#Daisy Daisy: Chapter III

[scarluna]

Y/N, a gifted but self-conscious graphic designer, lands a job at Jeon Enterprises, a powerhouse ruled by the sharp and controlling Jeon Jungkook, whose ruthless perfectionism hides behind an enigmatic façade. Though admired and feared, Jungkook targets Y/N’s insecurities, using them as weapons against her.

Beside him stands his best friend, Min Yoongi, a sly and unpredictable force whose hot-and-cold behavior leaves Y/N questioning his motives.

Tangled in a web of cold authority, teasing games, and unspoken desire, Y/N must navigate a dangerous love triangle where ambition and emotion collide, threatening to unravel everything.

Pairing: Jungkook x Fem!Reader x Min Yoongi

Genre/Tags: plus sized reader, enemies to lovers, ceo!jungkook, graphic designer!reader, mafia!yoongi

Link to the other chapters: ACT I / ACT II / ACT III / ACT IV / ACT V / ACT VII

Chapters: 6 / ?

Chapter Warnings: mature language, bullying, slow burn, enemies to lovers, love triangle

ACT VI.

The crisp winter air nipped at my cheeks as I stepped out of my apartment building, my scarf wrapped snugly around my neck. It was a lazy Sunday, the kind of day where I would’ve normally curled up with a book or caught up on my favorite shows. But today was different. Today, Taehyung had insisted we spend the day together—no work, no drama, just us.

As I adjusted my coat, making sure not to freeze despite the sun outside, I saw him across the street, standing next to a streetlamp. He looked effortlessly handsome in a cream-colored sweater under a beige trench coat, his dark hair slightly tousled by the breeze. His eyes lit up the moment he spotted me, and I couldn’t help but smile back.

In his hands was a small bouquet of flowers—white daisies and pink tulips, delicate and cheerful.

“For you,” he said as I approached, holding the bouquet out with a boyish grin.

“Flowers?” I teased, taking them gently. “Are you trying to win me over?”

He smirked. “Maybe. Is it working?”

I laughed, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “It’s a good start.”

We began walking down the quiet street, the crunch of our shoes against the pavement mingling with the sounds of the city waking up. A few blocks away, we found our favorite little café, the one with the cozy atmosphere and the best hot chocolate in town.

Taehyung held the door open for me, and we were greeted by the familiar scent of cocoa and cinnamon. The café was warm, a stark contrast to the chilly weather outside.

“Two hot chocolates?” the barista asked with a knowing smile as we approached the counter.

“You know us too well,” Taehyung replied with a soft chuckle. We have been visiting this coffee shop back when we were only college students. This place held memories of us. And I cherished it a lot.

Once our drinks were ready—complete with whipped cream and a sprinkle of cocoa powder—we found a corner booth by the window. The steam from the mugs curled into the air as we sat across from each other, the sunlight streaming in and casting a golden glow over his face.

“So,” he began, his tone playful. “What’s on your mind, Miss Y/N? Besides how devastatingly handsome I am.”

I rolled my eyes, taking a sip of my hot chocolate to hide my smile. “I was actually thinking about how certain someone managed to spill wine on my dress last night.”

His expression softened, the teasing replaced by genuine concern. “You handled that so well. I would’ve lost my cool.”

“Well,” I said, swirling my spoon in the whipped cream, “I guess I’ve had enough practice dealing with people like Tina.”

He reached across the table, resting his hand over mine. “You don’t give yourself enough credit. You are more badass than you think.”

His words warmed me more than the hot chocolate ever could. "I honestly don't know what I will do without you, Tae. I am grateful to have you in my life." I spoke out, it was the truth, I never expressed my gratefulness but now I did. I wanted him to know that I cherished him. Tae's cheeks flushed.  "I will always be here, Y/N. No matter what." My heart skept a beat. I grinned at him and brough the glass toward my lips as if to hide my blush. "So, what's the deal with your Boss tho?There seems to be tension between him and you. I didn't like how he stole you away from me last night..." I froze. My smile faltered and I cleared my throat. "He is just . . . a bit controlling, that's all." "Controlling? He is possessive of you, Y/N. His eyes are feral when he is around you." My frown deepened and I shook my head. "That's not true. I mean, he did made fun of me and my way of work but that's all. He thrives for perfection." Tae's eyes darkened, he stared at me for a minute longer, before a deep sigh escaped his lips. "I just want you to be self-aware of your surroundings, Y/N." Maybe he was right. Maybe I was too caught up between him and Yoongi to even notice what was happening. I couldn't keep this up. My feelings didn't matter, all that matters is my job and how I do it. An awkward silence stretched between me and Taehyung. We were both lost in thoughts now. Gosh, he shouldn't have mentioned Jungkook. Because with Jungkook there is also Yoongi.

After we finished our drinks, we spent the rest of the day wandering around the city. Taehyung led me to a park we used to visit back when we were teenagers. The trees were bare, their branches dusted with the season’s first frost, but the air was alive with laughter from families and couples enjoying the day.

We stopped by the frozen pond, watching as kids skated in clumsy circles. Taehyung nudged me gently with his shoulder.

“Remember the time I tried to teach you how to skate?” he asked, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

I groaned, covering my face with my hands. “Don’t remind me. I think I fell a dozen times..”

“And I caught you every single time,” he added, a proud smile on his face. He was the cutest with how he smiled, it was like stars appeared in his eyes everytime he did.

We walked on, stopping occasionally to take in the sights or to snap a picture. At one point, we found a street musician playing a soulful tune on his guitar. Taehyung pulled me to the side, bowing dramatically.

“May I have this dance?” he asked, his voice dripping with charm.

“Here? In the middle of the park?” I asked, laughing nervously.

“Why not?” He took my hand before I could protest, spinning me gently in a slow circle.

People passed by, some smiling at the sight of us, but I didn’t care. For a moment, it felt like the rest of the world had disappeared, leaving just the two of us.

By the time the sun began to set, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink, we found ourselves sitting on a bench overlooking the river. Taehyung wrapped his scarf around my neck, ignoring my protests that I was fine.

“I don’t want you catching a cold,” he said, tucking the ends neatly under my coat.

“Thanks, Dad,” I teased, but the truth was, I didn’t mind. He was caring by nature, and maybe to be cared for felt good...

As the day came to an end, I realized how much I needed this. No work, no stress, no complicated feelings about Yoongi or Jungkook—just a simple, perfect day with Taehyung..

“Still cold?” he asked, noticing my movements.

“Not really,” I admitted. “This scarf is ridiculously warm.”

He smiled, his hands shoved casually into his pockets. “It’s because it’s mine. Everything I own is top-tier.”

I nudged him with my elbow, grinning. “Oh, please. That’s the most Taehyung thing you’ve said all day.”

He laughed, the sound light and easy, and I couldn’t help but smile wider. There was something about him—his energy, his warmth—that made everything feel okay, even after the chaos of last night.

As we turned the corner onto my street, he slowed his pace.

“You know,” he began, his tone softer now, “I really enjoyed today. It’s been a while since I’ve seen you so relaxed.”

“I guess I needed it,” I replied, glancing up at him. “Just a perfect day with an old friend.”

“Old friend?” he repeated, pretending to be offended. “I’ll have you know I’m as youthful as ever. If anything, I’ve only gotten better with age.”

I rolled my eyes but couldn’t stop the laugh that escaped me. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you love it,” he shot back, his grin widening.

I didn’t respond, but the way my cheeks warmed betrayed me.

When we reached my building, we stopped just outside the entrance. The soft hum of the city buzzed in the background as we turned to face each other.

“Well,” I said, clutching the bouquet of flowers he’d given me earlier, “thanks for today. Really.”

“Anytime,” he said, his voice gentle. “I mean it. If you ever need to escape, just call me. I’ll be there.”

For a moment, neither of us said anything. The streetlight above cast a faint glow on his face, highlighting the sincerity in his eyes.

“You’re a good friend, Tae,” I said softly, though the words felt heavier than they should have.

His smile faltered for a fraction of a second, but he recovered quickly, his expression warm and playful again. “Only a good friend? I’ll have to work on upgrading that title.”

I laughed, shaking my head. “Goodnight, Taehyung.”

“Goodnight, Y/N,” he replied, his voice low and filled with something unspoken.

I turned to unlock the door to my building, but before I could step inside, I heard him call my name.

I turned back, and there he was, standing a few feet away, his hands still in his pockets. “Don’t forget to put those flowers in water,” he said, a lopsided grin on his face.

“I won’t,” I promised, holding up the bouquet.

And with that, he turned and walked away, his figure disappearing into the quiet night. I stood there for a moment, watching him go, the warmth from the day still lingering in my chest.

As I finally stepped inside, I couldn’t help but smile to myself. Today had been perfect—simple, sweet, and exactly what I needed. 

-

The scene outside the company building was unlike anything I’d ever seen. Reporters shouted over each other, their cameras flashing relentlessly as they aimed toward the entrance. Police cars were parked haphazardly along the curb, their lights casting ominous blue and red hues against the surrounding buildings.

My heart sank as I tried to push through the crowd, clutching my bag tightly. The questions flying through the air were disjointed but enough to spark unease in my chest.

“Is it true Jeon Enterprises is under investigation?” “CEO Jeon Jungkook has yet to make a statement—”"Is there a suspect already?"

I forced myself to block out the noise, stepping up to the security guard at the entrance. My heart was thumping fast and loud in my chest. This entire atmosphere looked like a crime series. I had no idea what happened but whatever it was, it was serious.

“I work here,” I said, fumbling with my badge. My hands shook slightly, and I hated how obvious it was.

The tall bulky guard dressed in a black suit squinted at my badge, then gave me a short nod. “Go ahead.”

His words did nothing to calm me as I entered the building, the usual hum of productivity replaced by frantic whispers and hurried footsteps. Police officers roamed the lobby, speaking into radios, while employees stood in clusters, their faces pale with shock.

What on earth happened?

I hurried toward the elevator, my pulse quickening with every step. The ride up to our floor felt like an eternity, and when the doors opened, the sight made my stomach churn.

Officers were everywhere, combing through desks and confiscating files. The normally pristine office space was in disarray, papers scattered and voices raised in hushed tones.

“Y/N!”

I turned to see Rya approaching me, her expression frantic. I could see the paleness on her face, she was definitely shocked and panicked.

“What’s going on?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

Rya glanced around before pulling me aside, her grip on my arm tight. “Tina... she’s dead.”

I froze, her words not registering at first. “What?”

“They found her body last night at her apartment,” Rya said, her voice shaking. “And the last person who was seen with her was Jungkook. Police came and took him with them twenty minutes ago. They treated him like a suspect!”

The air seemed to leave my lungs. My mind raced as I tried to piece together what she was saying. Tina? Dead? And Jungkook?

“No,” I said, shaking my head. “That doesn’t make any sense. Jungkook wouldn’t—”

“I know,” Rya interrupted, her voice urgent. “But the police don’t care about what we think. And the media is having a field day with it. They are also got a search order to see if they can find any clue on what happened, Jungkook's office is a raided mess. Cops took everything.”

I glanced around the chaotic office, my chest tightening. Jungkook wasn’t just my boss; he was someone I had come to respect despite our rocky start. The idea that he could be involved in something like this was incomprehensible.

Rya’s hand hovered over the remote as the reporter’s voice filled the tense air of the office.

“Breaking news this morning,” the reporter began, her tone grave. “Authorities have confirmed the discovery of a deceased individual late last night at their apartment. The victim has been identified as an employee of Jeon Enterprises and was last seen attending the high-profile masquerade ball hosted by MNT Media just days ago.”

Rya and I exchanged a glance, our breaths caught in the shared silence. The weight of the words was crushing, and my mind raced to process what I already knew.

“Last seen at the ball...” Rya whispered, her voice barely audible, but I caught the way her hands trembled as she gripped the remote.

I swallowed hard, fighting the knot forming in my throat. 

The broadcast continued, showing images of the ball—the glittering chandeliers, the elegant gowns, the masked faces. And then it switched to a live shot of an apartment building cordoned off with police tape, officers moving in and out under the glow of harsh floodlights.

“Sources close to the investigation report signs of foul play, though no official suspects have been named. Jeon Jungkook, CEO of Jeon Enterprises, has been confirmed to have been the last one who saw the victim alive, and authorities have expressed interest in speaking with him.”

“Damn it,” Rya muttered, her voice cracking slightly. 

I didn’t answer, the words sticking to the back of my throat. We both knew it was. There was no need to say it out loud.

Instead, I fixed my gaze on the screen, where the reporter was now recounting snippets. “The victim was known to be a driven and outspoken employee, with significant professional ties and ongoing disputes that may have played a role in the events leading up to their death.”

"Y/N... this is bad. Really bad. The board is already panicking, and if this gets any worse, it could take down the entire company.”

I felt like the floor was tilting beneath me, the weight of the situation pressing down on my shoulders.

“I need to find Yoongi,” I muttered, my voice steadier than I felt.

“Yoongi?” Rya frowned.

“He’ll know what to do,” I said, more to convince myself than her. “He always does.”

Without waiting for her response, I turned and started toward his office, my mind a whirlwind of fear, confusion, and determination. Whatever was happening, I needed answers—and fast.

His free hand clenched into a fist at his side. “I don’t care what strings you have to pull—just do it.”

He ended the call abruptly, exhaling sharply before he turned, noticing me standing hesitantly behind him. His expression softened slightly, though the strain in his features remained.

“It’s a mess,” he admitted, his tone heavy. “As you already know, Tina was found in her apartment late last night. She has been shot in the head.”

I swallowed hard, the reality of his words sinking in. Shot in the head? What kind of an animal would do that to her?! Surely, Tina was not one of the best people, she was selfish and her ego reached the skies, but not even once did I wish her death. “And Jungkook? Why are they linking him to this?”

Yoongi’s gaze flicked to the side, conflicted. “He was seen leaving her building around the time they estimate it happened. There’s footage from a security camera, but it doesn’t show much. Just him walking out.”

“That doesn’t mean he did anything,” I said quickly, feeling a surge of defensiveness I didn’t expect.

“I know,” Yoongi said, his voice firm. ���But right now, appearances are everything. The media doesn’t care about proof—they just want a story. And Tina being...” He hesitated, his expression darkening. “Well, let’s just say she didn’t make herself any friends around here. People are talking, and not in Jungkook’s favor.”

I was trying to process everything. Tina’s death. Jungkook being questioned. The chaos in the office. It felt like the ground beneath me was shifting, and I couldn’t find my footing.

“Do you think he did it?” I asked quietly, almost afraid of his answer.

Yoongi met my gaze, his dark eyes steady. “No,” he said firmly. “I’ve known Jungkook long enough to say that he’s not capable of something like this. But whether he did or didn’t isn’t the issue right now. It’s about what people believe.”

The weight of his words settled heavily in my chest.

“What do we do?” I asked, desperate for some kind of direction.

Yoongi sighed, “For now, we wait. The lawyers are working on getting him released, but until then, we need to keep things from spiraling. The company is already under enough scrutiny.”

I nodded, though it felt like a hollow gesture. Waiting wasn’t exactly my strong suit, especially not when someone I cared about was at the center of it all.

“What about us?” I asked hesitantly. “What can I do to help?”

Yoongi’s gaze softened, and for a moment, the weight he carried seemed to lift just slightly.

“Just stay out of the crossfire, Y/N,” he said gently. “You’ve already been through enough. Let me handle this.”

I bristled slightly at his words, not because I didn’t appreciate his concern, but because I hated feeling powerless.

“Yoongi,” I said firmly, standing. “I’m not going to sit on the sidelines while everything falls apart. If there’s anything I can do—anything—just tell me.”

He studied me for a long moment, his expression unreadable, before he finally nodded.

After leaving Yoongi’s office, I couldn’t shake the weight pressing down on me. Tina’s death had sent shockwaves through the entire company, and though I’d never liked her—she’d been awful to me more times than I could count—this wasn’t what she deserved.

The thought of her lifeless and alone in her apartment was too much. No matter how cruel she’d been, she was still a person, someone with her own struggles and stories I’d never known. She was still someone's daughter, sister, cousin. . .

I needed to talk to someone.

I found Hoseok and Rya in the break room, sitting at one of the tables near the window. Both of them looked tense, their earlier easy smiles replaced with furrowed brows and quiet whispers.

“Hey,” I said softly as I approached. They looked up, and Rya immediately slid over to make room for me.

“Y/N,” Hoseok said, his tone heavy. “How are you holding up?”

I sat down, clasping my hands together to stop them from trembling. “I’m not sure,” I admitted. “This whole thing with Tina... it doesn’t feel real. I know we didn’t get along, but...” I trailed off, unsure how to put the jumble of emotions into words.

“She was a nightmare,” Rya said bluntly, though her voice lacked its usual bite. “But I never thought... this. I mean, she could be petty and cruel, but murder?”

Hoseok frowned, leaning forward. “Nobody deserves that,” he said quietly. “Not even Tina. She could be terrible, sure, but she was still a person.”

The room fell silent for a moment, the three of us lost in our own thoughts.

“I keep thinking about the last time I saw her,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “At the ball. She seemed so... smug. Like she was on top of the world. And now, she’s gone.”

Rya crossed her arms, looking conflicted. “Do you think someone here could’ve done it? I mean, everyone knew she had enemies, but this is... extreme.”

Hoseok shook his head. “I don’t want to believe it, but with the police here, searching the office...” He trailed off, his expression darkening. “It’s hard not to wonder.”

“And Jungkook?” Rya asked, looking at me. “Do you think he’s involved?”

“No,” I said firmly, surprising even myself with the conviction in my voice. “I don’t. He might be cold and distant sometimes, but he’s not a killer. He’s... he’s better than that.”

Hoseok and Rya exchanged a glance, but neither argued.

“What happens now?” Rya asked after a moment. “If Jungkook is being investigated, what does that mean for the company? For us?”

I shook my head, feeling the weight of uncertainty settle over me again. “I don’t know,” I admitted. “But I think we need to stick together. Now more than ever.”

They both nodded, and for the first time in a long while, I felt a glimmer of solidarity between us.

As the three of us sat there, piecing together what little we knew, I couldn’t help but feel that this was just the beginning of something much bigger—and much darker—than any of us could imagine.

-

The morning was gray and oppressive, the atmosphere at Jeon Enterprises thick with unease. I was called to help clear out Tina’s desk under police supervision, a task I didn’t relish but couldn’t refuse. The sight of her empty chair sent a chill through me. Tina had been vile, no doubt about it, but to think she was gone—and in such a horrific way—made my stomach turn.

The desk was surprisingly tidy for someone as chaotic as Tina. Neat stacks of papers, pristine stationery, and a drawer full of color-coded folders. Yet as I sifted through the surface level, something felt off. It was too perfect, almost staged.

A detective stood nearby, arms crossed as he observed. “Anything that seems unusual, set it aside,” he said flatly.

Unusual? Where did I even start? Tina herself was a cocktail of ambition and cruelty, a persona that could fill a thousand file folders with secrets. As I reached into the bottom drawer, my fingers brushed against something that didn’t feel like an office supply. It was wedged under a stack of legal pads—a worn, leather-bound journal.

I glanced at the detective, who was momentarily distracted by another officer. With a quick, furtive motion, I slipped the journal into my bag. I told myself I’d hand it over eventually, but something about it called to me. A gut feeling. Tina had gone out of her way to hide this. Why?

Once I got home that evening, I pulled the journal out and set it on my kitchen table. The leather was cracked and faded, the corners worn down like it had been carried around for years. When I opened it, the faint scent of Tina’s signature perfume wafted up, mingled with something darker—ink and secrecy.

The first few pages were mundane. Meeting notes, to-do lists, sketches of presentation layouts. But as I flipped further, the tone shifted. The handwriting became erratic, the words slanting across the page with a kind of manic energy.

November 3: Another meeting with K. Promises, promises. Does he think I’m stupid? I’ll take what’s mine before he screws me over.

November 12: Y/N is such a naive little thing. Too easy to push around. If only she knew how far out of her depth she is. Pathetic.

I recoiled at the venom in her words. My name was scrawled there like a curse, surrounded by complaints about nearly everyone in the office. Tina hadn’t just disliked people—she’d despised them.

And then there were the cryptic entries:

December 1: The deal is in place. If K tries to back out, he’ll regret it.

December 15: I’m not playing games anymore. If they think they can silence me, they’re dead wrong.

The entries stopped abruptly a week before her death. My fingers trembled as I turned the pages, my heart pounding in my chest. Who was “K”? What deal? And what had Tina meant by “silence”?

Before I could dive further, my phone buzzed. The name on the screen made my blood run cold: Richard Delgrassi. My father’s old associate. 

“Mr. Delgrassi? How did you find my number?” I said cautiously, picking up the call.

“I called your father, wanted to check up on you.” his voice was smooth, but there was an edge to it, like a blade sheathed in silk. “Are you okay? I heard about your co-worker Tina.”

I swallowed thickly, deep sigh escaped my lips. "I am fine, sir. It just . . . shocked us all."

“I am really sorry to hear that, if you need anything, please let me know. If you want to leave the company and start somewhere fresh, I will help you out." Leave. Why would I want to leave? I hummed. "Of course, sir, I will let you know." I heard him shuffle on the other side of the line. "What about Jungkook, I heard he is at the police station for questioning." I started pacing back and forth, "Well, right now we don't have much information on what happens next, but hopefully police would release him soon." "I hope so too." he spoke but something in his voice didn't feel sincere. "Alright, I just wanted to check up on you. Know you have someone you can count on." "Thank you, sir..."

The line went dead before I could ask anything else. I stared at the phone, my heart hammering in my chest. 

I glanced back at the journal, its leather cover now looking more sinister than mysterious. Whatever Tina had been involved in, it wasn’t just office politics. It was something far darker, and I was smack in the middle of it.

-

I could feel my heart pounding in my chest as I stood in front of the police station, staring at the cold, gray walls. It didn’t feel real—none of it did. My mind kept replaying the moment I heard the news: Tina, my manager, was dead. Murdered. And Jungkook, the CEO of the company I’d worked for, was the prime suspect unofficially.

The shock of it had hit me hard. Tina’s death had left a void in our office, and the fact that Jungkook, the man I already thought I knew so well, was now behind bars... it shattered everything.

I took a deep breath before walking through the sterile halls of the station. The fluorescent lights buzzed above me, making the air feel thick and oppressive. I passed the front desk, where the officers barely acknowledged me and suddenly bumped into someone.

The impact jolted me slightly, and I looked up to find Yoongi standing there, his dark eyes sharp and unreadable as ever. He sighed heavily, as if seeing me here was the last thing he needed.

“What the hell are you doing here, Y/N?” he asked, his tone low but laced with irritation.

I straightened my posture, refusing to let him intimidate me. “What does it look like I’m doing? I’m here to see Jungkook.”

Yoongi crossed his arms, his expression hardening. “You shouldn’t be here. This isn’t your fight, and it’s definitely not safe.”

“Not safe?” I scoffed, keeping my voice low so the officers milling about wouldn’t overhear. “I work at the same company, Yoongi. Tina was my manager too, in case you forgot. This affects all of us, not just you.”

He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. “That’s exactly why you need to stay out of it. Let the police handle this. Do you even realize how messy this is going to get?”

I glared at him, my frustration boiling over. “Messy or not, I have a right to know what’s going on. Jungkook isn’t just some random CEO. He’s—”

“He’s what?” Yoongi cut in, his tone sharp. “Your boss? Your friend? Someone you think you can trust? Newsflash, Y/N: trust doesn’t mean a damn thing right now.”

I felt the sting of his words but refused to back down. “You’re unbelievable,” I shot back. “You act like you’re the only one allowed to care about what’s happening.”

Yoongi ran a hand through his messy long hair, his jaw tight. I could notice he has been sleep deprived too, the dark circles under his eyes screamed tiredness. “I care because I know what’s at stake. And you showing up here, trying to play detective, is only going to make things worse.”

I stepped closer, narrowing the gap between us. “Then why are you here, Yoongi? If you think it’s so dangerous, why aren’t you staying out of it?”

His lips pressed into a thin line, and for a moment, he didn’t answer. I saw his eyes darken and he took a sharp breath through his nose, hands now resting on his hips. "Fucking hell, why are you so stubborn?" "Maybe I am good at annoying the hell out of you." His eyes narrowed but he didn't say anything. There was a silence stretching between us before he finally turned around and headed down the hallway.

“Fine,” he muttered over his shoulder. “If you’re so hell-bent on getting involved, follow me. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

We made our way to the interrogation room, where Jungkook was being held. My heart felt like it was lodged in my throat as we approached the small, glass-walled room. Jungkook sat inside, his hands folded on the metal table in front of him. He looked tired, his usually sharp features drawn and pale.

The officer standing outside the door nodded at Yoongi, allowing us in. I hesitated for a moment before stepping inside, the air thick with tension.

Jungkook glanced up, his dark eyes meeting mine briefly before shifting to Yoongi.

“Didn’t expect visitors,” he said, his voice low and rough.

Yoongi pulled out a chair and sat down, his posture relaxed but his eyes sharp. “We’re not here to chat. What’s going on, Jungkook?”

Jungkook leaned back in his chair, his gaze flickering between the two of us. “You tell me. One minute, I’m at the office; the next, I’m hauled in here like a criminal.”

“Did you know Tina was dead?” I asked, my voice trembling slightly despite my best efforts to stay composed.

His jaw tightened, and for a moment, he didn’t answer. “I didn’t kill her, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Then why are you here?” Yoongi pressed, his tone firm.

Jungkook let out a bitter laugh. “Because someone saw me with her at the ball, and apparently, that’s enough to make me the prime suspect. Never mind that half the company was there."

I glanced at Yoongi, who didn’t break his stare. “And what about Tina? Did she say anything to you that night? Act strange? Mention something... off?”

Jungkook’s expression darkened. “She didn’t say much of anything to me. She was too busy playing her games, like always. I told everything to the police but they still keep me in this godforsaken hole.”

“Games?” I asked, leaning forward.

“Y/N, you know fully well how she was,” Jungkook said, his voice bitter. “Testing people's limits, making sure everyone knew she had the upper hand. But I didn’t play along, and maybe that pissed her off. Who knows?”

Yoongi tapped his fingers against the table, his gaze never leaving Jungkook. “You need to give us more than that. If you want us to help you, we need something concrete.”

Jungkook’s eyebrow raised, he was shifting his eyes from me and Yoongi. I looked away, avoiding his gaze. “Help me? Since when are you two playing detectives?”

I rolled my eyes. "We are trying to help you out." I snapped and Jungkook shifted in his seat, letting out a deep sigh of defeat.

The tension in the room thickened, and I felt a pang of guilt watching Jungkook sitting there, defiant but vulnerable. I glanced at Yoongi, his steely demeanor unwavering as he leaned back in his chair, arms crossed.

"Do you know for how long you will be captive here?" I finally asked. Jungkook shrugged. "No idea, until they find an evidence that the killer was not me." "What happens to the comapny now?" I pressed, "is it gonna shut down?" "I will take over." Yoongi muttered, "for the time being, until Jungkook gets released." I frowned glancing at Jungkook who hummed, I guess they managed to talk this through.  "Fine, we will keep digging and see what we will find."  "We?" My Boss frowned, "Y/N, I don't want you to get involved in this." "See?!Told her the same thingg, she doesn't listen." "Stop blabbing about the same things, I want in and I want to help. You two, adult men, act like kids. Jungkook, your situation here is not colorful at all. The quicker we get you out, the quick it would be your name to be cleared in front of the media." -

The sharp chill of the late evening air greeted us as we stepped out of the police station. I pulled my coat tighter around myself, my mind still racing with everything that had just transpired. Jungkook’s face, a mixture of frustration and vulnerability, was etched in my memory.

“I’ll call a cab,” I muttered, fishing my phone out of my bag.

Yoongi raised an eyebrow, stepping toward the parking lot. “Don’t bother. I’ll drive you.”

I stopped mid-dial and turned to him. “No offense, but I don’t think that’s a great idea.”

His expression didn’t change, but there was an edge of impatience in his voice. “Why? Because I’m not the most charming chauffeur? Or are you still mad at me for that club thing-y?”

“Neither,” I said quickly, my tone defensive. “It’s just... I don’t need you to babysit me, Yoongi. I can take care of myself.”

“Clearly,” he said dryly, gesturing to my phone. “And you’ll do that by waiting alone outside a police station at night for a cab? Genius plan.”

I opened my mouth to argue but stopped when I realized how ridiculous it would sound. With a resigned sigh, I slid my phone back into my bag. “Fine. But no commentary while you drive.”

“Deal,” he said with a small smirk, leading the way to his car.

The ride started in silence, the hum of the engine the only sound between us. Yoongi’s driving was calm and efficient, and for some reason, it annoyed me that he didn’t seem as rattled by everything as I was.

“Yesterday,” I began, breaking the silence, “when I was cleaning out Tina’s desk... I found something.”

He glanced at me briefly before returning his eyes to the road. “The journal.”

I blinked, surprised. “How did you—”

"Do you think I am that stupid?"  There was silence, he narrowed his eyes, "don't even answer this, Y/N." I chuckled at that and shrugged my shoulders. "I saw you take a suspicious looking book off Tina's desk without the police looking so..." "I figured that it's better to find who did it first with a solid evidence, before turning it to the police." I hesitated but continued, “It’s... disturbing. Tina wrote about people she hated—colleagues, clients, even... me.”

Yoongi didn’t react visibly, but I caught his fingers tightening slightly on the steering wheel.

“She was ruthless,” I continued. “Manipulating people, sabotaging careers—it’s all in there. And then there are these cryptic entries about a ‘deal.’ She doesn’t say who it was with, but it’s obvious it was risky. She mentioned being scared, like she knew it might backfire.”

Yoongi’s jaw clenched. “And now she’s dead.”

I swallowed hard, the reality of it hitting me again. “Yeah. And I don’t think it’s a coincidence. Someone she crossed or someone involved in that deal... they might have wanted her gone.”

“You said the police don’t know about it yet?” he asked, his voice tense.

“No,” I admitted. “I didn’t trust them to handle it the right way, especially with the way they’re already treating Jungkook.”

“Smart,” Yoongi said, nodding approvingly. “But if that journal is as explosive as you say, keeping it quiet might put you in danger.”

I bit my lip, anxiety bubbling in my chest. “I know. But what choice do I have? If it can help clear Jungkook’s name, I can’t just ignore it.”

Yoongi pulled into a quieter street, the streetlights casting long shadows over the car. He turned to me, his dark eyes serious. “You’re not doing this alone, Y/N. Whatever’s in that journal, we’re going to figure it out together.”

For a moment, his words surprised me. Despite his often aloof demeanor, there was an unexpected warmth in his voice.

“Thank you,” I said quietly, meaning it.

He nodded once and turned his attention back to the road, the rest of the drive passing in contemplative silence.

When we finally reached my place, he parked at the curb and leaned back in his seat. “Keep the journal close. Don’t let anyone else see it for now.”

“I won’t,” I assured him, opening the door.

As I stepped out, he called after me, “And Y/N?”

I paused, turning back.

“Be careful,” he said, his expression unreadable in the dim light.

I nodded, clutching my bag tightly as I headed up to my apartment, the weight of the journal—and everything it represented—feeling heavier than ever.

[rvsenyras]

Enjoy The Silence | Masterlist

aemond targaryen x (ex-gf)! reader

❝ Years after your passionate yet toxic relationship with Aemond ended, you’re unexpectedly pulled back into his world when their backup singer drops out mid-tour. The stage isn’t the only place where old flames flare up; the chemistry and tension between you both reignite, dredging up unresolved feelings and deep-seated wounds. Aemond’s controlling tendencies threaten to drag you back into the chaos of your past, just as you’re fighting to rediscover your own voice and assert your independence. Amidst the glare of fame and the weight of pressure, you face a pivotal choice: will you break the cycle and forge a new path, or succumb to the familiar, destructive patterns of your history? ❞

Warnings: smut, NON-CON/DUB-CON (+ mentions of), toxic/abusive relationship (+ mentions of) , manipulation (+mentions of), possessive behaviour, mature themes, heavy angst

individual tags for each chapter

Chapter I ❝ REGRET ME ❞ :

Chapter II ❝ LET ME DOWN EASY ❞ :

Chapter III ❝ KILL YOU TO TRY ❞ :

Chapter IV ❝ THE RIVER ❞ :

Chapter V ❝ LOOK AT US NOW (HONEYCOMB) ❞ :

Chapter VI ❝ NO WORDS ❞ :

Chapter VII ❝ A HOPE LIKE YOU ❞ :

Chapter VIII ❝ YOU WERE GONE ❞ :

Chapter IX ❝ MORE FUN TO MISS ❞ :

Chapter X ❝ PLEASE ❞ :

Chapter XI ❝ HONEYCOMB ❞ :

Epilogue ❝ AURORA ❞ :

based on Daisy Jones and The Six written by Jenkins Reid, Fleetwood Mac. also based off a series i read here on tumblr but a different concept!

i do not condone the acts participated in this fic, please if you endure this in your personal life seek help!

comment to be added to this fics tag-list

[myownwholewildworld]

iii. like obsidian & quartz - acta, non verba

chapter 2 | series masterlist | ao3 | main masterlist | chapter 4 pairing: conqueror!marcus acacius x ofc!reader. summary: your efforts to get the ball rolling on your plan get shunted aside by marcus' chivalry. a/n: hey, hi, hello! i'm sorry it's taken me a month to post the third chapter, but here it is! 💖 i do find posting this series a bit nerve-wracking, just because i have the feeling that this plot is bigger than my writing skills so i keep wondering if i'm making it justice. but i'm rolling with it anyways haha as always, all interactions welcome, i do appreciate you liking, sharing and/or commenting! take care <3 warnings: 18+, mdni. some impure thoughts. one account of a handjob (👀). sexual tension. misogyny. a fair bit of swearing. sword fight, death, wounds, blood... you know the drill. dialogue in italics means it’s spoken in gaelic (unless stated otherwise, i.e. latin) when marcus and callie are in the same scene. marcus is 48, ofc!reader is 26. w/c: ~9.9k. (i'm truly sorry) dividers by @saradika-graphics taglist at the end (let me know if you want to be added/removed please!)

“Here again, wee lass?” Cormag’s croaky voice caught you off guard.

You jumped in place and almost hit the back of your head against the shelf above.

You were bent over a pile of baskets in the kitchen, trying to count how many wild parsnips there were left. With your family gone, you had to look after your people. You worried there was not much left to eat, but the old cook seemed to be good at rationing. The Romans had no measure when it came to food, rapidly dwindling the stock saved for the village. There were way too many mouths to feed now, and the first harvest of the root vegetables would not be for at least another six months.

Your blood boiled when you saw the feasts the Romans were served every night while the servants had a measle chunk of bread and a watered-down broth. You were all living under tyranny — one you hoped to topple. Only if fucking Marcus Acacius was not such a tight cunt, you would be closer to your goal.

It wasn’t for your lack of trying though. Every night you were as suggestive as you could, considering how many pairs of eyes were watching you — enemies’ and allies’ alike. The first lusting after you, wondering if you were a whore who could warm up their bed at night, and the second curious about what game you were up to. Not many people were privy to your plan.

“Ah, ye ogre! You scared the shit out of me,” you chuckled, hand on pounding heart, when you turned around to face him.

Cormag’s thick brows knitted together, his big, round nose red with rage.

“I told you I didn’t want to see you around here until at least tomorrow,” he barked, arms folded with disapproval.

“Come on, Cormag. I’ll work tonight and then—”

“Nay, I don’t want to hear it. You are not working tonight. You’ve worked the last eight nights in a row,” he said between gritted teeth. “I want you to go home to Bonnie and rest.”

You huffed, now your turn to cross arms.

“I need no rest. I am fresh as a daisy, couldn’t be better,” you lied through your teeth.

The reality was you were knackered. You had been helping out in the kitchens day and night, much to Cormag’s despair. If you were not doing a stock check, you were shuffling stuff around for the next meal or cleaning after those filthy, mannerless soldiers. And you were the savages, the cheek they had was beyond you.

“Don’t bullshit me, I can see right through it. Those grey circles under your eyes are screaming for some sleep,” he replied, getting closer to you.

His heavy hands landed on your shoulders, forcing you to turn around and pushing you towards the door. You resisted, digging your heels into the cobblestone.

“Cormag, mas e do thoil e (please)! If I go home, I’m just going to get bored. I need something to occupy my mind with,” you pleaded with him, but he was deaf as a rock to your request.

“The whole point of sleeping is to empty your mind, not to occupy it with something,” he stopped dragging you once you were through the arch.

Sleep had evaded you since your whole family had been murdered. Every time you closed your eyes, you saw Marcus’ gladius sinking in your father’s belly, your brothers’ and sister’s intertwined arms as they burnt to ashes, your mother’s mangled body while the Earth swallowed her whole. As if you didn’t have enough demons as it was, tragedy had knocked on your door once more — unannounced, greedy even.

You spun around, flashing your eyelashes at him, puppy eyes and all. Cormag just shook his head no, unwavering, and pointed towards the corridor that would lead you outside.

“I want you out of my sight for one day, fear beag (little one). Humour me, I beg you,” it was almost a prayer, but you knew Cormag did not have one sanctified bone in his body.

“Okay, just one night. But I’ll be back tomorrow!” You shouted over your shoulder, a proper threat, as you sauntered towards the hall.

It was still the early evening, but the courtyard was brimming with life. There were a few legionaries dotted around, swords at the ready. They seemed to train late into the night before they burst in into the great hall to eat and drink like gluttons.

As your feet slithered through the wet grass, you suddenly felt a heavy pair of eyes on you. Brown, beautiful— no, dreadful eyes, you were sure. You didn’t need to look to know that Marcus was watching your every step — your body burnt hot every time he would study you with so much intensity.

And he was doing that again, just now. You debated whether to lock eyes on him or not, but it was a lost fight. Soon enough, your green orbs located him in his black and golden armour walking towards the keep, mud up to his knees and a wild look on his face. One you had not seen before — a crack in his steadfast façade.

Your brows slightly furrowed, almost coming to a halt, while you tried to understand what was different. Then you saw it: his sword was stained with blood. He was not coming back from training, but��� from battle? Your heartrate spiked; your eyes slightly widened as your fingers clutched a fist of your long skirt.

What battle? What had happened? What was going on? Who had he hurt? Did you know them? Had you lost someone dear? Was death knocking at your door once more?

You tamed your features as he approached, putting on your best act as you calmed down your quick breathing. His eyes never left yours, not while he walked from the portcullis to the keep, not once.

As he got to where you were, he nodded in your direction, as if to say, “don’t worry, I’m okay.” You then understood he mistook your concern, thinking it was for him. Oh, how wrong he was… You were not worried about him in the slightest, but about whoever succumbed to his sword.

As soon as he and his retinue disappeared into the keep, you bunched your skirt up and started running towards the village, dreading what you might find there.

Five minutes later, you were in the town’s square. A crowd was gathered around the stone well. The shrieking cry of a mother cradling his dead son pierced through the silence, boring into your heart.

“My wee lad, mo mhac (my son)!” Her screams formed a knot in your throat, one so tight you feared you could not breath.

You forged your way through the multitude, finding the woman on her knees, hugging her son close to her chest. You knew them — you knew everyone in your lands, if not by face, by name at least. These you knew by face and name.

Torcall was standing right behind her, blood on his clothes indicating he had been the one bringing the lad back for his mother to mourn.

Torcall’s sombre expression prevented you from saying anything, even when you looked at him for answers. He just shook his head no and turned around to speak to a young man. You quickly recognised him too, Dòmhnall — son to the grieving woman, brother to the deceased boy. Dòmhnall nodded to Torcall’s words and vanished.

Torcall made his way towards you and pushed you aside.

“What the fuck is going on, Torcall?”

“People are growing restless, Callie. The Romans were by the firth, training in the murky waters. Some lads saw Acacius alone for one second and thought they could take him,” he didn’t need to explain what the outcome had been.

“What were they thinking? Taking on the General? How old were they?”

“Around ten and five. When Acacius killed the boy, his friends panicked, dragged him out and retreated. I found them in the woods. The others were lucky to escape alive,” Torcall sighed heavily and so did you.

“We all need to be careful here. We’ve got to play the long game. Once we have enough information from them, then we can start planning some skirmishes to diminish their numbers, but not before,” you pinched the bridge of your nose in frustration as you both walked towards Bonnie’s.

“People don’t listen to reason when they feel threatened,” he looked at you askance, then back down to his feet, momentarily lost in thought. “You need to speak to some people, let the rumour spread that you’re working towards freedom — otherwise they’ll feel like they’ve been forgotten, and rightfully so. Let people know that they will need to be ready to fight when you command them. Give them some hope, something to look forward to.”

You didn’t want to show your hand too early, but Torcall was partially right. If this continued, if people tried to get their own justice, it would end up being more tragic than what ought to be. You could not endure more senseless loss of life, your clansmen dying for naught.

Your plan was so clear in your head, a simple to-do list —gain Marcus’ trust, kill off his army little by little, then finish him once he was the last man standing— but yet you hoped effective. If someone deviated, if someone betrayed you, then it would all be over way too soon. And you would end up like your mother — left for dead, hung in a cage off the keep as if you were a rat exposed to the elements.

“My athair’s retinue are already in the know,” you thought out loud, lips pouting with doubt. “But I did make them swear they would not tell a soul.”

Torcall propped open the wooden door to Bonnie’s crannog, the creaking noise welcoming you to the only home you knew now.

“I’ll go speak to my cousins, Seumas and Anndra, tomorrow. I know how eager they are to start a war, so this might appease them. I don’t want people up in arms just yet, we’ll wait for the Romans to be at their lowest,” you whispered back to him.

“Uhm, maybe—” Torcall’s voice got drown by the ones of his children.

“Auntaidh, auntaidh (auntie)!”The synchronised cacophony of your niece and nephew swept away part of the guilt you were feeling, forcing a wide smile onto your lips.

“I don’t think she’s here tonight, Marcus,” Maximus jest made his head turn to his direction.

With a cocked brow, Marcus feigned ignorance, the wooden fork in his hand mindlessly pushing around a lone meatball on his plate.

“Who?” He asked, as if neither of them knew who Maximus was referring to.

Your presence in the great hall every night had become a welcomed sight, one he had grown used to over the last few days. Not because it was soothing, but because it caused havoc. That was what he welcomed — someone who was not taken aback by his presence, someone who would hold his gaze and wouldn’t fold, someone who would shamelessly say his first name the way you said it nine nights ago.

And if he was entirely honest with himself, he also welcomed your advances. Not that he was showing it, but every taunting Dux Meus (my General/Leader/God), every suggestive glance, every time you touched him, his skin would set ablaze. It was just a harmless game, as long as it remained just that. He was here to do a job, and nothing should get in the way of that — even if a red-haired, green-eyed nymph tempted him down the path of infidelity.

How hypocritical of him to think of all the things he would do to you if given the chance, when he despised his wife for doing exactly that.

“What was her name? Connie? Charlie?” Maximus tapped his chin with one finger, pretending to think.

“Callie,” Marcus bit the bait without realising.

“Ah, yes. Callie. How could you forget when the poor woman has been throwing herself at you for more than a week now and you have given her nothing in return?” The commander observed with an ample grin. “Have you claimed her yet? Fucked her?”

His whole body went rigid with rage at Maximus’ provocation. Sometimes he hated his friendship with him, the liberties he took even though he was above the man in the command chain. If it wasn’t because there were still people on the dais, Marcus would have punched him square in the jaw to shut him up.

Instead, his eyes darted to his friend’s with a dark warning in them. Maximus laughed it off, leaning back on his chair and looking at him with a mischievous smile.

“I’ll take that as a no then. I bet she’s tired of being ignored and that’s why she’s not here tonight. Maybe she’s fucking one of your legionaries in the barracks right now. Damn, maybe I’ll do that myself—”

“Are you fucking done?” He interrupted, the legs of his chair screeching as he dragged it backwards to stand up.

“Have I touched a nerve now?” Maximus’ smile just grew bigger as he stood up too, palming Marcus’ shoulder. “I’m just messing with you, old friend. Helping you, actually. You need to get laid, clear your mind of war for one night. Your hair is greyer now than what it was a month ago.”

“I don’t need your advice nor your teasing. It may be all fun and games to you, but there’s a lot on the line here,” Marcus sneered as they walked down the corridor formed by cheery and drunk soldiers sat at their tables.

He wasn’t worried about his reputation but all the debts he owed. Not him, specifically, but his wife. The lush life she led at home would ruin him eventually.

Maximus’ demeanour changed, hands laced on his back and head bowed down in deep thought.

“I know what’s at stake, Marcus. We all are doing what we can to find the instigator,” only then Marcus realised that Maximus was talking about the attempt on his life that afternoon. “Valerius’ henchman was able to follow the boy into the forest. He’s definitely dead.”

He said it as if it was good news, but that death would haunt Marcus at night. It had been just a boy, probably not more than ten and six, who had met his fate at his sword. Marcus had tried to keep him at bay, but when the boy lunged forwards with a small knife on his hand, he basically impaled himself on the gladius Marcus was holding to ward him off.

“Good to hear,” he replied with a flat, lacking voice.

Maximus angled his head, then shook it.

“Good night, Marcus. I’ll let you know if I see your Callie entertaining the men in the barracks,” Maximus waved him goodbye, light-heartedly.

“Sod off,” he rolled his eyes, before turning the corner.

A tiny part of him wanted to go after his friend and check himself, make sure you were not fucking another man.

That thought made him frown. What you did or didn’t do was none of his business. In fact, you were a free woman and could do as you pleased. Even if that meant you were not pleasing him.

You threw the saddle on Kelpie’s back — she was your late mother’s horse. The horse was as black as coal with a shiny, short coat. She was a young one, so still needed a fair amount of training — at least, she was properly socialised. Mòrag had died before she could train her newest addition. This horse was, most probably, the closest you would ever be to your màthair (mother).

The mare neighed loudly when you tried to adjust the saddle on her belly and moved around nervously, trotting in place to put distance between you two. You shushed her, caressing her muzzle and chin groove.

“Shh, shhh… It’s okay, àlainn (lovely). I see you don’t like that, do you?” You whispered in a calming manner until the mare quietened down.

You leaned forward until your forehead pressed against hers and then placed a gentle kiss on the bridge of Kelpie’s nose before reaching towards her back to remove the untied saddle.

“Barebacking it is then,” the idea didn’t thrill you, but you didn’t fancy walking all the way to Bun Craobh (Bunchrew).

That morning you had gone out to the barn to speak to Anndra and Seumas, only to find out they were no longer there. When you went back into the crannog, Bonnie mentioned they had left the morning prior. Something about a carpentry job in the next town over required their attention, or that was they had told their mother.

You had a nagging feeling that wasn’t true. The siblings were ardent defenders of your family, so you knew they would not stand idly. What brought them to Bun Craobh though, you were not sure but intended on finding out.

You led Kelpie out of the stables and into the courtyard of your castle. You hoped no one would notice you sneaking out with a horse that allegedly didn’t belong to you, but you were obviously out of luck — had been for a while now.

“Hey, puella (young lady)! Where do you think you’re going with that horse?” One of the roman soldiers cut you off, hands on hips and a deep frown. You recognised him from sitting on the dais with Marcus, although you didn’t know his name.

You cursed him under your breath, but composed a sweet smile, when you just wanted to knee his balls and run past him.

“I’m in need of a horse. We are out of some herbs and spices in the kitchens, so I was going to visit the town’s healer…” You explained with your eyes averted down and fingers laced in front of you.

“I’ll take care of this, Cassius,” Marcus appeared on his back, a heavy, broad and very masculine hand landing on the shoulder of the man in front of you.

For a brief second, you saw a flicker of disgust in his eyes, but Cassius quickly masked it with a deferent nod before walking away. Your eyes followed him, curious as to what you had just seen. Did Cassius despise Marcus? Why?

“Where are you going, Callie?” The General’s deep, throaty voice made you look in his direction.

For a second, you got lost in his chocolate eyes — there was an almost imperceptible sadness in them, a tinge of regret that seemed to haunt him every day and every night. How could that possibly be when he dispatched people to their deaths so mindlessly, so effortlessly?

“Cormag needs some bits for his cooking, Dux Meus,” you explained again, and there it was.

His irises darkened with the last two words, the sadness transforming into something else — liquid darkness. You held his gaze, hypnotised by how the desire rapidly kicked the sadness out of him. And you knew he was holding onto every bit of his control, taming his body not to react to your words — but his eyes he could not govern. They were a window to his lust.

You fought with your own craving. The way he stared at you made your skin run hot as ember and slick pool in your slit. You had been wondering what it would feel like to be fucked raw by a man like Marcus Acacius; you had even fantasized about it a few nights.

An donas dubh (dammit)! If it wasn’t for how crowded Bonnie’s crannog was, you would have even touched yourself to the thought of him plunging in and out between your thighs.

That idea was so foreign to you, it took you aback.

“Is that okay?” His question lingered; Marcus’ head tilted with knitting brows.

You looked at him doe eyed as you came out of your wet haze. Fuck, stop imagining things, he’s right there talking to you! You reprimanded yourself before blinking a few times to clear your mind.

“I-I’m sorry, Dominus (Master)?” The slight stammer in your voice was not faked this time around.

“I said I’ll accompany you to wherever you need to go. It’s not safe out there, even less so for a lonely maid serving the Romans,” he repeated.

That offer shocked you because you were not expecting such gallantry from him. You also had to smother a snicker — you were not at risk of anything, this was your land, your people. But Marcus did not know that.

“Oh, it’s not necessary, my lord. I know my way around—”

“I insist. Please,” he added, his fists curled on his sides.

If the look in his eyes indicated anything, that would be that Marcus Acacius would not accept no for an answer. And that would mess your whole itinerary up, because you could not take him to Bun Craobh, in case your cousins were really planning something. Now you would really have to go to Naimh’s new cottage, even though that was not your plan at all.

“Awright, aye,” you conceded, an unwilling smile crooking your lips.

“I didn’t see you last night in the great hall,” Marcus broke the surprisingly comfortable silence.

He was riding on your left and you couldn’t help but turn your head to watch him. So, your efforts were going somewhere at last. For eight nights you had been on his heels, serving him as if that was what you were born to do. Your attempts at seducing him began to be so obvious, you could hear the other maids giggling to themselves every time you leaned over his shoulder, offering him a clear sight of your generous cleavage.

Even his soldiers had noticed. You had been so obvious, other men thought you were a pleasure woman and that was invitation enough for some of them to try and reach for your ass whenever you approached their tables. Disgusting behaviour, but you had to laugh your way out of it and slap some hands so no one would take offense at your rejection.

“Cormag would not let me work again. I really wanted to be there though,” you said truthfully, watching him in the corner of your eye.

Marcus straightened his back, as if suddenly uncomfortable, and studied your surroundings.

It was still early afternoon, but it seemed to be later due to the thick tree canopy above you. You were travelling westward through the dense forest that neared Beauly Firth. Naimh had moved to a crannog in the road to Bun Craobh after her home in Loch Moy had been burnt to ashes. Thankfully, she had not been home when it happened. A small win in your book.

“I see. He worries about you,” he noted, jaw tight as he spoke.

“Aye, he’s like a father to me,” that old git really was. “I should be back to work tomorrow.”

“Good,” he replied without even thinking and you knew he did not intend to say that out loud. “I mean, you’re one of the few people who speak Latin. It’s hard to communicate with the rest,” Marcus added swiftly to veil his slip of tongue.

You smiled to yourself, realising this was the first time you two were alone, away from prying eyes.

“You only need to ask, Marcus,” you whispered, your voice charged with the right hint of suggestion and provocation.

His neck snapped in your direction at your words.

“Ask what?”

He knew exactly what. The man was stubborn as a mule, playing hard to get. But he was not immune to your advances, as much as he wanted to conceal his lust for you.

“You know what,” was your simple answer before spurring Kelpie on with the heels of your leather shoes.

You spotted a small hut between some trees off the main path, that had to be the crannog that Naimh had found in her search for a new home. You had seen that cottage a few times before, always abandoned and eerie — legend said that was where the wisps would lead you at night.

Kelpie sprinted towards it, and you heard Marcus’ horse neigh a few feet behind you. You needed to act fast before good ol’ Naimh gave you away and revealed your identity. So, the moment you dismounted and Naimh was under the frame of the main door, you threw your arms around her neck.

She was a fragile woman in her late sixties, white hair and wrinkling skin. Her nose a tad too prominent, her lips wide and big, slanted eyes. She was tiny too, with a crouched back that made her look even smaller.

“Naimh!” You exclaimed excitedly, and then whispered in her ear in Gaelic, “He doesn’t know who I am. Call me Callie, play along, please.”

The old woman stilled and then patted your back in understanding.

“Ah, my sweet Callie, so good to see you. I started to think you’d forgotten about this old crone. This how you treat the elderly?” She spoke in your native language, which meant Marcus would not understand a word.

“He doesn’t understand, Naimh, you don’t need to put on the best act of your life, just be mindful of my name,” you sniggered, holding her hands with both of yours. “I’ve missed you so much.”

“So have I, leannan (darling), so have I,” she squeezed your hands before dropping hers to her sides, her eyes squinting with a bit of hatred.

Marcus cleared his throat, standing right behind you. You stepped aside.

“General, this is Naimh, our town’s healer. Naimh, this is General Acacius,” you introduced them in Latin, although you were sure Naimh did not understand much.

“My pleasure,” he bowed his head slightly while Naimh stared him down as if he was a snake trying to steal the eggs off her nest.

The old woman just grunted and walked back inside, not responding to his pleasantry.

Shrugging, you looked at Marcus.

“Don’t mind her too much, she’s not really fond of anyone,” that much was true.

“She’s fond of you,” he pointed out with a raised brow.

“Well, yeah, that’s because I pester her a lot. I can be very insisting.”

“You definitely are,” he muttered under his breath, not intended for your ears, but you heard that.

With a sufficient grin, you turned on your heels and got inside the crannog with Marcus right behind you.

By the time you were done with the visit, it was almost pitch-black outside. The weather, as everything in the Highlands, had turned too — it was dreich and drizzling, a light, damp mist hanging low, close to the ground.

You attached the thread of the little hemp sack around your waist as you waved goodbye to Naimh. She had given you an assortment of different spices she had stocked up: wild mountain thyme, dried pepper dulse and coriander grass. You were not sure if Cormag needed them, but you had to keep up with the lie in Marcus’ presence.

Both horses were lazily grazing around. They looked so different—Marcus’ white as a quartz, yours black as obsidian—they reminded you of how opposite you both were. Ironic, really, that the mare and the stallion were now approaching each other and rubbing necks.

“Kelpie,” you called her. Your mother’s horse barely looked at you, too busy grooming the back of Marcus’ horse with her teeth. “Hey!”

Kelpie almost brayed like a donkey, showing her annoyance, before she cantered towards you with a loud neigh.

“Oi, calm down. We’ve got to go back,” you asked of her, grabbing the reins.

“Kelpie? That’s an unusual name,” Marcus said while he jumped onto his horse’s back graciously.

Your mother had let you choose the name when it was first born, in one of your last visits to your family home as a married woman. A brief respite shared with Mòrag where you had forgotten who you were married to — you had spent the whole afternoon coming up with uncommon names and had finally settled for Kelpie.

“It’s a creature that inhabits lochs. They are shape-shifting spirits that usually take the form of a black horse,” you explained as you managed to get on top of the mare. A difficult task, considering there was no saddle to hold onto. “Some people say they are evil because they prey on us. They drag their victims into the water, devour them, and throw the entrails to the water's edge, so they can lure their next casualty. I think that’s just survival. There is no treachery in their nature.”

By the time you had finished talking, you were by Marcus’ side. His eyebrows almost touched each other, and you wondered if he had picked on your cutting remark about treachery. Whether he did or not, you did not know.

“Are they just stories to scare children away from deep water or are they real?” He questioned after a deliberating minute as both of your horses resumed the path ahead.

“I have never seen a kelpie myself, but I know folk who have perished to them,” you shrugged, the image of dismembered bodies by Loch Ness coming back to you. “It’s not a pretty picture.”

“I bet. Your people seem to have many stories about lurking creatures. I have seen the tapestries telling the story of the dragon-like monster living in the lake nearby,” he said with a pinch of incredulity in his voice.

“Loch. We call them lochs, not lakes,” you corrected him.

“Sorry, loch,” he said back with a soft ch, head cocked towards you. It was a good attempt.

“And that would be Nessie. She’s a staple around here, everyone loves her,” you joked. “She’s a Kelpie, but one which transforms into some sort of dragon. I’m not sure though, never seen her myself. But if you ever speak to Cormag, he’ll tell you all about her. Best mates they are, so he says.”

As soon as you spoke of the cook, you realised your mistake. You were talking too much, telling him all about a land he hated, a land he wanted to steal from you. A land he would destroy along with all its people. There was no point in explaining to him all about what made Caledonia special if he was here to wreck your life.

“The cook?” He pressed and you simply nodded, remaining silent.

For ten minutes neither of you talked. Weirdly, the silence was not ever bothersome. You didn’t have the need to fill it, and neither did he.

Until he did.

“My stud’s name is Faun,” he muttered, resuming the dead conversation where you had left it.  The stallion’s ears perked up at the sound of his name. “They are half-human, half-goat creatures. They inhabit forests like this back home. Some say they instil fear in travelling men and drive them to madness, others say they can guide you to safety. Never encountered one myself either.”

You turned your head around to glance at him. His story was strangely similar to yours, just adapted to his own beliefs. How could two very different people share something so unique as your love for mythical creatures?

“They sound beautiful. And before you judge me for saying that… beauty is on the eye of the beholder,” you added with a mellow laugh. You found goats endearing.

Marcus’ serious expression softened. “Evil or not, I do think they are too.”

Your eyes locked for an eternal second and you wondered why there was an unfamiliar feeling sitting low in your belly.

A split second was all it took to make you snap out of whatever brief connection you suddenly felt.

You heard the whistling sound before you saw the arrow sticking out of Marcus’ left shoulder, in that unprotected spot where the shoulder pad met the breastplate. The arrow had flown just a few inches away from your ear.

Marcus’ eyes widened as reality settled in. Out of nowhere, three men emerged from the woods, face painted with soot—the whites of their eyes sparkled under the full moon.

The sudden movement scared off Kelpie, who harshly stirred around and started galloping towards the trees with no regard for her rider—you. You managed to hold on to the low branches of the trees, Kelpie slipping from between your thighs as the mare ran towards safety alone, leaving you hanging from a branch.

The clink of metal behind you forced you to let go of the branch, landing on your feet like a graceful cat. When you turned around, you saw that Marcus had dismounted Faun. His stud, at least, had not abandoned his rider to the mercy of his enemies the same way your mare had. Little traitorous horse.

“Get back!” Marcus shouted at you as he repositioned his body between you and the threat of the threesome.

But they were no threat to you, you were sure. They were here to kill him. The same way some fucking kids had tried to end him that very afternoon. Were people plain, thick gòrach (stupid)?

“People are growing restless,” Torcall had said to you yesterday. So much so they would endanger you too? Your cover? What were you supposed to do now?

If you helped them and Marcus survived, you would be dead before dawn, your cover blown.

If you helped them and Marcus died, Agricola would appoint a new man in Marcus’ stead. One that might not fit well into your plan. And you would be hunted down too.

If you helped him and they survived, they would go back to your folk and tell them all how you betrayed them, how you turned against them — how you protected the General.

If you helped him and they died… Your conscience would be tainted forever.

Or you could do nothing — let destiny run its course. The General deserved to die for what he had done to your family; it was actually only fair. But Marcus needed to be killed off at the right time — not sooner nor later. Just right, as a pig hung for slaughter on the first days of winter.

As the Romans would say, Alea iacta est (the dice is cast).

“Caileag fealltach (traitorous lass)!” One of the men screeched before leaping on you, sgian-dubh (small knife) on his left and a longer sword on his right hand.

The raucous sound of steel colliding sparked life back into you. Marcus’ gladius had curbed the attack. And with a thundering flourish of his sword, the edge of it hit the man’s side with deadly precision. The attacker crumbled to his knees, a fountain of blood varnishing the grass underneath.

“Mac na galla (son of a bitch), I’ll have your head for this!” The taller man cowed in Gàidhlig.

Marcus’ hand pushed you back — unbeknownst to you, you had taken a few steps forward, wanting to say something, anything to stop this madness.

Marcus and his opponent exchanged a few strident blows. Despite the General being substantially older than his adversary, his movements were more gracious, trained, measured, while the other man’s were sloppy and directionless. It was only a matter of minutes until one of them tired out, and your bet, regrettably, was on your clansman.

“What is a lass like you doing with a man like him? Are you his whore or what? Have you no shame, woman?” The recriminatory voice of the last man came to you in your mother tongue, albeit a slightly different accent.

He had swerved towards you while Marcus was distracted with the other man, too focused on the dance of swords. You were unarmed, this fight you would not win.

Your kinsman’s sword swayed in front of you, and you managed to jump back, avoiding the blade by a mere inch. Your eyes shot back to his, back slightly crouched, trying to predict his next movement.

A malicious smirk appeared on your opponent’s lips, as if he was enjoying himself.

“I’m going to send you to fucking Dubnos (Hell), so you can rot there with the low-lives you get involved with,” the threat was not veiled.

He lunged forward and you dropped to the floor — eyeing the dead man’s blood-soaked sgian-dubh, you grabbed it and held it close to your chest.

“I don’t think so. I don’t want to kill you, please,” you almost begged him between gritted teeth as you dragged yourself back a few feet, slowly getting up as Marcus’ fight unfolded fifteen yards away from where you stood.

A brief glance in his direction told you he was holding up alright, just as you knew he would. You had seen him in a sword fight before — your father had died because of it. Because of him.

“Kill me? You?” he laughed out loud. “You’re just a sad, little, useless woman. What do you think you can do to me? Bet the closest you have ever been to a knife is in a kitchen, where you fucking belong. There and warming up some man’s bed, but not his,” he barked back, almost looming over you.

What he just said struck you as odd. Did this man not know how many battles you had fought besides your father, your entire family, to protect your land, your clan?

You could not recognise him under all the soot, his hair tied back and covered in mud in a pretty good attempt at concealing his identity.

Before you could question him, he lunged forwards.

“Callie, no!” You heard Marcus’ call, a note of fear sullying his words.

An acute relief washed over him when the man in front of you fell to his knees, laying at your feet. A big, burgundy stain tarnished your blue dress around your belly area. A bloody knife was firm on your steady hand, your eyes devoid of emotion — had you done this before? Impossible, he thought to himself, she’s just a maid.

The relief just grew in his tight chest when your eyes locked with his. But what he saw in them caught him off guard — fear?

“Marcus!”

Then he felt it. The ripping of skin, the sinking of metal through flesh, then a few twists of the knife rearranging his guts for good measure — then warmth. Sticky, wet warmth soaking the woollen tunic underneath his armour.

“Die, bastard,” his attacker whispered in his ear, the words strangely clear to him.

Marcus’ eyes quickly drifted down to see one of those small knives the barbarians used, sunken down to its hilt on the left-hand side of his lower abdomen, right under his lorica. He didn’t feel the pain, not just yet — just rage.

He had disarmed his rival but blundered. He shouldn’t have, but the moment he realised you were no longer behind him, he frantically searched his surroundings to find you quite a few feet away from him, from his protection. He thought you dead when he saw you so close to that man, almost entrapped in an intimate embrace. Turned out, you could protect yourself alright.

His left fingers followed the red river dripping onto the ground, almost mesmerised by the sight of his own thick blood.

Snapping out of his trance and with shock still holding him upright, he effortlessly swung his sword — the other man eyeing him with fright, realising those were his last seconds on this worldly plane.

The head of the last man standing rolled off his shoulders and hit the ground with a sharp thud.

“No, Marcus, no! Don’t pull it out,” you whispered into his neck, your fingers wrapping around his on the hilt of the knife.

When did you bridge the distance? How were you so close? He hadn’t heard you. At all.

His mind went numb as more blood poured from his body, his speech slurred as his grasp on consciousness became looser by the minute.

“I need to—,” he mumbled, brows frowned and fingers tighter.

“No, you’ll bleed out. Please, listen to me. If you want to live, don’t fucking touch it,” your sweary prayer finally reached him, and he loosened up the grip on the knife. “Shite. Faun! Fucking shite, Faun! Come, boy, come!” He barely saw you waving down his horse — his sight going too.

Marcus fought to stay afloat, but the waves were relentless, bigger than him, pushing him down to the seabed. He was drowning.

“Can you— Fuck, Marcus, can you jump?”

He looked at you confused, then in front of him. Faun was standing right there, waiting for him to hop onto his back. His hand held on to the saddle but couldn’t bring himself up.

“Ad genua (to your knees), Faun,” he muttered in Latin, and the stallion knelt almost instantly.

“Thank the fucking gods he’s trained be…” Marcus didn’t hear the last of your sentence as he plummeted on top of Faun, the knife and arrow sinking further in his flesh.

If it wasn’t for his impending death, you would have been relieved when Marcus fainted.

“…trained better than my mother’s mare,” was how you ended your sentence. One that would have fucked your whole plan up. And your life too.

“Fuck, this is bad. Really bad,” you muttered to yourself frantically as you sat down on the saddle.

You pushed Marcus’ body up, making him sit upright facing you with his heavy, manly thighs over yours — your knees pressing hard around Faun’s back to keep your balance as the stud stood up. You cradled Marcus’ cheeks and lightly patted him.

“Marcus. Hey, wake up,” you whispered, uprooting no reaction from him whatsoever. “Fuck, I said wake up!” You slapped him harder this time, the sound ricocheting on the trees and the palm of your hand itchy — it shouldn’t given the circumstances, but smacking him felt damn good.

The General groaned but didn’t open his eyes. With your right forearm pressed against his chest, your fingers wrapped around the arrow on his left shoulder. With as much care as you could and trying not to wiggle the arrow, you snapped the shaft at the hafting with the help of your left hand.

Marcus did not complain, so he had to be really out of it right now. You let him lean forward with his sweaty forehead lodged in the crook of your neck — way too close for comfort. You detested his proximity, but your body had a mind of its own. His warm breath fanning your skin made your hair stand.

Not the fucking time.

“Focus, dammit,” you summoned all your strength.

You were closer to Naimh’s crannog than to the Inbhir Nis’ fortress. You did not know what other threats lied ahead and Marcus was in dire need of help — you could feel his blood dripping onto the saddle, staining Faun’s white coat. Naimh would have everything you required to patch him up and her hut was well hidden.

You looked in both directions, Faun patiently awaiting your command. You veered the reins to the left.

“Hyah, hyah!” You compelled the stallion with a subtle kick of your heels.

Faun darted forward, fast as a wildcat, and you wrapped your arm around Marcus’ waist to prevent him from falling sideways to the ground.

It only took you ten minutes to get to Naimh’s again. You reined Faun back and he came to a sudden stop just a couple of feet away from the door.

“Ad genua,” you said to the horse, remembering the General’s command, and Faun knelt.

By that point, Marcus’ mind was very far away. You threaded your arms under his and  dragged him all to the crannog. There was a red trickle all the way from the saddle to where you were now.

“Fuck,” with the heel of your foot, you kicked Naimh’s door. “Naimh, it’s me, open up!”

You heard the rustling of her feet as she sauntered towards the door, swinging it open. With your back towards her, you could not see her expression, but you bet on shock.

“Obh obh (oh dear), what’s happened? Are you hurt?” You could tell Naimh was extremely worried.

“I’m fine. Him… well, not so much. We’ve been attacked. I don’t know who sent those men, but they were out for blood,” you explained as you hauled him back inside.

Thank the gods you were strong enough to grab him by his shoulders and lay him down on Naimh’s bed.

“Did you recognise them?” She asked while searching for her healing kit — a basket with a sharp, small knife, some eyed needles made of bone, wool thread and a few different species of fresh plants and herbs.

“No, I didn’t. They covered their faces in soot and their hair with mud, I could barely tell they were human,” you omitted the fact that you had to stab one of them to death to keep your cover intact and also to save yourself. Naimh was a healer, she would not understand having to take someone else’s life voluntarily.

You, on the other hand, were used to it.

Your hands worked faster than your brain — you grabbed the knife and cut Marcus’ tunic, from the edge of the skirt to his hip, so you would have better access to the wound on his lower abdomen. That was the one which was profusely bleeding, while the arrowhead seemed to block the wound enough so it wouldn’t bleed too.

You focused your eyes on the wound and not on his almost-exposed lap. You had a job to do if you wanted him to survive this. Not wanted really, you needed him to survive for now, so he could die at the right time.

You pressed the injury with your left hand, the protruding blade lodged between your middle and index fingers, and then pulled curtly from the hilt of the sgian-dubh.

Marcus’ eyes flew wide open, a restrained groan ripping his throat. His hand tightly wrapped around your wrist, his arched back slightly off the straw cushion. His orbs were wild with pain — the veins on his neck chiselled on his skin, so pronounced you thought they would explode. You kept the pressure on the wound while pushing him back down onto the bed.

“It’s okay. Relax, I’ve got you,” you tried to calm him down. His big, brown eyes studied you, considering if he should trust you with his life. His fingers were so solidly wrapped around your wrist, you were sure he was restricting your bloodflow. “You have no other option. It’s me or whatever god of the dead you praise,” you muttered, holding his gaze.

With a painful grunt, he let go of your wrist and settled back down. His jaw was so clenched, you were almost worried he would break a tooth.

“Naimh, bring me a stick of wood or something for him to chew on while I stitch him up. And some wine,” you asked of the old woman.

Soon enough you had everything you needed. You offered the woodstick to Marcus, who quickly understood what it was for and opened his mouth. You placed it between his teeth and he bit down on it.

You quickly removed the heel of your hand from the seeping gash and poured wine over it to disinfect it. Marcus hissed in pain, muffled by the stick he was chewing. You patted the area with a rag to clean it and then extended your hand towards Naimh, palm up. She had already threaded the eyed needle.

“This is going to hurt,” you warned him before piercing the first layer of skin.

You focused on the task at hand, blocking out any distractions. The needle was not the sharpest, so you had to really puncture the skin to get it through to the other side — you were sure that Marcus hated every bone of yours every time the blunt tip of the needle stroked his skin.

The wound was very deep, probably too deep for sutures, but you had no other alternative. His attacker had really intended on gutting him like a cow — the skin was ripped around the edges, as if the man had twisted the blade several times once it had already sunk in Marcus’ flesh.

By the time you were done, it still looked gnarly, but at least it wasn’t bleeding so much now. You had been so absorbed in your doing, you had not realised that Marcus had fainted again — probably a combination of blood loss and pain had sent him straight to Aengus’ embrace, God of Dreams.

You knew he was completely unconscious when you pulled the arrow out of his shoulder and followed the same procedure with not a single complaint from him. The starred scar would heal better than the butchering on his tummy. You were no expert, but at least you gave him a fighting chance.

“Naimh, could you prepare one of your concoctions, please? We need to cover the wounds and aid the healing process. Otherwise it’s going to become infected,” you asked while packing away the stuff you had used off her basket.

You saw her shuffling some shelves in search of specific ingredients and let her do her job. After putting away the basket, you walked back to the bed Marcus was splayed on.

What a fucking sight.

The lorica still covered his torso, but you had removed the shoulder plates to have better access to the arrow. The tunic underneath the cuirass that hung from his waist down was ripped apart — you had to so you could patch him up. Just a few inches away, you knew, was the core of his manhood.

You wondered… Better not to dwell there for long.

Then there were his hairy, thick thighs, and a pair of leather sandals plaited around his muscular calves. The man’s anatomy spoke of power, vigour, strength.

Most of his visible skin, along with the tunic and armour, was stained in dry, scarlet blood. The picture in front of you, although suggestive, was gruesome, bordering on sadistic. So, you definitely should not feel the way you did — curious, too curious.

“Here,” Naimh’s offering brought you back. “Apply this to the wounds, should keep any festering at bay.”

“Tapadh leibh a Naimh (thank you),” you thanked her, taking the mortar from her hands.

The mixture looked gooey and greenish — pretty regular, considering there was a ton of aloe vera in it.

“Do you want me to send word to the castle, mo bana-phrionnsa (my princess)?”, she offered, placing a little, fragile hand on your shoulder.

“Aye, if you don’t mind,” a brief pause to jog your memory. “Make sure it reaches Maximus, and Maximus only,” you added.

That commander seemed to be the closest thing to a friend Marcus had here. You had seen them on the dais, exchanging whispers and jests in a brotherly manner. Surely he would be someone Marcus would trust with his life.

“Na gabh dragh, measag (don’t worry, dear). You know my will-o'-wisps only reach those who I command them to,” her voice lowered, a sweet grin painted on her wrinkling face before vanishing through the door.

You knew Naimh came from a long bloodline of druids and sorceresses — she could be found attending to the coirtheachan (standing stones), ensuring they were clean with oblations left at their feet, speaking to animals and trees, or lighting fires with the mere snap of her fingers. Once, as a child, you saw how a wave of her hand over the flames made some sparks flicker away from the bonfire and dance through the air until they disappeared between some trees. The first wisps you had ever seen.

So when Naimh spoke of her will-o’-wisps, you did not question her one bit. You were one hundred percent sure that the message would get to Maximus in record time.

Your attention drifted back to the unconscious man on the bed. You needed to do something about the deplorable state he was in.

His eyelids were so heavy, his mind so foggy, Marcus was not able to open them just yet. Coming back to his senses would take all the strength he had left and that wasn’t much. His limbs felt weighty yet jelly-like too. How damn boorish of him if this was how he greeted death, unable to even shake hands with the Parcae (Fates).

A lifetime of bloodshed and war, and this was how his life would end, away from a real battlefield. What a shame.

His mind kept wandering and almost didn’t register a soft, velvety feeling on his right shin. It was warm and light, and it came and went like a gush of wind. That feeling, that touch, expanded to his thigh, his hip, his tummy, his chest. It was everywhere, right there on the confines on his imagination and on his damn skin.

Weird what the mind would come up with when on its last legs.

Slowly he drifted away again, and when Marcus came back to once more, he wasn’t sure how long it had been. Minutes. Hours. Days?

This time though, his senses flared alive. One more than the others — the sense of touch. The previous warmth, dry before, now was wet. It dripped and dripped, creating a river that ran down his thigh.

The heaviness that had him in a chokehold had softened, and so was able to move one hand, inspecting what that liquid warmth was. Blood?

“Don’t touch,” a firm yet soothing voice warned him.

Something wrapped around his wrist and placed his hand back down on the ground. No, not on the ground… on a bed?

After several attempts, Marcus managed to flutter his eyes open. White vision first, he blinked until the fog dissipated. And then he saw you there, sat by his side — inquiring, green eyes staring him down.

He held your gaze for what seemed like an eternity, while the memories flooded back. The arrow, the attackers, the sword fight, you stabbing that man to his death, the knife deeply lodged in his abdomen. The stitching, the painful stitching.

His eyes drifted down and only then did he realise that he was completely naked. Not even a thin piece of fabric covering him, no — absolutely, fucking nothing. Bare as the day he was fucking born.

Marcus’ eyes quickly shot to yours, his heart pounding wildly, as you held a damp rag on your hand.

“What the—,” he started to complain, his throat dry and coarse.

“No need to panic. I’m just washing the blood off you,” you explained matter-of-factly, unabashed even.

“My armour, my clothes…” was the only thing he managed to mutter.

“Your armour is now clean, and your clothes are drying over there in front of the hearth. I’ve washed them for you. You’re welcome,” you replied sneeringly, rolling your eyes, as you resumed what you were doing prior to being interrupted by his questioning.

You placed the rag back down on his inner thigh and rubbed, the dried blood coming off his skin albeit with some difficulty. Too fucking close to… Fuck, I rather fucking die. He stopped your hand again, teeth gritting.

“I can do this myself,” Marcus protested.

“Don’t be ridiculous. You think I’ve not seen a naked man before? I’m a widow, Marcus. You don’t have anything I have not seen before,” and then you scrubbed his skin some more, moving upwards and stopping just inches shy of his groin.

Marcus held his breath and closed his eyes, summoning all the self-control he could muster. He really had to focus to reign the most primal reaction a man could have when a woman was touching him. He pinched the bridge of his aquiline nose, jaw clenched, as he started counting backwards from one hundred.

The General needed a distraction — if he thought about your hand so damn close to his cock, he would fucking lose it. Would throw you onto that uncomfortable mattress and would fuck some sense into you for playing with fire. Teach you a lesson or two. Maybe three.

As soon as that thought formed, he had to put it out quickly. One would think that a near-death experience would knock some sense into him, but apparently not. He was a damned man.

Your hand moved around his lap languidly, expertly avoiding his not-so-soft-now dick, and focused on rubbing some blood off his lower abdomen. Then the damp rag moved further south, and his heart climbed up to this throat.

His eyes snapped back open, looking for yours, while his fingers gripped your wrist again.

“Is there no blood anywhere else?” his voice sounded strangled, begging almost, letting go of your hand.

“Nay, I’ve already cleaned the rest of your body. I was saving the best for last, Marcus,” you whispered at the same time the rag dragged along the length of his cock.

Then the palm of your hand flattened against his impending erection, the rag forsaken on his thigh now. The little blood he had left in his veins rushed south the moment your delicate fingers wrapped around the girth of his now-throbbing cock.

You just held him there with a tight grip, eyes never leaving his in defiance. Something sinister flicked in the green of your eyes — something mischievous, lustful even, but something really dark too. Your lips were slightly parted with an intransigent smile.

“How’re you feeling? Any pain?” You dared to ask, as if you weren’t the source of his pain.

Because the only real pain he felt was all gathered on his thudding dick. Feeling his agony, you stroked him once, twice… until you were pumping him decisively, shamelessly. Your thumb caressed his glans, buttering it with his own precum.

A moan tore through Marcus’ chest, rumbling — eyes closed, letting himself rejoice in the moment. Your fingers tight around his thick shaft, putting the right amount of pressure, sent him into oblivion. His erection just became harder and harder, steely as his gladius, under your diligent care.

Marcus felt the tension building up, his balls contracting with equal parts of pain and pleasure. His erection beat rhythmically with his heart — your strokes a blessing in disguise, sent to him to release the pressure building up at the bottom of his spine. You were working him so well, so dextrously, so deliciously, he didn’t know how much longer would he last.

“I wonder if it is as tasty as it looks…” you whispered in his ear as you crouched down a little, your lips grazing his skin.

The mere image of your mouth sealed around his manhood wrecked him. So fucking much, he was close to coming just with one single fucking handjob.

And then the door swung open, making both of you jump on the spot. You quickly removed your hand from his lap and Marcus almost died at the realisation that he would not find relief tonight.

As you turned around on your seat to face the door, you threw a blanket over his lap to disguise what had really been happening.

“Naimh is back,” you exclaimed giddily to him, standing up to greet her in your language.

Fuck Naimh. Kick her out, come back.

@orcasoul @immyowndefender @sjc7542 @fairiebabey

@thepalaceofmelanie @harriedandharassed @whoaitspascal87 @mewantpeepaw

@verybigvag @jessthebaker @ivoryandflame @missadangel @pepperstories

[jonsnowunemploymentera]

I think it’s interesting that a particular refrain keeps appearing in Jon’s inner monologue about the Horn of Winter.

They’re not wearing skins, Jon realized. That’s hair. Shaggy pelts covered their bodies, thick below the waist, sparser above. The stink that came off them was choking, but perhaps that was the mammoths. And Joramun blew the Horn of Winter, and woke giants from the earth. He looked for great swords ten feet long, but saw only clubs. Most were just the limbs of dead trees, some still trailing shattered branches. A few had stone balls lashed to the ends to make colossal mauls. The song never says if the horn can put them back to sleep. [..] “So how did you come by your other names?” Jon asked. “Mance called you the Horn-Blower, didn’t he? Mead-king of Ruddy Hall, Husband to Bears, Father to Hosts?” It was the horn blowing he particularly wanted to hear about, but he dared not ask too plainly. And Joramun blew the Horn of Winter, and woke giants from the earth. Is that where they had come from, them and their mammoths? Had Mance Rayder found the Horn of Joramun, and given it to Tormund Thunderfist to blow?(Jon II, ASoS)

Lady Melisandre watched him rise. “FREE FOLK! Here stands your king of lies. And here is the horn he promised would bring down the Wall.” Two queen’s men brought forth the Horn of Joramun, black and banded with old gold, eight feet long from end to end. Runes were carved into the golden bands, the writing of the First Men. Joramun had died thousands of years ago, but Mance had found his grave beneath a glacier, high up in the Frostfangs. And Joramun blew the Horn of Winter, and woke giants from the earth. Ygritte had told Jon that Mance never found the horn. She lied, or else Mance kept it secret even from his own. (Jon III, ADWD)

Jon turned in his saddle, frowning. And Joramun blew the Horn of Winter and woke giants from the earth. That huge horn with its bands of old gold, incised with ancient runes … had Mance Rayder lied to him, or was Tormund lying now? If Mance’s horn was just a feint, where is the true horn? (Jon XII, ADWD)

Repeated phrases in a character’s inner monologue are always important to their development (e.g., “promise me, Ned” or “wherever whores go”). The refrain “And Joramun blew the Horn of Winter, and woke giants from the earth” is repeated four times in Jon’s. That may not seem like much, but then we get to Jon’s final chapter in ADWD:

Wun Weg Wun Dar Wun howled again and gave Ser Patrek’s other arm a twist and pull. It tore loose from his shoulder with a spray of bright red blood. Like a child pulling petals off a daisy, thought Jon. “Leathers, talk to him, calm him. The Old Tongue, he understands the Old Tongue. Keep back, the rest of you. Put away your steel, we’re scaring him.” Couldn’t they see the giant had been cut? Jon had to put an end to this or more men would die. They had no idea of Wun Wun’s strength. A horn, I need a horn. He saw the glint of steel, turned toward it. “No blades!” he screamed. “Wick, put that knife …”

It’s a rather peculiar narrative choice to have Jon think about needing a horn to command a giant right before his death. Especially since the Horn of Winter’s very purpose is to wake (and potentially command) giants, whom Jon has been in communion with since ASoS.

The fandom at large believes the old, chipped warhorn in Sam’s possession might be the Horn of Winter. While that’s a great theory, I think there’s an important narrative distinction to make: the Horn of Winter exists squarely in Jon’s storyline. Though Sam’s POV has made callbacks to the warhorn, signaling that GRRM wants us to remember its existence, the Horn of Winter’s lore and purpose are explored exclusively in Jon’s chapters. Even when it appears in Sam’s narrative, it’s tied directly to Jon through their conversations. Sam’s warhorn may be a Chekhov’s gun, but resolution to the Horn of Winter must come through Jon’s arc. Its purpose has always resided with him, so he should be the one to blow it.

[y3nze1]

𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘 𝐌𝐄 𝐀 𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐆, 𝐑𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐎 𝐌𝐀𝐍 | c.4

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬: I / II / III / IV / V / VI

𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: Short continuation chapter! Happy Readings!

You fell silent, your eyes focused onto his as he stared up at the stars, You couldn't help but smile at his response. You felt your heart beat a little faster at the image of yourself along his side.

You couldn't help but feel a sense of jealousy towards yourself, and towards the fact that Alastor felt so strongly about her, yet considering daisy and you are one person.

"She sounds wonderful," you said, your voice soft and full of meaning, "I can't imagine how she makes you feel. You must really love her." You paused for a moment, wondering if your words were too forward. You didn't want to seem desperate or needy, but you couldn't help it..

Alastor looked at you, his eyes full of intensity. "I love her immensely, more than words can describe. She's my everything, my world." He took a step closer to you, his voice low. "And now.. I want to find out more about you.. Y/n, tell me about yourself." He leaned in closer.

You felt your heart flutter at his words, his voice full of a deep sort of longing. You leaned in a little, feeling his warm breath brushing against your face. You felt a tingle run through your body as he leaned closer.

You took a deep breath, feeling your head spinning from the alcohol and the proximity to him. "What.. what do you want to know?" you asked, feeling a sense of nervousness well up inside of you. You didn't really know what to say, you hadn't really thought this far ahead.

"anything you can offer me, if that's alright with you." his smile widened, you looked away for a moment. staring blankly at your feet.

"well, how about this.. I am Y/n, I'm not.. duchess or any kind of noble, no parents, no riches, and no woman of power at any sorts.. and all i could ever offer.. is an infinite amount of my love.."

You couldn't help but blush at his words. You never thought that someone would be able to express such deep feelings towards you, you had never felt so loved and cared for by someone before. It was a feeling that you couldn't really put into words, but it felt like a warm, cozy blanket wrapped around you.

"That's all I could ever ask for," you said, your voice soft and gentle, "an infinite amount of your love is all I need. I don't care about riches or power, I just want someone who cares about me and loves me for who I am."

Alastor smiled at you, his eyes looking deep into yours. "Then i hope someone will truly be that person for you, my dear..".

ೀ.ᐟ⭒๋࣭

The sound of a bell rang loudly from an old clock stuck at the hotel, Angel groaned at its ringing.

"ugh.. shit, I fucking hate that clock since it got here". Loralie chuckled at the sight, thinking to herself. "well.. i think it's neat" She muttered, chugging down the whiskey in her glass, setting it down to the side after.

"what about the story?! finish it!" Niffty grit her teeth in excitement, bouncing up and down on her chair leaving a happy sigh on Charlie's face. "well, what happened then? it ended just like that?" Charlie spoke, scratching her scalp gently. Loralie stared down at her glass for a moment.

"my memory's kind of foggy about it, it's been a long time since i told this story."

"That's okay, take your time," Charlie said, smiling warmly at Loralie. "I just love hearing you tell stories, they're always so fascinating."

As Niffty bounced anxiously on her chair, Charlie reached out and placed a hand on her shoulder, trying to calm her down.

"Don't worry, Niffty, Loralie will finish the story when she's ready." Niffty grumbled and crossed her arms, but didn't say anything more as she looked up at Loralie expectantly.

Loralie took a deep breath and looked down at her glass, trying to gather her thoughts. "Right, where did I leave off... oh yes.. shit, I'll just try and pick up what i can remember from here."

ೀ.ᐟ⭒๋࣭

You nodded, feeling a sense of warmth and comfort wash over you as he spoke. "I hope so too," you said quietly, feeling a sense of sadness wash over you. You knew that you weren't likely to find someone that would love you as much as Alastor loved Daisy.

"Do you really think there's someone out there for me?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. You felt your eyes start to well up with tears as you spoke.

"Of course," he said, taking your hand and gently caressing it. "There is always someone out there for everyone, you just have to keep looking." He leaned in close to you, his voice low and soft. "And until then, i could be of company with you, maybe guide you even.." Alastor whispered. "as for, i suppose I'll keep listening to daisy's call in the meantime. but I'll set my heart aside for her."

You nodded, feeling a sense of relief wash over you as he spoke. It felt nice to know that Alastor would be there for you, even if it was just as a friend. You felt your heart aching at his words, wondering if you'd ever find someone who loved you as much as he loved Daisy.

"Thank you," you said softly, looking up at him. "That means a lot to me, Alastor. You've been so kind to me, and I appreciate it more than you know." You reached out and touched his hand, feeling the warmth of his skin. "And I'll always be here for you too, if you ever need a friend."

The silence continued, only broken off the sound of Loralie looking for you, you finally excused yourself, heading over towards her. "Loralie! Hold on, I'm here!" you called out, seeing you, she grabbed your hand. pulling you through the crowd.

"we're goin home. now." she sounded angry, you wondered. wanting to ask her, "what happened? Loralie, tell me." you reached out to her, yet she pulled you through the crowd instead, once the two of you got inside the car. she set her bag aside. groaning.

"Loralie.. what happened?" you asked as she whined. "ugh! there's this girl. absolutely sassy, ugh, i swear I'll knock that arrogance out of her" you let out small chuckle, patting her back. "I'll leave you to it then"

You watched as Loralie's mood shifted from anger to happiness in an instant. She was always able to turn around her emotions in seconds, and it was one of the things you admired most about her. You chuckled at her words, amused by her reaction.

"Oh, Loralie," you said, shaking your head playfully. "Don't let her get to you. She's not worth your time or energy."

Loralie sighed, letting out an exaggerated moan before turning to you. "I know, but it's just so frustrating, you know?"

You nodded, understanding her frustration. "I do. But sometimes, it's better to just let it go. Don't feed into her negativity, and she'll eventually stop."

Loralie seemed to consider your words for a moment before nodding in agreement. "You're right. Thanks for always being there for me, you're a real friend," she said with a small smile.

You smiled back, happy to have been able to help. "Of course, Loralie. That's what friends are for."

[from-the-clouds]

texas sun - joel miller x f!reader - vol. iii

series masterlist | series playlist | writing masterlist | previous chapter | gif credit

chapter summary: Somehow, you realize you've accidentally ended up spending almost every weekend for the last month and a half with either one, or all of the Millers. pairing: pre-outbreak!joel miller x f!reader words: 8.7k chapter warnings: some angst, alcohol consumption, marijuana use, suggestive thoughts (but no smut), referenced parental neglect, implied age gap. reader has daddy issues (shocker!) & a fear of intimacy. a/n: this chapter is so disgustingly sweet it might give you a cavity. truly. but its also a little self-indulgent because joel is in my dream blunt rotation :/ please be patient with updates because i have a career/social life/apartment, and am a perfectionist! i promise i will always (try) to make the wait worth your while. Also, here's a link to the song Joel plays on guitar, since it's not on Spotify so I couldn't add it to the playlist.

-April 19, 2003- 

“Well, that was awkward.”

Obviously, Joel thinks to himself as Sarah turns to watch the retreating form of her teacher, while Joel stares straight ahead at the crowd in front of him. At first, he had thought she was just being polite. It was the right thing to do, to say hello to a parent and a student if you see them outside of class. But…they were seeing each other at a bar. And she’d asked him to dance. 

We just got here, maybe later? Joel can’t even remember what he had said, something along those lines. It wasn’t a flat-out refusal, but he had been acutely aware of Sarah’s eyes boring into the back of his head from where she sat beside him, and he sort of blacked out, couldn’t recall what had caused her to get the hint, to walk away. 

Joel grunts an affirmation to Sarah, and drums his fingers against the tabletop. There’s a dance floor full of people in front of him, all under various levels of intoxication, all of them dancing. 

“Do you believe me now?” Sarah asks. 

“I never said I didn’t believe you.”

How he had allowed Tommy and Sarah to talk him into coming here tonight, he’s not sure. Probably, it had something to do with how much he loved them both. How he would, ultimately, do whatever they asked if he knew it’d make that happy. But still, honky-tonking is the last thing he wants to be doing at the end of a long week. 

There was pretty much only one decent bar in town, so he wasn’t exactly shocked he had run into someone he knew. Everyone came here – to dance, to drink, to eat, or to drown their sorrows. To see their friends, or even to find someone to take home for the night. And over the years, as a frequent customer, Joel had used this place to do all those things.

Tonight was special though, a little more family friendly. It was swing night. It happened once a month, and Joel had always made a point to take Sarah a couple times a year. When he was young, his mother had taught him and Tommy to dance, and he felt it was only appropriate to pass the skill along, even if it was almost obsolete. He hoped Sarah would be able to do the same someday, if she ever had children of her own. 

“Will you dance with me, at least?” Sarah asks.

“Of course I will,” Joel answers.. “But let’s wait for Tommy, he’s ordering our drinks.”

“You mean your drinks.”

“No, you got a Shirley Temple.”

Sarah narrows her eyes. It’s the same expression that Joel has only seen her use recently, and he actually prefers it less to the eye roll. This time, he’s glad it hasn’t come with a question from her, because when it does, it’s always a little more frightening. “Come on, you know that’s not the same.”

Before Joel can respond, he’s cut off by Tommy’s voice. 

“Look who I found.”

This is what he and Sarah have been waiting on, and Joel turns to sees Tommy with all three of their drinks in hand. Over his shoulder, there’s a woman who looks vaguely familiar, wearing daisy dukes and a plaid shirt. After a second, he realizes it’s you.

Most of the time when Joel sees you – from across the street, of course – you’re in a power suit, a pencil skirt. Sometimes, it’s more casual – athletic clothes. There was also that black silk robe he can’t seem to shake from his memory. But this is so…different. It’s clear you’re trying to blend in with the crowd, but you don’t. Not because you’re not pulling it off – you definitely are, effortlessly – he’s just pretty sure if he walks into any room you’re in, his eyes will always be drawn in your direction. 

Joel doesn’t see, but rather feels – Sarah recognize that you’re in front of her, because when she does, she’s tapping him on the arm before he can utter a greeting. “Dad, can I get out and say hi?”

He’s standing to let her out just as you step closer to the table, and you come chest to chest. “Hey,” he says. 

“Hi, Joel,” you say, a soft smile on your face. Your eyes remain locked on his just a moment too long, before Sarah is wrapping you up in a hug, and you’re focused on her when she draws back. “How are you?” you ask. 

Joel doesn’t hear Sarah’s response, because his brother is pressing a drink into his hand - a Jack and Coke, same as what you and Tommy are drinking. 

“Sit down, please!” Tommy encourages.

“Are you sure?” you ask. “This looks like a family thing, I don’t want to-” 

“Please!” Sarah exclaims. 

“What she said,” Tommy seconds Sarah’s sentiments.

For a second, you seem to contemplate the offer, and then you accept the invitation, sliding into the booth across from where Sarah has settled back next to her father. Joel makes eye contact with his brother, sitting next to you. Tommy’s eyebrows are raised suggestively, and there’s a playful smirk on his face when he tilts his head in your direction. Joel gives him nothing, already irritated by his brother’s goading. 

“Is that a Shirley Temple?” you point to Sarah’s drink. When she nods, you continue. “I haven’t had one of those in forever,” you say. 

“Want a sip?”

“Sure,” Sarah slides the glass across to you, and you sip from the straw, pondering. “I should’ve gotten one of those instead. They were my favorite growing up.” 

“Can I have a sip of yours?”

“No,” you and Joel say at the same time. 

“You’re not gonna like it,” he adds.

“You always say that, but how can you know?”

Joel sighs. “Okay, fine. Try mine.”

Sarah seems pleased to get what she wants. When the bitterness of the whiskey registers, the triumphant expression leaves her face completely. 

“Told you,” he says. Sarah grimaces, accepting defeat, and returns to her beverage. 

Tommy leans forward, urging Joel to start making conversation as if this is a date and it’s his responsibility. But before he can think of anything, Sarah pipes up. 

“Guess what?” she asks you.

“What?”

“My teacher’s here.”

“Yeah?” you ask. Joel takes a long pull off his drink, hoping it’ll loosen him up a little. 

“Yeah, she tried to hit on my dad.”

Joel feels the cocktail of whiskey and soda get caught in his throat.

“Oh….” you sound intrigued, and you lean forward. He wonders if this is the dynamic between you and Sarah when he’s not around. Like you’re two friends, engaging in some harmless gossip. “Really?” Your gaze flickers between him and Sarah. 

Sarah bobs her head once. “She has a thing for him. I can tell.”

“What makes you think that?” his brother joins in, moving closer to Sarah, crowding you between himself and the wall and putting his elbows on the table. Joel feels a flash of envy when you shift your attention towards Tommy.

“She just asked him to dance.” Sarah looks over her shoulder, nods her head towards the woman in the corner of the bar who’s probably already focused on his table anyways. Joel already knows what you’re seeing. Miss Davis is pretty, bubbly, outgoing. Probably about your age, if he had to guess, though it’s hard to say how old you are. He imagines he has ten years on you, give or take a few. And for all intents and purposes, Sarah’s teacher is the type of woman he should be interested in. 

“She’s pretty,” you say it like you’re appeasing Sarah, but you’re looking directly at Joel. He’s not sure why you kind of frighten him a little. You’re sweet, he knows, even if you’ve tried to tell him otherwise. But there’s something else there, enigmatic and alluring, that continues to draw him in. 

Tommy chimes in. “So are you gonna dance with her, Joel?”

“Uncle Tommy,” Sarah says dramatically. Her face drops for a second, though, her shoulders slumping as she angles herself towards him, lowers her voice. “I mean, if you want to, that’s fine, I guess. But I….I don’t know.”

Joel is taken aback by how long this conversation has gone on with absolutely no input from himself. Not to mention how honest Sarah is being. She doesn’t usually have much to say about his choice in women – he can usually just tell what she thinks. For her to express something so directly makes him realize how serious she is. But at the moment, he can’t find words to assure her everything will be fine. 

It must be his lack of response that causes you to lean across the table and speak to Sarah. “You know, that’s valid,” there’s a tenderness to your tone. It dawns on him that you’re trying to comfort her. “It is kind of a conflict of interest.”

“Right?” Sarah perks up, just slightly, you’ve given her some support. “It’s one of those things you said you had going on at work the other day an….an ethical…” 

“An ethical dilemma?” you finish her thought.

“Ethical dilemma! That’s it.” Sarah turns back towards Joel. “I think it's an ethical dilemma.” 

For just a split second, he wonders why he’s been letting his already-precocious child hang out regularly with a lawyer. He’s accidentally creating a monster. But thankfully, Joel is finally able to find his voice. “There is no ethical dilemma, because I wouldn’t ever consider it.”

That seems to placate Sarah, and hopefully everyone will decide to drop it. Joel catches your eyes, and there’s something akin to wistfulness there, chin propped on your hand, before you blink once and focus back on Tommy, who's asking you a question. “So, are you here alone?”

“Is it that obvious?” 

“Not at all,” Tommy smirks, not dropping his eye contact with you. “...It’s just surprising, is all.”

Joel stiffens.

“Oh, well…” you smile a little. “I’m just trying to get to know the town a little better. Trying to engage in the community, I guess. But…I’m not sure if I am doing that great of a job fitting in.”

“You are,” Joel interjects, and maybe it’s a little forward, but he’d rather say it before Tommy does. “That’s a nice flannel.”

“Thanks,” You look down at your oversized plaid shirt – the sleeves rolled up to the elbows – that hangs open over a tight white tank top. Joel can see a sliver of the black lace bra you’re wearing that pokes out above the low neckline. He wonders what it might feel like to press his face there, to feel your fingers carding through his hair, but does not allow himself to entertain the idea for very long. Not the time. “I actually had to go and buy it because I didn’t own any plaid. And by the looks of it,” You gesture towards the dance floor. “I need to invest in some cowboy boots, too.”

“One thing at a time, right?” he asks, and you agree.

“So what are you all doing here? Family outing?”

“We actually had to drag this one kicking and screaming out the door,” Tommy points to Joel. 

“You did not,” Joel defends himself.

‘We kinda did,” Sarah says. “Do you know how to dance?”

You shake your head no, look at the people twirling and dipping and dancing in pairs. “Not like that.”

“It’s really easy! I can teach you. My dad taught me.”

“Cute.” Joel looks towards Sarah, and catches you staring instead. Your eyes flit back immediately to his daughters. “But I’m not sure I’ll be any good.”

“You’ll be fine,” Sarah says like it’s already settled. Joel knows he’s spoiled her, that she ultimately gets what she wants. He worries sometimes that others won’t find her quite as endearing. 

“Sarah,” he warns. “You’re making it sound like she doesn’t have a choice.”

You hide a smile behind the rim of your glass. “It’s okay. You can teach me. Might as well learn, if I’m trying to fit in.”

Sarah seems satisfied.

“Joel tells me you grew up in New York City.” Tommy says it, and Joel notices you raise your eyebrows at the implication. He’s talked to Tommy about you. And now you know. He’s pissed at himself for doing it, but at the time he’d been drunk, a little more chatty and vulnerable than usual, and had mentioned you more than once. Too much to be a coincidence. The issue was, Joel had never expected you would talk to Tommy again. If he’d known you would, he wouldn’t have said anything. He doesn’t want to imagine the damage he had done when it was just the two of you, alone at the bar. But even now, he’s completely at his brother’s mercy. 

“Yep,” you nod. 

“You don’t have much of an accent,” Tommy remarks. 

“Not everyone has them.” 

“That’s fair.”

“I did, uh, go to a boarding school in a different state, though, so I wasn’t around it too much.” 

“Boarding school?” Sarah turns to Joel.

“Basically you live at school,” you answer her question. ”Kind of like college, but earlier. I started going when I was nine.”

Sarah frowns. “Wouldn’t you miss your family?” 

“Yes, and I did.”

“So why would you go?”

“Well…” you trail off, shift your weight. “It wasn’t up to me. My dad worked a lot, so it made sense.”

“What’d he do for a living?” Asks Tommy. 

“He’s a criminal defense attorney....owns his own firm and it does pretty well, so…” you shrug. “He was very busy.”

“And that’s why you’re a lawyer? To work for your dad?”

“At one point, that was the plan, yes."

“What happened?”

The question appears to make you uncomfortable, you cross your legs and glance down at the table. “Uhm….pass.” Joel sees your face go blank for a split second before you look up with an easy smile. It’s like the desolate look you’d been wearing was never there, and you point to your drink. “I’ll need a few more of these if you want that story.”

“Might as well order another round,” Tommy flags down a waitress.

You have one more drink, but you don’t really touch it as the four of you continue to talk. Joel has two more, and Tommy has three, because he’s Tommy, and also not driving. Both you and Joel also have to vehemently refuse his request to do a round of tequila shots. 

After a while, Sarah gets bored, then insists on teaching you to dance. You agree, but seem awfully reluctant. Joel wants to pull you aside and let you know that you don’t have to entertain everything Sarah offers, but once you’ve stood up, and he watches her arm link through yours as you both walk to the dance floor, he can’t bring himself to intervene. 

He’s never seen Sarah be so taken with someone before, and he’s filled with a vague sense of regret. He always thought that she was content with just him and Tommy. Maybe she has always needed more. It’s partially his responsibility, Joel thinks –  what could he have done to stop her mother from leaving? Even if he could’ve stopped it, they would’ve been a miserable couple…which might have been more damaging to Sarah than her mother not being around at all.

Once you’re long gone, Joel can sense what Tommy is thinking before he even opens his mouth. 

“Shut it,” Joel says before he can even hear his brother's ribbing. 

“I wasn’t even gonna say anything about that!” Tommy raises his hands, but Joel knows he’s lying.

“We should go over there,” Joel says. He trusts you, but in a bar full of drunk people isn’t interested in being far away from Sarah for too long. Both he and Tommy abandon their booth to mosey their way towards the dance floor. 

Sarah has taken you into a back corner, far away from the band playing, where the crowd has thinned a little. There’s room for him and Tommy to lean up against the wall and watch you both. 

Both your hands are clasped with Sarah’s, and she’s teaching you the counts, the steps, while you study the way that your feet move.

Joel has a feeling that if it weren’t for his daughter, you wouldn’t have hung out with his family for so long. It’s just like the hike, and as usual, he feels more like a third wheel than anything else. You’re right that you do look a little out of place here. Maybe you don’t belong,  but he likes it. You’re wearing a pair of beat up hi-tops, which are a sharp contrast to Sarah’s baby blue cowboy boots that are covered in rhinestone butterflies. He’d gotten them for her for Christmas that past year, and she only wore them during special occasions like this.

Joel is doing the best he can not to think about the way your legs look in those fucking daisy dukes. All on display, and he wonders what it might feel like to drag his tongue up the soft skin of your inner thigh, feel you quiver and whimper as he works his mouth closer to– Enough. He’s disgusted with himself for thinking about you like that right now. 

“Dad, look!” Sarah says, and it seems you’re catching on all right, but none of it looks graceful. Sarah’s trying to lead – which she has never done – so she falters often, and also can’t quite reach all the way above your head when she tries to spin you around. “Oh no, look at his face!” Sarah points. You turn his direction, and Joel realizes he has to neutralize the grimace that has crept onto his visage. “We definitely aren’t doing good.”

“I’ll get the hang of it,” you turn back to Sarah, assure her. “You’re a good teacher.” You’re being nice. Too nice, humoring her and laughing it off, even if she’s making a fool of you both. But you don’t seem to mind, because it’s making her happy. 

All of the sudden, the toe of Sarah’s boot catches on the scuffed wood floor and she lurches forward. Joel immediately pushes himself off the wall as though he could close the space and catch her before she faceplants, but he can’t, and he can already see a vision of himself sitting in the emergency room at 2 a.m waiting, while Sarah holds an ice pack on her nose. But you reach out before the image is fully realized, arms wrapping around her shoulders. “Careful!” You warn. And even though you shuffle forward with the weight of her, you keep her from falling. Once she realizes she’s safe, Sarah giggles and throws her head back, her eyes catching your own. 

He’s not sure what makes him do it. It could be the liquor, the way you look, the unspoken pressure from Tommy. Or maybe he’s just been wanting an excuse to be closer to you. Most importantly, at this rate, he feels like Sarah is going to hurt herself and also you in the process. Regardless of what the reason is, Joel decides to step in. He walks onto the dance floor.

“Alright,” Joel says once he’s gotten closer, looking at Sarah. “I can’t watch this anymore.”

“What?”

He halts in front of his daughter, jerks his hand. “Move. I’m takin’ over.”

Sarah rolls her eyes, but smiles a little, and drops her hands from your shoulders. Joel offers you his hand. “You mind?” 

You look between Joel and Sarah, and she gives you an encouraging nod. “He taught me, he does know what he’s doing.”

“Well okay,” you take Joel’s hand. “You better not embarrass me,” and then you actually fucking wink at him. Already overwhelmed by the delicate weight of your hand in his palm, it almost sends him over the edge. He’s lucky he’s in public, with his family, because he doesn’t think he’d behave himself otherwise.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Joel answers. “Besides, I don’t think anything could be worse than what I was just watching.”

You giggle, and step forward when he tugs you just closer to dance, taking you fully in his arms. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Sarah dragging Tommy onto the dance floor. Everyone is taken care of.

You’re smart. And because of it, you’re a fast learner. Even people who can’t really dance can usually figure this out, himself included. But in Joel’s opinion, it’s always been less about getting the steps right, and more about who’s keeping him company. 

And you’re great company. 

Eager, willing, gentle…soft. He’s embarrassed at how long it’s been since he’s been this close to an adult woman, and normally he might be a little nervous, but instead, he just feels…comfortable. 

But Joel is a selfish man. He always wants more. Wants the band to play a slower song, so then he’d have an excuse to pull you closer. Wind an arm around your waist, whisper things in your ear that no one else could hear, and feel your breath hitch when they register. But this isn’t really the dance for that, and the rest of his family is just steps away. He’ll have to compromise – which he doesn’t like. 

“I’m going to dip you,” Joel says, matter-of-factly.

“No you’re not.”

“I am,” he insists. “It’s essential.”

“I seriously doubt that.” 

“Look,” he tilts his head to Tommy and Sarah, and the latter is laughing as she pitches all her weight backwards into his arms. He nearly drops to one knee to catch her, she’s still so petit, but their form is actually pretty good. And they aren’t the only people in the room doing it. 

“Okay,” you say, and give him a warm smile for a split second before becoming stone-faced. “But if you drop me-”

“Don’t worry, I’ve got you,” Joel drawls.

He puts his arms around your waist, one of them catching the middle of your back, the other on a patch of exposed skin on your hip – your tank top has ridden up slightly with all the movement. You dig your fingers into his biceps, cling to him like he had hoped you would.

And even when he draws you back up, eyes locked with your own, your grip remains the same. You stay close. 

“My turn,” Tommy interjects, and Joel can’t help the dirty look he gives him over your shoulder. He’s playing the annoying little brother, doing everything he can to piss him off. His brother wants to see Joel break, but he’s not going to give him the satisfaction.

Plus, Joel is happy to dance with Sarah, which is the whole reason they came here in the first place. She’s so excited to be there, and he wonders if there will ever be a time when she’s too grown up for things like this. He hopes not. 

He ignores the sound of Tommy’s laugh mingled with your own. You were not laughing that much with him, and that causes a pang of jealousy. Joel doesn’t like acknowledging it, but he’s always resented Tommy for his ability to be the charismatic one, the charming one, the happy-go-lucky one. Even when they were kids. That’s what it’s like to be the oldest sibling. Never as fun, always more practical, more serious, the voice of reason. Always in service to their siblings, all in the name of love. 

Eventually, you and Sarah are back dancing together, and since you’ve had some practice separately, it’s not as sloppy as before. It allows Joel and Tommy to return to their post against the wall, just out of earshot.

Joel feels his brother’s eyes on him as he watches you and Sarah. “Dude,” he finally gives in, looks over at Tommy. “Just ask her out already.”

Joel rolls his eyes. “Tommy-”

“You’re into her.” 

“Maybe,” Joel says, because he knows it’s pointless to lie. “But she’s got a boyfriend.”

Tommy elbows him. “So what?”

“I know you’re alright bein’ a homewrecker but I-”

“It makes sense Joel. She’s fuckin’ smart, and funny, and pretty. And Sarah fucking loves her-”

In any other situation, he would’ve acted weeks ago. But he’s starting to understand why he’s dragging his feet. Tommy’s right. Sarah adores you. Joel will fuck something up, it’s inevitable. And when you decide you never want to speak to him again, Sarah will lose you too. He’s already let her down enough. 

“I should’ve never fuckin’ told you–”

“Take her to drinks, to the movies, dinner, show up at her house with a bottle of wine, hell, something. If you don’t ask her out already, then I will.”

Joel punches his brother on the shoulder. It’s not enough to incite an actual fight, but it’s definitely not playful. “Ow!” Tommy grips at his arm. “What?” When Joel doesn’t answer right away, he rolls his eyes. 

“Speaking from experience, I’m surprised you haven’t already,” he raises an eyebrow.

“Once, Joel. That was one time. Will I never hear the end of it?”

“No,” Joel says. “And I see what you were doing tonight, too. Don’t think you’re slick.” he hopes to change the subject, and it seems to be working. 

Tommy sets them back on track. “Well, I was just trying to get you to wake the fuck up and see what’s in front of you.”

“Uh-huh.”

“What happens when Sarah grows up? Goes to school, leaves the house? Then, what are you gonna do? You’re just gonna be alone?”

“You are treadin’ on some mighty thin ice, Tommy,'' Joel hisses. ““You barely know this woman-”

“I’d like a family, too, Joel. When that happens I won’t be able to keep you company anymore. You might want someone else. And maybe it’s not her, fine. But there should be someone.”

For as much as he hates to admit it, Joel knows Tommy is right. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

-April 25, 2003- 

It’s six at night. and you’re already in your pajamas. 

A couple years ago, you would’ve thought that was pretty sad. These days, it’s only a little sad. You prefer things this way. That’s the perk of being an adult living alone. If you want to put on pajamas before the sun sets on a Friday night, you can. If you want to get stoned on the back porch of the house you bought yourself, you can. If you want all those things to happen while you watch the sunset and listen to yacht rock, you can. And you’re going to. 

You’re toying with the new digital camera your brother bought for you. Vincent likes to argue with you, but he always feels guilty after a conversation gone wrong. Rather than use his words, however, he just buys you gifts. You had apologized over the phone a few days ago…this was his way of doing the same. The shutter clicks as you snap a photo of your backyard, and you look at it in the viewfinder before discarding the camera on your coffee table.

Martini is on the porch with you, doing that thing where he stands just out of reach but chirps at you until you pet him. When you reach out, he moves away. He’s not great at accepting what he wants. Maybe it’s why he’s sort of the perfect cat for you – you’re the same. 

You light your bowl, and you’re mid-inhale when you hear someone call your name. 

“Hey!” 

At this point, you’d recognize Joel Miller’s voice anywhere. You don’t want to admit it’s because you’ve tried to commit it to memory, daydreamed about how it might sound for his smooth lilt to read you a book until you fall asleep, or listen to him take a phone call in the other room. 

Realizing it’s him, you inhale sharply, forgetting what you’re in the middle of and taking a much bigger hit than you had intended. You begin choking violently on the smoke while simultaneously scrambling to hide your piece and the related paraphernalia sitting out, and manage to do so just in time for him to round the corner. 

You scramble to hide your bowl under the pillow of the outdoor couch you sit on, just in time for Joel to appear at the screen door. 

“Hey,” you say, covering your mouth. Your throat burns, and you cough again. Stay cool, stay calm. Everything is good. “What are you doing here?”

“Sorry, I tried your front door and you weren’t answering, so I thought I’d see if you were back here.” It’s hard to see him from here, through the door, and he’s backlit by the sun that’s shimmering behind his dark hair, catching it in a golden halo. 

You rise to open the door, and when you do, he continues. “I’m here to pick up Sarah’s soccer jersey.”

Right. Of course he was. She had left it a few days before, and you had assumed she’d come get it before her game on Saturday but it didn’t dawn on you until now that she ever had. 

“I would’ve sent her, but she’s at a sleepover tonight.”

“Oh yeah,” you nod, standing in place. You’re trying so desperately to act normal, words evade you.

Joel squints at you, a slight smirk on his face. “I didn’t catch you off guard or anything, did I?’

“No, no, not at all,” you lie. “Come on in.”

Joel steps over the tiny dish of cat food you’ve left on your back step for the stray you feed, and into the screened-in porch. Now that he’s under the dim light, you get a better look at him. A loose-fitting flannel hangs open over a worn green t-shirt that barely meets the top of his jeans. His hair is damp, like he’s just showered, and he smells clean. In any other situation, you’d want to climb him like a tree, and he’s not even trying. But right now, you’re just doing your best impression of a sober human that is definitely not doing anything illegal. The truth is, you should’ve made him wait outside.

“This is nice,” Joel says, looking around. And you really wish he wasn’t because you notice that you left the clear plastic baggie containing your weed out on the couch. It sort of blends in with the green floral pattern, so you hope for the best, because there’s no way for you to sneakily grab it without drawing his attention. “I didn't know this was back here.”

“The last owners added it on,” you say, because that was the type of thing the realtor had said to you about the features of this house. And you supposed a carpenter or contractor would probably be interested in it. It was a good distraction.

“I can tell. Looks new,” he looks up towards the wooden beams that span the ceiling. The top of the porch is still covered, so during the few times it’s rained, you always sit outside to listen.

“I’ve got her jersey in the kitchen,” you tell him. “Wait here.”

It doesn’t take long for you to pick out the bright blue athletic gear from your pile of dry cleaning. It stands out against all your neutral-colored pantsuits. Joel has his back to you when you return, one of his hands clenched into a fist. 

“Here,” you say, and he turns. 

“You had it dry cleaned? You didn’t have to do that.”

“I kind of wasn’t sure if it was safe to run through the machine,” you explain. “But now that I’m thinking about it….it wouldn’t make sense to give a bunch of 11-year-olds dry clean only jerseys.”

“It wouldn’t. But it’s probably more convenient than scrubbing the grass stains out yourself.”

“Speaking from experience?”

“Unfortunately. But again…thank you.”

“Of course.”

This is where Joel should leave, walk across the street, and go home. And he does, well, at least, he starts to. He steps away, reaches for the handle to your back door, and then pauses. “You know,” he says, glancing over his shoulder. “The Watsons were tellin’ me the other day you’ve been complaining about a family of skunks living under your house?”

You freeze, recalling the lie you’d come up with on a whim when your sixty-year-old neighbors had started asking too many questions. 

“Well, it does smell a little over here.”

“Uh-huh,” you give him nothing.

“Something like that….you should really call animal control. Get rid of the problem,” Joel’s facing you now, eyebrow raised. 

“If I call animal control…they’ll just kill them,” you answer. “And I don’t want that. So…I think I’ll just have to live with it.” 

“That’s fair,” Joel says. “But you know, Sarah’s over here all the time, and I’ve never heard her mention it.”

At this point you know he’s just fucking with you. But years of remaining stone-faced through business negotiations and family dinners has prepared you for this, so even if you’re a little stoned, you’re not going to let him win. 

“Yeah, it sounds like a coincidence. But they’re never around when she’s here,” you say, in your own defense. “Ever,” you add for emphasis. 

“I guess that’s good.”

You both stare at each other for a second, and your blood buzzes slightly because even though this is just a playful standoff, you’ve never made such intense eye contact with him. It feels electric. After what feels like an eternity, Joel lifts his hand from his hip, and you see what he’d been holding in his fist, now pinched between his thumb and forefinger. He raises an eyebrow.

When you see the plastic baggie dangling in front of your face, you purse your lips. “Alright, you got me,” you lift up your hands, but snatch the bag from him. 

“And here I thought you were such a good girl.”

You don’t even want to acknowledge the full body chill that runs down your spine at the sound of those two words, coming from him. Snatching the bag back from him, he gives you a cheeky smile. “If you give me a hit, I won’t tell anyone.”

Your jaw drops, and you look up at him. “Oh, you’re trouble.”

“I’m not the one lyin’ to my neighbors.”

“And I’m not the one snooping through my neighbors' things.”

“It was right out in the open.”

Joel doesn’t seem bothered at all. But it’s Texas, so you can never be sure. “Okay, fine,” you say. “If you want….I could roll us a joint. Unless you have other plans.”

“The alternative is a house to myself for the evening and some chores, so…yeah. Whatever you’d like.”

“Great.”

Joel follows you to sit on the couch. As you settle on opposite ends, he speaks up. “So you think you could explain to me why my daughter keeps tellin’ me she wants to be a lawyer?”

You snicker. “Believe me, Joel. I’ve tried to talk her out of it already.”

He chuckles. “It’s okay. Probably a more lucrative career than what I’m doing. She’s really taken a liking to you, you know that? I don’t think I’ve ever seen her warm up to anyone so quick.”

“Well, I’m the first adult she knows that’s not an authority figure.”

“I’m sure there’s more to it than that.”

“I remember being that age,” you look down at your work. “It’s nice to have someone older to relate to, who you can talk to without being afraid of getting a lecture.”

“She probably needs it,” Joel says. “She told me you talk about girl stuff. I’m not so great at that.”

“I don’t know,” Your tongue darts out to wet the edge of the paper and finish rolling the joint. You put it between your lips, and rummage through the drawer of the coffee table to find your lighter, gesture between the both of you. “This is about ninety percent of how I spent my time with my friends at her age…and so far you’re doing alright.”

“Now you’ve got me worried about what’s going on at that sleepover.”

“Okay, well, I was maybe a little older. And with her? You’ve got nothing to worry about,” you shake your head. 

He rubs the back of his neck, and his eyes glow with the reflection of your lighter as it’s flicked on. “I don’t know.”

“She’s fine, Joel,” you say, bringing the lighter closer and shielding the flame from the calm breeze of the evening. “She’s great. Really.”

“She is,” he agrees. You inhale, let the smoke settle in your lungs for a moment, before exhaling. You take your time, feeling warm from the weed and the feeling of Joel’s eyes on you, and he accepts the joint when you pass it over.

“I really didn’t really expect this from you,” he exhales, studying your handiwork before taking another puff. “You’re pretty buttoned up.”

“This is hardly rebellious.” Instinctually, you like the idea that he thinks you’re buttoned up. Deep down, however, you don’t actually want him to.

He looks so dreamy, the smoke curling though his eyelashes, tracing along his defined jaw, and then up, up, where it settles and shifts under the porch light, before disappearing completely.

Martini, who has been in hiding, hops up on the couch, and Joel reaches out, your cat nuzzling its face into his palm. “Didn’t know you had a cat,” he mumbles. And then, like some sort of magic, the cat plops down on Joel’s lap. 

“I do…but…” you say out loud, then trail off because you’re in such shock. You glance up at Joel, who looks confused. “I’m sorry, I’ve just never seen him do this.”

He passes the joint back to you. “Do what?”

You take a final puff, and then put it out in an ashtray. It’s only about half smoked, but you can get into it later if either of you wants to. Plus, you’re more interested in what’s unfolding in front of you. “I kinda want a picture of this.”

“What?”

“I’ve had him for five years and he’s never sat on my lap like that,” you say, and you can’t keep the resentment from dripping into your tone. “What makes you so special? I’m a little jealous.”

“Of me? Or the cat?”

Something honey-thick drips down your spine at his words. You can’t conjure a witty response, opting instead for: “Shut up.”

You snap a couple photos while Joel’s still laughing, one hand on his chest, the other on Martini’s back, and then put the camera down, and lean against the back of the couch, curling your feet underneath you. 

“You’ve got a nice view of the sunset,” Joel says softly.

There’s a distant fear you might never get to see him like this again, and you want to take him in fully before you drag your eyes to see what he’s looking at. Your backyard slopes down into a small patch of woods, the sky opening even wider to let in the aureate light. 

“I know,” you agree. “It’s why I spend so much time back here.” The high continues to settle over you, strokes your shoulders, tugs at the corners of your lips.

“Surprised you like things that are so peaceful…being from the city and all…”

“The city is peaceful,” you say, thinking of the leaves swirling from the trees in the fall, and the snowflakes falling onto your family's porch in the winter, melting on the tip of your nose as you lean over the balcony to see the glittering lights below, car horns and engines and sirens piercing the darkness, white noise. “In its own way.”

“You miss it?”

“Everyday,” you say. 

“What do you miss the most?”  

“Uhm…probably the bagels,” you lie. Well it’s true. But it’s not what you miss the most. You think of your brother, flopping onto your bed on a Saturday night – a rare weekend when you visit home – and you’re trying to read A Tree Grows In Brooklyn for school but he’s begging to take you around the corner to get a milkshake. It’s the image of him you’ve so desperately tried to cling to and the recollections you share with him have only gotten more and more unpleasant as time goes on. “The bagels here suck.”

“Really?” Joel seems amused by that. 

“And uh…I don’t know. It’s part of me. I have a lot of friends there, a lot of good memories,” you smile to yourself, lean forward towards him. “I had this apartment before I graduated, right? It had the best view of this little Italian restaurant, and I’d sit and watch people through the windows, eating and talking. I was supposed to be studying, but…it was great. I loved it.”

“What’re you doing here, then?” Joel asks, and you look back at the sunset. Here you are, waxing poetic and you’re sure he can hear it in your voice. “You runnin’ from something?” You look over to find he’s staring at you. Like he knows you aren’t being honest, and he’s asking you to stop lying.

So you do the only thing you can think of, which is to ask him a question in response. “What makes you think I am?”

Joel considers this for a moment. “I don’t know. I grew up in Austin. All my friends are here, my family. If I ever moved someplace else….it’d have to be for a good reason. And even if I did, I’d be lonely.”

You stare down at the floor. “Maybe I am.” Lonely? Or running from something? The answer is both, you know, but you’re not going to clarify. “My family. Things are pretty fucked. I thought distance would help, and it does, a little. But….that shit still follows you anyways. They’re always with you, no matter what.”

Joel nods. 

“But… I have a life here. When I lived downtown, I definitely did. I don’t mind the quiet, and….I have friends.”

Joel looks at you. “You got a boyfriend, don’t you?”

Why would he think that-oh. You had tried to forget it, the morning he’d caught you still wrapped up in your robe – not the fluffy fleece one you liked the most, but the one you specifically only wore when you had guys over, cause they loved that shit.

“Oh, right,” you say. “Bradley. Yeah, uh. He’s…he’s….not my boyfriend. But…” you shake your head. “It’s a little complicated.”

“I’m sure it ain’t that hard to explain.”

“I mean…” you avoid his eyes. “He’s kind of an asshole, but we’re not really commited to each other in a meaningful way. Plus, he’s not around that much which is kind of perfect…for me.”

“Really?”

“Less to worry about,” you answer, purse your lips. “But…I don’t know. I sorta wish he got my heart rate up a little more.”

“He’s not your type?”

“I don’t really have a type,” you shake your head. “I like what I like.”

Joel rasps. “I feel the same,” and he’s made sure your eyes are on him when he says it.

You swallow, nod, smooth your hair back. “Anyways. Why’re you asking me all this?”

Joel doesn’t seem to find an answer right away. You narrow your eyes at him, studying his face, looking for something that will give him away. It’s a trick you’ve learned…silence…a bit of skepticism. It makes people uncomfortable. And Joel shifts his weight, squirming beneath your gaze. Until something in his face shifts, and he smiles….just a little. 

“So that’s where Sarah learned that.”

“Learned what?”

“That look you’re giving me.”

“What look?” 

“Like you can see right through me.”

“Can I?” You narrow your eyes further.

“You’re tryin’ to.” 

He’d done a good enough job of avoiding your question, and you’re not gonna ask him again, and instead opt for a different one. “So what about you, then?” you poke his knee with your foot.

“Oh, I’m not answerin’’ that.”

“What? I just told you, that’s not fair.”

Joel runs a hand along his jaw, ponders. “Most women don’t want to be with a man who already has a kid so…things on that front are not always easy.” 

“I have a hard time believing that. I mean, don’t you have an upcoming date with Sarah’s teacher or something?” you tease.

“That’s not happening,” he assures you. “But….I work so much these days I don’t have the capacity for much. So I get what you mean, sometimes it’s easy to not get emotionally involved but…I’ve never really been great at that.”

“You’re a relationship guy?”

“I mean, Tommy has been pestering me about this lately. Says at this rate, once Sarah’s grown, I’ll end up old and alone. Annoys me to hell, but he’s right. I wouldn’t mind…some kind of companionship. Someone to tell you you’ve done alright at the end of the day.” 

“You sound awfully romantic,” you at him blink slowly.

“I can be, when I want to.” Joel rolls his eyes. “But right now…I think I’m just stoned.” 

That makes you giggle. So he’s just being honest. “I didn’t really see much great come from settling down when I grew up, so I’ve always been a bit of a pessimist when it comes to love. What you’re saying….it’s a nicer way to think of things.”

You rarely connected with the men you dated. You chose to date douchebags, to date cheaters. It was better that way, to know up front what you were getting yourself into. The best ones didn’t ask for much, just the odd fuck here and there for a couple months, and you’d step away when things were no longer fun, if they evewere to begin with. 

Actually getting married, settling down, didn’t feel like a real possibility for you. So you’d never allowed yourself to indulge in what seemed like a fantasy. Some women aren’t meant to be a part of a family. Your father had told you once – during one of few times he’d attempted to comfort you after your mother didn’t call on your birthday – as if it excused his own neglect. 

“Yeah, and it hasn’t all been bad. I mean, I’ve had a couple good girlfriends over the years. They were sweet, fun. I enjoyed the time I spent with them, they just…never made it through the real litmus test.”

“Sarah?”

He nods. 

“It would be hard, I imagine. For her. Accepting someone new into her life.”

“Yeah.”

“You really care about her,” you say. “About how she feels. It’s nice.”

“I’m doin’ my best.”

The way he talks about Sarah makes you nauseated. It’s something pure, and you can’t help but feel bitterly nostalgic. 

“I wish my dad would have been like you.”

It slips out, and you immediately regret it. It’s been too long since you’ve gotten stoned with someone else, and you’ve forgotten your filter. And even though you’ve already divulged more to him about you than you normally would, this feels like too much all of the sudden. 

This isn’t something you can backpedal, and before you know it, Joel is leaning towards you. There’s concern written in his features, he wants to comfort, and you thank God for what happens next, or it all would’ve been too much.

His shift in weight causes Martini to jump off his lap and sprint to the door of the porch. He stares at you and then meows. 

Even though Joel isn’t touching you, you have to tear yourself away from the hold he’s got you in. ““I gotta let him in, or he’ll get annoyed.”

You move to open the door, and the cat slips inside.

“Is that a guitar in there?” Joel asks, catching a sliver of the gleaming body in the dim light.

“Yeah.” 

“You play?”  He questions, and you come to sit back on the couch. 

“Not anymore. It’s more of a decoration. How about you?” 

“A little.”

“A little?”

“A lot.” Joel smiles, looks at the ground like not sure why he’s telling you this. “I actually uh, used to want to be a singer.”

“What?” you ask. “You’re kidding.”

“No,” Joel shakes his head. 

“Joel, what?” you put a hand on his arm and lean forward, then look at the guitar.

“Why not?”

“I was…young when I had Sarah. And I had to do something that could actually help us get by.”

“Okay well, you have to play me something, then,” you rise to step inside and retrieve it off the wall. 

“No, no-”

“Come on, please?” you ask. “Don’t be a tease.”

Joel just stares as you bring the guitar out to him. 

“Although this might be out of tune…” you strum once, and wince at the tinny sound it makes. “Definitely it is.”

“Here,” Joel takes it from you. “I can do it.”

It takes him a moment, but he’s plucking the strings in a way that feels so instinctual, purposeful, you can already tell he knows what he’s doing. Once he’s finished, he strums a few chords, and everything is magically in tune. 

“Alright,” you prompt, when he hesitates. “What are you gonna play me?”

“You know any Neil Young?”

“Of course,” you answer. 

Joel nods once, looks down at the guitar, and starts playing. You’d recognize the opening chords to anywhere, but he somehow makes them sound even moodier, and bittersweet. 

Come a little bit closer, hear what I have to say…

He can sing. You’re taken aback. You’re not sure what you expected, but it’s definitely better than that. Deeper, raspier, and now you have new information about him that’s going to bounce around your brain when you’re bored during meetings at work, while you’re lying in bed at night, trying to sleep. 

Because I’m still in love with you, I want to see you dance again…

You shift your weight, sling your arm over the back of the couch, and rest your chin on your hand. Suddenly, you’re feeling a little tired. He’s all-but putting you to sleep and, somehow, that feels like the highest compliment you can give. It could be because you’re stoned, but you feel warm all over. You close your eyes, just listen, until he’s finished.

Even after he’s finished, you keep your eyes closed, settling. Until you feel something graze against the back of your hand. Joel’s. He’s matching your own pose, facing you, but reaching out…

“That was nice,” you say, earnestly. You’re good.”

Joel smiles bashfully, tugs your hand from beneath your chin and pinches your index finger between two of his own. Your nails are painted a glittery purple, and Joel studies them. Sarah had painted them earlier this week when she’d hung out after school, and had picked out the color. 

“So are you,” he shifts closer. 

He’s not quite close enough to kiss you himself. But it’s enough…he’s just giving you the chance to lean in, to close the gap. The proximity makes you dizzy, and you’re a little overwhelmed. It’s too much. It’d be too much. You can’t. You’re afraid of what he might do to you.

“We should be good, then,” Gazing at him from under your lashes, you pull back just enough. It’s not a rejection, and you can tell he doesn’t see it that way either. There’s a mutual understanding, you’re on the same page, but you aren’t quite sure what it is. The warmth of Joel’s hand leaves yours, and a part of you is filled with regret.

And then, like it never happened, the two of you spend another hour talking. He’s engaged, intuitive, thoughtful, funny. By the time he excuses himself, long after the sun has fully dipped below the horizon, you feel like he’s an old friend. An old friend you want…badly, but, you know him on a level you hadn’t before.

“Gotta be up tomorrow for a soccer game, otherwise I’d stick around,” Joel says as you’re guiding him to the front door.

“It’s alright,” you say. “You’re welcome to do this anytime.”

“You sure?” he tilts his head, leaning against the doorframe on his way out. “You might regret offerin’ that….”

“I won’t.”

--

part iv

taglist: @yaskna@venomous-ko@lomljigg@yeehawbitchs@ay0nha @eldahae @lol-im-done@melancholicmelanin@reggies-floatie @omniscientqueer@superflymaterial@mikkorantanev@zbeez-outlet @nadja-antipaxos @strawberri-blonde @jabbajambler @ponyboys-sunsets @kyuupidwrites @r4efromvenus @loveatfirstsight-atlastsight @korianderbandit @nicoleoeoeoe @hotgirlsshareaccounts @madisonred88 @crustyrustydusty @sflame15-blog @issybee0611 @darkemeralddiamond @grandmana @totallynotastanacc @ay0nha

[chronically-ghosted]

RECOVERY ROAD MASTERLIST

— inspired by Daisy Jones and the Six —

[complete] | [ao3] | [rating: 18+ explicit]

[AU] Dieter Bravo is on his last chance. Six months out of a two year stint in rehab, his marriage on the rocks, and his starlight fading, he reunites with an old director friend on a project that might save his career and his personal life in a single go. Enter Natalie Lorraine, his new enigmatic co-star. Together, they go on to lead a film that comes to define a generation – and are both mysteriously absent the night the film receives an Oscar for Best Picture. Their reasons for missing such a landmark event are their own.

Amidst affairs and acrimony, the temptation of relapse, and the intoxicating allure of wanting what you can’t have, Dieter and Natalie have become a ticking time bomb, primed to explode.

[warnings: depictions of drug use/addiction/alcohol/smoking, cheating/infidelity, age gap (Dieter is 35 and reader is 22), smut, toxic behavior, masturbation, pining, angst, depictions of mental illnesses, no use of y/n, named reader but no physical descriptions other than hairstyle, made up film industry flack, several new OCs for the purposes of storytelling, makes no reference to the plot of the movie, it ends well – I promise!]

chapter i. a cute megalomaniac

chapter ii. what we owe other people

chapter iii. this is the night i go ballistic (coming July 10th)

chapter iv. the infinity of pocket universes and human stupidity

chapter v. breeding ground

chapter vi. laissez le bon temps rouler

chapter vii. familiar bodies

chapter viii. (i'm sorry) i fall in love like a viper

chapter ix. gold dust woman

chapter x. the promises i made to you

— Extras

▲ Recovery Road inspo tag ▲ Official movie poster for Recovery Road

[daisychainfiction]

October 31, 2024

Happy Halloween!

Deerbourne has been out for a whole month! I can’t believe it’s been that long.

I also can’t believe people have read and enjoyed it enough to follow this blog. I am unbelievably happy every time I see your likes, reblogs, and comments.🧡

Now, as for the next update - Chapter 3 + Interlude III will be released on Patreon by the end of November. It'll be released to the public in late December.

If you want to join the Patreon now, there are some NSFW stories, mood boards, and new snippets. I also have the community chat open for short story/reaction prompts. The latest chapter won't be released until the month's end, though!

Anyway! I hope you all enjoy your day! If you celebrate, have a Halloween treat for me. If you don’t celebrate... have a treat anyway 👻

xoxo, Daisy

[the-orange-tabby-cat]

Read on AO3 | Masterlist | Work In Progress | 2/?

Summary: For the last 5 years, every Wednesday you watched a handsome man walk by your street with a lilac bouquet in hands. Except he doesn’t stroll on your street this Wednesday, he shows up at your grief support group. 🐾

Rating: mature, allusions to sex (not yet in the series)

Warnings/tags: No outbreak AU, Grief and its implications, Reader lost her mom, Reader’s mom has a name (but no physical description), Group therapy, Grief support group, Parent grief, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn, Slow Build, Fluff, No use of y/n

CHAPTER LIST

I. LILAC

II. BUTTERCUPS

III. DAISIES (November 2nd)

EXTRAS

Nothing yet, cool cat!

｡˚🐾₊˚

[theageofcaravel]

Rose-Coloured Boy Index

— Jamie Tartt x F!Reader

Plot: Jamie Tartt and Y/N have been best friends since primary school. The pair had fallen out once graduation hit, both of them going their separate ways; Jamie finally kicking off (pun intended) his football career, and Y/N finally walking through the doors of her cinematographer career. One day, they cross paths in the corridors of Nelson Road, Y/N getting the assignment to make a mini docuseries of one of the football clubs in England, hers being AFC Richmond.

Overall warnings: mentions of food, alcohol, depression and anxiety, past abuse and trauma, trauma bonding, mentions of smut, panic attacks, angst, fluff, cussing LOTS of it, family issues, projecting

CHAPTERS:

Chapter I: Reeling in the Midnight Streets

Chapter II: Lovely to Sit Between Comfort and Chaos

Chapter III: Turn Tonight, Firelight (coming soon)

Chapter IV: So Long, Daisy May (coming soon)

Chapter V: Every Corner of This House is Haunted (coming soon)

Chapter VI: Fever in a Shock Wave (coming soon)

Chapter VII: The Stars in Your Eyes (coming soon)

Chapter VIII: Death for Your Secrets (coming soon)

Chapter IX: Dance in the Kitchen, Chase Me Down the Hallway (coming soon)

Chapter X: Do You Think it Means Something? (coming soon)

MORE COMING SOON!!

MISCELLANEOUS:

playlist

pinterest board : includes visuals and an idea for cast members (original characters that come up within the book and the cannon characters within the Ted Lasso universe)

[the-kr8tor]

Scarlet Leaves

Pairing: Fae! Hobie Brown x Fem! Reader

Word count: 9.6k

Tags: Use of Y/N sparsely, No specific physical description of the reader, Smut implied, CW food mention, CW spiders, TW arachnophobia, CW vomiting, CW religious images, CW death, TW violence, TW blood, CW gore, CW injury, TW animal injury/harm, CW body horror, TW Suicide.

This chapter tackles dark themes, read at your own discretion.

A/N: if there's any warnings I forgot to add, please tell me so I could add it in. Endings are linked below, same warnings apply.

Navigation

The Fall Masterlist

PART III <<<

You open your eyes to the colour green, the grass under you grazes your legs, a delicate emerald fabric over your palms. Your skirt the same shade as the grass below you, camouflaging your form, not knowing where you or the ground starts or ends.

You're drowning in green, but you don't mind as the wind blows cool air behind you, a breath of reprieve from the searing heat of summer. Your fingers expertly fill in a tattered hole in the fabric, dainty daisies littered all over the cloth, all lovingly interwoven within the sea of green.

Pink dahlias accompany your side as your previous companion is nowhere to be seen. Too busy with your needlework, you haven't noticed where he went. Wondering where he went, you Look up from your handiwork, gold fills your vision, brilliant brown dotting around it, rescuing you from all the viridescent.

“Where did you go?” The voice is your own yet foreign in your ears. Tone soft and gentle like the air gliding behind you. You can't control your own body, like an audience watching a scene unfold.

“Out” He leans back, lips in a sly smile, eyes crinkling in the corners. His hands hide behind him, vines dance under his skin.

“We are out, web weaver.” You gesture around the hill, the tall oak standing proudly next to you in a protective stance. “Were you scaring the villagers again?”

“Only the hunters, love” he kneels before you, taking his hand out, laying a lily right behind your ear. The heart under your ribcage beats rapidly. “And the occasional children, someone needs to teach them not to wander off.”

He beams at your bewildered face, heat rising to your cheeks. “Where did your tongue go?” Ramping up his teasing, he plops his head over your lap, crushing his cloak under him. “I think I am quite fond of the view from down here”

You stifle from rolling your eyes, scoffing, you feign anger. “You just ruined my work!” Trying to pull the fabric from underneath him, he laughs loudly at your predicament. “You are an absolute menace, web weaver”

He smiles up at you like you've held up the moon just for him. You'd be lying if you weren't looking down at him all the same. Silence fills the area, the wind carries the sound of birds chirping as he holds up his knuckles to your cheek, wiping at the sweat clinging to your skin. Like muscle memory, you lean towards his touch. Closing your eyes, you savour it, akin to a man dying of thirst finding an oasis in the middle of the desert.

Humming happily, he retracts his hand back only for him to slide it down towards your hip, a provocative action but you don't protest or even move. Instead, you let him rest his large palm over the cotton of your blouse, quietly wishing there isn't any barrier between him and your skin. He feels it too, the lightning passing through your body to his immortal coil. Exhaling, he straightens himself out, expelling any compromising thoughts.

In your disappointment, he lifts his hand off your form. But he couldn't completely part away from the contact, he opts to hold you by the hem of your blouse, mindlessly playing with the cloth. You're completely enamored by him, and he too is the same for you.

A question appears in your mind, judging from the current state of your relationship with the being before you, you're sure he would answer.

“Why do you call yourself ‘web weaver?’ Did someone name you that?”

“Why? Do you not like it?” he dodges the question.

“Just curious” there's disappointment hidden in your voice. “It is a long title, you need a nickname or something similar or one that fits you”

“So, you do not like it? I am willing to take other names, if you have other suggestions”

“Quite the opposite, I am partial to ‘web weaver’ and I do have some ideas”

He leans to his left, face dangerously close to your stomach. You smile shyly, lifting your hands to bravely hold his jaw, gently scratching his nape with your nails. Surprisingly enough, he doesn't fret.

“Tell me” purring, voice tantalizingly sweet. He sighs in content.

“Hobart”

He cracks his eye open a smidge, bright eyes peeking through. “Hobart?” Testing the name on his tongue, he repeats it once again.

“Hobie for short, I have always liked that name. Sounds…modern”

“Is that the only reason?” His arm loops around your waist whilst you continue to cup his face affectionately. A breeze passes by, carrying a dandelion flying freely.

If someone would come across the scene, they would've thought a pair of lovers are enjoying the sun together; not an otherworldly being and a regular human who has found herself uncharacteristically attached to the living myth before her.

“It is a strong contender, the same goes with the name ‘Gabriel’ I suppose”

He scrunches his nose, an act so human you forgot for a second what he really is. “I prefer the former. You have thought it through, clever.”

“It has been eating at me, I cannot keep calling you web weaver or my tongue will get tied”

“Hobie it is then” his thumb presses softly on your skin.

You grin, sunshine making your eyes sparkle in delight. “That was easy”

“You thought I would put up a fight?”

“Yes, because you always do. It took me days just to convince you to let me mend your cloak”

“Yet, I still said yes” Hobie reaches up to cradle your face, swiping at the sweat stuck to your eyebrow, he slowly pulls you down towards him.

Your breath gets stuck in your throat, frozen in elation. “You said yes” you said against his lips, yours only grazing his, the friction enough to spread goosebumps all over your arms. “Hobie–I”

He hums, eyes flickering down to the plush of your lips.

“I might love you, and I do not think I can manage it”

He meets your glimmering eyes full of love, “I will, if you cannot, I will manage for the both of us”

Hobie meets with your lips in a chaste manner, you swear your heart stopped beating. He pulls away for a second “Because it is you, and only you, my–”

You wake up covered in sweat, blades of grass right under your healing palms. His cloak protects you from getting poked by the grass. Your eyes look up at the mysterious light floating above Hobie’s abode, providing an eternal morning.

“You're awake”

Sitting up by your elbows, you look at him sitting a few feet away from you, legs crossed over the other, hands occupied with cutting a blood red apple.

“I didn't notice that I fell asleep” the cloak feels soft under your touch, reminiscent of the dream you had. Wind rustles past softly. You narrow your eyes suspiciously, “you didn't have anything to do with that, right?”

“Do you think of me so cruel?” Hobie points at the ground next to you with his knife. “You tired yourself out from making those” The wooden handle looks old and worn out, but the steel still has its shine, a sharpness that could cut bone.

Looking down, you see a pile of crowns made from daisies. All woven by your hand, judging by how your palms smell of flowers. There's one that's not yet completed, the circle broken, edges unconnected.

Picking it up, you rattle your sleep deprived brain on why you started making a bunch of them. You don't even know how to make daisy crowns in the first place.

“How–? Did I make these?”

“Mm-hmm” he replies, mouth full with an apple slice.

“Huh?” you lay back down, admiring your handiwork under the light.

“Hungry?” Hobie tosses an apple at you without warning.

The fruit bounces and slides before it reaches your waist. You look at him with a knowing look.

“Right,” you roll it away, back towards Hobie. “I'm good.”

“It's literally just an apple, no tricks” with a flick of his hand, the apple rolls back to you.

“Sure,” sarcasm rolls off your tongue. You play a game of catch with him.

“I can't lie, remember?” The apple rolls back and forth.

“No,” you emphasize the word with a roll of your eyes.

“You trust me enough for you to sleep here but you can't trust me with a single apple?” He rolls the fruit in between his palms. Brown eyes stare at you teasingly. “You have a weird way of measuring faith in people”

“Accidentally sleeping here doesn't condemn me to a life here. An apple does”

“Because you know the stories so well with your offerings of honey and milk” his smirk grows wider with each banter.

“It was outdated information”

“Thought you humans have a way of accessing infinite knowledge” he lays down, the light shines on his perfect skin. Facing you with a soft smile, his hand still on the apple that's held to his bare chest.

“We do, but that doesn't mean the information is still accurate after centuries. Some things change”

“Not all” He looks away from you, eyes fixated on the sky above.

After a beat of silence, the name still rattles around in your mind's eye. The dream seems so vivid you could still taste his lips on yours. You chance it, hoping he doesn't slice you to bits with the knife near him.

“Speaking of” you nervously lean to the side, facing the being in front of you. With an apprehensive exhale, you bravely ask him. “I've read a book in the manor’s library. A book about the fae” you lie once again.

“I'm guessing a story book then?”

“No, it looks…old and less storybookie”

Hobie raises a confused eyebrow. “Storybookie?”

“Y’know, it doesn't look like it was written for children. No pictures, just a bunch of words.”

“Words too big for you?” He chuckles at his own joke. Still avoiding your face.

You ignore his comment with a silent scoff. In your quest to get answers for your so-called dreams, you place a lilt in your voice, hoping it gets his attention.

“Hobie”

His face slowly turns back to you, big brown eyes staring at you intently. Lips slightly parted, he awaits for your next words, hanging onto every breath.

“There's a name there, it's only mentioned once so it's intrigued me”

“What name?” The space between you gets smaller and smaller with every second that passes.

“Web Weaver. Do you know what it means or who held it”

“Why do you think I would know?”

“Because,” you gaze at his eyes, there's anger pooling in them. Yet you continue on, your heart rattles loudly under your rib cage. “I just know”

The fierceness fades in his eyes, replaced with yearning. “It was my name”

“Was?” You breathe a sigh of relief, relieved that you didn't anger an ancient being. “Why web weaver?”

“How does it feel to be human?” He questions back, you're enamored by his gaze on you and you only.

“Don't dodge the question” The gap between your bodies is now an inch away, so close you could see the vines under his skin, blue flowers blooming among the thorns.

“I fear you won't comprehend the answer to your question” his old world vocabulary peeks out. Hobie whispers to you so you're the only one in the world that could hear his voice.

“And you won't understand mine. Guess we're even.”

There's a shakiness in your voice. Not from fear, but from realization. Talking to him gives you warmth, warmth to bask in, to comfort your soul, to love till your dying breath. You've never been more besotted in your entire life and you've only known him for a few weeks, weeks that feel like years to you.

There's excitement blooming in your chest even though your gut tells you there's danger ahead. Perhaps that's the reason why you're excited— the danger thrills you down to your bones.

Goosebumps appear on your arms despite the heat, Hobie leans over you, blocking the light, engulfing him in a halo. You're seeing God peer down on you.

He gently caresses your arm, laying your goosebumps back down and you keep forgetting to wear the necklace around him.

Your fingers twitch, itching to dance along his skin. There's a raw emotion behind his eyes, one that you can't decipher. Hobie pulls away, standing up, reaching down to you. Your hand connects to his, and you swear you hear tiny bells chime from somewhere.

“Why do you let me hang around you so much?” you stand toe to toe with Hobie, hand still in yours.

“You're in a questioning mood. It's the same reason why you keep coming back here”

Heat rises in your cheeks, you don't even know why. “It’s just—most people would have left by now”

“Not a regular person, remember?” He squeezes your hand just before he releases it. Turning away from you, Hobie addresses you over his shoulder. “Or have you forgotten already?”

You don't answer, not knowing what to say. Sometimes he makes you forget that he's a being beyond comprehension, a man more human than anybody you've come across. Then you get reminded he's not, that he's unfathomable to someone like you.

—

Exiting his domain, the fresh crisp autumn air greets you back. There's patches of ice left on the soft grass from when it rained last night. The sun slowly sets in the west, orange and pinks swirl in the sky. Leaves crunch under your trainers as you trudge the thicket. You've acclimated yourself with the woods, but it's still unfamiliar, your red ribbons tied around the trees help you in finding your way out.

You look up with a fond smile on your lips, watching how the sunlight peek through the leaves, letting the cool air kiss your cheeks. There's scurrying under the grass, birds chirp their night song. Your hands glide along the tree trunks and the silky ribbons, using it to guide your way. Your vision is suddenly cleared from treetops, the heavens in full display just for you.

You find yourself on the foot of a hill, one that looks so familiar yet strange. Not remembering this hill as part of your usual trek out, your mind is confused on how you got there in the first place. Trudging up the incline, you grab a long stick to help prop you up.

“Wow”

Breathing out, reaching the top, you watch the sunset bathe the hill in its heavenly glow. You chuckle softly to yourself, you can't remember ever seeing a magnificent sight like this in the crowded city.

“Pretty” you spot a large oak standing tall and forlorn just along the edges. Its tree trunk is dark with no leaves growing along its branch. It looms overhead, ancient and alone.

You expect its leaves to rustle when a wind passes, you're mesmerized by how grim yet beautiful the tree is. It’s alone and sickly, but it stands tall despite the elements and time ravaging its wood.

You decide to continue walking back to the manor now that the sun is merely minutes away from saying goodbye. Soon it'll be dark, soon there will be no light to guide you.

Carefully walking, you feel gravel under your feet, craning your neck down, you see no grass or any greenery. Just a circular patch of death, the soil is black, a deep contrast from the viridescent and orange around you. It matches the oak tree in a poetic eerie way.

You step away from it, the scorched earth sends shivers down your spine just from standing over it. The smell of burning wood hits your nose abruptly. A sense of dread and fear around it, turning your stomach inside out.

“There's something wrong here” You whisper above the wind. Promptly hasting your steps back towards the manor without looking back, afraid something else might gaze back.

—

As the weather grows colder your relationship with Hobie has gotten warmer. The dreams get more vivid, images of fireflies flying in the dark, bumblebees buzzing in your ears, Hobie’s sweet caresses and alluring voice makes it more enticing for you to stay asleep and forever live in the dream. Thanks to Nellie’s morning wake up call, you wake in time.

The strong feelings towards him all feels weird at first, there's always a push towards him, controlling you to call his name and yearn for his searing gaze. There's a mysterious longing, an affection that's completely unfounded. Perhaps the dreams helped you in realizing your emotions towards Hobie. Whatever it is, it has you in an iron grip, refusing to let go. It seems it has the same effect on Hobie too, there's always an immediate response the second you call out to him in the thick woods. His eyes never leave yours, how his touch would linger everytime your skin connects.

There's that electricity flowing between you both, something that makes sparks appear when he holds you. With every tentative touch there's affection behind it, soft smiles bring a promise. You want him to make a home inside your heart, stay there until he's molded himself in your arteries, until your veins run with him.

It's not all desire though, there's a profound need to be near him, to talk well into the night, share stories from almost forgotten memories. Conversing with him until your voice is hoarse from all the talking and laughter. You could just start talking about the surrounding woods and the next thing you know you're well off chattering about your deepest emotions like you're chatting with an old friend you haven't seen in years. You find making him laugh is the best part of your day.

You've grown to look forward to the banter every time you've finished your daily work. Dare you say the favourite part of your day is entering the woods. At first you would only go whenever you're bored or needed company from the isolation. Nellie’s the best at not making you feel so alone, but you still need someone who answers back. The once a week visit turned into twice a week, then to every other day, until you arrange your so-called meetings with him every single day.

It's basically routine now, but you don't always come to him, even though your soul screams to be by his side. That's why you're out in the woods with a basket of autumn flowers and berries you've foraged, it's the closest thing to being with him, to silence the raw hunger without indulging yourself by calling his name.

You have to slowly acclimate yourself by spending the entire day without ever seeing him. You've found him addicting, from his voice to his very presence.

And you're in withdrawal.

You dread being alone again when your contract ends. You'll find it hard to live day to day, still too used to your routine at Mudwood manor. So you're back in the thicket, so close yet so far from him with an excuse to go out and forage for… you don't even know, you just needed an excuse.

The wicker basket grows heavier in your arms the more you forage further into the woods. Which might not have been your best idea, especially when more eerie sounds enter the thick brush, eyes seem to wander around your form, watching, learning your movements. But you wanted to get out of the manor at the same time to be close to Hobie, and escape from the stifling stares of the paintings.

You could go to the small village, but you don't feel comfortable roaming even though you've been in the estate for almost five months. The villagers’ whispers and narrowed stares just get to you, even if you try not to.

You wanted to still be close to home.

But the grounds around the estate feels empty too, with crumbling foundations from ancient buildings that haven't been maintained and exposed to the elements, its brick and wood façade crumbling with just a gust of strong wind. The only building still standing inside the estate's land is the mausoleum, and you're not too keen to hang around the dead quite yet.

The place that you've found yourself most free in, a place where you feel safe in— the woods. You have A sense of belonging within the grove. Especially knowing that Hobie is one call away just in case something much worse decides to come after you.

You know he'll be there.

Rolling around the black cherry like berry in between your fingers, you keep finding your train of thought always leading towards him. Just the mere idea of him seems to relax you, bringing you a sense of peace that you've only felt while with him. You know it's wrong, wrong to feel this way towards the fae. A being that with one twitch of his finger could strike you dead, or make you fall to your knees. Which he hasn't done, not yet anyway.

You don't feel alone in the world anymore. With his company and Nellie's, you haven't smiled this much in a long time. The job was supposed to be isolating, unforgiving to the human need to socialize. With them in mind, it doesn't seem so bad, you should thank them both before you leave and end your contract with O’Hara, which is coming up sooner rather than later.

Taking a handful of berries, you stuff them inside the basket, the juice rubbing off on your palms. Bringing it closer to your mouth, tongue sticking out to taste it. A hand stops you from tasting the sweet nectar, webs wrap around his wrists, crawling towards your hand.

“Don't” you look at with questioning eyes, Hobie’s voice stern and commanding.

“Hello to you too”

“D’you want to kill yourself?” Hobie lets go of your hand, grabbing his cloak to use it in wiping your hand clean.

“No?” you watch closely as he gently cleans your hand free of juice.

“No? You're not sure?” He quirks a brow, still wiping every crevice of your palm.

“It was a question because I wasn't trying to kill myself.” You savour the skin on skin contact.

“Good, you're just stupid then.” You glare at him. “The plant's called ‘Belladonna’ or ‘deadly nightshade’ if you're more familiar with that name”

“Oh” you look down at your basket full of what you've thought to be blackberries. “Shit, I didn't know. Maybe I should've brought that book with me from the library”

“You should've.” Hobie finally lets go of your hand, already languishing the lack of contact. “What're you doin' here? Haven't I warned you enough about the things roaming around here?”

“What are you doing here? I didn't know you could even leave your abode”

“I can, only briefly” He leaves out the part where he feels a stinging sensation whenever he's outside, it's annoying at best, still, it pains his bones just to step outside.

“Are you okay?” You notice the sweat glistening on his forehead and how his eyebrows are subtly knitted together. “You look…” human? Sick? “Tired”

He tilts his head slightly. “You worried ‘bout me?”

Rolling your eyes, you decide to quip back. “Nope, you just look extremely ugly right now” a massive lie on your end. He could be wearing a trash bag and he would still be inhumanly handsome.

“I didn't know I had a mirror for a face” Hobie takes you by the sleeve of your coat whilst you gape at his roast. He chuckles softly at your reaction, brown eyes crinkling in happiness.

Entering his abode, more flowers have sprouted since you've met him. Flowers that don't usually grow in this weather: dandelions, daisies and watercolor roses sway in the wind. The willow tree stands greener and stronger than before. The table still sits in the middle of the glade, food from his realm lay forgotten, swept to a corner of the table. The food you've left for him is the centerpiece. Bread you've made from ingredients you've found in the pantry, fruits cut in misshapen pieces, butter from the fridge and an empty thermos of tea. The place looks and feels more homely. More human.

You drop the basket of poison right near where the ‘other’ food lay discarded.

Flopping down on a chair right next to his, you breathe in the warmer air, eyes closed, basking in the otherworldly warmth. Your skin glimmers in the light, a soft smile on your lips, head hanging over to the side of the marble chair; your neck in full display.

Hobie stares, swallowing the lump in his throat, knuckles tight. His instincts, his innate desire to defile you, to sink his teeth in your skin, biting, taking. Instead, he doesn't, you deserve so much more than that, deserving of affection and care that borderlines on love. Love that exceeds expectations, love that transcends through time. You're more than his desire.

You're sacred in his eyes.

The chair to your left scrapes along the grass, he sits next to you, he hasn't sat on the head of the table since you've decided it was alright for you to sit on a chair instead of just standing around.

You lean your head towards him, eyes cracking open, your smile growing wider.

“Hello there” you whisper the words to him like a secret only to be kept between you two.

Hobie blinks slowly, smile slowly spreading, he finds yours infectious. “Hello yourself, making yourself at home?”

“Mm-hmm, I want to savour it”

“Savour it? You can always come back here whenever you want”

“I know that, Hobie. My contract’s up.” You sharpen the knife. “I only have a week left here” then you stab him right through his heart.

He inhales sharply, sitting up right. The wind stops breezing past, stilling. Light slowly fading.

“Alright, this is goodbye then?”

“Of course not, I can always visit. Sure the drive is far and long and I'll technically be trespassing. But I can always visit”

“Don't come back” he says it softly, pleading almost. “It's better if you don't visit” Hobie stabs you with the same knife.

You try to find the humour in his voice, finding none but a straight faced Hobie, none of the life you're used to. “Why?”

“Because it's better”

You sit up, anger and confusion mixing together. A foul concoction. “Better for whom exactly?”

“For the both of us” He speaks monotonously. The knife twists in your gut.

“You know it's not, we both know it's not” you scoff. Shaking your head, hiding the tears collecting in your eyes.

“It is and I know”

“Yes, because you're all knowing and better than me” You spread your anger before him.

“I am” His eyes swirl into gold, no colour brown that you fell for.

You shake your head, standing up quickly, the chair falls, cracking the marble. “Okay then” masking the shaking of your voice with a clear of your throat. “Goodbye Hobie, it was… nice, yeah nice”

Not bothering to look back, you cross his threshold, leaving his abode. He gazes at his feet, forlorn yet there's no regret in his heart.

“it’s better for you” he tries to convince himself.

—

You stomp angrily inside the manor, the door bangs loudly as you close it with much frustration. Silent tears flow out, you sniff, rubbing it off with your sleeves. “He doesn't deserve my tears” you mumble.

The ringing sound from the living room makes you jump, “fuck!” The landline rings excessively, annoying your already angry state. You walk over to it, “I'm coming, christ”

“Hello?!” You answer the phone with hostility.

“Hello? Y/N?” Miguel's voice replies back, you regret your angry tone immediately.

You compose yourself. “Hi, Mr. O’hara. Sorry about that, I keep getting prank calls” A half lie, the phone rings in the dead of night every other day, good thing you're a night owl and you answer the empty calls. You're almost always reading through the night or annoying Nellie. Still, you find it weird that no one answers back.

“Are you okay?” Miguel sighs. There's a loud screeching sound in the background.

“Yes, are you okay? There's a weird sound on your end”

“Yeah, sorry about that.” There's shuffling in the background. “There, I'm in a quieter place. Is everything alright with Nellie and the house?”

“Yes, everything’s in tip top shape” you cringe at yourself.

He sighs, “Alright, good. Something came up and I gotta stay here a couple more weeks. Are you okay with that? Of course I'll add it to your salary, if not then it's okay.” There's a muffled clanking sound behind him.

“Yes, of course that's alright. I can't leave Nellie yet anyway” The said dog perks up from her sleeping position on the leather settee, wagging her tail, fluffy ears down.

“Thank you, Y/N. I'm off, thank you again”

“Of course, Mr. O’Hara” you click the phone down. Sighing, lumbering your way towards Nellie.

You lay over her dramatically, face full of her fur, hands mindlessly petting her, she huffs in return, letting air out her nostrils.

“Oh, Nellie, it's just us now, old girl”

She barks timidly in return.

“Yeah, yeah, I know it's my fault. Shouldn't have been there in the first place” you cuddle closer to her, she doesn't protest, wagging her tail from under you. “I'd be lying if I don't miss him” murmuring the words, your eyes start growing glassy once again.

“Fucking asshole”

—

It's been a week since you've seen him. Everytime you walk along the edge of the woods with Nellie by your side, you can't help but yearn for his presence. Purposely stopping by, a chance to see him again, even just a simple sign that he wants to see you again. Alas you don't get a trace of him, the woods are eerily quiet in your absence, there's a darkness permeating inside, spreading, echoing, longing.

Nellie tugs you away by her leash, with a bark she guides you back towards the manor. You look over your shoulder, a sudden scent of death whizzes behind you. Goosebumps rise on your skin, a shiver down your spine, perhaps it's a good idea to stay away for a while.

You sleep restlessly, waking up in intervals. Nellie helps though, she now sleeps on the foot of your bed. Her soft snores lull you to a rare dreamless sleep.

“Wake up”

Your ears perk up at the sound of a chair moving across hardwood floors, then almost immediately the scraping stops. Alarm bells start to ring out in your head. The first thing you grab is the nearest and sharpest thing inside the room, silently uncapping the fountain pen, the sharp tip glistens in the moonlight. You tiptoe over to your bedroom door.

Slowly opening it enough to peek through, your heart sinks down to your stomach at the sight of torch lights moving around the ancient walls of the manor.

Hushed whispers can be heard from downstairs, they creep and snicker, tamping down any loud noise whenever they bump into furniture. But you heard them, holding the fountain pen with an iron grip, you close the door as quietly as you can, locking it right after.

“Why are you shushing me? There's no one here” a gruff voice yells out. Making you stop in your tracks, Nellie fully wakes up, alert, wide eyes staring at the door then back to you.

“Still, shut the fuck up!” Another man whisper yells, “this place is old, we might wake up the dead”

“Idiot, you still believe that? What are you five?” A male unfamiliar voice chides in.

There's three of them. Your lips wobble in fear, knees threatening to give out from under you. Your room is on the third floor, too high up to jump down, if you decide to risk it, you would most definitely break your legs or worse. And how would Nellie get out if you survive the fall? An older dog like herself wouldn't make it if she fell that high up.

So you decide on a split second decision, it's either the bathroom or the wardrobe. You surmise that if they would get inside, they would check the bathroom first; giving you ample time to run downstairs and get to your car. So you make time to grab your key inside the drawer, pocketing it inside your sweatpants.

You make your way towards Nellie, grabbing her by the collar, there's no time to be polite but you still guide her as gently as you can– taking her towards the large wardrobe. She doesn't protest, letting you lead her inside. Sitting down next to her, closing the double doors– its hinges creek, you cringe at the sound, loud enough for them to hear the squeak. Once closed, you move the coats back in its place on the rack, acting as another barrier between you and the doors.

You hope it's enough to protect you and Nellie.

She sits down obediently, eyes trained outside. Your hands ache from how hard you're gripping onto the pen.

“Nellie” you whisper, “stay quiet, please.” With shaking hands, you pet her by the ear. “They might not even check here” you reassure yourself. Nellie stares you down, a face you've never seen her make before.

She scooches closer to you, protecting your body from the outsiders. Her fur warms you, calming you a little. Nellie huffs once footsteps walk up the stairs, every step acting like a death knell, counting down to the inevitable.

You pray to every deity there is, your mind wishes that Hobie’s with you, he would know what to do. You desperately need a bright idea for an escape, anything will do in hopes of ever seeing him again, to live through this nightmare.

There's footsteps in the doorway.

“It's locked” the doorknob rattles, tears start forming in your eyes, blurring your much needed vision.

“Move, I'll open it” voice muffled nonetheless frightening you with how close the sound is.

Covering your mouth, body trembling in fear, silent tears flow freely. Your hands tremble, the pen leaving indents on your palm, angry marks sears into your newly healed wound, opening it once again, your life flowing out of you.

Bang!

The sound makes you flinch, whimpering as Nellie looks on. The door is in danger of opening from the harsh kick.

“Christ! You're being too loud”

“We're in the middle bumfuck nowhere, no one's gonna hear”

Bang!

Metal hinges fall on the hardwood floors, scraping towards your hiding place.

“One more, hurry up! The good stuff must be inside”

“You wanna fucking do it yourself? Get off my back”

Bang!

You tamp down a scream when the large door bursts open, falling harshly on the floor, Nellie covers your entire body with hers, stance at the ready. A bundle of nerves sit on the bottom of your stomach, clinging, waiting with baited breath.

One whistles out, “Big fucking room, search the place, the safe must be in here”

“You fuckin' search it, you're not the boss” he seethes, voice fading towards somewhere. “I'll look through the other rooms, you stay here”

The other intruder clicks his tongue in annoyance. “Look who's acting like a boss. Asshole”

Heavy footfalls march towards the bathroom, you shiver, heart thundering inside your chest. Your soul is familiar with the feeling, anticipating your fate.

The doors to the bathroom creek open, you hide your frightened face on Nellie's shoulders like a child hiding behind their mother's skirt. Soft fur tickles your cheeks, you hold onto her, anchoring yourself.

“Goddamn, these faucets must've cost a fortune.” Judging from his footsteps, he seems to leave the bathroom “I don't have time to dismantle those. Now, where in the world is that safe” you hear boots thump on wooden floors, getting closer and closer towards the wardrobe.

Clutching the sharp pen, you wipe your eyes free of tears with your sleeve, brows furrowed in anger, lips trembling.

Right before the wardrobe doors split open, Nellie lunges, growling like a woman scorned. Her large canines bare at the man clad in black. With a quick movement, she aims for the jugular.

Blood gushes out, spraying your face with hot crimson. Nellie's snout covered in the same shade, her mismatched eyes wild with anger. Her body growing larger by the second, paws as big as your head, claws digging into the man's torso–shredding his skin down to his bone.

You hear a woman whisper “Run!” In your ears.

With a pained yelp, the man gurgles, slowly drowning in his own blood, Nellie's fangs still buried in his neck— a sea of red coating the polished floors.

Sparing Nellie one last look, she devours the man, sounds of tearing flesh playing over and over in your mind. A knife glistens in the moonlight, stabbing your protector in her stomach, a last ditch effort to escape.

Running away, pen still in your grip, you run into another man, crashing your body into his.

“What—?” He holds you by your shaking shoulder, dark eyes full of bad intention.

You don't waste time in lifting the pen, stabbing him in between his ribs. Blood leaks out, dripping into the carpet. He staggers back in surprise, still holding onto you, his back hits the bannister in a second, losing his balance.

He takes you down with him.

Air escapes your lungs as you plummet down to the foyer, closing your eyes, you brace for impact. A vision fills your mind, a memory perhaps, a memory that's definitely not your own. Or maybe one that you don't remember.

You fall simultaneously with your other self, the smell of salt and sea fills your nostrils. With your hands tied behind your back, the large stone weighing you down, helping you sink further and further into the deep. Bubbles float above you as darkness swallows you whole. Lungs filled with saltwater. You don't fight the current because it wouldn't have mattered.

It would always end like this.

You hit the ground in an ugly crunch of bones and skin, groaning, gore staining your head. Iron wafts your nostrils. The once clean home is now dirtied with crimson and shattered wood. There's ringing in your ears, hands and back filled with shards of glass from the vase that used to decorate the foyer. Chrysanthemums litter the floors, petals crushed– bloodied and broken.

You spot the open door, cold entering inside, the full moon beckons you over. Crawling to it, glass pricks your forearms, staining the antique carpets. Legs pulsing in pain. With one eye open, ichor gushing out from your forehead– you have one place in mind to seek sanctuary. Someone to help you in your injured state.

“Please” you can barely recognize your own voice, begging to get to safety, pleading to whoever is watching over you to let you live.

Just this one time.

“Liam!” A woman yells from the second floor, fast footsteps echo out in the estate. She grabs you by the foot, dragging you back inside, away from escape.

“You fucking bitch!” her shrill voice dampens your screams of protest.

You try kicking her with the last of your strength, but to no avail. Her razor-edged nails dig into your skin, your palm slides over to a sharp shard of glass, you immediately bend at the waist, stabbing it into her hand.

She yells, letting your foot go. The woman slowly took the shard out of her hand. Flesh opens up, muscle peeking through the wound. Heaving, she has ember in her eyes, you have fire in yours.

As you stand up on your feet, glass and splinters leaving jagged edges over the soles of your bare feet. Lips parted, your eyes catch a glimpse of the man you stabbed taking slow strides in front of you. Bloodied hand now holding on to the weapon you used. Scarlet flowing freely over his mad eyes.

He spits out blood, platinum hair covered in his own gore, teeth stained with crimson. “You weren't supposed to be here”

“You should've left while you had the chance, girl” the woman holds her own hand, trying to stop the bleeding. “or at least not cause problems for us. You had to be a hero, huh? No matter, we can handle you” she brandishes a knife big enough to butcher you.

The man beside her snickers, “And to think I was about to help you, I was the nice one y’know” he drops your bloodied pen, replacing it with rope from his belt.

“Fuck you” gritting your teeth, you curse at them with calmness you never thought you still had.

“Feisty, oh we'll have our fun with you!” She hits you with the butt of her knife, you flinch back, enough to lessen the impact, but the pain still leaves you blind for a second.

Doubling over in pain, she takes the chance to kick your stomach. Bile rises up in your throat, acid comes out of your battered mouth, smearing the floors. Now on your knees, the man tries to kick your spine but you're not going down without a fight. You take his leg just before it collides with your back, holding it, twisting it down with your whole body until he falls flat on his face.

“Bitch!” Knuckles hit your cheek, your nose cracking under the pressure.

You lay in a fetal position, shielding your head with your stained arms, ichor spread around you, seeping out of you, covering you. They kick and hit as a punishment, numerous voices laugh in your ears. The soft soil on your back, staining your clothes, tire tracks left on your skin, lower body nowhere to be seen. The blood stained tracks on concrete, your vision disappearing.

With your last strength, you time the kicks where they stop for a brief second near your face, grabbing her ankle, you bite a chunk of her Achilles heel. She falls on her back unceremoniously, screaming and cussing.

You spit out her flesh, showing off your bloodstained teeth with a cold smile at her partner.

“Fucker–!” He lifts up his boot, ready to strike you down.

A flash of black and white and then he no longer stands before you. His body flinged away, Nellie biting his head off in one feral bite. Head rolling to the soles of the woman.

“What the fuck!” The lone woman yells, a grave mistake she would soon learn.

Nellie sharply turns her head, fangs in full display, claws tapping on the floor, stalking her prey. Her once soft fur is all sharp and upright in fury. She pounces on the intruder, her entire body hiding the deed from you. You could only hear her screams and skin tearing into a bloody mess. Blood flies out of her like leaves blown away by the wind.

With one last squelch of skin and blood, Nellie stops growling, silence envelopes the entire manor.

“Nellie?” You breathe out, throat scratching like nails on a chalkboard.

She looks over her massive shoulder, fur covered in shredded clothes and guts. Her eyes are the only indication that she's the same dog you used to walk around the manor, the same one who sleeps by your bed since you got her back. The same Nellie you've grown to care for.

“Come here” you reach out to her with your shaking hand, she taps it with her snout, warmth

coating your palm. “You saved me, good girl” she nuzzles her head, huffing out in content, tail wagging in delight.

Bang!

A gun goes off, Nellie whines, dropping her dead weight right in front of you. Her essence flows out of her like a rushing river. She shrinks back to her normal form, an old border collie lay before you, whimpering in pain, eyes pleading for help.

“No!” Your voice breaks, hands searching her fur for the wound. Tears slide down your cheeks, leaving a trail of skin free of blood.

Looking behind you, another man stares at the sight in horror, intestines decorate the ancient walls, stray teeth litter around the floors like petals. Blood paints the halls of the great manor. His companions lay dead, bodies growing cold.

“You!” his voice shakes, the barrel of the gun pointed over your temple. He slaps you with the butt of his gun, you fall back down on the gore filled floor.

Everything hurts, your head pounding like a drum, arms stinging, nose aching, your lungs fight to inhale air. The beautiful chandelier you admired is your only audience to the grim scene that unfolded. And the only witness to your impending demise. You try to reach for the keys inside your pocket, resulting in the man stomping hard on your fingers, your bones crack under the pressure.

The man spits maliciously at your pain enveloped form, with a blink an older woman does the same.

“Witch!” She points her crooked finger at your tied form. The spectators scream in agreement. Faceless crowd jeering for your demise.

Snow covers the hill you were once safe in, snowflakes stick to your wet lashes, wood and timber at your feet, the thin white shift you wore doesn't shield you from the cold; in spite of the weather, you're warm. The searing heat burns your skin. Flames rising up, melting the ice underneath. The smoke burns your lungs, coughing, eyes stinging from all the tears you've shed.

“I am innocent, please!” You plead to deaf ears. “Spare me!”

One throws a rock at your shaking form, it hits your bare shoulder, the fire grows closer, it licks up your feet, scorching, burning. You screech in agony, calling his name, hoping he appears despite knowing he won't, can't.

“Hobie!” You feel yourself turning into ash. The growing life inside of you savagely ends abruptly.

“Hobie” clinging to life, your lips forming his name, instinctively calling for him. A whisper, a prayer just for him.

Furious wind rushes inside, the burglar shields his face with his arms, his face mask falling off his face. You crumple further into yourself, whimpering from all the searing pain.

Suddenly, the air stills, the sound of splitting logs, creaking and lumbering, you can smell morning dew through your broken nose. Spiders skitter onwards, black and red dots crawling all over the man. He screams in fear, trying to shake them off as the arachnids march on. Numerous more enter, engulfing his entire body. He hits the walls in an attempt to kill them off, they scatter away like dust, running away when the sound of nails scraping on wood can be heard.

He looks relieved for only a brief moment, then despair fills his entire being. Fear clutches your heart, eyes glued to the sound. There's a lull in the chaotic moment, silent as a monastery.

Lithe fingers slowly furling over the door frame, nails as dark as death itself emerge. Bones creaking, trees cracking, breaking apart at its roots. Your soul sings whilst you feel your heart stop, green whizzes past in a flash.

He stands there, an enormous stature, cloak draped behind him, an ocean of green, a flash of red in his eyes— his hand wrapped around the man's throat, nails digging and drawing pinpricks of scarlet. The pistol falls on the ground, metal striking the wood. He gasps in terror as you watch on with wide eyes.

You witness a myth come true right in front of you.

Spider legs unfold behind him, ripping his cloak, it twitches, the sharp ends poking and prodding at his victim. With a quick movement, Hobie impales the man with his eight legs, right through his torso, neck, legs, groin and eyes.

A life ends once more, a waterfall of warm ichor flowing down, spreading across the hardwood, staining your already blood-soaked clothes.

Hobie lets the corpse go, falling loudly and mercilessly. The corpse's dead eyes stare upon yours. The image would forever stay with you.

He kneels before you, spider legs retracting into his back; fury subsiding in his golden eyes, brown mixing in. Humanity seeping through him like the blood coating his hands. You observe through half lidded eyes, his scent masks the death around you.

Hobie hovers his knuckles over your ruined skin, he avoids the angry gashes of broken skin.

“Clover, what are you– what have they done to you?” For the first time since he saw you last, He feels helpless, a childlike fear under his otherworldly eyes. “I'm so sorry”

You wheeze out a reply. Crimson coated hand reaching out for him. He cups it gently, gore blending together. A vision of him holding you amidst the dark, flushed skin upon bare flesh, fluttering body under his, lips over your neck, nipping and kissing, passion rolling out in waves, love hanging in the air. Desire fulfilled.

“Hobie–” a raspy breath escapes, you don't recognize your own voice anymore.

“Don't talk, I've got you” carefully and effortlessly, he carries you.

You yelp, everything burns, your joints, your skin, your eyes brimming with unshed tears. Yet, his searing warmth comforts you, the familiarity brings a small smile onto your lips.

“I’m right here” his voice wavers, each step heavier than the other.

In that moment, you know everything will be alright.

Holding on, you paint his chest with blood that might be yours. The cold hits you, consciousness fading.

“Well? Your name?” He asks pensively.

“Rose”

“Poppy–”

Snowflakes drop to your eyelashes, melting over your skin.

“Dahlia–”

“Violet–”

The stabbing pain in the back of your skull persits, your life dripping onto fresh snow. Dirtying the earth.

“Iris”

“Fern”

You feel your legs go numb, Hobie's eyes forlorn, his bones ache, yet his grip stays strong.

“Lily–”

“Daisy, my name is Daisy”

He smiles, eyes twinkling with mirth. “Clever one, I welcome you, my name is–”

“I know you” whispering your words, Hobie stops in his tracks. Flicking his eyes down, he sees a sight that breaks what is left of his heart.

“I-I know you” you repeat it for yourself, trying to comprehend it all. Tears unknowingly let out, broken fingers brushing across his jaw.

“You do”

Swallowing a lump of blood stuck in your throat, you mumble out, trying your best to speak. “How–?”

“That's not important, you need to get better or–” he releases a sharp breath, “the food inside the abode can heal you, but it has consequences.” Hobie pleads with you with just a single look. “Do you understand what it means?”

You nod weakly. “Nellie, she's—”

“She'll be alright, that dog has gone through worse.”

You believe him, hoping that she's alright, wishing that she'll be back on her feet and waiting for you back at the manor. There's only hope now for you as the light behind your eyes dim.

You now enter the woods, your limbs grow weaker with every step. Hobie’s searing heat is the only thing keeping you awake. Your blood stains his torso red, the once green colour of his cloak now dirtied with coagulating blood. His own agony makes it harder for him to walk, stabbing his muscles, arms shaking under your weight.

“I’ve got you, I've got you” He repeats it like a mantra. “Stay awake for me, please” Hobie peers down, observing how your blood doesn't stop from gushing out, how your lungs fight to exhale air.

You have questions rushing through your mind, the answers will bring light to your very existence. You don't even know who you are right now but the pains and ache makes your thoughts foggy. At this rate you'll die before you get the answers you need.

Hobie stops abruptly, a snap of a twig from behind makes him whirl towards the sound. Then you smell it, flesh decaying, the smell of burning hair. There's something or someone shambling behind the trees, the rattling sound of chains being dragged along the path turns the blood inside your veins into ice.

Panic settles in Hobie’s stomach. He's frozen under the eyeless gaze of the entity.

He suddenly becomes the prey.

Its skeletal figure continuously drips thick dark blood onto the grass below, its bones chatter in the wind, long fingers pointing at you, bringing the large chains strapped on its wrist above, weighing its lithe arm down.

You were never welcomed here.

An image of a tall man converges with the ugly thing, suddenly, Hobie's right next to him. His entire body covered and trapped by thorny vines, pricking his skin, drops of ichor fall like dew drops on the soil.

The other being turns his head towards Hobie who struggles against the binds. The deer skull hides the fae’s face from view, his dark hair cascading around his bare shoulders. Tiny bells ring on his staff as he grabs Hobie by his jaw, sharp nails digging into his flesh.

“You bare the greatest sin” his voice a mere whisper yet as loud as an ocean wave crashing along the shores. “for what? A pet?” He turns towards you, dark eyes flicking down to your stomach. “An abomination, an affront, a mistake” the being spits venom.

“Now, she must be punished as do you” he turns his neck with a snake-like movement back to Hobie. “You've cursed her, Web weaver. Only by her own hand can cut the ties. Then and only then, she may be free from the binds you have put her in”

Hobie’s eyes are laden with fear and anger, his mouth covered by the same vines, unable to speak. His panicked eyes meet yours, tears freely flow from the brown you love.

You bravely stare at the fae next to him, fury settling in your soul, horror hidden behind the fire in your veins. He tilts his head, a sinister smile on his thin lips. There's flowers in your lungs. With a small wave of his fingers, you get flinged back.

Condemned to a deathless death.

Its jaws unhinge, a guttural high pitch sound blows your eardrums. Hobie kneels, letting you down on the moist soil just before the monster lunges for you.

Blades of grass stab your injuries. You stare up at the familiar ball of light, your fingers clutch the grass when a wave of pain hits your skull.

“Hobie?” Sobbing, you don't see him next to you. “Hobie?!” in your desperation, you yell for him.

There's an ache behind your sockets, memories flash by, once your own, centuries of despair, death and yearning. And you've lived through every single one. You feel remorse for all the lives you've lived, all the hatred and confusion that stems from the first life, from simply loving someone out of reach.

Crawling on the earth, if you bring your ears to the ground, you hear his shouts and struggle against the creature. Your soul begs for you to help him, but how could you do anything in your state? You barely feel your legs now, your right eye shut completely closed from the injury.

With your one good eye, you see your trembling broken fingers ahead of you, desperately clawing at the grass.

Finally reaching the table, you grab its leg. The table shakes briefly, a berry falls, bouncing in front of your eyes. A loaf of bread follows it on the grass.

You have a choice layed out in front of you.

You want to correct everything that your past selves couldn't. But will you be brave enough to do it? Or will you stutter like the others?

Your mind struggles to choose, taking a handful of nightshade would break the curse that's befell you all those years ago. No more struggling, no more pain and death for the next you to bear.

The cycle could finally end with you.

Or you take a piece of bread from his table and continue to live on. Who wouldn't want to live? Your body dies but your soul lives on in a different variant of you. After eating it would bind you to Hobie, you could love him till your time ends and another begins.

Why is it your problem to break the curse? Why not the next one or the one after that? Is it your responsibility to break the wheel?

Is it bad to want to live with the love of your life?

With one bite and you'll stay in this realm, even if the curse looms over your head, forever waiting for your death, whether by time's hand or another vile thing that plucks you from the garden of life. But you get to stay with him, experience what your former selves have.

Then the cycle would continue on unbroken.

Hobie will win against the creature, you're sure of it. And he'll be back here to pick up the pieces of you. You're alone in this choice.

Which one will you choose?

>>> Nightshade

>>> Bread

[misguidedasgardian]

The Lifeaters (III.3)

III. Your greatest fear

MASTERLIST

Chapter Summary: Your classes test you in unimaginable ways 

Pairings: Draco Malfoy x Fem!Reader (platonic)

Warnings: Cursing, magical objects, Mugglephobia, classism, charms and curses, might miss some warnings

Wordcount: 3,4 k

Notes: I’m adapting a lot of parts of the books… hehe…

Have you seen Brooklyn 99? if you have you’ll now this

If you see something say something, come on and party tonighttttt wooooooo

Tuesday nor Wednesday Draco went to classes, his arm still tightly taped to his side, you helped him in what you could, no, actually, in what he would let you help him, you offered to carry his bag but he made Goyle do it, he wouldn’t let you personally carry his things or help him up, nothing that would require strength, you wanted to feel insulted, but what he truly meant is that he did not wanted you to “trouble” yourself

Also he was enjoying the attention you and Pansy were giving him, letting you fix his hair and robes, and even help him eat

It felt nice to help a friend

So Thursday you had potions, and Dray could not miss that.

Most classes would put aside one block, one hour and a half of your schedule, but not potions.

Many took too long to prepare, so once a week, you had THREE consecutive hours to brew potions and be almost tortured by Professor Snape

Even though they were almost on the same floor, the potions classroom was nothing like your common room. It was stuffy, damp and the various smells from the potions made it really hard to breathe or have a nice time, on the contrary, it also depended on the potion that was being brewed, sometimes they made the air lighter, so every class was everyone’s guess.

All eyes where on you when you arrived with Draco to the potions classroom, you shared the class with the Gryffindors, and many of them looked annoyed when they saw Dray’s grimace 

Pansy wouldn’t leave your side either.

You didn’t know how to feel

You liked her, she was your friend, but you were not used to a “third wheel” in yours and Draco’s relationship, before there was Vince, Greg and even Matthew near him, but they couldn’t get that close to him

Pansy was managing to do so, and it made you a bit queasy 

Draco whimpered when you settle in your places and Pansy was on him on a 

"How is it, Draco?”, she asked, in a tone a bit sweet for your taste, "Does it hurt much?"

“Yes”, he said, trying to show himself brave, but as soon as Pansy looked away, he winked at Greg and Vince, you slapped his good arm, annoyed, he looked back at you apologetically

Your attention was called by Snape, the class was going to start

You were a bit late, but your professor didn’t say anything, you enjoyed more… freedom… with the head of your house than with other teachers, it almost made you a bit embarrassed

But then you remembered all teachers who were heads of houses had a soft spot for their students, Snape had a soft spot for you lot, his house.

“Today were going to be making a Shrinking solution”, snape Introduced, “please take out your ingredients” 

You were sharing one of the big tables with Potter, Granger, Longbottom, Weasley, Greg, Vince, Draco and Pansy

"Sir," Dray called, "sir, I'll need help cutting up these daisy roots, because of my arm…", you looked at him, wanting to offer your help, but Snape had other plans

"Weasley, cut up Malfoy's roots for him"

“I can do it”, you whispered to him, but he shook you off

“He told Wesley to do it”, he said with a smirk, oh how he was enjoying this

"There's nothing wrong with your arm," Ron accused him

"Weasley, you heard Professor Snape; cut up these roots”, he demanded, and Weasley started to masacre those poor roots

“Professor!”, called Draco, “Weasley is mutilating my roots!”, Snape even seemed happy with this arrangements

“Weasley, change roots with Malfoy”, he demanded, and you could barely choke in a giggle

So the redhead had to spend double time trying to fix his roots for himself to use, you tried to focus on your own ingredients, but Draco had you a bit on edge.

Don’t misinterpret this, it was fun to pick on Potter and Weasley, but not in the middle on the potions class, when many things could go wrong

"And, sir, I'll need this shrivelfig skinned," said Dray, pushing his luck, you actually liked working with the plant

“I can do it Dray”, you offered, and you felt Pansy’s heated gaze on you 

"Potter, you can skin Malfoy's shrivelfig," was the response

“It’s no trouble”, you insisted

“He said Potter to do it”, Draco said with a smile

Potter was quick to skin those poor plants, and slided them over the table at Draco as quickly as he could. Draco’s face was one of victory, he seemed pleased with himself. 

Oh but not yet

"Seen your pal Hagrid lately?", he asked them with a mean smirk

"None of your business," responded Weasley.

It was a sore topic, you did not like the turn it had taken

"I'm afraid he won't be a teacher much longer," Said Draco. "Father's not very happy about my injury… he complained to the school’s governors and all", he said, sighing, “And a lasting injury like this…who knows if my arm will ever be the same again?". You wanted to tell him to drop it, you did, back in the common room, but he wouldn’t listen, the horrible gash in his arm looked terrible.

“So that’s why you are doing this!”, said Potter, “you want to get him sacked!”

“Well, maybe”, teased Draco, “Weasley, why don’t you slice up my caterpillars for me?”

The Redhead was about to throw his cauldron at him, when Professor Snape walked by the table, looking into Longbottom’s cauldron

"Tell me, boy, does anything penetrate that thick skull of yours? Didn't you hear me say, quite clearly, that only one spleen was needed? Didn't I state plainly that a dash of leech juice would suffice? What do I have to do to make you understand, Longbottom?", his potion was the wrong color, and Neville looked like he was about to cry. 

"Please, sir," said Granger, there was something about her tone that you really found annoying, "I could help Neville put it right…", you couldn’t help but rolled your eyes, and Draco at your side snickered 

"I don't remember asking you to show off, Miss Granger," you couldn’t help but smile, Snape always saw right through the golden trio, "Longbottom, at the end of this lesson we will feed a few drops of this potion to your toad and see what happens. Perhaps that will encourage you to do it properly.", now that made you raise your eyes from your cauldron up to Neville, who’s hands started shaking

"Help!" he moaned, looking at the entire table

"Hey", said Seamus Finnigan, a Gryffindor who no matter what he was doing, he always managed to provoke an explosion, "Sirius Black's been sighted”, he said, you and Draco shared looks, “it’s all over the daily prophet”

"Where?" asked Potter, all the table were listening

"Dufftown," said Seamus, who looked excited. "It was a Muggle who saw him. By the time the Ministry of Magic got there, he was gone."

"Not too far from here... " said Granger, then Weasley catches us looking

"What, Malfoy? Need something else skinned?", he asked

But Draco was looking at Potter with malice, and you knew exactly was he was about to say

 "Thinking of trying to catch Black single-handed, Potter?", he teased "Yeah, that's right," responded Potter, ever the petulant fool 

You knew what was coming, you had discussed it at length, Sirius black was the one that betrayed Harry’s Parents, causing them to die in the hands of the Dark Lord

"Of course, if it was me, I'd be out there looking for him.", said Draco, “I wouldn’t be staying in school like a good boy”

"What are you talking about, Malfoy?", asked Weasley. And you looked at Potter’s face, looking for any clue, but now it dawned on you… he didn’t know. He didn’t know what Black had done, of course you did, because uncle Lucius didknow, he was deep in the Ministry. 

But Potter didn’t know what Sirius had done to his family, and why he was out, probably looking for him.

"Don't you know, Potter?", asked Draco, truly surprised, but he looked like he did on Christmas mornings

"Know what?". Draco laughed cruelly, it made your skin crawl.

"Maybe you'd rather not risk your neck," he said. "Want to leave it to the dementors, do you? But if it was me, I'd want revenge. I'd hunt him down myself."

"What are you talking about?" asked Potter angrily

You were going to tell Draco to stop, but Snape did it for you, calling the attention of the entire class 

"You should have finished adding your ingredients by now; this potion needs to stew before it can be drunk, so clear away while it simmers and then we'll test Longbottom's... "

Neville stirred his cauldron miserably, with his mouth twisted in agony

You put away your things and Draco before he could say anything, you were somewhat happy that your potion was the right shade of color

A few minutes later, Snape was standing next to Neville, Theo and Matt stood by your side, to watch

"Everyone gather 'round," said Snape, “and watch what happens to Longbottom's toad. If he has managed to produce a Shrinking Solution, it will shrink to a tadpole. If, as I don't doubt, he has done it wrong, his toad is likely to be poisoned”, you grabbed onto the hand that was closest to you, it was Theo’s, he looked at you alarmed, but you only watched as snape with a special instrument took a bit of the potion, while he held Trevor on his other hand

“Professor…”, you couldn’t help it, you were not thinking, Snape looked at you with those dark glistening eyes, “Trevor will… die?”, you asked fearfully, “we understand the consequences Sir, I don’t think it’s necessary…”

He seemed truly surprised 

“Hush your mouth Basilik, unless you want your points removed”, he said angrily. The Gryffindor seemed truly surprised as you intervened 

Theo didn’t released you, you squeezed his hands waiting for the inevitable, if that was Umbra instead, you’d be crying, as Neville shed a single tear of his trembling cheek 

Snape fed Trevor a spoonful of the potion…

You could drop a pin on the classroom and it would be heard loudly, everyone was looking expectantly… and then, with a pop, Trevor had become a tiny little tadpole.

You released Theo, taking a deep breath, relieved… 

Snape, who seemed like he didn’t get any presents for Christmass, took a vial from the insides of his robes and turn Trevor into his normal size again 

"Five points from Gryffindor," said Snape, which wiped the smiles from every face. "I told you not to help him, Miss Granger. Class dismissed." 

You never walked out of potions so quickly, dragging a laughing Draco with you

You went to the great hall to have lunch, not before you sneaking out to the inner courtyard to take a long breath of fresh air, Winter was looming in and you could already feel the chill in the air even though the trees were already turning orange

You weren’t alone

“Hey, ppssttt”, you heard a shushing noise, you looked to your side and saw Theo and Matthew, hiding under the threshold of the castle’s door. Theo was hiding something on his robes

“What?”, you asked, coming near them, they clearly wanted to show me something, but you thought better of it, “I swear for Merlin’s fluffy robes that if I look into something remotely inappropriate I will tell Snape…”

You heard a croak, and your curiosity got the better of you and you looked inside

Theo was hiding a toad, and not just any toad

“Is that Trevor?”, you asked them both who started laughing

“Maybe”, he giggled

“You stole him?”, you asked them, scandalized, and then you looked into both their eyes, “no…”

“What?”, asked Theo

“Please don’t hurt him”, you begged them, honestly scared for the poor familiar

“I will not!”, Theo said, he seemed offended that you believed he was going to hurt him

“Why did you steal it?”, you asked them

“Longbottom didn’t have the guts, he was going to let Snape poison him!”, he said, taking Trevor out of his robes and caressing his tiny head, he was cute… for a toad… 

“So what’s your plan?”, you asked the pair, and they shared looks

“We are going to keep him…”, said Theo

“Yeah, and share custody”, muttered Matt

“What are you three doing with Longbottom’s toad?”, you three freezed at the unmistakable voice of Severus Snape, you three turned slowly, and shaking

“Stealing is not tolerated at Hogwarts”, he said with his dark, dragging voice, “Miss Basilik you interrupt and question my teaching methods and then you steal a classmate’s familiar, this is unacceptable”

“Sir! but…!”

“And furthermore you send a request my way to drop the divination class… not so fast… Gaunt”, he said, grabbing into Matt’s robes who had tried to escape. You looked up at him with wide eyes, “well, lucky for you I found a way to solve your little problem, and… give you and Mister Nott and mister Gaunt a lesson…”

“Which is?”, asked Theo fearfully

“Ancient Runes as Arithmancy are full… but not Muggles studies…”

“No…”, you all whimpered at the same time 

“Congratulations, you three are the very first Slytherins in taking the class”, he said with a smirk that was going to haunt your worst nightmares for years to come.

You didn’t even dared to tell Draco, Matthew, Theo and you looked like you just had seen a ghost, you barely ate… you were so… frighten

It did not help what Professor Lupin had in store for Defense against the Dark class after lunch…

“Boggarts!”, presented Lupin, as he stood in the middle of an empty classroom, with a huge cabinet that was moving like it had something inside it, and it did, “can anybody tell me.. what a Boggart looks like?”. he asked

“No one knows!”, said Granger, “boggarts are shapeshifters, they take on the shape of what that person fears the most, that is why they are so…”

“So terrifying, yes…”, he looked back at the cabinet, “Luckily, there is a very simple spell to repel them, everyone says it with me, wands away… Riddikulus!”, he pronounced in a way that was a bit contrary to what your minds told you to pronounced it

“Ri…di…kulus”, you practiced

“This class is ridiculous”, mocked Draco

Once you had practiced the spell, Lupin put you all in a line

The boggart turned into cobras, spiders… many things… and then… you were standing in front of a turning mesh… a cloud-like creature who was reading your mind to find whatever frightened you the most…

You thought about many things that frightened you, total darkness, being completely alone, death? many, many things, but then… something came out on top

The boggart started taking shape, and the result was a huge mass that almost touched the ceiling with his ugly head…. or rather… lack thereof

Trolls were huge, and this one wasn’t the exception, except… it didn't have a head!

A headless troll, with a bloody stomp where his head should be, was standing in front of you

You couldn’t help but whine in fear, wanting to take a step back

“Well, I have to admit, this is an unusual one”. laughed Lupin

“I can’t believe it Basilik!”, said Draco behind you, and you couldn’t stop looking at it, “still?”, you heard laughs behind you, and that only made you whimper more 

“Wand at the ready Basilik”, said Lupin, who seemed ready to jump, it wasn’t until that thing tried to hit you with his wooden club that you snapped out of your stupor

“Riddikulus!”, you said, in a second the headless troll became a big voodoo-looking doll, that fell to the ground as it was filled with sand

You kept hearing laughs behind you, and Professor Lupin applauded

“Very good Basilik! very good! Potter, you are next!”

Everyone was expectant of what Potter’s boggart was going to be, and you feared the most

A Dementor showed itself in front of you… well… at least it wasn’t the Dark Lord

Lupin stood in front of him, casted the spell, and… he dismissed the class despite the complains of the res of the class

Potter had the tendency of ruining things 

But if the first class was any indication, finally you had a competent Defense against the Dark Arts teacher, and you were excited, despite hearing Draco talking very rudely about Lupin’s appearance.

He did look like he had been attacked by a pack of Wampuses

. . .

The rest of the week, and for the weekend you three were acting as you were guilty of committing an awful crime and everybody was suspecting you. Draco was too “angry” at you for dropping divination that he didn't even ask you what you were going to take instead. Theo and Matthew were as skittish as you, avoiding the subject altogether 

You didn’t even know how everyone else was going to react when you told them, nobody of your house had taken that class 

It wasn’t until the very next week on Monday that you had your first Muggle Studies class

“I can’t believe this is Snape’s idea of a punishment, Longbottom haven’t even noticed that Trevor was missing”, muttered Theo

You had to admit you were somewhat excited… you didn’t even know what to expect, it was a complete mystery of what was going to happen inside that classroom

“An entire year with Muggle studies”, muttered Matthew, “I bet that if we bother that professor enough, she will let us switch”

“I don’t think we should play along with that, it was a miracle they let us change and… Arithmancy and Ancient runes are full”, you muttered, “and we HAVE to take two electives”, you whispered 

That Hufflepuff girl thought you were trying to prank her when you asked her where the muggle studies classroom was.

It was in a part of the castle that you weirdly had walked through a bunch of times, but never took the time to actually tell. 

You walked into the classroom, looking everywhere with surprise in your eyes, the room was filled with… unusual things… muggle things, in the corner, there was this… round transparent object that was glowing! What was that about? they couldn’t use magic!

You then noticed that a complete silence had installed in the room and when you looked around you realized that you were being stared at by the entire class. Some of them even had their mouths wide open at the sight of the three of you

Let’s just say that you would have more luck experiencing a 31st of February than spotting a Slytherin in a Muggle studies class, let alone three, let alone Matthew Gaunt that by this point… had a certain reputation inside the school. 

In front of the class, there was a sweet looking woman, wearing what you guessed was  muggle clothing, she was wearing some school pants, bluish ones, they look so comfortable

“Is this another joke?”, she asked shakily as she saw you three coming in, “Snape is my friend you know, and I’m allowed to take points from Slytherin as well as any other teacher”, she said, she reminded you of Neville 

“Please Professor, this isn’t a mockery”, you tried to explain quickly, your new classmates looked at surprised as the teacher to see three Slytherins in there, “we really want to take this class”, you said, it wasn’t specially true but… whatever 

“You three are warned! any funny business and I will talk with Snape and have you suspended!”, she threatened, and you nodded quickly, so you went and took a seat quickly in the back of the class, and you stayed quiet the entire lesson.

“I may or may not have… pranked her several times last year”, whispered Matthew to your ear 

Even so, both Matthew and Theo were in their best behavior for the first time.

And you had to admit… it was more interesting than you thought.

[cremefrappe13]

Untitled Hope, Chapter 1

So after MUCH consideration and writing, I’ve decided to post Untitled Hope’s chapters here as well as on Wattpad and AO3. I hope you enjoy!

Chapter 1:

“Because I’ve found how unkind and cruel this world truly is…”

“Compared to what I’ve imagined and dreamed about…”

Pure Daisy Cookie hummed a sad song, occasionally letting the lyrics out as she weaved her flower crown while hiding in her treetops. She looked down to the ground, hearing a voice call out for her.

“DAISY COOKIEEEEEE!!!!”

Pure Daisy Cookie grinned her childish smile and jumped down from her position in the treetops, summoning plants to make a soft bed for her to land on, and leaves flew into the air as she landed in the soft grass.

She yelled, “COMING!” as she ran over to meet up with her friends. Her short little legs ran through the fields of grass and flowers as she met up with her friends and asked, “Where to next? Back to the Kingdom?” Gingerbrave shook his head and replied, “No! We’re going to the Pure Vanilla Kingdom, remember? The Council meeting to decide who goes to Beast-Yeast is today!’ 

Pure Daisy Cookie gasped and nodded, “Right! I completely forgot…”

Wizard Cookie spoke next, “This is a matter of extreme importance, Daisy Cookie! How could you be so abstracted?!”

When hearing the word “abstracted”, Pure Daisy Cookie looked utterly confused (imagine the surprised Pikachu face). She asked, “What’s ‘abstracted’?”. The other cookies sighed and looked towards Wizard Cookie. Chili Pepper Cookie remarked, “Hey, Pointy Hat, didn’t we agree not to use fancy words like that around the kid-whose-younger-than Custard Cookie III?” 

The banter continued as the small group of six continued to make their way, with Strawberry Cookie reassuring that the argument between Chili Pepper Cookie and Wizard Cookie was not her fault. And with that, the little group continued on their merry way to the Pure Vanilla Kingdom.

“Sooooo… are we there yet?” asked Pure Daisy Cookie. The question was followed with some replies of “nope” and “that’s the (x) number of times you’ve asked, Daisy Cookie” as they went through the Pilgrim’s Path.

Eventually, after quite a long time, they reached the portal that would take them to the floating castle of the Vanilla Kingdom.

“Wow… so this is the Vanilla Kingdom?!” exclaimed Pure Daisy Cookie, as she happily went through the portal and appeared at the iconic waffle cone gates of the Vanilla Kingdom.

“Yep! Trust me, we were excited to be here too the first time we arrived!” replied a smiling Gingerbrave. Strawberry Cookie remarked, “The place looks so different now… it’s not ruined and there’s not even a speck of debris to be seen anywhere!”

A husky voice echoed through the dark, “That’s thanks to the Raisin Villagers, I hope you’re enjoying the view,”

Black Raisin Cookie stepped out of the dark as she spoke, startling the others but only making Pure Daisy Cookie gasp in surprise and amazement.

“Wow..! You just appeared right there! How’d you do it?!”

Black Raisin Cookie was quickly overwhelmed by Pure Daisy Cookie’s small but innocent questions like, “Are those your Raisin Crows? How did you train them? What happened to your arm?”

It took the whole Brave team to calm Pure Daisy Cookie down, and along the way to the castle, Black Raisin Cookie slowly answered all of the little cookie’s questions.

And soon enough, they made it to the Solarium of Unity, where the Ancients awaited.

[grovyrosegirl]

Chapter 27: The Scrivener’s Records. III

Preview:

In a quieter corner of the campsite, where Shadowheart’s tent used to stand in those early days, patches of white, blue, and purple daisies have bloomed. Their natural display is the perfect backdrop for a small rest area Withers appears to have set up in this spot, the dirt covered by two large ornate carpets, several large plush pillows, and a wooden bench. It’s here where Gale leads Connie to sit, the two face to face, out of earshot from the rest of their former traveling companions.  “I imagine this must be quite a shock. Whatever you’re feeling, do not be afraid,” Gale begins, his voice notably softer than it had been at the table. A tender smile follows, “It’s still me. Just an…”  He gestures to his newly transformed body. With him so close, fully visible now, she can’t help but be awestruck by his new form. Every inch of silver flesh reflects the beams of moonlight that bathe them both on the warm night. Where his magic dwells, from the cracks lining his face to the glowing sigil on his chest, there’s a pulse that radiates the air around him. She thought him a statue before, and if that were so, she would credit his carving to the finest sculptor in all of Faerûn.  “...improved version,” he finishes.

[raccoonfallsharder]

Chapter 13/20+. Window Across the Galaxy [added 9/21]

girl falls first; raccoon falls harder.

When he opens his eyes and hazards a glance in Jo’s direction, she’s already facing the screens again, rereading whatever the Sovereign listing says. “Jo?” She hums a distracted sort of acknowledgement, saves the transmission, and closes out the screen with her back still to the room. Rocket feels his shoulders tense. He racks his brain, but he can’t think of a time when she hasn’t immediately turned toward the sound of his voice like a little Xandaran field-daisy searching for the sun. Which is a stupid thought to have. Of course there must’ve been times when she hadn’t responded. Nope, some shitty little part of him argues. Not even when she’d had her leg busted open and crushed in by that shitbag Ronan.She was still looking for you. Always.

Chapter XIII. Don't Wait. in which a lost sister is found and Drax grapples with the concept of sarcasm.

all aboard the angst train. the next few chapters are a lot of sad so please take care of yourselves. come back later if you need to. or message me and i'll send you a quick and more painless summary.

General summary/notes + links to recently preceding chapters behind the cut. let me know via comment, message, or ask if you'd like to be added or removed from my fanfic/headcanon/doodle taglist ♡

General Summary~

Rocket is captured by a Ravager crew hoping to get rich off the excessively large bounty on his head. Throwing a wrench in everyone’s plans is the Terran girl they hired to do some freelance assessing on a recent haul of goods they’ve seized from a Xandaran luxury liner. Oops.

let me be real with you: this fic is really about wish-fulfillment. not just the eventual smut (but that too). mostly i just want someone to be nice to my best raccoon

Chapter I. A Delicacy. in which our reluctant heroes meet atop a crate of Sovereign porn in the bowels of a Ravager ship. Chapter II. Monster For A Pet. in which one hero wrestles with his inner Groot, and the other is quite possibly a moron. Chapter III. A Kindness.in which Rocket gets in his own damn way: not for the first time, and certainly not for the last. Chapter IV. Got There First. in which our heroes obtain an arsenal and street food. Chapter V. Things No-One Has Said Before. in which one hero refuses to babysit and the other refuses to leave. Chapter VI. Two and a Half Billion Units. in which we lean into the “they were roommates” trope. Jolie has misgivings, while Rocket has fantasies - about getting rich, of course. Chapter VII. I'm Here.in which we visit Knowhere. Chapter VIII. The Care & Feeding of Human Pets. in which our heroes practice breathing and we lean into a new trope: “there was (technically) one bed.” Chapter IX. Scrapmetal and a Dream. in which we redefine homemaking. Chapter X. Thin Fucking Ice. in which our heroes get fucked. Not in the good way. Chapter XI. Let It Be. in which Xandar is saved and good lives are lost. Chapter XII. So Much It Hurts. in which we try not to fuck up the vibes. Chapter XIII. Don’t Wait. in which a lost sister is found and Drax grapples with the concept of sarcasm. Coming Soon: Chapter XIV. Exactly Like a Flower. in which comfort is shared.

slight AU starting pre-GOTG volume 1 (but will hit most of the same major plot points). slooowww burn + eventual smut with a lot of pining in the middle. kinda enemies-to-lovers? (but only one of these idiots thinks they're enemies). elements of hurt/comfort because rocket is the saddest-angriest boy. rating will go up and tags will be added to as needed.

@evolvingchaoswitch ♡ @wren-phoenix ♡ @pretty-chips ♡ @suicidalshitstick

[y3nze1]

𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘 𝐌𝐄 𝐀 𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐆, 𝐑𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐎 𝐌𝐀𝐍 | c.8

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬: I / II / III / Navi

𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: hiii pookies! Chaz here, how we doin?!?!!? good? good. here's chapter 8 for yah. writings kinda different cause I'm writing. shh. don't complain /j. bit bear with me on this one yall! like yen, HAPPY READINGS!

"Come in!" called Loralie from inside the store, wiping off the counter as the sound of a bell rung, the two people walking inside the store. she smiled widely. "Ah it's you two! come in, come in. what can i get for you today? some hotcakes? muffins? the usual?"

"black coffee, Lor, and for niftt-" husk was cut off by niffty as she looked through the glass of treats and sweets. "Salmon mousse Canapés! i'd like to try something new" the girl giggled happily, continuing on to look through the glass. "well, uh.. i guess that's for hers.

Loralie smiles and nods, scribbling down the orders. "Alright, one black coffees and a salmon mousse canapé. That'll be ready in a few minutes. You two are welcome to sit down while you wait.." She gestures to a nearby table as she gets started on the order. "any gossip today? nif?" Loralie turned to niftty after handing out the order to her co-worker.

"no.. not much, well.. Al has quite focused on his broadcast nowadays, i mean it's not new but, I'm pretty sure he's still looking out for that 'Daisy' girl" Niftty spoke, walking over to the side of the counter. "Daisy.. Huh?.." Loralie grinned, packing up the orders slowly as she listened in. "Yeah!.. daisy, the one that always calls his station.. I heard he asked her out on a date but she didn't come!" Husk appeared behind niftty as she spoke. "That was actually true, That dumbass came to my bar the other week, complaining about his fucking love life" Husk groaned, rolling his eyes, grabbing the order from Loralie.

"i think i know a thing or two about.. Daisy" Loralie grinned, leaning over the counter to tell the two, in which they listened.

ೀ.ᐟ⭒๋࣭

"And then!- Y/n was so worried to face you that day so she didn't went as daisy which is kind of an idiotic move for me, but then you spent the night with her at the park. so you technically did go on a date with daisy but technically didn't because y/n is daisy, and daisy is y/n, also made me wonder wh-" husk pressed a hand over niftty's mouth, sighing. "he gets the idea, nif.."

the two looked at Alastor who has a slightly shocked reaction on his face. sitting blankly on his desk as muffled songs played in the background. "i don't.. know if i should be angry.. or.. anxious.. or glad.." he looked at his feet, running fingers through his hair as he sighed deeply. "Al, Sorry you had to find out this way... i mean- it would have been more meaningful if you know.. it came from her." niftty approached Alastor along with Husk beside her, she softly place a hand on his shoulder.

Alastor leaned back at his chair, closing his eyes as he huffed deeply. Alastor lets out a deep sigh, running a hand through his hair once as he tries to process what he's just learned. He feels a mix of emotions coursing through him - anger, hurt, confusion, but also a strange sense of calmness. He looks up at Niffty and Husk, his eyes full of a deep sadness.

"I understand why y/n did what she did, but I can't help but feel betrayed," he says, his voice heavy with emotion. "She knew how I felt about her, how much I cared for her, and yet she chose to deceive me in this way." He shakes his head, looking down at his desk again. "I don't know how I'm supposed to feel right now.. i think i need to be alone for a moment.." the two nodded at his words, leaving his room for him to contemplate for a moment.

He sat silently, playing another song for his audience. he softly chuckled at the mishap. "Daisy.. daisy.." he repeated. after a few moments, the song slowly ended, the telephone rang. in an instant he picked it up. "Good Afternoon again, Alastor" Alastor grinned, leaning back on his chair. "Good Afternoon to you too.. Ms. Daisy, the usual songs, i sense?" He chuckled. Playing her requested song. after that, he stopped speaking over the mic, talking to her personality, he spoke once more. "Could i perhaps.. I don't know.. maybe ask you out, Ms. Daisy?.."

ೀ.ᐟ⭒๋࣭

Alastor waited at the same park, spending the same hours as he did, waiting for 'Daisy', till then, he felt a presence of someone sitting next to him. "Hello.. Alastor, How are you tonight, Still waiting for.. Daisy?" He turned to look at you, his smile widened, playing along. "Unfortunately.. Yes"

Alastor chuckles, feeling a warm sensation in his chest as he looks at you. "Well, it seems that Ms. Daisy has decided to let me down again tonight. But that just means that I'll be able to enjoy the company of someone else." He turned to look at you once again. his eyes staring at you deeply. you let out a soft chuckle at his words. "So, Y/n, My Dear. What are you doing here in the park anyway?" he softly spoke.

"Just wanted to take a quick stroll, the night is quite lovely, isn't it?" He nodded, Alastor smiled, looking deep into your eyes as he spoke. "Yes, it is a lovely night. And yet, somehow I feel as though there's something missing." He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I suppose the lack of Daisy is a little bit of a damper." He placed a hand over yours. "Either way, i shouldn't be sorrowful, it's a wonderous, that shouldn't be wasted, don't you think? Now, Would you do me the honor of being my company for the night?" he held out his hand.

ೀ.ᐟ⭒๋࣭

"You're really fucked up, Al.." Husk walked over to him. standing beside Alastor as he looked at the other side of the lake. Smiling, the wind flowed. as he chuckled. "Say what you want, palx he shrugged. leaning against the railing of the balcony.

"A goddamn house?.. are you serious? just to see her apartment?" Husk rubbed his temple. "All for a fucking girl?" he groaned turning to Alastor.

"A girl I care for very deeply," Alastor replies, his voice slightly raised. He stands up, towering over Husk as he glares down at him. "A girl who I would do anything for," he continues, his voice growing more emotional as he speaks. "And if I want to spend a few nights in this house just to see her place right before me while i open my eyes, then that's exactly what I'll do." He gripped at the railings, staring at lights of your apartment.

"I'd climb the highest mountain if she wanted me to, swim the deepest trenches if she pleases, take a shot through the heart if she asks me to." he smiled to himself. staring down at the flowing water.

"I'll stand by her whenever i can, suffer in the distance in sakes to keep her happy. more than anything. I'll be there, even if she doesn't know i am, I'll be glad that i was.. in the moment, just right behind her."

Husk nodded, staring in the distance too, lighting a cigarette, placing it on his mouth as he did so. taking a puff. Alastor smiled, his eyes closing as he listened to the sound of water hitting the shore. He took a deep breath, feeling a sense of calmness wash over him. "You are a great person, Husk," he said, opening his eyes and turning to look at him. "You may not understand why I do what I do, but you are still there to support me, and I appreciate that more than you could ever know." He reached out and placed a hand on Husk's shoulder, squeezing it softly.

"Hey, what ever fucked up thing you got over your head. I'm still here.. I'm stuck with ya anyway" he chuckled, taking another hit of his cigarette. Alastor turned to look at your apartment. "Hey Husker, do you want to come with tomorrow?" Husk raised a brow. "What for?"

"I'd like to go on a quick.. shopping" He smiled. chuckling softly as looked at you apartment once more.