#he hums the chant from ashes and blood

[smollkittykat]

Since Viktor is like ten years older than powder, in my head, he knows Vander. Maybe he doesn't remember vi or powder but you cannot tell me that Viktor never went to the Last Drop for a drink.

You also can't tell me that Vander, who has a terminal case of dad syndrome, didn't immidiately take to the snarky boy-genius who came in maybe twice a month.

In my head, Viktor sang along to Zaunite chants that roared throughout the bar, back when Vander and Silco were always together.

When Heimerdinger allowed him and Jayce to work on Hextech, Viktor thought it would be good day. So he took a little detour over the Piltovian market, only to hear the whispers. Some in Zaunite, some in the official language.

"The Hound is dead, have you heard?"

"Heard it was Silco. It was a matter of time."

"No it was enforcers! Killed ol' Benzo too."

"Yeah, they were after Vander's kids I heard."

"They all died in an explosion is what I heard in the lanes."

Viktor bought his groceries all the same. He didn't start conversation.

As he walked back home, his cane clacking lightly on the stone pavement he hummed. Quietly to himself.

A prayer to Jenna, for fresh wind. For clean air. Like he had once chanted at The Last Drop.

[helaelaemond]

Helaemond and 50!!!

bad idea right?

'yes i know that he's my ex but can't two people reconnect' / 'i know i should stop but i cant'

He took his wife on campaign with him. His Baratheon lady, born in storms and seas that challenged the gods. In a letter to Aegon, he had written that he would not be parted from her, not even when Daemon brought the dusk. It was said that Prince Aemond's wife watched from the towers of Harrenhal as kinslayer met kinslayer against the burning sky.

Jaehaerys died for the sake of Maelor. Aegon was not healing well, but Jaehaera loved him so. The further away he drew, the more fiercely she followed.

Helaena had wanted to fly to the Riverlands when Aemond stopped writing.

"It is good to have you home," Alicent said quietly over the dinner table where they were gathered. It was the first night Aemond was back in the Red Keep now that the war was won. Well, over. Grandfather was not at the table. His bones were scattered with snow.

Helaena looked out towards the window where winter whipped against the Keep towers. Aemond's hair was whiter than it used to be. His wife's was as dark as the terrors. "You tarried too long."

Aemond's hard gaze was on her. "There was battle to be done."

"It did not bring him back."

"It kept you safe."

Helaena's lip twitched. On the table, her fingers dug into her palm until it stung. "You weren't here."

"I-"

"Aemond." His wife laid a hand on his arm and he quietened.

Helaena watched her fingers curl over the leather of his sleeve, watched them curl. Fire licked her belly, and she stood up suddenly. "The children. I must go to them."

"Sit down, sister."

"You were gone!" she cries out sharply. Aemond's wife, the fierce daughter of Storm's End, looked at her increduously. How wonderful it would have been to love her, to have a sister to love. A pretty idea. But her flesh and blood was dead and burned. So, too, many things should have been. With the memory of Aemond's ash in her hair, she fled from the chamber. Mother tried to stop her, but it was useless. Helaena did not wear green anymore.

The moon had scarcely moved in the sky when Aemond came to her in the nursery. The children slept as she stood over Maelor's crib. He had his father's nose. Helaena remembered how sweet he used to look when he scrunched it up in disgust at something Aegon said, or the crinkles around it when Helaena made him laugh.

"I would have returned sooner if I could."

She didn't look up at the sound of his voice, but the fire stirred. "It matters not."

"May I...?" Aemond's low voice was soft, and had a hesitancy that was unfamiliar.

"May you, what?"

The silence was cold and familiar. She wanted to follow him into it, make him return her letters. And so when his hand touched her shoulder, and then her back, and then her waist, she let it. When the flames warmed the space between them, it cleansed her.

"You're home," Helaena murmured. Her eyes closed. "Brother."

"Do not... not say that," came his reply against her ear.

"Brother."

"More than that. Tell me I am still more than that."

Helaena sighed when he wrapped both arms around her from behind, so slow and deliberate, and she swallowed. Opening her eyes would be futile, for he filled her senses. It had been so long. "You have a wife. You can be no more than that now."

"You were more when I was unwed, but Aegon was named your husband and protector."

She hummed quietly. His lips grazed the shell of her ear. A hint of a kiss, a whisper of a memory. "You... love her. I cannot let you break what is left of my heart."

"Helaena." He dragged out the sound of her name until it was a chant to prayer. "She is of the earth, and you are of the heavens."

"The earth is here and now and so very real."

He pressed a soft kiss just below her ear. White hair caught on his lips. "The heavens are watchful. Eternal. Home. And so, too, are you."

"This is not wise."

"We have never been wise, my love. I care not for wisdom, not when, instead, I could have you."

[bratminksstuff]

𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑫𝒂𝒚 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑺𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒔 𝑭𝒆𝒍𝒍

Rhys x Reader

Rhys x reader| Rhysand dies in the war...

warnings: angst, dying , war, lost of ur loved one

a/n: I CRIED MY ASS OFF WRITING THIS

word count:637

The battlefield was chaos—screams, steel, blood, and magic colliding in a deadly symphony. The sky above was blackened with ash, and the ground beneath my feet felt like it was trembling, as if the very earth was mourning the carnage. My heart thundered in my chest as I fought, but my eyes were always searching—searching for him.

Rhys.

I could feel his power crackling across the battlefield, a beacon of strength and unyielding determination. The bond between us hummed faintly, like a reassuring tether holding me together even in the midst of this nightmare.

Until it didn’t.

One moment, the bond was there, warm and steady, and then—

It snapped.

The pain was instant, sharp and all-consuming, as if someone had driven a blade straight through my chest. My knees buckled, and the world around me blurred.

“Rhys,” I whispered, my voice trembling, though I could barely hear myself over the roar of the battle.

No. No, no, no.

I forced myself to my feet, my breaths coming in short, ragged gasps. I stumbled forward, pushing through the chaos, ignoring the enemies that lunged for me. I didn’t care if I lived or died in that moment—I had to find him.

His name was a chant in my mind, a desperate plea as I searched for him. My hands trembled as I threw aside the bodies of those who had fallen, my magic surging wildly, dangerously, threatening to consume me.

And then I saw him.

Rhysand lay on the ground, his once-mighty wings limp and broken, his body motionless. The sight of him—so still, so lifeless—ripped a broken sob from my throat.

“No,” I cried, falling to my knees beside him. My hands hovered over him, trembling, as if touching him would make this nightmare real. “No, Rhys, no. Please, please don’t do this.”

His violet eyes—those eyes that had always been so full of life, of mischief and love—were closed. His skin was pale, too pale, and his chest was still.

I shook him, my tears falling freely now, staining his beautiful face. “Wake up,” I begged, my voice breaking. ��Please, Rhys. You can’t leave me. You promised me forever.”

But he didn’t move.

A scream tore from my lips, raw and guttural, a sound I didn’t even recognize as my own. My magic erupted out of me, uncontrolled and wild, shaking the very ground beneath us. The stars in the sky seemed to dim, as if mourning with me.

Someone—Cassian, maybe, or Azriel—called my name, but I couldn’t hear them. I couldn’t feel anything except the gaping hole in my chest where Rhys had been.

“I can’t do this without you,” I whispered, my voice trembling as I cradled his face in my hands. “You were my light, my home, my everything. How am I supposed to live in a world without you?”

There was no answer.

The bond between us—the bond that had always been a steady hum in the back of my mind, a constant reminder that he was with me—was gone. Completely, utterly gone.

And I was lost.

I pressed my forehead to his, my tears soaking into his dark hair. “Please,” I whispered, my voice breaking on the word. “Please come back to me.”

But the universe was silent.

The chaos of the battlefield faded into nothingness as I held him, rocking back and forth as the grief consumed me. It felt like my soul had been ripped in two, like I was bleeding out in a way that no healer could ever fix.

Time lost meaning. I didn’t know how long I sat there, clutching him, begging for him to come back. But he didn’t.

Rhysand, the High Lord of the Night Court, my mate, my love, was gone.

And with him, the stars in my world had gone dark.

[just-a-silly-little-whumper]

Enchant

Masterpost | Read on Ao3

Nathan is a skilled practitioner of magic. Some magic is just beyond even him.

Contains: Dhampir whumpee, magical whump, blood sacrifice, parental whumper, mind/thought/emotion control

~~~

Once, the dark might have bothered him. The unknowns it contained, the way it twisted the familiar into the foreign. Now, Nathan found a kinship with it. There was something comforting about the anonymity, the secrecy, something so seemingly hostile that he could nevertheless make welcoming.

The fact that he could see through the shadows also helped, if he was being honest. But why would he ever be honest?

With a final, sweeping flourish of his hand, he connected the ritual circle back on itself. The ring of ash and chalk glowed softly for a moment before going dim again, primed for use but not yet powered. With a deep breath that he took more for comfort than any necessity he stood and dusted himself off, looking over his handiwork. There were no flaws he could see in the design, no errors in its construction.

It was perfect. It would work. It had to work.

Nathan brought his wrist up to his mouth and, with a similarly elegant flourish to the one he had used to complete the circle, effortlessly sliced it open with one of his fangs. The sting of the injury didn’t phase him, and he clenched his fist as he swept his arm across the circle. His blood flowed freely, pattering down onto the circle and filling the air with the scent of iron. The carefully placed lines began to glow, brighter and brighter with every drop, as his own essence gave the circle the magic that it needed.

Closing his eyes, he began to chant. The motionless air filled with ancient words of power and intent. Behind his eyelids Nathan could see the glow of the circle begin to brighten slowly but steadily with each syllable, the light a deep red to match the blood that still dripped from his hand. The magic swelled around him, buffeting his hair with a nonexistent wind, though his focus was ensuring that the words leaving his mouth were utterly precise and perfect.

Nathan had been studying this ritual in secret for months, had spent countless hours memorizing the incantation, had waited weeks for the perfect opportunity. His voice grew more fervent with his anticipation; the circle began to pulse, almost like the heartbeat that had been stolen away from him as the ritual approached its climax.

He was going to lay a curse on Matthias Karsi, was going to slowly strip him of his power, was going to make his existence agonizing. And then, then, he might finally have a chance to be free—

A sudden, violent burst of magic cut off his thoughts, his words, before he had a chance to complete the chant and bind the curse to his Sire. For a moment, the world was nothing but magic and lightning and pain. Nathan found himself thrown off his feet, soaring through the air for what felt like an eternity before he collided with the ground and crumpled like paper.

Everything hurt. The aftershocks roiled through him, his body somehow numb and aflame at the same time. The burn in his wrist felt more acute than it had any right to. There was a faint, sputtering hum as the ritual circle’s magic died out, and then a deafening, condemning silence.

All Nathan could think about as he laid on the cold ground was that he had failed. How could he have failed? Everything had been perfect. He knew that everything had been perfect. What could have gone wrong? What did he miss?

Time passed agonizingly slowly. The aftershocks settled, the volatile sparks of magic growing increasingly calm until they faded entirely. Even after the pain began to fade, it took a while before Nathan felt he was ready to move. Part of it was his disorientation and exhaustion from the backlash, but mostly he was just reeling emotionally, trying and failing to work out what had happened.

Eventually, though, he had to pick himself up and figure out next steps. If this didn’t work, then he had to learn why, so he could figure out what would. But prior to that, he had to get back to the manor, before Matthias realized he was gone.

With a groan, he started to push himself upright, but was interrupted by the sound of soft, steady footsteps. Nathan’s blood went cold; he knew that cadence, knew the presence he could feel creeping up on him. Any notion he might have had of studying the circle for imperfections left his mind, and he tried desperately to summon his magic for a burst of wind to get rid of at least some of the evidence of what he had been trying to do.

But before he could finish the simple spell, Matthias emerged from the treeline, walking unhurriedly with his normal detached expression on his face. Nathan quickly staggered upright, positioning himself in front of the circle, hoping beyond hope that Matthias wouldn’t look too hard at it or the way that Nathan swayed where he stood.

It was futile, though. Matthias noticed everything.

“Father,” he said, and he found himself grateful that he managed to keep his voice even. “What are you—”

“Nathan,” Matthias said, his interruption seamless. “You should be back at home.”

“I—” He swallowed. “I was just taking the opportunity to practice. I thought that—”

“Nathan.” Matthias’s stern, authoritative tone slipped right into Nathan’s mind. He was barely conscious of the way his thoughts bent and twisted, easily folding into the shape Matthias wanted. All thoughts of resistance fell away; his fear-driven determination to avoid Matthias’s ire was replaced by the deep-seated need to earn his father’s forgiveness.

“I’m sorry, Father. I don’t know what I was thinking,” he said, bowing his head in a show of contrition. Matthias hummed a bit, waiting for Nathan to continue. “I shouldn’t have even thought to try to curse you like this; it was foolish and ungrateful of me. I just hope I can earn your forgiveness.”

He doesn’t even try to explain or excuse his behavior. All of the emotions leading up to this, all of the fear and anger and repression, mean nothing anymore. There is only profound, genuine guilt and remorse. He tried to hurt his father. How could he ever have conceived of that?

At first, Matthias didn’t say anything. If Nathan breathed, he would be holding his breath. As it was, he just kept his head bowed. Then a hand landed on his shoulder; he tensed instinctively, but there was no blow, only a firm grip. He looked up to see Matthias looking down at him, his steely expression still in place.

“Thank you for telling me, my son.” Hesitant hope flickered within him at not being immediately reprimanded. “It seems my discipline has not been strict enough. I thought you knew better than to act out like this.”

“I’m sorry.” There was nothing else to say. He had broken his father’s trust, had disappointed him. What could he do but apologize and try to repent?

“I know you are.” He tilted his head up ever so slightly. “Come home. Once I treat the magical backlash, we can discuss your consequences further.”

Fear and gratitude laced through him in equal measure. “Of course, Father.”

He would make this better. He would. He simply had no other choice.

[stankycowboy]

“were you watching me?”

Oh yes, he had been watching vigilantly. Her every motion captivating his sense. It was not often he was allowed to be around the more ritualistic practices of herself or her kin, but he found them truly fascinating as an outsider. Whether it was the turbid, heady herbal smoke getting to him, or the summoned magicks he could feel crackling like fireworks in the air surrounding; Severen felt nearly hypnotized. His vision felt divided, in one sight he could see her, pale skin bearing runic markings in ash and blood, in the other she was wolven, teeth bared, fur on end. An electric tingle hummed off his skin, he felt like he could step completely out of himself, out of this mortal trapping--- and wanted to desperately. He wanted to meet her there, where she was, wherever that may be. Whether under his own power, or simply having been drawn together by intangible force, he finds himself before the goddess. Mixed within the scents of the forest---more than trees---is her. He can sense the interweaving of the two; her connection to the world itself. His hand lifts to hover over a bare shoulder, there is a pressure, a power radiating off her pallid skin, it threatens to decimate him--could do so with ease. She raises her own to press his hand down to touch her. A jolt of energy cripples his arm, making him grunt reflexively. It is not pain, not quite, but he struggles to define it as anything but overwhelming force.

He is rooted to the spot. Unable to move away, not wanting to either, he tries to focus on her face, on her eyes, the only part of her that remains stable in view, but it feels like staring into the sun, so bright, so vibrant is the gold incandescence radiating around her pupil. Severen feels one of her fingers press into his forehead, dragging into a pattern he cannot picture based on the movement, nor is he mentally capable of keeping it in mind, far too distracted by the whole of her. Pine, ash, blood, his lips part, audibly inhaling through his mouth in pants, the only way he is able to get enough air to breath. The tastes are so keen on his tongue it is like he is consuming the wild itself. Her fingers scrape along the back of his skull, the sensation makes him weak, as if she had bludgeoned him. Binding his hair betwixt her knuckles, she presses his forehead to hers, their breath shared, his mouth thirsting for hers. Against his chest he can feel hers heave into him, the press of her skin unsatisfactory unless there is no space between them at all.

In his ears rings a faint chanting. Words spoken in inhuman voices. There is no central origin, it is from all places, it disrupts any cohesive thought he could have. Severen is no longer inside his own mind. He is outside of the world, or rather, so integrated a part of it he is inseparate. The press of her teeth into his bottom lip is a luxurious pain, his tongue seeks her upper lip, tasting a hint of his own blood as he pleads for her kiss. She grants his request, passing his inadequate taste into his own mouth. Severen moans regardless, at the feel of her, despite being teased by a flavor so disinteresting. Lira spears her tongue against one of his sharpened teeth (had he filed them, he couldn't recall), and a blossom of ambrosia ignites in his mouth like liquid fire. The hand once woven to her shoulder comes away---a ripping sound like roots being torn from the earth---to wrap around the small of her back, shoving her tight to his body. They clasp each other's faces close, mouths moving greedily, the flavors of the two mixed within their hungry kisses. There is more here than consumption, this passion one the blood drinker has known only for her. It is nothing of hunger, that is a drive he knows all too well; this is a unique lust, of her, for her. There is no proximity besides this, bound together, that is close enough. Her nails dig into his scalp, he delights in her possessiveness, truly desiring to be claimed by her, having his feelings reciprocated in violent delight. He braces the back of her neck, hand smudged grey, sticking in the still wet symbols, though somehow unable to mar their shape. Lira's left hand scrapes at his chin, dragging down the length of his neck leaving welted marks that make him snarl and buck against her, daring to ask for more; even if that may tear him apart. Anything to be ensnared by the eternal one. Between them she braces her palm against his heart, pressing upon his chest. There is a feeling of heat, a sear, like she is melting away his flesh, he can feel her lithe fingers curling around his now pounding organ, warming it, making him gasp, splutter at suddenly feeling a burning vivacity in a place he had not felt it kindled in decades, a century.

Severen gasps to full attention with a jolt. His blue eyes roll madly as he tries to place where he is, what is happening around him. All is calm, all is peaceful. He sits, legs crossed, stripped down to simple leather trousers in a dark clearing of the brooding woods he has come to think of as the heart of the earth. His breath comes in heaving swells, as if he had been holding it for some time. He cannot quite remember the precursory events that led to him being here, but gradually stills when he settles on the familiar shape of Lira before him. There is a smile on her face that is hard to read. It seems almost teasing, as if there is a joke she knows and has not told him. It settles his rapid pulse, brings him back into himself, allowing him the presence of mind to wonder: had he been dreaming? The scent on the wind is of smoke, but it is wood fire and since extinguished. Nothing there of spice, only pleasant, residual odor. There is no sound present other than bird call, the rustle of small woodland creatures carrying about their ways.

Severen looks a question at the mysterious woman across from him, but she simply closes her eyes, retreating back into whatever meditation he had disturbed her from. With a grin of his own, he crawls over on hands and knees and plants a kiss upon her high cheekbone, sitting back down beside her. Without looking she reaches out and the two interlace their fingers, disappearing once more into the true depths of the forest; to what lingered there in the long shadows of the trees.

[delimeful]

something hateful on our minds (1)

warnings: g/t, fearplay, misunderstandings, PTSD, brief references to murder/enslavement/ect., angstish with a happyish ending?

-

Roman held his thumb out, studying the spacing of the paint spread out on the huge plywood board in his backyard. He was itching to start, but the artist in him wouldn’t allow for sloppy placement, even if his current composition mostly consisted of archaic runes.

The summoning circle before him had been mostly freehanded, since he was using such a limited canvas. Most of the books were very firm about the idea of using a solid floor in a spare room, but Roman’s apartment was rented and he was not about to lose his whole deposit for one experiment. That was Remus behavior, and he had standards, thank-you-very-much.

Instead, he’d gone and bought the largest available plywood panel he could find at the nearest Home Depot, which measured about four feet across on its shortest side.

He’d had to switch to a different, half-faded design in the back of a dusty old tome that included an extra inner circle with a size-adjusting spell– apparently most demons manifested rather large, going by how big a lot of the other summoning circles were– but he wasn’t too put out about it.

It wasn’t like he was picky about which demon he was summoning when he had no intention of actually selling his soul or anything.

Satisfied that the runes met his exacting symmetry standards, he grabbed a matchbox and got to work lighting the candles set around the circle, humming to get rid of his nerves as he went. It didn’t help much– in the dull candlelight, the red paint glistened like spilt blood.

Roman swallowed, resisting the urge to shiver. No wonder his brother had been so into this.

Still, he wouldn’t back down now! He’d already practiced the new, needlessly complex incantation as much as any Shakespeare monologue, and so the chant rolled easily off his tongue.

His excitement began to rise as he noticed the lines of the circle glowing like fresh embers, the smell of burning wood rising and the candles guttering against a sudden sharp wind. Definitely a good thing that he hadn’t done this in the apartment– he never would have gotten the seared symbols out.

Still, it was working!

Roman was grinning smugly, his magic flaring brighter as the spell continued, already envisioning the boasting ahead of him, when things went wrong.

Abruptly, the drain on his magic grew heavier, and the circle’s several rings, which were now glowing a near-incandescent white, began to shift before his eyes, the structure unfolding and reversing layers to give the spell an entirely new meaning.

He attempted to cut the spell off, alarmed, but it had already taken what it needed from him, and continued to expand until it had left the plywood entirely, the half-dead grass of his backyard flaring up and shriveling into ashes wherever it touched.

The bright lines didn't burn his feet as they passed under him, but he almost wished they had as he realized that now he was the one in the circle, a place no summoner should ever be.

Roman couldn’t move, unwillingly frozen in place as the spell hummed furiously around him, building up more and more until– with a pop like a submarine hull giving way under water pressure– it snapped, whiting out his vision and whisking him away from everything he’d ever known.

For a moment, his mind was blank, unable to grasp the rift he was being tugged through, and then–

Light. That was the first sign something was deeply wrong. The backs of his eyelids were red-orange, illuminated from the outside, even though he’d been standing out in the dark at 3 AM moments before, and he knew for a fact that the shitty light bulbs in his apartment couldn’t ever cast such a warm, bright glow.

The second and more telling sign that something was deeply wrong was that when he opened his eyes, blinking heavily to adjust to the sudden change, he could see the grain of the floorboards that his circle was glowing on as though he was inspecting them with a magnifying glass.

Looking up, he found that it was no strange design choice or optical illusion; everything was huge. The floor, the furniture, even the walls towered up like he had entered the same world as the titular protagonist of Jack and the Beanstalk. He stumbled forward, trying to understand how the floorboards beneath him could stretch out so far.

There was a wooden pillar a handful of meters away. Heart pounding, Roman craned his head back to stare up at a bookshelf where every book was taller than him, his eyes catching on the books’ spines, where some very familiar runes resided. A foreboding chill ran down his spine.

“There’s no way,” he attempted to deny his insane theory out loud, and something about the way his voice didn’t carry in the vast empty space of the room made him feel very small, in more ways than one.

Distantly, there was a series of noises, familiar in nature but unfamiliar in size: a door being unlocked and swung open. Sharp clacks and heavy vibrations that carried stronger and stronger through the floor, like the world’s largest–

“Footsteps,” Roman whispered, aghast, and then dove for cover.

-

Janus felt frozen, staring down at the glowing lines crisscrossed along his hardwood. He kept his face completely impassive as his eyes traced the tiny details finding familiar runes— containment, imprisonment, enforcement.

His hands slowly curled into fists, the sting of his claws biting into his palms keeping him grounded in the present moment.

Because that was all they were: memories. He was still safe in his home, because the human who’d somehow found a copy of his summoning signature, the one who’d tried to drag him back under their thumb, hadn’t been able to cast it properly.

A coward, most likely, one who wasn’t willing to sacrifice everything to use Janus’s power to the utmost.

Humans had plenty of tomes about demons, detailed records of arcane rituals and scrawled journals full of personal accounts of the occult. Nearly none of them made note of that fact that intention alone could be the most vital part of a summoning, especially if the circle had a history steeped in death and misery.

Magic like this was malicious and twisted. When a caster didn’t live up to its standards, the consequences were… severe, to say the least.

Transporting an undefended mortal into the living room of a demon they’d just tried to enslave, for example.

Janus closed his eyes and took a deep breath, searching out the new element amidst the familiar array of scents in his home.

It wasn’t hard. Even if he hadn’t been summoned before, nearly any demon could pick out the smell of a human, which was why nearly none of the ones who slipped through to their dimension stayed undiscovered for long.

Some considered them a delicacy.

“It seems like I have a guest,” he purred, allowing the heels of his shoes to click sharply against the floor as he slowly began to circle through the room. “Won’t you come out, little mouse?”

There was no answer, predictably enough, but the air was tense with the presence of another.

Janus let his gaze drift over each corner and cranny, as though waiting to catch sight of a tiny, telling shadow. Nothing at first glance; the human must have had a few moments to squirrel themself away before Janus had entered.

“How rude,” he commented with a click of the tongue. “You show up here uninvited and have the gall to hide from your host? Careful, I might get offended.”

On the last word, he supplemented his threat by allowing a low, hair-raising rumble to bubble up from his chest. With the phantom wound of his last summoning still freshly reopened, it wasn’t difficult to allow his more threatening features to come to light.

Still no response, but in the silence, Janus could just barely make out the tiny, shallow breaths of his would-be summoner. His lips upturned slightly as he turned towards the left side of the room.

“Am I more than you were prepared to deal with?” he asked, overly saccharine. “Didn’t you read the fine print on that nasty little spell you failed to cast? Did you know what it was at all?”

He paused. With some humans, the condescending tone and implication that they weren’t as smart as they believed was enough to bait them out into the open.

Nothing. Not a peep. That was alright; Janus was patient.

“Allow me to explain,” he offered, letting the faux kindness leak out of his voice bit by bit, each word colder than the last. “Summoning circles, like the one you just burned into my acacia floorboards, target demons. They force us into a form that's better-suited for your pathetic little world. Part of that spell is designed to crush a demon down, make us so much less than we are, just so we can be bound to the command of a creature that’s worth less than the dirt under our feet.” He brought his next step down harshly for emphasis. The human’s next exhale came out as more of a squeak.

“It hurts, little mouse,” Janus told them, a bit of raw honesty leaking into his voice. “It hurts like nothing you’ve ever experienced before. And you were going to do that to little old me, tsk tssssk.”

He let his tongue flicker out, confirming what he already knew. His feet came to a slow halt next to his favorite bookcase, a heavy wooden thing that was nearly wedged into the corner of the room. The breathing went abruptly quiet.

“Maybe,” Janus proposed silkily, “I should show you how it would feel?”

He dropped into a crouch, and with a single smooth motion, swiped his hand into the space under the bookcase.

His fingers closed around a tiny, warm form with little regard for the short shriek it let out, or the way it cut out once his grip tightened.

The human had planned to do much worse to him.

He lifted the little monster up to eye level, relishing in the way it had gone pale and washed out with fear at the sight of him. At this diminutive size, it was as much a threat to him as he’d been to his first summoner, young and confused and above all bound.

“There you are,” he said, letting a slow, vicious smile spread across his face.

—

Roman heroically resisted the urge to pass out, the bruising grip around him not helping in the least.

The warnings in those stupid books had understated everything. The demon was huge, matching the decor perfectly, but more than that, he was monstrous.

The eyes staring down at him were a reptilian green, the slit pupils sitting stark and inhuman against them. Rigid golden scales covered his skin in thick patches, dark horns curled up in sharp points on his head, and the seams stretching from the edges of his mouth were distinctly snakelike in nature.

The demon smiled in a very unfriendly manner, baring fangs that looked longer than his entire forearm. Definitely a snake. And he’d called Roman ‘little mouse,’ which didn’t bode well at all.

The demon shifted backwards to sprawl elegantly in a chair, his grip on Roman loosening enough for him to clearly feel the air rushing past him as he was moved around above a fall that would shatter every bone in his body.

His terror spiked up another few notches, which he hadn’t thought was even possible. A new achievement for the day, right alongside ‘accidentally summoned himself to the demon dimension’ and ‘probably about to die horrifically’.

“So,” the demon started, propping his chin up with one hand to consider him with that eerie gaze. “What was it?”

“What?” The question slipped out mindlessly, his voice at a considerably higher pitch than usual.

He thought his confusion was perfectly fair, given the incredible vagueness of the question, but his captor didn’t seem to agree going by the sigh. Roman didn’t even have time to brace himself before the fingers around him nimbly shifted, turning him upside down with the same vague idleness one would fidget with a pen. The thought made Roman’s skin flush red with humiliation, and also with all the blood that was currently rushing to his head.

“The reason for your current predicament,” the demon clarified unhelpfully. Roman stared blankly at him, trying to come up with an answer that wasn’t ‘uh, you mean you?’ for long enough that he finally elaborated further: “Why did you try to summon me?”

Clearly irritated, the demon’s horrifying croaking growl– like the rumble of a crocodile– began to rise in volume, making some small, primal part of Roman’s brain want to curl up or skitter away.

Seeing as he was currently upside down and pinned to a demon’s palm, utterly trapped, he didn’t have the luxury of either.

Instead, in true Roman fashion, he opened his mouth and started babbling the first thing that came to mind.

“My sincerest condolences for imposing, I just– wanted to see how beautiful you were! In person!”

The demon raised the scaled ridges that he was pretty sure were eyebrows in what looked to be genuine incredulity, the first expression Roman had seen so far that didn’t make him feel like he was about to become a victim right out of The Most Dangerous Game.

It wasn’t entirely a lie, if he really thought about it: he had wondered how hot demons were, in a secretive, Remus-can-never-know kind of way.

“Is that so?” the demon in question drawled, his eyes narrowing intently. The pads of his fingers pressed down on his chest a little firmer, forcing what felt like half the air from his lungs.

“It is so so,” Roman managed through gasps, trying to appear earnest and eloquent past the dark spots that were beginning to dot his vision. “I’ve– I’ve heard legendary rumors from near every corner of the world about your grace and charm. It has occupied my every thought!”

That wasn’t true by any stretch of the meaning. He’d only found the tome with this demon’s circle out of sheer dumb luck (the bad kind, apparently) and unlike some of the other circles, there were absolutely no mentions of it online. What little had been written down legibly in the actual passage made no mention of grace or charm, being mostly full of metaphors about two-headed vipers and the highest positions being the most fatal ones to fall from.

… Those may have been warnings, now that he was thinking about it.

For a moment, the demon’s lip began to curl up, showing off even more of those fangs, but then he seemed to reconsider, tilting his head slightly as he flipped Roman back right side up. “Please, do go on.”

Roman hesitated for a fraction of a moment as his dizziness faded, astounded that his desperate ploy had worked, and then decided to embrace it. If the giant snake demon holding him captive wanted flattery, who was he to disagree?

It wasn’t like it was particularly hard to find things to compliment. The demon may not have looked particularly human, but Roman had been an avid Beauty and the Beast fan since forever. Perhaps even more helpful, he had been exposed to Remus’s musings on monsterfucking since birth.

“The rumors didn’t do you justice!” he announced grandly, because that passage really, really hadn’t. “I can see now that it would be utterly impossible to know the fullest extent of your beauty without an in-person appearance. Your eyes are like the richest mosses, your horns are dark silhouettes of elegance, and your scales– why, I doubt words could do them justice!”

The demon idly lifted him up to eye level, an amused challenge in his gaze. “Try anyways, since you fancy yourself a bard.”

Roman gave a faux-offended huff, trying not to cling too hard to the unsecure grip around him. He hoped he wasn’t sweating visibly. This was far closer than he ever wanted to be to teeth that sharp in a mouth that large.

“Fine then, I will!” He looked closely at the scales in question, and it wasn’t actually particularly difficult to see the beauty of them. “To start, it’s clear to anyone with eyes that they have a superior shine to any dragon’s hoard or the greatest miser’s gold. They look as smooth as riverbed stones and as strong as diamonds, outmatching any stone no matter how precious. The color of them is like fresh honeycomb and the golden hour– you know, honestly, they go quite nicely with your eyes!”

He’d gotten a bit too familiar at the end, falling into habit as though this was one of the long complimentary spiels he usually lavished upon his friends rather than a last-ditch attempt to not have ‘crushed like a bug’ on his epitaph. The demon stared at him for a long, silent moment, all traces of expression wiped from his face, and Roman began to rethink this plan.

“Or, I suppose you’re a demon, and human compliments are beneath you? Perhaps you’d be more interested in compliments about your menacing demeanor or how terrifyingly cutting your glare is?” Roman tried, using all his willpower to keep his voice from squeaking as he rambled under that unreadable gaze.

The demon shifted his grip, fingers slowly tightening around Roman like a boa constrictor that had just found lunch.

“Tell me again,” he finally said, “about all the rumors you’ve heard about me. My summoning circle must be so widespread by now, yes?”

Roman nodded in a way that hopefully didn’t convey that he was about to start lying through his teeth. “Right, yes, absolutely just– so many rumors. Tons of people know about your summoning circle, it’s practically infamous, I’m surprised you don’t have people knocking at your door this very minute! Your reputation precedes you, your name is whispered amongst admirers, far too numerous to count, really–”

“And what,” the demon said with a smile like a cat spotting a mouse in a trap, “is my name, dedicated admirer of mine?”

Roman’s expression froze quicker than a puddle in Antarctica, and he cleared his throat several times as though buying himself a few extra seconds would magically provide him with the correct answer. It had to have been written down somewhere, he must have glanced over it in passing–

“Your name, of course,” he stammered. “You’re so popular, it’s practically a good luck charm… it’s obviously– obviously… um. Janice?”

—

Janus continued to hold the gaze of the tiny, trembling creature in his grasp, staring down at him with mild consternation. Had he really guessed Janus’s name at random?

“All the coolest demons have elderly librarian names,” the human tried weakly, and Janus resisted the urge to scowl. Just a fluke, then.

Instead, he maintained his composure and leaned forward, until he was undeniably looming over the human.

“My title is Deceit,” he informed him with a victorious baring of teeth, “and I’ve tasted every lie you’ve told like honey on my tongue, little mouse.”

And what a relief, to know that his summoning circle, his name, his existence was so unknown that every claim the human had made about his supposed fame rang irrevocably false. He wasn’t safe, wouldn’t be safe until every copy of that circle was purged from the human plane, but he wasn’t in immediate danger, either.

Of course, the human didn’t look nearly as relieved at this revelation. Rather, he looked as though his soul was about to escape his body, his eyes painfully wide and his skin taking on a sickly pallor. Janus could feel his tiny, rapid pulse fluttering against his hand like a bird trapped in a cage.

“I would be flattered that you apparently were sincere in your compliments,” he continued, inspecting the nails on his free hand, “except I also know you planned to imprison and constrain me to your will, which makes it all feel rather concerning instead. You understand.”

It took the human a few moments to grasp what he was implying, at which point he recoiled in horror, which was… surprising. Most of the humans who summoned him were the type that would hardly shy from using force to get what they wanted.

“I wasn’t– I wouldn’t,” he insisted, and there was no uncertainty in the taste of that truth. “Really, I wasn’t trying to do that– any of that to you, I didn’t even know that summoning circles could do that, I just– look. My brother summoned a demon and he was being a total shithead about it, so obviously I had to summon one too, to shut him up, and your circle was the only one that fit on the plywood–”

“Hold on,” Janus said, desperately searching for the bittersweet tang of a lie. “You’re telling me that you decided to perform an arcane demon-summoning ritual with no prior experience or actual plan for said demon. All to one-up your brother.”

“I had a plan!” he protested. “It involved flattering selfies and possibly movie marathons.”

Janus stared down at the human he had been lightly tormenting for the past half hour, who apparently wasn’t some spineless cretin that planned to wipe out thousands of lives for his own gain.

“And to accomplish this, you chose my circle. Out of all your available options. The one that’s been used for mass murder, catastrophic destruction, and the conspiracy-based downfall of empires.”

“You committed mass murder?” the human echoed in a near-shriek.

Janus felt a muscle in his jaw twitch. “What part of ‘the circle binds me to the command of a human’ did you not understand, exactly?”

“I’m not great at paying attention at the best of times, let alone when I’m being stalked by a 50-foot snake demon that wants to have my spleen for lunch!” the human retorted, and then paused. “So… humans made you do all those terrible things?”

Despite the fact that Janus had literally just confessed to being titled ‘Deceit’, the human’s tone was horrified, not dubious. Horrified on his behalf, of all the idiotic things.

“It’s not like I particularly cared about the murder,” he corrected hurriedly. “Humans are always killing each other, what concern is it of mine? It’s the fact that they dared to use me like a tool, to bind me to silence, to try and break me under the weight of their commands.”

His lip curled up into a snarl, his body going tense at memories he’d much rather forget– but he couldn’t miss the way the human’s breathing went shallow, and unlike before, he pointedly kept his grip from tightening around that delicate little form.

“That sounds– rough,” the human managed, transparently twitching with the urge to try and break free. “I definitely wasn’t going to do that though. The ordering or the mass murdering or anything. I try not to violate the Geneva Convention, as a general rule.”

Janus rolled his eyes, ignoring the little twinge of remorse at the human’s clear discomfort. He’d misread the situation, but it didn't change the reality of things. In this dimension, it was every demon for themself, and it was better that the human got used to that now, rather than later.

“Your intentions matter little to me,” he lied, “but I do appreciate knowing that there’s little risk of any other impertinent mortals finding my circle. I suppose you deserve a reward, little mouse.”

The human visibly brightened. “It’s Roman, actually, but I’m glad we agree! You can send me back home, and I’ll be out of your hair! I’ll even burn the book I found your circle in and make sure nobody else can ever try to do that to you again.”

Now that was funny. “I take back what I said: You’d make a better jester than a bard. If I were to send you back, presuming that I even could find a way, how would I know that you wouldn’t seek vengeance? It would only take one proper summoning to have me defenseless and bound before you, or you could sell off the circle design to the highest bidder, or a more power-hungry mage could steal it from your very thoughts.”

Roman drew breath to counter this, his brows drawn down firmly, but Janus silenced him with a single finger, the pad of his thumb against his face.

“No, I know well that I’ll never be safe so long as someone with even the memory of that cursed spell exists in the human plane. I won’t send you back,” he said, tone final. “But as a reward, I won’t turn you out onto the streets to be snapped up or tormented, either. I imagine it’ll be quite the adjustment, but you’ll find that my hospitality is far better than most around here.”

Roman’s expression spoke volumes about how accurate he thought that final statement was, but Janus didn’t care to prove it. The human now resided in this dimension whether he liked it or not. He’d learn just how vicious demons could be, and if he still tried to escape and suffered the consequences, then he wasn’t Janus’s problem anymore.

He stood up, looping his thumb in front of the human’s chest to create a more stable hold than any of the others he’d subjected the little creature to thus far. Going by the way Roman immediately drew his legs up and clung to the provided finger, the gesture was appreciated. Or the human was particularly desperate.

He’d never actually interacted with a human without being filled with utter loathing and disregard for their life before. There had to be safer, less terrifying ways to hold them. There was research in his future, provided that the human in question didn’t immediately squeeze through some errant crack in the walls and get himself killed.

Not that Janus would care. Obviously.

And if he was already making plans to lock the doors and baby-proof the house at his earliest convenience, well, at least nobody could prove it.

[whooambouttamakeanameformyself]

Immortal love

Chapter one

(Part one)

Billy Butcherson x Transgender! FTM! Reader.

-I really want to make this a multiple part story where they Soul Bond and adopt a child together. (I say Soul Bond because they can't get legally married so a Soul bonding spell preformed by the two of them takes place instead.) I really just want a feel good multi-part fic :) -

Also I struggled really hard on whether to keep this fic Gender neutral or to give this fic a transgender ftm reader. I really wanted the reader to be ftm because it seemed fitting for a trans man to have witch's blood.

Warnings: cursing, fluff, some angry words said about Winnie.

(Fic takes place after the end of Hocus Pocus 2)

Summary: After the Sanderson sisters died for good Billy finally gets his eternal rest only to find that the afterlife was very lonely. However he wouldn't be alone for very long as a new witch moves to Salem. This witch is the exact opposite of the sisters, only using their magic for good things.

One day they decided to take a walk through the graveyard to relax after s stressful day at work and come across the grave of William Butcherson, noticing the tombstone said 'lost soul'. On a whim they decide to use one of their spells to try and wake him from the dead.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Y/N really did love Salem, he was really surprised at how progressive they were, with many Wiccan, pagan, and magica shops scattered across the town. He didn't go into town much though, people really scared him so he tended to stay in his new home reading or doing one of his many hobbies.

He did get a job at a coffee shop for some extra spending money (though he didn't need it, his whole family were Wiccans and were fairly well off so the money wasn't really needed)

Not surprisingly, getting that job was one of his biggest regrets, having been yelled at by three customers on his first day. He seriously considered losing his white witch status just to transform this one particular jerk of a customer into a backwards donkey with its ass for his face. He managed to keep the white witch title and keep a smile on his face as he deals with the vile words coming from the mouths of the most goblin faced people he'd ever seen.

Today however was the last straw. He'd been working at that shop for a little over four months now and up until today it was tolerable, today a woman spent three hours belittling him and degrading him, using many very hurtful slurs. The worst part was his manager taking the customer's side, the moment that happened he looked to the manager and, in the calmest voice he could muster, he spoke two words before walking out, "I quit."

Now he was walking through a graveyard, listening to the birds chirping and the wind rustling the leaves of the old trees. After an hour or so he got tired of walking and sat down on the ground next to a few Graves, one of which caught his eye, an old tombstone that bore the name 'William Butcherson' with the words 'Lost Soul' inscribed beneath it. His eyes scanned the tombstone, admiring the design

'I wonder who he was...' He thought, wondering if there might be some way to talk to the dead. Fortunately for him he remembered a ritual he learned from a shaman from Louisiana, a spell to raise the dead. It wasn't a black magic spell, it was more like bringing the soul back to the body.

He returned that night with the necessary items for the ritual along with his book of collected spells.

(This ritual/spell is totally made up by me! Please don't try this!)

Kneeling at the foot of the grave he began to set up 8 red candles in a circle.

Using black salt he made a circle around the candles while he hummed and old song his mother use to sing.

Using the ashes of the burned pages of an old Bible he made lines connecting each candle.

In the center he placed a piece of aged paper containing the name of the deceased he wished to bring back.

'Almost ready to start the chant'

He pulled a small bottle of vodka from the outer pocket of his bag, taking off the lid and tipping a third of the bottle onto the paper.

Opening the book to the correct page he began to read off the chant as he lit each candle

"Death to life, ashes to dust, back to life bring you I must, breathe and rise, reverse the demise, arise and live I beg of thee!" He chanted, repeating it as he lit each candle.

All of the candles were lit and with a new match he began to quickly repeat the next part of the chant

"mortem contra vitam levare maledictionem"

He dropped the lit match onto the paper which caught fire almost instantly.

"mortem contra vitam levare maledictionem"

The paper quickly turned to ash and what was left of the fire lit the lines of Bible ash, burning up ti each candle.

"mortem contra vitam levare maledictionem"

The flames of each candle turned blue as a mist began to surround him.

"mortem contra vitam levare maledictionem!

mortem contra vitam levare maledictionem!

MORTEM CONTRA VITAM LEVARE MALEDICTIONEM!"

The ground began to shake as the mist disappeared into the ground. He jumped up and moved away, worried since the shaman's ritual didn't do anything like that.

The candles went out and everything became earrily calm, confusing him even more, did the ritual not work? He quickly packed up the candles, the vodka, and his book, deciding to go and see if he could find something in his house to dig up the grave.

He was gone for just a few minutes but when he got back his heart jumped up into his throat seeing the grave had already dug up.

He inched closer to the now open grave and looked on once he was close enough to see.

Empty.

The coffin in the grave was totally empty.

Y/n only has one question running through his head... where was the body?

That question was quickly answered by a voice piping up from behind him "Are you the one who brought me back?"

The voice caught him off guard and he jumped letting out a small yell "Oh good Christ!" He spun around to see who had scared him only to come face-to-face with wa walking corpse.

"Sorry! Didn't mean to scare you! Just wasn't sure if you were the one who woke me up." The zombie.. man.. let out an awkward chuckle. Y/N gave him a small nod "Yeah, it was me... sorry."

The man let out a sigh of relief "Oh good, glad it wasn't that damn wench of a woman"

Y/N gave him a confused look "I won't even ask." The man responded with a nod "Good, I don't feel like explaining my relationship with her to anyone ever again" He chuckled.

"Well, where are my manners? I'm Billy Butcherson, what's your name?"

(End of chaper one part one)

[scariusaquarius]

the love of a god.

Virgin! Spartan! Bakugo Katsuki x Goddess of War! Reader

Synopsis: Bakugo Katsuki is the strongest warrior in his tribe, a tribe of warriors whom live for battle. It is June 3rd, and there must be a sacrifice for Her Divinity...

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A/n: I'm in love with Greek/Roman mythology and have been interested in writing for the au for a while now. Finally just now got bit by the creativity bug though so i finally managed to write this. have fun :)

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Genre: Erotica, Dark Content Rated: Explicit Warning:  Roman God AU, Human Sacrifice, Blood Play, Marking, Overstimulation, Size Kink, Noncon

---

Author: ScariusAquarius.

---

WARNING: THIS FIC WILL FEATURE DARK NONCON CONTENT. DO NOT READ IF NONCONSENSUAL MAKES YOU UNCOMFORTABLE. A N Y NEGATIVE COMMENTS WILL EARN A BLOCK.

“Bellona! Hear our praises! We ask for your strength and protection in exchange for one human soul! The strongest of souls within our tribe only for you, o Bellona!”

Drums began to sound on the dusk of the first sunrise of summer, the sun burning a strong orange and fiery red as it slowly began to rise. Humming within the tribe began to sound, and a loud and angry voice could be heard over the low humming.

“Hey! Get your fucking hands off of me! I’ll fucking kill you!”

The tribe leader paid no mind to the angry man whom had been bound so tightly, his arms, feet, and ankles were rubbed red and bleeding. Instead, the leader began to sing, the drums echoing through the fiery air.

“To Bellona, beautiful, terrible goddess, I offer my praise…-“

Red eyes glared at a large stake right at the cliff-face, eyes widening when two men dumped oil onto his body. The man began to struggle more, yelling out as his eyes squeezed shut.

“You’re gonna fucking regret this! I’m Katsuki Bakugo! The Son of the strongest tribe in the East!!”

“-Companion of Mars, daughter of Juno and thundering Jupiter, you delight in the clash of arms, the loud battle-cries; you dance upon the blood-soaked ground…-“

Bakugo was beginning to panic as more tribesmen began to pour more oil into the hay of the strange altar, growling as he was tied up and then gagged.

“I’ll bite your fucking fingers off if you come near me! Hey! Hey!”

Bakugo began to go feral, squirming as hard as he could within his binds as the leader continued to pray. As the leader brandished a large sword, wiping it with oil before setting it aflame, the leader gave one last look at Bakugo.

“I honor your work, O goddess; I honor your might. I give only the best to you, O Bellona.”

Time seemed to slow for Bakugo as he watched the flaming sword light the hay beneath him ablaze, and then a searing pain eating at his feet. A loud scream left Bakugo’s lips as the fire burned his skin and clothes, the smell and pain making his vision go white. As he continued to writhe and scream in pain, Bakugo could hear the chants and cheers from the people whom had sacrificed him.

Why him? Why did it have to be him? He would kill these bastards! All of them! Bakugo let out one last cry before suddenly, everything turned black. There was a sensation of floating, and then gently falling until he felt as though he had landed in a pile of pillows. Bakugo opened up his eyes, and found that he was lying in an extremely large and circular canopy bed. Torches were on top of the posts, lit with a dark green

White and red sheer curtains gently flowed down around the bed as if there was wind, but there was no breeze that Bakugo could feel. The environment around him could only be described as space. Galaxies and stars were all around him, comets and flaming chariots with large warriors chasing them, and Bakugo was so in awe that he didn’t even realize he was completely naked until he moved to sit up.

Snatching the sheets into his lap, Bakugo’s nerves were shot. Where the fuck was he? Why was he naked? The sheets within his lap were so soft, they felt like clouds…Bakugo had to guess it was pure silk…or something else. There was power that resonated all around him; echoing through the very fibers of his soul.

“I’ve waited so long for you, Bakugo Katsuki.”

His whole body froze as he felt a hand within his lap, cool breath on his ear, and Bakugo slowly looked to the left. What lied beside him could only be described as a goddess, and Bakugo knew which one.

Bellona, the great goddess of war that his tribe worshiped.

She was beautiful. (E/c) eyes that shined with such a confident and terrifying glint, beautiful (s/c) skin that felt so soft upon his chest. Her body was lovely, scar-ridden and glowing with her divine power. Her hair was adorned with droplets of fiery, golden light in the shape of a crown.

A fitting crown for a powerful queen whom owned the battlefield.

She was much taller than normal humans, a side-effect of her divineness. Most gods usually towered over humans. Divine Giants of the Sky, at least that’s what Bakugo remembered. Bellona was also stark naked, on display for his eyes, her pretty breasts already dimpled with gooseflesh and her nipples completely hard.

Bakugo gasped when her large hand went to his hair, bunching it up and roughly tugging.

“It’s disrespectful not to greet your hosts, little Spartan.”

“Fuck you.”

The goddess chuckled, licking her lips as she stared down at his naked chest.

“I’m hoping on it. After all, I own you completely now.”

Bakugo wanted to fight back, but her grip was so strong, he could feel his scalp stinging. How could he bear to stand a chance against a God? He was human. He couldn’t compare to her divine power. Pulling him closer, her tongue slipped out and licked along his neck. Bakugo’s face went red, and he grabbed a tight hold of her tongue.

“Get off of me, you creep!”

“Mm, grab on tighter! It only makes me want to beat the pleasure into you even more!”

Bakugo let out a loud growl, shunting his knee into her abdomen, but the goddess did not react. Instead, she giggled before biting straight through her tongue. Bakugo’s eyes widened in shock, dropping the dismembered tongue onto the bed as the muscle continue to twitch before turning to ash. Bellona giggled before spitting it out all over his chest.

Bakugo made a noise of disgust, and Bellona held him close to her as her newly-regenerated tongue slithered out and licked her hot saliva over his nipples, licking up her own blood.

“Those stupid worms…they kept sacrificing all the strongest warriors without knowing that I only ever wanted you.”

Bakugo’s heart twitched weirdly, and he let out a small whimper as her lips encased his nipple and sucked. His cock was beginning to grow hard, and Bakugo whimpered out.

“W-What? What are you talking about?”

“Hush. Let me worship you now, Katsuki.”

Her breath was strangely cold against his skin despite everything else about her being overwhelmingly warm. Bellona’s hands were running all along his body, caressing his muscles and cupping the low of his back as she brought him up to her lap. Bakugo made an embarrassed noise when the sheet fell, revealing his hard cock.

“Own your power, Katsuki. I gave it to you for a reason.”

“D-Dammit, Bellona, wait-“

Bellona pulled back, making a face at him and gripping his face tightly.

“No, you call me (Y/n) when I am not in my armor. You are now mine, and therefore you should know my true name.”

-READER POV-

Katsuki’s legs were on either side of your thigh, his cock pressed up against your stomach, and his hands were gripping your wrist tightly. His red eyes were glaring at you, a blush evident on his cheeks, and he let out a small whine when you squeezed tighter.

“Maybe I should punish you instead…I wanted to give you such a warm welcome into your new home…but then again, you are a Spartan…”

Punish him? Wait, what did that mean? Could he be killed twice? Bakugo was getting ready to fight back when your hands went to his hips and began to press down, forcing his hips back and forth against you. Bakugo gasped loudly, his cock rubbing up and down on your body, and Bakugo clenched his teeth.

You leaned forward, kissing his neck harshly to leave dark marks, and you whispered into his ear as you moved his hands to your breasts; your hands retuning to his hips after.

“I’ll tame you just like I did with the rest of your pretty army. Then, you shall help me rule…my King.”

Bakugo was overwhelmed quickly, your soft skin in his palms feeling so nice…the sensations tingling within his cock and balls…Bakugo couldn’t help but gently squeeze your nipples. You hummed, feeling his resolve quickly crumble, and you giggled.

“Come here. Let yourself rest before battle…”

You lied back, head against your large pillows, and Bakugo slipped from your thigh, his cock leaking precum and throbbing. Bakugo grabbed the base of his cock harshly, taking large gulps of air as he tried to calm down, but you were upon him again. Pushing him back, Bakugo’s eyes widened when your lips came close to his cock.

“Wait, don’t do that!”

Bakugo gasped harshly when your large mouth engulfed his cock, your tongue swirling around the throbbing shaft. He hated to admit it, but he had never done anything like this before; never experienced or even knew about what all sex actually was. Was he really about to lose his virginity to a goddess? Bakugo’s face was red, small pants and moans spilling from his lips. Whatever it was that you were doing, it felt so good that Bakugo couldn’t stay quiet.

Bakugo’s hands went to your head, pushing against you to try to make you take his cock from your mouth, but you only went down farther. You were practically swallowing his cock, making obscene noises, and slurping loudly. You were enjoying yourself clearly…and so was Bakugo. His body was humming, feeling so good that Bakugo couldn’t resist.

He didn’t want to do this. Bakugo didn’t want to be enforced to an afterlife filled with this. He was meant for more…meant for much bigger and better things. Surely, you were wrong, weren’t you? Surely, he still had a chance?

You sucked harshly on his cock, and Bakugo let out a shout, hips bucking and thrusting his cock. Bakugo came suddenly, hot cum spurting into your mouth and down your throat, and your eyes glinted in delight.

“Doesn’t it feel so good? Don’t you want more? Come please your goddess.”

Bakugo shook his head, however.

“No.”

“No?”

You giggled before snapping your fingers. Bakugo’s body was restrained in a second, satin ropes tying him in spread-eagle position. His eyes widened, a gag in his mouth as well, and you hovered your wet pussy over his cock. Would his cock even please you with the size difference? Bakugo couldn’t even ponder it as you sat down right onto his cock, his cock disappearing into your hot and wet heat, and he let out a cry of surprise.

“I don’t think you have a place to refuse me, Katsuki Bakugo. I created you. I own you! I bargained you for 21 years…and now you are back in my total possession! Whether you want to or not, I will make you my king. You will rule beside your queen as her general, and you will help conquer all of existence by my side.”

You rode his cock with a brutal and cruel pace, hands pressing down harshly on his body to keep him pinned as you fucked him, and Bakugo was fighting against his restraints. He didn’t want to hurt anybody…he didn’t want to be a king. He didn’t want any of this. Why did the universe choose this fate for him?

Bakugo moaned pitifully into his gag, tears of confused pleasure within his eyes, and you moaned in ecstasy. Your appearance began to morph and change, your pussy beginning to feel much more confined the more you down-sized until finally, you were human-sized. Your strength and might didn’t change, however, as you continued to bounce and fuck his cock.

His toes curled tightly as his cock throbbed a second time, and you moaned again.

“I’ll fuck the obedience into you…I’ll make you want to fuck me so badly every night that you’ll never disobey me. You want that, don’t you, though? You little disgusting creation. I can feel the way your cock wants to fill my womb with your seed. Your existence is meaningless without me.”

Bakugo’s eyes squeezed shut as he came a second time, and you grinned maniacally at him. Bloodlust was deep within your eyes, and Bakugo no longer felt as though he would make it out of this alive.

“Are you going to be good? Are you going to cum again for me, my king? I want you to fuck me so badly…I can’t wait until you gain your divinity so that we can really fuck.”

Gain divinity? Bakugo’s eyes opened slightly. If he gained divinity, would he be like you? If that’s the case…maybe he really did have a way out. Bakugo growled deeply to himself. He would go along with the show just for a bit…and then at the right moment, Bakugo would fight back.

Bakugo moaned into his gag as your walls clenched around him, and you began to play with your clit as his cock disappeared in and out of your wetness.

“Fuck, I’m so horny for you! It’s so hot watching your resolve crumble…I really am invincible in all aspects of the very word!”

You let out a wail of pleasure, cumming all over his cock, and Bakugo let out a whimper as he came one last tight. Feeling a strange sense of disgust at the feeling of his cock being covered in cum, Bakugo shook his head, trying to buck you off of him.

“Oh no, we aren’t even nearly close to done. I’m going to push you past your limits and then completely break you.”

[END]

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[yandere-society]

pjm | “carnal lechery”

pairing: yandere! vampire! jimin x novice nun! virgin! fem. reader

rating: M

genre: yandere au, supernatural (vampire) au, smut, angst

word count: 10.5K

Headline: Halloween Night Massacre; Police Baffled By Murdering Spree

warnings: yandere themes, dub con, angst, graphic sexual content, unprotected sex, penetrative sex, oral (m.rec & f.rec), bonding, blindfolding, biting, loss of virginity, virginal blood worship, overstimulation, use of feathers and chains, mentions of blood, graphic descriptions of slaughtering, mentions of religious cults, mentions of christianity, mentions of sacrifices, gore.

synopsis: Attempts to precede his arrival made you ornery as he slipped like thin air from your fingers, even when you’d have him so close. You had almost ultimately fixated in your mind that you’d never know your secret admirer. Meanwhile— mysterious murders, disappearances and uproars about the return of the most fabled coven of vampires: ❛The Rouge❜ leads you to expect your imminent death. However, you do not expect the turn of events and the appearance of the one you’d been seeking for.

admin: @unfurlingtwinklingstar​

It was one of those macabre mornings when you’d find an oh-so-familiar garland at your doorstep.

The very same kind of flowers that you’d prefer for decorating your little reading nook with, would lay wrapped in a delicate paper foil. The dew on its petals would appear golden as it would kiss the ray of dawn streaming through the porch of your fern-scented cottage.

A feverish shiver would run through your spine at the sight of a caramel-colored envelope right underneath the lavender foil in anticipation of what this letter would say about you.

It would be hard to persist the laden need to find the giver first when the lovely pink petals would almost frown at your resistance.

You cherished calla lilies. There wasn’t a day when they’d not sit on your vase with their trimmed stems soaked in lukewarm water, smiling as they bloom.

Every Friday, this was to be expected. Yet, you weren’t fully comfortable with the handwritten cursive that’d make your fingers slack at its message.

The meander cursive masked the obscene descriptions of your curves, the filth in the mind of the writer was impeccably reflected in the flow of the dark ink.

The first time you had gotten such a letter, you had a recurred session reading it with obscure scrutiny, only to find the title ‘Third youngest of the Rouge’ in the sender name column.

The letters had chanted your name like a prayer, it’d beckon for you to have a taste of the kind of pleasure that you were trying to celibate yourself from, the kind that’d be a sin to indulge in.

It made your body thrice warmer, your body blazed into a pretty rouge like the robes you wore during service hours in the church.

Eroticism and romance were taboo subjects to conventuals and canonesses at the convent of Volterra. Being a novice in service to the almighty, you were taught to be a holy carmelite, a slender benedictine, devoted especially to scholarship and liturgical worship.

But the intimate descriptions highlighted the black traces of sin in the depths of your soul as if the devil awaited his chance to stand erect and applaud in sheer satisfaction at the sight of your crumbling control.

Sucking in shaky breaths, you grab hold of the stirrer and kindle the crackling flames dancing in your fireplace.

Without a second thought, you toss the expensive pieces of poetry into the topaz flames and watch as the fire comes to life and blazes the parchment to ashes.

You were considered too much of a vestal to submit to this admirer of yours.

The choirs at the convent church were different compared to other choirs that didn’t sing hymns. Their voices were almost like the angels’, high notes soaring over the clouds, graceful notes dancing on the staves, they sang for the almighty only.

This was halloween at the monestery. Whilst the town wore spooky robes and went around sharing treats in exchange of spared tricks, you sang along with your fellow sisters, honouring the almighty and paying tribute to saint Marcus.

You sang along, keeping a low voice and swaying to the gentlest harmony in devotion. The stanzas are clutched to your heart and you cherish this moment when you feel the string between you and your god. You cannot fathom how satiated you feel. Your mind strays to your past, when you were under foster care.

You were a doting, little child despite how the other girls prayed for a future where they can possess expensive goods and glittery jewelry. You only kept away from their notions of want and sinful desires for pleasure even as you became an adult.

You chose to bake cookies, share blankets, study the Bible, smile and croon at the praises the church would give you, rather than read obscene novels and join the young woman of your age in subjects that were atrocious in the eyes of the holy.

Sister Siena walked you to your dwelling at the convent’s residence while she chattered about her moss garden and herbs that could treat flu. You listened quietly, letting out little nonchalant hums. Gardening wasn’t a subject of your interest and you were much more fatigued to feign enthusiasm.

“The halloween rituals might probably need an addition of prune juice, don’t you think?” she asks while you unlock the latch and walk into your home.

You let out a small smile and usher her in whilst nodding to everything in your surroundings. A little envelope peeks out from the gap between the floor and the hallway door, making your chest tighten at the realisation.

A letter from your mystery admirer was unforeseen and definitely unwelcome, especially in the presence of a fellow nun in your dwelling.

The attention of sister Siena is brought back at the sight of a cream-coloured envelope with a rather unfamiliar stamp on its surface.

Her olive eyes narrow to two slits and makes perspiration bead out and down your clavicle in fear. In the blink of an eye, the envelope’s seal is torn and the letter is perused by the chestnut haired female at once.

Her response however, gives you a cursory shock. Her lips turn into a smile and she stares up at you, eyes in awe as if she had witnessed the grand work of Caravaggio.

“You have an admirer”, she infers and you scour her face for signs of offense only, to find nil. She seems rather, glad.

“I— I usually burn them there” you point to your fireplace and her shoulders buckle in a brief fit of giggles, as if you had shared an anecdote.

“Who would pray to have a vestal nun? It is like counting the stars.” she mumbles into her mug of tea, eyes flickering from your face to the letter, absent-mindedly.

You shrug and get seated opposite to her, straining your eyes on the flickering flames that warms your numb, cold toes. You sigh in bliss at the tranquil frame of your nook and almost the next minute, your eyes flutter shut and you sink into the lulled sounds of the crackling fire.

Unbeknownst to you, the young nun seated at your opposite has her nerves ossified at the glimpse of the sender’s title. Comprehension of ‘third youngest of the rouge’ sends her mind into frenzy. Dismay sinks into her heart and makes it thud and toll like church bells at the realisation of the plight that you have been pulled into and she shudders.

Without so as to even a noise, the letter is slid into her crimson tunic and the envelope is thrown into the fire.

The coolness of the midnight is deceptive; the sun has barely risen and this altitude is always cooler. Siena’s destination is low down and deep into the interior, well away from the onshore winds. When she reaches, the heat of that region makes her compare the temperature to her kitchen’s, on a baking day— like a friendly warmth instead of the inferno it always is.

Her footsteps are ushered as the heels of her moccasins rap against the laid out cream carpet in dull thuds, her breathing is in a frenzy too for, hundreds of thoughts swarm in her head at once.

Siena is cold to the bone despite striding across the blazing heat of the deep, dim chambers of the three elderly canonesses, at the convent. The canonesses— head nuns are rather reserved and hostile about their roles in the society.

Before the 17th century, such chambers were often considered clandestine— precisely, before the battle of Tuscany. The battle held a significant place in history, for how saint Marcus and his veterans fought and impeded entire Tuscany off of sanguinarians— a term used to describe vampires.

The rise and fall of the most fabled coven of vampires was inscribed in the olden scriptures and was forgotten to tell tales about wizards and curses as of the present. Siena had studied about them at school.

The mere image of the counts brings shivers down the woman’s spine and she shudders as she holds onto the letter and walks, toward the canonesses’ chambers.

It is dark when she arrives; gnarled trees hung low over the baronial church, creaking ominously in the howling winds. The heavy oak doors broke open, echoing around the empty church.

The moonlight shone through the heavily cracked stained-glass windows, casting an eerie glow onto the dusty alter. Thick cobwebs hung on every surface and her footsteps sounded deafening on the cold stone floor.

Two elder ladies sit perched on their carpeted thrones with their veils over their heads and backs turned toward Siena. They hold hands in a circle and mutter chants to themselves.

Siena’s eyes capture the silent movements of their fingers and the incessant nods of their heads. She gently walks— almost stalks, until one of the elder canonesses perk at her arrival and seek her to sit with them.

The chamber walls radiate off its warmth and the conversation is lulled as Siena breathes out her concerns with utter respect, her expression remains composed despite her rapid breathing.

The canonesses nod with eyes widened at the size of fire lanterns, their fingers tremble slightly in comprehension of the magnitude of issue that the young nun had brought to them.

In the next hour, right on the death of halloween, nuns and monks are summoned from the monastery and a ceremony is held right in their place to seek peace once again.

The seven Rouge sanguinarians, the fabled coven of vampires have returned to Volterra.

The four canonesses sit in a circle and one of them draws a circled figure at their center. The symbol seems ominous to Siena, it seems almost like a satanic pentagram. A silver crucifix is fixed right at the junction of the chalked lines and the series of chants begin.

For almost a quarter of a hour, Siena sits— rooted and in the careful look-out for queer changes in the surroundings. The next minute, one of the canonesses jerk as if she had felt a foreign presence and collapses on the canoness next to her.

The chamber queerly begins getting chilled as the chants get more louder in unison. Whooshing noises of the wind soon fills the chamber and an eerie figure settles through the open window, making Siena freeze, petrified.

At the end of the hallway stands a slender yet, robust, almost surreal, young-looking man sheathed in a heavy, scarlet cloak. His eyes are shut, as if he is in deep thought, and once they open, they make Siena jump out of her seat in fear.

Skin almost translucent, a bloodless hue, reminiscent of cave dwelling creatures that never saw the light of day, as pale as the living dead, as pale as a corpse. His bleached skin was as white as a sheet of paper next to the sleeve of the black woolen sweater, his orbs seemed bloodshot, yet, they held a life of their own like the burning rouge of a ruby.

“Third youngest of the Rouge”, Siena hears a canoness announce, the latter’s voice seems both startled and in disbelief.

“Ann. Fancy seeing you there, you seem older than in our last meeting, don’t you agree?”, the young count seethes and takes steps toward the eldest of all the canonesses.

Siena stares at the duo, perplexed. The two seem to know each other like old acquaintances yet, their eyes hold an unexpressed rage that she does not fathom.

“I am afraid greetings will have to wait, Park. You and your brothers must be well aware of the treaty you have broken.” Ann almost hisses, stepping in front of the rest as if she is unafraid to emphasize her point.

The ethereal man quirks an eyebrow at Ann’s actions in disapproval yet, curls one side of his mouth in a smirk, eyes reflecting a certain devilish glint.

“Ah. You accursed humans never seem to learn, do you? Fifty years ago, we made a pact. For our coven to never be disturbed by you humans, in exchange for us to move our grounds”, he accentuates the words and sets his eyes on Siena, making the latter freeze.

“Twenty years ago, there was a lovely young woman with round orbs and curves more enrapturing than the meanders of Tuscany’s hills”,

At the mention, something turns in the face of Ann as it hardens like wilted musk. Park further continues walking and retracing his steps, eyes glued shut and jaws clenched in raw rage.

“She was bonded to one of the youngest counts and the war—” he pauses in his steps with his sculpted back turned toward the canonesses, as he stares blankly ahead, grieved.

“The war, it killed her. She lost her life, she died in vain. She was destroyed by her own race. The pact was shattered broken at that moment, that moment when the light left her bewitching eyes.” he croaks a bit, shoulders slacking as if the memory was his venom.

“She was innocent yet, she was killed. By your people.”

There’s a shadow casted in the slender man’s eyes and it was quite clear. The rage for revenge that was cloaked in it.

Even whilst his back was turned, his head seemed calculative of the canonesses’ immediate response. Ofcourse, humans never seemed to learn.

Ann’s eyes reflect death and almost the next second, she strides forward with the silver crucifix in her hand and tosses it at the empty black space where Park stood, moments before.

The next second, a heavy, red, mushy liquid is splattered onto Siena’s face as she screams and crawls toward the exit, horrified for her life.

The canonesses’ throats had been cut and they lay like butchered animals in a waste of blood. One corpse had slipped from the low throne to the right of the door and lay staring up at her, the mouth open, the head almost cleft from the body. She saw again the severed vessels, sticking like corrugated pipes through the clotted blood. The second was propped, ungainly as a rag doll, against the far wall. Her head had drooped forward and over her chest a great mat of blood had spread like a bib.

Tuscany’s most esteemed dignitaries of the church society lay like ghoulish mannequins, the esophagus and arteries sticking out like so much corrugated and rubber tubing. The smell that vapoured from their bodies could only come from slaughtered animals.

Thick, warm blood crawled into Siena’s throat and clawed at her air sacs like muck. Spewing with every glance at the mass slaughter, she struggled to wipe away the splutters of blood stuck to her skin and crawled on her limbs not any different from a five-sensed mutt, heaving and croaking for mercy.

Her pleadings for mercy fell upon deaf ears. When the bone of her ankle was seized to pull her toward the ghoulish young count, Siena thought the night would take away the last of her breath.

Her jaws were clasped in the count’s fingers and her eyes were a hair away from the orbs of death. The young count was sheathed by the moonlight in a silvery halo.

Without the traces of blood on his mouth, skin resembling the late winter and rage on his sculpted visage as red as his name, anyone could mistake the monster to be an angel.

His temper was on a hair-trigger and his eyes were lethal.

“You will run to the town’s mayor. If you want your soul to be spared, you will run there and shout to those mucks that the Rouge have returned”, the count spewed venom with each word.

“You will throw this parchment on their faces and demand that they comply to every syllable that’s scribed in the sheet!” he speaks, spelling out thunder claps and boulders at the poor nun.

“If not, Tuscany will have every breathing and crawling creature slaughtered like its canonesses”. He warns and whooshes away like smoke— ungraspable by bare hands.

Even in the wintry morning when town folks discussed the daily’s headlines with an uneasy settlement in their guts, you pursued boiling tea and folding your blankets neatly, unmindful of their great fear.

The afternoon too was eerily quiet and folks everywhere preferred to speak in a whisper and contain themselves in their abode. It seemed rather dubious and as heedless as you were, you never perceived that your innocence would lead to your downfall.

The sun sank lower in the sky, draining away the golden hue of the warm and gave path to a velvety dark night. The same moment when the crickets came out to chirp, dusky colours subdued in the fading light as shrieks and collective roars were heard at the heart of the town.

You, along with some of your fellow nuns peaked at the commotion and threaded through the crowd that swarmed in front of the Mayor’s office. On the board was a derogatory notice. Although, the crumples and rusty stains gave away the fact that the notice wasn’t pinned by the authorities. Its calligraphy looked eerily familiar to you.

“Tunic as red as our coven’s name, skin shining like beacon, tresses sheeny and burnished, eyes like the forest floor and gentle flowers with mirth, feminine curves softer and untouched like a laden bush of peony,”

The fear is a weight on the Mayor’s ribs and there exists a dull ache in his eyes, an unwillingness for his mouth to lift past neutral, to charge against but, words are lost in the hollow of his throat. Fear stills his lips as he pursues it to read out the rest.

“—The young vestal nun with a name that echoes across valleys of Tuscany, the one who dwells in the only fern-coated cottage near the gates of the lush forest.

Bring her to the place where human ritual pyres blaze, those who dare do otherwise, prepare to meet death as painful as a swine’s.

Against you rise, prepare to pay a deathly price.” he ends and mutters hurriedly in the commissioner’s ear and you notice the skeleton of his wrinkled fingers tremble at the slightest.

There’s a hushed eruption of conversations that bubbles ever so slowly amongst the townfolk at the astonishing notice and you freeze, petrified when eyes stray toward you, almost accusingly. You realise, with horror, they’ve recognised the vestal nun in the description.

You breathe heavily and your gut begins to twist into an uneasy coil when the commissioner’s fingers point directly at you.

Your desire to evaporate heedily rushes into your mind and something akin to being a criminal overwhelms you. When you step away to sprint far, you are seized by heavy men as they haul you off the earth by your limbs.

The thousand pair of ears at the town’s center fall deaf to your scattered pleadings— screams. Heartlessly, they drag you to the threads of your last few breaths and you helplessly submit, falling prey to your fatigue from the endless stream of tears that races down your rosy cheeks.

Your wails are unheard as the elder women of your town shield you from the public view, sit you in a warm creek and wash you in the clear stream, no different from a creature to be sacrificed for their religious rituals.

You croak out the last of your pleadings before the sun sets, and the women only watch you with nothing more than pity in their eyes.

Their hands are hurried as they strip you and dress you in the most rouge of all cloaks in the town, steam your hair dry, stain your lips with sliced beet, trace the lines where your lashes lie with charcoal.

Other than the sizzling charcoal that dries your tresses and your dull sobs, the creek is silent even as the herd of women stand together.

When you are sat and tied to the sacrifice stone, you shriek with more violence than gales. The ties that bound your limbs to the stone would not come loose at the desolate way you cried.

You sobbed and sobbed and sobbed until your throat closed on itself and you felt the heaviness on your eyelids. Fatigue beckoned you and you obeyed, submitting to it unconsciously.

The stillness of the air seemed to suck even the sound of the chain’s clanks when you moved your limbs into the nothingness of the cave. Even the trees seemed not to rustle as if they were tense with nerves for what was to come.

You jostled awake when the trees rustled and a strong wind blew from nowhere, chains rattling at your limbs’ sudden motion.

Trees stood naked as they had before, but their twigs curled in a distorted way, as if the tree itself screamed in pain.

The sky was a mass of grey cloud, again so ordinary for autumn, but instead of letting small shafts of light through they emitted an ethereal glow.

The wind was just as bitter as before, coming straight from the north, but the scent was something else, metallic almost, with a tinge of acrid burning.

The fire that kept you warm flicker, casting an ominous glow throughout the tunnel, causing shivers to ripple across your body. You drag your legs across the surface of the sacrifice stone, gathering yourself into a ball.

Wind streams through the tunnel, waking the bats in the cave, twirling them in the air, only to drop them off into the void. All signs of life vanish from the tunnels that were once so full of warmth and the fire becomes extinguished.

You peer as you stare at the mangled stone beneath you.

A heinous laugh echoes throughout the tunnel, rebounding off the crumpled walls, and you crawl closer to the wall in sorrow. Like the cave, your soul is too abandoned and then all fades to black.

You shut your eyes and sit, quivering in fright as footsteps echoed menacingly. There was a hoarse breathing heard dully and you began to hear your own whimpers.

At an unexpected chime of the hour, through the empty night, a gentle voice calls out your name.

Your arms tighten around your body and the curtain of your hair falls around your face, shielding your view of the silhouette growing in front of you.

“Tuscany’s most loveliest lily”, the voice shallows into a soothing whisper and a woody fragrance tickles your nostrils. Your mind ticks at the familiar syllables uttered out and something blossoms in you besides fear, your features contour into slight puzzlement.

“I climb so high, lost in the sensation, I succumb to the scent of the stream that runs in your veins”, you listen more closely.

“I cry out in pleasure, my body on fire, I cling to your scent, hunger feeding my desire”, by then, you are sure of the stanza. It was what licked your insides, it was what beckoned you to sin. The lines were your admirer’s.

Then, it pauses.

The voice is gone, so is the scent. You push your tresses off your eyes and cautiously look in the dead of the night that seemed alive a few moments prior.

Something creeks and rustles at the faintest— right behind your neck, causing its hair to stand. There’s something behind you. Or rather, someone.

Your eyes shut at the feeling of a cold breath tickling the locks of your hair. When a thick strand is pulled and a deep inhale is heard, you whip to find only emptiness.

There’s a few moments of listening to only your anxious breath and thuds of your breathing heart before a fine piece of silk is wrapped around your eyes.

You let out a startled scream at the sudden hindrance of your sight and the feeling of a glacial pair of brawny arms sheathing around your waist. A set of black dots disperse in your vision and your mind is lulled by a hushed, smooth voice into your ear.

“Found you, my little fawn”.

You regain consciousness in a dimly lit room, on a lush, oak-coloured duvet. With the movement of one leg the tell-tale clink of wine bottles rouses you and one blink of the eye tells you that your head is just as bad. You squint, dry mouth sticky with thick saliva and your legs are immediately pulled to your chest at the queer recognition of the place.

You feel as though you have lived a very long time in this colossal manor.

The Manor grew out of the manicured lawn like an infant castle. It’s nascent stone walls were a pale grey and were barren of the moss or ivy that clung to the walls of the older homes in the village. Its large oak door was double wide and was sheltered under a wide porch supported by stone pillars. The entry way was grandiose, sweeping into a wide circle in front of the dwelling with an ornate fountain in the center.

As seconds advance, your mind harks back to unfamiliar images in the same space— a young woman in an elegant frock chortling as she gets chased by a burly yet, slender man who looked youthful as well.

His laboriously chiseled face, cheekbones that had near pierced his flesh had led to sunken eyes, puddles of avarice set about them.

Dark hair covering his head, long and fragrant with rose thorns.His chin, one such extremity which sought to put his cheekbones to shame, it succeeded in its purchase to pierce its own flesh. A small scab could be seen about it’s exit, to which his hand tended to itch.

A thick, velvety cape traces his sturdy steps— chasing after the woman and you gasp when her face comes into your sight.

It is you.

Only, more alluring in the gown that hugs your— her curves. Her laugh is unceasing and sultry mostly, seductive.

Your eyes dilate when you see her unhitch the ties holding her robe to her curves and like a vixen, she steps out of it, lying back on the duvet, beckoning for the ethereal man to her.

He seemed ravenous, his irises iridescent as they turn from raven to crimson at the sight of the slick between her legs.

She seemed brazen, like a cur in heat, in need of flesh when she crawled upon the alluring man, rolling her hips into the air provocatively, she caused the balls of the man to get filled, none similar to your dainty facet.

She takes his girth into her lips, making the count seethe in pleasure, her tongue wrapping around its head, she makes him bellow like a buzzard when she takes him deep into her throat and teases his balls.

He looks feasted, satiated beyond syllables when she licks every inch of his hard wood and takes him to a state of druken stupor.

Your breathing comes out in strained huffs as you watch him take her— you as he presses his lips against her skin and utters words that make her keen and bawl in pleasure.

You watch as their naked flesh twist gracefully into one and something else begins to unravel in your memories.

Where there should be blank space is blank memories, like a soft beige wall bereft of photographs. It brushes through the subconscious, recalling memories that bring out the deepest spark of nostalgia of the soul.

You recall every single one of it, your eyes shut intuitively and you sink into a rather familiar abyss of lost memories. In it, you hold hands with the same man who appeared moments prior. Only now, you know his name.

The one who loved you past all the years that went like streams to the sea, in all your lives as a mortal.

“Soft. Your hands. Soft and warm - on my face, on my chest, in my dreams, in the umbrella of dawn, under the first streams of morning light. Your hands in the pitch black of night, muscles and tendons dancing between each other in a lover’s dance. Fingertips like matches grazing my skin with flame, our scars being the measure of our love. I bare my scars, because I remember the time when your flame danced on me forever, before your hands turned to ice.”

All of your admirer’s words make sense to you. The lost passion, the lost memories, the lost life of yours as the light left your eyes when humans attacked the manor you had peacefully lived in.

There was a deep cut in the skin of your neck from the shattered pieces of glass and a heavy cry escapes the throat of the man at the dreadful sight— you, on the Jimin’s thighs, in his arms as he cried for you to not leave him.

You had smiled and reached your hand to his cheeks, engulfed his lips in one last passionate kiss before your eyes shut on its own, soul departing your frail body.

You see him, your past lover begging for you to return, you see his brothers lifting you into your grave.

Shudders rack your body and your cheeks are wet when you open your eyes to the present, to find the shadowy, familiar presence sitting right across you, his arms prop his chin upright and his eyes drink you in.

Jimin steps from the shadows, stealing your breath and the heat from your skin. Suddenly your defences are just paper, paper that is being soaked by the rapidly falling briny drops.

Before you can draw in the air your body needs, you have melted into his form. You feel his firm torso and the heart that beats within. His hands fold around your back, drawing you in closer.

You feel your body shake, crying for the missed time the two of you will never make again, crying to release the woe of long years in separation.

He caresses your cheeks and wipes the tears with a calloused finger, even this roughness brings more relief than your heart can hold. He is eating you with his eyes, running his hand through your hair, as if he cannot quite fathom you are not part of an almost forgotten dream.

When he kisses you, it is sweet, gentle, and it tastes of your tears. You want to speak but all you can do is croak,

“Jimin”.

His mouth paints a soft smile and he kissed you once before folding you in his arms again.

“My beautiful peony, my little fawn, my love, my heart, my entire world. It was never your fault”, he mutters and you keen closer to him, pulling his mouth to yours once again. You close your eyes shut at the feeling of his tongue twisting with yours and your knees lose strength, sending you spiralling into his arms.

“Oh, how I missed having you close to me, seeing yet, not being able to ravish is a curse” he whispers and you feel the heat pooling in your core when he noses at your jugular and inhales your scent.

“The scent of your blood remains heavenly through the ages” he sings, arms digging further into the curve of your waist.

“And this musky arousal—”

You gasp when you feel the tips of his nimble fingers brush the crotch of your undergarment, relishing in the heat of your wetness.

“This time, I’ll have you breathing for eternity, little fawn. I’ll turn you into what I am”. He declares with a stern voice, consuming the breaths that escape your lungs.

When you stare into his crimson irises, you pray for his touch, beg for what he promises. “Claim me, my lord. I’ll spend an eternity in your arms. Touch me, make me yours”.

Surely, it would be yes. The count was a notorious rake and libertine. He was called a thorough and absolute rouge, true to his name. How could he possibly turn down the chance to debauch the most delicious little fawn tempting him to revel in her taste?

With one kiss, Jimin swooped you off the floor and completely into his arms, transporting back to the cave you were sacrificed in.

He had planned for the entire town to hear your wails of pleasure. When you felt and heard the rattling of chains around your limbs, you shrieked, startled.

“No need to be afraid, my lovely fawn. I only wish to show these mongrels who you belong to”. Jimin expounds, making your core clench in need.

“Touch me, my lord” you scrounged like a fox, coaxing the ravished count with the tantalizing motions of your hips.

“Disrobe for me, little fawn. Take that sheer robe off, I want your naked flesh”, Jimin snarls and his mouth waters when your dainty fingers scramble to untie your gown. You sputter, your cheeks flush a vivid red at his grimy words.

Fear. Nerves. And illicit, forbidden, wrong physical desire. You felt it all at once.

Jimin bent to you and pressed his lips to your neck. The oddest jolt of fire leapt from there. It rushed through your veins like flames licking at the sky.

His hair tickled the bones of your cheek as he stroked and hollowed his mouth along your throat and reached the rim of your ear. He brushed back your hair. Surprisingly, his breath was cool. Almost icy. You had heard women speak of men blowing their breath by their ears—something that hadn’t sounded at all enticing—but the maids had described warm breath. Jimin’s breath was cold.

Still, the brush of it did feel surprisingly … good.

He nibbled your ear, making shivers tumble down your spine. He stroked the exposed skin at your collarbones. Goodness, how could it feel so hot—like a candle’s flame flickering close to your skin?

He tugged your cowering hands away to expose the swell of your breasts. His body tightened with arousal at the sight of your full, generous curves, erection bucking against his stomach.

Pushing you on the boulder, he ravaged your mouth, letting his hands venture down to the cleft of your arse. You bucked at the foreign feeling, gasping at the feeling of his tongue suckling the soft flesh of your lips into his mouth. His tongue curls around yours and he suckles it too, making you melt into a puddle in his full hold.

His mouth traces your throat and when it ghosts over the curve of your breasts, you shudder and your skin breaks into goosebumps.

He suckled. God, you were delicious. And you were moving beneath him. You arched to press your breast to his mouth.

Your scent reached his nose. And, he was lost. Lost in want. He rolled over you, coaxed your legs apart with his, and settled between, caressing your sweet cunny all the while. You gasped at the feeling of his thumb rolling your pearl and whimpered when his middle finger found your entrance, dipping to revel in your slick insides.

Oh goodness, he had flicked that most sensitive place—the little bump that lay between your nether lips, and you almost rolled her eyes back into your head at the pleasure.

Your hips arched up. He stroked you a little harder, as if he had known the rocking of your hips was a wordless signal that meant: I am begging you for more.

Then he slid his finger inside you. Between your nether lips, parting them gently. Goodness, he was inside you. You were doing the most intimate thing possible. With the man who remained an enigmatic admirer in your mind until the touch of his fingers tainted your soul, with the man who held your heart for eternity.

“Open your eyes.”

The first things you saw were thick, velvet-soft black lashes and gorgeous crimson eyes. Eyes that glittered at you in the firelight. “I want your eyes on me” he ordered huskily.

Then his finger slid deep inside, and you gasped at the sudden sensation—an intense quiver that rushed through you. You heard a shocking wet, sucking sound as his finger thrust in and out. It was the sound of your arousal.

“Let your moans out, little fawn. I wish to hear your sweet voice” he coaxed.

Biting your lower lip, you whimpered. You didn’t want to speak. The pleasure his wizardry brought was fervent, it felt foreign yet, acutely compelling and delicious. It made you drool, you needed him, flesh, bone, heart, soul.

His hand moved and he stopped stroking the little nub that vibrated with such intense feeling. You gasped in frustration.

He wrapped his hand around the shaft of his erection—you could feel the brush of his fingers against your stomach as he took hold of himself. Then, with his hand tight around it, he stroked the head of his erection against your nether lips. They had stuck together, resisting him, but he gently eased them apart.

Your arms were splayed on the mangled boulder beneath you and your eyes appeared to have gotten a taste of heaven, hands clenched in tight fists, toes curled and digging into Jimin’s hips at his ease into you.

Deeper he went, and his manhood stroked a place inside you that made explosions of light in front of your eyes. Then a twinge of pain rushed through you and you gasped in shock.

His fingers traced the curve of your cheek. “Shh, my fawn” he whispered. “Easy. It will hurt when I go past your little maidenhead. But after that it will be very, very good.”

“Jimin—”

He thrust. You squealed. You clenched. You tightened. You wanted to back away. But you couldn’t vanish into the boulder. Nor could you push him off. There was a searing pain that burned the walls of your insides yet, the delicious stretch of his girth brushed the softest tissue that made your mouth open wide, soundlessly and expose your luscious throat for his mouth to marr.

Jimin’s lips suckled every inch the clammy flesh of your shoulders and breasts— until lilac bruises respired in its wake. The perked peaks of your breasts were soft and toothsome in his mouth. And the tiny heels of your palms digging into his chest felt euphoric, he wished for it to caress his veiny member instead.

His nose nudged into your sternum, imbibed the scent of rushing blood to your breasts. His eyes shut as he sniffed deeply, his fangs grew in length and a gravelly groan rumbled from his chest at the redolent aroma of your blood.

“You feel warm and soft, my delicious little fawn. I could forever inhale this toothsome stream running through your veins”.

Without stalling, Jimin enveloped the teat of your breast into his mouth and laved, before piercing his honed fangs into the soft flesh, guzzling at the divine, rouge liquid that leaked onto his pearly teeth and sharp tongue, making you hiss at the feeling.

The feeling was gut-wrenching at the onset, it made you scream into Jimin’s shoulders.

He pressed against you, seating himself all the way inside, and he didn’t move. He stayed motionless, and he rained kisses on your forehead, cheeks, lips. It was hard to feel pain with such glorious kisses stealing your breath. And little by little, the stinging sensation ebbed.

A few moments of incessant suckling and your strained huffs at the strokes of his tongue on your tormented peak unfolded a queer pleasure, obscure to be produced by human males.

Soon, each suckle and lave from Jimin’s mouth pulled you to the white, hazed edge of pleasure and you cried out in ecstasy. Your cheeks were riddled hot, body spasmodic, in graceful waves as you began to roll your hips.

You whispered, “More”, Then you saw his sculpted visage.

He looked starved, ravenous. He looked raw, ravaged, tormented. His eyes were wild. His mouth was a slash, bracketed by harsh lines. He looked as though his control could snap in a heartbeat.

“My lord?” you called for him.

“You are tight, sweet, and perfect, my fawn. So no, I am no longer all right.”

You let your arms slip from his neck, but your legs were still wrapped around him, and his groin, hot and hard, was pressed tight into you. Then came the gratifying wave of pleasure as Jimin rolled his hips into yours, his girth slipping in and out of you, wholly, fulfillingly.

Gods, he was huge. The thick, hot, pulsing hard muscle of his legs throbbed against your thigh. His big manhood twitched inside you— feeling as thick as your arm. He groaned, kissing you fiercely as he moved his hips and nudged his swollen head further inside, almost into your cervix. You cried out, feeling it pulsing into your drooling slit.

With a moan into his lips, you strained your thighs and allowed him to pound in and out of you, the thick, slick shaft of his cock sliding wetly out from between your lips as you groaned throatily.

“Have a screaming orgasm, little fawn.”

He circled his hips as he said it, stroking his long shaft within you. He planted one sweet, sensual kiss after another on your lips, and kept your gaze locked with his.

You watched a smile touch Jimin’s full, handsome mouth. Then groans deepened the lines framing his lips. His eyes glowed as if they were on fire, and his deep, throaty moans … You drink all of them.

You were weak with pleasure, yet driven to rock with him. You clung to him, arching your hips, panting. Your nipples had hardened, and each thrust brushed them against his chest. Lips tingling from kisses, breasts throbbing from swift brushes, your quim pulsed … and fire raged in you, hotter than fire and you screamed as you came, body spasmodic.

He held you as his lips slurped at the slop of blood from the punctured marks on the peaks of your breasts.

It is when he pulls out of your body, he turns. This time, his eyes travel below your navel and licks at your core. There’s a thin stream of his release that flows from within you and there is a whit of warmth that seeps along with it, making his stomach clench with carnal hunger.

Carnal lechery for your blood and the musk of your release, it blows like a breeze over him.

Your fragrance consisted of a scent that represented freshly cut timber, like the damp forest after a rainy day; you smelt heavenly, like fresh-scented pine and honey, he wanted to indulge in the depths of the hint of cinnamon-like musk it produced.

It is the blood that reflected your lost virginity, your lost innocence. You are no more vestal, he has made you sin.

In the depths of night, your eyes were dew, scattering the nascent rays, ever illuminating the dark in his soul and he lusted vigorously for the taste of you, to let him be consumed by everything you offer to give him.

And so, he chains your limbs again, and blinds your vision for the nonce, for your senses to get heightened, for your slick to stream like nectar from ambrosia.

You gasp quietly at the impairment of your vision.

His fingers pluck a pair of pampas grass fluttering in the wind and when you feel it caress the tiny puncture holes at your sensitive nipples, you whimper, your slick caressing Jimin’s chest.

His lips find purchase at your inner thighs, fangs shallowly sinking into the soft flesh. The feeling makes your toes curl and you croak his name out in pure bliss.

“How delicious, your scent is divine, my fawn” he growls and pulls your core to his nose with vigour while you attempt to slither away, shyly.

“Trying to escape my grasp is useless, little fawn” he warns, making you cry out at the feeling of his arctic breaths blowing over your sensitive core.

“I’ll catch you faster than the wind could sheath around you” he gutturally breathes and spreads you beneath him, holding your soft thighs in his metal hold.

He moved lower, his breath teasing over your thigh. And then, you felt it, and the moan of pure ecstasy tore from your lips.

Jimin’s hot, wet tongue delved between your lips, dragging slowly and wetly up every bit of you until it flicked across your aching clit. You moaned in pleasure, crying out as his powerful hands pushed your legs wide apart and his wicked tongue pushed deep between them.

With a moan, your eyes flew open to see his face hovering above your delicate and exposed core. His eyes glinted wickedly at you, and you watched, panting in pleasure as he slowly licked his lips clean.

“Like nectar,” he growled. “Lie back, little fawn. Lie back and let me taste you.”

He moved back in, and suddenly, you moaned loudly. The feeling was like nothing else you had ever felt — this perfect, electric feeling of his icy tongue teased over your lips and clit. His wide, strong tongue dragged up and down your pussy, making your whole body arch and tremble for him. You balled your fists and cried out into the flickering firelight of the cave.

He slid his tongue deep inside, spreading your lips with his fingers, dragging your sticky wetness up from your opening to slide electrically across your aching clit. You arched my back and cried out as his tongue made contact there. It curled at your bud, bringing whimpering mewling sounds to your lips before sliding down through your folds again. You stiffened, and then moaned as you felt that hot, wet tongue slide wickedly against the opening of your arse, making you gasp as it slid over the sensitive ring there.

You couldn’t believe the sensations flooding your body at the touch of this rough, powerful, demanding, gorgeous man — from the rouge who was gentle to a creature with hound-like   lust for your dripping arousal and blood.

His tongue pushed against your opening, pushing in to curl sensually inside of you. His thumb moved to your clit, his growl rumbling through me as he teased your little bud and tongue-fucked your slippery core, making you clench and arch your back off the stone under you.

You screamed as the orgasm exploded through you, hips bucking against Jimin’s perfect mouth. Your core clenched at the invading tongue, spasming around its thick wetness while the orgasm ripped through me. The famished count hungrily growled and pushed his tongue deep inside, tasting all of your virginal blood as the aftershocks exploded through you.

Slowly, he pulled away, his lips trailing over the little seam of your inner thigh as your whole world spun under you.

The feathery leaves of the pampas grass caressed the seams following his mouth and you felt his arms lifting you onto his lap, straddling him. He gently entered you again, mouth tracing the prominent vein at your jugular, tongue teasing it.

You shook and rippled around his thick wood, chains rattling loudly as you bite at every inch of his skin that your mouth could reach.

“I am going to turn you, my sweet fawn. Tonight is perfect, the moon is hidden and the branches sing for us. Let it all out, scream my name” they are incessant breaths against your jugular and you clench around him, hearing him cry out his devotion for you.

“I am ready, my lord. Turn me, I— I belong to you!” you cry out as the tip of his girth brushes your most sensitive spot.

Then the whooshing wind caresses your bare bodies, you feel the chains loosen and fall to the ground while Jimin embraces your shaking body entirely, increasing the pace of his inhuman thrusts.

His mouth takes yours and swallows your pleasured pants, yours tongue mulls his own when he feels your fingers thread through his soft locks and dig into his scalp. His hold on your hips are deathly and when he feels you clench and pant harder, he bites into the inside of his cheeks, closing his eyes as his blood trickles from his mouth, into yours.

Your throat closes at the repulsive, metallic taste and you gag, making Jimin tighten his hold on you. He twists your tongues together and urges you on, making you swallow down the thick drops of his blood.

When you feel his member caressing that sensitive spot of your insides once again, you gulp faster and Jimin smiles blissfully into your mouth as his tongue traces the sharp lines of your protruding canines, they course rapidly into pointy knives and he relishes in the sharpness of your fangs, tongue drinking your breaths in.

There’s an ethereal glow of light sheathing around the two of you. For a nonce, the bright, golden-silvery stratum panelling over you in particular makes the deep, dark abyss of the night seem like day. The round curves of your orbs sparkle an aurish dust and makes you look more beguiling than any other supernatural power to ever exist.

Jimin feels the illuminance and shuts his eyes in ecstasy for the warm streams of your blood chills into familiar ice, the same temperature as his. Your thrusts are gentled and you cry out in a new found lust for Jimin’s blood.

He can feel the urgency in your gulps as you grow more hungry for blood, his blood. He shudders when you sink onto him again, tilting his head to pierce your fangs into his throat.

He groans at the pleasurable feeling of your mouth gulping his blood hungrily and he forces you to pause, for his eyes to drink in the birth of your vampiric form.

The moment you open your eyes and stare into his, his breath catches.

Your orbs are a beautiful, fierce topaz-crimson and there is a bleached tone added to the luscious sheen of your skin, when you lick the drops of his blood from your lips, exposing the knives of your fangs, he feels the carnal lechery for you boil in his heart and stir at his manhood.

You are fully turned, looking like the goddess of death herself, veiled in an ethereal halo in the deep, dark, inked night.

His eyes drink your appearance ravenously and he concludes. Carnal lechery for you, that’s what possessed him all those years ago, that’s what drives him to sink his fangs into your flesh and drink your sweet blood over and over.

You are turned and you are eternally bonded to him, there’ll be no mongrel mortal in this universe to take you away from him.

Autumn days wane toward the inevitable colder weather ahead, each nightfall coming sooner that the one before.

Seven days were gone ever since you were welcomed and brought to the Rouge’s dwelling, the rocky fort miles away from your grim, little mossy town.

Topaz leaves dangled from the shadowy skeletons of trees, each one like as ominous sword of Damocles. The river was almost ice, showing reflections of the heavy, ashy sky so thick. The chill breeze rattling at the closed windows of the fort seemed to cry autumn, the roads were moist with stealthy dew as the season deepens their graceful boughs will be the prettiest of charcoal sketches, drawing themselves tall, reflecting the light of a wintry sun.

You are huddled in the silky red sheets of Jimin’s large duvety mattress, the lines of your naked legs traced by the sheets. You lie fatigued after a thorough session of lovemaking with your mate while he wordlessly caresses your hair, eyeing your curves, breathing the essence of your hair as he licks the remains of your dried blood from your breasts.

The sudden slam of the door came like a punctuation. There were panicked calls all around in the veranda and one of the maids peek their head through the door to the master chamber, her chest rising and falling in urgency.

“Forgive me for barging in, master and mistress”, she breathlessly bows, making you both rise, startled. You scatter to cover your body with the sheets while Jimin groans and ties his night robes to shield his body.

“Master, we seem to have an intruder. The other masters summoned you to the court immediately”, she keeps her eyes low and Jimin barks at her.

“How would we have an intruder? This fort is well protected!” he grunts and turns to you, placing a soft kiss on your lips as you eye the maid scurrying away, bowed.

“I’ll be right back, my love. You might as well get dressed".

You smile and pull on your silky night robes to your body, mindlessly staring at the creaking trees in the wind while Jimin marches to the veranda, his booming commands slowly ebbing away.

For a few ticks of chime, you hear nothing but the rustling leaves, sparrows chirping at a distance and the echoes of voices downstairs. When the door to the chamber you lie in opens on the spur of the serene moment, you fall back and onto your elbows, on the cottony patchwork of the carpeted floor.

A loud gasp knocks your lungs at the sight of the familiar fern-eyed, thick woman looming over you, offering her hand.

Siena. She is puffing out harsh breaths and her legs tremble, hasten. She seems too afraid as her eyes cavort to the door in trepidation and you realise, she is the intruder.

“Y/N! Y/N. You should listen to me, you should run away, the one you are with is a monster!” she hastily whispers, gripping at your arm.

You yawp at her gnawing grip and attempt to pull your arm to yourself and grit your teeth. At the sight of your crimson eyes, Siena’s hold gets loosened.

“H—he turned you, didn’t he?” she utters in shock, something in her eyes clutches at her back again and she pleads you again. You sigh and move to the chamber’s doors, pulling the latch to lock and you turn to face her.

“I am sorry sister Siena, but I must ask you to leave. History does not tell the truth. The Rouge were innocent, it was the people who broke the treaty”.

You eye her pitifully. She had come all the way for vain.

“Jimin is by nature of laws, my soulmate. I cannot live apart from him, I am no longer one of the mortals”. You proclaim, clasping your fingers together.

“Now, please leave—”

“I am afraid you do not know everything” mumbles Siena quietly, her olive eyes swimming in a stream of exigency, her limbs still tremble.

“Who has Park claimed to have murdered you in the past, Y/N?”

The will to not let her affect your resolution faintly faltered at the sight of her tenacity, she shakes similar to a leaf jostled by storm gales yet, her eyes remain adamant.

“Tell me, please”, she begs to the extremity of crumbling, her orbs trembling just as much as her limbs do.

You release the air from your lungs and mutter softly— “Humans. The ancestors of our town. I saw it, the evocation of my past self, I was killed by the town folks”.

Siena shook her head, her face contouring into a brew of disdain as well as pity, you were almost uncertain if it was aimed towards you.

The whooshing gales and Siena’s voice seem the same when she mutters out what earth had not devised itself ready to hear.

“No, my dear. It was not the town folks who had killed you, it was the very man you share this bed with, the most conniving, astute count amongst his brothers— Park Jimin of the Rouge!”

And in that light the carpet of leaves became crooked, and all aurish colours vanished, the wind tumbling around the empty space. Your heart pounded wildly in your chest and your face morphed into one of disdain, you were abhorred yet, shattered to the ground like the dry twigs stepped on by passing carts.

You knew nuns took an oath to preserve and authentic despite the unembellished life they lead because you were one too. Siena was not lying, every single word of hers proves to be true only by the contours of concern etched on her face.

“H-how? I—” you flounder like a fish taken out of the pond.

Siena sighs dismally. “When I went to the elder canonesses on halloween night, the eldest of them apprised a hidden tale of a young town girl and her lover— Hyun woo whose throats were silt by the third youngest of the Rouge”,

“Only sister Ann knew the story behind it”. You listened carefully, feeling prostrated mercilessly.

“Park Jimin had found his consort and by the scent of her blood, he knew she was destined to be bonded to him by nature’s law. But, she was irrevocably in love with another mortal to whom she had been having love affairs with, even as she was taken against her will to the Rouge fort”,

“An infuriated Park had butchered the young woman’s lover in front of her whilst the woman pleaded and cried for the man’s life. As days passed, Jimin’s consort became coldly vacant in grief",

You were turned into stone at her words.

“She had ultimately repudiated to consummate their bond. The same night when Jimin had killed her to erase the memories of her lover, the town folks declared a war to avenge Hyun woo and rescue the young woman. Park Jimin had promulgated to his brothers that the woman was killed by humans, he must have recast your past self’s memories, Y/N! He is not the gentle lover you loyally surmise him to be!”

One time when you were blind in a tree, waiting motionless for wind to wander by, you dozed off and fell ten feet to the ground, landing on your back. It was as if the impact had knocked every wisp of air from your lungs, and you lay there struggling to inhale, to exhale, to do anything.

That was how you felt at the moment, your ribs felt crushed into a mere refuse, fear and disgust of your past killer’s touch burned everywhere, the faded puncture marks on the peaks of your breasts, thighs, neck, shoulders felt as if touched by the flicks of flame, you felt abhorred.

Even the loud rap of knocks and thuds on the door to the chambers were heard, you were frozen into ice. Eyes teary, vision blurred, you fell to the ground, crestfallen.

Siena shakes you harder in panic at the sight of the door’s latch rattling violently, the sundry of voices with Jimin’s voice rack unpleasant shudders through her spine as she attempts to resuscitate you to the present.

A single squawk like a squall causes the doors to shatter as if hurled to the ground by a tempest. Park Jimin stands sited at the other side. There is not a sliver of a plinth to hold his rage in place, he looks irked to the brim of extremes.

“Seize her!” he barks and by the tick of a second, Siena is hefted into the air by a couple guards, their grasps cause her to bawl in pain.

“Y/N! My dear, what did she do to you?“ Jimin’s voice is mellowy as he gathers you into his arms, perusing your form thoroughly.

Like the mountain river under sunlight, like snow melting under the beaming sunlight, like the gentle song of the topaz leaves swaying in the autumn breeze, his voice was pleasant as beautiful as his perfectly sculpted face.

You shake away weakly from his grasp and his face withers, twinging a deep cut into your heart.

“You cold-blooded murderer, let her free”. You mutter, abhorred and stare at him, as empty as the ocean at night.

Jimin peruses Siena and you wordlessly, taken aback by your sudden disgust. When you see his head lift and lips curl to one side, you see the once loving mate of yours turn into the callous, blood-thirsty hound of a creature that slaughtered so many lives for its own illiberal gain.

“I see my little fawn has discovered the truth”, he heinously chuckles, making you swallow down in utter disgust.

“It was worth the effort, was it not?” he perches himself on his lush seater loftily, a wicked grin stretches his lips at Siena’s struggles.

“Now that I have the maiden of my dreams to myself”, he wickedly whispers, his sharp eyes travel down your body as he slips his lower lip into his mouth.

“I can debauch her to my heart’s content” his eyes are demanding as they meet yours, his slender fingers tipping against the mahogany handle of his seater.

“What causes you to think I would submit to you?” you spew the words like venom as the haughty count feigns hurt, crumbling to the ground.

In a blink of an eye, Jimin whooshes at an inhuman pace across the chamber to you, gripping your jaws tight from the behind as he has his own clenched. Your wrists are pressed together at your back and he presses his chest to your back.

You attempt to wriggle away at the bulge pressing into the cleft of your arse and you screech at his hold.

“What can be done by a little fawn like you, against me? There is a reason why I did not wait even for an hour to turn you that night”. He lilts mockingly, lips brushing the lobe of your ear.

“Oh, little fawn. I had become the master of your body, soul and mind duly after turning you. Every single thought that runs in this little head, I can hear it”. He declares, arms slithering around your body in a vice-like grip.

“After decades of longing, I finally had you. Would I not have prepared for the same mistake to never occur again?” he presses his nose to your jugular, breathing your scent. It makes him roll his eyes in pleasure as the heavenly scent tickles his lungs.

Your fighting limbs fall limp as his fangs pierces the skin of your jugular, taking little gulps of your sweet blood.

Siena screams as she realises the actions performed on you by the count. She seethes and cusses, fighting against the guards’ hold on her.

“Forget everything that makes me bad in your eyes, little fawn”,  Jimin whispers pleasantly, making you fall into a lull of sleep with a soft hum.

“Only I am your love, only I am your lord, no other mongrel of a mortal owns you, forget it all, my one and only little fawn”, he sings soothingly, lifting you in his arms more delicate than a priceless treasure, cooing in adoration at the sight of your angelic face in peace and parted lips, memories flitting you away from him washed away profoundly.

In the course of a mo, Siena’s head is snapped and the poor nun’s body is embedded into the fertile earth heedlessly.

A famished count with an endless carnal lechery presses a soft kiss to your lips and envelopes you in a lover’s embrace, waiting for your eyes to open and say his name sweetly, oblivious to events that have unfolded a very few chimes ago.

Carnal lechery, it was what possessed him to possess you.

© unfurlingtwinklingstar 2020 | all rights reserved | do not re-post/translate

[xshinigamikittenx]

Scarlet Moonlight: Touya x Reader Fairy Tale AU

Here's my contribution to the Citrus Dome Fairy Tale Collab. This one is loosely based on Red Riding Hood, only darker? It was hella fun! As usual I added a playlist to go with this ❤️it'll be below the cut. Accompanying art will be added soon as well! Hope you don't hate it?🙃

Buutttt even if you do please check out the other pieces that are a part of the collab here. 💜

p.s. big huge massive love to @sweet-darling91 for encouraging me and keeping me focused. ily. 😩

NSFW/ Minors DNI

Characters: Lycan Touya (pre fullmoon) x F!Reader

CW/TW: alcohol use, violence, angst, description of attempted noncon, vaginal fingering, vaginal sex, semi public sex

WC: 6k

Scarlet Moonlight

by xshinigamikittenx

Setting Details: This is a completely fictional location with fantasy realm feel. Loosely based on a combination of Westeros and Shirakawago Village in 13th century Japan.

Terra = village

Terrans = villagers

Tsukihiro = MC’s home terra

Shoya = village leader

Ash drifts on the crisp autumn air, the bonfire in the center of your Terra, breathing and crackling as beads of sweat glisten against your skin. Your ears are full of the sounds surrounding you, the chants and loud drunken conversations, the festival music strumming through you as you dance, gripping the wooden goblet in your hand filled with mulled wine. A thought flashes across your mind, this could be the last night you’re alive, the last night everyone you know is alive.

Your eyes close, your body subconsciously shielding you from the thoughts and memories of the bloodshed and massacred bodies you’ve grown up witnessing. Your head falls back, humming in tune with the raucous strings and drums of the Last Moon Gathering, the celebration your people have every 29 days in the dead of night under the light of the near full moon. This is the night you all eat, drink, feel; with no limit and no second thoughts. The air is thick with the history of horrors your people have endured every month for as long as you’ve known, but with an intoxicating combination of the hope and joy you’re all desperate to drown in.

The weight of fear burdens you every day and haunts you each night. Your dreams slipping into nightmares with unanswered questions. Who would be next? When the Wolf returns, who will be taken? Whose mangled body will we be burying if it’s not mine? These are the thoughts at the forefront of every mind, every day, except this one night. This is the night you all live for, just before the night you all dread. The tide of emotions waxing and waning with the faces of the moon that guides your fates.

Your full lips curl into a smile, as you push the thoughts out of your head. The scarlet cloak draped around your shoulders moving with your swaying body, keeping your cinnamon kissed skin from the cold breeze hovering around the light of the massive flames. Your eyes fly open when someone bumps into you, the singing and dancing bodies of your fellow villagers pulsing around you as you hear a slurred, “M’pologies m’lady.” Hearing your title being used at a time like this is too ironic not to cause a fit of laughter to come flowing from your lips.

None of that mattered in this moment, pleasantries and titles that could be lost within the span of the next moonlight. Your father is the village leader, yes, but even he is not immune to death. We are all blood and bones and skin that scars, and all the things that separate us melt away in the heat of the fire. Your velvet cloak brushes against your arms, rising above your head as you let the warmth and the music take you, your mind soaking up the smells and sounds of what could be your final night of life.

You feel a hand graze your shoulder, heat from another body glancing against yours, pulling you out of the reverie of senses you were feeling. Your eyes open, landing on the hand’s owner. A Terran warrior, seasoned from the looks of him, taking your hand in his to spin you into him. He laughs, smiling down at you as your wine dripped down your hand from the swirling movement. Normally, no one would touch you like this, your cloak, threaded with your family’s namesake crimson color, was both a beacon and a siren to Terrans, sounding a message loud and clear: “This is the heir to the Tsukihiro Seat.” While your father led graciously, the nature of your Terra’s location requires fearsome meddle and strength. One would be remiss to cross him, even in his elder years.

On this night, however, second thoughts and conscious decisions were nothing more than fleeting. A smile spreads across your lips, the heady swell of warmth from the fire and the alcohol settling into you as the music picks up. You laugh, holding onto your new partner’s arm, the sinew of muscles almost too large to wrap your hand around it as you move together. The rhythm of the drums matches the pulsing of your beating heart, letting yourself surrender to the moment, feeling the air fill your lungs, pushing your limbs to acclimate to the motion your body was captured in.

You look up at the warrior holding onto you, the toothy smile taking up most of his face as he moves with you, eyes wide as laughs, joining in with the celebratory howls and chants of the surrounding terrans. He looks so carefree, he couldn’t be much older than you if he’s older than you at all. But the rigidness of his body and the firm grip his hand has on you reveals the truth, the glassy fear shimmering just behind his eyes. You admire the warriors’ strength, the will to live they must feel to fulfill their duties as protectors of Tsukihiro. They start young, training to kill the beast that haunts your people every month. You clench your teeth, the images of so many terra warriors’ bodies mangled and ripped apart flashing in your mind. He’s got to feel it, the taught strings of his unknown future pulling at the edges of his thoughts. A knot forms in your stomach, the irony of the festival itself washing over you as you look around at faces you may never see alive again. Where is he? The thought strikes through your chest as you scan the mass of people moving around you; bodies moving in time with the music. Your attention is brought to the arm wrapped around you, the hand slipping under your cloak and past your waist.

You push your upper body away from the warrior’s hold, planting your free hand against his chest as you give him a warning glare smirking as you speak, “Hands where I can see them before I do something we’ll both regret.”

The grin on his face doesn’t so much as falter, his laugh bellowing through you as he removes his hand to spin you. “Ohh, that’s right, the Shoya’s scarlet daughter is a violent one isn’t she?” He stops the spin mid way, pulling you into him so your back is against his hardened chest. The force makes your breath catch as he leans in toward your ear, “No need to bite Shoyaness, this is a celebration of life after all. Live it with me for a moment.”

A laugh ripples through you in response as you turn your head, gripping the back of his neck with your free hand to hold him closer. Tilting your head up just enough to graze your lips against his jaw, you whisper, “Then why don’t you celebrate your life without trying to get your neck slit open.”

You met his eyes, his body tightening around you as your bodies stilled. Even in this state the Terra law of any disturbance or violent crime against another hovers in his mind. While he’s more brute than intellect, the level of danger you feel is practically non-existent as you smirk up at him, his brow furrowing in frustration while you push away from him. You need a moment to breathe, the tension bristling in your shoulders as you try to cool down from the anger that you can feel steadily building within you. You start moving away from the mass of people, separating yourself from the sights and sounds the festival thrums through the night.

Several terrans notice you as you walk past, offering a passing greeting. Feeling like you were being watched isn’t something that’s new to you. Your position alone caused eyes to gravitate towards you, whether it’s out of respect or resentment. This feeling though, is different, it’s more of a presence, an unknown that makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up.

Someone is following you. The strategies you grew up learning, rushing to the forefront of your mind as your feet continue their steady pace. You’ll alert them to your knowledge of their presence if you adjust your speed even in the slightest. The armory. This is the closest you could get to a space that would be far enough not to create a disturbance if you need to defend yourself. Your senses sharpen, rounding the corner as you sink into the shadows. The footsteps behind you are heavy but brisk and your pulse quickens as the realization hits you, you’ve separated yourself from the help of anyone who might be able to hear you if something did happen. Your muscles tense as the footsteps close in, there’s no mistaking it now someone’s followed you from the crowd. Shit. Your mind clears itself from the foggy haze the cups of wine clouded you in as you feel for the blade you keep on the hilt wrapped around your thigh. Where…? Where did it go? Panic. Flooding through you with every heartbeat, pounding in your ears as you look down, pushing your cloak to the side to try to lay eyes on it. Your pupils dilate, the memory of the warrior reaching beneath your cloak rises to the surface as a hand wraps around your throat, pushing you against the stone exterior of the armory wall.

Your eyes fly open, your breath flying out of your lungs as you meet the eyes of the warrior you were dancing with earlier. Your hands immediately grip the fingers holding you in place as you grit your teeth from the impact of the wall against the back of your head. He leans into you, sliding his leg between yours, diminishing the opportunity for you to get a foothold to resist.

“This what you were planning to slit my throat with?” he murmurs, his breath acrid and hot against your face as he holds your blade up high enough for you to watch him toss it into the shrubbery behind him.

A low chuckle rises from his throat as his hand moves to grip your waist. Your eyes search his face, scanning him for any signs of weakness, but overpowering him in this position would most likely result with you on the losing side. He’s at least a head taller than you and his grip is like a vice. Think you idiot. Think NOW. A smirk spreads across your lips, and he loosens the fingers around your neck.

“You want to die that badly, warrior?” He pulls back a bit, glaring at you and clenching his jaw. It wasn’t fear in his eyes anymore, what was this...hatred? You’d never done anything to him except bruise his delicate ego. Your nails dig into his hand, rage and adrenaline seeping through you. You push yourself forward as far as you can go against his hold. “How long do you think it will take before my father finds out about this?” You bite at him, challenging him to make his move. He’s going to have to kill me if he’s actually trying to get away with this. The punishment for that would be something far worse than the ease of death.

In that moment you think you’ve gotten him to falter. You wrap your legs around his waist using his arm as leverage to lift yourself up against the wall, digging your nails into his shoulders as you move to kick your legs back and push against the stone wall that would send you both flying backwards. This was your plan, the plan that utterly fails once your legs leave the ground.

With your legs wrapped around him he catches one of your arms as you fling them out toward him. His other hand moves up to cover your mouth as he takes a step back, holding all your body weight and slams you back against the wall. Your vision is blurred, black spots hovering around you as your body begins to ache from the impact of the stone wall against your back. A muffled groan escapes your throat as he holds you in place, his hand across your mouth shifting to grip both sides of your face, shaking sharply to make sure you were awake. His breaths are heavy, the pads of his fingers digging into your cheeks, the pain and the pressure against your body pulls your focus to your captors face. A wide grin splits his face like a fresh gash across his skin, “That’s the difference between you and Shoyaness, I don’t give a fuck about dying. What am I alive for anyways, huh?” His grip tightens around your face, “To protect you? Think about it, you need me more than I need you.”

He leans in closer, his tongue slithering against you from your collarbone the bottom of your ear. He tilts your head up, giving him further access to your exposed skin. “Don’t you owe me this much? I mean, who knows if we’ll be alive at this time tomorrow anyways. What’s a few hours earlier?” You’re panting, his hold too strong for your body to resist him in the state you’re in. Your blade is gone and he’d stopped your initial attack so swiftly, if you tried anything else he could just slam you again. Your hand tightened around his wrist as your body attempted to kick against him, but as altered and solid as he was you may as well have been hitting him with straw.

You couldn’t die here. You’re the sole heir. You still have so much to do. The image of Touya’s face flashes across your mind, and the ache of never being able to see him again tore through you, a sobbing groan rising from your throat as the warrior’s hand finds its way around your throat and you start to choke.You’re clawing at him, willing your body to thrash against him as you fight for air, but his fingers just get tighter. He moves his face inches away from yours, eyes boring into you as he watches you squirm, “You don’t know when to quit do you?”

Your vision is blurring, his lips are against your jaw and every sound you attempt to make is being smothered before it can escape you, but you hear it. His voice sounds distant, growling and low, sending goosebumps flashing across your skin.

“What the fuck...do you think you’re doing?”

The fingers around your throat relax, making you gasp for air, but he still holds one of your wrists against the wall as the warrior turns his head toward the voice in the shadows. You thought you might have recognized it initially but it sounded too deep, too guttural to be the man you thought it could be.

“Touya?” the warrior scoffs, his body relaxing in relief, “I think I’m living,” he laughs, “ What the fuck are you doing?”

Your eyes are still trying to focus, the torch on the front side of the armory causing the shadows to mutate and shift.

“I’m going to show you the difference between dying tomorrow….and dying a few hours earlier.” Touya’s voice ripples through the darkness as he comes closer, the warrior releasing you as he pushes away to face him. Your body hits the ground, snapping you out of your oxygen ridden daze. You try to stand up, but quickly realize the rest of your body needs a moment to adjust. All you can do is watch, your throat still sensitive from the grip around your neck.

Your eyes widen as you meet Touya’s gaze. His pupils, huge pools of black, blown out so wide you can barely make out the cerulean blue burning around the edges. He’s glaring at you. This is Touya? You try to make sense of the image in front of you, his dark hair falls around his shoulders, languid strands falling in front of his face. His body is rigid, muscles tensed but primed to react and his face...it’s tight, his jaw clenched speaking through gritting teeth.

You’ve known Touya since you were children, and you’ve always known him to be relatively laid back, dismissive even. There was a time when you were somewhat close, your father bringing walking with you through the Terra as a child and sending you off to play. As teenagers though, things changed, his parents were slaughtered by the Wolf and Touya was left orphaned, taking up work and board at the blacksmith as an apprentice.

As you aged you gained more responsibilities being the sole heir to Tsukihiro, you only saw him when it was deemed necessary. His occupation forced his body to mold into hardened muscle, and his demeanor seemed to follow suit. There were times when you attempted to reach out to him, to let him know he wasn’t alone. You did this as a friend, not as a Terra leader, but he never responded. He became distant, even cold, only regarding you when he had to and you responded to that in kind.

The last time you spoke to him was about preparing weapons for the Hunt, he seemed annoyed that you were there, hammering away at the fresh piece of metal he was tending to, barely acknowledging your presence like he always did when it was your month to account for weaponry. You didn’t get it and it pissed you off so you called him out on it.

“Is there a problem?” You ask

“Doesn’t seem like there’s a problem,” he responds, training his eyes on his work, “Unless the weapons are not suited for the Hunt.”

“No, the weapons are perfectly fine…”

“Fine?” He snaps back.

“I’m asking if there’s a problem with you. What did I do to you that you can’t even bother to turn around and talk to me?”

“I’m busy,” he snaps, “I’m always busy. You want me to ruin this blade to have a conversation? Alright.” He drops his hammer, letting it clatter on the ground as he turns to face you, shoulders heaving from the previous exertion. “What is it that I need to be looking at you to hear?”

“I’m just tired of you acting like I don’t exist,” you bite back, you can hear your voice raising. “We were friends...I tried to-“

“Tried to what? Remind me of the day I lost everything? Throw pity at me like some stray dog?” His fists clenched, the muscles in his arms rippling from trying to maintain some sort of control without stepping too far out of line. “We were never friends, Shoyaness. We live in the same Terra and your father runs it. I just do what I’m told and that’s enough. There’s no need for pointless pleasantries.” His eyes never left yours, pinning you in place with the sapphire blue heat emanating from gaze. “Now, if you’re done interrupting my work with your inquiries, everything will be ready and in position for the Hunt. That’s what you’re here for isn’t it?”

That wasn’t all you were there for, but that’s all the information you needed to accomplish your duty so he was right, there was nothing else to say and you left. You hadn’t seen him since that conversation days ago and he was the last person you were expecting to see in this situation. Besides that though, he looked...different, his presence soaking up all the space around you. You couldn’t look away, your eyes traveling from his face, the sharp line of his jaw and his body, it seemed...larger, the muscles in his chest rippling through the fabric of the torn black woven shirt that’s barely containing him. He never lacked in body mass, but this...this was different, he looked lethal in the truest form of the word.

The warrior readied himself, the threat that came from Touya’s lips still hanging in the air, blanketing the space between you in static and heat. It felt like one move would spark a fire. You sat up slowly, sitting on your knees and digging your nails into the earth beneath you. He’s going to kill him. He’s going to kill him right in front of me. The fallout of this could be an entirely different problem. When did he become this way? You’re so lost in thought the horns from the festival’s end makes you jump, low and loud, echoing through the air and reverberating through you pulling your attention away from Touya for the slightest moment.

There’s another sound, the sound of flesh meeting flesh and the snapping of bones before the warrior’s body falls in a heap inches away from you. There wasn’t so much as a scuffle, no screams of pain, no blood, but when your vision refocuses, you could see the warrior’s eyes, open in cold shock with his mouth lifelessly slack. His head is turned in an inhuman manner, the bones of his neck cleanly snapped with what looks like shallow puncture wounds lining his jaw. Your eyes widen, body rigid and cold as your gaze travels up the length of Touya’s body, stopping at his hands. Are those...claws? No, his nails just seem longer than usual. Right? How did he-? Movement. He’s walking towards you, and you don’t move, your body doing everything it can to process what’s just happened. He squats in front of you, meeting you at eye level.

“Are you hurt?” he asks.

You search his eyes, their cerulean color more normally sized in contrast to what you saw prior to this moment. He seems more like the Touya you grew up with, the one who used to give a shit. Just the other day he couldn’t even bear to look at you, and now he’s concerned? Your brow furrowed, you know he probably just saved you from something you didn’t even want to think about, but none of what he’s doing makes any sense. You move to stand up, finally able to control your movements and completely sobered up.

“No. I’m fine,” you say, as you dust yourself off. Adjusting your scarlet cloak around your shoulders as he stands with you. He seems taller than you realize, standing this close to him and he looks down at you as his face begins to shift from concern to anger.

“What? I was going to say thank y-”

“What...the hell do you think you’re doing out here by yourself?” He spits at you, staring you down as if demanding an answer.

“What are you talking about?” you bite back, “I can go wherever the hell I want. I don’t need permission, and I certainly don’t need it from you. It’s not like you give a shit.”

“You don’t know anything,” his response is low, as he takes a step closer, every word shooting out of him like arrows aimed for the chest. “God, you can never take a fucking hint can you? Why don’t you just think?”

“What are you even saying? None of this is my fault! I didn’t ask for your help! And what the fuck do you care anyways, Touya? We’re not friends, remember?”

You turn to walk away, the rumbling sound of a growl coming from his direction just before you feel massive hands on either side of you pulling you into his chest. His face is a breadth away from yours, your body pressed against him as he holds onto you. His eyes search yours when he speaks, “No, we’re not friends. I know that,” he pauses, his gaze slipping down to your lips before he meets your eyes again to speak, “Just tell me to walk away. Tell me to fuck off and that you’ll stop being so fucking reckless and I’ll go.”

“I’m not going to say that, Touya.” You feel his grip tightening around your arms.

“Why?” He’s pleading with you, almost shaking you in a short back and forth, “Just say it. You shouldn’t care about me. I’ve been nothing to you, done nothing to make you want to care. What do you want?”

You feel the tears welling up in your eyes, all the emotion from the recent events catching up to you and swallowing you whole. You never wanted anything from him, at one point he was the highlight of your day and everything changed. The wolf damned everyone and everything, including all of your friendships. No one saw you as a real person, they saw you as the color you wore around your neck, the color that followed you everywhere. Your family’s namesake color that signified your status and your worth. Touya was the closest friend you had, and even after you tried to console him, he shut you out and never told you why, which just made you want to try harder. You knew a future with him was out of the question, even now you were betrothed to a neighboring Terran heir. But you never asked for that, you never asked for any of this. All you wanted was someone to see you for who you were, and you thought Touya did.

“I want you,” your hands reached up to grasp at the front of his shirt, your tears slipping down your face as you trained your eyes on his chest. You made it a habit not to cry, seeing it as a sign of weakness, but at this moment, right now it still rang true that you might not get a chance to tell him this again. You might not get a chance to see him again at all. You looked up at him, holding onto the fabric of his shirt as you feel his breaths come quicker, his hands loosening around your arms and trailing up to either side of your face. He looks into your eyes as he speaks, “That’s the wrong answer.”

His lips find yours in that breath, one of his hands in your hair as his other arm wraps around your waist, pulling you further into him. His kiss is soft and rough, his tongue slipping between your lips before he pulls away biting at your lower lip. A growl rises from his throat vibrating between you as his hands travel to your thighs, bending down just enough to pick you up, without separating your kiss. Your legs instinctively wrap around him and he walks you both into the armory, closing the door behind him as he pushes you up against the wall. You’re both panting, hungry and desperate to feel every inch the other. He breaks the kiss to untie your cloak hanging around your shoulders, letting it fall into a heap at his feet. His teeth find the space between your neck and shoulder and you gasp.

“That sound,” he says, kissing your neck, “do it again.” His teeth feel so sharp it almost hurts instantly but he smooths over it with open mouth kisses, trailing down to your breasts. You sigh into him, your arms wrapping around his shoulders as one of his hands slip beneath the fabric of your shirt, palming at your soft breasts before he pinches your hardened nipples. Your head falls back against the wall, exposing more of your skin to his touch. His body was warm, warmer than it should be. “I want you, y/n, I’ve always wanted you.”

The heat emanating from him is practically melting you on contact as he lifts your shirt to suck one of your nipples into his wet mouth. His low moans vibrate against you, making you arch your back into him to feel more of every swirl and bite his tongue and teeth leave along your skin. Your fingers thread into his hair, your stifled moans turning into soft sobs as your body grinds against him. You can feel the tip of his length against your clothed entrance, pressing through the fabric of his pants. You want him.

“Please, Touya….please. Let me feel you.”

He responds with a rippling growl, his lips at your throat nipping at you as his hands grip your ass, lifting you up to lay you down on a pile of soft hay lining the wall. You look up at him, watching as he pulls his shirt off over his head, his hair falling around his shoulders leading your eyes to the scars littered across his body. He’s like nothing you’ve ever seen, his hardened muscles glowing in the warm light of the fire from the smelt behind him. He’s broad and lean, skin taut over the sinew rippling beneath it. He pauses, leaning over you from his position between your legs, lifting up from his knees. His hand reaches for your face and you lean into his touch, his thumb grazing your lower lip as he speaks.

“Say it.” His voice is rough and tight, holding back a pleading tone as he searches your eyes for an answer.

You return his heated gaze, giving him your answer as you roll your hips into him, “I want you inside me...please, Touya.”

“Fuck.” His breathing gets heavier, a growling sound escaping with each exhale as he starts to move. His hands make quick work of your pants, lifting your legs to pull the fabric off you, tossing them to the side before his teeth find the side of your leg as he grinds his hard cock into your exposed folds. He leans forward, taking your lips in a panting kiss rutting against you as his tongue explores your mouth. You want to touch him, reaching your hands up to tangle in his hair tugging just enough for him to feel it. Your breaths come quicker, your inhales melting into his exhales as his hand moves between you, palming your warm center. His calloused fingers rub small circles around your sensitive clit pulling a gasp from your lips as your back arches, pushing you further into him. Your core clenches at the feeling, heat blooming from your center and spreading through your body triggering your arousal to wet your soft lips.

You moan into his mouth, your heartbeat pounding against his chest as he moves to take your other breast into his mouth, swirling his tongue around your nipple and matching the rhythm of his fingertips mercilessly circling your aching clit. You feel two of his fingers slip into you and your mouth drops open, reveling in the teasing feeling of fullness he was giving you. “Fuck, y/n, you’re so fucking tight,” Touya groans against your skin, pulling away from your breast to watch your face as he moves his fingers inside you, grazing your innermost sensitive spot tightening your core around him. He leans back, sitting up on his knees to watch your pussy take his fingers as he adds one more. “Oh fuck...you feel so good,” his voice is rumbling and low, “Look at me, y/n, I want to see your face when I stuff you with this cock.”

Your eyes roll into the back of your head, lifting up on your elbows to grind into his fingers, letting him go deeper as he strokes your insides. Your legs are on his shoulders and you can see him slide his pants down enough for his cock to spring free. Your mouth waters at the sight of him, the thought of him going inside you makes you clench down around his fingers, the slick between your soft folds increasing by the second. You feel yourself getting close, about to tip over the edge of the swelling orgasm building inside you. Then, his fingers still as he pulls them out of you, leaving you aching and empty.

“Y/n, I can’t wait anymore,” he growls at you, his fingers glistening with your arousal, slipping into his mouth as he sucks them clean. “Fuck. You taste so fucking good.”

You’re a mess, your body begging for him to fill you up as you roll your hips against his dripping cock. He hisses, pulling a sharp inhale between his teeth as he grips your thigh in one hand pulling you closer. Your clenching already, just anticipating what he’s going to feel like inside you as he aligns himself with your entrance. His cock twitches against you, hovering at your entrance as he looks down at you, sliding in enough to lean down, placing his hands on either side of you with your legs on his shoulders. You’re looking up at him when he starts to move, his cock slowly pushing deeper inside you as a mewl slips from you parted lips. Your hands clench into fists, clutching at the soft padding beneath you as your eyes squeeze shut.

You’re both panting, your insides conforming to the girth and length of him as he fills you to the brim. He’s moving slowly, controlled and steady, his muscles tense as he fits all of him inside of you. You’re so full, the slight burn from him stretching you out only pushing you to feel more of him. “You’re taking me so well, baby….you feel so fucking good.” He lowers his body down until you feel his breaths against your lips, pushing your legs further down until your ankles are near your head. A growl vibrates through his chest and you feel a shift in his movements. His head drops down to your shoulder, his breathing ragged and uneven as he sinks his teeth into your skin, making you cry out in a low groan. The pain from his bite intermingling with the pleasure of feeling him inside you causing your walls to clamp down around him.

“Fffuck, Touya...fuck me,” you’re begging now, you don’t care. It feels too good, he feels so fucking good.

“Fuck,” his voice vibrates against you, rasping and guttural. He pushes himself up enough for you to see his eyes, they were almost...glowing, as if the crippling heat of a blue flame was burning behind his eyes. “I wanna hear you.”

He snaps his hips, pushing down against your legs as he pulls out just to drive back into your quivering pussy. Fuck. Fuck...FUCK. With every thrust he becomes more unhinged, his rhythm picking up speed as his hands tangle themselves in your hair, pushing you down further onto him as he impales you over and over. You’re incapable of thought, his growls and moans filling up the space around you as you reach up to wrap your fingers in his hair, pulling him down closer to you as the tip of his cock kisses your cervix at a punishing pace. Your bodies move in tandem, as your breaths melt into each other, his cock twitching inside you he hits your spot again and again pulling a string of moans from your mouth. You don’t know how loud you are but his muscles tighten beneath your touch at the sound of your voice.

“Come for me, y/n. Come on this cock right fucking now,” he growls into your open mouth, his lips grazing against yours as he slams into you and his words make you implode. Your back arching as your nails dig into his shoulders, your pussy milking him as he comes undone above you, your name on his lips like it’s the only thing he knows while thick ropes of warm come coat your insides. His breath catches like he’s gasping for air holding you against him, both of you panting sweating messes as your breaths slowly return to a regular pace. He pulls out of you, slowly, before sitting up to pull his pants up and roll over beside you, brushing your hair back and watching your face as your eyes start to flutter. You didn’t realize how tired you were, until now. You felt safe with him, you always did. He stirs next to you, moving to get up to grab your pants and he carefully slides them onto your spent body, taking care to lace them up and pull your shirt down before he turns to walk away. Your brow furrows, “Touya...where are you going?”

“There’s a body outside, remember?”

[emjiajia]

A historical artwork I made of Ludwig from some time ago, but this time I’ve written a small one-shot to go along with it^^ 

Note: The one-shot is historical and briefly mentions a slogan. If you are uncomfortable with historical AUs, please move on. This artwork/fanfic is not meant to promote any behaviour associated with WW2, but rather, an artistic ‘capture’ of a moment which explores human fragility. Ludwig will not be mentioned by name and instead noted as ‘the soldier’.

Without further ado, please enjoy->

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What is Left of Us 

The room—upon entering—was cold like a freezer, a few degrees below the comfortable temperature as expected from an indoor shelter. However, given it's tattered state of burnt walls, shattered glass windows and the howling wind of a late December evening, there was no right to give criticism. 

Military boots tapped lightly on the dusted-over floor of the building he entered. What used to be a lively household now lay an inch beneath the grey blanket of ash as it's owners fled in a panic. Chairs from the sitting area strung across the floor, toppling over each other, the mangled legs of its exquisite wood protruding out like some wounded beast. 

And yet, the soldier makes his way further into the silence where each breath he exhales quietly follows him in gushes of white mist. Those dull blue eyes, once so full of life now seemed empty, hollow. The light in them from a faraway past was a luxury and he was about to sink down onto the floor for a temporary escape before something in the corner of the room caught his eye—A piano. 

Bit by bit, peeled back behind of the cracking paint of his worn mind, revealed the distant hallucinations of a soon-to-be bride, a family, crowding around in the tight living quarters—to hear the beauty of that music which flowed through his veins and onto the marble-white keys that sink and rise gracefully with each sharpened note. 

Oh, what a time that was. 

Prior to the sunken darkness that a prolonged warfare would bring to them all. It raged, entangled with crimson red, explosions that echoed across the dirt passage of the nearby village, rubble, stone and lost lives trailing in its wake.  Stripping this man of his hopes, futures and whatever could come of it within a swirling whirlpool of madness. 

Hear the chanting little ones! Blood and Soil, For the Fatherland! 

The sickeningly sweet promises of glory have now, just like any reminders of hope, crumpled into ashes. 

A soldier's instinct only brought him wariness, the same tensed heartbeats as the battlefield, bullets raining, red seeping into the ground. His glaze pierced the atmosphere and air around him, a sharp point that tore a line into dead and sullen. Until finally, finally, the guard was let down. 

Gloved hands met the exposed piano keys, and they too, were covered in ash until the soldier pressed down on one with a shaking finger, exposing the pearly white components of a key as it’s dust carried over onto the black leather that suffocated his skin. The note was a small hum, one that seemed to have dissipated the heavy fog weighing down the room as he unfurled his hands, one from the grip of the gun slung over his shoulder and the other, from the tight fist it had been locked in. 

A heavy exhale, and then, he began to play.

[latte-fairytaekwoon]

❥𝓔𝓻𝓸𝓼 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓟𝓼𝔂𝓬𝓱𝓮

𝑃𝑎𝑖𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔: 𝐸𝑟𝑜𝑠! 𝐾𝑎𝑛𝑔 𝑌𝑒𝑜𝑠𝑎𝑛𝑔 × 𝑃𝑠𝑦𝑐ℎ𝑒! 𝑅𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟 (𝐹𝑒𝑚𝑎𝑙𝑒)

𝐺𝑒𝑛𝑟𝑒: 𝐹𝑙𝑢𝑓𝑓, 𝐴𝑛𝑔𝑠𝑡, 𝐿𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡 𝑆𝑚𝑢𝑡, 𝐹𝑎𝑛𝑡𝑎𝑠𝑦/𝐺𝑟𝑒𝑒𝑘 𝑀𝑦𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑙𝑜𝑔𝑦 𝐴𝑈.

𝑊𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝐶𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡: 11.8𝐾

𝑊𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠: 𝐻𝑒𝑎𝑣𝑦 𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑠 𝑜𝑓 𝑟𝑒𝑙𝑖𝑔𝑖𝑜𝑛, 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑠ℎ𝑖𝑝, 𝑚𝑎𝑔𝑖𝑐𝑎𝑙 𝑠𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠, 𝑚𝑦𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑙𝑜𝑔𝑖𝑐𝑎𝑙 𝑐𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑡𝑢𝑟𝑒𝑠/ 𝑑𝑒𝑖𝑡𝑖𝑒𝑠, 𝑠𝑢𝑔𝑔𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑣𝑒 𝑠𝑐𝑒𝑛𝑒𝑠, 𝑎𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑚𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑑 𝑠𝑢𝑖𝑐𝑖𝑑𝑒, 𝑑𝑒𝑐𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑒𝑑 𝑠𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑠 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑑𝑎𝑟𝑘, 𝑑𝑒𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑠𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑛𝑡.

~"𝑀𝑦 𝑠𝑜𝑢𝑙 𝑚𝑎𝑑𝑒 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑠𝑜𝑢𝑙 𝑙𝑜𝑛𝑔 𝑏𝑒𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑒 𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑏𝑜𝑑𝑖𝑒𝑠 𝑚𝑒𝑡.

𝑊ℎ𝑒𝑛 𝐼 𝑓𝑖𝑟𝑠𝑡 𝑙𝑎𝑖𝑑 𝑚𝑦 𝑒𝑦𝑒𝑠 𝑜𝑛 𝑦𝑜𝑢, 𝐼 𝑟𝑒𝑐𝑜𝑔𝑛𝑖𝑧𝑒𝑑 𝑦𝑜𝑢.

𝑌𝑜𝑢 ℎ𝑒𝑙𝑑 𝑚𝑦 𝑓𝑢𝑡𝑢𝑟𝑒 𝑖𝑛 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑠." - 𝐴𝑛𝑖𝑡𝑎 𝐾𝑟𝑖𝑧𝑧𝑎𝑛.

━━━━━━━༺۵༻━━━━━━━

"Eros, my darling son.......come here for a minute."

The golden haired goddess gently stroke the dove that was nestled in her embrace, her eyes fixated on the ray of light that shone through the crystal windows of her palace.

She heard the footsteps of her beloved child stop right in front of her. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him bend down in obeisance to her, his arm rested across his chest.

"Yes mother?" The snowy white haired deity awaited her instructions.

"I've been rather uneasy lately my love. Very uneasy." She waved her hand and he slowly rose up, eyes meeting hers.

"Why is that?"

The Olympian got up from her seat, sending the little dove flying away to perch itself on one of the trees that decorated the room. Gracefully, she paced around the room, her hands folded in front of her abdomen, fingers tapping against each other as she mused about the current situation.

"There's been....some unsettling rumors being spread in the mortal world and it has reached Olympus..."

Eros waited for her to continue. It must have been something very grievous for her to be so out of sorts, and this was the same goddess who didn't fear the consequences when her long life affair with his father, Ares, was discovered.

She peered down the window, sneering at the city below that was barely visible with all the clouds covering a vast majority of it.

"Apparently one of the daughter's of the King of Athens is said to be remarkably beautiful....."

She paused as she took a deep breath, jaw clenching as she sputtered out the next words.

"So enchanting that they dare compare her to me....Aphrodite, the goddess of beauty itself....

They've even begun to bring gifts and worship her on the day they're supposed to pay respect and praise to me!"

Eros flinched slightly when she hastily turned around and marched past him, tipping over a table that held a tray with a golden tea set. But he didn't stop her, so used to his mother's infantile tantrums, although he was pretty shocked to hear the severity of the issue. To worship a mere mortal, one who was so far below one of the gods, and not just any god, but one of the 12 Olympians themselves, was inconceivable.

Aphrodite clenched and unclenched her fist, trying to control her fury threatening to seek vengeance.

"I need you to go down there and find out who she is. And when you find her.....shoot her." She commanded him.

Eros nodded, understanding what she was asking of him.

"Who would you like me to have her fall for?"

Aphrodite groaned in annoyance.

"Oh! I don't know! Anyone or anything! An old haggard beggar, a toad, have her go mad over a tree stump for all I care! Just make her go insane!" She threw a cluster of grapes across the room, scaring the flock of doves who flew away to different parts of the room.

"As you wish my goddess."

Eros bowed to his mother one last time before retreating out of the hall, and going to his own chambers to prepare his necessary equipment for the journey. He too was curious to find out just how captivating this woman really was.

━━━━━━━༺۵༻━━━━━━━

The young girl sighed softly as she looked at all the smoke coming out from the temple, the light scent of incense could be made out from her bedroom window. She was well aware and against what was going on in there. It was utterly disrespectful of her father to allow them and even encourage his citizens to offer sacrifices to her in Aphrodite's sacred temple, and on her very own yearly celebration. Had they no fear of a wrath from the gods?

She simply looked away and went to her own little corner where she made a small shrine dedicated to the goddess of beauty, love and fertility. She admired the small marble figurine of the goddess herself, and straightened out the roses and pearls surrounding it. She lit fire to a few myrtles and let them burn in a small ash tray as she murmured one of the many hymns in devotion to the deity. If she wasn't so soft hearted, she would have finished it off with sacrificing one of the best doves that were kept in the stables, but she could never bring herself to do that. She hoped the goddess would understand and forgive her, or at least, try to appease her for all the foolishness her father was causing.

She straightened her nightgown and crawled under the blankets of her grand bed. She was exhausted from the day's festivities and from the guilt and fear eating her alive. She shut her eyes, secretly hoping it was nothing but a bad dream and when she awoke, everything would be fine and back to the ways it was meant to be. She soon was fast asleep, only movements coming out of her body were the rising of her chest, signaling her breathing.

A soft thud landed on her balcony. The being looked behind him, making sure nobody had seen him. Not that it mattered, even if they did, they would tremble away in fear. Pushing the window open, he let himself inside the girl's bedroom, the one they reverenced as Psyche. His eyes scanned the room, landing on the bed which he cautiously approached. His hand reached out to pull away at the drapes covering the sleeping figure.

"Let's see who is it that is said to rival Aphrodite."

Eros pulled the drape away, letting the moonlight behind him shine on the face of the occupant on the bed. His arm fell to his side, slapping slightly against his thigh as he took in the beautiful countenance of the woman sleeping peacefully in front of him. He blinked slowly, trying to decipher if what he was seeing was indeed real. She was absolutely breathtaking, almost ethereal, never had his sight been blessed by such radiant and magnificent beauty, and he'd spent some time around Poseidon's Nereids.

Without realizing it, his hand reached out to caress her face or simply push back a lock of her hair, he himself didn't know what he was doing. But a small shifting of position on her part made him retract his hand, elbow grazing on the leather of the pouch on his back.

That's right. He still had a mission to carry out.

His arm reached back and grabbed an arrow from the pouch. He then proceeded to hover his hand above the tip, humming the soft incantation that would allow him to pierce the girl's heart and render her insane for the first object she saw. As he chanted, she began to stir in her sleep, putting Eros on guard, hoping she wouldn't wake up. He took in how her once peaceful expression, showed now sorrow and pain. It somehow pained him to see such a beautiful girl seem so troubled. He was so lost in her gaze that he didn't realise it until it was too late...

Until he felt the sharp tip of the arrow prick into his palm, even piercing the skin. Eros widened his eyes as he quickly yanked the arrow out, flinging it across the room. He looked at his hand, no blood coming out because he was an immortal, but he still clutched it as he felt an overwhelming pain and flutter course through his entire body. His heart started to pump at a faster pace, and his breathing became heavier. He tried to look away, but his mind forced him to look back at the unsuspecting girl on the bed.

"Oh no......what have I done?" He whispered softly.

Feeling dizzy, he scurried out the window, not caring anymore about being seeing in the dark of night, he just knew he wanted to back in Olympus as soon as possible. He flew back into the heavens, discarding only a few white feathers on his desperate flight back.

━━━━━━━༺۵༻━━━━━━━

Psyche stood in front of the mirror, trying not to gaze at her own reflection, which she thought of as more of a curse than a blessing. She simply let her maids comb and adorn her hair as they wished and wrap a golden belt around her lilac colored tunic.

"My lady would you like breakfast brought to you or would you prefer to go down to the dining room?" One of them inquired.

She shook her head.

"I won't be taking breakfast today thank you."

The maids exchanged a puzzled look between each other but decided not to pry any longer. They simple allowed their mistress to wander off to the castle's pavilion located in the center of the gardens.

She preferred being alone these days, avoiding as many people as possible, but especially her father. Lately he had been rambling and complaining non stop at the lack of suitors coming to propose marriage to her. It'd been almost a year since he put out the announcement that she was of age and ready to be betrothed to any suitable prince or monarch, he had even raised the dowry triple what it was originally worth, but still, no one had come to claim her or propose.

"Perhaps it's just as well." She thought to herself. It wouldn't surprise her if this was how Aphrodite was showing her anger, by making her face the humiliation of being unwedded and childless.

Perhaps the biggest thing bothering her was the fact men just came to admire her beauty, but seemed to never really fall in love with her, and she herself couldn't fall in love either. Was she just a pretty face for people to gawk and fawn over? Was she destined to feel lonely and empty for the rest of her life?

"Little Psyche out here all alone?"

She stiffened when she heard the voice of her eldest sister, Amara, from behind her. Small steps let her know she was entering the pavilion and soon enough, she felt her presence stand right next to her.

"I wanted to be alone. That's all." She explained, although she really didn't feel the need to.

Her sister hummed softly.

"Would one really think that to be such a good idea? Father would be concerned if anything happened to his precious and beautiful Psyche, especially after that incident of the arrow in your room."

She was getting irritated at this point, her hand gripping harshly at the side of her tunic, creasing it slightly.

"That was many months ago Amara.....and I've said before that I don't like the title given to me by my father and the people....."

She took a deep breath before stating firmly:

"My name is Y/N and I shall be referred as such."

Her sister was taken aback by her sharp tone, but paid no attention to it. She opted for plucking some of the little violets that surrounded one of the pillars.

"As you wish....after all, anything you say is practically law. Anything you desire, you'll get." Her voice was laced with envy.

Y/N shook her head.

"Not everything."

Although she was referring to the fact her father refused to listen to her in the matter of Aphrodite's temple, her sister wrongly thought she meant the matter of matrimony.

"Oh don't worry little sister. Father is to go visit the Oracle of Delphi to seek help from Apollo in regards to your.......shameful circumstances."

Y/N couldn't stand it anymore. It's not that she hated her sister, but lately she seemed to enjoy in taking delight of her misery and pain, hurting her with her mock pity and double sided remarks.

"If you'll excuse me Amara, I shall go back inside."

Y/N was barely 4 feet away when her sister dismissed her.

"See you later......Psyche."

Y/N refused to eat during the entire day, worrying her loyal and trustworthy maids.

"But Miss....you must eat at least a little. Whatever shall you do if your beauty fades away?"

'Then I shall be content.'

She only thought those words but didn't say them out loud. She felt bad about her maids attending to her with such tenderness that she forced herself to at least eat some of the grapes in front of her. It seemed to put her maids more at ease and Y/N was happy about it.

"Anything in particular you wish for us to do Miss?"

There was one thing she really wanted. Something everyone around her never seemed to do anymore.

"Could you......could you please call me Y/N?"

The two women looked back and forth at each other, unsure of whether to refer to the princess in such an informal way.

"Please?"

Y/N was just craving to be reminded of who she truly was, be assured about her existence and her true person. Both women smiled fondly at her before curtsying to her.

"Lady Y/N."

She felt her heart full with warmth and felt happier in that moment than she had felt in the last 8 months that had gone by. But that happiness was short lived when her door swung open, her other sister, Melia rushing in, looking out of sorts and with fear in her eyes.

"Melia? What's wrong?"

Y/N stood up, but it was her sister who clutched onto her and sobbed on her neck.

"Oh poor Psyche! Why must this have happened to you? To my dear little sister?"

Y/N didn't know what to make of this, but it must be something dreadful if her usually composed and quiet sibling was hysteric. She pulled her back to take in her countenance.

"Tell me. What is it?" Y/N pleaded.

Melia pursed her lips before recounting what she heard and witnessed.

"Father came back from meeting with Apollo's Oracle......and Psyche, it's dreadful!"

Y/N gulped slightly. Although she was expecting the answer to not be a favorable one, she was not expecting this outburst.

"Tell me Mel.......am I not to get married ever?"

Y/N braced herself for the negative response.

Melia shook her head though.

"No Psyche.....it's much much worse than that."

Y/N felt her heart drop at that. What could there possibly be that was worse than not getting married?

"The Oracle told father that your husband has already been chosen for you. He gave us instructions that we are to deliver you to the top of Mount Lycabettus, dressed in black and to leave you there...."

She sniffled and held her handkerchief to her mouth.

"Will my husband meet us there?" She questioned.

Melia shook her head no.

"Well- then how can we be married?" She was beyond puzzled at this point.

"We don't know Psyche, the Oracle only said to deliver you. One thing is sure Psyche. Your husband is not mortal."

Y/N would have rejoiced at the information would it not have been for the terror in her sister's eyes.

"Melia tell me.....who exactly is my husband?"

Melia seemed troubled to reveal more information to her, but she knew she had to say it.

"We don't know. He refused to tell father. All he mentioned was that he flies through the skies and even the gods are terrified of him.....

"Psyche....I fear you're destined to marry a monster..."

━━━━━━━༺۵༻━━━━━━━

The girl watched as her parents, sisters and their husbands disappeared from sight, not even leaving behind their footprints to keep her company. Crouching down, she settled herself onto the ground, her arms wrapping around to hug her knees. She sighed in despair as she thought about what was going to happen to her now. Was her new husband really a monster? It seemed to be the only logical explanation if even gods were afraid of him. The only thing she could think of was....

A titan?

'No it can't be.'

She quickly discarded that thought. All of the titans were locked away in Tartarus. And the world would have definitely known if a titan had gotten out.

She anxiously waited for a sign, a movement of some kind, but nothing ever came. All she had to accompany her besides her solitude was the light breeze that blew some of her hair in front of her face. She shivered slightly, her arms crossing over her chest as she rubbed them with her hands. She faintly noticed that the wind seemed to be getting a little more heavier, and it seemed as though fog started to appear around her. But Y/N couldn't really pay attention to it as she felt herself getting drowsy and tired. She struggled to keep her eyes open, but the feeling was overtaking her. Her eyes ended up closing as she fell back onto the moss underneath her, falling fast asleep without even knowing why.

While asleep, she felt a strange sensation of being lifted up and carried up into the sky, almost as if though she were flying.....but that was surely impossible? But it felt so real. She had a fantastical dream of flying above the peak of mountains, drift through the clouds in the sky and somehow even be close to the stars. She felt as if she were being carried in the arms of some strong entity. And at the end, she could faintly hear a voice assure her:

"Have no fear little one, for you are truly loved."

Awakening hours later, when it was even darker and more deep into the night than before, she sat up and looked around at her surroundings. The green moss from before was no longer accompanying her. Instead, she awoke to find herself placed on an ivory marble resting bench. Beautiful varieties of roses surrounded what she guessed to be a very beautiful and luxurious garden. Her hand reached out to caress one of them, its petals being one of the most soft things she'd ever felt.

Standing up, she followed the stone path that was right in front of her. A tiny river flowed through the garden, a slight trickling sound was the only noise that was heard. She stopped when a grand and extravagant mansion stood before her. It was 10 times more beautiful and seemed more expensive than the very castle she grew up in. Cautiously, she over to the front door, which seemed to be made out of pure gold, pearls adorning the edges of them.

Y/N was about to knock on it, but to her surprise, the doors opened by themselves. She slowly stepped inside, her eyes bulging out as her eyes took in the hall in front of her. Clean and neatly polished marble floor, crimson red silk drapes covering large and vast windows, the furniture looked unlike anything she had ever seen before. Her hand was gliding over the ottoman in the center of it when a voice called out:

"Welcome mistress! We have been expecting you!"

She whipped her head around, then looked at all directions, but found no one standing anywhere near her.

"Who...who are you?" Y/N fearfully looked at the ceiling then at every corner, wondering where the voice was.

"We're your servants mistress." A chorus of at least 5 women rang out, puzzling her even more.

"Where....are you?"

The invisible women giggled amongst themselves.

"We are right here next to you mistress. I'm afraid you just can't see us."

Y/N watched as a silver pitcher was lifted up in the air, pouring what seemed to be wine in a glass cup, which was then hovered right in front of her.

"Wine mistress?"

Y/N hesitantly took the cup, indeed feeling someone's weight let go of it. She took a small sip of the wine, its rich and crisp flavor enticing her to drink more of it.

"Would you care for any fruits?" A platter holding strawberries, grapes, cherries and blueberries were held up in front of her. They looked so fresh and ripe, Y/N couldn't help but reach for one of the grapes, her tastebuds becoming completely engaged at how delicious and juicy they were.

She no longer felt disturbed by the faceless voices talking to her, nor about the objects floating around, carrying articles that were being offered to her, and she did not get startled when she heard music filling the room, playing the most sweet and beautiful melody her ears were blessed to hear. She just let her invisible attendants feed her some exotic foods that she never even knew existed. She also didn't mind them guiding her to a lavatory, where there was a bathtub, the size of a large pond already waiting for her. She nearly slipped into another deep sleep when she stepped inside, the warm water relaxing her muscles while the scent of lavender calmed and eased her mind. After washing her body, her maids oiled and scented her body with vanilla and jasmine while they dried her. She saw as a periwinkle blue robe was extended towards her and Y/N slipped into it, her hands caressing the soft, velvet material, smoothing the folds on her waist and hips.

"Oh mistress! You look so beautiful!" One of them cheerfully exclaimed.

"You're the most beautiful creature we've been honored to serve." Another piped in.

"We're so happy to have you here with us. It shall be a lot more livelier now." She heard someone chuckle.

"I think our job for tonight is done. My lady, please step into the room behind the other door. The master will join you shortly."

Y/N was so filled with bliss and contentment, that she had completely forgotten why she was here in the first place. Recalling her sister words, she begged her maids not to leave her, but they apologized and retreated to who knows where, leaving her by herself once again. Her hand reached for the doorknob, turning it slowly before she stepped into the next room.

Y/N tried to move around in the space, but it was extremely difficult because the room was pitch black. She could barely make out the outlines of the chairs, the bed draped with curtains or the dressers. On the corner, she saw a single window, but the curtains were drawn, and even if it was open, the dark night would hardly help her see any better. Y/N out stretched her arms, grabbing onto the empty void around her to maneuver herself to the bed, where she settled down into, hugging her knees like she did back when her family left her on top of the mountain.

She rocked herself back and forth as many thoughts ran over her mind:

'When will he arrive? Will he be kind or not? What will he look like....

And who was he?'

Y/N rested her hands on her arms that were hugging her knees, her eyes closing, but she wasn't tired at all. She just wished time would speed up faster and someone could explain to her what was going on. She felt a light breeze suddenly pass through the room. Looking up, she saw that the curtains by the window had been moved, pushed slightly open, letting just the dimmest sliver of light pour in, but she still couldn't see anything.

She felt something .....someone else in the room with her. On edge, she quickly sat up from the bed and tried to make way back to the other room.

"You have nothing to fear my dearest Y/N."

She halted at the sound of her name. She was expecting to be called that odious title she was often referred to, but instead, she heard her very own name.

"How....how do you know my name?"

The deep, baritone voice spoke again.

"It wouldn't be fitting for a husband to not know his own wife's name, don't you think?"

Y/N eased slightly at his words but still felt nervous.

"Where...are you?" She took small steps, eyes squinting to see something, anything.

She felt a rush of warmth fill up her body when a gentle hand placed itself on her shoulder.

"I'm right here beside you, where I shall always be."

She didn't tremble at his touch, on the contrary, she relaxed and her fear was suddenly gone. Whoever the stranger was, he slowly turned her around to face him. She could make out a bit of his outline, but still couldn't define any of his features or details.

"Why aren't there any lamps? I can't see you."

Lifting her hand, he placed it on his cheek, his skin feeling as soft as a petal.

"See me with your touch my love."

Her hand delicately traced his features, trying to imagine what he looked like. He had a very sharp jawline, a well defined nose and delicately carved lips that tempted her to reach up and kiss them. She was still confused as to why she couldn't see him though. As if on cue, he spoke:

"I know it must be difficult for you to understand this Y/N. But please don't be afraid of me. I would never hurt you."

Y/N retracted her hand.

"My...my sister said you're a monster."

He chuckled heartedly, his voice full of music and splendor.

"Do I feel like a monster or sound like one?"

Y/N giggled softly, realizing it did seem silly.

"If you're not a monster though......why can't I see you?"

She could feel the man in front of her think about how to answer her. Sighing softly, he took her hand again, holding it with his two hands and running a thumb on the top of it.

"I'm afraid I can't give you the answer to that question yet...."

She felt her heart sink at his words. She lowered her head in disappointment. Not wanting to upset her more, he kissed the palm of her hand and swore:

"Just please trust me Y/N, and I'll promise to love you forever......can you trust me?"

Maybe she was mad or delusional, but in spite of all the mystery surrounding him, she sincerely felt the veracity of his promise and had no doubt in her mind about trusting him. She moved closer to him, accidentally stepping too far and colliding with his firm chest.

"Umph!" Y/N groaned slightly.

He giggled softly at her cute action. He saw as she tried to reach out again to feel him, but instead pulled her hand away.

"You can touch me love."

Her hands once again traced his smooth face, traveling down his neck before resting on his broad shoulders. Although he felt somewhat slim, his body seemed very toned and vigorous. Y/N wanted to drop her hands further but she felt to shy to do it. Once again, he read her mind.

"Y/N....it's ok. We're married." He drew out that last word, more to himself than to her.

Her hands pressed down across his chest. She could tell his tunic was made out of fine linen, even if she couldn't see it. His chest felt strong and sturdy, she bit her lip slightly as she pictured what it would look like in the light, without his garment.

She gasped when she felt him pull her against him, his breath against her lips, just wanting to close the space between them and kiss her. His finger traced the curve of her luscious and plump lips. Although she was content with everything he'd said so far, there was just one more question she had:

"I....... I don't know what to call you."

He raised an eyebrow at her.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean....you know my name....but you never told me yours." She pulled away slightly.

He realized she was right. She felt him smile at her as he brought her face close to his again.

"Please call me Yeosang." Her heart fluttered when she heard his name.

Yeosang brushed his lips against hers.

"Trust me my dear. I love you with all my heart."

Y/N melted at his words and before she knew it, she whispered back:

"I love you too....Yeosang."

As soon as she spoke out those words, Yeosang could no longer control himself as he enclosed his lips over hers in a passionate and loving kiss. Y/N blushed at being kissed for the first time in her life, but happily returned the gesture, surprised that she easily could. Even though she couldn't see him, she knew Yeosang was beautiful, ethereal and very kind...

And she was already falling in love with him.

━━━━━━━༺۵༻━━━━━━━

It had been roughly 4 months into their marriage and Y/N was extremely happy. He'd visit her in the dead of night everyday, as usual, in the pitch black so she couldn't see him, but she had grown accustomed to that. He'd usually leave before she was even awake and before the sun would even start coming out. He'd always leave a red rose by her dresser everyday, attached with a small note filled with terms of endearment and vows of love and adoration for her, always succeeding in making her blush.

Y/N was more than content. Now, whenever she looked in the mirror, she wouldn't turn away nor hate the face she saw. She came to love her appearance now, because there was light and love in it. She was in love, she was loved and there was no greater feeling than that.

During the day, she would either spend time outside in the garden or inside, her maids, or rather, their presence, always keeping her company. She loved listening to their stories about the world she was now a part of, finding them extremely fascinating. They were all so gentle and caring towards her, attending to her every needs and overall staying by her side so she wouldn't get lonely.

"Won't you tell us something about where you are from for once Mistress?"

Y/N was elated, happily telling them all about her home, her family, how she grew up and various other aspects of her life.

"You seem very close to your family Misstress." One of them observed.

"I am. I love them very much, and I have such fondness for my sisters...."

She stopped at the moment. It hit her how she hadn't heard from her family since she got there, nor did they have any idea of her whereabouts or her fate. Her heart suddenly felt sad as she began missing them terribly.

"Mistress is something wrong?"

Y/N quickly plastered a smile back on her face, not wanting them to be concerned at all. Instead suggesting they all play a game together so she wouldn't think about it. But it was futile. Her mind kept thinking back to her family. She missed them more and more. She hardly ate anything else for the rest of the day, instead opting to go to her room rather early, even though it'd be hours before Yeosang got there. She wept silently, her tears staining the pillow underneath her face. She tried to keep a positive and cheerful attitude when he did finally got there, but he could sense that something was troubling his beloved wife.

"What's bothering you my love?"

Y/N sighed softly.

"I miss my family...."

Yeosang tightened his embrace around her, his lips kissing her temple. Y/N nuzzled her face into the crook of his neck, drinking in his scent that always calmed and soothed her mind.

"They must be so worried about me. They probably don't even know if I'm alive or not." She continued to pour out her distress.

Yeosang was pensive for a moment, wondering what he could do to help his sweetheart.

"Would you like to write to them? I can have someone give it to them." He offered.

Although Y/N found it kind of him to offer it, more than anything, she wanted to see them.

"I was actually wondering......if maybe they could come see me?" She reluctantly asked.

She very well noticed how Yeosang tensed up. Even in the darkness, she had learned to read his body language and knew he was hesitating about what to respond.

"I......I'm not sure that's a good idea love..."

Yeosang's heart felt when he heard a disappointed sigh escape her lips. It hurt her to see her in such a state. All he wanted was to make her happy. So although there were going to be risks, he agreed.

"They can't meet me. But if you wish, I can have Zephyr bring them here just like he brought you."

Y/N became so happy at the thought of seeing them again. Cupping Yeosang's face, she kissed him fervently, her reaction making Yeosang chuckle.

"Does it really make you that happy?" He questioned as he caressed her face.

Y/N nodded happily.

"So I take it you won't need anything else tonight?"

Well....there was actually one more thing. Y/N bit her lip as she stared up at Yeosang with a sparkle in her eyes.

"Oh.....I see."

Y/N could hear the smugness in his voice, but she didn't care. Not when he lips made her melt, when his hands caressed and fondled her tenderly and especially not when he slid in and out of her in such a passionate and loving way, bringing her into such a euphoric state. Another thing she discovered about Yeosang: he was an amazing lover, she almost felt drunk in his love whenever his body became one with hers.

Yeosang let out a grunt when he spilled himself inside of her, enjoying the feeling of her walls tightening around him as she also reached her own high. Without pulling out, Yeosang bent down to kiss her again, his hand reaching down to press against her stomach.

"I can't wait until you become pregnant with my child. I bet you'll look even more lovely than what you already are."

Y/N felt her face flush at his words. Suddenly feeling confident, she teased him.

"How about we try again? Just in case."

Yeosang sucked in a breath, his hands gripping at her hips.

"I thought you'd never ask."

Y/N's hands clutched at the sheets underneath her, moans slipping out of her lips as Yeosang moved inside of her once again, this time at a more fast and rough pace than before.

━━━━━━━༺۵༻━━━━━━━

Y/N offered more pastries to her sisters. Melia excitedly accepted them, loving how rich and exquisite the foods at her little sister's place were. Amara however refused, her eyes still looking around at the place. She was very put off by how strange Y/N's circumstances were. The weird wind that transported them there, the invisible servants, the fact they could not meet her husband? It was extremely confusing. But most of all, she was insanely jealous of how Y/N was living. Her mansion was 10 times better than hers, the food was of better quality than what was served at her castle and everything was just so much more expensive.

"You seem to be...very happy here." Amara pointed out, her lips pursed tightly.

Y/N couldn't help but smile.

"I'm more than happy. I love it here. And I love my husband."

"Such a shame we couldn't meet him. Do you know when we will get the opportunity?" Melia asked.

"Oh...umm.....the thing is...you can't meet him..." Y/N fumbled with the sash across her dress.

Her two older sisters looked at her incredulously, then they looked at each other with a suspicious look.

"So is it true then? That he's a monster with scaly skin, serpent tongue and sharp teeth?" Melia looked frightened.

Y/N slammed her fist on the table, outraged that they'd dare think such things of Yeosang like that.

"He's not a monster! He's beautiful, absolutely handsome and the most kind being I have ever met!"

Her outburst made them even more curious.

"Then tell me Psyche, what does he look like?" Amara raised an eyebrow.

"It's Y/N! My name is Y/N. And.....I......I don't know! But I just know he's beautiful!"

Melia seemed puzzled.

"You don't know? What does that mean?"

Feeling cornered, Y/N had no choice but to tell them how her husband would only visit her at night, shrouded in darkness and whisper loving words in her ear. That only served to sprout out more questions from her siblings.

"How can you possibly be in love with him if you've never seen him?"

"I just am!" Y/N exclaimed.

"If he doesn't see you during the day, where does he go to?" Amara pressed on.

"I don't know." Y/N answered.

Not wanting to miss the chance to hurt her younger sister, Amara smirked wickedly at her.

"I bet I know where."

It took Y/N a few seconds to comprehend what her sister was implying, but when she did, it only served to further anger her.

" You're wrong. I know What you're thinking and you're wrong. Yeosang loves me!" She was fuming at this point.

Amara however rolled her eyes at her foolishness.

"All right. Let's say he really is as handsome as you say he is. Why must he be so stubborn about not letting you see him nor know where he goes off to?"

Y/ N crossed her arms.

"I don't know. He asked me to trust him and I do".

Melia now seemed concerned for her.

"Psyche... do you not realize that maybe ...... he could be seeing other women while he's away?"

Y/N now froze at what her sister said. Her brain kept telling her not to listen to them, that Yeosang was faithful to her and would never lie to her. But then she remembered how her own sister's husbands behaved and she couldn't help but think if perhaps Yeosang would do anything similar like them.

"No..... it can't be true...."

Amara suspiciously came up behind Y/N, placing a hand on her shoulder.

"If he really did love you.....why would he force you to live with such doubts?"

That was the final drop that made the glass tip over. Y/N had to find out who exactly it was that was sleeping with her every night.

━━━━━━━༺۵༻━━━━━━━

Y/N waited until Yeosang was fast asleep, his breathing calm and serene. Carefully, she peeled herself from his grasp and crept out of the bed and to one of the dressers. She silently took out a candle and match that she had secretly hid inside. Walking as cautiously as she could, she stood by the edge of the bed where Yeosang was. Taking a deep breath, she striked the match and lit up the candle, holding it up so she could finally see him for the very first time.

Her eyes grew wide as she stared into the most beautiful face she had ever seen. He was absolutely glorious. His hair was white like the snow in winter, skin fair like marble ivory, his jawline was chiseled to perfection with a nose that seemed to have been carved to perfection. And he layed there, sleeping soundly with absolutely no clue that she had just betrayed his trust.

"Oh no.....what have I done?"

Y/N was so horrified with herself that she unconsciously tumbled backwards, hitting herself on a piece of furniture. Suddenly Yeosang awoke, his eyes painted with agony once he realized what was happening.

"I.....I can explain!"

But Yeosang simply sat up without a word, already reaching for his tunic. He sighed as he stood up and walked towards the window.

"Please forgive me Yeosang! I beg you!"

Y/N dropped to her knees, tears pouring out her eyes. Yeosang pinched the bridge of his nose, head full of turbulent thoughts that he couldn't place in order.

"Please just say something!" She cried out, desperate to hear his voice.

"I knew it would be a bad idea to let you see your sisters. I knew they'd turn you against me and actually betray me...."

If they were still in the dark, Y/N would have still been able to recognize the hurt and pain in his words.

"I'm sorry Yeosang! I'm sorry for not trusting you! But I kept thinking about their words, they said you were probably visiting other-"

"You could have chosen to not listen to them! No one forced you to believe them! You chose to act on your own accord!".

It was the first time he had ever raised his voice at her, and it boomed all over the room, making her tremble in fear. Yeosang opened the window and stepped out into the balcony.

"No no! Please!"

Y/N ran after him, her hands wrapping around his neck in an attempt to keep him there. Gently, he pried her hands off him, looking somberly at her.

"My mother told me not to trust you. That you were a mortal woman and would never understand me or us, and break my trust. I could never believe that she was right....."

Y/N saw as tears filled on the brim of his eyes.

"But I was too madly in love to listen to her..... I guess I truly did get a taste of my own medicine."

Yeosang made way to leave again, but Y/N held onto him.

"Please don't leave me! I'll die without you! I love you Yeosang!"

Not able to contain his feelings anymore, Yeosang pushed her off him and turned sternly to her.

"Don't.....ever say such lies again...and don't address me so informally you lowly mortal. I am not your equal and I am no longer Yeosang to you..."

Y/N covered her mouth in terror and astonishment when ethereal and shiny wings sprouted from his back, making him look even more heavenly than he already was.

"I am Eros, son of Aphrodite and Ares, the god of love ......... and you......."

He sniffled as tears streamed down his face.

"I can't stay here knowing that I want to hold you..."

Without any other word, speedily flew out of there, disappearing from her sight. Y/N shouted for him, going mad at the thought that she had just lost the love of her life. She was so erratic that she didn't think twice before she flung herself down the balcony, not wanting to live without her love. Unfortunately for her, a large gust of wind stopped her fall, placing her gently on the ground, thwarting her plan.

"Let me die!" Y/N pounded the ground.

"I'm afraid I can't let you do that Psyche. Aside from being tasked to bring you here, Eros appointed me to make sure no harm should ever come to you."

Although it was supposed to be calming, Zephyr's voice only angered her.

"So I can't even die?!"

Zephyr sent a small breeze, the only physical way of comfort he could bring her since he was invisible.

"Psyche, we both know you don't actually want to die."

"Yes I do! My heart is broken. My love is gone and it's because of my foolishness. I have nothing else to live for!" She declared.

Zephyr sighed.

"My lady....all hope is not lost. I may perhaps.....know a way of helping you."

Y/N perked her ears at his words.

"But first, allow me to tell you a little story, one you don't know about but in which you were the main protagonist."

Y/N watched as a swirl of clouds formed above her, Zephyr trying to make his presence manifested as he began recounting a story:

"Now...it all began when the people began to worship you instead of Aphrodite. I know, we all do you tried to stop them. We weren't blind to it. But Aphrodite is a jealous goddess. She could not stand someone being compared to her. So she sent Eros to you with the task of making you fall in love with a toad or something similar."

Y/N didn't seem too surprised by that. She knew fully well who Eros was and why he was feared even among gods, because no one was immune to his arrows that made them fall in love.

"He came to you one night while you were sleeping. He was so distracted by your beauty that he ended up pricking himself with his own arrow."

Now it made sense to her what he meant when he said he had gotten a dose of his own medicine. She was shocked that this actually happened.

"Eros had fallen in love with you. Curious isn't it, that while you were the most admired woman in the country, no one proposed. Wanna know why? Because Eros stepped in every time, making any suitor fall in love with someone else so they wouldn't take you away from him."

Y/N remembered all those months where no one approached her. Now it all made sense.

"Poor Eros was also begging his mother to let him marry you. But of course, being as stubborn as she is, Aphrodite refused. It became such a quarrel between them that Eros refused to obey her anymore if she didn't agree. Of course, she couldn't have that, so she allowed him to marry you on one condition: your love had to be put to a test....which....I think you know what it was."

Y/N nodded. He asked her to trust him even if she couldn't see him, but she betrayed him.

"Aphrodite probably isn't surprised. She expected it all along. But Eros......he was so in love with you that he put all his faith and trust in your love. And now.....he's probably back home again, moaning and crying just like when he came back that night he met you."

Now the guilt began to eat her up.

"I don't deserve him. I never did. I deserve to die."

Zephyr sighed once again.

"Now now child. As I said. Not all hope is lost. Listen very carefully to me Psyche. Here's what you're going to do."

━━━━━━━༺۵༻━━━━━━━

Y/N waited for the goddess to arrive. Her fingers fidgeted nervously, playing with the belt on her tunic. She suddenly felt a gush of wind pass by her. Light started to emanate from the ground. Y/N stared in wonder as a powerful entity appeared before her, looking so radiant and angelic that Y/N froze in place before remembering who was standing in front of her. She fell to the ground in honor and respect for the goddess in front of her.

"My goddess Aphrodite. I am your humble servant who has offered sacrifices at your temple and-"

"Oh stop groveling like a little bitch and get up." The goddess sneered at her.

Y/N slowly got up. Aphrodite stepped closer to her, one of her slender fingers tilting her chin up as she closely scanned her rival's face. Bewilderment took over her features, a scoff coming out of her mouth.

"Impressive. Very extraordinary. ..."

She let go of her and backed away.

"Pity though that your eyes are still red and puffy from weeping like a child. It really does not suit you....nevertheless, even I acknowledge you're beautiful and pleasing...."

She crossed her arms.

"No wonder my son is so smitten with you."

Y/N glanced up at the mention of Yeosang.

"Tell me, how is Yeosang? How is my husband."

Aphrodite lifted a hand.

"First of all, you have no right to call him by his birth name. You shall only address him by his godly name you mortals know. And second, he isn't your husband anymore, not after you broke your end of the marriage."

Being reminded of her acts, Y/N once again felt remorseful and ashamed. But she was not about to give up.

"If there's anything I can do to mend things, I'm prepared to do it."

Aphrodite rolled her eyes.

"Yes yes I know very well you are willing to. Zephyr didn't bring you here just for giggles or a cup of tea. And either way, sooner or later Zeus and Hera would have been on my ass about intervening, not to mention that his father wouldn't leave me alone if he saw the state his son was in."

Y/N beamed with joy at the thought of being able to mend things with her love.

"Thank you oh most merciful goddess!" Y/N resisted the urge to throw her hands around the goddess and hug her.

Aphrodite, however, dismissed her thanks.

"Don't get so happy yet foolish girl. I haven't even told you what the tasks are yet."

Beckoning her to follow, Aphrodite lead her through a meadow and deep into a forest. There, she approached a tall laurel tree and pointed at something on the floor.

"Before your eyes, you see a pile of different types of grains. Your job is simple: separate them all and arrange them into piles."

Y/N's jaw dropped at the task.

"That's impossible! It's not simple!"

Aphrodite merely shrugged. "If you truly love Eros, you'll find a way."

She turned away and began walking back to where she came from, but not before telling her:

"Oh and Psyche? You have until sundown to finish."

Y/N knew the goddess was probably laughing by now, already gloating in her failure and inability to finish such a task. She slumped down on the ground and began picking at the grains. They all looked too similar, there was no way to tell them apart. Y/N flung the grains back in the pile.

"It's hopeless..."

She wasn't offered a second chance, she was merely being humiliated for the own amusement of Aphrodite. Y/N couldn't help but wonder if she deserved this....

Suddenly she felt something crawl up on her hand. Looking down, she saw a tiny ant perched on one of her fingers.

"Hello most beautiful mortal. Please don't cry. Let me assure you that this grain will be sorted before Aphrodite comes back."

If Y/N hadn't already seen so miracles and fantasy sightings since she arrived, she would have seriously thought she was insane for thinking an ant was actually talking to her. She watched as thousands of other ants crawled up and began carrying the grains out of the pile, effectively assorting them into neat and tidy piles.

"How are you..?"

The tiny ant let out a squeaky laugh. "This is our specialty my lady. We do this every year."

"But...why are you helping me?" She couldn't understand why they would help her.

"Don't fret about that right now. Leave this all to us and just worry about being reunited with your loved one."

Y/N was touched by their tremendous kindness, thanking them incessantly as they eagerly finished what seemed to not an impossible task for her. True to their word, before the sun set, it was already finished. 5 piles stood in front of her. The ants bid her farewell and good luck for any upcoming tests Aphrodite was going to put on her.

When the goddess came to inspect the work, her eyes nearly bulged out when she saw it was accomplished. Scoffing, she crossed her arms.

"I see you finished it....very well. Tomorrow I shall take you to do the second task. But trust me, you won't get very far."

The goddess was so sure Y/N would never be able to finish them, but she didn't count on the fact someone was pulling strings behind the scenes to make sure Y/N would be successful. When Y/N was tasked to collect the gold fleece from the magical sun rams, the mystery person asked the reeds growing on the riverbank near her, to tell Y/N to wait until the rams left the pasture to fall asleep in a meadow, then she'd be able to collect fleece that would usually get caught on the brambles where they often played or fought in. On her third task, she had to collect water from a pit that was guarded by a fearsome dragon. Y/N dared not approach the beast, but once again, the hidden figure sent an enormous eagle to help her by flying her down the pit while the dragon slept so she could fill up the bottle Aphrodite gave her. Y/N asked the eagle, like she did the reeds and ants, why were they helping her, but all of them remained silent, not answering her question. They only wished her luck and encouraged her to stay determined to win back her husband.

Aphrodite took the bottle in her hands, fury in her eyes as she flung it across the room in pure outrage.

"I don't know what kind of tricks you've pulled to accomplish these tasks so easily, but I will not stand for it any longer!"

Determined to make sure Y/N would never see her son no matter the cost, she declared her last mission:

"You must go into the Underworld and bring me Queen Persephone's beauty cream, the one she makes herself. I was going to go there myself....but you can do it for me."

Aphrodite's eyes did not hide her malice or her hatred towards the poor girl.

"But....no human can descend into the Underworld and return!" Y/N exclaimed.

"Then I guess you shall have to be the first."

━━━━━━━༺۵༻━━━━━━━

Y/N touched the ground softly as Zephyr dropped her down.

"Psyche listen to me very carefully. There is a way for mortals to go into the Underworld and return alive. But pay very close attention or you'll never see the light of day."

Out of thing air, Zephyr made 2 coins and a loaf of bread apart before her.

"The coins are for Charon. He's the boatman that will take you to the Underworld and will also bring you back. The bread is for Cerberus."

Y/N gulped at the mention of the dog that guarded the gates of the Underworld.

"You mean.....the one with 50 heads?"

Zephyr laughed.

"You humans sure do like to add charm to stories. No Psyche. Cerberus only has 3 heads. He won't do anything to you while going in, it's when you're getting out that'll be the problem. You see, he's not guarding souls from going in, he guards them from leaving."

Y/N nodded, drinking up all the information he was feeding to her.

"When you're leaving, give a piece to each of the heads, it'll put him to sleep long enough for you to get out of there as fast as you can."

"Got it."

Y/N began walking into the foggy mist, trembling slightly as she realized she was about to be in front of the gates of hell very soon.

"Another thing! Accept no food or drink and do not rest at all! Just go in, take the cream and get out. I'll be waiting here for you."

"Thank you Zephyr."

Y/N wandered through the dense and humid mist that blurred most of her vision. She spotted a light looming out of the water and headed towards it. She stopped when she reached the end of the dock and stood face to face with a dark cloaked figure. Its face was completely hidden by the hood, the only thing she could see were its hands that were holding a staff that was no doubt used to row out boat.

"Are you.....are you Charon?"

The cloaked figure simply nodded very slowly.

"Can you take me to see Queen Persephone?"

Charon did not respond either that time, instead he held his hand out. Y/N now could clearly see that his hand was only bone, absolutely no flesh or skin surrounding it. Although startled, she handed one of the coins to him, which he put into a small purse that he kept tied to his waist. He signalled for her to get in. Y/N had some difficulty getting into the boat, slamming down on it, her bum hardly hitting the wood floor. She was sure if Charon was able to, he'd probably be laughing at her. He waited until she was settled into the boat before he began rowing down the Styx river.

Y/N hugged her knees as her eyes scanned everything. So far only the splashing of water and the silent boatman kept her company. And then a foul and putrid stench filled her nostrils, making her want to gag. As she kept looking around, she noticed what seemed to be people standing by another dock, looking pitiful and some even crying.

"They're the souls of people whose families didn't pay the fee or didn't have a burial upon death." Charon spoke up for the first time, his voice sounded hollow and had somewhat of an echo in it.

She understood what he meant. All people usually put a coin under their deceased loved ones tongue as payment for a ride to the Underworld.

"Will they stay there forever?"

Charon let out a raspy breathe.

"They'll stay there for a hundred years before they're allowed to cross over. Our master is not that cruel as you mortals depict him."

Mention of his master sent Y/N into panic. She was about to meet the actual god of the Underworld and his wife. She shivered as she remembered all she was ever taught about him: her teachers often painted him as a cruel, evil and wrathful god that loved tormenting the souls that were sent to him. The only reason he had a wife was because he kidnapped her, only allowing her to spend time in Olympus for half of the year. Y/N feared seeing him.

"This is the end of your journey."

Y/N saw a colossal black door in front of her. She lifted her hand to knock on it, but wondered if it was even possible for them to hear her. She felt someone or something sneeze by her right side so she turned. First there was only a gigantic dog head that soon turned into three, Y/N almost fainted when it began approaching her. This had to be Cerberus. The hellhound merely scanned her, puzzled as to why an alive human would be there. But he went back to his job and used one of his heads to push open the door for her. Y/N was prepared to see a sea of tormented souls being stirred in fire or some other kind of torture, but instead, she walked in a long and regal corridor, much like the one back home in Athens. Everything was decorated in either black or a deep purple color. At the very end, she saw two thrones side by side, black and made out of hard iron and steel. 2 figures sat by them and when she reached close enough, she was face to face with the rulers of the Underworld.

As per custom, Y/N bowed to them, trembling in the process. The monarchs looked at each other in confusion.

"You are not dead nor dying, what business do you have here?" A male voice inquired.

Y/N swallowed harshly, trying to speak but fear made her paralyzed and unable for recall what she was there to do. Noticing how scared she was, the queen stood up and walked over to her. She gently lifted Y/N up, her hand cupping her chin to look at her. Y/N finally had a glimpse of the Underworld queen and she was mesmerized. She wasn't as beautiful as Aphrodite, but her beauty was so haunting and eerie, unlike anything she'd ever seen before. It made her very unique and therefore more interesting in her eyes. Y/N felt self conscious now. She hadn't properly cleaned up or slept ever since Aphrodite had her do all those tasks, so she probably looked like a mess in front of the beautiful queen.

Persephone merely smiled at her, a genuine and kind smile.

"You're Psyche aren't you?"

Her eyes widened at the mention of her name. The man behind her also became curious at him mention of it.

"How do you know who I am?" But Y/N soon wanted to slap herself for asking that. She was a goddess, of course she'd know.

The lady chuckled. "Not everyday one meets a face that rivals Aphrodite's. I've heard so much about you."

She turned back and Y/N assumed she was going to take her place on the throne, but instead, she shocked her when she opted to sit on her husbands lap, her arms wrapping around his neck. He visibly stiffened, and Y/N was surprised to see him......blush?

"So tell me. Has the mighty goddess of beauty sent you here for another task?"

Persephone looked back to see Y/N with a mouth wide open.

"We know all about your endeavors to win your husband back. News reaches here first before it reaches Olympus. Gives a little entertainment to us and our subjects you know."

She waved her hand and instantly a grey and cloudy figure appeared before her, offering her wine or food from a platter. She didn't want to seem rude, but she remembered what Zephyr said and thus refused any of it. Persephone chuckled softly.

"Very smart." Persephone observed. She above anyone knew what eating food from the Underworld would mean.

"So tell me Psyche. What has she sent you here for?"

Y/N began explaining how the goddess wanted some of her beauty cream. Persephone rolled her eyes, knowing all too well how vain Aphrodite was. Her fingers stroked through her husband's hair, puzzling Y/N more. If she was kidnapped and forced to marry him, how could she be so....in love with him? Persephone only took her attention away from her husband when another grey figure brought out a box to her. Thanking the servant, she held out the box to Y/N.

"Take this to Aphrodite and be reunited with your love."

Y/N thanked the merciful queen and walked back, now more happy at the thought of seeing Yeosang again. Persephone watched her with a motherly gaze, feeling somewhat nostalgic.

"You seem to be very interested in that human." Hades' voice broke her trance.

"She's an extraordinary girl if you ask me. And she's doing everything for love."

She smirked as she cupped her husband's face.

"Reminds me of a certain someone who also went to great lengths to win the person he loved the most."

The Underworld God cleared his throat.

"Love makes us do crazy things sometimes." He justified himself.

Persephone nodded and leaned in.

"I know. That's why am going to vouch for her when Zeus holds the meeting."

Hades looked puzzled. "What meeting?"

The queen let out a hearty laugh before kissing his lips.

"Married life has made you lose some of your sharpness my dear lord." She teased.

━━━━━━━༺۵༻━━━━━━━

Y/N successfully fed the bread to the demon hound and made it back across the Styx with Charon's help.

"Thank you Charon." She handed the other coin to him.

"First time anyone has thanked me to the work I do." Although he tried to be neutral about it, Charon's voice had a lighter and more grateful tone to it.

Y/N crossed the swamp again and came back to the meadow where Zephyr had left her. She called me to him, but he did not answer. Y/N sat on the grass and waited for him, growing tired in the process. It had been 4 very long and tiring days and she was beginning to feel the intensity of them. Her eyes began to flutter, trying to stay awake, but tiredness began to overtake her. Her gaze fell on the box she was holding. Feeling curious, she slowly opened the box to peer into its contents. A sudden burst of light shone right in front of her, the power being too much for her and instantly, she fell unconscious on the floor.

━━━━━━━༺۵༻━━━━━━━

Eros sighed softly to himself, the longing for his wife becoming too unbearable.

"Would you please stop that moaning? It's getting on my nerves." His mother said from the doorway.

"I miss her...." He covered his face with the pillow.

Aphrodite scoffed.

"Seriously this lovesick fool."

Eros ignored his mother, all his thoughts were about Y/N and the last time he saw her. He recalled the harsh words he said to her, regretting them so much, each letter feeling like a stab to his heart. Although it hurt him to have her distrust him, it hurt even more to be separated from her. He wanted her back in his arms, he wanted to kiss her, he was going even more insane than the first time when he pricked himself on his arrow.

Suddenly he heard a commotion coming from the living room, with the way a voice roared like thunder, he knew who had just came in. He got up, ready to intervene in case the two individuals in front of him started getting physical. Not noticing him, they just continued their screaming match.

"I've put up with so many of your antics, but this my dear goddess, is low even for you!"

The anger in his father's voice was unmistakable, but it was even more serious than all the other times he'd quarreled with his mother.

"Oh shut up Ares! I did what I had to do for our dear son."

Aphrodite twirled her hair on her finger, batting her eyelashes at her longtime lover, hoping to seduce him and get his mind off the subject, but this time it didn't.

"No, you did this because you're a selfish, conceited and cruel woman! Putting an innocent girl through so many hardships just for your own amusement! Don't you think Psyche and Eros have been through enough already?"

Now it was Eros' turn to make his presence known.

"What about my wife?"

Both of his parents turned to look at him, one in shock at being discovered and one in sad pity for him and his love. Ares crossed his arms.

"Well? Tell him Aphrodite. Tell him all about the tasks you made Psyche do these past days." He challenged her.

Eros looked at his mother, waiting for her to answer, but she kept her lips shut. Getting fed up, Ares spilled everything to him. Eros immediately got worried.

"Where is she now?"

Ares looked to the goddess in front of him as he did not know what the last task was. Gathering some of the rage he inherited from his father, Eros harshly grabbed his mother and shook her.

"Where is my wife?!"

Aphrodite pushed him off her.

"I sent her to the Hades and Persephone."

Eros wasted no time and grabbed his bow and arrow. The Underworld was dangerous even for a God and he knew he had to go get her before anything happened to her.

"Eros! Don't you dare go after her! She isn't your wife anymore!"

Turning back to his mother, he looked at her in defiance.

"She is my wife. She'll always be my wife. I love her.....and I'm going over to her now."

Spreading his wings, he flew as fast as he could to the swampy forest where she had been hours earlier. He asked the boatman if he had seen her, but Charon only said she had completed her voyage and was headed back home. He breathed a sigh of relief, at least she was alive. He flew back to his mansion, bursting the doors open, alarming the servants who were no longer invisible. He didn't spare a glance at them, he simply ran upstairs to his room. Slamming the door open, he saw as Zephyr, now in his physical form was hovering over an unconscious Psyche.

"No..."

Eros ran over to her side, taking her hand in his.

"The power inside the box her majesty gave her is too much for a mortal to bear. I've tried everything, but she still shows no sign of waking up. Her body has also been weak these past days due to exhaustion. ....and heartache." Zephyr said somberly.

Eros spilled tears when finding out all she had been through and how much suffering he had put her through.

"I'm so sorry my darling."

His arms encapsulated her in a tight embrace, almost crushing her from the intensity. Eros sobbed uncontrollably. Zephyr decided to retreat from the room, giving him the space he needed.

Brushing out some of her hair, he pressed his forehead against hers.

"Please don't leave me.." he whispered before pressing his lips against hers.

He heard as she started breathing slowly, pulling away to check on her. Y/N's eyes slowly opened, thinking she was dreaming when she saw her love's handsome face in front of her.

"Yeo- Yeosang?"

His heart started beating faster when he heard her call him by his name.

"Oh Y/N thank Zeus you're all right!"

Y/N held him tightly, not wanting to let go.

"Yeosang I'm so sorry! I should have listened to you but I was so stupid!"

He hushed her, his hands caressing her arms.

"It's ok. I've forgiven you my darling. I don't care anymore. All I want is for us to be together again."

Y/N hesitated.

"Will we be allowed to?"

Clearing his throat, they both turned their attention to Zephyr who came back.

"Even if Aphrodite won't like it, she'll have no choice but to allow you two to be together after a power greater than her allows it."

Yeosang and Y/N looked at him in confusion. Zephyr once again began explaining:

"I'm sure Y/N..." He smiled when he called her by her real name for the first time.

"You've been curious about why so many creatures helped you while you were performing the tasks for Aphrodite."

Y/N nodded, none of them had told her why they'd help her.

"They were all sent by none other than Zeus, who had been watching all this happen and agreed it was unfair of Aphrodite to put you through such hardships."

The couple couldn't believe their ears. The king of the gods himself intervened on their behalf.

"He looks favorably upon your marriage and has even called a meeting to determine if Y/N should be allowed to become an immortal herself."

Y/N's mouth dropped unable to comprehend his words, but Eros was delighted. He could finally be together with his wife for all eternity, not fearing that one day he'd lose her in death because she was human. He felt so grateful to Zeus.

"It shall be put to a vote and needless to say, your mother won't say yes."

Of course they expected that.

"But fear not. There's already many who are willing to vouch for you. Persephone and Hades for example, Ares, Apollo, Demeter and I'm willing to bet that Dionysus will show up drunk and will agree to anything."

They all let out a chuckle at that.

"I'll let you know what the results are. Zeus agreed it'd be better if you two weren't there. He wants a peaceful meeting without Aphrodite throwing a tantrum."

Leaving them alone, the two lovers stared at each other for a while, unable to believe how lucky they were. Y/N reached up to touch Yeosang.

"It's ok Y/N. I'm real and I promise I won't ever leave you again."

His hand cupped the side of her face, thumb drawing circles on her cheek.

"I love you and I promise to love you my heart......

For all eternity."

━━━━━━━༺۵༻━━━━━━━

[waking-dreams-of-harmony]

The Last Dragon

Below the read more I've posted 7 very small sections of a fic that is based on this beautiful and tragic fanvid. I got literal chills watching it. If you wanna sob over our queen and her son wanting to avenge his mother, give it a watch.

I don't think I'll ever go any further, as my writing had an unfortunate run in with a brick wall, which then toppled over it and crushed any urge to write the next bit.

It's not too terrible--though it could actually be total shit, I'm not known for my writing 😂--and it was just gonna gather dust on my laptop, so figured I might as well post it. This was one of my ways of dealing with that fucked up last season within the framework of the show. I dont believe this is Dany's end, and I loathe with every fiber of my being what happened to her and her found family. And after seeing that video, the idea of Drogon doing everything he could to avenge the mother he loved more than anything appealed to that anger inside me. So I'll understand if this isnt for everyone ❤

Chapter 1

Mother.

He flies, great black wings carrying them away.

Mother.

Sharp, massive claws curl in gently. Protectively.

Mother is gone.

The cold creeps, burning against his scales the way fire never has.

Mother don’t leave.

A whisper on the wind calls to him.

Mother it hurts.

East, it sighs. It smells of smoke, and fire. Hope.

He follows, wings beating faster.

They took you.

The rage flares, searing away the cold.

They killed you.

The heat of it bursts within him, scaled skin shaking with the strength of it.

Fire and blood.

Jaws stretch wide, and the air burns red with grief.

▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪

Chapter 2

The sky bleeds red from the dying sun when Drogon reaches Volantis. The whisper that drew him there stops as he lands on an open balcony.

A woman stands before him, black hair and red robes flying up in the gust of wind from his wings. His claw gently opens, Mother’s cold body slowly sliding onto the hard stone.

Crimson, mournful eyes watch the red woman kneel by Mother, pale fingers hovering over her, not touching, for a long moment.

“I cannot bring her back, Drogon,” she murmurs, regretful.

He throws his head back, bellows fury and sadness into the sky. No, Mother, come back. I am alone.

A faint brush at the back of his mind--where Mother used to be, his brothers, the thoughts they shared together--grasps his attention. Makes him look back down at the red woman.

“I cannot give you back Daenerys Targaryen, but I can give you something else.”

His nostrils flair, and his head moves closer.

“I can give you the revenge you desire. As it stands, you may be able to raze the whole of the Seven Kingdoms, turn it all to ash, but that would not be what your mother wanted.”

Drogon growls, lips pulled up in a snarl. Sheep. All are sheep. Betrayed Mother. Killed Mother. No mercy.

She nods her head. Comprehends what he is unable to say out loud.

“Yes, they all betrayed Daenerys, took from her and killed her when her visions grew too great for their small minds. They could not grasp that the Mother of Dragons was above all a breaker of chains. She would have freed us all.”

She pauses, then continues, her voice hard. “They need to be punished. And they will be. But Daenerys’ dreams must be realized. Dragon’s Bay must remain free. The Dothraki cannot return to what they were, raping and pillaging. And the petty lords of Westeros must be laid low. Those who destroyed Daenerys must see their reigns come to an end not only by dragon fire, but by the unification of the people they have ground into the dust, unified against them.”

“A dragon has the power to do great things, but to lead men, to lead armies, that is the one thing you cannot do, Drogon. Not as you are. You must be more. And by the Lord of Light’s grace, you can become exactly what the people need.”

Drogon rumbles in frustration, steam billowing from between his sharp, clenched teeth. He doesn’t understand.

“Human, Drogon. You must become human.”

▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪

Chapter 3

They take Mother, to clean her, he is told. Remove the dagger, her clothes. Wash the blood away.

The red woman directs him to fly from the balcony, down into an open courtyard below. A large fire pit rages with a towering flame. It warms him, feels like Mother’s hand caressing his scales.

Dragons cannot cry. A mournful moan makes his great neck tremble. Human. Perhaps he can cry when he is human.

People in red robes enter the courtyard, one after another, until they circle around Drogon. His tail twitches. Their closeness agitates him.

The red woman appears, crossing the circle to stand in front of the fire. Hatred fills him when he sees what is in her hands. The dagger stained with Mother’s blood. Coward. The coward’s dagger.

“I am sorry Drogon. It is a necessary piece of the ritual. Soon,” she soothes, “you will have all you need to begin your campaign against the traitors.”

Another voice brushes against that same place in his mind. That lonely place where Mother, Rhaegal, and Viserion once lived. Soon, it too promises.

The red woman turns her head, scans the other acolytes before catching Drogon’s eyes.

“Let us begin.”

Voices hum together in chant, and the sky is filled with an agonized roar.

▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪

Chapter 4

Drogon.

He groans.

Drogon, my love.

Everything hurts.

You cannot sleep forever, my beautiful boy.

He moves his head slightly. Cringes at the sharp pain.

Wake up, Drogon.

Mother? Why does everything hurt so much?

It’s time.

The voice begins to fade. He reaches out a hand, slowly, to make it stay, and freezes. He has a hand. A human hand.

Fingers curl into his palm, and the nails scratch against his skin, bite into it. His legs scrape against the stone as he slowly stretches out one, then the other.

He can still feel the fire to the side of him; it feels heavier, pressing on his skin but it does not hurt his flesh.

What burns more painfully is the missing weight of his wings. No flight for him now.

Cold fingers brush his shoulder, curve sharply to hold him when he recoils.

“Drogon?”

He doesn’t like to be held, or touched, no one but Mother, and his brothers, but they are gone. Gone, gone, gone…

“Drogon! It is only me, Kinvara!” The voice finally penetrates, and he stops pulling away.

Allowing for her help, he rolls carefully onto his back. Sharp pebbles dig into his skin. No scales to protect him anymore.

He feels her fingers move to his face, tracing the human features. “Open your eyes Drogon. See what the Lord of Light has gifted to you.”

Gift? No gift. Just more pain. Weakness. But he opens his eyes. The fire from the pit is soothing, warm. Warmer than...before. Would it burn him? His hand flinches towards it but he’s not close enough to touch.

He turns his eyes toward Kinvara. She is smiling, eyes reflecting the fire’s light.

She waves a hand towards an acolyte. “Bring me a robe. We must cover our dragon prince.”

Red cloth is laid over him, and two other acolytes help Drogon to sit. They hold him up as the other wraps the robe around him more securely.

Drogon grits his teeth, blood rushing angry and hot.

He tries to talk, mouth struggling to form the human words. “W-We—” He growls, tries again. “W-Weak.”

“For now,” she says. “But you will grow stronger, I promise you.”

Drogon struggles to stay awake, but bone deep exhaustion pulls at him, and his frustration wanes as he slips into slumber.

▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪

Chapter 5

Four moons pass before Drogon is ready to set sail for Meereen. He was like a hatchling again, unsteady, vulnerable, and he hated it. Kinvara and her priests taught him the ways of his new body, how to eat and walk, to read their words.

Coarse fabric to wear instead of steely scales.

But now it is time. Time to search out Grey Worm. Daario. The Unsullied and Dothraki. Train with them and become stronger. Much stronger.

He knew how to fight as a dragon. Armies and castles were nothing against the heat of his fire. He must learn how to wage war as humans do.

Wrapped in a red cloak, hood hanging low over his face, Drogon is ready to begin.

▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪

Chapter 6

They are waiting for him at the dock after the sun has set, Grey Worm and Mother’s sellsword, two silent figures who do not move, do not speak until Drogon stands before them.

Daario breaks the silence first. “Drogon?”

He pulls back his hood, unnaturally crimson eyes in a human face flashing in the near dark.

Daario sucks in a breath, then huffs out a laugh. “If the red priests had not sent word ahead, I may not have believed it. But by the gods, here you stand.” He reaches out an arm for Drogon to clasp.

He does so, hesitantly, but with a firm grip. Human greetings still puzzle him.

Grey Worm steps closer then kneels, bows his head bowed, fist pressed against his chest. “Ñuha dārilaros. Bisy qringaomatan īlva dāria. Īlon emagon ossēntan se nāpāstre skoriot pōnta iōrtan (My prince. This one failed our Queen. We should have killed the traitors where they stood.).”

Drogon does not know if he is asking for forgiveness or absolution.

Dragons have no real concept of forgiveness. He should be angry the traitors were allowed to live. But Grey Worm is kin, as the little scribe had been. Mother’s old bear too, and the white-haired knight. Everyone who had been under Mother’s protection, had been under her children’s protection as well. And would continue to be.

“Rise, Grey Worm.” His voice is rough and sharp edged, and it seems to startle the two men to hear him speak. “Those that hurt Mother, that used her and took her life will be punished as they deserve. But I need your help. So rise. Let us repay them with fire and blood. For Mother. For Missandei. For them all.”

He holds out a hand, waits.

Grey Worm looks up, eyes bright with unshed tears. His lips tremble, then firm. He takes Drogon’s hand.

▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪

Chapter 7

They convene in Mother’s chambers, the map room he would never have been able to fit in before almost cavernous to him now.

Spread out around the table, the three men pull together a plan as they look down at the map.

First, they will weed out the opposition in Essos, solidify their hold in the east. Astapor, Yunkai, they will all come to heel, every slave freed. They would be as clever as Mother had been, keep the number of innocents lost as low as they could. Drogon would prefer to burn through the Good Masters, snap them up and tear them apart, but for Mother, he would be patient, and take the slower path. All the slavers would still die, and their victims would live, and live free.

But for what Drogon had planned, he needed steel in place of claws, armor instead of dragonhide. He needed Grey Worm and Daario to make him as fearsome as a human as he’d been as a dragon. And that would take time.

He ground his blunted teeth together; he hated waiting. Hated it. But let the traitors think they were safe for a while longer. It would be all the sweeter when he ripped that feeling of safety away, just as they ripped Mother away from him. His brothers. His home.

They would feel his pain. And then they would feel nothing at all.

[wisteriashouse]

goodnight.

pairing: rengoku kyoujurou x reader

genre: angst

word count: 1876

remarks: why do i do this why do i make myself suffer

In hindsight, you should have known the second you saw the site of the train wreck with your own eyes.

“Kyoujurou!” You call, doing your best to keep your breathing and emotions in check as your eyes sweep the place. You’ve been running desperately, following the railway tracks along the route that you know the Infinity Train to have taken — hoping, begging, that you wouldn’t find any casualties along the way.

Your kasugai crow, which you use more to keep in contact with Kyoujurou than anything else, had informed you of Upper Moon Three’s appearance when you’d just finished clearing a forest of demons, much to your horror. You know the Flame Pillar is strong, incredibly so, but to face an upper ranked demon right after dealing with Lower Moon One is an impossible task.

If anyone can do the impossible, though, it’s Kyoujurou. You have to believe in him.

The closer you get to the wreckage, your seasoned senses can already pick out smaller details of the battle from the night before — the acrid smell of burning ash that still lingers in the air, the dented metal of the toppled train carriages. Although your lungs burn from exertion, you push yourself onwards, frantic to confirm with your own eyes that Kyoujurou is still alright.

Nothing is going to happen to him, you chant to yourself in your mind, over and over. Kyoujurou is going to be alright. He has to be.

You barely spare the casualties at the side of the tracks a glance as you leap onto the wreckage of the carriages, eyes desperately scanning around you for a glimpse of that familiar flame emblazoned haori. Most of them seem to be only suffering from flesh wounds, which means that Kyoujurou and the three that joined him have been successful at keeping civilian losses to a minimum. You allow yourself to cling to hope for a brief moment. They’re alright, so Kyoujurou must be as well–

You see him.

Or rather, you see the back of him as he kneels on the ground next to the wreckage, a boy in a green checkered haori sobbing in front of him. Your breath hitches, and then you’re running, shouting his name. 

“Kyoujurou!”

The boy glances up in shock at your voice, his eyes and cheeks wet with tears, but you hardly pay him any heed as you come to a stop in front of your best friend, nearly falling over from how fast you’re going. “Kyoujurou, the crow told me that you encountered Upper Moon Three, I couldn’t reach fast enough to provide backup, are you...” Your words die into a strangled sound in your throat. “...alright...”

Kyoujurou looks up at you and your panic only grows when you see the red staining his smile, the familiar one that is only reserved for you and Senjurou. His remaining eye fixes on you, slightly wavering, so gentle you want to cry in anguish. 

“I didn’t think you’d run all the way here just because I haven’t replied your last letter.” He says, but his words are nothing but white noise in your ears, your gaze transfixed on the blood that just keeps seeping from the hole in his torso. His voice is so strained, so weak. “I was going to tell you that sweet potatoes were better than yam, but–”

His words are cut off into a pained gasp as you tear the haori off your shoulders and press it to the wound on his stomach, praying that he hasn’t lost enough blood to put him in the grave. “What are the lot of you doing standing around and crying for?” You bellow at the two junior demon slayers, who flinch back at the volume of your voice. “Earring boy, help me staunch the bleeding from the back with your haori! Or have you learnt nothing but swinging swords from your trainer?”

Kyoujurou’s bloodstained hand rests on your trembling ones as you apply pressure to the wound, while the other brushes tears that you didn’t even know were falling from your eyes. “It’s alright–”

Something in you snaps.

“Shut up!” You scream at him, so fiercely that Kyoujurou actually recoils, his expression one of shock. He’s never seen you lose your composure like this, not after hearing about the deaths of your comrades, not even after the passing of your father whose haori you’re currently pressing to his wound. “Shut up, Kyoujurou, just... shut up! You’re bleeding out in front of me! It’s alright? It’s alright? Are you fucking with me?”

“That’s not what I meant-”

“You’re asking me to watch you die!” You snarl, fingers tightening so hard in the fabric of your haori there’s the sound of ripping fabric. “It might be alright with you, but don’t you dare think that I’m going to be okay with you dying in front of me! Use total concentration breathing to slow your blood flow! Don’t make me watch you die!”

Kyoujurou blinks up at you slowly, watching as tears flow down your cheeks uncontrollably, the way your shoulders tremble with barely repressed emotion. He’s so exhausted, and his body is in so much pain that he just wants this to be over so that he can join his mother in rest, but you’re crying.

You’re crying, and it’s because of him.

And because it’s you, he parts his lips and forces himself to breathe.

Deep, measured breaths, just like he was teaching the Kamado boy a few moments ago. There are too many injuries to concentrate on, so he focuses on slowing his circulation so you won’t have to see his blood on your hands. Gritting his teeth, he takes one more deep breath to steel himself and forces the blood vessel to stop the bleeding.

Pain rips through him, clawing at his abdomen and a choked, soundless scream escapes Kyoujurou before he can swallow it. White flashes in his vision and he so damn badly wants to give up, but then your fingers are suddenly there, stroking his cheeks and begging him to stay with you. He clings to your voice even as waves of pain rock through him, as if you’re his lifeline and he’s a man drowning. You need him. He can’t go just yet.

When the blinding agony finally subsides just slightly, he finds himself lying on his back, tear tracks running down the sides of his face and his throat raw from screaming. You brush his tears away with the sleeve of your uniform, pressing your lips to his hairline. “You’re doing so well, Kyoujurou.” You tell him. His entire body feels sluggish, completely drained. There’s a light smack on his cheek. “Come on, talk to me. I’ve already called for a surgeon in the area, so you have to wait until he’s here. Don’t go to sleep just yet. You still haven’t told me why sweet potatoes are better than yam.”

Your voice is trembling.

“Sweet potatoes...” He forces his remaining eye to focus on your face, trying to remember your every feature. “I like the ones you and Senjurou make for me the most. The ones we make together on the first day of autumn. They’re always so warm and good.” The blood tastes like iron in his mouth, and suddenly he’s standing next to a pile of burning leaves in the yard of the Rengoku family home, poking at them with a long stick.

There’s a tap on his shoulder, and he turns to see you standing there in a thick kimono decorated with russet and crimson maple leaves for autumn, Senjurou clinging to your sleeve. He tells you that you look beautiful and your cheeks turn a hint crimson, mumbling your thanks shyly. Senjurou chatters excitedly about the roasted sweet potatoes in the fire, while his own face warms at your response, heart throbbing in his chest.

We’ve been making roasted sweet potatoes since we were children, Kyoujurou. You still can’t tell when they’re cooked or not?

He never tells you that he doesn’t want to learn, so that he can keep inviting you to his home year after year to make them together. 

The sweet potatoes the three of you shared always taste the best. No matter how simple they are, nothing can compare to them in the way they warm his heart.

“Mm, we used to make them so that you would give Kanroji a break from training.” You slap his cheek again, a little harder this time. Kyoujurou blinks blearily in realization that his eyes were slipping shut, instantly feeling guilty, but he’s just so tired. “Don’t sleep yet, Kyoujurou. Senjurou was telling me about how his broom broke yesterday, and he’s waiting for you to get back from this mission so that we can get a new one from the market together.”

“A new... broom? Ahh, I just fixed the old one before I left, it mustn’t have been enough.” Kyoujurou’s head spins, and his breathing comes out shallow. He tries to breathe right, he really does, but he’s losing strength with each passing second. “He was telling me about a new vendor in the market selling konpeito, so he wants to try making some. It’s simple, so Senjurou said I could try making some and giving it to you as a gift.”

“That sounds nice.” You hum, your voice trembling slightly, although Kyoujurou doesn’t know why. His entire body feels heavy, and his head rests in the softness of your lap. It’s warm and comforting and familiar. Kyoujurou used to do this after a long session of training, before the two of you had become Pillars with your own missions, your own paths taking you apart. Simpler, happier times, a long, long time ago. “When we go home, let’s make a fire and roast sweet potatoes together again, alright?”

“It’s not autumn yet, though... There won’t be enough fallen leaves.” Your hand finds Kyoujurou’s, and he squeezes it weakly. So warm. “I’m really tired... could I nap... for just a bit?”

Kyoujurou faintly hears a choked sob, feels your fingers stroking through his hair and your lips against his forehead. “Okay.” You finally whisper after a heartbeat, your voice cracking at the edges. “You’ve done wonderfully, Kyoujurou. I’m so, so proud of you.”

He feels the corners of his mouth lift in joy at your praise. “Will you still be here... when I wake up?”

“Of course.” You kiss his eyelid, the tip of his nose, then his cheek. “I’ll always be with you, Kyoujurou. We promised each other since we were kids, am I right?”

“Okay.” He murmurs. Relief settles deep into his weary bones, and he allows himself to stop fighting the exhaustion dragging him under. You’ll be there when he opens his eyes again. “When I wake up... I have something important... I wanted to tell you...”

You wait for him to continue, but Rengoku Kyoujurou falls silent and still – and stays that way. His warm smile remains on his face, and you fight back your tears to press a featherlight kiss against his brow, so that you don’t disturb his peaceful slumber.

“I love you too.” You whisper back, your voice hushed with unshed tears. Your hand, stained with his blood, cups his cheek gently. “Goodnight and sweet dreams, Kyoujurou.”

[fusrodie]

ash & soot

Long before the Winters come into play, a monster stalks the Forbidden Forest that surrounds the Village. Karl Heisenberg is sent to investigate, and heads deeper into darkness to find his prey, a thorn on his side and someone just like him.

chapter 1 - grisly reunions

SFW, canon-typical violence, blood, mention of death. 2K words.

link to ao3 (or read down below)

Nothing ever happened in this boring old village. Every day he would wake up to the same dull sky, the biting cold on his skin, the smell of blood in the air. And the chanting, for fuck’s sake, the goddamn chanting. In the silence of night, you could hear them if you listened close enough. Even cooped up in his factory, trying to focus on bringing his latest creation to life, through the humming of engines and rattling of pistons, he could hear their voices pleading forgiveness and salvation.

It paints a perfect picture in his mind: a bunch of old farts holding hands in a circle, standing over a creepy-ass painted crest of an unborn baby, pouring their heart and soul into their prayer, accepting death and giving glory to their murderer. The prayer itself never made sense to him, not really, but he had to admit it was a damn good way of justifying their atrocities. Nobody batted an eyelash when someone was taken away, went poof overnight to never return. Something about the sacrifice having been made, fate had led them to the light at the end or some shit. It used to fascinate him back in the day, when he was just a child watching everything unfold hidden behind his mother’s skirt. But he was no longer a child, and after almost a century of bullshit, it was hard not to impale every single fucker who talked about devotion and destiny.

Not that anyone would care about it, of course - sister dearest routinely kidnapped girls from the village and no one seemed to notice the Castle was a death trap. Boxes and boxes of wine would make their way into the village and out into the world, the truth right there in the label, and no one seemed to put two and two together. Dimitrescu had offered him more than a few bottles as a courtesy, an attempt to bridge the gap between them - even he had limits, however, lines that he would not cross. The very thought of bringing a goblet of blood-infused wine to his lips made his stomach turn; he had never been one to experiment much with food. He drew the line on frozen pizza and energy drinks.

It’s a wonder the village still had people in it, really; between Alcina’s obsession with maidens, the poor sods taken to Moreau for Cadou experiments and the failed vessels Miranda would discard like common garbage, he figured at this point there were more lycans than people around. More for him to experiment on, he figured, though digging up corpses in the dead of night had done a number on his back. Haulers could only do so much, and more often than not he would have to get his hands dirty. Not having a proper bed, sleeping on a bare metal cot and decades of living on borrowed time had nothing to do with it, of course.

The Castle drawbridge lowered as he approached, hammer thrown over his shoulder, one last peaceful drag of his cigar before he was thrown into yet another boring council meeting. The vineyard greeted him with the bleak vibrancy of a cemetery, scarecrows drained of color, barely recognizable but eerily preserved in chunks of ice. A waste of perfectly good specimens, really.

The halls were quiet for a change, no tormented screams and blood-curling wails, no giggling sisters running around in the hallways. It all smelled of death and old people, expensive perfume and a good dose of arrogance.

He flashed a charming smile at one of the Castle’s servants, laughing when the girl turned a bright shade of red and scrambled away from him. Heisenberg could hear the bickering as he pushed the doors open, Angie’s joints clicking incessantly as the doll moved about. Moreau’s breathing sounded as loud and disgusting as ever, yellow teeth and the smell of a polluted riverbed with a hint of fish. There they were, his beloved little family, waiting patiently for him, staring at him like he had fucked every single one of their mothers.

“You are late, Heisenberg.” Alcina began, as she always did, eyebrow raised in contempt. “As always. Mother,” she turned to Miranda, gesturing towards him with her hoity-toity, stupid cigarette.

“You are obnoxious, Dimitrescu.” He replied without sparing her a glance. “As always.”

He could practically hear her seething as she finally placed her humongous backside on her chair, having given up on chastising him when Miranda paid both of them no mind. Mother sat at the end of the golden-trimmed table, looking awkward in her great black gown and modly crow wings. Dimitrescu’s finest china was laid perfectly for their little afternoon tea party, cup handles that were too big to fit his fingers, minuscule spoons that were fit for Angie’s creepy hands. The servant that had scurried away at the sight of him had come back with a tray of hot tea, biscuits and blood - the house’s specialty. Miranda began speaking as the girl poured her drink, some small chitchat about the state of the village, the influx of foreigners and progress on her grand resuscitation project.

“Thank you darling, but I brought my own.” He started as the girl circled around the table to serve him, pointing down towards his belt buckle to the whiskey flask he always carried around. She couldn’t help but look down, and then up at his sly smile, the blush returning to her cheeks in full force. Dimitrescu’s reaction was swift, a well placed slap with the back of her hand square on the girl’s cheek. He felt sorry for her for a moment, but it was good training - if she wanted to survive the Castle, she would have to learn that it was better to be blind and deaf, and that she had much more provocation coming her way than his harmless flirting.

Heisenberg tuned out of the conversation as he poured his whiskey, pinching the teaspoon between his index and middle fingers, swirling it slowly, scraping the sides of the porcelain. Alcina’s displeasure at his use of her china for such vile beverages made it all the better. He slurped it loudly to add insult to injury, savoring the drink for a second, sloshing it around his mouth before swallowing, a satisfied “ah” escaping him when the liquor burned down his throat. If Alcina didn’t already look like a corpse, he felt like she would have turned purple. When he unceremoniously shoved an entire biscuit in his mouth, crumbs falling all over the tablecloth, he thought she would vomit.

“The latest vessel, unfortunately, has been a failure.” Miranda announced with sadness in her voice, which prompted all of his other siblings to sigh collectively in sympathy. What a bunch of morons. “However, we have made some progress. It seems my theories were correct - younger subjects are far more receptive to the Cadou.” Kidnap babies, got it. There was no limit to how low Miranda would get to fuel her quest for a daughter that had been dead for longer than she was alive. “I regret to say there are no suitable infants at the moment,” she stopped to sip at her tea. “We can only hope the harvest fares better in the coming months.” Had she seen them as nothing but guinea pigs back then, too? No doubt in his mind she did. The only reason she kept them around is because she might not be able to kill all of the monsters she created - better to keep them close than risking losing it all.

“There is but one more matter I would like to discuss, Mother Miranda,” Dimitrescu began, a lilt in her voice, the telltale sign that whatever would come out of her mouth next would be positively foul. “My girls have brought me troubling news.” Troubling, he repeated to himself, but she had a smile on her face as she said it. Miranda gestured at her to continue, which she gladly did, excitement rising with every new word. “It would seem a monster prowls near our blessed haven. There is talk among the villagers of bodies being found drained of blood, organs harvested, but without a single cut left behind.” She stood up to pace the room, one of her favorite displays of grandiose that made her look like the world’s biggest buffoon. It suited her. “At first I believed this to be a mere rumor, a lycan attacking the livestock, a corpse refusing to rest. But then,” she clapped her hands, the doors to the room promptly opening to give way to Crazy, Dumb and Ugly, giggling in their flowing black dresses, dragging a corpse along like it was a treasure they had found in the forest. Angie tagged along with their excitement, pushing Moreau away to get a better look at the stinking body thrown onto the hardwood.

There was no mistaking the lycan, all teeth, claws and complexion of the finest of silver poisonings. It smelled just as bad dead than it did alive; bruises and injuries and gums that stuck out of its mouth. How, pray tell, was this thing still in one piece? Heisenberg rose to take a closer look, pushed its stringy hair away from its face to reveal glassy eyes poking weirdly out of their sockets. He tested its consistency with a slight kick, stabbed it with the butter spreader, shoved a gloved hand in the cut to pull it apart and open. It looked fresh enough, but nothing but a foul vapor oozed out of the body. Crystal dust lined its insides, shards poking out of muscles. He pushes his arm deeper, feels around the chest cavity to find nothing.

“No cuts, no holes,” he begins as he pokes and prods. “No bites, either. Heart’s missing. This your handiwork, Alcina?” Heisenberg quips, suspicion seeping through his stoic facade. For a moment, he swears he can see the lycan’s flesh pulse, the smallest contraction of a muscle. This whole situation got weirder by the second.

“The technique is truly admirable, is it not?” She offers with a gleeful smile, picks up her cigarette and places a hand on her hip. Here we go again. “I simply must have it. Besides, we must know if it poses any threat to us.” She was right, this time. After decades of experimentation, none of them had ever managed to keep an infected subject whole after death.

His shoulders slumped as she spoke, head bowing to hide his discontentment behind the brim of his hat. He knew what this meant: being sent on a stupid adventure in the ass-end of the woods, because he was the only one out of this freak show with the brain and brawn to venture out into the world in broad daylight, without dying to the cold or stopping every five seconds to infect and pet wild animals. Some of these missions he did enjoy, like being sent to nearby towns for special supplies - or special victims. He was never gone long, nor would he stray far, but those escapades never failed to serve as a reminder that he had a reason to keep going, that maybe one day he would be free and the world would be his to explore.

The four of them eyed Miranda quietly, waiting for the verdict that was certain to come. Moreau cut the silence by volunteering to investigate, the pathetic pitter-pat of his feet filling the room when Mother smiled at him.

“I would not risk you in such a way, my son,” she patted his head without a hint of affection. “Not when we are so close to answers. You must continue your research - Heisenberg will look into this… Whatever it is. You are dismissed.” Her tone was nonchalant, her confidence rock solid. This was merely an obstacle, not real danger. At least, that is what she wanted them all to see; if one looked close enough, they would notice the slight furrow in her brow through the slits of the golden mask.

“As you wish, mother.” He tipped his hat before taking his leave, chewing on his unlit cigar, feet pressing hard against the gravel underneath.

Heisenberg never thought he would come to regret having a proper spine and a functional pair of legs.

[sararaiden]

kamunobu wip

So I have this —which is probably going into my next multichapter— but until then I've decided to post it as a WIP because: a) I'm MIA due to thesis hell; b) but the agenda needs to keep going so, here, take this established relationship self-indulgent WIP.

The inner patio has always been her favorite place from the entire estate. Nevermind all the bittersweet memories it brings to her, it’s simply beautiful; her apartment in Shinjuku could never replace it, even though she doesn’t spend as much time there as she wants. The wind blows nicely, the birds finally chirp —they never did before, as if only the caw of crows were allowed that privilege— and there’s a certain melancholy to it that she enjoys. The house is also an excellent hiding place —not that they don’t know where to search for her, but everyone is aware that her going to Edo’s outskirts means she doesn’t want to be disturbed.

Nobume caresses the empty box of donuts lovingly. She’s sitting on her spot and there’s a nondescript empty space at the other side of the box… like something —rather someone— is missing.

“You are terrible at hiding,” she speaks slowly, apparently to no one in particular.

Kamui steps out from behind the barren cherry blossom tree, eyes squinted in suspicion.

“I’ve been here for a long time, could’ve been an assassin,” he says, starting to walk in her direction. He’s still wearing his customary set of what Nobume likes to call “space rags”, which means he just got off his spaceship.

He takes a step in her direction but stops immediately… just to have a good look at her. He doesn’t like to brag to his crew about her because that’s no one’s business but he’s not blind. Nobume’s appeal, however, has nothing to do with her looks —although she’s beautiful— or how deadly she is —that’s a strong component too. It has always been more about… her presence and how she carries herself. She reminds him of someone, always elegant but with a sharp tongue and extremely deadly when provoked.

Nobume taps the ashes of her pipe into the donut box.

“If that was the case you would’ve been dead by now, I don’t see the problem,” she spins the kiseru between her fingers suppressing a smile, and Kamui has flashbacks of Gintoki stabbing Hosen with one.

Samurai, always getting to his nerves.

“That would probably be the outcome if I attack you,” he concedes, and takes another step, this time avoiding the flowers. “Which I wouldn’t do,” he leaps forward and lands on the overhang, her legs between his feet and him towering over Nobume like a predator.

She exhales the smoke right into his face, head tilted upwards to hold his gaze.

“What would you do, in that case, Admiral Assface?”

Kamui will let that slip, just because it’s a new one.

“I would kiss you, because I’ve missed you,” he admits.

The smile she was trying to suppress finally creeps slowly on Nobume’s lips and Kamui considers that, once again, a small victory.

“You look so dopey when you smile,” he mocks her, like the child he is —Nobume’s words, not his.

“You look like a complete buffoon all the time and you haven’t seen me complaining, haven't you?” she tilts her head to the right, curious, as if she’s calculating his reaction. Nobume puts the pipe down, next to her katana. “About that kiss…”

“Yeah?”

“You are too far,” she complains, making it sound like an order. He is, in fact, always in the sky, always too far, but you won’t hear Nobume complain about that either. It’s just what it is.

Kamui snorts, baffled at how bratty would that sound if someone else said it compared to how natural and bossy Nobume articulates every word. He gets off the overhang with a hop and squats in front of her.

The night has always suited him best, in her opinion. He doesn’t have to carry the parasol and, in general, he seems more at ease when the sun sets down. And aesthetically speaking… The light of the lamps has always favored him for some reason that escapes her. Nobume reaches for his braid and slowly undoes the tie, freeing his hair from it.

Kamui grabs her wrist. “Now you are the one too far,” he chants and tugs her arm carefully, making her lean a little towards him.

Nobume closes her eyes for a brief moment and hums, her fingers untangling his hair and liberating his strands into the wind. “So inconvenient,” she whispers after which she opens her eyes again.

He had always thought that hers had the color of the blood spilled in the battleground, but he was so wrong —like he was with many other assumptions about her. Nobume’s eyes have the color of red spider lilies —the ones she smells like too. They are… bearers of death, toxic but also extremely beautiful and lonely because no other plant or animal can live by their side.

“Well, yes, you love to make me beg,” he mutters and clicks his tongue. She smiles, once again.

“You are the one choosing to beg when you could… just…,” she bends a bit more, “take it.”

Kamui grips the wood of the engawa, tiptoeing in the position to rise and meet her halfway.

“The thing is, I don’t want my ass beaten, Nobume,” he whispers, lips barely brushing against hers.