#blooming forest au

[rosie-n-oncie]

what are your favorite foods?

Mine personally is my mothers Røkelaks! Which is essentially just smoked salmon. I’d cook it myself but I’m no good at cooking.

Uh, that’s a hard one—I like my breakfast meal I typically make but I’m also a fan of Garlic Knots—when me and my brothers were closer we’d make them with our mom…those were…nice times.

[ultrabananapudding]

Clarachel | Halloween

Setting: Rachel buys rare ingredients from Clarice for her potion making business. The Forest Nymph doesn't ask for money as payment, so Rachel gets creative with what she could offer in return.

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Foxglove and Oleander.

Pairing: Yandere!Sukuna x Reader (JJK).

Word Count: 6.0k

Commissioned by the very lovely @letstalktea.

TW: Heian Era AU, Wildly Unbalanced Power Dynamics, Blood + Violence, Deliberate Manipulation, Obsessive Behavior, and Implied Cannibalism.

Sukuna first arrived the night your chrysanthemums bloomed.

That was the only reason you weren’t in the temple when the fire reached it. Against your better judgement and the wishes of your superiors, you’d committed yourself to spending the night in the courtyard, carefully monitoring each delicate bud as they slowly unfurled and stained your garden with scattered blotches of bright, bleeding scarlet. In the morning, it would be your responsibility to gather each flower, dry their petals, and deliver them to the temple’s healers to use as medicinal herbs before you were allowed to get to your less seasonal chores, but tonight, the chrysanthemum belonged to you.

From your little corner of the courtyard, you watched as flames climbed the side of the side of the mountain, consuming the forest that surrounded your home before latching onto the servants’ barracks, then the outer sanctuaries, before finally reaching the main body of the temple. There were a few screams to accompany the fire’s first arrival, but they were quickly drowned out by the fire’s deafening roar, by the sound of buildings already mostly burnt away collapsing into themselves and putting their unfortunate occupants out of their misery. You could feel the heat, hear the others begin to flee, but it was only as the fire reached the peak of its gluttony that he emerged, entirely unscathed and painted with the blood of those you supposed you may have cared about, if you’d had more time. Sukuna, although you wouldn’t know to call him by that name, just yet.

It went without saying that he was hideous. Too many limbs, too many eyes, too many mouths – every part of him distorted with bulk and muscle and ink. His teeth struck you first, bared and glinting in the blinding firelight, then his clothing, the tattered and charred remains of what appeared to be a once fine kimono tied around his waist. He was carrying a spear, but he drove it into the ground as he stepped out of the inferno. There was something slung over his shoulder, too – a corpse, male and burnt beyond the point of recognizability – but that was abandoned just as thoughtlessly, left to rot on the outskirts of your garden. You were glad. Your chrysanthemums wouldn’t survive being crushed by such dead weight.

He didn’t notice you immediately. You stayed where you were, kneeling in the dirt, as he turned in either direction, taking in the devastation with a full-chested laugh. The noise was, in kinship with his appearance, unspeakably gruesome.  

Finally, he turned to face you, his eyes lighting up in spite of the stark shadows cast over his face. His spear was still within arm’s reach, but he made no attempt to retrieve it – holding out an open hand to you, instead. “Are you a monk or a maiden?” he asked, his voice more of a growl than anything proper, anything human. “I’ve already had my fill of the former, tonight.”

“A servant,” you answered, bowing your head by way of greeting. “I tend the gardens, among other things. Are you the one killing all the acolytes?”

“Among other things.” His tone had a mocking lilt, although he seemed far from vicious. You’d been warned about that, once, by someone very dear to you. You couldn’t remember the specifics, but the sentiment was still clear enough. ‘Do not fear the animal that bares its teeth, but the creature who lures you closer before it lunges’, or something like that. “I’m afraid I only have a taste for holy meat, tonight. Although, if you run, I’ll certainly take more enjoyment in striking you down.”

“I’m sorry, sir, but—”

“Lord,” he corrected. “Make that mistake again and it’ll be the last time I allow you the privilege of using your tongue.”

“My apologies, my lord.” Again, you bowed your head. “The high priest can be harsh with his discipline. My ankle is still healing, and I’m afraid I wouldn’t be able to move quickly enough for either of us to get very much out of it.”

He grinned, and the fire raged on behind him. “Grovel, then. Perhaps, if you manage to please me, I’ll be merciful and kill you quickly.”

He was clearly a man (man? monster? beast?) of great ego. You pressed your tongue against the roof of your mouth, trying to block out the taste of something harsh and acidic rising up from the back of your throat. “If it’s all the same to you,” you managed, eventually, sparing one last glance towards your chrysanthemums. They really were beautiful. You could only regret that you’d never get to see them in the light of day. “I’d really rather not. It seems like it be easier, to just… uh, let you get the job done, as it were.”

In his defense, his pride overshadowed his shock. That, or you simply weren’t the first person he’d met to pay your own life such little regard. “I’ve cut down braver men for bolder suggestions.”

“But you cut them down all the same.” You swallowed, dryly. It’d been a while since you’d last had anything to eat or drink – the better part of a day, at least – but you supposed you wouldn’t have to worry about that for much longer. “I’m sorry, my lord. I would try to run, but my ankle really does make things difficult.”

He regarded you for a moment, as yet another wing of the temple buckled under its own weight. You decided, as you stared back at him, that his eyes weren’t so terrible – the pair he was supposed to have, at least. Although currently narrowed and creased around the edges, they had a pleasant color, a unique shade of red that seemed to glow when it caught the firelight. At least one part of him was bearable to look at.

Finally, he broke the silence, his resonant voice taking on a more authoritative cadence. “Come.”

He didn’t extend a hand, or gesture for you to follow, only trekking onward – towards the temple’s gates, left open in the panic of the exodus.  Gingerly, weary of your injured ankle, you pushed yourself to your feet and hastened to his side. Sukuna only paid you glance by way of acknowledgement, but you didn’t mind. “Are you going to kill me in the woods, instead?”

“Uraume’s been asking for another set of hands.” You weren’t sure what he was talking about, but you nodded as if you understood entirely. He spared you a small, thoughtless smile, and you decided that he was also the type of man who often enjoyed the luxury of never being questioned. “If they don’t care for you, I’ll kill you wherever I wish.”

“Ah.” You passed under the temple gates by his side. Not long after that, you heard the great crash of stone into earth, and knew that those, too, had collapsed. “I hope it’s somewhere with lots of flowers. I’ve always wanted to die somewhere beautiful.”

His only answer was another, more lingering glance in your direction, a low bark of a laugh. Satisfied, you let the conversation lapse into silence and walked into the night by the side of a monster.

~

“How do you choose where to go?”

He didn’t respond, not immediately. Instead, one of his spare hands brought yet another grape to your lips, and with a pleased hum, you accepted it, savoring the sour tinge that accompanied the sweetness. From what you gathered, he preferred savory to sweetness, sweetness to bitterness, and bitterness to all other flavors that followed. He rarely ate anything that wasn’t the strange, ambiguous meat prepared by Uraume, his ever-smiling mastress of rituals, but the last village you’d passed through had a surplus of fruit. It’d seemed like a waste to let all of it rot, now that there was no one left to enjoy it.

It was strange – traveling with Sukuna and Uraume. They seemed to be on a pilgrimage of sorts, the destination unknown and the purpose one of endless carnage. Not that either of them expected you to participate in the devastation. No, as far as you could tell, you were regarded more as a servant, meant to be of aid to Sukuna when Uraume was otherwise occupied. Except, Uraume never seemed to be very occupied at all, and Sukuna very rarely needed aid, and you were often left in a position more akin to that of a pet than anything else – kept around predominantly because Sukuna found it entertaining to do so. Not that you minded. Pets were cherished and coddled. Pets never went hungry. Pets weren’t expected to be anything other than endearing and obedient, which wasn’t totally dissimilar to the things you were always expected to be, regardless of what you were supposed to call yourself.

Currently, you were taking shelter in an abandoned shrine not quite dilapidated enough to be considered unlivable, Uraume tending the hearth while Sukuna stared absent-mindedly at a map pilfered from the shine’s stockroom, the colored ink nearly too faded to read. You paid little mind to either of them – content enough to remain sprawled across Sukuna’s lap, one of his arms wrapped loosely around your waist. This was the first time you’d spoken in minutes, reluctant to break the comfortable silence. Sukuna didn’t seem to mind the sound of your voice, and you didn’t want that to change. “I don’t,” he admitted, eventually. He only spoke for himself, but it was given that you and Uraume would follow. “I go where I please. I only like to know that, when I arrive, there’ll be something worth my time waiting to receive me.”

“So particular, my lord.” You felt something tap against your bottom lip, and opened your mouth to accept a perfectly sweet, perfectly ripe strawberry. “Tell me, then – what would please you?”

He seemed to think for a long moment. Finally, he asked, “What village were you born to?”

His intention went unspoken, but the implication was clear. Sukuna’s sole pastime was destruction, with the target of his ire being any person, town, or creature unfortunate enough to cross his path. Although you’d never seen him go out of his way to find prey before, you were sure willingly pointing him in the direction of vulnerable quarry would result in a predictable outcome.

“Oh, I wouldn’t know. Things like that can be so hard to remember,” you said, which wasn’t untrue. Your memory was a fickle thing – uncooperative on your best days and deliberately misleading on your worst. “You know, being a baby at the time and all.”

His fingers drummed thoughtfully against your side. “You must have family somewhere, servant.”

“Not necessarily.” You shut your eyes to stop yourself from squirming, sighing as you rested your head against his shoulder. “My parents abandoned me before I was old enough to learn their names. A scrap collector took me in some time after that, but he traveled quite often, and I lost track of him years ago.” You paused, shook your head. “Like I said, things like this can be difficult to remember. I’m sorry, my lord.”

There was a slight hum, a momentary lapse. Abruptly, you felt his hands shift to your waist, Sukuna repositioning your smaller form with all of the strength and all of the thought it might’ve taken an ordinary person to right a toppled-over doll. Your back came to rest against his chest as one of his spare hands cupped your chin, directing your attention towards the yellowed map. “Pick somewhere,” he muttered, his voice low and his lips close enough to ghost over the shell of your ear. “Anywhere. Before I pull your unhelpful little tongue out of your throat.”

“Of course, my lord.” Acquiesce came first, a real answer second. Your gaze fell to the map in front of you. It took a second, but you found what you were looking for quickly enough. “Here,” you said, pointing to an area north of your current location. “There’s a village in the eastern corner of this valley with a small population of young farmers and very little in the way of redeeming qualities. But, in the town square, there grows a cherry blossom tree tall enough to scrap against the belly of the sky with branches that stretch as far as the eye can seem. When it blooms, its petals are great enough in volume to carpet the surrounding acre in pink.” You straightened your back, decisively avoiding sinking back into his chest. “I… I wouldn’t mind visiting it again, if it would please my lord.”

It was a dangerous thing to do – showing your hand so plainly. You’d grown so used to keeping your cards tucked snuggly against your chest, even talking this openly felt as if you’d been stripped bare and put on exhibition in front of him.

But, if Sukuna realized that he was the audience to your performer, he neglected to acknowledge it. He only looked toward Uraume, who perked to attention immediately. They were good at that – pretending not to listen. Not as talented as you, of course, but good nonetheless. “We start traveling east tomorrow,” he said, with a dismissive wave of his hand. “I’m adding another leg to our journey.”

His primary attention remained on them, but a few of his unblinking secondary eyes – repulsive in their lack of necessity – darted to you, watching for any signs of satisfaction, of pleasure. You only schooled your expression, retreating into your own mind to count the days until the cherry blossoms bloomed.

~

It took a surprising amount of time for you to catch Uraume in the act. Not overly long, but more time than you would’ve expected with them making no particular effort to hide the evidence of their ‘ritual preparation’ and you making no exceptional attempt to avoid finding out why their snow-white sleeves were so often stained red. If allowed to, you might’ve gone on living in the bliss of plausible deniability until your time with Sukuna and his chosen companionship came to an end, but he was not so kind, and there was little entertainment to be had in such a passive participant.

Still, you would’ve liked another week, another month, another season. You’d never cared for kitchens, but you cared for them least when they reeked of rotting meat.

The stench was almost worse than the sight – almost, but not quite. Then again, you were struggling to think of something worse than Uraume, all practiced tranquility and iced-over smiles, elbow-deep in the cavity a long dead middle-aged man, his body bare and spread over the stone countertop. You recognized him not by his face, but by his features – his wealth-fattened face, his uncalloused hands, the lack of definition to his legs that those who toiled could rarely afford to go without. He must’ve been the lord who owned the palace you currently found yourself residing in – a sprawling, decadent structure that it’d taken hours to clean after the massacre. Sukuna would survive wherever his whims lead, but he preferred to be comfortable. You didn’t mind. You preferred it when Sukuna was comfortable, too.

 It was clear they hadn’t been expecting you, either. Their dark eyes bored into you where you lingered in the doorway, a wicker basket on your hip and your robes still dusted with soil. Most of your day had been spent in the palace gardens. Its former caretaker had planted their shiso along the garden wall, where it would only receive partial sun in the best season – a common enough mistake, for how easy it was to mistake for basil, and a tricky one to correct. An experienced caretaker should’ve known better, but as the herbs were still alive while their keeper was very much not, you could consider their negligence repaid.

You made the first move –bowing at the waist by way of greeting. “Lord Sukuna asked me to fetch his tea,” you explained, as you straightened your back. You didn’t feel the need to mention that’d he’d sought you out in your gardens to do so. “I thought I’d bring you a few herbs in the same trip. My apologies, it wasn’t my intention to disturb you.”

The corner of their lips quirked downward. It wasn’t quite a frown, but it was the closest thing to one that you’d ever earned from them. You weren’t upset. Even glowering, they would’ve been breath-taking. “He wanted you to see my—” They paid a glance toward the dismembered lord, their arm still buried in his chest. “My preparations.”

“It would seem so.”

“And he wanted to know how you’d react. There’s a good chance he’ll ask me about this, later on.”

“I’d say it’s more of a certainty.”

“I’d understand it, if you wanted to leave. I know there are few ordinary humans who can stomach tasks so—” Another pause, this one longer than the first. Clearly, they were making an attempt to watch their tongue. “—needlessly visceral.”

“If I did try, how long would you give me before telling Sukuna?” This time, they choose to hold their tongue entirely, their slight frown deepening into a full-blown scowl. It took everything you had not to let your own satisfaction shine through.

Rather, you paid them another shallow bow before the threshold and setting down your basket on the nearest length of empty counter. “It’s mostly shiso, but I found some usable ginger and garlic, too, and a few stalks of parsley. Is there anything I can do to help?”

After a moment of consideration, Uraume shook their head. It only took a few minutes to make the tea you’d been sent to fetch, but they were minutes passed in silence, undisturbed save for the quiet chime of ceramic against ceramic. They didn’t start their own work again until you’d left the kitchen entirely, which you were thankful for. They’d been right. There were few humans with stomachs so strong as to withstand such grisly tasks, and you’d never counted yourself among them.

Sukuna had claimed the master’s chambers for himself, of course. You let yourself in without knocking, immediately finding Sukuna sprawled across the wonderfully ornate futon that dominated most of the floorspace. He smiled when he saw you, but his expression fell as soon as you returned the gesture.

He didn’t mention Uraume, or the kitchens, or the thick stench of iron-tinged blood that now seemed to fill every corner of the vast estate. You hummed as you poured his tea, and remained at his bedside as he took a long drink, followed shortly by an approving nod. You tried to make your escape quickly, already fantasizing about retreating back to your secluded garden, but Sukuna caught you before you could so much as turn towards the door. “Attend to what you must,” he started, his tone simultaneously dismissive and attention-seeking. “But return here, when you’re done. Bring your belongings, too – you won’t be going back to your bedroom again.”

You didn’t falter, but not for lack of reason to. You’d chosen your bedroom carefully, surveyed the better half of the residential wing before finding quarters that suited you. It was sparse by way of comforts and furniture, but the sole window looked over the mountainside, the landscape stretching on for miles upon miles without interruption. You would’ve been pressed to think of a finer view.

“As you wish.” And then, with a chirp of a laugh, “You know, we spend so much time with one another while traveling. I thought you would’ve taken our stationary periods as an excuse to get away from Uraume and I.”

“If I had a weaker will, maybe.” He reclined, let his head lull to the side, as if inviting you to counter, to protest – or worse, to step closer. “Why? Do you have something to say, servant?”

“Only how pleased I am to be of service to my lord.” You could’ve bowed, but decided against it. This time, when you took your leave, Sukuna was kind enough not to get in your way. Then again, he didn’t have a reason to.

He must’ve known that you were always going to come back.

~

“Who gave you permission to leave, servant?”

No one, but you’d hoped he wouldn’t notice until you were already gone. Stifling the urge to cringe, you turned on your heel and retreated back to the riverbank, not far from where Sukuna had left his robes, deliberately keeping your eyes on the ground. He rarely let you leave his side, but having you remain within eyeshot while he bathed was a newer development – and a tricker one to justify to yourself, at that. You were still allowed to remain more of a voyeur than a participant, but you weren’t naive enough to believe that he’d allow there to be such a great distance between you for much longer.

“I’m sorry, my lord.” Your eyes may have been downcast, but your voice was a light and as upbeat as ever. “I only hoped to catch Uraume before they finished. Servants have to bathe too, you know, and those of us with no limbs to spare can be rather hesitant to do so alone so deep into the forest.”

“Join me, then.”

Ah.

You should’ve been expecting that, honestly. You had no one but yourself to blame.

“My lord,” you managed with an airy laugh, feigning disbelief. “I’m just not sure if someone of my position should—”

Considering Sukuna’s size, he could move impressively fast. You’d only managed to take half a step back before you felt a hand curling around your wrist, pulling you off of the bank and into the river. You managed to take all of two stumbling steps forward before your foot caught on a slick river stone and you fell to your knees, ice-cold water immediately soaking through your thin robes. Sukuna made no effort to catch you, laughing as you tripped over yourself. He’d always seemed terrible to you, but you couldn’t remember the sound of his voice ever being so vile.

Biting back a sigh or some other, more telling show of displeasure, you started to push yourself to your feet, but stopped as soon as you felt Sukuna’s fist curl around your collar, another finding the back of your head. In a brief moment of blissful obliviousness, you thought he meant to help you – or, to restrain you and savor your humiliation for a few seconds longer, at the very worst. You almost thanked him, as little as your gratitude meant to Sukuna.

Then, your head was forced below the water, and you thought better of it.

It happened too suddenly to brace yourself. Your first reaction, operating purely out of instinct, was to open your mouth and try to breathe in – an idea as primal as it was unhelpful. Frigid water flooded into your mouth, your throat, liberating you from any amount of air you might’ve been able to hold onto and filling the now-vacant space with a chill that seemed to bite into your throat and leave everything it touched throbbing, numb. Your second was to thrash against Sukuna’s hold – which was, predictably, equally as useless. He was stronger than you could ever hope to be, than any real human being ever should be. Thick fingers threaded themselves into your hair, the hand holding the collar of your robes falling away only to find the nape of your neck, cementing your place at his mercy.

You tried to be rational, to exhale, to not panic, but something thick and solid seemed to be lodged at the base of your throat, and you couldn’t think about breathing without choking, and it was hard not to panic when you were hyper-aware that you were going to be drowned in some godforsaken river in some heartless forest at the hands of an unlovable monster. You were running out of air too quickly – you were supposed to have more time. He couldn’t have dragged you down any longer than a minute ago, but you could already feel an acute throbbing in your temples, make out dark spots dancing in the corners of your vision. Your body thrashed and stiffened in turns, but it was only when your form went limp in his hold that Sukuna jerked you back to the surface – hauling you back to the shore and letting you collapse onto the welcoming sand. He stood by, his grin the embodiment of mirth, as you hacked up acid-tinged water and blinked back tears, sucking in shallow breaths between coughing fits. Every inhale left your chest tense and aching, though, and every exhale felt like you were giving up something precious, something irreplaceable. You did your best to ignore the strain, to put it out of your mind. You had a feeling it would be some time before you could breathe painlessly again.

It took long, agonizing minutes for you to so much as begin to recover, but Sukuna remained by your side, waiting patiently. At some point, he lowered himself to your height – falling into a crouch and bringing a hand up to your back, rubbing circles into the apex of your spine as you coughed and clawed at the shore. He didn’t hum, or speak, or apologize, but you hadn’t expected him to. To initiate would be to taint what he sought so violently: your reaction. He wouldn’t do anything to spoil his prize, not so close to victory.

No, he wouldn’t dare.

The responsibility of denying him fell solely to you.

“My—”You tried to raise your head, to look at him, only to cut yourself off – another lungful of brackish water forcing its way past your lips before you could find your voice again. “My lord,” you managed, eventually. “If you’d like to bathe together, please give me a moment to undress, first. You know how long it can take cotton to dry.”

To his credit, his composure held. There was another throaty laugh, a sudden edge to his smile. “You should be more careful, songbird. One day, I’m going to eat you alive, and your last words to me are going to how glad you are to serve your master one last meal.”

“There would be no greater honor.” You managed an unsteady smile before dropping your head low, curling into yourself, and coughing up until your throat burnt and your rib cage seemed ready to burst. Sukuna only shook his head, taking you by the shoulders and leaning you against his chest, ensuring your stability before his attention shifted to your robes. With a surprising delicacy, he undid the sash bound around your waist, shrugging off your ruined yukata and carrying you back into the water. Your nails bit into his chest, but if he felt your involuntary resistance, it wasn’t enough to deter him.

Your body was lowered gingerly into one of the river’s shallower portions, and Sukuna kneeled behind you, one of his hands coming up to cup your cheek. You shut your eyes, but you could still feel his thumb tracing idly over your cheek, his chest reverberating against your back as he all but purred in delight. “I could hear your heart racing as I pushed you under.” And then, with a feather-light kiss to the top of your head, “It’s a relief to know there’s at least one part of you I can trust to be honest with me.”

You didn’t answer – only smiling as you melted into his palm.

~

The cherry blossom tree was larger than you’d remembered.

The village that surrounded it had grown, too. That made sense – it’d been years since you last passed through this area, and such a lovely corner of the world was bound to attract merchants and traveling warriors and those who, like yourself, simply found themselves drawn to beautiful things. You’d been able to see its wonderous branches rising above the horizon days before you were supposed to reach the village, started catching sakura petals on the breeze while you were still hours away from the nearest scrap of civilization, and a small part of you died upon being told that you would have to wait until after sunrise for your reunion, until Sukuna had finished glutting himself on blood and death and misery. Not that you listened. Uraume was tasked with looking after you, but they weren’t difficult to slip away from. They seemed to be fond of you – or, at least, surprisingly sympathetic to their master’s newest pet. Either way, they let you go without much of a struggle.

An hour or so after midnight, you made your way through fleeing crowds, maneuvering around mounds of disembodied extremities and between flame-eaten farmhouses, still in the early stages of burning down. Wherever Sukuna went, the fire seemed to follow, so you tried to stay where the light seemed the dimmest, where the smoke seemed the thinnest, focused solely on finding your way to the center of town – to the cherry blossom. You couldn’t make out its silhouette against the pitch-black landscape, but you didn’t need to. You would’ve been able to find your way to it on instinct alone.

That being said, now that you stood before it, you found it hard to believe that you’d come to the right village, let alone the right tree.

You didn’t remember your cherry blossom looking quite so… absent.

It was as if some great and wrathful deity had broken your sakura off at the base and spirited its body away, leaving only a charred stump behind. There was evidence that there had been more, at some point – pale pink petals littering the ground, a rope fence that had to have once guarded more than desecrated remains – but the cherry blossom was gone, as the village built around it would be by sunrise. It was cruel, really, when you could put your own despair aside long enough to use such tame vernacular. It was monstrous.

Speaking of monsters – yours was quick to rear his ugly head.

He’d never looked more terrible. Ash tainted the pale color of his hair, blood and gore staining his chest, his face, his hands. As always, he carried no weapon, and as always, he was entirely uninjured, untouched save for the byproduct of the devastation he’d wrought. You watched him approach in your peripheral, bracing yourself a moment before four arms wrapped around your smaller body and pulled you into a stone-hard chest. You knew better than to attempt to resist Sukuna, but this might have been the first time you were tempted to try.

“Songbird,” he muttered, the petname salt to a fresh wound. If he was surprised, let alone angry that you’d snuck away from Uraume, your disobedience caused him no strife. “I come bearing gifts.”

The upper of his two left hands uncurled, revealing a long, stick-like object. A hairpin, you realized, after a moment, the prong of a fine dark mahogany. It boasted only a single ornament: a small, expertly made glass flower. A cherry blossom, to be more specific.

You’d never been quick to anger. For as long as you could remember, in fact, you’d never found yourself angered by much of anything before.

You tasted blood before you realized you were biting your tongue; swallowing back a scream, or howl, or some other unsightly noise. It took you longer than you would’ve liked to regain your composure, but Sukuna was preoccupied, his attention dedicated solely to burying his face in the crook of your neck, to clutching onto you so tightly, you had to wonder how he’d ever managed to let go. It’d been inane to ever compare yourself to a pet, to something so cherished. It’d been inane to ever believe you were anything more than the favored plaything of a drooling, overgrown mutt.

With trembling hands, you plucked the hairpin out of his palm and held it up appraisingly. When Sukuna raised his head, his pointed teeth still lingering against your throat, you did the only thing you could think to – smiling as you leaned into him. “It’s beautiful.” And then, with a sigh, “It’s only a shame to have missed the real thing.”

For all of Sukuna’s faults, you could only be thankful that pride was among them.

“You don’t have to worry.” A hand found your jaw, holding you in place as he pressed a kiss into your temple. “I had more than my fill before you arrived.”

As you watched the village burn in his arms, you thought only of the color of chrysanthemums and the taste of iron, heavy on your tongue.

~

Someone had told you, once, that all the loveliest flowers bloomed under moonlight.

You watched the sky as you waited – your eyes never leaving the sliver of it you could see through small, barred window built into the opposing wall. He’d taken you to another vacant temple, tonight, claimed the head priest’s chambers as his den, and you’d followed lovingly, never uttering so much as a word of complaint. You’d let him rest his head in your lap, raked your fingers through his hair, and brought a cask of sweet wine laced with bitter herbs to his lips whenever he threatened to stir. Eventually, his eyes eased shut, his pulse slowing and his expression dulling into something calm, something docile. If you hadn’t known better, you might’ve started to doubt that he was a monster at all.

You didn’t move, didn’t shift, didn’t make a run for the door. You only reached into your sleeve, fetching the cherry blossom hairpin he’d gifted you weeks ago, now, the hairpin you carried dutifully ever since. You waited for him to turn onto his side, revealing the unarmored half of his face, before aligning the pointed tip with his ear, raising it above your head, and plunging it—

You felt his fingers dig into your thigh, another hand latching onto your hip. Your back slammed into the stiff futon with enough force to knock the air out of your lungs – leaving you breathless and paralyzed in an instant. When you recovered enough to think, you found Sukuna above you, straddling your waist, a hand planted on either side of your head. He was breathing heavily, as if excited. You knew it was impossible, but you found yourself wishing that he’d find a way to regurgitate his own lungs and choke on them.

“My lord,” you started, each word measured. You were careful to keep your voice low, your smile perfectly saccharine. “I’m sorry, did I wake you up?”

 His response was a manic smile, a bark of a laugh. “It’s too late to play innocent.” He lowered himself that much closer to you, his chest a hair’s width from making contact with yours. “How many times have you poisoned my wine, songbird?”

“Poisoned? Never.” You’d let go of your hairpin in the collision. Currently, it was lying against the wall to your right – just an inch or so out of your reach. There were other, more accessible weapons closer to you, but if you were going to kill Sukuna, you wanted it to be with that abomination. “If my lord is asking how many times I’ve treated his wine with herbs and spices, then twice. Once to see how he handled his drink, and tonight.”

You’d done him a disservice – writing him off as simply monstrous. He was more beast-like than anything, with his back arched and his talons dug into the bedding, with eyes so wide and so vibrant you believed, if only for a second, that he would manage to burn holes through your skull. “A day will come,” His anticipation was palpable. It was a wonder how such a glutton could ever sound so starved. “Where nothing will fall from you sweet lips but my praises, and I will know beyond the shadow of a doubt that you mean every last word.”

For once, you could only say what you meant. “I’d rather fucking die.”

There was a change to his animal posture, a glint of white teeth in moonlight, and then his mouth was crashing into yours – all fangs and tongue and intensity. Mindlessly, operating off of your own sort of base impulse, you reached out, your fingertips just barely brushing against the prong of your hairpin.

It was only as you curled your fist around it that you kissed him back, unable to suppress your grin.

[fairyofshampgyu]

☆ Lost !

genre: smut, fairy au

pairing: sub fairy ! gyu x gn ! dom human ! reader

synopsis: in essence, eating out the mischievous and immensely pretty fairy beomgyu as a bargain when you find yourself lost in the forest.

warnings: boy pussy gyu !!! sub! gyu, dom! reader, beomgyu’s kinda a brat, degrading, squirting, overstim, eating out, fingering, hair pulling, pussy slapping, dacryphilia

word count: 1.5k

You wandered aimlessly through the forest at wits end. You’d been here for hours trying to find your way back out but the forest was much like an ever changing maze. As soon as you thought you’d found a way out, the trees and plants would shift and morph into completely different pathways, rendering you hopeless and frustrated.

It was only getting darker as well, much to your distress. And you didn’t want to stick around to know what the place would be like at night. You knew of the stories.

Just when despair threatened to overwhelm you, you stumbled upon a small clearing bathed in soft light, the ground carpeted with lush moss, and delicate flowers blooming in vibrant hues, mushrooms clustered around the perimeter.

In the centre, sat a figure amidst a bed of wildflowers, weaving intricate crowns with his hands—a fairy. He was the prettiest boy you’d ever seen. Flower crown sitting on his long, silky, soft hair cascaded across his ethereally sculpted face. Face and body all glittery and shimmery and his cheeks were so naturally pink and blushed like the pink tulips that sat around him. You were quite in awe honestly.

His gaze lingers on you with a mix of curiosity and amusement, eyes sparkling with mischief and an impish grin playing upon his lips as he regarded you with some sort of knowing gaze, still continuing to make his flower crowns.

“Lost, are we?” He raises a brow, seemingly finding your predicament humorous.

“Yes.” You stand tall, trying to appear more confident to the fairy. You also didn’t think it was funny at all. When he doesn’t say anything but chuckle in response and directs his attention to his flower crowns again, you speak up, irritated with his behaviour. “You’re a fairy aren’t you? You’d know the way out?”

“…Yes” He looks up at you again, still smiling annoyingly.

“So…Show me then?.”

“Hmm…” He faux ponders, finger to his lips and grinning, “I don’t think i will.”

Your eyebrows furrow, patience wearing thin. “Why not?”

“Because it’s funny seeing humans so helpless.” The fairy’s laughter fills the air as he shakes his head, eyes dancing with amusement.

You just stand in disbelief. The sun had already set now! Fear and desperation already starting to kick in that you find yourself begging and pleading the fairy instead of blowing up in pure anger at him. “Just show me the way. Please! I’d do anything.”

His ears perk at that. “Kiss me.”

“What?!”

“If you kiss me good enough, I’ll help you.” He lays back, propped on his elbows, lips curled in a grin and trying to stifle his laugh. You really want to slap it off his face.

You scoff incredulously.

“What? Don’t want to kiss me?” Brow raised as if testing you. Like he didn’t think you actually would. It pissed you off even more. You’d heard fairies loved to make stupid deals for absolutely no reason with humans and other creatures. This must be one.

He still stares up at you, completely delighted, waiting. You roll your eyes, reluctantly approaching him on the ground of moss, grabbing a fistful of his shirt rather roughly and tugging him closer to you. He seems to like it though, getting excited.

Looking down at his lips, you can’t even deny how enticing they looked. Pretty and plump and round and glossy. You’d heard of the fairies being pretty seducing. You can’t say you’re not completely entranced by the pretty boy right now.

You’ll just put him in his place.

So you smash your lips with his, making out with him fervently, both your mouths moving and smacking against each other and the pretty boy is so into it, already getting worked up by how aggressively you kiss him and with no regard. You bite at his bottom lip and he gasps, you continuing to suck harshly and bite at them.

It practically feels like you’re melting kissing the fairy boy, you don’t what it is but his lips were so soft and…everything.

You begin the attack on his pretty neck instead, trailing rough kisses down and leaving purple and pink marks in return, hand entangling in the strands of his long hair, tugging and pulling that makes him whine into your mouth even louder, pulling on his hair roughly and leaving hickeys on his sensitive neck. You don’t even know how long it goes on for.

Suddenly, your pulling away and it makes him pout and huff, eyes dazed but frows burrowing and trying to pull you back into him but you hold onto his dainty wrists and stop him, shoving him down on the ground again.

Instead, you move down on the grass and grip his pretty little thighs concerningly tight, spreading his legs, met with his panties that don’t do much to cover anything what with the wet patch on them now. You chuckle and he tries to close his legs in embarrassment but you open them wider, lightly tracing your fingers on his clothed pussy that makes him positively squirm and squeal. So sensitive…

You continue to tease him, lightly brushing and thumbing over his panties until he’s fully drenched and whimpering over the light contact. He can’t take it anymore.

“Take them off… actually touch mee” Beomgyu whines brattily, groaning and panting.

“Beg for it. Then I’ll see.”

It shuts him up instantly, pouting and furrowing his brows again, as if contemplating whether it was worth it, “Don’t want to.”

“Brat.” You stop all contact and he’s quick to blurt his pleads out instantly in distress. It’s entertaining seeing the fairy like this now.

Roughly tugging his cute panties to the side, you stop in your tracks momentarily. It’s the prettiest pussy you’ve ever seen in your life, puffy and pink and glistening, so wet already, practically dripping onto the ground it’s insane. It’s making you so insane.

You don’t waste any time, licking a long stripe of his pussy from his clit to his hole and it has him taking a sharp intake of breath, you can feel his thighs shake in your grip just from that and his eyes close shut, positively squealing and squirmy.

You bury your face in him after that, scent so sweet and you begin to practically make out with his pussy, flicking your tongue over his clit then wrapping your entire lips around them, sucking harshly and he’s shivering immensely, prettiest choked up moans coming out of him, head reeling back and mouth agape.

Still sucking on his pretty clit, you bring two of your other fingers to his hole, not giving him a second of reprieve, and shoving them inside his warm and tight pussy, fingering him at the same speed you suck on him, hammering them into him, his head lolled back and his eyes almost cross eyed, dumbly drooling.

It’s not long before you can feel him clamp down on your fingers so tight, and he’s cumming, legs and thighs shaking like a leaf, seeing starts he doesn’t even know what to do, prettiest most mellifluous sounds eliciting from his lips.

It was a sight to see, whole body completely flushed, hair all tousled and messed up and damp from the sweat, eyebrows creased and eyes closing open and shut, eyelashes fluttering sexily kissing the tops of his red cheeks, plump lips parted and jaw slack. He looked so slutty.

But you don’t break away, instead you grip on the sides of his hips probabaly bruising them and pulling him onto your face even further, tongue flat on his clit as he merely mewls and cries, way too sensitive. It hurts but it also feels too good, he shakes his head nonetheless, squeezing his eyes shut and whimpering.

“T-too muchhh” The fairy sniffles, trying so hard to shut his trembling legs.

“Slut. Stay still.” You forcefully keep his legs open, gripping even tighter onto the flesh of his thighs. You reach your hand up and lightly slap his abused cunt, he yelps almost instantly.

“Say it. Tell me how much of a slut you are.”

He can’t get the words out, can’t even think to get the words out of his mouth as you continuously slap his now even more swollen, absolutely pink puffy pussy.

“hah-! fffuu, m’ just a slut!” He cries and wails. “Just your slut.” There’s tears streaming down his face now, sobbing, doe eyed and glassy, so so, so, so pretty.

He trembles and shakes even more if it were possible, legs thrashing and thighs clenching when you feel his juices gush out and squirting, screaming and squirming, not expecting to squirt, eyes rolling straight to the back of his head.

You lap up all his juices and press a final little kiss to his pussy before you completely stop.

The pretty fairy boy goes limp, laying in the bed of flowers, panting and gasping heavily, so embarrassed from squirting, he attempts to hide face in his hands, face so incredibly pink and flushed. But you’re taking his hand away so you can cup his hot cheeks and coo at him, kissing at his forehead instead.

When he’s finally recovered, his mouth curls into a playful grin gazing at you as you both lay next to each other in the flowers, his eyes sparkling with mischief again.

“Good enough for you?” You sarcastically ask him, knowing how absolutely disheveled he looked right now, the sweat only making his glittery face and body even more shiny and ethereal.

He chuckles, still breathless and nods. “Too good even, I might not want to let you go. Kinda want to keep you forever…”

Please actually reblog !!!!!! and leave comments !!!! guys 😭 if you like the fic. It’s really appreciated and so nice tysm !<3🙏💕🌷🌷! It’s incredibly discouraging and irriating when fics have such little reblogs ☹️. At least send an anon in the inbox if you don’t want to rb, don’t just like. Feedback is always appreciated it make writers want to actually write :)

A/n: this is super messy and makes no sense I’m sorry 🤞 just wanted to experiment with boypussy gyu though I know it’s not many’s cup of tea !

[elsa-fogen]

Meme for a canon au with Blicy...

Au, that i don't have... i wanted to say, but i came up with said AU while drawing this LMAO

So, Bloom was in love with Icy the whole season 1 and confessed during their fight in the end... well... confessed isn't the right word... yeah she kissed her. And then confessed.

None of the Winx know that they're kinda dating now. Bloom broke up with Sky right after she learned about Diaspro. And... she didnt go to Earth, instead she went in the forest, she was going to find Icy and confess, but the Trix found her first and took her powers.

And the Trix were sent to the Light Rock anyway.

And everything else also happened, but Icy actually didn't want any of it, she wanted to play role of Bloom's girlfriend and "have" the dragon's flame this way.

Them ancestral witches make the Trix destroy ligh magic and all that stuff from magical adventure, but Bloom and Icy are texting all the time, and Icy releases light magic on purpose, and ancestrals punish her for betrayal. By possessing only her, all three of them at once.

Icy almost died there.

AND THEN SHE GORS TO FUCKING PRISON, But Bloom does everything to save her.

THIS AU WAS MENT TO BE A ONE-TIME JOKE HUH? FORGET IT I DO NO JOKES, ONLY ANGST, ONLY SUFFERINGS EUWAHAHAHAHAHA

happy valentine's day i guess HJDSKFHLSDLFLS gonna draw some stuff for this au now

[thekinslayed]

Wandering Eyes

summary | Aemond and his girl visit Saltburn, where a pair of curious eyes watch fascinatingly from the sides. (requested)

pairing | saltburn au: modern!aemond targaryen x girlfriend!reader (+ voyeur!oliver quick, mentions of modern!aegon targaryen x venetia catton)

tags | 18+, MINORS DNI! blowjob, voyeurism, oliver quick is a warning alone

wordcount | 2.5k

note | u guys asked for more saltburn aem, and i shall provide! rly happy with how this one came out hehe thank you for the love on the previous parts, which you can find here if you are interested! (1, 2) <3 if you haven't read the first two, no worries! this can still be a standalone fic :)

likes, comments, and reblogs are much appreciated! <3

(divider by @starzyyy1)

The sweat beaded on Aemond’s warm, reddening flesh under the sweltering sun. They lounged on lawn chairs overlooking the expanse of land the Catton manor sat upon, clad in only their shorts and sunglasses, too weary from the heat to be wearing any more clothing. There was a slight throb deep within his temples. Perhaps it was from the heat, or the warm liquor they kept passing around, or the puffs of cigarette smoke that stayed like a cloud above their heads from the lack of wind, he wasn’t sure. What he was sure of, however, was that the idiotic banter coming from Felix and Aegon wasn’t of any help in alleviating his headache. They were arguing about some dumb blonde who managed to play them both like a fiddle at the same time, which wasn’t the first time, laying claim on who had her first, who fucked her better. God, why don’t they just pull out a ruler and measure their dicks while they’re at it? Aemond let out an annoyed sigh, turning his eye to something more worth his attention, you. 

You were laid on your stomach on the grass with Venetia, passing a bottle of rosé between the two of you. Both girls were only clad in their bikinis, skin glistening with tanning oil. You stood out like a blooming tulip in the middle of the wide span of grass at Saltburn, the sight of your exposed flesh beckoning Aemond’s eye hypnotically. You turned to lay on your back, your hair spilling around you like a nymph on the forest floor. There was a warm tinge in Aemond’s belly, one not from the liquor, nor the heat.

This was your second summer together, and like the previous year, you paid visits to your respective homes. This time, however, Aemond took you with him and Aegon on a little visit to Saltburn at the Catton’s invitation. The younger Targaryen always thought the manor was a little too empty for his liking, echoing with the whispers of secrets the walls harbored. Albeit, Dragonstone was much bigger and more grand, the boisterous presence of his much larger family left no room for hidden corners filled with the unknown. The Catton was a much smaller family, quite an odd bunch, and perhaps even more fucked in the head than the Targaryens. 

Aemond’s attention returned to the group when Felix passed him the bottle of vodka, taking a small swig of the clear liquid. His gaze passed the sight of Oliver Quick, who was also staring at the two girls laid out on the grass. It was safe to say Aemond didn’t like him, rather suspicious of the mousy little twat. The silver-headed man was wary of the calculating look Oliver always seemed to have, could practically see the gears turning in his head as if he was planning his next step carefully. It was too obvious, maybe not to an idiot like Felix, but it was to Aemond, and from what Michael told him about their short-lived ‘friendship’, Oliver had a desire to get a leg up in Oxford society, and blend in with the elites. It was pathetic, but the Targaryen could care less if he did so, as long as he kept his grubby hands out of Aemond’s business, and he stopped fucking staring at his girl. 

“How, uh, how’s Helaena?” Felix asked, tearing Aemond’s burning stare away from Oliver. Both Targaryens snickered at the question, making Felix shift insecurely in his seat.

“Not single, if that’s what you’re fucking asking,” Aegon responded, cackling when their childhood companion visibly deflated at his words. A smirk lifted the corners of Aemond’s thin lips, huffing a dark chuckle under his breath before taking a puff of his cigarette. 

“She’s in Hawaii with Cregan,” the younger Targaryen informed, smoke billowing out his lips and nostrils as he exhaled. Felix’s jaw dropped in disbelief, his head quickly turning to the silverheads on either side of him to find any sign that they were playing him.

“Wha– Stark?” Both brothers only nodded, sharing an amused look when Felix groaned, slamming his head backward into the cushion in defeat. 

“Aw, come on, pretty boy. Y’know she was never into you like that! Either way, you won’t ever get to try anything on Hel, not unless you want Aemond to knock out some of your teeth again,” the older Targaryen remarked, flashing Felix a bright grin. A pair of blue eyes quickly shifted between the three men, the newcomer listening intently into the conversation he found no part in. Aemond caught the way Oliver stared at a pouting Felix with a strange glint in his eye. Perhaps it was jealousy, something akin to the same look Aemond had when his pretty girl first started bringing Gavey around. 

As Aegon continued to poke fun at the tall man, Aemond tuned out the conversation when you and Venetia approached the group. Your skin glimmered with a mix of sweat and oil, and as you approached where he sat, he could feel the heat emanating from your warm flesh. You cupped his jaw, before taking the cigarette dangling from his lips into your fingertips and bringing it to your lips. Your boyfriend raised an eyebrow at you, silently asking where you were off to, seeing as you made no move to settle down on his lap when he beckoned you to. 

“Bathroom,” was all you said before walking away. Like a moth to a flame, Aemond quickly followed suit, his cigarette haphazardly stubbed into the ashtray. His good eye trained on the sight of your plump ass as you walked through the halls of the vast mansion, entranced by the inviting sight.

“That guy’s fuckin’ whipped,” Felix commented once Aemond had disappeared after your tail. He took another swig of liquor, before passing it to Aegon, who let out a grunt in agreement.

“You know Aemond, he’s always been too serious… already asked for our grandmother’s ring and everything,” Aegon disclosed, before offering the half-empty bottle of vodka to Venetia. Their eyes stayed on each other like magnets as her lips covered the bottle’s opening, taking a swig of the warm liquor. A droplet spilled over the side of her glossy lips, and a glitter polish-painted thumb wiped off the liquid, before shooting Aegon a seductive smirk.

“No shit?” Felix asked, surprised. A pair of curious eyes watched Venetia and Aegon, Oliver in disbelief at the blatant display in front of her brother. It seemed that Felix didn’t even mind the way they were a second away from devouring each other right then and there, or he just simply was turning a blind eye. 

Oliver quickly learned that the Targaryens had the power to turn the exuberant, bright Felix Catton small. They held an air of authority that would make the tide split for their path, an innate confidence that was as regal as their silver hair and pale flesh. It was a level of eliteness one could not possibly climb to, untouchable to a common man like him. He was in awe, yet intimated, and soon he found himself quietly padding through Saltburn’s guest wing. It took him little effort to find the rooms you were occupying, given away by a muffled groan heard in the quiet, deserted halls. Oliver crouched outside your door, peering into the keyhole. It reminded him of one of his first nights here when he had peeked into Felix’s bathroom. The memory made his skin tingle, even more so at the sight of you kneeling before Aemond’s seated form. Your back was facing the door, and your sheened skin glowed under the light that streamed through the old windows. You were topless, your bikini top strewn carelessly somewhere in the room, while Aemond’s shorts were dropped to his ankles. His long, silver mane cascaded over the edge of the lounge chair with his tilted back, soft grunts of pleasure escaping his lips. His large palm rested on the back of your head as it bobbed up and down at a languid pace. Oliver couldn’t see much, but it was clear what you were up to, given away by the sound of your mouth taking Aemond’s cock. A string of curses left the Targaryen’s lips in low mutters, followed by words of praise.

“Good girl,” Oliver heard him say, to which you responded with a moan. Your pace was steady and unrushed, taking your sweet time. You were clearly well aware of what pleased the silver-haired man before you, evident in the way you fondled his balls in one hand, while the other stroked the base of his cock. 

Oliver gulped, palming his own hardening length in his shorts at the erotic sight. From his point of view, it seemed that you were enjoying this just as much as Aemond was, with the way you freely moaned around his length. You pulled your mouth off your boyfriend’s cock with a pop, replacing its warmth with steady strokes of your hand. Your attention was shifted to his stones, which you sucked on eagerly. Aemond grunted loudly, his voice bouncing against the walls of the spacious room.

“Feel good?” you said, barely audible to Oliver’s ear with your mouth still buried in Aemond’s sacks. His cock jumped in his palm at your sweet voice, prompting him to slip his hand into his shorts to stroke it instead. 

“So good, baby, so fucking perfect,” Aemond groaned. Oliver’s eyes trailed from his muscular chest, littered with light hair, down to his abdomen, which glistened with sweat from the summer heat. He watched as his brows furrowed in pleasure, while his jaw remained slack, his moans falling freely from his lips. His hand picked up its pace while he studied Aemond’s features, from his sculptured jaw, and his aquiline nose. Oliver watched, and he stroked his cock.

Aemond was close, evident in the way his hips subtly thrust into your hand. The hand that was resting on the back of your head gathered all your hair into a ponytail, which urged you to return your lips to his length. You let him set the pace, let him push your head up and down his cock to his liking. Your hands clutched his firm thighs to steady yourself, breathing deep through your nose. You hollowed out your cheeks and pressed your tongue to the underside of his cock to spur Aemond further to his release. His grip on your hair tightened painfully, much to your liking, his pace growing rhythmless and desperate, which Oliver mimicked with his hand. The unknown voyeur outside your room bit his lip to suppress his moans, his own release drawing near. 

Oliver watched Aemond use your mouth to his liking, like nothing but a whore on her knees. He watched you allow him to do so, finding your own pleasure with the way one of your hands crept into your bottoms. After one harsh thrust into your mouth, then another, Aemond pulled your mouth off his cock. He stroked his length furiously, while you presented your bare tits to him. Oliver couldn’t see the spurts of cum that painted your chest, but it was seeing Aemond’s face contort in pleasure that made him spill into his hand. He is reminded of watching Felix in that tub many nights ago, and how he enjoyed slurping up the remnants of his seed. It was depraved, horrific, yet the most cathartic thing he had ever done. He imagined himself doing the same with Aemond’s cum, perhaps even licking it off your plump tits. 

The familiar sound of Venetia’s giggles pulled Oliver from his thoughts, which was followed by a deep chuckle from down the hall. His feet pulled him away from Aemond’s door, following where he heard another laugh before a door slammed shut from around the corner. In his post-orgasmic daze, Oliver’s elbow collided with a stone ornament, one of the hundreds displayed in the Catton’s home, falling on the carpet with a loud thud. He scrambled to pick up the figurine and return it to its place, silently praying no one heard him. His prayers were unanswered when he heard a door behind him open, making him freeze in his place. 

“Oliver,” Aemond said, his smooth voice booming through the empty hall. Oliver turned to face the younger Targaryen, who had one hand leaning above the doorframe. The icy blue of his good eye was sharp as he stared, making the smaller man’s skin prickle under the weight of his gaze. “Are you looking for something?” Oliver’s face burned with the humiliation of being caught, his mouth turning dry as he approached the silver-haired man. His hand rubbed the back of his neck, before letting out an awkward chuckle. “Yeah, no, mate, I-I think I just got lost again.”

Aemond only hummed in response, crossing his arms in front of his bare chest. He stared down at Oliver through his eyelashes, making the man before him fight the urge to cower in fear. Behind Aemond, your voice echoed though Oliver didn’t dare to peek over his shoulder. You seemed farther away, your soft tone covered by the sound of running water. Leaning on the door frame, Aemond turned his head to you.

“Get the bath started, baby, I’ll be right there, yeah?” he called out to you. With a response from you that Oliver couldn’t catch, Aemond turned back to Oliver. “Still getting lost after three weeks of being here?”

Oliver gulped, nodding his head pathetically. He scrambled for a response, muttering something about not being good with directions, to which Aemond only responded with another hum. His pulse thrummed thunderously in his ears, and the longer the Targaryen stared at him with his scrutinizing gaze he felt himself being peeled layer by layer. After a couple of beats of silence, Aemond spoke.

“You’re by Felix’s room, aren’t you? That’s on the other wing of the house. Should’ve taken a left from the staircase.”

The relief washed over Oliver like a warm breeze. He stuttered some sort of thanks, before turning away from Aemond. As he walked away, he didn’t hear the sound of a door closing, which meant Aemond was still watching him. All of a sudden, his walk felt funny, the front of his shorts uncomfortably damp, only aggravated with every step he took. When he finally heard the door close shut, his shoulders visibly relaxed. That was close, too close. Aemond was much too perceptive, much smarter than all of the Cattons combined. Oliver couldn’t afford to be caught by him, so he thought it best to keep his motives far from the Targaryens as much as possible. He made his way through the halls with his tail stuck in between his legs, only stopping when he heard Venetia’s voice again. Like deja vu, he peeked through another keyhole again, spotting Felix’s sister lost in a bundle of sheets, a head of short silver-hair buried in between her thighs.

[ateezscupid]

Can I request an Ateez Vampire Yeosang x reader where it's her first time everything? First time orgasm, first time squirt so he makes her squirt a couple times, first time having sex and she bleeds and freaks so he helps her and calms her through it? Very smutty and extremely fluffy?

Probably the smuttiest thing I've written with Yeosang ever????

𝐈𝐦𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐥 𝐊𝐢𝐬𝐬. ♡

warnings ─ medieval au, vamp!yeosang, human!fem reader, implication of turning reader into a vampire (doesn't happen, but yeosang does bite reader on the neck twice), yeosang and reader are married, fluff

tags ─ @felixs-voice-makes-me-wanna @starillusion13 @mingitheskzstan @jeonride

m.list ┃ nsfw warnings under the cut.

warnings ─ soft!dom yeosang, sub!reader, loss of virginity, oral (f receiving), fingering, praise and degradation, pet names, unprotected sex, overstimulation, squirting, mention of pee (no, not in the nasty way LOL)

Yeosang sat on the sprawling porch of your ancient mansion, the sun's warm embrace barely peeking through the dense canopy of the surrounding forest. He nursed a cup of tea, the delicate porcelain warming his fingertips as he held it with a gentle grip. The newspaper lay folded beside him, forgotten as his gaze drifted to the garden, his girlfriend worked with a quiet determination. You had your back to him, your slender form moving rhythmically as you tended to the blooming flowers. Your hair was pulled back in a loose bun, and every so often, a tendril would escape, dancing in the gentle breeze. The sight of you filled him with a sense of peace and a yearning that was both new and familiar.

Your movements were graceful, a silent pattern of care and dedication that spoke of your love for the earth and the life it nurtured. Yeosang felt his chest tighten, his fangs throb gently in response to the allure of your humanity. He set the tea and newspaper aside, the rustle of the pages a small rebellion against the serene quiet of the afternoon. Slowly, he rose from his chair, his long shadow stretching out before him as he descended the porch steps.

The soft scent of blooming roses filled the air as he approached you, your crimson petals a stark contrast to your skin. He could hear the distant sound of bees industriously collecting nectar, a gentle hum that seemed to echo the thrum of his own pulse. When he reached you, he didn't say a word. Instead, he wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you close so that you could feel the beat of his heart against your back.

You stiffened for a moment, your gardening sheers hovering in midair, before relaxing into his embrace. Your cheeks flushed a delicate pink, a color that stood out starkly against the emerald of your eyes. You leaned back into him, your head tilting slightly to the side as you looked up at him with a shy smile. "What is it?" you asked, your voice a soft melody that made him want to pull you even closer.

Yeosang leaned down, his breath a whisper against your ear. "Just watching you," he said, his voice a low rumble. "You're so beautiful." He felt the rapid flutter of your heartbeat, a tantalizing reminder of the life that flowed through your veins. He resisted the urge to bite, instead pressing a gentle kiss to your neck. You giggled, the sound music to his centuries-old ears.

You stood there for a moment, basking in the simple pleasure of each other's company. Then, Yeosang spoke again, his words a soft coax. "Take a break," he suggested. "Come inside with me." You hesitated, your hands still clutching the sheers, but the desire in his voice was palpable. After a moment, you nodded, allowing him to lead you away from the garden and into the dimly lit mansion. The door closed with a soft click behind them, leaving the outside world and its mundane tasks at bay.

In the cool interior of the house, Yeosang led you up the grand staircase, his steps silent on the plush carpet that lined the steps. You made your way to the master bedroom, a sanctuary of velvet and lace that smelled faintly of your mingled scents. He could feel the anticipation building within you, a sweet, intoxicating aroma that made his fangs throb in anticipation.

Once inside, you pulled away from his embrace and danced over to the walk-in closet, your eyes scanning the racks of clothes. Yeosang leaned against the door frame, arms crossed over his chest, watching you with a smoldering gaze. "What are you looking for?" he asked, his tone playful.

"Something to wear tonight," you replied, your cheeks still flushed from your earlier encounter. You pulled out a few garments, holding them up to the light that streamed through the stained-glass window. Each piece was a whisper of fabric that promised to leave little to the imagination, and Yeosang felt his heart race at the thought of you wearing them.

He pushed himself off the frame, stalking closer to you with a predatory grace that made your pulse quicken. "Why bother with clothes?" he murmured, his breath warm against your ear. "You're already the most beautiful thing in this room." He took a garment from your hand, a delicate piece of black lace, and let it slide through his fingers. You giggled, swatting his hand away and hiding your face in his chest.

With a playful growl, Yeosang wrapped his arms around you again, lifting you off the floor and spinning you around. You squealed in surprise and delight, your laughter echoing through the room. He set you down, your feet barely touching the plush rug before he captured your mouth in a hungry kiss. His fangs grazed your lower lip, and you gasped, your eyes fluttering shut as you melted into him. He could feel your heart racing, the sweet scent of your arousal mixing with the earthy smell of the garden soil that clung to your skin.

Your kiss grew deeper, more urgent, as Yeosang backed you towards the bed. You stumbled slightly, your hands clutching at his shirt. He broke away, his eyes searching yours for permission, for the confirmation that you were ready for what was to come. When you nodded, your eyes wide and trusting, he felt a surge of love and desire that was almost overwhelming.

Gently, he laid you down, his body hovering over yours as he began to remove your gardening clothes. Each layer revealed more of your smooth skin, and he couldn't resist the urge to kiss and nibble the soft flesh he uncovered. Your breath hitched as his fangs grazed your collarbone, and you arched your back, inviting him to continue. The tension in the air grew thick, a heady mix of excitement and nerves.

"Your skin is like porcelain," Yeosang murmured, his voice thick with desire as he unbuttoned your blouse. "Soft, delicate, and begging to be touched." He peeled back the fabric, his eyes drinking in the sight of your lacy bra, the cups a delicate cradle for the treasures beneath. "These…" He trailed off, his fingertips tracing the edge of the lace. "They hide the most beautiful parts of you." With a flick of his wrist, the bra was gone, your breasts spilling free. He took one in his hand, his thumb brushing over your erect nipple. You gasped, your back arching off the bed.

"And these…" He leaned down, his breath hot against your skin as he trailed kisses down your stomach. "These curves drive me wild." He tugged at the waistband of your trousers, his eyes never leaving yours. "Every inch of you is perfection, and I want to worship it all." Your hands trembled as you helped him, sliding the fabric over your hips and revealing the matching lace of your panties.

When you were naked before him, Yeosang sat back on his haunches, his eyes roving over your body with a reverence reserved for the most sacred of artifacts. He took your hand in his, his gaze intense. "Are you sure, my love?" His thumb traced the veins that pulsed with your life beneath your skin. "Once you give yourself to me, there's no turning back. You'll be mine, forever."

Your eyes searched his, finding the love and protection you craved. You nodded, your voice a soft whisper. "I'm ready. I trust you." The weight of your words hung in the air, a silent promise that bound you together in ways you hadn't yet fully comprehended. But you knew that you wanted this, needed this connection with him more than you'd ever needed anything.

Yeosang took a deep breath, his chest expanding with the gravity of what was about to happen. He leaned in, his fangs grazing the soft skin of your neck. "If you change your mind, you know you can tell me." He kissed your collarbone, his tongue darting out to taste your sweetness. "But know that once we start, I'll crave more than just your blood." His voice grew softer, a seductive purr that sent shivers down your spine. "I'll want your body, your soul… everything that makes you, you."

Your pulse raced at his words, your heart fluttering like a caged bird. You nodded again, more firmly this time. "I'm ready," you repeated, your voice stronger, more assured. "I want this. I want you."

He smiled, a soft, tender curve of his lips that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Good," he said, his voice a dark promise. "Because I've wanted this for so long." With that, he leaned down, his fangs sinking gently into the flesh of your neck. You gasped, your body stiffening before melting into the bed beneath him. The coppery taste of your blood filled his mouth, a symphony of sensation that made his head spin. He drank, savoring each drop, as he continued to tease and explore your body with his hands.

Your legs parted for him, an unspoken invitation that he couldn't resist. He kissed his way down your torso, his hands skimming over your hips, your thighs, before finally reaching your core. His eyes widened at the sight of you. You were a vision of innocence and desire, your pink flesh glistening with need. He leaned in, his tongue flicking out to taste you, to learn the secrets of your body. Your hips jerked, a soft moan escaping your lips.

"You taste like heaven," he whispered, his voice muffled against your sensitive skin as he traced the seam of your sex with his tongue. You gripped the bed sheets, your knuckles turning white as you fought to hold onto reality. "Every part of you, so sweet, so perfect." His words were a gentle caress against your soul as he explored you with an almost reverent hunger.

Your body responded to his touch in a symphony of sensation. Each flick of his tongue, each suck of his lips, sent waves of pleasure crashing through you, threatening to drown you in a sea of ecstasy. Incoherent sounds tumbled from your mouth, a mix of whimpers and moans that grew louder as he worked his magic.

"Do you like this?" he asked, his eyes looking up at you, filled with a fiery need. You nodded, unable to form coherent words as he swirled his tongue around the swollen bud of your clit. "I love making you feel this way," he said, his voice a low growl. "You're so responsive, so beautiful."

Your hips began to rock against his mouth, a silent plea for more. He obliged, his tongue pressing harder, his strokes becoming more insistent. You could feel the tension building within you, a coil winding tighter and tighter with each pass of his mouth. Your breath hitched, your chest heaving as you approached the edge of something you'd never felt before.

And then you were there, teetering on the brink, the world around you fading into a blur of sensation. Yeosang's eyes gleamed with satisfaction as he watched your body convulse, your first orgasm ripping through you with the force of a tempest. You cried out his name, the sound echoing through the bedroom and sending a shiver of pleasure down his spine. He lapped at you, savoring your sweet release, his own need growing with each tremor that wracked your frame.

As your climax subsided, Yeosang moved up your body, kissing and nibbling along the way. He hovered over you, his eyes a dark, endless pool of desire. "Again," he whispered, his fangs retracted but the hunger in his gaze was unmistakable. "I want to feel you come apart for me again."

Your eyes were glazed with passion, and your cheeks flushed a deep shade of crimson. "I-I don't know if I can," you murmured, your voice tremulous with the aftershocks of pleasure. But Yeosang knew you better than you knew yourself, and he recognized the challenge in your words. He kissed you, his tongue delving into your mouth, sharing your taste with you. You moaned into the kiss, your body already responding to his command.

He slid two fingers inside you, his thumb circling your clit with the same rhythm that had driven your over the edge moments before.

"Good girl," he praised, his tone low and seductive. "You're so wet for me."

Your cheeks burned at his words, but you couldn't deny the truth of them. Your body was responding to him in a way that was utterly foreign, and yet it felt so incredibly right. You bit your lower lip, trying to keep your moans of pleasure from escaping as he grew bolder, his strokes becoming more insistent.

You bucked against his hand, your nails digging into his shoulders as you sought purchase. He felt you tighten around him, your breath coming in short gasps. "Look at me," he ordered, his voice a gentle rumble. Your eyes snapped open, locking with his, and he watched the realization dawn in them as you felt the beginnings of another climax building.

"Yeah, baby, that's it," he murmured, his praise sending a jolt of pleasure through you. "You're so beautiful when you come."

The way he talked to you, the way he touched you, it was all so overwhelming. You felt a mix of pleasure and a hint of something else, something darker that you couldn't quite put your finger on. It was as if he was claiming you, marking you as his own with every stroke and every syllable of praise that slipped from his lips. And you liked it, more than you cared to admit.

Your breathing grew ragged, and you could feel the tension building inside you like a storm about to break. Your eyes went wide as you felt a sudden, unfamiliar sensation building in your lower abdomen. Your body began to quake as a second, more powerful orgasm ripped through you like a bolt of lightning. He knew it too, his eyes burning into yours as he whispered, "You're going to come for me, aren't you?"

It was both a question and a command, and you found yourself nodding frantically, your hips rising off the bed to meet his hand. His fingers moved faster, pressing harder, and you could feel the dam about to burst.

"You're going to squirt for me," he said, his voice a dark promise. "I want to feel it, baby."

"Yeosang," you stutter trying to form a sentence. "I-I feel like--" you felt embarrassed to say it.

"You feel like you're going to come," he finishes for you, his voice a smug whisper. "It's alright. Just let go."

"I-I feel like peeing-," you mumble. "S-Stop, I don't-"

"Shh," he hushes, his thumb circling your clit with a maddening precision. "It's not pee, it's your body's natural response to pleasure." His voice is soothing, his eyes never leaving yours as he watches you closely. "Trust me, it's going to feel amazing."

"Squirt for me."

The word "squirt" was like a trigger, and you felt your body tighten around his fingers as the most intense pleasure you'd ever experienced washed over you. It was as if you'd been holding your breath for an eternity and were finally allowed to exhale. You cried out, your eyes squeezed shut as you rode the wave, feeling your muscles spasm and release in a delicious, liquid rush. A rush of liquid spilled from you, soaking the sheets beneath you. You could feel the warmth spreading between your thighs, a sensation that was both shocking and exhilarating. Yeosang's eyes widened in surprise and delight as he watched your body respond.

The release is unlike anything you've ever felt before, a mix of pleasure and relief that leaves you panting and trembling. Yeosang's eyes are wide with excitement, his fangs peeking out slightly as he watches you come apart in his arms. He pulls his hand away, his fingers glistening with your arousal, and brings them to his mouth, licking them clean.

Your eyes widen as you watch him, the realization of what just happened finally sinking in. "Oh my god," you whisper, your voice shaky. "What was that?"

"That," he says with a smug smile, "was your body giving in to me." He leans in, pressing his forehead against yours. "You're mine now, in every way that counts."

"Now stay still," he murmured, his voice filled with desire. "You're so perfect. Doing so good for me. Let me help you finish." He didn't stop his ministrations, instead, his thumb pressed harder, his fingers moving faster as he coaxed another wave of pleasure from your trembling form. The sensation was unlike anything you had ever felt, a delicious pressure that made your toes curl and your eyes roll back in your head.

The feeling grew more intense, the warm liquid continuing to spill out of you until you were sure you would drown in it. Yeosang's eyes gleamed with excitement as he watched you, his own arousal evident in the hard line of his cock pressed against your thigh. He leaned down, his tongue darting out to taste the newfound wetness, a growl of pleasure rumbling in his chest.

The intimacy of the moment was almost too much to bear. Your body was laid bare before him, a canvas of passion and need. But instead of feeling embarrassed or shy, you felt powerful, like you had unlocked some ancient, primal part of yourself that had been waiting for this very moment.

He kissed you deeply, the taste of your own release on his lips a heady aphrodisiac that only served to fan the flames of your desire. Your hips rocked against his hand, your body begging for more, even as you felt the last tremors of your second orgasm fade.

When you opened your eyes again, you found him watching you, his gaze filled with love and an almost tangible hunger. "Are you okay?" he asked, his voice gentle despite the urgency in his touch.

"Yes," you breathed, your voice shaky with pleasure. "More than okay. That was… incredible."

He smiled, his fangs peeking out slightly as he kissed you again. "I'm not done with you yet," he whispered, his eyes dark with need. "Now, let me show you what else I can do."

He slid his hand away, and you felt a moment of loss before he positioned himself between your legs. His cock nudged at your entrance, and you gasped at the sheer size of him. But you were so wet, so ready, that you knew you could take him.

With a gentle push, he entered you, the sensation of him filling you, unlike anything you'd ever felt before. You tensed for a moment, pain ripping through your body. He paused, his eyes searching yours for any sign of distress, his concern clear even in the throes of his own passion. "You're okay?" he asked, his voice tight with restraint.

"I…" you went silent, your hands reaching for his forearm. He watched you intently, the love in his gaze almost too much to handle as you felt a sudden rush of wetness between your legs, not just from your arousal, but the blood that accompanied your first time. The sight of it made you panic, and you looked up at him with wide, scared eyes. "What's happening?" you whispered, your voice shaking.

Yeosang leaned down, his forehead against yours, his eyes never leaving yours. "It's okay," he soothed, his voice calm and steady. "It's just a little blood. It's normal." He kissed you gently, tasting the hint of fear in your mouth. "I'm with you," he assured you, his hands moving to gently cup your cheeks. "I'll never hurt you."

Taking a shaky breath, you nodded, your eyes never leaving his. He pushed in a little further, your body stretching around him, and you bit your bottom lip to stifle a gasp. It hurt, but you didn't want him to stop. You could feel him, so deep inside you, and you knew that you were his, forever. The pain was a strange sort of pleasure, a reminder of the bond you were forming.

As he began to move, your eyes drifted shut, and you focused on the feeling of him inside you. The pain began to recede, replaced by a deep, insatiable need that grew with every stroke. Your body felt alive in a way it never had before, your muscles tightening around him like a vice.

"You feel so good, my love," Yeosang murmured, his voice thick with passion as he began to move within you, his strokes slow and gentle at first. He watched your face, your expressions a tapestry of pain and pleasure that painted a picture of the virginity you were giving to him. He knew he had to be careful, had to make sure you enjoyed this moment, that you felt comfortable and loved.

Your nails dug into his arms, but you didn't push him away. Instead, you clung to him, your body adjusting to the new sensation as he continued to move, each thrust a little deeper, a little harder than the last. The blood had stopped, but the memory of it made him ache for more, made him want to claim you fully. But he held back, knowing that this was your moment, your first time, and he needed to make it perfect for you.

Your breathing grew ragged as you began to move with him, your hips rising to meet his. He kissed you, his fangs grazing your lower lip as he tasted the lingering fear that mingled with the sweetness of your blood. "You're mine," he murmured against your mouth, his voice a dark promise that sent a thrill of excitement through you.

Your eyes fluttered open, and you nodded, your voice a soft whisper. "Yeah, I'm yours."

The words seemed to unleash something within him, a primal need held in check by his love and respect for you. He began to move faster, his hips slapping against yours as he claimed you in the most intimate way possible. You moaned, your nails now raking down his back as you arched into him, your body begging for more.

Yeosang could feel his own release building, the pressure at the base of his spine growing unbearable. He reached down, his thumb finding your clit, and began to rub it in tight circles.

Your eyes shot open, and you stared at him, your pupils dilated with lust. "Yeosang," you gasped, his name a plea on your lips.

He leaned in, his teeth grazing your earlobe. "You're so tight, so wet," he whispered, his words hot against your skin. "You're going to feel so good when I come inside you."

Your body tensed, your nails digging into his back as you tried to hold onto the last shreds of your sanity. But it was no use. His words, his touch, it was all too much, and you felt yourself hurtling towards another climax. This one was different, though. It was as if your entire being was coiled tightly, ready to snap.

"Oh god," you whimpered, your hips bucking up to meet him. "I'm going to come again."

He grinned, his fangs glinting in the dim light. "Do it," he urged, his voice a dark caress. "Come for me, baby. Show me how much you like it."

With a strangled cry, you did just that. Your body spasmed around him, your muscles clenching as you came harder than you ever had before.

Yeosang watched you with a mix of awe and pride, his own climax a distant thunderstorm on the horizon of his pleasure. He knew he could keep you on this precipice for hours if he wanted to, but he also knew that this was your first time, and he didn't want to push your too far too soon. So, with a gentle kiss to your forehead, he pulled out, your juices coating his cock in a warm, sticky mess.

He sat up, his eyes never leaving yours, and reached for a pillow behind you. Carefully, he placed it under your hips, elevating you to the perfect angle. He kept your thighs spread, his fingers digging into your soft flesh as he positioned himself above your once more. The pillow made your feel even more exposed, more vulnerable, and you bit your lip as you watched him enter your again.

This time, his movements were more deliberate, his strokes slower and deeper. You could feel every inch of him, the veins of his cock pulsing with each thrust. The pain had mostly subsided, leaving behind a deep, all-consuming need that you hadn't known existed. You wrapped your legs around his waist, urging him closer, your heels digging into his back.

Your eyes remained locked as he began to move again, his hips rolling into yours in a rhythm that was as old as time.

His hand slid from your thigh to your lower stomach, his fingers pressing down firmly, guiding your movements, setting the pace. You gasped as the pressure built, your nails digging into his back as you felt the beginnings of a third orgasm coiling within you. Yeosang watched you with an almost painful hunger, his eyes dark with desire.

Your words grew more desperate, more explicit with each passing second. "H-Harder," you begged, your voice a needy whine. "D-Don't stop, please, don't ever stop..." He could feel his own climax approaching, a warm tingle at the base of his spine, but he held back, determined to give you everything you needed.

He leaned down, capturing your mouth in a fierce kiss as his hand moved lower, his fingers sliding through your wetness to find your clit. He circled it with the same rhythm as his hips, feeling your body tighten around him. The dirtiness of your pleas only fueled his desire, his own moans growing louder as he felt your body responding to his touch.

Your movements grew erratic, your bodies moving in perfect harmony as the room filled with the sounds of your passion. Yeosang's whispers grew more heated, his words a delicious mix of sweet praise and dark need. "You're so tight," he murmured, his breath hot against your ear. "So wet and perfect for me." His fangs grazed the soft skin of your neck, sending shivers down your spine.

Your moans grew louder, your breath coming in ragged gasps as he continued to push you closer to the edge. "You're going to come again, aren't you?" he asked, his voice a low growl. "You're going to scream my name as I fuck you so hard you forget your own." His words were a heady mix of love and possession, and you couldn't help but respond to them, your body arching off the bed as you neared climax once more.

"That's it, baby," he encouraged, his voice a seductive purr. "T-Take it, take everything I give you." He thrust harder, his fingers working in tandem with his cock, pushing you over the edge. Your eyes rolled back in your head, and you let out a scream of pleasure, your nails raking down his back.

Your body convulsed around him, your pussy clenching in a vice-like grip as you came for a third time, your orgasm shaking you to your very core. Yeosang watched you with a mix of love and hunger, his own release just out of reach. He knew he was close, his body trembling with the effort to hold back, but he wanted to make sure you were satisfied beyond all measure before he gave in to his own needs.

With a gentle but firm hand, he rolled you onto your stomach, your ass in the air, and your cheeks flushed a deep shade of red. You whimpered, your body still sensitive from your previous climaxes, but the position was one of submission and trust, and you knew he would never hurt you. He kissed the back of your neck, his teeth scraping lightly against your skin as he whispered sweet nothings in your ear. You could feel his cock, still hard and slick with your arousal, pressing against your thigh.

He reached around you, his hand finding your clit again, his fingers resuming your relentless dance. You moaned, your hips moving involuntarily as you felt the beginnings of another climax coil within you. It was too much, you thought, your body couldn't possibly take any more. But you were wrong. Each touch, each stroke, brought you closer to the precipice once more.

"Y-Yeosang," you cry out, your face now falling into the pillows. "T-Too much--"

"Never too much," he whispers, his voice thick with need. He slides into you from behind, the new angle sending sparks of pleasure through your body. You feel filled and complete like you're made for this. His hand moves to your hip, his grip firm, guiding your movements as he begins to thrust. You push back into him, the angle hitting your g-spot with precision, making you moan into the fabric.

Your rhythm builds, your bodies moving together like you're one entity. You're lost in the sensations, your mind a whirlwind of pleasure. You've never felt so alive, so utterly consumed by someone else. His teeth graze your shoulder, his breath hot and ragged in your ear. You know what's coming, but the anticipation only makes you wetter.

"I need you," he says, his voice strained. "I need all of you."

The words send a shiver down your spine. You nod, your voice lost in the symphony of pleasure. He sinks his fangs into your neck, the pain sharp and brief. The taste of your blood fills his mouth, and it's like nothing he's ever known. He groans, his hips moving faster as he drinks from you, feeling your pulse against his tongue. You gasp, your body tightening around him, and he knows you're close.

With a final, desperate push, he feels your orgasm ripple through you, your pussy clenching around him like a fist. It's all the encouragement he needs. He pulls out of you, his cock pulsing with his own release. He comes all over your back, the warmth of his cum mixing with the sticky wetness between your legs.

For a moment, you're both still, panting, your hearts racing in tandem. Then, Yeosang pulls you into his arms, turning you so you're nestled against his chest. He kisses your forehead, your cheeks, your lips. His tongue laps at the wound on your neck, healing it with his saliva. You shiver, your body still trembling with the aftershocks of pleasure.

"How was it?" he asks, his voice gentle.

"It was…" you trail off, trying to find the words. "A-Amazing," you finally say, your voice a whisper. "I didn't know it could feel like that."

He smiles, his eyes shining with love. "I'm glad I could be the one to show you." He runs his hand through your hair, his thumb brushing against your cheek.

"But we're not done yet."

[toruforuu]

gojo satoru x reader || hogwarts au (18+)

wonderwall chp.7 golden eulogies

✼pairing: hogwarts au - slytherin!gojo x ravenclaw!reader

✼summary: gojo satoru, the golden boy of a famous family lineage of wizards sets his sights on you, a half blood defying his pureblood morals. he makes it a goal in his life to make yours a living hell. years of endless pestering, teasing and rivalry stretching out. as times goes on, he finds himself thinking about you more than he isn’t. he grows torn between his family’s beliefs and the forbidden ache tickling his chest whenever he sees you

✼meaning: wonderwall - the person you cannot stop thinking about (song by oasis)

✼genre/tags: hogwarts au, female reader, strangers to enemies/sort of academic rivals to forbidden lovers, slow burn, angst, eventual smut, pining and yearning (mostly gojo), built up tension, teasing, bickering and pestering, jealousy, slightly spoiled gojo, obsessed and lovesick gojo, both are pretty oblivious to their feelings

✼warnings: discrimination, death, grief, shitty parents, light bullying, mentions of hook ups, sexual topics, family pressure and trauma, mentions of injuries and violence, degradation, mentions of political views, escalating political situation, lgbtq representation, cheating

✼word count: 10.9k

✼chapter: 7/?

a/n: what’s up guys:) this genuinely turned out to be one of my favs chapters i’ve ever written lmaoo. i looked forward to writing this one ever since i planned out the whole timeline, had to alter it a lot as my ideas kind of just come together as write. hopefully u don’t mind the longer chapters, lemme know if you’d prefer them shorter!

based on this // previous chapter // next chapter (pending…)

˚⟡˖ ࣪: link to playlist

˚⟡˖ ࣪: link to vision-board

Both of you agreed upon restricting your meetings and keeping them out of everyone’s sights. Throughout the next couple of weeks you act like the other doesn’t exist, but when the clock strikes midnight, you’re off to see each other. Every other night you’d meet at the very top of The Astronomy tower, because seeing each other at the edge of The Forbidden forest appeared to be far riskier and less accountable for. In those past weeks, you only went out to see the stag two times. Each time the same as the previous one, the magical being put together by mist patiently waiting and then disappearing into nothingness.

You discussed the possibility of the Patronus living on and wandering with your professor. The same one who offered you extra lessons. He confirmed that the owner of the Patronus truly would have to be dead in order for it to happen.

It provided you with no new information, but at least it felt like you were getting somewhere.

Overbearing hopes of solving the mystery behind the creature begin to decease as time went on, and the two of you remained unsuccessful in your mission. So many questions, so very few books written about it.

Could the appearance be connected to the Dementors floating around the school grounds?

Is it protecting something, or rather someone?

Frustration was swift to bloom due to the lack of answers.

“Sneaking off again?” a quiet voice asks sleepily in the darkness of your dorm-room just as your hand reaches for the handle. You stop in your tracks, heart pounding hard against your ribs as you’ve been caught by your best friend. You’ve shared the circumstances, not immediately, but you did as there’s nothing you can keep from here for too long. Arabella understood you chose to keep it a secret due to her state of mind.

That still doesn’t mean she approves of anything, quite the opposite actually.

“Don’t tell me you’re actually investing yourself into it,” Arabella goes on as you remain utterly silent, your back turned to her with head hanging low and your eyes glued to the wooden door. Her tone isn’t harsh nor meant to strike you, nonetheless, it irks you. Because you know she’s right to disagree with your choice.

“Didn’t your mom tell you to stay away?” her reminder stings, making you finally turn around to face her. Even if she can’t properly see you in the dead of the night — you yourself can barely map out her silhouette.

“Once we figure it out, it’s going back to normal,” you reassure her which causes her to let out a soft sigh, sounding defeated.

“A week ago you were here spiralling that he’s some evil mastermind, and now you’re helping him?” Arabella genuinely can’t see a single reason that turned you from a conspiracy lunatic to actually joining the suspicious outings, despite knowing the truth behind them.

“I told you what happened,” you mumble, tired of explaining of what she’s unable to grasp.

“I don’t want you to get into trouble. It’s still the same Gojo Satoru we’re talking about,” she exclaims, her tone suggesting protectiveness which you appreciate.

“It’s temporary,” you utter and it seems those two words change the course of the conversation towards the end.

Arabella blinks in the darkness, huffing out a sound of surrender.

“Be careful, okay?” is all she manages to come up with, no longer keeping you from going.

“Promise,” and with that you slip out of the door, tiptoeing your way through the common room and the empty corridors which give off sinister vibes under the blanket of the night.

As you reach your destination, you notice the ink-black sky, scattered with stars that feel just out of reach as you climb up the rough stone ledge of the Astronomy Tower. There’s only the light coming from your wand to guide you. A cool scrape of stone beneath your fingers as you hold for security, occasional flutterings of panic in your chest when you sense your foot slipping.

You swing your leg over the parapet, landing softly on the narrow ledge at the top of the stairs. The tower looms above the castle, still and ancient. The crispy wind rushes past like it’s trying to drag you over the railing, it sends shivers down your spine. Both the cold of the upcoming winter hanging in the air and the immense height of the building. You press yourself against the stone, catching your breath to realise you’re alone, he’s not here yet.

The courtyard below looks like a shadowy map, the sky above spread out along with the lake — limitless. You step forward slowly, boots leaping off the cold stone. Your hands reach for the railing, the metal cold.

You wait, arms crossed, heart beating with the thrill of the climb. It’s a completely different experience in the night.

Each minute stretches out like a thread, the silence around you stitched only with the distant hoot of an owl and the soft rustle of leaves. You glance back toward the entrance, half expecting him to appear out of nowhere like a ghost. At the heart of the tower is a massive orrery — a mechanical model of rings that orbit the solar system. It’s draped in a cloak of darkness, the outlook of it eerie. You sigh lightly and proceed to bend your body down to the level of the telescope, eyeing the constellations sprawled across the night sky.

You grow impatient and the chilly weather causes you to shake, which makes you pull your robe tighter against your body.

“Sorry, got held back for a little,” the white haired wizard makes his presence known, your body hitching a little at the unexpected sound. You straight your posture to glance over your shoulder, meeting his gaze for acknowledgment.

“It’s okay, I didn’t find anything new anyway,” you shrug carelessly and crouch down to so sit by the railing. Legs dangling in the hollow space while the wintery breeze dances with the strands of your hair, tangling them together into knots.

“Yeah, me neither,” he agrees, stepping near the railing, leaning into it to observe the stars.

“I asked the professor during my additional lessons one more time, and he simply confirmed what we already knew,” your announcement makes him hum softly. You turn your head up to catch a glimpse of him, locks of his white hair curling due to the wind in a similar way.

“What of your extra lessons, doing any better?” with that his body motions to take a seat, throwing his legs over the edge as well. As if in response to that, you drape your arms over the metal bar of the railing and rest your chin on top of it.

“Still not able to conjure up the full form, getting there though,” you share your progress with him, regarding your Patronus. At first, you didn’t mean to tell him, but combing lies into it seemed stupid when the professor could’ve helped you on your hunt for answers. So you did mention your troubles to the Slytherin, expecting him to pester you about it. Surprisingly that never occurred, or at least it wasn’t spoken in between you.

“Good, assumed it would be easy for ya with some extra help,” he snickers with ease, orbs darting towards the sky. Mimicking your tracing of the constellations.

“And let me take a wild guess — you can,” you let out with embroidered irony, deducting the assumption from his effortless ways. You’d be shocked if he wouldn’t agree.

“Without a doubt,” he props himself onto his elbows as he speaks with his usual kind of natural confidence.

Of course he can.

You lightly chuckle, rolling your eyes even though it goes unnoticed by him.

“We’re not cracking it, are we?” you navigate the direction back to your original topic, peaking at him from the corner of your eyes. His eyes are shut as he leans back, trusting his elbows to hold him up — appearance hauntingly angelic under the gaze of the moon.

“I suppose not, but it was one hell of an adventure. You gotta admit it,” one of his orbs cracks open to look back at you while a smirk tugs at the corner of his lips, pushing you to admit it was somewhat nice to step out of the circle of your comfort zone.

“It wasn’t bad,” you draw out with a short breath, not giving him the full satisfaction of a confession. Though it was rather thrilling. Having something meant to stay hidden, shared only with a handful of people. Lurking through the castle, meeting here at the tower late into the day had you in a magical chokehold. It smelled forbidden, and it tugs at your heartstrings that this is probably the end of the abnormality you two worked together for.

Satoru simply laughs out, finding your stubbornness amusing.

“I should go to bed, I have to get up early in the morning,” you voice out as the remains of his laughter ring through your ears, the chill of the night creeping onto you as you sit on the freezing rocky floor. You decide to carefully get up on your feet.

“L/N, wait,” his hand flies out, stopping in realisation few inches away from yours. It hovers in the air as his piercing orbs stare up at you, the action making you freeze in movement.

“Tell me another of your stories from the muggle world,” you blink down at him with confusion, wondering what it is that he’s hinting at with his words.

It comes to you a second later as his head cocks to the side, hand awkwardly moving back down.

The night before the attack at the world cup, when you told him the story behind the constellation’s name. That’s what he means.

“Please?” he coos mischievously before you manage to refuse him, and with that you can’t bring yourself to turn him down. You sit back down, doing as he intended which pleases him, but he keeps it to himself.

“Only one though, I wasn’t lying when I said I have a busy day tomorrow,” you mumble under your breath as you nestle your body to sit comfortably on the cold floor, already thinking of which story to tell. There’s so many, multiple of them come rushing to you.

“Get to it then,” he encourages.

“They’re not stories, by the way. They’re called myths or legend, and there’s hundreds of them,” you correct him mindlessly out of habit before you start telling him the history of one of the legends, and he’s okay with it.

“Okay, so The Trojan War is a legendary conflict that arose from a handful quarrels in between the Gods. The last drop was, when a youthful prince of Troy stole Helen of Sparta — the most beautiful of all women and made her fall in love with him. When her husband, also known as the Spartan king, realised Helen had left him for Paris of Troy, he called upon all the kings and princes of Greece to wage war upon Troy,” you kick off with the myth, the one that used to be your favourite when you were little. Your father had to repeat the story in great detail each night as you were about to drift off to sleep. It feels strangely comforting to be the one telling it now.

“He got his brother, Agamemnon, to lead a voyage to find her and get her back. Agamemnon was able to get other Greek heroes, such as Odysseus and Achilles to join him on this adventure. They have their own stories, but that’s for another time,” your eyes slide towards the Slytherin to reassure yourself he’s indeed listening and not doing this for laughs.

One peak at him and you could he’s serious.

“The Trojan War lasted for ten years and it was filled with loads of pointless battles and deaths. It finally ended when the Greeks retreated from camp and left behind a large wooden horse outside the gates of the city. Troyans debated on if they should bring the wooden horse in, and regardless of many warnings, they still brought it inside,” you sense the intensity of his attention, your eyes flickering in between the sky painted with starts and him.

“The wooden horse was a plan made by Odysseus to end the war. The wooden horse was designed to be hollow in the middle so that soldiers could hide inside. After the Trojan Horse was left at the gates, the Greeks sailed away, leaving someone behind. That someone was able to convince the Trojans that the Greeks had retreated from the war and that the horse was a gift that would ultimately give the Trojans a fortune. However, once nighttime fell, the horse opened up and the Greek soldiers came out. From the inside of the city, the Greeks were able to destroy the city of Troy and win the war,” you speak deliberately, carefully and slow enough to be sure he isn’t lost in your retelling.

“As I said the myth aligns with countless others,” you chuckle nervously, afraid you bored him even though he was the one to ask you to share another legend with him.

“I wonder how muggles came up with these stories. They’re good,” his head moves up and down in agreement, barely noticeable and perhaps unbeknownst to his acknowledgment. His curiousness brushes the anxiety off your chest and is quick to provide relief.

“Myths,” he corrects himself as he’s quick to recall your previous words.

“They created their own source of magic, is what my father always says,” you’re hesitant to share any more of you with him, however, you deem none of it could be turned against you and made into a weapon.

“Does he share a lot of these legends with you?” his brows arch up in wonder ever so slightly.

“He’s the reason I know them by heart,” you say while getting off the ground for good this time. The white haired wizard follows, heading towards the stairs leading down to the shadowy hallways.

“Last thing before we go,” he mumbles once you reach the end of the stairs.

“Yeah?” you question curiously, turning towards the corridor.

“Come to the Slytherin common room tomorrow. There’s gonna be a party to celebrate the start of the quidditch season,” he spills out, precisely when you reach the crossroad, each of the directions navigating you to your dormitories.

“You’re inviting me to one of your infamous parties?” you whisper into the silent hallway, expressing cross with mild shock.

“Every quidditch player is invited,” he replies simply, scanning your features illuminated by the shimmer of moonlight.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea,” you answer honestly, anxiety rising within your system as scenarios of getting caught here cross your mind.

“You can bring your friends,” Satoru suggests casually, hand sliding into the pocket of his greenish robe.

“I’ll think about it,” you nod.

“Yeah, do that,”

✼ •• ┈┈┈┈┈┈๑⋅⋯ ୨˚୧ ⋯⋅๑┈┈┈┈┈┈•• ✼

You step through the stone entrance along with the twins and Arabella as it slithers open, a whisper of magic brushing past your skin like a warning, or maybe a welcome. The wall slides shut behind you like a secret sealing itself shut, shutting you into the room. The Slytherin common room has been completely transformed. The usual dim and dignified glow is gone, replaced by flickering green flames that twist unnaturally along the carved stone walls, casting shadows that move like they’ve got minds of their own. The room feels alive. Buzzing with noise, energy and heat. Music thunders from a charmed gramophone in the corner, pulsing with a beat that drives straight through your spine.

The party isn’t for just anyone. Gojo didn’t lie, when he highlighted the fact his infamous parties are impossible to get into. People always whispers about them in the hallways as you circle through them, speculations of students who’ll never see the inside of this room.

You recognise familiar players from the field, their inner circles and of course, the Slytherins. No other exceptions. It’s a celebration of the season's beginning, and not a lot of students get an invitation. If it weren’t for quidditch, you probably wouldn’t see the inside of the room either and neither would your friends.

The fireplace is roaring, green and gold embers shooting high and crackling like they’re alive. The smell of fire-whisky lingers in the air as you move. There’s a certain glamour to it all, the kind of dangerous, sharp-edged beauty only Slytherin can pull off without trying. Players lounge like royalty on the velvet cushions, still half in uniform, cheeks flushed from the anticipation and whatever’s in their cups.

As you and your friends step fully into the space, eyes slide toward you — quick glances, smirks, raised glasses and small greetings. You're acknowledged by your fellow teammates. You somehow belong to this small circle of society, place earned due to playing for years, however, it doesn’t ease you down. And you still feel a sense of not fitting in, claiming your space elsewhere.

You feel the energy pulling you in though, tempting you to lose yourself in it for the night. No rules, no professors, no expectations — just the start of a season that promises everything. You exchange a glance with your friends, unsure of what to do and somehow instantly regret accepting this invitation.

“Girl, are you hundred percent sure you’ll be alright? You know that Margaret’s gonna be here,” the younger of the twins Beatrice carefully hints as you stand on the edge of the room with crowd of bodies moving to the rhythm of the music in the centre. Arabella has been warned the second you mentioned the invitation. Dorothy with Beatrice basically convinced you into going, they too wanted to experience the thrill of joining one of the infamous Slytherin parties before your time at Hogwarts comes to an end.

“Told you I’ll be fine,” Arabella responds with a slight shrug of her shoulders, to brush away your worries. Regardless of her reassurance, you’re not baffled by it. You know your friend all too well. It hasn’t been two whole weeks since they took their break, seeing her surely wouldn’t do her any good. And even though it’s not possible to not bump into her here, she demanded she’d go with you.

None of you doubt her words aloud, despite the looks shared between you and the twins.

Dorothy is the bravest out of you as she begins to crush through the crowd, shielding you and providing an easy path to join the others on the dance floor. If it can be called a dance floor. In reality, it’s just the space of the common room, couches and armchair hidden somewhere in the corner. The music is much louder as you reach the center, crowd thicker as well. Shoulder to shoulder with people you barely recognise, elbows brushing against someone’s robe and arms nudging you admits dancing. It’s all laughter, shouted greetings, some are already tipsy. A crunch cracks under your foot as you step onto cups thrown on the carpet, the dance floor looks half like a battlefield.

You grab Arabella’s hand to spin her without a warning, when you stop somewhere near the center, and she’s cracking a laugh before she even starts moving. The rhythm takes over her, making her forget the circumstance for a little while. The world outside doesn't matter. Right now, it’s just the music, the forest green glow and the fierce movement of bodies. Regardless of your previous caution and conspiracies to skip this one, you find yourself letting go of your baggage too.

The music swirls you into your own worlds, hips swaying to the rhythm while your hands float in the air. Both Beatrice and Dorothy are mindlessly enjoying themselves along with you, pulling dance moves together. However, it doesn’t go unnoticed how Arabella’s eyes fleet across the room in hopes of coming across a face she’s too keen to capture, the opposite of what she actually says. Your friend is too busy to be aware of the fact you’re following her gaze which is achingly scanning the bustling party for her one and only.

As you follow Arabella’s, your gaze picks on someone else instead. He’s standing a greater distance away from you, arms draped around the waist of his girlfriend. Their interlocked bodies pressed into one another and you can’t bring yourself to look away from his stupid ball of white fur. Your heart skips over a beat as his incandescent orbs lock in with yours. The maintenance of the contact is short lived, though those fractions felt much longer as you acknowledged each other’s presence over the sea of people.

When you redirect your curious gaze back to your friends, it’s easy to tell Arabella has already mapped out her target. And indeed, Margaret stands couple of feet away from the four of you. It’s strange how people can go to being strangers again, simply weeks ago you were all bathing in The Black lake and there she is now, avoiding looking in your direction. The corners of Arabella’s mouth twist downward and her movements die down, it causes you to gently grab her hand, which brings her attention back to you. One look passes between you and it’s enough.

You lean into her space, talking loudly near her ear so she could make out what you’re saying. You offer to fetch her a drink and at first she doesn’t look in favour of the idea, but eventually caves in as you agree to have one with her. Originally, you weren’t planning on having anything, yet seeing your friend so miserable changed your mind.

The table with all sorts of unknown liquors lays spread out near the fireplace, vast window right behind it. The glass is showered in droplets of water streaming down as the outside is nothing but darkness, lighting occasionally popping out. You hover above the table, cup already in hand, contemplating what to choose for you and Arabella, when a voice interrupts you all of a sudden.

“Want some help?” the sound of the masculine voice leaves you breathless for a second, so much that you don’t want to face him.

“No need,” you reply politely as your gaze still flickers in between the choices rather than at the person, pushing the moment when you must look up away.

“How are you holding up, preparing for the finals?” his hand reaches out for a bottle, dangerously close to you. You then gather up the courage to lift your gaze, immediately being met with a pair of tender amber eyes you’ve grown to love in the past. A little wave of nostalgia and hurt tugs at your heartstrings, the sight weakening you even all these years later.

“Pretty good, what about you?” you have no desire to drag out the interaction, your goal is to vanish from his peripheral vision, but you don’t have the heart to cut him and storm off. Therefore you push yourself to answer, questioning him in favour of your manners.

“Yeah, it’s alright,” the Gryffindor huffs out as he refills his cup, making you grab a bottle at random to finish what you came here for. You no longer wish to engage in anything with him, this situation makes you uncomfortable.

“Good,” you mumble, placing the cups on the wooden table and then pouring the inside of the bottle into it — smell heavy and musky.

“Actually, I’ve been meaning to tell you you’ve been on my mind these past few weeks,” his words feel like slap straight to your face. You place the bottle back at its place, scanning the cups as you’re too baffled to come up with an answer. Who does he think he’s?

“Have I?” your brows twitch, trying to hold back the irony lacing your voice.

“It’s like you had me drink the lovey dovey potion or sum,” he says without an ounce of shame and with that, the scenario of emptying the cups you pick up from the table at him rakes your mind. It doesn’t sound too bad.

“Okay, and the point?” this time, you’re unable to mask your surprise mixed in with disgust, brows furrowing in the process.

“I think we should maybe go out some time,” the sound of his voice is carefree, hand rubbing the back of his neck nervously. Then sliding into his blondish locks, tousling them into place.

“And I think not,” your response is immediate and you’re ready to bounce away.

“Come on, don’t be so uptight. We weren’t anything serious back then,” his laugh echoes in your ears like a punch to the gut, your vision spins and you’re left numb. Unsure whenever to come apart or laugh into his face.

“To you, maybe. Not to me,” your voice is low, barely audible in the busy environments, however there’s a bitter ring to it.

“You’re overthinking it now,” the tone of his voice doesn’t rise nor becomes unpleasant, yet you can see the change passing through his orbs.

“Gosh, leave me alone,” you finally snap which causes his features to falter further.

“Why can’t you-“

“You heard her, piss off, Gryffindor,” third person joins the conversation and upon a realisation who, your urge to disappear doubles. No, triples. The grip you have on the cups grows tighter and suddenly you feel overly insignificant, forgotten in between their frames.

“Since when did this become any of your concern, Gojo?” you don’t resist rolling your eyes at what your ex boyfriend has to say and as you try to slide your way back into the interaction, you’re cut off by the white haired menace who appeared out of nowhere.

“My party, my rules,” Satoru hisses, irritated as he cocks his head to the side. A clear signal for your ex partner to leave before things get ugly. Before he delivers his response, you already know his shallow ego won’t budge at the Slytherin’s demand.

“I’m not done talking to her,” your ex boyfriend exhales with confidence, posture straight. His eyes narrowed with annoyance fleet over to meet yours for a moment, which pushes you to breathe out and to firmly nod at him. Pleading to take his leave without much fuss.

“Fuck off before I break your jaw again,” Satoru declares with the most bragging smirk you’ve ever seen and you almost choke, reminded of their previous encounter. You watch your ex boyfriend’s face crinkle — anger and resentment. With a pitiful frown, he indeed listens and gets lost in the crowd. Leaving you two alone. And for the first time in eternity, you’re glad for Satoru Gojo’s presence. You’re aware the Gryffindor wouldn’t let you go easily, not when he had you right where he wanted to. Alone.

“Don’t you think you over did it a little?” you blink away your surprise, mouth slightly ajar as you go over what just happened. You’re so unbelievably in disbelief that you take a sip of the liquor you randomly picked as your ex boyfriend invaded your space.

“Nah, spoke the truth,” you can barely hear him due to the loud music, but you manage to make it out.

“I could’ve dealt with him on my own, you know,” your eyes peak down at your hand, holding the cups, as his blue coloured ones peep downward at you. You’re not mad at him for interfering, not at all. You wouldn’t say you’re entirely happy either, however, you’re at least glad you got ride of your ex boyfriend and meaningless encounter.

Though, you’re certain he will find you again.

“I’m sure you could, I simply made it easier for ya,” the white haired wizard winks at you, smugness and arrogance seeping out of him as always. Perhaps a tad more than normally as he’s overly intoxicated, alcohol flowing in his veins. You could tell he overdid it the moment he stumbled into the conversation. It’s pretty obvious when it comes to him.

“Whatever, Gojo,” you brush him off, not wanting to indulge in this interaction for long either since this is basically his territory and talking to the very starlet of the Slytherin house would definitely bring you unwanted attention. As a matter of fact, pairs of eyes are settling at you by now.

“Enjoy the party, precious,” his hand stretches out, bumping his cup into yours. A gesture symbolising simply what he said, yet the action leaves you thinking the moment was rather intimate. Your mind goes blank and by the time you’re ready to snap at him for using that godforsaken nickname, he’s long gone.

You lightly shake your head, balancing the cups in your hands to steady them before heading back into the crowd as well. Away from the crime scene.

“Did Satoru Gojo just save you?” Beatrice’s voice calls out, aligning with the tunes of the music. You silently hand Arabella one of the cups you’ve gone through hell for and drink a mouthful out of own.

“I wouldn’t use the word save,” you exhale lightly while shrugging your shoulders to appear nonchalant, despite the lingering sensation nestling heavily on your ribcage.

“We were about to go get you when the jerk started being too chatty, but before we could reach you, Gojo appeared,” Beatrice goes on with explaining how the situation went from their point of view.

“We thought we must be dreaming,” Dorothy adds, throwing her hands around and gesturing.

“It’s actually not so surprising, right, Y/N?” Arabella’s words take the air out of your lungs and you instantly want to dig a hole to hide in. She’s the only one who knows about your little adventures, you didn’t share your secrets with the Hufflepuff girls as you don’t deem it as reasonable nor necessary. And right now, you understand your roommate may be still quite upset with you for attending the secret outings, but you can’t help to not feel a tad betrayed.

“Arabella,” you plea but it’s too late, it’s been spoken out loud and the twins are now involved too.

“Gonna explain yourself?” both of the raven haired girls standing front of you cross their arms across their chest, awaiting your answer.

“Not here, later,” you breathe out in defeat, and with that the discussion ends. Part of you can’t glance straight into Arabella’s way, partially afraid and then also sort of irritated at her for spilling your secret which you entrusted her.

Without paying them much attention while your head spins with rising frustration, you excuse yourself and tell them you’ll find them later on. Before they can respond l, you’re nudging into the sea of people, carving your path out to catch a breather.

Your ex boyfriend, Gojo and now Arabella. What in the world is happening?

You find yourself a corner to hide in and lean back against the cold stone wall, arms crossed loosely. The bass of the music thrums through the floor, echoing in your ribs. Around you, the Slytherin common room is alive — drenched in flickering green lights, casting flashes of magic on the dancing people and their wild eyes, bodies moving like smoke in synchrony. They look untouchable. Laughter rises, spun with spells and something stronger in their drinks. If a professor was to barge in, the imagine would probably send them spiralling into having a heart attack.

You watch from your quiet corner, not really part of it, not really apart either. Just observing. Letting the scene blur into something unreal in front of you. It’s loud and beautiful in that reckless, untamed way that only Slytherins can pull off. And as they dance you feel like the only still thing in the room. A shadow with a heartbeat.

“Not having fun?” a familiar figure whose face you’re seeing a lot lately calls out as he drags himself in your direction, finding you once again. Shoulders slumped and a plastic cup filled with a bitter liquid in his left hand.

“It’s alright, but not my thing,” you shrug without any particular emotion as your back leans against the stone wall, hand gripping your own cup.

“What is your thing, that’s the real question,” he teases, hinting at the fact you find a way to complain about literally anything. But he means no real harm. His tone is visibly poking you. To which you merely snicker with an irritated under-layer before bringing the cup to your lips, taking another mouthful of the awfully tasting alcohol.

“Does he bother you often?” Satoru scoots over to you, leaning against the same wall handful of inches away from you, and then he nods towards the table with the punch and other sources of hard liquors. Your gaze slides in synchrony with his, landing on the guy you’ve been trying to avoid all night since the moment he approached you with such an audacity. Your ex boyfriend.

“You heard our conversation, I presume” you remark with a brows lightly lifted in curiosity, head rotating to peak at him. His flawless side profile to your display as he’s looking out into the crowd still, your eyes taking notice of his freshly trimmed undercut.

The emerald lighting paints him out to be painfully charming.

“Mostly, so does he? your head jerks away from him as the sound of his voice reminds you of your surroundings. It doesn’t surprise you that he did hear. You expected it since it’s him you’re talking about.

“Uh, no. Dunno what’s gotten into him,” you openly admit aloud, fingers dancing along the rim of the plastic cup. What you say is true, you weren’t in any contact from the moment he broke up with you and decided to go off dating the girl he was seeing at the same time as you.

Nothing serious, it angered you that’s what he thinks it was, because it for thousand percent was more than that to you.

“I think I do,” he lets out quietly after a set of silence, carefully searching the wave of bodies dancing across the room.

“You do?” you question, possible outcomes racing through your mind.

“I mean, yeah. It’s our last first semester and he’s realised what’s lost,”

“That sounds ridiculous,” you huff under your breath, your voice so muffled you for a moment think it was impossible for him to catch on.

You’re quickly proven otherwise.

“As as matter of fact, he’s watching us right now,”

“It doesn’t prove anything,” your head shakes a little in disbelief, refusing to put any trust in what he has to say.

“Watch what he does now,” his words escape his lips, barely registering them, but he’s already tilting his entire body your way. Taking steps to close the distance between your bodies. It happens too quickly, his movements reckless and hazy. One blink of your eyes and all of sudden, he’s barely inches away from you.

“Gojo- what are you-?” His eyes shine like sapphires glistening in the sunlight — big beautiful gems that watch your every move. However, they aren’t primarily focusing on your own set of orbs. No, much lower than that. You cannot stop your eyes from widening at the realisation, small gasp escaping your lips as you can’t resist peaking down at his lips either. And when he leans in even closer, narrowing the distance between you so much that your bodies nearly touch — he looks lyrical as he moves under the influence.

“Proving my point,” he nibs with a smirk stretching his mouth out, eyes still peaking down on you from his half hooded eyelids.

He’s drunk, you remind yourself as his close proximity causes an overwhelmingly nauseous sensation to take over you.

“Look at him, he’s so pathetic,” Satoru continues, demanding you look at your ex boyfriend with his charming way of words. Despite the acknowledgment of order, your eyes seem to not be able to peel away from his breathtaking appearance, you’ve never seen him up from this close. You don’t know where to look first, whenever at his porcelain skin or his iridescent globes. Strands of his locks are falling over his forehead, and you have to physically force yourself to tilt your gaze to the already mentioned direction. The sight of your ex boyfriend confirms the white haired wizard’s theory. He’s burning holes in your skull, yours and the Slytherin’s.

“I still don’t think this proves anything,” you shake your head a little, bringing yourself to reality as your mind is clouded with his aromatic scent —fresh like crispy winter morning.

He smells clean, bathed in peppermint.

Your resistance to admitting his suspicions urges are correct makes him lean in further. His shoulder brushes against yours and then he presses into you, definitely overcoming the unspoken set of boundaries between the two of you. You gather last bits of courage to glance upwards to meet his gaze, only discovering he’s still hypnotising you with that idiotic grin full of arrogance.

“Might not be obvious to you, but it sure is to everyone else,” he bends down to your level, head cocking towards your temple as he whispers into the shell of your ear, nose bumping into your skin. His warm breath prickling the side of your neck, the unfamiliarity of it causing your functions to cease at working. It reeks of alcohol. Your eyes once again slide towards your ex boyfriend while you swallow the bundle in your throat, anxious at the closeness you share with the white haired wizard. He’s indeed still watching the scene between you and Gojo playing out.

Your gaze maybe lingering on the Gryffindor, though your thoughts lie somewhere entirely else.

Your skin burns with his proximity as you can’t bring yourself to pull away. He doesn’t move either, he should’ve already but he isn’t budging.

His penetrating gaze slides over your features one last time, stopping at a certain part of your lower face before finally taking a step away. With that, you become highly aware of the world’s circumstances enveloping you again. Your gaze hardens, surveying the crowd as sets of orbs stare back in your way. It causes you to step away, the reality slowly enrolling back in your harbour.

It’s as if the white haired menace in front of you hops on the same wave as you, marching away and creating much appreciated distance. Neither of you speak, words dying on your tongue. Until he utters something under his nose, the words not audible. He nods towards the crowd which instantly causes you to turn to the dance floor, eyes landing on his girlfriend who’s a fellow member of his house. A cold sweat splashes at you, her firm expression certainly not meant as a joke. You attempt a smile. That only seems to worsen the situation.

And just like that, he’s slipping past you again.

Did you just imagine it?

You’re left standing in the shadow of green firelight again. Alone, drink in hand, pretending not to care, pretending not to look, but there he is. Sliding right back in the center of it all. Laughing like he owns the night. The room bends towards him like it usually does. Effortlessly, like he doesn’t even know what he does to people. Of course he does though. It’s in plastered in the way he smiles, slow and lazy, eyes half-lidded. Almost as if he’s bored of being adored, and yet still basking in it. He’s a flame, attracting all the moths.

And you hate it. God, you hate it. How he draws people in, how the crowd orbits around him like he’s the sun and everyone else is just lucky to catch a flicker of his light, fawning over his presence.

He doesn’t even try. That’s the worst part.

But still, your gaze sticks to him. You’re stuck in a current you didn’t see coming, not immune to his charming ways either. You try to tear your eyes away, pretend his presence doesn’t matter.

However, your eyes betray you.

You decide that looking for your friends and leaving the party would be the best, you pray they stuck around.

It’s nearly impossible to point them out in the crowd, so you wander around like a lost puppy.

As you make your way past the leather couches, turning in a smaller alley of the Slytherin common room, you catch a voice. It’s sharp, dismissive and familiar. Your friend’s name falling from their mouth.

“Satoru, you know I don’t want Margaret to clash with that ginger Ravenclaw girl she’s been talking to and you basically give her a free entry” Willoughby, Margaret’s older brother, speaks up which urges you to stop in your tracks, hiding behind the corner of the wall. You’re well aware this isn’t right, eavesdropping on them like that. Still, it concerns your friend and surely, she’d do the same thing. It doesn’t matter you’re mad at her right now.

“I invited L/N. She’s on the team, and I couldn’t specifically tell her to not bring her,” the sound of your last name sounds strange coming from Gojo’s lips, regardless of the fact you’ve heard him say it reasonable amount of times.

“Actually, you should’ve,” his friend states firmly, and it’s not the rather sweet boy who checked upon you and Arabella after the attack anymore. Was he thinking this way throughout the tournament as well?

Are they all doused with such a poison?

“Or you shouldn’t have invited her at all,” Robin joins in on the conversations as he was barely a sidekick to it till now. The entitlement lacing their voices boils your intoxicated blood.

“She’s on the team,” the white haired Slytherin tries to drags his point across one more time. You peak from the corner carefully.

“So what? She sympathises too much with the mudbloods in general, and never knows when to take her leave, or keep her mouth shut up,” Margaret’s brother spits out with venom. You retrieve your head back behind the corner, and as much as you’d like to say his words don’t mean a thing, you’d be lying. They shouldn’t, but they sting.

That cold, oily feeling slinks into your chest. You know you should step in and say something, demand they repeat it to your face. Instead, you stay hidden, listening, because this could tell you more than any confrontation.

“And she happens to tag along the girl your sister’s been dating, I get it. You’re annoyed, but stop lecturing me,” Satoru spills out mindlessly, cringing at himself as realisation pierces through the layer of the substance blurring his senses. Your breathing hitches.

No, this can’t be happening.

“The girl she’s been what?” Willoughby demands, pretending he didn’t hear right the first time only to hear the words one more time. For confirmation.

“Uh, what?” Gojo mumbles back, rambling over his own voice in an attempt to play it cool.

“Satoru, what the hell?” Robin states, fuming.

“You knew and didn’t tell me?” Willoughby comes at him again. Both of his friends now up against Gojo while he remains silent. You curiously poke your head from the corner one more time, the shadows that are provided by the surroundings keep you safe from being spotted.

One look at the white haired menace’s back and you can tell he’s conflicted.

“Why? For that girl you’ve been pestering since forever and her weird friends?” both of his friends keep on jumping him, the tension so thick it could be cut up with a knife. From your angle, the gesture of him tightening his fists doesn’t slip your attention. And just when you think he’s about to blow up, he replies calmly.

“I didn’t think it was that important,”

“Don’t lie to me,” he’s immediately cut off by Margaret’s brother, your body tenses and you can’t believe your own ears as a mixture of swirled emotions seizes you utterly.

“Seems like our boy Satoru here is defending her,” this time it’s Robin and he chooses words which seem to struck a nerve, making the attacked white haired wizard all that more defensive.

“The hell? Of course not, she’s a nobody,” he frowns, his tone the most obnoxious and arrogant you’ve heard in a while. The anger then fully devours you. You feel numb, no ache nor sadness. Only regret filling your dulled senses, you should’ve expected this kind of thing from him.

It’s nothing new after all.

“Then start acting like it, for Merlin’s sake,” you see his friend nudge his shoulder in a way that is meant to be a warning, a pleading to stop behaving the way he is.

“Put yourself together, we have a plan to follow,” you barely make out the words as they come in a hushed whisper, heart instantly dropping. A plan to follow. The declaration causes suspicion rise in your system, the same kind you’ve buried two weeks ago.

Could they have something to do with the Death eaters after all?

“Unbelievable,” one of them breaths out, soothing down the side of his face in frustration before he adds: “we’ll talk about this tomorrow, when we’re sober,”

They get a simple hum of agreement from Satoru, his functions too altered by the alcohol to form a better response.

When he finally thinks he’s off the hook, you step into the light.

“God, and here I was thinking you finally got over yourself and became somewhat tolerable,” your voice calls out from behind him, his body instantly turning to the source of sound. To you. Eyes depicting the depths of the ocean blink at you, widen with shock at seeing you. You maintain the eye contact, expression and body language merciless. Letting him know he’s screwed.

“You know damn well that option’s not on the list for me,” his voice is low and unbothered which takes you by a surprise, you hadn’t expected him to remain so cold about it. Perhaps you should’ve, however, part of you hoped he’d react differently to seeing you. You can’t tell why.

“Inviting me and my friends then degrading us in front yours is?” you rest your hands at your hips, offering him one more chance to account for his actions. You’re met with a shallow shrug of his shoulders, nearly making you gasp at his audacity.

“Guess so,” his face expression is hollow, impossible to read as he avoids portraying anything. His indifference makes you scoff sarcastically, you should’ve known this was nothing but a way to toy with you.

“Well, aren’t you simply the greatest thing to ever bloody exist?” your jaw clenches, voice embodying pure irony as your patience ran out long ago. You attack his sense of greatness, aware it’d hit some sorrow of a spot, at least.

“Don’t you dare to come to me again, Gojo,” you don’t bother to wait for his answer, if he’d manage to muster any. No, you’re already walking away by the time he takes in your words — rushing to collect your friends and leave the cursed area of the Slytherin common room.

A storm of conflict rages within you while you. Share the unfortunate news to Arabella or keep her blind?

If their relationship wasn’t done for before, it for sure must be now.

And as simply as that, you went three steps back in a matter of one single night.

✼ •• ┈┈┈┈┈┈๑⋅⋯ ୨˚୧ ⋯⋅๑┈┈┈┈┈┈•• ✼

The next day started out as any other day would in late autumn, winter already knocking softly at the door. The illusion of a normal wintery day shattered barely an hour after you woke up with the headmaster knocking at your dorm room, demanding you pack your necessary utilities and hurry with him. Your initial thoughts circled around your illicit outings after curfew with the white haired Slytherin, the ones regarding the mysterious stag. Anxiety crippled within you as sat down in the headmaster’s office, thinking of the ways you could be punished. Robbed of the Head girl label, kicked out of the Ravenclaw’s Quidditch team, or even worse.

Expelled.

Those thoughts vanished as an opened letter was placed in front of you, your mother’s handwriting the first thing you noticed. With receiving it, your gut was already alerted. The familiar pressure in your lower stomach suggested something’s wrong.

The headmaster wasted no time in bringing you to your mother, leaving with warm words displaying sympathy. By then, couple of scenarios poked through your mind. One worse than the other. Unfortunately, simple look at your mother’s teary eyes and all of your worst nightmares were confirmed. The grip on your bag loosened, causing it to drop on the floor of your childhood home. A ringing silence echoed through the house.

You wasted no time in quickly walking up to your mother, hiding yourself in her shaky embrace. Her hand nestled at the back of your head, whispering soft and low words of apologies. You held her back, dull and robbed of everything as she continued to spill her heavy tears into your shoulder.

At first you felt like a monster for not mourning out loud. For not letting the world meet your wrenching sorrows. You wondered if the people surrounding the shut casket silently judged you for your dry cheeks, because everyone else appeared to be on the brim of collapse. You couldn’t bear to properly lift your gaze and meet the crushed expressions of your close family and their friends.

The first wave of grief landed as you entered your house after the feast, the day of the funeral. You put away your shoes along with your coat, hanging it next to your father’s. You brushed your fingers against the fabric of his coat, the fabric rough with years of usage. Your chest tightened while your entire being burned. Hands hesitantly inched forward, bringing the old piece of clothing towards your nose. As soon as you inhaled, familiar scent of cigarettes and mint battled within your mouth. Your throat tightened and hands began to tremble and with no defence, you gave into to the urge and buried your face into it, nuzzling the clothing. You used to hate your father’s smoking and how the disgusting scent would linger on clothes and in the house. Sensing it in that moment felt addicting, like a douse of a drug. You cursed yourself for all of the complaints you threw around instead of treasuring each passing moment. You broke down with the realisation of loss, slid down the wall in the hallway of your strangely quiet home and tightly hugged the coat. Meanwhile your mother stood in the kitchen, listening to your sobs, however, she pretended to not heart and gave you your own space to mourn.

Arabella regretted what she’s done, or rather how she behaved towards you. By the time she gathered the courage to apologise, you were long gone. Nonetheless, she didn’t know that. She was confused as she entered your shared dorm room, finding an empty space with a scribbled note neatly layed out on her bedsheets.

And you indeed weren’t back by dinner time. Your friend Arabella grew immensely worried and couldn’t sleep the entire night, wondering what’s happened to you or if you’re in trouble. Her head spiralled with countless possibilities, including the white haired wizard in almost every single one. She thought of contacting Margaret, not for her sake, but for yours. Part of her hoped she’d provide her with at least a piece of information. Yet, she backed from the idea as she recalled the party and your subtle hints at what angered you so much the previous night. You never got to tell her what precisely occurred as you were so quick to be called off.

Arabella somehow slept throughout the night and when she reached The Great hall for breakfast next morning, she no longer had to be gutted about your whereabouts. Each table representing one of the four houses swirled with the new edition of The Daily Prophet. The twins ambushed Arabella immediately, pushing the newspapers into her chest and demanding she reads instantly. Her eyes glided over the main title and her heart cracked.

The Head Auror of Magical Law Enforcement department resigning

The title by itself was a death blow. As Arabella’s eyes skimmed further in between the bylines, it became worse. The article depicted your mother’s reasoning behind the decision as unknown, meaning she’d no longer be the Head Auror next term which starts in the spring. The authors gathering information for the insufferable newspaper dared to speculate it could be the death of your mother’s husband leading to her resignation. Letting the majority of the wizarding world know of your tragedy.

Arabella tried reaching out by writing you letters as she usually did during your breaks.

It did no good, all of her twenty one letters remained unanswered.

You vanished for two entire weeks. Your arrival back to the school grounds was just as unexpected as your departure. Expect, all could point out the vast gap in your behaviour. You now haunted the corridors with your ghastly appearance, drained of your lively personality. Numbed by the memory of your past life, knowing you can never have it back. The events occurring before the fated morning, when you received the plea to come home straight from your mother through a letter, dissolved. They now seem silly compared to what’s plaguing you right now. Arabella’s ignorance, your ex boyfriend’s snarky approach, Gojo’s hurtful comments and his audacity of spilling a secret which wasn’t his to tell — none of it matters. And it seems like you were living a completely different life only a few weeks ago.

That sort of calm before the storm, you took everything for granted.

And during those two weeks you were at home, much managed to change. Your headmaster who’s been teaching at the school for three decades has been asked to leave his position due to his antigovernment opinions and conspiracies about plans to put a stop to the rise of the conservatives, the anonymous report came with enough evidence to justify itself. Earning the headmaster an immediate dismissal. They were rather quick with the replacement, so as you came back, there was already a new headmaster.

Along with yet another set of rules.

Still, the worst thing is that everyone knows of your father’s death, and you’re getting sick of each pitiful gaze which lands on you. Their mushy condolences targeting the raw wound, the void within your chest. At each subtle mention of your father, you want to come undone and hide away from the rest of the world to sob until there’s nothing left to come.

You walk around the place with swollen eyes and a weight in your chest, invisible to all of the others. Time did ease the rawness of it, but far too little of it passed to actually take off the burden keeping you at rock bottom.

You continue to mould over one simple thought — you never got to say a proper goodbye.

Despite your friend’s efforts, you still avoid and withdraw yourself from your favourite activities while insisting you’re fine on your own. Your friends don’t like that, of course. The three of them nearly never leaving you alone, always bringing you out for walks to see how winter slowly keeps swallowing autumn, and to Quidditch games. The season has officially started, even without you.

Right, life goes on regardless of you remaining stuck.

✼ •• ┈┈┈┈┈┈๑⋅⋯ ୨˚୧ ⋯⋅๑┈┈┈┈┈┈•• ✼

The stadium is loud, cheering and chanting as you hover above in the air. Wind is howling past your ears, somehow it's the first time in weeks you’ve felt remotely alive. The sun above is cold as winter’s approaching, yet the sky is clear without any trace of clouds. You can almost forget the weight that’s been pressing down on you since it happened. Almost.

You hadn’t planned to be here. You'd told yourself you weren’t ready. But your friends were far too persistent, refusing to let you stay locked away in the common room.

It’s who you are, they said.

And now, here you are. Blue and bronze on your quidditch uniform, wind biting at your cheeks, and your heart finally racing for something other than grief. Seated safely on your broomstick, awaiting the start of the game. The pitch hums with anticipation as screams echo from the stands, scarves whipping in the wind. Your teammates remain still nearby, their voices are a blur of strategy and jokes. You only half listen, eyes slipping to the audience to point out your friends.

And there they are.

In the crowd, tucked between a group of giddy third-years and a professor trying very hard to pretend she isn’t amused. Your friends are laughing at something the other had said, eyes squinting in the bright evening light. The moment they notice you they begin to frantically wave at you with the kind of excitement that brings a soft smile upon your lips. Your attention slips away as you repeat the gesture.

A sight of artic hair tousling in the breeze like it has no sense of control making you take a double look into the crowd. You feel it like a jolt. Not the usual nerves before a match, but another feeling. He’s completely at ease. Eyes raking the field.

You turn back to your team, jaw set, trying to fully focus your attention on the game.

The match is fast the second its pronounced as started — Hufflepuff plays clean but relentless. You dive, swerve, breathe in the game like it’s the first breath you’ve taken in weeks. The tiny golden snitch casting a flicker of shine as you fiercely chase it. And for a minute, you believe your friends. You think maybe they were right. Maybe you're capable of doing this.

Then it happens.

You glance over your shoulder — just a second of distraction, and the hit comes from your blind spot. A shove, hard and ungraceful. It sends you flitting forward, losing control of the broom beneath you. Your stomach drops as fear consumes you, body being helplessly pulled down by gravity.

The fall isn’t long, the ground is cruel though. You hit it hard and your sense finally align, letting you know what’s happened. Pain spikes through you instantly like a sharp cut, breath knocked out of your lungs. You can’t bring yourself to move, scream nor react in any way. You barely sense the sheers faltering and whistles blowing. You’re on your back, blinking up at the sky that seemed so peaceful moments ago with your blurry eyed vision.

You bitterly think, maybe your friends were wrong in the end. And then your vision darkens, sending you off into an oblivious state.

✼ •• ┈┈┈┈┈┈๑⋅⋯ ୨˚୧ ⋯⋅๑┈┈┈┈┈┈•• ✼

The next time they open, you wake to the soft creak of wood, and that sterile smell unique to the Hogwarts Hospital Wing. As you adjust your tired orbs, you assume it’s at least an hour or two before the curfew. The dim flickering fire of the candle rested beside the hospital bed is casting thin gold bares across sheets pulled over you.

Pain makes itself present first. A deep, dull ache along your side. The kind that itches when you try to shift even slightly.

Right. The match. The fall. Your father.

You remember the wind rushing past, the snap of impact, the world spinning out beneath you. And then —pitch black.

Madam Pomfrey appears before you can sit up properly, arms crossed, eyes sharp but not unkind.

“You're lucky,” she says, adjusting the potion bottle on your bedside table, even though you’d never consider yourself that “could’ve been broken ribs, but you landed just awkwardly enough to only bruise them. Not that I recommend making a habit of falling from broomsticks.”

“Noted,” you breathe out, the action sending sharp pain through your left side. Madam Pomfrey offers you a sympathetic smile, rubbing your shoulder. Meant as a comforting gesture to remind you you’re gonna be alright, and that it could’ve been far worse.

A voice drifts in from somewhere nearby when she leaves — soft, familiar. You glance to the side and realize someone’s been waiting for you to wake up. Your senses are still pretty disoriented.

Maybe it’s one of your teammates.

“Thought I’d see how you’re doing, the fall looked pretty bad,” he looks up as you stir, and something in his face shifts. For a fraction of the moment, you think you must be dreaming and part of you wants to hide away under the covers, hoping that the cunning Slytherin would leave. It’d cause a significant amount of pain so you abandon the thought.

You look thinner, he notes to himself as his blue lagoons rake over your displayed form.

“The others are worried about you,” Satoru mentions the other players as he scoots closer to the hospital bed. The room is only bathed in the light of the small candles, casting a rather intimate atmosphere as the rain drops drum against the stained glass of the window behind you.

It’s your first interaction since the party and somehow, it appears as if thousand years stretched in between. Still, it doesn’t make you entirely forgive him for his choice of words, regardless of the fact, you can’t awaken any hint of anger.

You’re back to your usual douse of numbness, plus the physical ache in your ribs.

“How do you feel?” he bribes casually, not caring for the the lack of response coming from your side.

“I’m alive,” you mumble out of pity as he stands beside the bed, looking unlike himself.

“And out of the game till spring,” Satoru attempts to chuckle playfully, wondering if he can get any trace of your banter out of you. You look up at him, eyes painted with exhaustion as you lifelessly lay in stiff bedding, dressed in the pure white gown which almost feels unnatural against your body.

“I’m done,” you say, moving your dulled body to the side and it makes you scrunch your nose due to the overbearing wave of ache. His expression laces with concern as he watches you hiss out in pain.

“What do you mean done?” the white haired Slytherin mumbles, brows furrowing in confusion as he takes in your simple words.

“I’m not playing anymore,” you announce as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. And you suppose it is now, even though you wouldn’t be able to phantom anything such as this merely a month ago. You’re nearly scared of how little you care about it.

Silly how quickly can things escalate.

“Don’t be ridiculous, you’re gonna be brand new for spring season,” his words serve as an encouragement, something you never expected to receive from him. Nevertheless, it doesn’t change anything going on in your mind. You can’t find an ounce of will to carry on with the sport.

“I don’t wanna play anymore,” you voice out neutrally, barely audible while you move your gaze to the ceiling. Unwilling to continue with the conversation.

“You’re being dead serious?” he’s not quick enough to hide his genuine dismay which you miss out on due to your averted gaze. Major part of him took joy in playing the sport, because it was the only way where the two of you clashed. Not in an aggressive way. More like, where the two polar opposites could meet, doing what they have in common without any consequences.

Likely, the only thing they both love.

He can’t imagine not having you on the field ever again. And he’s enveloped in a sentimental longing for a period in the past. If he had known back then, he would’ve cherished the last time you were matched against one another.

If only he had known it was the last time.

His mouth hangs open lightly, the words bitting his tongue as they beg to be let out, but they’re swallowed back into the abstract of his mind — forever unspoken — as he takes in your defeated and unresponsive form.

“Right. It’s up to you anyway,” is what he croaks out, nodding his hand to convince himself to keep his mouth shut. And when you remain unmoving, he weakly sighs and navigates his steps towards the exit.

A powerful impulse causes his body to halt, half in and half out of the room.

Satoru glances at you, turning back.

“I’m-“ he starts off, lips stopping in movement as his eyes bore into your figure on the hospital bed, tucked beneath the white covers, and suddenly he can’t bring himself to say what he meant.

A second time in a row.

“Get better soon,” he breathes out instead.

credits for dividers: [@enchanthings-a @cafekitsune]

taglist: [ @k-kkiana @cuffiescariche @sylustoru @hyori2 @ethereal-moonlit @crankyarchives @jjklover365daysayear @cailliz @kaisenkalogathia @urthem00n @katsukiseyebrows @poopooindamouf @heiejdhdh @tessasweet ]

[rosie-n-oncie]

Would you rather have unlimited bacon and no games or games, unlimited games, and no games

“Hm…”

“All of the above”

????

[aninipanin1]

FAIRYTALE FEBRUARY...

The month of love and dreams is ready to commence. Are you ready to listen, my dearests?

GLASS SHOES

Nagi Seishiro x Reader

In the midst of the many beautiful guests and opulent decorations, the lazy prince can only see one person - you. (Cinderella AU)

SONG OF THE SEA (COMING SOON)

Chigiri Hyoma x Reader

Never did the mermaid prince imagine he would find a human so mesmerising. (The Little Mermaid AU)

TALE AS OLD AS TIME (COMING SOON)

Itoshi Rin x Reader

It has been so long since he laughed, wrote, or read. But most importantly, it's been so long since he last loved. (Beauty and the Beast AU)

DREAMS DO COME TRUE (COMING SOON)

Oliver Aiku x Reader

Stealing, women, gambling, you name it, and Oliver Aiku has probably done it. Well, except if that 'it' is love. But, a certain girl with long locks and naive eyes seemed to change that. (Rapunzel/Tangled AU)

AT ALL COST (COMING SOON)

Bachira Meguru x Reader

You did not expect much wishing upon a star, that was until that said star went down from the heavens to grant you your wishes himself. (Wish Rewritten AU)

THE HIDDEN ROSE (COMING SOON)

Michael Kaiser x Reader

Hidden inside the trees of the forest lived the most beautiful rose, where it is safest for her to bloom. Fortunately for her, someone else discovers this rose and is willing to go through hell and back to protect it. (Sleeping Beauty AU)

LONG LOST PRINCESS (COMING SOON)

Yukimiya Kenyu x Reader

All your life, the beautiful island, has always been your home along with your animal friends until one man set his foot on the sands of the beach and introduced you to a whole new world. (Barbie and the Island Princess AU)

AND THEY LIVED HAPPILY EVER AFTER...THE END.

Blue Lock is WRITTEN by Kaneshiro Muneyuki and ILLUSTRATED by Nomura Yusuke. All credits to the both of them.

[leirastar]

new world | chapter 3

Pairing: Ot8 Ateez x reader AU: fantasy AU | stranger -> mates Summary: A tragic accident left you unable to use your wings and, with that, claimed your father's life, leaving you in the care of your noble uncle. In Hala, a house of eight kingdoms, each boasting its own wonders, you never imagined that amidst the pain, you would also fall—this time, in love. Word Count: 2.3k | 10 minutes Warning: Mentions of emotional distress, ominous foreboding, potential stalking, unsettling sensations of being watched, subtle tension, and implied danger.

The next morning, the lingering weight of unease clung to you like a shadow. You pulled your dark maroon robe from its hook by the door, wrapping it snugly around your shoulders. The fabric was heavy but comforting, lined with faint embroidery at the edges—a pattern of trailing leaves your mother had stitched long ago.

Grabbing your basket from the small table and tucking it under your arm, you paused by the shelf near the door, reaching for a small, leather pouch. Inside were a handful of Aurians—small, hexagonal coins of bronze and silver that served as the currency in Hala. Each one bore a delicate engraving of a sun on one side and a feather on the other. You ran your thumb over the edge of the pouch before tying it securely to your belt.

Stepping outside, you made your way to the barn adjacent to your cottage. The faint smell of hay and earth greeted you as you pushed the wooden door open, the creak echoing in the quiet morning. Inside, the familiar warmth of Branwen—your sturdy chestnut mare—was enough to bring a faint smile to your lips.

“Morning, girl,” you said softly, reaching out to stroke her neck. Branwen huffed in response, her ears flicking toward you as though in greeting.

You moved with practiced ease, gathering her bridle and saddle from the hooks near the wall. “We’ve got a long ride today, Branwen. Market day again.”

She seemed to understand, stomping lightly against the ground as you began to saddle her. You took your time, murmuring small reassurances as you worked, your fingers moving deftly despite the thoughts that lingered at the edges of your mind. Once everything was secure, you tucked a folded blanket into your basket—just in case—and looped the reins around your hand.

“Let’s go, girl.”

Leading Branwen outside, you took a deep breath of the cool morning air, heavy with the scent of damp earth and lingering rain. The sky was soft and pale, the sunlight barely breaking through the thin mist that clung to the trees. You swung yourself up into the saddle, adjusting your cloak so the maroon fabric draped comfortably around your legs.

With a soft nudge to Branwen’s side, you set off down the dirt path. The rhythmic sound of her hooves against the ground steadied you, grounding your thoughts as the looming dread of the Goretheron Bloom sat quietly in the back of your mind.

The road was quiet this early. Birds chirped faintly from the branches above, and the only company you had was the occasional rustle of leaves as a breeze whispered through the trees. Branwen carried you with her usual calm steadiness, her steps unhurried yet purposeful. The faint mist of rain from the night before clung to the ground, carrying with it the sharp, earthy smell of wet soil.

By the time the forest gave way to open fields and the distant hum of the village reached your ears, you felt your shoulders begin to relax.

The closest village was a brisk twenty-minute ride away, its streets already alive with color and noise. Merchants had set up their stalls, their voices ringing out across the square. The smells of fresh bread, roasted meats, and bundles of herbs wafted through the air, mingling with the chatter of townsfolk bartering for their morning supplies.

It was a comforting scene, a stark contrast to the dark silence of your cottage the night before. For a moment, you allowed yourself to breathe, guiding Branwen toward the edge of the market square.

You dismounted and looped the reins loosely around a wooden post before weaving through the growing crowd. The noise was soothing in its own way—a reminder of life, bustling and loud, utterly normal.

You stopped first at a vendor you always visited—a tidy little stall brimming with bundles of dried herbs, baked goods, and small jars of preserves. The owner, Joonie, greeted you with a warm smile as she wiped her hands on her apron.

“Y/N! Right on time, as always,” she said, her tone familiar and teasing. “Come to clear me out of all my feverfew and woodruff again?”

You grinned faintly, setting your basket on the edge of the table. “You know me too well, Joonie. It’s not often I find feverfew as fresh as yours. And perhaps a little of those sweet rolls while I’m here.”

“You keep me in business, girl. Between your herbs and those healing teas you make, the whole village’s aches and fevers disappear in no time.”

You nodded appreciatively. Feverfew, known for soothing headaches and calming inflammation, was a useful herb—one you’d often stocked for your uncle and his patients when he visited. Caius, despite its abundance of rare blooms, rarely saw such practical, temperate plants outside of shipments.

Joonie returned with a small paper bundle of fresh sweet rolls, setting it into your basket along with the carefully wrapped feverfew. Then, with a sly smile, she leaned over the table, resting her chin on her hand.

“Now tell me, Y/N,” she said, a mischievous gleam in her eyes. “Is there a reason you’re always after feverfew? Someone special suffering a headache you’re not telling me about?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Joonie, it’s for medicine.”

She waved a hand, unfazed by your flat tone. “Oh, I know, but Jay’s still asking about you, you know. Says he hasn’t heard your answer yet.”

You sighed, feeling the familiar heat creep up your neck. “Joonie, you know I’m busy enough without—”

She winked, slipping an extra sweet roll into your basket. “You say that now, but mark my words, one of these days someone’s going to snatch you up. Maybe you’ll even share some feverfew tea while you’re at it.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head as you tucked the herbs and food securely into your basket. “I’ll be sure to let you know when that happens.”

Joonie grinned, handing you the wrapped herbs as you placed a few Aurians—the silver hexagonal coins—into her outstretched hand.

“Take care, Y/N!” she called after you.

“You too, Joonie!” you replied over your shoulder, her laughter still ringing faintly in your ears as you made your way deeper into the market.

You stopped briefly at a small, cluttered stall tucked between two busier vendors. Its tables were draped in deep green cloth, every inch covered with trinkets, small jars, and curious wares that glinted faintly in the morning sun. It wasn’t the sort of place you typically visited, but something about it drew your attention.

The merchant, an older woman with a kindly face and bright eyes, offered you a warm smile. “Looking for anything in particular, dear?”

You shook your head, absentmindedly brushing your fingers over small carved pendants and polished stones. “Just browsing.”

As your gaze wandered, it caught on something tucked near the back of the table—a small, silver sun-shaped medallion with an intricate engraving. The rays of the sun stretched outward, almost like feathers, and in the center was a delicate stone of faint amber.

You picked it up carefully, the weight of it solid in your palm. The craftsmanship was fine, but the edges were worn enough to suggest age, as though it had been passed through many hands. It reminded you of something your uncle might appreciate—simple yet meaningful, its design carrying an air of quiet authority.

“That’s a fine piece,” the merchant said, leaning forward slightly. “It’s said to be lucky—crafted long ago by an artisan in Charadyn.”

You smiled faintly. “Lucky, you say?”

“For those who carry burdens,” she replied with a wink. “A little light to guide their way.”

It was a silly notion, perhaps, but you tucked the medallion into your basket anyway, already imagining how your uncle’s expression might soften when you handed it to him.

“How much?” you asked, reaching for your coin pouch.

“Two silvers will do,” she replied with a nod.

You exchanged the coins—two Aurians, their feathered engravings glinting softly in the sunlight—and carefully wrapped the medallion in a cloth before placing it in your basket.

“Thank you,” you said softly, and the merchant’s smile deepened.

As you moved back into the flow of the market, the sound of bustling vendors and townsfolk surrounded you once more. You adjusted the basket under your arm, its weight now holding something more meaningful than a simple purchase.

But as you rounded another row of stalls, a sudden prickling sensation crept along the back of your neck.

Someone was watching you.

You slowed slightly, glancing casually over your shoulder. The crowd bustled as usual, but a shadow seemed to flit just outside your vision. You turned back, your steps quickening as you navigated a path between the stalls, ducking into a quieter alley that led toward the fabric vendors.

The sound of footsteps—light but deliberate—quickened behind you.

Your heart skipped a beat as you clutched the edge of your cloak, fingers instinctively drifting toward the small knife tucked into your belt. “Who’s there?” you called, your voice steadier than you felt.

The footsteps halted abruptly.

You spun around just in time to see a familiar face skidding to a stop, hands raised in mock surrender.

“Whoa, easy!”

You blinked, startled. “Yujin?”

Your friend grinned sheepishly, brushing a stray strand of hair back as she caught her breath. “Why do you look like you’ve seen a ghost? I called your name twice, you know.”

Relief flooded through you as you exhaled sharply, dropping your hand from your knife. “You scared me half to death, Yujin.”

She smirked, crossing her arms. “Scared you? You’re the one stalking around like you’re running from something.”

You shot her a flat look. “I thought someone was following me.”

“Someone was, Y/N. Me.” She laughed softly, the sound light and teasing as she gestured for you to follow her back toward the market. “I was looking for you. Mama’s been asking about you all morning—she wanted to say thank you for the medicine.”

You shook your head, smiling despite yourself. Yujin’s mother had been one of your more difficult patients, her recovery slow but steady.

“How is she feeling?” you asked as the two of you walked side by side, the tension from earlier slowly melting away.

“Better. You really do work miracles,” Yujin replied, nudging your arm playfully. “She says she hasn’t slept that well in years.”

You smiled softly. “That’s good to hear. I’ll stop by and check on her before I leave.”

The rest of the morning passed in pleasant company. You followed Yujin back to her family’s stall, where her mother greeted you warmly with hands that no longer shook as they once had. You checked her pulse, answered her lingering questions, and waved off the basket of fresh bread she tried to force into your hands as thanks.

By the time you returned to Branwen, the weight on your chest had eased slightly. The morning mist had lifted, leaving the air sharp and clear, but the unease from earlier still lingered faintly in the back of your mind. As the village faded into the distance, you couldn’t help but glance over your shoulder once more, half expecting to see a shadow flitting at the edge of the trees.

The feeling of being watched had vanished, but it didn’t stop the occasional prickle along the back of your neck.

“Just tired,” you muttered softly to yourself, patting Branwen’s neck reassuringly. The mare let out a steady breath in response, as though she agreed.

By the time you arrived at the cottage, the sun hung high in the sky, casting long beams of light through the canopy above. You slid off Branwen’s back, her coat warm beneath your hand as you led her toward the barn.

“There you go, girl,” you murmured, loosening her bridle and brushing down her chestnut coat with practiced ease. “You’ve earned a rest.”

Branwen huffed softly, nudging your shoulder as you hung up the saddle and left her with a fresh bucket of water and hay.

Satisfied, you turned toward the house, your boots softly crunching against the grass as you crossed the small yard. The quiet of the cottage greeted you as you pushed the door open, a familiar warmth wrapping around you like a well-worn blanket.

You set your basket down near the table and pulled off your maroon cloak, draping it neatly over the back of a chair. The hum of the day’s ride still buzzed faintly in your bones, and for the first time in hours, the weight in your chest seemed to ease entirely.

But then you heard it.

A soft rustling sound—feathers shifting, deliberate and near.

You froze, your hand still resting on the back of the chair. The sound came again, faint but unmistakable, from just behind you.

You turned sharply, heart hammering in your chest.

Standing in the doorway, partially silhouetted by the light filtering in from outside, was a familiar figure.

“Yunho.”

His name slipped from your lips before you could stop yourself.

He stood tall, his indigo cloak fluttering faintly as though he’d only just landed. Loose strands of his dark hair fell across his forehead, but his golden-brown eyes were clear and sharp, fixed squarely on you. His wings—large and striking—rested partially folded at his back, the faint edges of his feathers catching the light.

Then, before your eyes, his wings began to retract. It was seamless—elegant—as though the feathers folded into themselves, vanishing beneath his skin until there was no trace of them left. The movement was quiet, almost unnatural, and yet undeniably beautiful in its fluidity.

He tilted his head slightly, his mouth curving into the faintest of smirks.

“Am I intruding, my lady?”

The words hung in the air, carrying just enough teasing to soften the tension that had coiled in your chest. But beneath it, his tone still held that same quiet, measured weight, as though he were testing your reaction.

You exhaled, the surprise melting into something you couldn’t quite name. “You’re back.”

The corner of his mouth quirked further, though his gaze remained steady. “I told you I would return.”

Masterlist

two | four

A/n: SUPRISE!!! 2 CHAPTER IN A DAY😊 a treat since i passed all my exam with flying colors!!! IN ALL HONESTY! chapter 2 and 3 are one chapter but it seems like a lot of word SOO, i divided into 2! Another good news!! i will try my best to upload every week while im in winter break. I finished drafting chapter 8 and i loved it just the angst and EVERYTHING!

Taglist (CLOSED):

@pinkpearlstar @deltamoon666kyra1205 @hecateslittlewitchlingdumplingsyum @caratiny-latte @seongwars @halloweenbyphoebebridgers @angelqueendom

@ffenjoyerdazme @lostxxgirlxh01bri @neemaxx @Furfoxsake22 @Thejentheredhead @soulphoenix1618 @pixie0627

@laurtiny112 @innocygnet @the-first-mate @miniverse-zen @katyeongs @Nuggiesnuggetdog04 @Sweetmoonlight9 @staytinyluv @bluesiebirdie @kaqua @ateezaddict24 @bamdoe @Kandy108 @pixie0627 @bunnii-dolls @kheartost @xlilehx @lalelol @Tiny2018 @salnovna @roryy95 @Fairylover68 @meowmeeps @awkward-fucking-thing @blackandgreenandblue @moniesmoon @skteezcursed

[angelinloove]

𝐎𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐔𝐏𝐎𝐍 𝐀 𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌. 𝒥. todd x fem!reader

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬; while wandering the forest and gathering berries, you meet a distant and rather gruff stranger, wounded and in desperate need of assistance.

⤷ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬; fantasy au, harpy!jason todd, mentions of blood and injury, profanities, animal hunting, and barely proof read. inspired by once upon a broken heart.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 3.7k

𝒜s the spring goddess rose from the underworld, the sun followed suit, melting away the harsh cold of the winter with a sweet kiss of fresh flowers and longer days. a metaphorical hope.

the rain returned, ending the long starvation of crops and the fertility of the soil. animals began to awake and the trees started sprouting lovely green leaves.

the forest surrounding you was humming with an unusual harmony, the nymphs and dryads settling into their trees, bathing in the blanket of warm sunlight. it was peaceful.

and a welcomed change of pace—the village had been growing rowdy, shrouded in the smoke of its most recent gossip grab. one of the many hunters had come barreling into the streets, claiming he almost caught an unheard of beast.

the man was always one for stories, but the passion in his voice hooked many into believing him. he told of a beast as dark as midnight, claws sharper than any werewolf he’d ever seen, with piercing eyes, black as coal.

he did not catch it, but he triumphantly held up a bloodied dagger, claiming he landed enough damage to cripple the poor thing. he insisted the village should start a wild search, desperate for a taste of the glory that catching a large, dangerous creature brought.

it was all bullshit, you'd say. he’s always been quick to boast, despite his various failed attempts at catching animals, even one's as small and feeble as a jackalope. you wonder, had he ever even seen a werewolf?

yes, the forest was vast and fruitful in more ways than one. it bore the berries you were currently gathering, and it was a habitat for many mythical creatures.

but nevertheless, you still doubted somebody like him discovered a supposed legend. a man covered in feathers and ash, with wings wider than the stretch of the stars.

for that very reason, you were warned by your parents not to go out. but you were in a wretched need of a break, so you left anyway.

the sun soon vanished into the horizon, lanterns flickered on, and the town was plagued with loud cheers of celebration. taverns opening with hunters celebrating their latest bloodshed.

you didn’t want to return just yet. the tranquil nature of the forest, its hum of crickets and hushing wind was like a sacred haven, drawing you in further. it was alive and breathing, the trees and the air shifted in ways an emotion would.

hunters would often get shunned by the forest, roots and branches curling around their ankles, trapping them in an endless, dark labyrinth.

like a mother, the nature surrounding you took an active role in protecting herself and the wildlife that she carried.

but she seemed to hold favor upon you, you were never perceived as a threat. to you, the bark opened itself up, beckoning you instead of pushing you away.

you weren't there to hunt—and she knew that, the forest had no need to defend herself. you left a good impression on the energy coruscating around the space, and you couldn't help the kindle of pride blooming in your chest at the thought.

you glanced to the left as a shadow passed over your head. the trees were starting to become more narrow, and the dirt path ended at your feet.

the berry bush before you was plucked empty, your basket only half full by the dark berries inside. you'd really didn't want to leave now, you felt a headache coming just at the thought of all the shouts of the villagers at home.

you had been told countless times not to wander further than the shabby dirt trail, but you already ignored the warnings of travelling this far, so you mind as well. you knew the forest wouldn’t let the feathery beast touch you, if it was even real.

the small rush of rebellion carried you forward, into the thickened silence of the night.

you could sense the subtle shift around you, the traces of human touch becoming sparse. the unbothered nature growling wildly, the trees curling above like claws tightening its grip.

oh, you should’ve come here ages ago, you thought to yourself in stunned awe, there was an abundance of bushes, different berries littering each one in plenty, fresh and ripe for picking.

you gathered various kinds until the basket was brimming, you were surprised the sweet smell wafting around didn’t attract the nose of any other critter, but happy nonetheless, this’ll do you and your parents well.

you were far from the richest in the village—you had enough to keep yourselves going, but you didn’t have anything left to tuck away in case of an emergency, and as the years passed and your folks grew older, the likelihood grew like a thriving vine in the midst of spring.

if you could cut some food costs with your foraging, well, you were more than willing to do so. meat of all kinds was plentiful and quite cheap, a large supply from the animals crawling around, but fruits and berries were spiking high in costs lately. the energy had shifted towards hunting this elusive beast and supplies ran short.

your basket was full, colours mixing and merging together as you tried to make room for more, but unfortunately, you reached its capacity. the sun had set, shrouding the trees around you in darkness, there was a slight chill in the air that made you huddle more into yourself to avoid the bite of the wind, it picked up surprisingly fast, unnaturally fast.

you wander forward, you didn’t bother to keep track of where you were going, the forest would shift you in the right direction, you just had to move and let the gentle caress of the branches lead you to safety.

the trees were a dark oak, the fresh leaves, sprouting to their full hue only days ago with the early spring, were pushed together closely, concealing anything far from view.

roots stuck wildly out of the ground, the muddied grass from the morning rain hiding them well, and the only reason you didn’t trip over a root when the sound of a low grumble reached your ears, was the tree flattening the root in front of your foot at that very last second.

you paused, straining your ears to listen, it was silent. the loud ring in your ears supplied evidence that it was nothing more than a trick of the rushing wind.

a twig cracked, like a heavy weight strained it to snap, and you knew it wasn’t the breeze playing a trick on you. you didn’t immediately panic, chances were it was a lost hunter, the forest playing a game of cat and mouse until they learned their lesson.

you swore you heard the grumble of a man—soothing most worries about a stray, potentially dangerous creature sniffing around, but you still kept your footsteps light as you followed the sound, peeking past the many trees in a hopeful attempt to remain somewhat hidden in case your suspicions proved wrong.

there was an opening, a small clearing where the tree lines swerved, a circular view of the clear night sky. it was beautiful, colourful flowers and moss spread across the rocks and logs laid on the grass.

the moon reached its highest point, bathing the clearing in a mesmerising glow, delicately highlighting each petal, every mushroom and each crevice carved onto the fallen logs.

...and the man covered in coal feathers, laying limply in the centre.

he was laying on his back, propped up by a particularly large rock, his hair dark with a white highlight, charcoal feathers covering his body like clothing and sharp wings cradled closely to his chest.

your eyes trailed up from his chest to his face, his skin glistening with sweat, black stains on his cheeks alluding towards the feathers sticking out of his hair, darker greys and blacks smudged over his eyes like makeup.

his chest was heaving, those surprisingly appealing features twisted in pain, he grunted once more, clearly in pain but keeping quiet nonetheless. he kept his left wing close to him, almost protectively.

you could see the issue almost immediately, those sharp, dark feathers couldn’t hide the unnatural twist of the shape. you didn’t know a lot about bird physiologically—but you could clearly see the carpal part of the wing bent.

your heart ached sympathetically, no doubt it had been the work of a hunter, probably out searching for that damn beast that man supposedly crippled.

you wanted to help, you really did, but you weren't exactly sure what you could do, and you had been warned time and time again to keep away from unknown beasts, especially injured ones. not only could they hold a bias from the human that harmed them in the first place, pain could cause instincts to go wild.

but somehow, you couldn’t see that with him, despite his features scrunched up in pain, those grey eyes held intelligence, far past a simple creature, and even some of the meat heads running around the village.

those dark eyes... holding depths you don’t think you've ever seen before, you were naturally quite curious, but this was different. you wondered, wondered what this man had seen, what caused the exhausted wiseness that plagued his handsome features.

he lured you in like a whirlpool, but you had to resist, despite the stab of need to assist him, you couldn’t risk it.

stepping back, you had an intent on slipping back into the forest, blending into the cast of shadows and moonlight.

but the crack of a stick underneath your foot wrecked the silence, and you could see the tense reaction underneath his feathers at the noise. your heart stopped before jumping into your throat.

you could almost hear the nymphs snickering from inside their tree trunks. assholes.

“who’s there?!” he called out, his voice rough with pain, like worn black leather, but it carried a deep smoothness, dark as a splatter of ink against parchment paper.

you didn't move a muscle, frozen as a marble statue, whilst covered in a blanket of darkness, you could still see him bathed and highlighted in moonlight, his body tense and those entrancing eyes darken in something akin to predatory anger.

“i already heard you.” he called out again, sounding tired and completely done with everything. he clearly had a long night, looking not too different from your father coming home from an unsuccessful hunt, “come out, now.”

with a deep inhale, you tried to steel yourself, attempting to smother the fear on your face. you're not sure how well you're doing but hopefully, it’s enough. running might only make things worse.

stepping into the clearing, hesitantly, you let the moon brighten your features until he could fully take you in. you were careful to keep your body open and unthreatening, you wouldn't want to trigger any feral survival instincts.

his eyes scammed up your body, similar in the way you did to him only moments ago, and you had to shove down a feeling of warmth that lingered where his eyes trailed. definitely isn’t the time for that.

the tense line of his body seemed to slacken slightly, the dark gleam in his eyes, one of somebody ready to shed blood, faded until he just looked tired, and perhaps even relieved, albeit still defensive. you're glad he didn’t want to kill you anymore, but part of you was kind of offended.

“uhm, hey... there.” you winced slightly as it slipped from your mouth, and his eyes remained unblinking as they stared at you. it felt like he could predict your every move before you even figured them out for yourself. “do you, uh... do you need help?”

“no.” 

his answer was short and curt, and you reconsider making a break for it, realising he doesn’t seem likely to chase you down and rip your throat out with those sharp claws, or something like that.

but when you linger for a moment longer, you vaguely made out the signs of blood.

alright, this guy clearly needed help, even if he didn’t want nor think he needed it, and you couldn't just leave him there because he chose to wake up stubborn.

“i don’t think that’s such a good idea,” you eyed his injuries once more, if they were not treated soon, the consequences could be fatal.

“i don’t need your fucking help,” he snapped at you, hostility evident in the way his wings tried to spread out, before fluttering shut and wrapping back around himself, a hiss of pain escaped his lips at the movement. “go away.”

both concern and irritation rose in you, you scratched the flight instinct, but you couldn't leave this man alone. despite his insistence, he needed help and you didn’t want to leave with a guilty conscious

“listen, guy—what’s your name?” you started, and the blank stare of annoyance he gave you told you he wasn’t planning on telling you anytime soon, and your own fire flares in response.

fine, we’ll play it like that. you thought to yourself as you took a deep, calming breath of air. i can be just as stubborn as you, believe me.

“you can’t fly, your wing is broken and i can see the large cut on the inner base, yes, right there.” you start, slowly inching closer when he doesn’t lunge at you, which is always a good sign.

you outstretched your hand again, “you’re grounded right now, and you need help. trust me, the hunters are rowdier than usual.”

he raised an eyebrow at that, and you strangely find yourself liking the curiosity that leaked into those irises.

“so, you can either let me help you, and save yourself a hell of pain,” you pause right in front of him and gaze into his eyes, you allow him a choice. you can’t force your help onto anybody.

“or... you can sit here and get your bloodied corpse dragged back to my village because you wanted to be tough.”

he grits his teeth, and you saw him chewing the option over in his head. you could read the exact moment he steeled himself and made his decision, turning his head away from yours in a huff.

“...fine.”

with an internal cheer of success, you finally crouched down to survey the damage. with the moon shifting towards the horizon, it meant you had to be fast before your light source completely vanished.

you were correct, there was a large cut on the bony base of his wing, blood had dried and crusted around it, stemming the worst of the bleeding, but if you didn't clean it now there was a large chance that it would get infected later.

biting your lip, you try to think of something you could use to clean it, you had nothing on you but the basket discarded on the ground.

“there’s a stream nearby, i can hear it.” he pipes up, and you’re not quite sure if his tone is actually bored, or if that’s how he sounds, a constant note of monotone. “if we go there—i can clean off in the water.”

you couldn’t hear anything, but you didn’t doubt he could, it wasn’t uncommon for the creatures of this forest possessing qualities humans didn’t, such as enhanced senses, and you briefly wonder how he didn’t hear you before the loud snap.

“then that’s where we’ll go.” you rise to your feet, and wince apologetically at him, “sorry, you’ll have to come with me, i don’t have a bucket or anything to carry the water back.”

“’s fine.” his tone is still curt, all business, and without a second thought, you reach out your hand to help him up, but he waved it away with a low grumble, swiftly turning into a huff of exertion as he shakily raised himself to his own feet.

he clearly had something against accepting help, you're surprised you convinced him to even let you clean his wounds.

despite his less than expressive face, you could see the discomfort in the stiff way he moved, he was clearly in pain, but refused your attempts to assist him to walk better.

it was a short walk to the small stream, it was almost as tightly closed as the trees surrounding you, but the man didn't hesitate to crumble in front of it, finally resting his sore body, and reaching for the moving water.

“hey—!” you call out before quickly sliding up next to him, dropping to your knees despite the stains of grass on your white dress. he looked at you, his gaze tempered with annoyance and confusion, “let me do it for you, i’ll be able to reach better.”

you could tell he wanted to protest, to decline you like he did before, but the sting of his wound chipped away at his resolve, and when he turned his head away and bared the large cut, you knew you had worn him down.

with a hum of approval, you reached down, and ripped a line off the red fabric layered onto your dress, draping it into the water until it collected enough moisture.

it wasn’t a massive deal, your mother was a fine seamstress, you had an abundance of linen and cotton materials, and she took it upon herself to teach you how to hand sew almost anything when you were still very small.

you tried to be as gentle as possible, but he jerked when you made contact with the raw parts of the cut, trying desperately to clean up the build of dirt and blood, justifying it to yourself that an infection would hurt much, much more.

“so,” conversation might be a good means of distraction, you thought. there was still a lot to go and you didn’t necessarily want to sit in the tense silence the whole time, “will you tell me your name now?”

you could practically hear him gritting his teeth, he stayed silent, surprisingly not making much noise for how much pain you knew for a fact he was in. even before, he had been awfully silent about his discomfort.

with a sigh, you realised you were going to be the one doing most of the talking in this one sided conversation. you gave him your name, and he remained silent, not speaking a word.

you continued on as you finally pushed through the worst of the grime. the dark red and browns clinging to his feathers washed off to leave behind a raw pink line. reaching down, you ripped off another large piece of fabric and wrapped it tightly around the wound until it was covered.

“…that’s a nice name.” it rumbled out of him, and you were completely taken aback, not just by his sudden vocalisation, but by the compliment itself, and you could feel a flush of heat growing on your face and neck.

“oh, thanks.” you coughed, trying to force it back down. standing up, you tried to offer him another hand, and this time, he took it. those sharp claws wrapped around your skin, but somehow, you didn't feel a prick of fear.

“...stay off that wing, alright?”

he seemed a tad more relaxed, tension still radiated from his large figure, but most of it seemed to come from the displeasure of his injuries and not him perceiving you as a threat.

“i’ll have to clean and wrap it again tomorrow,” you explain, you were no medic but you knew enough to at least be somewhat confident in what you were talking about, “come back here, same place and time.”

he snarled slightly at the idea, and you raised a confused eyebrow of your own, failing to see how what you said could’ve caused him to raise his hackles,

“no.”

“what, why?” you question him immediately, and he stared down at you mistrustfully, his nose scrunched up in obvious displeasure. it seemed to be one of his base emotions next to irritation, “if you want to get better, i need to keep up with the treatment, guy.”

“no.”

“you sure have a wide vocabulary, don’t you?”

you were tired, the moon was waning from the sky and you had been running around almost all night, you couldn’t handle any more of this, so you didn’t try to stop him when he turned away from you.

his wings curled more comfortably against his back, almost sheathing themselves, they were wide enough to almost completely conceal him from the back, but you could see a hint of his face when he turned back slightly.

“...thank you.” he almost choked it out, it was clearly a foreign sentence on his tongue, and judging by the note of loathing you could hear in his voice, he didn’t like it one bit.

that brought a small, lopsided smile to your face, and you called back in a much brighter, louder voice than his small little mumble of a grumble. “no problem!”

he took off, and you couldn’t help but stand there and watch as the darkness of the wild swallowed him up, the forest bending in his path.

...you rubbed your temple, a headache building from not only the lack of sleep, but the loud shouts of almost everybody in the small village, raging with questions and demands to know where you had been all night.

it was a darling relief to finally be let off the hook, after hours of chastising from your parents alone, basking in sweet silence was a luxury you'd never take for granted.

you closed your eyes and took in a deep breath, your thoughts wandering back to the man you saw in the forest..those dark feathers, those wings, the dark way his eyes drank you in.

even during your painful lecture, your thoughts tended to drift back to him often, and in the back of your mind, you wondered if he was thinking about you as well.

you heard a rush of wind from outside, loud enough to make you jump, knocking you out from your thoughts about the dark haired man, and you quickly smoothed out your dress before making your way to the front door.

you opened it only to be greeted by nothing except an empty doorway. you glanced around for a short, stunned moment before a sweet smell traveled up to your nose, and you looked down.

it was your basket, still holding all those berries you had gathered, and accompanying the fresh fruits, a small note placed on top stood out against the bright colours.

you left your basket behind.

— jason.

[gloomwitchwrites]

Summer Camp Slasher

Serial Killer Simon "Ghost" Riley x Female Reader

Content & Warnings: 1980’s AU, Summer Camp AU, swearing, survival horror, suspense, brief sexual content, blood & gore, descriptions of corpses, brief mention of alcohol, smoking, second chances, ambiguous/open ending

Word Count: 5.4k

A/N: Requested by @kylies-love-letter for 3.5k Spooky Bingo (80's Summer Camp Slasher)

Hillford Camp, 1985

Hillford Camp is having a reopening. As owner and operator, you’re excited for a restart after a string of grisly murders took place on the old campsite. You’ve hired on Simon Riley as Camp Director. Not because he’s your ex, but because he’ll be great at the job. Everything is going great—until it’s not. Two camp counselors go missing only to reappear in morbid display in the dining hall.

With only yourself, Simon, the local sheriff John Price and his two deputies MacTavish and Garrick, it’s a race to find the killer before they find you.

ao3 // main masterlist // 3.5k spooky bingo masterlist

"I can't believe this. It's finally happening!"

A dream has come to fruition. Not yours exactly, but your mother’s. You’re on your toes, a bouncing ball of energy. Simon Riley, the man you hired on as Camp Director, stands next to you, a beacon of solid muscle and calm energy.

Hillford Camp is the place your mother spent her youth as a camp counselor. She loved it so much, she eventually bought the land and intended to run the camp herself. She’s gone now, but the land is yours. The camp is yours.

With the tip of his index finger, Simon pushes the rim of his sunglasses down, revealing whiskey-brown eyes. “Give me the word and I’ll make them leave,” he says, gaze fixed on the herd of media in the parking lot beyond the wooden fence.

“Leave them,” you mutter. “Won’t matter if they stay or leave.”

The corners of his mouth turn downward. "You know what they're talking about."

"I'm aware," you grumble.

"And it doesn't bother you?" he counters.

"I'm not allowing it to bother me," you reply.

Hillford Camp was popular for years before people started disappearing. It started small, just one or two people a season. Their bodies were never found, and many chalked it up to accidental deaths. The forest beyond the camp is wide. Local authorities believed the missing campers likely wandered off.

Everything changed ten years ago.

People started disappearing, and this time, their bodies started to turn up in gruesome display. Hillford Camp was shut down completely and left to rot in the shadow of the forest. The Hillford Camp Murders remain unsolved.

No one knows who did it, or why, but the rumors persist, especially now that you’re reopening the place.

Simon crosses his arms over his chest. His high-waisted khaki shorts stop mid-thigh, showing off thick, muscled thighs. The Hillford Camp shirt he wears beneath his jacket is a size too small, the material stretching tightly across his pectorals.

"I don't like it,” he says cooly, gaze still fixed on the herd of media.

A little flare of heat blooms in your chest and rolls outward to steam your cheeks. You may have hired Simon as Camp Director, but he’s no stranger. There was a time when the two of you shared secrets in the dark, when he learned your curves, and made you moan for him.

An old memory resurfaces and you quickly wave it off like a pesky fly. You will not venture into old territory.

“They can’t cross the property line. It’ll be fine, Simon,” you reassure him, patting his arm.

Your hand lingers a little longer than necessary, that old memory resurfacing again. As you pull back, Simon gently grasps your wrist, keeping you close to him. That one touch sends a little reminder to your clit of just how sweet he can be.

"Are you sure?" he murmurs. "I can make them go. Just say the word."

He's always been protective. Even now you're reminded of just how gentle he can be with you.

"It's fine," you emphasize.

Within his grasp, you twist your wrist, presenting your palm. Simon glances down at it, his thumb rubbing against your pulse point. A little shiver runs through you, and you know Simon notices by the way he smirks.

"All right, love," he says, dropping your wrist.

The moment with Simon is there and gone but your heart rate remains a pounding thing that doesn't cease. All day through orientation, introductions, and team activities, you float around the grounds, moving from place to place. That feeling never abates. It clings to you like gum on the bottom of a shoe until your head finds your pillow.

When you awaken, you expect the feeling to pass. Instead, it stays, and it is Simon's first words to you in the morning that turn that sensual anxiety to bleeding stress.

"Two of the counselors are missing."

"Missing? What do you mean missing? Who the fuck is missing?" you hiss, leaning close as the two of you monitor breakfast.

“Jessica and Michael.”

“Oh, God.”

Simon sighs and nods at a passing camper before he speaks again. “Their bunk mates said they weren’t in their beds when they woke up this morning. No one’s seen them.”

“Do their bunkmates know where they might be?” Simon shoots you a look and you already know. “Fuck,” you sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Is anyone looking for them?”

“I have the Activities Director and Lead Lifeguard discreetly searching all the possible spots.”

"You're fucking with me," you groan.

Simon smirks and then leans in a bit closer. "Blood runs hot at that age. Remember how we were together?" You smack his chest and he laughs. "Just saying."

"These are college freshmen we're talking about, Simon. They’re here to earn a little extra cash. Nothing more."

"That's my point." A group of teens walk past and Simon waits until they're gone. "They probably found themselves a cozy spot in the woods to get drunk and fuck. They're likely trying to avoid their walk of shame."

"They better be,” you snap. “Calling the local authorities on the second day is the worst possible scenario."

Simon laughs and takes his sunglasses off his head, cleaning the lens with his shirt. "I'd think calling them at all would be the worst."

"Simon. I swear—"

He places his hand on the back of your neck. It's a protective yet possessive gesture. Your body instantly calms—instantly submits to him.

"Let me handle this,” he murmurs, his voice a gentle caress. “It's my job."

You do allow Simon to handle it even though your stomach is a knot the rest of the day. After everyone moves through the dinner line and evening activates wrap, Simon appears at your private cabin.

You open the door, and Simon leans against the doorframe, taking up far too much space.

“Can I come in?” he asks.

You step aside, and Simon enters. Closing the door behind him, the small space suddenly feels incredibly cramped. Staff cabins are slightly larger than those the campers live in, and they aren’t communal.

Simon drops onto your bed, taking up the entire surface. He fishes around inside his grey windbreaker, retrieving a small bottle of whiskey.

"Care to join me?" he asks, offering the bottle.

"What's the occasion?" you counter, taking it from him. You uncap the lid and bring it to your lips.

"An update on our missing lovebirds."

You take a massive swig, the whiskey burning as it goes down. You grimace and offer the bottle back to him. Simon takes it and sits up, taking some for himself.

"And?"

Simon sighs loudly. "And we haven't found them."

You place your head in your hands, groaning with frustration.

Simon sets the bottle down and reaches for you. "Come here," he murmurs.

With the whiskey warming your veins, it's easy to go to him, to settle beside him, and rest your cheek against his firm chest. Simon's arm drapes over you, keeping you close to him. You inhale his scent, remembering the way it felt to be in his arms like this when the two of you were lovers.

"Simon," you sigh, shifting your face toward him.

You don't mean to sound so breathy—so needy, and yet Simon responds, closing the distance, gently pressing his lips to yours. Calmness washes over you, chasing away the day's anxiety. The missing campers are pushed to the back of your mind.

With his arm draped over your hip, Simon uses that leverage to gently roll you onto your back, pinning you beneath him. His hand roams upward, trailing over thigh and stomach before exploring the valley between your breasts. Further he ascends until his hand comes to your throat. He grasps it, a sign of dominance and possession.

Is he not over you? Is this simply going to devolve into sex? A distraction? And does it even matter?

His kisses deepen and you greedily accept them, wanting to consume like you did the whiskey. Forgetting would be nice right now. The trials of the last two days can wait until the morning.

You part your legs and Simon slots himself between. His hardness presses against your pelvis, an insistent sensation that you want to explore. You haven't been with anyone since Simon, and your body yearns for him now.

His free hand explores. Roams. It delves beneath your shirt, stroking skin until you're both tugging at the fabric in an effort to remove it. Your bra is gone next. Then his jacket and shirt. The two of you are skin against skin, fingers digging in, mouths meeting repeatedly until you're both gasping for breath.

"Let me in," he murmurs softly as he fumbles with the front of his pants.

You reach for him, helping him out of his shorts before removing your own. The moment there is nothing between you, his lips find yours again, limbs entwining on the small bed.

Simon's hand delves between your legs, stroking until a pressure builds. Molten and bright, it explodes outward. You moan into his mouth, and Simon swallows it down, enjoying every second.

The head of him replaces his fingers, and your body greedily accepts him, devouring every inch until you're full and perfectly stretched. Simon rocks his hips. The damp, sticky air clings to your skin and his, mixing with sweat.

"I miss you," he whispers into your ear, lips brushing along the curve.

Another release builds, swamping your senses until all you know is Simon and the humid air. The fan in the corner of the ceiling spins and clangs, but it is a distant thing. He groans, lower back stiffening against your hands as you press him closer. You come undone before him, shuddering, and Simon follows soon after.

The two of you linger above the sheets, a tangle of limbs. There is rest for a bit, and then you're reaching for him again. Simon happily complies, the two of you further tiring yourselves until sleep seizes you both.

Early, just before the sun rises, you and Simon grab flashlights and hike out to the place you want to forget: the old Hillford Camp.

Not a single building was torn down. Due to the police investigation, the buildings remained standing, but after they cleared out, the buildings were boarded up and left alone for years. It's not like you didn't try to have it all demolished.

The case is still open. And the buildings are nothing more than skeletal structures.

From a clip off his belt loop, Simon produces a massive set of keys. Shuffling through them, he finds the one he's looking for. Placing it into the lock, it clicks, the chain holding the metal fence together sliding away as Simon gives it a tug. He pushes it open, the metal screeching loudly, echoing amongst the trees.

Before you are the old cabins. The rec center and communal buildings are further in. While most of those went untouched, the cabins are another matter entirely. Each one is a crime scene. Each one tainted by the killer's bloodthirst.

"Should check them all," says Simon, pointing his flashlight at the nearest cabin. "Look for signs of entry."

"There's thirty cabins,” you counter. “We can't cover them all one-by-one. We should split up. Cover more ground."

Simon's response is immediate. "You're not leaving my sight."

You casually shrug. "We’ll find nothing except a few empty bottles and dust." You shrug absently. “Maybe a dead racoon or two.”

"I'd feel better if you're in my line of sight at all times."

His “line of sight”. As if you’re one of his old targets. A part of you loves the protectiveness while the other wants to smack him over the head. The two of you aren’t a couple anymore, and this isn’t the military. He won’t boss you around.

"Seriously?"

"Dead," he grumbles, striding toward the first cabin.

The two of you walk around the perimeter checking windows and the front door. All of them are sealed tight. Cabin by cabin, the two of you walk, finding nothing out of place.

"No fresh tracks," mutters Simon. "Not of the human variety."

The sun is starting to rise, the dark giving way to the light.

You shine your flashlight on the nearest cabin door and frown. "Simon. Look at that."

He turns, flashlight beam joining yours. The door appears askew as if it's not entirely on its hinges. Simon strides toward it, you following on his heel.

As you near, you notice the crack.

The door is open.

Simon holds up a hand, a sign to stay put. You nod. In this, you will do as he says. Simon reaches out with the flashlight, pushing the door open further with the tool. It creaks but swings inward.

Inside, it is dark. Simon slowly swings the flashlight back and forth across the interior. You step up behind him, peering around his shoulder.

The two bunks are empty, all four stained mattresses on the ground. Next to them are several used condoms, crushed beer cans, and a half-consumed bottle of off-brand vodka.

Simon snorts. "They left vodka." He tuts. "A shame."

"At least we know where they snuck off to." You turn the beam of the flashlight outward toward the rest of the cabins. "Just need to find where they went."

Simon leans against the doorframe, a sultry smile on his face.

"What?" you prompt.

He nods toward the mattresses. "You want to get on all fours for me?"

The image of you on your hands and knees as Simon fucks you from behind invades your senses, momentarily seizing your sanity. With it comes the feel of his hands, of how large and strong they are, of him grasping the back of your neck as he holds you in place.

You roll your eyes in an attempt to hide your sudden arousal. "You're disgusting."

Simon barks a laugh, slapping your ass on the way to the next cabin.

Each one is searched, and the remainder are all untouched.

“We should search the communal buildings,” you suggest.

Simon shakes his head. “I don’t have my walkie,” he replies, patting the empty spot where he usually clips the behemoth of a device. He glances up into the sky. “We need to return. People are going to start questioning where we’ve run off to.”

You give the old campsite one last long look. "I wonder where they went," you murmur, the unease starting to settle in again.

Simon relatches the lock on the fencing. "I'll radio the sheriff when we return."

John Price, the sheriff of the nearest town, is a good but stubborn man. You’ve only talked to him a handful of times, but he was always polite to you.

Approaching the communal dining hall, you notice a large crowd of campers gathered outside. The main doors are shut when they should be wide open for the breakfast crowd. Several of the older camp counselors stand in front of the doors, barring entry.

Simon arrives first at the edge of the crowd. They part for him like Moses and the Red Sea. The eldest of the camp counselors, Jesse, a senior in college, has a stony expression on his face. His tanned skin is pale, eyes sunken as if he's sickened overnight.

"What happened?" asks Simon, keeping his voice low. Jesse shakes his head, keeping silent. "Is there anyone inside?"

Jesse licks his cracked lips. "Yes," he murmurs. "But they're not—" He glances at the crowd like a wounded animal looking for an escape and grimaces.

Simon lowers his voice further, trying to soothe the young man. "Let us see."

Jesse steps aside and Simon cracks the door open. The smell hits you first. Rotten. Fetid. Like garbage that's been left out in the sun.

Simon pokes his head in and then retreats, turning toward you. His mouth is a thin line, and his face is grim.

"You shouldn't," he whispers.

You shouldn't? What the fuck is in there?

"I will," you insist.

Simon’s nostrils flare slightly. It’s his tell when he’s irritated with you. But he doesn’t push back. Simon opens the door, ushering the two of you inside.

The smell is worse with the door closed. The lights are off and all the windows are shut, the blinds down but cracked, allowing in some of the morning light. The large ceiling fans overhead are still, leaving the air stale and unmoving.

At this hour, the place should be full with people at tables stuffing their faces with eggs and pancakes. But the place is utterly silent. You check the switches on the wall but none of the lights turn on, nor do the ceiling fans.

"Are the generators not working?" you ask, staring up at the unmoving fans.

"I think we have worse things to worry about," replies Simon.

You follow his line of sight, coming to rest at the far end of the dining hall.

At the center table closest to the kitchen are the two missing camp counselors. Jessica and Michael appear completely normal at first, but as you move closer, you suddenly realize the horror before you.

The two lovebirds sit across from each other at the communal dining table. Before each of them is a plastic tray. In front of Michael on his tray is a small pile of open condom wrappers. On Jessica's tray is a lone pregnancy test. You have no idea if it's used or brand new, and you don’t really care to know. Between their trays in an empty liquor bottle, the label partially removed.

They are posed with arms outstretched; hands clasped. Their skin is grey and sunken, mouths terribly stretched into loving smiles. Flies swarm them, switching between bodies and buzzing about in the air. Their eyes are gone. Not vanished, but crushed to pulp.

Your gaze lingers and then moves beyond them toward the kitchen. It's designed to be an open kitchen, giving an airy feeling to the space. It’s also designed with space in mind and for the kitchen staff to keep track of how many people are eating and still need to fill their plates.

All six cooks stand behind the buffet line and yet nothing is on. Nothing is cooking. They are posed with tongs and spatulas in hand as if ready to serve the horde outside. Most of them are upright as if they're completely fine. Yet as you look closer, you notice the hooks and wires digging into their clothes and flesh. You follow those wires, and how they're anchored to heavier objects to counterbalance their body weight.

"They're all dead," murmurs Simon.

You wretch, the stink and horror becoming overwhelming.

"Fuck," says Simon, placing his hand at your back.

Another wave of nausea hits you. Simon grabs your arms, guiding you away from the grisly scene toward the side door. He kicks it open, the two of you almost falling down the short stairs to the hard ground.

Yanking yourself from Simon’s arms, you fall to your knees in the dirt, gagging. Saliva pools in your mouth.

You spit into the dirt. "What the fuck was that?"

Simon is far more experienced in the art of brutality. Before all this, he was military. He’s seen war—worked on countless mission.

"I'm calling Sheriff Price," says Simon. "We're shutting this place down. Sending everyone home."

"Oh my God," you murmur, rubbing your dirt-stained hands against your legs in anxious agitation.

Simon's hand finds your shoulder, and you flinch. "I'll handle this," he reassures, helping you off the ground.

His embrace is comforting, reminding you of how much you’ve missed him. It’s cruel and unfair, and somehow completely needed. In this, Simon is your rock. An anchor in a stormy harbor.

"We handle this,” you reply. “Together."

Simon cradles your cheeks, thumbs brushing away your tears.  "You need to be out there. Put on a brave face. Smile. Take everyone to the amphitheater. Have a couple of the remaining camp counselors go to storage for water bottles and packaged snacks. Feed everyone. Keep them entertained."

It’s the smart thing to do until a plan is formed. Keep everyone in one place. Nobody wanders off.

You nod, swallowing.

Simon presses his lips to your forehead. "Take a deep breath. You can do this." You follow his instruction, exhaling slowly. Simon holds you the whole time, not letting go until the shaking stops.

“Ready to face the crowd?” he whispers against your hair.

“No,” you reply. “But I will.”

"Tell me what happened again."

Sheriff John Price lights up a cigarette, his sunglasses low on his nose as he stares Simon down.

"I told you," replies Simon, his voice nearly a growl. "They're all dead."

“You said that.” Sheriff Price takes a long drag on his cigarette. Expelling the smoke from his lungs, he returns the cigarette to his mouth. "You also said," he checks his notepad, "you're missing five additional personnel."

Simon sighs heavily, clearly irritated. "We are."

"You didn't check to make sure everyone was accounted for before you left?" The accusation is clear, and Simon is clearly agitated by it.

"Sheriff," you interject, placing your hand on Simon's bicep in a comforting touch. "As we noted earlier, there were signs of tampering to the generators and vehicles. We needed to do what was best for the campers. And that was getting them to town as quickly as possible."

"By leaving personnel behind?" counters Price.

"All of the campers are accounted for,” you reply, ignoring the question. “We need to start reuniting families with their children, Sheriff." You emphasize his title to get your point across.

Sheriff Price sniffs and puffs on his cigarette. It hangs from one side of his mouth while he exhales smoke from the other side.

Not long after you herded everyone to the amphitheater, Simon sought you out to report damaged generators, a severed power line, slashed tires on the Jeeps, and missing fuel. Calamity after calamity. Something had to be done.

"Unification is important. Is it not?" you continue, wanting to move on from this.

Sheriff Price tucks his notepad and pen into the front pocket of his uniform. "It is," he agrees. The sigh he releases is heavy.

You aren't upset with him. It's understandable. You showed up with an entire summer camp. There are now hundreds of people occupying the Hillford Library. You've dumped far more in Sheriff Price's lap than he can handle. And that doesn’t even begin to tread on the crime scene of a communal dining hall back at camp.

Without removing the cigarette from his mouth, Sheriff Price presses the button on his walkie attached to his shoulder. "I need Sergeants MacTavish and Garrick to report to the library's south side exterior."

A pause. Then the radio crackles. On our way.

"So, we have dead staff. Busted generators. Slashed tires. Missing fuel. A severed power line," lists Price. "What else am I missing?"

You sense a snarky remark ready to fall from Simon's lips. "Nothing, Sheriff,” you answer before Simon can interject.

Sergeants MacTavish and Garrick appear. They both look a little weary. Price begins rattling off orders the moment they arrive.

"The five of us are heading back to Hillford Camp. Return to the station and pick up a squad car. Grab a camera and the evidence emergency bag. We need to collect what evidence we can." He turns toward MacTavish. "Tell Deb to call the federal bureau in the city. I want them here now. We need to prepare for media coverage. Everyone else needs to be here. I want families contacted. We need cots. Blankets. See if any of the locals are willing to assist."

"On it, sir," replies Sergeant Garrick. He pats MacTavish's shoulder, the two men briskly walking away.

Sheriff Price watches them go. When they disappear, he turns back to the two of you. "Well then. Let's go catch ourselves a killer."

It's full dark by the time you, Simon, Price, MacTavish, and Garrick arrive at Hillford Camp.

With the generators damaged, all the outside lights are off, submerging everything in utter darkness. Your quintet stands in front of the squad car, headlights and brights on to cut through the void. Each of you holds a flashlight but even that doesn't seem to pierce the night. Forests are always more sinister in the dark.

"This is fucking creepy," mutters Sergeant MacTavish, slowly sweeping his flashlight beam back and forth.

An owl hoots and insects buzz but otherwise there is complete silence.

"Show me the bodies," says Price.

"They’re this way," says Simon, guiding the group forward.

The smell of the corpses is worse now that they've been sitting. Covering your nose and mouth helps a little, but the stench is nearly overpowering. You and Simon linger near the main door, watching the three men move about the communal dining hall, flashlights illuminating the horror. Simon places his hand on the back of your neck. With just the slightest pressure, he pulls you into him, lips pressing to the top of your head. He's trying to comfort, to bring you peace, and while his touch and closeness is pleasant, you're still on edge. Still wired and unsure.

"Look at this," says MacTavish, tracing the wires and hooks with the flashlight beam.

"This can't be one person," observes Garrick.

"If it is, it's goddamn impressive."

"I want to take a quick look around. Show me those damaged generators. And the severed power line," says Price.

As you exit, you sense a presence. A lingering sense of dread, as if a knife hovers above your head, ready to drop.

"Simon," you whisper, reaching out in the dark for his hand. His fingers find yours, tangling, pulling you close.

"What is it?"

Something wet drips onto your face. It's just a drop. Lukewarm. On your forehead. As you reach up to wipe it away, you feel another.

"What the fuck," you mutter, smearing whatever it is. There’s no rain expected in the forecast.

Simon brings his light closer, and then his hands are on you.

"Are you hurt?" he asks sharply.

"I'm fine. I—"

You see it then, the deep dark red smeared across the back of your hand.

"What the fuck," you mutter.

"Move!" yells Price, waving. "Move.”

Simon grabs hold of your arm, drawing you away, all the flashlight beams pointing upward into the trees.

A scream lodges in your throat. It sticks, twisting.

The five missing personnel dangles from the overhead tree limbs. They are naked, skin split and splayed open as if they are descending from the heavens.

"We need to leave," growls Simon.

"Back to the squad car. Now!"

One moment Simon’s arm is around you, and the next it’s gone. You stumble forward, flashlight beam swinging wildly as you try to find balance.

Behind you, someone cries out.

"MacTavish!"

You glance over your shoulder as the sergeant takes a swing at something in the dark. His flashlight goes tumbling as he draws his gun. Shots ring out. You flinch at the first one, cowering as MacTavish unloads his weapon.

There is silence, and a groan.

"MacTavish!"

Price and Garrick go down on their knees beside their coworker. MacTavish is on his back attempting to sit up.

But where is Simon?

His name forms on your lips, and then you feel hands on your arms. You shriek and swing out.

“It’s me. It’s me.”

You throw yourself into Simon’s arm, chest heaving.

“We gotta get him back to the car. Lift in one…two…”

Sergeant MacTavish howls as they lift him. “My bloody fucking ankle. Goddamn it!”

The five of you shuffle toward the exit only to find that there is no escape. At least, not by car.

“You’re fucking joking,” mutters Sheriff Price.

Sergeant Garrick sighs. “Tires are flat.”

Price turns to you and Simon. "Where can we hole up until morning?"

"My office," replies Simon automatically. "I have a first aid kit."

When you arrive, Price barricades the door and checks the windows while Simon and Sergeant Garrick lift MacTavish onto the desk.

“Just twisting. I’m fine,” mutters MacTavish.

Price lifts MacTavish’s pant leg, revealing the bruised and swollen skin. “You can’t fucking walk on that.”

Simon opens up a nearby cabinet. From it, he removes a hunting rifle. He turns to you, and you realize that you might not see him again.

“You’re staying here. With him.

“Simon—”

“Stay. We can move faster with three of us. You don’t leave this room. Not unless one of us comes to the door. You understand?”

You nod. “I understand.”

Staying is hard. But you do it, because what other choice is there? At some point, you help MacTavish off the desk and into a chair, elevating his leg. All you can do is pace, tapping the side of the baseball bat Simon left for you against your leg.

"Where are they?" you murmur to yourself.

MacTavish grunts. "They'll be fine."

"What if there's more than one out there!"

He shrugs. "It's possible, but I doubt it. Killers don't like to hunt in packs. They're lone wolves."

In the distance, you hear a gunshot. You and MacTavish both jump.

Another shot. Distant.

“What if that’s them?” you whisper. “We should check.”

“We are staying here,” replies MacTavish. “I have to protect you.”

“With that ankle?” you counter.

MacTavish snorts, and then flinches when another shot rings out.

“That sounds like Simon’s hunting rifle,” you murmur, saddling up to the window. You partially open the blinds, but see nothing in the empty dark. You quickly close them and back away.

MacTavish has a deep frown on his face.

“We should—”

You hear you name. It’s shouted, but muffled as if from a distance. You and MacTavish’s heads snap in the direction of the noise.

The two of you remain quiet, lingering in expectation.

Your name, again. Closer now. And clearly Simon’s voice.

“Stay here,” you insist, handing MacTavish the baseball bat.

“You can’t leave,” he replies sharply, attempting to get out of his chair but failing as the pain radiates up his leg, causing him to fall right back in it.

“It’s fine. He said not to come out unless one of them called for us. I’ll be right back.”

Hope blooms in your chest. Unlocking the door, you step outside, and into the utter dark. The reality of the darkness begins to creep in, invading all your senses. The forest is eerie at night without light. Simon may have called out to you but he’s nowhere to be seen.

You linger on the small stoop, listening for anything. When you’re greeted with silence, you plaster yourself against the side of the shed, moving slowly, unwilling to step away. If he calls out to you again, you might be able to discern direction. Part of you longs to call his name, but another part knows better.

The killer might still be loose.

As you approach the north side of the shed, the darkness moves. It is human shaped and tall. Towering.

A flashlight clicks on, but the light does not illuminate the figure. It’s pointed at you, the beam incredibly bright and blinding. They have it aimed at your face, causing to shrink away from the light and squint.

“Simon?”

The beam lingers on your face, and then it arcs up, illuminating the figure before you.

“Simon,” you sigh with relief.

Your limbs relax, and you start to reach for him, but hesitate at the last moment. There is something strange about him. His demeanor has changed. And there’s…blood. Lots of blood.

“Simon,” you whisper, eyes widening as you notice just how much there is. He’s nearly soaked to the bone but he stands tall and unafraid.

This isn’t his. It’s not his blood.

As you glance up to meet his gaze, you find only coldness there. A deadness.

A scream sticks in your throat as he reaches out with one bloodied hand. It wraps around your forearm and squeezes. Like iron, there is so much strength behind it. With a yank, Simon tugs you away from the wall of the shed, shoes sliding and skidding against the ground as you resist the pull.

“Simon!” This time you do shriek. This time you yell. “Let me go!”

Has it been him all this time? And where are Price and Garrick?

When you swing out at him, Simon gives your arm a firm yank. It sends you spinning, twisting until you’re pressed into his side. He hooks you against his body, half-dragging you in the direction he’s walking.

“Was it you?” you whisper. “Did you do all this?”

He doesn’t answer.

“Why?” you ask. “Why?”

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[allwaswell16]

A fic rec of One Direction fics that take place in a small town, rural area as requested in this ask. If you enjoy the fics, please leave kudos and comments for the writers! You can find my other recs here. Happy reading!

- Louis / Harry -

🏡 I'll Fly Away by @juliusschmidt

(E, 122k, childhood friends) Harry and Louis grew up together in Lake County, Harry with his mom and stepdad in a tiny cottage on Edward’s Lake and Louis in his family’s farmhouse a few minutes down the road. But after high school, Louis stuck around and Harry did not

🏡 Tired Tired Sea by MediaWhore / @mediawhorefics

(M, 113k, lighthouse) As a B&B owner on the most remote of all the British Isles, Louis Tomlinson is used to spending the coldest half of the year in complete isolation, with his dog and the sea as sole companions. Until, one day, a mysterious stranger on a quest to rebuild himself rents a room for the winter.

🏡 Black with Autumn Rain by whimsicule / @baroness-elsa

(T, 93k, magical realism) Harry is a journalist, Louis has lots of secrets and the moors aren't exactly the ideal place to rekindle a lost romance.

🏡 Here In The Afterglow by fondleeds

(NR, 88k, historical) 1970’s AU. In a tiny town in Idaho, Louis’ life is changed forever by the arrival of a curious stranger.

🏡 ocean tides you home (series) by @justanothershadeofblue

(M, 88k, Eroda) Harry is a lonely and depressed popstar who sailed out of his hometown on Eroda years ago to chase his dreams. He comes back to the island only to find his shining childhood best friend Louis just as cold and dreary as the island they grew up on.

🏡 Into the Weeds by kair0sclerosis / @night-is-a-feeling

(M, 87k, secrets) Following the whispered words of a stranger, Harry Styles finds himself in the small town of Peri Ridge. It’s a town nestled within overgrown forests, raging rivers, and ominous mountains- full of unkept secrets, the aura of freedom, and lost people seeking to be found.

🏡 (Take Me Home) Country Roads by Awriterwrites / @a-writerwrites

(E, 86k, Northern Exposure au) Louis as the big city doctor, Harry as a natural healer, Niall as a secretive barkeep, Liam and Zayn head over heels for each other but they don't know it and a lot of hurt, comfort and moonshine in between.

🏡 Full Moon Dreaming by jacaranda_bloom / @jacaranda-bloom

(E, 43k, soulmates) Louis has given up hope of dreaming of a person, resigned to living a life devoid of that kind of all-consuming love for another and receiving the same in return. But when a new neighbour descends on Louis’ beloved Hanson Bay and moves into the other beach house, could all that be about to change?

🏡 The Things We Know To Be Wild by harryanthus_annuus / @harryanthus-annuus

(M, 39k, HTTYD au) Louis is a London zoologist sent by the University of Highlands and Islands to assess the safety of the island of Eroda as part of the Wonder Seekers Project for sustainable tourism.

🏡 Something About Liminal Spaces by @kingsofeverything

(E, 34k, age difference) Searching for inspiration for his latest book, and hoping distance will help heal his broken heart, Louis Tomlinson heads to the village of Piha on the west coast of New Zealand’s north island.

🏡 It's the Climb by @lululawrence

(NR, 25k, Hannah Montana au) Louis is a world famous punk rock singer with a stage name of William and Jay drags him back to Tennessee for the summer.

🏡 It's Coming on Christmas by QuickedWeen / @becomeawendybird

(G, 23k, girl direction) When Harry Styles gets a call from the caretaker of a bakery in a small town in Vermont, she jumps at the chance to get out of Boston and run her own shop.

🏡 Naked & Proud by kiwikero / @icanhazzalou

(E, 18k, songwriter Louis) In which Harry runs an organic store, not a nudist colony, and Louis doesn't know whether to be relieved or disappointed.

🏡 Between the forest and the field by bluegreenish / @greenblueish

(E, 16k, meet cute) the one where Harry recently moved to a village and his shy dog picks Louis' dogs to play with at the dog park. A fluffy cottage core AU.

🏡 Won’t Let You Down by noellehenry / @noellehenry-original

(M, 15k, inheritance) In a matter of weeks, Harry’s world turns upside down. Suddenly he’s the owner of a farm and B&B, gets involved in illegal trading of unlabeled bottles and has to deal with his everlasting crush on his sister Gemma’s best friend, who has returned to Woodville…

🏡 You Tilted My Hand by @taggiecb

(G, 12k, photographer Harry) Harry Styles arrives in Avonlea, Prince Edward Island for his first day of a coveted and prestigious summer internship at the Avonlea Chronicle. He's quick to realise that he's out of place in the little band of journalists as he's an art major and they didn't choose Harry to be part of the team!

🏡 Babe, There's Something Lonesome About You by patdkitten / @babyarcanacasey

(M, 8k, witch Louis) Louis is a hedge witch, who lives a lonely, solitary life. He's quite happy with his shop in Door County, selling New Age magics to the tourists. 

🏡 Warm Chilling by Larry_you_know / @larryyouknow

(G, 7k, neighbors) Louis moves into a cosy cottage in the English countryside with his dog Clifford to look after his great-aunt's animals.

- Rare Pairs -

🏡 Grundy County Incidents (series) by @haztobegood

(T, 10k, Harry/Louis/Nick Grimshaw & Zayn/Liam & Niall/Greg James) 25 years, 7 friends, 3 relationships, 1 rural county

🏡 Something Good (And I Don't Just Mean Your Chips) by sunsetmog / @magicalrocketships

(T, 9k, Harry/Nick Grimshaw) Nick's uncle's will left his seaside cottage, his fishing boat, and all the contents of both to Nick. Coming off the back of months of very poor life choices, a brand new start in a Yorkshire seaside village seems the last remaining option for Nick

[dilemmaontwolegs]

For the Love of God(dess) || CL16 {2}

Summary: Greek God/dess AU. You show Charles a part of your world and he shows you a part of his. Warnings: angst, fluff WC: 2.6k Part One || Two

The old stone path should have been worn for all the centuries that it had been used as the entrance to Olympus but it was still as perfect as it was the first time you walked it. Nothing ever changed, not since the war ended and a new hierarchy settled among the gods. For two thousand years nothing had changed in the Eternal City.

“Love, what have you done?” The imposing form of Ares filled the road to your temple, his arms the size of your waist. His molten red eyes barely glanced at the man at your side before snapping back with a double take. “Kàrolos?”

“Uh, so everyone keeps saying,” he answered quietly, his eyes sizing up the God of War as he spoke for the first time since arriving through the portal. “And you are?”

“Intrigued,” Ares said with a smirk. “Good luck.”

The god vanished and Charles rubbed at his head, murmuring, “Fucking weird dream.”

“You’ll wake up soon,” you sighed. It might not be the wake up he expected, but it was coming - you just had to find Athena. “I know someone who can help make sense of this, we just need to get you back to my place first. It’s right over h-” your words froze as turned towards your temple. 

Where grey stone walls had stood, great white pillars of marble rose. Where empty garden beds lay, hundreds of white roses bloomed. 

Your temple had been restored.

“This is your home?” Charles asked, a little awestruck by the sounds of it. It was quite amusing that he walked among the gods but he found beauty in a building of all things.

“Our home.”

“I have a home - in Monaco.”

You opened your mouth to argue but saw the quiet desperation in his features. He was clinging to his humanity and it forced you to remember that this wasn’t the Kàrolos you knew, this was a stranger. The only resemblance they held were their eyes, but they were the window to the soul and they still had the same soul. 

“Let’s just go inside.”

The doors beyond the marble arch swung open on your approach and the interior had changed just as much. The vast room was open to the sunlight and a fountain filled the centre, the sound of bubbling water a calming feature. Open arches led to more rooms but you made your way to the furthest one. 

Charles followed sedately into the bedroom and out onto the balcony that overlooked the city. Above rose the peak which Zeus had claimed, his golden palace glittering beneath Apollo’s sunshine. Below, the forests of Artemis spread far and wide with lush green canopies and the Orlias river winding through it. 

Your palms warmed on the stone railing as you watched a herd of deer pick their way to the river for a drink. “I know you have a million questions and I’m sorry for…everything.”

Charles’ shoulder leaned into yours as he drank in the scenery but he jumped back when an owl swooped in, the spotted wings brushing his cheek. A flash of light burst from the owl and bare feet touched down on the balcony. 

“Hmmm, you have had quite the night, Love,” she said with an appreciative look over Charles. She reached out to his face with a smile and wiggled her fingers. “May I?”

“Why? What are you going to do? Who are you?”

“So many questions,” she laughed. “I am Athena, I am knowledge, and if you want the answers then you will let me touch you.”

He looked to you for help and gods damned if it didn’t make something in your chest hurt before you nodded. He swallowed the fear of the unknown and trusted you as he stepped into her waiting hands. Lightning shattered his brain, blinding him with flashes of images that moved too fast to see. But he knew. Knowledge expanded and exploded in his mind at an exponential rate until he knew everything. Thousands of years of history burned into his retina in less than a second. The history of the gods and goddesses that called this place home. The history of the wars and the destruction it brought. The history of you and everything you lost.

He knew it all. And it hurt more than the pain that splintered his head.

He didn’t even realise he collapsed until he felt the softest mattress dip beneath his weight as you laid him down. Your concerned face appeared above him, the sun catching your hair and weaving a golden halo around the strands. A thought crossed his mind and he laughed, shaking his head.

“What?” you asked curiously as his fingers twitched like he had to fight the urge to reach out to you.

“When we met I thought you looked like a goddess, but of course you do. You are.” He looked to the balcony but the owl had already taken flight back to her palace on the hill. “I’m not him, you know.”

“I know.” The man you loved had died a long time ago. You had your time together, no matter how short, and you had mourned for him. It was time to move on. “I don’t want you to be Kàrolos. I want to learn who you are, Charles.”

“And what if you don’t like who I am?”

“I am the Goddess of Love,” you teased, climbing onto the bed to sit beside him. “My arrows don’t work unless there is compatibility between the souls. Psyche is probably better off explaining that but my power only amplifies what attraction is already there. Can’t say I have been on the receiving end of it before. This will take some getting used to.”

“What will?”

“The want, the need to touch you,” you confessed as you looked down at your hands that gripped the bedspread tightly. “It is difficult to be this close and not reach out.”

Charles frowned. “You loved Kàrolos but you didn’t use an arrow?”

“Not everyone needs an arrow to fall in love. Like I said, it only amplifies. People find love on their own everyday, only some need a little poke in the right direction. Those friends who have been dancing around each other for years, the abused who don’t think they are worthy of being loved, the colleagues who only flirt at work. The fates weave their tapestry with a trillion threads of life and when there is a snag, like two lovers who failed to meet, then I repair it so the loom can continue its creation.”

Charles blinked as he began to understand how complex the roles of the gods were. “Fuck.” 

You laughed and his lips tugged up at the sound. 

“I don’t mind, if you want to touch me,” he admitted quietly, reaching for your hand and unfurling it from the bedding. His hand was larger than yours but your fingers settled between his comfortably and your body sagged with relief. “So what do we do now?”

You shrugged, not exactly knowing the answer yourself. Time was plentiful so there was no rush, but you were eager to find out who it was your heart had been given to. “What do you enjoy?”

Charles’ smile dropped as he suddenly remembered the world he had left behind. “Shit, we need to go back. I have a race this week.”

–

“Breaking News: Peace had been brokered between nations all over the globe in a dramatic turn of events. For more information we will be heading to our correspondent at the United Nations HQ…”

Charles turned off the TV in the hotel but he didn’t miss the way your eyes remained fixed on the screen, or the way your lip wobbled. Crossing the room, he grabbed your hands and bent his knees so you were eye to eye. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s my fault,” you whispered through the lump in your throat. “I failed my duties.”

He looked back at the TV where you could still see the breaking news. Peace had come after two thousand years of skirmishes and wars on the mortal plane. There should have never been wars to begin with. 

“That isn’t your fault,” he argued, but he had the knowledge of the gods, he understood how your power worked. The gods were a fragile ecosystem that required balance. You were the balance to Ares’ power and his effect on the world.

“I was weakened when Kàrolos died, I lost half of myself, half of my strength. It left Ares unchecked - of course it is my fault.”

Charles wrapped his arms around you, tucking your head into the crook of his neck so you couldn’t stare at the TV. “You’re making things right now, that’s what matters.”

“It’s not even me,” you laughed bitterly. “It’s you. I couldn’t do this on my own.”

“Come on,” he said as he started to drag you towards the door.

“Where are we going?”

“You need a distraction, and I know just the thing.” 

Charles drove to the circuit he would be practising on in the morning and it was relatively quiet as he led you through the paddock. A few teenagers excitedly asked for photos with him and you smiled as he stopped to talk with each one. He was so different to Kàrolos. Kàrolos was a warrior, proud and unmoving. Most children gave him a wide berth when they saw the scars that littered his body. It wasn’t in him to idly chatter or placate others, the only soft spot he had was for you. 

“You’re very patient,” you commented as he waved goodbye and continued to the edge of the track. 

He smiled shyly and looked at his shoes as he shrugged. “I try my best to talk to fans, especially when I have the time. Take a few laps with me?”

You followed his gaze to a Ferrari that was parked in the pit lane. “I’ve never been in a car.”

“No, really?” His eyes were wide with disbelief and you laughed at the innocence in those eyes. 

“I go where I want, I’ve never needed to drive.”

He grabbed your hand and excitement flowed through you as he set a quick pace to the car. “Trust me?” he asked as he opened the passenger door.

You were immortal so it didn’t matter if he crashed. Sure, it would hurt but you would eventually heal. But the question felt heavier than just asking if you trusted him not to crash, more that you could trust him to keep you safe. “Yes, I trust you, Charles.”

You slipped into the seat that was moulded to cradle you before he bent down and buckled the clips in for you. His cologne reached your nose at the close proximity and you inhaled deeper as you committed the rich scent to your memory. 

“Is this comfortable?” he asked as he tugged the harness.

“It is…managable.” Restrictive, confined, and claustrophobic came to mind but you didn’t want to worry him as he went around to his side. There was energy in his step that had been missing in Olympus, an ambience that brightened the moment he arrived at the racing track, and you wanted to keep that light in his aura. 

“We’ll take the first one slow,” he promised as he started the engine and gripped the wheel. 

You had flown into battle on the back of a pegasus, you had held onto the fins of charybdis as they raced through Posiden’s domain. Nothing came close to the thrill and the speed of Charles’ car. 

Your heart jumped up your throat as you were thrown back into the seat and then the world around you blurred. Everything faded away except for the window ahead and you didn’t dare blink in case you missed a moment. There were no thoughts on the what ifs of the future, or the regrets of your past. There was only the car, and Charles grinning at you.

“Are you sure this is slow?” you asked with a giddy laugh as the adrenaline reached your head and the initial surprise was erased.

“Hold on, cherie.” The engine roared louder and like a beast it leapt forward. A scream of exhilaration filled the car as Charles lassoed the metal beast and wrangled it through each corner until he finally slowed to return to the pit lane. 

“I finally understand the obsession,” you admitted as he parked back where he had left. Your fingers were almost stiff where they had gripped the harness over your chest and you flexed the feeling back into them before unbuckling it. “I can’t even describe it, but I feel alive - if that makes sense? I can’t think quite clearly now.”

“I understand.” Charles smiled softly and wiped away the stray tear that ran down your cheek from having your eyes wide open for so long. “It’s getting late.”

You climbed out of the car and looked up to see stars dotting the desert night sky. It felt like time stopped while you were in the car but nothing could stop time and it all came rushing back. “Can we do this again?” you asked, a little sheepish at how needy you sounded.

“Of course,” Charles promised, taking your hand as naturally as breathing. “After this race it’s winter break and I am all yours.” He stumbled and caught himself. “I mean, if you want to hang out and, uh, stuff. I don’t have any plans, but if you do we can figure something ou-”

You rose onto your toes and kissed his cheek that was turning pink in the moonlight and he fell silent. “I don’t have any plans either.”

Charles stared at your lips, still feeling the warmth on his cheek and he touched the skin as a smile tugged at his lips and he nodded to himself. “Okay. Okay.” 

“You’re cute,” you said as you felt the urge to kiss his lips next.

His nose wrinkled at the compliment. “Cute?”

“Amongst other things,” you added, biting your lip to keep your other thoughts to yourself. 

He grew confident and curled his finger under your chin, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip and pulling it free from your teeth. “You’re beautiful.”

Your lungs refused to work as his head dipped down slowly, giving you time to change your mind. You could still feel the remnants of that thrill in your veins and the charge was electric as you gave into your desire and threw your arms around his neck. The kiss started slowly, hesitation holding you both back as you tasted the chemistry, but it grew deeper as his arms curled around your waist, pulling your bodies flush. 

The track faded away as you spared one last critical thought to teleport back to the hotel room. Charles blinked as he looked around the bedroom, but the surprise turned to a smirk. “That is handy.”

“You can do it too,” you said as your fingers traced the hem of his shirt. “You can just have to picture the image in your mind.”

Cold kissed your skin and you looked down to see your own shirt had disappeared. 

“Holy shit, it worked,” he gasped. “Oh, shit, sorry.”

Your shirt returned in an instant but it was now the same shade of red as his team colours. 

“I wasn’t complaining,” you smirked but the humour dimmed as his hands came to rest on your waist that was still wrapped in red cotton. “We can take it slow, Charles.”

“Is that what you want?”

“I want you, not your regrets. I want you to be ready.” Ready for an eternity together.

Charles sat at the edge of the bed and pulled you onto his lap. “The first thing you should know about me is I have never been good at going slow,” he admitted as he cupped your cheek and crushed his lips to yours.

[chugging-antiseptic-dye]

Worth It 👑

“But I've left no room in my heart to turn back. So if we're wrong, let's be wrong together.”

pairing: stable boy! jun x young lady! reader

word count: 1.2k

genre: non-idol au, slight regency elements, inspired by jun’s cover of ‘worth it’, no happy ending, angstx3

notes: part of my collaboration for angst olympics. check out the full masterlist to read works from all the amazing authors! special thanks to my love, @studioeisa for beta-ing at the speed of light and for making the banner <3 bold lines are direct translation of jun's worth it.

You taught him all about silk. 

The silk which you can’t live without, which is all you wear; the silken weave of your hair, the silky texture of your favourite pudding; and the colour of your eyes. A silk of maize.  Underneath the silken rays of the early morning sun, your laugh makes the flowers dance in joy,

Days of the weeks blended into months which turned into years that run amok and both of you are now only shadows of the kids you once were. However, Jun was still the responsible one. He had to be. His whole life was spent taking care of an overworked, chronically sick mother and a carefree tactless friend. You, on the other hand, bloomed into the graceful lady of Fenheart City. Who would even look at you and think that once you roughhoused with the street children in Southern slums where Jun still lives in.

Nowadays, the only stolen moments you two can catch are during your daily morning ride. Your parents commend you for still taking the stableboy for your safety but only the two of you know you can outrace Jun anyday. He still has to hold the reins of your horses with his head bowed down so that the guards don’t catch a worthless scum talking to the lady. Especially when there are new envoys and servants all around. Jun can’t afford a sliver of rumours with his mom’s medicine getting more expensive by day. Only the efforts of the young lord of Starfall, the Ashwind church, and the Western Garrison, kept the borders relatively peaceful for medicine traders to cross over.

As part of his new habit over the last six months, Jun said a quick prayer for the good health of Starfall’s lord when you fly into his arms. His hands instinctively wrap around your waist before he finds the sanity of mind to push you away.

“Are you insane? We are in public.” He hissed.

“Fuck being in public. Do you know what those envoys are for?” You sounded hysterical. Scratch that. You were hysterical. A dull pain reverberated in his heart when Jun realized that you were distressed and there was nothing he could do to help you. Helplessness, thy name is Wen Junhui.

“Why are they here?” He asked softly, eerily similar to how he soothed young colts.

You stare into him with empty eyes, swaying back and forth on your feet. A voice so distant to you that you don’t even realize that it’s yours, say, “Father finalized my marriage to the new Lord of Starfall. He promised the stretch of forest borderning their fortier town in return for extra protection for Fenheart. Our marriage will seal the deal.”

You start to giggle and don’t seem to stop. Jun found his teeth clenched together. Just as he finished processing what you said, you snatched his hands and pressed them to your chest.

“I got it,” Eyes blazing, you announce. “Let’s run away together.”

Jun tried to tug his hands free. “Let go of my hand.”

“No. Don't ask that of me. Jun, you can’t ask that of me.” Both of you know why he can’t. What was once a puppy love turned into a devoted one a few summers back. There was no one who knew your soul more than Jun. Both of you never thought about another person. Still, Jun was used to never getting the things he wanted: a bed not made out of hay, a horse of his own, you.

“You know this is wrong, right? We both have responsibilities we can't run from. I have my mother to look after too.” There. He tried his best to be rational.

“You say these things but you are still here. Tell me you don't want this. Tell me you don't want me. I know that this is wrong. I know we are disappointing so many people. But I've left no room in my heart to turn back. So, if we're wrong, let's be wrong together.”

“You won't regret me?” His best effort isn’t enough. Rationality had no place for souls intertwined.

“I like to think that our love and our mistakes are all worth it. Even if the result is chaos, it will count for something. So, steal me away, lover boy.”

For the first time in his life, Jun let himself hope.

.・゜゜・・゜゜・．.・゜゜・・゜゜・．.・゜゜・・゜゜・．.・゜

The doors of the City Lord’s study slammed closed, and so did the kindle of hope he nursed for the last few days. Everyone knew that when you went into the study, you came out a changed man. And Jun knew before being thrown in there that he won’t be the same boy anymore.

And he wasn’t. Not when he was whipped for every word you wrote in your goodbye letter to your parents. Not when his mother had to slam her forehead hard enough against the stone floor that it stained crimson to beg for your life. Not when he agreed to let you watch him give you up for money that will set him up for life. He left a shell of the boy he once was. The boy that would have never given you up. The boy that wouldn’t have chosen practicality over devotion. 

Even as they are dragging you away, creating furrows in the soft earth caused by your stubborn feet, you can't help but scream to him. Jun! Jun, please. Please. please. Don't let them take me away. You can't. YOU CAN'T.

Jun says nothing. His hands are already stained. Whether the pouch of gold is heavier than his conscience is between him and the silent forest.

He shouldn't feel guilty. He doesn't owe you anything. He can never owe you anything because there was never a possibility of crossing the chasm, of building a life with you. 

.・゜゜・・゜゜・．.・゜゜・・゜゜・．.・゜゜・・゜゜・．.・゜

Jun moves. Well, he has the money now. Why shouldn’t he? 

He moves three days away from the border of Starfall and marries a nice, homely local girl whose father owns the most popular taravan. She is enamoured by the handsome new trader and quick on her feet. And that’s enough for Jun. He needs someone who can take care of his mother and share his hardships. (You hated doing chores. You promised that you would start doing them the moment he married you.)

It’s been 10 years and Jun is a household name for best quality silk at the cheapest price. He has five branches in different cities, and yet, at the end of the month, he personally goes to a non-descript town just inside the border to deliver their maudlin amount of silk for the cloth shops. 

When his wife, now handsomely aged and with even more handsome manners, asks him why he doesn't send a servant to deliver those goods (doesn’t it tire you, my love?), he tells her it’s about respecting how much they contributed to his business at the start. I settled here with nothing, madame. 

He doesn’t tell her about the beer he drinks at the only taravan in that town. He doesn’t tell her how he slips a few coins to the innkeeper to tell him about the current situation of Starfall and its lordship. 

He won’t tell her he waits with bated breath about one sliver of news about its Lady. He won’t tell her he still looks for signs that you are content. He can’t tell her he never stopped loving you.

He has everything now. His mother is healthy and loves to babysit her grandchildren. 

He still doesn’t know if it’s worth it.

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