#i also had a dream about that cavern thing in it

[pedropascallme]

Here Below

Pairing: Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x f!Reader

Summary: "He wasn’t used to need like this, the type that came with consequences less physical and more emotional."

Warnings: SMUT (18+ MINORS DNI!!!!) canon typical violence and lots of it, threatening language, angst, mentions of cannibalism, age gap obviously (Cooper is canon 200+ years old; reader is written as early 20s), loss of virginity, Coop’s got a thing for corruption, masturbation (m), oral sex (m & f receiving), p in v sex, dom/sub dynamics, biting, dacryphilia, like one (1) spank, so much dirty talk, degradation, praise, brief mention of anal, multiple orgasms what's a refractory period, creampie, phonetic spelling of Cooper's accent because I can, if I missed anything please let me know!!

AN: And here's part two!! Part one here!!

When he was young, Cooper had a mantra; live long, live well, live forever.

The idea of fading into nothing was horrifying enough to keep him up at night even when he wasn’t yet old enough to write his name legibly in crayon. So he became something—made something of himself, and carved out a lasting legacy in his career and in his daughter.

And where was she?

Where did the time go?

There was a cavity in his chest the size of his fist. It hollowed and cracked the longer he lived, and he knew he’d become a shell of the man he once was. Surviving didn’t cut it; the more time he spent in the wastes, the more often he considered fading into what he was so afraid of once upon a time.

But you were warm. Your cheek pressed against Cooper’s chest in a manner that looked uncomfortable; you sagged into him, sliding gently up and down the fabric of his shirt as you took soft breaths in your sleep. He felt it a priority to stay upright, to breathe softly and let his eyes dart ceaselessly around the cavernous building with its too high ceilings and echoey walls. To keep you comfortable. To keep you safe.

To keep you alive.

Because there was life in you, unlike any he’d been able to conjure up for himself. You were so unbelievably fucking willful, so optimistic in the face of end times. And even when you lost that optimism, the fear that you expressed was never selfish.

They had your face. You don’t have a name. I don’t want it to happen to you.

Cooper felt another bit break off from the hole inside his chest as he recalled your tears.

But when he looked at you now, frozen in unconscious bliss, the occasional twitch of your brow as you dreamed, he dared to consider the possibilities.

He wasn’t used to need like this, the type that came with consequences less physical and more emotional.

He wrapped an arm around you, muttering into the darkness about how you’d fall off of him if you kept slipping down the way you were, searching for an excuse for the action he knew was meant to ground himself.

That wasn’t to suggest that your presence offered no biological effects. Daily you found ways to make life more difficult, his pants tighter, and daily he thought about showing you what you did to him—over and over and over again.

He would never get over the image of you, nude from the waist down, choking on the syllables of his name as you made yourself cum. And he never wanted to forget it; you, so pretty and naïve, allowing for such corruption under his watch, glowing under his praise and keening at his demands.

He felt himself throb, the sore tip of his cock leaking enough to create a mark on the fabric of his pants. Despite the depravity of it all, he reckoned his only options were to take care of himself or walk stiff all throughout the next day.

He also knew that it was the depravity that really did it for him.

He took off his gloves; while the leather usually did just fine for him, he craved something more tender, more human. Carefully, with the hand not burdened by the weight of your head on him, he undid his belt, popping the button on his trousers and inching the zipper down. He reached into his boxers, pulling his length free and groaning softly at the relief he felt shoot through him. His cockhead, swollen and red from lack of attention, leaked with his arousal. His skin was hot, radiating lust as he wrapped a fist around himself, trying his best to leave you undisturbed as you stayed snoring softly on his shoulder.

Even in the fading light of the fire, he could see his fist, scarred and barely human, juxtaposed with the still peachy-tan skin of his cock. The irony of the one part he had that still looked the most unchanged being the one that gave him the most grief wasn’t lost on him, but he sighed, ignoring the mental gymnastics he was trying to perform and instead focusing on the squeeze of his hand around his erection.

He let himself fall into fantasy, imagining your hands, uncalloused and smooth, stroking him. He hesitated with each brush over his length, trying to encapsulate your willingness and uncertainty, your eagerness to please and your curiosity of his anatomy fighting with your lack of experience. Cooper mumbled to himself, the pleasure giving him the confidence to be unrestrained even with you pressed to his side, and imagined what he’d say if it were you: “Gentle like’at, sweetheart. Give it a squeeze, don’t forget the tip, there. How ‘bout you take a taste, baby—wrap them pretty lips ‘round my cock and lap up what I give ya. Wanna see ya take it all.”

His head fell back, ashamed but so greatly enjoying the mental image. He thought of you, spread in front of him and bucking your hips, struggling to fit two of your fingers into your cunt, and a gruff moan ripped from his throat as he pictured you in the same position, your fingers replaced with his cock as you begged for more, fighting to take him past the tip.

Your hands. Your lips. Your tongue. Your cunt. He wanted all of you, helpless underneath him as he showed you the ropes, crying out your want and your satisfaction. He wanted to corrupt you, ruin you for anybody else, and then some.

He tightened his grip, slowly stroking from base to tip and manipulating his wrist to bob over the head of his cock, forcing him to arch his back and let out a raspy groan of your name.

His jostling roused you from your sleep, and you sighed, blinking your eyes in the dark at the silhouette of his cock.

He didn’t notice, or if he did, he didn’t care, but your eyes stayed glued to him. The way he released himself to trail fingers up the underside of his cock, dropping lower to cup his balls before taking hold of his length once more to fuck his fist. His moans were choked back, clearly in an effort to keep you undisturbed, but they were beautiful nonetheless as they joined the sound of dry friction of his cock against his palm.

You tilted your head back, still comfortable on his torso, nestled into his stomach. You looked up at his face, his eyes almost closed, mouth open and panting. He looked back at you, and for a split second he looked scared, caught in the act. But when your lips parted, the ghost of a smile on your mouth as you blinked up at him, he slowed his hand, the unease fading.

“Y’want me t’stop, I will, darlin’,” his breathing was labored, his fist sinking down to the base of his cock, “Say th’word.”

“No,” your voice croaked with sleep, but the zeal was still present in your dismissal. “Keep going…show me.”

He sighed, resuming a steady pace. “Voyeuristic li’l thing, huh?”

“You started it.” You squeezed your thighs together, still sticky with the residue of your own self-pleasure session. “Wanna see how you do it.”

Cooper hummed, clenching his cock. “Y’gonna tell me ‘f’I do it wrong, same way I told you?”

“No. I’m gonna watch and learn,” you purred, letting your hand wander over his thigh, “So that I can do it right for you.”

“Christ, girl,” he groaned, hips stuttering into his hand, “Give a man a heart attack.”

“Mhm,” you smiled, skin heating up at the sound of his voice.

“Y’wanna take a turn?” He removed his hand once more, “Be my guest, sweetheart.”

Now your confidence faltered, unsure of where to go from here; did you know enough? Had the few moments you’d spent watching him fist his cock been enough to get it right? And was there even a right way to do it?

But this is what you wanted. Far from what you could’ve imagined in the darkness of your bedroom, this moment now was what you wanted; the whispers and dim light, tile floor sticking to the exposed skin of your back as your shirt rode up, stars fading into daylight in the sky—it didn’t matter that it wasn’t romantic by vault standards.

It was him.

“I—will you tell me how?” You whispered, “The way you did before?”

He chuckled, but it was drenched in lust. “Aw, what’s wrong, darlin’? Think those pretty hands won’be able to hold onto all o’that?” His cock bounced against his stomach, and you whimpered. “I’ll tell ya how I like it, baby, don’ you worry.”

The reassurance he offered, or perhaps more so the way he said it, made you squirm next to him; you rocked your hips against nothing, thighs pressed together tightly and begging the floor for some type of alleviation from the ache.

He watched you move, your futile attempt to get yourself off making his cock stand even more erect. He reached out, guiding one of your legs over his in a weak attempt to help you straddle his thigh. You nuzzled closer against him, bucking your hips and feeling the fabric of your pants bunch up over your legs.

“Now, gimme that hand,” he beckoned, and you lifted your hand to him. He took your wrist in his own hand, squeezing gently to encourage your fingers to relax open, and then licking a thick stripe up your palm. “Put it where’ya want.”

Saturated with his spit, you let your hand fall over his crotch, ghosting over his cock before taking the initiative to grasp onto the length. It was warm, throbbing and soft despite the taut pull of skin. You let out an inquisitive gasp, and Cooper had to dig his nails into the tile of the floor to keep from cumming the moment your hand made contact with him.

“Fuckin’ soft,” he groaned, “Sweet hands, darlin’. C’mon ‘n show me what’cha got.”

You stroked him leisurely, watching your hand run over every inch. You quickly learned to pay attention to the tip, and he bucked his hips into your fist when you moved your wrist over him just so.

“Tha’s’it—fuck me—jus’ like that, good fuckin’ lord,” he couldn’t stop running his mouth, unable to hide the pleasure he was getting out of your movements. “Sweet li’l girl knows her way ‘round a cock.”

You ground your hips into his thigh, not caring that the denim of the pants you wore dug awkwardly into your crotch. Giving him pleasure made you feel powerful, and made you equally as, if not more so, turned on as he was.

“Just doing what you tell me,” you squeezed him at the base of his cock before slowly moving your hand upwards until you got to his cockhead, turning your wrist and then repeating the motion.

“Y’like doin’ what I tell ya t'do, sweetheart?” He let his head drop to his shoulder, eyes shut and mouth open when he felt your thumb brush over his leaking tip.

“Yeah, Coop,” you liked seeing him this way—zero inhibitions and focused on you, trusting you with his body and letting you provide for him, for once. “Love it.”

“Fuck,” he groaned out, his hand coming up to grasp at your face, eyes opening to meet your gaze, “Say it again f’me, baby. Whole thing.”

“I love it, Cooper,” you mewled, leaning into his touch and moving your fist more rapidly over him now. “Love doing what you tell me to do.”

“Damn fuckin’ right, you do,” he growled, knitting his brow in appreciation of your ministrations, “Got you humpin’ me like a fuckin’ whore, one li’l taste of my cock ‘nd you’ll do anythin’ I fuckin’ say.”

“Yeah,” you whined, needy and unfamiliar with the want that you were experiencing. You couldn’t have denied it even if you had wanted to, eagerly grinding against him and letting his words push at your core. “Anything.”

“So work that fuckin’ hand ‘n make me cum, girl,” his jaw was clenched as he barked his words, body clamoring to focus on his immanent high. “Know y’got it in ya, sweetheart, lemme give y’what’cha want.”

“Want—wanna put my mouth on you,” you didn’t know why the thought occurred to you then, thinking back to things the older girls had spoken about doing in hushed voices at the back of classrooms, but you let it slip out into the jumble of moans already falling from your lips. You dug your face into his collar, “Please.”

“Won’t stop ya, sweetheart,” he had to clench his fist to keep himself from spilling into your hand; the image of you begging to blow him could've been enough to do him in completely.

You fell over yourself trying to get onto your hands and knees in front of him. There was a thrill in experiencing something of this nature without being shown how to do it first, and you were eager to please now; to show off for him and have him talk you through every flick of your tongue.

You lowered your face against his cock, feeling how the warmth of his skin seeped into your cheek, the sweet smell of sex flooding your senses. Your fingers traced over him, gentle and patient, as you sized him up and decided where to go from here.

You kitten-licked his cockhead, and he hissed, forcing a hot wisp of breath through his teeth.

“Tha’s it,” he was white-knuckling his thigh, trying to avoid looking directly at you for fear that he would cut the scene short. “Don’ be shy, now.”

You took his rasp in stride, taking the entirety of his tip into your mouth, tongue dancing circles around his length and savoring the bitterness of what leaked from him. He placed a hand on the back of your head, not adding any pressure, simply a gesture of goodwill, and what you could have.

“Mhm,” you moaned, mouth full of him. You reached for his hand and encouraged him to tangle his fingers in your hair. When he tugged at the roots, you whimpered, slipping down his length slowly, trying to hollow your cheeks and let all of him in.

“Fuckin’ desperate, ain’t’cha,” Cooper panted, fingers laced through your hair and moving along with you, “Mouth full’a my cock—y’enjoyin’ yourself, sweetheart? Workin’ at it, li’l slut that y’are?”

You groaned around him, pushing yourself further until you choked, pulling back to splutter as drool pooled over your lower lip and dripped down your chin. He wiped you off, rubbing your spit over his cock and fisting himself as he spoke.

“Y’wanna keep goin’?” He still had one hand in your hair, pulling you back to look at him while he drawled, “Gaggin’ and droolin’ like that, y’still want more?”

“Yes,” you heaved, lungs on fire and throat sore, but still so full of need for him, “Please, let me finish.”

That earned a sharp laugh, “Think ya mean let me finish,” he removed his hand from his cock, wiping the remaining spit on your cheek, slapping at your face softly. “Open wide, sweetheart, lemme fuck that pretty mouth o’yours.”

You did as you were told, breathing through your nose and letting him thrust deep down your throat. Despite it all, he remained gentle—by his standards, at least. Gaze focused on you and any tell-tale sign of discomfort, laser focused on the way tears sprung up on your lash line and how deep he had to go to make them fall over your cheeks; making you gag but not making you suffocate.

You felt like you were on cloud nine; his stare made you feel safe, a watchful gaze over you as you wrapped your lips around his thick shaft and let your tongue roam the veins on the underside of his cock. He was gentle enough, but not overly so—a perfect medium for your first experience of this kind.

“Y’gonna take it, baby?” He huffed, veins on his temples popping beneath scarred skin, “Take it in that hot fuckin’ mouth? Swallow my fuckin’ load, good girl that’cha’re?”

You let out a happy gasp, desperate to taste him, let him coat your throat with everything he had to offer you. You found one of your hands coming to cup his balls, tempted by the downy, pillowy skin and the way they moved in your palms.

When you gave them a squeeze, all bets were off for Cooper.

He held you by the scalp, roaring out his orgasm as he stuttered against your mouth.

“Fuck, that’s good,” he eased you off his cock, watching you lick your lips and gather any of his spend that escaped the confines of your mouth before you swallowed.

It was bitter, and it lingered. You coughed again, making a face.

“Tastes weird,” you complained, wiping the corners of your mouth with your thumb. You stayed between his legs, still happy to play with his softening length and lap up any cum you hadn’t gotten to on time.

“Were y’expectin’ lemonade?” He panted, groaning at the way you licked at his cock. He pulled you up, letting you settle back into the spot you’d been sleeping in earlier by his side. “Reminds me, though,” he shuffled, tucking himself back into his pants and rummaging through a deep pocket for something. “C’mere, darlin’.”

He uncapped a syringe of something, and you shuddered.

“Not until you tell me what that is…”

“RadAway,” he cocked a brow, “My swimmers look jus’ like me, sweetheart. Don’t want ya getting’ sick cause I couldn’t keep it in m’pants.”

You smiled, rolling your eyes in jest and offering him your arm.

“Good girl,” he punctured you with the needle, and you tried not to dwell on the way the penetration paralleled the way he’d pushed into your throat.

“Thank you,” you mumbled, rubbing the spot where the needle had intruded and leaning against him.

“Should be thankin’ you,” he mused, throwing the syringe off into the dark somewhere. “Perfect fuckin’ mouth on you—when y’ain’t complainin’.”

“Just gonna have to fuck it next time I start talking too much,” you nudged him with your shoulder, getting comfortable as you readjusted into your spot.

He grunted in approval, snaking an arm around you.

“It’s my turn to keep watch,” you whispered, eyes droopy as the adrenaline you’d been running on began to crash.

“Go back t’sleep, y’irradiated li’l thing,” he smirked, “Don’t want’cha slowin’ us down tomorrow.”

~~~

You made a game out of avoiding the skeletonized remains of what once was while you walked through the waste. You tried to identify what bone you were looking at, who or what it might’ve belonged to.

The skulls were easy, it was the short bones that made the game difficult for you.

But it made the time pass faster, although you’d realized that over the course of the several weeks you’d been accompanying the Ghoul, time mattered less and less in the grand scheme of things. The sun rose and it set and then it rose again; you had nowhere to be and nothing to anchor you anywhere.

Not nothing, you shook the thought from your mind.

Cooper walked several steps ahead of you. He’d become more and more willing to let you out of his sight on the treks you undertook through the sand, though when the sky went dark, he still maintained vigil over you.

Maybe it was just that he didn’t care, but you liked to think it was a matter of trust and perhaps even confidence in your ability to survive.

He still walked beside you often, especially when you got chatty and he had full vials in his pockets.

That just made you think it was more so a matter of him trusting himself to stand by you.

Admittedly, you’d been quieter in the days since you’d left the abandoned mall. There was less effort put into small talk on both your part and his—and you knew it had mostly to do with your own racing thoughts, but you questioned his reasoning.

You hadn’t been able to bring it up. Any of it—from putting yourself on display to encouraging his own debauchery. You were unsure of whether or not it was even appropriate to talk about now that it was over.

Was it over?

He’d made no effort to mention it, either. Whether that meant he, too, was constantly mulling it over, or if he simply didn’t care, you couldn’t tell. You could never really tell with him. You just knew his gaze lingered more often, and that his hand wandered down the small of your back even when there was nowhere to guide you. It wasn’t unwelcome—not in the slightest; you basked in his attention, even when it meant being on the receiving end of off-color jokes about your survival skills or your time in the vaults. But you wanted him to be the one to acknowledge what had happened, to corner you with the reality and make you confront it head on.

Because if you brought it up, there would be no proof that he cared, too.

Not to mention, you liked seeing him take control in ways that didn’t involve killing anybody.

Cooper could hear you pause occasionally, muted footprints over the sand coming to a halt so that you could analyze another skeleton. He’d noticed your game, thought it was cute, even, that you’d managed to become some kind of expert in desert decay, but he stayed quiet out of the worry that him pointing it out would embarrass you.

That, and every time he spoke to you now, he could only imagine the drag of your hand down his cock, even after several days of trying to will away the mental image.

He swallowed dryly, spitting the sand from his mouth, and the cynicism with it. 

Truth be told, he had no regrets; including becoming the face of the corporation that would end life on earth as he knew it; including shilling himself as some kind of glorified party clown; including keeping the hat he still wore after 200 years.

So it wasn’t regret that kept him from opening his mouth now, but a strong sense of trepidation.

He had gotten so used to brothel whores and quick back ally fucks, and he tried to tell himself the worry lied in the notion that he’d gone too far, too fast. You were new to the world in so many ways, new to pleasures of the flesh, and part of him felt as though he had taken something away from you despite the eager consent he’d received. While he certainly enjoyed defiling you, showing you the way around your pleasure and his own—and knew that you enjoyed it, too—he felt, in the back of his mind, that he certainly shouldn’t have liked it as much as he did.

But more than the anxiety that came with corrupting you (which, in actuality, he was more than somewhat proud of) the real dread centered around the power you had over him. That wasn’t new, he recognized; you had, for as long as you’d been with him, been able to get your way. He was a weak-willed old man, he probably knew that more than you did. But in this respect, with your new ability to reject him outright—to tell him what had happened would never happen again—he couldn’t bring himself to give you the opportunity, fearing that if he opened his mouth, you would shut him down.

He’d tasted the forbidden fruit, and to be cast out of Eden would be an experience that he would, in fact, come to regret, despite himself.

Cooper tried to hide the angst he felt at the scenario of his own creation as he walked onwards.

“S’a radius,” he called over his shoulder to you, still stooped on your knees to find the bone’s hidden mysteries. “Human one.”

“Fuck,” you muttered, “Thought I finally found a deathclaw.”

“’Y'won't find a deathclaw, sweetheart,” he chuckled, “It'll find you. 'N them shits don’t die without a hell’f’a fight.” He stopped in his tracks to wait on you, watching as you trudged through the sand.

“The whole point of the game is that I have to figure it out by myself,” you huffed, the attitude in your voice only a half-conscious decision—you were bothered by his seeming lack of awareness around the tension that hung between the two of you, but you were also tired and hot. “Gotta start over now…”

“Could’a told me. Didn’ know there was rules to it,” he smirked, blissfully, or not, unaware that the turmoil in your mind paralleled his own, “Won’t ruin your fun no more, darlin’.”

“It’s fine,” you grumbled, purposefully kicking up dust in your wake. “You probably know more about skeletons than I do.” You conceded, trying to lose your edge and make friends again.

“Nah, don’t sell y’self short, there,” he tilted his head at you, the brim of his hat hiding his eyes momentarily before he poked it up with a gloved hand. “Y’self taught—real life Einstein.”

“Who?”

He cringed. “Not a lotta science classes down in th’vaults, huh?”

“We had science,” you defended your upbringing, not for the first time, and likely not for the last.

“He was a scientist,” Cooper sighed, “Told Roosevelt to build th’bombs. Smart guy.” He looked around aimlessly, “Not a lot o’foresight.”

“The bombs?” You cringed, not enjoying the comparison he’d made between you and someone who might’ve been behind the landscape you looked at now.

“No,” he shook his head, “Earlier’n that.” He fished a vial from his pocket, taking a sip of the contents. “Gotta get ya’a history lesson.”

“I’ll be fine with you teaching me everything,” you scoffed, “Fast learner, remember?” The words jumped off your tongue faster than you could swallow them, and you shifted uncomfortably, waiting for a response.

Cooper just laughed, hoping you couldn’t hear his nerves. “That y’are, sweetheart.”

He started walking again, and you followed suit, kicking yourself for your slip-up and promising yourself that you wouldn’t bring it up again unless he did.

“How do you know so much about bones?” You tried to bring the initial conversation back to its roots.

“Broken a lot of ‘em. Guess I jus’ know a lot about death.”

“But not dying…”

“Never that.” He cracked the knuckles on one of his hands, and you felt curiosity gnawing at you.

“Cooper,” you started, easing into the subject, and giving yourself time to flake out of it, “How old are you?”

“Old enough.” He grunted.

“Old enough…?”

“To be your granddaddy three times over,” he didn’t do the math, just ballparking it.

“Old enough to remember—”

“Yes.” He cut you off, “Not that I like t’dwell on it.”

“Yeah,” you offered a curt nod, immediately regretting trying to bring it up, “Sorry.”

“Not your fault,” he breathed, “Jus’ not what I’d call a fun memory.”

“Mm,” you pursed your lips.

There was a straight minute of silence before he filled the gap.

“Had a dog,” he mused, suddenly smiling again.

“Really?” The idea of the man next to you caring for a living creature without getting anything in return made you want to laugh—then again, he was taking care of you, wasn’t he?

And you hadn’t been bait in days.

“Really,” he nodded, “Good dog, sweet thing. He followed me everywhere.”

“Like me?” You laughed.

“No,” he turned to you with a wicked grin, “Dog listened.”

“I could probably shake hands if you asked me to,” you shot back with a smile, and he barked a laugh. “Dogs aren’t allowed in the vaults—no pets. No animals.”

“Damn shame…” His response was flat, like he was trying to ignore your words without sounding rude.

God, he missed that dog.

When the thrill of the conversation wore off, you walked along in silence again. The tension was still present, but there was comfort alongside it. But something nipped at your heels, lingering in the back of your mind.

Cooper cracked the knuckles of his other hand.

“How much longer?” You asked, staring straight ahead.

“What?” He eyed you in his peripheral.

“How much longer will you know about death but not about dying?” You looked at your feet, watching the sand make room for every step beneath you.

He stopped walking, sucking his teeth. “You still worried ‘bout what’cha saw back there?” His voice was empty of any emotion, but his face read as concerned.

“I—not so much the ferals but the, uh…” Out of nowhere, there were tears in your eyes, “Don’t really know what I’d do without you.” It was the closest thing to admitting your reliance on him that you’d uttered in all your time together.

“Sweetheart,” he cupped your elbow in his hand, and the subtle display of affection made the tears roll down your cheeks faster. “Y’ain’t gotta worry ‘bout it.” Whether you recognized it or not, he was swearing his allegiance. “’M in it for the long run—til ya get sick of me.” He smirked, still so uncertain of what to do when you got like this that he ran to humor first, “Specially cause I dunno what you’d do without me, either.”

You laughed through quiet sobs, and when he swept you against his chest into what might’ve been meant as a hug, the tears ceased. You felt his hand on your back, thumb rubbing over your shirt.

“You’d be so bored without me.” You sniffled, trying to match his witticisms.

“Yeah,” he tilted his head down to look at you, “Prob’ly right.” He kept you near him even after you’d stopped crying, enjoying the way you moved against his chest with every shaky breath you took. He fished a vial from his pocket with the hand that wasn’t cradling you, “Told ya, ‘s’long as we got these, we’re fine.” He didn’t know why he was saying ‘we’ as opposed to ‘I,’ a subconscious decision that had him projecting you into every aspect of his life—he wasn’t mad about it. And neither were you.

You dragged your cheek along his chest as you craned your neck to look at the vial.

“Cooper,” you whispered.

“Mhm?”

“That vial’s almost empty.”

“Well,” he huffed, “Was hopin’ y’wouldn’t notice that.”

“Einstein.” You mumbled against him as he popped the vial back into his pocket. “Can we get more?”

“S’where we’re goin’,” he informed you, and you peeled yourself off of him to the reluctance of both of you.

You walked side by side, knocking shoulders in silence.

~~~

“C’mon, few more steps—be a big girl ‘bout it,” you had fallen behind him, dragging your feet and letting your shoulders droop in the heat, and Cooper delighted in your obvious fatigue. “Don’t drop dead on me.”

“Free meal for you,” you tried to scoff but it quickly morphed into a yawn. Your skin was tight with sunburn and you felt exhaustion in the deepest recesses of your bones, but you were still awake enough to match his energy to a degree.

“Wouldn’ eat ya, darlin’,” he smirked, and it wasn’t a lie; he didn’t at all want to eat you, at least not in the manner you had implied. “Too sweet.”

“Yeah, I bet,” you muttered, “probably just taxidermy me, carry me around so you don’t get lonely.”

“Now, that is exactly what I had in mind,” he whistled, “How’d ya know?”

He coughed, stooping over with hands on his knees and blinking rapidly a few times to collect himself.

“Are we close?” You quickly grew tired of teasing him, acutely aware of how the muscles in your thighs tensed with each step, and how quickly he would deteriorate if he stayed without whatever was in those vials any longer.

“Close t’what, sweetheart?” He smiled, still happy to poke fun at you despite your disinterest.

“Wherever—vials…anywhere.” You yawned again.

“How is it’at someone who sleeps so goddamn much can’t stay awake more’an a few hours at a time?” He watched your mouth as you stifled another tired sigh.

“How is it that someone with no nose still manages to be so nosy?” You snapped back, smiling at the way his eyes widened.

“Woo. Down, girl,” he tsked, curling his lip. “I got a place in mind, ‘f’you would just hurry it up.”

You grumbled at him, picking up your pace to meet his stride. The setting sun offered respite to your weary bones, soft breeze pushing against the sweaty skin of your back. The Ghoul whistled, tuneless but beautiful, and with every few steps you let your eyes close for just a second.

You momentarily forgot about how tired you were, pleased to simply be in his presence.

“There ya go,” he pointed a gloved hand towards the horizon, and you followed it to see a building that looked to be more sand than structure.

“There’s stuff in there?”

“Stuff everywhere,” he took on a mocking tone, hearing the dismay in your voice that you’d failed to hide. “Don’t’cha trust me, sweetheart?” He smiled, and your gaze bounced from his lips to his eyes.

“I do,” you admitted aloud for the first time, and you saw a flash of something in his eyes that wasn’t there before, but you continued; “Just seems a little…sad…”

“It ‘n’everything else up here,” he sighed. “C’mon.”

You shuffled along with him, and the building became clearer as you approached. 

It wasn’t a house; you could tell that much. There were no visible signs that it had been used as a living space for at least a few decades. Broken glass and lack of amenities aside, you could see rows of shelves and what looked like a counter, and you recognized it as—or what had once been—a pharmacy.

You tripped over the piles of sand that had blown into the entrance, grabbing the outer brick wall to steady yourself. Cooper came up behind you, steady on his feet despite the terrain.

“Ye olde apothecary,” He sniffed, spitting in the sand, “Y’believe me now?” He walked past you, raising his arms as if to expect a welcome from the empty store.

“Never said I didn’t,” you leaned against the empty doorframe as you watched him strut through the aisles. You raised a brow, “Where’s your medicine, Coop?”

He waved you off, shooing you with a hand thrown over his shoulder as he walked towards the counter in the back. He was moving slower, as if to downplay any pain he felt, to rest his surely weary bones. You sighed, following him.

“Stashed some shit in here, few months ago—carryin’ too much,” he jumped over the counter, trying to hide the way he winced when his feet hit the floor.

“How do you know nobody took it while you were gone?” You challenged.

“Ain’t nobody gonna be dumb enough to steal my shit.” He grumbled.

“How would they know it was yours?”

He ignored you as he shucked his duster and ammo belt, tossing them to the ground. He sighed in relief, the extra pounds of fabric and metal no longer a hindrance to him in his weakened state. He began to rummage through moldy cardboard boxes, “It’ll be here. Had to dump it somewhere I knew. Didn’t trust myself t’savor it.”

“Tastes that good, huh?” You smiled, maneuvering yourself over the counter to meet him.

“Y’got no idea, darlin’,” he shook his head, elbow deep in a box. He grunted, yanking at something deep, before hauling out a smaller, metal box from the cardboard. “There y’are.” He kissed the tin, and you rolled your eyes.

You let yourself wander a bit further past him, delving into the boxes that were stacked up where you could reach them.

“Got anything else hidden away in here?” You mused, cringing when your hand made contact with something slimy in one of the boxes. You wiped your palm down your jeans.

“Maybe…” He thought, still fiddling with the tin in his hands, “Guns, ammo somewhere, probably.”

You moved on to another box and found a pistol packaged away in a rag. You swiped it, trying to push it into your belt loops as a makeshift holster.

“Y’ain’t need one.” He knew what you were doing without even looking your way, still wary of letting you carry a weapon after the feral debacle. “Y’get too in your head.”

“You could teach me how to shoot properly.” You turned to him, offering a shy shrug. “Please?”

“Y’really know how’ta make a man swoon, sweetheart.” He had resorted to banging the top of the tin against the table, unable to find the latch to open it. “Christ—c’mere with’ose pretty li’l fingers ‘f’yers.” He held the case out to you.

You shoved the gun into the depths of your back pocket, walking over and taking the tin. You did what you could, fiddling with the rusty lid and praying that whatever liquid was in the vials inside didn’t begin to seep through as a sign of broken glass. You leveraged your nails beneath the rim of the top and used any remaining strength you had left in you to tug hard.

“I almost got it,” you felt pride, happy to be able to provide for him, and you looked up expectantly.

He wasn’t looking back at you.

He was turned away from you slightly, his head up and eyes darting over the front of the store. He stretched one finger out in front as a signal, telling you to pause, but you continued anyway; separating the halves of the tin with a pop that seemed to echo through the derelict building.

When you heard the bang of the front door swinging open behind you, and the crack of glass beneath boots, you shuddered. He brought his finger to his lips, shushing you. You scrambled to grab the vials in the tin, shoving them into your pocket and hoping they wouldn’t break before you could leave.

You shook your head, trying to apologize, trying to ask him to conceal himself, to fight quick and wordlessly, without his usual flair—not like this, not in his worsening condition. But the wick had been lit; the ferocity in his eyes burned bright, and you knew it was only a matter of time until the powder keg exploded.

You remembered, too late, that his belt was across the room, and with it, his gun.

Someone whistled. Someone else laughed. And you felt utterly helpless—a deer in headlights, with no chance of making it to the other side of the road on time.

“Well,” a man’s voice. “Lookit that. Boys, it appears we’ve found the holy grail.”

You turned, slowly. The Ghoul sucked his teeth.

“Nice t’see ya alive, Jed.” Cooper offered a sardonic greeting. You couldn’t see his face, your back now to him, but you knew he was smiling.

“And well!” Jed laughed.

“Now, let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Cooper scoffed.

“Always so hospitable,” Jed shook his head, finding his way around the counter with his backup close behind. “Ain’t ya gonna introduce me to your friend, here?” He came close to you, near enough for you to see the dry skin on the tip of his nose and the frayed, twisted ends of his beard. He knocked the open tin from your hands, and it clattered to the ground. Thank god you’d emptied it.

“She’s gotta voice,” Cooper ticked his jaw, “Why don’t y’ask her yourself? Or has it been that long since you’ve gotten a good look at a woman?”

Jed backed off, focusing on Cooper now, and you closed your eyes as if deep in thought or prayer; there was no back exit, not even a hole worn into the wall that you could climb through. The cronies Jed had with him maintained their gaze on you, and you swallowed.

“What’s that now?” Jed leaned in towards Cooper, who remained amused by the situation despite everything.

“I’m sorry, I—I was just wonderin’ ‘f’you’re still as big a pussy now as y’were when I last saw ya.” Cooper tipped his hat to the younger man.

Jed smiled, laughing along with Cooper, before suddenly going deadpan and punching him in the gut. Cooper doubled over, cursing, and you sucked in a sharp breath upon hearing the commotion.

“Now, look,” Jed straightened, “You’ve upset the lady.”

“She’ll live,” Cooper groaned, and you bit the inside of your cheek.

“You so sure?” Jed countered.

“What is’t ya want, Jed?” Cooper took a long breath, trying to shut down whatever it was that crossed Jed’s mind in that moment, forcing his attention from you. “Or did y’just drop in t’say hi?”

You turned to watch now. Jed’s face went from one of amusement to ire; his mouth dropped with his brow, creasing his face and making him speak with a sneer.

“I want,” he crossed his arms, “to ask you about your trip down to Filly.”

Cooper sighed, and you watched him drop his head as he spoke, hiding his face with his hat. “You wanna ask me ‘bout that brother o’yours.”

“That’s right.” Jed looked red in the face, “I wanna ask you why you think you can play god, Ghoul.” He took his gun from its holster, turning off the safety as he continued his tirade. “I wanna know what the fuck gives you the right to kill any son’bitch that gets between you an’ some caps.” He breathed heavily, mixing his grief with a stronger sense of brutality.

Cooper looked back up, and for a moment he looked almost remorseful—sorry to see a man so torn up about the loss of kin. But the tinge of sympathy didn’t last long.

“He died like a bitch, Jed.” He grinned.

Jed looked ill, like he was unsure of himself, on the verge of tears or vomit. But he pulled the trigger, anyway.

Two shots sounded, and you flinched at each one.

“Well, there—maybe you do have some charm,” Cooper shook his head, still standing, swatting at the holes in his pants where Jed had shot him—once in both legs, “Sure are makin’ me weak in the knees.” You sighed, relieved, but not out of the woods; his tone remained suave, but his voice was cracked at the edges. His jaw was clenched tight, like he was biting back the pain you hoped he couldn’t feel, and you desperately wanted this situation to be put to an end so that you could force the liquid in the vials down his throat yourself.

Jed said nothing, swallowing thickly and turning to his companions. “Don’t kill him—get him tender for me.”

“What about her?” One of the two other men nodded towards you, and you stared back at him.

“Leave her.” The three men turned to Cooper, and you continued your silent surveillance. He looked pale, if that was possible; a greyish tint on what would otherwise be an angry pink.

Jed let out a slow whistle. “I think I found your Achilles heel, friend.” He moved in on you, poking his gun into your back and forcing you to move directly in front of Cooper. His backup approached the Ghoul, and you shuddered in ugly anticipation.

“She’s got nothin’ you want, boy,” the threat came out more pleading than he’d meant, but Cooper stuck to his guns, “Leave her be.”

Jed sneered, and you looked at your feet. “Make sure he can see her while you beat him—‘nd go slow. Wanna make sure we all get a show out of it.”

With his gun still pressed to you, Jed signaled for his friends to take action. You’d never felt more insignificant; in the vaults you had your dreams, in the wastes you had the stars, but now, watching Cooper allow these men to land blow after blow with the intention of maintaining your safety, you felt utterly hopeless.

And though he kept his head up, snarking occasionally when he had enough breath to fuel him, Cooper looked bad; you didn’t think he could bruise, but in the low light of the shop he looked discolored and hurt. You tried to search his face, for a sign or a signal, but he avoided your gaze.

You found yourself wishing you could see another day of empty desert and inherent danger, as long as it was with him—only if it was with Cooper.

Jed moved to push his gun hard against your face, and you wondered if this meant it would be the last time you’d have a pistol aimed at you. You wondered what you could do if you had an opportunity, if you weren’t so defenseless.

The gun.

You felt the cold metal through the thin denim of your jeans, heartrate skyrocketing when you realized the implications of the weight in your pocket.

You’d never shot a gun. Even when he let you carry around that old, beat-up piece, you’d never gotten the opportunity to fire it. But you’d watched Cooper do it hundreds, probably thousands of times.

He flicked the safety, he aimed, he fired.

You could do that. You prayed to anybody that you could do that in this moment, if never hereafter.

With the focus of the hired muscle already on Cooper, you waited for Jed to let his gaze wander; his eyes, emotionless rocks stuck into his skull, leered at you in a manner that made your blood run cold.

But then he turned his head, watching his companions batter the already worse-for-wear Ghoul. You fished the pistol from your pockets, trying to move quickly.

“Think after this we should have ourselves a li’l party, boys. Nice piece of ass like this, shame for it to go to waste before we—”

A shot, loud and tooth-rattling, engulfed you as you pulled the trigger. Jed fell down, dead.

Your hands were shaking. Your entire body was shaking. Your ears were ringing and your head felt cloudy—with fear or rage, you didn’t bother to define it.

“Get out,” you cleared your throat, now pointing the pistol at the two men who loomed over the Ghoul. Despite your trembling, the men seemed uncertain, lost without their leader and unwilling to find out if you were bluffing. “Get out!” You doubled down, encouraging them to lose their nerve. You watched as they backed away, hands raised in surrender, scooting around the counter and quickly running out the door.

You gasped for air, feeling faint and almost buzzed, before shoving the gun onto a shelf and moving to fold yourself over Cooper.

He was lying flat on the floor, a bit dazed, but not bloodied—you shoved aside the curiosity that popped up in your head, begging the question if he even had blood. His hat had been knocked off and now lay several feet from him. He was smirking at you like he had not a care in the world.

“Look at you,” he coughed, ragged and chesty, and you fished a vial from your pocket. “My little killer.”

“Shut up, Cooper,” you bit the cap off the vial you’d grabbed and spit it out to the side, forcing his head up and pouring the contents down his throat. He coughed at first, before giving in to your control and swallowing the chem. He wheezed when you’d poured all the vial’s contents out, grabbing your arm and squeezing gently.

“Jesus Christ,” he shook his head, collecting himself, “You’re a goddamn angel, sweetheart.”

“Oh my god,” you sighed in relief, letting your head rest on the linoleum next to his. You stayed like that, sprawled out with your body pressed to him, watching the life come back to his eyes. You let him adjust in the quiet, waiting for the right time to discuss what you considered the highlight of what you’d just endured.

“Leave her be?” You put on a less than stellar impression of him.

“Didn’want that filth touchin’ ya.” He muttered, stretching and unconcerned.

“You don’t seem to have a problem when it’s your filthy hands.” You pointed out, somehow feeling that now was the most appropriate time to bring up what had happened between you days ago. In light of recent events, you didn’t care anymore if you were the one that brought it up.

“Exactly,” He turned his face to look at you, “My filthy hands.” He rested his palm on your stomach, “Mine.”

You propped yourself up on your elbow and stared, taking him in; his color was back, the proper pink, sun kissed flush you’d come to appreciate, and his eyes were still in their sockets; his voice was less raspy, at least compared to how it had been while he was getting the shit kicked out of him, and he was forming real words.

His stupid, shit-eating grin was once again plastered on his lips.

He was ok. He was still Cooper—beautiful, wild, stupidly stubborn Cooper. And you realized that you were still shaking, pent up adrenaline trying to find its way out of your system, squeezing at your heart and clouding your brain.

So you kissed him. You grabbed him by the face and pulled him up to you, crashing your lips to his in a frenzied, out of body manner that left you both panting. You clawed at the back of his collar, fingers dancing over his shoulders and down his chest, and still you wanted more.

You pulled away to take a breath, and Cooper licked his lips, chest heaving.

“Think you should kill more people.” He smiled, running a hand over his head.

“Only if you don’t face the brink of death in the process,” you smiled back, a healthy whirl running through you.

It was comfortable—you were comfortable; by his side and safe again, itching for his attention and knowing it was you and only you who would get it. This is exactly what you’d always wanted.

It was exactly what you wanted.

“Cooper,” you sat up, placing a hand on his chest and fanning your fingers out to grab loosely at the fabric of his shirt, “Show me more.”

He cocked a brow at you, unsure of what you were asking. “Show y’what?”

“Like how you did when you showed me how to curl my fingers,” you shuffled closer to him, hand trailing further down his stomach, “And when you showed me how to use my mouth—I want more, please, I want…” You whined a little, biting your lip so you wouldn’t lose your nerve, “Fuck me.”

He stared up at you, your hand dangerously close to his fly and your eyes looking as pleading as your voice sounded.

You were so beautiful, so genuine and virtuous. And he was already destined for a hell, if there was one.

He grabbed you by the waist, hauling you over him and kissing you again. Your chest pressed against his, legs moving to straddle him and squeeze his waist as he tugged you impossibly close. His hands drifted over the curve of your ass, squeezing so hard he thought he might tear through the denim of your jeans.

He tried to go slower, savor the taste of your tongue and the feel of your body on his, but he gave up the moment you began to grind your hips on top of him.

“Bloodthirsty thing,” he muttered against your lips, “All wound up, huh, sweetheart? One bullet out the chamber ‘nd you need me to fuck it better?”

You let out a whine, and he dragged his tongue against your throat, licking up your neck until he reached your jaw. It gave you enough time to think about his words.

“Wait—Cooper,” you pushed off of him and held him by the collar.

He removed his hands from you, resting them on the floor on either side of his head. “What’s wrong?” He swallowed, trying to subdue the ache and the nerves that flickered through him, “What’cha thinkin’, sweetheart?”

“Dead body,” you hooked a thumb over your shoulder, pointing at the blood-soaked spot where Jed still lay dead.

“Not doin’ it for ya?” The Ghoul smirked, and you frowned down at him.

“Not exactly how I imagined it.”

“Y’want me to get rid of it?” Cooper lifted his head to sneer at the deceased man on the floor. You nodded. “Then I gotta get up, darlin’,” he bit his tongue, taking on a playful tone.

You sighed, weighing your options, before relenting and easing off of him slowly.

He got up with a groan, tilting his head to crack his neck as he walked. He moved to grab his hat and place it back on his head before making his way over to the corpse on the floor. You tried not to pay too much attention to the way Jed’s body lolled around as if boneless when Cooper lifted him and threw him over his shoulder.

“Coop,” you called after him, waiting for him to turn back to you, “Don’t eat him.”

“Got another item on th’menu I’m more interested in samplin’, sweetheart,” he shook his head, walking out. “Smartass.”

You weren’t sure what to do with yourself when he left, hauling the body off somewhere out in the sand. Should you pose? Strip? Both?

You stood, unzipping your pants and letting them pool around your ankles, kicking them off into the corner with the least blood.

“This your way o’tellin’ me I wasn’t goin’ fast enough?” Cooper spoke, leaning against the counter as his eyes trailed up your naked legs. You hadn’t heard him come back in—maybe that was his goal. “Had t’start without me?”

You smiled impishly, biting your lip and peeling off your shirt, throwing it over into the corner where it joined your pants in a heap.

You stood bare and felt as though you must have looked awkward and uncertain, but Cooper clearly felt otherwise as he hopped over the counter again and took hurried steps over to you. You took a step back for every one he took forward, hands clasped behind your back and a mischievous grin on your lips.

Your back hit a wall, cornered, and Cooper drank you in.

“You try’na tease me, baby?” He stuck his tongue out to wet his lower lip before sucking his teeth, his hand coming up to your chin and beckoning your gaze upward to meet his. “Cause it’s workin’.”

“…You’ve got blood on your shirt.” You purred, pressing a finger into a dark spot on the fabric.

Cooper, rather ceremoniously, took off his hat, holding it to his chest. “It ain’t mine…” He let the hat fall from his hands, and you watched it wobble through the air before landing quietly on the floor. The corner of his mouth twitched upward into a faint smile, “I can…take it off ‘nd prove it to ya.”

You nodded eagerly, putting any remaining shame to bed and embracing the urgency of your desires.

He bit the forefinger of his glove, peeling the leather from his hand before tugging off the opposite glove. His fingers were thick, though boney, and looked calloused; strong from decades of roughing it and pulling triggers. You watched them, entranced, as his hands flew to his collar and began to unbutton his shirt.

“Now don’ get all yucked-out,” Cooper mumbled, shucking the shirt off his arms and letting it drop to the floor, “Ain’t what I used to be under these rags.”

You couldn’t do much but stare. His torso looked like the rest of him; angry red and riddled with crossing scars. He was lean, but there was still muscle pushing against the damaged skin of his chest and arms.

You reached out to touch him, and delighted in the fact that he didn’t flinch now or try to grab your wrist. You dragged your knuckles down his front, back and forth over his skin before reaching back up to let your palm rest on his chest.

“I like you the way you are…” You said it like an oath, a promise to him, echoing the sentiment you’d shared after being confronted by the ferals and meaning it now more than ever.

“Don’t go soft on me, sweetheart,” he feigned distaste, but he couldn’t hide the way his body relaxed into your touch, the warmth of your palm becoming some sort of beacon that coaxed him in.

“Thought you’d like me soft…malleable,” you smiled, “I remember you enjoying being able to, uh—to guide me through the motions.”

Cooper bit his tongue, stifling the rumble that began in his chest before it could make its way past his lips. He wanted to eat you whole; lick your skin down to the bone and savor every part of you, hoping he’d be lucky enough to hear you sing his praises. But even he knew there was a line, and he’d never forgive himself if he fucked this up.

He took your hand from his chest, rubbing your palm with his thumb. He was closer now, looming above you with a predatory glint in his eyes, and you found yourself content to be his prey.

“Wanna do things t’ya, darlin’,” he stopped holding his tongue, “Give y’the whole goddamn experience that you deserve.” His thumb stopped moving, and he squeezed your hand. “Y’still trust me?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, “I trust you.”

“’M gonna go as slow ‘s’ya need me to,” he swallowed, “Gonna make sure y’fuckin’ listen, just like last time—liked taking orders, ain’t that right?” He let go of your hand, reaching up to cup your jaw.

“I like it.” Your eyes fluttered, his fingers dug gently into your skin.

“Atta girl,” his hand trailed down over your collar bone, sweeping his fingers over it once before dropping it further to cup one of your breasts. You shivered, his palm engulfing you so easily, squeezing gently before drawing his hand back to squeeze your nipple between his knuckles.

“Dreamed about these tits,” he mused, watching your back start to arch when he tugged just right. His other hand came up to match the pace of his kneading on your other breast. “So fuckin’ soft,” he bent forward, squeezing your breasts together to smother himself in the cavern between them, licking at your sternum.

He came back up to kiss you, and you craned your neck, desperate to greet him with your mouth using the same urgency you felt bubbling in your abdomen. His tongue pushed through your lips, and you moaned, leaving him the space to pull back and bite at your bottom lip.

“More,” your head tilted back when he returned to your chest, sucking a nipple into his mouth and trapping it with his lips and teeth. His tongue flicked over the pebbled flesh while his hand doted on your other breast, and a flood of arousal dripped between your thighs. “Please, Cooper.”

“I told ya, ‘m takin’ my sweet time,” he spoke into the plush skin of your chest, sucking deep purple marks into you. “Woman like you needs t’be approached with care.” He was smiling, you could feel the curl of his lips against your chest as he continued his teasing ministrations.

“Approach me with care faster,” you whined, thighs beginning to squirm together as the familiar heat began to rise in your stomach.

Cooper released his hold on you, straightening up. One of his hands found purchase on the back of your neck, grabbing at your hair and pulling so that you were forced to look up at him; his other arm circled your waist, pulling you towards him so that you could feel the heat of skin-on-skin.

“You’re fuckin’ greedy,” he growled, taking pleasure in the way your breasts pressed firm against his own body, “Here I thought I was helpin’ get you ready f’me, but I don’t think you care.” He kissed your nose, and you whimpered. “Jus’ don’wanna break ya, s’all.”

“I’d be happy to let you break me.” You were serious; you knew what he was capable of, now and in any event, and you knew there were plenty of things you didn’t know much about—some you didn’t know about at all—but in his hands, you knew you were safe.

Even if it meant being broken. You had no doubt that he’d put you back together.

“Y’don’ know what’cher sayin’…” His hand dropped to squeeze your ass.

“S—aid you’d teach me,” you gasped through your words, blindsided by his touch, “Didn’t you?”

“Sweetheart,” he drawled, stepping back and kneeling in front of you, “I am goin’ to thoroughly enjoy showin’ you the ropes.” His words put the image of you tied up and begging for him in his mind’s eye, but he would save it for another time.

His hands caressed your sides, kneading your hips. He placed kisses down your stomach and the top of your thighs before glancing back up at you.

“Put’cher leg up, baby,” he was on his knees, hand gripping your calf and encouraging you to hook your knee over his shoulder. You did what you were told, your core pulsing when you felt his breath fan your bare cunt. “’Bout time I returned th’favor. Had that sweet li’l mouth on me, wanna taste ya from the source.”

You whined, eyes fixed on him when he brought two fingers to your core and slid them through your folds, collecting the slick that threatened to drench your thighs. He brought his hand up to his mouth, sucking on the digits he’d coated with your wet and humming.

“Like candy, sweetheart,” he placed his hands on your ass, fingers digging into your flesh as he drew you in closer and let his face hover just centimeters from where you both wanted him to be. He inhaled, chasing your scent. “Goddamn precious thing.”

You didn’t have time to come up with a reply, instantly met with the sensation of his tongue lapping between your folds before he had even finished his sentence. He licked straight through your slit, letting his tongue dart over your hole and circling it with care before plunging it into you.

You felt hot, unsure of what to do with your hands as the stimulation sent jolts of pleasure through your body, coupled with the vibrations of Cooper’s groans as he buried his face against you. You grabbed at his free shoulder to steady yourself, fingers straying to cup his face and feel the way he hollowed his cheeks while he fucked his tongue into you, guzzling the slick that drenched your thighs.

“Jesus Christ,” he trailed his lips over your thigh, catching his breath, “Look at what y’did, darlin’—makin’ a fuckin’ mess o’me.” He licked his lips, humming as the tang touched his tongue again.

“Feels so good,” you were slack-jawed, staring down at him with saucer eyes.

“Can you believe there are fellas out there who don’ wanna taste their ladies?” Cooper mused, swiping his fingers through you again before positioning them over your clit and applying just enough pressure so the sensation made you bend at the knees. “Goddamn travesty—think I could stay here forever…” He watched you squirm under his fingers, rolling your hips against his hand.

“I’d—I’d let you,” you managed to moan out, trembling.

“Yeah?” He grinned, “Y’want me fuckin’ you with my tongue all day, sweet thing? Y’wanna drown me with this fuckin’ cunt?”

“Cooper—” You felt dizzy, the haze of lust completely cloaking your mind.

“Could y’handle it, sweetheart? All this mess b’tween your pretty fuckin’ thighs—givin’ it to me like the li’l slut I know y’are? Bet ya’d ask for more. Y’always want more, ain’t that right?”

“Yh—ess,” you whined, breath shallow as you neared your high, letting his words wind up the spring in your core.

He’d never felt more triumphant in his life; for someone who had stared death in the face for decades upon decades, it was only now that he felt prepared for it. Covered in your pleasure and listening to your cries, he knew he could die a happy man—but only if he could see you through to your high.

“I’ll give ya more, darlin’,” he bit into your thigh, and you yelped, head falling back, hips pushing against the fingers he still had on your clit. “Always give ya more.”

You felt his fingers leave you, easing further back and pushing against your entrance. You moaned out a plea, something half-assembled and whiny, to make him hurry up. You bit your lip, gasping, when his two fingers pushed into you: thick and deep and immediately locating the spot he’d shown you all those nights ago.

“Fuck—” You cried out, the pads of his fingers punching up into you deliciously.

“Bigger’an yours, huh?” He laughed, unable to tear his eyes away from the way your cunt swallowed his digits, “Y’feel’at stretch again, sweetheart? Pretty cunt nice ‘n’full o’me?”

“It’s s—it’s so good,” you shook your head, lost in overwhelming pleasure. You started bouncing your hips, riding his hand; the slick sounds and the way he moaned out at the sight only served to spur you on further as you hurtled closer to your orgasm.

“Pretty whore, that’s it. Ride these fuckin’ fingers, girl. Wanna see that pretty face y’make when you cum for me.” He was growling, face twisted into a wolfish sneer as he pushed his fingers deeper into you, watching your face contort as your body made space for his intrusion.

When his lips wrapped around your clit, working in tandem with his fingers, your vision went white. Even with your eyes closed, there was still a trace of light, a halo under your eyelids as your body went slack for him and your thighs trembled through the burn of staying in one position for so long.

“Got a tight fuckin’ cunt—squeezin’ me so nice when you cum, baby.” He licked the juices that leaked over the fingers still buried deep inside you, flicking his tongue over your clit and watching your body jolt at the overstimulation.

“Oh my god,” you leaned against the wall behind you, panting. “Cooper—fuck, too much.” You whimpered, reaching for his wrist and pulling him up to you. He leaned into you, pressing his face into the crook of your neck.

“’M sorry, sweetheart,” his words were muted, spoken into your skin between kisses that were likely to leave marks. “So pretty when y’shake like that.”

“No, it’s—it was the good kind of too much.” You giggled, breathy and coquettish, at the way his lips felt on your neck.

“S’at right?” He groaned into you, and your hands came to rest low on his back, just above his waistband.

“Think you knew that…” You mewled, hands looping around to his front to tug on his belt.

“Well, maybe,” he moved to rest his arm against the wall, caging you next to his forearm, “Certainly think I know one thing.”

“Yeah?” You nearly had the buckle on his belt loosened enough to pull it off of him completely. “What’s that, Coop?”

“Think I know you’re a grabby, impatient li’l thing,” he grabbed you by the elbow, halting your attempt to remove his belt. “Think you were serious ‘bout lettin’ me break you, seein’ how those hands keep wanderin’ without permission.”

“Wanna touch you.” You whined, desperate to see if his threats would become promises.

“Touched me plenty,” he laughed, not caving to your pleas, “Don’t’cha wanna feel me in that pretty cunt?” He cupped your still dripping sex, “I know she does.” He pressed the heel of his palm into your clit. “See how far I can push ya?”

His fingers threatened your entrance again and you swooned, rocking your hips forward. Before you could get any satisfaction from his hand, he brought it back up, fingers beckoning your lips open. You licked at his fingers before resting them on your tongue to suck; he tasted like the ash of gun smoke and the tang of your cum, and you whimpered into him.

You released his fingers from your mouth with a quiet pop, and squeezed his hand, admiring the rough skin and the dark eyes in front of you.

“Get on the counter—‘nd spread those legs.” He pulled you towards him by the hand, easing you forward and encouraging you to make the journey to the counter on your own.

“Don’t wanna fuck me up against the wall?” You purred, more so anxious about how you’d look on your back than disappointed that he didn’t fuck you where you stood.

“We’ll get there.” He drank you in as you walked away, eyes darting over your body, unsure of which part of you he enjoyed looking at most. “Wanna get you comfortable.”

You hopped up on the counter, spreading your legs and chancing a look between your thighs. You were soaked, even beyond how you looked after touching yourself for him; the mixture of the two of you, your cum and his spit, that sat sticky on your thighs and over your folds made you squeeze around nothing, and you dipped a hand down to explore your already wrecked cunt.

“Wanderin’ hands…” The Ghoul remained in the spot you’d left him in, hand on his belt buckle as he eyed you.

“Well…” You smiled sheepishly, keeping your fingers perched delicately over your clit, “Come do something about it.”

His jaw clenched, and as he walked over to you with long strides, he undid his belt, unzipping his fly. He didn’t bother ridding himself of his pants—not only was he in too much of a hurry to care, but part of him felt a buzz at the notion that he’d be able to smell you on the fabric for the next few days to come.

“Y’wanna touch so fuckin’ bad?” He pulled his cock out, and you watched, wide-eyed, as he stroked himself. “Go’head, sweetheart—just like y’did last time.”

In the light of day, without the hindrance of sleep in your eyes, and with more illumination than just the dim assistance of a dying fire, you were able to properly appreciate him; long and thick, his tip angry and purple, marred with veins rather than the scars that littered the rest of him.

“Is it a side effect of radiation or are you just lucky?” You smiled nervously, reaching down to wrap your hand around his cock.

“Stroke my cock, girl, not my ego,” he laughed, his amusement cut short when you swiped your thumb over his tip. “Christ, ‘at’s it.”

“I remember what to do.”

“Not about rememberin’. Slut like you, was probably hardwired into your system. Pretty fuckin’ thing.”

You took more initiative now, caging him between your legs and urging him closer to you; you moved your hand to the topside of his cock, pressing the underside of him to your cunt and bucking your hips slightly against him.

“Fuck me, I ain’t teach ya that,” Cooper looked down, slack-jawed, at the way you moved.

“Hardwired…” You muttered, you yourself entranced by your ministrations.

“She’s gonna look so pretty stuffed full o’me,” he thrust his hips against you, matching your casual pace. “Y’think ya can take it, darlin’? Gonna lemme fill y’up ‘n’then some?”

“Please,” you struggled to hide your excitement, “Show me—break me.”

“Well, shit,” he groaned out, fingers of one hand gripping your thigh while his other hand wrapped around the base of his cock to line himself up with your entrance, “’F’you insist.”

He went slow, teasing you, dragging himself through your folds before finally pushing forward just enough to let the tip of his cock penetrate you.

“H—oh,” you stuttered, feeling a brief squeeze of something in your abdomen.

“Jes—us, fuck. Jus’ relax, sweetheart. Gonna be gentle for ya.” His voice was raw with desire, and gentler than you’d ever heard it. That alone helped you feel more at ease. He worked you open, inching into you until he was fully sheathed. “Look’at’cha, baby, see how that pretty gash drools for me?” He couldn’t even try to hide his pleasure, heavily lidded eyes paired with his incessant narration. “Lord, bury me in this tight fuckin’ cunt.”

You shivered, feet hooking into his back and quietly urging him to do more. You felt your walls clench around him, familiarizing your body with the pleasant new intrusion.

“Gonna move now, sweetheart. Y’alright?”

“Please,” you gasped when he pulled back an inch, “Let me feel it. Wanna feel you ruin me.”

The hand he didn’t have on your thigh moved to wrap loosely around your neck. “Y’got a dirty fuckin’ mouth.” He leaned forward, inadvertently pushing his cock deeper within you and making you moan wantonly into the kiss he offered. “Now you look at me, baby. Keep those eyes on me while I break y’nice.”

He pulled back before plunging into you and setting a fast but compassionate pace. You wiggled free of his grasp on your throat, head falling back in shock and pleasure.

“What’d I fuckin’ say?” He snarled, grabbing you by the nape of your neck and forcing your face up. “You look at me while I’m fuckin’ you—want y’to see who’s makin’ you feel like this.”

Though your eyes rolled back slightly with each press of his hips to yours, you managed to keep your head up with help from the hand he had on the back of your neck.

“Fuck,” you mumbled out a whine when the tip of his cock nudged at your cervix, a pinch of pain that was drowned out by the overwhelming pleasure. You’d never felt fuller, or more complete, than you did in that moment—connected to him on a much more literal level.

You rolled your hips, desperate for more, pleading for everything he had to give you. You tried to match his pace, but your movements were more urgent than his own and you found yourself squirming pitifully on his cock.

“Thought you’d need it gentle,” Cooper growled out, his teeth clenched, “Was gonna be so patient. But y’really are just a needy fuckin’ whore, huh?” He wrapped an arm around your waist, tugging you to him and effectively quieting your movements. “Ain’t’cha? Say it. Tell me what’cha’re, girl.”

“Needy—needy whore.” You let yourself collapse under the pleasure, burying your face into him and letting his skin mute your words.

“That’s right. ‘Nd who’re you needy for?” He goaded you, hips still pistoning forward while you clawed at his back.

“You,” you managed to choke out.

He pulled you back by your hair, and you yelped out a moan as he forced your eyes to meet his. “Say my fuckin’ name. You’re my needy li’l whore, ain’t that right, darlin’? C’mon.”

“Y—es,” you whimpered, grabbing handfuls of him wherever you could reach and pulling him forward to you for a sloppy kiss.

“Don’t be shy now, tell me.”

“I’m yours, Cooper—yours.”

“Shit, there y’go,” he moaned, leaning his head back and granting you access to his neck, where you trailed open mouth kisses.

When he used the arm around your waist as leverage to pull you closer and drag you over his cock, you sucked your lips between your teeth, biting down and trying to let the sounds that traveled from your throat die before they reached your mouth.

“Don’t get shy on me,” he punctuated his words with sharp thrusts of his hips, “Wanna hear y’screamin’.” He tilted you back so you were lying on the counter, wrapping his mouth around the pillowy flesh of your breast, sucking and biting down on you until you caved and let your moans flow freely from between your lips.

“Cooper—fuck,” your voice was strained by satisfaction, “It’s—yeah, taste me while you fuck me.”

“Atta girl,” he groaned, licking over your nipple before biting down on it, “Sound pretty when you’re cryin’ for me like that. Usin’ all your dirty words—what would they think down in that vault o’yours ‘f’they saw ya givin’ it all up to a man like me? Gettin’ split in half by a fuckin’ ghoul ‘nd likin’ it?” He was rambling, getting off on the thought of people seeing a pretty young thing like you, smooth and soft and lively, speared on his cock.

He'd fuck you out in the open next time, if you’d let him.

“Don’t—don’t care—" you were panting, overstimulated and loving it, “Want more.”

“Greedy bitch,” he reached between your bodies and pinched your clit, eliciting a high-pitched mewl from you. “Been nice enough to fuck y’rough like ya needed ‘nd you’re still actin’ desperate. Just gonna have to keep you on my cock like this all the time.”

“Yes!” You moaned, the thought of him keeping you full like this made you more than happy. The excitement in your voice did little to quell his thoughts of keeping you beneath him, hoarding you to himself and stuffing you every free moment.

“Yeah, ‘at’s what’cha need. Dumb fuckin’ hole to use, s’at right? Y’just wanna be a cunt f’me to fill.” He sped up, and in his haste his cock jabbed against your g-spot repeatedly and with no mercy.

Nobody had ever spoken to you like this, held you liked this, or fucked you at all, let alone in a manner so aggressive and hungry for you. You loved it, you lapped up the attention and the degrading praise that he lobbed at you and begged for more.

“Fucking—anything, I’ll do anything for you, Cooper,” you meant it, too, “Use me how you want, whenever you want, I’ll fucking let you—I’ll let you.”

“You be a good girl ‘n’cum for me, I’ll help you make good on that promise.” He drawled, not planning to let up anytime soon but aching for the feel of your cunt squeezing him even deeper. “Soak my fuckin’ cock, I’ll bend y’over til y’forget your own fuckin’ name.”

“O—fuck, please,” you wanted it, craved the feeling of his cock pounding into your already sore center even more as he demonstrated to you all the ways that you could take him. He rolled your clit between his fingers, combining the movement with gentle strokes using the pad of his thumb. “C—ooper,” you hardly managed to breathe his name, the now more than familiar feeling of white-hot arousal coating your veins and clouding your senses.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” he muttered, “Lemme have it—drown me with it.”

This was the closest he’d ever felt to feral, wild and primal and absolutely hungry for the way you convulsed when you came. He pressed harder against your clit, coupling the motion of his fingers with long, deep strokes of his cock.

Your nails dug into the counter under your head as you let go, your chest heaving. Whining, you arched your back, the satisfaction of feeling him so deep in your cunt prolonging the electricity of your high.

“Fuck,” Cooper was rasping, his words catching in his throat and tugged out by the pleasure of feeling you clench around him, your slick dripping over his length. “Goddamn sweet pussy, there’y’go baby—that’s what I wanna see.” He continued to roll his hips against you, enjoying the way you whimpered for him. “Y’gonna let me bend ya over now?” He cooed, pushing hair from your face.

You opened your mouth, breathing heavily, trying to find words to respond.

“Don’t waste your breath, sweetheart—f’you open your mouth again I’ll be tempted to fuck it.” The thought made you moan, any words you’d been able to think up dying before they reached your lips. “You’d fuckin’ like that, though, huh?” When you nodded dreamily, he laughed, and seeing the rise and fall of his chest, and the genuine smile on his cracked lips formed from affection rather than disdain, your fading orgasm was replaced with burning desire to let him give you another.

“Bend—bend me over.” You whispered, voice soft and dry after overworking your lungs.

“Gonna have’ta pull out first.” He cocked a brow, teasing you just for the hell of it. He was obsessed with the image before him, the sweet headstrong vault dweller that he’d managed to get in such an unholy position; corrupting you like this was his new favorite pastime.

“Mm,” you mewled, loosening your legs from around his waist and letting them go slack by his sides. “Fast.”

“So desperate to be stuffed, can’t bear a couple seconds?” He pulled out slowly, and you shivered. The hollow feeling in your lower half made you clench around nothing, and you were eager to have him replace the emptiness.

You shook your head in response to his goading.

“���Nd that’s why you’re a whore.” He spoke with a sense of finality, more than ready to get you beneath him.

Cooper tugged you forward by your hips, easing you off the counter until your feet hit the floor with a dampened thud. You swayed, and his hands moved to your waist to ensure you didn’t collapse into more of a lusted-out heap than you already were. Slowly, he turned you, encouraging you to bend at the hips and let your hands drape over the front of the counter.

“Pretty thing. So fuckin’ nice to look at.” His words were quiet, meant only for the two of you to hear, and even then, it was mostly for his sake; he kept moving, kept speaking, to ensure this was all really happening and that he wouldn’t wake up hungover in a cold sweat, craving his body weight in jet.

“Christ…” He dragged his hands down your sides when you had made yourself comfortable, “So smooth.” He ran one finger down the length of your spine, and a contented sigh that verged on a laugh slipped through your lips. “So damn pretty—God, you’re a fuckin’ prize, sweetheart.”

“Your prize,” you mumbled into your arms where they cushioned your face. “Deserve something pretty.” You didn’t know why you said it. Maybe in your post-orgasmic haze you thought it would make more sense, maybe you would’ve been embarrassed for saying it if you had any sense of shame. All you could really think about in the moment was having him between your thighs again.

But it made sense to Cooper. And all the guilt and impurity he’d dealt with while traveling with you, and before, and all the reasons he felt marked by the devil (or at least some ungodly imp that had it out for him) faded from his mind. Caps be damned, you were the best reward he’d ever gotten, and it didn’t matter if he felt it was undeserved—you thought he’d earned it.

“Think you’re right,” he sighed, gripping his length and lining himself up with you. He took it as an opportunity to admire your form before he ravaged you again: drinking you in, listening to your quiet, urging whines.

He pressed the head of his cock to your entrance, spitting once and letting the strand pool between your ass. He watched with anticipation as it dripped, groaning slightly at the sight of his spit making its way to puddle over his cock where it connected to you.

His eyes darted over to the tight rim of your asshole; the trail of his saliva had left it glassy and he couldn’t help the way his thumb brushed over it.

“What about here, sweetheart?” He pressed leisurely against the puckered hole, “Y’ever think about takin’ it here? Gettin’ fucked where the sun don’ shine?”

“C—ooper,” the pressure was different, but not unwelcome. You’d never considered the possibilities, but now he had you wondering.

“I’m pullin’ yer leg, baby…’nother time.” He huffed a breath, adding it to the list of profane things he wanted to expose you to.

Besides, he was tired of teasing you—teasing himself. He didn’t have the restraint to keep his cock perched at your entrance any longer. He thrust wildly into you, bottoming out immediately and knocking the air from you.

“Shit—Cooper, fuck—” You gasped, arms shooting forward and nails scratching at the countertop. This position allowed him so much more free reign, and you could feel him deep in your stomach. “Oh, my g—yes, yes, yesyesyes!” 

“You’re a fuckin’ dream,” Cooper leaned over you, pressing his chest into your back and wrapping a hand around your throat to keep your head still while he growled into your ear. “Fit like a fuckin’ glove. Y’feel that?” He dragged his cock out of you before punching it back in, and you cried out for him. “Made for me, ain’t that right?”

“H—n—yes!” The back of your head settled into the crook of his neck, and you were thrilled to be surrounded by him; his hand on your throat and his body above you, stuffed full of him and dripping down your own thighs—it was perfect. “For you, Cooper.”

“Gonna make sure y’don’t forget it,” he straightened back up, moving his hand to your upper back to pin you down, “Mold this fuckin’ cunt just for me—ruin ya good, nobody else’ll have a fuckin’ chance.”

His hips pressed against your ass, every thrust somehow deeper than the last; you gave up on forming coherent words, mouth agape and producing muddled whines. You felt tears gather in the corners of your eyes and then flow down your cheeks, overwhelmed by the bliss of his cock punching into your most tender spot and unable to keep up with the arousal that coursed through you.

“Don’t even have to see that pretty face to know what’cha look like right now,” Cooper continued his onslaught of affectionate degradation, “Fucked out so good yer cryin’. Stupid, cockdumb li’l thing.” His hand moved up from your back and he laced his fingers through your hair, tugging from the root and pulling you up to him so that your back arched and he could look at you while he spoke. “Pathetic li’l girl.”

You offered a delighted, if not incoherent, reply.

“Just that good, huh? Bet’cha ain’t know it could feel like this.” He licked a stripe up your cheek, following the salty path of your tears.

“’S‘mazing—” You whimpered, eyes rolling back. You pushed yourself back against his thighs, desperate for everything you could get from him. “Cooper—‘s’o g—ood.”

“Fuckin’ look’t you,” Cooper bit down on your neck, running his tongue over the spots his teeth had left dents in, “Work for it, sweetheart.”

With the energy you had left, you rocked back on your feet, leaning against him and pushing your ass into his hips. The noises you let out were pornographic, practically inhuman, and Cooper lapped it up. His free hand fell to your hips, squeezing the skin there before tracing down to your thigh and then up over the curve of your ass. He kneaded the flesh, then let his hand come down in a quick smack before repeating the motion. You let out strangled moans each time, unable to wrap your mind around how he managed to make everything feel so good, so natural.

“Gonna cum f’me?” He used his grasp on your hips and hair to take his control back, dragging you over his cock like a toy and listening to you cry out. “C’mon, girl, wet this cock again.”

“Fuck,” it was the first real word you’d managed to speak in a while, “Ca—an’t…” You had never tried to give yourself multiple orgasms, usually sated and in bed after you’d given yourself one. You were almost certain that you wouldn’t be able to give him what he wanted a third time in a row, despite how badly you wanted it, too.

“Oh, yes y’can, sweetheart,” the hand he’d had on your hip wrapped around your front, fingers immediately dropping to your clit and massaging it in quick, tight circles. “Just gotta make ya.”

Your legs were spasming and your tongue lolled from between your lips; you felt wrecked and used up and it made the fire in your core burn twice as bright.

You screamed his name, cried it out repeatedly while you drenched his cock.

Cooper let go of the grip he had on your scalp, groaning at the feel of you wrapped around him and the sound of his name falling from your lips.

“Good girl—only fuckin’ word y’gotta know.” He moaned, still thrusting into you, though his pace had slowed, and his fingers pressed more gently into your clit as you rode out your high. “Y’gonna let me bust in that pretty mouth again?” He reached forward, two of his fingers hooking the side of your cheek before adjusting to rest on your tongue. You closed your lips around them and sucked. “Wanna swallow what I got for ya?”

You tried to respond, but your words were garbled by his fingers.

“Speak up, girl,” Cooper tsked, letting his hand fall down to your throat and giving it a squeeze.

“Not—not my mouth,” you spluttered, “In my pussy.”

You heard him let out a strangled sound, one he quickly tried to swallow in order to regain composure. He wanted to argue—tell you that you weren’t just a quick fuck he’d toss chems at and forget in an hour, that he’d paint your chest or your ass or your face instead, give you all the glory of the reward without the poisonous aftereffects.

But damn if he didn’t want to see you full of his load, letting him watch while it dripped from your swollen, used-up hole.

“Y’sure, sweetheart?” He pressed, holding back his imminent high for a moment longer to make sure you weren’t just letting your libido speak for you.

“Cooper…” You whined, purposefully squeezing your walls tighter around him, “Fill me up.”

He had to hand it to you: even fucked stupid, you were still stubborn as all hell. And incredibly convincing, at that.

It made him smile into the back of your neck, leaning forward to pin you down again while he sped up the motion of his hips.

“Fuckin’ whore. Y’wanna get filled up so bad?” He caged you between his arms, trapping you between his body and the counter, “Fill y’up every fuckin’ day—keep ya drippin’ for me so I can slide right back in. Fuckin’ cumslut.”

He was getting sloppy; his thrusts were more erratic, and he’d given up completely on keeping a steady pace.

You craned your neck to the side, eyes lidded and dry tears clinging to your lashes, drool pooling at the corner of your mouth. He stared down at you. You looked completely wrecked, and absolutely beautiful, and it was the first time in over two centuries that he felt right.

He kissed your temple.

“Cum in me,” you whispered, “Please, Coop.”

“Cryin’ for me, beggin’ t’be pumped full’a cum by a fuckin’ ghoul,” he was heaving, his words just as needy sounding as they were ragged and controlling. “Y’wan’it? I’ll fuckin’ give it t’ya. Desperate slut—Christ—fuck! There y’go.” His moan of your name was gruff, almost choked as he pumped into you. You felt him pulse, his chest pressing against you as he took labored breaths, still whimpering quiet whispers of your name. You clenched around him, half on purpose and half on reflex, and he groaned behind you.

You stayed like that, together in a heap, barely supported by the counter beneath you. Finally, he moved his head to pepper kisses on your shoulder.

“Gotta get y’up,” he mumbled against you.

“Don’t wanna.” You were perfectly happy to stay where you were, with the cold counter pressed against your cheek and his cock still inside you.

“RadAway.” He said it like a warning.

“I feel fine.”

“Don’t test me, darlin’.”

“Or what?” You goaded, arching your back against him and wiggling your hips.

He cursed under his breath. “You’ll get sick ‘nd whiney ‘n’I’m the one ‘at’s gotta deal with it.” He nipped at your neck, and you giggled.

“Sick, maybe. I don’t whine.” You rolled your eyes.

“Uhuh.” Cooper chuckled, standing properly. He winced when he finally pulled out of you, but the discomfort of having to remove himself was quickly remedied by the way his cum dripped from your cunt and down your thighs. He watched transfixed as the gooey mixture of the two of you slid down your legs. Raising his hand almost subconsciously, he swiped at the liquid as it trickled over your skin and pressed two fingers inside of you.

“Cooper,” it was more a gasp than a coherent call of his name.

“Said I’d keep ya full…” He was muttering, eyes never leaving your swollen cunt as he pushed his spend back into you. You whined, sore but content, when he leaned forward to press kisses into the globe of your ass, biting down with minimal pressure just to savor the bounce of your skin against his teeth.

He managed to tear himself away after a while, leaving you to your own devices momentarily while he tracked down his duster and laid it out on the floor.

“C’mere, sweetheart,” his palms were back on your hips, and he helped you find the energy to stand up straight. He whistled as he guided you to the spot on the floor he’d chosen, hands never leaving you when he got you to curl up on the duster.

“No room for you,” you complained, stretching out an arm to emphasize the uncovered floor next to you.

He smiled down at you, kneeling to rustle through the pockets of the coat under you to find RadAway.

“Y’think I care ‘bout sleepin’ on the ground? Slept underground before, sweetheart. Not one t’bother with comfort.” He kissed your thigh, trying to distract you from the sting of the needle he pressed into you. “Long’s I’m next to you, I’ll be jus’ fine.”

You winced when he delivered the RadAway, but the press of his calloused hand against the spot of the intrusion offered instant relief.

He found his way next to you, lying on the floor and putting out his arm for you. You curled against him, draping a leg over his side and resting your head on his shoulder.

You lay there together, appreciating the company and basking in each other’s quiet affection.

“This’s what it’s s’posed to feel like.” Cooper spoke.

“What?” You’d almost fallen asleep in the tranquility.

“Livin’.” He said simply.

“You’d know better than anybody…” You smiled, “What, a hundred years old? One-fifty?”

He craned his neck to look at you, smirking.

“Two hundred? You’ll stop me if I get it right, right?” You pushed him.

He just grinned, rolling his eyes and lying back down.

“Never told you how bad it was for me before I found you.” You kept talking.

“Now, ‘f’I recall correctly, I found you, sweetheart.”

“Y—shut up,” you laughed, and he laughed with you. “I thought I could be part of something. And then I thought I was dead.” You explained, “Or at least…dying.”

“No. You would’a pulled through.” He wrapped a strand of your hair around his finger, letting it uncurl before repeating the cycle. “Y’always do, Einstein.”

And even after everything, that’s what made you blush—his recognition, his praise of your skills.

“You are part o’somethin’. By the way.” He didn’t elaborate, just wrapped his other arm around you to pull you closer.

“Yeah, well…” You could only imagine what he meant, but no matter what, you had a feeling that he meant it wholeheartedly. “Helps that I’ve got you now.”

“Helps that I got you.” He echoed, barely above a whisper.

You both fell into silence again, his hands still combing through your hair.

“Meant it. ‘Bout how I feel really…alive.” Cooper stopped fiddling and rested his hand on your back. “Never thought I’d…” He had backed himself into a corner, unsure of how to describe his feelings. It had been so long. “I never thought I’d appreciate havin’ someone by my side quite as much as I appreciate you.” He chose his words carefully, not yet willing, or able, to put into words the true depth of his devotion to you.

You smiled; you knew exactly what he meant this time, and it made you feel like crying and kissing him and letting your heart burst through your chest.

Instead, you breathed deep, letting him flood your senses. “I love you, too, Coop.”

He moved to kiss the top of your head, chaste and vulnerable, and you leaned into him further.

“You’re a good person. Yknow that?” His thumb swept over your skin where his palm was resting, “Capable. Smart. Good all ‘round.”

“You think?”

“As good ‘s there are stars in th’sky.”

“Even after I killed a man?” You raised an eyebrow.

“Especially after that.” He nodded in reassurance.

“…What now?”

“Figured we could just lie here a while longer,” Cooper stretched, raising his arms over his head before they settled back around you.

“Yeah,” you let out a small yawn, one of your hands pawing at his chest lazily.

“And after’at…we keep on walkin’.”

“Together?” You asked, your fingers pressing against his skin.

“For’s long as you’ll have me.” He smirked, squeezing your hip.

“Forever, then,” you smiled into him, letting your eyes close. “Forever.”

“Yeah, I think’at sounds good,” he leaned his head against yours, basking in the glow of you. “I like that.”

Maybe you had miscalculated, and certainly you had been wrong about plenty.

But you got to be someone. You got to see stars.

And you got him.

☆Like my work? Buy me a ko-fi :)☆ Tags: @tragicdruid @lokis-right-femur

[good-advice-ganondorf]

Majora's Mask and what it means to be grown up

(aka my collected analysis of the Legend of Zelda Majora's Mask)

I will say that generally I don't think Termina is purgatory, or a dream, or anything like that. To me, Termina is kind of like a Silent Hill type parallel world, where you face your deepest traumas.

First, the parallels between Majora's Mask, and the child section of Ocarina of Time.

The first dungeon for both games is in a vast wooded area, there are woodland races inhabiting both areas, the Kokiri for Ocarina of Time, and the Deku for Majora's mask. The second dungeon is in a great mountain, inhabited by the Gorons. The third dungeon is in a vast body of water, inhabited by the Zora.

Then, things split. After Jabu Jabu, Link becomes an adult. After Great Bay, there's Ikana Canyon. A land of nothing but Death.

Who caused the death of Ikana? Who else but the king, Igo Du Ikana. Ikana was plunged into disrepair, after Igos started a war with a clan of Ninjas, to receive a powerful artifact, in a great and mysterious temple. Sound familiar? It should, this is exactly what Ganondorf did, after Link was sealed away for seven years. But Ganondorf was successful.

But Ikana isn't completely occupied by the dead, no. Pamela remains, with her father, turned into an undead monster. Much like Sheik, the last Sheikah, who is revealed to be Zelda. And her father? He's never seen, but I'd imagine it would be easy enough for Ganondorf to become king, if the other one was no longer around. From a man, to a corpse.

So, if Ganondorf is a parallel to Igos, and Zelda is a parallel to Pamela, what about Link? He's a little different. I believe that, along with Kafei and Tingle, all three of the transformation masks are a representation of Link, and his feelings towards being forced to grow up.

Tingle is, as we know, a 35 year old man who thinks he's a fairy boy. Similar to how link was a 10 year old boy, who thought he was a fairy boy. I believe Tingle is a reflection of what Link could have been if he never left Kokiri Forest. An adult hylian man, thinking he's a Kokiri.

On the contrary, Kafei is distraught at the idea of becoming a child again. He's weaker, he can't marry his fiancee, and everyone treats him like well, a child, despite his maturity. I believe this is how Link feels after becoming a child again. He used to be a strong adult, and even if he's not as mature as Kafei, he still went through a lot, and knows a lot more about life now. Kafei even reuses Link's model and animations.

There's a reoccurring theme in Ocarina of Time where Link just doesn't belong anywhere he goes. He's an outsider to the other races, because he's a hylian, but he's also an outsider to the hylians, because he was raised as a Kokiri. I think the transformation masks reflect that.

The Deku Butler's Son is what he could have been as a Kokiri. He could have been a happy little boy, living with his father, and his community. But Link and the Deku butler's son both left home to explore, and as far as both the Kokiri and the Deku are concerned, neither came back.

Darmani is what he could have been as a Goron. A powerful hero to the Gorons, celebrated by them for clearing Dodongo's Cavern. A close link between the goron elder, Darunia, and their sons. Both him and Link remain after death, lamenting on their histories as heros.

Mikau is what he could have been as a Zora. Maybe not a cool as hell guitarist, but a husband to Ruto, and Prince of the Zora Who would stop at nothing to keep her happy and safe, like infiltrating a fortress, or climbing inside of a whale.

Even the Fierce Deity is just Link, but back as an adult. As if so much changed so rapidly, he felt like he transformed into something less like himself, and more like a powerful god. He could have continued being strong, and powerful, the defeater of Ganon, but he had to become a child again. He has to stay as a small, and unknown child.

The ages of the masks even match the human life cycle. According to the debug menu (and if you subscribe to the theory that Link and DBS's ages were swapped), DBS is 5, Link is 12, Darmani is 30, Mikau is 78, and, Fierce Deity is 17, likely due to his model being recycled from adult Link's. Link starts the game in the body of a 5 year old, then a 12 year old, then a 30 year old, then a 72 year old, and finally, a God.

We don't exactly know how Link feels. But I can't imagine it would be easy to go from a child, with no concept of death, to be thrust into a position where he's forced to fight and kill an adult man so much stronger than he is. And then everything was just reversed. Like that. As if it never happened. And only Link remembers the impending doom he faced. All he can do is remember Ganondorf's reign. Almost like he's reliving the same few days, again, and again, and again.

[larluce]

Arthur and Merlin travel back in time without knowing the other is from the future too AU

Tagging @stalesaltinecracker cause he asked for more, and @an-entity-i-think since she made a valid question

ENLACES A LAS OTRAS PARTES DE ESTE AU AQUÍ: PARTE 1 , PARTE 2 , PARTE 3 , PARTE 4 (estás aquí), PARTE 5

In "Valiant"

Arthur: (Impacient and worried cause Merlin hasn't told him about Valiant's echanted shield yet) Is there something you want to tell me?

Merlin: (who decided to not tell Arthur about the shield this time around so he won't embarrased him again) No.

Arthur: I know something is bothering you.

Merlin: Nothing is bothering me.

Arthur: (hurt) Don't you trust me? (thinking) Have I not been worth of your trust again?

Merlin: Of course I trust you! Arthur, I trust you with my life!

Arthur: Then tell me what's wrong! Why were you sneaking out of Valiant's chambers yesterday?

Merlin:(cursing internally that this Arthur somehow is more observant, but still says nothing)...

Arthur: Merlin, please.

Merlin: (puzzled and touched Arthur is saying "please" to him and he finally sighs, giving up cause he always hated lying to Arthur anyway) Valiant's been cheating, he has a magic shield.

Arthur: (hiding his relief Merlin finally told him) Why do you think that?

Merlin: I saw it. The snakes coming out of his shield. Gaius thinks Valiant used them to posioned Sir Ewan. But I don't have any proof, I get if you don't believ-

Arthur: I believe you.

Merlin: ... really? But I'm just a servant, I'm not-

Arthur: (fondly, holding Merlin's hands) Don't ever say that again. You're more than a servant to me. Always.

Merlin: (getting lost into his eyes, blushing)

Merlin: (snapping out of it) Ahmm... Then what will you do?

Arthur: There's not point in bothering my father with this without proof. Now that I know what I'm getting into, I'll know what to look out for.

Merlin: (smiling confident, cause he has the spell to expose Valiant prepared) I'm sure you'll beat him up easily.

In "The Mark of Nimueh"

Merlin: (going to the cavern alone to fight the Afanc himself, a torch in hand) Arthur?

Arthur: (doing the very same thing, a torch in hand as well) Merlin?

Merlin: What are you doing here?

Arthur: I was... strolling.

Merlin: In the vaults underneath the castle?

Arthur: It's my castle. What are YOU doing here?

Merlin: I was... taking samples.

Arthur: Taking samples.

Merlin: Yeah, apparently the sickness is spreading through water. So I was taking samples to find out with Gaius what's causing it.

Arthur: The well is several meters behind, Merlin.

Merlin: Ah... I got lost.

Arthur: (rolling his eyes) Only you, Merlin. (taking Merlin by the wrist) It's not safe for you here. I'm getting you out. (starts walking)

Merlin: (trying to free from his grip) What? No! I need to-

The Afanc roars, making its appareance.

Arthur and Merlin: Shit...

In "The Gates of Avalon"

Both Morgana and Merlin looking Sophia from afar.

Morgana: Who is that?

Merlin: (kind of mad he couldn't prevent the sidhes from entering the castle again, but hiding his discontent) Sophia Tirmawr. Arthur rescued her in the woods.

Morgana: She can't stay here.

Merlin: Well, she and her father are guests in the castle now.(seeing his chance) You had a nightmare about her?

Morgana: (surprised) How do you know about my nightmares?!

Merlin: Gaius.

Morgana: Right... (sighs) You must think I'm crazy.

Merlin: I don't. I also have a bad feeling about her.

Morgana: Really?

Merlin: It just seems pretty convenient. Escaping from raiders in Tír-Mòr? A kingdom too far away to corroborate any of that story? I don't believe she is who she claims to be.

Morgana: (opening up, feeling safe and understood by Merlin) In my dream she drowned Arthur in a lake. I'm scared, Merlin. My nightmares always come true. Always!

Merlin: I already warned Arthur about her. He gave her the chambers far away from his. But I think you should talk to him about this.

Morgana: (laughs dryly) No, he won't believe me. He'll laugh at my face for sure. (thinking) And he's been too cold to me lately for some reason.

Merlin: There's no harm in trying. He might surprised you. (thinking) If this Arthur is nicer to me, he'll defenitely be nicer to her.

Morgana: Alright, I'll try.

...

Morgana: Arthur, I need to speak with you. It's about Sophia.

Arthur: (Who spied on her when she threatened Sophia in the hallway and still doesn't know how to feel about it) You're starting to sound like Merlin. Do you have a bad feeling about her too?

Morgana: She isn't what she seems.

Arthur: Why? What makes you say that?

Morgana: I just... have a feeling. It's difficult to describe.

Arthur: Try me.

Morgana: I had a dream. A nightmare. She drowned you in a lake. She killed you, Arthur.

Arthur: And why would that be a bad thing?

Morgana: (confused)... what?

Arthur: Don't you want me dead, Morgana?

Morgana: (horrified) No! Of course not! Why would you say that?

Arthur: (shakes his head) Nothing. Forget I said anything.

Morgana: (firmly) No. Arthur, listen to me. (holds his face and Arthur forces himself not to flinch) I don't know what's happening in that head of yours, but let me get this straight. I love you and I care for you. You're like a brother to me. I would cut all my limbs before letting anything happen to you!

Arthur: (with teary eyes, but forcing himself not to cry) You're just saying that.

Morgana: It's the truth.

Arthur: (his voice almost breaking) So you don't hate me?

Morgana: What made you think-(opens her eyes wide in fury) It was her, wasn't she? She put that idea in your head! (starts stomping out of the chambers)

Arthur: (stops her) Hey! Where are you going?

Morgana: I'm going to kill her! No, first I'm going to drag her by the hair through all the castle to let her know what happens when you mess with people's minds!

Arthur: (Shocked for a second at Morgana's thirst for blood and revenge not being drawn at him, but for him. And then he laughs, laughs and laughs)

Morgana: Why are you laughing? (starts to question his sanity, worried) Are you Okay?

Arthur: (stops laughing and smiles) Yes, I am now. Thank you.

[intothedysphoria]

Steve wasn’t sure which was worse. That the nightmares had started again or that Dustin had developed an obsession with Simon and Garfunkel.

Things had consistently been off since 1983 but they’d quickly gotten far, far worse since their latest trip to The Upside Down.

Dustin had brought back an eel. At least Steve thought it was an eel. He hoped it was an eel.

It was in a glass tank above Dustins bed, it had a foul temper and ever since it had entered Hawkins, strange and awful things had started happening to Neil Hargrove.

Steve didn’t feel sorry for the man, he was an asshole.

It was the fruit going bad after two hours on the shelf he was concerned about. The scorch marks on the grass. The nightmares.

It was always the same. There was a boy his age, with golden hair, running through a field. He’d fall deep into a well then Steve would wake up.

The boys name was Billy. Steve wasn’t sure how he knew this. He just did.

The eel started to grow. It had a particular fondness for Cherry Coke and Max for some reason. Why Dustin was feeding it Cherry Coke, Steve had no idea.

The day the eel got too big for its cage was the day Steve had a genuine fear of reliving the Dart situation.

Of course, that coincided with the nightmares getting worse. Well, some of them included him having sex with Billy, so maybe he was having a sexuality crisis. It wouldn’t be the first time.

The well continued to plague his dreams as well. Deep and cavernous, it swallowed Steve time and time again.

There was only one thing for it. Steve was going to talk to the eel.

Maybe dragon was more apt at that point. The eel had grown ten times overnight and stared at him from a roof with clear blue eyes.

Billy’s eyes.

The dreams shifted after that. Billy started talking to him. Really talking to him.

He was eighteen years old, he was Max’s missing older brother and he’d fallen into a cursed well. No he wasn’t really a dragon, no he wasn’t a demogorgon and yes, he was gay.

He gave this delicious little wink to Steve before the dream shattered apart.

Of course the well was a fucking portal to The Upside Down. Steve had no idea what exactly had happened to Billy but he borrowed every single folklore book from the library.

There didn’t seem to be an answer. At least not at first.

There was one book that said Billy needed to be faced with his greatest torment. Only then he could be free.

Well, it wouldn’t hurt to try.

Neil Hargrove wasn’t exactly smart. It hadn’t taken Steve much work to lure him out into the woods, just a few goads. Just enough to get to the hill that Billy had made his home (much to Dustin’s grumbling disappointment). He was also very loud

Billy took one look at Neil and ripped out his heart.

Then he collapsed, shimmering and shrinking as his body changed into something altogether more human than before.

The eighteen year old that lay before Steve was toned, with golden skin and hair and a tattoo of a skull on one arm.

He blinked at Steve, obviously dazed, then held out a weak hand and an obviously rehearsed smirk.

“Hey sexy, wanna go out sometime?”

Steve would not be held responsible for the tears that started to run down his cheeks.

They did go out. Eventually. Once Billy had healed.

And Steve only found the occasional dragon scale in the shower.

*Loosely based the Northumbrian folktale The Lampton Wyrm and I mean LOOSELY*

For @harringroveobsessed

[hufflegruff]

girl the way i RAN when i saw you asking for requests as a break from a knowing look!!! if youre down to maybe do something like hurt comfort vibes? with sebastian x MC? like mayhaps they’re fighting and MC gets hurt and protective Sebastian comes out? literally in love with everything you’ve written!!! you’re amazing! <3

I was meant to write a drabble but somehow this became a NOVEL?! Good lord. I really wanted to do it justice!!! I hope you guys still enjoy it!!!

It takes a disaster

Pairing: Sebastian Sallow x F!Reader Word Count: 5k Contains: Fluff, angst, making out!!! Requested: The lovely @ithinkweallsing and @musicbecky had similar requests about protective Seb x hurt MC so I combined both :)

Summary:

“And why didn’t you think to tell me that you were struck by a bloody unforgivable curse before you fell lifelessly onto the fucking floor!” He yelled. She winced at the loudness of his voice.  “Do you have any idea what it’s like to watch the love of your life almost die in your fucking arms?” His deafening voice echoed through the chambers of the hospital wing.  She stared at him, mouth agape.  Sorry, was she dreaming? What was that he just said? 

It takes a disaster

When she first resigned to the pitiful fact that she was very likely in love with Sebastian Sallow, she accepted her fate. Doomed to suffer in an unrequited love she held for her best friend. 

Merlin, it was such a cliché. 

Honestly, she would have laughed at herself if it didn’t also feel so pathetically miserable.

Somewhere along the way, amid catacombs and restricted sections and ancient relics, she found herself becoming dissatisfied with just friendship. And before she could even catch herself, she had already fallen. Buried ten feet underground by the weight of her own despicable, cavernous feelings. 

Because they’d been best friends for long enough for her to know that Sebastian Sallow flirted like his livelihood depended on it. If courting witches was a sport, he’d be a professional. It came to him as naturally as breathing. 

That was why Cressida Blume battered her eyelashes so feverishly everytime he was near. And why Samantha Dale had been so Goddamn adamant on being her potions partner, so she could siphon hints on how best to charm the Slytherin for herself.

And why she would never entertain the idea that any of Sebastian’s pretty words could be anything more than lip service. 

So she went out of her way to find reasons to keep herself busy. Taking jobs and doing favours for townsfolk in the vicinity, so that she wouldn’t have to sit with her own feelings. Or Sebastian himself. Hoping that by the time it came for them to leave Hogwarts, that she would find peace and leave her feelings for him in the deepest depths of the castle. 

The distance would help. It just had to. 

Unfortunately for her, when she had said that she was heading to the poacher camp up in the Poidsear coast by her lonesome, Sebastian insisted that he absolutely had to come along.

“Don’t be daft. Of course I have to come with you. Who else is going to swoop in when your sorry arse needs saving?” He teased.

She was almost offended, “I don’t need a babysitter, Sebastian.”

“Not a babysitter,” he clarified, “A knight in shining armor,” with a dashingly flirtatious smile.

She felt her heart flutter, and cursed his annoyingly perfect fluffy hair for it. What business did it have looking so attractive? Honestly, the cheek of these Slytherin boys to say such rousing things.

Ominis, Sebastian and herself had been lazing in the grass in front of the main school grounds. But with a deft wave of his hand Seastian beckoned over his broom, and it zipped obediently over. 

“Come on. Let’s go.” Sebastian said easily.

“What? Right now?” She replied in disbelief.

“Well, I don’t see anything better to do. Do you?”

From beside him, Ominis piped up annoyed, “Um, excuse me. Did we not agree that we needed to finish our group project today so as to not suffer the wrath of Sharp’s horrid temper?”

Silently, she thanked Ominis for the diversion and prayed Sebastian would take it.

“Like I said. Nothing better to do.” Sebastian reiterated shamelessly. 

Ominis rolled his eyes, “Absolute moron you are. Whatever. Take him off my hands for all I care.”

Well that didn’t go at all the way she hoped.

“But I’ve… not even stocked up on my potions.” She said weakly.

Sebastian wasn’t having it.

“Come on, it’s just a routine poacher clear out! I’ve got a couple of Wiggenwelds on me. You know it’s going to be a cakewalk for the both of us.” 

She could never say no to him. Not when he looked at her like that. She imagined that most girls couldn’t either. An ugly, decrepit feeling bubbled up in the pit of her stomach. But she willed herself to push the unhelpful thought down and out of sight. 

“Fine.” She caved with a haughty flip of her hair, “But try to keep up. I don’t want to have to take care of you out there.”

In a ridiculously exaggerated display of chivalry, he offered her his hand and led her onto the broom with a coy smile.

“Ladies first.”

This boy was going to be the death of her. The ride to Poidsear would all but confirm that. 

Sebastian had insisted that she sit in front of him to steer — and for the life of her, she couldn’t understand how she had willingly agreed to put herself in this position. His breath was right in the crook of her neck, and his warm hands were wrapped all too tightly around her waist. Did he really think that she could steer like this? She was appalled at how totally inconsiderate he was by being so oblivious to her feelings. 

She could hardly hear her own thoughts — not even the intrusive ones — let alone focus on the fly.

Was he doing this on purpose? Because it was annoying.

The singularly, most vexing thing he could do in fact. She had a mission to concentrate on. She didn’t need to be sidetracked. She hadn’t even wanted him and his distracting face to come along in the first place.

“Merlin. Hold me any tighter and I might burst, Sebastian.” She tried her best to make it sound casual. With the light cadence of a joke, and not the high stakes affair it felt like.

“Well, I can’t risk having you falling to an untimely death under my watch. I’d never hear the end of it from Ominis. Or Samantha. For killing her potions partner at such a crucial time in the academic year,” He joked. 

His tone was teasing, but she hated that his words sounded so… carefree. Completely unbothered. It bruised her heart more than she liked to admit, but it hurt her to know that he probably thought that this was the same as being in close proximity to Anne. 

And why the bloody hell did he have to mention Samantha Dale at a time like this? Unprompted and all. Teenage boys really had no tact. If that had been a glimpse into Sebastian’s mind, she didn’t want to see it. Lock it up and throw away the keys and unleash it into the depths of the black sea to never be found. 

If she just ignored it, and never faced it head on, maybe her heart would break a little bit softer. 

“Right.” She replied curtly, willing the dejection she felt to go away.

“What? Did I say something wrong?” 

“No.” 

He paused in contemplation, before declaring, “You’re upset.”

He had said it so matter of factly she almost couldn’t disagree with him. Almost. She cursed herself for not being able to hide the bitterness in her voice better. She cursed him for noticing this of all things.

“Don’t be silly. I’m not.” She retorted harshly.

When the words left her mouth, she quickly regretted them. She felt guilty for how unnecessarily rude it sounded. But she couldn’t talk about this. There was objectively no good way to explain why she seemed so irrationally bothered without emotionally vomiting her feelings onto him.  

But before she could apologise, he chose to let it go. 

And she didn’t know if she felt relieved or even more devastated.

The rest of their journey to Poidsear was endured in silence. When they finally arrived, they landed just at the precipice of the poacher camp. It was time to get serious, she mentally chided herself. There was simply no time to torment herself with such frivolous nonsense.

They kept out of sight behind a mountain of crates next to a tent. Making sure to stay hidden, she briskly surveyed the scene. She could see from the corner of her eye, a family of hippogriffs chained in cages by the Eastern front. But getting to them would be no easy feat; the area was littered with Ashwinders at every corner. 

“God. There’s more of them than I thought.” She whispered to herself.

“Worried? How very unlike you.” Sebastian raised a brow in response.

“Not at all. It’s just you would think that these degenerates would have more productive things to do with themselves than taking magical creatures as prisoners.” She whispered with a scoff.

She had not even one ounce of respect for the Ashwinders, especially those of the poaching variety. Those who made a nefarious career out of hunting innocent, majestic creatures for blood sport were the worst of them.

To her surprise, when she turned to look at Sebastian, he was looking straight at her with an enigmatic smile.

And then suddenly, she felt self-conscious.

“What?” She whispered nervously.

Sebastian murmured warmly, “This is a little nostalgic is it not?”

“How so?”

“You. Me. The exhilarating thrill of getting caught at any moment. Feels like fifth year doesn’t it?” His voice was lower than usual, quieter, with a hint of something dastardly alluring. 

It made her heart skip an alarming amount of beats and her skin shiver at the sound of it. She felt an outrageously girlish impulse to snog him and hex him and run far, far away from him all at once. What she would give for him to have a taste of his own medicine. Even if he wasn’t in love with her, maybe she still could grab him by the collar and kiss him silly until his lips were bruised. 

Maybe that would finally fluster him. 

Because by God, he deserved to be put in his place for all the bloody grief he unknowingly gave her.

He was looking at her so affectionately, and that was just so uncalled for. Honestly, she didn’t know how he managed to flirt so skilfully even in the face of imminent danger. In the near vicinity of bloodthirsty dark wizards. If she wasn’t so conflicted by it all she would be impressed. She imagined that Sebastian Sallow could probably flirt with Death himself and get away with it. 

Perhaps that would be a rather useful quality in an Auror. Perhaps, when they were back in the safety of the castle, she would suggest it as a fitting career path for him—

“Look what we have here. A little far from Hogwarts aren’t we?”

She felt her blood freeze over at the sound of the new voice. Sebastian stiffened. A sinister chill ran up her spine.

When she turned, she was greeted by the menacing smile of an Ashwinder, cloaked in shadows. And almost as if the Hermes had struck her himself, the girl wonder retaliated at reckless speeds and pointed her wand with venomous hostility at the dark wizard in front of them.

Fuck. She cursed internally. Her guard had been irresponsibly down. She hadn’t even heard him approach them.

Sebastian probably sensed her panic, and squeezed her hand twice.

Once to comfort her, the second to ask her to follow his lead.

Raising his hands up in mock surrender, Sebastian said sardonically with a wry smile “Sir, we were just passing by the area. We didn’t know that this was private property. Terribly sorry for the intrusion. If you allow us, we’ll be on our way now.” 

The Ashwinder scoffed, “Save it kid, I know exactly who you two meddlesome brats are.”

“Oh well that’s unfortunate.” Sebastian said patronisingly.

Her grip on her wand tightened. She wasn’t entirely sure where he was going with this, but she knew that she had to be ready. 

“Why’s that?” The Ashwinder asked with a laugh.

“Because that means I have to do this.” 

And suddenly, with a swift motion, Sebastian lunged forward with his wand. And almost as if by blind, brazen instinct, her own hands followed suit. 

“Confringo!”

“Expelliarmus!”

“Protego!”

Red, green, and blue. The colours of their spells cackled at lightning speeds against the howling wind. 

But soon enough their commotion caused a ruckus, and it became an army against two measly bodies.

“Shit!” Sebastian cursed under his breath.

And frankly, she had to give it to them to their credit, these Ashwinders proved to be pretty formidable adversaries. They moved faster than the others did. And their spells missed her more narrowly than they normally did. But still, actually hitting her was the aim. Close enough wasn’t good enough, and she was determined to make sure that they would never achieve it. 

She’d make sure of it — they didn’t call her the girl wonder for nothing. 

Spells collided and echoed around her, the acrid scent of fire filling her nostrils. If peril were a smell, this is what she imagined that it would smell like.

And in the midst of the chaos, without a surge of power erupted from one of the Ashwinders. Like a strike straight out of God’s hand — with a single, severe flash of light — a calamitous spell was unleashed, enveloping the camp grounds in a sheathe of blinding white. 

And when the light became less blinding, she found herself separated from Sebastian. 

Panic welled up within her as she searched the battlefield, her heart pounding in her chest. 

"Sebastian!" She called out.

Where was Sebastian?

Fuck. That wasn’t good. She needed to find Sebastian. 

Like insidious tendril vines, fear crept into her veins. Yet she willed the anxiousness in her brain to focus; willed it to calm down. Sebastian was a capable wizard. He could handle a few pesky Ashwinders. 

Just as capable as she was. 

Because with a flick of her wrist, shields shattered and hexes were deflected. With every spell she cast, the wind sang as her curses hit bodies, like a force of nature answering her call. One by one Ashwinders fell under the weight of her unyielding assault. 

But then a piercing hex sliced right through her defences. 

Her protego shattered, and she was thrown backward into a mess of limbs onto the ground. 

“Crucio!”

The sound of the spell sent chills down her spine. It brought her back to the scriptorium. It brought her back to a shadow of Sebastian that she had been trying to forget. 

But before she could run, scream, dive or react — it reached her. 

And just as torturously as it had the very first time she endured it, pain erupted through her body as she was thrown backward, limbs contorting as she crumbled in agony onto gritty soil. Back then, it had felt as if lightning had struck every single nerve ending in her body. This time it felt like she was burning under a flame that was twice as brutal.

The pain was relentless. Her mind screamed for respite, for any brief release from this torture. She clawed at the ground, gripping her nails deep into the dirt, as if seeking solace in the earth itself. But there was no escape. No reprieve.

Through the haze of pain, she caught glimpses of the Ashwinder that had casted the curse. Even through her blurry vision, she could see that they were gloating. Content at how they had reduced her to nothing more than a writhing, broken vessel.

And God, that pissed her off immensely.

If they could sense the literal thunder in her veins, she wondered if they would be so cavalier?

She didn’t think so.

Through gritted teeth; through sheer determination, she struggled onto her feet with her body shaking in defiance. Summoned the last remnants of her ancient magic, her wand trembling in her shaky hand. A surge of energy flowed through her veins. The air above the tips of her fingers crackled with raw power as she channeled her magic, focusing it into a singularly devastating spell.

And when it hit the Ashwinder, it eviscerated them in waves.

In between all the fighting and screaming and surviving, she didn’t remember much of the details.

But all of a sudden, it was silent. 

And all of the sudden, it was just her standing alone in plumes of dust.

When the air finally settled down, she felt herself start to cave. The adrenaline had done its job and was quickly leaking out of her blood stream. As if she had exerted and drained every last ounce of her spirit and was on the verge of collapse.

Was it just her, or were the skies starting to fade?

The pain in her chest was still excruciating. This cruciatus curse felt different from the one that Sebastian had casted on her before. 

This one was lingering. 

Like it was clawing onto her heart and gripping onto it in a chokehold with a resentful vengeance. Despite having just won, she didn’t have a spare moment to feel relieved. The pain was quickly growing and air couldn’t seem to reach her lungs fast enough.       

But Sebastian… Where was Sebastian? The panic began to rumble within her. She had foolishly let her own guard down, and let him out of her sight. She mustered what little energy she had left and moved her head frantically in search of him. 

How could she ever forgive herself if she let him die? 

But when she saw a figure barreling head first towards her, even through blurry eyes and the crackle in the depths of her tired limbs, she knew that it was him. And like an oasis in the blistering desert, the comfort she felt from seeing his face was a brief solace to the pain. 

If this was where she was destined to meet her end, she hazily deliberated, at least she could draw her last breath in peace knowing that he was safe. 

(Not to be dramatic or anything.)

When Sebastian finally caught up to her, he laughed and bursted out breathily, “Merlin… Whatever you and your ancient magic did back there was insane.”

He was safe, and that was all that mattered. She didn’t have the energy anymore. Not for a conversation, let alone banter. She needed to preserve her last scraps of her battered stamina to make it back to the castle and patch herself up in solitude.

And one thing was for certain: Sebastian could not know.

“I think we managed pretty well.” He said with a tired smile.

“Yeah,” she replied breathily, “W-we did good.”

She sounded a mess. She hoped that he wouldn’t notice.

To her dismay, the look on his face immediately switched into that of deep concern. 

He interrogated hurriedly, “What wrong? You sound a little off. Are you hurt?”

Everything was wrong. The discomfort that gripped her chest was getting worse with every passing second. Standing was starting to become too taxing of an undertaking for her. 

But needless to say, she didn’t want another thing to worry about, and Sebastian would always make an unnecessarily big fuss anytime she was hurt. Even if it was just a minuscule scratch. He was always too distraught; too tender. It was one of the things she adored most about him. 

And she absolutely loathed him for it.

So her stubbornness was persuaded that suffering in silence was the easier of two fates. 

Indignantly, she retorted, “How rude. I’ll have you k-know I’m perfectly f-fine.”

Her words were starting to slur, not that she noticed. But Sebastian clearly had. Assertively, he grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her towards him.

“You’re not fine.” He declared demandingly.

As he frantically searched her eyes, arms, back, legs for signs of what was wrong, she found herself nuzzled in the nook of his chest. She felt her willpower wither slightly in his flustered hands. 

In the shallow breaths that she took, she could smell him. The musk of pinewood and sputtering fireplaces and late nights drifting in the restricted section. An aromatic cocktail that was overwhelmingly intoxicating. 

Now she was getting angry. And drowsy. And dizzy. Why couldn’t Sebastian tell that he was being so selfish by being so considerate? He needed to stop touching her so carelessly. She was lightheaded enough as it is, she didn’t need his excessive gentleness to add fuel to the flames of her absurd delusions. 

But maybe if she just closed her eyes and rested for this brief moment. Sebastian would take the hint and just leave her be. Maybe all she needed was a quick lie down and he would see that she was perfectly fine. 

“Oh fuck, there’s so much blood— hey, hey!”

She could see Sebastian calling out her name, but she couldn't hear it. And soon enough she realised, she wasn’t fighting it anymore. And soon enough, Sebastian was no longer in sight. Soon enough, she found herself alone in a quiet, soothing darkness. 

Something was twisting at her to give into slumber. Into solitude. Into emptiness. She vaguely remembered from one of Sharp’s more riveting lectures that when poisoned - one should always fight the urge.

But she could still feel the warmth of Sebastian’s hands on the small of her back, and the comfort of it lulled her to relinquish control. After a few ambivalent moments, drifting in and out of awareness, she surrendered to sleep.

When she woke, she was greeted by a horrendously pounding headache. She had no sense of place, but a low groaning ache in her bones. Her eyes struggled to open, but she could feel the warm sun on the tip of her nose, and the tips of her cheeks. The softness of the sun quelled a little bit of the soreness in her body. 

She deduced that wherever she was, it was warm and safe. Despite the ache in her bones, there was also a weightlessness to her body. Therefore, she somehow rationalised with herself that this was very likely heaven. 

Or any other religious equivalent afterlife. 

She wasn’t picky. Any one would do, really.

When her bleary eyes finally pulled themselves open, the fragmented parts of her vision pieced together a faint picture. Of pristine white linen and crisply casted grey brick. A peculiar blend of sickly artificial peonies and concentrated chemicals flooded her nostrils. 

Which was odd. Because she hadn’t imagined that the afterlife would feel quite so sterile.

“Fucking hell,” spoke a voice she could never not recognise, and she was shocked. 

Did heaven include conjuring up a phantom Sebastian from the figment of her deepest imaginations to keep her company for the rest of eternity?

“Sebastian?”

“You’re awake.” His voice was hoarse.

When her eyes finally focused, she saw him properly. It was definitely Sebastian Sallow, the boy that had her heart leaping acres across the Hebridean seas. But in all her years of knowing and pining for him, she’d never seen him look so terrible. His hair was disheveled as if it had endured a torrid storm. His eyes were heavy and solemn, as if they had tolerated an eternity of grief.

This seemed all too real. Too visceral. 

Maybe this wasn’t heaven.

“Am I dead?” She thought to confirm.

He laughed a humourless laugh.

“No. You’re in the hospital wing.”

So this was real. She was in pain because her body had been bruised like a peach. 

When she finally looked around, she found herself neatly tucked into the covers of an infirmary bed. She couldn’t recall how she got here, and only remembered a few little scraps of the event that led up to Poidsear. But if she had to be certain of anything, Sebastian must’ve brought her back to the castle.

“I guess that makes sense,” She said with as much mirth as she could muster, “Heaven couldn’t be this quaint.”

Clearly Sebastian hadn’t found it funny at all, which is why she was met with silence. 

As she cleared her throat, she asked, “What happened?”

For some reason, Sebastian was doing everything in his power to avoid her eye. 

“An Ashwinder hit you with a modified version of the cruciatus curse. She tampered the spell and combined it with a blood poisoning hex. You… could’ve died.” He said through gritted teeth. It seemed as if he struggled to even get the words out. 

In an attempt to diffuse the graveness of his tone, she made a joke.

“Unlucky. Maybe next time they try to kill me they’ll actually get it right.”

But once again, Sebastian didn’t laugh. If anything, he only got more aggrieved. She felt his grip on the edge of her bed frame tighten so fiercely, she could see his veins pop and his knuckles turn red. He was being so serious — and she was not at all used to serious Sebastian. She had only seen this side of him once or twice, and only ever because of Anne. 

“Are you … upset?” She asked cautiously.

“I’m fucking furious.” He said. 

She was gobsmacked.

“Why?”

Finally, he looked at her straight on and her stomach flipped at the sight of it. He looked absolutely distraught. Like the splintered shell of a boy who had been cracked open and drained dry of his will to live. Behind the hard look in his eyes, radiated something cloudy, tempestuous and devastating. 

“It was my fault that we were even there.” He said

She hadn’t known that a voice could carry such grief and anger simultaneously. But Sebastian’s voice was laced with insurmountable despair. And it broke her heart irrevocably to think that she could’ve caused him so much pain.

Did he think that he was to blame?

That was ridiculous.

“I thought-” he started to say again, but his voice cracked. 

I thought I lost you? I thought I’d left you for dead? She wondered if that was what he was going to say.

“Sebastian…” She finally began “It’s not-”

“And why didn’t you think to tell me that you were struck by a bloody unforgivable curse before you fell lifelessly onto the fucking floor!” He yelled.

She winced at the loudness of his voice. 

“I didn’t think-”

“Do you have any idea what it’s like to watch the love of your life almost die in your fucking arms?”

His deafening voice echoed through the chambers of the hospital wing. 

She stared at him, mouth agape. 

Sebastian himself looked shocked by the words out of his own mouth. 

Sorry, what was that he just said? 

Was she dreaming? Was she hallucinating? Had Sebastian Sallow really said that he loved her? Her? Complicated, chaotic, haphazard her? Even if her brain couldn’t quite process what she was saying, her heart had certainly understood. It was battering against her ribcage so firmly that she swore it would no sooner burst out of her chest.

“You… love me?” Even as the words sat in her mouth, even as she tasted it meticulously on the edge of her tongue — she still couldn’t believe them. 

With his head buried in his hands, Sebastian groaned. 

Obviously that wasn’t what he had wanted to say, and that terrified the living shit out of her. He looked as if he considered going back on it. Saying that it had just been an emotional slip of the tongue. 

But to her surprise, he stood firm. 

“Fuck.” He cursed, “Isn’t it fucking obvious?”

His words still weren’t fully sinking in. Her brain was running so fast that it was on the verge of failing her entirely. There were so many things she wanted to ask him. Was it obvious? To who exactly? By what egregious definition? And did he expect her to just take his word and say that this little detail was always hidden in plain sight for her to find? 

Then there were other more intrusive thoughts she couldn’t shake. Like what about all the girls that fawned over his every word. What about all the other girls that were softer, prettier, more endearing than her? She just hoped that whatever she chose to say, that she wouldn’t let out the intrusive ones first.

“...What about Samantha?” She blurted practically incoherently.

Oh Merlin. Why did she say that? Why was that the first thing she said to him after she had just been on the verge of death? After he had just confessed his love for her.

Never had she felt so exasperated with herself for being so dumb.

Unsurprisingly, Sebastian looked at her as if she’d just grown three heads. She also considered that maybe she had enunciated so poorly that he hadn’t understood a single thing she said. Either way, just as she was about to laugh it away - change the subject - he responded.

“... What about Samantha?”

Suddenly, she felt too shy to ask. But she knew she had to follow through.

“... You’re not in love with Samantha?” She asked meekly.

Sebastian stared at her in absolute disbelief. 

“Are you crazy?” he began incredulously, “You think I fancy Samantha Dale?”

It wasn’t that crazy of a thought, she wanted to retort. 

But before she could even get a word in, Sebastian bulldozed on.

“Fucking hell. I think I’ve mentioned her name all but three times in the last six years I’ve been in this castle. All I talk about is you all day everyday, which makes Ominis go absolutely livid! All you have to do is say my name and I’d stop everything at the drop of a fucking hat to do literally anything you ask for me—” 

Did he know what he was saying? She wanted to scream. The feelings in her chest were so intense she feared that she might just throw up. 

Could he hear the absolutely ludicrous and inconceivable things coming out of his silly mouth? Did he know what in Salazar’s name he was saying to her? 

And he wasn’t even done yet.

“—I look for you in every hallway, every classroom, every corner in this bloody castle! For Merlin’s sake, I can’t even begin to fathom how you could not know that I’m stupidly love with you—”

Despite herself. Despite the stabbing pain in her chest. Despite the stitches in her lungs. She lunged her body forward and pushed her own chapped, split and desperate lips onto his.

And when their lips met — good God. 

She had no idea how she had waited so long to do this.

And she hoped for his sake that Sebastian hadn’t said any of that lightly, because now that she had finally had him, she was never ever letting him out of her shaky, unpracticed hands. 

At first, Sebastian had been taken aback. His mouth unmoving, eyes open in disbelief. It was as if he was observing the scene from outside of himself.

But then soon enough — he was all in, and he had his hands cupping the curve of her cheek to pull her closer to him. Soon enough, Sebastian was kissing her like he was looking for something. Pushing, pulling, scouring the shape of her mouth like she was a puzzle to be deciphered. Gripping tightly onto the sides of her waist and the small of her back like she was a prized to be possessed.

And she obliged. 

Whatever he wanted to know she’d tell him. If she were a prize, she'd use every cheat every ruse in her arsenal to make sure he'd win.

She just hoped that her needy moans conveyed her willingness to be compliant in his competent hands.

Her limbs ached, her bones groaned. This kiss was too wild, too strenuous, too demanding for her worn out body. But she didn’t care. The floodgates had opened now, whether either of them knew it, and this feeling was unquenchable. 

He tasted like home and aftershave and salt and all those silly peppermint candies he ate all the time. If she could fasten herself to him with an irreversible stitch, she would. If she could seal herself into a perfect mould of his arms, she would. If the shivers that raced down her spine could etch themselves permanently into her nerve endings in her skin, she’d gladly bear the mark.

In between peppered, sloppy kisses, she managed to gasp, "I'm in love with you too."

There was no time for pauses. She had no use for breathing; no use for air. She had no use for anything that didn’t include his lips. 

His laugh was gravelly and tired and breathy. But it was filled with relief and tenderness all the same.

“Thank fucking god,” Sebastian murmured.

Her hands instinctively found their way to his hair, fingers tangling into the strands of his. She revelled in the texture of him. In her daydreams and her undisclosed fantasies, she had always wondered what it would feel like. Would he be as gentle as his charms implied? Or was he as abrasive as his words could be?

But despite his devouring intensity, despite how ardently he consumed her — everything about Sebastian was soft. His lips were soft. His body was soft. His hands were soft.

She leaned in to kiss him again, but he pulled back. Which immensely disappointed her. And she wasn’t shy to let it show on her face.

"Be careful. You're still recovering." He managed to get out, but it was weak.

Yes, that was true. It was very lovely and sensible of him to say.

But frankly, she couldn't give two fucks.

"I wouldn't mind dying today," she replied breathlessly, her voice laced heavily with longing.

He groaned into the edge of her mouth, "Way too soon."

She smiled wryly. Was it wicked of her to take delight in how protective he was being?

Silence hung in the air. 

"Please just... just be careful next time?" he said, his voice wavering slightly.

She looked into his eyes, "I will."

With a gentle squeeze of his hand, she hoped that he knew that she truly meant it. That by definition, her feelings for him meant that her assurance was very much real. Because if not with words, she needed him to know through this gesture that she too looked for him in every inch of this castle. That she too would drop everything at his beck and call.  

He squeezed her hand back in return.

Message understood?

“And as much as I’d love to keep kissing you," he whispered with a playful glint in his eye, "I would hate for Nurse Blainey to shun me from the infirmary for so shamelessly accosting one of her patients."

A soft chuckle escaped her lips, the tension easing between them. "You're right. We wouldn't want that," she replied, a fond smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

—

A/N: This is deffo a little different from the normal soft/simpy Seb that I write. I tried to go for overly flirtatious and wildly charming Seb and a pining MC this time to shake things up!! I still think they're cuties.

Gosh, I hope you guys liked it!! I'M STILL WORKING ON OTHER REQUESTS and of course my bb A Knowing Look! They will be taking a while but I promise I will be putting my heart and soul into them.

xoxo gruff

[moonlightazriel]

Chapter 4: Lost in history /// Azriel X F!Reader

Summary: The research for a way to send her back started, but they come to the conclusion that there's only one person that can help them now.

Word Count: 2,1K

Warnings: Just our babygirl Y/N being sad.

Notes: We have some Elriel content and i admit that it feels werid writing about them but soon things will change hehehehe

Main Masterlist

Worlds Apart Masterlist

“This is all I have that mentions other worlds.” The red headed female from yesterday's training spoke, her red hair was covered by a blue hoodie, a stone resting peacefully against her forehead. Just like Petrah wore too. 

“Thank you..” She motioned for the female so she could tell her name.

“Gwyneth, but you can call me Gwyn.” She nodded. 

“Thanks, Gwyn.” The female smiled at her, before spinning on her heels and leaving her alone, walking away.

That morning, Rhysand had appeared again, she had to hold herself as she stared at those violet eyes, he wasn’t like Maeve, he already proved that. He had told her that they were already looking for answers, ways of getting her back to her world. She had asked him how she could help, and that’s how she ended down there.

The priestesses walked around in silence, their dresses rustling against the marble floors, books and more books adorned the walls, the smell of dust and parchment filled the cavernous space. Aelin Galathynius would love a library like that one. The two had discovered a common interest in books during the time she spent in Orynth. 

The dream of creating their own book club felt like a very distant memory now. She was rather fond of the Queen, Aelin was just amazing, and she saw her for what she truly was, a survivor, just like Y/N. So young having to deal with all of that, she admired her strength, the courage to wake up everyday and fight for the world she wanted.

She shook her head, thinking about it wouldn’t help, and she would just be sad, more than she already was. So she stuck her nose on the pages and read everything she could about other worlds. 

⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽ ⟡˙⋆ 

She closed the last book with an annoyed growl. Nothing. Absolutely nothing helpful on those pages. She wanted to bang her head against the nearest wall, the whole fucking day spent in theories, nothing concrete in how to access those said worlds. 

“Nothing?” A deep voice sounded, she turned her head, Cassian was standing there. “I won’t say we're having much more success than you.” She took a deep breath, getting up and stretching her muscles.

“I sat here for hours and not a single thing was useful. For a library that big, someone would think you have more information than that.” She started to follow the male. 

“Thank you, I've been saying that for centuries.” He led the way towards the endless stairs that would take them back to the surface.

“How old are you exactly?” His head turned to the side just enough so he could see her from his peripheral vision. 

“I’m 539 years old.” She stopped in her tracks. “I know it sounds old for such a young female like you.” He turned fully to her.

“How old do you think I am?” A smile danced on her lips.

“I don’t know, 22?” She then laughed, walking past him, starting to go upstairs to get out of that library. 

“Thank you, but I'm 105.” She explained and Cassian gasped loudly. 

“You’re not.” She nodded her head.

“I am. Witches tend to age very slowly.” She emphasised the world very, and Cassian found himself intrigued. Obviously they also aged slowly, but he didn't imagine the same happened in her world as well. 

The rest of the way was silent, as they made their way towards the House of Wind, as Nesta had introduced yesterday. The house responsible for her warm bath and fresh clothes this morning as well. She had thanked the house quietly, but Azriel had caught the faint whispers, so used to them, thinking it was very sweet of her. 

More people had joined the dinner, the smell of food lingered in the air, conversations floated around and she found herself surrounded by more strangers. A female holding a baby that looked like a younger version of Nesta. A black male with white hair, sitting by the side of a small female with silver eyes and short hair. 

She greeted all of them, introducing herself and waiting for them to do the same. The male was called Varian and Amren was by his side. Feyre and Nyx were High Lady and heir to the night court. They all looked at her with curiosity, everyone seemed to look at her like this lately, even when she was back at her home. 

“So you are the pretty female that the skies blessed us with.” Amren spoke. She reminded her of Lin, with her narrow eyes and deep black hair. 

“Amren, will you keep what I told you in secret, please?” Morrigan exclaimed, sipping on her wine. The smaller female just rolled her eyes, waving her hand in dismissal.

“Well, I guess so.” She poked a piece of lamb. Her goblet filled with wine but she craved something else. She craved blood. 

“Hopefully you had more success than us.” Feyre spoke, her sweet voice sounding like a fresh breeze. The baby slept clutched to her chest. Y/N knew she was staring at him, but she didn’t care, her memories drifting to a distant time, where a baby just as tiny as him never had the chance to live, and she paid a bitter price for her actions. 

“I.. hmm…” She cleared her throat, everyone was waiting for an answer, their eyes glued to her. Her scar throbbed with the attention and she had to hold back from flinching with the pain that pulsates on the skin. “No, I have found nothing useful.” She concluded, sipping on the wine, making a frown at the taste, blood tasted way better. 

“Not fond of wine?” Amren mocked, like she knew exactly what she wanted. 

“I just like something a little bit different, that’s all.” She didn’t want to disrespect them in their home, Asterin would be disappointed if she did so. So she downed the wine with the food, pretended to participate in their conversations and watched as the night progressed out of the window.

“We need to check Koschei.” Rhysand spoke, this caught her attention and she started to listen again. “It’s been weeks, we need to know what he’s been up to.” The name caused her blood to run cold, she didn’t know what, but something about this creature left her on alert.

“Who is Koschei?” She asked, their heads turning to her, Rhysand shared a look with his mate, like they were having a silent conversation before he spoke again. 

“He’s a powerful sorcerer bound to a lake.” He started. 

“For now.” Morrigan corrected. 

“Yes, for now. We want to defeat him before he becomes an even bigger problem than he already is.” She studied them, how the whole table felt tense with the conversation, like they were afraid of this thing, something told Y/N that she should feel afraid too. 

“Maybe he knows something.” Nesta started. “He’s from another world as well.”

“What? Do you want to go there and ask him how to open a portal to another world?” Amren mocked and Nesta gave her a hurtful look. 

“No, but maybe we can find a book about him, someone that knows his history or something like that.” She defended herself.

“Nesta is right.” Cassian spoke, hand squeezing her thigh under the table. “We’re already looking for a way to free Vassa, we can ask Lucien to try and help with this too.” 

“That is a great idea. I’ll send him a letter, it’s already time for him to visit us.” Feyre chimed in, her blue eyes sparking with happiness at the thought of seeing Lucien again, it’s been months since he left with the Band of Exiles. “You’re going to love Lucien.” She turned to Y/N.

“If you think so.” Meeting more people, she was so excited for that. With a loud yawn, she excused herself and retired to her room, she had to wake up early to go for a ride on Meraxes, she could hear the winds calling for her.  

⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽ ⟡˙⋆ 

“I swear there’s nothing going on.” Azriel promised, but Elain still refused to hear him. After their argument the day before, she had come looking for him in the training field, just to find her glued to his back, and Azriel allowing it as she claimed.

“What I saw yesterday would love to disagree with you.” She poked her untouched food, they were in a reserved table on a restaurant across the Rainbow, he just wanted that argument to be over. 

“It was just training, my flower.” He begged, rubbing his hand over his face in an attempt to calm himself, he didn’t know what else he could say to convince her. “You chose me and I chose you, despite everything, that female cannot change that.” 

If he only knew how wrong he was. She looked at him with that spark in her eyes, hands clutching his scarred ones and bringing to her pink lips in a sweet kiss.

“You are right, she’s not better than me and she never will.” His shadows moved as if they disagreed, they were always quiet in Elain’s presence and he never knew why. They didn’t darted towards her like they did with Y/N more times than he could count in the short period she was there.

“Yeah, let’s just eat and go home, please.” He begged and Elain nodded.

The rest of the dinner felt bitter against his lips, his head throbbed and when he rested his hands on her lower back to lead the way home, it felt wrong, so wrong. He swallowed the feelings and kept trying to convince himself that he chose this, this is what he wanted. Three sisters to three brothers or whatever. 

Elain’s hands cupped his cheek, and she lifted her body to the tip of her toes, kissing him lightly on the lips, saying her good night to him, disappearing into her room at the River House. 

He closed the door behind him, flying towards the House of Wind in a starless sky, dark clouds covering the beautiful night. When he landed on the balcony, he slowly stalked towards his room, but his shadows urged him away from it, towards the library. 

From the open arch on the stone wall, he could see her, a tiny nightgown covering her body, some strands falling loose from her braid. A book clutched in hands as she sat against a window, eyes glued to the sky. 

“Couldn’t sleep?” He said, his voice hoarse. She turned to him, those beautiful eyes penetrating his soul. She closed her book.

“There’s a storm coming.” She raised her finger, pointing outside. 

“How do you know?” Stars still littered the sky from where he could see. 

“I can hear it's calling.” Azriel nodded. She had a defeated expression on her face, all he wanted to do was to soothe the furrowed eyebrows and tell her everything would be fine. “Do you think I'll ever find my way home?” Tears glistened in the moonlight, burning her eyes. 

“I don’t know.” He answered with honesty, he didn’t have the answer for that, and as much as he wanted to help her, something inside him didn’t want her to go back. He shushed that part of him, hiding them in the shadows of his heart. 

“I wonder if they miss me.” She looked outside again, ever since Asterin died, she felt like she lost her space in the world, like she didn’t belong anywhere, if she disappeared would anyone notice? Would they find a way to get her back? All those questions and self doubt weighed on her soul, crushing her until she couldn’t breathe. She blinked the tears away. 

“I’m sure they do.” She could hear the pity in his tone, and she hated that, she knew that if she looked at him he would have that look on his face, the one everyone had when they looked at her. Manon, Fenrys, Aelin, Shearah, Elide and all of them, the same pitiful glare reserved just for her. She didn’t want to face that here as well.

So she got up, leaving the book behind and walked past him, as fast as the winds, but his warm hand caught her arm, forcing her to stop. Her head whipped back, eyes locking with his golden ones. 

“I’m so sorry if I offended you.” His voice was gentle, calming.

“I don’t need your pity.” She barked in anger. 

“I wouldn’t dare.” He promised, and she just nodded, freeing herself from his grip, going to her room, locking the door and throwing herself under the blankets. The skin of her arm felt warm where he had touched. And that night, after tossing and tuning for what felt like an eternity, she dreamed about that male again.

⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽ ⟡˙⋆

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[five-and-dimes]

Mountain Sound

Hob and Dream are a rare werewolf/vampire couple. Some people take offense to that. Luckily, some people are idiots.

AO3

~~~~~~~~~~~

Hob would be more embarrassed by his capture if he wasn’t so used to his own clumsiness. 

There’s also the worry-induced rage taking up most of his emotional space, so there’s not a lot of room for embarrassment. 

“If you let me go, I might consider showing some mercy,” he growled lowly.

What had started as a peaceful evening with his husband had turned into a coordinated attack against the both of them. Dream had been relaxed for once in his life, his pale, bony body draped over Hob’s lap, one hand idly playing with the thick hair on Hob’s arms, occasionally reaching up to the bit of hair peeking over the neckline of Hob’s shirt. In return Hob rubbed one of his thumbs in soothing circles against the sharp jut of Dream’s hip, smiling when Dream lovingly pressed his own fingers against Hob’s softer, more abundant body.

They had been so blissfully content that neither of them were prepared when the door to their small home had been shattered. They lived deep, deep in the forest, occasionally traveling to the closest town, which was close enough for a vampire and werewolf to get to comfortably, mostly for Hob to socialize and keep up with news of the surrounding kingdoms, but distant and inconvenient for any humans to get to them in return. As such, they had, apparently, made the mistake of letting their guard down.

Because as they both leapt up, what they were faced with was not human hunters, but rather a pack of werewolves. Using the element of surprise fully to their advantage, Hob barely had a chance to react before he was grabbed and dragged outside by three pairs of clawed, furry hands. 

If that had been all, they probably would have been okay. But Hob and Dream were not exactly known for their good luck. Dream had immediately followed outside, snarling, and as soon as he was past the threshold of their home, the vampires had pounced. 

It didn’t make sense, the two groups seemingly working together. Hob and Dream had been infamous for their coupling, whispers and rumors among humans and supernatural alike about the werewolf and the vampire who ran away together. It was why they kept to themselves, traveling far from their homelands and settling in this remote mountain forest. 

Hob had opened his mouth to scream- in shock, in fear, in pure burning rage- but before he could make a sound, he was dragged in front of a young woman, a long trench coat and belt filled with an assortment of artifacts and supernatural protections. She crushed something in her hand, and suddenly Hob’s eyes grew heavy and his body slumped.

The last thing he saw before succumbing to unconsciousness was Dream collapsing from a similar spell.

Which brought him to this moment. Standing in the center of a large cage in the middle of a vast cavern, surrounded by close to a dozen werewolves. 

“I don’t think you’re in a position to be making threats,” the leader smirked. They are tall, imposing, standing with obvious authority. Short, curly blonde hair frames a sharp face that betrays nothing but absolute control. Hob would think nothing of them, assume they were just a random werewolf who saw a target and went for it, if it weren’t for their apparel. The leather outfit is dark and iridescent like an oil slick, and strapped across their back, dried and hardened and the same colors as their armor, was a single black wing. Even as isolated as they were, it was impossible not to hear the tales of the werewolf who ripped the very wings off a mighty dragon, turning one into their armor and the other into a shield, worn as a blatant symbol of power. 

Everyone knew the tale of Lucifer.

“Those bars are pure silver,” they continued, “courtesy of our hired associate here,” They gestured to the woman who had knocked Hob out, who he now recognized as human.

Hob blinked at the words, glancing at the cage around him slowly. 

(A little ways away, Johanna Constanine watches with equal curiosity.)

He kept his face carefully blank as he asked, “What do you want, Lucifer? You don’t seem the type to work with vampires.”

“I do find it distasteful,” they drawled, “but it is a necessary means if the end is to rid the world of something far more grotesque.”

“What are you talking about?” Hob furrowed his brow.

“They’re talking about you and that bloodsucker!” another woman snarled, stepping up from behind Lucifer. 

Lucifer raised a hand. “Stand down, Mazikeen. Perhaps he can be reasoned with.”

(Johanna looks between the restless pack of werewolves and the man in the cage, frowning in confusion.)

The rage had taken a back seat to Hob’s pure confusion. “I repeat- what the Hell are you talking about?”

“Everyone knows about you and that corpse you keep in your bed,” Lucifer sneered. “How you abandoned your pack in order to lay with your natural enemy. Disgusting and unnatural,” They stepped forward, looking down their nose and circling Hob’s cage like the predator they are. “It is tempting to kill you just to rid the world of your deviancy. Even now you reek of vampire, your own scent just a whisper.” They curled their lips in blatant disgust. “But,” they smoothed their expression deliberately, “I’ve decided to give you the chance to see the error of your ways.”

Hob followed them with his gaze, lips pursed together when they stopped in front of him.

“Join us,” they declared. “Be part of a pack once more, run beneath the moon with your true family.” 

Lucifer is clearly trying to look welcoming and generous. But there is no hiding the hunger in their eyes, the way their claws extend as they spread their arms in invitation, snow white fur growing on their hands and the sides of their face.

Hob stays silent, clenching his jaw.

At his silence, Lucifer’s face drops into a scowl. “Your so-called lover is being offered a similar deal,” they spit out. “Do you truly believe he will not betray you? Sell you out like the soulless husk he is? How often does he drain you in the night?” They screech, stepping closer in their rage and disgust. “He is an abomination. An empty shell that should have been sent to Hell ages ago. You are a fool, a disgrace to all werewolves for letting him taint you!”

By the end they are yelling, snarling, their face sharpening and limbs lengthening as their rage and revulsion pulsed through them.

There is a beat of silence. And then, Hob simply can’t keep his jaw clenched any longer.

And he bursts out laughing.

~~~~

Meanwhile….

~~~~

Dream awoke in a dark, frigid room. Deep gray stones surrounded him, a few wall torches flickering throughout the room. There is one large window behind him, covered by a thick black sheet, preventing even the slightest outside light from entering. Despite its barrenness, Dream knows this is not just any room. He is clearly in a castle dungeon.

His suspicion is confirmed when he looks up and sees the group of vampires surrounding him. Most are in dark, flowing robes, but there is a man in the back, striking for his pure white suit amongst the shadows, arms crossed and leaning against the wall looking amused, but not trying to call attention to himself. The vampire in front, however, is clearly trying to make an impression. He is dressed in his finest, tailored suit, ruffled silk shirt, and a red velvet single-shoulder cape to ensure that no one mistakes him for anything other than the leader. He grips an ornate cane in his hand, and he looks down at Dream with contempt.

It’s the cane that lets him know he has been taken by Roderick Burgess and his coven.

“I see the spell has worn off,” he drawls. “So good to finally meet you.”

Dream goes to stand but stops suddenly when he realizes he is naked. He crouches, and his head whips up to glare at the head vampire.

“Ah, yes,” he waves a hand dismissively, “afraid we had to burn your clothing. They reeked of that monstrosity.” He sneers. “I can still smell it on you now. To lay with a dog so long it buries your own scent.” He shook his head as his lips curled. “Disgusting.”

Narrowing his eyes, Dream’s muscles coiled as he prepared to leap, but he freezes when Burgess laughs coldly.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” He flicks his cane to gesture to the circle around Dream. He sees he is in the center of a ring of flowers, long green stems with orbs of tiny lavender-colored flowers at the end, a few roots and bulbs ripped up among them. Beyond the first circle is a mote dug into the floor, the water flowing sluggishly and unnaturally.

Dream tilted his head in confusion.

“Garlic flowers,” Burgess grins maliciously, “and a moat of holy water. My familiar isn’t completely useless,” he mutters, glancing at a figure behind him, his hood down so he can’t hide the way he ducks his head in shame. The man in white snorted with cruel laughter.

Everyone knew of Roderick’s youngest son, whom he refused to turn into a vampire until he could “prove himself”. 

Not many people pitied vampires. Most people pitied Alex Burgess.

Dream is not most people.

“You’re not going anywhere unless we allow it,” Burgess continues.

In front of him, Dream remains silent, crouched and waiting with a blank face.

“What’s the matter? Wolf got your tongue?” Burgess sneers. “To lay with a beast, a mere animal. I should turn you to dust just to teach everyone else a lesson,” he hisses.

He steps forward. “But I know you could be great. There is power in you, I can feel it! You belong with your own kind, to be a part of a coven as is intended. No vampire should sink as low as you have,” he looks down his nose, pure judgment in his eyes, “but perhaps you can be saved. By us.” He spreads his arms out wide as he grinned maliciously. “Here, in the darkness.”

Dream is silent still, and it does not take long to break Roderick’s patience.

He lowered his arms, scowling. “You have nothing to say? No gratitude for my offer?” He stalked forward, getting as close to the circle as he dared and slamming his cane against the ground, “Speak to me!”

The man in white steps forward lazily, eyes roaming over Dream, “Maybe he can’t. Maybe all he can do is howl now,” he taunted.

“You are a disgrace! A waste of our gift of life after death!” Burgess ignored the other vampire, raging at the silent figure. “Do you think he will do the same for you? Do you think that stupid animal won’t betray you for his own kind? Just to roll in the dirt with the other dogs? You are a fool, and I should leave you here with the window open so you burn with the sunrise!”

His words echo in the chamber, his face twisted in righteous fury, panting and with hands shaking so hard at his side that his cane rattles against the stone floor.

And then Dream smiles.

~~~~

Lucifer looks torn between confusion and indignity as Hob laughs himself hoarse in front of them. Hob wipes nonexistent tears from his face, mostly doing the motion to piss Lucifer off even more.

Johanna takes a step back.

“Oh, dear,” Hob says cheerfully, “I’ve heard this speech before, but never received it myself. How charming. To know that even the great Lucifer, morningstar, dragon slayer, is prone to the dangers of gossip.”

He steps forward casually, closer to the walls of the cage.

And then Hob wraps both hands around the silver bars, and nothing happens.

~~~~

Still smiling, still looking straight into Burgess’ eyes, Dream reaches out and takes a flower into the palm of his hand.

~~~

Johanna bolts out the door as the cave suddenly fills with terrified and confused growls, the pack behind Lucifer retreating as far as they can away from Hob. Even Mazikeen takes a step back. Lucifer is not so much still as they are frozen in place by shock.

“You see, the thing about rumors is…” Hob leans forward, pressing his face against the bars as if sharing a secret. And when a smile stretches across his face, Lucifer sees his teeth lengthen.

Not all his teeth, though. 

Just two.

“…sometimes the details get mixed up.”

~~~~

The cloaked vampires gasp in shock, and the man in white looks far less cocky as Dream crushed the flower in his hand.

His clawed hand.

Burgess stares in wide eyed horror as Dream stands slowly, pitch black fur sprouts along his spine, his forearms, his legs. His face turns sharp and angular, bones cracking and reshaping even as he steps forward to walk through the moat.

~~~~

Before any of the pack could break through their shock, Hob pulled at the bars in his hands, easily ripping them off and tossing them to the side as he stepped through the gap.

Then he lunges.

~~~~

Dream steps out of the more in his full werewolf form. Long and still bony, his muscles strong but slim and compact, his messy fur the deepest black. He is not a wolf of brute strength, as they are known for. Dream is made for speed.

So Burgess doesn’t have time to react before Dream is sinking his teeth in his neck.

~~~~

Hob has never understood why no one else, vampire or werewolf, seems to see the poetry in their being able to hurt one another. Humans need tricks and magic to do anything to them, but vampires and werewolves only need their own teeth. 

Dream has never hurt Hob, and Hob has never hurt Dream. It’s trust, and respect, and love.

They’ve both been far more hurt by their own kind.

~~~~

It is no trouble for Dream to bite through the bone of Burgess’ neck. It only takes one more bite to have his head rolling on the floor. 

Dream kicks it into the mote of holy water, and it sizzles behind him as he turns his attention to the rest of the coven.

~~~~

It is only Mazikeen’s devotion that saves Lucifer.

She tackles Hob mid-lunge, throwing him off course but not knocking him down. They both scramble, Mazikeen half transformed and Hob holding her at arms length to keep her gnashing teeth away. He cannot get his own teeth into her without risking her getting a hold on him as well, and the rest of the pack won’t be just standing in shock for long.

It is a quick maneuver to get behind her, one hand twisting her arm behind her back while the other clutches a fistful of the fur at the back of her neck. Then he shoved her forward to press her face against the bars of the silver cage they had made for him.

Mazikeen does not howl, she screams as Hob holds her against the silver, one side of her face burning and smoking.

Hob hears movement behind him and releases Mazikeen as he leaps out of the way, narrowly avoiding an attack from Lucifer. The rest of the coven seems hesitant to join the fray so close to the mass of silver.

Lucifer is strong- they earned their titles fairly, and Hob thinks on a different day the outcome may not have been so favorable. But the fact is, all these werewolves came here prepared to kill another werewolf. They are not prepared for a vampire. And them being caught off guard gives Hob the same upper hand it gave them earlier.

When Hob pins Lucifer to the floor by their neck, face inches away from the floor of the silver cage, Hob snarls. Whatever amusement he may have had at the beginning has been lost to the rage of an old wound reopened.

“You’re all the same,” he hissed, letting venom drip down his fangs to drip threateningly onto Lucifer’s armor. “You’re all the same, and you don’t even realize it. Always spewing the same prejudice and hatred based on absolutely nothing. Your pack is exactly the same as my old coven.”

Here he leans down, tightening his grip as he lowers his voice. “I want you to remember that. Remember that you acted just like a vampire. Remember that no matter how highly you think of yourself, you are just like them.”

He stands then, rising smoothly to his feet as Lucifer coughs to get their breath back. Turning, he moves to leave. He has no interest in a slaughter right now. He just wants to find Dream.

The rest of the pack give him space, staring in awe and horror, too taken aback to do anything more than watch him walk away.

“One day…”

Lucifer’s voice makes him pause. He looks over his shoulder to see they have moved Mazikeen to lay her head in their lap, hand carefully cupping the unburned side of her face.

“One day,” they promise coldly, “we will destroy you.”

Hob just smirked and nodded.

“Until that day, Lightbringer.”

And with that, he disappeared from the cave, sprinting through the forest to find his lover.

~~~~

The coven panics at the sight of their dead leader, the one who turned them. And now they find themselves locked in a room with a werewolf, with weapons nearby that will hurt them but not Dream.

The man in white curses, but pulls himself together to sprint for the window. He tears the sheet down, revealing a still dark night sky, and then punches through the glass.

Dream is right behind him, faster than most werewolves but still slower than a vampire, but catching up as the glass is broken. The man in white sneers, frustrated, and immediately bursts into a swarm of bats.

Most werewolves fear a vampire’s swarm. Too many teeth to keep track of.

But Dream is not most werewolves, and as the swarm begins to pour out of the window, he leaps into the mass of screeching wings and brings his jaws down around whatever he can reach.

There are only two bats in his mouth, but all of them are screaming, pain making the swarm clumsier as they fly out into the night, uncoordinated and staggering.

(When the vampire known only as The Corinthian reforms himself later, it will be without his eyes. He will cry tears of blood and the closest town will wake to the sounds of him screaming in the dead of a night he can no longer see.)

The rest of the coven, when Dream comes for them, follow their comrade’s lead and scatter into bats, keeping high and flying desperately through the open window. Dream snarls, whipping his head around to the only figure remaining.

“P-please,” Alex Burgess stutters, “I didn’t want to help him. I would have let you out if I could!”

Dream stalked forward. “Coward,” he backed Alex into a corner, “What would you have done to me, if you were promised the power your father held?”

“I-… you don’t understand,” he swallowed.

“Perhaps,” Dream rumbled, “but if I cannot understand why you would do the things you have. I will take comfort in it. I will take comfort in not being like you.”

He turned to leave, and Alex crumpled to the ground, knowing intrinsically that he had not been worth the trouble of being turned by his father and now he wasn’t worth being turned by this werewolf. He wasn’t even worth the trouble to kill.

Alex will have nightmares of this night for the rest of his life. Dream doesn’t care.

He gallops through the forest to find Hob.

~~~~

Hob and Dream were both already alone when they met.

When Hob let himself be turned, all he thought about was Eleanor. Of being able to live forever by her side, the mark of her teeth forever on his neck because she chose him, fell in love with him as much as he with her, enough to give him immortality. 

He didn’t consider her family- her coven- and their disapproval.

Perhaps it would have been easier if they had disapproved of his relationship with Eleanor, if it had been born of protectiveness of some kind. But no. They just didn’t like Hob.

Didn’t like his thick, hair covered body that did not fit in their antique porcelain aesthetic. Didn’t like how easily he laughed, how casually he dressed, how much he enjoyed his undead life, how his only complaint was missing the sunshine.

To be fair, Hob didn’t like them much either. He hated their dank, cold castle and their insistence on constant formality. He dreamed of building a cabin near a lake, where he and Eleanor could be free to live as they wanted, without constantly having to keep their posture perfect.

Then Eleanor died, killed by hunters on one of her nightly trips into the town to search for orphans. 

(“I wouldn’t turn them until they were an adult,” she promised Hob, her eyes wide and pleading for him to understand, “I won’t turn them at all if they don’t want to be! But… but a child of our own, to raise…” She took Hob’s hand and leaned her forehead against his, her words infinitely quiet with no chance of being overheard, “Not a coven. A family.”)

Without her, there was no reason for him to stay.

Hob learned very quickly that Eleanor’s family was not unique in their views. Every vampire he came across curled their lips at his rugged appearance, his extroverted nature, everything about his personality and looks seemed to offend them personally.

“Whoever turned you was cruel to do so while you look like this,” one vampire had told him, oblivious to their own cruelty. “You could shave the hair at least. It won’t grow back.”

Narrowing his eyes, Hob had excused himself quickly from the interaction. They were just strangers who met on the road, he had no obligation to stay and be talked down to and insulted like that.

Eleanor had liked the way he looked.

Hob liked the way he looked.

(In the privacy of his own mind, he was grateful for his lack of reflection.)

Then he ran into Dream. Literally.

Neither were paying attention, just sprinting through the woods trying to outrun their own demons, they didn't notice each other’s presence until they were crashing together, tumbling across the forest floor and felling several trees in the process.

When they untangled and got their bearings, they both spent a long moment simply staring. 

Hob thought he’d run into another vampire at first, because the stranger looked like every vampire’s ideal he’d had pressed on him for centuries now. Slim and as pale as snow, pitch black hair artfully wild, wearing black head to toe, including a long black coat that he held wrapped around himself. His clothes were a little beat up and worn, but it didn’t make him look any less poised and elegant, and his eyes were a stunning icy blue as they stared back at Hob. He was gorgeous, and if this was what a vampire was supposed to look like, Hob understood he had no hope of ever measuring up. 

Then he inhaled.

And he realized that the stranger was not a vampire.

Dream had been wandering for a long time before he met Hob. He’d been alone even longer.

Even coming from a large, familial pack, Dream had always been isolated. He was the runt and they all knew it. Even his youngest sister, still a pup, was growing stronger than Dream ever had. Not brawny and strong like a werewolf was supposed to be, he was skinny, frail, weak, as much of his family liked to remind him. He wasn’t loud or rowdy, had no desire to wrestle and play fight with his siblings. He preferred to extend his claws and carve pictures and stories into the dirt of stones. Sometimes his older sister would indulge him and sit while he told her elaborate tales to go with his engravings. But inevitably she would be pulled away. 

It was one night, when the pack was cuddled together in their den and Desire kicked him out of the pile again (literally, kicking at his ribs and back until he retreated from his family’s warmth) claiming as always that Dream was too bony and cold to sleep beside, that he decided to leave.

He spent much of the night just watching them. He curled up against the wall and took in the sight of his pack piled together, safe and warm and not missing him at all. It did not matter that Dream was cold. It did not matter that he was lonely, and hurt, and unloved. None of it mattered.

So it certainly wouldn’t matter if he left.

He ran as far and as fast and as long as he could. From night, through the morning and the high peak of the sun, only collapsing in a heap of sweat soaked fur once the sun had fallen once more. 

At first, he traveled often in his full werewolf form, both for speed and as a precaution as he moved along the edges of the territories of different packs. Each time, a wolf would come to meet him, to ensure he was just passing by, and each time he was met with disdain.

“Are you sure you’re not a wererat?” a bulking werewolf had laughed at him, “You look like you belong down in the sewers.”

Dream began taking longer paths to avoid other werewolves. He began to only shift at night, and then only when he was forced to on the full moon. It did not matter that it slowed his travel. It did not matter that he felt vulnerable, and exposed, and that some nights his heart ached to curl up as a wolf and tuck his nose beneath his tail and pretend he was warm. It didn’t matter that he felt equally hideous in his human form.

None of it mattered.

So he was running on two legs when he collided with Hob.

They were staring at each other, and the man in front of him must have been the most gorgeous werewolf he’d ever seen. Even unshifted he was covered in a glorious pelt of body hair that Dream wanted desperately to run his fingers through. He was broad, heavyset, clearly strong but with a layer of padding that made him look soft and welcoming, especially coupled with wide brown eyes. He was everything a werewolf was supposed to be and everything that Dream would never, ever be.

Then he inhaled.

And he realized that the stranger was not a werewolf.

“Uh, hi,” Hob spoke first, his voice breathless with something like wonder. “Um, shit, sorry for bowling you over like that, here,” he scrambled to his feet and held a hand out, “I’m Hob.”

At first, all Dream could do was move his gaze from his hand to his face and back again. Then, hesitantly, he reached out and allowed the stranger to help him to his feet.

(Dream had always been shunned for the coldness of his body. But holding this undead hand now, there was none of the jarring heat, none of the pulling away and complaining about his temperature.) 

(Hob did not mind, because Hob was cold too.)

(They both kept their hands together for a little longer than needed.)

“I. Am Dream.” 

“Dream,” Hob smiled, “It’s nice to meet you.”

There was a moment when they finally dropped their hands that they each remembered that werewolves and vampires were meant to be enemies.

Both of them looked at each other, and quietly acknowledged to themselves that they had been hurt far worse by their own kind than the other’s.

They ended up talking through the night. Carefully casual at first, before slowly opening up their wounds to each other, to see the ways they matched. When sunrise approached and Hob needed to find shelter, Dream shyly invited him back to the cave he had been staying in.

“Where are you going?” Hob asked softly, facing Dream where they were laying next to each other on a pile of deer pelts.

“Away,” Dream whispered, on his back and staring at the ceiling with a painfully blank gaze. “Far away. Away from everyone and everything. Where no one will have to look at me again.”

Hob swallowed thickly. It’s been less than one day, and his heart shatters in fear of losing this man. The first person who understands him. Who sees him. Hob thinks he is seeing his reflection for the first time in centuries.

So he summoned his courage and placed his hand over Dream’s, “Maybe I’ll come with you.” Dream turned to look at him, wary and disbelieving, and Hob smiled. “I like looking at you.”

In the morning, they picked a direction and started running. And they did it again the next day, and the next. Dream was skittish, and Hob was loud. Dream narrowed his eyes in suspicion whenever Hob showed him an ounce of kindness, and Hob laughed and waved away any of Dream’s attempts to show him kindness in return. Neither of them knew what they were doing.

“Who would want an eternity of this?” 

Dream said it softly, mostly to himself, but Hob couldn’t not hear it. Couldn’t not hear the weight of the exhaustion in his voice. They were sitting side by side in front of the fire Dream had built, the cave sheltering them from the worst of the heavy rainfall. The weather might have saved them, though. No matter how heated their individual run-ins with others of their kind might have been before, it was nothing compared to being seen together. Something about it seemed to make werewolves and vampires alike fly into some sort of confused, offended rage. 

But they always got away, and today the cover of rain washed away their tracks and scents, and in the morning they would take the harder mountain trail to avoid any more incidents. They sat in front of the fire, and as they always did after a chase, Dream sat in silence, lost in his own head, while Hob desperately distracted himself by rambling stories from his life, before, during, and after Eleanor.

This was the first time Dream had ever interrupted him. 

And Hob… didn’t have an answer. He supposed he could say ‘me’ but they both knew that wasn’t what Dream was looking for right now. It isn’t what Dream is looking for every day that he wakes up and starts running. Werewolves can live for close to a millennia, and Dream was barely older than Hob. He was so young. He has so much time.

They both do.

So Hob did the same thing he did on the day they met. He reached out, and he took Dream’s hand.

“You could find out?”

Dream turned to look at him, not with suspicion, or distrust, but a disbelief that came from awe. And Hob thought maybe this was enough. Even if they never stopped running, at least they’d run together.

The seasons passed. Once a month Dream disappeared in the night, as close to begging as he could get for Hob not to look for him, promising he’d be back in the morning. Hob hated it, hated thinking of him out there all alone, with a howl that sounded like crying. But when he came back, worn down and shaky, he allowed Hob to hold him. After some time, he allowed him to kiss him, too.

“I want to see,” Hob whispered against his mouth. They had found a place. A clearing at the base of a mountain, far from cities and towns, no known vampires or werewolf territories, and Hob and Dream have been chopping wood all day.

They are going to build a home together.

Everything they’ve shared, all the past wounds pulled apart for the other to see, but here Dream hesitated. “I do not… look like other werewolves,” he whispered.

“Neither of us look how we’re ‘supposed to’,” Hob reminded him, “And we don’t care, remember?”

But Dream shook his head, glancing up at Hob through his eyelashes that did nothing to conceal his fear. “I am ugly,” he admitted, ashamed.

Hob kissed him and kissed him and kissed him, pulling him into his arms, “I don’t care. It’s you, and I love you. I want to love all of you.”

They waited until the next sundown, leaving their shelter and standing before each other. Hob held Dream’s hands as long as he could, until Dream pulled away, taking a few steps back as he allowed himself to shift. Hob watched his lover transform under the night sky, limbs contorting and elongating, black fur covering him, long in some places and shorter in others, wild like a hyena, eyes with a white shine to them, clawed fingers digging into the ground as he crouched down onto all fours.

When Dream raised his head, he still looked scared, his tail curling under his legs as he braced himself for whatever Hob’s reaction could possibly be. So Hob approached slowly, and hoped his face shone with at least half the love he felt right now. Kneeling in front of him, Hob raised both hands carefully and cupped Dream’s muzzle in his palms, letting his fingers run through the soft fur at the sides of his face.

“My Dream,” he breathed out, leaning forward to kiss between his eyes, “You’re beautiful.”

Dream’s lips curled, not quite a snarl. A disagreement.

“You are,” Hob insisted, kissing all over his face now, reaching down to take those long claws into his hands and press kisses to the sharp, furred knuckles, “You’re stunning. You’re perfect,” Hob rested their foreheads together, “I love every part of you.”

He pushed Dream gently onto his back on the grass and his form shifted under Hob’s hands. His more human face showed blatant terror, disbelief, defiance, his form constantly shifting between different ratios of wolf and man, as though he would eventually find the form that Hob did not love. Hob kissed every shuddering stretch of skin, every cracking bone, pet over him steadily even when his skin went from smooth to furred and back again. He took Dream in hand and kissed his neck and rut against him desperately and finally, finally, Dream settled. A bit wolf, a bit human, but all Dream, and he reached for Hob just as desperately, both of them pressing together as though they could become one. They were both wanted, and loved, and it was more than enough.

And it is more than enough now, years and years later, when the rumors have spread and the home they built has been attacked, and Hob and Dream burst through the forest and crash into each other's arms with as much force as they day they met, rolling through the dirt and holding each other close as they tumble. 

“Dream, Dream, are you alright, are you hurt?”

He is still in his full wolf form, so he shakes his head where it is pressed against Hob’s shoulder. He lifts his eyes just enough to send a look that Hob understands effortlessly, “I’m fine, I’m fine, Love,” he reassures, feeling himself melt into the ground in relief that they are both safe and together again. 

Eventually, Hob stands, and he offers Dream a hand. Dream takes it, and rises unsteadily to his feet, leaning against Hob for balance. His voice is gravelly as he speaks without shifting, “No… clothes…”

Hob feels a flare of fury, but tucks it away for later. Instead, he shrugs out of his outer shirt, which is just long enough on Dream for him to feel at least a little less vulnerable. He feels even better when, as soon as he is in his human form, Hob sweeps him into a bridal carry, grinning and kissing him one last time before speeding back to their home, making it back just before sunrise. It is bittersweet to see the place they built with the door kicked down and the living room in disarray from the scuffle, but it’s still their home. At least for tonight.

“Perhaps it’s time we moved deeper into the mountains. Maybe settle at a higher elevation,” Hob suggests that night, when they are barricaded in their room, Dream wrapped in a robe and buried beneath their blankets as Hob holds him close.

Dream frowned, pulling back just enough to look up at him, “But you like being close to the town.”

Hob shrugged, winding his arms over Dream’s shoulders. “Maybe, but I like you much more,” he grinned when Dream blushed, “And it’s not like it’d be too much trouble for me to travel down every now and then. I’ll just take longer visits farther apart. I’ll go on days when you need some solitude.”

Dream blinked at him slowly, and Hob found it so sweet and so heartbreaking how, even after all these years, Dream still had to hold back tears when Hob was kind to him.

“You truly are perfect,” he whispered, leaning forward to rest his forehead against Hob’s, “and I love you so.”

“I think you’re the perfect one,” Hob smiled, “and I love you too.”

Tomorrow they will begin their move, and build a new home more prepared for the people who won’t accept them. And they’ll do it together.

And that’s more than enough.

[chvoswxtch]

court !

can’t believe you are spoiling us like this…ur amazing, thank you !

so I have no idea how to do this right, but I wanted my “order” to maybe get in there before you closed haha…

So I was thinking/hoping on an americano, to blurbs from E.S.T by White Lies?

“If you tell me to jump then I’ll die, in my dreams I’m there”….the whole song has me bawling my eyes out imagining Franks puppy eyes UGH

thank you so much nonnie!

I hope you're ready to bawl your eyes out some more (that's dramatic, I wasn't that mean, but I was super angsty)

blurb below the cut

order for frank with a shot of e.s.t

if you tell me to jump then i’ll die / in my dreams i’m there

Frank never wanted to hurt you, but he knew that’s exactly what he was doing. It wasn’t fair to you for him to have one foot in the past and one wedged in the present. He knew every time he walked out your front door he filled your stomach with a cavern of dread that leaked into your bones, not knowing if he was going to walk back through it. He knew every wound he returned with was mirrored in phantom affliction inside your ribcage. He knew you accepted who he was, but he also knew who you longed for him to be, even if you never voiced it outloud. And that’s what killed him.

Because he didn’t know how to be that man. Even when he had Maria and the kids, he always struggled balancing the two different worlds he walked between. Before he lost them, he was going to try to be fully present in one life and let go of the other, but he never got the chance. It was ripped away from him.

But you, you were that second chance. You were his second chance at everything. To do things over, to do them right. To leave behind the life of violence and choose a life of peace. His family had been avenged to the last drop of blood, but it hadn’t healed anything in him. It gave him satisfaction to be the one to make them suffer the way his family had, but it didn’t fill the echoing void of loneliness. It didn’t quell the guilt of knowing it had all happened because of him. It had been a distraction, a mission to focus on so he didn’t have to come face to face with the grief. A mission he hadn’t even intended on coming back from.

So what the hell was he doing now? The only person he cared about protecting was you, but how could he do that if he was always gone? How could he protect you if he was the one hurting you? 

Frank found himself at a familiar crossroads, and he knew it was time to choose a path. His original choice had been stolen from him, but this one was standing right in front of him, stitching his flesh back together and the shredded strands of his heart along with it.

“I won’t leave again.”

Your eyes flickered up from the stitch on Frank’s shoulder, staring at him in a mixture of confusion and curiosity.

“What?”

“I’m done.”

Those words hung in the silence of the kitchen. For a moment you just stared at him, processing the finality in his coarse voice, searching his warm brown eyes for any trace of doubt. 

“Frank-”

“I know you’ll never ask. But I know everytime I walk out that door, you’re the one I’m hurtin’ the most, and I don’t want that. I want you. I want this. I don’t wanna make the same mistake twice, so you tell me whatever you need me to do, and I’ll do it. Tell me what you need, and it’s yours.”

A wave of tears had formed along your bottom lash line as you stared a Frank, and your voice was full of sincerity when you finally spoke.

“I just want you, Frank. That’s all I ever wanted. I just…I want you here, with me.”

“Then I’m here, sweetheart.”

[catscidr]

I think we have all seen the "Argenti thinks the Reader is Idrila" stuff on here. But what if the reader actually is Idrila? So I wanted to request Argenti/Idrila!Reader (gn or afab reader) headcanons or a oneshot where Idrila, who has taken on a mortal identity after [Insert tragic event here], and meets Argenti. They develop feelings for each other, Argenti finds out she is Idrila, they end up dating. (Maybe or maybe not in that specific order) I thought maybe after protecting her followers from Nanook she disappeared to ensure Nanook doesn't target them anymore? That part isn't as important so feel free to add whatever backstory you think fits^^ Thank you in advance, I really like your writing!

NONNIE omg im booting up star rail rn to stare at him lovingly. also i changed the scenario a smidge so reader is her own person while also being idrila? if that makes sense......?? yeah. also bc otherwise id be writing ten thousand words n i didnt want ur ask to grow dusty in my inbox d(;∀;d) but tysm for the prompt i couldn’t stop thinking about it ueue. also hey gang peep me trying to make my blog look more coherent n nicer looking. am i doin it ⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝ cw: a smidge of amnesia and soulmate trope (it’s not that bad, trust), fluff, love at first sight (does that even count in this scenario....), argenti and reader are dancing around the topic a lot bc argenti is a gentleman and doesn’t want to pressure her to talk. blurbs to set up the plot + a fic after them hehe. not proofread, writer’s block is killing me  includes: fem reader (he refers to reader as "my lady"), argenti, natasha, luocha is kinda there wc: 2,3k

-ˋˏ You’d go to Natasha’s clinic at least once every other day because you always had the worst migraines. To the point where you almost got beat up by a Flamespawn one time when you were clearing out calyxes (thankfully there was a Silvermane guard patrolling the area, otherwise you would’ve been charred). The doctor always says the same thing; “Stop looking for fights so often”, “Let your body rest”, “I can’t prescribe you antibiotics”, and your favorite, “Stop slamming my door open I can’t do anything about your headaches”. She was a good friend, but whenever she repeated how she couldn’t be of any help to your predicament, you’d wish you could just take that glass vial hanging from her outfit and chuck it far, far away out of spite. 

-ˋˏ Obviously it wasn’t her fault- she'd done everything she could. Natasha even had you undergo the Underworld’s equivalent of an MRI scan because of how frequently you would visit her, insisting that something was wrong. The symptoms consisted of forgetting important things too often, feeling a foreign buzz in your limbs and brain, having a sudden burst of elemental energy come out of your attacks and a myriad of benign but annoying, irritating signs that something was up with you. 

-ˋˏ It became more of a chore than anything to leave your room. Some days you felt fine, but then when you’d go out again and beat up wave after wave of enemies in Caverns of Corrosion you would keel over, clutching your head while vague images of what could only be described as a fever dream ran through your mind. 

-ˋˏ You decided to leave the Underworld for some time- considering your absence like some sort of “vacation”. You heard of a wandering doctor (and merchant, apparently) by the name of Luocha and, from the people that crossed paths with him, it seemed like he was extraordinary at his job. A trek to the Xianzhou Luofu would be a long one, but after weighing your options you thought you’d give it a try (it was worth it if it meant you’d stop waking up at ungodly hours, holding your head in your hands while hoping, praying that the pain stops.) 

-ˋˏ You (somehow) made your way to the Xianzhou Luofu from Jarilo-VI. As competent as you were however, being stranded on a foreign planet with no map nor local to guide you was... a challenge. In retrospect, maybe you should’ve gotten in contact with that Luocha doctor and had him come to Belobog instead of you going to him since, well, he was a traveling merchant. Going from planet to planet is what he does (you assume). 

✧✧✧ 

If you had read up more on general information about the Luofu you would have been aware of how many enemies were roaming around the docking area. But you didn’t. So, unbeknownst to you, a rogue mara-struck soldier was on your tail, trying to sneak up to you to snag the goods you hid in your bag (which were basically just different types of painkillers and sustenance that bodes well on an upset stomach. He doesn’t know that though.) 

Your head was throbbing; ever since you set foot on the planet, your physical health had slowly dropped down to levels you wouldn’t be enduring if it wasn’t for the promise of a competent doctor once you get to the main city. Painkillers weren’t working, your feet hurt and to make matters worse, you felt the familiar lack of something in your head. It was so bad to the point where you had to have a tangible mark somewhere to remind you that you did, in fact, just take something for your headache and if you took two more painkillers, your body wouldn’t agree with your decision. It was a struggle even remembering what you did five minutes ago, no way were you going to be in top shape, beating up every enemy crossing your way. 

Clouds began covering the bright sun, casting shadows over the desolate, geometric area. You huff, irritated that, from the looks of it, you won’t be able to find a cozy place to set up camp. Though sleeping on a ground made of primarily iron and steel was considerably less nerve-wracking than sleeping on the mushy, cold, dirty ground of Jarilo-VI. So, with a pout aimed at no one in particular, you find some place that you deemed decent enough to set your humble tent. It wasn’t often that adventurers slept outside of safe zones, however with your condition you couldn’t afford to miss out on some rest and possibly get even more lost than you already are. 

You set your heavy backpack down, rolling your shoulders to soothe the ache in your muscles from carrying something so bulky. As you ruffle through your belongings, you open a bottled soda and take a swift gulp, sighing contentedly at the pleasant taste on your tongue. Now that you were sat and could rest your bones (until you started setting up your tent, at least), your ears were able to pick up on some not-so-distant footsteps. 

There’s no time for you to react; the mara-struck soldier that had been following you lunges at you, aiming for your bag. Your eyes widen and you open your mouth to yell, but before any sound can leave your mouth, a long, red and gold spear pierces the ground between you and the rabid man, making you yelp in surprise. You scurry as far back as you can in your current state; however, the soldier doesn’t have time to take advantage of your weakened stature. The owner of the spear lodges himself before your shaking figure and the mara-struck, yanking his spear out of the ground with impressive elegance, and summons an array of thorny vines to catch your assailant. 

It takes little to no effort for the seasoned fighter to take down the mara-struck as he swings his weapon, swiftly knocking the blunt end on the soldier’s plexus, knocking the wind out of him. A strangled scream leaves his throat as he scampers away, leaving your belongings safe with you and the strange red-haired man. He lowers his spear, careful to keep the sharp edge far from you, and turns around to face you properly. His brows raise a smidge for a split second before he composes himself and bows before you, the action short and curt.  

“It would have been a shame to lose a beauty such as yourself,” he says smoothly, straightening his back to look down at you with a warm smile. He stretches his hand out, a polite offer to help you stand up, as he continues speaking. “My name is Argenti, I belong to the Knights of Beauty. What might you be doing so far away from civilization, dear...?” he trails off, waiting for you to introduce yourself. 

You were in a state of shock, your mind still processing what had happened in such a short amount of time, that you failed to notice the lack of pain at the back of your head. As you meekly tell him your name, you hold onto his hand to help yourself up- as soon as his armored glove comes in contact with your hand something flashes in your mind; too quick to allow you to think about it too much, or to recognize what you saw for a millisecond. 

“So far away from civilization... do you know how to get to the city?” you ask as you feel a glimmer of hope spark in you. His words were refreshing, probably the best thing someone has ever said to you in the past month. He nods, reaching into his pocket to fish out a blue handkerchief embroidered with a delicate gold trim. Argenti hands it over to you and you gratefully take it, blotting the sweat and... dust off of your face. 

“I have made my way around the Luofu for long enough to show someone the way,” he says kindly. “Besides, even if I didn’t, I would still offer to accompany you through your trek. It is my duty as a Knight of Beauty, for I must uphold chivalry and distinguished manners, in the name of the Goddess guiding me.” His words resonate within you, making you beam, nodding in understanding. 

Your reaction doesn’t go unnoticed by the knight. As you hand his handkerchief back, he smiles at you and gestures to your bag. “What brings you so far from your homeworld, my lady?” Argenti asks gently, though a glimmer of doubt swirls in his sparkling, verdant eyes. The question makes you pause, a memory flashing in your mind too suddenly for you to know what it meant. Although, from what you could tell, you knew you could trust him with what troubled you somehow. 

“Ah, it’s a long story,” you start sheepishly, “I’ve been having these incredibly painful migraines recently. And sometimes I feel like my memory is fading too quickly for what would be considered normal,” you say, trailing off slightly at the end. “I’m looking for a healer, a doctor by the name of Luocha...?” 

Somehow, the doctor was currently the least of your worries. You’d never felt so refreshed before, at least not that you could remember; simply being in Argenti’s presence seemed to be enough to make your aches disappear like a starskiff smoothly gliding through a cloudless sky. 

“I’ve seen the man only a handful of times,” Argenti mutters aloud, pulling you out of your thoughts. “I can do my best to guide you to him, but if I may... you don’t seem to be injured?” the knight says, his voice trailing off into a questioning tone despite the observation. You shake your head, wondering how you should explain your predicament to the man. 

“Like I said, it’s a long story,” you say again, shrugging sheepishly. You wondered if you should even go into the nitty gritty- he could always just be making small talk to help you get comfortable or something. Sensing your unease, he changes the spotlight to him instead. 

“There’s no need to delve into details if you wish to keep them secret,” he says with a kind smile, bending down to take ahold of your hand- gently pressing a chaste kiss on the back of your hand. Red flushes your ears immediately, words caught in your throat at the sight of his hair cascading over his shoulders, a beautiful contrast from the gold and silver armor glittering in what was left of the sunlight. 

“As for myself, like I mentioned earlier, I am a Knight of Beauty. I’m on a quest to find my dear Goddess Idrila once more, for I need to pay my respects to them after they saved me from a particularly grim fate.” His words echoed in your mind, your brows knitting together as you felt what could only be described as a cold bucket of water being dunked on your head. “I-Idrila?” you parrot, your voice coming out as a choked noise. Argenti perks up, the hand that had been softly holding onto yours now holding it with a firmer grip, his other hand joining it. 

“Yes, Idrila. Have you ever heard of them? Or...” he trails off, looking deep into your eyes expectantly, almost as if he knew something you didn’t. His eyes seemed to suck you in, bringing a comfortable wave of warmth over you, making you yearn for something. 

“I...” you begin, your gaze falling down to look at your feet. As you thought long and hard about what you wanted to say, what you tried to remember, you slowly look over to his spear, lying flat on the ground- long forgotten since the fight earlier. As if a lightbulb went off above your head, you perk up just as he did, and look at him, beaming. The words were caught in your throat; there was so much you wanted to say, to declare, to do in this moment of clarity, but with how fast your mind was running to catch you up on the current events of your life it was a struggle. 

“Argenti,” you murmur, the name rolling off your tongue smoothly, as you realized seeing the traveling merchant was no longer required. Though the road might have been arduous, and you may have almost lost your mind in the process, being with Argenti suddenly made everything make sense. That’s why your migraines mysteriously disappeared as soon as you were in the knight’s presence, that’s why you had gaps in your memory, that’s why you were freakishly powerful... at convenient times.  

Everything clicked into place. 

The both of you share a pregnant pause, eyes locked together as the world seemed to come to a stop around you. If it were possible, you’re sure there would be delicate, silky rose petals floating around your figures, suspended in the air. You glance down at his lips, and for the first time, make a decision with a clear head. 

His lips felt smooth against yours, the faint taste of vanilla mixed with roses transferring to your own lips. The kiss almost felt like it could be the result of a symbiotic relationship; now that you had Argenti, or at least had him by your side once again, you didn’t think you’d be able to continue on without him. 

[elaratyrell]

Poor Unfortunate Souls {Part 2/3 -> Kiss The Girl}

*All images found on Pinterest. Moodboard made by yours truly*

Dark ! Ursula! Aemond x Fem! Eric! Reader x Ariel! Jacaerys

Warnings: Aemond mind controls the reader, sexual dreams, including Aemond touching the reader without clear consent *Divider from Firefly Graphics*

Synopsis: Jacaerys Velaryon, the reluctant heir to Atlantica. The moment he saw you, he knew he would never see someone who could capture him with their beauty again. You would haunt him eternally. In a desperate attempt to meet you, he turns to Aemond Targaryen, an outcast from the merfolk, to help him walk amongst the land dwellers. But when Aemond lays his eyes on you, he knows he has to have you. By any means necessary.

Chapter Synopsis: Jacaerys goes to Aemond for help in becoming human. The banished prince grants him his wish for legs in return for his voice, but has other, darker intentions. For Jacaerys, for Rhaenyra, and for you.

Part One Jace's Ending Aemond's Ending

“Don’t look at me like that. How was I supposed to know they would do that?” Lucerys crossed his arms as Vermax and Syrax glared at him, the former slapping him on the arm with his tail and making the younger prince flinch back from him.

“I didn’t mean to tell!” He exclaimed. “It was an acciden-“

Once again, Syrax clamped his mouth shut between her claw as Vhagar slithered out of Jacaerys’ grotto. Luke felt goosebumps prickle on his skin at the sight of the best, a shudder running down his spine.

The memories were murky at best, but Lucerys still had the odd night terror of the night of Aemond’s banishment. He remembered seeing the knife on the sea floor, Aemond swimming towards him with a sharp, jagged rock in hand. He remembered grabbing the knife as the older prince grabbed him to feed him to Vhagar, and he remembered Aemond’s screams as he blindly slashed the knife wherever he could reach.

He only heard whispers after that. Of the trial, and how the dowager queen Alicent, Aemond’s mother, was the only one to plead her son’s case, and how Rhaenyra didn’t listen.

And how she died several weeks after her favourite son was exiled.

Even Aemond’s siblings knew he’d gone too far. And his grandfather, Otto, had watched with a stony expression as the prince was cast out with nothing and no one except Vhagar.

Lucerys made no effort to follow the beast, that is until Jacaerys also emerged from his destroyed cavern, hot on the eel’s trail.

Not wanting to alert Vhagar to his presence, Luke silently swam up behind Jace, hissing in his ear.

“Where in the seven hells are you going with that… that thing?”

“I’m going to see Aemond.” Jace replied firmly, brushing his brother away.

Luke gasped. “What? Are you crazy, Jace? He… he’s a demon- he’s the devil.” He protested as Vermax swam circles around his friend in protest.

“Well why don’t you go and tell mother and Daemon about it then? You seem to be rather good at that.” Jace retorted, shooting a glare at his brother.

“Jace… I-“

“You should go Luke. I don’t want Vhagar seeing you. Aemond can see and communicate through her.” He interrupted.

Before Luke could make any more protests, Syrax put herself between the two brothers, gesturing for him to leave. She then gestured for Vermax to follow the older prince to where Vhagar was taking him. Despite his hesitation, Luke understood that his life was at risk by being there, which could jeopardise Jace’s even more. Reluctantly, he turned and swam away back to Atlantica. Once he had swam out of sight and Syrax was sure he was obeying her order, she also began chasing after Jace and Vhagar with Vermax.

Jace knew he was taking a risk, and quite possibly risking his life by going to his uncle, but he was desperate. He knew he didn’t belong in this world, and that he was a disgrace of an heir, of a son, to his mother, and so he needed to see if he could find where he belonged.

And he was certain you were the key to that.

Even so, there was a small nagging sensation in the back of his mind as he and Vhagar approached Aemond’s lair. It was the skeleton of an ancient sea monster, an ancestor of creatures like Vhagar, with sapphire blue light seeping out through the gaps in the skeleton like smoke from a chimney.

“This way,” Vhagar rumbled, slithering in through the mouth of the monster. The fact that such a mighty beast as Vhagar looked rather small compared to the skeleton only made Jace that much more uneasy.

And that uneasiness grew as he entered the skeleton. There, on the floor, ceiling and crawling up the sides, were hundreds of grotesque creatures. They were a swamp green, dull yellow eyes watching Jace as he tried to avoid contact them, a look of disgust on his features. They were a garden of all the souls that Aemond had claimed over time, and maybe even others that Alys had done so before him.

There was no doubt the former sea witch was also among them.

Jace let out a yelp of horror as one of the souls lurched forward, wrapping itself around him, frantically trying to stop him from going any further. Unlike the other souls, this one had vibrant green eyes. Another soul that was slightly taller, and older than the first, grabbed ahold of Jace’s tail in a slightly more painful hold than the other soul, also trying to hold him back.

Jace managed to wrestle himself free from the poor souls’ grips, rubbing his wrist from where one of the creatures had grabbed him. He hesitated as Vhagar slithered into the shadows behind a large conch shell, coiling up like a python, her blue eye focused on the prince, watching him as he lingered in the doorway to what seemed to be Aemond’s… work room? He supposed.

There was a large basin- or cauldron, he supposed, in the centre of the room. Shelves lined the walls, stacked with jars and bottles of the most likely vile ingredients for whatever potions or spell Aemond cast to entrap another soul. A desk rested in one corner, a mirror hanging on the wall. The large conch shell that was connected to both the ceiling and the floor seemed to be Aemond’s bed chambers, with Vhagar coiled around it like a guard dog.

And there, stood over the desk, was Aemond.

He had certainly grown since the last time Jace saw him; his silver hair was longer, his face more defined with matured, sharper features. One eye, lilac like his siblings as Jace remembered. But the other had been replaced by a sapphire, glowing brilliantly in the light. There was a scar running through his brow, down to midway down his cheek.

A souvenir of what Lucerys did to him that fateful day.

Nevertheless he resembled the distinctive features of the ancient royal bloodlines, just as his siblings did.

But it was at the waist where they truly differed.

Where his siblings had inherited their father’s genes of having a fish tail, with his older brother Aegon’s glittering gold and black, his sister Helaena’s pale blue and and silver, and his younger brother Daeron’s cobalt and green, Aemond had taken after his mother, and the house of Hightower.

Rather than a fishtail, Aemond had six ebony tentacles, the underside of which were a vibrant blue to match his eye. From his neck hung a shard of what appeared to be dragon glass, an ancient relic from royal ancestors. It glimmered a faint blue against the pale porcelain of his skin.

“Don’t you know it’s rude to linger in doorway, nephew?” Aemond finally spoke, turning to look at Jacaerys, who simply gaped back at him, his mind completely blank and his mouth hung slightly open.

“It is also rude to stare. Hm, one might question your upbringing as a prince of the realm.” Aemond added, moving from the desk to stand in front of the basin, his good eye piercing right through Jace like a knife.

”I- uncle… I am here because-“

“I know why you’re here, nephew,” Aemond interrupted. “I have been watching- well, Vhagar has been watching. You want me to help you with this little infatuation for you have with a human, is that correct.”

There was a small smirk of his features as he spoke, almost in a taunting manner to the younger prince.

“Y-yes. She’s a-“

“Princess. I know.” He rolled his good eye at his nephew, waving his hand over the basin. In a cloud of blue smoke your face appeared above the basin, and Jace stared at it longingly. Perhaps he was a little too entranced by the mere image of your face, that he didn’t see the way his uncle’s eye darkened slightly as he also studied your face, or the way the corner of his lip tugged upwards into a smirk, or the way he gripped the side of the basin that little bit tighter.

“I truly don’t blame you. She is a rather… exquisite… creature…” Aemond murmured. The smirk on his face widened as he felt Jace’s glare burning into him, watching as the younger prince clenched his fists out of the corner of his working eye. He merely chuckled in mild amusement.

“Now, now, nephew. I was merely complimenting your tastes.” He chided. “As for your problem, the solution seems simple enough.”

“I-it does?” Jace asked hopefully, moving forward, closer towards the basin.

“Indeed,” Aemond hummed, waving his hand through your image and making it disappear in a puff of blue smoke. “To get what you want, two options lie in front of you. You could become a human yourself…” he watched the way Jace’s eyes lit up at the first suggestion before continuing. “…Or… I could turn her… into a mermaid-“

“No! I mean… I would prefer to become human, uncle.” Jace interrupted hastily. He hesitated slightly. “Can… can you really do that?” He asked, making Aemond shoot him a small glare. Jace shrank back slightly from him in response.

“Dear, naïve, nephew,” Aemond sighed. “It’s what I do, is it not? I help poor unfortunate merfolk, such as yourself. Those who have no one else to turn to. I admit, in the past I have made a few… errors, shall we say?” Almost subconsciously, one of his hands rose to his face, fingertips brushing against his scar before immediately returning to his side again. “But I can assure you in my exile I have mended my ways. Found my calling. The sea witch, Alys… she taught me.”

“And… and where is she now?” Jace asked shakily.

“She… was needed elsewhere.” He brushed off the question. When a loud screeching wail echoed from the garden of the polyp creatures, a fist slammed down on the rim of the cauldron. “Lyka!” He yelled. [Quiet!]

He cleared his throat, letting out a small breath through his nose before continuing to his nephew in a calmer manner. “Nowadays I have repented. Found my faith, like my mother always wanted me to…”

There was a small glimmer in that lilac eye of his at the thought of Alicent, the only person who ever had faith in him. He had heard of her death of course, and how his grandfather, Otto, had just stood by and done nothing to help.

And for that sin, the former hand of the king was now just another soul in his garden.

“Fortunately in my exile, Alys took me in and taught me her sorcery. And I decided to use it on behalf of those miserable, lonely, depressed… pathetic…” He muttered that last part under his breath, making Vhagar snort in amusement. “Poor, unfortunate souls. Those in pain, or need. They came to me with their troubles, whether it were changing their appearance, or becoming stronger, or helping them find their true love…”

“And… you helped them?”

“Why, of course, dear nephew,” Aemond replied. “Indeed I helped them… although there were those few occasions- they only happened once or twice, no need to look so terrified, nephew, who failed to pay their price to me. You see I need a small token in payment for my services, and I had to… well…”

Jace followed Aemond’s gaze to the hallway of those trapped souls and shuddered.

“I may have had the odd complaint nephew, but I can assure you, I’m certain you can pay your owed debt to me.”

The way Aemond was staring at Jacaerys unnerved him. There was something lingering behind that lilac gaze and that rather tight lipped smile.

“S-so what would my deal be?” Jace asked.

“I will give you three days, nephew. Before the sun sets on the third day, if you get the princess to fall in love with you and seal it with a true love’s kiss, and that's a proper kiss on the lips, mind you, can't make it too easy, you will remain a human permanently. But if you fail to do so, you turn back into a mermaid… and belong… to me.”

Syrax suddenly surged forward to clamp her claws down on Jace’s tail in a feeble attempt to drag him away from the exiled former prince of the realm, but Vhagar’s tail grabbed the crustacean, pulling her away.

”So, nephew,” Aemond drew closer to the prince, extending his hand. “Do we have a deal?”

Jace also went to extend his hand, but faltered. “If I become human I… I’ll never see my mother again. Or… or Vermax or Luke or Joffrey. Rhaena, Baela, little Viserys-“

”But you’ll have your princess,” Aemond smirked. “And besides, you certainly don’t belong in this world, hm?”

Jace winced at Aemond’s use of Daemon’s words, yet still hesitated.

“Life is full of tough choices,” Aemond continued with an almost solemn expression, but that small smirk remained, as though taunting Jace. Mocking him.

“I… I guess so I… I should at least try…”

“Oh, and one more thing,” Aemond added, pulling his hand away just as Jace was about to shake it. “We still have to discuss your payment to me, nephew.”

“I-I don’t have any money on me-“

“I rarely require money. It’s often something a little more valuable and substantial than that.”

“But I don’t know if I-“

“I don’t ask for much, just a token.” Aemond’s voice was slightly strained from his nephew’s hesitation, his patience was thinning.

Jace’s gaze trailed to that gleaming sapphire, a sickening thought intruding his mind. Almost as though he could read Jace’s mind, Aemond chuckled.

“No, nephew. I do not require your eye. That debt… is owed by someone else…” He murmured. “No, no, no, nephew. What I require of you… is your voice.” He said it so simply, as though it were like paying the smallest of fees. Jace’s hand instinctively went to his throat.

“My... my voice?“

“Yes. Meaning no more talking, singing, zip.” His lip curled into a smile, but it held no warmth. “I’m sure you’ll be fine. If she likes short, curly haired brunettes then she’ll think you’re a real catch. And besides, there are other ways to attract someone than talking, nephew…”

“W-what do you mean…?” Jace asked, his brows furrowed in confusion.

“Physically.”

“I… oh…” Jace mumbled, staring at the ground as Aemond’s implication dawned on him. The thought hadn’t even crossed his mind.

“Many human women don’t appreciate men who drone on and on anyway, nephew. They’ll think you boring. If anything, I’m doing you a favour. They’ll dote and swoon on you if you listen, but don’t talk. So…”

Jace was still simply staring at his uncle, his hand still resting on his neck.

“GIVE ME YOUR VOICE-“ Aemond suddenly exclaimed, surging forward but stopping himself before he could reach Jace. He let out a breath. “Hurry now nephew… make your choice. I’m a very busy man who hasn’t got all day to wait for you to make your decision… it won’t cost much. Just your little voice.” His words were still sharp, but were spoken in a more softer tone after his outburst.

“I… uh…”

“If you want to cross that bridge and find your lady love, you’re going to have to pay the toll… if not… you know where to leave.” He turned away from Jacaerys to pet Vhagar.

Jacaerys weighed his options in his mind. He could leave the very home he always had to try and find a place of belonging… to find you… or he could stay, and although he would be able to speak and be with his family, was that really where his heart truly lied?

“Alright!” Jace exclaimed, making Aemond turn back to face him. “Alright I… I’ll do it…”

Another tug at his tail made him glance behind him to see Vermax frantically trying to pull him away from Aemond, but he ignored it, flapping his tail and forcing the fish to let go of him. He swam from forward towards Aemond before Vermax or Syrax, could try to grab him again.

“Wonderful…” Aemond smirked, his teeth glinting in the dim light. With a snap of his fingers numerous bottles, jars and other various containers lifted themselves from their place on the shelves hung on the walls of the skeleton and floated down to the cauldron, which by this point was billowing blue smoke.

”Now, nephew,” Aemond said, conjuring a glowing, golden scroll in front of Jace. “You must sign the contract. Merely outlining the terms of our deal as a way so I keep my payments up to date. You know how cunning some merfolk can be… not that I would ever believe that of you but…” He pressed a fish bone quill into his nephew’s hand. “You can never be too careful.”

Jace tried to steady his trembling hand as he raised the quill to the scroll. Aemond retreated back, smirking down at Vhagar as Jace sighed his name. No sooner than he did so, the scroll rolled up by itself and vanished along with the quill.

Aemond closed his eyes, his hands cast over the cauldron, the blue smoke concealing him from Jace’s view as he murmured in high Valyrian under his breath. Jace felt himself retreating as the plumes of smoke began reaching out to him. It surrounded him, and two further tendrils in the shape of spindly blue hands burst upwards from the cauldron, illuminating Aemond in a sapphire light that only made his eye glow brighter. Jace wanted to flee in that moment, swim as fast as his tail could move him back home to Rhaenyra, to the safety of the palace walls, but Aemond had him trapped now.

“Sing, nephew.” Aemond ordered. “Sing!”

And so Jacaerys complied with the sea sorcerer’s command, singing the first song that came into his mind, the song he’d known off by heart from a young age.

The song he’d sung to you.

He resisted every urge not the falter in his song as those ghostly hands advanced towards him. One hand wrapped around his middle to stop him moving, and the other reached down into his throat. It felt at though he were being choked, and then as something was being ripped out from within him as the hand drew back, holding his voice.

Immediately, Jace reached up to his throat, he couldn’t feel anything. It felt like he were frozen in fear and couldn’t even make out a whisper. The smoke circling him at this point was spinning around him like a glowing whirlpool, whipping faster and closer around him as Aemond grabbed the glowing golden orb from those hands, entrapping it in the pendant hanging from his neck.

The smile he gave Jace sent a chill down his spine.

“It’s done.”

The whirlpool surrounding Jace had completely entrapped him within its clutches, holding him in place as a searing pain shot through his tail, like someone was cutting it in half. He writhed in pain as his tail split into two, his scales shedding to reveal human flesh beneath. It felt like ripping a scab off and exposing the raw skin beneath to the air. He ground his teeth together in a suppressed groan as another shudder of pain shot through him, this time his tail fins being changed into feet.

It didn’t help that all he could hear through the pain was Aemond laughing at his suffering in an almost maniacal way.

The burning pain subsided as Jace stared down at his newly formed legs, the whirlpool dissipating in an instant. Jace’s hand immediately flew to his neck as water filled his lungs.

He couldn’t breathe.

He found himself looking desperately to Aemond for help, but his uncle merely smiled.

Rather frantically, he kicked his new legs and flailed his arms to try and propel himself up to the surface.

He looked down to see Vermax holding one of his arms, Syrax on the other, helping him kick upwards. His eyes drooped slightly, his mind foggy and vision blurry as continued to kick, the surface lit in the early morning glow of sunrise acting like a beacon.

Jace let out a choked gasp as he finally broke through the ocean’s surface, feeling the sun’s warmth on his skin for the first time.

As he caught his breath, Syrax and Vermax keeping him afloat as they swam him inshore, he looked up at the sky, painted in gold and orange as the dawn rose with the morning.

Gripping ahold of a rock jagging outwards to the sky, Jace couldn’t help but smile as he felt the warmth of the sun on his skin, the sea breeze ruffling his damp chestnut curls. Leaning back against the rock in the shallows, he glanced upwards to see your castle in the distance.

You were so close.

All he needed was to learn how to walk… and to find some clothes.

He brushed his curls out of his eyes, raising an eyebrow at the glares Syrax and Vermax were both sending his way. Ignoring them, he raised one of his legs out of the water, gazing in pure wonder as he wiggled his toes, letting out a silent laugh.

Syrax and Vermax didn’t return his amusement.

A loud squawk sounded from the sky as Cannibal landed on Jace’s extended leg. The bird tilted his head, as though trying to figure out what had changed about the young prince. He raised a wing, gesturing towards Jace’s hair, getting an amused shake in response. Cannibal then mimed using what had been dubbed “the dinglehopper”- which was, in fact, just a fork- on his feathered, which received the same response of no.

Syrax hopped from the rock beside Jace and onto his leg alongside Cannibal, pointing down at his leg. Cannibal glanced once again at Jace’s leg, letting out a squawk of realisation, jumping into the air to hover above Jace’s head, flying around in circles and letting out screech after screech of disbelief. Jace shook with a silent laugh at the bird’s clueless antics, highly amused by his stupidity and Syrax’s annoyance.

Three days…

He needed a kiss from you in three days…

He could do that… hopefully.

No, he could do that. He will. He knows you, he knows you yearn for the same things as he does. He’s certain you’re the one for him.

A steely determination was set in those chocolate eyes of his as he braced a hand on the rock, slowly rising to his feet on wobbling legs. He drew his hand away from the rock behind him, only to immediately fall over into the water.

Sitting back up and letting out a spluttering cough, he was greeted with Syrax shaking her head at him, earning a roll of his eyes in response. Jumping back in outrage, she extended a claw out at him before pointing it out to the ocean. When he shook his head adamantly, she immediately leaped off the rock and into the sea, no doubt to go and immediately alert Rhaenyra of the situation.

Jace surged forward in alarm, picking the crab up and holding her in his hands, continuing to shake his head rather frantically as Syrax continued jabbing her claw out into the sea. He sent her a pleading look, his warm eyes only saying one thing to her.

Please. Please don’t tell her.

Dropping her claw, she shook her head again, scuttling up his arm to get back to the rock, where she promptly turned her back on him as though she were sulking.

Jacaerys had always told his mother that she spoiled Syrax too much. Smiling, he leaned down press a kiss to the top of her head, making her cross her claws over one another. She was still glaring at him, but it was softer.

A loud caw made Syrax jump back slightly as Cannibal suddenly landed beside her, clutching a torn sail in his beak.

Meanwhile, you had decided to take an early morning walk with Max. You hadn’t been sleeping well since your near drowning incident. For one, you hadn’t been able to get that beautiful melody and voice out of your head, and two, you’d been having dreams since then. You wouldn’t remember them when you awoke, except for a piercing blue jewel that haunted your thoughts. You didn’t know it’s significance, but you couldn’t quite shake it from your mind.

You played the small melody you remembered on your flute, your brows furrowed as you desperately searched every corner of your mind for a face that might match the voice.

Yet all you saw was that blue sapphire.

You let out a rather frustrated sigh, looking down at Max. “That voice. I can’t get it out of my head, Max,” You muttered. “I’ve looked everywhere. Sent word across the kingdom, and yet I’ve found… absolutely nothing.” You groaned, putting your flute in your pocket as you walked along the cove.

Max sniffed the air, letting out a small bark.

“What is it? Max- Max!” You cried out as your dog suddenly bolted down the beach. Letting out a small sigh, you ran after him.

Even though Max had disappeared from sight, you were able to track him down by the excited barking your can hear. He’d clearly found something- or someone.

Upon seeing you turn the corner, Max ran back over to your excitedly, jumping up and licking your face, letting out another excited bark.

“Quiet, Max. Gods, what has gotten into you- down, boy.”

Whilst obeying your orders, your pet had still not lost his excited nature, now eagerly tugging at your trouser leg to drag you over to wherever he had found what was so interesting.

“Max, stop. Why are you so- oh.” You stopped, slightly startled as you looked up to see you were being watched. “Oh, I see… it’s alright, boy.” You patted his head, taking a step towards where Jace was hidden slightly behind a rock. “Hi there. Are you okay? I know he may seem kind of intimidating but he’s quite the opposite. I’m sorry if he scared you.”

All Jace did was stare at you in return, a small, almost shy smile on his face. You were dressed in a similar outfit to the one he first saw you in- a white linen shirt, black trousers and black boots. You hair was loose, and was ruffling slightly in the early morning sea breeze.

As you looked at him, your brows furrowed. There was something almost familiar about those deep brown eyes and that charming smile.

“You… seem kind of… familiar… have we… have we met before?” You asked almost hesitantly.

Jace’s face lit up, enthusiastically nodding in response as he grabbed your hand. You looked down, feeling the soft warmth of his skin. It felt… familiar. He looked familiar…

“I knew it. I knew you looked familiar. I- I’ve been looking for you,” you smiled at him, giving his hand a small squeeze as Max excitedly barked. “What’s your name?”

Jace opened his mouth, but when he tried to speak, it felt like his throat was on fire. His smile fell slightly, his free hand moving to his throat.

“W-what’s wrong? Can’t… can’t you speak?” You asked, earning a shake in response.

Frowning, you took your hand away from his, ignoring the snort Max let out. It had felt like you might have found your mystery saviour… but you were mistaken. All the same, it was unclear why this mysterious man had seemed so excited to see you. Maybe he just knew you were the princess?

“Well, I guess you weren’t who I thought-” You suddenly stopped, seemingly only just realising that Jace was wearing nothing, save for a torn sail wrapped around his waist, held in place by a rope that was tied rather precariously.

You flushed slightly, giving him a sweeping glance. Although he may not be who you had hoped, the young man was surely handsome. A strong jaw, long brown curls and warm chestnut eyes. He had a well defined torso and strong arms, although his legs seemed to be shaking slightly from where he was leaning against the rock.

“Are you hurt?” You asked, and Jace shook his head in response. He waved his arm around in an almost pantomiming way, clearly try to explain something to you and failing miserably.

“You need help?” You asked, only making his movements become more erratic as he desperately tried to communicate with you. It looked almost comedic.

“I-I’m sorry I don’t- woah!” You exclaimed as he went to step forward, only to have his legs buckle beneath him, causing him to fall on top of you and sending you both falling to the floor. You stood up and helped him do the same, wrapping one of your arms around his middle and placing one of his over your shoulders to support him. Jace felt his cheeks heat up at the close contact with you.

“Careful. You must be shaken from whatever you’ve been through, huh?” You asked, and Jace felt himself nod along. In a way, he had, but not in the way you believed. You probably thought him some shipwreck survivor lost far from home.

“It’s okay, I’ll help you. I’ll get you some fresh clothes and food and… and you can stay at the castle for as long as you need.” You offered.

Jace felt his heart warm at your kindness, using you for support as you led him up the beach and towards the castle, with Syrax unbeknownst to the both of you gripping her claws tightly onto the sheet.

As Vermax watched you lead Jace up to the castle, although sad he could follow his friend no further, shared a small smile with Cannibal, who squawked enthusiastically at Jace’s plan officially beginning to be put into action.

Hopefully three days would be enough time.

After taking Jace up to the castle, you left him with the maids while you made sure lunch was being ready. Grimsby certainly raised an eyebrow when you told him you would have company for lunch, but you brushed off his questions, telling him that Jace was the sole survivor of a shipwreck, and he was welcome to stay until he could go home before leaving to get ready yourself.

You sat there at your vanity, pondering the events of that morning while your nurse Johanna brushed out your hair.

“You know… if you’re looking for a man, I know some decent ones. Ones that talk and that don’t appear out of nowhere, dressed in rags and washed up from a shipwreck.”

“I’ve met your brothers, Johanna,” You replied coolly in response. “And I would personally prefer if they didn’t speak either.”

Johanna closed her mouth, pinning back your hair. “Yes malady. Of course. I misspoke. Now… which gown would you prefer?”

Jace tugged uncomfortably at the collar of his shirt as he waited for you to enter for lunch. So far he’d bathed and put on a shirt for the first time… the latter he wasn’t particularly enjoying. It felt constricting, somehow. His newly washed hair was brushed, his curls combed back slightly out of his face. He was dressed in a crisp white button up and a burgundy dinner jacket and matching trousers, a pair of black boots on his feet.

The only other person in the room, Grimsby, was stood by the window, looking out at the view of the sea. He occasionally glanced back at the guest, making sure he wasn’t stealing the silverware perhaps.

Jace looked up as the double doors to the dining room opened, his jaw dropping as he took the sight of you in.

You were dressed in a dress of the finest silks in a shade of rosy pink, the sweetheart neckline showing the barest hint of cleavage. The dress came in at the waist before flowing out into a fuller skirt, accentuating your figure. You wore a pair of diamond teardrop earrings and the slightest pink colouring to your lips.

Jace didn’t think you could look more stunning.

And yet there you were.

Jace hastily stood to his feet, as such was royal protocol in his realm whenever someone of royal lineage entered the room, but you simply smiled at him, telling him it wasn’t necessary and that he could sit down.

He wanted to tell you how beautiful you were, what a wonderful vision you looked in that gown, but he couldn’t.

All he could do was smile warmly at you, gesturing to you and nodding. You raised an eyebrow at him, slightly confused, looking down as though you thought you may have a stain on your gown or something, but Grimsby came to your rescue, taking his seat opposite Jace.

“I think he means to compliment you, Y/N.”

“Oh… are you?” You asked, and Jace immediately nodded. You gave him a warm smile, placing your hand over his. “Thank you. You look… very handsome.”

It was as those words left your mouth that you realised how nicely Jace scrubbed up. His hair was devoid of seaweed and sand, now freshly washed and hanging in soft curls down to just above his shoulder. His clothes fit him well, the red complimenting the warmness of his eyes.

You moved to sit down at your place at the head of the table, and Jace immediately stepped forward to push your chair in.

“My, my, perhaps I was mistaken,” Grimsby mused. “It is not often we have such a polite dinner guest.”

Jace was practically beaming as he took his seat. One of your maids, Carlotta, stepped forward to pour them all a goblet of wine, saying that lunch should be ready soon.

“You seem more content today, my dear,” Grimsby said.

“That’s because I haven’t been alone with my thoughts, Grim,” You replied.

“Mmm… more likely because you haven’t yet thought about galavanting off searching for strange undersea singing saviours.” He quipped in response, making your shoot him a small glare…

…And making Jace stare down at his empty plate to conceal the wide grin on his face.

It seemed as though you were thinking of him as much as he were thinking of you. As he looked down, he spotted one of his treasures that Rhaenyra had destroyed.

The dinglehopper.

He excitedly picked it up, inspecting the intricate carvings into the silver. It was more delicate than the one he had found in that shipwreck, but most likely still had the same purpose.

He held out the dinglehopper to you and you raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah it’s… a fork.” You said slowly. “Um… do you like it?”

Although his brows furrowed at you seemingly branding the object a fork, he nodded at your question, lifting the dinglehopper to his curls and dragging the fork through them, all the while looking at you with a wide smile. You simply stared back at him, wine goblet brought halfway to your lips. Grimsby looked downright flabbergasted.

Jace hastily put the fork down, staring down, cheeks flushed red in embarrassment.

Grimsby sent a rather perplexed look your way as you simply shrugged, taking a sip of your wine. He reached into his pocket and brought out his trusty pipe- a snarfblat- and a match, sending a weary glance to Jace as he watched it with interest.

He hesitated, glancing at the encouraging nod you gave him.

“Uh, do you like it?” He asked, receiving a very enthusiastic nod in response. He held the pipe out to Jace, who snatched it from his hold, inspecting it thoroughly.

“I’m glad you like it. It was passed down in my family for several genera-“

He was interrupted however, as Jace blew a large puff of smoke into his face, stopping him in his tracks. He sent a small glare your way as you bit back a small laugh by disguising it as a cough. That only seemed to make Jace happier, he was practically grinning from ear to ear at this point. He held the pipe back out to Grimsby, who placed it back in his pocket with a rather unenthusiastic thank you, dabbing his face with a white lace handkerchief.

“Why, Y/N, I think this is the first time I’ve seen you smile like this in, well, months.” Carlotta beamed at you.

“Yes… it’s amusing for some,” Grimsby muttered, continuing to dab at his ash ridden face.

Jace shot you a small smile, a pink dust powdering his cheeks as you returned the gesture.

“Carlotta, my dear, what’s for lunch?” Grimsby asked, wiping the majority of ash from his face.

“Oh, you’ll love it. Chef’s been fixing his speciality… stuffed crab!”

That made the smile vanish completely from Jace’s face, replaced by one of mild horror, which you immediately noticed.

“Do you not like stuffed crab? We can fix you up something else, I’m sure-“ You began, but Jace simply shook his head, giving you a rather tight lipped smile as he attempted to ignore the sick feeling welling up in his stomach.

”Don’t pester him, Y/N, the boy’s fine.” Grimsby chided, folding his blackened handkerchief and placing it back into his breast pocket.

The next several minutes were spent in a somewhat comfortable silence. Grimsby had lit his pipe and Jace was watching him smoke it with great interest, while you watched with a small smile on your face, sipping your wine. You didn’t know where Jace had come from, and he didn’t even know how to use a fork, but you found him strangely endearing.

The silence was short lived, as a serious of crashes were heard from the kitchen. You rose to your feet, but Carlotta stopped you.

“No need to stand, your majesty, I’ll just see what Louis is up to.”

“If you’re sure…” You murmured, sitting back down and watching as she hurried out of the dining hall, the crashes ceasing as Louis was no doubt being lectured by Carlotta, gods know what he was up to.

Carlotta soon came in carrying a tray with three dishes, each of which was covered by a silver dome covering.

“You know, Y/N, perhaps our guest here might enjoy seeing some of the sights of our kingdom. A tour, maybe?” Grimsby said, thanking Carlotta as she placed the dishes in front of them. “Y/N? Y/N?”

“Hmm? Oh, sorry Grimsby, what did you say?” You asked, tearing your gaze away from Jace and looking at the older man.

“I was just saying, that you can’t spend all of your time moping around. You should go out, socialise, get some colour to your cheeks. You know… have a life.”

As Grimsby spoke, he placed his pipe down to lift the dome, revealing two crabs. One, clearly dead, was a deep shade of red. The other however, seemed very much alive, and was a rather striking shade of gold.

Jace looked on in horror as Syrax opened one eye, bringing one of her claws up in a shushing motion to not draw attention to her.

“…You need to stop dawdling around and get your mind off…”

Jace made a beckoning motion to Syrax, lifting his plate cover enough so she could hurry onto his plate.

“I mean it’s not a bad idea,” You agreed, turning to look at Jace just as Syrax scuttled onto his plate, the dome promptly covering the crustacean. “If you’re interested, that is.”

Jace looked at you, not entirely sure what you were talking about. His mother would surely berate him for the lack of manners, but he was to focused on trying to save Syrax.

“So, would you like to join me on a tour of the kingdom tomorrow?” You prompted, making Jace vigorously nod in response, and arm leaning down on the plate covering, which had began to move.

“Wonderful,” Grimsby smiled. “It should do the world of good for the both of you. Now, let’s eat before this crab wanders off my plate.”

After lunch, which had consisted of Jace only eating his vegetables and Grimsby every single crab, you decided to give Jace a tour of your castle. He had listened with great interest as you explained the history of the castle, about how your family had inhabited it for generations after settling in the town.

You showed him the portrait hall, where every king and queen had been painted after their wedding. Jace couldn’t help but silently remark at the resemblance you had to both of your parents. You shared your mother’s kind eyes and full lips, but you had your father’s hair colour, and there was a similar trait you seemed to share with your father- the way you stood, and held yourself was identical. Like your father, you looked like a ruler.

A true heir to a kingdom.

You let out a small sigh as you reached the next spot on the wall where a blank canvas was hung up, encased in a golden frame encrusted in rubies and pearls.

“That’ll be me someday, I suppose,” You sighed. “Whenever I marry… no doubt when my parents return from their travels in a fortnight, they will have another proposal, or worse, a betrothal to announce. They won’t believe my story about my saviour.”

Jace’s eyes were welled up with sympathy for the way you almost seemed to wilt at the thought of marrying someone for a mere convenience. His throat burned as he yearned to say something, to scream at you that he was the one, that he could help you escape that horrible ordeal, but alas, all he could do was rest a hand on your shoulder, giving you a small, sorrowful smile.

You let out a deep breath, closing your eyes for a moment as you composed yourself. “Anyway, there’s no point telling you my sorrows. What good could it do?”

Jace frowned as you brushed off his hand, changing the subject away from your evident displeasure of royal duties to take him to your study.

It was a relatively smaller room compared to the others in your palace, but still more than spacious enough. There was a large window overlooking the sea, a wooden desk placed in front of it. Either side of the desk, two wooden shelves were hung up, with scrolls, a compass and a globe placed on them. Wooden book cases lined the wood panelled walls, stacked full of leather bound books on history, philosophy, ocean species and plants. An oil painting of a ship on the sea hung over the window. A lamp was resting on the desk, no doubt for when you were staying up late reading, or studying, or writing yet another speech for the kingdom.

Jace’s fingers traced over the gilded gold letters on the books, some faded with age while other gleamed in the afternoon sun.

“Yeah, quite the collection I suppose,” You observed, leaning back against the desk. “This study used to be my father’s when he was prince. Like him, I’ve spent years studying ancient histories and philosophers, practiced training with a sword and riding horses. I know practically everything about this kingdom, and the others that surround it.”

Jace failed to hide the grimace that twisted his features. He remembered his uncle expressing a similar sentiment when challenging Rhaenyra becoming queen and Jace being announced as her heir. It was an echo of his words that for some reason stirred an uneasiness with in him. Yet when you saw his expression, you laughed.

“I know, right? It’s dull. Centuries of knowledge drilled into my mind and it’s taught me nothing about how to rule. The sword training helped should any conflict arise with another kingdom, although that hasn’t happened for centuries. The philosophy is just theory and the history… let’s just say when you’ve heard those stories time after time it gets incredibly tedious.”

Jace’s expression cleared at your response, although that sense of unrest lingered slightly. You were so different to what he knew, and yet so similar to what he’d always yearned for. With you, he felt a sense of freedom. He wasn’t restricted by rules or a fear of judgement.

His hand stopped as he read the title of a book titled ‘Legends Of The Seas’, looking at you.

You walked towards him and reached up to grab the book, reading the cover and raising an eyebrow at him. Jace swallowed thickly as he caught a whiff of your scent. It was intoxicating.

He hesitantly reached for the book, nodding at you as though asking for permission. You handed it over to him, and he flicked through the pages until it landed on what he was after. He showed you the pages and you took a step closer to him, crossing your arms.

“Mermaids? Really?” You sighed. “You don’t think they’re real, do you?”

Jace pointed to himself, and then pointed at the illustration of a merman on the second page.

I’m a merman.

I’M. A. MERMAN.

He wanted to scream those words at you, but you just stared up at him.

“Oh, you’ve seen them, have you?” You challenged, implying something else from his frantic pointing. Knowing he wouldn’t be able to get his point across, he nodded. “I’m afraid I don’t believe you. They’re myths for a reason, you know.” You snorted. “Next you’ll be telling me that…” You flicked forward several pages. “…cecaelia are real too.”

YES he wanted to scream. YES AND HE’S MY UNCLE AND HE’S GOING TO CLAIM MY SOUL IN TWO DAYS AND HE’S A COMPLETE PSYCHO!

But instead, he simply nodded again, albeit with a little less ardour.

“Hmm… if you say so.” You shrugged, but it was obvious you still didn’t believe him.

He held onto the book as you returned to leaning against the desk, glancing down to your right as the blank sheet of parchment.

“You know, I’d really to know your name. Could you write it down for me?” You asked him, gesturing to where the roll of parchment rested on your desk behind you. There was a blue ink bottle and a red feather quill resting beside it.

Jace gave you a nod, and you smiled at him, moving aside to he could sit down on the wooden chair in front of the desk, the wood creaking slightly and the red leather seat cracked with age.

He opened the ink bottle, dipping the feather quill into the pot. As he lifted the quill, a few drops of ink dripped onto the table, but you assured him there wasn’t any trouble. He sheepishly smiled in an apology, gliding the pen down on the parchment to write J, but no sooner than he did, the ink disappeared, leaving the parchment bare.

“That’s strange,” You murmured as he tried again, but to no avail. “Let me try.” You took the quill from him and tried writing your own name, and the ink came out perfectly.

”Hmm… try again, maybe?” You suggest, making sure enough ink was on the quill before giving it back to him. Again, nothing came out, and Jace pushed the parchment away frustratedly.

He knew what was happening.

Aemond was up to his tricks, trying to get him to fail.

He knew his uncle was rather cunning, and would make this task as difficult as he possibly could, simply to claim his soul as revenge for Rhaenyra no doubt, or maybe even just for his own amusement.

“Maybe the ink is drying up. I’ll have to make sure to get some more when we go to the village tomorrow. Why don’t you just trace the letters on the parchment with your finger?” You suggested, your brows furrowed.

Jace’s chest heaved in a deep sigh. Not being able to talk was proving difficult enough, let alone when Aemond was putting even more obstacles in his path. Rather than tracing the parchment with his own finger, he instead grabbed your hand in his, your index finger resting on the paper as he traced a J and an a.

“J-a-“ You began, making Jace nod and continue.

“Um, e? No, c- yes, okay… a- e- r- g- no? Y then? Then s? Jacaerys- Jacaerys!”

You smiled widely as Jace nodded enthyusiastically.

“Jacaerys,” You pondered, looking down at the parchment. “That’s a pretty name.” You murmured.

Jace immediately flushed scarlet, promptly letting go of your hand as he felt his grow clammy. You thought he had a pretty name? He wanted to open his mouth and tell you how beautiful he found yours as well, but all he could do was point to your name on the parchment and then at you.

“You… like my name too?” You asked, receiving a nod in response. “Well thank you, Jacaerys- no?” Your brows furrowed as he held his thumb and index finger a distance apart, slowly bringing them together.

“You like your name shortened? Okay…” You thought to yourself for a moment. “Jacey?” You asked, making him immediately shake his head. You let out a small chuckle. “No? Uh… Jace? Jace. Well, thank you, Jace. You’re very sweet.” You gave him a warm smile and his hand a small squeeze, and Jace’s cheeks darkened even more.

He felt as though he could die happily right there and then.

That night, Jace leaned against his balcony, watching you play with Max in the gardens. You were dressed in a red linen shirt and black trousers, your laugh like a sweet melody in Jace’s ears as Max jumped up excitedly at you, tackling you to the ground.

Jace rested his chin on his palm, a rather love struck expression and a gentle smile on his face as he watched you. He suddenly stood up straight as you noticed his presence, returning your smile with a rather timid wave as he retreated into his bedroom and shut the door behind him.

He sat down at the dressed beside his bed, dragging a fork he’d stolen from dinner through his chocolate curls. He ignored Syrax as she glared at him from his bedside table, her claws crossed over one another, one leg tapping against the wood in the same way his mother would tap a finger while waiting for an explanation for whatever he’d done wrong.

Upon hearing a knock, Jace put his fork down and stood up and patted her head as he walked to the bedroom door, opening it to reveal you on the other side, leaning against the doorway with your hands resting in your pockets.

“I just… came to say goodnight,” You said with a small smile. Jace flushed slightly, a hand reaching to scratch the back of his neck as he nodded.

“So, goodnight. I hope you get a good night’s sleep, we’ve got a long day tomorrow,” You said, and he nodded, gesturing to you, as though he were trying to bid you the same wish.

You nodded. “Alright, I’ll leave you to it-“ You stopped, looking over his shoulder at where the fork was on his dresser. He quickly stepped to the side, blocking it from your line of vision.

“Okay, well goodnight.” You said, pushing yourself off the wall and turning away. “Oh, and by the way,” You said. “That brush okay your dresser beside the vase will detangle your curls much better than the fork.”

And with that you walked down the corridor, your figure illuminated by the dim lamplight. All Jace could do was watch after you in awe as your turned the corner, and disappeared from his sight. Part of him wanted to chase after you, but he knew he didn’t want to rush things and potentially scare you off.

Jace closed his door and sank down into the ruby red silk sheets. His new bed was even more comfortable than his own back in Atlantica. He smiled over at Syrax as she continued to glare at him. When she saw him meet her gaze, the turned her back on him, sulking like a spoilt child.

Jace rolled his eyes, pulling the covers over him and closing his eyes. In a way he was surprised at how quickly his fatigue had overcome him, but he’d only been human for a day, and his new legs ached and burned from use. Slumber soon took over him.

When she saw he was deep in sleep, Syrax blew out the lamp on the bedside table. Slowly, she edged closer to the pillow, dropping down onto it just by Jace’s head. She paused, and, seeing him stir but remain asleep, crept around his head to rest on the pillow behind him, falling asleep herself with a claw resting on his shoulder.

As Jace slept soundly in his bed, dreaming of you in bliss, the same could not be said for you.

Upon returning to your room, you had changed into a black silk nightgown and cleaned your teeth before settling down into bed. Usually you would read at least a chapter of whatever book you were reading before going to sleep, but you felt your eyelids droop before your head even touched the pillow. Blowing out the lamp, you soon fell fast asleep… and dreamt of a silver haired man.

You couldn’t see him from the waist down. If you looked down, all you saw was a shroud of inky shadow before something forced you to raise your head, a sort of invisible pull.

The man was strikingly handsome. His long silver hair was loose, cascading over his shoulders like a waterfall. One eye, a gentle lilac, the other… also hidden by the shadows.

He was bare chested, his pale skin glowing in the moonlight. He had a toned, strong body, a defined bone structure and a pendant hung from his neck. It looked like a shard of blue molten metal. Something you had never seen before.

He was, in a word, beautiful.

He simply stared at you, hands clasped behind his back, that lilac eye darkening slightly as it raked along your figure. His lips were twisted into a small smirk.

“Who are you?” You demanded, failing to suppress the waver in your voice. There was something that both intimidated and intrigued you about this mystery man. The way his eye pierced through you made you feel exposed, transparent, as though he could see straight through you, but there was such an allure to him.

The way he looked.

The way he looked at you.

The way he moved, no, glided towards you.

And the way you didn’t back away, or fight back as he reached out to you, slender fingers tracing down your cheek.

“You’ll find out soon enough, ñuha dārilaros.” He murmured, his hand moving to rest at the base of your neck. You stiffened under his touch, yet still found yourself unable to move. It was like you were hypnotised, entranced by him. [my princess]

“Soon... you will be mine…”

Meanwhile, Queen Rhaenyra sat on her throne, troubled. She had sent out her best soldiers and the other members of the royal family in search of her eldest son, who hadn’t been seen since she’d destroyed his collection. She’d spent the last several hours pacing back and forth around the throne room, waiting for any news.

“Any sign of them?” She asked as Daemon and Lucerys approached her.

”No. We’ve searched everywhere. There’s been no sight of Jacaerys, or Vermax. Or Syrax. Not a trace. Lord Corlys still has his fleet out searching the open waters, and Lord Cregan is patrolling the polar oceans.”

“Well keep looking. Leave no stone or shell unturned, no corner of the ocean unexplored. No one will rest until Jace is home and safe.” She leaned back on her throne, resting her hand against her forehead. “What have I done?” She whispered.

“You did what you thought was right, Rhaenyra,” Daemon replied. “Jacaerys will return. He’s probably hiding with Lord Cregan, sulking at you discovering his secret.”

“He can act impulsively, Daemon. If he’s done something reckless-“

“We will find him before it gets out of hand.” He interrupted, placing a hand on her shoulder.

Luke swallowed harshly, his hands clenched by his sides. “Maybe… maybe you shouldn’t have destroyed his collection.” He spluttered out, making both Daemon and Rhaenyra turn to him, guilt swimming in the latter’s teary eyes, and mild annoyance in the former’s.

“Lucerys-

“O-or maybe you shouldn’t do everything Daemon tells you. Maybe you should do what you feel is right. B-because I know you wouldn’t have thought of destroying it if he wasn’t there.”

“Luke!”

“You should learn to respect those above you, taoba.” Daemon replied, shooting a rather intimidating glare to the young prince. Despite being mildly nervous, Luke held his ground.

“It’s true! Everyone can see, they’re just too afraid of Daemon to speak up!”

“And with good reason-“

“Enough!” Rhaenyra held up a hand, silencing the two mermen. She let out a small sigh. “Daemon, leave. Continue searching for Jacaerys.”

“Of course, my Queen.” Daemon bowed before her before swimming out of the throne room, but not before shooting Luke a nasty glare.

“Luke-“

“I need to tell you something, mother.” Luke blurted out. He knew Jace didn’t want Rhaenyra to know what he’d decided to do, but as the hours passed and no one had found any sight of him, he had grown increasingly weary of Aemond granting him his wish.

“Luke, I’m trying to look for your brother so unless it’s important-“

“What if he’s not in the ocean.”

“W-what? What are you talking about-“

“What if…” Luke ran a hand through his dark curls. “What if he’s… up there…” He suggested, pointing to the surface.

“Luke,” Rhaenyra sighed, taking his hand in hers. “I understand that Jace has this bizarre fascination with the surface world but- why do you look so concerned, dearest?”

Concern had suddenly brewed the the Queen’s eyes at the way Lucerys was trembling slightly, his brows furrowed as though he were holding back tears.

“Luke, do you know something?” She asked.

He nodded, staring at the ground. “I-I promised that I wouldn’t tell…”

“Is your brother in danger, Luke?” She prompted, a gentler tone to her voice. Again, the prince nodded.

Rhaenyra looked up at the water’s surface, the moon casting a silvery glow.

“Did he try to become a human?” She asked, a pang of dread striking her heart.

“I… I think so he… he told me to leave him before I could find out. But why else would he go with… with that thing…?”

Rhaenyra hadn’t seen her second borne son look this shaken since he was a child, on the night of Aemond’s banishment.

“What thing?”

“V…” Luke swallowed harshly. “Vha…” he squeezed his eyes shut. The memories from that night were often blurry in his mind, but seeing the beast yesterday had brought then all flooding back.

“Vhagar?” Rhaenyra asked, and Luke nodded.

“Luke,” Rhaenyra cupped the boy’s face, meeting his gaze with hers. “You need to tell me everything. Now.”

Jace rose with the dawn the following morning, throwing the covers off of him with the excitement of seeing and spending the day with you bubbling in his chest. He would get the chance to see the kingdom today, and to see the day to day lives of the people.

His sudden awakening had startled Syrax, who jumped slightly as she was startled awake. She shot him a glare as he opened the doors to his wardrobe to choose a what to wear.

He’d never had to wear clothes before after all, and so held up a variety of outfits for Syrax to choose, each being greeted by a rather dismissive shake of her head. In the end, he chose one that she hadn’t chosen but he had liked- a rust coloured shirt and black trousers, as well as the boots he’d worn yesterday. His legs still wobbled slightly as he walked downstairs for breakfast, occasionally struggling to gain balance.

You weren’t awake yet, so he took his seat at the dining table from yesterday and patiently waited, simply enjoying seeing the newly risen sun casting a golden glow across the sea, which was a little more restless today than yesterday, the tide further in than it should have been and the waves crashing into the rocks dotted along the coastline rather aggressively.

Jace’s brows furrowed. What if it was his mother- no, no. He shook his head to himself, mentally reminding himself of how harsh her glare was the last time they spoke. The way she looked at him with such disappointment, she should be glad he was finally gone.

Jace instead focused on the sky, the few wisps of cloud that had formed illuminated in the golden glow, enhancing the streaks of coral and pink that painted the sky. It was a beautiful sight to see, one that he hadn’t been able to appreciate under the waves.

He rose to his feet as the double doors opened, slightly deflating at the sight of Grimsby, Carlotta and several maids entering, the former taking his seat and drawing out his pipe and the others setting various covered dishes in front of him. Jace, however, kept his gaze on the door. Carlotta sent him a knowing smile.

“Don’t you worry, she’ll be down in a minute or two.” She murmured to him, making him flush slightly in embarrassment.

Was it really that obvious he was looking for you?

He opened his mouth to protest his innocence, but shut it again when no sound came out. He simply shook his head at her, making her chuckle slightly.

“You can’t fool me. You were gazing at her all throughout dinner last night. I saw.” She smiled. “And if it helps, I saw her look at you too.” She added, shooting him a small wink as she and the maids left the dining hall, Jace gaping after her.

Was that true? Were you looking? Or did Carlotta say that to make him feel better? If you did, could he fulfil his end of the deal and get a kiss?

He didn’t have too much time to dwell on that, as a minute later the doors to the dining hall opened, and you walked inside.

You had elected to wear purple that day. A lilac blouse with a darker corset detailing that came in at the waist and an amethyst skirt that reached just below your knees. A pair of black pumps were on your feet. Your hair was tied back with a black ribbon to keep it out of your face. Jace noticed you looked beautiful as ever, but you had applied some powder to your cheeks in an attempt to conceal the slight darkness under your eyes, to hide your tiredness.

You looked tired, yet when your gaze locked onto Jace, you gave him your most dazzling smile, which he tried to return.

“Good morning,” You greeted, taking your seat at the head of the table. Jace nodded in response.

“Did you sleep well?” You asked, pouring yourself some coffee into a dainty china cup and Grimsby a cup of tea. Jace nodded again rather vigorously, gesturing to you to ask you the same.

“Oh, I slept fine.” You muttered rather dismissively, taking a sip of your coffee, your mind drifting to that mysterious silver haired man from your dream. You had been dreaming of him the past few nights, but last night was the first time that you had seen him relatively clearly and heard him speak. Before then, he had been completely shrouded in shadow, save for the small hint of silver hair, or flash of lilac from his eye.

You had pondered that he could be your mystery man, but then your mind wandered to Jace. You felt safe with him, and he made you feel warm inside, like a sense of home. With the silver haired man, you’d felt intimidated, yet intrigued. Bewitched, even. But there was a dangerous allure to him that sent a chill down your spine.

You forced the image of the man from your thoughts, deciding on instead spending the day showing Jace your kingdom, and seeing your people. They were your responsibility while your parents were away, and they would be your responsibility when the crown was passed to you.

After finishing breakfast, you led Jace outside where a black and gold carriage pulled by a beautiful bay horse was waiting. Jace had never seen a horse up close before, and rather nervously let you grab his hand and rest it on the horse’s nose, just as he’d rather admirably watched you do so a moment ago. He was soon put at ease as the horse nuzzled against his touch, a slight pink dusting to his cheeks at you standing right beside him, your hand still resting over his.

After you convinced Jace to stop feeding the horse handfuls of grass he’d torn up from your lawn, he opened the carriage door for you, his hand still interlocked with yours as he helped you into the carriage before following suite. You both waved to Carlotta and Grimsby, the former of whom sent Jace a nod and cheeky grin, before you grabbed the reins and started you on the nearby journey into the town.

As the horse led you down the lane into town, Jace excitedly pointed at every little thing he saw, whether that be a butterfly fluttering past, a rather interesting tree or a nearby field overgrown with wildflowers. You gave him that same, warm smile each time, finding his innocent joy rather beguiling. You did, however, panic slightly when you glanced over in his direction to be greeted with the sight of Jace leaning over the side of the carriage, watching the horses hooves trot down and kick up dust into his face from the road, causing him to cough and you to grab the back of his shirt and drag him back into the carriage properly.

As you led the carriage into town, you crossed a bridge built over a canal. Syrax, who had been hidden at the back of the carriage, peered over the side to see Vermax following them. His gaze flicked between you and Jace, but Syrax simply shook her head. Cannibal, flying overhead, softly squawked in disappointment.

You slowed the carriage to a stop, many of the townspeople stopping to greet and bow and wave to their princess and her companion. Jace watched softly as you greeted each and every one of them, shaking their hand and listening to whatever query or compliment they gave to you. How you graciously accepted the daisy a little girl shyly gave to you and how you helped load an elderly man’s shopping into his carriage. You would be a kind and gracious queen, Jace knew it.

Once the gathering had dispersed and the townspeople had gone back to their day to day lives, you tucked the daisy behind Jace’s ear and took him by the hand, surprising him by not even acknowledging how clammy they were, and led him past the rows of sweet little cottages and into the town centre.

It was bustling with crowds of people going about their business, whether that was going to the market, or spending a day out with their children.

When you reached the square, you immediately felt yourself being pulled over to where a man was gathering up chickens, and then over to where a crowd of children were watching a puppet show (although you rather hastily had to steer Jace away when he reached forward and pulled one of the puppets the puppeteers’ hand). No sooner than you did, he was dragging you over to where a band was playing in the centre of the square, where several couples both young, old and everything in between were dancing.

It was like he were experiencing everything for the very first time.

“Do you like dancing?” You asked, watching the way those warm brown eyes watched every spin, every step. He shyly shrugged in response, making you raise your eyebrows in surprise.

“You’ve never danced before?”

He shook his head, his shoulders heaving in a silent sigh as he watched the dancers longingly.

You bit your lip, taking his other hand so both of yours were in his, before leading him over. Initially he tried to resist, frantically shaking his head at you. He didn’t want to mess things up by dropping you, or accidentally stepping on your toes (he still wasn’t completely used to his new legs after all), but you persisted, moving one of his hands so it was placed on your back, your now free hand resting on his rather tense bicep, the other still clasped in his.

“Just follow my lead, okay Jace?” You smiled reassuringly at him, and Jace felt a warmth spread through him at how easily his name spilled from your tongue.

You stepped to the side slowly, and Jace kept his gaze fixed on your footsteps, how you would step back and to the side before bringing your feet together, twirling in a circle as you did so. He tried his best to copy those steps, eventually feeling comfortable enough to let his gaze to meet yours.

“See? You’re a natural.” You smiled, your hand moving from his bicep to rest against the back of his shoulder and neck, your fingertips brushing against his hair. “I can’t believe you’ve never danced before. It’s like you’ve been hidden from everyone your whole life.”

Because that’s exactly how it is, Jace thought as he span you around, his hand now resting on your waist to pull you closer. It was a bold move, but you let him do so, not shying away from his touch. Perhaps it was Jace’s imagination, but he could have sworn he’d felt you lean into it.

In another daring move, he broke his hand from yours to join his other on your waist, lifting you up and spinning you around, your fingers tangling in his chestnut curls as they wrapped around the back of his neck to hold onto him. Jace had always dreamed of how dancing with someone would feel, but he loved it even more when he was there, on land, dancing with you.

Jace would have happily spent the entire day dancing with you, but after an hour or so, he felt his legs start to ache, and he accidentally stumbled and stood on your foot, which he was profoundly apologetic about, but you assured him it wasn’t painful. And so you led him back towards the marketplace. He felt rather guilty about you spending your money on him, but you had insisted, and so he let you buy him a new pair of red leather boots. In return, he chose you a bouquet of flowers- red roses, he’d been told. You’d also bought some things for the palace, including yourself a new ink pot and a loaf of bread for the kitchens. You had been rather intrigued by a visiting jewellery merchant, Jace noticed, also admiring the jewels. He pointed at a rather beautiful pair of ruby earrings before gesturing to your own ears, which had a small pair of pearl earrings dangling from them today.

They would look stunning on you

“They are beautiful,” You agreed. “But I always found myself more partial to a sapphire.” You then added, pointing at a silver necklace set with the blue jewel. Jace grimaced in response, the sight of his uncle’s mutilated eye flashing to the forefront of his mind, only adding to the uneasiness in his stomach over the passing time.

Why did it have to be sapphires?

“What is it?” You asked as you noticed Jace’s expression. “Would it not suit me?”

Jace mentally cursed. If he could talk, it would be so easy to tell you that it would, of course it would look absolutely beautiful on you, but he personally thought the rubies would compliment your eyes more… and they were his favourite colour… and they wouldn’t remind him of his psychopath of an uncle.

So instead he nodded in agreement, before pointing at the earrings and nodding again.

“You… think the rubies would suit me more?” You asked, and he nodded again. “Okay, maybe you’re right… I was having a scarlet gown commissioned before the ball when my parents returned.”

A ball? Oh, how Jace would love to experience a ball.

He only hoped he could stay with you to see it one day.

His beaming smile as you purchased the earrings didn’t last as you also bought the sapphire necklace before leading him back to the carriage.

“You looked tired so I thought we could take a ride through the countryside.” You offered. “If you’re done here, that is. Although we can always come back here next week when the market returns.”

Jace nodded, opening the carriage door for you, trying to forget he only had one more day after this to get that kiss.

The horse drew away from the town in a gentle trot, the late afternoon breeze fluttering through Jace’s hair. He watched intently as you steered the horse down the lane, the road decked with trees either side, forests and meadows sprawling for miles, and yet the slight saltiness from the sea still lingered in the air.

“Do you want to try?” You asked, gesturing to the reins in your hands. He hesitated for a moment before nodding, letting you place the reins in his outstretched hands and position them correctly.

“There you go. You’re doing great.” You smiled at him, a hand resting on his shoulder in encouragement. His tense muscles relaxed slightly under your warm touch and praising words, and rather enthusiastically, he snapped at the reins as he’d seen you do so when you left the castle that morning.

“Wait, hang on- Jace!” You let out a small shriek as the horse reared in the air before bolting into a canter, surging down the lane. It suddenly surged to the left down a small pathway leading into the trees.

“Jace, you might want to ease up a bit- no, slow down! Slow down!” You exclaimed, bracing a hand on the carriage as the horse galloped in the direction of a large ditch. Jace, on the other hand, was showing no sign of doing so, a wide grin on his face as he instead encouraged the horse to speed up.

“Jace, what are you- oh shit!” You braised yourself as the horse leaped over the wide ditch, preparing yourself for the crash.

But it didn’t come.

Jace had slowed the horse down to a steady trot, and had a managed to find the main lane again, turning to look at you with a rather cheeky, yet charming, smile. You flushed slightly.

“Oh. Um… well done. Do you… want me to take the reins back?” You asked, but Jace shook his head, turning back to the road. He seemed to have gotten the hang of it, so you leaned back comfortably with a small shrug, your arms supporting the back of your head as you rode through the trees, the sun beginning to set in the sky.

After taking him for a little tour around the countryside you had steered him to a charming little restaurant for dinner. It was near a small lagoon, and was lit with lanterns set with different coloured glass, some were alight with an amethyst purple that matched your dress, others a deep wine red, or an ocean blue.

Jace watched you with admiration as you greeted the staff one by one, declining the offer of using a private dining room to instead favour a small table outside by the water beneath the lanterns, the hum of the crickets and gentle lapping of the lagoon waves against the shore creating a comfortable setting as the sun dipped below the trees, the sky streaked with gold, violet and pink.

You were approached throughout the dinner by multiple townspeople, who greeted you apologetically for the interruption to greet you, or gifted you with wildflowers. Jace simply watched with a soft smile on his face, flushing slightly whenever anybody turned their attention to him, shrinking back in his seat slightly as you recycled the same story you had told those in the castle.

The meal was far better than anything Jace had eaten in Atlantica, and as a surprise, you led him over to where a small wooden rowing boat for two was nestled in the reeds. Resting one foot on the boat to steady it, you helped Jace take his seat before following him, your hand holding his to maintain your balance.

You took ahold of the oars, not quite ready to hand the control to Jace in fear of your dinner being brought back up.

You rode a little way out into the lagoon, concealed by the reeds and the tall willow tree drooping over the bank, but making sure the water was shallow enough that Jace at least could stand up (you weren’t sure he could swim and didn’t want to concern him with being in deep water after the shipwreck ordeal).

Jace exhaled, spotting Vermax watching them from the water, Syrax resting on the reeds and Cannibal on a tree branch nearby. All three were watching the pair intently, and Jace shook his head once at them.

No kiss yet.

But everything was going so well, surely he could receive that true love’s kiss by the end of tonight. He had felt something when you were dancing. The way your eyes locked with his, the way you didn’t resist him holding you closer, and seemed to lean into his touch, or the way your hand seemed to grow slightly clammy as well when held in his.

Surely he couldn’t have imagined that?

You shot him a small smile as you placed the oars down, flexing your stiffened fingers slightly. You glanced around, not sure what the say. Do you ask him if he was okay? If he liked the spot you’d chosen? You weren’t sure, but Jace seemed very preoccupied by the willow tree at the edge of the lagoon. Or was he just lost in thought?

Before you could ask what had caught his attention, a dreadful sound pierced your ears. It was like someone dragging their nails down a blackboard. It was a shrill screeching sound, like some poor bird was in pain.

“Gods, it sounds like some poor creature needs to be put out of its misery.” You murmured.

Jace grimaced in response, his gaze locked on where Cannibal was squawking in the tree above, raising a wing as a gesture of you’re welcome, seemingly believing he was helping create a romantic atmosphere and that he was doing Jace a favour.

He let out a small sigh of relief as he saw Syrax climb up to the branch, a claw snapping around Cannibal’s beak. Her beady eyes glared him down, her other claw making swiping across her in a zip it motion before she jumped back down into the reeds.

“Seems like somebody was listening.” You mused, using one of the oars to steer you both into the centre of the lagoon. Jace gave a slight smile in response, simply glad that you’re back was facing his unhelpful feathered companion.

He was even more glad that Syrax, perched on a drooping reed leaf, dropped down into the water, and moments later as a small group of turtles appeared. Syrax tapped the shells of the turtles, creating a percussion sound that a small flock of ducks continued for her. She then jumped o back onto a reed, pointing at a group crickets that began to him a little louder.

She was creating music for them.

You seemed to have noticed, glancing around.

“It sounds so peaceful,” You mused. “Nature really is an incredible thing.”

Jace could only nod in agreement, his gaze now focused entirely on you, and how ethereal you looked in the silver glow of the moon and the golden hum of the fireflies circling the lagoon.

All Jace could think about was how much he wanted to succeed in his task, and how he wanted to be with you. As he admired you, it was at the forefront of his mind. How the clock was ticking. He was running out of time, but he had no idea how he would go about it. His mother had always taught him to ask permission first when courting a lady, but, of course, he was unable to. He felt too awkward, so shy around you, to approach the subject. But then again, if he didn’t kiss you, he would lose you forever.

Now was the perfect opportunity, he doubted he’d get a better one. The atmosphere was perfect, the setting was stunning, and you looked beautiful of course but… he didn’t quite know how to go about it. He didn’t even know what was going through your mind as you kept your gaze focused on him. He didn’t even know you were going through a similar mental dilemma.

You didn’t know why, usually you would never rush into such things, he hadn’t even spoken a single damn word to you, but there was something about Jace. You knew there was something familiar about him. Hell, you had even thought he could have been who you had been searching for, but since he couldn’t talk, that was impossible. But there was still something about him that drew you in. A silent charm to him.

You didn’t know why you were particularly focusing on the warmth of his eyes as they gazed at you, or the way his hair framed his face, or the shape of his lips…

You didn’t know why your mind went back to the day you’d spent together, the dancing, the rather intimate dinner.

And then you realised through all of that, every time you spent time together, his eyes were always intently focused on you, just as they were now, as though you were the only thing there. Perhaps you were only imagining that…

Or was he thinking the same thing as you?

You were to caught up in your own thoughts that you didn’t even notice the boat start to drift further into the lagoon. You didn’t notice the glare Jace sent down to where Vermax and those turtles were pushing the boat, or the way two pelicans swooped down to part the leaves of a willow tree to let the boat pass through. Or how the fireflies were circling the both of you now. You didn’t notice Syrax climbing onto Jace’s shoulder, goading him on to kiss you before returning to the water.

You weren’t snapped from your thoughts until Jace rested his hand over yours. You turned your hand and allowed him to hold it properly. He looked nervous, from the way his eyes darted from your hand to your lips and then up to yours eyes and back again, to the way he seemed to be biting his lip or the fact his hand was growing more clammy.

Was he feeling the same thing as you?

Almost like a magnetic pull, you leaned forward slightly, not quite realising you had done so until Jace did the same, and you realised how close you were, mere inches apart. Your eyes locked, and you could feel yourself drowning in them, noticing for the first time that there was a darker rim around his iris, and that in the glow of the fireflies that had began to hum louder, they had a honeyed colour to them, becoming lighter towards the centre.

Jace had a swarm of butterflies within him, feeling the apprehension bubbling up inside. Were you actually going to kiss him? You leaned in first after all… could he actually succeed and finally get his wish? Instinctively, he eyelids fluttered shut. He felt you draw back slightly, perhaps surprised at the possibly bold move, but your hand never left his.

And then he felt you lean forward again, the boat creaking slightly as you shifted closer to him. You closed your eyes as well as you leaned closer still, your lips mere inches apart from brushing against his. You could quite believe you were doing this, but something just felt right.

Jace’s heart was hammering within his chest, he couldn’t believe he was about to kiss you. He was so close…

Until the boat flipped over and sent the both of you tumbling into the lagoon.

The animals had scattered, both not wanting for you to see them, and also in fear of where Vhagar had slithered underneath the boat to flip it over before disappearing within the reeds, her teeth bared in a sickening grin and that blue eye glowing brighter than the moon, watching as you grabbed Jace’s hand, the both of you rising to your feet. He looked you over, those chestnut eyes brimmed with worry.

“I’m fine, I’m fine.” You sighed, catching your breath. Fortunately the water was shallow enough that you could stand above the water level, you steadying the boat to let Jace clamber back on board. He then extended his hand to you to help you as well, you taking the oars and rowing the both of you back to shore.

Jace sat there silently, his shoulders slumped in defeat as he stared down at the water. He knew that wasn’t an accident, and his jaw clenched slightly in annoyance at his uncle’s interference.

Aemond had been watching Jace ever since he’d reached the surface, his amusement at Jace’s schoolboy like crush changing to irritation as it seemed like it was rubbing off on you.

He had been tracking Jace for months, knowing he was the perfect pawn to use against Rhaenyra. To take her throne and rule the seas in revenge of his banishment. The first thing he would do is take Lucerys’ eye.

For his mother.

He had heard of her passing shortly after his banishment, and the anguish he had felt had twisted his mind and blackened his heart. He had descended into madness in his exile, and although he had added his grandfather’s soul to his collection, he knew that was only the beginning.

And then he watched as Jace had become infatuated with you, and initially, he saw you as the perfect stepping stone to Rhaenyra’s downfall.

But then he found himself intrigued by you.

He had always carried some disdain for humans, viewing them as an inferior species. But your free spirit, and your good heart, such a contrast to him, had drawn him in. It didn’t help that you were such a stunning creature, more gorgeous than any mermaid he’d seen. And although that could be seen as weakness, he saw it as an opportunity.

After claiming Rhaenyra’s soul in return for Jace’s “freedom”, he would take control of the the oceans and dispose of those who ever opposed him, and then he would go to you, and claim you as his. He could imagine how soft your skin would feel against his, how you would feel trapped beneath him as he made you his, those sweet noises that would spill from your lips as you’d moan his name.

And then, he’d marry you, and become ruler on land and sea, his power unopposed, finally getting that vengeance on behalf of himself and his mother.

There was a small spanner in the works as you grew closer to Jace, but he had been sowing the seeds in his plan for some time, visions of him plaguing your dreams and observing you through Vhagar.

He gently rested a hand on Vhagar’s head as she swam into the cavern, giving a small hum of approval.

“Nice work, Vhagar,” He praised. “That was a little close. A little too close.” He glared at the cauldron, glaring at the image of you and Jace arriving back at castle, the both of you still damp from the lagoon debacle. Jace got out of the carriage, taking your hand and helping you step out, leading you into the castle where the maids would no doubt hurry to prepare you a nice warm bath.

“That little brat is doing better than I thought,” He mused. “At this rate, he’ll be kissing her by tomorrow’s sunset. No matter…” his lips twisted into a grin. “I suppose I’ll just have to take matters into my own hands…”

He reached up towards a cupboard, grabbing several bottles and throwing them to the basin, causing a cloud of blue smoke to explode from it. He waved his hand, and the image above the basin changed to where you were preparing yourself for bed, dressed in a pink silk nightgown that reached midway down your thighs. However, instead of going to bed for an early night as Aemond assumed you would, you left your room and walked down the hallway, knocking on Jace’s door.

“Hi… I just… wanted to say goodnight.” You muttered, you gaze focused on the floor. Jace frowned slightly. Did you regret the moment the two of you had shared? Did this mean he’d lost his chance?

He nodded, reaching for your hand, only for you to pull it away. You finally raised your gaze to look at him, but the smile you sent him didn’t reach your eyes.

“Sleep well,” You whispered, before leaning up and pressing a small kiss to his cheek. It was feather light, a simple brush of your lips, but it set Jace’s skin on fire, his cheeks flushing bright red as stared at you as you turned and hurried back down the hallway without looking back.

His hand raised to brush against his cheek where you’d kissed him, a small smile creeping onto him face.

Perhaps there was still a chance for him after all.

Aemond on the other hand, was glaring at the image, his knuckles white from where he was gripping the side of the basin so tightly.

“She will be mine,” He spat. “And his soul will be mine. And Rhaenyra?” He chuckled, the shard of dragonglass glowing a vivid blue. “I’ll have her trapped. She’ll be wriggling like a worm on a hook.”

You felt your mind swimming with conflicting thoughts, on whether you should pursue these feelings for Jace, or whether you should continue your search for your saviour.

You felt exhausted, both from the long day and the lack of sleep for last night, and so decided to get some rest, and hopefully sort out the conflict between your heart and your head tomorrow.

Just like last night, sleep overtook you as soon as your head touched the pillow.

And just like last night, you dreamed of the silver haired man.

It was almost as though he was waiting for you, standing right where you left him, that intense stare of his from the one visible eye making you instinctively shrink back. He was intimidatingly beautiful.

Even when he turned to fully face you, there was still something concealing the other side of his face from. A sort of barrier in your mind.

It only intrigued you more.

You took a step back as he advanced towards you. He almost seemed to glide, as though he were floating in the air. You took another step back, only to be greeted with an invisible wall, trapping you completely.

The man’s lip twisted into a smug smirk, a glint in that amethyst eye of his that only meant trouble, no doubt.

The man was soon enough right in front of you, looking down at you, his eye darkening as a his fingertips left feather light touches across your jaw, down your neck and across your collarbone before tracing down to your chest, a hint of cleavage showing. His hand then moved down to your breast, concealed beneath the thin silk of your nightgown. He let out a small hum of content at the gasp that left your lips as he gave it a small pinch, the peak hardening beneath his touch.

You felt yourself shiver beneath his touch, feeling as though you should push the man away and reject his advances, but you found yourself being unable to. You knew it was a dream, that you would wake up at any moment, but it still felt real.

“W-who… w-what are you…? You stuttered out, but the man raised his other hand and pressed his index finger to your lips.

“Hush now, ñuha dārilaros,” He murmured, his head leaning down to the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent. His hand that was on your breast was now creeping along your thigh, beneath the skirt of your rather flimsy nightdress.

Your breath hitched in your throat as his fingers grazed lightly over your core, his lips pressing against the base of your throat before tracing up your neck. He pressed another kiss to your jaw this time, before they ultimately reached your ear, tugging the lobe between his teeth.

“Soon, ñuha dārilaros,” He whispered, lips brushing against the shell of your ear. His hand pulled away from between your legs. “We will see each other very soon.”

You jolted awake with a start, your chest heaving and a thin sheen of sweat glistening on your skin. You threw the covers off you, glancing at the small clock hanging above the mantelpiece.

You had only been asleep for half an hour.

And you doubted you would be welcome to any more, not wanting to be greeted with the sight of the silver haired man again. Why he haunted your dreams, you didn’t have a clue. But you were certain it was hardly a coincidence.

Deciding that the nightly sea air may do you some good, you changed from that nightgown into a white cotton shirt and navy trousers, pulling your boots onto your feet.

You lit the lamp beside your bed and carried it out of your room, creeping downstairs and out the back door in the kitchens. You blew out the lamp and left it on the kitchen table, walking down through the small courtyard and sitting on the terrace, your legs crossed beneath you.

You let out a deep sigh, glancing back at the castle. Jace’s curtains were drawn, the lamps blown out. Most would have either taken the opportunity of a longer night’s sleep, and would either be in bed already or preparing to do so.

Except for one other, that is.

Your gaze looked out towards the sea. The waves were a lot more aggressive today, and the tide came in far quicker than usual.

You jumped slightly as you felt a hand rest gently on your shoulder.

”Y/N,” Grimsby sighed. “You seem unlike your usual self.”

“I’m just… lost in thought,” You muttered in response, your gazed fixed on how the moon cast a glow on the ocean’s surface, the light being cast taking on a more indicolite colour.

“Y/N, if I may say, far better than a dream man, is one made of flesh and blood. One that is warm, gentlemanly and friendly. One that is right in front of your eyes…”

Your gaze moved to Jace’s bedroom window for a fleeting moment before then focusing on Grimsby. You glanced back out at the sea, your shoulders heaving in a silent sigh. You reached into your pocket a drew out your flute, raising it to your lips and playing that same small tune that had been replaying in your mind ever since your rescue.

Knowing that he wasn’t going to get a response, Grimsby let out another sigh and left your side, walking back up to the castle.

You continued playing the sweet melody, but soon enough found it growing out of tune, your breaths becoming uneven. You let out a groan of frustration, rising to your feet on the wall and throwing your arm back, launching the flute into the sea out of sheer frustration at your internal conflict.

You let out a defeated sigh, collapsing back down and burying your head on your hands. You had certainly grown fond of Jace, but there had been such a short amount of time. You didn’t want to rush into things. And then there was that mystery man, the one who had saved you. You were certain he was out there somewhere. And your mind still drifted to the man you’d seen in your dreams, the one who you hadn’t heard speak above a murmur. Could he be the man who saved you? Why else would he inhabit your thoughts?

You shook your head, not wanting to plague your thoughts further, deciding instead to return to the castle to go to the library or your study and read until the sun rose. Rising to your feet, you turned to walk back, but something stopped you.

It started out as a whisper in the breeze, but soon grew louder. It was a very familiar voice singing a very familiar tune.

It was the tune that was sung to you the day you were rescued from drowning.

Like in the trance of a siren song, you returned to your place on the terrace, leaning forward to try and find where the song was coming from, a growing mist surrounding the shore making you squint slightly.

And then you saw a silhouette, tall and slender, emerging from the fog, the voice growing louder and louder until you finally got a clear sight of the source of the song.

It was a man clad in black leather trousers and a black leather overcoat with a white shirt underneath, the top few undone buttons exposing the top half of his chest. A pendant hung from his neck, glowing a faint blue in the moonlight, and he had an eyepatch covering his left eye. His silver hair was tied half up, fluttering in the night breeze.

It was the man from your dreams.

All you did was stare as the man walked down the beach, your eyes wide and your heart hammering in your chest.

He came to a stop directly in front of you, and even from a distance you could see how his lilac eye glittered in the moonlight, how the moon’s glow made his hair look even more silver.

”Good evening, princess,” He greeted. His voice was smooth and held a sort of allure to it. Like a siren’s song.

“Good… good evening,” You replied, your mouth void of saliva and your thoughts swimming. You knew it wasn’t a coincidence that you’d been seeing this man in your dreams, and the thought of him being your mystery saviour had crossed your mind, but you never imagined he’d be standing here right in front you.

“A lovely evening, is it not?”

“I- the sea is a little choppy tonight.”

“Hm, is suppose you are right,” The man replied. “The waves could destroy the greatest of ships indeed.” He mused, his visible eye glittering. “Speaking of, I hope you have since recovered from that ordeal.”

”Yes… I’m fine…” You murmured, clearing your throat. “What is your name?”

“Aemond Targaryen,” He paused. “Prince Aemond Targaryen. And what is your name?”

He couldn’t help the small smirk that tugged at the corner of his lip. He knew your name already. Of course he knew your name.

“Y/N. Princess Y/N L/N.” You replied, mimicking his tone as you stepped down from the terrace and took a step towards the beach.

“Hm,” Aemond let it a small hum of amusement. “You have a lovely kingdom, my princess.”

“Thank you. What kingdom do you reside over.” You asked, taking another step towards Aemond, him doing the same.

“It is one that is far away. Out there, beyond these waters.” Was his response, extending his hand to help you down the steep slope leading down to the beach. His touch was cold, his larger hand holding yours in a tight grip. He did not possess the same warmth as Jace, despite being just as handsome.

“Well perhaps one day I will see it.” You said, making his smirk widen.

“Perhaps.”

You pulled your hand from his, resting it in your pocket. “Well what brings you to these parts?”

Aemond let out a deep exhale. “To escape from everything, I suppose. I have struggled with the concept of me taking the throne. The current ruler of my kingdom… she has grown rather weak. A new ruler is needed and my elder brother is not fit for it, and so that responsibility has befallen me. ‘Twas I who studied history, philosophy, the skills with a sword, all in preparation for that moment, and yet now the moment has come…” He turned away form you, his lilac gaze focusing on the ocean behind him. If you stood in front of him, you would see the smile on the hidden side of his face.

"I understand," You replied, your voice barely a murmur, smothered by the whipping sea winds. "I feel that way too." You hesitated for a moment. "Why did you rescue me that night? How... how did you find me? We were quite a distance from the shore."

"I have always been a rather strong swimmer," He brushed off your enquiries. "I was merely in the area and I saw the ship in flames so I decided to see if there were any survivors. I reached where the ship was by climbing over the rocks lining the shore and then saw you slip beneath the waves unconscious. I couldn't let you die, that much I was certain of, and so I swam out and dragged you to shore."

"Why didn't you take me to Grimsby and the remainder of the crew on the lifeboats?"

"They were gone by the time I had found you."

You nodded. Did you entirely believe the story? You weren't sure. There was something about this stranger that caused a sense of unease within you. He didn't make you feel comfortable like Jace did, instead he was rather unnerving.

All the same, there was something pulling you towards Aemond, like a sailor entranced by a siren. He was a very handsome man, from a royal upbringing. He seemed intelligent and well spoken. A perfect prince, one would say. But that didn't stop the glint in that lilac eye of his. A darkness, or danger, something that set you on edge.

"Well... thank you for saving me. The song you sang to me... it was quite beautiful. Although, I am not familiar with the dialect I heard."

"An ancient language from my homeland. One that is practically extinct. Only those in the royal family use it. A sort of tradition, I suppose."

"Well it sounded very beautiful," You replied, your gaze travelling to the patch of black leather covering his eye.

"You are curious?" He raised an eyebrow.

"I... I did not mean to stare or offend you-"

"You haven't. I wear it around others, as to not frighten them."

"What happened?" You hesitated as he shot you a small smirk.

"Inquisitive, aren't you?" He murmured, letting out a sigh. "When I was a child, I was attacked by someone in my family. It left me disfigured, unable to see out of my eye. And so I wear this to spare others of my wound."

"If they are truly frightened of it, then they are not worthy of looking upon it. It just shows how shallow and self centred people are, when they could instead be looking upon what really matters."

"And what would that be?" He raised an eyebrow, his head tilted to the side. He found your kindness, and the goodness within your heart both amusing and endearing. You saw such hope in the world where he only saw darkness, a darkness that dwelled and festered in his heart.

You may even see good in him.

A shame that was lost the moment his eye was stolen from him.

"You seem intelligent, an attribute that seems to be rarer and rarer to find these days," You replied. "You are well read, you have manners, you seem polite, observant. All admirable qualities to possess."

"I thank you for your kind words, princess," He nodded at you, bowing his head slightly and his hands resting behind his back.

"No. I should be thanking you. I have been trying to search for whoever saved me that day... so I could thank them. I am glad that I can finally do so. I would have died had you not have been there. So I do thank you, I am forever in gratitude to you. If there is anything I could do for you in return... I would be happy to do it..."

You regretted those words as soon as they left your mouth from the way Aemond's lip curved into a smile, one that sent a shudder down your spine. His eye darkened as you spoke, stepping closer to you. Instinctively, you took a step back, only to feel hard rock preventing you from moving further. Your heart was thumping in your chest, your legs feeling as though they could give out from beneath you as he was soon standing so close you could smell him, the scent of the sea lingering on his skin.

And he had you trapped.

Just like in the dream you'd experienced mere hours ago.

"There is something you could do," He murmured, slender fingers tracing up your arm. "A simple favour, if you will."

"And... and what is that?" You whispered. Was he going to touch you as he had done so in your dream? Take advantage of you?

"A kiss," He replied. "Just a simple kiss from you will suffice perfectly." As he spoke he ran his thumb over your lower lip, his other hand resting on your waist. Although cold and firm, his grip was not painful, but you were sure it could be if you rejected his wish.

"I... very well. If that is what you desire." You agreed, your words only making his eye darken. "But in return, I want to see you without your eyepatch."

Aemond tutted. "I didn't realise we were making such demands... but who am I to deny you, ñuha dārilaros. As you wish."

You nodded, meeting his gaze as he leaned forward and captured your lips with his. The kiss was hungry, consuming your every breath, swallowing your every whimper that slipped through your lips as he caught your bottom lip between his teeth, his hands clamped down on your waist, pulling your hips flush against his. Your hands moved to his biceps, gripping the leather, feeling how his muscle tensed beneath your touch.

Aemond pulled away but kept you pressed against him. One hand left your waist to reach up and pull the eyepatch off of him.

Your lips parted slightly as you gazed up at the sapphire glinting in the moonlight. Without realising it, your hand reached up to touch the scar running through his skin above and below his eye, but you faltered, moving to pull it away as you realised what you were doing. Aemond's hand grabbed your own, moving it back to his face, your fingertip tracing over the scar. There was a slight twitch under his eye at the contact, clearly not used to this sort of affectionate attention to his scar.

"I do not see anything frightening." You said, a gentle smile gracing your features.

"You are truly something else, ñuha dārilaros." He murmured, his hold on your waist tightening.

"No. I merely possess kindness that others do not have the privilege of having." You replied, trying to pull away, only for him to keep his hold on you.

"It is late, I should be getting back to the castle to get some rest." You attempted to excuse yourself from your new aquaintance.

"Just a moment," He replied. "I've technically granted you two things. I saved your life, and I showed you my eye. You granted me the courtesy of your kiss, but..." His lip twisted upwards. "You owe me one more thing."

You tried to ignore the pang of dread that struck your heart. "That depends... what did you have in mind?"

Aemond's smirk widened, leaning forward so his lips brushed against your ear, sending a small shudder through you as those two words left his lips.

"Marry me."

Jace awoke the next morning in the brightest of spirits, grabbing his shirt and throwing it over his head as he hurried out of his room and downstairs to greet you for breakfast, momentarily returning to his room to "brush" out a few of the knots in his curls.

Before he had the chance to leave for a second time, Cannibal suddenly came soaring through the open window, letting out a loud squawk as he crash landed on the rather hastily made bed. Scrambling to his feet, he made a series of shrill squawks, frantically waving his wings around and gesturing to a feather on his left wing.

Jace's brows furrowed in visible confusion as the bird continued his erratic gestures, a wing extending to where Jace's left hand hung by his side. He followed Cannibal's gesture to his ring finger, his expression clearing as he understood.

Engagement.

You were announcing an engagement...

...To him?

Had he succeeded?

Jace bolted out of his bedroom door, his heart swelling. He couldn't believe he was going to achieve what he'd always dreamed of- a life in the sun... with you.

The woman that he had found himself falling for ever since he had laid eyes on you.

He heard Grimsby's voice echo down the corridor as he approached the staircase.

"Well, Y/N, it seems I was, er... rather mistaken..."

Jace ducked behind a pillar close to the staircase, not wanting to intrude on the conversation. He peered round and caught sight of you, just about visible from where he was standing. He didn't want to move closer in case he was spotted by you or Grimsby.

"...This mystery man of yours does exist... and he seems very... respectable. Your name, sir?"

That made Jace's blood run cold, but want sent his heart sinking like a wrecked ship was the flash of silver hair as Aemond stepped forward, his voice loud and clear as he told Grimsby his name.

Prince Aemond Targaryen.

"A pleasure. And congratulations to you both." Grimsby politely replied, shaking Aemond's hand. "Now, I'm sure that you will want an announcement to both of your kingdoms in the next few days. And a party of course-"

"We wish to be married as soon as possible," You interrupted Grimsby, your harsh tone making both he and Jace flinch slightly. He had never heard you speak that way to anyone before.

"Oh, yes... of course, Y/N, but, er, but these things do take time, you know..."

"This afternoon," You replied, your voice still retaining that unusual coldness. Jace leaned forward slightly to see better, his jaw clenching slightly as he saw you, clad in a simple dress of sapphire blue, your hair naturally down. In your eyes, there was a slight vacancy, as though you weren't quite in the room. "The wedding ship departs at sunset."

Sunset?

No...

Jace couldn't quite believe what he was hearing. He had you within a fingertips' reach, so close to triumphing over Aemond, but now here his depraved uncle was, wrenching you from him with ease.

"A-as you wish, Y/N..." Grimsby sighed.

Jace couldn't take it anymore, tears welling up in his eyes as he ran back to his room, the door's slam echoing down the corridor. He slid down the door to the floor, bringing his knees up to his chest, letting the tears spill from his eyes.

If only he had stayed a little longer. He may have seen the vice like grip Aemond had on your waist, the way his other hand reached up to touch his dragon glass pendant, which glowed a deep blue beneath his touch, or the way that then made a blue glow cast in your eyes as you rested your head against his chest, the hand that was resting on his pendant moving to hold your hand in his.

But instead he cried, sobs racking through his body.

For himself

For his family.

And for you.

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[straighttohellbuddy]

so stay here, darling {Quackity}

Summary: Growing up, like many children your age, you had an imaginary friend. You met him in your dreams, you play together, and he grows up with you. Unlike many children your age, your imaginary friend never goes away. In which the boy you dream up somehow thinks he dreamed you up.

Need to Know: No pronouns used for reader. Dreamwalker AU. Reader & Q are the same age.

A/N: 3040 words. LOOK OUT HIGH CONCEPT BULLSHIT. saw a movie from 2001 about existentialism and dreams where the main guy reminded me of q, and so the writing demon decided i should write this. id love to know what you guys think of it because i wrote it in a fugue state and remember uh NONE OF IT byeeeee seriously is it good its 3am

Citrus Scale: 🧡 ORANGE 🧡

You don't remember when you started dreaming about the boy with the dark hair and dark eyes.

"Well does he have a name?" Whenever you tell anyone about him, this is always their first question, and every time you have to scrunch up your face and shake your head.

In the last dream you'd had, the two of you were on the beach that might have been from a memory, and he was more distinct than the hazy shape of whoever had brought you there. The two of you had been building a sandcastle taller than both of you, taller than any adult you knew; he was talking so much, and you liked hearing him talk. It didn't matter what his name was, you and the boy who kept showing up in your dreams had more fun things to do than worry about names.

Sometimes you catch yourself realising that you're dreaming while they're in progress; usually it's because you can't read the books you find, but sometimes it just clicks. You're dreaming. This isn't real.

"Hey, if this is dream, can I fly?" You ask him, and he looks back at you with surprise. Now that you've noticed, it's hard to ignore; the world is almost familiar, but more of a blur of colour than it ever is in life, like looking out of the window on a road trip. Squinting over his shoulder, you make the haze of colour take shape into a park with a jungle gym.

"This is a dream?" He's blurry at the edges, but still more in focus than anything else in the world. Slowly, he begins to drift, his feet lifting off the ground, and his expression turns panicked. Snatching his hand before he starts to flail, you concentrate as hard as you can to ground him; you hadn't meant to do that to him, even if he is just an imaginary friend.

It doesn't work; he holds your hand so tight you can feel it when you wake up. It had been so real...

You want to apologise, but you don't properly remember the incident the next time you see him. You also don't realise that it's a dream, you're just excited to see your friend and hear him talk about that time he almost flew away. What a story! He insists he can teach you, and in this dream, you're not aware that it's a dream, but it feels perfectly normal to hold his hand as you both wobble your way through the early stages of flight.

---

"You look sad."

"I think I'm meant to grow out of seeing you."

Silence.

"Now?"

"Maybe. Probably one day."

"I think I'm meant to too."

"I don't want you to."

"Me neither."

He takes your hand.

---

It's not a recurring dream as much as he's simply an occasionally recurring character in your dreams. However the occasional dreams don't stop, even though it's been years. Having an imaginary friend is less cute the older you get, so you stop telling people about him so much.

But more and more you find yourself looking forward to those dream, to seeing your friend -

"You should have a name," he tells you a few weeks out from your eleventh birthday. The two of you are traversing through crystal-filled caverns, pitch black if not for the faint glow that emanates from the two of you, naturally, since you'd drunk a potion of fireflies, and this was a dream.

"What do you mean I should have a name?" You laughed, "I have a name, you should know it," still not fully aware that this was a dream, part of you believes he knows it. He's part of you, you will understand when you wake up, of course he should know it, "if anyone should have a name it's you-"

When you finally dream of him again, he's eager to pick up where the two of you left off, needling you for your name, and though you're confused, you realise that your name turns cottony and mushy and forgettable in your mind and on your tongue. He tells you that that's foolish.

You wished the boys in your class smiled like him, or laughed like he did. His stories were more interesting, more engaging, and you're fascinated with how your mind has chosen to weave information you'd somehow caught, overheard, delivered back through him.

Of course you could only dream up the perfect boy.

---

Sometimes he's the one to let you know it's a dream.

You swear he's changed, gotten a bit taller, it's like he's grown up, you swear he used to look like a kid. Then again, so did you; you didn't realise dreams could grow up with you.

"Dreaming again," on top of an anime-looking school building, sitting on the edge with your legs dangling off the edge, he's looking at his watch.

"Dreaming again?" You ask, right as you realise the horizon is just an impressionist landscape painting of pastels. Showing you his watch, you see the way the digits move like liquid, unable to be read.

"Can't read digital clocks in a dream," he tells you matter-of-factly, "or fine print."

The print part of that you knew, but not the clocks... Surely you must have heard it somewhere, internalised it, and your dream was deciding to throw it at you. Surely.

---

When you're fourteen you dream of the airport lounge, and of him. This is one of those dreams that you fully believe, that you're unaware that it's a dream. Your plane is delayed and the two of you are sitting in beanbag chairs with clean, cool light streaming in through the large, glass windows several yards away. Somehow you both fit in the one beanbag chair, he's got his arm around you and is telling your about some videogame he's been playing with his brother.

This you already were aware of; somehow you were very good at keeping this figment's lore in order in your mind, even if the dream contexts always change.

"Toon Town?" You hear yourself ask, angling your face to look at him properly; his hand stills where he'd been tracing patterns on your arm. There's a look in his eyes that you'd seen in movies and TV shows and on some of your friend's faces now that they were starting to date. Oh, right, in this dream he's your gamer boyfriend, obviously.

"Like of course you remembered," he sounded a little flustered, a little giddy, "but I still love that you remember that kind of thing." It feels natural to lean in to kiss him, it all feels so real, so warm, his arm still around -

Your alarm goes off.

---

The Boy you dream of is fascinating and detailed and more alive than any character you've ever tried to come up with on purpose. Growing up with you, the lore your subconsciousness has given him has grown too, expanded to a family, friends you never see but know by name, and strangest of all, a fledgling attempt at being a YouTuber, not to mention a hundred amazing stories he insists he's taken part in.

He's not random like the rest of the dream; a million different universes and concepts get explored in your dreams, but who he is as a person never changes. He is who he is in space, under water, at the beach, in class, while flying, while fighting dragons and dinosaurs, while on a date at the Mad Hatter's Tea Party.

On the nights you dream of him, you resent your interrupting alarm.

You're assured that strange dreams are part of being a teenager, but you know you can never admit that your hormone-addled teenage brain has gotten further with your imaginary friend than anyone in real life. Teen magazines and health class say that's perfectly normal, but you're pretty sure they're talking about one-off dreams, not about recurring scenarios involving your imaginary friend from childhood whose now very much a teenager too in your mind.

No, that you'd be taking to your grave.

---

"Stop being watercolours for a second," you mumble with a soft smile, taking his face in your hands. He was still shifting and blurring at the edges in this dream, still looking like a painting. The watercolours shift to become rich, textured oil paints; you can't help but laugh. His smile lights up his face, and the paint shifts so he looks the closest to what you'd imagine him to look like as a real person.

"What are you doing?" He chuckled, pulling you into his lap. The world around you is a dark, rich blue. You're on The Simpson's couch at night, the TV playing behind you.

"Trying to memorise you," you tell him, running your thumbs along his cheeks, mapping his face with your fingers, gentle down the bridge of his nose, across his brow, along his cupid's bow, "I feel like I can never draw you like I see you here."

"You draw me?" There's something indescribably fond in his voice.

"In the margins of my notes," you admit, "in class... I wish..." you were real, but you trail off. His expression is warm and soft; you're holding his face again.

"Can't use watercolours in your class notes?" He teases, "I totally bet you could." It takes your mind off of your yearning, however, and you regard him with amusement.

"What am I?"

"What?"

"Right now, I'm not trying to be anything; am I watercolours?"

"A really hot Etch-A-Sketch," to which you both break down in laughter.

---

"What's it like being a character in someone's dream?"

"Why are you asking me that?

----

How strange it is to hear him talk about wanting to be a lawyer. You can't remember having a strong urge to become a lawyer; you wonder what part of your subconscious this was pulled from. Still, you encourage him, tell him you're excited for him.

There's something in the shaky breath he lets out when you hug him that surprises you. Why would he be worried about your reaction? The dreams you share are ones where you're in love more often than not now, he knows you love him, you support him, right?

"I love you, you'll be great!" You tell him earnestly, but as he pulls back his expression is drawn.

"I'm too old for this; it's not real."

The tears that burn your eyes feel all too real too.

"Isn't that part of it, that it's okay, that it's escapism, because it's not real?" You tried reasoning with this part of your mind that's grown cool to you without warning. Is this what you truly fear deep down, is this what you're too afraid to acknowledge consciously in any other way?

"There's something wrong with me! Being in love with a part of me that isn't even real," he says through clenched teeth, voicing every fear you dare not speak, even to yourself, "I feel... wrong thinking that my real experiences don't live up to my fucking dreams!" It looks like it hurts him to say, but god it hurts to hear. You crumple, crying softly as this quickly became a nightmare, "this isn't real! This isn't fucking real!" Like he was trying to convince himself. The alarm couldn't come soon enough.

---

It starts in the middle of domestic bliss, his head in your lap without any set up. For a long moment he gazes up at you as you stroke his hair, before your last interaction came crashing down on you both.

He closed his eyes, you looked away, to the endless blue sea stretching out around you. But he doesn't get up, and you don't stop running your fingers through his hair.

"You'll find someone who isn't me," you tell him softly, assuringly, "someone as good as, someone better."

"Someone real."

I know, you silently resign to yourself, I need to find someone real.

---

"Fuck I wish this was real."

"I thought we agreed that it's better that it's not."

"But you look so good."

"I was stressing about this outfit... so thanks."

"Can you wear it more often?"

"That sounds like a slippery slope for us both."

"It is."

But you're both grinning as he pulls you in for a kiss. For tonight, you decide it doesn't matter.

---

One of your friends seems really eager to invite you to VidCon, and you suppose you liked YouTubers well enough to go. Some little voice in the back of your mind reminds you that you invented your favourite YouTuber back when you were a kid. Something like wishful thinking, you've always told yourself -

You'd dreamt about a plane the other night, he'd said the seats in the dream were far more comfortable than the actual plane seats. Said he was on his way to VidCon himself, maybe that's why you're so quick to say yes to your friend's offer. It had been a sign; part of you wanted you to be there, the part that spoke through him.

When you dream of him next it's the night before the convention, and you're aware that it's a dream. He says he's stressed as the two of you float over the convention centre; his outfit keeps changing and shifting, and you know you're stressing over what to wear tomorrow in your own way. When you tell him that it's going to be okay, that you'll be there, he gives a strange little smile, as if to say obviously.

You both think you know what the other means.

You are both wrong.

---

It's loud and overwhelming and you realise you may have made a mistake when you're half an hour into a line for a guy you've never heard of. The YouTuber you dream about isn't fucking real, you shouldn't be here -

"I thought you'd be more excited to meet Q," your friend seems confused at your quickly souring mood as the line progresses at a snail's pace, "I only got us in this cue for you to meet him."

"Who?"

"Q?" Your friend frowns, "Quackity; the guy you've been obsessed with for as long as I've known you," she half laughed, "you've been drawing him all over your shit since high school."

There's a nausea building slowly in your gut as you hear her speak.

"I don't... I don't know who you're talking about."

"Are you being serious right now?" She frowned, "like you draw his beanies and caps and hoodies and everything, I only found out about him like a year ago but I recognised him from your math notes... You really don't know him?"

Perhaps this is why your imaginary friend pushed you to come here. This was the reason, even if you weren't consciously aware of it.

Except your friend in the line beside you opens up Instagram and shows you a photo that makes your blood turn to ice. The resemblance went beyond uncanny. You think you might be sick.

How? Why? Had you met him as a child and just kept dreaming of him? What the hell was happening? The line was moving and you let it carry you forward.

Your imaginary friend. You imaginary boyfriend. The boy you've dreamt of your entire life. Your first... everything, and absolutely nothing at the same time. YouTuber. Aspiring Lawyer. The person you felt hopeless for falling in love with.

You feel faint. Your friend looks worried, she keeps asking if you're okay. Telling her you are, you try and tell yourself it's just the scariest coincidence in the world. Still, you have to meet him.

When you get to the front of the line, you watch him chatter and laugh with the excited teenagers at his table, and oh god, you know his voice, his smile, his laugh -

"Seriously, are you okay?" Your friend in your ear.

"I'm good," you tell her, swallowing hard as you raised your voice enough to make sure he'd hear, while still acting as though you were talking to her, "I said I'd be here."

Turning to him, you see he's half standing, eyes wide, dark as you've always known them to be. He looks incredulous. He looks like he's going through the same kind of overwhelming realisation you'd gone through five minutes ago.

"You're Quackity," you say with a fond smile.

He takes a startled breath, coming back to the moment, beginning to beam.

"This is going to sound batshit insane," he began hesitantly, though your smile is already widening in anticipation, "but has anyone ever told you that you'd make, like, a really hot Etch-A-Sketch?"

Ignoring your friends utter bewilderment, you burst out laughing, relief flooding through you as you nodded emphatically twice.

"Twice, actually," you snorted.

"Was it twice?" He tipped his head to the side, and you gave a wide smile.

"Second time was in that really bright toy shop, the one with the -"

"Giant Buzz Lightyears?" He filled in sagely, suddenly remembering, and you both quickly shuddered, recalling the nightmare.

"What the fuck is happening right now?" Your friend asked, deeply confused by the whole interaction, "I thought you didn't know him."

"It's... unbelievably complicated," you told her with an air of apology, which only left her seeming miffed. As you turned your attention away for the moment, however, Quackity was ushering over one of the convention volunteers who had been hovering around, witnessing the bizarre event.

For a moment, out of the corner of your eye, you catch him checking his watch; your smile widens at the action, the way he's making sure it's real like you'd seen him do countless times in dreams. This time is different. This time is better.

"I'm sorry," you finally hear him say, addressing you with a breathless kind of laugh, "I never caught your name."

You'd always assumed he'd known it. You'd assumed he wasn't real. You assumed you'd made up his smile, his laughter, his warmth, his joy.

You could stop wishing for someone real to love the way you loved him.

"Y/N," you tell him, and are met with the smile you'd dreamt about for as long as you can remember, "my name's Y/N."

[runawaychar]

Myst Master Post

Okay, so here's a massive infodump for Myst, made to introduce my friends a series that I've been obsessed with since I was a child. In light of the upcoming remake of Riven, I decided to share it with y'all. I'm gonna be laying down some spoilers to the Myst book series and the first three games - you've been warned:

Part 1: The fall of D'ni

The D'ni were an ancient civilization from another world that lasted for tens of thousands of years. They advanced technologically and scientifically further than we can possibly imagine, but along a different axis than we would recognize as progress. A good example of this is their apparent obsession with geology - the D'ni were obsessed with stability and longevity, and found metal a poor building material, since they built things for the long haul and steel doesn't last as long as stone. Their capital city also existed within a massive underground cavern, and as a result they made it their business to understand Rock.

In conjunction with Rock, the D'ni civilization was built upon the Art of Writing - they had the ability to create books that, when a certain page is touched, would transport the reader to the world described therein (but leaving the book behind - this becomes important later). A poorly written book would be unstable - the world within falling apart if instabilities weren't corrected in time. Linking books could also be written - smaller books that reference another preexisting book - essential to keep on your person if you ever planned on returning home from whatever world you warped into.

Now, the origin of the D'ni is lost knowledge, but it is known that they aren't native to any of the worlds they inhabited. Long ago there was a schism that resulted in the D'ni fleeing their homeworld into a book Written by their founding figure. Without a linking book back, they essentially cut themselves off completely from the worlds they originally came from. The book they fled into linked to the massive cavern I mentioned earlier. The book itself is described as one of the most detailed ever written, designed to last without instability.

It isn't revealed until the third book why, but the D'ni took with them a taboo that, if broken, would result in the writer being sent into a prison world - essentially an island or wilderness without a linking book back home. The taboo was this: never ever ever write a book with people in it.

So you can imagine their surprise when an archeologist on a dig in New Mexico stumbles into their cavern.

Slightly upset at the revelation that their super special custom-made paradise has natives crawling on the surface, they imprison the archeologist, named Anna, and proceed to have many big boy discussions about whether or not this surface creature is intelligent or just a philosophical zombie. She manages to eventually win her freedom by learning their language and speaking to them in it, but they forbid her from ever returning to the surface, lest more filthy non-Writers dirty up their cavern.

She gets taken in by a respected D'ni called Aitrus, who has a thing for surface girls. He happens to be friends with a Writer's Guild member called Veovis, who decidedly does not. Their friendship becomes strained and eventually breaks after Veovis learns they fuckin', but worse, Aitrus is teaching her the Art.

Meanwhile, we meet an incel called A'gaeris who has a chip on his shoulder about being kicked out of the writer's guild and likes to write reactionary pamphlets in his spare time about the dangers of "interbreeding" with natives, i.e. Anna. In the fashion of youtube skeptics, he calls himself the Philosopher, and fosters a cult following of D'ni fuckboys. He befriends Veovis and secretly frames him for a murder, guaranteeing his exile and radicalization as part of A'gaeris's master plan. He resents the D'ni for not giving him his dream job, and sees the acceptance of Anna as proof of their degeneracy.

Using this as an excuse to break taboo, A'gaeris writes a book in secret with a native population that he enslaves, and uses this base of operations to free Veovis from exile and recruit him into his shitty shitty schemes.

Having been convinced that the D'ni aren't worth saving, Veovis helps A'gaeris spread a deadly plague through the D'ni cavern, killing every member of a ten thousand year old civilization overnight. They load up bodies onto carts and link them into every book they can find, spreading the disease to every world the D'ni ever linked to... All because his best friend married outside his race.

Agaeris then turns to Veovis, and says "haha lets create a world where we can rule over everyone as gods" and Veovis finally gets it through his thick skull that maybe his new friend isn't as rational as he advertises in his debate streams. This revelation doesn't mean much in the face of freshly commited genocide, and doesn't last for very long before he gets shanked by A'gaeris.

Anna, Aitrus, and their shitty kid "internalized Racism" Gehn, manage to escape the plague by sheer accident, having made a pilgrimmage to the surface. Aitrus finally kills Agaeris by luring him into a linking book to a volcanic inferno, sacrificing himself in the process. Anna leaves the cavern with her terrible child and raises him on her own, a task made difficult by the fact that Gehn blames her for the fall of the D'ni and hates that he's part human.

So that's the first part of our story - a civilization isolated from an outside world and cultures that they considered to be less real than themselves, destroyed utterly because they couldn't handle contact with evidence to the contrary. Their refusal to link to worlds with other people, while understandable considering what people like Agaeris would do with the power, led to a brittle, deeply racist society easily toppled by a reactionary demagogue.

In the second part, we'll see what happens when an asshole romanticizes that society and attempts to rebuild it in his own image.

Part 2: Gehn is the Worst

A thing to keep in mind before I continue is that genocidal fuckery skips generations in the myst series, opposed by those unfortunate enough to be in the odd-numbered ones.

Let me compose my thoughts here and tell y'all about Gehn, proof that good parenting does not run in the Atrus family tree. Gehn was a mixed race child to a human and a D'ni, and that came with complications, physically and socially. He suffered a lot of illness and was sickly as a kid, and no one really thought that he'd survive to adulthood - worse, his teachers and peers hoped that he wouldn't. Incredibly bright and taught by brillaint parents, he made it into the Book-Maker's guild, second only in social standing to the Writer's Guild. While there he was harrassed and bullied mercilessly by his racist classmates, and internalized that hatred, resenting his mother and idolizing his father and the D'ni culture even as it collapsed around him. When the D'ni fell, he blamed the events on his mother's arrival to the D'ni caverns, and decided to rebuild the lost civilization entirely by himself. He abandoned her to solitude while he crawled through the D'ni ruins, trying to understand a people that he only really knew in childhood.

He also had a kid with a native tribe on the surface, who he suspected had contact with the D'ni millenia in the past and were therefore worthy of his notice. The mother suffered complications during childbirth, so he brought her to Anna for help, the first time she had seen him in years. The mother died, something which Gehn also blamed Anna for, and without even looking at his child he set out back into the ruins.

Gehn, filled with ideas about D'ni supremacy, finished the work that A'gaeris set out to achieve - he pieced together the Art from books he found, and Wrote (i.e. slapped together) several unstable worlds that he dominated as a God and destroyed.

Now, imagine that you are someone who desperately wants to write a book, but can't read. Imagine you are clever enough to piece together linguistics ex nihilo but too full of yourself to actually learn how to write your own original sentences. Imagine you have a lifetime of anger and access to the complete works of the Library of Congress. You may begin to understand the "incredible chaos that my father's economy of words has yielded", as Atrus puts it at the start of Riven.

Motherfucker literally took sentences out of Shakespeare and stiched them onto Steven King paragraphs because they seemed to "work right" in the original books. This led to horribly unstable links, where contradictions, mismatched vocabulary, pacing, and tone led to worlds on the verge of collapse.

Of course, Gehn wasn't to blame. Gehn was never to blame. "It must be the ink I'm using", mr. Fuckboy thought to himself. "My moleskin notebook just isn't authentic enough to convey my brilliance".

So he did as one does and wrote worlds with the materials he needed, and people in them to exploit as a workforce. He showed up, used D'ni technology and manipulation of the link to freak out the natives, and set himself up as both their boss and a deity, who's divine commandment was "clearcut your forests and hunt your wildlife to make me books".

After four failed attempts, Gehn finally created his first working age, which he called the "Fifth" age because creativity is for soyboy losers and has no place in big boy writing. The natives called it Riven.

This world was probably his most stable work ever, which is a very low bar. It was so fucked and so kludged together that it eventually split into five seperate islands. The contradictions were also enough to eventually creat a tear in spacetime, which we'll get to in a bit.

Gehn eventually realized that he needed an assistant to help keep the world stable while he did his godly duties, so like a the deadbeat that he was, he showed up fourteen years late to take custody of his teenage son. At first enamored by his cool dad with goggles and an ancient city, Atrus's opinion of his father started to sour when he realized just how boneheaded the old man was. Without the mythologization of the Art that made the D'ni super special in the mind of Gehn, Atrus figured out something in a couple months that his father couldn't do in a couple decades: these were just words. Like, what if instead of trying to create Othello by slapping together phrases you found in a dictionary and a farmer's almanac, you just wrote something original?

Gehn was not happy with this idea - how dare this fucking child sully the Art by trying new things?! Everything good has already been written by the master race, dumb dumb, what makes you think a half breed could do better?

Gehn burned Atrus's first book.

It was around then that Atrus decided his father was a dangerous moron. When Gehn finally took him to Riven and Atrus saw what was going on there, he knew he had to do something. Meanwhile, he met a cool girl named Katran, who found his stuttering and mispronunciation of her name cute in a lame puppy kinda way.

Gehn had, in the years before he suddenly remembered he had a son, tried to recruit assistants out of the Rivenese population - Katran was his best student, and so he decided was gonna marry her. Real Frollo shit. When Katran shows Atrus the book she had written by herself in secret, Atrus scoffed. It was full of contradictions, broke every rule of Writing. The grammer didn't work, the words were out of order. It was poetry. The world she had made surpassed anything the D'ni or Gehn had thought possible. She had linked to a torus world, kept together with spin gravity - A pillar of water in the center shot out of the world on the dark side of the rim, spilling out into the stars. This blew Atrus's mind, who had adopted his father's unconscious bias that only the D'ni could Write. And here was some "primitive" native in a dying world, who had managed to create something impossible. She had groked the concept of symbiosis and dialectics in Writing, and demonstrated that contradictions work if done in a way that complement the whole. She then shows Atrus another book - this one leading to a library on a forested island - Myst.

They make plans to imprison Gehn and keep him from destroying more worlds. Atrus links into Riven and destroys all the linking books he can find leading out of it -unfortunately, his father captures him in the act, and imprisons him. Katran is not happy about this. And from their base in Myst she happens to have in her possesion the book that Gehn wrote - his fifth age. She does some editing.

Part 3: Katran is so cool in the books holy shit

Now, y'all might be going, "but Char, if Writers don't create the worlds they link into, how can they make changes and write a world into tearing itself apart?" The answer given from on high, unfortunately for us, is quantum mechanics.

You see, when you write a book, you essentially are referring to a place in the multiverse that matches your description. In the Myst universe, everything that hasn't been observed/described yet is in a combination of all possible states. So you can't really write in a forest fire if the forest's climate is already described and precludes the possibility without risking linking to an entirely different age, but you can describe the unseen/undescribed tectonics to cause a lava flow. This also means that unstable worlds like Riven become even harder to patch the more you try, because you can't really take anything written back or remove observed inconsistencies without linking to an entirely different place filled with strangers.

This does mean though, that the Writers of these books have a horrific amount of power over the future of the worlds they link to, and shitty writers will doom all that live there.

So, with that in mind, Katran, seeing her boyfriend trapped by his abusive dad, decides that, actually, metors in the shape of GIANT KNIVES exist, and have always existed, moving inexorably through the unobserved void of space over countless eons in a direct collision course with her homeworld. There were probably less metal options, but Katran was not interested in those.

The collision and resulting earthquake opens Atrus's prison cell and the patch job that Gehn had done to contain the rip in spacetime his shitty writing had caused, and he soon learns a timeless lesson: never, ever, *ever* piss off your editor. The final showdown has Katran linking in to save her nerdy damsel boyfriend in distress, while his father rants about being God and air gets sucked, howling, into the void between worlds. They put up their finger at him and walk backwards into the void, linking out while he sputters at them and all of Katran's childhood bullies stare at the power couple in religious awe.

I may be editorializing a bit here.

The Myst linking book, the last way out of Riven, tumbles through the vastness of not-space, far away from the pretentious self-hating clutches of the world's worst writer with a god-complex... and ends up almost clocking a random hiker in New Mexico as it tumbles back to the most improbable place imaginable, the place where it all started.

This is where a 90's point and click computer game about pipe management begins.

Once on Myst, Atrus discovers that Anna, 100% done with her son's bullshit, had actually done the responsible thing and followed him into the caverns when he was collected by his deadbeat dad. She had written Myst and given it to her grandson's more competent significant other and helped orchestrate the rescue attempt in secret. Katran and Atrus then lived happily ever after had some more shitty kids.

Part 4: Pipe Management and Terrible Children

Turns out, Atrus was too busy writing journals, trying to figure out a future for what was left of the D'ni after generations of fuckery, and stopping Riven from completely collapsing to really do the whole genocide talk with his sons. And I assume Katran was too busy doing hot girl shit. So they kinda left their sons to run amok with the native populations of peaceful tree dwellers and waterworld survivors.

The sons weren't motivated, as Gehn was, by some imagined past empire, or as A'gaeris was, by some deep seated hatred of the culture that denied him a spot at the top. They just really liked it when people licked their boots, both in and out of the bedroom. Maybe they were a shitty influence on each other, in the way that fuckboys are. Or maybe the Atrus family just has the star wars gene. In any case, the brothers suck each world that their father let them loose on dry to satisfy their endless greed and bloodlust.

Achenar, the violent one, has torture devices in the rooms you stumble on on the game, holograms designed to scare the natives (something he picked up on from gramps, maybe), poisons, and a torture chamber filled with human remains.

Sirius, the greedy one, has chambers filled with jewels, fine wines and silks, hidden daggers, plundered wealth and thrones.

Atrus's solution when he learns about this was "Oh no, we better send them to a nice friendly age with nice innocent people who will show them how to be kind and stuff" and there goes Channelwood.

They were not taught how to Write, ironically because Atrus was worried about their maturity and didn't want another Gehn in the family. He also forbade them use two books. You see, Atrus was feeling guilty about trapping his father on Riven - not because he was torn up about his dear old dad, but because he had basically trapped him in with a bunch of innocent villagers who he was taking his anger out on. So he had been working with Katran on a plan to trap pops in a prison age, similar to how Veovis was trapped.

This plan involved two prototype books called Trap Books - books that *look* like they're gonna link to somewhere fun, but instead trap the linker in the void between worlds. He had realized that having a library of books sitting around for anyone who may stumble on a myst linking book to fuck with was not a a good idea, so he put the trap books on the shelves with the rest for extra security. There they would sit undisturbed until he was ready to face Gehn again. Or so he thought.

Sirius and Achenar, not content with simply fucking up Channelwood, embarked on an omnicidal mission - they exploited, terrorized, exterminated, and burnt every book in Atrus's collection they could get their grubby paws on. When Atrus realized what was going on, he tried to return home, but was tricked into linking to D'ni with his Myst book tampered with. Katran was similarly tricked into linking to Riven. These fuckos, thinking themselves kings of the multiverse, started to wonder about the two forbidden books - was dear ol' dad hiding the best jewels and slaves from them? Was this his secret stash?

...And this is how we find the Atrus family when the MC links to the island.

These idiots plead their case to the Stranger, each blaming the ruination of Atrus's collection on the other, and ask you to free them by collecting all the link pages that Atrus had torn out of the trap books and scattered across his surviving worlds. After some excellent pipe management, you collect enough pages for both for them to let slip that "hey, don't check out that green book in the hidden room, just get me the last page buddy". Of course inside the green book is a very irate Atrus, pissed off that this has happened a second time in his family's history. You free Atrus, he throws his sons into a fire, and they live happily ever afterfuck we forgot about Katran.

Part 5: The part where I spoil all of Riven (please go play this its so good)

So Atrus gives the stranded hiker (you) a deal - help him free his captive wife, get rid of a tyrannical godking, and evacuate the Riven people utilizing your incredible birdwatching skills and pipe management experience. In exchange, you are given a way home to your retail job. You pick him up on the offer, because confrontation makes you socially anxious.

You are captured almost immediately, and the prison book you brought with you confiscated by the cops. Fortunately, you happen to be on the same world that Katran was tricked to, and she has been *busy*. An antifa supersoldier knocks out the guard, takes the book to someone competent, and lets you out of jail.

Turns out Katran did the sensible thing and has been fomenting rebellion against god from the second she realized her sons were the worst. Meanwhile, you bumble around the islands for a bit, fixing their pipes and learning how to count while guerilla forces fight for their freedom.

You eventually learn that Gehn has been successfully (by some definition), writing books. Fuck. Not willing to let the Wheel of Time author loose on an unsuspecting multiverse again, you manage to apply your birdwatching skills and locate the rebel base. All according to plan. After beating you up a bit, they let you know that Katran has been locked up, presumably after trying to take down Gehn with fisticuffs, idk. Turns out that Katran and Atrus's exit was kinda a big deal, and led to a weird offshoot religion where they worship Katran and... Atrus for some reason. They formed a secret society known as the Moeity, who use the space knives as sacred symbols. Katran uses her exile in Riven to build a world with a secret treehouse for them to hang out in.

This treehouse.

You go to Gehn's HQ, trick him into linking into your prison book ("oooh nooo haha don't steal my only way home >_>") and set Katran free. You signal Atrus that the mission is a success by opening the star fissure and starting the collapse of the world while Katran evacuates her people. He shows up, thanks you, and you jump into the star fissure, returning to the 9 to 5 grind. It is lucky that the star fissure ends up opening in Anna's backyard a couple miles away from the D'ni cavern, because Atrus and his family getting into situations that can only be solved with pipe management skills.

Part 6: The final book

The last part of the story I want to talk about is from the Book of D'ni, arguably the weakest of the Myst Reader trilogy, set shortly after the events of Riven, I think. It's about Atrus finding D'ni survivors in linking books, and trying to figure out how they're going to rebuild, but Do It Right This Time(tm).

Eventually they unearth a massive ancient linking book underneath the zero point - the original linking location of Earth's descriptive book, and central location in the D'ni cavern. Turns out one of the original D'ni who fled to Earth decided to bring a linking book back home. This book leads to an age called Tehranee (no, seriously), where they encounter a thriving Ronay (the D'ni race) civilization on a lush paradise world. These people, who all live in massive opulent ziggurat palaces the size of cities, welcome the descendents of their wayward cousins who decided to fuck off ten millenia prior, and offer the D'ni survivors refuge in their utopia. Inside the palaces they live in the lap of luxury, playing games with mechanical contraptions and mazes, eating amazing food, having stimulating intellectual conversations and parties.

The other shoe drops when Atrus n' pals realize that the walls are unusually thick, and discover the slave races imported from a hundred thousand different worlds that toil and perish out of sight of the ronay so they can play their stupid games. There is a part where they realize that an indoor waterfall is literally powered by a crank - some poor person is forced to toil at the pump so they can have a water feature. So! Turns out there was a reason why the D'ni have a taboo about writing worlds with people in them - Because this shit right here is what they wanted to escape.

In a fitting end to the tehranee, the survivors happen to have brought A'gaeris's plague with them, having developed an immunity to it. The slaveowners all perish to smallpox, and the slaves lead a revolution.

The big takeaway Atrus has after his summer vacation is that maaaaaybe rebuilding the ronay civilization is not such a good idea. So he decides to close the sordid chapters of Tehranee, A'gaeris, Gehn, and his sons, and build a new age for all D'ni and the inhabitants of the worlds they touched, to live in harmony together.

Conclusions

Every story after this is kinda added on, I feel that this covers the main storyline. Atrus and Katran eventually have another kid, this one they parent way too well to overcompensate and ends up becoming the D'ni'satz Haderach.

Thanks y'all so much for listening to me ramble about a series really close to my heart - sorry for the tense issues, this was really stream of consciousness.

Oh! One last piece of worldbuilding I find Neat is the D'ni guild of Maintainers - they had the unfortunate job of being OSHA for books. When they found a unusual book or discovered one that had little to no info on the other side, they would link into it to make sure it wasn't leading to the center of a gas giant or covered in poisonous spiders. They did this while wearing something called an EV suit - a big bulky hazmat suit made of special Rock designed to be nigh unbreakable. The gauntlet had a linking book back home built into it, with a temporary membrane acting as a timer in case the inspector gets knocked out. There has only been one recorded instance of the EV suit being damaged by unfavorable conditions - The inspector had the misfortune of linking into a book just as its star went supernova (the helmet got a tiny crack in it).

Book of Ti'anna showed us the consequences of a racist, isolationist culture so fragile that, for all talk about stability and millenia of continued status quo, it collapses after it encounters a single person from the outside world.

Book of Atrus shows us what happens when an egomaniac fetishizes a glorified view of a mythic past and builds a fascist police state. It also shows just how incompetent and hateful such a worldview makes a person.

Myst shows us that even barring contact with some original historical sin, the atrocities from the past will come back to haunt us if we aren't vigilant against the impulses of greed and hatred.

Riven shows us that revolution is the only answer against fascism.

Finally, the Book of D'ni reveals what happens when fascism wins. It shows that the past was Terrible, Actually, and we should focus on building a future, rather than attempting to go back to some imagined golden age.

I think Myst:Exile shows how the past cannot simply be buried, however. Some victim from the past comes back for vengeance against Sirius and Achenar and steals Atrus's book, i.e. the future of the D'ni. Myst:Revelations is about forgiveness and redemption, and book five is about book jesus? idk. Uru is about saving a dying videogame studio before it gets bought out. Not sure if it's about anything else, I've been stuck on a puzzle since 2019.

Till next time.

[vorish-wonderland]

Hi again! I think it might be interesting to do a fic where Malleus is the pred and Sebek is the prey? There’s a few different ways you could go with Sebek’s reaction to being eaten. The obvious thought would be that he might be excited, but maybe he’d be kinda scared? It’s up to you!

Includes: Sebek Zigvolt, safe vore, soft vore, semi-unwilling prey, mention of dragon-form Malleus

✭✶Deepest Desire?!✶✭

☆ﾟ⁠.⁠*⁠･⁠｡ﾟ☆ﾟ⁠.⁠*⁠･⁠｡ﾟ☆ﾟ⁠.⁠*⁠･⁠｡ﾟ☆ﾟ⁠.⁠*⁠･⁠｡ﾟ☆ﾟ⁠.⁠*⁠･⁠｡ﾟ

"...ah... are you sure about this, Lord Malleus...?"

"Certainly, Sebek, this is the fastest way of travel, I learned it from the child of man." Malleus looked very confident. "You see, the innards provide safe cushioning and impossibility of falling off while I fly. You will be safe and contained." He paused for a moment. "At least, I think that's what they said..."

"It's just... I would never wish to question you, Lord Malleus... however..." Sebek looks forward into the large, cavernous maw of the dragon in front of him. "I've never heard of this before... and... I don't believe this has ever been documented in any book..."

"No, it has not." Malleus sounded weirdly proud of that fact. "As I have said, the child of man is the one who told me about this, they say they learned of it from a television programme from their world. How interesting, is it not? ...Shroud seemed strangely interested in it as well."

"Wait, so this hasn't even been tested-?!"

"Oh Sebek, There's no way to test something without trying it!" Malleus laughs to himself. "In you go."

Sebek was still quite unsure of this.

Nevertheless, Sebek believed and trusted in his Lord Malleus! He would never lead him astray! And so, preparing himself for whatever may come, Sebek steps into the mouth as it snaps shut behind him.

The throat of a dragon is quite long, and very tight too... quite uncomfortable and slimy... but Sebek, for some reason, did not want to complain. Not just because it was Malleus, but he was... very strangely... excited...?

"See, Sebek? Not so bad, is it~?" He can hear Malleus ask from the outside.

"Uh... well... I..." Sebek is, for some reason, having a hard time articulating his thoughts right now.

"No need to speak, I'll just assume you like it. Now, just sit back and enjoy the flight."

So then, now in the stomach of a dragon... it's surprisingly soft... surprisingly comfortable. Warm, soft, dark, the perfect place for a nap...

Sebek knows he doesn't want to be in here, and he wants the flight to be over already (though he could never tell Lord Malleus that)... however, there's a part of him that wants this to keep going... to stay forever, despite how he knows he truly feels...

...he starts to hear something.

A horrible, unpleasant, screeching noise...

It slowly gets louder and louder until-

BEEP-BEEP-BEEP-BEEP RIIIIIIING... RIIIIIIING...

Sebek looks upward, looking at the ceiling of his bedroom... wait, his bedroom?!

BEEP-BEEP-BEEP-BEEP RIIIIIIING... RIIIIIIING...

Ah, that's what the noise is... the same thing every Diasomnia student hears every morning, Silver's various alarm clocks all going off at once at 06:00 in the morning exactly.

Sebek was actually fairly glad to wake up, because that means everything that happened was a dream! Being eaten by Lord Malleus, his complicated feelings, his secret excitement about it, it all wasn't real!!

Sebek does his hair in the mirror, gets into his school uniform, prepares everything he needs for the day, and proceeds to the kitchen for breakfast.

Malleus, Lilia, and Silver are also in the kitchen.

"Hmph. Good to see you're awake on time for once, Silver." Sebek says, crossing his arms and closing his eyes proudly.

"Oh, good morning, Sebek! Good to see you so mentally well!" Lilia says to him... for some reason.

"Did you have a good sleep?" Malleus asks, drinking a cup of tea.

"Yes, I had quite a restful sleep, and I feel very well this morning." Sebek explains, lightly hitting his own chest. "Though... I did have a very strange dream."

"Yes, I did too." Silver says. "Actually, we all did, everyone in the dorm. Apparently the "herb" Father used in last night's dinner was actually blushroot... which causes you to dream about your strangest, most embarrassing, deepest desire... one you might not even know you have."

"My mistake!" Lilia smiles.

...

Why was that dream his supposedly deepest desire?????????????????

[humanitys-strongest-bamf]

i had a dream out of nowhere about underground levi and it's sad af :')

Purpose | Canonverse Angst Oneshot

✧ word count ➼ 1.6k ✧ notes ➼ canonverse, angst but at least it's not too sad of an ending, surprisingly not an x reader lmao, levi is maybe like early-20's in this, kinda canon divergent i guess because i don't remember if manga ACWNR detailed how he met the trio, blood, references to bad boy, this is the first thing i've written in months oops ✧ warnings: blood, canonverse-typical violence, references to bad boy but no explicit mentions of anything other than the teacup and his awakening, some descriptions that align with depression

Life in the Underground was hell. You were constantly fighting for survival, there was the stench of rot and decay in the air, and any sense of ethics was abandoned for the sake of just trying to survive the day. Even a basic necessity such as sleep was a luxury that Levi couldn't afford.

The only advantage that Levi had was his strength. He didn't know where it came from or why, just that it kicked in every time he was in a life or death situation. That, and also the fact that Kenny just happened to leave immediately after he had unlocked it. The only thing that this strength seemed to have given him was misery and abandonment, and an inability to die. He didn't know why he had it or what the purpose of it was other than basic survival, which seemed to be his only purpose right now. It felt like an empty one, and one that didn't have a conclusion to be fulfilled. What was he surviving for?

Levi currently found himself hiding in an alleyway, having barely evaded a group of thugs that he had stolen food from. There were more of them than he thought, with some of them having caught up to him when he was first trying to escape.

He knew that he could fight and defeat those thugs, although his fights generally ended with bloodshed. Levi really hated killing and this life of violence, but found himself dragged into it constantly. The death around him was filthy and just generally wasn't something he liked to participate in unless he's had to. Unfortunately, he's found himself having to more times than not.

The thugs that had originally found him were a bit harder to fight off, and Levi currently found himself cut up and bruised. His abilities had helped him avoid any fatal attacks, with his body just moving on its own, but he couldn't deny that a significant part of him lacked the motivation to continue moving forward. If it wasn't for his abilities, he probably would have succumbed to his injuries already.

He was tired and hadn't eaten properly in days, being dehydrated and generally exhausted. His powers and instincts were the only things keeping him alive, and he found himself on the verge of just giving up.

Levi leaned against the wall in exhaustion, briefly shutting his eyes. They immediately shot back open when he heard a familiar voice that wasn't actually there.

"This is pathetic."

Levi clenched his jaw upon hearing the voice of the man that had both saved and forsaken him.

"What the hell did I save you for if you were just going to roll over and die once you were grown?"

Kenny wasn't actually there. Levi knew that, yet the comment still seemed to gnaw away at him.

Why did Kenny save him? All those years ago, Kenny came in and saved him, fed him, and then left him shortly after. As unfortunate as it was, Kenny was the only thing he had that was somewhat like a family ever since his mother passed away, and Kenny could barely count as family.

The one light of his life from back then was indeed his mother. Yet, he hadn't been back to her room ever since he had broken that one teacup that seemed to send the world crashing down on him. It was a painful memory to relive, and one that he had avoided for years.

Levi looked up towards the top of the cavern that served as a "sky" for the Underground, his eyes falling back down onto the brothel that his mother used to work at, and where he used to live before she died. It wasn't too far.

He wasn't sure why he wanted to go back. The last time he was there, he had lost the last physical thing that served as a memory of her. Yet, he still found himself dragging his exhausted and injured body towards it.

The back entrance that he used to crawl through as a kid was much easier to get through back then, although he hadn't actually grown that much in terms of height.

The room was still unoccupied. The door creaked as he slowly opened it, noting that it was on the verge of falling off the hinges. The bed still had an indent from where his mother layed before she passed.

Levi stepped inside, and found himself batting away at the dust that seemed to be floating still in the air. He looked over to the side and saw the closet where he had used to hide in whenever his mother had a customer. It was still cracked open. He remembered it smelling like rotten wood. He could imagine it still smelling like that now.

He slowly stepped through the room, brief memories of his time here occasionally popping up in the back of his head. His eyes eventually fell upon the balcony, where he saw that the shards from that one teacup that he had broken all those years ago were still there.

He remembered building up a dam that contained his grief and misery back then, and how it had all come crashing down the minute that teacup shattered. To anyone else, it was just a cheap piece of porcelain that was easily replaced. For him, it was the last thing that held him together, forcing him to feel his grief once it finally broke apart.

It was over a decade since then, and the grief still hurt now that he was back.

His eyebrows scrunching together into a frown, Levi slowly bent over and picked up the broken pieces, neatly piling it back onto the table. His nose raised up in disgust upon seeing the dust on his hands afterwards.

Life in this rotten shithole really was the definition of misery.

Back then, he was too young to really process just how shitty the Underground was. He just remembered his mom, and although life was still generally miserable, those brief moments of respite with her—even something as simple as sipping on some tea on their small balcony—made it bearable. Now that he was alone, he was finding himself struggling to find a purpose.

Although he was lost in his head for some time, his attention immediately snapped back into the presence upon hearing a commotion below. Levi looked towards the ground level and saw a young girl on the run from a group of thugs. She had stolen something and there were now a group of thugs chasing after her. It reminded him of the group that had almost beaten him within an inch of his life right before his abilities activated.

He shouldn't have cared. No one cared enough to intervene back then. The only person that claimed to have "saved" him was pulling shit out of their ass in an attempt to save themselves.

Yet, something didn't sit right with him about just watching that little girl get chased down. She was losing speed, looked exhausted, and the thugs chasing after her were the type where death seemed much more merciful than getting captured alive.

Levi knew he was in no physical shape to fight or intervene, but he found himself vaulting over the edge of the balcony, reacting based off instinct. Except this time, there was something other than survival driving his senses. He had to save this child from meeting that fate. He'd deal with everything else after.

The thugs were caught off-guard by the presence of another throwing themselves into the middle of the fight. There were half a dozen of them and Levi was relatively small as a person, so their surprise didn't last very long.

Yet, not a single hit landed. Levi was dodging every punch and tackle. Compared to the thugs that he had been dealing with, this group was a piece of cake. On top of that, Levi felt like he had more drive, and that the sluggishness that came from his lack of motivation didn't seem to be there anymore.

It was only a matter of time before he took the half a dozen thugs down. He was covered in blood that wasn't his own, and it felt gross like always. However, he couldn't be bothered with that right now. The only thing on his mind was checking on that one girl who was now hiding around the corner.

She had red ponytails that were starting to come undone from the scuffle. She was definitely still a young child, having barely reached her pre-teens. She was thin, clearly malnourished, and had ragged clothes that indicated that she had been living on the streets for quite some time.

Levi knew that the life she lived was not rare. In fact, it was the same one that he had lived, except this girl likely did not have the same abilities that he did.

He hated those abilities for a long time, with them bringing him nothing but misery and abandonment, death and destruction. Yet, a thought in the back of his head began to form, one that told him that those same abilities could be used for something other than senseless violence in the name of his own survival. He could use his strength to protect kids like her from having the same fate that he would have had if his powers had not kicked in back then, and if he fell into the hands of those smugglers.

He could use his strength to protect, and find a purpose other than surviving for what seemed like a meaningless existence.

Living in the Underground was hell—but protecting this child, and the other children, elderly, and poor that could not afford to protect themselves, gave him just enough purpose to continue moving forward.

# (i know it's been a minute so pls lmk if you wanna be removed): @chaotic-on-main @levisbrat25 @leviismybby @moonmalice @averysmolbear @cathybarn @tclbts @bejewelledd @sad-darksoul @ackermendick @aomi04 @apolloshaiku @laraackerman @pulpolicia @raenacreates @nube55 @roseofdarknessblog @noctemys @sixpennydame @dumbdollyx @heichoucleanfreak @catskze @nixie-writes-aot @la-undercover-latina @v4mp-wife @darkstarlight82 @professorweezy @braunsbabe @lovedbylevi @issacovegx @captainleviswifee @mrsmiagreer @youre-ackermine @starrylevi @levilxvr @ackrmntea @levis-squishy-cheeks @evas-leslas @mrsmiagreer @mikko-lyn join my taglist!

[banjjakz]

➡ Fall asleep.

When you blink back into consciousness, a gentle warmth welcomes you to the land of the living. At some point in your slumber, you pitched sideways to huddle your achingly cold bones in a fetal position. Now, you find yourself struggling to activate your joints after succumbing to a slumber so deep it’s seemed to have left you with rigor mortis.

As you sit up, an unfamiliar layer of fuzzy fabric slides from your shoulders. A blanket! Ah, that explains the extra warmth. But you don’t remember bringing a blanket with you… and you’ve never seen this particular blanket in your entire life. Sure, it’s cozy and high-quality, but the pattern of wide-open eyes littered across the black cloth is off-putting – although, not entirely unpleasant.

Oh shoot, did someone put this on you? Have you been discovered?

“Hello.”

Spooked, you whip your head to the side, where you had not even registered the presence of another living being. “Ahh!!!”

“I did not mean to frighten you. I apologize.”

Are you – are you dreaming?

You must be dreaming. They term isn’t “yumejoshi” for no reason. There is no way Choso squats in front of you, less than a meter away, so close that you can smell his earthy, metallic fragrance. He hasn’t even changed out of his stage costume: his customary white robes are still soaked through with sweat from the earlier performance, gracing the pale fabric a tantalizing semi-translucence. His purple gi is nowhere to be found, which exposes the unholy caverns of his collarbones, the inviting jut of his skeletal sternum. The signature pigtails are also undone, leaving his stringy black hair to metastasize down the sides of his gaunt face, across the barren valley of his jagged shoulder blades. And yet, that solid bar of black remains perfectly applied across the center of his face.

“…Nn?”

“Are you alright?”

Choso stays where he is, head cocked in concern. Quickly, you realize you have two options.

You can tell the truth and admit that you’d been waiting outside just to see him walk a few paces before getting into a nondescript vehicle. Totally normal fan behavior that will definitely go over well.

Or, you can lie.

“I-I don’t have anywhere else to go,” you demure, casting your eyes down in false bashfulness. You would feel bad about this if you were a better person.  “And the memories from ShinShow’s performances always sustain me…I just thought, if I could enjoy the positive energy for a little while longer…I would be sustained. I’m sorry…”

“Why do you apologize?”

One of Choso’s most appealing charming points is his overly formal, somewhat antiquated manner of speaking. He sounds like a historical figure who has been yanked from the past, inserted haphazardly into contemporary pop culture. Very fitting for his lore. But you’d also been under the assumption that this was merely a stage act – is he that committed to his image? Or is it innate?

The thought of Choso simply being Like That is too endearing to bear. You hide your face behind your palms, concealing the tremulous smile that possesses your lips.

“It’s embarrassing… and I’ve troubled Choso-nii…”

The last thing you expect are cold, impossibly cold, hands to wrap around your wrists, kindly (but firmly) uncovering your face. Choso has drawn closer to you, so close that when he breathes, it brushes the bridge of your nose.

His face is impassive, as usual – but upon closer inspection, you notice a strange, wavering quality in his eyes, a slight tremor in his lips. There might actually be color on the tips of his ears. Usually, he appears as though he is so pale there is no blood coursing through his veins that could produce a blush.

Evidently, this is not the case.

“Choso-nii is not troubled,” he states plainly, leaving no room for argument. “The night is no place for a little one to be sleeping unguarded.”

Oh, you could faint here and now. It’s an active choice on your part to remain conscious. “Mn…”

“You will come with me now.”

And so you do.

This is how you find yourself in the back of an unmarked, utilitarian white van. To anyone else the vehicle would appear as little more than a maintenance truck. But you know better.

Inside the living-quarters is a mish-mash of discarded clothing items in varying degrees of cleanliness; discarded guitar picks; empty takeout containers; and a random jumble of electronic chargers. Inexplicably, there is also an abundance of first-aid supplies, with over half of it apparently already used. As he sits you down on one of the distressed leather seats, Choso uses the medical kit to tend to a few scrapes on your legs and arms earned from your impromptu nap on the concrete.

“It’s really not that bad…You don’t have to—”

“Enough.”

Embarrassed, you shut your mouth. How do you even cope with this situation? Here you are, in the back of your oshi’s travel van, as he sits on his knees in front of you, hands impatiently pushing your clothes away to reveal your bare skin. His touch leeches the body heat out of you like a parasite. You want to be sucked dry.

“This will sting.” That’s all the warning you get before hydrogen peroxide is unceremoniously dumped on your fresh scrapes.

Unbidden, you let out a strangled whine, hands flying to the closest part of him you can reach – which happens to be his head. You clutch at his hair to absolve you of your suffering. “Choso-nii! It hurts!”

Ker-thlunk. Glug… glug… glug…

Fuck! Your spasming must have knocked over the hydrogen peroxide…. the upended bottle spills its guts across the floor, drenching the air in an oppressively medicinal stink.

Oddly, no irritancy mars Choso’s features. If anything, he looks more flustered than you feel, which doesn’t make much sense to you.

“I’m so sorry! I c-can clean it up, I promise---”

“Leave it.” He speaks without meeting your eyes. “You are injured.”

Barely, you want to retort. But acknowledging the fact that your so-called “injuries” are very minor surface scrapes would shatter the illusory bubble of realized fantasy into which you have miraculously stumbled.

Before you can reply, Choso continues: “The human mouth is the fastest-healing part of the body. Saliva heals.”

“Okay,” you say, because there is nothing else you could possibly respond with. He can’t mean—surely, he doesn’t—

But there he goes, leaning in close to the supple flesh of your bared leg, breath ghosting along the very surface, raising the hairs that quiver in eager anticipation. “I said I would help you feel better. Please allow me this. It is my duty.”

And then he begins to suck on your wounds.

“Oh-kay,” you squeal, entirely convinced that you have begun to astral project. The scrape on the inside of your knee is laved over by his tongue, which is, strangely, just as chilled as the rest of him. When his eyes flick up at your exclamation, you realize that you have yet to release his hair.

Nor do you want to.

“B-be gentle, please…” You’re laying it on thick. You know it. How could you resist? He’s eating it up – literally – mouthing repeatedly over the sensitive area as though he is spiritually compelled to do so. And just because you’re a little too observant, a little too greedy for your own good, you decide to push your luck: “Will Choso-nii make me feel better everywhere?”

With a wet pop, he unleashes your leg from his wet, red mouth. “Where does it hurt,” he asks, pupils blown wide, nothing more than a twin pair of black holes.

“Mn…all over…I’m sore, from sleeping on the ground…”

Choso rises from his knees to crowd you into the back of the seat. Of course, you willingly melt back, pliant in the wake of his potent desire.

“Do you need Choso-nii to make it better?”

“Please,” you whimper, peering up at him through your dewy, tear-damp lashes.

Holy shit, you can’t believe this actually worked. Two hours ago, you were just one of hundreds of faceless, sweaty fans, screaming their hearts out to some of the most hauntingly morbid lyrics.

And now, you are caged in the unforgiving embrace of your oshi, completely at his mercy, littered in hickeys and lovebites and bruises as he has his way with you. Your sharp cries of pain do the opposite of dissuade him; with each groan and plea for him to slow down, take a pause, ow, ow, it hurts Choso-nii--, he grows all the more impassioned, all the more frantic.

He only pulls away from you when there is not a single inch of exposed skin left for him to mark. The sound of your comingled pants fill the van, fogging the windows with physical evidence of your salacious tryst.

Neither of you speak for a moment, content to simply gaze into each other’s eyes. His hair is frazzled every which way, due in no small part to your rough handling. Is it normal to be turned on by such a trainwreck of a human? Should you really be wet between the thighs at being mauled?

“Do—” his voice cracks in a way you have never heard before, not on any livestream, not in any video, not on any stage. “Do you feel better, now?”

Maybe it’s fate…maybe, somewhere out there, far, far away, there is a benevolent being who wants nothing but the best for you. Maybe they concentrated their divine powers into finding you, in this moment, and directing your gaze to the loose pocketknife innocently resting on the grimy floor next to his clunky black platforms. In this moment, as you pick up the blade, unsheathing it without breaking eye contact with the ghoulish specter hovering above you, an inexplicable wave of love and appreciation washes over you, bathing your half-dressed body in the warm waters of some distant, far-off shore.

It's almost too easy to slice a surface wound – a cat-scratch, really – into the plush swell of your upper thigh.

“What about here, Choso-nii?” You ask, enraptured by the peculiar twitching of his facial muscles. “Can you kiss it better right here?”

Once again, you are right on the money.

Choso dives to chase the rivulet of blood running down your leg like a man stumbling across an oasis in the desert. Devotionally, he tongues at the gory slit, sucking more blood from your self-inflicted wound, moaning as if he is the one being pleasured right now. In a strange way, you think he might be.

Your initial quick-thinking unleashes an outlandish chain reaction which finds you, inevitably, entirely unclothed with a not-insignificant amount of reddening slashes across your naked form. When it’s all said and done, Choso will tend to each and every cut, diligently disinfecting and dressing the disrupted flesh, allowing you to weakly tug at his hair (now pulled back from his face into two twin pigtails) when it burns.

Upon the final swipe of antibacterial ointment, you are halfway in dreamland, barely cognizant enough to recognize that you should probably be getting the hell out of here, at this point. However, shunning reason and common sense is the exact behavior that’s gotten you this far – so you decide to stick to what you know.

“Choso-nii,” you murmur groggily into the leather seat. “Blanket?”

“What blanket?”

His confusion is confusing you. “The one you gave me… ‘s cold…”

“…I did not give you a blanket.” For the first time since he’d picked you up behind the venue, Choso’s voice sounds grounded in reality. Released from the shackles of lust and taboo desire, he speaks with lucid candor. “Was that blanket not yours?”

“Nope,” you hum, blissfully dazed. “Where ‘s ‘t?”

Sleep descends upon your worn, battered form before you hear his answer.

Oh well. As long as Choso-nii is nearby, you have nothing to worry about.

[ROUTE CLEAR.]

next suggested route: okkotsu yuuta

> main menu > prologue > guide

> report an issue

[prismaticpichu]

Hey uhh… could I maybe suggest some ZackSeph fluff in the Gold Saucer? Like helping him win little plushies and stuff? 🥺👉👈💞

Heck yeah you can, my friend!!!!! That is TOO cute!!!! 😭😭😭❤️💕

~

ZackSeph, Gold Saucer Floof: Rigged Toss!

When Zack came bounding into his office that Friday afternoon, asking him with a luminous smile if he would like to take a trip to the Gold Saucer once off-duty, Sephiroth thought the answer would be obvious. What a ludicrous question… bubbled the reflexive response in his throat. Do you have any idea as to what kind of people spend their time and money at such a nauseating establishment? Do you really think you’ll be entertained by ferris wheels and video games of lower quality than the ones you own now? Do you truly think that is an appropriate place for SOLDI…

Somehow, the question had ended up dying on Sephiroth’s tongue, dissolving away into nothingness as he stared at those jubilant blue eyes gazing sunrays into his own. Maybe it was magic; a spell, some kind hypnosis, some kind of hidden mana of Zack’s to manipulate and change his mind.

Or maybe it was just that Angeal would say the same things he so desperately wanted to.

Regardless, as they stood within the bustling prism that was the Gold Saucer, bathed in all its blinding lights and golden roars, Sephiroth couldn’t help but spare a glance at Zack; smiling, a bag of caramel popcorn in his hands, his eyes wide and glistening and full of untainted youth that stood strong even after bracing the horrors of this world…

And Sephiroth knew he made the right decision.

“Having fun?” the warrior asked sincerely, veiled in a rich black cloak both he and Zack had suggested would be best to wear, granting them a private and un-swarmed experience at the theme park.

Zack turned to him with a grin of lightning. “Heck yeah I am! It’s everything a guy could ever dream of!”

“Heh.” Sephiroth chuckled. “You have quite the dreams then, my friend.”

Zack melted a little at the comment, beaming. “Yeah? And you helped them come true! One-hundred and ten percent attained!”

“Well… I don’t know about that.” Sephiroth crossed his arms, idly wondering what the other ten percent of that achievement was going toward. “You could have always come with your other companions. People who you wouldn’t have to persuade.”

“Yeah, but where’s the fun in that?” Zack laughed, then adding with a playful elbow, “Besides! Need someone to make sure I’m being responsible. Keep me in-check.”

“Oh? Is that what I’ve been doing?”

“Sure!”

Sephiroth eyed the bagged snack in his friend’s hand—also known as his “double dessert” after a funnel cake, cheeseburger, macaroni bites, a whole other plethora of fried food wherein Sephiroth couldn’t even remember their contents, an ice cream cone, lemonade, cotton candy, and a Mako Monster energy drink.

…Hmm.

“Well.” Sephiroth gave way to another chuckle, his eyes softening to something warm and genuine as he reached out to fondly ruffle his lieutenant’s nest of spikes. He couldn’t help it. “You know I said I’d look out for you.

Zack’s expression melted even further under the gesture, words and names unspoken tying them together, a touched and loving countenance brightening the prismatic night

Sephiroth couldn’t help but mirror it.

He was about to say something further when, suddenly, Zack pulled away, blue eyes widening to gaping oceanic caverns as his arm flew up like a bullet.

“Holy herring… look at that!”

Blinking, it took a Sephiroth a few moments to figure out exactly where Zack was pointing, peering through the starry clusters of tourists and decorations to eventually find he was directing toward none other than one of those classic carnival stands across the plaza.

Or, more specially, pointing at the gargantuan stuffed prizes flaunted above it.

…

Oh no.

Ohhh n—

“C’mon, bud…!”

And he was being yanked across the square, the hood of his nunnish cloak bobbing with the motion as they raced toward the stand, two chains linked, only coming to a stop once they were directly in front of the semi-startled employee.

“Whatcha gotta do to win one of those guys?!” Zack chirped, bullet-hand shooting toward the jumbo Elfadunk, Behemoth, Mu, Tonberry, Chocobo, Moogle, Cactuar, and—

Oh.

OH.

Oh you gotta be be kidding him—

Why was there was a jumbo Sephiroth plushie?

He pulled the cloak over him further.

“S’Real simple!” the employee drawled, then gestured to the game behind him—a phalanx of colorful bottles and a load of plastic rings stacked beside them. “Just gotta land every ring you got. Don’t miss a single one; our biggest prize is yours!”

“Sweeet!” Zack chirped. “Whad’ya say, bud? Should I try it?”

“Mmm?” Sephiroth blinked, snapping away from the exaggerated feline bowling balls that were the plushies eyes. “Oh—yes. Of course.” He withdrew the Game Pass from his pocket, having bought it upon Zack’s request that he wanted the full experience, then showing it to the employee like an ID for the Honeybee Inn. A nod and hum of approval later, and Zack was being a hand an arsenal of elliptical projectiles.

“Alright…” Zack took a couple steps back, steadying himself as if ready to pitch a fastball. “Let’s do this!”

“Take your time,” Sephiroth advised, watching Zack’s eyes crackle. “Concentr—“

And he was flinging the rings, one after another, thrusting them over the bottled terrain in rapid succession—one, two, three, four, five, six, seven.

Miss.

Miss.

Miss.

Miss.

Miss.

Hi—no, miss.

Miss.

“Aww, darn.” Zack signed once he was out of projectiles. “Was close.”

Sephiroth shook his head.

“Good shot,” came his (rather pitying) response, the man tossing him a smile as he reached over to collect all the ricocheted rings. “Sorry, kid. But good news! You do get one prize for skimming one of the bottles.”

“I do?” Zack’s eyes lit up. “What is it?”

“This here!” the employee chirped, bending down retrieve something from behind the stand, then straightening back up to reveal a—

Oh.

Oh for the LOVE OF—

“A Sephiroth duckie!” Zack burst into spirited laughter, happily accepting the small rubber toy offered to him. “Thank you!”

Sephiroth studied the cursed toy, a plastic cascade of silver hair racing down its coated back and slitted green orbs staring death in the eye over a cheddar-orange beak.

“That is…” Sephiroth cleared his throat. “Interesting.”

As if remembering who he was with—or not, and just finding the situation amusing—Zack turned to him with a playful smirk. “Here! You can have this one, pal. Sephiroth’s an awesome guy, y’know.”

He plopped the toy in his hand before Sephiroth could protest.

“Can I try again?” Zack chirped, his eyes gravitating back toward the highest prizes like a magnet. “I really want one of those big guys…” And then, as if really remembering who he was with—or not, and just realizing he probably didn’t have a shot—Zack turned to him with a pleading smile. “You wanna give it a go, old pal? I’d bet my bottom Gil you can get all of them blindfolded.”

The employee let out a chortle before Sephiroth could even respond.

“No offense, SOLDIER kid; I like your spirit. But I’ve worked here for four years, y’see, and never has anyone actually gotten all seven rings.”

“…Why’s that?” Sephiroth narrowed his eyes, a ghost of suspicion rising. “It’s ring toss.“

“Yeah!” Zack agreed. “I mean… it’s skill, right?”

The man rested his elbow on the counter, leaning in closer. “Look. You seem like a respectable duo, right, and I don’t want you wasting your time here. So just believe me when I say it ain’t gonna happen.

“But—“

“It’s intentional, kid. Trust me.”

By now, Sephiroth’s eyes had narrowed to slits, his suspicion all but confirmed in a matter of seconds. What was this now? The game was rigged? Yes, he expected a claw machine to have such cruelty… But a ring toss game? An activity meant to test and reward one’s patience and concentration? An activity that was luring innocent hearts—his best friend—in with their wondrous, tantalizing prizes…? And his face was representing this treason?!

He squeezed the ducky so hard that it squeaked.

“Aww… Well, I guess we can always—“

“Let me try,” Sephiroth said suddenly; hard, focused, indisputable.

The man’s eyes widened. “Pal. Did you not just hear me…—?”

“Oh, I heard you.” The velvet voice had grown cold, almost cunning. “And I would like to test your little game.”

“Seph..?” Zack blinked, almost in awe. “What are you…?”

“Well, ‘suppose I can’t stop ya,” the employee (gladly) shrugged, gladly reaching behind his back to hand him the stack of rings. “Got plenty of rubber duckies in the stash.”

…

Alright.

That. Was. It.

Feline eyes constricted to needles as Sephiroth accepted the projectiles, taking several steps back, feeling the cheap plastic (wider than the necks, easily bounced), the man’s lips pulling back into a vague sheer and snarl.

“You see…” he said slowly, purposefully. “My friend here wanted one of your plushies. Very badly. And i made a vow very long ago to protect him—from monsters. From the evils of this world. And I do not appreciate him being manipulated in such a manner.”

Neither the employee or Zack had a chance to respond before the first ring had been thrown.

…

One.

Narrowing his eyes, focusing, Sephiroth threw the next projectile.

Two.

And again, and again, and again.

Three; four; five; six—

And he threw the last ring, calculated and perfect.

…

Seven.

The emplyee’s eyes blew to saucers.

Hit.

Hit.

Hit.

Hit.

Hit.

Hit.

…

And, yes.

Hit.

A perfect score; all seven landed; flawlessly rung the necks of seven bottles, all in a neat duck row. Sephiroth relaxed from his concentrated state as Zack let out a cheer, rushing over to his side and squeezing him with all the love and strength that a caffeinated, sugar-fueled SOLDIER could give.

“Yes..! Yes! That’s my bud! That’s my bud!!!” he cheered. “Woooooooooooooooooo! Woooooooooooooo! You’re the best you’re the best you’re the BEST! I love you I love I love you, man!!” And he pulled back, smiling sunbeams at his friend, his eyes wide and glistening and youthful…

And Sephiroth was smiling right back at him.

He was happy, after all.

Because Zack was too.

“Now…” Sephiroth said warmly, unable to mask the satisfaction in his voice. “Which one would you like?”

His smile blinding, Zack turned around, blue eyes tracing all the options once more.

“Hmmm… I’ll take the Behemoth!”

Meanwhile, the employee had become almost completely paralyzed; mouth ajar, eyes cavernous, skin slightly discolored. And it was in that moment when he turned around, his expression unchanging, reaching up to grab the jumbo Behemoth from above, that Sephiroth felt a sense of victory and justice unlike anything he had ever felt before.

He never smirked so hard as when the man relinquished Zack’s selected prize to its new and rightful owner.

“Yessss! Thank you…!” Zack took the plushie into his arms, its beastly frame nearly grazing the ground. “He’s so cute! Wait ‘till Aer sees this…”

It was only moments later that they were leaving that devilish stand behind, one plushie and one rubber duck less, off into the blinding wilderness that was the rest of the night to come. More food was consumed; arcade games were played; a ferris wheel was ridden up into the starlit sky, both SOLDIERs smushed to the corner in favor of their monstrous companion.

And when they returned home that night, Zack having fallen asleep on the train, Sephiroth carried his friend all the way back from the station.

It’s alright, Angeal… the warrior mumbled as he set Zack down on his couch, reaching to drape a blanket over his cherished companion. I think he had a good day.