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gremlinmodetweeker · 2 months ago

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The House is On Fire, and Everyone is Laughing and Smiling (pt 2)

Yeah you read that right, part two is finally out! Read part one HERE and enjoy the second hurt-comfort part of the fic. I will say, this is the part EVERYONE has been waiting for, including myself. It's a very sweet piece, but it made me hurt because ahhhh they're cute but so dumb!

Anyways,

TW: sorta cheating, sorta revenge cheating, they were never together so is it cheating?, angst (BUT DON'T WORRY THIS IS THE ONE WHERE THEY GET CLOSER)

Wordcount: 3.2k

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The House is On Fire, and Everyone is Laughing and Smiling (pt 2)

“Where is she?”

The voice sounded familiar. You were only just able to make it out through the fog wreathing your head.

“She’s in the bathroom,” you heard someone else say.

“How long has she been in there?”

“An hour, I think.”

You blinked slowly. You were roused, but only just. Soon you were slipping away.

A loud slamming on the door had your eyes cracking open again.

“Dude, what the fuck!”

“Who the hell are you? Wait, what are you doing to my door!?”

SLAM.

“Dude you need to leave.”

“Hey hey HEY! Don't TOUCH me!”

SLAM.

“What’s your fucking problem?”

“Get out of here!”

SLAM.

A few more shouts, but you heard Shauna as clear as day.

“Wait, König?”

König?

No, that was impossible. König was never invited. Why would he be here? Wait, did you even text him the address?

“YOU NEED TO LEAVE.”

The door burst forth. You could hardly see, but you could see something big above you.

“Guys back up, let the big guy through.”

"Is he leaving?"

"He'd better be..."

You felt yourself get hoisted up into the air. Panic welled up in your chest.

“Shh… It’s okay,” a kind voice soothed you, “you’re okay now.”

“So, you’re König?”

“Get the fuck out of my way, little man.”

You felt a steady bobbing motion as you were carried through the air. You blinked once, twice, and fell back asleep.

—

You woke up in a beautiful bed. You’d never felt more comfortable in your entire life than you did when you stretched your body under the wonderfully heavy duvet. The pillows held your head securely, and when you arched your back you could feel a wonderfully warm body pillow behind you.

“Ach, you’re awake.”

Not a body pillow.

You rolled over clumsily, somewhat panicked and yet still feeling numbed by whatever had been flowing through your system last night. Shit, your head hurt. Did you have painkillers anywhere?

“It hurts, ja? Let me get you something.”

He crawled over top of you to grab something, then bent down to push a pill onto your tongue. You automatically swallowed when he poured water down your throat. You coughed before falling back to the bed. You felt like your stomach was a pit trying to invert itself as you writhed in the bedding. Your head felt heavy and the light filtering through the curtains pierced the back of your skull, pounding with your heart in your chest. What the hell happened last night?

“Go ahead and rest,” König whispered into your ear, “it’s okay. Just relax. It’ll be better soon.”

“I wanna die,” you moaned.

“Shhh, it’ll be okay,” König crawled back to your side and lay beside you, “I’ll be here for you.”

You shuddered. And yet, the bed was so inviting, and his scent was draped around you like a warm mink coat. He was everywhere all at once, just like you’d dreamed of for so long. But why? Why did he have to be perfect after you’d already gone off with someone else? Why was he being so good to you? Didn’t he hate you?

“You’re thinking too much,” König nuzzled into your neck, so close to your gland and yet just far enough away to make it seem innocuous.

“‘M not,” you mumbled into the covers.

“You are, little one,” König chuckled, “think later. It’s time for bed, ja?”

“But… Why are you being so nice to me?” you tried to look at him but he gently pushed you face back into the sheets.

“Rest now,” his voice took a stern tone before thawing like Spring's last snow, “I’ll tell you everything when you get up, but I can’t tell you anything while you’re like this.”

“Why not?”

“You might not remember.”

You wanted to argue, but you were too tired. Instead, you rested back into the covers and closed your eyes to drift back into nebulous darkness.

—

Your eyes finally opened again, this time without feeling like actual death had you in a choke hold. Though your head still ached and swam wildly when you moved too quickly, but it wasn’t as daunting as before. Before? Yes, before. There had been a before. That’s right, you had woken up before.

“König?” your voice cracked through the still air.

“I’m here,” came the reply from behind you.

You gingerly shifted to your back, then cautiously rolled over to see König laying beside you. The bedding just barely came up to his pecs, showing off that he wasn’t wearing a shirt. Instead, he seemed to be perfectly comfortable being at the very least half naked beside you.

“What’re you doing here?” you croaked.

“I’m comforting my omega,” he replied and pulled you to him, “you had quite the adventure last night.”

“Did I?” memories of last night came bubbling up the surface, “oh, I did.”

Shaun, Eric, Rick, the woman, the drinks, the fire and the stars, they all flitted through your mind.

“Ja you did,” König chuckled, “but don’t worry, it’s over now.”

“Is it?” you whispered.

“It is.”

You closed your eyes, and despite your better judgment, leaned your head onto his chest. He was so beautifully warm. It was so warm, soft and comfortable. It was glorious. It couldn’t get better than this, could it? It was just so nice to be here, finally, after pining for so long. Of course, he was only comforting you after the disaster that had been last night, but it was something beautiful to behold. In this moment, you could pretend to be his beloved omega, his little pet, his only love. Of course it wasn’t true, but you wanted it to be. Oh how you wanted it to be.

König rubbed your back soothingly, helping you fully unwind in his bedding.

Now that you thought about it, you were finally in his nest. This was where he slept each night, where he scented, where he… Okay maybe your thoughts needed to be reeled back in.

“Are you comfortable?”

Bless König for knowing just when to interrupt your thoughts.

“Um, well, I’m better,” you stumbled over yourself, words clotting on your tongue like blood in dirty bandages.

“That’s good,” König mumbled. He looked down at you, his blue blue eyes suddenly seeming so sad again. Why did he always look so sad when you just wanted him to smile?

“Are you okay?” you asked meekly.

“Me?” König snorted as his mouth quirked up into a wry smirk, “I’m fine. I’m more worried about you.”

“I’m a bit better, but…” you looked down at the bedding, “this is your nest, isn’t it?”

“It is,” König admitted, “it's nice to share, no?”

You wished he’d tell you to stay, make yourself at home for while you're ill. You wanted to hear that you were always welcome here for a bit longer. Better yet, don’t go. Don’t leave him. Make your nest within his own, shape this nest into one for the both of you, make it together.

He said no such thing. Instead, his words hung in the air, tacked in place like dirty stockings over the smouldering embers of a fire.

“Do you like it here?” König asked with a strange sort of hesitancy, “most people say my scent is too strong…”

“I think it’s nice,” for emphasis you snuggled into his pillow.

The muscles around König’s neck relaxed. You didn’t even realize they were tense in the first place. Goes to show how attentive you were to you alpha, you supposed.

“That’s good,” his words clunked together like rusted gears, “I’m happy you like it.”

You thought carefully for a moment. You learned something important last night. Before your memories cut out, before you got lost in that fog, you remembered talking to someone. Right, Rick. That's why you remembered him. He said something to you that set you on edge. Or was it just that he set you on edge in general? You didn’t know, but something felt wrong when you thought about him.

The memory flashed through your mind like white lightening, setting your mind ablaze with fear. Earlier that night, he'd seen you for what you were. You couldn't hide from another alpha. Not from his nose at least. But were all alphas the same?

“Alphas have good senses of smell, right?” you asked hesitantly.

König nodded slowly, his eyes already drooping into their usual melancholic state.

“So you could smell him then, couldn’t you,” you whispered.

König’s smile was so kind. It hurt to look at him smile like that, so pained and yet trying so hard to please you. Weren’t you meant to be the one pleasing him? Why did he have to look so sad, even when he smiled?

“I always knew,” he murmured, his eyes downcast to where his hand lay beneath his great head.

“Since the first trip to the farmer’s market?” you asked.

“The moment you came back I knew,” he admitted, “I always knew.”

Your closed your eyes. Shame flushed through you, ridding you of any puppy love you had for Shaun. Shaun. Now the name sound like ‘shun’, and how you wished you were shunned. You wished he’d hate you. You wanted him to cry and scream, but instead he smiled at you to try and ease your pain.

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right that he knew. He was never supposed to know, he was never supposed to find out. You tried to keep your voice down late at night, you tried to hide your phone screen from his eyes, you tried so hard to keep this from him but he knew since the very beginning. It was all for naught.

All the dates with Shaun over the past couple of months. Every weekend, sometimes on a weekday. Every time you rode in his car he could smell the fast food burned into your clothes.

“You at least could’ve brought back a doughnut for me,” König chuckled at his little joke, but it only served to twist the knife further in.

He knew about the damn doughnuts. His nose really did tell him everything he needed to know, didn’t it? You felt so stupid.

“I didn’t know you knew,” you tried to justify but even you knew your words were hollow.

“We were never mates,” König’s grin was full of bitter, clenched teeth, “how could I tell you no?”

“But I lied to you,” you whispered.

“You lied, but I did too,” König sighed, “when I saw you leave, I’d try to see others.”

You felt your world collapse around you. He saw others. He tried to get a side relationship too. But unlike him, you never had a clue. All the emotions you’d suppressed for so long came bubbling up to the surface in a great tidal wave, stringing you out in the currents, rending you limb from limb.

He had lied to you.

You couldn’t be mad though.

You lied to him too.

“Nobody stuck with me,” König sighed, “everyone knew I didn’t have my heart in it.”

“Then why did you do it?” you whimpered, tears prickling as your throat constricted, invisible hands clenching down on your windpipe.

König ruffled his messy blond hair, with a sigh. He closed his eyes and lay still beside you. A tender hand gently bushed along your shoulder, down your arm, and then it left you alone. Your skin felt cold in its wake.

“I wanted to hurt you,” he said, “like you hurt me.”

You hiccuped. Were you actually crying? What right did you have to cry?

“I’m sorry.”

Sorry wasn’t enough. No words could possibly heal the damage you’d done. The two of you had lit your respective ends of the stick of dynamite between you, and only now did they meet. Figures that they’d burn out when your head was already hurting and you felt like you’d been battered down into nothing but mulch to feed the flowers. You were finally low enough, at least.

“Why did you want to hurt me?”

You already hated his answer.

“Because I wanted you to be mine.”

The dams in your mind gave way to a flood of tears. You couldn’t stop yourself from shaking now. You were pathetic, but in a way, so was he. You both were miserable whelps. And yet, here you lay in a nest together, comforting each other by eating each other alive. You relished in the taste of his meat upon your teeth for so long, but only now did you realize that you’d eaten so much that there was nothing left but the rotten truth on his bare bones.

“I wanted to protect you,” his voice shook like leaves in the wind before a coming storm, “I didn’t want you to love me.”

“But why?” you choked.

“Because one day I will leave and I won’t come back,” König crushed his eyes tight, “I’m going to die out there. I'm going to get deployed again, and one day I'm not coming back. I’m going to die and I’ll leave you behind.”

You hated him. But more importantly, you hated KorTac. No, you hated humanity for waging war, but more importantly you hated the universe for being so cruel by letting you dance this cosmic waltz. Hate. Hate. HATE. It coursed through you, your blood boiling and foaming under the surface like hydrothermal vents. You wanted to gnash your teeth, scream at him for being so stupid, but what was there to say?

If he let you love him, he’d break your heart on the battlefield. If he didn’t, he’d break your heart in your own home.

“We never had a chance,” you finally said.

“No, Maus,” König’s great form shuddered weakly, “not a single one.”

You wanted to beat your hands against his great chest, but instead your hands curled up into your form in two tight balls. He shuddered and quaked as silent tears wracked through his goliath body.

“I was so stupid,” he cried, “I pushed you away and now look what I’ve done to you?”

You shuffled closer until you could press your nose into the glands of his neck, “No, I was the stupid one.”

“Maus, I ruined us,” König shakily wrapped one arm around you.

You let him press you against him. In fact, you pressed yourself in, unable to stop yourself from wrapping an arm under his to hold him tight like you’d dreamt of for so long.

“You’re so stupid,” you beat his chest weakly with one fist, “we’re both so stupid.”

König curled around you like a cat. His warmth set you alight under the blankets, but you didn’t dare try to pull away. His tears soaked your shirt, the same one you wore last night. He never changed you. He was too good to touch you like that, not when you were so vulnerable. He was a better man.

“Never again,” König hissed, “I’m never letting you go again.”

“I’ll never leave,” your words formed into a ribbon. It wrapped around your heart before trailing down through your wrist, winding up his arm before plummeting into his chest and taking his heart into a snare. The ribbon tightened painfully around you both.

“Promise me,” he sobbed, “promise me we won’t ever do this again.”

“We won’t,” you vowed, “we won’t. We won’t, we won’t, we won’t.

König held his breath, but the sobs overcame him regardless.

“I don’t know if I can believe us.”

“Try,” you urged him, “try for us.”

“I don’t want to hurt you again,” he hugged you painfully close, “I don’t want to do this again. When I found you… I can’t do it again. I’m not that strong a man.”

“Then don’t be strong,” you cried.

“I have to be,” he hiccuped, “I need to keep up appearances. If my team saw me like this… Weak, in an omega’s arms, they’d…”

“I don’t give a damn what they think,” you hissed, “just let yourself love me. Let yourself be weak.”

“But how?”

“Love me.”

He pulled back to look you in the eyes.

His eyes were rimmed with a bright red as tears trailed beneath. He looked pitiful but you couldn’t be much better. Maybe, it was better to be weak. Together, you could be weak. By being weak, you could be strong.

“Will you let me be your alpha?” he asked hoarsely, “after all I’ve done?”

“Only if you’ll let me be your omega, despite everything,” you replied weakly.

“Please,” he gasped.

“Then take me,” you snuggled back in.

König finally pressed you into his scent gland. He rubbed slightly, spreading the oils of the gland across the side of your neck. If you didn’t know what was happening, you never would’ve guessed it was happening.

You’d read articles that said that when someone scented you, you could feel the oils on your skin. But König was different. There was a slight dampness, but nothing uncomfortable. You’d expected something tacky or viscous, but this was nothing of the sort. This was just König pressing himself into you, scenting you like you’d wanted for so long.

Underneath his touch, you could feel your own glands tingle as they took him in. In turn, they coated his neck, claiming him as yours forever.

“I won’t ever let you be without my scent,” he hissed, “you’ll always have me, wherever you go. I’ll never let anyone hurt you again.”

“And I’ll never leave you,’ you promised, “I’ll always be yours. Let me scent you.”

His shuddering calmed as he scented you, coating your neck with his musk before moving to the other side of your neck. When you caught a glance of his expression, it was no longer tearful, but rather clouded by rage and determination. His fangs hung over his lower lip as he began to rub his neck against your other side.

You rubbed against him yourself, coating him in yourself. You couldn't put your finger on it, it was hard to describe how you smelt, but when you pulled him into your gland you could smell him change. It was slow, ever so gentle in how it crept in, and soon he no longer smelt of someone else, some great alpha A stranger, and instead he smelled of you and, more starkly, he smelled of home. You could cry over this alone.

“It’s not your fault though,” you whispered, “I went because I wanted to. You couldn’t have stopped me.”

“But I could’ve gone with you,” he sighed, “I could’ve protected you.”

“Thinking about the ‘what ifs’ never really did much to change the present,” you rubbed the broad expanse of his back, letting your scent coat him entirely.

“I just..” König raised up and pressed into your neck firmly, “I never want to leave you alone again.”

“And I’ll always be by your side,” you assured him.

After another few minutes of nuzzling you, taking turns on each side of your neck to ensure you were fully covered, König finally pulled back to look you in the eyes.

You could smell yourself on him, him on you, both of you, you.

“You’re mine,” he leaned in close, “always and forever.”

“Always,” you leaned in close until your lips were but an inch apart.

Ever so slowly, he leaned forth, pressing his lips against yours in a tentative kiss. Gentle, fearful, frightened even. He felt so light that you feared he might fly away, wings of a butterfly up up and away. You laced your fingers into his hair to tether him to earth, to you, to the promises you made but didn’t know if you could keep.

His lips felt like feathers and childish promises for futile future. The hands he gently took your cheek with were of marble and leather, hardened by battles long since won by men who deserved to run back but were instead forced to march forth. He was eternal might and glory, blood sweat and tears shed by a monolith of marble, but with you he came apart like a thousand shards of porcelain. You wanted to gather each piece, put it back together with gold, but his vase had been shattered too many times. He was a lost cause but you wanted to love him regardless.

He pulled back, but you wanted more. You tried to pull him in again but he resisted.

You lay there in his nest, watching each other for another movement, but none came. You were safe and comfortable.

He let you kiss him again, this time softening into your touch. You were terrified that when you pulled back, he'd be gone. He had been a ghost in his own home, haunting you with his melancholy. Now, you could feel his heart beat with a terrified joy. You clenched over his heart, then let yourself fall back into your nest.

The two of you were dead walkers. You had crawled from the grave long ago, but when you lay together, you felt your heart beat for the first time, throbbing with the ache of disuse and rot rooting through the flesh. With each moment you looked into his eyes, you could see him wake up too. His cheeks were flushed with blood, his eyes bloodshot from years of tears being unleashed in one sitting. There would be more to come, but not now.

Now, for the first time since you both met, you could love.

Konig Dump

Alternate Universes

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short-honey-badger · 11 months ago

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Peppermint Tea 12

Hey guys! Sorry it's been a bit since the last post! I ended up with a bad case of strept throat and I'm just now feeling up to do my stuff. Anyway. I hope you enjoy!

Warnings! None I don't think? Some drinking. Mihawk gets a little dark. A little gaslighty. It's all for your own good tho! Next part? It's finally Smut time!

I forgot to say! The song that they dance to HERE

Begin Again is HERE

Masterlist

Breakfast is already done by the time Dracule finally decides that he is done, not hiding per se, but procrastinating. You greet him with a blinding smile, and his thoughts flash back to the portrait of a younger you. He shoves the image away and brings you in for a quick kiss before he sidesteps you and an excited Hank for the stove. He plies his plate and joins you at the table.

“I brought you another gift, dear one,” Dracule begins and you roll your eyes at him. He huffs and sips his tea before continuing, “Don’t pout. I think you’ll enjoy this one.”

“I enjoy all of your gifts, Mihawk,” You point out gently and toss Hank a piece of grilled fish, “But I’ll need to start getting rid of some stuff if you keep bringing me such nice things.”

Dracule casts his eyes around your humble home. While there wasn’t anything wrong with the things you have drug up from the shore from shipwrecks, It was far less than what you deserved. Especially since he knew about your past.

“Not everything is meant to be kept forever, Darling,” Dracule says right back, and you sigh but nod. The older man does have a point. Out with the old and in with the new, and all that. You catch the smug twist of his lips at your concession and roll your eyes. He was such a priss.

“Finish your breakfast, and then I’ll bring it in,” Mihawk orders gently after a moment and stands to place a kiss on your brow. He leaves with a lingering look your way that has your cheeks pinking up.

Down at his ship, Mihawk hefts two large crates with ease and carries them back up the beach and to the cottage. One is filled with a variety of fruit and vegetables that you did not have, and Dracule hoped that the more exotic ones would take to the soil of your island. The other crate held the real gift to you, one that he was far more excited to share.

The dishes have been cleared by the time he makes it back to your home. Mihawk leaves the crate of seeds and sprouts outside for you to investigate later. Hank is lounging in the sun, and Mihawk rolls his eyes at the big lug as he trudges back inside. You have made them fresh cups of tea, and Dracule gladly takes his with a quiet thanks after setting the crate aside.

“You'll need a clear space for this one, Darling.” Mihawk points out, and you escape to the living room to clear off part of one of your many bookshelves that line the walls. He follows after you and sets the crate on the floor, then kneels to flip open the lid of the box. You peer inside, brow furrowing at whatever was inside.

“This is a gramophone. It's an older model, so you'll have to crank it here for it to power itself.” Dracule lifts the record player and sets it on the spot you've cleared for him. He dusts it off and then dives back down to retrieve a large metal horn that he attaches to the back of the box. While he is screwing the horn in, you crouch and look through the crate, carefully pulling out several very thin square objects with art on the front.

“What are these for?” You ask and hand them over to Mihawk when he reaches for them. He opens the square and pulls out a shiny black disk that he sits in the middle of the gramophone. You watch in growing fascination as the vinyl begins to spin and jump out of your skin when noise blurts out from the horn.

The static mellows out, and soon your cottage is filled with the delicate notes of classic music and the sound of a man and a woman singing in beautiful harmony. It's in a language that you don't know, but it isn't any less beautiful. You step closer to the machine, awe on your face. You've never heard something so beautiful before, and you close your eyes to better lose yourself in the changing notes.

Mihawk watches you, eyes softening as he takes you in. You sway side to side, your long hair dancing around your waist, completely entranced in the classical tune. He steps behind you, hands settling on your waist as he gently leads you away from the bookshelf and to the middle of the living room. He sways with you, keeping to the slow beat of the song.

One of Dracule's hands finds your own, and he twines your fingers together with a hum, bringing it up and around to wrap around his neck. His other arm wraps around your waist, pulling you flush against his front, “This is one of my favorite pieces. It's a recount of a young man and his affection for his first love.”

You shiver when he speaks, his tone sinful and dripping with intent. You wonder if he is trying to tell you something in his usual, difficult, roundabout way. Did he love you? You were pretty sure that you loved him.

Mihawk holds you close, and as you close your eyes, it is him you hear, humming quietly in your ear. You cock your head up and bring his head down, kissing him as best you can in the odd angle. He twists you around not a second later, untangling his hand from yours so that Dracule can slip it into your hair and hold you just the way he wants as he kisses you senseless. The song comes to an end just as he is pulling you away, leaving you staring up at Mihawk like he was your everything.

Dracule gently untangled his hand from your hair to smooth his knuckles across your cheek, then shifted down to rub his thumb along your bottom lip.

“Would you like to listen to more?” Mihawk asks softly and breaks whatever tension that had built around the two of you.

You nod, an eager smile breaking across your lips, “Yes, please. I didn't understand what they said, but it was beautiful.”

“Not many would, Latin is a dead language to many,” Dracule informs you helpfully and then crouches to investigate the rest of the records inside the crate, “I made sure to bring you a variety of genres.”

You thank his kindness with a kiss on his cheek and giggle when the stoic man looks inordinately proud of himself. He flicks your forehead when you go in for another, “You've made your point.”

You pout at him briefly before you become distracted by the records again. You choose one at random and hand it to Mihawk, and then rise so that you can watch how he changes the disks.

For the next two days, the two of you went through the music that Dracule had brought for you. While you enjoyed the classical music that the warlord favored, you found that the more upbeat jazz genre was more your style. Dracule would smile to himself whenever he caught you humming one of your favorites and pat himself on the back for doing such a good job on his gift.

On the third day, the weather turned for the worse, casting your usual tropical and nice weather under dark clouds and raging winds. Rain pelted the island while you and Mihawk took shelter inside, Hank lay in front of the fireplace, drying his wet fur from his run inside. You sat curled up in the corner of the couch, a small glass of wine held in your hand. Mihawk had assured you that just a small bit would not hurt and would help to warm you up.

Dracule sat in the armchair across from you, feet kicked up as he sipped from his own glass and paged through one of your waterlogged books. Vera Keys crooned in the back, a song about starting all over to begin again. You hum along to the sad song, frowning a bit at the words.

Could you ever do that? Let go of your life here? Begin again somewhere else? The thought sent fear shooting down your spine, a voice echoing in the back of your mind that you could never leave this island.

Dracule glances over to see you frowning and can tell that you have delved into your thoughts. He wonders how much of your past that you recall, but he doesn't dare ask, would hate himself for bringing you any unnecessary pain. There was no need for you to know right now, not when it kept you safe.

“Something wrong, Angel?” Dracule rumbles and sets his book away to focus on you. He stands and steps over Hank to sit beside you on the couch.

Your lips screw up even more, and you debate on telling Dracule your thoughts. You'd already spilled enough on him the other morning about your dreams.

“I just…wish that I could leave sometimes,” you admit quietly and sit your glass aside. Your hands pick at themselves, a nervous habit over the years, “But everything I think about it, there is this voice telling me how I shouldn't. How it isn't safe.”

Dracule is silent beside you. Panic had shot through him for half a second when you mentioned wanting to leave. He could understand why. You've been trapped here all your life, but the thought of Big Mom somehow finding out about you? That was unacceptable. You needed to be kept safe, and Dracule would be the one to take up that role.

“While I understand your desire to leave, to explore the world,” Mihawk begins softly and draws you close to him, manhandling you a little so that you sit on his lap, legs on either side of his own, “I would listen to that voice. The world is vast, and there are people out there that would destroy everything that makes you, you.”

You find yourself nodding along. Dracule sounds so serious, and you wish he would tell you what had wronged him in the world for him to feel this way. For him to want you to stay here.

“What kind of people?” You ask, and Dracule frowns harshly, looming far more frightening than you have seen him since the first time he stepped foot on your island. You aren't sure if his answer brings you comfort or not.

“People like me, Darling. Pirates who take what they want when they want. I'm where I am for a reason, and I want to keep you away from anyone else who might wish you harm.”

@writingmysanity @kenkenmaaa @foggyturtleknightangel @browneyedhufflepuff @djbumblebee @goth-mami-writer @myradiaz

#fanfic #one piece #reader insert #fluff #dracule mihawk #hawkeye mihawk #mihawk x reader #opla mihawk #mihawk x you #opla mihawk x reader #mihawk x y/n #gaslight gatekeep girlboss #peppermint tea #one piece live action

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lele5429 · 7 months ago

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Retired Assets - Story and Art Master Post

Story (Read the tags!)

Ch1: Prologue

Ch2: The Cold Within

Ch3: The Fire Won’t Light Itself

Ch4: Blind

Ch5: I Will Not Leave You

Ch6: coming soon

Ch7:

AO3 main page

Art

Illustrations for the Story (by Lele)

THE TITLE PAGE (Key Visual) - I’ve finished it but I’ll post it with the finale.

Ex Libris (book plate)

Ch 2: The Cold Within

Ch 4: Blind

Ch 5: I Will Not Leave You and Never Alone

Character Design and Sketches

A Precursor to RA Ravio: fanart for @shirley-99

The first drawing of RA Ravio

RA Ravio's costume design (spoiler-free)

ALBW vs LU vs RA Ravio designs

LU Ravio vs RA Ravio - comparison and design notes

RA Ravio in a more naturalistic style (first attempt)

RA Ravio smiles and Part 2

LU Legend vs RA Legend

Love transcends the veil of absence

RA Legend in a more naturalistic style (first attempt)

RA Ravio (TW: blood)

Ravio and Sheerow for an art challenge

Tagaki Ravio profile pic

Art Process

THE TITLE PAGE (Key Visual Time Lapse)

Key Visual - inking

Ch 2: The Cold Within - scrapped designs

Drawing Eyes

Ch 4: Blind - time lapse

Ch 5: “Never Alone” - scrapped designs

Unrelated dark Ravio

Artistic Responses/Art Gifts

Discussing the Script by @moonriver080

The Burning Bridge by @moonriver080

Emoticons ft. The cast @violet-xd09

Emoticons Part 2 @violet-xd09

Ravio’s magic and smile @violet-xd09

Illustrations for Ch3 @violet-xd09

Nursery AU @violet-xd09 and Part 2

Ravio in the headlights by @violet-xd09

Ravio Tegaki by @wardingshout

Ravio mural by @hero-of-fortune

Disaster bunny and his faces by @violet-xd09

Drawing faces (art challenge) with @violet-xd09

MS paint and Tegaki Ravio blorbo @violet-xd09

Mid-Autumn Festival @violet-xd09

Under Her Favourite Apple Tree by 枭柏

Innocent RA Ravio by @whatvioletdoes-blog

RA Ravio’s 2024 Halloween costume by @violet-xd09

A Happy Fic by @lennsart

Bonus

Memes / Crack / Fluff (my art!)

Ravio wants you to stop and read the warning tags

Ravio with STOP sign animated

Disaster Bunny

Going to work with your landlord?

Get-along Shirt

PAY NO RENT

Why does RA Ravio fear Hilda?

Blue Potions

To Heaven

Jet lag

Legend explains things to Ravio (Ch4)

Self care or draw 25 and Part 2

RA Ravio ™️

Nope/Yep

Goodnight Ojousama

Account Deleted

Nothing is perfect

Ch 6 Teaser and Part 2

Drawing with my eyes closed

Babies need a hug

Why dis bun look so mad 😭

Working Properties - Retired Assets Actors AU

Take a break

No work

Trick or treat

Chibi

Ravio hugging Sheerow

Legend ╭(°A°`)╮

Sticker Pack #1

Poster Pose

Happy Fable

The Cold Within but Chibi

Apple juice

Hilda reading Ravio’s diary

Hilda Boop

Nursery AU (The Cast as Kids)

Nursery AU - first drawing

Kid!Ravio tries lemons

Crafts

Linocut: RA Ravio

Linocut: RA Legend

Prints ft. the RA leads, signed and framed

PAY NO RENT: heat-transfer vinyl T-shirt

Lasercut on wood: some keychains and tickets by @moonriver080

Button-making (with a sneak peek of additional memes)

Ravio’s robe and scarf (cosplay)

Bracelets inspired by LU characters

Stamp

Shaker charms and Part 2

Sheerow doll (by Alex Lynn crafts)

RA Ravio sleep mask

Q&A

Search for #retired assets ask game

Ravio character notes [1]

#linked universe #lu ravio #lu legend #lu memes #retired assets #ravio #retired assets memes #retired assets art #retired assets update #retired assets character design #a link between worlds #legend of zelda #loz #loz fanfic #loz fandom #lu fanfiction #retired assets ravio #retired assets legend #lele wip

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tinytalkingtina · 2 months ago

Text

Born to Run

Part 1 of Running with the Devil, a Steddie role reversal series

4k words | Rating: E

Tags/CW: Role reversal no upside down AU with some canon divergence, Jock/Track Star!Eddie, Metalhead/drug dealer!Steve, appalachian Eddie, confident bisexual Steve, Eddie has a sexuality crisis but is in denial, Eddie's sleeping mind decides to take matters into its own hands, wet dream (contains spanking and public humiliation), running of both the literal and metaphorical kind, child abuse referenced indirectly (physical beatings that happened in the past)

Read now on Ao3, and be sure to read @little-annie's Part 2 from Steve's POV, "Metal Health will Drive you Mad"

The sex dream within this fic is brought to you by the Week 4 prompt "slap" of the @steddiesmuttyseptember event

Eddie was always a runner. If you asked Wayne, he apparently skipped straight from crawling to toddling around as fast as his chubby legs could carry him. When he got older, it was a release valve, for everything and anything shitty in his life.

He didn’t have to think about his mom pulling a disappearing act, or his dad getting himself arrested (again). The world would narrow until the only sounds he could hear were the rushing in his ears and the smack of his sneakers on pavement.

Running had brought him to where he was now, as he clawed his way up the proverbial high school ranks. Anyone at this party would look at him and only see the triumphant senior captain of the track team, fresh off a successful meet. Every keg stand, every heroic retelling of a close race, every sloppy makeout session with a cheerleader, kept the attention on the Eddie of the present.

No one needed to remember the wide-eyed weirdo with patched baggy clothes, nearly ten when his classmates would only turn nine that year.

All around him, the crowd ebbed and flowed between the alcohol and the bonfire, the flickering flames and shadows making it hard to tell who was who. Someone stumbled into Eddie, breaking him out of his brooding.

“Whoops, sorry Eddie! Guess I’ll have to make it up to you later.” Before he could say anything, the giggling cheerleader pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. (He knew he went on a date with her about a month ago, but her name eluded him. Tina, maybe, or Vicki?)

He forced a grin back. “Of course you didn’t mean it sugar. Gonna hold you to that ‘kay?”

The girl possibly named Tina swooned at the tiny bit of accent he'd carefully slipped in. Just a touch could be charming to the fine folks of the Midwest, even if what he ended up using was way less Appalachian hick and more refined Southern gentleman than his momma's family had ever spoken in their lives.

As soon as her back was turned, he let the smile slide off. His post-meet high wore off too quickly tonight, and it left him well, twitchy.

An arm slung itself over his shoulder. "Ed my man, this party is wild! Your best work yet dude." Tommy grinned at him, already drunk. Neither of them commented on how close Tommy was pressing himself into Eddie. Or how Eddie wasn't quite moving away. But then again, the two of them had perfected the art of leaving things unsaid after what happened sophomore year, how close they had come to—no.

"Heh, yeah. Hey, where's Carol? She's gonna be pissed you abandoned her."

"Please, Carol's fine. She's busy talking with Lisa Carmichael. Speaking of which, she's really into you. Come on, get your dick wet, you deserve it after that 800 meter. We're fucking going to states!" His last sentence was said much louder, and a chorus of cheers and whoops predictably echoed back from celebratory partygoers. The twitchiness grew.

"I dunno man, not really feeling it tonight." Eddie tried to subtly back up a little bit, but Tommy just swayed forward into his space again.

“Trust me, you won’t be feeling like that when you're balls deep in a nice tight—"

"Tommy will you just fucking stop? What's with your obsession with my dick huh?"

A look of fear and hurt flashed across Tommy's face for a second, before it was replaced with a scowl. Fuck that was the wrong thing to say and danced way too close to the thoughts about—nope, they were not gonna talk about that.

Eddie carefully pat Tommy on the shoulder instead of thinking. "Shit sorry, it's fine, you're just looking out for me, right? I appreciate it, just not uh, really in the partying mood for some reason."

Tommy managed to recover his grin. "Oh, duh, why didn't you say so? That fucking freak Harrington finally showed up about thirty minutes ago. Sure he's got something that'll make you unwind a bit. Here, have one on me.”

Eddie wanted to snap that he didn’t need pity money. He got the kegs supplied just fine on his own, hadn’t he? But Tommy was still holding himself tensely several steps away. Tommy, who in sixth grade biked over every other day even after his parents had told him to stay away from the trailer park. Who “accidentally” always had a second pudding cup tucked in with his lunch for sharing. Whose summertime freckles were just starting to fade but Eddie knew still trailed down all the way to his—.

Besides, maybe weed would take the edge off whatever ugly thing kept rearing its insistent head inside him tonight. Help him forget about the looming pressures of the future and the things he wasn’t going to think about, help him feel normal again.

“Thanks Tommy, I’ll try and relax.” Eddie grabbed the money and set off down the path towards Skull Rock, where Harrington always held court. The chill wind rustling through the trees was a welcome respite to his overheated skin.

The walk over to the next clearing was only a few minutes, but by the time Eddie came upon it, the thrum of bass and general teenage debauchery had faded into a low murmur.

Instead, Skull Rock reverberated with the sound of tapping and gentle humming. Eddie’s heart picked up a little.

Steve Harrington made him nervous. It wasn’t necessarily how loud the guy was. Eddie could understand the need to fill a room up. He could vaguely remember a quieter pre-pubescent Harrington before his dramatic transformation, dressed in tiny polos and khakis and halfheartedly kicking around a soccer ball. Now, his entire wardrobe consisted solely of black and red accented with flashy gold rings. The thick combat boots he wore constantly made him tower over everyone else, and the ever-growing collection of tattoos scattered on his body thoroughly scandalized each and every teacher. What they all meant was a perennial topic of discussion amongst the student body.

A voice echoed down from one of the boulders: “Oh hey, look who showed up, it’s Eddie Munson himself! Heard from your sidekick Hagan you’re the reason Hawkins is going to States.”

Steve was stretched out, lounging on the top of the rock, a pair of drumsticks held loosely in one hand.

“Yup, we are. First time in five years actually.” The state championships. There would be college recruiters there, and with them the promise of scholarships that’d get him out of this town. Somewhere far away from the looming threat of the plant bending his back prematurely like it had Wayne’s. Somewhere no one had heard the name of Al Munson.

“Well then.” Steve practically purred as he smoothly jumped down to the ground. He gave his drumsticks a twirl before stashing them in his pocket. “You sure got ‘em, didn’t you Tiger.”

Yeah, there it was. Seemed like sometimes, Harrington could see right through him, like he knew about how his thoughts occasionally strayed to—nope.

Eddie crossed his arms and tried to keep his face neutral. “Uh-huh.”

“Don’t you know it’s polite to thank someone when they compliment you?” Steve’s eyes sparkled with amusement. The fucker was toying with him. Worse, he was enjoying it.

Summoning every ounce of cockiness he possessed, Eddie stood up straight. Sure, this close Harrington had several inches on him, but it didn’t matter. Only one of them could throw the party of the year, and it sure as hell wasn’t going to be the unpopular weirdo in front of him.

“Shouldn’t you be the one thanking me? I let you sell your shit at my party.”

“Got a mouth on you, don’t you.” Steve smirked. “Tell me Munson, what’s stopping me from taking my goodies to, say, the basketball team’s next rager and skipping out on your little get together entirely? Don’t have to dirty my shoes at their parties. They choose to host at a house.”

Eddie gritted his teeth. “Hey fuck you man, not all of us have—”

“Didn’t say I minded,” Steve plowed on, interrupting him. “Maybe I like the fresh air and the…view. Just like to enjoy them peacefully.” He stood there with his arms crossed, one eyebrow raised in expectation.

Eddie could feel his face flushing but he held his ground. “Never stopped you from helping yourself to our beer.”

“Free shitty beer, just what I look forward to.” Steve said, rolling his eyes. “I gotta say, wasn’t really expecting you to come here. Don’t you usually send someone else to get your fix?”

Eddie shrugged. “Needed a change. And we both know you overcharge Tommy.”

“You’re not wrong about that.” Steve barked out a laugh. “But he deserves the asshole tax. Just weed for you tonight? There’s all kinds of ways to unwind if your usual methods are leaving you…unsatisfied there Munson.”

Vividly, Eddie was reminded of the graffiti scribbled on the walls above the urinals near the gym: Score a touchdown, then score with SH. More often than not, Steve could be found spectating the games, quietly dealing underneath the bleachers. On occasion, one girl or another could be seen emerging from underneath and brushing dirt off her skirt. But there was that other rumor, one that no guy would ever admit to having personal experience with. That if you won, Harrington would give anyone weed for free if they got on their knees for him and—woah there. What was wrong with him tonight?

“Th-think the weed is jus’ fine, ain’t lookin’ for much else.” he stammered out. Shit, why did his accent have to slip now of all times? “I mean, weed is all I need. Those fucking pricks from Greencastle got under my skin.” Assholes thought they were so big, mocking his out of style sneakers. Those shoes hadn't stopped him from shaving half a second off the regional record, but he couldn't help but still feel the barbs from their insults lodged under his skin, festering.

Steve cocked his head as he stared at Eddie with an unreadable expression on his face. Finally he broke into a disarming smile. Eddie couldn’t remember ever seeing Steve sincerely express happiness, at least not from this distance. He would have remembered how prett—how his eyes lit up.

“I’m in a band you know. Pierced Scepter. We play down at this shitty dive bar and yeah, usually it’s a crowd of four drunks and the bartender, but it doesn’t matter. Being on any stage is…fuck it’s awesome. But sometimes it’s a little too much to just pack it all up right after. So I come out here to scream my head off, get it all out. Better off terrorizing the birds than picking fights when my parents are around.” Steve unconsciously rubbed his palm as he laughed humorlessly. “Saves on the screaming matches at home and the. Well.”

“Didn’t realize rich folks got their own hands dirty like that.” Carol’s parents had left the task of punishment to her nanny, preferring to swoop in with carrots after the stick had been administered.

Steve raised an eyebrow. “Pretty sure my dad would say something about how ‘real men are responsible for disciplining their kids so they don’t get soft.’ Though what he considers ‘soft’ changes a lot based on his mood. And whether he’s wearing a belt or suspenders that day.”

“G-d, who knew our dads have something in common then?” Eddie snorted. “Never could keep my old man happy, was always doing something wrong. He took the belt to me so often in third grade I barely could sit down the whole year.” His first time in third grade anyway, the one before he was whisked away to the safe haven of Wayne’s trailer.

“And…I have absolutely no idea why I told you that.” He barely talked about his dad to Tommy and Carol for crying out loud. On visitor’s days he always made up some lie about why he and Wayne were driving close to the state penitentiary.

Steve let out a weird little braying bark of a laugh and shuffled his feet. “Right, you didn’t come here to cry over our daddy issues. Gimme a sec to get your stuff.” Steve reached behind to grab the lunchbox he carried his goods around in. As he did, his jacket slid open enough to show the exposed line of his clavicle above the low-cut collar of his tee. Eddie swallowed hard. Against his will, his eyes dipped lower, noticing a design over the top of his pec in black ink. Oh, a new tattoo.

Eddie squinted trying to make out what it was. “It’s been a while since you gave O’Donnell a reason to lecture us on the ‘decaying morality of the modern day.’ Is that a two headed monkey?”

Delight flickered over Steve’s face. “This? Yeah, it’s new. Supposed to be Demogorgon, the ‘Prince of Demons.’” At Eddie’s blank look he chuckled. “He’s a monster from Dungeons and Dragons, you know, the fantasy game we play in Hellfire Club. It was the final battle of a months long campaign and our characters were trying to escape Demogorgon’s lair. Most of the party was close to death, but at a chokepoint, my character took a last stand and gave the others enough time to escape. Everyone else got out, even if the bastard got me in the end. So, I got this as a tribute to my character's sacrifice.”

Eddie spoke without thinking. “Oh, that’s kind of similar to what Gandalf did: facing off against the Balrog to save the rest of the Fellowship.”

Forget fleeting glimpses of real smiles. The look of surprise Steve gave him was almost comically out of place on his face. “You’ve read Lord of the Rings?”

“While ago, yeah. The Hobbit too.” Back when he first moved in with Wayne, the man had found an absolutely beautiful illustrated set at a rummage sale. Eddie smiled to himself, remembering how excited he’d been to get his first real present ever. “Spent a whole summer running around during the day, then staying up way too late reading all night. My uncle had to confiscate my flashlight eventually.”

A snort from Steve jolted Eddie out of his memories as he realized who he was talking to. “Don’t tell anyone that Harrington, or else,” he ordered as he flushed for the second time that evening, “The rest of your dorky club of nerds better not start bothering me in the hallway just because I’ve read Tolkien. Not going to step in to save them if they forget their place.”

Steve’s expression shuttered as he stood upright. “Right, wouldn’t want to ruin your reputation with the rest of your jock buddies.” Eddie was taken aback by the bitterness in Steve’s voice. “They might explode if you admit to having interests beyond banging chicks, sports magazines, and beer. Your secret’s safe with me. After all, who’s going to believe the Freakshow? Here.” He shoved a baggie in Eddie’s face. “That should be enough for about a week. Now get lost before I double the price.”

Eddie opened his mouth to apologize. But the artificial sneer on Steve’s face made him lose his nerve. He just held out his money as he snatched away the weed. “Thanks, uh, have a good night Harrington. Help yourself to something from the kegs.” He almost made it to the edge of the trees before Steve’s voice called out to him: “Hey, Munson!”

He froze and turned. Steve had clambered back onto Skull Rock, moonlight and shadows making him look otherworldly and malevolent, towering over the clearing. “Keep that attitude of yours in check next time, or else I might take my services somewhere else. But, if you need more help…unwinding, well. You know where to find me.” That knowing smirk was firmly fixed back in place on his face.

Eddie couldn’t help it. He finally gave into his impulses and ran.

He didn’t think about those plush lips drawn back into a genuine smile as he quickly navigated back to the party. He didn’t think about those amused eyes seeing right through him as he knocked back a few cups of beer and danced a little with anyone and no one. And he certainly wasn’t thinking about that tattoo surrounded by chest hair as he staggered home to an empty trailer and collapsed into his bed.

“You look so good there, kneeling for me Eddie.” Steve looms over him, those ringed hands on his hips. Eddie realizes he’s naked in the clearing and flushes with embarrassment. When did he take off his clothes?

Any thoughts on how he ended up here are derailed when the wind caresses his body. Oh. Tendrils of air race over his exposed chest and glide over his heavy balls and dripping cock.

“And look how much you’re enjoying it too.” He’s never been this turned on in his life, and it’s all because of Steve. All for Steve. He’s powerless to prevent a moan from falling out of his mouth.

“You act so big at school, like you’re the top of the food chain yeah? A real king of the jungle. But you and me, we know better. You’re not a scary tiger at all are you. No, you’re just a cute little kitten.”

Eddie can’t help but whine as he spreads himself wider in invitation.

“Yeah, thought you’d like that.” Steve crooks a finger and gestures for Eddie to follow him. “Come on kitten.” Eddie begins to get up, his legs tingling with pins and needles.

“Mhm, no. I like you better down there. In fact, I think you should crawl.”

He shudders but obeys the sound of that voice, would do anything for it. He stays on all fours as the path unwinds before them, until they come to a door. Eddie moves as fast as he can to follow Steve through, tumbling into the void within. He flails, plummeting until a familiar wax-polished wood rushes up to meet his palms. Eddie doesn’t dare get up from his hands and knees as he lifts his head but-

The gym is filled to the brim.

Their classmates sit silently, blank looks on their faces as they stare. They’re waiting for something to happen. White hot shame courses through his veins as he desperately tries to cover up.

The voice cuts smoothly through the haze of his embarrassment: “Look at them kitten, they’re all waiting for a show. Let’s give one to them.”

Steve nudges him onto his back. He grabs his wrists and pulls them away from his body, exposing Eddie to the crowd. No! His face is on fire as he tries to fight it, but he can’t seem to break free, his strength sapped away. Steve tightens his hold on his wrists.

“Settle down Eddie, let them see you. You love this.”

He knows Steve is right. He can’t hide how hard his aching cock is, slapping against his belly as he squirms. But he can’t help it, they’ll all know. Faint whispers drift down from the stands as the crowd watches him struggle.

“Please, don’t make me do this,” he begs, but the words get caught in his choked up throat.

“I think you’ve forgotten your place. Maybe you need a reminder that you can’t hide, not from me.”

Steve hauls him up and easily slings him over a shoulder. Eddie lays there limply, frozen and whimpering. He’s unceremoniously dumped on top of a teacher’s desk right at the center line. Hands come up to squeeze at his nipples, hard. Just the way he does when he’s alone. His cock twitches and drools even more from the groping.

Eddie blinks, and suddenly the bleachers are that much closer.

“Be happy kitten, all the attention is on you! Isn’t this what you’ve always wanted?” Oh G-d. Every eye is fixed on him, the buzzing of interest growing louder.

“No, I don’t want this, I don’t want you!” He shouts as loud as he can but the words come out muted and garbled.

Steve barks out a cruel laugh. “God, you’re pathetic. But then you’ve always been so good at lying to yourself haven’t you? You were the one who kissed Tommy, not the other way around. But when he went in for more, you pushed him off and ran away.”

Through the blur of tears, he can just make out Tommy’s face in the crowd, wearing the same accusatory and hurt look he had two years ago.

Steve leans down to nibble at his ear. “And,” he whispers, his voice silky smooth. “Let’s not forget how in the back of your head you imagine me shoving you against a locker and making you take it. Or sometimes, I threaten you with my knife a little out in the woods, yeah?”

Without warning, Eddie is manhandled over Steve’s lap. “Good news, guess today’s your lucky day kitten. I’m going to make you take it until you admit to everyone what you really want.”

SMACK!

The first slap to his ass sounds loudly, echoing around the gym. Eddie nearly swallows his tongue trying to keep quiet. The spectators in the stands let out a gasp for him.

But Steve doesn’t stop there. He keeps going, until Eddie feels like his ass is on fire.

He finds himself pleading for Steve to have mercy, slipping back into the accent he tries so hard to keep a lid on normally.

“Ha, there he is, finally. You can dress yourself up in a varsity jacket all you want, but we all know what you really are. Just a piece of trailer trash. You can’t run from this you dumb hick. Tell me what I want to hear.”

Eddie shakes his head. He can’t. “Fine, then take your punishment.”

Smack after smack rains down on his ass. The pain builds and builds, and the crowd gets louder and louder. But underneath the humiliation, he remains hard and grows even more desperate. Every slap sends him thrusting, his cock trapped between Steve’s muscular thighs. It doesn’t go unnoticed.

“Ha! And you jocks call me the freak. You’re the one humping my leg and yowling like you’re in heat. Pain turn you on kitten?”

That’s all it takes to push him over the edge.

He cums to the sound of cheers.

Eddie woke with a jolt and a gasp, his whole body pulsing in the aftermath of the most intense orgasm he’d ever experienced.

Trembling, he curled up into a ball and let the tears fall. This was nothing, just a passing thought his brain had gotten attached to. All he had to do was survive the year, and then he could be finally free of Hawkins, and the living ghosts that haunted him.

If only that had been the last time he dreamed of Steve Harrington.

Two weeks later, Eddie woke with a fuzzy head and even fuzzier memories of the night before, vaguely remembering a ringed hand stroking his hair. On his nightstand was a glass of water, some Tylenol, and a note from SH telling him to take it easy.

After that his dreams changed. Sometimes he wasn’t humiliated at all, and those tattooed arms kept him safe and cared for. It felt worse almost, to have his subconscious offer up such happiness, only to snatch it away when he woke to an empty bed. He didn’t dare spend the night in the arms of a girl at her house, worried he’d reveal himself for the freak he was.

A full month of torment and countless hours of lost slumber later, Eddie finally had had enough. He grabbed his keys and tore off in the direction of Steve's house, praying that Carol wouldn't see his van in her neighbor's driveway at this time of night.

As he rang the doorbell, he didn’t know what to expect. But it certainly wasn’t the sight of a sleep rumpled Steve answering the door in nothing but a pair of sweatpants. Somehow, seeing his bare hands felt more intimate than the lack of shirt did.

“Munson? Gave me a heart attack, thought my parents were back a day early. What are you—”

“Hey,” Eddie interrupted, wide-eyed and feeling slightly crazed. “Can we talk?”

Ao3 link

It's finally here! This began life as a brain worm that Annie and I have turned into a whole fully expanded universe. We can't wait to write more with these two :D

Tagging a few folks who showed interest in the original Wiggly Wednesday post (but please feel free to ignore): @eyesofshinigami @augustjustice @griefabyss69 @hairstevington

@dreamy-jeans137 @eriquin @hbyrde36 @hotluncheddie

Thank you to steddiecameraroll-graphics for the runner divider!

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve x eddie #role reversal au #stranger things #tinawrites #role reversal steddie

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cars2-renaissance · 6 months ago

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So a while back, @little-red-irish-jaguar reblogged one of my posts with this devastating theory. The theory was that Leland sent Finn the transmission from Tony Trihull instead of the oil rigs. My first thought was to reject this theory because it went against my preconceptions that were so firmly rooted that my brain immediately sought to preserve them. However after rewatching the movie and studying the evidence, I can safely say that I was wrong. This theory tracks. And I will now write another essay to assess the evidence.

Firstly, the transmission itself: now it’s EXTREMELY hard to see shit in this video. The quality is god-awful and Leland never won any awards for videography. However this glorious angel on deviantart cleaned up some frames. (I’m not going to repost their art though since they don’t seem to be active in the fandom anymore and I don’t want to repost without permission. :/ ) but definitely go check it out!

So I’ll post the same shitty screenshots from the movie. Shoutout to veggieboy ultimate for uploading the opening scene on YouTube.

So there’s crates and metal reinforcements on the walls behind him. It does look like it could be on the oil rig.

Then he angles the camera to show this (port window?) like babygirl we can’t tell what that is… anyway it looks like a window of some sort and there fire. Now. That looks an awful lot like a round ship’s window.

Finally we get this weirdass shot of the ceiling? Again it’s very hard to tell what this is but it’s some sort of mechanical bay door that is closing.

Like it could be that? Tony does have cargo bay doors and that could be what we’re seeing.

Now the icing on top are these pieces of concept art from the Pixar website. That window porthole is drawn without all the overexposure and it looks just like the flair stacks from the oil rigs. And that’s why Leland is trying to get it in frame to show Finn. He’s seen the oil rigs from the ship. But that’s the last we see of him.

Next, we see Finn hightailing it out there to the middle of the Pacific Ocean. Here’s the kicker, the coordinates Leland gives Finn do not take him to the oil rigs.

(And for my even shittier stills) Crabby takes him to the coordinates and is like lol okay here we are! There’s lot of water!!

Now this always confused me as a kid. Was Crabby off with the coordinates? Did he stop too soon? But then if Leland sent the coordinates from Tony Trihull, it makes sense why those coordinates would lead to open water and not the oil rigs. The oil rigs may not be at those coordinates…

but he sure is: the ship Leland sent the coordinates from.

Next we see Finn by the loading dock and he comms Leland to let him know he’s there. Now this threw me off. Finn tells him he’s at the rally point but he’s not at the coordinates Leland sent him. I guess he figured this is where Leland ended up? (I mean he wasn’t wrong, unfortunately.)

Then we see the professor. He’s there because of the camera which they’re loading onto the ship because they’re about to sail to Japan because of the race. But they’re also unloading crates from the ship and it’s one of those crates that Leland’s body is in. He’s being unloaded from the ship which is where he was likely murdered.

As for my finishing thoughts. There’s a lot to unpack here. Leland never made it to the oil rigs alive which is a tragedy of its own that he died before he got to see what he’d discovered up close.

He had a lot of faith in Finn to be able to find him from coordinates he sent from a boat. And that faith was well founded. Finn did in fact find him albeit too late.

Since he wasn’t on the ship at the time, Professor Z was not the one who killed Leland (though he may have ordered him killed) it was likely Acer and Grem who killed him—which makes sense since they seem to be the more sadistic of the lemons in later scenes—but I still hate Zundapp just because he was involved in it!

And Finn did in fact get his revenge at the end of the movie in London when he blew Tony Trihull to smithereens. (I’d add the screenshot but I’m at my 10 image limit already XD)

#cars 2 headcanons #cars 2 meta #leland turbo #finn mcmissile #tony trihull #professor zundapp #cars 2 (2011)#cars 2 #cars fandom #cars2renaissance

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x-press-it · 22 days ago

Text

What Loneliness Craves

One touch might be all it takes to feel whole again 🎞️🖤🌹❤️‍🔥✅

Worshiping!Logan Howlett x shy!fem reader

Summary: After a long mission, all you want is to sleep for a week. But Logan, determined to keep tabs on you, makes you realize just how lonely you feel in his absence.

Content Warnings: Smut 18+ Explicit scene (Fingering - F receiving, unprotected p in v, multiple orgasms) - Worshiping!Logan - Pet Names (Kid, bub, sweetheart, darling, baby, goddess...) - Reader Notes: No Y/N, no physical description of the reader, no mention of powers, reader is shy and feel emotional hypersensitivity - Emotional Intensity and Mental Health: strong emotions, including moments of vulnerability and anxiety, deep feeling of loneliness and exhaustion, mutual pining, self-worth struggles, overstimulation, worship - religious imagery and reverent language - Mention of alcohol - Fluff - Angst -Trope: Coworkers to lovers I'm back after 10 years of iatus and fairly new to how things are done on tumblr now, so sorry if I missed any warnings. Also english isn't my first language so there might be typos/weird sentences...

Notes: Worshiping!Logan is leaving rent free in my head since I opened the door for him ^^" - Cover made with canva from an idea I got from this post, Art by me, don't steal and don't forget to credit if you share/reblog - Click on the dividers to find the creator - Need a song to go with it? Don't worry, I got you.

Word Count: 9K (Sorry, not sorry and you're welcome 😜)

The knock at the door is soft but unmistakable. Part of you wants to ignore it, to sink deeper under the covers and hope whoever it is just takes the hint. But then you hear the voice—low and rough, that familiar rasp that somehow feels more comforting than you'd ever admit.

"Hey, kid. Just checkin’ in. You alright in there?" His words float through the door, muffled but distinct.

You blink, processing the last few hours of frustration: the long mission, the awkward trip back with Scott and Jean, the eternity of the debrief, and now Logan standing in the hallway just as you were finally, finally about to get some rest. All you manage is an exasperated sigh.

After a couple of seconds, you call out wearily, "Obviously, no. I just need some damn sleep, and everyone seems dead set on preventing it." Your tone is sharper than you intended, but exhaustion has frayed your patience to threads.

There’s a pause, then Logan’s voice comes again, softer this time, "Mind if I come in?"

With another sigh, you check yourself, making sure your t-shirt and sweatpants are at least somewhat presentable. "Yeah, sure," you reply, sounding resigned.

Logan cracks the door open and steps inside, his gaze immediately finding you sitting on the edge of the bed, a mixture of irritation and weariness etched on your face.

He studies you, eyes narrowing slightly as he takes in the tension that’s all but wrapped itself around your shoulders, the deep fatigue that’s visible even in your posture. His mouth shifts, a faint tug at one corner, almost a smile—maybe even a touch apologetic—before he nods.

“Right. Didn’t mean to add to the racket.” He sounds sincere, like maybe he gets it, more than most would. “But… you’re wound up tighter than I’ve seen in a while. Don’t reckon you’ll relax anytime soon unless someone helps you out with that.”

You look up at him, caught off guard by the unexpected warmth in his tone, not sure what he is hinting at. But before you can respond, he jerks his thumb toward the hallway. “Look, just stay put, alright? Be back in a minute. Promise I’ll make it worth the wait.”

Before you can answer him, he’s already turning away, leaving you with just enough curiosity—and exhaustion—to keep you on the edge of the bed, wondering just what he has planned.

True to his word, he returns just a few minutes later, carrying a worn leather pouch. There’s a small smile—almost sheepish—as he steps inside and closes the door with a quiet click, muffling the mansion’s constant hum. Crossing the room in a few easy strides, he gestures for you to lie on your stomach, his gaze softer, more intimate.

“Trust me on this,” he murmurs, as he settles on the edge of your bed. He pulls a small bottle from the pouch, uncapping it to release the soft, calming scent of soothing oil. “Didn’t figure you for the lavender type,” he says, pouring some oil into his hands and rubbing it between his palms, warming it, “but it does the trick.”

Before you know it, his strong hands slides beneath the collar of your t-shirt, finding the tight muscles of your shoulders. His fingers, precise and steady, easing the tension out of muscles that have been screaming for relief since the mission began. His thumbs knead into the knots at the base of your neck, his touch deliberate as he shifts the fabric, lifting and tugging gently so his hands can reach every bit of tension without asking you to expose yourself. He’s quiet, focused, his touch somehow both grounding and gentle, guiding you toward a feeling of calm you haven’t felt in a long time.

You exhale slowly, the last remnants of frustration beginning to melt away as his hands move with that practiced touch into the tense muscles along your neck and shoulders. Each press of his fingers feels purposeful, as if he’s intent on unraveling the weight of the week with every stroke, and the sensation of his warm hands just beneath the shirt’s collar brings a kind of quiet intimacy that stirs a few butterflies in your stomach.

“Just relax,” he says quietly, his voice softer than usual, as though he’s speaking directly to whatever’s gnawing at you from the inside. “No one’s bothering you for the next while. And if they try… well, I’ll deal with ’em.”

There's a pause, and you’re almost certain you catch the slightest shift in his tone, something gentler, almost… tender.

His hands finally comes out from your shirt’s collar, leaving a cold emptiness, and a shudder shakes you at the thought of him pulling away from you. But he doesn’t. Not really. Instead he clears his throat, his fingers finding your waist, sliding just under the hem of your t-shirt, and he lets his hands drift along your back.

He never asks you to take off your shirt, never even makes a move to remove it himself. There’s something surprising in his restraint, the way he carefully works around it, as if respecting a boundary he somehow senses. Or maybe… maybe he just isn’t interested in you that way. But before you can dwell on the thought, you find yourself adjusting, lifting the hem just a little, almost without realizing it—just enough for him to reach the places that need his touch the most.

He takes it in stride, his hands gliding down your spine with more intent now, applying a gentle but firm pressure that works through the aches and pains buried there. “I read the report. You did good out there,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper as his hands trail along your lower back, slow and sure. “Hell of a job, bub.”

His words are simple, but somehow they reach into that part of you that’s been neglected for so long, easing a sense of loneliness you didn’t realize had settled in. Logan’s touch, his voice, the weight of his presence—all of it feels like the kind of comfort you’ve been craving, whether or not you’d admit it out loud. And maybe it’s the exhaustion or the way his words eased the ache of your heart but you feel yourself drifting slowly as the warm press of his hands continue to work over your shoulders blades and down your back, coaxing you closer to the edge of sleep. Another deep sigh escape your lips and just as you’re about to give in, you feel him pull back the hem of your t-shirt and settle beside you, still watching, as though he’s making sure you’re okay.

“Get some rest, sweetheart,” he murmurs, low and close, his voice a quiet promise that you’re safe—wrapped in his presence, shielded from the world, if only for a little while.

The room is still as you blink awake, the quiet pressing in around you. The sheets beside you are cold where he once sat, his warmth replaced by the chill of an empty bed. The softness of his hands, the scent of lavender oil—fleeting, half-faded memories slip through your mind, dreamlike. If it weren't for that faint trace of him clinging to your skin, you'd almost think you’d imagined it, that it was a dream.

But it wasn’t.

The thought should bring you comfort, but instead, it cuts deeper, the hollow ache in your chest growing sharper with each breath. Your hand clutches the sheets, fingertips brushing over the fabric he’d left behind, but there’s no warmth to hold onto. The room feels heavy in his absence, the silence thick and pressing down around you.

Finally, you pull yourself up, feet meeting the cool floor as you wrap your arms around yourself, your chest tightening against the urge to cry. You don’t even know why you feel this restless ache—just that something inside you feels cracked, raw. And the only one who might know how to put it back together… isn’t here.

The room feels stifling, a heavy weight pressing down on you. You need to escape, to breathe. Unable to stay still, you slip out of your room and into the shadowed hallways of the mansion. Your bare feet tread quietly over the carpeted floors, the vast, darkened hallways swallowing each step. The silence settles in, but it doesn’t bring peace; instead, it pulls you deeper into the emptiness he left behind. Even Scott and Jean, even the tense missions and the unspoken glances, had felt less draining than this—the feeling that all the calm he’d left you with, all that gentle ease he’d brought, had somehow vanished into the air the second he left. Now, it’s just you… and this hollow, aching quiet.

In the stillness of the night, your restless feet carry you down the hall without you fully noticing where you’re going and before you realize it, you’re standing in front of his door. The sight of it jolts you out of your haze, your hand already lifted to knock before you even register the decision to come here. Your knuckles brush the wood, a hesitant noise that barely breaks the silence. The second the sound leaves your hand, a thousand doubts surge up, freezing you in place.

What are you doing? It’s the middle of the night. You should leave, before you ruin everything—before you make a fool of yourself, before you shatter whatever gentle thread connected you two in the quiet of the evening. You feel your heart tighten with regret, and you take a shaky step back, cursing yourself for even letting yourself hope for something more.

Then, the door swings open.

Logan’s sharp senses had picked up your approach long before you’d even arrived, and the soft, hesitant knock felt like a whisper of your heartbeat reaching out to him.

When he heard your footsteps retreating something had stirred in him—an instinct, a need. Before he could think it through, he was already halfway across the room, hand on the doorknob.

As he pulls the door open, you freeze, just a few steps away, caught in the soft glow spilling from his room.

God, you’re breathtaking.

For a moment, neither of you moves. His clothes mirror your own, but his eyes feel sharp. Wasn’t he asleep despite the hour? His brows furrow slightly, and a glint of worry twists something deep in your chest as his gaze takes you in—the loose shirt, bare feet, the lingering haze in your eyes from interrupted sleep. You can see questions flickering in his expression, a quiet alertness that wasn’t there a moment ago. But when your gaze lifts to meet his, the sadness there hits him like a punch to the gut. It’s raw and vulnerable, tugging at something deep within him, squeezing his heart until all he wants is to close the distance, pull you in, and promise that everything will be okay.

“Everything alright, bub?” he asks instead, his voice low, but laced with genuine concern. It’s not like you to come to him, especially not like this, and the worry behind his words—the way his hand almost instinctively moves to steady you—makes your heart stutter.

The surprise in your eyes fades, replaced by something softer—something that almost makes him forget to breathe. He lets the silence stretch between you, his eyes searching yours, trying to grasp all the unspoken emotions lingering there. You open your mouth to respond, the words catching in your throat as his gaze waits, steady, braced for whatever brought you here. You shrug, uncertainty settling in as you look away.

There’s no good reason you can find to explain why you’re standing here in the middle of the night outside his door—except maybe that you need him. But you can’t say that. The words are stuck in your throat, leaving only the weight of the ache you’d been trying to stifle. The smell of lavender clings to you, a reminder of his hands easing away your exhaustion, his voice quiet, and his presence just close enough to hold you steady. Somehow, that only makes it harder.

But Logan doesn’t press. It doesn’t matter; you sought him, so there must be a reason, even if you’re the only one who can grasp it. He’s no stranger to struggling with complex emotions that simmer under the surface, knowing the words are there but unable to bring them up, caught somewhere just out of reach.

You shift awkwardly, vulnerability clawing its way up. You try again, opening your mouth once more to say something, anything, but he cuts you off gently. “It’s okay, bub. Don’t have to explain yourself.”

There’s no judgment, no questions. Just him. “Come on in,” he says as he opens the door wider—a silent invitation—and the warmth from his room spills out like an embrace. It looks like the simplest thing in the world. And maybe it is, for him. Stepping back, he gives you the space to step in if you want. In that moment, all the restless ache, all the sadness, begins to fade just a little, as if his presence alone eases the pain.

You hesitate, but in his eyes, you see nothing but quiet understanding laced with concern. He knows you’re holding back and offers a safe space without a word. Finally, your feet move on their own, and you step forward, crossing the threshold. He closes the door softly behind you. The dimly lit room feels smaller now, but not stifling like yours; it’s like stepping into a cocoon of warmth and cedar and him, wrapping around you, steadying you in a way that nothing else could, chasing away the shadows that cling to you.

You’re still a little unsure, your hand nervously playing with the hem of your t-shirt, feeling like one wrong move will shatter whatever delicate balance is holding you both together right now. He doesn’t say anything else, just gestures to the edge of his bed for you to sit, and the unspoken trust between you is almost tangible.

And for now, just this—just him—is enough.

Logan watches as you settle yourself at the end of his bed, your fingers still fidgeting with the hem of your shirt. His gaze softens even more, that raw edge in his eyes easing into something you almost don’t recognize—like he’s trying to shield you from everything weighing on you in that moment.

He doesn’t sit, though. Instead, he steps over to the small cabinet by his bed, pulling out a bottle and pouring a measure into two glasses. With a gentle smile, he presses one into your hand before taking his place on the chair across from you, facing you. “Maybe this’ll help,” he says, his voice soft, lightly clinking his glass against yours before taking a sip.

The whiskey is warm, smooth, chasing away the lingering chill and melting some of the stiffness that’s been weighing you down. You drink in silence, your gaze on the floor, until you feel his hand come to rest over yours, warm ad reassuring, without expectation.

You try to keep your composure, but his touch—solid yet gentle—dissolves what little is left of your resolve. And before you realize it, the tears you’ve kept at bay pool in your eyes, catching you off guard. But Logan doesn’t pull away.

“You know,” he begins softly, his voice as gentle as you’ve ever heard it, “you don’t have to handle everything alone.” His thumb brushes gently over your knuckles, and for a moment, his words reach the ache in your chest, like he’s giving you permission to let your guard down. “I’m here whenever you need me.”

The words burrow into the ache in your chest, breaking something open inside you, and a tear slips free. Logan doesn’t look away. Instead, he reaches out, his calloused thumb brushing it from your cheek with a gentleness that makes you feel fragile, breakable, and yet somehow, like you’re the safest you’ve ever been. His gaze is soft, unguarded, none of his usual rough exterior, and the dam you’ve been holding back finally breaks, tears spilling down your cheeks before you can stop them.

Logan, still holding your hand, doesn’t look away. Instead, he smoothly sets both glasses aside on the chair he’d been sitting on, his movements unhurried, while he takes a seat next to you.

Before you know it, you’re wrapped in his arms, his solid warmth softly eroding the loneliness you hadn’t realized had settled so deep. His free hand rests at your back, drawing soothing circles as he murmurs, “You’re alright, sweetheart. I got you.”

And right now, with him holding you like this, you almost believe it.

That makes the tears come harder, raw and unbidden, and as you rest your head against his chest, Logan’s hold tightens, anchoring you in a way that makes you want to stay right here forever. Each wrenching sob feels like it shakes you both, echoing through the stillness, and in his arms, you sense the way he’s taking in every tremor as though he can shoulder it, piece by piece, with you. The emptiness you’ve been carrying slips free, finally heard and understood without the need for words.

You lean into him, letting everything go, letting yourself be vulnerable in a way you haven’t let yourself in a long time. And he doesn’t shy away—he’s solid, present, his hand still rubbing slow, steady circles at your back, each one easing the ache just a little more. The weight of his head rests against yours, and he lets out a quiet breath, one that feels almost like it’s unraveling along with you. It’s as if your pain, your loneliness, is something he’s felt in his bones too, something he understands as deeply as you do.

Your breathing finally starts to steady, the silence folding around you both, and you become aware of how close you are, how easily you fit against him. His hand is still on your back, his fingers gentle but firm, keeping you grounded, safe.

He doesn’t let go, not yet. He keeps holding you, like he knows just how fragile the moment is, how much you need this. And maybe he does, maybe that’s exactly why he’s here, still holding you as if to say that he’s not going anywhere.

When you finally pull back, his hands linger a little longer than necessary, brushing along your arms before he lets them fall away. You look up, meeting his gaze, and the softness there—the warmth that you almost never get to see—is so clear it nearly takes your breath away. There’s something in his eyes that’s raw, unguarded, as if he’s letting you see right into him, the way he’s been letting you into his heart all this time, even if neither of you realized it until now.

“You good?” he murmurs, voice hushed in the quiet, but there’s a hint of a soft smile tugging at his lips, the kind that makes you feel a little lighter.

You nod, and his smile grows just a bit, a spark of something warmer, softer, flickering between you.

“I’m sorry, I…” you start, but he cuts you off with a gentle shake of his head.

“Nothin’ to be sorry for, sweetheart,” he says quietly, and his hand reaches up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear, lingering just for a second. “Sometimes it’s just… better not bein’ alone with it, y’know?”

His words settle into you, and once again, you feel the ache ease, a peace seeping into the hollow spaces.

You both sit there in the quiet of his room, comfortable in a way you never thought you could be, the space between you feeling less like a distance and more like something shared—something solid, something real.

And with Logan there, his warmth close enough to feel, you almost start to believe that maybe you don’t have to carry everything alone anymore. The thought gives you just enough strength to voice what you need, a soft whisper leaving your lips before you can second-guess it.

“Can I… spend the night here?” The words are barely more than a breath, and you almost want to take them back, worried he’ll say it’s not a good idea. What you really want to say is, With you. In your warmth, but the words catch, too vulnerable to release.

But he doesn’t hesitate or throw up any walls. Instead, he just nods, voice soft, a steady warmth in his eyes. “’Course you can.” He gestures to his desk, then adds, “I just gotta finish up something, but make yourself comfortable.”

Relief floods you, and you nod shyly, barely believing he’d let you stay. He offers you a soft smile and as you settle onto his bed, you watch him put away the glasses before returning to his desk, the quiet sounds of him flipping through papers filling the room. You take in the comforting familiarity of his place, the faint scent of cedar lingering, grounding you, and his calm presence nearby.

The warm light of his lamp casts a soft glow, creating a rim around his silhouette that makes it nearly impossible to tear your eyes away. As he grades, he asks you about the mission, his voice a low, comforting rumble that eases the tension knotted up in your chest. You tell him about the contact, the files—how it took some time to track them down, but everything went smoother than expected when you finally met them; perhaps even too smoothly. He listens with that rare focus of his, asking about Jean and Scott, prompting an involuntary frown to tug at your lips.

“Jean and Scott are fine,” you say, a hint of frustration threading through your voice. “Though Scott could probably learn not to glue himself to her side every five minutes.”

Logan lets out a quiet laugh, finishing his last mark on the page. Then, with a stretch that pulls his folded arms above his head, you catch the faint shift of muscles beneath his shirt, the strength and ease in his posture.

But he doesn’t let the silence linger long, rising from his chair and making his way to the bed. You feel every inch of space tighten as he stands beside you, his expression unreadable, though his eyes hold a softness that makes your pulse race.

“Alright, scoot over,” the words are a gentle rumble that makes you shiver.

Your heart hammers in your chest, louder than you’d like, but you shift over, trying not to look too eager, as he settles beside you. Gently, he pulls the covers over you both, his arm coming around your shoulders, drawing you closer with a tenderness you hadn’t quite expected. The warmth seeps into your skin, anchoring you, yet leaving you a little breathless all the same.

“This okay?” he murmurs, his voice low, almost like it’s more than just a question—it’s the quiet way he’s asking if this is where you want to be, if the trust you’re giving him feels safe.

You nod, barely managing to find your voice. “Yeah… yeah, it’s perfect.” You can feel the tension melt from his shoulders, and he draws you in just a little closer, his fingers brushing gently along your arm, reassuring you, steadying you.

You let yourself lean into him, feeling the comforting weight of his arm, the steady beat of his heart, and something inside you loosens. In his warmth, you finally start to feel like you can let go of the weight you've been carrying alone.

"Want to talk about what made you cry this much, sweetheart?" His voice is so gentle, it stirs a thousand butterflies in your stomach, soft wings fluttering wildly.

You hesitate, the words lodged somewhere between your mind and heart, tangled up in a mess you’re not sure you want to unpack—not when he’s holding you this close. What if he pulls back? What if saying it out loud makes him realize that the walls you’ve built around yourself are too heavy to break down? So, instead, you give a small shrug, gaze fixed anywhere but on him.

He’s not letting that slide, though. His fingers find your chin, lifting it so his eyes meet yours, and the look in them is something that cuts straight to your core. He’s searching, looking for any hint of understanding on your face, any clue to ease the worry etched into his own.

“Talk to me, darlin’.” His voice is barely above a whisper, warm and rough all at once, a touch of desperation woven into the words. “I hate seein’ you so raw. Tell me how I can help you… Tell me how to make you smile again.”

It breaks something in you. His voice, so soft, so full of a care you’re not sure you deserve, leaves your heart aching in a way you can’t put words to.

“I…” Your voice trembles, and you drop your gaze, the heat of emotion rising, cheeks flushing. But finally, you look back up, letting your eyes roam over the details of his face—the lines of his jaw, the warmth in his gaze, the way he’s watching you so intently. “I felt… empty.” The words come out, quiet, as though admitting it might make it more real.

He nods slowly, waiting, giving you the space to open up. But when you don’t say anything more, his eyes don’t waver, the silent question hanging in the air between you both.

“Is there a way… you could fill up that void?” he asks, voice low, like he’s afraid of breaking the moment.

You shrug, feeling the vulnerability creeping up, the fear that if you answer, if you tell him everything, it might somehow shatter whatever’s here between you two.

“Can I?” His words catch you off guard, a question with a weight you can feel pressing down on your heart, and your breath hitches, your pulse thrumming just a little faster. You try to look away, but his hand shifts, moving from your chin to your cheek, cradling your face in a touch that feels almost reverent.

“Would you… allow me to?” he asks, and for the first time, there’s a raw uncertainty in his voice that you’ve rarely heard.

Your eyes widen, snapping to his. Is he serious? Every inch of you feels frozen, the words lodged somewhere deep, caught in the shock of realizing what he’s asking.

“Do… do you want to?” The words are barely a whisper, breaking in the middle, your voice unable to keep up with the weight of what you’re asking.

“Of course I do.” His voice is soft, steady, like he’s been waiting for this moment, his thumb brushing against your cheek in a way that sends a shiver down your spine. “Been wantin’ to for a long time now.”

Your heart skips, and you finally let it slip out, the confession that’s been haunting you all this time. “Me too.”

A small smile curves his lips, warm and tender, and you feel the heat in your cheeks spreading, creeping up to the tips of your ears. You watch as he leans closer, his gaze steady, the closeness making your pulse thunder in your ears until it feels like this one moment is going to consume every heartbeat you have left.

And maybe… maybe if you did, if you spent the last of your breath in his arms, it would be the perfect way to go, the only place where you feel you truly belong.

You close your eyes just for a second, and then his lips brush yours, soft and tentative, and your breath catches, your lips parting instinctively, inviting him in. The kiss is gentle at first, careful, and it feels like both of you are slowly pouring everything unsaid, everything you’ve held back, into this single moment.

“Damn,” he whispers against your lips, voice rough, his breath mingling with yours. “How am I so lucky?”

As your eyes flutter open, you’re met with his gaze, heavy and full of wonder, like he’s trying to memorize every inch of your face. You give him a small, shy smile, feeling a bit too seen under the weight of his gaze.

“Maybe…” You hesitate, warmth flushing your cheeks as you search for the words. “Maybe I’m your lucky charm?”

The line is cheesy, and you feel heat rushing to your face, fighting the urge to bury yourself against his chest just to hide the embarrassment. But he just chuckles, low and warm, his thumb brushing lightly over your cheek as his eyes roam your face like he’s drinking you in, committing each detail to memory.

“That you are, darlin’,” he murmurs, leaning in again, voice like gravel softened with something sweeter. “That you are.”

His lips find yours again, slow and unhurried, tasting, savoring, like he’s taking his time with his favorite indulgence. The heat between you flares, your body instinctively arching toward him, pressing your chest to his as if they’re two pieces meant to fit together. Your hands find their way to his shoulders, fingers curling into his shirt as the world narrows down to this—just the two of you, here, together.

Your legs entwine with his, pulling him closer as he keeps kissing you, each touch lingering, like he’s trying to make this last forever. There’s an intensity to it, a quiet desperation, like he wants to remember everything—the feel of you, the taste of your lips, the warmth of your body against his. And you know, somewhere deep down, he’s making a promise he can’t quite say, a vow wrapped in every gentle, fervent kiss.

His hands roam gently, as if they can’t bear to leave your skin for more than a heartbeat. Every touch, every kiss, feels like he's staking his claim, like he’s savoring the feel of you under his hands, the softness of your skin against his lips.

“I remember…” he murmurs, his voice a rough whisper between kisses trailing along your neck, each one setting a spark to life. “…the first day you came here.” Another kiss, and you shiver, feeling the warmth of his breath on your skin. “How the sun played in your hair…” His words feel like a prayer, spoken in a reverent hush against you.

Your heart hammers as he continues, his lips brushing your collarbone. “How your eyes shined under it.” He breathes you in, and the tenderness in that single moment makes your heart ache. “And how your lips seemed so soft, so perfect…” His voice dips, roughened with memory and desire. “I wanted to taste them.”

A shudder runs through you, and as his arms tighten around you, it’s like every crack, every empty space inside you, is filling, piece by piece. The walls you built around yourself feel like they’re crumbling, and in their place, there’s only him—holding you close, grounding you, making you whole.

A flood of tears blurs your vision at his words, the intensity of his affection almost too much to bear. Your heart feels like it might shatter, overwhelmed by the rawness of his attention. You want to ask him to pause, to let you catch your breath, but a deeper part of you needs him to keep going, to pull you under until you can’t feel anything but him.

Your fingers slide into his hair, holding tight, and you’re both so entwined that it’s impossible to tell where you end and he begins. His solid thigh presses between yours, igniting a heat that settles low in your core, and the ache becomes an insistent, undeniable need.

"I want you," you murmur, your voice trembling with the weight of it, as if just speaking those words could release the ache, the longing that’s gripped you for so long.

His lips brush along your neck, sending another shiver through you. "You already have me, darlin’," he murmurs, his words laced with a gentle finality. “Ain’t goin’ anywhere.”

A soft whimper escapes you as your hips press against him, the friction driving you deeper into the haze of want. A flush of embarrassment runs through you, but your body has a will of its own, hungry for him, desperate to drink in every bit of warmth he’s offering.

“Shhh…” he whispers, his voice a calming balm, “don’t rush this.” His lips find the line of your jaw, brushing a trail of warmth as he presses you closer. “We got all the time in the world.”

He slows you, anchoring you in this moment. His touch, his steady breaths against your skin, gently pull you back from the edge, letting the need pulse just below the surface, allowing you to feel—truly feel—what it means to have him right here, as close as two people can be.

But even as the urgency eases, a deeper ache remains, simmering low but insistent, drawing you to him.

“Please, Lo…” Your voice is raw, your eyes glazed, pleading. “I need this.”

He lets out a low chuckle, his arms tightening around your waist as he studies you, his gaze soft and unreadable. "Alright, darlin'," he finally murmurs, a spark in his eyes. "Anything for you."

His hand slips beneath the sheets, his touch warm as it traces along your waistline, sending shivers under your skin, then dips under, finding the heat between your thighs. A reverent “Damn…” escapes him as he discovers just how ready you are. One of his finger slips into you, slow and steady, as he shakes his head with a dark smile. “Look at you, darlin’… all set for me.”

Your breath hitches as your eyes meet his. The way he’s watching you, so focused, as if he’s memorizing every expression you make, every soft sound—he’s completely lost in you, his gaze heavy with both desire and adoration.

You can’t hold back; your hips move, seeking more, and he obliges, adding a second finger, building a steady rhythm that has you panting. The friction of your clit against his thigh adds to the rising pleasure, making you gasp, “Oh, god…”

“For you, it’ll just be Logan,” he teases, the corners of his mouth quirking up. You let out a soft laugh, your body shuddering with pleasure even through your chuckle.

And then it hits you—the realization slipping in alongside the mounting pleasure. You love him. This never was just a fleeting crush or harmless infatuation; it’s deeper, the kind of ache that takes root, the kind of feeling that leaves marks.

His fingers keep their pace, curling just right, and he leans close, voice a murmur against your ear. “But you… you’re a hungry little goddess, aren’t ya?” His words make you shiver, your heart pounding with a desperate, heady ache. No one’s ever spoken to you like this, made you feel this way—like you’re both worshiped and needed all at once.

Tears fill your eyes as you hold onto him, fingers tangled in his hair. He captures your mouth in a slow, tender kiss, pouring everything he feels into it, and when the tears finally slip down your cheeks, he doesn’t let go. He just holds you tighter, kissing you as if you’re the only thing he’ll ever need.

“You’re so damn gorgeous…” he whispers, his breath warm against your lips. “The things I could do for you, darlin’…” His voice dips low, almost reverent, each word soaked in devotion. “Anything you ask.” It’s a promise without conditions, the kind that sends a shiver straight through you. You can feel your body teetering at the edge, aching for that final release, and he can sense it too, his fingers curled inside you, urging you on.

“Come on, goddess,” he murmurs, his tone coaxing, steady. “Take that leap. I’ve got you, darlin’.” The words settle over you like a safety net, and all you can do is hold onto him as your body finally lets go, every muscle tightening before the wave of pleasure crashes over you, leaving you breathless, clutching him like he’s the only thing keeping you tethered.

“Logan…” His name is a whisper on your lips, barely a sound, but he hears it, feels it. Your body trembles, and he doesn’t stop, guiding you through every second of your high, his quiet voice a thread grounding you, keeping you anchored. “That’s it, darlin’. I’m right here… All yours.”

You melt against him, laughter spilling out, soft and blissful, until your breath slows and your limbs relax. And then, as the high fades, reality sharpens around you—What have you done? The thought hits hard, like a jolt, and your face heats as you come back to yourself, feeling the full weight of your own boldness. Yet there he is, watching you with that gentle smile, utterly unfazed, as if he’d been waiting for this all along.

“Is my goddess’ hunger finally satisfied?” His hand slips from you, resting on your hip as he pulls you close, like he’s sealing you to him.

The weight of his words, the way he says “goddess” with such warmth, makes you shrink a little in embarrassment. You nod, unable to do anything but smile, a whispered “thank you” escaping as he watches you with that familiar, affectionate gaze. His smile deepens, a hint of pride there, as if he’s just as grateful to be here for you, to be whatever you need.

“Do you want me to…” you fumble with your words, your hand finding his length under the sheets.

His breath catches in his throat as you touch him, and for a moment, he closes his eyes, like he’s savoring every second. When he opens them again, you can see the desire flicker in his eyes. “Only if you want to,” he murmurs, his voice a low rumble, lips grazing your temple in reassurance. You can tell he wants this—you can see it in his gaze, in the tension held in his body. But he’s holding back, leaving the choice entirely to you, and that makes your heart ache with the depth of his care. You offer him a soft smile, feeling your confidence build.

"Of course I do," you say, your words barely above a whisper as you grip him a little more firmly, feeling the way he pulses under your touch through the fabric of his pants. His eyes flutter shut for a handful of seconds, a deep groan slipping from his lips, and it sends a thrill through you. You want to see more of that side of him—the one that unravels under your hands.

“You deserve it,” you say tentatively, and the way his pupils dilate, the sudden, open look of vulnerability in his face—it leaves you breathless as you contemplate the power your words, your voice, holds over him. “You served me well,” you continue with a teasing smile, testing the waters, emboldened by the way he craves your touch. “You deserve a reward for your devotion.” Your words are shaky, but he doesn’t seem to mind; if anything, he seems to fall further under your spell, watching you with a look of pure reverence.

A blissful smile, like you’ve given him a gift he’d only dreamed of, blossoms on his lips, igniting a warmth in your chest. You lower the waistband of his pants along his hips, and he helps you, propping himself on his elbow to create space for his pants to slide down. With a shared sense of urgency, you quickly follow suit, shedding your own pants, feeling a thrill in the closeness and vulnerability.

For a moment, you pause, breath mingling in the space between you, before he reaches for the hem of your shirt, his fingers brushing your skin as he lifts it over your head. You follow, slipping his shirt over his shoulders until he’s bare beside you. Exposed and unguarded, your bodies mirror each other, every inch shared with nothing between you but a deep, unspoken trust.

“God, you’re stunning,” he breathes, his voice low and reverent, the admiration in his gaze making you feel cherished.

“Lie down,” you order, cheeks warm as you push against his chest with a finger, your voice still shaky yet inviting. He holds your gaze, a spark of warmth and willingness in his eyes as he murmurs, “Yes, goddess,” his tone layered with a promise that he’d do anything you ask, gladly. He sinks back into the mattress, anticipation and excitement radiating from him as he watches you push back the sheets. Your heart races as you straddle him, your core pressing against him, feeling the heat radiate from his skin.

As you settle into position, you reach for his hard length, guiding it towards you, a rush of electricity coursing through your body as you align him with your entrance. His breath hitches, and his hands instinctively settle on your hips as you lower yourself onto him, inch by inch, until you’re both tangled together, bodies fully aligned, savoring the stretch and warmth as he fills you completely. For a few seconds, you both go still, reveling in the sensation.

Logan’s hands grip your sides, fingers pressing into your skin with just enough firmness to keep you close. His chest rises and falls with a shaky breath as his eyes, pupils blown wide, never leave yours, darkened with longing and something deeper, reverent, like he’s been waiting for this, for you, longer than he can say.

“You sure know how to make a man feel lucky,” he whispers, hands trailing up and down your thighs with a gentleness that sends a shiver down your spine. His fingers press into your skin, tethering you both, as if he’s afraid you might disappear.

You can’t take it anymore and start to move, slow at first, testing the waters, rocking your hips in a rhythm that has him groaning low in his throat, the sound vibrating through you. His hands travel to your waist, tightening their grip, encouraging yet still letting you take control. You set the pace, finding your rhythm, feeling every reaction, every ripple of tension in his muscles, the way his mouth parts as he lets you take him, guiding him. You revel in the exquisite blend of pleasure and fullness that makes your heart race.

The friction, the closeness—everything feels overwhelming yet so right. His eyes flutter shut for a heartbeat, but he forces them open again, locking onto you like he doesn’t want to miss a single moment. With each roll of your hips, his breathing quickens, and you can feel every shudder, every quiet murmur he lets slip.

“Damn, you’re everything, darlin’,” he whispers, a mix of awe and reverence in his voice, as his gaze locks onto yours, filled with desire. His words wrap around you, the steady warmth and adoration anchoring you as you ride the waves together, each breath, each movement bringing you closer, binding you tighter, like he’s willing to worship you, soul and all.

“Logan,” you breathe, your voice barely a whisper, and he responds by brushing his thumb over your cheek, drawing both of you deeper into the moment as you keep moving, the intensity building stronger between you.

He groans again, low and guttural, the sound vibrating through you and encouraging you to press on. His hands travel down to your hips again, his grip tightening as he urges you to keep going. You can feel the heat building in your core, a delicious pressure that you both chase.

“You’re incredible,” he breathes, his eyes filled with admiration, and you find strength in his words. The connection between you deepens with each movement, each gasp, each whispered encouragement, making you feel as though you’re lost in a world of your own, where nothing else exists but the two of you.

“Just like that, goddess,” he whispers, his voice hoarse, and you shiver at the praise. You continue to ride him, feeling the tension in your body rise, both panting as you approach the edge together.

“Come on, let go,” he encourages, sensing how close you are, his words a plea, like a prayer, each syllable pulling you closer to that edge. Every muscle in your body tightens, as if you’re standing on the precipice of something divine. You clutch his arms tightly, anchoring yourself to him in the overwhelming storm of pleasure.

“Lo…” your voice is breathless, a whisper that speaks of need, and he responds by grounding you, coaxing you further into ecstasy. “I’m right here, darlin’,” he murmurs, his words an unbreakable promise that fills you with warmth and security.

And then, the rush of pleasure bursts through you, overwhelming your senses as you seize against him. Every gasp, every moan is a testament to the depth of what you share. “Oh fuck…” The words slip from your lips, dissolving into soft laughter as the world fades, leaving just the two of you, bodies entwined in bliss.

You feel him tensing beneath you, his breaths coming in heavy pants that send a thrill through you. “May I come, goddess?” he asks, his voice thick with need.

“Yes,” you reply, still riding the waves of your own release. “Come for me.”

He grips your hips hard, his fingers digging in, and you know it’s going to leave bruises, but you don’t care. You relish the thought of him marking your flesh, each pressure heightening the sensations coursing through your body. With a few more thrusts of your hips, he joins you in rapture, emptying himself within you, giving you everything he is without holding back. You feel the warmth spreading inside your core as you watch him come undone under your gaze, a sight so beautiful it sends another wave of pleasure crashing over you.

It’s a strange thing to tower over him like this, to have the Wolverine at your mercy, to command the beast in him with a simple word or glance. But you love it; no, it’s more than that—it empowers you in a way you’ve never experienced before. As he loses himself to you, you feel another ache building inside, an insatiable hunger that suggests you could easily go another round.

But just as you prepare to move again, he stops you, grabbing your hands and pulling you to his chest. “Shhh,” he soothes, kissing your knuckles, his voice a low rumble. “Please, let me have this for a sec.”

You smile, leaning in to kiss his chest before settling there, your fingers playing with the soft hair beneath your fingertips. It feels warm and comforting, a safe haven that makes your heart race with a mix of excitement and tenderness. “Okay,” you whisper back. “You can. You earned it.”

A deep sigh escapes him, one filled with a sense of relief and belonging. “I dreamt of this so much,” he confesses, his hands brushing through your hair, tender and reverent.

In that moment, as you nestle against him, you can feel the weight of his words, the vulnerability wrapped in his admission. It feels monumental, the connection deepening with every heartbeat, every shared breath.

You still feel him rock hard inside you, promises of more pleasure lingering between you, but you don’t move. You’re just content to be here, to enjoy this shared moment.

“I imagined it so often too,” you say, comforted by his words. “But I thought… I thought you didn’t…” Your voice breaks under the emotions and tears well up in your eyes again, a mix of relief and vulnerability spilling over.

He senses the hint of despair in your voice, and he sits up, pulling you closer with a gentle hand on your back. “It’s okay, sweetheart,” he soothes you softly, his voice wrapped in warmth. “It’s over now. I’m here.”

It feels as if all the pain and fear were just a distant nightmare, and you’ve finally woken up in his arms. You kiss him, desperately, as though it’s your last day on earth, and he leans in, his hands wrapping around your waist, anchoring you in the warmth of this reality.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he murmurs as you part slightly, your foreheads pressed together, his breath mingling with yours. “I’ll always be here to care for you, my goddess.”

His words resonate deeply within you, filling you with an overwhelming sense of joy. You can feel the reverence in his tone, the way he honors you, making you feel like the center of his universe.

With trembling hands, you hug him back tightly, tears sliding down your cheeks once more, a testament to the joy he brings you in this instant. He holds you firmly, and in that embrace, everything feels right—safe and cherished, as if you’ve finally found your home in each other.

You stay in that tender embrace for a few moments until he pulls away, his thumbs gently drying your cheeks. “You good?” he asks, worry flickering in his eyes. You nod, feeling the warmth of his concern wrap around you like a comforting blanket.

Shifting your knees, you wrap your legs around him, your ankles crossing at his back. “Still hungry?” he teases, a playful smile spreading across his face. You respond with a low laugh, feeling a rush of warmth at his question.

“Just a little peckish,” you admit, shyly biting your lip while your gaze drift away. But he chuckles, his arms around your waist pulling you closer. “Then I should feed you properly,” he replies, a hint of humor dancing in his words.

Your breath catches in your throat as you feel him moving inside you, the new angle bringing a fresh wave of sensation through your body. The shift sparks a thrill that sends a shiver down your spine, and you chuckle softly, matching his own low laugh. He buries his nose in your hair, inhaling deeply, and something primal flares within you, urging you to start grinding against him once more.

“Yes, darlin’” he murmurs, his voice low and sultry. “Use me to satisfy yourself.”

In the crook of your neck, you can feel how much Logan is lost in you—in your warmth, the love he feels for you, and the pleasure that pulses between you, a beautiful cycle of give and take. You feel overstimulated, but stopping now feels impossible, as everything—the heat of him inside you, his skin against yours, his hair tangled in your fingers, his breath hot on your neck—drives you crazy.

With each thrust, you get closer, faster, to the edge once more. His movements quickens, each thrust more desperate, more consuming, stoking the fire between you to a near fever pitch. It’s as if he’s lost control, chasing something unspoken, a force that drives you both to the breaking point. Every motion sends a jolt through you, a spark that ignites in sharp, dizzying bursts, each one building, spiraling higher, until it feels like you might shatter and fuse together in the same breath. The intensity crashes over you, drowning everything but him, the world narrowing to just his heat, his touch, his name on your lips.

“You close?” you whimper, voice breathless, and he nods in the crook of your neck, breath hitching. “Me too, baby,” you reply, heart racing. “Let’s come together.”

“As you wish, goddess,” he breathes, his panting matching the tightening tension between you. Pressing your ankles in his back, you lock your arms behind his neck as he draws you closer, his embrace grounding you both.

It doesn’t take long—just a few more deliberate, powerful thrusts, each one pushing you both closer, the pleasure cresting like a tidal wave poised to crash. You can feel him trembling against you, the last of his restraints slipping, and the anticipation is almost unbearable.

“Yes…” you cry out, your head tilting back as laughter bubbles up, spilling into a gasp. “Yes, baby. I… I’m—”

Coherent thoughts slip away as a low grunt escapes his lips, the two of you riding the wave of pleasure together. The intensity, raw and pure, consumes you, and tears prick at your eyes, spilling down your cheeks in the blissful haze.

“Oh, Lo… I love you so much,” you blurt out, unable to contain the overwhelming emotion filling your chest.

“I love you too, darlin’,” he replies through gritted teeth, his voice hoarse as you both come down from the height of sensation, holding each other close.

Finally, the world blurs and fades around you, leaving only warmth, your breaths mingling, and the erratic rhythm of your hearts beating as one as you rest against him. Logan cradles you, his arms enveloping you as if you were always meant to be right here, with him. The thumping of his heartbeat slowing beneath you becomes a cocoon of safety and love, a silent promise that feels like forever.

“I didn’t know you were that hungry,” he finally says softly, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head as his breathing steadies. You bury your face in his chest, feeling warmth rise in your cheeks.

“Sorry,” you murmur, voice barely above a breath. He chuckles, the sound like a warm embrace, wrapping around you.

“Don’t be sorry, love.” He cups your cheek, turning your face toward him, his eyes a tender blend of love and understanding. “I’m here now, and I’ll always take care of you.”

Taking a deep breath, you try to gather your thoughts. “It’s just… it’s been a while since I felt anything close to satisfying that… hunger I had for you,” you admit, voice tinged with embarrassment as the words slip out. “Nothing and no one ever came close.”

His lips curve into a small smile, a knowing glint in his eyes. “I get it. But you don’t have to hold back anymore. I’m yours—fully, completely.” His thumb brushes the lingering tears from your cheek, and the sincerity in his gaze makes your heart swell.

“Just tell me what you need, and I’ll make sure you get it,” he adds, his voice low and steady, a solemn promise between you. You nod, feeling a deep sense of relief, knowing you’re safe, cherished, and free to explore every corner of this love together, without fear.

Notes: If you enjoyed it, don't forget to comment and spread the love 😊 More on the way!

✨ Masterlist ✨

Don’t forget to follow the tags “xpressit writings” to stay tuned for more stories 😁

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quasar-makes-art · 6 months ago

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Day 4: Inertia

I’m a day behind, but thats okay, i’ll still be posting art for this week as soon as i have it finished.

I’ve been so excited to draw Inertia, and i’m so happy with this. The inspiration for this was the color palette, icarus, and the prompt of course. The thought is that this is the ghost zone version of Gotham, the sky is pink because i headcanon that normal Gotham smog is green hued because of the various rogue gasses. Danny was exploring when Jason goes rocketing past, unable to stop, since normal grapples don’t stick to ghost zone physics. He’s gotta save his boyfriend before he ends up crashing into a door, or another ghost, or Gotham (ghost edition) whisks him away.

The background by itself will be under the cut, since it’s really pretty and deserves to be here on its own too. And thankyou to the Dead on Main server for helping me work out some of the kinks in these poses!

#deadonmayn24 #dead on main #dead on main ship #my art

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leafofkudzu · 7 months ago

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Slightly delayed post compared to usual, but hi hello and happy Spring, everyone! I hope the past month has treated you well, because the first Saturday of a new month is coming up real fast, meaning it's time for another art party hosted by my guild, [VS] Verdant Shield!

For those who aren’t familiar with art parties, they’re a concept carried over from Final Fantasy XIV - in-game get-togethers for artists/writers/creatives of all types to hang out, chat, and create together! Get your favorite character/look together, head to the location, find someone that catches your eye, and create! Afterwards, everyone posts their creations in a shared tag (ours is #VSArtParty) so others can see, interact, and share! Tl;dr: the ‘goal’ of an art party isn’t to be drawn, but to draw others, and share with the community!

Time and /squadjoin information is under the cut, but will also be posted again via reblogs as the squads go up on the day of the party!

Location Information:

While scouting out more Ascalon-aligned locations to even out the spread, I remembered this little corner of Fields of Ruin. It houses a grave of one of the characters from the Ghosts of Ascalon novel - and for trivia purposes, everyone who's done Icebrood Saga has met another character from that novel: Ember Doomforge! But this isn't about Ember, it's about Killeen, and her lovely little resting place protected from the Brand. It's very easily accessible just by scooting up the marked path from Tenaebron Waypoint, which is in itself up in the Northwest corner of Fields of Ruin!

Time & Squad Details:

As we always do, we’ll be having two parties - one on EU servers and one on NA ones - with an hour break in between. People tend to arrive early and/or jump between accounts as soon as the break comes up, so don’t be surprised to see tags and announcements going up ahead of schedule!

The first party will be on EU servers and begin at 9pm Central European Summer Time (aka 3pm Eastern Daylight Time or 5 hours before in-game reset). I’ll be hosting on my EU alt account, so to join either /squadjoin or whisper Ashelin Falstaff for an invite.

The second party will be on NA servers and begin at 7pm Eastern Daylight Time (aka 1am Central European Summer Time or an hour before in-game reset). I’ll be hosting this one on my main account, so to join either /squadjoin or whisper Beldahvia for an invite.

Closing Words:

My apologies yet again for a) being delayed in posting this, but also b) posting this in the dead of (NA) night - I've been a bit sick the past week and lost track of time, but we're here now! I do feel like a broke record every time I say this, but thank you to everyone who turns out to these events - you guys are what make everything so memorable and fun! Have a good rest of your week, and I hope to see you all there on Saturday! ♥

#yelling it's past 12am but i must post it before i go to sleep and forget #i'll reblog this tomorrow at a normal time too aaaaa #gw2 #guild wars 2 #vsartparty #obnoxious tourist simulator #📢🎨

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taevbears · 7 months ago

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Magic Shop - 12

Home is the place where, when you have to go there, they have to take you in.

⤑ pairing: OT7 x witch!reader, Namjoon focused ⤑ genre: magic au, romance, angst, hurt/comfort, found family, domestic/slice of life, action/adventure ⤑ rating: 18+ ⤑ word count: 11.2k ⤑ warnings: lol idk what it is about namjoon that makes me so feral but explicit & implied smut (penetrative, 34+35, face-riding, daddy kink), description of body horror, mentions of death & past traumas, pet names (baby). ⤑ note: lmao bc the way i've been working on this chapter since the end of last year, and it's FINALLY being posted. i've been in this weird slump with my writing, so i hope that this is ok lol. enjoy, and i'd love to hear your thoughts on the chapter! :)

Chapters: Series Masterlist | 09 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15

“You’re so annoying,” you complain, shutting the door behind you. Your next lecture is in half an hour, but Hoseok will be looking for you soon.

The two of you have about fifteen minutes.

“I’ll be fast,” Namjoon promises, already pulling off his top. His roommates aren’t in. They’re most-likely hanging out in the common rooms and won’t be back for a while.

It’s just you and him.

And the paramour secret that hangs between you two.

Your back is pressed against the door as you eye him. In just his slacks, he looks like sin. Tall and muscular, sun-kissed skin, broad shoulders and long arms. Blessed with the perfect body proportions. The hunger in your eyes grows the longer you stare.

“We shouldn’t keep doing this.”

It’s what you tell him every time, but you lift your skirt. His gaze automatically locks onto your thighs as he unbuckles his belt, and his cock twitches with interest when he catches a peek of your panties.

His voice is husky when he asks, “Should we stop?”

He already knows the answer. It’s the same as it always is.

“No,” you reply, tilting your head slightly. A daring gesture as a coy smile dances on your lips. You slowly loosen the buttons of your blouse one by one. His gaze lifts to your face as you whisper, “Want you, daddy.”

Namjoon wants you more.

Without another second to waste, his long strides close the distance between you two. Strong hands impatiently yanking at the fabric of your clothes as he leans down to kiss you at last.

Namjoon wakes, sticky with sweat.

The bed he’s on is bigger and more comfortable than the cheap bunk at his dorm. The white duvet – kicked to the floor at some point of the night – is thick and weighted; a godsend compared to the thin, itchy blanket he was given when assigned to his room. The bedroom itself, curated to his taste, is woodsy, minimalistic, and bold: favorite art pieces hang on the walls and decorate the space that reflect his current moods, a private library with books that frequently changes to new titles whenever he finishes reading some, and bonsais that he’s been taking care of are starting to bloom flowers.

It takes him a moment, but he realizes he’s no longer a student nor an enchanter at Blackstone Castle.

A sigh falls from his lips as he runs his fingers through his damp hair.

Another dream about you.

He’s been doing that a lot lately. Dreaming of you.

You, sneaking into his bed after lights out and everyone else is asleep. You, taking his hand and leading him into secluded places between classes and when things at the shop are slow. You, climbing over his lap with your hands steady on his shoulders as he holds your waist, loving the way you look on top of him.

Once upon a time, when all this initially started, Namjoon thought it’d never go beyond a physical affair. The two of you were clearly attracted to each other. When the stress of exams, a looming Harrowing, and the competitive streaks between you two became too much, you often sought each other out.

But at some point, Namjoon realized it was starting to mean something more to him.

At some point, Namjoon realized it was because he was falling in love with you.

And somehow, at some point, you started to fall in love with him too.

You, dedicated and hardworking, quiet and serious with your studies, and burning with a hunger for knowledge and an eagerness to test your limits. You, also kind and caring, loyal and protective of the people you love deeply, and who’ve dreamed of opening this shop of comfort to help people. You, who carries the warmth and radiance of the sun, beautiful in the way that starlights compliment the night sky, and yet look to the shadows of the moon at him.

Love to Namjoon is still… a new concept.

There are days where he isn’t entirely sure what he’s doing or what the future holds with you. There are days where he questions why you even love someone like him when the others could be much better lovers.

It’s like fire. Pretty to admire, comforting to feel its warmth; a guidance of light through a dark and harsh world, but never to touch. Never his to claim and hold as the shadows of loneliness and insecurity grow around him. Love burns as fire does, leaving nothing but scalding embers and ash as its remains.

He loved his family, but they had easily given him up after he awakened his magical powers, even though he desperately ran away from towers and fortresses to beg for their forgiveness. He loved his hometown in the countryside, but he still remembers the look of hatred on the villagers’ faces once they found out what he was and deemed him a monster. He loved his friend, Ignis, and his untimely death by the cruel hands of hunters is still a burden Namjoon is forced to carry with him.

But there are days where love just feels… nice.

Where, in the early morning, when he’s getting ready for a run by the river, you’d stumble down the stairs shortly after him with your hair still a bit messy from sleep and your eyes barely open, and simply ask if he wants coffee and breakfast with you now or when he comes back.

Where, more often than he’d like to admit, a spell backfires and instead of changing the temperature of the shop, he ends up casting a sleeping spell on all the patrons, and you end up fighting your drowsiness to set things right, never once berating him or making him feel bad for any harmless accidents.

Where, after a long day, the two of you wind down together, sprawled in his library nook downstairs, not really talking to each other – too caught up in your own readings for conversation – but finding each other’s presence comforting nonetheless as he uses your thighs as a pillow while you absently run your fingers through his hair, or when you’d prop your legs over his lap as he gently massages your calves.

If Namjoon could write a million poems to describe how he feels around you, it still wouldn’t be enough. With you, he feels safe. With you, he feels comfortable. With you, he feels accepted, despite all his flaws and mistakes.

Namjoon loves you more than anyone he’s ever loved before. From the days you two were just students in Blackstone Castle to now. He loves the shop, the family it has brought together, the freedom of being himself – an ordinary man who likes books, nature, and art – without being condemned for his affinity to magic.

But like his family, his hometown, and even Ignis, he’s afraid that one day, you, the home you built with him, and the family you both found will all disappear.

And it’ll be his fault.

With a deep, frustrated sigh, Namjoon forces himself to sit up.

Before, he used to dream a lot about all the things he’s loved and lost. He recalls every detail of it: the day of his awakening, the fires that destroyed his home, how often he ran away to apologize to his parents, the screams of agony when he had to leave his only friend behind.

Now, Namjoon dreams about you.

You’re everything he loves.

You’re everything he’s afraid to lose.

“I’m heading out now!” Seokjin calls out, putting on his shoes by the front door.

“Okay, be safe,” you tell him, coming to the entryway to see him out. Seokjin promises he will and pulls you in for a kiss.

Behind the counter, Namjoon finds himself looking away.

Recently, Seokjin started his own guild with his friends from the Freelancers. After a mission involving mages went awry, they left their old organizations and started calling themselves the Oathkeepers. As a newly-established guild, most of their work comes from notices placed on the town’s community board, or word-by-mouth from people who’ve hired them before.

Things have slowed down a lot compared to how busy they were in their former guild. Seokjin was hardly home, and when he was, he was exhausted. While it’s nice to see the former warden around the shop these days, Namjoon can tell that the thrill of excitement and adventures are sorely missed, as well as the amount of coins he was able to collect after each successful quest they’ve completed.

“Can we go too?” Jungkook asks, already slipping a rucksack over his shoulder.

“Please,” Taehyung tacks on, honey-colored eyes wide and pleading as he stares directly at you.

Your lips part with an almost-spoken answer until you catch yourself, and helplessly look toward Namjoon with a face that’s just about ready to give anything the raven familiar desires.

Namjoon sighs. He can’t blame the two youngest for wanting to go with Seokjin. Whatever adventures he has planned today are far more appealing than being stuck in the shop all day. Even though, at the shop, Taehyung normally follows Hoseok around, and Jungkook quietly admires Namjoon doing mundane work.

“Sure, why not?” He decides with a shrug. “Be careful and listen to Jin-hyung, though.”

“Yes!” Taehyung and Jungkook cheer and high-five each other.

“Okay, okay. Let’s go. The others are waiting for us,” Seokjin urges before turning to you again. He kisses you one more time and adds, “We’ll be back before dinner.”

“Bye, hyung. Bye, kids. Look out for each other,” Hoseok reminds them, standing beside you with Yoongi in his arms. The black cat looks comfortable in Hoseok’s hold, pointed ears twitching as he turns his head to look at the others.

“We will,” Jungkook promises, nearly bouncing on his feet with excitement. A sheepish smile spreads on his face as he caresses your cheek and kisses you sweetly. “We’ll be going now.”

“Don’t miss us too much, darling,” Taehyung teases when it’s his turn, tilting your chin up and diving in for a goodbye kiss as well. He smirks at the flustered look on your face as Seokjin calls for them to hurry up.

As you watch them leave, Hoseok nudges you. There’s a knowing look on his face when he comments, “You look tempted to join them.”

“It does seem fun,” you acknowledge with a small sigh. Seokjin makes his quests sound so thrilling and perilous, even if you know he exaggerates a bit just to impress you most of the time.

Namjoon frowns and speaks up. “I’d rather you stay here.”

You turn to him, a bit defiant, and place a hand on your hip. “Why? Think I can’t do it?”

“Ooh,” Hoseok utters with a smile. He and Yoongi look between you and Namjoon with mild amusement.

“It’s not that,” he retorts, nearly rolling his eyes. He knows that you’re perfectly capable of becoming an adventurer and would be a great asset to the Oathkeepers. “What Jin-hyung and the others do is dangerous.”

“I can handle danger,” you tell him. Hoseok nods his head and agrees you can. Without looking away from Namjoon, you give your best friend a high-five.

“Here is safe,” Namjoon argues with a finality in his voice. He frowns when he looks at you. “And I don’t want you to get hurt.”

It occurs to you and Hoseok that Namjoon is being very serious.

“Namjoon, we’re just kidding,” Hoseok quickly assures him. “Neither of us are going anywhere. The shop is our responsibility.”

“Yeah. And even if I did go on a quest with Jin, you don’t need to worry about me.” You walk up to Namjoon and take his hands in yours. “I can handle myself, Namjoon.”

Words you’ve told him repeatedly, even before the night of your Harrowing back in Blackstone Castle. In the library where he’d always run into you.

“I know you can, baby.” He brings your hands to his lips and kisses your knuckles. “If it comes to that, just promise you’ll come back to me, okay?”

Before Jungkook was turned into a toad by an evil witch, he was an adventurer. He joined a guild with some same-age friends, traveled far from home, saw rare sights, fought challenging beasts, and visited beautiful places. Excitement and wonder were at every corner.

But this…

“Your grand task today,” Seokjin informs as he unceremoniously hands a stack of fliers each to Taehyung and Jungkook, “is to pass these out and put them around town.”

This isn’t it.

Jungkook glances down at the posters. Since the Oathkeepers are still new, Seokjin and the others have been trying to promote their guild and ask around for work. The neat calligraphy and the print of their symbol is a way to do just that.

“Actually, I think Hoseok-hyung might need my help at the shop after all,” Taehyung tries to back out. This isn’t the kind of quest he had in mind either.

“You’re already here. Just help out a little,” Seokjin pushes, holding out a flier from his own stack and handing it to someone who curiously grabs it. “This will help attract people to our shop too.”

Taehyung pouts, but relents. “Fine. But I want to go on a real adventure next time.”

“Hyung, I think I can finish my stack faster than you,” Jungkook suddenly challenges.

Taehyung’s golden eyes light up with a competitive streak. “You’re on.”

“Wait,” Seokjin begins, suddenly feeling left out. He starts to shove his fliers in the arms of people passing by. “This isn’t a contest. You guys…”

Without waiting for Seokjin to finish, both Taehyung and Jungkook dart off to opposite directions. His hands work quickly as he slides the fliers under doors, sticks them on the walls, and hands them out to whoever he sees.

“Please come to our shop,” Jungkook says, handing one of the last ones to a guy in a cloak. Most of the people he had passed them to merely glance at them without another thought, but this stranger stops and reads through it.

“Kim Seokjin?” he reads out loud, as if the name is familiar to him.

Jungkook pauses and looks at the mysterious stranger. The cloak covers most of his face and body, but he meets his eyes with a look of curiosity. With a tilt of his head, Jungkook asks, “You know my hyung?”

The stranger nods. “Hey kid. Do you happen to know a guy named Kim Namjoon?”

When Seokjin and the others return to the shop, they aren’t alone.

“Well, well,” a familiar voice says as he steps inside. He pulls down the hood of his cloak, revealing his handsome face. “I knew you’d be together, but I never thought I’d find you all here.”

“Jackson?!” Namjoon’s mouth drops, knocking over the chair he was sitting on as he rushes to greet his friend. The two clasps hands and pull each other into a quick hug.

Hoseok laughs in disbelief, welcoming him as well in a similar manner. “Hey, man! It’s good to see you!”

“Likewise,” Jackson replies with a big smile. He looks around the shop, in awe as he takes it in all. “So, this is where you guys have been hiding.”

The walls are painted bright, vivid colors. There’s a mix-mash of furniture, from old antiques and oddities to more modern pieces. The cozy entrance where you all stand divides the parlor and the tavern, and upstairs are the private rooms of the residents.

Perhaps to regular humans, it’s just a quirky shop. But for a mage like Jackson, he can feel the magical energy: the warmth of it on his fingertips, the whimsical lightness that eases his worries away, the safety from the protection spells cast in every room.

A kind of place that’s easy to overlook, yet brings in a strange sense of comfort that he hadn’t felt in quite some time.

“Like it?” you ask with a bright smile, shoulders rising with pride. “This is our home.”

“It’s incredible,” he tells you, thoroughly impressed. His voice softens as he adds, “I didn’t think I’d ever run into a place like this.”

“Who is he, babe?” Jimin asks you, curious of the newcomer. Taehyung and Jungkook share the same wonder, coming to stand next to you and Yoongi. All four of them are new faces to Jackson, even though he had already met Yoongi in his cat form.

“He’s a friend,” you explain as Jackson politely introduces himself to them. “We all went to the same school.”

Some time has passed since you’ve all escaped Blackstone Castle and found your place in this town. A lot of things have changed since you last saw Jackson as well. After that night, you haven’t seen or heard from any of the other mages.

Until now.

Jackson stands before you all, travel-worn and exhausted. His face is thinner and more sunken. Dark circles are beneath his tired eyes, as if he hadn’t properly slept in days. There’s a scar on his cheek that hadn��t been there before.

“We ran into him in town,” Seokjin informs, coming to greet you with a quick kiss. Jackson arches an eyebrow when he sees a former warden kiss a mage. “He said he needs to talk to Namjoon.”

“Me?” the man in question asks, surprised.

“That’s right. Although…” Jackson trails off as he turns his attention to you and Hoseok. “Maybe this is something you guys could help with too.”

You and Hoseok exchange glances with each other. Then, curiously, you ask, “What do you mean?”

But Jackson hesitates. His eyes flicker to the others, suggesting that the news he’s about to share must be spoken in private. That its details require the use of magic, and Jackson doesn’t know who among your group already knows the truth about you, Hoseok, and Namjoon.

“Have you eaten yet, Jackson?” Hoseok suddenly asks, easing into a bright smile. “Stay for a while. We have a lot to catch up on.”

It feels like old times.

Jackson and Namjoon share a drink. Their glasses clink together before they chug down the golden liquor.

Hoseok’s loud laughter is carried throughout the room, more amused by Yoongi’s reaction to Seokjin’s joke than the punchline itself. Despite that, Seokjin attempts to make another. His face burns red from the tips of his ears down to his neck as he desperately tries to refrain from laughing at his own joke. And when he fails at the delivery, he smacks Yoongi in the arm as if it’s his fault. Hoseok, somehow, laughs even harder.

Jimin pours another shot, cheeks flushed a rosy pink and barely able to see straight. The clear liquor misses the glass entirely and spills mostly on the table. Some of it drips to Jungkook’s pants, who barely registers it. Instead, his round eyes are locked on you, lovestruck as he watches you and Taehyung drunkenly slow dance together.

Taehyung spins you beneath his arm and catches you when you stumble forward. The both of you are clinging onto each other’s arms, in fits of giggles as he presses his forehead against yours. It’s like no one else is in the room except you two. Not even any of your other lovers, who seamlessly take turns drinking with you and passing you around from one to another throughout the night.

Seeing everyone around him relaxed and having fun reminds Namjoon of the parties back at Blackstone Castle. It isn’t unusual for apprentices to sneak away at night to hook up, drink with friends, and celebrate small achievements and occasions. With the wardens constantly watching them, the heavy burdens of exams and Harrowings on their shoulders, and a strict system followed by the staff to keep magic restricted, it’s sometimes the only way the students could let loose.

Jackson was fond of going to these parties. He’d go to as many as he could, and made lots of friends with his outgoing and funny personality. Your old roommates were too, and they’d drag you along with the promise of Hoseok attending a party as well. And Namjoon – who’d patiently wait and catch your eye when you’re alone – would sneak you out before anyone would notice you’re both gone.

“I knew she’d end up with you or Hoseok,” Jackson comments, drawing Namjoon out of his thoughts. They watch as you end your dance with Taehyung with a curtsy before he guides you to Hoseok, who easily gathers you in his arms. “But it looks like she got both of you and more.”

“She’s our girl,” Namjoon agrees with a fond smile.

Namjoon used to be a little jealous of Hoseok. After all, Hoseok loved you first. He still loves you now.

But when you feel Namjoon’s gaze on you from across the room, you meet his eyes and smile. With the same sincerity you had back then, when you had first said those words to him during your birthday, you mouth the words, “I love you.”

It’s not words you often say to each other – even though you clearly do, and he loves you just the same – but it still takes his breath every time. You love him. Someone as precious and beautiful as you chooses to love a guy like him.

“Who would’ve thought?” Jackson muses, sipping on his drink.

It feels like old times, but things have changed.

Namjoon certainly has. Without the vigilant gaze of the wardens and the suffocating confinements of the fortresses, he is a free man in this town. He can run along the river every morning, read books beneath the shade of a tree at the park, and go out with you and the other guys when the shop is closed. No one knows that he’s a mage here; no one looks at him like an abomination or something Wicked.

Here, he is just Namjoon. And as himself, he’s learned to enjoy his life a bit more. He’s learned to cherish those he holds so dearly, and savor those precious moments with gratitude. He’s learned to love, even when sometimes, he wonders if he deserves it.

For Jackson, however, his experiences after Blackstone are entirely different.

Since that night, he’s been on the run. He barely had time to grieve and process what had happened for a while, running before the nightmares caught up to him. He never stays in a town too long, never reveals too much about what he is or where he came from. In Blackstone, the threats were contained within the castle: power-hungry wardens, missued spells, Harrowings, and the nightmarish realm of the Veil. Out here, anything could happen. Anyone could become a potential threat.

“You’re always welcome to stay here, Jackson,” Namjoon offers after a few more drinks, just as Taehyung and Jungkook help carry a drunk Jimin upstairs into the spare bedroom. He grimaces, unable to take back what he said.

The eighth room doesn’t belong to Jackson anyway.

“I appreciate it, but it looks like you have a full house,” Jackson replies as he looks around the shop again.

Everyone seemed to have passed their limit. Hoseok is zoning out, sitting quietly with a blank expression on his face. Yoongi was the opposite, cheering loudly and running around when he won a card game you were all playing, but now his energy has died down as he patiently waits for you to go to bed with him. Seokjin is sober enough to clean up, putting away the empty bottles and picking up the cards that were thrown on the floor. Neither Taehyung nor Jungkook have come back down after they took Jimin upstairs, so they must have fallen asleep as well. No one is paying attention to them.

Now is as good a time as any to reveal why he’s here.

“What’s that?” Namjoon asks, seeing Jackson pull out a couple fliers. One of them is one he received from Jungkook earlier that day. The other one has a bit more wear and tear, creases showing that it’s been folded and re-opened over and over.

“I think I might have a job you and your friends would be interested in,” he tells him, showing the flier that the Oathkeepers were passing out. “I ran into a couple mages you guys helped out a few towns over. It’s rare to run into others like us, let alone a group of mages and humans who are willing to help each other out. When they described you guys, I had a feeling I knew exactly who they were talking about. Turns out, I was right.”

Namjoon remembers them. Seokjin’s former guild wanted to bring in mages to the frontlines of their quests, but at the expense of abusive power and enslavement to control them. It was a controversial stance that eventually divided the guild and led to Seokjin and his friends separating from them altogether after all of you helped the captured mages escape.

“That’s why you were looking for me?” Namjoon asks, remembering Seokjin had mentioned that Jackson wanted to speak with him.

“I was looking for everybody. You. Hoseok. Your girl. My old roommates. Any of our old friends,” he lists with a frown. It doesn’t seem like he had much luck finding anyone else. Jackson then pushes the second paper – the worn and torn one – toward him. “While looking around, I found this.”

Without reading it, Namjoon asks, “What is it?”

“It’s the job,” Jackson reminds him, carefully watching as Namjoon picks it up and unfolds the paper.

“Help wanted,” Namjoon reads out loud. “Every night, the undead wakes from their eternal slumber and attacks our small village. No one knows why or where they are coming from, but our farmers suspect a necromancer is to blame.”

Necromancy?

Magic, as beautiful and wonderful as it could be, is also dangerous and deadly. Certain magic is forbidden for a reason. Messing with the afterlife is considered one of them.

“Keep going,” Jackson urges.

“Each night, our numbers dwindle as the undead grows. Soon, there will be nothing left of our village,” Namjoon continues with a frown. “In a desperate plea for help, we are sending our notices far and wide in hopes to find anyone brave enough to take this urgent quest. We will do whatever it takes to save our home. Please, to anyone who finds this, help us.”

Namjoon doesn’t get it. Dark magic is explicitly banned from the fortresses. It’s why they’ve been built and why they contain mages in the first place. Jackson knows this. He’s lived in these towers too.

“Check the location,” Jackson quietly presses before Namjoon could turn it down.

He does, glancing down at the paper again. He nearly drops it when he sees where the quest is coming from.

Hawthorn Village. His hometown.

He’s tried and failed several times to return to that place ever since he was sent away on the day of his magical awakening. Ignis died helping Namjoon on his last attempt to return, and Namjoon swore he would never try again after that haunting day.

Suddenly, it feels like it’s hard for him to breathe. To swallow. He blinks back the sting of tears as he looks at his friend. “That place…”

“We can come with you,” Seokjin suddenly offers, holding some empty bottles and glasses that he is taking to the sink. “The Oathkeepers and I. We have the documents that prove that we’re a legitimate guild.”

No one would question them on the road. Some would be more willing to help and provide information when they see they’re a group on a mission and not just ordinary travelers as well.

“What do you say?” Jackson asks, sounding hopeful. “I won’t be able to do this on my own. They’ll need us, Namjoon. We can help them. All of us can.”

And Namjoon realizes why Jackson mentioned you and Hoseok could help with this quest as well.

His gaze immediately turns to you.

Your arm is around Yoongi’s neck as he helps you stand. You look flushed, cheeks hot and limbs loose from the alcohol. A bashful giggle escapes your lips at your own predicament, and how you feel like a fawn learning to walk as you use Yoongi to keep your balance. And you only laugh harder when you catch a glimpse of Hoseok’s face as he blinks slowly at you, and his mouth lifts into a slight chuckle of his own.

After everything you’ve all been through at Blackstone Castle, Namjoon swore he’d do whatever it takes to protect you.

“She’ll get hurt,” Namjoon points out.

“She’s the best spellcaster we know,” Jackson counters. “And Hoseok makes the best potions. You all have familiars too, and a formidable guild that will have our backs if anyone questions what we are.”

“He has a point, Namjoon,” Seokjin agrees, but in a way that lets Namjoon know that it’s his call. Whatever he decides, Seokjin will support him.

“Jin, last time I… Last time…”

“It’ll be different this time,” he assures him with a small but confident smile. “You’ll have us.”

“What do you say, Namjoon?” Jackson asks, pouring both of them another glass.

Namjoon lets out a shaky breath. He looks over at you again: your pretty smile and the way it reaches your eyes, how the sound of your laughter reminds Namjoon of how precious you are to him, and the endeared look from those around you as how affectionate you are when you’re tipsy.

It feels like old times, as Namjoon admires you from afar.

He knows you. Even if he had no connection to the village, you’d still want to help. Because that’s the kind of person you are. Namjoon is the same way.

But things have changed. Namjoon has changed.

Before, he would stop at nothing to return to his village and see his parents again. Before, he would take on this mission in a heartbeat, no matter what the risks are. But now, doubt starts to fill his mind.

This could be dangerous. Impossible, even.

But this is his home. His family might still be there. He has to try. Right?

“Okay,” he decides as he takes the glass Jackson pours him. The sudden burden in his heart makes it harder to swallow this time.

Namjoon can’t sleep.

He lies back on his bed, staring up at the ceiling. His mind restlessly jumps back and forth between a few things.

First, his hometown. What will it be like, stepping into that place for the first time in years? How much has changed? Would anyone recognize him? Are his parents still there? Are they doing well?

Then, there’s the necromancer. He knows very little about necromancy, and he doubts that you and Hoseok know more than he does about it. Where did they come from? What is their goal? What do they want with his hometown? Would he and the others be able to face them? Or are they dealing with something far too dark and dangerous?

Then, of course, there’s you and the others. He knows you’ve braved dangers before: in your Harrowing, the night Blackstone Castle fell, and even recently when you’ve helped Seokjin against his former guild. He knows you and the others are perfectly capable and skilled individuals, and as a team, you’d be an unstoppable force.

But Namjoon still worries. His mind starts to think about the worst. What if something goes wrong? What if you get hurt? He’ll have no one to blame but himself. Maybe this is too risky. Maybe he should tell Jackson and Seokjin he’s changed his mind.

The door to his room slowly opens. “Joon?”

Startled, he shoots up and faces the door. His heart calms a bit when he sees that it’s you. “What is it, baby?”

You shut the door behind you.

It’s just you and Namjoon. Like old times.

“I just wanted to check on you,” you tell him, sobered up after drinking earlier. Even in your drunken stupor, you can tell something has been bothering him. Your voice is a gentle whisper, calm and comforting. It’s a stark difference to the whirlwind of thoughts storming in his head.

He reaches out to you as you step closer, until you’re right in front of him.

When he dreams of you, he always wakes up just when he has you in his grasp. Just when you’re his to hold. As your fingers delicately wrap around his, he’s almost afraid he’d wake up and you’d be gone again.

“I could be better,” he replies to you honestly. His gaze is still on your hand as his thumb brushes against the top of your knuckles. “I have a lot in my mind.”

“Wanna talk about it?” you ask, tilting your head.

He shakes his head. “Not tonight.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

He meant to ask you to stay. To let him hold you for tonight, and keep the fears of potentially losing you at bay as you fall asleep in his arms.

“I love you.”

The words that fall from his lips instead surprises both of you. He sees your eyes widen, the way you catch your breath, the uncertainty on your face, as if you aren’t sure if you heard him right.

But his hand tightens around yours, pulling you closer.

Namjoon loves you. Truly, he does. He sees you in his dreams all the time.

Everything he loves. Everything he’s afraid to lose.

You’re on his bed now, your eyes falling on his broad shoulders and his bare chest. There’s a look in your eyes that he’s become all too familiar with.

He doesn’t know who makes the first move, but suddenly, you’re all over each other. He kisses you with everything he’s got, meeting your lips and tongue with his, as if tonight could be his last time to hold you, to make you his. He grunts when he feels you gently tug on his bottom lip with your teeth. And you whimper when his hand yanks the white fabric of your nightdress, thumb brushing against your nipple.

The second you’re out of your torn clothes, his mouth latches onto your other breast, tongue flicking the hardened bud. “F-Fuck, Joon.”

“Are you going to be good for me, baby?”

Your breath hitches as his fingers slowly trail down your abdomen and slot between your legs. You close your eyes, rolling your hips slightly as his long fingers slip past your wet folds. “Yes, daddy.”

“Good girl,” Namjoon praises, his voice so deep and low, it makes you shiver. “Come here. Wanna taste you.”

You obey, following his lead as he lies back on the bed again and makes himself situated. He guides you over him, and you’re careful of your weight on him as he holds your waist and thighs and eats you out.

He feels your muscles tensing and your hips bucking as the pleasure builds. But he keeps a tight hold on you, preventing you from squirming away as he works you open with his tongue. Your grip tightens around the headboard and your other hand tugs on his hair as his thumb rubs against your clit. “J-Joon, I’m s-so—”

Even without your warning, he knows. He gets you there, drinking you in, reaping his spoils as you start to come down from your high.

But it isn’t over.

Once his grip around you loosens, you turn over. Namjoon props himself up slightly, watching what you’re doing and groaning when he feels your hands and mouth on his cock. His fingers easily tease your entrance before slipping into you again, stretching you out, feeling you clench around them, before he decides to pull your hips closer for another taste.

It starts to feel like a competition. Like you’re trying to get him off first before he makes you climax a second time.

But Namjoon knows your body well, and you feel his tongue and fingers prodding, teasing, and hitting your sweet spot mercilessly. Your muffled moans with your mouth against him are driving him insane, and he barely edges you out – your legs quivering slightly from the intense pleasure – before he shoots his release in your throat.

Namjoon catches his breath as you roll onto your back, breathing just as hard as he is. He sits up to look at you, his mouth and chest wet with your arousal, and as you peer up at him with lust-filled eyes, he thinks you’re the most beautiful thing in the world.

More than what he deserves.

He caresses your thigh and smiles gently. “Tired?”

You scoff, breathless, but stubborn. As if admitting that you are means defeat. “I’m just getting started.”

Namjoon chuckles and then grabs your leg, pulling you closer. He aligns himself to enter you, moving slowly so you could adjust to his size. Your back arches slightly, face contorting at the pressure as your nails dig into his arms. You feel so good to him, he could never get enough of you.

He leans over to kiss you once he’s fully inside of you. “That’s my girl.”

“I’ll always be your girl,” you tell him softly, kissing his cheek.

Namjoon laughs, almost bashful with the way his heart flutters at that moment. You smile back at him, wrapping your arm around his neck as he begins to move.

His lips are on your throat, hands squeezing your breast and hips, whispered curses and grunts against your skin. It feels like wildfire every time. Heated, passionate, all consuming, like every touch and kiss sears his skin. Like every little moan and whine he hears from you compels him to make that fire grow. Then, only in the afterglow, he realizes it’s not the embers and ashes that remain. It’s warmth that fills his chest when he’s around you. It’s light that makes his heart glow with love. And he wants nothing more but to bask in it.

When he dreams, it’s always of you. Seductive, enticing, and tempting. But nothing compares to the real thing. Not even close.

Namjoon’s fingers absently trace patterns along your bare back. Your labored breaths have calmed down, slowly and evenly. Your lashes touch the top of your cheeks as you rest your eyes, and your tongue darts briefly to wet your pretty lips.

He can’t stop looking at you.

“You always do this,” you comment softly without opening your eyes.

His hand stills. “Do what?”

“You always watch over me,” you answer, opening one eye to peek at him. There’s a small, playful smile on our lips. “Even when we first started seeing each other, you always look at me so endearingly.”

Namjoon laughs, a bit embarrassed. He never thought you’d notice the tender, forlorn look on his face after spending a night together. “Stay with me tonight?”

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re falling in love with me, Kim Namjoon.”

He smiles at that, dimples appearing deep in his cheeks. “I already love you, baby.”

You snuggle a little closer to him, the teasing in your voice replaced with sincerity as you tell him, “I love you too.”

It isn’t often that you two say those words to each other, but it still makes him catch his breath every time you do. His arm wraps around you protectively as he kisses your hairline, and he sighs happily as you tuck yourself under his chin.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he murmurs quietly, closing his eyes. It feels nice to have you in his arms. It feels nice to have you so close. He feels like he can relax like this.

Then, you ask, “What did Jackson say to you?”

His eyes snap open, and he sees the concern on your face. You hold his gaze, curious, but also as if you’re not certain if you want to push for the answers.

“He showed me a quest, and asked if we can help him,” he explains, his grip tightening around you a little. “It’s in my hometown.”

You’re quiet as Namjoon tells you everything. From all the details pertaining to the mission to Jackson heavily implying he won’t be able to do it without you. If there really is a necromancer terrorizing the village, you have the best chance of stopping them. Your skill at spell-casting is unmatched compared to the others.

Part of him hopes you’d refuse it – that you’d realize the odds are against you with this type of Wicked magic, and how stupid and dangerous this could be.

But he knows you won’t.

You know that Namjoon couldn’t pass up on it. This mission is too important to him. He could lose his parents and his hometown for good.

And Namjoon knows, if nothing else, you’d want to do it for him. You’d do anything for him. He’d do the same for you.

When he’s done, he feels you wrap your arms around him in a gentle embrace. “It’s okay, Namjoon. I know you want to help. I’ll do my best to keep your village safe, too.”

Namjoon frowns. His heart doesn’t feel any lighter as he holds you close. He feels so vulnerable as he softly confesses, “I’m afraid to lose you.”

“Lucky for you, I’m not an easy person to take down,” you quip confidently. You push yourself up to look at him, and your hand cups his face. Your thumb gently wipes away the frown on his lips. “I can handle myself, Joon. You know I can.”

Namjoon wants to believe you. But his heart still feels heavy with worry.

The next morning, Namjoon gathers the residents of the shop and tells them the news. As expected, there’s a mixed reaction.

“A necromancer?” Yoongi repeats, eyebrows shooting up in surprise.

“Sounds fun!” Taehyung exclaims, eyes brightening with the promise of adventure.

“Sounds dangerous,” Hoseok corrects with a frown and crosses his arms. “We don’t really know anything about dark magic or necromancy. How would we know what we’re truly up against?”

“We won’t know until we try,” you reason, glancing over at Namjoon. “As far as we know, there’s only one necromancer, and there are several of us. The people in that village need our help, and we might be their last hope.”

“If we’re not already too late,” Hoseok grimly states.

Taehyung suddenly stands. “What are we waiting for? We need to start packing now!”

“Taehyung, calm down. We should think this through first,” Yoongi points out, but the raven familiar is already taking flight. He transforms into a raven and goes straight to his loft above the library nook.

“I’ll need to start brewing some potions and antidotes,” Hoseok mutters, also standing and walking straight to the kitchen. Over his shoulder, he asks, “Do you think we can stop by the market for ingredients?”

“Can we get snacks too?” Jungkook timidly asks.

You laugh and rub his back. “We can’t have you hungry on our trip.”

“I’ll talk to the others and tell them about the quest.” Seokjin informs, heading upstairs to change out of his pajamas.

“Then, I’ll wake up Jimin. He’s still sleeping in the spare room,” you tell the ones left in the parlor. You glance over at Yoongi, who is already standing up to follow you. “Wanna help me bother him, Yoongi?”

He nods his head, a twitch of a smile on the corner of his lip, as he walks with you up the stairs.

That just leaves Namjoon and Jungkook. The mage sighs and runs his hand through his hair. Everyone took the news better than he thought.

Your party will consist of Jackson, the Oathkeepers, and the shop’s residents. There’s safety in numbers when traveling in such a large group. All of you are diligently preparing to face whatever dangers the roads and this necromancer can throw at you. And Namjoon is certain that you’ll all look out for each other, as you always do.

The only glaring thing is the necromancer. Hoseok is right when he said none of you know what you’re going to be up against. And that makes Namjoon nervous.

“Where are you going?” Jungkook asks when he sees Namjoon start to head to the other side of the parlor.

“I’m going to see if the library will have anything about necromancy,” he answers, though he doubts he’ll find anything useful. Even his magical nook of books might not hold what he’s seeking for. “We’ve never had to deal with this kind of magic before. I want us to be prepared.”

More importantly, he needs to know how he can protect you. It’s inevitable that you’ll have to face a powerful mage that controls the dead, but if he can find something – anything – to give you an upper-hand…

Jungkook is quiet for a long moment. His dark eyes stare at Namjoon in an almost penetrating gaze that starts to make him nervous. Then, quietly, he mentions, “You have to take their bells.”

“What?”

“They use bells to summon the dead and have them do their bidding,” he explains, just when he hears Hoseok calling for him in the kitchen. “Take their bells, and they can’t control the dead.”

With that said, he stands and heads to the kitchen, leaving Namjoon to stare after him.

He knows that Jungkook was previously with a mage that specializes in dark magic. He also knows that Jungkook doesn't talk much about that part of his past, if at all.

But as Jungkook disappears from the parlor, Namjoon can’t help but wonder if he knows more about dark magic than he lets on.

At dawn, you and the other shop residents meet up with Jackson and the Oathkeepers. It’s a long way to Namjoon’s hometown in Hawthorn Village, and Jimin agreed to keep an eye on the shop until you return.

“I’m sorry I can’t go with you this time.” Jimin holds you and peppers kisses all over your face. He wishes he could, but he has his own duties tying him to New Haven this time. “Take care and come home soon, okay?”

“I’ll miss you,” you reply sincerely, wishing he could come as well. Due to the nature of this quest, however, you couldn’t tell him the real reason you’re leaving town.

Instead, you simply tell him that you’re all visiting Namjoon’s family, and that Seokjin and his friends are escorting you all there while they have a job nearby.

It’s not a complete lie, but it’s not the truth either.

Taehyung and Jungkook are excited about going on a real adventure this time. They both look eager to get started, rucksacks on their backs and anticipation in their eyes. It doesn’t matter to either of them what they’re facing, as going on a quest with their hyungs sounds more fun than anything.

Hoseok looks like he’s seconds away from a mental breakdown. He’s constantly checking and rechecking that you guys have everything you’ll need for this adventure. His wand is ready, tucked within reach. His rucksack is full of potions and ingredients. He checks with Yoongi to make sure they aren’t forgetting anything, and Yoongi shrugs and drawls that if it’s something they’ve forgotten, it probably wasn’t that important to bring along anyway.

Namjoon and Jackson stand apart from the others, seeming to be in a deep discussion about something. Since Jackson requested his help, Namjoon has been nervous about returning to Hawthorn Village, even if he tries not to show it. You often feel his worried gaze on you when he thinks you don’t notice.

Seokjin is with his friends, going over the map and figuring out the best routes to take. You see a side of Seokjin where he’s more serious than you’re used to, and perhaps on the surface, this is just another quest for him. But when you see him glance over at Namjoon, you know he’s in it for the same reason you all are.

You’re doing this for Namjoon.

Your heart feels conflicted when you catch Jimin staring at the others. It’s hard to keep things hidden from him – to keep him in the dark about everything – and you have a sinking feeling that he knows that you aren’t being completely honest with him. That you’re leaving him behind with purpose, and that you’re shutting him out from such an important part of yourself.

Maybe he doesn’t even believe your half-truth about simply visiting Namjoon’s family.

You wish you could tell him. You wish you could confide about your own worries about the mission. You wish you could’ve told him stories about Blackstone Castle when you had introduced him to Jackson.

Jimin turns his attention to you, and his eyes lingers on your face, seeing past the neutral mask you’re trying to keep on. “Is everything okay?”

You wish you could tell him the truth about you.

“There’s something I should tell you, Jimin…”

At that moment, Namjoon calls out to you. He has your pack over his shoulder, and a sheepish smile on his face when he realizes he’s interrupting you and Jimin. “We need to get going.”

“What did you want to tell me?” Jimin asks, curious now.

There’s so much you want to say. One day, you’ll tell him about how you and the others aren’t ordinary humans, that the building you all live in isn’t an ordinary shop.

But that day isn’t today.

“I’ll tell you when I come back,” you decide, touching his cheek. You kiss his lips and murmur, “I love you.”

A small, sad smile tugs on his lips before he kisses you again. “I’ll miss you.”

Reluctantly, you part ways with him and join the others. There is a lot of ground to cover between New Haven and Hawthorn Village, and each passing night will just make things harder for the surviving villagers.

“Ready to go?” Seokjin asks, looking at everyone. A unanimous sound of agreement is answered back. The party gathers into the horse-drawn wagons, and thus, the journey officially begins.

Your hand reaches for Yoongi’s – who automatically intertwines his fingers with yours – and you look over at Jimin one more time. He leans against a fence, watching as Yoongi helps you get onboard. When he sees you looking at him, he straightens up and mouths to come home soon before he waves goodbye.

“What were you and Jimin talking about?” Yoongi asks you, still holding your hand.

“I think I’m going to tell him about what I am,” you confess, a little nervous of what he might say. That he might convince you that this is a bad idea.

“You should,” Namjoon agrees, sitting on your other side. He rests his arm behind you, squeezing in so that everyone can fit. “It’s about time he knows about all of us, no?”

Yoongi glances at you with uncertainty, but mumbles, “If that’s what you want.”

A weight lifts off your shoulders as you smile. “Yeah, it’s been hard to keep things hidden from him all the time, you know?”

Namjoon nods and then, lowering his voice and leaning closer to you, he slowly asks, “Was it hard to keep us a secret? Back when we were at the castle?”

“A little,” you admit just as quietly. “Hoseok already knew. He said we were too obvious. My roommates were starting to get suspicious too, and I’m sure Jackson and our other friends would’ve figured out something was going on between us. I think it would’ve all come out eventually.”

“Would you have been mad if it did?”

“Not at all. It would’ve made things less confusing for me if we had been honest with each other from the start.”

In hindsight, neither of you had anything to hide. You both liked each other a lot, and even then, none of the guys were put off with the idea of sharing you. But magic comes with so much secrecy, it seemed natural to keep things hidden. To expect that your enamored feelings won’t be accepted because love is taboo for mages.

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes, frowning at the things he could’ve done differently.

“I’m not blaming you, Joon,” you assure him, using your free hand to touch his cheek. “What matters is where we are now. Not all the things we could’ve changed.”

His lips quirks into a small grin as he takes in your words. “You’re right.”

The two of you share a brief kiss as the horses continue to pull the wagon you’re all on. It’ll take you as far as the roads will lead, but there’s a shortcut through the forest that will cut your traveling in half. That route, however, will have to be on foot.

Conversations between the others overlap as the excitement of the journey is still high. But to your surprise, you see one person is quiet and lost in his thoughts.

Jackson doesn’t say a word during the whole ride.

Traveling down the familiar roads that lead to his hometown in Hawthorn Village brings Namjoon back to unpleasant memories.

He remembers the terror the night promises, as if it’s still fresh in his mind. The low, warning growl of predators and their glowing eyes in the shadows. The way his body shivers from the cold, and how his feet ache from walking. The exhaustion that tolls his small body, but he can’t afford to stop and rest or the wardens will catch up to him, as they always seem to do.

It felt like a hopeless task then. But Namjoon was stubborn.

He wanted to return home no matter what.

And now, years later, he finally will.

Seokjin is right about how things are different this time. Now, he has all of you beside him, instead of having to trek these roads alone. And that makes Namjoon worry.

“Watch out,” Namjoon warns, pulling you away from a green plant growing along the trunk of a tree. “Those plants are poisonous.”

“He’s right,” Hoseok agrees, examining them a little closer. You would’ve had an awful, itchy rash if you had accidentally touched them. He rummages through his pack and happily adds, “Luckily, I have an ointment for this kind of thing!”

“Careful, baby,” Namjoon says with caution a little later on. He holds onto you as he helps you down a slippery slope. “You might fall.”

Nearby, Jungkook is giggling when he sees Seokjin slip on the mud, staining his clothes with the wet dirt.

“Yah, Jungkook!” Seokjin snaps as he grabs the younger male by the ankle and drags him into the mud with him.

All day, Namjoon has been overly protective of you. Whether it’s a branch of a tree that’s hanging too low and blocking your path, a hole on the ground that you could easily trip over, or a mama bear and her cubs just passing through, Namjoon is there to guard you. Even if it means hurting himself.

“Joon, you don’t need to be so worried about me,” you assure him, sitting him down on a log and examining the cut on his arm. It’s bleeding, but it doesn’t look too deep.

“I don’t want you to get hurt,” Namjoon answers, wincing as you apply a bit of healing magic on the wound. Warmth spreads from your fingertips as it starts to close.

“I’m not the one with the cut,” you counter, gesturing at his arm. Thankfully, it just looks like a scratch now.

Being on the road isn’t too bad. After getting dropped off at the starting point of the forest, the excited chatter between you and the others lasts a good while, making the morale stay up. You all take breaks when you need to, make sure food and water is passed around, and keep an eye out for bandits, wild animals, and other dangers like low branches, poisonous plants, and pit holes.

After a while, the conversations die down to a mutual, tired silence. Everyone’s paces slow down significantly, and the breaks become more and more frequent. Jungkook quietly mentions that he’s getting hungry – the small snacks between stops aren’t enough for a meal – and Namjoon is certain he isn’t the only one.

No one protests when Namjoon suggests making camp at a clearing he finds. There’s unanimous relief as everyone begins to pitch their tents, make a campfire, and gather resources and ingredients to make supper.

Which leads to you and Namjoon, sitting together as you check the wound he gave himself when trying to protect you. He sighs and thanks you for treating him, barely feeling the sting of pain anymore. Part of him expects you to leave, but you still sit with him, watching as some of the guys play rock-paper-scissors to decide the order of night shifts.

Although you don’t admit it, you’ve been worrying about Namjoon too.

“I’m sorry, baby. I know you can handle yourself. It’s just…” Namjoon begins, rubbing his neck. “After everything that happened in Blackstone, I’m afraid to lose you. To lose everything again. Even now, I’m worried that you guys are putting your lives in danger because of me.”

“We’re here because we want to be, Namjoon,” you tell him with a small smile. “If it was Seokjin’s hometown under attack, or Jungkook’s, or anyone else’s at the shop, I know you’d want to do all you can to help too.”

“You’re right,” he says with another sigh. Maybe he’s worrying over nothing.

Your smile widens as you nudge him. “Are you nervous about going home?”

He chuckles dryly. That, certainly, is an understatement.

“I don’t think I know what to expect anymore. It’s been so long…” He lets himself trail off as his gaze turns to everyone else in camp. Taehyung is demanding a rematch as Hoseok throws his fist in the air and shouts in victory. Their rowdiness catches the attention of the others, who grin a bit at them as they decide to do another round. “My parents might still be in Hawthorn. If we have the chance, I’d like to talk to them. Tell them I’m sorry for burning down our old house, and that I miss them.”

“You could,” you assure him, giving him a comforting smile. “I don’t think the others would mind since we’re already there.”

He smiles a bit at that. Then, his heart flutters nervously as he proposes, “Would you come with me? When I go see them, I mean.”

You look a bit surprised. “I could if you want me to.”

“I do,” he quickly replies, a bit flustered. “It would be easier, I think. If you’re by my side at the time.”

“Then, of course I will.”

His smile widens and relief lifts from his shoulders, grateful you’ll accompany him. “Do you think they’ll forgive me? After all these years? It wouldn’t be too weird if I just showed up, would it? What would I even say to them?”

You laugh, and the sound makes his heart stutter. “I can’t imagine why they wouldn’t love you, Kim Namjoon.”

“Thank you,” he tells you softly, dimples popping at the shy grin. “For everything.”

Suddenly, the guys shout in disbelief and burst into laughter at the results of their game. You and Namjoon smile fondly at them.

“I don’t remember where I was born,” you confide to Namjoon. “I don’t know who my parents are, or if I have family that knows about me. So, when Blackstone fell, I felt like I lost the only place I knew was home as well.”

“Oh…” Namjoon frowns. He never considered any of the fortresses a home. It always felt more like a prison. But perhaps, to mages like you and Hoseok, who’ve been locked away in those towers all your lives, it’s different.

“But you know,” you continue. “I can’t say I’d ever want to go back to it. If we hadn’t run away – if we hadn’t made it to the shop – we wouldn’t have met Jimin, Taehyung, and Jungkook. Seokjin wouldn’t be happy as a warden. And I might’ve never even had the courage to tell you and Hoseok that I love you.”

“Really?”

“Blackstone was my home. It was the only world I’ve ever known,” you say, your eyes still fixed on the others before you. “But I don’t ever regret leaving that place behind to be where I am now. With you and the others.”

In his dreams, Namjoon sees you again.

Your hand is in his, leading him away from camp while the others are asleep. Taking him to a secluded place in the woods.

It’s just you and him. Like old times.

Your back is pressed against the trunk of a tree. A seductive smile touches your lips as you wrap your arm around his neck. You pull him in for a kiss, and his hands glide up your body in a lustful hunger. He hears you panting as his hand slips between your legs, your lip biting back a needy moan, and your flirty eyes glancing up at him beneath your lashes.

His trousers fall down to his ankles, and he lifts one of your legs. You lean against the side of the tree, shifting your weight against the trunk, and look over your shoulder at him with a tiny nod.

A whistle of an arrow flies toward him, but it hits you. Right in the heart.

The flirty gaze turns to a look of horror and accusation. This is his fault.

You slump on the ground, cold and unmoving. Hunters gather around, pointing their weapons at him. Wearing similar faces of anger, disgust, and terror like the villagers from his hometown the night of his awakening.

Among them are the rest of the guys: Seokjin, Yoongi, Hoseok, Taehyung, Jungkook, and even Jimin. There’s disappointment and sadness in their eyes when they see your body. It turns to looks of hatred and distrust when they look at Namjoon.

It’s his fault you got hurt. It’s his fault things ended up like this.

Everything is his fault.

Namjoon feels so small again, like he’s a kid. Everyone gathers around him, wanting an explanation. Why is he born with magic? What wickedness has he done to be cursed with that power?

Your eyes are lifeless. Your skin is cold.

But with a distant twinkle of a bell, your head snaps toward him. Your jaw falls open too widely as an agonizing scream comes from your throat.

Namjoon wakes with a start.

Another dream about you, but this one is different. This one is a nightmare.

His heart races when he finds himself somewhere he doesn’t recognize. And it takes him a moment to place himself in a tent he’s sharing with you and the others.

Seokjin is at the far end, lying on his back with his face turned toward you. One arm is curled out beside him as his other hand rests on his stomach where Yoongi, in his cat form, has chosen to sleep. Hoseok has his arms wrapped around you and is curled up against your back. Taehyung has stolen his pillow, using it as a nest, as he tucks his head beneath his black feathers. Namjoon doesn’t see Jungkook right away, but he hears his low, steady croaks by his head, settled on the opposite end.

All of you are sleeping safe and sound, huddled together like a pile of puppies.

Namjoon smiles fondly at the sight, relieved to see that you’re unharmed. But the nightmare is still too fresh in his mind. Quietly, he decides to sneak out and get some fresh air.

A couple of the Oathkeepers and Jackson are keeping watch this time. His old friend looks surprised to see him, but doesn’t send him away when Namjoon takes a seat next to him by the fire.

“Aren’t you tired?” Jackson asks.

“I’ll go back in a bit,�� he promises, frowning up at the sky. The night feels too long. Dawn doesn’t seem like it’ll break through soon.

For a while, the two sit together quietly by the campfire, lost in their own thoughts. Suddenly, Jackson asks, “Do you still think about that night? At Blackstone?”

The night of the rebellion. When Adriel summoned something Wicked from the depths of the Veil and made a contract with it. Power in exchange for his physical form.

“It’s not really Blackstone I think about,” Namjoon admits. The burdens he carries are longer and heavier than what happened the night you all escaped.

“I think about it all the time. Everything that went wrong. Everything that I could’ve done differently,” he sighs as he stares at the burning fire before him. “Adriel was my friend. I should’ve stopped him. I should’ve realized what he was doing was wrong.”

“Adriel just wanted us to be free,” Namjoon reminds him. There isn’t anything wrong with wanting that.

“And look where that got us,” Jackson bitterly retorts. “Adriel is dead. Most of us have probably been recaptured and sent back to a fortress somewhere. The rest of us are on the run, hiding our magic so we don’t get caught.”

Namjoon frowns. Jackson has a point. Even outside the castle walls, freedom still has its limits.

“None of us could’ve known what would’ve happened,” Namjoon reasons. “I don’t think Adriel even knew when he made contact with that Wicked.”

“But we could’ve done better!” Jackson snaps. There’s an anger in his eyes that Namjoon is all-too familiar with. A spiteful resentment that he, himself, has carried for years. “We were his friends. We could’ve checked up on him. We could’ve talked him out of doing something so goddamn dangerous. We could’ve saved him too.”

His voice shakes, eyes wild with accusation and guilt. You were all at the tower. You’ve all seen what Adriel had become. You’ve seen how Jackson desperately pleaded to his friend to recognize him, and how the Warden Commander ran a sword through Adriel when he did. It’s a scene that’s been haunting Jackson ever since he left the tower.

“Jackson…” he begins, but honestly, he isn’t sure what to say. Namjoon feels pity. He understands how Jackson feels. He’s been in his place, burdening shame and guilt over things he couldn’t control.

Namjoon is lucky to have you and the others to be there for him when the shadows of doubt and resentment become too much.

But Jackson… he doesn’t have anyone to rely on.

“What if that necromancer in Hawthorn is one of us?” Jackson asks, his gaze now steady at the fire again. “What if they’re someone from Blackstone? What if they’re just another Adriel that lost their way, and dipped into forbidden magic they’re no longer in control of?”

Namjoon hadn’t thought of that possibility. He always saw the necromancer as a vague, hooded figure in his mind. Someone that summons the dead and commands them to attack his hometown.

What if that person under the hood was a friend? An apprentice he had a class with? Someone he recognizes from the halls of Blackstone Castle?

“Then we stop them,” Namjoon answers, placing his hand on Jackson’s shoulder. “And we try to do better this time.”

“I hope we can, Namjoon. I can’t have another mage fall like Adriel did.”

Thank you for reading ♡ Comments & reblogs are greatly appreciated!

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