#Strange Sounds From beyond Festival

[celestemona]

⋆˙⟡ — TANGLED FATES

pairing: kinich, kaedehara kazuha, wanderer x reader

cw: soulmates! au. characters may look ooc. approximately 3k words. no pronouns mentioned though "my lady" is said in kazuha's part. fluffy, angsty, lovely. not beta-read.

reblogs and comments are appreciated ♡

Kinich

Kinich had always felt a subtle pull toward something—or someone—just beyond his reach.

From the moment he was born, the thread that connected him to his soulmate had been a delicate shade of translucent red, often fading to the point of nearly vanishing. It was a constant reminder of the distance between them, a tangible sign that his soulmate was far away, perhaps even in another nation.

The people of Natlan revered the concept of soulmates, believing that every thread was woven by the hands of fate itself. Kinich, however, was not the type to wander beyond his homeland in search of this elusive connection. The rugged beauty of his tribe, the thrill of hunting, and the camaraderie of his people grounded him. He found comfort in the familiar rhythms of his life, though sometimes, during quiet moments beneath the canopy of the trees or while gazing at the stars, the thought of his soulmate would flutter in his mind like a restless bird.

Yet today was different.

As Kinich navigated the vibrant festival of the Scions of the Canopy, filled with laughter and the smell of roasted meats mingling with the sweetness of ripe fruit, he couldn’t shake a strange sensation. He glanced down at the red string on his finger, and to his surprise, it was brighter than he had ever seen—deep crimson, like the fiery sunsets that painted the sky at twilight. The sudden vibrancy sent a jolt of energy through him, and his heart raced with possibilities. For the very first time, it felt that his soulmate was closer than he had ever imagined.

The thought barely settled in his mind when a commotion broke out nearby. Kinich turned to see a crowd gathered around the bungee jumping platform, a popular attraction that had people leaping into the air with exhilarating abandon. The sight of the participants soaring through the sky brought a fainted smile to his face—until he noticed one figure preparing for a jump.

His heart seemed to stop as he caught sight of you, your hair whipping in the wind, laughter mingling with the cheers of the crowd. You appeared fearless, but as the countdown began, Kinich noticed something off: the rope seemed frayed, a dangerous instability in an otherwise thrilling endeavor. Panic surged through him as the countdown reached zero.

Before his mind could catch up to his body, he reacted. The faintest snapping sound echoed in his ears as the bungee cord gave way—a horrified gasp echoed from the crowd, but Kinich was already in motion. With a practiced flick of his grappling hook, he shot toward you, the hook catching a solid anchor just as you fell.

In the heartbeat between falling and impact, you felt a strong arm wrap around your waist, jerking you from the void. Time seemed to slow as the world spun and your eyes locked onto his—the man who had saved your life.

Kinich landed gracefully with you in his arms, his grip steady and reassuring as if it were second nature. As the adrenaline pulsed through you, your heart raced not just from the near-death experience, but from the realization that your strings—both of yours—were now glowing vividly, a striking red.

The connection between you was undeniable, even if the situation was surreal.

“That was... close,” you murmured, still catching your breath, your voice trembling with disbelief.

Kinich’s usual nonchalance wavered momentarily as his eyes lingered on yours. He gently set you down, his hand brushing against yours as the string on his pinky tightened, pulling you two together subtly but magnificently. “You’re either very brave or very reckless,” he said, his voice low but calm, the faintest trace of amusement playing on his lips.

You couldn’t help but smile, even through the lingering adrenaline. “Maybe a little of both.”

He let out a quiet hum, stepping back slightly but not breaking eye contact. “Seems I’ll have to keep an eye on you, then.”

Before you could respond, a pitched voice cut through the air. “No! I though you’d finally gonna get yourself killed, Kinich. Shit! It seems I was wrong again.”

Kinich’s eyes narrowed slightly, and he muttered under his breath, “You wish.”

You blinked, wondering where the voice came from and noticing the sudden change in his demeanor, but before you could ask, Kinich’s focus returned to you. His intense gaze softened as he extended a hand, offering it to you with an unexpected formality. “It seems fate has brought us together in the most dramatic of ways.”

You laughed softly, the tension easing. “Seems that way. And here I thought I’d get a thrill from jumping, not falling.”

“There are safer thrills,” he answered, his hand still holding yours dearly. “One that doesn’t involve falling from cliffs.”

You bit your bottom lip in a failed attempt to hide a smirk, the soft flirtation in his voice making your heartbeats go faster. “Oh? Like what?”

He let his gaze linger on yours, his thumb gently tracing the back of your hand. “Perhaps we’ll find out together.”

The red string between you entwined, as if urging the two of you closer. For the first time in a long while, Kinich felt more than just duty or the thrill of a adventuring—he felt the warmth of something that had been distant for too long.

And for you, the world around you seemed to quiet as the only thing that mattered now was the connection between you and the man fate had quite literally sent to catch you.

Kaedehara Kazuha

From the moment of birth, the faintest whispers of your soulmate begin to form in your mind, weaving through your thoughts, and growing clearer with time. The voices aren’t constant, but they drift in and out, as if carried on a breeze, reminding you of the presence of someone far away yet intimately close. Sometimes, it's a word spoken aloud, a laugh shared with a friend. Other times, it’s a fleeting thought, as private as a breath. And from childhood, this voice becomes an indelible part of your life, a companion whose face you have never seen but whose soul you know deeply.

Kazuha was still a boy when he first heard the voice. He was playing alone in the gardens of his family’s estate, surrounded by the quiet rustle of leaves and the gentle murmur of the wind. And then, as soft as a whisper, he heard it—a voice that wasn’t his own.

It was delicate, like the sound of water trickling over smooth stones. A voice so pure it carried the sweetness of a lullaby. At first, he thought it was part of the wind, some trick of the breeze, but as the days went on, the voice returned. Sometimes it sang, sometimes it hummed a tune that was unfamiliar yet soothing. And when it spoke, Kazuha listened, enchanted by the rhythm of the words, even if they weren’t meant for him.

Years passed, and the voice became a familiar presence in his life. He learned to recognize its tones—the way it brightened when it was happy, or softened when the person behind it was lost in thought. Even when he left the security of his childhood home, embarking on his wandering journey, the voice followed him. It was a constant companion, a tether that connected him to something beyond the world he knew.

The voice belonged to an opera singer from Fontaine, though Kazuha would only come to know this much later. As children, you’d hear each other speak, often unaware of the impact your words were having on the other side of the world. You’ve been singing since you were small, your voice a bright light in the waterside streets of Fontaine, and Kazuha had come to love the sound of it—first as a soothing melody in the background of his thoughts, and later as a force that brought him comfort during his travels. He could sense your emotions through your voice—the joy you found in your craft, the occasional frustration in your rehearsals, and the quiet moments when you’d murmur your thoughts to yourself.

You, too, had been listening to him. From the first haikus he had whispered into the wind as a child, to the quiet contemplations of a young man growing into his own. Though Kazuha was never one to speak much, the moments when he’d recite poetry or talk to the wind were enough to fill your heart with a sense of companionship. His voice, calm and steady, was a comfort to you as you navigated your own world of art and performance.

Neither of you knew exactly who the other was, but your voices had become a part of each other. Even without a meeting, you had grown up together—two souls connected by the invisible threads of fate.

As Kazuha grew older, his understanding of the voice deepened. He’d often find himself drifting off to sleep, only to wake with the faint echoes of your songs still lingering in his ears. He marveled at how perfectly your voice blended with the world around him—the wind, the sea, and the rustling of leaves in the forests he wandered. Your voice had become a song in the symphony of his life, and he cherished it.

For you, his words were like the poetry he often whispered to himself—a gentle, constant reminder that somewhere out there was someone who understood the world the way you did. You often wondered what he looked like, what kind of person could speak so softly yet carry so much meaning in his words.

Years passed, and though your connection remained strong, you never rushed to meet. There was no urgency, no desperation. Just the quiet understanding that one day, you’d find each other.

It wasn’t until Kazuha’s travels led him to Fontaine that your worlds finally began to merge. The hydro nation was a place where the beauty of the arts and the depths of the sea intertwined. Kazuha had no intention of seeking you out immediately. He had learned patience long ago and trusted that the wind would guide him when the time was right.

But as he wandered the streets of Fontaine, drinking in the sights and sounds of the city, he heard your voice again—clearer than it had ever been. This time, it was no distant whisper but a melody that floated on the air, rich and vibrant. You were rehearsing for an upcoming performance, your voice filling the opera house with the same beauty that had once echoed in his dreams.

He stood at a distance, watching you from the shadows. You were every bit as graceful as your voice, your movements fluid and elegant. Your presence commanded the space around you, yet there was a softness to you that drew him in. You were speaking with one of the directors with enthusiasm as you discussed the details of the upcoming opera. And though you didn’t know it, the man you had shared your thoughts with for so many years was standing just a few feet away, watching with quiet reverence.

Kazuha’s heart swelled as he took a deep breath, allowing the wind to guide him forward. It was time.

With the same grace that had carried him through countless battles and journeys, he approached you, his steps light and unhurried. When you turned, eyes meeting, the recognition was instant. The voice that had been a constant presence in your lives was now matched with a face.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. It was as though the world had stopped, leaving only the two of you standing in the fading light of the afternoon. And then, with a soft smile, Kazuha spoke.

“My lady,” he said, his voice as gentle as the breeze that stirred the air around both of you. He took your hand in his own, bowing slightly as he lifted it to his lips. The soft kiss he placed on the back of your hand was filled with all the quiet emotion he had carried with him for so many years. “It is an honor to finally meet you.”

Your smile widened, warmth rosing on your cheeks. “The honor is mine. I’ve heard your voice for so long… I almost thought I was dreaming when I heard you recite your poems for the first time.”

“As did I,” Kazuha replied, his crimson eyes soft as he gazed at you. “Your voice has been with me for as long as I can remember. Hearing you sing now… it feels as though I've been waiting for this moment my entire life.”

You laughed softly, the sound as musical as the voice he had come to love. “And I’ve been waiting for you. I always wondered when our paths would cross.”

“They were bound to,” Kazuha said, his tone warm. “The wind always carries us to where we are meant to be.”

With his and your hands still gently intertwined, you stood in the heart of Fontaine, the city alive with the murmur of art and life around them. But for the two of you, the rest of the world had faded, leaving only the echo of the voices that had connected you for so long.

In that moment, you knew that your journey—though long and winding—had led you both exactly where you were meant to be. Together.

Wanderer

In Teyvat, the concept of soulmates wasn’t something everyone discussed openly, but it was an unspoken truth understood by all. It was a tragic but beautiful reality for those people: no one ever dreamed—at least, not until they met their soulmate. The first and only dream a person would ever experience was a shared one, an intimate meeting with their destined one. This dream wasn’t bound by time or place, often filled with subtle moments, quiet connections, and profound understanding. But the dream itself didn’t mean immediate union. Many spent years after their dream searching, wondering when—or if—they’d ever cross paths with their other half in the waking world.

And not all believed they deserved a soulmate.

Wanderer had learned of the legend when he was still known as Kunikuzushi, back in the early days when he was newly formed and still discovering what it meant to exist. He hadn’t thought it applied to him, a puppet—a hollow being without a true heart, someone who was neither human nor divine. But one night, long ago, when he was still innocent and full of hope, he had a dream.

In that dream, he met you.

It wasn’t a vivid or wild vision. It was quiet, serene. You walked in a vast wheat field, your steps so rhythmic as if you were dancing between invisible trails that only you knew where it’d take you. Your back was turned to him but the sound of your laughter was a song that played like a lullaby in his head. When you looked up, your eyes meeting, something inside him stirred—a sense of calm, of being understood without words.

There were no grand gestures, no spoken promises. Just a glance, a soft smile, and a feeling that warmed him from the inside out. You were real, and for the first time in his short existence, he felt connected to something outside of himself. 

When he woke, the memory of that dream stayed with him, lodged deep in his mind like a forgotten melody. He tried to dismiss it, thinking it was some strange byproduct of his flawed creation. How could he have a soulmate when he wasn’t truly human?

Years, centuries passed, and Kunikuzushi became Scaramouche, and Scaramouche became Wanderer. He fell deeper into darkness, fueled by bitterness and anger. Yet, despite the walls he built around himself, the memory of the dream never fully faded. It lingered in the back of his mind, sometimes emerging in his quietest moments, like a long-lost hope he didn’t want to admit to. He believed that dream was lost to time, and that he had been undeserving of it. He had resigned himself to solitude, pushing away any notion that he might still have a connection to someone out there.

But everything changed the night he wandered the streets of Sumeru.

The night was calm, and the air was thick with the fragrant scent of flowers. It was one of those evenings where the city was still alive, bustling with life even under the veil of darkness. The marketplace glowed softly in the distance, filled with the sounds of chatter and laughter. Wanderer had no purpose being there, only walking aimlessly, his mind drifting between thoughts.

Yet, for reasons he couldn’t explain, the memory of that dream began to surface. The image of you, twirling in a field, returned with startling clarity. He could almost see the light in your eyes, feel the quiet comfort of that moment. His steps slowed as a strange, almost magnetic pull tugged at his chest, drawing his attention toward the marketplace.

And then he saw you.

You stood at a vendor’s stall, your profile illuminated by the soft lantern light. His breath hitched. It was as if time stopped. You looked exactly as you had in the dream—your presence both familiar and startling. He blinked, convinced his mind was playing tricks on him. After all this time, how could you be here?

You turned slightly, inspecting some trinket on display, completely unaware of him. The world around him blurred, all the noise fading into a distant hum as his focus remained solely on you. He felt his heart—did he even have one?—thunder in his chest.

A storm of emotions raged inside him. He hadn’t prepared for this. Could this truly be real? After all he had done—his mistakes, his hatred, his isolation—was it possible that fate hadn’t given up on him? Was he still deserving of a soulmate?

He found himself rooted to the spot, too stunned to move. He couldn’t approach you, not yet. How could he, knowing what he had become? A part of him was relieved, though—relieved that you existed, that the dream hadn’t been a cruel joke. But the hesitation that lingered was undeniable. What if you saw him for who he truly was and walked away? What if, after all these years, he was no longer the person you had dreamed of?

You moved away from the stall, and at that moment, your eyes swept over the crowd, casually scanning the area—until they locked onto his.

The recognition was instant, like a spark between two halves of a long-separated whole. You blinked, clearly processing what you were feeling as if the dream had come flooding back to you all at once. The same quiet understanding he had felt in the dream now passed between you in reality. Your expression softened, and though you seemed uncertain, you didn’t look away.

You took a tentative step toward him, your curiosity was evident. His heart raced again, the walls he had built around himself suddenly feeling fragile as if a single word from you could shatter them entirely.

And then you spoke.

“I saw you once upon a dream,” you said, your voice gentle, filled with the same warmth and wonder from the dream. There was no accusation in your tone, no judgment—just simple truth.

He swallowed hard, unsure how to respond. A thousand thoughts raced through his mind, yet none of them made sense. All he could manage was, “Did you?”

You nodded, your gaze unwavering. “I thought it was just a trick of my mind, but… seeing you now, I know it was real.”

He stood frozen, a mix of doubts, disbelief, and relief swirling inside him. The person he had dreamed of, who he thought was forever out of reach, was standing in front of him. And you remembered him.

His voice was quieter than he intended when he finally spoke again. “I never thought I’d find you.”

You stepped closer, a soft smile forming on your lips. “Neither did I. But… here we are.”

The warmth in your eyes was something he hadn’t felt in so long. It made the walls around his heart tremble, threatening to crumble. He wanted to say so much, to explain the years that had passed, to tell you how unworthy he felt—but none of it mattered in that moment. You were here, and you had dreamed of him, too.

Perhaps, despite everything, he still had a chance at something real. Something good. And for the first time in his long, fragmented existence, Kunikuzushi felt a flicker of hope.

[occamstfs]

Talismen: Beginnings

Nicky emerges with an arcane artifact after a bewildering trip through an impossible shop. In wishing his boyfriend was more confident in himself Nicky performs irrevocable and accidental magic upon the world, building his new form and dulling his mind.

And I'm back! Here's the first story of my planned CYOA series, a little long but I love how it turned out! I'll be posting the poll for Part two on Sunday, the 1st of December, the planned options are at the end of the story and it'll only last a day so if you want to take part be on the lookout! At any rate, hope you enjoy and happy to write for you once more! -Occam

It was barbarian weekend at the renaissance festival. Nicky was dressed as a wizard and his boyfriend, Simon, had long planned to go on theme and dress as a barbarian. Though as the day neared and Simon anxiously stared at his decidedly standard figure in the mirror, he instead opted to just throw on a cloak and call it a day. Arriving at the fair the pair, as expected of the theme, find themselves surrounded by burly men clad in kilts with faux fur draped atop chests beyond impressive.

Gawking at hot men is of course par for the course of this kinda event but Nicky can’t help but read the shame and embarrassment creeping into Simon’s expression as he takes in the festivities. When they eventually step into a tavern for a breather Nicky checks in, “Heyyy babe? Everything good? Seem kinda down-” Simon shakes his head and forces a smile, “Don’t worry about me B, I’m aces!” He tosses a wink out for good measure before pointedly changing the topic, “So what was it you said you’re looking to grab this year?”

Nicky narrows his eyes for half a moment wondering if he should push or challenge his clearly sulking boyfriend before deciding to let the sleeping dog lie for now, “Mmmm, I don’t know actually? Probably just an accessory for the costume? Oh! Or maybe some dice?” Simon’s expression changes into a more genuine smile as he grabs at Nicky’s arm and massages it, “Well here’s an idea. We’re right by the dice shop yeah? Howsabout we split up. I’ll grab us some beers and you go check out the offerings. Meet back here?” 

Wordlessly agreeing, Nicky leans in for a kiss and relaxes at Simon seemingly perking up. Heading off with a nod, Nicky exits the tavern, preventing him from seeing his boyfriend’s facade fade once more as he contemplates getting a drink or two ahead of his partner before his return from the shops. 

Under the impression that Simon has cheered back up, Nick is off to the races. Dice shop just across the way he begins his short trek when suddenly there’s a buzzing in the back of his mind. The sounds of the crowd around him eerily fade as if his ears are waterlogged, he shakes his head from the sudden discomfort and takes a moment to see if anyone else seems to be affected. Before he’s able to inspect his fellow festival-goers he is shocked to see a strange shop he’s never seen before.

Nestled in between a printing press and some soap store Nicky furrows his brow and wonders how he’s possibly missed the shop before now. He’s been coming for years and knows the layout of the festival like the back of his hand. After waiting a few seconds to see if anyone else is entering he takes a cautious step forward and trips as his body tries to take another without his intent. Nicky blushes as he bumps into a brawny barbarian who laughs him off and ruffles his hair, “Watch where yer -urp goin dude huhuh!” Nicky nods an apology and reflexively takes another backwards step towards the apparently new shop. In a sudden need for an expedited retreat from embarrassment, Nicky quickly rushes towards the door and away from the man bumped who eyes him taking a large swig from a tankard. 

He hasn’t the chance to notice that each step towards the shop that should not be there is quicker than the one that came before. In no time at all he tears open the door and is inside the quaint cluttered shop. While his eyes adjust from the bright fall day behind him, he takes in the scene as well as he can. The small space is filled with some bitter herbal scent and the air seems to crackle with something similar to static. Nicky of course attributes the strange prickle on his skin to nerves and continues browsing the curious shop.

There’s no real discernible theme to the shop, really it seems to be more of an antique store than anything else. In any normal situation Nicky would have already dipped back out, but something in the back of his mind keeps pulling him in deeper. Walking past strange dolls and stranger bottled liquids, the almost ticklish sensation continues to assail him with unconscious step forward. His spacial awareness tells him he has wandered further than should be possible but it’s almost as if he has no option to continue forward. Coming up on a curtained doorway Nicky’s hands move as if possessed to part the blinds and his eyes finally lay upon what supernatural, impossible thing must be drawing him inward. 

It would be the perfect accessory for his costume. It would be the perfect accessory to put on and never take off again. It will be perfect. It will be his. He needs it more than anything. His eyes shine with the ruby tinges reflecting off the talisman as he inches towards the pedestal it lies upon. His hand reaches towards the object of his desires and burns as the prickling sensation comes to a head. He grimaces as it turns to an almost boiling heat before his fingers touch it and the impossibly intense sensation instantly disappears. Nicky jumps due to the sudden almost atmospheric change and before recovering he almost has a heart attack as who must be the shopkeep shouts from behind him, “HELLO HELLO YOUNG NICHOLAS!” 

Nicky scrambles to hide behind the pedestal and inspect the mystery man, his vision momentarily tinged scarlet. As the twinges of whatever static sensation filled him moments ago begin to fade totally, he finds himself suddenly able to realize how strange everything about this is. He gulps as he sees a man dressed as a campy wizard adjusting his glasses, “Well it seems you found what you were looking for eh old sport?” Nicky looks down at the still shimmering necklace in his hands, stuttering incoherently as his mind races to understand. 

In the half second his eyes were off the wizardly shopkeep, the man has crept up behind once more. Now throwing an arm around Nicky he helps him to his feet and begins leading away from the curtained room, “Hup hup- Now you must be very careful with your words now young Nicholas. Do tell Simon I said hello hm?” Nicky again looks at the necklace in hand and, hanging to the rational world by a thread, inquires, “P- Pay? Did I pay for this?”  The wizardly man laughs and pats him on the back, “Oh don’t you worry ah ha ha! Hah.” The wizardly man winks, though even doing so there is an after image of a red eye staring into and through Nicky. The younger man opens his mouth to question the clearly mystic magus of the artifact and his intentions though before he gets a chance the wizard shouts.

“Do have fun at the festival my boy!” with that he brusquely pushes Nicky forward and he finds himself outdoors by a printing press and soap shop. Fearful of turning around to see there is no store there Nicky looks down to find himself wearing the talisman. Grabbing at it he finds the same sensation that filled him minutes ago, though muted. Pleasant. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath before he is again bumped into, this time by someone whose vision is clearly obscured by a mask, “Sho- Shorry!” Nicky sighs and apologizes, though the physical sensation and awkwardness brings him back to reality. Shaking off anxiety and pushing down whatever it is just happened he heads off to meet his boyfriend at the tavern. 

Returning to find Simon housing his third ale, Nicky quickly downs his own to distract from the strange anxiety that remains persuasive in spite of their reunion. Wishing for distraction, it comes swiftly and in short order the pair are out and about enjoying all the festivities that the faire has to offer, various sloppy meats on a stick, bird shows and jesters, and a firework show to cap it all off. The day soars by in short order and Nicky, wanting to forget about his encounter in that place that wasn't, does just that with shocking, almost supernatural, ease. In fact anything Nicky seems to desire almost falls at his feet. With but an imperceptible red shine in his eyes Nicky finds himself wanting for nothing. The same could not be said for his boyfriend.

After sobering up, his dour jealousy for the superior male form returns and as much as Simon tries to hide it from Nicky, the long day has dulled his ability to disguise anything from his boyfriend. On the long walk back to the car Nicky initially avoids bringing it up, but after an eventful day of getting just about everything he desires, he can’t help but try and get to the root of Simon’s sour attitude. “Can you just tell me what’s up babe?” Groaning as he unlocks the car door the weary man answers, “It’s nothing Nick. I’m just- UGH! I wish I wasn’t so self-concious or had actually gone to the gym or-” turning to see Nicky’s puppy dog eyes for not realzing his discomfort Simon groans and apologies, “Don’t worry it’s fine, I um, I had fun!”

Mind flashing back to the barbarian costume that Simon ultimately decided not to wear, love for his boyfriend overwhelms him and he reaches out to hold his lover’s free hand. Hidden underneath his own cloak, Nicky’s talisman flashes red as the sticky staticky sensation returns stronger than it had been even in the shop. He doesn’t whisper or even coherently think the words as he immediately drifts off to sleep in the passenger seat, but the intention is more than enough for the die to be cast. I wish Nicky had more confidence. I wish he was less self-conscious. I wish he was proud of his body. 

Subconscious wish made Nicky’s ruby red eyes remain closed as he falls into an incredibly deep sleep, leaving Simon alone with his thoughts. He squirms slightly behind the wheel as he suddenly feels warm. Mind too muddled to wallow he feels every inch of his body suddenly buzzing with energy, as if an espresso was being dripped into his veins. Looking at his sleeping boyfriend his thoughts shift immediately from self-criticism and body dysmorphia to a lustful, almost primal hunger for his mate. Nicky’s hand still burning hot on his own despite the blaring aircon, he fights the urge to bring the sleeping man’s hand to his cock as it begins to stir. 

Before they’ve even left the parking lot Simon is overwhelmed with a lust for his partner stronger than anything he has felt in some time. Hitting the open road he chews his lip to distract from his cock doing its best to pop the seam in his pants, constantly he’s choking down horny grunts and groans to prevent the sleeping Nicky from waking up. Arriving at their shared home, he struggles to gracefully exit the car with his rod standing firmer than he assumed it could. Eventually making it out, he goes to pick up his still sleepy passenger. 

With a great deal of effort, Simon successfully stills his hips and quiets his lusts to pick up his sleeping suitor. Baring the urges of his body he realizes that the task is far easier than it should be, Nicky’s not heavy but- Any further inquisition is stilled as he reflexively takes a deep breath of his sleeping lover and is promptly overwhelmed. Nicky’s floral shampoo and deodorant mix with b.o. from an unseasonably warm day in the sun and Simon doesn’t have the strength to quiet the grunt that erupts from him as his cock throbs and prods Nicky in the back. 

Eyes blearily open as the sleeping wizard stirs and stretches in the arms of his lover. “Wha? Si?” The self-conscious Simon, embarrassed at waking up his boyfriend quickly puts him down. He blushes as Nicky steadies himself on his arms, still yawning he chastises his boyfriend for letting him fall asleep, “You didn’t *ahwn* didn haf to do tha babe, *awh*” Rubbing his ruby-tinged eyes he can’t quite make out the finer details of his boyfriend, but he would swear he’s looking further up than he usually does to make eye contact. Simon waves him off, “It’s fine, I’m not even tired really.” 

Leaning down to give him a hug, Simon angles his head into Nicky’s nape he takes another deep breath, this time not even trying to mute the groan that spills forth, “MMmhm, y’know now that you’re up the night’s still young…” Nicky tilts his head before understanding as Simon’s cock throbs once more into his abdomen, shaking off the sleep Nicky’s own package begins to stir as he leads his partner into their home, “Well now that you mention it~”

Nicky starts disrobing when Simon grabs his hand, some small amount of discomfort hiding in his expression as he asks, “Would you mind if I, um, topped? This time?” Nicky tilts his head before nodding cheerily, “feeling frisky huh?” Nicky performatively poses before seemingly doing some mental math and continuing, “it’s been a minute haha! Let me just hop in the shower real quick and then we’ll have some fun!”

Already feeling like he’s overstepping Simon doesn’t mention his desire for Nicky to not shower. Something feral need within him forces forward an urge to tackle and fuck then and there but he pushes such thoughts down and waits as patiently as he can. Preparing to bottom on such a short notice, Nicky quickly strips and his eyes land upon the talisman hanging from his neck once more. Pursing his lips he goes to take the necklace off, though as his fingers clasp the chain he shivers as it sends a sensitive pang searing through him. Why would he take it off. Feeling immediately more alert and needy, Nicky swiftly hops in the shower to prepare for some fun.

Outside the bathroom his boyfriend taps his foot anxiously, sending a deep, impatient echo through the room. Irritated at the sound he stands and quickly disrobes himself. After getting the cloak off, the room is filled with slight groans of effort as he struggles to get off his shirt. It’s almost stuck to his skin? Probably from sweat he thinks but each time he wrenches it up it only frees about an inch more room. His irritation prevents him from noticing how it decidedly hugs new weight on his chest or cuts into apparently thicker biceps.

The sound of the shirt straining fills the room and he grinds his teeth as the prospect of being stuck in the top any longer is unbearable. His hands stretch longer and strain shifts to tearing as he rips the tunic off with a grunt. Exposed to the open air is a sweaty body far more impressive than when the man struggled to get ready that morning. Looking at the torn shirt in his hand he blushes as his eyes trail up his forearms and stare at a bicep that’s begging to be flexed. 

Stepping out wearing only a towel and his talisman, Nicky smiles as he stares at Simon appreciating his arms, “Couldn’t have waited for me to put on the show huh?” Simon turns to see his boyfriend drop the towel and he loses control. Any sign of intelligence in his eyes vacates as he manhandles the man onto the bed. For his part Nicky assumes this to be roleplay, almost giggling from delight as the typically meek man ragdolls him onto the bed. Drool leaks from Simon's maw as he grunts and groans, struggling to free the throbbing package still trapped in his shorts.

Being straddled, Nick takes the chance to carefully observe his boyfriend’s body, appreciating the view that he seldom gets. For the life of him he doesn’t understand why Si got so worked up, with arms like that and a chest- or? When did he start working out actually? Nicky frees a hand to touch the man’s powerful torso and Simon shivers, reflexively rutting into him as his cock growing even harder sends the sound of fabric straining through the room. He’s decidedly firmer, heavier. Nicky sees hair begin to grow on the man’s chest and his mind for half a second hears the echoing laughter of a man he wished to forget. Though there’s no time to think as Simon goes for the tried and true method of just ripping his clothes off.

Eyes wide with wonder, Nicky watches as biceps bulge larger with each tug, shoulder span expanding as his hands yank and tear. His mouth falls open as he sees a cock clearly larger than the one that he knows Simon to have. Gulping as he realizes he’s agreed to take this dick that stretches up to his sternum, Nicky blushes and Simon smirks as he leans down to snarl or whisper something in his lover’s ear. 

Nicky feels pre dripping onto his chest as the larger man leans down, his arms land to either side of the man exposing pits dripping with sweat and just before he speaks or growls, the talisman flashes red. Eyes focused on each other neither man sees some shard of light go from the charm into Simon. His eyes roll back and close before he falls down onto Nicky. Immediately concerned for his love, Nicky struggles to shift the man off him and call for help before he hears Simon begin to snore. His body feels like a furnace atop Nicky’s, a cock still erect continues to throb into his stomach and gush pre in between the two of them. He feels patches of hairs thicker than Simon typically carries scratching him. Nicky tries to force the sleeping oaf off him before quickly tuckering himself out.

It was a long day after all. Nicky yawns as he sees the back of the man lying atop him. It’s not right, too wide, too heavy. His ass is not that large his- ughh. With another shove to wake or move Simon, Nicky feels weariness truly overtake him and his scarlet eyes flutter. The sleeping man moves his arms to hug Nicky tight and the seemingly smaller man has no recourse but to give way, his sides tickled by patches of pit hair dripping with sweat. Nick’s head tips forward a few times as he struggles to stay awake though the sound of his lover’s new snores lull him to sleep.

In the morning Nicky wakes to find himself free from Simon’s grasp, though the man’s sweat stains leave a clear outline around him on the bed and his torso remains sticky from pre. His head aches with a hangover though after the faintest wish that it end, so it does. Groaning he gets to his feet and heads off to shower once more, en route he finds a note from Si: “heyyy babe woke up w so much energy!!! gonna go for a run or to the gym idk :) c u soon thooooo<3”  Nicky  rubs sleep from his eyes and reads the short note a few times over, “hmmm. Weird.” Shrugging he goes about his day as usual, cleaning up, brewing coffee, doing the crossword. Something in the back of his mind says he usually does this with Simon, but that can’t be right? He’d never want to do that. His eye twitches as unbeknownst to him, with each step further away his love has truly begun to change from his unintentional intentions into a man who will never feel shame again.

Simon doesn’t know why he feels so compelled to get up and at ‘em. For years he has given himself ultimatums, scheduled gym sessions, dieted and done his best, but there has not been a moment in his life where he has felt more drive, more purpose than his flight from their shared bed. It’s like he’s a new man with nothing on his mind but getting some meat on his bones. He barely had the wherewithal to leave a note for his lover, as is clear by the lack of eloquence.

Nor is that the only aspect askew from Simon’s typical self. As his anxiety at being perceived shirtless may suggest, the man is always conscious of how he looks. Rarely does a day go by without Simon giving himself a painstaking once over in front of the mirror, be it applying makeup or designing an outfit. To simply throw on a tshirt and leave without even rinsing his face is anathema, and yet after doing just that and throwing on his boyfriend’s sneakers, finding his own far too tight, he’s out the door well before the sun begins to rise. 

His feet fall heavy on the sidewalk as his shabby outfit soon enough finds itself straining. Grimacing at the constriction it becomes clear that these clothes are far too tight and getting tighter with each step it seems. Nevertheless he presses onward until there is stinging pain from his feet struggling against their binds. While he’s been content to ignore or misinterpret the sounds of his own tshirt beginning to fray, as well as the pain that such constriction entails, he doesn’t want to ruin Nicky’s shoes. And so scrambling for somewhere to sit down he hops on a bench and begins to struggle with the laces.

Simon’s toes struggle against frontal fabric while the shoes’ tongues press into laces that simply must be cutting into the tops of his feet. Simon’s mind is clearly slowing down as he takes a few seconds too long to simply watch his feet expand beyond containment before, with a gasp, pain jogs him into action. At first he goes to untie them before he’s unable to recall precisely how to do that. Immediately switching to the task already begun by his growing feet he reaches in and simply tears each shoe in two.

His arms bulge with the effort involved in splitting them in twain, biceps that never were begin to appear and push his short sleeves to their limit as new muscle presses onto his chest. Looking down at his hands, decidedly more masc, the man can do nothing but observe his new form as it begins to extol an untenable price on his mind. With each new manly aspect so too will the cogs of his mind continue to slow.

Looking at his boyfriend's shredded shoes, Simon is immediately guilty though he releases a contented sigh as his feet flex free from their confines. His newly one track mind is then thrown off-course and his eyes narrow at the feet bare on cold concrete. They were not simply chafing or something reasonable of the sort, they are too big. They’re larger than his shoes and seem to still be growing larger. And wait- Why did he leave the house without wearing socks!? 

Simon shakes his head to try and focus on one question at a time, though before peace comes there is a searing pain from his legs as his changes continue upward. Calves burst from his bony legs while athletic shorts are clearly strained by thighs that any man would kill for. Thick, perhaps barbarous, curls begin to issue forth from any pore exposed as he clutches with his newly thicker hands into muscle still hardening, still pumping larger. 

Grunting loudly, Simon falls off the bench as ever spreading changes spread towards his glutes. His pert ass hardens and grows to a size that would attract attention no matter what he wears to try and hide it under. His whole lower body cramps with growth as his legs extend, wider feet scratching into dirt as calves and thighs lengthen while his pulse continues to race from the shock of this impossible transformation. Struggling with the new weight of self, his rougher hands pressed into the ground his duller mind is unable to reconcile what is happening to him with reality. The sound of blood rushing through his ears mutes the world around him and at the slightest lapse he simply forgets.

“Why am I on my hands?” Through bleary eyes he stares at hands too wide, fingers longer and thicker. He trails upward and almost scoffs as he sees forearms and biceps not nearly as defined as they should be, after another moment mouth agog he guffaws as he presumes to have put one and one together, “Oh ahuhuh- I must be workin’ out here?” Licking his lips as he is filled with an otherworldly surge of energy, Simon gets started following one of the most common impulses that is to evermore make itself at home in his mind. He starts doing some push ups.

Immediately do his biceps burn with effort as they put on weight at an impossible rate. Simon grunts with the effort of taking the wheel and commanding his body to be more powerful. His heart pounds in his chest as, just like every piece of fabric before, his shirt quickly gives way outright to the progress of growth. To the strengthening of self. With each dip towards the earth his pecs come closer to touching the cold soil before bouncing as his powerful arms rocket him back upwards with precision. 

Simon continues exercising until his arms burn as numb as his new, slower mind. Not only does muscle continue to pack on with every punch upwards, but his impressive form is just as quickly patterned with burgeoning body hair. Sweat drips down onto a chest rapidly peppered with curls and steams off a back which holds hair slowly rising from his lightly furred ass. Sweaty steam trails upwards from widening shoulders and bulky traps into the cold autumn air as heavy breath mists from behind gnashing teeth. Nowhere does the hair grow thicker than under his powerful arms as a jungle of hair grows outward from his pits and sends distinct trails of sweat down his trunk like biceps and across his hulking pecs.

Body hair and brawn are not the only decidedly improved aspects of the man either. Just as he continues to pack on muscle with each thrust upwards, so too is his crotch pulled closer to the ground with every descent. His briefs struggle against a package rapidly growing beyond any tenable containment. Balls bulge larger to supply his impressive form with the hormones required for the growth he demands of it, pubes cascading upward and outward as they strive to assert that Simon’s masculinity shall never be in question. 

So too does his cock throb and push against the confines of his underwear enough to be plainly visible. Not only from growing erect as his heart races, but from expanding to be the most impressive rod either he or his lover have ever seen. With the slightest glance down to see his new cock, he smirks and shivers as he imagines topping Nicky with that beast. 

This of course sends such a powerful surge of lust through him that the bulging cock immediately bursts free from the briefs outright, leaving him clad in nothing. His cock, now free, drips pre onto the earth as he continues working out a few moments longer in the buff, plain for anyone to see were the streets not thankfully empty. Guffawing to himself after thrusting his new cock into the ground a few times in the process of pushing up, Simon’s new bovine mind eventually realizes he’s fully nude and public and quickly stumbles to his feet. “Oh shit huhuh-” He stands and scratches the back of his head and tries to plan some form of escape, in the process he flexes his bicep and can’t help but smirk as he sees the veins bulging along its impressive length.

Feeling his still turgid cock bounce with every slight movement, he continues laughing before looking down to see shredded clothes scattered at his colossal feet. Seeing the pile of clothes outgrown, Simon does everything short of drooling as he for the first time takes in his new form. Massive hands trail across padded muscle as the urgency of covering his dick fades from his mind. 

When his sweaty pecs begin to glimmer from the rising sun he is immediately thrown back into awareness of his active criminal behavior. Checking the coast is clear once more, he pauses for a moment wondering what the big deal is about public nudity before being chastised by some internal Nicky. Simon turns back to the bench and laughs dumbly as he sees his gym bag lying discarded.

Pouncing like an animal, he quickly tears into and retrieves shorts that will surely leave nothing to the imagination. Nevertheless he throws them on and grimaces as they tightly hug his ass and package. Seeing shirts thrown to the side he scratches his face and his face quivers as he feels stubble grace it for the first time. He purses his lips just to feel a moustache scratch his nose and absolutely disregards the idea that he needs a shirt. Why would he cover up anything beyond what is necessary. Surely the world would be more than grateful at the chance to see his form he asserts, bouncing his pecs and chuckling as he does so.

Finding himself with nothing to do besides appreciate how built he truly is now, Simon uses his phone as a mirror to inspect every angle and uses whatever sparing space in his mind to keep track of the best ones. The massive man shivers as the sweaty steam rising from him briefly glimmers red, making it clear that Nicky’s will has been enacted on his lover and announcing the fulfillment of his will. Nevermore will he be self-conscious, quite the opposite in fact. As morning commuters begin their grind many offer a passing glance to the by all accounts himbo drooling at his own reflection, and never does one escape without receiving a wink or flex from the man.

When a pair of jocks eye him with jealousy on the way to class he holds back laughter, the idea that not twenty-four hours ago he was just like them, smaller even, is inconceivable to the new man. Though to be fair, much now lies beyond the realm of conceivability for the man. He thinks about offering some tips to the pair though refrains as something needles him far, far in the back of his simple mind. There was something he was supposed to do yeah?

Furrowing his brow in as deep a concentration as he can muster, Simon’s eyes close and his hands clench at his head as he tries to think. Laundry? Huhuh as if- Meal prep? Then why would he be out here? Simon starts groaning in frustration and tapping his larger, still bare, foot on the sidewalk. Ephemeral ideas he might have latched onto in a life before this one drift past before he gives up and sits down, crossing his arms. The bench creaks under his new weight as he almost petulantly reclines, head back and eyes blank.

Suddenly he jolts up and almost hits himself for not doing the obvious straight away. Obviously Nicky’ll know what to do! His clumsy hands struggle to get his phone from the pocket of his shorts and he smiles at the lock screen, a picture of Nicky being smothered by his massive arms. Simon then squints and bites his tongue in concentration as now even this requires some degree of effort. Quickly enough he dials up his beau and almost vibrates from the excitement of hearing his voice. 

Back at home Nicky is playing a game though squeezes the phone in his headset as he sees Simon calling, “Hey baby? What’s up, early start today huh?” Would that he had a tail to wag, Simon laughs and answers, “ha uhhh, yeah somethin’ like that- uhhhhh. Yo did you uh, know what I was plannin’ on doing this morning?” Nicky tilts his head, for a moment he swears something is off with his boyfriend’s voice. Then his eyes go blank and his vision flickers red before, no it’s always been like that? Nicky swears something about his long hours at the gym over the years made him drop a few octaves but that’s neither here nor there. 

Nicky shakes off this small stupor, “Yeah Si, you said you were going to the gym no?” an eye twitches, “y’know, like usual?” Excitement once more sets fire in Simon’s veins as he nods and laughs at himself for forgetting such a simple routine, “Ahhh what would I do without you babe huhuh!” He kisses his cellphone and winks at a woman walking her dog who was giving him a side-eye. “Well you have fun dude! Gonna go get a MASSIVE pump in!” Nicky wryly grins and rolls his eyes, “you too, you too b, see you later-” With that he gets back to the game, intentionally ignoring the crimson buzzing at the back of his mind as both men set off to tackle the obstacles of the day, totally unaware of the lives they are to unintentionally change evermore. 

Potentialities: (Poll on Sunday the First at 12 AM CST)

Gonna keep this one limited as a test run! If you have any suggestions or ideas for the next poll please shout! Happy to get real wacky with it if there’s an interest!

Nicky Routes:

Grow up you asshole: Getting flamed in game Nicky’s clapback  teaches a gamer to be a real man (Bear/Dilf TF) 

Man you always play him: Well intentioned words bring his gamer friend far closer in mind, body, and spirit to his favorite character- Fictional character TF (Would prompt another poll for sure, haven’t done one of these before but if there’s a demand we’ll see!)

Simon Routes: (More standard faire jock/himbo tfs)

Sorry for the backwash bro: Accidentally sharing a drink causes his himbofication to spread 

Let’s get pumped: Simon finds work as a personal trainer and is far more effective than he has any right to be 

[moonmaiden1996]

Bound by Fate

Shank's inhales some Devil Fruit Pollen unleashing some primal urges deep within him and revealing a potent and alluring scent pulling you directly into his path.

Chapter Two

Shanks had always believed he was in control—of his crew, his ship, his destiny. A man as powerful as he was couldn’t afford to lose himself, not to anything, especially not to something as ridiculous as Devil Fruit blossom. Yet, there he was, his mind consumed by the effects of a pollen he hadn’t even noticed until it was too late.

It started with a strange, floral scent, subtle but maddening, swirling in the air of the marketplace. The merchant’s stand had been covered in bright red flowers, their pollen drifting through the wind. The fool of a merchant. Greedy and stupid. The plants that grew Devil Fruits were rare, especially since when an eater dies, their fruit reappears somewhere in the world. It didn’t mean that the flowers didn't appear, and when they did, stupid merchants would not hesitate to cut them down and sell them to the highest bidder. The flower and leaves could be dried and mashed up to make all sorts of powders, tinctures, and oils for a skilled physician, at least, but for an idiot with a pestle and mortar it was dangerous. Even for a Yonko like himself

When that pollen hit his face, he knew the trouble it would cause he was at least thankful the small gust didn't hit anyone else.

The change was slow at first. A warmth spread through his chest, making his pulse race, though he chalked it up to the tropical heat. But then came the scent—your scent. Faint at first, like a whisper on the breeze, but with each passing day, it grew stronger, more intoxicating. It was unlike anything he had ever felt. It called to him, pulling him in a direction he didn’t fully understand.

Days passed, and the more he fought it, the stronger the urge became. Beckman and Hongo are watching over him constantly.  Every breath he took was painful. Every breath seemed to be filled with you, and a painful reminder that you were not there somewhere beyond his reach, waiting to be found. And Shanks, despite his easygoing nature, couldn’t ignore it any longer. The need was burning when he gave Snake his new destination and Beckman his orders.

xxx

The festival on the island of Tansora was in full swing when the Red Force docked. Music filled the air, laughter echoing through the streets. Shanks, with his usual grin and swagger, led his crew into town, but beneath his confident exterior, that strange hunger gnawed at him.

Despite the dizzying array of smell and sound and copious amounts of ale and rum being passed around it was not hard to find you, winding himself through the winding passages and hoards of writhing bodies. Your scent was not easily overpowered.

You were on stage, dancing with a grace that made the crowd sway in rhythm. But it wasn’t just your movements that captivated him—it was the power you radiated. You didn’t know it, but your very presence was laced with Haki. It was subtle, woven into every turn and every motion of your dance, commanding attention and respect without you needing to speak a word.

Shanks’ heart raced, the scent of you overwhelming his senses, and for a moment, he felt as if the world had narrowed to just you and him. He watched, entranced, the pull growing stronger, primal.

"Captain," Benn Beckman’s voice cut through the haze. "You good? you haven't had a drop of rum since we left the ship."

Shanks tore his eyes away from you, blinking as if waking from a dream. "Yeah," he said, though his voice was rougher than usual. "I’m fine. Pass me a tankard, let's celebrate, we just have one small thing to do." Shanks roared, followed by his crew, clattering of cups sloshing the amber coloured liquid. But not once did his eyes leave your performance.

He wasn’t fine. Not at all.

xxx

When your music finished, you slipped off the stage and away from the crowd, seeking a moment of quiet in the alley behind the festival grounds. The air was hot, stifling, a thin sheen of sweat glimmered in the night. Your heart was still pounding from the dance, the energy of the evening lingering in your body like an aftershock. But there was something else, too—an uneasy feeling that you couldn’t shake, like you were being watched. The cold air felt good on your calling skin as you settled against the rough slates of the building that surrounded the square. Closing your eyes, you took a few steady pants of breath to steady your racing heart. The sound of shuffling stirred you from your moment's respite. 

That’s when you saw him.

A man stood in the shadows, leaning casually against the wall, an arm crossed over his chest. He was tall, with messy red hair that framed his face in a wild, untamed way. His grin was cocky, but there was something in his eyes that set you on edge—something dark and intense. a black cloak blocked most of his form, but you didn't need to see it. He was tall and strong built. No man could be up to any good, lurking on the fringes of the festival. Not when whatever pleasure they wanted could be filled in the main square. 

"Didn’t mean to scare you," he said, his voice smooth, almost teasing. "You’re quite the dancer. I didn't expect that, aren't I a lucky man." he smiled. 

You narrowed your eyes, taking a step back. "Who are you?"

He straightened up, walking toward you with a swagger. "Shanks," he said simply, as if that was all the explanation you needed.

When you didn’t respond, he let out a soft chuckle. "You really don’t know, do you? I thought it would work on you too, hm."

"Know what?" You snapped, your body tensing as the unease grew. There was something about him, something in the way he looked at you, like he knew more than he was letting on.

Shanks’ grin faded slightly, replaced by something more serious. "There’s a connection between us," he said, his voice low. "I don’t know how or why, but I can feel it. And I know you can too."

Your heart skipped a beat. His words sent a chill down your spine. The closer he got the more impressive his form seemed, thick muscles strained against his skin, bronzed by hours outside in the hot sun, a body that had left the tale-tell signs of a fighter, the three jagged scars that drew down across his right eye and a missing left arm. Not that would hinder him, he did seem like he would need another arm to do some serious damage.

"I don’t know what you’re talking about," you said, keeping your voice steady. "And I don’t care. Whatever you think is happening here, it’s not."

Shanks stepped closer, his presence overwhelming, but there was a softness in his gaze, a sweetness beneath the authority. "I wish it was that simple," he murmured, his voice almost tender. His fingers twitching as his reached his hand out before pulling in back to his check settling in back to his side, but you did miss the clench of his hand and his fingernails pressing in to the callous flesh on his palm ‘’I haven’t been able to think about anything but you. The scent of you, the pull of you... it’s driving me mad."

You stared at him, your pulse racing. "You are drunk or insane," you said, though your voice wavered. ‘’and I don't have time for either"

"I didn’t want this," he admitted, ignoring you words, his expression pained. "But it’s not about what I want anymore. It’s about what we are. You are mine."

You took a step back, shaking your head. "So you're definitely drunk and insane then," your voice wobbled as you skirted back, but every move you made back forward, he moved forward, his eyes forever moving, devouring you. 

Shanks sighed, his usual cocky smile slipping for a moment, replaced by something darker, more conflicted. "I know it’s a lot to take in, but I can’t fight it anymore. I need you with me."

Your stomach twisted. You have been an entertainer long enough to know how to deal with the pervy patrons that crowd round every corner after a performance, and you have lived in Tonsona long enough to know a pirate when you see one. Grabby and rude, pushing their intimation on anything they thought they could get away with, This however was different, this pirate presence seemed to dominate the space, he was by no means a giant but there was something oddly menacing about this one. And you really did not have the energy to deal with this, a overfriendly pirate too drunk and stupid to make a real pass at you.

"I’m not going anywhere with you," you said, your voice firm. ‘’Go back to the festival.’’

Shanks’ eyes flashed with frustration, but he didn’t push. Instead, he took a deep breath as if steadying himself. "I didn’t want it to come to this," he said softly, almost as if he were speaking to himself. "But I don’t have a choice."

Before you could react, there was movement behind you—strong hands grabbing your arms, pulling you back. You struggled, but it was no use. The men holding you were skilled, their grips firm yet careful, as if they didn’t want to hurt you.

"Let me go!" you shouted, panic rising in your chest.

Benn Beckman appeared beside Shanks, his expression calm but unreadable. "We need to take her, Captain," he said quietly. "It’s the only way."

Shanks clenched his jaw, his fists tightening at his sides. "I know," he muttered, his voice thick with self-loathing. "But that doesn’t mean I like it."

‘’Hongo will make sure she isn't harmed.’’ Benn's gruff voice soothing his captain as he marched him toward the dock, back to you as you were pulled along with them.  

You fought against the hands of the crew, but they were unyielding, your heart pounding in your chest, but they were too strong. They lifted you off your feet, carrying you toward the docks where the Red Force awaited. No matter how much you twisted and struggled, they did not budge. Their eyes are determined and hard.

You screamed, your voice filled with fury and desperation. "You don’t have to do this!"

Shanks winced, his face tight with guilt. "I’m sorry," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. With his back to you, you could barely hear him. "But I need you with me. I can’t let you go."

Despite the firm set of his jaw and the confidence in his stance, there was pain in his eyes, a battle raging within him. He hated himself for this, for taking you against your will, but the primal need inside him—the need for his—overpowered his conscience. He couldn’t walk away, not now.

"Let me go!" you shouted, panic rising in your chest.

Your eyes darted between Shanks and Beckman, the reality of the situation crashing down on you like a wave. You were trapped.

"Why are you doing this?" you demanded, fear creeping into your voice, tears welling up in your eyes as you tugged hopelessly at the hands that caged you.

Shank's didn’t turn to you, only glanced at you over his shoulder, the pleading of his tone making you freeze in the hands of your captives. "Because I need you. We need each other. You’ll understand soon enough, but you have to trust me."

You swallowed hard, every instinct screaming at you to run, to escape. But the way he looked at you, with a mix of desperation and longing, kept you rooted in place.

"I won’t be your captive," you shot back defiantly but quietly.

"You’re not a captive," Shanks replied, his voice softening. "You’ll be mine."

Even as you fought against the ropes that bound you, you could not quell a deepening feeling in the pit of your stomach to submit, to give in. A feeling that you pushed down with every fiber of your body even though every cell in your body screamed for you to not fight.

xxxxx

Once aboard the Red Force, they brought you to a cabin, locking the door behind you. You paced the small room, your mind racing, trying to make sense of what had just happened. but you didn't miss the soft creak of the ship, and it swayed into motion. You were sailing. On a ship. Abducted by a crew and what you can only assume was their deranged captain. Your best hope was they were going to sell you, the worse… you shivered, it doesn't bear thinking about it.  

After what seemed an eternity, the door creaked open, and Shanks stepped inside. His cocky grin was gone, replaced by a sombre expression in this light. You could see him clearly now. The red locks framed his face, and chocolate eyes stared out at you from a canvas of gold skin. His feature was well weathered but handsome as he leaned against the doorframe, his arm crossed.

"I didn’t want it to go like this," he said quietly, his voice soft. "I didn’t want to force you."

You glared at him, your anger flaring. "Then why did you? Why kidnap me?"

Shanks ran a hand through his hair, and down his face, his stubble made him look tired, frustration etched into his features. "Because if I didn’t, I’d lose myself." His eyes met yours, raw and unguarded. "That damn pollen, it’s turned me into something I never wanted to be.’’ he muttered more to himself than to you. ‘’But now, I need you more than anything. And I hate myself for it but for now you need to stay."

The honesty in his voice caught you off guard. You could see the conflict in him—the cocky, confident pirate who always had control now fighting against something far deeper, something primal and unavoidable.

"I don’t expect you to forgive me," Shanks continued, his voice quiet. "But I promise you this—I’ll keep you safe. Always."

You didn’t know what to say. Part of you wanted to scream at him, to fight back, to demand your freedom. But another part of you—it wasn't sure. 

‘’What do you want from me?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, your anger giving way to confusion.

"To make you mine," Shanks said simply, his gaze unwavering. "I can’t fight it, and neither should you. Whatever this is between us,  it is not something I have the power to ignore."

Your breath caught in your throat. The intensity of his gaze burned into you, but you couldn’t let yourself be swayed by his words. You took a step back, desperately trying to regain some semblance of control.

"Let me go!" you shouted again, this time more forcefully.

"Can’t do that," he replied, though his tone was almost apologetic. "Not until we figure this out. Until I know you’re safe. I’m not just a pirate; I’m a Yonko. I won’t let anyone hurt you."

 "What’s wrong with you? I don’t need you to protect me! I don’t need anything from you!"

"You’re wrong," Shanks said, his voice steady, but the weight of his words hung heavy in the air. "You need me. You will see in time."

Your eyes narrowed, but you couldn’t deny the flicker of uncertainty in your gut. Shanks straightened, his confident demeanour slowly returning as he gave you a small, apologetic smile. "For what it’s worth," he said softly, "I’ll make this right. One way or another. You never know you might like life as a pirate. You strike me as the cutthroat type. Now get some rest."

And with that, he turned and left, leaving you alone in the cabin as the Red Force sailed away into the night, carrying you toward an uncertain future.

I have wanted to write One Piece Fanfic for ages, and this has been stuck in my mind for the longest time. Might write a second part and more pollen fiction for the other members of the Straw Hats. Please like, leave a comment or make a review.

[jmkjournalblog]

"Soulmates" Part 3

Part 1 Part 2

Pairing:Wednesday Addams x FemVampire! Reader

A/N: English isn’t my first language, so I apologize for any mistakes

Warnings: None

Y/n POV

The flashing lights and clamor of the Harvesting Festival surrounded us, each noise and vivid display feeling almost surreal compared to the shadowed stone walls of Nevermore.

After we left the mirror maze, I found myself walking alongside Enid and Yoko. Enid was practically vibrating with excitement as she flitted between booths, desperately trying to convince us to ride a garish-looking Ferris wheel or taste-test the vendors' multicolored sweets. I played along, amused at the sight of her hopping from stall to stall, though I couldn’t entirely shake the feeling that something was off.

Yoko walked at a more measured pace beside me, her crimson-tinted sunglasses casting a strange glow as the neon lights caught their reflection. She seemed content to keep a casual distance, her attention darting around with an almost predatory interest in the people around us.

“Do you always look this unimpressed?” I teased, bumping her shoulder lightly as we meandered past a ring-toss game.

She tilted her head, lips quirking. “Only when I’m surrounded by chaos. Nevermore’s a circus on good days. This? This is just… another layer.”

Enid popped up between us, holding a pair of steaming caramel apples. “Come on, you two! It’s not all bad. Y/n, you haven’t even smiled once.”

“I’ve smiled plenty,” I shot back, taking the apple from her and pretending to inspect it as if it might bite first. “It’s just hard to tell when I’m surrounded by so many vampires and rainbows.”

“Rude,” Enid huffed, though her playful glare didn’t last. She spotted another attraction—this one involving some kind of spinning ride—and bounded away, already calling out for us to follow. I chuckled under my breath and exchanged a glance with Yoko.

“I’m surprised you tolerate the glitter bomb,” she said, amusement coloring her words.

“It’s a strange dynamic,” I admitted, my tone light. “Maybe I have a weakness for contrasts.”

Before Yoko could respond, my attention was drawn away. Across the expanse of booths, weaving between carnival-goers with a dark, purposeful gait, was Wednesday. I watched her as she moved—silent, alone, eyes fixed on the edges of the forest beyond the fairgrounds. My senses, ever attuned, sharpened.

“Y/n?” Yoko’s voice brought me back, but my eyes remained on the retreating figure of Wednesday. She had nearly reached the shadows of the woods, the darkness swallowing her small frame. Whatever she was doing, it wasn’t good.

“Go on with Enid,” I said quietly, handing Yoko the apple I hadn’t bitten into. She raised an eyebrow, sensing my sudden shift in mood.

“Is this a hero thing, or...?” she asked, a trace of humor lacing her voice.

“It’s a me thing.” I offered her a thin smile and began walking away. “I’ll catch up later.”

Without waiting for a response, I moved toward the path that Wednesday had taken, the noise of the carnival fading behind me with each step.

The darkness of the forest greeted me like an old companion. Trees loomed high, their branches twisting and knotting together to block out much of the festival's light. The carnival sounds became a muffled murmur, as if I'd crossed a boundary into a world that shouldn’t coexist with the one of clowns, rides, and caramel apples.

Wednesday's figure flitted ahead, her black silhouette blending into the night. I kept my distance, careful to match her quiet footfalls. Whatever drew her into the forest had her moving like she was chasing—or being chased. It was unlike her to be so transparent, but it was also clear she was driven by something more than mere intrigue.

She glanced over her shoulder once, and I quickly stepped behind the thick trunk of an oak tree. My heartbeat sped up, adrenaline prickling beneath my skin. If she saw me following, she’d either ignore me or take it as a challenge. Either way, I wasn’t ready to let her out of my sight—not with whatever ominous weight hung over this moment.

Suddenly, a rustle in the underbrush pulled my attention. It was only then that I noticed how still the forest had become. No chirping insects. No night birds. Just silence.

Wednesday picked up her pace, slipping deeper into the woods. I cursed under my breath and quickened my own steps. Branches snagged at my clothes, and the cool air bit at my exposed skin. I focused on her movements, the sharp lines of her shoulders and the determined tilt of her head.

She came to an abrupt stop. In front of her, Rowan stood, eyes wide with a manic edge. I squinted, recognizing the anxious boy from school. His body seemed taut, ready to spring—like prey cornered by a predator. But Wednesday was not the predator here.

The wind shifted, and I caught their words.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Rowan hissed, his voice trembling with both fear and anger. He held a piece of paper clenched in his hand, but even from where I stood, I could see it was no ordinary scrap.

“Prophecies are meant to be broken,” Wednesday countered, her tone as cold as winter’s edge. “I’d think you, of all people, would know that.”

I took a step closer, every sense alert. I couldn’t yet see what drove Rowan’s desperation, but his power crackled in the air, and he was looking at Wednesday like she was his doom.

He raised a hand, and suddenly, she was pinned against a tree by some unseen force. The breath caught in my throat as I watched her struggle, her pale face set in a mask of grim determination.

“This isn’t about you, Wednesday,” Rowan said, sounding almost apologetic, though his eyes betrayed no mercy. “This is about saving us all.”

With that, he raised the crumpled paper high. “My mother saw it. You will destroy us.”

The wind howled around them. I edged closer, my instincts screaming at me to intervene, but before I could make a move, something crashed through the trees behind Rowan—a blur of snarling fury. The beast. It was large, hulking, and covered in coarse fur. I had heard rumors about such creatures, but seeing it was different—a nightmare given form.

In an instant, it was upon Rowan. He screamed, a chilling, guttural sound, as claws tore into him. Blood sprayed across the forest floor. I barely had time to react; Wednesday was freed from her telekinetic restraints and dropped to the ground, rolling away from the carnage.

The beast’s wild eyes locked with mine for a split second. It paused, as if recognizing me, before it bolted into the darkness, leaving only destruction in its wake. Rowan lay motionless, and the air was thick with metallic scent and dread.

I stepped forward, breathless, as Wednesday pushed herself up, her eyes colder than I’d ever seen them. She glanced at Rowan’s body, then at me. Her gaze was unreadable, but beneath it, I sensed a torrent of emotion she would never let surface. Anger, confusion, maybe even fear.

“You followed me,” she said, her voice low but pointed.

“You shouldn’t have gone alone,” I replied, matching her cool tone despite the whirlwind inside me.

She didn’t thank me, of course. That wasn’t Wednesday’s way. Instead, she turned her attention to the torn piece of prophecy clutched in Rowan’s lifeless grip, pulling it free with grim determination.

Third person POV -next day-

Wednesday’s eyes never betray emotion, but this morning they burn with cold determination. Rowan’s reappearance after the brutal encounter in the woods is not just unsettling—it’s infuriating. She stalks the stone halls of Nevermore with unyielding purpose, her boots striking against the floor like war drums. Y/n follows at a calculated distance, her steps silent but presence unmistakable.

“Would it kill you to make less noise?” Y/n drawls when Wednesday pauses by a Gothic archway to scan the students shuffling past. “People will think you’re trying too hard.”

“Like you?” Wednesday’s retort is venomous, but her eyes remain fixed on the hallway leading to Rowan’s dorm.

Y/n smirks, leaning against the cold stone with predatory grace. “You’re wasting your time with this alone act, Addams. You want answers. I can help you find them.”

“No.” Wednesday turns to face Y/n fully, her expression as cutting as a blade. “You want an excuse to meddle. There’s a difference.”

Y/n tilts her head, amusement playing in her dark eyes. “Touché.” She takes a step closer, her voice dropping to a low, provocative whisper. “But I’ll meddle whether you want me to or not. I find it thrilling to keep you… on edge.”

Before Wednesday can respond, the sound of muffled voices draws her attention. They slip into the shadows near Rowan’s dormitory, where Xavier’s unmistakable voice can be heard. The boy is arguing with Bianca in the hallway, their tones heated.

Wednesday’s hand darts out, signaling Y/n to stay quiet. Y/n raises an eyebrow but obeys, watching intently as Wednesday edges closer. When the door opens, Wednesday moves like a shadow, slipping inside while Y/n remains as a lookout. Wednesday’s gaze flits across the cluttered space until it settles on a notebook with an unmistakable emblem—a purple book symbol, just like the page Rowan had shown her.

A creak behind her makes her whip around, daggers practically shooting from her eyes. Y/n stands in the doorway now, her expression serious for once. “You have seconds, Addams. Move.”

Wednesday’s jaw tightens, but she slips the notebook into her satchel. Y/n steps back just in time. Xavier and Bianca’s footsteps echo in the hallway. The girls forced to hide under Rowan’s bed, their bodies forced close together. There’s barely an inch between them.

“If they find us,” Y/n murmurs, her breath hot against Wednesday’s ear, “I’ll say you dragged me in here. You do have a thing for secluded spaces.”

Wednesday’s pulse quickens, but she refuses to look away. “I’ve killed for less.”

“Make me believe it,” Y/n dares, eyes darkening.

The door creaked open, silencing their exchange. Heavy footsteps and the sound of voices filled the room as Xavier and Bianca entered mid-argument.

“Your little stunt at the Poe Cup doesn’t impress me, Bianca,” Xavier said, his tone edged with frustration.

Bianca scoffed, her voice laced with condescension. “Of course it doesn’t. You’re too busy sulking to appreciate greatness.”

“This isn’t greatness; it’s cheating,” Xavier snapped. “Every year, you sabotage the course so no one else can even finish. You think that’s something to be proud of?”

Beneath the bed, Wednesday stiffened. Her mind churned with the implications of Xavier’s words. She turned her head slightly toward Y/n, who raised an eyebrow, intrigued but silent.

“Sabotage?” Bianca’s laugh was a dagger, cold and deliberate. “I prefer to call it… ensuring my rightful place. If the others can’t keep up, that’s their problem, not mine.”

“You’re unbelievable,” Xavier said, the disgust in his voice palpable.

“No, Xavier, I’m practical,” Bianca replied sharply. “Unlike you, I don’t rely on pity points or half-baked efforts. If you want to win, you do whatever it takes. That’s survival. That’s power.”

Y/n’s lips quirked into a faint smirk as she glanced at Wednesday, her voice barely audible. “Sounds like your kind of girl.”

Wednesday shot her a murderous glare, silently willing her to remain quiet.

Xavier let out an exasperated sigh. “You’re impossible, Bianca. This whole school is just a game to you, isn’t it?”

“Correction,” Bianca said, her tone as sharp as a blade. “It’s a game I always win. And this year will be no different.”

The tension in the room hung heavy as Xavier let out another sigh and turned toward the door.

As the door shut behind them, the silence in the room was deafening.

Y/n shifted slightly, her lips brushing against Wednesday’s ear again. “Cheating to stay on top. She’s more interesting than I thought.”

“Enough,” Wednesday hissed, crawling out from under the bed. She stood and brushed herself off, her mind already calculating the next move.

Y/n followed leisurely, a grin tugging at her lips. “You’re thinking of a way to humiliate her, aren’t you?”

[themusingsofacurlyhairednerd]

Obsidian Salt

Summary: A little Witch!Reader x Demon!Rhys AU for my Spooky Season Fic List

-------

My hands shake around the ancient text, the worn tome heavy and dust laden from years upon years of sitting on a shelf, untouched and forgotten. The old latin script is illegible in places, the ink faded and hidden under unidentifiable stains; the parchment is dog-eared and scribbled in, the margins full of strange, archaic markings I’ve never seen used in our Coven’s rune work. These are not the spells of my ancestors, not the runes my mother and grandmother cast upon the old foundations of our family home. We are a family of witches, dating back beyond the ages of written word; I am supposed to carry on that legacy, but truth be told, I’ve always been terrible at spellwork. My potions are mediocre; powers of persuasion abysmal. I truly am a poor excuse for a witch, and everyone in the coven knows it. Perhaps that is why Sister Ruth chose me to put on a demonstration at the Solstice Festival tomorrow. If I cannot prove my worth, well, maybe it is in the best interest of the coven to throw me out, or worse, make a sacrifice out of me. 

I would not be the first.

I grip the tome a little tighter. I must prove my usefulness. I cannot fail my sisters, or worse, my grandmother.  She raised eight successful witches, it would be to her utter shame to have been my teacher all these years for nothing. 

I draw a shaking breath. These spells are old magic. Dark magic. But I must get good at something quickly, and the gods know I will not get there on any natural talent. Perhaps I don’t need to be a natural. Perhaps I just need to summon something that is. 

On the old wood floor of our basement, I have laid the circle of obsidian salt in three overlapping circles, each etched with runes of chalk for protection. Just in case, I’ve dusted the floor with dried rosemary and anise seeds; an added barrier against whatever evil I might accidentally conjure if this goes wrong. My mother’s amulet feels heavy beneath my sweater, the cold iron biting against my skin as if in warning against what I am about to do.

I take another deep breath and ignore the warning. I must not fail.

The words are clunky, foreign on my tongue, the first couple of tries produces no results at all. Perhaps I really am the worst witch ever!

I grip the tome so tight the spine groans as I try again, slower this time, sounding out each word piece by piece. I will not fail.

The whole basement is lit with candles and as I finish the final words of the spell, the light suddenly snuffs itself out. 

The air in the room drops to near freezing temperatures. My hands so stiff and shaky around the old tome that the book slips from my hands and falls somewhere in the darkness. I make it onto my knees to look for it in a mad scramble before the sound of rushing wind fills the tiny room. It’s so loud I have to cover my ears with my shaking hands. 

In the center of the salt ring, dark shadows begin to slither out from a crack in the floor, hissing like a dozen tiny snakes. 

What have I done?!

I scramble to find the book in the dark, hands tearing over the anise seeds and clumps of rosemary. Perhaps the crushed scent of herbs will be enough to ward off whatever terrible shadow I’ve just called upon!

The temperature of the room continues to drop, lower and lower, even as the screeching wind gets louder and louder. The shadows within the circle grow darker and thicker by the moment, spinning now like a whirlwind. At least the salt holds. 

And then, as quickly as the noise had begun, it suddenly quiets. All the candles light themselves again, allowing me to see where I’d dropped the book: Directly into the circle, having bounced over the line, and it now sits at the feet of the most handsome male I’ve ever seen in my life.

I can do nothing but stare. I had meant to summon some help, the soul of an old mage or a spirit from another world, perhaps, but not… well, whatever he is. He’s definitely alive, his bronze, bair chest rising and falling, making the swirl of dark ink over his skin move in twining patterns. Not a spirit, though I do not know what to make of the great, bat-like wings that sprout from his back, the leathery membrane twitching as he brings them close to his body to avoid the barrier the salt creates. And his eyes! Gods, there like two blazing, violet suns inside the sharp planes of his face. 

“Well isn’t this interesting,” he purrs, voice smooth as velvet.

“Gods, what have I done?” I whisper to no one in particular.

His mouth twists in a devilish grin as he bends down to pick up my tome. From the tips of his fingers come dark claws. A bit of living shadow curls over his wrist, moving like snakes across the worn pages. “No gods here, Darling.”

I, somehow, find it within me to stand, despite my shaking legs. It is still terribly cold in this basement; the source of it seems to be coming from him. “What are you?”

He chuckles as he flips through the pages, claws running affectionately over the runes written in the margins. “Why don’t you come closer and I’ll show you?”

The longer I watch him the more off I realize he is. There are fangs in his mouth, the sharp tips of them glinting in the candlelight. Tiny, glittering drops of starlight glisten in the strands of his raven-black hair. Intertwined within the ink across his chest are smaller versions of the runes written within the pages of the book. 

“I’ll stay right here,” I say.

He sticks out his full lower lip in a pout. “That’s no fun!”

He takes a step closer to the line of salt, testing the barrier with the tip of his boot. At least I managed to summon him half-way decent in a dark, leather pair of pants and boots. I don’t know what I’d do if I had summoned him fully nude. 

My cheeks flush at the thought, drifting down to follow the defined V of his abs, and where his pants slide low on his hips. If he were human I’d climb him like a tree. 

“Don’t tell me you summoned me just to gawk?” He presses. When he catches where my eyes are on his body, he adds, “Although you’re welcome to enjoy the view for as long as you like.”

I let out a huff. “I didn’t summon you for anything! I was trying to talk to the spirits.”

“There’s only one spell that can summon me, and you picked it,” he turns the book to show me the exact page I’d been reading from. “So tell me, what is it you want, Witchling?”

The way he says Witchling makes my skin flush; the heat in his tone enough to make me second guess myself. Why did I think that spell would summon something else? 

Perhaps I am a fool for saying it, but I blurt, “I need help.”

“Do tell,” he purrs.

“I’m supposed to give my coven a display of my magic tomorrow, for the Solstice, and well… I’m kind of the worst witch ever.” 

He glances at the herbs on the floor, and then back up to me. I swear there are actual violet flames moving around within his irises. I don’t know what he is, but I don’t think it’s anything that can help me. But how am I supposed to send him back without the book?

“I meant to summon a spirit to guide me in some quick magic. I didn’t mean to summon, well, whatever you are.”

“I am many things,” he says, walking a slow circle around the barrier, testing it. It’s like watching a recently caged animal at the zoo; he’s testing every point for a weak spot, and if he finds it, he’s using it. 

I swallow the lump in my throat. What do I do if he gets out?

“But you can call me Rhys.”

If there is any heat left in the room, it leaves in a rush. “As in Rhysand? One of the Princes of Hel?”

Rhys drags his claws over the invisible barrier the salt creates and I watch the magic ripple and pulse under those sharp tips. “Perhaps.”

“You need to go back,” I say in panic, even though I know it can’t work that way. I summoned him. I have to be the one to send him back. Without the book, Hel, even with the book, I can’t do anything. 

“Then send me back, Witchling.”

I’m going to have to get my grandmother, and everyone is going to know that not only am I a failure as a witch, but I am a danger to all of us. I can’t even read a spell book right! I summoned a Prince of Hel by accident!

I chew on my thumbnail, pacing now myself around the outside edges of the salt. What do I do? What do I do?

“Oh but you can’t, can you?” He teases, knocking the book against the barrier. “Not without this pretty little thing.”

The dried herbs crunch under my boots as I keep pacing. There are no other tomes like that accessible to me, not without the Elders knowledge. This one had slipped past unnoticed in my grandmother’s grand collection, I had found it by sheer luck. There were no other texts to help me out of this one, and at this rate, even if there was, could I even get it to work?

“So how about we do this my way, hmm?”

A shiver crawls its way up my spine. 

“You break the barrier, and I will help you with your little Solstice tomorrow.”

I finally turn to look at him. “You would do that?”

“After tomorrow night, you can send me back and we can pretend this whole thing was a bad dream.”

Maybe this wasn’t a mistake after all! Maybe I can still turn this around!

“You won’t cause any trouble?” I ask.

He puts a clawed hand over his heart. “I will not cause any trouble.”

“You swear it?”

“I cannot break my word, Darling,” he returns. 

My hands shake. What other choice do I have? “Just until the Solstice passes.”

“I promise you, that is all the time I will need.” I have to admit, his voice is strangely soothing. He does not strike me as some malevolent ruler of darkness at all. 

I grab a broom off the wall. “It’s a bargain then.”

He grins wolfishly the entire time, watching my every step as I approach with the intensity of a wolf stalking a deer. 

I swallow the lump in my throat. It’s only one night, what could one night hurt? With one last shaking breath, I drag the broom through the salt and break the seal.

The book clatters to the floor for a second time tonight, as he lunges forward, a clawed hand wrapping around my neck as his momentum propels me back against the wall. I hit the worn stones so hard dust rains down from the ceiling. 

Panic grips me; I have no magic to save me as a real witch ought. He’s taller than I thought he was, towering over me as his grip on me tightens to the point of pain, the tips of his claws leaving indents in my skin.  Rhys chuckles at my plight as he leans down and brushes his lips over mine in the ghost of a kiss. Ice fills my veins at the contact. “Silly little, Witchling, a night is more than enough to make you mine.”

[37sommz]

000.⠀⠀NOW PLAYING: only angel [6.7k, smut]. ✼. view:⠀masterlist⠀⸻⠀join the taglist⠀⸻⠀request. ✼. synopsis:⠀michaela's all alone after her first podium. ✼. notes:⠀part two to the dts episode! did i take loose inspiration from hamilton's "say no to this"? yes. did this end up being way way way too long? yes. ✼. warnings:⠀18+, mdni, general language warnings, explicit sexual content, pwp, cheating, unprotected sex, jenson has a potty mouth, cheating!

✼.⠀SEPTEMBER 13, 2020 — tuscany, italy

Michaela stepped out of the shower, the warm water washing away the leftover champagne that stuck to her as if a second skin. Her skin glowed with the fading adrenaline of the day's exertions, the faint memory of the history made still ringing in her ears. As she toweled off, the sound of the distant Tuscan celebrations seeped into her luxurious hotel suite.

The air carried the glorious scent of victory, mingled with the faint aroma of leather and gasoline that clung to her like a signature perfume. She wrapped the delicate towel around her athletic figure, her muscles still humming from the exhilaration of the podium finish.

Her eyes scanned the room she had called home for the last week, taking in the plush, soft furnishings, the walls adorned with elegant artwork, the balcony beckoning with a breathtaking view of the vineyards the hotel boasted as being the source of their rich wine. Yet, amidst the opulence in celebration, there was a hint of loneliness.

Olivier had called her to explain his reasons for not showing up for the race weekend. She honestly didn't remember what excuse he used this time, leaving her to navigate the after-party alone. Though a nagging feeling gnawing at her loyalty reminded her of the difficulties the long-distance presented for the two of them, she traded the feeling in favor of the awaiting festivities just downstairs. She sighed, her breath misting the mirror as she readied herself for the evening ahead.

The bar was a buzz of activity, a cocktail of laughter and clinking glasses. Each face was a blur of familiarity and she felt a strange sense of detachment, as if she was watching the celebrations as a third party. The weight of the podium trophy held heavy on her heart as she found herself oddly alone. She had dreamt of this moment, but somehow the reality was bittersweet without so much as a family member, or even Olivier himself, beside her to share in the triumph.

She was more than aware Alex and Lando were off and away, likely already inebriated beyond recognition as she was intentionally late to her own after-party. Her eyes searched the room, hoping to find their friendly faces amidst the wave of strangers.

Unable to find their familiar eyes, a piercing blue-eyed gaze cut through the crowd like a knife to find hers. Jenson Button, lounged in the corner, a whiskey in hand, his eyes locked on hers. Michaela had been unaware the Brit had even been in Tuscany at all. Her mind scrambled to find an inkling of recognition of his presence at the Grand Prix but was left unable to as her mind slowly drew her attention back to the blonde former champion.

As if possessed by his gentle light, her feet carried her to the bar. A few bodies separated them as she claimed a place alongside the black and gold accented bar. Murmurs of congratulations from people she did not quite recognize were received on gracious ears and short exclamations of gratitude. Her impatience is tangible as her eyes flit back to Jenson's awaiting invitation. Unable to tear herself away from the continuous pour of well wishes and slurred speculations about that elusive Ferrari contract.

With a knowing smile, Jenson approached her, his move casual yet flooded with confidence. He leaned against the bar next to her, "Mind if I buy you a drink, Miss Sommers?" The way he spoke her name, with that hint of a smile in his voice, sent a thrill down her spine. She hadn't seen him this close since their brief interactions during her Formula 2 days nearly two years ago, and she had to admit—under the dimmed lobby lights—the years had treated him well. His eyes twinkled with a mischief that seemed to have only grown with age from his iconic days with Brawn.

"Mr. Button," she replied, her voice a soft purr, the slight buzz she carried with her from the shot of tequila Lando had convinced her to take earlier providing a humming tease to her accent. "I could never turn down a free drink."

The bartender, a young man with a wide-eyed smile in awe of the surrounding wealth, nodded at Jenson before crafting an elegant cocktail. The shaker rattled with ice against glass, a mixture of mint and lime swirling before Michaela's eyes. Jenson's own never left hers as he took the drink from the bartender, passing it to her with a nod.

"To your podium," he said, his voice smooth and direct like the whiskey in his own glass.

Michaela took the offered cocktail as a tremble of anticipation ripped through her spine. "Thank you," she whispered.

Her voice went weak as their fingertips brushing against each other's, sending a spark of excitement through her body. She took a sip, the cool cocktail a welcome contrast to the heat rising within her. She watched him over the rim of her glass, his eyes drinking in her presence. The touch of their fingers lingered in the air, unspoken words hanging like a promise between them.

"How have you been?" Jenson asked, his voice a low rumble that seemed to resonate through the marble floor and up her exposed legs. "I feel like I haven't really seen you this close since..." His words trail off as he catches sight of the silver 'O' that gleamed against her brown skin in dip between her clavicle bones.

Michaela took a deep breath, her heart racing as she felt his gaze linger on the necklace that Olivier had given her. It was a simple token of love, a reminder of the life she had waiting for her outside of the racing world. But, at this moment, it felt like a reminder of the invisible string tightening around her neck. She set the cocktail down, the chilled glass leaving a wet ring on the bar. "I've been busy," she replied, a chuckle leaving her lips in a whisper only heard between the two of them.

"Busy making history and such?" Jenson released a chuckle of his own. Michaela nodded softly, her eyes leaving his for the first time since he approached the Australian. Unable to keep her eyes away from his figure for too long, they lifted back up to his baby blues. The smile lines framed his face as if the borders of a portrait.

"It's quite the life to live, isn't it?" she said, her voice filled with a mix of exhaustion and excitement. The chuckles grew into laughter between them, the sound echoing through the bar as they reminisced about their early days in the sport, exchanging stories of the grueling training and the relentless pursuit of just one less millisecond. The whiskey in Jenson's glass swirled in rhythm with their conversation, the golden liquid reflecting the flickering candlelight adorning the sides of the bar like a liquid fire. A fire that mimicked the one filling her to the brim with a tensioned heat.

Michaela felt a strange, overwhelming comfort in Jenson's presence, one that was oddly familiar yet thrillingly new. His stories of his own glory days painted a picture of a man who had been where she was, a man who understood the highs and lows of the world she loved so dearly but could hurt her so deeply. A man who understood things Olivier could never dream of understanding.

His words danced around the topic of her personal life, hinting without asking, and she found herself leaning closer, eager to escape the shadow of Olivier's absence.

"You know," Jensen said, his eyes darkening slightly as they searched hers, "Sometimes you need to enjoy the moment, without the noise of everyone else around you." His words brushed against her ear as he leaned down towards her as if selecting his words for her ears alone.

Michaela's heart skipped a beat. The warmth of his breath against her ear sent another shiver of want and anticipation down her spine. "All alone?" she quizzed, her voice a careful whisper. If they remembered they were in a public setting, it didn't show. The curtain of attention surrounding them seemed to fade away as Jenson's fingers reached out to brush gently against Michaela's silver adorned wrist.

"I've got a room upstairs," he offered, his voice a seductive invitation that seemed to dance on the very edge of propriety and good behavior. "It's quieter. We can...talk."

Michaela can barely bring herself to laugh at the mischievous glimmer in his eyes in extension of the invitation. "Talk?" Is all she can muster before taking in a deep breath that visibly raises and lowers her chest.

Their eyes lock in an answer as the silence stretches out between them, charged with the weight of their unspoken desires. The room seems to hold its breath, the laughter and chatter of the celebrations fading away into a very distant hum.

Michaela's hand lingers on her cocktail, her fingertips leaving their prints on the glass. She considers his proposal, the promise of a private, intimate space calling to her in a way that she hadn't anticipated being so keen to accept. The hotel room upstairs, a sanctuary from the prying eyes of her colleagues, various C-listers, and the sponsors that adorn the sides of their carbon fiber machines. The suffocating weight of her own thoughts leaves her with little breath to gasp. With Olivier so far away, the choice—so close to her—feels almost irresistible.

Jenson's hand moved from its place atop the bar to Michaela's waist. His touch was feather-light as it brushed over the material of her satin mini-dress. The action is casual as if he had no worry about the prying eyes that Michaela tended to draw over to her considering her position in the sport. Tonight of all nights was a night she should have been on her best behavior. She should have been circling the room, schmoozing with the donors, and sharing glasses of champagne with her much drunker rivals. Instead, she was held captive to Jenson's wiles. The heat of his gaze as it swept over her figure drew a heat into her face.

Suddenly she was grateful for the low lighting of the crowded hotel lobby.

Then, with a nod of her head, she set her cocktail down and allowed him to lead her away from the thrumming bar. His hand slipped to the small of her back, a gesture that felt far too intimate for the public atmosphere of the after-party dedicated to her success. The warmth of his palm sizzled through the too-thin fabric of her black dress and the coolness of the air-conditioned lobby did little to dissipate the heat sizzling between the two drivers.

The elevator ride to his suite was an eternity, the air thick with unspoken desire. The gentle rock of their movements as they ascended in the elevator seemed to mirror the tumultuous waves crashing within her. Her mind was a whirlwind of thoughts, a tornado of 'what if' and 'should I' that she couldn't quite contain.

As if he sensed the uneasiness that permeated through the younger woman, Jenson's hands grasped her body, pulling her flush against his solid physicality. Releasing her for a split moment, his steady hands reached for her lowered chin. Pulling her attention back onto him, there was no need for words to be exchanged in the quiet elevator. Within another split second, his lips were on hers in a heated dance.

Michaela's eyes fluttered shut as she felt her knees buckle into his embrace. Her hands found his shirt, gripping tightly as if it were the only thing keeping her from falling into the abyss of temptation that was Jenson Button. The action only brought him closer to her, pushing her infinitely closer to danger. His kiss was everything she hadn't known she craved: firm, confident, and hungry for more, more, more. It was a stark contrast to Olivier's smooth pecks, which had grown routine with time.

Desperate to feel impossibly closer, Michaela's fingers tangled in his dirty blonde locks. Wisps of her white manicured nails interlocked within his curls as her head fell back against the elevator walls with a moan. His lips attached themselves to the edge of her jaw, leaving sloppy kisses down the column of her neck. His right hand raised to cup one of her breasts, drawing another gasp of his name from her lips raw from the hungry kisses they shared. With a growl, Jenson grasped the back of her thighs, squeezing with an urgency unfamiliar to Michaela. Another moan and their lips were back together, Jenson's hands wandering along her backside squeezing occasionally before chuckling at her surprised whines and whispers.

When the elevator chimed, signaling their arrival, they broke apart, unwilling and breathless. The corridor was a blur as Jensen guided her to his suite, his hand never leaving her lower back as if she were a piece of art he was afraid to smudge. As they finally reached his door, Jenson maneuvered the smaller woman to stand in front of him. One hand fumbled for his key card while the other dipped underneath the skirt of her dress, gently playing with the hem of her lace panties. Michaela's hands reached up behind her, embedding themselves in Jenson's golden salted locks, tugging against them whenever his fingers swept against her heated skin.

"Jens," She gasped with a moan as a finger slipped into her underwear to toy at her folds. Her eyes rolled back as the anticipation of his touch crashed over her like a wave.

His response was a sultry, "I know", that makes her lose all sense of direction.

"If you don't get this door open..." She began to threaten. The words die on her lips as he presses his cock against her backside, the force pushing her against the locked door.

"Fuck..." She drawled out with another desperate moan, her hands falling to rest in front of her, steadying herself after the sudden movement.

"If I don't get this door open, I'll fuck you right here against this door for everyone to see." Jenson offered with a threat of his own. Feeling her arousal as it seeped through the delicate lace was enough to help him find the strength to wrestle the door open finally.

The door closed with a gentle click behind them, and suddenly, the world outside was gone. The noises of the hotel were swallowed up by the thick carpet beneath her heels. The weight of their encounter grew heavier in the quiet, luxurious room all the way up on the fifteenth floor.

Michaela looked around the suite, her eyes wide with a mix of awe and anticipation. The grandeur of the space was lost on her as Jensen's hand found hers, leading her through the dark space. The lights of the city center below them flooded into the room with a romantic light. Her heart raced, her thoughts racing faster than the car she'd driven onto podium position earlier that day—or the day before—she wasn't sure she could think clearly with the haze of lust lingering over her. The room was bathed in a soft, golden glow that reflected off the polished surfaces, giving the space a warm, inviting feel. The king-sized bed at the center was untouched, the sheets a crisp white, a stark contrast to the dirty thoughts swirling between them.

Jenson's hand slid around her waist, his thumb tracing the line of her hipbone as they approached the edge of the crisp bed. He pushed her gently, and she fell backward, the mattress enveloping her in a cloud of lust. He stood over her, his body a shadow in the dim light, his eyes burning into her wide-eyed soul. The warmth of his hands as they slid up her legs sent a delicious shiver through her body, drawing an exhale out of her that brought a smirk to his face. The way he looked at her, like she was the only thing in the world that mattered, made her feel powerful, desired—like she could conquer any race he put her in.

He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to her inner thigh. The tender touch sent waves of heat through her body, pooling at her core. She squirmed beneath him, eager and begging for more, but he took his sweet time.

"Patience, my love." He hummed against her skin. A longing whine left her lips before she could process the sensation he sent wracking through her.

His teeth grazed her sensitive skin, the light pressure making her arch up into his touch. Her hands found his hair again, tugging him closer, urging him on. His tongue followed the path his hand had laid, circling the edge of her panties before slipping them off.

Michaela's breath caught in her throat as she watched him spread her legs, his eyes never leaving hers. She felt vulnerable and exposed in the best way possible, as if she were laying bare not just her body but her soul. His mouth was a warm promise against her flesh, the contrast of his soft tongue against her sensitive skin driving her wild. She could feel her arousal growing, coating his lips as he kissed and licked at her.

"God," He groaned against her. The vibrations of his words sent shocks through her as her head pressed back deeper into the lush pillows beneath her. "You taste so good for me." Lost in a daze of need, Michaela could barely find the words to respond to his praise.

The first touch of his tongue to her clit was electric, sending a jolt through her that made her back arch off the bed. Her hands tightened in his hair, urging him to continue, as she let out a guttural moan. Still without words to respond to him, Jenson took his sweet time, teasing her mercilessly with his mouth, exploring every inch of her until she was panting and begging for more.

The tension grew unbearable, her body tightening like a coil ready to snap. "Stay still for me." He muttered between kisses to her most sensitive parts. "Wanna make you feel good. Gonna make you feel real good." The whispers exchanged between their ears only served to increase the intimacy of the situation.

As Jenson's hips pressed into the bed to relieve the stiffness of his straining cock, Michaela's eyes opened to meet his staring back up at her from between her open legs.

"Fuck—" She sobbed at the sight.

"Hmm, ah!" She cried as his thumb reached out to draw circles into the sensitive bundle of nerves.

"Yeah?" He drew out, pulling her legs impossibly wider as they threatened to close around his head.

Michaela still couldn't find the words to respond, her body lost in the intensity of sensations he brought as he worked her over. The strokes of his tongue grew faster, harder, each one bringing her closer to the edge. Her nails dug into his scalp, her body writhing under his seasoned touch. The room filled with the sounds of her gasps and moans, a sweet soundtrack that grew louder as she neared climax.

As her legs began to shake, Michaela released a high pitched moan, one that instantly drew a groan out of Jenson in shock her voice could sound that whiny, that desperate, for him.

"Shit! I'm gonna—" Her words cut off once more as the trembles ripping through her signaled she was close to her first orgasm. "Please don't stop." She hummed, almost babbling nonsense as Jenson worked through the thread that threatened to snap inside the pit of her belly.

He hummed from between her legs, "That's it, love." His head raised from its position as his fingers replaced his lips. Fucking into her walls at a pace that leaves her unable to form any kind of discernable sentence.

Her eyes rolled back in her head, and her teeth sank into her bottom lip as she stifled a scream. The orgasm ripped through her like a tornado, leaving her body trembling with the aftershocks of pleasure. He watched her, his eyes hooded with desire as he stroked her through it, his hand moving almost lazily.

"Good girl," He whispered out into the night. As his head dipped down at the feeling of a sudden chill he realizes Michaela's wetness has dripped down over his fingers. A gentle, "Fuck, Michaela, baby, you're dripping all over me."

With a laugh, Michaela comes down from her high suddenly shy in the older man's arms.

"It's just my way of complimenting you." She giggled before running a manicured hand through her tousled dyed locks.

Her face flushed in half embarrassment and half lust as she pushed herself up onto her elbows to watch Jenson lift his arousal coated fingers to his lips. He kept a hold over her attention as he sucked her essence from his fingers before rising from his spot on the bed to stand on his feet.

"Think you can do it again on my cock?" He mused with a raised eyebrow. With a playful roll of her eyes, Michaela nodded, unable to respond verbally—that seemed to be a recurring theme.

Catching her completely off guard with a squeal, Jenson pulled her by her bare legs to the edge of the bed. Stood in between her wide legs, he begins to work at the buttons of his pressed dress shirt. At the sight of the former champion undressing, Michaela finds the strength to rise to her feet. The four inches Jenson has over her are just enough for her hands to bat his away to undo the buttons herself.

Her careful fingers make quick work of the shirt, pushing it off his shoulders and revealing the chiseled abs and the dusting of hair that trails from his chest down to the waistline of his trousers. She runs her hand over his stomach, feeling the muscles beneath her touch. His eyes lock onto hers, and she sees that familiar hunger back in his gaze, the same hunger that she feels return deep within her core.

"I'm all yours, superstar." He whispers into her ear as his head dips to attach his lips to the length of her neck. "Take me however you want. Just wanna celebrate you for being so good." 

His words coupled with his actions sent another wave of arousal crashing over the Alfa Romeo driver. 

"So talented." He adds, accenting the compliment with a kiss that sweeps Michaela away from whatever thoughts she had left in her distracted head.

Her hands fumble with the buckle of his belt, a task she hadn't done in what feels like an eternity. The clink of the metal echoes around the room as it hits the carpeted floor. A thrill runs through her as she feels his hard cock pressing against her stomach through the fabric of his boxers. Her eyes never leave his as she takes the fabric in her hands and pulls it down, freeing him to stand tall before her.

Michaela's breath hitches in her throat at the sight of him. Jensen is a beautiful man, sculpted by the years of rigorous physical training and his unmistakable British charm. Her eyes take in the full length of him, a silent appreciation before she takes him in one of her hands.

"You're so pretty," She murmured out to him as he released a hiss in reaction to the soft touch to his stiff length.

"Me or my cock?" He spoke mirthfully as he relished in the feeling of one of her hands on his sensitive muscle and the other finding a familiar place in his tousled graying hair.

"Both." Michaela responded with the most decisiveness in her voice since they had arrived upstairs. They share another laugh before Jenson moans out loud for the first time all night.

With a flutter of kisses to the length of his strong, clenched jaw, Michaela took in the sight of him all pliant in her grasp. The man in front of her was straight out of a fantasy. Never in all her years of pining over the man did she ever envision herself in his position. Blissed out of her mind from his fingers and drawing him to the edge of orgasm.

Jenson's hands found the zipper of her dress, pulling it down her body with a gentle force. As she watched him, her chest rose and fell with every shallow breath as the fabric fell away, exposing her naked body to the coolness of the room. Her hand stilled on his cock as he gathered her straightened hair into a makeshift ponytail. With a forceful yank, he pressed her naked body against his, slipping his tongue into her mouth as it fell open with a moan.

The light kisses grew into a trail of heat down her collarbone and over the swell of her breasts. His tongue flicked over one of her nipples, sending a shiver down her spine as it hardened to a tight peak. A manicured hand reached down to cup at one of his heavy balls, a mixture of their moans mingling into a dance in the heavy air.

Michaela took the opportunity to guide him backward until he laid on the edge of the bed. She dropped to her knees on either side of his hips, her body hovering over his. Her eyes never left his as she took his length into her grasp. The feel of him pressing into her soaked cunt was intoxicating, the sound of his labored breathing music to her ears.

With a gentle squeeze of his base, she began to slide down his cock. The feeling of him stretching her was nothing short of glorious, the burn of his size between her thighs a delicious punishment for the temptations she had been resisting from the moment his eyes locked on hers downstairs in the bar. With a whiny groan, she took him in inch by inch, her eyes fluttering closed in ecstasy.

"That's it, baby." He encouraged her as she took him in. His strong hands grasped at the skin of her waist, gently providing an aid to guide her down, filling her to the brim. As she bottomed out, they both released a share of breath they had both held in.

Michaela began to rock her hips in a steady swirl that grew more desperate with every second. Jenson's eyes rolled back in his head, his moans growing louder as she worked herself over him. The sound of his pleasure drew sounds of her own as she began to bounce over him gently. One of his hands drift down to palm at her firm ass, squeezing at the skin before catching her completely off guard with a spank to the perky muscle. Her abs contract as a loud moan rips through her throat to goad her on to bounce faster in pursuit of a shared high.

Their rhythm grew to match the beating of their hearts—fast and erratic. The bed squeaked beneath them, the headboard slamming against the wall in a pattern that surely could be heard outside the suite. But neither of them cared. The only thing that mattered was the view of each other, blissed out, horny, and chasing the high that seemed to be within their fingertips.

"I'm so close, baby." Jenson grunts, his head falling back against the pillows as his hands squeeze at Michaela's curves. "Come for me, yeah? Be a good fucking girl and come all over me." His words only serve to push Michaela further to the brink of total insanity, the only thing relevant in her mind is the pursuit of pleasure.

"Wanna be good for you," She whined, "Need to come for you." Jenson hummed in appreciation as a hand reached between their bodies to toy with her overstimulated clit.

Michaela's eyes rolled back, her mouth falling open as she began to feel the beginnings of another earth-shattering orgasm. She threw her head back, her hair falling over her shoulders, and her moans grew louder with every thrust.

Jenson's words of encouragement did little to quiet the loud moans that escaped Michaela's mouth. Her hips stuttered above his as she ground down into him before the current of her orgasm ripped through her totally.

"Jens—Jens—Oh my fucking god, Jens—" She stuttered, her voice growing higher pitched with every passing second. Her nails dug into the skin of his chest, leaving red marks that stood out against his tanned skin.

With one final, powerful thrust, Jenson felt himself let go. His cock twitched inside her, filling her up with ropes of his warm, thick cum. The feeling of her pussy tightening around him as she came was more than he could handle. He groaned her name into the darkness, his eyes rolling back as his hips jerked upward involuntarily. Michaela's thighs held him hostage as she continued to whine out into the dark, completely uninhibited by the warm rush of her orgasm as it coursed through her.

Her walls tightened around him as she milked him for every drop of his cum. The warmth of his release inside her only heightened her own pleasure as it sent aftershocks through her body. She collapsed onto him, her breasts pressed against his chest as she struggled to catch her breath. His arms wrapped around her, holding her tightly as their hearts raced together. He murmured faint words of appreciation into her ear as his palms pressed into her sweaty back, massaging the knots from the strain of her two orgasms.

Their bodies remained intertwined for several moments, basking in the afterglow. The room was silent except for their heavy breaths and the occasional twitch of his cock inside her. The smell of sex filled the air, thick and potent, a stark contrast to the prior freshness of the untouched hotel suite.

Michaela leaned her forehead against Jenson's neck, feeling the pulse of his heart beneath her skin. "I can't believe that just happened." She whispered, her voice still strained from the exertion.

Jenson could only laugh in response, his hand still traced patterns over her brown skin. "I heard you had a major crush on me back in the day. I figured I'd test the waters, see if that crush still held up." When he received a scoff in return as Michaela slowly freed herself from his hold to lay to his side, Jenson laughed again.

"I'm serious!"

"Don't flatter yourself too much, Button," She grinned up at him. "I just wanted to thank you for the drink. You know, properly."

Jenson's eyes sparkled with mischief as he leaned down to kiss her forehead. "You're welcome, Sommers. Anytime you need celebrating, you know where to find me."

Michaela couldn't help but laugh, the sound light and airy. "I'll keep that in mind." She rolled onto her side to observe the outline of his features. The warmth of his body left a ghostly imprint on the cooling sheets. The silence that followed was filled with a new kind of tension, one that was more comfortable, more intimate than the frantic passion that had brought them to this moment.

Jenson's fingers trailed lazily over her bare shoulder, sending shivers down her spine. "So, what's next for you?" He asked, breaking the quiet.

Michaela took a deep breath, trying to steady her racing heart. "The Russian Grand Prix, in two weeks." She said, her voice still a little breathless. "I need to keep this momentum going, prove I'm not just a one-hit wonder."

Jenson nodded, his hand still playing with the sensitive skin of her shoulder. "And what about the boyfriend?" He asked, his voice a gentle caress despite the panic that sets into her body.

Michaela swallowed hard, the mention of Olivier bringing a sharpness to the air. She couldn't hide the shock she felt when she realized that Jenson knew more about her than she had previously thought. "What about him?" She asked, trying to keep the tremble out of her voice.

Jenson leaned in, his mouth grazing her ear as he whispered, "Is he going to be okay with this?" He didn't miss the way her body stiffened at the question, the way her breath hitched. "I know you're an adult, love, but I want to make sure you're not going to get hurt."

Michaela rolled onto her back, looking up at the ceiling, her chest still heaving from their exertion. She bit her lip, thinking for a moment before speaking. "It's complicated." She finally said. "But I can handle it."

Jenson studied her for a moment before nodding his head. "I know you can." He leaned in to kiss her cheek before sitting up and swinging his legs over the side of the bed. "But remember, if you ever need anything—anything at all—I'm here for you."

Michaela felt a pang of something she couldn't quite identify. Gratitude? Lust? The aftermath of their encounter had left her feeling more than a little vulnerable. She watched him as he walked naked across the suite to grab a bottle of water from the minibar. The moonlight played over the muscles of his back, highlighting the scars from years of racing.

"Thanks, Jenson." She murmured, taking the bottle from his outstretched hand. "For everything."

He settled back onto the bed beside her, his cock still half-hard from their encounter just moments before. "Don't worry about me." He took a swig from the bottle before passing it back to her. "You deserve to be celebrated."

Michaela took a sip, the cool water soothing her parched throat. She couldn't help but feel a twinge of guilt at the thought of Olivier so far away doing God knows what instead of being at her side. "What about you?" She asked, changing the subject. "What's next for you?"

Jenson took another gulp from the bottle before setting it aside. "Well, I'm technically retired from racing now," he said with a shrug. "But I've got plenty of things to keep me busy. Commentary, appearances, the occasional Le Mans race. It's a calmer life." His eyes searched hers, a silent question hanging in the air.

Michaela nodded, understanding the unspoken inquiry. "Yeah, I can imagine. Must be a big change after being in the thick of it for so long." As Jenson considered his response, he drew the Alfa Romeo driver into his body. With her head rested upon his broad chest, he pulled one of her thighs to rest over his. Then, hand found hers, threading their fingers together.

"It is, but I don't miss the pressure. It's nice to be able to enjoy the sport without the weight of the world on my shoulders."

Michaela nodded, her mind racing with questions about his life outside of Formula 1. "What's it like? Watching from the sidelines?"

Jenson's thumb traced circles over the back of her hand, the gesture brought an unfamiliar comfort to her conscience. "It's different, sure," he said, his eyes drifting to the floor-to-ceiling windows that showcased the moonlit Tuscan landscape. "But I've had my time in the spotlight. Now, I get to enjoy the sport in a new way."

Michaela turned to face him, propping herself up on her elbow. "Do you ever miss it?" She asked, curiosity lacing her voice.

Jenson looked at her, the corner of his mouth tilting upward in a small smile. "Every now and then," he admitted. "But I've had my time in the sun. Now, I get to see the next generation take over and make their own history." His eyes searched hers, a hint of admiration sparkling in his gaze. "And you, my darling, are going to be a big part of that history."

Michaela felt a blush creep up her face at his words, her heart swelled with a mix of pride and bashfulness. She knew she had more than enough talent, but the fear of not living up to the hype of being the first was always present. "Thanks," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

"You're welcome," he replied, his own voice a little hoarse from their earlier passion. He leaned over to kiss her forehead gently. The heat in Michaela's cheeks only continued to warm. "But it's not just my opinion. You're genuinely brilliant behind the wheel. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone drive with the precision you have."

The truth in his words washed over her, filling her with a warmth that had nothing to do with the post-orgasm glow. "Thank you," she whispered, her eyes shimmering with emotion. "That means a lot coming from you."

Jenson's smile grew, his eyes tender as they searched hers. "You know, I always had a soft spot for you, even when you were tearing it up in F2 against Leclerc." He leaned in closer, his breath warm against her cheek. "You've got a fire in you, Mick. Don't ever let anyone dull it. Not even that idiot you call a boyfriend."

Michaela felt the weight of his words, a strange mix of comfort and accusation that sent a shiver down her spine. "You don't know him," she murmured defensively, even though she knew he was right.

"Maybe not," Jenson conceded lowly, "But he should be here with you. I know what it's like to love this sport. And if he doesn't support you, if he doesn't understand what you're fighting for, then he's not the one for you."

Michaela remained silent, his words echoing through the quiet hotel room. The cool breeze from the open window blew with the curtains, the only sound aside from their measured breathing. The truth in his statement stung, but she couldn't deny the truth in his support, the way his arms felt around her, and the comfort in his voice. She knew that Olivier had his own ambitions, his own disappointments with his racing career to work through, but they were starting to feel like they were in different worlds.

Taking a deep breath, she let out a sigh that seemed to carry the weight of her thoughts. "I know," she murmured, her eyes drifting back to the ceiling. "But it's complicated."

A moment of silence enveloped the two lovers before Michaela's eyes drifted back to see Jenson's eyes already focused on her face. Pushing aside her shyness as she offered a hummed joke, "He's French. Everything's complicated with them."

Jenson's chuckle rumbled in his chest, sending a thrill through her as she felt his hand caress her bare side. "Well, you're a woman in Formula 1. I'd say you know a thing or two about complicated." His hand grew bolder, stroking her hip, pulling her closer.

Michaela couldn't help but smile at his words, feeling a sense of calm with him that she hadn't felt with anyone else. "You're not wrong," she said, her voice a little shaky.

Jenson leaned over, kissing her gently on the lips, the taste of her own slick still lingering on his mouth. "If you need anything, you know where to find me," he whispered as his thumb brushed against her tanned cheek.

Michaela nodded, her eyes fluttering closed as she savored the touch. She knew that she was playing with fire, but the warmth of his embrace felt too good to resist. "What happens next?" she asked, her voice a soft whisper against the stillness of the night.

Jenson leaned back, his eyes never leaving hers. "Whatever you want, my love," he replied, his voice a gentle caress. "Whatever you want."

Michaela felt a thrill run through her at his words. Her hand trailed down his chest, playing with the patch of hair that grew from his navel to his pelvis. "I want you," she murmured, the words coming out with surprising ease.

Jenson's eyes darkened with desire, and he rolled her onto her back, positioning himself between her legs. He took his time, kissing her neck and her collarbone, his teeth lightly grazing her skin. His cock was already on the way to being hard again, a testament to his endurance. "I'm all yours," he breathed against her ear, his hands cupping her face as he stared into her eyes.

✼. taglist:⠀

@cha-hot @certifiedlesbianbaddie @nichmeddar

@d3kstar @thewannabewriter @hwalllllllelujah

@thearchieves @doodlehunz @evie-119

@bxdbxtxh @seaweed-orchid @glitterquadricorn

@99snse @ginghampearlsnsweettea @alliwantisadonut

@hiireadstuff @emilyval1 @anotherblackreader

@sv5beehives @mynameisangeloflife @tellybearyyyy

@melancholyy-hill @vallusvsu @futuristiccroissantlampsludge

@treehouse-mouse @sunfairyy

[trilobitepunch]

In Essence, the Behavior of Siblings

The Grounds were more than what the simple name implied. Formally it was known as Ma no Michi, or "The Way Between," but over time it had been considerably nicknamed and shortened for the common ground that it was. 

It was a small town that stretched between two worn torii for less than two miles. The structures that flanked either side of the street were of wood and looked much like a typical town, interspersed with market stalls and a general busyness that gave the place an overall constant festival atmosphere.

The strangest thing about the place was that it was entirely populated by yōkai; merchants, residents and most of those passing through. Indeed, there at times could be seen actual humans amongst the visitors, a rarity to be sure, but there were some whom yōkai had been able to trust, and having this link helped them, especially those who only wished to live peacefully in a land where human influence continued to grow.

Not any human could enter the Grounds. Most avoided the torii path, rumors that some unwitting wanderers vanished once passing beneath the flaking red gates. Others said that there was nothing on the other side, just as empty a stretch of road as what one perceived from before and beyond, but it was an unsettling stillness that plagued them until they reached the opposite gateway. They had no 'key' to truly open the way.

"You all have your omamori?" Yoshi asked, turning towards his unusual sons as they drew closer to the torii. A chorus of confirmations came and he smiled before turning, tucking away his own charm into his sleeve. 

The sensation was a bit disorienting when you possessed a 'key' and stepped through. The world beyond the torii was full of life and sound as one would expect upon entering a town. Leaving was just as strange, releasing a person back into the stillness of an otherwise empty roadway. 

Sannan disliked passing through the gates. Yoshi always waited until his second youngest came through, always last, shoulders hunched up in preparation, shuddering once he had stepped through and flicking his tail as though to fully disperse the feeling. He claimed it felt like something crawling over him. Jinan told him he was just crazy.

"Here we are, my sons," Yoshi said, laying a reassuring hand upon Sannan's shoulder as he guided him along after the others. He had to be quick before Yotsuo would go wandering off. "We will meet back here in an hour so that we can all get a meal together."

"Haaaai!"

"Of course, otō-sama."

"Got it, oyaji."

"We'll see you later."

Yoshi watched as the four went off with a quirk of a smile as Yotsuo abruptly went dashing off as something inevitably caught his attention. Sannan gave an exasperated sigh before he went after him. The boys enjoyed these outings, so Yoshi was more than happy to give them the opportunity to explore before they got down to business matters. As he was about to turn, he caught Chōnan's eye upon him and he paused, giving him a nod. Just because this was a place of yōkai, it didn't mean they should entirely let their guard down.

~~~

"Uuuuuwaaaa! Look at that, San-nii! It looks like ice!" Yotsuo marveled as his eyes fell upon a curious plate amongst a mismatched collection of ceramics. As annoying as it was feeling like he always somehow ended up having to watch his little brother, he didn't mind it too much. Yotsuo often tended to find the most interesting things in the marketplace.

"Don't touch it," he said as he came up beside him to see what had drawn Yotsuo's attention. "It's very delicate. Glass, I think."

"Right you are, little Hamato," chuckled the vendor, which made Sannan involuntarily tense. He didn't like that they were so identifiable, even though he knew that many who resided in the Grounds looked to the Hamato whenever trouble occurred. "Not very practical for everyday use, but it is very pretty to look at."

Yotsuo made a disappointed sound as Sannan caught his hand just before he could lift the plate's edge with a claw. "Thank you," the latter said with a bow of his head towards the vendor before guiding his all too curious brother away. He was fully prepared to counter any complaints but largely unsurprised when that familiar look passed across Yotsuo's face, a sure sign that he'd found something else to investigate. Sighing, again Sannan prepared to follow, pausing however to shoot a look towards the nearby rooftop with something of a scowl, but he wasn't long in drifting after the youngest.

~~~

From above, Jinan watched the two. He had an hour and they'd just got here, so he wasn't in any particular hurry to look around. Besides, it was funny watching Sannan get dragged about by Yotsuo, and Jinan was simply glad that it wasn't him. He ducked back against the roof with a grimace when he saw his twin turn his head right in his direction. 

"Tch, how does he do that?" Jin muttered.

As his brothers wandered out of sight, Jinan turned to pick his way across the shingles before dropping down to the street. 

"Oh! Where did you come from?" 

The voice made him jump, and he spun around to see a peddler stooped beside her box of wares. She smiled as she removed her broad straw hat. "Ah, I have returned the favor, I see."

"-sorry, guess I should have double-checked where I was landing," Jinan murmured as he scratched the back of his head, giving an awkward sort of bow.

"No harm done. I haven't set up yet, but I did not think anyone would be passing by from above," the peddler said as she resumed pulling things from her box to set out at the stall there on the corner. He'd heard that traveling merchants were able to rent a space if they wanted, and the marketplace at the Grounds was a popular place to find unusual and interesting things. "What are you selling?" he asked.

"Incense," the peddler replied, smiling enigmatically as she set a shallow dish down, holding up a slender stick. She didn't seem particularly bothered as Jinan's expression flattened along with his equally disinterested, "Oh."

"It isn't for everyone," she admitted, continuing to put out her wares. Samples and tiny censers, small bundles of sticks. She paused in pulling more items out long enough to light one of the sticks and set it in a bowl of ash, gently blowing out the flame and leaving a wispy trail of smoke that snaked lazily in the air. Jinan caught a whiff, humming thoughtfully as she watched him almost expectantly. "It's nice, but yeah, not my thing. Good luck in your sales," he said, waving a hand as he went on his way.

~~~

"Great job, Chō. How're you supposed to keep an eye out on your brothers when you can't even find them?" the big yōkai sighed at himself. It had scarcely been two minutes and he'd somehow lost sight of all of them at once. In his distraction to catch sight of at least one of them, he'd also lost track of his dad. 

"It's fine. They've all gotta be around here somewhere. This place isn't that big." He started along the main road, for that was the only way to go.

"Oh, Chō-chan! Looking for your brothers again?" an elderly yōkai greeted him with a gentle chuckle. This was hardly a first-time occurrence. 

"A little. You haven't by chance seen any of them?"

"Hmm. I thought I saw the little one head towards the pottery stalls."

"Should have figured as much. Thanks, baachan," Chōnan sighed, giving a quick bow before he started in that direction.

"Ah, before you go, at least take something to nibble on. Have to keep up the energy if you're going to catch those brothers of yours," the old one cackled, holding out a red bean-filled pastry. Some of the anxiousness from Chōnan's face relaxed as he accepted it, smiling that snaggle-toothed smile of his that hadn't seemed to change despite the years. And then off he went, taking care not to completely shove the thing into his mouth.

He caught a face full of incense smoke as he rushed on by, nearly choking as he tried to save his precious bean-paste bun. His clawed hands flailed about in the air as he juggled the thing while simultaneously trying to wave away the smell before successfully managing to cradle the little pastry in his palms. An amused sort of sound caught his ear just then, and he flashed a sheepish smile at the vendor at the incense booth before he continued on his way.

~~~

"Do you like this one?"

"No."

"How about this?"

"No."

"Well I'm sure you'd approve of this one at least!"

"Not even close."

"Oh come on, San-nii! Why won't you pick any?" Yotsuo pouted, tossing his hands up before he tucked them tightly beneath his armpits in that sulky pose only a little brother scorned could pull off.

"Lack of use, for one. I think you'd definitely need hair," Sannan pointed out, having long built up an immunity to such looks as he poked a clawed fingertip at the dangling ends of a delicate kanzashi. It was a very pretty hair decoration, at least that much he would agree on. 

"What about for Karai-obasan?" Yotsuo pushed, head lifting with just a touch of hopefulness. It was quickly dashed by a pragmatic shake of Sannan's own head.

"Obasama doesn't need those sorts of things. It'd just get in the way. If you really want to get her something, let's look for something useful," he suggested in order to allay his little brother's anticipated objections. It did the job of getting him to stop sulking at the very least.

"Okay! That does make sense. What do you suggest then?" Yotsuo asked, reaching out to tug his brother along. The sooner they started moving again, the sooner they might find …whatever it is they might be looking for!

"A knife is pretty useful…"

"Saaaaaaan…."

Yotsuo dropped his brother's hand as his pout returned. He supposed he shouldn't be surprised at the suggestion. Sannan was pretty practical about those sorts of things, but then that did explain why Sannan usually still had something to spend later on when the rest of his brothers ended up with strange trinkets and stomachs full from snacks.

"-oh wait, what's that smell?" And off he was bounding again, as though their previous discourse hadn't occurred, another reason Sannan hadn't really worried about truly upsetting his brother. This was all rather typical, after all.

He caught up to Yotsuo at what appeared to be an incense vendor. A traveling merchant, Sannan guessed, as he by now knew most of the regulars, and there weren't many who specialized in such a thing here in the Grounds. The woman at the stall smiled amiably at the two, a humanoid yōkai so far as he could identify, the sort who could easily pass among humans without garnering suspicion. "Greetings. Do feel free to sample my wares. I have prepared them all myself," she said.

"Ohhhh, this one smells nice. You might not like it though, San. It's a little strong."

"Hn," Sannan replied, but he took a polite sniff anyway, if only to satiate his curiosity. "Sandalwood," he guessed, inwardly proud of himself when he noticed the slight lift of a brow from the merchant. She smiled wanly, nodding. "So it is," she confirmed, looking on with interest as Yotsuo instantly took this as a sign to test his brother's skill, picking up one of the incense wafers from another dish.

Ah, this one he knew well, even if it was a little overstated, but he supposed that was the point of incense. He managed not to wrinkle his snout. "Wisteria," he said, thinking of the wild grove he liked to retreat to when he wanted some space for himself.

"You are very skilled in identifying these," the merchant laughed. "You would do well at incense gatherings. Now, how about this one?" She brought up from behind the booth an incense stick that had already been lit, standing in a bowl of ash, and with a fanning of her hand, sent the wisping trail of scent towards them. 

Sannan looked a little put off at the fact that the merchant seemed to be getting in on this game Yotsuo had started, but he sniffed at it all the same. He squinted, shaking his head as he snorted out a breath. Too perfumed for his tastes. "Some blend of aloeswood," he said, unable to keep from wrinkling his snout then. It didn't seem like his response had offended the merchant at least, but her attention had seemed to shift to Yotsuo at that point.

"That is the main part of it," she conceded, looking back at Sannan and somewhat startled to find him already eyeing her intently. He frowned a little, nudging Yotsuo with an elbow. "Come on, Yo-chan. If we keep stopping at everything then it'll already be time to meet back with the others."

"Huh-? O-oh!" Yotsuo blinked, shaking his head a bit before he smiled brightly at Sannan. "You're right. Um, thank you," he said as he turned his attention back to the vendor with a bow of his head. Sannan dropped a hand on his shoulder to steer him along after offering his own bow, his attention lingering just slightly longer until they were caught along in the next flow of foot traffic.

~~~

"All right, what kind of junk did you buy this time?" Jinan asked as he rested his elbows on the low table before them. He yelped as Yoshi swatted them off, straightening his posture before the man could go off about manners and this not being their house.

"Nothing," Yotsuo pouted before the words sunk in, and he shot a glare across the table at Jinan. "And it's not junk! They're just…things that don't have any immediate usefulness," he said, doing his best Sannan impression. Even Jinan had to laugh at that, as did Chōnan. Yoshi was doing his best to hide a grin behind his hand, coughing into a fist when his second youngest shot him a look.

"That's fine, it just means we have more to spend on food," Chōnan said eagerly, which surprised absolutely no one at the table.

"Only you would be able to still be hungry despite the amount of handouts you've likely accumulated." Sannan could be ruthless when he wanted to be, but his tone bore no edge, so he was clearly teasing as only he could. It really wasn't any big secret that their eldest brother was a favorite amongst the old snack and pastry artisans, and to some extent they were a bit jealous.

Yoshi waved his hands with an exasperated sigh. "Okay, okay, that's enough! You'll have time to look around again afterwards, but first, I think we could all do for something to eat." He went ahead and made a request for their food, then took up his teacup once Sannan had poured for them all. His son still disliked tea, but he felt that he was still partaking somehow by at least helping serve it.

"So, what's the job, oyaji?" Jinan asked, swirling his tea around. "Do you need us?"

Savoring his own tea, Yoshi shook his head. "Minor tsukumogami case. I might need you though, Chō. Supposedly we'll be dealing with a large, cast-iron pot."

"What a perfectly good thing to let go to waste," Sannan commented. "No wonder it's upset. Maybe it'll calm down if Jin gives it a good scrubbing."

"Oh please-"

"Actually, that isn't a bad idea. Jin, you come with us too," Yoshi decided, sipping his tea while Jinan tried to decide who to be angry at. In the end he closed his mouth as he worked out this clever trap of his twin; if he objected then Sannan would likely be voluntold for suggesting it, and then that would mean Jinan would have to accompany Yotsuo in his wild marketplace browsing. It really was a no-win situation as far as Jinan was concerned, so he grumbled something that was neither agreement nor protest and that was that.

Yoshi was however right in one thing; a good meal certainly did the trick in lightening the mood and sour spirits. At least, temporarily.

~~~

"Did you see anything you wanted to look at?" Yotsuo asked as he and Sannan once again found themselves wandering the main road. 

"Not particularly," Sannan replied, even as his eyes drifted over the various stalls, seeking out guest peddlers. They often brought the most interesting things, or at least had some interesting stories to tell.

At least there was one stall they always made sure to stop by. Sho-ojiisan liked when they brought back some senbei, claiming they were the best rice crackers he'd ever had. The boys secured a box and were given an extra treat apiece, crunching on the savory sweetness as they continued their marketplace perusal.

They passed the incense seller again, and she smiled brightly as she beckoned them over with a hand.

"Are you closing shop already?" Yotsuo asked, noting that much of her wares had already been packed away. 

"Oh, not just yet, but the heat is a bit much for me and the scent doesn't carry as well now that the sun is so high. Mornings are so much better for sales." She gave a small shrug. "I did wish to ask a favor of you both. Particularly you, young sir, for I'd like the opinion of your sharp nose."

Sannan frowned a little, more so as Yotsuo echoed, "Sharp nose, hehe..!" He shut his brother up with a sharp elbow. "What sort of opinion? Surely you know the scent of your own wares, so I doubt it's for identification."

"A sharp tongue and wit as well," the merchant laughed. "No, I would like to know what someone might think of a new scent I've been working on. I'm trying to get the mixture just right, and I think it's close, but I need something more." She gestured to the building behind her. "I am renting a room at the back. The screen is open, so if you wouldn't mind helping me carry these there at the very least?"

The brothers looked at each other, the smaller one smiling brightly while the other sighed. "I suppose we have time to help," Sannan conceded, Yotsuo already bouncing over to pick up some of the merchant's things.

It didn't take too long, especially when most of it was packed in the box, which Sannan picked up and was silently impressed that anyone would walk around with it on their back. The weight wasn't unmanageable, but he imagined it added quite a burden to anyone traveling distances for any amount of time. He set it down in the room, a small space suitable enough for sleeping in. Yotsuo had already invited himself to sit there at the edge while the merchant eventually joined them. She had a few bowls of what Sannan guessed were ingredients, laid out on the tatami. 

"Please make yourselves comfortable. This will not take long," the merchant said as she sorted through things. "Little one, please pull that screen closed. Not all the way," she added, catching Sannan's eye. "I just don't want to dilute the fragrances too much. Here," she said as she held out one of the bowls to him.

"Aloeswood is too strong," Sannan was quick to comment after a whiff. He glanced over as Yotsuo took a sniff. "Is it supposed to be different?"

"Oh dear, I barely added any aloeswood. I was hoping it would accent the scent rather than overpower it. I thought perhaps some fresh senses would be able to pick it out," the woman frowned. "Perhaps it will blend better once it is lit. Sometimes it takes on a different characteristic. I have a sample stick."

She slipped it out, setting it in a holder before lighting the end with a flame and quickly putting it out, fanning it with her sleeve as the thin white wisp unfurled from its tip.. 

Both boys dutifully took a sniff. "Hn…  No, the aloeswood is still prevalent," Sannan admitted, brow furrowing. "But there's…something else. Kind of bitter-smelling. I can't…"

His vision blurred and refused to clear no matter how much he blinked. This…this is… Alarm flashed in his mind, and he shot a glare at the incense maker as he lurched to his feet. They gave out from beneath him before he could even pull them into position, his vision swimming as he hit the floor, but he could barely make out the yōkai woman who had slipped on a cloth mask.

"Breathe deep, little Hamato," she said quietly as she stood over him. Sannan in fact tried to do the exact opposite, his muscles tensed but otherwise struggling to follow through with what he wanted them to do. His head felt like a lead weight as he tried to lift it, trying to push himself up. Beside him he was vaguely aware that Yotsuo had also collapsed, his brother's gaze unfocused as he lay there.

"Hm. Perhaps I did not use enough, or your resilience is just that much more impressive." Her cold tone was at odds with her words and a striking contrast to how she had spoken to them earlier. "Well, no matter. I will be done soon enough." She stepped back towards her things, picking out another slender stick of incense, which she stood in the bowl of ash and lit, placing it between the two.

Sannan couldn't even move his mouth, every muscle quivering with the effort. The scent that replaced the first was unfamiliar to him, but it reminded him of the heavy scents that hung about human temples. The smoke from it seemed thicker, suspended there as it wove itself through the air of the small room. It wreathed him and Yotsuo like some alive thing.

"You know, my brother was one of those who had answered the call and gone up to the mountain, long ago," the incense merchant said, speaking as though they were all still holding such a normal conversation. Even though his mind felt as foggy as the bluish smoke that swam about the room, Sannan recognized the sound of metal ringing, as a blade pulled from its sheath. His eyes widened into slits, his mind screaming at the rest of his body to cooperate.

"He went up," the yōkai woman continued, unaware of the boy's internal struggle. "But he did not return. As did many. I told him not to go, but he was proud. Arrogant. Weren't you, ani-ue?" She sighed, watching the smoke that came up from the incense stick as she thought of her brother. "This will reveal what I have lost. Come back to me, my brother. Come back and I will set you free from whatever has bound you to these…"

She had turned to look between them then, and Sannan tried desperately to grasp at the dots to connect the information she was imparting. The mountain…the disappearing yōkai. A sacrifice and a blood red moon...

Every muscle protested, every nerve felt like it was on fire, but Sannan felt himself moving finally. He wasn't the only one surprised, barely registering the merchant's shock through his hazy sight before he collided with her. Distantly he thought he heard the blade fall to the ground.

"How-?!" she started to exclaim, her hands closing around his shoulders to push him off, only to stop as she stared past the younger yōkai. "No… Why isn't it… But he has to be…!"

For a moment longer she stared at the stream of smoke that filled the room as though to discern some sort of secrets from it. In truth, there was nothing, nothing at all but the smoke. 

His eyelids were heavy, but that stubborn part of him clung to consciousness by a thread. He felt something warm and damp soak into his hood, and he thought he heard a sob from the woman. It was with far more care than Sannan expected of her when she resumed moving him from off of her. Every touch felt like pins and needles, all his limbs felt like they weighed as much as the logs his eldest brother would help carry in preparation of the winter storms. He heard the sound of the screen being pushed open again, a breath of fresh air coming from outside, dispersing the smoke and the cloying scent of the incense. 

"I am sorry…" The apology was so soft that it could have been a dream, that line of reality blurring with each second as he found it harder and harder to stay awake.

~~~

Yotsuo awoke with a gasp, pulling himself up so abruptly and instantly regretting it. "Careful, careful my son," a familiar voice said beside him, warm hands guiding his head back to the pillow he had been lying on. Yotsuo winced, the light feeling like it was stabbing at his eyes, and he squeezed them shut again with a whimper.

"I am sorry," he heard another somewhat familiar voice say. They sounded farther away, and Yotsuo felt his father's hand pause for but a moment where it had moved to stroke his head. "I used a stronger dosage because I thought… I did not realize that they were actually children…" 

"They are my sons," Yoshi said, his voice carefully level as he shifted his gaze between his youngest boys. Sannan had been in and out of consciousness, his head cradled in Jinan's lap as his twin held him protectively, not bothering to hide the glares he cast in the incense merchant's direction. Chōnan sat between them and the woman, but Yoshi could tell that it was as much to keep his younger brother from doing anything irrational as it was to intimidate the other yōkai.

"I have only heard rumors. I did not know what to believe. But I had hoped that my brother…that something of him still existed. I thought that they were trapped, those souls, those yōkai who had disappeared in the mountains. And these two reacted to my special blend of incense. My brother always favored it. I thought…" 

She flinched away at another glare from Jinan, and Yoshi raised his hand towards his son before he nodded at her to continue.

"...I thought his spirit might dwell in one of them. I wanted to free him, bring him home," she said sorrowfully, her head bowed. "I saw how these two cared for each other, but I thought I had come too far to abandon my brother now. …but nothing manifested in the smoke. His soul is not here." She hesitated, lifting her head to force herself to meet their eyes. She owed this much to them.

"They hold no souls of the past. It grieves me to admit it, since I do not know what has become of my brother's, but so far as I can tell, your sons are no one but themselves. Again, I am sorry," she said, prostrating herself to underline her sincerity. 

Jinan glanced at Chōnan, and the two looked to Yoshi then. He had to wonder if his sons had ever thought about it before. Indeed, a small knot was loosened in his own chest that he hadn't realized had been there. Yoshi turned his own eyes back to the incense merchant, bowing his head in silent acknowledgment for what she had told them. He could not quite offer her a thank you, not after she'd threatened his sons, but this was still more than what he thought they would come away with. And still he could not allow himself to be completely at ease. If one yōkai had been so convinced that his sons might have some connection to one of those who had been used in that terrible ritual, then there could be others…

~~~

Sannan hadn't woken up until the following morning, groggy and unable to get to his feet, complaining that every movement made him feel prickly. Yotsuo was only slightly better, still subjected to dizzy spells to the point that Chōnan insisted he carry him and Sannan. While it wasn't the first night they'd spent over at the Grounds, Yoshi didn't want to stay any longer than necessary, and the boys would be more comfortable and safe back at home. He did not however look forward to having to recount what had happened.

"Aaaah…what a mess," he muttered, running a hand through his unkempt hair. He held the bundle with Sho-jiisan's senbei, leading his sons back towards the torii. 

The incense merchant had left earlier than they had, her wares packed up and the little room she'd rented, completely vacated. Although they'd parted on neutral terms, Yoshi knew such news would travel, for better or worse. There would be some who wouldn't be pleased with what she had attempted. But there would be others, he suspected, who would be just as interested.

"What a mess," he repeated under his breath. 

Birdsong and the buzzing of bugs replaced the morning hum of the Grounds once they passed through the gate, depositing them back on an empty roadway. 

"I'm sorry, otōsama."

Yoshi stopped, turning to look over at Sannan, his second youngest curled tightly against the oldest's chest. His eyes were open at least, his senses slowly readjusting, a far-away look on his face, although Yoshi could guess that those thoughts were turned inwards. Yoshi's own expression softened.

"It was not your fault, Sannan," he said as he raised a hand to rest on his son's arm. He suppressed a frown as he saw the slim yōkai shudder under his touch. The incense maker had said the effects should wear off, the paralysis not meant to be long-term, but it had only been proven on pure-blooded yōkai. He let his hand fall away, but continued to walk beside Chōnan, Jinan flanking his brother's opposite side as he kept an eye on their surroundings. Laid back as his second oldest tended to be, Yoshi knew he could always count on him, especially when the safety of his brothers had been threatened.

Sannan had fallen silent again, not particularly reassured, but he moved his head slightly as he felt another hand slip over his own. He looked across at where Yotsuo practically nestled in the crook of Chōnan's other arm, his little brother offering a smile as only he could, one that never diminished in brightness no matter what bad things happened. Sannan took it as forgiveness for failing to keep him safe, even though he knew Yotsuo wouldn't have faulted him for any such thing. As tiring and uncomfortable as it felt to put any effort into moving, Sannan curled his webbed fingers around his brother's hand.

Yoshi smiled faintly. This was another lesson learned, and he was only thankful that nothing worse had happened. He and his boys would all return home, and while there were still some lingering concerns, that was something that they would all get through, together.

"Come, my sons. We still have a ways to go."

[happilyhertale]

Good Girl – Modern Daemon Targaryen x fem!reader

Summary: At your husband's company Christmas party, you both had enough to drink to enjoy the special togetherness.

Pairing: Modern Daemon Targaryen x fem!reader

Warnings: Smut; 18+; NSFW; Oral (m receiving)

Author’s note: As we are already celebrating Christmas here on Christmas Eve, I wish you all a wonderful Christmas! x3

English is my second language, please forgive me if I made any mistakes (:

Word count: 1.3 k

Other stories of mine

12 days of smuff

In the midst of the festive celebration, Christmas tunes echo through the room, enticing some to sway to the gentle rhythm and fill the dance floor. Diverse faces fill the room, reflecting the culmination of another triumphant year for your husband's company. The cheers extend beyond the staff, as the company's valued customers are invited to join in the celebration.

Over the course of the evening, Daemon talks animatedly with various people. But every time you pass him, he takes the opportunity to tenderly stroke your arm or give you a fleeting kiss on the lips or neck.

The hall, resplendent in seasonal splendour, exudes the delightful scent of cinnamon and mulled wine and elicits you a constant smile. Maybe that's why you've already had a few drinks. You stroll leisurely through the crowd, savouring your drink and watching the harmonious movements of the dancing couples.

A smile plays around your lips as you happen to spot a table with mistletoe on it. Without hesitation, you grab it and put your glass aside, determined to find your beloved.

With the mistletoe in your hand, you walk through the crowd in search of Daemon. But you don't find him straight away. There are men in suits everywhere, but no Daemon among them. Undeterred, you continue your search until you spot him and realise that he is watching you from a far corner.

With his drink in hand, a knowing smile plays around his lips and his eyes are fixed solely on you. As you approach him, your grin widens as you hide the mistletoe behind your back. Now that you are closer, you also recognise the effects of his drinking, a notion that strangely fascinates you.

As you stand in front of him, he grins as much as you do, but as you are shorter, you have to look up to meet his gaze. Before a word is exchanged, you stand on tiptoe and try to place the mistletoe above his head. His gaze rises briefly, accompanied by a light laugh.

"You have to kiss me... That promises happiness and eternal love," you whisper, grinning slightly in anticipation of what will follow. Without hesitation, Daemon leans down and begins a tender kiss. His arms wrap around you and pull you closer to him. The roles swap, and a short laugh escapes you as Daemon breaks the kiss, his eyes fixed on you, a slight furrow in his brow.

"I've never made a woman laugh when I've kissed her..." he mutters, and the traces of intoxication are clearly audible in his speech. You quickly shake your head, "No, that's not what I meant.."

Before you can finish your sentence, Daemon takes your hand and leads you away, into a secluded corner. The sounds of conversation and laughter fade into the distance as he pulls you closer to him. But you notice him leaning slightly against the wall to support himself, which makes you smile.

"Then show me what you meant," he murmurs and his breath mingles with your hair. Your attention returns to what's about to follow and your response is a slight lip-biting as you savour the intimacy of the moment.

A brief kiss meets his lips before you sink to your knees. Your hands glide gently down his body, feeling every muscle. A gentle grip on your hair signals his anticipation, which is also reflected in his smile. Your hands come to a stop at his belt, slowly starting to undo it as you notice the bulge in his crotch getting bigger. With a clink, his belt gives way and you turn to his trousers, don't hesitate for long and reach in, freeing his hot member.

Your mouth waters as you bite your lip. Your fingers embrace his length, your thumb glides slowly over the tip before you pump him a few times, gently moving your hand up and down and hearing Daemon hiss. He watches you closely and now strokes his hand through your hair almost tenderly.

"Show Daddy what a good girl you can be," he murmurs, and you don't hesitate for long and obey. Your lips now do the work of your hand and enclose his hard manhood. Your head moves up and down and you start to suck. Your gaze is fixed on Daemon, who is breathing harder and harder and leaning further against the wall. But you feel his hand grip your hair tighter and his fingers curl as he hears you moan.

"Such a good girl... Sucks Daddy's cock so good," Daemon grunts, but his voice is replaced by a moan. You do your best to take his cock all the way into your mouth, but you gag slightly as Daemon thrusts his hips forwards. Daemon moans again, the grip in your hair tightening as his hips thrust forward once more.

As you take him deep into your mouth, work your tongue around the underside and start to speed up, following the movements of his hips. You hollow your cheeks, your eyes always on Daemon. You whimper slightly and try to breathe calmly through your nose, but you can feel your own arousal kicking in and slowly soaking your panties.

"Your mouth is so perfect... Always so willing to receive my cock..." you hear Daemon grunt in praise and the praise floods your body with desire. You know what's behind his words, but it was also flattering and you never got tired of hearing it. Your eyes meet and you can see the desire in his eyes, the look of praise. He places his hand on your jaw as your mouth takes him all in. His thumb strokes the side of your full mouth as your moan vibrates through his cock.

"My good girl," Daemon grunts again, but you sense that he's about to pump his cum deep down your throat. You let your mouth glide faster over his length, alternating with a gentle tongue game on the tip of his cock.

Daemon groans loudly, his hand now gripping your hair almost brutally and he breathes heavily as if he's just completed a marathon. A low growl escapes his lips as he thrusts as far into you as he can, and you eagerly take his cock into your mouth.

"Fuck yes..." he moans as your hand suddenly grips his balls and massages them while your mouth works its wonders.

"Be a good girl and swallow my juice," he moans and thrusts deep into your throat. He moans loudly and wets your mouth with white. As his cock shoots its first shot, he can see your eyes widen briefly in surprise. You gag briefly, but do your best to swallow his cum. Your hand closes tighter around his balls while your eyes are fixed on Daemon. He groans as he feels the pressure and empties himself completely into your mouth. His eyes close as his hips jerk a few more times.

Breathing heavily, he loosens his grip on your hair and strokes it almost gently again. You slowly release him from your mouth, licking gently along his length to leave him clean. He gasps a little, but smiles back at you as you stand up again, his hand on your cheek.

His hand slides down your neck and pulls you closer to him, kissing you passionately.

"How about we go home? I could spoil my good girl a little..." he murmurs against your lips. You giggle slightly in anticipation and nod at him.

"That laugh again..," he mumbles as he pulls the zip of his trousers back up, then takes your hand and pulls you with him – the smile never leaving your lips.

@hoshi-miharu-blog @arryn-nyx @aemonds-eyeball @praline357 @melsunshine @drinking-tea-and-be-obsessed @lauftivy @valeskafics @dreamlandcreations @hopelesswritergall @wetbitchlibrary @bl4ckph0enix @autumnhymns @fan-goddess @msmorningstaarr @aemondsbabe

[pkmnirlevents]

PKMNIRLEvents' first official event: A Ghost Party!

A Quick Disclaimer: Keep in mind the original intention of this event is to be no stakes. You can heighten the stakes if you want, but the tone of these prompts are going to be kept pretty light to start!

These are admittedly a bit more complicated than a typical prompt as we got a bit carried away, but these are just guidelines! We encourage you to put your own spin on it!

Happy Halloween! 🎃

The veil between your world and the spirit world is getting thin! You know what that means, don’t you?

Phase One: Oct. 23-28 "For the next few days as the veil grows thinner and thinner you may begin to notice some changes."

Incorporate these details however you feel and feel free to add more that better fit your character's vibes and environment.

Ghost types, especially Duskull and Dusclops, appear more frequently. They may follow after your character on their walk home, but always at a distance. Attempts to follow them lead to them disappearing out of sight. 

Is it colder out or is that just the change in the weather? Random cold spots seem to appear on your character’s path. The scattered leaves on the ground seem to be arranged in strange patterns that blow away the moment anyone gets too close. Miscellaneous little signs will be everywhere if you know where to look. 

There’s always the feeling of being watched. It feels more mischievous than malicious, but the presence may still be unnerving. 

Things in your character’s home may be moved around by curious ghostly hands. Expect some knicknacks to be mysteriously rearranged! 

The distant sound of a single Murkrow’s caw echoes through the neighborhood, even if Murkrow aren’t commonly found in this region. Attempts to find the Murkrow will likely turn up empty. 

As the end of the month approaches these ghost types are joined by dark and bug types! A casual walk in the evening may be followed by a parade of friendly wild pokemon. None of them ever get too close, but they clearly want to tag along. 

Phase Two: Oct. 29-Nov. 2 "The veil is lifted and the stage is set! Now is where the party begins. You’ve been invited to join in the Ghost Party here beyond the veil. Dusknoir will be your guide through the spirit world and assure you travel to and from the party safely. Will you accept the invitation?"

Most of the details of the party itself are up to personal interpretation. The only consistent aspect is Dusknoir will be the guide and the three major rules of the party: you cannot freely travel outside the boundary, you cannot take anything home from the party unless specified, and your body does not travel with you. How you interpret this Dusknoir's personality is up to you. Is it kind? Parental? Grumpy and standoffish?

Don’t be afraid. A Dusknoir will appear before your character and silently urge them to follow. It will lead you through the gate to the spirit world. What exactly the gate appears as to your character is up to you. Get creative!

A few pokemon can follow your character through the gate! This journey is easiest made by ghost/dark/bug pokemon, but others are invited. Maybe the ghost pokemon on their team even received an invitation of all their own! 

Your character may meet other people on the other side. By this I mean other people’s characters, if you want to arrange meetups of some kind. You most likely will not find any permanent human residents of the spirit world, but this does not rule out seeing some dearly departed pokemon!

The party spans a rather large area, similar to a pop up festival. It’s unclear if anything exists here any other time of the year. There’s food and games everywhere you look. What exactly the party looks like seems to depend on the person. Some booths seem specifically curated to be what your character would take interest in! 

The residents of the spirit world in attendance are friendly, though this doesn’t mean they won’t try and trick your character! Watch out for pranksters.

There are rules here! Your character cannot travel freely outside of the party to the rest of the spirit world. It’s dangerous out there after all and Dusknoir has assured safe travels to and from the party! Attempts to leave the boundaries of the party will lead to Dusknoir reprimanding your character and escorting them back to the festivities.

If your character somehow manages to slip by, be prepared for a scare! The spirit world is a maze that is next to impossible to navigate without a guide. Out here there is no one to show you the way, and the residents are not as welcoming as the partygoers. If you end up out here, good luck to you. 

Anything your character tries to take from the spirit world will vanish once they pass through the gate. This includes food, drinks, objects, and pokemon that did not enter with them. There is only one exception to this! On the final night your character may receive a small gift from one of the other partygoers. You decide what this may be and the significance of that item!

Leave your body and soul at the door! Your character may notice when returning home that their physical body did not go with them. In reality, their body was laying somewhere safe near the gate. This includes any non-ghost type pokemon that may have traveled with them. 

Returning home. When the festivities are over or your character is ready to return home, Dusknoir will once again guide them to the point they entered. Passing back through the gate means that when you turn around, the party and Dusknoir have vanished entirely. If the event is not yet over then your character can return, but only on the following night. 

After the event has ended the gate will be closed and no evidence of the gate existence will be present. Dusknoir will no longer appear in the area. Your character cannot remain on the other side of the gate and will always be safely escorted out at the end of the party. Prior spooky activity in the surrounding area will dissipate.

[captainsophiestark]

Corn Maze

Bones McCoy x Reader

Masterlist - Join My Taglist!

Written for my personal fic writing challenge for 2024, Sophie's Year of Fic! Featuring a new fic being posted every Friday, all year long :)

Fandom: Star Trek

Summary: Y/N's best friend dragged her into a corn maze at the local harvest festival to celebrate finishing their last round of Starfleet exams. She quickly losesher friend in the maze, but luckily, she's not the only one with a friend who drags her into ridiculous situations.

Word Count: 1,772

Category: Fluff, Humor

Putting work into an AI program without permission is illegal. You do not have my permission. Do not do it.

"Why did I let my friends convince me this was a good idea?" I mumbled, rubbing my arms to try to stay warm. The sun had set while I was trapped in the corn maze, and now it was getting a little too cold for comfort.

I wandered a few more steps through the maze, looking for any sign of my friends or an exit. Nothing.

Why did I let them talk me into this? Worse, why did I agree to split up?

I never realized before, but corn took on an eerie quality in the dark. The stalks rustled slightly in the breeze, and I felt goosebumps run up my spine. It felt like someone else was there with me, just beyond the next row of corn...

Cautiously, hating every minute of it, I tip toed towards the next corner in the maze. I tried to settle my nerves, but when I turned the corner I came face to face with a strange, shadowy man.

"AH!" I screamed at the top of my lungs, jumping back and flailing my arms out in front of me.

"Ah! Dammit!" yelled the man, also jumping back and clutching his heart. I heard him grumble something under his breath that sounded like "I'm gonna kill Jim."

"Who are you?" I demanded, getting my wits back. I stayed tense, ready to take off running at a moment's notice.

"Name's McCoy, but you can call me Bones," he said, straightening up and looking me up and down. "Who're you?"

"Y/F/N Y/L/N. Why are you out in a corn maze after dark?"

"Ladies first," said Bones, crossing his arms and giving me an expectant stare. I squinted at him, trying to weigh my options. If he was some murderer out here, he probably would've tried to kill me already, right?

I sighed, giving in. "My friends and I are about to graduate from Star Fleet Academy. Since tests and everything are finally over, we decided to take the weekend to celebrate. They thought the corn maze looked fun, I got dragged along, we got separated, and now I'm here."

Bones scoffed. "That sounds familiar."

"Same thing happen to you?"

"Just about, except we've been out of the academy for a couple years now. Somehow he still manages to make me do stupid things like this."

"Yeah, I have a couple friends like that. I can already see them dragging me into the same stuff even five years from now."

Bones chuckled and shook his head, then looked back at me.

"Well, since we're both out of our element here, we might as well be in this together. Which way should we try now?" he asked.

"I came from one way, you came from the other. We're both still here, so there's only one option left," I said, pointing to the path ahead of us.

"I guess that makes as much sense as anything else."

We started walking, neither of us saying a word. It was pretty awkward, and I almost preferred the dark creepy corn maze silence. After a few more steps without a word, I decided to speak up and try to make things a little less tense.

"So, you're in Starfleet?" I asked.

"Yup. I regret it a lot some days, but I'm still here."

"What's your position?"

"I'm the CMO of the Enterprise."

I stuttered a step when he said that. Not only was he the Chief Medical Officer, which was incredibly impressive for someone his age, but he was the Chief Medical Officer of the Enterprise, the best ship in the fleet!

"Wait, seriously?" I asked, walking a little faster to catch back up to him. "That's amazing! The Enterprise is my dream placement. What is that even like?"

"You ever been hung over?"

Not the response I was expecting, I'll admit. Still, I tried to roll with it.

"Uh... once or twice."

"Imagine the worst hangover you've ever had, and then imagine that times three. That's what being the CMO of the Enterprise is like."

"Damn. You know, you sound pretty cranky and jaded for someone your age."

Bones sighed and looked up at the sky as we walked. He didn't say anything for a minute, but when he finally did, he sounded incredibly tired.

"I don't like space. The only reason I went up there in the first place was to get away from things here."

I hummed. "Fair enough, I guess. But is it really worth staying if there's nothing you like about it?"

He was silent for another long stretch, then finally, he spoke without looking at me.

"Space is dangerous and stupid. It's a true fact. But... there are worse things than living through the ridiculous nonsense I've lived through with the people on that ship. Sometimes it's even interesting."

I smiled to myself. I was starting to get a read on Bones, and he seemed to have a much softer center than he wanted to let on.

After a moment, he quickly cleared his throat.

"Besides, it's not like I have much choice. Those idiots wouldn't have survived half this long if they didn't have me."

I grinned. "Well, assuming my test scores are what I'm hoping they'll be, I can't wait to be one of those idiots in a few weeks."

Bones snorted and cut his eyes towards me. I just kept grinning at him, and after a minute, he sighed.

"Get us out of this corn maze, and then I'll decide how I feel about you becoming one of those idiots."

"Deal."

The task of wandering around in the maze became easier, if only because I now got to do it with someone else I liked instead of being cold and lost in the dark by myself. The two of us chatted as we walked, first about plans for escape but that quickly turned into talk about other things, from favorite animals to academy stories and everything else in between.

Slowly, Bones started to warm up to me, and I felt the same. I even managed to get a few smiles out of him, and I found my heart skipping a beat or two each time I did. It got to the point that I wasn't sure how quickly I wanted to find the exit anymore.

Still, we couldn't just wander the maze forever. Working together, we eventually managed to find some of the more worn paths of the maze, and it wasn't long before we turned a corner and found the exit.

I grinned, stopping short instead of walking straight out of the maze. Bones apparently took the cue, and he stopped too, turning to me with one eyebrow raised.

"I just wanted to say, before we go out there... this was fun. I'll never admit it to my friend, which is part of why I stopped before we got out there, but... I'm glad I got lost in a corn maze with you. And I hope we get to work together on the Enterprise."

Bones sighed, long and heavy, then finally looked back at me. After a moment, just when I'd started to get nervous, the corner of his mouth tweaked up into a smile.

"I'll never admit this to anyone again, so don't expect me to repeat it. But I might've had fun with you too. And I'd definitely like to see you on the Enterprise."

I grinned at him, and he shared a smile of his own briefly before turning back towards the exit of the maze. It was dark, so I couldn't be sure, but I thought I noticed a faint blush on the back of his neck, too.

We stepped past the final row of corn and were greeted by smiling faces. One I recognized as my best friend, and the other I recognized as none other than the Captain of the USS Enterprise. Apparently he was the idiot friend Bones had been talking about, and I honestly couldn't tell how I felt about that.

"Bones! You made it out! And you met a friend."

Captain James T. Kirk fixed me with the most sly, knowing grin of all time as he held his hand out to me for a handshake.

"Jim. It's a pleasure to meet you."

"...You too," I said. I couldn't help feeling a little starstruck, but the bubble popped a second later when Bones smacked him on the back of the head. I laughed, and any remaining tension faded as my friend joined us and introduced herself to Bones.

"So, your friend said you're hoping to join the crew of the Enterprise," said Jim, the beaming smile back on his face post-smack. I nodded.

"It's my dream posting, like most of the rest of the academy. Hopefully all that awful studying and test-taking will be worth it."

"It wasn't for me. But luckily, I have a good CMO and friend to help me when I need it."

Bones huffed and rolled his eyes, but I could see a smile fighting to break out on his face all the same.

"Well, since we've done everything here, we were planning to go get a late dinner somewhere," my friend said. "Do you two want to join us?"

Jim and Bones shared a look, and I took the distraction to whip around and look at my friend with wide eyes. She just grinned, nodding in Bones and Jim's direction to make sure I knew she knew exactly what she was doing. I just sighed.

"We'd love to," said Jim. "I even know a great place not far from here."

"Perfect."

The four of us started walking, Bones and I falling slightly behind our friends and walking side by side. I bumped him lightly with my shoulder and fixed him with a smile.

"So... the friends that ditched us are definitely paying for dinner, right?"

Bones laughed, and butterflies exploded in my chest at the sound. It didn't last long, but it was a real, full laugh, not a huff or a scoff, and I knew I wanted to hear that sound as many more times as I possibly could.

"Definitely. I might be glad I met you, but they didn't know that would happen, so they get no credit for it."

"Exactly."

We shared a smile, and then the two of us fell into comfortable silence, smiles still on our faces, as we followed our friends into our own brave new world.

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

Everything Taglist: @rosecentury @kmc1989 @space-helen

[jacketkiszka]

The Masque

Sam Kiszka x F!Reader

Warnings: Explicit Sexual Content 18+ Alcohol consumption, oral f!receiving, unprotected sex, hooking up with a stranger, borderline public sex, masked sam 😈

Very excited to be featured in this year’s Gretaween collection by my dear friend.

This story is inspired by the short story The Masque of the Red Death by Edgar Allen Poe. I hope you all like it! Happy spooky season ~ 🎃

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✩

10:33 PM

With a creak and groan, the ancient wooden doors of the abbey slowly part before you, revealing a luminous scene that takes you by surprise. The room beyond is bathed in an otherworldly blue glow, shimmering with the eerie splendor of two enormous stained glass windows. The blue light spills across the space, pooling like liquid at your feet. You step through the threshold, your heels echoing against the stone floor, and immediately the air is filled with the hum of conversation and laughter, the cheerful din of partygoers. Somewhere, distant yet resonant, the haunting notes of an organ drift from another room.

You pause for a moment, letting your gaze travel over the room. Two grand firelit lamps stand sentinel on either side, their flames seemingly casting not orange, but blue-tinged shadows. The paintings on the walls, the velvet-upholstered chairs, the intricately woven rug beneath your feet—every last detail shimmers in rich, captivating blue.

But there's no time to linger. You catch your breath and continue forward, making your way down a long hallway towards the growing sounds of the partygoers.

The corridor twists, and with a sharp left turn, you find yourself in yet another grand room, though this one is bathed in the deep, sultry warmth of magenta. The walls radiate the pinkish color, and it paints the faces of the few guests scattered about in soft, rose-tinted shadows. You don’t recognize anyone here—and that doesn’t surprise you. You hadn’t expected to know many people at this event; after all, you had been invited by your long-time friend, Mira, who never missed an opportunity to thrust herself, and by extension you, into the center of extravagant events. Parties like this were her playground, where the eccentric and the elegant intermingled seamlessly.

You didn’t mind following along, though. Truth be told, you enjoyed the excuse to dress up, to wear something that made you feel like someone else, if only for a night. Your dark purple gown flows as you walk, the soft fabric brushing against the floor, and the lacy black masquerade mask you wear lends you an air of mystery. You glide through the magenta room without pause, the conversation barely registering as you pursue the growing noise of the crowd ahead.

Another turn, another left, and now you enter the green room.

It is smaller, but far more crowded, a buzz of lively chatter filling the space. The green hue saturates everything, casting the scene in an ethereal, almost dreamlike light. You scan the crowd, eyes darting from one masked face to another, searching for Mira. No sign of her yet. But before you can make another move, you notice something strange—someone standing at the edge of the room, a man in a crimson suit.

He's not mingling, not engaging in the festivities like everyone else. Instead, he leans casually against the emerald wall, his piercing gaze fixed on you. His outfit is striking—an almost unnaturally bright red suit and matching mask, and his black hair slicked back away from his face. The pit of your stomach tightens with unease. There’s something unsettling about the way he watches you, as though he's been expecting you all along.

You look away, pretending to be preoccupied with the crowd, but as you move through the room, you can’t shake the feeling that those eyes are following your every step. No matter where you turn, you can sense his gaze lingering, unrelenting.

Suddenly, a deep, resonant sound reverberates through the walls—the unmistakable chime of a clock from somewhere deep within the abbey. A bell tolls, loud and clear, its echo rippling through the air. Everything comes to a sudden halt. The laughter dies, conversations cease, and the organ music stops in mid-note. You freeze, heart pounding, as the room falls into an eerie, unnatural silence. Every face you can see looks grim, as though anticipating something awful.

After a few minutes, although it feels like an eternity, the clock’s final chime fades into nothingness, and the crowd resumes its former liveliness as if nothing unusual had happened. Conversations reignite, laughter resumes, and the organ music swells once more, yet the strange heaviness in the air remains.

11:00 PM

You find yourself stepping into yet another room, this one taking your breath away. It's larger than the others by far, with towering ceilings that seem to stretch into the heavens, and at the center of the back wall stands a grand pipe organ—magnificent in its scale and design. Its gleaming pipes rise like spires, glinting in the dim light.

As you take in the sight, the soft sound of footsteps catches your attention, followed by a voice, smooth as silk, from behind you.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

You turn slowly, and your eyes meet those of a man dressed in all black. He’s tall, with an air of quiet elegance, a single orange—or perhaps white—flower pinned to his lapel. His face is obscured by a simple black mask, but his eyes, dark and enigmatic, capture your attention and hold it. There’s something magnetic about him, something familiar yet unknown.

“It’s incredible,” you reply, turning to look at the organ again. “I’ve never seen one in person before. It sounded beautiful earlier.”

“Thank you,” he says, a note of amusement in his voice.

You blink, turning back to him in surprise.

He was the organ player. Of course he was.

Before you can respond, he steps closer.

“I’m glad you enjoyed the music,” he says, his voice smooth, rich. “But I suspect you didn’t come here for a performance…”

A playful smirk tugs at the corner of his lips, and you feel a warmth rise in your cheeks beneath the mask.

“I suppose not,” you reply, trying to sound composed. “Though I can’t say I’m entirely sure why I am here.”

Obviously you had come because Mira invited you, but something about the abbey seems to be pulling you in as if you were brought here for a reason.

His smile broadens, just enough to suggest he knows more than he’s letting on. “Perhaps that’s part of the fun. This place tends to attract the curious… and those searching for something they can’t quite name.”

You tilt your head slightly, feeling a strange pull to his words. “And what about you?” you ask, shifting the conversation back to him. “Are you here searching for something too?”

For a brief moment, his dark eyes flicker with something unreadable, like a shadow passing over them. He pauses before responding, as if contemplating the answer. “Perhaps,” he says finally, his tone quieter, more serious. “Or maybe I’ve already found it, and I’m just here to see if it will stay.”

His reply sends a shiver down your spine. Before you can ask him to elaborate, a burst of laughter erupts from the adjoining room, pulling your attention away. The party seems to have returned to full swing, the hum of voices and clinking of glasses growing louder. But here, in the bright orange light, it feels like a separate world entirely, one where time moves differently.

He follows your gaze towards the other guests, his expression unreadable once more. “These gatherings,” he muses, almost to himself, “they bring together all kinds. Some come for the spectacle, the excitement of an elegant party... Others come for the anonymity, like they just want a place where they don’t have to be themselves.”

The last words hang heavy in the air.

“I’m not sure which one I am,” you admit.

He chuckles softly. “You’ll figure it out. Though I’d wager you’re not just here for the party.”

Before you can respond, a flash of movement catches your eye—a familiar figure entering the room. It’s Mira, dressed in her usual flamboyance, a gown of shimmering fabric that almost rivals the abbey’s decor in brilliance. She’s laughing, arm in arm with another guest, her head thrown back in her typical carefree manner.

“There you are!” Mira calls out when she spots you, her voice bright and full of life. She sways toward you, pulling you into a quick embrace before her gaze flicks over to the man standing beside you. “Oh, I see you’ve met already,” she says with a sly grin, as if she knows something you don’t.

Your eyes dart between them, a question forming on your lips, but before you can ask, Mira leans in closer and whispers, “Watch yourself with this one. He’s a charmer.”

Mira pulls you aside and the masked man retreats into the crowd of people.

“Who was that?” You ask, hoping that Mira knew him as well as she let on.

“That’s Sam. He’s always throwing parties here, I think he just uses it as an excuse to show off his organ skills for pretty girls.” She laughs.

You laugh too, partially because it was funny and partially because his apparent plan had worked.

You and Mira chat for a few minutes before she is pulled away by someone else. Life of the party, as always. When the two of you part ways you find yourself retreating to the drink station.

You pour yourself a cup full of the punch they have laid out for guests. With the amber colored light beaming in from the stained glass windows, you couldn’t tell the color of the punch but you hoped it wasn’t flavored orange too.

You sip the undoubtedly orange flavored punch and go to turn around when you’re met with the dreaded man in the red mask standing right behind you. You jump, startled, and nearly spill your drink.

“Oh, I’m sorry-“ You say, trying to get out of his way of the drink table. He steps aside with you, maintaining the close proximity.

“Don’t be sorry. I’ve had my eye on you since you arrived.”

You force a smile, heart hammering as he inches closer, his intense gaze never wavering from yours. The air grows thick, and you can feel the unease radiating through every fiber of your being.

“Really?” you manage to say, attempting to mask the nervousness in your voice with a light tone. “Sorry, I’m just here with a friend.”

He tilts his head slightly, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. “Oh, but you don’t seem to be with anyone right now.”

You search for an answer, but the words seem to evaporate under the weight of his stare. His hand reaches out, fingers brushing your arm lightly, and a shiver runs through you, though not the pleasant kind. He leans in, his voice lowering as he murmurs, “Come chat with me. I don’t bite.”

Before you can step back, another voice cuts in, calm but firm. “Everything alright here?”

You turn to see Sam standing next to you. There’s a subtle warning in his eyes, and you feel a surge of relief at his presence. Sam steps between you and the stranger, positioning himself protectively, and for the first time, you see the man in red falter, a flicker of irritation passing across his face.

“We were just talking,” the man in red says, a tight smile pulling at his lips.

Sam doesn’t flinch. “Good to hear. But I think she was just leaving,” he says, glancing at you with a look of reassurance.

You take the hint, nodding gratefully as you step back, moving closer to Sam. The man in red hesitates, his gaze shifting between the two of you before he finally nods, the charming facade falling away. He steps aside, vanishing into the crowd, his eyes lingering on you one last time before he disappears completely.

“Thank you,” you whisper, feeling your heartbeat begin to steady.

Sam offers you a small, reassuring smile. “No need to thank me. Just thought you looked like you could use a hand.” He pauses, then adds with a slight smirk, “Besides, Mira would probably kill me if I didn’t look out for you.”

You chuckle, the tension finally breaking, and feel a warmth settle in as you realize you’re not alone in this strange, eerie place.

As the unsettling presence of the man in red fades into the crowd, you feel Sam’s hand gently brush against your arm, guiding you toward a quieter corner of the room. The buzz of partygoers swirls around you. Sam’s eyes meet yours, his expression thoughtful as if he’s deciding how much to say.

“Do you want to get out of here?” he asks, his voice low. “I know a place where we can actually hear ourselves think.”

You nod, the idea of escaping the crowded room with him unexpectedly enticing. Without another word, Sam gestures for you to follow, and you weave through the clusters of guests until you reach a doorway. He holds out his arm, gesturing for you to pass, and you slip through into a dimly lit hallway that stretches away from the party.

The silence here is a sharp contrast to the cacophony of the party, and you’re suddenly aware of the echo of your footsteps in the vast, empty space. Sam leads you down the corridor, turning left, then right, until you pass through a few other colored rooms, much like the others. An all white room, followed by a deep, rich purple. You reach the very end of the abbey. You walk into a room completely shrouded in black velvet furnishings, deep red windows bringing in a blood tinted light.

Sam stops near a velvet tufted bench beneath the large window, his gaze drifting over the room before turning back to you. For a moment, he seems almost shy, his confident demeanor softened. “I thought you might need a break,” he says quietly, looking at you with a gentleness that catches you off guard.

“Thank you. I did.” You take a seat on the bench, letting out a long breath. “This place is beautiful, but it’s… overwhelming.”

He nods, settling beside you. “That’s why I come out here sometimes. The party can feel like it’s pulling you in, swallowing you up.”

You glance at him, surprised. “And yet, you’re the one throwing it.”

A flicker of a smile crosses his face. “I guess even the host needs an escape every once in a while.” He pauses, then looks at you, his gaze earnest. “What about you? Something tells me you’re not much of one for this scene.

You feel a slight blush rise under his scrutiny, the truth not as straightforward as you’d like. “Yes and no,” you reply. “Mira loves these things, but… I think I came because I needed a night to just… let go. To feel like someone else, even if only for a little while.”

Sam nods, understanding glinting in his eyes. “Well, you certainly found the right place for that.” He tilts his head, studying you for a moment. “I’m glad you came, though. I didn’t expect to meet someone like you here.”

There’s something sincere in his tone that makes your heart flutter. His shoulder brushes against yours, a subtle connection that sends warmth spreading through you. For a few breaths, the world narrows to the two of you, the warm red light, and the distant sound of partygoers in the other rooms.

Sam turns slightly towards you, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "So… who might this new persona be that you've adopted tonight?" His eyes crinkle at the edges, amused, inviting.

”I guess you’ll have to find out,” you say, matter-of-factly.

“Do you think Mira is looking for you?” he says, seemingly starting to get nervous.

You smile and shake your head. “No, she’s probably going to be busy all night. This is how it always goes. Besides, I don’t care if she’s looking for me.”

He smiles back. The tension between you is thick. He leans in closer, putting a hand on your arm.

“Do you think- I mean, can I–“

Before he can get the sentence out, your lips are crashing softly into his like two magnets being pulled together against their will. His fingers squeeze your arm in surprise, but pull you closer to him at the same time. You pull away from his lips, and the grin on his face is one you hope to save in the depths of your mind for eternity.

In what can only be described as a sudden stroke of confidence, Sam pulls you in for another kiss. This time deeper, more passionate. The sounds of your breathing and hungry kisses mixed with the plastic edges of your masks clicking together creates a symphony of passion that fills the otherwise empty room.

His hands roam over your body, feeling the curves hidden beneath the silky material of your gown. A soft moan escapes your lips, muffled against his kisses.

You look towards the open doorway. None of the rooms in the abbey had doors except, of course, the bathrooms. Yet nobody had ventured all the way down the winding hallway to this room, and judging by the dust on the window ledges, you figure they hadn’t in a long time.

Sam pulls you closer to him, his hand finding its way to your thigh. You push your legs apart for him to grab hold of. His fingers gently dig into your thigh and he plants a soft kiss to your jawline, followed by your neck, and back up to your lips.

“What if someone comes in here?” you whisper, against his breath.

“They won’t.” He sinks to his knees, lifting the skirt of your dress up above your knees and running his fingers up your calves. “Do you trust me?” He kisses your thigh, his eyes never leaving yours.

You’re not sure if you do, but he looks so good like this that you’re not sure you care. Besides, if someone caught you it’s not like anyone here knew who you were besides your one friend.

You nod and he smirks up to you before planting more kisses along your thighs, gently sucking and nipping at the sensitive skin on the way up. His head disappears beneath the bulk of your gown and you feel his arms reach up and pull you to the edge of the bench. The hard plastic nosepiece of his mask grazes against your lace panties, sending your hips forward, looking for more contact.

“Easy, baby… what’s the rush?” He pushes his nose back against you, running it up towards the top of your panties.

His hot breath fans against your sensitive skin, making you tremble with anticipation. He reaches up and gently pulls your panties to the side, exposing your wetness.

He leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to your center. You gasp, pushing your legs apart further, silently begging for him to keep going. He chuckles against you, the vibration sending waves of pleasure through your body. His tongue slowly slides out, parting and tasting you.

Sam's tongue begins to explore, circling your clit before flicking rapidly over the sensitive spot. His hands grip your thighs, holding you open as he licks and sucks, alternating between broad strokes and targeted flicks.

You feel a knot churning in your stomach as your fingers dig into the velvet bench cushion next to you. You try to stifle your moans for fear of someone hearing, but he sucks your clit into his mouth, swirling his tongue around you in the most delicious way, causing a groan to ripple from your chest.

He pulls away, and you pout at the sudden loss of contact. He pulls his now desheveled head from under your dress and pushes the skirt up to your hips.

“God, you’re so beautiful.” He whispers, looking you up and down.

“You haven’t even seen my face,” You chuckle. He bites his lip in response.

“I don’t have to,” His fingers trail up your thighs. “You sound beautiful, you taste beautiful. And this body…” He brings his fingers back down to your clit, drawing lazy circles against the black lace. “You’re the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen, I know it.”

The look in his eyes is honest, and the wet sheen on the edges of his mask reflecting the deep red light of the windows make it the prettiest sight you’ve ever seen.

Sam leans in, capturing your lips in a searing kiss, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. His fingers continue their maddeningly slow circles on your clit as he kisses you deeply, swallowing any sounds you might make. He breaks away after a long moment, both of you breathing heavily.

“Are you gonna fuck me, Sam?” You whisper, almost inaudible against his lips. His two fingers find their way into your panties and dip inside you, drawing a whine from your throat.

“Do you want me to fuck you? I thought you were afraid to get caught?” He teased, pumping his fingers in deeper, making your head spin. Your hips rolling against his hand, pushing him deeper.

“Please, Sam… I don’t care if we get caught.” He looks up at you with a grin that can only be described as mischievous. He curls his fingers inside you, hitting your sweet spot. Your head rolls back against the wall and your quiet gasps and sighs begin to grow into moans. His eyes watch the grandfather clock behind you and he starts to unbuckle his belt with his free hand, palming himself through his suit. His fingers work you until you’re practically heaving at his every command. His eyes flick back up towards the clock as he starts to pull himself free.

God, he’s gorgeous. You look down at the sight of him stroking himself, getting himself off while touching you. You’d never met a man that giving in bed, no less a stranger. He stands up and pulls you up with him, backing you against the wall. He presses his lips against yours, hiking your leg over his sturdy hips. Just as he pulls away you feel him rub against your entrance.

His eyes flick up to the wall again and, like clockwork, the clock strikes midnight. He grips your hips and pushes into you, filling you all the way to the hilt. A loud groan rips from your chest and his fingers dig into your thighs tighter, quickly picking up a steady pace. The sounds of the clock’s chimes fill the abbey. Your hand comes up to muffle the moans that fall from your lips but he takes your wrist and holds it tight against the wall.

“No one can hear you.” He bucks his hips into you sharply, and your eyes roll back into your head.

“Fuck, Sam…” You roll your hips against his cock, driving him deeper inside you. His grip on your hips never faltering, pulling you into him with all his strength. He drops your wrist and his free hand finds his way to your bodice, pulling it down to reveal your chest.

The clock continues to chime, filling the party with a deafening chime and masking the lewd sounds coming from the velvet room.

His fingers find their way back to your clit, swirling it in tight circles, looking for your end. The familiar knot forms again in your stomach, and you dig your fingers into his arm. He feels you tighten around him and groans loudly against your neck, seemingly coming to his end too.

“Come on, baby… we don’t have much time… give it to me,” he demands. His fingers work faster and the knot tightens more. Your vision turns colors and you squeeze him tight. His eyes flick up to the clock, knowing that it’s on its last big chime. With one deep flick of his hips he sends you over the edge, his hand clasping around your mouth to muffle you as the clock finishes its chime, and the partygoers resume their conversations in the other rooms.

His release comes shortly after yours, his hand still holding place over your mouth and his face buried in your neck, grunting quietly for only you to hear. His nails dig into your thigh as he spills into you, soft and hot and perfect. You wish he could hold you like this forever and never leave you empty again.

“Sam?” You whisper through heaving breaths.

He hums in response, nuzzling further into your neck.

“Maybe we should get out of here before someone sees us.”

He nods silently and pulls away from you. The loss of warmth leaving you wanting him close again already.

The two of you get yourselves put back together and as you begin to leave the room of black velvet, a hand stops you. Sam pulls you close for one last kiss before removing your black lace mask, revealing yourself to him for the first time.

He smiles and runs his thumb down your cheek.

“Just as I suspected,” he says, a smirk plastered across his face.

You give him a questioning look in response.

“Beautiful.”

[kurgy]

| support me on patreon | ao3 |

Casey Sziska is a struggling musician finally cashing in on what he hopes is his big break by moving to a new city and signing a contract. His struggles come to a head when he meets and falls for the strange friend of his manager, Josh. The further Casey falls the more he uncovers about Josh's life that compels him to have to choose between his life, friends, and career, or saving him.

_

Casey was getting ready backstage in a small brick room with old concrete floors; fluorescents beaming overhead and giving him just the slightest of headaches when coupled with the bright bulbs lining his dressing room mirror. An electric buzz of noise sounded just beyond the door that separated him from the rest of the packed club. 

He was tired, wanted to sleep, but the previous night's attempt hadn't done him any favors in that regard either.

Looking over his appearance, turning his face from side to side and examining his shoddy work, he figured what he had going on was good enough.

His hair's thick and messy, sticking out all over like he'd just gotten out of bed (not entirely false, he supposed). He learned early on that keeping it shorter was easiest, though wrestling it into styled submission not so much; so brushing out any tangles and just letting the wild mop of black be what it was suited him just fine.

He peered at his reflection in the mirror, scribbling some last touches of messy eyeliner around his eyes, hand pulling lightly at peach skin to make drawing the lines easier, even if it didn't.

His own green eyes stared back at him, a bright green that contrasts the black that surrounds them. He studied the various silver piercings decorating his face as he penciled heavy black lines around his eyes.

He was fond of piercings; had a labret below his lip, a bridge across his nose, nostril piercings on both sides, and matching brow piercings to boot. His ears held their own matching sets of black piercings.

He gave his reflection a solid glare, then wiggled his eyebrows with a grin before letting his face fall back to neutral.

Eh, good enough.

His eyes flickered to the left, the upper corner of the mirror reflecting Julie's back to him as she put up her pale blonde hair into a low messy bun facing the mirror just opposite his.

Julie's his friend, his best friend even, his sister, and their band's bassist, and the band was the whole reason they were here.

A few years ago Casey started a small band with his childhood friends, Julie and Devin.

He'd known Julie since kindergarten, she was practically family. She was thin and stockily built, long blonde hair always kept tied, and a few piercings of her own. She and Casey had more history than could be covered in such a short time, but Julie always had his back.

Devin was a high school friend. Taller than Julie, though still not quite as tall as Casey. Warm brown skin and styled curled hair. He joined their little group freshman year and settled in seamlessly. He took Casey to his first concert, played his first song, and practically leapt at the chance to be their drummer.

Their band name "Nowhere" didn't really have meaning, it was more of a placeholder than a real name, later on a running joke about how their little band was going "nowhere."

Casey had always been a singer, and had dedicated himself to being a guitarist as well, and once each of their preferred roles were filled, the three have been inseparable ever since.

Starting a band was one of the first things they did as teenagers, even if they didn't do anything, and didn't seriously pursue it until later. They didn't get serious about actually releasing music until their first paid gig, a local rock festival, and the thrill of the whole experience is what made the three of them truly want this.

After a while it just stuck.

A sharp knock on the dressing room door startled Casey out of his thoughts before it opened, not waiting for an answer as an assistant he recognized from their new managers payroll waltzed in, not looking up from their clipboard before saying;

"Hey, Nowhere! It's time to go, you're on."

And walking out of the room.

Casey sighed, placing his head in his hands before running them loosely through his hair, the eyeliner smudging a bit around his eyes. It looked better that way.

"You ready?" She asked, the bags under her eyes noticeable even under her makeup.

A smaller hand patted him on the back, it was Julie.

He shrugged, standing and stretching his arms above his head in a more exaggerated move than needed, towering over the girl as he reached for his guitar, all the signal the other two needed to follow his lead.

They waltzed out the door in no real hurry, Julie chewing lazily on a piece of gum that had long since lost its flavor, scrolling on her phone as she followed behind Casey.

Devin seemed largely uninterested in the whole thing, the same dark circles under his eyes, and curled hair somewhat frazzled as he followed behind Julie, staring blankly at the passing overhead lights lining the cement hallway leading to the stage.

Casey leading the way looked no better.

In truth they'd just moved to the city a little over a month ago, and Casey's apartment deal had immediately fallen through upon their arrival. He'd been crashing on Julie and Devin’s couch for 4 weeks before he found another apartment for rent in his price range.

None of them seemed entirely up for this last minute performance. It, after all, being none of their ideas. No, their new manager Evan had scheduled this show, despite the band's exhausted objections.

For a while he wondered if he were stupid for not electing to join them for a 3 bedroom, and instead his friends settled on a 2 bedroom once Casey had declined them. He really preferred his privacy, and he found he appreciated that comfort even in the tiny studio he hauled his belongings into just 2 weeks ago. But with the leaky pipes and draft and more expenses pilling up, in-between work meetings and recording sessions, he'd found little time for rest.

So here they were, mere feet away from stepping in front of a crowd in some exclusive live music club they'd never get into otherwise, exhausted.

His back ached from moving boxes and sleeping on a couch much smaller than him much longer than he'd wanted. The only thing he's eaten in two days is a couple stale slices of pizza.

But he smiled, stepping hurriedly on stage with a flare and the screech of his guitar while a half attentive crowd turned. He played an improvised solo before Julie was screaming an enthusiastic greeting while their audience cheered.

Casey was nothing if not an excellent performer, he knew how to work a crowd. Charisma and flare were as easy as breathing on stage. He could barely see beyond the lights, blurring his vision of the faces staring at him, and here he could be as free as he wanted.

Yeah, good enough.

He announced a song, strumming a chord as Devin tapped his drumsticks, music starting strong before they were playing with more energy than they actually had to a delighted audience.

_____

They had a 3 song set, and although their follow-up act seemed to fit the vibe of a nightclub better than they had, the crowd wasn't as invested, which was a definite pickup in his mood.

He doubts any of these people would really remember their little punk band or the drinks in their hands by tomorrow morning.

He didn't mind, even exhausted he had fun playing, at least, and they enjoyed it enough for the whole thing not to go tits up. The sizable paycheck helped when rent was going to be due.

His voice was a bit hoarse and he was tired, but work was done and he was getting paid, so really it was a win.

He didn't have the luck of just leaving however. His manager decided an impromptu meet and greet was in order, and he didn't have the privilege of saying no.

His new manager was a man named Evan Danse, a real clean cut looking guy, kind of looks like he just stepped off a yacht party at any given moment, and his sweater and coiffed hair didn't really give him the "I manage a punk band" vibe you might expect.

Still, he wanted to manage them, and had done more for their actual careers in a short time than they had ever managed to do themselves in several, and they owed him. So, here Casey was, towering over the man as he walked him down a line of people waiting to meet him, all pleasant smiles and dainty handshakes with no real clue or care for who he was, which was fine; they shared the sentiment.

Casey was a big guy, always has been, and measuring at a steady 6’6” gave him a tendency to stand out. His build he'd worked for, he enjoyed the stability a workout gave him, and though he wouldn't describe himself this way, he had on occasion been told his stature and style were a bit intimidating.

He thought of that as Evan introduced him one by one to a variety of coworkers, colleagues, and all sorts of Evan's work related relationships that weren't expecting his latest work project to look quite like Casey.

People dispersed as they went along; introduction, smile, handshake, leave; rinse and repeat. The line tapered off in a mix of confusion and surprise until Evan presented him with the last, different from the others in Evan's presentation; a guy who caught Casey's eye with just how plainly he didn't seem to give a shit at what was happening.

He was shorter than Casey, not uncommon. Still, the guy was a good head shorter than him; skinny looking under too big clothes that only made him look smaller.

Casey's eyes met a head full of unruly hair, sandy blond and messily cropped, almost reaching the guy's shoulders. Hair was brushed to cover his face, like he were using it all like a curtain.

"Casey, I'd like to introduce you to a personal friend of mine." Evan said cheerfully, gesturing to the guy as he went to stand beside him, patting a hand against the guys back playfully. "This is Joshua."

Casey smiled even when Joshua failed to react, instead keeping a pleasant air about him as his sort-of boss introduced him to the weird little dude who wouldn't look at them; holding out his hand for the typical smile, handshake, leave, but Joshua didn't take it. He didn't look at Casey at all actually, his eyes downcast to stare at the phone he held in his hand. The screen illuminated what little of his face wasn't hidden under his hair, the shadows giving his blank stare an eerie sort of vibe.

Something felt off.

Casey was enamored with it all.

Joshua was thin, wearing oversized clothes; a big winter coat, a loose fitting shirt, and dark jeans, the cuffs were rolled up, whether for style or comfort he wasn't really sure, but it was a nice look on him.

He was pale, dark tiredness under his eyes like bruises, pink lips, sharp chin, face expressionless as he typed away furiously on his phone, still keeping his head down as the other two men stared expectantly.

Casey thought he was cute. Fluffy hair, long eyelashes, slender face..

He gave his best smile.

Evan was saying something about Joshua, apologizing for his attitude, but Casey stopped listening.

When it came to focusing his attention between his semi-annoying overly familiar ‘boss’ and the cute if a little standoffish stranger, there was really no competition.

He leaned forward ever so slightly, raising his hand close enough to Joshua for him to notice, but not so close to violate any boundaries, holding his hand at Joshua's rye level, certain it was visible.

Casey casually waved his hand, effectively gaining the smaller guy's attention.

His eyes shot up, seemingly put off by the action and ready to argue, gaze instantly locking with Casey's who kept the smile bright on his face.

His glare faltered a bit at that, cheeks growing slightly pink and looking away with a frown.

"Hey there." Casey said, voice smooth as he once again offered his hand. "I'm Casey."

Joshua nodded his head, carefully reaching out and taking Casey's hand in his.

" 'm Joshua." He muttered in response.

His voice was a little deeper than Casey expected, kind of raw, harsh; he liked it.

Evan watched the exchange with a curious, almost suspicious look, but he didn't speak up as Casey gave the smaller guy's hand a short, firm shake. Joshua's hand was small, bony, and cold.

"Joshua." Casey repeated, testing the sound on his tongue. "Josh?"

Joshua flustered a bit at the suggested nickname, face dusted pink as he shrugged, giving him a vague Okay.

Casey grinned as Josh continued on his phone, if a bit clumsier.

Casey liked being direct, especially when he liked someone, and he liked Josh. He was cute. If they clicked, tonight could end on a really high note.

"So, uh," Evan said suddenly, loudly, an unplaceable emotion behind his voice before clearing his throat purely to gain the two's attention. "Like I was saying Joshua is a friend of mine, it's sort of tradition to bring him along to performances from my artists, especially new ones."

"Yeah?" Casey cut him off almost immediately to turn back to Josh with a smile. "You saw us play?"

It sounded like a fun pastime, honestly. All sorts of music and venues for free? He knew at least he'd be down.

Josh started fidgeting awkwardly at Casey's question, a semi-sour expression on his face as he pulled his phone a little closer to his face, muttering; "Not…exactly, no."

Casey faltered for a fraction of a second, but that's fine. Sure, not the response he was expecting, but he can work with this.

"Hey, that's okay." He grinned. "Means next time I can really put my all in for you."

Josh was actually blushing now, his reactions to Casey's casual flirting was something to behold.

Evan cleared his throat at the two again, Casey suppressing a groan and just wanting him to go away, but the two looked to him regardless as he began boasting Casey's band and accomplishments like he were making some kind of sales pitch. It was directed more at Josh than him, obviously, but hearing someone else talk him up like this was just weird, and brought the building atmosphere to a screeching halt.

The surprise interruption from one of Evan's assistants was a definite blessing in disguise that had Casey sighing in relief, the woman walking up and whispering something in Evan's ear that caused him to give a dramatic roll of his eyes before shooing her away.

"Sorry, technical stuff." He said, turning to Josh. "Why don't you have a seat Joshua? Order some drinks, it's on me."

And with that he walked away, disappearing into the crowd and leaving Casey and Josh alone.

They stood in silence for a moment, music playing loud as bodies were crowded everywhere, some moving and swaying along on the dance floor, others grouped together with drinks and conversation while Casey on the other hand contemplated.

None of this really seemed Josh's speed at all, if the fact that he'd been squirreling away in a corner all night was any indication, and Casey was more than happy to chat it up somewhere the guy was more comfortable, if he wanted to; so he maneuvered to Josh's side, leaning in a little closer to speak low.

"There are some tables over there." He said, pointing a little ways towards the bar. "Wanna sit for a bit?"

Josh was less fidgety, and although the red returned to his face at the suggestion, he gave a casual shrug of confirmation anyway. Casey happily leads him towards the bar and chooses a table that leads into a larger lounge, a small couch on either side of their small table with a few chairs scattered here and there.

They both sat on the far left couch, side by side. Josh relaxed back, stretching his legs slightly with his eyes still fixed on his phone as he kept typing, Casey sitting beside him and stretching his arms a bit before relaxing back into the sofa as well.

They sat in silence for another moment. Josh was quiet, caught up in his phone, and Casey awkwardly rubbed at his neck while he tried to think of something to talk about, regain their previously derailed energy.

He peeked over Josh's shoulder, curious what was keeping him so focused on his phone.

He wasn't typing, he was playing one of those clicker app games. He wondered how something so repetitively boring could keep the guy's attention so thoroughly, then again who was he to judge? He seemed to enjoy it enough.

If Josh noticed him, he didn't seem to care, so he kept watching.

Casey didn't play these things personally, he wasn't into app games and didn't really know a lot about how these ones worked, but if it were possible to be good at it Josh certainly was. It was kind of fun to watch actually, better than zoning out in a loud club.

It was some kind of photography game, taking pictures was the goal, different targets popping up on screen as Josh quickly tapped each for a photo.

He sort of just watched Josh for a bit. Tapping and clicking his phone as pop-ups and scores flashed on screen.

Josh had an odd air about him, Casey couldn't exactly place it.

He's pretty, his features were so striking in Casey's eyes he wondered how the man went completely unnoticed; his fluttering sandy hair with bright strands catching in the light, slender face and soft lips a complimented contrast to his pale skin and dark eyes, heavily lidded with long pretty lashes. Together with the lights glowing off his skin, the tiredness under his eyes and just how still he was other than the movement of his fingers, the near emptiness illuminated in his eyes from the screens harsh glow, the way he could just barely tell he was breathing, it all felt so odd.

So interesting.

"You're pretty good at that." Casey smiled, a hint more of flirtation to his tone than before.

Josh stopped for a moment, eyes glancing at Casey before shifting back to the screen unfazed.

"Thanks." He murmured. “It's just tapping really fast I guess, passes the time though."

Josh prompting the conversation further had Casey delighted.

"You say that like you don't like it that much." He chuckled, Josh did too.

"Eh, it's so-so." He said. "This keeps my hands busy when I'm bored, but it's not exactly thrilling, just something to do."

"Well what do you like to do?"

Josh lowered his phone at the question, looking at him with a raised brow and his full attention.

"Stuff." He answered tentatively, only continuing when Casey's eager grin waited for elaboration. "Uh, games? Books? I like…coding.”

To his surprise Josh started talking about computer programming and code.

Casey sat almost dumbfounded while Josh spoke about programming far more eloquently than he'd believed he would, or could.

He wondered if Josh studied this kind of stuff, where his interest started, what he does for a living…the longer he talked the more Casey was interested in the guy.

"What about you? You're a musician, aren't you? You said you play. What do you play?" Josh asked suddenly.

Then Casey was grinning like an idiot.

"Well," he began. "I play guitar, mainly. Sometimes I play some backing instruments, like keyboard, drums, and I played piano when I was younger, but…"

Josh perked up a bit, looking curious and expectant as Casey eyed him with a smile.

Casey was most comfortable with a guitar, but he had a fondness for the piano. Telling Josh about his first time ever touching an instrument, being encouraged to listen and watch the church pianist play while he mimicked, catching on quickly and playing frequently at school, Josh looked at him in a sort of wonder like it were the most meaningful story he'd ever heard.

Josh was leaning closer to listen while Casey spoke, Casey did too until their shoulders were touching, neither minded much at all.

"Hey, stop me if I'm overstepping okay?” He said. “But as fun as talking with you is, this whole club scene doesn't really feel like your thing."

Josh chuckled awkwardly. "Yeah, I guess that's pretty obvious huh?"

Casey smiled, and took the next step.

"Wanna go somewhere?"

Josh looked at him a little confused, Casey kept talking.

"We could get something to eat, late night burger? I don't know the area that well but I'm pretty sure there's an arcade a few blocks away."

Josh's eyes widened a bit with realization, Casey couldn't tell if this was going good or bad, but he'd be damned if he backed out now.

"Or we could go to my place if you're cool with it, I don't have much, but I do have a ps5 and some movies, if you want."

"Sure."

The answer came faster and more steadfast than he thought it might, honestly, but Josh looked almost determined, his face more expressive than it had been before; his heavily lidded eyes and the pink blush of his cheeks gave him the feeling they were on the same wavelength here.

Casey smiled, leaning even closer, heart skipping when Josh leaned a bit as well. "You should shoot Evan a text, so he's not worried."

Josh nodded while they both stood up, he didn't seem to mind Casey keeping a bit closer while they head for the door.

_

[thelampisaflashlight]

Dearest Lamp,

Spooky season is upon us, do you have any Strange Husbands thoughts to share to commemorate the occasion?

*hands you a muffin*

-nibbling on the muffin-

Ah, yes, the nerds who decided to get married on Halloween; Special and Cowbell!

I've got a couple thoughts, so let's go.

-They decided to renew their vows this year on Mischief Night, so not on Halloween proper, but the day before, mostly because they want to enjoy the festivities without cutting into them too much.

It's a smaller ceremony than their wedding was, and it's a bit more of an intimate/friends only sort of deal.

-The actual celebration takes place in the ruined chapel in the forest, which they had decorated with Halloween themed floral arrangements and candles, all of which was set up by the earth ghouls, plus one tiny human gardener who convinced them to use electric candles since, well... the chapel did burn down that one time.

-Although their guest list was pretty small, there was a few spectral visitors hanging around during the party; The forest near the abbey is haunted beyond all belief, and sometimes all the ghosts want is a bit of entertainment.

Nobody really noticed, and Special and Cowbell certainly weren't bothered by it, but reports say say of the human guests felt a touch uneasy due to a "cold draft", but, ehn, it is fall after all.

-Fashion wise, neither of them went for anything super flashy, but they do compliment each other's outfit; Special wore black and purple with web motifs, and Cowbell wore green and black with bat motifs, which turned out a lot more tame/tasteful than that sounds in theory.

The guests were asked to dress semi-formal/in something comfortable for being outside, because the chapel kind of doesn't have a roof... or windows... or much of a wall over there...

-On the topic of the venue; Mountain and Bea installed trellises to support some hanging plants/to replace the missing wall sections and to make the space more cozy, and added in little statutes to hide the tiny heaters they brought to keep the guests from absolutely freezing.

Special wanted hanging lights, but didn't want a bunch of wires strung up everywhere/hiding the view of the stars, so they both had to brainstorm how to make that magic happen; The answer was plants.

Lots and lots of plants.

-Back to the couple themselves; The actual vow renewal doesn't take super long all told, but the after party? The after party was several hours long, and Cowbell and Special spent the majority of it dancing and generally just being obsessed with each other in their own weird way...

Let the records show, also, in the "lost party footage" that they both cried from laughing too hard when they got surprised with a cake that had their original wedding date on it, except the bakery fucked up and wrote, "Congratulations Colin and Stephen" and Cowbell asked, "Surely I'm Stephen, right?" to which Special mused allowed how they fucked up the name Phil so bad...

And lastly;

-Cowbell and Special both left before the party officially ended, because they were like, "It'd be soooo funny." and snuck off to... get ready for bed together and go to sleep.

Yeah, no fooling around on Mischief Night ironically, the pair are off to bed, tucked into each other's arms, blissfully sleeping while their guests create future hangovers.

Some of the guests got wise and left once they saw them sneaking off (Bea, Bea left, but mostly because she will take any opportunity to leave a party), but the majority of them shambled out of the woods at daybreak looking like they'd been lost in the woods for days.

...Then again, they never did find that one sister of sin... Hm.

[reluctantjoe]

‘Baddies are my new type’: Mathew Baynton on Ghosts, Wonka and wicked villains

He is about to say goodbye to his role in beloved spectral sitcom Ghosts. But dastardly turns in Wonka and the a festive Agatha Christie drama suggest the actor’s future is bright – if somewhat nefarious

“I feel like I’m moving into really wanky territory now,” says Mathew Baynton, looking a little anxious. We are talking about Ghosts, the much-loved comedy about a gaggle of spirits consigned to spend the afterlife in a crumbling country mansion, which Baynton co-writes and in which he plays a deceased Regency poet. After a triumphant five seasons, Ghosts officially breathed its last in October – except there’s now a Christmas episode on its way. (Last year’s Christmas special drew 5.9 million viewers, making it the BBC’s biggest comedy of 2022.)

When I ask Baynton what it is about Ghosts that struck a chord with viewers, he worries he might sound pretentious. “But here goes,” he says. “I have learned that, as a writer, you don’t always know what you’re writing. There are the quite boring times where you have an idea and it comes out as you imagined, and there’s no mystery in that process. But when it’s exciting, you have an idea and it leads you to places you don’t expect.”

With Ghosts, he and his co-writers initially imagined hundreds of spirits haunting Button House, which would have allowed them to tell different stories with a new set of characters each week. “But when we looked at the taster tape we made, we all went: ‘Hang on, there’s something much richer here,’” Baynton continues. “We realised it was a show about people being stuck together, potentially in eternity, and how they find ways to get along. All of which is to say that I’m enamoured with Ghosts too because, right from the get-go, we had absolutely no idea what it would become.”

Baynton, who is 43, is talking from his study at home in north London where he lives with his partner, the film historian and film-maker Kelly Robinson, and their two children. He is self-effacing and thoughtful, choosing his words carefully and, at intervals, wondering if he could be expressing himself better. “I think it’s partly the writer in me,” he says, “but I do come away from conversations thinking how I’d like to rewrite things I’ve said.”

As an actor, Baynton has cornered the market in ultra-sensitive men who walk a fine line between pathos and silliness. Along with his lovelorn poet in Ghosts, there was his turn as a Victorian psychiatrist in 2017’s Quacks, who masterminds a new treatment for patients called “talking”; his lute-playing bard in the 2015 film Bill, about the early life of Shakespeare (“London is not going to know what hit it!”); and good Samaritan Sam in The Wrong Mans (2013-14), which he co-wrote and starred in alongside James Corden.

But this winter heralds a new set of projects that Baynton has dubbed “my Christmas of villainy”. In Murder Is Easy, based on the Agatha Christie novel about a spate of killings in a sleepy English village, he plays a doctor who, he says, “is an awful person with some very awful views”. Next year brings A Good Girl’s Guide to Murder, based on Holly Jackson’s bestselling YA novel, in which a young true-crime enthusiast investigates a five-year-old murder case; Baynton can’t reveal too much, although he confirms his character is a far cry from the puppy-eyed romantics for which he is known. And in the Charlie and the Chocolate Factory prequel, Wonka, released in cinemas earlier this month, he plays the devious Fickelgruber, Wonka’s Brylcreemed rival in the confectionery business.

Baynton can’t account for this sudden pivot into treachery beyond the fact that “a few [casting directors] had the same idea at the same time … Acting is strange like that. You do one notable thing early on and you are put on a track that for 10 years that can be hard to get off. Perhaps baddies are my new type.”

Wonka was co-written by his friend and Ghosts compadre Simon Farnaby (who also co-wrote Paddington 2) and was filmed at Warner Bros Studios in Hertfordshire. For Baynton, it “felt like you were with the same kids but in a plush playground … Even though you’re working with this huge Hollywood star [Timothée Chalamet, who plays Wonka] and you’re on a set that probably cost the same as an entire series of Ghosts, it’s still a comedy with a big heart, so for me it felt like home.”

Baynton and Farnaby first came together on the set of Horrible Histories, the anarchic children’s sketch show that recreated history’s most ludicrous and bloodthirsty moments, alongside Martha Howe-Douglas, Jim Howick, Laurence Rickard and Ben Willbond. Shortly after it finished its decade-long run, the six of them wrote the madcap puppet comedy Yonderland, largely because “we couldn’t bear that we weren’t going to get together for more mucking about in front of the camera”. This was followed by Bill, and, four years later, Ghosts. They have even given themselves the collective name Them There, mostly for production credits, though “no one actually calls us that”. Aren’t they more Britcom’s answer to the Brat Pack? “I don’t know about that,” Baynton says, bashfully, “though it depends on which of them you think I am.”

The youngest of three children, Baynton grew up in Southend on a diet of sea air and his dad’s Monty Python cassettes. He reckons being lowest in the pecking order at home contributed to his desire to perform and be noticed. In his teens, he went through a morose period during which he was overtaken by self-consciousness, but then he discovered theatre via a production of Bruno Schulz’s The Street of Crocodiles by Theatre de Complicité “which moved me to tears in ways I couldn’t understand and ignited something in me. I knew I wanted to be in that world in some way.”

Baynton went on to drama school, where he studied directing, but when he got there he realised acting was his calling. He spent a summer as assistant to Cal McCrystal, then director of the physical theatre group Peepolykus, who pushed him to join in with improv games. Later he went to Paris to study under the renowned clown Philippe Gaulier, which cemented his love of slapstick. Upon returning home, McCrystal gave him his first break on the stage in a production of Joe Orton’s Loot.

But it was Horrible Histories that really opened doors for Baynton, both as an actor and writer. On being offered the job, he nearly turned it down, fearing that he might get stuck doing nothing but children’s TV, but his agent persuaded him to take the job by telling him: “No one will see it.” In a talk last year at the Oxford Union, Baynton remarked how, were they making it today, they would do certain things differently, such as not using white actors in tanning makeup to portray Egyptians.

“I think it’s important that we examine where the line is [around portrayals of other cultures],” he says now. “It’s a murky area where intention sometimes doesn’t match reception. Certainly, no one had bad intentions making Horrible Histories and none of us at that time, in the culture as it was, hesitated and thought: ‘Hang on, maybe I shouldn’t play an Egyptian.’ But times have changed and I would hesitate now.”

If the odd Horrible Histories sketch hasn’t aged well, it is worth observing the sensitivity and inclusivity that runs through Ghosts. Baynton notes how throwing together characters from different historical periods allowed them to “highlight wrongful attitudes and interrogate how they had arrived at them. At one point, there’s a gay wedding at Button House and [the ghost of] Lady Button is appalled and goes on this journey in which she faces her own homophobia. When we were writing that story, it felt like I was having a conversation with my homophobic nan.”

Baynton is content moving between acting and writing, not least because “if I’m between acting jobs, it means I get to dream up new projects for myself and my friends”. Keen to avoid any signs of egotism as his career soars, Baynton keeps his feet on the ground by recalling the “pure dystopian hell” of his time as a school leaver working in a call centre. There, every second of the day was monitored and he was once upbraided by a manager for taking too many toilet breaks. “So when I’m on set in a scratchy costume or I’m feeling a bit tired and thinking what a terrible time I’m having,” he says, “I remember that time, and what a privilege it is do what I do.”

[hwashua-luv]

A Night of Shadows

The crisp autumn air was laced with the scent of fallen leaves and a hint of something sweet, as the townsfolk prepared for Halloween. Pumpkins grinned from porches, flickering candles illuminating their carved smiles. Among the festive chaos, you felt a strange pull towards the woods that bordered the town—a pull that whispered secrets of another world.

You had always been drawn to the edge of the forest, where the trees stood tall and ancient, their gnarled branches twisting towards the sky like skeletal fingers. This year, however, the allure was stronger. The whispers grew louder, and they seemed to beckon you deeper into the darkness.

With a sense of adventure—and perhaps a hint of recklessness—you decided to venture in. The moon hung low and full, casting an ethereal glow that filtered through the canopy, creating shifting shadows that danced around you. Each step deeper into the woods made your heart race, not just from fear but from exhilaration.

As you wandered, a figure emerged from the shadows. Tall and imposing, he had an otherworldly air about him, as if he belonged to the very essence of the forest itself. His dark hair framed a face that was strikingly handsome, with eyes that gleamed like polished onyx. You had heard stories of demons that roamed the woods, but this was unlike any tale you had ever known.

"Lost, are we?" His voice was smooth, a melodic drawl that sent a shiver down your spine."Not lost... just exploring," you replied, attempting to sound more confident than you felt.He stepped closer, his presence both intimidating and oddly comforting. "Exploring can lead you to unexpected places." His eyes narrowed slightly, a hint of mischief dancing within them. "Or unexpected encounters."

You felt a mixture of fear and intrigue. "Who are you?" you asked, trying to keep your voice steady.

"Park Seonghwa," he replied, bowing slightly, an exaggerated gesture that somehow felt sincere. "And you are?"

You introduced yourself, noting the way his lips curled into a smirk at your name. "A lovely name for a lovely soul."

His compliment caught you off guard. "Thanks," you murmured, your cheeks warming under his gaze.

"Tell me, do you believe in the supernatural?" Seonghwa's tone shifted, growing more serious. "The stories of demons and spirits that haunt these woods?"

"I suppose I've always been a bit of a skeptic," you admitted, curiosity piqued.

"Ah, but you're here, in the heart of the forest on Halloween night. That suggests you have an open mind." He stepped back slightly, his posture relaxed yet commanding. "What if I told you that tonight, the veil between worlds is thinnest? That magic, true magic, is waiting just beyond the trees?"

You hesitated, torn between disbelief and fascination. "And what would you want with me?"His smile widened, revealing a glimpse of sharp canines that made your breath hitch. "Perhaps I'm just lonely. Or perhaps, I see something in you that calls to me."

A strange warmth blossomed in your chest, the tension between you palpable. "What do you see?"

"Strength. Curiosity. A spark that could light the darkest corners of this world." He stepped closer again, the space between you charged with an energy you couldn't quite understand.Before you could respond, a sudden rustling broke the moment, and you both turned towards the noise. A group of friends had wandered into the clearing, laughing and joking as they moved deeper into the woods, their flashlights bobbing like fireflies. You felt a twinge of disappointment at the interruption.

Seonghwa glanced at you, his expression shifting to one of mischief. "Looks like the party's here," he said, a teasing lilt in his voice. "But I find myself more interested in our conversation."You laughed nervously, aware of the stirrings in your heart. "We should probably join them. They'll wonder where I am."

He nodded, but there was a glint in his eyes that suggested he wasn't ready to let you go just yet. "Very well. But remember, the night is still young, and the forest holds many secrets."

As you moved to rejoin your friends, you felt Seonghwa's gaze on you, a lingering warmth that made you shiver. The night continued, filled with laughter and stories shared around a campfire, but your thoughts drifted back to him. The way he spoke, the way his presence made the air around you feel electric.

Eventually, your friends started to wander off, pairs forming as the night deepened. You found yourself alone, a stray ember of desire igniting within you. You slipped away from the campfire's glow, the shadows wrapping around you like a comforting blanket.

Returning to the spot where you had met Seonghwa, your heart raced. "Seonghwa?" you called, your voice trembling slightly.

He stepped from behind a tree, as if he had been waiting for you. "I knew you'd come back." His voice was low, smooth as silk, and it sent a thrill through you.

"I had to," you replied, your heartbeat echoing in the silence. "You... you're different.""And you're not afraid?" he asked, stepping closer.

"Maybe a little," you admitted, your pulse quickening as he towered above you. "But there's something about you that feels... safe."

His gaze softened, and for a moment, the playful demon facade slipped away, revealing a vulnerability that tugged at your heart. "In this world, safety is an illusion. But I promise, I would never harm you."

Before you could respond, he reached out, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. The touch sent sparks down your spine, and your breath caught in your throat.

"Can I show you something?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

You nodded, unable to find your words. He took your hand, his grip warm and firm, leading you deeper into the woods. The trees closed in around you, but the moonlight guided your way, illuminating the path with an otherworldly glow.

After a few moments, you arrived at a small clearing. It was unlike anything you had ever seen—flowers bloomed in vibrant colors under the moonlight, casting a magical glow over everything. A gentle breeze stirred the air, carrying the scent of blossoms and something sweet.

"Welcome to my sanctuary," Seonghwa said, a hint of pride in his voice. "This is where I find peace."

"It's beautiful," you breathed, taking in the enchanting sight.

He turned to you, his eyes searching yours. "It's even more beautiful with someone to share it with."

You felt your heart race as he stepped closer, the space between you charged with unspoken words. "What if I wanted to share more than just a moment?" he asked, his voice low and inviting.

You swallowed hard, the air thick with anticipation. "What do you mean?"

He tilted his head, studying you as if you were a puzzle he was desperate to solve. "I mean, this night could be more than just a fleeting encounter. I can show you worlds beyond your imagination."

Your breath quickened, a mixture of excitement and nervousness flooding your veins. "And what would that mean for us?"

Seonghwa took another step closer, his eyes locked onto yours. "It would mean embracing the unknown. Trusting in something greater than ourselves."

The way he spoke stirred something deep within you—a yearning to explore the depths of your desires. "And if I wanted to?"

"Then let this night be a beginning," he murmured, his voice brushing against your skin like a caress.

And in that moment, you knew. You wanted this. You wanted him.

Before you could second-guess yourself, you stepped forward, closing the distance between you. Your heart raced as you lifted your chin, meeting his gaze. "Then show me."

He leaned down, capturing your lips in a gentle kiss that quickly deepened, igniting a fire that had been simmering beneath the surface. The world around you faded away, leaving only the two of you and the warmth of your connection. The kiss was sweet and electrifying, sending shivers through your body as his hand cradled your face, tilting your head just right.You melted against him, lost in the moment, the magic of the night enveloping you like a spell. When he finally pulled away, his breath mingled with yours, and his eyes sparkled with a mixture of mischief and something deeper.

"See? Magic," he whispered, a teasing smile on his lips.

You chuckled, still reeling from the kiss. "Maybe I do believe in magic after all."

"Good," he replied, his expression softening. "Because this is just the beginning."

As you stood there, the moonlight cascading around you, you realized that you had stepped into a world filled with wonder, one that promised adventures beyond your wildest dreams. With Seonghwa by your side, the night was alive with possibilities, and you were ready to embrace them all.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿

Word count: 1420

Author's note: This is my first time publishing my work so please let me know if I have spelling or grammar mistakes. The same book has been posted on Quotev and Wattpad (hwashua-luv). Each oneshot will be posted on Instagram (hwashua._.luv1708). Requests are also open <3

Special Note: It's finally one week till Halloween! I will be posting a special one-shot each day for the final countdown, stay tuned!

All rights reserved. © 2024 hwashua-luv

All works written by me do not copy, translate or repost my works without my given consent.

[theharrowing]

An Ghealach

Field Linguist Jimin Park travels to a remote island called An Ghealach off the coast of Ireland to research and document an endangered language, just in time for the community’s Beltane festivities. What he encounters is both horrifying and mesmerizing beyond his wildest dreams.

🌑 Jimin x Female Reader 🌒 word count: 9k 🌓 speculative horror, gore, major character death, dub con, smut, nsfw, 21+ 🌔 warnings: 🕊 dead dove! creepy folk horror themes (shapeshifting, human sacrifice), unable to tell dreams from reality, gore (mention of entrails, mention of bleeding someone dry, cutting palm and drinking/smearing blood), dubious consent (use of magic to put into a trance & coerce), angst, infidelity (mention of an engagement), smut (voyeurism & exhibitionism, oral & vaginal sex, a bit of ass eating, rough sex, holding of throat, blood licking, a little biting, forest sex, a need to be cum inside of), nickname "pet", major character cloning & off-screen death. 🌕 note: hello, and welcome to my fun little Beltane horror fic! appearance of reader in this fic shifts, and is therefore described. sometimes she has pale skin, other times dark, purposefully left vague aside from hair and occasionally eye detail. this story is a bit rushed because of yoongi concert week and final exams happening in the same month; i had a lot of ideas, but the time just kept creeping up and up and up, and here we are, at the end of May!

🌖 i also made a lot of shit up in terms of the magic, left a lot of shit vague, and did not worry much about whether things make any sense, so...go into this with a grain of salt; this is not meant to reflect any real Beltane rites or rituals, even if certain things (like the maypole) sound familiar. it is also not meant to depict a real place or a real dialect of a language. the Gaelic words are meant to feel wrong and strange because this place is wrong and strange. (a friend of mine who is Irish & a linguist helped me with the words; i promise you, the intent is to feel wrong.) enjoy!

🌗 mc goes by the name Rí; Jimin's pov appears in italic paragraphs

🌘 written for A Spring Offering Collab! check out the other works! 🌑 beta read by @neoneunnajimin 🌒posted may. 2023 | read on ao3

Cross his heart, hope to die Hang his entrails, bleed him dry

He is Here. He is here. Heard, have you? He is here.

The women of the island chirp and coo at one another, heads tilted inward, as if sharing a profound secret. Their voices are low but lilted with excitement, and the language in which they whisper is old – nearly extinct. 

Your footfalls crunch through grass that has hardly seen rain – unseasonably dry, despite the air holding onto a thick, shrouding dampness. Soon, the sun will stay risen for more than eight hours, and, if this summer is bountiful, the clouds will open up and shower your island with abundance. 

Seen the man, have you? They whisper, unused to men from outside the confines of the island; unused to skin darker than porcelain. No outsider has stepped foot permanently on this land since your father had, all those years ago; only mysterious strangers who last as long as the holiday allows. 

Strange, his name is. They whisper. And the sun, his skin shines with deep hints of its rays. 

"Girls," you call in a tongue that whisps through your lips, wind fluttering between delicate petals, ancient. "Our manners, let us not forget."

"Our manners, Rí," the women respond in a chorus, pulling their expressions straight, only to begin giggling the moment they think you are no longer listening. 

Bright orange hair falls in tight curls to your shoulders, which are exposed to the sunlight. You wear a white long-sleeve chemise that rests mid-bicep and is tied loosely in the front over perky cleavage. Your emerald green bodice sits under-breast and opens to a long emerald skirt that falls to your bare feet over a hoop skirt made of layers of cloth. 

Your girls are dressed much more simply in white chemise dresses and underpants. Some wear modest green or burgundy bodice dresses, and some wear plain white or black cloth shoes. 

The propellers on the white aquatic plane whirr as you approach, and you hear two male voices speaking loudly over its engine. One man, dressed head-to-toe in a white pilot uniform, docks with the help of four of your women, and he exits the small aircraft. 

After a pause, another man appears wearing a tan blazer over a white tee that is tucked into fitted blue jeans, with a black leather belt and black boots. Around his neck, a white kerchief is tied, and his hair is coiffed delicately off his forehead, casting a beautiful wave of silvery-blond that hardly blows in the winds coming from the sea. He looks as if he is dressed for a weekend getaway to somewhere far more exotic than here, and you find it absolutely adorable. He is more petit than you anticipated – average height and slender – but what stands out the most is the man's face. 

Even from this distance, the man is breathtaking. His full lips pout as he straightens himself out, and he seems surprised and apologetic when the girls begin to assist with his things, pulling suitcases from the plane. 

At his shocked expression and attempts to communicate with precious creatures who do not speak a common tongue, you make your way forward, holding your many skirts in hand so your feet do not trip. As soon as you approach and begin to shout to the girls to be careful, the man's eyes lift, lips part, and you watch the moment he notices you, deeply breathing in and holding it while you speak. 

"Girls, girls," you call in the ancient tongue, "handle gently."

As his things are brought to the pier, the man begins to organize them. Everything is on wheels, and he must deem a certain suitcase more important than the others, taking it by its extending handle and dragging it to dry land first. There is a short set of steps between the path and the pier, and you walk down and reach a hand out to offer help. 

"Thank you," the man mutters, seemingly uncertain whether you are one of the many who do not speak English. 

"You must be Jimin Park," you say, reaching for the handle and watching as recognition and relief paint his pretty features. 

Up close, Jimin is a thing out of fairytales. Wide, dark eyes glance curiously at the landscape, and each curve of his face is soft and delicate, despite his profile being sharp lines. An anomaly of beauty, carved with careful hands. 

Jimin guesses at your name and you nod, flashing a sweet, welcoming smile – you had been the one corresponding with him before his arrival. He must relax, because as you begin to tug for his suitcase to lift it up the three short wooden steps, his hold loosens, and he eventually allows you to take it, only letting his gaze linger a moment before he turns to grab more of his things. 

You help him with his belongings – four black cases in total – and each of you take two to wheel down the dirt path past the open field, along the edge of the woods that peeks out into the village, to the inn that sits ahead, to the left. Although your home is in the woods, you have prepared a room in the inn, sharing a wall with Jimin.

The village is quaint. There are a few homes at the far end of the walk, along a stretch of foothills. A town hall rests between the homes and the inn, and there is a small store room holding onto all imported wares, farmed goods, and hunted items. To the right is all forest until the cliffs open up to the vast ocean, and on the other side of the wood, village elders live out their days, never minding what you and girls do on this side, so long as their bellies stay full and hearths stay ablaze. 

"Have you lived here your entire life?" Jimin asks slowly, annunciating each word with precision. There is a hint of his own accent giving the English a very pretty lilt. 

"Nearly," you respond, eyes slowly wandering from the inn, sweeping the small hints of village that come into view, landing on the forest. "My parents arrived when I was little, but my mother was born here. The island is in my blood."

"And you are the only person here who speaks English?" Jimin asks, voice a bit shaky and hesitant.

As you turn to gauge his expression, you find hints of anxiety. You wonder if Jimin is not the kind of person who likes to seek the help of others; if, perhaps, you will have to be assertive in offering assistance with everything he may need. 

"I am," you respond with a smile, "which means you and I are going to become quite well acquainted, Jimin Park."

Over dinner on the first night, Jimin opens up about growing up in South Korea and attending university both at home, and in the United States. As girls come to fill your plates with more cured meats, he notices that they call you Rí. 

Jimin is an inquisitive fellow, whose pretty dark eyes are wide and curious – and somewhat glossy after two cups of honey wine – and you smile with feigned shyness, nodding your head demurely when he asks you about the nickname. 

"It means king," you tell him with a grin.

"Ah," Jimin responds with a growing smile of his own. "So are you their king?"

With a chuckle, you shrug and say, "I suppose I am. We have elders but they live on another part of the island. I'm the one who takes care of the girls."

"And the hunting and farming?" Jimin asks. 

"Much of our bounty is from the autumn equinox," you admit shyly, vaguely. "We had an abundant winter."

"Wow," Jimin responds curiously. "Good weather last year?"

It was luck that two cops came snooping around the island just before Samhain; their blood was the perfect offering to the old gods. With their entrails strung up, dangling from the trees, and slowly drip-draining into the grass below, the skies shined favorably through the cold season, and wild animals practically skittered and galloped happily into your traps. 

"Yes," you respond simply, smiling fondly at the memory of the two transmuted squirrels who were sent home in the men's stead with nothing to report on but normal goings-on, on the island. 

Magic of that caliber works best on the holidays, when the passages are open and the power from the other side covers your island like a rich fog, sparking it to life with intrinsic energy. A shame you used that power to create two men of the law, but the last thing your little homestead needs is more blue-capped guards snooping around for their missing men. 

With the perfect specimen for this year's festival sitting beside you, your excitement shimmers, vibrating under your skin and making the air around you feel charged. You had hoped that, being as young as he is, you would be sent someone without a spouse, making it easier to fall under your spell – buying you a little time before having to clone the poor guy and send him back. 

A shame that this season's sacrifice not only comes with a gold engagement band around his finger, but is so dreadfully pretty that you almost lament the thought of watching the light drain from his eyes. 

But the land is hungry, and feed, she must.

“Cross his heart, hope to die. Hang his entrails…will he have pretty entrails, do you think?” you sing-song, lifting a handsome red squirrel in both hands, holding it eye-level to inspect. It had come to your window at the stroke of midnight, cheery and pliant. 

An offering from the land. 

A host. 

“What a shame I can’t just keep him for myself,” you muse, considering the fact that you were able to transmute two men before. “Perhaps I will have to make a second clone, this time. Can you bring me a friend?”

The sound of thumping is what wakes Jimin up. At first, he thinks it may be a tree branch tap, tap, tapping against the window. But as sleep falls away to wakefulness, he realizes the sound must be coming from the other side of the wall. 

Your wall.

Falling asleep was difficult, in the first place. Something about the island, and especially the inn, feels incredibly ominous, like there is a presence looming just out of the peripheral, never fully seen. And the scent that you carry – spiced cloves and fresh bouquet of wildflowers – lingered in the air, filling his head with thoughts of you. 

Now, as he blinks through the darkness, he wonders if he had slept a wink, at all. 

Jimin rolls over, attempting to ignore the sounds in favor of getting more sleep, noticing in his brief moment of wakefulness that it is still pitch black outside. But then he hears it…humming…low and inviting, causing all the little hairs on his arms to stand at attention. 

Somewhat mindlessly, Jimin pushes the thick quilted blanket away and climbs out of bed, heavy-lidded and barely aware of his surroundings in the mostly-empty room. Golden lantern light glows in through the window, allowing him to see ahead of him just enough to make a clear path toward the sound.

In his dreamy haze, Jimin imagines voices whispering – beckoning him forward. Come to me, they say, tangling and slipping over one another, mostly incomprehensible flits of lips, teeth, and tongue, spoken too softly to truly be fully heard. 

Jimin places his hands against the wall, presses his ear against the wood, and listens. The humming continues, muffled delicately by the layers that separate it from him. Is it Rí, he wonders.

As he continues to listen, his eyelids flutter closed. The thumping sound is rhythmic and soft, and the humming has shifted into something more sensual. Moaning, perhaps? Whimpering, even? He feels entranced by it and presses harder against the wall, feeling the cool wood against his cheek gradually heat, until his breath huffs out sticky-warm against it.

Come to me, Jimin, he is certain he hears in a voice that can only be yours. Don't be shy.

He feels drunk and loose-limbed, rubbery and pliant, and he sways his hips to the inviting song, dragging his blunt fingernails over the wall. The humming – the moaning – it intensifies, drawing his breath ragged, forcing small sounds of his own to come falling past his lips. His body feels electric – charged with a current that runs ultraviolet through his bloodstream, desperate for more, picking up hints of spiced clove and musky floral notes.

With a crescendo of whimpers, the thumping quickens and abruptly ends, and Jimin gasps, waking from his stupor, stumbling listlessly from the wall and wiping drool from his face. His head feels hazy as he blinks and turns, taking in the dark room and wondering what kind of dream he was just having. 

In the quietude of the night, he stands still and listens. Had he imagined hearing something before? Was it all a dream? Only the scent of the trees below his cracked-open window fills the space, but he inhales deeply in search of something more. 

Silence settles, heavy but somehow light, and he sighs, runs a hand through his damp silver-blond hair, and returns to the bed, trying his best to ignore the ache in his pants – hard and neglected. 

"Not tonight," he whispers, scolding himself. Not over the thought of you. Not when he has someone waiting for him back home. 

"Sleep well?" you ask at the sight of Jimin exiting the inn. 

He wears a black tee tucked into black fitted jeans, with his black belt and shiny black leather boots, and you smile to yourself, both over the simplicity of it all, and from how much he stands out in a place like this. 

Although denim is not frowned upon in the village, and is worn often by the elders on the other side of the island, the girls love to dress up in renaissance-reminiscent clothing and make believe that every day is a fairytale. After all, on An Ghealach, it can be. 

You are modestly outfitted in a white chemise dress that is cinched at the waist, with an undershirt to hold your breasts in place, and simple cloth white shoes. Your straight, black hair falls waist-length, braided intricately away from your face, letting the sun hit your deep-golden skin. 

"I slept alright," he responds, voice rough from disuse. 

Jimin smiles softly, and you check for any glimmer that he has noticed the shifting of your appearance, of the outside of the inn, of the stone path that stretches around the forest edge. When Jimin smiles and asks if there is anything he can do to help set up for Beltane, seemingly unaware, you nod and lead the way. 

"All there is to do today is prepare the land, which the girls have under control," you inform. "We can discuss phonemes in the meantime, if you have your equipment handy.”

With a wide smile, Jimin pulls a small recording device and notebook from his back pocket and holds them up. "Always prepared."

You chuckle and mutter, "Perfect," continuing along the path to the field where the girls are cutting the grass with old, metal devices on wheels, and gathering all the prettiest weeds and wildflowers to fashion into crowns.

Jimin makes good company, curious and open-minded without asking too much. You can see in the way he watches the girls that there is so much he would like to know – can read each question that flits over his eyes, only to be blinked away. Where did they come from? Why do none of them speak English? Where are the men? These are questions that just hang for brief seconds at the tip of his tongue but that he never works up the courage to ask.

Perhaps he knows it is best not to know. Perhaps some part of him is aware of the horrors that might lurk behind the corner of posing one question too many. 

The two of you spend the day discussing vowels, consonants, and syntax. His grasp on modern dialects of Irish Gaelic is enough that he instantly begins to draw similarities between those and the older language spoken on the island.

And as the sun moves from burning hot overhead to sinking beneath the horizon, moving your studies into the inn's tavern, you find yourself scooting close on the bench while offering more honey wine to your eager, beautiful guest. 

Jimin has never sleepwalked before. In fact, he tends to lay so still that often, his neck and limbs are sore the next morning, popping as he stretches in an attempt to get the blood flowing adequately. 

So when he opens his eyes to find himself standing barefoot in the woods, hands outstretched toward the trunk of a tree, he yelps and jumps backward, nearly fumbling to his butt. 

“What the fuck,” Jimin mutters to himself as he glances around, eyes becoming more alert. 

The woods are nearly pitch dark, save for the bright glow of the waxing gibbous moon shining through the trees. What luck, he thinks, that the clouds are scarce tonight. 

Although there is no foreseeable path, the ground appears mostly clear of thick brush. Jimin turns and makes his way out, careful not to step too hard, gently shuffling his bare feet outward with each step, avoiding sticks and rocks as best as he can. 

Fear simmers just below Jimin’s skin. He attempts not to spiral, telling himself that he could not have possibly walked far. His blue flannel pajamas are warm, but thin enough that the chilly night air would likely have woken him quickly. And so, onward he presses. 

A flickering yellow flame glows through trees ahead, just to the left, and Jimin lets out a deep sigh of relief as he changes course. Although he is pleased to be making his way back to civilization, his new worry is being disruptive as he walks back through the old, creaky inn. He does not want to disturb Rí, who he imagines must be asleep at this hour. 

Despite the island being mostly covered in dense forest, the night is surprisingly quiet. Eerily so. Even in the daytime, insects and rodents are lively to the point of seeming cacophonous. How is it possible for everything to be so…still?

The sound of a particularly loud stick snapping – not underfoot but ahead – has Jimin tensing and freezing with fear. He holds his breath while his shoulders raise to his ears, trying his hardest not to be detected, until smoked clove hits his senses, and—

“Jimin!” you call softly, certain that his fear has spiked nearby, radiating like heavy, bright fumes between the birch trees. 

And then you hear it, a soft, delicate voice, calling a tentative, “Rí?”  

Ah, so the pretty thing is just ahead, and your plan to at least get him into the woods has worked without a hitch. You wonder what it was that snapped him out of his trance too soon. Next time, you think to yourself. You still have one more night to get him into the passage of his own volition. 

“What are you doing out here?” you ask, feigning worry and exasperation. 

“Ah—“ Jimin begins, voice sounding somewhat closer. “I don’t know. I must have been sleepwalking.”

“Is that something you do often?” you ask, holding the lamp higher. 

Jimin’s pretty face comes into view, peeking from between a thin birch that separates you, and you smile wide and welcome, taking in the blend of fear and affection that wafts from his pores and surrounds you. 

“No,” he responds softly, eyes wide and curious. “Never.”

“Strange,” you mutter, momentarily stuck in time and space from him standing so close to someone so dreadfully beautiful. 

“Yeah,” he says soft as a whisper, blinking heavily before standing straight and rounding the tree. 

You also straighten out and take two steps backward to give him room. When Jimin appears before you, your eyes drop to his bare feet, and you frown, making a mental note for the next time. 

With skin shades darker and hair shorter than earlier, you wonder if Jimin catches onto the new appearance. But his face gives nothing away. So the spell is just as strong, even if he broke the call of the other side just before entering the passage. Interesting. 

“How did you find me out here?” Jimin asks as you turn and lead the way back to the inn, searching the shifted dirt path for a believable excuse. 

You slowly lead the way toward the inn, and Jimin quickly falls into step beside you. When you walked outside to follow your guest just moments ago, you had left doors open and lights on intentionally, and you raise a hand to point in the general direction of the building. 

“I came out of my room and your bedroom door was wide open," you say. "The front door, as well. So I grabbed a lantern and ran outside; I figured you could not have gone too far.”

“Oh,” he responds, already sounding ashamed even from one syllable. “I’m so sorry.”

With an insistent shake of your head, you say, “Not at all. I am just glad I found you.”

“What if an animal, or—“ Jimin begins, but you cut him off. 

“There is nothing on this island that we fear. Closed doors are only such to keep the cool air out where it belongs. In the temperate months, doors and windows are left wide open.”

You are the witch of the wood, after all. Nothing that lives and breathes on this isle exhibits an ounce of free will if you wish it otherwise. Which reminds you… Slowly, you will the creatures of the night to stir – a scurry here and a dance of wings there – gentle enough to keep Jimin from noticing. 

Except he does notice. You can practically feel each hair on his body stand at attention the moment a squirrel is heard clawing up a tree, and you take a step just a little too far to the right, bumping into him softly with the hope of providing a bit of a distraction. 

"S-sorry," Jimin mutters, rubbing his hands on his blue pajamas. He seems nervous. Cute. 

"Lost my balance," you respond, shaking your head with a gentle chuckle. "It is past bedtime, I am afraid."

"Sorry again for the trouble," Jimin says as you reach the inn, passing through the threshold and stopping just at the foot of the stairs. 

You turn to Jimin and give a soft, sympathetic gaze. 

"It is no trouble at all," you mutter sweetly, smile saccharine. "I'm just glad I was able to find you."

Jimin hums, nods, and says, "It won't happen again," with a light bow of his head, then makes his way up the stairs, dirt-dusted feet falling quietly on each step until he is down the hallway, past your room, and closing his door softly behind him. 

The look of wonderment on Jimin's face really is something. As you walk through the small town, past the stretch of woods in which you found him last night, he keeps turning his gaze back to the trees. Is he wondering what it is he was doing there when he woke up from sleepwalking? Is he curious what drew him to that spot? 

You watch his micro-expressions as his brows knit and he wets his lower lip with just the tip of his tongue. He had been mid-sentence before, trailing off the moment you approached the spot through which he emerged. 

Jimin's gaze drifts to you, and he seems shy suddenly, cracking a soft smile while blush rises to his cheeks. Once you pass the wooded area and come up to the opening of the field, he seems a little more present. 

"Sorry," he mutters, and you continue to study him, noticing how his shyness seems to steadily build the more you watch him. 

"Has something caught your eye?" you ask, glancing over your shoulder toward the line of trees. 

A dark mist pulsates between the slender, white and brown trunks and branches, beckoning with tendrils that billow out and evaporate – yearning for the pretty man with the soft smile. Soon, you want to tell it. Be patient. 

"Ah," Jimin mutters, scratching the back of his head with his face scrunched as if searching for a memory. "I guess I feel a little strange about sleepwalking last night. How did I end up in the woods, of all places?"

You hum in understanding and say, "The wood calls to us all, I suppose."

Without giving Jimin much time to dwell on your words, you hold out your hand and point him to where, in the center of the open field, some of the girls are setting up a maypole, and others are building a tall triangle of logs in the center of a stone circle. 

Jimin takes out his small recording device and field notebook, and you begin to describe the scene before you in a mix of English and the ancient tongue, carrying your studies through the evening and into the early night.

In the woods again. 

Jimin stares down at his hands covered in dirt and wonders how he has managed to sleepwalk two nights in a row. He stands with his shoulders slumped forward, bent slightly at the knee with an arm outstretched as if he was reaching for something before waking up. In front of him is the u-shaped opening between two thick tree trunks. Or is it the same tree? Jimin cannot quite tell – too difficult to parse in the dark – and he tucks the information away to ask Rí about later.

He would be freaked out, only the smell of the wood – rich, earthy, and damp, with the sweet, musky smell of blooming flowers – feels calming now that he is confident that he can find his way back. He takes a deep breath and resists the urge to wipe his hands on his pajama pants.

The walk back to the inn is short, and although there is no path where he is, a golden lantern glow flickering past the thin birch trunks guides him. As twigs snap underfoot, he notes that he took the time to put his sneakers on before sleepwalking, relieved to not be barefoot again.

Jimin thinks he can hear faint sounds of voices – whispering, or, perhaps, chattering. Maybe singing. The island inhabitants certainly are an interesting bunch. He supposes that being far from modern civilization and with minimal technology would make people behave a little strangely. With Rí being the exception. 

Something about you seems…different. And not just because of your appearance. There is an aura about you that feels almost otherworldly. Perhaps in the way you carry yourself. Jimin finds himself intrigued by you...he wants to know more…

"Right there," you sigh in a tongue as rich and ancient as the soil, tilting your head back to reveal more of your neck, switching to English. "Feels so good, little pet. Don't stop." 

His kisses are tentative and shaky, but he grips onto your hips with purpose, pressing his chest firmly against your back to hold you steady. Golden lantern light flickers through the curtains, one long, bright glow of a lamp that hangs just below your window, signaling that your friend is awake and that he has not entered the passage. 

The woods are calm tonight, seeing Jimin swiftly return to tilled earth without interference. It is only a matter of time before he breaks through the forest edge, and you huff impatiently. Tomorrow is your last shot; you will need to beckon him with a blood ritual. 

You reach for the ties on your chemise and begin to pull them open, but your pet takes over, raising his hands to deftly do the work while his lips and teeth drag over your neck, sending a small but steady tingle of arousal through you as the sticky-sweet huffs of breath warm your skin. With the top undone, his hands freeze in place, and you yank the fabric open, exposing your breasts as they fall past the thin white material. 

"Touch me," you sigh, needy. "Touch me the way he desires to."

On your command, his hands cup your breasts eagerly, fondling your nipples until the skin is pebbled and sensitive, making you hiss with pleasure. Your dress falls down one shoulder and he sinks his teeth gently into the skin, sending a flow of electricity through your body, exiting in the form of a moan. 

You tremble and tilt your head further to the side, giving his mouth more room to explore while his hands fall lower, attempting to gently lift the cotton layers of skirt and farthingale hoops before impatiently taking handfuls of the garments and shoving them up, over your hips.

Clear of the woods, Jimin moseys along the path, in no rush to return to his room, enjoying the crisp but warm night air. Something about tonight feels ominous, and he tips his head toward the sky, noticing a bright moon shining back. Is it full, he wonders. It must be, given the way it glows past the thin sheets of cloud, illuminating his path even more so than the lantern light that hangs from the inn. 

As he approaches the inn, Jimin glances up, noticing light coming from one of the windows on the second floor. He wonders if it is the room you stay in, and what you might be doing awake at this hour.

Gravel and dirt crunch underfoot, quiet and calming as he walks down the path. Shadows seem to dance over the window above, and Jimin finds himself gazing upward. Briefly, he thinks he sees the appearance of palms pressing into the window, halting his steps. But the glass is frosted, and he cannot clearly see through. 

Shame travels up Jimin's neck as he gets his bearings, realizing he had been trying to peer through someone's window. He shakes his head and takes in a deep breath, filling his lungs with the cool night air as he presses forward. 

Voices continue to chatter and sing, but Jimin does not see where they are coming from. Rather, the sounds seem to be lifting and floating with the wind, settling around him on all sides only to slip away into the night. Despite feeling fully awake mere moments ago, shivering against a chilly gust that blows his hair into his eyes, there is a heavy sense of drowsiness that begins to tug at him, pulling him forward, as if willing his feet to take each new step, craving his bed. 

The man behind you grips your hips tightly, then sinks to his knees, sliding his hands down to your ass as he lowers. He grabs firmly and spreads you, causing you to fumble forward and place both hands against the glass. Below, Jimin glances upward, attention caught by the movement. You wonder what he would think if he saw you like this – breasts exposed and mouth parted with surprise. 

Perhaps it is the way eagerness and curiosity emit from Jimin, or how your own excitement from being touched has mewls and gasps falling from your lips, but the man digs his tongue eagerly into your ass, slurping and sucking over your hole, sending a steady wave pleasure and arousal coursing through you. 

"That's it, pet," you whimper, nails scraping down the glass as you get your bearings. "Don't stop."

The man attempts to bend you further, tongue trailing down to your cunt, in search of your clit, but bending more would be too precarious, especially with the layers of material gathered, making it tough to move. He shuffles back instead and takes you by the hips to spin you roughly, causing you to yelp as you attempt to get your bearings and not fall over. 

When you look down at the man – the imposter that was spawned from the flesh and blood of a mature red squirrel, crafted perfectly to look just like him – you gasp. 

His plump lips are slick, glistening, and soft, reddened by the dim lamplight, and his short, silver-blond hair is a mess as he stares up with an eagerness that has you burning with desire. Ordinarily, you keep the clone for a bit; play with them a little until you have to wash their memories of you and send them home. But staring down at an imitation of Jimin just makes you want him – the real deal. 

“Please,” you mutter, breathy and aroused. “Don’t hold back.”

The imposture rakes his blunt fingernails up your thighs, sending a shiver through you that escapes with a gasp, and he leans forward, eagerly lapping over your cunt with his tongue. It feels charged and galvanic – a hum that vibrates in your bloodstream on a low but steady frequency. 

As your head lolls back you hear a gentle footfall on the bottom step. 

Jimin finds it odd that your light is on at this hour. He hopes that somehow his absence from the inn has not awakened you again, and he does his best to tiptoe up to the landing. 

It is soft, but he hears what sounds like a moan coming from your room, and he freezes, foot suspended in air just before your doorway, which is cracked open two enticing inches. A sliver of golden light casts a streak against the otherwise dark hallway, and Jimin feels a pull to it, eager to have just a tiny peek.

A whimper of the words please don't stop has the hairs on his arms standing tall. 

Come to me, Jimin, he thinks he hears the voice say lowly, inside his head. Don't be shy.

Jimin wills his feet to move – exerts all the force he can muster into taking three more steps ahead. And then he stops in the light that shines from within, and he looks.

Surely, he must be dreaming. There is no other way to explain how he is standing in the doorway to your room, watching as a man who has his exact same hair and body type devours you. Your legs are spread, one ankle over his shoulder, toes outstretched as you hold him close, and your bare breasts heave as you pant softly and beg him not to stop. 

Since this must be a dream, he allows himself to watch. As your fingernails dig into the wooden edge of whatever the look-alike has you pressed against, you unravel from his mouth. His sounds are lewd and wet, slurping and humming in a low tenor that Jimin recognizes as his own, and arousal stirs between Jimin's legs. He grants himself permission to touch, just this once, gently grasping onto his erection and squeezing it over his pants. 

Since this must be a dream, he allows himself to whimper from the warmth of his palm, eyelids flitting from pleasure as he listens to the man who looks just like him eat you out. He wonders what you must taste like – wonders if you would let him crawl in there on his hands and knees and try for himself. 

The man stands, turns his head slightly to the side, and wipes his hand over his mouth, leaving a trail of slick behind. The jaw, the nose, the shape of the brow – he is a spitting image of Jimin. How Jimin is in two places at once, he does not know, but he keeps his eye on the man who undresses in a flash, displaying his own tattoos exactly where he remembers them, flexing familiar taut muscle that he has spent years building and maintaining. 

When you wrap your leg around his hip and pull him close, your eyes find Jimin, gazing over his look-alike's shoulder, and he gasps, feeling like a deer caught in headlights. You shift before his eyes, hair turning black and then orange and then blonde, and he begins to question how you are supposed to look; he cannot remember your hair, nor eyes, nor skin, but nothing he sees now feels incorrect. 

"That's it, Jimin," you moan, eyes trained on him, looking over the look-alike's shoulder, and causing his aching cock to twitch in his pants. "Don't stop."

Jimin squeezes his eyes closed tight, and when he wakes up suddenly in his bed, he gasps for air, covered in sweat. The heat from what he presumes had to be a dream covers him like a blanket, and he cannot stop himself from relieving the ache between his legs. 

Guilt and shame do nothing to stave off just how hard he cums thinking about you. 

"Just this once," he tells himself, whispered softly like a prayer. "Just this once."

Today, you have returned to the long, orange curls, with piercing green eyes. Shadow and light morph your skin tone with each passing step, as the full strength of the island's magic fills you from the crown of your head to the tips of your fingers and toes. When Whitman waxed poetic about the body electric, could this have been his meaning? Certainly not. 

Beltane begins today. 

Around the maypole, you and Jimin will dance, with a belly full of cured meats and a heady concoction of honey wine laced with blood and a generous dash of magic. But first, you must greet your sleepy guest, and you tiptoe to his bedroom door dressed only in a thin, white chemise dress with light blue embroidered hems, and rap your knuckles three times against the stained wood. 

"Just a moment," Jimin mutters from the other side, sounding sleep deprived. 

What must he have dreamt about after stumbling like a lust-sick zombie back to his bed to the sight and sound of his clone fucking you breathless? Did he come to in a cold sweat, gasping for air? Did he touch himself thinking of you?

When Jimin opens his door, he is dressed in a loose-fitting white cotton shirt hanging over matching cotton pants. Along each hem is an embroidered design of light blue rounded flourishes that match those on your dress, and on his feet are plain white shoes. You offered the clothing to him last night, to be worn for today's festivities, and you are pleased to find him outfitted in the attire. 

His silver-blond hair is somewhat disheveled, and he has a hint of bags under his pretty, deep brown eyes. As he takes in your appearance, his petal-soft lips part, and you watch as his eyes linger here and there, as if tracing the faint outline of a memory, for split, fleeting moments. 

"Good morning, sunshine," you tease, adding, "May the fires of Beltane light your path," with a gentle bow of your head. 

When you glance up once more, Jimin is still staring, curious eyes glowing with a new spark that seems entranced and somewhat foggy. Here but also not. You allow him to stare until he begins to blink and shake his head, and then he smiles softly and returns your greeting with a hint of blush darkening his cheeks. 

"Merry Beltane, Rí," he says with a slight bow to his head. "May the fires of Beltane light your path."

At the breakfast table, down in the decorated inn tavern, Jimin laments having no pockets for his recorder and field notebook. "What if there are things I want to make note of?" he pouts so cutely beside you. 

"Today is a day for celebration," you insist, dropping a generous serving of spiced honey into his tea and scraping the wooden spoon against the porcelain just enough to make Jimin stir where he sits. 

"For celebration," he responds in a tired, malleable haze.

Lust and curiosity pour from Jimin, covering him in a rich cloud. Each time you speak, his body shifts ever so slightly closer, gaze lingering on your lips and throat, flitting down to your breasts. Shameless, the way he does not seem to care that you take notice.

"My dear, did you sleep poorly last night?" you ask, trying not to tease, pretending not to notice the way his cheeks darken further and he heavy-blinks again and again.

"I had a dream I woke up in the woods again," Jimin responds, slowly reaching for his tea and raising it to his lips. His eyes flutter closed as he breathes in the sweetened chamomile and spice. "And then…you were there."

"In the woods?" you ask, tilting your head with feigned curiosity. 

Jimin shakes his head. "In the inn. Your door was cracked open and I walked by. I saw you—"

Pulled from his trance just enough to mind his tongue, Jimin cracks a soft smile and lets out a breathy chuckle. 

"My dreams have never quite been so lucid before," he continues after a quiet moment. 

You hum in response and mutter, "Perhaps the magic of the wood is calling to you."

Jimin nods, slow and shallow movements, brows knitting a hair before he concedes to the notion. "Perhaps."

Jimin certainly is an eager man. 

Eager to drink from the wineskins and learn all the steps to the harvest dance and dangle colorful ribbons from nearby trees. Eager to join the girls around the maypole and cast his wishes and fears and desires into the tall bonfire which licks at the stars above. 

At nightfall, under the glow of the full moon, you slice open the palm of your hand with a stone dagger and allow droplets of blood to fall into his cup of magic-imbued wine. Jimin sits unaware, eyes glazed over as he watches nude bodies jump over the dying fire. You lick over your wound, tasting brassy warmth, and pass him his cup, which he grabs automatically to sip from. 

"Enjoying yourself?" you ask, leaning close. 

Jimin hums in response, downs his cup, and turns to you with wide, ever-eager eyes, hair sticking out on the sides from beneath a daisy crown. 

"What have you done to me?" he mutters after a long moment, and you giggle in reply.

"What do you mean?" you ask, watching as his eyes travel to your lips and back up.

"I feel…" he begins, eyes widening as he gazes at the celebratory scene before him, then back at you again. "I don't know. High?" 

Jimin searches your features, which shift in the flickering flame light, and he shakes his head lightly. "How do I feel so high?"

"Blood ritual," you respond with a grin, noticing as Jimin's face and scent alternate between fear, acceptance, and confusion – unsure where to land. 

"Blood ritual?" he asks, tilting his head to the side like a confused puppy.

With a nod, you lift your hand and begin to stand from the wooden bench, beckoning Jimin to follow you with your index finger. Blood trickles down from your palm to your wrist, tickling the skin. 

"Your hand," Jimin mutters as he stands in a rush, stepping forward to inspect your wound. 

"Follow me," you sing-song, taking large strides into the wood as the dripping red begins to stain your sleeve. 

"Rí," Jimin mutters sadly, following dutifully with his eyes trained to your wrist, reaching out with limbs that are just slightly too slow to grasp. "you're hurt."

As your footfalls snap twigs and the world around you darkens under the cover of trees and long rainbow ribbons, you press yourself against a thick trunk and reach your uninjured hand out to grab onto Jimin's wrist and pull him close. 

"Rí," Jimin pouts, "I can't—"

With a whispered, "Shh," you reach up and smear your spilled blood over Jimin's lips and chin, pulling a surprised gasp from his lungs. 

"You're mine now," you say, and Jimin nods as he lunges forward, slotting a knee between your thighs as his hands lift to your chin to draw you close. 

Jimin's lips are pillow-soft and tangy-sweet with blood and wine mingling deliciously. He moans as you open your mouth for him, and he eagerly licks inside, tasting and taking like a man starved. 

Blood smears across his neck and into his hair as you pull him close, and he gasps and moans between your lips as his hands begin to untie your modest cloth dress and push it down past your arms, past your hips, to the forest floor. 

"Need you," Jimin growls as his fingertips press harshly into hips and, waist and he lifts one of your legs to rest over his hip. 

He shoves his pants down and in one swift movement, spears you on his hard cock, stretching you with a pleasure-pain that has you sobbing into the night. Jimin fucks you in a rough tangle of balanced limbs, skin slapping desperately against skin, and you clench around him, working yourself up as pleasure unfurls in rich tendrils through your bloodstream. 

Once he cums inside you, there will be no going back. He will belong to you – to the land – and the passage to the other side will open up and swallow him whole.

But his hips still before he reaches his orgasm, and he pulls out and drops to his knees, making you whimper in confusion before clawing at the tree for stability from pleasure the moment he tastes you. Your eager pet was good at mimicking just how greedy and talented Jimin's mouth is, but pales in comparison to the real thing. Jimin hums and moans as his tongue laps at your cunt, devouring you while his fingertips sink into your soft flesh. 

How can you sacrifice something so remarkable? Will the lands forgive you if you keep this one, just this once?

Pleasure builds and breaks suddenly, and you cum on Jimin's tongue, gasping and sobbing into the cool night air as the trees flutter and rejoice all around you. The air is effervescent, filled with power, engulfing and billowing around you, reaching its greedy fingers for your sacrifice as you ride your high, trembling on his soft, kiss-swollen lips.

When Jimin stands, covered in a pink smear of blood and your slick release, he yanks his borrowed white shirt over his head and throws it to the ground. You pull him into a kiss, sucking his tongue into your mouth until only faint traces of your essence remain.  

"Please," you whine as you spin and grip onto the tree, rubbing your ass against his throbbing cock. "Please, Jimin."

Never have you needed to be filled with the seed of a sacrifice so badly; never has the oxygen coursing through your bloodstream shimmered opalescent for someone like it does tonight.

Jimin lines himself up with your entrance and wraps one hand around your throat, sinking himself in slowly while manicured fingernails dig into your hip. The pleasure is white-hot intense, quaking through you as you tilt your hips backward, desperate to feel full.

"So tight," he groans as he pulls out and snaps his hips forward. "Been wanting you so bad."

You moan as Jimin slowly pulls out and roughly thrusts in, asking, "Yeah?" when you find that no other words are able to form.

"Feels like I'm going fucking crazy," Jimin groans, slowly pulling back and roughly snapping forward, back and forward, back and forward. "These woods…the blood…what are you doing to me?"

Before you can respond, Jimin's grip on your throat tightens, and he fucks you at a rough, quick pace, forcing air to punch from your lungs as arousal and pleasure ebb and ebb endlessly. 

You scratch at the tree, ripping away chunks of bark while you lean your head against your wrists and try not to collapse under the treacherous, horrifying weight of euphoria as Jimin thrusts hard and deep, filling the night with the sounds of skin against skin and feral, animalistic grunts. 

The hand on your hip reaches down between your legs, and as the pads of Jimin's fingers swirl deliciously over your clit, he growls, "Cum for me" into your ear. 

Your walls pulsate and squeeze, and you follow his command, building and building your pleasure until you can no longer hold back, allowing the floodgates to burst as you cum once more. 

"Fuck, that's it," Jimin moans with a drag of his lips and teeth over your shoulder and neck. "Feels so good. So fucking good. I'm so close."

"Cum inside me," you beg, desperate, squeezing around him with every last ounce of willpower you have.

As if having a sudden moment of clarity pulling him from your spell, Jimin quietly mutters, "Wait…I can't," against your shoulder, dropping his hand from around your throat. 

"You must," you beg, petulance rising as Jimin's hips begin to slow and his whimpers die. 

"What are we…" Jimin mutters softly, "I shouldn't be doing this."

With an exasperated huff, you pull away from Jimin, letting his cock slide out, then spin, resting your back against the tree once more. Jimin's eyes are wide and afraid as he takes you in, and he begins to glance around as if searching for a way out. 

You reach the hand that remains covered in blood and drag it over one of your shoulders, scraping tiny pieces of tree bark against your skin as you tilt your head and say, "Have a taste."

Drawn by the scent of your blood, still under its spell, Jimin leans in close and drags his lips over your skin, chest lightly grazing over your hard nipples, and he hums as it fully takes over his senses once more. Jimin's fingers grip roughly at your hips, and you lift your leg, wrapping it around his hips and pulling him forward as you reach for his hard, slick cock and guide it back inside you. 

You wrap your arms around his shoulders, holding him close while you adjust once more to the stretch – your pussy feeling used and sore. Jimin licks over your skin and begins to move his hips, and when he straightens out and fixes you with his dark gaze, he appears equal parts entranced with bliss, and afraid. 

Jimin's eyes are somewhat absent of their full glaze when he thrusts forward, and you watch as slivers of doubt cast over his features. Although your magic is strong, the will of a man can be difficult to break, even on a holiday such as this, when the ritual is strongest. 

But as you squeeze around him and let your scent of spiced clove and musky wildflowers fill the air, Jimin's pupils blow wide, and he leans forward, dragging his lips and teeth once more over your bloodstained skin.

As he sets a steady pace and chases his high, Jimin begins to suck and nip at your skin, huffing moans and groans while holding your ass firmly in two hands. Your body is tired and sore, back scratched, and hair matted from rough tree bark, but the pleasure overpowers, building like the clouds of an impending storm, thick and foreboding. 

Cross his heart…

"Close," Jimin whimpers, and you tighten your leg around him, keeping him from pulling out as his hips thrust and quake unevenly.

"Come for me, Jimin," you command, sinking your fingernails into his shoulder while your other hand tugs at his soft, silvery hair and holds him close. 

Hope to die…

Jimin mouths at your shoulder and neck, digging nails into your hips so hard you wonder if the skin might break. And then, with a desperate, almost pained groan, Jimin's hips still and then shake, and he fills you with his release. 

Tendrils of fog wrap around each of Jimin's limbs, dancing over his throat, as the passage opens up and begins to swallow the two of you whole. Once he is on the other side, he can be prepared for sacrifice, and in the light of the morning sun, this land can drink of his blood. 

Hang his entrails…

"Good boy," you mutter softly, as Jimin's teeth clamp down weakly, and he sobs through his orgasm, pressing his body into you as it convulses and quakes. "You've done so well."

"What—" Jimin mutters into your skin, then moans deeply as his cock continues to pulse and drain. "I can't s-s-stop."

"Shhh," you whisper softly, stroking blood-slicked silver-blond hair and pulling him close. 

Jimin shivers as the smoke dissipates, skin sweat-sheened and shining in the bright moonlight, and you run your palms up and down his back. His body begins to give out, and he leans his weight into you, dropping slowly to the ground. Around you, the voices of the others – the inhabitants of this side – whisper, sing, and chant. As you assist Jimin to lay on the forest floor, exhausted from his journey to the other side, you kneel and then drape yourself over his chest, playing softly with his hair as you fall fast asleep. 

Bleed him dry…

Dawn breaks as you stand tippy-toe, dangling dripping tissue and sinew from branch to low branch like a holiday garland. 

"Pretty entrails, indeed," you beam as you take a step back, covered in dripping blood, to admire your work. 

"Merry Beltane, Rí," Jimin's rich tenor greets you, just before two strong, warm arms wrap around your bare waist and pull you into a back-hug, skin against skin.

"Merry Beltane, pretty," you respond, turning your head to the side just enough to greet him with a soft, chaste kiss. 

Upstairs, in the inn, a copy of the man sleeps soundly. Today is his last day on the island before his research is concluded, and you pull your nude, love-struck Jimin past the edge of the forest, where you will leave him with one last kiss before shifting the wood to appear normal and free of bloodied guts. 

You bow your head to the land and thank it for the bountiful summer you will undoubtedly receive, then turn your head to the rising sun, and beg it with eyes closed to allow you to be greedy and keep a pet, just this once. At least until the long days shift to long nights, and, on the precipice of Lughnasadh or Samhain, a new eager stranger comes along. 

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