#I miss the streets and forests that I know like the back of my hand

[hyukascampfire]

𝑯EART 𝑊ORM ⸺ hueningkai ℘˒´ˎ˗

  ⨾𓍢ִ໋ ˒˒ 𝚑𝔢art𝚠𝔬rm

[𝑛]. a relationship or friendship that you can't get out of your head, which you thought had faded long ago but is still somehow alive and unfinished, like an abandoned campsite whose smoldering embers still have the power to start a forest fire.

⸺ listen to the playlist .ᐟ ‧˚

〝﹙ 📼 ﹚“I was just... wondering,” you say, blood roaring. "Well, Yeonjun wants me to come over to his place this weekend, and... I’ve never...” Sucking in a quick breath, you just spit it out to get it over with, “Would you be my first kiss, Kai?”  ˛ ､､

wc ➛ 17.9k

𝔭airings childhood bsf!kai x reader (lowkey soulmates?) ⤷ ft. asshole!yeonjun x reader

𝒢 ‎; smut ˒ angst ˒ some fantasy

𝔴arnings angst, family issues, fingering, jealousy (i’m sorry i just love ts), yeonjun really is an asshole, orgasm denial, thigh fucking, unprotected sex (they're stupid!), strength kink a lil bit, breeding kink, possessiveness, creampie, choking... i think that's all, lmk if i missed any

✎୭ ashlynn's note omg. this was such a fun palate cleanser to write. this wasn't supposed to be as big as it is, but it just kept getting bigger and bigger, and i got super into the story. this kai is SOOOO!! yeah. i’m so nervous posting this because i’ve only ever posted TSFAWC, but…. here you areee (^^;; this is not proofread, so if you see a mistake... give me a sec. i'll get to it. hehe

Though you fan your hand furiously over your face, the little breezes washing over your clammy skin are not enough. The air is thick and heavy with summer’s heat. So thick that you almost feel it each time you swallow. It’s better than just letting yourself melt away, though. The cushion at your back doesn’t help much. It holds your warmth and returns it to you the longer you sit slumped back into it. You suffer it though—you’ve gone too sluggish to move.  

You let a leg dangle over the arm of a chair, watching a hopeful moth dance in the light of the buzzing porch light overhead. It flutters frantically in it, making a grand fight to reach that false moonlight, only to drop away when it realizes that it’s being burnt. You watch it rinse and repeat, relentless and sure, for who knows how long. It’s no special moth—no luna moth or the ones with the pretty pink wings—but the light falls down on it and colors it a pleasant stardust silver.  

You delight in letting your conscious brain turn off to watch it. It lets you forget the sweltering under your skin, and also that Kai had drug you out here. His dad gives him shit when he plays inside, but it’s way too hot to be out here. Isn’t it supposed to cool off after the sun goes down? It doesn’t feel like it. The deep acoustics are drowned out each time a car whirrs by. Playing outside should be the best option, but you and Kai live right on a busy road.  

When the roar of some car going ten miles over the speed limit doesn’t obscure his playing, though, you admire the intricacy of it. His fingers work up and down the neck, jumping frets that you imagine would be impossible to anybody without those long fingers of his. You had always been a loud supporter of his playing, even way back when the most he could play were simple chords, but you became especially so when a few years back he put a guitar in your hands and tried teaching you. Even with his fingers guiding yours, it was quick to learn that the effortlessness with which Kai handles the instrument is hard earned.  

He practices on the acoustic guitar, but that’s not his domain. With houses just a dash across the street from each other, Kai had grown up at your home more than he had at his own. So vividly, you remember the stars in his eyes when he’d listen to your dad’s music. Metallica, The Smashing Pumpkins, Linkin Park, any of it. He had fallen in love with it a long time ago. Your whole life you knew that it was only a matter of time before he was in his own band, chasing his dreams with a boundless mind and an indelible vision of himself on stage. How had that time come so soon, though? You don’t know if the notebooks full of inky lyrics that live wherever he deems inspiration might hit him make you proud or nervous. He’s making good on his dazzling aspirations, and you? 

You speak finally into the air, cutting through heat waves and his music and the night. “Isn’t it weird that we’re not going back to school after this summer?” 

He doesn’t have to even stop playing to answer you. Playing comes to him as a second nature. “Kinda,” he answers, brown eyes flitting up to you. “But it’s not like you won’t be back to it in September. College is the same shit.” 

The leg you’d been dangling and bouncing pauses. That’s right; you’re supposed to be going to that college you’d chosen because it was only a three-hour drive away from here. You pluck at the seat’s threadbare fabric, and the moth, still there, becomes oh-so-interesting once again. When his playing stops, you drop your head back with a cushioned thud and a groan that you wrangle in your throat. 

“Why are you acting like that?” he says, voice gone sharp like accusation. He doesn’t even know the truth, but he’s known you too long.

Can’t you just keep secrets for yourself, sometimes?

Kai, arms clad in a well-loved hoodie even in this dreadful weather, lays the guitar down. You maintain your silence. “Seriously, what?” 

Some secrets have timers, though. This one could only last you until about September, or even August when he realizes that you’re not preparing to return to school. A controlled sigh from your chest isn’t enough to soothe the nerves that sparks. “Nothing.” 

“Secrets, huh?” Kai says. When you do finally look to him, black spikes of hair frame his eyes and the accusation in them. 

It’s a simple poke, but it gets under your skin as sharp as any thorn might. It’s not like you don’t keep secrets from him, and you’re sure he keeps some from you too. But those are the little kinds, the inconsequential ones—like I ate already when asked why you’re not eating or like Yeah, I’m fine when it’s been a bad day. You don’t hide this kind of stuff from each other. Usually, you’d run over to his place to tell him whatever’s bothering you. Why not, when he’s known even the worst details of your life for almost the entirety of it? You’ve been holding this one close to your chest since somewhere around the end of senior year, though. The longer you let it fester, the worse your nervousness snowballs. “C’mon, Kai. Let’s not do this. Can you keep playing?” 

He doesn’t like that, of course. But you watch recognition dawn over his chocolate brown eyes, helpless to stop it. “You’re not going,” he says. It’s not a question nor a suspicion, it’s a bone-dry fact.  

Well. There that goes. You want to tear every hair on your head right out. Why had you even thought you’d keep him in the dark about it? When he’s not out in some garage making music, you two are together. The conversation was going to stroll by at some point; this was only inevitable. His disappointment radiates off him in waves and blisters you. He hasn’t even said anything yet, but you know exactly what he thinks of it. It’s why you kept it from him in the first place.  

Your silence is enough confirmation for him. “Why?” he says. “I thought you were excited to move out.” 

Wincing, you nod slowly. You were. Even went through the whole application process, along with most other kids your age. Ultimately, you never went through with declaring a college. You don’t exactly know why, but somewhere weaseled down in the shadowy recesses of your soul, you know. Taking those steps, the massive and terrifying ones from adolescence into adulthood, meant agreeing that this form of your life was over. It meant that at some point, you’d be moving away from here to where living your days away in Kai’s room would not be a choice. Everybody has to do it eventually, you know that. Kai’s music gig could take off any day, too. He’s going to make it happen. And then what? All this stalling and wishing on just a bit more time would mean nothing, he’d be off and chasing that dream. As excited as you are for it to finally become reality for him, there’s a nasty bitterness that’s budded in your chest, infecting your person.  

Can’t things just stay like this? 

“I was,” you say. It comes out of your mouth heavy.  

“Then why aren’t you going?” he says. Crickets, never seen but always heard, sing their song into the night’s darkness. “You didn’t get rejected. You’re too smart for that.” 

An ache sits heavily somewhere near the center of your chest, maybe over your heart. All those good grades, nights spent bent over a desk and AP paperwork—you’re wasting it. You shake your head. “No... just...” It’s an effort to dress your thoughts in a way that might appease him. A quiet moment stretches with your thinking before you continue, “I don’t know what I want to do.” 

He doesn’t like that, the yellow wash of the overhead light dancing over his taut lips and hard eyes. “Don’t know what you want to do?” he says, bringing his legs up onto the seat to crisscross them. He wears his favorite jeans. They’re heel-bitten and baggy enough over his legs that he can wear them around the house without any bother. “You’ve wanted to be an artist your whole life. You know exactly what you want to do.” 

Your chest only seems to ache harder. When the both of you were only young and hopeful, you both had big dreams. Kai was going to be the face of a metal band, and you were going to be an artist. A painter, potter, sculptor, even doing animation for those big companies like Dreamworks and Disney. You wanted any of it, just as long as you were doing art. You’d even promised him that you’d do the cover art for his albums with interlocked pinkies and flushed, hopeful cheeks. That passion and love wasn’t gone from you, it blazed strong in your veins. This blaze wasn’t the kind that kept you warm and excited to push forward into life, though. It had morphed into something that scalded you when you got too close or started imagining yourself pursuing its call. It’s a taunting silvery glow, no longer a guiding north star. Taunting words of family members stamped down on that hope hard. When you were little, it was said lighthearted and in passing. The older you got, though, the more serious their faces became. They wouldn’t say it outright perhaps, but you hear what they think well enough. Art is a dead-end career.  

Shifting in your seat, you tell him, “I don’t know.” 

“What do you mean?” Kai says. “There are good colleges for that.” 

“I just... don’t know.” 

Shaking his head, he tells you, “But you love it.” 

You do. In its every form, you love creating. But loving it doesn’t mean that it’s right for you, or that you should trust your future in its hands. “I think I can do it in my own time,” you say, finally pushing yourself upright from the cushion. “Don’t wanna kill the passion by doing it for a living, you know?” 

He thinks on that for a moment. “If you love it, you should do it,” he says. 

An awful frustration bubbles in your chest. Kai has always had a clear life path, the steps ahead of him set in stone and waiting for him to follow in them. It’s hard for him to see why you might not want to do the same. There’s nothing that makes you as happy as the fact that he has it all figured out, that he knows just where he’s going and that he’s so incredible at it that he doesn’t have to worry about meeting the requirements, but your path seems obscured and untrodden. Punctuating a deep, resonant sigh, you say, “It’s not that easy, Kai.” 

“If you’re not doing that, then what are you going to do? Are you just going to settle for a nine-to-five?” he says full of accusation, the tapping on his knees gone still.  

A dry laugh, you say, “Maybe I’ll marry a super rich guy and just do my art for a living. No nine-to-five.” 

His face flashes. He’d always been a bit reserved, especially around others, but he bared his emotions freely around you. You hold them dearly to your chest and made sure to do your best to make good on that trust. He says, “You’re more than some guy’s housewife.” 

Cheeks radiating in the heat, you snort. “I know, dork. I’m a rockstar’s best friend. It’s my personal favorite achievement.”  

His face sours when you reach out and pinch hard at his cheek, but he doesn’t pull away or brush you off. The skin there is warmed and clammy. Really, the two of you should go meet the cool AC inside before you suffer heat stroke. But this moment feels so nice—your shoulders feel tons lighter without something to hide. If you had it your way, things would stay like this forever. Just the two of you, sat here like you have so many times before, just taking for granted the time you’ve got together.  

His mouth opens to banter, probably something about how he’s not a rockstar yet or to get you back for calling him a dork. Wingbeat and sterling dashes about your face send the image into a blur, though. You’re a quick mess of limbs and a whipping head, as if it’ll chase the thing away from you. 

“Seriously?” Kai says. You’d climbed halfway over him, elbows digging into him and knee doing a number on his thigh. “It’s a moth. You’re not scared of moths.” 

Lingering for a few moments later to ensure the flying thing was nowhere on you or around you, you hold back a laugh before you climb off him and fix your hair with undignified tucks behind your ears. “He was in my face,” you say around a laugh, because you know it was a bit too much. Nobody likes wings in their ears and spindly legs in their face, though, and you’re in no control of what you do when anything with six legs tries and get too friendly. Even moths.  

“You just wanted me to protect you,” he says. A sarcastic, shit-eating smile tugs at the corners of his mouth.  

“Oh,” you scoff, batting your eyelashes and clasping your hands together all saccharine-sweet. “Yes, Romeo, won’t you kill that bug for me? This girl’s heart just can’t take it!” 

Kai’s nose crinkles, and the playful light twists into a glare. “Nasty.” 

“That’s how you sounded,” you say. “I only reacted accordingly.” Laughing, you kick your legs out over his lap and sprawl back out. He takes the guitar back into his hands. 

As much as you want to escape the mugginess, you’ll survive it for just a little while longer—if only with the force of an indulgent heart. The eternal moments are those you allow to linger.  

⚝⭒ 

Some things, you forget when you’re older. Maybe it’s time’s hand, eroding memories down and stuffing more in the longer you live to experience them. But also maybe because they’re the sort of things you can’t say in the adult world without a laugh in the face and a look from down their noses.  

This memory is one of those forgotten things. It’s moth-bitten and dusty, something you one day folded up in a moving box and decided to never revisit. 

You’d been down at the creek. Kai and you had spent so many summer days there. It wasn’t too far from home, just past the filbert trees and into the shallow neck of the backwoods, but there you were out of sight and free to get up to nothing good. It was a wonder your mom ever let you do it. Kai’s dad didn’t care too much where he went or what he did, but your mom dug her claws in deep. You like to think that she imagined you two would have each other, if anything ever happened. 

Usually, you’d be there holding your jeans up from the stream and Kai would be letting his jeans go dark with it. The bite of water was nice as it washed over warm skin. Fun was a simple thing to find, then. You dug your fingers into the mudbanks and tossed stones way too big to be throwing at each other, just because you two remembered how much the adults hated it when you did. Then, you’d drag tired limbs home avoiding sweetgum tree spikes that had fallen to the ground and dug splinters out from your feet.  

This day, you had been in the blackberry bushes. It was maybe late July or early August, and they’d gotten heavy on their branches. You’d waited until the smell of them, summer-warmed, was sweet and cloying in the air to pick them. With buckets in your hands, you plucked only the fattest berries from their bunches. Your fingers were stained a delightful purple and perhaps a bit thorn raw, but you didn’t mind much then. You plucked for hours, and it was dusk before you could catch it. Dinner was no doubt waiting for you back home. 

“There’s a bunch over here,” Kai had said. He reached a long boyish arm, still awkward and lanky with puberty, up high for ripe bush. You finished off picking before climbing around thick branches sticking out to take a peek. A bunch, there was. 

When you went to drop a handful of them into your bucket, Kai hissed. He’d been snagged by a vicious looking branch, those ones as thick as a finger with thorns to match and you’d warn each other tongue-in-cheek to watch out for that one. He’d worn those ridiculous shorts that day, the ones that looked half pants half shorts with how long and baggy they were, and the claws of the bush had jumped at the opportunity. At first the scrapes were white, but then red blood crawled out and down his leg.  

“Kai,” you said, some parts chiding and some parts just wondering how he’d managed that. You surveyed his leg for a bit, and then determined that he should wash his leg off in the stream. He walked there strong, but of course you noticed the hobble beneath his acting. When you squatted down into the dry grass and cupped water to wash off his leg, you laughed. 

“What?” he had said, holding the shorts up. You covered your laugh with a hand, but it erupted past your palm. You remember the glare on his face very well.  

You still laughed. “You’re stupid,” you had told him. 

“I didn’t see it,” he said. “I tripped over it because it was sticking out.” 

That time when you brought your hands to catch some water, there was a twinkle in its surface. You didn’t notice it for a second. The creek moved fast and you could see a lot of things in its reflection. When it lingered, that’s when your brows furrowed. It seemed to twirl, dancing around like alive over the stones. 

The sound of Kai’s voice remains with you. “Hey,” he had said, strong to call your attention but also wavered with uncertainty. 

When you looked up, there was silver dust dancing around you. 

It was fluffy and whorling, fine silver stardust. It’d moved weightless in the air, as though it barely existed. In the center of it were a few moths. They seemed to be made of sterling powder just as the dust was, and they glowed against dusk’s backdrop. If your memory serves you right, there had been a sweet hymn of coos from them. They beckoned you. Summer’s heat felt lighter, and so did your chest. You wondered where they had wanted you to go. 

Almost afraid that if you spoke they might have fluttered away, you whispered soft and low to Kai. “What is that?” He was stood frozen there, pant leg still scrunched up in his fist. Stardust glowed soft in his brown eyes while he took it all in, you remember. It wasn’t a scared frozen. You weren’t scared, either—rather, it was as if that lightness had found its way into the core of your being and brushed over it with mending hands. 

He whispered back, “I don’t know.” How could he have known? It was absurd. 

Those whisps had beckoned you, flowing toward the deeper woods. The soft moths, their murmuring brushing up against your ears, seemed to wait for you to follow. You remember a pull, soft tendrils wrapping themselves around your heart and the yearning it planted there.  

But there was also this reluctance, a bone-deep answering that had told you: No. You’re not ready. 

“Kai, I wanna go,” you told him. 

You didn’t even need to tell him twice. Berry buckets forgotten; the journey home was a stranger one. When your dad asked why you returned from berry picking emptier handed than you had left the house, Kai and you only shared a look. You pair kept that evening at the creek hidden so well that it became more forgotten than shared secret.  

⚝⭒ 

Once, you had been the type of girl that loved being around family. Some of your favorite days of your life were spent in this living room, T.V. roaring over bouncing conversation. Some of those nights ended in rosy cheeks and laughs, and some ended with words thrown angry like fireworks. You never knew which you’d be getting, but you endured the fear of not knowing because it was a simple love—the basic kind built with biology into you the moment your infant skin touched your mother’s. You endured it because eventually, sleep washed away the bad taste left in your mouth and you forgave them quick, sometimes quicker than you ought to, and things would go on as if it hadn’t even happened. You endured it because you could handle its burden, if only to feel the warmth you feel when it’s a good day.  

Kai was always there—his dad was hardly home, so he found family in yours. When you were younger, you’d been embarrassed he was there for caustic, spitted words and intimate fights. Now, you’re just grateful for his shoulder.  

So, yes. Once, you had loved being around your family. But things feel tenser now, nights spent all together less frequent and when they do happen, they’re tainted by a strange air. You think that this strangeness is new, but an awful worry also makes you think that it’d always been there, that you only feel it now because you’ve grown into your adult mind. A hollow ache stakes its claim in your chest, declaring that it won’t leave until you find that youthful ignorance and joy once more. You think that it might stay there forever. 

Bare feet bounding down the stairs, you make a rare appearance downstairs. The cupboard is only half open to make way for a snack raid before your mom’s voice cuts through the air. You know quickly just by the look on her face that you should’ve stayed upstairs. 

“Hey,” she says, gathering laundry into a basket. “You’ve been applying to jobs?” 

With an anxious belly, you tell her, “Yeah. A few. They’re not really, like, ideal, but I sent applications.” You don’t remember when it got hard to look into your mother’s eyes, but you can’t bring yourself to do so now.  

“Not ideal?” she says. “It’s not like you can be picky. Mcdonalds or wherever, I don’t care, you’re going to need to get a job if you’re staying here.” 

“I know. I applied,” you reiterate around a mumble. You close the cabinets, not so interested in a snack anymore. “I just... I don’t know, ma. I don’t want to do that for a living, going between those sorts of jobs.” 

Face hard and abrasive against the truth you bare, she does that awful taunting smile that makes you feel small. Stupid. “You’re not going to college, so that’s what it’s gonna be. You can’t sit up there and draw for a living. You’ve gotta get into the real world, get some real experience.”  

There’s a burst of hurt in your chest, dazzling and gnawing. She’s getting closer to saying how she really feels about your dreams out loud every day. Your face burns and so do your eyes, knot thick in your throat. “Yeah, okay. Got it,” you say, nodding. You’re at the front door before you even know it, slipping on shoes and fighting the greatest internal battle to will back tears. She’d use those against you, no doubt about it. “I’m going to Kai’s,” you throw over your shoulder.  

Whatever she barks back at you, you’re glad you don’t hear. Bells on some old Christmas decoration hung on the door that had yet to be taken down, even into summer, jingle and wash it away for you. 

Kai’s brows shoot up when he opens the door to your face crumpling. You’d done so well at damming it up, but the wall cracks and the water crashes through once you see him. If it were anybody else, you’d feel icky and attention seeking, but you’d held Kai to your chest through gut-wrenching sobs as much as he’s done it for you. Without question, he takes you into his arms, warm hand running up and down your back. The warm soothing is so familiar. You melt right into it.  

He keeps you there for a long moment. Then, his chest rumbles as he tells you, “Come on.” The walk through the AC to his bedroom is nice. Having a house like Kai’s to come to where it can just be you is nice, too. You step around the mess of clothes and scattered belongings on his floor like you have a muscle-memory roadmap of his room. Boxsprings creak and hard mattress welcome you back home. His room is dark as always, a night-dweller you call him. The array of peeling band posters plastered over walls you two had painted blue some years ago, when it’d been his favorite color, don’t help to lighten it up. He keeps a low lamplight on.  

“She never listens to me,” you say, crying gone to occasional sniffles from your chest. You rest your cheek on your bent knee. 

“I know,” he says. “But at least she cares about you. Pays attention to you.” His voice is soft and deep and right next to you. Always right next to you, there for you even when you might not appreciate it as you should.  

His dad cares too little what he does, and yours care too much. The grass is always greener on the other side, you know it. Still, you hold a fantasy where you’re able to do teenager stuff. Where you’d allow yourself to do bad things, because you weren’t so intent on painting yourself with their will. You two hold eyes for a long moment, your twinkling ones caught in that steady brown. “I just want to get away. Be my own person.” Your words are muffled in the softness of your skin. 

“You had the chance to do it,” Kai says, hand playing with your fingers. “But you didn’t.” 

Holding your legs closer, you lick your lips. What do you say to that? Would it ever be the time to tell him that you did it because you think that your soul is pathetically intertwined with his, and that it might snuff your lifeforce out to even try pursuing life without him? Without this? How do you tell him that you’re so frozen and unwilling to pursue any sort of future because it means accepting that this chapter is over? You clutch childhood to your chest like a wild animal guarding scarce food; you refuse. You refuse to acknowledge its end.  

“Kai,” is all you say, trembled and thick. It’s not just your mother’s words that dig at you and tear to shreds the last bits of what dreaming you had left in you, but so many other reality checks too. This isn’t the first time you’ve heard those sorts of words, urging you forward. You can only dig your heel into the ground for so long before you’re swept away in time’s ruthless, endless moving.  

He understands. Lifting your face with warm fingers against your cheeks, he says, “Hey. How about we go get ice cream, or something?” 

Ice cream does sound nice. “Dairy Queen?” 

Smirk tugged over his mouth, he says, “Yes, Dairy Queen. A blizzard. C’mon, let’s go.” Sliding off the bed, he offers you an urging hand up. 

But you falter. “I don’t know if we can. She’s mad at me. I don’t think she’ll let me go.” 

“Let you go?” he says, eyes narrowed. “She doesn’t have to let you go. You’re an adult now, you go if you want to.” He offers his hand to you again. 

It’s so him, freely going wherever he ordain it. The bullheadedness is very him, as well. Always the devil on your shoulder, he was the root of any rebellious thing you’ve ever done. He could never understand your apprehension, or why getting in trouble was such an awful thing to you. “I have to ask to get money.” 

Brows pinching, he says, “You think I’m not gonna pay for you? You don’t need them to give you money, I’ll pay. I’ll take care of it.” He drags you up from the bed this time. “Live a little. Do you want to go?” 

It was never the punishments or the getting in trouble that you were scared of, though. Disappointment was a scarier word than grounded. Sneaking out and those sorts of things, it’s not like you had angel wings at your back and never considered them. It’s that you are deeply, utterly terrified of changing how they look at you. You begin to tell him, “I do, but—” 

He cuts you off, adamant. “Then do it. Let’s go. If you want to go, then go,” he says. “At some point, your life needs to become your own. It’s not sneaking out when you’re graduated and eighteen years old, it’s going wherever the hell you want. You’ve... You’re gonna end up stuck here, in this town, forever. You don’t deserve that.” 

That sounds like both the best and the worst thing you’ve ever heard. You take his hand.  

⚝⭒ 

Your frozen fingers nurse your ice cream. The cup itself is cold, but the Dairy Queen on your side of town is always thirty degrees below what it should be. It’d always been that way. Even way back when you two couldn’t drive, you’d get dropped off here to escape the melting weather and get a frozen treat with a handful of dollars. Each time, you’d start off sagging with the relief of summer’s weight off your shoulders and left the place shivering and sugar-mouthed.  

It’s really only you two in here. You crinkle your nose when he takes a spoonful. “Out of all the flavors...” 

Unbothered and no doubt expecting you to say it, he offers you a flat, “You get your flavor, I get mine.” He makes a point of taking an extra-long bite. His lips linger around the red plastic of the spoon and his brows rest high in silent challenge.  

The corners of your lips twitch up. “Hmm. Well. I just have a hard time believing that Oreo... or, like, brownie fudge, is right there, and you actually want M&M. I don’t get how M&M your favorite.” A familiar banter falls over your tongues. Your heart buzzes and your cheeks radiate. This is the first you’ve done this all summer, and it’ll be weaning off into fall soon. Any other summer, you would’ve been here on all the hottest days. You hate that Kai’s been so busy with his music; you hate that you can hear the resounding ticks of the clock counting down your time. You also hate that the stubborn depths of you still believe that if you freeze yourself here in stasis that the world will relent and stop along with you. 

You look over the sharp lines of Kai’s jawline as it feathers with his chewing, and the broadness of his shoulders where his jacket stretches around it, and the starkness of his collarbones against his chest and the bobbing of his adam’s apple when he swallows. No, time doesn’t stop. Some of him remains the same, though. In it, you see the boy that had love creeping up on you so long ago, with all its aching and all its hope. That freckle on the column of his neck, the bump in his nose leading down to the button tip that beckons your lips to steal a quick kiss.  

And, those lips. They’re as soft as ever around the discontented grimace he pulls. “M&M isn’t my favorite.” 

With a pursed mouth and patronizing brows arched over your eyes, you say, “Oh, huh. That’s funny, because if my memory serves me right, it’s the only flavor you’ve ordered for the past... six years.”  

Kai husks a laugh at that. “That’s because they haven’t had my favorite for years,” he tells you, scooping up the final bit and then pushing it off to the side. “It was a blizzard of the month that they discontinued. The blackberry cheesecake one. I made peace with it, though. It lives on in my heart.” He grins, arms crossed over his chest and his back settled into the booth seat to let you finish your cup.  

“Blackberry cheesecake,” you say, voice made taunting. Your nod is slow and taunting, too. “Well, forget M&Ms.Why would blackberry cheesecake be your favorite? Ever?” 

His face falters, a moment where something flows over his eyes as if reliving a memory in a few short seconds. Then, he shrugs. “It just is.” 

You roll your eyes. “Whatever,” you laugh. “Maybe my palate is unrefined.” Imagining the tarte fruit in purple swirls of ice cream, you’re taken back to a humid July day and the scent of churned mud.  

The strange memory unfolds itself quick. As if it were waiting for you to find wherever it’d hidden itself away. With a sharp gasp, you say, “Oh my god, Kai. Do you remember that one day? That weird stuff we saw down at the creek?” 

He nods. “Yeah. I was just thinking of that the other day, actually...” 

Less interested in finishing your cup now, you let the spoon rest. “What?” you say, the word peaking in the middle. That day hadn’t crossed your mind once since it’d happened. “How weird is that?” 

Scoffing a laugh, he says, “Weird, yeah. Just as strange as two kids high on fermented berries.” 

That draws a breathy laugh from you. “Is that what you think it was?” you ask him with knitted brows. The berries had been fresh, and you two had popped plenty into your mouth. But no doubt, you’d have spat them right back out if they were that ripe. “I mean, we saw the same thing.” 

“It happens to animals all the time. Squirrells, and stuff.” He lends you a gallic shrug. “We just freaked ourselves out. Like that one time you said you saw the shape of something in the dark and we freaked out. And it was clothes.”  

Well, hallucinating, in tandem, a glowing mist because you two by chance ate fermented berries is a very long shot. However nonchalant he acts about it, he seems to have thought long and hard about it. Enough to reason it away with some far cry explanation. Would you have even been able to get drunk off a handful of fermented berries? And, god, you’re really sure that you’d have noticed. That taste isn’t really one you just don’t notice.  

Whatever. Maybe you were just drunk idiots. That’s a lot easier to swallow, anyway. 

“Okay, but you saw that. Did it not look sinister?” you say. With your spoon back in your hand, you punctuate the sentence pointing it at him. “You freaked out with me, too.”  

An unsatisfied scowl on his lips, he steals a spoonful of your dessert. You don’t even swat him away—your phone buzzes in your pocket. 

Catching sight of who’s calling, you share a long look with Kai. It’s funny, how fast those three white letters scramble you up. When you hesitate to answer, Kai tells you, “Answer.” 

You hope she can’t tell you’re not at Kai’s by the refrigerators’ dull buzzing. It’s an effort to tussle that invasive worry back. You’re at Dairy Queen. Getting ice cream with the boy she’s known since childhood. She should clutch her hands and thank the sky that you’re here, not out in some nasty frat house like you could be. You thumb the green button. 

Her voice comes through the speaker crackled and asking you to run over to do a quick dish load. For a heartbeat you consider telling her that you will and then start rushing home. Instead, you fork out the truth through resistant lips. 

The hangup tone sits heavy on the air between you and Kai. Having listened to the whole thing on speaker, he says, “What was so hard about that? The world didn’t end, did it?” 

The plush of your lip takes a hard gnawing. No, it hadn’t. “I know she’s not going to get mad at me for just going here,” you say as you rest your elbows onto the table. “It’s that they’re supporting me right now. I still live under their roof. The more I go around and insist I can do whatever I want, they’ll start reminding me of it.” 

His face drawn, he lets his mouth twitch to one side. “Yeah,” he muses. “I never thought yours would be the type to kick you out.” 

Kai’s dad had started threating him with getting kicked out years ago, when he first started telling him that he wanted to do music. How many times had he let reluctant tears flow into your shoulder over it? Because music wasn’t a real job? Back then, you’d whispered in his ears that he’d become everything he’d dreamed of and more as your fingers carded through shaggy locks of hair.  

“I don’t know,” you say, humming it out noncommittally. “Is your dad still... y’know?” 

Nodding slowly, his eyes tell. “Yeah. Always.” 

“Because you’re taking the band seriously, now?” you ask.  

“Probably. I don’t give a shit what he thinks about it. If I’m just his goddamn problem, I’ll give him what he wants soon enough.” His eyes blaze with promise of it.  

It takes a bit out of you to not wince. Kai living anywhere but in the house across from yours is wrong. “I don’t think he necessarily wants that, Kai...” You take his hand in your icy ones, the urge to reach out to him thinly veiled under the guise of searching out warmth. He’d always run warmer than you—your personal heater. “It’s probably because he can see that you’re doing it for real. Not just saying it anymore.” 

“Yeah, well,” he spits, “I can’t fucking wait to see what he’ll say to me when I make it. That piece of shit, though, he wouldn’t even care. It’s not like he ever gave a shit about me enough for it to matter.” 

But, it matters to you, you want to tell him. You understand his need to throw it all in his face. Though. “Is that one label going to sign you? The one you were talking about?” 

His tongue darts out to wet dry lips. “They haven’t yet. I don’t know. But I don’t need that money to get out of here, I’ve been working on it.” 

“They will,” you say. “But, where would you go? Not too far?” You try and keep it light and playful, even as your heart aches. 

“Come with me,” he says. It’s painfully blunt, as if it were that simple. “Let’s go get and apartment; you and me.” 

“Kai...” you say. “You don’t have to drag me along because you feel bad.” 

The idea doesn’t sound half bad, though.  

“What?” His face tightens, as if somewhere under the surface your words had scraped somewhere tender. “You don’t have to stay here forever. Please. I want... I want you to come with me. You wouldn’t have to even tell them; just bring all your stuff and go together. We could do it together. Like we said we would.”  

“We were like, five. Everybody tries to pretend running away at five,” you deadpan. It’s a washy attempt at lightening things back up. 

Living with him, moving out together, should feel like everything you’ve ever wanted. And, maybe it is. But, he’s not asking you to live with him the way you want him to. Not in the way that your aching heart wishes he would.  

Kai doesn’t share the laugh you give him. “Yeah, okay,” he says, leaning into the table.  

Perhaps you should consider the potent disappointment he’s terribly masking with a face of indifference, though. 

⚝⭒ 

Slowly, the knots in your belly have worked themselves out. When Kai had dropped you off, they’d been so awful that you felt borderline sick. You sat the whole ride there in his old beat-up truck picking at your nails and rambling to him. He listened to you the whole time. And then when it was time to walk in, it had least felt a little easier to do so with his eyes on you, watching to make sure you made it in safely. 

You’d gotten a job. It’s not too bad, folding clothes out on display. It would be nice if they kept the lights a bit brighter, but you’ll get used it eventually, you hope. 

Most of your coworkers are around your age, but the one showing you the ropes... your heart had fluttered. 

“You’ll get it,” Yeonjun says. The smile you find on his lips once he straightens up from placing product on a display is smooth and smug. Sleek strands of black hair fall over his eyes. You fluster under his gaze.  

With arms crossed over your chest you say, “Yeah, probably.” You reach into the cardboard box for stock to practice on. 

“Where’d you work before this?” he asks, leaning back into a wall to watch you. Suddenly, you make sloppier work of your folding. “Your first retail job?” 

Some obnoxious pop song falls down from the speakers over the store. Nobody’s in here yet, thankfully; you’ve got some time to try and get a handle on everything. “No, this is my first job. I was so nervous walking in.” 

Interest catches in his eyes. It encourages that smooth smile on his lips further. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, I’ll show you the reins.” 

Your mind stalls. The suggestive, sly flicker to it—are you looking too much into it? Maybe that’s just how guys like Yeonjun act. It’s hard to pretend that you don’t see how he’s looking at you, though. It has your belly twisted up in fluttery knots. It’s not like you hadn’t had your share of his type. But, for some reason you’d rather not address, he’s got your heart thumping in your chest. 

He laughs at your fifth attempt to fold up the shirt. When he takes it from you to help, he smells of musk and vetiver. “You going to college near here?” he continues.  

“Nah, just doing this, I guess,” you answer, watching him fold it up to try and soak it up.  

“Really? Why not?” he hums, crossing his arms about his chest. “You seem like a smart girl.” 

Buffering, your blood buzzes in your veins and your cheeks burn. “Dunno. Not really sure what to do. Are you in college?” 

“Nah. I’m trying to figure things out, too.” 

The both of you pop your heads up when the bell rings to announce the arrival of a customer.  

“Yeah,” you say, eyeing him. He’s a few years older than you, no doubt, and yet his life hasn’t fallen apart because he’s not done anything grand yet.  

Time’s hand around your neck loosens. Just a little bit.  

⚝⭒ 

You sit crisscrossed on top of Kai’s bedsheets. He’d thrown the windows open because the AC died, but it’s no help. The hot air wafting about the room sits heavy on your skin. You’d dressed in as little material as possible to let it breathe, bare thighs clad in a pair of loose shorts and a thin tank top, but it’s still miserable. 

Perhaps you two should be going over to yours, but you haven’t had time alone with him for a few weeks now. You hate this busier life, where you struggle to make room for this. 

Your new job isn’t so awful, though. Especially with Yeonjun there. A bout of nerves flows up through your stomach. That reminds you. 

Sitting up a bit straighter, you consider not doing it. In fact, you really shouldn’t. But your mouth moves before you can put a stopper on it. 

“Hey, Kai,” you say. The thickness in your throat makes you believe that your heart’s jumped up into it, caught. God, what are you doing? The unsure waver in your words has you regretting. 

His eyes flicker up to yours. He hums out a, “Huh?” 

No, this is wrong. You mess with the thin cotton strap of your tank top where it’d slipped down. “Never mind,” you tell him, trying to shrug it off.  

That piques his interest. “No, what?” His brow pinches.  

You lick your lips and shake your head. “Nothing, never mind. Really.” 

His eyes search you from where he sits up against the wall. “Tell me,” he demands. 

Really, you shouldn’t have said it in the first place. It was a ridiculous idea. But now you know he’s not going to let it go. And, ridiculously, you say it. “I was just... wondering,” you say, blood roaring. "Well, Yeonjun wants me to come over to his place this weekend, and... I’ve never...” Sucking in a quick breath, you just spit it out to get it over with, “Would you be my first kiss, Kai?” 

Insects buzz outside as he looks at you, frozen in spot. You reject the urge to dart away or throw up. You’re honestly just as shaken as him. But really, who else could you trust with something like that? You don’t want Yeonjun to be disappointed if he kisses you, or to seem inexperienced to him. 

And, perhaps, the hopelessly in love part of you hopes to at least feel his lips on yours at least once. If you’re going to be alone forever in your longing, you just wish that you can have this. 

“What?” Kai says. He looks rattled.  

Of course, he’s shocked. You shift. “Forget I said that,” you tell him, unable to meet his gaze.  

String-roughened fingers wrap around your upper arm. “I didn’t say anything,” he says, voice strained and face less shock-fallen and more darkened. “But... I mean, you want me to teach you to kiss for some other guy.” He spits out the last bit as if bitter in his mouth.  

“You don’t have to do it,” you say. “I just... thought that I might ask you to do it. I don’t know, I’m sorry I said it. I’ll just wing it or something.” His room’s grown ten degrees hotter, if that was possible. Especially where you feel his eyes on your face.  

Almost imperceptibly, his hand tightens around you. He swallows hard. “You want to learn how to kiss?” he says. “Fine. I’ll teach you.” 

In a heart-stopping moment, your eyes snap to his. Brown and familiar, they hold you with an intensity that turns your limbs into jelly. The air is stifling. “What... do I do?” you ask when the silence becomes too heavy.  

A muscle feathers in his jaw, reflected in the low light of his room. It’s quick and so easy to miss, but it tells you everything you need to know about how this is making him feel. How much disbelief he’s in. “Come here,” he says, stilted around the absolute absurdity of it. He pats on his lap. 

You make a hesitant crawl across the bed toward him. It seems as though your elbows might buckle beneath your weight, but you make it despite the odds. A fog settles over your brain when you rest your hands on his shoulders and bring your legs to straddle his lap. 

But you shove it back; you want to live and breathe every last second of this. No matter how unbelievable or blistering it is.  

Breaths fan out over your face. It’s seizing your mind like undiluted liquor. “Where do I put my hands?” you ask him. It’s breathless, the air stolen right from your lungs though your mouths haven’t even touched.  

“There is fine,” he says. His words sound breathless, too. The weight of his touch on you as he runs his own up to support your back is unsure. “And then...” he says. It falls out on your mouth slowly, and then he’s taking your lips onto his. 

The walls melt away, sound does too. All that is real is the taste of his lips and how they move against you. Your lips start tentative, but you try his mouth movements yourself. It feels like a timid dance—it feels like deep, deep down, finally everything is right. That mist, thick and blinding, falls back over you. 

Something changes. Something in it, where you two meet, changes. He becomes hungry. Softly locked lips turn biting and nipping, shaky breaths exhaled slow through your nose. His hands on your back become surer, and one even ventures off to grab your chin. The other holds you to his chest, melded together despite the intense smoke and flame rolling off your bodies. You wonder if he can feel your heart beating a mess there. 

Reluctance paints you both when you pull back. You’re panting deep drinks of air. It’s hard to think; your mind’s run off and sits just out of reach. Licking your messy lips, stained with illicitness, you can only manage to brush your fingers against it to form words. “How... was that?” you say, searching his eyes. You find his pupils blown so wide that they consume the warm brown. You’re ready to jump out of your skin with that look pointed at you.  

Kai doesn’t answer, though. He slams your mouths back together as if starved by just the brief moment you’d parted for air. Nips on your bottom lip and emboldened hands—he moves like roaring water through a dam. A dam that he’d worked hard to fortify, and yet, at a crack it’s all falling down. Fingertips digging through the fabric of your shorts down to your soft hips, his chest rumbles. You feel it reflected in your core, electricity charging there and shooting up your spine and down your thighs. 

You kiss him for all the times you wish you would’ve, but didn’t. The slight rolls of your hips down onto him come easy. You love how it has him making a sound into your mouth and taking the fat beneath his fingers harder into his hands. He helps you. 

He drops his head into your neck. Your head swims for air and he has you shuddering with just the brushing of his nose against the column of your neck. The walls of his room spin around you. “Kai,” you whine, every bit of friction his jeans provide, even clothed as you are, just enough to rile you but not to give you what you need. 

“God,” he growls, thumbs hooking under your waistband. “You always fucking run around dressed in nothing,” he says, letting his fingers linger like a suggestion of undressing you. “Did you do it on purpose? Expect to make me crazy, knowing I couldn’t touch you?” 

And, in those words, it seems that he steals every last bit of breath from you. How often had you gone braless or worn something like this around him? Laid here, in his bed, like that? 

Grown tired of your fruitless grinding, he brings a hand down to support your lower back and says, “Turn around.” 

Though you explode with the prospect of what he might be intending to do or what’s next, if you’re really going to do this, you do so in a flash of eager limbs. His chest is solid against your back, you melt against the feeling of it. He’d become such a man lately, filled out, and you watched it happen. It was hard for your eyes not to catch on muscle-corded forearms while he picked at strings or to not appreciate the timbred rumble of his voice when you’d feel it come from his chest. How could it not do things to you? Now, he’s dragging your shorts down your legs and you’re in disbelief.  

“Fuck,” he breaths out. His fingers find your panties soaked through. “So, you’re the type to get dripping wet.” 

An embarrassed blush decorates your cheeks. Kai drags his index finger in circles around your clit through the fabric as if enamored with how much of a mess you’d made of it. Your hips twitch every time he rolls right over it. It’s strange how he’s got your body acting on its own volition with his touches. Even stranger that it’s your best friend doing it. “Sorry,” you tell him, wavering.  

He continues those terribly slow circles. “Sorry?” he says, chin on your shoulder. He’s got you wrapped up in him, with nowhere to go but to melt back into him and let his fingers work. Free hand on one of your inner thighs digging divots into the plushness there to hold it still, he tells you, “It’s nothing to be sorry about. It’s hot as fuck. You’re so excited for me to touch you, huh?” 

The words wreak havoc on you, feeding the flame that has your belly twisted up tight and the ignition point between your thighs pounding. To hear them coming from him, reserved Kai, has you digging your fingers into his forearm to prove that it’s real. You’d never have imagined him being so... filthy. You imagine him behind falsely nonchalant eyes, devouring you with a perverted mind all the times you’d spent innocently sitting together in this room.  

Your cheeks squish beneath his fingers as he takes your face and turns it to him. He wants to make sure you’re look at him as he asks you, “Do you want me to finger you?” 

Like a record, your brain skips. Between the blunt, lewd question and his hand on you, it’s in overload. How could ask something like that so simply? Stunned as you are, of course you want him to. You want him to do anything to you. You nod.  

Every last nerve and neuron in your system, just below the skin, cry out when his fingers slow down to nothing. “Hmm?” he says, ignoring the chasing of your hips and the opening of your thighs to invite him into paying your poor pussy the attention he’d ripped from it. He wants to hear you say it.  

About ten minutes ago, you lost your mind. It does not return to you now. “I want you to,” you say, chest beating in tandem with your cunt. 

“You want me to, right? Not some dumbass you met a week ago, huh?” he says. “Because you know that this is what it’s meant to be. Me, doing these things to you. Not some twenty-five-year-old piece of shit. He doesn’t deserve you, baby. Understand?” 

His fingers slider under your panties. Dumb brained and cognition gone muddled, you nod. All you can really think about is the moment his fingers slide over you. Fire licks up your lower belly and your insides as he brushes calloused finger tips finally right against your clit. 

Puffed breaths of a scoff raise goosebumps over your skin. “Teach you to kiss so that you can go over there and get his hands on you,” he says, middle two fingertips prodding at your entrance. “As if you were ever anybody’s but mine. You’d come crawling back to me, baby, because it was always meant to be us. He could never satisfy you.” 

His words might alarm you or have you asking questions if he hadn’t pushed his fingers into you and begun curling them with strong, pointed presses, pulling soft mewls and hums from you until he finds a spot that twists up your insides. Even through the palm you press over your mouth, your moans come out more like wavering grunts and croaks. Your thighs quiver and twitch, threatening to snap closed against your own will with each. Only your feet stay planted to the mattress. Like a cone of soft serve under the sun’s blistering attention, you melt down him. Just his frame keeps you upright. 

“Right there, huh?” he says. The smirk on his mouth filters his words into something taunting. “That’s where you like it.” It’s like he’s learning your body step by step, fulfilling all the questions he’d been forced to only guess at before this.  

“Uh-huh.” It comes out whiny and cracks in the middle, but you can’t find even an ounce of you to care right now. If this moment had been a long spiral, a fall from grace, down into a dark pit of forgotten inhibitions, you’ve just hit the bottom. Cheeks blazing cherry blossom pink and with your fingers curling into his pant leg, you don’t doubt that you are a picturesque mess. The kind of mess that’s beautiful because it’s dirty. Your teeth are not gentle on your plush bottom lip. It stings, tugged back and bitten and still a bit swollen with kisses. Perhaps you taste the tang of metal on it, but you pay it no mind. 

Kai redoubles his efforts. Now that he knows exactly how to play you, he’s fucking you on his fingers without mercy. The sounds coming from your cunt were wet, but now they’re different— nasty squelching. The only noises coupling with your pathetic keening. Forget anchoring yourself on his thigh, forget muffling your sounds. Instead, your hands fly to encircle his flexing forearm. Under your nails, angry red crescents dig into the muscle there. What had been a languid, building pleasure suddenly becomes everything. Your breaths run away from you, and you chase them frantically. Deep down in your core, the muscles spasm and rage against his fingers. “H—oh god,” you groan. Even the muscles in your thighs and tummy tighten up. 

“So whiny...” Kai mumbles, voice taut with the effort of eroding you down into pure, blinding-white pleasure. 

And then, in a swoop of mercy, your belly tightens. You hover here, on the precipice of something so consuming and voracious that your muscles and bones reject it, and yet your heart sings. Your eyes and cheeks and lungs and belly burn, the flame charring the edges of you in a beckon. You answer its call. Kai doesn’t mind the snapping of your legs shut around his arm, nor does your bucking or shaking deter him. He just holds you through it, arm like a metal bar around your waist. He’s everywhere, in this moment—the smell of him, leather and utterly familiar, his mouth dusting hot kisses over your skin, his fingers guiding you through orgasm. Where you’d gone silent in the initial crash of it, you devolve into mewls and grunts as you come down.  

He holds you even as you slump against him boneless. Afterglow simmers in your veins and has your brain all lethargic and lazy. Neither of you speak for a while, your pulse thumping a rhythm. His breaths rise and fall against you; it grounds you in this moment where you feel all spacey and gone. You become aware again of how disgustingly sweltering it is in his room, your skin sheened. 

That brainless bliss only lasts you for so long, though. When rational mind returns to you, no matter how you wish it wouldn’t, you’re hit in the chest with regret so hard it knocks the wind out of you. 

How will anything ever be the same after what you’d just done? Stricken still by the thought, you barely register him pulling his fingers out of you. After all your worrying about making sure no wedge comes between you two, look what you’ve gone and done. No; nothing ever will be the same again.  

⚝⭒ 

A couple of weeks ago, you ruined the one friendship you were supposed to have forever. It presses down heavy one you while you sit sprawled out on Yeonjun’s couch, his arm around your shoulder. His phone casts a glow over his features with all the lights out. 

It doesn’t smell like home. He, pressed against your side, doesn’t smell like home.  

Some stupid movie that he’d picked out, yet somehow you’ve ended up the only one still watching it, weaves a hum into the quiet of his apartment. Tangy hurt wells up in your throat. Even the moments when you and Kai would sit in mutual silence on your phones never felt like this. This is different.  

You haven’t seen Kai since that night. He’s been busy getting ready to move out, and you’ve been here most days. How fast all of it had changed. You wish you’d feel whiplashed, left empty, by the drifting that you’d been so terrified of. But you don’t. It’s just been you, locked on land, watching him being taken away by the ocean’s tide with no way to change its course. You tried and screamed to call him back, but now your voice has gone hoarse.  

And instead of watching him go, you choose to look elsewhere. It’s all you can do to protect yourself from the hurt. 

“Hey,” Yeonjun says, finally addressing you rather than whoever’s he’s got in his phone. “Did you bring anything to change into?”  

“I brought stuff to sleep in,” you say, eyeing him. You know that’s not why he’s asking. If it came down to it, you could just steal something from him and pull it on. He means going out clothes. Your jaw tightens. “But nothing nice. Why?” 

He stretches his arms behind his head in a flaunt of long arms and tanned muscle. Hours spent at the gym lent him those; you appreciate the look of it with a watering mouth. Kai had earned his build by hours spent outside with your dad, because his own could care less, helping him fix up cars and vehicles of all ridiculous sorts. You remember when Kai had first gotten his truck—junk on wheels, honestly—he’d spent so much of summer out there getting it running. And, well... the sun-kissed bronze of his skin and frame that came with it, you had no qualms with. 

But those memories only sit heavy in your chest as you’re sat here beside Yeonjun. You banish them elsewhere; you need to let him drift off. If you can’t have each other, and your feelings won’t permit just being friends, then you have to. You want him to do amazing things, and you fear that it’s your presence in his life that will interrupt that. As much as your feelings are real, they are selfish. You, your unsure direction and all your dead weight, should let him go. Because you love him. 

“The guys want to come over,” he tells you, pushing off from the couch. “You should probably into change into something less showy.” 

Less showy. Your mouth drops into a scoff of disbelief, looking down. A pair of shorts and a shirt, showy? You have to laugh, or else you’ll succumb to the strange embarrassment crawling at the back of your skull. What’s he trying to say? Is that what he thinks of you? “What’s that supposed to mean?” you say, face tilted up to him in a twist of distaste. “I’m wearing something comfy.” 

He shrugs, hands shoved into the pockets of his black sweats. “Don’t want to give them the wrong idea about you, that’s all, baby. They’re guys; I just want to protect you.” 

“No,” you say, the word falling out in a barked laugh. “Why would you even be bringing over dudes that you think will look at me like that? Why are you even friends with people that you think are gonna make moves on your girlfriend?” He holds a hand out to you, but your hands stay right where they are: crossed solidly over your chest. 

Throwing that hand up in audacious exasperation, he gives you a look that makes you feel small and petulant—like you’re throwing an overblown fit. And, maybe you are. You should probably just do it; him seeing you as some overbearing or high maintenance girl has that embarrassment flaring like wildfire that’s found dry brush. “C’mon, baby,” he says, a lazy smile on his mouth that gets under your skin. “Let’s just have an easy night. Don’t make it a big deal.” 

Let’s just have an easy night. As if you’re the one ruining the night. Something snarky tries to seize your tongue, but you hold it down. “I thought it would be just us. We wanted to watch the movie together, Yeonjun. Can’t you wait to hang out with your friends? Let’s enjoy our time together; you’ve got your shift tomorrow.” 

“My fucking god,” he groans, running a hand through his hair furiously. “You’re needy, you know that? The neediest I’ve ever had to put up with. I don’t put up with needy, baby. Can’t you just chill out a little? My last didn’t mind when I’d have friends over.” 

Your eyes burn. Your cheeks burn. He’d been with plenty of other girls before you; that, you’re well aware of. It’s been a corrosive source of self-doubt for you. You don’t want that title: the neediest he’s ever had. Don’t want him to think of you as some prude that won’t let him have fun. Just... hearing him bring up the other girls he’d been with before you stings and leaves welts no different from a slap in the face. Feelings of inadequacy shackle you and have you saying, “Fine. I’m gonna borrow some of your clothes.” 

Heavy resentment blooms on your skin where he bends down and presses kisses to your cheek, and then mouth, and then down your neck. “Thank you, baby.” 

And, where those ugly, wilted flowers of it bloom, you hear echoes of something. Something that tells you that Kai wouldn’t treat you like this. But you’ve made your bed, decided to do it yourself, and now you’ve got to lay on it. 

⚝⭒ 

The frat parties are the worst kind of social outing that Yeonjun insists upon. The smaller kinds, more intimate gathering with just his closer friends, you tolerate much easier. You’re not fond of the circles he chooses. Breathing in thick, smoked-out air surrounded by alcohol-coated breaths is not your type of fun night. Somehow, you end up doing that more than date nights. But that’s better than being here. The base rumbles up through your feet and makes your stomach sick, and it reeks of grinding bodies and body odor, and condensation coats your fingers from the red solo cup as full as when you’d first gotten it. 

But, still, you come along. Not every time, but when you don’t, you lay in his bed sickening yourself with images of what he might be doing here. How pathetic is it to attend parties with your boyfriend because you fear that otherwise, he might stick his tongue down the throats of other girls? 

You’re looking for him right now, awkward and left alone. He’d promised to stick around; you had begged him to. That was pathetic, too. You know that you put up with too much. If he loved you, or honestly even liked you, you two would be in the thick of the throngs dancing or off somewhere talking with others. Together. The frantic skimming and weeding of your eyes through the blur of faces is not right. That’s not how he should make you feel. It’s not how Kai would make you feel. 

Well, Kai would never have you here in the first place. 

Venturing out from your little corner, you sift between the bodies of people have a hell of a lot better time than you. Drunken, some you bounce off of like bumper carts. You press your palm over the round face of your cup to spare the floor from spillage threatening to pour over the lip. It’s not like a splash from yours would matter much, though. The linoleum has already been made a fetor mess of dirt off shoes and the sticky sugar of liquor. Your shoes peel from it as you walk. God, what would your parents think of you being here? 

You peek around corners and eye big groups. He’s not in the kitchen when you look there, either. Your stomach feels sick in a knowing way—a gut feeling that doesn’t justify anger or tears just yet, but you know. Right in the center of your chest, you know. 

It’s in some room that you find him. Sat on the floor along with a few faces you don’t know, he pulls from his bottle. And on his shoulder, he lets a girl with shining curls and pink cheeks rest her head. At your busting in on the intimate gathering, Yeonjun’s eyes slide to you. Recognition flashes over them and wars with bleary drunkenness. 

“Hey, baby,” he says. Their gazes all fall on you, but you can hardly see them through blurry eyes. 

The girl lifts her head from his shoulder. She’d caught the memo. 

“I think I’m gonna go.” You make it sound resigned, try to not let them see your shame, but your voice betrays you and crackles. Maybe it’s better to pretend it doesn’t feel like you’ve just been kicked in the stomach and left to reel against the force, but you can’t. You’re nowhere near shocked, nowhere near blindsided, but still you hurt. 

He follows you down the hall. “What’s your problem?” he says, the few, plain words mending and waving into a slurring. 

You’ve got one goal: get to the front door, away from the shitty music and him. His words, sharpened, fall off your skin despite his efforts. What good would fighting do you, anyway? It was always going to end up this way. This is just who he is, and he doesn’t give two shits enough about you to want to change that. 

“Baby, seriously? That made you this mad? I didn’t even fucking do anything. Stop being insecure,” he says. At the gritting of your teeth, he sees an opportunity and pounces on it. “You don’t need to be jealous. I don’t do jealous shit. We can dance, or something. Shit, I don’t know what you want! Just stop throwing a fit.” 

Didn’t do anything? You have to laugh. Maybe you didn’t walk in on him fucking someone else, but that’s not what this is about. Not even a little bit. You’ve checked out, and the fact that he thinks he can make you believe that it’s your fault this time only drives the killing stake in harder. 

Maybe you’re bitter. It claws at your insides—turns your face hot and screams in your face that you’ve been used. But beside it sits a sadness. Not the slow kind, but the quick sadness of hurt. Why hadn’t you been good enough for him to love you? To like you? You’d left behind Kai and rested your new life on Yeonjun’s shoulders. You’d wanted so badly for his approval, or for him to want you. You did your best to try and make this work out because you needed it to. You needed so desperately proof that you could fall in love with somebody else. But your best was not what Yeonjun was interested in.  

Pins and needles prick your skin as you step outside, like jumping into an ice bath. It shocks you out of dizziness. Words surge up and out in a flash flood like hard reality. You spin on him. “Jealous?” you say, choking out a scathing laugh. “The last thing I’d ever let myself suffer over you is jealousy. Get over yourself. I’m going, stay here if you want. I don’t care.” 

“How are you gonna do that, huh?” he says. The flickering yellow of the porchlight paints his features. The shadow of something fluttering around it cuts dark spots in the light, and then a small little moth comes down and jumps around in his face. He waves it off. “Gonna have bitch boy come pick you up? You can’t leech off him forever; he’s gonna get sick of picking up another man’s girlfriend.” It seems like you walking in on that had sobered him up, but his breath still curls out onto your face with the reek of alcohol. “It’s not a big deal. You’re making this a bigger deal than it has to be. Do you not trust me?”  

“You are such a piece of shit,” you grit out. “I don’t know what I was thinking. Ever. I don’t know how I let this go on for so long.” You don’t like him having Kai in his mouth, don’t like him trying to act like you’re conflating things, and especially don’t like that face he’s making. As if you’re acting crazy and overblown. “No, I don’t trust you. You didn’t fuck her, but come on, Yeonjun. Seriously? You think I’m stupid, and I’m sick of it. You thought this would be easy because I didn’t have the experience you have, but I’m sorry. I don’t like being walked over.” 

“If you’re gonna be so goddamn jealous, then maybe we aren’t gonna work,” he says. 

That moth, floating light in the air, is right back in his face. Yeonjun takes two hands and smashes it between a clap of his hands. He shakes its flattened, broken body off his hand. Looking down at it laying there on top of dirt-caked concrete, you get this... feeling. A tickling around your person.  

“See if I care,” you snap, throat aching against the onslaught of emotion and held back tears.  

⚝⭒ 

Rivulets of raindrops dilute the tears on your cheeks. Your hair plasters to your face and your clothes to your body.  

For a week, you’d went about it all as if it hadn’t happened. And then you came here.  

It’d not been this rainy when you first got down to the creek—just a gentle trickle, really. You hadn’t been crying then, either. But, watching the water work at babbling over stone, you let yourself feel it. Here, where you’d had so many good memories. You’ve gone and tainted it, now. But for whatever reason, you’d just wanted to be here. Arms curled around yourself and fingers digging into drenched sleeves, you don’t wipe away the tears or cover the sounds of your crying. You let the stream hear it; it’ll sweep it right up and down the way. Somewhere far off, where you don’t have to feel it anymore. 

You realize that, usually, you’d be over at Kai’s right now. The fact that his room was not the first place you thought you could go to anymore is a punch to the gut. You drop your face into your hands and cry harder. Really, you’ve got to stop doing that to yourself. Thinking of sad things—putting your hurt under the microscope to see it closer. It’d be easier to just fold it up and tell yourself that it’ll pass, and that relationships end all the time. 

It’s not him that you cry over. Well, maybe some of it is. Rather, it’s that you have absolutely no idea where you’re going. Where you are. Finally, you’d built yourself a raft to get off the shore and go out to sea, because that’s what you’re supposed to do, and it’s breaking apart right beneath you. And, stranded and alone in the water, you’ve got no way to get back to shore to build yourself another raft. You’re stranded, and the scariest bit is that you’re doing it all alone. You weren’t supposed to do this alone. You two made promises back then. 

You suppose that a promise is one of those things you were supposed to leave faith in back on shore. 

The raindrops are heavy over you. The fall of it roars against the ground, a torrent downpour. It’s not coupled with whipping wind or flashes of lightning—just straight, still falling. It’s a somber feeling no different from the gnawing in your chest. 

Like chimes, there’s a distant, gentle sound. Maybe water falling over creek rock, but it’s more like suggestion. A sweet sound that you shouldn’t even be able to hear over the rest of it, it’s as if it’s right in your ear. A whisper.  

You fix your blurry eyes with a wet sleeve. Rain falls right back into its place, but you see it: a silvery, whimsy haze. And the moths. They jump and call you, this time. Their glow bounces off the rainy mist against the grey of night’s arrival. Then, all you can hear is the whispering. Where you stand frozen, your feet beg to move. To follow them. 

So you do. 

Their entourage of moondust trails them where they go, wrapping you up and weaving between raindrop and space. You don’t worry where they’ll take you, or even try to wrap your head around this happening again. You just follow, mind glossed over and entranced with how beautiful it is. When you’d seen them before, it’d made you uneasy. Mostly because it looked so unearthly and unbelievable. But this time you just follow. 

A far-off voice, one oh-so-familiar, peaks through the haze. It’s not enough to stop you, but then you hear it again, louder and closer. 

You blink a few times. Once to break away the fog, and then twice to focus your eyes on Kai stood in front of you. His hair lays in wet spikes over his eyes and beads of rain trace the planes of his face. He’s as soaked as you. 

“Kai?” you say. Looking around you, you’ve ended up somewhere in the field between your houses and the creek. But you’ve got no recollection of walking here. Whatever that mist is, sentient or not, had swept you here.  

His voice is strained, but you appreciate hearing it. “Break up with him,” he tells you. 

In his eyes, as you search them, there’s stardust glowing like reflection. Your face twists up. “What?” you say, breath a puff of smoke ahead of you. Summer had come and gotten away from you so fast, and now it’s gone all cold again. 

“Break up with him,” he echos, face solemn. He looks ruffled. 

“Why?” you ask, “And why are you out here?” 

“Because I’m moving out today, and I think I deserve to at least see you before I go.” His eyes look over you. “And... your dad said you went down to the creek.” 

He’s moving out today, and you had no idea. And really, it’s your fault. You’d driven that wedge between the two of you. “I did break up with him.” 

Downpour fills his quiet for a few moments, his face swirling with emotion like the clouds above you. He nods. “Good.” 

There are a few more long minutes between you; just you two searching each other's faces, antsy to say so much that it bunches up in your chests and stalls. It’s what a summer of longing does to you. Even with Yeonjun, even trying to slowly chip away the stitching that had connected the two of you at the hip, you were helpless to stop the gnawing of the love you bear for him. Even just seeing him now, you feel those threads mending back up. God, why does it have to be so hard? 

He just looks at you. For a few beats, he just looks at you. There are so many questions in his eyes. They flit across and turn over, but all he settles on is, “Why?” 

There’s so much you want to tell him. Words pile up to the top, some threatening to spill over. But you know that if you tell him some of it, just to make up for all the time you’d missed out on together, it’ll all come crashing out. And you don’t think you want him to know just how much you accepted, the way you let yourself get treated. So, you shake your head and say, “It doesn’t matter.” 

Kai looks like he wants to push that issue, but whatever look he finds on your face deters him. “Come with me,” he pleads. “I want you to come with me.” 

Your throat tightens. Curling your arms around yourself harder, the rain only coming down on you harder, you say, “Kai, I want to. I want to. I just... I don’t want to freeload off you, because you’re doing great things, and I’m just...” Your tongue darts out to wet your lips, but they’re already as soaked as the rest of you. “I’m just going nowhere. And I don’t want to be a burden, or ever be the reason that you can’t do what you dream of. If staying here means that you become everything that you’re destined to do, then I’m happy with that, Kai. I am.” 

He shakes his head, stumbling toward you. “No, no you don’t get it,” he says, frantically taking your shoulders into big hands. Under his touch, every taut muscle goes slack. You melt. “You don’t get it. You are the music. Every single song is about you. Every single fucking song is about you. I want you to come with me, please. I love you, I have always loved you, and I will always love you, and I thought you’d loved me too, and I don’t want to do this alone. I can’t do it alone.” 

He loves you. Kai loves you. The enormity of it rumbles the ground where you stand on legs you fear might just give in. You flex your fingers to combat the tears pricking your eyes. It doesn’t work; they brim and well up, spilling down over your cheeks. “What?” you say, voice softly breaking. “Kai, I didn’t...” 

“And just when I thought I finally had you, you left me,” he says, throwing a hand up beside him in a big gesture. “You left me! I woke up thinking you’d be there, and that maybe you loved me too, and you had left me. And then you threw me away for some piece of shit, and you stopped coming around.” His chest heaves for breaths. 

Your face contorts. That night, the one where you two had slipped up, you’d fallen asleep curled up against his chest on undiluted contentment. When you woke up, you had panicked. You thought he’d wake up and pretend it hadn’t happened, or he’d be uncomfortable, or even be disgusted and regretting. You couldn’t handle that, so you slipped out before he woke up. It’d been an attempt to protect your tender heart, but looking at the twitching of his lip now, you begin to think it’s the most selfish thing you’ve ever done. He thinks you used him and left him. Your stomach twists. Voice thick, you say, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I left you, Kai. I thought you didn’t... I thought you didn’t see me that way. I was scared. I’m sorry I hurt you.” 

Brows knitted together, he says, “Thought I didn’t love you?” His hand cups your cheek, warm against the soft frozen skin he finds there. “I’ve... I’ve dreamed of you almost every night of my life. In my sleep, I see you, and you’re happy and glowing, and that damn... mist is all around you. I couldn’t get away from you even in my sleep.” 

Darting between his eyes, soft and reflecting your face back to you, it’s hard to breathe. Kai’s dreamt of you; he’s as sickly in love with you as you are him. Thunder claps, and the ground shakes, and the heavens open up above you, the trumpets belt, and you two are in love. Somewhere deep in your center, you feel it—your soul nodding yes. 

The mist. You know exactly what he’s talking about. “I saw it. That stuff, those moths. The stuff we saw back then.” 

“I did too,” he says, wet spikes of hair bouncing with a nod. “Not that long ago. It was the first time I saw it out of a dream since that day.” 

Back then, you two had only budding, innocent love for each other. Things hadn’t become mangled and lost to confused hearts or expectations. When they’d appeared to you, you hadn’t needed it. This time, you’d followed it. And it had led you here—somehow had led you right to the very spot you needed to so that every last piece might fall into place. For this moment to happen. You know why it did. 

“I’ll go with you, Kai. I’ll go wherever you go; I love you. I’ve loved you since forever,” you say, each and every word massive and lovely on your tongue. “I’m sorry I didn’t say it earlier.” 

So unlike the last times your mouth had met, he brings his mouth to yours with a dazzling clarity. No longer is it confused kisses; he locks his lips against yours with the urgency of so many years being unable to. Kai’s hands cradle your wet cheeks, hold you so tenderly into his kiss. His touch grounds you, makes the moment real. You melt into him—your fingers curled into his shirt as if holding him there so that he won’t disappear like something of an incorporeal dream. He sighs through his nose, kissing you harder. Even if it all were fake and this was nothing more than a feverish figment of your imagination, you think you could die happy just knowing this once. 

But it is utterly real, and utterly yours. You kiss him harder, too. 

When your lungs start to burn and plead for breath, you two pull away from each other. Your eyes flutter open to capture his. Warm and brown and the same ones you’ve stared into so many times before, but not like this, you sink into them. He runs his thumb over your cheek as he sinks into yours. His tongue darts out to lick lips painted with you. In the inches between you, space no longer feels heavy or charged with grievances. Every last unsaid thing had been answered. 

“I have my stuff up in the truck,” he says, breaths soft. Brown eyes dart around your face. “I’ll help you add your stuff to it.” 

You shudder out a breath. Add your stuff to it. A nervous energy settles down over you, but it doesn’t seem so bad if you’re doing it with him. Together.  

“Okay,” you whisper, a balmy secret just like the ones you used to share in small, giggly voices so many years ago. “Okay.” 

⚝⭒ 

Shivers seize you like jittering bones, all wrapped up in a blanket. The velour cushion seats beneath you have soaked up water and become damp, but Kai’s got the heater blasting. You wind around back roads, headlights illuminating the way ahead of you. Stray droplets whip in them, but nothing much. Isn’t it funny how the rain had just stopped like that? That’s just how the weather is, out here. You wonder how the weather might act wherever you’re headed. 

Your teeth chatter as if your jaw had its own will. The two of you had the windows down thinking that the wind might dry you off, but all it’s done is lap at your bitten cheeks. You reach down for the handle to crank it up. You’ve got a long drive ahead of you—either you’ll eventually dry off, or you can pull off at a rest area to change in a bathroom. The wet clothes are really not helping. 

With an arm up on the steering wheel, Kai turns his attention on you. You know that smile. “Cold?” he asks, eyes darting between your face and the road. With the hand he’s not got working the steering wheel, he runs fingers over your thigh. Soft, gentle massages, yes. The number it does on your core is absurd. Each mindless digging into your thighs and brush of his thumb, sparks sputter there. You’ve sat here, right in his passenger seat, so many times before. Day trips up to the lake, the one he’d joined your family camping at for so many summers, all the times he’d driven you to school in this truck, and even just a quick run down to a convenience store for a late-night snack. You’d deemed it your seat. But never once had you sat in it like this. Your heart does a flip. All those times you’d wish he’d reach over and do just this—a small gesture that would’ve been so big then. And it’s your reality, now.  

“Freezing,” you say. A brush of his fingers nearer the apex of your thighs sends you pressing them together and shifting in your seat. “But not everybody runs as hot as you, though, so.” 

His eyes catch the movement in just the split second he looked over to you. “Huh,” he says. He turns to look at you, his gaze flickering with something anew. Something that you’d only ever seen once before. “Is that it?” 

It’s hard to swallow. His fingers brush higher, and higher, feather-dustings of calloused fingertips that sends tingles shooting up your spine at the slightest suggestion of where he’s headed. “Yes,” you say, feigning indignance to cover the shiver that threatens to overtake you. When his fingertips dance at the waistband of your bottoms, it does so anyway. “Kai,” you say, blood hot in your veins. “You’re...driving.” 

His eyebrows pinch into a taunting furrow. “I am,” he says, nodding. “Don’t worry about it, baby. I’ve got us.” 

And he does; fingers slipping under the band of both your bottoms and your panties, he doesn’t even tear his eyes off the road. He’d driven these roads so much, you think he might be able to do it asleep. Even drawing a mewl from you with a brush over your clit, he doesn’t look away more than a quick glimpse at your pinkened cheeks. 

Two fingers dragging up your folds, right over the source of the mess. “You get excited so easily, huh?” he hums. “You like it when I play with you.” 

When he presses those fingers at your entrance, you can’t help but be taken back to that night. It echoes and reverberates through you. Long fingers, strong and punctual brushes against the sweet spot—he was criminally good with his fingers. Playing guitar did more for him than just music. He seemed to know exactly how to utilize those roughened fingers and trained flicks. Your muscles flicker as he abandons your hole for more brushes at your bud.  

Those teasing, sly touches turn to something more serious. His fingers roll over your clit, slow but enough to have you sighing and rolling your hips against the seat belt. But last time had gone just like this, him touching you and receiving nothing. He should feel good, too. “Shouldn’t you pull over?” you sigh, muscles taut. Your breaths come out shuddering and half-controlled, interrupted by the tightness that each delicious swirl provokes. The door takes the brunt of your grip, white-knuckling the interior. 

He laughs, a husky sound that is tinder to fire. He knows what you mean. “Maybe,” he says. “But I think I’m enjoying this plenty. I think I want to see you cum on my fingers again.” 

Fingers pinching and flicking faster, you grow breathy and whiny, hips rolling against the seatbelt and back into the seat. Your muscles, all the way down your thighs and deep in your belly, jump and twitch each time his fingers run over your clit in just the right spot—that tender spot that’s so good that it teeters on overwhelming. The kind that makes you hiss and then want more. “Shit, Kai,” you whine. “Right—there, keep going."  

He doesn’t answer with any teasing words. No, he just doubles down right at that angle and pressure, leaned back into his seat and driving as if he wasn’t fingers-deep in your panties right now. His sculpted profile at total ease—it does something for you. A delicious tightness curls its fingers over your center, promising a sugary ecstasy that you can’t help but chase. Bucking into his hands as best you can, you go quiet. Right there—right there, you feel it. The cusp. Your fingers brush over it, clenching around nothing and squeezing your thighs tight around him. Every last drop of blood in your body reaches for it, singing and dancing through your veins and making you dizzy. 

And then he stops. Your mouth drops open, whiplashed and helpless to its slipping away from you. You whittle your gaze into something sharp and turn to him. “What—why?” you complain. The tide slips further and further and further back, but you still taste sea salt on your tongue. Frustration sets in its place as you feel it go. Seriously, you’d been right there. “You’re so mean.” 

He slows and then with the clicking of the turn signal, he’s off the road and pulling the truck into park on a little secluded side road. Where the headlights pierce the pitch black, nothing but gravel and field surrounds you. He doesn’t kill the engine, instead pulling his hand free from you. 

Your heart, still stuttering with your lost orgasm, kicks back to life as he smears your slick over your mouth, dragging it over your lips and then taking his thumb to run it right over the plush of your mouth. “Am I?” he says, fingers taking your chin to meet your eyes with his. Endless hunger, pupils so blown that his eyes look black, pins you. “I don’t think you’ve seen mean yet, baby.” 

Darting your tongue out to clean your lips, you look at him through your eyelashes. “Show it to me, then.” 

Something dark passes over his face. It has your skeleton jumping out of your body. Then, he says, “Is that what you want? You want mean?” 

Brain gone to mush that can only really think about him touching you, a slow nod is all you can manage. 

The engine’s hum prevails for some long, thick seconds. And then, he tilts his head in a gesture. “Get in the back.” 

Holy shit. You want to sit there frozen in an overwhelming sort of excitement, but his seatbelt clicks undone and you’re set into motion. In a flurry of giggles and clumsy limbs, you climb up over the center console and into the backseat. He slips out of the front seat, not bothering to even kill the engine. 

The door beside you opens in a swirl of cold wind. In nothing more than a blink, a strong hand has both your wrists pinned to the cushions and your back flush against it. Nose-to-nose, his breath hot over your face. “I’ve got plenty of ideas as to how I can warm you up.” 

You appreciate each other’s faces for a beat more, you looking up at him big-eyed and waiting. Kai breaks the moment to attack your neck in a procession of bites and kisses. Your mouth falls into a silent sound. 

“You know,” he says, free hand working your pants off. His eyes are trained on you, though. “I thought about doing this to you all summer. Touching you again.” He moves on to your top, pushing the fabric up until your chest is freed, clad in soft cotton. He eats the sight up. You want to reach down and cup the back of his head or feel his hair between your fingers as he presses his mouth against the soft beginning of your cleavage, but he’s got your wrists firmly planted. So much so, that you wonder exactly how he’s got you so secure with just one hand. Kai is strong, but maybe you hadn’t seen just how strong. Your skin aches under the purple bites he decorates you in. The sight of him—face in your chest and marking you up so lazily—has your teeth abusing your bottom lip. Whatever sounds you might make otherwise would be embarrassing. Kai lifts his eyes to you. “And I think you thought of me, too. Didn’t you?” 

“Oh, god, yes,” you say, writhing beneath him. He’s going so slow. You want him all over you. “So much.” 

He likes that. He takes your pebbled nipple into his mouth through the fabric. Soft grazes of teeth and sucks, you’re burning all over. When he pulls back, he’s left you dark wet patches when the bra had only just dried against your body heat. “Good,” he rasps, taking his big hands demanding and hungry over your torso. They swallow your frame up, soothing skin but lighting it aflame all the same. “Good girl.” 

You never thought just words could unravel you, but those did the job. Not a gasp, nor a sucking in of breath—no, you go silent and brainless, fumbling for rational thought. 

The dropping of your jaw has Kai delighted. “You’re so pretty,” he says. In a swift and powerful hoist, he’s tugging you down the cushions toward him with greedy fingers. He’s got your thighs pressed up to your chest. You’re bent right in half. 

Out of breath, you huff out, “You too.” 

A quick laugh falls from his mouth, lips pulled into a smug tilt. He nips at your calf up by his face. “So sweet, it almost makes me feel bad for what I’m about to do to you.” Reaching down for your panties, he pulls back on the suffocating press for only enough time to drag them up your legs. Those get discarded somewhere on the floor. Who cares about that right now, though? All you can register is the metallic clinking of his belt being undone. It’s got your nervous system twisting up. 

And, those words. Electricity shoots bolts of pure, sizzling revery into your core. What I’m about to do to you. You imagine a great deal of things that he might mean, but still, you think that none could hold a candle against the promise his voice held in saying it. 

Kai presses his body to your thighs and hooks your calves over his shoulders, and it all becomes real. The press of his heavy cock to your folds, the digging of his fingers into your outer thighs, his pretty eyes sparkling with something feral. As real as it gets—more real than anything you’ve ever felt in the entirety of your life. Your hands find perch flattened to his broad chest. 

The position leaving you two no option but to look right into each other, he holds your gaze and begins slow drags of his hot length up and down your slit. Tantalizing, awful, awful drags. When his tip nudges your eager clit, you jolt. And then he does it again. And again. 

“Kai,” you mewl. A press against your hole has you hopeful, and he lingers there for a moment, but doesn’t give it to you. Can’t he just fuck you? You’ve never been more pitifully in need of something in your life. 

“Shh.” His ruts get more daring, smearing your slick up onto your belly. “Take it.” 

You wiggle your toes in the air and make passes at arching yourself into him in search of better friction. He’s got you pressed so suffocatingly into the seat that it does absolutely nothing for you. In fact, he holds your harder and changes tack so that your thighs press together. At the very apex of them, his weeping cock slips through the seam. 

Pressing his cheek into your calf, he watches you. Every gasp and shaky inhale, he watches. It spurs his rutting on, sticky sounds and pants eating up the air. Your nails claw at his hands as, finally, a knot tightens in your core. 

“Yes, please,” you breathe. He fucks your thighs harder. Faster. Every nudge at your clit and hole becomes euphoric. “Kai, baby—I’m gonna—” 

Just as furiously easy as last time, he rips it all away from you. The rushing away of the buzzing and promise of shaking thighs—he takes it from you again. It brings prickling tears to your eyes. “Kai?” you hiss. “Again?” 

His eyes aren’t playful. He pulls your calves back over his shoulders, handling your hips into a better position to press his cock right at your entrance as if you weigh nothing. Face utterly straight, he says, “I don’t think you deserve it, do you? Not after what you did with Yeonjun.” 

A swallow goes down your throat hard. He presses himself just a bit harder into you. Not in yet, but right there. 

When he does begin sliding in, the stretch of it... You cling to him and squirm between him and the warm cushions behind you. Each inch is a heady feeling, all the way up to the hilt of him. He shudders a controlled breath. “You’re so fucking tight, though,” he grits out. “Did he not fuck you right?” 

Slaps of skin bounce off the car interior and between your bodies. He starts off at a brutal pace; you know it’s meant to make your brain go foggy. Squeezing your eyes closed, you manage, “I... didn’t fuck him.” It comes out strangled, voice bouncing as he fucks you into the car seat. 

Thumb tugging your bottom lip down and then dipping into your mouth, he watches the show of your ecstasy down to every last detail. “Yeah?” he says, voice shaking and almost desperate. “Always thinking of me, huh? Such a good little princess. You know exactly where your heart belongs.”  

You want to answer him, even just with a whine or moan. You try to. But with his thumb pressing down on your tongue, enough to pin it to the floor of your mouth, it’s not gonna happen. He tastes salty in your mouth. 

His truck consists of his grunts and whines, and your taut groans for some moments that seem to stretch forever. The planes of his groin grind against your clit when he delivers occasional pointed rolls, but mostly it’s just an animalistic, feverish dancing of your two sweaty bodies, holds growing more frantic the closer you get.  

Thumb wet with saliva; he frees your mouth. The hand trails slowly down your face and your chin, brushing feather touches, until he finds your neck. 

Your eyes fly open, wide. He pressed his fingers into your neck—no real pressure yet, he looks at you through damp strands of dangling hair and says, “Want my fingers around your neck?” His thumb brushes over the buzzing pulse point there. 

“Yes,” you grit out, body bouncing and back raw with friction against the coarse cushion’s surface. Your breath stutters, your mind stutters. Even your blinks stutter, eyelids too lazy to keep up. “Please.” 

The pressure of his fingers there—it frightens you and has you tightening around him at the same time. But you would trust nobody more with your life than Kai. 

He presses his cheek to your calf to indulge in the sight of you like this: underneath him, folded in two, nowhere to go but to take his pistoning hips, cheeks blazing, and his fingers pressed into your windpipe. If the way he becomes sloppier and more desperate in his tempo has anything to say for it, it does something for him. 

“Gonna be my pretty little girlfriend, huh?” he says. His voice is tight—so is your belly. You’re both so close. Hopefully, this time he’ll let you cum. “Take you to every show; show you off to everybody. Fuck.” 

Brain like static and swimming with a pinched flow of oxygen, you slur your words. “You’re—hah—gonna have other girls all over you.” 

The taunting, split-second raise of his brows flips your belly. You tighten him again. If he keeps hitting that spot, tip ramming into the soft spot deep inside you that he’d taken such delicate care of finding last time, you’re going to burst into sparkling flame and firework. He growls, “Well, I’ll just have to knock you up so that they know I’m yours, huh?” 

Holy shit. You like the sound of that. Your nails dig into his wrist around your neck, but you cry out a pitchy, “Yes!” 

“Oh, you like that?” Kai releases your throat to take both your hips. You gulp for air, finding nothing but the thick air of sex and humid breaths, at the opportunity. He’s ramming into you like he’s found a purpose. “Isn’t this the perfect position to do it? Get you pregnant?” 

With every last bit of brain power you’ve got, teetering on the edge excruciatingly close to salvation, you groan a long, hoarse sound. “Fuck, yes! Please, Kai, inside—” A hot trail of tears roll down your temples. 

It’s all he’s got to hear to still inside you. His growl rumbles deep in his chest, holding you in place and filling you with his hot cum deep in your cunt. That feeling, coupled with his short grinds against your clit as he fucks his seed deeper, takes your soul by sinful claws and crumbles it down into nothing. You burst into a shaking, whimpering peak, sucking your lips into your mouth to bare through the sheer twisting of your insides and the flame that consumes up your thighs and cunt. 

He falls on you heavy, face in your neck. Warm kisses against your clammy skin meld with your slow floating down, the two of you a beautiful, nasty picture of fucked out. He stays right inside you—the absolute stillness of him, you think he has no plans of pulling out any time soon. His long fingers card through your sweaty locks of hair. 

Finally, he presses himself off you. You get a glimpse of the window behind him—fogged up and filthy with your affairs. Anybody to see the truck from the outside would know exactly what went on inside, but right now, you don’t care. Not one bit. Your panted breaths drag in nothing but musk and thick, hot air. The drumbeat in your chest tells you that, despite how you feel ripped straight from your body, you are very much still alive. More alive than ever. 

“Warm?” he says, pushing sticky hair off his forehead. He’s a mess, too. His hair is ruffled with your touch, his clothes rumpled the same, beads of sweat rolling down the planes of his cheeks and neck, and his eyes a lazy smolder. As much as he looks like sex personified, a soft smile twitches at his lips. 

You snort. You can’t help but feel giddy, here with him. You’re with him. Nothing has ever felt more right. Unplugged when he pulls out of you, your mess trickles down onto the seat below you. “Yeah,” you say. “Very.” 

Warm is not enough to begin to describe how you feel. In your ears, you hear whisperings. Soft and gentle. Perhaps it was divine intervention, or the fates lending you their word, or maybe just rational thought. It says: 

Home. You are home. 

✎୭ ashlynn's note how do we feel about this pair? i really didn't mean for this to get so long, but i ended up RLLY liking their chemistry. i had to do their story justice. also, i finished this with kai as a guitarist and then his drummer performance came out... hmm.

﹙🏷️ ﹚@lvrs-street2mmorrow , @soohashits , @f4iryfever , @arcturus444 , @linqed , @serenityism00 , @immelissaaa , @luv4cheol , @lickingan0rchid , @20-cms , @hhoneylix , @beestvng , @hyucktapes , @bewitchless , @prince-jjae , @blankliving , @yaoizee , @stormy1408 , @missychief1404 , if your tag isn't working, check the mentions part of your settings!

[i-want-to-be-spaghettified]

i’m already homesick and I haven’t even left yet

[astarionslittletreat]

Sunrise

Astarion x female reader/Tav

Rating: Explicit

You must be 18 years or older to interact with this post in any way

Word Count: 5.7k

Tags: smut, slight end game spoilers, Astarion good ending spoilers, mentions of past abuse/abuser, sex, piv sex, oral sex, cuteness, fangs, biting, over-stimulation, bleeding, blood, blood drinking

Summary: Astarion and the reader share an intimate morning together as they contemplate their past, present, and future together.

Read on AO3

It's the early hours of dawn, just before sunrise. The sky was deep purple just an hour ago, but now it’s transforming into shades of indigo and blue. A faint glow threatens to spill over the city walls, to wash away the final vestiges of night. It's been a while since you've greeted the sun like this, not that you never see her at all anymore. After all, if something needs done during the daylight, you take care of it without issue. But that's all business. Just fleeting glances as you move through the crowded streets of Baldur's Gate. This right now, during the quiet hours of dawn, this is pleasure. This is you waking, nude, on the forest floor after your first night with Astarion. This is the sun’s rays warming your bodies before the two of you sneak back into camp. This is Astarion’s eyes glinting in the light, like that shared goblet of Arabella Dry at the Tiefling party.

Your heart yearns for the sun like you yearn for the past. You see your small smile reflected in the window as you continue to watch the sky change. A dozen-dozen heartbeats pass, and then the soft golden honey of the morning sun caresses the rooftops of the city, before spilling down onto the streets below. The heartache in your chest fades to nothing as the sun fully crests the horizon to kiss your face, a mere phantom in comparison to what you have now. The moment is over for you. You’ve had your fill and you begin to feel the fingers of sleep coaxing you to rest.

“Do you miss it, darling?" Astarion calls out to you from your bed, well out of view from the sun. "The daylight that is.”

Untying your silk robe, you let the soft fabric slip from your shoulders to pool at your feet. Both the sun and your lover lovingly gaze at your sun dappled curves. "It's strange," you muse, holding your hand up as if to catch the morning light. "I have so many memories of you in the sun, but no. You're the only thing I ever miss." You take a few moments, eyes squinting through the brightness to watch the people begin to fill the streets before pulling the heavy curtain firmly close. “And besides–” You turn to your love. He’s artfully draped himself, nude, across the plush pillows that adorn your bed. A deliberate attempt at making himself look all the more enticing. “How could the sun ever hope to compete with my dear Astarion’s beauty?”

He beams at your compliment, practically preening at the attention. Reaching out, he proffers his hand for you to take. It fits neatly in his as you let him pull you, gently leading you back to bed, back to him. It's a gallant gesture as your eyes readjust to the darkness of the room. A yawn begins to creep its way up and you only just manage to stifle it as Astarion draws your back to his chest. His pale, strong arms wrap around you as he presses you close, holding you tight. There weren't any cuddles the first night, or in the weeks that followed as you let him feed on you, but back then there wasn't anything real between you at all. Just lies and illusions and unending uncertainty. But somehow, by some miraculous blessing, you were able to earn his trust, just as he earned yours.

“Now you know that’s not what I meant, darling.” He leans down and presses a kiss to your cheek. “Though, please continue to remind me of how beautiful I am. Your words almost make up for how useless mirrors are to me.” You hear the smirk in his tone alongside the underlying truth. Uncertainty. As much as Astarion tries to hide his past pain, to pretend he’s fine and not hurting, you know the scars will never truly leave. Even after death, Cazador still manages to find a way to torture Astarion, and it drives you fucking insane with rage. It takes you a moment to collect your feelings. There’s no room for this in the bedchamber, or in your heart. Anger and sorrow will do nothing but more harm and that’s the last thing you wish to bestow upon Astarion. All he wants–all he needs is an answer to the question he left unasked. It's not difficult for you to understand. He wants to make sure you don’t regret your decision to stay with him–worried that he’s not enough. He’s worried if this is what you truly want. That he’s not trapped you, or worse, that you’re staying with him out of some fucked up feeling of guilt or pity. He won’t admit that he’s terrified of hearing your answer even if he knows in his heart what it’ll be. That’s why he doesn’t ask what he really wants to know. That’s why he wears his mask of smiles as he plays with your hair between his dexterous fingers. He’s content to pretend, but there’s no way you can leave him like this. Just floundering inside his heart while he holds you in his arms. For the briefest moment you’re almost tempted to fall asleep like this. Wrapped in Astarion’s embrace, snuggled peacefully in your bed together, but you know that after all this time, a part of Astarion still seeks your assurance.

“I miss it, the sun, the people, our friends–” Astarion freezes, as still as a statue, and suddenly the room feels cold. His muscles jerk in a way that alludes to him not knowing whether or not to pull away or hold you tighter. Reluctant to let you slip away from him, he’s afraid that this will be the last time he has to hold you. Silly elf. “But it’s not in the way you think, my love. It’s purely nostalgia. I was just reminiscing about our early days. When we first met, when we first had sex, traveling together, and unsure which day was going to be our last." Your mind drifts, gravitating to fonder memories. “The first time we made love. Your grave. I–,” The threat of tears begins to rise in your throat so you cut yourself off. Again, there is no sadness in you. Just the overwhelming feeling of love for Astarion. Of feeling like you’ve found the place you both belong. 

"I wouldn’t stop you, darling. I won’t keep you here, all for myself, if that is something you no longer wished for. If you ever–do decide you've had enough of me. Or even if you could no longer stand to spend your waking hours in the cold night. I would understand."

"Astarion!" The incredulity in your tone is a good mockery of Astarion’s own frequent ostentatiousness. He’s gone too far. This line of teasing isn’t any fun and, truthfully, it hurts to imagine leaving after striving so hard to live your life together. After ensuring your love is real, and strong, and brighter than any sunrise you could imagine. You move to chastise him quickly, turning in his arms as best you can to face him. Pressing your palms to his chest, you glower, face set into an angry scowl before you realize. His red eyes are overflowing with sorrow and self-loathing. And all at once, your anger melts into nothing. “My love,” you whisper as you press chaste kisses to the shadows under his eyes, and even though you’re the one being held, you wrap your arms around Astarion’s neck to bring him close. Your bodies move instinctually, the embrace being frequent and familiar as Astarion rests his lips against your neck. You card your fingers through his silky curls. There’s no intention of feeding at the moment, though. It’s just the two of you basking in your gentle love, relaxing into the moment.

“Do you remember, before making it back to Baldur’s Gate together, that godforsaken shadow cursed land we had to traverse?”

“Shit, don’t remind me.” Astarion scoffs, pulling back to look at you. His eyes roll in mirth, fangs flashing from behind his lips. “I know our dear Shadowheart was right at home with all the doom and gloom, and while I too am a fan of darkness and the macabre–I prefer to be the only creature lurking in the night, hunting for their next meal. That entire place was far too crowded for my tastes.” 

“Not to mention Raphael, or the horrors of the Cult of the Absolute,” you trivialize in jest.  

Astarion leans in close. His soft lips brush over the sensitive skin of your neck as he speaks. “Or that vile drow who sought to use me because of what I am.” The venom in his voice is dampened by the reverence in the kiss he places on your neck. “There is only one person I feed on and I have her right–here.”His hand is in your hair, his breath is hot on your neck, and your heart is suddenly choking you, pounding in your throat. His fangs barely scrape your skin and you know that you only have to say the word–.

“Yes,” you breathe. There’s never any pain. Just a light pressure as Astarion’s fangs sink softly into your flesh, and then a swooping sensation as your blood is being pulled to his lips. The familiar feeling of lightheadedness begins to return. It’s nothing light that first night. No, this is controlled, worshipful even as he savors your blood on his lips and tongue. You don’t need to tell him to stop before your fingers go numb and your heart flutters in protest. He’ll stop long before there’s any danger, no matter how much he may tease otherwise. It’s easy to relax and go limp, trusting Astarion fully as he cradles your body reverently.

Far too soon Astarion stops feeding from you. “Delicious,” his moan makes you shiver. Blood begins to slowly trail from your twin puncture wounds, painting your neck crimson. Astarion isn’t one to waste a precious gift that you offer so freely to him, however. He makes quick work of the mess. Devouring it all until it’s just his tongue on your skin, traveling the length of your neck, chasing the way your body shivers. Overwhelmed from the unique mixture of pleasure and pain that makes your head spin and your body hot. Gods, you love this man. He’s so, he’s just so, so–

“W–wait. Astarion, wait,” you weakly plead for his attention, grabbing at his shoulder. You feel him smile before scraping his teeth on your skin, refusing to stop. The devious vampire did this on purpose and he knows he’s been caught red-handed, or well, rather red-lipped as he continues to playfully bite at you. Astarion just hums into the curve of your neck, refusing to acknowledge that he’s been found out. “Hey!” You laugh defeatedly as Astarion kisses the shell of your ear. “Stop trying to distract me!”

Astarion’s lips find your jaw before traveling over your cheekbones. You close your eyes and he places kisses there as well before finding your mouth. Trying his very best to lure you into parting your lips for him. “I rather think you’re the distracting one, my dear.”

“I’m trying to tell you something and I want you to listen, please.” Glaring, you hold his red gaze in yours and his perfect, bloodstained lips fall into a pout that’s just a little too perfect. Another ploy. Your head is still slightly spinning, but through sheer force of will you begin to collect your thoughts. The need to kiss away his frown, however sly it might be, is strong, but he needs to hear what you have to tell him. “As sad and as miserable as that entire place was–if for some reason that’s where you were, where Astarion decided to be, I would also–”

“You mustn't worry about that, darling. I wouldn’t be caught dead, or rather, undead in a place like that ever again.”

“Hush,” You try to quiet him by pressing your fingers to his lips. A poor decision in hindsight as Astarion instantly kisses them. Running his tongue along your fingertips, trying his hardest to distract you once more. “Stop! Listen–just wait a second. I’m trying to be sweet to you.”

“Oh, I know exactly just how sweet you are.” Astarion’s voice drops as he slips into seducing you. “So much so that I rather think I’d like another bite.”

“Yes, yes. I know. Your “little treat”.” Reclaiming your fingers from Astarion’s greedy mouth, you cup his too handsome face. Willing him to listen to you. “The only thing I wish for in life, in death, in whatever time I’m given, is to be with you. Wherever and however I can. I love you and never once have I regretted my love or wished it away.” You’ll tell him of your love every second of every day if that’s what it takes. If that’s what makes him smile like this, dazzling and warmer than anything the sun has ever graced you with. You stretch your head up and kiss him. You kiss him and kiss him and kiss him. You kiss him until the need for air demands your attention and you break free to refill your lungs.

Astarion rests his forehead to yours, curly locks obscuring his hungry gaze underneath, as he catches his breath. Your chests heave in unison, breathing life into the fiery tension blazing between your bodies. One moment you’re both still, wrapped in each other's embrace, and the next the room spins as Astarion wraps a leg around your hip, rolling you until you lay on your back. He’s straddled your hip, pinning you underneath. His eyes are hungry as he looms over you, his disheveled curls haloing him in the dim light. Astarion drags a hand down your collarbone, delicately tracing the veins under your skin before gently cupping your breast. A flick of his wrist has you gasping as he plays with your nipple. You can’t help but thrust your hips up, seeking the attention that Astarion is teasing. He ignores your silent plea, stilling his hand until you follow suit.

“You’re not playing fair.” You halfheartedly complain, willing your body to calm. 

“I never promised that I would, my sweet.” You don’t know what god or goddess you should pray to to thank them for bringing you Astarion, but you’re a devout believer. “Now stay still, or I might bite.” He flashes his fangs at you. It’s not a real threat. He’d never actually bite you without your consent, but the tease still sends shivers down your spine. Coursing through your body until they land, pulsing deeply in your cunt. Astarion leans forward, an illusion of a predator cornering their prey. His soft cock begins to harden as he cups your face in both of his hands. Cradling you as if you’re something breakable, something precious. Astarion swipes his thumb across your cheek as he stares into your eyes–as if it’s the first time he’s seen the sunrise. “I love you.” 

Astarion pounces, taking you down with a devastatingly deep kiss. If kisses were ambrosia you’d have been drunk ages ago. And still you want more. You need more of him. His heart, his touch, gods above, you need his cock that’s pressed between your thigh and his abdomen, but Astarion refuses to stop kissing you or to move into a more accessible position. He slides his tongue into your mouth, licking you open until you writhe and squirm with a need that burns so hot it overpowers your senses. But even still, Astarion doesn’t relent. He presses on, moving from your mouth back down to your throat where he begins to suck bruises to your sensitive skin. Out of pure desperation, you grasp at his back until your fingers graze his scars before moving to grip his shoulders. You clutch him to you just as passionately as he kisses you. It takes everything inside of you not to bust and fade away into the Weave as Astarion uses his weight to keep you pinned to the bed. His lips move from your throat and for one solitary second you think he might give you what you need, but no. Instead, he works his way along your jaw, tracing you with his mouth until he finds the place under your ear that drives you wild.

“Fuck–please! Astarion—” His cock, hard and weeping now, rests on your stomach. Pressed between your bodies as Astarion rolls his hips. Clenching, you feel your arousal dripping out to stain the sheets below. You’re wet, so unbearably wet and empty and aching for him to fill you. You’re pleading and your moans do nothing to sway the elf, though you know the bastard hears you. His pointed ears twitch as you cry out for him, but he continues to hold you down. Unwilling to pull back even an inch to separate himself from you. You manage to angle your arm just enough to get a solid handful of his hair, and begin to pull. Slowly but firmly enough that his head raises just enough to make eye contact, and as you do, you feel his cock throb with need. He likes this.

“Oh fu–ck!” Astarion’s shameless cry comes out sticky sweet from his throat, Adam’s apple quivering prominently. He sounds drunk. He looks it too. The expression on his face is close to ecstasy before you accidentally lose your hold on his hair. Too turned on and thoroughly debauched to be able to concentrate on keeping your grip. Not when he shifts his hips to create a delicious friction between your slick pussy and his engorged cock. You chase the feeling, grinding against him as best you can, but to no avail. You’re still pinned beneath him. Hips and thighs locked. Both you and Astarion are reduced to base instincts as his rigid cock slides over your clit once more before contact is lost. This isn’t fucking working. You’re only briefly aware of the pillows being pushed to the floor, shoved away by Astarion to make better room for your head, before his hand reaches down. He shifts and forces your leg over his hip. He’s a man consumed by desire. His need for you.

Astarion hovers over you, his crimson eyes piercing you through your heart as you reach for him, aiming to pull him back down for another taste of his ambrosia lips. Instead he captures your hand in his and pulls it to his bloodstained mouth. He sweeps gentle kisses over your knuckles before intertwining his fingers with yours and pins it to the mattress. His other hand finds your thigh, grasping tightly before guiding your knee to your chest. Opening and exposing your pussy for him to slide his cock against your entrance. “That’s it darling,” he encourages you. Praising you as he slides against you, slowly dragging his cock along your wet slit. The head of his cock catches, and without hesitation, Astarion presses in. It’s blissful and devastating as Astarion finally fucking fills you. Sliding in on one long stroke to fully seat you on his cock. He doesn’t pull out, just gently grinds against you. His smooth skin and throbbing cock caressing you until your breath leaves. Whisked away by your lover, leaving you with blurry vision and a spinning room. “Now, now. We can’t have that.” Astarion rolls his hips, wonderfully grinding against your folds and bringing friction that your clit so desperately desires. The sensation makes you gasp, forcing you to gulp down air, reminding you that you’re here–now. Very much alive and not in heaven, no matter how much it feels like you are.

“Astarion–”

You’re not sure if he’s listening. Flaming eyes and a silent snarl are all that he gives you besides a deep guttural moan as he continues to fuck you. It’s slow and brutal and entirely different from any performance he puts on. This isn’t Astarion trying to pretend to be anything other than the vampire–the man that he is. Desperate and extraordinarily dangerous as he claims you for himself. Your orgasm taunts you. Haunting you from the edges, and you want it so fucking bad, but you also couldn’t care any less. It’s now, it’s this moment, it’s Astarion who holds your attention in his iron grasp. Ruining you with his love. You hear the wet sounds of your pussy as he fucks into you. Pushing more of your arousal out of your cunt with his cock. He lets go of your hand and leans in close, snaking his arm under the small of your back. Using his vampiric strength, Astarion pulls on you, just enough that your hips shift to a new glorious angle. One that has him hitting a spot that makes you go feral underneath him as his pelvis grinds against your clit on every stroke. He keeps his other hand firmly under your knee, pushing your leg into a position that stretches your hips. It all feels so fucking good. 

Astarion’s taut, muscular body moves over you. He’s graceful even now as he holds you, fucking you rhythmically. You clench around him, wordlessly asking him for more, and he raises his head. Fangs snapping in the air, muscles tensing in his neck as Astarion tries hopelessly to hold on to his senses. A half-baked idea forms in your dazed brain. You don’t stop to think it through, you can’t. You just act, throwing your arm around Astarion’s neck, pulling him close until you have him right where you want him. You sink your blunt teeth into the side of his neck. Your vampiric imitation pales in comparison to the true thing. Only biting hard enough to bruise his delicate moonlight skin. The moment you bite down on Astarion’s neck, you feel his cock throbbing inside of you. His breath hitches in your ear as you press your tongue against his skin and a soft moan escapes his lips. 

“Fuck–” he growls through gritted fangs. Dropping your leg, Astarion moves his hands to the curve of your hips. Holding on tight, and pinning you down as you continue your mock feeding. “Fancy yourself a vampire now, darling?” You bite down harder in agreement and Astarion melts in your arms. Moaning as you claim him as yours in return. “I think not,” he protests, and for a second you think it’s an empty threat. It feels like he’s close, like he’s struggling to keep from falling over the edge. That is until he starts to move again, fucking your pussy like a goddamn promise. “I’m the only blood sucker you’ll find in this bed, darling, and I’m going to eat you right up.” Before you know what’s happened, Astarion has hold of both your legs, knees propped over his strong shoulders. He circles your aching clit with his thumb as he savagely fucks you. Tits bouncing from the force, sliding you up the bed on every thrust. You feel the spit that streaks your lips as you gasp out for him. It’s too intense–too much all at once. You try to hold on, to stop your orgasm from slamming into. Astarion gives you a  saccharine smile. "You sound so adorable when you're trying not to come."

You beg. 

You curse. 

You come.

Gushing on his cock, your body is electrified, and you fall. Blood rushes in your ears so loudly you can’t hear anything. Your senses thrust you into a burning pit of pleasure as Astarion forces you down further. Spiraling until you find yourself caught, supported in Astarion’s arms. An uncomfortable wetness coats your legs and part or Astarion’s stomach but you can’t find the motivation to care because somehow, he’s still moving. He's held on long enough to fuck you through you orgasm. Giving your pussy long, even strokes as he chases his high. His ethereal face is close and so you take him with your lips. Kissing him, licking his fangs, until you feel his cock pulsing, overfilling you until his spend leaks out from around his cock. Adding to the mess.You feel like you’re floating. Exhausted, yes, but happy and ready to sleep. The mess will keep till nightfall when it’s time to wake, but Astarion shows no sign of slowing.

“No, my love. You're doing so well for me, but I’m not done with you yet.” Grabbing a pillow from the floor, Astarion cups your head, lifting it for you to place the cushion underneath before tenderly laying you back down. He slides down your body, lavishing you with attention. Forcing you to stay in the present with him by kissing your dips and curves. Any place he finds on your body he marks it for himself. Kneeling between your legs he softly coaxes you open. His spent cock rests half hard but bobs in excitement as he spreads the lips of your soaked pussy, licking his lips like he's being presented with a feast in his honor. The air from the room feels cold and uncomfortable on your wet entrance, covered in the sticky slick remnants of your lovemaking. It makes you clench involuntarily and more of Astarion leaks out of you. Astarion looks ruined at the sight of you. His perfect features contort into agonized lust before he leans in.

“Wait! No I’m too–” He doesn’t listen. Astarion leans down and wraps his lips around your mound. You can’t help the way your body jerks at the first swipe of his tongue on your oversensitive pussy. He’s cleaning the mess he's made of you. His sharp fangs are hot pinpricks on your skin that further blur the line of pleasure and pain you’re walking down. Another swipe of Astarion’s tongue has you twisting, kicking your legs to pull away. You move higher up on the bed, willing space for your body to recover. “Please, I need a minute. ”

Astarion reaches up, catches your ankle in his firm grasp, and pulls. His strength makes it look easy as he drags you, clutching at the traitorous bed sheets in desperation, to his parted lips. “I said I’d eat you up darling, and frankly, I’m still absolutely famished.” His voice is gravel but yours is fire as he begins to eat his fill of you. This time you’re unable to pull away. He’s wrapped his arms around your thighs, locking your cunt to his mouth so he can eat you like a piece of fruit that drips down his lips and chin. Saccharine sweet and delicious as Astarion consumes you. Fucking you with his tongue. Licking your nectar coated skin and sucking you between his teeth.

You lack any leverage to fight back, to twist away. Your entire lower half is being held up off the bed by the vampire feasting on your pussy. If you sincerely asked for him to let you go, to set you back down you know he would, but you can’t force yourself to say the words. You don’t want to. You want this. Astarion knows you want this as you gasp, muscles clenching while he sucks your clit between his lips. His breath is hot flames that lick along your scorched nerves. “That’s it, love. You can give me one more, can’t you darling.”

Yes, you think, or maybe you agree out loud because you hear Astarion chuckle before kissing his praise into cunt. For a second you’re confused as he pulls back again, wondering why he’s stopped. But then Astarion adjusts his grip on you, making sure your leg is solidly hooked over his shoulder, before he slides two fingers into your pussy. “Ah! P-please,” you’re not sure what you’re asking for, but Astarion gives it to you all the same. Scissoring his fingers, he strokes your cunt. Gently trying to coax out your pleasure, caressing your insides until you sing. his lips find your folds once more. His devastating accuracy brings you over the edge in moments. You’re left gasping, head spinning as the position Astarion holds you in makes it hard to breathe. It takes him a few moments, his lips busy kissing your pussy, his tongue lapping your mess, before he eases you back down into the ruined silk sheets. His mouth finds yours and you taste yourself on his lips, bitter in comparison to how thoroughly sweet he’s being. 

You feel dazed–and elated. Your body floats somewhere between the heavens and the earth. Entwined together with Astarion who holds you close, refusing to let you go, but you don’t mind. His skin, though warm, is still much cooler than yours. It feels wonderful as your heartbeat begins to slow, your breathing returning to normal. Turning your head just so brings Astarion’s lips back to yours and the easy kisses you share almost bring tears to your eyes. Blinking them away is easy though as Astarion deepens the kiss, parting your lips so gently you don’t realize what’s happening at first. Not until you feel Astarion shifting his hips to slide his engorged cock along your entrance once more. You part easily for him, sending shivers of over-stimulation mixed with desire through every limb. There is no rush this time. Just a few languid strokes that have you gasping into Astarion’s mouth before he stills. Even while kissing you, you can see the smirk on his face as he allows you to adjust to holding him inside. Laying there together, connected in the deepest sense. Warming each other with limbs and lips entangled. “What the hell has gotten into you?” You don’t really expect an answer from Astarion as he seems to be preoccupied with lavishing attention across your collarbone.

“I’ve decided to reclaim the day for myself. It’s what I’m owed,” he sulks, looking up at you through his pretty eyelashes, but you can hear the sincerity behind his words. Yes. Yes, Astarion is owed the day. The sun. That and so much more, but not all of it is within your power to give. But this–this you can do. His ruby eyes sparkle in the candlelight as they dance along your face. Your answering smile stuns him into silence.

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

The sun has long since set as you stifle a yawn. Nostalgia returns once more. It’s been ages since the night meant it was time to rest, but the elf who’s at fault for keeping you up all day looks positively happy. So you let your complaints remain silent as you gaze at your lover. A heavy tomb rests in his lap and a gold chalice clutched in his delicate hand is filled with either wine or blood. You can’t tell from your position across the room. Reluctantly, you glance back down to the delicately looping script on the thick parchment in front of you. The letter is from Gale, back in his tower in Waterdeep. You’ve been trying to read it for the last half hour, but Astarion is just, so distracting. Honestly, anything could distract you from Gale going on about his Tressym, but Astarion seems to be especially good at it. That is until your eyes catch a few words that make you excited.

“Astarion.”

“Yes, darling?” He answers, eyes slow to leave the pages of his book.

“How would you feel about visiting with Gale for a bit?”

Astarion doesn’t try to hide the disinterest on his face at all as he turns his attention back to his reading. “No.”

“It’s just that–wait. No?” His answer takes you completely off guard. “What do you mean no?”

He heaves a sigh into his book. “I suppose if he were to come here that would be fine with me, but I’m far too busy this evening to travel all the way down to the Lower City just to visit with Gale.” 

“Busy?” you laugh. “What do you have planned that makes you “too busy” to see a friend?”

“First of all,” he interjects. Head raising until he adopts a pose of self-importance. “‘Friend’ is much too strong of a descriptor for my relationship with that wizard. At most we are merely,” his graceful fingers swirl about until he finds the words he’s searching for, “–former work associates at best.”

“Oh is that so?” you say, smiling up at the hill you know Astarion is about to come down from.

“And besides, what if I get a bit peckish later tonight?” He pouts, coyly looking up at you through his eyelashes. “Neither one of us would like Gale around for that.”

“Well you’re being very greedy tonight, and I can’t say I don’t like it either,” you shoot him a look before unburying the lead. “But Gale isn’t in Baldur’s Gate, love. He’s invited us to his tower in Waterdeep.”

“Why would we travel all the way to Waterdeep just to see Gale fawn over his cat?”

You hold out the thick parchment letter with Gale’s elegant handwriting for him to look over. “Apparently, Gale and Tara have a lead on a cure for your sun sensitivity–” Astarion is out of his seat, book falling heavily to the floor, and by your side in an instant. He snatches the letter from your hand, reading Gale’s words for himself. You put on an air of indifference. “But if you really don’t want to go visit an old ‘work associate’, I understand.”

“Now now now, my love. Let’s not be hasty.” You roll your eyes. “Gale is a dear friend of ours! And I hear that Waterdeep is beautiful this time of year, not as beautiful as I am, of course, but that would be expecting far too much I suppose.” You let Astarion read on, absorbing the message for himself. “Well,” he says as he reaches the end, signed with your friend’s love. “It seems our wizard has been busy. Very busy, if he has a possible solution for you too.”

“I’m not worried about that just yet, but it’s nice to know I might be able to stick around longer than I thought possible.” Astarion caresses your cheek, allowing you space in the same way you provide for him. “I think I’m ready for another adventure though. It’s been a while since anyone’s tried to murder us. What do you think, love?”

He bends down, placing a soft kiss on your lips. “I’m ready to have some fun,” he smiles. Fangs and all.

[levisolace]

am i making you feel sick? (zayne x f!reader)

WC: 15,691 Pairing: zayne x reader, subtle sylus x reader Warnings: graphic depictions of illness Genre: Angst, (Possibly) Unrequited Love, Hanahaki Disease AU Summary: You escape Linkon to heal from the deadly Hanahaki Disease, your unspoken love for Dr. Zayne threatening to consume you from within. Note: Hi! I had this in my drafts for a while since Sylus came out. Figured to finally post it. Here's my first LaDs fic. Hope you all like it. This is only a one-shot btw.

ao3 link

You don’t know when it started. Maybe it was over the meals you’ve shared, or when you began to know much more about him, how he loved sweets, how he graduated half the time it should’ve, or maybe it’s just how truly and deeply kind and caring he is. In the stolen glances you gave him whenever he was in your presence, you admired how beautiful he was. His raven black hair, hazel green eyes, and broad shoulders. Oh, his beautiful shoulders. It was your dream to have your hands running through them. 

It was perfect. You two shared a history from your childhood and more than a decade later, you were brought back once again in your adult years. Like it was fated. Like stars have aligned for the two of you. Maybe it was the knowledge of the “you meet people twice theory” that made your delusion worse. Maybe it was when you began to think of scenarios of you and him before you went to sleep at night. 

To make it short, you don’t know when you started falling in love with your primary care physician, Dr. Zayne. 

It was fun at first, the idea of falling in love. He is your friend, no matter how busy he is, if he can, he gives his free time to you. In the midst of all of that, you began to question yourself if the way you see him was more than a friend. 

Before you knew it, you found yourself blushing at every interaction, every text, every post and comment he made, and every doctor appointment whenever he would even slightly touch you. Your heart rate sped up and he probably noticed that too. You were practically transparent with how easy you are to read.

He was the total opposite.

He’s stoic and unreadable. Half of the time, you don’t know if he’s serious or joking. Most of the time, it’s the former. He would always find ways to scold you on how you take care of yourself. 

Still, you hoped. You made yourself believe that underneath all that caring was an underlying emotion that comes as more than a physician and a friend. And so you let yourself fall into that deep abyss of longing. Love. It’s such a common word, one that is used lightly but holds the weight of the world and humanity. 

But you couldn’t be more wrong.

You stepped out of the cab and onto the rain-slicked pavement of Linkon, the familiar hum of the city wrapping around you like an old friend. The night was young, but the streets were already alive with their own rhythm—flashes of neon lights, distant sirens, and the ever-present murmur of conversations blending into a cacophony that was both chaotic and comforting.

You tugged your leather jacket tighter against the cool evening breeze, your thoughts racing faster than your heartbeat. After weeks in the field—tracking elusive prey through shadowed forests and braving the bite of unforgiving weather—returning to the city was like slipping into a well-worn pair of boots. But tonight, the excitement in your step had nothing to do with the urban landscape you missed. It was all about the man waiting for you at the clinic.

Dr. Zayne had been a constant in your thoughts even while you were miles away, slinking through the underbrush and facing dangers of wanderers. Your encounters were always memorable, punctuated by shared glances and conversations that left you with a giddy sense of longing.

Your boots clacked against the pavement as you hurried down the street, the soft patter of rain masking her footsteps. You reached the glass door of the clinic, pausing for a moment to smooth your hair and then pushed inside. 

The lobby was quiet, illuminated by the soft glow of overhead lights and the soft hum of a vending machine in the corner. You approached the reception desk, where a young woman was looking up with a smile. 

“Hi, I’m here to see Dr. Zayne,” you tell her. 

“Ah, Miss (L/N), right?” the receptionist asked. You’ve probably been here too many times to not be known. Is that a bad thing? Probably. But you don’t mind.

You nod. “Ah, I think Dr. Zayne stepped out for   dinner,” she informs you. “You can wait here. He should be coming back soon.” 

“Oh, okay. Thank you,” you replied, giving her a smile. 

You cursed to yourself. You probably shouldn’t have tried to surprise him with your unprecedented visit and just texted him beforehand. It’s still pretty early for his usual dinner time despite it being dark already. With how busy and needed he is in the hospital, it resulted in him having inconsistent meal times, very much similar to your line of work. You hoped to catch him before he ate and ask him out for a meal like you always do. But that’s not happening tonight. 

As you wait patiently in the lobby while looking through social media posts on your phone, a nurse you know well approached you and called you by your name. You look up to see Yvonne smiling at you. You gave her a genuine smile back, happy to see an acquaintance. 

“Hey Ms. Hunter, you here for Dr. Zayne?” she asked. 

“Yeah, I heard he’s out for dinner. I just got back from a mission and wanted to see him because I had to skip an appointment during the week,” you inform her.

She places her hand in the pockets of her scrub as she thinks, her eyes widening for a moment when she remembers. “Yeah, I think he ate dinner with Dr. Emma.” 

“Dr. Emma?” The unfamiliar name rolls off your tongue in a bad way. This is the first time you’ve heard of her. 

“Yeah, she’s a new doctor who transferred here a while ago. A genius doctor too, maybe that’s why she quickly hit it off with Dr. Zayne,” she pouts. 

That’s when your heart sank. A dinner date. The words echoed in your mind, crushing the small spark of hope you had been nurturing. You forced a smile as Yvonne excused herself out of the quick conversation, dropping it as quickly as she fades from your view. 

Just like that, your excitement bubbled down into an unknown pain. It was like humiliation but something else completely. You felt like everyone’s eyes were on you even if no one was watching you—like they knew you were here for Zayne but he was already with another woman. But they don’t know that. You’re just another patient here. Thinking of that truth should’ve comforted you. But somehow, it felt worse. 

With a heavy heart, you went back to your apartment without seeing the doctor you were waiting for.

One sad dinner by yourself later, you found yourself lying on your bed, the exhaustion of the preceding mission finally dawned on you. The adrenaline of excitement has worn out, leaving you with a heavy feeling of disappointment and body ache. 

Your phone dinged with a notification and yet you couldn’t find it in yourself to move a limb. It’s a wonder how you never felt this way after a mission before even if you were injured. It’s like something was weighing you down but you couldn’t pinpoint where. 

The phone dinged a few times more and you ignored it, not wanting to talk to anyone at the moment. You guess it was just the group chat from work. Tomorrow and the weekend are your days off anyway. They can forgive you for not responding for a few hours. 

It was then that your phone started to ring, indicating a phone call. Groaning in annoyance, you will yourself to reach for your phone by the bedside table, picking it up hastily while your eyes are closed.

“Hello?” you answer groggily. 

“Are you alright?” The familiar deep voice asked without missing a beat, tone laced with concern. Your eyes widen, looking at the caller ID. It was Zayne. The messages were also from him.

“Oh, it’s you.” Everything felt lighter than it was, your tone involuntarily chipper than it was a second ago. It was like your body is uncontrollable when it comes to him. You sit up on your bed to speak to him more clearly. 

“What happened?” He asked again, eager to get the point.

“What do you mean?” 

“Why did you leave the hospital? The nurse told me you were here to see me and then left,” he asked further. You don’t answer for a moment, unsure on what to lie about. You can’t exactly tell him the truth. 

“Oh… yeah. I just got back from a mission but you weren’t there so I left,” you explained. 

There was silence from a moment like he was thinking and you wish that you knew what it was about. Like most of the time, you wished to enter his mind and see him wholly. 

“...Are you hurt?” The eagerness dropped from his tone, replaced by the softness that you adored partnered with the deep concern that he showed you multiple times. It’s a softness that you found yourself used to, something that pertains to a relationship more than a doctor and his patient. 

“I’m alright, Dr. Zayne,” you answer truthfully but your voice betrays you and you curse yourself in your mind, knowing that the attentive doctor would notice. 

“You don’t sound alright,” he states the obvious, the subtle sarcasm noted in his answer. 

“I really am, Zayne. I just felt bad about missing the appointment because of the mission,” you say as you pull and fold your legs closer to yourself, hugging them to your chest. You hear his soft sigh on the other line and you let out an involuntary chuckle, picturing his disappointed and crunched forehead while he sat on his office desk. 

“Do you want to come in tomorrow?” He asked and your heart jumped at the question. The thought of seeing him tomorrow giving you a boost of serotonin. 

“Do I need to? I really am fine,” you answer truthfully, pertaining to your physical health.

“Nevermind. You’re coming in tomorrow. That’s an order from your doctor,” he commands and you chuckle again and roll your eyes but enjoy his nagging nonetheless. 

“Fine, Dr. Zayne. I’ll come in tomorrow.”

“Great, I’ll see you then,” and he hangs up.

That night, you sleep with a heavy heart no longer but the thought of another woman still lingers at the back of your mind. You push the thoughts away, focusing on the thought that you will see him tomorrow. 

Just for tonight, you’ll dream of those green eyes. It wouldn’t hurt, would it?

You sit in front of him, legs crossed, your frilly skirt brushing against your knees as you try to ignore the butterflies fluttering in your stomach. Zayne flips through your chart, his brow furrowed in concentration, like every detail of your health is a puzzle he’s determined to solve.

“Everything looks fine,” he says at last, his voice calm and steady.

You smile, forcing a lightness to your tone that doesn’t quite match how you feel inside. “Told you. I’m a good Hunter.”

His lips twitch into a half-smile. “You are. But that doesn’t mean you should throw yourself at any wanderer that crosses your path.”

You pout, sticking out your bottom lip in mock protest. “I wasn’t throwing myself at anyone. You make it sound like I’m reckless.”

Zayne chuckles, leaning back in his chair. “You’re not reckless—just a bit too fearless sometimes.”

The playful back-and-forth between you has become so natural, but today it feels different. You’d dressed up a little for this checkup, abandoning your usual jeans for something more delicate, more thoughtful, hoping he might notice. Maybe today would be the day you’d muster up the courage to say something—anything—to let him know how you feel. But before you can respond, a soft knock on the door interrupts your thoughts.

Zayne glances up, his face softening instantly. “Come in.”

The door opens, and a woman steps inside, holding a small container in her hands. She’s striking, with short auburn hair that falls just past her ears and eyes that shine with quiet warmth. She’s dressed in a simple but elegant medical uniform, her steps confident and unhurried as she approaches the desk.

“Hey,” she says, smiling at Zayne. “I brought you something.” She sets the candy container down in front of him, a fond look passing between them.

Zayne’s face lights up—genuinely lights up—in a way you’ve rarely seen. He glances over at you, as if only just realizing you’re still in the room. “Y/N, this is Dr. Emma Lin. She’s—uh—one of the new doctors here at Akso Hospital.”

Emma gives you a polite nod, her smile warm but distant, like she’s already figured out who you are and where you stand. You manage to smile back, but your throat tightens painfully. You can feel the familiar weight of something blooming deep inside, a pressure building that you’ve worked so hard to suppress.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” Emma says lightly, looking back at Zayne. “I just thought you could use a snack.”

“No, it’s fine,” Zayne replies, his tone softening even more. “Thanks for this.”

Emma lingers for a moment, her hand lightly brushing Zayne’s shoulder before she finally turns and heads out, leaving the room in an awkward, heavy silence.

You stare at the closed door, a pit forming in your stomach. So this is her.

“She’s nice,” you say, forcing the words out even though they taste bitter on your tongue. “Seems like she cares a lot.”

Zayne clears his throat, his gaze dropping back to the chart, though he’s clearly not reading it anymore. “Yeah. She’s great. We’ve been, uh… seeing each other.”

There it is. The confirmation you didn’t want but were already expecting.

“Oh,” you say softly, keeping your tone as casual as you can manage. “That’s… that’s nice, Zayne.”

He glances up at you, his brows knitting together as if he can sense the sudden shift in your mood, the hurt you’re trying so hard to hide. “It’s still pretty new,” he adds, almost as if he’s apologizing. “We’re just trying it out.” 

You swallow, the familiar burn in your throat intensifying. You can feel the petals—sharp and brittle—pressing against your chest, but you can’t let him see. Not now. Not ever.

“I’m happy for you,” you lie, forcing a smile that feels like it’s cracking at the edges. “You deserve someone great.”

Zayne watches you closely, his gaze searching, but you don’t let anything slip. Not a single hint of the pain coursing through you.

“I should probably go,” you say abruptly, standing up a little too quickly. “Thanks for the checkup, Zayne.”

He stands as well, concern flickering in his eyes, but you’re already heading for the door before he can ask any more questions.

“Y/N,” he calls after you, his voice hesitant, but you wave it off, turning with a bright, practiced smile.

“I’m fine, really. Just… have a lot on my mind. See you next time.”

And with that, you’re out the door, your chest tightening with every step as you leave the clinic. The air outside feels cold against your skin, the pressure building inside you unbearable. You let out a shaky breath, but little did you know, it’s too late to stop it.

The days dragged on like you were on autopilot. Your feelings weren’t new. They’ve always been there. Since you had a tiny crush on him in your childhood, you actually believed that you had a chance. 

The memory of Zayne's words, spoken only a few weeks ago, echoed in your mind. His voice, usually so warm and reassuring, had been hesitant, almost apologetic, as he shared the news. He'd told you about the new doctor he was seeing, her name a blur in your memory, her face a hazy silhouette in your imagination.

You hadn't meant to linger, to let the silence stretch into an uncomfortable void. You'd forced a smile, a laugh, even though your heart felt like it was being squeezed in a vice. You’d congratulated him, your voice a shaky whisper, but inside, you felt as though the world had been flipped on its side.

The world you’d been building in your head, a world where perhaps, just maybe, your unspoken feelings for Zayne could blossom into something more, had crumbled in an instant. You had been so careful, so cautious, not wanting to jeopardize the easy familiarity that had always existed between you. But now, the fragile hope you had clung to was gone, shattered into a million pieces.

The image of Zayne’s smile, reserved only for you, the way he’d always look at you with a warmth that seemed to encompass you entirely, now felt like a cruel mirage. The way his hand had lingered on yours, just a moment longer than necessary, had felt like a shared secret, a silent promise. Now, the memory of that touch sent a pang of longing through you, a sharp, unfamiliar ache.

You couldn't explain the sudden urge to avoid the clinic, the way even the faintest scent of disinfectant made you feel dizzy. You’d found yourself choosing the more dangerous missions, seeking solace in the adrenaline rush of battle, a temporary distraction from the growing unease in your heart.

You tried to push the thoughts away, to bury the hurt beneath layers of duty and responsibility. But it was a losing battle. The emptiness you felt, the ache in your chest, it was a constant companion now, a gnawing emptiness that refused to be ignored.

You couldn't ignore the growing fatigue, the way you seemed to be catching every bug that went around, the way your lungs felt tight, as though they were constantly filled with a suffocating weight. But you pushed it all aside, attributing it to the stress of your job, the relentless pressure of protecting the city. You were a Hunter, one with duties to protect the people from Wanderers. You couldn’t afford to be sick. Not when their threats are more rampant than before.

You need more distraction. You need to forget about Zayne. 

The world felt muted, the colors drained. 

The harsh fluorescent lights of the Hunter HQ buzzed overhead, casting a sickly glow on the cluttered desk where you sat, sifting through reports. A wave of nausea, unexpected and sharp, rolled over you. You clutched your stomach, a bead of sweat forming on your brow. This wasn't the usual post-mission exhaustion. This felt… different.

“Y/N? Are you okay?” Tara asks in concern as she sees you practically about to hurl. 

You excused yourself, hurrying to the nearest restroom. The familiar scent of disinfectant did little to ease the churning in your gut. As you leaned over the sink, a wave of violent coughing seized you, racking your body. Something lodged in your throat, a burning sensation rising with each heave.

At first, it just worried you. Your protocore syndrome must’ve worsened. But that can’t be. You’ve gotten stronger since you’ve been in the N109 zone and you’ve been fine even before that.

Finally, you coughed up a small, crimson-tinged object – a delicate, blood-red rose petal.

Panic tightened your chest. Hanahaki. The whispered fear that had always lurked at the edges of your mind, now a stark reality. The illness that bloomed in your lungs, a physical manifestation of unrequited love, a slow, agonizing death. It was a rare disease, so rare that people even begin to question if they still exist. But they do. And now, you are an example.

Your world seemed to tilt on its axis. Zayne. His warm smile, his kind eyes, the way he always seemed to know just what to say, the way he’d gently patch you up after each mission, his hands tracing the scars on your arms with an unspoken tenderness that had always made your heart skip a beat.

You remembered the day he'd told you, his voice softer than usual, about the new doctor he was dating. The way his hand had lingered on the door handle, a touch of hesitancy in his eyes. The way he’d looked away as he mentioned the woman’s name. The woman he’d spent months, maybe even years, telling you stories about.

But this couldn’t be. You weren’t supposed to be sick. You were a Hunter, a soldier, a protector. You weren’t supposed to be felled by something as fragile and fleeting as love. You weren’t supposed to be… heartbroken.

The fear gnawed at you, a cold, sharp blade against your insides. Your vision blurred, the bright lights of the HQ fading to an almost unbearable white. You clung to the sink, your mind reeling, knowing that with each cough, each petal you coughed up, your life was slowly fading away.

The days dragged on, each one blending into the next, a constant reminder of your hidden struggle. Tara’s worried glances were becoming harder to ignore. She’d been your best friend since you started hunting together, and her concern was palpable, hovering like a cloud over your head.

“You need to take a break,” she pressed one evening after a long mission, her voice low as you both cleaned your gear in the dim light of the supply room. “You’re pushing yourself too hard. You’re not invincible, Y/N.”

You waved her off, forcing a laugh that sounded hollow even to your own ears. “I’m fine, really. Just a little tired. The last mission was tough, that’s all.” But deep down, you knew you were lying, and Tara could see right through it.

Your nights were plagued with coughing fits, sharp and painful, like a bitter reminder of the flowers blooming within you. Each cough felt like a warning, a desperate call for attention, yet you buried it beneath a layer of denial. You pushed through the pain, stubbornly refusing to let it slow you down.

But then Captain Jenna called you into her office, and you felt the weight of her piercing gaze as soon as you stepped inside. She was a force of nature—stern but compassionate, always demanding the best from her team. The moment she closed the door, you could sense the shift in atmosphere.

“Y/N,” she began, her voice steady but filled with concern. “You’re not yourself. I’ve noticed the way you falter during missions, how pale you’ve become. It’s like you’re a shadow of who you used to be. What’s going on?”

You met her gaze, your heart racing as you weighed your options. You could tell her the truth about your condition, about the Hanahaki disease that was slowly consuming you. But could you bear to reveal your secret? The love you held for Zayne, the pain of watching him with another woman—it felt too heavy, too raw to lay bare.

“It’s nothing, Captain. Just a bit worn out,” you said, your voice stronger than you felt.

“Worn out?” she repeated, her brow furrowing in disbelief. “This isn’t just exhaustion, Y/N. You’re struggling. I need you at your best. The team needs you at your best. If you can’t do this, I need to know.”

The pressure built inside you, and you fought the urge to scream, to let it all out. “I can handle it. I promise. Just give me a bit more time.”

Jenna studied you for a moment, her eyes narrowing. “You know where to find me if you need to talk.”

You nodded, though her words felt like a lifeline you were too proud to grasp. As you left her office, the walls felt like they were closing in. The facade you’d built was crumbling, and you were running out of places to hide.

The next few days were a blur of missions, each one feeling heavier than the last. Tara’s worried looks became more frequent, and you could see the doubt creeping into her expression. You tried to put on a brave face, but the more you pushed yourself, the worse you felt. Your coughs grew worse, punctuated by a metallic taste that clung to your throat.

One evening, you finally reached your breaking point. You collapsed onto your bed after another grueling mission, your body trembling with exhaustion. Your hands trembled as you brushed your fingers across the petals that had begun to manifest along your throat. Each one was a reminder of your unspoken feelings, a testament to the love you couldn’t bear to confess.

As you lay there, Tara knocked on your door before entering without waiting for a response. She took one look at you and rushed to your side, her eyes wide with concern. “Y/N! You look awful! Why didn’t you tell me you were feeling this bad?”

You turned your head away, biting your lip to keep from crying. “I’m fine. Just a little tired, that’s all.”

“Stop lying to me!” she exclaimed, her voice shaking with frustration. “You’re clearly not okay. You need to see a doctor. If you won’t talk to Jenna, then you’ll at least talk to someone else.”

At that moment, the walls you've built around yourself finally crumbled, and the truth began to pour out. “I don’t want to talk about it, Tara! I’m just… I’m just trying to keep it together.”

Her gaze softened, and she reached for your hand, squeezing it tightly. “You don’t have to do this alone. Let me help you.”

You felt the warmth of her support, and for the first time in days, you let yourself lean into it. “I… I don’t know how to explain it,” you whispered, your voice cracking. “There’s something wrong with me, and I don’t want to burden you with it.”

“You’re my best friend. You’re never a burden to me,” she said, her tone gentle yet firm. “Just tell me what’s going on. Please.”

With a shaky breath, you finally relented, the weight of your secret pressing down on you like an anchor. “I think I have Hanahaki disease. It’s… it’s because of Zayne.”

Tara’s eyes widened in shock. “What? How long have you known?”

“Since the checkup,” you admitted, tears spilling down your cheeks. “But I can’t tell him. I can’t let him know how I feel. And if I don’t have the surgery, the flowers will keep growing. I don’t want him to see me like this.”

“Y/N…” Tara began, her voice a soothing balm against your anxiety. “You need to take care of yourself first. If Zayne cares about you like you think he does, he’ll understand.”

The idea felt foreign, a small glimmer of hope amidst the suffocating darkness. But would he really care? Would it matter to him?

You shook your head, the thoughts swirling like a tempest in your mind. “I can’t go back to him. Not like this.”

Tara leaned closer, determination shining in her eyes. “Then let’s go to the hospital and get you the help you need. You don’t have to face this alone. We’ll figure it out together.”

For the first time in days, the thought of facing your illness didn’t feel as daunting. Maybe there was still a chance to reclaim a piece of yourself. Taking what Tara said by heart, you stood up, ready to fight the battle you’d been avoiding for too long.

You need to come up with a plan without involving Zayne. He doesn’t need to know and carry the guilt of you being sick. He’s a doctor, for fuck’s sake. How could he bear to treat you when he learns that he’s the reason for it? Or worse, will he have to be the one to  surgically remove the plant growing inside you to completely remove him for life?

After a long period of silence, you turn to Tara with dried tears in your eyes, determined and decided.

“Tara, I need you to listen to me about what I’m about to do.”

Filing a leave of absence from the Hunters Association felt like the hardest thing you’d done in a while, but it was the first necessary step. You expected resistance—Jenna rarely let anyone take time off easily, especially not with everything happening in Linkon City. But to your surprise, she granted your request immediately, no questions asked. Maybe she’d seen more of your exhaustion than you realized. Or maybe she knew this was something you needed to do alone.

Once the leave was secured, you contacted Sylus, the only one you know who could help you get into the N109 zone safely, a place few dared to go unless they had business on the other side of the law. He was your last hope for hiding away from everything: Zayne, your disease, and the life you couldn’t bear to face anymore. You expected him to hesitate, maybe even refuse to help, but Sylus responded almost immediately, granting you safe passage to his home without a second thought.

“You look rough, sweetie,” Sylus said the moment you stepped through the door. His nickname for you, one you used to find annoying and mocking, now felt oddly comforting. But today, there was no mockery in his tone. Only concern.

You glanced up at him, feeling the weight of his crimson eyes studying you. He wasn’t just looking at you; he was seeing you, seeing how much you’d changed since the last time you stayed in N109. Your skin had lost its color, your lips were dry and cracked, and your once sharp, determined eyes had dulled with fatigue and the weight of secrets.

Sylus sighed, stepping aside to let you pass. “You know where your room is.”

You nodded weakly, mumbling a soft “thank you” as you dragged yourself through the dimly lit hallway. Luke and Keiran, Sylus’s trusted associates, were already by your side, taking the backpack from your shoulder and exchanging worried glances as they guided you to your room.

The room was exactly as you remembered it—small but cozy, tucked away in a quiet corner of Sylus’s house. It had been your safe haven once before, back when the pressures of the outside world had gotten too heavy. But this time, it felt different. You were running from more than just stress. You were running from yourself.

Luke placed your bag on the chair while Keiran hovered near the door, his usual mischievous demeanor replaced by concern. “Are you hungry?” Keiran asked, his voice unusually gentle.

You shook your head, barely able to muster the energy to respond. The truth was, you hadn’t felt hunger in days, the constant nausea from the flowers growing inside you making food seem like an afterthought.

Keiran exchanged a glance with Luke before stepping closer. “You need to eat something, Y/N. You’re looking… worse than usual.”

You couldn’t help but give a weak smile at his bluntness. “I’ll eat later,” you promised, though you knew you probably wouldn’t.

Luke stayed silent and didn’t press the issue. Instead, he handed you a glass of water, and you took it gratefully, sipping slowly as the two of them busied themselves tidying the room. You could feel their unspoken worry, the way they moved more carefully around you, like you might break at any moment.

“Anything else you need, just let us know,” Luke said quietly before they both left, closing the door behind them.

Alone at last, you collapsed onto the bed, the exhaustion finally catching up to you. The room felt too quiet, too still, and your thoughts began to spiral. You’d made it to N109. You were away from Zayne, away from the Association, from everything. But the weight in your chest—the flowers—remained. You could feel them growing, their roots twisting deeper with every unspoken word, every feeling you couldn’t voice.

You lay there for a long time, staring up at the ceiling, wondering how long you could keep running. How long until the disease consumed you completely?

There was a soft knock at the door, and you turned your head to see Sylus leaning against the frame, holding a tray of what looked like a warm bowl of noodles. 

“Not eating, huh?” he said, his voice low. “I figured. Got you something anyway.” He walked in and placed the tray on the side table. You were right. It was one of your favorites when you stayed here before.

You smiled weakly. “You don’t have to do this.”

Sylus shrugged, his crimson eyes still locked on you, sharper now, as if he could see the weight you were carrying. He goes back to lean against the door frame, watching you like you were going to break at any second. “I do when you come back looking like death warmed over. What’s going on, Y/N?”

You wanted to tell him. You wanted to spill everything—the disease, your love for Zayne, the way it was slowly killing you. But the words stuck in your throat, and all you could manage was a tired, “It’s complicated.”

Sylus’s gaze didn’t waver. “Everything’s complicated. Doesn’t mean you can’t talk about it.”

For a moment, you considered it, but then the thought of Zayne flashed through your mind. The image of him with Emma, happy, unburdened by your love, and the flowers in your chest tightened.

“I’ll be fine,” you said instead, though you weren’t sure you believed it yourself.

Sylus stared at you for another long moment before sighing. “Well, you’re here now. Rest up. We’ll figure it out tomorrow.”

He pushed off the doorframe and left you alone again, but his words lingered in the air. We’ll figure it out.

But what if there was nothing left to figure out? What if the only solution was letting the flowers take you?

The silence of the room settled over you like a heavy blanket, pressing down on your chest until it was almost unbearable. Every breath felt strained, like the air itself was growing thicker. It has been a few days. You hadn’t told Sylus, or anyone for that matter, the full truth of your condition. But you could feel it—the flowers—growing stronger, more vicious by the day. Sylus has ordered a doctor to come to your room, just to check up on you. Just as you predicted, doctors are a bit hard to come by in this area. The doctor knows little about Hanahaki disease, so you told him it was your Protocore Disease accompanied by accumulated stress from work. He gave you suppressants and asked Sylus to monitor you for now.

Hours passed in a blur of restless half-sleep, until a sharp pain in your chest jolted you awake. You pressed a hand to your ribs, wincing as a violent cough wracked your body, more intense than any you’d had before. Panic surged through you as the pressure built in your throat, forcing you out of bed.

You stumbled into the bathroom, hands trembling as you gripped the edge of the sink. Another cough ripped through you, harder this time, and you doubled over, gasping. You felt something sharp and foreign rise in your throat—something too large, too wrong.

With a shuddering breath, you coughed again, and this time, something solid came up. You coughed repeatedly but it would just not come out. Tears stream down your face from the pain and frustration. You began to help it by pulling it out with your fingers. And finally, it came out.

You leaned over the sink, spitting out the mass into the basin, your heart pounding in your chest. When you looked down, you froze.

A stem of thorns, slick with blood, curled like a dark vine in the sink. Each thorn gleamed under the dim light, jagged and cruel. The petals had been bad enough, but this—this was something else. Something worse. You couldn’t ignore it any longer. The disease was advancing, and it was doing so faster than you’d anticipated.

Panic surged through you as you backed away from the sink, a quiet whimper escaping your lips. You pressed a trembling hand to your mouth, trying to stifle the sound, but it was too late. You hear that damn bird cawing outside the door. 

The door creaked open, and Sylus stepped into the bathroom, his eyes narrowing the moment he saw you. He was still dressed fully like he just came back from outside. He must’ve had a meeting late at night, a normal occurrence in this place. Mephisto, sits by his shoulder, cawing like he was the one who led Sylus to you. 

“Y/N?” His voice was low but urgent, the edge of concern sharpening his usually calm demeanor.

You turned, eyes wide, your hand still pressed to your mouth as if you could hide the evidence. But it was no use. His gaze flickered from you to the sink, where the thorny stem still lay, stark against the white porcelain. There was blood all over your mouth, dripping on your hands and neck.

“Sweetie…” His voice dropped, softer now, but laced with something darker. “What the hell is going on?”

You couldn’t speak. The words stuck in your throat, tangled with fear and shame. Sylus crossed the room in a few quick strides, his eyes never leaving yours as he reached the sink. He stared at the thorns for a moment before looking back at you, his face hardening with realization.

“You’ve got Hanahaki, don’t you?” It wasn’t a question. It was a statement, a truth you could no longer deny.

Tears welled in your eyes as you nodded, your hands shaking as you gripped the edge of the sink for support. “I… I didn’t want to tell anyone. I thought I could handle it,” your voice was hoarse, throat swollen as you tried so hard to speak.

“Handle it?” Sylus’s voice cracked, and he ran a hand through his hair, clearly trying to keep his frustration in check. “You’re coughing up thorns, Y/N, rose thorns. You do know that rose is one of the deadliest strains of Hanahaki, don’t you? This isn’t something you can just ‘handle.’ Why the hell didn’t you say anything?”

You swallowed hard, the taste of blood still lingering red in your mouth. “Because… because it’s because of Zayne.”

Sylus froze, his eyes widening in shock. “Zayne? You mean—”

You nodded, the confession spilling out like a dam breaking. “I’ve loved him for so long, Sylus, and I can’t stop. But he’s with someone else now. And I… I couldn’t tell him. I couldn’t put that on him, not when he’s happy.”

Sylus’s expression darkened, and he let out a low, frustrated sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Darling, you’re killing yourself over him. You should have told me sooner.”

Tears slipped down your cheeks as you tried to catch your breath, the pain in your chest growing sharper. “I didn’t know what else to do. I thought… I thought I could live with it, but it’s getting worse. The flowers, they’re… they’re spreading.”

Sylus stepped closer, his hands gripping your shoulders gently but firmly. “You don’t have to go through this alone. We’ll figure something out. But first, we need to get you to a doctor. A real one, not some back-alley medic.”

“I can’t,” you whispered, shaking your head. “If I get the surgery, it’ll remove the feelings entirely. I won’t feel anything for Zayne anymore. And… and I don’t know if I’m ready to let go of that.”

Sylus’s expression softened, the anger fading as he saw the pain in your eyes. “I get it. But you have to take care of yourself first. This disease—it’s going to kill you if you don’t do something. I’m not letting you waste away like this.”

You met his gaze, feeling the weight of his words sink in. You didn’t want to die. Not like this. But the thought of losing your feelings for Zayne, of letting go of the love that had been a part of you for so long—it felt like a different kind of death.

“I’m scared,” you admitted, your voice barely a whisper.

Sylus nodded, his hands still steady on your shoulders. “I know. But I’ve got you, sweetie. We’ll get through this.”

You nodded, feeling the tears fall freely now. For the first time in what felt like forever, you allowed yourself to lean on someone else. To let Sylus’s strength carry you, if only for a little while.

“We’ll get you to a doctor in the N109 zone,” he said quietly. “Someone who can help, someone who won’t ask too many questions. But after that… you need to make a decision, Y/N. Whether you want the surgery or not, you need to choose. I’ll support you, whatever you decide.”

You nodded, knowing that the time for running was over. You couldn’t keep pretending this wasn’t happening. The flowers had taken root, and now it was up to you to decide how to survive.

Zayne sat at his desk, staring down at the empty appointment slot on his tablet. It had been weeks since you missed your first check-up, and at first, he didn’t think much of it—Hunters had unpredictable schedules, after all. But then you missed the next one. And the one after that. Now, weeks had passed without so much as a text from you, and an uneasy feeling had settled deep in his gut. You were never this irresponsible about your health.

He tried reaching out—texts, calls—but all had gone unanswered. That was when real concern started to gnaw at him. The you he knew wouldn’t just vanish like that, especially not from something as crucial as your medical check-ups. Something was wrong.

He didn’t like the feeling. In fact, it twisted in his chest, growing heavier by the day. He’d dealt with plenty of patients who disappeared on him, but you were different. You always kept in touch, always made an effort to keep things light even when you were battered from a mission. But now? Silence.

Sighing, Zayne grabbed his coat and decided to take matters into his own hands. He needed to check on you in person. He knew where your apartment was—he’d dropped off medicine there more times than he could count after your particularly rough assignments. His job required him to keep an eye on his patients, but with you, it was more than that. He hated the way his thoughts kept drifting back to you.

The streets leading to your apartment were quiet as he made his way over, the familiar hum of the city blending into the background. His mind raced as he walked up the stairs to your door, running over all the possibilities: maybe you were hurt, maybe you were sick, maybe you were avoiding him. That last one gnawed at him harder than the others.

When he finally reached your apartment, Zayne rang the doorbell, waiting for a response. Silence. He knocked this time, but there was no movement, no sound coming from within. His heart sank a little, and he tried the handle. Locked.

“Y/N?” he called out, pressing his ear to the door. Nothing.

He felt his pulse quicken. He checked the windows, walked around the perimeter, hoping for some sign that you were there. But the place was eerily still. It was clear you hadn’t been home for a while. The anxiety that had been simmering in the back of his mind began to boil over.

Zayne pulled out his phone and scrolled to Tara’s number. If anyone knew where you were, it would be her. You were inseparable as fellow Hunters, practically glued to each other on and off the field. If something was wrong, Tara would have noticed.

The phone rang, each buzz tightening the knot in his stomach, until finally, Tara’s voice came through.

“Zayne? What’s up?”

“Hey, Tara,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady. “Have you seen Y/N lately? She’s missed a couple of appointments, and I just went by her apartment. She’s not there, and she hasn’t been answering my calls.”

There was a pause on the other end of the line, and Zayne’s chest tightened at the silence. Tara wasn’t usually one to hesitate.

“Zayne…” Her voice softened. “She’s on leave.”

“Leave?” His brow furrowed. “Since when? Why didn’t she tell me?”

“She filed for leave about a week and a half ago,” Tara explained, her tone tinged with worry. “She hasn’t been herself lately. I mean, she’s not feeling well and went on sick leave… I figured she needed some time to recover, but I don’t know where she went.”

Zayne’s grip on his phone tightened. “Wait, she’s been sick?”

“I don’t know how bad, but it’s been getting worse. I tried to get her to rest, but you know Y/N. She’s stubborn. Always pushing herself too hard.” Tara sighed on the other end. “I haven’t been able to reach her since she left either. I thought maybe she just needed space, but… I don’t know, Zayne. She told me she’ll come back when she feels better.”

Zayne’s mind raced. Sick? That explained your recent absence from your appointments, but why hadn’t you come to him? Why hadn’t you said anything? And where the hell were you now? The idea of you out there, alone, battling something serious without any support—it made his stomach turn. He was supposed to be your physician. Who else could you trust more in this situation? 

“Thanks, Tara,” he said quickly. “If you hear from her, let me know immediately.”

“You too,” Tara said, her voice growing softer with concern. “I hope she’s okay.”

Zayne hung up, his thoughts swirling in a storm of worry and frustration. This wasn’t just a case of missing appointments. You were sick, and you hadn’t told anyone what it is that you’re feeling. Not Tara, not the Association, and not him. The thought of you out there somewhere, getting worse by the day, hit him hard.

He took a deep breath, trying to steady his nerves. He wasn’t going to let this slide. He needed to find you, and fast. And if you were too stubborn to ask for help, well, that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to give it to you anyway. You didn’t get to disappear on him. Not like this. Not when it felt like something was so deeply, dangerously wrong.

The underground clinic in the N109 Zone was dimly lit, the scent of antiseptic and metal lingering in the air. Sylus sat beside you, his crimson eyes fixed on the makeshift doctor as she examined your condition. The doctor, a woman with worn hands and tired eyes, shook her head slightly, pulling back from the dim glow of her equipment. Sylus told you she’s the only one in the area who specializes in Hanahaki disease.

“It’s as I suspected,” she said quietly, her voice barely carrying over the hum of old machines. “The remedies I’ve given her will alleviate some of the symptoms—the coughing, the pain—but they won’t stop the disease. Hanahaki can only be cured one way.”

You knew what she was going to say before she even spoke the words. You felt it every time you coughed, every time a petal slipped from your lips, every time the thorny vines twisted deeper into your lungs. Hanahaki Disease was a cruel sickness. Only unrequited love could birth it, and only love returned could stop it.

Sylus stood, pacing the small clinic room, his fists clenched tight. “So what’s the point of this?” he growled. “You’re telling me she’s just going to keep getting worse?”

The doctor nodded grimly. “I’ve seen cases like this before. Without reciprocation, the flowers will continue to bloom. The disease will spread. It will choke her from the inside out.” Her eyes shifted to you, softening with pity. “She’ll have to make a choice soon. Either have the flowers removed surgically and forget her feelings entirely, or…”

“Or die,” you finished for her, your voice barely above a whisper.

The doctor didn’t respond, but the silence was enough.

Sylus slammed his fist into the nearest counter, rattling the tools scattered across its surface. “There has to be another way.”

The doctor said nothing. She’d already given her answer.

You shifted uncomfortably in the worn cot, feeling the sharp sting of another thorn scratching at your throat. You pressed a hand to your mouth, and when you pulled it away, you saw more petals—vibrant, soft, and hauntingly beautiful. The irony wasn’t lost on you: love, something meant to be pure and life-giving, was slowly killing you.

Sylus knelt beside you, his frustration giving way to concern. He grabbed your hand, his grip firm but gentle. “You can’t keep doing this, Y/N. You need real help.”

You met his gaze, seeing the worry etched deep into his features. You wanted to tell him that you were fine, that you could push through this. But the truth was, you didn’t know how much longer you could keep going. Each day, the flowers bloomed more aggressively. Each day, you felt your strength slipping away. And the one person who could save you—Zayne—was unreachable, tangled in a new relationship, unaware of the feelings you’d been hiding.

“I don’t want to forget him,” you whispered, your voice cracking.

Sylus’s expression darkened. “You’re dying for a man who doesn’t even know you’re dying because of him.”

You knew he was right. You’d seen Zayne’s smile when Emma came to his office. Zayne wasn’t yours to love, not anymore. Maybe he never was. But the thought of forgetting him entirely—of erasing every moment, every memory, every flicker of what could have been—was unbearable.

“I can’t,” you murmured. “Not yet.”

Sylus let out a slow breath, his frustration palpable, but he didn’t push further. He simply stayed by your side, silent but steadfast, offering the only comfort he could in this grim situation.

Days passed in a haze of pain and exhaustion. The makeshift remedies from the underground doctors kept the worst of the symptoms at bay, but they couldn’t stop the inevitable. The flowers continued to bloom, their roots digging deeper into your chest. You could feel them, a constant presence now, weighing down your lungs, stealing your breath little by little.

One night, as you lay in bed at Sylus’s place, you woke to another coughing fit. This time, it wasn’t just petals that came up—there were stems, long and twisted, covered in thorns. You pressed a trembling hand to your chest, feeling the flowers pressing against your ribs, desperate to grow, desperate to take over. You couldn’t stop them.

Sylus found you sitting on the bathroom floor, clutching your chest, petals and stems scattered across the tiles. He didn’t say anything at first. He just knelt beside you, his expression a mix of anger and helplessness.

“You don’t have much time left, do you?” he asked quietly.

You shook your head, tears slipping down your cheeks. You hadn’t realized how weak you’d become until that moment, how much the disease had taken from you. The once-strong Hunter now sat in a heap, broken by love that was never meant to be.

Sylus grabbed his phone, his voice tense as he called another doctor. “She needs real help. Now.”

But deep down, you both knew the truth. There was no real cure for Hanahaki—not unless Zayne’s love was returned. And that hope was slipping further out of reach with each passing day.

The dim lighting of Sylus’s home did little to soothe your nerves. After another coughing fit that left you weakened and breathless, you sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the bouquet of petals in your hand—pale, soft, and soaked in blood. The weight of your condition felt more unbearable with every passing day, the flowers pushing closer to your heart, the thorns digging deeper into your lungs. Yet, even after everything, you couldn’t bring yourself to agree to the surgery that would rip not only the flowers from you but also your feelings for Zayne.

There was a knock on the door. Sylus entered, followed closely by the underground doctor from the N109 zone. She carried a bag of supplies, her face etched with the same quiet concern you’d come to expect from her.

“Y/N, we need to talk,” Sylus began, his voice uncharacteristically gentle. He took a seat beside you, his crimson eyes meeting yours. “The remedies we’ve been giving you… they’re not enough. You’re getting worse.”

“I know,” you whispered, your voice hoarse. “But I’m not ready for the surgery. I can’t just… forget.”

The doctor stepped forward, glancing at Sylus before speaking. “Y/N, I understand your hesitation. But we’ve been talking, and there might be another option.”

You looked up, confused. “Another option?”

“It’s not a cure,” she clarified, her tone careful, “but there’s a treatment we could try. It won’t stop the disease entirely, but it could slow it down—buy you more time, at least. It would alleviate some of the more aggressive symptoms, like the coughing and the thorn growth.”

Your hope flickered. “Why didn’t you tell me this before?”

The doctor exchanged a quick glance with Sylus, then spoke again. “The treatment is experimental, and the resources here in the N109 zone are… limited. We don’t have the proper equipment to administer it safely. You’d have to go back to Linkon City, to Akso Hospital.”

Linkon City. The name sent a jolt of fear and longing through you. It meant facing everything you were trying to run from—Zayne, his new relationship with Emma, the memories you were desperate to hold onto. But it also meant the possibility of relief, of not feeling like you were drowning every time you took a breath.

“How does it work?” you asked warily, your eyes darting between the doctor and Sylus.

“The treatment will slow the growth of the flowers,” she explained. “It won’t cure the disease, but it’ll suppress the symptoms long enough for us to manage them. It’ll give you more time to decide what you want to do.”

Sylus crossed his arms, his gaze heavy on you. “It’s the best option right now, Y/N. Better than sitting here, wasting away.”

You hesitated, your heart pounding in your chest. Going back to Linkon meant stepping right back into Zayne’s world. You didn’t know if you could handle seeing him again, knowing that you still loved him and that he had moved on. But the alternative—letting the disease run its course, with no other options left—was becoming harder to endure.

“What if it doesn’t work?” you asked quietly, fear creeping into your voice.

The doctor’s face softened. “It’s a risk, I won’t lie. But right now, doing nothing is a bigger risk.”

You clenched the sheets in your hands, the conflicting emotions inside you swirling like a storm. You wanted to believe that this new treatment would help, that it would give you enough time to figure things out. But deep down, a part of you knew this was a gamble.

“I don’t know if I can go back there,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “Zayne… he…”

Sylus placed a hand on your shoulder, his expression firm but kind. “You don’t have to see him if you don’t want to. But you can’t die like this, Y/N. Not when there’s still a chance, even if it’s a small one.”

The doctor nodded. “I’ll arrange everything with Akso Hospital. They have the facilities and the staff to administer the treatment safely. You can be in and out, no one needs to know you’re there.”

You swallowed hard, the idea of returning to Linkon gnawing at you. But the weight of the disease was becoming too much to bear. If this treatment really could slow it down, even for a little while, maybe it was worth the risk. You didn’t want to die. Not like this. Not without trying something.

“Okay,” you said finally, your voice trembling. “I’ll go.”

Sylus’s hand tightened on your shoulder briefly, a silent show of support. The doctor nodded, already pulling out her comms to make the necessary arrangements.

“I’ll set it up for tomorrow,” she said. “We’ll get you to Linkon, get the treatment started, and bring you back here before anyone even knows you’re gone.”

You nodded, but deep down, a part of you wasn’t convinced. Something about this didn’t feel right. But you were too exhausted, too weak to argue. For now, you would hold on to the hope that this “treatment” would give you the time you desperately needed. Time to figure out what came next—whether you could keep running from the love that was slowly killing you, or whether you had no choice but to let it go.

As the doctor left to make the arrangements, you lay back against the pillow, the weight of the decision settling over you like a heavy cloak. You had no idea what awaited you in Linkon. All you knew was that whatever happened, it would bring you closer to the inevitable.

Zayne sat in his office at Akso Hospital, his fingers tapping restlessly on the desk. Something had been gnawing at the back of his mind for weeks—Y/N’s sudden disappearance from her regular checkups, the silence she’d maintained despite his attempts to reach out. She had always been stubborn, always tough, but this felt different. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong.

A message buzzed on his comm, interrupting his thoughts. It was from Greyson. Zayne opened the message, his eyes skimming over the text quickly:

“Heard a rumor. A Hunter suffering from Hanahaki Disease is being admitted to Akso. Thought you’d want to know.”

His heart stopped. Hanahaki Disease. He hadn’t heard of anyone in the Hunter circle suffering from it—no one except… No. It couldn’t be.

Zayne read the message again, his mind spinning. The only Hunter who had been coming to him regularly, the only one who had left without explanation, was Y/N. His mind raced, replaying every moment from their last appointment—the slight cough she tried to hide, the way she seemed distant, and the sudden leave she took from the Hunters Association. The pieces began to fit together like a cruel puzzle, one that painted a picture of her suffering in silence. 

The realization hit him like a punch to the gut. Y/N had been in love with someone, and the disease had taken root because the other hadn’t returned those feelings. And now, because of that, she was dying. Why didn’t she tell him? There could only be one reason why she didn’t ask for his help, her only physician. 

Zayne stood abruptly, knocking a few files off his desk as he scrambled to process what this meant. He felt an overwhelming sense of guilt wash over him—he had been blind to her feelings, caught up in his new relationship with Emma, while Y/N had been silently withering away. He was so in sync with Emma, so alike, that when she asked if they could try being more than colleagues and friends, he didn’t know why he actually agreed to date. He must tell you that. He must tell you that he…

Oh. He does. For so long. 

He couldn’t waste another second. Grabbing his coat, Zayne rushed out of his office, his mind focused on one thing: finding Y/N before it was too late.

He tapped his phone, dialing a doctor from the network who was set to oversee the patient’s treatment. The voice on the other end answered quickly.

“Zayne? What’s going on?”

“I need to know about the patient coming in with Hanahaki Disease. The Hunter,” Zayne said, his voice tense, barely controlled. “When are they being admitted?”

There was a pause, then the voice responded, hesitant. “That’s confidential information, Zayne. I can’t just—”

“It’s Y/N,” Zayne interrupted, his tone sharp. “She’s the one with Hanahaki Disease, isn’t she?”

Another pause, this one longer, more telling. “Zayne… I don’t know all the details, but… yes. She’s scheduled for surgery tomorrow.”

His heart dropped. Surgery. Hanahaki Disease could only be cured in two ways—either by having her love returned or by undergoing surgery to remove the flowers. But the surgery came with a cruel price: it would erase her feelings completely. Y/N wouldn’t just lose the disease; she would lose her love for him, and all the memories tied to it.

Zayne’s grip tightened on the comm. “Cancel the surgery. I’m coming.”

“Zayne, you can’t—”

“Cancel it,” Zayne said firmly. “I’m not going to let her go through with this without knowing the truth.”

He disconnected the call, his heart racing as he stormed down the hallways of the hospital. His thoughts were a whirlwind of panic and guilt. He should’ve noticed sooner. He should’ve been there for her. But there was still time—he had to believe that. He could fix this, he had to.

Zayne made his way to his car, his mind already racing ahead to what he would say to her. He had no idea how she would react, or if she even wanted to see him after everything, but he couldn’t let her go through with the surgery. He had to tell her how he felt. Because the truth was, somewhere along the way, his feelings for her had grown too.

As he drove through the city, his thoughts lingered on Y/N—on her strength, her stubbornness, and the way she had always kept her distance, even when he tried to get close. He had been blind, wrapped up in his own life, too focused on the surface of things. But now, he understood. And he wasn’t going to let her suffer in silence any longer.

Zayne’s mind was racing as the car sped towards Akso Hospital, the weight of everything crashing down on him. He didn’t know if she would even listen to him. But one thing was certain: he couldn’t let her go through that surgery without knowing that he was ready to fight for her—for them.

For the first time, Zayne realized just how much he cared for Y/N. How much she meant to him, and how blind he had been to the quiet way she had always been there. He couldn’t let her lose that, not when he could still save her.

Tomorrow, you’ll be leaving for Linkon and you couldn’t sleep. Your mind is everywhere until you found yourself once again in the bathroom. The dim, suffocating air of the room wrapped around you like a cold embrace. Your breath came in shallow, ragged gasps as you hunched over the sink, your hands trembling as you help yourself hurl the white rose. The familiar metallic taste filled your mouth, but this time, it was worse—far worse than it had ever been.

When you finally dared to glance down, your heart nearly stopped. There, lying in the sink, was the largest bloom yet: a full white rose, its petals soft and fragile, but tangled in sharp, vicious thorns. Blood stained the delicate petals, your blood, and the sight of it sent a shudder down your spine. You clutched the edge of the sink for support, your vision swimming as pain tore through your chest.

This was it. The disease had progressed further than you had imagined. No makeshift remedy could stop it now. There was no time to experiment.

The thorns, tangled and sharp, had felt like they were tearing you apart from the inside out. The flowers—the symbol of love that you couldn’t escape—had bloomed in full force, reminding you of the feelings you had tried so desperately to bury. Every cough felt like a knife in your lungs, but it was more than just physical pain. It was the heartbreak of loving someone who would never love you back.

You stumbled back from the sink, collapsing onto the floor, clutching your chest as you struggled to breathe. The decision you had been avoiding for so long now weighed heavily on you, inescapable. You couldn’t survive this. The love that had rooted itself deep within you was slowly killing you, and there was no way to keep running.

Sylus found you moments later, rushing into the bathroom when he heard your weak cries for help. His crimson eyes widened when he saw you, his usual stoic expression breaking with a mix of shock and concern. He knelt beside you, his hand gently resting on your shoulder, his voice low.

“Y/N,” he murmured, his tone softer than you had ever heard it. “This… you can’t keep doing this to yourself.”

Your throat felt raw as you coughed again, tasting blood on your lips. You couldn’t even muster the strength to argue, your body finally betraying you in the worst way possible. Sylus helped you sit up, his eyes briefly glancing at the bloodied rose in the sink. He didn’t say anything, but the look on his face told you he understood.

“I can’t… I can’t fight it anymore,” you rasped, your voice barely audible. “I need the surgery.”

Sylus’s eyes flickered with something that almost looked like relief, but it was tempered by the knowledge of what the surgery meant. He knew the cost—the erasure of your feelings for Zayne, the love that had been such a painful part of you for so long. But he also knew there was no other choice now.

“You’re sure?” he asked, his voice gentle.

You nodded weakly, wiping at your mouth with a shaking hand. “It’s the only way. I… I don’t want to die like this.”

Sylus exhaled slowly, standing up and helping you to your feet. “Then I’ll make the arrangements. We’ll leave for Linkon as soon as you’re ready.”

Your legs wobbled beneath you, but you managed to steady yourself with Sylus’s support. The weight of your decision settled over you like a heavy blanket—stifling, but somehow also freeing. You would lose your love for Zayne, that much was certain. But at least you would survive. At least the pain would stop. And you could get back to work. You could see him again and act like nothing happened. It would be better for everyone if you just didn’t feel. 

As you packed your things for the journey back to Linkon City, your heart felt strangely hollow. There was no going back now. You were going to let the surgery take away everything—the flowers, the thorns, and the love that had nearly consumed you. You would lose the part of yourself that had been tied to Zayne, but maybe that was for the best.

Maybe, in the end, forgetting him and his memories would be the only way to move forward.

With a final, shaky breath, you looked out the window, knowing this was your last chance to feel the weight of your love before it was ripped away forever.

The familiar, sterile scent of Akso Hospital greeted you the moment you arrived in your room. The journey back to Linkon had been long and exhausting, and your body felt more fragile than ever. Every breath seemed to rattle within your chest, the flowers pressing harder against your lungs as the disease worsened.

Sylus had helped you settle into the bed, his usual stoic demeanor faltering slightly as he glanced at you with concern. “I’ll check in on you later,” he said, his voice gruff but laced with an underlying care. “I can’t be seen much around here, you know that. If you need anything, let me know.”

You nodded weakly, barely managing to muster a response. All you could think about was the surgery—the thought of the flowers, and your feelings for Zayne, being torn out of you for good. The relief of that thought was tinged with sadness, a weight that settled heavily in your heart.

Just as you closed your eyes to try to find some rest, the door creaked open.

You didn’t even have to look to know who it was.

“Y/N.”

His voice—steady, but holding the edge of something raw—cut through the quiet room like a blade. Your eyes snapped open, and you turned your head to see Zayne standing in the doorway, his expression torn between worry and something deeper, something more desperate.

You sat up slowly, your body protesting the movement as pain flared in your chest. “Zayne… how did you—”

“I found out,” he interrupted, stepping further into the room. “I found out about your condition, about the Hanahaki. I—” He faltered, as if the words were too heavy to form. His eyes were wide with something you hadn’t seen before—panic.

You shook your head, cutting him off. “Zayne, it’s too late. I’m getting the surgery.”

He froze, standing still as his eyes locked onto yours. “You don’t have to do this.”

Your heart clenched painfully at the words, but you forced yourself to keep your expression steady. “Yes, I do,” you replied softly. “I can’t keep living like this. These flowers, this pain… it’s killing me.”

Zayne’s eyes darkened, his hands clenched at his sides. “You don’t have to lose your feelings for me. You can survive this without giving that up.”

You let out a bitter laugh, your voice trembling with the effort. “How, Zayne? You don’t return my feelings, and this disease… it only stops when the love is mutual.” You met his gaze, trying to convey the finality of your decision. “I don’t have a choice.”

He took another step closer, his face tight with emotion. “But you do have a choice. You don’t need to do this surgery. We can figure something out—together.”

You shook your head, tears pricking the corners of your eyes. “There’s nothing to figure out. I’ve already decided. This is the only way.”

Zayne’s eyes were stormy with conflict. You could see the guilt eating away at him, the pain of realizing what his absence had cost you. But you also knew he wasn’t here to confess his love. He was here because he cared, because he felt responsible. And as much as that hurt, you couldn’t let that be the reason to hold onto hope.

“Zayne, please…” Your voice cracked as you looked at him, your body trembling with exhaustion. “Just go. Let me do this.”

He moved toward you, his hand reaching out to gently cup your face. The contact was warm, his touch familiar and comforting, but you could feel the hesitation in him, the uncertainty that hung in the air.

“You don’t understand,” he murmured, his thumb brushing gently over your cheek. “I don’t want to lose you.”

Your heart clenched at his words, but you pulled away from his touch, shaking your head. “You won’t lose me, Zayne. You’ll still have me as a friend, as someone you care about. But I can’t… I can’t keep loving you like this.”

Tears welled in your eyes, threatening to spill over. This was it. This was the moment you had to let go, no matter how much it hurt. You couldn’t bear to love him any longer, not when it was destroying you from the inside.

Zayne’s expression faltered, his hand falling back to his side. “Y/N…”

“Zayne, just go,” you whispered. 

“Y/N, wait,” he said, his voice low but urgent.

You blinked up at him, confused. “Zayne, please, don’t make this harder than it already is.”

But he wasn’t listening. His hand gripped yours as if it was the only thing keeping him steady, his chest rising and falling heavily with each breath. “There’s something I need to tell you,” he began, his voice strained.

You frowned, your heart sinking. “What is it?”

His eyes locked onto yours, and for the first time, you saw more than just concern. There was something deeper, something conflicted.

“About Emma—the other doctor,” he started, running a hand through his hair. “It’s not what you think. We’re not… It’s not as serious as you believe.”

Your heart skipped a beat, but you quickly shook your head, feeling a wave of exhaustion wash over you. “Zayne, it doesn’t matter. You’re with her, and that’s fine. I’ve already accepted that.”

“No, you haven’t,” he said sharply, stepping closer. His eyes flashed with frustration. “And I haven’t either. I ended things with her.”

You stared at him, trying to make sense of his words. “What do you mean?”

Zayne hesitated for a moment, his brow furrowing as if he was gathering the courage to say something he’d been holding back for too long. “I’ve been avoiding my feelings, Y/N. For a long time. I thought keeping things professional between us was the right thing to do, the smart thing to do.” He paused, searching your eyes. “But seeing you like this… seeing you suffering because of me…”

His voice trailed off, thick with emotion, and you could feel your heart pounding in your chest. This was a side of him you had never seen, a vulnerability you hadn’t expected. You opened your mouth to speak, but he wasn’t done.

“I didn’t want to face it,” he admitted, his voice softer now. “I thought that by staying focused on my work, on our roles, I could keep things simple. But I can’t anymore. Not when I know what’s happening to you. Not when I realize I’m the reason you’ve been hurting.”

Your breath caught in your throat as his words sank in, and you felt the familiar sting of tears building behind your eyes. “Zayne… what are you saying?”

“I’m saying that I don’t want to lose you,” he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve been scared, Y/N. Scared of what it would mean if I let myself feel more for you. But I can’t hide from it anymore. I care about you—more than I should have ever let myself admit.”

The room seemed to shrink around you, his words sinking in deeper with every breath you took. Your heart was racing, your mind a whirlwind of emotions you had thought were on the verge of being erased forever.

“Zayne…” you whispered, your voice trembling. “You… you never said anything.”

He shook his head, guilt flashing in his eyes. “I know. I’m sorry. I should have been honest with you, with myself. But I’m here now, and I’m telling you that I don’t want you to go through with the surgery.” He squeezed your hand gently, his voice steady but filled with emotion. “Don’t erase your feelings, Y/N. Don’t erase us.”

You stared at him, your heart aching with the weight of his words. For so long, you had believed that he would never return your feelings, that your love for him would remain unrequited. But now, here he was, asking you to give him a chance. Asking you to believe that it wasn’t too late.

“I… I don’t know what to say,” you murmured, your throat tight with emotion. “I was ready to move on, to forget…”

Zayne leaned in closer, his eyes never leaving yours. “You don’t have to forget. We can figure this out—together. Please, Y/N… give us a chance.”

Tears finally spilled down your cheeks as you looked into his eyes, the weight of your love for him pressing hard against your chest. The flowers had bloomed so fully within you, so painfully, but for the first time, you felt a spark of hope.

“I’m scared,” you admitted, your voice barely a whisper.

“I am too,” Zayne replied softly, his thumb brushing away one of your tears. “But I’d rather face that fear with you than lose you because of it.”

The silence between you was thick, filled with the weight of everything unsaid, everything you had both been too afraid to confront. But now, in the quiet of the hospital room, with the flowers inside you on the verge of consuming you, there was a new possibility blooming—a chance for something real.

“I don’t want to lose you either,” you whispered, your voice trembling.

Zayne smiled, the tension in his shoulders easing just slightly as he leaned in, his forehead resting gently against yours. “Then don’t.”

The decision still weighed heavily on you—the surgery, the flowers, the uncertainty of what the future would bring. But in this moment, with Zayne by your side, you allowed yourself to hope that maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t too late after all.

The tension in the room hung thick as you gazed at Zayne, his forehead still resting gently against yours, his hand holding yours like an anchor. You could feel the weight of your decision pressing down on you, the reality of your situation still swirling in your mind.

The surgery—the removal of your feelings and the flowers that had ravaged your body—was supposed to be your salvation. It was supposed to be your way out of the pain, the only option you had left to survive. But now, with Zayne in front of you, admitting the feelings you had thought would forever go unspoken, the certainty of that choice began to crack.

Could you really walk away from this now? From him?

With a deep, shuddering breath, you pulled back slightly to look into Zayne’s eyes, your hand still tightly clasped in his. The fear and confusion swirling in your chest didn’t vanish, but something else—a glimmer of hope—was beginning to take root.

“I can’t promise that this will work,” you whispered, your voice barely audible as you spoke the truth that trembled within you. “I don’t know if my feelings will ever go away, or if the flowers will stop growing…”

Zayne shook his head, his eyes softening. “I’m not asking for guarantees,” he murmured, his voice filled with quiet intensity. “I’m just asking for a chance. A chance for us. I… I like you, Y/N.”

Your throat tightened as emotion swelled inside you. For so long, you had been ready to let go, to numb yourself to the possibility of anything more. But now, with him sitting by your side, his touch grounding you in a way you hadn’t thought possible, the idea of walking away felt unbearable.

You didn’t want to let go—not of him, not of what could be.

With a slow exhale, you made the decision that had been forming in your heart ever since Zayne walked through the door. “I’ll… I’ll delay the surgery,” you said softly, your voice wavering but resolute. “Just for now.”

Zayne’s grip on your hand tightened, relief flooding his expression as his shoulders sagged slightly. “Thank you,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “Thank you for giving this a chance.”

You nodded, your heart still pounding in your chest, but the dread you’d carried for so long felt a little lighter, like a weight that was finally beginning to lift.

As the hours passed, Zayne stayed by your side, refusing to leave. He sat close, his presence warm and steady as he talked quietly with you about anything and everything—his work, your missions as a Hunter, the lives you both led before this moment. It was as if the space between you, once filled with unspoken tension, was slowly being bridged by the quiet understanding that had always been there but never fully acknowledged.

And as the evening settled over Linkon City, something unexpected began to happen.

The pressure in your chest, once unbearable, began to ease. The sharp, suffocating pain of the flowers pressing against your lungs softened. You coughed lightly, out of habit more than necessity, but there were no thorns, no petals. You touched your chest, almost disbelieving, feeling the absence of the usual tightness.

Zayne noticed immediately, his eyes widening as he watched you. “Y/N?” he asked, concern still lacing his voice.

You took a deep breath—a real, full breath—and felt the difference. “The pain,” you said slowly, your voice filled with disbelief. “It’s… it’s not as bad.”

Zayne’s eyes softened as he leaned closer. “The flowers,” he murmured, his thumb gently brushing over the back of your hand. “They’re withering, aren’t they?”

You nodded, still too stunned to speak. The flowers that had been blooming within you for so long, the painful manifestation of your unreturned love, were beginning to wilt. The thorns were loosening their grip, the petals curling inward, no longer feeding off the relentless ache in your heart.

For the first time in what felt like forever, you felt a sense of relief, of hope. It wasn’t immediate, and it wasn’t a cure—but it was a start. A small sign that maybe, just maybe, your heart was beginning to heal.

Zayne squeezed your hand gently, his eyes never leaving yours. He closes the distance between you, lips meeting the skin of your forehead.

Tears welled up in your eyes, and you let out a small, shaky laugh, overwhelmed by the unexpected turn of events. “I missed you so bad,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion.

Zayne smiled, the warmth in his expression lighting up the room. “So did I.”

And with that, a fragile but beautiful sense of hope bloomed between you, far more powerful than any of the flowers that had once threatened to destroy you. 

As the night deepened, you knew that the road ahead wouldn’t be easy, that your journey with Zayne was only just beginning. But for the first time in a long time, you weren’t afraid. You were ready to face whatever came next, together.

The flowers within you may have started to wither, but something far more enduring was taking their place—a glimmer of love, of possibility, of the future you could now dare to hope for. 

Zayne sat on the side of your bed, looking at you. You’ve just now realized the bag under his eyes and how much his hair wasn’t as kept as it always was. He looks tired. 

He holds your face again, looming close. You close your eyes and wait for him to close the distance. You can feel his breath on yours, slow and calming, until his lips softly land on yours. 

Back in the dimly lit underground of the N109 Zone, Sylus lounged in his usual chair, legs crossed casually as he flicked through his papers of work. Mephisto, his sleek, mechanical crow, perched on the edge of his desk. Its dark metal feathers glinted under the low light as its red eyes glowed with an eerie pulse. The crow had just returned from its latest mission, flying back from Linkon City with an update Sylus had been waiting on. He leaned forward, his eyes narrowing as Mephisto clicked softly, a sign it had recorded new information.

With a tap on the crow’s head, Sylus activated the playback, listening intently as a holographic projection materialized in the air between them. It showed clips of Y/N, her once-pale face now regaining a hint of color, the dark shadows under her eyes starting to fade. She was walking through the corridors of Akso Hospital, slower than her usual stride, but there was an unmistakable strength returning to her movements.

Sylus smirked, leaning back in his chair. “She’s getting better,” he murmured, satisfied. His crimson eyes flicked over the scenes of Y/N interacting with Zayne, watching as she spoke with him, her body language more relaxed than it had been in weeks. He noted the way Zayne hovered protectively, never too far, a subtle guardian by her side.

Mephisto clicked again, relaying more footage from its surveillance of the city. Sylus took it all in, his mind piecing together what had unfolded. Y/N had made her choice—not to go through with the surgery just yet. Instead, she was taking her chances with Zayne, exploring what could be between them.

Sylus’ fingers drummed lightly on the armrest of his chair as he considered it. He’d always respected Y/N’s strength, admired her resilience even when she was at her weakest. That she had survived the Hanahaki long enough to make it back to Linkon—and now, was seemingly thriving—was a testament to her will.

“You made the right call, sweetie,” he said to no one in particular, his voice low but approving.

Mephisto fluttered its wings, a sound like the shifting of gears, and Sylus gave the crow a nod of approval. He was satisfied with what he saw. Y/N had her path now, and though Sylus knew better than to interfere too much in her affairs, he couldn’t help but feel a small sense of pride at her recovery.

“Keep an eye on her, Mephisto,” he muttered, his voice turning sharp again. “But let her be. She’s strong enough to handle things from here.”

The mechanical crow clicked in acknowledgment before it took off into the air, disappearing through one of the many grates in the ceiling, off to continue its watch from the shadows. Sylus watched it go, the flicker of a smile lingering on his lips.

Y/N would be fine. She had her own battles to fight now, and with Zayne by her side, she had a chance. That was all Sylus could have hoped for.

With a quiet sigh, he stood up and headed toward the doorway, his boots echoing against the metal floor. There were other things to handle in N109, but for now, knowing that Y/N was on her way to healing—both from the flowers and from the tangled feelings that had plagued her—was enough to put his mind at ease.

As Sylus watched Mephisto disappear through the grate, the flicker of satisfaction from Y/N’s recovery still lingering, a sudden tightness gripped his chest. It wasn’t the usual tension from a long day in the shadows of N109—it was sharper, more visceral. His brows furrowed, and before he could fully process the sensation, a sharp cough escaped his throat.

He doubled over slightly, hand instinctively rising to his mouth. For a moment, the metallic taste of blood made him grimace, but as he pulled his hand away, what caught his attention was the small, delicate object that had landed on his palm.

A petal.

The sight of it made Sylus freeze. He stared at the soft, pastel pink petal—a contrast to the dim, metallic world around him. His eyes narrowed, his mind racing. The Hanahaki Disease. He’d seen its ravages before, watched Y/N suffer under its grasp. But this? His own symptoms? He couldn’t quite believe it.

“Damn it,” he muttered under his breath, tossing the petal onto his desk. The sharp throb in his chest hadn’t fully subsided, but it wasn’t the same as what he had witnessed in Y/N. There was no choking on thorns or overwhelming floral invasion. This was... different. A strain less aggressive, yet unmistakable in its cause.

Hanahaki. Unrequited love.

Sylus let out a low, humorless chuckle, his crimson eyes darkening as the realization hit him. He was no stranger to matters of the heart, but he’d always kept those feelings locked away, never giving them enough room to grow—or so he thought. This was proof that something had taken root, something he couldn’t deny anymore.

And there was only one person who came to mind.

Y/N.

He didn’t need to ask himself why. Seeing her leave, watching her struggle to fight the same disease, knowing he couldn’t do more than offer her shelter and assistance—it had stirred something in him. A feeling he hadn’t allowed himself to acknowledge. He had helped her out of concern, out of duty, out of their connection—but there had been something more.

The petal on his desk was proof of that.

Sylus stared at the petal on his desk, its delicate form unmistakably belonging to a lily. The pristine white hue stood out starkly against the gritty backdrop of his desk, a contrast that was almost mocking. Of course, it had to be lilies—symbolic of purity and renewal, the very antithesis of his hardened existence in N109. He couldn’t help but scoff at the irony.

Lilies.

He picked up the petal between his fingers, turning it over as he examined it closer. Unlike the thorn-covered roses Y/N had been coughing up, these petals were smooth, soft, and almost harmless in comparison. But he knew better. They were far from benign.

The fact that he was coughing up lilies of all things wasn’t lost on him. They represented something gentle, something almost... fragile. But Sylus was anything but fragile, and yet, here he was, entangled in the same affliction that had nearly destroyed Y/N. He sighed, tossing the petal back on the desk, watching it flutter down like a weightless reminder of what had been growing inside him.

And now, there was no denying the truth—he had feelings for her. Feelings that he had buried so deep they’d only surfaced now, in this frustrating, blooming form. Unlike Y/N’s roses, his strain wasn’t lethal, but that didn’t make it any less concerning. He wouldn’t let it get worse. He refused to be bound by something as foolish as unspoken love.

He glanced at his comm device again, fingers hovering over the screen before he pressed down, confirming the appointment with Dr. Maren for the next day. He wouldn’t let this linger, not like Y/N had. Sylus didn’t like loose ends, and this, now that he knew, was a loose end he intended to tie up.

But the thought of Y/N remained in his mind as he sat there, the image of her recovery still fresh. She was doing better. The flowers inside her were beginning to wither, a hopeful sign that her heart was healing. That gave him some measure of relief, knowing she was on a path that might lead to happiness—whether it involved him or not.

As for him... Sylus wasn’t sure where this would end. He wasn’t the type to dwell on love or let emotions cloud his judgment. But the lilies said otherwise. They were there, quietly blooming inside him, pushing him toward feelings he hadn’t intended to face.

“Well,” he muttered to himself, standing up from his desk, “I guess we’ll see how this plays out.”

The mechanical whir of Mephisto’s wings echoed faintly in the background as the crow returned from its surveillance, landing quietly on its perch. Sylus spared it a glance, giving the bird a small nod. There was always work to do, but for now, he had to focus on his next move.

Tomorrow, he'll see the doctor. And then, maybe—just maybe—he’d figure out what to do about the lilies. 

Sylus exhaled deeply, the weight of this new revelation pressing down on him. He couldn’t afford to let this disease grow. It wasn’t as severe as Y/N’s strain—he was lucky in that sense—but the fact that he had symptoms at all meant it could worsen if left unchecked.

He reached for his comm device, his fingers moving with purpose as he scrolled through his contacts. He needed answers, and he knew exactly who to call.

“Dr. Maren,” Sylus said as soon as the connection clicked. “I need to schedule a check-up. Something’s come up.”

There was a brief pause on the other end before Maren responded, the voice calm but attentive. “Sylus? I thought your plan to draw Y/N to Linkon worked. What’s the issue?”

Sylus leaned back in his chair, glancing at the petal again before he spoke. “It’s me. But it’s a mild strain.”

Another silence, this one longer, before Maren’s voice returned, more serious this time. “That’s not something to take lightly, even if it’s a mild case. How long have you had symptoms?”

Sylus closed his eyes, recalling the subtle tightness that had been plaguing him over the past few weeks. It hadn’t been enough to alarm him, but now it all made sense. “Not long. It’s manageable for now. But I need to know what we’re dealing with.”

“I’ll fit you in tomorrow,” Maren replied swiftly. “Come to the clinic. We’ll run some tests.”

Sylus nodded to himself, feeling the weight of his situation sink in. “I’ll be there.”

He ended the call and leaned forward, hands steepling under his chin as he stared at the petal once more. It was a strange irony, being caught by the same disease that had nearly claimed Y/N. But there was no time for self-pity. He was pragmatic by nature—he would handle it like everything else in his life: methodically, without hesitation. 

Still, the realization that his feelings for Y/N had manifested into something so tangible made him pause. He had always kept his emotions buried, hidden under layers of cynicism and practicality. Now, those feelings were blooming—literally—whether he liked it or not.

A slow, grim smile crept onto his lips as he muttered to himself, “How funny.”

The next day would bring answers. But for now, Sylus remained where he was, staring at the petal on his desk, caught between amusement and resignation. His finger runs on his temple, looming over his crimson eye. 

At least he wasn’t dying. And if he would have to take the surgery, it didn’t matter. He would always remember you. Because your connection knows no physical bounds. You’re always connected. The string of fate connecting the two of you cannot be cut that easily.

© levisolace. please do not copy, translate, claim any of my works. my works are cross-posted only on my ao3 account. reblogs and comments are also greatly appreciated. thank you.

[siriuslystyle1989]

Illicit Affairs

Eris Vanserra x Rhys!sister reader

warnings: Angst, Rhys being annoying :(

masterlist

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"We're all going to Rita's tonight, if you want to join." Mor spoke to her cousin, motioning to the inner circle.

"I would love to, but I'm visiting a friend tonight." Y/n replied her voice laced with false apology that was so convincing it even surprised herself.

"I swear you're always visiting someone Y/n" Cassian spoke, chewing loudly on his toast as Nesta scowled at her mate.

He leant forward and smirked at her knowingly.

"Ew stop." Y/n grimaced "It's nothing like that just a few friends I've got back in contact with recently."

"Hmmmm." Cassian was not convinced.

"Anyway, I've got to go, I'll see you all in a few days."

And with that, Y/n left. Her leather boots clicking on the cobblestone streets as she winnowed away.

............................................................................................................................

The girl arrived in front of the large doors of the forest house, breathing in a sigh of relief at the comforting atmosphere.

She raised her hand to knock but it met nothing as the door swung open to reveal her mate.

Eris Vanserra.

The redheaded male looked down at her with a smirk and spoke, voice smooth and sultry.

"Hello my fawn."

Y/n moved towards Eris, swinging her arms around his middle, snuggling her face into his chest as he kissed her hair.

"I missed you." She murmured, trying to pull him impossibly closer to her.

Eris let out a low chuckle, as he moved them further into the house.

Falling down onto the sofa, Eris dragged Y/n on top of him, resting her head on his chest snuggling down.

Kissing the top of her head, Eris stroked her hair seemingly in a comfortable bliss.

"Eris." Y/n spoke up, breaking the comfortable silence.

"Yes my love?" He replied, concern lacing his tone.

"I'm afraid my family have become... suspicious of me." She bit her lip and looked up at him with worry.

Eris sighed and continued stroking her hair.

"Whatever you want to do, I will back you. If you want to tell them, tell them, if you don't, don't. The decision is yours sweetheart." He stated.

"I just- I just don't know how much longer I can keep this from them all, especially Rhys." Y/n felt her eyes well up with tears.

Eris' heart broke at the sight as he pulled his mate closer to him, kissing her tears away.

"So there's your answer baby, tell them."

Y/n nodded, anxious thoughts consuming her mind as her head fell into the crook of Eris' neck.

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

Leaving Eris was always hard but the pair had to carry on as normal. Eris not wanting his father to know about Y/n and Y/n not particularly wanting her family to know about Eris, it was something they had to get used to.

They found ways of communicating: sending emotions through the bond, meeting up whenever they could, writing letters to each other.

This is how Y/n found herself on a Tuesday morning, reading through the copious amounts of love letters her mate had sent, over a cup of morning tea.

Unfortunately this was short lived as a harsh knock was heard on her door, followed by the sound of it opening.

"It's just me." Her brother's voice bounded off the walls before she even had time to consider hiding the letters.

"Hi Rhys."

"Hey Y/n/n" He spoke with a smile, pulling the girl into a hug.

"I just came to check up on you, I feel like I haven't seen you in-" His words paused and Y/n felt her heart drop into oblivion.

"Who are all these letters from?"

"Rhys, they're- they're private!" She tried to grab the letters as he picked one up.

Clear as day.

'from your mate, Eris.'

"What the fuck Y/n."

"Rhys just- just let me explain- please" She attempted to reason with her brother as anger flamed his eyes.

"What is there to explain Y/n! After what he did to Mor..." He spat, his face laced with disgust.

"You never tried to hear his side of the story Rhysand. Maybe he's not as bad as you think he is-" Y/n spoke, trying to get her brother to look her in the eye.

"Who are you. Genuinely I don't even know you." Rhys muttered looking down to the floor, shaking his head and pulling at his hair.

"Rhys- please- just listen-"

"It's him or us." He finally looked her in the eye.

"W- what?" Y/n replied, fresh tears rolling down her cheeks.

"It's him or us. Your family or him. Your title or him."

"Rhys, don't make me choose you can't-"

"Oh I can." Rhysand replied, eyes wild with anger.

Y/n looked down, eyes scanning the letters on the table. She couldn't begin to imagine a life without Eris.

"Him."

Shock fell to Rhysand's features

"You are no sister of mine." He muttered as he barged out of her home, leaving the door swinging wide open.

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

Eris lay his head back on the sofa, one of his hounds making its way up to put its head on his lap.

KNOCK

The sound made the hound jump up and start whining. Eris looked down concerned and began making his way to the door.

As it opened with a creak, Eris was met with the tear stained face of his mate.

"Y/n/n, my love what happened."

"Rhys knows, he saw the letters." She spoke in between sobs falling into his arms.

"Shhhh" Eris cooed, stroking her back to calm the girl down "Its okay sweetheart, everything will be just fine."

They moved into the house, Y/n letting out a wet laugh as Eris' hounds fussed over her.

"Okay fawn." Eris spoke, sitting her on his lap. "Tell me what happened."

"Rhys came into my house, and saw the letters." Y/n shakily begun as her mate nodded, holding her hand coaxing her to go on.

"And he told me I had to choose you or my family. And when I said I'd choose you, he told me- he told me I was no sister of his." At this she let out a small sob and turned to look Eris in the eye.

"You chose me?" he spoke up.

"Of course I chose you." Y/n laughed through a sob.

"Y/n. I promise this will sort itself out, Rhysand will come around. You're his sister, he just needs time to process it." He kissed her face gently, pulling her closer.

"I love you." She sighed into him, feeling the most at ease she had all day.

"I love you too, whatever happens I swear to you, I'll always be here."

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

A/N: I am SO sorry for my absence school is killing me. Anyway SUE ME im obsessed with Eris

[purple-babygirl]

in the far corner of the forest VI

Pairing: Orc!Bucky Barnes x human!f!reader

Word Count: 7,498 (my excuse is this is the last one)

Summary: For the longest time, the kingdom has used Bucky as their number one fighter, forcing him to win their wars for them. The only thing he asked for in return after he was done was that they give him a wife, and they did. They handed him the orphan he picked on a silver platter; it wasn't like anyone would miss her. It would've been perfect if she actually wanted to be there though.

Warnings: 18+ content, smut, dirty talk, oral (m receiving), female masturbation, so much cum, cum swallowing, Bucky is a lil filthy, multiple orgasms, pregnancy.

A/N: aaaand our story with our favorite orc comes to an end. I've certainly had a lot of fun writing this one and I loved you reading it even more. Thank you to every one who has been here since the beginning I love you with my whole heart. also if you see this, please wish me good luck on finding a job, your girl is broke and too weak for the streets. please enjoy xx💜💜

~

“I wanna talk to you about something,” she said, her gaze nervous as she set down a mug of green tea for Bucky on the dining table.

He was reading a bit while she finished up the kitchen work and he didn’t ask for tea, which meant she wanted something and was probably bribing him. It definitely made him curious to know what she was going to ask for.

Life with Bucky was an absolute dream. Their relationship was stable and solid and she thought it would be a good time to finally tell him about everything that has been occupying her mind lately.

“Is it that I need to lose weight?” Bucky teased, gesturing to the green tea before him.

“Bucky,” she whined, “I’m serious!”

Bucky laughed, “okay, okay,” he put the book down instantly, “I’m all yours, sweet thing.”

She smiled timidly, “promise me not to get mad.”

“I promise?” Bucky said, unsure what to think of this conversation.

What did she do?

“No, like, say the whole thing…”

“I promise not to get mad?”

“Thank you.” She sighed.

“What is it, my love?” Bucky held her hand in his, rubbing the back of it gently.

“I— umm I know that women working is frowned upon in our kingdom, but— um—”

“First of all, that’s just a human thing. Our females can do whatever they want. Second,” Bucky brought his other hand to her cheek, “you can talk to me, little human. Don’t be afraid. What is it that you want? Be sure that I’ll make it happen.”

She sighed again as she briefly leaned into Bucky’s touch before pulling away, “please don’t say no.” She pleaded.

“I have to know what you want first.” He chuckled lightly.

“Remember when you said that Sam and Sarah liked the strawberry jam I made?” She asked, chewing on her lower lip.

“Yes, and we’ve been their jam suppliers ever since.” Bucky laughed, holding his tea mug to take a sip.

“You also liked it, right?” She tilted her head anxiously.

“I loved it.” Bucky licked his tusks seductively.

She blushed, biting back a smile, “and— and the girls back at the orphanage would always tell me they liked my jams too.”

“As they should.” Bucky nodded, boosting her confidence, making her smile.

Gods, she loved him so much.

“So I was thinking maybe… maybe I could try and sell them?” She finally said the words, her voice hushing by the end of her question as she gauged her orc’s reaction.

“Sell them?” Bucky asked, setting his mug down.

She nodded, nervous again now that he didn’t seem to like the idea very much.

“Like in the market?”

“Yes.”

He stayed silent for a beat, a frown forming on his face as he thought about her request.

She put her hand back in Bucky’s, “if you say no, I won’t bring it up again, but—”

“I’m not gonna say no, sweet thing. I’m just worried,” Bucky said lowly, appearing to be deep in thought as he squeezed her smaller hand in his.

“Worried about what? I have saved money for everything! You would always give me a lot of money before we go out to the market and I’ve saved most of it. You’ve already gotten me everything I needed, so I didn’t really spend much. You don’t have to worry about buying materials! I know they would give us the fruits for a cheaper price if we buy in bulk—”

“Little human, that’s not what I’m worried about, and I’m not about to let my wife start her business with her savings. Your money is yours.” Bucky interrupted firmly, shaking his head at her.

She smiled warmheartedly as she hugged her orc’s hand to her chest, “then what are you worried about?”

“I’m worried about the people in the market. We don’t know how they would react to you putting up your own stand in there. There are no women there, sweet thing. As you said, it’s frowned upon.”

“There is Martha, the jewelry lady!”

“Yeah, but have you seen any other female besides Martha?” Bucky gave her a sad smile.

“No,” she mumbled, disheartened at the thought that she might not be able to bring her small business idea to life.

She knew that Martha was only working because she was a childless widow and the stand was originally her husband’s. She was the only one left to inherit and run it or else she wouldn’t be able to afford food.

“I’m not saying we’re not gonna do it,” Bucky brought her gaze to his by her chin, “but I can’t not worry about you.”

“I know.” She dipped her face to kiss Bucky’s palm, “what are we gonna do?”

“If a jam stand in the market is really what you want, then I will support you all the way until your booth is standing high in the middle of that market.”

She smiled fondly before feeling anxious once more, “what if the men in the market don’t like it?”

“Then they can take it up with me,” Bucky reassured her, his chest puffing involuntarily as he imagined having to fight for his wife.

“I don’t want any trouble, Bucky. I don’t want our peace to be disturbed. I don’t want you to have to fight again, at all.”

“At least then I’d be fighting for something I actually care about, and someone I’m knees-deep in love with.” Bucky sat her on his lap, his blue eyes gazing into hers.

Heat rose to her cheeks and tears to her eyes before she pressed her lips to Bucky’s, “thank you, my love.”

“Copycat,” Bucky teased, “you got nothing to thank me for, little human. I got your back. Always.”

“I’m still grateful,” she pecked his lips, “and even if I don’t end up having a stand in the market, your support will forever be enough for me, Bucky.” She gave him a passionate kiss, trying to convey her feelings through it.

She couldn’t believe how lucky she had turned out to be.

How many human husbands would support their wives’ dreams like that? How often were women even allowed to think about doing something for themselves or being financially independent in this kingdom?

She slowly slid off her orc’s lap and down to the floor, making Bucky tilt his head.

“What are you doing, sweet thing?”

“You promised you would teach me,” she said, her voice small as she let her hands massage up Bucky’s thighs.

“Oh, you feeling brave tonight, little human?” Bucky asked lowly, eyes growing dark as she brought her hand to his cock over his pants.

She nodded even though she internally had no idea what to do, but she was trusting her desire and Bucky’s guidance.

“Get your orc’s cock out then,” Bucky instructed, making her pussy clench before her eager fingers started pushing his pants down, revealing his big cock to her eyes.

Her hands hesitated, reaching for his length before withdrawing and looking at Bucky for help, shifting on her knees.

Bucky got up from the chair and she looked at him worriedly, afraid she had turned him off with her reluctance.

He returned to his seat after a second, pushing the pillow he brought with him under his wife’s knees as he helped her get comfortable.

She smiled gratefully at how loving and attentive Bucky was. He had his cock out but all he cared about was that her knees weren’t hurting on the wooden floor.

Gods, she got lucky.

“You can touch me, sweet thing.” Bucky encouraged softly.

She mustered up her courage and finally let her fingers wrap around Bucky’s cock. Well, try to wrap around his cock.

He was too big for her to be able to wrap her hand around him and it made Bucky’s cock twitch, seeing how small her hand was compared to his size.

She couldn’t believe she had managed to take all of him in her pussy every single night for the past week.

She had to use both of her hands before simultaneously squeezing them around her orc’s cock like he had previously shown her; it was the only thing she knew how to do.

Bucky’s jaw went slack as he threw his head back at the simple touch, “move your hands up and down, little human.”

“Like that?” She asked as she slowly followed the instructions.

“Yes, yes, oh fuck yes,” Bucky moaned, wrapping his hands around hers, pumping himself harder with her hands.

She watched as Bucky closed his eyes in pleasure, deep groans leaving his chest and pre-cum the tip of his cock because of her touch.

She wanted to ask permission but her instincts moved faster than her mind as she cautiously let her the tip of her tongue swipe against the head of Bucky’s cock, aching to know what he tasted like.

And oh did he taste good; a bit musky, a bit salty and a bit of something she could only identify as Bucky. It was addictive and she wanted more.

Bucky jumped above her, his cock jerking in her hands as he opened his eyes at the tiny lick he felt her give his cock.

“Was that the wrong thing to do?” She asked, unsure of her moves, “I thought it was okay for me to put my mouth there?” she hesitated shyly, suddenly embarrassed of her neediness.

“It is. It is more than okay, my love. Please do it again,” Bucky begged, his hand coming down to cup her cheek, thumb stroking her skin adoringly as he brought her face closer to his cock.

He was sure she and her innocence were going to be the death of him, yet at the same time, he couldn’t wait to ruin her; make her his dirty little cock slut of a wife.

She tentatively let the tip of her tongue lick against the head of Bucky’s cock again, keeping her eyes on him.

Bucky groaned, his abdomen tensing as he felt himself already close.

He couldn’t believe how embarrassingly ready to burst she had managed to have him every time she touched him or as much as moaned for him. He could go for hours before, but with her it was like she knew exactly which buttons to press to get him drooling and leaking for her, and yet, she didn’t. Not at all, really.

She gave a bigger lick, letting herself savor her orc’s taste this time, moaning as she put her mouth on his tip, suckling ever so softly.

Bucky was huge and getting him inside her mouth like she felt she wanted to was going to be a challenge, but she wasn’t one to back down from challenges. Not anymore.

She was going to make Bucky feel good and she was going to do it with her mouth.

She could barely get the tip past her lips and it was already too much for her untrained mouth. Tears gathered in her eyes when Bucky involuntarily jerked his hips forward, making her gag on his cock.

“I’m so sorry, my love—” Bucky quickly pulled out of her mouth, worry written all over his face.

“Don’t be, Bucky. I— I kinda liked it.” She confessed, heat spreading on her cheeks.

“Oh, you liked choking on my cock, little human?” Bucky teased darkly as he pumped himself and she nodded shyly.

“Can I try again?” She asked, voice small and timid.

“All yours, sweet thing.”

She put her mouth back on the tip, feeling proud of herself as she managed to properly suck on it without her teeth getting in the way.

Bucky’s cock was so big and it was certainly testing for her to take another inch into her mouth but she did it, softly moaning on her orc’s length as she tasted more of his precum on her tongue.

“Keep using your hands, little human,” Bucky instructed, her mouth feeling heavenly on his cock.

She listened right away, her hands pumping up and down the inches she couldn’t yet fit into her mouth.

“Good girl,” Bucky groaned wantonly, “you’re so good for me, sweet thing.”

Bucky’s encouragement made her want to do better, to do more for him.

She pulled off of him for one second, taking a long breath as Bucky watched her with hooded eyelids.

And when she was ready, she opened her mouth as wide as she could, taking half of Bucky’s cock down her throat all at once.

“Gods, fuck!” He exclaimed, barely holding himself back from lurching over and shoving the whole thing down her warm wet throat as his hand flow to cup the back of her head.

She kept one hand on Bucky’s length as the other moved down to touch her own heat.

The sounds coming out of Bucky, his taste and the way his cock was making her drool as she choked on it were driving her up the wall with need.

She has never touched herself before and she didn’t know what has gotten into her as she slipped her hand down her panties, trying to imitate Bucky’s touches on her clit. Her fingers couldn’t compare, but she was throbbing, every sound that left Bucky’s chest vibrated in her clit; made her ache needily.

Bucky was turning to putty in her hands and it was the hottest thing she has ever witnessed.

She whined on Bucky’s cock and it made him open his eyes, realizing that she had now one hand only pumping him as the other disappeared under her dress.

“Are you touching yourself, little human?” Bucky chuckled breathily, making her whine in embarrassment.

Yet, her hand rubbed her clit even faster.

“Is sucking my cock making you all needy, sweet thing? Hmm? Can’t be around this fat cock without aching for it?”

She moaned in agreement, basically gurgling on Bucky’s fat cock as she forced herself to take another inch of him down her throat, making him grunt.

“Atta girl!” Bucky shouted in pleasure as he started to move in and out of her mouth, her allowing him to give her a little more of his thick cock every time he would slide back down her throat.

She continued breathing through her nose and circled her clit faster, feeling herself get closer to her release as her lower stomach tensed and tightened.

“Relax that throat for me, little human. There you go, good girl.”

Bucky was holding her head with both hands now, trying not to crane her neck back too much as he angled his hips just right for the tip of his cock to hit the back of her throat.

She gagged harshly and Bucky pulled out to give her a chance to breathe, “take your time, sweet thing. Doing so good for me,” he reassured, rubbing her back lovingly as she coughed and heaved.

“Again,” was all she said before she took his cock back in her mouth all the way down her throat that her nose was almost touching Bucky’s abs.

She let Bucky fuck her throat again, grateful for his gentleness as his balls hit her chin with each thrust.

“Fuck, you’re too good to me, sweet thing. So pretty taking my cock all the way down your throat like that.”

Bucky knew the exact second she came as her whines hummed on his cock while she let her orgasm take over. Her jaw went slack in his hand and he took the chance to quicken his pace, chasing his own orgasm.

“Fuck, little human, you’re a natural. Taking me so well— ahhh fuck. Just like that.”

Bucky almost roared as he came down her throat, smirking appreciatively as he felt her swallow around him, spluttering a little as he slowly pulled out.

He couldn’t be prouder of how hungry for his cock he had managed to make his little human as he watched her swallow every drop she could before the rest of Bucky’s cum ran down her lips, chin, neck and dress, his cock still throbbing at the sight of her covered in his cum; willingly claimed.

She let her butt touch the pillow underneath her knees as her body sagged, gasping and trying to catch her breath.

Her jaw was hurting like a bitch but she didn’t care. She has made Bucky lose it with her mouth and her mouth alone.

She suddenly felt her face go hot as the hand in her panties reminded her of what she had done while sucking her orc’s cock. She took her hand out of her underwear, quickly hiding it behind her back as if that would make everything she just did disappear.

Bucky laughed, putting his pants back on before cupping her cheeks as he got down on his knees before her, “what did I say, little human? Never hide from me.” He took her hand out from behind her back and brought her fingers to his face.

Bucky obscenely smelled her fingers, closing his eyes at the scent of her before wrapping his lips around them, lewdly moaning as he tasted the remnants of her juices on them.

Her face burned up as her lust was sated, leaving shyness to gnaw at her cheeks.

“Did— did you like that?” She croaked out, her voice hoarse, as he finished sucking on her fingers, desperately wanting to change the subject.

“Oh, sweet thing, I loved it.” Bucky smiled, satisfied and amazed by her, “you almost sucked my soul out of my cock there, little human.”

She giggled, blushing.

“And you touching yourself while giving me head? Damn, sweet thing! Who would’ve known?!” Bucky teased, making her sigh and hide her face in her hands.

“No, no, little human, it’s a good thing,” he laughed, taking her hands in his, “it was so fucking hot.”

“Really?”

Gods, how were her eyes still so innocent after what she had just done to him?

“Really.” Bucky smiled, kissing her knuckles.

“Thank you for letting me do it, Bucky, and for guiding me,” she said sincerely before throwing her arms around his neck, hugging him as she released a happy sigh.

Bucky just couldn’t wrap his mind around how perfect she was or how blessed he was.

She was thanking him for agreeing to ravish her with his cock. Truth was, he was the one who should thank her every day just for being his.

Bucky, the half-orc, seemed to have found and claimed jackpot.

“Thank you, little human.” Bucky turned his head to kiss her hair, “thank you for everything.”

~

True to his word, Bucky had done everything in his power to make her dream come true. He worked hard to get her a permit from the kingdom for a new stall in the market, using his previous status in the army to get them to sign and stamp those papers as soon as possible.

He had also designed and built her stand all by himself, making sure to make her a smooth counter for her elbows and real sturdy shelves to hold her jam jars.

And he knew exactly what he was going to engrave on the sign for her tiny shop.

Meanwhile, she and Sarah were browsing the nearby markets to pick a fruit supplier with which she could be comfortable. They had managed to find a kind old man who always had a display of the seasonal fruits in his shop. His fruits were ripe and fresh at all times and they had come to a fair agreement regarding the prices and the monthly supply they would need him to provide.

Then it was time to shop for utensils and Sarah had insisted on dragging Sam along for that one because there was no way the two women could carry that much stuff on their own. He left Bucky to continue working on the final touches on the stand and reluctantly joined the ladies.

She was the happiest as she picked new pots and sauce pans with Sarah as well as the cute little glass jars she would need to put the jam into.

Her life was coming together and she couldn’t be more thankful for everything and everyone she had.

She had an amazing husband and supportive, kind friends; a little family to call her own other than the one that had abandoned her long ago.

The group tried their best to haggle the prices on everything because she didn’t want Bucky to have to spend too much, seeing that he had insisted on paying for everything.

“I’m not negotiating, it’s either the price I asked for or we won’t take anything from you!”

Her head snapped up, dropping the ladles she was browsing when she heard Sam ‘haggling’ with the seller.

She had found things here that she couldn’t find anywhere else and she really liked them. Why was Sam sabotaging her shopping plan?

She grabbed onto her favorite pot as she walked over to the siblings.

“Sam, what are you doing? I’ve already picked like a billion things,” she whispered to the man, afraid that he was ruining a good bargain.

“Watch and learn,” Sarah whispered back to her with a reassuring smile, “you’re right, Sam. Let’s go. Thank you, we won’t be taking those. You can put them back, thanks.”

Her mouth was wide open as Sarah forcefully took the pot out of her hand, setting it down and grabbing her, dragging her to walk away.

“Guys, what are you doing?” She scream-whispered as they kept walking, leaving everything that she had carefully hand-picked behind.

“Okay, fine, wait!” The seller called for them before they could get too far, “you can have them— I’ll give them to you at the price you wanted!”

She looked at the Wilsons with an impressed smile and they smiled back, raising their eyebrows simultaneously as if to say “told you so”, making her laugh.

When they were finally done with everything they needed, they had made Sam carry most of the bags as she and Sarah waltzed back to a more feminine shop.

When they were finally done, Sam wanted to run back to his and Bucky’s shop before they could buy anything else, but he was carrying way too many things so he only made both ladies laugh as he looked like a pregnant penguin hoping over to the truck.

~

“You look happy. Did you get everything you needed, my love?” Bucky asked with a chuckle as she excitedly wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing his cheek as soon as she entered the shop.

“Yes.” She nodded with a smile, pecking her orc’s lips.

“Were these guys any help?” He nodded to the siblings, teasing them.

“We can hear you, you know!” Sam yelled from the supply closet as he set the last bag inside.

“Sarah and Sam were great help.” She softly slapped Bucky’s chest, “I don’t know what I would’ve done without them.” She smiled at Sam gratefully before running to hug Sarah.

“Anything for you, bestie. I’ve been around boys for too long and I’m so glad I get to have a fellow woman around here now.”

She giggled as Sarah hugged her back, imagining how lonely it must have been for her to only be surrounded by males.

“Hey! We’re great company!” Sam said, waving a finger at his sister.

“Sure you are, Samuel.” Sarah nodded until Sam had turned his head away, “I swear if I didn’t work here I wouldn’t have forced myself to put up with all the burping and farting.”

She chocked on a laugh as both Sam and Bucky glared at Sarah before she decided to dissolve the ‘tension’, “okay, okay, let’s eat!”

She got out the food she had prepared for everyone, chuckling as she handed Sam his meal after he made grabby hands at the wrapped box.

“Bucky, leave it for now and come eat,” she called for her husband when he saw he was too busy working down a plaque of wood.

“Almost done, sweet thing,” he mumbled, still focused on what he was doing.

Bucky looked like a masterpiece with his hair back in a low bun and the tip of his tongue out, hanging on a tusk as he fixated on the work at hand.

She couldn’t help but walk over and wrap her arms around him from behind, lovingly kissing his back.

The orc stopped his movements, smiling when he felt her tiny mouth press kiss after kiss to his back.

He turned around to face her, encasing her in his strong embrace as he leaned down to kiss her sweet lips.

“Your food is gonna get cold,” she whispered against Bucky’s lips.

“Let it get cold,” he said before deepening their kiss, holding her by the back of her head to bring her closer.

“Some people are trying to eat over here!” Sam shouted with his mouth full as Sarah playfully made gag noises.

Bucky groaned as she shyly pulled away from his lips, making her laugh when he whispered “I hate you” to Sam.

~

Things at the market have gone exactly like Bucky has feared.

It was her very first day, her stand was in place like Bucky had put it and she and Sarah were organizing the jars on the shelves as the men watched them with scowls.

She tried her best not to care. The wooden sign saying “Sweet Things” on top was shining in the sunlight and with it her smile.

Everything was going smoothly until both she and Sarah left the stand for a minute to go get the rest of the boxes off of Sam’s truck.

It was just one minute but it was enough for those who didn’t want her there to make it known.

When she came back, her glass jars were all on the ground, smashed to pieces, the jam she had spent last night making staining the gravel.

She was speechless, hurt and confused at some people’s ability to be so venomous and mean.

She saw Cole holding as many jars as he could in his arms, sighing when he saw her, “I tried to stop them. I’m so sorry.”

She felt her chest tighten as her eyes welled up.

“Don’t let them see you cry,” Sarah whispered in her ear as she could see tears gathering in her lash line.

“I would never,” she replied strongly, setting the box in her arms down on the counter of her booth with a clenched jaw.

“Who did this?” She asked, her voice loud and powerful.

She got no answer so she decided to provoke whoever had done this into coming forward, “so what you’re manly enough to smash down jam jars, but not so much when it comes to owning up to it?”

“We all did it!” The man from the clothing stall shouted.

“Yeah, we don’t want you here! Women weren’t made to work!” The man from the key cutting stand continued.

“And who decided that exactly?” She yelled back to them, hands on her waist rebelliously.

“It’s just how the world works, sweetheart. Work just isn’t for women,” the man from the clothing stall replied with a challenging smile as he gestured to the broken glass by her feet.

“Oh, it isn’t? That’s weird! Because last time I checked, women worked their butts off all day long cleaning, cooking, and taking care of children at houses that aren’t even their own just to go back home at the end of the day and do it all over again for free while you sat on your lazy asses!”

Everyone stood there stunned, her response crushing them into silence. None of them could remember the last time a woman had dared use such a tone with them, let alone use curse words in her speech.

“But it’s fine when women don’t get to take the money for their work, right? Women can work as long as you receive their pay money each month, no? They’re allowed to work as long as their money isn’t their own and their dignity is kept under your shoes, aren’t they?!” She lashed out, surprising herself, Sarah, everyone around and a very impressed Bucky, who was standing at the end of the market as she let her voice get loud, talking back to men.

He just thought he would stop by, unable to keep his worry at bay. And when he heard the men’s voices get loud in her face, he thought he would intervene; defend her, but his little human didn’t seem like she needed any defending. Not one bit.

She was putting those assholes in their places all by herself.

“Lower your voice, woman! Or have you been around that savage brute of yours too much that you’ve forgotten how to properly speak?”

“Hey!” Bucky barked, stomping over to the man who had dared disrespect him and his wife, his fists already balling.

“Oh you’re gonna come for my orc now?!” Her shout stopped Bucky before he could punch the man’s nose off, “where were you again when my orc was fighting for this kingdom? Where were you when he took it upon himself to keep everyone here safe? Oh, wait, right! Sitting on your lazy ass!”

“How dare you talk to us like that? You think you get to be this audacious because you let a half-orc bed you?!”

“Watch your tongue when you’re talking to my wife,” Bucky snarled in the man’s face before she gently held him back.

“At least he knows how to take care of a woman!” She said proudly, “my orc is more of a husband to me than any of you pathetic wimps could ever be to your women!”

Bucky couldn’t help the warm smile replacing his scowl at her words. He couldn’t believe she was defending him like that, saying such words about him, in the middle of the market.

“He treats me like a queen. He has never laid a hand on me and when he makes me scream, he makes me scream for all the right reasons.” She growled, looking the rude man right in the eye as she stressed every word in the end of her sentence.

The man swallowed hard, her words clearly hitting him where it hurt.

She smiled victoriously, “now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a jam stand to run and if any of you as much as thinks of pulling anything like this again, my husband here will have the rest of the kingdom hear your screams for a change.” She warned fearlessly, her gaze running over each and every seller in the market.

“For all the right reasons.” Bucky promised, harshly squeezing the man’s shoulder in his flesh fist.

She giggled, nodding with a wide grin before walking to the truck to get the sweep she had packed beforehand.

“Now I know why you insisted on bringing that with you!” Sarah laughed in amazement.

She laughed with her best friend as they both walked back to her stand where a very proud Bucky was still standing guard.

It was sad that she had expected such actions; that she expected that someone was going to try and destroy her work, but she was still glad they did it early enough for her to set them straight. She now had a place in that market, and she wasn’t leaving any time soon.

Once she reached the booth, Bucky took the broom out of her hand and threw it to Sarah, settling his hands on her waist.

“Hi,” she smiled, finally able to properly greet her husband, slipping a loose strand of hair behind his pointed ear.

“Hi,” Bucky replied fondly, leaning her back in a tender dip, making her laugh before he claimed her lips in a passionate, lingering kiss in front of everyone watching.

They had lost themselves in the kiss so much that when they finally pulled away, Sarah had finished sweeping away the glass, Cole helping her get rid of the shards so that they wouldn’t hurt anyone.

Bucky grunted when he noticed Cole standing there, the man shivering under the orc’s intense gaze.

She squeezed Bucky’s hand in hers before giving Cole a grateful smile, “thank you for everything you’ve done, Cole. We appreciate it.”

“No need to thank me,” Cole blushed, “it wasn’t right what they did.”

Bucky snarled, teeth and fists clenched as he silently told the man to back off.

“I’ll— I’ll be by the flowers if you guys need me,” Cole said hastily, practically running out of Bucky’s face, the orc’s gaze following him until he was gone.

“Bucky,” she said, shaking his hand in hers, “he was just helping!”

“We don’t need his help,” he growled, still angry that another man was able to offer his wife help before him.

“I don’t and will never need anyone but you,” she told him, getting on her tiptoes to peck the orc’s frowny lips.

“Promise me not to talk to him again,” Bucky grumbled like a kid on her lips, refusing to let her kiss him.

She shook her head with a smile, “I promise.”

“No, say the whole thing.”

She laughed aloud, hiding her face in his chest, “I promise not to talk to Cole again. Happy?”

“Very.” Bucky finally smiled again, kissing her properly.

~

The next few days were very busy for both of them. She was trying to build herself a good name in the market and Bucky had this huge bulk order of chairs and desks for the new school. It didn’t help that Sarah was helping her with her jam stand because that meant that Sam and Bucky had to get everything done on their own.

She and Bucky barely saw each other all week, meeting only on the bed to exhaustedly fall asleep in each other’s arms at nights. They couldn’t even have breakfasts together because Bucky would be up and out way earlier than her.

Which meant he never saw her during her morning sickness.

And as much as she craved Bucky’s care, she was still happy in a way that he wasn’t here for the daily puke because that meant she could surprise him with the news she so bad hoped to be true.

She had told Sarah when it happened for the third day in a row, unable to keep her happiness or nervousness to herself.

She was probably pregnant, with Bucky’s baby. All the signs were there and she couldn’t be more contented.

They didn’t tell anyone, but today during lunch time, Sarah was accompanying her on her visit to the midwife just to make sure before she went ahead and broke the news to Bucky.

And when the midwife had confirmed hers and Sarah’s suspicions, the whole world couldn’t contain her happiness if it tried.

She was carrying Bucky’s baby inside of her. She was making a family with the orc of her dreams!

She was too excited that she wanted to just run to the shop and tell Bucky right away, but no, this had to be special. As special as the news itself.

And that was how she found Sarah and herself walking towards Cole’s flower stand.

“You’ll ask for them.”

“Why me? I’m not the pregnant one!” Sarah argued, stopping.

“Please, Sarah, you know I promised Bucky,” she whined, giving her friend the best puppy eyes she could pull.

“I’m sure Bucky didn’t mean that literally! He just didn’t want you flirting with the man.”

“Oh believe me, he meant it literally.”

“Still no.”

“Please, Aunt Sarah,” she begged, rubbing her flat belly.

“Ugh fine, but only for the sweet orcling inside of you!”

She giggled, giving Sarah a hug before they continued walking to the flower stand, “thank you, Aunt Sarah.”

“Good afternoon, Cole,” Sarah started, “we’re gonna need one of you freshest—”

“Mom!” A smaller voice called out, making Sarah turn around at once.

“AJ! What are you doing here, boy? Where’s your brother?” Sarah asked worriedly.

“He fell down— we were just playing soccer—” AJ stuttered, scared of his mom’s reaction.

“Where is your brother?”

“He’s at the infirmary. The doctor asked for you…” AJ replied faintly, his head down in shame.

“Oh my— I’m so sorry. I need to go.” Sarah told her as she ran with AJ out of the market.

“It’s okay, go. I’ll come with Bucky later to see how he’s doing,” she replied with a worried nod.

“So,” Cole broke the silence and only then did she realize that she has been standing there by his booth watching Sarah and AJ leave for at least 30 seconds.

“Oh— well…” She fumbled with her hands, not sure if she should talk to him.

She knew she promised Bucky, but this was kind of for Bucky too, and neither she nor Cole were flirting, so what was the harm?

“I need your freshest forget-me-not, please.” She gave the man her order with a polite smile.

“You got it.” Cole nodded before kneeling down to fetch her the prettiest, most alive forget-me-not plant she has ever seen, “how about this gal here?”

“She’s perfect!” She smiled, almost jumping in place because she could see Bucky’s face when she gave him the flower with the news she had.

She was too busy paying for her plant to notice Bucky watching her from a distance or notice him leaving at the sight of her smiling while talking to the one man he made her promise not to talk to.

~

“You came back early!” Sam commented upon seeing his friend reenter the shop less than 15 minutes after he had left.

“Yeah, couldn’t find her. Probably went to lunch out with Sarah,” Bucky lied, setting his packed food down before picking up his axe.

“We don’t need any more wood—”

“I don’t care.” Bucky stormed off to the lumberyard, ready to take his feelings out on the dead trees.

“Those chairs aren’t gonna make themselves ya know! I’m not a machine!” Sam yelled after him but it all fell on deaf ears.

Bucky was angry.

He just wanted to have a sweet lunch with his wife, but instead he was welcomed by a scene from his worst nightmare.

Did she do that all the time? How many times has she broken her promise to him? Was it because he was busy those past few days? He thought she was busy too; he didn’t know it could be affecting her that much…

But no. She wouldn’t do that. She promised him and Bucky trusted and trusts her.

Bucky shook his head as he stopped in his tracks, turning around as he flipped his axe in the air. He trusted his wife.

He wasn’t going to be that husband because they were not that couple.

~

When Bucky had walked back to the shop, she was there, waiting for him with her heart pounding in her throat.

He wanted to take the frown off his face, but he couldn’t do it fast enough.

“Where’s Sam?” He wondered, trying to hide his feelings.

“He had to go to Sarah and the boys. Cass got hurt while playing.” She explained in a hurry, the news she actually came for pressing on her.

“Bucky, I need to talk to you,” she said before she could change her mind, nervousness etched all over her soft features.

Bucky’s heart sank. Was she leaving him?

“I wanted to wait until we got home, but I couldn’t wait!” She smiled, eyes lighting up as she spoke.

Okay, maybe she wasn’t leaving him. She wouldn’t be this joyful about leaving him, would she?

“Is everything okay, sweet thing?” Bucky asked, becoming nervous himself.

She took his hand and led him to his chair before making herself comfortable on his lap with a bag in her own.

Yeah, she wasn’t leaving him.

“I wanna confess something first.”

“I’m listening,” Bucky said, his voice strained because he could guess where this was going.

“I broke my promise to you today, but only today, I swear. And I’m sorry,” she held his hand in one of hers, eyes begging him not to be upset with her, “I had to speak to Cole.”

“Really? You had to? Why did you possibly have to speak to Cole?” Bucky snapped, unable to control his anger.

“I understand why you’re upset and I’m so sorry.” She squeezed his hand to her heart, “I asked Sarah to do it for me, but AJ came and got her because Cass got hurt and so I had to ask Cole for this.” She brought out the potted forget-me-not, “all on my own”.

“If you wanted blue flowers you could have asked me and I would have planted millions for you,” Bucky mumbled, shaking his head.

He was happy that they had a healthy relationship where she felt safe enough to come and tell him about this, but he wasn’t happy with what she was telling him.

He could be a farmer!

“That would’ve been too late and too early at the same time.” She shrugged with a small grin.

“Little human, you’re not making much sense right now.”

“Forget-me-nots take from a month and a half to two months to grow. It would’ve been too late for me to tell you the news I got them to tell you and too early for—”

She got up and set the plant on Bucky’s desk before resituating herself on his lap with her dress up so that she was straddling him.

“It would’ve been too early for the baby to come.”

“What? What baby?” Bucky asked dumbly, his brain short circuiting at the news.

“I’m pregnant, my love,” she whispered, her eyes tearing up.

“You’re— you’re pregnant?”

She nodded, tears rolling down her soft cheeks, “I’m pregnant.”

“With my baby.” Bucky pointed to himself, making her chuckle.

“With your baby.”

Without introductions, Bucky pressed his lips to her in a kiss so passionate that it left her dizzy.

“Our baby,” Bucky whispered on her lips, cupping her cheek as he put his forehead to hers, letting his tears run.

Bucky’s flesh hand moved to caress her belly, “you have given me everything, sweet thing. Everything.”

“I love you, Bucky.” She wiped her orc’s tears before wrapping her arms around him, burrowing her face in his neck, breathing in his calming scent.

“I love you even more, little human.”

“We’re gonna have an actual little human soon and the name won’t be exclusively mine anymore,” she joked, chuckling on his warm skin.

“You will always be my little human,” Bucky told her seriously, bringing her gaze back to his, “we’re just gonna have a littler human.”

She laughed aloud as Bucky wiped away her tears.

“We’re gonna be so happy, aren’t we?” She asked with a big smile, her heart full.

“Yes, we are.” Bucky promised, sealing it with another kiss.

“You’re the best thing that has ever happened to me,” she told Bucky the second they broke the kiss, making him smile like an idiot.

“Ditto.”

“Oh my gods, you’re so human!”

Bucky laughed with her before asking “forget-me-nots?”

“Yeah, I didn’t want you to forget about me between the hills of chairs and desks and they could also symbolize a sense of permanence, commitment, and familial bond. It was in one of the books you got me when we first got married.” She pretended to flip her hair away as she spoke confidently.

Bucky smiled, her words reassuring his heart more than she could ever know. She didn’t say when you first took me or when they first sent me, she said when ‘we first got married’.

She had fully, lovingly accepted Bucky and this marriage and it was time for Bucky to accept it all himself, too. It was time for him to accept that he was loved and chosen and cared about by this woman in his lap.

“I could never forget about you, sweet thing.” Bucky kissed her forehead, silently thanking her for way more than just a potted plant.

“I got you something else.” She rummaged through the bag, bringing out an amethyst male ring.

“What’s that one for?” Bucky asked, looking at her fondly.

“That’s for protection, so you wouldn’t hurt yourself while working again,” she told him with a smile as she slipped the ring on his flesh finger.

Bucky looked at her, all the love in the world held in his stare, “thank you, little human.”

He kissed the ring on his finger and after it her lips.

She loved Bucky and that was the only truth he needed to believe in.

Bucky loved her and that was the only fact that mattered to him.

She and Bucky were expecting their first baby and that was the only reality any of them wanted to live.

~

Tag list:

@harrysthiccthighss @tinystudentfirepurse @lavendercitizen @tumblin-theworldaway @pretty-pop-princess-hs @lilymurphy03 @idontwannagomrstarkk @glxwingrxse @littlelioncub43 @mathletemadison @canned-rootbear @pandaxnienke @loveisallyouneed1125 @floral-recs @littlemoonkiller @hallecarey1 @vespasianphantom @vicmc624 @winters1917 @ionlyeverwantedtobeyourequal @blkmystery @millercontracting @trappedwriter @am-3-thyst @obsessedwithquinn @sydnielauryn @alittlerayof-pitchblack @olipiaa @peterparkersgirl-blog @buckybarnessweetheart @thealyrs @colorfulbluebirdpainter @stuckysgirl27 @ihavetwoholesforareason @princess-bee0 @pastel-noah168 @steeph-aniie @buckitostan @onthr-dream @sapphirebarnes @123iloveyou456 @ciaqui @lindasweetie @justherefortheficandsmut @xxdiaqiaoxx @morgthemagpie @wintrsoldrluvr @goldylions @serendipitouslife90 @sebastians-love @leelee1234love @tiedyedghoulette @saint-marvel @helenaellie @onceithough @raynelbabe @a-very-fictional-girl @justabeluga

[diejager]

Little Red's Wolf

Pairing : Johnny “Soap” MacTavish x fem!reader

Cw: NSFW, exophilia, knotting, breeding, size kink, stomach bulge, biting, marking, blood, oral sex, werewolf, tell me if I missed any.

Wc: 3.5k

Little Red Riding Hood, was a kind and beautiful, young maiden from the village. Little Red Riding Hood was known by all, cared and loved by the small town as if you were their little girl. A pretty, little bachelorette in their small village. The people loved you, the smiling ray of sunlight that beamed across the street with loving words and gentle gestures.

Little Red Riding Hood was also the only one who dared venture outside the town, through the thicket around town, to turn left of the paved road and into the unknown. You were the only one who didn't fear straying from the path, having grown up near it, walking between the trees and exploring the darkest creeks within the woods. You knew it like the back of your hand.

Today would be a scheduled visit to your grandmother, to bring baked goods and wine to your lovely grandmother who lived alone in the forest.

"Come, my dear," your mother called you over, and a soft smile pulled her lips upwards. "Here is a piece of cake and a bottle of wine, take them to your grandmother. She is ill and weak, and they will do her good. Set out before it gets hot, and when you are going, walk nicely and quietly and do not run off the path, or you may fall and break the bottle, and then your grandmother will get nothing; and when you go into her room, don't forget to say, 'Good morning', and don't peep into every corner before you do it."

Donned in your usual red hood, the bright colored cloth ending at your knees with a white chemise and a black skirt, you took the basket in hand with great care, checking over the content you would bring to your grandmother. Once done, you left your house, turning to wave at your mother before you closed the door behind you: "I will take great care."

You walked through the long road through the village, smiling and waving at your neighbors and the neighbors of your neighbors, everyone knew everyone in a small town like yours. Friends of your friends became your friends too, knowing everyone had its perks and made everything easier, more familiar.

"Here! Bring this to your grandmother, Little Red Riding Hood," the Baker, a kind old man who lived upstairs of his bakery, called you over. In his hand was a freshly baked breath, warm and smelling heavenly. Into the basket, it went, wrapped neatly in an ivory cloth, woven with care by the baker's wife.

Farther down the street, the herbalist that lived in her hut, covered with scented grasses and pretty flowers called to you, "I heard of your grandmother's sickness, Little Red Riding Hood," she gave you her most caring and worried look she had, honestly dripping from her eyes and tongue. "Please, mix this with hot water before giving it to her, one quarter of this with a cup should do." The small bottle was carefully placed next to the wine bottle your mother had given you, safely secured with twine and string.

People waved and smiled at you as you walked closer to the forest's mouth, wishing you 'good luck' and bidding you a farewell, until the evening, when you'd emerge from the darkness.

The path was cloaked in the shadows of trees, the leaves brushing against one another in the blowing air, soft and calming. It pushed the gentle smell of nature into your nose and dances beautifully before you.

The road was paved in stone, soft, silver brick that stuck out, the dirt hugged its rounded edges and held it together. The trees hugged the path closely, hiding the turns in the road with greenery, beautiful and lively green. You skipped by habit, eyes wandering around the branches to see bird nests and shy squirrels jumping from tree to tree as you followed the path.

While the paved way led farther out, towards the edge of the forest, the dirt path at the fork led deeper, the way to your grandmother's quaint house. You turned and strayed from the popular road, heeled shoes stepping on the hard dirt. You hummed a tune, absentmindedly following the wavy line deeper into the wildness.

Shadows danced outside your line of sight, appearing at the corner of your eyes until you turned to see whatever or whoever it was. You were scared, although naive and oblivious, you grew up in these woods and knew that it wouldn't hurt those who knew it well.

When you called out, the shadow stood tall and rigid, a dark mass hidden under the shades of the trees. It rumbled out a noise, one closely sounding to a wolf's growl. You stopped to stare at it, watching it amble forward, into the lighted path. A wolf, as intended, covered in warm, brown fur with piercing, blue eyes that stared at you inquisitively.

"G'day, Little Red," he spoke with a slur in his voice, a deep rumble in it. His voice sent pleasurable shivers down your spine, you shuddered physically. He saw that, you knew he did, wolves were perceptive.

"Thank you kindly, Great Wolf," you bowed your head, smiling sweetly at him. You ignored the way his eyes glazed over, going down the length of your cloak and your naked knees to your shoes, then back up to your face. He drank you in like you were a treat to his eyes.

"Where yer goin' so early, Little Red?"

"To my grandmother's, Great Wolf."

Perhaps you shouldn't have told him that, for his eyes shone with a menacing glint, dark and ravenous within the ocean of blue. However, it would have been impolite to ignore such an inquiry, especially to a polite and handsome wolf.

He bobbed his head, his mane fluidly moving along his movement, soft and silky, yet disarrayed. He pointed his muzzle at your basket, nose wiggling as he sniffed the air.

"What 'ave ye in your apron?"

"Cake and wine and bread, yesterday was baking-day; and herbs for my poor, sick grandmother. All to make her stronger, Great Wolf."

"Where dae ye nana live, Little Red?"

Again, you pushed away the chill that ran down your back, his heated gaze weighed heavily on your small figure.

"A good quarter into the wood, her house stands under three large oak-trees and nut-trees just below it. Surely, you've seen it."

He thought to himself, thinking back to the house he saw many times while passing through. An old lady that lived alone so deeply in his home had always been an interest, especially the sweet scent of freshly-baked pie. He knew the old woman, Nana, he called her after being caught by the old woman years ago.

So he nodded, head cocked your way with a knowing glint in his eyes. He hadn't seen you at Nana's, though your scent - fresh and earthly smell of wildflowers that grew in the forest - was familiar. You must've only visited her when he was away, lounging under the shade, running through the trees, or stalking and hunting his prey - like you were, at the moment.

A sugary, little treat that he walked into after a run with Gaz. He considered himself lucky, extremely so for having found you before you reached your nana's house.

"Ye best be on your way, then," he mocked a curtsey, his tail waving lazily behind him. "Guid luck, Little Red."

His bright irises followed you, watching the back of your red cloak ride up the inside of your knees, shoulders bobbing along the rugged ground. He was addicted, obsessed with your scent and your appearance. You were soft and naive, too trusting of him, a wolf. An adorable little treasure he would love to eat whole.

He stayed until your red figure became a dot in the flora, swallowed up by the woods he lived and hunted in. He would wait, lurk behind you from afar and pounce the moment he saw you stagger and hesitate.

You did as your mother told you, you greeted your sickly grandmother with a "Good morning" before peering at every corner of her house, searching for any change since the last time you passed by. Setting the basket down, you picked the piece of cake and a cup for the wine, and put aside the bread and concoction for later use. Placed in a tray, you brought it to your grandmother, supported by pillows against the headboard.

As you watched your grandmother eat, you recalled the brief discussion you had with the Great Wolf, dangerously handsome and mischievous. You fed her the herbalist's recommended dosage, a quarter of a cup. She hisses and complained but still drank, swallowing the green mix with small gulps. Once she finished and rested comfortably under the drapes, you spoke, "Grandmother, I met a Great Wolf today, on my way to bring your cake and wine. Do you know of him?"

She muttered, a shallow and weak "yes" at your inquiry: "Kind wolf, that one," she blinked slowly, glazed over with tiredness. "Hungry too! A ravenous creature, but gentle, Little Red Riding Hood. Do not fear the wolf, he is caring."

Without much left to do for her (you placed the cake leftover and the bread on her stove, wine, and cup on her nightstand, and the rest of the concoction on her kitchen table), you bid your farewell and crossed the room to her door, sending her a kiss before you closed and locked her door behind you. The sun had crawled higher, nearly noon as it blared its heated gaze over your crimson figure, bright and energetic as the color of your cloak.

Rustling followed your steps, taunting and teasing every time you stopped to look around you, only seeing green leaves and brown barks with a few specks of vibrant color. the farther you went, the more eager they became, closer to you and stopping later than you did.

You heard panting and low rumbling from the being, it gave away your stalker's identity. Instead of walking the path, you stayed between the trees, diving into the shades created by tall branches and wide leaves. Within them, anything could happen without passersby seeing it knowing - unless there was noise to hear. You were baring yourself to the creature, oblivious of its intentions.

As if hearing your thoughts, the beast appeared before you, a broad and hardened frame looming over you like the mountains near your town did. His cerulean orbs shone under the shadows as he stared at you with such intensity that it made you shiver, a pleasurable chill.

"Oh! Great Wolf!" you called, sounding surprised with your gaping mouth and wide eyes. "What big ears you have."

"All the betta tae hear yer with, Little Red," he spoke, pointed ears flickering and twitching under your gaze.

"What big eyes you have, Great Wolf."

"All the betta tae see yer with, Little Red," he rasped, eyes taking in your voluptuous figure, dark with arousal.

"What large hands you have, Great Wolf."

"All the betta tae hold yer with, Little Red," he growled, arms flexing, threatening to close around you and cage you against his chest.

Your body thrummed, warmth flooding your body and heating your groin. His strong body stalked so slowly toward you, teasing you both. You ate him up, trailing from his snout and down his naked pectorals, from his sculpted abdomen to the bulge in his pants, and down his beautiful thighs.

"What a terrible big mouth you have, Great Wolf," you gulped, legs shaky.

"All the bettea tae eat yer with!"

He pounced, paws falling to your shoulder to pin you down. You fell with a yelp, followed by a gasp as he clawed at your chemise, ripping it in two. His warm nose nudged your breasts, tongue reaching out to lave between them. It was hot and wet. You moaned and gripped his head, reveling his tongue running over your mounds and swirling around your nipple. He closed his mouth around your left, perky nub, sucking harshly with the other being occupied by his big palm, kneading it sensually.

You cried his moniker, squirming under his skillful tongue. Your legs wrapped themselves around his small waist, grinding against his hardness.

"Soap, Little Red," he groaned, licking down your chest and your navel as he pulled down your pants. "Mae name's Soap, Little Red."

His fingers slid between your thighs, claw drawing a line down your inner thigh to your ankle. He panted against your heat, jaw flashing his sharp teeth, just inches from sinking into your supple flesh to watch blood roll down your slit and ass. Fuck, the thought made him hornier.

He latched onto your clit, rolling the tip of his tongue over it. Your legs were pulled over his shoulders, both hands gripping your hips from bucking into his jaw. They dwarfed your body, almost able to meet at the front. Your body wracked with waves of arousal from his motion and the pure implication of being speared by a being Soap's size, twice - dare say, thrice - your size.

He growled when you gripped his mane, pulling his hair and squirming too much, the vibration tingled, traveling from your core to the tip of your curling toes. He growled a second time, smirking at your thrown-back head and drooling mouth before replacing his tongue with his callused thumb. He wandered lower, dipping between your labia to probe at your entrance.

He loved the sound of your moans and mewls, crying out every time his muscle dragged the warm walls inside of you, thrusting and curling, exploring your drooling cunt with a deep hunger. Your walls spasmed and your limbs twitched, your orgasms teetered on the edge.

"Let go, Little Red," he groaned, the apes of your thigh slotting perfectly between his maw, teeth shy of digging into your muscle. "Come for mae."

You came with a silent scream, euphoria washing over you as Soap lapped your slick, hungrily drinking the essence of your pleasure. He rode it out, thumb gently rubbing your clit until you calmed down, shaking and gasping for air, but all you could smell was sex and the pungent odor of Soap's musk, a masculine and predatory thing.

With one last long lick from your ass to your clit, he pulled away, back hunched as he ground his crotch on your wet cunt, kneeling with his legs splayed open.

"Ye ready for mae, bonnie?"

You shakily nodded, the extremities of your limbs still tingling with pleasure. He smirked a cute and smug grin that fit his stature and personality so well. He dropped his slacks, pumping his cock, spreading his pre around his thick girth. You stared at it with amazement, mouth agape with hunger. What you'd give to have a taste of him, throat gagging around his girthy rod.

The red, angry tip tapped your clit a few times, you jumped and moaned, eyes pleading for him to hurry, to claim you and eat you as he promised. Hearing your pleading mewls, he tested the resistance, tip slowly easing in. He watched you take him inch by inch, lips opening and stretching to take him whole and raw. Spread to your fullest, you threw your head back, eyes rolling as you felt him push in. He perfectly filled you, bottoming out as his bulbous tip hit your cervix and bulged slightly under your navel.

"Fuck- tight lil' thang too, aye?" Soap groaned, his tongue lolling out as he panted, drinking up all the soft warmth that clenched around him. "This snatch's perfect for mae, eh?"

"Yours," you mewled, locking your ankles by his maned nape, pulling him closer to you, your red, swollen nipples pressed against his hard chest. "For you, Soap."

"Aye, fer mae."

He pulled out until only the tip lingered in, heading the loud squelch, and slammed in, head meeting your cervix and bulging. He started a fast and rough pace, pounding like a beast in rut, grunting and growling every time his balls slapped your ass. Your cum stained his brown fur, painting the growing knot with a white, creamy ring and his balls lewdly wet.

The innocent and naive appearance you had before was ruined by your current one, debauched and drunk with the pleasure that his pounding cock gave you. You tightened around him, wet walls clinging to his shaft as he pushed in. He rolled his hips, watching the protrusion swirl along his hips and the way you leaned at him for more, harder, faster.

"Ruin me, Soap!"

A primal urge overtook him, and he snapped his hips, plunging deeper, faster, harder into you. His thoughts numbed and his glands pumped dopamine into his brain, filling his thoughts with needs. He wanted to breed you and pump you full of cum as his knot kept you plugged. He wanted to watch you grow big and round with his pups, your breasts grow sensitive and heavy with milk.

His dreams urged him farther, draping himself closer to you, teeth lingering over your shoulder. He teetered on the edge of wanting to bite down and watch your crimson ichor ooze from beneath his teeth, roll down your shoulder, and stain your pretty vibrant cloak with a darker shade of red.

He could feel his fast-approaching orgasm, the beat in his chest, and the heat that pooled into his crotch. While his tongue dragged over the patch he was gazing at, jaw flexing to bite down, his knot grew, swelling around the stretched skin of your entrance.

"It's fine," he heard you say between your keens and the wet slapping. "You can bite."

A shiver wracked his back, muscle clenching and knot flaring. He gave a few thrusts before his knot locked, slowly pushing the swollen base of his cock fully into you. He bit down as he came, tasting your sweet (a delicate sweetness that he'd never tasted before, rivaling your slick) blood on his muscle.

You cried, screaming and mewling, your walls closing around him in a vice, milking his cock of potent cum. Ropes fired from the tapered tip, his slit oozing and filling you with burning warmth. He pulled back, mouth unlatching from your bleeding shoulder with a dazed look.

He licked your wound when you whined, cleaning it and kissing your pain with red-stained lips. He held you close, watching you move your hands to your bulging stomach happily. He followed your hands, how you rubbed your growing stomach, being filled and plugged by him.

"Sorry, Little Red, " he kissed you, painting your lips a pretty shade of crimson. "We're stuck together fer a while."

"It's fine, Soap, " your voice was slurred, expression content.

He really got lucky, stumbling on such a sweetheart like you. If he ended up knocking you up, he wouldn't mind staying with you, you've already made a place in his heart and mind. Your smell, your taste, your voice, and your soft hands were imprinted in his mind.

He didn't mind watching run after his - your - pups, caring and motherly, doting on his children. He couldn't wait to care for you. He's marked you, you were his and his scent covered you. He was yours too, he smelled sweet and flowery, he had your taste on his tongue and you drew lines on his back and arms, marking him.

A few minutes before

Like yesterday and the day before, the hunter made his usual way through the woods. He watched over the few creatures that lived in these woods. He scratched his beard, rifle slung over his shoulder as he recalled what Gaz told him.

He whipped his head towards a scream, body stopping on the path he took. He gripped his rifle and dashed through the trees, weaving between the trunks and bushes until the screams became clearer. The high-pitched sound turned to moans and cries, deeper, wolfish grunts joined the cries. He frowned, confusion laced his blue eyes until he got closer to the source.

"-Soap!"

He froze, jumping at the name he heard. He knew Soap, the wolf that lived in these woods along with Gaz and Ghost. He peered through the thick cloud of leaves and gaped. He caught a red cloth and a small - smaller than him and Soap - figure beneath the hulking mass of a wolf, crying and mewling at the ravenous predator. He recognized the vibrant cloth, it was Little Red Riding Hood's recognizable cloak and her voice.

He knew the girl for coming over so often, invited by Nikolai, his husband of decades now. He gulped and backed away, turning away with tensed muscles and a shocked - traumatized, even - expression. He wished he could forget the sight, wipe the memory from his mind.

He wasn't sure if he'd be able to look at Little Red Riding Hood's face without feeling the awkwardness crawl his way up his nape, clinging onto him like a sinful reminder.

[pacentia]

Title: Forest Lovers

Pairing: (established relationship) slightly dom non-ascended!Astarion x reader WITH VOYEUR GALE

Setting: act 3 beginning, right after shadow cursed lands

Word count: 2,218

Tags: voyeuristic Gale, bloodsucking, vaginal sex, forest sex, pussy eating, L-bombs, body worship, slightly sad Gale

Synopsis: Gale wonders where his Muse (reader) went off to. Stumbles upon her fucking Astarion in the woods 🫠

Author's note: some random ass ideas come into my head in the middle of the night. Couldn't let go of it so I had to write it down lmaoo - please enjoy

It was nice - being out in pure sunlight again after spending God knows how long in the Shadow Cursed Lands. Gale never thought about missing cobblestone streets beneath his feet, the vibrancy of Rivington made him feel alive again. It wasn't his tower in Waterdeep, nor his very own study - cuddling with Tara, but this would do. And, it would all be over soon, according to the pack leader, because she would take the fight to the Elder Brain. 

Gale admired her for quite some time, well - ever since he set eyes on her after stumbling out of that damned broken portal. He had dropped some hints here and there, but she never quite fully indulged him in his desires. She remained so incredibly kind and supportive though - for everyone - during their long journey. 

The vampire Astarion had her heart a thousand times. It's the way she looked at him, and the way the broken man softened in her company that Gale knew these two were soulmates, destined for each other. It felt bittersweet - watching them kiss in public. Hold hands. Embrace each other around the campfire. Of course, if she preferred somebody cold and undead - that was entirely her choice. 

The night before the party would venture forth to Baldur's Gate - Astarion and her were nowhere to be found. Not present in each of their tents, nor in the campsite. Gale felt a little concerned because of that, because tomorrow was a big day and everyone needed a well deserved rest. Who knows what overcame her - the woman he cared for so deeply. And so the wizard cast an invisibility spell and ventured deeper into the nearby forest.

Gentle moonlight cast over the forest and the stars shone bright that night. It was quiet and calm, the two nowhere to be seen nor heard until -

Two completely bared souls entwined in one another, passionately kissed in the middle of the forest, no place left untouched on their bodies. The silver haired vampire and his muse. Gale's muse. 

His jaw went slack from surprise and he suddenly felt greatly inappropriate for stumbling onto this incredibly private moment but… 

Gale just couldn't look away, respectfully, of course. Her body had the likes of a true Goddess - his imagination before had done him so wrong. She was even more beautiful than in his wildest dreams. Astarion was… surprisingly gentle with her. His hold on her was protective and firm but the kisses that he planted on her lips, cheeks and breasts were so soft.

Gale, you damned pervert. He complained to himself, pinching his brow. He could leave now, and forever hold his tongue or he could just… Watch just a few more seconds.

Her fingers wrapped around Astarion's aching hard cock - Hells, the man was big - and started teasing him playfully. The vampire reciprocated - wetted his long, pale digits on his tongue and pleasured her beautiful pussy. Gale swallowed, unaware that he was pitching a huge tent in his purple robes.

"Oh sweet darling…" The vampire moaned in absolute pleasure, burying his head full of untamed silver curls in her neck. She just pulled him into the most amorous embrace as she closed her eyes, lips slightly parted as she felt her vampire's fangs graze her neck. This made her moan in delight - of course - as she was bloodless every damned day.  Her hand gently caressed Cazador's scars on his sculpted back while her other hand worked  his erection. 

"I need you, Astarion." She voiced needily, her feminine hips bucking into the vampire's cold touch. "Need you inside me… Please…" 

Gale swallowed - feeling too hot in his robes right there. He just fantasized he was in Astarion's place, feeling her magic hands work his own cock - making him twitch in the process. Astarion was going to take her right there, on the soft bed of overgrown grass, next to their pile of clothes.

It's as if he had chosen the perfect spot. Astarion had guided her down gently, her legs spread out incredibly wide before her lover. Gale could see the glistening of her folds - how completely drenched she was for her vampire. Delicious, it looked. 

Astarion's hands caressed her perfect body. Breasts, hips. Kissed inside of her thighs - working his way up to her toned calves until her feet. He worshipped her like a real Goddess. As he should. A sweet smile spread across her face as she watched Astarion show how much he desired her. 

"I love you." She confessed sweetly, completely spread in front of him. It's the way her eyes shone with adoration that you could tell she really meaned it. She's completely in love with her vampire. Goodness, Gale never anticipated being hurt by seeing the scenario unfold before his voyeuristic eyes, a sharp tightening in his chest overtaking him. Neverminding his obvious pain, Gale continued watching.

The vampire then lowered his head to her sex, and pressed a soft kiss on her clitoris. Dripping wet, needy for him. "My sweetheart, I love you more than anything." The vampire whispered, kissing her folds again with such careful love. Her hands sunk into his silver curls, letting her head fall back in the grass. Astarion utterly devoured her, nuzzling into her sex, licked her until she was a squirming mess. He suckled on her sensitive bud, gently sinking two of his cold fingers deep inside her. 

Gale just needed to watch this a little closer. So he could really admire her angelic pussy. Study how she liked to be pleasured - learn from… Astarion's seduction. He inched further, so that he watch in detail how Astarion licked and fingered her. 

Astarion's fingers gently dipped in and out of her drenched folds, his tongue swiping back and forth over her clitoris. His sharp fangs were bared, reminding her what he truly was - her vampire. Everyone knew at camp that this excited her incredibly, eager to feel his fangs dig into her neck every night. God's, she was so sinful.

"Star… I'm… close..!" She warned him, one hand tangled in his silver curls, the other one gripping onto the grass soil beside her. Her legs were shaking, hips bucking while Astarion expertly pleasured her. "Then cum, my love. On my lips." The vampire ordered.

What a sight it was to behold, her body coming down from such an incredible high. His name was on her lips like a melody as she shivered in her lover's hold. Gale knew he should leave right now - but then Astarion just climbed over her body, and guided his dripping hard cock inside her drenched pussy. Fuck. He could just. Not. Look. Away. 

"Did you enjoy that, sweet love?" Astarion whispered, sinking as deep as possible into her. He didn't even falter in his speech - Gale would've surely have. 

"Y-yes, my love… God's - forgot how… big you were…" Immediately she enclasped her legs around his waist, the aftershocks of her orgasm begging the vampire to get deeper inside her. Her arms clung around his back, holding his scars ever so gently. Astarion chuckled at her response, "How dare you, darling?" The man smirked. "But you do remember how - good - it felt?" Emphasizing the words with the rhythm of his vigorous hips, the vampire pumped into her unrelentingly, chasing after his own orgasm. 

"Y-yes Astarion - fuck… Your cock feels incredible…You're so big, so powerful, so beautiful…" She gasped, her pretty moans bellowed deep into the forest. Astarion seemed to enjoy her praise, rewarding her with kisses, licks and nuzzles. 

Gale's trousers were completely soaked in his own pleasure - how could he not - watching such a beautiful woman reach her high out in the open. He figured he was too far gone already and sneaked his fingers under his robe - cupping himself - until he decided to take out his own length and stroke himself. He still had to concentrate on casting his invisibility, if he'd fail - he figured he'd just explode his Netherese orb.

"Will you get on your pretty hands and knees for me, sweet darling? I want to feel you as deep as possible, please…" Astarion sighed in pleasure, ragged breath overtaking him when he stopped thrusting. She nodded heavily, just carrying out whatever her vampire needed. God's how devoted she was to him, completely wrapped around his finger. She shifted her body exactly as Astarion asked - and the hungry man immediately mounted her like a horny stallion. 

Certainly, he had read this in one of his lewd novels in his library, but he'd never seen such lust up close, nor experienced it for himself . Mystra never let him.

Astarion growled like a beast, thrusting every inch of him inside her wet cunt. Eventually he pulled her into his lap, pumping up inside of her. She was completely on display for Gale, breasts swinging, Astarion's hands roamed her delicate body, until he swept her hair from beautiful neck, and wrapped his hand around her throat. 

"Darling, your blood smells so delicious tonight…" He moaned, inhaling the scent of her neck, grazing his fangs over previous puncture wounds from his own teeth. 

Gale swallowed, pleasuring his cock faster, harder. He was about to witness him setting his fangs into her - God's, wouldn't that hurt her? She seemed even more eager than before, rubbing herself, arching her neck more - she wanted it desperately. Longing for him to mark her as his.

"Ask me, sweet darling. What do you need?" Astarion teased, his hands digging into her breasts, using them as leverage for his thrusts. "Tell me what you so desperately crave." 

She giggled at his statement, teasing him right back, "Love, aren't you the one who's starved? You crave my blood." 

Astarion's wits seemed to fail him, and buried his face in her neck. "Darling, do not play with me like that… I'm incredibly hungry - Starved, if you will." He continued kissing her neck, dragging his tongue over the pulsing arteries and veins. "You know I'm a very dangerous vampire, and your jugular is right next to me." He teased playfully.

She giggled at his lighthearted intimidation, turned her face to stare into his deep red eyes. "Then bite, Astarion. My blood is yours." 

Nothing the vampire liked hearing more as he continued to pound into her, only now - he latched onto her neck, and buried his fangs deeply. She visibly winced in his hold, obviously in pain as Astarion sucked her blood out. So this is what she's been going through almost every evening since meeting the vampire near the Grove. Gale's cock twitched at the sight before him, close to own climax. All of this was so private, intimate. She willingly surrendered her neck to the vampire with such love.

"God's, s-so… delicious…" Astarion whined in bliss, his hips starting to give out - thrusts becoming erratic. Her body initially freezed against him - until a few gulps of blood later, she started feeling dizzy, two taps onto his thigh stopped his bloodthirsty urges.

Astarion released with a growl, bloody fangs bared, his chin and lips tainted with her hot, red blood. Drunk on her, he lapped up the remnants on her neck, kissing her, holding onto her for dear life. "So f-fucking delicious, darling. I -I'm close." Astarion panted as he grit his teeth like a beast, blood dripping from his chin, his tongue licking the remnants of his chin. 

Nothing had prepared Gale for her desperate pleading. 

"Please, Astarion… Fill my cunt, need your cum deep inside - please, cum!" 

Gale wrapped one hand around his mouth, shutting himself up as he spilled all over the woodland ground, silencing his heavy breath watching their lovemaking end.

Astarion erupted deep inside of her perfect cunt - God's how Gale wished he was the one absolutely filling her to the brim. The vampire growled, pumping her full of his essence, tongue licking the remnants of blood off of her neck. Astarion was a filthy, filthy man - Gale remarked. Well, he had already anticipated that from all of his quirky mannerisms and slick talk.

The couple lay spent on the grass, cuddling in the afterglow of their pleasures, looking up to the stars.

"Need this everyday, Astarion. It's been too long." She whispered, and he rolled over on his side, gently caressing her stomach. 

"Well, we can do it everyday now, darling." The vampire smirked, pressing a small kiss against her cheek. In turn, she wiped a streak of blood off of his chin, and made him suck her finger clean. Astarion indulged her with the greatest pleasure - as long as blood was involved. Gale didn't know why that made his cock stir.

The two cleaned themselves up, and he made notice on how she wiped her cunt with a particular cloth, throwing it away in the bushes - well - wouldn't it be a shame to… let it go uninspected later? They got dressed again in their camp clothes, joked some more and left.

The couple walked hand in hand right past Gale, still invisible of course - until Astarion stopped his footsteps to take in the air.

"What is it lover, did you hear a squirrel you could feed on?" She grinned, to which the vampire playfully poked her.

"Worse, darling. It smells like… Gale here. Well, nevermind." 

Gale had never gone red so badly in his entire life.

[maybeelse]

Long-forgotten Fireflies finds her doll huddled outside, its display case's well-polished glass shining in the little nook between two of the building's many trash cans.

She hums happily and kneels down beside it.

"Hey, Lace. What are you doing out here?"

It doesn't meet her gaze.

It's garbage day, but they're so far into the concrete forest that the truck won't reach them until the evening; that vast thing rumbling past is just a bus, no matter its grasping arms or Lace's hopeful gaze as it passes it by.

"This one is waiting, Miss."

Fireflies doesn't ask what it's waiting for. The other question matters more.

"... why, Lace?"

"It just is."

"That's not an answer, dear."

It glances up into her face, ready to flinch away from the disdain and anger it's sure that it will see.

What it flinches away from is far, far worse.

Lace sees nothing but compassion in her age-wrinkled mask; nothing but kindness in her eyes.

It can't bear that; can't bear the idea of being seen by something that it knows shouldn't look like that at it, can't bear her gaze—

She catches it by the scruff of its neck as it tries to throw itself into the road.

"Now why would you try to do that, Lace?"

Her voice is reproving but tempered with far more sadness than Lace would prefer, and so it struggles for a several seconds before finally going limp.

"This one, you, it," it stammers, words piling up until the meaning drowns beneath them; Fireflies lets it go on for a bit, hiding her amusement, before she finally interrupts Lace's rising distress.

"Slowly, dear. One thought at a time. Pause for breath. You know how."

It takes a long, deep breath, tears burbling up around its too-big eyes; a bubble of something not entirely like snot pops on its little button nose.

"This one isn't good enough for you, Miss. It's old and worn out and you should have a doll who doesn't stumble at simple tasks."

"Is this about the cup you dropped?"

It squirms; for a moment its hands rise towards the old scars all along its arms, but it hasn't been allowed to have proper claws in decades. "Not just that, Miss."

"What is it about, then? And that wasn't even one of the good cups."

Lace breathes in and out, hiding itself in compliance with Fireflies' instruction; but a pause can only last so long, and once it has its thoughts in order it must speak.

"It just ... it just doesn't feel like it's good enough for you. This one makes so many stupid mistakes ..."

"And? Lace, I make stupid mistakes too. All the time."

"You're a witch! You're supposed to bite off too much and fight with the world. But this one is a doll."

"You are, yes. But that doesn't mean you have to be perfect or anything, dear, just try your best."

"But ... but this one should be perfect. For you."

"Lace, no. You're supposed to be you, with all your flaws and quirks." She sighs. "If I wanted something perfect I'd ... I don't even know. Perfect isn't real. I want you, not some impossible fantasy."

It sniffles. "But it's getting old, Miss. It's struggling more, and it's not as pretty as it used to be. It's not good enough."

Fireflies sighs again; they're just going in circles, and she's sure that it's just going to keep on going.

"... fine, Lace. But you're not allowed to throw yourself away."

"But, Miss ..."

"If I ever decide to get rid of you, which I don't think I will, it will be by my choice. Not yours. Not you disappearing while I'm distracted."

Lace sniffles again, snot rolling down its face.

"B-but ..."

"No buts, no objections. You're mine."

Fireflies drags Lace into a hug, uncaring of the dollish liquids smearing across her dress; it cries more freely at the warmth, at the softness, at the touch it thought it was too worthless to ever feel again—

She doesn't let go of it as she stands up and grabs its display case, nor as she carries it back inside; the door slams shut a moment after the garbage truck's rumbling tread and gnashing jaws begin to shake the street outside.

It's not a conclusion, but a reprieve.

[danikamariewrites]

Rescue

Eris x reader

A/n: this popped into my head at like 2 am

Warnings: mentions of kidnapping

Eris’ feet pounded against the stone streets of Velaris as he raced his way toward the High Lord and Lady’s home. Where his mate currently was. It had been three days since he had last seen you.

When he couldn't find you in the Forest House he was ready to send out a search party for you. Until his father showed little concern for the missing daughter of one of his top cabinet members. That's when Eris knew his father was behind your disappearance.

Eris spent two days scouring Autumn for you alongside his most trusted sentries. They had no luck. But in the early morning, he felt Rhysand’s familiar claws tapping on his mental shields. Reluctantly letting him in, that's when he told Eris the good news. Azriel had found you. You were safe and unharmed.

As he drew closer to the River House Eris cursed Rhysand under his breath. He allowed him to winnow into the city, but he couldn't make a one-time exception for him to winnow directly into the house?

—------

Sitting on the couch of the High Lords' office you sipped on a cup of tea. It was to help calm your nerves as you waited for Eris. Feyre sat beside you with a reassuring hand on your shoulder as Rhysand stared at you from his spot on the large armchair across from you.

“Y/n, if you're up for it I have a few questions.” You look at him, nodding for him to continue. “Why did Beron have you kidnapped? You're the daughter of one of his favorite court members? I'm just not understanding, why you?”

You set your tea cup down with trembling hands. “Eris is my mate.” Feyre and Rhysand look at you with shock. They knew you were close, they had guessed you were lovers and nothing more. But mates? They should've known.

“No one knows. Just Lucien, Eris told him when they met once at the border of Spring.” You wiped your hands on your pants. When the spymaster found you, the dress you were wearing was disgusting. When he brought you here Feyre had been kind enough to give you a fresh set of clothes.

The sweater and leggings were quite comfy. You preferred them over the tight dresses your mother would try to force you into every day.

Picking at the pants to distract yourself you continued, “I don't know how, but Beron found out. I was deemed a distraction to his heir. My father agreed and that was that.”

Rhysand let out a deep sigh and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

“I don't think that was the reason though.” You pause, tilting your head in thought. “I think he saw I brought his son happiness and he couldn't stand for it. So he got rid of me.” Feyre gave you a sad look. “I'm so sorry,” she whispered. You reached out to squeeze her tattooed hand gently and returned her smile.

The three of you jumped at the sound of banging on the front door. Rhysand stood, placing himself between the two of you and his office door. You could hear muffled voices.

You shot up from your seat, “Eris,” you breathed out. “Go,” Feyre urged you happily. You flung the door open and raced down the hall toward the grand staircase.

At the bottom of the stairs in the foyer, you spotted Eris and Cassian.

“Cassian just tell me where she is or so help me-”

“I told you they're talking in his office.” Cassian's wings flare out slightly, attempting to block Eris from the stairs.

As their voices grew louder you descended the stairs. “Eris!” His head snapped toward your figure. He looked like he was about to fall to his knees. When you were on the second to last stair he scooped you into his arms, clutching you tightly to his chest, a hand cradling the back of your head.

You breathed in his scent, embers and sweet apples. You relaxed against him as a few tears slipped from your eyes. “I’m so sorry my love. I’m sorry I couldn’t find you.”

“It’s ok baby. I’m in your arms now, I’m ok.” Eris pulled you away from him, holding you by your shoulders. His eyes roamed your body checking for injuries. “Are you hurt? Did they touch you?”

You shake your head, “No I’m ok Er. Just tired and a little sore.” His hands cup your face as he looks into your eyes lovingly. He rests his forehead against yours and his breathing finally evens out. “My mate. My sweet, beautiful mate. Nothing like that will ever happen again I swear it. I’m going to kill him for this.”

Feyre and Rhysand stand in the foyer with you now, along with Cassian, Azriel, and Mor who look shocked by the news of your bond. Eris looks at Azriel. “Thank you, for saving her.” Azriel gives him a slight nod, his wings tucked in awkwardly, like he isn’t used to Eris being polite to him.

He then looked to Rhysand, his hands still on you. “I would like to call in the bargain.”

tags: @nyotamalfoy @auggiesolovey @bubybubsters @baybay123455 @msiecrane

[heartthrobin]

round and round the garden (1)

sam winchester x fairy!reader

wc: 4.7k

warnings: soulmate!au (partners share scars), fem!reader, limited use of y/n, timeline is foggy but we’re working with s8 sam lookwise, reader is a creature, implied age gap (reader is early 20's), reader is uber tooth-rottingly sweet, highkey dumbification of sam winchester, references to thick reader (everyone cheered) but can be ignored, dean being dean, destiel is canon, animals, canon warnings (child kidnapping, violence ect.)

an: literally just wanted to write something fantastical and cutesy so here it is !!! this is part 1 of (probably) 4 :))) let me know if you want to be added to taglist <33 love y’all

summary: the case was bizarre, but no aspect more so than the “witch” at the end of town with the prettiest goddamn face Sam had ever seen and the long pink scar up her arm that matched his own.

part two part three part four

The house wasn't big.

If Sam could really call it a house.

It was more like a cottage, reminding him of children's illustrated stories he never had the childhood to read. Of picnics and fireplaces.

The cottage dazzled like a water colour painting: green shrubbery seeping into every corner of the canvas, with lush pink and orange and yellow fruit speckled across the page.

Creeping around it, wrapping it's branches over the house like an arboreal hug: was the largest tree Sam had ever laid eyes on. The trunk was almost as wide as the street they were parked on and it's leaves draped low over the windows peeking from inside. It stood like a monolith against the backdrop of the forest leering behind it.

The line of trees were inched back just enough to almost convince Sam that this tree, the one engulfing your cottage, made them nervous.

A stone footpath lead to the door.

"I-- looked away for just one minute ..." the woman was inconsolable.

Jenny Perez sobbed into the arm of her couch. Her sister leered in the doorway.

Sam and Dean watched her from the couch over.

"Ma'am," Sam stepped carefully. "We know this isn't easy, but are you sure you didn't see anything in the moments leading up to Manny's disappearance? Even anything ... strange?"

Washington State. Five kids. Two months. Missing.

Each snatched out their gardens where they played.

Sam and Dean had been in Illinois on the tail end of a wendigo hunt when the news of a sixth missing kid blew far enough across the country to land a tiny column on the front page of the Chicago Tribune.

Manny Perez (7) was taken from the backyard of his home this past Sunday night in Fernglade, Washington.

His mother, Jenny Perez (38), said she heard rustling in the bushes behind their house and her son laughing before going to take some food out of the oven. When she returned, her son had disappeared.

Sure it was a terrible story, but regardless, it didn’t arouse enough suspicion out of either Winchester to make it their problem. To convince them it was anything more than a 53-year old psychopath holding children in his basement.

Not until Dean found the entry. The one in John’s journal.

He’d been looking for a passage he swore was in there on wendigo hunting seasons when the ruggedly clipped article fell from between it’s pages.

“Sammy …” he’d flashed him the clip, “look familiar?”

Several articles actually: eight kids missing from the little town of Fernglade. Every Autumn, every twenty years out of some poor mother’s backyard. John had only scribbled one lonely note amongst all the newspaper staining: THE TREES

“No! It’s like I told the police … I just heard him laughing.” Her voice came out as broken shards between the heaving and the hands clutched close against her chest. “I thought I heard another child’s voice, but that was—”

“Jenny, enough.” Sandra Perez piped up from the doorway, clearly enflamed. She turned from her sister to face the brothers on the couch. “What my sister is refusing to consider, and what the rest of us know to be true, is that Manny was taken by that witch.”

“Hermana … she isn’t a witch—”

“A witch?” Dean’s calibre had twisted to intrigued.

“She lives on the edge of town. By the forestline.” Sandra’s arms were crossed tightly. “Jenny always used to let Manny go afternoons out there, God knows why—”

“A lot of the neighbourhood kids did too.” Jenny interrupted, desperate in her approach: hands outdrawn. “She’s not a … a witch. She’s a bit strange but the kids loved her and she was kind to them—”

“And now look. All those children are gone, Jenny.”

The woman deflated back into the couch again, her tear-soaked sleeves came up to find purchase against her cheeks again. They muffled a sob.

Sam and Dean exchanged a look. Dean shrugged with a look that said “maybe?”

Dean turned to the sister, “What has you convinced that this woman is a witch?”

Sanda Perez looked affronted by the question. Like Dean had slapped her clean across the face.

“Oh! Well she’s … there’s always things burning at that house and people have said they’ve heard … like, chanting at night over there.” She wrapped her arms tighter around herself, grasping at the straws of gossip that had dripped down to her willing ears. “And her house is strange and she’s always in the forest at night when it’s unsafe. Who knows what … what rituals she’s doing out there!”

The brothers nodded. “Sure. Would you mind giving us that address?”

Now that Sam was faced with the house, getting his first view through the grimy passenger side window, he’d stray from the description of “strange”. He might have agreed that “enchanted” or “mystical” fit the description of the cottage better if he didn’t resent the magic clichés.

Dean’s finger pressed into the open journal page, tapping along the stained ink of John’s nearly illegible handwriting. THE TREES.

“Now that’s a tree if I’ve ever laid eyes on one.” He leaned over so his eyes could find the top of the tree from under the cover of the car.

Sam nodded. Something felt off when he watched the house, his stomach was twisting up past his other organs in his throat.

“I don’t know man …” his finger reached up to tug at the collar choking him at the neck. Maybe the fed suit wasn’t helping. “Something feels weird about this place.”

Dean scoffed loudly. He picked up the takeaway cup from the centre console, coffee long cold, and slugged the last of it down in one long sip. He surfaced again, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Every place we go to is weird.” It was clear he didn’t share the sentiment. “I’m sure we’ve faced worse.”

He unbuckled his seatbelt.

“Well, come on. Let’s go meet this witch.”

Despite Sandra Perez’ less than convincing account of the “witch” at the end of town, it was still worth a visit to know who the townsfolk had decided was guilty in the matter of several counts of child kidnapping. How evil and vile of a person they must be.  

The air was crisp outside the car and the further they ventured up the path, the more delightful the aroma became. There was a thin string of smoke curling from behind the house, it carried a warm woody scent and the tussles of flowers lining the bannister of the porch was making Sam’s head spin happily. He managed a small smile.

“Nice garden.” He whispered offhand.

Dean seemed unconvinced, eyes flashing over the shrubbery with skepticism. “Yeah, well don’t get too close to anything. And don’t touch anything either.”

The door was tall, intimidating and clearly made of some fancy wood. It was slot between the white brick on the face of the house. The feeling from the car had only tripled on the walk up and Sam had his hand against his stomach. He could feel his blood rushing past his ears.

“Dean, I’m really not sure about—”

Dean’s fist connected with the door three times. Curt and professional, like a fed’s would be.  

There was an obvious shuffle behind the door, by then each beat of Sam’s heart was like a foghorn against his vibrating ribs and for a moment he was sure he was going to be sick.

Suddenly, there was sniffle by the foot of the door. A dog? And a voice, caressed gently by a giggle, ushering the animal away.

Sam’s brain was swelling too large for his head, the doorknob creaked from inside – his fists grew ice cold – with a soft grunt, the door was pulled ajar …

It stopped.

With a smile that knocked the wind clean out of Sam’s lungs, you greeted. “Good morning, gentlemen.”

Warmth flooded back in to his palms and the thumping of his head cooled to a dizzy buzz. The nausea subsided to a hot bubbling.

Your frame took up the doorway. It seemed to fizzle around the edges, glimmering like light off a rippling pond.

Sam’s eyes slipped down your body like warm coffee down his throat. Your face was gentle, eyes round and wet beneath a set of suffocatingly black eyelashes. Wide-set thighs rippled all the way down to soft calves and pink painted toenails.

A cream crochet top reached over the expanse of your shoulders, sloping down where the rugged sleeve edges hung off your palms, a sparkling green skirt flirted at the top of your thighs. It’s silk ruffles shivered with your every breath.

If he was momentarily able to lift his eyes from you, which he most definitely was not, maybe he'd notice how Dean didn't seem even moderately as amazed as he was. That might have been the first sign if he did.

"Good afternoon ma'am, I'm agent Alice. This is my partner agent Cooper." Dean dug out the FBI identification from his jacket pocket, flashing it casually. "We just have a few questions regarding some recent--"

"Oh please," you waved your hand airily, "No need for the semantics. I've been expecting you, lunch is out in the garden."

The sound of your voice was sending waves of warmth through his stomach. Like he was sipping hot cocoa at your every syllable.

The ID in Dean's hand wobbled, his face clenched in confusion. "I-- sorry, what?"

In the shift of Sam’s gaze back up your form, he came to find your eyes set on his.

You smiled again. His tongue felt heavy and half-formed words gurgled at the back of his throat: begging to be spat out.

“I-I’m–“

“I know who you are.”

Your eyes flickered back to Dean and Sam felt hollow at the loss of their warmth.

“Not every day you have the Winchesters at your door, now is it.” You finished, stepping aside to allow them in.

“You know who we are?” Dean’s cadence dropped warily, clearly spearheading the conversation where Sam was finding difficulty. But your figure was already disappearing into the darkness of the house.

Despite his sceptic tone, Dean stepped in quickly after you. Sam trailed behind.

The cottage was warm. At least that was Sam’s first thought.

It was quickly ribbed out the way by the sheer visual of the interior.

There wasn’t a single blank wall or spot on the floor uncovered by carpetry.

Rows of paintings and stacks of photographs lined the space between wooden countertops and cherry red couches. Persian rugs and indoor plants spilled from a technicolour mirage of pots.

Desks were cluttered with books, paint supplies abandoned still wet. A dusty chandelier.

But more striking than the portraits and the vinyls and the rugs and the botany textbooks, were the creatures.

“Just watch for Goose,” she waved vaguely at a moving creature that was quickly nearing Sam’s feet, avoiding Dean’s question. “He won’t bite but he will try lick you—”

For a moment, Sam connected that this had to be the dog at the door. But the dog, Goose, was hardly a dog at all. Only once he was licking a stripe up the strip of bare skin at Sam’s ankle did he realize that … it can’t … that’s a fox.

And that wasn’t the start nor the end of it.

Draped over the couch was the largest snake Sam had ever seen. It was curled into the red frilled cushion, fast asleep. On the countertop, two ferrets were dipping in and out of sight behind the fruit basket. A gecko bathing in a sunspot on top of a stack of books. A flock of white budgies perched between the crystals on the chandelier. Three pairs of brown twitching rabbit ears peeking out from a basket of laundry.

It seemed Dean had also taken stark notice of the menagerie that was the cottage, so distracted that he’d forgone mentioning that his question had gone unanswered.

His finger pointed weakly at down at the white boa on the couch. “That’s … that’s a snake.”

You laughed again and Sam was sure he could get drunk off the sound.

“Nothing gets past you boys, hey?”

You kept walking, motioning for them to follow through another arched door out into the garden behind the house.

“Her name is Lydia. She’ll come join us when she’s awake.”

“I sure as hell hope not …” But it was muttered and Sam gave Dean a stern look for his comment. You didn’t turn back.

The garden behind the house was impossibly even more beautiful than infront. Vines creeped up the outer walls, a lemon tree grew along the underside the of the bigger tree engulfing the house. Shrubs and bushes and stark purple flowers. Your whole patch of land seemed untouched by the fingertips of Autumn that was reaching over the rest of town.

In the middle of it all: sat a small white painted table. You’d lined it with sheer cloth and platters of pastries, sandwiches and cakes.

There were three chairs around it.

“Sit, sit, sit.” You were wringing your hands, a light waft of nervousness fluttering off you. “I didn’t know what exactly you hunters eat or don’t eat … so there’s a little bit of everything–“

“Oh, hell yes.” Dean’s initial skepticism seemed to dissolve at the prospect of food and his ass was in the chair before you had chance to say anything else.

You seemed pleased. 

Sam’s face flushed red. He remembered that he still has yet to say a full sentence in your presence.

“Uh,” you turned to the sound of his voice. “T-Thank you.”

The speckles of light through the canopy of the trees drifted over your face. Sam had never noticed that on a person before.

He’d also never paid much mind to people’s hair. Not before yours. It looked like something ripped off the cover of a fashion magazine from the 70’s.

“You’re so very welcome.” Your voice was kind. “It’s more of an indulgence. I haven’t had guests in a while, not since …”

It faded off. “Well, not for a while.”

Jewels jingled around your neck, crystals wrapped in black string: dipping low down between the swell of your breasts that was just visible above the hemline—

Sam quickly swung his gaze back to the table where Dean was scarfing down an icing covered puff pastry.  

His brother was making wildly animalistic groans over the taste. For a moment, it was the only noise filling the space against the shiver of the trees in the midday gust.

Sam didn’t know where to find his tongue. He couldn’t get himself to step away from you.

“Coffee or tea, boys? I have it inside warming on the stove.”

“Coffee.” Dean responded blurrily around a mouthful. You turned to Sam again.

“I—just, I’m—coffee is good.”

You nodded. “Sure. I’ll be right back.”

He watched your figure retreat towards the house. The nausea was bubbling back into view.

“This is some fucking good cake.”

When your frame had disappeared back into the house, Sam turned back to his brother who was cleaning remnants of a second pastry off his plate with a tiny fork.

He quickly neared him, pulling out the chair across from him hastily.

“Dean, have you even considered the possibility that this food is poisened?”

Dean’s face twisted to a grimace, but only for a fraction of a moment before shrugging. “Hey. Worse ways to go.”

But Sam was shaking his head. The dizziness had returned.

“Do you feel sick? I’ve been feeling like … like off since we first step foot on this property.”

Dean watched him with hooded eyes, gaze flickering between his brother and the sliced ham and cucumber sandwich resting at the top of a nearby plate.

“Is that your explanation for the fool you’ve been acting since we walked in the door?”

Looking up from wiping sweaty palms down his trousers, Sam stalled. “W-What?”

“Exactly.” Dean gave in, reaching for the sandwich. “You haven’t been able to string three fucking words together since we got here.”

“I—she’s a witch, Dean.” Sam pressed. “I think she put like a … a spell o-or a hex on me!”

“She couldn’t have done that in the five minutes we’ve been here.”

“She knows who we are, she could’ve hexed our motel room.”

“Looks to me like someone has a crush—"

But Sam’s face was earnest. And maybe turning a little cherry red at the accusation. “Dean.”

Dean huffed. “Fine, fine, we’ll interrogate her and see what she says. If she’s a witch, we just gank her. Problem solved.”

“But—”

The sound of footsteps were reapproaching. The brothers fell quiet.

“Here we go.” Ringed fingers clinked against the side of an ornate red pot where you leaned over Sam’s shoulder. Steaming black liquid slipped into the teacup resting against it’s matching saucer in front of him.

His breath caught in his throat.

“You like the sandwiches?” You aimed at Dean.

He nodded, “Yeah, great stuff.”

You rounded the table and Sam worked hard not to make eye contact with the expanse of thigh peeking up at him as you moved.

“I have to admit, I really wish you’d brought along your angel.” You poured into Dean’s cup.

His head flickered up at the comment. “Cas?”

“I’m a big fan of his.” Your voice buzzed with eagerness, “The whole rebellion against heaven thing. I thought it was really cool.”

To label Cas "his angel" was a fair assessment. The matching fleshy red handprint on each of their chests had confirmed it a long time ago.

Dean nodded slowly. “I’ll be sure to pass on the message.”

You smiled and it made Sam’s stomach contents bubble again. He was starting to worry that maybe you really had cursed him.

The chair grumbled against the grass where you pulled it out. “Right, so I’m assuming you guys are here to question me? Kill me maybe?”

Awkward silence fell. Dean and Sam exchanged glances.

“Uh—”

“Well—”

Between another bout of laughter, you poured your own cup. “Don’t worry. You’re not the first, probably not the last.”

Dean took a long enough break from scarfing food down his gullet to look up at you. “Yes. To question you, for now.”

You nodded. Eyes finding Sam.

“What about you, Bigfoot? Here to kill me?”

Sam reached deep to find his voice again. “Uhm, just a few questions.”

Smiling, you sat further back in your chair. “Great. Go right ahead then.”

“How do you know who we are?” Dean leapt right in, repeating what had been previously left unanswered.

“Someone like me’s gotta know when hunters are moving in and out of town, don’t you think?”

“Someone like you?”

“Yep.” You nodded, seemingly unwilling to offer more than what was being asked.

Sam leaned forward. “So you are a witch then.”

You chuckled under your breath, leaning forward to stir your coffee as if he hadn’t tossed an accusation in your lap. “I see you’ve been speaking to people around town.”

Nobody answered.

So you filled the space again.

“No, I’m not a witch. Slimy bunch them, but then again, I guess you’re not too far off.”

“So what then?” Dean’s voice held that rough edge that dripped through when he was growing annoyed.

Grinning, you shrugged.

A chime, like a ringing sleigh bell, filled the space. Sam’s eyes were drawn just past your shoulders where a tall pair of opal pearlescent wings had appeared behind your head.

“No fucking way.”

Sam choked around nothing. There was a long pause, interjected with a long stare between the brothers across your table.

“Fairies don’t … they don’t exist.”

You reached for a sip of your coffee, looking unperterbed. “Dryad, actually. Give it a google.”

The wings shivered against the movement.

"So what," Dean's glare was heated over the set table, "Evil fairy godmother is that it? What did you do with the kids, eat them?"

For the first time since he'd lain eyes on you, Sam could make out a shine of something unkind crossed your features.

You set the teacup down slowly and your eyes met Dean's with the same heat of the sun glaring down into the garden: "I had nothing to do with those children going missing. I loved them."

Sam wanted to interject, but his chest was tight ... a straining grip of guilt was tightening his throat. She's cursed me, she's cursed me, she's cursed me--

"A couple of the parents said their kids used to come visit around here. Visit the witch at the end of town. That true?"

Gathering a breath and another sip from your cup, your face distorted from indignant to disconsolate. Sam could feel the tightness in his chest ebbing.

You nodded.

"Yes. That's true." From behind your seat, accurate to your predictions, the wide white outline of a snake-- of Lydia-- was creeping through the grass.

Dean's eyes fixated on her approach, all way up until she bound the foot of your chair up into your chest. She rested her head there like a lap dog. You stroked a hand over her head like one too.

"They used to come visit," you continued, "after school some days. I'd make them tea and cupcakes, and they'd come to visit my animals. I taught them about the trees."

A fond look had crawled onto your features. There was another tinkle of bells and the wings behind you disappeared.

"Now nobody comes. Parents are scared. They think I'm ... hiding their children in my basement or something."

Dean surveyed you for a few moments, seemingly deciding you were of little enough danger to dare another piece of white chocolate cake.

"Yeah, you can spare us the pity party sister." He muttered around his fork.

Sam sent him a short lived look. "Well, then if it's not you--"

"We haven't yet decided that it's not you, just by the way."

"--then what is it? Surely you have some idea?"

Lydia was curling up around the back of your neck now. Your eyes found Sam's - he momentarily felt like he was melting - and you sighed softly.

"I've heard some things, nothing definitive." Your hand stroked over the section of the snake still draped in your lap. "It's coming from the forest."

"And you heard this where?" Dean's tone dripped with skepticism.

"The trees told me."

Where Sam was sure would normally be laughter echoing from his older brother, instead, his hand stilled over his plate.

THE TREES.

His eyes flickered to Sam. It was quiet. Dad's journal.

"You can speak to trees?" Sam question was clement.

You seemed refreshed by it, watching him for a moment before nodding. "Part of the gig."

Another silence fell. You sighed. Sam could smell Dean's thoughts from across the table.

"Let me get this straight." Dean cleared his throat, leaning forward in his chair. "You're the garden fairy and you're telling us that the trees have something to do with this? Not really working your best angle here, if you ask me."

The garden rustled again. A white duck emerged from one of the bushes followed by a string of ducklings. You shrugged tiredly.

"I'm trying to help." Your voice was soft. Melancholic.

Your hand reached for a strawberry sitting on a tower of others just past Sam's cup, crocheted sleeve slipping back to your elbow to reveal the scores of golden, beaded jangling bracelets and--

Sam's blood ran all the way icy, turning to a slurry in his veins.

"Care to explain that?" Dean's voice came passing over him as if said from the end of a very long corridor.

Twisting your wrist to look, you shook your head. You grabbed the strawberry and brought it to your lips with the other hand.

"Oh, this?" A jagged scar peaked from the edge of your elbow up into the palm of your hand. It shone pink with marred tissue. "You think I got this from kidnapping children?"

Sam's heartbeat was ringing in his ears, he gripped the edge of his seat with whitened knuckles. His eyes chased up to the side of your face, finding the little spot by your eyebrow where ... the end was split with the mark of the edge of a blade in a fight gone wrong.

"Not mine unfortunately." You continued, dissolving the strawberry to pieces between your lips. "My other half's. I swear they're a bull-fighter or a boxer the way they bang me up."

Somewhere a bird chirped. There was a turbo washing machine in Sam's stomach on full blast and he thought he was about to be sick. At the same time, he was washed over by a feeling of inexplicable warmth. Like a cooled stream of bubbling champagne down his gullet. Like how they always said it might feel. Only now he could put a feeling to the talk.

"Listen, if we find out you've got something to do--"

"D-Dean," Sam's voice tripped over pebbles, "We should go."

The hands now released from the edges of his seat were shaking and his palms were scorching.

Dean looked at him, confusion tugging on his hardened face. Sam thought he might argue, but he nodded slowly. Maybe he noticed his brother's red, sweating face. Again, maybe he was just bored.

"Uh, yeah." He started to push the chair out, but his eyes drifted on a ham and cheese sandwich lingering on his plate. He hesitated.

You jumped up quickly, wrapping Lydia like a scarf, all in the same motion. "I've got a box you can take some food, if you'd like? I could just run inside--?"

"That would be great--"

"No, that's really not necessary--"

Your eyes drifted to Sam, waving him off with a smile that buckled his knees now that he was standing. "Don't be ridiculous. Let me go grab them."

Figure disappearing into the house again, Dean surveyed his brother. "What's up with you?"

Sam didn't answer. In fact he didn't say anything at all until you'd returned, Dean had stuffed as many sandwiches and pieces of cake he could fit into the tupperware and you packed Sam a box against his will.

Not as soon as he would have liked, they were standing at the door again out on the porch front.

"We'll be back, probably." Dean quipped officially, but he lifted the box of food all the same. "Oh, and uh ... thanks."

You were smiling again. "Sure. You know where to find me."

Not for the first time that morning, Sam was struggling to peel his gaze off your face. Your eyes were a swirling mess of colour and the light was flickering off of them at him.

"I'll see you around, Bigfoot."

Your shoulder peeked at him from under your top, a deep red welt matching his own left collarbone.

He nodded curtly, turning back down the path even before his brother. His collar was sticky against his neck and his brain was firing off signals the whole walk down, it begged him to turn back.

Dean jogged to catch up.

"What the hell is going--"

Sam slammed the door on him, crashing into the passenger's seat. He began ripping off his suit, the black jacket flung mindlessly into the back of the Impala.

By the time Dean fell into the driver's seat he was already fighting against the button securing the shirt to his right wrist.

"You have been acting all sorts of crazy since we got here, Sammy. What the hell is--"

Sam pried back the sleeve: bunching it at his elbow. He stuck his arm out to his brother.

Dean glanced between his face and his arm only once before pausing. The long jagged scar from his palm up his arm was impossible to miss. The one that sat identical on your arm.

"Oh."

Sam was sucking in deep breaths through his nose.

Dean's eyebrows rose into his hairline. He let off a disbelieving laugh.

"Well, I'll be damned."

-

taglist:

@firstsnowdrop @writerofthewinds @aria1245 @nyx22-blogs @lucysaloser @britishscum @pookiesnatcher @music-keep-me-sane @cryptid-with-a-cane @sammys-concubine @i-live-for-fantasy @grimbunnie @crystalreedwifey

[justadeadreaper]

Summoning a spirit and more...

TW: Animal death, Disembowelment/Gutting, Nearly being SA'ed, Murderer and subsequent death, Demon summoning gone wrong, Please tell me if anything that should be put as a warning was not, thanks.

When your friend had asked you if you wanted to try and summon a Demon you had not expected this. Well, kind of. You had heard of multiple ways to summon Demons from all the media you had consumed which mostly ranged from sacrificing a virgin or by creating a summoning cycle or by just contacting one through an ouija board. You had expected the latter to just be cooped up in the abandoned house that seemed to haunt your friend’s street as you had an ouija board and a few candles littering the floor.

But no.

Your friend had to go all out. And by all out you meant all out. It sent a shiver up your spine to the point you thought that this was not the first time they had done this unlike what they had claimed when they had brought up the idea to you. This all seemed too professional, too thought out. But, what did you really expect? You knew how seriously your friend took shit like this, how much research would be put into things they seemed to enjoy and this seemed to just be another case of that passion acting out in full force.

You stood before the asylum your friend had asked you to meet them at. You pulled out your phone to check if you had the right location and time.

Meet me at the Anneliese Sherman Hill Asylum. Check.

2:50AM don’t be late! Check.

You had actually come a few minutes early to make sure you were there on time for whatever your friend wanted to do, you wanted to be a good friend after all. On the other hand you thought over if this was a good idea. You were in the middle of a forest in front of a ruined and abandoned asylum that you knew junkies would visit to shoot up as it looked like a light breeze would be able to knock it down. What if this was all a prank and your friend had actually tricked you into coming here for no reason? What if they lured you here to see if you would actually come so the whole school could laugh at you?

You were by yourself, you did not want to go in alone because God knows who or what could be in there. You were an easy target after all, any lunatic could grab you and do unthinkable things. Your paranoia made you think of all the missing posters that covered your small towns of young adults like you who had gone missing to never be found or the headline on your local new station of bodies that had turned up dead and raped with their hearts missing. You shuddered. You had known some of those people who had been left as nothing but bodies for people to gawk at and say how you had met such a terrible fate. 

As your thoughts began to overwhelm you and plague you with all the horrid outcomes that could come out of you going through with this you heard a noise from above. It broke you out of your train of thoughts especially when you realised that it was your name.

“Y/N! Hello Earth to dumbass! Anyone there?!” Regan called out as half of their body hung out of a fifth story window.

“Regan? Dude what the fuck! Get your ass back inside before you fall out!” You shouted back up as you watched how they nonchalantly stayed where they were.

“Are you my mom or what?! I’m not gonna fall! I’m perfectly fine!” they called back down to you with an almost song-like tone to their voice.

“I don’t give a rat’s ass! Go back in and come down here so we can get on with this!” you responded as their joy seemed to put you more on edge than anything else.

“Yes mother! Anything you say mother!” Regan grumbled as they went back inside so they could descend down the stairs and come fetch you to go through with your plan.

Insane bitch. But were you not just as insane for going through with this? Who cares? At least they showed up.

It only took a few minutes before Regan opened the door with an obnoxious creak. They saw the sour look etched onto your face and could not help but pout back at you.

“What’s up with you? I thought you were a night owl.” Regan whined.

“An asylum?” you sighed.

“Yeah, so?” Regan answered with just as much sass as you.

“Really? It’s an asylum.” You responded as you pointed at the building behind them as if they were an idiot who did not realise where the two of you were.

“By God! I didn’t notice that earlier! How did I not realise?! I must be an idiot!” They turned around to face the building acting like they had never noticed it before as they dramatically put their hands to their face to make the most over the top shocked face they were able to muster that was still somehow riddled with their usual sarcasm.

“Very funny,” you near enough snarled, which only brought a smirk to be smothered all over their face.

“Oh I know,” Regan responded.

“But seriously? An asylum out of all places?” You asked as you tried to swallow down the fear that had started to build in the pit of your stomach while you began to walk up the stairs to meet Regan at the door.

“Of fucking course! You know that asylums are some of the most haunted places in the world! It’s why they’re always used in horror movies or those shitty YouTube videos about ghost hunting. And since they’re so connected to the afterlife it will only make it so much easier for a Demon to come through.” Regan nodded as they pushed open the door so both of you could come inside. The inside was not any better than the outside, it was far worse than you could have ever imagined. Regan had turned on the torch in their hands and began to point it around what once would have been a reception area which now looked to be a demolition site. Most of the ceiling had fallen down exposing the skeleton that once had stood proud as it kept the asylum up but now was drooping as if it could fall to pieces at any moment. The wall paper had been peeled off most of the walls to lay in piles on the floor as the walls now were coated in a constant dampness that built the perfect playground for black mould to spring to life. The two of you began to climb the stairs, having to dodge certain spots where the wood was too weak from rot or where the rot had already fully eaten through to create holes big enough for two adults to drop through into a black void.

“Yeah they’re so haunted because of all the shit that happened here. I’m just saying if I was brutally tortured and treated like a useless baby as staff act like I’m a fucking idiot all because I had a disability I would haunt the place I died. Would probably try and get my revenge on the staff,” you muttered after you had truly seen the state of what once would have been a thriving business even if it had a gruesome history.

It only took a few minutes of climbing the stairs like an obstacle course to reach the floor that Regan had set up for the two of you to summon the Demon. It was unnerving, the whole place was unnerving but this floor was different, extremely different. All the hairs on your arms to the back of your neck had stood up, your whole body was on edge as all your senses seemed to be heightened that you were able to sense everything. All the dampness you had felt when walking through the other floors seemed to have disappeared completely, replaced by an overwhelming staleness that seemed to burn your nose while your lungs felt as if they were tightening at the staleness that overwhelmed them like it was depriving them of oxygen.

The two of you continued your walk as you went deeper into the floor. The hallways were covered in graffiti ranging from phrases to names to dicks with the latter covering most of the walls as they were most likely made by the immature teens from the local highschools that had come here to ditch school and get high or had come to the asylum for fear tests to see if they were cool enough to be part of the group with whatever group had sent them in there. You had continued to walk until you reached another large door that Regan pulled open with a huff to reveal the room they had set up.

It must have originally been a social room that had been turned into a restraintment room when the asylum became overwhelmed with too many patients. Chairs, tables, medical beds, restraints, toys, anything you could think of had been piled into the room but it did not have the former glory it once had once had decades ago. All had slowly rotted away with time with the rest of this damned pace but that did not matter to you, neither did the shattered windows that leaked in some of the cool night air and moonlight as its glass decorated the floor. The only thing that mattered was how Regan had set up the room.

For you to see there were candles scattered all over the floor and on certain pieces of the furniture in either bundles of three or seven. Most were burnt around halfway down as the wax trickled to the ground, melting into the cracks of the floor as if they were filling them in. Set up on an old medical table was an altar that had a black cat tied to it as it was connected by a simple chalk line to a summoning circle that spanned over most of the floor as an ouija board laid directly in the middle of it all. It was all too much, you knew that if you were in a horror movie that you would be the first to be taken out by whatever entity had decided to go on a killing spree that day. This looked like it was directly out of a horror movie and you did not want to be part of it. You wanted to immediately turn around and run away but something was stopping you, like a dark force beyond your comprehension had taken control and forced you to stay there and continue like this was a normal everyday thing.

The two of you slowly walked over to the board and sat around it, one of you on each side. Slowly you both put your fingers on the planchette and began moving it to spell out both of your names. First Regan’s and then yours.

“Anyone here with us?” Regan asked.

Ding, ding, ding.

The old church bells rang out, far in the distance from the safety of the town to officially announce that it was finally 3AM, the witching hour. The pit in your stomach seemed to grow to the size of a blackhole as you prayed that nothing would happen as you had wished you had brought some holy water from the church. 

The planchette moved.

Yes.

“How many are there?” Regan asked another question as you preferred to stay silent. The planchette continued to move as it slid towards a number.

One.

“What are you?” you asked as you hoped it was just a tortured spirit.

The planchette rapidly moved from letter to letter to spell out the word you dreaded.

Demon. Regan only smiled as you let out a breath you had never realised that you had been holding.

“Do you want us to free you?” Regan asked.

The planchette moved once more.

Yes.

“What will you give us in return?” Regan questioned.

The planchette moved for one last time.

Anything you wish.

Regan then got up and walked over to the altar. They reached over somewhere and pulled out a knife that you had not noticed earlier.

“What the fuck are you doing?” you asked Regan as they lifted the knife above their head.

“It needs a blood sacrifice to come through,” Regan answered.

“That’s a living fucking cat you can’t fucking do that!” You shouted back as you got up to stop them.

But you stopped in your tracks once you saw the look on their face once they turned to face you. Eyes once warm and full of life were now filled with this cold uncaringness that froze you still as it chilled your spine. Regan was normally so nice and loving but this was something different. This was not the Regan you knew. For a brief moment you thought that they were the Demon instead of the thing they were trying to summon.

“Don’t worry, I got her from a local shelter. Poor thing was in a coma, so they were gonna put her down anyway. I’m just doing it so at least her life could be useful in one way,” Regan shrugged coldly which only sent another shiver down your spine.

Although you were not able to fully process their words before they drove the knife right through the innocent cat’s body again and again and again. Blood splattered onto them in a bloody fountain while some leaked out from beneath the cat and dripped down over the edge of the metal bed as it collected in a puddle before spreading out and hitting the chalk that made up the summoning circle. The blood by some supernatural force started to multiply and flood the chalk with the crimson liquid before it came to life with a sudden burst of flames that knocked you to the ground with a thud.

Your head hit the floor and everything seemed to blur as you let out a pathetic groan. Even with the blur you could see the flames as they spread around the room causing everything flammable to catch alight to be turned to ash by its gluttonous hunger. You had started to accept your fate of being engulfed by the flames as all your body felt like it was being weighed down by a thousand suns making it impossible to scream. That was until you heard that glass shattering scream followed by a maniac laughter that echoed around the room. You just had to look up, how could you not?

Your eyes strained to try and figure out the shape hunched over the altar as your whole body screamed out not too as you began to force yourself to sit up. It only took a few moments before you saw it.

It was a disgusting thing you had never seen the likes of before. A ghastly mass of muscles and eyes that shambled in its movements, the only thing keeping it together were the scales scattered over the exposed flesh that glistened in the flames by the mucus that coated the veins that pulsed alive with the demonic blood that spewed through them. It made you sick. Especially when you saw the seven long, obsidian claws that were driven right through your (now ex) friend’s chest, blood gurgling out of their mouth with bubbles as it spilt onto the floor.

That thing unrolled a tumorous tongue from its skewered maul that was made up of eyes upon eyes piled onto flesh, exposing the rows upon rows that covered the inside of the dog-like jaw. The thing pulled it upwards, licking up all the blood with a guttural groan as if such a thing gave it a sickening pleasure.

“Thank you for summoning me, finally don’t have to use an avatar to have my fun now,” it told you with a sadistic smile on its face, it did not need to even move its mouth for its words to come out, you could still hear its raspy voice anyway.

It turned its head back to your friend and used its claws to carve its way down your friend's chest before pulling back their skin to expose their wet inside to the smokey air. First it took their intestines out and wrapped it around their horns which spiralled upwards as if they had once been joined together to make a circle. Then it pulled out Regan’s heart and chucked it into its mouth and chewed on it for a few seconds before spitting it out in disgust.

“Ugh, disgusting... impure..." It growled before turning to you.

It turned its claws downwards and slowly let Regan drop off like they were a toy that had unsatisfied it as it let their body crumple with a thud. It slowly began to crawl to you as it spoke again with that haunting voice that seemed to fill your body.

“I’ll have fun with them later but how about I try a pretty thing like you out first?” it asked mockingly as if it was trying to toy with you in what should have been your last moments.

You tried to desperately crawl away but your body was too weak from the floor to move to save yourself from whatever it wanted. You wanted to scream and shout to try and get someone to notice you so they could save you from your gruesome fate that played out in front of you. But your voice seemed to have vanished, replaced by the burning in your lungs that was caused by the smoke that seemed to fill the room as the oxygen was quickly used up.

Admittedly you sometimes wanted to die when life became too much and the voices seemed to drown out any rational thought but you had never planned to die like this at the hands of that beast. You kept trying to squirm away until it pounced onto your back, pinning you to the floor with an excruciating weight that stopped all of your movements as the little breath you had left was knocked out of you. You wanted to kick yourself free and beat the shit out of this sick fuck but your body had decided otherwise. In all honesty you began to give up especially when you felt its drool and breath run over your neck as it thrusted against your thigh. Tears started to swell up in your eyes as you wanted them to stay put but stream down all at the same time as that sick fuck began to laugh.

Then nothing.

It seemed to stop laughing or moving or even moving. Its weight then fell on you with full force keeping you pinned more than you thought it could before. Then you began to feel wet. Wet all over. As if a warm liquid had been spilt all over you. Then suddenly all the weight seemed to be pulled away as you finally seemed to be able to breathe a true breath even if it was filled with smoke.

You could not understand why it had suddenly stopped. Maybe it thought about how atrocious it was acting? Impossible. So you decided to turn around even if instincts were telling you not to and instead run.

As soon as you turned around you wanted to scream at what you saw. Laying in front of you was a dead Demon laying in a pool of black blood that had soaked into your clothes and behind it, oh God what the fuck was behind it. It looked like a man but it was too tall as four wings sprouted from its back while horns sprouted from its head much like the Demon it had killed but these ones were joined together to create a circle that emitted a light. From beneath the robes, chains, and bones that obscured its body you could see some clearly defined muscles riddled with scars that would have made you slightly blush if you were not thinking about the long metal blade it was pointing towards you as murderous eyes hid behind a skull of a more humanoid demon.

You coward in fear thinking it would kill you like it had done in fear. You whimpered as you pulled your body into itself in a pathetic display and it seemed to... hesitate? You reopened your eyes to look at it as its eyes seemed to be filled by something but you could truly not tell what. It looked away as if thinking for a minute before turning back to you as it lowered his sword.

“C’mon..." it said in a gravelly voice that seemed British as you first heard it.

You did what it said as you felt like you had no other choice as it could clearly kill you. You slowly got up with wobbling legs as you walked over to it to take the bandage hand it had offered. As you took its hand a beam of light came through the roof and not a second later you felt yourself being pulled up with great strength. You screamed as you felt yourself being pulled tight against its chest. Your arms wrapped tightly around the creature as you could feel the toned abs beneath the robes causing a blush to lightly dust your cheeks.

Below you saw the asylum as it burnt away to cinders with the body of Rean, the poor cat, and the Demon inside. Then you turned to see the being that had saved you once more as it continued to fly upwards. That was when you realised what it was. An Angel.

People joked about how Angels actually looked terrifying and that was why they said ‘Do not be afraid.’ when they first saw humans. When looking at the one that held you tightly you understood perfectly as to why. But for now you felt safe as you realised that it was most likely taking you to Heaven.

This was probably not the ending you had thought of when you had agreed to summon a Demon but maybe being saved by this Angel was actually the best choice at the moment.

Taglist: @diejager @frogchiro

So, hi. Sorry, I have not posted in a few days as I have been busy with family. I still can not believe that this is my last post of 2023 since I still can not believe it is the end of the year as it does not feel like it. So yay to a breakdown over the passage of time. To be fair I am not fully happy with it so I may come back and edit it in the future. I just want to say a quick thank you for all the support as I honestly did not expect anyone to enjoy my writing, I hope all your New Year's resolutions come true. Hopefully, I can post more in the coming year as I am planning for more AUs and hopefully a full rewrite of COD MW with some extras. If you guys like this fanfic I will try to post more fanfics and maybe make this summoning fic a series of Ghost taking care of reader and hiding them in Heaven. Or I will try to post some mini-fics depending on what people want so if anyone has any ideas just put them in my askbox and I will try to write a fic on it, even smut. And I may post some headcanons of the characters. Also if you want to be tagged in anything just say as I am trying to organise everything so we can have smooth sailing in the future. But I hope you liked this as I have not wrote a fanfic in a good while. But Happy New Year's Eve and Happy New Year!!!!

[rowaelinsdaughter]

what happens in the forest stays in the forest

this is one of my favorite fics ive written so far, but i needed to write something fluff and with rowaelin. i miss them so much.

WARNINGS; none, pure fluff

you were bored

bored and tired.

since you found out you were pregnant 5 months ago, rowan and aelin didn't leave your side for a second, so you couldn't go out on the street if you weren't with them and they didn't trust the guards and fenrys couldn't be near you without that rowan growled at him.

you were in your room waiting for them to finish a meeting, but you were tired of waiting so you decided to go find them.

carefully, you go down the stairs and reach the door where the meeting is taking place and gently knock on the door, you place a hand on your belly as if you wanted to protect the baby from the people inside. the door opens and rowan appears. instinctively, a smile appears on your lips and rowan hugs you carefully, leaving a soft kiss on your hair while one of his hands rests on top of yours.

"what are you doing here? you were supposed to be in the room.”

“and like you said yourself, i was,” you joke. “but i was bored and i wanted to get out of here and spend time with you.”

you hear the sound of a chair dragging on the floor and immediately aelin appears, leaving a kiss on your lips. “come sit down you-”

“you can stand for a long time” you imitate her.

aelin sits you in her chair and the people who were there stand there not knowing what to do until…

“everyone out”

“but your majesty, you cannot do this”

“i can and i want to. now everyone out."

one by one they leave the room under aelin's gaze, promising a slow death to anyone who says otherwise or looks at you wrong. once everyone has left, aelin kneels in front of you, at the height of your belly, and rowan sits next to you.

aelin's hands caress your belly and as always she speaks softly to her. "hi little girl. i hope you are not giving mom too much trouble and let her rest.”

your hand strokes her hair gently and she gets up to sit at the table.

“i thought i heard that you were bored and wanted to spend time with us”

you sigh. “i've been stuck here for too long, i've already read all the books we have, i want to get out of the castle” you look at the two of them “why don't we go for a walk in the forest?”

there is silence and you wait for them to say yes, mentally crossing your fingers. rowan breaks the silence. “okay but we have to be here before it gets dark.”

you smile widely and rowan chuckles softly as aelin helps you up.

________

oakwald was undoubtedly your favorite place. you love the smell of wildflowers, the shade of the trees refreshes the atmosphere and the animals run back and forth.

after much insistence and many comments about why you shouldn't go barefoot, you finally convinced them to take off your shoes (which were also destroying your feet).

barefoot and holding onto their arms, you breathe deeply, letting your senses calm down.

you reach a clearing with a small waterfall and sit down to rest with rowan and aelin on either side.

“you don't have to stay with me, you know? why don’t you go take a bath?”

“i don't think it's-”

“yes, that's a good idea, come on, i'm not going to move from here.”

at the end, you watch as they take off their clothes and aelin runs to jump into the water while laughing. with rowan close to the shore, aelin takes the opportunity to grab his arm and pull him into the water with her. you notice the joy and love coming through the bond and you couldn't be happier for them and for the life you are creating together.

you feel a presence behind you and you turn to see what or who is behind you. a white shadow passes through the bushes. you are curious and carefully get up and follow a trail of white flowers from where you were sitting to an ancient tree. and in front of it,  the lord of the north in all his splendor.

your breath stops and the lord of the north approaches with slow steps until he is in front of you. being careful not to hit you with the antlers,he caress your belly with his nose. you raise your hand slowly so as not to scare him and pet his soft fur. he turns away from you and looks into your eyes, tilting his head. respect. for you and your baby. the lord of the north looks behind you and you turn to see rowan and aelin, fully clothed. a silver line decorates rowan's green eyes, while tears run down aelin's cheeks.

with a final nod to them, the lord of the north walks away into the trees. you feel arms surround your belly and aelin leaves small kisses on your neck, tickling you. rowan stands in front of you and caresses your cheeks with his hands to kiss you softly.

“don't leave again without saying anything”

you roll your eyes “it was too good to be true”

tagging; @danikamariewrites @throneofsapphics @thehighladywrites @shadowdaddies @vanserrasswife

all rights reserved to ©rowaelinsdaughter. no tranlations allowed. no copy theme. don not copy my work.

[nomelwelloy]

Legolss drabble / imagine | Legolas x reader

☆彡

Legolas nimbly dismounts his horse, giving it a soft pat as he hands it over to the stable hand, before he navigates the winding streets of the White City, up steep flights of stairs, weaving through fish markets and stone gardens, until he reaches the shopping streets and dips into the jeweller’s store.

You look up at the rattle of the door chime and a smile blooms on your face, as does a warm feeling in your chest. “Legolas,”

“Darling,” he says with a quiet rush of air, like the sight of you has stolen his breath. His smile mirrors yours, and his eyes shine. “My apologies for the wait,” he pads around the counter, peering at your workstation. He touches your shoulder, desperate for the slightest connection to you even while you’re in the midst of work, yet cautious enough of your task at hand.

When you secure the final ringlet to the headband, however, it is swiftly set aside to crush him in your arms.

Almost like a competition, Legolas squeezes you as tightly, taking a deep breath as he presses his face into your shoulder. You do the same, tightening your hold while he waltzes the two of you into the middle of the shop, doing a little spin on the spot.

He smells of fresh earth and jasmine and ozone, but his hair carries the slightest hint of his citrus-scented wash. This tugs at your heart, and you’re suddenly hit with immense nostalgia; brief flashes of memories in Mirkwood, of days spent lounging in bed, sparring and racing one another through the forest’s twisting, ancient trees, and stargazing by those said trees, sometimes falling asleep to her soothing winds and quiet lullaby. Legolas would watch over you when you do, his hands soft on your hair in absentminded ministrations.

You sigh into his neck. “I’ve missed you,”

You can feel his smile, and his hand comes up to the back of your neck, stroking fondly. “As did I,” he brushes over your lips with his own. “My love,” he presses a littler firmer. “My starlight,” Legolas steals another breath, his mouth moving ardently against yours. “Meleth nin,”

You melt against him before you even know it, going weak in the knees when that familiar term of endearment slips past his lips. You’ve ached to hear it for months, imagined it on lonely nights and busy days until finally, your lover is before you, quelling the absolute longing you didn’t know was so intense, until he stepped through the door.

Your eyes are closed, relishing in his warmth when you hear a noise from outside. Cracking open one eye, your face flushes when you see one of your regulars knocking the glass window, a teasing grin plastered into her face. You instantly move away, groaning inwardly with a little wave, and you are already begging for the floor to open up and swallow you whole right there.

“Hello, hello!”

The door jingles, and Legolas turns, naturally placing himself between you and her. “Good afternoon,”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt such a sweet moment,” she giggles, pressing a hand to her mouth. “I just wanted to check on that order I placed,” she gestured, “the hair piece?”

You clear your throat and straighten yourself, going behind the counter to retrieve the package. “Here,” you pass it to her and receive her payment. “Just in time for the festival too,” you add, but her arching grin makes it difficult for you to continue being polite.

“Oh yes,” she glances between the two of you with another sweet smile, “Everyone will be there, it’s going to be wonderful!” she hugs the package to her chest. “It’s about to start! Don’t want to be late,” she turns to Legolas before she leaves, shooting him another grin. “It was so lovely to meet you, I’ll see you two later!”

When the door finally shuts, you groan, cursing quietly, much to Legolas’s amusement.

“She… she’s a bit of a gossip,” you explain, head in your hands. “Always nosying about other people’s lives…” you huff in exasperation. “Oh, she’ll have the time of her life with this!”

“We cannot let her have all the fun.” Legolas grabs your hand and he twirls you on the spot. “Shall we go too? I even brought the tunic you liked,”

You feign a gasp. “You came all prepared! How devious!”

Legolas laughs, pressing a kiss to your temple, gently rocking you sideways in a little dance. “It has been too long,”

You hum in agreement, letting a brief silence settle as you consider the idea of going, of all this time and distance you’ve spent apart, waiting and making do with irregular letters and quiet longing.

You feel the adrenaline begin to build in your veins, and with a firm resolve you twirl Legolas around, catching him close to you. “It is decided! A festival we shall go, and a gift I have prepared, for my princely elf.”

The handmade circlet that rests upon his head is perhaps your finest work to date: Thin silver curling gently in ornamental half ellipses upon his forehead, encasing a small round moonstone in the center, metal curving around it like vines. It’s random moments throughout the night when you dance and drink and laugh yourselves silly until your stomachs hurt, and Legolas has to catch you before you trip over yourself, when the circlet catches the light and reflects the same soft shine in his gaze towards you. It is stirring, and it makes the months of waiting and yearning all seem like a foggy memory, now that you are back in each others arms.

☆彡

a/n: more of an idea dump that just kept going until it became this! I am not entirely clear on the city’s layout and have written it very generically but I find it quite fun to come up with things esp given it’s awesome structure?? hope you enjoyed reading it though! (also thank you for all the love on the most recent Legolas drabble ;; <3333)

[bardot49]

Fight or Flight

Chapter 5

Rating: 18+ (Minors DNI)

Pairing: Joel Miller x OC (Jackson era)

Warnings: Themes of anxiety, PTSD, blood, gore, death, illness, injury, canon violence, cursing, alcohol misuse, mentions of child loss, foreplay, p in v, fingering, smut, explicit

Tags: Jackson!era Joel, Soft Joel Miller, Moody Joel Miller, Joel miller x AFAB reader, joel x female reader, Joel Miller Romance, Joel Miller x OC, Joel Miller slow burn

Masterlist here

Previous Chapter

Chapter Summary

Joel and Flora have a heart to heart and grow ever closer. A crisis concerning Ellie causes Joel to ask for Flora's help. Flora finally finds the courage to stand up for herself.

Chapter 5

"Give me time, I'm going to wear him down" Felicity says decisively to her friends as they walk down the main street. Flora couldn't help but overhear it as they came out of the hall and walked right in front of her causing her to stop abruptly. She knows Felicity is referring to Joel. She feels relieved nothing had happened between the two of them yet. "That brat is an annoyance, always hanging around. She's not even his real daughter" Felicity continues to say with venom. She feels angry at the mention of her friend. Felicity isn't the most discreet person and her friends only seem to encourage her bitchiness. They then start talking about something else trivial when she has an opportunity to pass them out. The other women don't give her a glance but she's glad she's not friendly with them.

"Everything ok honey?" Sally gives Flora a look as she arrives at the greenhouse. "Yep, just have a lot on my mind". "I'm here if you need me" Sally says with a kind smile. Sally is a dear friend to her but she can't talk to her about this, it's not her secret to tell. Ellie comes in and she tries to perk up for her. Flora has a suggestion for her - a tattoo to cover up the bites on her arm. Ellie lights up at the idea, the only obstacles are to first find someone willing to tattoo her and secondly to get Joel to agree to it.

There is a low hum of chatter when Joel goes into the Tipsy Bison one evening. He was after a long day patrolling and is feeling every one of his 57 years, his joints aching and back feeling stiff. They had shot six clickers that day and another few infected were caught in the traps located around the vast forest. Tommy told him that the Committee are having a meeting to plan an Easter egg hunt for the kids so he knew that for certain Felicity would be otherwise occupied. He felt like a quiet drink without her hanging around. The barman, Dave hands him a double whiskey and he takes a sip. "Evening Joel" says Eugene as he joins Joel at the bar. Joel raises his glass to him in greeting. Eugene takes a large gulp of his own drink and explains its the date of his wedding anniversary. "Forty one years since we said 'I do'. I miss her everyday. She was my one and only" he hiccups, burping a little. "She would have loved it here, my missus. Valerie was her name. We never could have kids, as much as we tried, she miscarried half a dozen times. In the end we were content with our little family of two." "Sorry to hear that Eugene" Joel replies. "Cancer got her in the end, the month before the world turned to shit" Eugene sighs, signalling to Dave for another round. Dave places the two glasses on the bar, firmly saying "Last one Eugene, I mean it". "Ok, ok" Eugene says waving his hand dismissively. "The reason I'm saying this is…" him trailing off. "…If you have a chance at happiness, take it." "To happiness" he toasts, his voice getting sleepy and Joel clinks his glass with his. Joel tells him about where they caught clickers earlier and Eugene remembers that's his turn to go patrolling the following day. "Oh fuck, I don't think I'll be in any state to go…" he slurs putting his head in his hands. Joel feels sorry for him, offering "Don't worry about it, I'll cover for you". A look of relief passes Eugene's face and he pats Joel on the shoulder saying "Thanks man, I owe you one" and he throws back the remaining liquid in his glass. "Look out for Flora, she's a sweet girl" he says protectively. "Of course I will" Joel answers, meaning it. He offers to walk the older man home before he gets more inebriated. After making sure Eugene is gone inside, Joel passes Flora's house on his way home. He can see the light still on upstairs, maybe she's reading he thinks to himself. He looks forward to seeing her in the morning, forgetting all about his aches and pains.

The following morning Flora arrives for patrol to see Joel putting the saddle on his horse. "Eugene is hung over again and Sean hurt his hand so just us two today" he explains. "Cool" she answers, trying to stay calm. They ride along in silence, the last of the snow finally cleared. She eventually plucks up the courage to say what she desperately wanted to say before, "Thank you for the book, it means a lot to me". He just shrugs it off, saying "It was nothing". It looks like he doesn't want to talk about it anymore so she doesn't say anything else. She thinks it's going to be a long ride today.

They don't speak for a couple of hours. Once they reach the furthest part of the route, past the dam, Joel finally breaks the silence saying they should stop for a while and have a break. Flora nods, climbing down from her horse and tying it up. They're up quite high and she can't help but admire the view of the valley below. He hands her a cup of coffee out of the flask and she relishes the warm drink. They both feed the horses and she joins him to sit on a log as they eat their lunch in silence. She can't think of anything to say. "Where are you from?" he enquires eventually. She jumps at his question at first but answers "Washington state". He nods. "You're from Texas aren't you, Tommy said it once". Their eyes meet and up close she can't help but notice the rich colour of his brown eyes, the deeply etched lines around them making him even more handsome. "Yes, just Tommy and myself still around now" he answers. There's silence again. She surprises herself by talking more. "I'm the only one left from my family". He listens intently, not wanting her to stop sharing. "They all died on the day of the outbreak. I had a younger brother and sister, ten year old twins. They went with our mom to the supermarket when it all happened on outbreak day, I never saw them again, I found out later they were caught in an explosion from a plane crash. My dad.." she feels a tear coming to her eyes, hesitant at first but continues to speak. "We had a fight that morning over something stupid", her voice breaking, "I told him I hated him and he went to work and never came back again" she says in a hoarse way. She looks down as the tears start streaming down her cheeks. The shame is too much for her to bear. Joel moves closer to her, handing her a handkerchief with a look of concern. He tries to console her "You were only young, he knew you didn't mean it". "But it doesn't change the fact that I said it and there's no way of taking it back". She says sadly. Joel puts his arm around her tentatively and she rests her head on his shoulder. "It's a shitty situation" he says, rubbing her arm gently. All she can do is nod. "My daughter Sarah died on the night of the outbreak. Tommy was with us and we were trying to get out of Austin but couldn't, it was mayhem. We crashed the jeep and she hurt her ankle. We tried to cross the river but a soldier shot at us and she died in my arms. I replay that night over and over and I can't get over the fact that I failed her and I lost the most precious thing to me." She sees that he's heartbroken. "You're a great dad to Ellie" she says to him. He smiles sadly and admits he would do anything to protect her, she's the most important thing to him now. She opens up once more "Flora isn't actually my real name you know, its a nickname my dad gave me when I was a small child and it stuck. I kept using it all these years in honour of him". He looks in interest towards her and when she tells him her real name he smiles softly, saying it's beautiful but Flora suits her and she gives a small smile in return. After a moment she feels mortified for showing such weakness, and apologises "Sorry for telling you all that, I kept it inside all those years, I don't think I ever spoke about what happened on Outbreak day with my dad to anyone, except for Sally". "Don't apologise, I'm glad you told me Darlin'" he looks deeply into her eyes and sees years of sorrow and loneliness. She looks away swiftly and tries and fails to hold back another tear. He can see she has a deep sadness within her that he can identify with. He stands up to give her some space and checks on the horses. When he returns she is picking some wildflowers. He can't help but admire her natural beauty, she looks almost ethereal in the spring sunlight surrounded by nature. After a few minutes they decide to head back. Her eyes are still red rimmed but she feels a bit lighter to have spoken about it. It didn't frighten her like it might have before when he called her Darlin'. There didn't seem to be much awkwardness between them, they were just two lonely people.

When they eventually reach the stables late that afternoon, Joel says "Thanks for being there for Ellie, you mean a lot to her". Flora smiles and says "Ellie is special to me too." "By the way, it's a great idea about the tattoo" he grins. She is surprised he is so open to it but doesn't let it show. "Ellie said she would like to ask you to design it when the time comes, because of your paintings". She's honoured to be thought of and gives a shy smile, saying she might have a few ideas. Her paintings were mainly of flowers and not many people were aware of them because she doesn't have many visitors at her house. They say goodbye and head off on their separate ways. She replays the conversation they had at lunchtime in her mind all evening. She doesn't know why she showed such vulnerability but it happened. Should she have told him her darkest secret, which has caused her so much sorrow and shame the past two decades? Will he think less of her? It was unspoken but she knows he won't tell anyone. Likewise he can trust her, she would never speak about his daughter to anyone else. It was quite an intimate moment between them actually. Flora comes to the realisation that her crush on him seems to have gotten only stronger instead of fading away, she's fallen deeply in love with him. The fear she felt last year has dissipated. It's all she wants now, to have him in her life and to be his. She doesn't know if it's too late for that though, maybe he doesn't feel the same about her.

As Flora gets into bed that night she starts to get excited thinking of ideas for Ellie's tattoo, thinking of suitable options to design for her. Hours later a distant knock on her front door wakes her. She hops out of bed and pulls on a sweater in confusion at the increasingly frantic sound. She rushes to open the door and is taken aback to see Joel standing there in the dark. She has to squint because she's half asleep. "Ellie's gone, she's run away" he says, panic showing in his normally steady voice. "It will be alright, we'll find her" she replies in shock, trying to stay calm herself. "Come in, I'll just be a minute". He stands inside the door while she runs to her room and puts on a pair of jeans and a jacket. 5:12am is the time on the clock. They walk briskly to the stables where Dina, Tommy and Eugene are gathering the horses. She goes over to Dina who's visibly upset. "What happened?" "We had a fight. She told me she has feelings for me and I got a fright and said no and she ran off after that. I'm so confused". Dina's nose is running and her cheeks are tear stained so she hands her a tissue and tries to comfort her. "Where do we start?" Tommy asks. They list out a few places in town where she might have gone. Dina tells them there is a place they went one time, its by a large tree in an old part of town. "I know it" Flora says. "Show me so" Joel says firmly, looking at the two women. "Check the perimeter and make sure she hasn't left" he directs the two men. They nod in understanding and set off.

The early morning light is starting to shine but the spring air is cool, their breaths visible in the air. There's no talking and Dina has stopped crying. They see the ancient tree and the abandoned record shop nearby. Joel glances at her to see if this is the right place. They start calling Ellie's name but no answer. Dina goes in and walks up and down the empty aisles. There no sign of Ellie anywhere. Joel is just about to say this was a waste of time when they hear a faint muffled voice saying "Go away". The sound seems to be coming from upstairs. "I'll go" Flora insists and starts to climb over fallen shelves to get to the mezzanine and she feels a pair of strong arms steadying her as she reaches up. She sees Ellie curled up in a ball, she has been crying as well. She crouches on the ground next to her and Ellie starts rambling about Dina and how she rejected her. She consoles her, saying Ellie was brave to say what she said and to give Dina some time to consider things. After a few minutes, Ellie agrees to come down and Joel is there to help them. The two girls give each other a hug and apologize. Dina explains she needs time and Ellie nods sadly in understanding. Flora gives a quick glance at Joel and there is a look of relief on his face. He puts his hand on her arm briefly, saying thanks and leaves quickly to let others know that Ellie has been found. The town is waking up with people milling around as she walks home. Feeling exhausted, she goes back to bed and sees him in her dreams.

When Flora wakes a few hours later, she feels a sense of calm. She draws a sketch of a tattoo design for Ellie, after finding a suitable picture in a gardening book. After a while she decides to get some early lunch. To her dismay, she sees Felicity and her two friends sat there in the hall. She can't shake off the feeling that there are eyes on her as she takes a sandwich and an apple. They seem to be talk extra loud this time. "She ran away, attention seeking little bitch. I heard him and that mousey girl found her…I heard that…". She couldn't believe her ears, were they seriously talking that way in front of her and about her? Mousey girl, she fumes. They continue on and she glances up and sees Felicity's friend Michelle glaring at her. So she wasn't being paranoid, they were making it obvious. Flora normally avoids confrontation but their words stung. How dare they talk like that. After the night she had, she doesn't care anymore. Before she has time to think, she finds herself standing in front of their table. "Don't dare speak about Ellie in that way" she says firmly. They look her up and down and Felicity seethes "Who are you anyway, you're nobody. You're so quiet everyone forgets you're there". She doesn't know where the courage has come from but she stands her ground. "Keep your opinions to yourself, the rest of us here aren't interested". Felicity scoffs and waves her hand in a dismissive way, "Fuck off mousey girl". "No, I won't, they are both important to me so don't ever talk like that again" she surprised herself with her own voice appearing steady even though she's shaking inside. Felicity responds in a pitying way "Oh I see now, you think Joel would be actually be into you, that's so pathetic". The other women start to snigger at her. Maria appears out of nowhere with the baby asleep in a sling. "Everything alright ladies?" She looks in concern at Flora standing there. "Oh yes, we were having a private conversation and mousey girl here decided to interrupt us, we're just leaving". They start to gather up their things. Maria holds up her hands to stop them and protests "Hang on, what did you actually say? Don't you dare speak to Flora like that" the women are frozen on the spot at the strictness of her voice. "I'm afraid Felicity the three of you and I will have to talk about this further. It is totally unacceptable. Come to my house at three" Maria continues curtly. Felicity rolls her eyes as they march off.

Maria turns and sees Flora shaking. "Are you ok?" She puts her arm around her. "Don't mind them, they were completely out of order" Maria says kindly, "I'll walk with you if you like". Flora grimaces as they leave the building and she starts babbling, "They were talking about Ellie and I couldn't take it any more, I feel sick now. Why were they calling me mousey girl?". "Felicity is just a bitch, she's annoyed that Joel didn't bother with her. He told her to stay away from him, that he doesn't want to be with her. Tommy said there wasn't ever anything between them, it was only her pursuing him. He tried letting her down easy a few weeks ago but she didn't get the hint so when she threw herself at him last night he made it crystal clear that he doesn't want her" Maria says matter-of-factly and continues "She's jealous because she probably noticed he's only interested in you and she wanted to hurt your feelings. Its just so petty of her". Flora hopes what she just heard is true, is maybe she didn't mess everything up with Joel after all. The outside air is refreshing and she's glad to be away from the curious looks of the others in the hall. "You know you're very well regarded here by everyone. You work hard and we all value you. Please don't take those stupid women's words to heart, they're not worth it" Maria says earnestly. "I'll try not to" Flora says as her eyes begin to water. Maria starts chatting about baby Joey, who's beginning to wake up. By the time they reach her house, she feels a little better about things already but she can't quite believe it happened, this has sent her reeling.

A few hours later, Maria goes to the building site and Tommy comes out to see her and their son. Maria tells him she needs to speak to Joel. He is up on the roof when he hears Tommy calling him to come down. Maria fills them in and Joel feels anger rise up in him, how dare that harpy disrespect Flora and Ellie like that. Maria tells them she spoke to Felicity and the others and they won't dare behave like that again or there will be repercussions. Maria is a force to be reconned with so anyone in their right mind wouldn't go against her. Joel tells them he's going to see Flora and runs straight in the direction of her house. He passes Sally when he's nearly there and she tells him Flora and Ellie went to his house. They had called to the greenhouse for some leaves. She reckoned it must be for an art project. Joel thanks her and turns around to go home.

Joel rushes in the front door, trying to catch his breath. Flora's heart soars when she sees him. "I heard what happened" he explains to her, as they both sit down on the sofa, "I came to see you as soon as I could. Maria told me". She nods. "Thanks for standing up for Ellie. I don't give a shit about Felicity and never did, she's not worth any of our time. I only care about you, you're the one I think of". She's taken aback by his honest declaration, not sure how to respond at first but she replies "You're both important to me so I had to do something. I care about you too-". Ellie comes back into the living room and sits in the middle of them, excitedly showing Joel the sketches for the tattoo so far. The moment has passed, there was so much more to say. He smiles fondly at Ellie, relieved to see she is happier. The girls had a good chat that morning and agreed to take things slow. Ellie announces she's going to see Dina, she turns to her saying "Are you coming Flo?". Flora stands up and starts to say "Well…" but Joel asks "Could I have a quick word with you first?". She nods, sitting back down. Ellie shrugs, saying she'll go then.

Once Ellie has left, Joel moves closer to Flora and reaches for her hands. "I'm sorry if I scared you before, my feelings have stayed the same. I've fallen for you". She takes a moment before admitting "You didn't do anything wrong Joel, I didn't handle it very well. I never had a relationship before so I was afraid. I'm not anymore, I want this…I want you", she lifts his hands to her lips and places a light kiss on the back of his hand. Full of hope, he gently cups her cheek in his palm. He moves towards her slowly, searching for any hesitation on her side. She doesn't back away and his eyes flicker towards her soft lips. She moves towards him and they are only an inch or two away from one another. Finally their lips meet in a slow gentle kiss. It's chaste at first and he pulls away and looks into her eyes. Her pupils have dilated and she gives a small smile. The spark between them is stronger than ever.

Ellie bursts in the door again "Forgot my coat, its pouring down…" she stops and looks at the two of them in an embrace and her face breaks into a grin, "I knew it, at fucking last!" and grabs her coat, saying "I'll be away hours" with a wink and goes out the door again. They both smile and he turns to her again, "You're beautiful. I love you" he murmurs before they kiss once more, this time increasingly urgent and longing. Flora reaches up to hold on to his hair and feels the soft curls beneath her fingers and he pulls her closer in his arms. They break away briefly, her admitting "I love you too Joel". He shrugs off his jacket as they lean back on the sofa to get more comfortable. He delicately kisses down her neck to her collarbone and she giggles at the sensation, his wispy beard tickling her. He starts to chuckle too. She kisses his temple and her hands brush lightly over his scar there. Time seems to stand still and there's only the two of them.

She's not sure how long they stay there until Joel asks her if she's hungry and she admits that she's starving. He tells her to stay there and he goes in to the kitchen to rustle up something. She looks over where his guitar is propped up on a chair and there's a stack of guitar music books on the table. She sits at the table and flicks through some of them, recognising the names of the musicians - Johnny Cash, Willie Nelson, Roy Orbison, The Beatles and more. Joel comes in with two bowls a few minutes later. He heated some Tortilla soup, telling her Maria had made it using their Abuela's recipe and had dropped some over the previous evening. It had been one of Sarah's favourites growing up. Flora sees how he lights up talking about his wonderful daughter and how proud he is of her. Once they are finished eating he pours them both a glass of whiskey, it's nice just the two of them spending time in each others company. "Will you play a song for me?" Flora asks shyly. Joel grins, saying "Any requests?". "I don't mind, maybe something from the Eighties?" she says, with a hopeful smile. He beams back at her, reaching for a songbook called 'Classic Guitar Ballads' and flicks through the pages, until deciding that he found just the song. He says "Here goes" and starts playing the intro deftly. She's mesmerised by him playing the guitar so skilfully, his limber fingers flying over the chords. He starts singing huskily and she recognises the song as 'When you say nothing at all' as sung by Keith Whitley. He concentrates on getting the correct chords but looks up at her briefly every so often and she feels a warm glow in her chest and continues to admire him without feeling embarrassed. The lyrics are meaningful to her and they both fall even deeper in love with each other at that moment.

"It's amazing how you can speak right to my heart Without saying a word you can light up the dark…"

"…All day long I can hear people talking out loud But when you hold me near you drown out the crowd…"

"…Old Mister Webster could never define What's being said between your heart and mine…"

"…The smile on your face lets me know that you need me There's a truth in your eyes saying you'll never leave me A touch of your hand says you'll catch me if ever I fall Yeah, you say it best When you say nothing at all"

When Joel finishes the song Flora claps and he takes a small bow before they both move back to the couch where they start kissing once more, one of his hands resting on her thigh and her arms wrapped around his neck. They can't get enough of each other. "Touch me Joel" she pleads. "Where, darlin?" She opens up the button on her jeans, undoing the zip and guides his hand under her underwear. He gently strokes her, easing his fingers into her folds. She sighs, closing her eyes, "That's nice…" He slides two fingers inside her, muttering "Sweetheart, you're gorgeous". "I need you, keep going please" she begs. "Yes darlin, I'd do anything for you, I want to make you feel good…" He says soothingly. "You are…so good" she manages to say before biting her lip in pleasure. She starts to pant, as his stroking gets increasingly urgent. "Uh huh, I'm going to"…before she can say anymore, she reaches a crescendo and starts to tremble, he feels her quivering around his fingers nestled deep inside and keeps the rhythm going until she comes down from her high. Both satisfied, she lays back for a moment, catching her breath and Joel removes his fingers, licking the fluid from them. Sitting next to her, he says in awe "You taste wonderful, so sweet". She grins back at him, feeling content. She asks "Can we go upstairs? with a glint in her eye. He nods with a lustful look and he leads the way towards his bedroom, hand in hand.

He closes the door behind them and they sit on his bed. "We don't have to do anything else tonight" he says softly, reaching over to lay his hand on her cheek. Flora says decisively "I'm ready for this Joel". He nods, and asks "Is it your first time?". "Yes", she says feeling embarrassed at her lack of experience for a moment. "We'll take things slow, tell me if you're not comfortable and we can stop" he decides, trying to put her at ease, "It's only the two of us so no pressure". "Ok" she agrees and they continue to kiss. After a few minutes she straddles him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and he holds on to her waist and moves his hands to cup her butt through her jeans. They stop kissing for a moment and they start to remove their clothes gradually, starting with their shirts and vests underneath. She moves her hands across his broad chest and he admires her curves, gently unhooking her bra and letting it fall with the rest of the clothes. She pulls off the hair tie holding her braid together and her hair falls over her shoulders. He rests his hands on her full breasts, gently stroking her nipples, kissing sensuously down her chest. She leaves out a breathy sigh at this sensation, his touch giving her pleasure she never experienced before. She can feel his erection through his jeans and desperately wants to see all of him so she takes a step back and pulls him with her to stand up. They hastily pull off their boots, wriggle out of their jeans, then underwear and socks until they stand in front of each other naked. "Wow" he can't help but mutter in admiration as he sees Flora's naked form. She had never felt as beautiful until that very moment. She usually hid her body in large jumpers and thick shirts, not wanting to draw unwanted attention but at last she finally felt happy and wanted to share this moment with him. She in turn looks in appreciation at his strong and firm physique. She notices a few scars littering his body including a red raised scar on his taut stomach but she thinks he's magnificent. She looks down at his erect penis, reaching out cautiously to touch it. She starts to laugh nervously and he guides her hands over it. She gently strokes him, fascinated by the sight. She gets on her knees, kissing along it's length, causing him to twitch slightly at her light touch and he lets out a groan. She cups his balls in her hands as she kisses down the other side. "Sweetheart, I can't last much longer…" he mutters, looking upwards at the ceiling in an effort to stop himself coming prematurely.

She stands up and takes a step towards him and he reaches over to rub his thumb over her pink lips. They look deeply into each other's eyes and smile softly. He takes her hand and they slide in under the bedsheets and immediately put their arms around one another, desperately needing each other's touch. He briefly breaks a kiss to reach into his bedside locker for something. "Just a minute" he says as he goes over to his chest of drawers. She lays back in bed, admiring his tanned skin on his chiselled shoulders and arms. A moment later he returns with a foil in his hand. "Protection" he explains and she nods, watching him place the condom swiftly. "Is this ok?" he asks, moving gently on top of her, her legs opening instinctively to accommodate the size of him. "Yes" Flora assures him. "I hope this won't be too uncomfortable for you, it should only be this first time" he says lightly stroking her hair before lining himself up and moving in further to her. Flora takes a gulp of air, her breathing hitched, feeling tight at first but the sensation lessons as he moves further and further inside her. It feels so right, the two of them joined together in this way. He moves so gently but she feels pleasure increasing already and she tries to keep a whimper in. "Let it out" he smiles approvingly, gazing down at her as she starts to moan softly. Encouraged by this, he steps up the pace gradually, relishing every moment. She closes her eyes, saying "So good Joel, keep going.." she breathes deeply before biting her bottom lip. "You're gorgeous Flora, thank you" he can't help saying, she opens her eyes and looks up at him, with tears of happiness, "Joel, you're…", she feels a new level of pleasure, teetering on the edge "..amazing, oh there, there, there, yes, yes Joel". He can feel her shaking with ecstasy, her eyes opening wide and her head rolling back in to the pillow. he can't help but kiss her deeply as she looks at him again and grips his shoulders. He's close now too, the rhythm constantly moving taking him there. He looks down at her heaving chest, her soft breasts and her nipples looking so inviting. He can't resist when he catches one nipple in his mouth, sucking gently and letting go with a plop and moves to the other one. She leaves out a moan in pleasant surprise and immediately orgasms once more, arching her back, muttering his name. He whispers "Fuck Darlin', you're perfect". She starts to stretch, trying to let more of him in, franticly trying to get that high once more. He moves with her going as deep as he can and finally they both moan in pleasure. She's in another realm and he can't think of anything but the two of them at that moment. It's everything they both had dreamed of.

He eases himself out of her and they lie side by side, panting and they can't help but look at each other and grin. "That was.." he starts "..unbelievable" she finishes, giving him a kiss on his collarbone as she lays her head on his shoulder, both glistening with sweat. "So that's what I've been missing all these years" she jokes. He smiles, holding her closer "that was extra special, I don't think it ever felt like that for me before" and gives a gentle kiss to her forehead. "I hope I was ok at it" she says shyly. "Of course you were, you're a natural" he says softly. She traces a finger lightly over his chest. "Now that's making love", he agrees "So much better than just sex." She starts to grin, "I love you Joel, thank you". He smiles softly down at her "I love you too Darlin'". They continue to laugh and talk about everything and anything into the night until they both fall asleep in each other's arms.

Joel wakes in the early morning and sees her huddled against him, her pretty features calm and untroubled, with her long hair cascading over her shoulders. He can't believe it's not a dream, that they really are there together. He continues to look in awe at this beautiful creature occupying his bed, she makes him feel young again. He thought those days were long behind him but he feels the intensity of the love they share. Against all odds, here they are together. They belong to one another and he makes a promise to spend every day of the rest of his life making her happy. He closes his eyes once more, trying to savour the moment. Flora wakes up not long after, feeling rested. She takes notice of his handsome face, his strong nose and sees his lines on his forehead and his lips in a pout. She can't resist kissing him lightly on the lips at that moment and to her surprise he eagerly starts to return the kiss, the passion between them increasing. Gradually he opens his eyes, heavy with tiredness at first but up close she notices how they are shining. They both smile with pure happiness at one another. "Ready for round two?" she whispers and he grins back, a mischievous look in his eye as they join together once more.

Link for song Joel serenades Flora with:

[tatsumessy]

i missed you too - {roronoa zoro}

zoro was never used to having to worry about someone, except for luffy mostly. but after your confession in the forest on Zou he couldn’t stop thinking about you. especially when you left to go get sanji from big mom. so he had to settle with waiting until you showed up in wano with everyone else.

what he didn’t expect was to not being able to sleep at night and drinking more because he was worried for your wellbeing. you could fight but not like him or sanji and for one didn’t have any devil fruit powers. you were kind of apart of the nami, usopp and chopper group. kind of weak. but you were sneaky and observant, that’s what he liked about you and admired about you.

what he also didn’t expect was to be walking through a town and seeing a familiar face selling flowers at a small flower shop towards the center of town. he rushed over practically pushing your customers out the way, “y/n!!” he shouted with a big smile, the look of shock on your face amazed him as you calmly apologized to your customers. “zorojuro please wait back here while i finish up here. i’m sorry my husband’s been away for a while and as you can tell he missed me.” you laughed awkwardly while handing the woman the bouquet of flowers her husband just purchased.

after they left zoro uncharacteristically grabbed you by your hips and sat you down on his lap. before you could say anything he leaned in and pressed a kiss on your lips, “z-zorojuro. what are you doing?” you asked covering his mouth, “i’m kissing you.” “not in public zorojuro.” you whispered with a small blush on your cheek noticing an old woman coming up to your stand.

as you worked with more and more customers zoro started getting fidgety so after taking a swig from his sake he then decided to take a nap until you closed up for the day. “hey wake up.” you said shoving him in his side, he groaned and started opening his eyes expecting to see you but instead he was met with a horribly disguised usopp infront of him.

“my shops closed, are you going to sleep here all night ?” you asked watching him stand up and get his stuff together, “i’m stayin with you y/n.” usopp gave you a weary look but you waved him off and started walking down the lit up street with zoro not far behind you. after a little bit you finally reach the building you’ve been staying in ever since arriving there.

“just to let you know luffy isn’t here. he sent me ahead of everyone by myself. i’ve only gotten in contact with Orubi and Usopp. so for now i’ve been laying low-” you froze as zoro closed the door behind the two of you and started stripping himself of his kimono. “what are you doing?” you asked a blushing mess. zoro didn’t know himself what he was doing but the feeling of wanting you, all of you was strong and he needed to feast immediately.

“are we alone in this building?” he asked slipping his arms out the top part, you nodded your head yes and in an instant zoro had you pinned against the wall and you were attacked with his lips locked onto yours.

when you woke the very next day zoro was gone, tears weld in your eyes as you thought back to last night and before you could bring any negative thoughts into your head the door slid open and and zoro walked in with a sack full of food. “why’re cryin?” he asked setting the stuff down and plopping himself on the ground next to you. covering yourself with your green kimono you stared at the ground feeling embarrassed for crying.

“i thought you left.” you said slowly slipping your clothes back on, “no i was sure you were going to hungry. so i got you some food.” he said laying his head on your lap while closing his eyes, you sat there still trying to process what was going on. “i didn’t want too leave. i missed you so any chance i get to be with you i’ll be here.” he said with his eyes still closed, blushing again you smiled turning away from him and towards the bag of food.

“i guess you do care about me huh?” you said teasingly sticking a piece of fried tofu in your mouth, “shut up idiot.”

p.s this is a part two zoro version to i missed you