, while the girl, who appeared to be the youngest, clung tightly to her mother’s skirts until her brothers inevitably began to pull her into their teasing little games too.

The old man forced himself to stay conscious as the woman looked over his fruit— most of which was bruised or close to going bad— and chose some to put into her basket after haggling the price down a little. While she was contemplating, you swept in to complete your mission.

Your heart was beating so fast and so hard you swore anyone standing close enough to you would be able to hear it, but as the smaller of the two brothers began to wail and cry, the mother and the merchant’s head turning towards the sudden noise, you quickly grabbed an apple in each hand, shoved them deep into your oversized dress’s pockets, turned on your heel, and hurried away.

To get as far away from the market street as quickly as possible just in case someone had seen you, you cut down one of the crooked, narrow alleys, hands still shoved into your pockets as if the apples would simply disappear if you let them leave your grasp. By the time the end of the alley was in sight, you felt your heart rate slow just a little. It looked like this path led back to the square, and when the musician’s guitar registered to your ears, you let out a breath of relief.

Just a couple more yards and then you’d practically be homefree.

Just a couple more yards and then—

You gasped as a hand, calloused and firm, grabbed your wrist and wrenched you back. Instantly, instinctively, you tried to pull away, but when you turned to see who’d caught you, you froze, your next breath hitching, eyes widening and limbs beginning to numb with adrenaline and dread.

“Kei—” You began to blurt, but the hunter clapped a hand over your mouth and pushed you back against the wall of the alley, being a little rougher with you than you’d expected. 

“Don’t speak,” he ordered, though his voice was low and somewhat gentle given his gestures. “Just shake your head yes or no…” He paused, clenched his jaw, swiveling his gaze from one end of the alley to the other before asking, “Is he here with you?”

With tears welling in your eyes, you shook your head no. You were too startled and scared to even consider telling a lie.

“Good…” Keigo sighed, easing up a little bit and removing his hand from your face, though still kept your body caged between his and the wall, watching you carefully for any sign that you’d bolt. “I need you to listen to me,” he began, still keeping his voice low, more of that dire urgency seeping back into his tone. “Whatever this is, whatever’s happening between you two, I need you to stop. I need you to come back home with me—”

“Keigo—”

“No,” he growled, frustration swelling before gradually deflating as he recognized the fear in your eyes and that fact that he was currently the cause of it. He took a pause, collected himself, then continued, “No, listen—” He said your name and again something in his voice broke with desperation upon it. “Do you have any idea how distraught your parents are?” he said. “Do you have any idea how fucking terrified they are that their only daughter has gone missing?” When you didn’t answer in the space of silence he provided, he made you jump when he snapped, “Do you?”

You couldn’t hold back your tears anymore, pairs of them racing down your cheeks and dripping from where they met beneath your chin. Only stuttered, incoherent ramblings could escape your trembling lips.

You could imagine it, how heartbroken your family must be, how each night that passed where you hadn’t returned home was likely a sleepless, torturous one for them. It hurt you to know you were hurting them. But just going back wasn’t so easy now.

You didn’t know if you were ready to accept that you might never be able to go back at all.

You weren’t sure what to say, but it turned out you didn’t have to say anything, because after another frustrated huff, Keigo was pushing off from the wall and allowing you room to escape as he scowled at the ground and muttered, “Just tell me what he gives you that I can’t…”

And you didn’t feel sadness or fear anymore.

You felt anger.

You felt rage.

“You’re— That’s what this is about?” your voice was quiet, but the fury felt through your words didn’t go unnoticed. Keigo flicked his severe gaze to meet yours, his chin still tilted slightly towards the ground. “You’re chasing us down because you’re jealous—?”

“Of course that’s what—” He scoffed, incredulous. “Do you know what would happen if anyone ever found out the truth about all of this? You’d be tried and hanged for witchcraft. The church would drag you to that pyre, tie you down, and everyone that you’d ever known or loved would watch you burn!” He let out another growl of frustration, pinching the bridge of his nose as he huffed out a short-tempered breath. “Y’know what, no. What this is about is that you’ve been lying to my face for months. You’ve been lying to everyone around you for months. Probably even longer than that!” His expression changed from hurt to one of betrayal, one of disgust. “And all for what? To protect him? To protect some monster?”

“He’s not a monster!” you cut in. “You don’t know anything about him. Or us. You—”

“Then explain it to me!” shouted Keigo, immediately catching his outburst and lowering his voice again so as not to attract any suspicious or nosy townsfolk who might want to eavesdrop on your conversation. “Explain to me why you’re willing to risk everything— to risk your entire life— all for some— some—” He couldn’t find another word that wasn’t akin to monster in some way, so instead he opted to let you fill in the blanks yourself as he gave a defeated shrug.

You exhaled a quick, curt breath through your nose, then began “It’s not…” you paused, searching for the right words. “It just happened that way. I don’t know… I can’t explain it. I never intended to get so… involved. I— He’s changed, Keigo,” you insisted, looking up into his eyes wearing a pleading sincerity. “He’s not the kind of evil, malicious person you or anyone else in town makes him out to be. He can be… kind and gentle and…” You thought of all the times he’d been so tender with you, all the times he’d treated you like you were the only person or thing in this entire world he dared to hold dear. It hadn’t started that way, of course. It had been terrifying. Exhilarating. It had been something you hadn’t known you’d wanted until it was happening.

And then you couldn’t forget him.

You couldn’t stay away.

You saw him in every flash of blue that crossed your vision. You saw him in your dreams. When you gazed out the window of your little cottage home into the vast woods that lay beyond, you could swear you saw his figure shifting from between the trees.

He’d plagued your imagination until you swore you were going mad.

And then he’d returned.

He’d changed.

And maybe you were still far too naive to think you could truly trust him, but you couldn’t help but try.

“Please, Keigo,” you began again, voice trembling at the edges. “Please just… don’t kill him. If you promise to spare him, I’ll…” You knew that, once you spoke the words, you’d never be able to take it back. But, if it meant sparing Dabi, you thought you might be able to live with that. “If you let him go, I’ll marry you…” You hung your head in defeat, as if you’d just offered yourself up for a beheading rather than a betrothal. Then, snapping your gaze back up to meet his, a new fire blazing within your stare, you added, “But you have to swear to me that you won’t try anything. That you’ll be good on your end of the deal.”

“Does that mean,” he asked, a twinge of innocent hope to his voice, “you’ll come back with me?”

Nervously, you chewed on the inside of your cheek. You didn’t see how this could end well. Because if you chose to return with Keigo, Dabi was sure to become the hunter in pursuit of you. But if you rejected Keigo and returned to Dabi, the hunter wouldn’t stop until his prey was dead. You just wished Keigo would turn a blind eye, return to town with some story about how he’d tried but he’d lost the trail.

But that would never happen.

Not when both the hunter and the wolf were vying for your hand. One would inevitably result in a marriage you didn’t want, even if that meant you’d have a comfortable life as the prized hunter’s wife, while the other damned you to a life of running and hiding, running and hiding, your existence dictated by the cycles of the moon.

“Just let me see him one last time,” you said, feeling your window of opportunity closing in. “Just let me say goodbye…”

Keigo said your name again, and the way it came out as a condescendingly sympathetic coo made you feel that wave of dread wash over you all over again. So when he said, “You know I can’t let you do that…” you weren’t surprised in the least.

Both of you were still as stone in that alley. For a moment, it seemed like only the whistle of the wind and the distant tolling of the church bell could be heard between you.

Then, everything snapped back into razor sharp focus as Keigo darted forward with both hands outstretched to grab you.

He was going to force you to come back to town and marry him whether you wanted to or not.

But you threw yourself out of the way just in time, the side of your arm scraping against the rough brick wall before you were sprinting out of the alley like a rabbit giving chase.

Keigo was close on your heels, but not for long. You weaved your way in and out of the dense crowds, only a few people casting odd looks your way before continuing on with their business, and slipped down another short alley to discover a different way to exit the confines of the city walls.

You didn’t stop running until you’d reached the woods and beyond, your lungs burning and legs aching as you pushed yourself forward yet another wild, anxious step, constantly glancing behind you and expecting to see Keigo closing in.

Perhaps the hunter was skillfully stalking you, trying to use you as bait to lure him to his real target. But by the time you reached the valley that led to the farmhouse and saw not another soul in sight, you figured that you were probably safe for now.

“Hey—” Dabi began as you rushed back into the barn, but the moment he saw the look on your face and noticed how out of breath you were, he was coming over to your side and placing his hands on your shoulders, feeling just how badly you were shaking. “What happened?”

“I— He—” you stammered, tears beginning to sting in your eyes again as you relived the scenario you’d just barely managed to escape. Anything that came out of your mouth after that was incoherent, frazzled nonsense as your sobbing took over. You hadn’t even realized Dabi had taken you into his arms until your terror had subsided enough for some of the buzzing numbness in your limbs to fade and your breathing went from hyperventilation to stuttered hiccups.

He’d been trying to ask you what happened in between attempting to comfort you, but when nothing seemed to get through he’d resorted to stroking your hair and your back, rocking you gently as you clung to him until you’d seemed to return to yourself. Only then could you attempt to verbalize the horrible realization that, had things gone just a little differently, had you not run fast enough, you might’ve never seen Dabi again.

“Ok,” Dabi said, his voice low and quiet, but resolute. “We can’t stay here for long then. We’ll sleep here tonight…” He ran his fingers over your hair again, smoothing down some of its disheveledness but ultimately not doing much to erase the evidence of the frantic rate at which you’d fled town and went rushing through the woods. “But in the morning we’ve gotta keep moving.”

You didn’t respond. Didn’t have anything to say. You could only sag under the weight of the day’s trauma— and all the trauma you’d experienced since fleeing the cabin— and hope that you could trust Dabi to know what was right.

But time was running out.

As much as he was trying to keep the chaos as bay, Dabi knew it was only a matter of time until the hunter caught up with you and the three of your fates were set in stone.

Because whether it was Dabi or Keigo who was left at the end of all of this, your entire world would be forever changed.

***

In truth, he’d let you get away.

Keigo had forced himself to slow his pace and watch as you were folded into the crowd and swallowed behind the teeth of yet another jagged brick alley. He’d stood in the middle of the square, itching to reach for one of his arrows. To knock it. To aim. To take the shot.

To end your suffering before things got so much worse.

Because if he couldn’t have you, why should he let anyone else?

Why should he let a monster lay his claim to you?

You were meant to be his.

He’d seen you first.

He knew, if only he’d had a little more time before you’d encountered the wolfman, that you would’ve been his.

No, if he couldn’t have you, then no one could.

And if he had to be the one to end you, at least he’d know he could make it quick.

He could make it painless.

A beautiful death befitting of a beautiful girl.

And when he took your body, so small and still in his arms, back to your family— When he told them how the ruthless, brutal wolfman had sank his savage teeth into your supple flesh, had stolen your purity, had stolen your life, and by the time Keigo had arrived it had been too late…

He’d still end up as the hero at the end of the day.

He’d become even more revered in your small, pious little town despite not being able to save the life of the pretty girl who lived on the hill.

So, yes, while Keigo had let you go, while he’d lost your trail, he knew that you couldn’t have gone far. He’d find you. There was no doubt about that. But first, he had to prepare something special for when he met you next.

So he walked into the nearest hunting shop and picked out a knife.

***

The hayloft was more comfortable than you’d originally given it credit for on sight. Sure, it still wasn’t a soft, warm bed, but after consecutive nights of sleeping out in the cold, raw wilderness since you and Dabi found yourselves on the run, it was the closest thing you were going to get to some sense of comfort and home.

“Found some blankets in the shed,” Dabi announced after returning from scouring the place for any resources the two of you could use. “They’re a little tattered but should at least keep us warm through the night.”

Suddenly, for what might’ve been the first time in two weeks, you found yourself smiling and, not only that, but giggling as well.

“Dabi…” you began, an edge of sympathy to your otherwise amused tone. “Those are saddle blankets.” When he simply continued to stare at you as if waiting for you to elaborate on why that was an issue, you pushed up from your seat and said, “It’s fine. Either way, that’ll work.” You neglected to mention the fact that you two were lucky to be finding yourselves in such a predicament during the late spring and not the dead of winter, in which case those thin, handmade blankets probably wouldn’t have done much good, but overall just found his lack of knowledge on the subject endearing.

“I’ll keep watch,” Dabi stated once he’d made sure to get you all tucked in and as cozy as currently possible. “Don’t worry about the hunter. If I so much as catch his scent—”

“Dabi…” you began again, much sleepier this time. “Why don’t you just take a moment to relax. If he was on our heels, you’d sense him, wouldn’t you?” It felt like an eternity since the two of you had been able to just relax, to trust in a false sense of security like the cabin had once provided.

“I know, but—”

“Just lay with me,” you cut in, your voice laced with the softness of oncoming sleep. “Just for a couple minutes…”

Glancing over his shoulder at the wide barn doors, ears twitching, tail swishing slightly across the dusty floor, debating whether to indulge you— indulge himself— or do the more responsible thing for once, Dabi ultimately decided that a couple minutes couldn’t hurt.

Even if those couple minutes turned into an hour.

“Hey…” he murmured eventually, rousing you from where you’d very nearly drifted off into dreamland. Your eyes fluttered back open, blinking a few times until he came into focus through the dark. “So… What’s his deal anyway? Why is he so…”

His words trailed off, but you knew what he meant.

“What?” you asked, nuzzling in a little closer to him, trying to bask in as much of his warmth as proximity would allow. “You mean why is Keigo so obsessed with me?”

Dabi didn’t want to phrase it like that but, he admitted, yes, that’s exactly what he meant.

You explained that you’d known Keigo since childhood, or rather, your family had known his— the hunters who’d brought him in after finding him as a baby abandoned in the woods raising him as their own, teaching him to track, to lure, to kill. You said that you’d first met him at the church, that you’d noticed him a few rows ahead of you peering over his shoulder throughout the entire service, his golden eyes always finding yours as if he had something he desperately wanted to tell you, beseeching you with his stare.

“At first,” you recalled, “it sort of freaked me out. Every Sunday he’d be there, a few rows ahead, just glancing at me throughout the entire mass…” Keigo was five years older than you, and back then, it had seemed like much more. As a little girl, you remembered tugging on your mother’s skirts or your father’s shirt sleeve whenever his stare became too oppressive, afraid that the boy had the devil in him and was plotting something against you like the pastors were always telling cautionary tales of during their sermons.

But then, after about half a year of silent, mysterious stares, your parents had introduced you to the renowned Takami family and their prodigy of a son. It was then that you got a taste of Keigo’s more charming side, the easy smiles and polite manners, though something mischievous had always lurked beneath the surface of his laugh.

From then on, your families attended church together, standing in the same pew, breaking bread after service and helping each other out during the harsher seasons, trading your mother’s handmade coats and quilts and father’s extra firewood for the Takami’s rabbit and deer meat.

Keigo had always been enamored with you, had always tried to say and do all the right things.

But deep down, you knew, just like you’d caught a glimpse of during those six months burdened by the amber of his predator’s gaze, that there was something subtly, inexplicably, inherently wrong with him.

“And then he got the idea that he was going to marry me,” you sighed, as if the mere notion was exhausting. “And no matter how many times I tried to avoid him, no matter how many times I tried to brush him off, he just wouldn’t give up…”

Dabi blew out a low whistle, the note laced with sarcasm. Then, jokingly, he said, “So… what? Were you the only girl in your entire village, or…?”

You hummed out a short chuckle, gave Dabi a light nudge, and said, “Sure seems that way…” But then your mood darkened yet again, causing you to add, “But, I dunno… I have a feeling all of this has more to do with you than it does with me…”

The admittance had sort of just slipped out, the thought having been on your mind since your run in with the hunter this past afternoon, your intuition unable to shake the feeling of unease that came along with it.

But before you could ruminate on that unsettling idea for much longer, Dabi pulled you in closer and muttered, “Yeah, well, if he wants to marry me, the guy’s got another thing comin’.”

Now you laughed for real, body shaking with mirth, and you thought of all the ways that Keigo could never, would never, be any match for Dabi when it came to your affections. Because who else could make you laugh like this during such dark, dire times?

If it was a monster’s love that had sunk its teeth into you, then so be it.

You would accept it with open arms, even if that made others view you as a monster just the same.

As your amusement simmered down and your body once again prepared to become heavy with sleep, Dabi remained alert and awake. He knew he should force himself from your tangled embrace and assume his post for watch. And he would.

He just had something he needed to do first.

You were stirred awake yet again as his hands slowly began to wander, the shape of his palm and the press of his fingertips a familiar, welcome thing. And, while you wanted to get some much needed rest, you also wanted whatever he had in store for you as well.

Because how long had it been now since you’d had enough time to partake in these kinds of pleasures?

You were pretty sure you’d lost count.

But, this time, Dabi decided, he was going to be soft with you. If this was the last time he might ever get to have you like this, the last time he’d ever get to have anyone like this, if Keigo succeeded in finally killing the infamous wolfman like he so desperately aspired to, then he wanted you to remember him as gentle, as more than the monster that the myths portrayed him to be.

With the two of your bodies pressed close, limbs loosely entangled as you shifted slightly, as if gently turning in sleep, he nudged his nose against yours, those blazing blues at half-mast as he drank in the sight of you so vulnerable and tender beside him. When your eyes fluttered back open, slowly blinking him back into focus, you leaned forward, lazily chasing after his lips for a kiss. Normally, he would’ve denied you. Would’ve teased you until you were practically begging for any and everything he would give you. But now, tonight, Dabi was content to oblige you.

Like a dying man’s last meal, he was going to savor every kiss, every touch, every inch of your skin until there was nothing left to give. Nothing left to take.

He was going to draw it out.

He was going to make it last so, when the hunter finally came for him, he’d have no regrets if the worst befell him.

Your lips first met with a soft, chaste touch, the ghost of affection reaching out between each other in a silent plea for more. You felt his fingers flex where they gripped your waist, tugging you just that much closer to him, wanting to have you so close he could feel your heartbeat against his skin, so close that your pulse and his own became indistinguishable.

When his tongue gave a gentle suggestion for you to part your lips for him, you obeyed, melting further into the kiss as you hummed out a sated sigh, a breathy moan working its way up your throat. As you relearned the shape of each other’s mouths, rememorized the taste, Dabi’s hands began to wander some more, mapping out the familiar curves of your body as he so liked to do, his fingertips rough but the touch itself gentle, delicate.

You sucked in a small gasp when he groped at your ass, feeling his lips split into a smirk as one of those sultry chuckles escaped him. He couldn’t help but find your reactions to such things amusing yet adorable. It was like you were his helpless little virgin all over again. It made him hard just thinking about it, that first night he’d had you.

He began to strip you of your clothes, the bundle of oversized brown fabric gathered around your waist while he pressed a kiss to your hip, your tummy, then pushed up higher to expose the soft curve of your breasts to him, nipples pebbling as the cool night air brushed up against your skin, then over your head and discarded completely in a pile off to the side, Dabi pulling his own shirt over his head to expose the expanse of his chest, pale and etched deep with scars, just as lovely as you remembered him to be.

With a knee between your legs, he gave one of them a nudge as means of encouragement to open for him, his hands aiding in getting you the rest of the way there when you seemed to suddenly become a little shy.

As his head lowered between your spread legs a shiver wracked through you, a tremor of anticipation at the magic, be it witchcraft or a miracle, that he had a habit of placing upon you with his fingers and tongue. His warm breath fanned over your wet cunt, causing you to whine when you felt just how soaked you’d become, raising a palm to cover your mouth as your face grew hot with the humiliation, muffling your next precursory moan. But that was when Dabi stopped, just inches from tasting you, moments from delivering you the most divine pleasure you’d known, raising his head and appearing above you again, lightly taking your wrist in his grip and tugging it free from your mouth.

“No,” he stated, plain and simple, yet still retaining that err of gentleness that he was becoming more accustomed to displaying around you. “Don’t try to hide it. I want to hear you, understand?” Despite your face growing hotter still, you swallowed down your apprehension and nodded for him. “Good girl,” he praised you, slowly retracing his descent down towards where you were most needy for attention. Then, as if talking only to himself, he muttered, “I wanna hear you when you come for me,” and upon hearing those words you felt your little hole flutter, your belly clenching just at the thought of what you knew it would feel like once he was buried deep inside you, the sensation all too familiar yet, at the same time, always feeling like nothing could’ve prepared you for it beforehand, the ecstasy created by your two bodies becoming one stronger and more potent than any other brand of euphoria the world could offer.

You let out a broken mewl as his long, slick tongue began lightly teasing at your dewy folds, gathering more of your arousal as he made you obscenely drenched with his spit, taking his time to flick the tip of his tongue along your sensitive little bud, making you jolt and writhe, wrestling you still with his arms looped snugly around your thighs. Your melody of moans and whimpers only ever made him desperate to hear them more, engaging in the skillful dance of bringing you right up to that edge but always pulling you back before you tumbled over.

“You’re being mean—” you lightly chided, a feeble quiver to your quiet voice, the teasing soon becoming too much.

But, at this, Dabi only chuckled, placing a wet, open-mouthed kiss to the inside of your thigh, stroking the other with the pad of his thumb as he rested his head against it. Gazing up at you with glittering eyes, he cooed, “Promise I’ll make it worth it, baby…” Another kiss, this time closer to your soaked core, caused you to flinch. “Besides…” He began to leave languid kisses up your body, shifting his position to reach your tummy, your chest, your collarbones, your neck. When he was face to face with you again, the sight of your arousal shining on his chin making your stomach clench yet again, he said, “Don’t I always?”

But he didn’t give you time to answer before diving back into his ministrations, his tongue lolling out to lav at your perked nipples, making you moan and arch further into the warmth of his mouth, Dabi lightly tugging at one of the furled buds with his teeth, not hard enough to hurt, just enough to hear you give him one of those cute little gasps again, balancing on the precipice of fear.

After he’d coated both of you breasts with his saliva, making nearly as much of a mess of you as you’d made of him, Dabi’s kisses once more made the migration towards your neck, sucking a few dark bruises into that tender flesh, your grip tightening around his biceps as a wave of goosebumps raced across your skin, your breath stuttering at the sensation.

Then he was coaxing your mouth back open for him, taking a moment to hover there, to taste each exhale that leapt from your lungs. The kiss he gave you next was sloppy and open-mouthed, and you could taste the salty tang of yourself on his tongue now, only distracted from the flavor when you felt two of his long, lithe fingers glide through the glistening petals of your pussy before slipping inside of you, pumping in and out, slow and steady, before beginning to scissor you open wider in preparation.

“Hurts—” you hissed when he stretched you a little too far a little too fast, but the feeling of your cunt trying to suck his fingers in deeper, the way your silky walls clenched around them as if in hopes of holding them prisoner, only made him that much more painfully hard. He could already feel himself leaking through his trousers. He was just as needy as you were, only better at hiding it.

“I know, baby…” he cooed, unable to keep some of that saccharine condensation from fringing his raspy tone. “But you’re doing so good for me…” Another kiss placed to your temple as he reached into his waistband and took hold of his cock, feeling it pulse against his palm when the cool night air hit the velvety length of him. He didn’t waste time lining himself up, his other hand stroking gentle lines along your hip. “You’re always so good for me.”

You half expected him to bury himself to the hilt with one harsh thrust, as he sometimes had a habit of doing, but tonight, as he’d already decided, he was going to take his time with you. So, inch by inch, he sunk deeper into your slick heat, sucking in a hiss through clenched teeth when your little nails bit into his back at the sting of the stretch, your delicate skin breaking in fragile fissures as his cock split you in two.

Once he was fully inside, both of your bare chests pressed close, Dabi gave you a moment to adjust to the feeling of him stuffing you full, but before he could move, you made a request of him.

“It hurts a little,” you said, then further clarified, “The hayloft. It hurts my back. Can we…?” But before you’d even finished your question he was carefully propping you up, helping to hold you into a position that allowed you to straddle his lap, the shift making you wince a little as his length nudged against your cervix, but you definitely felt more comfortable now than you had laying back against the rough wooden surface.

Letting out a soft chuckle as he picked pieces of straw from where they stuck in your hair, Dabi asked, “Better?” and you nodded, adjusting your position just a little bit more before you felt like you were in the perfect spot to take him. As he began, he kept a strong palm pressed to the small of your back for support, your little hands gripping his shoulders and becoming tighter the more he fucked into you, urging you to ride him to the best of your ability, and you did all that you could to match his pace. But, as always, eventually he became relentless, hips meeting yours with ruthless stamina, drinking in every cry or yelp or moan you would grant him, soaking up every clench of your cunt around his cock until, finally, he came, his body shuddering as a breathy moan was punched from his chest, filling you to the brim with his sticky warmth. But he wasn’t done with you yet. He wasn’t done until he’d made you come, made you gush all over his cock, coating him in so much of your love and your lust that he swore he’d never be able to clean it all away. 

Rubbing some more of those torturously skillful circles on your swollen little clit, Dabi soon worked you over that sharp edge, feeling your body tremble and tense before your weight sagged against him, your shallow, panting breaths gradually returning to something much more even and controlled.

Normally, he’d take this time after to clean you up, to lay with you as he watched you drift off to sleep, only then daring to fall unconscious himself. But out here, in this unfamiliar and unequipped place, there wasn’t much he could do besides wipe the excess of your shared arousal that drooled in thick globs from your sore little hole with the edge of one of the blankets, murmuring promises of the life he’d create for the two of you once you’d escaped the hunter’s grasp as you feel unconscious. 

He’d build you a house. One with a fireplace and a balcony and a back porch. He’d build you a bed. One with four posts and a canopy and a quilt. You’d have a wardrobe full of the finest clothes money could buy, making a living by selling your handcrafted sundries in the market of the nearest town. Your world would smell like honey and pine. You’d spend your days surrounded by the trees and the songs of the birds. You’d get married in the backyard in a wedding dress you’d made by hand, freshly picked poppies adorning Dabi’s makeshift lapel, trading matching rings carved of oak or birch or stone. He’d make love to you on that bed he’d built, on that quilt you’d sewn, every night leading up to the full moon.

You’d bake bread.

He’d hunt deer.

You’d be safe.

You’d be happy.

You’d be his.

But first, before the house and the honey and the hunting of the deer, there was one thing Dabi knew he had to do in order to make even half of that fantasy possible.

He had to kill Keigo.

He had to pave the way for a world where not a single hunter would follow in pursuit of you.

***

The blade caught the morning’s glow, sunlight on silver a burst of blinding light.

Keigo couldn’t help but admire its pristine shine, the flawless edge of its craftsmanship, the way he could view his reflection in it, the amber of his eyes cutting across the weapon wearing determination but also something sorrowful.

He didn’t want to kill you. Truly, he didn’t. If Keigo got his way, you’d finally see reason once the demon who’d tempted you had been slain. You’d come to your senses. You’d accept his offer to return with him and take his hand in marriage.

You’d choose the path that let you live, left your family pleased, and ensured that Keigo had you all to himself.

He could give you a good life.

He would give you a good life.

All you had to do was let him.

And if not, well…

Keigo had always thought you looked best in the color red.

***

The countryside by the shore was comfortingly desolate, the hills sprawling out in every direction as far as the eye could see until the rolling waves of the ocean crept up to meet them. The breeze tasted of salt and the lingering smoke from the small campfire that had just been stomped out.

The old boat house stood on the border between the sand and the seagrass, the exterior half rotted by the caress of the brine, flecks of once-white paint hanging onto the planks for dear life, the decaying wood turned a pale shade of teal. 

It was so quiet out here, not another soul for miles beyond the seagulls that circled come high noon.

You’d never seen the ocean before, your little village too far inland to ever make the journey, even by horse, so you found much comfort and wonder by simply sitting in the soft sand and staring out at the froths of foam lining the waves far off in the distance, nothing but water meeting sky. It gave you time to think, to really put some things into perspective.

You and Dabi had been on the run for over two weeks now. You’d traveled so far, seen so much, and the further you distanced yourself from home, the less you found yourself wanting to go back.

“We could do it, y’know…” he’d said the first night you’d arrived, the crumbling little structure one of his maker’s old hideouts.  “We could head south to the ports. Sneak onto a boat…” He’d gone from gazing at the stars to gazing at you, those half-lidded blues sparkling as if he’d reached up into the constellations and plucked down two of the stars just for you. “See where it takes us…”

You’d hugged your knees up to your chest, turned your view back to the expanse of black sky above, and tried to contemplate what that would be like.

A new country.

A new life.

No one to chase you, at least, for a little while.

But maybe then you could put down some roots, still away from the center of society, of course, but you could create a life where you wouldn’t have to live day by day, hour by hour.

Though now, as the sun rose on a new dawn, you wondered how many days you had left.

“How long have you been awake?”

You turned as Dabi’s voice registered to you. He was standing on the porch that sagged under the weight of every pace, each step surely the last one it would take to cause the whole thing to crumble as it creaked and groaned beneath his feet. He had a moth-eaten blanket wrapped tightly around his shoulders, the nights out here so much colder than what the dense forest provided.

Dragging one of your bare feet across the sand, you carved a smooth arc out before you as you sighed. “Maybe an hour,” you responded, your voice just loud enough for him to hear with the couple of meters between you. You were about to approach him but then he was the one closing the gap, coming down to join you on the soft, cool sand.

“I was worried,” he admitted, now standing before you, close enough to reach out and touch. “I thought maybe he’d…” and his words trailed off. But you didn’t need him to finish the thought to understand.

“Sorry…” you whispered, feeling the threat of tears prickling in the back of your nose. “It’s just—”

Dabi pulled you in close to his chest, wrapped you up in the thin blanket along with him, and he murmured into your hair after a shuddering sigh, “It’s fine. It’s just…” He didn’t want to think about it. Didn’t want to say it out loud. How he’d thought the hunter had come and stolen you in the night. But he really should’ve known better.

Had Keigo come around, he would’ve ensured that Dabi never got the chance to wake up ever again.

“Once we get through the next full moon,” Dabi concluded, “we’ll head to the ports.”

And so it was decided.

The next full moon was two days from now— you’d grown accustomed to reading its phases based on the current state of Dabi’s wolfishness alone over these past few weeks— so that didn’t leave much time.

Not for you to decide whether you were truly ready to turn your back on everything you’d ever known and plunge into the uncertainty of what a future with Dabi would hold, or decide this was all too much too fast and return to the damning familiarity of had once been your normal day to day.

You’d tasted freedom.

You were so close to grabbing it with both hands and swallowing it whole.

How could you give that up?

How could you forget all of that in just forty-eight hours?

Though, for Keigo, forty-eight hours was more than enough time to take some drastic measures.

It was also more than enough time for him to catch up.

“The ports…” you repeated, your words sounding far off to your own ears, as if you were hearing them in a dream. It seemed almost impossible to you, this plan that Dabi felt so sure would work. And Dabi, well…

He was just hoping he could convince you to cross the border before you changed your mind.

Once he got you on that boat— currently speculating that stowing away on a cargo ship would be your best bet, even if the journey could take days or maybe even weeks until it reached the next port, Dabi sneaking out at night to maneuver around watch patrols as he sniffed out any food that he could steal— and whisked you away from this place, escaped the hunter who swore he’d pursue the two of you to the ends of the earth…

Only then would he feel like he’d won.

Only then would he let himself believe that he’d be able to have you forever.

“Don’t worry,” he was telling you again, placing a kiss to the crown of your head as he stroked gentle patterns down your back, his palm warm through your clothes, a welcome reprieve from the chilly sea air. “I’m not gonna let anything bad happen to you.”

It was the only lie he couldn’t bring himself to stop telling.

He thought that, if he said it enough, it would become true.

You turned in his arms, your back pressed to his chest, so you could once again face the sea.

Those waves both beckoned and terrified you, pulling you in with every frill of foam lapping at the shore, yet pushing you further away with the hiss of its rhythmic ambience.

Once you crossed that water you’d never be able to come back. You’d only have Dabi and the moon and whatever little life the two of you could manage to make for yourselves after that.

And so you asked yourself…

Would that be enough?

“I know…” you told him, your voice so fragile, so small and trembling, when you wanted nothing more than to look him in the eyes, so firm and resolute, and give him that answer with your whole chest. With your whole heart.

You wanted nothing more than to believe that, no matter what stood in your way, as long as you had each other, nothing could break you apart.

Nothing could hurt you.

No one could take you away from him again.

Yet, every time you closed your eyes, you saw it— that flash of tawny and gold. It haunted your nightmares, crept up behind you between every shadow or sudden movement out of the corner of your eye.

You didn’t want Keigo to die. Not really.

But, you were coming to accept, there might be no other way.

It was going to be him or Dabi.

You didn’t need to take the time to figure out which one you most wanted to fall into the arms of once all was said and done.

***

When Keigo could taste the salt in the air, he knew the sea couldn’t be far. He quickened his pace, the sting of the open blisters on his feet and the pain twisting in his stomach after three days without a meal no longer registering to him once the thought that the wolf could’ve already stolen you away across the water struck him.

Or maybe he’d arrive to find your body strewn across the shore, your blood being licked at by the waves.

He thought he’d prefer the latter. At least then he’d have closure.

At least then, he wouldn’t have to do it himself.

And if he was lucky enough to discover the two of you still there, what would he do?

There would be nowhere to hide. He might be able to finish things once and for all, if he was able to knock an arrow and aim for the heart faster than the wolfman could sink his fangs into the hunter’s soft human throat.

He was so close he could feel it in his bones, this insatiable ache for something he couldn’t quite describe. Perhaps it was the thrill of the hunt calling to him, this new, intelligent prey so enticing to a man who’d pursued the same game ever since his father before him had handed the little boy a knife and a bow and taught him how to kill. He’d learned to get into the mind of his targets, able to trace the path of their steps as if they were his own. With the two of you, he’d been kept on his toes, always trying to predict what you’d do or where you’d go next but unable to get three steps ahead like he was used to.

The swish of the waves mingled with the whistle of the breeze, and when Keigo could tell the two apart, he knew he had to keep moving. He would reach the sea tonight. He would face whatever awaited him at that shore.

When the boathouse appeared in the distance, at first Keigo didn’t let himself believe it, figuring that he’d somehow dozed off and was caught in a dream. Or maybe he was delirious from lack of sleep and food and was wandering aimlessly towards some sort of mirage. But the closer he trudged, the bigger that crooked hut became and he knew it was all too real.

He drew his knife, slinking up to the side of the little house and listening for any signs of life. It was silent, so he thought fuck it and tried the front door.

Keigo winced when it opened with a creak, his body going still and he anticipated an attack. But when nothing came, he gathered up the courage to travel further into the house, going room by room, of which there were only four, and expecting to find a pair of glowing blue eyes peering at him around every turn.

But the boathouse was empty, as far as Keigo could tell.

All that was left behind was a tattered shawl and some empty crab husks.

***

The morning before the full moon, you and Dabi headed south. It would be easier to catch a boat if you weren’t running on at the last minute, and this way you could sneak on under the cover of night when there would be less people around. A few towns back, on the way to the shore, Dabi had found himself a long, stiff piece of fabric that could pass as a cloak to hide his wolfishness. The plan was, if anyone asked or seemed suspicious, you would just tell them that you were traveling with a sick relative who was, unfortunately, horribly deformed beneath that cloak, and that you were setting sail in search of a specialist overseas who you hoped could cure him.

By nightfall though, he’d be man no more, and then the cloak would be used to keep you warm as the ocean’s breeze tangled around your limbs. Dabi would curl up around you, keeping watch while you slept, and in the morning, when he looked just as human as you did though still hiding beneath the cloak to maintain your cover story, the two of you could merge with the other passengers and blend into the crowd. Depending on the length of the journey, Dabi would have to sneak off periodically once the moon became full, but somehow, some way, he’d make sure that both of you were delivered safely to a foreign shore.

He’d find a way to start over.

He’d find a way to live and not just survive.

“Look!” you’d called from where you’d ventured up a little ways ahead, the edge of the forest fading from a cliffside. You pointed a finger out at a horizon Dabi couldn’t yet view, though as he marched up the incline to stand by your side, the sight of the town’s edge lined with vessels— passenger liners and freighters and sailboats— finally revealed itself.

“We’re so close!” you beamed, and it was the first time in a long time that Dabi had seen you smile like that, heard the giddy excitement fringing on your words.

He slung an arm around you, gently tugging you against his chest before reaching forward to twine both of his long, thin arms around your waist. “Just a little bit longer…” he murmured, though whether it was more to himself or to you, you weren’t exactly sure. “Just a little bit longer and we’ll be free…”

And so you made plans to camp out on the hem of the forest until dusk. You sat by the cliff, counting the hours until the sun would set, sharing the meager stock of berries and nuts you’d collected as the sky changed from blue to a beigey gold, and when hints of lavender tinged the edges of nature’s great canvas, the two of you stood, staring out at all the little boats bobbing and swaying and beckoning you on board, hands clasped, hope high, and prepared to commence the final and possibly most daring piece of this crooked jigsaw puzzle of a plan.

Too bad you only made it a few paces before the weathered figure of the hunter appeared between the trees in the distance, causing both sides of this long, treacherous game you’d been playing for so long to stop short, the wolf and the hawk sizing each other up.

Then, just before you could squeeze Dabi’s hand, a silent imploration to him, though for what exactly you did not know, without taking his sharp gaze off the hunter he merely said to you, “Head for the port. I won’t be long.”

Before you could protest even half a syllable or a single sound, Dabi took off running, darting towards Keigo faster than you’d ever seen a living creature move.

Keigo drew his knife and gave chase.

And you, however frustrated and terrified, started in a sprint to follow.

***

With every leap and bound through the uneven path, closing in on the hunter but not quite near enough to catch him and take him to the ground, Dabi could feel the pull of the full moon running through his blood like fire and ice colliding in a burst of cruel fireworks.

His senses became sharper, his reflexes quicker, his vengeance and bloodlust flaring molten and deadly between the grooves of his ribcage. It wouldn’t be long until this curse placed upon him took control and his bones twisted into canis lupus.

But, for perhaps the first time since he’d been turned, Dabi longed to become a monster. Because, when he did, there’d be no chance for the hunter to get away. He’d rake his razor-sharp claws down Keigo’s back, drag him to the ground, and sink his teeth in deep, savor the man’s blood as it gushed into his maw and ran in thick rivulets down his throat.

Just a little longer, Dabi told himself, not slowing down a single beat as he forced Keigo back further into the woods. Just a little longer and it’ll all be over.

Only, the hunter wasn’t keen on playing the part of easy prey.

Keigo was guiding Dabi, bringing him deeper into the darkness of the green in hopes of having a chance to spare you.

He’d give you one last chance to accept his offer and return home with him once the wolf was dead.

If you still refused, well…

At least then no one from the town on the coast would hear your screams echo out across the sloshing water.

The moon became brighter still, cutting through twilight’s haze like a window opening into the silvery heavens, and with that illumination came the protruding of fangs, the curvature of claws, the sprouting of thick, black fur down the nape of Dabi’s neck and along the column of his spine. The blueness of his eyes became bluer still, glowing sapphires slashing through the shadows to pierce his target’s back every time the hunter dared to glance behind him, panic striking as the wolfman closed the gap more and more with every step.

You’d lost their trail long ago, rushing frantically through the dark woodlands in hopes of spotting the imprint of a familiar shoe tread or catch a glimpse of Keigo’s tawny hunting jacket from between the rustling pines. Your lungs were starting to ache, every breath of the evening’s cool air sucked down in short, panicked breaths stinging from inside your tightening chest the longer you went without any sign of them.

You were about to give up. To turn around and hope you could find your way back into hiding and pray that Dabi would be the one who came back to find you. 

But then you heard a scream.

Not a scream, exactly.

More like a low, guttural, raspy growl.

Dabi’s tone echoed in sharp, staccato bursts from somewhere off to your left, his voice sounding pained, like he was in the throes of agony.

And so you took off running again, this time faster than you’d previously thought yourself capable of.

Just before the wolfman had been able to take hold of the hunter, an invisible force seized his limbs, an acidic suffering surging through his veins, lacing through the very marrow of his bones as they began to crack and shift inside his frame, the pain splintering through him like white hot electricity as he arched and bent with the torture of the transformation.

By the time you reached him, he had only a few more breaths left of being a man. You’d never seen him during a shift. He’d always gone away, done it somewhere privately, somewhere you couldn’t hear his misery.

And when you looked at him, even just for those few seconds he was caught in the horrible in between, he could see it in your eyes.

The terror.

And you…

You’d be lying if you said you could no longer understand why so many viewed his kind as monsters.

It was only once Dabi’s haunting hisses and moans ceased that you registered Keigo’s own groans of struggle and dread and revulsion filling the air as he panted through clenched teeth, attempting to scramble up from the ground where he’d tripped as he’d been backing away, golden eyes wide with fear of all that was holy and damned and everything in between.

You’d never seen Keigo afraid and, somehow, that in and of itself was terrifying to you.

“Dabi!” you called out to him, something more akin to concern than disgust breaking at the end of his name. He peered over his shoulder to find you running towards him, immediately swiveling to help close the gap, mindful to let you collide with him and not the other way around, as his current size might do some damage if it crashed into your fragile human form. You threw your arms around his neck, buried your face into his fur, the scent of campfire smoke still clinging to him even in this form, and he could feel your whole body shaking, trembling like a fall leaf one breeze from being shorn from the tree’s withered branch.

A short, breathy whine was sighed out through the wolf’s nostrils and you felt his massive weight sag a little further into your desperate embrace. Man or wolf, you just wanted him to be alright. You wanted him to whisk you away from this nightmare and deliver you both safely to one of those boats, the promise of a new life, a new land, awaiting you. 

But, while you two were having your touching little reunion, the hunter wasn’t wasting any time. He knocked an arrow and drew back the bowstring in one swift, deathly precise motion, the sharp tip of the weapon aimed for your beating heart as soon as you parted from your beloved monster. He took one steadying breath, not a single flicker of doubt or apprehensive shudder to be found.

Keigo had no other choice.

You’d forced his hand.

You’d made your choice and now he’d follow through with his.

Dabi saw the hunter turn his aim onto you, and before he even had time to think he was springing into action, vaulting towards the hunter with his teeth bared as the arrow was set free.

The world seemed to slow around him as he dove into harm’s way, a dozen memories flashing through his head all at once, though still seeming to draw out and take their time. He remembered the first time he lay eyes on you, so enticing and vulnerable as you’d waded your way through the fog, the fur of his maker wrapped around your pretty neck, the look of terror you’d worn when he sang your lullaby back to you and you’d spotted the glow of his eyes through the trees.

He remembered how he’d terrorized you, chasing you through the woods, his cruel laughter ringing out and startling the birds from their resting branches. And when he’d caught you, he’d been even more horrible still, earning himself a bite and a cut from the knife you’d carried back then. And when you weren’t afraid anymore, that’s when things had gotten interesting.

That’s when things had changed.

Dabi no longer viewed you as the scared little rabbit, the prey that indulged him in the thrill of the chase.

You could be a wolf in sheep’s clothing, if you wanted to.

And Dabi’s curiosity of what a girl who was as beautiful as she was fierce could be like— could feel like, could taste like— had ultimately won.

And he’d grown attached.

Because you weren’t afraid of him like everyone else was, like everyone else had warned you to be.

You were compassionate and smart and empathetic and kind. You were so many things that he’d convinced himself he didn’t deserve, convinced himself he’d never experience again since damned to live by the cycles of the moon.

You’d given him a reason to live.

And now, for you and only you, he’d be happy for you to be his reason to die.

“No—!” Your shriek cut through the dark as Keigo’s shot buried itself in Dabi’s shoulder, the arrow piercing his rough wolf’s flesh and causing the beast to yelp and stagger. You watched as the blood shone on his matted fur, soaking it to his scarred flesh, and felt like something in the center of your body had been yanked clean out of you, leaving a gaping hole in its wake.

But it would take more than one measly arrow to kill the werewolf, and when Dabi turned his gaze back onto the hunter, his lips pulled up in a vicious snarl to reveal two rows of sharp teeth, he glared with every ounce of hate he’d ever felt for anyone or anything in this world. Yet, at the same time, he was relieved. Because he’d much rather it be him than you who had to experience such pain. Besides, Dabi was no stranger to the sensation. It had been a while, yes, but it greeted him like an old friend.

And now, Dabi would relish in introducing Keigo to this bitter acquaintance.

Keigo took aim once more, firing off another arrow that, that time, missed the beast by only a hair, merely grazing along its side as it lunged at the hunter. Keigo threw himself out of the way, his full weight hitting the ground with a thud before frantically rolling away as the wolf snapped its razor-toothed jaw where his neck had been just a moment ago.

You’d fallen to your knees, the cool earth curling its damp tendrils around your bare legs, creeping up and up and up until the chill seemed to seep into your brain, leaving you frozen and helpless to watch everything that was about to unfold, the cruel crescendo of these past weeks— this past year— finally coming to a close.

The blonde was springing back to his feet with another arrow at the ready before Dabi could attempt his next strike, and the following, from what you could see, was a tangle of claw and limb, black and beige caught up in a deadly, face-paced dance.

The tears running down your cheeks had stopped flowing, leaving behind salty, shimmering streaks, your eyes wide with fear and hurt and anticipation.

The hunter was holding his ground, even in such close proximity, but what Dabi didn’t know was that this was all going according to Keigo’s plan.

Just a little closer, the hunter hoped. And, with one more luring motion, he had the wolf within his circle.

Keigo drew the knife, raised it above his head, then plunged all eight inches of the silver blade down into the werewolf’s back.

The sound that Dabi let out wasn’t quite a howl, wasn’t quite a scream, but something caught in between the realms of monster and man. You felt a pain in your chest upon hearing that sound, letting out one last hiccuping sob before your body truly had no more grief left to give. You couldn’t even call out his name, to let him hear it with your broken voice one last time.

The wolf went still, sagging heavier against the blood-soaked earth, and the hunter, satisfied with finally claiming such a victory, hoisted himself up to stand using the blade’s handle as leverage, sinking it just that much further into his prize’s flesh. When he did it, he locked eyes with you, the gold of his stare suddenly a much muddier shade, rusted over with apathy and scorn.

But when Keigo looked over at you, it wasn’t with relief.

It was with contempt.

It was with the tired, heavy realization that this wasn’t over yet.

Starting toward you with a slow stride, boots dragging more and more with every step, Keigo flexed his hands and clenched his jaw, his throat working as he attempted to swallow down the final ounces of sentimentality that he held for you, to let them burn away in the churning acid of his stomach. It wasn’t until he was five paces within your reach that you recognized the danger you were faced with and began to scramble from your awkward sitting position on the ground.

But the moment you even so much as hinted at giving chase, Keigo was on you, pushing you back so that your head hit the ground with a nauseous thud and stars sparkled in your swaying vision, giving no time to recover from the rattling in your brain before he was wrapping his cold, calloused hands around your throat and squeezing hard, causing you to claw at his grip as the oxygen was wrung from you.

You couldn’t hear Keigo speaking over the hammering of your pulse in your own ears, but as your vision began to go black you saw his mouth moving, caught slivers of the murmur of his voice in between your asphyxiation

“Why are you making me do this?” he was asking. “Why couldn’t you have just come home?”

Even as he squeezed harder still, the strength of your struggle fading away more and more by the moment, Keigo’s eyes filled with tears, his chin beginning to tremble as he bit back a sob, drops of his sorrow flecking your face as your eyes rolled back and he watched as the life began to drain out of you.

Once upon a time, you would’ve been the girl he’d married. You would’ve been the mother of his children, the beloved wife he returned home to at the end of every hunt.

He could’ve provided for you, protected you, given you a good life.

But you’d gone and burned it all to ash.

And for what?

All because you’d been tempted by the monster that now lay in a heap among the shadows of the trees.

Keigo wondered how long it would take for your bodies to be found and, when they were, if Dabi’s would be that of a human or a wolf.

He supposed it didn’t matter. His job was done. There was nothing left to do now but return to your village and deliver the grim news to your family.

“I tried…” Keigo wept, his words barely above a whisper. “I loved you.”

It was only half a breath later that the hunter’s grip released from your neck, two bruises in the shape of his hands marring your tender flesh, making you wince as you wheezed and gasped for air, the final shreds of mortality he’d nearly stolen from you breathing you back to life one painful cough at a time.

Once the ringing in your ears subsided, you turned halfway onto your side, looking out at where the hunter was granted but one final scream before the wolf sank its teeth into his jugular with a sickening crunch, tearing ruthlessly at his windpipe with a rapid shake of its head to deliver the killing blow. You pushed up onto your elbows as you saw Dabi open his jaw and let Keigo drop to the dirt, his eyes still open, blood drenching his neck and down his chest, soaking dark into the fabric of his coat, running up the side of his face, staining his curls a vengeful crimson.

It was then that you collapsed, though whether from trauma or shock, you did not know. Dabi was quick to return to your side, walking with a limp on his front left paw from where the knife had yet to be pulled free. He breathed in your scent, sensed your heart still beating, and curled up beside you.

It wouldn’t be until dawn, when the moon faded away back into the pale horizon, that he’d be able to change back. He just hoped that, when he did, you’d both have survived through the night.

***

The sun was just beginning to tinge the sky with all its newborn colors when you woke, your eyes fluttering apprehensively open, the light that flooded your vision making you wince and retreat back into the dim, pinkish darkness the back of your eyelids provided.

Your head throbbed and your neck pulsed with pain, your entire being sore with the aftermath of the night previous. You wondered, for a moment, if it had all been some kind of horribly vivid dream, but when you looked further into the field, your sight adjusting into focus, you saw Keigo’s corpse still lying dormant amidst the grass, his blood congealing and his expression twisted into a sight you had to force yourself to look away from, rigor mortis settling over his once handsome features in a grotesque display of death and decay.

You went to speak, to call out for Dabi, but found you couldn’t make a sound, your voice less than a wheeze and feeling ragged and raw even upon the gentlest whisper. You feared, for a moment, that Dabi hadn’t made it either. That he’d dragged himself off somewhere far away to die. But then you glanced behind you and felt at least that part of your panic settle, finding him asleep and hopefully alive.

He was man once more, having shed all of his wolfish parts by daybreak, though was left naked and vulnerable against the earth, the blood from his wounds showing bright against his pale flesh, new scars likely to form on his shoulder his back, flaking rust still around his mouth and down his neck, all the evidence of Keigo’s attacks and Dabi’s victory staining his skin with gore.

But, as you curled back up beside him, moving closer so your two bodies could touch, wrapping your arms around him in hopes of sharing some of your warmth as he’d done for you so many times before, it was confirmed that he was, indeed, still alive.

You could feel him breathing, feel him occasionally twitch or wince amidst his slumber, you keeping watch over him this time, finally able to feel like you were the one capable of doing the protecting.

An hour or so later, when Dabi finally began to stir, it was with a hiss and a groan, all of last night’s pain resurfacing from its rest as well. The moment he laid eyes on you though, all of his suffering was forgotten, all of his worries chased away.

“Hey…” he cooed, gently threading his fingers through your hair as your eyes filled with tears. “Hey, it’s alright…” he continued to assure you, pulling you in a little closer. “We’re safe now… I’ve got you… We’re safe…”

Despite the pain, you still attempted to speak again, but to no avail. Once Dabi realized this, remembered how he’d almost been too late to pull the hunter off of you, he had you sit up, allowing him to carefully inspect the damage done to your throat.

It would take some time to heal, that was for certain, but he had confidence that you’d end up ok. For now though, he told you not to push yourself, not to speak, that he’d take care of everything and get you what you needed as soon as you boarded one of those boats.

Helping each other to your feet, Dabi instructed you to head up the hill and wait while he procured some clothes. You didn’t protest. You knew it was so you wouldn’t have to watch him strip Keigo’s body of his belongings. Because even if he had tried to kill you, it still wasn’t easy to see the corpse of someone who’d once been so familiar.

It wasn’t long before Dabi returned to meet you, now wearing Keigo’s clothes, the sleeves of the jacket and the legs of the pants a little short on him, but seeing as his garments were destroyed during the shift, he had no other choice. Keigo’s body would be left behind, whether for the vultures to begin scavenging from or some unfortunate hunter to find, that wasn’t the concern of either of you.

You had a boat to catch, after all.

A proper burial would take too long.

So, heading in the direction of the shore, passing through the last remaining town that you’d probably ever see of your home country, Dabi used the last of the coins that he’d found waiting patiently in one of Keigo’s pockets to purchase you both some new clothes and, the real shock of your entire pre-voyage excursion, two third-class tickets onto one of the passenger liners headed east.

You didn’t know what would await you in the next land you set foot on, if things would fare better or worse than the situation you’d just escaped, the family that you’d heartbreakingly left behind. But there was no way to know unless you tried.

All you could hope was, perhaps there, you could start over.

Perhaps, there, you could be free.

***

Hello and thank you so much to everyone for reading (and for being so patient in waiting for the finale). Also, happy halloween! It’s always a bittersweet feeling to wrap up a series, especially one I started so long ago despite it only being three chapters, so I sincerely hope you enjoyed and were satisfied with the way things turned out. Since going back to school I’ve been very busy and not had very much time for writing as I’m used to, but little by little I intend to continue other projects of mine that I’m still in the middle of, so please continue to be patient with me on that. Anyway, I want to say thank you again if you’ve come this far and hope you have a wonderful rest of your day/evening! See you next time, byyyyyyyeee! <3

[thenyoumightaswellwrestleangels]

Please save me from this light of mine (please stay with me in the dark)

Your small hands in the palm of mine - series masterlist here

pairing: gojo satoru x reader x geto suguru (gender neutral)

length: 1.6k

genre: lil angsty

warnings: this is the beginning of the spiral into insanity lmao but I promise we are doing the happy timeline here ok this is not going to follow canon, lil angsty here but y'all know I would never leave you with heartbreak forever <3

a/n: I think this is about uuuh cutting the ppl you love with your sharp edges :( so anyway

There's a heaviness in the air, the humidity weighing on you as the summer sun beats down. Laying in the grass, feeling your chest heave as you try to catch your breath and your clothes stick to your sweat-slicked skin, you feel almost - almost at your limit. Not quite, though. Not until -

A shadow passes over you, blocking out the scorching heat of the sun, and when you open your eyes, you're met with Suguru's concerned face, his hand stuffed in the pockets of his school uniform.

"Aw, you're blocking the light," you sigh, but there's a fatigue in your voice that just causes his brows to bunch further together. He moves anyway, though, choosing instead to sit next to you and stare down at your figure. Not that you'd notice, your eyes fluttering shut again to ward off the bright sunlight.

"Think you've had more than enough sunlight today," he answers easily, eyeing your figure. Your breath has started to calm, your chest rising and falling a bit slower. "And more than enough practicing. How long have you been out here?"

"Not that long," you respond, shrugging as best you can with your hands interlocked behind your head, cushioning you as the grass sways around you. The breeze is welcome- a cool, sweet reverie until you're interrupted again.

"Aw, now don't go lying to us," Satoru says, being the one to tower over you this time. You open your eyes again to squint up, glaring at him as he grins down at you for a moment before planting himself on the other side of you. "You left this morning. The sun's gonna go down soon."

"We're in school," you huff, stubbornly keeping your eyes closed. "We're training. Are we not here to get better? Are you two not?"

"Of course we are," Suguru sighs, and you open your eyes to look up at him. The sun is getting lower on the horizon, the day's light soon to fade along with it. "But we're not here to get ourselves killed. That's what you'll do if you keep going on like this." You scoff at Suguru's words, sitting up to look at him crossly.

"I know what I'm doing - and I know my limits. You don't need to know them for me."

"We're just worried about you, we - hey, we care about you," Satoru begins, but you're already hauling yourself to your feet, determined to end the conversation before it's even really begun. You sway a bit as you stand, and the two of them shoot to their feet on either side of you, hands outstretched. As if they'd need to catch you - as if you'd ever let yourself fall. 

"I thought you wanted to be the best, Satoru," you challenge him, your eyes narrowing. He opens his mouth to respond, a surprised pain flashing through his eyes as you keep going before he can speak. "At this rate, it won't take long for me to surpass you."

Neither of them stop you this time when you walk away.

Neither of them come to see you in your dorm later, either - something that causes your heart to stutter in your chest as you lean against your windowsill, staring up at the night sky and the pale, waning moon. You turn over, in your head, what the other two had been saying to you earlier, the hurt in Satoru's eyes and the way Suguru's hand had stayed outstretched, reaching towards you as you walked away You play it over and over in your mind, something worrying gnawing at you when you think of it. 

You scoff angrily, letting your head fall forward to rest against the glass of your window. There is a loneliness to this life, you think. And it is made even lonelier by the fact that they haven't seemed to realize that yet. Still, there's a part of you that tugs at your heart, pleads for your feet to move, to carry you down the hall to them. There is a part of your soul that begs for them and you cannot snuff it out.

You can, of course, ignore it. And you do - you always do, digging your heels in and refusing to seek shelter from a storm of your own making.

"Don't you think we should go talk to them," Satoru whines, pouting up at Suguru where he lays sprawled across his bed. He'd ignored Suguru's grumbling about how he has his own dorm room when he came in, making himself comfortable while Suguru had just sighed, shifting to give him more space. Now, he leans forward to pet a hand over Satoru's hair.

"They just need a bit of space tonight, probably. If we crowd them, it might make it worse - you know that," he says softly. Satoru rolls onto his front and buries his face in the blankets.

"I just want to make this better - to help them. They're not alone in this, you know? I don't want…" Suguru sighs and runs his hands up and down Satoru's spine over his shirt.

"I know… I know. I don't want them to feel alone, either. They don't have to do this alone. But… you and I knowing that isn't the same as them knowing, yea?"

"I know," Satoru grumbles, rolling over once more to look up at Suguru where he's sitting up. Satoru reaches up to brush a strand of hair behind Suguru's ear, smoothing over his cheek with his thumb on the way back. "I just wish it was easier to make them understand that."

"It'll come… with time," Suguru says sweetly, catching Satoru's hand with his own to press a kiss to his palm. "We just have to be patient for now."

Suguru thinks, as he watches Satoru, that he may have been wrong on that front. Satoru's talking to you about his techniques, about pushing them and expanding them and making them more powerful - the constant drive for more, more, more. You, for what it's worth, look a bit hesitant about the whole thing.

"Isn't that a bit much, Toru?" You ask, crossing your arms over your chest. He scoffs, waving your concern away.

"You were the one who kept saying it," Satoru points out. "You were the one who told me to catch up." You bristle at his words.

"I didn't mean it like this," you say stubbornly. Satoru pays it no mind, laughing and bumping you with his shoulder.

"You should be nicer, then," he points out. From where Suguru's sitting in the shade, away from the two of you, he can see the way you flinch at that, the way Satoru's words hurt you. But Satoru's already walking away, leaving you to stare after him, blinking in bemusement and something that looks suspiciously like regret. 

By the time he's gone, you're stomping over to Suguru to sit next to him, your arms crossed and a frown tugging at your lips. Suguru reaches over to smooth his thumb over your brow gently, a silent reminder for you to relax.

"Is that my fault, do you think?" You ask quietly. Suguru drops his hand to your knee, squeezing reassuringly. 

"It was bound to happen," he says kindly. You're not sure you deserve it. "Satoru's… well, he was always going to be the best, one day." You frown at Suguru's words, a furrow appearing again between your brows as you look up at the sky.

"I thought that was going to be me… before I met him." Suguru hums at your confession, unsurprised.

"Does it have to be one of you?" He asks, and if there's a fatigue seeping into his voice, if there's a slouch to his shoulders, you don't notice it.

"Doesn't it?" You press. Your hands ball into fists. "Satoru's scared of it - I know he is. He's got this fear in him and it's making him desperate." Suguru knows what you're talking about. He's seen the fear in Satoru - the fear that he isn't really the best, that he never will be, that he'll always still be beaten.

"And you?" Suguru presses, a sigh leaving him. It's heavy - this weight on his shoulders. He's not sure where it came from or when it got there, this creeping sort of ache that bears down on him. But it's here, nonetheless, and he's not sure he'd holding it up as well as he should be.

He's also not sure he really hears your answer to his question - something about how you've just got a better handle on it all compared to Satoru - how you're surely doing it all right and don't need the help that Satoru needs. Suguru doesn't mention that he's pretty sure Satoru feels the same - that you need help and he doesn't. You don't think to say that you're both thinking it about him, too - that Suguru is the one who needs an outstretched hand.

Either way, Suguru can't quite make himself believe you, not as the weariness of it all begins to collapse on him, the sun beating down just beyond this patch of shade he calls his own, the cicadas droning loud enough that he finds he can't hear himself think anymore. You're sitting right next to him, he supposes, but you feel out of reach, somehow. And Satoru? Well, he's nowhere in sight anymore.

Suguru wonders when he became so alone - thinks of it while you sigh and rest your forehead on his shoulder. He wonders when it all began to go so wrong.

[klonnieshippersclub]

Charmed by You

Hi Klonnie Friends! Happy to celebrate Klonnie Mischief Movie Night with one of my favorite TV shows: Charmed. In this, Bonnie and her sisters (Emily and Beatrice) are the power of three. Klaus is the Source of All Evil. Despite being a good witch, Bonnie wants a taste of darkness and Klaus wants to give it to her.

The moon hung high over Mystic Falls, casting a glow that illuminated the streets. Tension hung thick in the air like a brewing storm in the Bennett manor. Bonnie Bennett paced her room, her heart racing, each thud echoing her inner turmoil. The walls seemed to close in on her as she cast furtive glances at the door, an ever-present reminder of her sisters' disapproval.

Emily and Beatrice had made their feelings about her relationship with Klaus starkly clear. He was the Source of All Evil, a creature of darkness, and the sisters believed he was destined to bring nothing but sorrow into her life. Their warnings echoed in her mind, but despite their concerns, an undeniable pull toward him ignited her spirit.

Klaus was a tempest in her existence—chaotic and exhilarating. Their time together was filled with laughter that danced around the edges of danger, and late-night conversations that plumbed the depths of her heart. But now, as she stood at a crossroads, she knew she had to make a choice.

Just then, her phone buzzed with sudden urgency, breaking her from her reverie. A message from Klaus lit up the screen: "Meet me at the park. I need to see you." His words breathed life into her tumultuous thoughts, igniting a flicker of hope amidst the storm.

With determination swelling in her chest, Bonnie made her decision to defy her sisters and go see him. Grabbing her denim jacket, she felt a rush of adrenaline coursing through her veins as she slipped out of the house.

As she stepped into the night, the cool air wrapped around her like an embrace. The park was quiet, the only sound the gentle whisper of the wind through the trees. Finally, she spotted Klaus leaning against a tree, his silhouette strikingly contrasted with the pale glow around him. A sly, confident grin broke across his handsome face as he met her gaze, and in that moment, her heart soared. He looked more alive than ever, his dark eyes shimmering with mischief, drawing her in like moth to flame.

“My love,” he said, his voice smooth as silk. “You came.”

“I couldn’t stay away,” she replied, her heart thumping in her chest. “I can’t let them dictate my life. I want to be with you.”

Klaus stepped closer, his presence overwhelming and intoxicating. “Are you sure? This path isn’t easy. We’d be running away from everything.”

Bonnie’s breath caught in her throat. “I’d be running toward you. I’d choose you every time.”

He took her hands in his, and the world around them faded. In that moment, nothing else mattered. They shared a passion that blurred the lines between good and evil, creating a new reality where they could be free.

“Let’s go,” Klaus said, determination in his voice. “We can start fresh, away from the witching world. Just you and me.”

As they made their way down the path, Bonnie felt a mix of excitement and fear. The thrill of the unknown electrified her. They could create their own destiny, away from the judgment of her sisters and the expectations of being a Bennett.

But as they reached the park's edge, a powerful wind swept through, carrying with it a sense of foreboding. Bonnie hesitated, a nagging doubt creeping in. She remembered her sisters' warnings and their love for her. As if her doubts summoned them, her sisters appeared. Out of the shadows stepped Emily and Beatrice, their faces a mix of anger and concern.

“Bonnie, stop!” Emily shouted, her voice cutting through the night.

“Don’t do this!” Beatrice pleaded, her eyes wide with fear.

“Will you give Klaus a chance?” Bonnie questioned, with pleading eyes. 

“He just wants to have sex with you and use your magic!” Beatrice yelled, glaring at Klaus like a predator. 

“I can’t believe you’d think I’d just rush into sex. How dare you?” Bonnie asked, gripping Klaus's hand tighter. She loved her sisters and understood the concern but they didn’t see her. 

“We haven’t reached that stage,” Klaus scoffs, placing his hand over his chest. “I respect her wishes unlike you two.” 

Emily rolled her eyes. “And when you do you’ll discard her. You asshole!”

“Let’s go home, Bonnie,” Beatrice suggested, in a softer tone sensing the dynamic becoming violent soon. “We love you.”

“I DO LOVE HER!” Klaus yelled, in defense with aggravation. But never moved from Bonnie’s side. Her overprotective and overbearing sisters were off limits and he knew she’d never forgive him if they were harmed. 

“Don’t do this,” Emily begged and reached for Bonnie’s hand. “Please?”

“It’s too late,” Bonnie said, proudly. “You won’t try and I am not leaving him.” 

Emily sighed, holding both hands up as magic freed itself from her body. She felt electric and pure. “Can’t be too late if he’s dead!”

Klaus aggressively coughed and reached for his chest. His heartbeats were fastened as the organ rocked against his thoracic cavity. If the Bennett witch tugged any harder his death would soon follow. Klaus raised his hand ready to send the witch flying but fell to the ground. Blood seeped from his nostrils and mouth as his eyes fluttered. Bonnie rushed to join Klaus on the ground, disbelieving that her sisters would hurt her this way.

Beatrice linked hands with the eldest Bennett witch and followed suit. They chanted in unison when Klaus's airways became restricted when he finally stopped his gurgling. 

“STOP! NOW!” Bonnie screamed, straddling Klaus with her hands on his heart. A place that she knew was hers forever. She couldn’t lose her true love. It was designed by fate.  

“He’s deceiving you!” Emily snapped, full of conviction. She was ready to end this for good. “You're acting like a child!”

“You’ll be free of this magic and him when he’s dead,” Beatrice reassured, she’s studied how dark magic can impact a pure witch.

Bonnie wiped her eyes and threw her family’s heirlooms her sister's way. Her decision was final. 

“Go to hell!” Bonnie screamed, she clutched Klaus tighter. All it took was imagining someplace better. She wanted a new beginning without the stressors of a legacy and Mystic Falls. Vanishing and cloaking them as Klaus remained unconscious was easy.

The youngest Bennett laid on top of Klaus with her hand over his heart repeating the healing spell once more hoping he’d finally come too. 

Finally, after what felt like hours Klaus's blue eyes met with Bonnie’s again. She kissed him passionately several times and laid against his chest.

“Never scare me like that again,” Bonnie demanded, snuggling onto Klaus's warm chest.

“Thank you, for saving me,” Klaus said, kissing Bonnie’s forehead. He coughed, then realized they were on a cruise ship. The bedroom was too simple for his taste. “Where are we going?”

“The Bahamas, for our new beginning.”

Klaus's hand reached for his pockets, grateful the heart-shaped diamond ring was still there. “Would you be open to starting our new beginning as my wife?”

“Yes! In every lifetime my answer is yes.” 

Happy tears formed in Bonnie’s emerald eyes. Their lips met and soon the kisses became ravenous. Yes, they had problems to worry about Bonnie has disowned herself as Bennett and they’d need shelter for their arrival. They choose each other, and to them, that’s all that matters.

[ginjones]

An ending (Ascent)

It’s probably not normal, Hob will reflect later, to walk in on your boyfriend sitting cross legged on the floor, wearing a giant pair of headphones, clutching a spoon in one hand, and staring into the middle distance in what can only be described as a state of divine rapture.

Perhaps it is for celebrities who have access to all the really good drugs, but celebrities don’t leave their partners bundled up in bed while they nip to Tesco’s to buy more milk.

It’s also not normal that he’s completely naked, save for one black sock which sits defiantly on his left foot. That would explain the detritus of clothing which greeted him on his way down the hall, but not whatever…this is.

Dream is sitting with his back to the living room bookcase where Hob keeps his vinyl, a selection of it discarded around him. He’s playing absently with the cord of the huge Bose headphones, weaving the coils around his delicate fingers, lost in thought. And there’s nothing to suggest he’s noticed Hob’s presence, no questioning whether Hob has remembered to pick up his favourite snack. For a moment, Hob wonders if he should whip out his phone; take a sneaky picture of this ceremonious event. Then he notices the shimmer of tears falling serenely down his partner’s cheeks and discards the notion entire.

“You okay, sweeting?”

No response. He shrugs off his messenger bag and sits down to join him, scooting over the laminate floor in a graceless bum shuffle.

A soft, white light from the overhead lamp illuminates the scene. It pours over Dream like a sheet of pure silk, highlighting his nakedness and the paleness of his skin. There’s a wonder to his expression; something soft in the way his mouth is held slightly open, his hair mussed from sleep. Like a renaissance painting, he thinks, in the way that all academics conflate one thing with the other. like Iris in the land of Hypnos and yet, he looks so human.

Because of course, he is.

It’s been 4 months and 3 days since he’d chosen to join Hob in the earthly realm of humanity. Hob’s been keeping track on the calendar, trying to offer him one new experience a day. They’ve watched classic movies, read each other poetry, (Dream still has the perfect voice for orating) and early last week Hob had introduced him to modern music (the Beatles were a hit, the Stone Roses were not).

Hob’s immediate presence must break Dream out of his reverie because slowly, sapphire eyes meet his and wordlessly he places the spoon down, picks up the sleeve of an album and holds it out to Hob like it’s the Turin shroud.

It’s not immediately identifiable. The artwork a scant wash of beige imposed over an image of moon craters; aesthetically pleasing yes, but not particularly noteworthy. Hob’s collected vinyl for the better part of five decades but his visual memory’s not the best. Without being able to hear what Dream’s listening to he’s drawing a bit of a blank. Then he sees the sparse red writing at the top and the name down the side and all at once, it clicks.

Brian Eno has broken my boyfriend.

It’s not the first time Dream’s had such a visceral response to artwork in these acclimating months. It had been very sweet to find him weeping over local artwork in the coffee shop they’d visited in Coventry. The issue was the shame he’d felt afterwards. In the car park outside, Hob had soothed him, rubbing gentle circles across his back as he listened patiently to Dream’s lament that it was all too much, these…feelings. I cannot hide them like I did before.

This time however, the tears seem to have stopped and a hazy sort of smile plays at the corner of his lips. He’s coming back to himself and in the privacy of this moment, shared only with Hob, he may be able to appreciate this outpouring of emotion for it is, something human.

“Want to take off the cans so we can talk, love?”

Hob’s pretty sure Dream hasn’t learnt to read lips, but the headphones are slowly lifted away, leaving the tinny echo of the song playing in the background. His expression changes to imitate something of his former status, a furrow of the brow, a regal upturn of his chin.  

“Ah, you have return to me. You woke me when you left you know?”

He does, in fact know this. When he had risen gently from bed that morning, Dream had moved to pull him back; a flow of pale arms moving like water, muscles softened from sleep. He’s still getting used to it; the sense that Dream belongs here. That he won’t apparat back into endlessness, leaving the bed cold, the tea undrunk, the rooms quietened by his absence.

“And I’m guessing that’ll be the reasoning you give when I find arse prints on my lovely, new laminate floor?”

“You were gone for too long; I decided to entertain myself.”

“By listening to Brian Eno naked?”

“Yes”, his eyes trail down slowly to observe his current state, “I realised clothing was detracting from the experience.”

He can’t help but chuckle at that.

“So, you like Brian Eno, and I can see that he’s affected you,” Dream nods slowly, looking down to the album on the ground. “What is it about this album in particular, because I can tell there are some big feelings here. I want you to know we can discuss them.”

For a moment, Dream is silent, playing with the cord in his hands. He’s sitting a little straighter now, his shoulder muscles tightened in a familiar stance. Weighted by the question perhaps, a wish to answer dutifully, but still, he pauses for several seconds longer, worrying his bottom lip.

“It is… soothing I suppose. I enjoyed the piece Mata from this composition. It is nightmarish in its construction, recalling a jungle swollen with noxious blooms, but this one?”, he places a finger to the title, An ending (Ascent). “It remindsme of the space between form and thought where I once spun the diaphanous silk of my creations. It was where I was most at peace and upon listening, I found myself reminded of those moments.”

That is, quite frankly, a lot to unpack.

At his core, Dream remains a storyteller, weaving an elaborate web of seemingly disparate ideas. Hob finds it all a bit overwhelming. How he can take a piece of art, deconstruct it, and recraft it into something new. Pulling inspiration from the air, plucking its strings, and finding where the vibrations cross paths with his own experience. And Hob must be getting better at reading his partners mind because, in a quiet, searching tone, Dream asks:

“Has it been written for me?”

This man, Hob thinks This man who has come back to me, who has crept into my life and reads my books and listens to my music. This man who lays himself out to me in naked candour.

“Oh love, come here then. Give us a cuddle.” He’s blushing now, a pink hue spreading across the lily paleness of his chest. His skin is warm when Hob pulls him closer, and it smells sweet and living from sweat. “I mean, maybe? You tell me. Ever pay Mr Eno a visit like you did Shaxberd?”

“No,” Dream continues, “but it is as if this man has looked upon me and glimpsed a fragment of my being.”

“That’s a common phenomenon of the human experience I think. Lots of people feel like songs speak directly to them. Yours just happens to be written by Brian Eno-which doesn’t surprise me,” he chuckles affectionately, “he’s quite a conceptual artist-it’s all very ethereal.”

“Ethereal…” Dream pauses, his brow crinkled in thought. “Yes, there’s an otherworldliness to it I suppose… but a tangibility all the same. How the counter melody sits low in the mix-the bass notes appear rooted to the earth while the top notes look towards the sky. What did the first humans wonder when they looked towards my mother? I do not know…. I did not care for them as I do now”.

“Well,” Hob continues, “perhaps they thought about their own existence? Their place in a world which is confusing and often painful. Perhaps they wanted to feel like they were being protected by something bigger than themselves. Spirts; angels.”

“Angels?”, Dream scoffs “Angels do not sing like this. The holy choir is faultless in its melodies. It lacks the vibrancy of imperfection, the subtle intricacies of the human spirit. No; this piece holds far more divinity.”

“Ever thought about taking up music journalism Dove? Pitchfork would have a field day.”

As predicted, there’s no response to that.

So, Hob bundles him up and they sit on the sofa listening to Apollo together. Tomorrow, he’ll try and convince Dream to watch 28 days later, with the promise that An Ending (Ascent) is in the soundtrack. They’ll eat nothing but comfort food and Hob will remind Dream to brush his teeth before he goes to bed and in an otherworldly Parthenon, the muses will smile fondly down, and kiss the brow of a kindred aesthete.

[ljaesch]

J-Novel Club Licenses 10 Light Novels and Four Manga

J-Novel Club has announced that it has licensed 10 new light novels and four new manga titles. The company additionally announced it will be adding state sales tax for 11 states on subscriptions and other purchases in the future, and also revealed a new rental system. The newly announced light novel titles include: Title: Young Lady Albert Is Courting Disaster Author(s): Saki (author), Hazuki…

[bg-brainrot]

WHaBFHtLA - Astarion x GN!Reader - Chapter 2: The Second Encounter with the Pale Elf

Pairing: Astarion x GN!Reader (Elf!Tav)

Genre: Reincarnation, Angst, Mystery, Slow burn

Rating: Explicit, 18+

Tags: Gender-Neutral Pronouns, POV Second Person, Canon-Typical Violence, cw: light smut, sexual situations, blood, vampire things, act 1 Astarion dissociation

WC: 2.2k words, 2/?? chapters

Summary: Nearly 19, you think you have a handle of your past lives. However, not all of your past lives are created equal.

Ao3 | [Ch1][Ch3] | WHaBFHtLA Masterlist

A scholar from a young age, you’ve been keeping track of your previous lives since you turned ten. Now 18, going on 19, you’re sitting on more than eight years of documentation of who these people were and what they accomplished. You’ve lived as mages, as warriors, as scoundrels. Of your various lives, some of them appeared to you far more often than others, so each night you went to lie down with the question, “Who will it be tonight?” 

Even after so many years, there’s something about entering your nightly trances that fills you with a giddy anticipation. It’s like a small gift from one of your former selves, as if congratulating you for getting through another day. Tonight you receive a gift that surprises you in more ways than one. After more than six years of laying dormant, long enough that you began to doubt if it was even a life you’d led, a previous life bursts back into the picture in an exhilarating fashion.

You access your reverie like any other night, by entering a deep, meditative state, your hands curled to focus, your mind blissfully blank. You inhale deeply.

A single exhale later, you find yourself panting. Your heart is racing, your blood pumping furiously through your veins, and when your eyes snap open they’re met by a set of half-lidded red eyes.

They bore into you, and distantly, you recall seeing such a pair before. Before you can piece it together, you feel your body pushed down to the ground.

Am I in danger? You think, staring at the night sky above you, trying to reconcile all of the sensations that are assaulting you at once: The grass beneath your bare back, the pounding of your heartbeat in your ears, the fresh scent of bergamot with underlying notes you can’t yet place. What–

Another thought never forms, because suddenly a pair of cold hands grip your hips. Their careful, light fingers trace up each of your sides, leaving a trail of shivers in their wake, and land at rest on either side of your chest. A man comes into view above you, curly silver hair haloed by the moon’s glow. He’s beautiful, of that much you’re certain, but he also evokes a deep angry feeling in your present-day mind. You would focus on that feeling, tracking it down to its source, if only you could find the headspace. 

Your past-self is driving this memory though and their emotions are overwhelming you. When they see him, perched above, they chuckle, low and sultry. “Don’t hold back on me.” Feelings of longing, desire crash over you, leaving you reeling from their force.

Oh , you think to yourself. I’m not in any danger at all. This isn’t new to you, and despite how odd it is, it’s not entirely unpleasant– especially compared to other memories you’ve had. So you relax into the experience, allowing yourself to feel what your past-self might have felt in the moment and learn what you can, you suppose.

The man above you gives a deep groan and, in a voice you swear you recognize, says, “Oh darling, be careful what you wish for.”

A second later his mouth is on yours, your lips and bodies begin moving together in a rhythmic dance that stokes a fire burning deep in your chest, igniting a fire that burns lower. It’s difficult for you to tell where your emotions end and your previous self’s begin as the kiss deepens. A second later, his teeth nip at your lips in a playful tease, and a part of you wants him to stop teasing and just bite.

You feel your neck crane, an invitation. He looks at you, as if asking permission for something. Your mouth says, “I said don’t hold back.”

The man, an elf now that you’ve gotten a better look at him, growls. It rumbles through him, into you, and it's near primal in its urgency. An odd flutter of fear courses through both you and your past-self before he lowers himself and bites your outstretched neck.

Nevermind, I might be in danger, you think, as you feel a pair of fangs pierce your neck, a sharp intake of breath passing your lips. But you find that your body doesn’t mind, that, even as blood is sucked out of your veins, your body is aching for this man, hands grasping at his back, mouth moaning into his hair with abandon. A bloody vampire is suckling at your neck, and you’re finding… enjoyment out of it?

The vampire seems to be enjoying this just as much as you are, each deep draw of blood eliciting another tantalizing sound deep from his chest. The sounds send tingles down your spine, have your fingers clenching his shoulder blades, his sides, his hair, in a frantic attempt to find purchase.

It’s pure pleasure coursing through your past-self into your present self. But this moment, where the man is clearly feeding off of you, brings to you a new sense of clarity and a few obvious facts. This man is a vampire and your past-self seems intimately knowledgeable about this. He must be the same silver-haired man from all of those years ago. And he is just as deadly as you were afraid of.

You will your past-self to shove, to fight him off, whatever it takes– That they could shake off whatever compulsion he was using. But you know that there’s no point, the past is the past, and you’re just as lost in their emotions as they are.

So deeper he drinks, and you feel your head growing lighter and lighter, the burning in your belly a mixture of your own anger and your body’s uninhibited lust. I will die here, you think. Because this version of me is a fool.

Before you can resign yourself to death, the man detaches himself from your neck, panting heavily. Each puff of breath feels like a welcome relief on your burning skin. Clearly, even blood loss wouldn’t quench the searing heat his touch leaves behind. His tongue laps at your neck, and your body shakes at the sensation, acutely feeling the long line he follows. 

“Delicious,” he murmurs into your neck. His lips press a trail of cool kisses up your neck and along your jaw. Once he’s lifted himself back above you, you see the full view of his blood-stained lips, his wicked fangs gleaming bright white in contrast. 

You feel your own lips curl into a smile, and you want to slap yourself. Maybe if you’re lucky you’ll still run, realize that life is worth living. But no– your past-self is busy placing their hands on either side of his face, bringing his lips back down into a crushing, bloody kiss.

There’s no point in reason here, you realize, as a deep desperation overtakes every other emotion. You don’t think you’ve felt any other emotion as singularly as this one. His hands lift your hips for him, before coming to rest on the undersides of your butt. Your lips break away from his and he gives you a low chuckle, before he says, “My, my, I knew you wanted this, darling, but aren’t you an eager thing?”

Before you can answer, he’s squeezing your backside, tugging at your thighs, angling your body for him in a way that leaves your insides squirming. You feel him, hard, pressed against you, and hear a soft sigh escape his lips.

The sound causes you to focus, to look into his deep, crimson eyes. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say that they rather see past you. Your hand traces along the line of his jaw in an altogether too delicate touch, perhaps your past-self sees the same thing you do. It doesn’t last long, because he’s moving against you a moment later.

The sensation is overwhelming to both of your bodies– you swear you can see stars. Despite the moment of pause, your past self seems more preoccupied with coming undone. Their back arches, muscles straining to keep up with the man’s relentless pace. They exhale a shuddering breath and you can feel your emotions reach a fever pitch.

The memory cuts out for a moment and when you return to it, you find yourself gasping for air. “A-a-a,” your mouth starts, unable to finish a single word in its addled state. A whimper leaves your lips that sounds utterly obscene to your own ears.

“Don’t be shy now, darling,” he pants into your ear. “Let everyone know who has you screaming, begging for more.”

Sheer emotion floods you, and your grasp on the reverie slips. The last thing you register before you’re forcibly shut from your dream is your past-self crying out a name. “Astarion!” 

You snap out of your trance, breathing hard. Your cheeks are flushed, your body can feel all of the lingering aches. Never in your 18 years of living through past memories have you had one like this and it leaves you feeling deeply embarrassed– as if you’ve intruded on a memory that wasn’t meant to be yours.

It wasn’t having a lover that surprised you– you’d dreamt about several of those. It was uncomfortable enough to be a teenager, but adding on previous lifetimes of love, awkwardness and puberty felt like a different type of torture. Luckily they were all just that: awkward and gawky and not at all something you enjoyed. You’d leave those dreams miffed, a wasted night of learning what? Fumbling fingers and sloppy kisses?

But no, tonight’s was different. And that bothered you even more.

Your past-self surrendered entirely to him, their body and soul at his whim. Even in the deepest throes of passion, you could feel their desperation– the desire to lose themselves completely in this moment of pleasure. It didn't feel like love. It felt like survival. Who was this man, this Astarion, that he would elicit such emotion? And who were you, to feel this lost?

__

After that night, you dream of him constantly. A few of your trances are similar, leaving you hot and uncomfortable, wondering who exactly this man was to you. It didn’t feel like love, rather a simple release. Other dreams, you find yourself wanting to gag from his over-the-top flirting, crude jokes, and just plain idiotic banter. Most of it is mundane though, memories you wouldn't normally get from past lives–  Days where you’re just walking and talking. The man, Astarion, almost seems… normal at times.

At first, you’re annoyed, why are your reveries suddenly so focused on this one man? Why is your past-self incapable of seeing him for the monster that he seems to be? And what was the point of these useless little dreams– to humanize him?

Amidst these frustrating memories, you do seem to open the floodgates for other moments from this life. Aside from your clear obsession with this vampire, you find your past self to be quite fascinating. They have so much knowledge for you, about all types of new things and new people.

Months pass and you grow to enjoy the memories of this past life. You look forward to them, as long as it’s not all about Astarion. As you’re documenting what transpires, you realize that you might have been someone really, truly important. You find yourself wishing that your other lives would take a break, that they would leave you dreaming of this life for as long as you can.

Aside from the annoying vampire, you dream of other companions, learn their names. There’s Shadowheart, that’s who was in the first memory you received– a follower of Shar or maybe it was Selune? You learn of Wyll, apparently some kind of famous Baldurian hero, and, of Karlach, a fearsome looking tiefling woman. A githyanki woman called Lae’zel shocks you the most. You’d never seen a githyanki before seeing her, so every time you dream of her is a thrill. There’s a wizard named Gale. You almost think you recognize that name, but shoo the thought away after a bit. Surely anyone who wasn’t an elf would be dead by now. 

There is one elf among the group, other than the vampire, a druid named Halsin. If this particular lifetime wasn’t too far in the past, perhaps he could shed some more light on who you were. You make a note of it on one of your papers. Your parents have warned you against learning too much of your previous lives, but it wouldn’t hurt to investigate a tiny bit, right?

But even with this colorful cast of heroes from around Faerun, your mind keeps coming back to this silver-haired vampire. The dreams of him are the most vivid. They leave you breathless, jolting you out of your trances in various states of distress, delight, and desire.

You wish you could shake your past-self. Why are you so focused on this dangerous man? He’s manipulating you! you wish you could yell. But you can’t, all you can do is experience this life second hand, and watch as your former self deeply intertwines with him. If there’s one thing this life is teaching you, it’s that you know better than them. You’re smarter than them, and, while you’re learning plenty of the world through their eyes, you will take none of their lessons in love.

It's more than a decade later that you finally understand.

[themadlu]

A Star's Purpose

Part of the Spelljammer challenge by @spacebarbarianweird!

Astarion is happy, truly happy, in the safety of his lover's affection. The troubles of the Underdark have no sway on his mood as he relishes simply existing with his Zélie.

Until a call for help takes them to the depths of the Astral Sea on a Spelljammer vessel, and he'll be damned if he lets his maddening hero face the dangers of interplanar space on her own.

TW: None, I think. Maybe a smidge of self-worth issues? And end-of-game spoilers.

Not beta read and minimal editing, sorry for any mistakes!

This is mostly non-canon to Zélie and Astarion's story (I think).

@amywritesthings, in case you wanna check it out!

A year and a half has passed since the Netherbrain’s defeat. Zélie stayed in Faerun with Astarion, who’s now confined in the shadows due to his vampiric nature. They have settled in the Underdark, after concluding it was their duty to guide the 7,000 spawns towards a semi-functional society and a second chance at life. The lovers live in the magic tower near the sussur tree and have made it their own haven. A home, Zélie would say, but she is home to Astarion, and where they are matters not. 

He just wants to keep falling into reverie with her warm body tangled in his, keeping his demons at bay, and welcome the day with her wild, owlbear-esque hair all over his face. To live in the comfort of each other’s embrace, as nauseatingly cliche as it sounds. Not that she would allow it on most days, his precious, maddening woman. They have responsibilities, she says. Obligations. To the hells with them, he thinks, as he walks with her towards whatever bothersome issue they need to attend to next.  

So what happens when a message comes from a dear friend asking for their assistance in the cold void of the Outer Planes? Astarion knows. His steadfast hero will do what heroes are expected to do: run to the rescue, even if she’d rather not risk their lives again so soon after…well, everything. “You don’t have to come, Astarion, really. Actually, I think it more appropriate for you to stay here, now that we are making progress with your siblings.” As if. Aurelia and Leon can make themselves useful for once and hold the fort on their own. The pale elf is no hero and never will be, but his heart beats in her chest and her soul is his own, so he’d be damned if he doesn’t follow her into this new, gigantic mess. She (“We, Astarion”) already slayed a Netherbrain; what’s a lich queen in comparison. 

______________________________________________________________

Well, that’s impressive.

Astarion examines the raiding ship that Lae’zel somehow managed to secure. The very thing that is going to sail them into the cold, deep astral sea. The technology is clearly Illithid—since he woke up inside that fleshy pod, he’s become familiar enough with their tentacled technology to recognise it when he sees it. But the Githianki’s influence is evident: the large, fan-shaped sails stand proud against the moonlit sky like a dragon’s wings, ready to take their riders towards their next conquest. The front of the ship has what he can only describe as teeth; fanged protrusions, not unlike his own, ready to swallow whole whatever unfortunate creatures they’ll meet. A silent but unavoidable promise of war echoes off the vessel. It makes Astarion antsy. 

He has no issue with violence–he still revels in it at times, the need to own, to consume and not be consumed, so typical of his kind, exasperated by the horrors he suffered. But his bouts of spite and aggression have been fading since her. 

He turns to look at Zélie only to find her staring at the ship with eyes so wide they mirror the moon perfectly. Her mouth is the slightest bit agape in wonder, the closer her stern face can get to a surprised expression. Perfect thing. Gods, over a year together (A year, five tendays and eight days.), barely leaving each other’s side even in dreams, and his little hero still leaves him speechless with the smallest quirk.

(The way she smiles at him when she thinks he isn’t looking makes him want to scream, weep, beg her for forgiveness—for all he has to his name is a used body—and ravage her for days. At the same time.)

You’re a gift, my love. Let me keep you. 

Astarion isn’t worthy of her devotion and mercy, no angry huffs and puffs from her will convince him fully, but gods below he wants to be. He’ll do anything, become anything to keep her safe, happy, looking at him as if he were some miracle of the heavens. 

(Do it. I dare you, he thinks to the silent gods, Try to take her from me. See what happens next.)

“Seen something you like, darling?” He jests in an airy tone, both because he likes to prattle and because her attention scalds him kindly, completely, like the sun never could. Insufferable woman, making him feel so alive. 

Zélie flips her head towards him, frizzy curls bouncing wildly. “Oh Astarion, this ship! I know we’ve been on a mindflayer vessel before, but this is incredible!” She takes his hand in hers and he burns in the best way possible. 

Precious thing, so enamoured by technology, human or otherwise. He pulls her into his arms so he can feel whole one last time before he has to share her with their friends. Astarion kisses her softly, a grin on his lips at her inexorable embarrassment. She is not one for public displays of affection—most of the time.

(Part of the reason he prefers it when it’s just the two of them, so he can worship her properly in the temple of their home.) 

Fuck. 

He is getting hard just thinking about it. He needs to distract himself or else he’ll end up with a wet patch on his trousers that Lae’zel will ridicule until the end of days. 

Jealous prick. Green suits her.

The pale elf grips Zélie tighter, his familiar hardness pressing into her stomach, and her already wide eyes become impossibly larger, paler. (He so wishes he had a reflection in times like these.) 

“I stand by my point, my sweet. Size does matter, it seems.” Astarion winks at her and the woman’s flustered expression turns unamused. Oh, he so adores riling her up, his fierce hero. 

It seems he has underestimated the effect he’s had on her since they met—he can’t believe it’s almost as deep as the one she had on him—because suddenly she presses into him, burying a hand into one of her coat’s pockets so she can grab his length without being seen. Astarion hisses under his breath with poorly concealed pleasure. It’s his eyes that widen and darken now.

“You, cheeky, little pup,” he murmurs, rattles, heat spreading through him so that he would surely combust if he weren’t a cold corpse. 

“Mhm. I guess you do have a point, my dear,” Zélie says, face still unamused as she looks at him and gives him a gentle squeeze to emphasise her statement. 

(It takes all of his self-control not to buck his hips into her hand.)

“Although size doesn’t mean quality. Both are necessary. What good would such a huge ship do to us if it couldn’t sail properly, don’t you think?” She whispers the last few words in his sensitive ear and Astarion almost whines, the desire pooling in his underwear threatening to stain the fabric.

 If it were anyone else touching him like she does, Astarion would rip their throat and limbs out or die in the attempt. But it’s his Zélie and, gods and hells, he wants her, this, all of it, desperately. Her hands are so gentle to him, always, as if he would break should she press a little harder. He thought it was her relative inexperience at first, or worse, pity. The idea that she could be so tender with someone like him purely because she wanted to was unfathomable; now, he has no interest in living without it.

Only she can come to him unannounced. She can do anything she wants with him. 

(He trusts her more than he trusts himself.)

“T’chaki, you two never cease to be revolting,” a cutting voice calls out from behind them. Ah, right. Lae’zel is here. And a few dozen other Gith warriors loyal to Orpheus, all looking equally disgusted. 

Astarion scowls at them while his love-addled brain quickly sobers up at their most untimely appearance (Thank you very much, Lae’zel.) 

Only then, he notices the strangeness of his predicament: it’s his usually stony Zélie who’s all but moulding their bodies into one, it’s her smaller frame in his arms and her fingers caressing his still-hard length. 

Oh? You’re more worried about this journey than you let on, aren’t you, darling?

He recognises the signs from their last life-threatening adventure, her need to have him close to her so she could keep him safe. Impossible thing, always shielding him so fiercely, he is starting to consider his centuries of captivity as a due price for having her to himself. 

(A mortal human protecting a vampire should be laughable, but she saved him in every possible way already.)

Astarion snarls in warning at the burdensome company that ruined what could be the last moment of private intimacy with his person in a long while. “With all due respect, Lae’zel dear, go fuck off for a bit, would you?” 

Lae’zel’s warriors look just about ready to use him as a practice target (They can try.) when the woman in his embrace clears her throat, “It’s all right, Lae’zel. We’re revising last-minute arrangements for the journey. We’ll board in a moment, thank you.” 

The Gith does not look happy, but she and Zélie share a close friendship (And a stick up both their backsides, Astarion used to think.), so she listens to her and heads to the ship with her crew, cursing some pretty mild threats. Small mercies. 

“Oh,” Finally alone, Zélie realises she is still gripping Astarion’s length, colour draining from her face in mortification. “I’m so sorry Astarion, I got carried away,” she tries to move her hand away but he grabs her wrist, keeping her in place. 

“You don’t have to apologise, love. I know I’m simply irresistible!” His attempt to lighten her mood is met with a sceptic glance. Silly, precious thing, always caring for his well-being. Let me help you. “Truthfully, my sweet,” his next words are the truest ones he’s ever uttered, “you know I’m yours.” 

Zélie raises an eyebrow, “you are your own person, Astarion. We went through this, multiple times in fact.” 

He laughs, “To you, with you, darling, it doesn’t matter. As you can clearly see,” he squeezes her hand around his dripping cock.

His stubborn woman studies him carefully, searching for any of his masks and finding none. “Very well,” she concedes. She turns to her left as noises filter from the ship. “Last chance, Astarion. If you want to remain in the Underdark, you must tell me now. Lord knows how long this expedition will last, and I reckon your siblings would benefit greatly from you being there to—”

That’s what it is, then. She worries for him still; and it still unravels him. 

Let me care for you, idiot.  

“Hush, you,” Astarion places a finger on her lips to shush her, “I am where I belong.” 

(Something inside him tears at the thought of being separated from Zélie. Of her alone in the face of danger.)   

His hero’s stance softens, finally relaxed. Her relief makes her look so much younger. “Oh, well, in that case,” she leans into him and kisses him. Truly, fearlessly, savouring all of him. Astarion barely suppresses a noise of surprise before responding in kind, fangs grazing her lips, never hurting her (Never.), devouring her. 

Zélie quietly moans into him. Astounding, how she is still pleasured by such a simple act when they have been entangled into way more complex scenarios during the last year. (As if he were not close to coming already.) If the Gith are watching, he’ll gauge their eyes out.

A tremble of the earth signals that the ship is ready for departure. Zélie detaches from him and this time he does whine at her loss. She gives one last gentle squeeze to his length, making him narrow his eyes at her. The cool night air flows between them.

“The moment we are alone, I will bury myself into your perfect little body so deeply they will have to pry me from you, love.” 

(There’s no holier sight than her tender ecstasy as she shatters around him.)

He expects her embarrassment but not her smirk, “Careful. Promises must be kept, Astarion.” 

She pecks him on the lips again, fully extricating herself from him to climb the steps to the main deck. 

Cheeky, maddening pup.

Yes, Astarion decides, he will make her shout his name so loud Vlaakith herself will hear. 

______________________________________________________________

The Astral Sea is not what Astarion expected. Not that he expected much of anything since he didn’t really want to come here in the first place.

Zélie is leaning against the taffrail in front of him, a multitude of celestial bodies surrounding them. She is so eager to examine every part of the vessel that she stepped onto the outer deck the moment the ship slowed down to pick up some more crew members (As if they weren’t cramped enough already.)

“Don’t you find it uncanny, Astarion? This works very much like a regular ship, and yet it doesn’t. The Astral Sea functions like any material sea, until it doesn’t. And those strange helms—” 

“A pinnacle of technology, taken from the Ghaik and immensely improved by the Githianki so that our empire may conquer and prosper,” comments Lae’zel. Her queen’s betrayal hasn’t quelled the admiration for her own people; if anything, she seems more determined than ever to see a worthy leader at the helm of Gith society. “With a spelljamming brig such as this, you can travel anywhere, anytime. Time passes differently in the Astral Plane. Open a gate into one of many material planes to plunder and pillage to your heart’s content!” 

Gods, intense as always I see. Good. 

A formidable trait in war; fearsome in a foe, welcome in an ally. 

(So Lae’zel can protect Zélie on the battlefield while he keeps her safe from the shadows.)

Zélie’s attention shifts to the mechanism supporting the sails as she speaks, “The travelling part sounds delightful, Lae’zel. The plundering and pillaging less so, for my tastes.” 

The Gith begins a rant about the istik’s inherent weak nature. She even dares to say his Zélie should have chosen her as a partner, back when she proposed, so her martial skills would not have been dulled by the puny vampire. 

Excuse me?!

“I’ll let you know, Lae’zel, that I can keep our dear leader on her toes just fine,” the elf interjects. Astarion is about to add a snarky remark (He was chosen after all.), but Zélie speaks first, “Oh Lae’zel, I would have just been an impediment and you know it. I would have slowed down all the conquering and deadly fighting you enjoy so much. Besides,” she turns to Astarion, a playful glint in her eyes. If he weren’t so attuned to her, he’d miss it.

 (He wonders how many silent gestures he has missed at the start of their travels.)

“I am where I am meant to be,” she concluded. The tips of his ears definitely do not blush at those words. 

(She’ll be the end of him and he wouldn’t have it any other way.) 

Astarion shoots his darling a winning smile, which morphs into a cocky grin as he looks at Lae’zel. 

There. Don’t be sour, you heard what she said. 

Lae’zel is unimpressed. “T’chk. Suit yourself, Zel. Your loss.” 

She marches off towards the helm of the brig when Zélie interrupts her, “Wait. You mentioned that time here passes differently, but how so?”

The Gith sighs, “Ignorants. It’s not the time itself, but its effects. They come to an almost complete halt; no hunger, no ageing—you’ll see when you won’t recall the last time you ate.” 

“Oh”. Oh. 

No ageing is almost as good as—

Immortality. 

Astarion has heard about the Astral plane before, but it seemed so out of his reach he never bothered to learn more. He pickpocketed a book or two about it from some of his liaisons, but they were confiscated immediately and he was handed to Godey for his insolence. It’s not as if Cazador ever had any interest in entertaining his spawn’s curiosity. 

Time is of no consequence to him, but to know that Zélie’s limited lifespan (Because of course the impossible woman had to be human, of all things.) could also be endlessly extended— 

Astarion faces her, her eyes already on him, lit up with the same realisation. He doesn’t dare to hope it’s going to be that simple, but gods, if anyone deserves eternal life is her. And he deserves some happiness without such a dreadfully finite time limit, he fucking does. 

He sees how Lae’zel looks at him, then Zélie, and sighs loudly. She stomps off, shouting, “Boarding is about to be complete. I suggest you two get inside soon enough, if you don’t want to end your dull lives swept away by the astral winds.” 

Astarion nods as she passes by him—her people-reading’s skills have improved enormously since they met. The moment she is out of earshot, he speaks, “Darling, did you—”

“I don’t know—” Zélie says, at the same time. 

The elf lets out a shrill, small laugh, “You first, my sweet.” 

She smiles, a “I don’t know what to think, Astarion. Being immune to the effects of time, it all seems so impossible, so…” He knows what she is thinking, that it’s unnatural, that it’s not how things, people, are supposed to be. When he thought ascending was the right choice for them, when he failed to convince her to embrace becoming his eternal bride, she recoiled, attached to her mortality. 

She doesn’t understand. 

He would outlive her even if he were not a vampire because he is an elf and she, holy as she is, is human. There is no facet of reality where she won’t leave him behind and go where he can’t follow—

“I think we should try,” Zélie stands taller, back straight, like a general making an important call, “After we help your siblings and all the others settle down. Who knows, maybe we can even get our own astral skiff. Do you think dogs will be fine here? I wouldn’t want to leave Scratch behind.”  

She talks faster, excited, and Astarion’s breath catches, head spinning even though he doesn’t need air. He darts forward to cage her between himself and the taffrail, causing her to let out the most adorable little breath. 

(Perfect.)

Zélie composes herself again, “And if we can travel between material planes, there may be a chance to find mine…to find my family. Even if just to tell them I’m well and to introduce you to them.”

Astarion feels like he’s falling, so he catches himself with centuries-old sarcasm. “To—what? Love, you can’t be serious. Introducing a vampire spawn to your oh-so-proper family is a moronic thing to do, even for an impossible woman such as yourself.” 

They would scorn you my sweet. 

She speaks of her family, her planet, sometimes. The image of stern faces, so similar to hers, twisted in fear—or worse, disgust—at the monster their precious Zélie is in love with leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. He isn’t fond of children, but even he wouldn’t want his daughter to have anything to do with something like him. 

Zélie exhales in offence, “Of course I want you to meet them, ridiculous elf. I have nothing to hide. I am proud of you, all of you, infinitely, and I know they would be too. You complete me, and for that they would welcome you with open arms.” She stares him down in challenge. 

Astarion studies her expression as he presses his forehead to hers. He seeks for unwillingness, for embellishments of the truth—because lying is a sin to her— and finds none. 

You mean this. Gods.

“Yes, love. We can bring the pest. We can even ask Halsin for the owlbear if you’d like. We will travel through every single material plane if we need to. Anything,” he kisses her parted lips, “Anything,” pecks her cheeks, “Anything,” her forehead, “Anything,” her nose, “Anything you want.” His grip on her tightens. 

She smiles at his onslaught, “All right, all right. We’ll find out how to make it work. For a while!” Zélie points her index finger at him in mock sternness, “I don’t think an unchanging eternity wandering the Astral Sea is something we should limit ourselves to, even if I want to. What purpose would it serve?”

“Purpose?” Astarion snarls the word as if it personally offended him, “We are purpose enough, stubborn woman.” He lifts her up and she clings to him on instinct. He strides inside the ship, ignoring the disapproving looks of the Giths. 

“Astarion! What are you doing?!” 

He whispers, fangs grazing her ear, “I’m finding a private space on this overcrowded thing, darling, so I can fully demonstrate how purposeful I can be.”

Zélie pales and flushes at the same time, and Astarion can feel himself basically purring at the thought of what he’s going to do to her—

“I’m glad you learnt to keep your promises, Astarion,” she murmurs, the outline of a smile into his neck.

Oh love, you have no idea.

[tracingpatternswrites]

Tuesday Treat

Hey ho, I'm writing again, and here's a little snippet from the current oneshot I'm working on 👀

This is the Sirius from Remus’ reveries. The one that visits him at night, the one who now only lives in Remus’ memories, the only one who remembers him just like this. He looks every bit as perfect as Remus remembers him, as if he stepped right out of one of Remus’ dreams. He’s in his school uniform, but without the robe, just his black trousers and write shirt, the top buttons undone, a loose tie around his neck. His hair is not in a ponytail but in a bun, a few strands of them having escaped to fall loosely around his face. His skin is smooth, pale, his cheekbones sharp enough to cut glass. His gaze is narrowed as he watches Remus, and he’s pulled his own wand, his body tensed as if he’s waiting to attack.  “Who are you?” His voice is melodic, strong, unwavering, and it awakes something in Remus, tugs at memories buried so deep he never thought they’d see the light of day again. There’s an arrogant tilt to his jaw, his chin raised in the way that signals royalty, power, belief. It’s not the crackling, broken voice that Remus had grown used to in the past couple of years. “Sirius?” he breathes, even though he knows who he is, he can’t possibly be anyone else. He sees the boy flinch, his back straightening even more, his shoulders squaring as his silvery gaze drags over Remus. There is no flicker of recognition over Sirius’ face though, instead his eyes narrow further, a little twitch at his jaw, and Remus feels a twinge in his chest. “Who are you?” he demands again, his voice louder now. “How do you know who I am? How did you get into the castle?” Remus realises then, what he must look like in Sirius’ eyes. He’s only 36, but he feels so much older, and he knows he looks it too. The full moon without his pack took their toll, and he moves like an old man now. He still has all of his hair, but his previously tawny curls are streaked with grey now.  He has lived through two wars, survived by the scrape of his nails, somehow clinging to life when everyone else perished. He knows he doesn’t look like much, clothed in his threadbare robes, the dark circles under his eyes, the new scar that cuts into his lip and over his jaw and disappears beneath his collar.  He doesn’t know who I am, Remus thinks numbly, something cold settling across his chest. 

Passing a tag along to @heartofspells, @soloorganaas, @mundrakan, @theresthesnitch and @squintclover in case someone has something to share.