#don’t be fooled…this is melancholy

[aureatchi]

soon !! :)

[euelios]

got into GRAAAAD SCHOOOOOL

with FUUUUUUNDIIIIING

[rockingbytheseaside]

Hihi!, This is my first request of something like this but here we go! Male harbingers with a reader who has constant nightmares/episodes of sleep paralysis and proceed to comfort them through the process. Obviously you don’t gotta do it if you don’t have the time, just wanted to put this little headcannon out into the world!

(I swear I’m not dead! I was busy graduating and enrolling in my next uni studies!)

✦ How they comfort you when you wake up from a nightmare

Pierro, Capitano, Dottore, Scaramouche, Pantalone, Childe.

In the darkest depth of our consciousness, even we do not possess sovereignty over our dreams. Be it a curse or a blessing, your mind can become your foe. As thoughts and memories convulse into pleasant dreams or horrid nightmares, you end up with the dreaded sense of despair as you witness your own mind betraying you, and waking up with a cold sweat. Tossing and turning, there is only a certain pair of arms that can soothe you in the dimness of such nights - your beloved’s embrace. 

✧ Pierro knows you’re having a nightmare before you even wake up. On a quiet night, when he is sitting beside you in bed, either reading or engrossed in some papers, you’d doze off beside him. But on such nights, he discerns the unease written on your sleeping face. Eyebrows furrowed, lips pursed or softly scowling. The Jester sets whatever he is reading aside and shifts his calculated attention towards you. You start silently tossing as if the very softness of the covers is heavy on you. Pierro sighs, his hand softly coming to rest on your forehead to confirm his suspicion - you are warm, yet breaking out into a cold sweat.

“Dear, shh… open your eyes, slowly now.” - he whispers, as his hands slowly yet deliberately caress your face. “You are having a nightmare again.” 

And indeed, you open your eyes; your dazed expression is one of puzzlement yet evident fear. Pierro knows your first few minutes of waking up from a nightmare are delicate. Through the haze, your first instinct is to seek refuge in the safety of the arms holding you, knowing to who it belongs already. You turn towards him, letting him pull you against his chest. 

 “…Your mind is wary and played tricks on you. You're here now. Breathe.” - you kept your eyes closed, too worn out to get up or speak about your nightmare. Thus, you focused on Jester’s words, breathing deeply as the sound of his heartbeat was navigating you to inhale and exhale. 

You didn't have to explain your nightmares to Pierro - he already knows they mirror the horrors of the cataclysm he once witnessed. Therefore, he squeezes you tightly against him, his lips pressed against your forehead. With silent words of comfort, Pierro continued his vows to protect you, even from your nightmares. 

✧ Il Capitano kneeled beside your bed, akin to a dutiful knight. You lay there, asleep, your wounds and gashes carefully bandaged. This wasn't your first time returning from a prolonged expedition, battle scars and bruises coloring your skin. After all, he often warns you not to be reckless, while you stubbornly return home with bruises. 

Hence, he silently remained beside you, his fists clenched and shoulders taut. His pitch-black helmet stared at you for a prolonged time, anxiously keeping watch of your deep slumber. The Captain's mind reeled, chastising himself for not being there to protect you. But suddenly his attention was diverted as you started to mutter in your sleep. 

It was incomprehensible and lasted only a fleeting second before you jolted up with a sudden gasp, urgently grappling for breath.

“My beloved, what is the matter?” - Capitano rushed towards your side, his arm immediately around your shoulder. “Focus on breathing, steady your heart.”

You wake up, eyes wide with shock and gasping for life, like a fool rescued from drowning. You stared at your beloved in confusion, before your face sourced in melancholy. Il Capitano let you hide your face against him, his arms carefully wrapped around you to avoid pressing your bruises. He sensed your shoulders shaking, small sobs emitting from you - and that sound alone could make the steadfast Harbinger crumble. His hands brush your messy hair aside, offering soothing comfort.

“I shall hold you, my dear. These were only illusions brought about by your fatigue and injuries… It’s all safe now, I am here.” - Capitano squeezed you in his embrace as if his larger frame could shield you from harm. However, in truth, his words aimed to reassure not only you but also himself. Despite his vigilance, his hands trembled whenever he witnessed your distress, fear, or unease. "What did you see, my love?"

You sniffled, recounting the blurry bits of your nightmare. Although you were regaining your breath, you felt how Capitano’s hand trembled, his stern expression faltering with concern. Even you could tell that he was more nervous about your disposition, maybe even more than you. 

“You saw such horrible visions due to your fatigue. I did not shield you from your wounds and nightmares. I shan’t forgive myself for my failure. From here on out, allow me to remedy it.” 

✧ At an ungodly hour of the night, Il Dottore returned to his private chambers. With the long hours of working in the lab behind him, he entered the bedroom quietly, expecting to see you fast asleep. Instead, he noticed the bathroom door ajar, allowing a streak of light to seep into the dark room, and the faint sound of tap water running caught his attention. Most importantly, you were not in bed. 

“It’s rare to see you awake at this hour…” - the Doctor remarked as he stood by the bathroom doorway, observing you cool your face with water. “Why are you not asleep?”

“I…couldn’t sleep.” - you replied briefly, yet your fatigue was evident as you tapped your face with a towel.

The Harbinger did not buy your lies, he carefully stepped closer, his gloved hands placed softly onto your shoulders. “Turn around. Look at me.” 

You did so, and no words were necessary as he analyzed your sorrowful gaze: reddened eyes, darkened circles, and an ashan look of despair bestowed on you. The Harbinger sighed, keenly aware that you had woken from another harrowing dream. His hands now gently caressed your cheek, thumb trailing softly.

“Another nightmare?” - he inquired in a hushed tone, “Staying awake won’t resolve it, you know. Let’s get you back to bed.” 

You wished to object, but Dottore had already sprung into full work mode. He brought you back to bed, deftly fixing the tousled pillows and covers to your liking. Once you were tucked, he instructed quickly: “Now stay here. I will brew some chamomile tea. It will help your slumber.” 

Thus, with his coat removed and sleeves rolled up to the forearms, he moved through the house, swiftly ensuring that your resting area exuded comfort and tranquility. Returning with the steaming tea, he placed the cup on the nightstand and sat on the edge of the bed. “Careful now, it’s still hot. Do you want me to give you sleeping p-” 

“I’m not ill, Dottore. It was just… a nightmare. Nothing more.” 

“Yet your expression says it wasn’t ‘just’ a nightmare, and your heartbeat is accelerating.” - His hand ran over your forehead, instinctively checking for your temperature. “It’s just a dream. You're awake now. Don’t exhaust yourself anymore - it’s usually my job to stay late, actually.” 

You huffed at him but managed a faint smile. “Undoubtedly… And what would the doctor prescribe for my ailment?” 

Il Dottore smirked proudly, planting a much-needed kiss on your cheek before finally scooting beside you in bed - “Why, a dose of me, of course!” 

✧ The moment Scaramouche perceived the sound of your distress in the dead of night, he swiftly flung the sliding shoji door aside, prepared for murder. But there was no intruder or attacker, it was just you, sitting up on your futon, softly weeping. The confused Balladeer stepped into your room, kneeling beside you as his mind invoked the worst scenarios already.

“What happened? I heard a scream.”

For a moment you tried to regain your breath, gulping. Only after regaining your composure, and hearing much coaxing to tell the truth, did you finally reveal to him what transpired. It was a nightmare, plain and simple. For a moment, Scaramouche was silent. He is no stranger to dreams, particularly the ones that bring tears to the dreamer. Instead, he resented them, viewing dreams as the root of his vulnerabilities and the reason for his estrangement.

But witnessing you weep after a nightmare? It was a foreign feeling, one that left a foul pit in his being.

“Hey, calm down.” - he whispered, reaching for you. At first, the Harbinger wasn’t sure how to handle this, but he persisted nonetheless. “It was all just a dream. A jumble of thoughts made up by your mind, Do not allow such a thing to haunt your sleep.”

“I'm sorry, Scara… I know, It’s foolish to cry. I just-”

The 6th shushed you, but when you tried to glance at him in the dark, you sensed no mockery or animosity in his gaze. “I didn't say you should stop crying. It’s not foolish either.”

With a deep sigh, Scaramouche begrudgingly crawled beside you under the covers. He made sure you were lying down beside him, pulling the covers over you both. "Okay, listen. I will stay with you while you fall back asleep. Only this time! So don't expect a bedtime story."

His irritation veiled his concern for your weary expression. But thankfully, his words managed to elicit a chuckle to your sleepy face. He watched you lay on your side, his fingers idly toying with the ends of your hair.

"Say, Scaramouche...? Do puppets have bad dreams?"

The Balladeer did not think much of your innocent question. He didn't have to contemplate long to let his memories resurface; instead, he just nodded quietly with no elaboration. Regardless, that simple question from you kept haunting his mind for years to come. As Wanderer sat alone in bed, the torturous grip of dreams clutching him anew, he no longer had you beside him. The reassurance he once provided while spending sleepless nights with you was absent, just as you were no longer there to offer the same. 

✧ When you jolted up with a yelp, you likely caused a bigger fright to Pantalone than your own nightmare instilled in you. The Harbinger rose from his slumber, turning the nightstand lamp with half-shut eyes.

“Oh dearie, Shhh… It’s alright, all is good,” - he tugged at you with trepidation, pulling you close to him in bed. “I’ve never seen you so frightened from a dream. There, there.” 

You honestly felt ashamed at first, but both of you understood the uncontrollable nature of nightmares, especially if they caused you to scream in the awakened world. So here you were, hiding your face behind your palms while your beloved hugged you, hoping to provide solace. Once you came out of your shock, you just rested against his shoulder quietly. Once the shock subsided, you remained leaning against his shoulder in silence. However, the lingering taste of the nightmare left a sour impression on your mood, as you found yourself unable to drift back into slumber. 

Pantalone observed your despondent demeanor, his arm still encircling your shoulders - “Do you think you can fall back asleep, honey?”  

“... I’m sorry, Pantalone. I woke you up, too. Now I feel embarrassed.” 

“Nonsense, dear. An unpleasant dream does that sometimes. You’re just… shaken by the memories of your nightmare, and now unable to fall back asleep.” - The Regrator brought the covers closer over your figure, while your head leaned on his shoulders. “Do you want me to make you something? Maybe coffee, or valerian root tea with honey?” 

“No, no. Can you just… keep talking for a while?” - you requested in a sudden coy manner, “You can talk about anything. I want to hear you speak.” 

“Hm, very well,” - Pantalone smiled fondly and reached for his glasses on the nightstand. “I think I have just the idea.” 

Reaching for a book he usually reads before bed, the Harbinger scooted closer, ensuring the open pages were visible to you. Pantalone knew that what troubled you did not require in-depth words or solutions. Instead, you sought a distraction from your troubled mind. Something to keep your saddened thoughts at bay while he spoke about whatever he could think of. 

“Then allow me to read for you while you rest easy, okay? Ahem…”

In the dimly illuminated bedroom, you found solace in the soothing voice of your beloved, your gaze tracing the words on the pages as Pantalone remained engrossed in his reading aloud. You kept quiet and still, seeing him flip the pages as he continued. Soon enough, the gentle cadence of his voice ushered you into the embrace of sleep, and you yielded willingly back to slumber. Pantalone detected your drooping head and quietly closed the book before planting a kiss on your forehead.

"Sleep well, dear." 

✧ Tartaglia blinked at you, his countenance solemn as he sat upright in bed. You mirrored his gaze, knowing perfectly well what he would say. You could smell it a mile away.

“Let me beat them!”

“No,” - you crossed your arms.

“Let me beat whoever bothers you in your nightmares”

“For the last time, Ajax, you can’t physically ‘fight’ nightmares! It’s a nightmare, not a person!”

Such was the course of your evening. Startled from a haunting dream, you found Childe by your side, showing more concern for your welfare than you did yourself. Instead, he insisted on vanquishing your nightmares with his fists alone.

“Oh come on, you know I’m just joking. I saw you gasping for air after you woke up so abruptly; don’t blame me for being concerned.” - Childe rolled his eyes, gently pulling you to rest on his arms. “Tell me, what did you see?”

You sighed deeply, remaining apprehensive despite his humorous jabs. After much contemplation, you decided it would be worse if you recited your nightmares vocally. “It… It doesn’t matter. It was a nonsensical nightmare, nothing to ponder about.”

The Harbinger frowned softly, he knew you well enough when something troubled you. And it was clear you felt anguished by the recent dream you had. Pressing further would only exacerbate it, instead, he decided to annoy you in a different manner

“Well, next time you have a bad dream… Call out for me. In your dreams I mean!” - He stated with a big smile.

“...What?”

“Think about it! Something is bothering you while you’re dreaming - you call out for me, and I stop my dreams to come to your dream.”

“That’s ridiculous,” - you chuckled

“And then, you know, pow, pow!” - Childe mimicked the motion of fistfighting, pretending to punch some invisible opponent who could be your potential enemy in a nightmare. In the meantime, you started laughing even more. “And there you go! Your nightmares are now rainbows and sunshine.”

You knew well what Tartaglia was doing. He aimed to lift you out of your forlorn state by sharing lighthearted jokes - and it was working. Tartaglia watched you laughing silly as he made some childish remarks, feeling victorious to bring in that smile he adores oh so much. It was his method of alleviating the tensions in your mind, and it proved effective as the two of you snuggled in bed, entertained by amusing banter until your worries subsided. Then, and only then, would you release a contented sigh and allow yourself to drift back into slumber in the comforting embrace of your beloved.

[sincere1ystar]

Alone Again

peacekeeper coriolanus snow x fem! reader

You and Coriolanus have always had a complicated relationship, and before you can mend it fate makes a decision for you.

There were two men who lived within coriolanus snow. The first one was Officer Snow who held his head high and was highly respected among his fellow peacekeepers. The second one was your Coryo who came to your house every night in fragmented pieces. Yet you would always put him back together again while he whispered empty promises to you among his sobs.

He came fractured to you every night and you slowly put him back together every night. As the sunlight poured through the windows, he would be as good as new again. He left you a kiss on your cheek every morning before he put on his peacekeeper uniform and left before anyone noticed he was gone for too long. You were happy to see him at peace during the mornings, knowing that his melancholy would arise with the moon and he would come back to you bruised and broken yet again.

Sometimes you wondered how much longer you could put up with it all. Coriolanus sweared that your love could heal all his wounds. Love, that’s what shackled you to him. He truely knew you, he would trace over the little details over your skin that you never knew existed and somehow always knew what were you feeling by the look in your eyes. But he still kept himself so guarded around you, you could see it in the way all his expressions seemed calculated and how he sometimes bit his lip mid conversation, making sure to never reveal too much. Did you really know the man you loved?

Despite his flaws, you knew he loved you and you comforted yourself with the fact. He still made effort for your sake even when he was in vain. He would always come back to you, was it for your sake or because you were all he had left?You weren’t picky, you never received much love growing up so you latched onto what you could get and you refused to let go of Coriolanus even with calloused and scorched hands begging you to let go.

When the appearance of his footsteps on your doorstep was replaced with a letter, you don’t read too much into it at first. It was later than his normal arrival time and you decided to peek out the window to see if you could catch any sight of him. Instead you were met with a flimsy piece of paper that that didn’t even meet up to his presence. You opened it hoping it was just a warning that he would be coming home later than usual. Your face fell when you slowly unfolded the paper and realized that Coriolanus wasn’t just held up by his peacekeeper duties.

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

To my dearest,

It seems our path has come to an end. Not like I wanted it to, I avoided shortcuts and alternate routes. I always knew deep down we were on limited time, still like a foolish boy I pushed it down hoping for a miracle. Don’t hate me, fate is a cruel thing and set us up from the start knowing we would never stand a chance. Don’t wait up on me either, I won’t come back. Perhaps this was for the best, a soul as gentle as yours was never meant to be with my tainted one. I hope you’ll move on, it’ll be best for you and that’s all I’ll cared about from the start.

Forever and Always,

your Coryo

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

Even know that he was gone he was stil asking so much from you. “Dont hate me.. Don’t wait up on me.. I hope you’ll move on”. You should be angry, yet you can’t help it as tears slip from your eyes. You gave him everything you were, you gave him your being and soul all for a piece of paper with his written words on it. Your tears fall on the paper smearing the ink. Destroying the last memory you would ever have of him. Still, the letter couldn’t capture the way he always knew how to make up for his mistakes or the way his apologizes ran sweet through his mouth like honey. He had turned you into some sort of fool, crying your heart out over a man who could only offer you “I’m sorry’s” instead of “I do’s.

Too little too late.

[celli-ohs]

Show Must Go On

pairing: secret softie!park jongseong x reader

genre: high school au; crack, comedy, fluff

synopsis: When you told the waitress to give your compliments to the chef, you didn't expect the chef to come out and thank you personally, and you really didn't expect the chef to be your classmate Park Jongseong. Realizing how bad this could be, he has you keep it a secret. That shouldn't be too hard for you to do he thinks, but you're full of surprises- and slip-ups.

before you read: character profiles | sunghoon series

warnings: language, loser enhypen

word count: 2.7k

tag list (open): @ancnymcnzjy @melancholy-z @lamin143 @soobinbunnie5 @benny1989fredd @bbsantc

note: part 2 of my and scene! series, loosely based off en-drama.

Entry 001: 22/05/24

Believe it or not, but Park Jongseong wakes up at 5 am every morning, and has done so for the past three years of his life. His friends would have a fit if they heard that, as he was notoriously known for running late to class every single day.

His teachers wouldn’t believe him either, as Mr. Lee himself has chased Jongseong down one too many times for trying to sneak into first period half an hour late by hopping the side gate.

(Riki’s stupid April Fool’s prank had him up at 3 am, his dad thought he was going crazy for how early he was up that day.)

But it wasn’t like he was doing crimes or wasting time before school. No, Jongseong was busy working his ass off at the restaurant his family owned, prepping the kitchen before they opened at 7:30 am sharp.

“Fresh eggs are beautiful, aren’t they?” His mother smiles as Jongseong helps his father carry in the mounds of cartons of eggs the delivery driver just dropped off. She’s holding one of the brown eggs, admiring its color.

“They are,” He nods with a gentle smile. She chuckles and ruffles his bed hair. “Let’s go, we still need to wash and chop the cabbage for kimchi.” She tells him, and he follows her deeper into the kitchen.

Jongseong’s mornings were usually pretty peaceful. He and his parents prepare the restaurant for a long day ahead: making a fresh batch of kimchi to ferment, restocking ingredients, cleaning and pre-cutting meat, washing any leftover dishes, tidying up the restaurant- you name it, he’s done it.

He took pride in knowing he’s able to help and create not only delicious meals, but an enjoyable atmosphere for people to eat in.

“You better hurry, you still need to get ready for school.” His mother urges. They’d returned home to eat their own breakfast. Jongseong shovels his food down his throat (his mom made him scrambled soft tofu and eggs over rice).

“And didn’t you say you’ve still got some Biology homework to finish?” His dad asks, washing a plate.

His eyes widened. He did have a page left in his workbook. Crap.

“Gotta go bye!” Jongseong swallows the rest of his food, downing his drink in seconds before placing his dishes in the sink. “Don’t forget to brush your hair!” he hears his mother call, before he dashes upstairs to his bedroom.

15 minutes later Jongseong showered, changed out of his dirty work clothes into his school uniform, and is now struggling to blow dry his hair while simultaneously brushing his teeth.

He checks the clock, it’s 7:42. He had 18 minutes to get to school. If he ran, he could catch up to the guys, and maybe convince Jaeyun to help him with the last page of his Biology homework during lunch.

He rinses his mouth, and runs back to his room to stuff his books and binder into his bag. At the front door, he trips on his way out while slipping on his shoes.

Jongseong runs across the street, barging into the already bustling restaurant. He waves to a few regulars who greet him cheerily. “Mom?” He leans against the counter, calling out for her.

“I’m here! I made you lunch too,” She holds up the neat looking container, and he happily places it into his bag. “Have a good day at school alright? Don’t be late, I don’t know if I can handle another call from the office about you being tardy,” She warns him.

“Thanks, I’ll be fine,” He assures her. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

His mother nods, and pats his head. “Be safe, I love you.” She gives him a hug and kisses his cheek. Feeling embarrassed, he blushes, reeling back (he’d wipe his cheek if it weren’t for the fact he knows his mom would complain).

“Okay, see you later,” He grins, walking out.

“Bye son!” His dad cheers, sticking his head out from the kitchen window. Jongseong laughs before ducking out back onto the street.

He dashes down the road, running through smaller streets and alleys as fast as he can. His watch reads 7:50, he’s gonna need to speed it up. Jongseong decided to take a shortcut, sprinting through a park to save him some time.

“Hiya mister!” One of the little kids shouts as he goes down the slide. Jongseong chuckles and gives him a big wave as he darts past.

Going back on the main road, Jongseong decides to climb a fence and he’s happy to see on the other side a group of familiar boys, walking leisurely a few meters ahead. Perfect.

Jongseong leaps, landing a bit roughly, not bothering to dust himself off before jogging over to join his friends.

“Thought you’d never show,” Sunoo greets. “You need to stop sleeping in,” Sunghoon lectures. Instead of arguing, he just nods, rolling his eyes.

“Where’s Jungwon?” He asks, looking at the group to realize his best friend was nowhere to be found.

“What do you mean?” Heeseung looks at him, confused. “Jongseong has been late all week, he doesn’t know.” Riki answers.

“Remember Jungwon's president now? He has to come to school early,” Jaeyun fills him in, as they enter school through the front doors. With a groan, Jongseong nods, he’d forgotten about that.

Elections were last Friday, and two days ago on Monday, the results were posted. Jongseong had lost the position he wanted as Treasurer.

While initially upset, Jongseong saw the silver lining of it all. He had no idea how he would be able to juggle being on the student body council, and help his parents with the restaurant (on top of his grades… yikes).

Jungwon on the other hand, had miraculously won the position as Student Body President, his biggest fears coming true.

“They won’t even let me pass it off to Euijoo,” Jungwon sighs as he calls Jongseong a few nights ago. “I don’t even want to be president, Euijoo does! This has to be rigged, my speech was horrible. I literally told people to not vote for me!”

“So do we actually know if the votes were rigged?” Jongseong follows Jaeyun to his classroom. “Dude, Jungwon’s super popular. He’s friendly to everyone, funny, good looking, and down to earth. Who wouldn’t vote for him?”

“He’s like a breath of fresh air compared to all the uptight and strict past presidents” Sunghoon pops into the conversation. “Or at least that’s what my girlfriend told me.” He shrugs. “Oh geez, here we go again,” Jaeyun rolls his eyes.

Ever since Sunghoon got a girlfriend, he’s been insufferable. They’ve been dating for a total of one week and Sunghoon has made it very very apparent that he believes he’s the chosen one.

Before Sunghoon can argue, his girlfriend arrives, tackling the boy in a hug and distracting him for his friends. “Anyways” Jongseong clears his throat. “Jayeun, think you could help me finish my Biology homework at lunch?” The other boy eyes him, looking uninterested. “Do I have to?”

Jongseong huffs. “I’ll buy you a Yakult.” Jaeyun looks tempted. “Buy two and I’ll help.” Jongseong gives in, sighing with a nod while his friend smirks triumphantly. The warning bell rings and Jongseong begins to depart back to his class.

“And make sure they’re nice and cold!” Jaeyun calls out. Jongseong doesn’t even turn around as he gives him a thumbs up.

“Can’t you just do the entire thing for me?” Jongseong whines. “Not unless you buy me one more Yakult.” Jaeyun teases. Like hell he’d pay for another tiny overpriced yogurt cup, even if it was supposed to be good for you.

“Give me that,” He swipes his workbook back, trying to focus while Jaeyun laughs at him.

“Biology isn’t that hard,” Riki says as he takes a bite of his food. “Remind us again what’s your rank in your class?” Jongseong asks as he scribbles down an answer. Riki goes quiet, mumbling obscenities as Sunoo cackles at him. “He’s like five away from last,”

Someone suddenly throws their tray down onto the table, catching everyone by surprise.

“Look who finally arrived!” Riki’s mood flips and he graciously stands to bow, hands pointing to the empty spot beside him. “Your seat, your majesty!”

Jungwon doesn’t look the least bit excited as he sits down.

“Hey, we saw you on the intercom this morning! Good job on the announcements,” Heeseung smiles. “Thanks.” Jungwon’s eye twitches.

“That was so funny,” Riki begins to laugh. “Dude, Riki C and I were gonna piss our pants.”

Jungwon’s eyes turn sharp, he suddenly grabs Riki by the collar, scaring everyone at the table.

“I know where you live Nishimura, I will hunt you down and personally make your life a living hell. Your sister told me you still sleep with your baby blanket. Don’t test me.” Jungwon growls, and Jongseong has to step in and pull him away.

“Okay, calm down prez, you’ve got an entire cafeteria watching you.” He reminds his best friend. (Riki clutches his throat as he moves to sit next to Heeseung. The senior comforts him, petting his hair and whispering soothing words.)

Jungwon settles, now moping as he picks at his food. “If I have to sit through one more boring ass meeting, I don’t know what I’ll do, but I’m going crazy.” Jongseong eyes him as he finishes his workbook, stuffing it into his bag and pulling out the lunch his mom packed.

“Looks like I dodged a bullet,” He jokes, only to receive a glare from Jungwon. “Sorry,” he mumbles.

“Don’t stress out too much,” Heeseung says. “If you want, I can ask my sister to help you out. She’s the new secretary.”

Not only Jungwon, but the entire table, is silent as they stare at Heeseung for a total of seven seconds.

“Your sister is Lee Yunah?!” Jungwon hisses, voice lowering as he mentions the girl’s name.

“Yeah,” Heeseung frowns. “You guys didn’t know? Everyone says we look alike.”

But no one seemed to hear him, everyone was confused how someone so nice, friendly, and popular as Lee Yunah, was related to… well, Heeseung.

“I sit across from her in class, we talk all the time, she’s never mentioned you were her brother.” Sunoo looks shocked.

“I don’t know, we don’t really interact at school since we’re in different grades, so maybe that’s why?” Heeseung shrugs, continuing to eat his food.

That was definitely not the reason why.

“I think I can talk to her myself,” Jungwon mumbles. Heeseung doesn’t seem bothered.

“Hey!” Jaeyun suddenly speaks up. “I don’t have practice today, you guys wanna go to the arcade after school?”

Heeseung looks ecstatic at this. “Sure! I’d love to go!” Riki also looks more cheerful.

“Yeah, can my girlfriend come?” Sunghoon asks. “Eh, why not? She’s probably better at games than you anyways.” Jaeyun snickers while Sunghoon glares.

“Well I can’t, I’ve got to paint my tree.” Sunoo sighs. “Paint your what?” Jongseong swears he heard him wrong. “My tree costume. You guys do remember I'm Tree number two in the musical, right? We’re doing Wizard of Oz.”

“Oh really? I just thought you just really liked plants all of a sudden.” Riki admits and Sunoo rolls his eyes.

“Well, I’ve got another meeting after school. So I can’t. We’re gonna discuss appropriate and inappropriate ways to wear our uniforms.” Jungwon looks distressed.

“What about you Jongseong? Wanna go?” Jaeyun looks hopeful at him.

Jongseong’s lips grow into a thin line as he winces. “Can’t. I’ve got baseball.” He lies.

The other boys (minus Jungwon) groan in unison. “Your baseball league is crazy, practice every day, including weekends?!” Jaeyun exclaims.

“We haven’t been to any of your games, you never invite us.” Sunghoon complains. “And when you do, we’re always busy or the game gets canceled.” Sunoo points out.

“I bet you it’s because he’s so bad he keeps getting benched. Doesn’t want us to watch him sit all day.” Riki chuckles. Jongseong doesn’t do anything but sigh.

“Sorry, but they’re really strict. Maybe one of these days you'll see me play.” He feigns sadness.

“Quick question, which arcade are we going to?” Heeseung asks. As the boys turn their attention back to their afternoon plans, Jongseong glances at his best friend.

Jungwon looks at him disapprovingly.

He wonders for how much longer he can keep this little lie up.

He’s chopping up some scallions when his mom bursts into the kitchen.

“Son! I thought I told you to go home and finish your homework?” She places her hands on her hips.

“I already finished my homework.” Jongseong fibs.

“Really? Or are you just lying so you can help out tonight?” She eyes him.

“Okay I didn’t.” He tells the truth. His mother does not seem happy with that. “But you and dad need help. Chef Jiyoung has already left, and Chaeyoung and Minjoon are off. I can cook while you and dad serve. Plus my homework isn’t that hard, I can do it before I go to bed.”

His mom sighs, mumbling something about how he stresses her out sometimes. Jongseong has a feeling he’s about to be lectured.

“You’re such a good kid, you know that?” She surprises him by ruffling his hair. His worries subsided.

“And you’re a good mom.” He tells her, feeling shy. “Here’s table 6’s order.” He hands her the plate of food before she can get sappy with him. As she walks out to serve the food, his mother wears the biggest smile.

Jongseong continues his shift, cooking every meal his family throws at him with ease. He always loved to cook. It first started out from just watching his parents, it fascinated him how simple ingredients could become the best meal he’s ever eaten.

When he got older, he began to help around the kitchen. Jongseong found it fun to learn the process of each dish, and enjoyed it even more when the food came out delicious.

Now he’s a master in the kitchen, whipping out dishes without as much as a glance at the recipe. His dad would even argue Jongseong was a better cook than him now.

It’s the end of the night, and Jongseong is cleaning up the kitchen when his parents come in chuckling.

“Son! You’ll never guess what happened. Your dream came true!” His dad chortles. Jongseong looks at him confused. “What do you mean?”

“Remember when you told us you’d always wanted to go out and personally thank a customer for enjoying your food like they do in the movies? Well, it’s happened! A lovely young lady wanted us to give her compliments to the chef, you!” His mother beams.

Jongseong stands there, baffled. He’d told his parents that silly dream when he was eight years old after watching Ratatouille for the first time.

“That’s cool.” He nods. “You should go out there, say thanks. She was very sweet.” His mom encourages.

“Uh, I don’t think so, that’s-“ “Oh son please! She’s the last customer of the night, there’s no one else out there. Don’t be embarrassed.” His dad pushes.

“Plus, she’s very pretty! You should be excited such a pretty girl enjoyed your cooking.” His mom acts as if that’s the biggest accomplishment he’s ever achieved.

His parents look at him eagerly, and Jongseong gives in, sighing as he unties his apron. “Fine, but I’m never doing this again.” He grumbles, much to his parents' delight.

He brushes himself off, running a hand through his hair as he steps out to the front. He spots the person sitting in the booth, their back facing him.

With a deep breath, he approaches.

“Hi, I heard you really enjoyed your meal. I wanted to thank you, I’m the chef.” He states, as he walks over, trying his best to sound joyful. “Is there anything I can do to-“

“Jongseong..? You work here?” The person interrupts.

He finally looks and Jongseong immediately realizes he’s fucked up, since the person he’s just walked up to was you, L/n Y/n, the new Student Body Treasurer.

Why is he screwed? That's because EN-High students aren’t allowed to have jobs, and you’ve caught him red-handed.

Jongseong’s life was ruined the moment he saw you.

Entry 002: 23/05/24

Show Must Go On masterlist | and scene! series masterlist | kpop masterlist

comment/reply for taglist!

[uplatterme]

aether and kaveh look like disney princesses i wanna fuck the shit out of

there is no need for elaboration

-🪸

—okay. you’ve got me hooked. rapunzel!aether in part 2! (tba)

—cinderella!kaveh/royalty!reader, sub!bottom!kaveh/top!dom!reader, amab!reader (referred with they/them pronouns) | cinderella au, semi-public sex, quickie, clothed sex, cum as lube, porn with actual plot (don’t let the tags fool u, this is so fucking soft)

You completely regret hosting this party.

It was something that your advisor had tasked you to do. Host a party, find a suitable partner, get an heir so the kingdom has someone to depend on, blah blah blah.

It’s not like you were even that old. 

You sigh, a cigarette on your lips as you lay your back on the wall of the balcony. So many folks festering you, for that chance that you’ll somehow hand them their crown. 

Your head aches at the number of conversations you have had to endure just to be polite, the amount of times you’ve had to shake off someone from hugging your arm without your consent.

“Oh, fuck!” You hear someone yelp.

And while the owner of this voice sounds overly anxious, you can’t help but want to hear it again, especially with the polite wording that the attendees have used to butter you up. someone swearing right in front of you catches your interest.

Hands reach the bottom of the balcony, and someone lifts their body up to get on the platform.

“Oh god, why is the entrance so crowded?” The person says.

Your ears perk up at that.

“Well, their highness did host it. it’s been a while since such an event has happened.” You answer.

The figure flinches, turning their attention to you. 

Your mouth gapes as you finally see who that voice belonged to. Everything about him is enticing that you can’t help but to drown in his gaze. 

He’s properly dressed as well, although not anything overwhelming to the eyes.

Now, which family had been hiding such a prince from you?

“Ah sorry, I didn’t realize someone was here.” He quickly apologizes. His cheeks flush, not expecting someone to catch him climbing up a balcony.

“You’re more than welcome to stay.” You offer, craving more of him.

He shakes his head, much to your disappointment.

“I’m actually here for something else.” he says.

You hum. “Also aiming for the heart of their highness, then?”

Take it, unknown prince.

“What?! N-No, not at all!” He screams in reply. “I mean, I'd be flattered if their highness even finds me a bit intriguing.”

“Have you met them?” You ask.

“Oh. I haven’t really got the time for that.” He answers, although he seems to be in a melancholy thought when he does.

Still, you breathe at his beauty. You think you can stare at him for your whole life.

You quickly try to change the topic.

“So, what are you here for?”

He points behind you.

You turn your head back but what faces you is nothing but the empty hallway.

“Sorry?” You question.

“The castle.”

His answers just keep surprising you.

He blushes, rubbing his arm as he paces around the small space of the balcony.

“You’re interested in the architecture?”

As soon as you mention that, he brightens up. “Yes! From what I've seen, it’s alright.”

You feel offended. It is your castle, one for which you’ve decided most of the structure. He seems to notice his mistake as he panics.

“But don’t tell anyone that! Especially not their highness…”

You grin.

“Perhaps, the inside can change your mind?” 

“Inside? I don’t think we’re allowed—”

“If we don’t get caught, it’s fine, right?” 

“Yes, but—”

You grab the stranger’s hand and lead him inside, he stumbles in after you, the warmth in your hand startling him.

You bring him into different rooms, hoping that one of them will at least suit his taste.

“This?”

“It’s a bit cramped, the furniture set is going against the wallpaper.”

You roll your eyes, he’s so damn picky. That, or you’re just really bad at interior decorating.

Still, you smile at every single word he says. Being royalty, you have no damn clue what he’s saying. But with that pretty voice of his, you could listen to it for hours.

“Don’t you think you’re being a bit too harsh? What if their highness were merely shown bad choices by their architects?” You say, hoping that wouldn’t risk the random attendee persona that you’re playing at the moment.

“If that’s true, they should’ve fired those architects.” He states confidently.

You laugh. “And what, hire you instead?”

He purses his lips, he didn’t expect you to get that so easily.

He stays silent.

“Do you want to?” You ask.

“Get hired?” The look on his face is so innocent like he can’t even believe that you’re asking such a thing. As if the answer is painfully obvious.

You shake your head. 

“To build a castle.”

He stares at you dumbfounded. His eyes glimmer as he grabs your hands and does so aggressively. You don’t mind even a second of it.

“Are you fucking crazy? T-That’s like my dream!” He admits. He’s smiling widely, his face nothing but only a few centimeters away from you.

He starts babbling about the materials he’ll make it with, the different types of rooms and decorations he’ll add. He’s so damn fascinating, you don’t even care about the speech that you’re supposed to give by midnight.

It’s like he has planned this for a long time. Everything he says is so intricate. His hands move as if he’s drawing it, he’s a bit shaky but it’s obvious that it’s from excitement. To your amazement, the way he describes everything makes it seem as if you’re actually in that castle in your head.

Once he realizes how much he’s talking, he stutters an apology.

“Sorry! It’s just that no one has ever asked me about this, I mean at home I—”

“Okay. I’ll give that to you.” You reply genuinely, your eyes are focused on his soft lips.

His chest heaves and his golden eyelashes flutter with grace…just looking at you.

“You know that’s impossible. I’m not even a professionally licensed architect.” 

“It’s not.”

You’ll make it happen, even if your advisor goes against it. It doesn’t matter if you have to demolish the entire castle you’re in right now.

“It is! You’re just flattering me, I get it. You’ve been nothing but nice to me, but you don’t have to promise and lie to about such things.”

“I mean it.” You say it so sternly that he almost starts believing it.

He sighs deeply. “Going to this party is already a dream come true. There was this little green fairy with white hair, I—”

The words slip out of your mouth, cutting off whatever stupid things he has to say.

“Meeting you is a dream come true.” 

The next few moments are a blur. Your hands are all over the unknown stranger. Fuck, it’s as if you’ve been hit with a love spell. You want to keep kissing his mouth, tell him that he has nothing to worry about when you’re with him. That you’ll do anything he asks.

Your prince whines and the sound has you going insane. 

You want more. 

You’ve gotten so addicted easily that your mind is insatiable. 

It doesn’t matter that the room is left unlocked, no one is going to keep your hands off him. 

“Hah—God!” He breathes enticingly. His mind is so hazy, so weak at how his heart is pounding each second.

You take off his coat, the clothing echoes as it falls down on the floor. His blouse is silk and you swear you can see the way his chest is lined underneath the white cloth.

Your fingers rubbed his hardened nipples and his entire body shivers. He holds onto your shoulders for support, the aroused moan that escapes his throat is just enough for you to keep doing it, and so you do.

“W-Wait! I-I’ll—” He pushes you for a moment, to take a breath as he slowly composes himself.

You watch him impatiently. You can see how his cock twitches from his tight pants, the wet spot in the center, and his dick dripping from precum as the white liquid seeps through it.

You keep your hands inside your pocket. Despite how your pants are perfectly fitted for you, your cock is begging for warmth, specifically from the blonde stranger in front of you.

He then nods.

“I’m okay…we can continue.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t have any—”

“I can take it. It’s fine.” He says as if he’s in a hurry. You’re not sure if it's just because he’s needy or if it’s something else.

You still indulge in his wants, however.

You’ll have to make do with his own fluids although you really don’t want to do anything that’ll hurt him.

Your fingers steadily prepare his walls and you’re trying your best to not be greedy. His needs first, more than anything.

He’s so damn tight, not that you need to worry much as the sounds he’s making are signaling everything but pain.

He’s so soft and so perfect that you’re starting to get jealous of even your own fingers.

“Are you..?”

He nods, and desire fills his eyes. It looks like you’re not the only one getting impatient.

When you finally feel his insides with your cock, the expectations you had were completely blown out of the water. Your hands find their way to his waist and it’s perfect.

The first thrust is enough to send you to heaven. 

“Keep going.” He pleads.

You continue to pound into him, enjoying how each one brings out a soft mewl from the blonde.

His cock is dripping white on the floor, and the carpet gets soaked. You know you need to get that replaced but instead, you want to keep the stain there, as if some kind of trophy.

And while you stir up his insides, a familiar noise bothers your ears.

You don’t let it even phase you, enjoying the pleasure that’s eating you up.

However, your prince decides otherwise.

“H-Hold on! What was that—”

“Just the clock. You don’t need to bother yourself with it.”

A groan escapes your throat, feeling how he tenses up all of the sudden.

“Is it twelve?” He asks.

“N-No, but it’s close. Five more minutes.”

“I need to go.” He says.

No way was he leaving you like this.

“What?”

“I’m so sorry, but I—” His words are cut off by his moaning.

The way you fill him up has him salivating. You didn’t even move but god, his walls clenching on you are betraying his choices right now.

“T-Three minutes.” He whimpers out.

“Thank you, love.”

Your fingers feel up his cock, stroking it up and down while still continuing to pound ruthlessly. He continues to scream out, his mind too overwhelmed from getting his ass and cock ravaged at the same time.

His legs quiver and you have to hold him still. You’re both close and you’ll make sure to have him finish in time at least.

“F-Fuck!” He sobs.

And the worries in your head disappear, cumming inside his walls as he splatters more onto the carpet.

You sigh, your chest thumping as you stand there with your clothes a mess.

He quickly slides off you, trembling but still hastily moving as if the adrenaline has gotten into his head.

“I-I’m so sorry, I’ll try to get in contact with you again. I swear!” He stammers out before fixing his clothes, nearing the doorway.

“Don’t go through the balcony! There’s an exit to the right of this room!” You say, helping him out despite your wishes to keep him here.

“Thanks!” He shouts back.

You swipe the sweat on your forehead, zipping your pants back on.

The clock chimes as it signals it’s midnight. What a fucking way to end the night.

You hear rushed steps from the hallway.

Your attention turns to the door. Did he come back?

Your disappointment is immeasurable when you find out it’s just your advisor.

“Your highness! I’ve been looking everywhere, you’re late for your speech—Oh my god, what did you—No, who did you?!” She looks disappointed.

You look down. Ah, right.

Who?

Oh fuck, you never got his name. 

“I didn’t ask. Oh no.” The realization slowly sets in.

“Excuse me?!” Your advisor answers offended by your words. You can tell how stressed she’s been, her teal hair in a mess.

“I’ll be right there. Let me clean up first, Ma’am”

“I’ll get everyone distracted. Jeez, young ones these days!” She says before rushing away.

The urge to punch the wall in front of you right now is high.

You look at the floor and notice the coat on the floor.

It smells just like him.

You lay your head on the cold table, mind filled with everything but your duties. The only thing that’s engraved in there is nothing but the sweet prince you met a while ago.

But no matter how many times you’ve gone through portraits of different royal families, even going through the nobles, you’re not met with a match.

“Your Highness. I see you’ve been distracted again.”

“Madame Faruzan, I cannot do this anymore.” You tell her wholeheartedly.

Your advisor rolls her eyes.

“Right after I caught you and that whole mess, you should be working.”

“He’s a great guy! He’s skilled with his hands.” You argue with her.

“I do not need to hear what he did with you.”

“That’s not what I meant! He’s an architect, he’s good! I’ve heard how he works, I’ll vouch for him.”

“You’re biased. Something that a ruler should not have. I told you this when you were younger.” She warns you.

It seems that she won’t hear you out no matter how hard you try. 

“I really cannot focus.” You say. 

It’s the truth. You’ve been sleeping with that coat for weeks, along with other things. As if it’s actually him to begin with.

“If he’s such a great architect, then why don’t you work with that?”

An idea enters your head.

“Ma’am, you’re a genius.”

“Of course.” She says confidently with a smile.

She shakes the compliment off, lord knows she's the smartest person you’ve ever met.

“So? What’s your verdict?” She asks.

A day after, a letter was sent out to the people of your kingdom.

Needless to say, everyone was freaking out.

“Goodness, that’s a big deal. Isn’t it?”

“Right! That’s a big opportunity.” 

The entire market was in an uproar as Kaveh shops for his family. He couldn’t care any, especially not with the consequences he faced from being caught out late in the night. They never knew that he went to the party, but he’s sure his snarky scholar of a step-sibling knows.

“Oh, Kaveh.” A friendly face greets him.

“Miss Nilou.”

She smiles at him, 

“Are you participating?”

The confused face of Kaveh is enough for Nilou to shake the soul out of him.

“You have to! Their highness is currently looking for an architect to turn the whole castle into something new!” 

Kaveh’s eyes widen. “…Actually?”

“Yes! Oh, you have to hurry! It’s only up till today!” She brings it up, and Kaveh rushes home as fast as he can.

It’s almost like a dream come true.

First, that little green fairy that gave him the opportunity to attend the party in the first place. Then, that person he met at the said party who he flushes at every time he thinks of them. And now, this?

He almost tears the whole place down from searching for his plates. 

Kaveh compiles it in an envelope. He feels rewarded as if everything that he’s gone through has finally led up to something.

“Fuck! Where is it?” He’s missing a folder. 

Technically, what he’s giving is already more of what was asked for. Still, the perfectionist in him cannot stand to not have everything in its place, especially not with the opportunity that he was presented with.

A knock comes from his door and he flinches, his family cannot know about this. They’ll get rid of it again.

“It’s just me.” He relaxes, rolling his eyes before turning back.

“Asshole,” Kaveh says.

“After I saw your folder in the living room and kept it? Alright, I’ll guess I’ll throw it out.” Al-Haitham replies sarcastically.

“You wouldn’t.”

“I kept it for a reason. I wouldn’t throw it out now.” Kaveh forcefully takes out the folder and shoves it into his envelope.

He wants to say thanks, but his pride is too high for that.

“Be home before your curfew, I won’t cover for you.” Al-Haitham says.

Kaveh knows that he will despite the annoying tone that he’s using.

He runs to the front of the castle as fast as he can, his legs were not made out for this kind of journey. Still, he won’t give up.

He reaches the gates luckily, just an hour before the deadline.

Now, all he had to do was wait.

“We got a lot of submissions…and most of them are barely even considered actual pieces. I mean, look at this. Who would turn a castle into a teapot?” Faruzan complains, searching through the different envelopes.

You take a look at the amount and you couldn’t help but agree more. It’s absurd.

“Everyone who’s a licensed architect can be thrown away.” You ordered.

“Did I hear that correctly?” She eyes you as if you’re crazy.

You are.

“It’s fine, I have faith in him.”

After that, the submissions are lessened quite easily. While there were some that had fit up to the standards, they weren’t simply what you were looking for.

You remember every single thing he said, if you could just match that up with an envelope then you’ll be fine.

“We have two left.” Your advisor states.

Two names in front of you. One was named ‘Albedo’ and the other one was named ‘Kaveh’. You hesitate to open, the anxiety that he never heard of this competition or that you have sorted away his piece is eating you.

Your advisor notices this and gives one of her very rare encouragement.

“You said you have faith.”

You sigh, trying to calm down.

“I do.” You say it just loud enough to believe it.

You and Faruzan both take one, opening them at the same time.

Your hands shake as you do. 

This ‘Albedo’ is good. God, it’s gorgeous. Though what he’s sent out are more artistic than they are architectural, you can see the vision that he’s presenting, it’s something you think your mystery man would find great fun studying.

You literally cannot do this.

You only had one chance left.

It’s this or nothing.

Faruzan holds your hand while you go through his envelope. It’s breathtaking, it’s almost as what you imagined that time Kaveh was talking to you were right here, laid out perfectly.

“Kaveh.” The name sounds so sweet on your tongue.

Finally.

You dress up in a nice outfit, sitting on the carriage’s seat, trying your best not to scream. You could have gotten the wrong person, but you’re sure that this Kaveh is him.

You’re not accompanied by anyone except your coachman. You’ve asked him “if you’re there yet” about five times.

You bury your face in your hands. This is fine, you’ll be fine.

You almost smack your head face-first on the seat when the carriage comes to a stop without any warning.

The door opens for you.

You hear the gossiping of the people around you and you give them that perfect smile you’ve been taught to do even if it makes you feel uncomfortable.

There’s a person by the door. One who’s certainly not the one you met at the party.

“Hello.” You greet.

“Your highness.” He replies, bowing his head.

There is an awkward silence between the two of you. It is clear that neither of you likes talking.

“I’m looking for—”

“Kaveh, I presume?”

You nod nervously.

He opens the door and shouts, an annoyed response can be heard from the outside.

Everything’s fine, you rule this kingdom. If it’s another person, you can just bomb the whole place away!

The joking in your head does not make it any better.

“I swear this better be important, I was busy—” He stops talking as soon as he meets with your eyes.

There’s a flushed look on his face that matches yours.

“Oh. It’s you…”

There come the gasps from around you.

“He did not just call them that.”

“How disrespectful!”

“Right?!”

You cough, unsure how to state why you’re here. You just hand him the contract.

He shakes as he reads it. 

“What…?”

“I told you that I’ll build you a castle.” You remind him.

Kaveh remembers and you can see everything click right in his face. He’s very expressive, not that you were a stranger to that.

“Y-Your Highness.” He stutters.

You wonder if it’s appropriate to go down on your knee.

Fuck it. You can have Madame Faruzan reprimand you later.

The people watching scream in shock as you go down on one knee.

“Now that we have that out of the way…Will you do me the honor of ruling by your side?”

Please say yes, please say yes, please say—

“What?!” Kaveh yells at you. 

“G-Get up! Oh my god, your highness!” He tells you.

“I’m not standing up unless you say yes.”

The man you talked to previously whistles before heading inside the house. Kaveh glares at him, he did just not leave him in a situation like this.

“I’m serious, Kaveh.”

“You’re crazy.” He says.

“I know.” You look up to him hopefully.

He’s so red, it’s almost painful to look at. Not that you were any different from his case.

“I—Alright! Yes! So stand up already, your cape is getting dirty and everyone’s looking so—”

You pull Kaveh down by his collar, drowning in his sweet familiar lips.

You pull Kaveh down by his collar, drowning in his sweet familiar lips.

[hihomeghere]

Right Person, Wrong Time Part two / John Marston x f!reader

Summary : You’ve tried to pretend that night with John never happened. But you can’t ignore him for much longer, especially not when Abigail asks you to talk to him

Word count : 2k

Warnings/tags : Cursing, reader is pushed against a tree, angst that leads to fluff, platonic Abigail x reader, John x reader, graphic mention of sex, mention of past pregnancy (not readers), John’s a deadbeat dad, alcohol, past Abigail x John, let me know if I missed any

not proof-read, I'm lazy

Divider by @saradika

“You make him better, ya know?” Abigail’s voice pulled you out of your thoughts. Almost making you drop your gun as you ran the oiled rag over the barrel. 

“Pardon?” You asked, turning to glance at her. She still wasn’t looking at you, instead her gaze was affixed to Jack as he sat in the grass.

“You make him… I don’t know- just better.” She said with a small shrug.

“Jack?” You asked furrowing your brows as you looked over at Jack before back at her.

“No- Christ I’m not talking about Jack.” She huffed, exasperated that you hadn’t managed to read through the lines. “I’m talking about John.”

Oh. You pursed your lips, running the rag up and down the barrel, not saying a word.

“Don’t know how you could think that.” You muttered, shame creeping up your neck along with a deep fuchsia. 

“Really?” She asked, raising a brow, “Well I-“ she let out a sound between a scoff and a sigh. “Course you weren’t around when he got bad.” She said, shaking her head. 

“What do you mean?” You asked, setting your revolver down next to you. Turning to face her head on.

“When you left he… he would just sulk. Walking around, moping, picking fights.” She listed off, rolling her eyes. “Hell, the only time he wasn’t baring his teeth like a damn dog was when…” She trailed off, her lips a thin line. It didn’t take a genius to know what she was alluding to. You didn’t know what the hell she was talking about. John had acted like Abigail was the moon and stars before you had run off. To think that he actually missed you. That was near unbelievable.

You scuffed the toe of your boot against the dirt, painfully aware of the silence stretching between the two of you. “Then I got pregnant and then Jack was born. I thought… I thought he might- he might’ve come to terms with being a father once he was actually here.” She scoffed, shaking her head. “But he was never the same after you left.” She said, her voice taking on a melancholy tone as her blue eyes met yours. 

“Abigail, he’s an idiot alright?” You started, shaking your head. Trying to hold onto your breakfast as your stomach churned. “The damn fool probably realized what he’d been missing out on-“ She cut you off by barking out a laugh.

“Don’t go trying to sell me shit, telling me it’s ’chocolate cake’.” She shook her head. “It ain’t me or the boy that’s suddenly turned his disposition around, it’s you.” 

You looked away from her, your eyes on Jack as he played.

“Abigail-“

“No. You listen to me.” She said, grabbing your hands, her grip ironclad. “You’re the only damn person in this gang that he gives the time of day.” She sighed, shaking her head. “I just- maybe you could talk to him about Jack?” She asked, tilting her head to meet your eyes. “The boy needs his father.” She squeezed your hands, and your heart clenched in response. “If not for me… then for Jack?”

What the hell were you supposed to say, no?

“Yeah… yeah okay.” You nodded, sighing through your nose.

“Ya mean it?” She asked, a smile tugging at her lips, “Oh, thank you.” She pulled you into a hug, squeezing you tight.

“Alright, alright.” You chuckled, gently pushing her away. “I’ll talk to him.”

If you weren’t such a damn chicken you would have done it that second. But you were just as much of a coward as he was. Poetic, wasn’t it?

A week had passed since the incident. The incident where you came on his cock, his seed still dripping out of you as you ordered him out of your tent. The moment you had dreamt of for years, became your biggest nightmare. Your stomach flip-flopping every time his eyes met yours from across camp. You could never escape it, escape him.

When you saw him push the hair back from his face, all you could think of was how it felt through your fingers. How his lips felt against yours, on your neck. How his teeth felt digging into the column of your throat.

You were pathetic. On top of all of that you had gone right back to being Abigail’s friend, when you had betrayed her in the worst way possible. You were no better than him, returning to her with your tail behind your legs. The only difference between you and John, is that she didn’t know the atrocity you had committed against her, against Jack. Sure, they weren’t together anymore, but it didn’t make you feel any better.  

So maybe that’s why you were doing this for her, as some atonement for your transgressions. The sun was slowly setting as you walked through camp, your stomach tied in knots as you looked for John. You found him near the campfire, pulling a bottle up to his lips as Javier played the guitar. His melodic voice carried through the camp, even if you couldn’t understand what he was saying, it was beautiful.

You could feel John’s eyes boring into you as you glanced over at Javier before turning your attention back to him.

As your eyes met, it was like a crack of lightning. The air suddenly turned charged between the two of you.

“Can I talk to you John?” You asked, sighing deeply.

“No.” He scoffed, rolling his eyes as he brought the bottle to his lips, taking a long drink. You cringed as the liquor overflowed out of his mouth, running down his chin. He coughed, wiping away the liquid with the back of his hand. 

“You serious?” You scoffed, crossing your arms as you glared at him.

“Yeah.” He grumbled, narrowing his eyes as he reclined in his chair. Spreading his legs as the bottle hung loosely from his fingers. 

“Are you already drunk?” You asked, narrowing your eyes..

“Does it matter?” He huffed, rolling his eyes. Clearing his throat before bringing the bottle back to his lips. You clenched your jaw, his words igniting a fire in your belly. You stalked over to him, grabbing the bottle out of his hands.

“What the hell?” He growled, jumping to his feet as he tried to take the bottle out of your grasp. If he hadn’t been inebriated, you wouldn’t have stood a chance.

You held it out of his grasp, pushing him backwards. “Stop.” You huffed, not breaking eye contact.

“Fine. I didn’t want it anyway.” He threw his hands up in the air, beginning to stumble away from you and the fire. You sighed, rolling your eyes as you set the bottle down in the dirt before following after him. 

“John!” You called, chasing after him as he walked farther away from camp and further into the nearby trees. “John, stop!” You started to jog, losing sight of him.

He moved out from the darkness. His hands fisting the collar of your shirt, as he pushed you back up against a tree. 

“What do you want, huh?” He growled, his body a hard line against yours. ”Now you want to talk after you’ve been walking round camp, fucking torturin’ me?” He stepped closer, caging you in further against the tree. You wrinkled your nose at the smell of the liquor on his breath. 

“The hell you talking about?” You huffed, pushing back against him.

“You, damn it!” He huffed, his eyes narrowing into slits as he slammed you back up against the tree. 

“Get off of me!” You growled, glaring up at him.

“You wanted to talk, let’s fucking talk.” He held your body to the tree before he let go, stumbling backwards. “You’re the one who wanted to talk so damn bad so talk.” Your body finally caught up with your mind as you moved towards him.

“What difference would it make, you probably won’t remember this in the morning, too piss drunk.”

“Yeah? Well I remember that night.” He snarled, crowding in on you. “You can go around pretending like it didn’t mean nothin’, like I didn’t mean nothin’.” You swallowed thickly, heat flooding your cheeks.

“That ain’t what happened-“

“Then what the hell did happen?” He shouted, throwing his hands up. They fell to his sides as he stared at you. “I… Christ I know I messed up before but I… I can’t go round pretendin’ like nothing happened that night.” He sighed, his anger replaced by something more somber.

”You… you have a family, John.” He sighed, sitting down on a nearby stump, his head in his hands. 

“You think I don’t know that?” He asked, raising his head.

“You sure don’t act like it.”

“You don’t know how damn hard it is.” He huffed, shaking his head. “I don’t- Abigail is a good woman but she ain’t the one for me. Jack- well he deserves someone who knows how to be a father, a better man.” He muttered, running a hand down his face.

“You’re that man, John.” You sighed, “Sure, you were a fool and a coward-“ He glared up at you, “but you came back. Now, you just have to try.”

“It’s not that simple.” He muttered, shaking his head. “It’s- everything used to be so damn easy.” He ran his hand down his face. “Before- before you left.”

You pursed your lips, crossing your arms as you looked down at your boots. 

“Now Abigail and you are always mad at me and… and now there’s Jack.” He sighed trailing off, “I just- I want things to go back to the way they were.” He said, his eyes finding yours in the pale light of the moon. Your heart clenched uncomfortably as you swallowed past the lump in your throat.

“It can’t.” You sighed, walking over to him. “But that doesn't mean it can’t get better.” You said, offering him a weak smile. He stared up at you, his brows pulled together tightly. “Things aren’t ever gonna be the way they were. That’s just life.” You said with a small shrug, “We made our decisions and we gotta live with them.”

“I shoulda’ chose you.” He mumbled, lowering his gaze.

“But you didn’t.” You said sitting down next to him, “And now we got Jack, and he is one of the best if not the best kid there is.” You smiled, nudging his shoulder. He ran his hand down his face again, rubbing at the stubble on his cheek.

“He gets it from his mother.” He sighed, looking up at you.

“He’s got a good chunk of you in him, Marston. The best parts.” You said, “Hasn’t learned all the asshole traits you possess yet.”

“Shut up.” He chuckled, rolling his eyes. The two of you sat together in comfortable silence, looking up at the star filled sky. 

“Did you miss me,” You asked, not daring to look over at him, “when I left?” You bit your cheek, waiting for his response.

“Course I did.” He said softly, looking over at you. “Every day.” You swallowed thickly, your eyes moving from his to his lips. Before you could second guess yourself, you moved forward, pressing your lips to his. His hands immediately moved to cup your cheeks, pulling you closer to him. You held onto each other as though the other would fade away into the darkness that surrounded you. The taste of whiskey invaded your senses as he slipped his tongue into your mouth, claiming you for his own. 

The two of you slowly broke apart, resting your foreheads against each other. 

“I gotta talk to Abigail.” He mumbled, letting out a small sigh. 

“Yeah you do.” You said, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear.

“You ain’t gonna pretend this didn’t happen tomorrow right?” He asked after a moment, a sense of vulnerability in his tone. 

“No way in hell, Marston.” You chuckled, nudging your nose against his. “You gonna remember this tomorrow?” You quipped. 

“Don’t know how I could ever forget this, darlin’.”

[starrmarr]

I am haunted by a deep melancholy for a man I’ve never had in my life, a man that may not even exist. I am bride to a phantasm. I search for him in vain, in the curtains I believe he is hiding behind. I become enraged when I am fooled by those who profess to be him so I conform until I don’t, until I can no longer pretend. He beckons me, I must go, I’m terribly sorry. I surrender to his whims, my loyalty is to him, all the songs I listen to are for my love, my ghost. I am in love with his voice, his power, his money, his gentle sternness. I need his redirection— how will I ever find my way to you? I swear I can feel his embrace in the dark, and then again in the light. I am afraid I will lose the language to speak to him with, the gift required to see him. Do not vanish, please. I will wait a lifetime if you are the reward. God and husband.

[familiarscars]

Lost In Control | Bad Omens | CHAPTER 29

adult content | minors do NOT interact.

⋆ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆. Bad Omens X ex-girlfriend and singer!Reader.

⋆ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. You and Noah had a difficult ending but you still need to support each other for the band.

⋆ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆(𝐒). melancholy, ex-boyfriends, difficult relationships, alcohol abuse, swearing, sex explicit, drug addiction, violence.

It's okay to not agree with the characters' attitudes during the fic. It's good to remember that the story is fiction from the author's sick mind and of course they will make dubious decisions according to my fantasies. Nothing is done to be compared to reality.

You almost let the knocking on the door go unnoticed. Even from your dream, you could hear it, but you ignored it, determined to hold on to the sleep that had eluded you for so long. It felt unfair to give it up. But the persistence of the knocks forced you to open your eyes and sit up in bed abruptly.

Barefoot, the coldness of the floor made you tiptoe as you moved, still groggy and rubbing your eyes. When you opened the door, you could hardly believe what you saw, squinting to make sure it wasn’t a hallucination.

Noah stood leaning against the doorframe, his clothes stained with blood, sweat dripping down his face, a cut above his brow, and a swelling along his jaw. His pupils were dilated, like someone who had seen a ghost, and you didn’t have time to ask anything before he moved forward and wrapped his arms around you. He hugged you so tightly that you let out a grunt as the air was forced from your lungs, your eyes widening in shock at his reaction.

“Don’t send me away. Don’t send me away. Don’t send me away,” he whispered, his voice nearly a plea.

The initial shock melted away as you lowered your guard, placing one hand on his back to calm him while closing the door with the other.

“It’s okay. I’m here…” you said cautiously. “You’re safe now. Where have you been? What happened to you?”

Was he medicated? Did he even know where he was? Did he remember your last interaction before the show? It didn’t matter. You had made a promise to yourself in that abandoned house: if Noah needed help, you would be there.

This wasn’t the first time. You both always withdrew into each other when the rest of the world felt unsafe.

“I…” Noah hesitated as he pulled away from your embrace, rubbing his face with trembling hands.

“How did you get hurt like this, Noah?” you asked, following him as he moved across the room. “What did you do, Noah? What happened?”

“I… I didn’t do anything!” he snapped, shaking his head, his gaze frozen with fear.

That wasn’t the right approach. Noah wasn’t a fool. If you wanted any information from him, you had to act in a way that had always worked — by stroking his ego.

“And I believe you,” you murmured with compassion. Slowly, you noticed the tension in his shoulders ease as he blinked a few times and tilted his head slightly.

“You do?” he asked, his voice fragile.

“Of course.”

He sat on the edge of the bed, his eyes still vacant, his voice trembling as you knelt before him. Without hesitation, he grabbed your hands, gripping them tightly.

“I was in the car with Scarlet. We argued. She lost control. She tried to kill us.”

“Oh my God…” The lengths she was willing to go shocked you. “Noah, where is she now?”

“In critical condition at the hospital,” he said, his eyes meeting yours. “They interrogated me. I told them everything I just told you. I had the worst headache, and she was screaming so much… she threatened me.”

“With what?”

He froze, his eyes locked on yours for several agonizing moments before finally whispering, “D-death… she threatened to kill me.”

“She got nervous when I told her I was going to expose her. She sped up until…”

It didn’t make sense. Not when Scarlet and Noah’s names had been splashed all over the internet recently, tangled in rumors of a relationship. She’d clung to him relentlessly, making sure everyone believed it, yet something about Noah’s side of the story had always felt off.

Gerard had insisted it was Noah’s choice… but how had a relationship spiraled into death threats and a near-fatal crash? The pieces didn’t fit.

But you knew where this began and ended.

With one name.

“It’s okay. Don’t think about it anymore… it’s over now,” you said, brushing your fingers over the back of his hand.

“I’m sorry for bothering you so late. I just… didn’t want to go to anyone else.” His voice cracked. “Not when I only feel safe here.”

“You did the right thing.” A faint smile tugged at your lips as your thumb traced a gentle path along his face, a touch he accepted with closed eyes. “Everything’s going to be fine…”

A tear slipped from the corner of Noah’s eye, marking the path of your fingerprint.

“Can Scarlet have visitors? I’ll go see her tomorrow. We need to arrange her transfer to Los Angeles. We leave the day after tomorrow.” You reminded him, your voice tinged with reluctant duty. “I can’t stand her, but we can’t just leave her behind. Unfortunately.”

“No!” His reaction was sharp before softening into an apology. “She’s in the ICU, no visitors allowed. But I’ll let you know when it changes. I gave them my number.”

His answer seemed plausible, so you shrugged.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” you offered.

He followed without hesitation. In the bathroom, your reflection captured his behind you—bloodied and wrecked, yet still the most captivating man to ever cross your path. Your heart raced as his breath filled the small space, and his fingertips brushing your shoulder sent a shiver down your spine.

With a touch, you activated the sensor and watched the bathtub fill as he groaned, peeling away his clothes. Bruises mottled his torso, but it was astonishing how he had walked away from the crash with nothing life-threatening. His luck was baffling.

“It’s not fair… that you’re still kind to me. Not after everything.”

“It makes me feel better… it’s like…”

“Your fate,” he murmured, bracing his hand against the wall near your face. “No matter how far you run, it always pulls you back—whether it’s ruin or redemption.”

“Yes…”

You agreed, watching him with unwavering focus. Crouched beside the tub, your chin rested on your arm as your hand poured warm water over his tense, sculpted shoulders.

In that moment, you wished you could read him as easily as the darkest, most twisted novel. You had always wanted to understand how his mind worked—how someone who spent a lifetime chasing unattainable perfection, refusing failure, truly operated once he finally shattered.

"Have I ever told you that I would do anything for you?" Noah asked, gently lifting your chin so your face aligned with his.

The silence between you was broken only by the soft sound of water. His skin glistened, droplets clinging to his face, making his features even more mesmerizing, painfully perfect. A single strand of hair fell across his forehead, and with each breath, his tattooed chest rose and fell in a slow, steady rhythm, almost in tune with the surrounding sounds.

"You’ve always told me that, Noah," you whispered, unable to look away from him.

"Not enough, little storm," he murmured, his words like a charged current. "I would do anything for you, even if it meant dying."

"Stop saying nonsense."

Noah smiled.

You were so focused on him that you didn’t notice his swift movement until his firm grip seized your wrist. In one sudden pull, he yanked you into the bath. Thankfully, it was large enough to fit you both. Your body plunged into the water, and you resurfaced seconds later, gasping, your T-shirt drenched, hair plastered against your face.

When you finally looked at him, he was laughing, a full, toothy grin as if your shocked expression was a delightful joke to him.

"When did you become so scared?" he teased, splashing water toward you as you pushed your wet hair back, trying to regain composure.

"You’re pathetic!" you snapped, rolling your eyes before retaliating with a splash that soaked him.

Noah shattered your irritation, pulling you into his lap, sending more water sloshing onto the floor. You didn’t resist, your arms instinctively looping around his neck, your faces so close that his eyelashes brushed yours. Your fingers stroked the nape of his neck, and for a moment, his eyes closed, savoring the connection as your noses grazed each other.

"There are things we say to each other that we never forget," he murmured, gripping your waist and settling you onto his lap. You wore nothing but a band tee, allowing you to feel his heated skin against yours, his hardness sliding tantalizingly against you.

"What’s your favorite line, coward?" you teased, voice dripping with seduction.

His response was a sharp smack to your exposed backside.

"It doesn’t matter how hard you try to avoid us, every pathetic day of your life, or who wins tonight. In the end, you will always be mine," he growled, his fingers tangling in your hair as he crushed his mouth to yours.

You couldn’t argue when you weren’t even trying to avoid him anymore. In truth, you hunted every opportunity to collide with him like two nuclear bombs destined for mutual destruction. That was who you were.

Your mouths fit together perfectly, tongues entwined in a desperate dance as though you hadn’t tasted each other just a day ago. It was need, fire, flames consuming your bodies, merging them into one as his hand explored your body without restraint.

He stripped your soaked shirt, tossing it to the floor where water pooled around it. As you ground your clit against his throbbing length, Noah held your head firmly, his free hand splaying across your chest, rough fingertips tracing every curve.

"Bad girl…" he rasped, voice thick with lust as he hardened beneath you.

You gasped, moaning softly, his tongue mapping your mouth until he bit down on your lower lip, tugging it between his teeth, his dark eyes boring into yours with a wicked, possessive gaze.

You wanted him more than anything.

He seemed to hear your silent plea, arching you back with a firm tug of your hair. Pain shot through your scalp, igniting a fierce heat between your thighs as you rocked against him. Water couldn’t compete with the slickness coating your folds.

He made you burn.

His lips left a trail of bites and kisses down your neck, lingering between your breasts, each nip a promise of bruises come morning. Your head lolled forward, gasping, as he smacked your cheek lightly, a smirk playing at your lips.

Finally, he released your hair, granting you control. You pinned his hands to the tub’s edge, a finger pressed to his lips.

"I’m teaching you some manners," you whispered. "Behave…" you taunted, letting him feel the head of his cock slide against your clit. His jaw clenched, breath ragged as you teased, moving slower and slower until your entrance hugged him just enough before pulling away.

"Enough," he growled, the word torn from him.

"Be good," you cooed, your grin wicked as you continued.

"Little storm," he warned, the need in his voice barely restrained.

You ignored him, a smile of defiance curling your lips as you rocked just out of reach.

"Dear…" he groaned. "You’ll regret this."

"Will I?"

Without waiting for permission, he broke free, seizing control. Hands gripping, dominating, reclaiming his place.

And you let him—because you always would.

With his free hand, he caught her off guard by slamming her body downward, his entire length swallowed by her tight, heated core—just as warm as the water that surrounded them. You let out a startled cry, but quickly composed yourself, ready to take everything he had to give.

Your breathing merged with his as you began to move slowly, rolling your hips. Your spine arched with pleasure that spread like wildfire through your veins. Noah trailed kisses down your chest, capturing the peak of your breast between his teeth and suckling with deliberate, lingering pulls that sent electric jolts through your entire body. You were his—every heated, clenched inch of you belonged to him, every moaned breath carried his cursed name.

You had never belonged to anyone the way you belonged to him.

Noah was on edge, his body taut as your core gripped him tighter with every thrust. His teeth grazed your nipple again, tugging the silver piercings as he savored the mix of metal and your skin. He groaned, his body shuddering as he tried to hold on. But you moved like a storm, wild and uncontrollable, your hips rising and falling with relentless intensity.

It felt like cruelty to be apart even for a moment, but he pulled you off him, both of you clambering out of the tub with no time to waste before reaching the bed. The damp sheets clung to your skin as he pressed your body into the dark satin, gripping your hips with one hand and forcing your cheek against the mattress. His eyes darkened as he studied the slickness between your legs. His fingers trailed down your inner thigh, then dragged over your dripping core, teasing you until your entire body trembled. He toyed with your second entrance, circling it with deliberate precision.

"Noah..." you whimpered, squeezing your legs together in desperate need. He delivered a sharp slap to your backside, forcing them apart again with a commanding grip.

"Any requests, little storm?" he whispered.

"Don’t stop."

He twisted his wrist, making you arch backward, pulling you up by your hair as he thrust inside again. He watched you keen, your cries growing higher with every deep, rhythmic stroke. His lips grazed your face as sweat replaced water, dripping down your bodies. His hips collided with your backside, the sound echoing louder than your moans in the room.

Your desperation didn’t soften his resolve. You didn’t want mercy. You wanted everything. Every punishing thrust, every relentless pull of your nerves stretched thin. Your body quaked as he pressed a thumb against your second entrance, heightening the exquisite tension between pain and pleasure. You felt a wet heat sliding down your thighs, and every time you tried to close them, he forced them apart again.

Noah gripped your hips tightly, burying himself so deep that you felt the raw friction ignite between you. Together, you shattered, your bodies writhing as ecstasy consumed you both. Even as his release pulsed inside you, your hunger still burned, and when he tilted your face back to meet his, you turned, bringing your lips to his in a feverish kiss.

His long fingers traced your cheek as he towered over you, the shadows of his gaze flickering with something dark and possessive. You smiled when another stinging slap landed across your face. It burned like the feelings you hid so fiercely, feelings that had always been for him. He gripped your chin, tilting your head until your eyes locked.

His gaze held yours as he slid a finger between your lips. You sucked on it slowly, your tongue swirling, drawing him deeper. Noah groaned, his eyes shutting briefly as he shook his head in disbelief at how thoroughly you possessed him.

You captured his rigid length in your hand, the slickness making it glide easily as you teased his tip, massaging and stroking until a deep sigh escaped his mouth. His control wavered, your wicked touch driving him further into madness. He leaned back, giving you full reign, and you took advantage of it—licking from base to tip, swirling your tongue over the swollen head before swallowing him whole.

The sounds he made were intoxicating. His breath hitched, his thighs tensed, and your hands roamed lower to cup him, feeling the weight and heat in your palms. You watched him as you worked him over, the flush in his cheeks deepening, his jaw clenched tight. He was yours to torment, and you reveled in his unraveling.

“Such a good girl…” he murmured hoarsely, voice thick with desire. “Touch yourself while my cock owns your mouth.”

Your fingers slipped between your legs, slick with your arousal. The heat there matched the flames inside you as you circled your clit, moving faster, harder, chasing the burning climax you felt rising. You didn’t stop. His hips thrust against your mouth, filling your throat, your eyes watering from the force of it.

His groans mingled with your muffled whimpers. Every inch of you trembled as you sank your fingers deeper into your slick heat, working yourself to the brink. Noah’s hands tightened in your hair, and as he watched you come apart, your body tensed, shuddering in waves of release. A tear slid down your cheek as you moaned, your voice lost to the pleasure that consumed you. His climax surged hot and thick as he groaned your name, filling your mouth, and you swallowed it all without hesitation.

“Such a devil…” he muttered in disbelief, running a hand through his hair as he collapsed onto the bed. “That’s the only explanation for why I can’t stop thinking about how good it feels to be inside you.”

You grinned, sprawling beside him. He pulled you under his arm, your slick, sweaty bodies tangled together.

“Is this the closest you’ll ever come to admitting you missed me?” you teased.

“Maybe we should just sleep,” he deflected, closing his eyes.

You laughed softly. Sleep wouldn’t come, though. Every time you closed your eyes, your mind raced with memories—the night in the abandoned house, the sharp headache Noah had complained about on the ride home, and the strange blank spots in his memory afterward. His behavior had been… different. Odd. It sparked a sense of déjà vu.

Something about it reminded you of yourself.

Slowly, so as not to wake him from his deep sleep, you slipped out of bed and pulled on the first shirt within reach, tied your hair into a high bun, and grabbed the room key card from his jacket pocket. You moved with utmost care, quietly opening the door and walking down the hallway without making a sound, not even letting the door click shut behind you.

Noah hadn’t kept the medicine bottle in the pockets of the clothes he was wearing, which led you to believe he hadn’t taken the pill earlier, something that fit with his behavior during the show and his complaints of severe headaches in the car.

Determined, you began searching his room, careful not to disrupt anything. You rifled through his suitcase and backpack—filled with nothing but chargers and a laptop—until your eyes landed on a toiletry bag lying atop the bed. Inside, alongside some bandages, you found the damned orange pill bottle that had been the catalyst for your suspicions. Leaning against the mattress, you furrowed your brows and thought hard, trying to remember why that name seemed so familiar. The harder you tried, the more your unease grew, each thought linking Noah’s symptoms with a nagging sense of déjà vu.

And then it clicked.

Without hesitation, you rushed out of his room and down the hall, stopping at the last door. Three swift knocks later, a grumpy, sleep-masked Jolly opened the door, wearing nothing but shorts and a surly expression. He sighed heavily at the sight of you standing there with arms crossed.

“I need to talk to you about something,” you whispered.

“Can it wait until morning?” he grumbled, holding up his phone to show the time—4:00 a.m.

“Absolutely not.”

“Then come in.”

You took a seat, as did he. Diving into this conversation meant exposing yourself—something you despised and had avoided doing for so long. But if helping Noah meant confronting your own past, there was no escaping it anymore.

“Noah’s been having a lot of physical health issues lately,” you began, turning the pill bottle over in your hands. “He never complains outright, but it’s obvious. The last studio episode made that perfectly clear.”

“You know how much he hates asking for help or showing weakness… It’s a dumb trait, but it’s who he is,” Jolly muttered with a shrug.

“Yes, I know. Normally, it would be easy to dismiss as stubbornness. But something about all of this keeps nagging at me.”

His eyes narrowed, interest finally piqued as he leaned forward.

“Noah’s been taking a pill that seems to magically cure his headaches but scrambles his memory in the process,” you explained. “When he’s on it, he can’t remember recent events. At the show, he didn’t even know his own song… It’s like each dose erodes his mind a little more.”

“So we take him to the doctor and get the prescription changed.”

“It’s not that simple, idiot!” you snapped, tapping your temple with a finger before tossing the bottle to him. He caught it and studied the label while you continued. “Noah said his doctor prescribed it, but as soon as I saw the name on the label, I had a terrible feeling—Dr. Klein.”

“You know him?” Jolly asked, looking from the bottle back to you.

You swallowed hard, scratching the side of your neck as discomfort rippled through you. But you pushed past it.

“I’m almost certain he was the same doctor who treated me when I was in rehab.”

The confession felt like a weight lifting off your chest. Jolly’s eyes widened, his shock evident as the words hit him like a slap. There were few topics you despised more than this one. The scars on your body might have faded, but they’d never let you forget.

“Rehab?” he asked, his voice sharp with disbelief. “Why didn’t I know you went to rehab? I thought we were best friends.”

“We are.”

“So you let us believe your absence during the tour was just because of a fight with Noah when, in truth, you were going through all that alone?” He stood, pacing in agitation. “What the hell is wrong with you? Why didn’t you tell me? If not the others, at least me?”

You sighed, fingers digging into your scalp as his words echoed around your head. Waiting for him to calm down, you finally spoke.

“Because I didn’t remember.”

Silence fell.

Jolly sat down again, closer this time, eyes searching your face. He noticed the way your hands trembled, your voice now barely above a whisper. His anger dissipated, replaced by something softer, more understanding.

“I spent most of my treatment drugged, not knowing where I was or what they were doing to me,” you said, your tone heavy with dark resignation. “Being awake was rare. Not that it mattered—I preferred keeping my eyes closed as long as possible.”

You took a deep breath, as though each word demanded more strength than you could muster. “When I got out, my sense of time was shattered. I couldn’t tell what was real, a dream, or something they’d planted in my mind, until I ran out of post-treatment meds. That’s when the memories started trickling back. Flashes of being in some place far from Los Angeles, of punishments—beatings—for ‘noncompliance.’ There was a bitter smell there I’ll never forget. But one memory stood above all the rest.”

“What was it?” he asked, his voice low, almost fearful.

“A man’s hands, stamping a prescription. Dr. Klein.”

“Shit,” he muttered, his face hardening with sudden worry.

“It played over and over in my head like a broken record,” you whispered, your words trembling. “I snapped. I couldn’t take it anymore. The confusion, the scars I couldn’t explain, memories that might not have been mine. It got so bad I tried to end it. Anything to make it stop.”

The silence between you thickened with unspoken pain.

“I did everything I could to forget. Pretended none of it ever happened.”

“Do you think Noah is going through the same thing?” Jolly asked, his brow furrowed deeply. “If this is deliberate, why target you both?”

You leaned forward, weary but resolute.

“They came for me when I stopped being useful—when I became a problem for the band. It was his way of punishing me and taking control. The less I could resist, the easier it was to manipulate me into keeping the band afloat.”

Realization dawned in his eyes. “Noah’s been pulling away from the band too…”

You nodded slowly, your gaze distant.

“Yes. And it’s happening to him now.”

“Who’s ‘he’? Who’s doing this?”

Your eyes met his, cold and bitter with truth.

“Gerard.”

⭑ @collisionofyourkissmakesitsohard ; @iluvmewwwww75 ; @anarchydomainglory ; @foliosgirl ; @lacy1986 ; @chey-h ; @supersquirrel1996 ; @zozaline​ ; @just-randomm-stuff ; @do-it-jakey-baby

[affableramen]

They return home drunk ~ genshin impact men x you, the reader

Suitable for characters: Neuvillette, Pantalone, Ayato.

Tags: gender neutral reader.

Notes: I dunno what this is. Very silly.

You heard the door open into your house and you identified it was your long-expected s/o. You have been meaning to call him as you got occasionally worried. However as soon as the door was shut with what seemed a lazy motion according to the silent noise, you realised it was actually nothing to worry about. Your boyfriend just appeared to be silly.

“Darling?” You tried to reach him with your voice.

The door was finally shut, and the next sound you heard was a groan of disappointment. “Gah!” His heavy body fell against the wall. You walked out of your room and went to the stairs to have a proper look. You tried to suppress your laugh when you saw him in such a ridiculous state.

“Darling! What—”

“…No one loves me. I am so lonely. So poor and pathetic”, he said as he started approaching the stairs but of course, he had to not notice the first step and naturally bumped into it. The fall could not be called gracious as your man did not foresee the barrier. You immediately started going downstairs to lend him a hand yet he raised his palm and stopped you.

“I’m fine, I can take care of myself”, he glared at you with the eyes full of annoyance and shifted his weight to the side. “I don’t need help of some… heroes”, he spat.

The colder man held onto the staircase for a few seconds, heavily breathing, rubbing his nose and muttering something unintelligible before he moved up. There was such distance, such melancholy in the aura around him, that was quite a sight. You were left to wonder where and with whom he had to gulp so much. Seeing that the man did not need your help you returned to your room and laid in the bed. It was quite late, in fact. You grabbed the book you paused in and looked forward to seeing more cringe from your beloved, but incredibly drunk person.

There was dim light in your room- you had a weird habit of reading if not in a complete darkness. After all, too much light was bad for migraines, you thought. And just when you relaxed you heard heavy, long footsteps approaching your room. You put your book to the side and met the man with a curious gaze.

“I thought you did not want to talk?”

“I don’t want talking”, he barked briefly. His eyes, even if alcohol-hazed, were gloomily glowing in the darkness.

The man was going straight into the room, heading to your bed and as he finally crawled to the area, he unwrapped his outer coat and revealed his shirt, (unbuttoned on the top as if he was feeling hot, made him look sexier).

“Why do you look disheveled? You been with someone?”

“You fool”, he climbed onto the bed and shifted his weight on top of you, grasping you tightly and gently at the same time. “Of course I wasn’t. I just felt hot. How could I cheat…” gasp, “…on a gorgeous little prince/princess like you.”

You pulled your hand into his hair and played with some locks. A satisfied moan escaped his dry lips as his face muscles gave up and he relaxed in your embrace.

“I thought you were unhappy with something.”

He moved away for a sec and looked into your eyes deeply, and caressed your cheek.

“I am most unhappy with myself… Take a look at me closely. I am so loser, am I not?”

“No”, with a swift motion you got into a sitting position where both of you were in front of each other. “Not at all. Let me hold you, would you like it?” You were tenderness itself when you were with this man. It was only for him.

“Very much, hold me please. I only allow you to see me like this. You’re the one who accepts me. I cannot imagine my life without you anymore.”

“There, there… It’s the alcohol saying in you.”

The man shook his head.

“No, I mean what I say. No one out there understands me, not one… except for you. But loving you is my torture AND bliss; I hate that I have feelings for you. I know that I should not. I am used to distance myself from the people, I have long forgotten what it is like to trust… Being affable and friendly on public has nothing in common with being not hostile internally. I despise so much around me, yet I never let it be displayed. My people have to witness a perfect image… a designed, refined statue such as I present to them. And sometimes, this façade makes my inner feelings boil even more. Because I know how deep down I despise those I smile to…”

“Pookie… You are forcing these silly thoughts attack you again. I told you to get more sleep, but you always do as you please.”

“See? I am so selfish.”

“I did not mean that. I am only saying that you should consider my advice… once in a while.”

“You are too caring, baby. You deserve a better man, less troublesome.”

“Let me choose for myself”, you brushed his cheek with the back of your hand. “Besides, if you had these pent-up feelings, you know you can always come to me for a little chat.”

“I see… But I did not wish you to tolerate the pathetic condition that I am in,” he laughed at himself. “Well, this one ain’t better. This one might be even worse.”

“I don’t mind your ‘pathetic’ condition. You look rather charming, love.”

The man leaned towards you placing his head on your shoulder, his cheek rubbing against you. As you put your hand over his hair, caressing it once more, you heard silent, yet calm breathing.

“Uh, the alcohol got him.”

Attempting to not disturb the peaceful sleep of your darling, you deliberately pushed him back onto your bed, making sure the pillows were comfortably enough beneath his head, and covered him with the duvet.

“We’ll talk again tomorrow. Sleep tight.”

[ladykailitha]

Icarus Part 20

Damn guys, wow! Twenty chapters in. Shit. Wow. We've only got five chapters to go.

Hey, remember that breakdown that Steve feared was coming? Yeah it's in this chapter. Just not the person anyone thought it would be. Also Steve learns to lean on the people who love him.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19

~

Steve was nervous. He was rarely nervous on stage, but this was special. Eddie had written a duet version of one Corroded Coffin’s songs and Abbadon was going to feature. So when The Fallen left and Corroded Coffin came on, the first song would be the new duet.

Apparently Gareth had been badgering Eddie to include it in the set list since before the whole rehab stint. But that was around the time Steve and he got together and felt it was too close to the mark to sing it on stage like that.

But somehow the three other members had convinced him and Eddie in turn had managed to convince The Fallen, both bands managers, and their tech guys to let them do it in Denver.

The Fallen finished their encore and they huddled together as Corroded Coffin’s equipment was set up.

Then it was time, with all the lights off Abbadon went to stand in the middle of the stage, directly in front Gareth’s stage where his kit was. The spotlights came on, first highlighting Gareth, then Brian, Jeff, and then Eddie.

Abbadon stood in the darkness, microphone in hand, head hung between his shoulders.

This was the moment. The moment Steve had spent his whole adult life dreaming about. On stage with Corroded Coffin to sing with Eddie. His only regret that it was as Abbadon and not himself. But damn, he’d be fool to turn down the opportunity and he knew it.

Eddie started in on guitar; the sweet, slow build up of one of their greatest hits. “Run, Lover Boy, Run.”

But when the first verse started it wasn’t the gravelly growl of Eddie Munson, but the haunting tenor of Abbadon.

“When I see you there,

Standing with your friends,

I have to stop and stare,

Because, baby I know how this ends...”

Finally Abbadon was lit by a pale blue light, making the white of his costume seem ghost like and eerie. He raised his head and the lace mask made him even more beautiful. He walked toward the front of the stage slowly as he joined Eddie front and center.

To say the crowd went wild would have been an understatement. The Fallen fans were freaking out and screaming and crying. The Corroded Coffin fans roared their approval as Abbadon’s voice lent the song a melancholy vibe.

Eddie sang the second verse and then they joined in together for the chorus. Abbadon leaned in close, their spotlights blending together.

“Run, Lover Boy, Run,

Don’t you know,

You were only a little bit of fun

Run, Lover Boy, Run

You were looking for love,

Can’t you see we’re done?”

Abbadon knew he should have moved back for the next verse, but somehow he found himself draped over Eddie. Even though the song was about being used by a guy he thought he could trust but was only looking for a hookup and not something more serious. He just couldn't move away.

Eddie had a white knuckle grip on his guitar, playing his hardest and singing about heartbreak. Abbadon’s microphone was at his side as he shared Eddie’s. He had even turned it off to avoid feedback.

They were so close that any closer they would have been making out over the microphone. But the thing that really tipped things over the edge was when the final verse came, Abbadon sunk to his knees and belted it out. So from a certain perspective it looked as though he was grinding against Eddie leg.

The crowd went absolutely feral. There was screaming, crying, and apparently in two extreme cases, fainting.

He wasn’t.

Steve wanted to make that clear. He wasn’t grinding against Eddie’s leg. To both their management and the media. Because, yeah he saw the video the fans uploaded and it was very suspect, but his other fans had his back. They posted the view from the other side of the stadium where he was just a few feet away from the lead singer, on his knees, his free hand clenched in a fist.

But oh boy did fuel rumors about Abbadon and Eddie in ways that made Steve’s skin crawl. It was a good thing they had two days before they got to Vegas for Steve to hide in their trailer.

“Steve!” Robin as Robin called out, banging on the door. “Come on, Steve, you can’t hide in there forever!”

Eddie had tried. Chrissy had tried. Hell, even Vickie gave it a go. But Steve refused to budge. Shane let out a sigh after Simon and Spence were both sent away as well.

“Let me try,” he said softly.

They all cleared out to let Shane have a go. He sat down on the steps to the trailer and leaned his head against the door.

“Hey, Steve,” he muttered. “You don’t have to come out, but I’m gonna start talking and maybe you’ll decide to do that on your own.”

He was met with silence. Which was already a step up from the shouts to go away. So he started talking.

“I worry about us as friends, all of us,” he said, strained. “Simon keeps turning down women who are generally into him because he thinks they’re only into him because of what we do. But there have been some real good ones. One that wanted to get to know him, but he just shuts them down. I worry about his attachment to you. I know he’s straight. I’ve hit on him before... before you I guess. Back when we were just some idiots in a cafe who didn’t know what life was.”

He let out a watery chuckle. “But I’ve also seen girls flirt with him as a roadie and he still thinks it’s because of what he does rather than wanting him for he who is. He’s a good guy. He’s one of the best. But he doesn’t seem to want to be better.”

Shane looked up at the clear blue sky and let out a shuddering breath. He hung his head.

“Spence doesn’t want to go out anymore,” he continued, his voice quaking with the feeling of loss. “All he wants to do is spend all his time talking to Nadia. The only time he goes out is as someone else and that can’t be healthy either.”

He ran his fingers through his tight red curls, gripping them at the base and pulling. His hands shook with the effort and the emotions.

“I just came out as gay and I’m frightened by it all,” Shane said. “My parents are supportive. Because of course they are. But I can tell the difference in people from the way they used to look at me and how they look at me now. I was going to teach middle school, Steve. I was going to teach world history to teenagers. But this changed everything.”

There was a soft thud behind him and he figured it was Steve sitting on the floor in front of the door.

“But of all us,” he whispered through his tears, “I worry about you the most. You think you have to be strong for everyone else. You came out with me and I’m getting more support than you are. Yeah, you have a good support system. I wouldn’t have allowed you to come out otherwise, twin. But this moment that blew up in your face, shouldn’t have.”

He lifted his head up and let the tears continue to stream down his face. “It should have been a moment of pure joy and it turned into an embarrassment. You’ll forever look back at the first time you sang with shame. And you shouldn’t. You didn’t do anything wrong. You were incandescent. You lit up that stage and it was beautiful.”

The door to the trailer opened a crack and instantly Shane was on his feet. He opened the door all the way and slipped inside, closing it tightly behind him. Sitting in the dark on the floor not far from the door was a very disheveled Steve. It looked like he hadn’t slept in awhile. They all traveled together, but Steve had taken to locking people out until it was time to get on the road again.

“Hey, twin,” Shane muttered as he moved to sit next to him on the floor.

Steve snorted. They looked nothing alike but by some twist of fate they had been born on the same day, year and all. Steve was older by like seven hours. So Shane had taken to calling him twin when no one else was around.

“Hey,” he whispered. “I hate making people worry about me.”

Shane bumped their shoulders together. “Well that’s too damn bad, Steve. Because you don’t get to make that choice for other people.”

Steve out a shuddering breath. “It’s not even the fallout of people thinking I was grinding against him that bothers me the most.”

“Yeah?” Shane asked with a huff. “What is?”

“That I wanted to.” Steve buried his head in his hands. “I wanted to touch him, kiss him, hell even fuck him on that stage. But I knew that if I wavered for even a fucking second the backlash would be, oh so much worse.”

Shane looked at him for a moment. “No it wouldn’t.” Steve’s head whipped around to face him. “Steve...you hang off me and Simon all the time. You flirt with the audience. All the photo shoots of you are in sexy poses. Shit, man. You wouldn’t be doing anything different than a half a dozen heterosexual bands have done on stage.”

Steve thought about it for a moment. And Shane was right. A famous rockstar humped a massive blown up dick on stage and no one thought twice about that. At least none that weren’t going to be pearl clutching about it in the first place.

“Oh,” he whispered. “Fuck.”

“I think you should play up into more if I’m honest,” Shane huffed. “You’re out as bisexual. Play into the stereotype of being a slut. The people who know you, know you’re with Eddie and monogamous, but those people,” he pointed out of the trailer, “the ones that don’t matter? Soak up all that attention and feed on it.”

Steve’s eyes lit up and a slow smile spread out over his face. Pictures started forming in his head. He thought about how his persona was already the opposite of him in real life. He thought about the thrill he got when he saw the photos of him online from the angle that made it look risque. He thought about how he wanted to play up into flirting with Eddie on stage.

“Can you get the rest of the band in here with Robin and Eddie and Vickie if you can get her too?”

Shane’s answering grin was all he needed to know. Shane got to his feet and within minutes everyone was huddled together in the trailer and Steve explained his idea.

Vickie smiled wickedly. “I think it’s a brilliant idea and if Eddie’s on board with it I’d be happy to lean into that.”

Eddie sat back and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “I think what might make it easier so people don’t focus on me is if I get the rest of the Corroded Coffin boys in on it too. That way if Steve as Abbadon is seen flirting with the whole band it’ll come off as being a flirt and not that there’s something specific between Abbadon and I.”

“I like that,” Simon agreed. “Abbadon is already all over Astraeus and Asmodeus so flirting with Jeff and Brian as well as Eddie that would play up into the slut allegations.”

Steve laughed and then shared a knowing smile with Robin. Yep. Simon might be shy about most things but when it came to Steve... that was a whole other kettle of fish.

“We’ll do another duet tonight,” Eddie said, nodding. “Have Abbadon start Gareth’s lap or something.”

“I’m glad you’re doing better,” Spence said, “but don’t lock us out next time. You’re there for us. It’s time you let us be there for you. Okay?”

Steve let out a low shuddering breath. “Yeah, okay.”

They all came up and gave Steve huge hugs before they piled out of the trailer again, leaving behind Shane and Eddie.

“Thanks for getting him to come out of his shell,” Eddie said to Shane. “I didn’t know what to say because it’s always been apart of my contract that I was out and loud.” He stood up and gave Steve a sweet kiss on the mouth before he, too, went back outside.

“You going to be okay, Steve?” Shane asked, moving to sit next to him on the sofa. Well futon technically, but semantics.

Steve looked up at his friend. “I worry about you, too.” Shane let out a an aborted laugh. “I know you’re frightened of being out, but I know you’ve been coming back from partying all hours of the night and sometimes day. Spence and Simon sleep like fucking logs and snore just like sawing them. But I hear you.”

Shane buried his head in his hands for a moment before running his fingers down his face. “I’ll tell you what, twin. I’ll cut back on the partying, if accept our help. And not just some of the time. Come to us for help and I’ll keep the partying to a minimum.”

Steve barked out a laugh. “Just take Spence out with you and we’ll call it a deal.”

He reached out his hand and shook it. “Deal.”

~

Tag List: CLOSED

Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 Part 24 Part 25

1- @mira-jadeamethyst @rozzieroos @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @zerokrox-blog

2- @gregre369 ​@a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @messrs-weasley @val-from-lawrence

3- @goodolefashionedloverboi @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog @irregular-child @blondie1006

4- @yikes-a-bee @bookworm0690 @anne-bennett-cosplayer @awkwardgravity1 @littlewildflowerkitten

5- @genderless-spoon @y4r3luv @dragonmama76 @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt

6- @disrespectedgoatman @eyehartart @dawners @thespaceantwhowrites @tinyplanet95

7- @iamthehybrid @croatoan-like-its-hot @papergrenade @cryptid-system @counting-dollars-counting-stars

8- @ravenfrog @w1ll0wtr33 @child-of-cthulhu @kultiras @dreamercec

9- @machete-inventory-manager @useless-nb-bisexual @stripey82 @dotdot-wierdlife @kal-ology

10- @sadisticaltarts @urkadop @chameleonhair @clockworkballerina @garden-of-gay

[cleo-fox]

As the Clock Strikes Midnight - Part III

Series Masterlist Chapter Summary: In which you are found out. Chapter Warnings: Making out, a little bit of groping, teasing, fingering, Loki being a horrendous tease.

Tag List: I don’t have a tag list for this fic, sorry! The best way to hear about updates is to follow me on Tumblr or subscribe to the fic on AO3.

It’s difficult to return to your life the next day.

You try to be pragmatic about it: you’ve told yourself over and over that what had happened in the garden was a fluke, a once in a lifetime bout of extraordinariness that would not—could not—be repeated. You know this and you accept it.

But the magic of last night lingers in a way that makes you feel a little melancholy and wistful. You’re distracted the whole day, your thoughts wandering back to the feeling of soft lips on yours, warm hands on your waist, the glimmer of emerald green eyes.

“Are you well?” Grete asks you that afternoon. “You’ve been quiet all day.”

You force a smile. “I didn’t sleep well,” you say, which isn’t exactly a lie, but also isn’t the full truth. Either way, it’s enough to fool Grete, who returns to her work, chattering about something that happened with Solvi and one of the stablehands.

Even if she wasn’t a gossip, you could never tell Grete what happened in the garden. You could never tell anyone. A sudden, lonely feeling rears its head and there’s an ache in the center of your chest. You’re used to being lonely, but this feels different, sharper in a way you’re not expecting.

It doesn’t seem like it should be possible to miss a life that you never had, but you find yourself consumed with that notion.

Maybe it would have been better if you hadn’t gone at all.

You don’t go to the library that night. It’s largely because you don’t want to risk the chance of him recognizing you so close to the masquerade. The more time between you and the masquerade, the better: better that you fade from his memory rather than inadvertently jog it

But it’s also because you’re not sure that you can bear to be in the same room as him when you’re feeling like this. Better to wait until your heart felt a little less tender.

You avoid the library for six days. On the seventh day, you decide that you’ve waited long enough to return. 

In hindsight, though, it was the height of hubris to think that you could pull one over on the god of mischief and lies.

In making this bargain with Loki, you were making several assumptions. You had assumed that his memory was imperfect enough to not recognize you without your mask and that your very dull and ordinary life had such a vise grip on you that no force—not even the attention of a handsome and clever prince—could possibly disrupt it.

How very wrong you were.

You’re initially quite relieved when you don’t see him in his usual chair. You’ll be able to fully enjoy yourself without worrying about looking over your shoulder as you wander through the stacks.

You’re feeling rather pleased with yourself and a little giddy with relief and you’re not exactly paying attention as you round a corner in the stacks, a fact that becomes apparent to you when you crash into something rather warm and solid. Hands grab your elbows to keep you from falling and you look up, your mouth half open in an apology.

It is at this point that you begin to process that the warm and solid thing that you’ve bumped into is, in fact, a person.

More specifically: it’s Loki.

For a moment, you think you might be able to wiggle your way out of this particular snag without any problem. But then he locks eyes with you and you immediately, instinctively know that it’s too late: he knows exactly who you are.

His smile is wide and sharp. Predatory—but not in an unappealing way. “Hello, little mouse.”

Your mouth is paper dry and suddenly your legs feel too unsteady to even attempt a clumsy curtsy.

“Your highness, I—” You’re struggling to string a pair of words together and this is made all the more difficult by the fact that he hasn’t let go of you. “Forgive me,” you say, “I can explain.” 

You are not entirely sure that you can, to be quite honest, but it seems like the right thing to say.

“You can explain why you thought it clever to lie to your prince?” he says lightly, his voice rich with mirth. He doesn’t look angry—on the contrary, he seems amused. You’re not quite sure if that’s a good thing or not.

“Nothing I said was a lie,” you say. “I only did not tell you who I was.”

“Clever girl,” he says. His voice is low and intimate and it’s doing something delicious to your insides, even as your heart threatens to pound its way out of your chest. “Tell me,” he says, “how does a servant come to be so clever as to read Auber and sneak into libraries and fool princes at masquerades?”

“Perhaps I was not always a servant,” you say and then, before you can stop yourself, you add, “And at any rate, I don’t read Auber when I can avoid him. I’m a sensible person, after all.”

It’s an impertinent thing to say and you’re already in enough trouble as it is. But Loki merely chuckles.

“You have a wicked tongue, my dear,” he says with a catlike smile. “That will get you into trouble someday.”

“One could argue it already has,” you say before you can think better of it.

“Indeed,” he says and his eyes glitter like the edge of a knife. “And now that I’ve found you, I believe you made me a promise.” 

You almost want to laugh. The very notion of him still wanting to kiss you is several different kinds of absurd. “Surely you don’t intend to carry on with that game now that you know who I am,” you say.

There again is the catlike smile. “On the contrary, I quite enjoy our merry little chase and I intend to continue it now that I’ve found you.”

“I’m beneath you.”

He gives you a wicked grin. “I’d rather like you to be.”

You’re confronted with two opposing feelings. You can’t deny that you’re flattered: he’s handsome and you’re wildly attracted to him despite the fact that it’s inconvenient, to say the very least. But at the same time, you’re not about to just cede all power to him just because you’re flattered. At the end of the day, he’s a prince and you’re a servant—you won’t let him take advantage of that imbalance.

“I won’t be your conquest of the week,” you say sharply, using a tone that most would consider inappropriate for addressing someone of his status. “I’m some toy you can play with and discard when you tire of me.”

You expect him to reprimand you, to remind you of your place, but instead he laughs. The sound surprises you, even as it does shameful things to your insides. “I wouldn’t dream of it,” he says.

You’re skeptical of this and your expression shows it. He registers this and he becomes a bit more serious. “Darling,” he says, placing his hands on the shelves behind you and casually cageing you in, “I’m not letting you go that easily. You have my undivided attention.”

The prospect of receiving his undivided attention sends a shiver up your spine—it’s as intimidating as it is appealing.

“Now,” he says, his voice lowering as his fingertips graze the curve of your jaw, “I’d like to collect on a promise.”

Your breath stutters in your throat as both of his hands cup your cheeks. He looks down at you, his eyes hooded and focused on your lips. He waits one long, agonizing moment, and you remind yourself to breathe and forget the instruction a moment later when his lips brush lightly against yours. Were it not for the heavy, coiling heat he was summoning in your hips, it would almost seem chaste. You feel him take a breath and then his mouth is opening against yours, his tongue tracing your lower lip and then sliding smoothly past it.

That last kiss was supposed to last you a lifetime—you were not expecting another one ever, let alone so soon. You feel drunk on the taste of his lips and his tongue has you thinking wicked thoughts. The longer it goes on, the more your knees wobble and the more breathless you feel.

You catch his lower lip between your teeth and tug on it gently; he inhales sharply and presses against you like he has half a mind to take you right there up against the stacks and stars above, you can’t help but want that just a little. 

His thigh slots between your legs and your body sings as you arch against him.

Maybe you want that a lot.

His hands have moved from your cheeks to your waist, pressing you against him, stroking up your back and sides. His thumb barely grazes the underside of one of your breasts and a low whimper escapes the back of your throat.

You lose all sense of time and it feels far too soon when he pulls away from you, even though you can hear the clock chiming midnight. You find that you’re rather gratified and proud of the slight redness in his cheeks, how his breathing is slightly labored. You grip the shelf behind you, knees trembling.

He licks his lips as he surveys you. “This isn’t over, little mouse,” he murmurs.

You’re not quite sure if you want to kiss him or scold him. “What do you mean by that?”

He smirks. “You’ll find out soon enough.”

And with that, he turns on his heel and leaves the library, leaving your head spinning.

You return to the library the next night. There is no reason for this—or, rather, there’s no good reason for this; while you’re enjoying your book well enough, you can’t say that it’s compelling to the point of interrupting your thoughts.

There are other reasons that have been, though.

Well. One reason, if you’re being honest.

Your feet take you to your usual place in the stacks, you find your latest book, but your mind is elsewhere, listening for the telltale tap of a booted foot on the stone floor, the creak of leather.

If someone were to ask you what you were expecting, you wouldn’t know what to say. Obviously, you’re hoping to see him again—and as much as you know it’s not a good idea, you’re also hoping that he’ll kiss you. You’re hesitant to allow yourself to think much farther than that, simply because the fact that he wants to kiss you still seems rather impossible. You learned early on in your days at the palace that daydreaming was almost certain to lead to disappointment. You’re reluctant to allow your mind to stray too far down that path.

It’s easier said than done, though.

You’re not exactly sure how he arrives, just that he suddenly has—there is a presence behind you and when you breathe in deeply, you swear you can catch the faint scent of leather and something wintery and masculine.

“Your highness,” you say coolly, like you haven’t been waiting for him with bated breath.

“Are you really enjoying your book that much?” he says and you have to force yourself not to jump when his voice is much, much closer than you thought he was. 

“It’s not Auber, so yes, I should say I am enjoying it,” you say before you can stop yourself.

He chuckles and the sound sends a shiver up your spine. “Always so sharp tongued.”

You force yourself to turn around then and stars , he is so much closer than you thought. You tilt your chin up to look at him. “Why are you here?”

His smile is wide, like he finds you especially amusing. “I am often here late at night. You know this.”

“You do not usually loom over me in the stacks,” you say.

His eyebrows lift. “Is that what I’m doing? Looming?”

“You are standing awfully close.”

Any other person might take a step back: he takes a step closer so that your back is pressed against the shelves, lowering his head so that his lips are right next to your ear. “Perhaps I’m looking for a book,” he says.

Your heart is pounding wildly in your chest. “Somehow, I doubt that.”

He laughs and you feel his breath warm on your neck. “Clever girl.” His lips brush against your collarbone, his teeth nipping lightly at the delicate skin there.

“I don’t understand,” you say, even as your eyes flutter shut and you lean into his embrace. “I’m no one—why are you here?”

“Did I not tell you this wasn’t over?” he says against your neck, allowing his tongue to dip into the hollow of your collarbone, making your knees weak.

“That doesn’t answer my question,” you say, but it doesn’t matter because he’s now covering your mouth with his and you can scarcely remember your own name, let alone what you were going to say next. He’s demanding and hungry, one hand tipping your head back, cupping the curve of your jaw, the other sliding to your waist, pressing you flush against him.

You’re not entirely sure what his motivations are or how far he intends to take this, but it’s hard to convince yourself to care when he’s kissing you like this. Fire is racing through your veins, filling you with a kind of reckless wanting that makes your toes curl in your shoes.

His hand slides from your waist, skimming up your side to cup your breast over your dress. He is cautious, seeming to wait for your muffled moan before taking it more firmly in his hand, expertly kneading and squeezing in just the right way until you’re half considering guiding his hand down the front of your dress.

It’s at this precise moment that he steps back from you, his dark pupils and the slight catch in his breath the only indication that you’d exchanged anything more than polite pleasantries. You lean against the shelves panting, your entire body crackling with a strange kind of heat.

“Goodnight,” he says, seemingly unable to resist a smirk as he leaves you once again in the darkness of the library as the clock strikes midnight.

He’s playing a game with you. That much is clear. You’d like to think that you’re sensible enough to know not to take his bait, to stay away from the library after dark, but you appear to be mistaken on that count. You spend most of the next day trying to keep your treacherous mind from wandering too far. You are only moderately successful—you nearly burn an entire batch of biscuits due to a particular daydream that leaves you staring out a window for a minute too long.

He’s waiting for you in the stacks this time, giving you the same smirk he did last night when he left you. You decide to keep your distance for the time being—you’re not sure that you can ever say that you've got the upper hand on him, but you’re more likely to have a chance at it the farther away he is.

“Your highness,” you say.

“My lady.”

You give him a stern look. “You needn’t mock me, I know I’ve no titles.”

“Oh, I’m not mocking you, sweet,” he says and you are fairly certain he’s being sincere. “You are an impressive woman. You ought to have titles.”

“You’re trying to flatter me,” you say, folding your arms over your chest.

“Of course I am. Did I not tell you that I was trying to charm you?” he says, taking a step toward you.

You swallow and stare at him. “You said that when you thought I was someone else.”

Another step. “You seem to think that I ought to have lost interest when I found out who you are. Why is that?”

You tilt your chin up and stare at him defiantly. “When has a noble ever taken a genuine interest in a servant? It’s not done.”

He smirks again and takes another step forward and once again, you’re pressed between him and the bookshelf. “You know my reputation,” he says, his fingertips trailing against your throat. “I care very little for rules.”

His gaze meanders over your face, lingering on your lips, but you hold steady, despite your pounding heart. “So you’re using me to disrupt things because it amuses you.”

“You misunderstand me,” he says, the backs of his fingers stroking your cheek. “I find you enticing. I’m not inclined to be bothered by rules that say I ought not to because it isn’t done.”

You press your lips together and look at him warily. “I don’t know that I should trust you.”

He shouldn’t look like he finds this amusing, but his eyes glitter in the dim light. “And why is that?”

“I know your reputation,” you say. “You are the god of mischief and lies. I ought to stay away from you.”

“And yet, you’ve turned up here for the last three nights and uttered not a word of protest when I’ve kissed you,” he says.

“I said I ought to stay away,” you say. “I never said I would.”

His smile is slow. “Clever girl.”

He kisses you again, slow to start, like he’s giving you an opportunity to turn him away. When you don’t, his movements become hungrier, his tongue tangling with yours, his teeth grazing your lower lip.

His hand slips down the front of your dress and you gasp as his fingers pinch and tease your nipple into a stiff and aching point, igniting a smoldering ache between your legs. You’ve never wanted anyone like this and you resolve in that moment not to say so because telling him is the same as giving him leverage and you’re still fairly certain that that is a bad idea.

His thigh has nudged its way between your legs and you press against him as much as your skirts will allow, shamelessly trying to generate enough friction and pressure to provide yourself some relief.

The clock chimes midnight and he steps away and you wonder how much more of this you’ll be able to take.

He’s late the next night—so late, in fact, that you almost give up and leave because you think he’s not coming. You try not to dwell upon the disappointed little twinge that blooms in your chest when you think this is the case.

But then you hear soft footsteps in the quiet of the library and you look up and find him leaning against the end of the stacks, looking far more comfortable than he has any right to be.

“You’re late,” you say before you can think about it.

“Did you think I wasn’t coming?” he asks with the slightest of smirks. “Were you disappointed?”

You attempt to keep your expression cool and composed. “I didn’t think anything.”

He chuckles. “You tell such pretty lies, my dear.”

You want to deny it outright, but that feels like playing right into his hands. You consider your next moves as he approaches you, again backing you up against the stacks.

“Do you know what I think?” he says, his hands sliding to your hips. “I think you’re rather fond of these little interludes.” He tilts his head to the side, eyes glinting with a kind of mischief that makes you press your thighs together. “Shall we find out how fond?”

You’re fairly certain you know what he’s implying, but you’re also fairly certain that he’s not going to actually go through with it. It’s one thing to kiss you like he has been, but it’s another thing entirely to actually touch you. Surely he’s not that bold.

His left hand slides from your hip over the curve of your ass and then along your thigh, raising your leg to hook around his waist. You grab his shoulders, still certain that he’s bluffing even as he pushes the hem of your skirt up.

His hand trails along the inside of your thigh, expertly navigating your petticoats and undergarments. He watches your face intently as his hand inches up your thigh, seemingly cataloging every time your breath hitches, every time you bite your lip in anticipation. You try to keep yourself contained and calm, even as you can feel the slickness between your thighs growing with every passing second.

You realize that he’s not bluffing precisely when his fingers part your dripping sex. You gasp as his fingers lightly brush against your clit and you catch his greedy, triumphant smile as your head tips back against the shelf.

“Oh yes,” he breathes, sliding one finger inside you as his thumb presses against your swollen clit. “What filthy thoughts have left you so wet and wanting, my pretty little kitchen maid?”

This should bother you: you’re not his and you’re more than a kitchen maid. Instead, your body seems focused on its mission to betray you, as his words only make you whimper and tense around his slowly thrusting finger.

“I could make you come right here,” he says, his eyes raking over your body with a raw hunger. “Would you like that?”

“Please,” leaves your lips before you can ask yourself what you’re thinking.

“So polite,” he breathes into your ear. “Had I known it was this easy to tame that sharp tongue of yours, I would have buried my face between your thighs in the garden.”

Your cheeks burn, though you’re not sure if it’s from his fingers or his words. “I would not claim that victory yet, highness.”

His eyes flash and his hips press against you when you use his title—you file that little fact away for later. 

You can’t even pretend that there’s not going to be a later.

“If my hand slowed, you would beg for me,” he says with a smirk that is slightly too self-assured.

You tilt your chin up, staring at him defiantly. “You flatter yourself.”

His smirk widens as his hand slows and you immediately regret challenging him. He slides his hand away from you, holding your gaze. He pauses for a beat and when you continue your silence, he raises his fingers to his lips and slowly draws them into his mouth. You catch a glimpse of the pink tip of his tongue as he carefully licks your essence from his forefinger and thumb, closing his eyes like he’s tasting something divine. It’s indecent—everything about this is indecent—but you can’t look away.

Your resolve crumbles abruptly and completely. “Please,” you whisper.

He releases his fingers and gives you a lazy smile. “Can you be quiet like a good girl?”

You nod fervently. “Yes. I’ll be quiet, I promise.”

He leans in and kisses you. “That’s a shame,” he murmurs against your lips, “because I want to hear you scream for me. And we can’t very well do that in the library.”

He draws back, smirking, and you suddenly know that you’ve lost another point in this strange game that you’re playing.

“Come to my chambers tomorrow night after dark,” he says. 

Stars above, you’re going to kill him.

“You’re an ass,” you say.

He chuckles and kisses you again. “I’ll make it worth the wait.”

You hate how much of an effect that has on you, but you’re reasonably certain that you’ve managed to hide most of that from him.

“Your confidence is inspiring,” you say.

“And your tongue is wicked,” he says, stepping away from you and it takes every ounce of pride you have not to reach for him and pull him back to you. He takes your hand and brushes his lips against your knuckles, his emerald eyes never leaving yours and somehow it feels just as intimate as what had just happened. “Until tomorrow,” he says before dropping your hand and walking away, leaving you with your heart pounding.

Next chapter

[gaysindistress]

A Fool’s Devotion

disclaimer: shoutout to @malsorie for letting me use her stunning art. The center picture as well as the bottom one are her master pieces. All others were found on Pinterest or Google.

pairings: Minthara x f!reader (could be read as gn since I didn’t use pronouns for reader)

Summary: Only a fool would remain faithful to a coward god.

Warnings: bg3 cannon violence

Word count: 2.7k

Bg3 masterlist

A Fool’s Devotion teaser

Drifting through the stale winds of the Underdark on mushroom spores, I have finally found her.

Sitting in a cold and silent room with her chin resting on her closed fist as she watches the city from the window, I have finally found her.

Singing the songs of both her victims and allies, a reckoning begins in the hallows of slit throats and caverns of forgotten hope but I finally found her.

A paladin who’s lost their oath, willfully broken under the pretenses of another’s twisted lies, she sits with the blood of her mother caked into the creases of her hands. A daughter, once sworn to her house and to her goddess, she no longer is but in her place is a creature of darkness.

A wickedly evil thing lives in the mess that Orin made of her mind.

Darkness from the depths of Mykrul’s personal hell has crept into her heart and warped whatever demented love that Drow society left behind.

A soldier for her people, her house, and her goddess has been lost to the wild of Faerun and now only remains a soldier for herself in the haunting study of House Baenre.

Floating through the open window, I watch her stare at a distant fixated point in the city. Alone she has let her guard fall and with it, the look of desired anguish is pulled taunt on her face. The thought of not remembering her time with the Absolute must eat away at her every moment she is awake and those from her childhood must find her at night given the way her brows are pinched together. Within the red of her eyes, dry tears gather but don’t fall down on her lavender cheeks. Her lips are pulled into a tight line and her jaw is set in a similar fashion.

The veil that hides me from her view falls as my boots make contact with the floor. Like the smoke that dances above a dying campfire, I flicker into existence and come to stand beside the window facing her. Her melancholy comes off of her in waves that lap at my feet but from my spot, I’m a safe distance from her sea of emotions.

“You’re here,” her voice cracks for a moment as she speaks to me but continues to stare past me, “I was beginning to wonder when you would make your appearance.”

“There are rules, Minthara.” She interrupts me by waving me off with the hand her chin had been resting on.

“Rules that even you have to follow,” I continue, “and I tried to warn you about what would happen if you broke them. I told you what the consequences would be if you continued down this path of murder and chased a power you would never hold. I sent you all kinds of signs, omens of what your future would hold should you continue to ignore me.”

I feel those exhausted red eyes cut to me, slicing through the leather of my armor and hoping to find a weak spot beneath. When no vein is ripe for her blade, she chooses a different route to maim me.

“A power I would never hold? You are a fool if you think that I haven’t been successful in my efforts to gain whatever it is that I seek.”

A sigh of defeat escapes my lips. I’d hoped that time would ease her determined mind but from what little she’s said, I can tell that it has only made it more rigid.

“Do the consequences of your actions not matter to you? Have you no sense of self preservation?”

Her hand falls to grip the edge of her chair. White strands of hair are disturbed from her movement but flutter back around her shoulders in moments as angry water laps at my feet. I fear that if I look down I would find a stormy wave ready to overtake me so that I may feel her anguish fully.

“Without it, I would have been dead by my mother’s own hand long ago. Self preservation is what has led me to where I am now. It’s been the only thing that has motivated me when all should be lost, when even YOU deserted me.”

The hole where my heart must have once sat clenches at her words; she believes that I deserted her. When all others have left her and deemed her too maniacal for their liking, she doesn’t care because there has always been one person who remained. When everything was stripped from her and she became a plaything for the Absolute and Orin, it didn’t matter what she suffered because her heart still knew there was one person who cared for her. As Tav decided to save her from that prison and make her a part of their camp, she didn’t seek out the companion of the others because she yearned for one person alone. While standing over Orin’s eviscerated corpse, she felt relief at the reality that this monster was gone but grief that she couldn’t share this feeling with one person in particular. When the Nether brain fell and she returned to her city, she searched for this person in every alleyway and noble house alike. Laying awake at night as she tried to ease the tension that unknown horrors had inflicted on her, she prayed to me and asked me to come back to her.

Can you hear my prayers? She cried one night. Can you hear me? Or are you ignoring me, ust-nor?

My answer feels thick on my tongue but there’s nothing else I can tell her, “I didn’t intend to desert you. I had no choice. I’d been called upon and you know that I cannot leave sooner than necessary.”

She lets out a sinister, mocking chuckle as she adjusts in her chair. She’s taken on a more relaxed pose, slouching with her hands folded on her lap although it’s merely a mask. “You reprimand me for making the wrong choices when you have done the same.”

My whole body bristles at her tone, “Minthara.”

She glowers at me with a menacing stare for a moment before sweeping over my appearance. “I suppose that you’re not here for old time’s sake if you’re wearing your armor. You’ve been called here, haven’t you?”

The armor in question is a complex web of leather and spider silk woven by Lolth herself. The chest plate boasts of Her favoritism from small pieces of Her candles that decorate the neckline and to the intricate spider designs carved into the blessed leather. Trousers and boots crafted in the same fashion fit closely to my legs, both blessed by the Spider Queen to grant me advantages in my line of work. However my gloves are the true testament of Lolth’s favor; a rather unassuming set of black leather gloves that grant me the ability to paralyze any creature that I desire. A soft touch to one’s arm in passing is all it would take for the paralytic to take effect in seconds and remain in effect until I release them. They’ve been the envy of many people but Minthara, in particular, has attempted to persuade me into giving them to her numerous times.

I glance down the gloves and flex my fingers to see the lights around us disappear into their black shade.

I allow my voice to fall into a deeper and authoritative one as I ask, “What is the name that people whisper when they speak of me?”

Her eyes narrow at the change before she answers, “Dobluth.”

The outcast.

I nod my head as I move away from the window at last. My boots make small, almost eerily silent sounds as I approach her and fully look at her. Ragged is not a kind word nor is it one she would ever allow someone to call her but it’s too simple of a word to describe the state that she is in. Now that I’m closer, I can see the true extent of her exhaustion and how it has wreaked havoc on her. No longer is she the vibrant and ever imposing Drow successor but in her place is the rotting corpse of a woman who’s witnessed and inflicted far too much evil. Fatigue has dulled her senses to the point that she barely reacts when I remove my cloak and place it on the small table beside her. Crouching before her, I study her face closely when I ghost my hands up her legs and brush them against her fold ones. I take note of the way her eyes almost flutter closed and she lets out a long sigh when I take them into mine.

“Open your eyes and look at me.”

The simple command seems damn near impossible for me as she takes seconds too long to do so. She looks everywhere but my eyes at first and when I squeeze her hands, she finally meets my gaze.

“I’m the first Dobluth, Minthara. I was neither born nor created; I simply have existed since the dawn of time and will continue to exist when all else has perished. I will live in the hearts and minds of all living creatures and will putrefy with them as they take their last breaths. I will feed on the consequences of wrong doings and ease the pain of those who cry out for deaf gods as I do so. I am the devourer of all sin; I absolve souls of their weight and as a consequence, was named the first outcast, the First Dobluth. I am known by everyone yet no one knows who I am.” I keep eye contact with her as I press my lips to the top of her hands and murmur my sacred devotion to her, “No one knows me for who I am but you, Minthara. You may very well be the only person to have said my name in centuries, to know my face, to hear my voice, to have my interest. You’re the solo person who has known who and what I am but yet still chosen to be mine. My heart may no longer beat but it has found sanctuary within yours. My blood may be solidified within my veins but it flows within yours. My body may feel frigid but against yours, it feels alive once more. I may be fundamentally incapable of being anything other than a devourer but I’m sated with you and finally found fulfillment knowing that I am enough for you.”

I cup her face while keeping her hands firmly clasped in the other. Perhaps against her mind’s will, her heart allows her to lean into my hand and savor the feeling of a gentle touch. A lone tear smears against her skin as my thumb catches it and sweeps it across her cheekbone.

“I heard your prayers and I did everything I could to come back to you because without you, my existence would be a blur of fear and loneliness. There’s no reason other than to cause ourselves pain to dwell on what we wish we could change about the past but I need you to know that I never would’ve left had I known what that Bhaalspawn would do. I would’ve fought harder to stay had I known what horrors you would face by her hand. I would’ve slaughtered every cultist and their Chosen myself had I known what I do now.” Her angry waves crashed into me the moment we touched and began to form a hurricane of her emotions and mine within me as I spoke. As more determined tears fall, the hurricane crumbles into a beast of a different nature. Sorrow replaces that anger and tells her that I am here now and that is all that matters.

“You failed to answer my question; were you called here?” she murmurs.

It catches me off guard when it shouldn’t.

“I was called by you, ust-nor.”

Disgust twists her face at the pet name, causing her nose to wrinkle and brows to furrow. She pulls her face from my grasp, meanwhile against the leather of gloves, I feel the minuscule twitch of her fingers as she keeps herself from shoving me away entirely. Although I vowed to never bring her harm, she knows all too well what lethal consequences could come from irrational actions right now. A single misunderstood movement from her could result in endless paralysis with no way out.

A moment passes as Minthara presumably considers her next move. She leans down, close enough that her breath washes over my face.

“I will tell you what I told the first Oathbreaker bastard who offered me a chance at redemption; I will never be governed by another again. I will not vow my life to a thankless coward. I will not force myself to live by an oath that does not serve me nor prioritize my wellbeing. I’ve spent too long serving those who don’t care if it is me or some other mindless soldier who returns victorious. I’ve given everything I have and been forced to give even more for a cause that is not my own. I refuse to praise a god for simply allowing me to worship them.”

I wish disappointment had been the emotion that greeted me as she spoke. I wish I could say that I didn’t expect her to react this way or to say the words that she did. I wish I didn’t know her as well as I do so that this unfortunate reunion wouldn’t bring me as much misery as it does.

Sighing, I pull my hands back and rock back onto my knees. With my hands resting on my knees, I stare at her. It’s an act of submission, my stance but for her, I would strip my armor and present my weapons with a bare heart if she asked.

“If you do not wish to retake your oath, our Goddess has been generous enough to offer…”

“Fuck your goddess.”

The silence is astounding.

She gets to her feet and is at the window in one fluid motion it seems. Candle lights dance down the expanse of her back, across the pale strands of her hair and over her void like black dress. In her chair remained the forgotten over layer of her dress; a structured piece that was crafted to strike fear into the hearts of her enemies and allies alike. Pointed shoulders and gold edges give her a towering illusion that matches her confidence. The dress she still wears reminds me of what she lovingly called her at-ease clothes. It almost feels like a call back to a time simpler and much happier than now.

Almost.

“The so-called Spider Queen has no place in House Baenre.” Her voice is steady now, devoid of any previous emotion as she takes a pin from the window’s ledge and twists her hair back into place, “Soon she will find that she has no place in Menzoberranzan at all. Her effigies will be destroyed, her books burned, and her memory scrubbed from history. I had hoped that you would see reason one day and join me as I fight to reclaim the city but there is no place for a bleeding heart in war.”

Once more she has become Minthara, Matron of House Baenre.

Somewhere lost beneath the countless sins of others I have absolved lies a naive soul that yearns to take my place by her side as she becomes the Slayer of Lolth but it is that very same goddess that binds me to the floor now. Her envy and anger crackles with a ferocity I’ve seen only a few times through my body and into the marrow of my bones. Her power seethes and tightens around me when I try to push back, to stand, to move at all. It was one thing to allow me to come and speak to Minthara but Lolth is not the generous type.

“You are dismissed, Y/N.”

I catch a brief look of longing before Lolth retakes me, wrapping me in her spidery webs and dragging me back to her clutches.

“Goodbye alurlssrin.”

[cloverdaisies]

# THE LOVE POTION

eric sohn x gn!reader/ collab! 007 files w/ @winterchimez

— “you must locate, befriend & kill agent sohn.”

description: the infamous english spy eric sohn! travels into europe searching for an encryption that serves as a communication link for the secret service rival spectre.. it’s sohn’s mission to retrieve the device and return it to safe hands.. however upon arrival his ultimate distraction is you, can you craft the perfect potion that will make 007 fall in love?

genre & warnings: from russia with love! 007 au! 60s au! love triangle! betrayal & romance! mentions of blood! violence! mentions of death/ killing! but no actual character deaths! cursing! alcohol consumption! mentions weapons! kissing & other mildly suggestive themes! pls lmk if i’ve missed anything!

word count: 6k+

a/n: dt: @sohnric happy belated birthday bar 🤍 wellll … what can i say???? this is overdue !! do excuse my hiatus & messy schedule.. i would like to say a massive thank to @winterchimez for inviting me to collab with you for this event !! it REALLY pushed me out of my comfort zone & throughly enjoyed perfecting this plot as much as i could as a big challenge.. sorry for being so late … 🤍 please do go check out the others work for this event which you can find here and enjoy!

Devilishly you smiled to yourself in the mirror as you pulled on your white satin gloves and fastened a thin pearl necklace around your neck.

“Tea?” Your advisor of sorts, Sangyeon, suggested, gesturing a hand towards the teapot with a smile of generosity. “You’ve got a long week ahead, is it not better to relax now y/n?”

Sangyeon was a taller man, with darkish hair and buttery highlights that glimmered with sufficient light source. He wore a long black blazer with tailored trousers and a fitted white shirt to polish him perfectly. He’d been assigned to look over matters concerning your work, making sure you weren’t up to anything suspicious and meet your personal needs when required. Despite him being so helpful, there was something that irked you about his unwavering presence and constant eye over your activity.

Turning your neck ever so slightly, you grimaced letting out a small huff thinking of the mission you’d been proposed a little over the week ago by the organisation higher-ups.

“I suppose so. I mean…” You cleared your throat before chuckling quietly. “It’s going to be hard to fool one of the the top english spies, is it not? I’ve heard he’s a bit of a charmer. I can’t quite understand why I’ve been hired.”

“Quite so. He’s always got company you could say.” Sangyeon laughed in return, pouring the steaming hot tea from the pot with a gentle hand. “That being said, despite his charm you need to be incredibly careful not to reveal anything and stay on your guard at all times.”

“I always am. No man charms me. Id do anything for the mother country.” You reached out to grab the china teacup off it’s saucer and took it to your lips to sip.

“I definitely charm you, don’t I?” He retorted with a sly wink and a smile that stretched from ear to ear.

“Oh you wish.” You scoffed, placing the cup back down and shuddering at the comment before returning to the mirror to fix your appearance. “Besides, I have a dinner party at 8pm and I don’t need your loitering to be dampening my mood. Thank you for the pastries though, you should consider opening a bakery.”

“I’m glad you liked them. I’ll be back to escort you to your car then.” Sangyeon sighed, leaving the hotel suite with a soft close of the door.

꒰ა ˚₊ ✧・┈・��﹕꒰ ᐢ📰☕️🎬ᐢ ꒱﹕╴・┈・𐑺 ‧₊˚໒꒱

In England, the sound of a melancholy low trumpet hummed over scene from a street player outside, fading into the open window of a grand office. It was almost sunset, the sky tinting a pale shade of orange amongst dark clouds.

“It’s been 2 days since the killing of that agent they masked as you and you’ve got 3 hours until that flight to Istanbul! Do you understand the consequences if you don’t retrieve that lektor Sohn? That cipher machine connects their entire military intelligence and you’re walking around with a blinking target on your head! ” M recited to Sohn, between his fingers a thick cigar emitting a cloud of heavy smoke.

M, the head of the British Secret service, was addressing what was the assassination attempt of Sohn at a British military facility earlier that week. Sohn had been giving a mission to retrieve a soviet device called the lektor, a cipher machine developed to connect communications.

“I’m very aware, I’ll play my cards right when I get there.” Sohn replied, his lips twisting into a sly smirk as he was being lectured by the higher up.

“Very well.” M sighed rising from his chair, leaving his cigar to rest in a glass dish before retrieving a brief case from the side of his desk. “In that case, there’s 20 rounds of ammunition, flat throwing knives and a 0.25 caliber, rifle that folds it has infrared sight. Use this when you need it and don’t let it out your sight.”

“Thank you very much.” His fingers wrapped around his crystal glass of whiskey, Eric took a sip before inspecting the case with a smug smile. “I best be off.”

꒰ა ˚₊ ✧・┈・╴﹕꒰ ᐢ📰☕️🎬ᐢ ꒱﹕╴・┈・𐑺 ‧₊˚໒꒱

As the evening settled in Istanbul, the dinner party had began not being invited to sit at the table yourself, you felt quite disappointed your importance in the operation had been significantly swept aside. Upon arrival you quickly recognized a ruddy faced man with a well kept moustache, his hair turning a dark grey with age and was smartly dressed in the cream suit that had been described to you by Sangyeon.

“Hello, I give my deepest apologies for interrupting your conversation. However, I must speak to you in private sir.” You gently tapped on the man’s shoulder, watching him jovially turn with attention.

“Very well, may I ask your name? What can I do for you?” The man answered almost like a store keeper with polite customer service, as if a mask of required kindness had been veiled over his face.

“I’m Y/N, L/N, former agent associated with spectre. I have quite the infatuation with Eric Sohn, I heard he was travelling to the country this evening and I was hoping I could help assist his duties.” You replied opening your eyes like an innocent fawn in attempts to convince your ‘pure’ intentions.

“What’s your interest with Mr. Sohn? How am I meant to trust your being genuine, Y/N, is it?” The head of the British Secret Service in Istanbul spoke softly to you as you chewed at your inner lips nervously. Politely observing your attire, his lips twisting into a curious smile.

Sticking to the script, you began. “I’d be willing to betray this country, for the man has me quite swooned. Therefore, if you would be ever so kind to introduce me to Eric Sohn himself, I’d be ever so grateful. It could get me killed if you tell any other soul.” You spoke eloquently, your demeanour slightly mischievous as you attempted to charm the gentleman.

“If that’s so. I’m sure he’d be happy to meet you.” He returned a smile , turning away from you likely to confront Eric about the matters. Your grin almost resembled that of the cheshire cat, deviously imagining the plans success.

“Aren’t you quite the actor?” The voice of Sangyeon behind you caused you to jolt in fear, in case it was one of the agents unaware of the mission assigned to you.

“You just scared the living day lights out of me, can you not just go jumping out of the shadows at me like that?” You brought your hand out to your chest and let out a sigh of relief.

“It’s what I’m trained to do sweetheart.” He chuckled, patting your head like a lost puppy before pacing himself around to the other side of you.

“Seems your plans going smoothly, you have someone approaching you, west.” He quickly pointed over to where Eric Sohn was with gentleman you spoke to earlier.

It came as no surprise to you that the man was incredibly handsome, his smile as he spoke to the other was just magical it served as almost a charm and worked on people like a spell. It was a smile that evoked emotions inexplicable, love, desire, a false sense of comfort that could easily be used as a weapon for betrayal. It was no wonder he was the most sought after member of the secret service in his country, his looks alone could turn his every target into his puppet. He was smartly dressed like described in a classic black tuxedo, a briefcase slotted into his right hand, his hair an enchanting shade of platinum blonde that emphasised his defined bone structure, a jawline so dangerous it could tear paper.

Almost choking on your previous words that no man could charm you, you gulped slightly, clearing your throat and fixing your posture as he approached.

“Allow me to introduce you to Y/N L/N who I’d briefly mentioned earlier.” The gentleman in the cream attire held out his hand to greet you, gently shaking it with a two hands.

“Hello y/n, I’m Eric Sohn. Its delightful to meet such a gem amongst all these people.” He leaned to great you with a polite kiss on the cheek, gently shaking your hand. Every feeling of morality in your body shuddered, nervously feeling the limbs in your body grow weak almost as if you were one flirtatious comment away from fainting.

“It’s such a divine pleasure to meet you too, I’ve been dying to finally get the chance to meet you in person. I’m such an admirer of you work.” You quickly gathered yourself together and carefully spoke with a soft velvety voice.

“Shall we go for a walk in the gardens?” Eric suggested, his eyebrow raising curiously as he also observed your attire and features.

“I’d be more than glad.” You responded as he held his arm out towards you to link, gently taking your arm and walking you out the grand marble doors.

The night was darker than usual, with a dull moon and stars that twinkled pathetically amongst thick clouds. However the bright lights that had been messily strung across the hedges lit up the the scene warmly. The sound of the blue piano being played from the inside faintly bled out into the garden along with indistinguishable chatter from guests up in the main hall.

“I must ask y/n, what gave you interest in the British Secret Service in the first place?” He began as you walked the side of the grounds arm in arm.

“Well… I felt as if my position in the country wasn’t appreciated enough. I don’t agree with their morale or treatment regarding myself.” You replied gracefully, glancing over to the tidy man. His presence radiated that of a tough masculine self assured nature. He looked at you with suspicion, allowing his guard to remain up like a fence.

“Well it’s in my best interest to not trust your intentions immediately, but I believe the information that resides with you is incredibly valuable to me and my mission.” He took a moment to take a breath before a cocky smirk crawled on to his lips. “Therefore, to test this loyalty of yours. I have to request a map, one of the military base that holds the lektor I’m after. Provide this and you earn my trust, sweetheart.”

You gulped for a moment, you had specifically been told not to leak any intelligence or assist him in anyway. You couldn’t foil his plans by providing a false map either, your hands were tied and even he knew that. Him and his manipulation tactics. He knew sly ways around people, you providing this map would mean surrendering all your loyalty to the secret service and despite having feelings inexplicable for the man beside you, you couldn’t give up what meant most to you. You had to figure out a plan.

“When do you want me to provide this to you?” You attempted the mask the fear that lingered in your throat, strangling your words with thick ropes that made you sound as if you’d seen several ghosts appear before you.

“Tonight, slip it behind the fourth pillar beside the stairs by 10 and I’ll soon be there to pick it up." He smiled, there was something sinister about his words as if he knew that it would be almost impossible for you to hatch a plan within that time.

“Very well, it will be there.” You took a breath momentarily, his warm touch departing you as he proceeded back into the large building. He turned back to you a last time, giving you a sly wink before going upstairs with a bright smile on his lips.

“Are you out of your damn mind? You are aware he’s drawing you right in his trap?” Sangyeon appeared from behind one of the pillars outside, having followed you around the entire time. “He’s not an idiot, he’s trapping you, you providing that map will lead him straight to his plan.”

“Then you best tell them to prepare.” You rolled your eyes, watching his serious dark eyes stare into your conscience. “If I don’t give him this, we lose all trust. He’s not an idiot but perhaps you are, now leave me be.”

You breezed past him, making sure to shoulder check him before making your way back into the hall with a bitter smile on your face. Going into the bathrooms on the left side of the building, you took a pen from your bag and began to map out a rough sketch of the secured military base housing the lektor Sohn was after. Folding it between your fingers, you left the bathroom, discreetly dropping it by the pillar he’d asked you too.

You grabbed a glass of prosecco from one of the many waiters dotted around the function room and joined Sangyeon’s friendly conversation with other associates. Nervously, your attention wavered from the bubbles appearing at the top of the champagne flute, to over your shoulder where Sohn was now making his way behind the pillar.

He walked around it as if he was daydreaming, picking the sheet of paper up and sliding it into his pocket. He gave you a brief smile before proceeding back to his gaggle of officials who’d be overseeing his work in the country.

“I think it’s home time for us.” Sangyeon closed the conversation with a sigh, placing a firm but soft hand on your shoulder. You smiled at the group of men in front of you, before slipping past them arm linked with Sangyeon.

“The officials aren’t pleased with you.” Sangyeon muttered through pursed lips. “However, they understand that you sincerely had no other choice."

"And? Are they preparing?" You replied raising one eyebrow cockily.

"They can't assign enough men to cover the base tomorrow. However if Sohn gets his hands on the device, which is unlikely, they're use as much forces as they can to retrieve it back." Sangyeon sighed at the seemingly idiotic plan, his rough palm wiping the illusion of sweat from his forehead and loosening his slim black tie as you elegantly slipped into the parked Mercedes.

꒰ა ˚₊ ✧・┈・╴﹕꒰ ᐢ📰☕️🎬ᐢ ꒱﹕╴・┈・𐑺 ‧₊˚໒꒱

The quiet hums of soft jazz fell across the café like a warm blanket, the scent of freshly brewed coffee and a plethora of pastries baked earlier that morning danced through the air as if it were a spritz of expensive perfume. Outside, rain fell like hail, beating the ground like drumbeats and forming puddles that resembled ponds or even lakes.

Upon first encounter it would seem that you had your nose stuck into an edition of wuthering heights your eyes flickering over the nonsensical words, so often turning a page with a dramatic sigh. However, the act of appearing busy wore you out like no other, your fingers rested on the right side of your face with impatient taps.

“Well… What a surprise to see you here!” An almost sarcastic voice sounded as the bell chimed over the café alerting you from the words on the page.

Your eyes snapped to Eric Sohn, neatly dressed as usual in a tuxedo with pin stripes, the outfit missing the blazer but tied together with a waistcoat. If you hadn’t been so stressed about the date, you would have fainted over his rolled up dress shirt that exposed his toned forearms. You would have been a mess, but that’s not the point at hand.

“Well yes, I do enjoy a morning read, you could say.” You smiled, almost grimacing at the script-like conversation. Finding yourself almost upset you had to talk to him that way, wishing you could genuinely talk to the man on a level that wasn’t inevitably leading to the utter destruction of betrayal.

“You seem like you’re away with the fairies this morning, what’s on your mind?” He sat beside you for a moment, his elbows rested on the table behind him. His face was just above your head, eyes looming over you suspiciously.

“I’m just worried.” You replied simply, packing your things into your bag with a short huff. Awaiting you both was Sohn’s plan to breach the military base that very afternoon.

“How so?” He chuckled almost, smile lines breaking out in his cheeks, his grin lighting up his every feature, helping you to climb down from the stool you’d sat on.

“Well, what happens if this doesn’t go to plan?” You looked him in his deep brown eyes that glistened so prettily under the warm lighting, his smile dampening quickly.

“In my way or yours?” He smirked cockily, turning from you to leave the café, briefly turning to check you were following. However, you stood frozen still, what does that mean? Your plan hadn’t worked? Your blood ran cold, he’d truly had you wrapped around his finger, he knew.

“Sorry? I’m not sure what you mean by that.” You laughed the situation off, watching as his pitiful smile broke again, an almost pathetic laugh escaping his lips.

“Don’t play dumb.” He rolled his eyes momentarily, grinning with a hint of mischief to his words. “You and I clearly have our differences. I don’t fall for this entire act you’ve got going on, sugar.”

You felt sweat forming in the palms of your hands, your lips begin to quiver slightly, whilst your tongue felt like it had been duct taped to the roof of your mouth. With a clenched jaw you chose silence, watching him smirk as you stared into the pitiful void in his eyes. His hand ran through the platinum blonde strands of his hair as he sighed, unable to contain his chuckles as he watched you drown in your own psychological mess.

“Instead of being confused, I think it would be more worth while considering siding with me. Why don’t we get you out of this mess of a life you live? You’re ordered around like dog and it’s not fit for a diamond like you.” He sighed pacing around you like a lion playing with its food. “I’ve taken a liking to your dedication, I can see you’re so badly trying to stay loyal to your work but there’s something else you can’t resist.”

You shuddered as his lips hovered over your ears, whispering words of temptation in the most insatiable manner. Your body still frozen in time had not moved an inch from the table you’d been sat at. Warmth rising to your features whilst your stomach rattled around like a brittle old machine in the dry cleaners.

“You know this too. I’m not trying to manipulate you as I have nothing else to gain from your companionship. However, I’m quite fond of you y/n. I think your intelligence is to be treated better.” He shrugged his eyes glistening in a way that presented his words as something genuine, something honest. His praise lit up fireworks in your system, you were on rich compliment away from detonating completely.

“I appreciate your words Mr. Sohn.” You began, clearing your throat gently before continuing. “However, I think you and I are destined to be opposed. I wish you well.”

You fiercely clutched your bag in the warmth of your hand, swiftly rushing to exit the sheer embarrassment of the situation. The once soft sound of harmonic trumpets now sounded like the chaotic thrill of elephants stampeding through the small confinements of the café. It was in no way complimented by the grating sound of a piano keys being smashed in a way that was neither melodic or enjoyable to listen to. Yet before you could grasp the golden handle of the door, you were beckoned back by the honey sweet sound of your name amongst the frightful waves.

“Y/n?” Eric who turned to face you a final time, smiled, not a classic smirk or sinister chuckle, a small smile that made his eyes resemble those of a harmless puppy. “Contact me, if you change your mind.”

You looked back with a blank expression, observing his relaxed demeanour with bitterness lingering heavy on your mind. A bitterness, a feeling of resentment, but what you would do to run away with him if you could. You’d be killed.

The sound of the café bell chime felt almost like the sound of a distant gunshot to Eric, at heart he knew he’d never be able to swoon you in the way he’d hoped. There was a small rose seed sewn into his heart especially for you, he himself resented the way you as intelligent as you were, could be used as shark bait and treated like no more than a sniffer dog. Unusual for him to grow such a soft spot considering you were the enemy in the equation. He sighed, clutching the briefcase he’d been gifted and headed out to do what he came here for in the first place.

The military base was fairly small, observing the blueprints you’d traced for him, his plan was fairly simple. The box-like building was connected to an underground train link, there was no service running for another half an hour, which gave him that much time to secure the lektor and catch the next train inbound.

A small ladder led up to a hatch secured in the bottom of the facility, gently he used his fingers to open it almost silently. Stupidly, the officials thought Sohn would blatantly try to enter the building through the main entrance, a line of armed men waiting behind the doors.

The operations room was a littered with different documents, weapons, machinery, cupboards the only option for Sohn was to scramble through every shelf hoping to find the device wherever it’d been temporarily hidden. Underneath a satin sheet, there was a black box that somehow resembled the demonstration he’d been shown of the device. However, as he opened the box an explosion of smoke popped causing his ears to ring as the distant sound of yelling was heard from the unmanned room. This couldn’t stop Eric, he calmly continued to rake through the drawers as the voices grew louder.

In the bottom drawer, was the box he was looking for, checking once to see that it was not another trap and the actual device. As he pulled it from its case, the sounds of shots hitting the wall behind him caused him to pull a small pistol from his blazer pocket. Shooting back at the guards, neither of them being able to see clearly through the smoke from the trap. Eric crawled to the hatch, lektor huddled close to his chest.

The honking of the steam engine down the tunnel relieved him as he fired up the hatch to warn the soldiers not to come down. With his back against the wall, the train narrowly passed by him with little space to leave. He elbowed one of the windows as it slowed on the tracks, hurling himself onboard one of the carriages. He quickly switched suits, and sealed the device in his briefcase as protocol before exiting the broken room on the carriage and proceeding to another.

A sigh of relief slipped his lips as he sat down with his briefcase beside him, he even decided to purchase a cup of tea for the journey and peacefully kicked his legs up to read a newspaper. At least for the first ten minutes, the sound of his cabin door sliding open alerted him to look up casually from the words on the page. He couldn’t quite explain who the man who stood at the door was, he was familiar but not a man he knew at least. He was dressed a long black tux with brownish hair, his eyes replicated those of fury, aggression, enough to alert Sohn at least.

“Hand it over.” Pulling a gun from the waistband of his tailored black trousers, his face remained blank as Sohn raised his hands in the air with a laugh.

“That’s not very friendly.” Eric tutted, standing up from his seat with the case laying on the seat behind him. As he observed him more carefully the identity of the man began to become less pixelated, funnily enough it’s as if everywhere Sohn went he saw a face like resembling the man in the crowd. “I’m not a fan of stalkers but I’m sure we could settle this with an autograph.”

The joke seemed to land terribly with the other male, his lips curling in disgust as he readjusted his finger over the trigger of the gun in his hand.

“Get over yourself.” The man sneered before looking Sohn directly in the eye with a cold stare. “Your plan is hardly turning out successful, poor y/n came crying to me about your twisted bullshit.”

“Ah yes, now I remember!” Sohn clasped his hands together beginning to pace the small room, the man’s gun latching target to his head. “You’re y/n’s little lap dog! That makes so much more sense, unrequited love, that must be hard for you buddy.”

Sohn’s words cut through him like a knife, the anger boiling through his veins as he struggled to keep his composure. The gun wavering only slightly as his lips pursed furiously.

“I’m more than that buddy.” The unnamed man laughed in a way that attempted to conceal his emotions but instead the line came out as no more than a high pitch croak. “Now hand it over before I turn your brain into several servings of spaghetti.”

“Sangyeon!” The sound of angry footsteps stomping through the corridor alerted the man, however he didn’t take his eyes off Sohn for a second.

“Listen, Sangyeon is it?” Sohn laughed, his voice sounding assertive despite the noise of the rattling train and noisy horns. “I think you better calm down, she won’t be happy with what you’re trying to do here.”

Sangyeon’s gun lowered, just to the point where it was out of sight of the narrow train passage but still somewhat aiming at Sohn.

“What is it?” He called, the relief of Sohn’s face when he saw yours outside of the window was golden. It would have been so tedious attempting to get out of the situation himself.

“I’ve been looking for you all bloody day! Now I found out you’re trying to leave the country? What are-”Your eyes originally blinking in red fury softened into bright pearls upon meeting Eric’s. Then all of a sudden they turned red again as you looked back to Sangyeon with increased suspicion. “Step away from the door.”

Surprisingly he did just that, revealing the gun that was pointed towards Sohn just out the hallway. Eric discreetly took the opportunity to assemble the weapon given to him as Sangyeon’s eyes focused on yours.

“There is no way, I’m letting you kill a man that’s not business to take care of.” You sighed, blocking the doorway and staring into the soulless void of eyes. “Leave here immediately. You’re only gonna end up hurt.”

“Y/N? Are you out of damn mind?” Sangyeon burst out into maniacal laughter almost resembling one of those villains from a popular comic book at the time. “I’ve spent years protecting you and you repay me by - I don’t know - falling in love with the enemy?”

“I am not in love with Mr. Sohn-” You refuted, the lies slipped from your tongue as denial spun its web around the pink mush of your brain. You couldn’t coherently finish the sentence without entering a spiral.

“Really?” Sangyeon eyes flickered with false confusion, his lips breaking out into a scary grin. “Then tell me why I can’t kill him?” He left a pause for you to fill in the space, but as your eyes darted around the room you realised that he was perhaps right. You couldn’t admit that but there was no reason to let Sohn get away with the device needed to connect the entire unions military operations. It was simply ridiculous.

“Thought so.” Sangyeon sighed. “It’s a shame you’d leave me with such a broken heart.” There was a glint of genuine pain in his eyes, underneath the tough exterior. He was always good at concealing his emotions, rarely showing them and acting as enthusiastic as a piece of cardboard most days.

“Leave.” You looked him in the eyes more seriously than you ever had before, you were of course furious with Sangyeon. However, you couldn’t watch him get hurt or at least die trying to defend a union that didn’t even value his work.

“I can’t do that. You know I can’t. You’re going to get us into a situation you don’t know consequences of.” Sangyeon spat his words firm, eyes bulging out of their sockets as if they were signalling your final warning. “I’d do anything to protect you y/n. Now let me.”

With that he pulled your arm out of the way of the door, only to reveal an Eric Sohn that was more than ready to pounce. Sohn tackled Sangyeon, wounding his arm but managing to throw his gun down the other end of the carriage. Sangyeon panicked, attempting to reach for Sohn before he could take your arm. He yelled out for you, the change in his voice causing you to whip your head around as Eric’s sprinting stopped.

“Y/N!! WAIT!” The agonising shriek ran cold through your bones, you gasped turning to the man as he rose from the ground. “Don’t leave. I serve no purpose without you.”

“I love you.”

The scene looked like a shakespearean tragedy, the two men on either side of the carriage looking at you expectantly. Sangyeon the tragic hero, the final villain to be defeated clinging to a last thread of hope that you’d take his hand and run away with him instead. Then on the other hand Sohn, a dream-like protagonist that had fallen in love with an enemy in battle, waiting to ride his horse into into the sunset. Your mind ran codes like a computer, processing your deepest desires battling the virus of conflict that had been hard-wired into your system.

“I can’t, but we will meet again Sangyeon.” You sighed, your love for Sangyeon was purely platonic, forced out of a system that took you for granted and fed you to the sharks. “Leave this line of work as soon as you can, you don’t deserve to be hurt this way. But I have to go.”

Tears welled at Sangyeon’s eyes for the first time in perhaps over a decade, he knew you were right, in fact he didn’t want you to be in danger anymore. Mature, as he always was, he knew your decision was ultimately the right answer. His love for you, was far greater than his selfish desires, but succumbing to your own was the best thing you could do. The only thing he necessarily cared about over his broken heart, was Sohn’s ability to keep you safe - he knew he would. As he clenched his fists watching you and Sohn run into the hills together he smiled, a chuckle leaving his lips, glad you had your happy ending.

“Where is he?” Asked a gaggle of soldiers boarding the train, their rifles over their chests as they marched down the carriage.

“I lost him.” Sangyeon replied, his lies convincing enough to deter the soldiers away from the area, as he weakly stepped off at the last stop of the train. It was a beautiful day outside, a beautiful place to announce his new beginning. He sighed, as he viewed the coast line from the train stop, maybe opening a bakery isn’t a bad idea after all.

꒰ა ˚₊ ✧・┈・╴﹕꒰ ᐢ📰☕️🎬ᐢ ꒱﹕╴・┈・𐑺 ‧₊˚໒꒱

“You ever visited here before?” Sohn asked, leaning across the canoe as he rowed down the streets, the sunshine lighting up his golden skin.

“Well, I’ve never left the country.” You chuckled, causing his face to light up in amusement as you admired the waters surrounding the city of Venice.

“I thought I’d ask, I’m glad I’m able to provide such a romantic spot for such a beauty like you.” He winked mischievously, laughing as you cringed at his advanced his eyes scrunching into crescent moons.

“Do I have to be worried about all this flirting Mr.Sohn? I’m not falling for any tricks.” Your eyes squinted at him suspiciously, propping your head in the palm of your hand as you leaned across the canoe.

“Well, if this is anything to settle your worries. I’m in a bit of trouble with M for accepting your side quest. He said to me a few years ago that if I let romance get in the way of my missions ever again, I’ll either get myself killed by it or even M himself.” He laughed thinking back to conversation. His eyes that sought out reminiscence in the distance then flickered to meet yours. “When I first met you, I knew I wasn’t going to be able to keep that promise.”

Melting into his words, you laughed as you felt the heat rise to your cheeks and the irresistible warmth of true love blossom in the pit of your stomach. As your eyes lingered on each others, you observed the beautiful nature of Sohn himself. He was etched in the model of a greek god, you finally validated yourself for falling into his trap, perhaps the love potion you were casting accidentally splashed yourself. For a few moments, Sohn hesitated, leaning closer to you for a moment as you froze. Your brain almost completely malfunctioned as he smiled, lifting your chin with the palm of his hand. Finally pressing your lips to his you smiled to yourself, as the sun began to set in Venice, the once blue sky-line was painted like a canvas with the most vibrant shades oranges and pinks.

Despite your mission abhorrently failing, the feeling of true love and freedom was the most successful ending your desolate heart could have asked for.

Besides, the love potion seemed to be successful.. Eric certainly seemed smitten as your words fell on his ears like sugar, as you talked the past and other interesting things about yourself. Venice seemed like the perfect place to forget your lives, forget how you met and fall in love all over again.

fin. — “you will locate, befriend and fall in love with agent Sohn.”

[bleedingoptimism]

You Are Mine part 4 (NSFW)

There’s a weird energy on set the last day of shooting. Excitement for reaching the end for sure but also a kind of melancholy that soon it’s all going to be over. 

Eddie himself is so on edge he feels like he’s going to start levitating any minute now.

The first thing they shoot is a close-up of the Corrored boys plus Robin looking surprised as they pull a curtain on the bus tour that’s supposed to be revealing Eddie and Steve making out.

They will shoot the scene again actually featuring them there, later. But Argyle wanted to do a couple of different takes on it. And they do lots of them since they can’t stop laughing and putting on ridiculous overemphatic expressions.

And then, finally, it’s time to get the money shot. Argyle asks that only essentials stay on set to give Steve and Eddie some sense of privacy. And the boys leave grumping loudly all the way out of the set while Robin is dragged away by Jeff, walking backward and doing kissy faces at both of them.

Laughing Eddie turns to look at Steve, and he had been so excited with the thought of touching him, of feeling him close, that he hadn’t noticed until now, Steve looks really nervous.

Argyle is explaining to him how the scene goes, a comforting hand on his shoulder as he points at the set,

“You don’t have to lie down on the bunkbed, just stand near the wall. We can do you against it or Eddie, he’s comfortable with both so you can choose whichever floats your boat,” Argyle guides him, not noticing Steve getting progressively redder by the second,

“You just have to kiss him like your life depends on it, ok?” To his credit, Steve is nodding along to Argyle’s words and he has the smallest frown like he’s concentrating on the instructions, “Like you can’t get your hands off each other, you know.”

Once they are in place, with Eddie against the wall and Steve crowding him, he puts one hand on the wall next to Eddie’s head and the other on his shoulder. Eddie places his hands on Steve’s waist making him jump a little when his fingers dip under Steve’s shirt.

And Eddie can’t help but chuckle at the awkwardness of it all, this is not what he was imagining at all.

And he laughs when he’s nervous, sue him.

Still, he smiles at Steve reassuringly, trying to make him relax, “Nervous?”

Steve visibly swallows and shakes his head, “I’m fine,” he says, totally not fine.

He’s making Eddie nervous now. He feels he misinterpreted everything that happened the last few days with how reluctant Steve seems at the thought of kissing him, and he wants to ask for a time out and talk to him about it, but before he can, Argyle calls for action and next thing he knows is Steve is kissing him.

And it’s a good kiss, don’t get him wrong, Steve’s lips are just as soft and wonderful as they look and he’s an excellent kisser, but it’s soft and hesitant and not at all what they were supposed to be doing. Steve is actually leaning in to kiss him, their lips being the only point of contact like this is a middle school dance and they need to leave room for Jesus.

Argyle lets it go on for a while before saying ‘cut’, no need for yelling in such a tight set.

Steve immediately steps always from Eddie, “Sorry” he says.

“Stevie, mind putting a little more oomph into that?” Argyle asks him softly like he’s trying not to spook him.

“Yeah, I know, sorry,” he says again, nodding and looking at the floor.

And Eddie is so fucking confused right now, is he into him or not? Maybe he’s nervous because he doesn't like an audience. He really thought they had something going on, what happened?

Argyle calls for action again and this time Eddie is the one who initiates the kiss. He goes all in on it, coaxing Steve to part his lips with his tongue and then Steve complies and then, oh then it’s a real kiss. 

Steve finally gets into it and if he thought Steve was a good kisser before he was a fool, a clown, a jester because he had no idea what was in line for him.

It’s fucking hot and passionate and everything he had imagined and he’s so into it he can’t help the sound that comes out of his mouth, and suddenly he’s standing alone, mouthing at nothing, the cold air of the set hitting him hard where he was just so warm against Steve. He opens his eyes confused and Steve is against the other wall, as far away as he can manage in the small space.

“Cut!, Steve?” Argyle asks him worried.

“Sorry, I’m so sorry, sorry” Steve blabbers scrubbing a hand through his hair.

“Shit, should I have asked for an intimacy coordinator? Am I gonna get sued?” Argyle thinks out loud and Steve’s eyes open widely,

“What? Argy, of course not, I’m sorry! I-” but he doesn’t say anything else and just hugs himself and shrugs.

“Hey, Argyle give us a minute?” Eddie asks looking at Steve. He needs to know what’s going on inside that pretty head of his.

Argyle sighs but smiles reassuringly at Steve, he’s seriously done a fantastic job so far, and Argyle probably doesn't want him to feel bad for one little hiccup.

“Sure dude, let’s take an early lunch break, yeah?” he says to the few people left in the studio, “Be back in an hour”

Once everyone is gone Eddie turns back to Steve, ducking his head to catch Steve’s eye.

“What’s wrong?” he inquires shily, debating whether or not he should bring up how confused he feels.

Steve blushes and mumbles, “I’m sorry,”

“You keep saying that but I don't know what you are sorry for” He answers with a kind smile even as cold runs through his spine at the thought that Steve might be apologizing for leading him on.

“I'm not a professional!” Steve states suddenly looking around the studio, “I don’t know how- how am I supposed to not get worked up while making out with the loveliest, hottest guy I’ve ever met-”

‘Oh’

The blushing, the stiffness, the distance, they all take a new meaning with that. And Eddie, in a  completely obvious way looks at Steve, his eye landing on his crotch, where his wardrobe is doing a very poor job at hiding just exactly how worked up he is.

Eddie is delighted by this, so much so that he laughs and Steve frowns at him, and slaps his arm, “Don't laugh at me! Asshole” he whines, which makes Eddie laugh even harder.

And he grabs Steve by the waist and pulls him closer to him, purposely making their crotches touch, letting him feel how into him Eddie is too.

Steve’s eyes roll to the back of his head and he bites his lip at the contact, 

“Oh,” Steve articulates eloquently.

“Yes, oh,”

And then Eddie kisses him again, kisses him like he wanted to from the moment he first saw him. Like he wants to eat him.

And Steve ups his game even more, positively driving him insane.

“Changing room?” Eddie offers dropping kisses from his lips to his jaw and neck.

“Uh?” Steve says and groans loudly when Eddie bites him.

“Little more private” Eddie chuckles licking Steve’s pulse point.

“Yes, fu- fuck yes,” Steve says and grabs Eddie’s wrist, dragging him with him as he practically runs there.

As soon as they are inside the changing room, Steve pushes Eddie against the door and kisses him so hard he bumps the back of his head against it, and he bolts the door shut behind him.

Steve chuckles and cradles the back of his head, “Sorry” he murmurs against his lips, Eddie bites his bottom lip and tells him to stop apologizing.

They make out fervently, can’t seems to get their hands off each other, not even to move farther into the room, and when Eddie pushes his hips into Steve’s looking for some friction Steve growls and picks Eddie up by the back of his legs, using the door as support. Eddie immediately hooks both his legs around Steve’s waist and fuck yeah that hits the spot.

Frank was right, Steve can pick him up with no effort, and it's really fucking hot.

The angle and the closeness are phenomenal, Steve is essentially humping him and it feels so fucking good. But it would feel a heck of a lot better if he could make Steve take his shirt off.

He lifts it up over his torso mapping the exposed skin but reaches a dead end when he hits Steve’s armpits. He’s going to have to drop Eddie to lift his arms and Eddie is conflicted between a shirtless Steve and being devoured against a door. Decisions, decisions…

In the end, he chooses nudity.

He unhooks his legs from Steve and stands, pushing the shirt up. Steve gets the message and lifts his arms letting Eddie take it off.

He shakes his hair out of his eyes and they stare at each other for a bit, trying to catch their breaths. And Eddie looks at him, and Jesus was the payoff worth it, Steve is fucking beautiful, with toned hard muscles and chest hair and moles, so many, many moles. He dives into Steve's neck and touches his chest, pushing his hand through the hair on his pecs, it’s absolutely lovely. 

Steve starts slowly unbuttoning Eddie's belt and jeans, “Eddie I want-” he starts but Eddie interrupts him,

“Yes, yes to whatever you want”

Steve chuckles and drops to his knees in front of him and Eddie's knees threaten to give up on him because holy shit.

He pulls Eddie’s boxers down mindful of the elastic and Eddie is thankful for that because his dick is so hard that if Steve is not careful he could lose an eye with it.

And he absolutely doesn’t laugh at his silly thoughts because right then Steve grabs the shaft of his dick and looks up at him,

“I want to see you again after the shoot is over, I don’t want this to be a one-time thing,” He says right before he takes Eddie in his mouth.

Eddie moans and slaps his hands on the door loudly, he nods furiously even though Steve can’t see him do it, he’s too busy sucking obscenely, moaning when Eddie’s dick hits the back of his throat, he pulls back and forth a couple of times before pulling off completely and licking the head, looking at Eddie while he slowly jerks him off, “Can I take you out on a date? Please?”

“Yes! Fuck yes, of course.”

Steve smiles sweetly at him and goes back to trying to suck his brains out. A date? He wants to ask Steve to move in with him, marry him, never be away from him again, please.

Are you mine, please be mine, you are mine.

Shit.

He touches anywhere he can reach with his hands, following with his fingers the lines and angles of Steve's face, his jaw, his nose, his eyelids, how his cheeks hollow as he sucks, his eyebrows, and the little frown between them with worshiping soft touches and then cradles his hands through Steve’s hair and pulls.

Steve moans and Eddie feels it all over his own body.

It’s over pretty quickly after that, Eddie comes so hard he doubles over Steve and ends up resting his forehead on Steve's head.

His knees do give up then and he slides down the door legs sprawled open on either side of Steve’s and he grabs him by the cheeks and kisses him deeply.

Then, he moves his hands to Steve’s waist and slides him closer to him, palms his clothed erection.

Steve never stops kissing him, moaning and groaning and panting into his mouth as Eddie lowers his pants just enough to take his dick out and jerks him off fast and dirty.

Still kneeling, Steve holds himself steady by placing his hands on Eddie’s shoulders and then slowly moving them to circle around him and burying his face on Eddie’s neck, nipping at it between intakes of air. He’s hugging him close and moving his hips in sharp little trusts into Eddie's hand and it’s gotta be the prettiest thing Eddie has ever experienced.

Worked up as he was after giving Eddie the best blowjob of his life, Steve comes pretty fast, and Eddie tries to catch most of it on his palm, bringing it to his mouth and tasting him, making sure to keep eye contact as he does so.

Steve groans and lets himself fall to the floor theatrically, “Fuck! You are so hot.”

It makes Eddie laugh, “Right back at ya,” he tells him and he barely has time to catch his breath before Steve sits right back up,

“Shit! What time is it? We need to get back, did I stain my pants?!” He says frantically looking at himself and checking his crotch.

Eddie just keeps laughing and watches him walk around the room, looking for his shirt and trying futilely to fix his hair in the mirror.

“Hey, give me your phone,” He tells Steve making grabby hands at him.

Steve gives him a big smile and throws his phone at him, Eddie- doesn't catch it but it falls in his lap so it's all good.

He quickly makes a new contact and names it “Eddie 🦇” and gives himself a lost call, saving the contact as “Steve 💘”.

He fixes himself as best he can, thankfully they didn’t ruin their clothes and stands up waiting for Steve.

Steve turns around and walks up to him, looking nervous before opening the door, “How do I look?” he asks.

And Eddie knows he’s asking in a ‘Can you tell what we were up to just now’ kind of way and not in a ‘Do I look pretty’ kind of way but he still responds, “Gorgeous,” very unhelpfully.

And Steve, precious as he is, blushes deeply as if he wasn’t just deep-throating the life out of Eddie minutes ago.

When they get back to the set, Argyle is already there, and he takes one look at them and shakes his head, 

“Well, at least I don’t have to ask makeup to make you two look like you just fucked,”

Steve pales and starts stammering but Eddie cackles and shakes Argyle’s shoulder, who is trying and failing to keep a straight face and not laugh too.

“It’s ok, Steve” Eddie assures him and Argyle does chuckle then, nods and winks at him for good measure.

This time when they get to their places, Steve is relaxed and pliant and Eddie is, Eddie is just thrilled.

When Argyle says ‘action!’, Steve bumps their foreheads together and rubs his nose against his before diving in and kissing him intensely. Eddie swears he hears Argyle saying ‘Aww’ at some point.

They kiss for a while, smiling through it and nipping at each other's lips, exploring each other's bodies with their hands, and then they hear Argyle yell,

“Cut! Eddie for fuck’s sake!” By the looks of it, it’s not the first time he’s said it, but he’s laughing and shaking his head, so it’s not a big deal.

Steve apologizes and Eddie bites his nose, “Stop apologizing”

Steve shakes his head and looks at him bewildered and Eddie laughs at his expression and kisses his nose making Steve laugh too.

“What’s so funny?” Robin asks as she walks in, the rest of the team just coming back to film the last scene.

Which is basically the same thing they did just now except they have to get interrupted by Gareth opening a curtain.

Argyle goes over the scene once more with everyone before starting and then Steve and Eddie are kissing again but when Gareth opens the curtain, Robin screams so loud, everyone’s surprised expression is one hundred percent real.

“Jesus, Robin!” Steve scolds her, burying his face in Eddie’s chest.

“Sorry! Sorry, Jesus! I knew it was coming but it was still so jarring to see” She says with a hand on her chest, “It was like a jump scare! What are you doing to my boy?!”

Eddie and the boys crack up and Steve blushes and grumbles, “Stop it dingus”

“I… loved that take actually, I think it’s the best we’ll get,” Argyle says, “But let’s do it one more time just in case, and then we’ll call it.”

Everyone cheers and gets in position and Steve and Eddie look at each other, something achingly similar to love in their eyes as they eagerly wait for Argyle to call action so they can kiss again.

That’s a wrap!

part 1: ♫

part 2: ♫  

part 3: ♫  

part 4: is this

☕ cafecito?

[colormepurplex2]

The Sirens' Song | Into The Deep

↳ Namjoon x Jimin x f.Reader ⤜ Strangers to Lovers, Merfolk/Sirens, Myth/Legend, Fantasy AU ⤜ Rating: MA🔞 ⤜ WC: 7,688 ⚠️Melancholy thoughts, crass language, shipwreck, mild fear, mentions of death, grief

Next Chapter⇾ (coming soon) ◅ Back to story masterlist

In the moon’s glow, where darkness plays, The ocean breathes in rhythmic ways. Against obsidian rocks that are jagged and proud, The tempest whispers secrets, fierce yet loud. Each wave a tale of journeys long gone, Of the briny depth’s roar laced with siren’s song. She foams and crashes, wild and free, A dance of power like a haunting symphony. The salt-kissed air filled with misty spray, Birthing endless nights that will never give way. Watch her still, the tide, relentless; she seeks To carve the stone with her lashing peaks. From rocky cliffs, the sirens wail, Their haunting voices spin a tale. Of sailors lost in the tempest's grip, Drawn to the edge, where they are oft to slip. In Black Rock Bay, the legends doth swell, Of gold and gems that decorate a haunting hell. As storm clouds gather and shadows creep, The restless spirits never sleep. For in this bay where echoes cling, The tempest rages, and the sirens sing.

The song continues, the bard sitting by the fire supporting the mournful words with the harp settled across his lap. His gnarled fingers surprisingly spry on the delicate strings. The dower tune does nothing to bolster your dreary mood. Not even the tankard of sour ale clasped between your palms seems to be working. If anything, the song only proves to darken your heart further.

You’ve heard stories about Black Rock Bay, with the treacherous breaker waves constantly lashing at the jutting obsidian spires that are said to hide untold treasures if one can make it through the squall and ripping current. That is, if you don’t get swindled away into the black abyss enthralled by a siren’s song first.

Just last summer, Miguel, the man you had been sharing your bed with, stole away in the middle of the night with your ship and crew with a course chartered to Black Rock Bay. Fool’s you, you suppose, for letting a man get that close to you. It’s hard enough being a woman, harder still being a woman who is also the captain of a ship. It took you almost a decade to earn your sails and the loyalty of your crew—or so you thought, bunch of mutinous fish guts, the lot of them.

You hope Miguel is somewhere at the bottom of the bay, the sirens using his bones to pick their teeth. The last year has been challenging, trying to rebuild what you once had. But you have enough salt in your veins that it would take more than a stab in the back to see you give up. The hardest part has been gathering a new crew. As it is now, you have the bare minimum of bodies needed to man your new ship. And you’re not sure a few wouldn’t do the same as Miguel did for the right price.

After all, being a pirate comes with its fair share of dangers.

But…maybe… It sits like a lead weight in your belly, the idea of conquering Black Rock Bay out of spite. No one would ever dare to laugh or betray you then, no daggers in your back or sweet smiles slithering their way into your bed only to strike with venom while you’re least expecting it. You’d be a legend. There would be many songs written, stories told far and wide...

“‘Ey, Cap, we off with the sun?” The spritely voice of your best friend, and the only crew member who didn’t take off with Miguel, pipes up from beside you, breaking through your mental wallowing. She slides her petite frame onto the bench beside you, her elbow jostling yours and causing some of the now-luke-warm ale from your tankard to slosh onto your hand. “Oh, sorry,” she adds with a nervous chuckle. “Let me just…” She snatches a handkerchief that has seen better days from her coat pocket and dabs at your hand and the table.

“Ollie, leave it, it’s fine.”

She gives you a gap-toothed grin, her freckled cheeks coloring as she stuffs her soiled handkerchief back into her pocket. Olivia Ramsey has been your friend since you were both urchins on the street fighting over crusts of moldy bread.

You never knew your parents, only that your mother was a flavor that many were partial to, and she indulged for the right amount of coin. It’s supposed that you were begotten on her by one of those men—a pirate, most likely. Once you were old enough to pilfer your own meals, not quite ten, those proverbial apron strings everyone believes mothers possess were indefinitely sheered off at the source. All your memories of her are vague, a hazy figure shooing you away from a darkened doorway...a woman too busy earning her next coin to worry about the ill-gotten welp that she saw as more of a curse than a blessing.

Ollie came from a loving home. Or as loving as an ill-favored family can be. Her father had a gambling problem, and her mother had the spine of a jellyfish. When she was seven, she ended up being the payment of a gambling debt. Servitude to an upper household was her fate. At some point or another—the details are muddled to you as Ollie changes the story just about as many times as she’s told it—she escaped and tried to make her way back to her parents, only to find the house empty when she returned.

It wasn’t long after the two of you became struggling companions that you noticed she sometimes sought answers about her family. You followed her once when she slipped off in the middle of the night, right to the door of a gentlemen’s club. That’s when she discovered she could pass in men’s spaces, thought to be a boy sneaking about. The men would laugh at ‘him’ and be none the wiser to their spilled secrets being consumed by feminine ears.

You look her over now, automatically taking account of her constitution. Curls of her straw-colored hair peek out from under the knit cap pulled low on her head. It’s part of her ploy, continuing to dupe men and cleverly blend in in places where you would be turned away at the door.

“If we leave wi’the sun, there’s a chance we beat Fat Al through the breakers and can hit the reef first.”

You sigh, giving your friend a sidelong look before pushing away your ale and angling your body toward hers. As nice as it would be to put that sniveling pock-marked arse of a wannabe pirate Fat Al in his place…a new plan is formulating in your mind. Slumping slightly, you drape an arm over her shoulders and put your mouth close to her ear.

“I say we let Fat Al have the reef.” Your eyes flick to the bard still crooning about briny ocean air and hauntingly beautiful creatures harboring chests of riches. “There is another place I have set my sights on…”

🌊🌊🌊

Jimin

There is a storm brewing. Jimin can feel it in how the temperature changes in the currents. He’s long since grown used to the drastic changes when the cooler waters from deeper in the ocean surge up into the warmer surface waters. After all, his home has always been this bay, where storms often rage in the skies overhead.

What he isn’t used to is seeing the giant belly of a boat slicing through the water of his bay. More often, the boats that attempt to come to the island of Black Rock Bay come in on the eastern side of the isle where the shore looks smoother and more welcoming—though it is anything but, with its hidden reefs and jagged lava rock just below the surface of the ocean.

“What do you think?” Namjoon’s voice so close startles Jimin out of his vigilant assessment.

“Storms coming on too strong. The ship won’t make it into the bay before the breakers gain height. Most likely, it’ll end up in pieces scattered along the shore,” Jimin murmurs, the frilled gills along the sides of his neck opening and closing, emitting small streamers of bubbles with his words.

“Should we send out the runners and try to steer them clear?”

Jimin thinks on this for a second before shaking his head. “They won’t make it here in time, perhaps if we had asked them before the sun went down just in case this happened. Yoongi would do his best, but…no, my love, we just have to wait and see what grace Calypso may grant these poor souls.”

He knows that even if Yoongi could coax a few of the larger whales to the surface, they’d barely make a difference in causing the boat to change course. As it is, it would be unlikely for whoever’s manning the ship to even see the whales, considering how dark the sky is and how violent the sea is becoming. They’re more likely to accidentally clip one of the gentle beasts than see them.

Namjoon nods, implicitly accepting Jimin’s judgement without question. “We best go deeper; I can already feel the tug of the tide. You’ll be swept away if you linger this close to the surface.”

It’s just as Jimin expects. The sea is angry, thrashing heavy squalls against the shore. Gusts of wind rip through the air, with piercing screams to rival the ocean's own shrill cries. Even from this far down, Jimin can hear the cacophony causing the wood of the boat to groan and creak.

Namjoon’s arms tighten around Jimin. They both watch in horror as the wide berth of the ship rocks violently, getting tossed around like a child’s toy by the turmoil of the sea. “I’ve never seen anything like it,” Namjoon murmurs in Jimin’s ear, the bubbles from his words getting lost in the swift currents moving around them.

They’re both watching from the relative safety of one of the many underwater passageways that zig-zag through the underbelly of the island of Black Rock Bay. Small windows look out into the open water, doubling as entrances to the tunnel systems.

It’s like watching a painting come to life, the edges of the window acting as the frame. The boat daring to chart through the bay must be manned by a demi-god, as they continue to battle and persist against the storm.

Jimin is in awe at the display of sheer will. Despite being tossed around with every crashing wave against its bulwark, it careens ever closer to the jagged rocks along the shore, but somehow, the boat rights itself every time and manages to dodge the deathly peaks.

“Whoever they are…if they can navigate through this storm without breaking their ship on the rocks, I’ll personally give them enough gold to fill their hold,” Jimin tells Namjoon as his eyes stay locked on the vessel overhead.

The rough stone lip of the window makes his fingers ache as he clenches them around it every time the ship comes close to one of the outcroppings of old lava rock hidden by the foaming, swirling sea.

“You think they’ll make it?”

Just as Jimin opens his mouth to respond to Namjoon, the first reverberating impact thunders through the bay. Just as the boat started to swing one way, the raucous waves sent it into a near tail-spin without enough time for correction.

Wood splinters, the ocean roaring its victory as it floods into the bilge of the ship, filling it with far more water than it could hold. Jimin sighs, his chest aching from knowing that this was the inevitable end. Even though he had spoken the truth, maybe this fate might have been avoided if he had kept his mouth shut.

Or better yet, maybe if he had agreed to let Yoongi call for the runners, the souls lost above wouldn’t have been swept away by the ravaging sea. Even a tiny chance would have been better than watching this catastrophe; no matter how fruitful the spoils might be from the wreckage. But it’s too late now.

The boat's keel ruptures as it runs along one of the bigger jagged points of bedrock, like a sharp knife through kelp. With that surrender of wood to rock, Jimin knows there is no hope for the ship; it’s been ripped open from stern to bow. They can only watch…wait, and maybe catch an unfortunate soul or two and try to help.

Just as the thought passes Jimin’s mind, Namjoon gasps. He thrusts a hand out over Jimin’s shoulder. “Do you see that?”

Jimin shakes his head, eyes frantically searching the dark, murky waters. Suddenly, he sees them, a flailing figure struggling through one of the rip currents. Jimin doesn’t think twice, using his grip on the window's ledge to propel himself forward. Namjoon is a second behind him, his powerful pearlescent tail hurtling him past Jimin.

“Go!” Jimin urges when Namjoon glances back at him. He can see the hesitation in Namjoon’s eyes, uncomfortable with the idea of leaving Jimin behind with the waters so turbulent. “Don’t worry about me!”

Namjoon gives him a resolute nod before renewing his efforts upward. Jimin watches, his own tail and muscles straining as he fights the currents, as Namjoon dodges through the debris field where they last saw the figure in the water.

For one harrowing second, Jimin loses sight of Namjoon around a large piece of ship wreckage. A relieved cry catches in Jimin’s throat as Namjoon reappears, his arms cradling a much smaller being.

“A woman,” Namjoon grunts when Jimin reaches him. “I didn’t see any others.”

Jimin uses his arms to push himself backward, trailing slowly after Namjoon, who doubles his efforts to drag the limp woman toward the opening to one of their open-air caves. It’s a short swim, but all the same, Jimin worries for the woman. There is no telling how long she’s been under or when the last time she had a breath of air was.

Worry eats away at the pit of Jimin’s stomach as he watches large swaths of sail and immense sheets of timber sink to litter the bottom of the bay. Something tells him if anyone else was aboard that ship, they’re lost to the sea. With one final sweep of his eyes over the wreckage, he turns and slips into the tunnel, following after Namjoon and the woman he is carrying in his arms with the hope they will be able to help her.

🌊🌊🌊

Chills seep into your body, burrowing all the way down to your bones. Everything aches. You feel like you just went on a two-week bender and fell into the ocean. Your clothes are sodden, and you feel the violent urge to sick up…maybe you had gone on a bender…

The urge becomes too much, and you heave onto your side, emptying briny water and bile from your belly. It burns on the way out, clogging your nose and making your eyes water as you retch onto the sand.

Clarity begins to ebb in, and the fact you’re lying in the sand with the moon and stars twinkling from above makes no sense because the last thing you remember is—Fuck!

You fling yourself up onto your backside, stirring a shower of wet sand into the air, and you have to clamp a hand over your mouth, the sudden movement of sitting up threatening to have you heaving once more.

Swallowing the bile bubbling up, you cough before shouting, “Ollie?!” Your voice is hoarse, the ocean water having stripped your throat raw. “Please, Ollie?!”

The sand shifts beneath your unsteady feet as you struggle to stand. You tilt wildly to the side, your balance off and everything around you showing double. Finally, the shore stops spinning, and you can take in everything around you.

Fat and heavy overhead, the moon illuminates stray bits of what you can only assume is your ship dotting the sand—about thirty feet from the shoreline, a thick jungle stretches in either direction as far as you can see. You wouldn’t have guessed the sky was full of turmoil just…hours ago? Well, you assume it’s only been hours, at least; it’s hard to be sure, but judging by the moon's position, you think you’re right.

You know you should have turned around as soon as the first streak of lightning lit up the horizon. But, with Ollie reassuring you, along with the bolstered attitude from the rest of the crew, you pressed forward, hands tight to the wheel as you steered the bow toward the distant shoreline.

It was with the intent of anchoring just outside the breaker point of the bay, where the reef and lava rock can be seen jutting from the waters. However, the winds were too strong, and the storm tossed the boat about and put you completely off course, right into the path of the old slag tunnels.

You remember how the ship shuddered, the piercing squeal of wood and iron giving in to the relentless power of the rock. Ollie’s alarmed face was the last thing you remember seeing before the whole boat rocked hard to the side, and you were ripped from the helm by the force and sent tumbling into the dark waters of the bay.

Suddenly, you hear voices coming from ahead of you—from the jungle. You stop and listen, holding your breath before exhaling in a rush. “Ollie!” you call, scrambling toward the tree line. “Ollie! Jameson! Red! Anyone?”

Darkness swallows you as you stumble ahead, arms wheeling to keep yourself upright. You shove against trees, using their rough, wet trunks for support as you propel yourself through the underbrush.

“Captain.”

The word shivers down your spine, seeming to come from all directions. You spin in a circle, wet greenery whipping you in the face. The deep emerald greens and rich browns of the jungle are barely perceptible, with the meager moonlight filtering through the dense overhead canopy.

“Ollie!” you scream, the name echoing around you ten-fold. “Where are you? Ollie, can you hear me!?”

“Captain of the shining sea.”

“Looking here, looking there; come to find me.”

“Ollie, this isn’t funny,” you croak. The silence that follows is deafening. Not even insect noise or the hum of wildlife greets you. “Please.” The word falls in a whisper from your trembling lips.

“Captain, Captain of the shining sea. Looking here, looking there; come to find me.”

The words repeat, only this time there is a distinct lilting quality that makes your blood run cold. Ollie isn’t a singer. More so, the entire crew would rather shove nails under their fingernails than belt any sea shanty.

Only one thing comes to mind: a singular possibility as to who—what—it could be.

Sirens. Luring you to your death, enticing the next meal that will fill their bellies.

Foolish, so foolish. And you want legendary songs written about you. You scoff to yourself. The only songs they’ll be writing about you will be the tragic or humorous kind. Everyone will have a good laugh after they toast your memory. No wonder everyone thinks women are bad luck aboard pirate ships. Here you are proving them right.

Turning on your toes, you do your best to hurry back the way you came. Only it’s impossible to tell which way is which in the dark. Everything looks the same. The words continue to haunt you, nipping at your heels no matter how far you manage to go.

“Captain, Captain of the shining sea…”

“Stop! Stop it! Leave me—”

The rest of your plea turns into a shriek as you hurtle down a steep incline. Pain races through your limbs as they smack into trees and bushes, your descent an uncontrollable plummet. 

The ground rises to meet you, the stark reality of your situation flashing before your eyes right before your head meets the unforgiving surface of a rock, and everything goes black.

🌊🌊🌊

Namjoon

“Where did she go? She was right here! You said you’d look after her while I got the stew going.”

Jimin scowls at Namjoon, gesturing to the space where the human woman was just moments ago.

“Simmer down. I’ll go look for her. She can’t have gone far.” In fact, Namjoon is relatively sure he knows exactly where she went.

“No harm better come to her, Namjoon. I mean it!” Jimin’s sour attitude follows Namjoon as he shuffles out into the jungle. It would be better if the sun were out, but as it is, his vision is only mildly impacted by the dark of night. If he were able to assume his mer-form, he’d have no issues at all. Being on two legs only serves as a minor hindrance, mainly in things like hearing and sight.

It’s not like Namjoon intended for the female to wake up and immediately seek to escape. Granted, Namjoon’s knowledge of human females is nearly as limited as Jimin’s, but he at least thought she might wait around to listen to him. He had only stepped away for a second, seeking to put on some acceptable clothing and then bring her some fresh water to drink so it might help clear her head.

“Oh,” Namjoon startles. “What do we have here?” He crouches down next to the crumpled form of a woman. The clothing is similar enough, but the woman is not the same one he rescued from the wreckage.

“Namjoon!” a familiar voice calls a moment before the sound of crunching leaves and soft grunts enters the small clearing at the foot of the incline leading into the heart of the jungle.

“Hoseok? What are you—oh, you found her.”

“Put me down, ya fish-eyed freak! Put me…fuck! Captain, oh seven seas, Captain! Put me down, for salt's sake!”

The small woman Namjoon rescued from the wreckage tumbles from Hoseok’s arms. She scrambles forward on her hands and knees to kneel beside the prone woman at Namjoon’s feet.

“You shouldn’t have wandered off,” Namjoon begins, only to be cut off by the murderous glare thrown up at him.

“What did ya do to ‘er?! I swear to the goddess below, if ya so much as put your slimy hands on ‘er, I’ll gut ya like the fish ya are!”

Namjoon backs away, his very not slimy hands in the air before him. “I only just found her. She was already like that.”

Hoseok shuffles his feet, rubbing at the back of his neck. “It was probably the others. I heard them singing earlier. I was coming to get you when I stumbled upon this one,” he says, gesturing with his other hand at the small woman with freckled cheeks and short blond curls, “trying to climb the cliffs. Nearly went over back into the ocean.”

“You have to help ‘er,” the blond woman says, all the fiery ire gone from her voice. She gently brushes sand from the other woman’s cheeks and hair, her fingers coming away sticky with blood. “Please.”

Namjoon had no intention of not helping the woman from the start. But, to placate the small one, he nods his agreement. “I will do what I can. But I need to pick her up.”

The blond one gives him a lingering look, clearly judging his merit, before sliding back on her knees to provide Namjoon with the space he needs to kneel beside the prone woman.

“Be careful wi’ ‘er head.”

Namjoon’s lips purse into a frown, his brain trying desperately to place the woman’s accent. It’s a mixed jumble, consisting of influence seemingly from multiple places. When the woman waves a frantic hand in Namjoon’s face, he blinks, startling back to the task at hand. There will be plenty of time later to figure out where the humans have come from.

Doing just as instructed, with careful ease, Namjoon takes the unconscious woman into his arms, letting her head rest against his naked chest. The linen trousers he pulled on earlier only come to mid-calf, his feet bare of the shoes he knows humans are partial to. The short pants were the only thing he found in Jimin’s chest of human treasures that remotely fit. It’s been so long since either of them had the company of someone other than their own kind that it hadn’t dawned on Namjoon that greeting the young woman in nothing but his skin wouldn’t be proper.

“Hoseok,” Namjoon says, dismissing his inner thoughts about human propriety surrounding clothing, and nods toward the opening to the cave system where Jimin should be waiting.

Hoseok, who is one of Namjoon’s closest friends, trails his eyes over the blond woman before offering her his hand. “Would you like to come with her?”

With no outward hesitation other than the slight narrowing of her eyes, the small woman slides her hand into Hoseok’s, and he hauls her to her feet. “I’m Ollie, by the way,” she says, her shorter legs keeping pace with Hoseok’s with little issue. “And, you’re Hoseok?” Namjoon has never seen his friend nervous, but right now, he’s pretty confident that’s exactly the emotion coloring his friend’s cheeks. Hoseok nods. “Well, I have a lot o’ questions, Hoseok. Maybe ya can answer some as we walk.”

🌊🌊🌊

You’ve had your fair share of blackouts in your life. What with how sour ale can fill your belly and the enticing bet to drink someone under the table…you’d be remiss in saying you’ve never awoken a time or two in a strange place with only a small inkling of how you ended up there.

However, doing it twice in a row is something new. Your head aches. Differently than it had before when you awoke on the beach. This is a skull-deep pounding, something that only comes when you catch an errant fist in a fight or take a sail boom to the back of the head.

You want to empty your stomach for a whole different reason now. The sickly feeling swirls in your belly, your eyes fluttering open as you dry retch. “Fuck,” you whisper coarsely.

“Captain!”

The relief at hearing Ollie’s voice is second to the splitting pain that ricochets through your head at her volume. “Softer, Ollie.”

“Oh, right.” Her freckled cheeks plump around the sheepish smile she gives you. “Sorry ‘bout that, Cap. I’m jus’ so happy to see ya awake. Ya plum near ended my days, seein’ ya layin’ there on the ground wi’ your head split open like a melon.”

You tenderly probe at the lump forming over your right temple. It’s warm to the touch, the flesh swollen and aching. You can feel the rough humps of stitching crisscrossing over the edge of the lump. You wince as your fingers map across the seven sutures. “I must look a sight. Did you stitch me up?”

“Beautiful as always, Cap. Would take a wonder stronger than’a rock to change that. And I wish I could take credit for ‘at beautiful jab job, but it wasn’t me.”

Gods love this woman; she’s a treasure you don’t deserve. Your eyes focus enough that you can take her in wholly. She sports her own discolored lump on the side of her jaw, and dark circles rim the soft skin under her eyes. There is a split at the corner of her mouth, and her right arm, you realize, is secured in a burlap sling. You’re so overwhelmed with taking her in that you don’t even register that she said she wasn’t the one to stitch you up. “Oh, Ollie,” you whisper softly. “What did I do to you?”

She jerks upright, indignation written all over her face. “This wasn’t you, Cap. This was that surly sea we love so much. Ain’t nothin’ I’ve never had before.” It’s clear she believes that wholeheartedly with the stern look in her eyes. “Besides, ya ought not worry about me. How’s yar head?”

You sit up slowly, your vision narrowing slightly as your world rights itself. Blinking, you let your eyes slide over your surroundings, taking an account of what’s around you. A soft mat and scattered blankets create a nest of comfort under you.

The walls are smooth stone with tiny carved-out nitches that form shelves holding a mix of books, shells, and other small trinkets. There is a homey feel to the sea cave, with a few chests and other odd bits of furniture lining the walls. You’d almost think you were in a bizarrely themed boarding room if it weren’t for the giant opening in the floor some feet away, the soft lap of water nibbling at the hole's edge.

Lichen sticks to the ceiling, its soft blue and green glow giving enough light that your eyes aren’t straining as you continue your perusal. Aside from the large hole in the floor, a narrow doorway leads into darkness on the other side of the room.

“Where are we?” you ask, choosing to focus on finding answers of your own rather than the incessant pounding of your skull.

Ollie rocks back on her heels, wrapping her good arm around her knees. You notice she’s not wearing the same clothes she wore the last time you saw her on the boat. Ugh, the boat…you don’t even want to think about that right now. The faded green tunic and sandy-colored breeches dwarf her tiny frame, the neck of the top hanging off one of her shoulders. You glance down and see her petite toes, her shoes nowhere to be seen.

She wiggles her toes, giggling softly. “Hoseok says bare feet’re better for walkin’ the tunnels. Less likely to slip and split my own noggin’.” She emphasizes the words with a rap of her knuckles against the side of her blond curl-covered head.

“Hoseok?” you ask, your attention catching on that name. It’s familiar, almost like you heard it in a dream, but far too fuzzy for you to be sure.

“Oh, he’s—”

“He’s right here,” chirps a jovial, masculine voice from the passageway across the room. “Nice to see you awake. Think you could stomach some stew? Would do you well to get something in your body.”

Your eyes grow as wide as saucers at the nearly naked man shuffling into the cavernous space. In his hands is a wide wooden board covered in what looks like chunks of bread, sliced fruit, and a bowl of steaming stew. The smell of the luscious, smoky broth hits your nose as he draws closer, and your stomach gives an appreciative gurgle.

“I promise the food is safe ta’ eat,” Ollie whispers, slanting a hand against her mouth in your direction. “It’s smoked fish stew. I had some earlier and even asked after seconds.”

That captures your attention, your eyes swinging in her direction, an incredulous look overtaking your face. “Ollie—”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Rule number one: don’t accept food from blokes ya don’t know. But, Cap, I was starvin’, and I knew ya’d be in need of some food when ya woke. So, really, I did it for ya, had to make sure they wasn’t tryin’ to poison ya.”

You take a moment to assess Ollie’s countenance, realizing that aside from the visible bruises from her toss into the ocean, she seems no worse for wear. Her pallor is rosey, a healthy flush beneath her freckles, and her eyes are bright and clear.

“Just some water,” you say, your gaze flicking towards this Hoseok character.

“But, Cap—”

“For now, Ol. Just to be sure my stomach doesn’t sick up from anything more hearty.”

You hate lying to her. Even though she seems to be of her right mind, she almost seems too eager…too trusting. Which is so far removed from the Olivia Ramsey you know, the one who would turn her nose up in suspicion at even the slightest hint of stink. And this has the ripe stench of three-day-old chum all over it.

“Water then.” Hoseok nods, though his lips kick down in a frown as he sets the tray laden with food beside the tangle of blankets and pillows you woke up on. 

“Thank you,” you mutter as Ollie hands you a ceramic cup from the tray. The contents look clear enough and holds no distinct odor as you give it a tentative sniff before putting it to your lips.

The water is crisp and surprisingly cool, tasting faintly earthy like it came directly from a rocky stream. You gulp it down, your aching and raw throat rejoicing with the soothing relief.

Hoseok squats down beside Ollie, your eyes tracking his every movement. His pants are thin, the worn fabric hanging loosely from his frame. It’s clear they’re not new, perhaps aged even further from the constant wear from the briny ocean air. His chest is bare, emphasizing a slender frame with smooth, corded muscles. His trousers might be worse for wear, but his eyes are a clear, beautiful brown, complimenting the shag of black hair on his head…though, there is something off-putting about him…something you can’t quite put your finger on.

“I hope those stitches are okay. I tried not to tie them off too tightly, but it has been quite some time since I last performed such a task.”

Your lips twitch, brows furrowing ever so slightly. In all your years, you’ve had your fair share of stitches with everything from catgut wire to medical-grade thread. With just the brief inspection you gave your sutures, you can tell they’re on the better side. You’d maybe even go so far as to say they’re on par with a medical professional. Perhaps this Hoseok character is a sea-lost doctor washed up on shore once upon a time, the same as you and Ollie. “What is this place?” you ask him, your fingers flexing around the empty cup clasped in your hands.

“A sea cave—”

“No. I mean, what is this whole place? Where are we, exactly?” Your eyes flick away from him, darting across the walls as if you tried hard enough that you could see through the dark stone and figure it out yourself.

“I believe your kind calls this place Black Rock Bay. Though, that’s truly a misnomer, considering the rocks in the bay are more of a dark blue than black, but I can see how one might make that mistake.”

You blink at him, the cogs in your mind trying desperately to lock the details into place. Two things stand out above all the others—your kind and Black Rock Bay. So, clearly not a medical professional, and, wait—

“We truly made it?” you whisper, your lips suddenly feeling numb and your tongue thick like molasses.

“Just you n’me.” Ollie’s voice slices through the silence, landing you harshly back into the very stark reality of what happened. Your eyes meet hers for a brief moment, and she winces, an apology already forming on her cracked lips.

You shake your head, addressing her before she can take back her words. “There were no other survivors?”

The question was addressed to Hoseok, but another voice answers you. “None that we’ve found thus far, but we are still searching the shore and the wreckage.”

You’re better than the sound that rips from your throat. Maybe if you hadn’t taken a knock to the head, you’d have been able to hold your ground and have suppressed the surprise. As it is, the unintelligible squawk you emit echoes around the cavernous chamber as your eyes widen on the figure emerging from the lagoon pool on the other side of the room.

Pearlescent scales ripple along strong arms as hands brace against the lip of the lagoon. The shimmery teardrop shapes spread over an impeccably defined chest, blending into the creamy skin of a toned stomach and narrow hips before ending at the ridged blue and green band of a…tail? The long, flowing appendage slides over the stone as the figure pushes themselves completely out of the lagoon opening.

Water slicks off of them, the soft sloshing sending a gentle spray of misted salt water into the air. You watch in abject shock as the scales slowly recede with every drop of moisture that wicks away as the newcomer quickly brushes a length of fabric they grabbed from a nearby shelf over their body.

You want to reach out and finger the wet lengths of hair that swing with their every movement, like scattered moonlight on ocean waves. You’ve never seen hair quite so bright; it’s even lighter than the wheat-colored curls adorning Ollie’s head.

It’s a mesmerizing sight, watching the way the glittering scales disappear, melting away to reveal smooth and supple skin as if they never existed. Slender legs take shape; flexing toes and taut muscles speak of a delicate grace you’d never have associated with the male form before. And male it is…the very breath in your lungs stills as your eyes catch on the faint outline of a very prominent appendage before it’s covered by the now-damp cloth as he wraps it around his waist. 

Brilliant mocha-colored eyes meet yours, the center of a controlled, measured look that gives absolutely nothing away. “Easy, Cap,” Ollie whispers a moment before you feel her hand grazing along your jaw.

You firmly snap your gaping mouth shut.

“I wish I had better news to share with you. But I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that the storm you attempted to sail through was not a kind one. You’re fortunate to be alive, the both of you.”

“Holy Shining Seas,” Ollie mumbles, her fingers crossing over her chest in a sign meant to ward off evil. It’s an automatic gesture, one she does without thought, ingrained in her from a young age; well before she met the fates of the streets.

Your fingers itch to make their own sign. The few weeks you spent with Sister Agatha in the convent are ones sorely hard to forget, even at the best of times. You’ve never been religious, far from it. But those two weeks made you feel closer to hell than the deepest trench of the ocean ever could.

Clenching your fingers closed in the quilt beneath you, your mouth pops open instead. “Y-you…wait, you—is that? Was that—you, uh, your—your skin,” the last word comes out barely louder than a whisper. 

Hoseok stands and crosses the room, snagging a pair of trousers from an open chest. He tosses them at the newcomer, firmly scolding him, “You know better than to skin shift in front of humans. Why didn’t you come in through the central lagoon?”

At that moment another voice filters through the room, coming from the same direction Hoseok had entered through. Your eyes flick away from the first unknown male to the empty doorway, a second before a tall, silver-haired man wearing pants far too short for him, and nothing else appears. In his hands is a worn red cap.

“I told Jimin it was a bad idea. But, you know how he is, a will stronger than the southern currents.”

The stranger with the calculating gaze—Jimin, it seems—rolls his eyes and huffs out an annoyed breath. “Would rather rip it out like an urchin barb, Namjoon, get it over with. Better that way in the long of it, considering our visitors will be here for quite some time.”

Namjoon. Jimin. Hoseok. Your eyes flick between the three strangers, noting the same sense you got from Hoseok earlier also radiates from the other two. As you watch them exchange heated words, the low timbre of their voices making their words hard to discern, Jimin tugs on the trousers Hoseok threw at him, and you realize what that odd feeling is. They’re…perfect. Too perfect, otherworldly.

It’s unnerving.

And now you’re sure you know why. As plain as the pearlescent scales and tail, the truth screams at you from the smooth skin of their foreheads to the perfectly straight, white teeth behind their rose-hued lips. No mere human could be so pristine. Clearly, the bewitching nature of a siren isn’t just exaggerated prose reserved for their voices.

“Is that Red’s cap?” Ollie asks, her voice low, meant only for your ears.

You force your eyes away from studying their faces to the crumpled lump clasped in Namjoon’s hands. It’s a detail your brain registered earlier but clearly was too muddled to fully comprehend.

“Where did you find that?” you ask, but you are only met with silence in response. The three males are still caught up in their soft bickering. You give Ollie a sidelong look, your face pinched in a frown before demanding louder, “Excuse me!”

Your barked words echo through the chamber, rebounding ten-fold and making even you wince at the sharp, biting sound.

“Where did you find that?” Ollie’s voice fills the sudden silence as she nods her head at the red cap in Namjoon’s grip.

Namjoon loosens his hold on the worn red fabric, the once vibrant carmine faded by the salt and sun to a tawny vermilion. An unmistakable blob of golden thread peeks out from one of the edges where Jory ‘Red’ Meander had haphazardly tried to stitch together a hole put there by a disgruntled card companion.

He had a penchant for gambling, not always with honest intentions, either. A scoundrel with a quick smile and charming hazel eyes. Despite being barely old enough to be let loose from his mother’s skirts, Jory joined your crew mere weeks before you got it in your head to chart a course for Black Rock Bay, demanding with a puffed-out chest that everyone refer to him as ‘Red’, like the color of his hat and the blood spilled at the end of his rapier, from here on out. Said it was a better-suited name for a future pirate mogul than Jory.

A few nights into your journey towards Black Roy Back, as you sat with Red in the crow’s nest watching the moon slip through the sky, he confessed that he actually chose the name Red because it reminded him of his mother with her fiery red hair and spit-fire attitude. But he figured that wouldn’t be a very pirate-like reason. He honestly had no business on your ship…but you were desperate for a full crew and, well—

“I-uh, I found it on the beach…I followed your footsteps back through the jungle.” Namjoon clears his throat before stepping close and offering the cap to you. “There was a man…a boy, really. His body—I’m sorry.”

You hesitantly take the hat. The soft fabric flops over the back of your hand, and a memory flashes through your mind. Red screaming at you, the stupid hat he refused to ever take off, sluicing the stinging water into his eyes, hauling you bodily through the turbulent water. Red forcing you above water, pleading with you to hold on…

Tears fill your eyes, but you don’t let them fall. Anger replaces the hurt pounding away in your chest. You will not fall apart now…not when…fuck. You furiously wipe at your eyes, sniffing back the burn welling in your nose. Red would laugh and waggle his brows at you if he knew you were getting choked up over him.

“Have you found others? Bodies, I mean.”

Jimin and Namjoon share a look, an exchange of words without making a sound.

Red. Jameson. McLaughlin. Straub. Okiro.

From the descriptions provided to you by Namjoon and Jimin, you mentally etch their names into your psyche. Men whose loyalty you once questioned are now forever lost to this world because of your petty grievances and selfish desires. And more yet to be confirmed…

You worry the edge of your thumbnail, fisting the red cap in your other hand over and over.

“Maybe ya should eat somethin’, Cap.”

You can’t bring yourself to look at Ollie right now, lest you might not be able to fight back the tears any longer. “I’m fine, Ol.”

“Some rest then,” Jimin says. “Hoseok, if you take Olivia to the storage room, you might be able to find her something a bit more fitting to wear in the alder chest, the one with the iron straps. You know which I mean?”

Hoseok makes an agreeable sound. You snap out of your stupor enough to realize Ollie stands up without so much as a mutterance of protest. In fact, she almost seemed eager as she took Hoseok’s hand, and he pulled her to her feet. There is a look on her face that you’ve never seen there before…it almost looks like longing. But that can’t be because that’s absolutely absurd. However, there she goes, giving you a girlish wave and mumbling, “Later, Cap. Get some rest, ‘k?”, as she allows Hoseok to lead her from the room.

“Wait, Ol—”

But just like that, Ollie walks out without so much as a backward glance before you can get the protest out of your mouth, her focus now solely on the male at her side. She has that same silly, infatuated look on her face.

And now you’re alone—alone with two strange males who are looking at you like you’re the most interesting thing they’ve ever come across. Perhaps you are…but most likely, they’re trying to come up with the best way to pick your bones clean.

You can feel the heat drain from your face, receding from the tips of your fingers and toes, turning into a wash of icy chills down your spine. You’ve heard enough songs about this…you know what happens next, yet you can’t get your body to do what you want it to. All you can do is stare, your eyes moving between the two males, your fingers holding a death grip on Red’s cap.

“Hungry?” Jimin asks, his eyes flicking to Namjoon.

Something is wrong…something is very wrong.

The taller male tilts his head to the side, eyes sliding up and down your seated form. “Yeah, Jimin, I’m hungry.”

You swallow hard, trying not to let the sudden wave of fear curdling in your belly show. Maybe Red should have just let the sea take you…

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