#and scattered to the winds before being buried

[lullaebies]

Not sure if you still want Jaehaegon prompts BUT a fic/drabble of the way Aegon III and Jaehaera both grieve specifically their mothers would go insane especially with your writing. Them being both extremely codependent yet unable to talk to the other about this one thing, the suppressed guilt, the waking nightmares Aegon would surely have of Jaehaera’s beloved father having his mother eaten alive right in front of him…plus the books say Rhaenyra was so dependent on having Aegon around 24/7 after she lost all her other children, how would that manifest in him now?

Have a really nice day!!!

a/n: ahhhhh i loved writing this prompt. it had been on my mind since i got it and i finally got time to tap into it (as well as other reqs that i'm slowly chipping into!). i hope you will enjoy this dear, and thank you so much for the compliments too <3 it ended up more about Aegon's experiences but there are touches on Jaehaera's side of things. I do write TG side of things more often though so he def deserves the focus I feel!

“Even while we are in the castle, you are not to leave me. Not for a moment, Aegon,” she says, tugging roughly on his hand. 

“Mother, I—” he replies, frightened at the clutch of her grip. He first tries to escape, pull his arm away, but she holds him tighter while his legs try to match her pace. “Mother, it hurts!”

And her grip suddenly loosens. He nearly trips, on the sands of Dragonstone, the dunes he had once built castles with on this shore, with his brothers. Rhaenyra falls to her knees upon it, clutching him against her in an apologetic embrace. “I am sorry. I am sorry…” she swallows

He feels the very air of the island is awry, not the same, as her feet and dress bury into the sand. He holds her back, trying to keep her afloat, though his own throat is dry at what to say. Ser Alfred Broome and his men watching him made him both shy and chilled.

She runs a hand through his hair. “We shall see to that our home is safe, and stay safe, the two of us, yes?” 

Aegon is scared, feeling dwarved by the world, but his mother’s voice is begging, and his only offer to console her, as always, is to agree.

“...Yes—”

The earth beneath becomes hot, as the sun rises above Dragonstone, turning from yellow to gold. Its rays turn into flare, and the sand turns into glass. He screams for his mother to flee — but glass shatters, puncturing his throat as he screams.

He wakes up in cold sweat, his whole body trembling. He is alone on his side of the bed, and the wind blows harshly from the open window, but not enough to dispel the heat from his bones. As if possessed, he lifts himself up from the bed, eyes taking in the dark room.

“Aegon?” Jaehaera stands up. She had sat by a roaring fireplace, making the woods within it crack as they blacken. And for a moment, it is equal parts anxiety and betrayal, tears against the dam that are his silver lash line. His feet thunder before him, grabbing the golden pitcher of wine on their table, tossing it whole at the fireplace. Droplets from it scatter like tricklets of blood on the carpet. The fire sizzles as Jaehaera gasps, but it is not fully put out.

“It won’t disappear, it won’t disappear!” his low voice trembles. His breaths feel like fire courses up his throat, and he feels sick. On the brink of vomiting from disgust — his own home is not safe, his own body betraying him to become flame — he thinks Jaehaera too is running away from him, but soon enough, she finds a glass of water within their room to douse the remaining flame.

The room then darkens significantly. The moonlight remains, refusing to let him become blind for the end, but he closes his eyes, wanting to refuse to its will too. He is not burnt, but he feels fragile ash, left behind in the wind, falling to the floor.

In the complete silence that dominates the room, in the black escape of his closed eyes, he sees his mother, as though she has never left. He hadn’t been allowed to move an inch from her, until the very moment the beast had devoured her. The one moment he wanted to run to her, make her move. The fire devoured her, as did the dragon, but he remained behind, her shadow.

A shadow of a man remains today, too.

The utter quiet that he regains his mind in remains unbroken until he opens his eyes, doing his best to keep any tears unshed. Jaehaera doesn’t dare to move a step, her fingers curling around the empty glass of water as she watches him. His heart weakens again — he should’ve known not to be so helpless in the presence of women just as helpless as he.

Mother, I’m sorry, he wants to return to the dream, to say that to her instead. He cannot, but his wife is here.

“I…” it’s on the tip of his tongue, but he doesn’t know how to begin. He doesn’t want to apologize, when he still feels his mother’s hold on him. But I shouldn’t have scared her, still, and yet again, if he does apologize, he’d have to explain why, to begin with. 

He and Jaehaera don’t speak of these things. For the better of them both, for the sake of their lost loved kin, for the sake of love not being lost again. She knows what had occurred on Dragonstone, as he knows what has occurred in King’s Landing. The histories will not forget, but they ever attempt to do so, regardless.

‘Tis be duty, for the very realm. He would say that to himself, again and again, until his own guilt creeps up on him. Reminding him so — that this is his sin, the need to cling to the daughter of the scorching sun, the last light.

Jaehaera puts away the cup, and approaches him with ghostly steps. If she had liked, she could thunder through the room. She could give him her known scowl and turn away. She could even leave with less than a whisper. Everything is imaginable, when they have went through all imaginable. As a little girl, he heard her weep more than he can count, even from the other side of Maegor’s Holdfast, but she’s no longer that little girl.

She lowers herself to her knees too, and reaches over to embrace him, guiding his head to occupy the crook of her neck. The stone floor is firm, but he feels himself sinking into her. His breaths grow wavering again.

“I’m sorry,” it finally comes out, those words and the tears, and the honest, brutal truth. “It won’t leave me,” he says. “That memory, my mother—” he stops himself, shutting his eyes hard.

It aches so deeply, and it tears him apart, him of the past and him of the future. In this present, this very moment, he doesn’t even know who he is at all. Doesn’t know how to talk, or explain, or do a thing but freeze in time, so afraid of fire.

Jaehaera holds him tighter. Her fingers move soothingly through the nearby white of his hair, when she finally allows herself to speak. “Do you remember the first time you held me?” she asks him. 

He swallows. He remembers, yes. One would expect it to be their first night, but it wasn’t. His first hold of her had been a full year prior, when she had been reduced to tears at a feast. Nothing of his machinations, but of his regents. Their planning, however, had not taken into account that that day had been the anniversary of his aunt Helaena’s death. Or perhaps they had, and only wished to overwrite the day’s meaning. 

Aegon hadn’t realized. Jaehaera had barely spoken a pip to him back then. But then she broke down in tears in the middle of the feast, and although he had been apt to ignore her from their distant rooms, he couldn’t quite ignore it then when The Queen fled the room, and everyone simply stood and watched.

None of his regents could hold him in his place, for the very principle he refuses to ever be reduced to a spectator by ‘loyal’ men. 

And so he went after her — and they were ever so clear with how she looked down the moat, and mumbled about ‘mum’. He had been there when her mother died; it connected quickly. There were no words he could dare speak. No matter how averse to touch he had been, his only way to answer her had been his arms coming around her, and letting her sob within them.

He assumed it would be a futile effort, as holding the hands of those who slowly passed from Winter Fever had been… but she cried until she fell asleep, until he had already been lulled by the night himself, and they both woke up the morning after to the sun’ touching them with only soft rays.

“I know what plagues you, as you know what plagues me,” Jaehaera tells him. “You held me when I cried for my kin and the past. You needed no explanation or clause to console me. I won’t ask it of you either,” she says. “‘It is enough reason to hold you, knowing you need to be held.”

Aegon gathers her in his arms, some will of strength returning to them. 

He can ask her to never leave his side. He can plead with her, that they have to make this home safe, to remain safe, the two of them. He can leave her with no choice but to agree, even if she is doubtful. He can — but he doesn’t think he has to. She knows, and he has reached a place where his belief in it, his own yes, is not laced with doubt.

Aegon closes his eyes, and lets himself weep until sleep overtakes him. Within his drowsiness, as his last tear falls, he can see his mother at the back of his mind, offering him a soft smile. The morning sun will wake him again, but there will be no scorching no more. His last light’s tight embrace assures it too.

[shih-coulda-had-it]

Honestly knowing how All For One is, I wouldn’t be surprised if he kept Yoichi’s body on ice somewhere for the past 100+ years,

winter soldierize your weak little brother so he can be STRONG and OBEDIENT.

[thewidowsledger]

Forget The World Behind

© thewidowsledger 2024 - DO NOT REPUBLISH AND PLAGIARISE

Pairings: Avenger Natasha Romanoff x Avenger Female Reader

Word count: 1.9k

Warnings: +18, bad writing, smut, Natasha has a penis, top!Natasha, bottom!reader, fingering (r receiving), soft Natasha, lots of kissing, angst, your typical 'stop, we can't do this' trope

Author's Note: What grief does to me in the middle of the night: Write my first one-shot which contains soft sex that I will never experience, lol. I am in a great deal of pain right now and it is really true when they say that grief will just suddenly hit you out of nowhere, doesn't matter where you are or when and you just have to find a way to deal with that.

Navigation | Masterlist

⧗

“We're… Avengers…” you muttered, the words almost caught in the back of your throat as she went up to you and pushed her lips onto yours. “Natasha.”

You calling her in her first name made her stop from trailing kisses down your neck.

“We should stop.” You said looking straight at her.

“We should stop.” She repeated the words that came out your mouth.

⧗

“Oh god,” Natasha groaned as she buried her face on the pillow. “What a night.” She was muffled.

It had been a harrowing and strenuous mission, from start to finish. The tasks at hand consisted of rescuing, extracting, and engaging in undercover missions which needed a lot of pretending. However, the good news was that it was finally complete. Now, the only remaining task was to return to the compound and file your report. Nevertheless, considering the lateness of the hour and your collective state of exhaustion, that could wait until tomorrow.

You looked over at Natasha, who was still sprawled out on the bed. “I agree,” you murmured tiredly, your voice tinged with weariness. You carefully lowered yourself down beside her on the bed, taking care not to accidentally bump into her. Normally, after a mission, you would make a beeline straight back to the compound, as it was the safest place to be. But this stop was necessary to avoid the suspicion of boarding a flight right then and there.

Natasha rolled to her back from being buried in the pillow, she stretched her arm out, slithering it under your neck.

You rolled over, keeping your head cushioned on her arm and shoulder and tucking yourself into her side as well. You inhaled as her head tilted, hovering closer to you. “We said we wouldn't.”

“Mhm,” Natasha hummed, even as she pressed her lips to your forehead.

“And we did,” you said as you leaned into her more. Your arm moved and her fingers toyed with a few strands of your hair.

“We did,” she repeated as she rolled over too, nuzzling your face until her lips could find yours.

As your lips met in a passionate kiss, you could feel yourself giving in to the desire, “This is wrong,” the words slipped out of your mouth. Despite your hesitation, your hands clutched tightly onto Natasha's shirt, pulling her closer to you. You arch your back, pressing yourself against her as you deepen the kiss.

“Is it?” she inhaled against your cheek before moving her lips to your neck. She rolled even further, until she could lie over you. She flicked open a button of your dress. “How?”

“Because,” you gasped as Natasha unfastened two more buttons, her finger tracing the edge of your lacy bra. You could feel the smooth touch of her finger against your skin, sending a wave of pleasure through your body.

“Because?” she prompted, enjoying taking her time and suffocating her face in your cleavage.

As Natasha's teeth grazed along your sensitive breasts, you could feel your mind going blank, your thoughts scattering to the winds. You tried to maintain your composure, your voice coming out a little more breathless than you would have liked.

“We're… Avengers…” you muttered, the words almost caught in the back of your throat as she went up to you and pushed her lips onto yours. “Natasha.”

You calling her in her first name made her stop from trailing kisses down your neck.

“We should stop.” You said looking straight at her.

“We should stop.” She repeated the words that came out your mouth.

You said you couldn't be physical anymore because of the job, being one of the Avengers and also her being an Avenger. It could complicate your partnership, interfere with your effectiveness during the mission, something upon which your lives depended—the whole world depended on.

Just for once, you hope that the world will just give an ounce of consideration. You have been out saving it might as well give you what you want. And what you want is the redhead who is now pulling away from you.

Fuck the world.

You surged forward kissing Natasha, she was stunned but gave in. She began working her way up your body, her hands slowly slipping beneath your dress. “If you want me to stop again, you can tell me.”

The phrase hurt you, you made her feel that you're not sure of what you’re doing, of what you wanted. But the offer made sense though—it would make sense. It would be better for the mission and for all future missions if you both stopped again. It would probably be better for your work partnership too. Right? Certainly the other Avengers would feel better about not having to suspect that your feelings were more than professional.

But the thing is you know what you want and you don't want her to stop, not now—not ever.

Fuck being an Avenger.

You loved her in every mission, every undercovers that you had to act like partners, when you had to make out just to distract the targets. You loved everything about her, and you always had.

It was only recently that you had added her body to the list of things you loved most about her.

Natasha moaned as you pulled her into another kiss, firmer than before. She wrapped her arms around you to truly hold you, her hands sliding over you.

You gasped as she pulled your dress all the way up. Her slender fingers immediately slip into your underwear. Natasha never wasted time when there was a mission at hand. Your hands balling into fists, her shirt rustling under your touch.

“Chill,” she rumbled into your ear, her voice low and husky. She stroked and circled her fingers, coaxing your pleasure out of you. “Just relax, lyubov. I got you.”

You inhaled sharply and let it out. Your whole body started trembling as she circled a particular spot, her thumb pushing against your clit. You stared up at the ceiling, clinging to her as if you were at sea drowning.

“Natty!”

She pulled up, keeping her hand still inside you as you writhed against her. She was so far from done, but she considered this a necessary step. She leaned to kiss your cheek.

“Mhm, yeah that's my girl.”

You tilted your head at the side, whimpering again as you felt her pull her fingers out of you. You didn't give in to pleasure often. You didn't consider yourself as someone who needed it often, either. But the things this redhead could make you feel...

“You good?” She asked, your voices soft, your breathing mixing together in the silent room.

You nodded, your chest heaving. Natasha laid over you again, having gotten her belt undone and her pants out of the way just enough. You didn't have the luxury of ripping all your clothes off and starting making tender love. You couldn't afford to fuck like wild animals rutting against each other too.

What you could afford is a quick relief of tension in a whole world against the two of you. Unfair because you have been doing nothing but saving it.

But again, fuck the world.

Natasha kissed you as she pushed inside of you. You groaned; her fingers were already thicker than you were used to and she was much, much thicker than that. She peppered your face with kisses.

“How does it feel?” she asked.

You clawed at her back as you adjusted to her being fully inside of you—as if your life depended on it. This was actually the first time you were being connected in a very intimate way.

“Good…strange.”

“You're okay, just breathe,” she whispered reassuringly.

You did so, slowing your breathing until your tense muscles could relax. You turned your head, seeking her lips again. She gave them and you demanded her tongue as well—you really wanted more—you wanted all of her.

Natasha moved gently, never one to risk hurting you in any way. She nuzzled your cheek, both of you breathing for your lives.

The feeling of Natasha's hips meeting yours was intoxicating, you gripped the muscles in her back as she pulled herself in and out of you. You tried not to sink into the feeling of it and keep your mind alert. But the sensation of her inside you was unlike anything you had ever experienced. The heat and the fullness had you dizzy. Her musky scent, mingling with the perfume of your intimacy.

“Y/N,” the redhead slurred, sounding more strained as she moved faster. She nipped your neck as she left a trailing mark against your skin feeling around for your pulse until she could pay it proper attention.

“Nat,” you gasped in response, your voice peak and stringy. Your whole body trembled as you felt her swell even further. “Natty!”

She pressed her lips to your cheek again, and you could feel her smiling against your skin. “Sorry, you sound really adorable right now.”

You felt yourself clench around her reflexively. You blushed.

This made Natasha more eager, she picked up her speed even more. Her arms dragged over the bed sheets, curling around you protectively—possessively hoarding what was hers. Her breathing came faster and rougher, her leverage angle changed.

You reached her mouth again, hungrily this time. Your legs slithered around her and your hips rose to meet her halfway. You were much closer than you anticipated, and probably closer than she thought you were.

“Natty, yes, yes, yes ‘m so close.”

What few words you did have to offer seemed enough for her.

“Anytime now, detka."

You bit into the inside of your lip as she continued to push you closer. You were an Avenger, one of the world’s mightiest heroes and there was little you couldn't endure. But you would definitely give everything up to come right here and now.

Natasha let you dig your nails into her skin as you came around her, your whole body shaking as you gripped her. She groaned into your hair, splayed over the sheets as she followed, spilling her cum into your walls. She smashed your lips together again before reeling herself in, making your kisses more gentle again. She held your cheeks, looking for signs you would never speak aloud.

“You okay?”

You opened your eyes, blinking up at the ceiling again before Natasha moved into your line of sight. You were still seeing stars and Natasha was your sun as everything revolves around her—only her.

She kissed you again, your lips moving languidly. She still held you like you were fragile, and she was still lying over you like you were all hers.

You were, in ways you couldn't afford. But you clung to her, even as she pulled out of you, even as she laid down beside you just to pull you closer once she was comfortable. You sighed as you settled against her chest. You were far too exhausted to move, and you had no desire to as Natasha pressed her lips to the top of your head and exhaled deeply. You rose and fell with the rhythm of her chest, as if bobbing along at sea on a raft of her.

“I've got you, Y/N,” Natasha mumbled before dozing off into sleep, her fingers intertwined with yours and her arm wrapped around your shoulders. You chuckled on how this tough, intimidating, strong Avenger could be rough in missions and would go soft in bed and immediately fall asleep.

You nuzzled into her chest, just this once, to indulge your silly, love stricken brain. Natasha had you in ways she didn't even know about—ways you could never really tell her. But just for tonight, you could add your body to that list.

Just for tonight you can forget the world behind.

[ichorai]

little dragon ; aemond targaryen. (m)

part two ; water dragon.

pairing ; aemond targaryen x tully!f!reader

synopsis ; he was your fire, and you were his sea, willing to push and pull the tides at his behest.

words ; 5.8k

themes ; fluff, smut (minors dni!), fantasy, established relationship (married), pregnant au

warnings / includes ; unprotected sex, tiny bit of oral (f recieving), breeding and praise kink, pregnancy/childbirth, vhagar cameo, aegon being a menace, foul language, aemond being a good husband/dad unlike his own father, so sorry if the valyrian grammar isn't completely correct ;-; if anyone gets the bert & ernie tully reference you deserve a million dollars

main masterlist.

It happened in the dead of night. When the winds quietened to but a feathery whisper, when the moon shone white and gold and silver, when the fires in the hearth of your chambers had waned to a soft orange glow.

“Ñuha jorrāelagon,” he whispered against the flushed skin of your neck, traveling downwards to softly kiss along your clavicle. His voice was gravely and rich, soaked with honey and ocean salt. The sapphire within his eye glinted with the dim lighting of the sparse candles scattered around your chambers, and you craned your head to press a kiss upon his scar, your nose slotted against his cheekbone. 

My love was what he’d said—you didn’t know much Valyrian, still trying your best to study during your free hours, but your husband called you that often enough for you to recognize the affectionate words. 

One of your hands was buried within his silken silver hair, tugging in tandem with his swift, fluid motions. The other clawed down his toned back, leaving angry red trails in its wake. A strained cry fell from your kiss-swollen lips as you rocked your hips against his. 

Aemond held your waist in a tight grip, thumbs brushing against the sides of your ribs with every stroke of his throbbing cock within your slick, heated cunt. His lips, his tongue, his teeth—all blistering, scorching, searing with need. 

“Sīr sȳz syt nyke, ñuha embar.” So good for me, my sea. He was your fire, and you were his sea, willing to push and pull the tides at his behest. A guttural groan tapered his voice to a close when you clenched around him, his susurrating praises mumbled against your breast sending jolts of arousal straight to your core. His rapid, desperate string of Valyrian fell upon deaf ears, buzzing with pleasure. Stars colored your vision a blinding white when one of his hands relinquished his hold on you to snake down your abdomen, pressing his long fingers against your clit.

“Aemond!” you just about sobbed, legs curling around his waist to pull him closer. You were insatiable, cracking your eyes open once more, a thin film of tears warbling over your widened gaze. “Oh, please, please—!”

A gasp caught in your throat as he thrust into you with more power than before, but froze once he was completely sheathed within your throbbing cunt. “Please, what? Have I fucked you stupid already, jorrāelagon, hm? Dragon got your tongue?” he hummed in mild amusement, regarding your beautiful, sweaty form with a hungry, lustful expression, eyebrows cocked as he waited for your answer. 

Part of you wanted to snarl at him, tell him to keep moving, but the other half of you wanted to cry and plead and beg for his cock.

Knowing your husband, he would’ve been quite pleased with either. 

“I want you to finish inside me,” you breathed out, lips brushing the shell of his ear, eyes half-hooded with want. “Fuck me full of your cum, valzȳrys.”

His cock grew impossibly harder within you, throbbing almost painfully—whether it was because of you calling him husband in his native language, or because of your devilish tongue laving upon a sensitive spot on his neck, he couldn’t quite tell. Expression hardening, he grabbed at your hips and yanked himself out of you, before flipping you onto your stomach and swiftly breaching your entrance in no less than three seconds, earning him a shriek of surprise which winded into a litany of breathless moans and blubbering pleas. 

And yet, he remained still, cock stretching you out so deliciously well—but he wasn’t moving. You sobbed with frustration, burying your face into the feather-pillow in front of you, muffling your desperate cries. Aemond’s growl thundered through his throat, and he slid his hand into your hair and tugged you up flush against his chest, so he could hear your obscene noises loud and clear. His free hand creeped down between your trembling thighs, where his middle finger only barely grazed over your clit, despite your fruitless attempts to buck your hips up to meet his touch.

“Ask me again nicely, ñuha embar,” he whispered, placing a loving kiss to the side of your temple. “In my mother tongue—you remember all those lessons I gave you, no?”

You wanted to curse at him. Your Valyrian lessons with him were the very last thing on your mind at the moment. Thoughts hazy, you murmured out a bit shakily, “Kostilus, qogralbar nyke, Aemond. Ta… Tatagon iemnȳ, kostilus.” 

Please, fuck me, Aemond. Finish inside, please.

He hummed in satisfaction as he pressed sweet kisses along the curve of your shoulder. He gently pulled out and began to roughly thrust back up into you as soon as you moaned out, “Nyke jorrāelagon ao!”

I need you!

A broken sigh tumbled from your throat when he finally began to fuck you just the way you wanted, knowing that your climax was drawing near. You had no chance of lasting when he began to circle the pads of his fingers against your clit. 

“Iksā sīr sȳz. Sīr, sīr sȳz, ñuha embar,” he said, chest rumbling with each word. You feel so good. So, so good, my sea. “Avy jorrāelan, avy jorrāelan, dōna ābrazȳrys.” I love you, I love you, sweet wife.

You preened with his praise, arching your spine and pushing your hips back to match his quick pace. The sound of skin slapping against skin, of your arousal rang loud and true throughout your chambers, bouncing off the stone walls and ricocheting back to you, heat spidering over your skin upon hearing your own lust. 

“Tatagon syt nyke,” he growled, motions growing erratic and hurried. Cum for me.

With one final moan, you collapsed against him, cunt spasming tightly around his dick as you toppled down from the edge, pushing Aemond over the brink as well, spurts of warm cum painting your cunt. Despite the both of you already coming down from your highs, Aemond rocked into you a couple more times, kissing your sweaty hairline over and over again as he showered you with muted praise. The sticky substance dripped down the insides of your legs once he gingerly pulled out of you with a low sigh. He reached down to collect it and abruptly stuffed his cum-slickened fingers back into your cunt, wrangling a sharp intake of breath from you.

He chuckled lightly, pulling his hand back out and dragging his tongue over his finger to taste the filthy mix of your essence with his seed, before winding his arm around you to allow you to do the same. You whimpered around his fingers, sucking on the digits slowly—Aemond could feel his cock growing hard again. 

With a pleased hum, he languidly set you back down on the bed so he could lay beside you, pulling his hand away from your mouth with a lewdly wet pop. 

“I love you,” you croaked, throat parched and voice hoarse from all your moaning, an utterly blissful grin stretching your swollen lips.

Aemond cupped your face within his palms and pressed a chaste kiss to your damp forehead. “And I you, my dear sea.”

MOON ONE.

“It’s been a moon since you’ve bled, my lady,” your handmaiden, Lailena, commented, a knowing excitement to her gaze. “Could that mean…?”

In truth, you haven't told anyone about your pregnancy just yet. Nobody knew except you and the maester, who’d sworn himself to secrecy with a kind, understanding smile. It’d been a couple days since you found out, and you were still trying to find a way to tell your beloved husband. In the meantime, you were enjoying the peaceful privacy of knowing that it was only you who knew of the babe growing within you. No doubt when the news would inevitably break out, Alicent and Aemond would be hovering over you like overprotective hawks. 

Not being able to contain your smile, you grasped your handmaiden’s hands within yours. “You’re not to tell a soul, Lailena. I still have yet to inform the prince.”

Your handmaiden mimicked locking her lips shut, a beautiful smile etching across her features. “I am so happy for you, my lady. If you need anything—anything at all, please do not hesitate to let me know.”

“Oh, you’re too kind, my dear,” you hummed, patting her cheek affectionately. You had a soft spot for your young handmaiden—having stopped her from being sold into a whorehouse against her will at the ripe age of ten-and-two. “Will you please draw me a bath? I’d like to wash the day’s labor off of me.”

Not ten minutes later, you were sighing in relief as you sank into a tub of warm water, the heat a relief for your tense muscles. You let your eyelids slide shut, lolling your head against the bath’s edge. 

A familiar pair of hands settled upon your bare shoulders, and you didn’t have to look to know that it was your husband coming to check in on you.

“Rytsas, ñuha jorrāelagon,” he hummed, kneeling by the gilded tub’s edge and pressing a swift kiss to your cheek. Hello, my love.

“Aemond.” You shifted so you could face him, the water sloshing about with your movements. Nervousness was eating away at your insides, and you thought that no time would be better than now, where nobody else would bother you. “My darling husband, I have something to tell you.”

For a brief moment, worry flashed across Aemond’s expression, afraid something was wrong. “What is it?”

“It’s nothing bad,” you reassured him, a soft smile hanging onto the corner of your lips when he leaned forward to rest his forehead over yours. “At least, I hope it’s not.”

He remained mute, wordlessly urging you to continue. 

“I am with child.”

There were exactly three seconds of silence, presumably Aemond taking time to fully comprehend what you’d just told him. And then, a rare, beautiful smile overtook his usually impartial expression, his heart skipping over several beats with the realization that he was going to be a father. 

“You’re not jesting, embar?” he whispered, nose nudging yours. “Because this would surely be a cruel joke.”

Mirroring his growing elation, you let yourself beam brightly, craning your neck to kiss him properly. “I’m not jesting, Aemond,” you murmured, trailing your lips up to freckle kisses over the marred skin of his scar, and around his eyepatch, which you itched to yank off. 

“My love,” he said, struggling to find words for how he was feeling. Overjoyed? Shocked? Scared? “This is… you’re so… wonderful. This is wonderful. Avy jorrāelan. I love you, more than anything—and our little dragon.”

You scoffed, pulling away from him with raised brows. “Dragon? You forget I am a Tully, dear husband—they will be half my blood.”

With an affectionate roll of his eye, Aemond lifted his hand to tuck a stray strand of your hair behind your ear. “Alright, alright. Half-dragon, half-trout, then.”

“Fire and water.” You nodded in satisfaction at the compromise, your jubilated smile stolen away with a kiss from your sweet husband.

MOON TWO.

Aemond felt the bed shift as you sat up, rubbing the sleep from your eyes and swinging your legs over the edge of the mattress. A small noise of discontent rumbled in his throat as he propped himself onto his elbow, vision still adjusting to the darkness. 

“Where are you going?” he whispered, voice still gravely with slumber, twinged with confusion. “The hour is still early, my love. The sun has yet to rise.”

You hummed, leaning down to kiss his cheek, before rising onto your feet, shrugging on a silken green robe. “I have a sudden craving for honey cakes. I’m going down to the kitchens to see if they have any left from yesterday’s supper.”

“Now?” queried your husband, seeming partially miffed, and partially amused. He roused from the bed himself, sliding on a loose tunic so his chest wasn’t bare, and followed you out of your shared chambers and into the hall. “What brings about such a queer craving? You’ve never been particularly fond of honey cakes before.”

Subconsciously, you rested a hand on your stomach. “It must be the babe. I’ve been having the strangest cravings the past few days. Around a fortnight ago, I wanted to have nothing but apple fritters—those ones with cinnamon glaze, you know? For a while, everything else made me feel sick.”

A ghost of a smile graced Aemond’s lips. “I remember—mother said you were looking rather green at the mess table.”

You scowled at the memory, which spurred Aemond to huff out a laugh and tug you closer into his side. 

“My little dragon is a picky one,” he murmured, glancing down to where your hand hovered over your belly, still having yet to show physical signs of the pregnancy. “This is a good thing, ñuha dōna embar. They must already know their worth.”

Once in the kitchens, a part of the castle neither of you had ever ventured in before, Aemond scoured around for the blasted honey cakes you craved for so badly, and found them in a small container on the highest shelf. He pulled them down and handed one to you, grinning ever so softly when you didn’t even give yourself time to properly thank him before shoving one into your mouth and moaning around the pastry. 

Aemond kissed your temple and took a bite of his own piece of honey cake to appease your pleading urges for him to try it, even though it was far too sweet for his taste.

MOON THREE.

 You were beginning to show, and Aemond couldn’t be happier.

“Our dragon is growing,” he’d say every morning without fail, a prideful gleam to his eyes. “And you have never been more beautiful, dōna ābrazȳrys.” Sweet wife. 

That afternoon, he brought you down to the dragonpit where Vhagar was nesting with her brand new clutch of eggs, wanting to introduce his little dragon to his much larger one. You watched with wide eyes as her bronze, spiny tail curled around four scaled eggs, each a different shade of copper. It was a miracle that a dragon of her old age laid a clutch of eggs at all, much less four of them. 

“Do not be afraid, embar,” he whispered, noticing your stiff movements and your hesitant steps, despite the brave facade you tried to hold on. “Vhagar will not hurt you.”

At the sound of her name, the dragon lifted her head, bright green eyes shifting to her master, then to you. She huffed out a small plume of warm smoke in greeting.

“Lykirī, Vhagar,” commanded Aemond, placing a hand on her snout and gently urging you to come closer. “It’s alright, love. She can sense the dragon inside you.”

Still a bit tentative, you shakily lifted a hand and laid it beside Aemond’s, stroking the warm scales of her large nose. Emerald eyes shining, Vhagar’s chest rumbled, and she dipped forward ever so slightly, slotting her hot muzzle against your belly, as if acknowledging the babe inside you. 

Aemond smiled, his one eye creasing at the corners. “She likes you.”

“Though I have never been more petrified in my life…” you began softly, patting Vhagar’s snout and grinning widely, “I like her, too.”

“What do you say we pick an egg for our little dragon, hm?” asked your husband, commanding Vhagar to stay as Aemond led you to the beautiful quartet of shiny eggs. 

MOON FOUR.

You leaned against the intricate stone railing of the balcony attached to your chambers, breathing in the fresh morning air. You had woken up early—much earlier than you usually did, unable to fall back asleep because of the baby constantly moving inside you. 

Not too long after, your husband stepped out onto the balcony as well, wrapping his arms around you from behind and pressing a sweet kiss to your cheek. Neither of you said anything, perfectly content on basking in each other’s comfortable silence. 

His hand laid upon your slightly rounded stomach, rubbing gentle circles over the thin fabric of your sleeping shift. The first birds of the day chirped as the sun rose, spilling golden light over the two of you. 

You leaned back into him with a pleased sigh. “Helaena has asked me to come watch the twins today. I’m rather excited for them to meet the babe.”

Humming, Aemond nuzzled his nose into your cheek. “I’m excited to meet my little dragon, as well.”

MOON FIVE.

Since you’d been having trouble sleeping as of late, Aemond found that fucking you to exhaustion was one of the few ways to get you to sleep soundly throughout the night. It was either that, or he could read philosophical books to you in Valyrian. 

And though he quite enjoyed reading to you, the prince much preferred the former option.

“Ñuha gevie ābrazȳrys,” he hummed deeply, bordering on a growl, thrusting back into your sensitive, slick cunt. My beautiful wife. “I’ve fucked you full hundreds of times and yet you always want more. I’ll give it to you, I’ll give you everything, sweet embar.”

A low moan slipped from your throat and you desperately pulled his face to you, your lips meeting in a feverish manner. He grunted into your mouth when you clenched around his lengthy girth, nails raking angry red lines down his shoulders to the middle of his back. 

“Aemond!” you cried, bucking your hips up to meet his, lips parting in a tantalizing manner. 

Your eyes slipped shut with the overwhelming pleasure, but Aemond grasped your chin, softly grunting out, “Keep them open, love. I want to see you when you come all over my cock.”

The intense eye contact made your body flush with a certain heat, hurtling you ever so close to your climax. Your husband snuck a hand between you to draw slow circles on your aching clit, and you were abruptly slammed into your third orgasm, the first two stolen from Aemond’s silver tongue and long fingers, respectively. 

Utterly spent, you trailed kisses over Aemond’s cheek, up to his scarred eye. He had slowed down to a gentle rock, cock still stiff and aching within you. “You can move, Aem,” you whispered, placing a tender kiss to the very tip of his nose. “I want you to cum inside—I want my cunt to be dripping with your seed.”

And he groaned at your lewd words, dipping back down to meet your lips once more, all teeth and tongue. His breath hitched as he began moving once more, your soaked core feeling like absolute heaven. 

“Mmh, fuck!” he growled, emptying inside you, catching himself with his elbow when he collapsed, thankfully before he could crush you or the babe. “So good for me, dōna embar.” 

A low whine emitted from your lungs when he slowly pulled out, holding your legs apart to observe his spend leaking out of your fluttering cunt. 

Much to your simultaneous dismay and pleasure, Aemond just couldn’t resist, swiftly moving down to drag his tongue from your cunt up to your clit, grumbling an expletive at your taste. 

“Aemond!” you yelped, flinching away with overstimulation, lightly swatting at his shoulders with a laugh. “Gods, you’re going to be the death of me,” you said, grinning when he moved back up with an apologetic smile, dark sapphire glinting with the flickering candles lit about your chambers.

“Sorry, I just couldn’t resist. You taste heavenly.” Finally, he settled back onto the bed behind you, pulling you flush against his chest. “Get some rest, Y/N. I plan on tasting you on the morrow. Perhaps you can ride my face again.”

“Sounds wonderful,” you murmured in response, not having listened to anything he’d said, already drifting halfway into sleep. 

You slipped into a deep slumber with Aemond’s arm protectively slung over your baby bump.

MOON SIX.

You were grateful that you no longer grew sick at the sight of a regular supper. You weren’t quite sure how long you would’ve lasted on honey cakes and apple slices alone. 

Dinner that night was a warm, peppered vegetable stew with loaves of steaming bread to mop it up with. There were other courses, such as honey-glazed venison, and slow-roasted pork belly—the latter of which Aemond avoided entirely despite Lucerys’ hushed giggling from across the table. Initially, he’d wanted to stride across the room and strangle the smug expression off the younger boy’s face, but one look at your stern, disapproving countenance made him hesitate, before begrudgingly digging back into his food.

He was to be a father soon. What example would he set for his child if he were to go about beating his nephews every other minute?

Lucerys was not the only one who stirred trouble at the table that evening. 

Rhaenyra and Helaena were pleasant for the most part, querying about your pregnancy and giving their own advice from their previous experiences. Baela and Rhaena were also kind to you, eagerly asking if you had any names picked out for the babe. You told them that you haven’t yet thought about it, sheepishly smiling. “If you have any ideas, I’m more than willing to listen,” you told the younger girls, which made them beam brightly with excitement. You didn’t know the two nearly as much as you wished to, but you were willing to try and build bridges between the steadily distancing sides—bridges that Aemond, as much as you loved your husband, was keen on burning. 

Alicent was silent for most of the time, only pitching in every so often to make passive-aggressive remarks to Rhaenyra, and occasionally trying to compliment you with a strained smile. As Aemond was her most beloved child, she’d always wanted to be closer to his dear wife, but found it troublesome to bond with you when you were so very fond of Rhaenyra. 

The men at the table, on the other hand, were an entirely different story. Jacaerys and Daemon quietly spoke to one another, but were rudely interrupted by Aegon spilling wine all over Jace’s lap. He drunkenly proclaimed it to be a slip of his hand, a mere accident—but everyone at the table knew he’d done it on purpose. Jacaerys was visibly stiff, but held his tongue, fist clenching and unclenching around a silver fork. 

“I pity your betrothed, I really do,” simpered Aegon to his nephew, hiccupping as he downed some more wine. The rest of the chatter at the table halted to watch the drunken Prince blubber on further. “How will you please her in bed if you haven’t the faintest clue where to put your cock?”

“Aegon!” Alicent admonished sharply, eyes wide and jaw set.

The eldest Prince waved his mother away, standing up abruptly, brandishing another chalice full to the brim with alcohol. You briefly wondered where all these cups were coming from. Then, Aegon rounded his gaze on you and Aemond at the other end of the table. “See, my dearest brother has figured out how to do it! Look, his wife is all round with his first child—perhaps the next could be mine. It matters not which Targaryen fucks you, it’s not like you can tell the difference when the babe comes out. Your Tully whore of a wife probably wouldn’t even mind, brother! I’d bet all my coin every guard in this room has sullied her already!” 

In a blink of an eye, Aemond was on his feet, lips curled into a snarl. Alicent also stood up, glancing between her two boys worriedly, afraid a fight would break out. 

You were the last one to rise, placing a hand on Aemond’s arm. He seemed to soften beneath your touch, glancing back to look at you briefly, nonverbally making sure that you were alright.

You shook your head, glaring harshly at Aegon, before turning on your heel and marching out of the mess hall, leaving a portion of your dinner largely untouched. 

It took everything within Aemond not to clamber onto the table and throw his fist into his older brother’s arrogant, drunken face. He longed to resort to physical violence—after all, Aemond was taller and stronger and quicker than him, and would easily best his brother in a fight. But his urge to be by your side was far greater, so he settled with scathing words and a lingering threat.

“You are a foul excuse of a brother, Aegon. If you ever dare to insult my wife again, I will carve out your tongue myself and feed it to my dragon.”

With that, Aemond stormed out of the hall, strides quickening so he could catch up with you. On his way out, he faintly heard his mother trying her best to patch up the situation, rambling in a panicked fashion, “Aemond doesn’t mean it, Aegon. Sit down and finish your supper, will you?”

Aemond rolled his one eye. He’d meant every last word of what he said. 

When he finally caught up to you, you were already in your chambers, gently wiping the dampness of your frustrated tears from your cheeks.

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” he whispered, tugging you into his chest and stroking the back of your head. “My brother is a drunken fool. Do not take his crude words to heart. He is not worth your tears.”

“You have nothing to apologize for, Aemond,” you murmured into the fabric of his tunic, blowing out a calming sigh. “You didn’t have to follow me, though… you didn’t get to finish your supper.”

He blew out a mildly amused huff. “Neither did you, dōna embar.” Sweet sea. How you adored the affectionate nickname he called you. “I love you. And I would follow you to the ends of this world if I had to—even if it meant missing a bit of supper.”

It felt as if your heart was melting through the confines of your ribs, and you could only lean forward to press a chaste kiss to his lips. “You are everything to me, my darling Aemond. I love you, too.”

MOON SEVEN.

The baby was kicking again. Nonstop, for the past three hours.

You glared down at your swollen belly, before uncomfortably shifting on the bed until you were sitting upright. The babe kicked once more, as if sensing your annoyance. You couldn’t help but huff out a small laugh. 

From beside you, Aemond looked away from the thick history tome he was reading and tilted his head. He’d thought you were already asleep. “The hour grows late, ñuha jorrāelagon. What troubles you so?”

With an exhausted sigh, you laid your head upon his shoulder, and Aemond immediately shut the book and placed it off to the side. 

“The babe,” you said, threading your hand with one of his and tracing shapes along the back of his palm. “They haven’t stopped kicking since I got out of my bath and I can hardly sleep more than a few winks. Though, I can’t say I can complain—Lailena says the ones who kick more will grow to be strong warriors.”

A small, satisfied smirk flitted over your husband’s sharp features. “Of course they’re kicking around—they’re a dragon after all.”

“Trout-dragon,” you reminded him, a soft smile to your lips. 

Aemond barked out a laugh. “Dragon-trout.” His free hand came around to place it on the center of your belly, and he sucked in an astonished breath when he felt the baby moving around beneath his palm. He met your eyes, shining with pride and adoration—for both you and the babe within you. “They’re a true Targaryen. We’ve never been too keen on sitting still.”

“So this is your fault,” you bit out, drawing yourself away from his shoulder to narrow your tired eyes at your husband. “I just want to sleep!”

His purple iris glinted salaciously. The hand on your belly began inching further down between your legs. “Maybe I just need to tire you out, hm?”

“No, I’m already so very tired,” you murmured, melting beneath his touch. Immediately, Aemond retracted his fingers, cupping your face and pressing sweet kisses over your heavy eyelids. 

“I’m sorry, love. What can I do?”

With a grateful slant of your lips, you settled yourself into his side once again. “Read to me, please. You have a very beautiful voice—it’s especially soothing in Valyrian.”

Humming, Aemond reached over to grab the history tome once more, flicking it open to where he’d left off. 

The Prince began reading the tale of Aegon’s Conquest out loud for you, his Valyrian effortlessly smooth, like pure honey to your ears. Not even three pages deep, you had already given into the alluring promise of sleep, cheek smushed against his shoulder. Aemond kept reading anyway, placing a hand on your belly, certain that his child could hear his low voice.

“One day you and I will be in one of these books,” he told the babe, a wistful smile on his face. “And our great, great, grandchildren will be reading about us and the many adventures we’ll go on.”

MOON EIGHT.

The fire crackled hungrily as Aemond kindled the greedy flames with a fresh wedge of wood. 

“What do you think of Jacaelar?” your husband asked. “It’s a fine name for a son.”

You wrinkled your nose. “I don’t know—their nickname would be Jace, and you’re not particularly fond of the Jace we already know. What about a Tully name? How does Bert sound for a boy?”

“No.”

“Ooh, what about Ernie?”

Aemond grimaced. With a laugh, you playfully rolled your eyes. “Alright, alright. We’ll stick to Valyrian names.”

After a moment’s silence, Aemond suggested, “Vaeron?”

“Yes, I rather like that one.” You grinned. “Do you like Daera for a girl?”

Your husband sat down on the plush chaise beside you, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “That’s a good name—though my younger brother Daeron might think we named our child after him, and I’d really rather not inflate his ego. I like the name Visera. There’s also Rhaelor, Jahaela, Haerys, Saelyra—”

“Oh, it’s just too many to choose from!” you exclaimed, cutting his extensive list off and sinking further into your seat. “We can just call the babe Aemond the Second and be done with it.”

With a chortle of laughter, Aemond shook his head, fine silver strands of hair tickling your cheek when he drew you close into his side. “And what if our little dragon is a girl?”

“Then we call her Aemonda. I don’t know,” you harrumphed, crossing your arms. Aemond lightly pinched your thigh. After another second, you gently proposed, “... Syraena sounds lovely. Don’t you think so?”

Humming, Aemond bowed his head. “Syraena. It is a lovely name.”

You rubbed your hands over your distended stomach. “Do you know if you’d rather have a son or a daughter?”

He took a moment to consider your question before quietly replying, “I care naught for the babe’s sex—they will be my blood, regardless. My little dragon.” Before you could correct him, he hastily added, “Trout. Dragon-trout.”

The two of you began cracking up with silent laughter, and you turned to watch the fire burn away, small golden embers floating up from the hearth. 

You heard your husband murmur Syraena beneath his breath once more, clearly content with the name. A glowing beam graced your expression. 

NINE MOONS.

The birthing was the most painful experience you’d ever gone through. There were tears streaming down your face, and your hair was damp with sweat. Aemond was by your side, loyal as ever, clutching your hand and murmuring sweet words of encouragement, uncaring of the impropriety of a man in the birthing room. He’d gone so far as to threaten the guards when they first told him that he should be waiting outside, enjoying the celebration being held in your and the babe’s name. 

“Try to keep me from my wife and I will decorate the floor with your guts,” he growled, his single eye burning with a thirsty flame.

The guards didn’t bother him after that.

“Oh, it hurts! Aemond, Aemond, please, it hurts,” you sobbed, another wave of pain washing over your body. “I need the baby out! Come out, come out, come out!” you screamed, skin burning hotly as more sweltering tears meandered down your perspiring face.

“It’ll be over soon, embar, you’re doing so well,” assured your husband, even though he looked every bit as terrified as you did, perhaps even more so. Gods forbid such a thing to happen, but if Aemond were to lose you to the perilous task of childbirth, he didn’t think he could ever live with himself afterwards. 

The midwives began telling you to push, and you happily obliged, eager to get the labor over and done with. 

It was said that your screams shook the very ground, but that might’ve just been Aemond exaggerating the truth out of proportion. 

“Congratulations, my Prince,” said one of the midwives once you’d pushed and pushed and pushed until you nearly passed out from the strain, the babe finally coming out of you with a shrill cry. Aemond could feel his heart lurch at the sound. “You have a beautiful, healthy girl.”

“Do not congratulate me, it is Y/N that did all the work,” muttered your husband, kissing the back of your clammy hand and sweeping the hair sticking to your face aside. “You were wonderful, jorrāelagon.” His face bore nothing but radiant pride, a rare beam stretching his lips wide. 

He stood up, turning to the midwife to look upon his small, screaming daughter, who was quickly bound in a red woolen blanket. She handed him the babe, and Aemond gently situated her into his arms.

“You have the lungs of a dragon, little one,” he crooned, expression bearing little else than raw love and adoration for the tiny thing. With fluid movements, he kneeled down beside the birthing bed once more, easing the baby into your awaiting arms. 

An exhausted smile made its way onto your face when you took the baby, cooing, “Oh, so you’re the one always kicking around during the night. It’s nice to meet you… Syraena.”

The baby—your daughter—sported thin wisps of silvery hair, much like her father and her grandsire. Targaryen blood ran thick, after all.

You turned to grin at Aemond. “She has your nose,” you murmured, voice thick with emotion and love.

Little Syraena’s wailing began to wane away as you bounced her, and she cracked open her tiny eyes for a brief moment, blinking up at the two of you with a wide gaze.

“And she shares the color of your beautiful eyes, embar. Rytsas, Syraena,” greeted Aemond, expression soft and ever so tender. One of his fingers reached out to gently stroke her soft, chubby cheek. For several moons, he’d read to her when she was still in the womb, and he wondered if she could recognize the sound of his voice. 

“My little dragon…” Aemond murmured. “My sea dragon.”

[cressidagrey]

Looked to the Sky - Chapter 3

Summary: 

Eira Archeron was neither a Valkyrie, nor a Seer, nor the High Lady of the Night Court. She was, however, Azriel‘s mate with her own mysterious, untrained powers.

Also known as: Azriel tries to court his mate the human way.

Warnings: 

THIS IS THE LIGHTNING IN A BOTTLE SEQUEL! SO READ THAT FIRST IF YOU WANNA READ THIS ONE OTHERWISE THIS MAKES NO SENSE!

Elain Bashing, Amren bashing, Cassian is being annoying, Azriel's scars and his thoughts about them, Chronic Pain and without @k-godling this would have never happened.

(super pretty dividers by @tsunami-of-tears)

Azriel was quite certain that his shadows were out to kill him.

They were acting like a couple of obsessed, lovesick teenagers around Eira, unable to keep away from her for even a second, constantly wrapping around her hands, winding through her hair, curling around her fingers, as if eager to remain in contact with her 24/7.

And they also kept...dressing her.

He knew they did that because the dress she wore that evening was nothing he had ever seen her in before.

It wasn't like it was particularly revealing. It had long sleeves that covered her wrists and the skirt fell to the floor as well. It wasn't even the fact that the neckline bared her shoulders, elegant, flawless ivory skin on display for him. It wasn't even that it bared the arch of her neck with the way they had swept her hair up into an elegant knot high on her head...or the silver pins they scattered through the updo...It was the rich cobalt blue of that dress that matched his siphons perfectly.

The sight of her in that gown had nearly stolen his breath away, his heart nearly having stopped altogether at the way the rich blue fabric looked against her ivory skin. It made her skin glow and accentuated each and every contour of her body…showing him the soft swell of her breasts, the dip of her waist, her hips…

She was the most breathtakingly beautiful sight, the very picture of grace and loveliness and perfection.

And the most infuriating thing was that Eira didn't even seem to realise it.

She ducked her head shyly…like she expecting him to say something…negative about how she looked, instead of seeing how he nearly fell all over himself as he saw her descend the stairs in the River House...and the fact that he kept clutching that bouquet of flowers like an absolute idiot.

The books had told him to give her flowers. And then they had also supplied him with a whole list of flower meanings when they were already at it.

He had chosen snowdrops. They weren't even in season, which meant his shadows had gone so far as to go to the Winter Court to find them for him, but they clearly thought it to be worthwhile, if the look on Eira’s face when he had offered her the bouquet had been any indication.

There were two reasons for this choice: Her scent had always been a perfect match to them for him...and their meaning: Hope and new beginnings.

Part of him had wanted to tell her the reasons for his choice. Had wanted to tell her the meaning of the snowdrops, to tell her that more than anything, he hoped that the bond between them would continue to grow…But he had bitten his tongue and simply handed them over, silently praying that she would like them.

For a moment, her eyes had widened, her lips slightly parted in surprise, a look of wonder on her face. "They’re gorgeous," Eira had whispered, carefully taking the bouquet from him. “Thank you so much.”

Her words had made his heart flutter. But nothing had quite hit him quite so hard as when she had leaned slightly forward to bury her nose in the blooms, inhaling the delicate scent with a blissful little smile on her face.

And then the shadows had whisked them away and Eira had smiled at him, grey eyes wide and happy. "Do you often attend the symphony?" she had asked him quietly.

He had needed a moment to remember how to form words in his head, too focused on the smile on her face, the soft scent of snowdrops still clinging to her, making his instincts go berserk. Azriel had to force himself to focus, to remember that she had asked him a question. A question he actually had to answer.

"More often than one would think," he admitted. "I...enjoy music," he told her quietly. The soft confession left his lips before he had consciously realised it.

It was the truth, of course. He hadn’t lied. He did enjoy music, though it wasn’t something that people tended to associate with him much at all. Most people tended to think that he spent his time stewing in the darkness and brooding. (Which wasn’t to say that he didn’t do that…but he did have…hobbies of sorts. Music was one of them.)

But he did enjoy the concert halls in Velaris immensely. The symphony in particular.

Eira’s smile softened at his answers. "Do the shadows like the music too?" she wondered. His shadows practically vibrated with excitement at her words, preening at the fact that she had thought to ask them.

Very much so, they answered brightly. 

He looked down at the way they twirled around her hands, the way they twisted around each other like dancing ribbons, as if they were showing off their enjoyment, unable to deny her a single word. Azriel suppressed a smile at the sight.

"They love it," he confirmed quietly.

"So are you going to winnow us one of these days, Az?" Cassian broke into the conversation, his patience clearly ending.

Azriel shot him a glare, though Nesta was there before him. His brother wasn’t even subtle enough to have hidden the smirk on his face. The bastard knew exactly what he was doing. 

Azriel wanted nothing more than to throttle him.

He held out his hands for Cassian, who in turn had his arm around Nesta, who had watched the whole interaction with sparkling grey eyes...and then he held out his arm for Eira. She slipped her hand in the crook of his elbow, giving him one of these shy but dazzling smiles.

The minute her hand slipped into the crook of his elbow, his shadows purred in satisfaction, their voices sounding oddly smug as they twirled around their fingers.

One moment they had been in the Foyer of the River House...the next they were in the private Box the High Lord kept at the Symphony in Velaris. courtesy of Rhys. It made security much less of a hassle and the private box would also ensure some quiet. Which meant he could give Eira his undivided attention. Something he very much intended to do.

Eira stared around wide-eyed, her hand tightening around his arm and he allowed himself to pat it with his other...feel the perfect, flawless skin underneath his own scarred hands. It was hit or miss on a good day how much he could even feel with his hands at all, but that day he could swear he could feel every freckle. 

Her skin under his fingertips was so smooth, so flawless, completely unblemished. The thought that his hands, his hands rough and calloused, marked with scars, were touching her soft skin seemed almost like blasphemy. As if he shouldn’t be allowed to touch her, as if his hands weren’t good enough to even be near her.

"Oh," she breathed out, still wide-eyed. "It's beautiful."

Azriel followed her gaze, taking in the sight of the great hall, of its black and gold, the sheer size of it, the great stage, the hundreds of seats. He had to admit that it was pretty, but in that moment he hardly noticed the beauty of the hall. His eyes were on Eira, the look of wonder on her face as she took in the symphony.

"Did you never go before?" he wondered, but she shook her head.

"I haven't really seen much of Velaris," she admitted quietly. "I found the alterations tailor shop where I take commissions from and...sometimes I go in a shop that piques my interest but I have never gone to the symphony."

Azriel had to fight down a wince at that confession.

He knew that she mostly spent her time in the River House but the thought that she hadn’t even seen the city...it bothered something deep down inside of him. How could she have been here for over two years and still not have seen everything Velaris had to offer? 

But it also gave him...it gave him options what he could show her next...what they could do. If humans did carriage rides, could he get away with offering to take her out on a midday flight?

The thought of her flying with him tugged on something deep inside of him. A primitive part that he usually wrestled into submission easily. But this time it didn’t want to be silent, insisting that he could show her far more of the city, could show her himself while doing so. That part of him practically preened at the thought of having her hold onto him tightly as they flew through the air...

"Do you play any instruments?"  Eira asked suddenly as he escorted her to her seat, letting her gracefully slide into it.

Azriel’s brows shot up in slight surprise.

For a moment, he just stared at her blankly, blinking, his brain needing a moment to get back on track after the thought of a flight.

Then the question registered and he just about managed not to flinch. He shook his head, mutely. "I...I can't," he said, his voice hoarse. "I tried the piano but my hands..."

He trailed off and gestured vaguely towards his scarred fingers. 

He gestured to his hands, the scars, to the crooked little finger on his left hand. The scars were one thing, but the fact that he could barely feel anything in his hands...he usually managed the tremors, but his hands never cooperated enough to allow him to properly play the piano. Sometimes, on the worst of days, he could hardly hold a pen and actually write something legible.

He had enough pure grip strength to hold a sword, a dagger, and a knife… sometimes the fact that he didn’t actually have much feeling in his hands was a good thing in a fight. 

He had learned to mask it, of course...learned to use the right amount of pressure in a myriad of situations...learned to be gentle enough not to hurt anybody accidentally. But even with that...playing the piano had been a try once and never again.

He had made his peace with the fact that he simply wasn’t meant to play the piano. Had long since accepted that he was simply not good enough. But the part of him that still burned, that still ached when he thought about what he had lost, ached at the thought that he would never be good enough to play the piano, to play anything, really…it never stopped. 

His half-brothers hadn’t just given him unspeakable constant pain…but they had also taken so much from him. 

Eira stared down at his fingers in surprise, as if she was only now noticing the scars in them. His fingers itched at the way she stared at the scars on them, his instincts suddenly screaming at him to hide them from her, to not let her see. But he couldn’t do that. So he let her stare, letting her see even the scars.

There was a strange intensity on her face as her eyes roamed over the scars, almost as if...

Almost as if she was memorising every single one of them.

And then she reached out, taking one of his hands into both of hers, carefully touching the thick scars that covered the back of his hand completely.

Azriel nearly startled when she took his hand, only just managing to keep his instincts in check. His entire attention honed in on the touch of her hands, the soft way her fingertips traced the scars on the back of his hand, almost as if she was treating his skin like something very, very fragile.

The moment the lights went out and darkness engulfed them, his shadows twirled through his hair with soft, almost mischievous voices in his mind

He had to stop himself from closing his eyes, from focusing on the feeling of her fingertips tracing his scars, from focusing on the fact that she was holding his hand.

Instead, he clenched his jaw, forcing himself to actually look towards the stage, to pretend that he was not focused on every single point of contact between their skin.

He wasn't sure what he had expected. Wasn't sure if he had expected her pity or anything else...

He had never talked about the scars much. Hadn’t really talked about…how they appeared on her skin. Didn’t talk about what they meant for him…how they still hurt him, to this day, centuries later and how they would still hurt him decades from now. 

And he certainly had never had anyone actually look at them so intently, so gently...let alone touch them like she was now.

He never allowed anyone to touch his hands, if he could help it, except for the people he trusted with his life.

And now here Eira was, holding his hand and tracing every single one of his scars so softly...like she wanted to memorise every single one of them.

She didn't let go. Not once. Not during the whole three hours.

Eira didn’t let go. She didn’t flinch back in disgust or shame or embarrassment…she did nothing. She held onto his hand during the entire performance, gently tracing the scars on his skin, as if she was memorising each and every single one of these markings.

She didn’t flinch back like they were disgusting. Didn’t hesitate. Didn’t…

Azriel didn’t know what to do. Didn’t quite know what to do with the way his head was racing, the way his shadows were practically purring in his mind.

So he didn’t do anything.

He just sat there, silent, still, and let her hold his hand.

He couldn’t recall a single piece that had been played, not a single instrument that the symphony had played, not a single second.

His entire focus had remained on the feeling of her touching his hands, tracing his scars, holding him delicately like he would disappear if she let go.

Even as the last performance ended, the final violin notes echoing off the walls of the great hall and the lights came up again, her hand remained in his, her fingertips gently tracing the same scars that she had been tracing for the past three hours.

He wasn’t sure if she was even aware she was doing it, still tracing his scars as if they were the most beautiful thing she had ever seen as if she couldn’t bring herself to stop. Part of him wanted to shake her out of it, to tell her that his scars were not something that she should be admiring. A far bigger part of him relished the feeling of her stroking his hand, almost as if it was the most delicate, fragile thing she had ever touched.

But then she seemed to realise what she was doing, her fingers pausing in their movement. Her head whipped around and her eyes met his, wide and nearly panicked.

She looked as if she had been caught doing something she shouldn’t have, as if she somehow expected him to be angry at her for holding his hand, for tracing the scars.

He could practically read the words on her lips, could practically see the question on her tongue as she looked at him, her eyes still wide, her hand still holding his tight.

Could practically hear her ask if it was alright that she had touched the scars, if he was alright with her holding his hand for so long, if she had gone too far.

He wrapped his ruined fingers around hers, squeezing just tight enough to move her fingers.

Her fingers were small between his, so tiny and slender, but for once the difference in size didn’t make him feel monstrous.

He felt...he felt as if her fingers had been made to fit into his as if they belonged there. He felt the urge to bring her hands up to his lips, to kiss each and every one of her slender little fingers…

"So, are we gonna get some food?" Cassian said brightly, looking bored out of his mind.  Azriel was quite sure that his brother wanted him to snap his neck. Or maybe they should all just be happy that he hadn’t actually fallen asleep and started snoring halfway through the performance. 

Azriel had to fight down a low, rumbling growl at the interruption, shooting a glare at his brother before his eyes snapped back to Eira’s, to the way her slender fingers had tangled with his.

"I could eat," Nesta agreed with her mate, giving him a look.

Which left Azriel to look at Eira, to hold her stare.

"What about you?" he asked quietly, his voice strangely hoarse. "Are you hungry?"

Eira looked at him with those beautiful grey eyes, taking a moment to think.

He couldn’t stop staring at her as she bit her lip in thought, the sight of her teeth worrying the plump skin sending another shudder down his spine.

And then she nodded once, a shy, hesitant move. “Yes, I am hungry,” she admitted quietly.

"Sevinda's?" Cassian suggested immediately.

Azriel had to resist the urge to sigh at Cassian’s enthusiasm.

While he didn’t particularly mind eating at Sevinda’s, he would have rather stayed somewhere more private. But it wasn’t going to happen. So he merely nodded. “Sure,” he said. “Sevinda’s sounds good.”

Another bout of winnowing later...they found themselves at Sevinda's, tucked into one of the tables outside. Eira was still holding his hand. He had checked in with her twice if she wanted to rather sit inside, but she had waved him off. He could feel her uncomfortableness...but it seemed to ease.

Azriel did notice the way she tensed the moment they appeared out of the shadows at Sevinda’s, the way her eyes darted around her as she looked over the restaurant they were now sitting in.

He could see her clenching her jaw, could see the way her hand tightened around his, could see the way the other hand clenched around the fork.

She wasn’t comfortable here, that much he could see.

But it did get a little better as the evening went on.

They ordered. Azriel tried not to notice the way she shifted in her chair, eyes darting around her like she was expecting a battle to break out any moment.

He gently squeezed her hand under the table, pulling her attention away from the people around them.

“Are you alright?” he mumbled to her, low enough that the others wouldn’t hear.

She started at his question, her grey eyes wide as she looked at him, clearly surprised that he could tell that she wasn’t at ease in the restaurant.

“I...I’m fine,” she muttered, her own voice low. “Just expecting...the worst.”

Azriel could see the truth in her eyes, and could practically feel the tension radiating off her.

He gently squeezed her hand again, drawing her attention fully to him. “We’re at Sevinda’s,” he told her quietly. “This is one of the safest places in Velaris. If only because everybody is terrified of what Cassian will do if Sevinda isn't there to feed him," he quipped.

Azriel heard Cassian snort across the table. “Damn right,” he said.

He could see the corners of Eira’s mouth twitch at Cassian’s comment, a slight smile pulling at her lips

It was such a tiny smile, but for Azriel, it felt like the most precious thing in the world. 

*****

Eira had never really ventured deep into Velaris. 

She had the alteration tailor shop where she took commissions from…and then she sometimes saw a shop that piqued her interest and she went in there…but she had never…never really gone exploring. 

Never actually trusted herself to do that, in this strange place. Because as long as she had been High Fae…it was still a strange place for her. Never had been…quite home. 

But the Symphony with Azriel? That had been…utterly beautiful. Utterly perfect. 

The symphony with Azriel had been something close to magical. She had spent hours with him, holding his hand, tracing the scars, feeling his rough fingers under her own. Her entire focus had been on him during the performance, the only thing on her mind was the feeling of his skin against her own. His scars underneath her fingertips.

It had been a little terrifying, the realisation that she hadn’t looked at a single instrument, hadn’t heard a single melody...only him.

But that was nothing against the...pure rage she felt when he had told her that he couldn't play an instrument. He had stared at her as if he had never had anyone actually...console him for the fact that he had never been able to learn how to play.

How to learn this art that he clearly had a deep affinity for.

She could feel the scars on his hand, the ruined skin underneath her fingers. But she refused to be revolted by it. The scars on his hands were just that…scars. Just part of him. And she wasn’t revolted by him. The thought of being revolted by Azriel...it didn’t even cross her mind.

She traced over the scars on the back of his hand, gently touching the rough skin.

She wanted to be near him desperately. Wanted to be wrapped in his arms, as close as she could possibly be.

And still, she had wondered...if this one thin line on her chest still ached weeks later...how did these hands feel to him? How much pain was he in on a daily basis?

She had seen him writing, the trembling hands… She had seen him clench and unclench his hands as if struggling with the shaking. And that was just the fact that they were shaking. She didn’t even dare to think about the pain he had to feel, how he still managed to use them while fighting….

She knew, instinctively, that the pain in his hands was still there, and had never truly left after he had been… tortured. Because that was what had happened. Regardless of what anybody else thought.  And now the pain in his hands served as a constant reminder of that, how close he had nearly come to being absolutely broken.

She knew that every tremble, every shake, every clenching of his fingers was just a reminder of what had happened.

And she hated it. She hated those scars on his hands, hated that they caused him so much pain. 

She wished he had never gone through it. 

But then she wished that about so many things. 

So Eira did what Eira always did when she needed some peace and quiet: She went to hide in the kitchen. 

Not even Elain was there these days. Which was something that…Eira didn’t want to think about it either. She wanted…she didn’t even know where to start with that…still didn’t know how to feel about…any of this. 

How she was supposed to feel about her twin sister trying to take away her…daughter. Her daughter. 

Trying to take away her mate and her baby. 

The more she thought about it…the more angry she became. 

Elain was her sister, her twin. But that didn’t change the fact that she had tried to steal her daughter.

Eira clenched her teeth, leaning back on the kitchen counter, arms crossing in front of her chest.

She wasn’t sure how she was ever supposed to forgive Elain for that. 

Nyx took that moment to bang the bowl onto the counter where he was sitting. Eira couldn’t help but laugh at her nephew. 

Nyx, as sweet and adorable as he was, had a temper. And he wasn’t the most patient child. Eira had learnt that the hard way. But that didn’t mean that she didn’t love him.

“Are you trying to make a mess, you little rascal?” she teased him. “How about we make some cookies?”

"kies! kies! Ra Ra!"

“What, little monster? You want cookies?” Nyx babbled incoherently, grinning wide at her.

Eira chuckled, ruffling his hair affectionately before moving to gather the necessary ingredients. Or she would have if the shadows hadn't been quicker.

“Come on…” she grumbled, watching the shadows creep over the ingredients, gathering everything necessary. She gave a small huff. “I was gonna do that.”

You aren't supposed to do anything strenuous, they said softly.

Eira rolled her eyes at that, the motion just a little fond.

“It’s cookies,” she protested. “That’s hardly ‘strenuous’.”

The shadows just glided around her, gathering all the necessary ingredients on the countertop, just within arm’s reach of her. They seemed to almost be…arguing with her if she interpreted their movements correctly.

“Fine, I won’t pick anything up,” she said with a huff. “You happy, you meddling shadows?”

For their part, the shadows just swirled around her with a low, almost smug-sounding whisper.

Eira grumbled under her breath but couldn’t quite help but smile.

She didn’t mind the shadows. They seemed to always be around her, as if they were…watching out for her, in some way. She had stopped trying to question it a while back. 

“Let's go make some cookies," she said with a sigh.

Nyx gave an excited, loud babble, clearly excited at the idea of baking.

Eira chuckled softly. “Alright, alright,” she mumbled. “Maybe if we make them good enough, your parents will give you a treat after.”

And maybe she could steal some for herself as well.

Nyx babbled and giggled.

Eira chuckled and ruffled his hair again before looking at the ingredients the shadows had gathered for her, a smile pulling at her lips.

“I think the first thing we have to make is the dough,” she mumbled quietly to Nyx as she started measuring out the sugar. “Do you wanna help me with the bowl?”

Nyx babbled happily, watching with round, wide eyes as she gathered the ingredients and started mixing them into the bowl.

He seemed a little too excited at the sight of her mixing everything together, little giggles tumbling out of him as the liquid in the bowl churned around.

Eira chuckled when she saw he leaned forward almost as if he wanted to stick his fingers in it.

No," she said, gently pushing his arms back. "Do not stick your fingers in the cookie dough."

Nyx only made a huffy sound, as if he didn't like that she was stopping him.

Eira chuckled. "You'll get to lick the spoon once I'm done," she told him. "If you wait nicely, that’s it.”

Nyx looked at her with wide, round eyes, a little pout on his face. He babbled at her as if trying to convince her to let him dip his fingers in the dough at that very moment. She laughed at the betrayed look on his face when he realised that she wasn't gonna let him eat the dough right away.

Instead, she started humming, Nyx happily clapping along.

She continued humming while she finished mixing the dough, still fighting to keep Nyx from sticking his fingers in the bowl.

The boy was determined, she would give him that. As soon as she was satisfied with the dough, she pulled the bowl away, looking down at him.

"We gotta let it rest for a bit, alright?" she said with a chuckle.

He yawned.

Eira chuckled at that, gently poking his cheek. "Are you getting tired, little rascal?" she teased him. "Did all that baking exhaust you, hm?"

Nyx just yawned again, blinking sleepily.

She chuckled again and shook her head.

"We'll let the dough rest for a bit," she said quietly to him. "And I think a little rascal needs a little nap."

He babbled something in protest as if offended at the very idea of a nap. Eira only laughed and shook her head.

She picked him up, resting him on her hip. "No napping is not an option," she told him in a quiet, mock-stern voice.

Nyx was already looking slightly sleepy, his little head dropping against her shoulder.

Her chest twinged at carrying him, but she didn't try to get up the stairs. Instead, she brought him into the living room downstairs, sitting next to him as she laid him down on one of the couches, curling up next to him.

"Sing, Ra Rar?" he requested softly.

Eira was only too happy to oblige.

She gently settled down on the couch, shifting so she was resting next to him. Nyx curled into her side and she gently wrapped an arm around him, holding him close.

Then she started singing, humming a soft tune under her breath.

Soft, soothing lullabies.

A human lullaby. One that she had used to humm to Feyre when she had just been a child. 

The boy's eyes started drooping as she sang, and his breath started to even out. He nuzzled against her as if seeking out the comfort of her embrace.

Eira smiled and shifted a little, wrapping her other arm around him and pulling him closer.

He yawned and curled against her, letting out a little sleepy babble. She chuckled at how he curled against her, like a cat seeking out warmth. Her nephew was more than a little affectionate, a constant need for cuddles and hugs and affection. But he was sweet.

Eira continued singing, holding him close as he started drooping more and more against her, clearly struggling to keep his eyes open.

It didn’t take long for Nyx to fall asleep, his breaths evening out and his body going heavy and pliant against her. And still, she kept singing, her voice quiet. 

She wasn’t really focused on the song, on the words…her entire focus was on Nyx, on the fact that her nephew lay in her arms, in her embrace, completely and utterly relaxed.

Safe. Safe and sound and not a single scratch on him. She hadn’t failed to protect him. She hadn’t…Nothing had happened to him. 

Eira was so focused on the little boy in her arms that she didn’t even realise that the shadows were gone. She continued singing, gently running one hand over her nephew’s back.

She wasn't sure what it had been that suddenly made her look up...her singing ceased as soon as she realised that Azriel stood in the doorway, watching her.

His gaze was fixed on her and on Nyx, lying in her arms. She wasn’t sure what it was, but there was a look on his face…a look in his eyes. Something soft, something almost…. tender.

She didn’t dare to breathe.

"I am sorry," she apologised softly. "Did I bother your meeting? I'll stop." She hadn’t even known that he was at the River House that day, hadn’t known that Rhys would be busy with meetings. Otherwise, she would have been quieter. 

Azriel just shook his head, taking a couple of steps closer until he was hovering next to the couch.

“You aren’t bothering anything,” he said softly, voice rough. “You can keep singing if you’d like.”

Eira’s breath hitched a little as Azriel took a few more steps, moving until he could slide into one of the armchairs.  She swallowed. 

“Amren said I should stop my screeching, “ she blurted out suddenly. “I didn’t want to bother you.”

Azriel blinked. Once. then twice. 

“You could never bother me,” he said, his voice fierce. “And your singing is anything but a screech.”

Eira felt her breath hitch in her throat, her eyes wide. She could feel that her cheeks were warm, embarrassment coursing through her.

And yet…there was still that look on his face, that softness in his eyes as he looked at her, holding their nephew against her chest. 

She swallowed a little before speaking. “…you don’t think it’s terrible? You don’t think I sound like a dying crow?”

He shook his head. “Not at all,” he said softly, voice low enough so that he wouldn’t wake Nyx up.

His gaze was still fixed on her, on the picture they made, on how she was curled around the tiny little boy, still that soft look in his eyes that she couldn’t quite place. 

For just one single second Eira allowed herself to think about…the future. Think about that little girl that she had seen. Would she one day sing her own daughter to sleep?

“You want me to keep singing?” she whispered quietly, shifting a little so she was sitting up straighter.

Azriel met her gaze, as he nodded. 

He nodded. “Please,” he mumbled, his voice low and hoarse, rough even. “Please, keep singing.”

So she did. 

[yeonjuns-beanie]

Sacrifice

warnings: 18+, smut, unprotected sex(if i ever write protected know that my acct has been hacked), soulmate color au, hinted character death…, angst, somewhat established relationship–you’ll see, soft sex with logan with a few primal undertones, biting, oral(m&f receiving), a lot of mentions of blood due to the reader’s mutation, light hair pulling, depictions of violence, i think that is all lemme know if i missed anything!

summary: y/n is an omega-level mutant who finds herself on Xavier’s doorstep after an unfortunate encounter. cursed with the knowledge that whomever she loves will one day die by her hand, her heart tries its best to bury itself upon seeing color when she meets logan but the fight proves to be fruitless. 

word count: 8K

logan howlett x female!reader

Heavy lids and a limp in your right leg, you continued the trek up on the side of the winding road covered by abundant fir trees. The cold was biting and your breath fogged in front of you as you hobbled up the hill. You tried to self soothe by hugging your frigid limbs occasionally breathing heat into balled up palms. 

It was agonizing.

Every time you brought your hands up to your face to warm them up, your body shivered at the proximity of the dried blood on your hands. Your fangs extended, gently touching the sides of your tongue before you tried to retract them and your eyes rolled back with a nauseating euphoria rushing through your veins. Your breathing increased, turning into short pants as you ignored the innate feeling to hunt. 

To feed. 

You could sense every animal around you and your limbs twitched in a wicked need to hone in on their scent and drain them of their lifeforce. You needed to feel the luxurious sensation of their blood filling up and sliding down your throat feeling your power rush back to you. 

Your body betrayed you. 

There was a controlled thrashing of your head and limbs as it tried so desperately to lead to where to feed but you knew you needed to enact discipline otherwise Weapon X would forever have the final word. You’d be nothing more than an experiment gone wrong, a mutant turned haywire. You’d be the beast that everyone thought you were before the experimentation. A monster. 

Forced to haunt the shadows as any real sighting of you would invoke distress and trepidation among humans and mutants alike. You were virulent and Hell would freeze over before anyone let you believe otherwise. You stared down at your feet as you ignored the call to feed hoping that if you focused on the steel tips of your boots hard enough you could drown out the hunger.

Raising your head to see if your destination was in your sights, you could see the massive brick building with lights surrounding it as if you were about to enter heaven. Due to your fatigue, the lights were bending and stretching from the main bulb making it look like strobes were beaming out of the building. You laughed to yourself, tears brimming in your eyes as you felt relief wash over you. You tried to run but your powers were severely frenzied. You were exhausted, completely drained by the experiment and your mutations were in such an overdrive that if you tried to access them you weren’t sure if you’d be able to stop yourself. 

Sighing, you took another step forward before being completely incapacitated by your blood boiling beneath your skin. It was like someone set you ablaze. Your vision was blurry but it was the only time you saw glimpses of color. Flashing images of the experiment and your current surroundings clouded your vision in a hazy red as you furiously tried to wipe the images from your eyes. 

Continuing to walk through the excruciating affliction you were experiencing you tripped over your own feet, your knees hitting the pavement with such a force that the gravel and rock that was scattered upon it lodged itself into your skin through your jeans. You doubled over in pain letting the searing agony bore holes through your anatomy. 

Maybe I should’ve stayed. 

You feared that you were transforming into the rapscallion demon everyone was terrified of you becoming. You tried to stay upright dragging your knees across the road feeling blood pool into the fabric of your jeans. It seemed colder out now, goosebumps covering your skin and your head longing for the warmth of something that wasn’t just your hair. With every raise of your legs, the weather bitterly reminded you of the rocks scraping your skin, letting the blood pool only to be healed when your opposite leg touched the ground again. 

The entrance of the mansion wasn’t far and you were finally close enough to feel the warmth of the streetlight envelop you but it wasn’t enough to defrost your frozen skin. You wished you could see the colors of the building, feeling that maybe you’d be more motivated to reach the gates and ignore the enervation if you could see all the different hues of the building in the budding colors of dawn. With the red hue in your vision fading, so did your vision itself. You fell onto your hands and dragged your body as close as you could to the front gates before collapsing on the ground, your right hand wrapping gingerly around the iron bars. 

~*~

When you awoke, you were in a lab again. 

Fear. Unbridled fear. 

It encapsulated you. The wires placed on your chest and head, the IV bag hanging on your right side with a small needle stuck in your cubital fossa was all too familiar to what you endured only days before. The bright lights over you only continued to petrify you in your colorblind state. Everything looked so sterile in here which was most certainly an upgrade from the Weapon X facility but you couldn’t shake the terror. 

Sitting up from the table, you realized you were naked, covered only by a sheet. Even though fear rattled your body, you knew you needed to calm down to get a better grasp of where you were at.

Did I do all of that just to get captured again?

Gently taking the IV needle out of your arm, you scanned the room looking for any cameras but you found none. Calming down your breathing, you took off the jelly pads that were stuck to your skin and the monitor on the left side of you stopped the routine beeping of your vitals. You slid yourself off the table and wrapped the sheet around your body like a Greecian toga. After knotting the fabric over your right shoulder you heard faint footsteps clicking on the tile floor and you smelled two bodies. Staring down at the floor you tried to focus on who they were debating whether or not they’d be a threat. As you closed your eyes you heard the light whirring of wheels coming down the hallway outside of the room you were in, your breathing increased ready to be on the defense of whatever was on the other side of that door. 

You walked behind the table you were laid out on moments before, your bare feet sticking to the tile and echoing your steps in the aseptic room. You wanted to give yourself an advantage with a divider if you needed one but something was telling you that you needn’t be so skittish. Your fangs were bared, face contorted in mulishness just in case you needed to flee. As the silver, circular doors breathed out compressed air and opened, a bald man in a wheelchair entered. A slender black woman with short, feathered white hair highlighted with black streaks walked alongside him. 

Your chest heaved in uncertainty and with your body still on the defense, you hissed at the two. You were unaware of the new mutations you had but your eyes changed color, a black rim engulfing most of your sclera leaving little white to show, with a vibrant, luminescent red ring covering your irises. Your fangs flashed in a snarl as you were desperate to save yourself, terrified that you’d be another test. 

The two were oddly calm across your frightened form and seeing their demure nature, it knocked your body into calming down. Your eyes return to their natural state, a vibrant hue that wasn’t natural. Your eyes were a sight, hypnotic to most as the jewel-toned color became the focus point of your face. As you calmed down you realized your fangs didn’t retract. It was usually a passing thought and you were able to blend in with society as best as you could but they weren’t budging. Running your tongue across your top row of teeth you realized that it wasn’t just your canines anymore, but now your incisors were sharpened as well. Your eyes widened slightly in horror, afraid of yourself now. 

“We’re not here to hurt you, but to help.”

You looked around the room looking to see who it was that spoke. 

“Look forward.”

“Who are you people?”

“I’m Charles Xavier. Ororo, but most call her Storm. You’re safe here. Nobody took you elsewhere, you made it to the mansion. I must say though, you made quite an entrance leaving us to find you bloodied and bruised on our doorstep.” 

You bowed your head, ashamed that you couldn’t even walk to the door but left for someone to find you. You were embarrassed that they found you in the state that they did, hoping that they didn’t view you as a brute freak splattered in dried crimson and sweat. 

“I didn’t know where else to go. I tried. I tried to make it past the gates but I was in so much pain. My body gave out on me, please forgive me. For the state in which you found me and for how I just greeted you. I’m not in my right mind.” 

Charles nodded at you with a tight-lipped smile and motioned for you to follow the pair. 

“Come. We have much to discuss.”

Storm handed you folded sweats for you to put on and waited for you to get dressed. As you zipped yourself up in the hoodie, you followed closely behind her with your hands shoved in your pockets and your hood hiding your head. 

~*~

Sitting across Charles at his desk, Storm was leaning against the wall behind you, the door to Charles’ study left ajar. 

“So, my dear what’s your name?”

“Omen.”

“Your birth name?”

“Y/n.”

“So Y/n, why Omen?” 

You sighed, closing your eyes to relive all of the memories of your past.

“Always been a bad omen. People were afraid to look at me, understandably so, I’d be a little freaked out by someone with eyes like these. But…it stemmed from other mutants. I could hide really well amongst humans but when other mutants found out what I am, and what I can do, they treated me like the plague. Like I was a death sentence, they feared me so in turn I fed off of that. I, a portent foreshadowing of mortality, was forced to walk alone in an effort to save myself and those around me. If you see me, well, a bad omen might’ve been sent your way. And that’s how-”

You paused, your nostrils flaring for barely a second.

Someone else was in the room now. 

You didn’t even bother to turn around, you continued to stare at Charles not ready to confront another introduction. You mouthed to Charles. 

Who is that?

“Y/n, this is Logan. Logan this is Y/n, or ‘Omen’ as we’re learning.” 

There was a pit that settled in your stomach, a foreboding that was tantalizing and horrifying all in the same breath. You were fighting an internal war between turning around and hoping that whoever Logan was would leave the room, assuming that he was the reason for this feeling brewing within you. You stayed stiff in the chair, not daring to move. You were hiding your eyes behind your hair as if Logan could see right through you and make the same judgments as everyone else. You hung your head as you heard his footsteps get closer to you before he sat right in front of you on the corner of Charles’ desk. 

“You know it’s rude to not say hello.”

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath hoping that your words wouldn’t fail you. 

“Hello.”

“Normally, you look at someone when you greet them.” 

Raising your head, that feeling in your gut intensified and as you opened your eyes to properly greet him suddenly the world around you gained a vibrance that you never had the luxury to experience. Your eyes widened and you frantically looked around you as experienced the color of the furniture come to life. Looking down at your hands, you notice the color of your warm skin come to life, no longer bound to the greyscale of before. When you raised your head again you looked to Charles, then back around to Storm before landing on Logan, your eyes wide with shock, adoration, and a bit of fear. Logan was looking at you with the same intensity and suddenly you didn’t feel so weary of looking at him anymore. 

“Hello, Logan.” 

Your brow furrowed, he looked at you in a way you couldn’t quite discern yet, but you didn’t have a hunch that it would be anything negative. Charles leaned forward and Storm came up closer to understand what was happening between you two. 

“Y/n, what’s happening?”

“I-uh, I can see.”

“See what?”

“Color. I can see color.” 

His voice was low and gravelly, it had a sweeter tone to it now.

“So can I.”

Before you could relish in the feeling of finally finding your soulmate, it was quickly shrouded by the fear of what having a lover meant for you. There was a more sinister meaning to your name besides being completely repudiated by all aspects of society. Your mutation meant many things, but in finding your soulmate you’d have to blood bond them which meant dependency for life. The bond would be completely inseparable and invasive. 

It frightened you. 

You’d feel every emotion, every pain, every suffering. You’d be unstoppable together but if ever separated you’d be an extreme danger and with all things considered you were terrified if the experimentation amplified that. You didn’t want to be the killer they made you out to be. You stood up, overwhelmed by the situation.

“I don’t know if I can do this. I need to go. I don’t want to make things worse, I don’t wanna hurt anyone again.”

“Y/n, please. We can’t help you if we don’t know everything. I’m not going to fish through your mind. Sit, please.” 

You glanced at Logan and then back to Charles before speaking again. 

“You were saying that if people saw you that meant a bad omen was sent your way, what did you mean by that?”

“It’s part of the reason why they snatched me up.”

“Who?”

“Weapon X.”

There was a bitter silence that filled the room and you didn’t want to relive it, but you had to. You needed to. If you were to overcome these feelings, this internal war within you, you had to face it. You waited for someone to speak but the silence remained so you broke it resentfully. 

“My mutation makes me an omega-level mutant, the government likes that. They like having murder puppets at their disposal. A genetic war machine, a hitman for hire I was. Weapon X caught wind of my efficiencies in execution and promised me an upgrade I couldn’t refuse. They told me that this experiment they did on me would make the mutation adamantine. They packaged it up in a pretty box, topped with an elaborate pink bow and I fell for it hook, line, and sinker. I felt useful for once like I finally mattered and had a purpose. I was a natural born killer so might as well stop fighting it, right? I couldn’t have been more wrong.”

Tears were beginning to brim at your waterline as you wrestled with your feelings of dejection and the perpetual pit of undesirability. You just wanted to matter and you did, but only as a murderer. 

“You see I was able to control the hunger before, practically ignore it but after the experiment it was insatiable. They put me on a medical table and injected me with some sort of serum but my body, my mutation harnessed it like a bloodthirsty demon that spent years caged in civility. They did what they wanted to do with me, they made me the monster everyone thought I was, the killing machine they needed. What they failed to consider though was if I would comply once the experiment was completed.” 

Tears were now slowly falling from your eyes as you recounted the memory of days before. How rabid and vicious you were. The blind rage and wolfish animal you’d become.

“I slaughtered them. While they completed the transfer, they wanted to wipe my memory–make me a murderous android and that’s not what I was promised. I was promised unbridled control over my abilities. So as I lay on that table, wires coming out of all my limbs, I ripped them out, an intemperate bloodlust surging through me.”

You stared down at your hands imagining the fresh blood that was once splattered all over them and how delicious it felt to be in a power like that. 

“All I had to do was look at them and I could make their blood do whatever I wanted. Hemokinesis, they were completely at my will. Crimson splattered the facility as I ripped through their veins or made weapons of their insides. I had enhanced strength and speed now making me a fiendish nightmare. I ate every bullet, laughing at their futile attempts to stop me or my now regenerative abilities. They created a monster and now they wanted to bury it. Very Frankenstein of them except like the creature created by Mary Shelley, I lived. In a more violent nature but I lived.” 

You swiped your tongue over your teeth before bringing your pointer finger to the side of your mouth to stretch the skin and show your fangs. They were sharper now and you were starting to prefer it. As you recounted the events of earlier this week, you almost stopped feeling sorry for yourself and stopped feeling so scared as you came to terms with how powerful you’d become. 

“The mutation was always blood manipulation but never at this intensity. I had heightened senses, or bloodsense as I like to call it.”

“Why bloodsense?”

“Well, it’s not like an animal. I can’t smell people for their scents but I can smell their blood. It gives me access to their location, a new presence, and even their emotional state. Which is why the government found me useful, I was better than a sniper scope.”

You sighed. 

“Problem now was, I was hungry. Normally, I would’ve controlled myself, controlled the thirst, but whatever they did to me I couldn’t help it. Whoever was left and not entirely splattered into pieces, I sunk my teeth into. I can’t describe the euphoria I felt draining them. I would heal before but at a slower rate, now if I feed it’s almost instant.” 

Looking around the room, you thought before you spoke. 

“After I felt the threat was gone and I returned to my body, I ran. I couldn’t believe the massacre in front of me, I had never been unhinged like that and it scared me. I heard about this place before through them, they wanted to shut it down, eradicate all the mutants here.” 

Logan spoke and it startled you slightly. 

“So, you were gonna be a mutant killer.” 

“Not exactly. I thought I could con them into making me more powerful and running away to warn you guys, to help. I suppose I did but not in the way I intended” 

You laughed, finally finding some humor in the unfortunate reality you were sitting in. 

“On the way up here I was able to fight it. The urges. I think at the moment I was just so new and so frightened of what was happening to me that I spiraled out of control. I don’t think I need to feed on people I just need access to some type of blood. I was trying to train myself to focus on the animals on the journey up here. I think I can do it just with some more practice.” 

You fidgeted with your fingers before looking up at Charles doubt suddenly flooding your mind. 

“Do you think I’ll be of use here? Or am I just a lost cause?”

Logan piped up first. 

“I think Dracula here will be of great use to us, just gotta give her some adjustment time.” 

Your eyes darted up to Logan, feeling as though the comment was more than a joke but contemptuous. You could sense the amusement coming off of him knowing that he riled you up a bit. Rejection flooded your brainwaves as you thought about how cruel other mutants had been towards you. You’d think your “soulmate” would’ve behaved a little differently but it seems no extenuating circumstances would ever be granted for you. 

“Logan!” Storm scolded. 

“No mutant is ever a lost cause, y/n. We all can learn and be helped. We just have to be willing, which you seem more than apt to do.” 

You nodded, the tears coming back to your waterline as you felt acceptance. Genuine acceptance for you, not just your mutation but for you. 

“We’ll get you training by tomorrow. Time mustn’t be wasted. Logan show her to the open room across the hall from yours, I need to speak with Ororo. We’ll have y/n settled in by this evening.”

Logan cocked an eyebrow at Charles before looking at you motioning you to follow him. You stood up from the chair, following oddly close behind him, unable to control the intrinsic need to be near him. 

“You always walk this close?”

“Not usually. You’re an outlier.” 

He chuckled somewhat amused by your response. His gait held such confidence and it was something that you wished you had yourself. Maybe the bond wouldn’t be so bad, maybe you could learn from him, and maybe the more you learned about him and his powers the less you would have to feel about your interactions. The mansion was so massive that you thought the walk to your new home would never end. Logan broke the silence between you two right before you reached the door to your room. 

“Soulmates, huh?” 

“Guess so.” You felt heat rising to your face somewhat embarrassed by the admission even though it was true. 

“Pretty cute for a killer.” 

You were stunned. You were at such a loss that your mouth opened and closed searching hopelessly for words that would never form. Logan smirked at your silence and turned around to walk into his room. 

“If you need anything just come knock. If I’m not there I’m sure you can sniff me out.” 

You shook your head, finding the way that he spoke to you unbelievable but you also couldn’t deny that you found it somewhat humorous. You were glad that he was able to make light of something that you were so hardened about. Turning around to enter your room, you were met with a bare dorm. Sheets and simple furniture you were determined to make it look more like home during your time here. Lying down on the bed you stared at the ceiling taking in all of the colors around amazed by the simplest of hues.

~*~

You adjusted quite nicely, acclimating to the rules of the X-men relatively easily. They had simulated training which helped you hone in on your new abilities and unleash them when necessary. You were careful not to overexert yourself so you could limit your blood intake but oftentimes you needed to satiate the hunger in the dead of night when no one could be the wiser, running out into the trees and finding small animals to feed on, a deer if you were lucky. 

You didn’t feel so ashamed anymore and you honestly felt lucky for the first time in your life. You felt like you had a family, a home, but most importantly that you belonged. Walking in the front door, you were carrying a bulk of grocery bags in both of your hands. You finally had the time to purchase some items for your room. As you pushed through the door, Logan happened to be walking down the hall and made his way over to you holding his hand out to grab some of the bags. 

“Jesus, you know you can ask for help around here.” 

“Didn’t wanna bother anyone. I also didn’t think I was gonna buy so much shit.” You laughed. “It’s all going in my room if you wanna follow me.” 

“Think I’ll just stand here and hold them actually.” 

You smiled and walked to your room with Logan not far behind. As you opened your door you dropped all the bags at the foot of your bed relieved to have the weight off of your fingers. Logan did the same before placing a hand on his hip and looking around the room. 

“You want some help putting this stuff up?” 

“That’d actually be great, thank you Lo–Logan, sorry.”

“Y’can call me Lo, bub. Call me whatever you want.”

You felt meek in his presence but were ultimately glad that he gave you permission for a nickname. The two of you had grown fairly close with one another over the last few months and you were elated. There was something so pure and unfeigned about the connection that was forming between you two that you forgot about all the horrors of a soulmate. You were more than overjoyed to have found your other half and them not be fearful of you, even though you tried to seem nonchalant about your feelings. 

You were seen by Logan you were just trying to find a way to fully see him. He was hard to crack but as the days went by he was loosening up more and more and it seemed like you were privy to sides of him no one else was. There were urges within you that were becoming harder to control and the urge to bond with Logan was difficult to ignore. There was this innate hunger that was growing within you and you knew it was a partial side effect of the experimentation but you also understood the possible danger you would be even without the upgrade in your powers. 

When you looked at him, an insatiable hunger caped your entire being and you wanted nothing more than to have him your way. To make him need you the way you needed him. To incapacitate him with desire. You wanted to watch him dissolve into nothing underneath you and dominate your body with the next breath. 

You watched his muscles stretch and relax delicately underneath his skin as he grabbed the items out of your bags, holding them up to inspect before laying them on your bed waiting for direction from you. The only direction that clouded your mind was how you could get him to lay you on the bed. Your brain fogged with desire; you had no shame as your eyes stayed fixated on him. 

“Take a picture it’ll last longer.”

“I think I prefer the real-life option.” You smiled at him and you lost the meekness that you felt earlier. Something settled in your bones while he was standing in your room with you that let you breathe a little easier. Logan was safe, protective, and yours whether he liked it or not. You tried to hide the verity of your emotions but Logan had caught on within the first few weeks of spending time with you. He just preferred the entertainment of making you squirm and letting you think that you had it under control. 

Staring at your barren walls you were trying to envision the plan for your room before Logan’s voice brought you from your thoughts. 

“The Downward Spiral? Aren’t you a little young to be a Reznor fan?”

“Never too young to enjoy music, plus aren’t you a little old to know about anything other than Cash and Big Band music?” You cocked your brow waiting for his face to fall at your jab and when it did you let out a hearty laugh. 

“Where do you want it?”

“You can just roll it up, I wanna get a frame for it. Don’t wanna put holes in it. But I do need help hanging up this tablecloth. I’m gonna make it like a short curtain, you’ll see.” 

Taking the lace fabric out of the bag, you stretched your arms as far as they could go before deciding that you had plenty of fabric to drape it like you wanted. Turning around to Logan you pointed to the piano stool you had shoved under the keyboard in the corner of your room. 

“Can you bring that over?”

As Logan brought the stool over you grabbed a few push pins from the container on your bedside table and swaddled them in your hand. Stepping on the stool you stretched your arms to reach the center point of the wall above your window and made a preemptive hole before nestling the fabric against the wall and securing it with the pushpin. 

“Why don’t you let me help you?”

“I got it! Just make sure the stool stays steady, please.”

You did have it until you didn’t. 

You were getting ready to put the last push pin in and even though your shoes were gripping the stool you felt somewhat unsteady about your position. Stretching to get the last pin in the wall, the stool wobbled and you almost fell and would’ve if Logan didn’t catch you. His large hand cradled your waist while his other hand landed on the curve of your ass before swiftly moving down to your thigh and his foot stepping on the leg of the stool steadying it again. 

A surge of heat blasted through your body and simmered as Logan continued to hold your body steady while you shoved the last push pin into the wall. Stepping down, you turned around to face Logan getting ready to thank him before you realized the proximity of your bodies. He towered over you, and the energy that radiated off of him was virile but oddly soft. There was a gentle heat being shared between your bodies and as you looked up at him you felt so demure beneath him, ready to just give your all to him. 

There was a hesitance before you spoke, afraid that the vibration of your voice in the stillness would ruin the moment. 

“Thank you.”

“Told you you should’ve let me do it.”

“But then you wouldn’t have been able to catch me. I think we both win here.”

“Oh, you like that? Me saving you?”

“Think I could get used to it, yeah.”

Your faces were inches from each other now, lips begging to be against each other but there was a restraint coming from the both of you. Like magnets on the wrong side, neither one of you wanted to give in but your bodies exhorted the desire brewing to be acted upon. Logan’s hands found purchase around your cheeks, cupping your face and breathing out a small “fuck it” before he caught your lips in an impassioned kiss. Your arms hastily wrapped around his neck, your fingers pulling at the hair on the nape of his neck. Your hands soon traced to cup his face before resting on his built chest, your fingers toying with the chest hair that peeked out of his wife beater. 

A low growl rumbled in his throat as you bit his lip and pulled the skin away from the warmth of his mouth. Logan’s hand roamed down the curves of your body before guiding you to the edge of your bed where you flopped into the sheets and scooted to the middle of the bed to take in his form. There was a lecherous famine boiling in your bones and you looked at Logan with such an intensity it sent a shiver through his limbs. When your eyes grazed down his body you landed on the tent forming in his jeans and the thought of what lurked beneath the denim had your pussy clenching around air. 

Logan crawled over you and placed a few kisses near the sweet spot on your neck which had you rolling into him reveling in the feeling. As he hovered over your body he brought his knee up in between your thighs pressing a delicious amount of serene pressure against your core. Logan kissed all over your body and you wanted to continue the euphoria but hesitation was eclipsing your desire. Logan could sense you retracting and scanned your features to try and understand. 

“Listen, we don’t have to do anything you don’t wanna do, bub”

“No, no–I want to. It’s just.” You trailed off and Logan raised his brows waiting for you to continue. 

“It’s just, if we do this, you’re bound to me until death.” 

“You saw color when you saw me right?”

“Yeah.”

“So what’s the issue?”

You almost wanted to sabotage this. To tell him the worst of the worst and advise him to run away, pretend that you never existed. But you couldn’t. As much as you wanted to save yourself the heartbreak and tragedy, you feared love was painting over that panic leaving you to wrestle with the inevitable sacrifice you’d have to make. 

“My mutation binds us, intertwining our fates, and weaving us into one. It’s more than soulmates it's a blood bond. It happened with my parents but their circumstances were different. They didn’t choose a life of government executions and eradicating villains, there was no imminent threat of death.” 

His brow furrowed waiting for you to finish. 

“It’s innate–an irresistible need to claim you, mark you as my own. It’s a frenzied scene of passion and with a soulmate, the cauldron of emotions threatens to control me. Once this is done, we are bound beyond flesh. Our minds merged, and every memory–cherished or forgotten will be laid bare. I’ll feel every pulse of your thoughts, every feeling that ravages your soul and you, mine. You will become my life.”

“I’m not really seeing a problem here, sweetheart.”

“The problem is death. With this bond, every wound, and every pain will be felt as if it were our own. Our own agonies amplified. And God forbid if one of us dies, we will feel every second of that excruciating agony. There’s no autonomy. There is no freedom in loving me and should we ever be separated I–we’d be defenseless Logan.”

You paused, finding the courage within yourself to bear the worst. 

“There’s something else. My eldritch cross to bear.” 

“What’s that?”

“I will slowly kill you.”

His brows unfurled and he brought his hand up to your cheek as you closed your eyes with the confession. 

“Maybe I won’t. Maybe your mutation will counter mine and you’ll be able to regenerate fast enough before my influence roots. Or perhaps it’ll just take longer for you, but death came for my father and he understood the sacrifice he was making by loving my mother. He cherished and learned to love the reality he’d have with us, for us. I just don’t know if I can be that selfish.”

With tears threatening to spill you looked up at Logan, the fear you were swallowing for months now coming to the surface. 

“I don’t wanna kill you, Lo.”

Logan sighed and moved to sit next to you grabbing your hand in his, tracing over the grooves of your palms. 

This was it. 

You found him and you lost him all within a confession of something you couldn’t control. Your powers ameliorated for destruction you were left to bathe in the aftermath and be forced to solitude once again.

Taking your hand and bringing it up to his lips to kiss, he finally spoke. 

“Sweetheart, nothing can kill me.” 

Your head turned to face him, your face contorted in confusion before he continued. 

“And if loving you brings about my end, then God dammit it’ll be a death worth the sacrifice. I’ve lived lifetimes y/n, don’t deny yourself to save me. Ion need saving, I need you.”

Beneath the watery clouds of tears that glossed over your eyes, stars and hearts rested within them as you processed Logan’s words. There was no fear, no hate, no promise of abandonment from him, and while on instinct it scared you, you wanted nothing more than to spend the rest of eternity in his arms. This was more than seeing color, this was a testament to souls spending lifetimes to find each other, to reignite their flame and rival the brilliance of stars. 

The tears that fell were no longer out of fear but admiration and joy. Moving to straddle his lap, you cradled his face memorizing his features before playing with a few strands of hair that were falling on his forehead. 

“Why you crying, bub?”

“Just happy I found you.”

Placing an ardent kiss on his lips, you locked them between yours for a few moments savoring the sanctuary you had found in him. Pulling away you pecked his lips a few more times before staring into his eyes that shimmered with autumn hues of adoration for you. 

“You still want me, baby?”

“Always gonna want you, sweetheart.” 

You smiled before kissing him again and uttering a soft “lemme make you feel good.” before peppering kisses across his skin. The scruff of his facial hair tickled your cheek as you freckled kisses along his neck, hitting the sweet spot under his ear that had him sighing soft moans into the air. Trailing your hands down his chest they rested on his abs before you traced the outline of his belt buckle with your fingertips. Looking up at Logan you silently asked for permission before continuing your movements and he granted you sanction over him by wrapping his thumb and forefinger around your chin to bring you in for a kiss. 

Rolling your hips into his, you sighed fervidly into him feeling him tent beneath you. Pulling away from his lips, you palmed your hand over the stretching denim encasing his lap and locked eyes with him. You couldn’t quite explain it but you wanted to watch every emotion of his unfold in front of you. Eyes fixated on him like a silver screen projecting your favorite film, you relied on your sense of touch to undo his belt and unbutton his jeans. Eyes falling to his chest you noticed his breathing becoming heavier as if he was holding himself back. 

Snaking down his body, you rolled his pants down with you just enough so that his cock could spring free from its confinements. He was picturesque in every sense of the word. His cock was the perfect length and was nested in a bed of untamed umber hair, his tip a flesh rose color that was leaking arousal.

Licking your hand, you brought it down to wrap around his length, the tip of your thumb and middle finger barely touching and you stroked up and down. Sliding your head down to the base, you flattened your tongue and licked a fat stripe up to his tip, dribbling a bead of spit onto the head. 

You looked at Logan through your lashes as you took as much of him as you could into his mouth. The sensation of your mouth wrapping around him had him gripping the sheets of your bed as you bobbed your tongue in and out of your mouth across his length. His moans slowly become more vocal, filling the atmosphere with a sexual symphony. 

Low groans and strangled breaths escaped his throat as you continued to suck him off. Logan took one hand off of the sheets to gather your hair out of your face. creating a makeshift ponytail with your locks, his hand resting on your head following your movements. Sucking in your cheeks, Logan let out a groan that sent pulses to your pussy and encouraged you to bring him to his zenith. 

Moving your hand in tandem with your mouth you felt him fulminate your mouth with his seed, the taste a salty piquancy of flavor. Swallowing every drop you continued to suck his orgasm out of him, his stomach caving in with zeal as you overstimulated him. Coming off of him with a pop, you wiped the corner of your mouth with your thumb before Logan pulled you in for a kiss, groaning at the taste of himself as your tongues fought for dominance. 

Logan’s hands roamed the trunk of your body before landing on the swell of your breasts kneading the skin like a cat. Pulling away from your lips he rolled your bodies over so that he was on top. Ridding himself of his jeans and tank top, his nose traced the line of your pants the scent of your arousal pouring out through the fabric. Carefully unbuttoning them, he rolled them down your legs along with your underwear. 

Nuzzling his nose against the fatty rise of where intimacy finds its home, he breathed in your scent a primaeval urge seizing control over him. 

“Lemme take care of you.”

Logan’s hands followed the curve of your sides before situating his body in between your legs. Wrapping his hands around your hips, he swiped a few kitten licks at your center before flattening his tongue and devouring you like his last meal. The scruff of his beard tickled the inside of your thighs and the vigor with which his tongue was lapping at your petals had you rolling and writhing beneath him. You were squirming with pleasure, frantically searching for something to ground your body outside of the euphoria that was gushing through your bones. 

Your hand was hesitant to rest in his hair, not wanting to ruin the perfectly sculpted duck tail, but digging your nails in the sheets wasn’t enough to steady your arousal. Giving into your resolve, your hands threaded themselves into his surprisingly soft locks, given the style. As you gripped at his tendrils, he moaned against your skin, the vibrations sending frenzied waves of pleasure through your haven. 

Your moans were becoming more frequent, breathy, and low in timbre. As you came closer to your peak you began chanting Logan’s name like a prayer, desperate for salvation. Release. 

It came in an electrifying wave. A rapture seizing your body at an intensity you’d never felt before. It inflamed you and you wanted nothing more than to make Logan as yours in any way possible. The sexual paroxysm that caged your being was impossible to ignore now and your body moved before your mind could resist. 

You flipped your bodies again so that Logan was flat on his back. Ripping your shirt off over your head, you motioned for him to scoot back so his back would be against the headboard. Crawling over his body there was a libidinous heat running through you and it felt like something else was controlling your movements. You were just watching from the passenger's seat. Straddling his legs, you perched yourself over his cock holding it at the base. 

“Inescapably, eternally, you’re bound to me.” Your voice was dripping in seduction but you said it almost as a warning, a bitter reminder of what was to come and before you had the chance to drift your mind elsewhere Logan’s voice brought you back. 

“Wouldn’t want it any other way.” 

You kissed him, smiling into it before you pulled away gasping at the stretch of his cock while you lowered yourself on him. The stretch was ambrosian, your honeyed hole sucking him in greedily as you became flesh with the base, his pubes tickling the tip of your clit. You bounced on him with vehement hunger, your sexual desire throwing you into a zealous delirium. The feeling of his cock stretching you out was something you fantasized for weeks; your imagination did little justice for the actual feeling. 

Giving your legs a break, you moved to rock your hips against his, stimulating your precious bundle of nerves against him. Wrapping your arms around his neck you licked a stripe up the side of his neck before letting your head rest in the crevice where his shoulder and neck met. His large, calloused hands held your hips and helped rock you against him, occasionally detouring up your back and gripping at your skin. 

It was like the veins in his neck were screaming out your name and your fangs began to tingle in your mouth, a sharp pain shooting through your gums. You let the tip of one of your fangs poke at his skin, a guttural moan leaving his throat before the craving of the bond, of the feed eclipsed any trace of logic within you. Fangs bared, cock still sheathed in your cherubic cavern, you sink your teeth into his neck. The intoxicating taste of salty iron washed over your tongue and slid down your throat covetously. 

You need not drain him to the point of death, but just enough to memorize the taste of him for the years to come. Logan moaned out his nails digging into your skin before flipping you on your back. In the movement, you removed your teeth from his neck, carmine staining your lips and the tips of your teeth. 

“Thought you didn’t wanna kill me, baby?”

“Thought you couldn’t die.”

In the prurient haze you were in, the harrowing anxiety from before had vanished, replaced by a fleeting sense of primacy. That feeling was soon wilted as you were shadowed by the dominance of the man above you. 

“I’m gonna fuck that right out of you, sweetheart.”

Swollen with erotic pride you laughed, a wordless challenge for him to conquer. Lining his tip back with your entrance, the stretch was more noticeable on your back and you could feel his tip pressing gentle whispers against your cervix. You were rolling your hips to meet his thrusts and Logan wrapped his arms around your body holding your flesh against his, the sweat on your bodies plastering you to one another in a heinous display of desire. 

His thrusts became urgent like it would be the last time he was inside of you. His moans were louder and the heat from his breaths was leaving a sheen of condensation on the crest of your ear. 

“Fill me up, Logan. I wanna feel all of you.”

You dug your nails into the skin of his back leaving deep red trails in their wake. Wrapping your legs around his waist your hole preemptively squeezed around him as you felt your orgasm build in your lower half. 

“You’re fuckin mine, y/n. Never gettin’ rid of me now.” 

His hips stuttered against you before you felt his balls pulsing against your puffy lips as he flooded your grotto with his thick, alabaster seed. The warmth of his cum filling your pussy left goosebumps to flutter across your skin and he continued fucking you through his orgasm. He overstimulated himself until he felt you pulse around his length, indulging in your juices spilling down the shaft of his cock. 

Pulling out of you, you quickly closed your legs not wanting to get up just yet to rid yourself of his cum. Logan rolled onto his back and you turned on your side placing your hand on his chest before looking up at him ardently. There wasn’t a flaw about him and your mind began to imagine what the rest of your life would look like. You were about to fall victim to your thoughts before Logan’s voice brought you back to mind. 

“So when do I start dying?” 

You slapped his chest lightly. 

“Shut up.” 

“I’m serious, when do I start dying.” 

“Hopefully never, bub. Hopefully never.  Whenever you do, I won’t be far behind.” 

© yeonjuns-beanie ‘24

[cherryspicest]

A better one

I'm here for you part 2 NMIXX Seol-Yoona x Male Reader 7k words

It's been months since I've written again and I had this perfect month to finish this. Sorry for the hiatus T-T

Everything felt like a dream, an inescapable thought, one that would be hard to forget. You cleaned as you shut the door, sweeped a few crumbs with a small pink towel. After placing the last washed dish on the tray, your phone vibrated, a notification popping up as the screen lit, then looking at it was your girlfriend’s message, apologizing for not visiting tonight. Your frustration seemed to lessen down, but it was still there. You decided not to reply and went straight to your room, laying down on the bed. Wonyoung’s kiss felt like it would change it all. The amount of thoughts consumed your mind, and you slowly drifted to sleep. 

You woke up feeling refreshed, blanket almost covering you up like a pharaoh mummy buried for millennia. Headache, you feared having it every time you slept stressed. You stood up and there was none, luckily. The clock showed 8:30; 15 mins before your Science class, and it made you pack your things right away, then rush upstairs to grab your towel to shower. 

Afterwards, you decided to walk your way to school.

The sun’s heat didn’t bother you, the sunlight did. Leaves scattered on the ground moved by the wind’s direction. People walked on the opposite side, but you took the other way for the trees that would cover you from the rays. 

At school, you saw red bandanas hanging on the entrance gate, then to the main corridor, with the school’s name spelled on giant letter stickers with red borders in each. Students stood left and right, having interactions, some had their own task for their school though the council don’t even seem to appreciate it .

You entered the classroom and sat beside Jun, and he gave you a wink. The professor was at his table with a book in his hand and a ballpen tucked between his index finger and middle. A presentation slide was displayed on the TV; talking about what and how’s on Tsunamis.

After the lunch bell rang, your classmates quickly headed outside. You waited for your friends by the entrance door. Others carried lunchboxes, while Jun normally had a wallet in his hand. Along the way you asked him about the situation around, and he called you dumb for being clueless about the inter-school sports competition. Arriving, you saw the canteen crowded. Your friend spotted an empty table at the corner of most of the place with trays and empty chip bags over it. Two tables away from the right sat ladies in white sports jackets, red curves and black stripes in sleeves. One of them looked familiar. 

“Watch your eyes, you wouldn’t want to argue with your girlfriend in this place.” Minho places his lunchbox, opens it, then brings out utensils from the bag. 

“Not really, I’m just wondering what school they are from.” 

“Yonsei, don’t you know?”

You looked at him quickly. Did you hear it right? You thought that you’ve misheard it, but right as he repeated his answer, you’ve been reassured. They are from Yonsei University; the school where Wonyoung currently studies. 

“You alright? Did I say something?”

“No, nothing. I just wondered how we end up fighting against a high class university.” You forced a smile. 

“Ask your hot girlfriend. You know, some girls are blessed with such skills. Should be glad about it.”

Your friends arrived together, holding their bought lunches as they placed it on the table. They wore smiles, out of randomness, they might have stumbled upon something. Your circle’s humor is broken. Sometimes you felt that someone in your classroom was annoyed by your group’s humor. 

“How was your Christmas fam.” Jun wraps his arm around your shoulder, then takes a spoonful bite of rice on his other hand. 

“Sucks.”

“Got sucked or . . “

“No shit for that dirty humor.”

“Just kidding, why the long face though.”

“They must’ve fought,” Minho answered, mouth full. You kept your mouth shut and you knew they would understand, especially Jun.

“So are we guessing the reason for it?” Jun raises a brow.

“She didn’t visit me yesterday. She didn’t even tell me she’s going to drink all night with her friends. I’m not gatekeeping her with all such actions but, isn’t a simple thing to do to update me at least?”

You noticed your friends glanced at each other. Minho paused from taking another spoonful bite of his tonkatsu and placed down his spoon. 

“You both talked about it already?” Jun asked.

“I’m not in the mood to talk to her today.”

“Doesn’t give you a reason though to look up at other girls because of that.” Minho interrupted. Jun nudged you hard in the shoulder

“Yah? I know those Yonsei bitches are a bunch of hot daddy’s daughters. But you know we don’t tolerate cheating, right?”

“I’m not someone who’d do such a thing. I love Sullyoon, alright? It’s just that I'm disappointed.”

“The consequences as well. Sullyoon is hella popular around here in the campus, you should know your decisions. Just talk about it, can you both?” Jun placed taps on your back, and you nodded. 

“We would.” You sighed. You knew how lucky you were to be in a relationship with Sullyoon, everybody does. Not only because she’s pretty, Sullyoon achieves high in classes and you were inspired to be one as well. Through countless arguments between you and her, it got resolved no matter what, but this time you found it worse. 

You snapped off upon the crash sound of a bowl. Minho had accidentally spilled his soup, scattering liquids on the cold floor. Some turned to look at him, and one of them was the Yonsei girls on your right. You made eye contact with one of them, staring for countful seconds, you felt you met her for some time yet you don’t remember. Her hair was curly, eyes almost identical with puppies. She tilted her head and narrowed her eyes, then slowly a light smile appeared on her lips.

Your friends watched the woman approach your table. They looked fascinated, then nervous. 

“Y/n?”

“Yujin?”

“Gosh,  I missed you.” She sat on your right despite the little space, and you were forced to move left. She was close, you didn’t care. 

“I missed you too, sunbaenim.”

“Yah, I told you to stop calling me that. Just because I scolded you back when you were noisy as hell does mean you’d make me look already.” Yujin pushed your shoulder. You felt relieved to meet your old friend. She never failed to keep her matured beauty. “I didn’t know you transferred to this . . . school?” Her eyes wandered around the place between words.

“Not everybody is blessed to stay in Yonsei like you.”

She clucked her tongue, pouting. “If only I had enough money to help you return to us, I did already. Bunch of normies around our floor, I hate seeing them.”

“How’s your thing with Junho?” You giggled. 

“Ew?

“Keep ewing, some day you’d fall back at him as well.”

“Stinky ass basketball players.”

“So you’re calling me stinky?”

“You play basket?” Jun interrupts in a polite way. 

“Yeah, you guys don’t know?” Yujin answers, glancing at you confused. “Your friend never told you he used to break legs at our school?”

“Nah, that’s too much.” You sigh and shake your head.

“Hey? Why not tell shit, huh?” Jun nudged you hard once again. He complained why you had to keep it from them, even Minho. You wanted to be an academic student instead. Being popular used to be your dream goal in a campus, but you failed countless times until the last year of senior high, which is the year where you closed with Yujin and her old friends.

 Yujin asked about your participation in the inter school basketball tournament, and the answer was obviously no. Disappointed, but as if she could do anything to change your decision.

“This is Jun, Minho, Lei and Jian.” Each of your friends wave as you introduce their names to Yujin. 

“Oh wait, I’ll introduce my friends as well to everyone.” She called her friends on the other table, gesturing to come as the girls glanced at each other, seemingly lazy, but shortly they stood altogether. You felt a little excitement, new friends maybe? But not until you saw one of them familiar faces, making your heart race. You never expected Wonyoung to be with them.

“Shit, they’re attractive.” Jun mumbled. Soon as they stood beside Yujin, you looked back to your front, at Minho. 

“So this is Rei.” She gestured her hand to the pink haired girl. “Leeseo.” to the ponytailed woman. “Gaeul.” to the short haired girl sucking the lollipop on her hand. “Liz,” to the long haired girl who seemed to love bangs.  “And lastly, Wonyoung.”  Her hair was curly, and last night it wasn’t. With specs atop her hair, you still felt her rich vibe with any outfit she wore. 

You met her eyes, locking for several seconds before you decided to end it. You can’t see her the same anymore. 

“They looked more normies than what we have back in the campus.” Gaeul chuckled.

“Yah? What’s this woman pointing out?” Jun pointed his finger at her, glancing at each of you. “As if the boys in your campus could last in a fist fight, huh?”

“Tryhard bad boys huh?” Liz scoffs. 

“Yujin, these are your friends?” You whisper to her, and she giggles, pushing your thigh.

“Well, Minju, Yena, Chaewon and the others transferred schools. We Wonyoung were the only ones left in Yonsei.”

“Never expected you to obtain such a daddy's girl attitude ass type friends.” 

Yujin giggled, she knew you hit the spot and she seemed to agree. 

***

The beef between your friends and Yujin’s team took a little while, and it stopped until you decided to take Yujin for a treat around the canteen. You never worried about running out of money because you had savings, hidden under the closet, and stupidly getting asked why not put it into the bank instead.

“You and Wonyoung still talk right?” Yujin presses the straw over the shake. 

“Of course.” It took you several seconds to answer. 

“Why didn't you seem to acknowledge each other awhile ago?”

“Are we supposed to pounce on each other when meeting?” 

“Not really, it’s just not normal. Tell me, you fought?”

“Of course, no.”

She presses her shake on your arm and you flinch on how freezing it was. 

“Gonna tell me or what? I knew you sucked on making lies and excuses. Come on, we’ve opened up to each other countless times.”

You sighed heavily, and guided her to the wall railing where the other blocks could be seen. You leaned yourselves on the bar, facing each other.

“She kissed me last night.” 

Yujin choked suddenly, intentional or not, her expression was valid. She then slowly covered her mouth with her fingers.

“Wony? Why? Like she knows you’re in a relationship right? Is she out of her mind?”

“She knows. She told me she kept her feelings for years.”

“So she was not certain about your platonic friendship?”

“Perhaps. I don’t know, I don’t see her the same anymore. I’m very confused right now. I just want to tuck myself inside somewhere that no one could ever find me anymore.

A sigh escaped her mouth. After then she reached her drink at you, asking you to take a sip. It was random. Despite your rejects she kept insisting and you were left no choice to take one. The shake was sweet, melon in flavor and the bits of crushed ice filled in your tongue. 

“I’ve heard that iconic quote from you again.” She grinned and turned to look at the outside view while she combed her hair down with her fingers. “I don’t know, she never opened up to me about it. Though you should talk about it together, but of course not today or here, you might not want your girlfriend to scandalize around the campus.” She glanced at you with a smirk, then shortly her eyes traveled behind you. Her smile slowly dropped.  “And there she goes.”

You felt a pair of arms wrap around your waist. It was soft at first, then tightened a little once it had fully wrapped you. 

“Hey baby.” You hear that usual voice, sweetness with bitterness. The Jasmine scent of her hair soothed; she’d always have that. “Never thought you could talk to outsiders these days.”

You noticed Yujin's little scoff. Sullyoon’s team came together, the Crows, and they stood behind your girlfriend. 

“She’s my old friend from Yonsei, when I used to study there. Her name is Yujin by the way.”

Sullyoon gave her a light smile, and it was enough for you to take that, though you felt it’s a forced one. Yujin gave a light bow in response. You saw Yujin’s team approaching from the distance, walking altogether, their eyes fixed at you and to the Crows. Their faces fearless as they stood behind Yujin, the sense of indirect heat up between the opposing teams. You switched your eyes at your best friend standing behind Liz, and she quickly looked away. 

“Come on, it’s time for practice.” Rei started off. Her eyes traveled between Crow’s members, passively yet aggressive. It must be her natural eye shape. 

“Yeah, I’m going off anyways.” A light smile forms in Yujin’s lips, keeping eyes at you, then bows lightly. “Nice meeting you once again, Y/n.” 

You expected things to go worse, but it turned out not. You’ve known Yujin to act non-passive, she’d always be. Despite her approachable, cool vibe boys would feel comfortable to talk to, she’d be completely opposite. There were reasons, and she told you about it and you felt lucky to get close with someone like her.  The Yonsei girls walked away altogether, turning backs at the same time. You knew they’d talk about it when some of them surrounded Yujin. 

You didn’t know what to do. Yujin and her friends disappeared on your sight when they steered left. The skies dimmed and became cooler when the sun got covered by the thick clouds left and right. There was a sense of heaviness in your chest that wouldn’t just disappear quickly. Sullyoon kept herself beside you while she nodded at her friends, signaling they could walk away. You were hesitant to face, not because you are scared, but because your emotions are still mixed after last night, and what she had left you in. Then when you managed to gather yourself up to face your girlfriend,  her eyes were fixed at you, crossed arms, but in a way she’d let you know she was pissed. 

“Let’s not argue for now.” You started calmly. 

“You’re deciding things between us now?”

“It’s your game day, I don’t want . . . “

“I don’t care Y/n.” She interrupted. “See, you’ve clearly left me in inbox this morning, then seen last night, and this is what I’m going to see?”

You didn’t answer. It was not the sense of being cornered, but in a way you were holding yourself in with your thoughts and words. In few hours, your girlfriend will play carrying the university’s name, and you don't want to be the reason for her downfall.

“I don’t understand Y/n. Sometimes, you’re just ridiculous. I don’t know what to say anymore.” 

You pulled her wrist when she began to walk away, but she shook it off, not bothering to look at you nor give a glance. The struggle to speak, and as you watched her walk out, your feelings got mixed out even more that not even anyone could describe. You kept your composure and watched her follow the team downstairs. 

You didn’t know what to do anymore. 

Few hours later you returned to the classroom, your friends headed first and you saw them in the back row, a chip bag tucked between Minho’s thighs. They would always reserve an empty seat for you. Throughout the class, you felt dumber, maybe because you were stressed, or the short argument between your girlfriend. Jun noticed your sudden quietness. He asked you in a manner the professor wouldn't notice, whispering, but useless when you shook your head as an answer. 

Exactly the start of your girlfriend’s game matched the subject’s wrapping up, and you headed to the gymnasium with your friends, then met three adults outside the entrance door. You’ve thought worse, but it was only a security check, always in every event. Patting each of your clothes, shortly they let you all in. You saw how crowded it was inside, every section almost filled in but there were empty ones around the middle lower area. Red bandanas knotted on each railing ends above, hanging freely as it swayed with the wind  Minho found empty seats on the upper right most section. He asked all of you to sit with him and nobody contested. He bragged how he could pick such good spots and you told him how good the spot is sarcastically. The view felt a kilometer away from the court like it was some Taylor Swift concert. 

The crowd erupted in cheers. You looked over and saw each team appear from different directions. Your school’s team from the left, and Yonsei on the right, near the fire exit. The fans on the right ride waved their balloons colored in blue. They were the Yonsei, and they never left that color. Your school chose the contradicting color, red, just how much you’ve seen that color fill the whole corridor downstairs.

Few minutes long, the game had started. Each student in their own schools chanted their school’s pride along their aggressive wavings of their balloon. Shouts echoing through walls. It was really like a concert. You looked at your friends to see them busy with their phones, and only stopped when they noticed you. You didn’t really care, it was just confusing why they had to stop. 

You could recognize your girlfriend despite the distance from your seat. She is tall, everyone knows that, but you had a certain way of recognizing her: her alluring thighs. Her curvature is just unique, and most of all her pretty face. 

She had thrown good serves and spikes throughout the rounds. Shouts from men seemed more audible, maybe the ones beside their benches where they left their things. It was louder when it’s your girlfriend’s play. Mark beside you never focused on the game, showing you some Instagram reels on his phone that he found hilarious. His humor was broken, but then everyone in the circle understood that.

After several rounds, Yonsei students' chants began to fade but the school’s students. On the digital clock, right in the middle of the net pole, your school had an advantage of four points from your old school. You could see how Yonsei pushed more with their style. Liz managed to give a clean set to your best friend, Wonyoung, and managed to spike the ball hard on the school side. A quick high five on Yonsei’s team then got back to their positions right away. After the whistle blew from the referee, a clean rally was made again. Pass there, pass that, throw, and receive, that’s the flow. When Jinsol spiked the ball, the short-haired girl from Yonsei managed to save it. It was Gaeul if you remember. The ball was a float receive, where Yujin took the shot from the utility position and spiked the ball right beside your girlfriend. You saw Sullyoon shake her head and give a quick side-eye to her. It was funny. Sometimes she’d show her arrogant side, but very rarely. 

Few rounds both schools were tied in points, and once they made another point, then it’s their win. Sullyoon served and was received by Gaeul. Yujin’s team started aggressive. A minus tempo set from the middle by Liz and spiked by Wonyoung, but was received by Haewon from the back. Jiwoo set the ball to Sullyoon on the outside then gave her a good position to spike, but then it was received by Leeseo. The screams from both schools loudened. Balloons waved aggressively. Some began to chant their team’s name, and your friends were focused on the rally. 

As the ball floated on Yonsei’s side, Yujin tried another attack to the opposite side, and Jinsol blocked it, but then was saved by Rei from the left. Given another chance to correct their mistake, Liz sets the ball to Wonyoung. She was open, it was a clear shot for Wonyoung. It felt like the world slowed down and one shot would end the school’s journey to the trophy. The sense of joy was within, it’s your best friend anyways, but it’d be worse to hear the school’s loss.

When she landed a hard slap on the ball, your girlfriend had a lucky timing when she raised both arms sideways at Wonyoung, and as the ball bounced off her arms, it fell down sideways and met Yujin’s court side. Your school’s students erupted in cheers and screams while the Yonsei students died down, but some were still waving their balloons. Your friends cheered. Jun stood up with both arms lifted, and sat down quickly when you and your friends looked at him. Everything was chaotic, the loudness around the court got into you, and it was a sort of memorable experience. A cat walked past when you got outside. Yonsei students made their way towards the shuttle parked outside the large fences. Some wore long faces, some did not, just normal though the bitchiness could be seen. The sun had set down through flat grayish clouds in the distance as if it was peeking at the school. 

You cradled the black furry cat. You were bored, still clueless about what just happened back inside. 

“So, why alone all of a sudden?” Yujin walked from behind, standing beside you as she caressed the cat. 

“Oh, hey.” You smiled, her presence always made you feel relieved. She tilted her head waiting for your answer. “Is it wrong if I Am?”

“It is, and you’re not with your girlfriend right now. Your school won, aren’t you happy with it?” Then she pointed her finger at you, a smirk forming on her lips. “Or you really are, you still support your old school huh?”

“Old school still hits differently.”

“Come on now, support your girlfriend back there.” She nudged your arm. “I’m saving you from your two sided girlfriend. She thought I wouldn’t notice that side-eye she gave me huh.” She giggled and came closer to your ear. “They’re just lucky Gaeul had a fever.” “She had?” “Yeah, but she wanted to play as well. There’s no other better liberos out there than her.” She sighs and looks in the same direction where you are looking. “Well it’s fine, I don’t really care that much. When we first met, I was already playing. I’m tired as fuck I wanna quit, but I wouldn’t want to be replaced by someone stupid as well.” She smiles. “Come on, go inside. We’ll see each other again soon, don't worry.”

You opened your arms, wanting a hug. She faced you with crossed arms and scanned you from toes to your eyes, then grins. She placed her hand between your chest and placed a few taps. It was soft, her hands. 

“You want your girlfriend to kill us both? Well I don’t mind, it’s just you that I’m thinking.” She gently pushed you away. “I’ll return that when you visit Yonsei again. It’ll be more than just a hug if you do.” 

“Like?”

“Of course it’s a secret boy” Her voice disappointed. “Go to our school then you’ll see.”

You shake your head while she keeps that mocking look at you. It sounded wrong, or it was just you. Being green minded has always been inside anyone’s head, so it’s normal, but perhaps you assumed too much. 

***

Back inside, it was messy. Confettis and long red ribbons scattered on the floor, then swept away as you walked through. There were still students around, but most were schoolmates. Yonsei had mostly left together with Yujin’s team. Everything smelled confusing like a group of crowds in the city market. 

You stumbled upon Jinsol before you could reach the gym door. She told you Sullyoon was left back inside, probably waiting for you. She never looked mad or disappointed, she never was, and even placed a ‘bro’ tap on your back before you would have pushed the door open. 

The door clanked closed and it echoed throughout the court. You spotted your girlfriend as she exited the locker room, carrying her duffel bag. She still wore her red varsity shirt and black shorts, kneepads on her knees. Her black hair is loose. There was silence between you two, around five to six seconds, before you ended it with clearing your throat. 

“Congrats, babe. I watched everything, you did great.” You began, hesitation in your tone. 

Her face stayed emotionless, not a single inch of movement from her lips. She kept her gaze and you felt her hatred behind those eyes. She’d always give those whenever she’s mad and you were used to it, but doesn’t fail to give you discomfort at the same time. 

“I mean I know you’re not in your mood to see me right now, but I just want to congratulate you as your boyfriend, and someone who’d stay by your side even in the worst times” You swallowed the lump in your throat, and after another silence came through you started to walk away. 

“So you’re leaving?” She finally spoke, but in a plain tone. You stopped and turned at her. “Is that a boyfriend act?”

“No, of course. I . . I”

“Hesitant? Same reason all over again because you’re scared to talk to me right in my face when these matters come.” 

“I just don’t wanna ruin your day. Today is your win day.” “You step out that door” She points her finger. “And leave me hanging all alone, you think that will not ruin it as well, Y/n?”

You felt exhausted with everything, and it’s just that a simple hug would clearly end this all right away. You were not in your mood to argue, to open up your hatred about Christmas day, and you just want to rest. You let out a deep sigh and walked towards her. The shoes of yours squeaking against the court floor.

“Look, I'm sorry. My emotions consumed me when you ghosted my texts the whole night during christmas. I really hated when I saw you post pics on your story while you left my messages hanging throughout your party. I’m overthinking, and worried. You know that?” You spoke calmly. She crossed her arms, tilting her head.

“You don’t trust me don’t you?” 

“It’s not like that, Yoona. Is it bad for me to feel that way, I’m just worried.”

“Yeah you’re worried, because you don’t trust me. That’s it. We’ve been together for a year and a half already, babe. If I’m that of a cheater like all the other girls you see around this campus, you think we’ll last this long? I chose you because I know I could trust you, and I thought you’d do the same. It’s always you who’s trying to make things worse.”

“I do trust you, okay?” You sighed and groaned. “Alright, I’m sorry. I told you. My emotions consumed me.”

"And what now? You think your sorry could do something on that pain you gave to me? Always the same usual word I'll receive and then guess what, you'd do it again."

"It's my fucking emotions that made me do it. I was out of my mind, I was angry."

"It's not a valid reason for me Y/n. What if you've done something worse than this? Tell me. I'm trying to be understanding most of the time. Why do you have to abuse it?"

There was silence. It was hard to form up such word or thought, and it was better to shut your mouth than feed the fire with more gasoline. She'd always turn the tables and make you the worse one between you couple. She never failed, but you who's a stupid, would let her do it over and over again.

She kept her gaze still, keeping her arms crossed. You could hear her breaths fasten. The silence seemed to calm the situation as it got longer. There were no other people around rather than both of you, so no matter if you both shouted at each other, no one would care. 

“I don’t want our day to be like this, Y/n.” She looked up at you, her tone calmer. Her eyes were still disappointed but she tried her best to look welcoming after. Then she removed her gaze at you and moved it somewhere behind your direction. “So, I’ll let this slide for now. I just want the day great.”

Your light nods made her look back at you. 

“Go get my stuff I left there inside the locker room. That’s the thing you can do for me, for now.”

So you followed. Inside, there were her bags over the bench in the middle of their room. The room smelled Jasmine and a mix of Lavender. The blue tinted glass pane colored the lights outside blue with a hint of ray passing through the glass, down to the floor. As you carried her items, you saw Sullyoon at the door. It was closed, then a clunking sound. She kept her gaze at you while leaning, her hands behind her waist, her foot resting against the door.

“I found it, let’s go?” You smiled and there was still silence. She pushed herself with her foot and began to walk slowly towards you. You kept your composure, watched her image get closer and closer. It was dim. She had not opened the lights but her presence was not impossible for you to see. She pushed the bags over your arms away and you watched it fall on the ground. Her eyes, those alluring eyes, were still chained on yours. You were confused. You began to step backwards while asking her sudden actions, but not a single answer escaped her lips. And when you met the wall behind you, she tilted her head and grasped your right wrist, pushing it against the wall.

Then she leaned for a kiss, capturing your lips quickly. It begins soft, just touching your lips, then slowly she starts to suck into your upper lip. You raised your left arm and wanted to touch her shoulder, but she moved it away, slapping your hand. She pulled away when she grabbed your other wrist. Her eyes filled with hatred, and she gave those to you. Your both arms are both pinned against the wall. 

“Don’t touch me.” She said softly in a warning tone.

“Yoona, here?”

She narrowed her eyes, your question seemed to annoy her more. “You are worried if someone’s gonna catch us here, fucking your loved one inside this dark room. But you never thought of getting worried on how I may feel with all these shitty actions you’re doing nowadays, huh? Isn’t that unfair?” She pressed her body more into you. It was getting more uncomfortable, but sort of hot at the same time. Her breaths warm on your neck. “So I’m here . .” Every phrase, she kisses and slides her lips onto your neck. “To remind you . . . that cheating on me . . . is your loss . . .” She bites your neck and you let out a soft groan. “ and not mine . . .”

She captured your lips once again and this time it was aggressive. You returned the favor, kissing and sucking into her lower lips that felt very soft. She wrapped her arms around your neck. Her strength enough to pull you even for a deeper kiss that your lips were shoving into each other. She let out soft moans between kisses. You felt her tongue asking for entrance and you welcomed it inside yours

Her hands finally freed your wrists, now below your shirt as she pulled it out from you, leaving you shirtless. She continued to place kisses on your necks, and once she gave a hickey on a spot where it’s impossible to be hidden, just a centimeter between your chin, then she came closer to your ear. “And this will be a reminder to your Yonsei friends.” She whispers. 

She made her way down to your chest, sucking into your nipples. You felt like you were in heaven, quite painful, but seeing her hot face devouring you like her post-celebration meal was enough to take those pain away. Her sports shirt, shorts that exposed her thick thigh, she was the definition of seduction. After her works around your chest and into your abs, she finally knelt down. She looked up at you with full desire and lust. Her quickening breaths showed how much energy she had put with those. 

Her hands made their way into your belt, unbuckling it, and there was the click of the lock. She bit her lip when it came loose. She threw it away and pulled your pants down. The bulge of your dick on your black underwear greeted her like a toy that is ready to be played with. 

You felt her hand on your arm, wrapping her fingers, then pulled you to sit on the bench . The blue light ray from the glass pane shining on both of you is enough for her to enjoy the sight even more. She traced circles around your bulge with her fingers, slowly and sensual. Oh you say, it felt like a sort of heavenly trial that is impossible to resist, and when that index finger reached the tip you knew it was the time to succumb upon her. A soft moan escaped her mouth; you felt it hot over your abdomen. Then when she pulled down your underwear quickly, your dick sprang out to show how it’s ready to be served to her. “Quite a long time.” She hummed, enjoying the view in her eyes. And when she wrapped her fingers around it, she began to take you into her mouth, sending shivers to your body. Your hand resting against the bench and your other on her nape. Cold never existed around the room. Every second you’d feel a sweat trick down your body, and thus it easen her job right now. She takes you even deeper into her mouth, pushing herself more down to your cock. You could hear her choke between, but you ignored. It feels more satisfying. You were enjoying every second that she gave to you.  She pulled away and took a quick deep breath. Her eyes tired, but yet the signs of lust. Her hair messy, and a slick of her saliva on her mouth. She bit her lip, continued to take herself more into your cock but this time she went faster. Now it was a different feeling, a sense of rush and it brings you closer to your climax. Seeing her like this was enough to make you finish, but you didn’t want to disappoint your girlfriend, and you know you owe her a lot after all.

Your breath quickened, you were getting very close. And as she watched you, seeing her work at you, she went faster and faster. One last second she pushed herself deeper more into your cock and heard her gurgle. All of today’s argument, stress, and adrenaline finally came into a thick white semen into your girlfriend’s needy throat. She had to make sure it all went straight into her, nothing to waste, nothing to leave a mark of her dirty work. The light outside finally dimmed and it was the sign of night. You let out a deep breath, trying to catch your breath after all. You thought it was done, just a simple quickie she’d always wanted every time, but when she stood up with her eyes not leaving against yours, and leaned closer into you with her fingers grabbing a few strands of your hair, it said otherwise.

“Your turn.” She smirked.

She pressed her foot over your pants to keep it still when you raised your legs out from it. Now you are bare naked. You grabbed her by her waist and brought her towards the locker, pulling her to bend over. Her thick thighs, her soft ass, you were craving for it and you’d never get tired of it. When you slid your hands around it, taking your time to enjoy every inch of it despite the clothing that separates yours and her skin, she moaned. Those moans that’d always keep you active in dirty activities. She made sure it was soft. 

“Show me how sorry you are for your doings.” She groaned.

There was no time to waste. You pulled her tight black shorts down, and showed much of her delicious ass beneath her red undergarment. You squeezed in your fingers between her panties, grabbing both cheeks, then pushed your hands down to her legs where the garment had freely fallen along. She watched you enjoy the view of her thighs. Her hair down free. The moans that escaped her mouth as you guided your hands from her thighs up to her perfect curvature of her waist reminded you how sensitive she was with your touches. Sullyoon crumbled within your fingers, and you knew she enjoyed it. You placed kisses on her ass cheeks, to her thighs, every part down to her knees. She’s something worth praising for. And with this image of her, bending over from a red locker with her desireful eyes gazing was only meant for you. 

As you shoved your cock into hers, she let out a short loud moan, but quick enough to cover her own mouth after. You began to thrust into her slowly, wanting to hear those noises from her mouth and how she’d beg you to ruin her like a slut. She arched her back and showed more of her curves, resting her arms against the locker doors. Your hands wandering on her skin and her sweat made her body look even more hotter. Now that you quickened your pace at her, her moans began to grow. Her fingers clinged against a small hook of an empty locker. She’d try herself not to be loud, but each second, you’d hear her groan and moan beneath her breaths. She’d give you those eyes pleading you for more.

From her waist, now your hands made their way up to her chest while you continued to grind her. You slowly lifted off her varsity shirt when she raised both of her arms, and only left her with her thin black clothing. Quickly unclipping it, you pulled it out and threw it away, exposing her breasts that were soft in your palms. They were perfect, not big, but not too flat, just enough for your palms to squeeze into. Her nipples hard. She pressed your hands more into her pair of tits while grinding yourself into her, and shortly she tapped your waist to stop.

You watched her turn around and face you, wrapping her arms around your neck and pulling you for another deep sensational kiss. Your mouth's sounding the room. She grabbed your hands and placed them against her breasts once again. They were really soft, her nipples that were satisfying to pinch, and each time you’d do, she’d moan between kisses. You pulled away when you felt her hand around your cock and saw her guide it back inside her. It took quite a moment, but shortly she got it done. Her walls were warm, and you couldn’t wait to grind her throughout the dusk. 

“Fucking fuck” She muttered between moans as you resumed your work at her. You carried and held her ass as she raised her legs to wrap it around you, now her full weight under your carry. You pushed her against the lockers and each thrust you gave made audible bangs on the locker doors. She didn’t seem to care about the pain, and the noises seemed to push her louder. 

There are only a matter of seconds before you could reach your climax once again. Her nails dug into your scalp. It was painful, but not for your orgasm that consumed you which made it inevitable. 

“I’m close” She gasps, a visible plea in her face.

She moans loudly around the room that felt like a scream, but now you don't care much. You loved hearing those, her moans felt like a temporary boost to your thrusts, a signal light to be faster. Everything seemed to lose within seconds. You are not in a condom, you don’t know if she’s on her pills, it’s just an entire guess here guess what, pleasure in the end, without thinking of the possible consequences. But right before you would have reached your climax, you pulled away. She knew it, and her mischievous grin showed much of it. Her hands pushed you back into the bench to sit as she knelt down in front of you, continuing to stroke your cock. Her hand rubbed it hard, then  swallowed it back into her throat where you fully shooted your second round of cum. You noticed her rubbing her clit along with her devours and her juices had spread on the floor. 

“Shit, Yoona” There were no other words to say but this. She continued to take you into her mouth, twirling, then slowly pulled off. A slick of your cum on her mouth before she licked it off. You watched her catch her breath while she looked back at you, her eyes showed appreciation, and her hatred seemed to disappear after all. 

“I like it when we do it somewhere illegal. Not in your just boring ass apartment.” She giggled, resting herself over your thighs. You caressed her cheeks and ran your fingers over her smooth hair that was now messy than an hour ago. You could only take your time now appreciating her presence by your side. People don't know what’s in here. They must’ve been in their homes now. It’s already nighttime, around six or a half, and she doesn’t seem to care about it. She just wanted you, being reassured that your love is within her till now.

[frightwrite]

Cecaelia Boyfriend: Vasa Pt.1

Weee another repost! Still need to work on the second part of this one

SFW

GN Reader x Male Cecaelia

｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ

The salty sea air brushed gently through your open window, and a few loose-leaf sheets blew off your desk. You huffed, placing your pen down and getting up from your wooden chair which let out a loud screech. The draft sheets for your upcoming novel were scattered all over your desk. You thanked your past self for labeling each of the pages earlier on. 

Finally gathering the draft and patting the pages together against the desk, you glanced at your digital clock. 1:05 am. You have been stuck in a writer’s block for almost three hours now. You were unsure how to keep the plot moving and make it lead up to the suspenseful twist towards the end of the novel.  Rubbing your sore eyes, you decided that the best thing you needed right now was to relax, and what better way than to sit on the beach reading a book that you adored with the calming ocean sounds as a backdrop? Sure, being at the beach at 1 in the morning was a little self-destructive, but your sleep schedule was already a mess. Might as well make the most of the night and wind down. 

You scurried around your beachside home, grabbed your book, locked your windows, and searched for a pair of jeans and a sweater to wear over your pajamas. Stepping out of your home, you breathed in the relaxing scent of the ocean air, grateful that you made the move closer to the Pacific Ocean. It was a different setting from the fast-paced lifestyle that the city had. Out here you felt more at peace, everything seemed to move slower and it was quieter, save for the whooshing sound of the waves now and then. As you descended the white wooden stairs that entered the beach, you glanced back at the small town that was farther uphill. From what you could see there were very few lights that were on, most of the stores out here closed at around 8 pm due to a majority being small family-owned storefronts. Another perk of the move that you enjoyed.

As your bare feet buried into the sand, you took a moment to take in the sight in front of you. The moon was full tonight, a milky white that illuminated the seaside in a calming glow. The waves rushed to the shore back and forth like a gentle dance. The dark ocean sparkled with the moonlight, and the cool air that came with the usual temperature drops caused a tranquil scene. 

You made your way down to the shorefront, not too close to the water, yet far enough for you to watch as the tide pulled in and then pulled away again. You sat down on the sand, gazing out at sea for a moment before flipping through the pages of your book. You sat there for about thirty minutes or so, casually reading your book and taking in the nighttime scenery when a bright light glinted against your reading glasses. Your attention was pulled away from your book as you searched the area around you for the source of the sudden interruption from your fantasy world. The light was bright but not much larger than the size of a half-dollar coin. You tried your best to teach where the light was coming from, picking yourself up off of the ground as you followed where it was coming from. A silhouette of a person in the sand started to become clearer as you approached and you went into full panic mode. The person, from what you could tell, was lying on their side, a dark liquid soaking deep into the sand around them. 

The sight of the unknown liquid caused you to move quicker, coming to a screeching halt when you tried to process what you were staring at. It looked like a person from afar, but now that you have a closer look you assumed that what you were staring at was a fish…human? A mermaid-like being from your old storybooks as a child. Except instead of a fishtail you were met with several tentacles. Eight to be exact.

Despite the octopus monster briefly causing you to be hesitant with your rescue, the sight of the suspicious liquid pulled you back into a helpful headspace. You bend down, touching the soiled sand as you coat your fingers with the sticky red liquid. Blood. The source of it you weren’t sure. But all you knew was that he was in desperate need of help. Your eyes roamed across the monster man's body, finding the source of the bleeding. An old barbed wire was buried deep in his torso. You couldn’t free him with your bare hands, risking cuts to your own if you did so, instead you checked to see if the fish monster was still alive. His chest seemed to rise and fall, meaning he could intake oxygen much like a human, though you didn’t want to risk seeing just how much longer he could do that for.

Rushing towards your house, you discarded your book and reading glasses onto your couch. You made a brief detour to your bathtub, hurriedly turning on the water and plugging the drain. You searched through your hall closet, shuffling through the toolbox you kept there before coming across a pair of wire cutters. With the adrenaline rush still in you, you made a beeline back to the beach. 

“This is fine, this is fine, this is fine,” You kept chanting to yourself as you approached the octopus merman once more. “This is just like helping an injured animal? Human? This is fine.”

You bent down again, carefully cutting the wires away and freeing him from their sharp grip. The merman gave no response, as you attempted to hoist him up. You know it was probably better for him to wait and get professional help, but who would you call for something like this? Especially at this time of night. The hospital? An animal hotline? Folks might just think you were going crazy, and given the circumstances, you sure felt like it. You managed to drag the merman into your home, grimacing at the trail of blood you left. You made a mental note to clean it up as best as you could before someone saw it leading up your stairs and front porch. The last thing you needed on your record was a suspected murder charge.

Laying the man onto the bathroom floor, you rummaged underneath your sink cabinet for the first aid kit. It was novice work but you managed to stop the bleeding briefly and clean the wound with antiseptic before wrapping the gauze around him a few times for good measure. You then hoisted him up into the overflowing tub of water, quickly closing the faucet once some of the water spilled out over the edge. Something else to clean that you’ll worry about later. Your main priority was the blood now. 

Seeing that the monster man seemed to be doing okay for now, you continued your work, cleaning up the blood around your property. Hoping the sea would wash away the rest of the evidence. By the time you came back, the octopus man was still passed out in the tub. It was getting late and with all the cleaning you did,  you lost any motivation to clean up anything else all you wanted was rest. You laid yourself on your couch, having a good view of the bathroom from where you sat and you eventually dozed off.

｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ

The next morning you were woken up by frantic splashing and an animalistic screech that reminded you of an old kraken movie. You shot up, rushing to the bathroom and almost running into the doorframe. Your injured patient had awoken, his dark long hair cascading over his face shielding him from your view. He let out a very snake-like hiss, his clawed fingers scratching against the bathtub’s ceramic, water spilling out of the tub. You raised your hands in defense, staying in place as you tried to calm him down.

“Hey, hey! You’re safe, it's okay!” You tried to reassure him. ” 

He sneered, relaxing his shoulders slightly yet still keeping his guard up. “Release me.”

You tilted your head, trying to see around the man and check on his bandages. “I’m not sure I can do that right now, you’re still recovering. And you could get your wounds infected, especially if I don’t change your bandages.”

He lifted his head more and you caught a glimpse of his face. His skin looked like a corpse, with a very light purple hue to it. His eyes, a pale white with no irises that you could see just a blank empty stare, had dark circles underneath and his lips were the same darker color.

His nose looked like two slits and his teeth were black and sharp. His purple tentacles rested over the side of the tub, his many appendages slowly slinking around it. One of his hands hung over the edge too, sharp claws and webbed fingers were two features you instantly noticed. 

The water sloshed as he moved slightly, tilting his head in curiosity yet the intense glare remained on his face. You slowly placed your hands down, moving to the sink to grab a fresh batch of medical gauze.

“I need to change your bandages.” You repeated, holding out the gauze and gesturing to your torso hoping he understood. The octopusman sneered when you made your way over to him again, but instantly winced from the pain. He curled in on himself, a guttural groan leaving his lips as you started to notice the pinkish tint in the tub. Angry or not, you couldn’t leave him with his soiled bandages.

You took in a deep breath, sucked in your fear, and approached closer ignoring the territorial growl he gave you. You reached out towards him, pushing his arms away from his torso while you unwrapped the soiled bandages. You didn’t know much about fish health, especially fish monster health, but you thought keeping him in the water helped a lot. Especially since you saw gills along the sides of his neck and just below his ribs on either side of his torso.

The monster man seemed to calm down after the initial defensive state he took. He opted for staring at you, his blank eyes unmoving from your form as you worked. After the bandage was removed, you began draining the tub, filtering out the dirty water with the running water you turned on from the tap. You checked on his wound, which started healing remarkably quicker than you thought. You started to wrap the clean gauze around his torso, noticing how his muscles tensed at the stinging pain.

You quickly apologized, trying to work a little faster so he could go back to relaxing as best as he could in your bathtub. You could still feel the cold stare his eyes had on you and when you finally lifted your head you jumped back a bit from how close he was. He had an unreadable expression on his face. His brows knit together in either curiosity or disdain for your presence, you weren’t sure. Your nose brushed just against the ridge of his nostril slits, his deep empty pools of white never wavering from your own eyes. 

“Release me, human.” It sounded more like a request this time rather than a demand. His voice took on a softer tone you didn’t think you would hear from him. 

“Shouldn’t you rest?” You asked, unmoving. “You were passed out on the beach when I found you. Are you sure you could swim under your conditions now?”

His tentacles sloshed in the water, some of the liquid spilling over the sides in the process. “Am I to sit here as your pet until then?”

“You’re more like a patient...or a guest at this point?” You shrugged, backing away slowly. “I wasn’t sure if you could last long without water.”

You gestured towards the bathtub, his eyes following your hands to glance down at the ceramic tub. He let out a weird clicking and hissing sound, shaking his head as he sank into the water. You watched as he closed his eyes, the gills under his ribs expanding and then relaxing. You paused for a moment, watching as he remained unmoving before you stood up.

“Your name, what is it?” His voice caught you off guard, especially with how calm it sounded. No hints of malice laced in his words, just a genuine question out of curiosity. 

You told him your name, listening to him repeat it back to see if he said it right. “What about you? What’s yours?” You asked.

There was a pause. “I am called Vasa.”

The water sloshed at his movements again as he peered over the edge of the tub, his empty eyes staring up at you. You said his name back, earning a nod of approval from Vasa at your pronunciation. 

“How long am I to stay here?” He questioned, stretching his arm against the side of the tub before letting it hang there for a second. “I need to return, you cannot keep me here for long.”

“I know that, but you’re obviously still in pain.” You sighed. “Maybe a few days or a week? That should be enough time to get you to heal.”

Vasa went silent again, leaning his head against his forearm. He gave you a curt nod, closing his eyes and lazily moving his tentacles in the water. You assumed the conversation was over and decided to stand up and leave your bathroom. You had some errands to run that day to keep yourself busy. There was the transcript you had to keep writing, then a bit of cleaning and restocking your fridge. You paused, as you sat down at your desk again, the thought suddenly dawning over you. 

What did tentacle fish monsters even eat? You doubted there was an answer to your inquiry from Google, yet you couldn’t help but reach for your phone and quickly type in the words “Fish Octopus Diet.”  You skimmed the first few links, settling on adding various sorts of seafood and a few vegetables for good measure. It was a little expensive the more you thought about it, but you had to take into account that Vasa might be staying with you for a bit longer. Up until he recovered of course.

You managed to write a little more of your transcript before heading out for the town’s local market. You had stopped by the bathroom to check on Vasa, noticing he had sunk into the tub again and his eyes remained closed. Assuming he was asleep, you dimmed the lights in the bathroom and headed out. The trip didn’t take very long since the small town you were in only had one major market. Besides the awkward looks and sideways glances you got for buying out so much seafood, you managed to do the round trip in record time. You were also very grateful you lived near an ocean town since a lot of the seafood was freshly caught and in great abundance.

You brought your haul back into your home, taking out the batch of clams from one of the big brown bags. You walked towards your bathroom but not before making a quick detour to your kitchen to pick up a knife. Flicking on the lights, you hear the water sloshing again as Vasa’s head emerges from the water. 

“I’m back!” You triumphantly announced, waving the bag of clams up for him to see. “And I brought you some food.” 

You sat close to the tub, opened the bag, and got to work on shucking the clams open. Vasa watched you, tilting his head at the small knife you had in your hand. 

“Can you not prepare it on your own?” He reached out a webbed hand, wordlessly asking you to hand him the clam. You struggled with the knife on the clam a little more before sighing and handing it to him. 

“They make it look easier on TV.”

There was a raspy-sounding hiss from him and if you hadn’t noticed the curve of his lips and the crinkle of his eyes from the abnormally wide smile on his face you wouldn’t have known he was laughing. It was very animalistic, yet you couldn’t help but be entranced by him a little more. There was a loud crack as Vasa effortlessly split the clam open with his sharp claws, he tilted his head back, taking a deep gulp of the gooey insides. You watched his throat as he ate, noticing small gills at the sides of his neck too that fluttered with every swallow he took. He stopped after popping open his third clam, noticing the intense stare you had on him. You flinched once you were caught, opting to turn your gaze back down to the grocery back near your feet. You had made a couple of stops at some other stores for snacks for yourself. Removing the wrapper to the chocolate bar you took a small bite from the treat with a tiny snap. 

“What is that?” Vasa’s voice echoed in the silent bathroom. You took another mouthful of the treat. You broke the candy bar into two small halves, holding out one towards Vasa.

“S’chocolate. Wan’ shome?” You knew it was bad manners to talk with your mouth full, but maybe fish people had slightly different customs than humans. You watched as Vasa leaned over the edge of the tub, a bit of the water dripping off of the side, as he sniffed the chocolate. His nostrils flared with each sniff he took before a long, dark tongue slithered out of his thin lips. He licked the bar slowly, recoiling after a moment once the taste finally registered. 

“Humans are strange creatures.” His voice sounded raspy as he reeled away from the chocolate, handing the treat back to you.

You hummed, rewrapping the chocolate and leaning against the tub. You crossed your legs in front of you as you gave him a pointed look. “Could say the same about you.” 

He let out an animalistic hissing sound, a weird mix between a sneer and a laugh. He composed himself, chuckling every now and then as he reached out to hold a strand of your hair in between his index and thumb fingers. “You do not even know what my kind is. Humans still refer to us as mermaids.”

“Are you not a merman…or something like it?” 

“Something like it.” He repeated back to you, still studying your face. “We refer to each other with a different name in our tongue. But the myth you humans created is called cecaelia. A rather interesting name for us.” 

As you stared into his eyes, you hadn’t realized how vibrant they looked up close. Despite the lack of a pupil, they were clear and reminded you of two bright pearls. They reflected the light interestingly. Vasa went quiet, studying your features, letting out a clicking sound now and then. He finally let go of your hair, the water in the tub making a sloshing sound as he shifted back into it. Vasa submerged himself into the water, a few bubbles escaping through his nostrils as he did. You found his behavior adorable and almost childish. You finished up the candy bar you were chewing, leaving the one he discarded wrapped up and next to the tub. If he wanted to try again he could, if not then you could toss out the $1.50 you spent at the convenience store.

You got up from your seated position, clapping off any of the chocolate residue on your hands. You glanced back at him, noticing his head had peaked out of the water and his blank eyes stared up at you expectantly.

“You are leaving? It is earlier than last time.” Vasa rasped out, more of his head poking through the water. You gave him an apologetic smile in response, head tilting back to where your desk with various papers strewn about sat. 

“I have a draft I gotta send out soon. The sooner I get back to work the quicker I can get it done.” You explained. 

He went silent for a moment before humming and receding into the water. But not before he let out a quiet, “Hurry back.” One you had almost missed as you exited your bathroom. 

While you sat at your desk, typing away on your keyboard, you couldn’t help but occasionally glance back at where you had left Vasa. Your bathroom light was still on, the door opened halfway letting out a bit of light into the dark hallway. It was strange, you only just met him and it felt like the two of you had a connection. A weird pull to him that you couldn’t quite explain. You were beginning to enjoy spending time with him, the small conversations you’ve had and occasionally rewrapping his wounds brought a sense of familiarity to your life. A much-needed change from the constant schedule you had kept since you moved there.

You stretched your arms high above your head with a tired yawn, glancing at the digital clock next to your desk. It was about 6:50 pm. The sun’s rays came in through your window causing your living room to be lit up in a symphony of orange and yellows. You closed your laptop, feeling like you made an ample amount of progress. Leaning back in your chair you glanced back at the bathroom, realizing the occasional movement from Vasa had gone strangely silent. 

“Vasa?” Your voice called into the empty hallway. You were met with the deafening silence, your heart dropped slightly after a moment. You quickly got up from your desk, dropping a few stray sheets of draft paper as you did. You made a beeline for the bathroom, throwing open the door and glancing into the tub. 

Vasa’s body floated on the surface of the water. You couldn’t tell if he was still breathing, he seemed deadly still, unmoving. You kneeled next to the tub to get a better look, holding your breath as you watched his chest. It didn’t rise and fall and the way the water sloshed slightly with how he floated against it reminded you of the goldfish you found dead back in the 2nd grade. 

At that revelation, you got put into panic mode, darting forward to lift his torso from the water ignoring how your clothes instantly got soaked. You shook him slightly, calling his name as his head lolled to the side. You gave him another harsh shake, noticing as he let out a series of clicking sounds before he attempted to push you off of him. 

After a second more of struggling, you sat yourself up against the tub, letting out a sigh of relief.

“What on earth were you doing?” He hissed at you, his blank eyes squinting as he bared his sharp teeth at you. You tilted your head towards him, the concern on your face causing him to ease up on his hostility. Vasa’s expression went from rage-filled to confused as he leaned forward to bring your faces closer together. “What is wrong, human?”

Seeing that he was alright, you shook your head giving him a sheepish grin. “Nothing I’m…I’m just glad you’re okay is all.”

You felt a little silly, jumping to the conclusion that he was dead. You hadn’t even seen how he looked when he slept, a much less urgent approach would have been better. He let out a weird hissing sound with his teeth. You assumed he was mad at you again, instead, he reached out and lightly brushed your cheek with the knuckles of his webbed fingers. Your immediate reaction was to flinch because it caught you off guard, causing Vasa to instantly pull back his touch. You stared at each other in silence, finding a weird comfort in his gaze again. After another pause between the two of you, Vasa was the one to speak first.

“Did you worry?” It was a simple question, one that had a simple answer. Yet something in you caused you to open your mouth before closing it again. You’ve only known each other for a few days at this point. Were you that lonely to get attached to him this quickly?

Vasa took your silence as a yes, causing him to reach out to you again. He touched a strand of your hair, brushing it away from your forehead. His claws scraped across your skin, not drawing blood but enough to cause a shiver up your spine. His hand lowered to where your lips were, touching your lips and then then traveled lower. He was observing you, watching your every reaction as his hand went lower. It stopped at the side of your neck, hovering there for a moment. Vasa used his other hand to touch where his gills were located on his neck. 

“My kind cannot drown.” Any hint of him having a snooty attitude was nonexistent. Instead, his voice was calm and gentle. He was trying to reassure you. “Our gills allow us to breathe in the water. Occasionally we can intake oxygen for a short time.”

His many tentacles that hung off the side of the tub reached out to you, wrapping themselves around your arms and torso. It felt like he was hugging you. A strange tentacled hug. He didn’t pull you closer to him though. The tentacles were also loose around you, allowing you to back away from him at any time. 

He said your name in a lowered voice, capturing your attention again. “So, you should not worry about me.”

The look he gave you as he spoke made your heart racing. His voice was soft and full of something more intimate. If you could even call it that. But you knew the mood between the both of you had shifted. Your eyes flickered to his lips again and slowly, hesitantly, you leaned forward. Vasa remained frozen in place, watching you with an unreadable expression. 

A sudden ring caused you to jolt back in his hold. His tentacles still held you firm as you turned your head towards the bathroom door. The ringing on your landline soon stopped, leaving silence for a moment before the machine beeped. 

“Hey. Just wanted to call, check in, and see how that transcript was going. You must be out of the house right now so you can call me back at this number when you can.” The recorded message from the machine echoed throughout your living room. You let out a deep exhale through your nose, glancing at Vasa who still was staring at you expectedly.

“I, um…” You trailed off, watching as he leaned closer to you before you pulled away, a flash of hurt crossing his face briefly, eyebrows furrowing as you tried to untangle yourself from his tentacles. “I should go answer that. It must’ve been important if they’re calling now.” 

Vasa let out a few clicking sounds, reluctantly letting you go. “As you wish.” 

He sunk back into the bathtub, a few of his tentacles going back into the water as he closed his eyes. You stayed seated close to the tub for a second, watching Vasa float for a moment. You got up, headed into the living room, and left the door slightly ajar. 

This was for the best, you tried telling yourself. You had only met for a few days, the two of you were from completely different worlds. You weren’t sure what you were about to do if the phone hadn’t rang, but you were glad you didn’t. So why were you feeling a heavy weight on your chest and a reluctance to leave him behind?

[More Monsters]

[youngsadlesbian]

STRANGE — wanda maximoff.

pairing: wanda maximoff x reader

summary: you saw slowly you and wanda go from strangers to friends, friends into lovers, and strangers again.

a/n: i became obsessed with this song again and wanted to write something quite sad that matched my mood and also fit a bit with the song. i hope you like it!

word count: 2,8k

warnings: angst, cheating and definitely no happy ending.

From strangers to friends

It was a hot summer morning when you first saw Wanda Maximoff. The air was filled with the scent of fallen leaves and the soft murmur of students on their way to classes. You were new in town, navigating the busy NYU campus, trying to find your place among a crowd of unfamiliar faces.

You were sitting in the courtyard, buried in your books, when a sudden gust of wind scattered your papers everywhere. Muttering under your breath, you tried to gather them up, but found an extra pair of hands helping you.

"Here, let me help," said a gentle voice. You looked up and saw a pair of stunning green eyes and a warm smile.

"Thanks," you murmured, feeling your face flush.

"You're welcome. I'm Wanda," she said, handing you the last of your papers.

"I'm Y/N," you replied, putting the papers back in your bag. "Nice to meet you."

From that moment, Wanda seemed to be everywhere. You bumped into her at the library, the cafeteria, even the gym. Each encounter was accompanied by quick conversations, shared smiles, and eventually a growing friendship.

It wasn't one of those superficial friendships you had in high school, with people you didn't care about and who didn't keep in touch. Wanda was truly your friend in the little details. You spent all your free time together, exploring the city, as both of you came from other states and always wanted to see the big New York City.

Wanda was amazing.

Friends into lovers

At the end of semester party, everything changed.

You drank more than you planned, and Wanda, being a good friend, assured your classmates she would take care of you. All the way back to your dorm, you made jokes that were only funny in your drunken mind. She made you change out of your tight and uncomfortable dress into warm, embarrassing pajamas with a leopard print that was probably the ugliest thing you had in your wardrobe.

Wanda put you to bed and was about to leave to handle her own things when you stopped her. "Don't go, stay with me."

She tried to refuse, of course. But after months of knowing you, Wanda had realized it was practically impossible to deny you anything.

Lying side by side, you looked deeply into each other's eyes, and you noticed things about Wanda you had never seen before.

Wanda had soft freckles on her nose. She also had a mole above her eyebrow that would go unnoticed to the naked eye unless you looked very closely. She also had beautiful lips.

Suddenly, you felt an overwhelming urge to lean in and touch Wanda's lips with yours. And you did. Before she could even react.

At first, it was just a peck, not reciprocated. You almost thought Wanda wouldn't kiss you back.

Then she gave you one of those unforgettable, deep kisses, as if in every bit of it she was giving you all the answers to the universe.

As if she was telling you she would always love you with a simple touch of lips.

The next day, you woke up with a hangover that seemed to be killing you slowly. You didn't forget the kiss, of course not. But you didn't mention it either, because Wanda chose to ignore the situation from the previous night, you noticed.

As days went by, things changed gradually. First, it was the subtle looks you gave each other in a crowd, it seemed that even if you didn't know the other was there, your eyes would always meet. The connection you had was also growing, often it wasn't necessary to say what was bothering one another; you just knew.

Then there was another party, this time celebrating the football team winning the regional championship. You went together but eventually separated, each joining specific groups from your classes.

You were in an animated conversation with Valkyrie, who seemed to like being close to you. She touched you without hesitation, her hands always on your waist or tapping your arm, flirting shamelessly.

You felt Wanda's eyes on you before she even approached. You had never seen her with such an angry expression as in that moment.

"Y/N, let's go." You had an agreement to leave any party when one of you didn't feel comfortable.

And this was the first time you felt like you were walking on eggshells with her. "But we're talking..." The look Wanda gave you was enough to convince you to go with her right away. "We'll talk later, Valkyrie."

Wanda didn't let you stay to hear the girl's response, pulling you by the arm with such force that you feared falling to the ground.

She didn't talk to you the whole way back to the dorms. You tried everything to make her speak, but she maintained a tense silence, her eyes fixed ahead. When you finally reached your room, she stopped abruptly, turning to you with a look of contained fury.

"You kiss me like that and now let a girl shamelessly flirt with you?" Wanda exploded, her eyes blazing with anger and pain.

You were slightly shocked by the accusation, but couldn't help feeling a touch of frustration too. "You decided to ignore it for months and now bring it up?" you responded, your voice rising with the tension.

"I ignored it because I thought you didn't want to talk about it! I was afraid you didn't feel the same!" Wanda retorted, her voice trembling.

"So you say nothing, and now you're mad at me for something we don't even know where we stood?" you replied, the confusion and despair starting to show.

"I'm mad because I felt something in that kiss, something I thought you felt too, but you acted like nothing happened!" Wanda shouted, tears streaming down her face.

The room was charged with emotion, the words echoing off the walls. In an impulse, Wanda crossed the space between you, holding your face with trembling hands. Before you could react, her lips met yours in an intense, desperate kiss. It was a kiss full of pent-up feelings, anger, love, and sadness mixing together.

You kissed her back, feeling all your own emotions bubbling up inside you. When you finally pulled apart, both of you were breathless, tears in your eyes.

"Wanda, I've always felt something for you," you murmured, your voice choked with emotion. "But I was afraid of ruining everything."

She shook her head, holding your hands tightly. "We need to be honest with each other. We can't pretend this isn't happening anymore."

You nodded, feeling a new determination rise within you. "Yes, we need to. I really like you, Wanda."

She smiled through her tears, pulling you into a tight embrace. "I really like you too, Y/N."

Your relationship didn't start overnight as most imagined. You took it slow for fear of ruining the friendship. At first, it was like you were just friends with benefits, even though you went on romantic dates every weekend.

Wanda asked you to be her girlfriend two months after you confessed your feelings, and that was, if not the, maybe the best day of your life. The dynamic of being great friends didn't change, and you loved knowing that Wanda was not only your lover but also your best friend and confidant.

The paid internship for both of you, almost at the end of college, enabled you to rent a small apartment in the suburbs of New York. Despite being far from college, you had a car that you shared, making everything easier. It was a first step you were immensely proud of.

The furniture was bought little by little; in the first months in the new apartment, you only had a bed, a small fridge, and a stove. Then came a television, a wardrobe, and all the necessary items to form a home.

Sharing an apartment was the idea you had to reduce the physical distance, as with internships and the end of college, it was becoming harder to see each other often. Although there wasn't much time to spend together, the feeling of hugging your girlfriend to sleep at night was enough to make your day better.

On your graduation day, Wanda proposed to you, and you didn't think twice before saying yes. She was the love of your life, your favorite person, and the center of your world.

With time, life started to settle down. You began your respective jobs; Wanda at a super famous and renowned art gallery, and you at a tourism company.

A year later, you got married in an intimate ceremony. Pietro, Wanda's brother, came from Sokovia especially for the day. You had never met him, but he seemed to know everything about you.

"I hope you take good care of my little sister. She deserves only the best," he murmured, noticing that you couldn't take your eyes off your beautiful wife. "But from what I see here, I don't think I need to worry."

Life never seemed so perfect. When you were a child, you used to make plans for your adult life, and all of them came true. Marrying your best friend, getting into your dream college, and consequently getting a good job and having a home.

And strangers again

But it's not all sunshine and roses.

By working in the tourism industry, you had to be away for long periods and even travel for work, leaving your wife alone. This was never a point of contention between you because Wanda understood that your job was extremely important to you and would never ask you to try to find something in your area that didn't demand so much of your absence.

Wanda missed you every night, having nothing more than video calls until you both fell asleep. She missed your touch, your kiss, your presence.

Wanda never intended to betray you, she loved you too much. But meeting Vision was one of the coincidences that her work provided; he was a buyer who liked to talk and seemed to go through the same as she did. At first, their relationship was completely platonic, two friends who got along very well and wanted company in the absence of their wives.

It all started with a dinner. You knew of Vision's existence and were pleased to learn that your wife had made a good friend who seemed to be in the same situation. Wanda and Vision had had a bit too much to drink, and he, being a true gentleman, offered to take her home. Wanda suggested that he come in and have another glass of wine. They talked for two hours until Wanda took the initiative and kissed him.

She immediately regretted it, and things between them became awkward afterward. Until the day Vision knocked on Wanda's door at two in the morning, clearly distraught. He and his wife had had an argument, and he needed someone to talk to.

From that day on, the two began an affair. For exactly three months, until you returned early from a trip and caught them together.

You stood frozen at the bedroom door, unable to believe what you were seeing. Wanda and Vision together, as if all the love and trust you had invested in her meant nothing. Pain and betrayal overwhelmed you.

"Wanda," you said, your voice faltering.

Wanda and Vision quickly separated, their faces full of guilt and panic. "Detka, I can explain," Wanda began, but you raised your hand, cutting her off.

"No, Wanda. There’s nothing to explain," you said, trying to stay calm, although your voice trembled. "I've seen enough."

Vision, realizing the gravity of the situation, stood up, trying to compose himself. "I’ll... I'll leave," he mumbled, quickly exiting the room.

Wanda approached you, tears streaming down her face. "Please, listen to me," she pleaded, her voice full of desperation.

You took a step back, shaking your head. "How could you, Wanda? I trusted you. We built a life together!"

"I know, I know," Wanda sobbed. "I made a terrible mistake. I was alone, and Vision was there... You were always working, and I felt so lonely..."

"Fuck, why didn’t you ever talk to me about this? We used to be best friends, Wanda. You could have said something, I could have tried to fix things so I wouldn’t have to travel so much..." you shouted, the pain and anger finally overflowing. "You just needed to say something."

Wanda fell to her knees, her hands covering her face. "I'm so sorry, detka. I’m so sorry. I didn’t want to force you to give up your dreams for our marriage. Please, give me a chance to fix this."

You remained silent for a moment, trying to process everything. The betrayal was a deep wound, something that couldn’t be easily forgotten or forgiven.

"It wouldn’t be a sacrifice because I love you so fucking much. I... I don’t know if I can, Wanda," you finally said, your voice low and full of pain. "I need time. I need space."

Wanda looked at you, her eyes full of desperation. "Please, Y/N. Don’t go. I’ll do anything to fix this."

You shook your head, tears streaming down your face. "I need to go. I can’t stay here right now."

With that, you turned and left the apartment, leaving Wanda alone with her guilt and regret. The path out of the building felt endless, each step more difficult than the last. You didn’t know what the future held, but one thing was certain: nothing would be the same.

Two weeks later, you were settled in Natasha’s apartment, a good friend your job had provided. You didn’t go into details about what had really happened, but Natasha was very perceptive, and you could swear she knew.

Natasha strangely always knew everything.

A month passed, and you finally decided to accept Wanda’s request to meet. She looked like a shadow of her former self, her face dejected and her eyes full of hope and fear. You met at a quiet café, away from the city’s noise and crowds.

"Hi," you said, trying to stay calm.

"Hi," she replied, her voice soft and hesitant. "Thank you for coming."

You began to talk, each word chosen carefully. Wanda explained everything, every detail of how she felt lonely and lost without you, and how Vision became a distraction. You listened in silence, trying to understand, but the pain of the betrayal was still palpable.

"I want to try again, Y/N," Wanda said, her eyes full of sincerity. "I know I made a mistake, but I’m willing to do anything to win back your trust."

You took a deep breath, feeling the turmoil of emotions inside you. "Let’s take it slow, Wanda. I can’t promise that things will be like before, but I’m willing to try."

For months you really tried, but you no longer recognized Wanda.

It started with daily calls followed by questions like where you were, what time you would be back, and why you were taking so long to answer her calls. At first, you responded with all the patience in the world and explained that you were busy for some reason. When you got home, you would argue again, and in the end, have an amazing night together, only for the cycle to repeat the next day.

Jealousy crises were also a new thing in your relationship, which had never existed before because you had good communication and, consequently, knew how to respect each other's space. Wanda started to pick on all your female colleagues and swore up and down that you would cheat on her as revenge and leave her for some random girl.

This further strained the already fragile relationship, and you understood that there was no way to fix it. Trust was too broken to be recovered.

You also had your own fears. The sporadic work trips were never made with the peace of mind knowing you wouldn’t have to worry about what was happening at home; you feared Wanda would find another distraction for her bed in your absence.

In time, it became clear that you couldn’t continue like this. The relationship became toxic, full of distrust and fear. Finally, you made the decision you knew was best for both of you.

"Wanda, we need to break up," you said, your voice choked with emotion. "We’re toxic for each other, and we had something so beautiful... I don’t want this for us. I want to be able to look back and have good memories of what we had, despite everything. And at this point, that might not happen."

She nodded, tears streaming down her face. "I don’t want this either, detka. But maybe it’s for the best. I’ll always love you, but we need to move on."

With one last embrace, you parted ways, knowing that the love was still there, but that the relationship could not continue. You knew you would always love Wanda; she would always be your first love and owner of your fondest memories.

But not all loves are meant to last forever.

[jeonginsleftcheek]

Seasons with you

pairing: changbin x gn!reader

genre: hurt/comfort, friends to lovers au

word count: 5.0k

warnings: vague descriptions of anxiety, insecurities, depression, abusive exes (not physically), lots of metaphors, they're in love your honor!

a/n: okay this might be one of my favorite fics i ever wrote, i got so emotional and sappy while writing it (i cried aksksll) and i hope y'all love this as much as i love it🥹🩷 binnie deserves the world and so do you, reader💕

(the book i'm referencing in my fic is called 'my name is memory' by ann brashares)

~check out my: Masterlist

🌸SPRING🌸

It is a known fact that everything comes alive with the arrival of spring. The sun rises earlier in the morning, illuminating the trees and the flowers, uncovering new sights to be seen, ones that were blanketed by the darkness of the night before.

The first drops of dew are heavy on a small leaf, making it bend but never break as they slide down to the grass, all the way into the earth below, satiating it's thirst, kissing the roots buried deep.

It's silly to think so, but you kind of relate to the little leaf as you sit on your picnic blanket and stare at it. You always bend to other people's will, always put yourself in the second place, forgetting about your own needs, telling them and yourself that it's fine and you're fine just like this. You bend and bend, and you wonder how much longer you can bend without breaking.

Sometimes you're the little drop in the sea of other drops, invisible and unremarkable, existing just to serve some higher purpose, to feed the earth and disappear like you never even existed before.

Thoughts like this plague your mind often times, especially on a beautiful day like this, when the sun is shining high in the sky, revealing all the colors of pretty flowers that bloomed in the grass, the clouds that look like cotton candy, so fluffy you wish you could bite into them and taste the sweetness of sugar.

The serenity and the beauty around you only feed into the sorrowful black hole inside you that grows bigger and bigger each time you give a piece of yourself and get nothing in return.

Everything comes alive with the arrival of spring, and you hope that this spring you will come alive too, blossom with all the pretty flowers, be one of them and not just a disregardable little leaf.

You wouldn't dream of being the sun itself, when that title is already taken, saved in your heart for your best friend Changbin. The one who is as warm and bright as the sun itself that you're sure the flowers bloom whenever he passes by them. They bask in his incadescence, seeking his light just like you do, but you would never ask for too much, never say it out loud, never bother him with the darkest parts of you in fear of dimming his brightness.

You have no idea that you don't even need to ask, Changbin would reach up and pluck the stars out of the sky only for you, just so he can see that beautiful smile you give him as he approaches you. And as much as he loves the smile that dances on your lips, he can't help but notice every time that it doesn't reach your eyes.

You hide, but the eyes are a mirror to the soul and the dark hole that grows inside you is reflected in your gaze, making Changbin wish he could reach in and touch your soul, illuminate the darkest parts of you. Where you see yourself as the insignificant leaf, he sees you as the most beautiful flower, too delicate to be plucked out roughly like you were before when uncaring hands wrapped around you. Where you see yourself as a little droplet, disappearing and forgettable, he sees you as the water giving life to everything and everyone you come in touch with, the love you carry inside your heart for others quenching their thirst as you scatter parts of yourself all around.

You wave at him, your other hand coming up to shield your eyes from the rays of sun peeking through the leaves as they start rustling. The wind is picking up and your eyes fall to the flowers swaying in the field and then back to your friend's fluffy hair, swaying in unison with the flowers.

Changbin waves back at you, a smile so big on his face that you wish it was all yours, you wish you could be selfish like that and keep him all to yourself, but you can't.

"You left without me."- he pouts as he sits next to you, placing the basket he brought next to his legs.

"Sorry, I peeked into your room and you were still asleep. I didn't want to wake you."- you say, placing your book aside as Changbin opens up the basket.

"Brought you apples."- he says, knowing it was your favorite thing to eat early in the morning. "I washed them, too!"- he adds as he hands you one and you chuckle.

"Thanks, Binnie."- you smile and bite into the apple. It's the perfect sour and refreshing taste sprinkling on your tongue and waking you up a little, spreading through your body.

"Are you still reading that book about soulmates?"- Changbin asks, getting more comfortable on the blanket as he chews on an apple too, the crunchy sounds filling your ears, melting together with the birds singing in the tree above you.

"Yes well, it's the third time I'm reading it actually."

"Doesn't it have a sad ending?"- he asks, tilting his head to look at you as you stare ahead, counting how many red flowers you can see in front of you. Sometimes counting stuff like that calms you down and you do it almost subconsciously, listening to what Changbin is talking about at the same time.

"Not everything is meant to have a happy ending."- you sigh, he reads between the lines. You're referring to yourself, he knows it as well as you do and it's like a thorn in his heart, piercing through the muscle, making him bleed red, red like the flowers you're tallying up.

"Maybe the journey should be appreciated more than just wanting to skip to an ending. Be it happy or sad."- he smiles and you chuckle at his words, the warmness of the sun on your legs is nothing compared to the warmness Changbin envelopes your heart with.

"Maybe."- you shrug, your apathy deeply rooted inside you, you're stubborn like a child and you can't or maybe don't want to let the sunshine in.

🌸

Today must be a special day, a day filled with warmth and laughter. You don't remember the last time you had this much fun, the last time you were this carefree, finally forgetting about what you have to do and who wants to tear away another piece of you.

There's a fair in town, one that has been a constant in your lives, you attended it every year, ever since you were kids when your mothers had to hold your hands and warn you not to wander too far. You never missed a year and this one was probably your favorite.

The only thoughts in your head are Changbin and how you had to try so hard to resist kissing him all over his face when he picked up a kalimba from one of the stands and started playing a random melody on it.

He looked so gleeful like he was that child again, your best friend, who grew up with you and who you grew to love more than yourself, so irresistible and loveable to you. He focused on the instrument in his hands and you didn't want to shatter the sweet moment even though he wasn't even hitting any of the notes right.

"I'll get it for you."- you say when he finally looks up at you, his eyes are shiny as he smiles.

"Really?!"- he asks excitedly and you nod, thinking nothing of it, it wasn't something very expensive and you didn't mind buying him a gift he liked but to Changbin it meant so much more.

After all, he still has the pretty rock you found on the beach when you were 9 and gave it to him as a present, claiming you were sure that it was the prettiest one and that he deserves to have it.

"I swear I'll learn to play it."- he says after you pay for it, making you laugh.

"I'm expecting a full concert."- you tease, wiggling your eyebrows.

"With an encore!"- he adds, both of you giggling as you stroll together, your shoulders brushing occasionally, making your heart skip a beat or two.

You browse through many stands and both of you get hungry, stomach growling and legs cramping from all the walking. You decide to get some dessert, pancakes with ice cream, and you sit on one of the benches, the view of people eating, laughing and talking with their loved ones before you.

Changbin notices pretty flowers right there next to him and he gently plucks one out. You look at him and he smiles at you, like you're the most beautiful of them all as his hand reaches towards you and places the flower in your hair.

"What is that for?"- you chuckle, your cheeks warm and you almost bring your hand up to touch them, but you're balancing the ice cream pancake in your lap, you don't want it to fall and make a mess of your clothes and the floor.

"Looks prettier there."- he says and your breath is caught in your throat.

He means the flower, not you, it's not you, it's never you, that is what you think.

You don't say anything, you look back at your food and Changbin deflates, wishing he could find a delicate way to yell out how beautiful you are, how precious your heart is and how rare a soul like yours is. He wishes to do so quietly, so you don't get scared and run off like a vunerable animal that jumps at any loud sound.

You feel down suddenly, but Changbin doesn't let you feel blue for too long, quickly changing the subject to something funny he remembered or a movie he found interesting.

And when you finish your pancake, your stomach is full and so is your heart. Even just for a moment, you feel full.

You start walking back home, your legs hurting and Changbin offers you to climb on his back and you do so, both of you laughing as he jokes around, pretending he'll drop you as you squeal before he actually starts walking normally with you attached to his back. He carries you home as your limbs wrap around him, wrapping around his heart even more.

You fall asleep as he carries you and he hates having to wake you up as he stands on your porch.

Your peaceful sleepy state is something Chanbgin wishes you could have when you're awake. He wishes he could be your peace, your comfort, your home.

And as he bids you good night, he stands on the porch a little longer than he needed to, even after you close and lock the door.

"I love you."- he whispers, his hand clutching the kalimba you so happily bought for him.

🫧SUMMER🫧

You don't like it. None of it. Not the weather, not the sun constantly making you feel like you're sizzling, not the crowded streets, not the laughter and squeals you can hear whenever you arrive at a beach.

You're a starfish, arms and legs spread out on your bed as you melt into it, the only sounds you hear are the fan turning and the music playing low as you stare up at the ceiling.

There are weird little spots on the ceiling, they were always there, you remember them since you were a child and you know how many there are. Exactly 43 of them but you will count them again and again, with the thought that a new one may appear any day now.

You concentration is broken on spot number 21, when Changbin walks into your room carrying a towel and a backpack.

"No."- you say before he can even open his mouth and he shakes his head, opting to try a light approach as he chuckles at you.

"You're gonna burn a hole into that bed if you keep laying in it."- he says.

"Great. Maybe it swallows me."- you say.

"You're a grim little thing, aren't you?"- he asks and you laugh, throwing a plushie at him but he manages to catch it mid-air.

"Come on, look I have watermelon. And sandwiches. And cards, we can play cards, you love that. And I brought my portable speaker."- he pouts at you and how can you say no to that?

"Alright, alright, you won me over. Give me 15 minutes to get ready."- you say, finally getting up and only then feeling how sweaty your back actually is.

Changbin waits for you in the kitchen, as you pick yourself up, take a quick shower and finish getting ready.

Your heart flutters just a little when you come down and see him helping your mom with the dishes.

In moments like this you wish you could tell him how much he means to you but your tongue twists, a knot in your stomach and a void inside your chest pulls you deeper under water, drowning you in the darkest depths of the ocean.

There's a smile on Changbin's lips the whole way to the beach as he leads you down the path you're familiar with, where your feet have padded through countless times before.

It's unbearably hot and you try to chase the shade as much as you can, the crickets screaming in unison with your burning skin. The closer you get to the beach, the more excitement courses through your veins and Changbin notices how the ends of your lips quirk up and how there's a skip in your step. His mood instantly shifts, matching your pace before the two of you start racing to the beach and giggling like crazy.

"Whoever gets there last, pays for lunch!"- you shriek as you start running, and Changbin scampers behind you slowly, ofcourse letting you win as he looks at your figure getting further away from him and fusing into the sparkly ocean and the blue sky before you.

The little giggles spilling from your lips fuel his heart and his desire to drink from your lips and taste the love that you carry inside you. He hurries to catch up and you turn to look at him breathless, weightless, elated.

The smile he loves reaches your eyes, for a fleeting moment, the sparkle that he unknowingly ignites is burning in your irises, bringing your soul out transparently only for him.

"Thank you for lunch in advance."- you smirk and he giggles.

"You don't have to thank me."- Changbin says and he means it, you don't have to thank him for anything he does for you, he would do it in a heartbeat again and again.

The two of you make it to the water, finally stripping and all but running into the water, excited to cool off a little on a hot summer day.

As soon as you adjust to the temperature of the water, laughter travels through the air between the sounds of splashes as you and Changbin start playing around, not caring if anyone is looking at you, feeling like only the two of you exist.

You wished every day of your life feels just like this.

Only when you get exhausted and the skin on your fingertips shrivels is when you finally get out of the ocean. Changbin is quick to grab a towel and put it around you, another one of the little things he does that makes your face and chest warm.

He opens the mini portable fridge, taking out some watermelon that was cut into pieces. You are the dj, playing some music on his speaker as the two of you settle into a chat.

You get lost in the ocean, watching as the waves roll and roll, your head is a little dizzy and it feels like your body rolls and crashes together with the waves. At first, it soothes you together with Changbin talking about some new band he discovered. Suddenly you feel like something's grabbing your ankles and pulling you down, and you try to fight against it. But the turmoil grows bigger and stronger, grappling to pull your head under water. You want to fight so bad, you wish to have it in you to fight for survival but you are just so tired and you have no fight left inside you anymore.

The sweet juice from the watermelon melts down your fingers, mixing with the salty tears sliding from your face down to your hand.

"Y/n?"- Changbin looks at you. "What's wrong?"- he asks, his face turning into a face of worry, his eyebrows pinched together.

You hate it, hate seeing him unhappy, hate bothering him with your silly little outbursts that you don't even know the cause of.

"N-nothing. I don't know."- you wipe at your face and his eyes soften, his hand coming up to caress your upper back gently.

"It's okay. We can count the clouds together and take deep breaths, what do you say?"- he smiles and you're slowly being pulled up from under the ocean, Changbin being the first thing you see as you emerge out and steady yourself, his hand searching for yours, fingers slotting perfectly together.

You count and he squeezes your hand, sticky from the watermelon but neither of you care. All you care about is him, and all he cares about is you finding your way back to him.

That evening, Changbin goes home with a new pretty rock you found before the two of you made your way back from the beach.

He places it next to the other one,

"I love you."

🍁FALL🍁

The heat has gone away, replaced by crisp air and the smell of petrichor. The rain drips, drips, drips on your windowpane as you sit with your warm cup of tea, a comfy blanket wrapped around your body, your book laying on the side forgotten as Changbin paces around the room, talking excitedly about some people he met who share the same love for making music as he does.

You gaze out the window, watching as the leaves fall down, hitting the ground soundlessly and making piles under the trees. You wanna count how many red ones fall down, but you can't, not when your friend is literally bouncing off the walls as he talks, distracting you from the task you gave yourself.

"Okay Binnie, I love that for you but please slow down, you're making me dizzy."- you chuckle.

"Oh! I'm sorry!"- he bursts into laughter with you, before he finally sits down, taking a deep breath in.

He talks about this Chan and Jisung that are apparently geniuses at what they do and he wants to join their little squad, and they want him to make music with them.

You're extremely proud of Changbin, you're estatic for him but you can't help feeling just a tiny bit jelaous and weird, like someone is bursting your little bubble and taking Changbin away from you. You know it's irrational, but you can't stop the tears that slide down your cheeks that night together with the raindrops sliding down your window glass as you stare at it, your legs pulled up to your chest.

You wonder what is wrong with you, why you feel so cold and abandoned, why you feel so completely alone when you know you're not.

You fall asleep only after counting raindrops.

🍁

Halloween might be your favorite holiday ever and Changbin shares the excitement with you as you decide to dress up in matching vampire attire. It wasn't the first idea that came to his mind for costumes but when he saw your puppy eyes and your lower lip jutting out cutely he couldn't say no.

There was a party held by one of your acquaintances from your uni, Hyunjin, who was popular enough to probably have the whole town come to his house, which is what went through your mind as you arrived at the party.

There were too many people for your liking, and Changbin assured you he wouldn't leave your side the whole night and if you needed to get away, he would be your partner in crime.

The evening was going fine until you caught sight of your abusive ex. A chill went down your spine. They never lifted a hand on you physically, but they always took from you, never gave anything in return, they peeled away all the layers, cut out all the pieces, fed their own desires and just kept taking and taking until you were left shattered on the floor like a porcelain doll. There were so many broken pieces that you're sure you'll never be able to glue them back together.

Changbin follows the line of your sight and finds out the reason the look on your face turned sour. He wrapps his arm around you and pulls you closer to him as your ex had the audacity to approach you.

"What are you doing?"- you whisper to Changbin and he just squeezes you gently.

"Trust me."- he whispers back, and you do. You would trust him with your life.

"Well, well, what do we have here?"- your ex smirks.

"A loving couple. You got a problem with that?"- Changbin speaks up and you gasp, you've never seen him speak to someone like that, you always saw him as a soft teddy bear, tender and sweet, always delicate with you like you were made of glass.

Your heart beats hard against your chest at the thought of you and Changbin being a couple, a loving couple at that and you dare to let yourself dream for a second as you drown out the sounds of the party wilding around you and your ex scoffing as they fuck off back into the mass of moving people.

"You okay?"- Changbin asks and you nod.

"Yeah, I'm okay. Surprised they didn't talk back to you, honestly."- you say as Changbin leads you to the couch so you can sit and calm down.

"Maybe they turned over a new leaf."- he says and you chuckle, it sounds so easy to do that, a leaf weighs absolutely nothing. You wish you could do the same, but when the hands are heavy, even lifting something as wispy as a single leaf seems impossible.

Changbin hold your hand again as you sit and count the fairy lights in Hyunjin's living room.

You don't know how, but your eyelids get heavy and you fall asleep on Changbin's shoulder.

His lips gently press into your hair amidst the chaos of the party, something so simple and gentle unfolds as his heart hammers inside his chest, spelling out,

"I love you."

❄️WINTER❄️

It's a yearly occurence, your families get together every Christmas and travel to a big house in the mountains to enjoy winter in all of it's glory; the snow high to your knees, the skiing resorts, the cable car where you can take in all the sights, the mountains massive, strong, soaring, touching the clouds and sky itself, they almost seem surreal to you.

Something like Changbin, who is always strong for you, a rock you can lean on, someone with a soul as big as his definitely touches the clouds and deserves to have the sky.

You almost feel like a little ant staring at the mountain, like you're nothing compared to it. Nothing compared to him.

Thoughts swirl in your mind, painting your soul black again, the dark void is now almost swallowing you whole, you're afraid you'll disappear inside it.

It grows even when your families are all together, wearing stupid christmas sweaters and exchanging gifts, it grows when you and Changbin go sledding, screaming and racing each other which ends up in a snow fight and him profusely apologizing because he hit your leg too hard with a snowball. It grows and grows, and you know you can't bend anymore, you're about to break. About to run out of fake smiles and I'm fine's, terrified of spring coming and nothing ever changing.

The vast snow covered hills and mountains that you stare at look like the void inside you feels, and that void looks back at you and mocks you, laughs at you.

"Hey, it's pretty late. Come inside, you'll get sick."- Changbin appears on the balcony and you jolt out of your thoughts and turn around to look at him.

He looks at you ever so softly, a beacon of light in the darkness of you.

"Where is everyone else?"- you ask, peeking into the living room behind him.

"They went to sleep. It's just you and me. Come on, we'll make some hot chocolate and gossip by the fire."- he wiggles his eyebrows and you can't help but laugh as you follow him inside.

Your eyes are trained on the fire, as Changbin's are on you, the reflections of it dancing on your face and illuminating every single spot, freckle, wrinkle that you have, everything he loves about you, everything he's already counted many times before wishing he could count them with his lips too, not just in his head.

"Is the chocolate good?"- he asks.

"Yeah, perfect."- you nod, but you want to scream. You want to tell him how scared you are of being unloveable and broken, scared of ending up alone, scared of never blossoming into a beautiful flower.

It's like he feels your thoughts and Changbin's heart swells, growing and expanding to fit everything that makes you you inside it, as the words spill from his lips;

"I love you."

Your head snaps towards him, the movement making you spill a few drops of chocolate on your sweatpants.

"W-what?"- you say, sure you've gone deaf in the middle of everything else.

"I love you. I can't keep it in anymore, I'm sorry. I've loved you always and I don't know living without loving you. I don't know who I am if I don't love you."

Your ears ring as you stare into his eyes, the crackling of the fire sounds like the crackling of your heart as it bursts in little fireworks and you feel like you've lifted up into the air, your body weightless like the little leaf, unbothered and carefree, and you cry.

You burst into tears as sobs escape your lips and Changbin's arms envelop around you, keeping you safe and pulling you back down to root yourself in the ground.

"Shh, it's okay. It's gonna be okay. I'm here."- he keeps whispering as he rocks you and you clutch onto him like he'll fade away from existence if you let go.

You want to tell him you're unworthy, that he's so much better than you and he deserves someone with an open heart, not you, the black hole that sucks everything in, you want to tell him you feel as empty as the white snow covered field, you want to tell him of your fear, your insufficiency and your doubt, residing in your soul that was tainted with darkness of other, befouled souls.

But you don't have to say anything, he knows you better than you think he does, and he holds you tightly, like you're the most precious thing to exist since the dawn of time until now.

But most importantly, you want to tell him that you love him too. And you can't. It eats at you as you cry harder but he understands. He always does.

His hands are smoothing down your back as he whispers over and over again;

"I love you."

🫀EPILOGUE🫀

It is a known fact that everything comes alive with the arrival of spring. The sun rises earlier in the morning, illuminating the trees and the flowers, uncovering new sights to be seen, ones that were blanketed by the darkness of the night before.

And with the arrival of this spring, you have come alive too. You're not just a little leaf anymore, nit just a drop of dew, you're the most lovely flower of them all, you're his flower. Like a butterfly you've emerged from your cocoon, more beautiful, more colorful, more mature and loved. Your sun rises in the shape of your wonderful boyfriend, the one who removed the blanket of darkness from your eyes, the one who helped you pick the pieces back up, helped you love yourself.

It's a journey, the hole is still there albeit considerably smaller and you sit and count the red flowers while Changbin feeds you sliced up apples, nothing but love and adoration in his eyes as they observe you.

"Seventy six."- you exclaim suddenly, startling your lover from admiring you.

"Oh yeah? That was pretty fast."- he smirks jokingly at you.

"I'm kinda good at counting, actually I'm a professional at it."- you say matter-of-factly.

"I expect you to count all the kisses I give you today."- he giggles, pecking your cheek.

"Right, like you don't kiss me every second."- you roll your eyes playfully.

"Mhm, acting like you don't like it. Maybe I should just stop and make it easier for you to count when there's less of them."- he jokes and you laugh, the smile gracing your face reaches all the way up to your eyes.

"No, you should keep going. That way, I'll get even better at counting."

You continue joking around, like there's no care in the world, your book is next to your legs, the one you read over and over again. Maybe it doesn't have a happy ending, but now you know you don't need a happy ending in a book because yours is right next to you, being silly for the purpose of making you laugh.

The gaping hole inside you shrinks smaller and smaller and you don't feel like you're constantly on the edge of a cliff anymore. And even if you were, Changbin would be there to catch you.

You're lost in counting his eyelashes as he leans in closer to you and before your lips touch his, you whisper,

"I love you."

🫀

✨Taglist: @moonchild9350 @janepg @velvetmoonlght @hwanghyunjinismybae

[yeyinde]

WILLOW TREE MARCH

John Price x Reader | Fae!AU

"They'll give you gifts," your gran says, shaking her head. "Things from their realm. Little trinkets and gems—" geodes, sapphires and diamonds, raw gold and coral; "—and you must never accept them," a whittled deer made of sequoia under your pillow; crow bones buried in the garden."Because if you do, if you do, they'll never let you go."  "Why?" You asked, blinking at her.  "Because it's a courting ritual, and to accept means… well," her mouth twists in wry disdain. "Just don't." 

—WARNINGS: 18+ | SMUT fae shenanigans, mythological nonsense; unsafe sex, smut in random places, slight exhibition kink if you squint; Dom-ish Price, soft Price, pining Price; fae trickery (dubious consent on account of the trickery but not really); unreliable narrator; ahhhhhh, body horror (??????????) —TAGS: Fluff, AU, mythology —WORD COUNT: 8,5k —Based on this ask

There's a thick forest at the edge of your town. It curves along the coastline, breaching the yawning maw of the inlet—the last safe haven before the open ocean—and can be found almost nowhere else in the entire world. A unique ecosystem comprising vaguely familiar flora and fauna. Brown and Black bears. Wolves. Sitka-black-tailed deer. Ravens. The waters that crest through the forest are full of salmon, steelhead, and river otters. On the coast of the inlet, you can find whales, sea lions, seals, orcas, and porpoises swimming offshore. 

It's protected, in large part, by its sheer vastitude. Spanning a massive chunk of your home, it stretches far north with curling fingers cutting through the granite of the crumbling coast, and as deep south as its knobby knees can reach. 

From above, it looks like a child curled on its side, knees tucked to its chest. It's this pose alone that makes others revere it as some sacred being, slumbering mindlessly until the day it cracks open its eyes, and awakens to the new world. A child god made of conifers, red cedar, spruce, fir, pine, birch, and hemlock. Mossy caves of granite and limestone. Thick colonies of moss, liverworts, plume moss, and common haircap. 

The forest is linked to your town only by a small strip of land that juts out from a raging ravine with currents too dangerous, too deadly, to try and traverse. An archipelago all on its own, untouched by greedy, human, hands because of its placement. 

It's insulated by the vast ocean on its front, and a series of insidious looking mountains ready to swallow wandering mountaineers whole if they get too close to the sleeping child. Protected and safe by anyone who might try to harm it. 

You used to dream about the forest. A nightmare dredged up about whispers and calls. Lured close to the edge of the river where a man would hand you his heart—sap-stained, and charred; a brittle piece of Bristlecone pine that felt fragile and worn—and told you to come back for him. To wait for him. 

You'd wake in a cold sweat each time, heart pounding so fast that it almost felt like you were dying.

(Maybe you were. Maybe you did.)

You don't know if you believe the stories told about people wandering into the gaping chasm of the forest and never coming out. It's not uncommon for people to get lost, after all. But it feels distinct and archaic. Old. Something about the way the wind howls sounds different from the other woodlands scattered around your home. 

It sounds like a beckoning call. A mother calling their child home for dinner. Come to me, the Chinook bellows. Come home now, dear. 

You never venture too close. You know all too well what happens to children who do.

His name is—was now, you suppose—Kyle, but no one called him that. To everyone in town, he was simply known as Gaz. 

Newcomers to the isolated archipelago are a rarity—so much so that news of the new family's arrival sent waves through the community, making Gaz an instant star overnight, all without him even setting foot on the shores. 

None of that mattered, though. He fit in with an ease that seems almost preternatural when you think about it, as if he was meant to be there. And maybe he was. Maybe the soft rolling valleys were destined to be his home where flowers bloomed in the spring, and Arctic tern trilled from the branches. 

Gaz was unique, different. 

He picked dandelions with the same intensity that picked fights with the bullies in the neighbouring town, the ones who tried to pick on the smaller kids in the community. 

With his fists always covered in dandelion oil and bruises, face caught between a grimace and a grin, like he was never sure if he wanted to spit at their feet or tell a joke, he stood against the onslaught with an anger that seemed to crackle in the air like fireworks. Ready for battle. Thirsty for blood. 

His anger never waned even when he turned back to the group, eyes cresting in satisfaction, and body trembling with adrenaline, and you could scent the rage in his smile, hear it in the soft words he muttered to the kids, telling them everything would be alright. 

Gaz was everyone's friend. The person you told your deepest secrets to, the one you planned adventures with. He was a rock—always armed with snappy jokes to make you smile, and advice when you needed it. 

He was everyone's friend—yours especially—but you can't remember if anyone was his best friend. He was polite. Distant. 

It started in the summer. His hands were always cold, and he kept them shoved deep in his pockets, clenched tight around the latchkey his parents gave him. 

He started to seem almost liquid then. Temporal. You'd reach for him, brushing your hands against his arms or shoulders just to assure yourself that he was really there.

You noticed that his eyes would list sideways, head tilted, slanting toward the forest. It looked to you as if he was listening to something. To some unheard noise or call that only he could hear. 

When you asked about it, he'd always blink, surprised, as if you'd woken him up from a dream quite suddenly. Then, he'd smile, and shake his head. 

"Don't worry about it," he'd say, shrugging. "Just the wind."

He'd bend down and pick a dandelion for you, holding it out between pudgy fingers with a grin that seemed to mimic the cresting moon. 

"For you."

He picked them for three springs before he, too, became another victim of the endless forest. Another empty tomb in the overcrowded graveyard.

Missing, they said, but not forgotten. 

You think about him often. 

(Even more so when you, too, begin to hear your name echoing through the forest.)

Beware the woods, your grandma says. Especially when it calls your name. 

(You never understood why something that sounds so comforting, so sweet, could ever be dangerous. It sounds like an old friend calling you over to play. 

"Never go," she snaps, her hands lashing out to grip your arms tight. You feel her knobby fingers digging into your bones. "Never listen, and stay away—"

"You're hurting me, gran—"

Her rheumy eyes burn into yours. "Stay away—!"

(You wisely never speak about the whispers in your head, keeping them to yourself. A secret just for you.)

You leave town when you're old enough, when the hisses in your head grow too loud to ignore, and it feels as though they're scratching at your skull. 

(Clawing at the walls.)

"Crazy weather, eh?" The first mate mutters nervously, eyes tilted upward as the sky darkens into an angry grey. "Came outta nowhere." 

You leave, and you don't look back. 

(But oh, how the forest screams.)

She calls you back several years later with a phone call. Your gran has passed. 

You think you should mourn, but it's been so long since you thought of home, that you don't remember what she looks like anymore. The sound of her voice is a whisper in your head—the cadence gone, the tone flat. 

But you don't cry, and you don't grieve—she's been dead for a long time now, after all. Ever since your mum went missing all those years ago, she's always seemed more of a ghost than a person. Living as if her body hadn't realised her heart was long dead. 

You go back only because you think your mum would have wanted you to. 

(And pretend it isn't because the silence in your head is suffocating. Without the whispers, it feels as if you're missing something. A part of yourself forever lost in the forest.

You wonder if anyone has found it by now.)

Nothing has changed since you turned your back on the town that raised you, the forest that stole from you. 

It's the same buildings. The same market. The same roads. The same houses. 

The people, too, seem largely unchanged by the years that have passed. 

The friends from your childhood who stayed meet you at the graveyard, eyes filled with sympathy as they ask how you're doing. 

She'll be missed, they lie sweetly to you. Everyone loved her. 

She was a hermit, you want to scream. A woman driven mad by ghosts and fairytales and terror. 

You nod, instead, and let them lead you around the town on a grand tour as if anything about this beautiful, haunting place had changed since you ran away. 

It gets easier to force a smile when they ask if you're okay. 

"Fine," you murmur and wonder if your voice even carries over the whispers. "Just—yeah. Fine."

North of the town is where the river separating the lonely forest carves a path, not at all dissimilar to an idyllic trough, through bedrock and sand, and flows into the sea. 

The estuary is dangerous in high tide when the rapid ascent of water on the sandy shores hides the rip current that is known to form when the two bodies of water meet. 

It's a dangerous place to get caught in. 

This beach was impressed upon you as deadly from a young age, almost in equal—if not greater—measure than the rapacious forest across the river. You know the dangers of standing on the slippery bedrock. 

But as the sun glows a burnt orange in the distance, and the endless ocean before you darkens into an almost unfathomable black, you can't help but find the view from the cliff's edge to be the most mesmerising thing you've ever seen. 

It looks like a painting. A brush stroke of tigers eye in the centre of the cresting sun that gradually fades out into xanthous, and rings of hazy peach; the light of diminishing star smears coruscating rings of persimmons into the indigo water. The gradual fade into gradients as the waves lap closer to the shore is reminiscent of liquid sapphire and smelting amethyst. 

The picturesque view is more befitting of a pastel postcard, an ethereal pastiche of the Ninth Wave—a moment of life imitating art, or—perhaps—the same view Ivan Aivazovsky stumbled upon when he set out to render the haunting beauty of the ocean in oil. 

The cresting waves arch into curled petals of white before setting upon the sloping beach with frenzy. It's the roar of those hungry waves that seem to, if only for a moment, drown out everything in your head. 

There are no whispers. No songs. No screams. Vengeful hissing can't climb to a higher decibel than the frothing waters slamming against jagged bedrock. 

All is quiet—except the sea. 

You lean into it. The closer you get to that precipice, the quieter everything in your head goes. Sounded sucked into the vacuum of the ocean. The endless song of the sea. 

Another step. Another. 

For a moment, you're free. 

The forest doesn't scream for you. Your grandmother doesn't dig her teeth into your gyri, hands clawing at the space behind your eyes. You don't think of her, or your mother, or Gaz, or anyone else unfortunate enough to get consumed by this damnable place where fairy tales split the seams apart, and merge with reality. 

It's peaceful. 

You take another step—

A hand curls over your shoulder, tugging you back. 

Anger pools, thick and acidic, on your tongue, but the flash of your ire, your vexation, is dashed by the sound the waves make when it slams into the spot you were just standing. 

It slashes across the concrete as the stranger pulls you into his broad chest, heat nearly liquifying your spine. 

He sucks in a breath. You feel his chest expand with it. When he breathes out, you taste gunpowder on your tongue. 

"Gotta be more careful n'that, love." 

You've had near-misses before. Flirted with the reaper. Ripped yourself from the jowls of death himself. 

This isn't anything new.

And yet—

Your eyes drag up, meeting flat black boring down at you. His hood is pulled over his forehead, casting shadows down to his jaw. 

"You—"

Your teeth sink into your tongue. Emotions lash through you like the flick of a bullwhip, shredding your skin until it's raw and oozing. The tail pulls away whenever you try to wrap your fingers around one of them—relief: you're not dead; embarrassment: how could you be so stupid; shame: saved by a stranger; and—

Visceral terror. Panic. 

It bludgeons its fist down your throat, barbed knuckles clawing at the soft tissue of your esophagus until you taste blood on your tongue. 

Panic tastes of ozone and leaks, thick and warm like molasse, down your throat. 

"Hey," he murmurs, and the sound of his voice, his low timbre, is porous, calcined. The rough scratch scours through the haze of fear threading through your sternum. "C'mon on, now. Gotta breathe, yeah?" 

It's his hands on your shoulder—hotter than grenade fire—and the thick scent of musk, of stale smoke and kerosene sweat, that break through the gossamer of your acrid panic. He spins you around to face him, eyes fixed on your face. 

"That's it," he says, soft, soothing. "Keep breathin'. You ain't dead yet." 

You come to yourself in pieces. The world bleeds with startling clarity around the blurred edges. Home, you think. Maybe.

Once upon a time. 

You blink. Blink again. 

The hand still on you—heavier, you find, than an anvil—lifts, his thumb brushing over the curve of your jaw, swiping over the sweat-stained skin.

You can't see his eyes through the shadows cast over his face. A stranger. You've never seen him before. 

They didn't say anyone new moved to town. 

"Who are you—?"

"You don't know?" 

And then his hand is gone, taking all the heat in your body with him. 

It lifts to his vest, thick fingers, gloved in yellow, curling over the butt of his cigar. 

You must make a face. A grimace. A whisper of bemusement. Whatever it is, it makes his lips twitch under the shorn burnt umber of his beard. 

"I'd share," he mutters, teething sinking into the hilt as he pats himself down for a lighter. "But I ain't got the time."

"Shouldn't be smoking in a provincial park, anyway." 

The words are dragged out of you. Numbed, gritty. 

It makes him snort. "Maybe—;" he cups his hand around the end, thumb striking the ignition of the lighter. He inhales, and the red circle at the tip illuminates the cerulean blue tucked away into the folds of his hood. The plume of smoke curls over him like a shroud. "But I doubt a cigar is gonna bring the whole forest down, mm? 'sides, we all have our vices, don't we?"

With that, he leaves you standing in the tendrils of smoke that billow out from his caustic mouth. No goodbye. No name. Nothing except the hum of his touch buzzing through your veins. 

Your head is numb. Thoughts congealing into hardened clay. 

Yeah, you think sluggishly, eyes dropping to the drenched pavement where the ocean narrowly missed you. Swallowed you whole. We do. 

(Yours is bad decisions that reek of napalm. 

Men who scour your hands raw when you touch their coarse surface.)

You find him again in some desolate pub on the fringes of town a few days later. It looks like it's one strong gust of wind away from blowing down. Dilapidated. Rusted from the harsh salt of the ocean to the north. 

He lifts his head when you slide into the empty chair on the left, but says nothing about your unexpected company. 

Instead, his lips curl over the cigar sawed between his teeth. A grin, you think. 

You wonder if he was expecting you. 

(Wonder, then, with a touch of something warm gnarling in your belly, if you surprised him.)

The barkeep wanders past, brows lifting at you in question. 

"Um, a vodka soda—"

The man, Price you learned from the locals with a great of digging, snorts. 

"Ain't got none of that here, love. Two scotches. Neat." He leans over, thick fingers grasping the middle of the cigar, an inch away from the bristles on his upper lip, and pulls it away, ashing it in the tray in front of him. "And a bottle of spring water." 

"Scotch?" You echo, leaning your elbow on the sticky counter. He reeks of smoke. Sweat. Blood. Gunpowder. You veer closer, soaking in the astringent tang of him. Everyone on this island smells of daffodils and cotton; clean and neat and innocent. He reeks of danger. Everything inside of you screams to stay away. "I don't drink scotch."

The cigar burns in the tray. He pulls back, shifting in the chair. His elbow rests on the counter, the other arm is slung over the back of his seat. The picture of appeasement, of a satiated tiger eying a little mouse sniffing past it. There's no immediate danger, and his posture is relaxed. Open. But his eyes—

Price turns to you, then. His legs are spread, knees notched apart, taking up more space than you offer him. A looming presence. Dominating. Confident. He's not doing it on purpose, you don't think, he's just—

Big. 

His legs are too long. Thighs are too thick. 

Something gnarls behind your ribs when you take in his bare face. It's different, smaller, without the bulky black hood thrown low on his brow. His hands bare, leaving him in only casual clothes that stretch taut around his broad body. 

The beanie on his head, pulled low on his forehead, makes him look roguish, rough. The picturesque presentation of a bad boy down to the pelt-brown leather Levi jacket stretched taut around his broad shoulders. 

He looks older, somehow, without the tenebrous of night shading him in dark indigo. Aged like a fine whisky. All burnt umber and ivory. 

The charcoal colouring brightens the heavy blue of his eyes—crushed bluebonnets and powdered graphite; a black hole centre—and the frame of his brown lashes dusting over his clean cheeks makes something pool in your lower belly. 

(You wonder if he'd taste of whisky sour.)

"Well," he murmurs, brow lifting. It makes the skin on his forehead crinkle. He has laugh lines cresting around the corners of his eyes. They stand out to you, now. Void of the shadows you're used to. "You do when I'm paying."

The scotch, the cigar, the dingy pub that reeks of stale cigarettes and is perfumed in a dusting of nicotine that films every surface coalesces into incipient vice. 

His hand moves from where it's loosely curled around his glass, and rests, heavy and warm, on your thigh. 

When he leans in, you taste calcine on his breath. 

The acrid tang is a balm to the blisters in your raw esophagus. You meet him in the middle, smaller hands curling over the wool lapels of his jacket, tugging him into you. 

"Never thanked you for saving me," you murmur, his beard grazing your lips. A tickle. A brush. 

Price sucks in a deep breath, eyes liquifying into an intense azure. "No need to thank me, love. As much as I love the ocean, you don't belong there, do you? No," he adds, decisively. Sure. "You belong on land. The earth. You're wild, like the forest, aren't you?"

It's an out. An escape. An option to flee from the cosm that folds around you like a nebulous cloud. 

You could take it. Back up, away. Walk out of this dingy pub on the wrong side of town, and forget the man who reeks of nicotine, smoke; who leaves ashes behind on your skin when he touches you. 

The only one who stares at you from the unfathomable black of his eyes, lashes shrouded in tenebrous, and makes you falter. Makes your heart lurch, jumping to sit at the bottom of your throat.

You should pull away. Stay away from the man who leaks ethanol and nitroglycerine. From the man who smells of acrid smoke. Gunfire. 

You should. 

But your fingers tighten in the lapels of his jacket, pulling him closer. Closer. 

The bridge of his nose is warm when it presses against your own. 

His eyes spark, wildfires. A blazing forest. 

"You said something about vices." His chest rumbles in response to your hushed words. 

"So I did." 

Smoke singes your nose when you brush your lips over his. Warm. Chapped. Dry. You taste ash. Humus. The bitter tang of dandelion oil. 

"Got some time tonight?" 

"Thought you said I shouldn't be smoking."

"We're not in a park, near flammable trees," your hand falls to his chest. His heart thuds beneath your palm. Thick, full. Your eyes lift to his, lidded and heavy. You gaze at him from under your lashes, coy. Demure. You wonder if he can see how eager you are beneath the sly cut of your lids. "Are we, Price?"

The use of his name makes his lips quirk. A small, secretive thing that you can't read. 

"No, we're not." His hand slides down, curling over your knee. "Don't know what you're gettin' into, love." 

"Oh, no?" You taunt, breathless. Even through all your layers, you still feel his searing heat on your skin. His eyes drop when your tongue lashes out, wetting your lower lip. "And what's that?" 

A frisson shudders over his face. Lashes fluttering. He leans forward, resting the rim of his beanie on your forehead. 

When his eyes slide open, all you see is arsenic white pooled around Prussian blue. "More than you could ever dream of." 

Your trembling fingers curl into the lapels of his jacket. For leverage, maybe; or to hide the quiver in your joints from his widening eyes. 

And so, you kiss him. 

A messy punch to the mouth with your sun-blistered lips. 

His mouth parts, wry curls flutter when he inhales sharply. And then—

He devours you. 

It's messy. More sealed lips glueing together than it ever could be considered a proper kiss, but it feels more like a homecoming than stepping off the boat, and you tuck that inside your pounding chest. 

(The whispers in your head seem to sing when his lips touch yours.)

You taste bark on your tongue when it slips over his. Loam. Moss. Something earthy and rich. His beard scratches your chin, your lips, but you pull him closer, hungry for more—for the taste of wilderness on his tongue, for the respite from the whispers, the screams. Like the ocean, he, too, is a vacuum, swallowing everything whole until just you remain, stripped down to nothing but sensation and want. Bare, raw. 

Your teeth ache when you pull away, fingers curling into the coarse hair along his chin. The whips of his wry curls scratch your palm. 

You never want to let go. 

Price's eyes are noctilucent clouds; a storm over a rainforest. He'll ruin you. Devour. Destroy. Take, and take, and take until there is nothing left. 

Your lips tremble when you speak, words tremulous with your desire, your eagerness, when they slip past your bruised mouth. 

"I can think of a few that are better than smoking." 

Price shudders. 

"Where did you go?" Your friend asks, eyes swinging from the cards spread out in front of him—the Idiot, Solitaire—to you. They burn into the side of your face, the same place Price touched with bare knuckles, and said you belong to the forest, don't you? "Missed dinner."

You ate Doro Wat in a small shop after Price fucked you stupid in the dingy bathroom of the pub, face scraping against the waterlogged wallpaper that chipped with each brutal thrust of his hips. 

Like that, hmm? Can barely take me, love, but you're so fuckin' greedy for it, ain't you? 

You're sure the barkeep heard your moans as they bounced off the jaundiced walls. 

(You still hear him hissing in your ear. Still feel him splitting you apart.)

You try not to shiver. 

"Ate already," you shrug, bundling your sleep clothes tight in your trembling hands. When you stand, his eyes follow you. "So. Um—"

"You okay?" 

"Yeah," you say, shifting on the balls of your feet. "I've—" You think of his eyes, gyre white, and wonder if this is what it feels like to get swallowed by the sea. "I've never been better."

"Good," he says, smiling. "I worry about you, you know?"

You nod. "Yeah," you say. "Me, too."

You break apart in the shower, falling into pieces as you make yourself finish, thinking about nothing but the phantom stretch of his cock seated deep inside of you, the taste of his come pooling on your tongue.

It balms the residual burn in your esophagus, and you know, then, when you throb, still wanting his touch on your skin, that you've always been terrible at telling yourself no. 

It can't happen. It can't.  

There's a strange magnetism about him—an uncanny sense of mystery and familiarity sutured together. 

It feels a little bit like staring at the looming maw, the event horizon, of a black hole. Unfathomable black. No way out. 

There's something that feels a bit like forewarning inside your chest when he brushes against you, and presses his lips on the skin behind your ear—a secret place only he knows, where only his fingerprints have ever been. You feel his touch even when he's gone. Haunted by the memory of his rough hands and rasping tenor. 

Running would make sense, you think, watching the ferries come and go. You have enough money for a ticket, and you've yet to even unpack your bag. 

You don't know who he is, but you've given him everything. All of it. There's nothing left inside of you to hand over, but he keeps looking at you as if he's waiting for more. 

"Waiting for a ride?" 

You glance back at the operator with a divot between your brow and cotton inside your ears. 

You want to say yes, but you shake your head instead. 

"No." I can't leave. "Just enjoying the view."

You find birch branches stripped of leaves, juniper berries, maple leaves, spindles of dogwood, bushels of fir, and bouquets of bog rosemary, northern bluebell, fireweed, and wintergreen on your doorstep each morning, laid gently against the old welcome mat. 

You should toss them out, and throw them away. How does he know where you live, anyway? It would make the most sense; be the wisest decision. 

Instead, you tuck them inside your notebook, pressing them against the pages where they'll be safe. 

(You try not to think too much about why they never die.)

It happens again. And again. Again—

It becomes a ritual for the few months you're back in town. The leaves, twigs, petals, pines, and seeds all show up at your door each morning and come nightfall, you're drawn to him like a moth to a flame. 

He finds the nastiest looking pub in the city, and you find him there after dark. 

He sits, smokes a cigar. Orders two scotches, and a bottle of spring water. Teaches you how to drink it properly—none of that sugary cocktail shite; just pure whisky, love, as it should be—and lets you puff on the damp end of his cigar, eyes gleaming in the soft yellow light above as he takes in the way your lips curl over the wet tip.

He stares at you like he's indulging you. 

Like he knows. 

And maybe, he does. 

Maybe he sees the way your jaw works, tongue lashing over the tip just to chase his taste. The heat in your cheeks, your eyes, as you gaze at him, open and raw and wanting. The way you list toward him. Eager for it. For him. His touch, his smell. 

He must, you think, but he's a right bastard. 

He doesn't give it until the end of the evening, when everyone has gone home. When it's just you and him and the barkeep that glowers at you something ugly when you stand on shaky legs, and whisper you're going to the washroom. 

Your fingers curl over the chipped porcelain, back arched as you stare at the face in the mirror. 

You can't remember if it's you. 

Whisky has polluted your synapses. The thick scent of smoke, the tobacco from the cigar, has congealed into resin over that little bundle of axons and nerves that control your impulse, logic. 

Stupid. 

You stare at the thing in the mirror, and wonder if the basal want on your face was so apparent to him as it is to you. If he saw the dark gleam of hunger, greed, impatience, swimming in your ink-smudged depths. 

The door rattles. Clicks. 

The squeak of the hinges is the only warning you get before Price is there, liquified in the doorway and clouded in smoke. 

His hand curls over the worn, peeling frame. Eyes dance with the same hunger, same want, as the ones that flicker across the surface of the mirror. 

"Couldn't wait for me, eh, love?" He breathes, his chest expands with his exhale. Scenting you, you think. You wonder if he can smell the slick pooling in your panties. The desperation brimming in your veins. "Wanted it that bad, huh?"

He moves. A mountain of a man now filling up the entirety of your gaze until all you see is him. 

You used to want to climb mountains. In training, they always warned of summit fever. Of that little part of your head that just wanted it to be over, to reach the very top of the precipice. Impatient, it couldn't wait. It made you spring up, and climb higher and higher before you were ready, prepared. 

You think of it now when your hands lift, curling over his broad shoulders. 

("Summit fever will get you killed," they say.)

"Just shut up and fuck me, Price." 

His eyes flash. "Greedy little thing, aren't you?"

You are. Painfully so. 

It etches in your ribs like a sickness, festering in your mouldering bones. Rotting you from the inside out. 

A crutch in the searing heat of skin, sweat, and sin. The feeling of him taking you apart, breaking you down into atoms and molecules that bubble in the lining of your head becomes so commonplace, so often forget who you are when you're pushed up against a wall, being filled to the brim by him.

He leaves madness behind when he goes, and the world that divides fantasy from reality begins to crack, to splinter. 

You hear his voice in your head late at night when the wind blows through the window, carrying the scent of the forest.

"Come home," he rasps in your ear. 

The scratch of his beard seems to scrape against the little thread keeping you tied down to reality. It's frayed and worn by his hands. You wonder when he'll sink his teeth in the silk, and snap the line. Untethering you from your binds.

Come home to me. Come back to where you belong—

Price takes you out to dinner three months after this—whatever it is—starts. After your house becomes more of a garden, writ with the wild remnants of the forest, after each passing day. Full of bushes, and branches. Twigs and precious gems. He gives you raw gold, and open geodes full of amethyst, and sapphire. Canopy leaves, and bark from the trees. 

He leaves a whittled deer made from the red wood of a giant sequoia, and the likeness of the little fawn makes you believe that one day, it'll come to life in your living room.

(You leave a dish of water near the doorway—just in case—and wonder if you're becoming just as mad as your gran.)

He shows up at your doorstep, the bleached antlers of a great pronghorn in his hands. It's decorated with vines and moss weaved over the ivory in intricate braids and knots that you can't even begin to unravel. You marvel at the gift as he tells you he's taking you out for dinner. 

There is no discussion. He doesn't ask, he just—

Does. 

"Found a spot," he says, arms crossed over his broad chest. The cable-knit sweater pulls, stretched taut over his bulk. "Think you'd like it."

You don't know what to say. The antlers feel heavier in your hands, and warm to the touch. You try not to shiver when you set it down beside the little fawn.

"Oh," you say, but know you've never turned him down yet. It's all—

So much. 

Your home is slowly becoming one with nature, with vines growing on the walls in great blooms of wisteria and lilac; the old floor boards under your feet shudder and creak as little saplings sprout through the cracks. You wake up at night and taste earth in your throat, feel the grass beneath your fingers. The breeze in your hair. The call of an arctic tern. 

You dream of running through the forest. Of being chased. You breathe and feel the little seeds inside of your lungs start to take root. Soon you'll bloom with dandelions.

"Okay," you say, and wonder if the madness rummaging around your head will turn into a beautiful sequoia in the end. "Let's go."

The tavern is busy on a weeknight, crowded with a swell of mainlanders who'd ventured out for a camping trip over the long weekend. 

You sit with your back straight, and listen to him talk about a hike he wants to take with you in the morning. Through the woods, he says, and you don't ask which one. You know. You know. 

(It's time. It's time.)

There are alarm bells ringing in your head, but they're drowned out by the crooning whispers. 

But the line is only frayed and worn, and despite the lure in his voice, the itch in your head to say yes, you hesitate. Falter. 

The woods are dangerous. 

You don't want to go. 

He seems to sense it. His brows knot together. 

"You want to, don't you?" 

You fiddle with your napkin and try not to meet his arsenic stare. "It's… dangerous."

"I'll keep you safe."

"It's probably time for me to leave, anyway." 

The air in the room turns frigid all at once. You think you can see white plumes of condensation when you shakily breathe out, teeth chattering. 

"Price—"

"Didn't wanna do this, love," he says, voice hushed. Barely a whisper. His eyes are lavascapes. "But you ain't givin' me much of a choice, are you?"

"What—?"

The words die on your tongue when movement flashes in the corner of your eye. A man weaves, liquid, through the mindless crowd, cutting a path like the parting red sea. 

His eyes are honeycombs. In his hand, he holds a limp dandelion. 

It takes you a moment to make out the strange man who looms in the background. A splash of colour among sfumato. 

It's Gaz.

The childish swell of his cheeks has sunken into angled, sharp bone. Slender fingers twirl the flower around, around, around—

It's hypnotic. You stare, horrified and awed—a strange amalgam of emotions that slip down your spine: worry, elation, panic, comfort—as his pink lips part into an easy, familiar grin. The cresting sun breaching the horizon. Eyes slanting in playful derision. 

He looks like he's torn between telling a joke and spitting vitriol. Making you laugh, and then making you cry. 

It buzzes in the air, electrified fingers dancing down your spine, and then just as quickly as the boy who disappeared reemerges into the land of the living, into this bastardised reality, he gives one last sharp, fanged grin, a mordant wink, and then he's gone.

He slips through the door, and without hesitating, you give chase. 

Price says nothing when you go. Or maybe he does, but you can't hear anything except the rustling of leaves in your head. 

Gaz, it whispers. Gaz, Gaz, Gaz.

(It's time for the lost little boy to come home.)

The rocks sit in a zigzag pattern through the frothing waters, a deceptive bridge that connects the valley to the coast. You feel the tremulous rattle of the water slicing against the hollow cavern beneath your feet. A ledge chiselled from the blunt erosion of the rapid currents below. One day, they say, the granite shelf will give and a massive hole filled with howling water will fill it. 

Try not to be the idiot standing on the ledge. 

You feel the power of the currents even on the peat-covered edge. 

The water in front of you is deceptive. A calm, rolling surface at the shoreline almost seems to beckon you inside. Come take a dip in the cool waters. Grow fins and gills and chase the river otters through the currents. Feast on the wily salmon, and see if your feet can touch the sandy streambed. 

But the river's fatality is nearly assured. No one has survived a dip in these waters that act as a serrated knife, carving chasms and channels through the granite below. The currents will rip into you, pulling you until your body is crushed against the wall, or into an unsearchable cave. 

One slip, you think. Just one. 

But—

The man in the bar flickers through your mind. His honeycomb eyes, fanged grin. Ethereal in his beauty like a painting of a god in oil and raw canvas. Carved likeness of a Stygian prince. 

It was Kyle. It was Gaz. You know it. Know it deep within your bones, your marrow.

Taking the first step to the jutting slate that peaks just a few precious inches from the raging waters is easier, then, when you think of the boy who plucked a dandelion from the earth, and tucked it behind your ear. It makes the risk less daunting when it's for him. 

For his parents who sunk into themselves, into the crater his absence left behind. A deep depression into the earth that swallowed them whole.

They moved last year after laying down a bouquet of flowers at the mouth of the forest. 

You toe your shoes off, leaving them at the embankment, and then you leap. The perch is slick with waterlogged moss, slimy. It wobbles under you, but you catch yourself, stabilising. Steady. You huff. One down, four more to go. 

Up close, they look so far apart. A chasm between each rock. An endless abyss that will rip you into pieces. 

Still. Still. You have to find him. Have to. 

You step, toes sliding in the algae. The rock beneath is stained green. It wobbles again when you bring your other foot down on top of it. The loud clack of rock scraping against rock is heard, unmuffled by the roaring water that tugs on the stone. You feel the push against your feet. 

Two more. Two more. 

You take another step, and then—

You fall—

The world drips into focus, a steady trickle of cognisance that paints the world in shades of greens and browns. An eagle soars above the canopy, their shadow swooping through the thick tangle of conifers reaching to the heavens.

The bed of moss beneath you is damp—lush with dew and softer than your mattress at home. You sink into the ground when you breathe, caught in an embrace. The vines curl over your wrists, your ankles, as if refusing to let go. 

It should scare you—and maybe it does—but there's something against your head, fingers digging into your temples, and you feel nothing except a warm serenity leaking in. Thought spool into liquid gold, threads that weave together in a knotted clump. Indistinguishable from each other, and unreachable when they slip deeper into the honeyed-thick fog that curls around your mind. A temper from logic, from fear. Anything that isn't pure, artificial comfort is filtered through and cast aside. 

You don't know why you're here. 

One moment, you felt the coils of the raging currents sinking its claws into your flesh, pulling you under the deep waters, and then—

Heat on your face. The sun's desperate attempt to filter through the corded canopy and touch the forest floor. The shrill call of an eagle on the prowl. The tender caress of the moss below cushions your body. 

You should be underwater. Pressed tight against the side of the rocks until you were swept downstream and spat out in the inlet, waterlogged and dead. 

You draw humid air into your lungs until it swells against your ribcage. The steady thud of your heart tells you that somehow, somehow, you're alive. An empty brag—thud, thud; thud, thud—that seems to call out to the birds in the emergent layer, the ones nestled in their branches as they watch your feeble attempt to reconcile how you survived. 

It's strange, you think, but the soporific warmth coursing through your veins does not let you panic. 

You are—

"Foolish." 

The warmth turns molten. You try to sit up, but the vines tighten around your limbs. If you weren't so vulnerable, you think it would almost feel like a hug. 

The soft crunch of the moss tells you the voice—the man—is moving forward, toward you. You want to scream, but your tongue is thick, and your mouth is numb. 

"What you did there was stupid," he says, and the forest around you seems to come alive in his anger. Pulsing. The branches sway and the leaves rattle without any wind. The trees bend down, coming inward. You hear the scream of a fox in the distance. The chuff of an agitated brown bear. 

Primordial signs tell you to run.

But you're trapped. 

Price steps closer, falling to his knees beside you. You can see him now, and suddenly you wish you'd been swallowed by the waves. 

His face is writ with anger, brows tightening together in displeasure. 

He seems imbued with the forest. One with the lush green that swells around you. Burnt umber and icy blue. Ethereal, unnatural. Something in your hindbrain tells you to run from that man that looks as if he could swallow you whole.

"Tryin' t'die on me, hmm?" 

His hand lifts, and you feel his warm knuckles graze your temple. Soft, gentle, despite the ire in his eyes, and the irritation clenched in his jaw. 

"Gonna hav'ta try harder than that, love." 

You weren't trying very hard at all, you think, dazed, dizzy. You weren't trying at all. 

"You're mine," his eyes flash, and you feel the press of gravity against your skin, pulling you down to the soft earth. Your fingers twitch. The fog inside your head clears. 

Blinking up at him, you catch the scattering supernovae echoing in the corners of his eyes; galaxies of pine and cedar, humus and tussock. They bloom from the black hole in the centre, surrounded by sapphire blue. He's not human, you think, but it doesn't surprise you because you already knew. Have known, really—ever since you asked around for his name and watched the same strange fog seep into their eyes as they struggled to remember a man they claimed to know. 

Ever since you found bushels of figs on your doorstep. 

A crown of pine needles and crow feathers. 

Price leans over you, brows knotted together like the gnarled, weaving trunk of a Great Basin Bristlecone Pine. 

There's a forest fire in his eyes. "You're mine, aren't you?" 

You think about the trinkets left on your doorstep. The whispers, the screams. 

"Did you ever give me a choice?" 

The tension in his brow snaps taut. Agony frissons through the spaced canyons; whet from ire and slick from sorrow. He bends down, and shakes his head. 

"I've always given you a choice," his words are smouldering logs, crackling with his pain. "I've always told you to go, but you couldn't stay away, could you?"

Price takes you on the mossy forest floor, fingers digging into the peat as you sink, down, down, down—

His hand under your head, cradling the back of your skull, keeps you from getting swallowed by the grass knoll that breathes and trill against your spine. 

Fire licks in the crevasses of his eyes, molten desperation you can't ignore. He rages above you, quivering in the fading glow of the sunset struggling to slip through the canopy. No longer a man but a myth. He hangs over you with his canines bared, and flashes of anger and sorrow scorch the path his teeth leave behind on your skin. 

You're becoming unmoored. Each touch, and brush; each sweep of his tongue soothing the indents of his razor-sharp teeth all seem to loosen the ties that thread through your soul, anchoring you to the world that stands in full bloom before you. 

The forest shudders with his frantic pace; each piston of his hips leaks his fervent anguish and makes the trees croon, and creak as they bow their foliage in sorrow. His pain lashes through their roots, and rent the air in two. A fox mourns his loss in the distance. A wolf yowls in agony. His brethren lifting their muzzle to the sleepy moon, and howling out the melody of their despair. 

It's too much, too much, and you fall into pieces in his hands, shivering beneath him as the woods around you tremble and quake. It's a mesmerising dance. 

He finishes with a grunt that makes the world shudder anew, spending himself as deep inside of you as he can, as if he could overwrite your empty spaces with himself. Fill you to the brim until you are bursting with him, with life. Tulips for your eyes. Furze for veins. Moss for hair. Peat soil for blood. 

When he speaks, the world falls silent. 

"You don't know it yet, but you will. You've always been mine. Always belonged to the forest, to the earth. To me."

Despite his words, he lets you go. 

And you run, run, run—

Your toes dig into the wet soil near the stream. The desperate catapult across the ravine halted at the very last moment, leaving you winded and shaking. Hands clenched into tight balls by your side. Quivering with fear, with the adrenaline rush still roaring in your veins. 

You don't know what you're doing. 

The whispers in your head go silent. 

The absence of sound makes you mourn, and you think about his agony. The pain when he took you, the resignation when he let you go. 

You think of him, and you know. 

I've always told you to go, but you couldn't stay away, could you?

You scent napalm in the air, cloying despite the acrid burn that scalds your lungs when you breathe in deep, holding it there. 

You think of the chest inside your closet. The pieces of yourself you left behind. The way he fits you like a puzzle, like he was made for you. Designed with your rough edges in mind. Softening your hard lines; scouring your gritty surface it was smooth and shiny like fire Opal and precious gems. 

Ever since you felt his hand on your shoulder, you haven't been able to let go. 

(You don't even think you ever really tried.)

Come to me, the forest says, honey in your ears. It sounds like the rapid beat of a million birds' wings, ready to take flight. Pulsing and alive and full of wonder, childish glee. 

The earth blooms in your chest. You feel the soft, tender caress of the leaves against your skin, the moss sinking between your toes. Clinging to your flesh, desperate to get inside, and take refuge in your heart. Come home to us.

Your grandmother warned you to stay out of the forest, that it was dangerous. Deadly. Wrong. But how can it ever harm you when it touches you so sweetly? 

The branches curl around your ankles as you walk, leading you, guiding you, to the place where you belong. The forest opens around you, spreads apart and makes room for you to pass, touching you as you go, taking little pieces of you. Strands of your hair, the salt from your tears. Pieces of clothes. Parts of your soul. 

You pluck your heart out of your chest, and leave it beneath a gnarled sequoia. She will protect it forever. 

Moss grows inside of the empty space. A tern makes a nest inside of it, filling it with a bed of pine needles, and twigs from the junipers. You feel a mouse make a home in your rib cage, burrowing between your bones. You place your hand over your side, and feel her nuzzle against your palm. 

"You're safe now," you say. "We're almost home."

It's Gaz who greets you with a crown made of sugi. When he cups your face, you feel raging rivers and streams in his palms, and now that you are home. 

"Missed you, dandelion," he breathes, and his voice turns into a Chinook that crests over the mountains. "But there's someone who wants to see you."

His hands slide down to your wrists, and you feel the sun grazing your skin when he spins you around, around, around—

"Now," he leans down, pressing his lips to the shell of your ear. You hear the Falcons nesting in his chest, and smell pine in his breath. "He's been an impatient bastard, you know? Just moping about ever since you left—"

A scoff. You lift your head and feel the swell of the earth beneath your feet. Dizzying. Wanting. 

He waits for you in the thicket, eyes made of sapphire and stone. When he breathes, the forest swells with his breath, and you taste loam when you swallow. 

"A sorry sap, thinkin' you were runnin' away, and all. But you won't, will you?" Gaz pushes you forward, and his laughter rings in your ears. "Not anymore."

Price meets you in the middle, his eyes sparkling embers. A baptism in fire. You feel the heat on your skin, and shiver. 

You used to be afraid of forest fires, but you know, now, that sometimes trees need to burn before they can truly grow. 

Lodgepole roots bud under his skin, rippling veins across a ravine. He rests his hand against your cheek, thumb brushing the dawn redwood needles that bloom under your skin. 

"Welcome home."

"They'll give you gifts," your gran says, shaking her head. "Things from their realm. Little trinkets and gems—" geodes, sapphires and diamonds, raw gold and coral; "—and you must never accept them," a whittled deer made of sequoia under your pillow; crow bones buried in the garden."Because if you do, if you do, they'll never let you go." 

"Why?" You asked, blinking at her. 

"Because it's a courting ritual, and to accept means… well," her mouth twists in wry disdain. "Just don't." 

You don't tell her that you already have. You don't mention the sticks and precious stones that always ended up on your windowsill. The whispers of the forest calling your name. 

You nod sagely instead, fingers tightening around the sap stained heart chiselled from Bristlecone Pine. The charred ends are warm in your palm. You feel it pulse. 

Will you accept this? My heart? Will you keep it safe for me? 

"I will."

This was meant to be light and fluffy and smutty but now it's. This. And um. Oops. I hope you enjoyed it!

JOHN PRICE MASTERLIST | NAVIGATION PART THREE OF COD X MYTHOLOGY ⁞ SOAP ● DRAGON PRICE

[patheticpeoplesupreme]

TW// Panic Attack// Derealisation /Derealization //

Multiple names used interchangeably// ambiguous ending

read the side notes at the end!//

Sometimes, this world feels fake. Sometimes, he doesn’t feel like he lives in it.

When he was Houhua, he tries wave the fog away and picks up his brush and does his duties. He makes way too many mistakes in those days but no one pays any mind to him. No one pays any mind to his bruises anyway.

No one would care to find out. Why would they?

He was just a pathetic, puny little mouse, scurrying to survive. Canon fodder destined to die and return to the earth below for his sins.

This was his world. His story brought to life.

When the sun glimmers through his window, he wonders if the glow is artificial, like the failing bulbs he used to change when he was falling behind in his rent.

He opens his eyes, trying to blink away the fog, trying to bring back clarity , but to no avail, time slips by again. It’s warmer now, so he forces his limbs to move.

Stumbling into the bathroom, he takes a deep breath and reaches out for a hair tie before locking eyes with himself in the mirror.

Distantly he thinks, ‘this isn’t who I am.’

The colour of his hair was as bright as a chestnut, different from what it should be, shorter dark curls floating in the wind instead of being in a bun. His eyes glaze over— his bright amber compared to the hazelnut shade— scanning himself in the mirror.

His height—the body’s height was shorter by a few inches. He tries to breathe. It only serves to tighten the space in his chest. Finally, with his clumsy fingers, he wrangles his messy, unbrushed hair into a low bun, having no energy to do his usual high bun.

He wished he could cut it.

His hand lifts up to touch the body’s face . Shang Qinghua’s face. Shang… Houhua…?

He tries to think about true name.

He remembers projecting himself into his story, the story that he loved so much, even if it devolved into horrible cliché plots that never went anywhere. Even if the stories were left buried under, he still loved this world.

洛梅花

Luò Méihuā

A plum blossom. Blooming in the midst of winter.

Haa…

He feels like he’s wilting. He steps outside of his room, dizzily fumbling with his accessories, the buttons, the sashes messily wrapped around him

He thinks he smells smoke, a Pringly feeling rubbing against his fingers. He remembers the day he dies, the currents and volts electrocuting him. The sound of thunder never used to scare him.

Now he trembles at the sight of a storm. The percentage of getting hit by lighting is low, but it still terrifies him. To die. To feel that excruciating pain, to feel that excruciating loneliness at the same time, it was unbearable.

~~

Feiji blinks, suddenly standing right infront of his office door, a disciple of his holding the side of his shoulder. He remembers watching her stumble around as a young student, her name being on the tip of his tongue. He didn’t write her, he knew this, yet he couldn’t stop the wave of unease.

“Shizun?” She frowned in concern. He tries to smile and pat her head. Her frown doesn’t disappear, but she does scatter out the front gate.

Feiji wonders if Gua-xiong (Cucumber bro) feels like this sometimes. Like the world is floating away against his will.

“Shang-shidi?” He blinks again. A different person steadying the body— he didn’t even know the body was swaying.

Hm… Yue Qingyuan should be pretty and likeable… but no one likes a one-dimensional character. Though, they really don’t care as long as the protag gets their wives huh… hm…

Maybe I can scrap the Xiao Jiu storyline? The sect leader is gonna die anyway… it’ll be super bittersweet.



Yue Qingyuan’s brow was furrowed as he stared at the body. Shang—Hua flinched, remembering the descriptions that he’d thought of to make the pair suffer even more.

“All you do is apologise, and for what!? You left me behind!” Meihua laughed slightly as he wrote Xiao Jiu’s lines, thinking to himself, this will surely satisfy the readers angsty desires!

Meihua grinned with the artist he had commissioned to make official art of the peak lords, “this is exactly what i think they look like in my head, thanks!”

Shang Qinghua opens his mouth—

and chokes on a sob, “S—“

he gasps as his knees buckle beneath him, “Sorry.”

Fortunately, Yue Qingyuan jumps in quickly and reaches out to steady him, lowering him slowly instead of plunging to the ground. “Shang-shidi? What’s wrong? Your disciple ran into me and told me that you were acting weird—“

His eyes go wide though he’s not quite sure why and his hearing suddenly shuts down, muffling everything the worried man is saying.

Feiji is sorry, Yue Qingyuan— he’s sorry—he’s so incredibly sorry—!

—

“Are you sure there’s nothing that could’ve possibly sent him into such a severe qi deviation?” Mu Qifang questioned once more, desperate to get any answers on how to help his patient.

Yue Qingyuan shakes his head, grimacing, “No, the disciple I saw told me that he’s been that quiet since the start of the day.”

He paused thinking for a little longer before sighing, “She did not mention if Lord Mobei had visited either… there was nothing that could have triggered it. And nothing is calming him down.”

Mu Qingfang gazed over to the sobbing man boy, “I wish I knew how to help him.”

“Perhaps we should ask Shen-shidi for assistance. He…”

Yue Qingyuan’s expression closed as he thinks about it, “The two of them has been quite close in the recent years.” He reminds himself to calm down.

Shang Qinghua to him, is like having a younger brother, he could feel totally at ease with the oddly anxious peak lord. Despite that, it’s hard to let go of one’s protective instincts. One day, he hopes his instincts will protect the younger as well.

—

“Hey,” a familiar voice called out from the darkness, “Bro?”

Feiji opens his eyes—he didn’t even know he had closed them— and sees the Scum Villain he had created. His breath hitched, thoughts running at a million miles per hour.

The—The backstory that he had scrapped in order to chase the trends and feed into popular tropes—

“Sh—Shen—“ Feiji stuttered out. Shen Qingqiu softened (!???) his expression, before holding his hand out.

“Hey, it’s okay, it’s just me, Shang-shidi. Mu-shixiong told me that you have—“

shangshidishangshidishangshidi

In a burst of weird emotions, He swats his hand away from him, his voice almost going to a shrieking level, shocking everyone in the room.

“STOP—! That’s not my name—! Please! Shen—Shen—Shidi.”

The two names were fluttering in his mind.

Yuan. Jiu.

He didn’t know what to do anymore. He didn’t understand what was happening anymore.

“Yu—Yuan—xiong please—! That’s— that’s not my name!” He pleaded, “N—Not Shang Qinghua, not Houhua! That’s not me!”

He remembers vaguely the destiny of the body he’s residing in. “He’s not me—“

The two peak lords behind him blink in shock and panic, both frozen, not knowing what to do or say. ‘Yuan…?’

“Okay, I’m sorry, I know you’re not, you’re not him,” Shen Qingqiu nodded comfortingly, “It’s okay, Feiji—ge Gua—xiong is here.”

Feiji shudders at the nickname, one that would usually make him feel safe when it’s Shen Yuan uttering it, yet— all the name does is remind him that he had written all of these characters, all of their suffering, caused by him.

He shakes his head desperately.

Luckily, the man understands. “Alright, this master won’t call you by that name, it’s okay. Can you tell me what you want me to call you?”

It takes a very long time for his mind to catch on, for his mind to send signals on how to respond, he shivers, bowing his head, he grasps at the strings, pulling the cord that would finally make his voice work.

“Meihua— L—Luo Meihua! That’s—“ He sobbed, cutting himself off and desperately clinging to the one person he knew was real. “This one—Gua—Xiong.”

Despite not being good with physical touch, Shen Qingqiu allows the mousy man to grab on as a crutch, he nods along to his mumbles, gesturing Mu Qingfang to help put the panicked and stressed man to rest. “Okay, thank you for telling me Meihua, This one won’t leave you.”

—

“Please. We will explain it all, but please just trust us.” Shen Yuan whispers as the author in his arms falls quiet with his breathing at ease.

—

Blue =Airplane(Feiji)/Meihua(my Airplane’s original name) / & Shen Yuan / Gua-Xiong (cucumber bro)

Green=Shang Qinghua /Shang Houhua( Sqh’s original name?)’s body and original self (or what he perceives to be the original)

also, green refers to SVSSS characters in general and differentiates from real people

It’s honestly super cool I can do this on tumblr

Also side note:

PIDW to Shen yuan feels like Miraculous Ladybug to a lot of fans

it’s so funny

In general, a lot of mlb fans absolutely hate the way Chat and Ladybug is written and I just can’t help but think of Shen Yuan. But at least here, Airplane is likeable haha

[miabebe]

The Legend of The Sea

"You're crying? You must be turning human, the MerFolk don't cry."

"Of course we do. Why do you think the Sea is nothing but salt?"

Pairing: Choi Seungcheol × reader Genre: Heavy Angst, Romance, Implied smut Word count: 14K (completed) A/N: This was supposed to be a very long fic with lots of dialogue and lot of plot but I decided to take a turn and write a shorter version! It's very different from my usual writing style, it would be great to receive your thoughts and comments! I'm considering writing a epilogue if the response is good :) Tags: @xcynthiaaa @dr3aluv5 @unlikelysublimekryptonite @orcasandtea @letsplayitcool @idubutily

It all started the day you woke up on the beach with that unbearable pain searing through you.  

The air was cool, the sand was hot; the seagulls were flying across the blue sky, the sound of the waves was like a beautiful melody – it was like a perfectly painted picture. It should have felt pleasant, it should have felt serene, instead you felt immense pain, like your guts were turning inside out and your chest was being split into two.

And it just wouldn’t stop. Even if you thrashed about in the sand or let out soundless screams clutching your chest, nothing could make the pain stop.  

Except the soft laughter.  

Someone else was here. 

As the pain ebbed at the sound of a voice, fear came rushing in its place.  

Someone else was here.   

Your instincts told you to hide so you did, scrambling to your knees in the sand, crouching behind one of the many large boulders scattered around, trying your best not to be found. And to not let curiosity get the better of you….. until it eventually did.

You allowed yourself to peak, just a little, just to put a face to the voice and instead saw a bouncing fluffy cloud of white. Strange. You didn’t know clouds came down like that. Or that they had eyes, because suddenly, this one looked right at you.

You immediately retreated back into your hiding but it was in vain - within seconds, it made its way over and much to your surprise, jumped right into your lap, covering you in wet, eager licks. You panicked, trying to defend yourself, although it didn’t feel like much of an attack.  

And that was when you saw him.  

First, he was just a silhouette, a dark outline against the sun but when he crouched down to meet your eye, you realised he was the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen. He had such pretty hazel eyes, lighter in the middle, darker on the outside. Then there were the thick, dark eyebrows and thicker darker hair, swept back by the wind. He was wearing a white dress shirt, the first two buttons (unnecessarily) undone, the sleeves (needlessly) pushed up to his elbow. But your eyes were stuck on his lips – red, full of life and moving – he was saying something.   

You can’t hear him, not with the way your stomach was turning and turning and turning and then unable to hold back, you gave in. You turned and doubled up, finally throwing up all that discomfort into the sand, breaking into a fit of cough. The man before you though, wasn’t fazed. Rather, he was efficient, quickly getting up, pulling you away from the mess gently and handed you the bottle of water he had on him. You refused - water was only making you more nauseous.

He didn’t insist, instead he unfolded a large piece of cloth, (later you learnt that it was called a picnic blanket) and threw it over you. It was only its warmth that you realised – unlike him, every bit of your skin was exposed. You held the fabric closer to yourself hoping you could just bury yourself in the sand instead of having to face him – something about the way he looked at you made you feel very vulnerable.  

He then asked if you were feeling okay but only received silence as an answer. The truth was, you weren’t. Not only were you in the middle of nowhere, you had no idea why or how you got there. It seemed like he understood that; like he realised you were lost and needed help. When he got up and held his hand out though, you didn’t take it. Instead, you took support of the boulder behind you and got up on your own, only to lose your footing and stumble right into his arms. You instantly pulled yourself away and took another faltering step and then another, and then fell right back into his arms again. He was amused but didn’t say or do anything except watch you try, ankles sinking in the sand, knees unfaithfully giving away every time, until finally you gave up and took his hand. Slowly and silently, he led you far away from there.  

That day you learnt his name was SeungCheol.  

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

That white cloud, Kkuma, was apparently what humans called a dog.  

While humans efficiently seemed to walk on two legs and could converse for hours, dogs apparently walked on four legs and couldn’t talk. Though you certainly looked like a human, you often wondered if you and Kkuma were the same. You too happened to find long hours of walking and talking difficult and more than anything, you didn’t seem to enjoy the company of other humans that much. That’s why the last one month, you spent most of your time with Kkuma, far away from most people, all the way across the town, in a small settlement between the lake and the mountains, in Seungcheol’s cottage.  

Seungcheol’s home was your safe haven. Rather, Seungcheol was your safe haven.  

When you were with him, when you looked at him, you always forgot that it had been four weeks and you still had no idea who you were, that you had no memories, you had no life.  

Because Seungcheol gave you a life. He taught you to walk the way you saw mothers hold the hands of their little babies, encouraging them to take a step forward. He taught you to read, scribbling away alphabets with you for hours on end, even when little children laughed at you for not understanding. He taught you that a fork was not the same thing as a comb and that water was used to wash yourself, and that fire was hot and burnt things.

He didn’t just teach you things, he cared for you. He noticed you liked the red and filled your wardrobe with red dresses. When you told him you really liked the taste of fish, fish was all he cooked for weeks. Though he never seemed to like being away from Kkuma, his little princess, he would always leave her behind to give you company whenever he left. 

Seungcheol left the house every morning at the break of down. So did most men, you noticed. The lady who lived down the stone pathway told you that men went out to make money while their wives, who stayed at home, cooked for them. That day you tried to cook for the first time, and asked Seungcheol if you were his wife. He laughed, then choked on a fish bone and asked you to leave all the cooking to him from here on and so you did.

Every day, Seungcheol would cook before he left while you stood beside him, watching in awe, handing him whatever he asked for. You usually ate breakfast and lunch with the animals in the stable but you always had dinner with Seungcheol. No matter how long he was gone for, end of the day, he always made it back to you.   

You watched the sun slowly setting behind the mountains. He should be here soon, which was why you shouldn’t be sitting by the lake anymore. Seungcheol always warned you to maintain a safe distance from it, to never go too near. He said it was dangerous, that people drown because they cannot breathe under water. You had seen it.  

When the woodcutter’s young boy fell into the lake a few weeks ago, you watched him thrash in the water, struggling to come up. A few brave people jumped in to save him but the boy never came out again. Everyone in town was scared of the lake, they hated it. Only the old ‘crazy’ lady that lived by the edge of the forest ever went near it. She wasn’t afraid of it; she said the lake was barely dangerous - it was the sea that was bad. That it had terrifying monsters and horrors that should never be uncovered. She liked the lake and honestly, so did you.

You liked how it never really felt cold and how the temperature was always just nice. You liked how all the fish swam up to you whenever you dangled your feet in, sitting by the bank, how at peace it all made you feel.  

But when you saw Hannie in the sky, you immediately pulled your legs out of the water and hid the wetness of your feet under the fabric of your long skirt. Hannie was Seungcheol’s other pet, a pretty, baby white dove. He wasn’t a pet, not really, he belonged to the skies but Hannie loved to follow Seungcheol everywhere and Seungcheol loved it just as much. Actually, the whole town seemed to love white doves – it was on their flags, their shields, their uniforms. Seungcheol said it was the emblem of the kingdom. You had no idea what that meant, and frankly you didn’t care much. All that mattered was that whenever you spotted this little white bird, instantly recognisable by the small tinge of red right in the middle of its chest, it meant Seungcheol was home. As it softly landed on the fence, right before the sun was completely engulfed by the mountains, you heard Seungcheol’s horse and opened the gates to let them in.  

Over dinner, Seungcheol told you about the fight that broke in the marketplace. It’s a funny place the market, something always seemed to be happening there. On the weekends, you would follow him through it as he went vendor to vendor, making his purchases. The people of the market were actually sweet. They would always smile and try to talk to you but you could never bring yourself to talk back, you could never find the right words to say. Instead, you’d simply stare blankly then move closer to Seungcheol, holding on to him. Eventually, they all started assuming you couldn’t speak. You didn’t correct them and looking at your reluctance, neither did Seungcheol. He would simply wave them away, or shoo the kids who seemed to tease you. As long as you were outside, Seungcheol would never leave your side or your hand.  

You didn’t like going out very much, the big crowds and all those loud noises were always highly uncomfortable but the few times Seungcheol insisted you come with him and said it would be fun, it was actually not that bad. He took you to the town’s lights festival, where every inch of the streets and houses was covered with the prettiest coloured lights, and also to the annual horse racing competition which was exhilarating beyond belief. Your favourite though was children’s drama day, when the little kids of the town participated in skits looking a lot, lot smaller than the original characters were supposed to be. He didn’t though, take you to that big feast that happened in the castle. You didn’t really mind – something about the castle was just very unnerving.  

It stood tall and proud, all the way at the edge of the town, up a long winding route, at the edge of the cliff, looking down at the sea waters. Initially you had no idea what a castle even was, but over time you learnt that it was where the king lived. The king was the most important person in the town and supposedly the kindest, wisest and strongest man too. If you didn’t know better, you would have thought Seungcheol was the king. Afterall, he helped everyone in the neighbourhood, he solved the fights in the markets, he protected the settlement from the wild dogs and other beasts of the forest. But Seungcheol was not the king. The king lived in the castle and Seungcheol lived with you.  

After dinner, like every other day, you sat in Seungcheol’s study, practicing writing your alphabets as he went through endlessly long scrolls of his own. Today when you handed him your work, he scolded you yet again for rushing through the last few lines. You knew you shouldn’t have but you can never help it because the faster you finished, the sooner Seungcheol would read to you. Granted you knew how to read now but you weren’t really good at it, not everything made sense. The small books were easy but they were boring - it was always about animals and children and other things. The big books were where everything interesting was.  

Every night before you went to sleep, Seungcheol would bring out a book, sitting down by the fireplace and you would curl up next to him, leaning over as he read to you. Sometimes he would read out history, recounts of great wars and heroes and sometimes about legends, the fire breathing dragons, sea monsters, fairies in the woods. While you listened to all of them with the same fascination and curiosity, a selected few made you feel somewhat…..different – the ones about true love. About two people fighting all odds to be together. About two people wanting to be with each other more than anything.

Whenever Seungcheol read those to you, you somehow saw yourself in those words. Or rather, those words in you. You found that ‘quickening heartbeat’ whenever your hand brushed against the man beside you. His compliments made the ‘heat in your cheeks rise’. There was a constant ‘nervous fidgeting of the fingers’ when you were around him and sharing of the ‘secret glances’. Even now as he was reading you were looking at him, at the way his lips were moving and how soft they looked and wondering how much softer they would feel against yours.

When Seungcheol turned to you, sensing your eyes on him, meeting them without hesitation, you could have leaned in, you could have found out. But you didn’t; you didn’t dare. Instead, you looked down at the book, at the pictures of the prince and princess dancing, wondering if you too had a happily ever after written in your fate.  

Maybe it was, because a few days later, when Seungcheol looked at you like that again, you didn’t hold back anymore. You didn’t want to. This time you leaned in, gently pressing your lips onto his, discovering much to your relief that they were indeed every bit as soft as they looked. His eyes widened when you pulled back immediately, but he didn’t say or do anything. Then a silence followed, heavy with confusion and anticipation and so many other things that you couldn’t quite fathom so you quickly excused yourself from there stating it might rain and you forgot to close your bedroom windows.

As you shut the doors of your room behind you, hand on your chest, you felt your heart racing away but you should have been at peace, right? You had finally plucked up the courage and satiated all that bubbling curiosity. Instead, you felt like you were going to lose your mind – now that you had a taste, you wanted more.   

Days passed before you finally kissed him again.

It was on a rainy night and you were sitting closer to him than usual, as though the fire was not enough to keep you warm. It started the same way, first a few stolen glances, then a long silent stare and then you were kissing him, soft and sweet but this time he pulled back and you didn't let him. Instead you grabbed a fistful of his shirt, holding him close, whispering that you wanted to do it again. He listened, kissing you back but it was different this time and god did it set off something in you.

His lips became demanding, and his hands were everywhere - in your hair, running down your back, on your waist. He took your breath away, quite literally because he just wouldn't stop and you couldn’t breathe. You didn't want to either but after what felt like eternity, you had to break apart, feeling all giddy. Seungcheol then gave you the brightest smile and one last peck. 

That went on for many more days. Sometimes it was sweet and simple, sometimes hot and heavy. Initially the books were your only witness then there were more. The peaking sun as he gave you a peak before he left in the mornings, the pots and pans of the kitchen while he focused on you instead of the burning bread, and kkuma, when he forgot to seek while she hid, his attention on your mouth instead. Everything was going blissful.

Then one day Seungcheol didn't come home even after the sun set.

You waited by the gate for a long time, but neither Hannie, nor Seungcheol, nor his horse could be seen. That was the first night you spent alone - shivering in the cold and terrified. The storms had begun outside, the rain was drowning everything in its way and as each hour passed, you sunk deeper and deeper into despair.

Even when the sun came up again the rain didn't stop, the pain didn't stop. Though you hadn't slept or eaten in hours you only thought about him. Even kkuma got tired of waiting and curled up in the warmest spot in the house but you stood by the door the whole time until you couldn't anymore.  

Not when you saw finally saw Hannie in the sky but Seungcheol didn't follow. That was when you knew something was terribly wrong. You immediately grabbed a lamp and were ready to set off to find him on your own when you saw the paper tied to the bird’s little foot. I'll be back soon it read in the handwriting you recognised was Seungcheol's, a wave of relief crashing over you.  

But it took very, very long for 'soon’ to come.

The rain had stopped, the sun had set, the sky had cleared and the stars were pitifully watching the way you sat against the door, desperately fighting your eyes threatening to fall shut. That was when you felt Seungcheol's hand on your face, gently tucking your hair behind your ear.  

You instantly got up, throwing yourself into his arms and for the first time ever, broke down, sobbing into his chest. He held you like that for as long as you didn't let him go, softly patting you, telling you it was okay, and that he's home. There was apparently a landslide near the mountains and he had to help the people stuck there but you didn't care what his reasons were. You were never going to let him go ever again, you'd fight the sun from coming up tomorrow morning if needed.

Seungcheol simply laughed and said first you should fight your stomach, it seemed like it was struggling in there. It was only when you admitted you hadn't eaten since last night that he let you go and walked into the kitchen to whip you a quick morsel.

That night he said he was too tired to read to you. Instead, he placed a soft kiss on your forehead with an apology and was about to retire to his room when you held him by the hand, scared to let him go again. He tried to comfort you but the tears just wouldn’t stop, not until he cupped your cheek and kissed you, whispering about how he missed this, how he missed you. You confessed that you did too, and his absence made you feel terrible, like never before.

Let me make you feel good then he said. But if he wanted to help you, why did it seem like he was pleading? Like if you didn't agree he would lose it? So you agreed, letting him do whatever he wanted, whatever he needed.

His mouth was hot on yours, hands wandering all over and when they tugged the strings of your dress, you let out an inaudible gasp against his lips. He swallowed your words, undressing you slowly, with his hands and his eyes. You felt so bare, so exposed yet you didn't feel like hiding from him - you wanted him to explore you however he could and god did he do it.

If you thought his mouth on yours felt good, the places he put it now were wild. It was like he somehow knew every sensitive bit of your skin and went straight for it. He wasn't lying, this was better than good, it felt euphoric. He unravelled you with his touch, his hands in places even you hadn't felt yourself. You wanted more, you wanted so much more and he gave it, over and over again, letting you feel every inch of him, reaching as deep inside you as he could, like any distance between the both of you was unbearable. You let him consume you in his fire as the pain turned to a pleasure like never before, a coil tightening in the pits of your being. The both of you whispered each other’s names for as long as you could hold it until you finally let go and so did he, filling you with every last essence of him. As you laid side by side breathless, staring at the roof, you saw the stars have come down, swirling across the ceiling and you fell into a deep slumber.  

When you woke up that morning, the sun was almost right on top of the cottage, half the day having already passed. Seungcheol didn't leave that day, instead he was right there, pressed against your back, wrapping you in his embrace, your limbs messily tangled with each other’s. When you tried to free yourself from him, he pulled you closer, burying his face in your neck, taking in as much of you as he could before he said he had to leave again. I'll come back to you, he promised and you did not let him see how tears brimmed in your eyes as you waved him away.

After that day though, you never cried again. Or ever slept in your own bedroom. Like promised every night Seungcheol returned to you and every night you lay between the sheets together, some days making love, some days simply talking and laughing away, some days just drifting away to sleep in each other’s arms. It truly felt like happily every after but you forgot, happily ever after was only for fairytales.

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

It was just another normal day. The both of you had woken up as usual to the crowing of the rooster before dawn. You gathered the vegetables in the garden while Seungcheol made the most wonderful soup, perfect for a cold day. After he kissed you goodbye and left, you cleaned the stables, drew water from the well, tended to the garden, washed up, donned your favourite red dress, ate lunch, took a nap, played with kkuma, and finally, sat by the lake again, trying to catch your breath. It was the same routine as the last eight weeks.  

As you unconsciously plucked on the grass, your mind couldn’t help but wander back to a question that had been plaguing you these days. Was this all your life was going to be? The same routine, waking up everyday knowing it was going to be the exact same as yesterday and will be the exact same as tomorrow? Sure, you loved Seungcheol and Kkuma and Hannie and this little life you had built together, but you couldn’t help but think if you were made for something more. This couldn’t be it right?  

It wasn’t. And you were moments away from finding out.

You were so lost in thought, you didn’t notice Hannie in the sky until he landed right next to you, making you hurriedly jump to your feet to get away from the lake only for your damned dress to get tangled between your feet, making you fall right into the waters. Thank God Seungcheol had reached just in time to see you disappear under the surface and immediately dived in. Using all his might he pulled you up before you were lost in the depths, coughing and catching his breath as he crawled onto the bank.

That was the first day things went very, very differently.  

Instead of greeting Seungcheol like you usually did every day, you shivered, walking away into the house to dry yourself. You didn’t change into another red dress but a blue on this time that made even Seungcheol raise an eyebrow in surprise. Dinner was not the same too. The kimchi which never ran out had finally run out, there was apparently no fish in the market today and seungcheol bought eggs for the first time. When he insisted you would like the taste, you tried it and you indeed did like it, a lot. He grinned at you and said you could always trust his word but how could you anymore? 

He told you to stay away from the lake, that people couldn’t breathe under it but when you fell in, you could. In there you felt, if not more, just as alive and breathing and the water – it spoke to you. At first you were sure you were dying - you should have listened to Seungcheol, you should have stayed away but here you were in the middle of the lake, so close to death that you were hallucinating voices. But when you realised you were actually breathing, you listened. 

Finish your mission Y/n. Finish the mission and you can become who you really are again. You can join the waters again. 

You didn’t understand.  

That night instead of a fairytale, you ask Seungcheol to tell you about the legend of the sea again so he did.

Centuries ago, back when there was magic on Land, there was an ancient war between two of the most powerful kingdoms of Earth – the Chois and the Kangs. They battled tirelessly, day and night, for months to the point where uncountable bodies began piling, resources began running out and even the heavens begged them to stop - there would be nothing left of the Earth this way. But that’s the thing about power – relinquishing it was not an option.  

Finally, one unfortunate day, the Chois gained an upper hand in battle, forcing the Kangs to seek refuge in hiding. The Kangs though, disappeared overnight - though the Chois searched every corner of Land, they could not find them. It was only when they sort to use magic to find them that victors of the battle realised, they had lost their most prized possession – the Sceptre. The sceptre was like the motherboard of all magic on Earth – it was the source. After years of combing every inch of Land, the Chois finally came to the conclusion that the Kangs and the Sceptre were in the one place that no one on Land could reach – The Sea.  

Indeed, powered by magic, the entire kingdom of the Kangs and all those who stood by their side had retreated into the ocean, making a life for themselves there. Using the magic, they kept themselves alive, preparing once again to battle for what they believed was rightfully theirs. But the Earth could not take another war, at this rate, nothing would be left and so, the Council of the Land and the Council of the Sea were formed, to keep peace between both kingdoms. After months of debate, both councils came to a Pact.

The Kangs were allowed to keep the magic but were forbidden from ever stepping on Land. The very magic they stole was used to strip them of their ability to breath air, forcing them to stay in the waters for life. The Chois on the other hand, were allowed to rule Land but were never to see magic again – the Land would not know of it and would not use it anymore. And most importantly, the Land and the Sea were never to meet. Every single ship in sight was burnt, boats were torn apart, walls were built at the border of every coastal city.  

Over generations, not only did the Land never interact with the Sea but they began to fear it, malicious stories of monsters and merpeople making their way into children’s bedtime stories and fairytales. A few brave, rebellious souls would try to break The Pact and venture into the Sea but no one really lived to tell the tale.

Seungcheol said that there will never be anyone with a tale to tell because like all legends, this too was no more than just a story and a speculation. But for the first time, you don’t believe him.  

Instead, you think merpeople truly do exist and as impossible as it sounded, you might just be one of them

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

You looked at the pretty red dress you had laid out on the bed for today.  

Today was important for more than one reasons.

Today was the annual citizen’s banquet, which meant it was the first time you were going to the castle. Today was also the first time you were going to see the king and most importantly, today was also probably the day you were going to find out who you really are.  

You didn’t tell Seungcheol about what happened that day in the lake. Maybe because he believed that the Legend of the Sea was not true or because you yourself were not sure you entirely believed it, but somehow you, who told Seungcheol about everything, didn’t tell him about this. You needed more confirmation first, you needed to go into the lake once more.

But surprisingly, the lake you once liked so much looks more daunting now. You were not afraid of drowning, rather you were afraid what being able to survive the waters would mean. You kept avoiding it, telling yourself one day you couldn’t go in there because you had to brine the vegetables and that you had to bathe the cows or whatever other excuse you could find until one day all the chores were over and you ran out of excuses. You had to go in now.  

Carefully looking around to make sure there was no one in sight, you sat down on the bank, put a foot first, then the other, then slowly lowered yourself in, submerging into the waters, kkuma’s barks fading out, the voices taking over.  

Finish your mission Y/n and join the waters again.  

It was true.  

You weren’t imagining things, you were indeed breathing in there, the voices were real, everything was ridiculously real. It didn’t make any sense but it also really did. The water felt like home, like you belonged. You could swim much faster, better than you could walk. You felt stronger, more powerful, more like you in there. Even though the lake looked like it held darkness, you could clearly see everything below – the animals, the plants, the life, all of it. Oh, you wanted to join the waters, you wanted to be here forever.

But when you opened your mouth to ask what the mission was, only the gurgling sound of bubbles left you. Somehow just the thought was enough because you heard the answer soon enough and it sent a chill down your spine.  

Kill the King.  

You looked at yourself in the mirror, donning your dress.

The price for finding out who you were was to kill the king, the most important man in the town.

You couldn’t.

Taking the life of another could not be the price of your truth. So, you had decided to forget about it. It was wrong and unethical and whoever asked you of that had clearly lost their mind except….. it was you.

The more you thought about it, the more you could not deny it – the voice in the lake was your own, as though you had left yourself a message, a reminder. Why on Earth would you want to kill the king? Then again, how did you, someone who clearly belonged to The Sea, find themselves on land? Why was it that you remembered nothing?

Maybe killing the king had a bigger purpose, a noble one, after all, all kings were not necessarily good.  

You had to find out. You had to meet him and see for yourself.

And as though the universe was aligning things into place for you, the night you decided to ask Seungcheol about visiting the castle, he mentioned that the king was arranging a grand banquet to which all citizens of the town were invited. He said if you were not comfortable you didn’t have to go but you cut him off much to his surprise, insisting that you want to attend.  

That’s how days later you found yourself standing at the gates of the castle as the crowd of town poured into the estate on either side of you. Seungcheol was supposed to pick you up tonight but instead there was a carriage waiting for you, with a message relayed by the footman that he got caught up in something and will meet you in the banquet.

The banquet was arranged in a large hall right in the middle of the castle and it was perhaps the most stunning place you had ever seen. The stone walls were covered in drapes of red and purple, the large windows shining with the views of prettily trimmed gardens. There were beautiful paintings everywhere, statues of men in armour and food of all kinds being serve around. Almost the whole town fraternised under the large golden chandelier, each dressed better than the other, chattering away in small whispers. You stayed near the large pillars of stone, as far away from the crowd as possible, eyes still looking for Seungcheol, ears trying to tune out all that people were saying around you.  

But you couldn’t ignore the loud sound of the trumpet as it echoes through the hall, followed by an announcement that the King had arrived. As your heart thumped away in your chest, he appeared, at the top of the stairs that led down into the hall, dressed in what you thought was rather simple for a king. You wanted to move closer to get a better look as he descended down the stairs but you realised everyone around you was bowing down to him so you mirrored it, staring at the white marble of the floor. Its only when a pair of pretty leather shoes appear right before you that you allow yourself to look up, facing the one person you were to see tonight – the king.

He was nothing like you hoped. He didn’t look malicious, or evil or like he was even capable of doing something wrong. He had the kindest eyes, crinkled with crows’ feet as he smiled at you so warmly, you felt nothing but comfort. Only one other person in this whole town ever made you feel safe like that. From the looks of his salt and pepper hair, he looked like he was aging, and the wisdom that came with time also shone on his face. He smiled so pleasantly, didn’t dress in a way that showed off all his wealth, and didn’t seem to harbour any sort of superiority because the moment the music swelled to life, he held his hand out to ask you, a commoner, for a dance.  

The whole town looked at you as though they were waiting so you placed your hand on his, letting him lead you to the middle of the floor as everyone else immediately moved to pick partners of their own.

Seungcheol had taught you how to dance. When you expressed your interest to go to the banquet, he told you there would also be a dance accompanying it and showed you how it was done. He was so patient with you, even though you stepped on his foot and banged his head with yours a few hundred times, bursting into a string of apologies whenever you did. But he only laughed, holding you close and dancing with you through the rainy night. You wondered where he was right now but that was the least of your worries considering you were dancing with the man you were deemed to kill and to your absolute disappointment, you could not find one reason to do so.  

You hoped so hard that you were right, that the king was a bad man and you were given this mission to make things right but he wasn’t. As much as you tried to not eavesdrop, you still heard whatever the people around you were whispering away. They were all in praises of him. They said he was a great man and under his ruling, the town was doing better than ever. They said the harvest was good thanks to him, that the they were safe from invasion thanks to him and were all living well thanks to him.

A part of you knew they were right – you had seen how happy and peaceful the townspeople always were, something that was only possible if they were in good hands. You could see for yourself what a wonderful man the king seemed to be and how everyone truly seemed to love and cherish him.

But a part of you didn’t want to believe that. You had to find a reason, something had to be wrong, you needed to justify why killing him was important. That was the only way to find out who you are.  

And as though the universe which had been so helpful so far decided now was the time to create chaos, the trumpet echoes through the hall again, announcing the arrival of the crown prince. When you see the person standing at the top of the stairs, you instant freeze, feeling your guts twist the way they did the first time you ever saw him – Seungcheol.  

Seungcheol was a prince. He was the crown prince of this land which meant he was the first born of the king.

That meant...... your mission was to kill the father of the man you loved.

As the townspeople gathered in the gardens below, you stood in a balcony of the castle, looking at the stars dancing in the sky.  

The whole night you had been feeling nothing but numb. The moment Seungcheol had appeared you excused yourself from the king, rushing out of the hall, trying not to throw up. Seungcheol immediately followed asking if you were okay but you didn’t answer. You did not see things unfolding this way. Not only did you not find a single reason why you had to kill the King, now you had one for why you shouldn’t do it.  

Seungcheol asked again, looking for answers in your expression but you just looked away, muttering that you had no idea he was the prince. He said he wasn’t trying to hide it from you, he just didn’t think about it. The whole town knew he was the crown prince so he never had to introduce himself that way. Besides, he didn't like to his status as royalty to define him so he didn’t usually mention it to anyone. As far as why he didn’t live in the castle was concerned, he started living in the cottage when he was 14 years old. That house was his mother’s, before the king and her fell in love and got married. After she passed away in the childbirth of her second child, he moved there so he could feel closer to her. His father too thought it was good for him to live among his subjects, to learn their problems and to gain their trust.  

You had nothing but silence to offer in return. It was all too much, all at once.  

The loud whispers of the town started fading out as the King walked in, standing among them. Seungcheol didn’t look too happy as he stared at the scene below him. He said he was worried about his father. You felt that churning feeling in your stomach once again. He said that he was getting old and it was getting harder for him to negotiate with neighbouring kingdoms, to keep war at bay. You didn’t understand what he meant.

He claimed the town was happy now but 3 months ago, nothing was going well. Their kingdom was under attack, everyone’s lives were threatened, the future looked very bleak. The king had somehow managed to save everyone then but unknown to the people, it was temporary. His father tried his best to negotiate and talk to the neighbouring kingdoms but there was no use – war has been declared against them yet again and he was worried King Choi was not strong enough for battle.

You held his hand stroking the back of it softly. He then apologised to you, confusing you even more. You asked him why but you had an idea already – he was taking his father’s place in war; he was going to lead the army.  

You felt as though someone pulled the ground below your feet and Seungcheol’s grip on your hand was the only thing saving you from falling. As crown prince it was his duty and you knew and understood but the thought of being away from him again was killing you on the inside. He said he wouldn’t be gone for long but you know what war meant - there was no guarantee of him even returning.

You hugged him shaking your head, refusing to let him go or insisting that he take you along with him but he simply hugged you back claiming that was not possible, it was dangerous. He told you to move to the castle while he was gone. Here you would be taken care of, you wouldn’t be lonely and most importantly, you would have the chance to get closer to his father.

You froze.  

Seungcheol let you go, making you sit on the moss-covered stone bench, sitting next to you. He said he wanted to leave you in good hands in case he didn’t make it back. You refused to listen to anything else, he promised he would always come back to you, that meant he had to come back. He laughed at your futile stubbornness, tucking your hair behind your ear, looking at you with a strange longing. You give him a soft peck on his lips to let him know he had no reason to long for you, you were always his. He pulled you in for more, taking your face in his hands, his mouth desperate against yours, like it was the last time, like a silent goodbye etched in his kiss.

It was only when the applause rang downstairs that he let you go, pressing his forehead on yours, sighing. You felt tears threaten your eyes once again as he caressed your cheek with his thumb softly, like he was trying to memorise how your face felt under his touch. He said he wished he had longer with you, he wished had done this earlier and slid onto the gravel floor onto his knees, looking up at you softly.  

Marry me, he whispered, holding your hands. 

You stared at him wordlessly as the sky behind you came alive with lights, fireworks prettily burning against the black canvas of the night. Maybe a few days ago if he asked you would have said yes without him even needing to finish. You would marry him right there and then but now you were torn. Kill the King. The words were constantly ringing in your head. How could you marry him if your mission was to…..  

He understood your silence as hesitance, saying you didn’t have to answer now, you could tell him when he returned - that way he would have something he had to come back for. He then pulled out a small necklace from his pocket, making you wear it, saying it was a reminder of him while he was away. You touched the pendant, feeling it with your fingers. It wasn’t like any jewel you had ever seen - it didn’t shine, it was an odd shape and it looked rather dull. He said it was a shell and it was from the sea.  

If he noticed your shocked reaction and stuttering as you asked him how he got it , he didn’t mention it. Instead, he answered that there was a path from behind his cottage that led to the other side of the forest, to a sea cave where land and sea met fearlessly. Before you came into his life, that was his favourite place to go - he often spent his free time there and that’s where he found this.  

You wonder if it’s a sign from the universe, receiving a part of the ocean at a time when you didn’t know what to choose.  

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The next morning, trumpets rang through the entire town, announcing that the neighbouring kingdom had declared war and the crown prince was leading the army to fight. People spilled onto the streets to watch the armoured and determined cavalry going to serve their kingdom, Seungcheol leading the troop all the way in front on his horse. You stood at the highest terrace of the castle, watching him leave, going further and further away, until the distance engulfed him and you couldn’t see him anymore. You barely had him to yourself for five minutes in the morning to say goodbye before he was called away. You convinced yourself that all this was temporary anyways, he would come back.  

With a heavy heart, you walked down the wide corridors of the palace, kkuma following your every step. You lived here now. Seungcheol had people shift your few things from the cottage to his room in the castle. Though the bed was beyond comfortable and the room was bigger than the whole cottage you lived in previously, you didn’t spend much time in there. Instead, you roamed around the gardens and corridors or stepped out into the marketplace that you never ventured in without Seungcheol by your side. Any place was better than his room. It reeked of loneliness and most importantly, it overlooked the sea. As much as the breeze gave you unexplainable comfort, it was also a constant reminder of your mission.  

As time passed, you found yourself less and less inclined to fulfilling your task. You tried your best to not let yourself be swayed but in vain – you could not help but like the king. He was nothing but welcoming and kind to you. Maybe Seungcheol told him or maybe it was just a constant in the Choi family, but he insisted that every night you join him for dinner. He would ask about your day and make light conversation, but unlike Seungcheol, he would retire early to bed. He was sick. You could see in the way he coughed through his meal, the way his eyes keep fluttering shut in tiredness towards the end of the night. Yet he did all he could to make sure you were alright.

He introduced you to the library in the castle and if you thought Seungcheol’s study had a large collection of books, this place was massive. Books were lined all the way up till the ceiling, there were all sorts of maps and globes scattered all over the room, shelfs lined with little trinkets and souvenirs from his travels. The King explained that Seungcheol like his mother, loved to explore and like him, loved science and this library was where it all came together. He used to be unstoppable ever since he was a child and his curiosity always landed him in trouble – the whole town was banned from stepping on the beach but nothing could stop him. He always wanted to explore the sea.  

It surprised you to learn about Seungcheol’s fascination with the sea because he had always told you to stay away from water, that it was dangerous. You spent days of your time in that library, going through his journals and drawings, but didn’t really understand all the scribbles of notes he had jotted everywhere. You did see on the map though, the location of the sea cave that Seungcheol had mentioned about, wondering if you could get any answers there, but somehow you could never bring yourself to go. The answers of the questions you had so far had not been pleasant.  

Then one day as you sat on the wooden floor of the sunlit room studying what looked like drawings of some strange contraption, Hannie appeared in the sky.  

You immediately got up, running out of the room, down the corridor, up the stairs, all the way to the top, to try and see Seungcheol reappear where you last saw him.

He didn’t.

Clouds made their way, covering the strong sun, submerging the town in a strange gloom. It all felt too apocalyptic. You rushed to find the King, learning that he was holding court, making your way to the hall, stopping right by the door and hiding yourself to overhear the discussion.

The Chois were ambushed.

More than half the forces were dead or injured, many were missing and as though your greatest fear came true, Seungcheol was missing too. He was also very badly injured and no one had seen or heard from him in two days, it was highly likely he succumbed to his injuries. You refused to believe it. He said he would come back to you, which meant he would, you believed him. But no one else seemed to share the same faith as you. They were going to give up, surrender the throne to prevent an attack on the town itself. That was when to everyone’s surprise you barged in.

You insisted nothing was wrong with Seungcheol and they had to find him and finish this war. They tried to reason with you, tell you the facts but you refused to hear it. You questioned how they could give up so soon and why they aren’t even trying to find him. They claimed they had to clear out from enemy territory, that it could be dangerous going back there. You turned to the King hoping you could at least reason with him but his tired old face looks like he’s already mourning his son.  You ran out of there, unable to come to terms with what was happening.

You would find him yourself if that’s what it took.

Rushing to the royal stables, you picked the horse that looked the strongest and forced its gates open, ignoring the crimson bleeding out of your hand as you cut it on the metal. Before the poor stable boy could stop you, you mounted it, riding out of the palace, into the unprepared town. People hurriedly ran out of the way, pulling their carts and children to the side, nothing but wind left behind as you raced through. You had your eyes on Hannie flying in the sky above you. You knew it could lead you to him, you just had to follow. You were almost successful in crossing the gates of the town, into the woods, when the royal guards caught up, surrounding you.

The head of security begged you to stop, that you were putting the kingdom in more jeopardy and you couldn’t let your desire to protect one man affect everyone. You wanted to argue, tell him that you didn’t care about anyone else and to insist that they let you go but when you turned and saw all the people stepping out of their houses to see what the commotion is, you let go the reins of the horse. Yes, finding Seungcheol was most important to you, but not at the cost of so many people’s lives. You knew better than that, you could never be that selfish.

As though Hannie sympathised, it landed on your softly shoulder, nuzzling your neck, cooing in your ear. You took him in your hands, the bloodied hand further darkening the red on its chest, a thought forming in your mind. You smudge the blood onto your fingertips, tracing a word onto its white, a word that you knew would bring Seungcheol back to you. As you set it free hoping it would find him, you watch the yes etched on it, praying to the skies that when it returns, Seungcheol follows it like always.  

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You didn’t return to the castle after that.  

Turning your horse in the other direction, you rode to Seungcheol’s cottage by the woods, the only place you felt close to him. The big room and big bed of the castle might be physically comfortable but nothing made you feel at peace like this house, your safe haven. You were curled up in the bed for hours now as the sun slowly began to descend behind the mountains. You just had to give it time. You kept telling yourself it wasn’t a matter of if Seungcheol returned but when. He would come back for you, he would fight all odds and come back, you knew it.  

The sound of the horses neighing at a distance made you sit up. The royal guards must be here to escort you back to the castle now that it was getting darker outside. You didn’t want to go. You couldn’t stand being in that castle again.

Grabbing the oil lantern nearby, you soundlessly left through the back door, kkuma following you just as quietly. You thought you could just wait it out until the guards didn’t find you and returned to the castle but when kkuma began wandering away, you had no choice but to follow her. Not listening to your hushed whispers, with a mind of her own, she ventured into the forest and thoughtlessly, you followed. It’s only when the trees parted that you realised where you were – the sea cave.  

You didn’t know what you were expecting when Seungcheol mentioned about this place but it was beyond beautiful. The crystal blue waves were racing back and forth on the golden sand, the stone wall of the caves were gradients of brown rocks and green weeds. There were holes eroded onto the roof, the evening sun softly pouring in and in that soft light you noticed in the corner, folded are some blankets and books that clearly belonged to Seungcheol – he indeed must have spent a long time here. Kkuma settled herself down in the warmth of the bundled cloths, as you placed the lantern on a nearby rock and kicked your shoes off, feeling the warm sand under your feet.  

The water was inches away. The Ocean, the place that, if you had assumed right, was your home. Every bone in your body was craving to be in it, to submerge in it, to just feel alive in it once again. You walked ahead, taking one step after another, but the closer you moved to the waters, the further it seemed to be moving away from you. You quickened your steps, but the Sea kept retreating, pulling away. It surprised you to receive such hostility from waters that always looked so welcoming but not more than the voice that boomed through the cave, making you look around in panic. There was no one, you were all alone and kkuma too was fast asleep, like she didn’t hear anything. When you turned back to the sea, you bit back a scream, coming face to face with a woman, whose eyes were piercing into you, her lips curled into a smile as her voice echoed through the cave again. 

I see you’ve finally found your way home.  

Pain like no other seared through your head, making you fall to your knees in agony, your dress fanning out in the sand. As the woman bent down to your level, you scrambled back, swallowing the phantom lump in your throat, taking a better look at her. Holding a staff in one hand, she looked as old as time, her white hair and ragged clothes floating like she was still in the waters and that’s when you realised, she wasn’t actually here – it was apparition, like… magic. As though she read your mind, she confirmed it indeed was magic, that she controlled all the magic of the Sea - she was after all the Sea Witch.  

You recalled Seungcheol’s story about how the Sea had taken away magic from the Land, watching the legend come to life before you as the woman floated a few feet above the ground, looking at you expressionlessly. Who am I? Do I belong to the Sea? Why am I on Land?  You knew she was the only one who could possibly have the answers and she did - for a price.  

She pointed at the shell on your neck, claiming it belonged to the Sea – give it back and you could have all the answers you wanted. You held it in your grasp; it was the only thing of Seungcheol’s you had with you. You could either lose it and learn who you are or keep it and walk away, return to the castle. You could let your forgotten past remain forgotten and think only about the future with Seungcheol.  

But is there a future? She asked, reading your mind yet again. You knew what she meant. Seungcheol went to war and people died in war all the time. If he did not make it back, you had no place on Land, no home, no one to call your own. But if you were to find out who you truly are, you could then return to where you truly belonged. You tightened your grip on the shell, the pressure opening your wound, the blood spilling again. Giving up this necklace meant admitting to the possibility that Seungcheol will not return. How did that make you any different from all the others in the court who you lashed out at? 

The Sea Witch looked at you fighting your own battle in your head. She held out her hand saying if it was meant to be, then Seungcheol would return to you, regardless of whether you had this necklace or not. You know she’s playing you but give in, ripping the chain from your throat and throwing it into the waters, watching it sink into the dark bottom.  

The waves which seemed so afraid of you, raised themselves, almost as though bowing to you and the Sea Witch mirrored their action before straightening and looking up but this time, respectfully not meeting your eye.  

What do you seek, Princess of the Ocean.  

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You held the dagger in your hand tight, hands not shaking as you approached the dining room.  

The moment you returned to the castle, the maids had told you dinner was served and the king was waiting for you. You washed up and changed out of your sand filled clothes into one of your usual red dresses. Maybe there was a reason why you liked red so much – maybe deep down you knew you needed to hide the blood on your hands somewhere.  

You had to kill the King tonight.  

You stood in front of the large doors, the dagger that the Sea Witch gave in your hands, hiding efficiently in the large fabric of your dress. Once you stepped in, everything would change. You would become the killer of Seungcheol’s father, but you would also finally be fulfilling your duty to your people, the MerFolk.  

The Sea Witch told you the story from when it all began. The legends were all true. The merfolk were real, the life under the sea was real, everything you had experienced was real. 3 months ago, you were a part of the Sea, living a carefree life as the youngest princess of the royal family. Then one move by King Choi and everything changed.  

Over the centuries even though the entire ocean was ruled by just one family, without the power of magic, land had split into many Kingdoms and many rulers. Unlike the peace in the Sea, Land was always at war with itself, neighbouring kingdoms attacking and occupying towns – they never got rid of the battle they thought they won. One such battle happened three months ago at the Kingdom of the Chois where they were invaded by their neighbours, the Hans. At the brink of losing war, King Choi did the unthinkable – he set sail.

His deep interest in the Sea, that his son eventually inherited, had led him to spend years of his youth designing and building ships, the last of which had been burned during the Pact. The Sea allowed his soldiers to take an alternative route to attack their invaders and drive them out but the moment the ships had touched the ocean waters, years of peace dissolved into chaos.  

As the calm waters were shaken, towns under the Sea began falling apart – many merfolk died, many lost their homes, many lost their way back and among all the tragedies, the greatest one was losing your mother, the Queen.  

Her death left the entire Ocean without a leader, without a protector. Your sister, the oldest in the family, who had been trained for years to take over as queen was missing, like many others in the aftermath. The kingdom waited for days for her to show up until it was not practical to anymore – the ocean needed rebuilding, it needed leadership and guidance. As the only one left in the royal family, you had offered to take your mother’s place as queen but the Council of the Sea refused. You were young and inexperienced and unlike your sister, you were not trained to take over the Kingdom. They wanted to hand the Sea to the Hwangs, another family who had their eye on the throne for centuries now and were willing to take up the responsibility of the Ocean.  

You couldn’t let that happen, not only would it crush your mother’s dreams if the Kang lineage of rulers ended with her but also the Hwangs were notoriously famous for their aggressiveness. Under their hands, there was no saying what the future of the Ocean would look like. The citizens of the sea protested too – they were all on your side, they wanted you to rule and so the Council of the Sea and the Hwangs agreed – if you could prove yourself worthy.  

Kill the King of the Land.  

Blood for blood. Get revenge for the destruction of the Sea, that was the order. That was the price for you to get back your kingdom and 100 days was all you had to do it.

That’s when they called on the Sea Witch. Breathing on Land for 100 days would require very powerful and ancient magic, something only she was capable of. But it would not be so straightforward. The process would be excruciatingly painful, almost like becoming a new person, like being born again - quite literally because it would wipe out all your memories, everything you know of the Sea would be taken away. You would be sent to Land like a blank slate.  

That meant you had 100 days to go on Land, figure out who you were, learn of your mission and complete it. Should you fail, not only would you lose your kingdom, but the waters had no forgiveness for those who disobeyed magic so ancient – you would join them again, but as sea foam.  

Today was day 92. You only had 8 days left.  

You pushed open the doors of the dining hall, eyes falling on the King tiredly slouched in his chair waiting for you. He must’ve fallen asleep because he didn’t move when you approached. You looked at face responsible for the death of your mother, the disappearance of your sister, the destruction of your kingdom and you felt numb. You still couldn’t bring yourself to hate him, but you also couldn’t walk away. Yes, if only he didn’t bring out his ships you wouldn’t have lost so much, you wouldn’t be here but you know like any other good king, he did it to save his people. And now you had to do whatever it took to save yours.  

And then fate smirked.

Just as you raised the knife and were about to plunge it in his chest, you heard the fluttering sound of wings and on the balcony landed Hannie, looking more red than white. The knife slipped from your hands, landing on the floor with a thud as the king stirred awake. His guards burst into the room as the royal trumpets echoed through the night. You rushed to Hannie in the balcony, the one that overlooked the town, and saw the oil lanterns of the houses, slowly increase in number, getting brighter and brighter in the darkness. The king and his men departed immediately and so you followed them, holding Hannie in one hand and your dress in the other, running down the palace corridors and out the gate to see a crowd gathered.  

As it parted, it revealed Seungcheol's horse and holding onto its reins walking it was Seungcheol, bruised and battered, blood splattered all over him, multiple wounds gashed open, barely but still alive. Take a staggering step at a time, he approached his father bowing and whispered, We won before collapsing into the gravel.  

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Seungcheol was immediately taken away by the royal physicians as the king announced to the people that the war was over and the town erupted into cheers. You tried to follow the doctors to be with him but they closed the door on your face, asking you to stay out. So, you stayed right outside, the whole night, prancing about, biting your nails, as you waited for the news.  

Instead, you were met with screams. You don’t know what they were doing to Seungcheol in there but he was evidentially in unbearable pain – you could hear in the way the screams ripped out of his throat, like he was in pure agony. It went on for hours and it was so terrifying to hear, you felt your heart shatter every time it rang through the halls. 

Finally at the crack of dawn he seemed to calm down and the doors finally opened. He was deeply wounded and his body was beyond exhausted, he just needed some sleep, the physicians assured you and the king, who unknown to you had also arrived. You thanked them and hurried in to see Seungcheol peacefully lying on the bed, bandages wrapped all over his body.

You sat beside him as the king gently stroked his son’s hair both proudly and sadly, muttering that he would pray for him to heal soon. As you held Seungcheol’s hand in yours, the king requested you to stay by the former’s side till he woke up. You assured him you would, to which he nodded and to both your shock and horror, pulled out the dagger which you had dropped in the dining room the day before. You held your breath as he placed it on the table beside the bed, not even looking at you. I believe this is yours.  

He knew.  

He figured out that you had attempted to take his life, but the tired old man didn’t say anything as he left. Instead, the royal guards placed at the door told you what you needed to know.

You failed your mission. Not only had you let down your people, you were discovered and now you were to be tried for treason. You only had till Seungcheol woke up. Lips quivering, you held onto his hand tighter. 

You didn’t know if fate was showing you mercy or prolonging your agony but it took almost 2 whole days for Seungcheol to finally wake up.   

You hadn’t left his room since you had entered it. Not only were you not allowed to, but you didn’t want to leave Seungcheol’s side. You either sat beside him, or in the balcony overlooking the ocean for hours together with kkuma curled up next to you and hannie flying around in the sky. The two of them had been awfully calm, as though they too knew what was coming.

Finally, on the 94th night, just as you had closed the doors of his bedroom and prepared your bed to sleep, Seungcheol stirred awake. You immediately rushed to his side as his eyes fluttered open, and the moment they landed on you, he broke into the most peaceful smile. You sighed in relief, softly holding his cheek in your hand, asking him how he was feeling.  

You said yes.  

Hannie flew into the room like a reminder of your message to him but his words only pained you. Things had changed so much since then. Not only could you not marry him but you had now become worthy of his hatred. You don’t think you can bear to see anything but love for you in his eyes.

Leaning down you kissed him, whispering that you loved him and that you wish no matter what, he always remembered that. He didn’t seem to understand your words, still reeling in the happiness of your acceptance of his proposal as he pulled you into his arms, wrapping you in the embrace you were craving for.  

As the two of you laid for hours together, wrapped in each other, he told you how they had been ambushed before they even reached the battlefield - someone had betrayed them. His horse had saved him, taking him away into the woods, far from his attackers but he was already very badly injured. It was Hannie who arrived with your yes that truly saved him. He knew he had to come back for you so he pushed through. He regrouped what was left of the army and infiltrated the enemy camp that was prematurely celebrating their victory and gained the upper hand.  

You snuggled closer in his warmth, hoping he wouldn’t see the guilt on your face when he spoke of you like you were his saviour. Everything would change tomorrow. Tonight was your last night with him, your last chance to create a memory for him to remember you by. As he went on about how tomorrow morning he would talk to the king about the wedding, you kissed him, cutting him off. Tonight you only wanted to love and love you did.  

Of all the nights you spent with Seungcheol, nothing felt like this. There was a strange desperation carved in the way you undressed each other, hands roaming, names whispered against skin. You took the lead this time, clambering on top of him and he stared at you like you were his whole world and more. Tucking your hair behind your ear, he told you how lucky he was to have you and you pushed the recurring feeling of guilt down and claimed him for yourself one last time.

A clash of hands, tongues and moans, he matched your need, leaving marks of love on your shoulder and chest. Burying your face in his neck, you held back the tears of pain and pleasure and a goodbye all dissolved in one as you came apart above him. Like always his arms held you in his embrace as though stopping you from losing yourself but it was too late. Everything had fallen apart already.  

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

When you woke up, the bed was empty.  

Seungcheol was not in the room, neither were the maids scurrying in as usual, cleaning up and neither were the guards who were placed outside the doors all these days. You walked down the corridors which were overtaken by a strange emptiness, wondering where everyone was. It was late in the afternoon judging by the sun but the palace was looking bleaker than usual.  

That was when your eyes fell on the flag of the kingdom hoisted down, flying low.  

Mourning.  

You rushed back towards the bedroom wing of the palace, heart beating erratically against your still lungs, till you found the royal physicians walking out of a chamber, looking dejected. The kings chamber.  

As you got closer, you noticed the officials of the royal court had all gathered around, dressed in black, heads hanging, faces in sorrow. They parted, letting you walk in to see Seungcheol standing at the edge of the bed, looking down at the king who laid peacefully in a slumber he would never wake up from.

The moment you put your hand on his shoulder Seungcheol turned. He wasn’t crying but there was so much pain in his face, it made you want to take him in your arms and hide him there forever. But you didn’t. You rubbed his arms softly whispering that you will wait for him outside, knowing he needed time with his father, the last of his family.  

But the moment you stepped out, the royal guards surrounded you, their spears pointing at you from a distance and you knew the time had come. By the order of the late king, after Prince Choi was awake, you were to be imprisoned for treason. For life.  

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

You might have been forced into a four stone walled dark cell for 5 days now but there was no greater prison that your own mind. As the moonlight creeped through the metal bars of the window on top, you sat crouched in the little dark space, leaning against the cold rocks. It was always so silent in here, you only ever heard the crashing of the waves against the walls, each ebb and flow reminding you of where you truly belonged.  

With the king now dead, your mission was complete, you could go back home. You could go back to your people, you could take back your kingdom but somehow you lacked the strength or the will to fight your way out of here. It would mean facing Seungcheol, who in the last many days had not come even once to see you. With each passing minute in his absence a part of you was glad to not see the disgust he would hold for you but another was broken at the thought of this being the end of the love you shared. As you fought your inner battle as a lover and a princess, time, the one thing that you did not have, kept slipping away.  

And then for the first time in 5 days, a shadow other than your own was cast in the moonlight. Seungcheol’s.  

You stood up, taken aback by his presence after so long but more by the sound of the gates opening and the guards asking you to step out, leading you out of the prison cell. You were free.  

It was only then in the light of the fire lit corridors that you saw him, dressed in finery like never before and on his head rested the whole responsibility of the kingdom - the crown. 

It was no longer Prince Seungcheol, he was now King Choi Seungcheol.  

Seeing him like that, your heart swelled with pride. When you found out Seungcheol was the prince you weren’t really as surprised as you should have been because it was only then that things made perfect sense. You had seen the king in him all along. One of the reasons that you loved him so much was because of what a good man he was, always thoughtful of others, always helping those in need, always looking out. No one was more worthy of being king than him.   

But before you can say anything to him, the maids brought you away to his room, complaining that you needed a change of clothes and a good bath. As they helped you strip out and scrubbed your neglected skin, they talked about how Seungcheol was furious when he learnt of your imprisonment. He insisted that you be released at once but he could not do anything as the royal guards would only take orders from the king. Stubborn to get you released no matter what, he sped up the coronation, which was due two weeks later and was crowned king just hours ago. His first order as ruler was that you be immediately released.  

You asked to be left alone for a bit, soaking yourself in the water after days now. Why did Seungcheol let you go? Did he not believe you tried to kill his father? Or did he love you so much that he was willing to forgive you for the attempt?

You couldn’t even ask him. He would not be free of the coronation festivities which apparently went on till sunrise and you didn’t have long before you had to return to the ocean – it was already day 99.  

Maybe it was better this way. You had your duties like he had his. Maybe if you left without giving him an explanation and without getting one, it would be easier for the love between the two of you to die. It had to die. The two of you belonged to two different worlds. There was no a happily ever after written for this story.   

You slid against the bath, submerging yourself into the waters, trying to breathe in peace again.  

But the nightmare had not ended. The voices were not gone.  

Kill the King.  

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

When you walked out of the bathroom, Seungcheol was there.  

He was sitting on the edge of the bed, dressed in his usual simple clothes again. In fact, he was wearing the same white shirt as the first time you ever saw him. The irony was not lost on you. It was like fate was not tired of the joke after joke after joke it was playing. 

You walked in, asking him what he was doing away from the celebrations when you noticed what was in his hands. The dagger. Your dagger.  

It's been a while since I told you a story.  

He looked up, meeting your eye in the mirror, his finger dangerously dragging against the blade.  

Do you remember the legend of the sea?  

Why was the talking about this to you right now?  

There's more, he claimed, standing up, turning to you. In that blue sea of dangerous creatures and vicious beings also lived the most beautiful woman in the world.  

You can hear your heart thumping in your ear.  

One day, the woman of the waters found herself on land. She was sent with a mission.

You took a step back. How could he possibly know all this?

You may have forgotten everything Y/n. But I didn't. He walked up to you. You may remember only 3 months of our love, but I remember 10 years of it.

You didn't understand. You didn't understand at all.

The young woman had been interested in the Land and humans ever since she was a little girl. Even though the merfolk were clearly warned to stay away from humans and shallow waters were dangerous to swim in, she would always escape the barricades quietly, to see whatever little of Land she would.

Finally, when she was 14 years old, she discovered a little secret - a sea cave. It was the only place where the waters next to land were deep enough, where she could get close to the land without being in much danger. She would come there often just to look at the sand and the rocks but she never saw any humans.

Until one day, a young, 14 year old Prince, distraught at the loss of his mother had ventured into the forest all alone and found the cave.  

You remember Seungcheol telling you he moved to the cottage after the death of his mother when he was 14.

The price was also just as interested in the Sea as she was in land but unlike her, he did the stupid thing of entering the waters - he immediately started drowning.

That was the day she saved him the first time. Holding her breath to the point she couldn't anymore, she pulled him onto the sand before disappearing into the ocean. The last thing he remembered was seeing her most beautiful face.

After that the prince came everyday. Initially the young girl never showed herself. He knew she was there though, deeper in the waters, lurking silently. He would come every morning and just sit in the sand doing his assignments, glancing at the sea every once in a while and when the sun would start to set, he would return. Slowly, much to his anticipation and delight, she started coming up closer and closer to the surface until one day when he was 16, Seungcheol for the first time, put his hand in the water and touched hers.

It was magical, like nothing he ever felt before.

Then he started to get reckless again, trying to enter the waters, almost drowning too, but this time she held his hand and taught him to swim. Of the many hours he spent in the cave, a few minutes were always in the water, swimming by her side, and the rest were just watching her glide through the waves.

When he was 18, he created something extraordinary. He had always been a bit of a science man but after years of trial and error, he had finally made a device - a little mask of sorts that could help him breathe underwater, for about an hour or so. He didn't have to hold his breath anymore - he was able to spend longer under the sea, longer with her.

When he went to show it to her, she had discovered a little secret of her own - weeds. Not any kind but a very particular one that only grew in the Sea witches house. She apparently used to work for one, to learn magic, like all her other siblings did. There she had come across these very special plants that allowed merfolk to breathe on land.

That was the first time she stepped on land. The moment she did, she succumbed to her knees, throwing up water in the sand. Even the weed had its downsides, the most important one being that its affect only seemed to last an hour or so. But the hour she had with him on land and he had with her in the waters were more than enough - Their worlds were no longer barriers.

That went on for years, these secret meetings. Initially it was just sharing laughs, then dreams, then the thought of a whole life together. He taught her how to read and write their language, she drew him maps of different lands, far away in the sea. He taught her about science and she taught him about magic. His stories about the land animals fascinated her and her stories about the sea creatures terrified him.

When he was 20, he kissed her for the first time. When they were 22, they made love and when they were 24, around a 100 days ago, she told him she had to come to land for a mission.

It felt like someone had knocked the air out of your lungs. How was any of this possible?

She didn't say what her mission was, just that she had something to do and she needed him to help her. She would apparently arrive on land with all her memories gone and she needed him to guide her to find her way back. He didn't understand but she didn't have the time to tell him more. She just handed him a shell necklace and told him to give it to her when the time was right, it would help her figure things out.

So did you figure it out Y/n? He took you hand, placing the knife laced with his blood in it. Was your mission to kill my father?

You shook your head slowly, still processing all the information.

"It was to kill you."

The moment you heard your voice again in that bath, you felt like your life just left you. You thought the mission was completed - the king was dead. Then why were you still hearing it.... except you didn't complete the mission. You didn't kill the king, you didn't use the dagger.

Now the king was right in front of you. The man you just  discovered you had been in love with your whole life. The man who made you fall in love with him all over again. The man who you had to kill to stay alive.

But he didn't look even a little fazed.

The sky behind you was starting to get brighter. The sun was rising. The 100th day was nearly here.

"Its okay." He whispered, moving closer to you without an ounce of fear. "Do it."

How could he love you so much, enough to die for you?

You could feel the tears rolling down your cheeks. He gently wiped it away, shaking his head. You kissed the inside of his hand on your cheek, and then pulled him close, feeling his mouth against yours for what you knew was the last time.

As you whispered an apology, he assured you it was okay. That you were the most beautiful thing that ever happened to him. And there was no better way for him to go than you being the last thing he saw.

You took a step back.

"Till death do us apart."

And then another step.

"Till death do us apart."

And then another, till you reached the window overlooking the ocean, you back against it.

You smiled at him.

He was not the only one who loved you enough to die.

The sun had risen quite high by now. You were simply a silhouette against the light, an outline and soon a memory. Before Seungcheol could even realise what you were doing, you leaned back. He ran towards you, as you let yourself drop, only just missing his outstretched hand trying to pointlessly save you, taken away by the winds, taken away to the sea.

As the sun fully rose in the sky, the dagger in you hands landed in the ocean with a splash, sinking to the bottom slowly, disappearing from existence.

And around it was sea foam, finally reclaimed by the waters where it belonged, gently floating away in peace.

[aidaronan]

Summoned

For @steddiemicrofic's September prompt, Charm. Word count: 548 Rated G Tags & warnings: practical magic, kas!eddie, off screen mentions of death/loss

The charm was meant to protect Steve from having his heart broken. His mother and father had been so in love before the accident, before the Holloway Curse took Jonas Harrington and left his mother so broken it pretty much took her too.

"They'll play the guitar and collect Garfield mugs. Their favorite letter will be an M, and they'll be able to draw anything."

It was a new moon when Steve stood, twelve-years-old, in his aunt's greenhouse next to his cousin Dustin, intuitively plucking herbs and flower petals, dropping them into a small wooden bowl carved from cherry wood.

"They'll tell amazing stories. And they'll have a ton of mean-looking tattoos, but they'll actually be really nice."

Standing under a blanket of stars, a black cat weaving through his legs, Steve dumped the bowl into the wind.

"And they won't think so, but they'll be so brave."

"Sounds like a pretty tall order," Dustin said.

"That's the point, Dusty. If they don't exist, then I'll never fall in love."

It was late March, fifteen years later, when Dustin and Steve buried the body of Henry Creel under the rosebushes.

It was April when Eddie arrived, eyes red and claws sharp, looking for the master he could still feel calling to him through the ether.

"I think we need to activate the phone tree, Steve!"

Steve and Dustin crouched together in the kitchen, holding the door shut with their bodies while Eddie tried to get in.

So Steve called Nancy Wheeler, his past with her painful proof that his spell against love had never worked, Nancy saved from the curse only by never loving him back. (Tommy hadn't been so lucky, leaving Steve alone and heartbroken with two adopted daughters who were thankfully safe with their aunt.)

Nancy called Joyce who called Jonathan who called Will who called Lucas and… Within a half hour, the cavalry arrived at their doorstep, subduing Eddie with ropes kissed with hawthorn oil.

In a circle of broomsticks, Eddie growling and snarling in the corner, they banished Henry Creel's soul back to hell. In that moment, Eddie stopped fighting, red eyes fading to a brown so deep it was like looking into the soul of the Earth.

It happened slowly. First it was occasional visits to check on Eddie as he became human again.

It was listening to Eddie strum his acoustic out on Claudia's porch. It was Eddie being sucked into Dustin and the gang's games of D&D, mentioning he used to DM. It was walking by the sun room one afternoon while Eddie wove together the beginning of a campaign that had Steve pausing in his steps just to listen.

When the Garfield mug showed up during a game though, Dustin started to push.

"Why does your cousin keep trying to get us alone together?" Eddie asked. "And why are your daughters helping?"

"I…" Steve stared at the tattoos snaking up Eddie's arms, at the M-for-Metallica belt buckle on his waist, at the drawings scattered over the sun room table. "They think I summoned you here. I think I might have too."

Eddie stepped closer, touching Steve's cheek with the backs of his fingers. "That's a relief."

"Is it?"

"Yes. I can finally stop pretending I didn't wish for you too."

[matchadobo]

Hello! I absolutely love your work and wanted to ask for a request with Kidd and possibly Killer if you can fit him in! Basically I was thinking something with since Kidd and Killer are from the SouthBlue theyre probably used to being in warmer temperatures, so how about they have a partner who is from the North and absolutely thrives in cold temperatures, wearing regular pants and a shirt and only maybe a jacket if it’s sub temperatures and being able to live off cold foods even when it’s below freezing, meanwhile they’re looking at them like they’re mad crazy because they get chilled and annoyed at even the thought of a snowflake.

KIDD & KILLER; north blue s/o

wc: 955 warning/s: gn reader, all fluff!!

"how are you not cold?" kidd asked, buried in his fur coat. he tightly wrapped it around his burly build, shivering as he approached your tshirt-wearing ass. the cold wind of the wintry, evening air ruffled his crimson locks when he crossed the deck.

"we don't experience this shit in the south, shut yer trap." he rolled his eyes, sitting next to you and shuffling closer for warmth. "you're even having ice cream for dessert for god's sake."

"thought you didn't believe in god." you hooked arms with him, pulling him closer as he nestled in your embrace.

"know what? i'm fuckin' startin' to cuz of this goddamn snow." he scoffed, rubbing his shoulders to feel less frosty. he lied between your legs, head settled on the cushion of your chest. you placed your hand on his hair, you combed the strands between your fingers as you giggled at his remark.

"where's that beanie i got you? the one with cute bear ears?" your hands trailed down to his red ears, warming them up by your palms.

"it looks stupid on me." he rolled his eyes, sighing at the relief of your warmth. "keep your hands there." he told you, a little smile on his lips spreading.

"heeeyy, i made that beanie especially or these occurences!" you pouted, pinching his ears instead. "look at them! their red as hell! so is your nose!"

"that's because you pinched my fuckin' ears!" he protested, sitting up from his comfortable position to ready and argue.

"kidd, name." killer called out from the kitchen, peeking over the doorframe to see you two in a heated argument. "i made bread pudding." he donned a frilly, white apron that had flowers scattered on the surface.

when kidd was almost in your face, ready to kiss you to shut you up, he didn't hesitate to follow the sweet, delectable aroma of the freshly baked bread emanating from the brightly lit room. you did the same.

"you really are the wife in this relationship." kidd gave killer a little tap on the chin before walking past him by the doorframe.

"ah shut the fuck up, kidd." you blurted out, kicking his ass. "you cold, kil?" you tiptoed to place a kiss on his neck, he was wearing the mittens you made him.

"your hands are warm," he pulled you by the waist, hugging you to feel your embrace. "aaah i want to stay like this, name."

"fine by me, i'll eat the goddamn pudding for myself." kidd spoke through a full mouth, munching on the custard-filled pudding.

you and killer laughed a little at the pouting redhead by the counter before walking towards him. killer let you sit by the chair opposite to kidd's as he leaned by the chair of the head of the table. "how is it?" he asked, genuinely observing how you two stuffed yourselves with it.

"phenomenal." you clapped your hands, savoring how the pudding melts in your mouth. "c'mere, taste it!" you raised a spoon while your other hand acted as a support to catch any falling food as you gestured closer to him.

killer took off his mask and ate you offer, he sat by the chair and gave you a smile, satisfied at his craft. "what do you two want for breakfast tomorrow?"

"chicken noodle soup." kidd answered with a tap of his hand on the table. "just any goddamn soup that is hot."

"you, name?"

"oh i'm fine with leftover fruits by the fridge, i'll make a fruit bowl or smoothie bowl or whatever."

they both looked at you like you grew another head. desperately waiting to see if you're joking. kidd had that usual scowl but it was deeper and killer had an eyebrow raised, anticipating your next response to say sike.

"what?" you asked as if what you said was the most normal thing during the cold especially mornings are the coldest. "it's tradition in my village who always gave out cold foods at the start of winter to have plenty of hot foods for january which was the peak of winter. i'm just conserving!"

"you north blue people are somethin' else." kidd shook his head, munching on the pudding some more. "hardcore shit."

"not my fault you're too weak to handle the cold, love." you teased, sitting on his lap as you waited for him to feed you pudding.

"whatcha say?! the fuck are you opening your mouth for? not in the mood right now, name." kidd rolled his eyes, but he sturdied his thigh so you can have a proper seat.

"it's not that!- feed me!" you wiggled in your seat, poking at him to piss him off.

"you can fuckin' eat by yourself!"

killer just watched you two with a tender smile on his face. clutching the mittens close to his chest. "well, we better sleep now. name wants to go skate and snowman building tomorrow, right?"

"yes!"

"it's too cold for this shit!" kidd grumbled. he then carried you to your shared quarters when you start to nag and whine at him for his remark while killer cleaned up. they snuggled to you that night, since you were the warmest. they soon adapted to the cold; now eating fruit bowls for breakfast, cold salads for lunch, cold ramen for dinner, and ice cream for desserts because they kept eating with you. they soon began to see the charm of eating cold, sharing habits with you. kidd begrudgingly for that matter while killer enjoyed seeing you have fun eating cold with them. the crew had begun to surmise that you three are just on some kinda bullshit they can't relate to. because who would voluntarily eat cold foods during winter?

ok first of all, i just researched about the winter times bc i live in a tropical country so i have NEVER experienced snow or winter. i read that january is the peak so if that is wrong, please educate me and lmk what should be written 🥰. i didn't really know what else to put other than what was being asked and some flirtings here and there so this is pretty short 🥺

[xxdemonicheartxx]

Most common funerary burials by flight:

Putting this one below the cut due to death mentions and burial descriptions I understand this can be a topic of discomfort no matter how vague one is when speaking on it <3

Arcane: opalization, the body is taken and layed in the shallows of intensely magic rich pools in a resting position, where it will rapidly opalize in a matter of weeks or months due to the volitile arcane energy of the land, sometimes individual scales are opalized instead and the rest of the body is cremated to be scattered amid their favorite place of study

Earth: mummification, the body is taken and embalmed, richly doused in spices, oils, and linen wraps, the organs removed are in canopic jars that resemble the dragon's own visage. Some earth mages practice petrification of the body as well upon request. Another practice is glass blowing cremated remains into colorful works of art, often colorful globes of glittering glass or glass sculptures of the deceased's visage

Shadow: the body is often cremated and the ashes greatly compressed into logs or bricks, before being soaked in spores and water to allow the mushrooms the the tangled wood to reclaim them and take them home. Other practices include burials or creating wrought iron burial markers. Celebrations of life are held around these burial sites

Light: due to the.... emperor problem.... graveyards have rapidly been destroyed and the fear of merging with Luminax sits like a stone in the heart of every imperial. Cremation is the most common practice as of now but celestial burials used to be common practice where the sun would always be able to touch you even in death (also known as sky burials) a new practice adopted from the earth flight includes taking these cremated remains and turning them into glass suncatchers

Plague: plague dragons believe that returning to the land you've survived is a must, dying of old age is a great achievement!! Often the body is returned to the land, buried or laid to be reclaimed by the ecosystem. Some more sentimental dragons or close loved ones will save scales or tan parts of wing membrane to carry close to their heart

Nature: burials are the most common practice, continuing to feed the shrieking wilds, some pathways have small markers or idols where loved ones frequent so that they can continue to pay homage in the labyrinthian jungle

Ice: ice dragons actually do not freeze their deceased, instead they take parts of membranes and tan them before tattooing a depiction of their loved one into their own hide, complete with a name, date of birth and date of death, its too cold to dig in this land so they cremate the remains and scatter them amid the tundra so in spring they can help the flowers return. The tanned memento is kept with a clan's priest, shaman, or spiritual leader with the rest of them, under expert care

Fire: forge pyres, often when fire dragons die their own heat resistance can make cremation a difficult process. So their remains are given to forge masters who are capable of reaching intense heat, working bellows and feeding the flames until the body is reclaimed by the flames. Other practices include caldera funerals, where the body is taken to be sunk in the lava of volcanoes or lava floes. Sometimes blackened skeletons can be reclaimed by loved ones in doing this

Wind: sky burials. The body is taken high up and laid under open sky for the sun and the wind to reclaim, it is believed that in doing this their spirit may continue to soar. Also refered to as celestial burials

Water: sinking of the body in designated graveyards is a common practice, often referred to as a burial at sea. Tiny tiny fragments of the dragon are often kept to be artificially put into oysters so that a pearl can be formed from their loved one's remains. Another practice is water cremation or Alkaline hydrolysis is another practice that is starting to gain traction

Lightning: the desert sand is not suitable for proper burials and grave markers aren't reliable in the shifting expanse, often the body is dehydrated first before undergoing electrical cremation, with no fluid the body will burn rapidly, the ashes then mixed with sand are placed amid one of hundreds of electrical storms with a tall metal rod in the center of the remains. To be struck by lightning turning them into "fulgurites" or "fossilized lightning" these unique and intimate structures are then returned to loved ones to be kept similarly to an urn

There are always exceptions to funeral practices. Dragons like obelisks and imperials often require additional care in the event the obelisk returns to stone or cremation is not an option for the imperial but these are the common or most popular practices in each region (non cannon)

As always I'd love to hear your own headcannons and takes too!!