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peeterparkr · 2 years ago

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august;steve harrington

one: lost in the memory

august; or how you missed Steve’s character development

Steve Harrington x reader

story summary: memories of a forgotten summer haunt you to this day, and Steve wants to make it up to you. chapter summary: it's been years since you last talked to Steve Harrington word count: 4.5k

based on august by Taylor Swift ✨

warnings: alcohol mention, italics mean past, madonna

This is my first time ever writing for Stever Harrington so please be kind, I hope you like this and if you don't, then you never saw this :) thanks to @erodasghosts for helping me out

“This is going to end, isn’t it? When summer ends.”

Steve turned to you. “No, it won’t.”

You were both laying down on the grass, near the lake, chasing clouds and living dreams. He covered the sun for the both of you.

“No, I know it will. Why else is this all a secret?” You asked, ignoring his gaze. A cigarette hanging from his lips.

“Secrets are good.”

You sat up, stealing the cigarette from him and giving it a hit. “So you won’t be embarrassed to talk to me when we’re back at school?”

“C’mon. We’ve always talked,” he took the cigarette back from you.

“No, not like this.”

Steve watched. “I’ll talk to you.”

“And meet in public?”

He pursed his lips, playing with the cigarette.

“Or are we still sticking to meeting behind the mall?”

“That’s what makes us… us.”

Yeah, right.

It had been years since that conversation and it usually played in your head when you least expected it.

The diner never closed. You usually stayed up until 5 am, working long hours with barely anyone showing up past 1.

That’s when you could finally enjoy some time to yourself. You always thought you’d end up somewhere else. Not here, though. With dreams that never came through, or never became plans and how good can dreams be when they don’t turn into plans?

Dreams are for fools, and you were a fool. Hawkins never offered another option. Though lately, it has offered rumors and fear. Not anything for the dreamers.

But that didn’t matter at 1:52am as you sat down, a coffee jar in your hand, and faint music playing in the background. You moved your feet along the music.

You did want music, another variety however. Not whatever was playing on the radio at 1:52a—53 am now.

Minutes seemed to be hours at this boring old cafe. You’d think that after the whole disaster, your boss would’ve closed the diner and ran away like everyone else was doing.

That was not an option it seemed.

Times were, undoubtedly, dark. Casualties were still hanging up in everyone’s hearts. And Hawkings offered no hope.

The cook sang along to the song.

You disliked this.

All of it.

Margaret, Maggie, your older coworker just watched him with pain.

“You know, Charlie, you’re going to scare y/n off.”

“Nothing scares me, Maggie, if it had, I would’ve run away a long time ago,” you joked, staring at the coffee pot.

Maggie smirked, “are we sure nothin’ scares you? Surely a Betty like you gets scared by something.”

Charlie shrugged. “I was scared by recent events.”

You pursed your lips.

“Those don’t count,” Maggie said. An older woman who made a living out of this diner, who actively encouraged you to get out of here before life got in the way. “Y/N here should be out there, living her life, falling in love, not worrying about this ridiculous shit.”

You sighed. “What do you mean, Maggie? I have enough with the both of you, working at a stinky diner at 2 am, with greasy burgers still cooking just for fun and a coffee pot that’s getting cold , that's a dream.”

Maggie chuckled. “And what about a boyfriend? Don’t you want any of that? I’m sure boys would like to hang out with you instead of us.”

You snorted, “I doubt anyone would turn to look at me in these… fashionable clothes.”

Maggie grinned. “I’ve noticed a guy, the one with the hair, he comes here often and I see that you’re always rushing to get away from him. I assume you like him.”

You chuckled, feeling the blush building upon your cheeks as you rolled your eyes. “Yeah. Right.”

“So you do like him? He is handsome,” Maggie commented.

“No. I actually hate him.”

“Who?” Charlie asked.

“Waffles with extra whipped cream guy, extra bacon.”

“Ah,” Charlie laughed with a smirk. “Handsome one he is. Yeah you always run away.”

“Because—he’s boring, he always orders the same thing,” you tried defending yourself. “Besides, when he’s not here with Dustin, he comes in with Robin. I’m pretty sure they’re dating,and if that weren’t enough, he is Nancy Wheeler’s ex.”

“I don’t know who any of those people are,” Charlie commented.

“Robin works with him at Family video, they used to work at Scoops Ahoy at the mall. She’s nice, she’s pretty. Steve…He— hangs out a lot with Dustin, he is younger, they’re all kids, Max and Mike and Lucas… Not Will anymore. He’s gone. With that girl—who—well. Nancy is dating Jonathan Byers now, which—I would’ve never thought they would back in high school.”

Maggie laughed. “You seem to know a lot about him.”

“I didn't say anything about him, I just randomly namedropped people. But I know nothing about King Steve Harrington. Other than he used to be friends with Carol and Tommy, and other jerks. But he stopped being friends with them. He was a jerk, at first. I did not like him, less when he was around Carol and Tommy H, they sucked.” You leaned against the counter. “And— I know he used to be the worst in French class, and chemistry… and every single subject, actually. I used to tutor him. For a bit, only. I don’t think he even remembers my name, but he was terrible, really, I helped him but boy, was he bad at it, but I discovered more about him. He wasn’t only this idiotic jock…he was misunderstood. Don’t get me wrong, he was an idiot. Treating girls like they were a notch in his belt. Trophies, let’s say. But I gathered from him that he—he was really insecure of himself, he probably thought that by dating all of them he would be worthy of something. Which— even when he was perfect in mostly everything he did from the basketball team to the swim team.”

Maggie only crossed her arms with a smirk.

“He dated, a lot. He He—uh, he dislikes his parents. And he tried to look the closest to Tom Cruise, only days after Risky Business had premiered he showed up talking like him,” you nodded. “College women can smell ignorance like dog shit. He made that movie his whole personality. I know he cried with Annie. He once told me he was a lifeguard. He did not get along with Billy, no one really did, actually…. And currently, he’s helping out with the homeless at our high school. I bumped into him and he was folding clothes and he’s really bad at it. He sucks.”

Charlie and Maggie watched you and then gave each other a knowing glance.

“So you know nothing about him,” Maggie crossed her arms with a smirk.

You shook your head, “no, I don’t. Nothing. I only know he’s a jerk.”

“Uh-huh,” Maggie chuckled. “Let’s hope he visits you tomorrow so you can get to know about him. You can get his order next time.”

“Why would I? He’s an idiot. He probably comes here just to make fun of me.”

Maggie chuckled, “I’m pretty sure he comes in very often and I don’t think it’s because of the waffles.”

“My waffles are the best,” Charlie defended himself,

“They are,” you agreed, nodding your head and pointing with the coffee pot to him. “He’s got a point, besides it’s dinner and a show with Charlie’s singing.”

Charlie frowned, “hey, I’m the best at singing.”

“Change the station,” Maggie offered with a smirk. “Get some of your grooves going as you keep lying to yourself. But please, before he keeps singing,”

You snorted. “Grooves,” you teased�� as you changed the radio station. A groovy one.

Madonna’s ‘Like a Virgin.’ started playing,

“Now this is music!” You said, moving your head along.

Maggie watched you, chuckling. “You young people scare me.”

You moved your shoulders to her.

“You think you can give a better show than me?” Charlie questioned.

“Is that a challenge?” You grinned hopping to the counter as you laid down on it. You kept loving your shoulders as you sang along. “I was beat! Incomplete! I'd been had, I was sad and blue, but you make me feel, yeah you make me feel!”

Your off key singing suddenly turned into a show as you used spoons as your microphone, and danced behind the counter, putting on a full show with exaggerated movements and dramatic theatrics.

“Y/N stop,” Maggie said.

“Touched for the very first time!” You sang to her even louder.

“Y/N,” Charly shook his head.

“Like a Virgin!”

Madonna would be proud, hadnt it been for the fact that your dancing and singing was distracting you, enough for you to ignore the small bell at the door that had rang as someone had walked in.

Mid dancing, you turned around to continue your performance.

“You’re so fine! Fuck!” You said before wishing Hawkins to give another earthquake and suck you in. You dropped your spoon and felt like you were dying. You ducked behind the counter.

“Hi,” King Steve Harrington stood there awkwardly as you showed your face having watched part of your performance. Robin Buckley standing next to him with a big smirk on her face.

Dustin Henderson, right behind them.

You ducked again.

“Hi,” Robin spoke now, with a smirk. “That was an incredible performance,” you could tell she was trying hard not to be sarcastic and seem nice instead.

“Hi,” you said, dying of embarrassment. “I’m so sorry you—were not supposed to see that, usually at this time no one comes in and—“You were speaking too fast, you cleared your throat and avoided Steve’s gaze.

The whole trio looked tired. That was an understatement. They were all covered with gray circles around their eyes and they looked sad

What they were doing here at 2 am was beyond your thoughts, you only cursed that they’d decided to join you amidst your Madonna performance. But you didn’t questioned their emotional state. Lately everyone in Hawkins was sad.

Dustin was the first to smile. “That was cool! Wasn’t it, Steve?”

Steve offered a smile. “Uh—“he coughed. “Yeah it was—something.”

You’d heard about a ghost or monster of sorts killing or disappearing people. You, right now, wished you were one of the victims.

Maggie joined in. “Hey fellas, you can take your seats and hopefully y/n here will give you all another show, how about that?”

They went and squeezed on a single booth.

You sank behind the counter again.

Maggie watched you. “Are you kidding me?”

“Can you get their orders?” You begged.

“No,” she smiled, politely.

“There is more I know about him,” you admitted. “He’s a jerk and he was a bigger jerk back in high school,” you admitted. “He broke my heart and I dislike him so much.”

Maggie watched you. “So you do know about him.”

You did. More than you wanted to admit. And he knew about you, the things that you didn’t want anyone to know.

Secrets. Which was funny, were you not both based on secrets?

“Yes, I know he’s an idiot.”

An idiot who used to have wine with you, an idiot that laughed on a rooftop, an idiot that laid down on the grass with you.

“But do you like him?”

“No, I try to always show up so he feels guilty.”

Maggie watched them. “Go get their order. I’m busy.”

No, you didn’t like him. Not anymore, you wouldn’t go on that lane again.

Hawkins offered enough darkness for you to search one in yourself.

“Busy? Busy? Doing what?” You called her out.

She just walked away swaying her hips..

You breathed in, slowly. “Fine.”

You stood up and made your way over. “Hello ladies and gentlemen, I hope you enjoyed the show, what can I get for you tonight? May I offer anyone some coffee?”

The three of them started to unanimously tell you their orders.

“You know fellas, I don’t have a super power so I’m gonna need you all to give them one by one.”

Steve turned to you, “Sorry, y/n,” he apologized.

So he remembered your name.

You made eye contact with him for what seemed a second. Then you were reminded of who he was. A good reminder for you, it’s good to keep track of your heart.

There had always been something in his eyes. Something you loved and hated, eyes which spoke.

Steve had always been quiet, but his eyes had always been loud.

“So, coffee. Who wants coffee?” You asked again.

They all raised their hands.

Great.

When had Steves gang turned into a child and a girl whom you didn’t hate was not an answer you had.

“‘Kay, I’ll be right back with coffee for and then you all can, in order, tell me what you want.”

“Thanks y/n,” Steve said as you walked away. You filled the coffee pot and got each a cup. Except for Steve. Consciously.

Because it was one of those days, when you had remembered what it felt like to be hurt. When you remembered how bad Steve Harrington can hurt you.

You laughed against his chest. “Are you kidding?”

“I haven’t slept since, that movie scared me. You should take care of yourself, you’re a babysitter sometimes.”

“I’m sure Mike Myers won’t come after me.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I can’t believe Steve the King Harrington is scared of a movie.”

When one is most lonely is when the mind is most annoying. You were always lonely.

Dustin watched you curiously. “Uh you forgot a cup, for Steve.”

“Did I?” You asked. “Ah,” you took out your notepad. “So, what can I get for you?”

Robin watched you then with a big smirk on her face. She snorted and watched Steve.

It was with little things that you could get back at him. Slowly.

“I’ll have—“Steve started.

“Yeah, I know, waffles with extra whipped cream and extra bacon.”

You did know him. He hadn’t changed his order since that one august. People don’t change.

Or maybe they do. For the better, hopefully.

You had, hadn’t you?

Maybe you believe heartache to be the first spark to ignite a change in people. Perhaps when the heart is most vulnerable is when you can mold it.

There is a chance, perhaps, that hearts don’t break, but they become weak, vulnerable, moldeable. Perhaps a heartbreak may not be literal. Or does the heart lose something when it breaks?

Maybe.

Maybe the heart loses and keeps trying to build back up, of new pieces, with bandaids and tape. Building from scattered parts that we find.

But had you built it?

Robin grinned, watching Steve get uncomfortable.

“You’re not getting his coffee?”

You took a deep breath, “Yeah. I’d rather get Charlie cooking first. I’ll bring it in a second.”

Steve watched. “Actually, Can I get a milkshake, too?” Steve asked.

You took a deep breath. “Hm-hm”

“Strawberry, still my favorite,” Steve awkwardly said. You glared.

Strawberry milkshakes. He was doing it on purpose. Strawberry milkshakes was your thing. But you had to ignore it for now.

Saying us.

“Never have I ever—had a strawberry milkshake,”

“That’s bullshit.”

“I swear, it’s true,” he chuckled. “It’s always chocolate, vanilla.”

“You don’t know what you’re missing on, Harrington.”

Robin watched between the both of you. She nodded to herself. She knew part of the story, not all.

How august had come in and gone so, so quickly. She didn’t know it, she’d only known about you hanging out with Steve Harrington.

‘Why?’

‘He’s not that bad’

‘No, he is.’

He was.

“Robin?” You turned to the girl, whom you’d been friends with, for a while. Until you graduated and before she was friends with Steve. Which, you could not understand. How a friend can betray you and be with someone who had broken your heart.

She had said it, ‘you’re young, it’ll pass’.

No, it wouldn’t.

‘He’s Steve Harrington, who in their right mind falls for Steve Harrington?’

Maybe she’d been right for that one.

Robin and you had been close, until you weren’t. You blamed Steve. And there was a longer story behind everything.

“Yeah, uh, I’ll have—the cheeseburger, with fries,” Robin said. “And milkshake, too”

Dustin looked up and gave you a smile. You smiled back. Even though he’d made the conscious choice to be friends with a jerk you knew the kid had nothing to be blamed on.

Besides, you knew him to be grieving. You’d learned he’d been friends with Eddie Munson, another old friend from high school, someone whom you’d blantantly avoided the summer with Steve happened.

“Hey, y/n,” Eddie had called. “Are we seeing each other today?”

You licked your lips, it was a Friday morning, and Steve had yet to call.

“No, I can’t. I’m busy—“

“Busy?” Eddie laughed, “I thought you would join us for DnD?”

“Can’t tonight, Munson.”

Steve didn’t call.

Steve had, undoubtedly, taken away everything from you. There was a reason why you didn’t want to be friends with him anymore. Friends.

As if you’d ever been friends.

“I’ll have—a burger too,” Dustin said. “Chocolate milkshake for me.”

“Me too, cheeseburger,” Steve said. “Time for a change, right?”

You ignored Steve’s gaze, just like he had all these years.

You placed their orders and waited behind the counter. You could tell Steve was uneasy. Dustin and Robin only watched you while gossiping with him.

Were they making fun of you?

You had seen Steve show up regularly lately, you had noticed that and he always watched you and tried talking to you, you ignored him every time and let Maggie take his orders.

It was rewarding.

You did give him his coffee, but ran away as fast as you could before he could engage in any conversation.

“See? What did I tell you?” You heard Steve tell Dustin and Robin.

You sat by the counter.

“He always asks for you, you know,” Maggie said as she was making the milkshakes, letting the blender be as loud as it could so you could talk to each other.

You shrugged.

“I don’t like him,” you said. “And I have a fair reason not to.”

“Which is?”

You took a deep breath and stared at him, when he noticed he gave you an awkward smile and a wave.

“He’s an idiot,” you admitted to Maggie.

“What’s the real story? I know there is a long story behind that.”

Was it? A short summer that had gone too fast. A summer that would be remembered every now and then.

So much for one summer. A summer that comes as a chalk drawing on the floor, easily erased with the rain.

“I’ll see you on Monday, maybe I’ll pick you up for school.”

“Can’t wait.”

He never did.

“Not really, look at him, he’s an idiot,” you said as you watched the guy drop his coffee as he saw you staring again. The cup was shattered. He had a talent for shattering things. “We spent—“you cleared your throat. “We spent a summer together. It was a secret, then we came back to school and he ignored me. Now if you’ll excuse me I’ll clean up his mess. As usual.”

You went back to him as he was already trying to clean it up.

“I’m really—really sorry,” he was whispering. “I broke—“

“It’ll be on your receipt,” you said.

“He’s an idiot, we are sorry,” Dustin said, helping you clean.

Steve was shaking. “I’m—sorry, uh, y/n can I—“

“I’ll get you another one,” you said as you went to the counter gathering a broom and a mop.

Steve followed. “No, I’ll get it, I did that. I’m sorry.”

You turned to see him and handed it to him.

“I know what it’s like to have ugly customers,” he said, smiling awkwardly. “I’m sorry.”

You only stared.

“Hey, maybe—uh, next time, this could be your microphone,” he grinned, playing with the mop. “You know, like—“he swiveled the mop. “Madonna is more—“

“Oh, please don’t.”

“No, no,” he grinned as he shook his head, letting out his hair hang loose. “Uh—I have seen you helping out.”

“Yeah, the kitchen,” you said.

“I’m helping too, sorting clothes and such,” he grinned.

“Uh-huh.”

“Maybe—-uh, maybe I could uh, give you a ride home one of these days, you know, it’s not,” he cleared his throat. “It’s not safe.”

“I’m okay.”

He turned to his friends who only watched him disappointedly. he cleared his throat and stared at the radio, turning it up. The news were on repeat. only a reminder of these dark times.

He cleared his throat and clumsily changed the station. Holiday by Madonna started playing. “Perfect.”

You crossed your arms, humored.

“More—next time try moving more uh—“he started moving his shoulders.

“Enlighten me, please.”

“Actually,” he handed the mop and broom back to you. “I remembered Madonna doesn’t like the mic stands so—“

You watched as he took a deep breath.

“Madonna is more—“he cleared his throat as he failed attempting to dance as Madonna. Moving up his hands in the air, with two left feet moving around the diner as if it were come kind of horrific dancefloor. Moving his hips to the sides and jumping.

Steve Harrington was making a complete fool of himself in front of you.

Humming and not knowing any of the lyrics to the song that was playing.

“Celebrate!” He said as he raised his arms, with every lack of rhythm he could have.

You were deciding how to react. You were embarrassed by him and tried not to laugh. You turned to look at Dustin and Robin who were just as embarrassed of their friend. Dustin covered his eyes and Robin was only laughing to herself and shaking her head.

But Steve continued, he had started so he had to finish. Even Maggie and Charlie had stopped what they were doing to watch the man make a fool of himself.

And for a moment, there was the Steve you’d met for a summer, a Steve that only you had been lucky enough to meet.

“I’ve seen the video,” he said. “I know she moves like this.”

You smiled then, and even chuckled. “You’re done now, you don’t have to make a fool of yourself.”

He approached you, “I think we all need to dance in such dark times.”

You rolled your eyes, as he only watched with a smirk as he snapped his fingers. You found yourself smiling and you didn’t like that.

“I know you’re loving this!”

Were you?

It was weird how he assumed to know. Did he really? Had you not been gone from his memory?

You turned around as Maggie placed the plates for you to hand them. He approached you as he tried engaging you to dance with him, you were quick to push him away.

“Come on? You were dancing just fine before,” he grinned.

“It was a private performance.”

He chuckled. “Weren’t we once, a private performance?”

You ignored him and took the orders to the booth.

“Y/N,” he said. “Dance with me, please?”

“So, here’s the three burgers with a side of fries each and your milkshakes.”

You had decided to ignore him because you knew him, perfectly fine. And you were not falling for his tricks again. You didn’t want it to rain again, you didn’t want to curse another month.

“Y/N?”

“Uh, I forgot the ketchup, sorry,” you turned around to see Steve waiting for you.

He gave you a look. A single look. Had you not been on your senses or perfectly aware of who he was you would’ve fallen right away, down to his feet.

Stupid eyes he had.

“No,” you tried walking past him but he stopped you.

“Please?”

“No, and let me walk, please.”

He sighed and cleared his throat. “Sorry, you’re right, you’re a better Madonna than me,” he sighed.

“I am,”you said . “Enjoy your meal. You can clean when you’re done,” you handed back the mop and broom.

He sighed and sat down as Robin and Dustin chuckled.

“I know,” he said. “I know.”

You walked to Maggie who gave you a sad smile. “He’s not bad.”

“He is.”

There was a moment of silence, you only turned the music louder, with songs you loved from last year, or decades before.

Maybe you were too harsh on Steve, but really, you weren’t. No, you werent and this probably was another one of his tricks, another game on you.

You didn’t know how long it happened until they were paying. Steve had tried talking to you once or twice more but you’d only faked to miss him.

Robin and Dustin had walked out but Steve had stayed to clean the mess he had made.

“No, I was kidding, that’s my job you don’t have to do it,” you said.

“No, I do. I have a new philosophy, to clean up the mess I’ve made.”

You chuckled. “That’s going to take you a long time.”

He sighed. “So, you don’t like me.”

“What gave it away?”

“I thought we were friends, we used to be friends in high school.”

You snorted and looked away. “Friends? Friends?” You let out a cynical laugh. “No, we were not. I tutored you for a bit. We were not friends.”

“And what about—“

“What about what?”

“You know, that summer.”

He had to be kidding right now. “Yeah. That proves we are not friends.”

“Right. Look, I was a jerk. And I’m—“

“Yeah. Big one.”

“I’ve changed.”

“Good.”

You walked away trying to find anything else to do, as he followed after you.

“Please, y/n.”

“You think just because you dance to Madonna I’ll just magically forgive you?”

“Well.”

“No, Steve, I don’t like you, I don’t know what you’re trying to do and I know you’ve been trying to reach out to me—“

“Yes, for a while now! I’ve even called you—“

“Years after you were a jerk, what came to your mind? Why now?”

“I’m just sorry.”

“Look, I’m sorry,” you chuckled. “I know, I know. It must be so hard for you for a girl not to fall at your feet but I’m sure plenty of girls are dying to have Steve Harrington talk to them.” Irony and sarcasm were stirring form each and every word.

He sighed, “May I make it up to you?” He asked.

“Is guilt not letting you sleep?”

He sighed, “ I know I was—probably the biggest jerk to you back in the day.”

“Yep, you were.”

“May I make it up? Let’s go watch a movie—“

“Oh, who paid you this time?”

He took a step back. He knew there was absolutely no chance against you. You’d defeated Steve Harrington.

He bit his lip, “I really have changed. And I’ll prove it.”

“What for, Steve?”

“I’ll prove it!” He said, before walking out.

Maggie watched you. “You’re too harsh.”

“No, I'm not even close to being harsh.”

“Why, y/n? Why not give him a chance?”

“Because—Because it’s his fault I curse an entire month.”

wanna be tagged on next part?

#steve harrington x you #steve harrington fluff #steve stranger things #steve harrington x y/n smut #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington fanfic #eddie munson

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marauderundercover · 2 years ago

Text

Hanging By a Thread (4)

Bruce Wayne stares down at his phone, almost expecting it to rear back and bite him. It shouldn’t be this hard. And it wasn’t hard. He just had to call the mother of his son, that’s all. Ask when she was planning on coming to Gotham. And then ask her if they had a second child together. That was fine. Everything was fine. He had it perfectly under control.

“You’ve gotta actually hit the call button, old man.” Jason calls from the other side of the cave. Bruce glances at him and frowns. Jason was right, of course. This phone call had to happen. But he also couldn’t help the thoughts that’d been circling around ever since he’d decided to talk to Talia. There were a million questions running through his head, and he could feel the start of a headache. If Marinette was their daughter, why didn’t Talia tell him? Why didn’t she keep her? Why didn’t she bring her with Damian? Why doesn’t Damian know his sister? Why keep her a secret so many years after telling him about Damian? But instead of asking any of the questions that would certainly haunt him until he had answers, he simply says:

“Fine.” And walks to a secluded area of the cave, quickly hitting the call button before he can change his mind.

“Beloved. This is unexpected. Is our son okay?” Talia asks, answering the call almost immediately. Bruce takes a moment to breathe, letting Talia’s voice wash over him for a second. They weren’t together anymore, and they likely never would be again. But he’d loved her, once. He’d thought of spending the rest of his life with her, and despite the flaws that both of them carried, she would always hold a piece of his heart.

“Do we have a daughter?” Bruce asks, wincing slightly at his tone. He wasn’t trying to be difficult; he was trying not to get emotional. Talia’s silence was deafening, and Bruce can feel his shoulders slump. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“How do you know?” Talia asks instead of answering.

“Her parents in France sent her to stay with Alfred, because Paris is unsafe. Apparently, he knows her grandmother.” Bruce says, ignoring the twinge in his chest when he refers to someone else as his daughter’s parents. It’s not like he can claim the title, but it doesn’t make it hurt any less. Bruce raises an eyebrow as Talia swears in Arabic under her breath.

“Why didn’t they call me? Why would they- what kind of danger? Is she safe?” She asks the questions rapidly, and Bruce is once again reminded that Talia is a good mother. Their parenting styles may not align, but he knew that she cared for their children.

“She’s safe, now. Paris is under attack from a villain who controls people using their negative emotions. Her parents believed that it was best to get her out of the city because of the promise they made to you.” Bruce explains. Talia huffs.

“You would think that would include actually telling me when they decide to move her to a different country.” She complains. Bruce frowns.

“Do you communicate with them often?” He asks, and there’s a brief moment of silence.

“Not with our daughter. I haven’t spoken to her since she was an infant. Sabine, however, has kept in steady communication with me throughout the years. She’s given updates on our daughter’s wellbeing every six months, so I fail to understand why she did not say anything when this started.” Talia says, and Bruce already knows that this Sabine woman will be getting a visit from Talia very soon. Now he just needed to figure out a way to casually bring up the fact that Marinette was his daughter in conversation. Easy.

---

Jason’s eye twitches as he watches Bruce attempt to talk to Marinette. It was painful to watch and listen to. He wasn’t sure why Marinette was still in the room. If he was her, he would’ve run ten minutes ago. But no, the poor kid was stuck in the most awkward, nonsensical conversation ever. Even Bruce was afraid of Alfred’s wrath. Meaning, he couldn’t say anything directly to Marinette about being her birth father unless she brought up wanting to know her birth parents. Which, honestly, it didn’t seem like she did.

“Okay, that’s enough of that. Hey kid, wanna go do something that isn’t an awkward conversation with Bruce?” Jason asks bluntly. Bruce frowns and opens his mouth, probably to argue, but Marinette nods rapidly.

“Sure! I’ll grab my sketchbook and maybe we could go to the park?” She suggests. Jason shrugs.

“Fine by me, kid.” He says. She gives him a small smile before rushing out of the room. Jason sighs and turns to Bruce, raising an eyebrow. “Surely you can do better than that.” He says. Bruce turns his chin up and turns away.

“I don’t know what you mean.” He says. Jason snorts.

“See, sometimes you do shit like that and I’m reminded how similar you and the brat are.” He taunts. Bruce sighs.

“I was just trying to talk to her.” He says.

“Really? Cause from where I was standing, it seemed like you were trying to kill her with awkwardness. Seriously, B, it doesn’t matter if she knows you’re her dad. What matters is trying to actually make a connection with her. Talk to her, see what she likes. I have a feeling just being blood related isn’t gonna be good enough for her like it was Damian.” Jason says, crossing his arms. Bruce purses his lips, but his expression changes into the same one he uses when he’s working on a difficult case.

“Ready!” Marinette calls happily, bouncing back into the room with a small satchel slung over her shoulder. Jason grins.

“Okay, kid, ready to go explore Gotham?” He asks. Marinette nods.

“Please be careful, kids. Don’t do anything you’d normally do, Jason.” Bruce says, and Marinette raises an eyebrow.

“Isn’t the saying ‘don’t do anything I wouldn’t do?” She asks, and Jason snorts.

“It definitely is, but Bruce’s makes more sense. I’ll explain when you’re older.” He says, ruffling her hair. Marinette glares and sidesteps him, making Jason lift his hands in surrender. It was gonna be fun having a baby sister to annoy.

Permanent tag list: @stainedglassm @laydeekrayzee @doll246 @queenz-z @deathssilentapproach-blog @literaryhiraeth @unoriginalmess @crazylittlemunchkin @buttercupsbitch @toodaloo-kangaroo @kking13

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nahimjustfeelingit-writes · 3 years ago

Text

Faerie and Vampr

Chapter Four

chapter one chapter two chapter three Erik’s origin one Erik’s origin two

2015 Journal Entry:

As I lay in bed, waiting for him to arrive, I don’t know who he is, or what he is, but I’m curious as to why he watches me. This is something I've been dreaming about almost every night since I was a child. I know he visits me while I’m sleeping, watching me outside my bedroom window. I can feel him, sense him, and smell him. The dreams started out as nightmares at first when I was a child and I believed that it was some kind of water demon coming to drag me underwater. Then, they turned into fantasies of a faceless man waiting for me. He appears in my dreams, a haunting shadow, yet he looks fearless. Mysterious, intriguing, and darkly sexy. His hair is as dark as black treacle, and at times I see his eyes appearing to be crimson in color, and other times they remind me of an inky black potion. I want to meet him, touch him, and talk to him. I want to know who he is, and why he comes to see me…

When Tamara was just seven years old, Her mother, Risette, and her father, Trevor, were murdered. Tamara could vaguely remember her mother crying in the car ride to Nana Sylvia’s house just hours before and her father trying to calm her down. He had a pistol in his lap and he had it pointed towards the open window while he was driving. Lloyd kept asking questions, scared and furious that Risette was crying. One thing Tamara will never forget is that she could hear her mother's thoughts so vividly in her mind.

[ We have to protect our children from the night beasts. They’ll come lookin’ for them. Especially Tammy. They’ll know she’s special like me. ]

“I’m special, mommy?” little Tamara said.

Risette’s head turned sharply, her cinnamon eyes went round and full of trepidation, and her naturally ginger hair crackled with energy. A fresh swell of tears flooded her eyes and she reached for Tamara’s hand, squeezing it tightly.

“Yes, baby. So special.”

Tamara never felt special. She found growing up difficult. Due to her telepathy, she had a hard time concentrating on her schoolwork, and many of her teachers determined her to be slow. Fellow students thought the same, which thus began her lifelong ostracism in her small town. Tamara’s only friend, Tara Thorton, was also considered an outcast for being poor and raised by a single, alcoholic mother. As an adolescent and even into her early twenties, Tamara remained a social pariah in St. Tammany Parish. When her parents were found, Sheriff Hebert of St. Tammany Parish said that their deaths were presumed to be drowning when their vehicle was found washed out during a flash flood. The bite marks that mauled their bodies were assumed to be caused by alligators. She felt so alone after that. For a while she feared going near any large body of water because she was afraid to drown like her parents.

She can hear their darkest secrets—without wanting to—and so is a little awkward around people. Her telepathy makes it very difficult for her to form relationships with people, who are uncomfortable with someone who can hear their thoughts. For this reason, she had lost every single job she ever had before being hired at Marco’s Cajun Grill and Bar. Through constant concentration, however, she has trained herself to block out people's thoughts when she wants to and turn a blind eye, but her ability to concentrate is greatly diminished when she is emotional or drunk. Tamara exhibits the down-home kindness known as Southern hospitality that is stereotypical of the South, and she is usually willing to help someone in need.

Although Tamara is kind, she never hesitates to stand up for herself and her beliefs. Many people in her life view Tamara as an innocent, immature, and vulnerable woman who needs to be protected like Lloyd, Luke, and Marco for example, but she believed herself to be perfectly capable of taking care of herself. If it wasn’t for Erik saving her life, she would be dead. Her naivety and gullibility—this is partly due to her quiet, sheltered life in a small town and her intrusting disposition, can be her downfall…

The next morning, between fielding Nana Sylvia’s questions about her walk with Erik and their future plans, Tamara decided to take down her braids and wash her hair. She knew it would take her hours to manage, especially since her hair had grown to waist-length. It rained most of the early afternoon and by the time Tamara was finished, the sun had come out and turned everything sultry. She usually spent days like this getting some fresh air. What would it be like if Erik and herself—well, he can’t walk in the sun. She could only imagine romantic evenings with him. The butterflies in her stomach wouldn’t stop fluttering out of control every time she thought about Vampire Erik.

That dream last night felt so real. It was like she could smell him and feel his cold flesh. An incense-like aroma lingered in her nose, like something antique with hints of spice and resin. A marijuana-like high similar to mojo or spice. There is a lingering pain on her inner left thigh similar to a bruise and she couldn’t place what could have caused it. What would happen tonight if she had sex with Erik? He knows she’s a virgin but would he care? Would his blood-thirsty nature get the best of him?

Shaking all thoughts of Erik from her mind, Tamara styled her hair in a wash-and-go and diffused her curls. Digging through her dresser, Tamara found a white bikini top with little red hearts printed on it and some Wrangler daisy dukes to put on for sunbathing. After dressing, she sat down on her bed and covered her skin with sunscreen while her cat, Tina, walked between her legs. She had the urge to call Tara and tell her about last night but she stopped herself when she remembered that Tara hates vampires. All she would do is tell her how this is a bad idea and she can get herself killed.

Sunglasses on, Tamara left her room and skipped down the stairs happily humming a random tune, brushing past Nana Sylvia who watched her with a knowing smile. Finally, she was lying out in the sun, skin getting toastier, when her cell phone began to ring under her butt. Tamara lifted her shades and pushed them back against her hairline before sitting up. Checking the caller ID, Tamara frowned before rolling her eyes with disdain.

“Hey, Marco,” Tamara said, not sounding too glad because she knew what he was going to ask.

“Dawn didn’t make it in for her shift, Tammy,” He said.

“Marco…really? I’m visualizing myself on a beach right now and you’re asking me to come into work?”

“You’re the only girl I can call…you know Paige quit and Tara works the bar. I’m sorry, Tammy. I’ll give you a ten dollar an hour bonus if you work the two to ten shift.”

“What’s going on with Dawn?” Tamara questioned, “Too much of a hangover to show up?”

“I don’t know, but she’s been MIA for the last twenty-four hours. I’m gonna stop past her place to see if she’s alright. You know her ex-boyfriend used to beat her.”

“I can ask Lloyd. He’s been trying to get back into her life. Maybe he knows something.”

“…so that’s a yes?”

“Yes, Marco,” Tamara said unenthusiastically, “You owe me another full day off for this.”

“Thanks, beautiful!” Marco said, “I’ll owe you whatever you like.”

The flirtatious lilt of his voice caused Tamara to smile.

“See you at two.”

Tamara: Hey, Erik. I was wondering if it would be okay to come by a little later? I have to go to work unfortunately. Is 11 good for you?

Work had never been so slow. Tamara had trouble concentrating enough to keep her guard intact because she was always thinking about Erik. It was lucky there weren’t many customers, or she would have heard unwanted thoughts galore. As it was, Tamara found out Arlene’s period was late, and she was scared she could be pregnant. She also worried that Rene would leave her if he found out about it. Tamara pulled Arlene into a hug without even thinking twice and Arlene pulled away from her, staring at her searchingly and then turned red in the face.

“Did you just read my mind, Tammy?” Arlene asked, warning written in her voice.

“I—I’m sorry, Arlene. You know it just happens like that for me I didn’t mean to,” Tamara apologized, “I have a lot on my mind, I can’t seem to focus enough to shut people out.”

“Well, try focusing harder next time,” Arlene argued, “you can’t just go around making those mistakes with everyone! you could get yourself into some deep shit minding someone else’s business!”

“I said I was sorry. It wasn’t intentional.”

“Whatever,” Arlene continued filling her server tray with beers, “Just stay out of my head for now on.”

“Didn’t she just say she was fucking sorry, Arlene?!”

Tara strolled over with her arms folded and a deep scowl on her face. Arlene blinked at her and Tara got close enough to where her chest was touching Arlene’s.

“You keep taking up for her so called accidents!”

“Because she’s my friend yah dump ass cunt—”

“Hey, what’s going on?”

Marco appeared from his office and Arlene strode off with her tray of beers quickly. Tara didn’t flinch and Tamara simply stood at the bar with a blank expression.

“Nothing Marco. Just girl talk.” Tara said with a smile.

“Didn’t sound like it to me,” Marco turned his chocolate brown eyes on Tamara, “can I talk to you for a minute?”

“Yeah,” Tamara glanced at Tara quickly before following Marco into his office.

“Tammy,” Marco placed a hand on Tamara’s shoulder, “What’s wrong?”

His voice was gentle and deep, the kind to put you at ease. Tamara smiled before taking her hand to pat Marco’s hand that rested on her shoulder. She shook her head in response but Marco took it up a notch and put an arm around her petite waist.

“What’s the matter?” He wasn’t going to give up and go away.

“Oh, I…” Tamara stopped and her eyes wandered.

“Did you hear something that bothered you?” His voice was quiet and matter-of-fact. Marco touched the middle of Tamara’s forehead gently, to indicate he knew exactly how she could “hear”.

“Yes.”

“Can’t help it, can you?”

“Not when I have a million other things on my mind.”

“Not your fault then, is it?”

Tamara’s warm eyes met his, “It’s not, but I can’t control if someone gets pissed about it.”

“Sit.”

Marco pointed to a recliner chair and Tamara took a seat. She brought her knees together and pushed the bottom of her sneakers back against the chair, the toe of her shoes balancing on the carpeted floor. She smoothed back her hair behind her ears and stared at her hands.

“I just…it’s hard to describe unless you can do it…I pull up a fence—no, not a fence, it’s like I’m building a brick wall between my brain and all others.”

“And you have to hold this wall up for hours?”

Tamara nodded her head slowly, “Yeah. It takes a lot of concentration. I’m surprised I haven’t given myself nose bleeds yet. That’s why people think I’m crazy. I’m trying to block people out while functioning at the same time and it doesn’t leave room for coherent conversation.”

“How about…with vampires?”

Tamara shifted her shoulders bashfully. Heat crept up her face and she avoided Marco’s lingering gaze.

“The vampire says you can’t hear him.”

Tamara snapped her head up at Marco.

When did Erik and Marco have a conversation? Why didn’t Tamara know about it until now? That’s so peculiar.

“You talked to Erik…when?”

“He came in, last night,” Marco sat on the edge of his desk, his toned biceps folded across his chest, “I served him a O Negative chilled and he sat at the bar. Dawn even talked to him too. She was real friendly with him…like they got somethin’ going on.”

Tamara jerked her head in the direction of the door to hide her bothered look at the mention of Dawn being anywhere near Erik. They shared a kiss last night. He showed interest in her. Was that all a lie? And why would he need to stop at Marco’s? Probably to make plans to hook up with Dawn. Maybe that’s why she didn’t show up to work. She’s probably too exhausted to function after sex with a vampire.

“Tamara?”

Tamara ran a hand over her mass of curls before bringing her attention back to Marco. She tried her best not to show an emotion towards that revelation but the wheels in her head continued to turn.

“Yeah, I can’t hear vampire thoughts.”

“Is that relaxing to you?”

“Very,” Tamara said with sarcasm.

“Can you hear me, Tammy?”

“What?”

“Hear my thoughts?”

The breathy tone of his voice and the way his eyes bore into hers reminded her of how much Marco liked her. Liked her more than friends.

“I don’t want to try!” Tamara said hastily. She stood up quickly, not bothering to adjust her work shorts since they had ridden up her thighs, moving to the door of his office.

“I’ll have to quit if I read your mind, Marco. You know that, right?”

“Just try it sometime, Tammy,” Marco said casually, turning to open a carton of whiskey with a razor–edged box cutter he kept in his pocket, “And don’t worry about me, you have a job as long as you want one.”

Tamara gave Marco one final smile before opening the door to leave. She had to get out of there quickly before her brick wall came tumbling down again. She made it back to the bar with a deep exhale and found Tara wiping the bar top down with a rag. She approached her and wrapped both of her arms around her friends’ waist before kissing her cheek from behind.

“I love you, you know that?” Tamara said.

“You know I do, sis. Arlene can be a real bitch.”

“I really didn’t mean that shit.”

Tamara stood at the order window to check on the food for one of her tables.

“Still waiting on the Cajun fries, Tammy!” Lafayette yelled from the fryer, “Had to change out the grease!”

“All good!” Tamara replied.

“What did you hear anyway?” Tara whispered.

“Tara…”

“Let me guess, she’s pregnant?”

“How did you…?”

“Just a wild guess,” Tara smirked, “stop beating yourself up over what you can’t control, Tammy. What did Marco want to talk about?”

Tara bumped Tamara’s shoulder teasingly before laughing.

“Is it really that obvious that Marco likes me?”

“Just as obvious as Luke.”

Tamara rolled her eyes.

“I don’t know why you act like that. For one, Marco is a nice guy. I can understand the whole Luke thing but Marco and you would be pretty good together.”

“But he’s my boss.” Tamara reminded Tara.

Tamara could feel the steam from the fresh order of Cajun fries and she turned to load up the food. Marco was the last person on her mind. She recalled the night Erik had showed up and Dawn served his table. She gave Erik an angry look and now it all makes sense. How could she be so blind? He’s just looking for another waitress to screw and add to his list of many women.

“Asshole,” Tamara carried her tray of food away with a slight frown.

“Hamburger with Cajun fries and a Heineken.”

“Thanks, cutie,” A guy Tamara recognized to be Andrew that’s friends with Lloyd said, “Can I have some ketchup?”

“Sure,” Tamara replied.

She walked back to the bar and grabbed a new bottle of ketchup. Marco stepped out with a few boxes and when he caught Tamara’s eye he gave her a smile and a wink. Tamara giggled with a shake of her head while walking away.

She turned over Marco’s offer in her mind. She wouldn’t try listening to him today. He was ready for her. She’ll wait until he is busy doing something else. She’d just sort of slip in and give him a listen. He’d invited her, which was absolutely unique.

It felt kind of nice to be invited.

Tamara had just finished her break and a glass of strawberry lemonade when Lloyd and Luke walked into Marco’s. Tara looked up from the beer tap and grinned with a flirty wave at Lloyd who shot her a look and a quick air kiss. He leaned over the bar and took his thumb to trace Tara’s chin. Nothing romantic has ever happened between them, but Lloyd knew that Tara had it bad for him.

“Where’s Tam-Tam?”

“Here.”

Lloyd’s dark brown eyes filled with malice, “I just left Nana’s place. You wanna run somethin’ by me right quick lil’ sis?”

“What are you talking ‘bout Lloyd?”

Lloyd clenched his jaw.

“Tara, I’ll take that Parish Maple Shade,” Luke took a seat at the bar, “Make that two for me and Lloyd. Hey Tammy.”

Luke’s dark brown eyes are steady on Tamara.

“Hi, Luke.”

“Lloyd, take a seat, let’s have a drink,” Luke said.

“Nah, I wanna know why Tamara thought it was a good idea to invite a vampire into Nana’s home—”

“What?!”

Tara placed her hands on her hips and stared Tamara down hard.

“Outside, now,” Tamara said through gritted teeth at her brother.

She stormed out of Marco’s with Lloyd and Tara on her heels. Her feet kicked up gravel when she turned abruptly to face them.

“What the hell made you think it was a good idea to invite a vampire into Nana Sylvia’s home, Tammy?” Lloyd pestered.

“Well?” Tara said impatiently.

“She asked about him and she wanted me to ask him if he would like to come talk about The Revolt.”

“And you just agreed to this without even thinking twice about what could go wrong?” Tara questioned.

“Yes, because I knew nothing would go wrong!” Tamara said with raw anger.

“So, you know this vampire all of a sudden? Tammy, he just popped up in town and you think you know him? He can walk into Nana’s house whenever he pleases now and kill her!” Lloyd shouted.

“This is ridiculous. If he wanted to kill us, he would have last night. He was nothing but kind and such a gentleman. He even knew our great–great–great granddaddy.”

“I don’t give a fuck. He shouldn’t have been there, Tammy!” Lloyd shouted angrily

“And didn’t I tell you that vampires can’t be trusted?” Tara added.

“Well, I trust him,” Tamara stood her ground, “And I know he won’t do harm to Nana.”

“Oh, Tammy, don’t tell me you fell for the vampire?”

“Hell nah,” Lloyd reached into his back pocket, a pistol in his hand and his grip tight, “I’ll kill that blood sucker for real this time if he so much as puts his hands on you.”

“Stop! Just stop! I am grown, I can make my own decisions! I know what’s best for me and I don’t need you protecting me!”

“What the hell is going on?!!!”

All three of them turned around to find Marco. Some of the customers had gathered at the door to see what all the commotion was about. Luke pushed through the nosy people and made his way over to them, standing next to Marco.

“Y’all better take this shit somewhere else! And why do you have a gun out, Lloyd?”

“Because I plan on using it to kill me a vampire tonight.” Lloyd said with a guttural tone.

“No you won’t,” Tamara argued, “Just stop it, Lloyd. Why don’t you tell us where Dawn is?”

“How the fuck should I know? I haven’t seen her since two nights ago. Don’t change the subject Tammy.”

“She didn’t answer the door when I came by today to check on her,” Marco said.

“Wait…she’s missing?”

“She didn’t show up for her shift.”

Marco looked at Tamara.

“Lloyd is right, Tammy. You shouldn’t be messing around with that vampire. I got a real bad feelin’ about him and I just want you to be safe.”

“And he let Dawn press up on him last night anyway so why do you need a man—a fucking dead man who doesn’t have your best interest at heart? He’s dangerous and he’s clearly doing him. Think about it, Tammy.”

“I don’t need this,” Tamara stormed away.

Tamara clocked out and left through the back of Marco’s Cajun Grill and Bar with her work bag over her shoulder. She opened the door to her Honda Civic 1981 and tossed her bag in the passenger seat before walking around to the driver's side. Tamara took one look at Lloyd’s truck and she could make out her brother and some random chick kissing in the back seat.

“Tammy.”

Tamara’s breath quickened when Luke called her name. He strolled over to her car with his hands in his pockets, his imposing stature casting a shadow over her. Tamara blew out her cheeks in relief and laughed nervously before opening her car door.

“You scared the hell out of me, Luke.”

“Sorry,” Luke kneaded his shoulder, “Feelin’ any better?”

“No,” Tamara toyed with a lock of her hair, “I’m tired of everybody trying to control me.”

“I don’t think that’s what it is, Tammy.”

A firefly flew past Luke’s face and he swatted it away.

“…We just don’t want you to get hurt, Tammy. It’s all love. We know…I know you’re a woman who’s capable of taking care of herself. I don’t like this vampire gettin’ close with yah.”

“Why?” Tamara asked.

“Because—”

“Luke. Listen, I need to go home. I have to be somewhere and I need to check on Nana Sylvia first.”

“Yeah…cool.”

Tamara climbed into her car and put the keys in the ignition. A buzzing noise occured when she turned the key and she started to panic.

“Oh no….no, no, no. Not right now!”

“What?”

“My fucking car won’t start!!!”

Luke approached her side and crouched down.

“It could be the battery…I can give you a jump…let me get my cables.”

“Thank you.”

Luke beamed, “No problem.”

Tamara checked the time on her phone and when she noticed it was after 11 with no response from Erik she felt uneasy. She knew he came out at night for many obvious reasons and she knew for sure that he had to have seen her text. Maybe everything about him is true, maybe he isn’t the guy she should get involved with. It’s not like she can read his mind. The absence of a coherent signal.

Luke parked his silver Ford truck with brand new rims next to Tamara’s before hopping out with his jumper cables in hand.

“Here, let me give you a jump. Seriously though, Tammy, you should consider getting a new car.”

Tamara chuckled.

“You’re right. It’s just so hard letting go of something that reminds me of my mama.”

Luke smiles, “You can still keep the car. Just…get something you can drive around in and not have to worry about fixing every other month.”

“True.”

Luke popped the hoods, and located the batteries. He made sure the jumper cables were unwound and untangled. He attached the clamps where they needed to go and climbed back in his car to start it up. They started their cars at the same time and after a few tries Tamara’s battery was up and running again. Luke removed the cables and closed her hood so hard that the front plates loosened.

“Damnit, Luke!”

“Sorry, love,” Luke gave Tamara a sad smile, “I can fix it for you tomorrow if that’s okay.”

“It’s fine, I can figure it out.”

“How ‘bout I take you to this dealer I know and get you a new whip?”

He just wouldn’t stop. Tamara cocked her head to the side while chewing on her bottom lip. She didn’t know a thing about cars and she wasn’t going to spend another eight hundred dollars to get a new battery.

“Sure. I’ll text you a good time and day to go, okay?”

“Alright, I’ll be waitin’.”

Tamara narrowed her eyes playfully at Luke before pulling out of the lot. The drive home was fairly quick and she needed to hurry if she planned to make it at a good time. She parked haphazardly and skipped up the steps to find Nana Sylvia sitting out on the screened in porch reading a book on The Revolt.

“How was work, Tammy?”

Tamara gave Nana Sylvia a quick kiss.

“It was fairly slow. How was your day?”

“The usual. Did some things around the house, cooked dinner. Lloyd stopped by earlier. I told him about our visit with Ricardo.”

“Ricar—you mean Erik?”

“Ricardo is his real name. Ricardo Dupoux. I’ll call him Ricky.”

Tamara frowned slightly, “Nana, I don’t think he wants to be called Ricardo. He changed his name for a reason.”

“Well, I’ll ask him then.”

Tamara checked her phone.

“Expecting a call from someone?” Nana Sylvia teased.

“I have plans tonight. I’m meeting with Tara for a girls night.”

She lied.

“Sounds fun. Do you plan on staying the night?”

Tamara half shrugged, “Maybe, if I plan on drinking I will.”

“Okay, be safe.”

Vampire Erik’s house is a modernized glass home tucked away in the midst of lush trees. Do vampires really live in glass houses? Wouldn’t the sun come through? It’s surrounded by nothing but broad-leafed trees and the smell of damp moss and wet tree trunks filled her nose. In the dark it looked magnificent and inviting. There is a four car garage and Tamara noticed his polished black Lamborghini straight away.

Tamara dressed down in a black tank top, a pair of mom jeans, Doc Martens boots, and a black satin duster. She planned to wear a dress at first since he really liked her in the dress she wore last night but she quickly changed her mind. She really wanted to give him an ear full on why he hadn’t responded to her text. If she knocked on this door and Dawn opened it, she’ll never speak to him again.

The entire house was lit up, and Tamara had a sudden feeling that he wasn’t alone. She began to realize that the evening would not go like last evening. There were four cars parked in that garage, what if one of them belonged to a guest? She hesitated at the front door, wondering if the half hour drive was worth it anymore but she was invited. Nervously, Tamara raised her hand and knocked.

The door was opened by a female vampire.

She glowed like crazy. She was at least five feet eleven with brown skin. She was wearing a black jumpsuit made completely out of spandex. It was so thin and revealing with its barely-there fabric and plunging neckline. She styled it with large Diamond hoops, and platform boots. Her top and bottom lashes are dramatic and the makeup look is highly glamorous with shimmer and gloss. Her hair was most definitely the statement. She was channeling Donna Summer with her voluminous wow-worthy hair. It was obvious that she was made a vampire in the seventies.

“Hey, little human chick,” The vampire purred.

And all of a sudden, Tamara realized she was in danger. Erik had warned her that not all vampires are openly nice and restrained. He had his moments where he wasn’t so nice, but this woman oozed bad. Tamara couldn’t read her mind, but she could hear cruelty in her voice.

Maybe she’s Erik’s lover. Maybe she’s here to hurt Tamara. All of that passed through her mind in a rush, but none of it showed on her face. She’s had years of experience in controlling her face. She could feel her bright smile snap on protectively, her spine straightened, and a cheerful response waiting to happen.

“Hi, I was invited tonight by Erik. Is he here?”

The vampire laughed at Tamara, which was nothing she wasn’t used to. Tamara’s smile faltered. She radiated danger.

“Well why don’t you come in and see, little human chick.”

Tamara pressed her lips together and walked in slowly. The vampire was too close for her comfort, her nose inches away from her hair.

“Hey Erik! Your little pet is here! You wanna see this little thing? Or should I just give her a love bite?”

Over my dead fucking body.

Tamara didn’t hear Erik speak, but the vampire stood back, and Tamara walked further into the luxurious house. Running wouldn’t do any good; this vamp could undoubtedly bring her down before she’d gone five steps. She just needed to see Erik for herself to know that he’s here. The big front room was styled with dark furniture—wine red and black. There are at least three other vampires and two humans there. One vampire is a woman with a glamorous goth look.

Her hair is long, black, and shiny with streaks of silver. She’s wearing bold, purple and black eye makeup with a bright red lip. She’s dressed in a fishnet catsuit with a leather bralette underneath and a black leather skirt with chains. She has her feet propped up on the sleek black claw foot coffee table with a wine glass filled with blood in her hand. She appeared bored until her eyes looked up and spotted Tamara walking in. Her expression hardened and she looked at Tamara with fury.

The second vampire is hulking. His skin is umber and he’s wearing dark shades with a leather outfit that reminded Tamara of Morpheus from The Matrix. A naked human girl with almond-colored skin and short brown hair straddled him with her neck pressed against his mouth for him to enjoy. The vampire walloped her ass on a loop with his wide-reaching hands, bruising her deeply in the process. The fang-banger girl would whimper weakly after each slap. The vampire found joy in watching her ass bounce and ripple from his assault.

Lastly, the third vampire is an Asian male with tattoo-covered arms and a short, spiky haircut with faded sides. He has his cowboy hat resting in his lap and black cowboy boots with gold spurs. He’s attractive with his chiseled jaw and strong chin. The male human sitting next to him in just his briefs was another story. He was lovely, the prettiest man she’d ever seen. Prettier than Lafayette. He couldn’t have been more than twenty-one. He was tanned, maybe Hispanic, small and delicate. He wore makeup, but it didn’t look appealing with how messy it is.

Erik moved and she saw him, standing in the shadows of the dark hall leading from the living room to the back of the house. Tamara looked at him, trying to get her bearings in this unexpected situation. To her dismay, he didn’t look at all reassuring. His face was very still, absolutely impenetrable with a square jaw. He’s dressed in grey cargo pants with a black henley and black boots. Though she couldn’t believe she was even thinking it, it would have been great at that point to have a peek into his mind.

“Well, we can have a wonderful evening now,” The Asian vampire with the model face said. He sounded delighted.

“Is this a little friend of yours, E? She’s so fresh,” The intimidating and bald vampire said.

Tamara gave Erik direct eye contact and she noticed his eyes were more red than coal-black. It reminded her of how he looked in the forest that night he saved her life.

“Can y’all excuse us for a minute? I need to talk to Erik,” Tamara said very politely, “Can we go somewhere and talk?”

“Looks like she’s shy, Diane. Afraid to get bitten in front of us. Scared if your little pussy will get wet? It’s okay, always happens with first time fang bangers.” The bald vamp said with a sharp smile.

The glam goth chuckled while inspecting her nails.

The vampire that opened the door, Diane, cocked her head and gave Tamara a long look, “I think you’re right, Bruce. She looks like a virgin to me.”

Tamara took a few casual steps towards Erik, hoping like hell he would defend her if worse came to worst, but she found herself not absolutely sure. Tamara chewed on her bottom lip, hoping he would speak and move.

And then he did. He did with a rough, hypnotic voice that stilled her.

“Tamara is mine.”

His voice was so cold and smooth it wouldn’t have made a ripple in the water if it had been a stone.

Tamara looked at him sharply, but she had enough brains to keep her mouth shut. Diane appeared behind Tamara, her face so close to the side of her face that her Sweet Honesty Avon perfume burned her nose.

“How good you been taking care of our Erik, little lady?” Diane asked with a slithery voice.

“None of your fucking business,” Tamara answered, her eyes staring straight ahead at Erik and her fists tightly clenched at her sides. There was a sharp little pause. Everyone, human and vampire, seemed to examine her closely enough to count the hairs on her arms. Then, the large vampire with the shiny head rocked with laughter and the others followed suit. While they were yukking it up, Tamara moved a few feet closer to Erik. His dark eyes fixed on her—he wasn’t laughing—and Tamara got the distinct feeling he wished, just as much as she did, that she could read his mind.

He was in some type of danger. Tamara couldn’t put her finger on it. This entire situation was going to go up in flames.

“You have a precious smile,” Bruce said.

“Oh, Bruce,” said Diane, “Don’t flirt with Erik’s pet so openly or he’ll turn you into a bloodbath.”

They laughed louder.

Bruce turned to the Asian vampire, “Hey, Woo, you want some of this bitch right here?”

Bruce wrapped a hand around the human girl’s neck and she went red in the face. Woo smiled wickedly before taking her arm with immense speed, sinking his fangs into her wrist. Bruce pulled the human girl to him and gave her a long kiss. Their tongues danced roughly with his large hands spreading her cheeks. Tamara could see both her holes from the back and she turned away quickly.

“You see that? All that pussy? Never seen pussy up close and personal like that besides your own, huh? I bet you play with that kitty kat in front of your mirror…legs spread wide…”

“Back the fuck up,” Tamara fired back.

“Aw, that’s just crazy Tamara Bordelon.”

Tamara looked at the human girl with more attention. She recognized her at last, when she erased a few miles of hard road and half the makeup. Janelle Lennox. She used to work at Marco’s Cajun Grill and Bar before she got fired after two weeks. She moved away to Jefferson Parish shortly after that.

The Asian vampire with the tattoos put his arm around the male human and smiled with bloody teeth. He undid his pants with speedy fingers and pulled out his rock hard erection before forcing the human male’s head down into his lap. He started sucking and Woo threw his head back with a growl. Bruce slammed Janelle onto the couch and stood up, towering above her, whipping out his massive erection. Tamara was speechless. She saw clearly and for the first time a sexual encounter between human and the undead.

Woo was watching her, and Tamara had to turn away. The glam goth just smoked her weed and minded her business. Diane started dancing while humming Chaka Khan’s “I’m Every Woman”. Tamara could feel the blood drain out of her face when Bruice impaled Jamelle from the back. He grabbed her arms and pounded into her fragile mortal body. She was drooling at the mouth like a brainless slut.

“She’s innocent,” Diane said to Erik, with a smile full of anticipation.

“She’s mine,” Erik said again. This time, his voice was more intense. If he’d been a rattlesnake his warning could not have been clearer. She could smell death on him. A real vampire would smell of blood and fear, not flowers and berries.

“Now, Erik, you can’t tell me you’ve been getting everything you need from that little thing,” Diane said, “You look washed-out and tired. She ain’t been taking good care of you.”

Tamara inched a little closer to Erik.

“Here,” offered Diane, whom Tamara was beginning to hate, “Have a taste of Bruce’s girl or Woo’s pretty boy, Jerry.”

Janelle didn’t react to being offered around, maybe because she was too busy getting drilled at top speed, but Jerry slithered willingly over to Erik. Jerry offered his neck to Erik and rubbed his bulging bicep. The strain in Erik’s face was terrible to see. His fangs slid out. Tamara saw them fully extended so vividly for the first time. The synthetic blood was not answering all Erik’s needs, all right. Diane walked behind Erik and grabbed him by the crotch while licking his neck at the same time. Keeping up her guard was proving to be more than she could handle. Since she couldn’t hear the four present vampires thoughts, and Janelle was occupied with being fucked at an inhumane momentum, that left pretty boy Jerry.

Tamara listened and gagged.

Erik, shaking with temptation from the sight of Jerry’s bloody neck, was about to cave when Tamara shoved Jerry to the floor.

“HE HAS SINO-AIDS!”

Sino-AIDS can badly weaken a vampire for a month and if it’s repeatedly done the vampire can die. It’s rare and not like full-blown AIDS. All the vampires were frozen, staring at Jerry as if he were death in disguise; and for them, perhaps, he was. The beautiful man took Tamara completely by surprise. He got up and leapt on Tamara. He was no vampire, but he was strong, and he knocked her against the wall to her left with a hard thud. He circled her throat with both hands and lifted her from the wall to slam the back of her head against the wall. Her arms were still coming up to defend herself when Jerry was ready to punch her but his hand was suddenly seized, and his body froze.

“Let go of her throat,” Erik said in such a terrifying voice that scared Tamara herself. By now, the scares were piling up so quickly that Tamara didn’t think she would be safe again. But Jerry didn’t relax and Tamara made a little whimpering sound. Tamara slewed her eyes sideways and noticed Erik holding Jerry’s hand, Woo was gripping his legs, and Diane was right behind him. The room began to get fuzzy, Jerry’s mind beating against time. Jerry had a plot. Tamara could see visions of his past lover who had given him the virus and who had left him for a vampire. He wanted revenge.

Erik broke Jerry’s wrist. Tamara could hear the cracking noise then a pop.

Jerry screamed bloody murder and collapsed to the floor. The blood began surging in her head again and she almost fainted. Woo dragged a crying Jerry away to the couch like a rolled up rug. Woo was furious. Erik stepped in front of Tamara, taking Jerry’s place, his fingers, the fingers that had just broken Jerry’s wrist, massaging her neck as gently as Nana Sylvia would have done. He put a finger across her lips to make sure she knew to keep quiet.

Then, his arm around her, he turned to face Woo, Bruce, and Diane.

“This has all been fun,” Bruce said, his voice as cool as if Janelle wasn’t riding his dick like a bull on the couch. He hadn’t troubled himself to budge during the entire incident.

“I think we should be driving back to the city. We have to have a little talk with Jerry when he wakes up, right, Woo?”

Woo nodded in agreement and heaved an unconscious Jerry over his shoulder. Bruce stopped Janelle from grinding in his lap and commanded with his glamour for her to get up and get dressed. She got up in a trance-like state, naked booty bouncing towards her wrinkled clothes on the opposite couch. The glam goth finally stood up and crossed her arms, her eyes focused on Erik. Tamara could tell there was an unspoken bond between them. She must be loyal to him.

Diane looked disappointed.

“But fellas,” Diane protested, “We haven’t found out how this little gal knew!”

The two male vampires simultaneously switched their gaze to Tamara.

“That’s a good question, right Woo? our Diane has cut to the quick.”

“You can’t speak yet, can you baby?” Erik gave Tamara’s shoulder a squeeze as he asked, as if she couldn’t get the hint.

She shook her head.

“I could probably make her talk,” Diane offered.

Erik cut his eyes to the glam goth who finally stepped up with a hand on her hip.

“She can’t speak, Diane. Drop it,” She said with a sassy tone.

“Diane, you forget that fast?” Erik said gently and with a deep tone.

“Oh, yeah, she’s yours,” Diane said. But she didn’t sound cowed or convinced.

“So, we’ll have to pick this up another time, right? Tell Tia I said thanks for the surprise visit from her favorite trio.” Erik said, and his voice made it clear it was time for them to leave now or things will get ugly.

Bruce stood up from the couch, fixing his jeans, gesturing to his human, “Out, Janelle, we’re being evicted.”

Janelle ran her hands along his ribs as if she just couldn’t get enough of him, and Bruce swatted her away with a slap to her ass. Woo carried Jerry out the front door without a word. Diane went last, slinging a purse over her shoulder and casting a bright-eyed glance behind her.

“I’ll leave you two lovebirds on your own, then. It’s been fun, honey. I’ll be sure to give Tia the message,” she said lightly, and slammed the door behind her.

The minute Tamara heard the car start up outside, she fainted. She’d never done so in her life, and she hoped never to again.

“You have got to be FUCKING kidding me,” Lana rolled her eyes, “If things would have gone worse, your little play thing would have been killed.”

“I know that, Lana.”

Erik picked Tamara up and laid her on the couch.

“Why don’t you clean the couch off? Make yourself useful.” Erik ordered.

Lana kissed her teeth and stormed away.

“You know Tia will find out what happened tonight!” Lana yelled.

“I didn’t think she would still show up.”

“Yeah, well, she did. Diane will find out I’m sure about her abilities and then what?”

Erik shot Lana a murderous glare.

“Just clean the fucking couch and shut up. As long as I’m protecting her, she’ll be all good.”

Tamara seemed to spend a lot of time around Erik unconscious. That was a crucial thought, and she knew it deserved a lot of pondering, but not at the moment. When Tamara opened her eyes, everything she’d seen and heard rushed back, and she gasped. Immediately, Erik bent over her on the couch.

“Do all vampires act like that?” Tamara whispered. Her throat was sore and bruised where Jerry had squeezed it, “They were fucking horrible.”

“I told you, baby girl. Not all vampires are like the ones you see on TV. This is real. They will kill you and not think twice about it.”

“Like you would?” Tamara said with a cheeky tone.

“Like what?” Erik replied with his deep voice.

“You kill and ask questions later.”

Tamara stood up slowly and Erik followed her.

“You didn’t answer my texts. Why?”

Erik arched a thick brow, “I was tied up. Unexpected guests.”

“You let Diane answer the door. She could have killed me.”

“She wouldn’t have, Tamara.” Erik pressed with a clench of his jaw and molten eyes.

“And last night, you went to Marco’s when you left me. Why would you go there? And Dawn was all over you—”

“Because I was hungry, Tamara. Would you have preferred if I fed on you instead?” Erik’s lip twitched.

Tamara blinked rapidly.

“That’s what I thought,” Erik said, turning his back to her, “Let me guess, Marco told you?”

“Yeah, he did. And I had a shitty day. Lloyd is pissed that I invited you into my home, and everybody else is telling me to leave you alone because you’re nothing but bad fucking news.”

“Everyone like who?“ Erik said with a smirk.

“Tara, Marco, Lloyd, Luke…”

“And what do you think?”

Tara looked up at Erik.

“I…I don’t know what to think.”

Tamara backed away when Erik walked closer.

“Who is that vampire girl that stayed behind?”

“Lana. She’s my progeny.”

“Progeny?”

Erik stepped closer with his gait.

“My vampire offspring. I’m her maker.”

“She doesn’t like me very much.”

“Lana doesn’t like a lot of people and creatures alike.”

“Where is she?”

Erik cocked his head to the side. Tamara could sense he was getting annoyed with all her questions.

“She’s out tracking. I want to make sure they’re really gone from this area and in the city.”

Though she knew it wouldn’t help a thing, Tamara began to cry. She was sure Jerry was dead now, and she didn’t feel bad for him but she should have kept quiet. Once again, she let her guard down and now these other vampires are curious. So many things about this episode had upset her so deeply that she didn’t know where to begin being upset. In maybe fifteen minutes she’d been in fear of her life, of Erik’s life (well—existence), witnessed sex, watched her potential man in the throes of blood lust, and nearly been choked to death by a diseased hustler.

“Did you have sex with Dawn?”

Erik exhaled noisily through pursed lips.

“Yes.”

On second thought, she gave herself full permission to cry. Erik had enough sense not to put his arms around her. He stood away, his eyes never averting away from her face.

“She’s missing, you know? The last time she was seen was with you. People will start asking questions.”

“I saw Dawn last night at the bar but she didn’t leave with me, baby. Dawn is at Crimson Mist often and…we fucked several times then. I dropped her after that.”

Erik reached out to wipe Tamara’s face but she flinched. His nostrils flared and he squinted at her with frustration.

“I don’t believe you. Not only did you almost let me get killed tonight, you slept with my coworker and expected me to just forget all of that?!”

��One, I protected you. Two, I met Dawn before I met you, Tamara. When vampires live in nests,” Erik continued, “they often become more cruel because they egg each other on. They constantly see others like them and it’s a reminder of how far from human they are. Vampires like me, who live alone, are reminded of their former humanity. It wasn’t always like this for me. I used to live in a nest when I was with Tia.”

Tamara listened to his soft voice, going slowly through his thoughts as he made an attempt to explain.

“Tamara, our life is seducing and taking and has been for centuries. Synthetic blood and grudging human acceptance isn’t going to change that overnight—Diane, Bruce, and Woo have been together for almost fifty years.”

“How sweet,” Tamara said, her voice holding bitterness, “Their golden wedding anniversary.”

“Can you forget about this?” Erik asked, clearly ticked off.

“I don’t know,” The words jerked out of her. “Do you know, I didn’t know if you could—could do it?”

Erik’s eyebrows rose interrogatively and that deep voice returned, “Do…?”

“Get—” Tamara stopped, biting the inside of her cheek, trying to find the words without being bashful about it, “An erection.” She finally said, avoiding Erik’s eyes.

“You know better now.”

He sounded like he was trying not to be amused.

“We can have sex, just can’t have or make children.”

“Oh…okay….”

“Tamara?”

Erik’s hand rose to touch her cheek but Tamara dodged it. Erik watched her with a still, unreadable face. His fangs had retracted, but she knew he was still suffering from hunger.

“You came all this way to spend time with me. Why spend that time being pissed at me when we can make the most of it?”

“I have to go.”

Tamara walked away towards his door and Erik was in front of her suddenly. He’d done one of those vampire things again.

“Can I at least take you home? It’s too late for you to drive after what happened.”

“I can take care of myself.” Tamara said with minimal eye contact.

“Do you always act this stubborn?”

His deep voice dragged her attention back to the fact that he was standing there expecting an answer. Tamara felt her cheeks heat up at his question, annoyed with herself that she hadn’t left yet.

“Not usually, I thought I’d try something different,” she told him sarcastically.

Erik remained expressionless, even though he was mildly amused by Tamara.

“You really should be careful with that, Tamara. It could get you in big trouble, little one,” Erik told her with a sly smirk.

Tamara looked from his eyes to his moist lips before stepping around him and to the door. Erik chuckled deeply and turned around to watch her leave.

“Can I get a kiss good-bye?”

“No,” Tamara said vehemently, “I can’t stand it after them.

“Not even a little taste?” He spoke seductively.

“No. You don’t deserve it.”

“I’ll come see you. Tomorrow.” Erik said.

“Yes. Maybe…”

“There is no maybe. I’ll be there tomorrow night, Tamara.”

Erik reached past her to open the door, but she thought he was reaching for her, and she flinched.

Tamara rushed out of the house and to her car, heart beating painfully against her chest. She pulled off with a screech of her wheels and didn’t look back.

________________________________

The force of her hip hitting the floor made her groan loudly, but he didn’t seem to care that he had hurt her, and was licking her neck as though it was coated in something sweet, the feeling of his warm mouth on her neck made her moan, it felt good. Her heart was pounding and she could feel the pulse that he was licking throbbing against his warm tongue, she was just inviting him to bite her. Her fight mode suddenly kicked back in and she kicked, pushed, and punched trying to get this stranger off of her. It was no use though, and to add insult to injury he just seemed amused by her attempts to stop his attack. He became bored of their little game now and he bit down on her neck, but the second her blood flowed into his mouth, he held onto her so tight it felt like he would shatter her bones.

“Stop it!!!!!” She screamed.

“Tamara…”

“Erik?…”

Her cell phone was ringing. Tamara pulled her sweaty satin pillow over her head, taking calming breaths to slow her heart beat. She began squirming to the bed table, not happy but resigned. With a headache and regrets of someone who has a terrible hangover (though hers was emotional rather than alcohol induced) she stretched out a shaky hand and grabbed the receiver.

“Yeah?” She asked. It came out rude with a raspy voice. She cleared her throat and tried again, “Yes?”

“Hey, Tammy. It’s Marco. Did I wake you?“

“Um-hum, you did.”

“Could you do me a favor?”

“What?” Tamara was due to work today anyway, and she hoped Dawn would show up because she wasn’t going to pick up her slack.

“Go by Dawn’s and see what’s going on. Please? The delivery truck just pulled up, and I got to tell these guys where to put stuff.”

“Now? You want me to go over there now?”

“Please? Listen, people are wondering what’s going on.”

“Fine. And if she doesn’t answer or show up to work. I’d like a bonus.”

“You know I got you.”

“Bye.”

Tamara hung up and looked heavenward. What was that dream all about? Was that her mind trying to warn her about Erik? She sat up in bed and lifted her arms to stretch them. Her T-shirt was drenched with sweat. Night terrors. This exact thing happened when she was a little girl having frequent nightmares. She snatched the T-shirt off and climbed out of bed to take a shower. In the bathroom, Tamara scrubbed her skin down with her favorite cucumber melon body wash and as soon as she hopped out of the shower she pulled her silk scrunchie from her hair and shook out her curls.

Tamara applied lotion to her skin and spritzed her pulse points with a perfume that smelled like orange blossom, honeysuckle and marshmallow. She pulled on her work clothes, moving sluggishly. All her bounce had gone flat, like soda with the top left off. She ate a quick bowl of Cinnamon Toast Crunch and brushed her teeth. She told Nana Sylvia who was busy watching a movie in the living room where she was going. She didn’t seem to be paying attention to anything Tamara said, but she smiled and waved her away.

As Tamara went on her unwelcome errand, she peered through her windshield at the three small duplexes on one side of Berry Street, a run-down block or two that ran behind the oldest part of downtown Bon Temps. Dawn lived in one of them. Tamara spotted her car, a green convertible with white fuzzy dice hanging from her mirror. In the driveway of one of the better-kept houses, and pulled in behind it. The begonias outside of her front door looked dry.

Tamara knocked twice and waited a minute before knocking again.

“DAWN!” Tamara yelled.

Tamara decided to try around back and when she got there she noticed the bathroom door was opened but too high for her to climb through. She got up on her tiptoes and she peeked inside. She could see past the bathroom door and there on the bed, Dawn is sprawled out on her back. The bedclothes were tossed around wildly. Her legs were spraddled. Her face was swollen and discolored, and her tongue protruded from her mouth. There were flies crawling in.

Tamara could feel someone coming up behind her so she kicked her foot back and a deep groan followed but someone falling to the ground could be heard.

Tamara picked up a rusty shovel and turned around to find Rene picking himself up from the grass. Tamara steadied her breath and tried to calm the panic. She was paralyzed to the spot, pulse beating in her ears. Rene looked at her like she was crazy and when his eyes went to the shovel in her shaking hands, he held his hands up in surrender.

“Tammy…put the shovel down…”

Tamara dropped the shovel and stumbled back.

“Call the police,” She said with a tremble.

“What you say, Tammy?”

“Call the fucking police!!!!!!”

“Okay, okay!!”

Rene walked out of the yard and towards his parked truck. He opened his door and grabbed his cell, dialing 911. He came over with a weatherbeaten face puckered into an expression of deep concern.

Tamara waited by her car and ten minutes had passed when a man had walked out onto his porch to see what was going on.

“Is that Tammy?“

She peered at him for a minute, finally placing the face.

“Don?”

“That’s me, baby.”

Tamara had gone to high school with Don. They even went on a few dates together. Tamara could appreciate Don’s beauty; his rich dark skin and blinding white smile. When your hormones have been held in check as long as hers, it doesn’t take much to set them off. Tamara heaved a sigh at the sight of Don’s muscular arms and pectorals.

“What you doin’ here? You lookin’ for me?” He asked playfully with a bite of his lip.

“Something bad happened to Dawn, Donnie.”

“She in there?”

Don came over to Tamara with his jeans low on his hips. She stared at his tattoo covered chest quickly before turning away.

“I don’t think you should look…she looks awful, Donnie.”

“Damn…damn…”

Don put an arm around Tamara and patted her shoulder. If there was a woman around that needed comforting, Don was there to the rescue.

Dawn liked em’ rough,” he said consolingly.

“What?” Tamara looked up at Don.

“Love, she liked…she like men to—like bite and hit her.”

Tamara made a face and then she looked worried.

“I know, some weird shit, right?” Don laughs, “Too much for your innocent little ears, huh?”

Don put both of his arms around Tamara, concentrating on the middle of her back, right about her ass. Don was an ass man from what Tamara remembered.

The police arrived and Kenya Jones and Kevin Prior came onto the scene. They asked the necessary questions and went to work. A crowd began to form around the yellow tape. Tamara didn’t want her own thoughts anymore so everyone else’s came flooding in. Don was thinking about Dawn getting killed during rough sex and wondered who could have done it. Rene was wishing someone would move the body and he hoped no one knew he slept with Dawn at the same time Lloyd did. A threesome. Tamara rubbed her temples.

That goddamn Lloyd.

Marco showed up and rushed over. He talked with the police and then handed over a key to Dawn’s place. Tamara stares with confusion and when Don notices he explains.

“Marco is our landlord.”

“Really?”

“Yep. He owns all three duplexes…listen, Tammy…how about I take you out tonight for dinner? I can take you into the city to Bourbon Street for some drinks and fun?”

Marco glanced over at them with hard eyes.

“I’m gonna be working tonight so…I’ll have to pass. Thanks anyway.”

Don looked disappointed for a second but then a charming smile appeared on his face.

“All good, we can always do it another time. Be safe out here, okay? I would go to jail if somebody laid a finger on you.”

Don kissed Tamara on the cheek and she gave him a tight lipped smile with a shy wave, watching him walk away to his porch.

“I’m sorry, Tammy, for asking you to come out here to check on Dawn. You had to find her like that…”

Marco’s fingers folded around Tamara’s. For a long moment, they stood in the sun with people buzzing around them, holding hands. Tamara didn’t notice that Marco and Don had been staring each other down with venom the entire time. Marco’s palm was hot and dry, and his fingers were strong. But then his grip loosened and he went to talk to the police again. Don came back over and placed a hand on the hood of Tamara’s car. She narrowed her eyes at him and he cracked a smile.

“Sure you don’t wanna do something together?”

“I’m sure.”

Don licked his lips with a sweep of his tongue. Someday her hormones were going to get the better of her and she’d do something she regrets. And she could do worse than do it with Donnie.

“I’m kind of upset right now and…it’s not a good time.”

“Are you in love with that vampire, Tammy?”

“…Where did you hear that?”

“Dawn.”

Tamara scanned Don’s mind and found out that Dawn had told him one evening while drinking Hennessy on her porch and smoking weed that the new vampire is interested in Tamara. She said she’d be better for him. That he needs a woman who can take some rough treatment. Tamara would scream if he touched her like that.

It was pointless being mad at a dead person, but it just made things more clear as to why she despised Dawn.

“Where is Lloyd, Tammy?”

Kevin walked over asking questions.

“He’s doing fine.” She answered.

“Grandmother?”

“Good.” Tamara responded.

“And the vampire?”

Tamara didn’t reply.

“What’s his name…Erik?”

“So?”

“Hmm. We need to talk to you at the station.”

“I have work.”

His face went red.

“This is more important than working at a bar bussing tables, sweetheart. A woman is dead.”

“Well,” Tamara opened her car door, “If you need me, I’ll be at Marco’s. Come find me there.” Tamara said firmly and swung her legs into the car.

Tamara worked like a demon. Of course, people were asking her and Marco questions about what had happened. The new waitress, Charlize, couldn’t keep up and Tamara had to pick up her slack. Arlene was busy on her side barking orders and finding every reason to yell at Charlize. Tamara earned a ton of money in tips that evening and on into the night. She just kept her face solemn and blew the stray curls out of her eyes and got through it.

On her way home, Tamara allowed herself to relax a little. She was exhausted. Emotionally and physically. The last thing she expected to see, after turning into the little drive through the woods that led to the house, was Erik Stevens. He was dressed in black from head to toe—black moto jacket over a black tank top that clung to his torso, black slouchy jeans, and black combat boots. He was leaning against a pine tree waiting for her. Tamara drove past him a little, almost deciding to ignore him. But then she stopped.

Erik opened her door. Without looking him in the eyes, Tamara got out. He seemed comfortable in the night, in a way she could never be. There were too many taboos about the night and darkness that went bump.

And Erik is one of those things. No wonder he felt so at ease.

“Are you gonna look at your feet all night, or are you gonna talk to me?” He asked in a voice that was just above a whisper.

“Something happened.”

“Tell me.”

He was trying to do something to her: she could feel his power hovering around her.

“Can we sit on the porch? I’m so tired.”

In answer, Erik picked her up and set her on the hood of her car. Then he stood in front of her, his arms crossed, very obviously waiting.

“Tell me.”

“Dawn was killed. Just like Maudette.”

“Oh.”

Tamara felt uneasy.

“She was roughed up…and bitten.”

“She’s always been very confident of her ability to handle anything…”

Tamara frowned.

“You don’t care?”

Erik shrugged, “I’m a vampire. I don’t think like you. I don’t care about people automatically.”

“You protected me.”

“You’re different.”

“Yeah? How so? What’s so different?” Tamara sassed.

She was in a rage. Erik’s cold finger touched the middle of her forehead as he leaned in closer.

“Different. You’re not like us. But you’re not like them either.”

She felt a rage so intense it was almost devine. She hauled off the car and hit him, an insane thing to do because it was like hitting a brick wall. In a flash, Erik had her arms bound to her sides and pinned to him.

“No!!” She screamed.

She kicked and fought but she might as well save the energy. Finally, she sagged against him, her breathing ragged, and so was his. But she didn’t think it was for the same reason.

“You think I had something to do with Dawn’s death? You think I did it?”

“Maudette had the same bite marks on her thighs too,” Tamara spoke furiously.

“How did she die?”

“Strangula—”

“Not a vampire, baby girl.”

His tone put it beyond question.

“Why the hell not?”

“Erik cocked his head to the side, “She would have been drained instead of strangulated. Not our style.”

“Then,” She said wearily, “then you have someone who is determined to kill women who’ve been with vampires.”

“Hmm,” Erik pondered, “Makes a lot more sense, doesn’t it?”

Tamara rolled her eyes.

“And yet you think I would do some shit like that.”

“You’re a heartless, cold, bloodthirsty creature of the night, right?” She spoke coldly.

The dark pools of his eyes flashed with anger.

“I wouldn’t do it here. You wanna know how I would have done it, baby girl?”

Erik picked Tamara up suddenly and placed her on the swing in her front yard. She almost lost her breath and screamed. He locked her in place with his hands on the swing ropes, staring down at her with treacherous eyes and fangs visible.

“I would have tortured her. I would have drained her dry all night long, gave her a false promise that she’ll go home. I would unchain her and watch her attempt to escape only to be captured again and punished for defying me. Does that sound like what happened?”

Erik backed away. Tamara stayed seated, afraid to move an inch. The malice in his eyes was replaced with regret. He closed his eyes and when he opened them again they were softer, gentle.

“I’m sorry.”

Tamara didn’t speak. She sat tight-lipped with her eyes frozen open.

“You’re scared of me.”

Erik takes off his moto jacket, revealing his strong biceps.

“No,” Tamara said, “No, I’m not. I’m just…confused.”

“About what?”

“How I feel about you. And if I should feel the way I feel about you.”

Erik stepped closer to her and Tamara didn’t move. He brought his jacket around her shoulders and walked around her. Tamara looked over her shoulder at him and she fought the urge to kiss him.

“You told those other vampires that I belonged to you,” She said.

“Yes.”

“What exactly did that mean?”

“That means…that if they try to feed on you, I’ll kill them,” He replied, “It means, you are my human.”

“I’m glad to hear that you’ll protect me, but I’m not sure what me being your human entails,” Tamara spoke cautiously, “And I don’t recall you asking if it’s okay with me either.”

Erik simply smiled. The gold in his mouth complimented his white teeth.

“All you need to know is that I’m looking out for you.”

Erik looked up at the house.

“Are you gonna take me to that bar of yours?”

Erik’s dark eyes fell on her, “Crimson Mist? Why?”

“I wanna see what it’s like…to be on that side of things…what makes a fang banger…”

“Where did this come from? Not the girl that ran away from me last night after what happened.”

Tamara looked away.

“I…I’m sorry I lashed out on you. I would probably be dead if you didn’t protect me.”

“…no need to apologize. I’m sorry I scared you. I’m sorry you got hurt.”

Erik moistened his lips with his tongue.

“It’s okay…”

Erik touched Tamara’s face with his fingers. Her lashes fluttered and she turned away when Erik leaned in to try and kiss her.

“We—we shouldn’t.”

“Because I’m bad?” Erik teased with a cheeky smile.

“Because I don’t know what I’ll do if I let you kiss me.” Tamara blurted out.

She glanced away, too embarrassed to meet his gaze.

“Tamara…”

She turned to him slightly, peeking up at him through her lashes. He’s handsome as hell. Extraordinarily beautiful. He could easily attract his prey. An apex predator built for speed, for the chase. His eyes seemed to glow at night and his pupils became larger. A sign of sexual arousal in humans, but in vampires, it could mean more than sex.

“I want you…all of you…” Erik’s eyes looked her up and down slowly, “But kissing is all you can handle for now, pretty girl.”

Erik’s eyes lingered on her lips and then he moved away, leaving her breathless.

“What’s your next night off?”

“Next two nights.”

“Aight. At sunset, I’ll pick you up and drive.”

Erik picked Tamara up bridal-style, carrying her up the porch. He opened the screen door and put Tamara down. She found her keys in her bag but before she opened her door she turned to Erik, finding the courage to sink her tongue into his mouth again. They kissed for two minutes before Tamara slipped into the house, closing the door. Erik stood there, touching his lips, wishing he could be with her right now.

He turned to melt into the woods, looking forward to showing her what Crimson Mist is all about.

@afriicanhoe @19jammmy @stokeleybabymama @abcdestinyyyy @whorderofthepheonix @shaekingshitup @tgigoldie @soufcakmistress @chefjessypooh @chaneajoyyy @pananegra @theblulife @becincere @blaqwidow91 @fish-outta-watah @eyeknowmywrites @crowngold @blktinkerbell @luvanxi @sheisexcellent1 @chocolatedippedinhoney @brandithecrystalgem @soulfulbeauty19 @btitannaaaaa @sunkissedebony97 @youngblackndgifted @harleycativy @rbhp @thee-germanpeach @thadelightfulone @palmstreesallday @skylahb @truglori @queenflaws @ljstraightnochaser @scrumptiouslytenaciouscrusade @nickidub718 @vikkidc92 @thehomierobbstark @abluesforlyssa @fd-writes @chasingsunlight @sickaddiktions @xo-goldengirl @tiava143 @33kiara @honeytoffee @asiasblackworld727 @momobaby227 @soulshinechronicles @fanfangal @kreolemami @thoughtsoftheantagonist @luvwitoutlimit1 @mygirlrenee @hippiesandpeacesigns @alittlejd @jaysaidhi @shawnstacksss @mareethequeen @browngirldominion @ceeverse @therealmrsrhodes @sensitivelegend @teheeboo @yomiloo @msreshel @afteracouplepuffss @shaelyn102 @yaminax-kuss-a @lackbbaby @amyhennessyhouse @thattruckinwitch @dameshaemonique @glittermakesmesmile @notavintagecliche @pariahcolored @cydneyrenee4 @ambthegamer @efonteno @wisenerdcreator @draggingstxns @eevolsidog @xoxomyaah @asweet-serendipity @ajspencer1892 @niqui87 @quietpoeticheart @itsjustyazz @dasia21 @woah-express @bbgiirrll @backandbetter2 @forbeautyandlife @cecereads209 @queenbetter @daddys-baby-girl-t @lovinthemelanin @ladymac82 @t3mporaa @toniilaney @iv0rysoap @lovehatecritique @naysianaee @nyleveeee @erlebnissebliss @melinaasap1 @woahthatshitfat @that-chick212 @scarypumkin23 @sambuckyslayallday @vikki240401 @enigmadivine @gingerylimonte @counterfeit-recherche @unholyxcumbucket @xdezaraex @missgigglesmoultrie @dashhoney25 @oversorry @honeybeejaes @admirehermind @wassuduoo @kaykay0829 @woahitslucyylu @xsweetdellzx @amorestevens @tinystudentfirepurse @xoxomadddz @badgalbrix1 @suburbanblackhoe @keiosha234 @bewitchedtbaby @crestsmile83 @dollfaceddom @majesticbrownjawn @lovelymari4 @endlessmockery @meunearthed @blackpinup22 @im5ftbutmythroat66 @youthought-iwasa-nicegirl @genuinedonnie @richonne4life @alookintohersoul @youcantkillamutant @riveristhenameofhersong @queenfaithmarie @sourbabynaee @savagesugaqueenxx-writes @hennessyauntie @dessianna1 @msincognito67 @themeirajay @toni9 @joanna-doe @tenayaaxxo @cool-fancyone @kehlaniswifee @bugngiz @blujaded @soulfuljas @tinystudentfirepurse @childishgambinaax @callmemckenzieee

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#nahimjustfeelingit-writes #vampireerik #killmonger imagine #killmonger smut

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unicyclehippo · 2 years ago

Note

Ooooh if your looking for imodna prompts, pernicious? No pressure!

laudna knows what it is even before she sees it because she slinks down off her perch with a pleased hiss, the sound looping and coiling in the back of laudna’s skull, the dark haunted recesses of her mind.

what did i tell you, my dear?

‘don’t,’ laudna growls. crosses her arms over her chest—but still she wants to reach out, grab it, take it, take the power in that blasted rock! clawed fingers - her own - sink into her shoulders and the spike of pain allows her to wrench free of its lure, stalk to the other side of the room.

don’t what? warn you?

‘don’t gloat.’

who needs to gloat, when they both know she has won today? and through no action of her own. who needs to gloat, when she’s so awfully, absolutely right?

‘i said don’t!’

those weren’t my thoughts, my dear.

launda flinches. her eyes slink back to the bag, carelessly abandoned at imogen’s bedside. or carefully placed to look abandoned? the rock sits in amongst her odds and ends; it looks so harmless there, just a rock, glowing with all the pretty low-light of a lightning bug.

delilah sits quietly for long enough that laudna twists herself up in her own thoughts. then, so sweetly it makes laudna’s teeth sting, she says,

i can handle this for you, if you like. save you from worrying about your precious girl, save both you and her from its influence.

‘and what influence is that? i’m tired of you talking around everything—if you know what it does, just tell me. tell me what it is!’

laudna’s head wrenches to the side. her gaze fixes on the mirror hung on their bedroom wall; it’s crooked, spotted with the tarnish of age. she isn’t quite sure if she had noticed it the mirror before now, and with that thought comes another tied to its tail—she wonders, if it’s true she hadn’t noticed it, whether that painful twist of her neck had been her. or if perhaps it belonged to the woman in the mirror who haunts her face, staring out at her plainly through the jade green, jealous green, malice green spark in her eye.

you make demands of me now? i saved you that night on the airship. i told you then that rock was too dangerous in your hands and i meant it. but, she tilts their head. you care only for the fact that its loss strained whatever it is between you and her. tell me, since you care so much about her and only her, is that care returned?

laudna digs nails into her skin. hopes, as black blood seeps from the wounds, that it hurts delilah too. even a little. let her feel the frailty of her vessel. ‘of course it is.’

ah. she’s apologised then, for blaming you? perhaps she thanked you for breaking the rock, which changed her in such pernicious, unsettling ways.

‘she need not thank me—‘

you say that only because you haven’t felt it. the way it sinks into you. makes you crave it even as it changes you, never for the better. such a thing would destroy you, my dear—that is why i took it away, she says, and if her irritation was the sharp scrape of clawed nails, her kindness is a gentle hand against her cheek. feigned kindness or not, it is still gentle. not to hurt you, but to help.

‘i - i don’t believe you.’

delilah smiles. such an expression laudna has never seen on her own face before; proud and pitying, the smile of a generous host watching commoners gorge themselves on a delicious, deadly feast.

you need not believe me, she allows, and that gentle hand is a light touch in its manoeuvring. tilts laudna’s head from the mirror to the bedside, to that sickly glowing rock. only ask yourself this—for what reason does she keep this secret from you?

#cr tag #cr spoilers #critical role spoilers #tagging my stories #prompt fill #not rly super spoilers but whatever #LAUDNA AND DELILAH MY TWISTED BELOVEDS

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sashi-ya · 3 years ago

Text

~💟 Sashi's Valentine's Corner 💟~

🧸Mini Scenario SFW- Roronoa Zoro x Sanji ~ Death Fears Love

a/n: I could tag this as a spoiler for non manga readers, but I'm sure no human who is into OP and specially into Zoro will be reading this is he didn't know about the Grim Reaper situation (even if they are non manga readers) so yeah. But, if you aren't aware about what I am talking about pls be aware of MANGA SPOILERS. What happens next is my own idea/theory turned into a sweet love story. I'm sure Sanji will rescue Zoro from falling, if not him nobody will and the arc will turn into something DARK.

tw: just some blood and fluffiness. Angsty little scenario with a happy ending.

wc: 1.1K

Marimo? Are you still breathing? Huh? Yes… are you worried that if I die you will be alone and in danger? Idiot. I saved your ass and you are telling me I am afraid?

Sanji isn’t sure if this is like Thriller Bark or not, the Swordsman was on the verge of death and he found him… but this time the cook was able to do something besides passing out. Sanji used his sky walk -and thanked in secret his Germa 66 genes for being now so fast- to rescue his friend while falling from Onigashima into a dark abyss.

Zoro, still covered in blood, unable to move, lays next to Sanji’s side over a pile of rocks. Both rest for a little, watching his captain still fight against Kaido up in the sky. They know, maybe, they should go and help him. But it won’t be possible, not in their state. Sanji, feeling a little bit better than Zoro, is too exhausted to even think about doing something else than resting… or maybe, he doesn’t want to move from his side… from the stupid marimo’s side.

Sanji feels curious, though. What has happened to his friend to end up in such a bad state? Who beat him up so badly? “Oi, marimo… What happened?” he asks, trying not to sound like he is trying to mock him. The green haired samurai sighs. He is clearly in pain, and the many cuts and wounds on his body make him feel as if his soul is being ripped apart.

“I had to tame Enma… Apparently, I can use Haki” he mumbles. “Conqueror’s?!” Sanji asks, half amazed, half jealous. “Yeah… then the grim reaper came” Zoro adds, as if the information he was giving was irrelevant.

The cook stayed in silence for some minutes, he was sure Zoro was delirious, yet the wound near his heart might as well have been done by a sickle. “The… grim… reaper?” Sanji asks, with a trembling voice. The blond never feared losing Zoro except during Thriller Bark. He was -secretly- convinced the alcohol pickled marimo is indeed stronger than him, and that’s been a thought that both amazes and haunts him since they fought Kuma.

“Marimo, don’t lie… how did you escape the grim reaper?! Did you fight him?” he asks, a little annoyed because he is sure Zoro was having a hallucination. “I didn’t fight. I wasn’t able to -I still can’t- move. He asked me if I was ready” Zoro mumbles, with some kind of trauma in his words.

Sanji turns to his side; he needs to confirm if his friend was laughing and mocking him after all. But he isn’t. And Zoro’s eyelids are closed and shuttered strongly, as when someone is choking back tears. Sanji felt sorry, and a shivering run through his back… many times he told him to “die already” and now to think he could have been dead by now made him extremely sad.

So damn sad.

“So, how did you escape then? Don’t tell me you got lost on your way to heaven” Sanji dares to joke with a subtle attack towards his friend, because that’s the only way he learned to communicate with Zoro… and yet, he never ever understood why. And Zoro, learned to do the same with time. Every time Sanji flirted with a woman, or when Sanji’s eyes were sad, or even when he was alone cooking, Zoro would pick a fight to get his attention. Just to get his attention…

A dynamic they have that makes people think they hate each other, but do they? Do they actually hate each other?

“I told him I wasn’t ready. And he asked the reasons why” Zoro adds, coughing some blood. Sanji, who is the definition of a gentleman, quickly crawls near his friend and using the remains of his ragged maroon suit sleeve, cleans his mouth.

“And what were the reasons? You wanted to taste more sake?” he jokes, now trying to cheer up his friend. The insides of the cook were a mess, confirming he didn’t lose his feelings because the desperation he feels in his heart now is too high. Zoro is still alive, but for how long?

Zoro smirks, for some reason Sanji’s joke about sake made him happy. “At first I thought about Luffy, but then, I knew he would be the Pirate King even without me” he utters, owning a frown from Sanji. Of course not, not without him. “Then I thought that my dream of being the best swordsman won’t be fulfilled” he continues “but, If I had died there, then that meant I’m a man that could only make it that far”.

Sanji, who has always admired Zoro for being so sure about his dreams, remembered the day he left The Baratie when Zoro stood up in front of Mihawk willing to get killed. And he also remembered those exact same words his friend pronounced in front of Kuma when he was too injured and yet kept fighting. Such a reckless man, so sure of his destiny he wasn’t afraid of dying.

“So… what was the reason, then?” Sanji asks, at this point extremely curious. What could be so strong that even death fears?

“You” Zoro mumbles, after coughing again.

Sanji freezes. “This idiot’s reason to stay alive was me? fighting me?!” he thinks, ignoring the way he was holding Zoro’s hand so tight. “Marimo… you didn’t die because you wanted to fight me?!” he protests, annoyed -and frankly trying to find excuses for the thought on the back of his mind; he loves you, idiot.

“Not to fight you, idiot cook. To protect you” he spits. “HUH?” Sanji complaints in disagreement. “I can protect myself; you know? What’s wrong with you?!”.

Zoro opens his eye, glossy, watery. “Just… for the love of God. Can you stop? Just for now? for some minutes. Stop” he pleaded for his blonde friend to accept what everybody except him was aware of. “I really need you to stop for now, I really… nee-” Zoro begs but his lips got shut all of a sudden.

Lips meeting for the very first time. How much they’ve hurt from the need, from the necessity of being one against each other. So slowly and gently, but so passionate, their mouths melt into one. Feeling weird, but happy, so damn happy Sanji kissed the idiot Marimo.

“Don’t you ever leave me again, idiot cook” Zoro tells him, in between Sanji’s needy kisses. “I’m so sorry” Sanji mumbled, so regretful for putting so many walls in between the two of them. “DON’T FUCKING SCARE ME THIS WAY, NOT ANYMORE. PLEASE”. The cook’s tears fall over Zoro’s countenance, washing away the dried blood.

Smiling and kissing, slowly so slowly, both fall asleep. They were so exhausted, and yet they waited for this before closing their eyes to finally rest… 💖~

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redrobin-detective · 3 years ago

Text

the only ghost in Amity Park

Continuation of Half Of

______________________________________________

Only in Amity Park did the revelation that a local teenager was sorta, kinda a ghost just blow over in a few days. Sure, people still stared at Danny Fenton as he walked by and everyone was still wondering what exactly he was, but overall life had moved on. Star sighed to herself as she organized her notebooks, waiting for class to begin. Just another day.

Star herself really didn’t want to get involved in whatever was going on with Danny. She didn’t like him before he was a celebrity and didn’t plan on starting anytime soon. While Paulina still relentlessly, and vainly, pumped him for information on her dead boy crush, Phantom and he and Dash formed some weird macho bond or whatever, Star avoided him. He’d given her the chills since the day he’d walked into Casper High. When Danny’s secret had been exposed mid-attack, Star hadn’t been surprised. She didn’t need some ghost to tell her that there was something deeply, unsettlingly wrong with Danny Fenton.

Danny didn’t seem particular bothered, by his inhuman nature or by suddenly having his secret exposed. If anything, the nerd looked more relaxed than ever. Star had been watching him, they all had, but Fenton kept his ghostly antics to a minimum when in public. The occasional flash of green eyes when emotional, a grin of sharpened teeth. He made Mikey’s locker lock intangible the other day when the kid had forgotten his combination and he floated down the stairs instead of walking sometimes. It had been a week and it was frightening how quickly such strangeness had become almost normal.

“Alright kids, phones and notes away we’re starting class with a pop quiz. Hope you’ve all kept up with your weekly readings,” Faluca announced cheerily. The whole class, including Fenton, moaned and packed up their bags. Star supposed being an undead being haunting his own life didn’t make him immune from normal human problems. She was biting her lip trying to remember which antibody caused allergic reactions when she got an uneasy feeling. She looked up and was not surprised to see Danny Fenton looking around too. It had been a solid week without ghost attacks, looks like Fenton’s supposed vacation time was up.

Star stopped her writing and adjusted the bag at her feet to prep for evacuation. She briefly wondered what Fenton would do, what he could do? Did he also hunt ghosts, like his parents? Like Phantom? There were no blasts, no screams, no monologues but the dread increased when a ghost shield descended over them. Actually, it looked like it was just covering their classroom. Now everyone was looking up from their quizzes and out the window at the flickering, green shield.

“You’d think the administration would’ve warned me we were going to do a drill,” Faluca said but his voice was hesitant. Clearly this wasn’t planned so despite the lack of alarms, there was a good chance this was real. “Pencils down for the moment while I figure out what’s going on.”

“Mr. Faluca, I need to go,” Danny said, raising his hand. Star was so used to hearing the request she almost ignored him but the dread curling in her stomach made her look again. His face was pinched, sharp and his eyes burned with an icy fury like a sudden storm blowing in without warning.

“Mr. Fenton, I don’t think...” Faluca murmured uneasily. Danny frowned harder.

“It wasn’t a request, actually,” Danny said roughly as he stood up and began walking towards the door. He was almost there when the door slammed open and Fenton had no less than 3 ectoweapons pointed in his face. A few kids jumped back in alarm but Danny held his ground as half a dozen Guys in White agents entered the room and surrounded him.

“Spectral scum formerly known as Daniel Fenton, you’re coming with us,” one of the agents said.

“Danny not Daniel and it’s still my name,” Danny quipped, eyeing each of the government officials and their weapons. “And no, I’m not. I’m still alive, somewhat anyway, so I have rights. The courts backed me up.”

“Everyone who signed for your freedom doesn’t know ghosts like we do,” Another agent said so forcefully, some spittle flew out of their mouth and hit Danny’s cheek. Star watched it freeze and fall away the instant it hit his skin. “Your kind are too dangerous to wander around, you need to be contained and eliminated. Don’t worry, your parents will receive a sizable check as recompense.”

“I’m the one who needs to be contained?” Danny said slowly, evenly but there was a static to his voice that caused the hairs on the back of Star’s neck to rise. When she breathed out, she saw her breath was misting. Everyone’s was as the room temperature continued to plummet. “When you come in here and take hostages to threaten me?” Danny hissed, he took a step forward and his eyes took on a neon green glow. “You didn’t come to my home or on the streets, you came to take me in the middle of biology when I’m surrounded by civilians, kids.”

“You delude yourself into thinking you’re still human,” another agent scoffed. “Everyone knows ghosts are weaker when giving into their obsession.” Danny laughed, it was loud and mocking and like fingernails running down a chalkboard. Faluca, stuck in between Danny and the agents, was white as a sheet and gripping his desk like it was the only thing keeping him from collapsing.

“You know nothing,” Danny hissed, his voice barely recognizable as human. His hair and shirt floated in an invisible but angry breeze. Frost crawled up his arms and his face. Various ecto alarms were ringing on the belts of the agents and they started to look a bit nervous. He looked nothing like the kid who, minutes before, had clearly been struggling with their bio quiz. “You have no idea what you’re dealing with. You cannot come into my haunt and threaten my people to get to me. Protecting what is mine will always make me stronger!”

“This whole town is constantly under attack because of things like you!” One particularly brave agent said even as a few others had backed up. “Amity Park is on the verge of collapse because of all the ghosts!”

“There is only one ghost in Amity Park,” Danny said, he tilted his head, his black and white hair dangling in his face as he gave a sharpened smile. “There is only me and the ghosts I allow, ghosts who know the rules, who respect my authority here by keeping damage to people and property down. I am the only ghost haunting this town and why do you think that is?” One agent threw down his gun and ran through the open door.

“You’re-you’re a monster!” Another woman shouted, shaking as she stepped back before fleeing.

“I’m not the one who needs to threaten innocents to get to their target,” Danny sneered. “It’s a good thing you did though, I wouldn’t hold back if I wasn’t worried about collateral.” Another three agents turned tail and ran. Until there was only one left. His gun was still trained on Danny but his hands were shaking.

“You don’t scare us,” the agent trembled through the obvious lie having been abandoned by his comrades. “We’ll get you monster, if it’s the last thing we do.”

“Looking forward to it,” Danny drawled sarcastically as some of his horrifying aura dissipated along with the freezing grip on the room. Within moments Danny has settled back into more human form. While he’d been angry before, now he looked almost bored. At no point had he seemed afraid.

“You take your people and your equipment and you leave Amity’s borders by sunset tonight,” Danny declared resolutely. “If you have continued problems with my existence, you take it up with the courts. We settle this as humans but if you treat me as a ghost then I will fight back like one.” His eyes turned green again as a threat. As a promise.

“I don’t take orders from spooks!” The agent shouted, securing his finger on the trigger and preparing to fire. Star had ducked to avoid the blast so she missed exactly what happened. All she saw was the green glow and heard a strangled scream from the agent followed by a series of thumps. By the time Star had gotten back into her seat, Danny was aggressively pulling apart the ectogun with his bare hands. There was no sign of the agent and, around them, the ghost shield fizzled away.

“Jerks,” Danny grumbled, kicking at the remains of the ectogun he’d destroyed. “Sorry about that, Mr. Faluca. I knew they’d cause problems but I didn’t think they’d come to school.” Their teacher stared at Danny like a rabbit facing down a lion. “You okay?”

“Fine, Mr. Fenton, just fine!” Falcua grinned in a high pitched voice. “Shall we get back to our quizzes?” The bell rang just then and Danny did a little fist pump.

“Tomorrow then? After I get a chance to study more?” Danny asked with puppy dog eyes. It looked wrong on his face that had just threatened the government with bodily harm. Faluca just nodded dumbly, not sure what else to say. “Yes! I’ll pass tomorrow for sure. The attention kinda sucks but it does come with some perks.”

He walked back to his desk, ignoring the wide-eyed looks of the class when he stopped and gasped, his breath fogging in front of him. His lips pursed again with annoyance. A few people jumped in surprise as the Box Ghost, a familiar annoyance, poked his head through the wall.

“Child! Your requested reprieve is up and the Box Ghost is here to cause insurmountable square shenanigans!” He laughed heartily, stopping when the room temperature dropped again. Danny didn’t even turn to face the ghost.

“Your watch is off, Boxy. I have another 10 hours before I have to deal with you annoyances again,” Danny growled. “I’m feeling good right now, take advantage of it and leave in one piece.”

“Uh right okay then,” the ghost stammered, sinking back into the wall. “See you tomorrow.” Danny cracked his neck before he walked to his desk, grabbed his things and walked to the front of the room.

“Late bell’s gonna ring any minute, you guys should hurry if you don’t wanna be late,” Danny said as he left. Falcua’s strength gave out as soon as Fenton was gone and he hit the floor, one hand clutching at his chest.

“Jeepers,” Mikey surmised appropriately before stuffing his things in his bag and leaving as well. Star watched everyone loosen up themselves and begin gathering their things to leave. No, she would never like Danny Fenton but he and his ghost weirdness was just part of the deal now, whether they wanted it or not. Such was life in the most haunted city in America which was only haunted by a single ghostly entity.

#feral danny my beloved #i wasn't going to continue Half Of but I was Inspired (tm)#In an AU where Fenton and Phantom aren't known to be the same #Danny lets all his unholy elderich nightmare self out as Fenton and keeps Phantom as cute and friendly as possible #also Danny didnt kill the GIW agent lol #just intangibly threw the bastard outside and took his gun #I was inspired (obviously) by the implication of Danny being the only ghost to truly haunt amity #that any other ghost there is only there bc Danny allows them in #that you can come to Phantom's haunt but you must follow his rule or its Death 2.0 The Trauma Edition #also I lost my shit writing insurmountable square shenanigans so please appreciate it #I actually had two whole paragraphs on Star being sensitive to otherworldly things how it ran in her family #then decided that it kinda distracted from the story so i took it it out #but Its still somethng interesting #explains just why she dislikes danny so much (from what we saw in canon) compared to other A listers who tolerate him at least

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fernweh-writes · 3 years ago

Note

You could ask my question, if possible, of course. With the Slachers (Michael, Jason, Brahms, Vincent and Bo) with her beloved looking innocent and even angelic, but she is extremely jealous and possessive when a victim or survivor flirts with her slachers to the point of saying something in context: " he is mine !!" (while the reader embraces Slachers). What would be the reaction of the slachers, about the corpotamento of his beloved?

I don’t write for Jason, sorry but I can definitely do the rest. Since I don’t write for many slashers, with requests like this one I usually do a little snippet for all of the slashers I do write for. But I like this idea a lot so without further ado…

P.S. this took me so much longer than I expected, I definitely got a little invested in these lol. I left out Thomas and Jesse but I may go back and add them at a later time idk yet.

-Fern🌿

Slashers x Possessive S/O

Michael Meyers

Your innocent and kind nature would be one of the things that made Michael interested in you. You were the first person to take the time to actually figure him out rather than checking him off as Evil™️ and treating him as such. He also likes the fact that he can easily make you flustered, it feeds his need for control. Knowing that he can simply press himself against you and leave you blushing both pleases and amuses him.

We all know that Michael is very possessive. He often stalks you while you’re at work or out in town running errands. At this point, it’s no longer because he feels the need to be predatory, he’s just making sure that what’s his is safe from any harm.

One night you had decided to go out with a few friends, which Michael wasn’t very excited about, but eventually he allowed it. It was one of those busy clubs/bars that had opened recently, so of course the place was crowded. This left Michael with no choice but to ditch the mask while he followed you, another thing he wasn’t happy about.

He ended up sitting on the other side of the place by himself with his eyes glued to you. He didn’t like you being around so many people. Michael was so focused on watching you that he had barely even noticed the woman walk up and make herself cozy in the seat opposite of him. Now his attention was on her while she grinned at him like the Cheshire Cat, pushing her cleavage together to make it more apparent in her already low cut dress.

Michael could’ve sworn that you had teleported, after all he had only take his eyes off of you for a second. Now you had your arms wrapped around him with your head resting on his neck. “Can we help you,” you asked the girl in front of you. Michael had never heard your voice sound so cold.

The girl began to twirl her hair, not deterred by the fact that you were running your hands over Michael. “I was just wondering what such a handsome man was doing here all by himself,” she purred. She attempted to reach forward and grab his hand but you were quick to smack it away before Michael could even move.

“He’s not here by himself he’s with me. And if I were you I would keep your hands to yourself and away from what’s mine.” After you said that it didn’t take long for Michael to drag you back home. To him it was your way of saying that you were in fact a permanent part of Michaels life. Plus you threatening someone when you’re usually so polite was a change of pace that left Michael wanting. You can definitely expect the girl to turn up missing on the news soon after that night as well.

Brahms Heelshire

Brahms adored your innocence and kindness. You never hesitated to follow the rules and care for him, which is why he kept you around. After all he needs a nanny that is actually going to take care of him. Brahms also had an easy time revealing himself to you since after the initial shock of it all you were delighted to find out you weren’t being haunted and that you weren’t in a huge countryside mansion all by yourself.

Seeing as Brahms is a major introvert and goes absolutely feral if there’s someone new in his house that he hasn’t allowed you usually have nothing to worry about. However, suppose something happens where Malcolm has to leave for a few weeks, meaning that a new girl is assigned to deliver the groceries until Malcolm returns.

You were in the kitchen chopping up ingredients for lunch when she arrived for the first time. You had to admit that she was pretty, she was tall and athletic looking with perfect curls. It was hard for you to not notice that she was blonde, Brahms had a thing for blondes…

“So Malcolm told me that Brahms isn’t dead or a ghost, is that right?” You didn’t like the fact Malcolm had told this random girl about Brahms but you muttered in agreement anyways. She helped you put up the rest of the groceries in silence, not speaking again until she had opened the door to leave. “So is he hot? Usually people with this much money that aren’t old are always hot. If he is I might just have to stick around for a little while longer.”

That struck a nerve. “He’s not available,” you said sharply and she faltered. “What do you mean?” It was easy to tell she hadn’t expected that kind of answer, much less the attitude you had suddenly adopted. “He isn’t single. So although he is hot, trust me, I would know, you can’t have him. He’s mine.” She quickly apologized and left, slamming the door shut behind her. You could also hear Brahms moving around in the walls nearby, letting you know he must have heard everything.

Shortly after you found Brahms wrapped around you while you finished making lunch. “So now I’m yours hmm?” You could hear the amusement in his voice. You turned and wrapped your arms around him, pulling him in for a kiss, one hand finding it’s way into his hair. After pulling away you told him, “You’ve always been mine Brahmsy. My good boy.” He let out a small whine at your praise, pulling you back in for another kiss.

Vincent Sinclair

You were Vincent’s muse. He absolutely adored you from the way you acted to the way you looked. To him there was no aspect of you that wasn’t perfect. In other words he was absolutely obsessed with you. After all, you did take care of him and even helped Bo keep Ambrose up and running.

It’s no secret that Vincent was shy, but he was definitely intimidating as well. So you knew that the girl in front of him that was doing a terrible job of flirting was only doing so in a poor attempt to make it out alive. Still, watching her twirl her hair and smile at him made something inside of you snap.

“Come on handsome, you got to want some kind of company. I’m sure you’re so lonely here all by yourself… I could help with that.” She attempted to touch his chest but you grabbed her before she could. “Sorry,” you told her as you held both of her arms behind her back, “he already has someone keeping his bed warm. Didn’t your mother ever to tell you not to touch things that belong to other people?”

Vincent made quick work of knocking the girl out and carrying her down to the workshop. However, after dwelling on the thought he decided to just let Lester dispose of her body. He didn’t want to make you angry by turning her into a permanent wax figure for the town. Doesn’t mean that he won’t allow her to regain consciousness before killing her though, after all she needs to know her place.

Later on Vincent will make sure you never forget that he is yours the same way that you’re his. You can probably expect to have some trouble moving around the next day as well.

Bo Sinclair

Everyone knows that Bo is a major flirt. He enjoys watching the girls throw themselves at him, he just blames it on his “southern charm.” Although, he usually keeps you safely tucked up into the house whenever victims stumble into town. After all, “I can’t have my sweet angel in harms way now, can I?”

You never dwelled on how Bo dealt with victims, that was his business. Sure he had flirted with you a lot when you first showed up. Even now he was heavy on flirting and making inappropriate comments all the time. It was one of the things that made him Bo after all. So walking into his shop unaware of the newest batch of victims in town was a shock for you. Well not so much the victim part, it was finding Bo flirting with the girl leaning over the counter to display her cleavage that pissed you off.

She was smiling and blushing like she had a high school crush on the man in front of her. Not to mention Bo was unashamedly staring at everything she was flaunting. So yeah you were pissed, especially since he didn’t even seem to notice you were there. You quickly remembered the lunch you were holding in your hand, your reason for coming down here, and decided to use it to your advantage.

Instead of saying anything you just walked up behind him, setting his lunch on the counter right in front of the girl, effectively blocking his view of her boobs before wrapping your arms around him. Bo still didn’t shut up and acknowledge you so you decided to interrupt. “I brought you lunch baby.” The use of a pet name quickly made the girl Bo was flirting with falter.

“Oh, uhm, is this your girlfriend or something?” Before Bo could jump in you answered her. “Or something, I guess you could say. After all, he is my husband.” You looked up at Bo with the most lovesick expression you could put on your face as you pulled him in for a kiss. One kiss turned to two, to three, to a whole make out session in front of the poor girl. Bo’s hands began to roam around your body as well, making sure to squeeze all of his favorite parts of you.

When the two of you broke apart the girl was gone but Bo didn’t seem to notice. He was still to busy feeling you up. “Have I ever told you how fuckin’ sexy you are when you’re jealous? I’d never have guessed you had a possessive side to you angel.” You smiled knowing you now had his full attention, “Well surprise.”

He kissed you one more time, long and hard. “I promise we’ll continue this later up at the house. But right now I gotta go find that bitch n’ kill ‘er. You better be waitin’ on me when I get home darlin’.”

Billy Loomis

Billy was highly sought after by many girls due to his bad boy reputation. He always had girls throwing themselves at him wanting to be the one to fix him. You knew you didn’t have to worry, Billy wouldn’t leave you for someone else. He made it very clear that you were permanent. But still you couldn’t help but be irritated when they would flirt with him right in front of you.

You two were planning a movie night which meant a trip down to the video store. Apparently, Randy had the night off because some new girl was behind the counter. When the two of you first arrived she had been reading a magazine, not caring about the handful of people milling about. That was until she noticed Billy, not seeming to care that you were wrapped around his arm. She was watching him like a hawk.

You shifted uncomfortably, not liking the way she was staring down your boyfriend. Billy was observant and quickly noticed your discomfort. “Don’t worry about her babe, you know you’re the only person I’m into.” He wrapped his arm around your shoulders and pulled you into him, “Now, do you want to watch Friday the 13th or Nightmare on Elm Street?” You groaned, “Billy we’ve seen both of those movies a million times.” He smiled and held up Nightmare on Elm Street, “Well now we can watch this one and make it one million and one times.”

You rolled your eyes as he drug you to the checkout counter. The employee quickly perked up when she noticed Billy. “Will this be all for you hun?” She asked completely ignoring you. She didn’t even look down at what movie Billy had set on the counter before saying, “You have good taste, this is like one of my favorite movies ever. It’s a shame your little girlfriend doesn’t seem to like it though.”

“Cool, so who’s the main character?” You knew exactly what Billy was trying to do, elbowing him lightly. “Oh, uhm,” she finally looked down at the case, eyes lighting up, “oh, yeah it’s that really scarred dude!” Billy rolled his eyes, “No shit, what’s his name though.” You decided to have pity on the girl, “Ignore him, he’s a horror movie fanatic.” The girl mumbled, “Yeah no kidding.”

You smiled at Billy, using this as your chance to brag on the fact he’s yours. You knew him like no one else did. “He’s such a dork when it comes to the cinematography of these things but he’s my dork.” Billy hugged you from behind, “Yeah, whatever, you know you love me.”

Stu Macher

Stu absolutely loved throwing huge parties at his house. He was well liked and well known so it wasn’t unusual for a lot of people to show up, many of which you didn’t even know. Because so many people knew Stu, it also meant that they knew his family was pretty wealthy. It was pretty common to find girls hitting on him and since Stu loved attention he was prone to playfully flirting back.

Usually you would hang out with your friends during these parties, not being big on socializing with new people. Most of the time you didn’t worry about Stu wandering off, he would always show up at your side again at some point. Half the time when he would reappear you would have to pry him back off of you. He could be quite handsy at times.

Now the party was winding down and mostly everyone left was on the couch getting ready to watch a movie. You excused yourself, and headed to the kitchen to get another drink. You froze when you saw a girl running her hands all over Stu, he wasn’t making any move to push her away. You decided to help him out with that.

“Do you need something,” you asked her as Stu wrapped himself around you. “Are you his girlfriend?” Stu laughed, hopping up onto the counter. He pulled you up onto his lap, “Yeah she is dude. Isn’t she hot?” The girl scoffed, “Don’t you think that she’s a little… beneath you, Stu?”

That set you off. “I think that slutty little bitches like you need to keep your dirty hands away from what’s mine.” The girl rolled her eyes before storming out of the kitchen. You hopped out of Stu’s lap and turned to face him. “If you let mother whore rub all up on you like that again so help me I will be the next one to commit a murder in this house. Understand?” Stu stopped smiling, his goofy personality faltering for a second. He then saluted, “Yes ma’am.” You nodded. “Good.”

Stu jumped down and threw you over his shoulder, causing you to yelp. “You look extra hot when you’re fighting over me babe.” He quickly climbed the stairs and you pounded against his back. “You’re going the wrong way, the movie is downstairs.” He made it quickly to the bedroom, throwing you down on the king size bed with a huge grin. “We can make our own movie babe. I don’t know about you but I’m thinking romance,” he rambled, crawling on top of you. “Rated R of course.”

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hansolmates · 4 years ago

Text

here comes the bride, all dressed in pride

summary; You and your cousin Doyeon have had beef with each other since the sandbox. When she plucks the last straw, you decide to end your long-simmering fight by claiming that you and her ex—Jeon Jungkook, are now boyfriend and girlfriend pairing; jungkook x reader (f) genre/warnings; fake dating!au, fluff, crack, mentions of cheating, lang, alcohol, mc eats meat, tw sexual harassment, toxic family, dick talk, making out, if u have that one family member that pulls bs on you constantly this is it, this fic is for all the people who have a huge ass family who wont leave them alone w.c; 17.3k a/n: my second fic for gcn’s 23 birthday project! the fact that wedding szn zoomed by us like that... and so bc im sad that so many weddings had to be postponed this fic was born! a huge thank u to vivi @eerieedits / @chillingtae for creating this BEAUTIFUL fic banner and separator pls check vivi out to make your fics all purty

prompts used: “You’ve always been beautiful to me, don’t you know that?” and “I never knew love could be like this, feel like this.”

if you enjoyed this pls consider giving a like and a share💕💕

Doyeon likes to call Jungkook, “the one who got away.”

You like to call Doyeon, “the one who drove him away.”

In secret, of course. In fact, the only person who knows how much you loathe Doyeon and her behavior is your father. And all your co-workers. And your boss. And your boss’ ex-husband.

And Jeon Jungkook, but of course you haven’t seen the man in two years and back then he was far too polite to address his concerns of your hatred of his then-girlfriend.

Okay, so everyone and their mother knows how much you don’t like your cousin. Kim Doyeon and you have had beef since the sandbox, and for whatever reason is always out to one-up you. A strange competitive nature in everything, academics, family, and even boys. The sick, twisted part of you has come to enjoy it. While you’re not a fighter as devout as Doyeon is, you have your own callous tendencies farmed from the seeds Doyeon has planted in your brain. She gives you a comment? You can’t help but throw one back. Since you’re a painfully mature soul you don’t have any mortal enemies as far as you know, Doyeon is the perfect amount of hot water to keep you on your toes.

“I’m really sorry that you couldn’t be a bridesmaid,” Doyeon cooes next to you, swirling her champagne glass with a too-jutted pout, “but if I did there’d be an odd number of pairings and you’re a little too old to be walking as a bridesmaid, am I right?”

Your nails. Are digging. Through your dress. Alas, you’re in public and you have class. Doyeon smiles at you with all teeth, reminding you of the Beldam from Coraline. Aside from that she looks absolutely stunning in that Lirika Matoshi strawberry dress that has her Instagram aching with likes and love from her baseless followers.

“I don’t know,” you reply lightly, leaning back in your seat, “I mean, if Yoojung and Rena can be bridesmaids and they’re three years older than me, wouldn’t I make the cut? It’s okay to be honest and say you just didn’t want me in the bridal party.”

Doyeon laughs, slaps your thigh like you told her the most hilarious joke in the world. Anyone passing by would think you’re best friends. You laugh too, incredulous at the amount of power she thinks she holds.

“Nice party,” you tack on, surveying the room. It’s filled with pastels and beiges, bright and airy. It’s Parisian themed, and while you’re not a fan of theming cultures, you can’t deny that you’re loving the infinite supply of macarons.

“Oh, yes. This is just a taste of the real wedding,” she laces her fingers together, as if she thinks she’s living an Elizibethean love story, “speaking of, you put on your RSVP that you’re bringing a plus one. Am I allowed to know who’s the unlucky date?”

“As if you care.”

“I care if you’re bringing Jimin. That tiny thing nearly gave Aunt Lillian a heart attack when he gave a striptease at Yoongi’s graduation party.”

You smirk softly at the bold memory. That was the plan.

Doyeon sighs dramatically, crossing her legs and popping out a cherry red heel. She plays with the back on the balls of her feet, letting the little pearly rhinestones glisten in the candlelight, “I should really commend you, cousin,” she drawls, “I mean, how kind of you to be so charitable and give your dopey friends a chance to have fun. After all, I’m sure it is difficult for someone like you to find a date.”

It’s no surprise as to how you end up with a date at any family formal gathering. You say you bring a plus one, and then between Jimin, Taehyung and Hoseok. The three of them draw straws as to who gets to gorge on free alcohol and food for that night.

“Difficult?” you arch a brow, “I get plenty of dates.”

Doyeon giggles. She must be feeling extra vindictive today, high on her impending marriage and the taste of bubbly champagne. “By taking turns with those three? You gotta be kidding me,” she snorts, tipping back her crystal, “please y/n. Don’t get so defensive because I’m getting married first. Your time will come. That is, if you stop dicking around with your friends.”

Normally you’d smother any attempt at Doyeon to call out your friends, but now she’s just done that and insulted your ability to get some, and you are livid.

“Actually,” you quip sharply, “I’ve been dating someone. It’s been a couple months, actually.”

“Oh?” Doyeon’s genuinely interested, face falling slightly, “you’ve never mentioned anyone, I don’t see anyone on your social media.”

“Yeah well,” you feign sympathy, pressing your lips together and tilting your head accordingly, “I’ve had to keep it private for a couple of reasons.”

“What, is he ugly or something?” she chuckles, “but really, who’s the person who has the misfortune of being in a committed relationship with you?”

Maybe it’s because Doyeon’s right, the both of you are too old. The two of you have been running around each other for years, with no end in sight. Maybe, the words that linger on the tip of your tongue will be the final nail in the coffin.

“Jeon Jungkook,” you state proudly, clear as day. “Jungkook and I have been dating for three months.”

And you pick up the vanilla macaron that sits innocently on your plate, ravishing it up like it contained all the tension in your table. Between you and Doyeon’s bubble, you could hear a pin drop.

“Jungkook?” her smile is concrete-solid, “my Jungkook?”

“My Jungkook,” you correct, giving her a puppy-eyed look, “I’m really sorry I never told you. I mean, is there ever a right time to tell your cousin they’re dating their ex-boyfriend?” you laugh, either to lighten the mood or because you love the way Doyeon pinches her face, you don’t know.

“How did you two even meet?”

“We reconnected through Seokjin. You know how the two of them play Starcraft together, I just ended up joining the call and he was so funny and nice. We just sorta… felt it.” Doyeon nods like a slow bobblehead, still comprehending in her pea-sized brain, “I just hope it isn’t too awkward. I know it’s been awhile but, if you really don’t want Jungkook to come I can always take Hoseok or something.”

“No, it’s fine,” Doyeon says a little too quickly, masking on her picture-perfect smile. “I’m with Namjoon now, and I’m totally happy. Water under the bridge, it’ll be totally fine.”

“Really?” your eyes practically sparkle, thankful for the amount of glitter and highlighter you’ve dumped on your face today, “I really appreciate it, Yeonie.”

And she quickly downs her champagne glass, and gets up from her seat. It’s haunting, the way she gets up, pink tulle billowing around her ankles. “I have to attend to the other guests,” she says.

“Of course,” you raise your glass.

“But, be careful,” she gives you a little smile, one filled with a last-ditch attempt at a jab, “Jungkook, he’s a little hard to deal with.”

“Oh don’t worry. I know how to deal with Jungkook’s hardness,” you wink, and Doyeon’s face falls like a ton of bricks.

“That’s not what I meant.”

“I know,” you shrug loftily, “that’s what I meant, though.”

And you don’t bother watching Doyeon stomp off the metaphorical stage, double fisting two new glasses of champagne from an awaiting butler as she finds some other poor guest to pick on. Now, the matter of securing your date. Conveniently so, the most important man in the room is walking your way, and you manage to snag his tie just as he passes your table.

“Ow—ow! I’m choking!” Seokjin grabs, nearly throwing his tall body onto your lap, hands grappling to release the tension on his neck. “Leave me alone, woman! I just wanted to get some chicken tenders!”

“Jin,” you say sweetly, opening his blazer to retrieve his phone, “I need Jeon’s number, now.”

“Jungkook?” your favorite cousin pales, eyes widening as you take out your phone of your own, copying down the digits, “what did you do?”

“Don’t ask questions.”

Seokjin says your name again, firmer. “You’re playing with fire.”

“It’ll be fine, it’s the last time,” you quell, already knowing how much Seokjin hates being in the middle of your fights. Once you’ve secured the phone number, you place Seokjin’s phone back into his pocket, patting his breast. “Thank you. You know you’re my favorite cousin, you know that?”

He grumbles a “damn right I am” before stomping away, resuming his race for his chicken tenders.

You: hey jeon it’s y/n. I see you’re doing great, i saw on instagram that you released your first app w/yoongi! Totally amazing, been playing for weeks, really upset that i can’t get past the flaming frog boss :((

You: Feel free to ignore this, i won’t blame you if you do. Im at doyeon’s rehearsal dinner, and she basically snubbed my friends and said i couldn’t get some prime dick even though im?? Me??? Anyway, im tired of her shit so im gonna throw it back at her, one last time before she ties the knot. I told her you and i have been dating, and im bringing you as my date to her wedding. Really sorry, the demons took over my brain and made the worst and best comeback of my life. So… if you’re up for being the hottest couple on the floor in three weeks and showing how madly in love we are, please text me back? Or not. You might think this family is crazy and i accept partial responsibility.

You: I’ll buy u every meal for every practice date we have if u agree.💕💕💕

Jeon Jung-boo-thang: thanks, i appreciate that. To defeat the frog boss, go back to the coconut cave and find the garnet garter. It absorbs his fire and u can easily defeat froggo w any level 15 weapon

Jeon Jung-boo-thang: and as for the real reason u texted me. Im in. let’s get pork belly tomorrow.

Two years ago, you were surprised that Doyeon could manage to snag a man as fine as Jeon Jungkook. Also unsurprised, because Doyeon is gorgeous and could snag any man she wanted, and has snagged every man she wanted.

Jungkook was different though. He had an air of innocence to him. He loved her, a little too much to be safe. Your heart would betray you every time you would find him at a family gathering, making her plate and counting the calories she so meticulously measured. How can someone so sweet be with someone like Doyeon?

Your heart ached for Jungkook when they broke up a year later. From what you heard, Doyeon was Jungkook’s first serious girlfriend. And then you wanted to rip your heart out a week later when you caught Doyeon smooching with her favorite graduate professor Kim Namjoon, wanting to erase any possibility you’d have at love. At that time, you never wanted to feel the pain you imagined Jungkook was going through.

“Y/n! Over here!” you’re a little taken aback at how much has not changed in Jungkook. His eyes still sparkle like fresh dew, his smile is still pearly white and infectious. He’s even early, snagging a table at his favorite barbeque place and waiting for you as if he is the one organizing your first date.

At the same time, there’s so much that’s changed about him. He’s confident, even going so far as to walk over to you and slip your jacket and purse in his grasp like a gentleman. He leads you by putting a hand lightly at the small of your back, making you feel impossibly small in comparison to his Dorito-shaped body, broad shoulders and a deliciously trim waist.

“How was the walk over?”

“Not too bad,” the conversation is casual, easy. You wipe the sweat off your forehead with a napkin. “Could use a little exercise now and again. I did eat a whole tray of macarons at that rehearsal dinner.”

Jungkook laughs from his belly, causing you to smile. “Nonsense. You look great, by the way,” you don’t mind it, actually, you enjoy it when his eyes rake over your body. After all, he’s now your boyfriend and he needs to get familiar with all the important bits. He leans his arms forward, bracing him against the wooden table so his face is closer to yours.

“You’re not doing too bad yourself,” your eyes gloss over the veins and intricate tattoos that paint his muscled upper half. Your smile morphs into a smirk, letting him know you’re enjoying the view just as well as he is.

And as soon as the tension sparks, it ends just as fast when your waiter comes up to light your grill.

“So,” Jungkook wastes no time in decorating your stove, making sure to add all the appropriate aromatics and infusions to season your lunch, “do you know why Doyeon and I broke up?”

“Cheated on you with Namjoon, I assume,” you keep your eyes trained on the darkening meat.

Jungkook slips a piece of meat in his mouth. Any expression of pain (whether it be from Doyeon or the barely cooked meat) doesn’t reveal itself as he stops to take a sip of water. “Who else knows?”

“Just me and Seokjin. The family loved you too much and Doyeon made up some sob story about how you two were going different life paths.”

He chuckles to himself, taking great care in flipping the meat. “I really was a fool in love, wasn’t I?”

“It… was mildly cute.”

“Tell me the truth, you have no reason not to.”

“Okay, you made me want to vomit rainbows and glitter every time I saw you.”

The two of you laugh, faces crinkling shamelessly as the two of you busy yourselves with setting up the table. Most of the food is done and the aroma of fresh onions wafts around your grill. As you place chopsticks on his side of the table, you think about all the times Jungkook made it abundantly clear how much he loved Doyeon: the love letters tucked into her purse, 100 day anniversaries, even just a simple Americano for her in the morning.

“Is that why you never hung out with us?”

“No,” you reply lightly, “Doyeon made it clear that I shouldn’t talk to you.”

Jungkook frowns, “You really don’t like each other, do you.”

You shrug, “Just always been like that,” you quirk a smile when Jungkook places the freshly cooked meat on top of your rice before serving himself.

“So what’s the plan?”

“We go to the wedding, make out a little, get Doyeon boiling. Even if she’s not interested in you, she’d still be upset knowing we are together.”

“And why is that?”

“Because it’s me,” you grin into your glass, staring at a water-stained Jungkook through the blue tinted glass. “And all you have to do, is enjoy your night and look pretty.”

His eyes crinkle, chopsticks pressing between his lips. “You think I look pretty?”

With a roll of eyes you don’t respond, preferring to dig your chopsticks in your rice. No need to inflate Jungkook’s ego too soon.

Pinning the main theme of your hangout to the side, the both of you dig into your meal. You throw conversation back and forth like pebbles, grains of sand that build and build until you’re caught up with each other’s lives. It feels so strange to admit it’s been two years since you’ve spoken to the man, and all of a sudden the once luscious meat feels dry in your mouth.

“Jeon,” you put your chopsticks down, “are you sure you want to do this with me? I mean, I know it’s all my fault and I dragged you into it. Don’t feel obligated to agree to this.”

“I’m a hundred-percent sure,” he doesn’t stop eating, shoving two spoonfuls of rice in his mouth. His cheeks puff up considerably, and your eyes trail down to his neck as he swallows, “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t wanna.”

“Right,” you don’t need a big explanation or a personal confession from Jungkook, just his consent. “Partners, Jeon?” you hold up your glass.

“Partners,” he agrees easily. The smile on his face disarms you, a full-fledged grin decked with pearly whites. Clicking his glass to yours he adds, “And it’s Jungkook, babe.”

Oh, this is going to be interesting.

Seokjin thinks the two of you are the most boring fake-couple.

His eyes dart back and forth between your spot on the couch and his desk, where Jungkook is currently seated. Seokjin is hovered over Jungkook, who’s typing and clicking furiously over his PC game. You’re on your phone, feet pulled up to the coffee table while some old Netflix movie plays in the background. To top it all off both of you didn’t even try to dress like it’s daytime, nearly matching in sweatpants and an oversized hoodie. It doesn’t look like a couple coming to visit Seokin, it looks like Jungkook is playing video games with Seokjin while his cousin hangs around like she owns the place.

“Shouldn’t you guys like, I don’t know, go on dates or something?” Seokjin feels like he’s talking to the air. “Maybe get to know each other before the big day?”

Pulling your phone down to your lap and Jungkook taking off his headphones, the two of you shrug at each other, “No, we’re good.” Jungkook says.

“We know enough,” you agree cooly, “Jungkook likes Valorant.”

“I do like Valorant.”

“He likes pork belly.”

“I do like pork belly.”

“He’s ripped as hell.”

“I am ripped as hell.”

“Okay but have you guys kissed yet?” Seokjin interjects, probably compensating for the nonchalance in the room with his own brand of freaking out. You two only see each other when you’re hanging out at Seokjin’s apartment, and while he’s happy that you two aren’t doing the whole 9-yards and creating an elaborate scheme, the both of you are almost too relaxed. His anxiety is spiking.

“Yes,” Jungkook answers, “at the barbeque place we went to.”

“It was nice," you tack on, "Jin, we got this. Don't worry."

"How can I not worry when you're trying to upset our cousin on her wedding day?" he's sweating in his fully air-conditioned apartment. “I get that she’s the devil’s spawn and everything, but she’s still a human being.”

“In second grade she pushed me on the treadmill because I was going too slow. I got caught on the roller and got a bald spot for two months.”

“Okay yes one bad example—”

“And in senior year she accused me of plagiarizing her essay just because we chose the same topic. I almost didn’t get into college!” Seokjin sighs, crossing his arms. All valid points, and arguing with you isn’t a route he wants to take. “Jin, the point is that she’s constantly pushing my buttons. I’ve always been the bigger person and now that I’m old and confident I just want one jab.”

“That’s valid,” Jungkook pipes up, pressing the spacebar a few times, “I want a jab too, she cheated on me.”

“See? It’s a mutual decision.”

Seokjin asks, “Why aren’t you more worried about this?”

"Because Doyeon isn't going to chew me out on her wedding day," you checked your aunt's seating chart last week and you are far, far away from the bridal table. "We're just going to show off a little bit. Get drunk, eat some bomb steak. Break up in three months or less.”

"You don't have to just convince Doyeon, it's your entire family! Not to mention you also have to go to the bachelor party!"

"Oh I almost forgot," you reach under the couch for your laptop, "Jungkook, in two weekends from now we're flying to Las Vegas for the bachelor party and wedding. I'll buy your ticket now."

"Thanks, babe!” Jungkook sends a cheeky grin to Seokjin, who is unimpressed. “See? I remember to call her babe.”

“Alright, get out of my house,” Seokjin tugs Jungkook away from his computer, causing the younger man to swivel around in his plush gaming chair.

Jungkook frowns at the monitor, “But I’m still bronze one. I’m aiming for silver one by this weekend.”

“Don’t care. As much as I don’t like this plan, I’m not letting you two slip-up.” Seokjin pulls out his phone, revealing Doyeon’s Instagram story, “Doyeon and Namjoon are at the mall buying swimsuits for Vegas. Go to the mall and ‘accidentally’ run into them.”

You sit up straight, tilting your head to the side. “That’s not a bad idea, actually,” you bound over to grab your jacket, giving Seokjin a big fat kiss on his cheek, “Thanks Jinnie, do you know you’re—”

“I’m your favorite cousin. Yeah whatever, bye.” He waves you off, plopping in his own chair so he can enjoy his games in peace.

“I’m driving,” Jungkook declares, swiping your keys from Seokjin’s opal dish.

“Oh, hell no,” you jump on your tippy toes to reach Jungkook’s grasp on your keys, but he’s so freakishly tall there’s no way you can reach. “I drive my car!”

“I’ve always wanted to drive your car back then,” Jungkook cooes, leaning in so your noses touch. “C’mon, you can trust me.”

“You two are gross already,” Seokjin admonishes from the other side of the room, “see, it’s working!”

Poking his cheek so he gives you some space, you whip your head to hide the flush that burns on your cheeks. “Fine, but if you crash you’re buying me a new one.”

“They’re over there,” you hiss between the racks, shuffling between the plastic hangers to point to Doyeon and Namjoon at the women’s section of the store. They look disgustingly adorable together, with Doyeon pointedly telling Namjoon which swimsuit suits his stature better while Namjoon nods along and goes with whatever she says. You crouch down lower, fearing Namjoon’s tall frame would catch you. “Now we just gotta act all couple-y and they’ll notice us. Or maybe we can walk over to them? What do you wanna do?”

“Do you think we should get matching swimsuits?” Jungkook pays no mind to your sleuthing, holding up a red pair of swim trunks to his thighs, “we could pretend to be sexy lifeguards.”

You tilt your head away from the pair, only because Jungkook has been genuinely interested in this store since you’ve arrived. Putting a hand under your chin, you scrutinize the dark red cutoff shorts. “They’re cute,” you nod appreciatively, “It’ll make your thighs look thick.”

Jungkook’s grip on his hanger lowers, and he regards you with dark eyes. “You think my thighs look thick?” he asks, leaning in and putting one hand on the curve of your waist. His fingers dance on the surface of bare skin between your top and jeans, and while you’ve agreed beforehand that you two could touch each other wherever in public, it still surprises you when gooseflesh rises to the surface.

“Easy there, tiger,” you chuckle, putting a hand on his chest to stop his sudden bout of flirting. “I’m just stating the facts, we get it. You lift.”

“You’re so cute when you try to put your guard up,” he’s brushing noses with you now, and you feel the plastic of the hanger crumple pathetically between you two as the gap closes further. “But you can’t hide from me.”

And just as his lips move to press against yours, a shrill “Jungkook!” echoes throughout the large store.

You nearly flop over the boardshorts rack if not for Jungkook’s arms secured around your waist. Oh right, you think dumbly, this is all for show. Doyeon and Namjoon are right in front of you, purchases already made and looking at you two in curiosity. Well, Namjoon is definitely curious, because you know for a fact that Doyeon speaks very little of you to him and you’ve only conversed with him a handful of times. Doyeon on the other hand, looks a little stiff in the grin.

“Hello to you too,” you remark to Doyeon, who’s barely acknowledged you. You reach over to squeeze Namjoon’s arm, “Hi Joonie,” you crinkle your eyes, and you fight back a squeal when he smiles back with dimples. Doyeon has such a cute fiancé, and if you’re keeping score he’s way too good for her.

Doyeon’s eyes glaze over to where you’ve touched Namjoon, and she links her arms with his. “What a coincidence, you two are buying swimsuits where we’re buying swimsuits.”

“Well, there’s only one mall in this town and we’re going on the same trip in two weeks,” you reply blandly, and you feel Jungkook pinch your side. “Oh, Namjoon. Have you met my boyfriend Jungkook?”

“Can’t say that I have,” Namjoon reaches over to clasp Jungkook’s hand, “nice to meet you, man.”

While Namjoon and Jungkook exchange small talk, you pointedly ignore the waves of negativity Doyeon sends your way in favor of observing the two large men. Namjoon just said it was nice to meet him, therefore he has no clue who Jungkook is. Interesting, considering Doyeon two-timed in favor of Namjoon. It gets you a little antsy, and you wonder if Namjoon is faking this whole interaction or if Doyeon is hiding something.

“Baby,” Jungkook rests a hand on your shoulder, regarding you with concern, “you spaced out there, are you okay?”

“She’s like that, Jungkookie,” Jungkook gently presses your shoulders down, blocking your view of Doyeon as she regards your not-boyfriend as Jungkookie. “My cousin’s a bit of an airhead,” her tone is sweet and jesting, the backhanded jab going right above Namjoon’s head.

“I’m just hungry,” you say, forcing a tight-lipped smile.

“Well, that’s perfect,” Namjoon clasps his hands together, “Yeonie and I were just about to go grab some dinner. Why don’t you join us?”

Doyeon and you both reply immediately, “That really isn’t necessary—”

“Nonsense,” you don’t even have the heart to be upset at Namjoon because he looks so damn genuine, “It’s been two years and I haven’t even bought you a meal, y/n. After all, we’re going to be family at the end of the month.”

“Right,” you answer reluctantly.

“We’re gonna make reservations at the Cheesecake Factory,” he pulls out his phone, ready to make a call, “but you and Jungkook can finish shopping, okay? The wait will be a little long but by the time you’re done our table should be ready.”

You and Jungkook wave off Doyeon and Namjoon as they make their way to the restaurant. Your hand is caught in the air by Jungkook, who regards you with worry in his eyes. “I wasn’t kidding when I said you looked spaced out,” he says, “tell me what you were really thinking.”

Subconsciously, you squeeze his palm for comfort. “I don’t know, it just feels weird knowing Namjoon doesn’t seem to know you at all. Normally Doyeon loves to talk shit about her exes.”

Jungkook scoffs easily, “I mean, if she’s marrying the guy I’m sure she doesn’t want to let him know the details of how they ended up together.”

“True,” you decide to let it go, and follow Jungkook to the register to pay for his swim trunks.

“So,” the little ‘ding’ of the register opens up the money box, and Jungkook quickly hands the clerk his cash, “we’re having dinner with them after this?”

“Only if you want to.”

“We need to, right?” Jungkook thanks the clerk, holding the bag in one hand and threading his fingers through yours as you head out the store.

“Well, do you want to?” you ask again. Jungkook stops the two of you on the sidewalk. It isn’t a fast stop, but a slow down that makes his walk a little more thicker, more deliberate as he trudges you down the lane. You move in front of him, clutching your hands between his. “Are you okay? You barely even acknowledged Doyeon.”

“I’m fine,” you flinch at his harsh tone, and he immediately moves to remedy it by squeezing your hand back. “I’m sorry. It’s just been awhile and I’m definitely over her but,” he bows his head, feeling embarrassed, “she hurt me, you know?”

Going into this is definitely one of the more selfish plans you’ve put your mind to. Your heart pangs thinking about what must be going through everytime he sees her. If he’s reminded about all the good times they shared, or how much he’s over thought every single conversation he’s had with her up until this point.

“Of course,” you completely understand, knowing from the beginning that this whole mess would end up with some dicey feelings someway or another. “I’m just thankful you chose to stick by me. And we can talk about it if you’re comfortable,” both of you being victims of Doyeon’s brand of torture, you hope the two of you can at least be friends after all of this is over, “we don’t have to go have dinner with them.”

“But, Namjoon got us a table—”

“Namjoon will be fine. We can always have dinner with him another time,” you smile softly, “what matters is that you’re okay.”

His gaze melts, and you feel his grip loosen in your hold. He regards you with weak eyes, betraying the confidence he held himself to moments before. “Thanks, y/n,” he says, “I really appreciate that.”

“Anytime,” you reply honestly. “We can go to Cheesecake and order to-go. I can make some excuse about how my stomach hurts and that we should do a raincheck.”

“Sounds good.”

“Do you wanna eat at one of our places or eat at the park or something?” you’re already pulling up your phone, checking out the menu. “We could invite Jin too.”

“The park sounds nice,” neither of you acknowledge the fact that you’re not inviting Seokjin, and for some reason that’s okay.

“Yeah,” you agree simply, “the weather’s beautiful.”

Under any normal circumstances, you would’ve been friends with someone like Jeon Jungkook, easily. A little part of you wishes that you could’ve met Jungkook first, but Doyeon has better connections than you and always had a good crowd around despite her inner motivations. No awkward exchange happens when you suggest to Jungkook to eat together. Even though you’re not technically dating, the two of you know that eating together is better than eating alone.

And you have to admit Jungkook’s great company. The two of you drive to a reserve nearby, overlooking a tiny lake. Instead of a fancy Italian tablecloth the two of you move your car seats down and set a spare picnic blanket in the trunk. Instead of a candlelit dinner the two of you find some emergency electric tealights in the glove compartment, lighting it up between you two as you dig into your to-go boxes.

You’re a little envious that so much time has passed by. You could’ve been a little sneakier and made a better effort to communicate with Jungkook when you saw him regularly at family parties, and maybe you two would have a better friendship today. Nevertheless, the two of you mesh like peanut butter and jelly, exchanging conversation that has your cheeks sore from smiling too hard.

By the time you get to dessert, the moon is out and the stars are floating above your heads. The two of you are at war, fighting with your forks over the last strawberry in your cheesecake slice. After some careful stabbing Jungkook manages to nab it with his fork.

He almost puts it in his mouth, but instead swipes up some whipped cream to press the last strawberry to your lips.

“I think it’s working,” Jungkook says randomly as you chew the sweet fruit, “you could see it on Doyeon’s face today. She’s unsettled.”

“Yeah,” you agree, lying down on the lavender gingham picnic blanket.

“Do you know why she fights with you all the time?”

“That’s a question I’ve been asking myself since the dawn of time.”

“I think I know why.” Jungkook looks down at you with his large doe eyes, licking innocently on a spoon of whipped cream.

“Pray tell.”

“She’s jealous of you.”

“No,” you disagree easily, “she’s jealous that I have you.”

“Bzzt! Wrong,” Jungkook puts his empty container in your makeshift trash can, falling beside you and knitting his hands under his head. You have a little window on the roof of your car, so both of you are able to stare at the navy sky, “she’s always been jealous of you. Think about it. The two of you have similar lifestyles: same career path, confidence, taste, education. But even after all of that? People still like you more.”

You scoff, hands immediately reaching to fiddle with the frayed corner of fabric next to your fingers. “I don’t think so.”

“I’ve met all of Doyeon’s friends,” he informs you, “they’re weird. Like yeah, they care about each other on the surface level. But they’re nothing of substance. They’re not like your friends.”

“Please, Doyeon has everything she could ever want,” you don’t know what kind of complex you have supporting Doyeon’s life, but something deep and insecure wants to separate you two as far away from each other as possible. “Like… she’s Malibu Barbie and I’m Polly Pocket.”

Jungkook turns to face you, resting his head between his palm and leaning on his elbow. “Do you not think you’re beautiful?”

“Yeah, but compared to Doyeon—”

“You’ve always been beautiful to me, don’t you know that?”

You choke on your saliva, feeling small and skittish at the implication behind his words. It’s been two years. You’ve only been friends for two weeks. How can he possibly say that?

“I uh, saw you once,” Jungkook coughs, and you watch the way his pale cheeks unmatch the moon and instead flit to a crimson hue, “we were at some party and you were wearing this really cute black dress with a white bow in the middle. Doesn’t even matter what party because it was random, y’know? I was gonna go talk to you but Doyeon got to me first and well, the rest is history.” He breaks eye contact with you, unable to handle it.

You remember that party, vaguely. It was random, some sort of poetry slam in a shady part of town. Doyeon and you didn’t even go with each other, you were with Taehyung and she just happened to stumble in there from another nearby party. You didn’t even know Jungkook was there that night, or how you were a hair's breadth away from meeting him before Doyeon.

“Don’t ever think you’re lesser than her just because out of all the people she chose to pick on, she chose you. It’s why she never lets you get to know her boyfriends. She’s threatened by you because you’re just as special,” something low sparks in your chest at his words, “and now that you’ve finally decided to stoop to her level and fight back with a taste of her own medicine, she doesn’t know what to do.”

Feeling like your body is on a beach and you’re sinking in sand, you soften over your picnic blanket, mulling it over. “Did I make the right choice? Stooping down to her level.” Your voice is quiet, comparable to the chirping birds and buzzing gnats outside.

“We won’t know until after the wedding,” Jungkook answers honestly, “but I do know I’m sticking with you until the end. We’re friends now, got that? You have no excuse to ignore me anymore.”

You don’t want to ignore Jungkook, never in a million years. Now you know that you are envious of Doyeon, for having an opportunity to love and care for an amazing person like him. So in a sudden bout of emotion, you roll over to straddle Jungkook’s waist.

He’s shocked, hands flying to your waist to make sure you don’t wobble off. But you’re determined, and lean down to press your lips against his. He tastes like cheesecake and strawberries, the taste melding with your own as you relish in the feeling of his soft lips against yours. You melt a little when he squeaks, breaking into a soft moan as he reciprocates the gesture. He’s warm and large and he makes you feel safe. Once your brain returns to your body, you break for air. You only pull back a few centimeters, and there’s no way for you to get off because Jungkook has locked you in place.

“What was that for?” he asks breathlessly.

“Don’t know,” you’re whispering against his lips, unable to pull away, “just felt like we needed a little more practice.”

He blinks, before relaxing in a silly smile. “I agree,” he says simply, dipping you on your back so he can be on top the second time around.

“We’re in Vegas, baby!”

Every single terrible comedy movie set in Las Vegas has brought you to this very moment. You’ve always wanted to say that line. Dumping your luggage next to Jungkook’s, you flop on the nearest mattress. Thank goodness you only wore leggings and a t-shirt on the flight, it’s the optimal sleeping outfit after a long day. Feeling something hard and plastic dig into your brain, you hold up the culprit and squeal excitedly. “Look, Kook!” you wave the crinkly confection in your hands, “they put mints on the pillows!”

Despite your room being a square with two queen beds, the hotel does not skimp on quality. The decor is ornate, the white and gold trim on the doorknobs and metal appliances shimmering beautifully. The beds feel like clouds, as you try to imagine what a cloud could possibly feel like, this is it.

Jungkook immediately follows suit, ripping off his outer clothes until he’s left in his undershirt and boxers, flopping next to you on the mattress. He immediately opens his mouth when you shoot a mint, catching it easily. “I feel like we’re in a deleted scene of Crazy Rich Asians,” he says, letting the hard mint clink around his teeth, “is this the part where you tell me your family comes from old money and I’m gonna be your sugar baby?”

“Don’t be so hopeful,” you narrow your eyes, booping his button nose with your finger.

“I’m just saying, the first class flight threw me off.”

You giggle, slapping his chest, “No. If that was true, we wouldn’t be sharing a room with my cousin. Sorry you have to share the bed with me, I got the hotel with Jin and he doesn’t want to sleep with you.”

“S’okay,” Jungkook replies softly, leaning closer to make grabby hands at you, “you’re softer.”

Tentatively, you scooch over so you can lean on Jungkook’s chest. You two have a little time before Doyeon and Namjoon’s combined bachelor and bachelorette party. The past two weeks have been nice—scratch that, the past two weeks with Jungkook have been wonderful. You never cared to measure how much time passed before meeting him, but now that you’ve begun fake-dating, time is the only thing you regard. You’re already beginning to miss him, knowing that in a week, this whole arrangement will be over.

Well, not exactly over. Jungkook says you’ll remain friends after this, but you don’t really want that. You want more, and it scares you to think he may not feel the same.

But right now you’re snuggling like an old couple, sleeping comfortably between pillow-like sheets and minty breath. Your pretend boyfriend, now your pretend boyfriend with benefits, looks soft and huggable and you want to bottle up this moment forever. You say benefits because, well, the cuddling is an added bonus. Practice practice practice, Jungkook sing songs the words you used that one night under the stars, excuses to seal his lips to your lips. You’ll never argue with that. So when Jungkook’s hand tightens around your waist and pulls you closer, you relent.

One second, you’re closing your eyes and the next, you’re waking up to Seokin’s wide eyes staring back at you.

“Eep, you creepo!” you shriek, scrambling away from him. That’s when you realize Jungkook’s missing from bed, the scent of his laundry detergent lingering between the eggshell Egyptian cotton.

“Jungkook’s in the shower,” Seokjin immediately reads your mind, pulling away so he can unpack his luggage. “My flight just got in two hours ago, you both were out like a light when I arrived.”

“Ugh, I’m really not ready to party.”

“Doyeon just texted the family group chat. She reserved the rooftop, the party starts in an hour,” he talks mindlessly, rifling through his stuff. Seokjin is fiddling with his clothes, despite the fact that you know Seokjin prepares his outfits days in advance so he doesn’t have to choose. He looks concerned, pulling out a flamingo pink boardshort and setting it down on his mattress. Finally he says, “I’m worried about you.”

“Why?”

“Because. It’s clear that you’re starting to fall for Jungkook.”

The words strike you straight in the place you’re trying to avoid. You’ve been living in a fantasy these past two weeks, thinly veiled by the whole reason you two are together in the first place. Doyeon’s wedding is just around the corner, and what then?

“I’m not saying that he doesn’t feel anything for you either,” that gets your heart skipping a beat, and you secretly hold a hand to your chest under the blankets, “but do you really want to start off a relationship like this? A relationship all messy and morally objective because it’s built on revenge?”

“Don’t worry about me,” the words easily fall from your lips, “I can take care of this.”

“I hate it when you say that,” the words are curt and harsh against Seokjin’s plush lips, “I’m allowed to worry about you, y/n. You know why? Because, because you’re my favorite cousin too,” he bites his lip, walking over so he sits on your side of the bed. “So don’t tell me what I can and can’t worry about. I want you to be happy, I want you to stop holding in this anger you have for Doyeon and move on.”

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, leaning over to press your cheek against Seokjin’s shoulder. “You’re right.”

“For the first time in a long time, you’ve finally decided to lean on someone,” and both of you know who that someone is. “I don’t want you to lose him over some petty family issue. You should tell him how you feel.”

“I will,” you wrap your arms around your cousin’s slim waist in a silent thanks.

“Am I interrupting a tender family moment?”

The two of you pull away to stare at Jungkook, leaning against the doorframe that leads to the bathroom. He’s in a plain white t-shirt and the red board shorts that you bought at the mall, cutting off mid-thigh and revealing the bulky muscle underneath. You were right, the shorts do make his thighs look thick.

Seokjin groans exaggeratedly. “Yes, yes you did.”

Jungkook immediately goes to replace Seokjin’s spot, and some stray droplets fall fresh from the shower due to his slicked-back hair. “Do you wanna get ready? First party’s soon.”

“Not really,” you admit, “you’re gonna meet the family all over again.”

“Second time’s the charm,” he winked, “I’ve already met your parents and everything. Not feeling nervous at all.”

“Oh, really?”

“Really,” and the facade cools down a little, “well, maybe a little nervous for your Aunt Lillian. Her stares give me the heebie-jeebies.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll protect you from Aunt Lillian.”

“God the two of you get worse every day,” Seokjin has magically changed into his shorts, tucking himself into the bed, “don’t wake me up until we pre-game.”

Doyeon and Namjoon don’t skimp on the festivities, although in taste the ideas are Doyeon’s in its entirety. It’s lavish and colorful, with a beautiful infinity pool in the middle decorated with lavender and pink headlights. There’s a buffet table overflowing with tasty food. There’s petal pink champagne overflowing from fountains, decorated with fresh strawberries bobbing around the fizzy drink.

“I don’t know,” Namjoon and Jungkook have been talking for well over an hour, and it’s clear how well they mesh together. Heck, you’ve accepted that Jungkook may like Namjoon more than he likes you. Jungkook’s eyes sparkle as Namjoon discusses the various genres of rap and hip-hop music, explaining the potency of mature themes in a young community, “but I will say music is like another language, knows no boundaries when it comes to sending their messages to others.”

You fight the urge to chuckle when Jungkook sighs dreamily at the music theory professor. “Wow, that’s so deep.”

Getting up from your cabana, you nudge Seokjin, who’s currently flirting it up with one of Doyeon’s bridesmaids. “Hey, wanna get a drink?” you ask, throwing your wrap on the cushions to reveal your strappy red bikini.

“And chicken tenders,” Seokjin presses a kiss to the bridesmaid’s cheek, bidding her goodbye as he follows you out of the shaded area.

“Do you two lovebirds want anything?” you stare pointedly at Namjoon and Jungkook. While Namjoon’s eyes stay in contact with you, you can’t help but smile a little more when Jungkook has a hard time keeping his gaze in one place.

“I think we’re fine,” Namjoon answers for both of them, swirling his beer bottle. “I’ll meet you two at the bar once I’m done.”

“Sure thing,” Seokjin puts a hand on your back to lead you to one of the open bars. As much as you like being in a handsome hotel with money to burn, nothing beats the fact that your entire family is here to celebrate. The elders have corroborated two cabanas for poker and other games, while your younger cousins are playing ping pong and air hockey on the other side.

“Namjoon sure is a dreamboat,” Seokjin bemoans, handing you an electric orange drink. You take a sip of it, and bug out when you realize it tastes nothing like alcohol. You’re definitely in for a night. “Like I can hear him wax music thingamajib any day.”

“I thought you were into that bridesmaid.”

“A mere diversion,” he sighs, leaning his tanned arms against the bar, “can’t ignore the deep voice Namjoon has, it’s intoxicating.”

“I’m sure Jungkook would agree,” you egg on.

“What are you two talking about?” you straighten up when the man of the hour shows up at the bar, absolutely glowing under the sunset. He orders a round for the three of you, and you immediately chug your own drink to get to the next one.

“Talking about how you’re stealing Jungkook away from me,” you joke, accepting another fruity drink from Namjoon. Damn, this stuff tastes like candy.

“Oh, never,” Namjoon replies brightly, waving the thought away, “do you see the way he looks at you? Hopelessly in love.”

Maybe it’s the copious amounts of alcohol, but you feel your stomach flip-flop at the thought of love. You’ve always known what love felt like, the warmth of Namjoon’s cheeks whenever he sees Doyeon, when your mom takes care of you when you’re sick, when Seokjin makes sure you’re not emotionally constipated 24/7. But the thought of Jungkook and you in love? It’s a feeling you secretly yearn for.

“Right? It’s disgusting,” Seokjin groans with an eye roll, “like, Jungkook wasn’t like that with Doyeon at all when they were together.”

The slip up has the three of you choking on your own thoughts, staring at each other like the three have just been told you’re on a prank show. But it is no prank, and you look at Seokjin who’s absolutely horrified.

“Oh shit,” he squeaks, looking at Namjoon guiltily, “did I say something I shouldn’t have said?”

“I don’t know,” Namjoon replies coolly, “did you?”

The ominous response gets you going, and you quickly place a hand on Namjoon’s arm, placating him. “They dated, yes. But it was only for a short time and we’ve sorted everything out. Nothing for you to worry about.”

“Oh,” Namjoon quirks his head, and regards you two with pursed lips. “I’m not one of those guys who freak out over other people’s exes. I’m just surprised that I’ve only heard this now,” Namjoon takes a slow sip of his drink, and despite your drink also being cold and refreshing, you’re absolutely sweating.

“Well, I’m sure Doyeon didn’t want to worry you.”

At the mention of his future wife, he beams. “You’re right, she’s considerate like that,” and the conversation ends just like that. He holds up his drink to the two of you, and you and Seokjin do the same. With a sharp clink he leaves you two to mull, happily conversing with the next round of guests he needs to entertain for the week.

“That guy is too nice for his own good,” you shake your head, asking the bartender for your third drink within ten minutes.

Seokjin leans over you and warbles, “So you’re telling me that Namjoon has no idea that Doyeon cheated on Jungkook in order to date him?” he’s sweating just like you are, following suit to your actions and asking to make his drink a double.

“I don’t know,” you bite your lip, your teeth worrying the dark skin, “I’ve been thinking about it for a while though. I just don’t want to get involved, you know?”

“But this is different!”

“But Doyeon’s family!”

“And all of a sudden you care about Doyeon’s feelings?” Seokjin gripes back, “it’s not about Doyeon, it’s about the both of them. And if we know something that Namjoon doesn’t, wouldn’t it be in our best interests to warn him before he seals a marriage deal that costs him over a zillion dollars?” he gestures to the extravagant wedding party.

“But we don’t even have any proof that’s the case,” you frown, “Doyeon could have changed—a little, not a lot—since meeting Namjoon, maybe she thinks it’s best to reveal as little as possible.”

Seokjin wonders what kind of family he has. One as chaotic as his takes a lot to stomach, and Seokjin likes to pride himself in his strong appetite. “Fine, let’s just keep a close eye on both of them this week. And if anything remotely fishy happens, we strike.”

“Deal.”

You return to the cabana alone, with a plate of fries for both you and Jungkook. Jungkook is also alone, laying on the lounge chair with his eyes closed. It gives you a chance to ogle your fake-boyfriend a little bit, reveling in the sight of his toned body.

Setting down your plate with a sharp rap of the glass, Jungkook opens one eye. “Hey,” he smiles, drinking in your muted expression, “you okay?”

Damn Jungkook for being able to read you so well. “I think so. It’s nothing, really.”

“Well, will you tell me if it’s something?”

“Yeah, I will.”

“So, I do have something to tell you though.” Jungkook sits up, regarding you wearily. “Can you… stand in front of me?” Confused, you shove a fry in your mouth and walk up to him as directed, your back blocking the entrance as you stand in front of him. “Okay, come closer. Now bend down,” you bend your back 90 degrees, and he presses a hand to your shoulder to stop you, “no, no. With your breasts out, just a little—there! Arch your back. Like you’re doing the Sorority Squat.”

“Excuse me—”

“The music isn’t even that loud,” he mutters to himself, “no one would need to push their boobs in my face to hear me.”

“Jungkook, is someone pressing boobs to your face?”

“Why,” he breaks into a playful grin, “jealous?”

“Not if it’s Aunt Lillian.”

“Unfortunately it wasn’t,” he twiddles with the drawstrings of his shorts. “It was Doyeon.”

Doyeon? She didn’t walk by your cabana all day. Heck, she barely greeted you when you arrived with Jungkook. But when Jungkook’s alone is when she decides to pounce? And with what motive?

“I don’t know,” he’s rambling to himself, “maybe I’m overthinking it. It was only half a second.”

“Jungkook, I have something to tell you,” you say instead, panic in your features.

“Is it something urgent?”

“Well, no but—”

“Then tell me when we get back to the room,” Jungkook easily pulls you onto his lap, and you instantly heat up when you feel your bare butt press against Jungkook’s golden thighs. “Like you said, we’re in Vegas. Let’s have fun while we can.”

“Okay,” you tuck your head between his neck and collarbone, reaching to press a kiss to his smooth jawline.

Relaxing against the plush lounge chair Jungkook feeds you fries while talking about the things he wants to do this week. It’s his first time in Vegas and he wants to make the most of it. He wants to visit all the buffets he sees on Buzzfeed compilations, relax at the pool, maybe catch a show. The thought of spending all week with him and your family is nice, and suddenly you don’t feel so awkward sitting on his lap, and eventually he pulls you between his thighs so you can lay on his chest.

“And between you and me,” he fake whispers against the shell of your ear, as if he’s telling you the biggest secret, “we’re the hottest couple here.”

The next three days leading up to the wedding are relatively uninteresting.

Uninteresting in the best way possible. On Monday you and Jungkook spend time with your little cousins, taking them to The Adventuredome, one of the resort's indoor theme parks. On Tuesday you and Jungkook go shopping at the outlet malls with your parents, blowing hundreds of dollars on cheap Levis that have your luggage bursting with a new wardrobe. In between all of that Seokjin and occasionally Namjoon joins you two in your buffet journey, hitting up the top spots and filling your tummies to the brim with delicious food.

On Wednesday, Jungkook brandishes two gold-foiled tickets in front of you, waving them around like a fan. With one finger, he pushes away your Pokémon battle, “I got us tickets to Cirque du Soleil,” he announces proudly, “waited in line for an hour.”

You gape, scrambling off of your bed and throwing your Nintendo Switch to the side. “Jungkook,” you marvel, “these are so expensive. How’d you manage to get a show for tonight?”

He shrugs, “Looked around.”

“You’ve been impulse buying a lot this week,” you tease, “like really, you don’t need three pairs of the same ripped jeans.”

“This wasn’t an impulse buy,” he says, “I’ve been looking around for shows. Just managed to pick them up today, so go get dressed for our date.”

Did Jungkook just call it a date? Giddy with excitement you throw the covers off, running into the bathroom to get ready. What a surprise, you didn’t think Jungkook would be into spontaneous things like this.

Seokjin left the bathroom open, so when you walk in the room it is steamy and warm. Your dear cousin is still in the shower, probably waiting for his conditioner to pass three minutes of set-in time.

“What are you getting ready for?” Seokjin asks over the rain shower.

“Kook got us tickets to Cirque du Soleil,” you chirp happily, looking through your skin care products.

“I wanna come!”

“Nope! Jungkook called it a date.”

“Oh, a date,” Seokjin drawls, putting his head under the water to rinse his hair clean. “Well then, should I vacate the room for tonight?”

“What, no!” you’ve closed the door, so thankfully Jungkook can’t hear you talking about him. “We’re not doing anything. We’re just two friends who are fake-dating going on a date.”

“Sounds like a real date, though,” Seokjin wraps a towel around himself to cover all his important bits before getting out of the shower, bumping elbows with you so he can brush his teeth. “Either way, I’ll be gone tonight. It’s my turn to watch the baby cousins. Don’t have too much fun while I'm in their room watching Despicable Me for the millionth time.”

“We’ll be sure to stop by with some pizza or something,” you tease, a little wiggle in your hips when you vacate the bathroom.

By the time you and Jungkook are ready, you two are dressed impeccably. Jungkook is wearing one of the ripped black jeans he bought on Tuesday, combined with a white button up and black blazer. A classic outfit with a little bit of Jungkook-themed flair. And to Jungkook’s surprise, you’re wearing the dress that he first saw you in, all those years ago. You’ve gained a little weight since college, but you still fill out the little black dress beautifully, the little white bow in the middle adding a simple yet adorable touch. It took a little sleuthing and searching through your old college clothes, but you were determined to find it when Jungkook reminded you how much you love the design.

Clearly from the way Jungkook is currently gaping at you like a bloated fish, he loves it too.

The show is beautiful and colorful, leaving you speechless and in tears by the end of it. Jungkook lets you hold his hand the entire time, feeling a bout of anxiety anytime the acrobats fall gracefully despite the large height.

Overall, it was a wonderful show, paired with your equally enamouring date. It’s getting harder and harder to distinguish what’s fake and what’s real in your heart, and throughout the night you’re sorely reminded that you should tell Jungkook how you feel.

But by the time you get to the room your parents are calling you, asking to get their suit and dresses out of the car so hotel service can do a last minute press and dry clean.

“I’ll be back,” you say to Jungkook, “I need to go get their clothes out of the car. They’re always so forgetful.”

“Want me to come?” he offers, hand shying away from inserting the keycard in.

“No, I’ll only be fifteen minutes, tops.”

“So I guess this is this the part where I get a goodnight kiss?” he asks cheekily, leaning on his heels so his tall frame reaches yours. You don’t hesitate to give a short peck to his pretty pink lips. He pouts at the brevity, “that was too quick.”

“Go inside,” you insist, “the sooner you get ready for bed the sooner I can get ready for bed.”

“Then more kisses?”

“Then more kisses.”

Jungkook breaks into an all-teeth smile, unable to control himself when he dips down and steals a longer, more lingering kiss to your lips. “I had a great time tonight,” he says, mimicking every single teenage rom-com protagonist who’s deeply in love with the popular jock. “Don’t take too long, okay?”

You nod, pushing him inside, “C’mon, if you stopped talking I’d be back by now!”

Once the door closes shut, you let yourself do a little dance in the hallway, wiggling your butt and giving yourself a mini-celebration. You quickly text your group chat that you just came back from the Cirque show.

Jimin: what, a date with your fake date?

Hobi: jeon jungcock? 👀👀

Jimin: whaaaaaattttt. U’ve gotta have sat in his lap at least. 3 times since you’ve started this ting

Hobi: i’ve heard things in college…

Taehyung: u are all gross and i hate u

Taehyung: but so am i bc im very curious

Just as you’re about to send a heated reply, the elevator dings, revealing a pissed off Doyeon. She’s bare-faced, in a fluffy lilac bath robe and matching puff ball slippers. You slip in right beside her, making sure there’s a comfortable amount of space between you two.

“You’re going to the parking garage too?” you ask, eyes lingering on the lit button.

“Yeah,” she’s looking at her phone, a few stray hairs from her mahogany bun falling onto her forehead, “Aunt Lillian left her medication in the car. I don’t know why she has to send me, I’m busy getting married.”

“My parents left their formal clothes in the car,” you shrug, “you know, my parents and Aunt Lillian share the same brain cell. Gotta help them out once in a while.”

The icy silence in the elevator is probably the calmest you and Doyeon have been since you’ve announced your relationship status with Jungkook. You fight the sigh, opting to take out your phone and open some unread messages.

Jeon Jung-boo-thang: hurry up, the bed’s cold without u

You: lool, why do u look constipated

Jeon Jung-boo-thang: because i am, hurry up. Im bringing ur switch to the toilet and playing on your profile

You: JEON WAIT YAMPERS AT 5HP GO TO THE POKEMON CENTER U HEATHEN

You tilt your head a centimeter, feeling Doyeon breathing down your neck like Puff the Magic Dragon. You look at her with wide eyes. Her long, slender neck manages to snake its way next to your head, “Can I help you?” you ask amusedly, clutching your phone to your chest.

“Are you two really together?” she asks, batting her lashes. All this week she’s left you alone, and you’ve been wondering when she’s going to make herself known. It’s a little self-absorbed you have to admit, but ever since Namjoon’s ignorance to Doyeon’s previous relationship, you’ve been on edge.

“Of course we are,” you spit back, “I love him.”

And you must be very convincing, because Doyeon’s gaze falters just a fraction. You glare at her, staking your claim. Ever since Jungkook told you the reason Doyeon hates you is because she’s jealous, you’ve started to feel a bit of sympathy for her. Doyeon is beautiful and smart, she has no reason to feel this way. But the brain holds fickle thoughts sometimes, bringing darkness to the mind.

“He loved me first,” she bites back, lifting her chin.

“And why do you care?” you laugh tonelessly. The elevator dings open, and you’re met with the open air and concrete of the parking garage. “He may have loved you first, but he’ll love me last.”

You leave the elevator first, a little pep in your step as you make your way to the rental car to gather your parent’s things. While the words you uttered are white in nature and may not hold any sort of weight to them, it manages to bring Doyeon to her knees, absolutely quaking in the elevator.

You’re tasting revenge, and it’s sweet.

“Okay, you need to leave,” Seokjin pulls away the shot glass from your lips, “I didn’t spend days planning the itinerary for you to mess it up. Bridal party in Doyeon’s suite and the groom’s party in Namjoon’s parents suite.”

“That’s dumb,” you chastise, crossing your arms, “we’re all meeting at the same club at 10. Why can’t we pre-party together?”

“Because it’s tradition!”

“Screw tradition,” you stumble on your heels as you purse your lips at Jungkook, “Kook, when we get married I don’t wanna do a whole boy-and-girl party. We’re equals, right?”

“Of course, baby,” he cooes, being careful not to smudge your makeup when he presses his lips to the crown of your head. “But for the sake of Seokjin’s sanity, you should probably go to Doyeon’s. It’ll only be an hour or two.”

You gasp exaggeratedly at the blatant betrayal. He only grins cheekily in response, dipping down to press a wet kiss to your cheek. “Fine,” you cross your arms, snatching back your drink from Seokjin’s grasp to knock it down.

Leaving the bachelor pre-party pains you considerably. They’re having such a good time joking around the suite, telling each other fun stories and relaxing in chairs as they watch TV. This is your kind of crowd, not to mention that you can peacefully check out Jungkook’s ass in those tight dress pants without any crazy club lights distorting your vision.

From past family party experience you already have a feeling what’s coming for you in the ladies’ suite.

Loud music pours from Doyeon’s suite, and it’s completely unlocked. The bridal party is raving, ten seconds away from being completely drunk and immobile. The lights are being manually shut on and off like some sort of cheap rager, and you have to tell Yoojung to tone it down before you get a seizure.

The stench of acidic drinks and the tang of alcoholic air is palpable, and instead of a shot you opt for a glass of peach champagne to slow you down.

As you walk deeper into the suite, you notice a crowd forming by the balcony. Tapping your cousin Nari on the shoulder, you regard her with a hug and kiss. “What’s going on over there?” you ask, heels not helping you see any better.

Nari’s all blushy and pink, hiccuping as she gestures to the balcony. “Her maid of honor got Doyeon a very special gift!”

Managing to weave through the women blocking your view, you fight the urge to gag when you have a clear view of the scene in front of you.

You really don’t understand the purpose of bachelor and bachelorette parties. “One night to be single all over again!” they all say, even though they’re not actually single? Like why does the couple suddenly get one night of forgiveness when you’ve already spent years being in a committed relationship?

Why is it okay that Doyeon’s dry humping a stripper on the balcony? Her white silk dress is ruched dangerously high, soon close to flashing her family. Aunties and friends and the like are cheering her on, and she flips her head perfectly to all the phones shoved in their faces, making sure to get the perfect angle.

Fighting the urge to roll your eyes, you turn back in the hopes that your other family members would be willing to have a good old-fashioned tip back with you.

You squeal when your hands accidentally land on a bare, oiled chest. You look up, mortified at the large man covered in black harnesses. “Hey babe, I’m Wonho,” he says, faking a sultry gaze as he looks at you up and down, “you’re part of the bridal party too? Wanna dance?”

Feeling naked, you push past him, careful not to get anything on your dress. Wonho? Wonno.

Jungkook loves your family.

(Except Doyeon.)

As much as he told you not to worry about him, and he’ll be completely fine when he meets your family, he couldn’t help be a little wary on the flight over. After all, it’s been two years and he didn’t know how things would be different.

Chaoticism and all, your family is a thing to be cherished. Even though Yoongi has been on mood swings that make Jungkook question his sanity from time to time, and Seokjin is secretly breathing down Jungkook’s back every time he so glances at you, he thinks things are right where they should be.

But despite all that they regarded him with familiarity, hugged and kissed him like old friends, something is different. They’ve turned over a new page for him. They don’t bring up Doyeon. They ask about his family, his job, his life in the city. They ask about how you and Jungkook met, and how happy they are for you. How happy they are for him.

Oh, how he wishes everything could be different. In another world, you two would already be together.

He wasn’t lying back at the cabana when he said you two are the hottest couple at the resort, including the bridal party (but don’t tell Namjoon). You look absolutely stunning in your sparkly red dress, accentuating all the right parts and lighting up the whole room.

When he finds you in the club you’re sitting down with your Aunties, keeping the elders company while the younger ones are flagging down the bartenders. He thinks it’s cute, how well you fit in between them, coddling you like you’re still a child in their eyes.

“Dear, your boyfriend is here!” your one Aunt yells over the loud EDM.

You lift your head up quickly, giving him the prettiest smile. Your teeth glow purple under the neon lights, and he fights the urge to laugh when he holds out a hand. “Mind if I steal her from you?”

“Of course, she’s gotta live a little!”

You pout, a little wobbly but nevertheless still in the right mind as you shuffle out of the booth to meet his awaiting arms. “Hey handsome,” your voice is thick and sweet-smelling, “come here often?”

“Only when my girlfriend does,” he replies cheekily, hands immediately coming to your butt to smooth out your dress. He shys a bit when your Aunties hoot and holler at his public display of affection, but all he wants to do was pull the hem down a little bit. No way is he going to let anyone get a flash of your goods.

“Let’s dance!” you take your hand in his, leading him to a comfortable corner of the dance floor.

Clubs aren’t really your scene, aligning with Jungkook’s sentiments towards the loud generic music and terrible smell. But you’re in Vegas, and he feels that it’s all part of the package to experience the nightlife at least once. He puts his hands on your waist and you giggle like you’re in prom, hands coming to rest on the collar of his button down.

“Hey,” he says with a lopsided smirk, “wanna make out?”

“Sure,” he notices that you don’t even check if anyone’s seeing, and it makes his heart flutter when you don’t hesitate to get on your tiptoes to meet him halfway.

He’s always hoped for a moment like this, a moment where the room stops spinning and both your minds click into place. It’s almost comical, how he distinctly notes that the music fades once his lips touch yours. The kiss is hot, yet intimate. Even though he makes excuses to kiss you all the time because of practice, it goes to show that you two definitely never needed it. Your tiny hands grip the collar of his button down, bringing you two impossibly close despite the hot air. His larger hands grip at the strings that hold your measly dress together, grappling at any excuse to get to your soft skin. The two of you are a natural when it comes to each other’s intimacy.

The two of you pull away, mesmerized. You haven’t kissed like that before. He melts under your stare, his thumb reaching to nick off any lip gloss that’s moved in the process.

Seokjin comes down the floor to haul you both by the shoulders, “C’mon lovebirds, they’re taking wedding shots!”

The two of you follow your cousin to the crowd of people that is your family, already with their own drinks in hand. Doyeon and Namjoon are sitting atop the bar, making a very loud toast that consisted of a quick “thank you!” and “we love you!” before downing their drinks with their arms linked together. The room is thrumming with excitement for tomorrow’s festivities, and surprisingly, you and Jungkook included. He tucks himself in your body like a puzzle piece, hugging you from behind while he watches Namjoon’s eyes sparkle with love under the neons.

The nightclub gets a little blurry after that, with the copious amounts of alcohol and shameless actions from your family and friends. By the time it’s twelve Jungkook notices you swaying at a rate that you can’t handle. He knows your limits and knows when you have to urge to pee every five minutes, it’s time to go. With a chaste kiss you leave him at the bar, deciding to make a pitstop to the bathroom before telling Jungkook you want to head up.

You’re locked in a stall when you hear Yoojung’s voice.

“Ugh,” she groans, voice echoing through the tiny room. “Jungkook is so sexy. Do you see the way he’s dancing out there? He’s a literal babe magnet, I can’t believe he ended up with someone like y/n.”

You don’t move a muscle, pressing your ear against the door that hides you. The silly slander isn’t news to you, Doyeon has been feeding her friends all sorts of bullcrap so they wouldn’t bother talking to you.

“Yeah, Jungkook’s a real treat but he dated Doyeon first. Sounds like she’s into sloppy seconds,” Elly replies, another bridesmaid you’ve met in passing. “But I don’t know, they do look happy together.”

“Please, I’m sure Jungkook’s just using her so he can get one more chance at Doyeon before she ties the knot,” you bristle, the thought of Jungkook still having feelings for Doyeon makes your heart thud painfully against your chest, “like, what a downgrade. Namjoon and Doyeon do not deserve this drama. If Jungkook ever liked Doyeon at all, he wouldn’t have come. Period.”

You slam the door open, causing Elly to squeal and Yoojung’s YSL lipstick to fall onto the sink. You’re the epitome of relaxation, walking towards the sink to wash your hands. The bridesmaids simply stare at you, unable to formulate a comeback. When you finally dry your hands, you say your next words.

“Jungkook is here because he loves me,” an act act act. This is all an act. You shouldn’t be this offended because you know it’s all false. “And you’re wrong. It’s not Jungkook that doesn’t deserve Doyeon. Jungkook was too good for Doyeon.”

And you slam your heels against the tile, stilettos pounding to the beat of the music. Your exit is full of anger and frustration as you ignore the burn in your step and the ache in your heart, flagging the first bartender you see to get you a double.

Shot for shot, that anger soon melts into guilt as Yoojung’s words sink in. The thought of Jungkook using you to get to Doyeon is terrible, you can barely stomach the thought. But that’s exactly what you’re doing, right? You’re using Jungkook to get back at Doyeon.

Why did you even want to get back at Doyeon anymore? Why do you have to prove anything to her? If she just continues to push you around, isn’t that more on her than it is on you?

Jungkook soon finds you after you’ve nursed a few drinks, leaning unceremoniously against a barstool. His eyes widen at your state, and he immediately sheds his jacket to wrap it around your waist.

“Why did you drink so much?” he chastises, “it’s the night before the wedding.”

“Jungkookie,” you warble, clutching your stomach, “I don’t feel so good.”

He sighs, bending down. “Get on my back. Make sure the jacket covers you up, okay?”

He doesn’t even grunt when you put all your weight on him, feeling like a ragdoll as he hoists you up. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, letting him carry you to your room. Most of the older family already went upstairs to sleep, so none of your cousins could care less when they see you get hauled away by Jungkook.

You inhale, he smells like sweat and cologne. “I like putting my head between your neck,” you babble, and you feel Jungkook chuckle through his chest, “you smell so nice there. It’s the bestset! Comfiest place ever, ‘specially when m’sleepy.”

“Are you sleepy now, baby?” You love how smooth the petname falls from his lips.

“I will be when we get upstairs,” you reply, happy to see the elevator is empty. “I’m just all up in my head.”

“Is that why you were drinking so much? You said you were gonna stop earlier.”

“Yeah, but,” you shamefully tuck your head in his shoulder, “I was frustrated.”

“Frustrated? At who?” concern laces his tone as he struggles to hold you with one hand and fumble for his key in the other. You tighten your legs around his slim waist until the door clicks open, and he immediately walks over to your bed to plop you down. “Babe, are you crying?” he finally has a good look at your face, horrified to see the streaks of tears mixed with mascara running down your face.

“I wa-was jealous,” you confess tearily, clutching your face in your hands, “some girls in the bathroom were calling you sexy and that you were only here so you could try to win over Doyeon. I know it sounds ridiculous and you would never do that but. The thought of you getting back with her makes me so jealous and I hate it! I’m starting to feel so guilty about this, all of this. I put all of this on ourselves and I’m ruining it.”

“Ruining what? You’re not making any sense.” Jungkook places a hand on your knee, crouching down so he can look up at you.

“I’m ruining us,” you gush despondently, “I’m ruining any potential of us before we even start.”

Jungkook freezes, hand clutching your knee like a lifeline. The potential of you two together? You’ve thought of that? Jungkook didn’t drink much tonight, so his mind is definitely running on all cogs.

Coming to a conclusion, he rubs slow, soothing circles on your knee, his other hand reaching up to wipe the tears from your face. “You’re not ruining anything,” he declares firmly, “that’s impossible. I may have agreed to fake-date you because of Doyeon, but I stayed because of you.”

His heart aches seeing you so upset, and he decides to take initiative to get you out of your clothing and ready for bed. You don’t have any words, opting to let Jungkook take care of you as you try to calm yourself down. He finds a spare t-shirt, a long one so you’ll be comfortable. He doesn’t bat an eye when he unzips your dress, in favor of balling up the shirt and getting you clothed as fast as possible. He rifles through the bathroom to find your makeup wipes, and he’s gentle when he scrubs up the once pretty makeup you spent half an hour doing. Barefaced and fresh, you look sleepy and ready to crash.

But before Jungkook can tuck you in, you clutch his arm.

“Jungkook,” you murmur sleepily, “I think I lo—”

“I know, baby,” he doesn’t want a confession like this, and he’s sure you wouldn’t want it either. You still look a little green and you’re not sober, so he makes the executive decision to pin these feelings for later. “I’m not trying to invalidate you, I promise. I want you to tell me this, all of this in the morning. We’ll talk then.”

“Okay,” you melt in the sheets, pulling the blankets up to your chest. When you see Jungkook move away from the bed, you jolt, “Where are you going?”

Jungkook smiles, reaching over to tuck you back in, “I left my blazer in Namjoon’s room. I’ll be right back, okay?”

He walks out of your room as quietly as he can, making sure to close the door slowly. Once it’s sealed shut, he leaps up, giving himself a silent cheer as he bounds down the hall. You like him back!

The smile on his face is tired but full of fervor as he makes his way to Namjoon and Doyeon’s suite. He doesn’t even care that he probably has to talk to Doyeon to get his jacket back, thoughts filled with the excitement of his requited feelings and going back to his room to cuddle up with you.

He doesn’t even have to knock when the large double doors swing open. Dumbfounded, he looks down at Doyeon, wearing a tiny black nightie and dangling his jacket with one finger. It’s an outfit that leaves nothing to the imagination, and he feels his neck heat up at the feeling he’s encroaching on an intimate moment.

“You left this,” she says slowly, a tiny smirk on her lips.

“Uh, thanks,” he says, making sure not to touch her when he grabs his blazer.

In her other hand she holds up her room’s designated ice bucket. “Could you also get me some ice, please? Namjoon’s fast asleep and I really don’t want to walk out all… exposed.”

He swallows his sigh, knowing it’s going to take significantly longer to get back to you when Doyeon drawls like this. “Of course,” he replies tersely, “after all, you are the bride.”

“Thanks, Jungkookie.”

He makes quick work of getting Doyeon the ice, pumping his long legs down the hall. The ice room is cold and cramped, barely enough for his tall frame to fit in. He jabs the container in the holder, pressing the button ten times per second to get as much ice out as possible.

As soon as he turns around with the ice, he drops the whole bucket.

Like glass, it shatters onto the ground, hundreds of little clear pebbles skimming across the floor like marbles. Doyeon’s pushing Jungkook against the ice machine, freshly manicured hands splayed across his chest. Her body is flush against his, making sure that he feels all of her with her thin silk gown.

“What the fuck, Doyeon get off of me!” a little part of him hopes she’ll come to her senses on her own so he doesn’t have to put his hands on her.

“C’mon, Kookie,” her voice is a sickly candy sweet, her eyes wide with hunger as she takes in his form, “just one more night, you and me. Like old times. One more night before I tie the knot.”

“You’re crazy,” he balks, running his hand through his hair, “this is sexual harassment, do you know that?”

“You don’t mean that, Kookie,” Doyeon dips a red-tipped nail down his chest, “why settle for someone like y/n when I’m right here?”

He grabs her wrists, firm. She winces at the contact, but doesn’t say anything when Jungkook delivers her a scary glare. It gets her quiet, fearful of this version of Jungkook. Doyeon’s never seen Jungkook like this before, so unwilling to bend at her whim and emanating all his power against her.

“Why settle for your cousin?” he whispers like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, “because, I love her.”

Her lip curls in disgust, nails digging into the palm of his hand. “But you loved me first.”

“And I’ll love her last,” he spits pack, letting go of her. His anger splits for a brief second, regarding Doyeon with sorrow, “this is low, even for you.”

Jungkook pushes past the ice, wobbling out of the ice room. He doesn’t look back, he just knows that he needs you right now. He needs to tell you everything, figure out a plan to cancel the wedding or something.

But when he crashes inside the room, you’re dead asleep. He can’t find the courage to wake up Seokjin as well, who returned and is sleeping in his club outfit. He groans, feeling useless as he stares at the two of you, ignorant of what just conspired ten minutes ago.

And Namjoon, what is he going to tell Namjoon? Poor guy doesn’t deserve any of this.

Walking up to your side of the bed, he tucks your loose hair behind your ear. You look so peaceful now, so beautiful.

It’s just going to have to wait until the morning.

The morning of the wedding, you wake up alone.

The first thought that runs through your head is that Jungkook has rejected you. The little, insecure bug that will never go away in your brain fills you with rash thoughts. He’s on a flight half way back home and he regrets this whole week.

But after that exaggeration, you notice two aspirin and a bottle of water on your nightstand, along with your phone that’s fully charged.

You pull up the screen to check the dozens of messages that flood your app.

Jeon Jung-boo-thang: morning babe, im sorry i had to leave early. Namjoon showed up at our door freaking out that his suit is the wrong fit and shade. Now im running around vegas trying to find a replacement that doesn’t look like an elvis presley extra

Jeon Jung-boo-thang: but i didn’t forget what you said last night, i promise! Just go get ready and i’ll meet u at the chapel outside the resort.

Jeon Jung-boo-thang: i also have something to say to you

Jeon Jung-boo-thang: wow i didn’t realize how ominous that sounds. Dw, everything will be fine

When someone tells you something will be fine, it’s a universal agreement that no, things will not be fine.

So you get dressed, and put on your makeup mindlessly. You don’t really know what to make of Jungkook’s cryptic message, but you decide to leave those thoughts in the back of your mind as you go to the other rooms to help your family get ready.

Seokjin is busy tying the ring bearer’s tie, looking handsome with his slicked back hair and polished grey suit. “Morning, cousin,” he sing-songs, “you look beautiful today!”

You smooth out your dress, a cascading silver number with starry sparkles. You feel like you’re living out your magical girl fantasies, wrapped up in layers of tulle and a sparkly sweetheart bodice.

“Right back at you. Say, you didn’t see Jungkook this morning, did you?”

“No, but I heard he’s with Namjoon hunting for a new suit. Why?”

“Nothing,” you lean against the guest table, “he just said something really ominous over text.”

“I will never get a peaceful day so long as I’m in this family,” he says this directly to the ring bearer, a toddler who’s obviously confused at his uncle’s weird sayings.

Your phone beeps conveniently, displaying Jungkook’s name.

Jeon Jung-boo-thang: just got his suit. We’ll be there in fifteen. Meet me at the garden behind the chapel, please. It’s urgent

Now you’re just worried. So you tell Seokjin your sentiments, and that he should have his phone on hand in case you needed him. With a confused nod, you leave him to go down to the garden.

The groomsmen and bridesmaids are already at the chapel taking pictures. Only the wedding party is really allowed at this time, but you manage your way through the gardens virtually undetected. Jungkook’s already waiting for you, hiding under a white gazebo overlooking the hotel’s fountain.

He looks gorgeous in his all black pinstripe suit, hair pushed back and pants fitted perfectly around his waist and thighs. When he sees you he gets up, full of skittish energy. You note that his hair isn’t even styled, only washed and curling slightly at the ends, as if he’s in a rush.

“W-wow,” he marvels when you rush up to him, “you look gorgeous.”

You drop the handful of silver tulle, letting it fall to the floor. “Jungkook,” you clasp his hand in both of his, guilt flooding your eyes. You’ve been thinking about this all morning, and you need to cut to the chase. Jungkook tries to open his mouth but you silence him with a finger on his lips. “I can’t—I can’t do this. I know this sounds really stupid and you probably don’t want anything to do with me after this, but I shouldn’t have made this elaborate scheme,” you bite your lip, feeling even more antsy as Jungkook squirms in his grip. He however, is trying very hard to focus with his eyes, confused at your sudden confession. “I like you, Jungkook. I don’t want to parade you around like a revenge plot anymore, it isn’t fair and it’s wrong in so many ways—”

“That’s great,” he says simply, brown eyes swirling with thoughts, “um, ditto. But—”

“Wow,” you frown, “I pour my heart out to you and this is what I get?”

“It’s great that you want to be selfless right now,” Jungkook takes your hand, firm and tight, “but without this elaborate scheme, we wouldn’t be saving asses like we are right now.”

“What are you talking about?” You thought Jungkook rushed you down here so you could talk about each other’s feelings before the wedding.

“Doyeon just threw herself on me last night. I got her ice and she took that as an invitation to seduce me like an episode of Sex and the City. Namjoon needs to divorce her, like yesterday.”

Your face then morphs into something dark and ugly, and you fling your whole confession out the window. The thought of Doyeon going as far as throwing herself on Jungkook as a last ditch attempt to get back at you, has you seeing blood red. “What? Why didn’t you tell me this sooner!”

“You were asleep!” he shoots back, putting his hands on your shoulders. He rubs warm strokes up and down your bare arms, “please relax. You’re shaking.”

“And why didn’t you tell Namjoon when you were driving around all morning?”

“I tried to!” he retorts, hands swinging in the air. You huff when his hands land back on your shoulders, preventing you from running to the chapel to extract Doyeon out yourself, “but he just kept talking shit about how much he loves Doyeon and he can’t imagine being together with anyone but her and I felt so bad! I’m sorry I chickened out. I really don’t wanna be the one to break Namjoon’s heart. I’m just the plus one!”

You pinch your brows, mulling it over. “Fuck it, let’s crash a wedding,” you declare, “where’s Namjoon and how can we get him alone?”

Jungkook exhales, a hand carding up to loosen his thin silver tie. “He’s taking pictures with the groomsmen right now. It’s gonna be awhile before we get a chance to talk.”

“Fuck,” you curse, sitting down on the white bench. Jungkook presses soothing circles on your back. “We have no choice, we have to get to him before the ceremony starts.”

“You’ll have to get through me, first.”

Doyeon’s not even in her wedding dress when she strides up to the two of you. She’s in ballet flats with her hair and makeup done, but the only thing she’s wearing is the thin underdress of her actual ball gown, a simple silk negligee that reaches her ankles. You don’t even know how she’s managed to escape the bridal party, especially without her dress.

Feeling protective, you step in front of Jungkook. “Before you say anything,” you murmur, “I’m not ruining your wedding, and I never wanted to. You’re ruining it because of your mistakes.”

“Oh, boo-hoo,” Doyeon rolls her eyes, playing with her nails, “I didn’t even do anything wrong, everyone knows that on the bachelorette’s night she can do whatever she wants. Namjoon could’ve fucked whoever too if he wasn’t so faithful.”

“Namjoon is ten times the partner you are and would never do that,” You’re seeing red, unable to comprehend the complete garbage spilling from Doyeon’s lips. “You touched my boyfriend without his consent, and I will never forgive you for that,” your voice is scarlet, angry and thin.

“It’s not like he isn’t used to it, I—”

“NO!” the sound that comes out of your mouth has all three of you flinching, and you’re thankful the gazebo is far enough so that the rest of the wedding party is oblivious to your actions. “You’re not allowed to justify yourself anymore, Doyeon. What you did was fucked up, what you’ve done to all of us is fucked up!” You realize now that you didn’t need to get back at Doyeon with a fake date, what you needed was this. You needed a reprieve, a chance to lay down your law. “Jungkook was right all along. You are jealous. You’re jealous and selfish and have no shame. You think you own whatever you set your eyes on, but you’re wrong. We’re not objects, we’re people.”

You walk up to Doyeon, eye to eye. You jab a hand at her chest, pushing her back slightly. You soak up your cousin’s expression, and you watch as Doyeon’s eyes pop out in surprise at your act of boldness. “So you have a choice here. You can either swallow your pride and leave Namjoon at the aisle quietly and save whatever dignity you have left. Take your pathetic ass on the next flight back home and pack up your apartment. Or, we can start a big scene at your ceremony,” you probably look manic, filled with freshly injected power, “I know Seokin’s always wanted to yell ‘I object!’ at a wedding.”

“You have no proof,” Doyeon glares right back, taking a step closer to you. Your noses are practically touching, but you dig your heels in the white-stained wood, puffing up your chest and standing your ground.

“Doesn’t matter,” you bite back, “what matters is that Namjoon will doubt you. Namjoon knows we’d never do anything to sabotage a wedding without a valid reason. Even if you do get married tonight, we have Jungkook’s word and proof of a relationship that overlaps with his. I find this option to be far worse because it’s prolonging the inevitable,” you shrug, “I hope you two didn’t sign a prenup.”

Hot, angry tears mess up her meticulously done makeup. Black rivers carve through her porcelain skin, showing the feelings that have been dormant since been hidden under a facade. Doyeon’s eyes dart back and forth between the two of you. She’s practically vibrating in combined fear and rage, seeing blurry images and memories and regrets of what could’ve been if not for her self-absorption. And finally, your cousin comes to a decision.

“I hate you,” she emphasizes each word with the most concentrated of venoms in her tone. WIth one last look at the two of you, she stomps away. Instead of going to the direction of the chapel however, she takes the shortcut back to the hotel.

Her grave words are unsurprising, but nevertheless disappointing. A thinly veiled smile grazes your lips, sadder than ever as you watch your cousin go. “And I pity you.”

As soon as she’s gone Jungkook doesn’t hesitate to scoop you up, hugging you tightly as you fight the urge to cry again. “Oh babe, that was really hot. The way you stood your ground? That was amazing!” Jungkook takes out his silver pocket square to wipe the stray tears that threaten to ruin your makeup. “You’re so strong, don’t you know that? You did it and I’m so proud of you.”

As much as you want to revel in the affection, go back and bed and fall asleep until noon, you can’t. Grasping Jungkook by the hand, you tug him to the chapel. “C’mon,” you say, “we have to corner Namjoon.”

The groomsmen photos are done by the time you get there. Thankfully, the to-be-groom doesn’t look too occupied. His eyes widen upon seeing you two stumble from the garden of all places.

“Oh, y/n. Jungkook,” Namjoon tilts his head curiously at how winded you two look, equally flushed and out of breath. From your state, Namjoon muses that it must've taken a lot of effort to finally get to the groom unattended, save for a few random family members he’s making small talk with, “The wedding isn’t for another hour but I must say, you two look radiant together. Doyeon always thought you’d end up an old spinster-catlady, but I always told her that you’re too beautiful to be single for long,” he pauses to send the aforementioned man a wink, “Jungkook’s a lucky guy. What were you two doing back there?”

“Uh, things?” Jungkook scratches the back of his head, not wanting to reiterate the fiasco between Doyeon moments before.

Namjoon smirks at the ebony-haired man, “Couple things?”

You can’t take this needless small talk anymore. With a teary groan, you throw yourself at Namjoon. You hug him tight, and you don’t even care when you feel a slosh of his water bottle sprinkle your hairstyle.

“Joonie,” you bemoan, “please, please don’t leave me. You’re the best not-cousin ever. I know it’ll be a pain to face Doyeon after today but you’re a strong independent man and when you’re ready Jin is single and ready to mingle—ow! Jungkook! Did you just pinch my ass?”

“Do you really think setting him up with the next cousin is the best idea right now?”

“I figured a little humor would lighten the blow,” you sulk.

“I’m sorry what—what blow?” Namjoon frowns, pushing you away from him. “Y/n, have you been crying?”

The tears resurface at that moment, like a kettle on overboil. Namjoon’s face is knitted together, unable to grasp at any conclusion. Namjoon feels something grave is upon the sky as he tenderly brushes away your tears with his thumbs before releasing you. Instantly Jungkook pulls you to his chest, patting you soothingly. As much as you two do not want to be the bearer of bad news, the time is now.

“Namjoon,” Jungkook says, finding the strength that was previously stuck in his throat, “we have to tell you something.”

Needless to say, Las Vegas is very forgiving when it comes to last minute wedding cancellations.

The whole wedding party, both Namjoon and yours, collectively feels like a whole ice bucket has been dumped upon your families. You would like to say that the whole issue was handled mess free, but that would be a bald-faced lie.

There was screaming, crying, hysterical laughter from all sides. Doyeon’s parents were of course furious, embarrassed, unable to calm down a hysterical Doyeon as they haul her on the next flight home. You have a feeling they won’t be showing up to family events anytime soon.

Namjoon’s family leaves quietly, frustrated, but classy. After all, they know at the back of their heads they dodged a bullet. Everyone leaves except Namjoon however, who isn’t quite ready to go back to his and Doyeon’s apartment. Namjoon invites Seokjin and some other close cousins to stay in his suite until their flight tomorrow afternoon, wanting to be surrounded by close friends and (almost) family.

As for your family, they decide to find the silver lining. While the chapel was able to cancel the wedding, the reception wasn’t as easy to sway. At the very last second, your grandparents decided to make use of the reception and renew their Golden Anniversary vows instead. The ceremony will be a quick, sweet affair. At this very moment, your cousin Yoongi is getting officiated online.

And for you? You’re in the place where you’ve wanted to remain all week. A fluffy hotel bed wrapped up with your not-boyfriend.

Or?

Would a not-boyfriend be snuggling against your chest like you’re the softest teddy bear in the toy shop? Would a not-boyfriend be hooking your leg atop his lap, forcing you to latch onto him so his hands can roam freely against your soft thighs?

“We have to get ready for the wedding,” you whine against his hold, to no avail when he only holds you tighter.

“But your grandparents are already married,” Jungkook whines right back, nuzzling his nose in your head. “This is like an afterparty fifty years later.”

“I wanna get dressed,” you insist, pushing yourself up, “and we still need to talk.”

Without Seokjin staying with you, the hotel room feels much bigger and freer for the two of you. Your clothes are scattered on the floor, uncaring of any wrinkles or smears that would get on the delicate fabric.

All that matters is that Jungkook is still here with you. Doyeon’s wedding is called off, but he’s still lying in bed with you. You want to burn this image to memory, and keep it forever. Jungkook laying in only his white undershirt and boxers, looking at you dreamily as if he’s still in nap-mode. Hair that was previously windswept and exposing his forehead is now out of place, fluffy and sticking out in all directions. His cheeks are flushed with coral-colored warmth, and a little puffy because you two have been sleeping most of the afternoon.

“Right, talk,” he repeats, letting you hand him his black button up so he can clothe himself.

You throw off your shirt somewhere behind you, not wanting to face him as you walk to the full-length mirror. “So, I think my feelings for you are pretty clear and out in the open…”

“Same, I think I made it pretty clear as well.”

“What? You turn around, looking at where he’s still half-covered in bed. “You did not. I distinctly remember almost confessing my love to you last night. And then this morning, only for you to cut me off and say ‘that’s great’.”

“Oh,” he stares at the white sheets that cover his lower half. “I guess I didn’t then.”

You smile wryly, turning back to face the mirror so you can slip into your dress that’s been pooled around your ankles like a silver halo. “Maybe you thought it in your mind and forgot to tell me.”

That seems about right. Jungkook has a tendency to be a little too passionate for his own good, windswept in thoughts and feelings until they consume him. He hops out of bed, walking only in his dress shirt and socks as he makes his way to the mirror. “Then let me do all the talking,” he says softly against your neck, hands on your hips.

You shiver when you feel the cold silver of the zipper whirr up your body, Jungkook’s large hands splaying across your back to smooth out the waistline.

“You of all people would know that being with Doyeon is a trip,” he chuckles into the crook of your neck, “I thought that was what love felt like. Being codependent, jumping through hurdles, trying so hard to please someone who can’t be pleased.”

Jungkook’s hands wrap around your waist, hugging you tightly. He squeezes you and holds you like the most precious thing in the entire world. Through the mirror, you two are quite a pair.

“But with you, I never knew love could be like this, feel like this.”

“So… are you saying you love me?” you fight the urge to bounce around in his grip, the biggest smile on your face.

“You really just want me to say ‘I love you’ and be done with it, huh?”

Within seconds he’s pulling you from behind, whirling you around to the edge of the bed. He manages to flouce up your skirts to billow around his lap, sitting you down on his bare thighs.

“You look like a cupcake, all sprawled up like this,” Jungkook says cutely, peppering kisses in a trail from your chest all the way to your lips. “You look like a huge, silvery cupcake and I love you. It’s so easy to love you.”

Maybe it was kismet that Jungkook didn’t get to you first all those years ago. Maybe the right time is right here, right now.

“I love you, too,” you say happily, dipping down to press a long, passionate kiss to his lips. He tastes like love and a happy future. When you pull away, you encapsulate his face in both your palms, regarding him like the sun and stars. “But you know, if we date you’ll never get away from my crazy family.”

Jungkook snorts, pressing his forehead to yours, “And miss Yoongi re-marrying off your grandparents tonight, the next year of Seokjin and Namjoon running circles around each other, and a lifetime of happiness?” his hands snake under your dress, finding purchase in your soft skin, “not a chance.”

#jungkook x reader #gcn23 #goldenclosetnet #btsghostie #kwritersworldnet #jungkook fic #jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #bts fic #bts fanfic #bts fluff #bts angst

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flowercrown-bard · 3 years ago

Note

I have another prompt for you! Do with it ehat you want. It rested way too long in my "Ideas I never use" box:

"I don't even care about my own life, why would I care about yours? I am a fucking pheonix, my dear, death is just like an insect to me – It stings, but has no lasting effect"

(maybe it's fitted for a Fey!Jaskier? Or Ageless!Jaskier? Or a Villain?)

Ohhh I love that prompt! Thank you!! <3 (shame on me, i left out the word 'fucking' bc it didn't fit the vibe of the fic. Hope it's still ok)

I again have no idea what I'm doing, but where would be the fun in knowing what's going on in my own writing XD

word count: 4884

content warnings: brief mention of blood, brief mention of injury, temporary character death (for about two seconds), burning alive (kind of)

There was something in this forest that didn’t belong here.

Hasty steps disturbed the birds’ songs and heavy panting cut through the illusion of safety that lay over this land like a fog.

The girl running through the woods threw a glance over her shoulder, a haunted expression on her face. Her feet caught on a protruding root and with a cry that pierced the air like an arrow, she fell onto her hands and knees.

Her scream carried on, long after she had closed her lips again. The echo started out as a whisper, then it grew louder and louder, became a symphony of fear and desperation. The sound of one who was truly lost.

Then again, all who found this forest were lost in one way or another.

And though they might not realise it, no one was ever truly alone in these woods.

Inhuman blue eyes watched from the shadows of the underbrush as the girl curled in on herself, lying on the forest floor in a heap of helplessness.

With slow steps that fell onto the earth silently as a sigh, Dandelion took off their cloak of shadow and approached the lost girl in front of them. As they came closer, they lightly hummed a melody, a soft lullaby made of wishes and dreams.

Slowly, the girl’s shuddering breaths evened out and some of that tension that held her in a vice-like grip, eased out of her shoulders.

“Child,” Dandelion spoke softly, in a voice that was bird song and trees swaying in the wind.

The girl looked up. For a moment, she didn’t seem to comprehend what was kneeling before her. Then, within the blink of an eye, she scrambled backwards, terror etched onto her face.

“You don’t need to fear me,” Dandelion said softly, holding their hands up.

“Why should I believe you?” The girl’s hands wandered across the forest floor until the closed around a branch lying next to her. Though fear twisted her face, she held the branch in front of her like a sword.

Dandelion cocked their head to the side, a smile flickering over their face. This girl was brave. Most lost people were, but there was something about her…something other. Something elder.

“You can believe me, because I can’t lie.”

“You’re not human.” The girl’s gaze wandered over Dandelion. They could nearly feel how her eyes raked over his claws that were just a little too sharp to pass as human, over their blonde locks that nearly had the colour of the flower they had named themselves after; the name yet another fruitless attempt to become more than they were. They were so close to being human. Still, despite centuries searching, they hadn’t found the right them yet. Not in this life and not in any that had come before.

“I am not,” they admitted and the words tasted like ash on their tongue. Always ash. Always fire and ambers. And yet, nothing more than a small sting that would pass when the life engulfed them in another embrace. Another chance.

“Then what are you?”

Dandelion lowered themselves to the ground, until they were at eye level with the girl. Carefully, they reached out their hand, an offer, an invitation.

“I am a Home for the Lost. Another Chance.”

“I am not lost!” The girl sprang to her feet without warning, gripping the branch tighter. “I know where I’m going. I’m…I’m looking for someone.”

“And someone’s looking for you, I assume?”

The girl bit her lip while her eyes darted to the side again, scanning the trees as if whoever she was running from could jump out and attack her at any moment.

“You don’t have to be afraid,” Dandelion repeated. “You can be lost here for as long as you need to be.”

“What if I don’t want to be lost?”

Dandelion gave her a smile that they knew couldn’t reach their eyes. “Then I can keep you safe until you’re found again.”

“But you’re not him. The one who’s supposed to protect me.” The girl’s breath hitched. “Are you? You’re not Geralt of Rivia.”

Dandelion drew in a deep breath, tasting the name on their tongue as they inhaled. Their eyes fluttered close as the power of the name surged through them.

“I’m not,” Dandelion agreed. It wasn’t a lie. And yet, they felt a part of Geralt of Rivia’s being taking root within him. His name was theirs. His winding path, his doubts, his destiny. His losses. “But he will come here. I promise you that.”

“How can you? Have you seen him in these woods? I didn’t know he was in Brokilon forest.”

“This isn’t Brokilon forest. It stopped being that when I found you. And it doesn’t matter where Geralt of Rivia is. Not yet.” A breeze ruffled through the trees, whispering its secrets to its master. “He will be here. All woods lead here, when you go deep enough. When you get lost enough.”

If there was one certainty that pulsed through the name like a heartbeat, it was that Geralt of Rivia was lost, more than anyone Dandelion knew of. Except, of course, for the one person that Dandelion didn’t have the power to guide back to their right path. The one person who was given chance after chance after chance for a new start and yet never found their way out of the maze they were trapped in.

“He will come.” Their promise tasted like lightning and the soothing melody of a bubbling river. “You will be his second chance. Until then, let me be yours. I will keep you safe.”

The girl hesitated a moment longer. Then, she dropped the branch and flung herself into Dandelion’s arms, desperate not to be lost again.

Dandelion’s held her tightly, rapped his shadowy cloak around her and whispered soothingly into her hair. The embrace was like the feeling of when the fire stopped. At least that was how Dandelion imagined it must feel, when there were no flames coursing through their veins.

But they couldn’t truly know. After all, everyone was in this forest was lost in one way or another.

‘The girl in the woods will be with you always’

Renfri’s words echoed in Geralt’s mind as he limped onwards through the trees, ignoring the worried calls of the man who had taken him with him on his cart.

Geralt couldn’t waste a single moment longer by staying with him and his wife. His child surprise was out there somewhere, waiting for him. And Geralt…Geralt didn’t know what to do. He had to find her, had to make sure she was safe.

Yet he had no way of knowing where she even was, or if she was still alive. It was a miracle Geralt himself wasn’t dead yet.

You can be lost here.

Geralt’s head snapped up, his eyes darting across the trees sharply.

“Who’s there?” He called out. A mistake he wouldn’t have done if his mind had been clear and not muddled by ghoul poison.

For a long moment, there was no reply. Ever so slowly, Geralt tore his eyes from the darkness that lurked behind the trees. That’s when a different echo reached him.

Not Geralt of Rivia.

This voice sounded younger. Child-like.

“Ciri.” The name was but a breath on his lips, but he knew it in his heart to be true. Somehow, this voice was Ciri’s.

His staggering steps got faster, until he nearly ran. Geralt didn’t care about how the movement tore at his wound, how twigs whipped into his face, how his breath became shallow as black spots danced before his eyes.

He was urged onwards by the unbending certainty that Ciri was near, that he would finally find her.

People linked by destiny would always find each other.

But there was something else as well. A wildfire in his chest, a strand of shadow tugging him onward.

Geralt of Rivia.

The echo of his name rang through the woods, through the air and the inside of his head. Two voices. Ciri’s – and another one. A voice that sent shivers down Geralt’s spine.

The repeat of his name turned into a melody. A lullaby. A siren’s call.

Every instinct in him screamed to turn back, to get himself to safety. But instincts had been beaten out of him a long time ago.

His instinct had told him that his mother would take care of him.

His instinct had told him that he was loved.

His instinct had told him that there was nothing he could lose by calling upon the law of surprise.

But, oh, how he had lost. His mother, the woman he had thought he had loved, the certainty that he could keep walking the path that had been his only guidance since Vesemir had taken him to Kaer Morhen.

Geralt had lost, again and again, until he had become lost himself.

His chest became tight and he had to squeeze his eyes shut against the pressure building behind his eyes.

He was lost.

And yet he had no choice but to keep going. A haunting lullaby and his name on the wind forbid him from turning back.

He tried to orient himself on the rays of sun shining through the canopy of too-green leaves. Desperate to reach a path or a person that would make him not-lost again, Geralt ran until his breath turned into pants and his muscles protested. Witchers didn’t tire so easily. If need be, Geralt could fight for hours, stay up for days. Yet, no matter how much his body ached and protested, claiming it had been hours, days, weeks, the sun remained in his spot, never moving, as if no time was passing.

Geralt’s lungs were burning and the pain in his leg flared up with every step, until there were no more steps to take.

His knees gave out from under him and he collapsed, falling to his hands and knees onto the grass, the blades of which looked sharp as a sword but felt soft beneath his hands. Like a pillow to lay down on. Like an embrace. Like a home.

Witchers had no home. They only had the path, and yet, looking at this strange forest with its whispers and stagnant sun, Geralt had not even this.

“I am lost,” He called out, an act of pure desperation that never before had he allowed himself to admit to. His voice was raspy and scratched at his throat like shards of glass. As if he hadn’t uttered a single word for weeks.

Lost.

The haunting reply came in his own voice. A chill raced down Geralt’s spine and his fingers fisted into the grass, desperate to cling to something.

“I don’t know the way.”

Away.

An unshakable fear seized Geralt. He didn’t care how his voice broke, how his body was already broken.

“I need help.”

Witchers didn’t need help. They didn’t beg. And if they ever did, their pleas would go unheard.

Not so Geralt’s.

Something snapped to his right. He winced, his hand instinctively reaching for his silver sword. The medallion on his chest vibrated furiously.

He pushed himself to his feet, trembling with the effort, but unwilling to be on his knees like a condemned man waiting for his executioner.

The snapping of twigs and rustling of leaves stopped for a moment, a quiet laugh that sounded like water tumbling over rocks replaced the sounds.

“I found you.”

Geralt stiffened. It was the same voice as the first whisper he had heard – the voice that had lured him here. Only this time, it wasn’t a whisper on the wind. It was very real and far too close for comfort.

Witchers didn’t receive help. Whatever had answered his call must have darker intentions.

“Show yourself!” Geralt demanded, gripping his sword tighter.

For a moment, everything went still. No more whispers, no lullaby, not even the rustling of leaves in the wind.

Then, the bushes to Geralt’s right parted and someone stepped through. No, not someone. Something.

The creature in front of him looked how someone who had only ever seen a human’s shadow might imagine a human to look like. The being walking towards him was taller than any human could be, towering over Geralt. Their limbs were too long.

When their lips parted for a smile, the rows of teeth in them were sharp as a wolf’s.

“What are you?” The question left Geralt before he could think better of it.

The being cocked their head to the side curiously, too-blue eyes wandering over Geralt’s body, as if they didn’t even notice the sword pointed at them.

“I’m the Second Chance,” the being said, their eyes flashing with something Geralt didn’t dare name. “Yours, if you want me to be.”

“Who else’s second chance are you?” The question didn’t make sense, but Geralt had no control over his tongue. There was something about this creature – person? – that urged him to say things he didn’t understand. It was as if deep down, he already knew the answer, as if a part of him had known this person for a long time.

The being didn’t reply, but they raised their hands to their side and brushed lovingly over something. The air flickered in front of Geralt’s eyes, making him nauseous and dizzy, yet when he tried to look closer, he could only see shadow behind the creature. Until they flicked a hand behind them and the shadows parted, revealing a smaller figure. A girl with blonde hair that stared at Geralt with big green eyes.

Geralt sucked in a sharp breath.

It was Ciri. The one who had been lost to him.

And she was standing behind a creature powerful enough to lure even a witcher in. A creature who now placed a clawed hand on Ciri’s shoulder – the shoulder of the girl Geralt was sworn to protect.

“Let her go.” The demand left Geralt’s lips like a beast’s snarl.

“Go?” The being’s eyes flashed dangerously. “I made a promise to keep her with me. I don’t let any lost soul go.”

Their eyes bore into Geralt’s, searching through his soul, laying bare everything he was.

A boy, lost and abandoned by his mother.

A man who had lost a fight with the woman he thought he had loved – losing the fight, losing her, losing what he had been so sure had been love.

A human, who had lost his humanity.

Geralt, who was nothing but lost.

And there in front of him stood a creature who kept lost souls. The being sucked in a deep breath, closing their eyes as if they could taste all of Geralt’s losses.

They would keep him. Him and Ciri, damned forever to wander this cursed forest in which time stood still and echoes whispered into his heart.

He couldn’t let that come to pass. Not for Ciri.

Geralt knew his life was lost as well, even as he swung his sword. It didn’t matter. He had to save Ciri, had to get her out of this creature’s grasp.

There was a cry when his blade pierced the being’s chest. Was it his own cry or Ciri’s? Was the whole forest screaming as its master fell to their knees? There was only one voice who didn’t join the cry of agony. One, who was deadly silent, as life drained from it.

Blue eyes shot open, staring at the blade buried in the being’s chest with curiosity that quickly turned into resignation. For but a heartbeat, fear flickered in the being’s expression.

Fire blazed in those blue eyes. Fire poured forth from the wound instead of blood. Fire came to life in the being’s hair, searing the dandelion-yellow strands and racing over their body until all that was left of them was dancing flames.

Geralt watched in horror, as the flesh turned to ash before his very eyes. No, not ash. Dandelion seeds.

The wind picked up, tearing at Geralt’s hair, pushing him away, making the dandelion seeds tumble through the air in a wild dance.

Leaves tore from the trees, yellow flower petals, bits and pieces of the forest. All was dancing through the air, forming shapes and breaking apart again. The grass that had been so soft a moment before, shot up, grew faster and higher than any plant could, forming the shape of legs, of a torso, of a head. And still the leaves whirled through the air, obscuring the sight to the body that formed right in front of Geralt’s eyes.

A pit opened in Geralt’s stomach and the realisation of what this meant crashed into him with the force of a cockatrice slamming into its prey.

The being wasn’t dead. But it was only a matter of time before Geralt was, dying at the hand of the creature he couldn’t kill.

Geralt’s sword slipped out of his limp grasp, landing on the ground with a soft thud.

Geralt followed a moment after, his knees hitting the ground once more. This time, his executioner wouldn’t hesitate.

Geralt couldn’t protect his child surprise. Not in the years to come. But there was one thing he could do in this moment, one last act of desperation to save a life that he had always been meant to guard with his own.

“I make you a bargain!” Geralt’s voice got drowned in the howling of the wind, and yet, the ever-changing shape of the being turned towards him. Geralt’s throat went dry, his chest tightening. “My life for hers.” Through the whirlwind of leaves and blossoms, Geralt met Ciri’s gaze. Her eyes were wide and terrified. She was his to save. “Take my life and give the girl back hers. Let her go.”

Geralt bowed his head, awaiting judgement. For failing Ciri. For failing Vesemir and not being able to kill this creature. For failing himself. For losing, just when he had finally found the girl he had been looking for.

The wind didn’t falter, yet it changed course. The petals drew closer together, reaching towards Geralt like a hand.

A soft touch brushed his chin, tilting his head upwards, forcing him to look at the swirling shapes before him.

Though the being had no lips yet, their voice was clear and crushingly loud, coming from all around him. Every tree, every blade of grass, the very air spoke with the being’s voice. “Oh, but I don’t even care about my own life, why would I care about yours?”

Despite the roaring volume, the voice was achingly soft, like sweet nothings whispered in Geralt’s ear. The petals brushed Geralt’s cheek like a lover’s caress.

Geralt’s heart pounded in his chest, like a drum, growing faster each second, it’s rhythm dictated by the song that made this creature be.

“There must be something – how can a life be meaningless to you?” Geralt’s voice broke and his eyes flickered over to Ciri again. The child he hadn’t wanted. The life he had tried to push as far from his path as he could.

A sharp sound pierced the air, reverberating in Geralt’s bones. Only when it cut off abruptly, did Geralt recognise it. A laugh, devoid of life or joy.

“I am a phoenix, my dear.” The endearment cut into Geralt, broke him apart, made him wish that he could be more – that he could be found. “Death is just an insect to me – it stings, but has no lasting effect.”

“Liar.” The rasped out word cut through the symphony of sound.

Within the blink of an eye, everything around him stilled. The wind was still moving the petals and leaves. The being’s shape was still changing, and yet, there was no sound. Nothing, but Geralt’s own heartbeat and his blood rushing in his ears.

Then-

“What did you call me?”

It was only a single voice, within Geralt’s mind. A helpless desperation clung to it. A hunger.

“I called you a liar.”

“I cannot lie.”

Geralt’s jaw clenched and he forced himself to stare up at the swirling shape.

“Then you are a fool, if you truly believe your own words.” His hands trembled and he had to clench them into fists. Each word he spoke, dug his own grave deeper and yet, he couldn’t stop. It was as if there was something tying him to this creature, something telling him that he could know them, just as he was certain the creature knew him. “If death is like the sting of an insect to you, then it is more than just a passing irritation. Adults still remember when they had been stung by a bee as a child. Warriors flinch back from wasps, even knowing the stinging will pass. Gnat’s bites will itch for weeks.”

“Pretty words for a man who had first used his sword before attempting to speak. Yet the cut of your words hurts me as little as your sword did.” The caress of the petals left Geralt and he nearly found himself following their receding touch. “I do not care for my death, nor do I for my life.”

“Then why am I still alive? If life and death doesn’t matter to you, then why did you not just end mine?”

Unless…

I don’t even care about my own life, why would I care about yours?

They had never said they didn’t care about Geralt’s life. It had been a question – unable to either be a lie or a truth.

The only life they didn’t care about was their own.

It didn’t make sense. And yet, as minutes, days, an eternity passed and the being still hadn’t taken on a new shape, a vessel for their new life, no doubt was left in Geralt’s mind.

“Then let me give you something else,” Geralt whispered, his mind racing. In the stories, the creatures entrapping children in their realm and bargaining for their lives only ever wanted one thing. “If you let her go, I will give you my name.”

Something changed in the air. An almost palpable tension pressed down on Geralt, making it hard to notice anything around him but the dancing petals.

“Oh, my White Wolf.” The name the being spoke wasn’t Geralt’s name, and yet Geralt felt a tugging in his chest, a soothing caress, a gentle promise. It felt like his. And it felt like the being’s. “I already have your name.”

“Then what do you want? What…” Geralt trailed off, only now noticing the hint of something heavy in the being’s voice. It had Geralt’s name. Yet, Geralt had no way of referring to the creature. He didn’t know them. Perhaps no one did. “Then I give you permission to tell me your name. You may let me get to know you. You may ask to not be…to not be lost without anyone knowing who you are.”

Yearning. Hope. Helplessness.

How a being without a form could make their emotions so apparent, was beyond Geralt, but there was no denying it. The air felt lighter, the grass brighter and the silence was replaced by a soft humming, not unlike the lullaby Geralt had heard earlier. The forest was pulsating like a heart, was living off of the being’s longing to be found.

“I can’t give you my name,” the being said. “I can’t ask of you to hear it. I don’t want you to know it. I care not for my life, nor any life I’ve lived before.”

Something rose in Geralt’s chest. A fluttering, a certainty.

People linked by destiny would always find each other. This wasn’t destiny. It wasn’t any outside force pushing them together. It was two people being lost, finding each other.

Two creatures, inhuman in their own way, feared by those who didn’t understand with no one to care enough about who they were. Neither of them had had a choice in who they wanted to become. Neither of them had chosen to be lost as they were.

The witcher, who’s name had been replaced by a hated moniker. People didn’t know him as Geralt. He was the Butcher of Blaviken.

And this being before him - this Second Chance? Who had they been? Who could they have been if they had the chance to start a life that wasn’t dictated by what they were meant to be?

“I can be your second chance,” Geralt prayed that he could be what he promised, knowing in his heart that he could. “If you won’t take my name and won’t tell me yours… I can give you a name. A new life that will be more than an itch left by an insect. More than the fear of that short sting that will end it.”

The yellow petals were back on Geralt’s face, cupping his cheeks almost reverently. In that moment, Geralt wasn’t a condemned man on the execution block anymore. He was a man on his knees, asking another being to start a new life, to bind them together in a way that felt utterly right for a reason Geralt couldn’t understand.

There was a plea in the silent touch.

“Tell it to me then.” The voice was quieter than it had been before, yet it felt more urgent than the loudest cry.

Geralt lifted his hand, laying it carefully onto the petals touching his cheeks. Yellow petals. Not tough like a dandelion forcing its way through stone paths, set on coming back to life again and again. No, these petals were different. Softer. Fragile.

“Jaskier,” Geralt said, his voice laced with power he hadn’t known it could possess. Louder, he repeated, “Jaskier. I have found you. You are no longer lost.”

A tremble went through the forest. The wind stilled, but the petals didn’t fall to the ground. Instead, they finally settled on a shape.

The petals caressing Geralt’s cheeks were the first to turn, their touch becoming more solid, warmer, human.

Geralt pressed into the touch, holding the hand that formed in his. Dizziness swept over him as the form before him solidified. Green leaves turned brown as they did in autumn and turned into hair. Petals became red and gave shape to a mouth that was stretched into a radiant smile. Grass turned into fabric, dressing the person whose life was just beginning in an embroidered doublet. A tree bent down, its bark peeling off and turning into an instrument, that the person deftly caught in one hand, the other never straying from Geralt’s face.

Then, the human opened their eyes. Blue again but lacking the eerie otherness. And yet, they were brighter than before, so full of life and for once filled with anticipation of what this life would bring.

This life that Geralt had given them.

Before Geralt stood no longer a phoenix, a creature with no name. They were their own second chance. They were Jaskier.

Even as Ciri rushed from behind Jaskier and flung herself into Geralt’s arms, the witcher couldn’t tear his eyes away from Jaskier.

The new human looked at Ciri with a fond expression on their face, and yet there was a strain around their eyes.

When their gazes met, Jaskier’s lips tugged into a small smile.

“I guess I kept my promise then,” they said in a voice that held no power, but made Geralt’s heart skip a beat nonetheless. “I kept he safe until she was found.”

Geralt’s brows drew together. “You intended to let her go? Then why –“

“I didn’t bargain her life,” Jaskier said softly. “She was free to go whenever she pleased. I – I wasn’t. You gave me my life and I give it back to you. If you want it.”

Without thinking, Geralt shook his head and tightened his arms around Ciri.

“I don’t want your life. It is yours.”

“Oh.”

Jaskier’s lips moved silently, forming the word ‘mine’, as if testing it out for the first time. A smile lit up their face, making their eyes brighter.

“If my life is mine, does that mean, I can choose where I want to go?”

Something twisted in Geralt’s chest at those words. “You are.” Had Jaskier only ever known this forest? If so… “Do you know any place besides this? Will you…if you leave on your own, will you get lost again?”

A gleam entered Jaskier’s eyes and they slung the strap of their lute around their neck, their fingers finding the strings of their new lute.

“I won’t,” they said, their face set in conviction. “Because if I get to choose where I am going, I will be following you, Geralt of Rivia, my White Wolf.”

Unlike before, there was no power to the way Jaskier spoke his name.

“White Wolf?”

Jaskier’s lips twitched and he plucked a couple of chords experimentally. “You have me a new name. If you don’t want my life, the least I can do is return the favour and give you a new one two. A name, people won’t curse. One that will no longer belong to a lost man.”

No longer a Butcher. No longer a mutant, bastard, monster!

Slowly, Geralt nodded. “A life for a life, then.”

“A life for a life.” Jaskier’s expression softened. “A name for a name.”

Two lost people finding each other, silently promising each other to do everything in their power to not let the other get lost again.

#thank you for the prompt!!#fae!jaskier #fey!jaskier #*gestures vaguely*!Jaskier #geralt of rivia #geralt #jaskier #creature!jaskier #fic #my writing #witcher #the witcher #witcher fic #prompt #ciri #geraskier #kinda #i have no idea what this is but it was fun to write

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exquisitley-obsessed · 4 years ago

Text

Cardinal Catastrophe

Author: @exquisitley-obsessed

Summary: Elain reaches out to Azriel after that dreaded Solstice night and they once again meet under the moonlight in the River House - but everything is different now (post ACOSF, Azriel’s the focalizer)

Pairings: Azriel x Elain, Elriel

Word Count: 13,300+

Warnings: This does get a bit smutty and then there’s some violence towards the end.

A/N: This is like super long. It basically has everything it’s fluff, smut and angst so yeah, something for everyone. This is probably the longest oneshot I’ve ever written, I don’t know where this has come from but it’s taken me way longer to write than any of my other stuff. There’s a lot of catharsis in this and reflection on how I think both Azriel and Elain think of the situation. You’ll also get a bit of Rhys’ pov towards the ned ;)

Preview: With Elain’s eyes closed he allowed himself to greedily devour the sight of her. Just her face alone captured his attention entirely. With his eyes he memorised the curve of her cheekbones, the specific angle of her brows, even the exact chocolatey shade of her lashes. He went over it again, and again, and again, like a worshipper devouring the holy text. Azriel needed the perfection of Elain committed to memory, because he was sure that one day his luck would run out entirely. That soon he would not be permitted to even these meetings in the dead of night, with only a thousand stars as witness to their mutilated fate.

“Elain...” He tried again; his voice softer than he had ever heard it before. The person he became around Elain was foreign to himself. He had never been someone privileged enough to both love and be loved, not like this. Now that he had tasted such passions, he found he could not always recognise himself. Because he was Azriel, and he was cursed and damned, destined to be alone, to be unloved, mutilated both in mind and morality. He could not love; he shouldn’t be able to love - and yet.

MASTERLIST

It was no exaggeration to say that Azriel’s work was of a most gruesome nature. His daily routine involved cutting into people, making them sing to his shadows, working them like a carcass in a machine until they’d spilt their guts to him before painting the walls with those same organs. As the Night Court’s spymaster, Azriel knew things that would bring kings to their knees, secrets that were interwoven into the foundations of courts, hidden information that would dissolve alliances in seconds; and yet, here he was, pacing the room like a schoolboy as he tried to swallow the fluttery ‘butterfly-like’ feeling twisting his gut.

He’d noticed the note the minute he’d entered the room. A tiny slip of paper that glowed in the moonlight from where it was perched on his work desk, a stark contrast to Azriel’s messy, tea-stained paperwork. Azriel had smelt her on it before he read it, in fact, the second he opened the door to his River House bedroom he was surrounded by her faded aroma. She must’ve breezed in and out, not wanting to overstep her bounds as she left him a note no one else was to read. Knowing her, she was probably currently riddled with guilt for entering his private space, even though, quite frankly, Azriel wouldn’t mind her invading on every aspect of his life, personal or not. Not wanting to face what her scent in his room did to him, he’d crossed the room in three strides and devoured the note in seconds; the words still rang in his head.

I need to see you.

Everything had been fine. Ever since Rhysand’s outrageous demand of Azriel several months prior, Azriel had fallen into a routine, stricter than the last, for ignoring Elain Archeron. He was working more than he ever had before, not just in quantity but in quality. Unnecessarily detailed reports were showing up on the High Lord’s desk of situations that were entirely irrelevant to the current political climate and yet, Azriel thought it was only fair Rhysand suffered somewhat from this situation too.

I’m sorry for everything.

While he was anywhere but Velaris, Elain was never anywhere else, specifically in the River House, a place he had thus far avoided with painful success. Until his High Lady had demanded he come to dinner to celebrate Nesta’s birthday, Nesta who was happier than he had ever seen her before, practically glowing with the dreaded mating bond. It still baffled him how much prevalence mating bonds had played in his life the past few years after 500 years of silence, strings of fate which seemed to only bring about the greatest happiness or the wickedest pain.

I just want to make things right.

They were so happy, all of them. Rhysand with Feyre and Nyx, Nesta and Cassian - and though he just wanted to be glad for his family, the miasma of their bliss was suffocating. Because Azriel had never felt more alone, had never been so buried in his work, so achingly tired from the unnecessary flights and dreary missions, and his harmful behaviour was turning his body into something foreign. Azriel never used to have the constant tautness across his shoulders, nor the constant black shadows under his eyes from the sleepless nights, or the aching muscles that never seemed to heal. But it was necessary – if he wanted to obey Rhysand’s order, if he wanted to maintain civility between courts, and for a plethora of other supposed noble reasons – it was necessary.

I miss you.

He just wanted her. Not in any possessive way, he just wanted to be around her. He’d come to find a specific kind of peace in her company, something about that soothed his worries and aches. So, he missed their walks in the gardens, their shared book recommendations, their inside jokes, their unspoken understanding, their healing. And above all he missed her: her smile, her laughter, the shade of her flushed cheeks, her kindness, her silence.

Azriel hadn’t realised what had been happening to him as they had gotten closer, hadn’t realised how far he’d fallen till Rhysand had pulled him out of the air. Now all that was there, was a lacking. He was busier than ever, but all around him hung the privation of her.

Meet me in the foyer when the sun sets.

So he couldn’t be around his family, couldn’t face their overwhelming joy when he was so, so alone. Maybe it would’ve been better if he had never met Elain, or at least if he hadn’t allowed himself to fall for her. But in those soft moments he shared with her, the brushes of fingertips to the sun-kissed smiles, he’d been forced to face just how alone he was, how alone he had always been. Through Elain, Azriel had had a taste of honest, unwavering love - and yet he was expected to turn his back on such a discovery, by his own family no less.

Please.

He would meet her in the foyer when the sun set. He would follow her to the ends of the Earth if she asked him to, because maybe he was just so masochistic that he didn’t mind meeting Elain only to be reminded of everything he couldn’t have. Reading the note Azriel couldn’t help but think bitterly of how the flower-grower was far more courageous than he. That she was reaching out to him after he had rejected her so brutally. Azriel jolted, flaring his wings slightly to stop the train of thought. That pained, confused look in Elain’s eye when he had said that word, haunted him. Mistake. He’d called it a mistake. Azriel raked his hands down his face and sighed.

He wished he were strong enough to either commit or drop it entirely. He wished he had it in him to do something. Azriel should’ve bitten back at Rhysand all those months ago, should’ve just dealt with this catastrophe back then rather than let it fester and rot under the proverbial carpet.

As time passed in Azriel’s knotted thoughts, the sun plummeted towards the horizon. It was a perfect summers evening, and Azriel stilled at the window to watch as the sun melted the sky into shades of pink and purple. He saw it and thought of the colour of her dress tonight, or even that dress she had worn when she’d made traditional Illyrian biscuits and demanded he tried one. He’d taken it in his pocket and only took a bite when he was alone in the shadows of a different court, and he had savoured every bite, quietly smothering his growing adoration as he did so.

Elain, Elain, Elain. His shadows whispered to him, as though they knew they would soon be in her presence. No one had ever had such an effect on his shadows, and around her he was more aware of them being a separate entity to himself. Though they were bound, around Elain they seemed to grow more confident, they acted of their own accord and would often disappear in her presence, as though his shadows knew he wished to be entirely alone with her.

Foyer...Elain...flower-grower...beautiful. Azriel was inclined to agree. And before Azriel could lose himself to shyness, the sun finally dipped behind the curve of the land, allowing a thousand glimmering stars to prickle through the endless black sky.

She would already be waiting for him, and though Azriel was nervous, he had to restrain some part of himself that longed to throw open the door and jump down the stairs two at a time. Instead, he used the shadows, stepping through them to the base of the large foyer staircase. It would be more silent this way. He wouldn’t make the same mistake of not listening to the corridors as they spoke. For Elain’s sake, he would demand the utmost privacy, even from his High Lord and Lady.

He could see her before she saw him. She was leaning of the Foyer’s centre table, fiddling with the bouquet of flowers in a glass vase - of course she was. All he could see of her was the lower half of her pale gown and her dark golden hair, cascading down her back like a waterfall. The moonlight streaming in through the large French windows gave her an angelic glow, whereas the more sensuous light of the flickering candles painted shadows across her thinly veiled curves. Both warm and cold light coming together to worship the woman who seemed to him as light herself. At the sight of her, Azriel involuntarily sucked in a breath and felt her scent hit the back of his throat, his entire body seemed to sing from her aroma alone, as though it were his own personal drug. Dangerous, this was dangerous, to be with her and to be so alone. He didn’t care.

“Elain,” she didn’t start as he spoke into the thick silence. If she had the confidence to call him here tonight, then he must source some of his own. He at least owed her that. Delicately, Elain turned and looked over her shoulder, her beautiful brown eyes finding his and melting the whole world away.

“You came,” She breathed, her shoulders sagging slightly out of relief. She turned to him properly then, and Azriel flickered his eyes over her so quickly she might’ve mistaken it for a mere blink. But he saw her, saw what she was wearing, and some core part of his soul longed to weep at the sight of her beauty.

Elain was in a nightgown, off-white cotton and silk, with cream and dusty pink lace. Pale ribbons pulled the nightdress around her breasts and down to her naval, dipping in a slight ‘v’ before the skirts flowed around her natural curves and then dropped to the floor. The neckline was agonisingly flattering, though Azriel was sure he wouldn’t look twice at the nightdress on anyone else. Her creamy skin seemed browner in the warm candlelight of the house, and as the shadows flickered, he was aware of how her collarbones stretched out to the curve of her shoulders, how she didn’t have freckles on her chest and arms but rather a specific constellation of moles, even how her hair was impossibly thick and, if memory served him well, soft too. Upper sections were pulled away from her face in an intricate pattern of braids and ties, and yet lock after lock of pale brown hair cascaded down her back and over her shoulders, framing her angelic face. Oh, that face. Poets and painters alike would weep at the sight of that face. The small, angled eyebrows that somehow made her doe eyes bigger, the freckles across her cheeks and nose, her plush lips-

“I know that you’re avoiding me,” she began, crashing Azriel back into reality. He shifted slightly, ruffling his wings as though to wake himself up. Her voice wasn’t accusing, but calm and quiet, “I know there’s a reason why you’re never around. For a while I thought you were just cooped up at the House of Wind but Nesta says that she never sees you...no one ever sees you anymore.” Azriel stayed quiet, just holding her gaze. He never needed to speak around Elain, she had quickly understood that when he had something to say, he would say it, but till then, he was comforted by the silence. And so she continued, more nervous now.

“I don’t want to be...narcissistic...but it seems to me that you’ve been distancing yourself with everyone after what happened on Solstice and...” She shifted uncomfortably, her confidence running out as she looked down at the floor and wrung her hands. “I can’t take it. I can’t take being the person whose pushed you away and I...I think we need to talk about it - or not talk about it - I’m not sure. I just, I don’t want you to avoid me anymore, even if that means we pretend that it never happened, that’s fine. I just...”

He could tell her right now the exact reason why he couldn’t be around her. Elain, he would say, I would do anything to be around you. I would kill a thousand men just to have the privilege of your company. But I can’t, Elain. Because when I’m around you, everything turns inside out, I forget everything I’m supposed to be afraid of. I become this person around you Elain, I become someone who I’ve always wanted to be, and I don’t know how to be him, if I even can. I’m not used to this, to wanting something so viscerally it feels as though I might fall apart every day I don’t see you. Elain, I don’t know how to choose happiness, I don’t know how to be selfish in that way, and above all...I don’t know how to fix this.

“I don’t care if you don’t want me like that, not if it comes at the price of your friendship. I still...need you in my life, Az,” Elain was whispering now, her large eyes slightly glassy in the candlelight.

Azriel couldn’t help but think that Elain was evidentially stronger than him, that she could still want to be around him even if he supposedly didn’t want her. If the roles were reversed, if it had been Elain who had pushed him away, he was pretty certain he would’ve manipulated his work to make him leave the Night Court for at least several years. Of course, she was stronger than him, he was beginning to think she was stronger than them all, because of this exact trait of hers - forgiveness.

“Please...say something,” Elain’s broken voice rose through the silence. She looked at him again, tears threatening to spill. Her looking at him in such a way made something deep in his chest twist, and twist and keep on twisting.

He didn’t know what to do, so he took a step forward, and another and another, until he was a foot’s distance away from her. The whole time her eyes never left his, her hands still twisting together at the front of her beautiful, beautiful dress. He opened his mouth to speak but once again Elain had rendered him speechless. Where could he begin, how could he begin - how could he fix this?

“Elain...” was all he managed in the end, but that seemed to be enough to soothe her as her eyes fluttered shut and she breathed deeply at the sound of her name mingled with his breath.

With Elain’s eyes closed he allowed himself to greedily devour the sight of her. Just her face alone captured his attention entirely. With his eyes he memorised the curve of her cheekbones, the specific angle of her brows, even the exact chocolatey shade of her lashes. He went over it again, and again, and again, like a worshipper devouring the holy text. Azriel needed the perfection of Elain committed to memory, because he was sure that one day his luck would run out entirely. That soon he would not be permitted to even these meetings in the dead of night, with only a thousand stars as witness to their mutilated fate.

“I’m sorry,” He began, his voice barely audible. And by the way Elain’s brows furrowed slightly and her mouth tightened, he knew that she knew he was talking about the last time they’d been here, in this foyer. “I wish things were different,” He whispered, now trying to memorise the exact constellations of her freckles.

“Me too,” She breathed, her eyes still closed. “I wish I was different,” She surprised him by whispering.

“Don’t...” He murmured, silently stunned, “You...you don’t know how you...” But he had to stop himself mid-sentence, had to bite his tongue between his teeth hard enough to draw blood. Because if he started to talk, he wouldn’t stop. He would tell her everything, and he wasn’t quite ready to be so vulnerable, not when he didn’t know how to be vulnerable at all.

“I...” She opened her eyes and seemed to look at him as though for the first time. After a long pause she spoke again, “I wish I had courage.”

“Courage?” Elain paused and shifted slightly from foot to foot, as though she were debating what she would say next.

“I want to be strong, like my sisters...I want to etch out my own path rather than fumble in the dark.” Azriel thought for a moment.

“You are strong, whether you perceive yourself to be or not.” He wanted nothing more than to reach up and stroke his hand along her smooth cheek, instead he dug his nails into his already marred palm and focused on the pain’s bite.

“I will never be a general,” Elain whispered, her eyes still damp, “I will never be a High Lady or a leader, I don’t care for any of that...I wish I did. You can’t imagine how badly I wish I...” Her words ran out and her eyes became slightly glossed over and detached. Again, he felt the urge to touch her, to ground her back in reality, but he just dug his nails in deeper. “I don’t belong on battlefields, though I’d always fight when the world needed me but...I’m not a warrior; and that petrifies me.”

Again, Azriel paused, taking time to absorb every word Elain offered to him under the moonlight. Azriel adored Elain, he could’ve stood there for an hour and listed everything about her that had brought him hope. How her outlook on life had been so foreign to him, so unrealistic when he first met her, that it was extraordinary now just how jealous he was of her ability to look at the morbidity of the world, and still seek out the good.

“In a world of endless bloodshed and bitterness, do not be ashamed of not wanting to be a warrior,” Azriel whispered.

“But I’m useless,” Elain quickly interjected, “I have all this power, I feel it stirring in me and there is no part of me that wishes to manipulate it or-or exploit it.” Elain’s hands came up and danced in the air as she spoke, another quirk of hers he’d both memorised and adored. Azriel thought again, long and hard, before he spoke.

“I’ve been around a lot longer than you, and from what I’ve learnt of people is...that they’re horrible,” Azriel watched as Elain’s eyes widened and drank in his words and something twisted in his chest. People didn’t look at him like that when he talked. His brothers would wink and laugh with him, his enemies cowered and flinched, those whom he bedded would smile slyly or watch his mouth as he murmured dirty things in the dead of night. But no one looked at him like that, as though he were reciting poetry, as though he were beautiful enough to say something worthy of those big eyes and parted lips.

“You wouldn’t believe the horrors I’ve seen, or the court secrets I’ve uncovered. The way people, particular those in positions of power, treat each other, treat those around them and those below them - it’s tragic. It’s merciless and cruel.” Elain was still drinking him in, still hanging onto his every word.

“I think over the centuries, I myself became desensitised to the horrors of power and politics. Especially given my start in life. When you were human I understood your naivety, your belief in the good of the world, especially after your riches had returned and your life was content.

“But what I didn’t understand was how you continued to believe good after everything you went through. After facing the most brutal torture from the Cauldron itself...you still chose to believe in the wonderful and I-I didn’t understand that. Because I couldn’t do that. Because I’d never believed in the good of people the way you do...I had never even believed in the good of myself.

“Please don’t think that kindness is something small, or something that can be overlooked. Because when the world is little more than ruin and rubble, kindness is all we have left. We’ve just been alive so long that we forget about it, us Fae, we’ve spent so much of our lives at war that it’s easy to forget why we’d even engage in such bloodshed. It wasn’t till I met you that I was reminded that such things as tenderness and humanity even existed outside my family, and once the wars were about defending those virtues rather than snuffing them out…I just, I can’t help but think that if there were more people like you in the world, maybe Prythian wouldn’t succumb to carnage every few decades, just so that the heartless noblemen of this land can feel something.”

Azriel hadn’t meant to speak for so long, in fact, he didn’t quite understand where the words had even come from. They were true, of course. He did whole-heartedly believe everything he had just said, he just hadn’t realised how much he’d ached to say it aloud. Elain was still staring at him wide-eyed, and then there was the worst thing of all, a single tear spilling over her damp eyes and trickling down her cheek.

“I’m sorry I didn’t mean to-”

“No,” Elain whispered, suddenly reaching out and sliding her palm into his from where it was hanging limp at his side. Electricity shot through his arm, and he forced himself to look at her in the eye as he tensed his legs so that they didn’t crumple underneath him. “No, it’s good I’m, I’m glad you said it I...”

But again, words seemed to evade Elain as she looked up at him. Azriel was now hyperaware of her how close she was, of her smooth palm that fit so nicely in his own. His body often reacted on its own accord around Elain, and he had spent months leashing his desires into chains, beasts that could only come out in the dead of night. But since that dreaded Solstice night last winter, everything had changed.

Life these past few months had consisted of the battle between two extremes. Either he was drowning in the way his body seemed to ache and beg for her, his mind obsessing over their stuttering relationship as though it were a philosophical debate. Especially since he now knew that some part of her wanted him and had wanted to kiss him even with her mate sleeping upstairs. The fact that he now knew what her scent tasted like, how her voice sounded when it was breathy and desperate - it all fuelled the fantasies that haunted him the moment he made it back to his room. He could be on the other side of Prythian and somehow the presence of Elain Archeron would find a way to him.

The other extreme was complete and total deprivation. The reality that he hadn’t seen her for months, that she would soon exist more in memory than experience. Even though his fantasies of her were so visceral, so tangible, the reality that she was not in the room with him always came crashing down by the time his head had cleared - and then he’d feel more alone than ever before.

But when he was here, with her, the argument ceased. The torture and the pain, the writhing mind and aching debates, it all fell into beautiful silence. And so, looking at her now, he was unable to help himself. And without thought, he reached up and tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear as he murmured under his breath, no more than a whisper, “Elain Archeron...saviour of the cursed and damned...”

As Azriel’s fingers grazed Elain’s cheek, a horribly confused and upset look twisted her face. She seemed to freeze at the contact and Azriel halted at her discomfort, internally berated himself for pushing her too far, for being so arrogant in thinking he could touch her in such a way.

“I...Azriel...I don’t understand,” Elain’s breathless voice seemed to caress him, and once more he found himself tensing his legs so that they wouldn’t give out under him. “You don’t want me...you said it was a mistake...” Azriel stilled, and he caught her eye in a moment of alarmed sobriety.

“You and I both know that’s not true.”

He couldn’t stop the words before they spilled from his lips. It didn’t matter how soft, how quiet, his voice was, the words were innately harsh and something deep against his spine lurched at the thought of her hurting her - of hurting her again.

But Elain didn’t flinch. Her eyes, instead of widening in shock, stayed stoically still and calm. And then Azriel watched as those honeyed eyes he loved so much lapsed darker and darker, the floral musk of her arousal drifting to him like a moth to a flame, the same scent he’d been dreaming of for months, the memory of it alone making his body achingly hard and taut, as though his own skin existed only to respond to the call of hers.

The scent surrounded him, sending blood to his cock which was now throbbing viscerally against the seams of his leathers. His arousal had never felt so tight before, so extreme and sudden. He felt it, heavy in his lower abdomen, twisting and knotting his guts in both pain and pleasure. That was familiar, that he’d felt a hundred times before, but for Elain Acheron his whole body seemed to sing. His blood burned under his skin as it pounded through his body, whilst his heart was light and fluttery in his chest, as though it might edge up his throat and fall from his lips. His eyes felt heavy lidded as though he were drunk, and even though he were standing stoically still, even though he hadn’t done anything yet, he found himself short of breath.

He had never wanted something more - never. Not Mor. Not a job. Not a secret, not information. Not salvation, not mercy. God, it seemed as though in this instant, Elain had invented want for him.

He would beg for her. Right now, in the foyer where he’d first tasted this personal drug. Had Elain not been holding him up by her eyes and a single palm he would already be on his knees. He moved to fall down before her, like a worshipper at a temple, when movement at her mouth caught his eye. Azriel watched as her delicate, pink tongue slowly dragged along her lower lip to wet it as she blinked innocently at him. Azriel’s resolve was gone in a puff of smoke.

Fuck Rhysand. Fuck Lucien. Fuck the Mother, the Cauldron, the world. Fuck anyone who stood between him and Elain who he knew, he knew, wanted him as badly as he wanted her. Because of course she did. Because whatever this was, whatever was happening between them, was otherworldly and impossible to ignore.

And good luck to them, was the last though Azriel had before he leaned in. Good luck to anyone who ever dare stand between him and her, because he’d kill them - he’d fucking kill them.

Despite his body beating like a drum for Elain’s melody, he did not kiss her right away. Once he’d accepted that he would kiss her, once he’d come to that inevitable conclusion it felt like a thousand doors of golden light opened before his eyes, and it took everything he had to not sob with joy.

All those fantasies he had revelled in for the past year that had been shrouded in a miasma of fantasy and shame, rolled through his mind clear as day. He could kiss her lips. Those soft pads of blushing rose that he had already committed to memory. Or he could trace down and press his lips to the sensitive spot between her neck and shoulder, a crook of intimacy that he’d already figured out from watching her protect it with her hands when someone stood behind her. He could kiss her temples, her cheeks, her throat - every fucking inch of her.

Now that his resolve had snapped like an elastic band stretched too far, he found that he was finally free. Looking at her he hadn’t realised how long he had taken, how slowly he was leaning in until Elain’s fingers suddenly gripped the leathers across his chest and her brows furrowed as she pulled closer to him, her eyes dark and desperate, her mouth wet and parted as she half-gasped, half-whispered, “Please....Azriel...”

He did moan then. A low, throaty sound that escaped him at the sound of his name intertwined with her breathy gasps. He snapped.

He had intended to savour every second of kissing her, but the moment his lips touched hers, he felt fire. Elain’s hands ran up his chest before intertwining themselves in his hair as she pulled herself against him and he moaned again, the second time in a minute, into her mouth. Because he could feel her, all of her, pressed against his hot throbbing body. The soft pressure of her breasts, the bones of her hips, even one of her legs had tucked between his own, the sides of their knees brushing together. She was going to kill him. She was going to fucking kill him.

And then there was her mouth. Softer than petals, and so obviously hers in taste and touch. Every time their lips brushed, every time he felt her perfect breath mingling with his own, shivers erupted across his body. Unable to stop himself he brushed back her hair before firmly grasping the side of her neck, his hand was so large against her velvet skin that he knew he could probably hold her entire throat in one hand. He put it there as an ode to the last time he’d been here. He’d put it there as a fuck you to fate.

His other hand curled around her waist and pressed against her back where - and he moaned again - Elain’s exposed skin greeted him.

He wanted to take her right her. Wanted to lie her down on the carpet and bury his head between her thighs as he had done so many times before in his fantasies. How he ached to taste her, all of her, to pin her writhing thighs back with one hand and wrists with the other. He wanted to look at her perfect angelic face as he made her sing sinful sounds for him. Wanted to make her toes curl and back arch as she came on his tongue. Again, and again, and again.

Elain tugged slightly on Azriel’s hair and he was thrust back into his body, back into the present, and he had to stifle another moan because those thousands of fantasies had nothing, nothing, on this.

In response to Elain’s needy tug, Azriel bent slightly and curled a hand around the back of each of her thighs and hoisted her up against his chest. Elain, much to his delight, snapped her legs around him as he lifted her against his chest, their lips still ferociously dancing. He only had to walk a few paces to set her against the edge of the lobby table, but that particular move was one that had been haunting him more recently of late.

He went to pull away after she was set down on the wooden tabletop. He wanted to see her, with her hair ruffled and her cheeks flushed, her lips swollen and her chest heaving. He wanted to commit that image to memory because there was still some part of him that could not believe this was real.

But as he moved to step back, Elain caught him off guard as her legs tightened from where they were wrapped around his hips, something of a growl arising from the back of her throat as she fisted his leathers and pulled him against her. Azriel obeyed her, like a puppy on a leash, leaning his hands against the table, either side of her hips, in order to stay standing.

She was flushed against him once more. Her breasts pushed against his chest which felt suffocated by the Illyrian leathers, he ached to have her skin brushing against his own, but all in good time. He slipped his tongue into her mouth then and revelled in the juxtaposing thrill and relaxation of exploring her in this way. But there was still an inch of space between their hips. He didn’t know why he left it there, even when Elain dragged him against her, perhaps it was because he knew the minute they were aligned in cardinal perfection, there would be no turning back. He would be hers and vice versa, and she would be his muse and his priority, and he would put her before everything - even his High Lord.

To steady himself, Azriel made the mistake of taking his hand and bracing himself on Elain’s thigh. What he was not expecting was for his palm to find the soft, exposed flesh of her leg from where her dress must’ve mischievously ridden upwards when he had lifted her.

Purely on instinct, Azriel moaned and drove his hips forward into her core, earning a breathy sigh from them both as they finally found an inch of friction in their writhing. There was only fabric now. Measly layers of fabric that came between them.

“Fuck...” Elain gasped into his mouth and some outrageously animalistic part of him growled in satisfaction at having pulled a sinful swear from her angelic mouth. Azriel kept one hand against the wood near her hips to stay steady, to stop himself from grounding his hips into her like an uncontrollable beast, the other stayed on the warm, smooth flesh of her exposed thigh.

Slowly, he began to trace rough circles with his thumb on her inner thigh earning a flutter of breathy sighs to dance from her lips which pleased his soul to no avail. Azriel parted from her lips and began to pepper kisses along her jawline as he torturously inched his thumb up, inch by inch with each circle. When Azriel began to kiss and suck on the spot just below her ear he allowed himself to peek at her as he worked.

Her head was tilted back slightly, her throat bobbing as high hums fluttered from her. If he could paint he would paint the perfect blush of her swollen lips. If he were a poet he would turn her breathy moans into the sweetest of sonnets. And then she tugged on her bottom lip with her teeth as a soft moan escaped her and he had to look away, if only to stop himself from reaching down and fisting himself at the sight of it.

With his head turned Azriel hissed out of surprise as his thumb rubbed against a sticky sweetness coating her inner thigh. God she was wet. And as he rubbed further, coating his thumb in her essence, he had to bite his cheek as to not come in his pants like a schoolboy. Azriel stopped rubbing circles in favour for taking his first finger and tracing back and forth over the highest point of her thigh, slow and torturous as he familiarised himself with the feel of her. His heart threatening to beat out of his chest when his fingers brushed against a lacy frill at the apex of her thigh. Tilting his head Azriel was able to husk into her ear.

“What do you want Elain?” His voice was low and breathy before he caught her lobe between his teeth. Another shuddering gasp floated from her lips.

“I want you to touch me...and I don’t want you stop,” the sound of her voice so mingled with pleasure and need was almost enough to undo him. “Ever,” She went on, “Not until I don’t know my own name.”

She was going to kill him. Growling in satisfaction he rewarded her answer with one quick brush over her lace underthing's, the touch was like electricity for them both. Elain physically tremored as Azriel finally brushed where she needed him most, and Azriel shuddered at the contact with the girl of his dreams.

“Please, Azriel,” Azriel stilled for a moment, wondering how she would react to his instinctual next move. His particular flavour of making love.

“Say that again,” He said slowly, his voice barely more than a brutal, low husk. As he spoke Azriel allowed some of his power to ebb into the words, the siphons a top his hands guttering as they came to life. It felt slightly wrong to use such a voice on her, the one he so often used with enemies, but Azriel watched as Elain’s lips parted, her pupils expanding as her breath grew heavy in response to his dominant voice. Oh, Azriel couldn’t help but think in agonising awe. Maybe his deep assumptions, the ones that only haunted him in that void he entered before he fell asleep, were true. That Elain, the purest of sisters, was also the filthiest.

“Please, Az,” Her voice was breathy and pleading, but there was something alight in her eyes as she begged him.

“Good girl,” Azriel couldn’t stop himself from husking as he peeled back the top of the lace. They both stared unwaveringly into each other’s eyes as Azriel dipped his hands along her, not touching just hovering. He held his hand there, an inch away from where she needed him most, waiting until she almost whimpered before he slid a single finger slowly through her folds.

Her reaction was blissful to see. The way she bit her lip, her back arched, and her eyes fluttered shut. Azriel moved with her, his own mouth parted, and brows furrowed as he stroked her again.

“Don’t close your eyes,” He murmured in his voice of steel, “Look at me.” Elain’s eyes snapped open, and it was his turn to be caught off guard. Gone was the hazelnut colour, even the sensuous black he had somehow lulled them into, what met him was the colour of bright honey and her eyes, they were glowing. They stood out like gemstones being pierced by golden light. It was then that Azriel began to take note of their surroundings and realise that the thrumming was not just happening inside him but all around him. Ripple after ripple of raw, ancient power was bleeding from Elain, fizzing into the air and turning the entire foyer into something alive and electric. A shiver ran along Azriel’s entire body as his own powers itched to sing in harmony with hers; cobalt energy rising to meet her golden light.

Her folds were dripping, and he was having an internal debate on whether or not to rip off her underwear. On one hand he would have better access, he would be able to pleasure her better, and he could even push her back against the table and lower his head and taste her. On the other, he couldn’t stand being disconnected from her for a second.

Whilst he debated, he slowly raked his finger up her again before finding that small bundle of nerves. When he caught it with his fingertip and began to drag slow, luxurious circles over it, a throaty, guttural moan escaped her lips. He bit his cheek again. He wondered if anyone had fucked her like this and again, that pride bloomed when he realised that he might be the first. Not her first, but the first person to show her the true ecstasy of pleasure.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck,” Elain gasped as her head fell forward on his shoulder. Azriel allowed the eye contact to break, too absorbed by the feeling of having Elain writhing under his fingers to care.

He’d always thought that he could die a happy man if ever he was blessed enough to experience such a joy as Elain Archeron, but now he realised what a stupid notion that was. Because Elain wasn’t cause for death but cause for life. He’d live for Elain, Azriel realised. Elain who was writhing and mewling into his shoulder as he slowly brought her to the ecstasy she deserved. She was close and following this he would winnow them away to either his unused apartment in central Velaris, or deep in the gardens on this summer night, where they would be entirely alone, and everything would be perfect. And once they’d had their fill on the pure bliss of one another they could talk about everything, and they’d find a solution and they’d work it out, and everything would be okay - and then Rhysand walked in, and everything came crashing down.

Some part of Azriel’s hazy mind had been aware of the movement deep in the house but it had been so, so inconsequential compared to what was in front of him. And his shadows, well his shadows were nowhere to be seen, not with golden light quite literally thrumming from Elain. There had been no warning, and as Rhys met Azriel’s eye when he still had his fingers flush against Elain some primal part of Azriel reared its head.

In an instant Azriel’s siphons were spluttering to life as power surged through Azriel, his wings instinctively flaring as wide as they would stretch, so that the cresting talon of each wing scraped into the polished walls. Rhys, who was standing at the edge of the foyer, an unrecognisable expression scorched into his face, was a threat at that moment, and the whole world seemed to still as Azriel slowly came down from the high of his arousal.

Slowly, Azriel removed his hand from Elain’s underwear and smoothed down her skirts to cover her legs, all the while never moving his eyes from Rhys. He didn’t care if he was in for the doghouse, didn’t give a shit about what consequences his happiness had just induced - Elain came first.

And right now, even though it was a ludicrous thought, Azriel was preparing himself to protect Elain from Rhysand. Elain’s whose nightgown had slipped down her shoulder, whose eyes were wide as she glanced over her shoulder at her brother-in-law, exposed and vulnerable just as she’d been on the worst night of her life.

“Azriel,” Rhysand finally spoke and Azriel shifted slightly to pull Elain closer to his chest. “My office...now.” It seemed as though all sense of formality had dropped as Rhysand’s High Lord voice billowed into the room. Azriel didn’t speak, didn’t move either, just shifted his eyes to Elain whose face was blanch and confused.

“Can’t this wait?” Azriel asked, his voice low and full of strength. Instantly he realised that he should’ve worded his question better. He didn’t want time in order to finish off what he and Elain had begun, but rather to give Elain a moment to breathe, for her to fix her dress and smooth her hair, for her to do whatever she needed to do before she was forced to face her family. Rhysand’s eyes darkened, and he entered the room in a low stride, both hands digging deep into his pockets. Azriel moved instantly, stepping around Elain to put himself in front of her as Rhysand approached.

Without a word Rhysand came closer and closer, and Azriel continued to stretch his wings to cover Elain from whatever vitriol was about to be thrown his way. But Rhysand didn’t say anything, he didn’t even move suddenly, just reached out a single hand until it was barely touching Azriel’s arm as darkness surrounded them both.

Before Azriel even had a chance to realise that Rhysand was winnowing them away – away from Elain – they were standing in his office, and Azriel couldn’t help but shake his head at the slight Deja-vu of the whole situation. Except this time, he wouldn’t be bounding himself in shackles, he’d be setting himself free, whether Rhys wanted him to or not.

Azriel was standing in front of the large mahogany desk of Rhysand’s office whilst it’s owner moved behind it, one hand still in his pocket. Already the air in the room was taut with energy, as though the very air were cowering in the face of the upcoming argument. And still Azriel’s mind was still thinking of the girl in the foyer, her name like a mantra beating through his body,

“Put your cock away Azriel,” Rhys immediately spat in response to the ripples of cobalt energy rippling from Azriel’s form. Azriel didn’t deem the childish comment with a retort, though his arousal was already gone, and quickly replaced by the tautness of anger and frustration. His shadows had returned to him now that he was away from Elain, and they were writhing uncontrollably around his legs and back.

Azriel stayed standing, folding his arms over his chest just for something to do. It was then that Rhys sighed heavily, leaning against his desk and hanging his head. He wasn’t as tired nor as desperate as when they’d last spoken like this - of this. No, now Rhys had everything. Everything he had ever, and could ever want, and now his fight lay in protecting the paradise he had found in Feyre and Nyx. Whilst Azriel was still in the dark, still alone, still secretly in agony - they were not the same.

“I gave you the simplest of orders,” Rhys sighed like a disappointed father and something brutally aggressive awoke in Azriel. How dare he, how dare Rhys speak to him like that?

“I know,” Azriel said, his voice indiscernible and calm. Rhys swung his head up to glare at Azriel, something emotional lingering in his violet eyes.

“You know? Then, Azriel, why did you take it upon yourself to disobey me?” Azriel’s grip on his biceps tightened.

“Elain is...” Azriel began before he had to lower his eyes. What was Elain? How could he explain to Rhys the inexplicable way he felt about the angelic gardener? The effect she had on him, it was both irrational and yet made perfect sense. And right now, he could barely focus with knowing that somewhere in this house she was looking around confused, wondering what the hell had just happened. “She’s important to me. More than you realise.”

“She has a mate.”

“That is irrelevant-”

“Irrelevant?” Rhysand looked as though he might laugh and Azriel once more gripped his arms tight enough to bruise. “I thought I made it perfectly clear to you Azriel that the bond between Elain and Lucien-” Azriel growled at his name, Rhys ignored him, “-is paramount to the civility between us and not just the Autumn Court, not just the Spring Court or the Day Court, but also the Band of Exiles and the Human realms.”

“And have you ever wondered if maybe Elain deserves better?”

“Better than Lucien-” Rhys practically squawked.

“No,” Azriel growled, allowing his anger to show, “Better than us. Better than a family who reduce her to little more than a political pawn-”

“She is my sister,” Rhysand spat, standing up straight with a newfound intensity. “Don’t you dare question my treatment of her, don’t you dare suggest I don’t care for her.”

“Are you truly so out of touch that you do not see the shackles you’ve tied around her wrists?” Azriel uncurled his arms, “You’ve stripped her of any choice-”

“This is not about choice!”

“This has everything to do with choice!”

“Elain is a valued member of my family but also of my court. As her High Lord, I have made a difficult decision but one that will undoubtedly strengthen this us in the now impending war. It was a tough decision and if you want me to be the bad guy, fine, I’ll be the bad guy, but you will obey my orders as this is the best choice for Elain.”

“Then why don’t you ask her,” Azriel growled, grappling with the internal leash on his powers, “Why don’t you actually include her in the decisions you’ve made about her life.”

“I don’t know what you’re insinuating,” Rhys flicked invisible lint from his suit, “But Elain is a valued member of these discussions.”

“Then why isn’t she here?” Azriel husked quietly, full of venom. Rhysand apparently didn’t have anything to say to that, so Azriel went on. “You claim to value choice Rhysand, and yet you’ve stripped Elain of not just her own volition, but the simple knowledge of the choices made about her life.”

There was something bitter clanging through Azriel as he spat the words, he knew what it was, it was a word - hypocrite. Because whilst Azriel was fighting for Elain, really he should be allowing for Elain to fight for herself. He should’ve left the office the minute Rhysand winnowed them and searched for Elain. He should’ve told her, all those months ago, about why he could no longer be around her. And that’s why Elain deserved better, better than Rhys and better than him, because even now they talked of her rather than with her.

“You are to stay away from her,” Rhysand said at last, glaring out the study’s window almost as though he was ignoring Azriel.

“I can’t do that. Not anymore,” Azriel husked, and Rhys paused, catching Azriel’s eye before he hastily looked to the side and raked a hand through his hair.

“I told you, Azriel. I told you to stay away from Ly-” Both Azriel and Rhys’ eyes widened at the name that nearly fell from Rhysand’s lips. A revelation occurring to them both as the name Rhys’ long deceased sister was brought into the room. “Elain,” Rhys corrected himself, acting unbothered by his slip. “I told you stay away.”

Azriel didn’t know how to respond. He’d spend hours in training rings, on long haul flights or espionage ventures thinking of this specific argument. The way he’d tell Rhys all the things he should’ve said on that Solstice night, about the disservice they were both doing to Elain, about how it was outrageous of Rhys to demand Azriel put politics before his happiness after, well, everything.

After Azriel had spent 500 years alone with only a doomed infatuation with a woman who would never love him back. After Azriel had always favoured to be alone, to suffer in silence, to take the blame, and now he finally had an out. After Azriel had to put up with both his brothers finding their perfect happiness, Rhys himself almost starting a war by perusing and protecting Feyre.

Why was it so different for him? Why was it the moment Azriel had happiness within an arm’s reach there were a thousand excuses for him not to have it? What was so poisonous about his desires? About him?

“She’s not Lydia,” Azriel said at last. It was a low blow. Especially since Rhys had so clearly tried to cover up his slip a moment ago. “For one, you would never treat Lydia with such little respect. Elain is her own person and I’m not going to fight with you, or Lucien, or anyone for that matter like she’s some kind of prize.”

This argument was too real. Of course, they’d had arguments before, all three of them had. Azriel could remember a particularly nasty one between Cassian and Rhys where they hadn’t spoken for a year, Azriel bouncing between them like an owl. But this wasn’t a brotherly squabble, not when the stakes were so high.

Rhys sighed, still not meeting Azriel’s eye as a muscle in his jaw ticked. It seemed as though the High Lord also understood the irregularity of the dispute, or maybe he was just furious at facing his own errors, at his spymaster criticising him on failing someone so important on a matter which Rhysand prided himself on - the volition of the women in his life. After what happened with his mother and his sister, to find out he was now failing his new family must be driving him mad.

“You just can’t keep it in your pants can you Azriel?”

It may have been less shocking if Rhys had just leaned over and stabbed Azriel in the gut. His words clanged into the air with a sour metallic taste, and for a moment Azriel lost his breath, his jaw slackening as his shock registered before he could swiftly cover the expression with the mask of steel he’d perfected. The silence following the comment was perhaps worse than the blow itself. Now it was Azriel who couldn’t stand looking at his brother. He didn’t care if Rhys looked apologetic, didn’t care for him at all.

“Do you really think so low of me?” Azriel’s voice was deathly quiet, before he finally shifted his eyes up to see the raw regret plastered on his brothers face.

“No, I-” A vicious knock came at the door then, interrupting whatever apology Rhys was going to throw his way.

“Open the door,” Came Elain’s voice, more brutal than he’d ever heard it before. Something electric shot through Azriel at the sound of it, of her. If anything, her voice was a reminder that this was real, that his hair was tousled, and lips swollen because of Elain-fucking-Archeron.

Rhys didn’t move for the door, so Azriel did. Turning around, he walked the length of Rhys’ office to the large double oak doors and pulled one back without hesitation. He knew she deserved to be here, that she should’ve been here from the start.

Azriel was so set on opening the door for the sake of justice and fairness that he momentarily forget that it was Elain on the other side, and the sight of her made his breath stop in his throat. Her hair was still ruffled from where he had raked his hands through it, and her lips still blushed from where he had tugged on them with his teeth. There was also a faint flush of her cheeks, either from their previous activities or from running through the River House searching for him and his brother.

Something electric and charged ran the entire length of his body at the sight of her - not arousal, something deeper. And by the way her glowing eyes drank him in, he knew she felt it too. Azriel stepped aside and let her pass into the office and walk up to Rhysand’s desk. As he followed her, something bitter twisted in his gut - whatever was blooming between himself and the gardener was a thing to celebrate. Such love, light and warmth in his life which had thus far consisted of cold loneliness was a joyous and wonderful thing. And yet he was made to feel ashamed of his happiness, by his brother. His own damn brother.

“What’s going on?” Elain spoke in her traditionally soft voice, but even Rhys must’ve picked up and the unwavering steel that seeped from her tone, so similar to Nesta’s pitch.

“Nothing, Elain. Just a dispute between myself and Azriel. It’s nothing you need concern yourself with,” Rhysand’s easy smile warmed through his cheeks and Azriel was sure he was going to punch him before the night was out.

“Don’t lie to me Rhysand, it’s not a good look for a High Lord,” Elain spoke smoothly, folding her arms over her chest as Azriel had done moments ago. Rhys’ expression only flickered in response. “Now, what’s going on?” Elain asked again.

“Well,” Rhysand began, “Me and Azriel have been discussing you actually, you see, your bond with Lucien is unfortunately paramount to a lot of peace and unity between our court and others.” Rhysand looked blankly at Evie as he spoke, completely dethatched from the emotional anger he’d unleashed on Azriel moments ago.

“Is this about me breaking the bond?” Elain said, her voice smooth like honey, healing the sparking energy in the room as Azriel and Rhysand had geared up for a fight. Something about the question twisted Azriel’s guts. It was her terminology; it was all wrong. There was no such thing as breaking a bond, one could reject it and render the attachment limp and lifeless, but breaking a bond was only achieved in death, and even then some believe the bond to continue in the next life. It was just a reminder that Elain knew nothing about this world, Lucien had placed the acceptance or rejection of the bond in her hands, but she did not even know what either option would truly entail. Her education, it was another thing they’d all failed her on.

“If you wish to reject your bond with Lucien I, nor anyone in this court, will prevent you from doing so,” Rhysand said smoothly, “However, given the current political climate, I must say it would be best to leave this till after the war.” Elain did not look away as she thought.

“I don’t want the bond,”

“That’s perfectly okay-”

“No,” Elain interrupted, “I don’t want the bond at all. I don’t want to have to accept or reject anything - I just don’t want it...you....you don’t know what it’s like, to be pulled apart limb by limb, and be remade against your will, to find yourself destroyed and then re-crafted by something as unapologetic as the Cauldron itself. I was violated to the most extravagant degree and when I finally came around, when I finally managed to find something recognisable in myself, months after that night, I came around to find that I had been reduced to some ancient claim a stranger possessed over me. You are all kind, and you all mean well, but I know you all see myself as his.

“It was on the worst night of my life, the night when I had been pulled apart till I was only vessels and blood, he called me his. He is not a bad person I can see that,” her voice wobbled slightly then, “He is kind and witty, he’s working harder than any of you for the forgiveness of my sister. He doesn’t deserve…” She choked up slightly, but cleared her throat to cover it up, “He’s not bad…but this bond is terrible, it’s worst then terrible, it’s suffocating. And when I think of that bond, tied around my ribs like some kind of violating shackle, I just think of how it felt to suffocate on black water...that’s what this bond means to me, it’s a violation on top of a violation. So, to hear that to you, this bond gives you a political advantage, that you get a gain out of it and that you wish me to continue living in torment I...

“I wish I could be sorry about feeling this way, but I don’t. I have stayed quiet, and I have played the role you needed me to play. I keep out of your way; I busy myself with the gardens and dinner and I do everything I can to not bare my teeth every time he visits. But I...” Her wide, damp eyes turned to look at Azriel, “I have found something living in the never ending grave of my life. After I found myself again, all those months after the Cauldron, it felt as though it was only then I emerged from the black water. After I found...” She trailed off, stilling holding Azriel’s eye, “...I was not just out the black water, but back on the ground.”

A small silence settled over the room as Azriel and Elain found themselves quickly lost in one another again, Rhys was merely glancing between the two, his mind whirring as he tried to click together the puzzle in front of him.

“I tried Rhys…I really did,” Azriel finally whispered into the heavy silence, still not looking away from his beloved. “I’ve done everything short of chaining myself in the dungeons to stay away, but I can’t.” It wasn’t until the words had left Azriel’s mouth that he realised his error. And it wasn’t until Elain’s brows furrowed and her eyes moved to Rhysand, that he felt his heart drop.

“What?” Elain whispered. One of the thousand questions she no doubt harvested. Azriel couldn’t look away from her, couldn’t meet his brothers eye. He had this awful feeling now twisting his guts, the feeling that everything was about to come crashing down.

“I ordered Azriel to stay away from you,” Rhys said evenly. Always the honest man.

“I...what?” Elain spluttered softly, her eyes narrowing on Rhysand. “What?”

“He called me away on solstice night when I was about to kiss you, that’s why I stopped.” That’s why I called it a mistake. Elain’s eyes burned even brighter and Azriel wondered if he should’ve held his tongue. If he should’ve just waited to have this conversation tomorrow where whatever ancient power that was stirring in Elain had calmed down. Now Elain’s glowing eyes seemed to fill the room with golden light, even the black night shrouding Rhysand’s figure ebbed back and inch.

“What?” Elain’s voice rung out, the magic in the room quickly turning volatile.

“I am sorry Elain; I didn’t mean to meddle with your private affairs, but with Lucien under the same roof it would’ve been too risky for those in the house. He could’ve invoked something called a ‘blood duel’.” Of course, Elain didn’t know that, of course none of her friends or family had taken the time to explain that to her.

“You…you sanctimonious dick,” Elain spat. Had it been any other day, Azriel would’ve had to fight an astonished grin at hearing the words on her lips, but not tonight, not when everything was turning so morbid in front of his eyes.

“I’m sorry Elain, I truly am. But I’m not just your brother-in-law but your High Lord and I cannot risk my entire court for the mild infatuation of a-”

“Don’t speak to her like that,” The words were writhing in venom as Azriel spat them out. He would go down with her.

“No, Azriel, you don’t speak to me like that,” And with that Rhys’ last straw was gone. In an instant his power was billowing into the room in clouds of black smoke. Rhys acting in such a way in front of Elain, who was already vulnerable, her dress already ruffled and her eyes wide in alarm, made Azriel furious.

“I am your high lord, Azriel, and I gave you a direct command and you have disobeyed me-” Without thinking Azriel’s own icy power rose to the surface, his siphons lighting on fire at the surge. If Elain was frightened by their display of bottomless power she did not show it, perhaps as her own fire was still burning vividly behind her eyes, perhaps since she knew she had more power than them both.

“Have you ever thought perhaps you stepped out of line by asking such a thing of me?” Azriel had never heard his voice so loud and angry before. He didn’t do this. His arguments were stoic and brutal, but mostly silent. He never fought politics - he carved into people who were in chains, and when there was an argument he stayed in the shadows and listened.

“You are my spymaster-”

“I am your brother!” Azriel’s choked sob echoed into the room. “Do I not deserve to be happy?” Rhysand at least had the decency to flinch, to reel back and allow his jaw to slacken in shock.

“Of course, you deserve to be happy brother,” Rhysand’s voice was low and strangled, “But this isn’t just romance – it’s never just romance – this will be a battle-”

“And I’m willing to fight!” Azriel roared, his hands slamming into Rhysand’s desk, his power causing the entire house to shudder, right down to the foundations.

“Azriel,” Rhys’ voice was deathly quiet, “I need you to calm down.” For a moment Azriel didn’t understand, his mind was so focused on Elain, on his own shuddering heart and writhing powers that he simply could not comprehend the words that came out his brothers mouth. Finally, the message registered in his mind and he became aware of his shadows, flourishing and filling the entire room, crawling over the windows and blocking out all the light. The only way he was seeing Rhysand was via the golden glow that came from Elain’s eyes. Disgust racked through his body at the sight of the manifestation of his swirling pain, but before he could do anything, the leash on his powers snapped.

“Azriel-” The next series of events was a blur. Power billowed into the room in a quick explosion, God knows whose it was. Perhaps it was initially Azriel who had finally lost control on that leash on his Illyrian gifts, perhaps Rhysand moved to repress Azriel’s powers with his own, premature or not. Maybe the quiet Elain had had enough of the noise. In an instant, a cocktail of three brands of magic billowed towards each other before exploding outwards, sending a wave of pure, unhinged chaos through the room, the house, and the whole of Velaris.

They all were thrown back from each other, Rhys flying up and landing on his feet, bracing himself against the ornamental globe as his wings appeared and flared. But even he, the most powerful High Lord in history had his knees bent and his arms raised as he braced himself against the fizzling aftershock of the ancient power that tore through the air. Azriel’s centuries of training kicked in as he was catapulted the length of the room, his own wings flared to slow his flight before he caught himself on the doorframe, the weighty wooden doors having flung open, it took an immense amount of physical upper body strength to keep himself upright as the wave of power subsided, his teeth grinding together as his muscles screamed.

But he wasn’t aware of the pain of his screaming muscles, wasn’t thinking about how his wings were in danger of being shredded by the power that ripped through the room. There was only one person, that his entire being seemed to lurch for as his mind screamed her name over and over. Elain.

Elain.

He had seen as her pale form was flung away from him towards the cabinets, had heard the shattering of glass over the howling in his ears. Of course, he and Rhysand were okay, they had centuries of power and training under their belts but Elain…Elain didn’t have training, and she had flown through the air the fastest, taking the brunt of the powers rebound, her small form crashing into the case of Rhysand’s prized artefacts.

The minute Azriel had control of his own body and wasn’t being thrust back into the hallway, he winnowed to her, stepped into the shadows with a haste and urgency he’d never felt before. Wrong. He’d felt this fear before, he recognised it’s taste from the poisonous memories of that night Elain had been ripped away from them, leaving behind nothing but a vacant cot and warm sheets. Memories of that night often haunted his dreams; how ridiculously lucky they had gotten that they had reached Elain minutes before the King of Hybern got his hands on her. In his dreams he was too late. In his nightmares he fails her, and by the time he and Feyre find the tent she’s already gone. Sometimes there’s a body, and sometimes his unconscious mind is kind enough to just leave behind her lingering scent. That night he learned what it was like to truly fear, to have the blood leave your body, to feel the world still.

And that’s what the world did as he stepped onto the other side of the shadows. Elain was crumpled on the floor underneath the large bay windows, moonlight streaming into the mutilated room and illuminating her still form. It was as though the starlight was searching for her, reaching out to her with hands made of silver shadows.

Glass crunched under Azriel’s boots as he took a step forward, and another, and another. Because he could scent it before he saw it – the blood. The sour metallic taste that clogged up the air, interwoven with her own delicate scent. Wrong, it was so wrong, to have Elain’s scent fused with that of blood. She was facing away from him, crumpled on her side in a foetal position, and he could see her arms, her beautiful nimble arms so like the legs of a doe, limp on the floor and marred with what seemed to be a thousand cuts.

Her blood was black in the moonlight, and was colouring her beautiful, beautiful night dress. The roaring in Azriel’s ears was nothing short of explosive. And before him he saw a black wave, taller than the Ramiel, heading straight for him. One that was made of self-loathing, anger, frustration and agony, and as he dropped to his knees in front of Elain he felt it wash over him, burying him deeper in himself than he’d ever been before, and he knew he would not resurface.

Slowly, as not to hurt her further, Azriel rolled Elain over onto her back and into his lap. With shaky fingers he pushed back her hair, just as he had done less than an hour earlier. Her eyes were shut again, but this time he didn’t look at her face for beauty, but for a sign of life.

“Elain…” He whispered; his voice was softer than petals. She did not stir.

“Elain…” He murmured again as he bowed his head and pressed it against her chest, sticky blood rubbing against his cheek as he did so. For a moment it was all silent, and Azriel felt the world drop away, felt himself falling through bottomless black water only to never resurface.

And then there it was. The familiar ‘thu-thump’ beating slow and steady in her chest, the sweetest melody Azriel had ever heard. But before he could revel in the relief of Elain being alive, movement at the side of his eye made him snap his head, turn up his top lip and let loose a nothing but feral growl. It was his brother, and a small wave of shame rolled through him at having behaved in such a way to someone whom he owed so much.

“Azriel…” Rhysand’s voice was soothing, calm, “She’s having a vision…look, Azriel look. She’s okay, she’s just having a vision.”

And so, he looked again and yes, she was having a vision. Behind her eyelids Azriel could see her pupils flurrying side to side as though she were engaged in some riveting dream.

She’s having a vision; she’s having a vision. His shadows chanted to him, running up his back and whispering in his ear. It didn’t soothe him, but rather caused the cloud of anger around him to disappear, so that he was numb again. Some movement deep in the house pulled at his attention, but it was like a ribbon trying to move an ocean, there was nothing for it to hold onto.

And soon both men were turning to the worst thing of all: Feyre and Nesta, standing at the doorway looking at their sister unresponsive in a pool of blood, both primed and ready to kill.

“Get away from her.” Nesta’s voice clanged through the room like steel as she strode forward, seeming to fill the broken room with her strength alone. As she moved she revealed a slightly dazed Cassian behind her, still dressed in his night clothes and yet armed to the teeth, clearly having been awoken in a haste. Rhys took a step back, there was too much power, too much energy, in the room already, provoking Nesta would surely lead them all to their sudden deaths.

Then there was Feyre, walking into the room behind her sister, quiet but observant, the perfect High Lady. She seemed to assess everything around her. The tautness of her husband’s stature, the silent flood of emotions that seemed to be rippling from her spymaster, Elain’s shallow breaths and bloodied night gown. After a moment of quiet assessment, she moved forth to the stoic and emotionless figure of her shadowsinger.

“Azriel,” Rhys recognised Feyre’s tone as she approached his brother, it was the tone she used with Nyx, motherly and soft. Azriel pulled his eyes from Elain to look at Feyre vacantly. “It’s okay, everything’s going to be okay…but I need you to let me take her.” Azriel’s mouth contorted in pain as he pulled Elain slighter closer to his chest.

“I know,” Feyre whispered, dropping to her knees next to him, not caring that her own silken nightgown was turning splotchy and red. “I know it’s hard but everything’s going to be okay. She’s my sister, and I as your High Lady will not let anything harm her.” There’s no need, Azriel thought bitterly as he looked down at Elain’s deathly pale skin, her abuser is here, right in front of you. The only harm you need protect her from, is me.

But he didn’t say any of that out loud, he wasn’t even sure his voice would work for him in that moment. Azriel didn’t quite hand Elain over to Feyre, rather he just let his arms go limp around her, and Feyre was able to scoop her sister out of his arms as though they were passing Nyx from one another. Every instinct Azriel had was screaming at him to take Elain back, to at least look at her unconscious form in Feyre’s arms as they moved away from him, but he kept his eyes on the floor, now kneeling to only the pools of Elain’s blood.

Voices began to erupt around him in hushes whispers, he could distantly hear Rhysand guiding his subjects through the plan, explaining to them what had happened whilst withholding the reason why. It was all numb to him as he continued to float under that black wave, sinking deeper and deeper, their voices were above the surface and so they just sounded warbled and strange.

But one movement did catch Azriel’s eye. It cut through the room’s silent chaos like a knife, a figure appearing at the ruined doorway that caught Azriel’s attention the same way an earthquake would. It was him.

Lucien.

“What happened?” Lucien growled out and something roared in Azriel. He knew that tone of voice, could smell the mate-tarnished anger that was rolling out of him. That animalistic claim on the woman Azriel had nearly lost himself in only moments ago. That’s why he was here, because he would’ve felt the energy down the bond, because even though he was at the other end of Prythian with his own family, he had that claim.

“She’s okay,” Feyre breathed softly as she lifted her sister up into her arms, “Her cuts are already healing, it looks worse than it is. She’s just had a vision so it might take a while for her to come around.” Feyre’s voice was so like her husband’s, even and balanced, reassuring everyone in the room that everything was okay, even if that were not necessarily true.

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

Azriel didn’t want to hate Lucien, even now he could see that the Autumn son was grappling with the bond that was no doubt screaming at him to rip his mate from Feyre’s arms and winnow them both to the other side of the continent. Azriel knew, because he felt it too. Like Elain he didn’t really hate Lucien, he hated the bond, hated what it told him about himself, clear as day, that he wasn’t worthy of Elain. And though some part of him already assumed just as much, no one was so self-deprecating to not at least hold of a sliver of hope in the face of such agony.

“She’s fine,” Nesta snarled at Lucien, one hand on Feyre’s shoulder, the other on Elain’s pale and bloodied forehead as she guided her sisters towards to mutilated door frame. They were right to take their sister away from the scene, God knew that no one there could help Elain now.

And so Elain disappeared around the corner, and Azriel slowly brought himself off the floor, trying to ignore the sight of his marred hands, covered in her blood.

What...even...Cassian’s voice swam into Rhys mind, dripping in confusion and concern. Did you and Az have a fight?

Rhys put off audibly groaning. Whenever he and Az fought it was normally not difficult to keep Cassian oblivious, he didn’t always pick up and stuff like that and sometimes it was just easier to deal with debates behind closed doors. Not to treat Cassian as his and Az’s overgrown child, it was just that Cassian was never meant to be a mediator.

It’s complicated, Rhys reported back keeping his voice level and calm - his High Lord voice.

I’ll let you off for tonight but, Rhys, you have to let me help you. Especially when it comes to Az. He was right of course, just like Azriel had been.

Deal, Rhys shot back, for tonight I need eyes on Az, I don’t care if he pushes you away I need someone with him at all times, at least until Elain comes around. We’ll re-group then. Cassian didn’t respond besides the smallest of nods. He stayed where he was, more awake now with his eyes trained on their other brother, and Rhys knew Cassian wouldn’t take his eyes off him for the foreseeable future.

Rhysand couldn’t help but sigh, it’s not as though Azriel or Lucien were aware of him to notice. This was a mess. Worse than a mess, it was a catastrophe. Everything Azriel had said was right but, he had broken his order, he had defied rank in a way he’d never done before and that squeezed something deep in Rhysand’s gut. Above all he needed to be able to trust his friends, so that when push came to shove he’d be able to make the tough decisions and his friends would let him go into the belly of the beast. But tonight, that had changed. Everything had changed.

And Elain, Elain who he had nearly called by his sisters name, she’d stood up for herself tonight. And then there was the situation of her powers, savage and rippling out of her like a beast. He had tasted those powers when they’d tore out of her, and they were ancient. The same power that was interwoven in the very fields of the earth, concentrated in the form of the sweetest girl of all. Rhys knew at least a thousand fae who would pay a hefty price to possess Elain, a hundred who might be willing to go to war - and then there were the Fae who would claw for her hand, the noblemen who would see her for her potential offspring. Rhysand physically shuddered as he sent his wings away.

Yes, tonight had been a catastrophe all right.

Rhysand looked away from Cassian’s half-hidden grimace and turned to the two males standing off, the blood of the woman they were unspokenly fighting over still pooling across the hardwood floors. Lucien glaring with restrained anger at Azriel, his masculine mating bond clogging up the air, whilst Azriel wore an impenetrable mask, hiding the bottomless torment and agony that was no doubt running rife in the shadowsinger, as he stared at the weeping puddle of Elain’s blood.

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