#but occasionally the idea wakes me up out of nowhere and haunts me for a month until i write like 5k of it

[wymgreenteam]

https://www.tumblr.com/zeegras/730882872879267840

Can I tempt you with a Nico Hischier Baker!AU ?!?!

source

anon when i tell you i've been losing my mind over these images since yun sent me them yesterday, i mean it wholeheartedly... i had to go unearth the old cooking au i had buried in my drafts because of this new development... it's more of a celebrity chef nico and celebrity NOT chef jack au than a baker nico au specifically, but there is baking in there, i promise!! so no tempting needed haha :)

excerpts under the cut!

“This is a bad idea,” Cole says for the third time.

“Fuck you, this is a fantastic idea!” Trevor points a pinkie at him, the rest of the fingers on his hand preoccupied with holding his beer. “It’s like Worst Cooks In America but for celebrities!”

Jack’s smile drops. “It’s like what?”

“It’s one of the shows Jimmy likes to watch—“

“He’s not even American, Z, what the fuck?”

Quinn pinches the bridge of his nose. “Sorry, the fact that Jamie’s not American is the problem you have with this concept?”

“But I can cook!” Jack protests. Silence and four flat stares greet him. “I can! Guys, come on!”

“That,” Quinn starts, leaning back in his seat, “Is one thing I think we all can disagree with you on.”

Jack throws a wadded up napkin across the table at him, but it misses when Quinn ducks. Whatever.

————

“I don’t like how this started as cooking lessons but has slowly devolved into me being the fire safety marshal while you try and look at an egg without setting the smoke alarms off,” Nico muses, clearly trying to keep the smile off his face for the sake of Jack’s already fragile pride as he peeks over Jack’s shoulder.

“This is exactly how it was before you showed up… just minus the precautions,” Jack comments, looking forlornly at the egg that’s no more than a smoldering pile of crisp stuck to the bottom of the frying pan. He pokes at it sadly with a spatula, a pout making its way onto his lips. “There’s no hope for me.”

“And I’m beginning to think you might be right about that,” Nico mutters, shaking his head as he rolls up his sleeves. Before Jack can protest, he pats Jack's hip gently and says, “Move over and I’ll show you again, yeah? Try and pay attention this time.”

————

Jack heaves the door open, not thinking as he kicks off his shoes and they land next to a pair of sneakers that fit much larger feet than his own. He doesn’t notice the familiar, worn brown leather jacket hung up on the usually-empty hook as he shucks his suit jacket and loops it over his arm as he shuffles down the hallway into the kitchen. Frowning, he loosens his tie. He’d swear he turned these lights off before he left. It also smells really good, which is weird, because he hasn’t even ordered his takeout yet, and—

“There you are.”

Jack jumps, turning to see Nico standing in his kitchen, a towel tossed over his shoulder, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, smiling. “Nico?”

“It’s Wednesday,” Nico says, tilting his head to the pan on the stove that’s simmering with something thick and red-brown. That’s what smells so amazing.

“Oh, fuck, sorry, I—” Jack feels so frazzled all of a sudden, his days jumbling up in his head. How could he forget that it’s Wednesday? “I had a work thing and it ran late… I didn’t mean to leave you waiting, sorry.”

Nico shrugs. “No worries, things happen,” he says, turning back to the stove to stir the sauce. “You look nice, though.”

Jack feels his face heat through eight increasingly deep shades of red. He has to duck his head hastily, grateful that Nico’s back is still turned. “Uh— Thanks? You too?”

Nico just chuckles. It sounds so good, all warm and deep. Jack kind of wants to roll over and die.

————

Nico peeks up at Jack from his position between his legs, making deliberate eye contact as he bends one of Jack’s knees until it touches his chest, leaning forward to lick the line of honey from his sensitive inner thigh. Jack has to choke back an incredibly embarrassing sound when Nico stops to nibble a bruise at the juncture of his hip. He feels so deliciously stretched out and exposed, wrists still obediently pressed to the mattress above his head, and it doesn’t help that Nico’s looking at him like he wants to eat Jack alive.

[lady-hallowtide]

Swamp House

When I was a kid my family moved around a lot, often in rapid and dizzying succession. My Father died just after I was born, and in hindsight, I think my mother moved so much looking for something to make her happy. I don’t have many memories of before the Swamp House. My first memory was the day we brought home a golden retriever puppy, the sweetest and most loviest Pearl. I once sneakily watched Jaws from behind a half closed door when I was supposed to be asleep, and was thereafter mysteriously terrified of sharks in swimming pools. An old baby sitter, a neighbour I think, speaking in fast Spanish on an old cord phone. We moved so much I still have trouble remembering peoples names and why it’s important.

The Swamp House was on a farm about 500 hectares, which is crazy to think about now in my tiny apartment. It was high up, and the views were so spectacular you’d have people paying six figures just to holiday nearby. It wasn’t unusual to hear the occasional helicopter or light plane. Even thinking about the view now takes my breath away like only the stars on a dark night or being alone with the ocean can.

It was a big old house, with lots of weird little rooms, built on the edge of a swamp and was slowly sinking. Look there’s no delicate way to say it, but if you’ve seen Rose Red or more recently the Haunting of Hill House, you’ll understand the eerie vibe of this place. We were told the old owner had died there, and I think to make us less scared my mother often blamed weird happenings on him. Doors mysteriously slamming closed with no wind? Just Norman. Electricity playing up? Norman.

I don’t know why we stayed there for so long, but my mother pushed us to do sports, dancing, horse riding, anything to get us out of the house. Every weekend we’d go to farm auctions or just out driving. No matter how much I hated it all she’d drag me out. I now work 60 hours a week, you’d have to pay me to leave my apartment during my free time and my mother was, and still is, a forever workaholic. We’d get home late and leave early. It was almost like she was scared to stay in the house too long, and honestly I don’t remember her being inside much. She was always, always working in the massive garden.

Whenever we were home I used to walk the farm. I’d be gone for hours, nothing but my thoughts and the views and a dog or two. The only rule I was given was I wasn’t allowed to walk on the road.

Thinking about it now given how big the farm was and how young I was then I have no idea why my family let me go out on my own. I mean I loved it and miss it. But these were the days of discman and Nokia phones, and I didn’t have either. At the very least snakes should have been a deterrent.

The house was always cold. I’d barricade my door at night. I’d always wake someone to walk me across the house to the bathroom. There was this old tree at the front by the driveway that felt like it was staring at you. On more than one occasion something massacred the chickens. The geese and peacocks were literally possessed and demons incarnate. Sometimes there’d just be, random fucking people? In the middle of nowhere, no explanation. No names. Just polite small talk and weird smiles. Hours away from the nearest town. I’m pretty sure once I saw a camel. The neighbours were never around, just empty houses and one gruff housekeeper miles away.

I’ve spoken to my brother very rarely about our childhood, but our memories don’t match up. I vividly remember playing with him and someone else(?) in a grove of willows. He says the farm didn’t have any willows. It could be because my mother sent him off to boarding school as soon as he was old enough, but I don’t know. Maybe he just doesn’t like to remember it. When I was older I went off to school too, and while we were away my mother moved houses. And that was that.

I never went back to the house, but when I got my license I’d sometimes drive out that way. I don’t really know why. The view maybe, the quiet. One time I took my best friend with me, we were practically twins and joined at the hip as teenagers. It was the middle of the night, and we were brainstorming ideas for her book. It was stupid. We never told anyone where we were going. We rarely did back then, but in this instance it was particularly unwise. I don’t remember what it was, but as we were driving something jumped out in front of us. I managed to stop in time before we hit anything but it was the strangest thing. I’m not even sure how to describe it, but it felt like my mind pushed outwards? I caught my breath, and when I checked my friend wasn’t hurt, but as we very shakily made our way home, she said it felt like her mind retreated inside? during the almost crash. It was weird, and dangerous, and I stopped driving out there. I hadn’t realised until then just how often I was going back there.

I went back only once, just before we sold the family farm and I moved states. I didn’t dare go there in the dark again.

[alexsfictionaddiction]

Review: The Mooncatcher’s Rescue by Karen Lamb

I was intrigued by this very, beautifully illustrated cover and I love a whimsical, spooky middle-grade story. So, I went into this little tale expecting a quick but enjoyable ride.

River loves mooncatching in the village pond but one night, he wakes the ghost of Mona Brightly, who is searching for her lost treasure. Can River and Mona find it before some wicked pirate ghosts do?

I loved these little poetic introductions to the chapters, complete with their atmospheric illustrations. They added to the traditional children’s storytelling vibe of the book, which was very effective at transporting me straight to the setting. These interludes were occasionally quite philosophical too, which fits with the fable-like tone and I really enjoyed that.

Mona is a local legend and her spirit is said to haunt the village. She is a very typical, tragic, female ghost who is cursed to walk the world of the living in search of her treasure, never to be reunited with her lover. I think I just wanted her story to be a bit more well-developed. Although I felt some sympathy with her, I think she could have had a lot more depth because as it is, she serves as a kind of comedic side character with a regional accent and a kind heart but very little else.

Somehow, River acquires a little friend in the form of a small toy badger called Boot. I really can’t remember how Boot appeared or why he seemed to be a sentient toy badger but although I liked the idea of him, I questioned what purpose he served. It was never really explained as to why a small, pocket-sized badger appeared to have a past as a larger creature or what had happened to him. The writing was very random, which is acceptable to a degree with magical children’s stories, but nowhere near enough was explained in plain terms for me to grasp a true understanding of what was going on.

I could see what the author was trying to do with this brand of comedy fantasy. However, I don’t think the execution quite worked for me. I was too busy trying to figure out the story and what was actually happening to pick up on the funny lines. Some parts of the book just didn’t have a great flow and in places, the paragraphs appeared to be random pieces of information. Some better editing could have cleared this up or maybe I’m just a little too dumb to pick up the plot!

The Mooncatcher’s Rescue has some great ideas and I really enjoyed some of the more lyrical, whimsical parts of it. I would have loved some better developed characters and world-building to really draw me into the story but I’m sure some fans of classic children’s fantasy will enjoy it. Think Wind in the Willows but with spirits and pirates!

[peachycoreroo]

Umm, I got a request! What about their s/o being sick and how they would take care of them? If you feel comfortable with that, you can a spice it up a bit with cockwarming 👀 I'd love to see Sugawara, Kuroo, Satori, Oikawa and Bokuto!

characters: sugawara koushi, kuroo tetsurou, tendou satori, oikawa tooru, bokuto koutaro

genre: fluff, smut, comfort(??)

word count: 1.6k

warnings: fem!reader, it's mostly fluff, cockwarming, hinting at oral fem! receiving, mentions of medication, established relationships

authors note: uhh it got kind of repetetive with the cockwarming so i threw oral in there, but i hope you'll still like it!! if you see kuroo’s being the longest, no you don’t<3 here's a link to my masterlist

sugawara koushi:

sugawara koushi was a good husband in many ways. he was attentive, loving and a great cook, alas a bit aggressively positive whenever you felt insecure or stressed. nothing you couldn’t handle. but as you laid in your shared bed with a cold, you once again were reminded of why you loved him so much.

“so, chicken soup or potato soup?”, suga asked again, after you didn’t respond the first time, being too immersed in your thoughts about him. coughing, you tried to sit up, just to get pushed down again.

“no. no getting up. you stay here, i do everything.” looking up at your silver-haired husband, you smiled softly and finally replied: “chicken, please.”

with a nod, you were once again left alone, just like before sugawara came home from work. ten minutes later, he returned with a steaming bowl and a spoon, sitting down beside you. refusing to make you do anything at all, he insisted on feeding you himself.

“thank you so much, kou’. you make the best chicken soup”, you lovingly whispered as he fed you, making him smile at the compliment you always gave when he cooked it.

after the meal, you reached out towards the elementary school teacher, murmuring: “’wanna be close to you.”

knowing exactly what you wanted, he lied down behind you before taking out his cock and stroking it a few times. as he pushed your panties to the side and slipped inside your tight walls, you felt like you could finally completely relax.

you felt safe in his arms, as he pressed soft kisses along your shoulder, knowing you always had a husband who was willing to take care of your every need.

kuroo tetsurou:

being the girlfriend of kuroo tetsurou, employee at japan volleyball association, was hard at times. a lot of nights and weekends were spent alone, as your boyfriend had to stay overtime at the office on many nights, and, occasionally, even come in on saturdays and sundays.

that didn’t make you love him any less, but it did make for some hard times. for example, right now. it was already 11p.m. and your boyfriend was still nowhere to be seen, while you struggled with a fever the whole day.

having enough of not being able to do anything yourself, you staggered into the kitchen, determined to make some tea. as the kettle heated up, you leaned against the kitchen island, too focused on trying to stand upright to hear the front door opening.

kuroo was tired, but when he heard the kettle boil, indicating that you were still awake, it was like all the pressure from work suddenly lifted off of him. but when he entered the kitchen, excited to finally come home to you, he was only faced with worry at the sight of you, looking like you’re ready to collapse at any moment.

the black-haired man didn’t hesitate to pick you up bridal style, almost giving you a heart attack in the process. “tetsu’! oh my god, you scared me!”, you croakily exclaimed, voice rough from your throat aching.

“m’ sorry baby. you should’ve told me you were sick, ‘would’ve come home earlier”, he scolded, already knowing you didn’t want to bother him at work, no matter how bad you were feeling.

kuroo carried you into the bedroom, placing you on the bed before loosening his tie and putting a large hand on your forehead, checking your temperature.

“i didn’t want you to worry”, you whispered, your fever-consumed brain zeroing in on tetsurou’s exposed collarbones and dress shirt-clad arms. “well, mission failed, because now i definitely am”, he murmured, already leaving the room to continue making the tea you started.

grabbing his hand at the last second, you looked up at him, gaze glazed over with exhaustion. “can we just cuddle, tetsu’? i just want to cockwarm you. ‘wanna feel you after such a long day.”

how could he ever deny you asking so nicely? kissing your forehead, the tall man sighed. 

“anything you want, kitten.”

tendou satori:

tendou knew something was wrong as soon as he woke up. you were restless beside him, sweating and groaning in your sleep, as if a nightmare were haunting you. as he reached out to wake you up, he immediately felt how hot your body temperature was.

with determination to take care of you, the red-haired male fetched some medicine, before finally waking you up. “y/n, sweetie. you’re running a fever, wake up.”

groaning, you turned away from him, not wanting to face the headache that was currently pounding in your head. you could feel your boyfriends’ fingertips gently caressing your arm, as he leaned in and murmured: “if you take your medicine, i’ll let you sit on my lap and sleep all day, sweetheart”, knowing exactly how to get you to take the medication.

you can’t remember when it became a thing in your relationship, but whenever you felt sick, stressed, or just had a bad day, you’d always sit on your boyfriends’ lap, stuffed full of his cock, while you peacefully napped.

groggily opening one eye to look at him, he knew he had you when you slowly sat up and reached out for the medicine he was holding. when the tall man was sure you swallowed, he sat down, leaning against the headboard, and pulled you onto his lap.

it was almost therapeutic for you, as you slowly sunk down on his cock, both of you sighing contently, before burying your face in his neck, ready to lose yourself to sleep once again.

with tendou’s cock inside you, and his large hand stroking your hair, you slowly drifted off.

oikawa tooru:

“tooru, relax. it’s just a cold”, you tried to calm down your boyfriend, currently pacing inside your shared bedroom like a mad man.

“how can i relax when you’re sick! what am i supposed to do? oh my god, what if it gets worse?”

as much as you loved oikawa tooru with all your heart, his flare for the dramatic really didn’t help you in your sick state. this was the first time you caught a nasty virus since moving in with him and it clearly showed that he was the younger sibling in his family, never having to take care of someone, but always being cared for.

you sighed, massaging your temples: “oikawa tooru, you’re going to give me a headache. i just need some tea and sleep. i’m not going to die.”

“are you sure?”, he looked at you, worried. “it sounds like you want me to”, you deadpanned, making your boyfriends dramatic ass crack a smile.

“no, i definitely don’t, y/n. don’t worry. mission ‘tea for my sick girlfriend’: in action.” and with that, he disappeared into the kitchen, finally giving you space to take a deep breath. it’s not as if he annoyed you by any means, you knew he was just worried about you.

when the brunet reappeared with a steaming cup of tea, you had an idea as to how to calm him down.

“babe, lay down.” oikawa gave you a quick, puzzled look, before doing as he was told, not quite understanding where you were going with this. as you turned your backside to him and fondled for his cock, he quickly stopped you. “wait! wait, what are you doing?”

“if you want to help me, just slip inside and let me sleep.”

the setter looked at you, as if you grew two heads, only getting out a ‘huh?’ at your statement. rolling your eyes, you guided him inside you and cuddled up with your back against his chest, explaining: “it just makes me feel safe. i know you’re not leaving me to suffer alone.”

oikawa didn’t know that he could feel this soft while he had his dick inside someone, but there’s a first for everything.

bokuto koutaro:

“’taro, i know you mean it in the best way possible, but you know i won’t be able to eat that.”

bokuto koutaro was a great husband. you could even say the best, but that might be your bias talking. unfortunately, he couldn’t cook if his life depended on it, and as much as you appreciated his efforts of wanting to take care of you while you felt under the weather, your will to live a little longer was stronger.

pouting, the spiker looked at you with puppy dog eyes. “but baby, i want to make you feel better! how am i supposed to do that, when you don’t even let me cook for you”, your oversized husband whined.

“koutaro. baby. light of my life. the last time you wanted to surprise me by making dinner, you nearly burned down the whole house. how am i supposed to relax and get better, when i’m going to be worrying about you burning yourself to death?”, you asked gently, knowing how upset he can get when he feels useless.

already seeing bokuto’s face drop more and more with every word, you immediately followed with: “but i know how you can make me feel better without any dangerous kitchen activities involved.”

at that, he perked up. “really?”

slowly parting your legs, you looked at him expectingly. without having to say another word, the tall spiker was already between your legs, taking of your panties and licking a stripe up your slit.

when he heard your content sigh and felt you relax, he knew this was the best thing he could do for you.

[heliads]

Hostage Situation

When Y/N L/N is kidnapped by Peter Pan to serve as a hostage and coerce her kingdom into leaving Neverland alone, she can only laugh. The mutual hatred between her and Pan, however, may lose its fire after a while.

masterlist

Your feet tread methodically around the grounds. You loop around the castle, walking past scraggly bushes and dying trees, eyes occasionally flickering to the large mountains in the distance. Your mother and father keep an impressive castle, but their focus rarely extends to the upkeep of the grounds themselves. Kings and Queens don’t exactly bother themselves with gardening- that will fall to the servants or, when you’ve managed to bore yourself enough, you.

Technically, you should be back in the castle. You are a princess, after all, and princesses rarely roam about the grounds in dirty, faded boots that have walked more miles than the most experienced of messengers. This being said, you’re not sure anyone will spare you enough thought to care. You may be a princess, but only in blood and title. Anything else must be fought for, and you’ve given up such pastimes long ago.

You suppose you’re still musing over this, which is why you don’t see the shadow swooping down over you until it’s too late. By the time you feel the uncanny stillness, or notice that an unusual darkness has swarmed around you, the shadow’s eerily human arms have wrapped around you, and your feet are already lifting from the ground. You struggle, but it is in vain, and soon you’re watching trees and rivers pass miles below you. You lock eyes with the shadow being, but its glowing white gaze betrays nothing but an emotionless urge to complete orders. Wherever you’re going, someone is waiting for you, someone who is controlling this shadow.

This realization troubles you more than you like. You don’t much like the idea of being taken somewhere, and you’re not about to just sit around and let it happen. You wait until the shadow swoops low over a rolling set of hills, and begin to fight back with renewed vigor. Although your blows tend to sink through the only somewhat corporeal shadow, you manage to stun it enough that it drops you. You fall through the air, catching yourself in the boughs of trees and scrambling down. 

Your feet pound on the dirt as you sprint away from the shadow, but even this effort is useless. It appears out of nowhere in front of you, and as you skid to a stop it raises its hands and a wave of shadow rushes from it. The darkness pools around you like ink, rising to swallow you whole. You can only see one last thing before the darkness engulfs you completely: the white beacons of light that are the shadow’s eyes. Then there is nothing to see at all, and you can feel yourself falling to the ground.

When you wake up again, you find yourself lying down. You’ve been propped up against a tree, and when you open your eyes, you realize you’re in the middle of a forest. It’s a different forest than the one you were just in, and at a different time of day. The shadow must have continued the journey while you were still unconscious. You shiver slightly at the thought- wherever you are, it won’t be good. You move to sit up, but a wave of dizziness yawns open in your stomach and you lean back once more. You go to steady yourself, but your hands don’t move- they’ve been tied together with rough rope.

You had done your best to stay silent, but it’s not like you’re alone. Across the clearing, about a dozen or more boys dressed in robes of faded brown dance around a campfire. An almost maniacal glee spreads across each of their faces as they whirl and jump around, dancing to the haunting sound of a flute. The music stops after a second, but the boys continue dancing. You shiver slightly, then straighten up as a new boy approaches you. This one is dressed not in the russet tones of the others, but instead a dark, forest green. He must be their leader.

He crouches down in front of you, eyes gleaming with triumph. “Welcome, princess.” You raise an eyebrow at his tone. “An interesting welcome, sure. Nothing says fun like ropes and a kidnapping.” The boy just chuckles. “It wasn’t like you made it easy for us.” You shrug, eyes wandering away from the boy to skim the trees surrounding you. An idea is starting to click into place in your head. There’s a story you heard once, from a traveling merchant. There was an island deep in the ocean, full of boys who never seemed to grow old. They were led by one in particular, one boy who could make grown men shiver in their boots.

Your attention snaps back to the boy. Now you really look at him, at his knife-sharp grin and the cool confidence he wears like a glove. His smirk widens as if he can read your mind. “Do you know where you are, love?” You sigh, leaning your head back against the tree in exasperation. “Let me guess, I’m on Neverland.” The boy spread his hands as if in pride, and you resist the urge to groan.

If this is Neverland, then the boy in front of you must be Peter Pan. And you have heard enough about Peter Pan to know that any hour spent with this devil of a boy will be absolute hell.

Pan notices the realization sink into the girl’s eyes. She must have heard of him, he assumes, or she wouldn’t be looking at him like that. However, unlike the other visitors, there isn’t a shred of fear in her gaze. No, she just looks like she’s been dealt an unfortunate round of cards, rather annoyed instead of outright afraid. Pan’s not sure how he feels about that.

Y/N considers the rope tying her wrists. “Well, Peter, are you going to untie me or just let me stew here for a while?” Pan frowns. “It’s Pan. And no, you may be a princess but that doesn’t mean we’re all going to bow to you whenever you ask. There’s only one monarch in Neverland, and I’m afraid that title belongs to me. You’ll have to sit tight until they find out you’re missing.” Y/N scoffs, and then her eyes grow alight with suppressed laughter. “Wait- I think I know why I’m here. You’re trying to use me as a hostage.”

Y/N laughs even harder now, and Pan frowns. “I’m not sure why that’s funny. Your kingdom has been infringing upon my waters for a long time now. I intend to stop them.” Y/N shakes her head, doing her best to bite back a grin. “No, I get it. Great motive, but I’m afraid you chose the wrong hostage.” She fixes him with a cool look, finally keeping her laughter in check. “I’ve been kidnapped a couple of times before. Trust me, they won’t come for me. Not the guards, not my parents. I’m not useful to them.”

Pan frowns, curious despite himself. “What do you mean, you’re not useful to them?” Y/N shrugs. “The reason my parents became the King and Queen is because they were able to channel the power of my ancestors. Every monarch in my kingdom uses some magical artifact to gain increased strength, life, wisdom, you name it. The only problem is that it doesn’t work with me, so I’ve ceased to be a worry to them. I can’t use magic at all- not for them, not for you. You can hold me on this island for as long as you want, but it won’t work. They’re not coming after me.”

The words are light, spoken with the last traces of a laugh, but Pan still feels his stomach clench with some unnameable emotion. Maybe Y/N is meant to be a Lost Girl, maybe she’s more lost than any of them. This though alone fills him with loathing. If she’s a Lost Girl, then she’s supposed to stay on the island, even beyond her sentence as a hostage. Pan, however, is fairly sure that he doesn’t want to see this girl longer than a second. She had better be wrong about her parents, because Pan is certain that he’s going to end up killing her before the guards arrive on the shores of Neverland to rescue her.

You wake early, just before dawn begins to stain the tops of the trees with the light of morning. You stand up, stretching, and glance around the clearing. The Lost Boys appear to have gone to sleep, Pan included. They’ve left you alone for now, but you have no doubt that they’re still watching. Besides, it’s not like it would matter anyway- there’s nowhere for you to go. You’re on an island, after all, and there’s no way you could swim far enough to reach another nation’s shores.

Careful not to make a sound, you meander over to the campfire. Your hopes are proven correct when you spy a knife lying abandoned in the dirt. You pick it up, beginning to saw away at your ropes as you walk out of the clearing. You toss the cut ropes behind you, tucking the knife into your boot just in case. On an island like this, you never know when you might need a weapon.

You end up walking for about ten minutes before you get the feeling that you’re being watched. You roll your eyes. “I know you’re there, you can come out now.” One second you’re alone, and the next you’re being shoved up against a tree, an arm against your throat to stop you from moving. “You know, I’m fairly sure escaping prisoners aren’t supposed to call out to their jailers.” You scoff, pushing Pan’s arm away from you. “I appreciate the concern, Peter, but I’m not trying to escape. I’m just having a good time exploring the forest.”

You can see Pan’s eyes darken when you use his first name, but he ignores the jibe. “Who said I care about your wellbeing? I’m just making sure that you aren’t getting any ideas about an escape.” You give him a look, continuing on along the trails of the forest. “Anyone stuck on an island with you would think about escape.” He just chuckles, walking alongside you. “Tell that to my Lost Boys. They’ve chosen to leave the world behind to live on Neverland.” You smirk at him. “And what a sorry, sorry choice they’ve made.” He glares at you, but you just grin.

If you’re going to have to stay on this accursed island, you at least intend to enjoy yourself. 

Y/N wakes up every morning to walk the island. Pan’s not sure why she bothers- there’s nowhere for her to go. Yet every dawn she wakes like clockwork, opening her eyes and beginning her wanderings. Pan has wondered if she’s awoken by nightmares, and that’s why she gets up so early, but if she’s plagued by night terrors Y/N is very good at hiding it. She doesn’t seem concerned at all, just keen to see the forest. Pan’s long since given up on the binding ropes- she just finds some way to remove them. 

Pan’s watching his Lost Boys practice fighting when he senses another pair of eyes watching the sparring boys. He glances up to see Y/N, half hidden among the trees. Her gaze is glued to the boys, and he can almost picture her dissecting every move. There was an opening, when John stumbled, there was an opportunity, when Devin swung too low. Pan’s never heard of a princess that could fight, but if there ever was one, he’s sure that it would be her. Y/N lacks many of the key characteristics of a princess- charm being one of them. He wouldn’t be surprised if she could hold her own in a fight.

After the match ends with a triumphant Devin raising his fists to the sky, Pan steps forward. Instantly, the eyes of the Lost Boys all flash to him, including Y/N’s. He doesn’t speak that often, usually allowing Felix to lead classes. When he does have something to say, the Lost Boys tend to listen. Pan gestures for Y/N to step out of the grove of trees. “Well, princess, care to join the ring? Or are you all talk as we thought?”

She laughs, but Pan can see the glint of a challenge rising in her eyes. Y/N steps forward, and Pan points out a Lost Boy to act as her opponent. “Nick, I’d usually tell you to not rough her up too bad, but to be honest, I think we all want to see her get punched.” Y/N smirks. “If that’s true, why don’t you come down here and fight me yourself?” It’s a challenge, certainly, but Pan speaks before it can gain traction with the Lost Boys. “I’d never dirty my hands fighting someone like you.” Y/N, wisely, says no more, and shifts into a fighting stance opposite Nick.

To be honest, Pan does have to feel bad for the guy. No matter what he tries, Y/N throws him away like he’s nothing. She blocks his attacks, she punches and kicks and basically tears the guy to shreds. It would be humiliating were it not for the fact that Y/N is so obviously better than anyone on this island except for Pan and maybe Felix. Y/N flashes Pan a grin, extending a hand lightly coated in blood that does not belong to her. “Want to send another Lost Boy into the ring, or have you accepted the fact that I’m not going down easily?” Pan returns her smile. “I think I’m good.” And maybe, he just might be okay with all of this.

You’re relaxing by the campfire in the morning when you first hear the sounds of running footsteps. After that fight with Nick (although fight isn’t exactly the right word for it, maybe instead you could call it a bloodbath), the other Lost Boys accepted you immediately. Even Peter seems to approve of you now, and you catch him smiling softly at you across a clearing when he thinks you can’t see. You’re not sure why you notice, or why you keep thinking about it, but you’re fairly sure he shouldn’t linger behind your eyes as long as he does.

You look up at the swiftly approaching pair of Lost Boys, expecting to see them collapse in laughter, but the boys instead look worried, faces drawn with anxiety. You stand up, suddenly tense. What could make these boys look so nervous? They run over to Peter, practically tripping over themselves in an attempt to make it to their leader. Even from here, you can hear their words. “Guards- a ship full- the king and queen- they’re attacking us.”

You can see Peter’s face freeze. He speaks to them quickly. “They were flying the flags of Y/N’s kingdom? You’re sure of it?” They nod. “They’re pouring down the beaches now. They’ll be here any second.” Peter curses under his breath, calling to the rest of the boys to grab weapons and defend the camp. You race over to him. “I can fight. Give me a weapon.” Peter stares at you. “You’d fight against your parents?” You nod. “They’re not here for me, they’re here for the magic on the island. Trust me, they wouldn’t come all this way if they didn’t think they could get something out of it.”

Peter’s brow furrows as he realizes what you’re saying. “You think that’s why they’re here?” You nod. “There’s no other reason. I’ve been kidnapped before, they never came. They’re not here for me.” You repeat, and Peter’s jaw clenches. “Get a sword, you can fight with the others.” He starts to move away, then steps back to you. “And Y/N? Stay safe.” You nod, returning the assurance of safety. Then the two of you run your separate ways, each desperate to save the island that’s somehow become your home in a matter of weeks.

You pull on a hooded cloak so the guards can’t recognize you. You can’t take the chance that they’d try to bring you back to the ship, not when you’re supposed to be fighting for Neverland. Your sword moves in a never-stopping arc, cutting through armor and slicing the soldiers like the warriors of old. At last, you pause for a second, noting that the situation on the beach has cleared. Yet you don’t see your parents, even though the Lost Boys said they were here. A chill rises in your throat as you realize what must be happening, and you turn and race back to the camp. Back to Peter.

Sure enough, your parents have found him. They’re using all of their magic against him, doing their best to take him down. Peter is strong, far stronger than either of them. Yet the two of them and additional guards against one Lost Boy isn’t a fair fight, even if it’s against Peter. Your heart is pounding in your throat. You’re going to have to make a decision, one you promised yourself you’d never have to make. 

You fling your arms up, and a wall of magic slams into your parents. They crumple to the ground along with the guards and lie there, unmoving. You can tell that they’re still breathing, albeit slowly. Peter’s gaze flashes from the suddenly unconscious guards to you, who stands there still, breathing heavily. Your arms are still raised from the burst of magic, and you lower them slowly. His gaze seems to burn right through you, and you begin to speak quickly, desperate to say something, anything, to stop the cutting look in his eyes.

“They never saw me, their backs were turned. We can get them onto the ships and away. They’ll think it was you, that you were too powerful for them. They won’t return. They won’t know about me.” Peter steps forward, but your feet feel leaden in your boots. You’re not sure you could move if you tried. His voice is quiet. “You do have magic.” You nod hesitantly. “I didn’t want them to know. I knew if they found out they would use me as a weapon, and I didn’t want to live as their blade.”

Understanding begins to dawn in Peter’s eyes. “You didn’t need the artifacts because you already had power of your own. You were smart to hide it from them.” His brow furrows again, confusion sweeping over him. “Why would you show me? Why would you trust me?” You look away. “You let me into your island, into the Lost Boys, without knowing about my powers for a second. I served no use to you, not even as a hostage. You didn’t want me here because of how I could help you, you wanted me here because of who I was. That’s why.”

Peter’s quiet for a second, and you begin to think that you’ve said too much. “They’ll probably find out after a while. I can board another ship, make my way back to the Enchanted Forest. They won’t bother you if I leave.” Peter says nothing, and you almost fear that he won’t say anything at all. That he’ll let you leave without another word, too wounded over this lie. Then his hand is on your cheek, guiding your eyes back to him, and he kisses you.

He kisses you for a second, then breaks away. His face is inches from yours, his breath hot on your cheeks. “I’m not letting them take you. Not now, not ever. I don’t want you to leave, Y/N. You’ve been a Lost Girl since the day you arrived and I can’t let you go because you want to protect us.” A small smile quirks at the corners of your lips. “What happened to there only being one monarch on the island?” Peter laughs quietly. “I’ll make an exception for you.”

[hotchley]

by any other name

So I wrote the fic inspired by this post. It's too long for a drabble. I kinda hate it. It's not been proofread and there's little plot. It's a bit anticlimactic, but it was fun in the moment and I need to go to sleep so... yeah. We're going with it. There's a happy ending!

Trigger Warnings: intrusive thoughts, past child abuse, trauma, trauma responses, implied panic attacks, food mention, blood mention, death mention, slight implication of past dissociative episodes, religion, religious trauma, religious themes

read on ao3!

The road to hell is paved with good intentions.

Aaron remembers being told that as a young boy, shifting in his seat because the clothes his mother made him wear to church were uncomfortable. It had confused him. He'd spent so long being told hell was for bad things- sometimes he was included in that list- that good seemed to be the exact opposite of that.

He'd tried to ask his mother, but she had silenced him with a look. He didn't even bother looking at his father.

Later he realised what it meant, and found himself agreeing. After all, his father was a terrible man who hurt everyone he touched, but he always said it was with good reason. Aaron hasn't set foot in a church since Haley was buried, yet he still finds himself wishing one of the men who made his life a misery is burning in hell.

He tries to not think about the implications of that too much.

The proverb comes to mind again as he argues with Jack. Not over anything serious- not in the grand scheme of things. But to a seven-year-old boy, navigating life without his mother, it is the most important thing in the world.

They're arguing over shoes.

Jack wants to wear sandals. His father wants him to wear trainers. Hotch had checked the weather forecast that morning- it was going to rain. And he didn't want Jack catching a cold because of it.

But then Jack's bottom lip starts to quiver, and he looks to his father like he's being told his mother is in heaven and Aaron thinks of the meaning behind the words. If he doesn't let this go, then what's to say he'll need to have the next thing go his way. And the thing after that. And the thing after that.

What's to say that when Jack looks back, wondering where everything went wrong and he stopped being his father's son, he will realise it was this moment?

"Okay. Okay, wear the sandals, and then let's get going," Aaron says.

Jack, completely and blissfully unaware- as he should be- of what his father has been thinking, grins, his earlier sadness forgotten. He puts his other shoe on and then runs out the door. Aaron picks up his bag and coat, smiling slightly at the trust Jack has in his ability.

Jack's teacher smiles at them when they get to his classroom. Knowing Aaron is running late, she just takes Jack's things and bids him goodbye. The relief visibly crosses his face as he realises he won't have to make small talk. He goes to tell her about Jack's bag, but she waves him away.

She's seen enough interactions between children to know what's going on. It's why she's so unsurprised when she opens his bag to see his trainers and favourite socks are neatly tucked away for when it does inevitably rain and soak him.

Aaron makes it to work on time. Of course he does.

"Morning Hotch," Anderson says when they get into the elevator together.

He's one of the few people to follow the "no inter-team profiling" rule, so he doesn't notice how some of the tension seems to bleed out of his boss' shoulders once the nickname is used. Doesn't even realise how Hotch gives him a slight smile when his back is turned.

He steps out, and everything is as it should be.

The ghost of his father may be haunting him more than usual, but Aaron spent most of his life being ignored. He knows how to hide. He knows how easy it is to forget about someone when you bury yourself in something else.

So that's exactly what he does. He logs into his computer, and he starts making his way through emails. By the time Emily- always the last to arrive, yet always on time- sits down, taking a few minutes to speak to the others, he's gotten through all the ones that came in last night.

His ear is hurting, but he chooses to ignore it as much as he can. Halfway through his second file, he opens his door. Spencer taps Derek, and a few minutes later, the rest of the team is assembled to collaborate on a profile. It means lots of talking, and the occasional shuffling of papers. It means noise, but not so much that it's unbearable.

Aaron smiles, and it feels like the ghost of his father fades. He is loved. He is cared for. He is worth time and effort.

Despite the nature of their work, he's in a good mood as the day continues.

By lunchtime, the memory of his father is breathing down his neck, criticising everything he does. His posture is crooked. His notes are too messy. His profile isn't good enough, and the killer is going to get away with their crimes.

Just like Michael Hotchner.

He has no idea where the sudden bad day is coming from, but he can't shake it now. He will not waste the day and he will not give in, but it is just one of those days where the pain is so much more than he thinks he can tolerate. He wishes he knew how to cope properly, but he doesn't.

His pen suddenly snaps. He'd been holding it too tightly, and now his hands are covered in red ink. He was annotating. He always annotates in red, but now, as it stains his hands, all he sees is Haley's blood. Foyet's. Elle's. Kate's.

There are no tissues in his room. So he goes to the bathroom, hoping the team doesn't see what's happened. They don't, but they do hatch a plan.

Again: the road to hell is paved with good intentions.

The short walk does nothing to clear his head, and every second he spends looking at the file is a second in which he thinks about the pen just suddenly breaking. How did he not realise? How did he not know? This time it was the pen. A thing.

What happens when it's a person? Then what?

He thinks he hears someone call his name. But that's ridiculous. It's too late for lunch, and too early for anything else. If someone needed something, they would've knocked on his door, especially with his ears acting up the way they were.

"Aaron Michael Hotchner," Derek shouts.

He doesn't like using Aaron's full name, but they got him a doughnut from his favourite bakery, and he can't be bothered to walk all the way up to his office. Also, Aaron didn't respond the first three times they called for him, so if anything, the shock will force him away from his desk for a few moments. God only knows how much he needs it.

Aaron doesn't hear Derek's voice.

He hears the echo of his father.

His throat starts to close. His vision starts to blur.

There is nowhere to hide. Not in his office. He used to have spots, just in case, but Jack hates it. Jack cannot stand it, so Aaron got rid of all the things that made it possible. He would never make his son hurt the way his father made him hurt, and maybe to him that is nothing, but when Jack grows up- because he will, in time- he will realise how brave his father has always been.

But that is the future.

In the present, Aaron has nowhere to turn.

The walls are closing in.

The voice is getting louder. It is getting closer. The danger is coming towards him, and he has nowhere to hide. He has nowhere to turn.

"Aaron?" Someone says.

He lets out a sound. He presses his hand to his mouth. He cannot take it back, but he won't make another one. It will only make things worse for him. He learnt that lesson long ago.

"Hotch." A different voice. A safe voice.

He turns in that direction.

He doesn't see it, but Derek Morgan's face is filled with relief and anger and sadness all at once. Because it suddenly makes sense.

"Aaron" has been tainted by the mouth of the man who gave his friend his middle name. That man and his actions are the reason Jack's middle name is Derek, not Aaron. "Hotch" has never passed Michael's lips, and it never will. "Hotch" is the man, who didn't even flinch when a bullet wedged itself in the wall next to his head.

Aaron is the boy that cried himself to sleep, wondering why his father couldn't love him the way he was meant to.

"Hotch. You're safe. Breathe with me," he says.

Hotch does.

When the panic passes, the heat rises to his cheeks, and he silently pleads with Derek to not say a word. He realises now that the other voice was Dave. Dave, who has left the room. He feels like he's failed another father.

The door and blinds are closed. He's lost all sense of time, but he feels grounded, so it isn't too concerning.

"Thank you," he whispers. For everything, goes unsaid.

"You don't need to do that," Derek replies. Because it's not difficult. Not when it's you, are the words unspoken but still communicated.

Aaron manages a weak smile. It will be a silent understanding between them, just like so many other things.

"Would you like a moment?" Derek asks him.

Hotch doesn't trust his voice, so he just nods. Derek leaves him.

Only once he stops hearing the footsteps does he break.

He doesn't scream, even though he wants to. It has been thirty years. His body stopped knowing the touch of that man long ago, and yet every waking moment feels like it is ruled by him. He hates it, but Michael- for better or for worse- made him the man he is today, and there is no way to shake that.

Realistically, he knows that he is responsible for his actions, and that he was only influenced by his father up to a certain point, but when the tears are falling and dampening his trousers- not his shirt, they'll be too obvious- rationale is hard to cling to.

He walks down ten minutes later.

The team has been guarding his doughnut. Of course they have.

Hotch's eyes are red. Nobody comments. But everyone knows. Everyone understands now.

It is an uncomfortable silence, and it is uncomfortable to watch him try and pretend he is perfectly fine, but at least he got his treat, even though it tastes like dust in his mouth.

They get it now. Why he is always so adamant about being called Hotch. Why he hates the use of his first name. Why he so violently objected to the tradition of giving Jack his name as a middle name. Because he doesn't want his son to never be free of him.

Jack will one day give his children their grandfather's name, citing him as the greatest man he's ever known.

Again, that is the future.

In the present moment, Spencer calls him Hotch without a second thought. Dave stops calling him Aaron when he wants to get a point across, realising it only works due to fear. Emily continues to make slight alterations to the nickname that either get her an eye roll or look of horror. JJ and Penelope make sure any notes written to him use Hotch.

Derek doesn't change a thing, because their bond has always been different.

Jack comes home in trainers, understanding how much his father loves him.

It makes Hotch understand that his wishes are valid. His needs matter. His comfort is important to people.

Slowly, ever so slowly, the personalities attached to Hotchner, Hotch and Aaron merge into one.

And then Hotch introduces himself as Aaron.

The road to hell may be paved with good intentions, but intentions and actions are very different things that can completely alter the destination someone finds themselves at. And a rose by any other name would smell as sweet, so whether he is Hotch or Aaron, he is a good man, who found a way to defeat their father.

[im-totally-not-an-alien]

Final Fantasy 7 prompts # 73

1. Puppet! Cloud drops out from a random vortex after his master was defeated. Where did he land?

On Sephiroths office desk in Shinra tower of course. Sephiroth poked him with his pen a few times before Cloud woke up.

"Master!" The blond exclaimed as he wrapped the larger man in a hug. Of course. Of freaking course, thats when Genesis barged in with a stack of paperwork tucked under his arm, (not even bothering to knock mind you!) "Ugh, Seph, you are not going to believe-" the redclad figure stopped in his tracks.

"...this isn't what is looks like."

Genesis wiggled his eyebrows suggestivly, "Sure it isn't." And he was back out in the hall without another word. The soft click the door gave seemed much too loud in the silence and only seemed to add to Sephiroths humiliation.

Thus began Cloud following around his "Master" wherever he went while Sephiroth and the SOLDIERS/Turks did everything in their power to stop him, only to fail hilariously or get beaten up by the (comparatively) petite blond for thier efforts

2. The Holy Trinity encounter Winged! Cloud from the future or a parallel dimention or something and instead of viewing him as a monster they think he's an actual angel and treat him accordingly.

3. Cloud had just finished burying a dead chocobo (may she rest in peace) he had found when he heard a twig snap from behind him.

He reached for Tsurugis handle only to pause when he saw a bright yellow ball of plumage peek out from behind a tree. The blond let out a small laugh. That was by far the fluffiest chick he had ever seen, hells, it was a perfect circle/

Cloud reached down and picked up the baby, "Hello there, are you lost?"

"Kweh!" The little circle cried out and Cloud was quickly surrounded by three other chicks, all wild and overly fluffy. He absently wondered if this was a new breed while they preceeded to peck at him with little effect. He just scooped them up and drove them to Bills place after a ruddementry search of the nearby area.

That was the end of it.

Until he woke up the next morning with three of the chicks sleeping on top of him. The blond was baffled and got up to search for the fourth, only to find it perched on Denzels head, shifting its balance as to not fall whenever Denzel began nodding off, threatening to fall asleep and plant his face in his breakfast.

If Cloud took a picture-or a dozen-no one would have to know

4. A mysterious ailment has been effecting all the creatures Hojo created using Jenovas cells causing them to run amok. With Cloud missing and AVALANCHE busy dealing with rampaging monsters, Denzel and Marlene sneak off to search for the missing blond, but will they find him in time? Or will Cloud be in the same state as the others?

5. Reno found Cloud at a mall in some nowhere town dressed as a girl. He was originally planning to use this as blackmail material before Cloud came out to him as trans.

Now Reno goes out with him and helps him keep his cover...while disguised of course. Wouldn't want anyone to recognize him and- by extention- Cloud.

Besides, if anyone did recognize them, Cloud had full permission to blame Reno and let him take the fall for it.

6. The SOLDIERS apparently had a "Chocobo protection squad" when Cloud was a trooper. He had no idea why Reeve had insisted he read this annoyingly thick file on it until he realized half way through the first page that it was about him

He was the "precious cutie chocobo that must be protected from the evils of the world"

Cloud wanted to burn it on principle...but was too curious to stop reading. Apparently most of the members were still alive and it seems he owes them a great deal, so maybe he should take Teef and the kids to visit some of them. Maybe bring gift baskets...

7. Cloud cursed as he stepped on the edge of his cloak, sending him tumbling down from the path and deeper into the cavern.

Cloud picked himself up from the ground, grateful his goggles kept any of the dirt and debris from entering his eyes.

He heard something from behind him and whirled around to slash at them with his dagger...except there was no one there.

Poink

Oh no. He looked down at the little creatures, wearing cloaks much like his own, only brown instead of the worn black fabric the professor gave them. The blond looked down sadly at the number tattooed on the back of his hand.

Guess I won't be going to the Reunion after all. Shame. Mother had said Zack would be there as a guest and he really wanted to see him again.

Poink!

One of the little creatures- Tonberry- mother supplied - was clutching the edge of his cloak and attempting to lead him somewhere.

Did...did this creature think himself one of them?!

Aka Numbered! Cloud! gets adopted by Tonberrys

8. Hojo waking up strapped to one of his own tables with Cloud and Sephiroth standing over him, grinning like mad men.

9. Au where Sephiroth escaped as a child and fled into the wild and was eventually taken in by the "dead" professor Gast and his wife Iflana

He was "never found" by the Turks and eventually grew up to be a bad ass vigilante.

Cloud shared a similar fate but kept running instead of being taken in, eventually becoming a vagabond until the fateful day when their paths crossed and the pull of Reunion drew them together

10. Enraged blue eyes locked on to the blond. It may have been nearly a thousand years since Shinra fell, but he would know that man anywhere.

Not just anyone could have destroyed a corporate entity as powerful as Shinra and in the span of a single month no less! But he didn't care much about that, oh no.

He cared about the fact that this lovely creature killed him and his fellow firsts and then had the audacity to just disappear into the sands of time, stripping materia of its power and somehow causing Gaias mako to sink deep beneath the soil, never to be seen by mere mortals again. After it did, monsters began appearing less and less frequently, until they stopped appearing at all.

With Shinra so thoroughly destroyed and no other sustainable power available, information and records deteriorated, leaving Shinras history spotty at best and non existent at worse (probably didn'thelp that records seemed to conveniently disappear). Now Shinra, monsters and magic are all considered fairytales from a bygone era.

He and the others occasionally visit the lake that was once the city of Midgar to light candles in honor of all they had lost. Like hell he was going to let the blond escape again. Genesis opened his phone and made a call, "Seph, I found him."

11. Cloud meeting Female Sephiroth. Shes rather impressed that he's completely unaffected by the boob window. It had been the death of many men before him, that was for certain.

Too bad he wants to kill her, she has a feeling she would have liked having him around. Maybe she'd introduce him to Angel's puppy? She had the peculiar ability to befriend everyone she met

12. Time traveler Sephiroth saves time traveler Cloud from the labs with Genesis and Angeal.

Cloud is wondering why Sephiroth saved him and what he's planning.

Meanwhile, Gen and Geal are freaking out and asking annoyingly sane questions, like "Who is this guy?", "Why do you seem to know him so well?", and my personal favorite "Why is there a man being held captive in the labs?!"

13. Lab Experiment Cloud au where teenager Cloud barrels into Sephiroth in the middle of escaping the tower and asks if Sephiroth is his dad.

Sephiroth stops functioning and he just stands there frozen in a full battle stance while Genesis fights and subsequently captures the teenager, who he then promptly kidnaps.

*later*

Sephiroth bursts into the labs and confronts Hojo, asking if he was a father.

Hojo laughs and says "Of course you are! Do you have any idea how many creatures I've spawned with your DNA?"

Cue Sephs mental breakdown and Genesis's rampage on behalf of his friend.

Angeal does his part by babysitting with some office secretaries

Aka: the trinity raising a broody teen

14. Post OG Nebilheim is super duper haunted and Yuffie is NOT okay with that.

Cloud is even less okay and they talk about it while sitting on the roof of Clouds abandoned house...well, the fake one anyway

15. Everyone gets therapy but its from the perspective of a therapist who is %1000 done with Hojo

Bonus: This is actually questions posed by a friend and it helped spawn number 10.

What would Shinra do if Mako where to suddenly disappear? How would that even happen?

Bonus Bonus: What would be the quickest/ most brutal way to take down Shinra and/or SOLDIER? How would the Firsts feel about being completely owned by a stranger who appeared out of nowhere? (This was also my thinking about 10)

Announcement: Due to lack of interest, list #75 will be the final one. Thank you for reading my ideas. It made me super happy!

[kisskissbanggang]

Prowl pt. 5

[1Hr. Read/17.4K Words – Human!Jisung x Female Reader, Werewolf!Bang Chan x Female Reader – Monsters!AU, Mostly Plot, NSFW/Smut – Vampires & Werewolves, Mysteries, Suspense, Love Triangles, Jealousy, Developing Feelings, Questionable Coping, Feeding, Blood, Violence, Driven by Instinct, Confessions, Death, Wall Sex, Car Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Public Sex]

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“My little fox,” Chan grinned, “I thought I smelled trouble.”

Your blood ran cold despite the meager clothing you were wearing on the landing, and apparently the others sensed yours and Jisung’s sudden alert at the ghost currently haunting the doorway. However, when you looked behind you, Jisung was nowhere to be seen. There was no time for waiting, though; you stalked down the stairs and tried to shove Chan and Felix back out the door. 

“I do not know what the fuck you think you’re doing here,” you hissed, “but it would be in your best interest to get the hell out.”

“It would be in your best interest if we stayed,” Chan shook his head defiantly, “even if you did try to kill me.”

He had the audacity to scoff out a harsh laugh as you grabbed for Lia’s shotgun by the door, but this was quickly pulled right out of your hands. You wheeled around to see Lia holding the gun down by her side. 

“Sweetheart,” Lia interjected, her words injected with saccharine propriety. She would’ve tried to shake hands with death before going anywhere, you were sure of it. Judy and Yuna were holding hands where they hid behind the shorter woman, standing tall even as her voice wavered. “Who is this?” 

“Remember how I’ve been in some trouble lately?” You glowered. That was all that needed to be said, apparently. Lia was instantly on your side, shooting a glare in Chan’s direction as she raised the head of the gun a couple inches but kept her finger off the trigger. 

“I agree, then,” she announced, “I think you’d do well to leave now.”

“Julia, I need to explain something,” Chan tried, hands up in innocence, “I promise I’m not here with any ill-intent against you.”

Lia backed up a step, her eyes darting back to meet yours as you both silently wondered where he learned her name. Before you could follow this line of questioning, though, Jisung made his presence known as he marched down the stairs. Felix’s startled gasp surprised you, and you turned to see what he was reacting to. Your stomach lurched again, threatening to repeat its betrayal from earlier. Jisung held his own gun aloft, the ornate pearl handle clutched in his hand with the barrel pointed squarely at Chan. “We made ourselves pretty fucking clear,” Jisung spat, “and you’ve done more than enough damage already. Get the hell out.”

“I’ve done more than enough damage?” Chan sneered as he snatched Jisung’s wrist, effortlessly twisting it until Jisung let go of the revolver with a hissed curse. Chan handed it to Felix to free up his hand. Thinking quickly, you lunged forward, shoving the younger man back and grabbing the gun yourself out of Felix’s presented palm before stepping back next to Lia. 

Chan raised his hands again, but not without reaching into his jacket pocket first. You kept the gun aimed at the floor, finger off the trigger as you eyed him warily. He withdrew the other journal, apparently having found it in the boiler room after all the fuss when you left him to bleed. “I’m in deep shit with the department,” he explained to you, but he still cautiously eyed all the occupants in the room, “I’ve been extending this investigation so long that I’ve lost almost everyone. All my contacts are dropping off the map, all my resources are getting cut off, all of this to try and freeze me out and make me close the case. So this,” he gestured with the journal, “was a blessing. I was able to cross-reference every name and place in here with Shepherd’s record, your record, and even his.” Chan stared daggers at Jisung, who quickly stepped behind you now that he was defenseless again, before Chan looked to Lia now. “You’ve only gone by your real name again in the past ten years, haven’t you? You attended the university as your own granddaughter.”

Lia cautiously eyed Chan before she looked back to you. You were just as stuck. Lia sighed. “What are you asking for exactly?”

“I’ve been with the latest pack trying to get Shepherd’s help. They’ve done everything he’s asked, which means they’ve left quite a bit of damage behind them that hasn’t been accounted for. I want to get to them before they try to finish what they started. I’m here because if they’re as smart as I’m afraid they are, they shouldn’t be far behind me.”

“Is Lia even mentioned in the other journal at all?” You countered. 

“The journals are mixed,” Jisung sighed behind you, “literally. When Shepherd completed both volumes, it looked like he unbound the two and mixed the sections into two new bindings.”

“Fine,” Lia decided. All of you stopped to look at her. “If it’ll help stop this once and for all, you can stay. We’ll put you in the guest room by the study… But stay away from my girls.”

“Had no intention of getting close,” Chan reassured her before he tugged at the hood of Felix’s jacket, “and thank you.” Felix gave Judy another grateful smile before Chan pulled him outside. 

You wheeled on the poor girl as the front door clicked shut. She cowered by Lia’s arm. “Why did you let them in?!”

“I didn’t know—” she squeaked. 

“You didn’t know?! They reek of wolves and—”

“Sweetheart,” Lia scolded you with a deep frown as she stepped in front of Judy. She gently set the shotgun back down by the door. “It’s raining outside. You can hardly smell anything out there. I’ve protected Judy and her sister as long as they’ve been here, so they’ve still never even had to meet a wolf before. They wouldn’t know what one smells like.”

“I’m sorry,” Judy meekly apologized from behind Lia’s shoulder. You heaved out a sigh. 

“It’s alright,” you lamented, “you didn’t know. I’m sorry, too.”

“We’re all sorry,” Lia placated, “now let’s deal with this. Take that—” she said as she pointed to the gun still in your hand, “and put it the hell away. Jisung, I hope I never have to see it again.”

“Yes, Lia,” Jisung weakly agreed. He grabbed your sleeve and pulled you upstairs before ducking into his room to grab his things. You helped gather up his belongings, bundling up the clothes and books he’d left out before trotting back down the hall to your own room. Lia could be heard directing Chan and Felix to their room as you shut your door behind you. Jisung jumped as you finally turned on him. 

“A fucking gun, Jisung?!” You instantly started. 

“I know, I know,” Jisung moaned, “it was reckless and stupid. I didn’t know what else to do.”

“Where did you even get this?!”

“I think it was Shepherd’s,” Jisung said quietly, “I found it the night he was killed before the cops came. I have no clue why I took it. It made me feel safe to have it.”

“Do not let me ever see you with this thing again unless you suddenly learn how to use it,” you berated him. You took the gun sitting heavy in your hands and opened the drawer of the bedside table, before setting it inside and slamming it shut. Your hand paused on top of the hardwood surface as you got your thoughts back in order. “How are you feeling?”

“Freaking out a little,” Jisung admitted. “I know it’s stupid.”

“That’s not stupid,” you sighed. You turned to face Jisung, stepping into his space. “Is it him and me?”

Jisung nodded thoroughly.

“I was all yours last night and I’m all yours tonight,” you reminded Jisung before you kissed his cheek in hopes of moving on, before you heard Lia giving Chan a cursory tour of the house outside in the hall. Jisung visibly prickled at the sound. 

“I loved you last night and I love you tonight,” Jisung finally returned with a sigh. “Just… promise me. Promise me you won’t talk to that bastard. We don’t talk to him, and we stay the hell away from him.”

“Had no intention of doing otherwise,” you nodded, brushing your thumb along Jisung’s cheek as you cupped his face. He pulled you close, and your gut finally calmed down enough to feel safe for a moment. 

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : 🌗 ⭒ 🌑 ⭒ 🌓 : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

That first night and the next were utterly disconcerting, having apparently been plucked straight from your own personal purgatory. You could only imagine how Lia and the girls felt. They had been living this quiet and secluded life, only having to worry about the occasional boyfriend or blood donor, and now you’d paraded in an entire heap of trouble. Maybe Chan had a point, an idea you fiercely despised. The whole giant house suddenly felt cramped. Your stomach was in more knots than that first night, and each time you woke up you had to sneak away to the en suite to empty your guts. Nothing felt better. 

Not to mention Jisung was a mess. As Chan seemed to finally get back up to speed, walking and working just fine, Jisung was a nervous wreck. He was finally starting to look more put together, his black eye finally faded and a mostly normal glow returning to his skin in the time since Chan worked him over a couple weeks prior. His busted knuckles had faded to simple callouses, and the stitches in his brow weren’t going to scar so badly once you got him to stop picking at them. But that wasn’t the problem. Jisung was hardly leaving your side. The moment you’d found him after waking up, guzzling more coffee than usual in Lia’s kitchen, he would follow you from room to room to room, or join you while you tried to read or get your mind off things. It was night three that you needed to do something about it. 

“Jisung,” you finally started, having led him all the way from your room to the laundry room to grab your dry clothes, and back.

“What?”

“You can not keep following me.”

“I’m not following you,” Jisung forced out with a fake laugh. 

“Jay, please,” you pleaded, dropping the laundry basket onto the bed and cupping Jisung’s face. “Work with me here. You have to tell me what’s wrong. No secrets.”

“It’s nothing!” Jisung tittered, trying to keep it light as he leaned his soft cheek into your palm. “It’s nothing, I’m just hanging out with you! What else would I be doing?”

“I don’t know,” you groaned, “what about the car? You said it needed work, something about the — what was it — the, er—”

“Timing belt?” He flatly answered. 

“Yes!” You replied enthusiastically. “You could be working on the car, or hiking, or—”

“I understand that,” Jisung sighed tiredly, “it’s just, you know—”

“Just what, Jay?”

“Ugh,” Jisung groaned sharply, “it’s you fucking him! I can’t believe I’m admitting it. It was one thing when he was dead and all I could do was get over it but—”

Jisung paused as Chan could be heard berating Felix in the hallway as they walked past. “—I don’t really care, Felix. I’m not doing this to hurt you, I’m telling you because I care and—” Where were they walking come from? They were going towards their room, not coming from it. You looked back to Jisung. He was fuming. 

“If I have to think of that idiot’s hands on you one more time I think I’ll try killing him again myself,” Jisung muttered before he turned away from you, hands roughly shoved in his pockets. You quickly stepped forward as the two men could still be heard quietly arguing down the hall. Trouble had apparently been cropping up everywhere once Chan was back to his old self again. 

“Jisung? Jay? What did I tell you,” you attempted to reason with him as you grabbed his hand. 

“I know, you’re all mine,” he sighed, “but having him be here is god awful and—”

“And nothing, Jisung,” you soothed him. “You’re not going to magically lose me if I’m not in your sight every waking minute. We’re getting past it together. It was the hunger, even though I know that barely matters. I’m all yours.”

Jisung finally softened for a moment, his hand gratefully squeezing yours — that is, until the two wolves could be heard coming back down the hallway. Felix was apparently coming in hot to get his word in. “—don’t understand, Chan. You’re not my dad, you’re not really my brother, and it sounds like the only wrong thing that fucking girl in that fucking room ever did was try to kill you, and I think I’m starting to understand why. Otherwise, all I know about her and her kind is apparently she’s the most perfect fuck you’ve ever had in your life—”

The commotion finally died down when the door to Chan and Felix’s room slammed shut down the hall. Jisung’s face was cryptic as you searched him. “Jisung, I—”

You were cut off into a muffled gasp as Jisung yanked on your hand in his, pulling you into him hard enough that he fell back against the dresser as he desperately kissed you.

“Jisung, talk to me—” you urged him.

“I will, I promise,” Jisung groaned into your mouth as he clutched onto your hips, “I just need you right now, okay?”

He backed up, just a breath away, and his gaze was clouded with whatever maelstrom was taking place inside of him. The mere thought of Jisung being so conflicted over this made your heart crumple in on itself, something you knew you were only coddling as you let him kiss you again. And, really, it was so easy once you realized how much you needed Jisung, too. A shadow lurked in you that you thought was just hunger, whispering to you with that same low voice as before when you had mauled Chan, but what was even louder was the longing that suddenly ripped through you. All you could do was give in to both, kissing Jisung hard in return as he pushed your leggings down and off and grappled you into his arms. 

You couldn’t hear Chan and Felix arguing down the hall anymore, but you probably couldn’t anyway between your shared gasps and sighs while Jisung pinned you up against the wall by your bedroom door, fumbling with his zipper before he could sink into you. He keened at the squeeze of your walls around him with what almost sounded like a sigh of relief, his hands clutching your thigh wrapped around him as you gasped in pleasure against him and let the extending tips of your canines graze his throat. Jisung moaned deep while his hands roamed over you, even leaning his head over to let you gently nip into him while he fucked you into the wall. Just that simple action of you piercing him made him stiffen up, his whole body seemingly holding back from tearing into you once you moaned at the taste of him. As much as you craved the sensation, it was easy to forget how much this apparently felt heavenly to Jisung. Your head swam, a cacophony of wanting Jisung, and wanting to feed on Jisung, and wanting to talk to Jisung all yelling over each other until the first wash of blood ran down your throat. Everything in you turned to static. Jisung sighed out an airy whine of pure satisfaction the moment you came up for air, his hand gently cupping your face again.

“I wish I could tell you just how beautiful you are,” Jisung murmured, his voice soft even as he thrust hard into you, “especially like this. I swear your eyes get darker when you feed. It’s—”

The door down the hall swung back open as Chan apparently followed Felix into the hallway. This was actually torture. “—and that’s fine, Chan, whatever, I’m going to get some fucking fresh air, but if you’d like I could remind you of how I fucking held you while you were trying not to die and all you could do was joke that at least she finished you off before she finished you off—”

“Felix, I—” Chan didn’t finish his thought, apparently deciding that he needed to give Felix his space, but not without punching the bannister out of frustration first. However, his bedroom door didn’t close again, and you didn’t hear him go down the stairs. Jisung apparently couldn’t be bothered to wonder the same, or maybe it was in spite of that which led him to thrust more roughly into you, that unresolved jealousy clearly eating through him as you whined and whimpered once you resumed feeding on him again. 

The way Jisung fit inside you — or even fit inside your life — seemed almost too well meshed when his breaths began to grow ragged the second you felt your peak coming. You finally felt fed, and Jisung looked so beautiful but so conflicted as you finally winced and sighed through your easy orgasm. Jisung held you steady, still pinning you to the wall and not letting up until he got his. 

“Say it again,” he sweetly begged while he dragged his lips along your jaw and throat. You didn’t think twice about it. 

“I’m all yours,” you gasped, and held tight onto him as he clutched tighter onto you in return. Jisung sloppily kissed you again before he spilled into you, his hushed groans almost sounding like laments. Chan could finally be heard stalking down the stairs. 

Jisung was still a mess, obviously, but the impromptu sex seemed to take the edge off, at least physically. You finally got him to give you a little space. The next night you awoke and didn’t find him drinking his fourth cup of coffee in the kitchen. He wasn’t reading in the study or flipping through channels in the den. When you poked your head outside, you could see light coming from the garage. It was nice, sneaking outside and peeking around the corner, catching Jisung rummaging around under the hood of his car, the sleeves of his worn flannel rolled up to his elbows while he listened to the radio. 

Even the next night, again, you found Jisung right back in the garage. It wasn’t like you hadn’t seen him at all the previous night, you’d had a fun time playing board games for the first time in years with Lia’s girls, but you wondered if perhaps you overcorrected and now Jisung wouldn’t feel the desire to come see you when you woke up anymore. You silently peered into the garage, catching sight of him as he wiped some sweat off his brow and was careful to avoid his healing stitches with the grease on his arm. Jisung looked almost like he was concentrating, and on more than just the car. You couldn’t blame him. With how relaxed Jisung had seemed just the previous week, back when things were starting to look a little brighter, you could imagine he’d finally felt like this whole nightmare was starting to slow down to a manageable pace. 

You decided to let Jisung have his space for a little bit, at least if he was seeking it out himself now. Out of sheer curiosity, you decided to check out the edge of the lake while the moon was still high up, the bright crescent more than likely lighting up the water in a gorgeous way. You had a sinking feeling that quiet nights like this should be counted as a blessing. Twigs snapped underfoot, and you carefully walked along the path only somewhat lit by dim lanterns, but froze when you noticed someone out by the water’s edge, lounging in one of the worn lawn chairs by the fire pit. 

Chan. 

He was seemingly at ease, or at least attempting to be. Apparently Lia had some beer stowed away in the house that you hadn’t bothered to find yet, but Chan had, unless he had his own secret stash. However he’d conjured the bottle in his hand, he nursed the brew as he brooded. You were brought back to that first night, Chan laughing and hanging out with the pack at the bar. He looked so different in such a short amount of time. 

Since he’d arrived, Chan had been able to clean up considerably, despite the showing roots in his ashy blonde hair. His style seemed to relax since he no longer needed to blend in with the pack or camp out for extended periods of time to keep out of trouble. Even with only a shave and a shower, he was just as handsome as that boy at the bar ages ago. Who could’ve guessed that he nearly died only recently? For that matter, who knew what he had needed to do to become good as new? You shivered at the thought. 

It was sort of calming, watching Chan seemingly not sense that you were observing him as he sat by the lake. You didn’t need to imagine that this wasn’t terribly different from the rest of the day. When you’d asked Jisung in passing, he said the daylight was mostly spent ardently avoiding each other at all costs, minimizing shared space as much as possible and not exchanging any words if necessary, though Felix did seem approachable and friendly in contrast. This was almost humorous, considering Chan didn’t seem to care one bit about you two hanging out with each other now, or even that you existed. No matter how much Jisung was or wasn’t attached to your hip, he barely glanced in your direction. On the rare occasion you did run into Chan in the house, perhaps catching him around a corner, he almost looked mortified to see you. That one puzzled you. 

At most, Jisung caught Chan keeping to himself and finally studying his investigation materials or even tinkering around with the van they’d nabbed. This was understandable, you supposed, even on Chan’s part. You could still hear him barking vitriol about Jisung — the worm, according to him — back in the boiler room. You could still hear how desperately he’d insisted you belonged to each other. He could feel it in his skin, he’d said. He’d sounded possessed, something you were scared to consider if you empathized with. 

And you’d tried to kill him. Maybe he was just as scared and confused as you were. According to Jisung, Felix was even harder to keep track of, that first squabble apparently setting a standard between the two wolves. So, perhaps, now on top of everything else already sitting on his broad shoulders, now Chan was stuck in a house full of people who hated him.

You left Chan to quietly consider the lake by himself before you headed back up to the house, maybe see what the girls were up to or if Jisung was done working on the car for the night. The back door just off the kitchen softly clicked shut behind you when you suddenly heard the harsh whispers of the girls in the entryway. You hung back in the kitchen, listening to the disembodied voices talk. 

“Chae—Judy, you can’t be this selfish over—” Joanne?

“Selfish?!”

“Think rationally, Jude.” Lucy? “Lia almost never has problems like this but this time she does. Think about what she said.” 

“Oh my god, you both are being ridiculous, just like her. Neither of you understand.”

“Neither do you, Judy. Lia said this is dangerous—”

“What about your sister? Think of Yuna—”

“Do not talk about Yuna like that. We’ve looked out for each other ever since she could walk. I would never do anything to put her in danger.”

“We know, Judy, but what if this is putting her in danger and you just don’t know it yet?”

“Stop it, both of you! I love you both, but I don’t have patience for this, from either of you. I’ll be glad to hear whatever Lia has to say if she actually tells me why I should be so concerned.”

Judy and Lucy were apparently left alone as Judy stormed off upstairs, and you peeked around the corner to see if the coast was clear. You could’ve easily ducked in and looked like you hadn’t been eavesdropping, but you shied away as you saw Jisung hopping down the stairs, still toweling his hair off from a shower. You must’ve been watching Chan at the lake longer than you’d thought if he had time to finish his work and get cleaned up. 

“Joanne? Lucy?” Jisung asked curiously as he reached the foyer. The girls turned to face him. You could see them attempt to relax from down the corridor. “Are you two alright? Judy looked… pissed.”

“It’s fine, she’s fine,” Lucy sighed with a nod, her arms folded as if to give herself a reassuring hug.

“We’re fine,” Joanne insisted. “I appreciate you checking on us though.”

“No, come on,” Jisung tutted, “don’t lie. Come talk to me.” He nudged Joanne’s shoulder with his own as he walked with the two girls down the hall towards you. You quickly tensed up and rushed to make it look as if you just happened to already be in the kitchen and weren’t actually listening in. The three appeared glad to see you, and you forced yourself to let your mind relax and enjoy this. You sat in the kitchen, sipping on coffee and catching Jisung up on old stories between you and Lia, even as she herself came down herself to join you with Yuna in tow. It was wonderful, getting to take a moment and enjoy the company of these people you cared for. You just wished it didn’t feel like a blessing. 

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : 🌑 ⭒ 🌓 ⭒ 🌕 : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

Jisung was still a mess, only a little less on edge about it. Regularly now, he was dragging you into the nearest secluded area once or sometimes even twice a night to feverishly kiss you or — when it was really bad — fuck you until you both were gasping for air. Last night it was after Chan walked in on you both reading on the couch in the study when he was looking for a book, and now you had the shadow of a sizable love bite next to the scar of your real bite to show for it. Jisung said Chan had given you a look, but you didn’t recall ever seeing such a thing. Tonight, where he had pulled you into the den and told you yet again that he needed you, was because of something he hadn’t explained yet. 

It was almost as if Jisung was burying something in you, almost staking his claim if you insisted you were his. Admittedly, it was relieving and good, or else you hopefully wouldn’t let Jisung keep getting away with doing this instead of talking to you. The way Jisung loved you was like nothing you ever got to experience before, and keeping it and maintaining it was sort of becoming precious to you, even though you still weren’t sure if you entirely felt the same. It wasn’t that you felt you didn’t love Jisung — it’s just that you were simply and utterly terrified of that possibility. You already pulled him in this far. Regardless, you occasionally tried to cajole Jisung into opening up more. 

Even now, you slowed your hips as you rode him on one of Lia’s plush easy chairs. “Jay, we can’t keep not talking about this,” you lightly chided, partly from trying not to tire out too quickly, partly from wanting to remain gentle with him.

“What’s to talk about?” He breathlessly asked, now thrusting against his grip on your hips to make up for your dropped pace. “I’m still jealous, he’s still here, and that’s still making it difficult to work it out.”

“Jisung,” you said, more firmly now, and his glazed eyes sparkled a bit when he looked up into yours as you stilled on his lap. “Come on. You came in from outside and were so fired up that you’re still covered in grime.”

It was true. Jisung was in such a hurry that there were now smudges of oily fingerprints on your thighs from the car. You would have to come back and surreptitiously clean the leather upholstery of the easy chair.

“Oh my god, fine,” Jisung groaned. “I’m warning you: it’s stupid.”

“Jay.”

“Alright, alright, jeez,” he laughed tepidly under his breath in a vain attempt to keep things light. Even still, the facade dropped right away as Jisung’s eyes were quickly downcast in embarrassment. “The idiot snuck up on me in the garage.”

“He what?” Your blood boiled. Jisung’s eyes lit up in alarm.

“No! Not like that. He didn’t really sneak up on me—I mean, he did, but he didn’t do it on purpose, and—”

“Oh my god—” a deeper voice gasped into a laugh in the doorway. You both froze now with Jisung’s fingers digging into your waist. Mortified, you peeked over the back of the chair to see Felix let out a surprised guffaw and turn to someone beside him, out of view behind the doorway. It was interesting to hear him be so light, considering you’d barely spoken five words to each other since he arrived. “Okay, so that’s out of the question—” You couldn’t hear much else as Felix and whoever it was promptly scampered back down the hallway.

Jisung let out an amused sigh once you were alone again. “Well, that sucked.”

“Jisung,” you prodded, your patience starting to run thin as you got him back on track. He looked somewhat hurt that you didn’t forget in those 10 seconds.

“I’m getting there,” he whined. “The mutt asked me to help him check out the cylinders in the van.”

“And?”

Jisung chewed on his lip. He looked almost nervous. “And… it was nice. He was nice. I sort of understood the appeal for two seconds. We had a beer, looked at the van… and he suddenly asked how you’re doing, and I made an awful excuse to get away. I couldn’t handle it all of a sudden.”

“Jay,” you sighed, maybe a touch too condescendingly, “is that everything? That almost sounds like a good time.” The excruciating embarrassment in Jisung’s eyes made you soften up a bit. He was clearly struggling with this. Maybe, you mused, he couldn’t get a grip on his instincts. Maybe he was getting a sense of his own monster for once. 

You smoothed your fingers back through his hair and kissed his temple as you resumed riding him again. It felt selfish to admit that it was gorgeous, the way Jisung was so attentive that even these desperate rendezvous never left you longing for your own climax, that he was so good to you that always got yours, and it was that sense of commitment that made you so beholden to him. Even now, as your core squeezed and climbed its peak, you were still just as lost in the moment as ever. 

“I loved you last night and I love you tonight,” Jisung murmured into your shoulder, his breath hitching beautifully and his eyebrows knitting together as he tried to feel out the climax he needed so badly.

“I was all yours last night and I’m all yours tonight,” you soothed. Jisung groaned and tensed at your reassurance, a phrase he seemed to lean on and lean into with each utterance, and soon he held you down against him as you came to a languid yet satisfying finish, your orgasm almost lazy and deep but still flooding heavily through your senses until Jisung followed right behind. 

As you caught your breath, Jisung actually looked more relaxed. This was not as satisfying as you would have liked. Jisung needed to keep trying to push past his neuroticisms, no matter how valid. He leaned softly into your hand as you stroked his hair and brushed your thumb against his cheek. 

“Hey,” you murmured softly to him. “If you think he was being decent, let him be decent. That’s the least we can do, right? Be decent while we’re stuck together?”

“I know,” he sighed. “He even offered to show me how to handle the gun I found—”

“Jisung,” you jokingly scolded him, “don’t you dare consider that for even a second.”

“I know, I know, I know,” he placated, but his smile seemed to relax.

“Do you feel a bit better now?”

Jisung’s mind had seemed to wander for a moment, but he nonetheless looked up at you gratefully when he nodded. 

When you awoke the next night, the first thing you did was check for Jisung in the garage. He wasn’t there. Thankfully, your stomach was feeling cooperative this evening, so you had been able to simply shrug on a jacket over your nightgown after you freshened up. Your fingers absently glided over the scar Rand had left you. It was a minor miracle to not have to deal with nightmares anymore, or else you suspected the pack leader would’ve been populating them. However, that still didn’t stop passing thoughts from invading. It was becoming routine — think about it, wish Jisung didn’t baby you about it with his well-intentioned caress of it each time he got you undressed, and funnel that into your need to destroy Rand if you ever saw him again. You didn’t need a gold star for dealing with it so well, you needed someone to help you sort out that monster. Right now, however, you needed to go find Jisung and see if he wanted to hang out. 

But, as you realized, he wasn’t in the garage. The radio was off, the tools he’d been using were stored away. You considered checking the study before you recalled Jisung saying he found a nice clearing in the woods to read in during the day when the weather was dry. The lanterns mostly lit the way, but the path ran out before you could recount Jisung’s directions as he’d described them to you. A flashlight bobbing in the distance caught your eye, hopefully leading you in the right direction. 

Only it wasn’t Jisung. 

You were careful to mind the moderate ground cover underfoot, cautious of vines and twigs your boots stepped over, but even then you hissed out a curse as you tripped into some brambles and snagged your exposed calf. A fern appeared to have concealed the pointy brush underneath. You considered cutting your little outing short when you finally were able to make out the conversation taking place. You untangled yourself and crept closer. 

“— I can’t believe you’re still going on about this. Tell me why it’s any of your goddamn business!”

“It’s my business because we’re here together, Felix,” Chan sighed. “If you get in trouble then I’ll get in trouble.”

“It’s always fucking trouble with you, isn’t it—”

“Don’t fucking start, Felix. I’m glad Judy is nice, I’m glad you’re in love with her, but this is not good for either of you.”

“Why isn’t it? You still won’t tell me! Whatever you read in that fucking journal was good enough to warn me about but not actually tell me anything.”

“I’m just trying to protect you—”

“There’s nothing to protect me from if you won’t tell me what it is! You don’t understand, Chan. I’ve never felt this way before in my life. I don’t just love her, I belong with her. I’m meant to be with her. I can feel it in my—”

“Skin, right?” Chan stared Felix down, who had stopped his frenzied pacing. “You can feel it in your skin, can’t you. It feels almost like you’ve been in the sun too long and sometimes all you can smell is her, even if she’s not around.”

“If you get it then tell me what I need to be so goddamned scared about.”

Chan was markedly silent. In the meager moonlight and his flashlight bouncing off the trees, you could see Chan shift his weight from foot to foot, his hands going from his hips to folded across his chest. You were so engrossed in their squabble you could almost ignore the trickle of blood falling down into your boot from where the damned brambles had gotten you. 

“That’s what I thought,” Felix scoffed. You ducked back, mindful of the underbrush while turning to watch Felix storm past you and back up to the house. As you turned back to find Chan, though, there was no flashlight beam. There was only darkness. 

You paused in the disquieting night and stared at the spot Chan was just occupying before your eyes quickly surveyed the rest of the clearing, trying hard to not panic and figure out what must have happened in the time between you watching and listening to the younger wolf leave and losing sight of Chan. He wasn’t gone; his scent was still here, his bouquet of mahogany and beach fire haunting you in real time. His scent in the cool night air distracted you from the prickling sting on your leg. Thinking cautiously, you turned to press your back against the tree you had been hiding behind and eliminate a blind spot. 

Only to be faced with Chan. It was surreal, almost occurring as if time was slowing down just for him, just so he could stand himself before you and confront you. This was the closest you’d been to him since you tore him open in the boiler room. Standing together like this, your chest squeezed as you suddenly remembered that first night, both of you breathless and excited as Chan kissed you behind the bar. 

“Your heart’s beating out of control,” Chan observed, his hushed voice joining the gentle breeze in the exposing night air. His tone was gentle, husky, but difficult to figure out. He wasn’t happy to see you, that much was sure. And he was right. You’d backed up, apparently trying so hard to pass through the tree behind you that you could feel the bark press into your shoulders through your jacket. Sure enough, you could feel your heart beating like mad and rattling your breath. 

“Are you scared?”

You defiantly kept your mouth shut. The last thing you wanted to do was give away more than you already had. Instead, you tried to edge past Chan, until he effortlessly pushed the head of his flashlight into your sternum — hardly pinning you to the tree, but you were stuck nonetheless. Even in the dark, you could see his eyes. For the first time with Chan, you felt like prey. You thought of Jisung — his kind eyes, his golden skin soft as deer velvet. All you wanted in that moment was to cling to him and feel safe again. Then again, with Chan being here, by just existing in your space — you felt that incredible gravitation towards him that drove you into Jisung’s path in the first place. Somewhere in you, that small voice emanated an anxious hum. 

“You have no reason to be scared right now,” Chan reassured you with stinging saccharine in his continued murmur, “considering how things went between us last time.” You were frozen by the sensation of his hand on yours and you wished so desperately that you could pull away when his fingers wrapped around your wrist, but you were frozen in place— by fear, by desire, by something. The cold head of the flashlight left your chest as Chan reached up and pulled open the first few buttons of his flannel shirt. Wisps of moonlight streaked across Chan’s pale chest as he gently tugged up on your hand and led you to touch him. His calloused fingertips were soft on your palm as he made you reach out and press your hand to his chest. Your breath had stilled in your tight lungs. Just under his cold skin in the night air he was radiating warmth. A coarse breath became lodged in your throat as your fingertips brushed the gnarled skin comprising the scar you’d left him. 

“See? We match now.”

“Why are you doing this?” You were whispering to each other like that night under the table in the library and the only thing you wanted in the world was to will your feet to move and leave. Chan’s thumb almost affectionately brushed over your hand. 

“I’m just reassuring you that you have no reason to be afraid right now,” he replied. “You’re apparently perfectly capable of killing me. I don’t think I would’ve made it if you weren’t so courteous to leave me for Felix to find.”

“Believe me, I wasn’t trying,” you retorted. “And I’m not afraid of you.”

“Good. I’m grateful nonetheless,” Chan shrugged as he let you wrench your hand away. “Besides, the only reason you would have to be afraid right now would be if you knew how amazing you smell. You really should be more mindful of your surroundings; you never know what’s hiding. I watched you from the trees for three days back at your aunt’s house without you knowing. It was just a scratch this time, sure, but who knows about next time. You don’t know how lucky you are.”

“I don’t know what you mean, Chan,” you said as you attempted to stand your ground. “Just let me go back to the house.”

“If you’re lurking in the woods looking for secrets, I’m letting you in on one now,” Chan murmured, letting himself fall closer into you so he could breathe you in. It felt so incredible but so unnerving to have him this close. “You don’t know how lucky you are. You were alone with the wolf just a few weeks ago and still came out on top.”

“You’re not implying that you would’ve—”

“Eaten you? Why not? The wolf sure as hell wanted to— which is sick, considering how much it likes you. Just staring at you bleeding under me almost like you are right now, with that moon haunting me outside the motel… every little nag of the wolf telling me how easy it would’ve been to tear into you while I still had to reconcile with Rand trying to claim you, praying none of his blood got in that bite to accidentally complete the claim.”

Chan’s wolf sounded too much like the little whisper in the back of your mind for your comfort. In fact, you were never aware that the wolf was apparently its own mind. You knew the actual wolf form was extremely painful to assume and was really only used in dire situations. It was reasonably handled with medication or meditation, but to think that the wolf still made its own decisions and the human was just a passenger along for the ride… you didn’t like it.

Then again, Chan was the only wolf you knew intimately. Who knew what else would be news to you. Your fingertips pressed hard into the rough wood of the tree trunk to try and keep from trembling. Chan looked breathtaking like this, his eyes darkening as the predator tried to take hold inside him. “Why not give in, then, if it’s so easy,” you challenged him. 

“Because you gave in first,” he softly replied, the lilt in his dark tone hypnotic. “You gave into your hunger before I could give in to mine. You were lucky to make it out at the last full moon. I’d be more careful of the one coming up. You don’t deserve your luck running out.”

You felt sick. Despite the ravenous way his eyes bore into you, his warning sounded genuine, and as Chan clearly struggled with every demon on his back, including his wolf, you grappled with yours. You thought of Jisung, sleeping peacefully beside you as he couldn’t stay awake anymore at the end of his night. You thought of Chan, and the way he tried so hard to keep Rand away from you that night in the store, the way he’d truly seemed afraid of you when you gave into your own monster. 

As you noticed Chan heavily considering his proximity to you, his weighted hesitance and his own bated breath exposing him apparently caught between pulling you close and running away, you finally saw it: Chan hated this. The way he nervously licked his lips, the worry knotted up in his brow, his jaw set stern — he loathed how good you smelled. Even as he leaned in to your timid trepidation, his lips tempting closer to yours, you could feel a desperate restraint in him. You held your breath as you felt his own on your skin. Nervous excitement played with your heartbeat and you let your eyes close. 

Chan paused, one moment away. “Please stop me.”

Your eyes snapped open at his quiet plea. You could do that. For both of you. 

Chan grunted and cursed when you pressed both your hands to his chest and shoved him off, but he let you run. You ran all the way back to the house, until you saw the light actually on in the garage. 

Jisung barely had a moment to smile hello as you threw yourself into his arms, let alone have any time to figure out what was going on with you when you feverishly kissed him. He tried to caress and pet you down off of him. “Hey, hey, baby…” Jisung soothed. He wiped his grease-stained hands on his jeans before he worriedly cupped your face to get a look at you. “What’s wrong?”

“I really need you right now,” you breathlessly pleaded, and you kissed him again where you stood by the open passenger side door. Jisung nodded gravely in your embrace, knowing damn well what that felt like. His fingers caressed your hair, down to your shoulders as he turned and pressed you against the car, ultimately reaching down to tilt the front seat forward so he could gently herd you inside to lay across the backseat. 

“How much—”

“Everything, Jay,” you desperately whined, “I need you so much right now.”

The torrid firefight of conflicting emotions taking place inside you was overwhelming to say the least, as Jisung nodded dutifully. He was ready for you in minutes and was already pulling at the hem of your nightgown under your jacket, his mindful fingertips lighting you up instantly. If you could be there for him at the drop of a hat, so could he, and you were grateful once he prodded up against you between your legs. When had you gotten so wet? You barely had time to wonder past your gasp as Jisung gently stretched you open around him. As your mind was awash, you grounded yourself, coming home to his scent of deer and buttercups. His impassioned groans in your ear brought you back to earth, back to this moment between only you and him. However, even then you couldn’t shake this feeling that you weren’t alone as Jisung fucked the worry out of you, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that it was Chan. Either mentally or literally outside the garage, Chan was there and invading your moment. 

Apparently Jisung noticed you elsewhere underneath him. “Hey,” he softly called to you, wanting to bring you back, “I loved you last night and I love you tonight.”

“Jisung,” you gasped and whined, “I love you, too.”

Jisung slowed to a halt, hips stilled between your legs as you realized what you just said. His eyes bore deep into you, wondering if he heard you right. And when you thought about it, you knew he heard right. You loved Jisung.

Something about sharing that moment in the backseat of Jisung’s car seemed to make time slow and pull you two into sync with each other. The second he finally moved, he really was making love to you. Jisung kissed your face as he moved together with you, and that closeness felt thick, an invisible tether making you clutch tightly onto him. 

“Say it again,” Jisung breathed against you, and you could hear the precipice approaching from the stilted confidence in his voice. 

“I love you, Jisung—” you whimpered, his hushed intensity only adding to the peak he was pushing you towards, right up to when you toppled over the edge. Your legs squeezed around Jisung’s hips, your breathy cries reverberating in the quiet car in the silent garage as you came, and he wasn’t far behind. Jisung’s hips faltered against yours as he rolled into you once, twice more, and climaxed with an emphatic sigh, his voice husky and thick from working you over. 

You reached for him immediately, finding his lips in the dark as he did with you that first time in the bookstore, and glided your fingers back through his hair as he looked into your eyes; the dark brown rimming his enlarged pupils seemed to have a sparkle within them, like a set of stars only you had the privilege of knowing. His chest pushed into yours as you both caught your breath. You could feel the buttons of his jacket through the thin material of your nightgown. 

“I love you, too,” Jisung quietly panted, as if the walls outside would crumble if he proclaimed it too loudly. “I loved you last night, I love you tonight — and I’m going to love you tomorrow.”

The world felt cozier when you awoke the next night. After your tryst in Jisung’s car, you had spent the rest of the evening together, the most time you’d spent alone and relaxing so far. You dragged Jisung into a hot bath with you, where he found the already healed scratches from the bramble bush. He did ask what happened. You simply told him Chan had snuck up on you in the woods by accident and frightened you, and as much as you told him not to, Jisung was still hard-pressed to go talk to him. You could only relax once you calmed him down enough and pushed him into bed. 

Everything was fine, really. With Chan set on his path and you set on yours, you would hopefully never have to see him again after Rand and the journals were dealt with. You would never have to tell Jisung that the way Chan looked at you made you breathless, that being so close to him made you want to run, but it also equally made you want to grab onto him and never let go. 

After Jisung had finally drifted off to sleep that night, however, that familiar churn in your stomach returned, this time after suddenly being hit with the memory of Rand’s teeth in you. You couldn’t stay in the room and use your private bathroom, surely — you still hadn’t told Jisung about the puzzling occasional sickness. Instead, you slipped out from under his arm to throw on a robe and trot downstairs, just in time to use a bathroom down there until your stomach was satisfied. Admittedly, that soreness in your gut only exacerbated the hunger slowly forming over the past few days. 

You jumped as you returned upstairs, the first hints of daybreak starting to show outside and revealing Felix quietly slipping out of Judy’s bedroom. He froze as he caught you watching him at the top of the stairs. The hall had been silent as you regarded each other. 

“Hi,” Felix whispered awkwardly in greeting. He didn’t seem sure of how best to approach you.

“Hello.” You had to admit you felt the same if that were the case.

The younger wolf was bundled up in a cozy sweater, but when you neared to get closer to your room, you still noticed the telltale scars on Felix’s neck. Aside from freshly drawn blood and veal, he smelled sweetly of peaches, even daisies. His faint spray of freckles dotting his golden cheeks and dainty nose were incredibly becoming on him now that you could really take a second and see him up close. He had looked wary, ready to bolt. You remembered what Chan had said, about his family throwing him out after he turned, and your chest swelled. Whatever this was he was going through, it was clearly making him the happiest he’d been in a long time. 

“Are you being safe?” This felt like a neutral enough question, you’d hoped. Felix seemed to think so, a muted sigh falling from his chest once he had flashed a relieved smile and nodded. 

“Yeah. I was just hanging out because Judy says it helps her feel more safe.”

“Does she not usually?”

“Not lately,” Felix shrugged. “She said she’s been hearing noises in the garden and out in the trees, but I’ve tried looking, both during the day and night. Nothing out there, but if she feels better with me staying with her while she falls asleep, I can do that.”

“I’m sure she appreciates the gesture. That’s really thoughtful of you.” You weren’t even being facetious or playing nice; it was true. Whatever Felix seemed to feel for Judy, it was more than just lust. He’d given you a soft grin before he seemed to remember something. He rummaged through his pockets before he reached out, and offered you whatever it was he had found. Felix had placed a photo in your hand, and you tended back up. Beaming back at you was a remarkably cleaner Chan, in his uniform with his natural hair color and without the heavy circles presently rimming his dark eyes. That pang in your chest echoed deep. 

“I found it while helping Chan with his records,” Felix had explained. “It was in the bottom of his rucksack, in what he affectionately calls his Dead Box. Looked like his whole past life was in there. No known parents, no known siblings, just a juvenile record, a half empty pack of cigarettes, and this academy picture. He said the box is the first thing to go if things get bad. Thought you’d be curious to see.”

Your eyes pored over this exponentially happier Chan. He still had that shadow hanging over his smile, like there was still a lot behind him, but he seemed almost unaware that this much trouble was out in the world. “Felix,” you carefully wondered, “what’s he like with you?”

Felix’s look had been puzzling, like he had to remember you may have differing opinions or him. He decided on a simple shrug. “He’s the truest guy I’ve met. No lies, no secrets… except for now and the whole business with Judy. That’s why it hurts so much. But he saved me, and I’m thankful for him. He’s like a brother to me. And, for what it’s worth, I’ve never seen him look at anyone the way he looks at you. But I have to know... that night that you and he… did you mean to?”

A weighted silence staked down between you both. 

“What did he say?”

“He says you didn’t.”

“I’m glad,” you decided, “because I didn’t. Goodnight, Felix. Thank you.”

You had handed Felix back the photo. Holding onto it made your gut twist again for some reason.

Tonight, however, after you woke up to an empty bed, you knew the coziness wouldn’t last. You had to find Jisung and make sure he wasn’t caught up in another bout of wanting to do the right thing. You pulled on some jeans and a sweater before stepping into your boots and making your way downstairs, first hoping to catch Jisung in the kitchen. Instead, you were faced with an impromptu meeting of sorts. Felix sat on one end of the kitchen table, Judy sat at the other, and Joanne and Lucy were sitting between them. Yuna was mysteriously missing from this conversation. You had to wonder how her sister’s lovestruck rebellion was affecting the youngest. It seemed loneliness may have become a disease in the large house, jumping from person to person as these relationships were forming and changing. The girls instantly clammed up when you entered the room, but Felix gave you a reassuring smile. You quickly apologized and made your way out the back door.

The garage was dark again when you checked it. That wasn’t a great sign, but you weren’t going to let yourself become nervous yet. Instead, you headed out on the trail between the lanterns, being extra careful of the brambles and anything hiding at the fringes of the trail. Until you heard a gunshot. 

You could only hear the breeze rushing past your ears and your own panicked breathing as you tore through the woods, even though you knew plain and simply that Lia’s property bordered private as well as public property. A hunter could simply be out too late, or a homeowner could be dealing with pesky vermin, but the only thing you knew in this moment was that Jisung was nowhere to be found yet and you had heard a gunshot. You only slowed once you reached the edge of the clearing Jisung must’ve meant in the first place, but it was more like you skidded to a halt. 

Jisung was further down the tree line, aiming towards a target staked about 50 meters away… with Chan behind him. The two men paused for a moment to scan their surroundings as they heard the rustle of your feet in the brush, and you dropped down below a fern, breathing slow and steady through your pursed lips to calm your heart. What in the hell was Jisung doing out here? How could he go against your simple wish? There was no way Chan didn’t put him up to this, convince him that it would be better to be safe than sorry or some bullshit like that. 

You bristled as the two of them seemed to be getting along just fine. Chan corrected Jisung’s form and posture a little, guiding him to make sure his arm was stable but not stiff when he aimed. He fired again, and you could see the paper target tear as it was hit. You seethed. You were set on your path. Chan was set on his. You had suggested decency, but this was way too much. The boys shared a high five and celebrated by cracking open a beer, and you couldn’t take anymore. You turned and marched right back to the house. 

However, you were now too full of energy and had nowhere to take it. You considered waiting up for Jisung, but you knew that would only rile you up even more. It was as you were ascending the stairs that you noticed a light on in the study. You peered inside, and were grateful to find Lia, bundled up in her usual cozy layers, all cotton and wool. Perpetually freezing, as Lia appeared to be, you’d never seen her dressed down in less than a long-sleeved shirt. She seemed grateful to see you, too. You walked inside, and she gladly pulled up her feet where they’d been stretched across the couch.

“You alright, sweetheart?” Lia asked as she set her book down. She looked so tired. 

“How do you always know when I’m not?” You laughed solemnly. 

“I just know these things. Is it about Jisung? I like him with you, you know.”

“Right again. I guess I sometimes hate when things become certain.”

“Because that’s when things can become disappointing. You can't truly be upset unless you know where you stand.”

You smirked, your mind almost too foggy to really humor her. “How do you do that?”

“I just know how you are, sweetheart.”

“I mean, I know it’s…” You folded your arms, trying to consider what it really was that was bothering you, or even what all you could tell Lia in this moment. “It hurts when you know what’s best for someone, and they think they know more.”

“I know what you mean,” Lia laughed out loud. You could almost feel how worn down both of  you were. “It reminds me of a story.”

“Oh?” You did always love Lia’s stories. When she got into it, you could just rest beside her and listen to her talk for hours.

“Sure does,” she nodded, and she was already ready for you to nestle in closer to her on the couch as you watched the fire roar in the study. “It’s an easy one, since that’s all I have the energy for. But once, ages ago, I was madly in love with a young man—”

“You?” You giggled. Lia pushed at your shoulder.

“Indeed, me,” she lightheartedly rolled her eyes. “This was back when I was with Shepherd. He told me I had to be careful, over and over again, but I was in love and I knew how to take care of myself. I thought he was just being selfish, maybe overprotective.”

You sat up. This was the first Lia had ever mentioned his name to you. The revelation wasn’t lost on her either, as her quick inhale and sigh seemed to be giving her the energy to continue.

“Everything was glorious, it was perfect… until I woke up with a fever one night.”

“Lia…” You were chilled. As far as you knew, your immune system was impenetrable once you turned. It was one of the bigger benefits of the lifestyle, truth be told.

“I kept my secret for a whole week. I couldn’t tell my beau, I thought he might have given me whatever it was. I had to admit that I didn’t know everything. I had to talk to Shepherd. At the end of it all, he was the only one telling me he knew what was best, and he could be right.”

“And? What did he say?”

“Shepherd sat me down in the back of the bookstore, and he held my hand and shook his head. He never treated me like that before. He told me, ‘You silly young thing. If you’d told me sooner, you would know by now that there’s two things you can’t do anymore: you can’t get sick by any human means, and you can’t bear a child—’”

“We can’t?” 

Lia looked at you suddenly. You figured that must’ve been similar to Shepherd’s look, the look she was giving you now. “No, sweetheart,” she shook her head. “We can’t. Only purebreds can. Anything else will shrivel up and die in us, if it even has a chance to get that far.”

“Then what was making you sick?” You pushed before you could stop yourself. Lia grinned as you forced yourself to relax into the couch.

“First, Shepherd deduced that my beau was a Non-Viable Donor. This was before databases were a thing. Then — and this was the first time I hated him — he decided that I was only exacerbating it by knowing I was defying him.”

“What the hell—?”

“The weird thing was,” Lia continued, “that I couldn’t shake the feeling he was right, at least partly. Every time Shepherd told me to believe him, a small part of me wanted to. I was actively defying him, and you know your mind is more powerful than you like to admit.”

What Lia was referring to was still embarrassing to recall. When she had found you, you were running yourself ragged from dusk till dawn, stressing yourself sick over this new life you didn’t know how to navigate yet. So, sure, she may have had a point, but there was still something nagging at you.

“What if…” You carefully mulled over. “What if you didn’t feel like you were doing anything wrong by anyone?”

Lia took a second to meditate on this. “Then I would consider if I’m doing wrong by myself.”

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : 🌓 ⭒ 🌕 ⭒ 🌗 : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

You had sat up in bed that night after talking with Lia, half reading a book and half listening to Jisung when he casually told you that he was out working in the garage longer than he expected. First, you had been considering if you really were doing any wrong by yourself. Then, with Jisung’s casual lie, you wondered if maybe he was doing anything wrong. It felt like, perhaps, the right thing to do was hold back, to not jump the gun, to be more careful about all this than you had been. It did feel like you were looking at this with refreshed eyes.

Then again, maybe there was a new hair trigger presenting itself now that you knew Jisung and Chan were apparently hanging out and didn’t find it pertinent to tell you. You had found Jisung out in his makeshift firing range the next two nights, but even that didn’t steam you. Inside you, you knew there was nothing objectively wrong with the two men being on good terms, or even becoming friends. It was when Jisung walked out from the shower to find you reading in bed again, however, and he said something that made your hair stand on end. That changed things.

“You know,” he laughed as he toweled off his hair, “I’m starting to think I had Chan pegged wrong. Like I know I said I was beginning to see the appeal, but I actually get it now. He’s a nice guy and— hey, are you alright?”

You straightened up, having apparently silently outed yourself again before you nodded into your book. 

“Oh, come on now,” Jisung grinned, “no secrets, remember?” There it was. Jisung was thoroughly perplexed as you snapped your book shut,  got out of bed, and threw on a jacket over your long-sleeved shirt. “Baby? Where are you going?”

“I think I left something outside,” you grumbled. Jisung didn’t follow you out.

Instead, you marched out by yourself to his little improvised hideout. Chan was there, relaxing in the moonlight, the silver light growing fuller with each passing night, and he was pensively reclining in one of the lawn chairs he and Jisung had apparently dragged out there. He barely looked at you, but his cocked eyebrow hinted that he was aware of your presence.

“Yes?” He was fiddling with Shepherd’s gun before he set it down beside his chair.

“We need to talk.”

“We do?” Chan reclined his head back, preemptively washing his hands of this situation.

“We need to talk about why you two are keeping secrets from me.”

Chan did look at you now. “Who’s keeping secrets? You and I don’t talk.”

“Then Jisung, you asshole.”

He raised his hands defensively. “I told Jisung he shouldn’t be keeping things from you. He said it’ll be easier if you don’t know.”

“What’s not to know?! I told him to never touch that goddamn gun again, and you’re laughing and whooping it up like pals and you’re showing him how to use the fucking thing!”

“Look,” Chan shot back impatiently. He rose to his feet. Something about the lines of his face seemed more severe, but you thought perhaps it was the moonlight playing tricks on you. “Jisung came to me and asked if I snuck up on you in the woods. I told him it was an accident, just like you weren’t meaning to spy on me. Jisung apologized for coming in hot — because he did — and said he just wanted to protect you. He told me the least we could do if we’re stuck like this is be decent to each other, and I liked that, but he lamented the whole thing about not even being able to use the gun if it ever came to that, so I figured I could provide that for him, but only if he told you. He told me he told you. I’m sorry if he lied. He just wants to protect you, just like I do.”

You were so tense you felt like your knuckles would tear through your skin. Instead, you leaned forward, scooping Shepherd’s gun off the ground and checked the chamber. Chan backed up a few steps, hands up again before you aimed for the paper target, still stood up in the clearing and fired straight at it. You were out of practice, having only bought and trained with a gun for a short period after that wolf mugged you back in college. Nonetheless, the target rocked as you hit close enough to the center to make a point. Your grimace felt pronounced while you opened the chamber again and emptied the rounds into your hand. Chan was silent as you tossed the gun at his feet and stormed off.

With that settled, you were on a warpath the next night. You had no patience to get properly dressed again, this and your steadily growing hunger making you feel a bit on edge. You yanked on a jacket over your nightgown and huffed downstairs before you found Jisung working in the garage on — of all things — the van Chan and Felix had lifted. He was apparently taking a break, sitting on the workbench and peering through the manual when you stepped right up to him. Jisung seemed to have sensed your anger as he quickly set the manual down, and flinched as you tossed the bullets in his lap.

“Baby,” he flustered, “I can explain—”

“No excuses, Jay.”

Jisung sighed hard as he stared at the ammo in his lap. “No excuses,” he repeated. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”

“You’re quite the hypocrite,” you sneered, fighting through your hurt. “If you’re buddies now what’re you doing playing with silver bullets?”

“Hey,” Jisung defensively bit back. “I told him I wanted to be careful—”

“Careful?” You laughed meanly. 

“Yes,” he groaned harshly, “I wanted to be careful. I showed it to him, and it was still half full, just the way I found it by Shepherd: full of wood-tipped rounds. Chan emptied it and used what he had on hand that would work.”

“This sucks, Jisung,” you sighed, and fought hard to not get too heightened over this. “This sucks, because I love you and I expect us to trust each other.”

“I love you, too! I trust you, too!” Jisung was up on his feet now as well, the ammo pinging onto the concrete floor where it cascaded off his lap. “I just want to be able to protect us and the girls and—”

“Will everyone stop trying to protect me?!” You didn’t mean to raise your voice, but here it was. Jisung folded his arms, momentarily stunned, waiting to see if you got that out of your system.

But you didn’t have a chance. A piercing scream rang out from the top floor of the house.

You and Jisung exchanged a terrified look before he followed after you, bounding out of the garage and into the house to sprint up the stairs. That sight wasn’t any better, the empty hall foreboding as you reached the landing. Your heart crawled into your throat. A door down the hall slammed open. 

Judy’s room.

She spilled into the hallway, the girl only recognizable because it just happened to be her room. She was a wreck, streaked in blood, her clothes hanging off her in tatters, her hair a mess — and the monster leaping out of the room and landing on top of her. Felix. 

If Judy barely resembled herself, Felix was long gone, the roars and growls coming from deep within him only belonging to the wolf as he tried to get her to sit still long enough to tear into her again. “Felix, please—!” She screeched, her words cut off into a gurgle as he pinned her roughly back down onto the floor. You could see him more clearly now as he sensed onlookers — a whimper behind you let you know the girls had made their way to the landing now — and he was gone. Felix’s eyes had done dark, almost completely black as he breathed hard through his hunger.

Jisung was the first to finally move, barreling forward and tumbling Felix off the poor girl, and you were quick to join, attempting to wrench his clawing hands out of the way so either of you could get a hold on him. Felix seethed and snarled, his lips curled back over his bared teeth that had presented themselves in his hunger, fighting hard to get either of you off of him. If any of the noises he made were words, you couldn’t tell. With the two of you attempting to hold him back, the girls finally rushed forward to Judy’s aid. It took a moment for you to figure out just where the blood all over you came from, before it became readily apparent that it was Judy’s. Felix yanked his arm from Jisung’s grip, about to swipe you both off until a gunshot rang through the hallway.

Lia lowered the gun in her hand, but you could still see a pearl handle matching the gun you’d thrown at Chan the previous night. Felix reeled from the new wound burning in his arm, a shocked cry seeming to rouse him from the wolf’s reign. The hallway seemed to freeze as Lia approached the whimpering boy with cold fury before she simply shoved her finger into the newly pierced hole and dragged him back down the corridor. The dark shadow had drained from Felix’s eyes, who suddenly seemed to be dealing with what the wolf had done in his absence. Lia looked at you, Jisung, and the girls as she pulled him along.

“Get Chaeryoung out of the goddamn hallway,” she huskily ordered. “And someone needs to control the whelp while we wait.”

“Lia, I didn’t—” Felix choked out, already overcome by the realization of what he did. “I didn’t— oh fucking christ, I didn’t mean — what do I—”

“We wait, dear. Just like I said. We’re going to see if there’s any chance to help Chaeryoung while we wait for you to calm down enough to tell us what the hell you did.” Lia silenced him harshly, with a twist of her finger still thrust in his arm. She pushed him into the study as the girls and Jisung helped usher Judy along inside right behind them. You attempted to process everything that just happened in the past few minutes. All you could hear was Lia commanding that someone needs to control the whelp. And all you could think of was Chan.

The rage carried your feet faster than you had originally thought possible, twigs and leaves snapping beneath your boots as you sprinted out to the clearing. You weren’t sure what you would do when you found Chan, but you knew he was the cause of all of this.

What you found, upon reaching the clearing, was the ghost of a flashlight beam leading you out to the field beyond, closer to the edge of the property line. You slowed down to a careful walk as you approached. Chan sat on the grass in the bright moonlight, arms folded on his knees as he considered a deer heaving for breath with its hooves caught in a hunter’s trap. He was dressed comfortably in a flannel and sweats, like he just rolled out of bed, and you hated that like this, if this moment resided in a vacuum, you could find him just as handsome as that first night. But out here, you could only hear the breeze whisper reserved judgements through the foliage as the both of you waited, as silent as the deer.

“Tell me something,” he finally said, still not looking up at you. “Say you’re me. What would you do?”

“I didn’t realize there were choices,” you replied curtly.

“Sure there are,” he nodded. “You could do what’s right for you, or right for the deer.”

“What about you,” you retorted. How silly of you, to assume that both options were one in the same. “What would you do?”

“Honestly?” Chan shivered as he rocked up onto his feet. He placed a calming hand on the deer before he stepped on both latches on either side of the trap and pried it open. The deer got up on shaky legs, but quickly sprinted off. “I sort of really wanted to eat it.”

You scoffed. “Of course you would—”

“Can you fucking blame me?!” Chan snapped at you. You backed up a step. “I’m starving, but can I afford to leave and hunt as I’d like? What’re you even doing out here?!”

It wasn’t lost on you, that Chan was eyeing the blood smeared on you. “Ever the goddamn martyr, aren’t you,” you glowered. “You need to get back to the house,” you said with an attempt to be calm, “Felix—”

“Do not get me started on Felix,” Chan laughed harshly. “Don’t even mention him to me. I don’t care what he does now. I have stuck my neck out for him so many times, I have wasted so much patience on him, I’ve accepted and loved him and helped him—”

“Chan!” You barked. “Will you shut the hell up?! I’m trying to tell you Felix and Judy—”

“Oh, it finally happened, huh?!” Chan reeled, feigning surprise. “What, he just thought he could ignore me and nothing would happen?! I can’t say I fucking blame him, if she smells half as good as she smells on you.”

Chan stepped closer. You stepped back, but only to dig your heels in as you swiped your hand through Judy’s blood on your chest to slap him across the face, if it smelled so goddamned good. However, Chan caught your hand, his grip menacing as you tried to pull free. You wriggled in his hold. “You are such a goddamn monster,” you hissed.

“I asked if you can fucking blame me,” Chan shot back, his voice cold and thick, and you recognized that dark shadow clouding his piercing gaze. He torqued your wrist in his hand with surprising ease, clearly giving in to his temptation to smell the mauled girl’s blood on you before you tried to kick him off. Chan easily tipped you back, yanking you close and falling on top of you in the clearing by the opened trap. “Let’s try that one more time,” he grimly chuckled through a sharp shiver. “Can you blame me?”

“For what, you fucking animal,” you spat. The crazed look in Chan’s eye only seemed to be goaded on.

“For being a fucking animal,” he sneered as he held you down. “I’m alone, I’m starving enough to want to eat a fucking trapped deer, and I’ve been listening to you fuck that dipshit for the past month. Do you know what actual torture that is? If I have to think about that prick’s hands on you one more time I think I’ll actually go mad. Every goddamn time I stumble across him fucking you I want to tear my hair out, that’s why I’m never in the fucking house when you’re awake. And you know what makes it worse? I like Jisung.”

“Don’t you dare say his name right now,” you struggled out as you tried to knee Chan off of you. He seemed blatantly unaffected. You could see the hair on his neck stand up in alert against the light of the full moon. 

“Why? Aren’t you happy? You were right,” Chan miserably lamented. “I’m a monster and a stupid animal, enough to get jealous over a rotten bitch who tried to kill me just because she knows what it’s like to eat and not feel satisfied.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you gritted out, even though that was a stone faced lie. You knew exactly what it was like, eating and never feeling satiated until you gave into that nagging feeling so deep in your mind it felt like it sat in your throat. 

“Sure you do, don’t lie,” Chan spat, “I bet every time you feed on Jisung you—”

“I said do not talk about Jisung as if you have any right.”

“Why? What’s wrong, princess,” Chan taunted. “Do you feel guilty? Whatever happened to never talking to me? Never interacting with me? You’re not even trying to avoid me now. Whatever Felix did in that house wasn’t more important than whatever bullshit you keep insisting on dredging up. Admit it—”

“Admit what, you fucking mongrel?!

“What I said really bothered you, or else you wouldn’t be hanging around while I’m telling off Felix. You hate that I said you belong to me, but you keep fucking wondering why it doesn’t feel wrong.”

You thrashed uselessly underneath Chan, but he didn’t look like he was enjoying this. 

“You have this little voice in the back of your head that dictates your whole life now, and it’s not questioning why you’re mine, it’s just mad about it,” Chan insisted. The surety with which he said it rocked into your chest and made your heart slow. “I know, because I have it, too, and it’s not the goddamn wolf. I’m just as lost—”

“I hate you!” You cried out, your voice hoarse, and you finally got him to shut up. “I hate you, you son of a bitch, Chan. I fucking hate you. Pretend you’re me, alright? Let’s play your game, so pretend you’re me. And you meet someone who makes you excited to be alive for the first time since you died, which is entirely rare, but he drags you down an entire rabbit hole just because he asks you to trust him and doesn’t even have the decency to kill you when he’s done with you.”

Chan was frozen above you, shocked into silence from the enraged tears brimming at the corners of your eyes as you beat your fists against his chest. 

“And pretend you convince yourself that this person is actually great, he’s noble and saved you, and you just want to find and know this person because you’re a goddamn idiot and a slave to that voice in your head that decided now was a good time to show up and affect everything you do. And even when you find someone else in that process, someone who you love and loves you back, you can’t even enjoy it, because you know you’re a rotten bitch who can’t stop thinking about that night you asked me to trust you.”

The tears streaming down your face and into the grass stung in the cold night air, but not nearly as much as catching the heartbreak and devastation in Chan’s eyes as he laid against you in the grass. He stubbornly shook his head. “You don’t get to throw yourself at the feet of this situation,” he scolded. “I searched for you, I tried to protect you, I saved you from Rand, and you still tried to kill me! I’m stupid enough to love you and pine over you and you still tried to kill me—”

“You do not love me,” you snapped. It was gross, noticing how good Chan’s pulse smelled in his wrist. His darkening eyes seemed to glow in the night. 

“You don’t get to decide that!” He barked indignantly. “I don’t even want to! I wish I didn’t love you, I wish I didn’t want you, I wish I wasn’t fucking haunted by you when you’re right in front of me—”

“Then get rid of me, Chan!” You cried out, and Chan stared you down again in an attempt to not get distracted by your distress. “Get rid of me,” you repeated, trying to push him to do anything, and you finally willed yourself to move. You slapped him, hard, once across the face, and you could feel your nails scrape against his cheek. “Dig me up from the garden and throw me out to the damn tree line if I’m so much trouble.”

Chan was eerily still as he was shaken by your strike, the last of the color in his eyes was overtaken by darkness. The shine was still there, only outlined in black like tar as his weight felt more definitive against you. “I asked you to stop me last time,” he finally spoke through a full body shiver. 

“Fuck you,” you spat as you attempted to wriggle out from under him. “Stop yourself.”

“Come on,” he pleaded, “the wolf actually knows you. Stop me, please.”

“Fuck you and the wolf,” you snapped, and you attempted to smack him again, if only to surprise him into giving you enough space to kick him off. Instead, Chan leaned harder into you, your slap seeming to lure him in instead of push him away. His hand on your cheek pushed back behind your ear to grab into your hair, and you fought off a whimper before you turned towards his arm and reflexively bit into him. 

The blood rushing over your tongue was a mistake, first evidenced by your desperate moan from finally being fed, and Chan’s garbled curse that sounded more like a growl. His response was instant, his hand spread on your shoulder to slam you down onto the ground and dig his bared teeth into your shoulder. This was apparently the last push his wolf needed to stop being civil, but the worst part was how incredible it felt, only adding to the constellations swirling around your head with his blood on your tongue. Blood begat blood, and you were of two minds as you snaked your fingers into his hair to yank him off long enough for you to pull him back down and sink your teeth into his throat. Chan’s groan still sounded a bit like him, but his clawing hands were that of the wolf spurred on by the smell of your exposed blood making him starve, and his own exposed blood making him want to break you down until you were no longer a threat. You cried out as Chan pinned you to the ground, his snarling teeth finding unmarked skin on your neck to gnaw into as you tried to rip him off. His growls reverberated through your throat and your dizziness almost made you feel faint. Even as you were able to crane his head to the side and scrape your teeth into his shoulder, you were hyper aware enough in your hunger and adrenaline to recognize that Chan was noticeably hard against you between your legs, his hips even rutting against you under your thin nightgown as you both were giving in to your monsters in an attempt to survive each other. 

The thick haze marring your judgement was killing you, making it difficult to tell the difference between what he wanted, what you wanted, and what both your little voices wanted. All you knew was Chan’s hands and teeth on you made you burn, with pleasure and disgust, and the more you fed on him the more you rutted your hips down against him like you were possessed, just like that night in the library or back in the boiler room. And, it seemed, the wolf was keen on such attention, no matter how much Chan tried to shake his head and pull away from your clawing hands. He was always right back on top of you, sinking his teeth into you wherever he could fit around you doing the same. 

You couldn’t tell, in the midst of either of your frenzies, exactly how Chan’s bared member ended up thrust up against your heat that was thoroughly betraying you, but you knew neither of you did anything to stop it as he grinded past your scant layers of clothing. In fact, there was even a moment, a brief second of hesitation, and you could see him past the wolf as you could recognize in your haze that he was laying right in your entrance. Your nails dug into Chan’s biceps, the muscles there tensing under your clutches as you gasped and arched your back at the sensation of him falling into you. 

If Chan had wanted to eat you, he would’ve done it by now, but it became apparent as he fucked you, with his teeth gripping into your shoulder, that it wasn’t that simple. The wolf wanted you in a similar way Chan wanted you, minus any of the superfluous human feelings attached. Even then, he was in there, despite the beast driving him. Each time his lips dragged across your skin, every time his bruising grip softened into a gentle caress, any time you thought you heard him curse under his breath, it was Chan, and if you could sift out any of those extraneous sensations, the sick waves of ecstasy that were overwhelming you could almost be misconstrued for affection. 

Everything was simultaneously rushed and slowed between you, and you weren’t sure precisely when Chan’s opened shirt revealed that you had clawed him back open where you had originally mauled him, but it took for him dripping all over you for you to notice, the dark crimson pooling and sticking to the front of your nightgown hiked up around your hips. Incredibly, this transfusion of sorts was driving you mad, raking you through visceral bliss until you could see a peak on the horizon. By this point, a faint breeze could probably eviscerate you, let alone an orgasm from the wolf currently thrusting roughly against you. Still, you whimpered, you whined, worn down and exhausted from trying to stop wanting this like he was, and you grabbed at his chin, tilting him towards you as that precipice crept closer.

“Chan—” you weakly begged, and he was the one who looked back at you, and not the wolf. The darkness faded for a moment, the whites of his eyes becoming just a bit more opaque as he found you. “I fucking hate you, but at least tell me you want me.” It was a ridiculous request, you knew. You couldn’t tell if it was better or worse to hear it.

He ardently nodded as that darkness crept back over his vision. “I love you, you bitch, we belong to each other,” he grunted in a moment of clarity, “but fucking hell you make me wish I was dead.”

You loathed the fact that his affirmation fired you up in just the way you needed, and Chan groaned in surprise as you pulled him close for a brutal kiss, the wolf seemingly not used to such affections. He lingered until you pulled him back off and sank your teeth into him once more, that burst of blood on your tongue sending you just the stars you needed to be pushed over the edge once and for all. You cried out against him, your fingers tangled in his hair as you held him down against you and savored the way your core constricted and squeezed around him. The pleasure drained you, but it thankfully seemed that this was the goal that the wolf had been searching for all along. Chan’s slim fingers clawed into your hair to crane you back flat on the grass as he pinned you down and thrust hard against your sore hips, your numb thighs still cold in the night air before he hit his peak. His growled sigh seemed thick with satisfaction as you felt his warmth flood you, and his hips slowed their frenetic rock against you.

There was still a breeze on the night air as you slowly fell back into your senses.

But it was a rude awakening, that freezing riptide of realizing the gravity of what you’d just done.

You kicked Chan off of you now that he appeared to be coming back, too, and equally as hungover it seemed. He groaned in the grass before he reached for you. You looked down in horror in the blood streaked down you, and as Chan laid an assumedly comforting hand on your thigh — whether for his sake or yours you weren’t sure — you shoved him back onto the opened animal trap as you scrambled up onto your quivering legs. He barked out a curse as he landed on the teeth of the trap before he tried to get up and follow after you, but you’d already taken off in a frantic hurry back to the house, chased as you were by shame and embarrassment that you could let this happen in the middle of a crisis. 

The blood and dirt caking the bottom of your boots made you slip on the cold tile of the house once you rushed inside, and bounded up the stairs, Chan hot on your trail as he suddenly remembered why he was supposedly needed back here. 

You stopped short as you stumbled into the study when everyone turned to look at you, a vision in red with your jacket hanging slack off one shoulder. Jisung looked terrified, his wide eyes darting between you and Chan running in behind you, looking no better and equally as haggard. Nonetheless, he caught you as you fell into his arms, his safe scent enveloping you again as he tried to steady you enough to take a look at you. 

“Felix—” Chan panted from where he stood in the doorway. 

“Chan,” Felix brokenly called back. 

Joanne and Lucy held Judy in their arms where she lay on the hearth on the fireplace. The lighter blood swathed across her lips matched the healing wounds on Felix and Jisung and painted quite the picture: everyone frantically working to get Judy the blood she needed — but it looked as though it may be too late still. Lia sat beside Felix on the floor in front of the couch, with Yuna sitting atop it behind them, knees drawn up to her chest and nervously watching in tortured wait. 

Chan knelt beside the younger wolf, pressing his forehead sympathetically to Felix’s as Lia got up to her feet now. 

“Jisung,” you feebly murmured into his shoulder, “is Judy—”

“We did everything we could so far,” he quietly replied, his gentle voice cracking a bit under the emotional weight. “An emergency room won’t have the resources for her. Lia tried to call a trusted doctor, but they wouldn’t be able to come before tomorrow night.”

“Felix,” Chan lamented, “what did you do?”

“I — fuck — it was so fast, I just…” Felix choked up hard. 

“Tell him, dear,” Lia prodded as she walked over to the fireplace. “This shouldn’t be so hard. You already told us. Just tell it again.”

“I… she…” Felix fought for words, swallowing down his rising emotions again so he could say what happened. “We were in bed. She was reading to me. The pages were stuck, and when she finally got them apart, she nicked herself… just the smallest drop of blood, but Chan, I’ve been so hungry, you know — and I just, she must’ve seen how I looked and how I smelled it, and she offered to let me taste if it would help, and—”

“Felix,” Chan gasped, and it still came out like an admonishment. 

“I know,” Felix sobbed, weighty tears falling down his face as Chan put an arm around him. 

“Now we all know,” Lia interjected coolly from where she stood at the fireplace. She used the poker in her hand to stoke the flames, to keep the room warm for Judy whose breathing was ragged and shallow where she lay with the girls. Lia looked back over her shoulder at you. “And now that we all know, maybe we should all know what is especially concerning about this.”

Jisung and Chan steeled themselves as Lia turned. She stepped once, twice, closer to Felix, giving him time to look up at her before Chan butted in. 

“Lia, we don’t have to do it like this—” 

“Enough, mutt,” she ordered, before she drove the iron poker into Felix’s chest and shoved until the barbed end pushed through. Everyone jolted at Felix’s stunned yell, even Judy stirring for a moment in concern. Yuna screamed, but stayed put, almost frozen in place. “I asked you both to stay away from my girls for a reason,” Lia scolded. “I afforded too many people in this house the benefit of the doubt, and now the blood that has wrought is on all of our hands.”

Lia took a moment to breathe. You all did, only the crackling fire offering any observations for a minute. Finally, as you all settled in your tension, Lia stooped down to resume her seat next to Felix, almost maternally scooping him into her arms and laying him in her lap as she stroked his hair. 

“Where was I?” Lia asked quietly, her eyes tiredly cast down at Felix. His muted sniffles and silent tears cut into your heart. You could swear Judy was sleepily watching him from the fireplace. “Tell them why this is bad, Lia,” Jisung softly prompted. His arms squeezed protectively around you, but his fingers still trembled.

“I suppose we’ll need context,” Lia sighed, settling into this and gathering the energy. “I met Adam Shepherd a lifetime ago. My parents were affluent, and we could afford to travel often. I was young, just started college, on holiday with my parents when I stumbled across his shop one evening. I was charmed by the old man. He always had an anecdote or a recommendation or something to show me. He said I shined so bright he didn’t need the sun, when I asked why he wasn’t open during the day. I adored him. I visited him every day, and when I convinced my parents to return that winter, I visited him every day then, too. It was shortly before I was supposed to leave that he told me. He told me about his life, what it meant, and I was dazzled. He asked if I would stay, and I did. 

“He waited three months to turn me, and when he was done we held each other and cried, we were so happy. I loved him as if he were my own grandfather, a kind of relationship I’d never known before since I never met either of my own. But, about a year later, we grew weary bringing in donors. That’s when Shepherd suggested hiring some help. This was Minho, who was the most beautiful boy I’d ever met in my life, up to and including any I had met while under Shepherd’s tutelage. I was infatuated, but I was nervous, and I wasn’t sure why, but I found out a month later when I caught Minho hunting late last night. He was a wolf, and I’d never met one before. I asked him if Shepherd knew, and Minho told me that he had known right away, and hired him anyhow. Sometimes, he told me, he wondered if he hired him because of that.

“It was easy to love Minho after I knew. He told me that when he looked at me, it felt like he was laying in a field on a sunny day, basking in the warmth. He claimed me on a humid summer night. It burned, when his blood touched the wound he opened in me, but it was the happiest I’d ever been.”

Lia slipped open the buttons of her blouse and let it fall open. A light scar of a bite, faded to a blushing pink, sat on her breast over her heart. However, a massive scar also webbed across her stomach, one you’d never been allowed to see before.

“That same summer was also when trouble began,” Lia continued. “What Minho hadn’t told me yet was that he had run away from his pack when he found Shepherd. What Shepherd hadn’t told him was that he knew. Minho ran from the store and up to the house one night and told me that Shepherd was a madman, that he was trying to develop a cure for lycanthropy and it was dangerous at the very least, and that we should run. I couldn’t. I trusted Shepherd, I loved him. I wouldn’t abandon him, even if it was Minho telling me to.

“I regret that choice every day of my life. I should’ve left with him. It was two days later that the pack arrived. They got me right as I was waking up, and when I finally understood what was happening, I was surrounded by wolves in a motel room by the beach. Shepherd arrived, and I begged him to tell me what was happening, and he simply kissed my forehead and told me I had been the best. He was saying goodbye, and I was so terrified. The others brought Minho in, and that’s when Shepherd stabbed me, once, in the belly. I remembered that Minho hadn’t been hunting, he said he was scared of running into the pack, and once he smelled me…”

You watched, broken as Lia’s breath wavered for a moment until she composed herself.

“I don’t remember much, other than Minho cried as he tore me apart, even inside the wolf. I remember that and the moon outside the window. It was the first night of the full moon. I felt empty when they dragged Minho off of me, and they left me for dead. I woke up in a coroner’s office a week later, having had to rest through it without any blood to help me. Shepherd never came looking for me.” 

“Why did they leave you?” Felix weakly asked.

“I’m getting there, dear,” Lia assured him, gently patting his arm as she nudged him off her lap and rose to her feet. Felix groaned as he leaned back on Chan for support. Lia turned to face him again before she grabbed onto the iron poker and swiftly yanked it out. The younger wolf let out a hoarse cry as the wound erupted, and Chan cursed before he tried to clap a hand over it. He froze as Lia pressed the tip against his hand. “No one touch him. We’re still waiting.”

“Waiting for what, Lia?” You pleaded, holding tight onto Jisung’s hand where he held you.

“I went to find the pack,” Lia continued regardless of your request. “They were in the woods on the edge of Shepherd’s property line where they were apparently hiding out, and they each took a turn interrogating Minho for more information while they tried to figure out how to prove if he was cured or not. When Shepherd finally came, he said there was only one way to know for sure. He drew out his pistol, and he shot the man I loved. He reeled, but he was fine, and I was hopeful for one cursed moment. I watched him unload the pistol, load it with silver, and shoot him again. The pack was disgusted. They called Shepherd a crazy old man and ran. What they didn’t know was that this was just another trial run for Shepherd. He figured it out eventually.”

Lia caught her breath to finish her story when the girls gasped by the fireplace. Lucy was first, erupting into bitter tears. She gently shook Judy’s shoulders, but all the color she had left had drained. Yuna finally moved, leaping over and grabbing her sister and shaking her harder.

“Chae!” Yuna screamed. “Chae, come on! Chae! This isn’t fair!”

Amidst this, a pained cough caught your attention. Felix doubled over, gasping and clutching his chest as if he were just feeling his wound for the first time. Chan sat up straighter, trying to get a better look at him. When you looked to Lia, your eyes growing wider in realization, her hard gaze silently implored you to watch. This was what you were waiting for. Felix wheezed through his pain, but you noticed a new warmth in his cheeks that hadn’t been there before. 

“Alright dear,” Lia sighed at Felix as she went to set the poker down, “let's get you fixed up and then we’ll take care—”

“NO!” Yuna roared. 

Everything moved at once.

Lia hardly had a chance to stop her once Yuna lunged forward, snatching the poker from her hand and driving it back into Felix’s chest.

[To be continued.]

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[someguynamedstevewrites]

My Roommate is an Apparition: An Apparition A-Pink-ciation of Culture

Based on characters created by @reddpenn

From the diary of Lily:

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

When I was little, I used to talk to my stuffed animals all the time.  They were my soft, cuddly friends who were always there for me, and even though they never spoke a word, I always imagined I could hear what they wanted to say.  Even as an adult, I still treat inanimate objects like they’re people too.  In fact, everyone does at some point or another in their adult life.  Anyone who has ever argued with their car that refused to start knows what I mean.

But recently, I realized that sometimes people can do... well the opposite. That sometimes we don’t treat people (who are actual, real people) like they’re people.  It’s not something we consciously think about, but it’s more like we forget that, well, people are people.  I know this sounds really dumb, but I felt like I needed to write about this after a... well after an “argument” I had with my roommate.

I’ve lived with my roommate for a few months now, and I thought I had gotten to know them pretty well.   They like to watch cartoons (like, seriously LOVES them) and we had worked out a TV viewing schedule to make sure that we got along together.  But the other day, I realized that I wasn’t necessarily treating them like they were their own person.  I didn’t mean to do that, but it just kind of happened, and...

...well it gets really complicated because, technically, they aren’t a person.

I mean, they aren’t human; they’re an apparition.

It made me think about all those stories about monsters and ghosts.  Like a ghost used to be human, but then they died, and their spirit became a ghost.  Do we still treat the ghost like the person they were when they were alive?  Outside of a few exceptions, the answer’s a definite yes.

But what about an apparition? It’s kind of like a ghost, but it’s not. I mean, it’s not the soul of someone who died or anything. They just sort of exist. (Would Slimer from Ghostbusters be an apparition or a ghost?).

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

So anyway, reason I’m bringing this all up is because of what happened last weekend. I was channel surfing through the Cable Guide and as I’m flipping through, I pass by Boomerang (you know, the cable channel that spun-off Cartoon Network to hold all the older cartoons?) and all of a sudden, my roommate appears out of nowhere (literally) and practically grabs the remote out from my hands.

“Hey! What gives!?” I say to them.

They immediately change over to Boomerang and my TV screen is suddenly filled up with the color pink. At the same time, my roommate starts “doot-ing” along with the song and goes, “Doo-Doot! Doo-Doot! Do-Doot-Do-Doot-Do-Doot Do-Doot-De-Dooooooooo-Doo-Doo-Doo-Doo-Doooot”. I have no idea what they’re doing, but then the cartoon starts up and it’s the Pink Panther.

Rhetorically, I go, “What’s this?”

“Pink... Panther...” my roomie says.

And then I make my first mistake by saying, “Huh. Never seen it before.”

Now if I had been paying attention to them, I probably would have seen the face of shock they were making. “You... NEVER... saw it!?” They gasped.

“Nope. Must have been before my time,” which was totally true. I mean, I later found out my Dad used to watch it when he was a kid. It wasn’t on TV when I was growing up. (Why am I defending myself for not watching a specific cartoon?)

Anyway, roomie asks, “Watch... with me?”

And then I, being a total dumbass, say, “Nah. Think I’ll get some dishes in,” before getting up and walking away.

If I had stayed put for just a few seconds longer, I would have heard them asking, “...please?” (In case you’re wondering, they told me about that later.)

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

Yes, I hurt its feelings.  Yes, it was insensitive.  Yes, I am sorry.  But like I said, the thought didn’t even cross my mind back then.  As far as I knew, as long as my roommate had their cartoons, they were happy.  It didn’t occur to me that they cared about anything other than the cartoons themselves.

For the next week, my roommate made sure I knew, now and forever, that this was not true.

My first clue that they were mad at me was later that evening when I went to the living room to watch my usual shows.   It was my turn on the TV, and usually I have to pry my roommate away so I can watch what I want to watch. But that night, the instant I walked into the room, they changed the channel to what I wanted, put the remote down on the couch, and left the room without saying a word.  I thanked them, plopped myself down, and went straight into couch potato mode.

This should have thrown so many red flags in my head, but for some reason, it didn’t.  Maybe I was being too self-absorbed at the time? Maybe I was just tired and thinking, “Aww man, I gotta work tomorrow!”?  No matter the excuse, mistakes were made, and I started paying for them the very next morning.

My “haunting” kicked off with waking up to find most of my rock collection missing.  I have a particular affinity for pretty rocks and gems (I’m kind of a rock nerd) and have my favorites out on display.  But that morning, the only rocks that I could see were the pink ones.  Someone had pilfered almost every pebble from every pedestal to perturb me.   (I saw a chance for alliteration and took it! So sue me!)  I was still waking up and too tired to care about it at the time (me making excuses again) and had work, so I got ready to go and left.

Now I’m not sure how they did it, but my roommate did something to my car radio.   I turn it on and all I get are tunes by Henry Mancini.  Fifty percent of the time, it was the Pink Panther theme, twenty-five percent was the theme from A Shot In The Dark (I had to use Soundhound to figure out that one), and the rest was a mix of some of his other work.   It didn’t matter what station I tried changing it to!  Although I did learn that Mancini composed Baby Elephant Walk, so that’s something.

By now, I’d already figured out what was going on (roommate did it), but couldn’t really do anything about it because I still had work to go to.   As if the daily grind working at an art supply store wasn’t hard enough, I had to work while having the dang Pink Panther theme stuck in my head all day.  Not even the music that played over the store radio could get rid of it.  (Given the quote un-quote “music” they play over the speaker system, I eventually considered it a good thing.)

Then I came home, and that’s when things REALLY escalated.  First words out of my mouth after I walked in was, “Hey, I’m hoooOOOOOLY~!”  Every single wall in the apartment, from the living room, to the kitchen, to the bedroom, and even the bathroom...

PINK!

All of them were painted PINK!

Like strawberry frosted doughnut pink!

As I’m gawking at the interior design sugar rush nightmare, out walks my roommate from around the corner.  Immediately, the first thing I noticed was that they had feet. (Normally, they don’t have feet; they just kind of “hover” or “emerge from the ground” or something.) They had their eyes closed, head held up, and made a point of showing off these noodle legs they had constructed by skipping every other three steps.

They were doing the Pink Panther shuffle.

They walk out of my line of sight and I run over to have a word with them, but by then they disappeared.  I look around and all I see is more and more pink.  From behind me, I hear a mix of snickering slash wheezing.  Like you ever hear of this cartoon dog named Muttley?  They were laughing like him.  And of course, I turn around, and the only thing I see is more pink!

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

I knew that my roommate could be ornery at times, like that time I tried to get an idea of their daily routine by setting up a webcam, but this...

I mean, where did she even get the paint?  (Upon reading back here, I realized I referred to them as a ‘she’ even though I’m not sure if they are a ‘she’ or not.  Yeah, I can edit it to a more neutral pronoun, but something tells me I ought to point this out instead of editing it, for some reason.)

I was half tempted to get back at them by painting the walls back to their original color (they do sell paint by the gallon where I work, and I get the employee discount), but realized they’d just paint(?) the walls pink again.  Like I’d turn around after thinking I finished only to find the work I did completely undone.  I could just picture my roommate doing that and finding it hysterical.

Anyway, tacky as the pink walls were, I didn’t get too angry about them.  For starters, my lease agreement said that I couldn’t paint the walls without landlord approval.  But my lease agreement also acknowledges that my apartment may be haunted.  If the landlord ever brought it up, I’d just tell them the “ghost” did it.  Second, these pranks my roommate was pulling were kind of amusing and didn’t really bother me that much.  (I mean sure, I wanted my rock collection back but I doubted my roommate would have thrown them away.  They know how much they mean to me.)

The one thing I was putting my foot down on was that I wasn’t going to ask my roommate what was wrong.  I got the hint, sure, but I wanted them to know that if something is bothering them, they need to, y’know, actually say something instead of leaving spooky pink clues.  They were being a butt, and my hope was that when they saw how much the pink wasn’t bothering me, then they’d finally open up.  This went on for about a week with me going about my daily routine only to be surprised by the occasional pink interruption.

Like on Wednesday, I go to the fridge to get something to drink, and all I find in there is Pink Lemonade.  It actually wasn’t that bad, but I have no idea how my roommate actually got it given that they never leave the apartment.  Thursday, I get a notification saying a package arrived, and find my roommate used my debit card to order the entire Pink Panther cartoon series on DVD.  And earlier on Tuesday, I got a call from my landlord asking if I knew why someone had called in an order, in their name, to have Owens Corning insulation installed.  In case you weren’t aware, that’s the pink insulation who has “you can guess who” as their mascot.

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

So, Friday rolls around, and by now, the entire apartment is pink.  Like EVERYTHING.  The furniture, the electronics, the toilet, the sink, the appliances, the TV, and everything in between has been made pink somehow.  I’m not sure who out there still makes pink toilet paper, but apparently my roommate has either some special powers I don’t know about yet, or they got connections.

At this point, since my roommate had yet to approach me about “The Pink-ening”, I began playing the reverse-psychology card.  I came home and got to making dinner.  While some of this was a bit more expensive than what I usually spend on food, I figured it was worth it if it meant getting my roommate to talk to me.  My menu included delicious smoked pink salmon, some crab linguine with a nice amount of pink to it for a side dish, and some mashed red potatoes that turn out nice and pink if you got the right recipe.  To wash it down, I picked up a glass of pink lemonade from the fridge, and in the freezer, some strawberry sorbet.

I get down to eating at my pink table, with a pink wooden chair, pink napkins, pink silverware, pink glass of pink lemonade.  It took a little more effort to put this together, but I made an exaggerated point of showing off how good this pink meal was and how much I was just enjoying all this pink.

About halfway into my meal, I get a feeling that someone’s standing behind me.  It’s hard to put into words how you know someone’s there especially since my roommate doesn’t really eat or breath.  It’s like the hairs on the back of your neck become sensitive like cat whiskers and can just... feel that someone’s there.  Usually sends a chill down my spine when that happens, but this time, I was ready and waiting for it.

“Care to join me for dinner?” I say without turning around.  If I had, they probably would have vanished on me again like they had been doing all week.

“Looks... good...” they say in their ever so familiar by now raspy voice.

“Got something you want to talk about?” I ask between bites.  There’s a brief pause as my roommate thinks to themselves.

“...yes,” they finally answer.

“Okay.  Pull up a chair!  It’s been a while since we just, y’know, talked and stuff,” which was true.  

The instant I said that, I realized that even before the “week of pink” began, we hadn’t spent a whole lot of time together outside of our usual TV time.  I had long since figured out that my roommate wanted me to watch Pink Panther with them, but I just thought they wanted to show it to me to show off how (subjectively) good the cartoon was.  Only then did it hit me that they wanted me to watch it with them because they wanted to watch it together with me.  It was like they were hoping for some roommate bonding time or something like that.

Now, it wasn’t like we weren’t talking to each other before this.  I greeted them whenever I saw them, and let them know whenever I came home or was leaving. but we hadn’t actually talked, like... “talk-talk” in a few weeks.  Instead, the conversations over the last few weeks were like the kind of conversations a person would have with their pet cat or pet dog.  Like you’d talk to them, but not really expect an answer from them.

I had been treating her like a pet more than a person.  (Did it again!  I’m thinking I’ll ask them later what kind of pronouns they’d like me to use, or if they’ve even given any thought towards gender or anything).

My guess is that my roommate picked up on this themselves, and just like a disobedient pet who is bored, lonely, or other, they made a mess of the place.  Maybe they were thinking that if I was going to treat them like a pet, they would act like one too?

Of course, I didn’t mean to treat them like that.  I don’t think anyone really does mean it when they do.  It just kind of happens without thinking about it.  The whole reason I’m writing this down here in you, diary, is so that I can make a mental note slash reminder to be careful of doing that kind of thing.  It’s especially important to remember when interacting with other people, like my co-workers or the store customers.  (Unlike my roommate, they can’t get on my case by making my entire apartment pink.)

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

Now where was I?  Oh yeah, our talk.  I think I remember the most important bits of it.  It went something like:

“So, whaddya wanna talk about?” I ask between bites of food.

“Pink...” they say to me.  I wait a moment, expecting them to say “panther” after that, but it when it doesn’t arrive, I step in.

“Yeah!  Pretty amazing what you did with the place!  I didn’t know things could even get this pink!” which was one-hundred percent true.

“...Thank...you...” they say with a smile.  I can tell that was not the answer they were expecting as I could have swore they turned and blushed.  Although I couldn’t tell because of how pink everything else was.

“Although,” I add, “I don’t think the landlord is going to like the apartment being this pink.  If it stays like this, they might kick me out.  And we wouldn’t want that, right?”

Now my roommate, the apparition, actually looks shocked for a moment.  The thought hadn’t entered their head, and for a moment, they looked a little scared.  “N-n-n-no...” they stuttered.

“Well, I’m sure together, we can get this place back to the way it was before the next time they have an apartment inspection.  Whenever that is,” I reassure them.

“Yeah...” my roommate nods.

“Say I got some time off this upcoming weekend.  Want to watch some Pink Panther with me?”  (Oh my God, you should have seen the smile on my roommate’s face when I asked this.)  “I see I have the DVD collection now, apparently,” I say with a wink, “and we can even watch the movies together too.”

“...movies?” they ask.

“Yeah, the Pink Panther was a movie first before it became a cartoon.  It was a live-action movie, but... well some of it’s like a cartoon here and there.  Lots of slapstick comedy that I think you might like.”  They were practically beaming and agreed immediately.  

After Friday’s dinner, we watched some of the cartoons (which are actually pretty funny) and for the upcoming weekend, we’re doing a Pink Panther movie marathon with cartoons mixed in to spice it up.  I also found out that my roommate doesn’t just watch the cartoons, but actually knows a thing or two about them.  Like how Friz Freleng, one of the directors and creative minds behind the original Looney Tunes cartoons, was involved in the Pink Panther’s creation along with a new studio after he left Warner Brothers.  I don’t know how my roommate came to know so much, but it’s pretty cool.

Anyway, I got me some sweet, pink treats to snack on during the movie marathon.  The apartment is still pink as can be, but my roommate said they’ll take care of it once the marathon’s over.  Exactly HOW they plan to take care of it, I have no idea.  Oh well.  No use pinking too hard about it.

(HA!)

[courtlyharlequin]

A Spring Without You

Warning(s): gender neutral reader, reader death mention, suicide mention, angst, grief, post-death scenario

Summary: One year. One year since that fateful day yet Leona Kingscholar finds himself unable to move on from you, his dearly beloved as the snow melts and the buds bloom into blossoms.

A/N: Uwahhh! New blog alert! This is my debut fic hehehehe. Well, on Tumblr anyway. This was a self indulgent fic but I hope you enjoy regardless ! Shoot me a request to help me start up this blog >~<

They say that spring is the season of new beginnings. They say that the colder the winter, the warmer the spring. They say that a life without love is a year without spring. The latter holds true for Leona Kingscholar.

Spring has officially sprung in Twisted Wonderland. The botanical garden is lush with foliage and flowers in full bloom. On any normal day, Leona would have claimed the area as a napping spot. But these days were far from normal. He could not bear to see the sight of the garden— the garden where he met you. Leona could not bear the sight of any viridescent foliage, really. He avoided the greenhouse at all costs. Anything and everything related to the garden painfully reminded him of you.

You who had stepped into his darkness and not only accepted his inner demons, but also made acquaintance with them. You who had shed light into his abyss of ugly emotions. Emotions like jealousy and sadness meant nothing when he was with you. Your naive nature was endearing; it was refreshing compared to from all the things Leona experiences. Your smile was blinding. You who had thawed the winter’s frost in his heart and embraced it with the mellow tenderness of springtime. You were the sun, so pure and full of life. What’s more is that you adore spring for the sole reason of flowers. You loved them. Perhaps more than him— not that he was willing to admit it. But for Leona, he loved you more than anything in the world. He loved you as much as you loved Eastertide— if not more. He loved how you lit up his monochrome world, how flowers were only beautiful if you were dressed in them. He loved your unconditional love. Since when had he received such an endless stream of affection and affirmation? It was a flurry of positive yet unknown emotions. Everytime he was with you, he would feel it. It was as if a surge of flower petals engulfed him in their intoxicatingly sweet scent.

Just like that day. The memory of you frolicing a vast flower field haunts Leona to this day. One year ago, you smiled. You smiled for the last time that day.

Your laughter rings in Leona’s ears every now and then. You were unusually giddy that day, having the gall to drag him through the mirror to an undisturbed meadow tucked away behind a range of rolling hills. His nose was immediately flooded with a soft fragrance. His eyes were met with thousands of flower buds, ready to bloom in the next few days. Some had already bloomed. He stood with his mouth agape only to become the subject of your teasing.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”  you asked before taking his hands to, quite literally, waltz among the budding florets.

It was surreal. You were a hopeless-beyond-help romantic and Leona would occasionally indulge in your cliche fantasies. Because he found it charming. Because he loved you. Because never wanted his own darling princess to come to anything but a happily ever after. Because being with you was like a fairytale, a daydream that Leona hoped to never wake from. But as they all say, all good things must come to an end.

Those days were gone. The days where you gifted him with dozens of flower crowns, the days where the two of you would dilly dally in the garden, the days where he kissed you slowly to awaken you from your slumber just to make you feel like the love you two shared was true love. They were all ignorant bliss. They had painstakingly passed. Summer’s heat was unbearable, but winter was the worst. The season brought harsh chills along with a sense of numbing anguish. Winter rendered everything he learned and loved about you meaningless. When the snow finally melted, his heart was encased in frost once more. Nowadays, Leona finds himself bedridden and cold without the warmth of his sun yet time still flies, waiting for no one. Spring was coming.

Leona was blind. You- his beloved, his darling, his princess- was just as broken as he was. You were lonely, feeling incompetent as the significant other of prince. He should have picked it up sooner. There was rarely ever the occasion where he asked you if you were alright. Your worst moments were dealt with elsewhere and rarely did you ever dare to trouble him with your own feelings. If he was simply a better partner, if he had put more effort into keeping up with his half of the relationship, then perhaps you would still be here as the person who broke his walls, lit up his world, and ignited so many foreign feelings within his heart. If he had taken one moment, just one, to ask: “how are you?”, would have it been any different? You always asked him. You always listened to him, but he had never done the same.

Was it because he found it to be a hassle? Not quite. Leona certainly did not find your sporadic story times troublesome. He found them amusing. You always get worked up over the silliest of things. You were like a child. Leona could not fathom at the thought of someone so vivacious having their own inner demons. The idea shook him to the core.

He frowned at the thought. Was the reason why he ever asked you: “how are you?” was because he was afraid to face the monsters in your head because he had his own? And that they were larger than his own? Leona grunted in annoyance. The fragments of you left inside his mind were all so vivid. It’s as if you were still there. Still happy.

What were your final moments like before you breathed your last breath in that same flower field that you both waltzed upon? Did you show him that field for him to find your lifeless body on a bed of your favorite flowers days later? Are you truly that cruel? These conclusions gnaw at his head while his own heart throbs with a feeling that can only be known as regret. The heavy weight of guilt keeps Leona forever awake, tired and too tiring. He sprawled across his sheets, sighing pensively. You plague his dreams, claiming his peaceful pastime of napping as your own. There was no joy in the things he enjoyed. Napping was a death wish and not even Cheka was able to raise his spirits.

A tired, sleep deprived Leona is an irritated Leona. Even Ruggie had kept his distance from him. Or is it the other way around? Leona kept to himself these days. Even Idia Shroud leaves his room more than Leona now. Though if one were to ask Ruggie to see Leona, the perfect is miraculously absent from the scene every time.

Today was a grim day with many inconveniences. Everywhere Leona went to escape his visitors reminded him of you. With nowhere to find peace and quiet, as his bedroom is occupied with unwanted visitors and his alternative hiding spots leaving a bittersweet taste in his mouth, he sought out the garden. The time felt right. It was spring. You always loved this time of year. Perhaps he would love it this time around too.

As soon as he stepped foot into the greenhouse, his nose was flooded with a soft fragrance. His eyes were met with a small patch of flowers. He did not know their genus, but he knew that you would have been all over these twigs by now. His gaze lingers on the tiny field. These blossoms were sickening. Their pungent, poignant perfume was suffocatingly saccharine. Leona crouched before them.

“They’re beautiful, aren’t they?” a voice said.

His ears twitched at the sound, turning his neck around at an inhumane speed. A click of his tongue followed shortly in suit.

“What are you doing here?” Leona snapped.

“I-I mean- I tend to the garden occasionally… since y/n would be kind of sad if the flowers wilted…” Epel trailed off, clutching a tray of seedlings closer to his chest.

Sad? You… would...be sad? That’s so typical of you. It humors him. His attention turns to the patch. It looks like Epel had planted daisies. Leona smirked, thinking that this was surely something you would gush to him about for hours. The first day of spring, huh. The season of new beginnings. Was it though? He felt as if he took a thousand steps backwards. He lost it all during the vernal season, the time of year you loved most. He never understood how much he needed you to breathe, to live, to enjoy all the little things in the world. Why did he have to begin without you? A spring without you is unimaginable.

His heart aches, but… you would be sad, wouldn’t you? You would be sad if you saw him in this state then proceed to tell him to cheer up. Maybe drag him to another flower field? Would you cry for his sake once more? He was still mourning but, knowing you, you would want him to move on— not wanting to burden him for any longer.  

With all of these thoughts festering and swelling inside his head, Leona Kingscholar cried for the first time since your death. It was the most gruesome, most anguished, hysterical roar he had ever produced. It echoed throughout the garden.

[imjustthemechanic]

The Price of a Soul

Part 1/? - Agent Russel Part 2/? - The Letter Part 3/? - Miss Lake Part 4/? - The Stewardess Part 5/? - An Assassination Part 6/? - Fallout Part 7/? - Face to Face Part 8/? - Deals, Details, and Other Devils Part 9/? - Baggage

We all knew Peggy was going to go look for Steve one way or the other.

-

Peggy’s call to Daniel was very brief.  “It’s me,” she said to him.  “I’m coming home.”

“You are?”  He was surprised.  “What about Dottie?”

“Thompson seems to believe he has everything well in hand.  He certainly no longer needs me around to be somebody who ‘thinks like these Russian girls’.”  She held the receiver away from her mouth as she heaved a frustrated sigh, not wanting to subject Daniel’s ears to the roar.  “This is going to blow up in his face and I want to be as far away as possible when it happens, so that nobody can claim it was my fault.  You don’t happen to have anything that needs investigating in Australia, do you?”

“No,” said Daniel.  “The platypus is very odd, but scientists assure me it evolved on this planet.”

It wasn’t much of a joke, but jokes were not Daniel’s forte, and Peggy chuckled appreciatively regardless.  “I have such a story to tell you, darling,” she said.

“Maybe you can tell it over dinner,” he suggested. “It’s been a while since we did anything outside of work.  We’ve both been busy with the Underwood case, and now that it’s out of our hands maybe we can relax a bit.”

Peggy’s first reaction would have been to say that she was tired and annoyed and not looking her best, and to request that they put it off until later… but Daniel was right, it had been a long time. Peggy was not very good at ‘dating’. She was simply not the sort of person who could turn herself off for a romantic evening when there were other things weighing on her mind.  She and Steve had never dated – they had worked together, enjoying each other’s company in that context until they came to an agreement that they wanted to continue doing so for the rest of their lives.  It had been the same with Daniel.  The ordinary sort of courting rituals were a bit of an afterthought.

“Dinner sounds lovely,” she said.  “But nowhere fancy, please.  I’m still not looking my best and I don’t want to have to dress up.”

“Just good ordinary food, I promise,” Daniel told her. “Tomorrow night?”

“It’s a date.”

Before she headed for the airport, Peggy did try to drop in at the Automat to let Angie know she had to leave again, but unfortunately Angie was not working.  One of her co-workers, an older lady called Pearl, promised to pass on the message.

By the time she finally got off the last plane in Los Angeles, it was very late, and all Peggy wanted to do was take a long, hot bath and collapse into bed.  She decided to forgo the former in order to give her face one more day, but unlike the night she’d first been sprayed, she managed to put off the latter until she’d at least changed into her nightclothes.

- 

In the morning she did feel very much better, and since it was three hours earlier on the west coast than the east, she even managed to wake up at a reasonable hour.  She took her bath, which stung only a little, and by the time of her dinner date with Daniel, Peggy was well on the way to feeling like herself again. As he’d promised, they didn’t go anywhere formal, just a little diner that served hamburgers and chips with milkshakes.

“You said you had a story to tell me,” Daniel said.

“Mmm,” Peggy agreed, her mouth full of strawberry milkshake. “Do I ever!  I assume Thompson gave you at last some details of what happened at Sing Sing.”

“Only the bare bones.”

“Right.”  She dipped a chip in mayonnaise.  “Well, I and two men sat guard outside Fenhoff’s cell half the night, only to hear a fuss at the room next door.  They determined the next day that she’d made herself a suppressor out of lipstick tubes…”

“That sounds like something you’d do,” Daniel observed with a smile.

“I am a bit hacked off she thought of it first,” Peggy agreed.  She went on to tell him how Lake had been taken into custody more or less by accident, and the embarrassing interview that had followed.  Then she told him something else.

“I went back in the middle of the night,” she said. “You see… when Lake came to see me here, pretending to be Agent Russel, she left a letter in my purse.  I got fingerprints off it to compare to the ones we found in her room at the Botticelli Gardens so I know it was her. It had six numbers and a drawing.” Peggy grabbed a napkin and wrote them out, with the doodle of the shield below them, and pushed it across the table for Daniel to see.

“Does that mean what I think it means?” he asked.

“It can hardly mean anything else, can it?  But it does – I spoke to her about it.” Peggy took the napkin back and stuffed it in her purse, intending to destroy it later as she had the original letter. “She said she’d been there, and she described the crash and the wreckage, and how we would find him if we looked.  I know it’s a trick of some sort,” she added.  “I asked her why she was telling me this and she insisted it was out of the goodness of her heart, which obviously isn’t suspicious at all… but she wouldn’t make it sound suspicious unless she wanted it to, and so…”  She shrugged. “I haven’t the foggiest idea what to make of it all.”

Daniel nodded slowly.  “And now it’s going to haunt you,” he said.

“It already is.”

“Peg.”  He reached for her hand.  “I know you’re still in love with him…”

She shook her head and pulled away.  “Don’t start, Daniel.  I’ve told you before, it’s not a competition.  Steve will always have a place in my heart but he’s dead, and I love you.  I’m not ‘settling’ for you, I’m not…”

“Peg,” he repeated, holding up a hand.  “I’m not trying to compete with him.  I’m just saying…”

“Sometimes I wonder if I even do remember him,” Peggy said, “or whether I’ve just overlaid him with some childish fantasy.  A man who isn’t there can be anything I want him to be.”

“I’m not trying to compete with him, I know I can’t do that,” Daniel said, “but I also can’t ask you to forget him, and I know you won’t feel like you’ve done right by him if you don’t make every attempt you can to bring him home.”

Peggy hung her head.  She knew that was where he’d been going, and she’d been hoping that if she talked about other things long enough, he’d give it up.  She should have known better.  “I’m sorry,” she sighed.  “Every so often I tell myself I have forgotten, I tell myself I’m over it, and then something happens like this, or like that bloody vial, and I find myself thinking…”  She had not worn makeup, and now she was glad of that as she reached up to scrub treacherous tears out of the corners of her eyes.  “Was there something I could have said or done to change his mind?  It’s not that I didn’t try, but he didn’t need to die like that!  Life could have gone on.  Even if it wasn’t life with me, he gave so much, and he deserved so much more…”

Daniel wordlessly handed her a handkerchief. She blew her nose.

“So it’s… it’s not so much that I’m still in love with him,” she managed… though if she’d said she wasn’t she would have been lying.  “It’s just that I listened to a good man die, and there was nothing I could do.  He said it was his choice, but it wasn’t the same as Barnes.  It just wasn’t.  So I stood there at the Stork Club wearing that red dress he liked and hoping for a miracle but feeling like a fool.  And of course, he never came.”

Daniel reached for her hand again, and this time she let him take it.  “I think a lot of us were hoping for a miracle,” he said.  “He’d been missing before and he’d reappeared, so it didn’t seem possible that this really was it.  I always promised myself I’d find some way to thank him properly for saving my life, and then I never got the chance.”

Peggy didn’t trust her voice not to break if she tried to speak again, so she just nodded miserably.

“If I do want to repay him,” Daniel added, “I can think of worse ways to do it than by bringing his body back.”

She looked up sharply.  “Daniel…”

“It’s a trick, I know, you said it’s a trick,” he held up a hand.  “And I know you think the best thing to do is leave it alone, even if that’s not what you want to do, but now that we have this information, I don’t think we can just do nothing with it.  Our job is to defend the security of this country, and if there’s a possibility the Soviets know where Captain Rogers’ body is and we don’t, that security is at risk.”

Peggy shook her head.  “If they know, they have him already.  They wouldn’t risk letting that leak to us.”

“Then we need to determine that,” said Daniel. “And honestly?  If we don’t do something…”

“… it’ll eat at both of us for the rest of our lives,” she finished for him, wiping her nose again.  “I wish I hadn’t told you.”

“No, I’m glad you did.”  He paused.  “You didn’t tell Thompson, did you?”

“Of course not.”

“Okay, good.”

“The problem is, I’m pretty sure this is exactly what she planned,” Peggy said.  “It’ll drive us batty until we go and check, and when we do there’ll be nothing there. We’ll have wasted the government’s time and money and we’ll look like fools.”

“So we’d need to secure private funding, then,” Daniel said thoughtfully.

Peggy’s eyes narrowed – there was only one thing that might mean.  It was hardly an unreasonable idea.  Howard had already spent months of his own time searching for Steve, and he still occasionally revisited the quest with new ideas and technology.  He certainly had the money.  There was just one problem.  “If you think I’m going to let Stark go about this unsupervised you’re mad, Daniel Sousa – and you and I both know that I am out of vacation days.”

“You still have sick days,” he said.

“I’m not sick.”

“You were injured in the line of duty.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Peggy shook her head.

“You were attacked with a chemical weapon…”

“It was essence of paprika, Daniel, I will live!”

“… with a chemical weapon,” he went on in mock outrage, “and Thompson didn’t even offer you time off to recover!  I am going to insist you take at least two weeks, to make sure there are no long-term side effects.  Imagine what that stuff might have done to your lungs!”

“You’re hopeless!” Peggy informed him, but it was difficult to sound angry when she was actually so relieved.  Daniel knew her far too well – it would have just gnawed on her mind until she finally had to sneak off and see for herself. She would be bitterly disappointed, she knew, when she got there and found nothing but ice and ocean, but at least she would know.  “So… if we find the crash site, we take the credit, whereas if we don’t, Stark takes the blame?  That’s very underhanded.  Have you ever considered going into politics?”  Her joking had just the narrowest edge of hysteria on it, but if that were what kept her from lapsing back into tears, so be it.

“Wow,” he said.  “That may be the meanest thing you ever said to me.”

“You deserve it for taking me from tears to laughter and nearly back again in a single dinner!”  Peggy waved a chip at him.  “I’ll call on Stark in the morning.  Heaven knows, if somehow he finds out about it through some other channel I won’t have to worry about whether I can sleep at night because he’ll never give me a moment’s peace about it as long as he lives.”

“Just tell him to keep it on the down-low,” Daniel said. “You don’t need a bunch of press following you.  And we definitely don’t want Lake knowing we fell for it.”

“Don’t worry about Stark, he’s as subtle as an angry hippopotamus,” Peggy snorted.  “And as for Lake… something tells me she already knows.”

- 

That night, Peggy decided to try that bath she’d been wanting, and found it not too terrible.  She felt an odd mix of dread and elation, a weight off one shoulder and a new and worse one on the other.  Dottie really was still her responsibility, but she was so fed up with the affair that there was a level on which she thought if Thompson wanted the case, he could bloody well have it.  As for the matter of the coordinates…

No matter how much Peggy wanted to hope they might find him at last, in her heart she knew whatever was at that spot in the arctic, it wouldn’t be the mortal remains of Captain Steve Rogers.   The question was what it would be. The best possible outcome was just barren ice.  The worst was… something Peggy probably wouldn’t be able to think of and couldn’t prepare for if she tried.  She would just have to be ready for anything.

[watanabes-cum-dump]

Burning Blue 1-5

"Liyue, Liyue come out"

"She's not coming"

Moon Carver sighed while Xiao surged foreword and continued to look for the little girl. Liyue was nowhere to be found, she was going home this evening and no one knew where she was. Everyone was looking for her because Mountain Shaper would live up to his name if he found his daughter went missing under the adepti's watch. Liyue's (self proclaimed) father did not take lightly to his little girl being in any kind of danger (Xiao had found that out the hard way) and with the stress of a war, he would most likely level the entire landscape.

Xiao groaned and leaned against a pillar "Where would she even hide?"

Moon Carver shrugged and looked around. Liyue was terribly shy and often hid from the others, only responding to Guizhong and occasionally Xiao. She acted like a scared puppy, and it was well known that she was very attached to the black and red crane adeptus.

"Oh curse her. We can't even track her down" Xiao groaned.

Moon Carver perked up "Wouldn't Mountain Shaper's magic rub off onto her?"

Xiao looked like he hit the jackpot for a moment, then his face fell "I don't think he would use magic around his precious little girl"

"You're right"

"Lavender's blue dilly dilly

Lavender's green

When I am king dilly dilly

You will be queen"

The two adepti looked up at the sound of a soft, deep voice singing a lullaby. A smaller, more feminine and frankly, more childish voice sang along.

"Who told you so dilly dilly

Who told you so?

T'was my own heart dilly dilly

That told me so"

"What the-?"

"Sh" Moon carver hushed the young adeptus and walked towards the pair of haunting voices at the end of the hallway. The door lead to an empty room, but, Moon Carver knew better. A pocket dimension, or rather, the entrance to one.

He gestured at the door, Xiao immediately got the idea and readied his spear. Liyue was naive, just like any other child, despite her seemingly advanced knowledge and understanding. She very well could be taken advantage of by the other... less kind adepti. He readied his blade, pushing open the door that started glowing blue.

A bright light enveloped the two adepti as they went through the portal, and they arrived at a collection of islands, lanterns, lilies, and small platforms floated around, creating ripples as if on water. There appeared to be tall mountains in the distance, Moon Carver caught his breath at the sight of a giant spirit stingray flying through the air, glowing golden as is weaved through he flying islands and thin peaks. There was an abundance of ruin like structures on the islands, waterfalls dropped into a void from ponds that looked like pools of sky.

The two went on cautiously through the dimension, it was clearly an adepti's abode. Pocket dimensions they controlled completely, they could take on a physical exterior like Mountain Shaper's Mansion, but it often betrayed the interior that was quite literally a world of it's own.

"Call up your men, Dilly dilly, Set them to work.

Some to the plow, Dilly dilly, Some to the fork

Some to make hay, Dilly dilly, Some to cut corn.

While you and I, Dilly dilly, Keep ourselves warm"

The male voice sang again. They followed the voices, they seemed to echo even though the abode looked to be out in the open, it even echoed through the halls of the adepti's palace.

They found themselves nearing an island that held a small pavilion like structure and pond on it. Under the shade of the roof sitting comfortably on throws of pillows was a man dressed in golds and greens with a little girl on his lap.

"Bosacius" Xiao said, bowing respectfully at his senior and leader of the Yaksha.  

The other Yaksha stopped singing and looked up at the pair "Ah, Xiao, Moon Carver, what brings you two here?"

"Her" Xiao replied, pointing at the child.

Liyue looked up at him with those big, blue eyes that were eerily intelligent for her age "If Mountain Shaper is not here yet, I'd like to stay with Mister Bosacious" she requested.

The white haired Yaksha chuckled at Moon Carver and Xiao's look of disdain "Little Liyue can stay if she likes"

"With all do respect, you shouldn't have to deal with-"

"Xiao" his senior chided "It's fine. I'll take her back when it is time"

Moon Carver raised a brow "Time is odd in these little pocket dimensions, are you sure you can keep track of time and bring her back by dark?"

Bosacious laughed "I may not be the best at keeping track of time, but I'm not as bad as you make me out to be, Lord Moon Carver"

"We didn't come all the way to come back out empty handed-"

Moon Carver stopped Xiao "We'll just inform the others. Besides, Liyue seems to like it here"

"I really do" Liyue piped up as she examined a rather large and exotic looking red flower in her hands, it had delicate gold carefully shaped like leaves around it, and the core almost seemed to glow. It looked artificial, yet Moon Carver swore he could feel it form where he stood, warm like a little candle, flickering along with his pulse.

Xiao sighed and relented, crossing his arms and bidding his leader goodbye, making his way back to the entrance of the abode. Moon Carver followed suit, leaving the leader of the Yaksha and the little girl to whatever they were doing.

Liyue peered at the curious flower in her hands, fingering the little gold leaves. The scarlet flower was surprisingly warm and the way it's center pulsed made her a bit sleepy...

"Liyue, look at this"

She blinked the sleep away form her blue eyes, watching as Bosacious cupped her tiny hands in his and suddenly the flower started to glow brightly, small flames replaced the seeds and Liyue gasped, almost dropping it.

The white haired man chuckled "It's ok. I've ordered the flames to not hurt you. They'll only keep you warm, shall you ever get cold"

"Really?" she asked with wide eyes, she held it closer to her face, the flames tickled her nose, causing her to wrinkle her face up. "That's very nice of you, Mister Bosacious"

He hummed and took it, pinning it to her hair "Won't it age and die?"

"No, Liyue. It's not a flower. It's just magic shaped to look like one"

Magic could really do that? Take and change shape?

"You seem amazed, Mountain Shaper has never showed you magic?"

Liyue shook her head "No, he says it's too dangerous for a kid. He said for my birthday next year he'll show me"

The little brunette yawned and leaned against the Yaksha "Are you tired, Liyue?"

She simply nodded "It's alright, sleep. I'll wake you up when you need to go"

Liyue yawned as Bosacious repositioned her and laid her head down on his lap, singing softly.

"Lavender's green, Dilly dilly, Lavender's blue.

If you love me, Dilly dilly, I will love you.

Let the birds sing, Dilly dilly, Let the lambs play.

We shall be safe, Dilly dilly, Out of harms way."

"Be careful damn it"

Liyue rolled over, only to fall and be caught by strong arms "Woah!"

She opened her eyes to see Mountain Shaper staring down at her lovingly.

"Mmmm Mounty?" she muttered.

"Mounty?" she craned her neck to see Bosacious standing there and seemingly laughing. The dark haired adpetus huffed and shifted Liyue so that she was closer to him and facing away from the Yaksha.

"I had no idea you had such a soft spot for children, Mounty" the white haired man teased, covering his ever growing smile.

Mountain Shaper growled and put Liyue into the carriage, lying her down on one side. She couldn't hear them as they two bickered slightly. Did Mountain Shaper really argue with all of the other adepti? She was too tired to hear their words... but she did hear them cuss a lot.

A few minutes later, Mountain Shaper finally stepped into the carriage, face a little flushed.

"Do you really argue with all of the other adepti?"

Mountain Shaper didn't answer her question and instead asked his own "Did you have fun with Bosacious?"

Liyue nodded as best she could lying down "I like him, he's nice, and funny, and he sings"

Mountain stared out the window as they left the adepti's palace behind "Dad likes him too"

It was silent for a moment before Liyue realized something "Did you just say you're my father?"

The adeptus jumped and shook his head "N-no. I didn't Liyue. Just, go to sleep"

Liyue sighed and snuggled into the seat, what a tsundere, as Guizhong put it "Ok... night dad"

She didn't hear him stutter to correct her. She was asleep, and they were homebound.

.

What does all of this mean for our dearest Bosacious and papa Mounty? You’ll all see very soon...

[dearlazerbunny]

Ignite (Redux); Ch. 1 of 5ish

Pairings: Kylo Ren x Reader

Genre/Ratings: currently T for severely injured reader 

Words: 2250

Summary: After an accident aboard Starkiller Base, someone unexpected proves invaluable.

This is a rewrite of Ignite, which I published two-ish years ago. I thought I could put more into it than I did initially, and soon enough this one chapter was more words than the whole original idea. Same story, incredibly expanded upon. Enjoy!

You sigh as you scroll through your daily schedule that’s pinged into your datapad. Apparently a fresh crop of newbie engineers has been recruited, and now you’ve got to teach them how to not blow themselves up- or more crucially, not blow up the expensive TIE Fighters that cost more than your entire life is worth. Joy oh joy. Really, you prefer to work alone- you’re a senior engineer aboard Starkiller base, you don’t need anyone to double check your work (or worse, mucking it up). But as long as the rookie knows their place and doesn’t cross wires they aren’t supposed to, things should- should- be okay.

Hopefully. Maybe. Fingers crossed.

You pull on your uniform, doing up the buttons and fastening the buckles; your tool belt, a beautiful piece of leather that’s been worn enough to be molded precisely to your waist, gets secured in its place of honor across your hips. After tracking down your pesky gloves and tucking them into the top of your work boots so you don’t lose them for the millionth time, you join the ebb and flow of traffic constantly racing though Starkiller’s veins and head for the flight deck.

It’s a decent trek- base is huge, and nowhere you’re heading is ever anywhere near everywhere else. It’s become something of a tradition to mentally curse whoever designed this bucket of bolts as you follow hallway after hallway, trying to keep pace with those around you. Would it have killed them to put in some moving walkways? Maybe a more direct path through the ducts? At least that way you’d be able to avoid all the upper-crust officers on your way to work, and their holier-than-thou stares as they eye your patched elbows and stained pants. Chuckling to yourself, you pat the nearest metal archway, mentally apologizing to your pride and joy. Starkiller is, ultimately, a feat of engineering, and the fact that you get to crawl around in her walls and find what makes her tic is a pleasure, no matter how finicky she gets- or how snotty the officers become.

In the corner of your eye, you can tell that the corridor has suddenly emptied, startlingly silent of stormtrooper boots or the quiet mumbling of messengers running to and fro. Rather than following suit and making yourself scarce, you purposefully slow your gait and linger, letting your fingers trace along the seams of the polished walls.

Not a minute later, Kylo Ren comes stalking around the corner, boots thumping menacingly along his path and cape fluttering behind him. He doesn’t seem phased by the sudden clearing of his path- he probably comes to expect it by now. It’s not like he demands it; people just seem too frightened of the Commander to even do something as simple as walk in the same corridor as him.

You can’t really blame them. He’s a six-foot-something space wizard in all black and an incredibly intimidating mask. Rumor has it he isn’t afraid to cut you in half with a lightsaber if you so much as breathe wrong in his direction- and to be fair, a lot of those rumors are true, given how frequently you’re called to patch up medical equipment in the infirmary.

“Am I interrupting something?” The Commander’s voice comes out heavily synthesized through his visor, but you could swear there’s a touch of teasing in it as he watches you run a hand over some welding.

You grin at him. “No, sir, just having a little moment of appreciation.” You comically pat the metal next to you, as though assessing a prize cow.

Normally you wouldn’t dare joke around with a senior officer, but despite his fearful reputation, the Knight has always seemed… different, to you. In command, yes, but not quite part of command. The rest of base always runs whenever he heads in their direction. Even his infamous Knights of Ren seem just a touch too cautious around their leader to include him in the camaraderie you’ve seen them demonstrate in the mess hall when he’s not around. He’s a true loner, sitting solitaire in meetings and speaking to no one except to yell orders; a black phantom haunting the hallways with rumors flying left and right in his wake.

You made the decision a long time ago to not be afraid of the man. He has to know that not everyone sees him as some sort of grim reaper, no matter what people might whisper. “How are you today, sir?”

Despite you making it a point to ask him this every time you see him, he still seems taken aback whenever he hears it. Like he’s shocked someone is speaking to him in pleasant terms. “I am fine. And you?”

“Just peachy!” You gesture down the hallway. “Are you going this way?”

He nods briefly, and so the two of you start off together, only close enough to barely be associated as acquaintances. The stares you get are numerous, but you always feel just a tad more confident with the Commander at your side. You suppose it must look a bit comical- the dark knight and a tiny engineer marching through base like they own the place. But you’re grateful for the company, silent as it is, and you tell yourself he must be too- otherwise, why give you the time of day? You’re not anyone important.

You know Commandeer Ren notices all the attention the two of you get- you can tell by the way he has to keep his fists from clenching up; struggle to keep his gait even. Briefly, you wonder if the reason he wears a mask is so his emotions won’t run amok across his face. It’s certainly easy enough to read the rest of him, if you bother looking.

“Are you not afraid of me?”

You stop short, surprised. Even when he seems to be in a good mood, he rarely says anything. “No sir, I’m not. Should I be?”

“Yes,” he says flatly. Just, yes, as though that’s the only possible answer to his question.

“Well… just don’t come at me with your fancy glowstick, and I think we’ll be alright, yeah?” You offer him an easy grin, instinctively reaching out to tap him playfully on the shoulder before you remember who you’re talking to- it quickly gets withdrawn. He simply stares at you, and you’re unsure if you’ve just doomed yourself to a cold and miserable fate on Hoth. “I’ll see you later?”

He just turns and stalks away, and you sigh, shoving your hands in your pockets. He never answers that one. Which, to be fair, he probably has much more important things to do than run around entertaining some random engineer. Still, he never blows you off though, even when you’re rambling or asking too many questions- he might not answer the questions, but he doesn’t tell you to shut up either.

Truth is, you’re a bit fascinated with the man. He’s an enigma, a mystery, and your whole life you’ve been trained to solve mysteries; pull out the broken pieces and wind it all back together again even better than the day it was brand new. You can only hope someday that helmet of his will short circuit and you’ll get a chance to take a crack at it.

You have to pull yourself away from watching Ren’s retreating back, refocusing on your job. Rookie to train. TIE Fighters to tune up. Right.

It’s pretty easy to spot your trainee- he’s tentatively poking around a TIE the way you do when you want to look like you know what you’re doing, but in actuality you’re three seconds away from seriously messing something up. When he gnaws his lip and reaches for a panel of circuitry, you step in- “OKAY! Let’s back away from that, shall we?”

Startled, he knocks himself away from the board he’s studying. “Right! Right. Uh, sorry.”

You gingerly close the panel back up and push him a few steps away from the battleship, then wipe your hands on your pants and hold out a hand. “I’m Y/N. I’ll be your supervisor for the day. Rule number one? Don’t touch anything unless you know for certain what it is, what’s wrong with it, how to fix it, and all the ways it can kill you if your finger slips.”

The kid’s cheeks pale a bit. “Right. I’m Cale.”

“Wonderful. Don’t blow anybody up and don’t put our heads under the general’s fist, and I’m sure we’ll get along great.” You tug on your gloves, tighten the cord securing your hair, and put a hand on your hip. “First thing’s first- how much do you know about twin ion engine ships?”

You spend the better part of your shift going over every inch of the craft in front of you, as well as the science that makes it run and the parts that need hands on them more often than not. “…and this is the engine itself. It destabilizes xenon gas and uses the resulting broken-off electron for thrust. Xenon gas is ideal because for the most part, it’s completely inert- fireproof, explosion-proof, etcetera. As long as it’s converted back to a stable state before it’s exuded by the engine, it’s pretty safe. But you should still be extremely cautious when working on the engine itself. Obviously. It’s worth more than we ever will be.” You press your wrist to your forehead, trying to think of anything you missed. “Okay. Any questions?”

“…No?”

“Cool.” You check your datapad. “This one needs new electrostatic grids. Xenon gas is fairly corrosive. Check with me before you do anything, and we’ll get to work, okay?”

Other than the occasional question here and there and getting used to someone hanging over your shoulder watching you tinker, you settle into a wonderfully familiar routine. Your fingers fly like they have a mind of their own, effortlessly making the rig in front of you shine like it did when it first came off the line.

“-so what do you do here, anyways?”

You shake your head, pulled from the flow of work- “um, little bit of everything? I got promoted to senior a few years ago so I’m called all over base. I work a lot with command and their personal rigs and equipment.”

You can’t see Cale’s face, but you can hear the curiosity in his voice. “You work with General Hux?”

“Yes. He’s just as…intense, as everyone makes him out to be. But thus far I’m not on his bad side and I plan to keep it that way, so I’m not saying anything else about it.”

“What about-” he pauses, like he’s looking over his shoulder to make sure no one else in the massively busy hangar is listening in- “Kylo Ren?”

You wedge a particularly tight support into place with a grunt. “What about him?”

“Is he really insane? I heard that-”

“No,” you say harshly. “And you shouldn’t believe everything you hear. He’s a person, just like everyone else, okay?” Christ, the rumor mill is as exhausting as it is useless.

Thankfully, something on your tool belt starts beeping and you can focus on that. A little indicator light is flashing orange, harsh and neon. “Interesting.”

Cale pops his head out from underneath the ship. “What’s beeping?”

“This monitors the air quality; lets us know if the composition of gases gets unbalanced. It generally means there’s a leak somewhere.” You glance at what you’d doing. More electrostatic grids. “What are you working on down there?”

“Oh, a few tanks were too pressurized, so I released the valves a bit to relieve those.”

You blanch. “The xenon canisters?”

“Um… maybe?”

Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck. Just before you can hit the alarm button, you see a spark from a nearby welder flicker- it arcs to the floor almost in slow motion, one small bit of fire promising catastrophe. If you’re lucky, it won’t catch- it will fall harmlessly to the floor and extinguish, giving you time to alert others, clear the area, and reset things when proper ventilation has made the area safe.

But when have you ever been lucky?

All you see is red. You’re awash in it, swimming in it, drowning until your whole being is nothing but scarlet and an unholy, white-hot, supernova blue. You’re in the heart of an exploding star, witnessing the birth of the universe, and it’s just as beautiful as you’d imagine the very atoms of space rearranging themselves would be.

Then there’s stillness. The colors fade. It’s not silent- no, there’s a ringing in your ears, and somewhere very, very far away something like an alarm. And then- pain.

Oh, the pain. It flashes through your nerves like lightning, so intense you almost can’t comprehend all the little nuances screaming across every inch of your body. Joining the ringing and the far, distant sound of klaxon alarms comes a high-pitched, desperate sort of scream. You turn to help whoever it is- you raise a hand in front of you, only to see rapidly singing flesh. It’s you. You’re the one screaming. You’re the one on fire.

Sprawled on the floor of the hangar, vaguely aware of everything and nothing, hoarsely begging for this to stop, stopstopstop please make this stop, you wonder just for one second if the tall cloaked figure at the other end of the room is a hallucination or wish fulfillment or both.

You lose consciousness before you can come to a decision.

A/N: Yee

[reach4themoon]

We All Fall Down

Warnings: Death, description of bodies, slight mental torture(?), portrayal of murder and betrayal

Genre: Horror, murder, Carnival

Word Count: 1,936

Taeil came rushing into your apartment, excitement flooding the house as your friends and boyfriend shouted. It was your birthday and today was the first celebration with your boyfriend, you had known each other for a month but only started dating last week after his confession to which you happily obliged. The night started with drinks and dinner before your best friend brought out a cake and started the chorus of singing from around the room. You clapped, laughing along as they sang at the top of their lungs and drunkenly danced before finally blowing out the candles sitting atop the sweet dessert with only one wish in mind- to spend the day with Taeil.

It was an odd wish, yes, but you felt almost distant from him after you started dating. He rarely spoke of himself and only showed affection when others were around, as if it was only an act.

As everyone finished their cake, they began to hand you the presents they brought, smiling proudly as you opened them all and giddily thanked them. The only problem was Taeil, you were on the last present and yet you had not opened his, if he even brought one that is. Your guests seemed to pick up on the discomfort as you open the last gift of a silver necklace with the note reading Renjun. You tried to hide your disappointment but the tears threatened to spill as you said goodbye to everyone and thanked them for showing up, leaving you alone with the one person you couldn’t bring yourself to look at.

“You’re mad at me~” He called from the couch after seeing your slumped figure walk in.

“It’s my birthday, why would I be anything but happy?”

“Well that’s good, then you weren’t going to comment on the lack of a present today.”

The playful sound of his voice only angered you as you rushed into the bedroom and locked the door, huffing as you fell on your bed. How could he not even get you a card knowing you’d be upset?

“Honey~ You didn’t even give me a chance to explain.” He cooed, hand gently rubbing your back before you jumped up. You knew you locked the door.

“Do you have anything scheduled for tomorrow? I wanted us to go on a trip together.” Adrenaline rushed through you, forgetting everything else as you inquired about the trip with his only response being ‘It’s a secret.’

You don’t remember everything after that clearly, simply drinking some tea with Taeil on the couch before waking up in your bed the next morning. You smiled hearing a quiet voice outside following the smell of coffee and pancakes, grabbing one of your sweaters you rushed out to find Taeil standing by the stove humming along to a song only he could hear. Stalking over to him, you slipped your arms around his back, drowning in his scent while he finished cooking.

“Sit down, I’ll bring everything to you.” He gently removed himself from your arms, grabbing a nearby plate and sliding the pancakes on. Skipping over to the island table, you slid into the first chair and watched as he poured a glass of coffee and set it in front of you along with butter, syrup, and the plate.

“Aren’t you going to eat?” You watched him stand in front of you, nothing but his own cup to occupy him.

“I ate before you came out. When you’re done, get ready and we’ll head out because the drive is long, and I want to make sure you see everything in time.”

You nodded, doing as he asked while wondering what he possibly had planned for the day.

 The drive was quiet, your partner simply staring ahead while you looked out the window suddenly realizing he wasn’t what you had always thought about him. The buildings flew by as he drove, only slowing when they morphed into trees and occasionally stopping for breaks along the way. It took everything in you not to ask him to turn around and take you home, you wanted to spend the day with him but this was not what you had in mind, the silence was deafening and the longer you watched the sun climb the sky and make it’s descent the more you wanted to scream.

Turning to him, you were about to tell him to go back when he pulled into a small dirt road and finally smiled, patting your leg excitedly as he cheered.

“We’re here! Close your eyes, I’ll guide you the rest of the way in.” He quickly stopped the car and unbuckled his seatbelt to get out and walk over to your side. You watched, hesitantly following his instructions, and getting out after closing your eyes.

“I’m right here, don’t be scared.” His breath tickled your ear as he covered your eyes with his hand and gently pushed you forward. You had no idea where you were and the darkening sky concerned you, but his excited presence was reassuring, telling you exactly where to go and avoiding any branches or dips in the ground.

“You can open your eyes now.” Removing his hand, he shuffled forward as you opened your eyes to a large, rusted gates before you. The arch above the doors read CarderVille, a name you couldn’t recognize despite how excited Taeil seemed as he turned back to grab your hand and pull you in.

“This, my love, is the country’s biggest carnival. It was closed and abandoned years ago, leaving only those brave enough to explore it to keep it alive in history.” You exhaled in awe as the structures came into view before you.

Even in the dark you could make out a large, colorful tent sat in the center with dozens of booths and old buildings surrounding. The site was thrilling, and you jumped up and down in excitement, this time dragging Taeil with you to look around.

Your first stop was at a carousel, the partially broken horses and dusty floors did nothing to prevent you from climbing on to admire, not noticing the disappearance of your boyfriend at first. After several laps around the contraption, you finally take a few steps back to look at it from afar when you think you spot something on the roof. Squinting, you stare at it and blink a few times, it closely resembled the figure of a crumpled human.

“It’s only the shadows messing with your eyes.” You try to convince yourself as you walk away, hoping to spot the one who brought you here in the first place.

You continued talking to yourself, reminding yourself it was safe and that Taeil would protect you from any harm.

When you reached a concession stand you stopped, curiously looking inside, and calling for Taeil as you see a shadow. With no response, you lean over the counter to get a better look and scream just as the lights suddenly flash on. The figure was not Taeil, the old rotting form before you were an unfortunate stranger. Turning away, you gagged, the smell sinking into your nose and forcing you to your knees to rid your stomach of its contents. You hear his cheers before seeing him in the distance, assuming he went to turn the lights on

You call his name's a few times but no response, you're sitting and waiting in hopes he's trying to mess with you when the lights suddenly flash on and you jump in fear only loosening when you hear Taeil cheering in the distance and minutes later running out on the main street. Despite the lights being turned on in the dark night, it's difficult to see. The orange tint adding little depth to the grand setting of the place and all you’re left to do is walk.

 You walk, hoping to catch up to your beloved boyfriend when you hear whispering in a concession stand, the lights outlining a figure as you come closer to see. You wanted to call out to them, but your throat constricted and all you could do was curiously look closer. The body was old, rotting with the bugs crawling over it and signs of birds and other animals eating from it made you sick to the stomach, the contents from dinner earlier suddenly climbing its way back up as you turn away and collapse to the ground.

Once it seemed as though nothing more could come up you shakily crawled away from the booth, using a pole for lights to stand and look around. Taeil was nowhere in sight.

Your throat burned and tears pricked at your eyes as you called out for him, your voice pleading into the darkness met with a familiar melody. Following it, you blindly walked into the main tent only to find all sounds muted, the hushed silence combined with a lack of lighting spiking your anxiety once again.

Standing in the center, you looked up at the domed ceiling that appeared to go on forever with the shadows until your eyes adjusted more and you could faintly make out bleachers surrounding the edge of the tent. The longer you looked at them the crazier you felt, figures…bodies of people seemed to be placed throughout, their heads rolled to one side and shoulders slumped.

“Taeil, I want to go! Where are you?” You couldn’t take this anymore, you just wanted to leave.

That was when the song started up again, the melody seeming to haunt you now.

Ring around the Rosie

The image of Taeil humming in your kitchen clouded your mind. The morning of your birthday he had visited your apartment, claiming he wanted to make your breakfast and refusing to allow you to help. His smile was the brightest you had ever seen as he poured the batter on the pan, humming along to what he claimed was his favorite song. Now that very song felt like it had nailed your feet to the ground, your body felt like it wasn’t your own as you stood frozen in fear.

Pocket full of posies

You shouted and screamed hoping your dear boyfriend would show up. That maybe this was the nightmare and your brain had simply played a cruel prank on you and you still laid in bed the night of your birthday wondering what Taeil was going to do the next day.

Ashes, ashes

Tears streamed down your face, reminding you this was more than reality. A nightmare your brain would never create. You thought about running, but where would you go? You thought about hiding, yet you didn’t even know where safe was. So, you continued to let your fear hold your legs tight, believing that maybe this could be a cruel prank and that maybe the lights would turn on and you’d find family and friends laughing at your reaction. “Taeil.” You were shaking everywhere, the name quietly falling on your lips.

We all fall down

“I'm here my love,” the singing stopped. Taeil whispered right behind you, the shiver running down your spine telling you he was the last person you needed right now.

But by then it was too late, the piercing knife went through your back and all you could do was watch. Watch as you fall to the ground, Taeil pulling the knife out in the process and the blood beginning to pool around you ever so slowly. All you could do was listen, listen as Taeil began humming the tune of your favorite song as he wiped the blood on the knife off on you.

[be-ready-when-i-say-go]

In Sorrow and In Joy- Part 2: Second Chances

Luke learns the hard way what it means to be a dad and how to keep his family safe and together. Dad!Luke with a South Asian Reader. This is a collaborative experience with A Family of Five.

CW: Over the course of this series, themes of racism and prejudice on the basis of religion are present. Please read or skip as necessary.

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______________________________

Luke stares up at the brick building. He knows he should go in; he wants to go in. But his legs are terrified. Going in means admitting he has a problem. Going in means admitting his wife and child have left him. Going in means he can no longer bury himself in his woes, in alcohol, in chasing down his youth. Going in also means getting back his wife, no, technically ex-wife. Luke wants his ex-wife back. His wants his princess back. But he has to go in, he has to tell some stranger all his problems. He wants his family back. 

 Luke unbuckles himself, exhaling as he opens the car door. He can do this. He can walk into that office. He can walk through that door, tell the receptionist he has an appointment. He can do this. “Good afternoon, sir,” the receptionist greets. 

“Afternoon. I have an appointment at 2:30 with Dr. Johnson,” Luke says. “Hemmings, Luke Hemmings.”

The woman nods, clicking at her keyboard. She grabs an iPad. “Alright, we need you to fill out this questionnaire right quick. And once you finish that, he’ll be right with you.”

Luke nods, a small smile crossing his face. He takes the iPad and turns to the chairs. There are only two other people waiting. Luke settles against the back wall, towards the end of the row, right next to the stack of magazines. This corner feels safe, feels like no one is watching him. Though the receptionist is sitting directly across from him. But she’s busy filling, messing with paperwork. 

He fills out his name, states his reason for the visit and then starts answering the questions. His hands start to shake. On a scale, rate how much these are like you from Not at All, to Very Much Like Me. He’s praying alcohol doesn’t come up; he prays they don’t ask him about depression, anxiety. The first few questions are about anger, coping with it. Those aren’t too bad; those are easy to answer. Until he gets to I feel overwhelmed, or nervous, most days of the week. 

Luke sighs. He feels fucking overwhelmed right now. Very Much Like Me, he taps the corresponding box. He scrolls down. Shit, this is the stuff he was trying to hide. He could run; he would return the iPad and walk out the fucking door. He wouldn’t have to sit here, becoming a puddle of sweat. He grips the arm of the chair, forcing air out through his nostrils. Running is the exact behavior that landed him here. He always runs. There’s nowhere else to run. He can’t run to alcohol; he can’t run to parties. He can’t run to drugs. Escapism is the biggest lie. Luke is stronger than that. He has to be stronger than it, has to know the true demon that lurks beneath the veil. 

Finished with the questionnaire, Luke walks back to the window and hands the iPad over. “Dr. Johnson will be with you shortly,” she smiles at him. 

How the fuck can she smile like this, all the time, Luke wonders. Maybe it’s helpful for some. Maybe it makes them feel normal. Everyone knows what’s happening in that waiting room; everyone knows that some kind of invisible demon is haunting the people that sit in these chairs. Settling back into his seat, Luke picks at his nails. The gel polish is mostly gone. Occasionally he’ll pick too deep and nick his nail. This is nerve-wrecking. This is worse than when he stood outside the front door, knowing just on the other side there were going to be divorce papers. 

He overheard you once a couple months earlier on the phone. He knew his fate was sealed. He didn’t fight it. He should’ve. He should’ve raised hell. He should’ve promised then to get help. But Luke knew that promise was hollow, even though it never left his lips. That promise to you would’ve been so hollow it would’ve echoed in that bedroom. It would’ve shattered your heart, he’s sure. Because you would’ve sat there and watched him break that promise over and over and over. But he’d keep giving you hollow words. It’s a good thing you left him. He hates not waking up to your curls in his face. He hates eating the food he makes, he can’t every season it like you. He hates not hearing Zahra’s squeals. His apartment is so fucking quiet. 

He’s never home because of the silence. It is not home, honestly. It could never be a home without the two of you. “Mr. Hemmings,” a soft voice calls out. 

Luke looks up from god-awful navy blue and red dotted carpet to this voice. An elderly man stares back, a smile resting on his face. Luke grips the arms of the chair for maybe a second too long before pushing to his feet. “How are you?” Dr. Johnson asks as he approaches. 

Terrified, exhausted, angry, hurt. “Alright,” Luke answers. “You?”

“I’m good. Thanks for asking.” 

Luke follows behind the graying man, past offices with door shut. He can’t hear what’s happening behind them. But he has an idea. In Dr. Johnson’s office, Luke settles into the couch, brown leather with a throw pillow in it. It’s low to the floor. Luke feels a tad more secure as his knees press damn near his chest. It’s like the fetal position, his body closing in on him. The leather jacket and leather seat are going to make for a hot combination, for the moment, Luke welcomes the uncomfortable heat. It reminds him that he’s here for a reason, that he’s got to fix himself--for his family, for his child, for himself. 

“So,” Dr. Johson says, after tapping away at the computer and pulling out a notebook. He settles into the other low seated chair across from Luke. “I read that your here to get help. Care to explain a bit more for me?”

Luke swallows, throat closing. He needs so much help, so much fucking help. “I need to get my family back,” he answers softly. “My wife left me, took our daughter too. She had every right to leave. I fucked up. I want them back.”

“Are you only getting better for them?”

Luke shakes his head, tears threatening to take over his vision. “I’m tired of running. I wanted to stop years ago. It just took losing everything for me to realize that.”

“Tell me what happened. What are you running from? What are you running to?”

The air is his lungs rushes out past his lips. He’s been running from so much. He’s been running to all the wrong things. “I love my family. But I had a kid before I was ready. I ran from that straight to the bottle. I haven’t had a drink in two weeks, but I know I could easily slip. I don’t want to slip again.”

Dr. Johnson nods, scratching something down on the legal pad. “Well, I’m proud of you getting that far. If you’re serious about help, I can help you. You’re on the right track, taking the right steps.”

__ Zahra runs to the door, after hearing the doorbell ring. It’s Friday night, she knows it’s Luke coming over for dinner. You slide the pan out of the oven, shouting. “Ra, wait!” For the past three and a half months, Luke comes over for family dinners. You didn’t want to completely rip Zahra away from Luke. That was her father, she needed him. He needed Zahra too. It keeps him sane, the highlight of his week is coming over for dinner. She gushes about what’s happening at daycare; her friends. She shows him all her latest drawings. After setting the pan onto the table, you walk over to the door where Ra bounces in joy. Luke stands on the other side of the door, you gather from the glance into through the peephole. 

Opening the door, Ra runs to her dad, “Daddy!”

He laughs, showing one hand to her. “Hey, baby girl.” No matter how many times you open that door for Luke, the reunion always makes your heart swell, your eyes a tad watery. Does Zahra hate you for doing this? For putting the three of you into separate houses? You hope she doesn’t. You pray the weekly visits help. 

Luke looks up from his squat, unveiling a small bag to you. “It’s for Zahra, but I don’t want to forget to give it,” he says. 

With a nod, you take it and he collects the little girl into his free arms, walking into your place. This feels like home to him. It’s not the old house, you didn’t want it and neither did he. He’s not sure who the new owners are, he doesn’t care. The only thing he knew was that too many ghosts lived in that house for him, too many nights of him staying downstairs, stumbling over himself, cursing himself for being too loud. You couldn’t bare to waking up in such a huge bed without his soft snores. You didn’t want to eat breakfast at the same counter you handed divorce papers over. 

Zahra clings to her father, face buried in his pale neck. He still smells the same, she thinks. This is still her dad, though he’s not in the same home as her. Though the only person when the nightmares scare her is her mother. “Can you stay the night, Daddy?” she whispers. “I miss you.”

The bag falls into the couch cushion from your fingers. You knew she missed him. You knew she knew how empty the place was without him. She had just never said that to you. She had never uttered the words to express how much she felt her father’s absence. “Oh,” Luke starts, turning to you. The door closes with a soft thud. “Uh,” he’s waiting for you to jump in. He’d love to stay, but this is your house. These are your rules. He can’t make that call. 

Heart thundering in your chest, you tuck some hair behind your ear quickly. Luke knows that tick--a nervous twitch, one full of panic. “What are you doing over the weekend?” you ask. 

Luke freezes, he wasn’t moving before. But now his muscles seize up on him. Most weekends he goes to the pier, watches the wave. The beach has become a solace for him now. He goes there, goes to the studio to write, then goes home. His life is slowly coming together; he’s learning how to be by himself. “Nothing,” he finally answers. 

“Take her for the weekend. She has Brittany’s birthday party at 2 tomorrow, at their house. But that’s it.”

“I’m not--,” he starts. You shake your head, waving a hand to dismiss his statement. He’s taken her the day, on small trips to just hang out. The courts have left that up to your discretion. But overnight, weekends, Luke gave up. He wanted to get his head on straight before taking those rights. He has to check in at 6 months into therapy before the courts will rule on whether he can have weekends. 

 “I know you have another two and a half months before evaluation, I don’t care. Take her for the weekend.” 

He’s laid in bed at night, wishing to take her home with him, staying up until she passes out underneath blanket forts, having her on his shoulders as they walk around the zoo, helping her with whatever work she was learning at the time. He misses those soft moments with her. He needs those moments back. That’s the whole reason he doesn’t keep a bottle in his house, why he doesn’t stay out long with the boys. Because the later the night goes, the more tempted he is to just have one drink. One of the boys always sees him out, he calls Ashton usually, when he gets home. It’s a system--it works. He’s thankful for it. 

“Are you serious, Mommy?” Zahra questions. 

You nod, looking over to it. She’s not a spitting image of you, some features taking more after Luke, but brown chubby cheeks are lifted in a smile like yours. “I’m serious, sweetie.”

“I don’t wanna go to Brittany’s party,” she says. 

“We already got her a gift and said we were going. You have to go.”

“But I don’t want to be away from Daddy.”

“I’ll be there, sweetheart. The entire time,” Luke interjects. He doesn’t want to be away from his princess either. 

During dinner, Zahra and Luke plan what other activities they can do over the two days--the movies they can watch, if they should go to the bookstore to find the new book she wants or if ice cream is a better idea. Zahra suggests both, Luke reaches over, running his fingers through her hair and agrees. 

Zahra drags Luke behind her, to help her pack her bag for the adventure to his house. Luke finds her bag. “Two outfits,” he directs, opening the dresser to pull out socks and underwear. He hasn’t stocked his place with clothes just yet. She has a few things, mainly just in case she has an accident. Her room was already fully decorated. The first room he completed, it was way too early. But he wanted to make sure that was perfect for her, that she knew she was loved and welcomed by him still. 

Zahra hands Luke her choice clothes and he slides them into the bag. She grabs her favorite stuffed teddy bear, survey her room. “Shoes, baby girl. Which ones?” he asks, looking at the collection her closet. 

With a nod, she walks over and picks out a pair, glittery and blue. Satisfied that everything is packed, they walk back up front. She give you a hug. “Love you,” she whispers. 

“Love you too. Be good for Daddy.”

She nods, smiling. “Of course.”

Luke stands near the door, the pink backpack on his shoulders. “Thank you,” he says. You don’t have to do this. Both of you know you can’t ever mention this, know you’ll have to bribe Zahra to keep quiet about this. But his chest is full again. 

“No need to thank me. She’s your kid too.”

It’s only after they have left do you realize that the bag for Zahra is still on the couch. You don’t dare peek inside. Instead you put it on her bed for when she returns. Being with her father is a much better gift anyhow. 

__ As you’re picking Zahra up after your last lecture of the day, your phone rings. You don’t answer, don’t even look to see who it is. Until you get home. There’s a voicemail from Luke. You listen to it, pulling your bag from the front seat. “I know you’re probably driving right now. But I was wondering if I could get Ra tomorrow, just for the day. There’s a festival in town--we’re not playing. Some friends are, just wanted to take her with me if that’s okay. Talk to you soon.”

Zahra watches you from the front seat, shocked at your long silence. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. Dad’s coming to get you tomorrow for the day,” you smile back at her.  She cheers in her carseat, the rest of her evening made. You call him back, agreeing to let her go for the day. One day out of daycare is not going to hurt her. While Zahra floats on cloud nine, you are a nervous wreck. Luke’s pulling himself together. Only two more weeks until his first eval and your gut tells you, he’s going to do well with no problem. 

You watch him at family dinners, the way he’s never overstepping, but firm. He always has to warn about the veggies, she’s a bit of stubborn about them. You listen to the way she talks about her days with him, the way she talks about just laying on the couch with him, watching movies, the way he listens to her days, the way they color together. She gets huffy when he reminds her of manners, and patience, almost as if she’s not quite realized that Luke will always discipline her about those things no matter what. He’s still her parent, even if he’s not there 24/7. 

Getting Zahra ready is tough. She bounces all over the place, excited to get some time with her dad. It makes you happy, but when Luke knocks to pick her up, she’s still not dressed. Which is not ideal. You open the door, letting Luke in. He’s in white button up, though some of the button’s aren’t done, skinny jeans and a leather jacket. Suddenly the urge to kiss him hits you, but you swallow it back down. This isn’t his normal attire for coming over. You never lost attraction to him, but this look surely makes it a bonfire instead of a burning candle. 

Even with the mild distraction, you’re able to focus on the tasks at hand. “She’s being a bit rambunctious today. She’s dressed, just needs to finish eating and brush her teeth.”

Luke nods, with a smile. His face is fuller now too. On his walk over to the dining room table, his fingers brush over yours. Zahra rushes down the rest of her meal, wanting to head out as soon as possible. You collect the bowl, rinsing out in the Luke. 

“Brush your teeth. I’m timing for the whole two minutes,” he says to Zahra. She groans but runs to the bathroom. 

You can feel Luke’s gaze burning holes in the back of your head. What does he want? His presence closes in on you, the warmth from his scolding your back almost. “I know I really fucked up,” he starts. 

Do not turn around, you warn yourself. “You’re human.”

“No, but I really fucked up. I ran from my responsibility when I shouldn’t have. I made you effectively a mother of two, trying to baby me and raise an actual baby. I can’t promise I won’t stumble, that I won’t make other mistakes. I just need you to know that you handing me those divorce papers was the wake up call I needed. I’m sorry for making you got through that. I’m sorry for acting like a child instead of speaking up.”

His hand wraps gently around your wrist, warm and firm. Pulling you from the counter, he turns you, blue eyes meeting brown. You swear for a second the air leaves your chest. His remorse swims behind his eyes. “I’m asking this kind of early, I know. I’m not hundred percent okay. I’m not ready to jump back into the deep end. But I just need to know, do you really believe in second chances? Would you really take me back?”

You nearly went to the ends of the earth for this man. You ran yourself crazy, but you love him. You love him. Luke takes your silence for a moment, but panic hits him in his chest. “I love you, I never stopped loving you.” His hand cups your cheek. The feeling of him against your skin makes your toes curl. 

“I believe in second chances,”  you sigh, eyes fluttering close. “I’m not a liar. I will take you back.”

His body exhales, Luke closes his eyes for a moment, head dropping towards yours. Foreheads resting against each other, you can’t help but inhale his cologne. He feels all too familiar as you step into him, gently resting a hand against his hip. “Can I kiss you?” he breathes, the smell of mint falling into your nostrils. 

You should say no, but your body aches for him. “Yes.”

His lips find yours, softly pressing together. Someone swallows the other’s sigh of relief. One hand curls around his elbow, the other digging into the fabric of his jeans. Luke pulls away, only a tad hovering right above your lips. It would be so easy to kiss him again. He pulls back again, heart racing in his chest. He wonders if it will burst. 

“Are you and Mommy getting back together?” Zahra asks. The two of you clear your throat, smoothing clothes. 

He leans against the fridge, biting on his lip. He wants too, just not right now. He’s not in the right headspace fully, there’s still so much work for him to do on himself. Luke glances over to you. The shrug pulls your shoulders up for a moment before releasing it. He bends down. “Give Daddy some more time. I’m getting help and soon, maybe Mommy and I can talk about that. But I still love you, you know that right?”

The sparkle in Ra’s eyes dulls. She hates watching him leave. She wants him to stay. “I know,” she answers. She looks up at her father. He looks so much happier, so much better. She likes him like this. “Just keep getting better, Daddy, please?”

Wrapping her in a hug, Luke feels the tears running down his cheek. “I will, baby girl. Daddy promises to keep getting better.”

[theres-no-protocol-for-this]

Dinner and a Cat

The cat was nowhere to be seen when I got home that afternoon, and the back door was slightly ajar. I turned off the TV, put away groceries, and made myself a giant mug of hot chocolate.

Honestly, because I could.

A couple of friends had texted me while I’d been out, and I invited them over for dinner. Still, there was time to enjoy some delicious beverage in silence before I needed to start cooking. I wanted to savor the silence.

I work in the retail industry, and some people really have a thing about their morning drink. It’s scary, actually. It’s a coffee, lady. So, when I don’t have to work, I like spending my time with people and things that don’t turn into “Karen” at the slightest provocation.

A cool autumn breeze swept down the street as I stood on my front porch, cradling my mug like it was my first-born child. The forecast for the evening promised rain, which would quickly turn to snow — first of the season — so my mind wandered toward the cat. Would it end up spending the night outdoors? Worry settled in the pit of my stomach.

“If you’re out there, kitty, you’re welcome back anytime,” I said to no one in particular.

I mean, I talk to things. OK?

And a few minutes later, it hopped onto the porch as if summoned and sat on the welcome mat. In the daytime, it still looked like it could use about a month’s worth of decent meals, but when the black furball wasn’t shivering, it looked a lot more alive.

“Hey, buddy,” I said.

It hissed at me.

“Not a fan of ‘buddy,’ huh? Yeah, me neither. It doesn’t suit you.”

“Meow.”

“How about Kai? That was the name of my favorite cartoon character when I was a kid.”

“Meow.”

I nodded to myself. “For a cat, you’re basically a genius, so if you’re cool with it, I’m cool with it. I got some real chicken. I mean… I got cat food, obviously, but also actual chicken. I’ll make you some. It’ll probably taste better than kibble anyway.”

The cat got up from my welcome mat and walked into the house, at which point it walked around both floors once. I’d never seen a cat patrol its territory before; Tasha had been an entirely indoor cat. The idea of sharing with anyone had never crossed that kitten’s mind. Kai, on the other hand, took its sweet time and then settled down on the couch.

“Meow.”

Ah, right, the cat wants to watch Netflix. Good thing it doesn’t cost any extra to just have it going in the background all day. I restarted whatever drama was on — in Korean at that — and then headed to the kitchen.

***

Nat and Em came over around seven. By then, I’d cooked up a bit of a storm. I love cooking; it’s what I do when I need to relax. I am not much of an eater, though, so it was nice to have company over.

Nat’s a software engineer for a large aerospace company, and Emily basically performs magic with clay and her hands. We’ve known each other since we were in middle school, although we’d drifted apart when we all headed off to different colleges. It was sheer luck that all three of us now lived in the state and had time to see each other occasionally.

The doorbell rang, and Kai sat up like it was expecting trouble.

“It’s my friends,” I told it — like it was important for the weird furball to know who was at the door.

I wiped my hands clean on an apron and sprinted to let whoever it was in. Natalie Gomez stood on the other side, stunning as always. It doesn’t matter what the woman wears; she always looks like she’s got her shit together. That evening, Nat was wearing a fancy turtleneck sweater and hip-hugging jeans. And she has a lot of beautiful hips in need of hugging.

“Love the sweater,” I said as I gestured for her to come inside. We hugged because she’s a hugger, and there’s no escape. “How’s it going?”

“Eh, you know. Same shit, different day. Oh my god, your place smells amazing.”

I let go, and she bounced inside. Shrugging, I muttered, “You know me. Stress cooking.”

“Yeah, but you’re talented. And I’m not just saying that, either. Hey, looks like you got a new cat.”

I closed the door and followed Nat into the living room. “More like, it adopted me last night. I don’t think it’s dangerous, but maybe give it some space.”

“Does he bite?”

“I don’t even know that it’s a ‘he,’ honestly.” I grabbed a bottle of wine out of the fridge. “Want a glass of um… something red?”

The brown-eyed engineer came over and leaned against the cabinets. “Shit, yes, please. Sorry, it’s been a week. We’re releasing a new product, and that’s always stressful.”

“Well, take a seat, drink some wine, and food should be done in minutes.”

Nat accepted the offered glass and took a gulp. “What about you? How’s Iris doing?”

“Uh, just doing… I guess.” Mom had been on my mind all day, but I wasn’t going to ruin the evening talking about stuff I couldn’t change. “Work’s been busy, and I think I need to make time to go see my family this holiday season.” I tried a smile on for size. “But you know, good stuff, too. I got the library internship, and that starts in a week.”

“Good for you! I remember you gushing about that. I’m so glad everything worked out. Are you still going to work at the cafe?”

I frowned. “I’m not sure, to be honest. The money’s better at the cafe, but I can’t work eighty hours a week, either.”

“No, you can’t. And you have got to take care of you.” Nat smiled. “Look, even Mr. or Mrs. Kitty thinks so.”

Kai had gotten up from its comfy perch on the couch and came over to sit by my feet. I looked down at the curious furball and said, “I bet you’re hungry. How about some seared chicken?”

I’d always cooked for Tasha because I like cooking, and my princess of a cat had enjoyed eating the food I made. I remember spending hours on Google, looking at cat-friendly recipes. After I’d first adopted Tasha, Dr. Hopkins spent a week straight reassuring me that cats were carnivores and could survive on a steady supply of live mice.

So, cooking for Kai was pretty much a matter of pulling out the old recipe book, picking something that sounded interesting, and then making it happen. I arranged the food on a long, narrow plate and set it down on the floor in a kitchen corner, away from us humans. The furball sniffed at the food and then went for it.

“You said it adopted you?” Nat gestured at the cat with her wine glass.

“Something like that. I mean, it was out on my porch last night, and it’s come back into the house a couple of times now.”

“I think you should go back to the shelter and get yourself another pet.”

“I keep thinking about it, and I don’t know, I’m just not home enough to really give a pet the love it deserves.”

“I thought cats were independent,” said the human who never actually had any pets and didn’t want them. Nat had her husband and her girlfriend, and that was enough for her.

I shrugged. “I mean, this sweetheart, maybe. Most cats need at least some attention.”

From the corner, the cat hissed at me like it knew I’d called it a sweetheart. The doorbell rang again, and Nat waved at me to stay put. “I’ll get it. It’s probably Emily.”

A few moments later, a familiar wan face appeared in the kitchen doorframe. Sammy, age three, followed by his mother, Emily, who looked absolutely beat. I knew she worked crazy hours during the fall semester — she taught at a local art college, made pottery, and volunteered for a local nonprofit. And she had a little boy she was raising by herself.

“Hey, Sammy!”

“Good evening, Miss Iris,” said the polite, dark-eyed kiddo. “Ooh, kitty.”

“Can you do me a huge favor?” I asked the little boy.

“Yeah!”

“Can you give kitty a little space tonight? It’s shy.”

Kai hissed at me again but didn’t budge from its food. The boy looked at the cat, all wide-eyed and interested, but his mom put a hand on his shoulder. I handed Emily a glass of wine and gave her a mercifully brief hug. I hadn’t seen Em for the better part of two months, and I suspected she needed a girls’ night out.

“Thanks,” the redhead whispered.

I gave her a thumbs up and checked on the oven. “Well, dinner is basically done. Why don’t you three get comfortable on the couch, and I’ll bring over the tasty, tasty food.”

“Let me give you a hand,” Nat offered. “Meanwhile, Em can tell us all about her students this semester.”

From the living room, Emily groaned. “Don’t get me started. I swear college students nowadays can’t get their noses out of their cellphones long enough to look at fine art.”

I dished up some steamed and seasoned vegetables onto individual plates. I also decorated Sam’s plate while his mother regaled us with her horror stories. Kai finished its dinner but hung around the kitchen, not quite underfoot. I wondered if it didn’t like all the extra company. Tasha had been the star of the show, but I’d met shy cats before; not every animal liked being around humans it didn’t know.

We sat on the floor around the coffee table in the living room and had dinner. Nat shared with us some of her latest hiking adventures. Sammy demonstrated his ability to count to ten. Emily cheered him on. The cat settled down on the floor beside me, close enough that I could feel its warm presence, and stayed there for the duration of the evening.

For a brief moment, I could forget the troubles that haunted my waking hours and just enjoy some pleasant conversation.

And then, life went to hell, starting with the burglar-wanna-be.