#a few allusions to soul mates | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

beomgyucoded · 1 year ago

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Lyrically Bound

Pairing: Rockstar!Beomgyu x Lyricist!Reader

Word Count: 17.3k

Genre: sort of strangers to lovers, soulmate au

Warnings: reality Beomgyu, cursing, underaged drinking, mentions and descriptions of kissing, allusions to sex (no actual smut), use of pet names (Beomgyu calls reader princess), reader is a little judgmental of Beomgyu at first

Summary: in this world, soulmates are a rarity. There’s only a handful of people that have a connection so strong, that they share a fate. Your parents were one of the few, and you could only hope you were too. By high school you gave up most of your hope, however the second you get to Seoul for college you’re met with an ache in your chest and movie like dreams that leave you feeling warm.

Soulmates were so rare in this world that most people didn’t believe they existed. No one tried to discover if they shared a connection meant to last a lifetime because of the infinitesimal chance. Instead, they would listen to stories that felt more like fairy tales- so out of reach- and then express their desire for such a tie to another soul. You were no stranger to these stories. You were often the storyteller, as your parents were one of the few.

Your parents met in high school. Your dad from Seoul and your mom from Jeju. Your mom had begged to go to a performing arts high school in Seoul, which happened to be the one your dad went to. Your mom said she’d never forget how she felt on her first day. There was this indescribable feeling the second she stepped foot into the school. She blamed it on first-day nervousness, but when the feeling continued to grow and a small mark in the shape of a guitar appeared right under her collarbone, she almost passed out. It was a big school, and it wasn't until the school’s winter festival that they encountered each other. When their eyes met, everything fell into place. While your mom knew that it was because they were soulmates, your dad believed it was love at first sight. Your mom, being as bold as she was, walked right up to him and asked “Do you believe in soulmates?” and showed him her guitar mark.

It is also believed that the child of soul mates is more likely to have a soulmate of their own. At least you hoped. Despite how long it’s been, you’ve watched as your parents fall more in love with each other every day. And you only wish to have that kind of connection with another person, too. Since soul links weren’t as obvious and were different for everyone, it was even more difficult to determine whether you had a soulmate or not. Throughout school, whenever you felt the tiniest bit for someone, you’d hold on to it thinking it could be something. It never was.

“It’ll feel stronger than that.” Your mom always told you.

She described it as “all your feelings hitting you at once,” and “there will be this feeling of familiarity when you’re near each other.”

Hearing that made your longing for a soulmate even stronger. When you got to high school, you were sure signs of a soul link would show up like how it did for your parents. But when that didn’t happen, you decided to let go of the idea altogether.

Aside from being known as the “child of soulmates”, you were also a musical genius (as your dad liked to put it). You possessed a lot of natural talent, especially in songwriting, since you were a child. This wasn’t surprising, considering both your parents were musicians in school.

“You have such a way with words,” something you’ve been told since grade school.

And because of this, music and writing revolve around you like the moon revolves around the earth. You had quite the voice too, your mom giving you voice lessons since you were three. Something strange, however, was the moment you picked up a guitar in your middle school band class, you could play it almost perfectly. The strange part being that you were never taught how to play the guitar before. The only explanation you could think of at the time was that your dad played guitar, and the soulmate bond between your parents was stronger than you believed. So strong that even their child could inherit what brought them together. You didn’t think too much of it, instead using the skill to help in your songwriting.

That is how you ended up where you are currently, a resident singer/songwriter who everyone thinks is special, mostly because of her parents being soulmates. It seemed college admission officers thought so too, because at the moment you were packing up your things to go off to college. You were admitted to a college with one of the best music departments in the world, and on a full scholarship. Your parents encouraged you tremendously when making the decision. They said your talent shouldn’t go to waste and that they never had the courage to pursue music like you do.

“Are you completely sure I should go to Seoul?”

You asked one more time, watching as your parents happily helped you pack your things.

“Why wouldn’t we be sure, dear? Music is what you want to do, right? I hope it doesn’t seem like we’re forcing you or that we just want you out of the house.” Your mom said and hurriedly added that last part.

You giggled softly at her rushed sentences and continued to watch them.

“I know you aren't, and I promise this is what I want to do. I’m just making sure you aren’t having second thoughts about sending your only child off.” You joked lightly, reassuring her.

Truthfully, you were the one having second thoughts. You've always been rather independent, but both your parents always gave you unconditional support in any of your endeavors. You never felt alone or had to actually be all alone. Until now. Now, you were moving to the city all by yourself and would be in a new environment where no one knew you or of you. That was terrifying.

“Maybe you’ll meet your soulmate in college.” Your dad’s voice brings you out of your thoughts before they can turn dark.

“I don’t have a soulmate, Dad.” You mumbled softly.

“You don’t know that for sure. Some people go their whole life without meeting theirs because they refuse to look.”

“They refuse because there’s a less than 3 percent chance that they would even have one. And I did look.”

Your dad only shook his head and chuckled at you.

“I didn’t think you were one to lose hope. What happened to the little princess who only wanted to meet her prince and get married?”

“She faced reality,” you said bluntly.

“I’m sorry, that didn’t come out the way I wanted. But seriously, I’m not getting married.”

“You say that now, but when you meet him, I'm sure the first thing you’ll want to do is put a ring on it.”

Shaking your head amused, you returned to your thoughts. To be honest, you never gave up hope. To most people, you had everything a child could want, yet you always felt like something was missing. From your life and you as a person. Your parents met in high school, and it was silly of you to believe that you would meet your soulmate in high school, too. No story is the same. You, of all people, should know that.

“You’re right, I’m not one to give up. I haven’t. Even if I don’t have a soulmate, maybe I’ll meet someone there anyway.” You said, trying your hardest to be optimistic. Soulmates aren’t everything. You seemed to have forgotten that.

“You’ve dated other people before, so maybe you will. Keep your head up, sweetheart. Let’s finish packing your things.” Your mom said warmly.

The next day, you woke up early. You couldn’t sleep, mostly because you were leaving for Seoul today and because of your conversation about potentially meeting someone at college. Your dad’s words echoed in your head as you were trying to sleep, his words slowly morphed into fantasies that you played out in your head all night. Sitting up in your bed, you looked around your mostly empty room and sighed. You picked up your phone and saw that it was just past 4 a.m. Groaning, you pushed the covers off and got up, knowing you wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep.

After getting ready for the day, you decided to just walk around your house. Looking into every room, all the picture frames and decor, capturing mental images and saving them in your head as you wouldn’t be back here for a long time. Your things were already packed away in your car, just waiting for you to drive away. Your parents will be accompanying you, only because they want to be the ones to show you all around the apartment they got for you. They thought you’d have a better experience in Seoul if you lived in an apartment rather than on campus. You didn’t realize how long you've been standing and staring at the pictures on the wall until the creak of the stairs brought you back to the present.

“You're awake early.” Your dad stated amused.

“Yeah, I couldn’t sleep.” You said sleepily, a small yawn escaping after.

Your mom laughed softly, and went to the kitchen, bringing back a tall glass of orange juice.

“Here, sweetie,” she said and handed it to you.

You downed it quickly (quicker than you should have), then turned to find your parents interacting cutely. Your dad was on one knee, tying the laces of your mom’s shoes for her while she looked at him lovingly. You smiled at the interaction, just admiring them. They were endearingly perfect for each other, and you were glad to witness their expressions of affection.

“Ready?” Your dad asked animatedly.

“How are you so awake every day?” You asked, failing to understand how they were able to sleep and actually have energy after waking up.

To this your mom answered, 'It's a soulmate thing,” and that was all the explanation you needed. You put on your shoes and let out a huff.

“Okay, let’s do this.”

You took one more glance around the inside of your childhood home and then left, locking the front door behind you and meeting your parents in the driveway. You got into the backseat of your car, your dad insisting on driving, and your mom in the passenger seat. The drive was four hours long but felt like an eternity due to the anticipation. The closer you got to Seoul, the more you felt the nervousness bubble in the pit of your stomach. You rotated between looking out the window, fiddling with the hem of your shirt, twirling strands of your hair around your finger, and replying to texts from your friends asking how excited you must be. You tried replying wholeheartedly, but you were a mixture of excited, nervous, and scared– excited making up the smallest part of the ratio. After what felt like an endless journey, your dad stopped the car in front of a very luxurious-looking apartment building. Your eyes widened, mouth hanging open unintentionally as you looked out the window.

“Are you sure this is the right building?” You asked in both awe and shock as you stepped out of the car and craned your head upwards.

They could only laugh at your response and actions.

“It sure is.” Your mom replied, looking over at your dad and shooting him a proud look.

“Come on, we’ll bring your stuff up a little later.” Your dad said and ushered you forward, taking your mom’s hand as the three of you walked into the building.

Your eyes darted everywhere around the lobby, staying silent as you were at a loss for words. Your parents motioned for you to press the button for the elevator, and you did just that.

“Press 12.” Your mom said excitedly.

Your eyes widened for the umpteenth time since arriving in Seoul, and you shakily pressed the button for the twelfth and highest floor. The elevator ride, unlike the car ride, was both smooth and faster than you were ready for. You followed them out of the elevator and they led you to the last door at the end of the hallway.

“Would you like to do the honors?” Your dad asked you and held up a set of keys.

You nodded and took the set of keys, fumbling them in your hands before finally unlocking the door to your new home for the next four years. You took small steps inside and gasped.

“This... is mine?” You asked, eyes still wide and full of doubt as you turned around to ask.

“All yours sweetie.” Your mom confirmed and smiled lovingly.

You took a look around the one-bedroom apartment, that was definitely too large for an 18-year-old. It had everything you could need, topped with a beautiful view of the city, and was within walking distance from your college campus. It all seemed too good to be true, too good to be all yours. You looked around cautiously, not daring to touch anything, barely even grasping the door knobs to see into each room. You came back to the lounge area and disbelief was written all over your face.

“This is really for me?” You asked in a soft voice.

They smiled at each other and your dad nodded at you.

“It’s the very least you deserve since you earned a full scholarship. We wanted to get you a beautiful place with the money we put away for your college fund. Maybe you’ll continue to stay here after you graduate.” He said proudly.

Proud of you and all your accomplishments and proud of himself and your mom for finding such a perfect place for you.

“I love it so much, how can I ever thank you?” You said, eyes now glossed over as you hugged both of your parents.

“You don’t have to sweetie, just continue to do what you do and be happy. That’s all we could ask of you, for you to be happy.” Your mom said, and that almost made your pool of emotions overflow, but you held it in.

They helped you bring your things from your car and they left soon after that, wanting to reminisce around the city they met in. It was Monday, and classes didn’t start until two weeks from now. The plan was to take the rest of this week to settle into your apartment, take next week to familiarize yourself with the city and take the week before classes started to explore your campus.

However, things never go according to plan. By your third day here, you found yourself both bored and somewhat uneasy. The uneasiness had been present since you arrived, and you hoped it would settle by now. It did settle, by making home in the pit of your stomach with no intentions of easing up. It made you so restless that you were able to unpack most, if not all, of your things and even got your music room set up. That only took you two days, and now on the third day, you were sitting in the music room with your guitar just staring out the window.

“Maybe I should go out today…” You thought to yourself, putting your guitar down and getting up.

You’d been living off whatever you and your mom brought from home and put in the fridge and the pantry. You decided to go out and look for the nearest convenience store or grocery store, and maybe take some time to wander around the area too. Stepping outside of your apartment building for the first time in three days, you typed “convenience store near me” into your phone and set off in whichever direction felt right.

After walking for a few minutes, you finally looked up and realized you had absolutely no idea where you wandered off to. Your phone is not being any help either, so you typed in the address of your apartment building and decided to start again. Luckily you didn’t wander off as far as you thought and when you got back to the only familiar building, you chose your steps carefully this time. That didn’t make a difference, because after a few minutes, you still found yourself lost.

“Are you lost?” a voice asked from next to you.

“Is it that obvious?” you asked and giggled softly, looking up from your phone to meet the eyes of a boy who looked around your age.

He was much taller than you, bleach blonde hair that had grown out a little and he had a very sweet look to him.

“A little bit, yeah,” he replied with a slight laugh, “did you just move here?” he asked.

“Yeah, I did, like three days ago. I’m originally from a little town in Ulsan.”

“Oh wow, that’s far. What made you move to Seoul?”

“I’m here for college.”

“Wait, are you going to Seoul National University?”

“Yes I am, do you go there?”

“I will be. Some friends of mine and I are all starting there in two weeks.”

“Guess I’ll see you around there too”

“I’m Kai”

“(Y/N)”

“Well (y/n), where were you trying to go? I’d love to help.”

“I’m trying to look for the closest convenience store.”

“Oh! There’s one super close to campus if you don’t mind walking there.”

“I don't mind at all, I was going to check out the campus eventually anyways.”

“Alright then, follow me.”

You followed Kai as he walked to the convenience store he was talking about and you were grateful to find someone nice enough to help you.

“So, what are you planning on majoring in?”

“Music composition.”

“My friends and I will also be in the music department. We’re in a band together.”

“Really? That’s so cool.”

“Yeah, we’ve been a band since high school and got enough recognition to get signed under a label.”

“Wow, that’s amazing. I’m a songwriter or lyricist if you will.”

“Oh, that’s really cool too. Do you play any instruments or do you just write?”

“I play the guitar.”

“I play the drums, our lead singer plays the guitar. Maybe you guys will get along well. And here we are, one convenience store.” He said and made a grand gesture causing you to laugh.

“Thank you so much, I hope this wasn’t out of your way or anything.”

“Oh no worries, I was on my way back to campus. I should get back and help them move our stuff into the dorms. It was nice meeting you (y/n), see you around.”

“It was nice meeting you too Kai, thank you again.”

He waved at you and walked off in the direction the campus was in and you let out a sigh. The uneasiness in your stomach moved up to your chest while walking over here. Was Kai your soulmate? You thought to yourself and then remembered your mom’s words. There was no feeling of familiarity when you met Kai, and nothing… clicked. Letting out a huff, you shook the thoughts out of your head and went into the convenience store.

Meanwhile, Kai was greeted with the sounds of frustrating groans and then the sound of something heavy being dropped.

“What took you so long?” Beomgyu asked, panting slightly.

“Sorry, I ran into this girl and she was lost so I helped her.”

“Was she hot?”

“Is that seriously all that matters to you, Beomgyu?” Taehyun chimed in from his place on the floor.

“Well if she was, I’ll let his lateness go.”

“Fine, yes, she was pretty,” Kai replied truthfully.

“Okay, now please help Tae and me before one of us ends up killing the other,” Beomgyu said and pushed the hair out his face, bringing a hand to his chest.

He wasn’t sure if it was because he’s been lugging boxes for the past thirty minutes or what, but his chest was hurting. Shaking it off, he clapped his hands together and picked up a lighter box, watching as Kai and Taehyun struggled to carry the big heavy box in front of him.

You scanned the aisles of the convenience store, pleased with what you were seeing and picking up a few things. As you were checking out, a bright, colorful flyer caught your eye. It was from Big Dreams Music and it was a contest. Specifically, a songwriting contest, your forte. Taking a picture of the flyer, you put your phone back into your pocket and took the bag full of snacks, making your way back to your apartment.

After putting your goodies away, you sat on the couch, pulling out your phone to read over the flyer you took a picture of. It was a songwriting competition for a band called Lethal Division. Their label wanted to change up their sound and was accepting entries. The band's name caused your heart to race out of nowhere. It was familiar to you, you’ve heard girls talk about them in high school, especially the lead singer. But that’s all you can recall when it comes to their image, you didn’t even know their names or anything. You’ve heard their music before, and you remember them being great in the beginning before they gained popularity. Now their music just sounded like noise and you’ve lost interest. You thought it was sad when music didn’t speak. You were always praised for your songs and how they moved people, so maybe you’d be able to help them move people too. You locked your phone, a slight frown on your face as you thought about what you should write.

“I’ll sleep on it. And I should probably look them up tomorrow to get a better idea of what would suit them.” You said to yourself and decided to turn in for the night, hoping this ache in your chest would let you sleep for once.

Waking up the next morning, you felt different, to say the least. You felt warm from the inside. It was a comforting warmth. Better than the ache you’ve been feeling. The more you regained consciousness, the more you remembered the dream you had last night and you gasped. Sprinting out of bed, you hurriedly found an empty page in your songbook and started to write.

Beomgyu woke up the next morning, his mind fuzzy. It felt as if he wasn’t here last night, but he knew that he was. The ache was gone from his chest, instead replaced by a comforting warmth, and he felt a small burning sensation on his arm. Looking, he saw a mark in the shape of a pen. The mark was small, barely noticeable and he wondered if one of the guys drew on him or he got a tattoo he just couldn’t remember.

“Am I still dreaming? Why does this burn?” He thought to himself, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

Getting up, he tried not to trip over the many boxes littered around the room. They managed to bring all their stuff into their dorm but didn’t unpack any of it. All that was set up was his guitar stand for his precious guitar. He learned to play the guitar when he was in middle school, his dad taught him and it became his favorite pastime since he learned. So much so that he played guitar in his high school band. The other members of the band convinced him to perform at the end-of-year festival solo, and that was when he and the rest of the school discovered he had a voice. He never had singing lessons before, only really humming to himself from time to time. But his voice was beautiful, it was smooth and deep– and soothing, and people wanted to hear more. It was from there that his friends and him decided to start a band of their own, him being the lead singer and lead guitarist. They became fairly popular in school and their song covers are what led to Big Dreams Music discovering them and eventually signing them. It all felt like a whirlwind, but he didn’t mind it. This was his dream, after all, to be able to play guitar on stage. By their third year of high school, they had an ep out, songs fully written by them, and their popularity skyrocketed all around Seoul, even to other parts of the country.

His ego also skyrocketed. They became known as the rockstars of their school, and he took advantage of his status sometimes. Their newfound fame eventually became more important than their music, their songs going from their heartfelt words to whatever the label thought would sell for them. None of them seemed to mind, knowing their newer fans were more there for their looks and just one chance for a night with a rockstar. Some fans got that chance, the old “band members taking a lucky fan backstage” idea intrigued them, so after a show, that’s what they did and it became an infamous tradition.

“We’re teenage boys.” Taehyun would always say and shrug it off. He was right, they were teenage boys– good-looking, talented teenage boys who had needs.

Their last show was their high school graduation party, and they couldn’t carry out their little tradition then. Instead, they had to pack up for college. Seoul National University offered him and his friends admission to their music department, and although he thought college wasn’t too necessary, he couldn’t refuse the offer. Their music department was the best in the world, and getting to meet college girls wasn’t too bad of a perk either.

Since classes haven’t started yet, he has yet to meet any college girls. Instead, the guys and him would go out and enjoy Seoul’s nightlife. He knew he was attractive, it was undeniable, and being a rockstar only made it that much easier to get anyone he wanted. However, it was nothing more than that, he never thought he wanted anything more. At least that's how it appeared to everyone on the outside, on the inside– he felt incomplete, and despite living his dream, there was still something missing. He heard the stories about soulmates here and there, not believing in them though. He thought it was too good to be true, the notion that there was someone out there just for him.

When he was younger, he looked it up out of curiosity. And after seeing that there was practically no chance of him having one because of the rarity, he tossed any hope he had out the window. Though part of him thinks there’s still a chance, cause he still hasn’t had a steady relationship. His “love life” consists of many baseless hookups, both him and whoever he was with for the night wanting only one thing from each other. This had been working for him, he was overall satisfied and his needs were being met, until recently. A few days ago there had been this uneasy feeling building in his chest, and it had been prominent until now. Now, it was gone and replaced by an internal warm and fuzzy feeling. He didn’t know how to explain it to Kai and Taehyun without sounding insane, now he didn’t have to. His thoughts were interrupted by a loud knock on the door.

“Gyu, are you up?” Taehyun called from the other side.

He opened the door to reveal a slightly disheveled Taehyun, bright eyes wider than usual.

“Yeah, I was just about to get ready for the day, what’s up? Why do you look like you've seen a ghost?”

“The label called.”

His eyes now widened to match Taehyun’s and he felt his hands start to clam up.

“What did they say…?” He hesitantly asked.

“They need all three of us to come in right now.”

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair multiple times.

“Is Hyuka awake?”

“Yeah, he was the one who got the call.”

“Alright, let’s see what they want.”

They got ready quickly and waited for the car to take them to their label’s building. Beomgyu was anxious– no he was scared. Every time they got a call from the label out of nowhere, he was always scared of suddenly being dropped. They all shared this fear, they worked hard for their fame and although their band isn't what it used to be, it was still their dream. A dream they didn't want to wake up from yet. The company car dropped them off in front of the building and they went to their usual meeting room. Everyone was already there waiting for them.

“We’re holding a contest.” Their manager announced.

The three of them let go of the breath they've been holding in, it coming out as a collective sigh of relief. The looks of nervousness were quickly replaced by confusion.

“A contest for what?” Kai was the one to speak up.

“A contest to find your new sound. According to data we've been compiling, your music is no longer selling well and we think a completely new songwriter will help.”

Beomgyu sat up fully now, intrigued by their producer’s words and he crossed his arms.

“And why can’t we go back to writing our own songs?”

“Because I'm not sure you guys know how to do that anymore.”

Their producer’s words felt like a slap to the face. Beomgyu knew he was right, what could he possibly write about now that had any substance? Fame? Money? Sex? That was all people wrote about now and he didn’t show it anymore, but he wanted their band to be different. After that little meeting, the flyers that were put up about the contest became more evident to him. They were there for god knows how long, but he’s only seeing them now.

“How caught up in myself am I?” He thought to himself, resting his head on the window of the car as it drove them back to their dorm.

You had been writing for hours, eventually moving to your music room, guitar on standby to play any melody that came to mind. The dream last night was unlike anything you've ever experienced. It felt like you were watching a movie, except you were able to feel and experience everything the main character was. It wasn’t entirely clear, but whoever the dream was about had such complex thoughts and a beautiful outlook on life, yet it was clear (at least to you) that they were holding something back. Before moving to your music room, you called your parents to tell them what you've been experiencing and about the dream. Your mom confirmed that what you had last night was a soulmate dream, and from now on until you meet him, this is how you will be learning about him. This was more than exciting news, you had a soulmate, he was close by, and just from the first dream, you already knew he was everything you've been missing.

A little more than a week had passed, a new dream every night and you were certain that your soulmate was perfect in every way. Every morning when you woke up, you woke up with that warm, comforting feeling. It went away after some time during the day, replaced by the same ache from before, but always came back when you woke up from a dream.

You finished writing the song and even wrote a few more, all either about him or inspired by him. The deadline for the contest was today, so right now you’re filling out the submission form. Chewing on your bottom lip, you flipped through the pages of your songbook, trying to decide which one to send in. You decided to go with the one you started writing after having the first dream. It had a theme of meeting for the first time, the song sending a message saying “I’ve been waiting for you” or "Where have you been?” Your hands were shaking while uploading the lyrics and the melody you wrote, the last thing left to be filled out was the name the submission would be under.

You had a distinct writing style, and you were always proud of your work, but that was in your small town in Ulsan. This was for a big record label in Seoul. Your thoughts started to eat away at you, fingers hovering over the delete key more than any other one on the keyboard. Taking a deep breath, you closed your eyes tightly. You didn’t want to have any regrets so, without a second thought, you quickly opened your eyes, typed “Lyric” into the name box, and hit send.

Classes started soon after that, the contest now fading to the back of your mind. You continued to have soulmate dreams, and whoever he was continued to inspire you. You were certain he was beautiful, both inside and out, but you didn’t want to get your hopes up. You tried to keep your thoughts chained to what you knew. Which was that he was nearby and he shared your love for music. You shared many other things too, from what you’ve learned in the dreams, and it only made you want to meet him as soon as you could. However you couldn’t actively pursue him, it needed to happen naturally. Of all the stories you heard, when the soul link became evident, both parties would feel a pull to the other. Not a physical pull of course, but something in your mind and your heart that says that you need to go and talk to that person. With the start of classes, you didn’t know if you’ve felt that pull to anyone. Mostly because all of your attention has been thrown into your studies.

You hadn’t seen Kai since you first met him, even though he said his friends and him were also attending this college and were also in the music department. Being in the music department didn’t mean he was also in the same major or that you’d share any classes though. Aside from that, much to your surprise, some of your professors have heard of you. They knew all about the music prodigy from Ulsan, who was raised by a rare couple of soulmates. And because of this, they decided to try and make your life here a living hell. They weren’t convinced that it all came naturally to you and that you would crumble under pressure. You were determined to prove them wrong though, and you have been, even catching some of them off guard by how quickly and skillfully you were able to submit their assignments. You felt like you’ve been swept up in a storm, and it didn’t seem like it would be easing up any time soon. Any free time you had, you spent writing. Either lyrics that come to mind or anything you can remember from your dreams.

The semester carried on like this and it felt like you were the only one being swamped with work. You were beyond stressed out, not expecting college to be like this. Everyone else around you seemed to have free time for dating or parties or anything else, as you’d hear them talk about plans all the time. You’d hear mentions of that band too, mostly about the release of their next single.

“It’s been so long since we’ve gotten new music from them” you heard one girl say.

“I know right, and I heard it’s supposed to be better this time.”

“Yeah! They got a new songwriter or something.”

“Even if it isn’t good, they’re all still hot.”

“Yeah, and new music means concerts. And you know what concerts mean”

“And since they go here, we’ve got an even better chance”

You started to tune out at this point in their conversation, realization taking over your features.

“Kai said he was in a band and that they go here.” You recalled.

“Apparently Lethal Division goes here and they have a new songwriter..” You started to connect the dots.

“The contest.” You froze and finally concluded that Kai’s band is that band and the contest was to change up their new sound.

Quickly, you pull out your laptop to check your email, you scrolled through hundreds of emails to see if the record label got back to you. Finally, you came across it. You won. Or well, Lyric did. And the new single they were coming back with, was going to be one written by you. You read through the email as thoroughly as you could and you still couldn’t believe what you were reading. You received the email almost a month ago, and they probably thought you ignored them. Sighing, you packed up your stuff and left the lecture hall, going to the practice room you reserved. Your stress suddenly increased, an even heavier weight crushing your shoulders as you walked. You weren’t one to be forgetful, not like this, but judging from the fact that they were still using your song, you guess the email was just to inform you.

You got to the building the practice rooms were in and trudged to room 0121, the one you reserved. However, instead of being met with an empty practice room, you were met with the door locked shut, the sound of instruments and loud laughter on the other side. Dropping your head, you closed your eyes and tried to center yourself. The ache in your chest intensified all of a sudden and you took that as a sign to go home. You also didn’t have the energy to argue with whoever was in there. Opening your eyes, you took one last look at the locked door and left.

Beomgyu didn't think college would go by this smoothly. He thought a school with such a renowned music program would be more difficult, but it’s been the opposite. Maybe it was the fact that he was rockstar Choi Beomgyu, but he found his classes to be a breeze. All the free time his bandmates and he had, was spent either partying or rehearsing for their comeback. The contest was a better idea than he realized. He wasn't going to give their label too much credit though. Their producer and them went through all the entries together on the days they didn't have class and the winning entry was nothing short of incredible. It was by someone who, fittingly, went by "Lyric”. It felt like the song was written just for him, the lyrics struck a feeling in everyone's heart as they listened to the demo. The sound was just what they needed, and he couldn't wait to perform it on stage.

Beomgyu spent the next few days practicing the lyrics to Lyric's song, trying to perfect every cadence and melody. He found himself humming it in the shower and even while he was trying to sleep. The more he practiced, the more he fell in love with it. It spoke to him in a way no other song had before. One thing that never changed about Beomgyu, was that he loved being on stage more than anyone else. He felt like how he did when they first formed the band and he hasn’t felt this eager about their music in a long time. His band members could tell how much the song meant to him and they loved seeing him like this, it made them excited to perform as well.

Beomgyu’s only class for the day went by slowly, he didn’t want to be there, and staring at the clock only seemed to make time pass slower. When the professor dismissed them, he was the first out of the room, immediately making his way to the building where the practice rooms were. He got stopped along the way by a few girls, which he of course had to entertain for a bit. The school gave Beomgyu and his bandmates the privilege of rehearsing whenever they wanted without having to reserve a room, so when he got there, he went to the first empty room he could find. Taehyun didn’t have classes today, so he would be bringing Beomgyu’s guitar and there was already a keyboard and drums in the room. Kai’s class would end soon and then they would practice the setlist for their upcoming show.

Beomgyu sat down on the floor in front of the keyboard, waiting impatiently for Taehyun to arrive with his guitar. He couldn't wait to start rehearsing. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, envisioning himself on stage, the crowd cheering loudly as he performed their new hit single. Suddenly, the door creaked open and he opened his eyes to see Taehyun walking in with his guitar case.

"Finally, you're here," Beomgyu said, grinning.

"Sorry, I got held up," Taehyun replied, setting down Beomgyu's guitar and taking his place in front of the keyboard.

"But now that I'm here, let's get started."

Kai walked in a few minutes later, panting slightly from having to rush to get here.

"I made it," he said with a smile as he sat down at the drumset.

They started with their new single, and Beomgyu's voice filled the room as he sang the first verse. They played through their setlist multiple times, perfecting each song until it was flawless. As they played, Beomgyu couldn't help but get lost in the music, feeling every emotion conveyed by his guitar. It was cathartic, playing music with his best friends by his side.

After a few hours of practice, they decided to take a break and grab some food from the vending machines down the hall. They sat on the floor of the practice room, munching on chips and drinking soda as they talked about their upcoming show.

"I can't wait to see the look on our fans' faces when we start playing," Taehyun said excitedly.

Kai nodded in agreement. "It's gonna be fucking amazing."

Beomgyu felt a sudden surge of adrenaline at the thought of performing for their fans. He knew that they had been waiting eagerly for this concert, and he wanted to make sure that it was the best show they had ever put on. He glanced around at Taehyun and Kai and knew that they felt the same way. As they finished their snacks, Beomgyu stood up and stretched his arms above his head.

"Let's get back to it," he said, his voice filled with determination.

They made their way back to their instruments and started playing once again. This time, they focused on fine-tuning their performance, working on every little detail until it was perfect. Beomgyu felt like he was in a trance, lost in the music. Rehearsing soon turned into them fooling around, playing random chords, and laughing. As they played, he couldn't help but feel a sense of heat building up inside him. That ache from before suddenly intensified in his chest and he had to stop.

“You okay man?” Kai asked concerned, standing up from his place at the drums and looking at Taehyun.

“We should call it for today,” Taehyun spoke up hesitantly.

Beomgyu didn’t want to, but the ache was taking a lot out of him. He put a hand over his chest and sighed.

"Yeah, I think that's a good idea," Beomgyu said, his voice small.

He couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong.

"Was I getting sick?" He thought to himself.

The sound of the door trying to be opened caught his attention and all three of them turned to the door. A few seconds later, the ache settled down, back to how it was before. He got used to the feeling in the pit of his stomach, except for now, when it spiked like this. He put his guitar back in its case and slung it over his shoulder, the three of them going back to their dorm.

The moment you got back to your apartment, you sat on your bed and just stared out the window. A lot happened just now, and you were overwhelmed, to say the least. You found out that you won the contest, and the label was practically relying on your song to bring the band back to where they used to be music-wise. You also realized that Kai was in that band and they went to school with you. And lastly, whoever was in that room had to be your soulmate. The closer you got to the practice room, the more your chest ached, and when you were in front of the door, it pained you more than it ever had before. All you wanted was to relieve your stress by writing, however, that wasn’t going to happen now. Yes, you had your music room in your apartment, but you always wrote there. You wanted a change of scenery, and whoever was behind the locked door clearly didn’t know what reserved meant.

When Beomgyu got back to his dorm, he immediately went to his room. He didn’t understand what was going on with him. Every morning he woke up feeling warm, and as if he just got back from somewhere. Then, the mark on his arm. He asked Taehyun and Kai if any of them drew it on him, and they couldn’t even see it. Instead, they asked if he had some kind of sixth sense where he could see things they couldn’t, while laughing at him. It was there though. He saw it clearly. The small mark in the shape of a pen. Lastly, the ache. He’s been feeling it since they moved into the dorm on campus. It’s been bearable, settling in his stomach and it never bothered him much. Not until today. Today it felt like someone was squeezing his heart and it hurt. He couldn’t be getting sick, it would ruin everything right now. And if he wasn’t getting sick, he didn’t know how else to explain what was happening to him.

You thought the dreams would stop since you were so close to your soulmate yesterday. They haven’t, you continued to have them but they were a little different now. They seemed more current, you were learning about how he was feeling and things he was thinking about now. Before, you learned about what he was like, things he experienced that made him who he is, like an introduction. All of it was fuzzy, but you remembered what you needed to. Last night’s dream made you wake up feeling worried, even with the warm feeling present. The dream allowed you to learn that your soulmate was distressed, almost upset about something. It was strange to you, how you don’t know this person but you do. How you care about someone you haven’t even properly met, and how you were able to understand him completely. Whoever he was.

You sighed and got up. It was Saturday today, and it was your first completely free day in a while. The band’s concert is next week, where they will debut your song as their new single. You were avoiding anything about it like the plague, you weren’t going to go to the concert either. No one else has ever performed your songs before, and the thought of that made embarrassment wash over you. Despite it being your free day, you couldn’t shake what you learned in your dream. Pulling out your songbook, you started to write.

It was Saturday today, and even though Beomgyu was out late last night, he woke up bright and early. He thought partying would distract him from thinking about everything, and it did, but only for a short while. The girl he was with last night didn’t help much either. For once he felt unsatisfied, he needed more. More of what? That, he didn’t know. Maybe it was his nerves because the concert was coming up and they were trying a new sound. He woke up feeling warm again, the feeling now something he’s gotten used to. He thought it was nice, to wake up feeling warm and comfortable. He wished it would last longer than it did, fading not too long after he woke up.

Beomgyu got out of bed and stretched, feeling a sudden pang of self-doubt. He knew it was the concert looming over him, it had to be, and the fear of not being able to deliver something new and exciting to his fans. The pressure was weighing heavily on him, but he couldn't let it show. He had to keep up the facade that he was confident and in control.

He made his way to the kitchen to make himself some breakfast, but his mind was elsewhere. He couldn't shake off the feeling of dissatisfaction and longing. He needed something to distract himself, something to take his mind off the concert and all these other things happening to him.

You wrote for most of the day, composing a song meant to make him feel better. Aside from that, you used your free time to talk to your friends, catch up on your shows, and go grocery shopping. Some of your friends were also attending college in Seoul and they planned to go out tonight. You weren’t against going out, it just wasn’t your favorite thing. Yet here you were, putting on a dress, too short to be considered one, and getting ready to go out with them. You felt you looked good, hot even. You haven’t gotten dressed up like this in a while, let alone been to a party or club. Your friends claimed that you needed something to relieve your stress, their exact words being “someone” not “something”.

No one but your parents knew about your soulmate, and you didn’t want to tell anyone else yet. Having a soulmate was a big deal, and you didn’t want the night to turn into them trying to find him for you. But you also didn’t want them to push you onto another guy. It felt like you were cheating. But how could you cheat on someone who was yours, but didn’t know you existed yet? It was complicated. Looking at your phone you saw it was nearing 9 pm, you all agreed to meet up at the house the party was being thrown at 9. It wasn’t a far drive from your apartment, so you took your time getting ready and ordering your Uber.

The guys could tell Beomgyu wasn’t okay. He was normally good at hiding his emotions, but his distress was written plainly on his face. There was another party tonight, and it surprisingly took convincing from his friends for him to go. He gave himself one last look in the mirror, satisfied with how he looked. Kai said he needed a distraction or two, and he knew what he meant. It was around 9:30 p.m. when they met up in the general lounge area after getting ready. Taehyun slung an arm over his shoulders.

“This is just nerves because of the concert. But don’t worry, after our concert, we’ll start up our tradition again and things will be back to normal.” Taehyun said and smirked, giving him a nudge.

He was right. This was all just nerves. Beomgyu was fine, he just needed to let go at this party.

You’ve only been here for an hour and you remember why you didn’t go to parties often. You felt awkward, people you recognized from school were here yet you still felt like an outsider. This was technically your first college party. You stood in a corner of the crowded living room, clutching a red plastic cup filled with cheap beer. Your eyes scanned the room, taking in the throngs of people laughing, shouting, and dancing to a throbbing bass beat. You felt a pang of regret for coming here, or maybe it was just the ache in your chest that all of a sudden spiked again. Your soulmate was here. Despite that, you thought it was a mistake to follow your friends and attend this party.

It didn’t take long for Beomgyu to get comfortable, the party scene being a familiar environment for him and his friends. As soon as he set foot into the house, the ache in his chest spiked again but he wasn’t going to let it bother him this time. After a few drinks, he found himself in the middle of a group of girls. He was sitting in the middle of the couch, girls surrounding him trying to get a word in or touch him in some way. Beomgyu smirked, enjoying the attention but his mind was elsewhere. He scanned the room, his eyes landing on you. You were standing in the corner, looking uncomfortable and out of place. Beomgyu’s heart ached at the sight of you, you were beautiful, too beautiful to be alone like that.

You couldn't stay here. You had no idea where your friends disappeared and your soulmate was here. It was overwhelming to think that someone in this plethora of mostly tipsy people, was your person. Your eyes did another scan of the room, looking for any signs of your friends. Instead of your friends though, your eyes found a boy. He was on the couch, surrounded by a group of girls vying for his attention. It made sense because he was gorgeous, prettier than anyone you’ve ever seen probably. His gaze shifted to you and you felt weak in the knees. Shaking your head and looking away, you took a deep breath and made your way to the door.

Beomgyu excused himself from the girls and made his way towards where you were. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest, he was nervous but he knew he had to make a move. When he got up though, he saw that you were gone. He panicked for a moment, realizing that he might have missed his opportunity. However, he quickly regained his composure, telling himself that he wouldn't let you slip away that easily. Beomgyu maneuvered his way through the crowd, looking around the room frantically for any sign of you, but you were nowhere to be found. The ache in his chest settled, but now it was replaced by his heart pounding, full of disappointment.

You got back to your apartment not too long after you left the party, quickly texting your friends and telling them that you went home. The ache dissipated as soon as you stepped out of the house. Your soulmate was at that party, but all you could think about was the boy you locked eyes with.

Days passed and you still couldn't get the boy from the party out of your head. His image kept flashing before your eyes, making it hard to focus. You weren't sure what it was about him that had you so captivated. Maybe it was the way his eyes seemed to light up when they met yours or the way he carried himself with an air of confidence that made you weak in the knees. Whatever it was, you wanted to see him again. The concert is tomorrow and the label called you earlier today, inviting you to come. You already made up your mind though, way before they called.

Beomgyu couldn’t get you out of his mind. Even after he went back to his group of girls at the party, you were all he could think about. Days had passed since the party and he tried looking for you on campus. He was completely distracted, even messing up during rehearsal for their concert tomorrow. As he walked back to his dorm room, Beomgyu couldn't shake off the feeling of disappointment. He was sure he missed his chance with you, and he knew he couldn't let that happen again. He needed to see you again. Maybe you’ll be there tomorrow. It was a long shot, but it was worth a try. This was unfamiliar to him, usually he was the one being sought after and he let girls come to him. Not the other way around. But you, something was pulling him to you, something inside him was saying "Go talk to her."

The next night came and Beomgyu was determined to perform his heart out. He knew it was a long shot that you would be there, so he tried to focus solely on the performance. As soon as the band started playing, Beomgyu felt a wave of emotion come over him. It was like his heart was speaking through the music, telling a story of longing and desire. He sang with all his heart, every note ringing true. The song Lyric wrote couldn't be more perfect, and Taehyun and Kai were feeding off of Beomgyu's and the crowd's energy. The crowd went wild, cheering loudly, and were full of awe at the lyrics of their new single. But amidst all the noise and excitement, Beomgyu's eyes were searching the crowd for you. You were nowhere to be found and his heart sank, but only for a split second. The lights were flashing, the crowd was still screaming and he felt alive. The audience yelled their approval and the show was over before they knew it.

Beomgyu walked off stage after Kai and Taehyun, feeling a complete rush of adrenaline. As he walked backstage, he couldn't help but scan the crowd again, hoping for a glimpse of you. However, you were still nowhere to be found. Beomgyu's heart sank once more, but he knew he had to keep it together. He couldn't let his disappointment show, especially in front of his fans. After the concert, they were all signing autographs and taking pictures, flirting around to see who they'd take back to their dressing rooms. Beomgyu tried his best to keep his cool, sexy rockstar image up, but he didn't feel like taking some random girl back this time. His heart just wasn't in it. He sent a quick look to Taehyun and Kai, who looked at him surprised but still nodded back, and he left without another word, leaving the girls who were killing for their chance with him confused.

The song you wrote for them became a huge hit and the label called you again, wanting you to write another one for them. You couldn’t deny how much your heart skipped a beat when they said the members were requesting it personally. You told the label that you would love to, however after you agreed to one more song, their request quickly changed from one to enough songs for a full-length album. They didn’t let you respond before they hung up on you, your mouth still hanging open in shock. Sighing you closed your eyes, trying not to panic because you knew you had more than enough lyrics written, but they were just that- lyrics.

Opening your eyes, you went to your room, retrieved your laptop, and looked up the band. You thought you should at least know their names and what they looked like if you were going to be writing their next album. You also wanted to hear what the final, produced version of your song sounded like. You looked up their band name and the title of your song first, playing the audio version. Your eyes widened at the sound of a deep, smooth voice starting the song, goosebumps forming along your arm. You assumed this was the lead singer, his voice sending shivers down your spine as the song continued. When it came to an end, you were left in awe, they did your words justice and you felt proud. Shaking yourself out of it, you looked up the band name next and their group picture made your heart stop. There he was, right in the middle of the trio, the boy from the party. Pictures didn’t do him justice, you concluded. The more pictures of them you went through, you found yourself looking at him more than the other two. Not on purpose, your eyes just naturally gravitating to him. Your heart was racing again like the night you saw him for the first time.

However, the ache in your chest suddenly reminded you of your soulmate and you went from feeling awestruck to guilty in mere seconds. Was it possible to feel attraction to someone that wasn’t your soulmate? Or maybe he was your soulmate… You didn’t know and you were confusing yourself.

Shaking your head to snap out of it, you clicked through a few links. The members' names were Kai (whom you already met by chance), Taheyun, and Beomgyu. Kai played drums and sometimes sang, Taehyun played the keyboard and sang, and Beomgyu played guitar and was the lead singer. You couldn't help but feel drawn to Beomgyu. You chastised yourself for even thinking about him this much. You had a soulmate, for crying out loud. You closed your laptop and lay back on your bed, trying to clear your head. But every time you closed your eyes, you saw Beomgyu's face and heard his voice singing your words.

Beomgyu was still feeling the adrenaline from the show last night even though it's morning now. It felt like an eternity since he stepped off stage yet he could still remember every moment in perfect detail - every reaction from the crowd, every part of himself he gave in each song. The label was pleased with the reaction to the new single and said they were thinking about making Lyric the official new songwriter. Beomgyu couldn't believe it. He knew that they had something special with the song Lyric wrote, but for the label to consider bringing her on as their official new songwriter was a dream come true. He knew he had to meet her, to thank her personally for the magic she brought back to their music. His mind then shifted from Lyric to you. He wished you showed up last night. He was all over the place, he felt drawn to both you and Lyric, and for the first time, he didn’t know what to do.

The semester ended not long after, and you and Beomgyu welcomed the reprieve. During the break, you composed songs for the band's next album, communicating with the label only through your alias "Lyric" and over the phone. The label was awestruck with your gift and offered you a job to be the band's official songwriter in exchange. You accepted without hesitation since this was practically your wish come true. And so that's how you secured a permanent job, all the while hoping your second semester wouldn't be as hectic as the first.

Beomgyu spent his break trying to clear his head. He couldn't stop thinking about you and Lyric. It was like he was being pulled in two different directions, each one equally tempting. He couldn't decide who he was more drawn to, and he was starting to feel guilty about it. He had never felt this way before. He was a rockstar, he was confident and in control. But now, he felt lost and confused. They had two shows over the break and he found solace in the usual flashing lights and screaming fans. But it didn't last too long.

He and his friends also started recording the songs for their new album, most of them being written and composed by Lyric. Beomgyu couldn't help but feel a spark of excitement every time Lyric's words were sung. They were all so raw and emotional, and they fit the band's style perfectly. They fit him perfectly, and it never failed to surprise him, how understood he felt. He found himself constantly thinking about her, wondering who she was and what she looked like. He wanted to tell her how much the songs meant to him, how they made him feel alive and understood. But he couldn't. He didn't even know who she was.

When you arrived on campus the following Monday, it marked the beginning of the second semester. You didn’t expect to see Beomgyu sitting under a tree by the lake with his guitar. You went the entire first semester without seeing him once.

“What was he doing here so early?” you thought to yourself, watching the way his fingers gently strummed at the guitar. You couldn't help but smile at the way his fingers moved effortlessly over the strings. He was so focused, and so passionate, and it was beautiful to watch. You couldn't bring yourself to go over there like you originally planned, so instead, you decided to leave him be and simply admire him from afar for a little before leaving. While walking back to the main area of the campus, the warm feeling was still present from your dream, so you brought your mind back to your soulmate. The dreams still occur every night and from what you can remember from last night, your soulmate has been feeling a mixture of things. Most of all though, he was confused, just like you.

As the week went by, you couldn't help but think about Beomgyu. You've been seeing him more on campus lately, in the library, in the cafeteria, in between classes. He was either with his bandmates or surrounded by girls, and an obnoxious smirk took over his pretty face most of the time. You tried to push him out of your mind, but it was like he was always there, lurking in the back of your thoughts.``It's just because he's so pretty." You kept trying to remind yourself, also recalling the one time you heard him open his mouth, his words making your eyes roll. You had a soulmate, and that was all that mattered. Your soulmate was perfect to you, perfect for you, and he wasn't an obnoxious rockstar who thought he was better than everyone.

You tried to avoid him as much as possible, but fate seemed to have other plans. One day, while walking to your next class, you accidentally bumped into him, your lyrics and sheet music flying out of your hands and scattering across the hallway.

"I'm so sorry," you said, bending down to pick up your things.

"It's fine," Beomgyu said softly, crouching down to help you. As your hands brushed briefly while reaching for the same paper, a spark went off and that warmth spread throughout your entire body, you looked up at him, surprised. He didn't give you a single look though, but even that didn't diminish your surprise.

At that moment, you knew. You found him. Beomgyu was your soulmate.

You tried to shake off the feeling to remain calm and gather your papers, but Beomgyu’s touch lingered on your hand, sending shivers down your spine. You looked up at him again, and he met your gaze this time. You could see the surprise and confusion in his eyes as well.

“Do you feel that?” he whispered, his voice barely audible above the noise in the hallway.

You nodded, unable to speak. You knew exactly what he was talking about. The warmth, the spark, the connection. It was unmistakable.

"I've been looking for you," he admitted, his eyes not leaving yours.

When he finally acknowledged you, his eyes were full of surprise. It was you, the beautiful girl from the party, the one he couldn’t get out of his head. His world felt like it finally aligned again, the warmth he would feel every morning, was present now while he was in front of you. The mark on his arm tingled, as if reminding him that it was there. He looked at the papers he picked up for you, “(y/n)” he read to himself, “so that was your name.” He then remembered that the mark on his arm was of a pen.

"Wait, are you a composer?" He asked, eyes widening in realization.

You couldn't believe what was happening. Beomgyu was your soulmate? The obnoxious rockstar who you'd been trying to avoid since the semester started, was the one you were meant to be with? It didn't make any sense. But as you looked into his eyes, you knew it was true. The way he looked at you, the way he touched your hand, it was all too real. And it felt right. The connection between you was too strong to ignore. But you can’t do this right now. Instead of answering him, you hurriedly took your papers from him and walked off in the opposite direction, not giving him a chance to say anything else.

You found yourself in a space between two buildings outside. Your heart was racing, and you couldn’t breathe. After you calmed down, you closed your eyes, your head leaning back and gently hitting the wall. You were mad at yourself first of all. Mad for judging him without even talking to him. You knew your soulmate, but you didn’t know Beomgyu. You thought you didn't want to know Beomgyu. But now you did. And it scared you. You didn't know how to handle it. It was like everything you thought you knew was turned upside down. You took a deep breath and opened your eyes, knowing that you had to face him eventually. You couldn't ignore your soulmate. You couldn’t stay on campus right now either, so you blew off your classes and went back to your apartment.

Beomgyu stood there, shocked. You ran away from him. His shock was replaced by confusion and then by longing — a need to figure out what everything meant. You clearly knew something based on your reaction, but he didn’t know much. What he did know was that he liked how he felt with you, like it was comfortable and exciting all at once. He liked the way his heart raced when he looked into your eyes, the way his skin tingled when he touched your hand, the way everything just clicked into place. Instead of classes, he went back to his dorm, he wasn’t going to get anything out of you right now so he had to do some research of his own.

As you walked into your apartment, you couldn't help but feel overwhelmed. You needed to clear your head and figure out what to do next. It also wasn't fair to leave Beomgyu hanging like that, he probably had a lot of questions. You sat down on your bed and closed your eyes, taking deep breaths to calm yourself. It was all too much to process, and you needed to sort everything out. You remembered the different types of soul links your mom told you about, trying to piece together everything that linked you and Beomgyu. You couldn’t do this by yourself, you needed him. You always needed someone like him, but right now, you needed him because you both had to put this together.

When Beomgyu got to his dorm, he went to his room and took out his laptop. He started to research all the things he’s been feeling and the mark on his arm. He came to the conclusion that he had a soulmate. You. You were his soulmate and you had to have known that. He was one of the very few to have a soulmate and he found you. He couldn't believe it. He felt like the luckiest man in the world. But then he realized that you ran away from him earlier. He didn't know why, but he knew he had to find you. He needed you, he felt as if he always needed you, but right now, you two needed to talk.

That night you couldn’t sleep, you couldn’t stop thinking about him. You tossed and turned in bed, trying to quell the butterflies that seemed to be dancing in your stomach. You knew all about him, and he probably didn’t know a thing about you, not even your name. Did he get the same ache in his chest you did? Did it turn into that warm feeling when he woke up too? Did he have dreams like you? If he’s your soulmate, what was he so distressed about that one time? All these questions and more swirled around in your head. One thing you knew for sure though, you wanted to be there for him, always.

He couldn't stop thinking about you either. He wanted to know everything about you, your hopes, your dreams. He wanted to be the one to make you laugh when you were feeling down, the one to hold you close when you were feeling alone. He wanted to be there for you, always. That was the one thing he was sure about amidst all the confusion.

You woke up early the next morning, not having slept much to begin with. You stretched out your arms, feeling a satisfying ache course through your body. You didn't have a dream last night, which you expected, but it didn't stop you from waking up feeling warm and fuzzy inside. The first coherent thing on your mind was Beomgyu. You needed to see him today, no matter what. Even though you had no classes today, you were still going to campus to look for him. You knew exactly where to go. You just hoped he had the same idea.

Beomgyu woke up early the next morning. He stretched his arms wide, letting out a yawn that reverberated through his chest. Placing a hand on his heart, he recalled yesterday's events, a smile blooming across his face at the thought of you. You were all he could think about now and he needed to see you again. Despite having just one class today, something pulled him towards the lake this morning. The scent of fresh dew coated the grass beneath his feet as he walked down the dirt path, still quiet in these early morning hours. Birds chirped overhead as he approached the sparkling waters of the lake. The surface rippled gently in tune with the slight breeze. A sense of calm washed over him as he took in the beauty before him, he took his place under the big tree he always sat under and started to strum at his guitar.

As you walked towards the lake, you could hear the sound of a guitar in the distance. You smiled to yourself, knowing that it was Beomgyu. You could see him sitting under the big tree by the lake, strumming. Beomgyu noticed you and paused his playing, looking up at you with a small smile. You felt your heart skip a beat as his eyes met yours, the same way they did at the party. You quickly looked down, feeling a blush creeping up on your cheeks. Beomgyu cleared his throat, breaking the silence.

"Good morning," he said, his voice smooth and deep, sending shivers down your spine.

You looked up at him and smiled.

"Good morning," you replied softly.

"What are you doing here so early?"

Beomgyu chuckled, closing his guitar case.

"I come here sometimes to practice," he said, standing up.

"It's peaceful here, isn't it?"

You nodded. You felt comfortable around Beomgyu.

"I agree," you said softly.

"It's my favorite place on campus."

“Mine too.”

"Beomgyu," you said softly, your heart racing and you squeezed your eyes shut. "Can we talk?"

As you stood there, waiting for his response, you heard footsteps approaching. You opened your eyes and saw Beomgyu standing in front of you.

"I'm sorry," he said, his voice soft. "I didn't mean to scare you off."

You looked up at him, feeling a mix of emotions.

"No, I'm sorry for running away earlier. I just needed some time to process everything."

"It's okay," he said quickly.

"I understand. I've been doing some research myself, and I think I know what's going on."

You felt a wave of relief wash over you. You weren't alone in this.

"What do you mean?" you asked, your curiosity piqued.

"I think we're soulmates," he said simply, and you could hear the smile in his voice.

You couldn’t help but smile too. You were glad he figured it out. You reached out to gently grasp his hand and intertwine your fingers, sparks shooting up your arm more intense than yesterday.

“We are.” You confirmed, giving his hand a gentle squeeze.

Beomgyu's eyes widened in surprise at the sudden sparks that shot up his arm. He felt a jolt of electricity run through his body as he looked into your eyes. He had never felt such a strong connection with anyone before. It was like you were meant to be together.

"I can't believe it," he whispered, pulling you closer to him. "We're soulmates."

You felt a rush of electricity through your body at his touch. You had never felt so safe and secure with anyone before. It was like everything in your life finally made sense. You leaned into him, feeling his arms wrap around you in a tight embrace.

"I've been dreaming about you," you admitted, feeling a sense of embarrassment wash over you.

Beomgyu pulled back slightly, looking at you with a gentle smile. He held out his arm to you, and a small gasp left your lips. On his arm was a small mark, it was shaped like a pen.

“Can you see it?” He asked, “When I showed my friends my arm, they couldn’t see anything.” He continued and chuckled softly.

“They thought I was crazy and had some sort of sixth sense or something.”

“I can see it.” You reached out to touch the pen mark on his arm, feeling the warmth of his skin under your fingertips.

Beomgyu shuddered at your touch, feeling the sparks fly between you. You felt them too, and you knew that this was real, that he was the one for you.

“You probably have a lot of questions,” you said and looked up at him, letting your fingers trail down his arm to take his hand in yours again.

Beomgyu nodded, his eyes fixed on you. He had so many questions he wanted to ask you, but at that moment, all he wanted was to be close to you, to hold you in his arms, and never let go.

"I do," he said softly, his thumb rubbing circles on the back of your hand. "But right now, all I want is to be with you. Is that okay?"

You smiled up at him, feeling your heart swell with affection.

"It's more than okay," you said, leaning into him. "I want to be with you too."

Beomgyu's eyes sparkled with happiness at your words. He felt like he was on top of the world, with you by his side.

"Let's go for a walk," he said, taking your hand and leading you down the dirt path that ran alongside the lake.

You walked hand in hand, enjoying the quietness of the morning. Birds chirped overhead, and the sun began to rise, casting a golden glow over everything in sight. You felt the warmth of Beomgyu's hand in yours, and you couldn't help but feel grateful for this moment.

As you walked, Beomgyu told you all about the research he had done on soulmates the night before. He had read countless books and articles, trying to understand the strange things he was experiencing. You listened intently, fascinated by the depth of his knowledge on the subject and by him in general. You answered any questions he had and told him all about your parents. You two realized the depth of your bond. You shared talents, he was the reason you could play guitar and you were the reason he could sing. The dreams, after you met Kai and he mentioned the two of you to each other vaguely, it was like a bridge. Every night since then, Beomgyu visited you in your dreams, where you got to learn about him. Now he knows why he would wake up feeling like he just came back from somewhere. The mark appeared on his arm the same day you woke up from having your first dream. The pen was because you were a songwriter and only him and his soulmate, you, could see it.

"So what do we do now?" you asked, stopping to take in the view of the lake.

The water shimmered in the sunlight, reflecting the beauty of the world around you.

"I think we should just take it one day at a time," Beomgyu said, standing beside you.

"We don't need to rush anything. We have all the time in the world."

You nodded, feeling a sense of relief wash over you. You didn't want to rush anything either. You just wanted to enjoy this moment, to be with Beomgyu and feel the sparks between you.

As you walked along the lake, hand in hand, you knew that this was just the beginning of something special. You had found your soulmate, and you were going to do everything in your power to keep him close.

"Thank you for being here with me," you said softly, looking up at him. "I'm happy I found you."

Beomgyu's eyes softened, and he leaned down to place a soft kiss on your forehead. You felt the warmth of his lips, and your heart swelled with adoration.

"I'll always be here," he said, pulling you close. "No matter what. You're kind of stuck with me now," he added and both of you giggled softly.

Your hand was still in his, and you didn't want to let go. You never wanted to let go.

“You have a class you said?” you asked him.

He nodded. “ It’s the last thing on my mind though,” he said and gently nudged your shoulder.

You blushed and giggled at him again, "Can I walk you to your class?"

"Of course, you can," Beomgyu replied, smiling down at you. "I'd love that."

Together, you made your way to the music department, taking your time as you walked hand in hand. You couldn't help but feel happy and content, knowing that you had Beomgyu by your side.

As you walked him to his class, he couldn't help but feel grateful for this moment. He knew that he was going to cherish every moment he had with you.

You reached Beomgyu's classroom after some time, and you stopped outside the door and turned to face him.

"I'll see you soon," he said, before turning and entering the classroom.

You stood outside the door, watching as he disappeared inside. You couldn't help but feel excited about what the future held for the two of you. You knew that you were meant to be together, and you couldn't wait to see what adventures lay ahead. As you turned to leave, you felt a hand on your shoulder. You turned back to see Beomgyu standing in front of you, a small smile on his lips.

"I almost forgot something," he said,

You felt his hand on your back, bringing you closer to him. You wrapped your arms around his neck as he pulled you into a hug. It was innocent, just a hug, but you felt like you were floating on air. When you pulled back, Beomgyu placed a hand on your cheek, looking into your eyes.

"I'll see you soon," he said again, before turning to enter the classroom. You watched him go, feeling your heart flutter. You stood there for a few moments more, just taking in the moment before you finally turned and started walking home.

It had been a few months since that day, but the memory still stayed with you in your mind often. You and Beomgyu had grown so much closer over those months, learning more about each other every day. You both spent more time together - going for walks in the park, exploring new places, or just cuddling up under a blanket watching movies at his dorm. He was your best friend now, your other half, the love of your life and he made every day brighter. Every time you were together, it felt like magic – like all of your dreams were coming true. You both shared something special that could never be broken: your souls connected by music and love.

One day, as you sat in Beomgyu's dorm room, strumming his guitar while he sang along softly, you looked up at him and thought about how lucky you were to have found him. He was everything you had ever wanted in a person and more. You couldn't imagine your life without him. There was something you still haven't told him though. You were struggling to tell Beomgyu that you were Lyric, the songwriter his band was always praising. Every time he and the others talked about her, you could feel your heart flutter. You wanted to tell him but something held you back; all the songs you wrote for them had been about him or inspired by him and you wanted to tell him that was why he felt so understood.

You took a deep breath, setting the guitar aside as you turned to face him. Beomgyu looked at you curiously, his eyes shining.

"What's going on?" he asked, sitting up slightly.

You took another deep breath, trying to steady your nerves. This was something you had been meaning to tell him for a while, but you had always chickened out at the last minute. But now, with him looking at you with so much love and trust, you knew that it was finally time to tell him the truth.

"Beomgyu," you started, your voice barely above a whisper. "There's something I need to tell you."

Beomgyu's gaze intensified, and he reached out to take your hand in his. You felt his thumb rubbing soothing circles on your skin, and you took that as a sign to continue.

“I’m Lyric,” you mumbled almost inaudibly.

Beomgyu's eyes widened in surprise, and he sat up straighter, looking at you in awe.

"Lyric?" he repeated, his voice barely above a whisper.

You nodded, unable to meet his gaze. You could feel butterflies swirling in your stomach, and you wondered what Beomgyu was thinking. Would he be mad that you hadn't told him earlier? Would he be disappointed that it was you?

"Why didn't you tell me?" he asked softly, his voice gentle.

You took a deep breath, gathering your thoughts.

"I didn't know how to," you admitted. "I was afraid you'd be disappointed that it was me and not some princess with magic songwriting powers or something."

Beomgyu's expression softened, and he squeezed your hand.

"I think it's incredible. I think you're incredible. You have such a gift, and I can't believe you've been writing songs for me this whole time."

You blushed. "I entered the contest and had no idea what to write. Not until I had that first dream. All my songs were written and inspired by my soulmate, which I now know is you.." you trailed off, hiding your face behind your hands.

Beomgyu chuckled, pulling your hands away from your face gently. "Why are you hiding? You have nothing to be ashamed of. I think it's amazing that you found inspiration in me, and I'm honored that you wrote those songs for our band. We couldn't have gotten this far now without you."

You looked up at him, feeling tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. "I'm just so relieved that you're not mad," you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

Beomgyu leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. "I could never be mad at you, my love. You're the most amazing person I've ever met, and I feel so lucky to have you in my life."

"And for the record, you are a princess with magic songwriting powers," he added and you playfully pushed him.

"And another thing, I wouldn't be who I am today without you either." He said while tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear.

You smiled, feeling your heart swell with love for the boy in front of you.

"I never thought I'd find someone like you," you said quietly, your eyes locked with his.

Beomgyu's lips curved into a smile. "Well, you've found me now, and I'm not going anywhere."

You leaned in to kiss him but were interrupted by a knock at the door. Beomgyu groaned in frustration, but you both knew he had to answer it. As he got up to go to the door, you couldn't help but feel a sense of frustration. You were finally about to kiss him, and now you had to wait. This was another thing, every time you and Beomgyu were going to kiss, something got in the way. Every single time.

Beomgyu opened the door, and in walked another member of his band - Kai. You smiled when he walked in, him being you and Beomgyu’s biggest shipper. You got up from the bed, clearing your throat to get his attention.

"Hi, Kai," you said sweetly.

"Hey," he replied animatedly, before turning to Beomgyu. "We've got a meeting with the label in an hour. We need to start getting ready."

Beomgyu sighed, knowing that he had to go. He turned to you, a look of apology on his face.

"I'm sorry, Y/N. I have to go," he said, his hand reaching out to grab yours.

You nodded, feeling a sense of disappointment wash over you. "It's okay, Beomie. You have to go do what you have to do."

You got up from his bed and kissed him on the cheek, Kai holding his hand up for a high five which you granted. You said bye to Taehyun who was in the lounge area of their dorm and went back to your apartment. When you arrived at your apartment, you decided to take a hot shower to relax. Shower thoughts flooded your brain as you stood under the steamy water. You realize Beomgyu has never been to your apartment before, all the time you guys have spent with each other has either been at his dorm or out somewhere.

The thought of Beomgyu coming to your apartment made you feel nervous and excited at the same time. You could imagine him sitting on your couch, the two of you cuddled up under a blanket, just like you always did at his dorm. However, here there would be no interruptions. But then again, what if he didn't like your apartment?

You shook your head, trying to get rid of those negative thoughts. You knew Beomgyu wouldn't judge you like that, and even if he did, it wouldn't change how he felt about you. You dried yourself off and got dressed, feeling a sense of excitement building up inside you.

You decided to call Beomgyu to see if he was free to come over. He picked up after the first ring, and you could hear the sound of music playing in the background.

"Hey, Beomie," you greeted him, feeling a smile spread across your face. "Are you busy?"

Beomgyu chuckled on the other end of the line. "Just practicing with the band, why? What's up?"

"I was wondering if you wanted to come over to my place. Maybe tomorrow night? I know we've never hung out at my apartment before, and I thought it could be fun," you said, trying to keep the excitement out of your voice.

There was a pause on the other end of the line, and you could hear muffled talking in the background. Finally, Beomgyu spoke up.

"Yeah, I'd love to princess. You can give me a tour of your place and everything," he said, and you could practically hear the smirk on his face.

You felt your heart skip a beat. Beomgyu was actually coming over to your place.

"I can practically hear you smirking, pretty boy. I'll see you tomorrow then."

Beomgyu chuckled. "Sorry, sorry. I just can't wait to see your place." His voice dropped down to a low murmur. "And maybe see what other surprises you have in store for me."

You felt your cheeks heat up at his words. "Beomie, don't be naughty," you scolded him, but you couldn't deny the thrill that ran down your spine at the thought of spending the night with him alone in your apartment.

"I can't make any promises," he replied, his voice low and sultry. "But I'll behave if you want me to."

You laughed, feeling your nerves calm down a little. "No, it's okay. I like it when you're naughty. Besides, you're still handsy even when you claim you're behaving."

Beomgyu chuckled, and you could hear the smile in his voice. "I can't help it. You bring out the naughty side in me," he said, his voice dropping to a whisper.

You felt a shiver run down your spine at his words. "Well, I'll see you tomorrow then," you said, trying to keep your voice steady.

"I can't wait, princess," he replied, before ending the call.

The next day, you spent the day cleaning and preparing for Beomgyu's arrival. You wanted everything to be perfect for him.

When he finally arrived at your apartment, you couldn't help but feel nervous. He smiled as soon as you opened the door, making you feel at ease.

"Hey, princess," he said, pulling you into a tight hug. "You look beautiful."

You blushed, feeling a surge of happiness wash over you. "Thanks, Beomie. You look handsome as always," you replied.

"Wow, your apartment is amazing!" Beomgyu exclaimed, looking around in awe. "You never told me you had such good taste."

You giggled. “You don’t think it’s a bit..much?”

"Not at all," Beomgyu replied, walking over to you and taking your hand. "It's just like you, beautiful and perfect."

You blushed and looked away, feeling a little embarrassed at his words.

Beomgyu chuckled and lifted your chin, looking into your eyes. "Don't be shy, (y/n). You should know by now how much I adore you."

You smiled at him, feeling the warmth of his love surrounding you. "I do, Beomie. I adore you just as much."

"Why are you blushing? Is it cause we're finally alone with no interruptions?" he asked and playfully nudged you.

You blushed even harder at his words, and you could feel your heart racing in your chest. You had been waiting for this moment, and now that it was finally here, you didn't know what to do. You nodded, feeling the butterflies in your stomach start to flutter.

"Maybe," you said, a smile spreading across your face.

Beomgyu stepped closer to you, his arms wrapping around your waist. "Well, I have a surprise for you too," he whispered in your ear, his breath hot against your skin.

You felt a shiver run down your spine at his words. "What is it?" you asked, turning to face him.

Beomgyu grinned at you, his eyes sparkling with mischief. He looked around the living room once more, “Why don’t you give me the tour of your place first?” He whispered and put his arm around you. You leaned into his touch, resting your cheek on his shoulder.

“The music room is probably my favorite, I spend most of my time in there or on the balcony,” you said softly while tracing the veins along his free arm. You heard him let out a small sigh at the feeling of your touch.

“Then take me to the music room, princess. That’s where the magic happens right?” He said, lips turning upward into a smirk.

“Okay, Beomie.” You took his hand in yours and gently pulled him along, leading him to where the music room is. You led him down a hallway, stopping at one of many doors. You opened it, the familiar squeak of the hinges filling your senses with joy and you smiled up at him proudly. He stepped inside and took a look around the room you practically lived in, carefully examining each instrument on display with awe. Your heart pounded as he walked by every instrument in the room, this room was like your pride and joy. You hoped he was impressed by it.

As Beomgyu continued to look around the music room, you couldn't help but feel proud of yourself. You had worked hard to make this space your own, and it was clear that Beomgyu was impressed. You watched as he picked up your guitar, strumming a few chords before setting it back down.

"You're so talented, (y/n)," Beomgyu said, turning to face you and leaning against one of the walls.

"I had no idea you could play so many instruments. You're amazing."

You felt a warm blush spread across your cheeks at his compliments.

He pushed himself off from against the wall and took a seat on one of the cushioned benches, motioning for you to come over. You obliged and he wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you to sit in his lap.

“Now can I listen to the songs you've been working on for the band? Or are you still trying to be sneaky and keep it hidden from me?”

“Mm, it's not finished though.” You said and wrapped your arms around his neck after being pulled into his lap.

He tightened his hold on your hips and smiled at you. “Well, I’d still rather listen to an unfinished song than nothing at all. Or are you just hiding something from me?” his smile turned into a small smirk.

“And why would I hide anything from you, Beomie?” You whispered softly and looked up to meet his eyes.

He leaned down slightly, his mouth coming close to your ear, “Maybe cause you want me to beg a little…” He whispered and let his lips linger by your neck for a little before pulling away.

“And maybe, just maybe…” he started again, taking his hand and tracing the curve of your neck.

“You think it's cute? Watching me beg..”

“And why would I make you beg me? Hm?” Your voice stayed in a whisper, and you cupped one of his cheeks.

He looked you in the eyes and grinned.

“Why would you make me beg, you ask? I don’t know… you know how I feel about you-“ he paused when he felt your hand touch his cheek.

“But who knows what you can get out of me.” He smirked and leaned down to kiss your cheek.

“Maybe you can make me beg for a kiss… or a little more.”

The touch of his lips to your cheek was enough to light your whole body on fire.

You shuddered lightly and moved his hair away from his face. “And what kind of person would I be if I made my soulmate beg, hm?” You asked softly.

He felt a blush creep onto his cheeks as you lightly brushed his hair out of his face. This time, you leaned forward and lightly touched your lips to the corner of his. Not kissing him properly yet.

He let out a soft gasp and you watched as his lips parted slightly in shock, not expecting you to lean in. His breath got caught in his throat and he kept his gaze locked onto yours. His hands moved down from your hips to your thighs, fingers lightly digging into them, the heat of the moment getting to both of you right now.

“Beom?” You whispered, eyes flicking down to his lips.

His heart skips a beat at the soft sound of your voice.

“Yes (y/n)?” He whispered back, face now flushed and his eyes trailed downward, gaze now glued onto your lips too.

“Kiss me, please.”

He stared at you for a second, processing what you just asked. The slight shock wearing off was replaced by desirousness, and he grinned.

“With pleasure, princess.”

He leaned in while pulling you closer to him and connected your lips, finally. His eyes closed right before your lips touched, his heart hammering against his chest. The moment the gap closed between you, your eyes fluttered closed, already lost in the moment. Your arms around his neck pulled him closer, as close as he could get to you. You felt his hands trail up and down your sides, settling on your thighs once again. Your lips parted slightly, you taking the opportunity to gently bite his lower lip, bringing them back together with yours, not wanting this to end just yet.

Beomgyu's lips were soft but demanding, and they made your heart race. You felt the heat between you grow as you allowed yourself to get lost in the moment. His tongue grazed your bottom lip, asking for permission to deepen the kiss. You granted it, allowing him to explore your mouth until you both needed to come up for air. He pulled away from you, but only enough to look into your eyes. Your faces were so close that you could feel his breath on your lips. You felt his fingers trailing up and down your thighs and his grip on them tightening.

“God, I want you (y/n),” he breathed out.

You leaned in and kissed him again, this time with more urgency. You could feel his reaction instantly as he groaned into the kiss and his grip on your thighs tightened even more. You moved your hands from around his neck to run them through his hair, tugging lightly as he deepened the kiss even more. It wasn't long before the heat between you both became unbearable and you broke the kiss, feeling breathless. You looked at each other for a moment, both of you panting slightly.

“I want you too,” you whispered, cupping his cheek with one hand while the other trailed down his chest.

Beomgyu took in a sharp breath as your hand continued to trail down his chest. His heart sped up and his mouth hung slightly open.

“Let's take this to your room," He whispered.

You nodded quickly and told him your room was the last door to the right. He lifted you up in his arms and stood up from the bench, moving quickly out of the music room with you cradled safely in his arms. Once you were both in your room, he gently laid you down on the bed. You looked up at him as he hovered above you, the desire in his eyes captivating yours and making your heart race even faster.

“Are you ready for my surprise now?” He asked, his voice soft and full of want.

You nodded at him quickly and wrapped your arms around his neck. He leaned down and gave you a light kiss. He slowly trailed down your jaw and reached the sensitive spot behind your ear. His breath tickled and sent shivers down your spine.

You lay next to him, slightly out of breath after what just happened, and felt him press a kiss to your cheek.

“Surprise,” he said teasingly.

You rolled your eyes but giggled softly and your heart skipped a beat as you looked at him. You sat up and picked up the shirt he was wearing earlier, slipping it over your head, the scent of him now enveloping all your senses.

"Was that really your surprise?" you asked him shyly.

Beomgyu had moved his head to rest on the pillow, facing you sideways, and propped up on his elbow.

He laughed at your shared bashfulness despite what you just did together, and kissed your forehead, “it was,”

He blushed and looked away from you for a quick moment, not used to this level of affection and intimacy. He looked back at you when you rested your head on your own pillow.

“This is my favorite thing to do,” he whispered, laying down properly and pulling you to his chest.

“Spend the day with you.”

Your heart sped up from what he said, but also from the way you were currently pressed against him with your head resting against his chest, and he wrapped his arms around your waist to hold you close.

“I can hear your heartbeat,” you murmured, your eyes closing more with every word.

He smiled lovingly at you.

“Yeah? What does it sound like?”

“Like mine.”

Main Masterlist

Beomgyu Masterlist

a/n: and that’s the end! I absolutely adore soulmate aus and Beomgyu, and I’ve always wanted to try and write one of my own. I hope you enjoyed it, comments and reblogs are always appreciated <3

#✎˖ᝰbeomgyucoded✧˖°#choi beomgyu #beomgyu #beomgyu x reader #choi beomgyu imagines #txt beomgyu #txt x reader #beomgyu fluff #tomorrow x together #tomorrow x together Beomgyu #txt soulmate aus #⇢ ˗ˏˋ beomgyu 🧸 ࿐ྂ

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talesofadragon · 1 year ago

Text

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐓𝐢𝐦𝐞

Summary: In the aftermath of the war, Draco is caged in an unrelenting spiral of distaste and distrust. The pervasive tendrils of hatred threaten to incinerate every aspect of his existence, edging ever closer to Y/N. A breakup seemed like the wisest choice. But a few bottles of Firewhiskey later, Draco is faced with something more daunting than his mind’s distorted illusions—a glimpse into his future.

Warnings: Allusions to sex

Pairing: Draco x Reader

Genre: Angst | Fluff

Word count: 4K

All Masterlists | Draco Malfoy Masterlist

𝐈𝐟 𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐨𝐨𝐬 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐥𝐲 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐤, the weight of guilt would have long since dissipated, evaporating into the vast expanse of time.

But tattoos, Draco had come to learn, lived on a polarizing spectrum—either itched by hope’s gentle caresses or marred by despair’s morbid claws. He liked to call them insignias because he knew that, either way, those brands never faded away. And even if, by Merlin’s stupendous power, their ink were to vanish, the tales behind them would eternally reverberate through the most somber corridors of time.

The choices made and the sacrifices offered in their creation were intricately woven into the curvatures of each tattoo, amplifying the weight of these indelible brands.

“Mate, I have never seen anyone treat Ogden’s Old Firewhiskey so foully.”

Draco’s silver eyes were unyielding in their pursuit of the black snake that slithered into his pale skin. He refused to look away, not when he heard Theodore Nott’s voice and not when he reached out blindly for the silver goblet, determined to drown the lingering traces of Firewhiskey within it.

As the scorching pace of the liquid coursed through his veins, his heart constricted, and his eyes stung. Yet, he paid no heed to the discomfort, having endured far greater pains in the past.

“Maybe if you weren’t a lightweight then you would have known that the whole Slytherin House and half of the Gryffindors treat it with indignation,” Draco retorted.

Theodore's arms crossed tightly over his chest, his gaze narrowing as he observed his best friend. Draco's weariness was evident, more pronounced than even during the days of the Dark Lord.

Letting out a sigh of resignation, Theodore settled in the chair by Draco's side. Taking the goblet from his hand, Theodore filled it with some more Firewhiskey. “Not that I am unhappy to host you, but isn’t it time to go back home, Draco?”

Draco’s fingers tightened around the goblet. If he thought the Firewhiskey was testing his endurance, then clearly he hadn’t anticipated the words that came out of Theodore’s mouth.

“I don’t have a home.”

“But you do.”

“No. I do not!” His voice ricocheted against the walls, pained echoes pushing against the boundaries that confined them. Draco’s voice shook, the rage in his words dissolving into meek submission. “Not without her.”

“Mate.” Theodore watched helplessly as Draco swung his head back to gulp down the entire goblet of Firewhiskey. He violently slammed the empty goblet against the marble of the kitchen bar, gaze stuck far ahead. “This is killing you.”

“Let it.”

“Draco—”

“I should’ve died long ago in that war, Theo. Maybe this is retribution for everything I did.”

“What retribution, you imbecile? Dooming everything you’ve both built after the war?”

“Do not mention her,” Draco seethed. His bloodshot eyes matched the color of his soul, a violent red that overwhelmed every one of his senses. He’s hated the war for so long—he failed to realize how much it seeped through his soul until he became one himself. “I don’t want to hear it.”

Theodore scoffed. He reared back, placing his weight on the back of the chair and studying Draco’s hunched posture. “I‘ve known you since we were brought into the Wizarding World, Draco. I know that you didn’t come here to escape the fray.”

“What finally tipped you off, oh brilliant Rowena? Was it the way I shut down every mention of her name? Or perhaps my defensive stance and guarded demeanor?” Draco mocked.

With an air of indifference, Theodore replied, “You don’t run away from battles, Draco. You wage them.”

“That was the old me.”

"If that were truly the case, then why did you declare war on Y/N? What suddenly woke you up, making you realize that you couldn't bear to be with her for another second?"

A flash of irritation crossed Draco's face as he interjected, "I told you not to mention her name."

Ignoring the warning, Theodore continued with a pointed intensity. "Her name itself is a battle, Draco. One you’ve ignited because of the conflict that rages within you, fueled by your selfish desires."

"Selfish?" Draco roared, his anger escalating. In the heat of the moment, he flung the empty goblet against the wall, the sound echoing through the room. His nostrils flared as he struggled to control the tempest brewing within him. "What part of letting her go for her well-being is selfish? She deserves better, Nott. So I gave her better!"

"Better, is a subjective notion.”

"It's the only notion," Draco countered, his composure slipping as he struggled to rein in his emotions. The veneer of false placidity he had tried to maintain for days proved futile in containing his anger. "You have no idea the price I have to pay for the blood that rests on my hand. For the mark that’s refusing to die with time.”

“I know,” Theodore whispered breathlessly.

Draco's head shook with a heavy burden of remorse. "No, you don’t. Because being a Death Eater's son and being a Death Eater are two separate realms. I would trade anything, everything, to return to a time when I was feared and hated. Because now, I have to watch the world extend their animosity to the only woman who was brave enough to try and pull me out of the Dark Lord’s dominion.”

Theodore pushed himself off the chair, his movements purposeful and determined. With each deliberate stride, the distinct click of his shoes echoed against the ground. "By pushing her away. By hurling venomous words at her. By replicating the very path the world forced upon you, dragging her through darkness and uncertainty."

“She deserves better! Better than a semi-stable man who was a servant of darkness. Better than a wizard whose father is serving a sentence in Azkaban and whose mother is a victim of delirium. She deserves better—”

“Than a man who is stripping her of her choices the same way his lineage stripped him of his.”

“No.” Draco negated. If only he hadn’t drank this much Firewhiskey, maybe his breath would have come out steadier and his words wouldn’t have grappled with conviction. “I left for her.”

“You left her,” Theodore corrected. It always amazed Draco how Theodore Nott, the epitome of reticence, became a forceful and impassioned defender when it came to matters close to his heart, including Y/N. “You left her because you’re selfish. Because you craved your twisted path of redemption. Retribution, as you have so masterfully termed it, should not come at the expense of hurting Y/N. She fought for you with everything she had. And if you are so keen on being a masochist, Draco, then have the decency to leave her out of your descent into madness!”

With a final venomous glare, Theodore took a step back and began to march away from the room. Draco, caught in a state of disbelief, felt his hands instinctively fall upon the cool marble surface of the kitchen counter. He pressed his palms firmly against the chilled stone, desperately seeking solace from the tumultuous emotions raging within him.

In an abrupt intrusion, Theodore burst back into the room. Draco barely had a chance to meet his gaze before Theodore snatched the bottle of Firewhiskey from the counter and swiftly left. There was no doubt in Draco's mind that he must have also cast a spell to lock the cellar to deny Draco access to any and every liquor stored in the Manor.

In that moment, Draco's vision was void of any specific color—not a glimpse of red, black, or any hue in between. His rage transcended ordinary perception, defying quantification by any shade or measurement. All that existed in his awareness was a hazy fog enveloping his sight, a world imploding upon itself.

With venomous intent, Draco's fingers slithered through his hair, viciously tugging at the strands. Curses and fury spilled from his lips, weaving a tapestry of disaster, painted with every twisted emotion inhabiting his soul.

The shattered glass before him mirrored his fractured heart, and the disarrayed furniture reflected the homelessness of his wounded spirit. If he excelled in wars and battles, then he might as well transform this space into a battleground.

He persisted for hours, tirelessly wreaking havoc until Theodore's once-familiar abode became unrecognizable. Yet, the knowledge that a mere flick of his wand could undo this chaos only fueled the flames of his fury even more.

How ironic it was that he could demolish a meaningless space in mere hours, only for his magic to effortlessly restore it in seconds. Yet, the home he had reduced to ashes remained irreparable, defying any spells he cast upon it.

With a heavy heart, Draco sank to the ground, embraced by the unforgiving coldness of the stone beneath him. Leaning back against the chilling marble, he stared vacantly at the ceiling of Theodore's dwelling. It was no longer the familiar dark maroon he had once known, but a mosaic of melancholic hues. It was in that moment, as the taste of salty tears brushed against his lips, that he realized his own hollow gaze had been the architect all along.

As his shuddered breaths gradually calmed, and the twitching of his fingers ceased, Draco couldn't help but feel his heart, exhausted from its rapid sprinting and relentless pounding against his ribs.

Standing up, he reached for his wand. "Scourgify," he commanded. Instantly, his magic eagerly clung to every surface in the room, diligently working to restore order and mend the damage he had caused.

While his magic busily repaired what he had broken, Draco made his way to the kitchen, intending to pour himself a much-needed goblet of water. As he approached the marble counter, his eyes widened in surprise at the sight of a mysterious black box neatly resting there.

“What in Merlin’s name?” It must’ve been hidden somewhere amongst the furniture because even in his stupor Draco would’ve recalled coming across it.

Gingerly, he pulled the lid up. What he found inside was something akin to a Time Turner, along with a couple of notes. Knowing well that all those magical devices had long been destroyed, Draco’s curiosity peaked. He reached for the notes, eyes trekking along the lines of Theodore’s handwriting.

“Temporal Surger, experimental prototype number five,” Draco read aloud. He briskly skimmed across the pages, absorbing more and more information. “Contrary to the Time Turner, the Temporal Surger springboards the wizard forward through time. Though the exact destination remains unpredictable, prototype number five provides a ten-minute window for the wizard traveling into the future.”

Draco discarded the notes in favor of picking up the device. It didn’t look any different from the Time Turner with an hourglass in the middle and golden outer rings surrounding it. Yet, when Draco tried to nudge the hourglass, it didn’t budge. He raised his brows, eyes narrowing down to investigate the object. His fingers lingered on the rings, the pad of his index finger tracing the surface.

Inadvertently, his fingers slipped, and the outer rings turned on themselves. Draco paid them no heed, though it became increasingly hard not to notice them when their momentum increased as they followed an unfamiliar rhythm. Draco didn’t have enough time to panic before a bright light emanated from the center of the Time Surger, engulfing him whole.

When the light weathered, Draco immediately sprung out of his seat. Taking in his unfamiliar surroundings, he blinked twice. At first, he thought it was his broken heart playing yet another trick on him till it became evident that the Time Surger had, in fact, transported him to another place.

“Merlin’s beard, Theodore is going to murder me,” Draco said aloud. He immediately clamped a hand over his mouth when it dawned on him that he didn’t even know where he was or who was in the same vicinity as him.

Draco hardly had a moment to register his distaste for the petrifying yellow curtains and cream-colored kitchen walls before he caught the sound of leisurely footsteps approaching from his right.

He sprinted across the room, his entire body whirling around itself until he spotted, what he hoped was, a door that led him to the pantry. He rushed in but left it slightly ajar, enough for him to peek through. A crease etched itself in the middle of his forehead when his eyes met a tall man with platinum blond hair tied into a bun.

The man was shirtless, tall, and well-built. His back was littered with scars, some seemingly thinner and more recent than the others. He moved seamlessly around the kitchen, without a wand in sight, opening draws and cabinets to prepare some food. Draco tried peering closer to catch a glimpse of his face when the sound of someone apparating startled him.

“What is Master Malfoy doing here?” a squeaky voice asked.

Draco’s eyes bulged out of their sockets, rivaling the size of the round plates that man had been filling with fruits. He bristled, the gears in his mind rushing to concoct an explanation. But how was he supposed to explain that he’s acquired a, possibly illegal, prototype of a Temporal Surger created by none other than his best friend?

“What does one do in a kitchen?” Draco heard himself say in a mirthful tone. He sighed in relief at the plausible answer, but his relief proved to be ephemeral when he realized that it wasn’t him who spoke.

He widened the door a bit further, revealing a house elf standing in the kitchen, gazing up at the shirtless blond wizard. With the man's face now visible, Draco was taken aback by the striking similarities between them. The man was a slightly older version of himself.

“Blinky serves the House of Malfoy. It’s Blinky’s job to prepare breakfast for her master.”

The house elf, Blinky, attempted to pry the spatula out of the Malfoy Patriarch's hand. He didn’t relent, keeping a firm grip on it and flipping whatever he was cooking in the sizzling pan.

“Thank you, Blinky. I do appreciate your efforts,” he said over the elf's loud huffs. “But I wanted to cook my wife a special breakfast myself.”

A loud gasp reverberated in the narrow space of the pantry. Draco stumbled even closer to the door, almost pushing it entirely open. His eyes widened, intently studying the Malfoy Patriarch's hand. And sure enough, a silver band adorned his ring finger, glistening in the light.

“Mistress Malfoy has woken up?” Blinky asked in her tiny voice. They must’ve not heard Draco’s shock over the sound of whatever it was that was cooking.

“Hmm,” the Malfoy Patriarch hummed. He had picked up a goblet from the cupboard, filling it with pumpkin juice. “Blinky, could you please get the Mistress’ favorite flowers? I’m sure she’d appreciate the gesture.”

Squealing in excitement at fulfilling a task for her masters, Blinky apparated out of the kitchen immediately. By the time she came back with some orchids in a small, round vase, the Malfoy Patriarch had already prepared a full assortment of food. From French Croissants to Quidditch Quaffles, he set them all on a tray and merrily exited the kitchen.

Using a disillusionment charm, Draco quietly followed after his older self. He noticed that the house, or rather cottage, was significantly smaller than Malfoy Manor, yet a million times more alluring. It had a cozy and welcoming atmosphere, adorned with bright colors and pictures from his Hogwarts days. Every decorative piece, whether a vase or an ornament, seemed to have been picked with care, making it evidently known that this house was not of his choosing. Whoever his future wife was, he was sure she had to be the one to decorate the house so quaintly and delicately because he could never fill any space with such beauty.

With careful steps, Draco ascended to the upper floor, his attention fixed on each stride. The walls, still adorned in their creamy hue, now bore intricate engravings of an evocative design. The sight of verdant trees and lush bushes lining the hallway welcomed him, instilling a profound sense of tranquility within him.

The Malfoy Patriarch pushed open one of the doors and casually entered. Fortunately, he left it open, making it easier for Draco to hurry inside. He found an equally charming interior, where sunlight streamed into the room, casting a beautiful glow, while the books on the bookshelf created a colorful display like a rainbow.

In the center of the bed, a woman laid peacefully under the covers. Her entire back was exposed, making a pink tint hug Draco’s cheeks.

The Malfoy Patriarch offered a winsome smile at the painting before his eyes. He placed the tray aside and walked to the bed, letting his thumbs trace the woman’s back.

“Angel,” he called in a soft voice. “Wake up for me.” When the woman didn’t give up her sleep, the Malfoy Patriarch bent down to plant soft kisses on her arm. They were featherlight and soft caresses as if coming out of a dream.

She sighed heavily, turning on her back. Draco watched his older self laugh, taking this as a chance to kiss his wife’s lips.

“Draco,” she whined. And Draco had to brace himself against the wardrobe to stop himself from falling to his knees. "Please, five more minutes."

“Y/N Malfoy, you know denying you anything is physically impossible. But I really need you to get out of bed and eat something for me. Now, my love.”

He heard Y/N say, “Don’t want to.” And Draco’s heart squeezed in his chest because he knew that she was pouting beneath the covers, and most importantly, she was wide awake but trying to get Draco to give her a few more minutes of his attention.

The Malfoy Patriarch pulled away, surprising Draco. He walked to the tray he had placed aside, grabbing the goblet of pumpkin juice. Y/N opened her eyes when she noticed her husband’s ministrations came to an abrupt end. She hugged the sheets to her naked chest, pouting when she saw her husband against the wall, sipping from the drink.

“This is delicious,” he teased. Y/N made a face.

“Give it.” She held her hands out, opening and closing her palms in anticipation. Her husband diligently took the whole tray to her side, positioning it on the bed. “I hate you,” she huffed while dipping one Quidditch Quaffle in honey.

The man in front of her beamed, shaking his head. “You must hate me fiercely, angel. Your ardor set my soul ablaze a million times over yesterday night. And I've got marks on my back to prove it.”

Both Y/N and Draco choked at the heat that permeated the air. Y/N’s gaze meandered across the room, trying to escape the heat of her husband’s scintillating eyes.

“Well, you set mine ablaze a million times over every day, Draco! Go put a shirt on instead of teasing me!” Y/N grunted while reaching for the goblet.

The Malfoy Patriarch’s laugh roared within the four walls of the room, and even Draco had to cover his mouth to avoid laughing at her retort.

“Is my wife looking forward to dessert already?”

Y/N let out a sound that was both a whine and a sigh. She pushed the tray aside and reared back, burying her body in the pile of pillows on her bed. Her husband laughed, studying her pout. Her hands rested on her stomach, and if Draco hadn’t been shocked to his core before, he was baffled at the sight of Y/N cradling a very noticeable baby bump.

“Draco, please.”

“Please what, angel?”

“Not that! You know if we do that now we won’t get out of bed for another three hours!”

“Would it be such—”

“Yes!” Y/N interjected. She looked like an angry little pixie with her narrowed eyes and pointed glare. “It would. Because we have so much to do today.” She went on to explain that she and Narcissa were supposed to meet for tea in the afternoon and that Draco had to finish setting up the nursery. Y/N kept on listing everything they had to do while her husband intently listened without saying a single word. Instead, he watched her, letting one of his hands wander to her stomach and cover hers. “What are you thinking?” Y/N finally asked, coming to grasp with the realization that her husband had zoned out.

He didn’t answer at first, noticeably lost in his wife’s beauty. “I’m not thinking. I’m feeling.”

Y/N let out a semi-laugh. “What are you feeling, Draco?”

“You,” he replied solemnly. He interlaced their fingers together, keeping their intertwined hands on her belly. “Time and time again, I only feel you.”

“Dray.” Y/N’s expression softened. She tugged on her husband’s hand, and even though she had lamented that they couldn’t stay in bed for long, she let him pull her to his chest while he made himself comfortable on their bed. “I love you.”

“I love you so much.” It was Draco who said it. With teary eyes and a battered soul, he surrendered to the images of his older self caressing Y/N’s lips and her cheeks.

“I love both of my girls. And I only hope our little princess can learn to love me despite all my flaws.”

Y/N shot her husband an indignant look, her gaze filled with disapproval. However, a hint of tenderness softened her eyes, conveying a complex mix of emotions.

“She does.”

“How do you know?”

“She's currently expressing her displeasure at your words by stirring up a commotion inside my belly.”

“Oh, yeah?” the Malfoy patriarch laughed. He tightened his hold on Y/N and pulled her even closer. One hand on her belly and the other in her hair, he peered down at her and locked his silver eyes with hers. “She’s a tornado, like her mother.”

Y/N chose not to respond, embracing a peaceful silence instead while staring at her husband. He arched an eyebrow in a silent question. “I’m feeling,” Y/N spoke out. “Time and time again, I only feel you.”

While her husband's gaze fixated on her lips, inching closer to his own, Draco's attention was abruptly seized by the Time Surger stirring once more. His eyes dropped downward, observing the rings spinning autonomously.

Torn between stealing a final glimpse and safeguarding the precious moment, Draco reluctantly withdrew from the room. Hastening his steps, he hurriedly exited, stealing one last glance at his future self tenderly pulling the sheet away from Y/N's body until a blinding light dissolved the scene.

The curtain fell, and he found himself back in Theodore's living room.

Draco struggled to catch his breath, hurriedly placing the Temporal Surger back inside its box. His restless eyes darted across the room, overwhelmed by the torrent of emotions surging through him, dragging him deeper into the abyss. Gasping for air, his head whipped around, desperately trying to make sense of his surroundings.

His eyes landed on the box, the notes still outside. Future, he read in Theodore’s perfect handwriting.

“Nott, you knobhead. If you were here right now, I would have kissed you with such intensity time would stop. And even your stupidly brilliant Temporal Surger wouldn’t have worked.”

The numbness of his heart dissipated, and the crippling guilt roaming across his forearm vanished. Draco breathed deeply, embracing the placidity around him. Maybe Theodore’s walls were grim compared to the ones his future self occupied. Yet all Draco could feel was the warmth of Y/N’s voice and the tranquility of the mornings they were yet to share.

He rushed to Theodore’s fireplace, not bothering to fix himself up. Tossing a handful of Floo Powder into the fireplace, Draco finally spoke aloud. “Take me to Y/N Y/L/N.”

He finally realized that whether time turned or surged, he and Y/N Y/L/N were bound by a string of fate that was unyielding in its war against the Sands of Time.

------------------

Draco Taglist:

@imabee-oralizard@ameliaphoenix@arcana-greenleaf@dittos-blog-dylanobrien

I have been wanting to write this one for a while! Feels good to be writing again for our favorite Slytherin!🪄

Let me know if you would like to be moved/removed from my taglists.🤍

For those who want to be tagged in my Harry Potter/Marvel works, head over to “The Owlery” section on my profile and send me a message!

#draco malfoy x reader #draco x reader #draco x y/n #draco x you #draco malfoy fanfiction #harry potter fanfiction #draco malfoy #draco malfoy x y/n #draco malfoy x you #draco imagine #draco malfoy imagine

#draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy x y/n #draco x reader #draco x y/n #draco malfoy #dad!draco malfoy #dad!draco #dad!draco x reader #husband!draco malfoy #post hogwarts #harry potter fanfiction #draco malfoy fanfiction #draco malfoy angst #time turner #future draco malfoy x reader #husband!draco x wife!reader

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justrainandcoffee · 9 months ago

Text

Deal (Tommy Shelby vs. oc!Solomons) + (Alfie Solomons x fem!oc) Part 1

“You're a lamb entering the territory of a hungry wolf.”

Masterlist

Summary: Why is Thomas Shelby in front of Mrs. Solomons? Just business. Tommy just needs information. But first he needs to deal with Rose Solomons who, unlike her husband, has no sympathy for the man sitting in her office. And yet, they know how to make a deal. "A soul for a soul, Mr. Shelby."

Warnings: Mentions of dead, killing. Allusions to sex. Mentions of physical violence. Misogyny.

Words: 4.5k. || Special thanks to @look-at-the-soul who helped me today 🙃♥️.

1924.

Yesterday

"The bastard is a fookin' ghost!" yelled Arthur.

The Garrison was empty except for those members of the Peaky Blinders, allowed to be there. There was a person that they couldn't find. An Irishman called Nicholas Baker, possible member of the IRA. Last time they saw him, it was he when he shot a blinder and left him to die in the streets. He escaped before Arthur or anyone else could catch him.

Since then, the brothers and the rest of the gang were looking for him no succeed. Not just because he killed a man they know, but also because they were sure he was a spy.

"Maybe he's dead," suggested Isaiah.

"No. He's alive and living in London." This time, Tommy Shelby's voice could be heard all over the place. "And Elias is not the only person he killed. And his real name is Sean Patrick O'Finn."

Tommy dropped a newspaper in front of his brother and Arthur read it out loud.

"His own sister! He fookin' killed his sister!"

"And tried to killed his wife as well, according to the neighbours. She escaped." Tommy sat in his usual place as he lit up a cigarette and poured himself a glass of whiskey. He looked at Arthur and the rest of his men.

"We have nothing, then! He can be in middle of fookin' Russia by now." Arthur was frustrated as usual.

"I don't think so. I think he's still there in London, and as we know, police is useless. London is a big city and they don't care. People are killed every day" Tommy lit another cigarette "but I'm going to find him. And I'm going to put a bullet in his head, too."

"You don't know where to start, Tommy!" Arthur furrowed brow and look at his brother.

"Yes, I do know where to start. I need to talk to his wife."

"But do you know where this woman is, Tom?"

"Yes."

The Solomons residence in London was quiet. Rose was working and Alfie just arrived there over an hour ago. He was about to rest his back in bed when their maid announced that he had a call.

"It's Mr. Shelby," the woman said. She saw him do a grimace, but he said nothing to her.

"Thanks, Doris."

Alfie entered his office and closed the door behind before picking up the phone. Every time Tommy called it meant problems, usually for him. But this time what Tommy said, took him by surprise.

"Are ya mad?"

"I just need her this time, Alfie."

"She will kill ya, mate."

"No, she won't. Your wife isn't a killer."

"Maybe. But the women around her are. Honestly, Tom, they're a pack of fuckin' bloody wolves claiming for men flesh. You're a little lamb entering the territory of a hungry wolf. Rosie is the leader of that pack, if she gives the order next time I'll see ya it'll be in your own fuckin' funeral... If I find your body." On the other side of the line, Tommy opened a drawer and picked up some papers and started to take some notes. Sometimes Alfie exaggerated, especially if he was talking about his wife. As far as Tommy knew, Rose Solomons just worked helping women in need and in the streets fighting for equal rights. The few times he saw her in Alfie's place she didn't seem to be a menace to anyone.

"They're just women, eh?"

"My Rosie isn't just a woman, Tommy. She's me wife." Alfie sighed "Rosie will decorate the fuckin' Christmas tree they put on her workplace with your balls."

"I'll take a risk, then. Just wanted to inform you."

"Fine. But I'm not going to tell her yet. I prefer she knows it on her own… good luck then, Tom."

1924.

Today. London.

It's only 7am and the Solomons were making love for the second time in the morning. Rose didn't know what her husband was thinking, or feeling, that he had waking up so passionated but she wasn't complaining either.

"Alfie… I can't… god…" her back arched and her toes curled once last time until she fell on the mattress, completely satisfied. She could feel Alfie finish as well.

The man stayed on top of her few minutes more, catching his breath, before rolling on his back, laying next to her. Alfie opened his arms and invited her to be against his chest.

"Are you fine?" she asked kissing his neck.

"Feelin' like a God now, luv. Why do ya ask? You're talking like we never fuck like this before."

"I ask, because I know that sometimes you use sex to channel your frustrations and I just want to know you're fine."

"I'm perfect, Rosie. Gimme some time and we can repeat it."

She laughed. "No way you still have energy, Al. I can't, I've to work. Tonight, maybe."

In response, Alfie kissed her. That same night, probably she wants to kill him. He had talked to Tommy the day before and she didn't know. Alfie was just trying his best to calm her before the storm. Although spending time with her, it was always beautiful. The kiss continued until she pulled apart slowly. He caressed her cheek. Rose knew that Alfie definitely was hiding something from her, but she didn't know what. After one last brief kiss, she sat down in bed and then walked to the bathroom to take a shower.

Alfie stayed in bed, thinking about his friend going to his wife's place. In all those years, over a decade since it was founded, he visited her school just twice. Once when it was inaugurated, when they met each other again, and the other one after the war. They had an implicit deal: "You don't interfere with my business and I don't interfere with yours" even if they asked each other for some advice, suggestions or help. He was a bit worried about her, even when he knew that Tommy wasn't going to hurt her.

When Rose went out the bathroom, she found him sitting in bed, stretching his back, ready to have breakfast. She approached him and played gently with his hair.

"Thought you're going to join the shower."

Alfie put his hands on her hips and pushed her down on his knees. She was wrapped with a towel and when Alfie kissed her shoulder, he smelled the fresh soap on her skin.

"Ya didn't invited me."

"Since when you need invitation?" she chuckled and put her arms around him. Her hands were stroking the back of his neck. Rose was staring at him, "are you sure you're fine?"

"I am, Rosie."

"Okay," she didn't believe him, but she wasn't going to pressure him either. Instead, she kissed him and he reciprocate immediately. Her towel fell on the floor and she felt him ready to be with her once more.

Never two without three.

Arrow house

By the dawn of the next day, every Shelby knew where the leader was going. If they had any opinion about it, they didn't share it. A car was parked outside Arrow House with three men in it.

"I'm going now," announced Tommy. His black coat was over a chair and he took it. "Johnny Dogs and the Smiths are coming with me."

Arthur chuckled. "Johnny Dogs? And the Smith brothers? Ain't too much, Tom? Four men to visit just a bunch of pussies and tits? They're just chicks."

"Not according to Alfie."

"According to fookin' Alfie! The fookin' Alfie! Ya believe him?"

"Yes. Alfie will never allow me to be near his wife, if he didn't know now that she's safe. I know that. And if she's safe that means she's surrounded by an army."

"Are ya planning to kill them?"

"I don't kill women, Arthur. And I don't want problems with Alfie. It's just in case."

"So take me with ya!"

"Arthur, no offense but you don't know how to deal with a Solomons. Stay here and take care of the business, eh? I'll be back at night, probably or tomorrow."

"Tom! Tommy!" the eldest brother yelled but the other man already reached the door.

"Goodbye, Arthur. Tell Pol, that I left her a letter under the flowerpot."

Pebblebrock was Rose Solomons' former manor and prison hell at the same time. Now it was a beautiful school for girls and at the same time it served as a roof for some women who had run from their abusive homes.

As the owner, she was the one in charge even when she had several women in which she trusted working with her side by side. But the final decision on everything was always hers.

Alfie, and Tommy too, were right. The place and Rose, were surrounded by women specifically trained to kill. It wasn't uncommon for men to try to reach those who they already hurt. The rules were crystal clear MEN ARE NOT ALLOWED IN PEBBLEBROCK. The ones who didn't understand the warning were now resting eternally in a cemetery.

Men were only allowed if they were doctors or priests. The institution had nurses and two nuns who volunteered to help there. But sometimes a doctor was required, same with priests. Any other men should call for an appointment, only under that circumstances their entrance were allowed.

"Look at this fucking place."

From the road, Tommy, Johnny Dogs and the Smith brothers were watching the entire property. The gardens extended beyond their sight.

"Full of pussies, it's my fucking paradise. An all-you-can-eat-fucking restaurant" commented Gregory Smith. Except Tommy, the rest of them laughed.

Rose heard the crows. That was never a good signal.

"Now who?" she thought for herself. A lot of names crossed her mind, but none of them was the right answer.

Five minutes later a knock on her office's door brought the answer.

"Who?" she asked not believing her ears.

"Mr. Thomas Shelby, Mrs. Solomons" repeated the woman in front of her. "He says he needs you."

"The Thomas Shelby?"

But unaware of who he was the other woman didn't respond.

"Yeah, well. Tell him I'm coming."

"There are three other men with him, Mrs. Solomons."

Of course.

The day was beautiful. Cloudless sky and almost no wind. It'd be perfect if not for Tommy Shelby in her property.

"Didn't you read the sign?" she said greeting them "men are not allowed here."

"Good morning, Mrs. Solomons," said Tommy with deep voice.

"It is, Tommy. It is."

It always was intrigued him that a man like Alfie could be so devoted to a woman who barely reached his shoulders. His Rosie. Alfie Solomons could start a war against the king and the Pope if something happened to that woman.

Gregory Smith had another idea.

"We don't follow rules, sweetheart. We're the peaky fucking blinders."

"The Peaky who?" Rose looked at the man "Who the fuck are you?"

"The audacity of this bitch. It's a Solomons, eh?"

"Gregory…" warned Tommy.

"Yeah. I'm a Solomons. Proud of it. But I'm quite dumb, Gregory. So I need your help, I only know how to count to two. Like, one, two… what's next?"

"Three."

BANG.

A woman stading behind Rose was holding a gun.

The bullet impacted his head. The man was already dead when his body collapsed on the ground. Rose just looked her pocket watch and then clicked her tongue.

"Men are not allowed here," she repeated. "You understand the warnings now or you what to be the next?"

Tommy looked at the dead body. The blonde woman behind Rose was staring at him and Tommy knew that she wasn't joking. One more step and it couldn't be any difference between a Gruyère cheese and him.

Tommy sent Johnny Dogs and the remaining man again to the car. He also gave his gun to his friend.

"Ya sure, Tom?"

"Just go, Johnny."

When Tommy turned around again, he saw the woman extending her arm, she moved her hand "gimme the fucking cap."

Again, Tommy did what she said. She gestured him to follow her.

The interior of her office was elegantly decorated. An expensive rug on the floor matched the wallpaper and the mahogany desk. Lots of books were perfectly ordered on the bookshelves. Rose Solomons invited him to take seat on one of her velvety armchairs. Tommy followed her with his eyes. Now his cap was over the head of a marble bust representing Aphrodite, just behind her, looking at him. The woman sat behind her desk and put her hands under her chin.

"We have a beautiful garden here. A greenhouse full of exotic flowers and plants. Was your man married? I'd like to send the widow some flowers."

"He wasn't."

"Better, then."

Her brown eyes never leave his blue ones and same as Alfie, he felt she was trying to anticipate his movements. But Tommy didn't express any emotion.

"So? What the hell is doing Thomas Michael Shelby here? My husband isn't here."

"Not looking for Alfie."

"That's fucking new considering the mutual obsession you have with each other."

Tommy curved his lips, barely smiling. "I'm here purely for business, Mrs. Solomons."

"I'm not the kind of person you do business with."

"You are."

Both of them remained in silence for several seconds. Probably she was unaware of it, but Tommy noticed some mannerisms in her that he had witnessed in Alfie before. She was thinking while playing with her fingers. Impossible to say who copied who.

"What kind of business? Illegality has no place here," she finally said.

"I need to know where a certain man is."

Before she could say something Tommy saw the door opening and a beautiful woman in her mid-forties, entered Mrs. Solomons' office. She greeted him with a movement of her head and then started to talk to Rose in French but she stopped her almost immediately.

"This isn't going to work now, Geraldine. The man knows french," she said pointing to him "same as Alfie he fought in France during years. Tell Edith to come. She speaks Hebrew."

Geraldine nodded before leaving again.

"You do that often? Speaking other language in front of strangers?" Tommy settled in the armchair.

"Don't you do the same? I'm sure that speaking Romani is very useful if you want to express something to a friend or relative but you don't want the other to know what are you saying. Don't judge me, Mr. Shelby."

Edith, Tommy asummed it was her, was barely in her 20s, probably she was still a teen. Young and with a cheerful face, the girl approached Mrs. Solomons and both of them started to talk in Hebrew, a language he couldn't understand. For a moment, Rose looked at him sideways.

"Thanks, Edith" she said and the girl left without looking at Tommy. "One of your men tried to sneak in my school. Or they're fucking dumbs or they're really ready to visit God."

"Fucking hell…" Tommy rolled his eyes before breathing deeply. He was sure it wasn't Johnny Dogs but the other Smith. "Listen, Mrs. Solomons, I didn't give the order. I didn't know."

"I know, he acted by his own. Good news is he's alive. Bad news is my girls are taking care of him. It depends on you what I'm going to do with him. Alfie knew you were coming, didn't he?"

"I called him yesterday."

Rose sighed "Yes, of course he knew. Of course he fucking knew," his actions that morning now it made sense to her. Not because it wasn't unsual for them to have sex in the morning, but because there was something in his eyes that his mouth wasn't saying. And after all those years together, Rose knew him very well. "Anyway… what do you want do with your man, Mr. Shelby?"

"Can I smoke?"

"If you go next to the window and put your hand with the cigarette out, I don't have any problem. But I don't want smoke here."

She saw how he stood up and walked towards the window. That one in particular faced one of the gardens where the rosebushes were. In spring and summer, the sweet smell of roses invaded her office and it was something that she really liked.

When that morning Arthur asked him why he took three men with him just to visiting a school and women's residence, Tommy was exploring his chances. Better Gregory Smith than him. He trusted Johnny Dogs, he was a loyal, obedient man. But the Smiths…

"Kill him if you want," Tommy finally said "if my man can't follow my orders, then he should face the consequences. This is your place after all, Mrs. Solomons."

"Edith told me he was screaming that he wanted to avenge his brother."

"Yes. The one you kill it was his brother." Tommy glanced at her. A ghost of a smile was on his face.

"I never killed anyone, Mr. Shelby."

"You don't need to hold a gun and shoot to be a murderer. Most of the murderers just give the order behind their desks."

"Well, he'd be alive if he hadn't been an asshole. It's all about the rules, Mr. Shelby. The sign is there for a reason and if you ask me, you don't seem very concerned about your man's death."

"Rules, eh? Something tells me you're not very fond to follow them, either, Mrs. Solomons. How was the prison?" Tommy blew another puff of smoke out the window, but kept looking at her.

"Pretty cold. Full of cooties and rats. I named one in your honour, that's a tradition that we the Solomons have. Name a goat, name a rat… How's Arfah, by the way? Alfie misses him."

"Thanks for the honour, Mrs. Solomons. Arthur wanted to come. I told him he doesn't know how to deal with a Solomons."

"Oh," she grinned. "And you do?"

"I'm pretty confident about it. It worked in the past."

"I have no doubts about it. But I'm not my husband, Mr. Shelby. I don't fall for a pair of blue eyes and a chiseled face and most of all, I don't trust men."

Tommy threw the remaining of his cigarette in a basket that was there and walked again to the seat in front of her. He crossed his legs and rested his hands over his stomach.

"Do you want to fuck me, Mrs. Solomons?"

"Yes. Just bring me a bottle of cyanide to accompany the moment. And then I want to hug a black mamba. Your place or mine?"

Tommy chuckled. "Wherever you prefer, sweetheart."

Far away from being intimidated by the confidence he was exuding, Rose just scratched her chin.

"Alfie accepted? I mean, if this is the way you deal with a Solomons..."

"Never asked."

"Oh, you should have. The answer maybe could suprise you. But, let me tell you something, Tommy. Can I call you Tommy?" he nodded. Rose left her armchair and approached the man. He followed her with his eyes. Her face was now in front of his, their noses were touching. Both pair of eyes were staring at each other. Tommy felt her breath on his skin "I know who you are, Tommy. Reputation precedes you. I know how you do business with women. But here's the thing: I'm not them. And yes, I'm a Solomons, yes Alfie and I we have lot of similarities. But I'm not Alfie. I'm not interesting in you as a man and if your cock is the only thing you have to offer me, you're wasting your time here… sweetheart." Rose inhaled deeply "God! I never killed anyone, but I swear the devil keep tempting me. How about having your head as a trophy hunting hanging on this office? But…" Rose moved her head back again "as I said, I'm not a murderer."

"Alfie is a lucky man, Mrs. Solomons," Tommy said once she returned to her seat behind the desk.

"Is he?" She tilted her head.

"Believe me." Tommy straighted on his armchair "and I'm sure If something happens to him, I'm sure you're going to heard the devil that keeps telling you to kill someone."

"Be sure of that. If anything happens to my Alfie, the only one who can stop me is Alfie himself. I hope nothing happens to him, EVER. You know about it, don't you?. Your late wife, we knew what happened. I can't imagine the pain."

"No, you can't imagine. But I'm getting over it." Tommy cleared his throat "Mrs. Solomons, I need information."

"In exchange of…"

"Mutual respect."

Rose snorted. "Yes, sure. Alfie could be delighted when I tell him. Information means business, Mr. Shelby. And whiskey is for business, innit?"

She opened a cabinet in her desk and put a bottle of whiskey with the Solomons logo on it. Behind her, were two glasses that she grabbed. A rose was engraved on them.

"I didn't know you drink," he said.

"Only in very few occasions. I prefer just tea for the rest of the day. So? You tell me."

Tommy drank a sip of whiskey before talking again. In his mind the image of Elias dead on the streets of Small Heath appeared again. Contrary to Gregory Smith, Elias was a good man. Her widow was pregnant and a payroll wasn't enough for the woman to compensate her for her husband's death. Yet, it was the only thing that Tommy could do.

"I'm looking for Mrs. Baker."

"There are several, Tommy. It's a very common name. Any details?

"It's an Irishwoman. I don't know her appearance but her husband killed her sister-in-law. It means his own sister."

"Sonia," mumbled her, "but the last name isn't Baker. It's O'Finn. Although she said that prefers her own surname. I'm going to keep that information to me until you tell me what the hell is going on."

From the murdered committed in Birmingham to the one in London's underground. Tommy told her about his suspicions that O'Finn was a member of the IRA and how he, Tommy, was now a target of them. Again.

"If that's true," she replied "then no matter what, your head already had a price and it's not going to be me the one hanging it on my office, but them. Nowadays it's very easy to send a message to the other side of the map. A telegram or a phone call… I don't understand why do you want to talk to this woman if he already communicated with his people."

"Because I don't think he did that. He's hiding. He's a fucking rat."

"Ok. Well, there's a lot of problems first. Mrs. O'Finn, she's not in conditions to talk. Even if she can, you're not allowed to be near her and this is not negotiable. These women are under my wing. Not you, not fucking Churchill can be near them. I don't give a fuck if you bring an order from the fucking president of I-don't-know-where. Understood? I have women specialized in talk to women with the kind of trauma that Sonia has, so, think about twice before suggesting another way to do this."

"The less people know about it, the better, Rose."

She pointed to the door, silently. Tommy sighed. "Fine. But I prefer that you can be present. And me too. Or at least I want to hear everything by myself."

"Agree. We have a place we can use. I need to tell you, or better say, reminder you that Sonia is highly traumatized. Yes, she's alive but the price she paid…" Rose stood up again but this time she walked to one of her bookshelves and picked up a carpet, although to do it she had to climb a ladder. "Tommy, I don't have this rule of "men aren't allowed" just because I'm fucking misandristic bitch, I'm not. I believe in equal rights. I fight for equality. I have that sign because people here, women, kids… are afraid of your kind. I have a register for every single woman that lived here since 1911 when I inaugurated this place. Open the folder."

Tommy obeyed and his first reaction was exactly what Rose hoped to get "Shit…"

The first page was the document of a woman who lived there in 1914 before volunteering as nurse in France, Rose never saw her again. Her name was Rita Brown, 20 years old. She escaped from her house because her father was an abuser. He ended up cutting her face marking a cross on her.

"I don't allow men, because we don't know what kind of bastard will cross that gate. Your man, that Gregory, he's not the first. Dozens before him, I'm genuinely surprised that if you talked to Alfie yesterday he didn't mention my women."

"He did."

"So you knew."

Tommy nodded and Rose studying his face laughed . Suddenly she understood. "You bring this bastard on purpose! You fucking did! You wanted him dead. Fucking hell, Tommy. I heard things a lot of things about you and I'm still impressed. The brother, too? You wanted me to rid off the other guy, too?"

"Why not?"

"Fine. I don't give a shit. One less." She returned to her seat and rang a bell. The same young girl called Edith appeared. Both of them talked in Hebrew again and Edith went out again once they finished. "We have an agreement, it seems. Now my payment."

Tommy opened his coat and placed two payrolls on her desk.

"I appreciate the effort," she said no looking at the money. "But I'm not interested it in cash, although if you don't want it. I can use it to buy something for the school like a new piano for the girls and some violins. A donation."

"I don't want it," he confirmed "then what's your price, Mrs. Solomons?"

"A soul for a soul, Mr. Shelby. I want a man dead."

"Who?"

"Churchill's right hand man."

Next part.

...so? 👀

#alfie solomons #tommy shelby #alfie solomons x oc #alfie solomons x ofc #peaky blinders #tom hardy #peaky blinders x oc #alfie x rose #Thomas Shelby #cillian Murphy

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crazy-ache · 6 months ago

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Dear Lucien, Dear Elain: An Epistolary Fic (Chapter 9 Update)

Title: Dear Lucien, Dear Elain: An Epistolary Fic (Chapter IX) Rating: M Summary:

“Perhaps you can speak them to me, if you so wish. I apologize if that is too forward, but I yearn to know you beyond simple pleasantries.

Yours truly,

Lucien

P.S. My lady, your secrets are always safe with me.”

Epistolary (adj., of a literary work) in the form of letters. After the winter solstice in ACOSF, Elain and Lucien exchange letters as a means to get to know each other away from prying eyes. This fic is a collection of those letters.

Author’s Note: CHAPTER UPDATE for our collab (me + @zenkindoflove)! It's time for the update many of you have been waiting for....Elain's response to what happened on Starfall.

READ HERE ON AO3

PREVIOUSLY ON DLDE...

I waited for you in our agreed-upon spot on the balcony yet you never came. After waiting several hours, I began to wonder if I had fabricated these past few months in my mind, if the letters we had exchanged were allusions created by the desperate hope that grips my soul from the mating bond. That your tender promises had been just a dream.

Tag List: @shardminds , @works-of-heart , @the-darkestminds , @emmers-bens123 , @lmadness , @sweetnslyth , @rarephloxes , @lectoradefics , @goldenmagnolias , @addicted-to-nothing , @popjunkie42 , @bakananya , @scrawlandspirits , @animezinglife , @fuckyeselucien , @lucienarcheron , @mr-agent-mulder , @teddyhoneybear , @goghwilde , @starsreminisce , @bibliophiliaxvignette , @dreamingthroughthenoise , @olenvasynyt , @acourtofthought , @lplusl , @shadybirdwombat , @wormees , @yaralulu , @my-inner-crisis , @julesofvolterra

#elucien #elain x lucien #elucien fic #elain and lucien #elucien fanfic #elucien letters #pro elucien #elucien supremacy #sexy pen pal vibes #regency vibes #epistolary fanfic #elucien moodboard #collab fic #elain archeron #lucien vanserra #crazykindoflove fic #ok the update you all have been asking for is here

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ao3feed-thehobbit · 2 years ago

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Lay Me Gently

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/Rx14q8S

by Conkers

It would be a long time before Thorin could admit that there had been an immediate connection between himself and the Hobbit.

Their eyes had met in the entryway of the odd house, and there had been a strange little spark. Blue eyes met grey, and even though it would take less time for Thorin to admit that connection was at least a mutual attraction, it was still a half breath of time that he would remember until the end of his days.

***

Some little extra or "missing" scenes from the films that I've been ruminating on for a few years and finally have taken the time to write out.

Words: 4237, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English

Fandoms: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: M/M

Characters: Bilbo Baggins, Thorin Oakenshield, Gandalf | Mithrandir, Balin (Tolkien), Dwalin (Tolkien), Bofur (Tolkien), Bombur (Tolkien), Bifur (Tolkien), Ori (Tolkien), Nori (Tolkien), Dori (Tolkien), Fíli (Tolkien), Kíli (Tolkien)

Relationships: Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield, Bilbo Baggins & Thorin Oakenshield

Additional Tags: Pining, Introspection, Romance, Slow Burn, vague allusions to soul mates, might be some minor pairings within the company a bit later, But only in passing, Thilbo, no beta we die like Boromir, Missing Scenes, in-between-scenes, character study... sort of, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, bagginshield, Romantic Fluff

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/Rx14q8S

#IFTTT #ao3feed #fanfic #the hobbit

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ao3feed-tolkien · 2 years ago

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Lay Me Gently

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/dGvr51u

by Conkers

It would be a long time before Thorin could admit that there had been an immediate connection between himself and the Hobbit.

***

Some little extra or "missing" scenes from the films that I've been ruminating on for a few years and finally have taken the time to write out.

Words: 4237, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English

Fandoms: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: M/M

Relationships: Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield, Bilbo Baggins & Thorin Oakenshield

Additional Tags: Pining, Introspection, Romance, Slow Burn, vague allusions to soul mates, might be some minor pairings within the company a bit later, But only in passing, BagginSheild - Freeform, Thilbo, no beta we die like Boromir, Missing Scenes, in-between-scenes, character study... sort of, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/dGvr51u

#IFTTT #ao3feed #fanfic #Tolkien #JRR Tolkien #Tolkien works #ao3 #fan fiction

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thelonelyme · 2 years ago

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♡ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ᴅᴏʀᴍ ʟᴇᴀᴅᴇʀs x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ [ʜᴇᴀᴅᴄᴀɴᴏɴs/sᴄᴇɴᴀʀɪᴏ] 2♡

𝐆𝐚𝐦𝐞: ディズニーツイステッドワンダーランド[Twisted Wonderland]

𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐠𝐠𝐢𝐨/𝐢: Kalim Al-Asim, Vil Schoenheit, Idia Shroud, Malleus Draconia.

𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭: The yanderes finds out mc is now a fallen angel due to them.

𝐑𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭: Hello honey, this is my first time asking you but please listen to me.. What do you think the reaction of the yandere house leader's reaction to their lover who is an angel has now fallen and become a demon's. especially the reason why they become a fallen angel is because they want to continue to be with the leaders of the dormitory even though their God forbids them, and to the point of plucking out their wings. Pretty pleaseee 🥺🥺

𝐀𝐕𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐙𝐄: GN READER. That's the second part of this post, so if you want to read about the whole dorm crew, make sure that you've read that. There will be explicit scenes of poisoning, blasphemy, allusions to rape, implied murder, delusional behavior, mention of not-voluntary imprisonment, allusions to NS/FW themes, kidnapping, explicit stalking, cyberstalking, mention of blackmail, mention of torture, mention of imprisonment. Sorry everyone for the prolonged time of inactivity, I did not feel good, and moreover I had for a period lost the motivation to do anything, so sorry again. I’ll try to bring my life back to order, so update more often. I hope you like it, honey💗. I don’t have the responsibility of who reads such my works, however good reading <;3.

-𝐊𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐦 𝐀𝐥-𝐀𝐬𝐢𝐦-

For such a solar and enthusiastic magician as Kalim, your arrival at Night Raven College could not have been described in other words other than a literal blessing from God. The young student and dormitory chief of Scarabia had always been considered the exception to the college rule: in contrast to violent and petty behavior like those of Savanaclaw, or like those shy and manipulative as apparently almost all the students of Ignihyde, possessed a natural kindness and genuine concern for others; something that many times had made him get into some trouble.

He seemed like the perfect candidate for the famous college in the south of the island, with a young and fresh look like his and with a behavior worthy of the best prince straight out of a fairy tale, Many students in his dorm couldn’t and still haven’t been able to understand, how he ended up in a place famous for cruelty and for the rigor in training his students in the best possible way.

But Kalim could not have cared less, after all education is education, no matter whether in one apparently better school or another, and not understanding the reason for such a tense rivalry between the two schools.

So, during the upcoming Christmas holidays, he never expected to find himself in front of a literal angel. The first time he saw you, he would immediately be enchanted by your figure accompanied by two boys in the hallway. At that moment, he could literally drop all the books he had in his hand that Jamil was asking for and immediately run in your direction, as if he were a magnet and you were the magnet of his heart.

As in the fairy tales that by now Jamil had been forced to mark in his memory how many times he had to repeat them to the silver-haired and scarlet-eyed magician, that feeling of complete stiffness and a warm feeling in the heart that made him warm up in ways that no one had ever managed to do, the acceleration of his beat in a few seconds from your sight and a priminente redness on his cheeks- he was certain that he’d just seen his one true soul mate.

He had waited years and years to find the person who would be by his side all his life, and you finally showed yourself to him! Just as his parents had always told him, as he had always dreamed from an early age! You can’t blame her excitement and all her heat the moment you felt a pair of calloused hands on your shoulders.

"I’m touching them! And I can feel how soft their skin is even from over this uniform! I swear, I’m going to die of joy!"

He hoped that his heart would not keep beating so hard all the time, otherwise you would surely be frightened, and he did not want to cause you any kind of pain.

He was sure, and the brilliant and kind smile you gave him was only helpful in confirming it: You were certainly his soul mate.

From that day on, things would change dramatically: now all his attentions and his whole routine revolved around you, with his one and only Habibi ¹.

He could not help it, by now your presence was simply essential for him to function normally; basically for him you were like oxygen for a drowned, fresh water for a thirsty in the desert, abundant food to a hungry, you were a drug. Just being yourself with him had somehow made him feel like the only person with whom, according to him, you would share all those hugs and words of encouragement late at night on the large balcony of the castle in Scarabia.

Your magnificent and splendid body would only be the icing on the cake, for him you would have been perfect in any way you could have been. What brought him even closer to you had been your magnificent personality, so kind and comforting, so good and perfect from any kind of external or internal point of view.

He could not live without him with you, he had developed an addiction to your sweet caresses and your words so reassuring that they never failed to make him burst into tears for the ardent and genuine love that simple words positioned in the right way contained.

He could not help but imagine you together with your future children, biological or adopted, playing with them while gently stroking your head and watching with dreamy eyes your beautiful features. You would have both worn dresses worthy of a fabulous and fantasic person like yourself, traditional clothes of the Land of Hot Sands, dancing together dances in the center of the huge ballroom of the family villa during your future wedding. He already had in mind the perfect wedding for both you and him, even though he couldn’t bear less than what the main colors or how the flowers should have been arranged until he was with you. But he would do it with immense pleasure and joy knowing that everything would be for you and only for you.

He had already written tons of letters over the past months to his parents where he described your love for each other in the most disparate and romantic ways, even to the point of convincing and constantly writing them that soon you two would really get married, which the two were extremely happy about, and get them to send as many letters to convince Kalim to bring them home during the summer holidays.

For the next few months, Kalim was literally clinging to you, or continuing to praise you incessantly during every single moment of the day where unfortunately he could not be with you, and forcing the strict and diligent Vice Dorm Leader Jamil to endure hours and hours at night of awkward words and thoughts from the red-eyed boy, and ordering the latter to reassure him on his growing concerns. His need for you had become morbid, leading him to increasingly monopolize your blessed time along with him and Jamil, who obviously would have taken advantage of it in the best possible ways.

"Jamil, tell me they’ll never leave me."

"Jamil, they always say they’re happy to have lunch with me, but then why do they have lunch with others?"

"Jamil, do you think I should send them more presents? Maybe this way they’ll realize I’ll never get tired of them."

"Jamil, which chains do you think are better, the silver ones or the gold ones? I sincerely prefer the gold ones, but please choose! You always do a great job at these things, and as you know, I’m not very good at making decisions, hehe."

Unlike the imaginary world that Kalim had built in his mind, his ebony-haired servant would instead have seen beyond those walls with which the blood-red-eyed boy had long since begun to dodge all kinds of normal reasoning. He had seen all that time your face slightly frightened and surprised by the huge amount of gifts that Kalim had daily sent from home just for you, he didn’t lose how your presence had become a fixed point in his day. About how now he should not only look after the needs of the white-haired boy, but now also your own under the orders of his master.

"Remember Jamil, every wish of my Habibi must be fulfilled immediately, okay?"

And of course he always did, noting in the meantime how your simple word could change any previous opinion of Kalim.

"I think that’s a kind of fruit a little bitter, I didn’t remember it so-What? You don’t like it so much? True, not even me, actually."

Surely he would have noticed this, causing him to cling more and more to you, telling him that he had to spend all his time with you and instead leaving the duties of dorm head to him, something the silver-haired boy was extremely willing to do: all for her beloved and adored Habibi.

The ebony-haired servant would remain silent, as he had always done since his childhood, continuing to pull the strings of this little theatre so that he would finally have a real place in society; he did not care at all about your ever-increasing looks at him, or how he would always try to get the sticky kid to go away, but this would just reset everything he had done and built in the last few months in the dorm, reborn under a new regulation and under a new rigor rediscovered.

If he stopped you meeting with Kalim, everything would be erased, so you could definitely suffer a little longer before you left.

But Kalim wasn’t a complete fool, and he knew it.

He knew and saw the way he was subtly threatening you by threatening to spread disgusting rumors about you, about you not being such a pure, chaste angel, about all sorts of things that would bring you down at the slightest exit without him. He knew what power was, and he wasn’t below using it to hold you to him, not after what happened with Jamil before.

If you had refused or even hinted at a possible breakup of your relationship, the first reaction it could have had is to immediately throw yourself at your feet, tightly grabbing the fabric of your school uniform and crying, begging in sobs and wondering if it was his mistake, he swears he’ll make it up to you!

And if I kept trying to avoid him gently, since you’re such a nice person that you didn’t immediately kick him out of your life, it would have to come down to the ways he absolutely didn’t like to use. Usually his conflicts were not even resolved by himself, but this was neither a conflict nor a problem- don’t misunderstand, he still thinks that there were problems in the relationship because of your ever-increasing thoughts of wanting to leave, but he thinks there are problems for a completely wrong reason, which he swears on his own life and on those of his whole family never to repeat again.

He would never want to get to do this- after all he wants the person he will marry in the future to have a good reputation and be loved by everyone- so this move will be used as a last resort in case of failure of any previous attempt to make you stay with him.

He knew that Jamil was not one of the most sociable and transparent people you could ever meet, but he knew that he would never do something as petty as hypnotizing him again- and he was sure! He could remember every single moment of his days, unllike of when he had whole lapses of memory scattered throughout the days. And then he was helping him with his relationship, so he was certain that he could trust his and your life in his skilled hands.

And it hasn’t been that long since you last saw the bright sunlight, at least not in person.

He knew that every beautiful dove must fly, so he compensated for the time you normally spent in the luxurious rooms of his castle in the Land of Warm Sands riding with you on his magic carpet. But not before you have sealed your wings with a beautiful padlock and gold chains: after all, white and gold were such beautiful colors together. After all, as kindness had put Kalim in some trouble, and in a world like the human one, yours has put you in far worse trouble than you could have ever imagined.

You were enchanted by the mesmerizing eyes of the beautiful snake that, slowly and patiently, while you remained staring at the blinding vermilion, wrapped like a powerful and heavy gold chain tightly to your body. Making you immobilized by your own mistake, and remaining forever enchanted by the red gems that the young man possessed, those same irises that had been your end.

-𝐕𝐢𝐥 𝐒𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐞𝐧𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐭-

Vil Schoenheit, head of the dormitory of the ancient Pomefiore, a very famous actor with an unnatural beauty and rigor, would never have thought he could fall so low for a simple person. The blond-haired perfectionist so focused and so devoted to achieving the perfection of himself and everyone in whom he could see potential, could not help but describe you as the exact opposite of what he would have considered his perfect soulmate: although you too could also have had a strong potential like that first year Epel, but, from what he’s always seen, you haven’t even tried to achieve the best version of yourself.

Like the scarlet-haired dorm boss or the smart silver-haired octomerman, he wouldn’t even have time to even know what you look like.

At least, before he heard about you.

With his increasingly emerging figure in entertainment and fashion, with his excellent school career to keep such, his relentless search for beauty and the burning desire for revenge on that useless being who had always stolen all the spotlight, he had a very narrow daily schedule. And the fact that he had to manage a dormitory full of people who still had to see that beauty and charisma were an immense and unique source of power, did not help at all the coverage of his imminent dark circles.

At first, and as I said before, he wouldn’t even want to know who you were. But the quick tongues of all these dirty hicks he had to endure in school, would let slip away in the luxurious dormitory room that in his school there was a particular little student who had the reputation of being the most beautiful in the entire realm of Twisted Wonderland.

Even more than Neige.

It wasn’t enough just that stupid idiot with a rosy face to put a spoke in the wheel, now there was also a third person against whom he had to win?!

He couldn't believe it.

He did not want to believe that a simple person like you could be considered by all even more beautiful than him and that idiot without even making an effort, while he had to work hard to get to the point where he was now.

He was jealous, he just wanted to be the one adored by everyone for once: not Neige, not you, just him.

He knew what it felt like to be one of the most beautiful of all, but he didn’t want to stop there. No, he wanted to be the one and only to hold the power of eternal beauty, he wanted to ruin your smiley faces to death so that you two couldn’t even get outside without you being labeled as deformed monsters, he wanted to destroy your lives, he wanted to eliminate you two.

But Vil was not such a reckless and incautious man, he already had a plan in mind, and now he just needed to add a few more details thanks to your arrival. He would have called his trusty hunter, and he, being a good subject as he was, had immediately satisfied the bizarre requests of the poisonus man.

A little setback, this was you in his eyes. Like everyone he had to compete with to get to the top, he just had to make sure that you didn’t get a chance to be better than him.

But your presence irritated him so much, he hated so much how your eyes didn’t even have a hint of make-up but that they still turned out to be absolutely delicious for the blond-haired man as he continually struggled against the increasingly strong feelings of desirability he was developing towards you, he hated how he would always have to pay attention to his strict diet to stay online while you would try every cake that Trey would cook for any unnecessary parties in his dorm.

He hated how he could not stop watching you as you posed as the hardworking and always available person you were, thus bringing to your side a herd of rednecks and useless potatoes that were shamelessly hovering over you, using flimsy and shabby excuses just to get a speck of your attention, and leaving a bitter taste in his mouth as he turned abruptly and forced himself not to curse everyone with his Unique Magic.

And while the handsome man was slowly falling into the abyss of madness, his trusty Rook would notice every single look of Vil directed at you, a look of such primitive hunger and such magnificent and pure hatred, a poison so limpid and deadly that it made to praise even more this new love of his.

But unfortunately such a scruffy and tacky frown did nothing but ruin the beautiful features of the poisonous beauty, the expressions of anger that did not belong to him did nothing but position themselves on his immaculate face as soon as he saw the dirty hands of a student of Savanaclaw on your shoulders as he hugged you, while that disgusting being was clearly looking for more from you.

"Oh, that student, la beauté de cette école, quelqu'un qui possède une beauté d'un autre monde ² , but not so much to compete with our wonderful head of the dormitory in appearance" And throwing a mocking and nonchalant grin at the other man. That made the handsome man frown even more for the casual tone of the hunter in talking about you so freely.

"Yeah, whatever but when- Umh, I apologize Schoenheit-senpai, but when can I train for Magishift tryo-?"

"Rook, I need your services one more time."

"Oui."

"And Epel, keep practicing your etiquette, your manners and the way you speak are barbaric. Don't forget what I've told you."

And suddenly, all those nights spent studying for the various tests that until then had not weighed on your physical health, had done nothing but drain you of all your energy, making you feel completely grounded. You wouldn't be able to understand why these sudden changes, until that moment your routine had never given you any kind of problems, but Ace would have just swept it all away by saying that most likely it was you who were just stressed out and that finally all that workload was hitting you all at once.

And you, being such a responsible student, despite all the warnings of Jack and Epel to rest, would have continued to help Riddle with all the preparations of the VDC instead. You couldn’t help helping all those people who didn’t ask, but clearly needed help. Something that the man with lilac irises had noticed from the beginning.

And how can he not exploit to his advantage a situation so useful to his cause?

And working with the Heartslabyul's leader, he would subtly observe you several times under the guise of having to control the stage setup process for NRC’s biggest event himself.

Normally he would have hated all those people who would only take advantage of the opportunities on the fly, and in fact he still did, but he could not call this "opportunism", but a small incentive to help himself in his life. And by the way, it wasn’t like he’d never worked hard for the duration of his stressful life until- like everyone else except him had- so he was sure that instead of hurting you, he was just helping himself.

Clearly the effects of the presumed fatigue were making themselves felt and seen: the skin once so bright and seemingly shiny would instead become sicker and battered, your face harbored light dark circles and your body began to feel much weaker and exposed to any kind of bump; you felt sick, as if you had ingested something that made you feel extremely bad, as if someone was sucking your energy away. And these symptoms would go on for so long that not even your friends would let you walk alone for fear that you might stumble and hurt yourself. And the effects would, at some point, even cause the first of a series of fainting in front of the blond himself.

He almost felt sorry for seeing you so weak and hurt, but he couldn’t help but feel a sadistic pleasure in your pitiful sight. A student so perfect in all respects, so good, kind and charitable, so good to his classmates and so understanding, reduced to nothing but a weak body kept alive for an unknown reason. He chose you to be the guinea pig for his famous poisons.

After all, there was a reason his trusty hunter always called him by that nickname.

"My beloved Roi du Poison, you truly are the most beautiful and poisonous man that the entire Twisted Wonderland has ever seen!"

He liked that nickname in a way, as he also loved his talent and knowledge in potionology. He had tried to recreate to the letter the infamous "poison kiss", created and perfected no less than the so esteemed Evil Queen. But alas, some ingredients could not be collected and obtained at the time of need, so he had to improvise by mixing several ingredients, making it all turn out to be a deadly potion.

Or at least he thought.

It was rather peculiar that a poison created to kill had not yet borne fruit, causing him to rage silently as it rechecked every single process of the potion that had kindly handed you nothing less than your beloved best friend. Of course, at the beginning even the first year was strange and annoyed by the strange request to give you a basket full of red apples,

"Why do I even need to do this- that's so useless. Why me and not Hunt, he would've loved to do this for him. By the way, the ones of my family would be definitely better, the colour is too much bright, surely they're all too much soft and ew..", he thought many times during the day, but he had not asked questions to the handsome man.

Vil couldn’t help but start ordering Hunt to write down every kind of reaction you were going through, every kind of change, even if it was insignificant. But more importantly, to tell him everything that was slightly out of the ordinary that you did or said. It wasn't possible to resist that much to a deadly potion.

He couldn’t understand the way that even though you didn’t know that he was the cause of your ever-worsening ailments, you would continue to understand when to leave him alone and help him with his problems, try to understand his thoughts and continuing insistently to approach him, both emotionally and physically. He did not understand you.

How could you ever approach and help your executioner? He did not understand.

And, as always, Rook never failed to satisfy him, bringing him what he had asked for and more.

And then he finally had an answer that appealed to all of his questions that had been running through his mind until that moment. No one, not even that idiot in the other school, could have such sweet and supportive behavior as yours, despite the fact that you were literally falling apart because of the envy of another.

No one would have survived for so long a poison that would have assured death. You can't simply die. What kind of angel would ever get killed by a simple human? Lose your body for what?

"Apparently I do, Vil."

An even tougher challenge than training Epel? After all, he couldn’t call himself a dorm-leader if he couldn’t even get you turned into clay in his soft, soft hands, he wouldn’t have been him if he hadn’t finally helped you see that he was the key to your salvation.

Only he had the solution, only he could really help you in all that discomfort that you had. All alone, betrayed from what you thought your best friend. Left behind by all those who you thought were friends. Betrayed by your own god. You were only deceiving yourself.

After all, you should have known that man was made in their image.

He would continue to be convinced that he was only attracted to your potential beauty, even though he knew it was just a pathetic excuse to avoid hurting his ego by forcing you into his luxurious, comfortable bed, observing that day by day the potion had not had the desired effects, but that it was still powerful enough not to allow your body to regenerate normally, and consequently letting him do whatever he wants with your fragile and now mortal body. He could finally keep you in a crystal coffin where only he could see you, in a place that only he had permission to access, a place dedicated entirely to your wonderful being, a being that divided his reason from his instincts.

Thus leading him to force you to live a different kind of hell, one where Vil was constantly torn between loving you obsessively until his death, spoiling you with every kind of luxury and every kind of wealth you could ever desire, treat you as a true queen, not as a mere ordinary angel as you had been treated up to that moment, while the other side of you was divided by hatred of the one who had made him wither like a dead rose, making him constantly and incessantly think about your beautiful face once so soft and so shiny, and letting him finally realize what he really wanted from you.

You got too taken in by the juicy red color of the apple in the hand of the beautiful evil, and this time, laying down, you would finally have a bite of the queen’s venomous grip.

-𝐈𝐝𝐢𝐚 𝐒𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐝-

It is not a novelty that the blue-haired boy was an extremely shy and elusive person with self-isolative tendencies, who spent all his average days in a messy and gloomy room, and he never would have come out willingly if his little brother didn’t pull so much weight on this subject.

Idia Shroud, the descendant of the great God of the Underworld, a figure to follow and an inspiration to some, and terror and disgrace to others, had never aspired to a career as brilliant as his fellow dormitory chief, he simply did not feel the morbid need to be noticed and to receive so much attention from people, and even less, he did not feel the need to get even just in touch with a person outside his virtual bubble.

He absolutely did not see the advantages of having physical or "normal" relationships, and if there were, he was quite sure that the advantages were much less than the disadvantages he would suffer. By now he had resigned himself to being what he was and what each time he saw faintly on the screens: a useless rejection of society.

Someone who did not even have the courage to speak, even just to see, a real person in flesh and bones- someone who was just one face among a thousand in many forums he assiduously attended- almost maniacally- someone who could never carry on the surname of the noble Shroud family, hoping that the responsibility instead would go on to his younger brother that was definitely better suited to the task than someone who could not even leave his room without feeling weak and without energy.

"I already told you for the millionth time Ortho, I don’t want to go out at all, not even Hades himself could change my mind."

And when the news of the student without magic who had become prefect on the same day of their admission first arrived at Ignihyde’s dormitory, the handsome blue-haired male could not have cared less. He didn’t have a shred of curiosity about you, leading him to ignore his younger brother’s futile attempts to socialize with someone other than him. He was starting to worry about his older brother’s tendencies, and those concerns would come close to the limit of tolerable when he mistakenly read for once what he shared on those forums he was obsessed with.

And he knew that Idia meant every word he wrote, every word imbued with hatred of the world that was not good enough to accept him and to allow someone like him not to be targeted for his own interests.

Even if he had never been bullied, even if no one would have dared to touch a hair of him for fear that he might in return burn his finger with his flames. Ortho had been with Idia centuries and centuries before, and even there, his big brother had always had a tendency to hate being together with others, always isolating himself in his room in the family castle. But he thought he couldn’t abdicate beyond that. He knew that his brother had always suffered from extreme social anxiety, probably the cause of his problems, along with other disorders that interfered in establishing normal healthy relationships with real people.

Idia, on the other hand, saw no problem in his current life. He lived alone, in a room he didn’t need to leave, eating whatever food he wanted and being able to stay online for as long as he wanted. Maybe this was the only thing in his mind that he had control over, or maybe he had become so addicted to it that just walking out of the room would blind him for a moment.

But the fact is that he would never deign to see you, he did not need to see the annoying faces of his classmates, let alone the popular ones.

He would never meet them again, so it was useless for him to even try to make friends with someone who will inevitably forget you.

He thought it was pathetic.

He had no time for normal people, but instead he had too much time to spend on forums and games, always changing his interests and topics. And it would be right in those places that he would almost certainly meet you, named under a nice nickname that would spur him to talk to you. The male’s room was messy, smelly and completely in the dark except for the dim light of the blue screens, where Idia spent his time playing different games, talking occasionally and bitterly commenting on the stupid and senseless moves of his teammates. But he could not even finish the round before finding himself quickly reading the public chat, and then stopping to read the whole message.

The_Pref.ectme: "Hi, sorry if I’m sudden, but I don’t know this game well, and I need help. Sorry to disturb."

Obviously, a newbie like you wasn’t educated at all and didn’t even have a thousandth of his experience in that game, so he would have decided to mentor you for an evening, by writing quickly in the chat that he would call you on another platform and that there he would explain everything to you.

And when he first heard your voice, he could feel himself floating in the Olympus.

Your voice sounded so harmonious and so calm to his ears, so beautiful and so pure, as if a nymph was whispering softly in his ears, lulling him into a state of apparent trance, it almost melted his brain as calming as it could be.

He had never felt this way throughout his long life of isolation and loneliness, leading him to pant heavily at the first sign of another person even minimally attractive.

A sticky layer of sweat was all over his face, and the prominent redness on his face as you spoke and expressed your thoughts to him about how you found the game difficult, would have made him immediately change the microphone and abruptly interrupt the call and exhale a trembling sigh, almost trembling for the experience he had just had and making him take long and deep breaths to avoid melting the plastic of his chair with the warm flames of his hair.

In the meantime, and while the blue-haired man was biting his hand trying to suppress all kinds of noise and not alarm his younger brother, you would've continued to speak and speak, never imagining that he would've ended the call so abruptly.

A continuous and sudden knock on the dorm door would wake you from your worries about the the game, and welcoming kindly and as always a significantly tired Ace who had been kicked out by Riddle again for breaking another rule. And since Grim was soundly asleep in the main room, you would tell your bizarre adventure with this guy online.

"I don’t know, maybe he was a 50-year-old creep who just wanted to see you naked."

"I don’t think so, at first I could also hear a glimpse of his voice, and he looked like a boy!"

"Wait wait wait- a glimpse? Of his voice? Man, that's creepy as hell! And you.. spoke non stop?"

"Uh yes. But I don't think he's-"

"Nah, hell nah, If you ask me, I'd be creeped out. And didn't you think that he was... Being a pervert? Or something weirder? Maybe recording you! Oh seven, don't tell me it was a video call-"

"Ace, come on, be faithful."

"You have to be more careful on the Internet! I could never allow anything to happen to you, let alone Deuce."

"Don’t worry about me, Ace."

"And don’t so that again, okay?"

And for you it would have ended there, eventually deciding to sleep on it under the advice of one of your best friends.

But the same was not for Idia. At all. He’d spent the whole night imagining your mouth opening and closing only to produce those little words about useless things, the movements of your tongue so sensually moving to the palate, the vocal cords moving in the throat- and oh, that throat...

He kept thinking back to that exact moment when your words had entered his head for the first time, unable to do anything but begin to fantasize about how you might actually appear in real life and not covered and disguised by a beautiful avatar.

He wondered if you were tall or short, if you had short or long hair, what color it could be, and how you could be. He knew you’d never want someone so stupid like other idiotic people around you, but then again, he was just a dirty virgin who hadn’t showered in over two weeks doing nothing but sit in his room full of paper towels and energy drinks. He was a disgusting incel ³ that couldn’t even hope to have a beautiful person, like he knew you were, by his side.

This new fixation would have led him to look for every single clue to understand what your identity was, initially looking for any useful information about your game profile that you both were playing before, and then starting the actual process to see who you really were.

After all, what kind of student at Ignihyde would not know how to hack an account, especially one of such a naive person about the dangers of the internet? All those years spent studying programming would come in handy, which he had no doubt about.

He knew that in the end everything he had studied on his own would always come in handy: whether to ask someone for private information, or ruin another’s life, with a simple click and the right words, he could simply make another’s life a hell.

And after a short time, he had complete access to your computer, which had oddly not installed an antivirus or something to protect your device- it would've been a somewhat longer process, but in the end, he knew he would always succeed: the only thing he felt he could boast of was his almost infinite knowledge of technology, giving him the ego boost he needed to continue everything he was working on.

He had access to your search history, your daily logs, your downloads, your works, passwords, socials- and most importantly, your webcam and microphone.

Finally, finally finally finally finally finally finally- Finally!

He could finally know the face of the voice that accompanied him through his nights and days.

And when he saw you.. it was as if all the emotions he’d spent days stabilizing had suddenly returned.

His dead heart was pounding, as if he had a sudden attack of tachycardia, he felt himself suffocating with his own saliva, forgetting even for a few seconds how to swallow, and consequently dropping some saliva on his sweatshirt, the blush had returned, making him feel hot and scorching under the heat of his sweatshirt- and although normally his dorm was extremely cold, he continued to sweat profusely, his thin fingers were rigidly welded on the mouse, By clicking and zooming on every part of his body that was visible to him, his hair now threatening to melt his headphones.

"Oh- my- my- sev- en… oh- h-hah.."

The news of Idia’s interest in the prefect had been a shock to his younger brother, but also a huge relief. He finally met someone who wasn’t him! And he also fell in love! Years before, this huge change in the life of his niisan would have been nothing more than a mere image in his brain: a fantasy, an illusion, peraphs.

At a certain point he had even given up trying to reason with the man, and therefore he had lowered a bit the tentative to convince him to leave the dormitory. At least he could go out during night time, just something to make him go away from that smelly and disgusting room.

"NO-! I mean- what if someone wasn’t asleep and instead began filming me?! I- I don’t know! You understand!? What if someone even noticed my hair? NO."

So when you would hit not only the near-impossible interest of Idia, he believed it was fate. And that’s what Idia thought. It was repeated that your meeting had been planned in advance by the Fate, an omnipotent existence that ruled at will both human and gods.

No one could escape the Fate.

Not even the beautiful little angel you were.

He thanked the fact of having known you online and not in real life- also because there would be only one chance in a million that would have met you just when it was released for the first time in the last five or six months. But now all he could do was keep watching your every move from the camera that conveniently could spot you every time you walked in, making him find out as many things about you.

"Ah~ my little and tempting angel! I bet you would have liked to have such a devoted follower like me."

As the months went by, the adorable little Ortho would become a huge friend of yours, which his personality allowed him to do, starting with a casual conversation over lunch in the cafeteria, with the excuse of having to look for a volunteer to test a new machine, which, despite much concern expressed by none other than by your friends who were currently sitting at your same table, you had naturally and immediately agreed to do.Helping was your main mission, your only mission, and so helping a little boy like Ortho was enough on its own to fill your pure heart with joy, coming shortly afterwards into the gloomy dormitorium.

His brother lacked that ability to be with others, so Ortho would be the voice and body of Idia outside his room, and not wanting his nii-san to lose all happiness, that one glimmer and glimmer of a possible better future that you were carrying- He didn’t want to be the cause of his suffering.

Idia could not help but compare himself to the lonely and gloomy Hades, who for centuries remained because of an extremely favoritist society that had forced him to be what he had become. In the past he could only compare you to the wonderful Persephone. Now he understood his ancestor. Or maybe it was a family thing.

But in the end, his brother, a boy so kind that you would never be able to resist his constant prayers that you should visit him at least once in his dorm, always spent a lot of time alone, and all he wanted was to spend a little more time with his new best friend! Did you really want to leave him all alone in a place so isolated and full of people just as isolated? No? Perfect! Just follow him to Big Brother’s room and you can all have a big pijama party! Actually, do you want some pomegranate? They are produced by his family, so you can also binge on them!

And that tiny little grain.

A grain had been your sentence.

A mere grain of pomegranate would have been the invisible chains that would have kept you in the room of Idia, you should have remembered the immense jealousy and possessiveness of the god of the dead, you should have known of his obsession with his beloved little angel.

The light morbidly attracts the darkness.

And now you were bound to him forever like his Persephone. Until the end of time, governing together, one beside the other, in a world of death and silence, where a land of sinful and decrepit souls will be forced to obey you two without asking questions, and not letting you fly away in the world of humans.

Even for the god of the underworld this method had worked, so why shouldn’t it have been the same for him?

There was a very small chance that everything he did might end badly, but Idia didn’t care. He could have been discovered by the inhabitants of the island or by other students, but in the end he knew that you could never leave him in any way, and he enjoyed this. Even if he had disappeared, the bond between you would have remained unbreakable.

Don't you know how many times Persephone has tried to escape from that gloomy, old-fashioned prison? She even tried to kill herself.

But how can you die when you’re already in a dead world, and what’s more dead then a dead spirit like yours?

And you too, as she did, would have surrendered to the inevitable fate that had been forged only for the two of you. You would have been chained to a world where the dead speak, and where the living die, and where the red juice of the pomegranate would have continually stained the floors with crimson, dripping from your wounds and your mouth, sealing you forever with the fire of the underworld to him.

You were deceived by a soul, and soon you would have to pay a heavy toll. A soul for your freedom, throwing you into a whirlpool of familiar whispers and shadows, drowning in death with Idia.

-𝐌𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐮𝐬 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐚-

Malleus Draconia, an extremely powerful wizard with powers still unknown to most students, an honorable student with excellent scholastic returns, a powerful young man who was destined for the throne , a boy who conveyed immediate anxiety to anyone who was in the same room with him, thus leading many people to associate his presence with something to avoid, a gloomy fae that for all those who saw it was a complete enigma, seemingly no solution, an extremely well-known individual, but who, fortunately or not, did not show around so often. And the students were grateful for that, they were constantly chatting and talking so much that they even forgot his presence in the school, some always avoiding to speak of him as if even his name was a taboo and others trying to neglect the whole by pretending it did not even exist. After all, those who mind their own business live for 100 years.

And for Malleus this was and will always be just ridiculous.

Why the hell would he even want to touch someone, let alone attack a student clairvoyant much weaker than him? He did not understand how those humans had come to conceptualize such a ridiculous and useless idea as those "beliefs" that had spread in the school since his arrival, he would never stoop to hurt anyone, and this made him more and more nervous, the rumors about him, as ninety percent of the students who met him ran away immediately with the queues between their legs.

"What a cowardly behavior. Truly miserable."

He resented the way his appearances did not reflect, as he thought, his real behavior, but he loved that respect that only he, only Malleus Draconia could have from all those who knew him directly or who had heard only false stories and stories about him, After all, he loved to see how the majority of the student body didn’t even look at him in his emerald eyes, for fear of what he could do to them.

But they wouldn’t have to worry, he repeated, he wouldn’t have done anything, even if he recognized that those fictionalized and false rumors had reality funds; he knew what he was capable of, and he was extremely proud of it, he knew a lot, too much, well the dragon that lay dormant within him, a beast that no one until that moment had managed to wonder except himself, and one that no one had ever awakened. Being close to a volcano is always safe, until it erupts, at least.

But again, these nocturnal behaviors around him only annoyed him more and more, he knew exactly what his classmates were doing.

Had he really been alone so long that now no one remembered? But it would not have been possible, he always heard the occasional whispers from the students of other dormitories, and moreover, he was the head of one of them, therefore, he had happily excluded this option, instead leaving him to bitterly process the other hypothesis.

Are they doing this on purpose? Whatever it is, it makes his blood boil with rage, but being stubborn as it was, it would have denied him immediately and fiercely, leading him to think that they were not necessarily avoiding him, but that they were just extremely forgetful. He was defending all of them by every means possible, and the least they could do to prevent half the castle from being suddenly struck by random lightning was at least to recognize his presence in the rooms.

"Shut up Zigvolt. I’m perfectly fine. Now, don't bother me. Ah, no, wait, take note of the fact that I’m gonna love it for a while, so you don’t have to wake up half the dorm screaming like you always do."

Obviously he had heard about you, the infamous and so much on everyone’s lips, even the silent and mysterious dorm mates, a spirit so free and so well-liked by everyone, so much so that he always had someone who would like to be with you. And Malleus at first couldn’t help but be slightly amused by all your "adventures" that every day you carried out with those other freshmen, including the controlling Sebek, who, in your presence did not scream in the slightest, and who was extremely delicate, giving the impression that if he had used even a pinch of his fae magic on you, you would have broken instantly like porcelain.

But would you break if you were in his presence?

He noticed that every single student always had an aura of calm and well-being after being with you, walking or just talking quickly with you. He wondered if he could finally feel himself, like the others, at peace with everyone and in particular with himself, if he could confess to you all kinds of dark thoughts he had always had, and if you would eventually forgive him.

To him you were like an unknown but fascinating presence at the same time, how you could induce so many men to follow you without them making moves on you, and without even needing some spells for it, How each time you seemed to bring a new air into the rooms every time you walked into one, how you could possess a talent for attracting all to yourself, things that, unfortunately, he could not do.

You were the opposite of him, so simple but at the same time so complicated to have close despite your charitable nature, and until then he would have considered you only a "funny" human completely exposed to all kinds of danger and so seemingly and certainly unaware of every evil that the world could reserve for everyone.

And everything would have been in a stalemate for him if I hadn’t had so much mercy on him.

"Hi, I wanted to ask you, since my friends and I were having a little party in my dorm, would you like to join us, I would really like to have you with us."

Everything seemed to be temporarily immobilized the moment you asked that question. Almost every person who had the luck or misfortune to have passed in that instant whispered how you had just signed your death sentence, while some even prepared to fight in the event Malleus could hurt you at any moment, and others still staring without moving a muscle.

As for him, he had regained no control over his body, as if his soul had temporarily left the material and bodily counterpart while he had no strength to move even a single muscle, while his face would not show even the slightest hint of emotion on his clear and defined features, making him look like an imposing and impressive statue for others.

But to you, it was not terrifying at all, which is why you continued to keep a sweet smile on your soft features and patiently waiting for a response from the fae, you had vaguely guessed from the very sight that he, like many others who had helped you throughout your life, had unfortunately always been misunderstood and put aside, you knew he was not the type to hurt someone casually, something for which your friends kept comparing you to a nurse always ready to help any soul that needed, but that he also continued to convince them not to do anything rash with him, and what you reproached them gently. You had managed to see the real Malleus Draconia, that child deprived of the necessary love and always estranged from everyone.

Suddenly, with a sharp nod of his head, he took leave just as quickly, leading you to snigger and admire the lukewarm sparks that remained of him.

"What a brave human."

This show of affection towards him, in his eyes, would have left him breathless and extremely confused, he simply cannot understand what was the spark that would have provoked his curiosity, He didn’t understand why a human like you had the guts to talk to him, let alone invite him to a party. But don’t misunderstand it, amidst that blanket of sudden emotions, an immense euphoria and joy would predominate such inner chaos. Finally someone invited him! Someone didn’t consider him a monster! He had finally met someone he had seen through his scales, he would finally have a friend for the first time, and he was elated by it.

From this point of no return, Malleus would wander much more often into the places you were accustomed to attend more often, and with every mention of your name or your sight, a light, hard-to-see smile would appear on his mouth, a smile that made him more charming but at the same time something he was not used to, always seeing himself and being seen with a perennial neutral and sometimes sad expression.

By the way, he would eventually become more concerned for your safety, still believing that you were a being created from porcelain, and that it could be broken even by a breath. He would begin to watch over your figure incessantly, not even letting his supposed trusted knights have the task of watching over you: Sebek was an extremely racist half-fae towards any kind of creature other than his own- and what for which Malleus mocked him silently, finding funny how he hated and did not want to see the half of himself- and even if he was duìiventato your friend and said to be changed for the better thanks to you, he didn’t believe that once at your window at night he could control himself. Most of all he knew that controlling his fae instincts was extremely complicated, so he excluded the handsome young man with the mint hair from the assignment.

While Silver, he probably would have fallen asleep during the times he was supposed to be watching you and keeping you safe, and not feeling safe about his presence at all along with yours, contrivedly imagining the fact that you could have been more comfortable with someone like you than with a powerful fae like him.

And leaving the job to none other than the one he trusted most, Lilia Vanrouge, who would immediately accept the job, subtly hinting that the future monarch might have a little crush on the adorable human.

It would be useless to say that every guy who before wandered around you, would have disappeared for a long time, noticing the look quite strange and disturbing both of Lilia and the heavy and suffocating presence of Malleus at your side. He absolutely had to avoid that he could be replaced by someone else unworthy and ungrateful of your presence, so making him more self-conscious and stunned by your calm and long chats, from which he would learn a lot of information about your life and yourself. At first he did not know what to do with that feeling of constant burning in his chest, he being quite if not completely inexperienced and innocent about abstract concepts and never tried for him as love.

Lilia would be his humble mentor in this new world where the powerful black-haired wizard would stumble upon. It would teach him everything he knew about this new burning feeling, a feeling as wonderful as it was painful.

And Malleus was doing exactly what the wise ancient fae had told him. Even though he still didn’t fully realize what he was doing, he trusted Lilia blindly, and he knew for a fact that he would never do anything to hinder him in any way. He was sacrificing for you every single piece of his mind, every drop of his being for you, putting his heart on a silver platter so you could do the same with yours. His behavior would start to change in a twisted way, constantly giving you questions, some of which were extremely personal and you weren’t allowed to answer, which annoyed him to say the least.

He was doing everything he needed to do, bare his heart, revealing all the darkest secrets of his soul, and you dared to lie to him and not answer?

Didn’t you have to make sacrifices?

In a relationship no one would keep secrets for themselves, and Malleus knew first of all what it was like to keep everything inside, catalyzing those emotions inside, but that didn’t justify your unwelcome behavior towards that kind of thing. He knew how hard it was, but if he could, he knew you could, too, and just as you comforted him on all his worries and forgave him for everything he did, he knew he would, too, He didn’t think you might have done such terrible or uncircumcised things that you would have categorically refused to express. He would never have judged the only person who had approached him, it would have been the equivalent of a suicide for the young man. He would never do that.

"All right, child of man, I see, now what do you say we take a walk? The weather is great right now."

He was doing everything he had to do, bare his heart, revealing all the darkest secrets of his soul, and you dared lie to him and not answer?

Didn’t you have to make sacrifices?

In a relationship no one would keep secrets for themselves, it wouldn’t be right; and Malleus knew firsthand what it meant to keep it all inside, catalyzing those emotions and hiding them, But that couldn’t possibly justify your unwelcome behavior towards that kind of thing. He knew how difficult it was to talk about uncomfortable topics and say everything to a person who couldn’t understand exactly how they felt; but if he, Malleus, could open up to you completely, he knew you could do the same with him.

And just as you comforted him on all his cares and forgave him for all that he had done, he knew he would also do it: he would hold your hands gently, wrap them with his much larger hands, and bring one to your wonderful face, stroking his cheek with his thumb and at the same time wiping a stray tear, he would have moved your head so that your looks could cross, the beautiful color of your eyes in contact with his jade eyes, inducing you to tell him all that you hid in the depths of your pure heart, smiling at your best and trying to comfort you to the fullest of his abilities, and holding you gently and tightly in an embrace as streams of words and words flowed from your mouth, as Malleus would have listened to every drop of it, drinking from your lips as if he were thirsty.

He didn’t think that you could do things so terrible or so evil that you would categorically refuse to express, he knew that you could never do it, he knew that you were so pure that not even the most corrupt creature would be able to corrupt you. And even if he was wrong about him, he would never have judged the only person who had ever approached him, never dreamed of it. A stab in the heart would have been better than witnessing your pain and disgust. He would never do that.

But, regardless of his thoughts and wills, he knew full well that everything that was going on around him was just daydreams, an illusion created by his cruel imagination to fill those moments when you weren’t together.

He did not understand.

What was going on?

What was happening to him?

All those images in his mind, all those thoughts about you, horrible scenarios where you forget about him, where you would finally listen to your pathetic friends and start avoiding him, like so many people have done before. The daydreams were progressively and slowly turning into nightmares for the fae, who did not yet understand what was happening, for him a morbid fear of your rejection, and the anger towards your friends who at the moment when they spotted even a small spark of his presence, would begin to invent unnecessary problems just to get away from him, which he would have responded with an even thicker stickiness than before, indirectly forcing you to stay with him for hours and hours, he could not describe the anxiety and the prominent prong he felt every time he saw you among those people who would separate you. He didn’t want to lose you, he would have died if you had just tried to leave, he felt a twinge in his heart just at the thought of canvases.

All he wanted was to hold on to his treasure so tight that he could never escape from his arms, so damn and selfishly close that no pathetic human or any other creature would ever be able to see you again.

During those moments of silence he would begin to think about which of the towering towers of his castle in his land would be most suitable for your stay. Surely he would have chosen the room in the highest tower of the castle, and the most lavish and shining room you would ever see, and inevitably he would have basked under the pride that your compliments on the luxuries of the place would have brought him, swelling his chest with a smile of happiness, one of his typical smiles he would do only in your presence. He would have taken care of you personally, leaving you with no choice but to blindly trust him, which he did with you, he would have dressed you in the best fabrics and dresses ever made, all custom-made by your future husband, would order his cooks to cook every dish or delicacy that would come to your mind, would make you bathe in the best cosmetics and beauty products recommended no less cehe by Vil himself. He would have lovingly provided for your every wish, even and especially at times when you wanted to become closer to each other. He would cuddle you lovingly everywhere in his castle, whether it was in front of Lilia and her knights or in front of his entire kingdom. He wanted everyone to know that you were his and his alone.

His beautiful treasure, the purest and brightest of all that other rubbish that ran around you and him.

This behavior and abrupt change in his habits, would have been noticed by you and everyone you considered friends and acquaintances, which would have only fulfilled his greatest fears, Now, despite your cryptic look where he could vaguely distinguish those two emotions that he absolutely did not want to see on your beautiful features, pain and distrust towards him.

He could not bear to live a life without you, by now you had become the only person who had finally given him the wonderful feeling of being well-liked, what did you expect from a powerful dragon fae who had always been deprived of love throughout his long life?

It was obvious that he would attach himself to the very first person who would show him some affection.

Especially if that person was you.

It would have changed your mind. He knew you’d never give him up, it wasn’t like you, it would make you realize that everything you were doing was just because you were being manipulated by your rotten friends that you were with every time. He only had to show you that those you considered friends were not such, and that he alone was worthy of your holy trust, taking your splendid body in his arms and returning to his land.

The school years were over for him, and by a lucky coincidence all this would fortunately happen a few months before the end of his senior year at Night Raven College. And as long as you could have fought him and tried to spread your white wings, tried to go desperately to Crowley, what could that stingy little crow do to a guy like him? He could literally shatter his precious school and everyone in it with a simple earthquake, and he knew he would never want that.

"Me’è corom veh, m’j cora⁴"

Finally he could fulfill his deepest dreams, finally he had another half to spend eternity with. He could finally have his happy ending, an end that had always been denied him until that moment, now it would become reality, and all because of your kindness and kindness.

You both would have your happy endings, forever trapped in the dragon’s jaws.

¹= Habibi is an Arabic word that literally means “my love” (sometimes also translated as “my dear,” “my darling,” or “beloved.”) It is used primarily as a pet name for friends, significant others, or family members. "Habibi" is used for boys, and "habibiti" for girls. I choose to use habibi because it's easier to me, but you can always change that based on your preferences!

²= Translated: "The beauty of this school, someone who has a beauty from another world."

³= A member of an online community of young men who consider themselves unable to attract women or men sexually, typically associated with views that are hostile towards those who are sexually active.

⁴=Translated: "I love you, my love", from the Ancient Language of Feridia, the Feridian Alphabet consists of about 21 symbols with a refined spelling, which in most cases represent one of the elements of Nature that ruled the Island and the Fairies of Feridia. Almost every graphic symbol can be traced back to a letter of our current alphabet, allowing us in some cases to reproduce approximately some proper name.

· ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Part one

Part two

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crumbledcastle28 · 3 years ago

Text

Azriel Shadowsinger: Book Worm

Pairing: Azriel x fem!reader

Summary: a long day of work can always be cured by your mate.

Warnings: sleeping on Az, reading, softness, descriptions of skin and body heat, allusions to sex and arousal. Also kissing and cuddling, Az is sexy (duh), and the two of them have a communicating mating bond (I’m so lonely).

A/N: this is definitely a blurb, and not really well thought out, and maybe the most self-indulgent one yet haha but I still hope you all like it! Thank you for any support, and thank you all so much for almost 500 followers!! I truly can’t believe it. Thank you :). And Merry Christmas Eve to all those who celebrate!! I hope you all have an amazing holiday. I am grateful for each and every one of you.

Disclaimer: this gif in no way illustrates how Y/N is “supposed to” look. Y/N is completely up to your own interpretation! I just liked how the gif fit with the fic. Thank you for understanding!

If you’d like to leave a like, comment, or reblog, that would be much appreciated <3

Azriel Masterlist

Even though every inch of your mate was indescribably gorgeous, you always found his mind to be the sexiest thing about him.

The way he thought things through, only spoke when he felt it was needed, and observed everything with the sharpest eye you had ever seen was just…

It was so hot.

His intelligence was actually the first thing you noticed about him. How he spoke at meetings, thoughtfully and methodically, always bringing up details that everyone else seemed to miss. You could see his intellect behind his golden eyes, and his desperation to understand everything that went on around him. A need for it.

You related to that. Your own mind frantically reached for complete and total comprehension of the world around you, and it frustrated you completely when you couldn’t get there. Especially when it put the people you love at risk.

Thank the cauldron you mentioned the similarity between the two of you to Az. If you hadn’t, there was a possibility that you would have never found him.

Truly found him.

Your mate.

You should have known by the size of the bookshelves next to his bed that he was the one.

Every single cracked spine and folded page felt like a piece of Az’s soul. You found yourself going through the books when he wasn’t around, seeing what pages he marked, trying to dissect why exactly that page stood out to him. Maybe it was because the information was important to come back to later, or the plot of the book was starting to pick up, or the rare occasion of the two lovers finally confessing their feelings.

You loved it, not only because they were beautiful, but because every speck of ink belonged to him.

Your absolute favorite thing, however, was when he left little notes in the margins. Whether they were just definitions to an unfamiliar word, or a broad comment, or when he corrected the author’s grammar.

You cherished those leather-bound pages so much. More than you cared to admit.

And Az knew that.

You swore he put his books next to your shared bed just so he could catch you looking, or in his words, “snooping.” He would constantly tease you about it, but would blush faintly when you caught him doing the same thing to your own books.

Az was a blusher. It was so endearing, and yet another detail about him you felt blessed to know and feel under your skin.

Still, no matter how much you adored Az, it was almost nothing compared to how much he deified you. Especially at night, in his own bed.

One specific night stands out to you the most, and it makes your mating bond tingle with affection every time it pops into your mind.

It was so simple, but yet so perfect.

Az had gotten out of the shower only a few minutes before you were due to arrive home, and he decided to spend that time alone laying in bed and catching up on some reading. His hair was still damp, and he threw on only his boxers before climbing under the sheets. He had a singular lamp on, which encapsulated the entire dark room with golden beams. It was his favorite type of lighting, no matter the situation.

He especially loved how you looked in it, however.

The sheets were pulled up to his waist, allowing his taut stomach to still be revealed, and he propped himself up against the bed frame. He exhaled, finally feeling some sense of peace and serenity from the long week he had just experienced. Using his book to destress and escape for a while was exactly what he needed.

He got so lost in the feeling of the paper against his calloused hands, and the images he painted in his mind, that he didn’t even check the time until thirty minutes later.

Which meant you were over thirty minutes late.

He eyebrows creased up and his jaw clenched.

How could he not notice?

He sent a strum down the mating bond, and tried to keep it as calm as possible.

Almost home?

He waited for about a minute for you to respond, and he felt a sense of anxiety start to creep it’s way up to his shoulders.

You never came home late under your own accord. It either meant that work had been crazy good, or crazy bad.

And Az really hoped it didn’t mean crazy bad.

Almost, you said down the bond, and a deep exhale of relief came from his mouth.

I’m sorry Az, you said. I promise I’m almost back.

Don’t apologize Y/N, he said. I get it.

He, more than anyone, would understand.

His body relaxed back into the bed frame, and he continued his reading once again. He wanted you home, desperately, but he wanted you safe more than anything. And if you were safe, what else was there to worry about?

He let himself enjoy the words in his lap for a few minutes more, sending comforting strokes down the bond every time he thought of you, and you would of course send one back.

He had been listening for the little squeak of the front door opening, and your quiet footsteps to echo throughout the house, and he laid his head back in relief when he finally heard them.

His mate.

You opened the door to the master bedroom, and he could already see from the look of you that work had been crazy bad.

You looked as beautiful as ever, but when you closed the door and leaned your back against it, he could see the exhaustion settled in your shoulders and the outline of your swollen eyes.

He could read you just as well as the pages in his hand.

“Long day?” he asked, and you nodded. You had closed your eyes when you leaned your body weight against the closed door, but you could hear him marking his page and setting the book down.

“Don’t stop on my account,” you said with a chuckle, referring to his reading. He scoffed back, and you finally opened your eyes to see him.

He looked…radiant.

The sheets were still pulled up only to his waist, letting his defined muscles and gorgeous tattoos shine. He had obviously showered, which always made his hair slightly frizzy and fluffy. All you wanted to do was run your hands through it. His jawline was still as chiseled as it was when you left that morning, and his eyes were still as piercing.

You really loved him.

“Do you need help getting changed?” he asked, but you shook your head.

“Thank you, but I’m good,” you said, and walked over to your side of the bed. You picked up your pajamas, and moved to the corner of the room to get undressed.

Az picked his book back up and looked down at it, trying to subtly respect your privacy as you pulled your shirt over your head. You giggled.

“Did I say something?” he asked, still staring at his pages.

“Nope,” you said with a laugh. “Nothing.”

He had seen you naked hundreds of times, and so you thought his chivalry wasn’t needed, but still very cute.

You got yourself completely changed into comfortable clothes, aka Az’s shirt and sweatpants, and admired Az reading for a few extra seconds.

You loved how focused he looked when he read. His face was completely neutral, but his eyebrows were creased every so slightly. His features looked carved from marble.

You called it his “focus face.” There was something so charming about a feared Illyranian warrior like Az being focused on a simple little book.

“I’m done,” you said, and Az looked back up at you with a wide smile.

He patted the bedding next to him, and you crawled under the sheets. You laid your head on his chest, and he wrapped his arm around your shoulder. His body was so warm. You didn’t know if it was from the shower or how long he had been laying in bed, but either way, you loved his body like this. It lulled you right to sleep.

You closed your eyes and said, “Read to me. Please.”

You felt Az’s chest rise underneath your head. “Are you sure? You seem tired baby.”

“Please Az. I just want to hear your voice.”

The skin on his chest under your fingertips heated up at your words, and you were willing to bet that if you opened your eyes, his face would be blushing as well.

You grinned.

“Ok,” he said, and reached for his book on his nightstand. He opened it with one hand, holding it in the air, and massaged your hair with his other hand.

“Are you sure you’re not just jealous that I got to read today and you didn’t?” he asked you teasingly.

You grinned. “Maybe,” you said, and he laughed.

“You’ve got to be the biggest book worm I’ve ever met.”

“You have exactly fourteen more books than me, Azriel, so I beg to differ.”

He laughed softly and brought your hand to his mouth to kiss, before he set it back down and started to read to you.

You had no idea what was happening in his book, and to be honest, you didn’t care. It was never about the book in moments like this. It was about hearing Az’s deep, baritone voice articulate each word, emphasizing and pausing when he saw fit. It was about the feeling of his hands in your hair and his warm chest against your face. It was about the deep breaths he took, and just how much his voice seeped into your skin. It gave you a blanket of comfort, and you felt truly at home.

It was never, ever about the book. It was always about him.

After a few minutes, you felt your body begin to fail its fight against slumber. You tried to stay awake as long as you could, soaking in this intimate moment with your mate that was long overdue, but it was no use. Your body started to win.

You were inches away from completely falling when you heard Az stop his reading, and set his book down once more. He gently lifted you off his chest and set you on your own pillow before he walked across the room and turned off the lamp. Total darkness surrounded you, and you knew this was going to be some of the best sleep you got in your life.

Az walked back over to the bed and slid under the covers. You felt his breath against your cheek, and he pressed a faint kiss to your cheekbone.

“I love you,” he whispered, and pulled away.

You couldn’t stop yourself from smiling.

“That’s all I’m getting,” you said teasingly, and you opened your eyes to see visible shock on Az’s dark face.

“I didn’t know you were awake,” he said in a whisper, and you only laughed harder.

“That ought to be the most anticlimactic kiss ever! I know you can do better—” you said, but were cut off when Az pressed his lips against yours.

It was passionate and hard, like he had something to prove to you. He glided his right hand over your side, and you pulled him in closer by the back of his neck. It only lasted for a couple seconds, but your heart-rate rose nevertheless.

He molded his lips against your own for one last searing kiss, before pulling away and mumbling against your lips.

“Was that better, baby?” he said teasingly.

Your deep breaths when he pulled away was proof enough that it was.

Bastard.

You nodded and smiled tiredly, and he smiled back.

“Now go to sleep,” he breathed against your mouth and pulled you against his chest. You snuggled into his warm body, and pressed a chaste kiss against his collarbone.

“Hey Az?” you said.

“Yes?” he whispered.

“I love you too.”

Tag list: (if you’d like to be tagged, please let me know! I’d love to add you!)

@leahkenobi @notquitehero @lovelyladymayyy @seraphqueen123 @em---r

#acofas #acomaf #acowar #acotar #acosf fanfiction #acosf #azriel smut #azriel x reader #azriel shadowsinger #azriel #azriel fluff #azriel angst #azriel x you #cassian #elain archeron #feyre archeron #nesta archeron #rhysand #gwyn acotar

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frostironfudge · 3 years ago

Text

Tenebrous - Loki (AU) - Chapter Ten

Pairings: Vampire! Professor Loki x Fem!Reader

Characters: Loki, Thor, Fem OC, Reader, Bucky Barnes, Stephen Strange

Warnings: angst, death of secondary characters (described but not graphic or grusome), allusions to past non con experience(not described in detail), witch coven dynamics, vampire coven dynamics, soul bonds, hurt/comfort, canon level violence, blood drinking (dubious consent), mind exploration, fluff, nightmares, MINORS DNI

Word Count: 8.9k

A.N.: i controlled my word count this time, the next few chapters will get more intense so i want to be able to plan them much better in the sense what each should cover so this might appear short or like a filler but it opens up more in depth aspects of things that occurred. Also I cried writing a part of this chapter.

Dividers: @firefly-graphics

Chapter Nine || Chapter Eleven

Main Masterlist || Fic Masterlist || My AO3

Chapter Ten - Is It Not More Beautiful To Be Tainted?

Three Hundred Years Ago.

His disdain is palpable in the air. Seeping fear into the immortal bones of his army. His children. The gurgling sounds aren’t for the weak stomached. Nor are the wretched screams for the faint hearted. Even the pleads of mercy fall upon unhearing ears and ears that are forced to not hear a whisper of them.

Alexander Pierce taking apart a witch coven one by one. He was angry. His victims not even spared that one merciful glance that could save them. Damnation into this hellish eternity.

Luna watches silently standing behind Rumlow as they set ablaze yet another witch coven. The reason for Alexander’s anger is well known; survival of the celestial coven, yet again.

“I find it peculiar indeed.” Rumlow muses as he stands near the two brothers.

Thor watches the terrible vampire from his periphery.

“Won’t you entertain my curiosity?” Rumlow taunts, itching to get a rise out of one of the two brothers.

“I do not have time for your childish games, Brock.” Loki sighs, unamused.

He looks towards Luna, she always looked at him with sadness as though he bore a loss of something upon his shoulders.

Loki does not let his gaze linger just short moment before he turns to his newer father figure to watch him. Brock Rumlow was the kind of mate who left his own mate in bruises if another looked her way for a moment too long.

Blaming Luna for everything. Even his own abusive actions.

Loki had seen the mind of the vampire, the very first mind he delved into upon his first moment as a creature of the night.

Unfortunately all Brock was thinking about was the torturous lunar cycle Loki spent, being battered bruised. Forcefully fed blood and Rumlow’s non consensual advances.

Those images burned behind the younger son of Frigga’s eyelids the very ones his mother would place her kisses upon to stop the nightmares from dragging him into their trenches.

“I believe you two allow witches to escape. Never giving us the full coven.” Brock smugly whispers the thought.

“You dare insinuate that we disobey father?” Thor fumes, hands turning into fists by his side.

“Brother.” Loki says in warning.

“Why so defensive, Thor? Have I uttered even a semblance of truth? Do you and your brother allow witches to run free? Are you in love with those vile creatures that are born to have us ended?” Rumlow stands eye level with Thor, chest puffed out trying to appear stronger.

Thor gazes wildly at Rumlow,

“You don’t scare me anymore, Brock.” His blue and brown eyes shift to red,

“Oh, I can smell the fear wafting from you, Rumlow. Is the little bully scared?” Thor takes a step forward, Rumlow follows with his own step backward.

“Thor.” Alexander beckons him closer.

The vampire steps away from Rumlow who shifts near Luna, harshly grabbing her chin and directing her lips with his own.

“The next time a celestial coven is found, I want Loki to enter the mind and Zemo to enter the soul. If I find that Rumlow’s suggestion holds any water. Your brother and you shall be tried for treason.” Alexander warns with a smile on his face, he pat’s the muscled shoulder of Thor. Squeezing till he winces.

“Loki, I hope you heard.” Alexander matters passing by, a hand upon his head.

Loki bows the slightest, “Yes, father. I hope you know, I would never put you in a position to have your enemies walking the earth.”

“I know my son, I know that even if one lures you into their trickery you would end them.” Alexander moves to the next room leaving Loki and Thor contemplating their next move.

“Gentlemen.” Baron Zemo smiles when they turn.

“I believe we are to work in tandem.” He says offering his hand to Loki.

Loki takes Zemo’s hand, both have a glint in their eyes.

“I hope you prefer your mind delved into,” Loki narrows his eyes when he feels a prodding sensation.

“I hope you feel the same way about your soul.” Zemo’s eyes turn red rimmed with a golden ring surrounding the red iris.

Two Hundred Years Ago.

Burning Lavender greets their senses, Loki watches their bodies scattered in vertically bound pyres.

The orange glow of the flames cast a sunken shadow upon his face.

His eyes meet Luna’s from across the field. Venom makes her eyes glow, at the loss of yet another chance knowing her bloodline.

Alexander’s mocking laughter gleefully fills the void.

Luna turns her gaze downward, then towards the moon shining with sadness at the loss of a coven that was protected by the light it imparted.

“Survive from this you witches and warlocks. Celestial coven. Each and everyone of you, burning not one spared.” Alexander tells their bodies,

“I shall finally be rid of you. Your destiny ended at my hand.”

He looks up at the moon,

“Your purpose is to serve my kind. Aiding the change, not protecting these playthings and diseased beings. I know you favour us, the superior beings as you my moon have deemed. Your mercy is vast that you seek to shower it upon these witches and warlocks. I must carry out this cleansing for us, for you.”

Luna’s stomach lurches at the words, she keeps her emotions closed off from the bond. The last time the slip up occurred, Brock accused her of treason as he pinned her down with a stake pressed against her bare chest.

A vision clouds her mind,

Alexander on the ground his chest pierced by eight stakes. His body lays abandoned on the ground, an orange glow encircles slowly drawing close to him.

The vision dies out.

Brock is in front of Luna in a heartbeat as she gasps.

“What did you see, sweetheart?” He pushes back her hair, gripping it lightly in warning.

“He will succeed, fire and bodies.” Luna lies while honestly believing her words.

Brock smiles in delight, “Oh mate, you’ve pleased me.”

He grasps her by the shoulders, taking her towards Alexander.

Loki watches as Alexander tears apart yet another innocent warlock. Their father of their immortal life stops, conversing with Luna and Brock about her latest vision of his success.

He decides that needs to leave, he cannot watch nor take this guilt any longer. He could find Thor, adapting to Thor’s blood bank lifestyle would take some adjustments but could happen with ease.

Brock smirks at Loki making his way over the the vampire, stepping upon a corpse. Loki closes his eyes, not allowing himself to breathe in the burning lavender anymore.

“Couldn’t save any this time could you?” The vampire taunts.

“I never did save any before.” Loki repeats once again.

“Then how did they survive till their death today? Hmm, Cheekbones?” Brock moves behind Loki, his hand traveling across his shoulders, Brock smiles deviously as the green eyed vampire stiffens.

Brock cackles, “Still remember me this well Cheekbones, it has been centuries.”

“Do not test my patience.” Loki murmurs.

“Why not cheekbones? Come on live a little.”

“You have a mate. Albeit you mistreat—,” Loki’s words are cut off as Brock pushes him to the ground face pressed into the soft wood floor.

“Not a word about my mate from your mouth, cheekbones.” Brock barks out, eyes turning red.

Luna watches from afar, trying to send some form of need or want across their bond to her mate.

“Let them fight it out my dear, come walk with me.” Alexander holds out his hand for her to take, she slips her hand in with his, as they move deeper into the forest.

“You’re a horrible mate.” Loki shifts in a blur they turn and Rumlow is pinned down instead, Loki’s boot pressing into his back as his arm is twisted till a snapping resounds and Brock yelps in pain.

“As if you would be any better! How many witches and warlocks have you bedded? How many humans have you killed?” Brock shifts, turning and his foot pushes into Loki’s stomach.

They stand ten feet away, breathing hard.

“At least I won’t abuse my mate.” Loki spits out and Brock charges at him once the latter’s hand reattaches. Loki blocks the move with one hand.

“You really shouldn’t anger me, Rumlow.” Loki smiles as his eyes turn red, the marred flesh vampire feels his gaze blank as it is replaced by a scene all too familiar.

“The fuck are you showing me?!” Rumlow cries out as he feels his own hands upon him, a sick smile on his own face.

“I thought you would relish in the pleasures of centuries passed.” Loki’s voice sounds far away.

Brock scrambles to get away from himself, running to the far end of the small cellar. Brock remembers every move he made upon Loki, the man in front of him, is himself.

Loki exits the mind of Brock Rumlow, playing the horrible memory for him. Brock writhes on the ground voice caught in his throat as he resembled what Loki had to go through those hundreds of years ago.

Five Months Ago.

“Father, he’s abandoned her.” John stays on his knees in front of his father, head bowed in respect.

“Are you positive, this girl is Loki’s mate?” Alexander questions once again. An age old rhyme manifesting itself once again in his lifetime.

The rustling of leaves cast a shadow over their conversation. Staying further away from those that roam their home.

“She carries his scent father, here.” John presents a charcoal coloured scarf.

Alexander takes a deep breath, the scent of his son Loki is prominent with another scent that is innocent, unclaimed.

“It would do Loki good, to have claimed her.” The patriarch muses, “You know our rules though, son.”

“What if she is from that disgusting witch coven?” John dares to raise his head.

“We need proof. Gather it. If it is true then you make keep her for yourself. Loki has done well by abandoning his mate. Loyal to us first. If you bring here to me and if she shows potential as my Luna has then, what is her name?”

“Y/N.” John informs, Alexander repeats her name testing it upon his tongue.

“Well if Y/N displays an iota of potential. We may turn her and Loki may keep her.”

“But father,” John complains, wanting his own little blood bag.

“After you have had your fill of her, son. Of course I will reward your hard work.” Alexander pats John’s head, “You may leave. Keep the warlock by your side.”

The man then raises his cloak and begins to walk back toward the castle.

John grins, licking his lips at the taste he knows he will have soon upon his lips.

He could find out about the coven origin later, first he had to have a taste.

----------------------------------------------------------

John begins to watch her from afar. The way Y/N would go about her day mindlessly. Her tears whimpered into her pillow at night only making him keener to start his plan earlier.

He watches her when she moves through the grocery store aisles. Picking items from a list she carries.

He bumps into her one too many times during her rounds at the hospital but never when the vampire doctor is close by, that man wasn’t distracted. Clear goal to protect and care in his demeanour.

John watches her stare almost mournfully through the window of the bookstore. He looks at Bucky for a response. Receiving none. After all this was where the warlock left her crying.

John especially loves the parties they go to, easy blood supplies, watching Nia try to bring her best friend out of her shell. He admires Y/N, always distracted by her thoughts. Never paying attention to dangers around her. Thor focused upon Nia and John never focused up the mated human. He knew Thor could sniff out an attack on his mate faster than anything else.

It is a week later that Bucky stands beside him as they watch her at yet another party her friend drags her into, an attempt to distract from the thoughts of her lost mate.

“What do you think, Warlock?” John questions taking a sip of the cheap alcohol. Bucky looks at John, merely a puppet.

Inside his mind he struggles to gain control and watching Y/N was chipping away at him. As he fears her destiny.

“Isn’t she pretty? Won’t she look good in my arms? As my little blood bag? Say yes, Warlock.”

“Yes.”

“I’m glad you agree.” John watches as Thor keeps watch on both women, his gaze lingering more upon his own mate. Y/N shifts to a corner as Thor and Nia move towards the dance floor.

“Make a weave for him, large enough to cover the dance floor.”

Bucky begins to chant the spell, fingers discreetly moving in rhythm with the music. Watching as John moves across the hall towards Y/N.

“Hello, beautiful.” Y/N looks up, not recognising the man and her eyebrows furrow.

“Um, hello.” She says hesitantly.

“I’ve been watching you for quite some time, would you like to join me for a dance?” John offers his hand.

“I don’t really um, dance, I’m sorry.” She says, shifting her weight from one foot to the other.

“Alright beautiful, if you change your mind I’ll be around.” John gives her a warm smile and then returns to where he left Bucky.

Thor and Nia continue to move with one another as things grow heated between them. Thor spares a glance to Y/N, gaze only growing slightly saddened at her turmoil.

Nia moves her hips in a way that has him grip her tighter. He turns her, deeply kissing her with a hunger that is all too familiar for them.

John takes a sip of his drink, “Seems to me that Loki’s guard dogs also are abandoning her.”

He watches her mingle with a few people. Thor and Nia make their way over to her, ready to head home.

They exit the building, Y/N looks around the hall once more, her gaze searching for Loki but she finds the blue eyes of John before she leaves.

“Warlock, we have her in half a month understood? I want to taste her before that though and leave a warning. For the thrill of it.” John smiles coming up with a plan, Loki had warned her about the forest. He’d lure her there with the voice of her lost love.

He’d ruin her for Loki.

Even if she is not of the celestial coven. Even if she is forged for another vampire. Even if she has any potential for his father.

He’d have her first, his little flower, smelling oh so pleasant and tasting oh so wondrous. That is after he alters her with the pills he had carried with himself months ago.

Yes, John would have Y/N now.

After all no vampire would want a tainted and abandoned mate.

Present.

Loki opens his eyes, as she shifts upon his chest. It had been months since the thoughts of his past evaded his mind. He gazes upon his mate. She fell asleep easily when they returned home, with James Barnes. The tiredness evident in every aspect of her.

The bond beckoning him to keep her calm and take away her aches. Loki presses his lips to her forehead. Y/N nuzzles closer into him, her hands searching more of him to hold closer.

Downstairs Bucky shifts, turning on the makeshift bed. His mind recalling all that he did, his breathing grows laboured. Calloused hands clutch to the periphery of his scarce good deeds, and onto the sheets.

Y/N shifts next to Loki again, suddenly watching herself in a dream. Panic surges through the bond, before Loki can attempt to wake her he’s pulled into the dream that plagues his mate.

Loki stands in the very house he shared the first dance with Y/N. The one he took away from her.

He watches her pushing her way through the crowd towards a smaller corner that stays unoccupied.

Y/N looks upward, her chest moving rapidly. She closes her eyes, Loki hears the words in his own voice wrap themselves around the dream.

Helplessly Y/N takes another deep breath, her eyes now opened, unshed tears pooling. She escapes into the kitchen, Loki watches helplessly as she find a glass and pours the amber liquid for herself.

“No, no, no,” His plea falls silent. Unheard.

Y/N takes a sip, making a face at the bitter taste, discarding the liquid. He wants to chuckle at her reaction.

But the smile that was making its way to his lips presses into a thin line and then twists with worry.

A man encircles her in the kitchen, his hood protecting his identity. Loki watches recognising the form.

Loki looks for the calendar that hung upon the refrigerator.

Four months ago.

A month after he slept. This is when it started.

Four Months Ago.

Y/N moves through the packed house. The very one where she had fallen all those months prior.

The group she wanted to get away from that had forced the smoke down her throat sits unchanged, unaffected as the haze surrounds them again.

She watches, heart still aching at the haunting words said by Loki to her two months back.

“Got something on your mind, sweetness?” A tall brunette questions her, taking a deep inhale of his cigarette. The glow of it slowly recedes into the darkness of ash.

“N-no.” She answers.

I cannot be with you.

Y/N closes her eyes, trying to keep her breathing even.

How can I love you? You’re human. Disposable.

The small muscles of her eyes twitch as she tightens them more trying to block out the words.

Made for me? Please that is some folklore. How can you believe a fairytale?

A whimper gets lost from her throat into the reverb of the song that plays around the house.

A body comes up behind her,

“Do you want to forget something, little flower?”

Large hands rest on her arms, his voice moves down her being, cascading as a decadent dessert, beckoning her to answer.

Y/N nods, “I want to forget.”

“I can help you. Don’t turn around just take what my friend gives you. You do want to forget don’t you?” The voice is familiar, achingly so; she nods once more. He runs his hand over her head. Providing comfort.

Y/N feels another person stand before her, she looks up at them, tall and their face a blur but there is a dark greed blooming in his bright eyes. The hoodie they wear seems familiar. As if she just saw it.

“Open your mouth,” The man behind her instructs.

“Comply little flower, you want to forget tonight and him don’t you?” The man holding her oh so delicately whispers, she finds her resolve breaking. Her lips part at the shake of a bottle.

The bitter sweetness coats her tongue as the small pills melt. Soured honey tantalises her throat.

There is an appreciative hum.

When Y/N opens her eyes, small stars cascade at the periphery a reminder of her loss but she doesn’t feel the loss deeply. As though it is being pried away from her hands.

“More,” She requests, the frenzied blue eyes gleam with mirth.

“Of course, but I would want something in exchange. It is only fair.” He tells her, as her resolve keeps lowering.

The hands holding her tracing patterns into her arms. There is a blue glow near her.

“Wh-what do you want?” The surroundings begin to blur, a numbness begins to take over. Y/N finds her visual angle change, her head rests on the chest of the man holding her. Her head tilted to one side, neck exposed.

“Will you let me taste you?” The pill bottle shakes again, as the man’s cold nose brushes along her neck. He hums appreciative.

“Warlock, I want her to say yes.”

Where had she heard that word?

What did he want to taste?

A muted panic courses through her veins. She needs to leave.

“I will make sure. Y/N, go on, say yes, you will be able to forget all that you want to forget. You want that don’t you? You want to comply, yes.” The warlock whispers, coaxing her.

“All those awful thoughts in your head, I could take away.” The man’s voice is hungry; wanton with need.

She nods, “If, if I agree; you will help me forget?”

Distantly she feels an ache, something begging her to say no, something begging her to run. Escape.

“Oh sweet little flower, whenever you want to forget I’ll be there.” John promises, “I’ll even have my warlock help you forget, I’ve made him forget you, have I not?”

Bucky’s hands keep tracing the spell into her skin. His only purpose to have her comply, she must comply. For his safety.

For her safety, a smaller part of his mind adds. Quickly that part is tucked away. His focus turns to the task at hand.

The first taste occurred that night John drank deeply, to the bodies around them it would appear as if they were merely lost in each other. Bucky’s grip tightens as he finds Y/N will and body grow weaker and weary in his arms. A soft gasp leaves past her throat.

John smirks against her neck, relishing her taste. Hedonistic. Mixed with the drugs and her mate not there to protect her.

The vampire finds the sweet hum surround him. Finally.

“Can’t, can’t hear him or feel him.” She mumbles.

“That is what we want don’t we? You taste so exquisite. Such a shame he left, but if he returns, I’ll be sure to leave gifts for him.” John murmurs, sealing the wound and rewarding her with another pill.

They leave her there, full of blissful loss of Loki’s memories and words. Y/N relishes the stars surrounding her. They always brought comfort.

Something breaks within her, warm hot tears cascade down her cheeks onto her clothes.

Even though I am leaving, please care for yourself. You are valuable to your own being. Please Y/N.

Present.

The second John’s teeth sink into her neck Y/N jolts awake with a cry; in synchrony with Bucky’s own pained plea for John to stop resounds across the ground level. He needs to pull Y/N away from the vampire. The dream grows translucent.

Reality slipping in, a sob escapes from Y/N.

Loki feels a snarl building within his chest, he leaves from beside her, down the stairs.

“You let him feed from her!?” Loki glowers, lifting Bucky by his neck against the wall. His hands grasp at Loki’s right hand, trying to break free.

“Was-wasn’t under my own cont-control,” Bucky wants to tell him but the words are constricted as is his breathing.

“Loki! Loki! Loki please let him go!” Y/N rushes down to them, tugging at his arm. Loki turns to her with anger coursing through his being. Venom pools at his mouth, he turns back to Bucky, a pleased sound satisfying the monster waiting to take over to put an end to any danger his mate could be exposed toward.

“It was John’s compliance! Not Bucky’s fault! Loki please!” Y/N begs for him to understand. She tries stepping in from Loki’s left, he pushes her back.

Y/N stumbles backward, righting herself to approach them once more.

“Mate, do not move.” The words make her pause, a warning through the bond. How was this happening?

“Loki, please, Mate, let him go,” Y/N pleads from her place hoping her words get through.

Bucky thrashes in the vampire’s harsh grip. The warlock closes his eyes and Y/N watches as an azure glow surrounds his left arm, making an intricate pattern before surrounding Loki’s right hand that grips his neck.

The vampire wheezes, a pain taking over enough to warrant releasing the hold he has on Bucky.

The warlock drops to the floor, breathing in harshly as the azure glow retreats from around Loki and upon Bucky to heal him from the damage that might have occurred.

Y/N watches as Loki rights himself. Eyes back to green as he looks at her with worry.

“You can move, mate.” He tells her and the hold that the bond had retreats slowly, she walks towards Loki, kneeling near him.

“I’m okay.” She tries comforting him, cupping his face in her hands. Even though that now remembered night replays itself.

“You aren’t, stop lying to him.” Bucky interrupts, “Won’t do any good to lie to him.” He scoffs.

“As much as you may think to shield me, please don’t.” Loki requests of her, then turns to James. His palm doesn’t leave her cheek.

“How did your nightmare seep into her dream? She was fine before your breathing rate quickened.” Loki recounts his observations.

“Might have latched upon her, we did share a consciousness for a while… I, John’s actions haunted me in my sleep, the one part where I could have control became the place where I had to relive all that I did under his command.” Bucky admits sadly.

Y/N sighs, it felt like a blessing she didn’t remember but now if she had to face all the days she made sure to forget it would take a toll upon her.

She gazes upon Bucky, how much was he forced to do? How many times did he want to escape. Her hand reaches out to him, wrapping around his wrist to offer a tactile point of comfort.

He offers her a smile, then brings his hand back near him. Not wanting to provoke the vampire within Loki any further.

The three stay seated on the floor, a thin sheen of sweat covers Bucky’s shirtless chest. Highlighted by the azure glow that surrounds him.

Loki intently looks at Y/N wondering what is she able to see. As her eyes follow a pattern.

Y/N looks at her friend a thought coming forth,

“Is, it because—are we remembering because the compliance is gone?” She shifts sitting cross legged. The early hour of the night might potentially become their new waking hour.

Bucky runs a hand down his tired face then through his hair.

“It is possible.” He opens and closes his fist then rotates his left shoulder. The azure lines become muted as if a lingering presence upon his arm akin to a tattoo, slowly the glow dulls further and it turns into blue geometric line design.

“Its our coven mark. We earn it after our first successful spell. We can keep it hidden but I find leaving it open is more respectful. Also it feels like I’m honouring them.” Bucky smiles fondly remembering it.

“What was it?” Y/N asks, Loki intertwines their hands, offering comfort through the bond trying to take away the discomfort of the dream.

“Gramma loves sunflowers, and back in Romania for the months we were there; I thought I could conjure a field for her to wake up to, earned this that day.” He smiles brighter but his eyes give away at bittersweet taste of the memory.

“I’m sure she is very proud of you, James.” Loki offers, Bucky smiles at him.

“She gave me a hard time when I took your class.” He laughs, “Wanted to know who the professor was cause she had a feeling you weren’t, you know, human.”

Y/N smiles, “He told me after months.”

Bucky’s eyes widen, “I thought he’d admit earlier on, did you not feel the bond?”

“She used to feel stars whenever I was near and the same for me. I didn’t want to tell her unless I was sure.” Loki admits.

“Yet you left…” Bucky narrows his eyes.

“As did you. She was in tears at your departure.” Loki sneers.

“Oh I can replay her tears about when you left.” Bucky warns.

“Okay so I’ve cried for both of you leaving now both of you are back. We have to meet Clark and you have to go not kill John while finding information. Then we have to meet John and try not to kill him.” Y/N says loud enough to stop their bickering.

“I won’t kill him.” Loki innocently raises his hands in defence.

“I don’t believe a word out of your mouth, Professor.” Bucky narrows his eyes at the vampire.

“Yeah, nor do I.” Y/N agrees as Loki raises an eyebrow.

“Fine, I would kill him.” The vampire finally admits.

“I’d help you.” Bucky says without missing a beat.

“I’d help too.” Y/N adds.

“Seems his days are numbered.” Loki chuckles darkly.

A silence takes over them, only broken by the breathing of the beings in the room. It isn’t a comfortable silence but one that offers a moment of tranquility.

Hidden under the layers of the night.

Brought forth by nightmares that would be a part of life till the ones who could sleep would win.

“Are we going to go to be able to sleep again?” Y/N wonders out loud after time has passed by, Loki looks at his watch; it has been an hour and half since the humans first woke.

“We could try?” Bucky shrugs, scratching the back of his neck, rotating it with a wince.

Y/N looks sternly at Loki.

“I apologise.” Loki mutters.

“I’m sorry too, about the comment.” Bucky mumbles coherently.

The men nod at each other. Y/N stifles a yawn, head resting upon Loki’s shoulder. Slumber creeping up at her spine and shutting her eyelids.

The quietness only aiding her journey towards falling asleep again. Exhausted still from the night’s occurrences.

“When did you confess your feelings to her?” Bucky sounds far away.

“The first time? While she fell asleep during me reading to her.” Loki admits, “When her ankle was injured.” He adds, his voice far away too.

“Then you disappeared for a week.” Bucky recalls.

“I had to meet with another vampire regarding Alexander.” Loki shifts, using his agility to have Y/N not even feel a jostle as she’s placed between his legs her back against his chest and head resting upon Loki’s shoulder. His arms wrap around her, protectively.

Bucky stands, taking the duvet off of his bed and places it upon her.

“Cold doesn’t bother her?” He questions, blue eyes taking in their intimacy.

Loki shakes his head, “Surprised me, it’s as if she doesn’t realise how cold I am to touch.”

“I’m Elsa.” Y/N mutters, then shifts trying to find a comfortable position.

Bucky laughs, then is joined by Loki as they catch onto the reference she sleepily made.

“Oh, my witchling.” Loki says endearingly, pressing a kiss upon her temple.

“She is something else isn’t she?” Bucky murmurs, sitting back down using the couch for back support.

“Indeed is, do you still hold feelings for her?” Loki wonders curiously.

“She told you?” Bucky counters, slightly taken aback.

“I sort of caught on, plus the conversation you both were having, I have exceptional hearing you know.” The professor explained.

Bucky hums, “I don’t have my crush on her, I knew she doesn’t hold feelings for me. I never wanted to lose her as a friend.”

Loki nods, taking in the words.

“John has a weakness for her blood. I don’t know when he decided to want her. Of the humans I’ve, well, cast a spell upon. On behalf of that piece of shit. There is something about her that he kept coming back to have her frequently.” Bucky informs hoping it could be of some help tomorrow for the interrogation.

“I should just stake him. I do not even want answers.” Loki admits.

“But you do want answers.” Bucky affirms.

“I want to stake him more but I need to know if he is someone Alexander sent or is he acing out of his own accord.” The vampire notes the way the warlock’s fists clench. The geometric tattoo gaining prominence.

“Alexander took away my family.” Bucky announces, “Add me to the roster of people who will stake him to his death.”

Loki nods, “I’ll save you a spot.”

Nine Months Ago.

“James, help Maya out would you?” Christine Palmer the High Priestess of their coven requests as she corrects the stance of the baby witches and warlocks.

Bucky looks up from his current read about the history of different witch and warlock covens. Something about the celestial coven’s abilities was getting interesting.

“Of course. Where are they?” Bucky places a bookmark and has the book levitate back to the library.

“In the back field, practicing aiming shots.” The High Priestess calls back and then gives pointers about hand movements.

The warlock makes his way back to the field. Watching Maya huff in frustration they sit down upon the scarcely snow covered ground, they were feeling every bit of a moody, seventeen year old.

“Hey there, Maya,” Bucky offers his hand for a fist bump but they ignore him. Bucky sits down, “Honestly that rejected fist bump hurts more than not getting my spells right.”

Maya rolls their eyes, tucking their dark hair behind their ear, “You’re just here to baby sit me.”

“Nah, I would be getting paid for that, I’m here to watch.” Bucky shrugs.

“I don’t think I will get my mark. It’s been two months.” Maya feels tears of frustration cloud their vision.

“You know, I got my mark after seven months.” He admits, drawing a pattern in the snow.

“You’re lying.” They look at him with disbelief, “You’re, you’re one of the best here…”

“Got there by practice and not giving up. And definitely did not reject fist bumps.” He gives them a wry smile.

“You’re insufferable.” Maya rolls their eyes but finally raises their fist, Bucky grins widely and reciprocates.

“I’m pretty darn sufferable.” He laughs,

“Oh look somebody is smiling. Now come on tell me what you’re trying to do.” He stands offering a hand to them.

After about an hour Maya cries with glee, the make shift targets all eating dust on the ground, all of their fireballs worked.

Their right arm getting covered in a grey glow as the pattern of their coven sets in. Bucky applauded them, earning a hug from them.

“Thank you.”

“All your hard-work kiddo.” He pats their back.

Both of them freeze.

“Something—,” Maya’s words caught in their throat as a fire begins on the south end of their large home.

“Stay by my side.” Bucky orders as he begins to conjure a bubble, having the snow scooped up into it.

“I can replicate.” Maya adds, their hands raised upward mimicking Bucky’s actions, they send the bubble towards where the fire is, Maya watches Bucky scramble for more bubbles.

They close their eyes, a multiplication visualisation at the forefront the two bubbles multiply tenfold, the embers die down into smoke.

The two run off trying to find the remaining coven.

Maya covers her mouth as they enter through the back entrance. Bodies scattered on the floor, the scent of gasoline prominent in the air.

Bucky grabs their hand, he tries to block out letting his emotions take over, but his chest rips out a sob at the young children lying on the ground by their parents, wrapped in their arms trying to be protected.

He bends down, closing the eyes of the parents. Tears falling onto the floor. Maya sobs quietly seeing their elder brother lay lifelessly.

Christine clutches her side, walking up the steps from the basement. Bucky gazes at her through the plethora of tears that keep coming endlessly.

“Alexander Pierce.” She sputters out, coughing blood, “Take the deal, find the celestial coven.” Her chest heaves as more blood sputters from between her lips onto the wooden floor.

Christine falls to the floor, Bucky and Maya rush to her to try to save her.

“Don’t, I don’t need the healing magick, keep your stores. Bucky, you must find the celestial coven. Maya, I, am so very proud of you. I wish your first day wasn’t this way. You will live on in a different way find Luna. Help her.” Christine says.

“How do you know all this? Where, where is gramma?” Bucky questions, wiping the tears from the face of his priestess.

“She belonged to the celestial witch coven. I made a deal.” Christine turns to the stairwell, Luna’s boots echo as she comes into view.

Maya raises their hands, “You were a witch, you are a vampire. You will be ended.”

“Child, please.” Luna requests, then gazes at Bucky.

“You know her. Loki’s mate, our descendant. I’ve seen her stand by your side.” Luna says, Bucky’s eyebrows furrow.

“Accept John’s deal, please. It is imperative to the future.” Luna grabs Maya heading outward.

Bucky stumbles chasing after, hands raised to attack but his spell flickers out.

“Oh come on grandma, let it go, your coven is going to die!” A blonde haired vampire laughs.

“Oh no, I will end you.” Gramma Barnes stands, her hands moving creating her infamous vampire weave.

“Gramma.” Bucky calls out.

“Stay out of this. Run, James.” She moves her wrist he is thrown flying towards the exit point.

John tries chasing but is stuck in the weave.

“Oh you fucking witch.” John’s eyes turn red, he begins to relentlessly hit the weave’s borders. The gleam of the blue weave rippling but not relenting with each hit.

Bucky gets up, grabbing his stake, he begins charging towards the vampire.

Luna blocks him.

“Grandma, look at that.” John taunts, Gramma looks towards her Bucky then Luna.

‘Will you protect him?’ The sweet warm voice pools in Luna’s mind.

‘I will, he is needed for the final plan.’ Luna affirms, sincerely.

‘Child, you’ve been through atrocities yet they do not relent nor yield. I hope you find peace.’ Gramma’s warm hand runs over her head. Luna wishes she could cry at the loving gesture.

‘I am deeply sorry.’ Luna apologises.

‘He is the jewel of my family, my only legacy. I know your coven has the ability to survive but mine, today I realise shall perish in a certain way.’ The older woman begins to undo the weave.

‘Bucky Barnes, you make your grandmother proud, you hear me?’

Bucky realises what she is about to do, “No, please.”

John smiles, Luna presses the stake upon Bucky’s chest inducing feigned terror.

‘James Buchanan Barnes this has to occur, I wish I could teach you more. You’ve made me so proud, and you will keep making me proud. I know guilt will haunt you but it is not yours to hold. Remember to let it go.’ Her words echo, around his mind.

“Gramma.” Bucky’s scream fills the void of the deathly cold land. Gramma Barnes falls to the floor, John smiles crazed, his lips covered in her blood.

Bucky sobs, as John moves closer,

“I’ve been in need for a skilled warlock.”

He clutches Bucky’s jaw, the coppery scent fills his senses and his tears mix with the blood he shared with the woman who lays on the floor.

“Just end me.” Bucky begs, knowing it goes against everything that was said to him upon the deathbeds he witnessed.

“Oh no, you must soldier on, you’re the only seasoned Warlock. We’ve watched you. I know just what you need to comply a little more.” John’s eyes turn red as they bore into the eyes of the man who lost everything.

Luna lets go of Bucky, he stays held by John’s grip upon his jaw, eyes going from full of life and emotions to a blank slate.

“Warlock, knock your friend out with a little spell.” The vampire instructs.

“I—, no.” Bucky protests, the fear in Maya’s eyes outweighing their ability to fight back.

“Warlock. Hmm, let us find someone you would not like harmed. Tell me the last person you had feelings— oh what is this? Ah, what is the name?” John smiles as his compliance plucks out a woman, a little younger than Bucky but all his memories place her in light, happiness.

“Tell me her name warlock.” John demands pressing harder upon his jaw.

“Y/N.” Bucky wheezes, “Fuck, please, please, please no.”

John smirks, “I know where she lives now, I think we should pay her a visit. I think she would look so pretty drained dry.”

Bucky thrashes, John fills his head with images, that he cannot erase, fresh tears bloom.

“Comply and I’ll make these go away.” John promises.

Bucky wheezes, Y/N’s blood stains his hands. He can’t no matter what, he couldn’t allow her to be hurt.

“I will comply.” He mutters, the images disappear, he finds his mind muddled. A gnarled presence etching and latching onto his mind.

Bucky stares blankly ahead.

“Warlock, knock this coven member out.” John instructs.

Bucky raises his hand, eyes blank, Maya cries begging for him to break from this compliance.

Her pleas stop, her body droops in Luna’s arms. She breathes but stays unconscious.

“Start a fire for me, Warlock.” John instructs patting Bucky’s head.

His left hand glows as he produces a small fire.

John lights eight large pieces of wood, drags the older woman’s body back into the large house that once housed a huge family.

“Come now warlock, there will only be ashes buried upon this ground.” John pulls Bucky up by his hair, there is not a semblance of pain or a wince on the warlock’s face.

Luna gives a last rueful glance at the dying coven. Maya peaceful in her arms. A life of forced immortality looming upon their future.

Alexander Pierce greets them as they enter the castle, the journey far shorter than expected. They had been watching.

“You bring the two souvenirs?” Pierce cups Luna’s cheek.

“The warlock is skilled, not enough for a vampire but could be of use to John. I saw a vision of you with Maya, they were a splendid vampire.” Luna murmurs.

“Indeed, duplication powers, not limited to inanimate objects. They shall make a fine addition. Well done, my Luna. Go wait for me.” He instructs.

The vampire nods, leaving after placing Maya where they would wake to be prepared for their conversion.

“John, I’m sure you will chose wisely who to have fun with?” Pierce questions, the blue eyed vampire much like his other son Brock.

“I will, Father. I want to go back to the town, there is a feast waiting.” John pleads.

“In a few months, first train your abilities and your new pet. Then you may do as you please.”

Alexander places a hand upon his shoulder, giving a squeeze of pride. Then retreats to find Luna.

Present.

Morning comes, Loki stays watchful, the two humans yet again were woken up by their shared nightmare. The vampire once again dragged into the dream. This time Bucky had relived the setting ablaze of his coven’s home.

Y/N and Bucky walk upon eggshells, the latter apologising vehemently. Bucky then held Y/N as she cried with him over the horrific loss of his family. Their embrace filled with sobs and holding onto each other for support.

Loki remembered his own people being killed. He felt no remorse for Odin’s death but the rest, the women, children, kinder men. His frozen heart ached for the warlock.

He stays quiet, their sobs had turned into soft sniffles. Placing a box of tissues, they silently ate the eggs and hash browns.

Loki sighs deeply, feeling a weary exhaustion as well.

Y/N looks up, “You need to drink.”

“Its only ten a.m” Bucky tries joking.

Loki chuckles, “It is happy hour somewhere.” He retrieves two blood bottles, drinking from them.

“How much do you need to feed more since you use blood banks, one entire human can provide satiety for a ten days, a bag about seven. A mate’s blood sufficed three days, but if consumed deeply then pushes towards fifteen days. Provided the mate is make to drink the vampire’s blood for recovering.” Loki explains.

Bucky nods, “So normal human, blood bag, mate. There is also the case of the whole carnal thing right? I remember seeing that with human mates at Alexander’s castles.” The warlock shrugs, taking a bite of his eggs.

Y/N coughs, “Wh-what?”

“Oh come on, primal, carnal, sexual urges, it used to be a frenzy. I used to rush to the library for peace, even in that controlled state I knew I don’t want to hear those things.” Bucky feigns a shiver.

Loki and Y/N interlock their stares.

“Oh god, on this table?” Bucky groans as he watches her face heat up.

“No-not this!” She covers her face.

“His oak table?” Bucky teases.

“Bucky.” Y/N warns cheeks turning a deep scarlet at the recollection.

“What are you gonna do?” He taunts.

“I’ll put a spell on you.” She warns.

“I’d like to see you try baby witch.” Bucky chuckles.

Y/N resorts to the childish behaviour of having her tongue out towards Bucky.

Loki chuckles admiring her, drinking the blood as the exhaustion recedes.

“Save someone from compliance and they mock your abilities. No place for nice people here.” Y/N grumbles carrying on their banter.

“Thank you.” Bucky’s seriousness catches her by surprise.

“James, I was I was joking—,”

“I know, but thank you.” Bucky gives her a smile then his eyes watch her necklace.

“Celestial coven…” Bucky recognises the patterns recalling his book.

“Ye-yes… it just appears…”

“Yeah, only to the chosen ones in the bloodlines. Thats how your coven survives even if all active members are killed off the ones with the celestial bloodline carry the magick till the deserving ones awaken.” Bucky describes the lore.

“Oh…” Y/N looks at Loki, always thinking it was either him or a vampire who helped them.

“We left some active and non active members.” The vampire recalls, “Usually we asked the High Priestess or Priest to chose the survivors.”

“God, that would be a horrible responsibility.” Y/N picks at her leftover eggs.

“You need to eat.” Bucky and Loki tell her at the same time.

“Not hungry.” She defends her stomach churning at the slowly increasing in speed thoughts.

“Y/N.” Loki says, “Please, I’ll make you a Nutella sandwich will that be better?” He counters knowing she will cave in, he smiles when she nods.

He moves to gather the ingredients. Bucky shakes his head, “You’ve got him all wrapped around your finger.”

“He keeps me pampered.” Y/N blushes.

“I’m glad you have him, I will not hesitate to end him. If he hurts you again.” Bucky whispers.

“I can hear you, Mr. Barnes. I hope you remember you are yet to be done with my course.” Loki calls out the reminder.

Bucky rolls his eyes, “Still so uptight.”

“Still can hear you.”

Loki retrieves his burner phone as it vibrates.

From: Private Number

John hasn’t returned any correspondence, father is getting angsty might ask for a search to be conducted. Warlock untraceable as well. Keep eyes and ears open.

Plan may be expedited.

“Fuck.” Loki turns his actual cellphone beginning to ring and Thor is the one calling.

“Brother.” Loki greets, handing the sandwich to Y/N.

“We need to get this done with, get the warlock to charm the stakes.” Thor sighs.

“Essence could be traced back, counterproductive.” Loki reminds.

“Fine then we use the old ones.” The elder brother decides.

“We need answers.” Loki reminds him just as Bucky did earlier in the morning.

Bucky and Y/N gaze at the vampire, Loki tries to keep the bond in check but the nervousness seeps in, Y/N shifts back. Standing behind Loki and wrapping her arms around his torso, resting her head against his back.

Bucky watches small stars appear along the edges of where the soulmates stand. He had seen those before, whenever Y/N would conjure them weakly in her mind. The bitter coffee fuels his wakefulness allowing his mind to focus on something other than the guilt.

Loki sighs as the call ends, he stands for a few more moments. Relishing the warmth that Y/N provides to him. He can feel her comfort seeping into his bones. Grounding him.

How did he ever deserve her?

How could she allow herself to even consider forgiving him?

Loki takes her hands gently into his, placing a kiss upon them. Y/N moves so he can turn, still holding her hands.

“Any news?” Bucky wonders, knowing Y/N is likely trying to keep Loki grounded.

“Alexander is getting irritable since John hasn’t checked in with him.” The vampire admits.

Bucky narrows his eyes, trying to recall anything familiar to a check in.

“I don’t remember anything like that but then again he would leave for somedays in whichever city or town we were, if I was needed I would be taken along.” He runs a hand through his hair.

“Can we postpone meeting with your coven?” Bucky wonders, Y/N faces him.

“I could speak to Sierra, and—,”

Her phone begins to ring from upstairs, untangling herself she makes her way to her room.

Emery’s picture graces the screen, Y/N’s eyebrows furrow, its ten a.m on a Sunday why are they calling?

“Hey Emery—,”

“Where are you?”

“At home? Its Sunday—,”

“Y/N it is Monday, today’s the second half of the smaller unit exam.” Emery reminds and the blood drains from Y/N’s body.

“It is Monday?” She squeaks out.

“Yes, Y/N, did, is everything okay?” Emery watches Doctor Strange arrange the papers around the room. He offers them a soft smile.

“This it just completely slipped my mind.” She admits, “What time is the exam?”

Emery gazes into Strange’s eyes, were they always this beautiful? Yep, they have to be this beautiful.

Strange raises an eyebrow when he hears Y/N’s panicked voice asking for Emery to respond.

He raises his hand to wave them out of their thoughts. Emery’s cheeks break out into a deep blush as they register her words.

“Um, um its in an hour? How soon can you get here?”

“Forty minutes? Faster if Loki drives?” Y/N scrambles around her room, gathering her white coat, scrubs and kit.

“Okay, get him to drive.” Emery suggests, Stephen calls them forward.

“Um, Doctor Strange is calling me, so um I’m going to go help him.” They quickly inform.

“Oooh are the butterflies there?” Y/N teases despite her running late.

“Ever present.” Emery informs, “Now get your ass here quickly I’m not going to go into the second year without you.”

“Yes boss.” Y/N giggles as Emery laughs as well.

Loki and Bucky watch from the door.

“Need help?” Loki questions, allowing her to ask for what she needs from him.

“I have an exam today, honestly I will kill John myself if I fail.” Y/N grumbles,

“I need you to drive; break all speed limits if you have to,” She goes into the bathroom quickly changing into the scrubs. Loki grins at the prospect.

“Want me to put a luck spell on you? Will work for exams.” Bucky offers hands tucked into his pockets.

“Will it be cheating?” Y/N questions as they all rush to the car.

“No, just some extra luck.” He explains.

“Okay, give Emery some too.” Y/N requests.

The three settle into the car, the low hum puts a smile on Loki’s face.

“So how fast can you—,” Bucky is shifted back into his seat at the speed of the car, he grips the door handle.

His blue eyes interlock with Loki’s in the rearview mirror.

The vampire only laughs full of mirth as he navigates them speedily and safely through the roads.

Y/N seems to feel no panic used to the speed, she retrieves her notes and begins going over them.

“You okay back there?” Y/N turns to watch Bucky still dazed at the speed the trees are blurred around them.

“I think I might throw up.” He takes a deep breath.

“You won’t. I felt the same way the first time but you will be okay.” Y/N offers a smile.

Bucky just nods, trying to keep his eyes on an unmoving object.

“Why do vampires love speed?” He mutters, as the car begins to slow down.

They stop in front of the university hospital.

Y/N grabs her things quickly.

Loki grabs her hand, she turns back.

“Good luck, I’m sure you will fair well.” He kisses her cheek. Y/N beams grinning.

“Thank you, Loki.”

“Good luck, Poetess sending you and your friend some extra sprinkled luck in five minutes.” Bucky assures with a smile.

“Thank you, Bucky.”

She waves goodbye to the two men and jogs up the stairs; her department towards the right on the ground floor.

Loki follows her movements with his senses, when his phone chimes with Doctor Strange’s message upon her arrival he moves the car from the front to park it in the basement.

“Do you need anything for the spell?” Loki turns to find Bucky in deep concentration.

“No, all done.” He offers a grin.

“So…” Loki drums his fingers over the steering.

“So…” Bucky repeats, lost on a subject to converse upon.

They look at each other contemplating.

“I have the creative writing class in twenty minutes. You could sit in?” Loki offers.

“We’re walking to the building.” Bucky warns getting out of the car.

-x-x-x-x-

taglist open! just comment below to be added!

tagging: @camerons-specialinterest @stevesmewmew @pandaxnienke

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aayilahkaylee · 3 years ago

Text

Carbon as a major factor in the origin of life and carbonated water.

Summary: They both think too much and are highly interpretive of their surroundings - objectively, of course. So it is inevitable that they will do the same with their soul mate brands, but things will look really simple on a trip to the zoo, where many carbon-based life forms are gathered, an element that is also part of their trademark formula.

Notes: This is part of the first challenge done on Twitter by @DcstChallenges, with the theme of soulmates. Don't hesitate to join on twitter and participate or support future challenges.

The system of soulmate identification was nothing more than an inefficient diversity of methods with a huge margin of error or at least ambiguity.

Statistics and probability confirmed this, Senku made use of these calculations in trying to understand this phenomenon, ruling out unprovable facts such as the resonance of dreams or thoughts, or slightly questionable ones such as writing on one's own skin and this also appearing on the other person's (how many could be writing on their own skin and inventing that it was their soulmate who had written to them?). Also the countdowns to over a thousand years were also proof of the untruthfulness that came with it.

Rooted to the facts, the mark on Ishigami Senku's right forearm was supposed to be the mark of his soul mate, but to him it was nothing more than the affirmation that he loved science.

At a certain point, he came to think that simply marks like his did not mean that someone was his soulmate, but that they simply had similar enough tastes or interests that they could hit it off. Which would explain why most people who found his markings ended up being a couple.

On his arm was tattooed the formula NaHCO₃, one of the most important compounds in history, to which he gave the meaning of being what proved that his destiny was science.

On the contrary, Asagiri Gen wondered if among his peers there would be someone whose first word they would cross with him would be that compound; would they pronounce it as the formula read, or would they simply say 'sodium bicarbonate'?

Eventually, his peculiar mark of soul mate became just another joke in his extensive repertoire, with the formula actually demonstrating his deep love of soda, with every bottle of cola that fell into his hands being his destiny.

They didn't think about it often, in fact they even forgot they had such a mark as they were so focused on their respective scientific and psychological/magical matters. So that Saturday, the marks on their arms were not foremost in their brains, instead they found themselves early in the morning preparing to leave for the zoo.

Byakuya found it opportune to distract his busy eleven year old son from incessant curiosity from time to time, offering visits that were stimulating and fun enough that Senku couldn't refuse, though there was no way he would have declined because he appreciated the old man's affectionate intentions... sometimes, when he didn't force him to wear a cap because of the sun.

At the same time, with the pressure of socialisation and the opportunity to experiment with his own charisma, Gen spouted witty remarks and questions to uncover those classmates who invited him on this outing. Exploiting his charisma and his wit to make their company more pleasant, until he was able to get a break after the lion section, offering his companions to set aside a table until they returned with snacks.

Had Senku perhaps taken two seconds longer to heed his periphery, he would have continued the tour with his father to leave and subsequently go for a bite to eat together, but inevitably he noticed the wrist of a young man of about fourteen or fifteen.

NaHCO₃

And he immediately asked Byakuya to pause, sending him to sit down to wait, which the elder somehow interpreted as a coy statement that Senku was hungry, so like a good tutor he retreated to get food.

Senku adjusted the straps of his backpack and positioned himself in front of the jet-haired boy, who was arranging a pair of pretentious sunglasses. He thought of a few probing questions, certain that the young man in front of him was also a science buff (What else could that mark mean?).

But Gen won the speak, slightly taken aback. "Are you lost?" he asked at the boy's sudden appearance.

So Senku dismissed all the questions he had thought of, remembering where they were and convinced that Gen was there for academic reasons.

"Elephant gestation lasts about twenty-two months and during elephant pregnancy the calf grows to a hundred or a hundred and fifty kilograms." he said.

‘Huh?!’

Senku counted thirty seconds, in which his determination showed in the way his brow tightened with each passing second. Gen remained expressionless despite the discomfort, inwardly contorting his face in stupefaction ‘What the hell is this...?!’

"Hah~," he regained his composure immediately and smiled. "as interesting as elephants being afraid of bees." replied, assuming this was one of those kids who liked fun facts... until realised he was looking for something more technical. "It's because bees can get into the mucous membranes and delicate parts of the elephant like the trunk, mouth or eyes and sting them. Of course, they can't pierce their skin, but you should know that.

This time it took ten seconds, which made the major sweat, until Senku smiled slyly.

"Not bad." the younger acknowledged.

Immediately, feeling a great deal of encouragement to exchange his extensive knowledge with Gen, he surmised that perhaps such chemical reactions, like the one he was feeling, were the explanation for why people who could not see colours got it when they met the person they matched with. Or how eye colour could change when they met, nothing more than physiological reactions related to hormones and perhaps genetic compatibility.

Interest was also piqued in Gen, who was trying to explain why Senku had taken the seat next to him so deliberately. When would he get the chance to meet someone so slightly peculiar again? The intrigue to know how effective his skill would be with this boy was agitating.

"Are you sure you're not lost." Gen echoed, holding his hands out to his sides in an effort to appear receptive. Senku's body language indicated he was being cautious. "Your parents won't be angry that you got separated from them, animals and information plates are so entertaining that they do this all the time."

Senku denied, lifting his face from the horizon to Gen. "You assume I'm coming with my family when the likelihood of me coming for a school trip is seventy-five percent, considering the offer they have for students on weekends." replied quizzically at that miscalculation.

If this kid had information about the elephants' pregnancy, why was Gen surprised that he also knew that accurate figure?

"You're right from a monetary and practical perspective," Gen said, not doubting that Senku was correct. "but, statistically, weekends are used for family and friends." the boy seemed unhappy that Gen didn't give an accurate figure "I think if you came with friends, you would have been lost together, and you don't look angry enough to explain away an argument."

Because of his sullen nature, Senku looked at him incredulously, slightly annoyed by the blatantly accurate analysis. He attributed his discomfort to the lack of numerical data that could have helped him compare and assimilate the diagnosis.

"Go on." Senku demanded.

Gen's hands continued the expressive mimicry, unconsciously showing his mar. "If it was a school trip, your teacher would have already reported you missing, the same applies if you were accompanied by the parents or relatives of your friends; the responsibility for a child who doesn't belong to them would have already mobilised them. I see you're learning a lot, but the absence of an alarmed teacher" Gen glanced around before continuing. "-means that a school trip is not the case."

"Efficient, a ten billion percent efficient." Senku credited.

All it took was a push. "Or could this be a distress call?" Gen moved slightly closer to add privacy. "Are you running away from someone?" he added in a sympathetic, empathetic tone.

Senku closed his eyes, weary of the other's deductions. "Fine, my father couldn't wait for us to go out to get something to eat, I know exactly where he is."

Gen smirked, proud that he had so neatly broken down the boy's suspicious barriers "So you came to me to entertain yourself in the meantime?" he remarked, considering he was apparently the only one who was also alone in waiting and thus became Senku's target. "You don't seem like the kindly type who would come up with an interesting fact just to entertain others without getting something in return." he mentioned intentionally.

If it was not help the younger man required, was looking for something more, an his restless gaze confirmed it.

The small, calloused hand pointed to Gen's forearm. "Your mark, it means sodium bicarbonate." said.

Among the things Gen expected to hear next was not his mark of a soul mate "I'm aware of that." replied. He wasn't aware of was that wearing a short-sleeved shirt in the heat would attract the attention of a stranger that day.

Senku smiled. The older might be different from what expected in terms of methodology and analysis, but that he knew the significance of his tattoo evidently earned him a ten billion points.

Gen for his part recalled the Monster Hunter player who explained the original use of NaHCO₃ for soda, which was the origin of the joke that, looking the boy straight in the eye, he backed away from wanting to change to an allusion to cheating on chemistry exams.

"Do you know what it means?" Senku asked with abrupt energy. Revolutionary inventions and the many uses of NaHCO₃ flashed through his head.

Unexpectedly, that excitement rubbed off on Gen and he replied. "I know what it means. "

Byakuya didn't wonder at first why Senku had decided to leave his arm exposed for the rest of the tour. The heat was reason enough... until he noticed that his son kept staring at the mark when he always downplayed it.

"In the rest area there was a boy who had the same mark as me." Senku revealed, making his father's jaw drop to the floor.

Sure, it had to be something like that, but Byakuya could never have guessed it was that encounter. And it wasn't his fault either, the last time Senku had been dismayed by his mark, it was when he explained to a stranger in Monster Hunter the uses of NaHCO₃, pleading for the component's inclusion in more video games.

As a result, Byakuya dragged Senku back to the zoo in search of his soulmate, admonishing him for being so insensitive and for letting the encounter go unnoticed without remorse. Disgruntled, Senku reaffirmed that all this talk of love and romance was as tedious as it was counterproductive.

Gen was satisfied on the way to the train station, the talk he had with the boy stretching into a mutually stimulating mix of technical commentary on carbon and life on earth, and a smattering of curiosities and humorous observations that he knew would please the youngster. He had been put to a demanding test, in a way that none of his companions could ever have done.

Which was perhaps why he ignored them until one mentioned:

"Asagiri, that boy you were talking to when we arrived, I saw him before we left and on his forearm he had a mark similar to yours." he alluded hesitantly.

The pieces fell into place... and Gen lost his senses once again.

It certainly wasn't the first and wouldn't be the last time sodium bicarbonate would bring them together under a new manifestation.

#sengen #senku #gen #dr stone #I'M SO BAD WITH ENGLISH #SORRY IF I WROTE SOMETHING WRONG #soulmates #byakuya

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manawhaat · 4 years ago

Text

Howl

Title: Howl

Characters: Alpha!John x Omega!Reader, previous Alpha!Dean x Omega!Reader, Alpha!Sam, Jody Mills.

Summary: After spending twelve-hundred years in hell, John Winchester is spit out and lands on The Bunker’s doorstep while you’re away on a case. Sam and Dean insist you stay away until they can help him let go of the Alpha inside him and become human again. But when the bunker unexpectedly locks down the day you return home, you find yourself trapped inside with an Alpha who’s more monster than man.

Prompts: (This fic covers 3 challenges.)

@flamencodiva 1700 challenge - “I’ve been waiting a long time for you.”

@firefly-in-darkness summer-challenge - Limerence – the state of being infatuated with another person

@wi-deangirl77 Supernatural Schitt Challenge - “Let’s not ruin a meal by talking about the process.”

Warnings: A/B/O dynamics, slight angst, dub-con, fear kink, scent kink, blood/minor blood play, hunter/prey dynamics, extreme pining, heat sickness, allusions to stalking, creepy!John, oral sex (female receiving), rough sex, biting/scratching, claiming/knotting, breeding kink, true mates, cum play.

Word Count: 7.3k (not even a little bit sorry)

A/N: Huge, huge, HUGE thank you to @mrswhozeewhatsis for helping me make this what it is. You seriously elevate every single story you touch. Hell, you elevate EVERYTHING you touch! @sebbytrash and @sherrybaby14 also did kickass jobs betaing. I had a rough idea about this for a bit before I started to develop it and as soon as I started actually writing, I ended up signing up for a couple challenges, so this fic kills three challenges with one alpha. I liked a lot of quotes in Vanessa’s challenge so there’s actually 4 of them in here even though I only signed up for the one.

Lemme know if you like it, and maybe support my writing❤️❤️

“What do you mean John is back?”

Jody stops in her tracks and her face is a mirror image of yours, so you switch Sam to speaker and hold the phone between you and her.

“He’s back, Y/n.” Sam sighs, voice strained with exhaustion and confusion. “It’s him. He’s not missing a soul or anything but, uhh, he’s… different.”

“Different how?” A million things are running through your brain and you can only imagine what the boys must be thinking.

Shuffling fills your ear, quickly followed by the heavy creak of the bunker’s front door. His voice is quiet when he answers. “He was down there for a long time. It’s like it warped him. He’s-” Sam pauses, searching for the right word before landing on- “feral.”

Jody’s eyebrows shoot up and she clarifies, “Feral?”

Sam huffs. “Yeah. I mean, he’s only been back for a couple of days but the more we watch him and talk to him it’s like he’s more Alpha than human. Jody, I know you guys wrapped up your case but would it be okay if Y/n stayed with you for a bit?”

“I’m a big girl, Sam,” you scoff. “I dealt with your soulless ass and Dean as an actual fucking demon. I can handle a little more testosterone than normal.”

“No.” The voice belongs to Dean. “I’m serious, Y/n. This isn’t like me or Sam in a rut. He was down there for twelve-hundred years. He’s stronger than before he went down there and he’s not himself. Hell really did a number on him. There are some serious red flags here, sweetheart. He’s dangerous, and if something were to happen I’m not sure that we’d be able to protect you.”

“Jesus” Jody breathes.

The length of time put into words makes your stomach churn. The idea of anyone, anything spending so long in hell only to resurface is more than enough to send shivers up your spine.

“We’re not trying to get rid of you. We just need some time to figure things out. He’s barely-” Sam’s voice cracks- “he’s barely human, Y/n. Just give us enough time to make sure you’ll be safe around him, okay?”

Your eyes meet Jody’s and she shoots you a look that says you should listen to them. Making the guys go through this alone fucking sucks, but you trust them. “Okay, okay. I’ll keep my distance. But please keep me updated and let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.”

Sam and Dean sigh in relief. “We will. Thanks, sweetheart. We’ll talk soon.”

The guys keep you up to date and a little over a month has passed when you start to feel you’ve overstayed your welcome at Jody’s. You all decide it's time for you to come home and you’re off the following morning.

The drive is long but pleasant and the sight of the bunker looming in the distance is a comfort as you draw near. The iron door swings open and your friends emerge with smiles on their faces, waiting for you to park and get out before crowding you at once.

As they approach, you pick something on the breeze that you’ve never smelled before. Sam pulls you in and the warm spice wafting in the air makes you press your body into his, a little too close, too intimately. He rumbles out a laugh and you just purr in response, letting him feel the heave of your chest against his. It’s only when Dean practically peels you away from his brother that you let yourself moan into Dean’s neck, running your fingers through the back of his hair to pull him closer and get a better whiff.

“God, you guys smell so fucking good,” you admit.

Sam’s brows furrow and he asks if you’re due for a heat.

“Nope. I’ve been taking my pills… Maybe I just missed you guys!” You wink and Dean squeezes your sides, but you playfully slap him away with a broad smile. “Actually, the gift you want is in the trunk. Let me take this stuff in and I’ll come back and help you with the rest,” you promise. “Oh, and where’s John?”

“Went for a walk. He’ll be back in a bit and we’ll introduce you then.”

They rush off to your car while you head inside. The creaky slam behind you is followed by the alarmingly loud clacks and clunks of multiple locks setting into place, the sounds enough to set you on high alert. The lights don’t kick off, so you’re sure the bunker isn’t in full lock down, but before you can investigate the locked door you’re suddenly struck with the scent that you smelled on them outside, It sends a cramp through your belly and you take a deep breath to combat it, almost tasting the air until you’re interrupted when your phone rings. Dean’s face pops up on your screen and you answer the call to hear his voice, light and playful.

“Hey, what the hell? Open up. I know you’re excited to be home, but c’mon. We live here too,” Dean says, half laughing.

When you try the handle, it’s stuck in place. “It’s locked from the inside. I didn’t even touch it.”

“Son of a bitch.”

You stay on the line with him while they try their key from the outside. It doesn’t work and when they point you to the manual lever along the wall, it doesn’t budge. You can’t find any external locks to try on your side so you head down to the war room to try the mechanical system override.

A wave of dizziness washes over you when your foot hits the bunker floor off the bottom of the staircase, but you steel yourself and search the room for what you’re looking for. As if fate is against you, the search is aborted by the wash of a fever flooding your body.

It only takes a minute or two, but emotions and hormones slam through you at an alarming rate. Your heart and brain race as your body temperature kicks up a few degrees.

No, no, no. I’m taking suppressants. This can’t be happening. How is this happening so fast?

Sam and Dean are audibly yelling outside and through your phone, bickering about how to get into the bunker and that they should have known you’d go into heat upon returning to the smell of them. But their worried voices are muffled by a fog that comes over you, and somewhere in the bunker there’s a low growl that has your ears perking up. The sound is so faint you’re not sure it’s even real, until it comes again.

Your blood runs cold and you grip the phone tight in your hand, eyes wide as you look into the dark expanse of the bunker. “Guys… I think I just heard something.”

Their efforts to break down the front door stop cold. “What did you hear?”

Just then, the growl comes again and sends shivers up your spine. It’s the voice of a predator somewhere in the depths of the bunker you’re trapped in.

“I- I don’t think I’m alone in here.”

The fever and pain in your lower belly spike again and you’re almost crippled by the scent in the air. It’s faint but your body would know it anywhere, and before you can think about it you’re thrust into a strong and sudden heat that has you boiling and worried. Fresh slick gushes through your core, leaking into your underwear as you moan lewdly, clinging to the wall for support.

“Oh, fuck. Alpha!”

The phone remains loosely held in your grip but it’s dropped to your side as you rush through the halls, completely oblivious to Dean calling your name and warning you to stay where you are.

Every step you take has your body buzzing harder and harder. The sounds have stopped but the scent is getting stronger. Your mouth is dry with need and your body is almost reaching its peak just on the pulse of sheer power you’re being drawn in by.

The door to the dungeon is in front of you when your feet finally stop. Part of you registers that you’ve moved through the entire bunker in a matter of seconds, and wants you to stop and think about that for a minute, but the energy surging through your blood urges you to reach out and open the door.

“Don’t open that door!”

The voice booms through your skull, echoes off the bunker walls, shocks you, and fills your body with cold dread. Flinching back in surprise, your back hits the wall and you suddenly remember Dean on the phone. He’s rambling, but you cut him off with worry and lust fighting for dominance in your heart.

“Dean, I can feel him,” you admit, not even realizing it until after the words have echoed back at you in Dean’s voice.

“Don’t go in that room,” he warns. Commands. Your inner omega should be cowering. That’s twice you’ve been told and yet your body is quickly starting to think those words are more of a dare than a warning.

“It’s him, isn’t it? It’s John.”

A groan slithers through the cracks of the door at the sound of his name on your tongue and you know you’re right.

“He must have gotten back without us noticing. He’s dangerous, Y/n. Do not go into that room. Come back and help us find a way to get you outta there before you get hurt!”

You register the guys talking to you, yelling at you, warning you and begging you, but your body is moving on its own accord.

“Omega, stop!” John barks at you from the dungeon and you whine with need, sinking to your knees and taking in shaky breaths.

Sam’s voice catches your attention and you hear him in the middle of his sentence. “...away from there. Go to your room, take another suppressant and use your toys to calm down. Please don’t argue. If you’re going into heat then you need to leave right now. You aren’t safe there.”

Picking yourself up off the ground, you shake your head and try to break the spell. They’ve kept you away for a reason and if the guys are this worried, you should probably try to listen to them. Four steps is all you manage to take before the pain in your lower belly becomes too much and you slump against the wall. Now that you’ve been this close to the caged alpha, your body won’t let you leave.

“Guys,” you pant, sucking in ragged breaths to steel yourself from the pain. You take another two steps and collapse, screaming in agony as your nerves shred themselves, ripping themselves apart trying to escape your body and get closer to John.

Chains rattle, metal scrapes in the dungeon, and the snarls that burst from John’s chest have Sam and Dean calling for you through the phone. You grip it tight, crawl back down the hall, and sigh in relief as you give your body what it wants and the pain eases. When you settle against the wall across the hallway, the distressed sounds behind the dungeon door calm.

“I can’t.”

Hot tears prick at your eyes as you stare at that door in horror and need. You’ve hated being a weak omega with little to no say over your own life since the day you presented, and now what little control you’ve managed to find (with the help of the brothers) is slipping through your fingers. You don’t want this, but you are completely and utterly unable to deny it.

“I can’t leave. I need him.”

Soft sobs are the last thing the boys hear tumble from your mouth before you hang up and toss the phone away.

If you can’t leave, you’re gonna stay and do everything you can to listen to the men in your life. So you tear open your jeans and stuff your hands inside, desperate to quell the throbbing between your legs and gain back some semblance of control over your body.

On instinct, your mind goes to Dean. He’s been exactly who you needed him to be and he’s never let you down. Every touch serves a purpose, and his skill always afforded you the luxury of being in expert hands. But here and now, the more you think about him, the less you can remember; not the feel of his fingers inside you, let alone the taste of his tongue or girth of his knot when it’s locked you together.

A cry of Dean’s name fills the air, as if calling out to him will magically bring him to you. Will restore the memory and give you the headway you need. But Dean’s pushed out of your mind and before you realize, the images that fill your brain are of the man behind the door. Photos you’ve seen in passing over the years in Sam and Dean’s rooms and journals. The memories are a little fuzzy, but you have enough of the mental image to piece him together. Broad shoulders, thick neck, long legs, and strong hands.

Choking on desire, you’re frozen still and silent, pussy fluttering wetly around two fingers. An angry rattle of chains meets your ears on the other side of the door and you push your fingers through your folds for him, for the alpha you’ve yet to meet. The stranger that’s sent you tumbling down into this overwhelming heat.

“I can smell what you’re doin’ sweetheart,” he says through the door, and you hear him inhale long and slow; you know that he’s savoring the smell of your dripping cunt.

It’s enough to have you kicking off your pants and tearing off your shirt. The air around you is sweltering and your clothes are already soaked with sweat and slick. Your panties are wet against the back of your hand as you fuck yourself dizzy, try desperately to run from that pain and the overwhelming inevitable that’s flaring in your blood the longer you sit outside the dungeon.

Unbearable pain vibrates through your cells as you reach an almost orgasm. Everything is a blur and your tongue is heavy and dry in your mouth. You’re slowly suffocating and going blind, burning and dying. Heat sickness has always been a myth in your mind, but now you’re feeling it and you cry out in fear and frustration, worried that this might just be how you die. As if he can hear your thoughts, as if he can feel you growing weaker with every passing minute, your alpha rages and a roar booms through the bunker. It’s not anger or lust, but fear, and it matches your own.

You muster your strength and bravery, crawl across the hall and finally push open the dungeon door. Heat spills from the room and it’s musty with the pheromones he’s putting in the air, the sweat on his skin, and the need in his blood.

Wrenching back the shelves, you meet John Winchester face to face for the first time. He’s sitting in the middle of the dungeon in jeans and a flannel shirt. It’s buttoned over a black t-shirt and his sleeves are rolled enough for you to see the raised veins on his forearms. Chains and rope surround his body, strapping him tightly to the iron chair in the center of the room.

As you step closer, your initial analysis of his bindings is wrong. The padlock is near his right hand, the knots of rope at his hands are sloppy, and the chains on his upper body give him enough room to move a little against them. The only one that’s really secure is the padlocked chain collar around his neck.

“Like my handiwork?” he asks as you eye him. “Tied the knots and wrapped these chains, myself… but these won’t hold. I don’t want to hurt you, but I won’t be able to stop when I get out. And I will get out.”

John shifts against the bindings as you step closer, bares his teeth to reveal elongated canines that make the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. The veins in his neck are clear and visible, blood pumping through them hard and fast, and his teeth bite into his lower lip when you step into the devil’s trap.

Drops of blood spill out of his mouth and a shudder wracks through you- he’s hurting himself in his effort to stay still- but you can’t control yourself. You’re too far gone now that you’re this close.

“I need you, John. Need your knot. Need you inside me. I’m yours and you’re mine.”

The words are the first you’ve spoken to him and they surprise you both. John hardens himself, slams his eyes shut and strains in this seat, holding himself as far away from you as possible until you rip your underwear off your body as a show of your desperation.

The scent of your soaked pussy makes his blood boil and a roar builds deep in his chest to explode out of his mouth. His body writhes with the force of it but in a flash the powerful sound turns into a menacing cackle. Wild eyes widen up at you and his blood-stained teeth have your full attention when his tongue tracks over them.

“Oh, sweetheart. You’re gonna taste so good.” His hands grip at the arms of the chair, thick, sharp claws dig into the wood enough for it to splinter. “I’m gonna tear you apart,” he laughs, full bodied, crows feet at his eyes, mouth split wide open on his face.

Part of you doesn’t want to believe him. There’s a throb in your core that calls out for him, that yearns to feel his lips and skin against yours. Slick pools between your legs and John sucks in a long, harsh, deep breath, pupils expanding as he savors your scent.

“You think this is a game, baby girl?” Your pussy flutters at his words, even as his demeanor darkens further. “You’re gonna bleed, just like all those people on my rack in hell. Gonna sink my claws into you, see where you rip and where you hold up, see how hard I have to bite to get you to beg me to stop. Gonna break your bones and give it to you harder when that little omega pussy is busted open and bleeding around me. Stick around, send me into this rut and you’ll be wishing you never set foot in this bunker. That’s a fuckin’ promise.”

The thought of being torn apart is that of nightmares. Dean had rough ruts after hell, but he was right: John is dangerous. Every rational thought in your brain is telling you to run, to find a way back to Dean, but there’s an electricity in the air that tugs your ions closer to his.

His eyes are dark and stormy, the muddy wash bordering on red, and salt and pepper spread through his dark hair and the beard clinging to his strong jaw. Tentatively, your hands reach out for him and he hisses, jumps at you with dripping teeth and dark eyes, guttural sounds tearing from his throat as he struggles to get to you.

In an effort to sate your heat and keep your distance, a dizzying compromise lands at your feet. If you can take what you need from him, you might be able to gain the higher ground. If you give your heat what it wants fast enough, you can outrun him and gain control of your body again. Only half of your heart believes it, but you can’t stop yourself from easing into his lap to test the theory.

Heat sears your crotch where you grind down onto him, rolls off of him in waves that leave you in a cold sweat. “Will you come to my funeral, John? Will you watch me burn to a pile of ash on a shitty pyre? Because you’re gonna have to if I don’t do this… if you don’t knot me right fucking now.”

“I might have to either way, darlin’,” he growls, the chain collar around his neck clunking and rattling with his effort to both get closer to you and keep away all at the same time. The blood on his lower lip forms into a fat drop, lingers on his skin like it doesn’t want to leave, and you watch it fall and land on your inner thigh where you’re straddling him.

Even with his dark promises, your hands hastily pluck apart the buttons of his jeans and pull the material down to reveal a thick shaft surrounded by dark hair. He’s rock hard in your hands and before you can waste any more time your pussy is stretched open around him, every inch of his throbbing cock stuffed inside your slick walls.

You sigh contentedly as your heat settles, now that it has a taste of what it wants. Just having him inside you feels better than anything you’ve ever felt before, and a ragged howl escapes his throat at the rough slams of your hips down into his when you finally start to move.

Everything stands still while you take what you need from the alpha beneath you, claim him as your own with high pitched whimpers of his name, giving in to your most primal instincts. Every thrust has the two of you reeling toward the edge of bliss embarrassingly fast, and you grip his hair to force his eyes to yours when you’re close.

“Watch me, John. Watch me cum for you.”

Your efforts double, you slam your mouth into his, taste him for the first time, and cry out against his lips as the tingle of your orgasm spreads through your belly and explodes through you. The feel of you coming around him pushes John past the point of no return and into his rut. He’s tried to hold back, tried to tame the animal inside and protect you the way a good alpha should, but each buck of your hips has him barreling into a rut that you can smell, stifling and hot with a hint of sulfur, while you tremble in his lap and ride out your pleasure.

John’s eyes change- swirl from deep brown into an onyx wash that clears into a deep red that mirrors the emergency lights of the bunker. His body shakes and spikes another ten degrees in an instant and when you’re sure he’s about to actually catch on fire, an electric pulse consumes him, and then you. The surge shoots out of your bodies and the bunker lights flash with loud sparking pops before instant darkness falls through the bunker.

The red emergency lights and bright white flood lights kick a moment later, just in time for you to see John’s muscles tensing as he pulls at the chains he’s wrapped in, his rut taking him to full power. They groan and creak, and it’s when one snaps with a loud rattle that you realize the true strength of him.

“Oh my god.” You cower in awe, hormones no longer fuzzing your brain, before scrambling out of his lap. However, you’re not quite quick enough to facilitate your escape.

“You’re mine.”

A thick arm wraps around your back, and you shriek at the sharp sting of his claws on your hip. His one-handed attempt to keep you there with him draws blood, and you desperately wriggle out of his hold and off of his lap before rushing off into the bunker.

Two hallways pass by your sides before the clamor of breaking chain and splintering wood rattles into the bunker and stops you in your tracks. The wolf in him cries out for you, and a primal part of you is desperate to howl back. An eerie silence follows, sinks in bone deep, and you clap a hand over your mouth to stay quiet when you start moving again.

You don’t get very far before you walk into a brick wall of his scent, tumbling further under a tall, crashing wave of heat trying to drag you down to the depths of a hellfire made of a Winchester. The scent of the alpha radiates strong and insistent, and the door shuts quietly behind you as you slip inside, eyes keenly observing your room drenched in John’s scent.

At first glance, you see no differences, but the weight of the air tells you to look closer, and when you do you find that everything in your room is slightly off; as if all of your personal possessions have been picked through but weren’t put back into their rightful place.

The sheets on the bed have clearly been slept in and a pair of your underwear on the ground catch your eye. The soft pink material is moist when you pick them up and the smell that wafts up from them is unmistakable.They fall to the ground without a sound and you shakily wipe John’s cum off of your hands onto your sheets with a grimace of repulsion. How many times had he used your clothes for his pleasure? How many times had he laid in your bed, eyed the photos of your long gone family and defiled your intimacy?

John hadn’t even met you, yet, but from the time the boys brought him home he’s picked you open and left you exposed, vulnerable, and violated. He’s been living in the walls of your home, spending his nights in your bed just waiting for his moment to strike. The thought leaves your legs weak beneath you and you suddenly can’t breathe.

Bursting out of your room, you cling to the walls for support, searing pressure building in your lower belly as you move. If you’re in pain, you must be getting farther away from him. The hope in that thought is enough to stifle the pain and you’re crawling toward the library when your name is howled out into the bunker.

“Alpha,” you moan back against your own will, hands clapping over your mouth in an effort to stop the sound that’s already made its escape.

Two steps forward, five steps back.

Soft shuffling off in the distance switches directions and you know that John heard you call out for him. Panic bubbles in your blood and you battle pain, confusion, and need as you turn left toward your imminent escape path, eyes cast behind you in apprehension. You make it less than halfway down the long hall before you turn your eyes forward, finally sure that you’re on the path to freedom.

Stopping in your tracks, you stare in horror at the dead end before you. In your panic, you realize that you were supposed to turn right to get out, and you’ve just sealed your fate with one wrong turn.

Adrenaline and defeat kick around in your body and you know he’s going to find you. On cue, your body grows warmer, slicker and needier for him, and an electric crackle fills the air, telling you he’s getting close. He knows your scent too well and though you can’t see him, you’ve already been caught. Running will only make you weaker, so your stand still, waiting for the inevitable.

Soft shuffling has your ears pricking up at attention and your heart stops when you finally muster the gall to turn around and face your fate. John’s looming at the end of the hall, standing stock still just long enough for your pussy to leak and flutter for him. It’s that reaction that has him barreling down the hall on all fours like an animal, red eyes gleaming, claws scraping at the floor. He’s the most feral, lethal predator you’ve ever seen and this is what Sam and Dean warned you about. This is how you’ll meet your end- throat torn out by this hell sent Alpha with a cursed last name.

The child in your soul is the first to react, and your hands fly to cover your eyes. Maybe if you squeeze them shut tight hard enough you’ll wake up from this bad dream. Maybe you’ll be able to crawl back into your mother’s bed and find safety in her arms instead of death in John’s.

Your palms press painfully hard against your eyelids while you wait for the hit that never comes. What feels like years pass without a sound, and when you finally let your hands fall from your eyes all you can see is John’s mouth, the tension at the corners where he’s trying to restrain the snarl, white teeth practically dripping.

Body trembling and petrified at the way you pine for him, this wild stranger in front of you, your feet take a step closer to him without your permission. When your chest presses to his, the tears finally roll down your cheek and his mouth slams into yours. He hauls you up off the ground and your legs wrap around his waist before you’re slammed against the wall. All it takes is a slight shift of his hips and he’s inside of you again, splitting you open and swallowing your cries. He spins and a door breaks against the bottom of his boot a few seconds later, clattering to the floor while he lays you down on the bed and fucks an orgasm out of you with splinters still in your hair.

The orgasm hits hard and you’re still writhing in pleasure when John pulls out, shoves you up the bed, and pushes his mouth as far between your legs as it can go. He’s only just begun, but you’ve never been touched this way- this profound or this intensely. If you weren’t still in a blur, you’d be wondering how long John’s waited to worship someone like this.

Every lungful of air you’re able to suck in sticks heavy in your chest and throat. There’s a weight to the room that feels like you’re on another planet. In another dimension. All you can manage are gasps and moans and you finally splutter out ‘how?!’ because your brain literally cannot understand it. How can this feel so good? How can this possibly feel so right? How does he fit here so well?

He grins up at you, fire in his wild gleaming eyes when he growls, “Let’s not ruin a meal by talking about the process.”

As he devours you, takes you apart piece by piece, his lust-blown eyes shine up at you. They hold a lifetime of secrets and your body steals any semblance of control you might have been holding onto, bucks up into his mouth, pushes itself into his hands.

John holds you like you’re the most important thing he’s ever beheld. His infatuation and reverence sparks an epiphany. The monster between your legs isn’t donning a mask. John is a mirror, clear and revealing, exposing a part of you that you never knew you had before.

You moan his name, voice hard and eager to please. Eager to be pleased, filled, fucked ten ways to Sunday. You want John to ruin you, split you open with that cock and make you a ragged shell for nothing but pleasure and pups. The more he takes of you the more you want him; and the more you give in, the less afraid you are--of him and of your own desire.

John fucks you raw and hard like an animal, bruises your wrists and sinks his teeth into your body, breaking the skin here and there, licks and sucks marks between the bites he has no control over. What started as worship turns to chaos, and true to his word, he doesn’t relent, not even when you’re begging for mercy. Claws leave raised welts and lines of blood over your body as he digs his hands into your flesh, pushes and pulls you where he wants you, handling you like a rag doll for his pleasure.

The sheets beneath you are bloody and somewhere in his frenzied mating you feel yourself tearing around him in a sharp sting. A moment later, your inner thighs are wet with blood and slick and the wet squelch only has him bucking into you deeper and faster. Salty tears run down your cheeks as you cry out, but John ignores them and suffocates you beneath him. His claws scratch at your skin when he wraps a hand around your neck and grunts into your ear.

“Right here, Y/n. That’s where my mark is going. You ready for it?”

The question goes unanswered; all you can manage are strangled groans of ‘alpha’ and sobs of pain and fear before his pace speeds up. His knot throbs inside of you, stretches your walls that much more, and he pulls back enough to look down at you.

Tears litter your cheeks and you’re flushed, wrecked, and battered under his hands. John drives in deep with a smile on his mouth, savors the way you wince in pain at the feel of him slamming against your cervix like he’s trying to fuck your womb.

Long canines bite down hard where your neck and shoulder meet as John slams into you one final time. The red floodlights bathing the scene flicker and surge as your energies peak. His knot pops deep inside, painfully thick, locking him in place as he cums with a roaring howl that matches your own. The sound is guttural, primal, filled with pleasure and pain, and loud enough for Sam and Dean to hear from outside.

--------------------

An hour after he’s claimed you and his knot has popped inside of you, you lay in his arms, unsure of everything other than the fact that you belong there. That John belongs inside of you, pressed deep and eternal. Every bit of your body hurts and his hands smooth over you, gentler than you even think possible, like a monster soothing a lamb before the slaughter. The white gleam of the flood lights in the hall outside illuminate the side of his face when he smiles softly down at you, his teeth and hands still stained with your blood.

Fear has a hold on you, hasn’t fully let you go yet. John is a stranger to you but here you are, clinging to his warm chest, body and soul marked as his in every way, forever. There’s a depth to his mossy brown eyes that reminds you of the men on the outside. Of Dean. The alpha who’s cared for you in the past, taken you in, and given you a home and family to love like your own.

It seems a lifetime ago since you were in this same position with Dean. From the first time you met, every heat and rut you went through, you went through together. The memories of how he used to kiss you, soft and comforting, and tell you cute jokes while his knot deflated send flickering warmth through your heart. But all too quickly, the happy memory is followed by a pang of hurt shooting through you.

Like magnets, you were drawn to each other, but Dean never claimed you because deep down you both knew that you weren’t his to have. Now, with John’s mark on your neck, heats and ruts with Dean are gone and you can’t help but wonder what the future will hold. If every heat and rut will feel like this one, or if you might be lucky enough to get a glimpse of the caring, playful alpha of your past. Tears roll down your cheeks and your mouth quivers at the thought of living with such brutality.

“You have his eyes,” you finally say, unable to keep the thought of Dean to yourself any longer. His brow furrows and you clear your throat. “Dean’s eyes.” He doesn’t respond, just levels you with a look you can’t place. “Well, I guess he has yours.”

A hasty kiss cuts off any other thoughts and you give in, letting that mouth soothe you in all the ways you know it can’t...shouldn’t. Not right now. Not yet. Not when you’re still reeling with fear and confusion and the crackling flame of your heat casting grim shadows through your future.

“I know,” he coos, his gravelly voice wrecked with emotions you’re both trying to come to terms with. “This isn’t the way it’s supposed to happen. Not me meeting you, and definitely not this….”

John’s long fingers swipe over his claim on your neck, retreating at the small wince of pain he earns from you. Guilt worms into his chest and he holds you there, mouth just a kiss away from his.

He knows the answer but asks anyway. “Are you scared of me?”

You nod, shy but honest. “Yes.”

John hisses in disappointment, at himself and at you. How could you not love him the way he loves you? The way he’s loved you since he set foot in here and smelled you lingering in the air. He felt you wrap yourself around him when he paced the halls at night; slept in your bed to know you just a little more. He’s been obsessed with the ghost of you, and now you’re his.

“I’ve been waiting a long time for you,” he admits, and your heart flutters, caught off guard by the meaning behind it. “Always thought it was Mary, but the second I walked in here, I knew. It was you.”

“I don’t want this,” your mouth spits out before you can stop it, before you can realize that you’re lying to his face.

John grins, gummy and wide, strikes fear in you with his irrefutable confidence but pulls you closer and speaks against your lips. “I knew, Y/n. Smelled this omega pussy every time I walked by your room. Didn’t say anything to the boys about it- didn’t wanna upset them- but I knew you before they even told me your name or that they had my omega here just waiting for me to come and claim her.” His hands stroke your cheeks and those eyes bore into you and unhinge you with the kind of care that only someone truly out of control can conjure.

“I could feel your energy when I touched your things, could smell this hot cunt on your laundry.” He inhales, the action crude and obscene. “Sleep didn’t come so easy, but the second I laid down in here it was like I could feel you pressing yourself up against me. I knew you and had you every night, so when I smelled you come through the door I knew I had to lock myself up or this would happen.” A chuckle escapes his lips. “Well, guess it was meant to happen, huh?”

Even with his claim on your neck, you can’t do anything other than gape at him. You’re mortified and enthralled by his words, and secretly long for freedom from his overwhelming intensity.

He shifts a little so you can feel his knot inside you and coos gently at the anxious whimper you let out. Gathering you closer to him, John feels your heart race against his. As if his touch is all you need, the exhaustion of the day starts to drag you down and there’s blood on his tongue when he kisses you goodnight.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’ve gotcha.”

Those are the last words you hear before tumbling into a dark and dizzying sleep.

--------------------

When you wake, it’s to the feel of thick fingers splaying you open, rubbing your swollen labia and massaging your inner thighs. Time is lost in the bunker and in your heat. It could be twenty minutes or a year later and your body wouldn't be able to tell the difference. Not when broad shoulders have your thighs pushed apart, the contented sigh on your lips turning harsh at the slick drag of John’s tongue.

He licks over you, parts your folds to find your clit, then sucks hard and makes his way down to your fucked-out slit. The wet, thick squish of his old cum seeping out of you vanishes when John forces his tongue inside to scoop it out and swallow it down. Shuddering violently against it, you fist his hair and kick off the blankets to finally look down at him. His eyes are red and your fever is raging again.

“My boys ever do this? Eat their cum from your little omega pussy?” he asks. It’s dirty and fucked up, wrong on so many levels, but he’s got a gleam in those treacherous eyes and you moan back against your better judgment.

“Don’t… keep it in me.”

Pride overwhelms him and his teeth dent his lower lip as he grins up at you. “Okay, sweetheart-” he sinks his fangs lightly into your flesh, holds it for a second and then gives you the painful satisfaction of breaking the skin- “yeah, let’s keep it in you. Make sure we get some pups in this gorgeous belly.”

Mewling in agreement, he releases his bite on your inner thigh and stalks back over you. Eager to feel him inside of you again, you pull at him and whimper his name so needy and so sweet that he sinks into you while he’s still soft. He’s pliant and warm as he pushes his old cum back into you, until he’s as deep as he can go, blunt tip squished up against your cervix. John’s right back where he belongs, and you can’t help but whimper at the small amount of lost cum that seeps out around him. As if he knows what you’re thinking, he licks at your lips, lets you taste his seed on his tongue and assures you in that midnight-dark voice the way only a stranger, only a soulmate, can.

“Don’t worry, omega. Your heat’s not done yet, and I’ve only just started my rut. We’ll get another load in here, soon enough. You’re gonna be so full of me and my pups.” He kisses your jaw. “All round.” Fingers squeeze at your tender breasts. “So beautiful,” he grunts, thrusting up enough for you to wince at the tight pinch of him so deep.

His mouth follows a pre-marked path down to the fresh marks on your neck -- the one bite on your body that actually means anything -- and his long, sharp fangs reopen his mark and sink down further into your flesh to solidify his claim. The power of his bite aches deep into the muscle and blood seeps out of the corners of his mouth. Sucking and licking your claim, John bites you over and over, deeper each time. All you can do is gasp and groan beneath him in pain and arousal, fingers raising blood on his back as you scratch a path down to his ass to pull him in closer. Trying to fuse your body and his in any way possible, to share breaths and blood if you can, even if it’s only through your warm needy mouths.

“Those boys aren’t getting to you any time soon, Y/n. I don’t think this place is gonna let anyone in or out until I’m done with you.” His hand wraps around your neck, pushes high to grip the edge of your jaw, and the pinch of his fingers against the bone lures a hiss from deep within you. “You’re mine, understand?”��

You nod as best you can, eyes fluttering shut as he grows harder inside you and hotter against you with another flare of his rut. There isn’t anything in the world that could take this from you. You don’t know John, especially this dark version of him spat out of hell, but you’re his and he’s yours. True mates. And you’re convinced that the strong current that vibrates between you will keep you locked in here with him until your heat and his rut have died off.

“All fucking mine,” he says as he pulls you closer, the promise raw and real, and you’ll follow this monster anywhere.

Even to your death.

#john winchester x reader #alpha x omega #flamencodivacelebrates1700 #that's some supernatural schitt #firefly's summer challenge

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vampiresuns · 3 years ago

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Interlude 1: Do Not Stand Over My Grave And Weep, Part 1

☽ PART 1: CARALUNA ☽

2.3k words. In which Milenko mourns Anatole, and a ghost that is not really a ghost runs into him in the Palace’s gardens.

CW: Death and discussions of it, allusions of drowning (no one actually drowns nor is in real danger of it).Feelings of depression, feelings of abandonment and displacement/diaspora. Me, once again, going berserk about non Christian theology.

The title comes from Caraluna by Bacilos. You can find the translation of the lyrics online, but I don’t like those.So if you’re feeling bold enough, you can ask me to translate if you don’t speak Spanish.

What to catch up with this series? You can do that here.

That Milenko’s magic worked beyond his full control didn’t mean he didn’t understand how it worked. He did.

First of all, not because he was clairvoyant it meant his magic was prophetic. He knew God had not made him a prophet — God really, really hadn’t. This was something he could do, that was all. Some people could cook, some people had language magic, some people were alchemists, some people called magic the science they could not explain yet. All Milenko had here was an Intuition and Imagination he could tap into like other people could not.

His granparent, Ilnya Radošević, could do it, his mother, Violeta, and uncle Atanasie could do it, he could do it. The only difference was his was channelled with water. It was, at best, a way to anticipate some things. It did not change the future, it did not gave him for control. The world spoke to him through the water, just like it spoke to everyone else through daily occurrences. The world spoke to him through water, like it would to anyone who learnt how to pay attention.

Secondly, even then, not everything he saw was something that would happen. Sometimes the water just showed him things. Things that weren’t real but bloomed into his eyes, like a living canvas of his imagination. Water allowed him to focus, water sometimes allowed him to transport himself to a world where words were at arm’s reach. He didn’t control when the water would call him, but he could induce it, sometimes. He had learnt how to write this way.

If he was asked to theorise about it, he would say that when it came to his imagination, the water absorbed it. It created a bubble where he could interact with it more vividly, seeing not water, but what his mind had conjured to later put into paper. The water never hurt him physically, he didn’t need to breathe, or worry about currents — because if he was in danger, the water and his magic would take him to his gate, and from there back to safety. All he needed to do was to see and to trust.

That took him to his third and last point: Whether he liked it or not, water was tied with his subconscious. Sometimes water wouldn’t show him events to come, things he had made up, or keys to understand things. Sometimes the water would just show him what was locked into his mind and he would otherwise be unable to reach.

Usually, Milenko found a way to pour that into something else, like his poetry. A way to explore what he could only see in the water but had no way to verbalise without it. Moments and feelings his brain or soul kept from him, tucked away until they were released into water like little vessels which grew, and grew, and grew once submerged.

It was a dangerous thing for a man who was mourning.

He would never forget the day he knew Anatole was dead, the water delivering the news to him. It was the only time he had struggled to come up to the surface, a sob catching in his throat before his magic could guide him back it. Ursula, his familiar, had had to drag him by the neck of the shirt, to the sight of his terrified mothers and his uncle, because of course Violeta and Atanasie just knew that Milenko was in danger.

When he managed to speak again, all he could repeat was “He is dead, he is dead,” as he cried, clinging to his mothers like he did when he was a child.

He had then locked himself in Anatole’s morning room, his head against the closed case of his cousin’s piano. That had been where Amparo found him, in late hours of the evening.

It was a nightmare. Their families were all living together in the Palazzo during the plague, even if in separate wings with their own disinfecting stations for when they came from the outside. They had decided it was better to stick together, and because the Radošević-Cassano thought of their friends as the family you chose, they had invited those of them they knew they could house. Milenko’s room-mate Octavia and their sibling Sabine, a young herpetologist who had begun to work as a Court magician and was strangely fond of Anatole, as Anatole was of them. They had also extended that to Leonore Kaur and Medea Pryce. Aside from Asra, they had to be Anatole’s closest friends.

How do you tell someone their friend died? Milenko wasn’t as close to them as Anatole was but he was close enough to know what he meant to them, and them to him. They were some of the few people who knew what had really transpired between him and Decimo Lemione, Leonore was with Milenko when the water told him Anatole was in danger, that night they had found Anatole threatening Decimo to never touch him again, that night he had told everyone the truth. They already knew, of course, Leonore and Medea.

In that moment Milenko realised how much he owed them for his cousin’s healing, and now, someone had to tell them Anatole had died. That was only the beginning. The house was a stack of private griefs. It was mistaken to say some were more justified or greater than others, they were all different. You do not mourn a son in the way you mourn a friend, because you don’t love them the same anyway, even if it’s all love.

However people thought it was lesser. Not Vlad and Louisa, of course, but people, in general. What did they they know? How could they know? How could they know the grief that came with losing the one person Milenko thought would ever understand him, even when Anatole didn’t really understand him?

Who else if not his cousin to understand what it was like to inherit wars you did not fight, about people who still hated you? Who else would understand feeling your blood boil up from the Earth like a Geyser, coming to you from mismatched corners of the world? Who else would understand that feeling of existing in a liminal space?

Who else would understand Milenko when he asked how did one go back to a place one wasn’t born in, when the place follows you anyway? How do you go back to places which should’ve been home but turned into living hazards for people like you simply because you exist? Or raise your voice? How do you go back when a foreign city that’s not really foreign, since it’s seen you grow and has housed you safely? But still is a City that’ll never be all that you are?

Perhaps this was why the two of them ended up in Vesuvia, aside from Milenko being born there. How else do you connect ends which no one could foresee meeting if not through a zigzag City where the water ran like carrying new life into dissonant architecture?

When Anatole, his wonderful cousin, who had put himself between the world and Milenko so many times when the world decided to be unkind to him, proclaiming he was not the great grandchild of a partisan, and the son of his mother, for him to have to stand through the world unheard. It was an echo of Milenko’s own heritage: Anatole saying those words and living by them, was Milenko saying he was not the great grandson of a partisan for him not to have earned the right to be joyful. Joy was his birth given right, and he would live by that. By joy and by love.

But how could you be joyful again when grief had made itself a place in your heart? An even bigger place at that. They said the Radošević were angry because they were full of grief, satellites amid a sea of people. Milenko had never understood that — righteous anger he did, but grief which turned to anger was not something he understood. Until Anatole died.

He still remembers one day when Anatole was 10, Milenko himself a little older, and they were playing at a park in Vesuvia. Some playground bullies had decided to pick on him, with his daydreamy quality and oddities pouring out of his mouth. Anatole had stepped between them without hesitation, despite being younger, despite being at the very least, a head shorter than all of them.

Milenko had asked him about that years later. Anatole’s answer? “I guess it was my way of comprehending then, that you had been through enough violence in your life for you to have to stand that. No offence, Merlenko, but you wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

He wasn’t wrong. He wasn’t entirely right either — Milenko might have not had a violent bone in his body, but he wanted to forget he didn’t when Decimo Lemione came through his mind. That was an exception, not the rule. Even if Count Lucio has steadily won a place beside that son of a bitch.

After Anatole died, he had spent two days simmering in his own grief before he decided to take a bath. The water would wash his sorrows away so he could remember Anatole’s life had been a blessing, so his memory would be one too.

The water had other plans. Milenko didn’t notice he was zoning out with the sound of running water until it was too late. Given it was only a bathtub and not open water, Ursula did not make any fuss about it. When Milenko, zoned out to the rest of the world, walked into the bathtub with clothes, submerging himself in it, the water showed him Anatole. His cousin was everywhere. He came out of the water being unable to breathe.

Then it happened again, and again, and again: every time Milenko zoned out looking at water, or walked into it, he’d see his cousin. Sometimes not at first, but he’d always show up. It had been the same for four years — four years where people continued to die, where he knew he should eventually move on, let go, seek someone to talk about it, but he couldn’t. Milenko already felt like all clocks should stop, like no dog should bark or wag its tail, that the world should stop moving so his grief might stop too.

He knew that was not possible. He knew that would not be honouring Anatole’s memory, so every day he tried: he tried his best to snap out of it and live, but how was he supposed to live and write and create when the water that had previously channelled his creative energy, showed him his dead cousin all the time?

Now he had seen him. Alive and breathing and made of flesh. It really had been his cousin standing by the fountain and talking to someone over it. He went over it in his head until he couldn’t think any more. There were no traces of his magic, he knew that. He knew how it felt to be drawn to the water, to feel one of messages coming and he felt none of that: one moment he was marvelling at the night he walked through, a gift of fragrant breeze, and the next, he was seeing an apparition.

He got home before Octavia and when she arrived at their shared flat, she found him drinking. Milenko gave her a tired, sad look as she looked hesitant standing across the kitchen island he was sitting at. She leant forward, looking with the tenderness of friendship into his troubled brown eyes.

Milenko looked at his glass —he saw it swirl, even if for anyone else, the glass did not do anything. He put it away, and ran his hands through his curls. “You want to tell me something… where’s Sabine?”

Her hesitance resurfaced. “Talking to Medea, with Leonore… I do want to tell you something, but—” she said, elongating the ‘u’, “you’re drinking alone. I’ve only ever seen you drink during celebrations, and you don’t look like you’re celebrating anything.”

Milenko paused for a long time, offering the rest of his drink in the meantime to Octavia. She was right. Milenko drank in moderation. He had always believed life was made to be enjoyed, and wine was a way to gather friends around. Even then, he never allowed himself to get drunk, and he wasn’t, but he was still drinking for no reason. Well, sort of.

“If I told you I saw someone I thought was dead, would you think I was crazy?”

Octavia took his hand. “No more than I already think you are, and that’s complimentary... is it the water again?”

She sounded like she knew something. “It wasn’t the water. I– Octavia, I saw him, as alive as I remember him, not having any clue of who I was.”

With the confession, a dam broke. Milenko began crying inconsolably as Octavia held him, rubbing his back as he spoke, tripping over his words about seeing Anatole again, lamenting on how this was not how it was supposed to be. The water was not supposed to turn against him, the water was supposed to keep him safe.

“It’s been four years. Four awful years, I should be over it—”

“No,” Octavia interrupted him, “you’ve carried forward to the best of your capacity, bearing with something most people do not have to deal with. We don’t treat Amparo poorly when she has bad days because there’s too many dead tethering to her, do we, Milan?”

He sniffled. “No.”

“Milenko— I need you to listen to me: I don’t know how, I don’t know why, but you’re not crazy. You aren’t seeing things. Milenko, your cousin is alive.”

For the first time in four years, the distant sound of the canals in the City brought Milenko answers instead of torments, even if he had already half figured it out.

“I know how.”

Octavia raised an eyebrow.

“Asra.”

#the arcana #the arcana oc #my writing #milenko #octavia rei #anatole's apprentice rewrites

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saxxxology · 5 years ago

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What Goes Bump in the Night - 2

PAIRING: Alpha!Sam x Omega!Reader WARNINGS: a/b/o dynamics, Victorian social dynamics, allusions to non-consent and dubious consent, dominance/submission, slow burn with eventual smut, suspense/horror/gore themes.

THIS WORK IS 18+ ONLY. DO NOT REPOST MY WORK ON ANY OTHER SITES.

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The bang of Crowley’s gavel makes you jump, and you’re quickly guided off the stage and through a separate door, which is quickly closed and locked behind you. You wait in silence, cowering in the corner, arms crossed over your chest as your eyes sting with tears. After a few minutes, the side door bursts open, and two men enter the room, led by Crowley.

One is tall, well over six feet. Brown hair curls around the nape of his neck, and his eyes sparkle with an untamed fire. He smells like warm honey and coffee, something that automatically relaxes you. He’s young, in his mid-twenties, you guess, and judging by the nice suit and shiny shoes, well-off. He’s looking at you like you’re not what he expected, and you lower your head in shame, aware of the tear tracks that stain your cheeks. The older man has to be his father, black hair with dashes of silver, and a graying beard to match.

Before you can move or say a word, Crowley grabs you by the arm and hauls you up so that you’re standing straight. “You have a brand, yes?”

The older man holds up a long metal rod with a flat end. You can barely make out the engraving, but you know exactly what’s coming. They’re going to brand you; it’s an Alpha’s way of making sure that if an Omega runs from them, they’re easily identifiable.

“Come here,” the younger man commands. You obediently shuffle forward, trying to appear brave as he takes you by the hand. His palm is smooth and warm on your skin. “What’s your name?”

You stutter through your name, barely able to make eye contact. He smiles with approval. “I’m Sam,” he replies. “This is my father, John. You’re coming home with me, do you understand that?”

“Y-yes.”

“Good girl.” He grips your hand a little harder as Crowley opens the door that leads to the outside and pulls you along behind him. It’s chilly out, and you shiver as the cold air blows over your almost bare skin. There’s a fire burning in an empty metal bin, and you shudder as John shoves the end of their branding stick into the embers.

“Sign here,” Crowley holds up a sheet of paper and a feather quill. “While we wait, might as well dispense with all the formalities.”

Sam scrawls a sloppy signature on one line and holds the quill out to you. You know what this is; it’s a contract signing yourself, body, mind, and soul, to your Alpha. If you don’t sign, you’ll be made to, and probably suffer more than just a forced signature. Accepting the quill with shaking fingers, you sign your name as best you can, keeping your jaw clenched so as to hold back more tears. Crowley slides the completed contract into the leather folder under his arm and watches as the older man pulls the now glowing brand from the flames.

Sam takes it, gripping your upper arm with one hand. “Hold still,” he says flatly.

Instinct takes over, and you wiggle free, letting out a loud cry as he reaches for you again. Your minimal efforts are not naught; John grabs you by the scruff of the neck, his fingers tangling in your hair. “We don’t have time for this,” he snarls, “do it now, Sam.”

Sam looks taken aback by your fear, as if he’s just now registering how scared you are. He reaches for your arm, and you let out another cry, jerking away from him. “Omega, hold still,” he mutters to no avail.

“For God’s sake.” John shoves you forward, pulling the brand from Sam’s grip. “Hold her, I’ll do it myself.”

Sam wraps his powerful arms around you from behind, one hand muffling your sobs and whimpers. John yanks on your upper arm and presses the brand to your skin, just below your shoulder. The pain is almost blinding, and you taste bile in your throat as you scream. It’s over in a matter of seconds, but the burning throb remains. Sam’s holding you upright—your legs have given out—and when he removes his hand from over your mouth, he trails the same fingers through your hair, as if he’s trying to comfort you.

“There,” John spits almost angrily, “let’s go.”

After waiting for an attendant to bring your things down from your private room, you’re escorted into a horse-drawn carriage, where Sam instructs you to sit next to him, opposite his father. The ride passes in a blur, and by the time you reach your destination, the moon is high in the sky.

The Winchester house is a Victorian monstrosity, two stories high, with steep, gabled roofs, windows glowing eerily with a golden light. You don’t get long to ogle before Sam’s dragging your small suitcase from the floor of the carriage and ushering you up the front stairs. It’s warm inside, and you shudder gratefully.

“Get her upstairs,” John instructs, “we don’t need your brother sniffin’ around when there’s an unclaimed Omega, he can barely keep his goddamn knot in his pants.”

“I’m very aware of that.” Sam puts his arm around you and makes to leave.

“I mean it.” John’s tone is harsh. “She belongs to you now, boy, better to make her yours before anyone else can.”

Sam lets out a low growl and ushers you through an ornately decorated living room and up two flights of stairs. Your heart accelerates when he pushes you in front of him down a short hallway until he reaches a heavy wooden door. Opening it, he shoves you inside and closes it, locking it behind him.

Sam’s bedroom is large and sparsely furnished. A large bed sits against one wall, covered in a dark red comforter embroidered with gold. Several matching pillows sit up against the tall wooden headboard. The only other furniture pieces are a wardrobe, chest of drawers, and a round table perched next to a long row of windows. A large fireplace sits opposite the bed, empty of charcoal or ashes.

“I’m sorry about that.”

Sam’s words cause you to turn, arms crossed over your chest. “What?”

“I’m sorry.” He approaches you gingerly, as if afraid of scaring you further. “My father, he’s… well, he’s got his own way of doing things, and—”

“Are you going to hurt me?” Tears sting your eyes, and you back up against the bed as Sam advances. “Don’t… please, don’t, I’ll do anything, I swear.”

Sam’s eyes soften, and he holds up both hands. “I’m not going to hurt you. Let me see your arm.” His fingertips graze your shoulder, and you tremble under his touch. He examines the burn on your skin, his brow furrowed. “Wait here,” he instructs calmly, “I’m going to make you a bath, you should clean up.”

You shiver as he leaves through a door on the opposite wall. It’s a washroom, and you hear the sound of water running. The Winchesters must be loaded to have a house like this with running water; you’ve never had a bath outside of a metal washtub before.

After several minutes, he steps out, beckoning to you. You step into the small room, eyeing the ceramic basin nervously. If you’re to bathe, you’ll need to take your dress off, and you’ve never been naked in front of an Alpha before. Sam’s easily twice your size with over a hundred pounds on you. If he wants to mate and claim you, there’s nothing you can do to fight him off.

“Dress,” Sam says, pulling at the bow at the back of your gown. “Lift your arms.”

Trembling, you raise your arms over your head, wincing as the reddened skin of your burn pulls. Sam drops the fabric to the floor and inhales deeply at the sight of your naked body. You’re not like the other Omegas, no full hips and thighs, no round breasts, nothing that an Alpha might take pleasure in. You’re small and stick-thin from living on the streets for so long and not being properly fed at Crowley’s.

“Look at me.” Sam waits for you to turn to face him, and you raise your forearms to cover your pitifully small breasts. “Don’t hide,” he says, offering a kind smile. “I said I won’t hurt you, and I’m a man of my word.”

“I—” you swallow thickly, trying to stop more tears from flooding your eyes, “I’ve never been… l-like this in front of an Alpha…”

“I can tell.” Sam’s jaw tenses as his eyes flicker over your body. You get the feeling that he can see right into your soul. “Here, let’s get you cleaned up.”

You step into the tub, fully aware of the fact that Sam’s eyes are fixed on the space between your thighs before you sink into the warm water. He strips his jacket off and rolls up the sleeves of his shirt, kneeling behind you and reaching for a metal cup. He scoops up cupfuls of water and pours it through your hair. When you feel his hand on your forehead, you obediently tip your head back and let him wet the rest. There’s a white bar of soap on the edge of the tub and he swirls it in his hands, working the lavender-scented suds into the ends of your hair.

“Is this okay?” He asks.

You take a deep, slightly shaky breath. “Yes.”

Sam doesn’t reply, only reaches for the cup again and begins rinsing your hair. When he’s finished, he stands up, drying his hands on a small towel. “I’m going to get you something to sleep in,” he says, “come into the bedroom when you’re done.”

You finish washing quickly. The lavender scented soap soothes your skin, and when you finally stand up and pull one of the towels from the brass rack, you feel cleaner than ever. Your arm, however, hasn’t stopped burning, and the new tears that fill your eyes aren’t from fear or exhaustion.

Sam’s sitting on the bed, a small basket of bandages and an amber glass bottle of salve by his side. Your suitcase is open on the floor; he’s gone through what little garments you have to see if you have a nightdress to no avail. He’s holding a white nightshirt that looks like it might be his, and when he hands it to you, the size confirms your suspicions.

“I’ll buy you something that fits tomorrow,” he clarifies, “and you’ll need better clothing than this.” He casts a disdainful eye at the open suitcase. “I brought you some food as well. You look like you haven’t eaten in days.”

You shrug the nightshirt over your head before dropping the towel. It falls almost to just above your knees, and you hand to pull one shoulder up to stop it from falling down. When you attempt to head towards the tray of food, Sam snaps his fingers, and you flinch. “Come here,” he says, patting the bed beside him. “Let me take a look at your arm before you eat.”

Eager to get this part over with, you allow Sam to push the sleeve of your nightshirt up. His hand’s large enough to wrap easily around your upper arm. You wince and squirm when he presses a fingerful of salve to the wound, but he holds you firmly. “Stop moving,” he commands, evidently irritated at your lack of obedience. You fight to remain still as he covers the skin around the brand mark with the sweet-smelling mixture.

“It’ll stop infection,” he explains, finally letting you go to unwrap a length of bandage. He wraps it several times around your arm, checking to make sure it doesn’t cut off your circulation before tying it. With a nod of his head, he gives you permission to finally eat.

The smell of soup fills your nostrils as you sit down, and you spoon a mouthful of broth, meat, and vegetables into your mouth. It’s delicious, and you eagerly down most of the bowl in less than five minutes, finishing it off with the chunk of bread lying beside it. The cup of tea is the last thing you touch, and you breathe in the sweet fragrance before taking a long sip.

Sam’s been watching you eat with an amused, if slightly pitiful, expression. “Are you still hungry?”

You shake your head. Truthfully, you feel almost too full. It’s been quite a while since you’ve had this much to eat in one sitting. “No,” you answer, still sipping at your tea. “Just tired.”

Sam checks the small clock on the nightstand. “It is late,” he says, as if agreeing with you. “We should sleep.”

You watch, slightly caught off guard, as he pulls his white button-up off and tosses it to the floor. His pants go next, and you stiffen in surprise when he straightens up, fully naked. He’s glorious, every inch of his body suntanned and lean. There’s a sigil inked into his skin, just below his left collarbone, a type of star enclosed in a circle. He smirks at your expression when you tear your eyes from traveling lower than his waist and turns, striding confidently towards the chest of drawers.

“Scared?” he asks, his tone ever so slightly mocking. “It’s just a body, Omega, I’ve just seen yours.”

“I’ve n-never seen a… a man… naked.” you choke on your words as he pulls a nightshirt out of the top drawer.

He chuckles, sliding the loose fabric over his head and letting it fall to cover his thighs. “You’ll get used to it. I normally don’t wear anything to bed, but since you’re here…”

You bow your head in shame. “I’m sorry,” you apologize. “I… I know you don’t want me. Your father made you—”

“My father didn’t make me do anything,” Sam replies, his tone a little colder. “Like I said, he has his own way of running things, and last month…” he takes a deep breath before continuing. “I went through a rut and nearly killed someone. I was angry, got in a fight, and my father drew the line. I had a choice to make, and I made the easy one.”

You give a short nod and stand up. Your eyes burn, and you know that the longer you cry, the worse you’re going to feel the next morning. “I think I’d like to sleep,” you say quietly.

Wordlessly, he pulls back the heavy coverlet, allowing you to climb underneath before pacing around to get in on the other side, turning out the oil lamp and shrouding you both in darkness. He’s silent for several long seconds before you hear him speak.

“Good night, Omega,” he whispers.

You turn onto your back, staring up at the dark ceiling. “Good night… Alpha.”

#what goes bump in the night #alpha!sam winchester #alpha!sam x omega!reader #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester fanfiction

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undoundue · 4 years ago

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a season in hellsite - chapter 1

chapter 1. in which horatio and bacchus play chess

now the tale tells that darkness gave way to light, or else light filled a space where light had not recently been. the issue is theologically contentious, and at the time no one could be sure.

the light played an important role in the events that were to come. first it hit bacchus’s eyes. then it hit horatio’s eyes. then it hit bacchus’s eyes again, then it hit horatio’s eyes again, and this process repeated several thousand times in the next few seconds, until the light took a break.

the light did not hit the same spot each time, because of angles. it hit a narrow circle very well, and then a wider circle less well, and then an even wider circle far worse than that, because light is by nature a specialist.

now individually, these halos were not exciting, though everyone had his or her preference: but the width of the aureoles varied intriguingly, unlike the areas the light had not touched, which were all the same shade of black. so the boys ascended their subjectivities, refracting the light from their convex lenses as it bustled to describe the scene.

we may morbidly wonder how horatio and bacchus felt in this moment as the red sun dawned and with it their damnation. however, it took them a minute to realize what they were looking at, and in the interim they did not have interiority, so we cannot truthfully comment upon their thoughts or feelings, though we can surmise that in a certain qualialess way they too felt the soul-crushing dread of existential freedom—this being the onus upon all souls who wander the afterlife accurst, unguided by the voice of instinct that, after all, is only borrowed from God.

but what the tale says with confidence is this: one day horatio and bacchus looked up and noticed that they were in hell. neither of them remembered how they had gotten there, but neither of them were surprised.

“—,” horatio said, and he moved as if to speak, but then he saw bacchus starting to speak, so he stopped.

“—,” bacchus said, and then stopped for similar reasons.

“—,” horatio said, starting up again, but then he saw horatio starting up again, so he stopped, and then bacchus stopped as well.

“your move,” bacchus said.

“sorry, i was developing interiority,” horatio said.

“it’s ok,” bacchus said.

“yeah it’s okay,” horatio said: and he played 1. e4.

now when it was bacchus’s turn he did not blithely reach for 1…e5, nor the sicilian. oh no. instead he conjured two quartz goblets and poured in blood-red wine.

horatio said, “where did you get the wine?”

bacchus said, “i can infinitely generate wine, it’s one of my god powers.”

(note at this juncture that bacchus is class DYING-AND-RISING GOD, level 1, while horatio is class GEOMETRICA FRAUDULENTUS, level 1.)

“what the fuck,” horatio said.

“yeah, it owns,” bacchus said. “except it doesn’t really affect me because my blood is like 30% GABA at baseline? but it’s cool at weddings and such.”

so they drank. and bacchus made like he was going to move 1…e5, but instead he just grazed it and said “j’adoube.” horatio gave him a look.

and bacchus said, in a voice of ambiguous irony: “if i did move that piece, we would be much akin to those frozen center pawns: stuck in the zugzwang of existential freedom.”

“and also we can only capture on our diagonals,” horatio said.

“yeah,” bacchus said, “or, i don’t know, man. i suspect it's my history of epub piracy—that, or sometimes i've said something that sounded like it was nice, but by adhering too close to the letter of the law, i was actually deconstructing that niceness, mocking it, and God knew. that, or it was a sin of omission. that, or—and here's what's most likely—every decision i’ve ever made has been five degrees off-course. i trusted my instincts, and my instincts were good, but then i ran into the error margin, and unfortunately, i was too consistent, too kantian, too tragically good, perhaps, which—and i’m not trying to exculpate myself here, because if i did something wrong i would be the first to admit it—which could happen to anyone.”

now bacchus drank. and he stood and dusted the knees of his toga, and looked up at the heavens, and down at the earth, as if the two had been briefly confused.

“look,” horatio said sagely.

“yeah?” bacchus said.

“in the field of anthropology, it has been found that nearly every system of morality prohibits acute angles,” horatio said.

“yeah?” said bacchus.

horatio said: “so i suspect i went wrong in a similar way.”

now horatio took a drink. and from whence he was prone, he rolled supine, and felt the wind move over him: west, then east, then west, then east, a little weaker with each breath, folding in on itself like a blanket.

“also, my only charitable cause was wikipedia,” horatio said.

“same, of course,” bacchus said.

“dude, seriously,” horatio said, “it’s your move.”

but bacchus did not want to move. and so a long time passed in which they were kind of bored and did not know what to do. every few days one of them would feel the urge to eat or sleep, and so they would do

that, though the summoned pad thai got samey after a while and sleep was a time-skip without rest or even a recuperative panel of black, and their ghostly eidolons didn’t have to eat or sleep or perform any other bodily function for that matter, but it was a distraction. even so, now and then they looked up and noticed they were in hell: and neither of them were surprised.

“okay,” horatio finally said, “do you want to play a chess variant?”

so they played:

courier chess (german chess)

fortress chess (russian chess)

xiangqi (chinese)

jangqi (korean)

scottish chess (white moves once, then black moves twice, then white moves three times, and so on)

senterej (ethiopan; both sides start playing at the same time and make as many moves as they like until the first capture)

shatranj (persian)

shatar (mongolian; in which the king cannot castle, and the knight cannot deliver mate),

and then they briefly played connect 4. they thought about but did not play scrabble. they played checkers. and then they played:

turkish checkers

canadian checkers,

and then they dropped canadian checkers like so many rules and played go: go was fun, but lacked a certain je ne sais quoi; they switched to blue-red hackenbush. then they played chess. they played:

shogi (japanese chess), including but not limited to: micro-shogi, whale shogi (pieces with variant movesets, named after whales), tori shogi (birds), hasami shogi, trishogi, hexshogi, masonic shogi, space shogi (nine 9x9 shogi boards stacked vertically), and taikyoku shogi (402 pieces of 209 types on a 36x36 board)

atomic chess, kamikaze chess, avalanche chess, dunsany’s chess, and hexagonal chess (variants: brusky’s, de vasa’s, mccooey’s, shafran’s, gliński’s);

meanwhile bacchus kept them amped on high-tannin wine—tossing aside used goblets and summoning new ones—it was a cantrip that cost him not a soul point (SP), the class equivalent to horatio’s knack for summoning abstract games.

"do you think tannins are funny?" bacchus asked shyly. then, hearing his voice and finding it mellifluous, he became bold: “yeah…i'm thinking tannins are funny.”

“tannins are kinda funny, yeah,” horatio said.

name prime numbers (basically, they competed at naming large prime numbers, but eventually horatio named the biggest one and they had to stop)

but they felt like they were running out of steam. so they played all the games listed above, but as drinking games, wherein every time one spotted a pattern one had to take a drink. as a consequence of this behavior they became quite drunk.

“i don't know…….” bacchus said dysarthrically, “i feel like i messed up….…”

“what is this! i thought you didn’t get drunk!” horatio exclaimed.

“no!…i said, wine didn’t affect me,” bacchus countered, “but my ebriety [vocab word] can still be perpetuated by the endogenous, xanax-like molecule that floats in my ichor, i.e. the blood of the gods…!"

bacchus tripped and then caught himself. he smiled at gravity with the warm antagonism one holds for a cartoon villain, then turned his 18 charisma on horatio. but horatio, whose alignment was lawful neutral, was unimpressed.

“well, you did mess up,” horatio said, “you’re in hell.”

“yeah, but i don’t think i should have to feel guilty on top of that,” bacchus said, “guilt is un-dionysian! it’s bluepilled!”

“okay, so then don’t,” horatio said.

“okay,” bacchus said, “then i won’t!”

“okay!” horatio said.

“okay!” bacchus said.

they both felt better after this interaction. soon bacchus was puking into an ink-black river.

"yeah, i'm feeling it," bacchus said.

"you're feeling it?" horatio said.

"yeah, i'm feeling this is dionysian as fuck," bacchus said.

now the river was utterly opaque to light, so one would expect it to have the consistency of tar, but the boys were surprised to observe that to the touch it was thin as water. so they went uphill and upstream to a slow-moving pool and rinsed their hands and splashed their faces and hair. in the pool, dark nymphs with sporty swimsuits swam until they became silly with paresthesias; and the satyrs leapt in chortling menacingly like hoo hoo hoo and ho ho ho and the nymphs would giggle with elusive allusive illusive knowledge, and within a few minutes both had forgotten lifetimes, staring at each other like babies in a warm and curious fog.

by the time the boys had looked up from the river that did not show their image, they had forgotten most of the engrams their souls had contained.

“word,” bacchus said; though this should have come earlier.

“yo,” horatio said, “i’m pretty drunk.”

“yeah,” bacchus started to say, but for some reason he stopped and instead stared blankly.

“yeah,” horatio thought about saying; but he was too tired, so instead he stared blankly too.

the next one hundred years were spent in a hangover.

some of the games they played during the hangover include:

moving their hip flexors

moving their knee extensors

moving the plantar-flexing muscles of the feet

moving their hip extensors (meta-breaking)

moving their knee flexors

moving the dorsi-flexing muscles of their feet

by this point their enthusiasm for the lower extremities had dimmed—horatio bored when he had solved the path to the game’s solution, bacchus discouraged when the flapping of the map recalled to him the territory—and the psoas and quadratus lumborum muscles were given only a cursory trial.

their attention moved superior (we are skipping over the reflex arcs and smooth muscle contractions that took place automatically, such as laughter, sneezing, and vasodilation, though the boys became skilled at those too) as the boys practiced other forms of iterated narrowing choice: the brash trapezius giving way to the stoic biceps, the careful flexors, the presumptuous precision of fingers and thumb closing three pixels away from the yearned-for dimensionless point. they considered past encounters with such discrepancy: ah yes, these were the angles who ached to lose themselves in intersection. three pixels. electricity clenched efference on no choice at all.

“we could play chess,” horatio attempted to say.

but he had forgotten how to speak. horatio gestured with his hand (though not in a way that was interesting or original or which had semantic meaning) and briefly he felt good (due to dopamine) because he had moved (which felt like an accomplishment) but soon he stopped moving (and the dopamine faded) and then he was still.

“uhn,” bacchus said.

to explain these profound deficits is difficult. we must note that, in addition to the known amnestic effects of alcohol and the river lethe, their circadian rhythms were off. managing the boar-driven chariot that drew the sun across the sky was not a highly-sought position: the black sun rose during the day, and the red sun rose at night; but the red sun did not rise every night, and though the black sun was more timely it was directionally impaired: rising in the south and setting in the north, rising in the northwest and setting in the northeast, or rising in the north and taking a strange zig-zag pattern to the south and back—possibly an attempt to draw a “cool S”. we can also say with confidence that the grayish vapors disseminated from the cracked obsidian of the forsaken earth did not have a salubrious effect. finally, we must note that the boys’ amnesia could have resulted from the omnipresent rule of demonic soul magic, in which what is attended to becomes real, and what is not attended to, does not.

now at this time horatio and bacchus girded themselves with determination, even though it caused them sadness, and tried to recall language. it started with a sharp inspiration and then a slow expiration, “ooooooo”; which got a laugh, and with pursed lips they varied the number of oo’s for a while before settling upon 6 to 8 as the optimal (i.e. funniest) range. then they widened the distance between their lateral commissures to make eeeeee, and they dropped their mandibles and flattened their tongues to make aaaaaah, and these too were amusing, if admittedly juvenile in the way of all unperturbed air. hence the consonants: one would lead off with a gggggggg and the other would breathe the metronome of expectation and listen to gggggggggggggggggggggggg continuing past all semantic purpose until with some internal wrenching of sockets this noise would give way to eeeeee, and they would laugh.

various orderings of consonants and vowels were tried as the sophistication of their humor increased. now with words they recalled meanings, and with meanings they became capable of irony, and shortly thereafter they were back to their old ways.

“1…e5,” bacchus said.

“holy shit,” horatio said.

and so the boys continued to game systematically, but not as systematically as they once had; and they continued to drink, but sometimes in moderation.

“do you think there's a psychological typology of chess openings?" bacchus asked, “like, certain types of people prefer certain openings, to clarify?”

“yes,” horatio said.

“yeah, i think so too,” bacchus said.

2. Bc4 Nc6

3. Qh5 Nf6??

4. Qxf7#

now by this time horatio fundamentally understood bacchus, and bacchus fundamentally understood horatio, but not in the way that allowed them to make predictions about individual actions, so they kept being surprised. for it was evident that the light that limned them had exhausted innumerable other options before settling upon this one, because the scene had purpose and harmonious proportion. and even though the light vacillated across moments of perception, in each moment, it seemed that it could be no other way.

“yeah man,” horatio eventually said, “my take is, you can be in a bad place, and still make a good thing of it.”

horatio tilted the white queen and rolled her base across the fatal square.

“in fact, maybe it's better to have a good time in a bad place, on your own terms, than to be in a good place, conditional upon doing what you’re told,” he said.

“well,” bacchus said, spinning the board, “maybe.”

and with a desultory sweep, horatio brought pawns and knights errant to the frontier of their steady-state, while bacchus, kneeling, with three arcs of divine manumission lifted pawn, queen, and bishop directly to their native squares.

chapter 1 - END

#a season in hellsite #ash #horatio #bacchus #chess

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seexseexseex · 5 years ago

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Love under Will: Sexuality, Magic & Liberation by Phil Hine

I am the flame that burns in every heart of man, and in the core of every star. I am Life, and the giver of Life, yet therefore knowledge of me is the knowledge of death.Liber AL, II, 6. At a time when Magic is (supposedly) undergoing a renaissance, with core ideas & techniques presented in a clear and open manner, Sexual Magic remains entangled in glamours and misconceptions. There is little published material, it seems, which deals with the subject clearly. It is usually the case that Sexual Magic is shrouded (sometimes "drowned") in symbolic asides and allusions. To begin with, what actually constitutes an act of Sexual Magic? A broad definition is: that it is the harnessing of one’s own sexuality with intentionality - literally "Love Under Will", to bring about change. This implies a great deal more than the waving of rods, wands, cups, and roses. Celibacy, as a conscious decision not to be sexually active can be as much an act of Sexual Magic as any ritualised copulation or masturbation. The basis of Sexual Magic is to understand, and experience sexuality as sacred or "Magical". Sexuality is probably the most powerful means of transformation, discovery and knowledge that Humanity has. This is why sexuality is effectively put under 'lock and key' by our Society. The Judeo-Christian attitude to sexuality has become "embedded" in the cultural psyche, to the extent that many of us feel that sexual expression is "naturally" followed by shame and guilt. For orthodox Christianity, sexuality can never be entirely sinless, even within the confines of marriage. The onset of the "Permissive Society" is supposed to have freed us from past constraints and inhibitions, but has it? Sexuality has become another brand of commodity, another source of status. Although we tend to regard our own sexual natures in terms of privacy and "naturalness", it is subject to a great deal of interference and manipulation from external agents. There is a media-borne cultural imperative that we must be good at sex; that success is dependant on the number of orgasms that we can wring from our partners, or indeed from the number of partners we have. For many of us, sexuality is a major means of gaining status and Egocentric power, associated with imposing ones will upon others. The key factor in Rape for example, appears to be that of the male demonstrating his power over another person (woman or weaker male). Society acts to channel sexual energy into acceptable forms - those which maintain alienation; channels such as Sentimental Romanticism and Pornography. More powerful and invasive than any medieval incubi are the neuroses, obsessions and acts of violence which seem to be the inevitable spawn of this Sexual Nihilism. A characteristic of this profoundly Egocentric sexuality is that ones partner is regarded as little more than an instrument to satisfy ones own needs (be they physical or status needs). Human emotions are alienated in the scramble for consumer gratification; in goods, wealth, success, and the conquering of each others orifices. These cultural imperatives, to be successful and goal-oriented in every area of Life, are so deeply embedded that we only tend to notice the most obvious manifestations of them - with regard to work, for example. They can easily pass unnoticed in the very personal domain in which we place our own sexuality, and equally importantly, our sense of "Spirituality". As a result of the cult~ral emphasis placed on goal-orientation, a good deal of what passes for Western Occultism is also goal-oriented. Western Sexual Magic is no exception. There is a tendency to regard Sexual Magic as merely a 'better' way to acquire goods, "powers" or wealth, and there is great emphasis placed on the necessity of visualisation, inhibition of orgasm and mental concentration, rather than bodily awareness and pleasure. This seems to be a rather clinical and narrow approach to sexual potential- as Zach Cox put it (in Aquarian Arrow 22) "like using a microprocessor chip as a doorstop". Part of the problem that Western Sexual Magic suffers from is the enshrinement of the ideas of Aleister Crowley, who is often held up as a paragon of the 'new sexuality.’ However, Pansexuality such as Crowley displayed does not automatically imply total sexual liberation. Though a great innovator and synthesist, Crowley was unable to disentangle himself from the prevailing sexual mores of his time. His sexual philosophy displays a typical (and enduring) dualistic attitude towards women, placing his "idealised" women on a pedestal, yet seemingly unable to accept women as equals. Examples of his Egocentricity are not hard to find: "At about 8.45pm I was on 34th St & Broadway, looking for a soul-mate, a destined bride, an affinity, a counterpartal ego etc.; and should have considered the conditions satisfied by any orifice into which I could plunge my penis at a cost not exceeding $2.50". Rex De Arte Regia. Crowley’s approach to Sexual Magic seems to have been almost totally results-oriented, with his numerous opera for money, fascination, success, youth and magical energy. He implies that the partner in such a working is secondary to the will of the Mage, the selection of an appropriate partner being left to unconscious caprice Unfortunately for present-day occultists, there is little material available concerning the work and ideas of the women who followed Crowley’s system. Doubtless much of Crowley’s attraction as a guru-figure is the way his attitudes uphold male Egocentcic sexual values. All the material currently available on the subject of "suitability" of partners" is male-oriented, and serves to maintain a kind of imbalance On the one hand there is Louis T. Culling’s attitude: "Often, a woman who has studied occultism becomes impossible because she has too many preconceived ideas which are not in agreement with her role as a good, cooperative partner. If there is any possible rapport, the woman becomes responsive automatically to the aspiration of the male, and after this has happened, it would be very easy to give her an explanation and an understanding of the magical aspects" A Manual of Sex Magick, p25. while on the other hand, there is Kenneth Grants implication that Tantra is well-nigh impossible nowadays, due to the lack of suitable partners: "Western women who possess the required traits are rare, and as they have not the hereditary advantage of initiation into occult techniques - as have certain African and oriental women - the sudden impact of magical energy on their personalities tends to disturb their sanity" Aleister Crowley & the Hidden God, p84. Grant notes that according to Tantric practice, woman is the initiatrix of the male, but seems to hold the opinion that such women are a rarity in the West. Although the bulk of his writing is set towards the task of producing a sexual metaphysic based on the "occult" properties of menstruation, it seems to be distant from women in that there are many references about women as the Priestess or Suvasini - but almost nothing from women themselves on this subject. The focus of this issue of "suitability" is couched wholly, it seems, in terms or occult metaphysics. Nowhere is it mentioned that it is beneficial for all concerned to be working on their own sexual/emotional conditioning, or that empathic sensitivity to, and even understanding of ones partners needs and feelings could be paramount. It is these ordinary, Human qualities that are lost in the vast symbolic metastructures that Grant erects. One has the feeling that those who are not party to the ramifications of these "secrets" are not worth considering in terms of degrees of initiation Initiatory experience in areas of life other than the occult does not seem to matter Given this attitude, it does not seem likely that "Priestesses", at least in the way Grant seems to be depicting them, will "re-emerge", since women seem to be tacitly excluded from assuming a coequal role with males, as it is the latter who have erected the metasystem in the first place: "As it is we can but preserve the formula, confident that the present magical revival will discover genuine Priestesses to serve our mass." Aleister Crowley & the Hidden God. Given the current developments in male and female consciousness, it is more likely that the "Priestesses" are already out there waiting for us men to get our act together! It does seem to be a feature of male-oriented Magic that the emphasis is upon building these heavily intellectual metasystems, which are removed from 'everyday reality'. In contrast to this, "Women’s Mysteries" seem to revolve around aspects of daily experience - birth, sexuality, creation, nurturing, menstruation and Death. It appears that "High Magic" is largely concerned with acting within an abstract "inner-space" that has few points of contact with the consciousness of daily experience. I feel that this distinction should be emphasised, as the whole character of Magic is changing. There is a movement away from it being a kind of developmental process which is seen purely in occult terms, that has nothing in common with other spheres of life This traditional attitude is being supplanted by the idea of Magic as a fully integrative process of self-transformation. There has been a rekindling of the power of Magic in making connections, in communicating with, guiding, healing, and "reaching out" to one another, rather than an entirely personal inner-initiation. As 'the general emphasis of Magic changes, so too has there been a shift in attitudes regarding Sexual Magic. Intimations of this shift can be discerned in the writings of Dion Fortune. Her influence upon developing Western Sexual Magic comes from her novels, rather than from her non-fictional output. The underlying theme in her works, especially The Sea Priestess and Moon Magic concerns the intense consummation achieved by the partnership between a man who is in some way "wounded" and a woman who, to further her own Magical intent, takes on the role of the initiatrix. The Priestess "Vivien Morgan" chooses her partner, initiates him and then withdraws. Fortunes writing displays levels of feeling; of intuition and cycles which was absent in the writings of her male contemporaries. There is a fine understanding displayed of how "magical" development blends with ones relationship to life-changes in general. Fortunes approach to Sexual Magic is concerned with interpersonal transformation rather than goal or inwardlydirected experience. Her treatment of Pan for example, in "The Goat-foot God"is more concerned with the inspiration and awareness of "a Greater Whole" than the rutting, phallocentric Pan that typifies Crowley’s approach to sexuality. The Return of the Goddesses Over the last two decades, one of Humanity’s oldest cultural influences has begun to be reasserted, in the return of the Goddesses. Within the Occult subculture, this has manifested as the growth of Wicca and Earth-based Paganism, and in the wider culture of course as the rise of Feminism and the articulation of female consciousness. Wicca places great emphasis upon Sexual Magic. Doreen Valiente, in Witchcraft for Tomorrow notes the similarities apparent between Witchcraft and Tantra: the emphasis on balance between the sexes, the central role of the Priestess as initiator and Earthly representative of the Goddess. The focus of Wicca is directed outwards - into Nature and awareness of cycles (both intrapsychic and Natural rhythm), rather than a highly abstract metastructure. So the emphasis upon Sexual Magic is towards fertility rites and participation in seasonal changes. Some Wiccan writers see their attitude to Sexual Magic as the Hieros Gamos, the sacred marriage between Gods and Humanity There is also the idea of Sexual Magic as a means of "passing power from initiator to new-initiate" (Galadriel, in The Lamp of Thoth, Vol.1 No.2). Again, this shows a shift towards harnessing sexuality as a means to a process of engagement, rather than simply being another technique for acquiring results The rise of Feminism is also a very important factor in considering the shifting emphasis of Sexual Magic. John Rowan (1987) puts it in these terms: "…women starting to notice that the whole thing (i.e. the Sexual Revolution against Victorian attitudes) had been organised by men, with male assumptions and male values, for the benefit of men. The way in which women had been supposed to participate was by being like men in every way". The Horned God. The growth of Feminist ideology saw women demanding self-definition in their own terms, and a recognition of a female culture that is as important as that of male culture. Awareness of the necessity of this process has been growing steadily, not only at the socio-political level, but also as a Spiritual endeavour. It has showed up the glaring omissions in the "traditions" of Patriarchyderived Occult systems. There is now a resurgence of Women rediscovering, and recovering their own "Mysteries" as evinced in the work of Lynn Andrews, Barbara Walker and Monica Sjoo and others. A particularly important crossover for the development of Magic is the work of Starhawk, who provides a Feminist approach to Spiritual/Transpersonal development for both women and men. Her book Dreaming the Dark connects the values of Wicca with a developing Feminist/Therapeutic current. sexuality is seen of in far wider terms than techniques and metaphysics ( which can be seen as being bound up with male values of prowess & potency). Starhawk writes of the idea of the archetypes of Goddesses and Horned Cod providing possible re-evaluations of male and female, - beyond the constraints of Patriarchal culture. Exploring one’s sexuality through these archetypes is a way of transcending our cultural mores about masculinity and femininity. sexuality is understood as "a deep connecting power" (Starhawk, 1982). This is a far cry from the "traditional" ethos of Sexual Magic. The focus has shifted from a "bits" approach, to Sexual Magic as a distinct set of techniques; to an emphasis which regards sexuality as just one aspect of a whole process of transformation. This is very close to the idea of Sexuality as a means to "Liberation" mentioned earlier. But of course, such Liberation is not only Spiritual, but sexual, social and political. Sexuality & Intimacy Sexual Magic as a path to Liberation is a core idea within Tantric philosophy, but does not seem to have been widely explored in Western Magic. It involves the redefinition of gender stereotypes, exploring relationships beyond the cultural confines, and exploring personal sexuality. Exploring sexuality becomes a means to knowledge, both of self and others. This Gnosis (Knowledge of the Heart) can take us beyond our cultural norms and limitations, to actively engage in the realisation of the post-patriarchal individual Very closely linked with this process is the recovery of Love from its imprisonment in consumer-romanticism. Western ideas of Love have become gradually warped by the concept of Egotistical possession, so that the language of Love is equivalent, to a large degree, to the language of ownership. Love bound by rules, duties, morals and projected by television and commerce serves to maintain the alienation of men and women from themselves and each other. The transformational power of Sexual Energy thus becomes destructive, maintaining the wedge driven between self and other, mind and body, Ego and Exo. However it is possible for Love to be discovered despite these cultural blinds. This is the experience of Love as a Spiritual, inwardly-felt quality. again, this idea is emphasised in Tantra, but not in Western Magic (until fairly recently). It appears in the concept of Courtly or Sublime Love idealised by the European Troubadours, considered as heretical by the church. This Sublime Love is spoken of as a positive force that reaches out towards others, taking them on a journey of expansion. The key to Sublime Love is the "Deep Trust and Intimacy" experienced by the partners involved. Again, this recalls a Tantric idea, that the partners in acts of Sexual Magic be beloved to each other. This recognition (when it has actually been stated in Western writings on Sex Magic) tends to have been formerly restricted to statements that Sexual Magic is only valid when carried out by long-established ("married") partners, or else it becomes somehow "Black". This refers of course to Sexual Magic purely in terms of genital activity. However, when the focus of attention shifts from a narrowly-defined view of Sexuality, to one of intimacy (ofwhich physical sex is only one aspect), there also opens the possibility of intimacy in relationships other than those of conventional exclusivity, Close intimacy can develop within a "closed" magical group, without it necessarily moving into what we would otherwise call wife-swapping or group sex. Intimacy and Deep Trust in a group setting are powerful generators of a Group Gestalt which acts as a tribe or clan to each participant. To the prurient, this will be dismissed as an excuse for orgia, but exploration of intimacy can lead to a greater sense of involvement in both the group, and the wider process of transformation. The emphasis is shifted towards mutual growth and development, rather than the pursuit of sexual Conquests that appears to be so rampant in modern Occult groups. Indeed, the exploration of intimacy could almost be a necessity for Magical groups, where there undercurrents of sexual dynamics (attraction, anxiety, jealousy etc.) which develop when members become attracted to others outside their usual relationships, can quickly destroy a groups coherence Ritualised Sex in a group setting is only destructive when there is a lack of trust and intimacy between those taking part. An American Psychologist, Mosher (1980) researching into intimacy found that 'the level of intimacy a person experiences is related to the degree of expression, awareness, and interpersonal contact that is experienced during sex. According to Mosher there are three levels of intimacy; Ego-centred, Surface-centred and Core-centred. Ego-centred involvement only concerns Egocentric gratification; one’s partner being at best an instrument to fulfil physical or status needs.' Surface-centred involvement centres on sexual performance and pleasure, both of self and partner. Core-centred involvement however is typified by the desire at open oneself fully to the partner, or at its "peak" the experience of Bliss and loss of Ego-boundary. There is also 'the implication that once a new level (or depth) of involvement is attained, that those formerly experienced are in future, no longer wholly satisfying in the way they might once have been. It is this "Numinous" experience of sexuality which most closely corresponds to the Tantric experience of Sexual Ecstasy. But in Western Society, the energy liberated by such experience tends to be diverted into the culturally accepted channels of expression - those which maintain the boundaries of Egocentric involvement. Attachment in terms of possession, with all its attendant anxiety and Neurosis. If these constraints can be transcended (which obviously will take a long time and good deal of effort) then the intensity generated can facilitate a "breakout" from the inertia imposed by society. Lovers can find enough support and energy in each other to reject the cultural limitations and seek new forms of living, free to move in any direction. Obviously, blissful sex cannot of itself wipe away a lifetime of conditioning, but it can be an impetus towards further development in all areas of awareness. Sexual bliss is a powerful Gnosis for imprinting a new vision of reality, as recognised by Timothy Leary in his theory of Neurological circuits. A first experience of the Numinous often marks the "trigger" for an individual’s transformational journey, and each subsequent experience of bliss provides further impetus for the process. It is the "heat" generated by such alchemical processes which moves the psyche from a condition of static identification (Ego-centric) to one of engagement and flow (Exo-centric). Starhawk writes of this sexual alchemy as: "…an exchange of energy, of subtle nourishment, between people. Through connection with each other, we connect with all". The Spiral Dance It is important to note that psychic structures cannot be "wiped away" completely by the transformational process, but they can be built on, and replaced by structures that are more adaptable, open to uncertainty and change. For men this involves letting go of the male Ego, and what John Rowan calls "surrendering to the Goddess". "Experiencing the Goddess through us, completes men and brings them into our world." Alathea the Shamoon This "surrendering" or willing sacrifice is the beginning of a process of psychic death, which leads ultimately to rebirth into a world of participation and engagement. For males, this psychic meeting with the power of the Goddesses - in the form of the Dark Destroyer (for example Kali, Hecate or the Morrigan) has a powerful transformative potential. The Goddess in her dark aspect is the gateway to the Underworld, the place of psychic dissection and restructuring. This aspect of woman appears in Patriachal culture as the male fantasy of the sexually uninhibited woman also linked with the anxiety-creating image of woman as castrator and devourer. If Will can be directed towards change, then any Magical process involving psychic restructuring ca lead to change in outward areas of life - interpersonal and social. The power of the Goddesses (Shakti in Tantric terminology) as experienced by men, opens us to an experience of empowerment (power not couched in male terms). We can recognise that the possibilities of transformation lie within us, which should lessen the tendency to project Egocentric needs onto women. The reality of this Goddess-experience is difficult to deny or rationalise away, once it becomes immediate and heartfelt. This experience of Devi must surely begin to loosen our cultural conditioning. It is part of the painful process of absorption and rebirth - a rebirth into participation. The Way Forwards? Liberation implies the freedom of the whole being, at all levels and in all areas of action. It is a change which is fundamental and total. It is not enough to ignore or try and wish away our current situation. The necessity of "obedience to awareness" is brought home with every update on our headlong plunge to self-destruction. In many ways this essay is a statement of my personal views of Sexual Magic, as a way of uncovering, energising and realising our potential to evolve as Humans. The insights gained through the process of transformation give us glimpses of future possibilities, which we can then attempt to live towards. At the moment we know very little about what it means to be male of female, beyond the boundaries of Patriarchy. Growing up, or evolving is a hard and painful struggle, but we cannot resist it forever. Magic is a possible avenue by which we may at first glimpse, then realise these possibilities. This to me, is the essential nature of "I.ove Under Will". Bibliography · Aquarian Arrow magazine, no.22 · Crowley, Aleister - De Arte Regia, Liber Agapé · Culling, Louis T. - A Manual of Sex Magick · Grant, Kenneth - Aleister Crowley & the Hidden God · Magee, Mike - A Lecture on Tantrika (in VITRIOL magazine, no.2) · Richardson, Alan - Dancers to the Gods · Rowan, John - The Horned God · Starhawk - Dreaming the Dark, The Spiral Dance · Shual, Katon - Sexual Magick & Sexual Politics (in Nuit-Isis magazine issues 1 & 2) · Valiente, Doreen - Witchcraft for Tomorrow This article first appeared in Chaos International magazine, issue 4, 1988.

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