#i have to find a way for it to remain comfortable. witch hat is a conversation between me and shirahama kamome as is my right as reader.

[lunarharp]

witch hat scribs

[thescribeoflostmemories]

Decretum x Somnium = Insanity

Knight! Capitano x Witch! Yan(?)Reader

Tags: Angst?, blood, friends to enemies to ???, malpractice, cycle, Reader kinda lost her marbles. Help, I lost track of time and I should be doing other fics right about now instead of this. Comfort/hurt or hurt/comfort, unrequited love? Disturbing implications if you squint.

Thank @capitanossanctuary for this infected brain rot last night. And @mellowwillowy, I did it y'all...

“To find one's self, one must destroy the image built upon you by others. Only then will you have the answer in your grasp.” - Scribe

This time, it will- no, it MUST work! The potion’s effects are in motion, the ruffles from the bed sounded. Any previous doubt has been pushed aside by another notion.

“Morning, I have breakfast ready.” A chance to see him again, your beloved Knight.

Risen from the bed, there presented to you, your latest result of your endeavors. Just as handsome as you last saw him. Not minding the loss of his cheek muscle that you could see his teeth and inside of his mouth.

Sat upon the pure white chair, you had prepared all the necessities for the little welcome tea party for the Knight in shining armor. Soon, the clanks of metal made their way to you upon the seat across from you. Reassembling him would require extensive work.

“Eat up, if you’re lucky enough you won’t rot.” You jest, even though it is to see if he still has any recollection. Gesturing for him to reach in for the treats and sweets prepared for him, sandwiches included. Even without his blade, the mere strength in his flesh still remains.

He seems to be taken aback, the man before you is a witch hunter. Your partner under the reign of the Queen that ordered the extinction of a whole race. How ironic that you’ve turned to such craft when life snuffed out of his body, leaving you all alone. You still remembered how he had revered his ‘Lady’ as this perfect being, a true witch in disguise!

“There is no poison.” He spoke in a hoarse yet still deeply rich voice, you tried your best to preserve his body for so long, so lovingly. The thought alone made you shudder of how many adventures would take place once he had adjusted to the current body just like before.

“There isn’t.” You confirmed, leaning back to your chair. The rather large witch’s hat jingles with the bell at the end of it. Your dark colored robes have long since been tainted by the dark spell that binds you to its will.

Even without direct words, the gestures, intense gaze at your ‘ruined’ state. Eyes once shown light and bubbly attitude, now reduced to a slave of your own twisted desires.

“I could say the same to you, dear friend.” You picked up your tea cup and took a sip.

“My partner wouldn’t betray me like this, who are you witch that dared to replicate my friend’s face?!” He snarled, fist made contact with the table making an audible dull sound,

Dainty hands slammed the cup onto the table rather forcibly, a smile only cracked, “Even if you inverted this entire world with your bare hands, this is reality!” That is the truth, and nothing but the truth. Going against what you two were fighting for, those don’t matter to you anymore, none of it.

Standing up, flap the tatters of your robes, “Wipe off your pus darling and grind down your vitamins.” scarred hands rubbed against the deteriorating skin of your beloved. The food may not be a staple necessity to him anymore in this form. But you had crushed all herbs and elements to sustain him further, knowing he treasures strength above all.

“Page six-seventeen.” Tossing a worn tome that reveals the gruesome scheme of the various experiments to reanimate him. Such witchery! It cannot be allowed, you aren’t allowed anymore!

Fuming with rage, Capitano had raised his hand to smack your hand away from him. “Don’t act so irrationally, Ga1ahad. Don’t be like your father, Lancel0t." You teased, though that attack did hurt. Leaving a bruise on your frail and pallid skin that had longed to see the light of day.

“Hm, this is an improvement, dear. Let your blood oscillate, results, generate more!” You had pretended this is part of your devious plan to make him feel good about himself for figuring you out.

To be frank in this battle of sorcery and steel. Both of you are such morons, Don Quixote. Giving so much of yourself to him yet it does not reciprocate. Blinded by ideals to how much have been destroyed and only the essence of yourselves are laid bare. No code of morals, nor the law would approve any of their relationship. Your profound adoration and love exceeds what he can take and couldn’t give back.

One wouldn’t admit their mistake to the other, as this vicious cycle of torment spirals out of control. All for the sole person to just look at the other. ‘My God/dess never looked at me’ The pure idolization is sickening, smothering even.

Until such a point, seeking forgiveness is merely an option they had not explored. Battered, bruised and bleeding. Il Capitano stopped and looked at your pitiful state.

“Think about it, __. If you are a witch, it would cost you everything. Such sin cannot be forgiven! What is left for you after everything is said and done?! After a millennia worth of damnation, what else is precious to you that wouldn’t leave?”

“You … I’d… Still have you, my beloved Captain.” You choked out, wholeheartedly. Truly did love him, more than the one he so dearly admired.

[theselfshippingwitch]

It is Halloween. Someone knocks on your door. You open it to find a skull in a floating robe, holding out it's hands. Red candy in one, blue in the other. Take the red and you will be turned into a child (in your choice of costume) for three hours, to trick or treat. Take the blue and you will have infinite candy for three hours, and an infinite parade of children (living and ghosts) to hand candy to. Which do you choose?

i could have just answered this like i was supposed to but then a fic idea happened and i wrote more than i ever should have about this

It was Halloween night, and as usual Violet was preparing for her annual Halloween party. The horror novel writer threw the biggest and most premiere Halloween event for all of the most famous and notable people in the country. Amongst all the commotion from all of her caterers, decorators, and event planners, there was a knock on the door. Violet, already dressed in her Halloween costume, a fabulous black ball gown with a black and purple tulle skirt and purple and black striped witch’s hat with sparkling silver spider web adorned black cape, went to open the front door of her and Ray’s home.

Before her (and about one foot above her) floated a skull. Its red cape seemed to be wrapped around nothing, and when two hands lifted from the darkness inside they seemed to appear from nowhere. In the two skeleton hands were one piece of candy each. One was red, and one was blue. There seemed to be a whisper inside Violet’s head. “Take the red and you will be turned into a child (in your choice of costume) for three hours, to trick or treat. Take the blue and you will have infinite candy for three hours, and an infinite parade of children (living and ghosts) to hand candy to.” Violet picked the red candy.

It had the taste of the watermelon-flavored hard candies that were her favorite as a child, and as she closed her eyes to savor that long forgotten flavor, a red mist swirled around her body. She shrunk down shorter and shorter, and her ornate costume turned to a much more simple dress. The only part of her costume that remained unchanged was the hat. When she opened her eyes again, her front porch was empty of any sort of apparitions. All that was left was her Halloween decorations. Her very big, very scary Halloween decorations. Her snarling werewolves with bloody fangs and vampires with glistering red eyes and bloody handprints and skeletons littered all around. Little Violet shrieked in terror, bolting back inside the house. She didn’t think at all about how strange the circumstances were, she just wanted to find the one person who made her feel safer than anyone. She ran straight into Ray’s arms.

Ray, still in his ghostbusting uniform after a very busy work day, didn’t know what to make of this crying child at first. He was used to children having this innate trust in him. Kids loved the Ghostbusters, after all. So it wasn’t too out of the ordinary for him to have a frightened child running up to him. He didn’t hesitate to stoop down to her and put a comforting hand on her shoulder. But he couldn’t help but wonder what this child was doing in his house. The little girl had the same wide brown eyes and little curly q’s of brown hair that he had seen in pictures of Violet as a child. “Hey, calm down, sweetie, everything is alright.” he cooed gently. Her panicking seemed to stop just from the sound of his voice, the same way Violet’s always did. “Now, why don’t you tell me your name?”

She sniffled. “V-Violet. It’s me, Violet!”

“Violet. You have the same name as my best friend! My Violet is my favorite person in the whole world.”

“But Ray, I AM Your Violet!” she stamped her little foot, getting frustrated. “There was a ghost at the door, and-and he told me he would turn me into a kid again so I could go trick-or-treating tonight, but. I-I’m too scared!”

Ray scrutinized her little face. She really did look like Violet, but as a little child, about six years old. And honestly? She was just about the cutest little girl he had ever seen. He hoped that if he and Violet ever had babies they would be as cute as she was when she was a baby. He held out his pinky. “Do you pinky promise you're not telling fibs?”

“I promise!” She curled her little pinky around his much larger one. He smiled, and lifted her up into his arms as he stood up straight. “Well, alright, let’s go trick-or-treating!” he announced.

“You believe me?” Violet asked.

“Of course I believe you! You pinky promised!”

Violet giggled, She was so glad there was an adult who understood the sacredness of a pinky promise the way she did. Ray’s logic made perfect sense to her. But then she frowned, thinking of all the scary things on the front porch. She buried her head into Ray’s shoulder, wrapping her little arms around Ray’s neck. “But we can’t go back outside! It’s scary!”

“Aww, Violet…” He rubbed her back comfortingly. “How about I hold you and carry you until we’re away from the scary things?” He felt her nod her head in his shoulder, and carried her upstairs to get a pillowcase to collect candy in. “How about we use your favorite purple unicorn pillow case to put the candy in?” He held out the pillow case in question. Violet lifted her head up and then snatched the pillow case with her little fingers. “Yeah!” she cheered happily, but then put her head back down. Meanwhile, Ray carried her down the stairs, lost in thought. He was a little worried about his girlfriend. As adorable as she was like this, he obviously didn’t want her to stay this way forever. And, he was suspicious about the ghost who did this to her in the first place. He was glad he had agreed to give the party guests an up close and personal look qat his equipment, as that meant he still had it all with him. He found Violet’s personal assistant, Steffi, in the front foyer. “Um, you might have to stall the party guests for a bit.” he told her.

“Where is Violet?” she asked.

Little Violet, still hiding in Ray’s arms, poked her little face up and waved.

Ray held her tight as he walked out of the front porch and down the front walkway, trying not to laugh at the fact that Violet really was now afraid of her own Halloween decorations. He hadn’t realized how much of a scaredy cat she was compared to how he knew her now. Once they were on the sidewalk and out of sight of the spooky decorations, he put her down. She smiled up at him and took his hand. “C’mon, let’s go!”

Ray figured they could trick-or-treat their way towards the firehouse, where Egon could take a second look at Violet’s…condition. Violet made her way up to every front porch slowly and said her “trick or treat?”s shyly. Ray realized what a quiet little girl she must have been for her whole childhood. She hadn’t been much different when they had first met. He recalled how little she said to the other guys when he first introduced her. But she was always easy for him to talk to. He wondered if maybe he was the first person in her whole life that made her feel that confidence. How much had changed for her, even since he had first met her. Now this shy little girl was hosting the biggest Halloween party of the year, and he wanted her to get back to it. “Violet?” he asked her. “Did the ghost who did this to you say anything about how long it would last?”

“Oh yeah! He told me three hours!” Violet announced proudly as she took his hand again. It had already been one hour.

Violet rang the doorbell at one house and a young woman in a tight black dress with a matching long black wig answered. She barely heard Violet say “trick or treat?” and she threw candy into her pillowcase, never taking her eyes off of Ray. “That’s a great Ghostbusters costume. You know, I just love a man in uniform…” she batted her long eyelashes at him. Violet lifted up her little foot and stomped down hard on the woman’s foot. “Mine!” she screamed at her, before running into Ray’s arms. She “Hmph!”ed as Ray hurriedly carried her down to the next street over.

“So, what do you think?”

Egon stared at the screen on the device Violet was now attached to. She chomped happily on the candy she had collected (and Ray had inspected, of course). “It was definitely at least a Class 9 or higher. Only a demigod or an entity with even greater power than that could have such a powerful, yet concentrated control over time. But, what I can’t figure out is why.”

“Maybe there are some ghosts out there who like us after all!” Ray guessed. “I mean, she hasn’t been harmed in any way, and according to the read-out the effects really are temporary. It looks like there’s nothing to worry about!”

Violet and Ray trick-or-treated their way back to their house. At that point, the pillow case was so full that it was now Ray’s job to carry it. But, Violet still insisted on collecting more, and Ray couldn’t bring himself to say no to such a cute, happy little face. By the time they made it back, it was about five minutes until Violet changed back. “Did you have fun, Violet?” Ray asked as he held the little girl in his arms.

Violet nodded. “This is the most fun I’ve ever had, Ray.” She hugged him. “But now I wanna go to the party!”

“Violet, I’m not sure that’s such a good idea…”

“Nooo, I’m going!” Violet wiggled her way out of Ray’s arms. As she reached the top of the stairs above where most of the guests were gathered, the strange red mist began surrounding her again. She grew taller, and her costume changed back into the one she had on before. By the time the partygoers could see her, she was in the middle of the red mist that now filled the room, a fully realized, confident woman who was their hostess, the woman everyone came to see, the woman Ray adored.

[ratwhor]

Captivated

Chapter 1

Maggie

The halls of Ilvermorny were empty, students were home for summer break but in the next couple months they would be back in classes. The floors remained freshly polished, courtesy of the many Pukwudgies that worked and lived in the school. Maggie missed it, it had been a few years since she had attended the magical school. Now she was a young woman and a brilliant witch. She rounded a corner and up a flight of stairs.

She came to the next floor and quickly strides toward a familiar door. Turning the ivory handle she was greeted by a beautiful room. Shelves lined the walls filled with books with all kinds of secrets and magic. A big bay window on the far side was open, gold curtains fluttering in the summer breeze. On the other side was a massive oak desk, and there sat an older woman.

She wore red dress robes, a matching witch's hat laying on the desk. Her graying brown hair was piled into a neat bun on top of her hair. She looked up and greeted Maggie with a kind smile, her grey eyes sparkling. Her name was Melva Colibiri and she was the Headmistress of Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizadry, the North American school of magic.

"Ms. Beaumont, it's lovely to see you again." She spoke softly. Her hand gestures towards the front of the desk. "Please come have a seat." A comfortable looking chair slides out of nowhere in front of the desk.

Maggie did so, settling comfortably into the chair. "Thank you ma'am." Her southern twang drawled. "I came here to see if you had heard from anyone yet?"

For the last couple of months Maggie had been searching for a job abroad. She had spent so long in America and Canada exploring the different kinds of No-Mag communities. No-Mags humans who weren't able to do magic, nor did many know about it, except for those who married into wizard families. Now she was ready to go overseas and work anywhere in the world that she could. She had been in touch with Melva, her former Headmistress in hopes she would have connections in other countries that could promise her opportunities.

Melva smiled reaching into a desk drawer and pulled out small envelope with a red seal stamped on it. "I had reached out to a few people I know, and I got a reply from one in particular I think would be just right for you."

She handed it over to Maggie who accepted it graciously. The seal was a very well known one, a crest with the letter H in the middle and surrounding it was a lion, a snake, a badger and a raven. Maggie's eyes widened, if couldn't be, one of the best schools of magic, Hogwarts. She tore it open pulling out the letter, excitement and nervousness raced through her. Her heart beating wildly as she read it.

Dear Ms. Beaumont,

I hope this letter finds you in good health and high spirits. I must admit that it is with great pleasure and anticipation that I sit down to write this missive to you, extending an invitation that I believe will be of immense interest to you.

I have heard tremendous acclaim about your extraordinary knowledge and deep understanding of the Muggle world from your former Headmistress. It is rare to find individuals who possess such a interest in the workings of the Muggle society, and I find myself humbled by your expertise in this fascinating subject.

As you may be aware, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry has long been renowned for its commitment to providing an education that both enriches and broadens the minds of young witches and wizards. One vital area of magical instruction that we hold dear is Muggle Studies - the exploration of the Muggle way of life, their customs, beliefs, and remarkable inventions.

It is with utmost delight that I extend an invitation to you to join our esteemed faculty as the Professor of Muggle Studies at Hogwarts. Your unique perspective and knowledge will undoubtedly enrich the education we provide to our students, fostering an understanding and respect for the Muggle world that goes far beyond what is typically taught.

The position comes with a generous remuneration package, access to our extensive resources, and the support of a dedicated staff who will ensure your smooth transition into this role. You will be joining a team of esteemed professors whose passion for teaching and nurturing minds is unparalleled.

I sincerely hope that you will accept this invitation, recognizing the immense value your expertise will bring to our school. You are undeniably one of the foremost authorities in the field of Muggle Studies, and we would be honored to have you as a member of our faculty.

Please inform us of your decision at your earliest convenience. Should you choose to accept, we will make the necessary arrangements to welcome you to Hogwarts and assist you with any queries or concerns you may have.

Thank you for considering this invitation, and I eagerly await your response. May your decision be guided by wisdom, and may the future present you with endless possibilities.

Yours sincerely,

Albus Dumbledore

Headmaster

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

Maggie beamed at the letter as she finished reading. She could hardly believe her eyes, the Albus Dumbledore was asking her to be a Professor. It was beyond anything she could hope for. Especially to teach a subject she was enamored with, No-Mags or as Dumbledore called, Muggles, were fascinating in how they lived and functioned without magic, why she couldn't imagine a life without it. Now she could teach young Witches and Wizards about everything she had learned and at such an amazing school such as Hogwarts.

"I feel so honored Headmistress. Little me teaching at Hogwarts as a professor!" Maggie's eyes brimmed with tears of happiness. "Goodness gracious I need to respond quickly."

Melva was already pulling out a quill and paper. "Well hop to it dear, Headmaster Dumbledore is waiting for your response."

"Thank you Headmistress, thank you. This means the absolute world to me."

She quickly wrote her response.

Dear Professor Dumbledore,

I wanted to express my deepest gratitude for your kind invitation to join the esteemed faculty at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. It is with great joy and excitement that I accept your offer.

Please accept my heartfelt thanks for believing in me and my abilities. I am eager to begin this new journey as a Professor at Hogwarts and dedicate myself to the education and well-being of the students.

Yours sincerely,

Margaret Beaumont

As she finished her letter and began to seal it, a large tawny owl flew in from the bay window and landed on a perch next to the desk. She handed the letter to the owl. "Please take this to Albus Dumbledore."

Clutching the letter in its beak the owl swooped out of the office.

Maggie turned back to Melva who nodded approvingly. "I wish you the best of luck on your journey, Professor Beaumont."

[a-foray-into-magic]

The cemetery in Hogsmeade was very quiet. The whole of Hogsmeade was very quiet, in truth. Large funerals tended to have that effect. Witches and Wizards had descended upon the small village as a show of respect to Elphinstone Urquart, who had died from the bite of a Venomous Tentacula. They had also come to show their respects to his widow.

Minerva McGonagall stood there alone, draped head to toe in black. Her hat had begun to droop and yet, she could not move. She stared blankly at the new headstone and the fresh mound of dirt was covered in flowers. For three years, they had been married and it had been some of the happiest years of her life. She found herself regretting that she hadn't taken one of his earlier proposals.

Faces flashed through her mind as she stood there. Dougal McGregor, her first love. Her brother, Robert, had been killed by Death Eaters. James. Lily. Marlene McKinnon. So many of her students had been lost. And friends. But the weight of the entire war still weighed on her shoulders, despite it being four years over. But Phinny. She dared not leave this spot, not yet. The idea of returning to the cottage they shared here in Hogsmeade was too much. His presence was all over it, imprinted there for always. She would go back to Hogwarts. As soon as she could will her feet to move. She didn't want to leave him in the cold wet Earth alone. She swallowed down the lump in her throat. This was ridiculous. She was going to catch her death of cold if she remained here.

A hand suddenly rested on her shoulder, and the rain stopped pouring down on her. Turning her head, she found herself looking up at Albus Dumbledore. He'd been there earlier for the funeral and burial, then had returned to Hogwarts. But he was here now. He didn't have to be. She wasn't an overly emotional woman, preferring to keep herself stoic and composed. But with Albus, she needn't do that. He had known her for most of her life. His eyes met her own and her tears rolled down her cheeks. She couldn't find her voice. But if she had, she would have simply spoken his name.

"Come," was all he spoke, apparating to the castle, specifically arriving in his private chambers, where he had a small sitting area. A thin brow raised, but this was Dumbledore. Of course, he could apparate here. He had put up the spells to prevent it. Why shouldn't they apply to him? Closing his umbrella, he used his wand to remove their jackets. The fire in the fireplace roared, warming the room and he dried them both off with ease. Minerva allowed this. She had no inclination to do much of anything beyond exist.

"I didn't imagine that you wished to go home this evening," he spoke gently, preparing some tea for them. He knew how she liked it. She felt a whisper of a smile pull across her lips as he drew out a tin of shortbread biscuits. She hadn't much of an appetite, but she nibbled at it.

Sitting down beside her, Albus said nothing. The floor was hers. But Minerva felt weary. Down to the bone tired. She instead leaned her head on his shoulder and allowed herself to cry. It was a quiet way to spend the evening, but one that was needed. She was exhausted. All day, she had thanked people for their kind words. Appreciating that they had travelled to celebrate Phinny's life. He'd had so many friends! People from the Ministry had come in force. Her hand ached from how many she had shaken. Grief was not only emotional but physical. She had comforted his friends and co-workers. Their grief had come before her own. Now that she was facing her own, it seemed horribly overwhelming. The witch felt almost like she might not rise from the spot she was sitting in. What she appreciated was that Albus wasn't forcing her to speak or do anything that she didn't want to do. He was simply there. He had always been there.

And that was a greater magic than any spell she could cast.

[inkedtae]

a brew of wings ⇾ myg. [M]

𝓅𝒶𝒾𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔 ⇾ dragon!yoongi x witch!reader (f.)

𝑔𝑒𝓃𝓇𝑒/𝓇𝒶𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑔 ⇾  daechwita inspired, fantasy, magic realism, smut, fluff, angst-ish, hybrid au, shifter au, 18+

𝓈𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎 ⇾  your tiny tea shop is the perfect front for harbouring hybrid fugitives

𝓌𝑜𝓇𝒹 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓃𝓉 ⇾ 10.3k 

𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈 ⇾ mentions of violence, mentions of abuse, mentions of captivity, mentions of death, hard dom!yoongi, lip piercing!yoongi, big dicc!yoongi, tattooed!yoongi, sub!reader, tea shop owner!reader, unprotected sex (wrap it to tap it), rough sex, a lil dirty talk, pet names, daddy kink, oral (m. receiving), multiple orgasms, begging, teasing, spanking, a lil choking, spit play, breath play

𝒶𝓊𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓇'𝓈 𝓃𝑜𝓉𝑒 ⇾ happy halloween!! speical thanks to selene (@jksangelic​) for helping me out a bit with logisitics!!! enjoy :)

♕ This is dedicated to @kkulmoon​. My bestest soulmate!!!

♕ banner/border by ⇾ @suqakoo (jiji is wonderful and deserves all the love and this is a beautiful banner)

♕ beta’d by ⇾ @nottodayjjk (a hundred kisses and thanks to this gems for always being there for me~~)

♕ le playlist 

In the humble village of Daegu, sandwiched between a blacksmith and mechanic, a tiny tea shop lives - exactly where Namjoon said it would be. But, not at all like his mother had described all those years ago. Technology has bled into every corner of her once little world. Yoongi wonders if she would still recognize it as he watches customers filter in and out from under his wickered hat.  The tea shop seems all too busy to resemble anything close to a hybrid asylum, but Namjoon was specific. Perhaps Yoongi shouldn’t trust knights of the king. Most have a reputation for hybrid mistreatment. However, there isn’t much logic in letting Yoongi run so far only to be captured in an obscure tea shop. And besides, Namjoon is a friend. Perhaps the closest he’d encountered in a long while.

“She’s going to scold you.”

“Nix loves me too much to scold me.”

Nix. The familiar name redirects Yoongi’s attention to the two men walking by him. The taller one, with features so symmetrical they almost seem unreal, rests a fishing pole over his shoulder. The shorter one, with the sharper tongue, carries a bag that clatters with glass. They enter the shop causally tossing curses at each other. Yoongi reaches into his pocket, unfolding the little piece of parchment Namjoon ripped to scribble on. 

utopia, nix, huckleberry lemon on ice.

One glance up at the flickering neon sign above the storefront attempts to spell Teatopia, but the first strokes of light seem to be dead. Instead, it glows atopia. Tremors of the midnight train suddenly resonate around the evening market. All lights flicker and dishes clatter, though the villagers' conversations carry on. Their affairs remain uninterrupted, eyes focused only on each other. Yoongi clenches his fists and digs his feet into the ground to steady himself until the train finally passes. When he glances back up at the neon sign, parts of the first ‘a’ flicker out to read utopia. 

Rolling his shoulders back, Yoongi bears his fangs behind sealed lips, as a precaution, then pushes the door open. A bell chimes. Patrons sit around velvet draped tables. They engage in  lively conversations, breaking steamed buns together and sipping on all sorts of tea. But, it’s the steady crackles of the fireplace that pique Yoongi’s interest. The amber embers beneath the flames soothe the heaviness upon his chest. One breathful of floral smoke, and he sinks into comfort.

That is until a black cat purrs down by his feet. Yoongi snaps his gaze down to find it circling between his legs then prancing off behind the counter. The two men bickering outside sit at the bar in front of a woman looking more unimpressed the longer they speak. Yoongi retracts his fangs, eyes fixated on the way your brows dance with annoyance. And that dress. He doesn’t care much for fashion but you seem to wear it differently, simply. Most people, much like him, travel with layers. Only a black dress clothes you, sleeves flourishing at your wrists and laces around your cleavage. Though, he really shouldn’t let his eyes wander.

Yoongi ignores the heat rushing to his cheeks as he approaches the counter. The black cat sits by the one-eyed register. Its tail swirls and emerald eyes remain on him. He tentatively takes a seat by a sleeping old man, a couple seats away from the arguing men. 

“Nixy,” the shorter one smirks. “You wouldn’t scold me, right.”

You, Nix it would seem, cross your arms under your chest. You hold a blank expression until the taller one sighs and grumbles, “He stopped for a pack of stray dogs.”

“Jin! You promis- He purposely mislead us to fish for a couple of hours!” 

Jin gasps then nudges his friend. “Guk, I swear I’ll kill you.” 

Guk scoffs, returning the shove. He stands from his seat and attempts to tower over Jin, only to get a hand slice to the neck. A quick exchange of smacking hands breaks out between the two, the sleeping old man beside Yoongi suddenly wide awake. 

“Land one in the gut!” He shouts.

Yoongi winces at the volume. He mutters a curse under his breath before his annoyed gaze meets yours. You watch him for a beat, two, three, then blink your attention back to Jin and Guk. A wave of your hand separates them with a slide back. Frustration still rages in their gazes. Yoongi holds his breath, diverting his gaze to the floor. Recognizing rage in others often triggers his hybridity. The dragon tickles in his palms as thick, black talons replace his nails. Yoongi shoves his hands in his pockets, eyes shifty, breath heavy. 

You bite your lip. Jin and Guk fall silent, their words cinching in their throats. “I don’t want to have to send Apolla to babysit you,” you sigh. The black cat purrs in hiccups, as if laughing. You let a smirk grace your lips, continuing, “This next batch needs to be delivered on time.” 

With a twirl of your finger, glass vials, now filled to the brim with multi-coloured herbs, float back into Guk’s bag. You, then, beckon the pouty men closer. They shuffle towards the counter. You tug two tiny crystal pendants from your charm bracelet and pin one on each of their sleeves. “These should help you stick to your path,” you mutter. “Soak them in saltwater once all the orders are complete.” 

Though they roll their eyes, both men nod in understanding. Guk offers an innocent smile, Jin a playful one, before turning to the door. Whatever spell you had over their voices seems to wear off by the time they exit. “Little punk,” are Jin’s final words. 

Yoongi’s hands clam with sweat as his talons retract under the cover of his pockets. He sighs heavily. Gaze shaking behind his short hair, he shifts in his seat. The old man’s snoring returns sinking in with the crackling fireplace seamlessly. Yoongi wishes he had this man’s freedom. The ability to fall in and out of sleep in a public place without fearing for his safety. Is it his identity or the shop that makes him feel this secure? 

“What can I get you?” 

He flinches. Meeting your curious gaze, he mutters, “Huckleberry lemon.” 

“Infused or blended?” 

Momentary panic flashes in his eyes. If you notice, you don’t make it known. “On ice.” 

The action is quiet, subtle, but Yoongi hears it clearly. Your breath hitches. You swallow thickly, looking him over once, twice, then ask, “On or in?”

“On.”

You wave a hand. The lights of the shop flicker out, candles taking their place. Yoongi shoots to his feet, talons and fangs returning. His temples suddenly ache where his horns should be. Oh yes, Yoongi remembers, Horns surface in defense too. Setting his jaw, he ignores whatever sentiment scratches at his throat and whips his gaze around the store, searching for the first attack. However, he merely finds the patrons preparing to leave. They seem all too familiar with the switch between electric to flame. A few of them even mutter curses under their breath. 

The old man stretches by Yoongi, to which he flinches. “Another rogue broomstick?” He asks you. 

“A mop,” you correct before tugging on your ear. A loud clattering boom sounds from the closest by the end of the counter. Yoongi jumps back, looking to you for an answer. You avoid his gaze. 

The customers bid you a goodnight. You smile, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. They swim with panic instead. Yoongi perks his ears towards you, instantly picking up the quick beat of your heart. It’s hammering, blood sprinting around its cycle within your veins. He glances down at your hands. Your nails have scratched their way to the edge of the wooden counter, knuckles tense as you grip onto it.

Once all the customers have left, you circle around the counter and ask, “Is Namjoon okay? What happened?”

Yoongi stumbles back, eager to create distance amongst you. “Yeah, he’s fine. He told me you’ll find me a place to stay.” 

“Where is he?”

“Seoul.”

You pause. Not a single breath dares escape you as you assess his word. Yoongi raises a brow. What exactly is your connection to Namjoon, he wonders. You went out of your way to find out as quickly as possible if anything was wrong. He licks his lips when realization finally colours your features. A bitter curse slips past your maroon lips. Without another word, you rush back around the counter and begin scribbling onto a loose piece of parchment. You roll it up once you’re done. “Apolla,” you call. The black cat leaps from counter top to top, landing by you effortlessly. You slip the note into her collar and whisper, “Make sure they read it and seriously consider it before leaving to the next, okay?” 

Apolla meows, rubs her head in your hand then jumps off the counter. Yoongi peers over the counter to see where she’s gone, but he can’t spot her anywhere in the candle lit darkness. 

“Do you have the note he gave you?” 

Yoongi snaps his attention back to you. Your back faces him again. He digs into his pocket and pulls out the tiny piece of parchment. You pluck it right out of his hand and roll it up with your own note then whistle a high melody. Distant hoots grow louder behind him. He looks to the door as it opens on its own accord. A black owl swoops into the shop. You tie the message to its left leg, offer the owl what looks like a rat tail, then send it off. The door shuts the moment it's gone, locks clicking. 

Finally turning to Yoongi, you tip your finger up and his hat falls to his back. Yoongi glares. Your sporadic writings and dismissals might have been interesting at first, but now he’s looking for answers. How is this witch supposed to help him? Namjoon promised he’d be safe here and, though the shop feels secure, you do not. 

“Agust Dragon,” you whisper.

Yoongi furrows his brows. His gaze shifts to the draped windows and locked doors. Who told you of his arrival? Perhaps this was a trap. Was it to see how far he could get, to have this entire little town witness his defeat? The cruelty of the king does not know restraint. If anyone was to lead him back to his mother’s village to further humiliate him, it would be the king. Yoongi rolls his shoulder back, inhaling deeply as his talons surface once more. Taking a step back, he asks, “How do you know that? He didn’t write that in the note.”

Your eyes glow with concern. Had Yoongi not been fixating on every change, he wouldn’t have caught the underlying tone of your gaze. It’s almost as if you’re questioning just how much he knows. You wave a hand at the radio. Through the speakers, a robotic voice informs, We interrupt your scheduled programming to alert a hybrid breach in Seoul. Agust Dragon has escaped royal captivity. All-

With another wave, it switches back off. “It goes on for a while about your scar too,” you add. 

Tremors of the taser used to detain him flash within his veins. The glint of that pearl sword blinds him with the haunting pain. Between those stone walls, he fully transformed. Had he known it would be the last time, he would’ve spread his wings wide, tipped his head to the sky and bellowed a cloud of fire. Within the smug, he’d inhale deeply and do it all over again. Perhaps he would’ve escaped then. Perhaps he would’ve endured more scars. At least, Yoongi thinks, I would still be a dragon.  

The clatter of dishes pulls him out of his thoughts. He blinks his attention back to where you stood, only to find you mixing something in a black caludon. Jars of various contents hover around you, some peaking at the mixture over your shoulder. Yoongi watches you move further in the kitchen behind the counter like you’re floating yourself. Movements so swift, sharp, susintically enchanting, he can’t take his eyes off you no matter how hard he tries. Your power is an outlaw to nature yet looks so natural. Is it a charm of who you are or who you’ve become?

“I’m not sure what’s nourishing for a dragon,” you say over your shoulder. “I try to adjust the glamour to the hybrid. There isn’t much about dragons.”

“Yet.”

The speed of your gaze to his soul makes him shiver. You don’t regard him with hostility, but something much worse: curiosity. The very bane of his existence. Only, hints of concern cushion the blow of this realization. Yoongi can sense your intentions in the way you calculate your words. You explained what you’re working on without prompting. You ensure he knows you’re here to help by mentioning nutrients rather than sedatives. Yoogni may not know you, but he knows Namjoon well enough to know that if he trusts you enough with this information, then you might not be as big a threat as your curiosity is. 

You return to the counter with a red and gold patterned teapot. The colours swirl around a white base in slithering motions. Yoongi assumes it’s a simple meld of lines until he makes out the bold eyes of a dragon. Shooting you a glare, he asks, “Is this a joke?” 

The smirk on your face does not comfort his annoyance. Whether or not you recognize this, is hard for Yoongi to tell. There’s something painfully unreadable in your eyes. You never regard him with pity, even if he knows his face is bruised, clothes dirty and hair smells all too strong to ignore. Something else laces your looks that soothes and riles him all at once. 

“It’s charmed to reflect your greatest desire,” you explain. 

Yoongi pauses, looking down at the teapot again. The wings of the dragon flap then spread wide, like gliding over the winds. He blinks back his frustrations, reverting his attention to the flower painted cup in your hands. Regret pricks his heart, his conscious scolding his tongue for lashing out all too quickly. Just because he can’t completely trust you, doesn’t particularly mean you don’t have pure intentions regardless. 

He clears his throat and mutters, “Sorry.”

After pouring dark violet tea into the cup, Yoongi watches as you squeeze a bit of honey in. You shrug his apology off while giving the tea a good stir. Sliding the cup towards him, you tentatively search his gaze and ask, “So, what did you see?”

Yoongi ignores the question. He keeps his attention focused on the tea, bracing himself before that first, initial sip. The moment the spice soaked chia touches his lips, he is thrown into a euphoric tranquility. Notes of cinnamon, ginger, anise stars and peppercorn evade his senses. His body voluntarily melts into the warm comfort spreading within. And that little bit of honey you added, offers just the right amount of sweetness, and that’s not something Yoongi particularly cares for. 

It takes pulling the cup away from his mouth for him to realize he’d drank it all. Face warm, he glances up at you. He’d never really met a witch before, merely seen them around. He doesn’t remember his mother mentioning any in Daegu when she resided here. They seemed to flock around Ilsan, near the wooded mountains. It’s rather common knowledge that the closer they are to nature, the stronger they become. Their strength usually also manifests greaty in covens. So, why is this one alone? 

Wiping his mouth, Yoongi holds the cup out. He may not completely understand your motives, but that tea is too warm to turn down. You smile and refill it. He takes another sip, removing the cup from his face so as to not to chug it all at again. You pick up on his actions and quietly giggle to yourself. Yoongi bites back a smile. Maybe it’s the tea, but he finds something about your laugh that’s all too pleasing. It feels familiar, a little sentimental, and profoundly personal. 

“What’s your name?”

He raises a brow. Was Agust not enough for you? Or do you know that it isn’t who he really is? “How did you-”

“You look like the cautionary type,” you interrupt. “The type to bear his fangs and talons on the slight chance that danger is just around the corner. So, I would assume you didn’t tell whoever caught you your real name.” 

And he thought he hid that so well. You’re smarter than he expected you to be. Or perhaps, more accurately, you’re more perceptive than expected. The longer he remains in your presence, the more he realizes he has completely underestimated you. Originally, you were just some middle maiden, redirecting lost hybrids upon a knight’s command. Now, Yoongi is starting to wonder if perhaps you’re the one in command. However, if you can sway knights of the king, why wouldn’t you use that power for something greater than relocating refuge hybrids? Why not destroy the system all together? 

Either way, your potential summons a ghost of smirk to his lips. “And why should I tell you?” His tone is almost teasing, but simply because Yoongi is curious now. How much attention are you offering?

You rest elbows on the counter and lean on your chin in your hands while trying to hide a smile. “I’m (Y/N).”

In a reactive loop, he mentally repeats your name until it’s seared into his brain. His dragon hums in approval, like it was expecting it, expecting you. Yoongi presses on. “What’s the point of Nix then?”

“A coven name burns into your soul,” you whisper. “Much like a dragon does when born.”

“I thought you said you don’t know much about dragons.”

You smile, rolling your eyes like he’s the one being tested. Sitting up, you turn back to the kitchen and ask, “Have you eaten?”

Yoongi barely parts his lips before you cut in again and call over your shoulder, “Or would you rather get washed up first? Hmm, that might be best. Finish your tea and I’ll show you to the bath.”

A snap of your fingers and the kitchen comes alive. You shut the curtains into the back, but Yoongi makes out the charmed sponges and dishes being cleaned. The closest that clattered not to long ago, opens just enough for a broom and mop to waddle out. They rush to the back, the mop bumping into the broom. For a moment, the two nudge each other back and forth, until your echoing steps scare them into continuing on their path to the kitchen. They slip between the curtains. 

In near silence, Yoongi sits alone in the shop. The distant spray of the sink only just breaks the hearth’s crackling concentration. Every sip of tea settles the fuming dragon. It’s something about the spicy kick and earthy tones of mint - at least he thinks it’s mint. He wonders what gives it this violet colour. Is it the magic? Is it you?

It’s rather odd, now that he thinks about it. Three days of travel, of near survival only to find solstice in a cup of tea. Perhaps that’s the true magic you offer. A sense of peace is a sip away? Or maybe it’s the lack of concrete walls and iron chains. His mother would enjoy this tea. His father would look forward to the food. But Yoongi craves the steam of a bath, the warmth of a pillow. And the dragon within yearns for your presence. If Yoongi wasn’t so sunk in tranquility, he’d search for a reason. Alas, he cannot be bothered. 

“You ready?” 

The chime of your voice snaps his gaze away from the teapot. Yoongi glances down at his cup to find it empty again. Why can’t he every savour the taste? 

With a nod, he hops off the stool. “How far is it?”

You toss him a confused look. Nodding towards the right, you reply with a chuckle, “Just a couple of steps.”

The teapot and cup hop off the counter and into the kitchen as Yoongi watches you disappear down a hallway. You return with a half-smile, regarding him as if he’s the strange one, enchanting dishes and speaking in half-truths. 

“Well, come on!”

A sharp retort sits on the tip of his tongue. Yoongi swallows it before it can cause more damage than necessary. Orders don’t resonate too well with the dragon. It burns his throat with disobedience. There is a better way to do things: his way. He doesn’t particularly like being forced into another. Still, he follows in silence. 

You lead him to the tiny office that looks more disorganized than anything else. Layers of loose parchment and letters bury a mahogany desk. Dried wax, leaked from overused candles, splatters over every surface. Blankets atop a sapphire and opal patterned carpet lay in disarray. You bend over in front of him, his face reddening and eyes shooting to the ceiling, to find cobwebs and burned lights tangled around the beams. With a grunt, you flip up the carpet and a little hatch appears. A stomp, two, three and it clicks open. A dark staircase makes itself known. 

“After you,” you smile. 

Yoongi furrows his brows. Are you insane or simply numb to your own oddities? He’s having a hard time deciding when you flash him such an innocent smile. Glancing back at the dark staircase, even his dragon begins to question your sanity. “You want me to enter this basement first? The hidden, dark basement?”

It takes a moment but his point finally dawns on you. Brows shooting up, you let out a nervous giggle and decide to enter first. “It’s not a basement,” is all you offer as a means of comfort. Or at least that’s what he thinks you say. You’re about halfway down before saying anything at all, voice distant and echoing. 

Where else can he go, he wonders. It would be hard to find a hidden place after being spotted in the town. He doesn’t even know the terrain that well and there isn’t just some tree he can climb or cave to scurry into. You’re unfortunately his last hope for safety. Perhaps you just have a skewed version of it. Yoongi just hopes it's not as skewed as the king’s. 

Against his cautionary judgement, he descends. Each step beckons him closer to warmth, a reality he wasn’t expecting. An orange hue dances against the stone walls as he reaches the last few steps of the spiral staircase. 

You’re right. Again. It’s not at all a basement, but a home. Yoongi inherits the serenity, familiarity and security the moment he arrives. Book shelves galore, candles a plenty and belevenance at every glance. You move around the living room with a pillow and a stack of blankets. Dropping by the foot of the emerald couch, your attention falls back to Yoongi. In his dirty clothes and unwashed hair, he feels so out of place from the purity your home radiates. 

“The bathroom is just down that hall,” you say, pointing to one of five hallways on the right side. 

You’re odd. Yoongi didn’t think that would be something he’d respond to. He nods as a thanks, ignoring the way your generosity strokes his heart. Perhaps, he wonders while shuffling down the hall, humans are wretched. And witches, the so-called horrors of horror, are benignant. Or, it could just be that you are. Either way, Yoongi has witnessed something tonight that he hadn’t in a long time. Acceptance. 

He spares you one last glance, hand hovering over the brass doorknob. You’re holding a wand and attempting to transform the couch into a bed. The dragon reminds him that you don’t know him, where he comes from, how long he’d traveled, or what he’d done to be chained. All you know is a friend sent him here and his hybridity makes him undesirable. Such a luxury, the dragon whispers, to trust and be trusted. 

Agust doesn’t like to talk about himself. You learned this quickly. After the first night, you tried to pry again. Who else escaped? How long had he known Namjoon? Any chance he’ll be offering that name now? But, he won’t budge. Sometimes, when he’s tired of all your questions, he’d walk away. The excuse is usually that he’s looking for a book, but you haven’t seen him pick up anything besides an anthology of flight. You decided to give up all together, not daring to ask the real question on your mind, like how he got that scar. 

Other times, however, he’ll turn the questions onto you. Maintaining eye contact, he’d listen to each answer and engage in a little conversation about each point. Three weeks have elapsed, and you still have yet to decide if this is part of his diverting tactic or if he’s genuinely interested. In both cases, it’s good to know that he’s willing to have a conversation about something. 

It’s also reassuring to find that he’s adapted to your routine seamlessly. He mentioned something about wanting to help out around the shop his third morning in Daegu. The look on his face was too precious to deny. Curious, unsure, tentative, he muttered the question like it meant everything and nothing to him all at once. You were wondering if he knew that Apolla still hadn’t returned with news then, but now you’re sure. He glances at her food bowl every morning, as if looking for signs of her presence. 

Three weeks is the longest she’d ever looked for a safehouse. You expected that not many people would want to harbour a known fugitive, but hoped that someone would. Most hosts recognize the danger of associating with a hybrid. The consequences are the same - execution. Perhaps risks run higher when a face is attached to a name and continuously circling the news. 

Your greatest regret, however, is how relieved you are that he won’t be leaving. Sure, Agust is stand-offish and too blunt at times, but there’s just something about him that reels you in. The rasp of his voice, the indifferent wonder in his eyes, how he walks like he rather be flying is endearing. He almost floats with determined desolation, like he digs the very hole he’s in to get out. The deeper he is, the stronger he becomes. You’re not sure if you find that admirable, but it’s something merely Agust-esque. 

He leans on the counter now, reading that same anthology again. You’re sure this is his fourth time through it. He still soaks in every word and takes his time with each page. A customer approaches the counter with a bright smile. You stop cleaning one of the tables to watch Agust deliberately ignore him. Being a dragon, he can sense when someone is near and how they might be feeling.You know this from the stories your coven would trade. Dragons, being a rarity, are something like gods to witches; you haven’t really met one before Agust. 

“Good evening,” the customer greets. He hops onto one of the stools as Agust ignores him. His smile wavers. “S-sir?”

“Shh.”

The customer blinks. He looks around as if wondering if he’d really just been shushed. “I would-”

“Shh.” 

You sigh, muttering a quiet plea to the gods under your breath. Then, you catch it, the smirk plaything on Agust’s lips. It’s so tiny, hidden behind an annoyed persona, that if you hadn't been paying such close attention you would’ve missed it. He’s not ignoring the customer to gain a reaction out of them, but out of you. And for some odd reason, that makes your heart skip a beat. 

Agust flips the page then finally acknowledges the customer. An amused look holds his features as the customer stutters their order. “Orange basil?” He questions, hints of disgust drenched in his tone. Before the man can part his lips to reply, Agust sighs and shrugs. He looks at you, and raises a brow. It’s rather teasing, silently asking why you’re staring. 

After wiping your hands, you carry the tray of teacups and little teapots back to the counter. The magic takes over once you stand by Agust. He follows your every movement, eyes lingering on the sway of your hips for a few seconds too long. 

“Jimin,” you greet, ignoring Agust like he had done to the customer. 

He picks up on your actions quickly, a quiet chuckle escaping him. “Suck up,” he whispers. 

“Is he supposed to be behind the counter?” Jimin asks. He avoids Agust’s gaze, knowing his question would earn him a glare. 

“Not with an attitude,” you reply with a bright smile. 

Agust rolls his eyes, prepared to chuckle until he hears Jimin laugh. He sighs as if the daily customer is intruding. Within seconds, his interest in the conversation falls. That cursed anthology consumes his attention all over again. 

You mask your disappointment with business, turning to the kitchen. The caldron already heard the order and began it’s brew just as you have enchanted it to do. Agust knows this. He’s watched you recharm the pots every morning. And every time you run back here, you know he notices. Sometimes you can feel his eyes following you when you walk away from him. There’s a faint pull in his gaze, like he’s pleading for your return to his side. At times, you find yourself longing after him too when he’s in such close but distant proximity. 

A quiet hoot shatters all your thoughts. You rush back to the counter in time to find the door burst open and Grako swoon in. Agust already had his gaze locked on the glass, his inner dragon probably having picked up the thumping flaps of feather in the wind. 

Some customers gasp and duck agains their tables. You ignore their confused stares, knowing they’ll chalk this up to one of your strange quirks. Grako lands on the counter, scaring Jimin enough to make him jump out of his seat. Agust enjoys the sight a little too much. 

“Can you get the seeds by the sink for me?” You ask Agust, hoping to grant Jimin a moment without ridicule. Without a word, he makes his way to the kitchen. 

You fight every instinct to follow after his frame and focus on the owl. Searching for Namjoon’s reply, your heart sinks when you don’t find parchment on the left leg. Your message looks untouched on the right. Untying the string holding it together, you unroll the parchment to find the unchanged message. 

Agust sets the sealed bag of seeds on the counter. Grako turns to face him. You do your best to suppress a shaky sigh, but Agust hears it anyways. He ignores the owl eyeballing him and shifts closer to you. The action surprises you enough to distract from your worries. Agust never cared for less distance. Yet, he stands close enough to feel the warmth of his breath fanning over your shoulder. 

“What’s wrong?” He mutters.

Though you want to tell him, you know now is not at all the right time. One too many pairs of eyes lock on you, various ears perking in your direction. You force a smile and shake your head. “Nothing at all,” you reply in the steadiest voice you can muster. 

He nods. He doesn’t believe it, but nods. “How often do your charms work?” 

You raise a brow. “Often.”

“So are the sponges supposed to wring sink water all over the floor?”

Agust is clever. You never doubted this. He’s perspicacious, calculating and above all downright angelic. However, you try not to let that last detail overtake you too much. It’s just that pierced lip and dark tattoo peeking from under his tunic stun you from time to time. The messy hair, undercut and dark, and that scar that lure you more than they should. It’s all too pure to be so rough, much like his personality. 

No, wait, you’ve gotten ahead of yourself again. Agust is clever - yes. He knows just how to get his way with you every time. Anything he wants, you usually offer. His reference of rogue cleaning supplies is just one example of his advantageous perception. Tugging on your ear, you sent the sponges acraze around the kitchen. A cacophony of broken dishes and spilled cauldrons echo throughout the shop. You wonder if you tugged too hard or perhaps used a stronger spell than intended. Did you even recharm the sponges or the entire kitchen? 

All conversation halts to the loud mess transpiring behind the curtain. Agust nudges your elbow, reminding you of the switch to flames when enchantments “malfunction.” You mutter a quiet, oh then wave a trembling hand to the ceiling. The lights flicker a few times before the half-hearted spell finally works. 

“But-” Jimin tries to say only to have Agust hush him again with a finger upon his lips. Jimin sighs, following the rest of the customers out. 

Agust waits for the doors to lock before fully facing you. “So?”

You’re not sure what Agust’s relationship was with Namjoon. You always assumed it was closer enough to trust, but how close is that for Agust? Did Namjoon know his real name? The last thing you want to do is sadden him with your assumptions about your best friend’s silence. However, as you part your lips to lie, you find you are simply incapable of the action when it comes to Agust. It’s not just that he will automatically catch on, but that the act itself dries your mouth. It would feel awkward to lie, perhaps even disgusting. 

“He didn’t reply.”

“It’s been gone for a month.”

“I know.”

He searches your eyes. Fingertips hovering near yours, he inhales half a breath. “Maybe he went back to Ilsan?”

Namjoon told him about Ilsan? Your heart festers with jealousy, regrettably towards Namjoon. If Agust knows of Ilsan, then Namjoon must know his real name. The fact that you didn't mention a name at all in your note might have tipped him against replying. You know Namjoon well enough to know he would take the safest option. Is that where Agust picked up his cautionary habit? No, you mustn’t entertain this petty frustration. So what if Namjoon is closer to Agust than you are? They probably spent more time together too. Another wave of annoyance attacks your chest. That possibility seems to irk you more than soothe you as it was meant to.

Sliding the piece of parchment and a pen towards him, you mutter, “Write your name. The one he’d know.” 

Agust pauses. You don’t spare him a second glance. It’s childish, you know, but you can't help but be a bit peeved with him. Your mind is actively reminding you that Agust and Namjoon are their own people and do not need to have a smaller relationship than you and Agust do. Your heart can’t shut up about it though. It invades your thoughts with questions that attack your insecurities. Have you been too nice? Too mean? Too lazy with your magic or too powerful? Is he intimidated or simply more comfortable around men than he is around women? Feeding Grako from the seeds in your palm, you clench your jaw and attempt to purge these thoughts from your mind. 

Doubt is poisonous. You wish you had an anecdote for this sort of suffering. 

“I don’t want to.”

“Well, he doesn’t believe you’re really here,” you all but snap. “So either scribble the stupid name or let him die.” 

Your drama makes you cringe. Being too aware of your stupidity in the moment might just be the very worse detail about this cursed conversation. 

Agust scoffs. Inching closer, he towers over you. Jaw set, eyes dark with amber rage, he whispers, “You’ll refrain from using such a tone with me if you know what’s good for you.” His calloused fingers trace the outline of your face, as he continues, “I don’t want to warn you again.”

You shudder against his frame. Gulping, you muster whatever courage you have left and mutter, “You’ll refrain from using such threats with me.” You take his hand in yours and squeeze gently, letting your magic tickle his bloodstream. He shivers as those black talons reappear. You feel their impression against your wrist. “If you know what’s good for you,” you finish. 

Agust waits, watches. Adam’s apple bobbing, he nods once. His attention returns to the parchment. He scratches his name, blows it dry, then rolls it up like you had weeks ago. You tie the note to the right leg again. You hope your assumption is correct as you secure the knot. After tossing Grako a rat tail, to which he effortlessly catches, you send him off again. This time he is Ilsan bound. 

“Who is Namjoon to you?” Agust asks once the doors lock shut again. 

You wave a hand to the kitchen to fix whatever disarray you accidentally set it to then answer the question with one of your own. “Who are you to him?”

“A friend.” 

You weren’t really expecting an answer. He usually sulks when you toss a question back at him. So, you begin to wonder, why did he answer this one? What is so important about your answer this time? 

“A best friend,” you smirk. 

He rolls his eyes. “Does getting on my nerves fascinate you?” 

You shrug. “Usually.” 

“Just answer the question.”

“I did.”

He sighs and you mock it, earning a pointed look. “Did you meet in Ilsan?”

“Yeah. We grew up together,” you answer. Though you love to tease him, you can never keep it up for too long. You always end up giving into him at some point. “We were neighbours. The coven didn’t really like him lurking around me though.” 

“Was this his idea?”

You raise a brow. “I thought you were friends?”

“You’re enchanting,” he suddenly blurts. 

When your face falls in shock, his cheeks heat up. His words seem as though they are registering for the first time. How enchanting are you exactly?

“What I mean is,” he tries again. “You have the tendency to get your way from anyone you’d like. Jin and Guk have made all glamour deliveries on time, Namjoon rounds up hybrids for you to relocate all over the kingdom, and you recruit every animal you find.” 

“Not every animal,” you playfully pout. “Just the useful ones.”

Agust rolls his eyes. Accepting defeat, he shuts his book and tucks it under his arm. For a second, you think he’s about to say something. But, he merely licks his lips and avoids your gaze. If you didn’t know any better you’d think he’s upset with you. 

Later, during dinner, you start to believe your assumptions. Agust seems to focus on everything but you. The beef stew, garlic buns, kimchi, ginseng tea, even pulling out that stupid book again. Never has he opened those pages at the table, always offering you at least sliver of attention. Maybe you have no right for feeling this way, but his disregard for you twinges your pride. 

“Is there a reason you’re staring?”

And that tone. You’ve grown rather sick of it, frankly. He sulks around the house, around the shop and grumbles half-hearted insults. Though you know they’re usually playful, you can’t ignore the festing frustration in your chest.

His eyes gleam with the dragon within. “We both know I can sense your anger.” 

“Shut the book.”

“No.”

You raise a brow, silently suggesting a possible source to your anger.  Agust shuts the book. 

“Happy?”

“Ecstatic,” you sarcastically smile. 

He stares for a moment then shakes his head. “I’m not sure why you’re so angry,” he says while picking up his plate. 

You charm it right out of his hands as he stands from his seat. He glares. You return it. When he reaches for his cup, you wave a hand at it as well. Both dishes hover to the sink. The game carries on until all the dishes float back to the kitchen. You toss a mocking smirk and ask, “Enough flying for you?”

“What do you have against flying?” 

It has your attention. “Nothing.” 

“You’re a terrible liar. How you’ve gotten away with all this hybrid hiding all these ears is beyond me.”

You quirk your head to the side. So he knows this operation has been years in the making. Then what was all that questioning about? 

“If you have something to say, then say it,” he baits after taking his seat. He almost sounds like he doesn’t think you will. He should know you better by now. 

You stand up and circle the table. Leaning against the edge, towering over him, you cross your arms under your chest and disregard all filters. “How did you escape?” 

He scoffs. “Namjoon helped me.”

“Yes, but how?”

A certain darkness falls over his features. He gulps before letting out a shaky sigh. “He was guarding my quarters. We spoke often.” Then he falls silent, eyes reverting to the floor. A moment elapses, two, three, by the fifth he takes another deep breath. “My last night was hard. He told me that he was working on permanent relaction in Ilsan. Something about how the mountains are safest. But after that night, I don’t think he was willing to wait for the right moment anymore.” 

So, that’s how he knew of Ilsan. Shame settles over you in heavy waves. You avoid his eye in regret. Even after that, you know you shouldn’t pry. But you continue to ask anyways. “What happened?”

He glances at the anthology. “They took my horns,” he mutters so indifferently you think it’s a joke. Still, you don’t dare laugh. Not when his face is riddled with embarrassment and disgrace. 

“Then, I was forced into a full transformation,” he continues. “And clipped.”

You gasp. He lets out a breathy chuckle. “Don’t be so dramatic, (Y/N).”

How can he be so lighthearted? No- you mustn’t question his ways of coping. Regret engulfs you as you look to the stupid book again. Perhaps you shouldn’t have been so pushy about it. You’ve heard rumors in the coven, about clipped dragons. You just didn’t think anyone would ever succumb to such cruelty. 

“I won’t tell you things if you’re just gonna cry about it,” he grumbles. 

You’re crying? Rubbing your hands against your cheeks, you’re surprised to find them wet. “Sorry,” you chuckle. “I just can’t believe they really-” 

“So this wasn’t your idea then?”

Shifting closer to him, you wipe away all your tears and shake your head. “Namjoon found me the day I opened. I told him in a letter that I’ve borrowed a home under the shop. A couple of hobbits told me about it on the train from Ilsan.” 

His hand slips into yours, stunting your explanation for a moment. You gaze down at them, finding the warmth all too welcoming to vocalize any curiosities. His thumb brushes against your knuckles, as if attempting to soothe your worries. 

“Is that how you relocate us? Through tunnels?” 

You nod. “He’s a knight of the people. Just like he vowed to be.” 

Agust sighs. He stops the smoothing touches and redirects his eyes to the floor. “I’m Yoongi,” he whispers, then quickly changes the subject before you’re able to comment on it. “My mother is from Daegu. I thought I’d find her here even though I know where she’s buried.” 

Yoongi. How precious. You repeat the name over and over again until it seers into your brain. A sudden tug to get close gnaws at your heart. A part of you wants to sit in his lap, but another is trying desperately to convince you how bad of an idea that is. The fact of the matter is, though you appreciate the honesty, you can’t help but wonder why he’s telling you all this. After a little over a month of half-sentences and playful teasing at most, he’s suddenly willing to spill all this out to you? It doesn’t make much sense to you, but you’re too afraid to ask. The last thing you’d want to do is downplay his honesty for something material. 

Alas, it seems like you don’t have to ask though. Yoongi already knows. 

“I want to tell you I don’t know. But, I think you might be the first person in a very long time to not care.” When you furrow your brows in confusion, he lightly chuckles and clarifies, “You are clever enough to know my name is not dragon, despite popular belief, and couldn’t care less that I am one. I’m just Yoongi to you, even if you didn’t know it.” 

You cannot deny the allure of him anymore. Hearing him speak of you like this, like you’re the only thing that matters, does more to you than you’re willing to admit. You press your thighs together before slipping into his lap. He wraps an arm around your waist like he’d been expecting this. Yours dangle off his shoulders like you’d been made for this. 

He looks so painfully holy up close, like a fallen god. The scar through his eye crushes your guts with anger. He’d seen so many horrors, perhaps even endured most of it. You know it is not because of the dragon. The determination in his gaze, the desire to survive roots further down than any mythical side of him can touch. Yoongi made it this far because he wanted to. And what do all his efforts leave him with… clipped wings and horns? You can’t sit back and watch him pour himself into this anthology another second. It’s clear he misses his wings, even his horns. 

“Yoongi,” you start, mind sifting through memories of dragon lore. “I think I can bring your wings back.”

He falls silent. A breath doesn’t even dare escape him. “You keep telling me you don’t know much about dragons.”

“I don’t have any physical books about them or dragon hybrids for that matter, but most covens revere dragons. The greatest stories among us are about how magical you are. A piece of you in any potion heightens the effects tenfold,” you explain. 

“So what? You just so happen to have a spell to sprout wings?” 

He’s mocking as a defense. You know this though it still doesn’t stop you from rolling your eyes. “Not exactly. Reproduction spells are tricky. They don’t require the typical notions of a dragon that any other spell might. They tend to be a bit more…” you trail off, eyes dancing all around the room just to stay off him. Shifting on his lap, you suddenly find it all too awkward to be seated here. 

“More..?” 

Perhaps you shouldn’t have brought this up. “Intimate.”

You expected to hear him retch in disgust, or maybe even cringe. At the very least, you expected his face to fall. Never did you think it would light up, no matter how badly you hoped it would. 

“Intimate?” He repeats. “How exactly does that work?” You’re about to answer when he adds, “Show me.” 

Heart fluttering, you swallow thickly. Your guts churns with desire, core drenched in desperation as he continues to regard you with cocky indifference. Is he joking? Testing you? You pray to any god listening that he’s serious. 

“We should probably fire the caldron first,” you whisper. “The base needs to brew for a while.” 

Yoongi nods. “I’ll make sure to give it enough time.” He attempts to hide his smile. You push yourself off his lap and try to ignore how needy you become from a few simple words. You can feel him watching. Body shaking, you’re not sure if you're bursting with excitement or simply anxious. Yoongi seems to have made you feel both throughout his stay here. 

Deep breath in, and you bring both hands up to light the fireplace. The charmed calderon fills to life. Rosewater to start; sweet thyme, cloves, wolfsbane, knotgrass and a hint of ginger to brew. Yoongi makes his way towards you, silently watching all the ingredients pour into the black pot. 

“When is it my turn?” 

Skin ablaze, you bit your lip to hold back a moan. “The witch’s essence needs to be added too,” you mutter all too quietly. 

He hears it anyways. “Even better.” 

Your nerves are all he can sense. The smirk on his face tells you that much. He’s playing because he knows he can. He knows he’ll get away with it and there isn’t much you can do about that. Unless… there is?

He did ask you to show him how the intimacy would work. You start to unlace your dress, biting back a giggle when his breath hitches. Did he think you wouldn’t do it? 

Over and off, goes your dress. In a soft thump, it lands on the wooden floors. Yoongi sighs, eyes shamelessly roaming over your naked body, fixating on every dip of your curves. His balls his hands and makes it a point to keep them by his side. The shift in power makes you giddier than it should. 

Raising a brow, you ask, “I thought you wanted to see how it’s done?”

Yoongi chuckles. He licks his lips, looking off to the side for a moment then pulls his shirt off. The symbol of Min inks in arm like a sleeve. A royal dragon. The abuse makes all too much sense now. Not that it has ever been out of place for the king to do such a thing. He thumbs your chin, gently asking to meet his gaze. 

“Do you still want to restore my wings?” He asks, like his status could ever change that. 

You decide to show him how badly you do on your knees. Hands fiddling with his zipper, you undo his pants and let his massive cock smack your face. Yoongi gasps a moan; your pussy clenches with need. How dare he make such a sound so effortlessly? You just might cum from his voice alone, if he keeps this up. And who told him it was okay to be this thick? He’s so heavy against your cheek, pointing at the soft flesh like it belongs to him. 

His eyes gleam, lips stretch into a smug smirk. Well, don’t you? He seems to be silently asking. 

Mouth open, you carve a taste. Is dragon cum as sweet as everyone says? Tongue over slit, and you can confirm that it is. Your eyes roll back and whines escape like it’s your first time. It’s just one taste but you can’t hold yourself back. Spitting over his cock, you pump him a couple of times then shove him down your throat. 

Yoongi groans. His fingers tangle in your hair. At first, they move in gentle motions. The gesture is enough to tell you not to strain yourself. But then you make the mistake of swallowing around him. Your throat tightens all too deliciously for him to merely watch. Like a switch, Yoongi unbounds himself. His nails dig into your scalp, and hips snap forward. 

You gag. And he loves it. Every wet, choked sound struggling to keep up fuels the force of his thrusts. He loses himself all too quickly to even realize that he’s suffocating you. Hands against his thighs, you have to pat him a few times before he returns to his senses. 

In an instant, his hands are by his side again as he pulls out. You let his cock rest on your tongue as you pant. Through your blurred vision, you can only just make out his concerned gaze. “Sorry, princess,” he hisses. 

As if you thought that honey-thick voice couldn’t get any raspier, he goes and calls you his princess. A loud moan leaves you all too quickly. No one has ever dwelled on you like that. Is his objective to ruin you before the spell casts? 

While brushing your hair back, he chuckles down at you. Your soul fills with the undeniable desire to please this man beyond comprehension. You want to hear him whisper how tight you are, tell you how well you’re doing. Until pride glows every inch of your heart, you will not stop choking on his giant cock. 

You take him all at once, again. Throat burning, a part of your regrets not working yourself up to committing to all of him. Back and forth, you bob your head on his dick. So big, he barely even fits. Every new thrust means squeezing himself through all over again. It beckons tears to your eyes and strains your jaw. You’re aching, but he’s twitching.

Face scrunched in pleasure, Yoongi throws his head back. “Just a little more, princess,” he hisses. Pulling in deep, he keeps your head still against his pelvis and whispers, “Hold it there. Just stay- fuck, do it again for Daddy, princess.” 

Anything for daddy, you wish you would scream. You force yourself to swallow twice more than he asked for, risking a gag too big to ignore. Through gritted teeth, he roars like a dragon in heat and unloads himself in your mouth. Most of it slides down just from how deep he’d reached, but the rest spills out from the corner of your lips. 

He doesn’t care. Pulling out, he continues to pump himself at the sight of you. Hair disheveled, cheeks stained with tears and mouth smeared with cum, are you really this big a whore? Or is it all just for him?

You’re granted a moment to catch your breath, watching him watch you with newfound wonder. Vein laced hand, inked and sticky with his own cum, Yoongi pulls you back up to your feet by your neck. He pats your hair down, wipes your lips, then presses a tender kiss upon them.

It’s now that you notice he has always smelt like charred oak, musky and smokey. Everything about him sets you aflame, And though, your lips are on fire from the taste of his, the cold edge of his piercing cools you enough to miss the heat. You moan and drape your arms around his neck like this is some innocent kiss and his erection isn’t poking at your belly. 

“Is there any particular way I gotta fuck you, princess?” He questions between sloppy kisses. 

You force yourself off him long enough to answer, “Hold me over the pot. We have to cum together for it to work.” 

He smiles, jerks his head back when you try to kiss him again. A twinge of embarrassment strikes your heart before he turns you around and softly trails kisses up and down your neck. “You’re gorgeous,” he murmurs into your skin, rough hands kneading your ass. “Fuck, I knew you had an ass but this is fucking insane.” 

A smack follows his praise. You cry out his name. He spanks you harder. “You know that’s not what you’re supposed to call me right now.” 

You giggle through an erotic moan. He doesn’t like the sound of that. With one hand tight on your neck and the other wrapped around your waist to hold you in place, Yoongi kicks your feet and spreads your legs. Gliding his girth between your folds, he hisses against your ear, “You’ll learn to behave yourself from now on, princess.” 

You want to tell him it was never your intention to disrespect him. However, the slow, deliberate punishment he inflicts melts you into him in silence. All you can bring yourself to whine is, “Whatever you want, daddy.” 

“Mmm, that’s right. That’s my perfect princess,” he whispers. Then, he sucks in a sharp breath with you and plunges himself in your tight cunt. You knew he wouldn’t fit probably in your mouth, but you thought that your pussy, sopping for attention oh so desperately, would easily accept him. It’s your fault for underestimating such a massive cock. His tip doesn’t even fit. Yoongi takes to bending you over for a smoother entrance. 

“So huge!” You cry only to have him chuckle behind you. Vibrations of his laugh tickle your spine.

Once he finally pushes his way through, breathless moans and groans filling the space between, he gives you some time to adjust. It;s thoughtful of him, but you both know no amount of time will ever get you used to his godly size. 

“Please just ruin me, daddy,” you beg, through a broken whine. 

“What was that, princess?”

“Please, please just fuck me!”

Tightening his grip on both your neck and waist, he rapsys a dark laugh against the shell of your ear. You shudder, thinking you might just cum now until he starts to ram you. You jerk forward each time despite his hold on you. His hips always overpower everything else. Rough smacks of skin on skin drown your voice until it’s completely gone. You cannot even bring yourself to properly breathe. He’s a beast. Huffing your name, clenching his jaw and sinking his balls into you, Min Yoongi makes it his mission to destroy you. 

“Pretty, pretty little girl,” he hisses. “My pretty princess.” Grinding his hips against your ass, cock swilling the mess he’s making of your pussy, he suddenly breathes, “I wanna make you my queen.” 

Leaning back into him, you find just enough strength to muster the first words that come to mind. “I’m gonna hold you to that, daddy.” 

He moans, softening his hold to shower your face with gentle kisses. A reflection of comfort and familiarity glow in his eyes when he pulls away. His hands slide down to your thighs. He bends a little to hosite you up against  him. With your legs spread, he holds you over the calderon and picks up that wickedly rough pace again. You place your hands over his and let him ravish in you. 

Slouching, your pussy tights with every new thrust. Doses of you are already dripping into the brew as it boils. Yoongi curses. You thought you felt him twitching a few minutes ago but now you’re sure. In fact, you can even see it. He’s so big an imprint of his cock bulges from your stomach. You watch it twitch again as he shoves his balls deeper into you. 

Just witnessing it, triggers your orgasm. You try to hold it off long enough to let him know, only to have Yoongi barks, “Fucking cum!” 

You’ve never been one to deny him anything. Convulsing, you let your orgasm run free through you. Yoongi digs his fingers into your thick thighs to keep you steady, all while continuing to ruin you. It seems as though cumming spurs him on to further plough into you. He moves with harsher force and speed than he did when he was annoyed. 

He mutters something else in your ear, but you can’t make anything out. Your ears ring, vision blurs and you tremble all over. Toes curled and pointed to the sky, you cry out his name. And, as he pulls out of you to let out leak your mixed cum into the potion, you whisper the spell under your breath thrice. 

“Kiss me,” you whine. “Quick.” 

Though lacking his title, he doesn’t argue. Lips on lips, you drip out your love and seal the spell. 

The cackles of the potion break your kiss. Yoongi sets you back down to your feet then steps away from the heat. You lean back into him, watching the calderon overflow with steam and gleam green. 

He pecks your shoulder and wraps his arms around your waist. “So, there really is a potion,” he chuckles quietly to himself. 

“What do you mean? Why would I lie about something like that?”

Yoongi shrugs. You push your ass back against him, teasingly. He tightens his hold with a playful smirk. “I just thought you wanted me.” 

“I do,” you whisper without much thought. 

A relieved smile, gummy and too cute to resemble anything you just did, stretches upon his lip. You peck his chin to which he blushes. Min Yoongi blushing is not a sight you were prepared to see, erupting your heart all too easily. 

“Never speak of this,” he tries to grumble indifferently, but that smile is still playing on his lips. When you go to tease him again, he says, “Will this even work?” 

You shrug. “Only one way to find out.” Enchanting a cup, you snap your fingers to beckon towards you. You fill it to the brim with the potion then hand it to Yoongi. 

He hovers the rim against his lips. Lost in thought or deliberation, you’re not sure. All you can tell is that it seems as though time has frozen for him. 

“Yoong-”

“I don’t want wings,” he sighs. You blink back at him. He takes a breath before adding, “Not now, anyways.”

You look back to the pot, wondering if the entire thing might have been a mistake. He drops the cup into it without much care for the brew that spills and cups your face. “I don’t want wings tonight. I want you.” 

“I’m right here?”

“I remember a little about what it was like to fly. Being with you reminds me of that,” he whispers. 

Tear prick your eyes, disbelief holding your voice hostage. “Me?” You croak, in confusion. “Yoongi, I-”

He holds you closer and suddenly all your words die in your mouth. You’re not even sure what you were trying to say. Pressing his forehead against yours, he mutters your name like a prayer and whispers, “You’re all the wings I need.”

note; please do not leave hate towards me or any other readers. please do not copy, repost, or translate any of my work without my permission.

[supercap2319]

Tricks and Treats

A/N: I was inspired by @davidlikesboys02’s story, Sweet Tooth, that I wanted to create one too.

Pairing: Parker Caine x Male reader

“I’m telling you, Mags, this look isn’t for me,” Y/N says, frowning at his reflection in the mirror. He was dressed like a firefighter, only he didn't have a shirt on leaving his bare chest exposed. The stupid costume only came with suspenders, pants, and a hat.

His sister was hosting a Kappa Halloween party here at the house tonight and Y/N opted on staying in his room until it was all over, but Maggie wouldn't hear of it. She wanted to push her brother outside of his comfort zone and what better way than to mingle with people at a party? She was dressed in a purple ball gown, a star tiara on her head.

“Will you stop fussing? You look fine, and every guy and girl tonight is gonna think you look like a snack in that getup,” she smiles. Y/N rolls his eyes. “Like Ava Max says, ‘“I'm not a bite, I'm a five-course meal.’” Maggie scoffs. “You have got to stop listening to her music. She is so not.”

“Yes, she is.”

“Fine, whatever. I'm not letting go downstairs dressed as Pikachu, that practically screams “‘virgin.’” Y/N frowned. “But I am a virgin.”

“I know that, and you know that, but the people at this party don't need to know that. Okay?” Maggie says. “Besides, it's your chance to look sexy and show off your body.” Y/N shook his head, “I don't want to show off my body, I want to keep it hidden,” Y/N tells her.

Maggie sighs in defeat. “Just try it out and if you're uncomfortable later on, then you can change, alright?”

Y/N nods his head in agreement. “If anyone tries touching my chest I'm kicking their ass.”

“Deal.”

Macy, Mel, and Harry walk through the front door, as Y/N and Maggie come downstairs. “You guys,” she says with a grin. “I’m pretty sure Martha Stewart is a witch.” She twirls in her gown and smiles as they stare at her in shock. “Y/N what the hell are you wearing?” Mel asks, taking in her brother’s appearance. He blushes and before he can answer; Maggie interrupts him. “He’s a sexy fireman, who’s gonna get laid tonight.”

“That wasn’t the plan,” Y/N said.

“You invited Gavin behind my back,” Macy says, looking at both Y/N and Maggie. Y/N shook his head. “It was Mag’s idea.”

“What? I wanted to surprise you.”

“Do I look like someone who enjoys surprises?” Macy asks.

“Okay, I know. Boundaries. But hear me out,” Maggie starts. “I was thinking about this whole Harbinger thing and-“

“-No, you weren’t,” Mel says

“I so was.”

“And I thought to myself, "Maggie, why walk around campus handing out one cookie at a time when you could invite 200 people here and test them out all at once?" Maggie rants.

“So this has nothing to do with your sorority?” Mel asks her.

Maggie bites her lips, “Well, I mean, coincidentally, it might keep me from getting kicked out of Kappa, but that's just the icing.”

“The cake is totally for you guys. Because I so want to help save the world.”

“As much as I hate to say it, it's not a bad idea,” Y/N says. “We could rule out most of the Greek system in a matter of hours.”

“And I'm guessing your precious Elders haven't come up with anything better?” Mel asks Harry, a smug look on her face.

Harry looks at all four Charmed ones and sighs in defeat. “Very well…”

“Yes!”

“As long as we stay on task, and remain vigilant. There's no telling when the Harbinger might strike.”

The party is in full swing after just a few hours. People are dancing to the music, drinking skinny margaritas and eating the cookies Macy made. Y/N can feel both guys and girls looking at him as he walks by with a tray of cookies. He's really glad that he can levitate instead of reading minds like Maggie. At one point he sees Macy dressed like Judge Judy, a few minutes later, she's dressed like a Greek Goddess. Later on, the four witches find out the Harbinger is hunting virgins to strengthen its vessel. Y/N feels a bit nervous as he goes to get ingredients for a protection spell.

Y/N goes to the cabinet and uses a step stool to reach the ingredients. He searches for dried sage, which is a little high for him to reach. He tippy-toes, trying to reach the ingredient, but the stool tips over, and Y/N falls. He probably would have hit his head, but strong arms caught him. Y/N looks up to see a guy wearing sunglasses staring at him. “Woah, talk about falling for a guy,” Y/N chuckles nervously.

The guy chuckles too. “You okay there, Mr. Firefighter?” The guy takes off his sunglasses and Y/N recognizes him as the guy who helped him at the diner this morning. “Uh, thanks to you, again.”

“Right place, right time,” the guy smiles. Y/N blushes a bit. The guy is really handsome. “I'm Parker, by the way. Parker, Caine,” Parker says, holding out his hand for Y/N to shake. “Y/N Vera.” Parker grins. Y/N looks down at his boots, then back up. “I was just grabbing a drink. Can I pour you one?”

“I'm actually kind of busy with something right now. But catch you later, Officer?”

“Yes, sir,” Parker salutes. Y/N smiles before walking away.

Parker watches him leave, a smile on his face.

...

The protection spell doesn't work since the Harbinger is already inside the house. “What are we supposed to do?” Mel asks. “When you want to lure a shark, you don't use live bait,” Macy says. “You chum the water.” She takes a needle from hair. “Great. But where are we gonna get our hands on virgin blood?”

“Right here,” both Y/N and Macy say at the same time. They both prick their hands before smearing the blood on a nearby tree. “Y/N you're a virgin?” Mel asks. “Yeah, so?” Mel holds her hands up. “Nothing. I just thought that you and Chris had gone all the way before he cheated on you.” Y/N shook his head. “I told him that I wasn't ready yet, and I'm pretty sure that's why he cheated on me. Because I wouldn't put out.”

“I'm sorry, honey,” Mel says.

“It's alright, that's the past,” Y/N tells her. They lure the demon to a binding circle, and they discover that the vessel is Angela Wu. During the spell Maggie's powers act up. The demon turns to Y/N and Macy. “Y/N, Macy, run!” Harry says. Y/N and Macy take off into the forest as Angela chases after them. “Macy, hide. I'll distract her,” Y/N says. “What? Y/N she's too powerful. She'll kill you.”

“No, she won't,” Y/N says as Angela charges towards him, her pale white face glowing red. At the last second, Y/N levitates into the air and kicks her in the head. She stumbles back a bit but looks more angry than hurt. She charges again, but Macy telekinetically moves a tree branch to distract her. The two hide behind a tree as Angela comes around the other side, but Maggie hits her with a tree branch.

The demon quickly gets up to attack the three witches, but Mel utters a dangerous spell, “Solaris incantatio!” The spell works but knocks everyone off their feet and Y/N stops breathing. “Y/N!”

“Harry, please do something! He's not breathing!” Mel says. “Oh, God.”

“Y/N?” Maggie whispers, seeing her brother unconscious.

“Let's just hope it's shock,” Harry said, holding out his hand to heal Y/N.

“Please, this is not happening,” Mel begs.

“Y/N, come on,” Macy says.

Y/N wakes up gasping for air. He looks around wildly. “What happened?” he asks. “You almost died,” Harry says. “Yeah, well what else is new?” Y/N jokes.

“I am so, so sorry. Will you ever forgive me?” Mel asks.

“You did save mine and Macy's, life, so I think I'll let it slide,” Y/N grins as his sisters hug him.

Maggie, Y/N, and Macy did damage control since Maggie reversed her glamour spell. People were leaving the house, and Macy ran into Gavin, before kissing him. Y/N smiled happily. Maybe he should try that with Parker. He just needed to find him first. Good thing Y/N’s costume was store-bought, so he still had it on.

He saw Maggie talking to Lucy. Y/N rolled his eyes, she was so annoying. He caught the last bit of their conversation about Maggie becoming a Kappa. Both girls squealed and hugged each other. Y/N smiled. His sister had wanted this for so long, and now she had it. His smile widened even further as Parker walked towards them.

“Oh, Parker!” Lucy said, as he handed her a drink. “Baby. Uh, this is the girl I was telling you about.” She said, taking a sip of her drink. Y/N's smile faded as he realized what was happening. Parker wasn't single. He had a girlfriend.

“Parker, meet my favorite pledge, Maggie, and her baby brother, Y/N. Maggie, Y/N, meet my boyfriend, Parker.” Parker glanced guiltily at Y/N, who looked absolutely crestfallen. “Hey, Mags, I'm gonna go to bed, already,” he said, trying to keep his voice from cracking.

“Y/N are you alright?”

“I'm fine,” even though he wasn't. Y/N walked up the stairs and to his room with his head hanging low and his heart crushed. He cried a good five minutes before he heard a knock at his door. He tried to dry his eyes, as he answered the door. He expected Maggie to be at the door. She probably knew something was wrong with him and wanted to check on him, but it wasn't her. It was the last person Y/N expected. It was Parker.

Y/N immediately tried to close the door, but Parker stuck out his foot, blocking the door from closing. “Go away, Parker, I don't want to see you,” Y/N told him. “Y/N, please just let me explain,” Parker pleads.

“No! And I never wanna see you again!” Y/N tries again to close the door, but Parker is a lot stronger. Y/N sighs. “Parker, what do you want from me?” Y/N is so confused. Why was he being so insistent? “A chance to explain, please?” Parker says. “After that you can kick my ass out if you want.”

“You’ve got two minutes.” Y/N told him.

“Y/N I know we only just met, but I haven’t been able to get you out of my head,” Parker says. “There’s something about you that I can’t explain, but I like it.” That normally would've made Y/N blush, but he was too upset to feel embarrassed. “Is that before or after you realized you had a girlfriend?”

“I know it looks bad, but I mean it when I say that I like you. I’ve never felt like this about anyone before,” Parker said. “Is that what you tell all the suckers who fall for you?” Y/N asks him. “Is that what this is Parker? A stupid joke on a poor guy that you and Lucy can laugh at later after breaking his heart?” Y/N feels tears threatening to spill. It was stupid. They had only just met and Y/N feels like he’s liked Parker for a long time.

“No, Y/N, it’s not like that at all,” Parker protests. “What can I do to convince you my feelings for you are genuine?”

“I’m not sure there’s anything you can do, Parker,” Y/N says. “Maybe you should just-“

Y/N is cut off by soft lips being pressed against his own. At first, he’s too shocked to do anything, but let it happen, a few seconds later Parker pulls away. He looks at Y/N’s shocked face, a shy smile on his lips. “Did that convince you?” He asked. Y/N licks his lips, tasting Parker on them. Only later would Y/N realize that a demon’s kiss was addictive.

Against his better judgment; Y/N leans up to kiss Parker, and the taller boy leans down to meet his lips with his own. Parker cups Y/N’s face with one hand and snakes his other around Y/N’s waist. His bare chest touching Parker's clothed one. Y/N tugs on Parker's shirt, as the other boy parts his lips with his tongue and kisses him deeply. Y/N moans against his mouth as the two part away, slowly.

“What about Lucy?” Y/N says, a blush on his face, but his eyes are shining. “We're over,” Parker says. “I’ve found someone even more amazing.” Y/N smiles a bit, as they kiss once again. Looks like this Halloween party was a good thing after all.

[eirist]

In the Heat of the Moment

Disclaimer: One Piece (and its characters) belongs to Eiichiro Oda-sensei.

Reminder: I have no beta-reader. Any grammatical and spelling errors are solely mine.

Warning: OOC possible. One shot.

Rating: T

Note: For Day 3—Nami’s Day—of the ZoNa Days event (at @zonamievents). I’m already late but still posting it. It’s unfair if it’s only Zoro who gets an entry.

In the Heat of the Moment is by Noel Gallagher’s High Flying Birds. I still have The Umbrella playlist to thank for being such a good company.

Summary: "You're getting sappy witch. Sounds like you care about me."

The rain hadn’t let up from the moment it began to pour down.

Which should not have been a problem in the first place… the Straw Hats have their very own weather expert-slash-navigator extraordinaire after all.

If only said weather expert-slash-navigator extraordinaire didn't get distracted, arguing with a certain green-haired swordsman.

"This is your fault!" Nami complained, rubbing her arms with her hands in a poor attempt to keep the emerging chill away.

​Somehow satisfied, she folded her arms across her chest as she sulkily glared at the rain which has now completely turned into a steady downpour.

​Luckily she was able to pull the man with her towards an alcove in the town's wall before they got drenched. It was an uncomfortable fit, as they were almost pressed to each other, but it'll do.

​Zoro was snarling beside her. "This rain is MY fault?" He huffed. "Right! It's my fault coz I absolutely can make it rain on a whim!"

Nami turned sharply towards him, glaring daggers. "If you hadn't gotten lost—" 

"I DON'T GET LOST!" 

"—like the idiot that you are," she continued ignoring Zoro's outburst, deliberately raising her tone and effectively drowning his retort with her shrill voice. "Then we wouldn't be stuck in here ZORO!" Her voice jumped another octave when she said his name. "In. HERE!" She repeated the words, making sure to emphasize them and hoping to drill it straight into his thick, dumb skull. 

"Tch! Then you shouldn't have followed me!" The former bounty hunter groused.

​"Besides, aren't you supposed to be good at predicting the weather?" He commented sardonically. "Shouldn't you have known that it’s going to rain today?" 

Nami gaped at him disbelievingly. ​And heat rose to her cheeks.

​She gave his shin a good kick for that.

​​"Ite!" 

​"I know that!" Nami practically shrieked at him. "That's why I followed you here to tell you about it! Is this the thanks I get from making sure you don't get your dumb self lost in this island while a storm is brewing?!"

"Again woman, I DON'T GET LOST!" Not the one to be deterred, Zoro raised his own voice to match hers. "And damn it! Stop kicking me!"

​"Bullshit!" The ever-feisty navigator exclaimed. "That a load of crap and you know it!"

​She angrily poked his chest with her finger. "If I leave you to your own devices... We. Would. Never. Find. You!" She punctuated each word with a prod on his torso. As if that would actually make the idea sink unto him. "I don't want Luffy and Chopper whining about how you are lost and that we should find you!

​Zoro grabbed her hand to stop her from poking a hole in him. Grasping it firmly he all but shouted back at her. "I will be fine! I will find my way back to the Sunny!"

“Hah! Fat chance of that happening!” 

​They were almost nose to nose by this time; all the while scowling at each other, both waiting for the other to back down.

Now only the sound of the rain falling heavily down the soaked earth can be heard as they continued their stare off. Along with the sharp intake of breaths coming from the two of them because honestly, their shouting matches can be quite arduous.

​As the glowering continued; Zoro thought he caught a glint, a spark from behind Nami's eyes before those warm brown orbs widened.

​In what could only be a realization that their current position is leaning towards… precarious. It was also not helping that his own eye had darted all over her face, taking in the flush on her cheeks. Despite it coming from indignation, she still looks...

 ... pretty.

​He almost choked at his thoughts. When did he turn into that shit cook?

Zoro inhaled sharply and realized what a wrong move that was. He caught a whiff of Nami’s signature scent. Sweet with an undertone of zestiness that reminds him of her mikan fruits at their peak of ripeness—that certain moment that makes you want to steal one so you can taste them...

​The color on her face deepened and Zoro wasn't sure if it was because she was getting angrier and angrier by the minute.

Or... If it was because she saw that his stare lingered for more than a second or two at her lips. ​"Screw this!" He grunted, instantly averting his gaze. He felt his face heating up and to get out of their rather 'awkward' situation, he immediately resorted to his favorite defense mechanism whenever he faces off against this orange-haired devil incarnate.

Losing his temper on her. 

"You are not my keeper woman!" He snapped at her before immediately stepping out of their sanctuary and into the rain.

That made Nami snap to attention. "Hey!"

​Without another word Zoro turn around and started walking away from her despite the torrential rain.

WALKING. AWAY. FROM. HER.

While it’s raining cats and dogs. 

 "Zorooo!!!" He heard Nami screeched his name, horrified that he would actually leave her alone. There was no way he was getting back in there with her. Not when it occurred to him that he was only a second away from grabbing her...

...and kissing her.

​He walked in faster strides when she called him again. He had to get away from her. He needed to get away from her.

Far away.

​Because honestly she was driving him crazy lately with all these thoughts of wanting to kiss her surfacing every moment whenever he was with her.  

And who knows what the repercussions are? This is Nami they're talking about. She would probably sic ero-cook and even Luffy if he dared to even try. Or rat him out to either Robin or Usopp or both.

Or charge him more than what his current bounty is.

He winced at that.

​For now he needed to get away and calm himself so he can reflect...

​There was no warning as something collided at his back, almost making him stumble down the wet ground.

Did someone just attack him?

​But the presence wasn't threatening, even if its arms were wrapped around his neck in a chokehold, throttling him.

"YOU DID NOT JUST LEAVE ME ALONE THERE RORONOA ZORO!" Nami deliberately yelled at his ear, probably making his ear drum shatter and rendering him forever deaf. In a split second the Supernova realized that Nami… had jumped him.

​"Hey! Get off witch!"

"No!" "Get off!" "I said no!"

​"Get off now or I'll--"

Her hold around his neck tightened. "Or you'll what?" Nami hissed right in his ear in a tone so dangerously low that an actual chill ran down Zoro's spine. He gave her arm a light slap, a silent gesture to loosen her hold because she was cutting off his air. When she didn't relent, he effortlessly bounced her up his back.

​With a squeak of surprise, her arms slackened and he was able to finally draw in some air.

Nami’s hands grabbed at his shirt in an attempt to prevent herself from slipping from his back. Zoro tried to shake her off him. But the cat burglar swiftly clung onto him by locking her legs around his waist.

His remaining eye widened at that. 

"Nami!"  ​ "Stop trying to shake me off Zoro!" Nami protested as she held on to him tightly. Her knee knocked against his katanas and he scowled. "Then stop strangling me damn it!" "You deserve it you ass! Leaving me alone like that! Wait until the others hear about this you brute!" ​ Zoro muttered an expletive under his breath. Nami is a real witch!

He can feel her sliding down his back again. She was having a hard time clinging onto him because his shirt and her arms and legs were all wet from the rain water.

"I'm charging you for all these Zoro!" She muttered against his ear, her breath hot against his skin… a stark contrast from the cold rain water falling down on them. "The hell you are!" He managed to retort. She was speaking from his blind side and even as he tilted his head, he cannot see her face or her expression.

The next thing he knew… her fist had descended on his head.

“The hell! Why did you hit me?!”

“Because you are a moron.”

“That’s it get off me!”

“No!!”

​They continued struggling against each other, right in the middle of the rain that was soaking them to the bone.

​And Zoro realized then and there that Nami was quite nimble. She had quickly managed to change her position from his back to his side with her legs still locked around him.

He really didn't know what to do with that information, except it's going to be really handy once he gets the chance to...

​​​Fuck! ​​ She had hit him on the head with her fist ​again.​ That’s twice already.  Why are her punches hurting him so much? Was it clad in haki?? "Argh! Nami stop it!" He tilted his head towards her so he can growl and glare at her all at the same time.

She just gave him a haughty serves-you-right grin.

In retaliation he bounced her against him again. 

​Which was a wrong move. Because all it did was rubbed her breasts against him and press her closer to him.

It was a good thing the rain was drowning them.   Though it did made her yelp in surprise. He’s good with that.

​"Argh! Stay still Zoro! I swear if you drop me down I'm going to—"

“To what?” His steely eye met hers. This time it was his turn to challenge her.

Nami’s hold around his neck tightened, probably because her grip on him was slipping again because she was just as wet as he is and also because she still wants to choke the shit out of him for leaving her alone earlier.

She lifted her chin slightly so she could gaze back at him even as the rain water continued trickling down her face.

Was it just him or Nami’s quite comfortable where she is right now?

He knew she was trying to give him the evil eye. But it was hard to do that when the droplets of rain keep clinging to her lashes and she had to blink them away in a manner that affects him greatly.

And there was it… that familiar glint, that spark he saw when they were back in the alcove taking shelter from this rain.

“Look Zoro,” she finally sighed. “I just wanted to make sure you will come back to the Sunny in one piece and not get stranded in this weather."

​Zoro blinked. He was not expecting that.

​Then his face broke into a smirk. "You're getting sappy witch. Sounds like you care about me."

“Y-y-ou!” She stammered.

He grinned at her as she sputtered, her face turn absolutely and adorably red.

To think, he actually high-tailed it out of there earlier with his tail between his legs all because he can't face the realization that he wanted this woman.

But there was no denying it now. Amidst this rain it was very clear. That was all he needed.

He finally decided to take a chance instead of running away from it like a coward. ​

He tucked a strand of her wet hair behind her ear. "You can punch me or charge me later Nami," was all he said before he pressed his lips on hers.

Her body jerked in surprised. His arm instantly wrapped around her waist to secure her as one of her hands grasp at his shirt tightly.

​He swore he heard and felt her murmur 'oh fuck' against his lips before she deepened their kiss.

​They pulled apart slightly for air. Zoro hauled her up a little and Nami was about to lean down to for another kiss…

“A-choo!”

They looked at each other in surprise. Nami’s hand automatically covered her mouth as her face turned red again… this time for a very different reason.

“Ehem!”

They both turn their heads towards the sound and saw an elderly man standing a few feet away from them under an umbrella.

He was shaking his head as he looked at them.

“You youngsters should just get a room you know. You risk getting sick doing things out here in the open that should be done privately.”

[bukojuiice]

merry go round of life.

ೃ pairing: (magical prince! shoto todoroki x fem! reader)

ೃ  tags: howl’s moving castle au! studio ghibli au! 

ೃ warnings: slight angst, mention of endeavor and war.

ೃ part 1/2 of the howl’s moving castle au. 

ೃ word count: 3,807 words

ೃ  my nav  →  my mha writing masterlist  → my katsuki bakugo x reader smau

ೃ as the tags and the au suggests, this fic is pretty much the premise of howl’s moving castle except shoto is a magical prince. i’m super excited to complete the rest of this studio ghibli au series and i hope you enjoy reading!  ♡

ೃ  please do reblog if you enjoyed!! (feel free to add tags too because i love reading them and my heart swells with happiness when people love my work!) ♡

“Find me in the future!”

The voice of a young woman who he didn’t recognize. Amongst the shooting stars and the demons falling from the night sky.

Tonight was the night.

The grassy plains and the meadows that were surrounding the warm cottage that he called home. The loving home that he, his mother, and his siblings lived in. The home that kept him away from the real world.

Things will never be the same ever again.

This was going to be easy right? All he needed to do was trade his heart for the demon’s power and he’d see his father again right?

He’d finally see the real world. The magical world that he always yearned for.

Being confined in a cottage all his life did leave much to be desired. He couldn’t just run around the lush fields with his older siblings and learn magic through spell books all his life, can he? There were things out there that he had to discover.

Now that his mother had passed, his siblings vanished into thin air, and a letter sent by his father, the tyrant king of the Kingdom of Ingary, detailing that he must learn magic on his twelfth year, in order to secure a position of royalty and rule the land with him.

This intimidating man he had never met all his life, except seeing him on newspapers and in history books, would suddenly write a letter to him out of the blue- it must be urgent right? Maybe, this was his calling? Maybe the passing of his mother is the reason the king, his father, contacted him in the first place? Did the most powerful man in the entire continent know about his whereabouts all along?

Was he living a lie all this time?

Shoto needed answers. The king’s invitation and this letter was his only clue.

But, before that, he needed to learn magic and sorcery first.

He was going to turn 12 in a few month’s time, how is he going to do this? He can’t just snap his fingers and manifest magic on the spot, right?

“A m-meteor shower? I-in a few months?” The handsome young boy with half-and-half colored hair and the prettiest heterochromatic eyes, whispered to himself in disbelief. “Take your chance and meet a fire and ice demon who will give you their magic.” He continues to read along the lines of the tabloid, grabbing a worn notebook on the table next to him, and writing down every piece of information that entailed the phenomenon that was about to come. “It doesn’t say when though.” He continues to whisper to himself, his shoulders dropping in defeat as if he had just hit a slump.

The only hope that he was holding on to right now was his luck guiding him on that fated day.

And it did guide him. At a cost.

The fire and ice demon who were to give him his magical quirks, weren’t all that he had seemed.

In exchange for his humanity, he was to become the most powerful and the only wizard prince in the entire world.

Several years have passed. 

The once lost boy, who is now a famed prince, was in search for something again.

The effect of the demon taking his heart had made him soulless. Lifeless.

 Clinging on to material things and fake temporary pleasures in life were the only things keeping him going. 

The once newly crowned prince had wanted to escape his hellish kingdom, in search for peace and solace, a feeling that he did not experience while living in such a wide and empty space and with an estranged father who knew nothing but war.

His skills of wizardry grew stronger and stronger, expanding to more than just fire and ice; the magic that Calcifer, the demon whom he had made a contract with, bestowed upon him all those years ago. He had collected enough knowledge and learned enough encantations to get him out of this castle, and travel the world by his own blissful means.

Calcifer, the oh so powerful yet surprisingly comical demon helped him with his plans.

And what better way of an escape than with a magical moving castle?

This led to Shoto and Calcifer coming to another agreement that the demon would power the castle as long as Shoto would find someone in this world that would break the contract between them.

The prince and the demon were able to escape the confines of the castle scotch-free, however, it was not long until King Enji realized that the heir and the next in line to the throne, disappeared without a trace. Immediately warranting a search party consisting of his most elite soldiers. This prompted Shoto to adopt different identities and aliases, changing his appearance in every other kingdom he visited and lived in so he wouldn’t be recognized. Along his journey, he took in a sweet orphaned young girl, named Eri who became his assistant and apprentice.

The king was growing impatient. It had been a few years and his men have not found a trace as to where the prince might have gone. 

He was running out of options.

He wanted Shoto to excel. To be powerful. He never ever planned to see him or even bothered to send a letter telling him that he was the son of the most powerful king in the land, if the boy did not have anything special about him.

The magical genes passed on to the younger Todoroki by his sorceress mother. That’s all that he wanted. Use him. Use him for his power. Make him a prince, raise him, and then throw him away if he was of no use anymore. His son’s magical prowess was all he needed for his quest to conquer the entire world.

The only option he had left was to choose violence.

The king called up his war council and declared war on the neighboring kingdom.

If nothing was going to bring Shoto back, then conflict will.

With the entire continent falling into shambles, kingdoms fighting each other left and right, the peace and the freedom Shoto Todoroki had always wanted to achieve had become short-lived.

 He knew he was the reason why a conflict had arisen in the first place, yet, he couldn’t help but fight his father’s forces behind the scenes, and continue to run away, still seeking for permanent liberty. For a permanent home.

 He found his home.

In a simple girl working in her family’s hat shop.

And finally, Shoto had something to live for and to fight for.

 “Calcifer!”

“Shoto’s heart! It’s MINE!”

“Please! Let go!” You struggle to fight your way through the igniting fire coming from Calcifer and the ember that was about to consume the Witch of the Waste. Her old and wrinkled hands clutching on Shoto’s heart as if her life depended on it.

The remains of the moving castle continue to crumble, as the only power that was keeping it alive which came from Calcifer had become unstable as the Witch of the Waste was holding Shoto’s heart.

 “Put it back now! Please!” You try to fight back your tears, still trying your best to remain kind to the old witch yet she did not budge.

“It’s hot! It’s hot!” She continues to ignore your pleas, reacting to the delicate burning material that was on her hands instead. The grip that she had on Shoto’s heart had grown tighter and tighter and you had to do something to stop her.

 Time was ticking.

You look around the rubble and the debris, weighing out your options when a bucket of water had appeared in front of you. It was as if telling you that this was the only decision left to make.

  You take a deep breath and throw the bucket of water at the Witch of the Waste which also resulted in Calcifer, the demon who has manifested into a form of a destructive inferno for thousands of years, had been put out  just like a regular old fire. 

Like it was nothing.

There was a short moment of silence.

Eri was clinging on to you, looking for reassurance your face, yet you could not give her that. You hold her tight to try and help cheer her up just a little bit, while Heen, the old service dog given to Shoto as a gift, had his paws on your feet, as he did not know what was going to happen either.

The castle that was still moving with its last remaining energy, grinds to a halt.  

Is this it?

“(Y/N)!” You hear Eri call out. You open your eyes and see her hands trying to reach out to you. But, before you could reach her, the remaining part of the castle that all of you were standing on, split into half due to the lack of non-existent energy powering it. 

You feel yourself falling.

Heen, the dog, jumps to you before the latter remains of the castle subsequently falls down the cliffs of the Waste. You brace for impact until… you feel light. As if you’ve landed more comfortably than you thought.

You raise your head to take in your surroundings, aside from the few dirt and rubble sprinkled on your hair and on your dress, you were safe. Heen was safe too although the debris that was left of the castle was not salvageable anymore and there were no means to get out of this place with the few materials left.

It looked like there was no way out of here.

Tears swell in your eyes. All these frustrations and all this pain you had to endure because you wanted to save Shoto, was all for naught. Was there still a chance to save him at this point? Or rather, did you even ever have the slightest chance of saving him since the beginning?

Heen quickly trots all the way to where you were. However, you ignore him and continue to stare off into space, thinking about the careless decision you had just made and if what you did was even the right thing.

He barks softly, trying to get your attention, but you barely move a muscle. Even more tears forming in your eyes.

“Heen.. what h-have I done?” Your voice shakes, still trying to process everything that had just happened. “I poured water on C-calcifer… What if I killed Shoto too!?” You bent forward, kneeling down on the rubble around you. Drops of water began to pour out from your eyes, tears streaming down from your cheeks.

Hopelessness and Uselessness.

These were the only emotions you were feeling right now.

You continue to break down in your sorrow. The thought of doing everything in your power to help Shoto but knowing that nothing was enough aches in your heart.

He doesn’t deserve all this pain and anguish.

All you wanted to do was to help him.

Why was fate doing this to you? To you both?

All hope was lost until a glimmering light reflected on the remains of one of the magical doors still connected to the Castle.

Heen continues to bark at you until you turn your head to him and then notice the light glimmering from your ring. The ring with magical properties that Shoto had given to you, to keep you safe and to help you when things go awry.

“It’s moving?” You wipe your tears and stare bewilderingly at the ring that was vibrating on your finger. “Is Shoto still alive!? Can you lead me to him?” You ask softly, slowly regaining your hope and your confidence that maybe you can still save him.

You stand up from the ground, running to the corner of the cliff. The ring continues to guide you, it’s light reflecting on a door that was hidden behind the debris of an iron sheet that was once a part of the castle.

You push it down with all your might, Heen trying his best to help you. The metal sheet falls down with a loud “thud” and the blue energy emanating from the ring continues to glow brighter and brighter, the light pointing to the direction of the door.

You turn the knob, the ring trembles even harder. You slowly pull the door open and a sudden rush of wind blew across your face. The inside was dark and empty. There was nothing of interest here.

But, why did the ring want you to go inside?

You hold your hand to your chest, letting the ring guide your way through the darkness. You stretch your hand out to the pitch black of nothingness, and it ripples at your touch. 

It was a portal. 

Of course it was a portal. What else would it be? You thought to yourself.

You take a deep breath and with Heen following close behind you, you take a step into the darkness. Praying that this portal takes you to where you need to be.

You were keeping count of the passage of time. It’s been several minutes of you just walking in darkness. But, even if you turned back, was there even a place to return to? You continue to hold on to the little hope you have left. The ring still doing it’s best to guide you to where it was telling you to go as you continue to explore the endless cave of darkness around you. 

The ring starts to quiver again, as if it had caught a signal or had detected something. You walk faster, following where the ring was leading you until you catch site of a speck of blue light. Walking even faster, you arrive at the inside of a dimly lit cottage. 

It was old and simple. For some reason, it felt like you’ve seen this place before. 

There was a table at the center, with papers and books sprawled about, a bookshelf next to it, a worn bed at the side, and a hearth near the edge of the room. 

You approach the table to examine the papers that were placed upon there when the ring suddenly stopped shaking on your finger. Heen was barking at you again, so that you would turn your attention to him and see him scratching the door that led to the outside. 

“Heen?” You mumble, looking out the window. You approach the door he was trying to open without taking your eyes off the windowpane that reflected a gloomy and plain image of the night sky outside. 

You leave the cottage and suddenly, it dawned on you that this was the cottage that Shoto had lived in when he was a child. 

This is the same beautiful place he had taken you a few days prior. Yet, there was a sort of melancholy feeling to it. It felt lonely, barren, and there were no colorful array of flowers in the meadows. It felt like a major downgrade to the wonderful place he had shown you. Was it not true? Were the beautiful flowers and the serene view just an illusion? Was this the reality of the place he had lived in most of his life instead?

Before you could even fully process your surroundings, an array of shooting stars began to fall from the sky. It was burning blue and bright, it was ethereal but at the same time, terrifying. These were demons and magical entities from an otherworldly universe. Seeking to make contracts with human beings who wanted to learn more about magic. 

“This is the time where Shoto met Calcifer.” You whisper to yourself, still looking up the bright night sky, taking in the beauty and the wistfulness of this particular event and what happened to Shoto because of it. 

You look out into the pools of water surrounding the cottage, the shooting stars falling down into the ground from afar. A shrieking yet soothing sound echoed around the area every time a star fell. 

You look up to see an unusual shooting star, shining brighter than the others. You continue to look on in awe until you feel the the ring on your hand quivering again, slowly disintegrating.

You were preoccupied with the ring suddenly disappearing that you had not noticed the big and bright star had already fallen down the ground near you, closer than the others did. The rays of the star reflecting brighter and more scintillating than the others. It was drawing you in, like that of a beautiful phantasm. 

You notice someone from afar approaching the star that had fallen. 

A young striking boy with half white and half red hair, his eyes shining bright different colored hues and his presence, even from afar, was so comforting to you.

This is the man you want to spend the rest of your life with. The man you want to save, the one who made you feel like yourself again, the one who loved you for who you are even though you transformed into an 80 year old grandma with a back problem. He has loved you in your darkest times. He has loved you for who you are. 

Will you be there to love him back? Just like he had loved you? 

You continue to watch the boy go around the star, examining it ever so curiously. From there, you feel the emotions that Shoto was feeling at the moment.

You could sense the loneliness and the feeling of isolation that Shoto Todoroki has felt all his life. 

“That’s Shoto...” You whisper once again, continuing to watch him from where you were standing.

 More and more shooting stars fly through the night sky, and you instinctively knew that something was going to happen.

You run down the stairs and sprint your way towards Shoto, ignoring the stars  falling down into the ponds, taking forms of dancing wisps, then changing into running pigmy as if they were trying to reach Shoto. 

Shooting stars begin to fall around you, barely missing you yet you continued to run with no care in the world. Saving Shoto was the only thing going on in your head at the moment and nothing will stop you from doing so. Something in the grass had pulled on your heel, causing you to fall and flail on the ground. The half and half prince was a small pond away from you yet a dark oozing liquid was taking a hold of you from below, preventing you from doing so.

Before it fully took a hold of both your feet, You quickly stand up from the ground, stomping your feet then backing away quickly. Another shooting star falls down from the sky, and you watch as it swiftly falls into Shoto’s hands. 

The sound of the fallen star shrieks and tingles your ears, and you had no choice but to watch in agony as the little Shoto begins to move his lips, talking to the demon known as Calcifer. He had a small smile on his face as he continued to speak. There was so much hope and innocence in his eyes, he was so excited to receive his magical abilities, blissfully unaware that he was about to make a deal that would be the cost of his humanity and his heart. 

All he wanted was to see family and go to places he’s always dreamed of. 

Was that too much to ask for?

Shoto slowly but surely, brings the demon into his mouth. There was slight hesitance but he gobbled it up then swallowed it. He felt a tinging pain as he clutches both of his hands to his chest, then coughing up Calcifer who had now become his heart. 

For a moment, it was as if time had stopped. 

You continue to look on but before you could try and run to him again...

Your ring shatters. 

A black hole appears from below your feet, slowly sucking you in. You try to move but your body doesn’t want to. Keeping you still, your legs swinging, as if you were in a body of water. All the color around you begins to fade to black, and so does Shoto and Calcifer. 

You turn to look at them once more, hoping they would hear you. Reaching your hand out to them. 

“Shoto! Calcifer!” In a last minute attempt to get them to notice you, You shout with all your might, tears welling up in your eyes again. 

The boy and the demon turn to you with doe eyes, catching your voice yet barely recognizing who you were and why you were there. The young Shoto continues to look at you, still wondering who you were, cupping Calcifer in his hands. 

“It’s me (Y/N)! I know how to help you now!” Shoto and Calcifer ceaselessly fade away, as you are consumed by the darkness.

“Find me in the future!”

Mundane life and a mundane everyday routine.

 Sew some hats, manage the store, hop on the bus, visit your popular sister in the bakery she works in and then head on home. 

This was your life.

Did you want it to change? Yes. But, did you have the will and the magical powers to do so? No. 

“It’s your life (Y/N). Do something for yourself for once will you?” 

The words of your sister will haunt you for the rest of the day. Well, She is right. But, this was your life. It was dull and uneventful. If this was your fate so be it. There was no point in trying to make it interesting at this point right?

You walk back on your usual route to the station, however, you had to rendezvous to another way to the station due to a road block. Guess life wasn’t being kind to your today isn’t it?

You pass by two soldier guards in an alley to the station. They looked bored and had nothing better to do and you had no intention of mingling with them, even if your sister told you to try and talk to more people.

“What a pretty girl. Want us to take you for some tea?” One of the guards attempt to flirt with you, trying to block your way. The other guard snickers at his friend’s tease.

“No. Please leave me alone.” You deadpan. Glaring at them and trying to let them know that they were crossing the line. 

“Oh you see. Ya scared her!” said the other guard, nudging his friend.

“I think she’s even cuter when she’s scared.” The guard replied, hitting his friend on the shoulder. 

You were about to run to the other direction when you hear a crisp and handsome voice from behind you, and a reassuring hand on your arm.

“There you are sweetheart. Sorry I’m late. I was looking everywhere for you.” 

To be continued.

[bellshells]

Do Me No Wrong Part One

Part one of Do Me No Wrong, this is just entirely too big and too self serving to be one post. I guess we could call this a slow-burn now? I have thoroughly enjoyed writing this, and cannot wait to share part two with you! Pairing: Severus Snape x Fem!Reader x Remus Lupin Warnings: Language, Alcohol, Smut (Masturbation, Penetrative sex), Angst(?), Suggested Polyamorous Themes Word Count: 10.7k+

  It appeared to be at first glance quite an innocent and innocuous start to the spring term. The castle had been abuzz from October to Christmas after Sirius Black had encroached the defences and found his way to Gryffindor Tower. Luckily, The Fat Lady had performed her duty and not allowed him entry; but that did nothing to quell the whispers of fear and excitement that reverberated off the ancient stone walls. You had found it difficult to look Remus in the eye. When he was present for meals that is. You had known him whilst you were a student- albeit Remus and his friends (Sirius included) had been four years older and far more important than to ever cast even a cursory glance in your direction. But still the fact remained that the four of them along with Potter and Pettigrew had been more like brothers than friends, everyone knew that. It must be immensely difficult to know that your best friend; your supposed brother in arms had escaped from the most secure facility this side of the wizarding world and had successfully broken in to the second most secure facility to murder one of your students. Not only that, the son of your other best friend who also died because of this man.

  You supposed that’s why, that first night that Remus appeared in the Great Hall, sandy hair limp around his face and dark circles under his eyes, you cleared your throat and offered him a smile. Remus returned it tightly, his eyes tired and glassy as he took his seat next to you. He smelled terrible, you turned your head to the side as inconspicuously as you could and muttered a spell under your breath, in an instant the smell was gone and although you assumed Remus would be none the wiser, you noticed as he gave a small glance in your direction. It was only when Severus appeared at the far end of the table that you noticed any change in Remus’ posture. He seemed to stiffen slightly, his chin raising in silent defiance as his hand reached greedily toward his goblet. The few interactions you had shared with Severus since you joined the Hogwarts teaching staff had done nothing to change your opinion of him. He was cold and distant when you were children and he remained unchanged these years later. It had been more than a surprise when he appeared as the new potion’s professor for your seventh year, it had only felt like five minutes since he had been a student himself, yet there he was; not so much fresh-faced as stony. He had remained as he always had; moody and unapproachable. Although, you had imagined that a man in his mid-thirties would have accumulated some conversational skills, it appeared that that had either passed Severus by, or he had deigned it unworthy of his time. In any case, you found it easier to keep out of his way, and in turn, Severus returned the favour. It almost seemed a shame. He had always come across as someone with a brilliant mind and therefore would have interesting and insightful opinions, but it had become clear very early on that if he did, he chose not to share them. Instead, you sought information or rather, gossip about him from the usual sources of Pomona and Minerva. Minerva, not readily able to forget your time as her student had refused to participate at first, but you learned swiftly that a bottle of mead and a muggle vinyl just might do the trick. Severus, a perpetual bachelor, still guarded even though the war had long since ended, nonetheless had piqued your interest almost immediately. It became apparent though, that you were indeed barking up the wrong tree.

  Remus seemed more comfortable after a while. He exchanged a few pleasantries with Hagrid as the bearded man made a clumsy attempt to request help in warding his hippogriff’s new lodging outside of his hut. Remus conceded to take a look, a smile that didn’t reach his eyes confirmation to Hagrid, and the games-keeper seemed content with that. You settled comfortably into the silence that fell over your side of the table. You often chose to sit on the very end, it made it easier to make a swift escape back to your chamber if needs be. You weren’t a head of house, neither did you teach a core subject, you had few Arithmancy students and so you found your evening often free. Not tonight though. You kept one eye on the headmaster and one eye on your muggle watch affixed to your left wrist. The ticking by of the seconds seemed arduously slow as your empty plate sat mockingly in front of you. Out of the corner of your eye, Pomona leaned forward in her chair and waved a hand in your direction. Glancing at the stout woman, she wore an excited grin. She was almost giddy as she tapped her wrist impatiently, an idiosyncrasy she had acquired from you. You bit your lip to stop the laugh that built in your chest and returned your gaze to your empty plate.   “Big plans?” A soft voice asked. Remus looked almost cheerful as he turned his attention to you from Pomona who was now practically tugging at Minerva’s sleeve like a child would do with their mother. You noticed how he seemed more like himself, the dark circles still prevalent under his green eyes, but his cheeks were flushed with pink.   “Oh yes. There’s a bottle of firewhisky with my name on it.” You replied, “I hear the Broomstick’s calling my name, if only this meal would just bloody end.” Remus sniggered and leaned toward you conspiratorially.   “I should have known alcohol would be involved. Nobody looks this happy on a Thursday…unless they have a date.” Remus whispered, he wiggled his eyebrows suggestively and you placed a hand on his shoulder.   “Ah, someone has clearly never been for a drink with the two biggest gossips this castle has ever seen.” You gesture to where Minerva is subtly swatting Pomona away with an affectionately stern look. “It’s amazing the things you find out.” Bringing your goblet to your lips, the tartness of the wine brought a tingling from your tongue to the tips of your toes as Remus watched you. You considered the man before you, handsome and rugged. It was impossible to ignore the dramatic scars that littered his face and hands, but with the evocation of sympathy they withdrew, was an air of mystery that was almost intoxicating. Was he dangerous, or just very unlucky? Remus seemed to take note of your appraisal of him, whether he was amused or intrigued, his face didn’t betray him. Only the slight narrowing of his eyes told of a deeper thought held within.   “And what might one learn from two inscrutable gossips?” He said, his voice low. You felt an all too familiar feeling in the base of your chest, the feeling of boisterousness as you began to gently flirt with Remus. The dishevelled man from earlier almost entirely forgotten.   “That would be telling, Professor.”

  Remus looked slowly from your eyes to your lips and back, you had danced this dance before and knew how it would end; sweaty and sated more than likely. You smirked at the thought and reclined slightly in your chair, allowing Remus’ gaze to travel with you. You had barely noticed the students rise along the stretched pews as Albus stepped down from the High Table and moved languidly towards the now open doors. You stood too, now conscious of the hundreds of pairs of eyes looking at their teachers for permission to leave. Minerva nodded curtly to the crowd and the students began to noisily disperse to their respective common rooms. You took advantage of the distraction to slip away from the hall, there is after all, the most fun in the chase. You pondered silently to yourself as you dressed and made your way to the courtyard; if the flirtatious nature of your conversation with Remus had been by design a distraction technique of his own. He had seemed in a sorry state when he had arrived that evening, having been absent for the best part of a week. Alongside that, he had never much taken an interest in you beyond the professional up until that point and whilst you enjoyed the interaction, you weren’t convinced.

  Minerva was the first to join you, her emerald cloak snatched tightly to her chest in the brisk evening. She rolled her eyes as she approached you, a grimace settling on her face as she boldly lifted your wrist to her face and checked the time under the moonlight.   “She’s hounded me all evening to get out of the castle, its typical that she would be late.” Minerva sniffed as she folded her arms across her chest. You laughed once in agreement and enquired of her day, this earned another eye roll from the older witch confirming your suspicions that a stiff drink would be in order. Pomona came bounding out of the darkness, her hat slightly skewwhiff in her hurry and her breathless apology as she approached was all that was said before the three of you began towards Hogsmeade. The Three Broomstick’s was busy, busier than you had anticipated it to be on a Thursday in the middle of January. You craned your neck to see an available table, Pomona doing the same.   “Well, this simply won’t do.” Minerva muttered as she strode towards the bar. Madame Rosmerta gave a wry smile as she saw the three of you approach, she gestured over into the far corner where a single man sat nursing a tumbler of a russet looking liquid. You quirked an eyebrow as the man cheerfully lifted his glass to the three witches in welcome, Pomona nearly squealed with excitement as she bounced over to him. Minerva, who remained in her spot groaned. “Is there to be no reprieve?”

  Remus gestured to the three empty seats at his table with a wide smile. You shook your head in disbelief as you slowly sank into the waiting chair opposite him. He looked far better than he had done earlier that evening, he seemed to have bathed and shaved and appeared rather pleasant looking as he waved to Rosmerta and mimed a bottle and four glasses.   “Ladies, what a most welcome surprise!” Remus grinned wolfishly, his face seemed perfectly amiable, but his eyes glistened with something else, a glee that betrayed a thought that maybe their flirtation wasn’t as innocent as you previously had thought.   “If I’d have known you were coming Remus, I would have worn my good hat!” Pomona said with a smile, her cheeks rosy from the chill outside.   “You look positively radiant, Pomona.” Remus crooned; the plump witch’s face alight with the warmth of the compliment. She pat Remus’ hand affectionately and readily accepted the glass that was placed in front of her. “Allow me.” Remus poured two fingers of firewhisky into the three empty glasses and raised his own in a toast. “To unexpected meetings.” The sound of the clinking of glass reverberated through your body, his fingers electric against yours as they touched in a fleeting moment. Your breath hitched in your throat, it shocked you how your cheeks began to warm, and your stomach began to do small flips. Remus’ eyes, now more golden than green never left your face as if in silent appraisal of his effect on you. He seemed satisfied with the reaction as he smirked into his glass and allowed his attention to be captured by Minerva as she asked about his leave of absence.

  It wasn’t until your return journey to the castle that Remus initiated any further physical contact with you. The evening had passed how they usually do, the three friends exchanging stories and conspiring, laughing lots and drinking more. Now, feeling like your body was filled more with whisky than blood did Remus offer his arm to you. You took it gratefully, the two older women huddled together further ahead on the road as the snow began to fall upon the already picturesque village. With your hand in the crook of his elbow, Remus guided you over the unsteady cobbles only laughing lightly when you nearly lost your footing. His fingers found yours and although this could be perceived as a perfectly practical way in ensuring your safety, his touch seemed to burn your skin; it sent heat right the way through you. You were sure your heartbeat was audible to him, as it pounded aggressively in your ears as you moved closer into him, his torso flush with yours. You snuck a glance under your eyelashes up into the face of Remus Lupin, famed friend of two dead men and a mass murderer. His scars were silver in the moonlight, his face calm he weathered the terrain. You wanted to say something, anything to him; but nothing came. Instead, you continued to allow him to guide you while you peered up at this enigma of a man.

  Minerva searched over her shoulder when you approached the school grounds, satisfied that she could see you safely behind her, she waved goodbye. The snow was falling heavily now, thick spirals of white stuck in your hair, landing on your lips and freezing you to the core. You removed your hand from Remus’ grasp and waved back, Pomona beckoning Minerva inside to the warmth, no doubt to have a nightcap in the Gryffindor mistress’ office. Alone for the first time, Remus ushered you along the path of the courtyard to the covered corridor overlooking the lake which had this week begun to thaw, although with the sudden frost this night, it seemed unlikely now.   “You were right,” Remus stated after a while, his hands wound their way to his pockets, and he lifted himself onto the balls of his feet in an attempt to gain warmth in movement. When you didn’t answer, he licked his lips. “About how informative those two are. I’ve got enough dirt on people to have my lessons covered for weeks.” He grinned again, this time you noticed, it reached his eyes. You wondered whether Remus needed this as much as you did. It’s easy to let yourself get caught up in teenage drama when you’re drowning in it, but you suspected for him it must be something more. It wasn’t your place to pry of course, and Remus didn’t offer to divulge but you felt content in having potentially done a good deed.   “I’m sure your formal invitation to join us next week will be on your desk in the morning, if Pomona has anything to do with it.” You laughed and turned your back to the lake, it seemed far easier to keep your head held up straight if you leaned against the stone wall. Remus seemed to notice this and immediately reached his arms out to steady you.   “Never mind that, looks like someone will be dropping in to see Poppy in the morning.” He retorted as he attempted to stop your swaying. You had thought that the cold might sober you up, but that mixed in with a sudden overwhelming tiredness has left you almost dead on your feet.   “That’s the beauty of teaching an elective course,” you managed to get out as Remus near pulled you along the corridors, “My timetable is pretty sparse on Fridays. No lessons until after lunch.” You said smugly. Your eyes were fully closed now, if you were able and alone, you probably could have just set up camp here on the floor and been perfectly comfortable. But alas, Remus pushed onwards.

  A distant miaow stopped you dead in your tracks, Remus fumbled with his footing and slammed into the wall. He cursed and rubbed his arm absently as he peered at your stricken face, he attempted to talk but you held up a finger to stop him.   “Mrs. Norris.” You whispered gravely. Remus looked bemused as he looked both ways along the corridor.   “I think the coast is clear,” he whispered equally as seriously, he took your hand and squeezed it tightly urging you onwards.   “Filch once made me clean every toilet in every girl’s bathroom in my sixth year.” You shuddered at the memory, no wand just a pair of pink rubber gloves and a mouldy toilet brush.   “Blimey, what did you do?” You pondered whether to tell him the truth, that Filch had caught you on the edge of the Forbidden Forest after curfew with Gilderoy Lockheart. You would never forget the look of abject horror on the boy’s face as Filch emerged from the trees waving a lantern wildly whilst Lockheart’s hand was quite firmly in your knickers.   “Got caught with a boy.” You mumbled instead not meeting his eyes, Lockheart had been a numpty in school and even bigger one when he left by all accounts, but it was nasty business that led to Remus filling the position at Hogwarts. You had tried hard to suppress the fleeting dalliance you had shared with Lockheart, teenagers and their bloody hormones you had chalked it up to.   “Happens to the best of us,” Remus said brightly, “Your chamber is down here, isn’t it?” You hadn’t noticed that Remus had managed to escort you nearly to your door, you smiled at him gratefully.   “Yes, thank you,” You broke away from him and held on to the wall for support, your legs nearly giving way. “Woah-”   “Let me just-” Remus mumbled, more to himself than to you, you imagined. He placed an arm on the small of your back and guided you down the dimly lit corridor. Your fingers felt the cold stone give way to the wood of your chamber door and you fumbled for the handle, suddenly anxious of the man stood very close to you. That; turned out to be a very sobering thought. Was Remus expecting to be invited inside? It wasn’t that you didn’t want him to come inside, you had spent the last however long quietly being affected by every small touch, every slightly lingering look- but surely you were far too drunk to be engaging in anything other than sleep, surely, he would understand that. That wasn’t to say there wasn’t a part of you that wanted nothing more than to invite Remus inside and take him into your bed. He was a large man, tall and well built. Your eyes raked down his body and returned to his face. You felt a familiar throbbing between your legs in want, as you squeezed your thighs together.   “I would…I would normally-” You began, it was Remus’ turn to hold a hand up to stop you. He brushed his fingers across your bottom lip, this small gesture elicited a soft moan from you. His green-golden eyes now dark as he brought his face impossibly close to yours.   “Just a kiss…may I?” He breathed, you nodded slowly, utterly entranced by this intriguing man. Remus dropped his head down and gently pressed his lips to yours. It wasn’t a passionate kiss, it wasn’t a kiss filled with longing, but it felt completely natural and comforting that in that moment this particular man would be kissing you.

  “I would say I’m surprised, but I would of course, be lying.” A snide voice in the distance shattered this perfect moment in an instant. You turned your head in the direction of the voice and saw Severus stood, wand raised in Lumos and a small bottle covered in hemp cloth in his free hand.   “Severus.” Remus breathed; it wasn’t a greeting. There was an edge to his voice that made you think that it was a warning. You looked between the two men slightly confused, but on the whole far too tired to distinguish what on earth was happening. “Can I help you with something?” Severus merely shrugged and then held out his hand allowing you to get a good look at the cloth covered bottle. It was fairly large but must have been quite delicate to be wrapped so securely.   “For you.” Severus said disinterestedly. He waited; his arm still outstretched for Remus to move away from you. The chill of the wind that wound its way throughout the castle walls hit you immediately in the absence of Remus’ body heat. You shrunk as far as you could into the door, suddenly embarrassed to have been caught. Severus continued to stare at Remus until you cleared your throat to break the silence. It felt like hours, although it can’t have been more than a few seconds. Remus pocketed the bottle carefully and turned his back to the potions master, he looked at you earnestly.   “I had a really good time tonight. I’ll see you tomorrow?” He asked, he looked hopeful and yet there was something else in his expression. Like he was annoyed to have been interrupted, or perhaps he was annoyed that he had kissed you in the first place.   “Yeah,” you replied, your voice slightly strained. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Remus nodded at you and began to walk back the way you had come, his short cloak flowing behind him until he entered the darkness, and you couldn’t see him anymore. You turned toward your chamber door and noticed Severus was still there, his wand raised to the same level of your face. His brow furrowed in an expression you would take as concern in anybody else, but with Severus you couldn’t be sure.   “Do you require any assistance?” He said curtly, his voice was low, but you could almost imagine it was soft.   “No thank you, Severus. I think I’ll manage from here.” Your fingers once again found the handle and you turned it with ease, the door opened to reveal your dark chamber. Severus waved his wand once into the blackness, and every candle within your rooms flickered into life. You turned to him with a wry smile and thanked him. Before you could close the door on this bizarre exchange with Severus Snape, he placed a hand on your arm. You looked down at where his body made contact with yours curiously, his long fingers seemed to wrap around your wrist perfectly and a small thrill fluttered down your back as he squeezed.   “Be careful around Lupin,” Severus whispered, “He’s never been one for controlling his…urges.” You arched an eyebrow and looked up into the onyx eyes that peered thoughtfully into your own.   “And you?” You had no idea what made you say that. Instant repulsion at yourself slithered over your skin as you mentally kicked yourself. Interestingly though, Severus licked his lips as he considered his answer. Your heartbeat quickened in anticipation of what he would say, his face drawn close enough to yours to feel his breath on your face. It was impossible to not stare at the man’s lips, they were so close to yours after all. Another jolt of need spread between your legs, you stifled the moan that threatened to escape as Severus backed you against the cold stone wall.   “I have no issues with control. I expect nothing less than…total control in every aspect of my life.” With that, Severus turned on his heel and with three quick strides, you were alone.

Fuck.

You undressed quickly climbed hastily into bed. Your heart pounded quickly in your chest, as the knot of arousal that you had felt as soon as you had arrived at your chamber door became too difficult to ignore. Usually, if you would pleasure yourself, it would be an entire affair. An act of self-love, a hot bath, envisioning the perfect scenario but now, as you plunged your hand into your sopping underwear, none of that mattered. It was impossible not to think about the taste of Remus still on your lips as you rubbed frantic circles on your clitoris, your back arched, your mouth fell open as you moaned. As quick as the image of Remus had entered your mind, it was replaced with the memory of Severus’ firm grasp of you, the way he had manhandled you into submission. You balled the sheets in your fingers as you inserted one, then two fingers into your aching centre. Reaching up to your breasts, you rolled a stiffened nipple around your nimble fingers, squeezing it as you filled your cunt to the knuckle. You moaned with abandon, which presumably was the effect from the alcohol, but nevertheless, you fucked yourself thoroughly with your fingers. When you came, you cried out incoherently, a sound you had never heard yourself make before. You couldn’t picture one mans face over the other, imagining spilling their seed over your breasts, or deep inside you- you imagined both of them at once. It was sublime.

  The next seven days passed without incident. Remus wasn’t so much distant as perhaps guarded; there was no mention of the kiss you had shared, nor the strange pseudo-altercation between he and Severus. You pondered long hours in your warm chamber, the fire roared contentedly casting shadows that danced across the high walls. The mug of tea in your hand a reminder of home, your muggle parents had sent you a box of teabags for Christmas as part as a larger ‘care package’. Your mother had laughed when she handed you a largeish box filled with things like tea and crisps, you had even found some alcoholic miniatures and sweets from your youth tucked away at the very bottom. She had given you a smirk and said, ‘Sometimes magic can be found in the ordinary,’. You eyed the box carefully; it was incredibly thoughtful, and you relished it fervently. There was nothing you enjoyed more than curling up on your hardbacked armchair in front of the fire and rummaging through to be delighted in the muggle comforts from home.

  You had taken a Curly Wurly into the staff room that afternoon and nibbled on it idly as you mulled over a few student essays. Severus had entered with his usual flurry of dark robes and general unpleasantness and settled quietly into a corner. You hadn’t so much as looked in his direction since that night outside of your chamber, and he hadn’t looked at you either. That was, until you lifted your eyes to check the sizable grandfather clock, its pendulum swinging ominously on the second and found he was openly staring at you. His jaw was firmly set, and his brow furrowed once more. After a second, he blinked, like he had surprised himself by something akin to mild vulnerability. You followed his gaze, it wasn’t on you specifically, but on the long chocolate bar in your hand. You looked from your grasp to Severus’ face, he too seemed to shift his expression to meet your eyes, a fleeting sheepishness danced across his face as he swallowed with difficultly.   “I haven’t seen one of those in years,” Severus stated, his hands were clasped tightly in his lap. You brought the chocolate to your lips and took a bite, the caramel of the intricately woven design pulled away in long strands. You licked at the excess that settled on your lips, you watched with amusement as veins protruded in Severus’ neck. It was quite easy to forget that Severus himself was a half-blood, dragged rather than brought up in the muggle world.   “You’ve been missing out.” You replied quietly as you crossed your legs. Severus shifted in his seat, his robes flowed fluidly around him, a vision in black and white. The back of your neck seemed to warm as Severus’ dark eyes scoured your frame, his angular face could be dismissed as unappealing, but he had the stoicism of an innate marble statue, a roman god or some other. The closer you looked, and really looked, it was impossible to see him as anything other than he was, captivating. Severus seemed to notice the shift in your stature, the way your fingers tightened around the papers you still clung on to, the way the parchment bent and swayed under your gentle trembling.   “Perhaps I have.” He said darkly.

  That night, before you made your way to meet with Minerva and Pomona for your weekly outing you made a diversion toward the dungeons. Tucked neatly under your arm, was a brown padded envelope, usually suited for sending packages on long journeys. Instead, it was full to the brim of chocolate from your care package, all the things you knew you loved as a child that you imagined Severus would have enjoyed too. Your hand shook slightly as you knocked on the door to his office, it wasn’t particularly late, but you noted that he hadn’t made an appearance at dinner. When no sound came from the office, you gently pushed the door open. The room was as to be expected, dark and filled almost to bursting of various tomes and artefacts. You crossed the room hurriedly, anxious to not get caught out of bounds. You tried explicitly hard not to pry as you crossed over to Severus’ desk, it was surprisingly neat and left everything to the imagination. You placed the envelope on the desk, ensuring that the little note was safe inside before quickly turning and leaving it behind you.

  Remus hadn’t joined you that Friday, it was just the usual suspects. You had found it increasingly difficult to focus on the conversation that flowed freely between the two women. Your mind wandered back to two main thoughts; where was Remus and what was actually going on? And why Severus had suddenly deigned you worthy of his attention? It all seemed so impossibly twee; the idea that you found yourself rattled by the slightest attention of two men that you were almost angry at yourself. Besides, how many times had you crawled out of a stranger’s bed at the first wisps of daybreak? One little kiss shouldn’t be any different. Severus on the other hand hadn’t offered you anything more than a few long looks since that afternoon in the staff room, yet you were plagued with thoughts of the two men. Neither like any man you had encountered before, and yet so remarkably different in every way. Minerva, having noticed your long silence offered you a quizzical look.   “What’s troubling you?” She said pointedly, Pomona ceased talking immediately, and turned to face you with a look one could only describe as hunger. You shrugged and took a sip of your wine; you were desperate to not be as hungover this Friday. Your seventh years had proven to be quite difficult last week, and if you could do anything to not have a repeat of Jenkinson’s smart mouth affecting you so; you would. “Don’t presume to think I was born yesterday,” Minerva continued, her shoulders squared which made her look that inch more terrifying, “I can smell a rat a mile off.”    “I wouldn’t dare jump to any such conclusions. I am simply lamenting over my love-life, or lack thereof.” You replied, your expression sickly sweet which earned a maternal huff from the older woman. Pomona seemed to miss the small tete-a-tete and instead clapped her hands together with glee.   “I demand you tell us everything at once!”

  There was something of a comfort to be found in relaying the past week’s events to the witches, Minerva’s usually stern expression shifted into something softer as you told them everything except for the strange bottle Severus had delivered to Remus.   “Well, that is definitely something different,” she said after small silence, “Especially coming from Severus. I was beginning to think he didn’t have any manly urges.”   “Nonsense, Severus is a strapping young lad, nobody knows what he gets up to outside of the castle. I imagine two old biddies like us would certainly be the last to find out, in any case!” Pomona countered, she rested her chin against her palm, her face dreamlike as if imagining the brooding man’s sex life.   “And quite rightly so!” Minerva said, her tone was laced with embarrassed threat as she stood from the table and marched toward the door. And so, nothing more was said on the matter that night.

  The Saturday morning after your thankfully not-so-disastrous Friday lessons with your seventh years passed idly. You kept much to yourself, the weather was again near freezing, although most of the students had travelled into Hogsmeade. The castle was quiet, undisturbed, and as the next thick sheet of snow settled onto the grounds, you huddled close to your window to watch as in quick flurries the snowflakes settled onto a blanket of pure white. It wasn’t until the third knock at your door did you decide to stop pretending you weren’t in, whoever was on the other side was obviously very insistent and you wouldn’t be able to forgive yourself if there was an emergency. On the other side of the door stood a cheerful Remus, his hair was damp from the snow and his cheeks painted with pink from the chill. He looked every inch the dashing English countryman as he brushed stray snowflakes from his shoulders. You couldn’t explain the quickness of your heart as you invited him inside, the same thunderous heartbeat you had experienced that night in Hogsmeade returned in full force, and you cursed yourself for feeling so foolish.   “To what do I owe the pleasure?” You asked as calmly as you could as you summoned a teapot and a pair of mugs. Remus accepted the tea readily and wasted no time in settling close to the fire.   “I was on my way for a walk to the lake, and I wondered whether you wanted to join me?” It was hard to imagine that he held any ulterior motives as he reclined in your armchair, all red nosed and grins. It was alarming how quickly you agreed, despite taking no real pleasure from walking in the cold. Yet, you soon found yourself wrapped up warmly and struggling to keep pace with the tall man as he dodged expertly over the terrain. He was largely silent as you continued along the path to the lake, he offered a few beige commentaries on the weather and you responded with as much enthusiasm as you could muster. It was difficult, you found, to keep pace with the tall man. Remus’ long legs set his pace at twice the speed of yours, and after a while of trying to conceal your breathlessness, did he slow and offer his arm to you. You huddled close to him, it seemed as though his body radiated a warmth like an oasis in the desert. Remus untangled his arm from yours, instead deciding to hold your gloved hand instead; his fingers squeezed tightly around yours as the lake came into view. A few students littered the area in small groups, the sound of their merriment was enough to bring a smile to your face. It seemed like yesterday that you yourself were a student at Hogwarts; thirty was an ever-approaching nightmare that plagued your dreams daily, had it really been nearly thirteen years since you left the hallowed halls of Hogwarts and joined Gringotts as an apprentice Curse-Breaker?   “Penny for your thoughts?” Remus said, you glanced up at him, he wore a bemused look as you pushed the settled snow from a bench and delicately sat. Foolish as it was, seeing as now you were piss-wet through, the realisation that you were getting old had knocked you for six. Remus patted the seat next to you tentatively before he ultimately decided to join you.   “Do you ever feel like your life just runs away from you? Like one minute, you’re positively frazzled over Transfiguration homework and the next you’re stressed about how you’re going to afford so many weddings this year because suddenly, you’ve reached an age where everyone’s settling down and shitting out kids!” You bit hard on the inside of your cheek, you hadn’t meant to be so forward, certainly not with Remus, but he let out a great big laugh before turning to you animatedly.   “Exactly! It feels like I was just handed my Prefect badge and now-” He faltered; his gaze lifted to the heavens. A flash of pain danced across Remus’ face as he shook his head and swallowed whatever he was going to say. “I don’t remember you much from school.” You were surprised by that; you didn’t expect him to remember you at all; but you expected him to want to save face as you were colleagues.   “I’m not surprised, you had long left before I did anything interesting.” You said as you playfully bumped into his shoulder with your own.   “Ah yes, you mentioned the other night that Filch had caught you with a boy?” Remus’ raised the pitch of his voice as he tormented you, it was his turn to bump you. You covered your eyes with your hands and let out a great groan.   “Merlin, I’d hoped you would have forgotten that.”   “Not on your life. Now, I’m going to need you to tell me all the sordid details.”   “There’s nothing sordid…well, not that sordid, really,” You protested, you couldn’t stop the grin that formed on your lips, it was matched well with the smile that Remus wore. He gazed at you intently as you considered the best way to explain. “Filch caught me in the Forbidden Forest after curfew-”   “With a boy.”   “Yes, Remus, with a boy.” You sighed with faux exasperation; Remus looked near giddy as he clapped his hands.   “Fantastic, who were they? Do I know them? What were you doing?” He asked, each question filled you with feeling of stupidity, it was the single most mortifying moment of your life and you were willingly discussing it.   “Yes, you know them, and we were having an…intimate moment.” You hoped that would be enough to quell his questioning, but it appeared to only spur Remus on he appeared to be bouncing in his seat now.   “Please don’t make me go through a list of people from your year at school, what were you- three years younger than us?”   “Four.” You corrected. Remus seemed to consider this for a moment before his green eyes seemed to darken, and he smirked devilishly.   “I’ll tell you what. If I can guess who the lucky bloke was, you have to come for a drink with me. Tonight.   “And if you can’t?”   “I’m sure you’ll think of an appropriate forfeit.” Remus had brought his face extremely close to yours, you could feel his breath tickle your face. It would be so easy to close the distance, to press your lips to his, but a chorus of whooping from behind where the pair of you sat, shattered any illusions of intimacy. Remus turned toward the students sheepishly, he produced his wand and cast a spell that shook the trees which surrounded the lake, causing a cascade of snow to fall on the students. He stood and offered you his hand.   “Let me escort you back to your rooms, while I think. What house was he in?” He said, and you thought back to the wavy-haired blonde boy who tried to desperately hard to impress.   “Ravenclaw.”   “Hm. That slims the pickings down a bit.”

    Remus still hadn’t been able to guess correctly and when he was confident that he would need more time, he proposed a 24-hour extension. You had pushed him along the corridor with a laugh and a wave, fairly certain that he would ultimately find out about Lockheart, but the look of mischief on his face as he waved in return was such a far cry from the man that shuffled into dinner a week ago, you couldn’t help but be content. With almost a wistful air, you watched as he disappeared behind the corner until you turned to your chamber door. If it hadn’t been for your wet boots squelching heavily onto the stone floor, you would have entirely missed the folded parchment that lay slightly soggy having been thrust under the door in an apparent hurry. You took time to remove your outer layers, kicking your boots off and discarding them where you stood before you retrieved the parchment. You felt a heat rise from the base of your neck all the way up to your ears as instantly, you recognised the fluid handwriting etched across the page.

    I humbly thank you for your thoughtful offering. In return, I request your presence of a nightcap in my quarters this evening after dinner. The password is ‘tradite’, I shall expect you before nine o’clock.

Severus

    Keeping your head down during dinner was proving to be more difficult than you had initially imagined. You didn’t know what had possessed you, but underneath a billowy cloak was a figure-hugging-in-all-the-right-places muggle dress, it showed off your best assets yet left enough to the imagination. It was something you wouldn’t think twice about wearing if you were to go out with your muggle friends from your hometown, but here, amongst these wizards whose fashion choices were questionable at best, you felt like you stuck out like a sore thumb. You wondered if anyone would notice how closely you tugged the fabric of your cloak around your torso, desperate to hide what lay beneath. Remus certainly noticed there was something off with you, he had made an obvious beeline to the empty seat next to you and had tried to engage you in conversation many times, but the truth was plain as day; you felt guilty.

  Not even twelve hours ago had you been sat by the lake with Remus, and now with one invitation from Severus you were jittering like a schoolgirl who’d been asked to meet behind the quidditch stands. It wasn’t clear what it was about Severus exactly that returned you to a puddle of hormones, but you felt it as soon as you had been reintroduced as colleagues all those years later. Yet, hadn’t you felt that with Remus too? After replying to the sandy-haired man for the fourth time that you were fine, just tired, you grimaced into your bread-and-butter pudding. There was something about Severus’ invitation that triggered an excited itch along your skin, and only he would know how to scratch it. There was of course, the obvious question of what on earth constituted at a nightcap? Was he going to give you another warning about Remus? What about Remus? You hadn’t even considered what Severus had meant by his warning, you certainly hadn’t heard any stories about him being a womanizer, or ever having a partner for that matter. You pondered his scars as you tried, as deftly as you could, to get a good look at him from the corner of your eye. Remus was littered with them, whilst the scars across his face were quite pronounced, there weren’t many. But- the scars on his hands and forearms were numerous, there didn’t seem to be an inch of skin without a purple-silver line looking back at you. Maybe he was a fighter? He had played his part in the war, like you all had, but maybe his was a part that was especially dangerous? Perhaps, that’s what Severus meant after all. War changes people, Severus of all people should remember that.

  That didn’t stop you feeling guilty though. It ravaged away at your insides as you continued to push your spoon around your bowl, you had thought that perhaps after this morning, there was an avenue worth exploring with Remus. Now, as you watched Severus rise from the High Table and move stealthily along the lines of teachers, your stomach flipped, and your pulse quickened.   “Lupin.” Severus nodded as he passed, he didn’t say anything in acknowledgement to you, but you noticed the glance in your direction, the slight quirk at the side of his mouth. Soon, Severus had disappeared, and Remus scoffed.   “Boils my piss, he does,” he said as he took a hearty sip of his mead, the veins in his temple protruding slightly. “Lording over us like that, dickhead.” You were quite taken aback by Remus’ outburst; you had never known animosity between them before or since that night outside of your rooms. Nothing had been said, and you had put it down to you having had one to many and misconstruing the situation.   “He literally said your name.” You countered, not completely comfortable with Remus’ tone.   “Aye, and I want my name kept from his mouth, the greasy git.” You opened your mouth to respond yet thought better of it. Whatever it was that had transpired between the pair of them had nothing to do with you, and you couldn’t think of anything worse than having to pick sides. Especially since Severus had now taken an interest in you, something you had tried to make happen when you first started teaching but failed miserably. It was happening now, and Remus could be damned if you weren’t at least going to get to the bottom of this invitation.

  You didn’t bother to wait for the headmaster to call an end to dinner, instead you mumbled an excuse and moved quickly toward the dungeons. Despite having been a teacher for a number of years, there was something about the dungeons that filled you with dread. Whether it was the memories of your sheer mediocrity at potions, or consistently failing to be noticed by Professor Slughorn, there was something that set your teeth on edge. You passed your old potions classroom without looking in, it was almost like you could forget that that class existed, and pretend that of course, you were excellent at everything whilst you were at school. Severus’ rooms were hidden to anyone who wasn’t looking for them, a dark wooden door appeared out of the near blackness of the unlight stone and remained closed. Did you really want to do this? You had wrestled with the fact that you were potentially pissing any chance of anything happening with Remus while you pursued Severus. There was just something very hard to ignore about the potions master, something electrifying.   “Tradite.” You said clearly into the darkness, the click of a lock being turned was the only sound other than the distant almost muffled sound of the groaning lake. The door opened steadily, Severus’ chamber was warm, although, you weren’t quite sure if you were expecting the opposite. He stood with his back to the door, his head bowed and seemingly unaware of your arrival. You wondered whether he would appreciate a polite greeting; if he would want you to wait until he noticed you. After all, he had mentioned that he liked to have control in everything. That was a statement you had never questioned, it just seemed so perfectly fitting that you just took it at face value. It was the thoughts that were conjured alongside that, that you had to suppress.

  You weren’t entirely sure how long you waited, realistically, it couldn’t have been that long. But the steady stream of student’s footsteps returning to their common room was an indicator that it had probably been around five minutes.   “Why haven’t you said anything?” Severus asked after a while. It shocked you, you had completely glazed over, it hadn’t occurred to you that you were still just stood in the doorway. You cleared your throat.   “Didn’t want to disturb you.”   “How thoughtful.” He sneered, but you didn’t detect any malice behind it. Severus Snape was the undisputed king of dry humour and you willed that to be the case here. “Come in. Take off your cloak.” You did as you were bid, slipping the dark cloak from your shoulders, you allowed Severus to take it from you. You were acutely aware of his eyes on your body as he moved with a deft quietness and gestured for you to sit. His rooms, not so dissimilar to yours in layout were far larger and by comparison, full wall to wall with things. It wasn’t untidy, but a sort of organised chaos that endeared Severus to you. His interests and objects of his taste scattered almost peacefully, as if inviting you to take a look. You settled into the armchair by the fire, the fabric a worn Slytherin green leather which matched the sofa which sat opposite. The fire, which was still quite small spat embers behind the wrought hearth and sizzled contentedly to itself.   “Would you like some wine?” He asked from somewhere behind, “I have a lovely Pinot Noir.”   “That would be lovely, thank you.” You couldn’t shake the feeling that you were being scrutinised, it wasn’t unlike the feeling of an interview; like he was somehow sizing you up. Although you couldn’t see him from where you were situated, the intense feel of eyes burning into the back of your head was unmistakable. Perhaps it was your intuition as a woman that allowed you to know that as you crossed one leg over the other and placed your hands elegantly on the armrests of the chair, that he noticed. But not only that, that he appreciated it.

  Severus made you wait for it. You heard him as he opened and closed cupboard doors, the clink of glass and the sound of a bottle being corked; it was all for the theatre of anticipation. You knew this, you had done this very thing time and time again in preparation but for what, with him- you couldn’t quite say. The same thrill that you had felt that night he had grasped your wrist returned fervently and your mouth salivated with need. Finally, he appeared within your line of sight. He too, had removed his outer layer, dressed smartly in his frock coat he lowered a glass half full of the ruby liquid, tapping his glass on the side of yours with cheers. Severus made his way painfully slowly to the sofa, he sat on the edge furthest from you and mirrored your position, one leg crossed neatly over the other. You hoped your proximity to the fire would account for the flush on your cheeks as you regarded this man, this studious and distant man as he considered your frame just as openly.   “Thank you for the invitation, Severus. I must admit, it was most unexpected.” Your voice was calm and unbroke, and you were thankful for it. Your heart thundered in your chest and you hoped upon hope that he couldn’t notice the slight tremble of your hand as you brought your wine glass to your lips. Upon reflection, talking with Remus was much easier than with Severus. There was just something so typically wholesome about him, which, when you remembered what he had been like as a young man in school seemed to make sense. But with Severus, there was something akin to danger, you didn’t necessarily feel like he would harm you, no- not at all; but there was always an edge to his words, a double meaning behind his looks. Like there was a joke that perhaps you didn’t understand, perhaps another meaning entirely.   “You’re very welcome. I wanted to thank you personally for your kindness.” He said, his dark baritone seemed most fitting within the confines of his personal space. Like suddenly all the pieces fit together and of course Severus would look and sound the way he did, wasn’t it obvious? “May I ask what you are thinking about? You wear a look of great consideration.” You smiled as demurely as you could muster at his questioning, why were you there if not to talk?   “I was thinking about you.” You said as plainly as you could, you were conscious not to give anything away in terms of exactly how you were thinking of the potions master. But in truth, it had been impossible not to think about him. Remus too. It appeared to be in the space of only a few days that any time you found your mind wandering, it wandered to these two men. Who they were exactly under the sturdy mask of professionalism, what they liked; did they like you?   “Me? Why?”   “I was thinking how nice it was to see you so relaxed, Severus.” You replied softly, you meant it too. A silence settled between the pair of you, and you wondered if you had overstepped the mark, whether that was too informal for his liking. Severus carefully wet his lips and pressed them together into a line. His usual measured look replaced with something else.   “If I may so bold-”   “I like bold.” He smirked as you interrupted him, you wished for him to say whatever it was that was on his mind. You longed to know whether you had consumed his thoughts as much as he had consumed yours.   “If I may be so bold,” Severus began again, his fingers tapping lightly on his thigh, drawing your attention briefly away from his angular face. You noticed for the first time how well structured his body was, his thighs were well proportioned to the width of his torso and seemed to fill his trousers pleasantly. “There’s nothing like a nice glass of wine and the view of a pretty girl to relax you.” He sipped his wine, his eyes never leaving your face. You hoped your expression didn’t betray how startled you felt. It was like your mind was blank, you had forgotten how to blink, how to breathe, just for a moment; you were malfunctioning.   “You think I’m pretty?” Severus smirked at you.   “I think you’re beautiful.”

  You sat in silence after that. Every fibre of your being was screaming at you to say something, to thank him for his compliment, to comment on the wine- anything. Instead, you stared uneasily into the fire, annoyed with yourself.   “Have I made you uncomfortable?” Severus asked breaking the silence, your head whipped in his direction. His expression seemed passive, but you noticed the slight downwards tilt of his mouth, as if he were to frown.   “Not in the slightest!” You said hastily, you set your wine onto the floor and clasped your hands in your lap. “I suppose I wasn’t expecting you to say something like that. It just caught me off-guard.” Severus barked a laugh in response and patted the sofa next to him, you rose quickly and moved across to him. You cursed yourself for appearing needy, eager to please, but the look of satisfaction on Severus’ face spoke volumes. He was pleased with you, and that made your insides flutter with warmth. He placed a hand tentatively on your knee as you sat down, you gasped at the contact, but his hand was warm and soft against your bare skin.   “You look radiant, this evening.” Severus hummed over the rim of his wine glass. There was something hypnotic about his movements, you watched with a desperate intensity as he did the most mundane things, like swill his glass or flick a piece of fluff from his jacket. This wizard had well and truly put a spell on you, and you were at his mercy.   “Thank you,” you answered after a while of staring at Severus. His bemused expression signalled that he knew exactly what was racing through your thoughts. “Did you enjoy your Curly Wurlys?” Severus really laughed at that, he placed the hand that had previously been held on your knee over his eyes and smiled. A rare and beautiful thing indeed, Severus’ Snape’s smile.   “I was most impressed by the assortment, things I had forgotten long about. It was very kind of you,” He stopped as if he needed to be careful with what he said next, “I wanted to repay you.”   “Your company is payment enough, Severus.”

It wasn’t until his hand reappeared this time on your thigh, that you noticed that you had turned your body toward him. Your leg slightly bent at the knee tucked under the other, your hips fully locked on the target.   “I had hoped you would say that.” Severus whispered, “I apologise if I’ve ever appeared standoffish toward you, I find it difficult to engage in small talk. I just don’t see the necessity.” You weren’t sure if he was allowing you to see some vulnerability, or whether he was just stating a fact, but you nodded your head all the same. “The truth is,” He continued, “I had always thought you were quite interesting. Even whilst we were students, you were fiercely kind and dare I say it, popular.”   “You remember me? I didn’t think that anybody would have ever taken any notice of me- back then at least. I was just a nobody.” You said softly as you offered Severus a smile. You were touched that he remembered you, or at least professed to. Its more than Remus could say for himself.   “So was I.” Severus statement stopped you in your tracks. It was no secret that he was mercilessly bullied in school, everybody knew of Snivellus. But, he was right, did anybody actually know him? You nodded in agreement, and he offered you a small smile, his hand giving your thigh a small squeeze.   “Does this mean we’re friends now?” You asked in a small voice, it was meant as a joke but the sentiment remained.   “I don’t have friends. Only allies and enemies.” Severus answered with another sip of wine. You swept your gaze over his face, finally settling on his onyx eyes, the way they bore into yours made you feel as if you were aflame.   “Which am I?”   “Neither. You are you. One couldn’t ask for anything better.”

  Severus slowly brought his lips to yours; his lips were soft and gentle as you shifted to gain a better purchase of his frame. Your hands travelled from his chest to his head, your fingers winding round the raven tresses of hair and he gasped into your mouth. He pulled you closer and as skilfully as you could, you straddled him- Severus hands firmly planted on your backside. He rubbed confident circles against the soft fabric, and you rolled your hips against his lap. It was delicious; the feeling of friction on your cunt was entirely welcome. It had been quite a while before it had seen any attention from anyone other than your own hand, the resigned feeling you had regarding the hold Severus had on you changed in to one of complete and utter want. He brought a hand up and cupped your breast through your dress, you hissed at the contact and Severus took advantage of the loss of your lips and began to kiss deeply along the side of your throat, taking sections of skin between his teeth and sucking hard. You were quite insistent in your actions, unabashedly grinding against Severus’ hardened cock. You could feel it, the way it strained against the fabric of his trousers. You couldn’t help the pathetic mewl that escaped your lips as Severus began to guide your hips, his lips turned into a snarl as with heavy lids he watched as you brought yourself to orgasm.   “Beautiful.” He whispered, lifting a lock of your hair and placing it behind your shoulder where he liberally placed kisses.

  Panting, you brought his lips to yours. Your hands fumbled down to where the clasp of his trousers was easily undone despite your trembling hands. He lifted his hips whilst you momentarily dismounted him to pull his trousers and underwear to his knees. His cock, thick and pink bobbed angrily against his pubic bone, almost as if it demanded your attention. You pressed forward again, your lips finding his with ease as he positioned you back over his lap, his cock pressed against your wetness. With a gruff murmur, your underwear was vanished and you groaned with anticipation. It was impossible to say where your moan began and his finished, but as Severus guided himself into you. You heard an unmistakable “Fuck,” against your shoulder, his grip was vice-like as with a great amount of effort you lifted your hips and began to ride him. It was probably naïve of you to assume that Severus would let you set the pace, after a few seconds of a disjointed rhythm, Severus held you in place; his hips pistoning up into your sopping sex like it was the last thing he’d ever do. You held tight to the back of the sofa, the pleasure was immeasurable, though your eyes were closed, a searing white light seemed to envelop you.   “So fucking tight. I knew you would be.”

  You had never been fucked like this before, this sort of desperate rutting was something you assumed only happened in films where the lovers would be separated by war or ruin. Not, as you found out, by the loner potions professor. It was exhilarating, the feeling of his member pounding into you, the way the slight curve of his cock seemed to grace every spot inside you, it didn’t seem possible to reach any deeper within you; but as he pushed you backwards away from his chest, he burrowed himself further in still.   “Oh god, you’re going to make me come.” You managed to say, his thrusts were short and sharp and quite unrelenting. His brow was furrowed and a sheen of sweat glistened on his skin in the candlelight. He snarled at you then and tossed you to the side, your back landing onto the sofa with a thud. Your cry of shock came out strangled as no sooner had he withdrawn from you, he delved right back into your aching cunt.   “If I’m going to make you come,” Severus grunted, his hand around your throat, “Then you’re going to look me in the eye while I do it. I want to see your face as you come all over my cock.” You shivered under the weight of the sheer eroticism of his words. The feeling of his hand on your pressure point was blissful, being so utterly at another’s mercy wasn’t like anything you had experienced before. It was freeing, purifying…you loved it.

   The tight coil in the pit of your stomach began to unfurl, as with raspy moans, you came hard. Your orgasm seemed to last an eternity, your body rocking with the motion of Severus’ thrusting but also with the throbbing and twitching your used cunt. Severus’ hand squeezed tightly around your throat as he came, his movements becoming shallower and slower. He collapsed onto you in a heap, his head on your chest and your arms around him unquestioningly. You stayed like that for a while, your eyes closed as you blissfully travelled from alert to sleep and back, tracing lazy circles on Severus’ back. It was Severus who moved first in the end, he grappled for his jacket and produced his wand, he pointed it at you and muttered a spell you didn’t understand. But the sudden feeling of dryness and warmth that flooded between your thighs, you safely assumed he had cleaned you. You pushed up from your spot warily, sheepishly almost. Severus was across the room from you now, rebuttoning his clothes and smoothing down his hair. You watched him for a while, your head cocked to the side. Severus seemed to move in such a graceful yet detached way, his movements were precise, but it was clear that he was thinking about anything but the action. You wondered what he was thinking about now.   “Can I help clear up?” Severus’ head shot in your direction, he offered you a strained smile as you waited for his reply. He gathered your cloak and held it out for you to slip on. Did that mean he wanted you to go? After everything that just happened? Wordlessly, you slid your arms into the waiting holes and stood. For what exactly, you couldn’t be sure.

   “I have a prior engagement,” he said flatly, you tried not to look shocked, but you suspected you failed. “I’m sorry, are you well?”   “Quite. Thank you, Severus.” Was all that you said, as with cheeks flaming with embarrassment you willed your legs to push onwards toward the door. If he called after you, you didn’t notice as with laborious steps you made your way back to your chamber. The castle was deathly quiet now, even the ghosts had disappeared to their various dark corners for the night. This was why, when you rounded the corridor to your rooms, the lone figure waiting outside gave you a fright. Your face was still hot from the exertion of the sex and the embarrassment as Severus all but threw you out on your ear. Hot tears threatened to brim over, Merlin, why had this affected you so?

  “Remus?” You whispered into the darkness; the figure moved toward the sound of your voice. One step, and then another into the candlelight and his face was visible. He looked sallow, much like he had that night in the Great Hall.   “I’ve been knocking for ages. I was worried about you during dinner. You were acting really weird.” It was then that Remus noticed your dishevelled appearance, the marks on your neck but not least, the look of pain on your face. “Are you alright?” You nodded solemnly and made toward the door to your chamber, the guilt that had dissipated whilst you were in Severus’ presence now resurfaced as you regarded Remus’ concerned face. With your hand on the doorknob, you turned to him, all green eyed and sandy-haired Remus and smiled sadly.   “Do you want a cup of tea? I need to tell you something.”

[dropssofjupitter]

The American

Pairings: Fred Weasley x Slytherin!Reader [Platonic] , George Weasley x Slytherin!Reader [Semi-slowburn]

Summary: A new transfer student is welcomed to Hogwarts during the politically tense times that have befallen the wizarding kingdom. And despite their better judgement and the new (and frankly horrifying) DADA teacher, the twins can’t seem to get her out of their mind

Word Count: 2.5 k 

Warnings: Umbridge (I feel like that’s enough said for that one), anxiety mentions, swearing (light. maybe one f-bomb), Ron being a lil prejudiced against Slytherins

Next >>

A/N: I took a small liberty with the last name just to help the story flow better, so I’m sorry if that’s upsetting. I am also apologizing ahead of time if I wrote the twins ooc, it’s my first time writing a fic for them! [Not beta read, any mistakes are mine and mine alone]

You took a breath, hands smoothing down the sides of your skirt, twisting nervously in the folds. You could do this. Nerves ran throughout your body, making it feel like it was humming with energy as you shifted on your feet. You could do this. The professor next you, McGonagall if you remembered correctly, placed a comforting hand on your shoulder. You forced a small smile, turning your face back to the set of great wooden doors in front of you. You could barely hear a thing that was being said, you just knew that you would be introduced after the new teacher and then sorted into your house.

“In other news,” a voice raised from behind the doors and you looked up sharply. “We have a transfer student joining us this term. We have decided that it would be best for everyone if her sorting ceremony were as public as the first years, so please. Join me in welcoming Y/N Jones.”

The hand left your shoulder and you looked up, taking in another nervous breath as you watched McGonagall place her hand on one of the doors, nodding to you to motion that it was time before pushing the doors open. You forced your face to remain neutral, and straightened your back as you walked alone up to the Headmaster in the front of the room.

The sound of your shoes hitting the stone floor caused your anxiety to rise again, but you pushed it down, forcing yourself to keep your head high and act like you knew you belonged here. You stopped in front of the stool placed at the top of the steps and turned, sitting down on it and effectively silencing the whispers that had been floating around the Great Hall.

The headmaster (god, what was his name again?) raised a dusty old witches hat and placed it on your head. The brim of the hat slipped over your eyes, and an older sounding voice resounded in your head, mulling over where to place you.

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

Fred and George had fully expected this year’s welcoming feast to go like all of the others. Cheer when the first years were sorted (booing when it was into Slytherin, of course), boo again when the new DADA teacher was announced, and then gorge themselves as they planned the perfect way to sneak puking pastilles into Draco Malfoys food (it never worked). However, they were both pleasantly and utterly surprised when Dumbledore announced a new transfer student. Hogwarts had never really had a transfer student, at least while they were there.

Fred turned to George and elbowed him slightly, a half smirk on his face. “Maybe we’ll have another gullible second year to talk into insulting Snape, eh George?”

George grinned as he swallowed a quick swig of pumpkin juice. “Maybe so Freddie.”

However, as the doors to the Great Hall opened and you walked through, all thoughts of pranking left the boys’ heads. You carried yourself like you were the only one meant to be here, and like the others were new students embarking on your domain, and it drew the boys’ full attention. They only remembered to pick up their jaws when you sat down on the stool to be sorted.

Ron, who had noticed their strange reaction, tried to get their attention through a poorly hushed whisper, but to no avail. The twins were too focused on what house you were going to be sorted into.

It felt almost foolish to hope that you would be a Gryffindor, but hope they did. They waited with baited breath as the Sorting Hat took its sweet, sweet time. After what felt like an eternity, the hat had finally reached it’s verdict.

“Slytherin!” The voice rang out through the Great Hall, and the Slytherins cheered as their flag was momentarily displayed on the walls of the Hall. The twins felt their heart sink as they kept their eyes on your form, watching you as you walked over to the Slytherin table and sat down in between the first years and older house members.

“Oi! Fred! George!” Ron exclaimed, exasperated as he gave up on catching his brothers attention. “Bloody hell! It’s like I don’t even exist!”

Next to him, Hermione giggled knowingly, shaking her head at Ron.

“Oh? Have you got something to say now?” Ron asked, turning his face towards Hermione.

She sighed and shook her head again. “You really are incredibly dense sometimes Ron.”

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

You had spent the remainder of the feast politely talking to your fellow house members, answering their questions and asking some of your own. It seemed that they were all either in awe due to your transfer, or in disbelief once they found out that you were American. Quite honestly, you couldn’t blame them. Yet your anxiety kept you from speaking about it, and instead had you hesitantly picking at the comfort food that had magically appeared on your plate once you had sat down. 

After the feast was done, you were escorted to your room and introduced to your roommates by a prefect whom had asked you multiple times (despite your constant assurances) if you needed a tour of the castle itself. You settled into your room quite easily, introducing yourself to the girls and exchanging pleasantries before unpacking your trunk and getting your belongings situated. One girl, Pansy you believed, seemed particularly kind to you, and you made a mental note to get to know her better. 

Before you knew it, you were fast asleep in your bed, wrapped in the comfortable blankets that had been provided and assuring yourself that tomorrow would yield only positives. 

~~~~~

The next day had indeed started out well. You woke up on time and were able to find your classes easily, and you were also praised by Professor Sprout for your extensive knowledge in Herbology. However, things took a small turn for the worst went you entered Defense Against the Dark Arts. 

The first thing you noticed was the teacher in the front of the room, watching with beady eyes as students casually found their way to desks and friends. Her monochrome outfit looked awful, having the likeness of a pattern you swore you saw on your grandmother’s couch once, and had given her a look that, quite plainly, reminded you of a toad. 

The second thing you noticed was the fact that the seats were filling up, and quickly. Scurrying towards the closest open seat, you ended up next to a girl with unruly hair and a red and yellow tie. She smiled kindly at you as you sat down, and you returned the action before returning your eyes to the front of the room. 

“Ordinary Wizarding Level Examinations, more commonly known as O.W.L.S.” The teacher spoke, seeming to punctuate every word of her sentence with a pause as the blackboard behind her wrote what she had spoken.

“Study hard, and you will be rewarded. Fail to do so, and the consequences may be, severe.” She smiled, a tight lipped sort of smile that let everyone know she was faking it. With a wave of her wand the stacks of books behind her began to float down the aisles, distributing themselves amongst the students.

“Your previous instruction on this subject has been, disturbingly, uneven.” You looked down as a book placed itself on your desk, pulling a face as you saw the cover and began to flip through it. 

“But you’ll be pleased to know that from now on you’ll be following a carefully constructed, Ministry approved course of defensive magic.” The girl next you did the same, and raised her hand. 

“Yes?” the professor called on her. 

“There’s nothing in here about using defensive spells?” she said, the confusion evident in her voice and mirroring the confusion on everyone else’s faces. 

“Using spells?” The professor laughed, walking closer towards your table. “Well I can’t imagine why you would need to use spells in my classroom!”

“We’re not gonna use magic?” a redhead boy piped up, turning the book over in his hands. 

“You’ll be learning about defensive spells in a secure, risk-free way,” the professor replied, her annoyingly ‘girly’ voice already seeming to get on your nerves. 

“Well what use is that?” A brunette boy who looked shockingly similar to Harry Potter asked. “If we’re going to be attacked it won’t be ‘risk free’.” 

“Students will raise their hands when they speak in my class!” The professor said, her nerves evidently already frazzled as she raised her voice. The brunette boy sat back in his seat (No seriously. He could make money as a Harry look-alike) , obviously on edge as the professor took a moment to turn around and address the class again. 

“It is the view of the ministry, that a theoretical knowledge would be sufficient to get you through your examinations which after all, is what school is all about.” 

“And how are theories supposed to prepare us for what’s out there?” the brunette boy asked again, sharing a look with his table partner who had spoken up earlier. 

“There is nothing out there dear,” the professor replied, and at this, you couldn’t hold back a scoff. The professor whipped her head in your direction, and a few classmates turned to look at you. 

You looked up and swallowed thickly, your eyes meeting the professors. “I mean, I could be wrong, but wasn’t there a basilisk within the school a few years ago? That kind of seems like something ‘out there’.” 

The professor stuttered, and a few eyes widened around the classroom. “Ex-cuse me?” she said, taking a step towards your desk. 

“I’m just saying that there are certain undeniable dangers. Especially around this school, it seems.” You paused, hands fiddling with your robes under the table in a nervous habit that you hadn’t quite seemed to kick just yet. 

“Lying, Miss Jones, will get you nowhere.” The professor fired back, a tight-lipped smile plastered on her face. 

“She’s not lying,” the brunette fired back. “There are present dangers out in the world. Like, oh, I don’t know. Lord Voldemort.” 

The entire class went silent at his comment, some turning to glare at him with barely disguised hatred and others suddenly finding their desks and books to be the most interesting thing in the room. 

The professor, after taking a moment to recover of course, changed directions in order to walk towards the brunettes desk. “Now that, is a lie.” She replied in a dangerously low tone. 

“Oh, so I suppose that Cedric Diggory dropped dead of his own accord then?” he replied in an accusatory manner. Gasps rose up from the class, disgust now evident in most of your classmates faces. 

“Cedric Diggory’s death was an unfortunate accident-” 

“No it wasn’t! Voldemort killed him! I watched it -” 

“That is enough Mr. Potter!” The professor yelled, losing her composure suddenly. The dead quiet settled over the class again as she smoothed down her skirt. “Potter, Jones, please see me for detention after classes today.” She said simply, before turning around and starting the days lesson as if the entire exchange had never occurred. 

You sat at your desk, absolutely dumbfounded. You had had no intention of speaking up in class, much less saying something apparently so controversial that it warranted a detention. Yet here you were, in your now decidedly least favorite class with your most recently least favorite teacher. How did you manage to get yourself into these situations?

The brunette next to you looked over with a small look of sympathy whilst your fellow Slytherins shared a not so subtle haughty laugh in the corner of the room. You sunk low in your seat, making up your mind indefinitely that speaking in class was completely off the table now. 

Thankfully, the class passed without any further altercations, and you nearly sighed with relief when it ended. You gathered up your items, shoving the new (and frankly quite stupid) DADA book into your bag and turning to make a beeline for the door. 

The brunette who had offered her sympathy earlier in the class spoke before you could leave the desk though. “Thank you for speaking up. For Harry I mean. Not a lot of people would do that, especially now.” 

You looked up, slightly confused. “What do you mean?” 

She returned your look. “Did you not hear?” 

“Hear about what?” The two of you had slowly made your way to Umbridge’s door, lest you incite her wrath twice in the same day. 

The brunette was about to answer when the redhead who had spoken earlier wrapped his arm over her shoulder in a protective matter. “Is this Slytherin bothering you Hermione?” he asked, narrowing his eyes at you in what you assumed was his best glare (honestly it wasn’t very good). 

You furrowed your eyebrows and took a step back. “Excuse me?” 

“I said,” he stepped in front of Hermione and crossed his arms, “is this snake bothering you?”

“Oh honestly Ronald!” Hermione cried out from behind him, grabbing his arm and pushing him out of the classroom door. She threw an apologetic smile over her shoulder at you before turning back to Ron and smacking the back of his head. 

You stifled a laugh at the look on his face and shook your head as you headed the opposing way down the corridor, not entirely paying attention to your surroundings as you double checked your schedule for the third time that day. 

Moments later you were sprawled out on the corridor floor, having collided with two people who had apparently been running at breakneck speed. You groaned and picked yourself up to a sitting position, looking over at the other two boys currently thrown over one another. Great. More redheads. 

Despite your better judgement, you gently kicked one of them with your foot after picking yourself fully up off of the floor. “Hey, are you guys alright?” 

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

Fred and George were royally screwed. Fucked, if you will. 

They hadn’t planned to quite literally body slam you in the corridors whilst running away from Filch after setting off dung bombs in his office, it had just. . . happened. And quite unfortunately, at that. 

George rolled over and off of his brother as he felt your foot kick him, looking up at you with what he hoped to Merlin was a dashing smile as he suppressed whatever copious amounts of pain that he was feeling in that moment. “Barely, but I suppose we’ll manage. Right Freddie?” He asked, looking down at his brother who was still planted face first into the stone floor. 

“Speak for yourself oh brother dearest,” he sarcastically replied as he peeled himself from the stone. 

“Weasley’s!” Filch yelled from down the corridor, running full speed (or as well as he could) towards them, students wrinkling their noses in disgust and turning away as he passed them. 

“And that,” Fred said, offering George a hand up, “would be our cue to leave.” 

Both twins offered you crooked grins, George even going as far as saluting you, before they dashed off through the corridors, quite possibly traveling faster than they had when they’d ran into you.

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

You watched them, thoroughly amused despite being tackled, and bent down to pick up the paper schedule that had fallen from your hands. As you reached down, you noticed a larger and much thicker parchment next to yours. You grabbed both and looked closer at the thicker parchment, watching with amazement as what seemed to be a map of the school faded away into nothing. 

You looked back up at the boys just in time to see them turn a corner and disappear from sight. It appeared as though you’d have to return their tricky map to them another time. 

Smiling at the thought of interacting with the chaotic individuals again, you headed off towards Divination. 

.

.

.

Add yourself to my taglist here

[lalainajanes]

For Klarosummerbingo! This square was "suspicious ranch hand"

Leave The Roads, Take The Trails

Two years after her mother’s passing, about twelve years after her father left, livestock begin to go missing.

The first month it’s just one, a calf that’s been struggling. They might not have noticed, except Bonnie’s been checking up on the calf every morning. Initially, Caroline’s not too concerned. She rides out with Enzo, finds a trail of blood that leads to a sagging fence, blood droplets leading into the woods. They fix it, and she assumes the problem’s solved.

Except the next month, they lose a yearling, a cow, and three of her most productive chickens. Caroline begins to grow concerned. The ranch sustains them, but she’s working hard to turn more of a profit, well aware that the salaries she’s paying Enzo and Bonnie are meager, that the temporary workers she relies on in the spring and during the harvest are far from the best of the best. Her savings are thin, and even a medium-sized disaster would obliterate them.

Caroline cleans her mother’s old shotgun, rides into town for another box of ammo, internally wincing as she passes over her coins. Every night for two weeks, she patrols, a herding dog or two at her side, ears straining for anything out of the ordinary.

The nights are quiet, cold, and uneventful.

Most mornings, she almost falls asleep into her porridge. Bonnie and Enzo try to make her go to bed, but Caroline’s not about to shirk the morning chores. The ranch bears her name, and it’s her responsibility. She grabs a nap in the afternoon, insists that she’s fine, even when her eyes are gritty and her body feels heavy with exhaustion. In the early evenings, while there’s still light, she and Enzo work on reinforcing the fences.

After two weeks with nary an issue, Caroline decides the patrols are no longer necessary and eases back into her routine.

After a particularly great night’s sleep, she bounds into the kitchen, feeling energized even though it’s her turn to make breakfast – her most hated chore. Enzo’s just coming in the backdoor, hat in hand, face grim. His shirt sleeves are rolled up, damp streaks on his jeans, which means he’d washed up in one of the rainwater barrels before coming inside.

Caroline stops abruptly while braiding back her hair. “What happened?”

“Lost a bull this time. Two of the lambs.”

Her teeth clench, and she has the urge to slam her boot heel into the floor as if she were still a child and not a grown woman of twenty-six. Caroline takes in a breath through her teeth. “Damn it; I should never have stopped patrolling.”

Enzo smiles sympathetically, tries to make a joke, “It was a full moon last night. Maybe you’ve got a local werewolf.”

Caroline doesn’t laugh. She stiffens, eyes widening, cursing her stupidity. Her father will be disappointed if he ever hears about this; he’d insisted she learn to track the moon phases when she was young. It’s a habit that’s waned.

Her father had left upon reading about a series of suspicious deaths in Chicago. Said he’d be back once he eliminated the brazen vampire, but he’d found another soon after. Caroline’s accepted that her father likes being a vampire hunter more than a rancher.

If she’s honest, she rather enjoys her lack of parental judgment.

Her complacency comes down to the fact that she’d been told that there hadn’t been a werewolf in the area since the last Lockwood had picked up and set out for the city.

The gossip mill in town would have gone wild if a founding family member had returned so it can’t be Tyler or his father or uncle. That doesn’t mean a stranger hasn’t recently moved or isn’t passing through.

Enzo interprets her shock differently, patting her arm to offer comfort. “It’ll be alright. We’ll put in some more work on the fences, yeah? Make them higher on the wooded side. Why don’t I take your turn at breakfast?”

She forces a smile, “Would you? I need to have a quick chat with Bon.”

If they’ve got a werewolf, it’ll be better if Bonnie explains to Enzo anyway. Enzo had been a drifter who’d shown up looking for a couple of weeks of work eight months ago. Caroline strongly suspects he’s stuck around so long for the pleasure of Bonnie’s company.

“Of course. She’s out with the horses. Don’t be too long, yeah? My pancakes are better hot.”

* * * * *

When Sheila Bennett had died, Bonnie had been left with little. Once Grams was buried, the debt collector’s filled their pockets. The crumbling house Bonnie had grown up in, a small patch of land, and nothing else. The Bennett homestead was adjacent to the Forbes’ land, and Grams had been helping with the Forbes’ animals for years, soothing sickness and healing wounds. Bonnie had been barely fourteen, with no other family, and Caroline’s mother had offered Bonnie a place in their home.

“Bon?” Caroline calls, walking into the barn.

“Back here!” she calls out, and Caroline makes her way to the farthest stall, finds Bonnie brushing out Persephone, her favorite mare. “You saw Enzo?” Bonnie asks when Caroline’s close enough that she no longer needs to shout.

“Yeah. Question, does he know that you’re a witch?”

Bonnie pauses, throws Caroline a look as if she’s insane to ask. “Of course not.”

“Why ‘of course not?’ You must know he’s stupid for you. You could probably tell him you needed his assistance in a naked moon ritual, and he’d be out of his pants before you finished your sentence.”

“I don’t do naked moon rituals.”

“I know that, but he doesn’t. Could be a good way to move on from those intimate fireside chats you two are so fond of.”

She’s teasing or trying to, but Bonnie’s expression remains serious. “I’m not going to tell him. We can’t afford for him to leave.”

It would be a struggle, but they’d make do. She and Bonnie had survived worse. “You mean you don’t want him to leave.”

Bonnie turns away, and Caroline follows, helping when Bonnie heaves a saddle off the wall. “He’s not Jeremy Gilbert,” Caroline says, quieter now. She can’t guarantee it, of course, but she suspects Enzo’s loyalty is a stubborn thing once given.

Bonnie doesn’t reply; Caroline decides to table the subject. Possibly until such a time when she can ply Bonnie with liquor and sweets, until she’s a little more loose-lipped. “Well. Turns out we might have a werewolf.”

Bonnie sighs, “I think so too.” She gives Persephone an affectionate pat, “I’ll ride out with you after breakfast and see if I can sense any trace of magic. Is there anything you can send Enzo to town for?”

“I’m sure I can think of something.”

A jangling rings out, causing Caroline to jump because they rarely bother with the dinner bell. She nudges Bonnie, then throws the saddle over Persephone’s back. “C’mon, let’s hurry up. Enzo offered to cover breakfast, and he obviously wants it appreciated.”

“He does cook better than either of us.”

“But we’re not going to tell him that; he’d be insufferable.”

Bonnie laughs, finally, and a bit of Caroline’s earlier good mood returns.

* * * * *

At the next full moon, Caroline’s prepared. She has her mother’s rifle and two revolvers her father had left behind, one loaded with silver bullets. It’s a contingency should the worst happen, and the werewolf gets close enough to hurt her. She’d rather not kill a person just because they happen to transform into a wolf once a month. They might be perfectly lovely otherwise.

She tucks a knife into her boot, straps on the rifle.

Enzo’s leaning against the water trough, watching her worriedly. “I still think you should stay here.”

Caroline rolls her eyes. “And I think that’s adorable, but I’m a better shot than you are. I’ll be fine.”

She’s taking the perimeter tonight, leaving Enzo and Bonnie to guard the house and the barn. Bonnie’s enchanted the bracelets Caroline wears under her leather coat. She’d picked up a signature last month and connected it to the jewelry. Bonnie’s spell should help point Caroline in the right direction.

She’s slightly annoyed at Enzo, suspects he doesn’t quite believe them about the werewolf. Bonnie has yet to confess she’s a witch, likely sensing the same thing and sinking deeper into her doubts about Enzo’s steadfastness. Bonnie’s withdrawn from Enzo, tends to flee when he enters a room. He’s grown moodier in response, and Caroline’s had the strong urge to smack some sense into him a time or two.

She still needs to get Bonnie drunk, too. Hopefully, she’ll solve the werewolf problem tonight, and then she can devote more attention to matchmaking.

Which is different than meddling, in Caroline’s expert opinion.

Caroline sets her foot into a stirrup once her weapons are accounted for and swings herself up into the saddle. Enzo’s arms are crossed, she’s tempted to tell him to stop pouting, but she knows he’s only worried about her. She smiles, settles in, “Don’t let any more of my animals get eaten, okay? And make sure Bonnie gets a decent dinner. She’s been working hard lately.”

Bon’s insisted on putting up additional protections. She hides it, but Caroline knows that’s exhausting.

Enzo nods, serious, “Aye, aye, Captain.”

“Hmm, I kinda like the sound of that. Maybe a little salute? Could be fun.”

He fights it but Caroline spies a small smile. “Don’t let it get to your head.” He hands her the bag she’d packed, taking the reigns while Caroline gets it situated. “Be careful out there, will you?”

“Promise. I’ll be back at first light.”

Possibly not alone, but she’s not going to tell Enzo that.

He’d only worry more.

* * * * *

The bracelet on her left arm warms first, and Caroline urges the horse in that direction. By the time she reaches the gate that opens into the forest, the bracelet’s practically humming. She’s not surprised; Bonnie had said the most potent traces of the werewolf had come from the area. Werewolves are, at least according to her father’s lessons, creatures of habit. Caroline turns the horse around, leading him to a patch of grass that should keep him occupied. She hops off, tying off the reigns so the horse won’t trip while he grazes. She unbuckles the saddlebags and walks back to the gate, hanging them on a fence post.

Then she grimaces, reaches in, and pulls out a hunk of beef that she would much rather be using for a hearty dinner. Caroline winds up and heaves it as far as she can, reaching in for another handful. Once the meat’s been thrown, she cleans her hands as best she can with a splash of water from her canteen and a handkerchief. She then sinks to her knees, propping her shotgun between the fence slats, and settles in to wait.

Bonnie’s magic warns her when the werewolf approaches, the metal on her wrist heating until it nearly hurts. Caroline rips it off and tenses, squinting into the darkness, taking careful, even breaths. She hears leaves rustle, underbrush crunching. She swallows a shocked noise when the wolf first lumbers out of the treeline.

She’d known it would be larger than the typical wolf but knowing is different than seeing. The werewolf is enormous.

Its fur is fairly pale, a sandy brown, making it easier to see under the moonlight.

Caroline’s next inhale is shaky, and she lets her finger rest on the shotgun’s trigger. The wolf eats the meat she’d provided, sitting down when it’s gone. Caroline’s muscles are starting to ache with the effort of staying so still.

Best case scenario, the wolf is satisfied with the meal she’d provided and lopes back into the forest. Then, Caroline can continue with her discreet inquiries in town. Three people have moved to town recently; a family’s taken up residence in the old Salvatore ranch. The werewolf must be among the newcomers; she’s just got to figure out the most likely suspect.

Tonight, luck is not on her side.

The wolf’s head tips up as he sniffs the air. Caroline hears hooves faintly, just behind her, much closer than they should be.

The wolf stalks closer, unmistakably hunting, and Caroline silently curses, carefully lining up her shot.

She catches the wolf’s shoulder just before it leaps, and she cringes at the high-pitched yelp of pain it emits. She fires another shot, wide this time, hitting a tree. It’s enough to scare the wolf away, and it retreats, limping into the forest.

Her horse nudges at her pack, and Caroline sighs, sitting down in a more comfortable position. She digs out an apple, takes a bite before offering it to her horse. “I hope you know; I just saved you from being dinner.”

The horse is unbothered, only concerned with his treat.

* * * * *

Once the last trace of the night sky recede, Caroline treks into the woods. She’s careful to keep her footsteps silent, has one pistol loosely clutched in her hand.

The one loaded with silver sits heavily at the small of her back. The bracelet guides her though she likely would have been able to track without it. She spots blood at a few points, a streak against a tree here, a few drops decorating the grass there, and there’s a distinct set of prints.

Guilt churns in Caroline’s stomach, but she tells herself her aim was good – she’d learned to shoot as soon as her hands were big enough, her mother had insisted she become even more proficient when Caroline had been a teenager. She’s beaten every boy her age in town at the summer fair, most of the men older than her too.

It had to have been a clean shot.

So caught up in her anxious musings, she almost misses the body in the clearing.

Caroline crouches low to the ground and tucked behind the trunk of a thick maple. She catches the relieved breath before it exits her mouth when she sees the steady rise and fall of the man’s chest.

A fairly nice one, not that she’s leering.

He looks like he’s resting, his hand clutched over his shoulder. There’s blood but not what Caroline thinks is a life-threatening amount. He must have healed some in werewolf form.

She hadn’t put much thought into this particular portion of her plan, something she regrets now. She’s confident he’s not a threat, naked and injured as he is, so she tucks the gun away.

Caroline stands, runs a hand over her hair, dislodging a few bits of leaves. She strides forward, no longer taking care to be sneaky. “Good morning!” she calls cheerfully as if they’re meeting at the market.

The man scrambles to a sitting position, dragging himself back with his uninjured arm. Caroline lifts her hands so he can see them, turning so he’s no longer in her line of sight. “Sorry!” she says, “didn’t mean to startle you. I did mean to shoot you, but I’m sorry for that too. You’ve already eaten too many of my animals.”

He clears his throat, “Miss,” he says, something stern in the tone even though his voice comes out a hoarse scratch, “What are you doing out here?”

She scoffs, “I should be asking you that. This is my land. Why are you on it? And without a stitch of clothing on?”

There’s a lengthy pause. “I assure you, there is a perfectly logical explanation.”

He’s not quick to supply it, and Caroline takes pity on him. She tosses her pack behind her in his general direction. “There’s clothes in there, clean handkerchiefs in the front pocket. You’re welcome to them.” He doesn’t reply, but she hears cloth rustling, assumes he’s taken her invitation. “Let me know when you’re decent.”

He makes a noise, soft and amused. His motions seem to hasten.

She’s relieved he seems willing to hear her out, at least. Or perhaps the blood loss has made him more pliable. Caroline suspects she knows who he is, but she’d rather not have to chase him down in town.

No need to invite gossip.

“You can turn around now.”

Caroline whirls. She’d filched the clothing from Enzo, and it hangs a bit on the stranger. He’s left several of the shirt’s buttons undone, has bunched up the linen she’d offered, and his hand presses it to his wound.

Katherine Pierce, who owns the saloon in town, had described one of the newcomers as “pompous but easy on the eyes” before talking up his physical charms. Her descriptions, many of them borderline lewd, fit this man to a tee.

“Klaus Mikaelson, I presume?”

His brows rise in surprise, “Correct. And you are?”

“Caroline Forbes. I own this land, the ranch to the east. And the livestock you’ve been snacking on for the last two months.”

His eyes narrow, shoulders straightening, and his gaze grows cool and dismissive. Caroline understands where ‘pompous’ had come from. “I have no idea what you’re speaking of.”

She doesn’t try to hide her annoyed sigh. She grabs one of her revolvers, the weightier one. Caroline flips open the chamber and shakes out one of the silver bullets. “Catch,” she says, tossing it at Klaus’ face.

His hand flies up automatically, and he hisses in pain once his fist closes around the silver. He throws it aside, shaking his hand.

Her point made, Caroline stows the gun again. “You’re a werewolf. I’m fully aware of the existence of werewolves. Let’s move along to the real issues, shall we?”

Klaus doesn’t look happy about it, but he nods stiffly.

And because Caroline’s not a total monster, she offers and assurance first. “I won’t tell anyone.”

He doesn’t respond, but he seems in no hurry to leave, apparently intent on studying her person.

Caroline wishes she looked slightly more put together if she’s honest.

She tips her head in the direction she’d come from. “Why don’t we head back to my place? My friend Bonnie’s a witch; she’ll be able to make sure those wounds heal right up. I’ll even throw in breakfast.”

He appears mystified. “I’m a werewolf, love.”

“And? We’ve established that.”

“I’m dangerous.”

She laughs. Klaus remains unamused.

“I’ve got five more bullets that can kill you, another gun and a knife for good measure. You’re not even wearing shoes, and I can hear your stomach growling.”

“It’s improper. Your reputation…”

“Oh, that was tarnished ages ago,” Caroline informs him breezily. “Matt Donovan, have you met him? I think he’s the Sheriff’s Deputy now. I fell hard and fast for his pretty blue eyes when I was seventeen, and everyone knows about the time we were caught sneaking back into the church at the Founder’s Day picnic. My dress was horribly grass-stained. He bumbled through a marriage proposal the next day, but I let him down easy.”

Klaus blinks, mouth slightly ajar.

That may have been more information than he needed, but she’s forgotten how fun it is to be shocking. Caroline generally minds her manners in town and pours on her considerable charm so people will buy from her, or trade, with a minimum of fuss. It’s only at home that she can be free and genuinely herself.

“My parents were wildly eccentric,” Caroline continues, “so really, I had no chance with the snobbier townsfolk.”

Klaus opens his mouth like he’s going to offer another argument, and of course, he’s stubborn.

Caroline���s confident she’s more than a match in that department.

She spins away before he can say anything else. “We can do this again next month if you like, gunshot wound and all, probably. You’ve returned to the same spot three times. Seems like a pattern, doesn’t it?”

She hums a tune, meanders away like she has all the time in the world.

Caroline counts to four before she hears Klaus’ footsteps following her.

[dahniwitchoflight]

KHUX - Where’d they all go?

Alright so, first!

Who and what and where did everyone end up?

Maleficient: Took a pod to a specific point in the future, achieved this by also using her pet crow to force memories of her present self by having it fly her cloak to the great fairies and make them remember her

Ephemer: Brain from outside manages to send two pods back into the data Daybreak Town to rescue Ephemer and Skuld, (with the last Pod still in the Data meant for the Player, so all three could escape) Pops out of the pod to see the destroyed real Daybreak Town, goes back in with Skuld to escape the dying worldline along with the others, Gets flung forward in time just a tad from his own perspective to become the Founder of Scala Ad Caelum from the ruins of the destroyed Daybreak Town (Still doesn’t answer how or why he popped out in KH3 to help, but eh, guess that’s a question for Dark Road?)

Lauriam: Hops into one of three Pods in the real Daybreak Town to escape, Gets flung to present KH Times in a flower field from Snow White’s world, most likely proceeds to become a nobody some time later

Elrena: Hops into one of three Pods in the real Daybreak Town to escape, Gets flung to roughly the same time and place as Lauriam, but on the stormy mountain from the Witch’s area of Snow White’s world,  most likely proceeds to become a nobody some time later

Ventus: Hops into one of three Pods in the real Daybreak Town to escape, Ends up in the keyblade graveyard, roughly a few years before BBS and is found by Old Xehanort starting that story

Player: Tricks Ephemer into sealing them and the 4 darknesses into a piece of the Data Daybreak Town by pretending to have fallen to darkness, ends up dying from the 4 Darknesses, sacrificing themselves to save Ephemer and Skuld. In the realm between Death and Sleep, their dying heart then reincarnates eventually into a new young Heart (as they sometimes do), into that of newborn Young Xehanort, who is from Scala Ad Caelum in the time of Dark Road-ish, gets sent to Destiny Island’s by a mysterious old man who then dies, and then Young Xehanort begins his journey in Dark Road

Strelitzia: Her apparent Nobody gets sent to the future into the real world by Luxu, but it’s unknown where or when she ends up, last seen walking off in a white version of the Nobody Coat  (I suppose this is another question Dark Road will likely answer?)

Skuld: Brain from outside manages to send two pods back into the data daybreak town to rescue Emphemer and Skuld, Pops out of the pod to see the destroyed real Daybreak Town, goes back in with Ephemer to escape the dying worldline along with the others, We don’t find out her whereabouts, but the remaining theory is that she is Subject X from BBS, Lea and Isa’s friend with amnesia (I suppose this is another question Dark Road will likely answer?)

Rest of the Sleeping Dandelions/Fallen Keyblade Wielders: As their hearts fall asleep, the Chirithy that is bound to their hearts also takes on a sleeping form and become Dream Eaters, Spirit shaped by their wielders Dreams in order to protect them

Luxu: Last seen dragging along the box, holding the keyblade, and lifting up his hood to reveal that he looks exactly like Brain just without the hat

Brain: Gets flung forward roughly to the time of Dark Road-ish, last seen in Scala Ad Caelum that has been rebuilt for a while now by Ephemer the founder from a long time ago, just without his signature hat, and due to his conversation with a figure named Sigurd (who gives him his hat back), has likely fallen roughly into the times of KH Dark Road, and is perhaps a closer ancestor to Eraqus than first thought! maybe even a grandpa or great-grandpa

now the fun thing about Luxu and Brain and why they might look the same, cuz there’s a few options:

Is that before their final scenes, the 2nd last scene Luxu and Brain had was with eachother, right after Brain sent everyone on their merry way, Luxu pops up and says hey watcha doing, and Brain says he wants to stay behind to help free all the sleeping keyblade wielders, even if it takes him the rest of his life, and Luxu comments at him that it’d be a shame for him to waste his life like that or something to the effect before a fade to black

and the thing is, we don’t get to see their individual arrangements for how Both Luxu and Brain escape to the worldline along with the others. We just know that for sure he doesn’t stay and wake up the wielders, because all of their chirithy’s turn into the dream eaters. (And also that apparently he left his hat behind before he left as he picks it up in Scala when Sigurd gives it back to him)

And since there’s only one seemingly possible pod left to take, the one from the data world left for the Player (who never took it and instead dies), theres seem to be only one spot left on the ride out, and with Luxu’s body snatching tendencies, it seems to suggest that Luxu overtook Brain’s Heart and Body, grabbed the last pod from the data and adios’d

BUT the key here is in their apparent attitudes that we know this is likely not the case, and also the Hat, not only does it make it obviously clear who is who, the logistics of the Hat make it clear as well

In both cases, the boy who ends up in the graveyard with the box and the key, and the boy who appears in Scala, neither of them have Brain’s hat

But Brain IS last seen with his hat

If Luxu had overtaken Brain, there would be no reason for him to discard the hat, since the entire point of the body snatching is to be that person

Then, when Brain wakes up in Scala, Sigurd comes along and presents the hat saying “We’ve been waiting for you.” and Brain takes it back

Brain would neither remove his hat, nor would Luxu remove it if he had overtaken Brain

Instead, the likelier option is that Luxu forcibly put Brain into a pod and sent him to the future, saying it would be a shame if Brain were to die while Daybreak Town fell to darkness, because that’s what would’ve happened if Brain tried to stay behind

Where does that Leave Luxu though? How does he get back?

Well back in the data daybreak town, there are actually two Pods left, one meant for the Player who never used it, which Brain likely ended up taking, and a Destroyed Pod that got written off since who would know how to fix it?

Oh, Luxu would! And we know he does, because he specifically taunts Brain with that knowledge, asking him if he even knows how their supposed to work, And wouldn’t ya know, it’s in the Data Daybreak Town, meaning Luxu wouldn’t have even need to physically fix it, he could have easily reprogrammed it to be fixed from the computer side

So, two people, two pods, Luxu sends Brain on his merry way, in the scuffle because Brain would have resisted, the hat might’ve been removed, and Luxu could have easily set it up so that the hat could be preserved and in the future they would know to look and wait for Brain to appear

The only mystery remains then is why does Luxu looks like Brain?

appearances are tricky things in the KH series as well all know, and Luxu’s face has been hidden all this time, likely because his face would have been a spoiler or potentially confusing had it been shown from the beginning of KHX, not KHUX even

The one hint we have, is that in the Back Cover cinematic, which takes places during KHX, If you look closely, apparently you can see a shaggy lock of hair under his hood that matches Brain’s

which means Luxu has probably looked liked Brain all along from the start!

And before getting into the crazier reasons of why someone would look like someone else in the KH series (look at you Ventus/Roxas, Sora/Vanitas, Kairi/Namine/Xion) 

the one that makes the most sense to me personally, consideriong this fact, is that Luxu is a Replica of some sort, of Brain, made by the Master of Masters to fulfill a specific purpose for him, and considering Luxu’s purpose was easily the most important of MoM’s plans, and with how in his early appearances Luxu appears very withdrawn, shy, or dependant on MoM but also separate in some way from the rest of the 5 and with how we know that MoM has no qualms creating living things to do his bidding like the Chirithy’s, we know he’s aware of the replica technology at the very least since the pod system appears to be a workaround for this very issue of needing a medium for the flesh at the appropriate time and place

I think him being a replica with Brain’s appearance makes the most sense, Brain was certainly already on MoM’s radar as a special keyblade wielder, since he was one of the ones MoM chose to be a new union leader, and the way that Luxu’s appearance has always been hidden, how he always wore the black coat which in KH3 seems to be confirmed as what a “default” Replica body appears in when not in use, as we see when Riku Replica shunts out evil Repliku to have the body for Namine, it appears as a doll covered in the black coat

To me, I think it’s fitting, and I think that Luxu being comfortable with shunting from body to body and switching between forms is also part of that, his original form is a replica made to mimic another person, so why wouldn’t he continue that trend? Moving his heart from vessel to vessel, never getting attached to the flesh or identity itself? 

So yeah, I believe that Luxu taking over Brain is a red herring that KHUX ending presents, but I believe it will ultimately not be the case, and the rest of Dark Road/Verum Rex will go further into the reason why that is, with Luxu being a Replica of Brain from the very start coming out on top as the most likely series of events

[blueberrysets]

WITH OR WITHOUT DEATH

pairing: grim reaper!sakusa kiyoomi x f!reader

genre: fluff and angst, probs more angst

warnings: swearing, mentions of sexual activites, mentions of death, angst at the end

word count:  2,482

summary: sakusa was used to a lonely life when he became the notorious grim reaper. he got the cards with the time, place, date, and person of who’s soul he needed to collect, then he would go do his job then leave. that was until he met the bubbly waitress at the 50′s diner with terrible puns but amazing apple pie. if only the council could allow him to keep one, pure soul with him.

reccomended song to listen to: sparks by coldplay

an: okay hI! I’m actually really proud of this little thing I just wrote. This scenario actually takes place in a supernatural realm that I have been developing for ageesss. I’m actually really contemplating on writing a second part to this, so let me know if you’d like that! AND/OR making a writing collection with more haikyuu boys in this universe!! I think it would be really cool to write a supernatural au for the haikyuu boys. lol n e ways, let me know what you think and enjoy!!

sakusa’s breath gets caught in his throat at the mere sight of her. he stands across the street, adorned in his usual black attire and black panama-style hat. a mask covering his identity to the world as he peered into the small diners’ window. she stood behind the counter, chatting with the regulars as she fills up their coffee mugs. a bright smile etched across her face, filling the room with so much joy that his undead heart probably couldn’t withstand it. however for her, it was worth it.

the tacky baby blue waitress outfit matched the 50’s style diner, the color contrasting nicely against her skin. her hair cascades nicely down her back, curled for the dress code she has to withstand. 

“it’s cheesy,” he remembers her telling him one night during her late shift, “but I kind of like it, in a charming way.”

it was always the same routine with them; he shows up at the diner at random times, she doesn’t ask questions as she fetches him his usual order, then she sends him that pretty smile of hers as she leans closer to him to talk about his secret. she was the only living soul to know of it, and the only living soul to have an unknown power over him. he wouldn’t trust it with others, but her? he would lay down his own life to hear her whisper his name just one more time.

the rain falling soaks into his black, wool coat. protecting his skin from the harsh air of late autumn. he finally decides to make his way inside the overly hot diner, before he has another soul to guide. he only sees her when death is present, he wouldn’t be in the human realm for any other reason. that was part of his deal to the council. how amusing is it to be a highly respected, yet exiled demon. the human realm was dirty anyways, in more ways than one. covered in diseases, pervs, assholes, and incubuses that feed daily. they annoyed him the most. loosely throwing around their name like it isn’t the thing that controls them, they just like how their name sounds when a human moans it. disgusting.

his long, bony fingers reach out to pull open the door. the heat hitting him in the face like a sharp slap, knocking the breath out of you if you aren’t prepared for it. the familiar ding from the bells attached to the handle fills the slightly empty diner. only a man sitting at the bar with a burger and a man sitting in a booth with a newspaper fill the occupants. yet his gaze is set on the girl in front of him that turns to meet his eyes. another bubbly smile stretches across her face as she places her hands on her hips. 

“well, hey there stranger,” she states, a slight twang in her voice. he walks closer to the bar, sitting on the awkwardly high bar stool as she places his fresh black coffee in front of him, “long time no see, grim.”

she gently takes off his hat, tousling the curls that are hidden underneath it. he likes to think that she’s fixing his hat hair, but in reality she messes it up more. she finds it endearing how the usual put together grim reaper and can have the cutest curls to frame his face. she places his hat on the counter beside him before hooking a finger into his black mask to pull it down his face. if it were anyone else, he would’ve bitten off their finger and disinfected his whole body from the human diseases. dead or not, it still makes his skin crawl. her, however, she’s so pure and untainted. 

her soul gives off a vibrant, white light. it glows nicely in the middle of her chest, as if waiting for any sort of sin to darken its glow. he also finds it adorable when her eyes brighten a smidge more to see his full face. even with the gray undertone in his skin color, the soulless eyes, and the eye bags; she stares at him like he’s the most beautiful thing to walk this earth. the mask now rests underneath his chin and her eyes are in delight with what she sees. before he could fully examine her face in the close proximity, she leans away to turn her attention to the man two seats down from him. 

“want a refill, mr. k?” she questions as she reaches over to grab the pitcher full of water. 

a single letter, that’s what high ranked demons go by in the human realm. you see, if you know the real name of a demon you have full power over them. it’s crucial for demons in power to keep it hidden, that’s why they usually have humans call them by their first initial. sakusa peers his eyes over to be met with the familiar gray locks of one of his colleagues. koushi sugawara, a hellhound. his usual kind stare meets sakusa’s dead stare, sending a small smile his way. sugawara then turns back to wipe the corners of his mouth one more time with his napkin, placing it on top of his now empty plate. 

“no thank you, sugar,” he states softly as he placed money onto the counter, sliding it her way, “keep the change, honey.”

“you got it, mr. k,” she gleams at him, her eyes squinting slightly from her big smile, “you have a nice night now.” 

sugawara stands from the stool, grabbing his jacket that rests on the chair next to him. shrugging it onto his shoulders as he turns his attention to sakusa sitting next to him. 

“it’s nice to see you again grim,” he nods towards him, “still looking as dead as ever.”

“you as well,” he mumbles towards sugawara, a hand being placed on his shoulder to give a light squeeze before he walks out of the diner. he respects sugawara, as he was one of the few that fought for him during his hearing with the council.

his eyes lazily make their way back towards her, to be taken back by how close she was to him. her elbow rests next to his, her head tilting slightly to rest on her hand. her eyes wide and curious as she pushes the slice of apple pie closer to him. steam coming from the fresh pie and tickling his nose slightly, but the aroma fills his nostrils as his stomach rumbles slightly in hunger. why she was so close to him with that look? he wasn’t sure, causing his eyebrows to knit together in confusion as he picks up his utensils to eat her signature apple pie.

“well,” she asks, her eyes still wide. 

“well what?” he asks back, finally taking a bite. his tastebuds doing a victory dance with the deliciousness that covered them, physically having to hold back a groan after the sweetness hits him. 

“what kind of death was it today?” she asks, her head lifting from her hand as she places it on the counter. leaning slightly closer to him, if he leans in a little more as well their noses would be touching. 

he knows that she does this to keep it quiet between them, but it’s a well known fact that he is the grim reaper. people always ask questions about the unusual deaths he sees on a regular basis. however, he appreciates that she respects his privacy. even though she is a curious little thing. he swallows his food before he answers, the fork still being gripped in his hand. 

“hit and run,” he says with a smirk. 

“tch,” she sneers as she leans back from him, grabbing the rag damp with disinfectant as she begins viciously wiping down the counter, “so much for humanity.”

“what do you mean by that?” he asks with curiosity as he takes another bite.

“well, i mean,” she starts, slightly stuttering over her words. she stops wiping as she stares off behind him, trying to come up with an explanation for how she’s feeling. “I’m beginning to lose my faith in humanity. I mean for crying out loud! we now walk freely with vampires, werewolves, witches, demons! you would think more deaths would be caused by that, but no. it’s still humans killing humans, and i’m glad you help them pass over. you’re more human than any human i have ever met.”

her words drift off at the end as a bashful state takes over her demeanor. the tips of her ears redden as she focuses her gaze on the counter instead of him. it was at this moment, that sakusa knew he would do something he would regret that night. he clenched his jaw as he contemplated his next words. 

“when does your shift end?” he asks in his usual monotones voice. 

her eyes shift to his, expecting him to lecture her about how he was a demon and she shouldn’t say things like that so carelessly. she was used to his scolding, he did it to her quite often. she swallows and licks her lips before replying.

“9 pm.”

“great, ten minutes for me to finish my pie,” he smiles, “let’s go for a walk after.”

                                                  _____________

it’s been fifteen minutes since they first started their walk. his wool coat covers her exposed legs from the cold as her eyes remain upwards towards the night sky. stars twinkle down on them as their comfortable silence is wrapped around them. her mind is gushing over the beauty of the stars, but also over the beauty of him and the two little moles stacked on his forehead. his mind is running a full marathon on how to word his thoughts correctly to her. he’s too analytical, never the one to easily express his emotions. but tonight, for her, he would give it a try. 

his mask remains tucked underneath his chin as his eyes remain on the ground. his bottom lip being gnawed at nervously before he takes a deep breath in. as he releases it sharply, he stops his strides next to her. causing her to halt as well, her head looks back at him as she stopped a bit in front of him.

“everything alright?” she asks in a soothing voice. 

“in all of my years, alive and undead, i have never encountered something like you,” he whispers, his gaze still on the ground. 

“what?” she whispers back, taking a few steps closer to him. the fog of their breaths mixing together at their proximity, she hugs his coat closer to her body as she searches for his gaze to meet his.

“in all of my years, i have never encountered something like you,” he states confidently, his dead  eyes now peering into her much livelier ones. “I have met countless of people, and it’s always the same feeling with them. the greed, the lust, the wrath; it’s always one of those deadly sins that have overtaken their souls. it became redundant, annoying even, to see all of the unruly human souls running around doing whatever they want. then I met you, in a little rundown 24 hour diner with the brightest, purest glow emitting from you. you live for selfless deeds, you put yourself before others, you’re hardworking, honest, beautiful, kind, and everything that it takes to awaken my undead soul. it would stupid for me to say that I am not completely in love with you.”

“grim,” she breathes out, her eyes filling with tears over the beautiful words that he has spoken about her. but more importantly, what it would mean for him, for them.

“you know everything about me, even my weak points. you know about my exile, you know about the little human memories i have left, you know how to summon me, you know my name,” he speaks with raw emotion as his skinny hands reach for her face, the plumpness of her cheeks resting nicely in the palm of his hands, “and i’m terrified of how weak I am for you. yet, i can’t hold it in anymore. you speak so highly of me that i feel alive, but i’m not. god, you make me feel so holy.  like i could walk into heaven right now. yet, i would kill a man if you just gave me a name.”

one of her hands rests on top of his, her eyes never leaving his. a single tear runs down her face, the first drop for a hurricane. his thumb wipes it away, along with the many more that come after it. 

“I’m about to do something, and you and I both know what will happen after this happens,” he explains quietly as he takes one of his hands from her face and wraps it around her waist to pull her closer to him, “but please indulge me, in my own personal sin.”

after the last syllable of the word leaves his lips, he dips his head down to capture her lips with his own. the kiss is deep and full of raw, pure emotion. his grip on her is tight, because he knows that once they separate she’ll have to say it. but all she could focus on was his lips against hers. the saltiness of her tears could be tasted on lips. his skin, which is usually ice cold, is the complete opposite to his warm lips. they fit nicely against hers and move with experience as he continues to deepen the kiss. it seems as if hours had pass in the small minutes of them kissing. she didn’t want it to end, she didn’t want him to pull away. but he did. as soon as their lips part, a sob escapes her body as he rests his forehead against hers.

“send me away, y/n,” he says in a stern, yet soft tone, his hold still tight on her.

“I can’t,” she croaks out, her voice filled with sorrow as her body continues to shake with sobs, “please don’t make me.”

“I’m sorry, my love,” he whispers as pulls her closer to him, “i’m so sorry. but you and i both know, you have to.”

another cry is released as she pushes her face into his chest. her hands gripping the black turtleneck sweater, her tears wetting the shirt as well. he can only hold her, rubbing soothing circles into her back as a single tear runs down his cheek as well.

“please go away,” she sobs, “kiyoomi.”

 once his name leaves her lips, her wish is his command. he vanishes in thin air, a black smoke replacing where he once was. as she sinks down to hug her knees into her chest, she promised to herself that she would see him again.

with or without death. 

[el-michoacano]

I Saw the Dead, Small and Great

It’s finally posting day for the @tltbb and I couldn’t possibly be more excited! What a great time this has been! Shout out to the event hosts, and also to @queensabriel and @melli4uhbees, who have been the best artists a girl could ask for! 

Summary: Once upon a time, many, many years ago, Harrowhark's great-great-grandmother, who had herself lived an unnaturally long life, told her that their family was descended from that one wicked snake that haunted the Garden of Eden, that the family Nonigesimus were more serpent than man. At the time, Harrow had thought she was joking, just a senile old woman weaving mindless tales. She knows better now.

Trigger warnings: Suicidal thoughts, lots of talk of death.

READ ON AO3

1 Is your soul prepared?

Harrow isn't sure how the sign got onto her property. It's been there for years and years, the nails rusting, the white paint chipping, the wood rotting beneath it. The sign is as tall as she is, and double as wide as she can stretch her arms. It's sinking into the mud, though, like everything else in this damned place, standing crooked enough that it might just topple over in a strong breeze.

Is your soul prepared?

The words were wrought in bright, angry red once, but they're an ugly brown now, the color of old blood. It's oddly fitting.

Hooligans, Harrow thinks, but she can't be sure. The sign is large, and its post is set deep into the soft earth. Would just any rowdy local boys be able to do such a thing? Would they have any inclination to pass on such a message? She'd been the target of their little pranks before, but such an effort from boys who hadn't the cleverness to not wet the front of their trousers when they took a piss? It seems unlikely. They’ve always been more the type to leave dead animals hanging on the gates. The sign is too civil.

It was the church that planted the sign, she's sure. The Ascension Parish Southern Baptist Church had been after her for years, all the way up until it had caught fire and burned to the ground in 1912. Fingers had pointed at her for that, too, and even now, she occasionally wakes to find God is watching or Repent now! or Open your heart to God! painted across the front gates.

Removing the paint gives her something to do, she supposes. Is it really so bad?

Is your soul prepared?

Harrow has considered removing the sign more times than she can count, but it's not as though any other living soul sees it. Why bother? It's not as if her family's sinking home is the only site of such signs. There are others like it scattered all over the bayou, ones of this seemingly standard size, smaller ones tacked to chain link fences, even huge billboards. God sees all, they proclaim. Jesus saves. Hell is real.

Of course Hell is real, Harrow thinks with a roll of her eyes. She lives there, after all.

Hell's End is the name of this area, a name given by her great-great-grandmother when the family had first arrived in the States all the way from New Zealand. It was to be the end of their long and dangerous journey west, the start of their Heaven on Earth. How wrong she had been. How wrong they had all been.

Harrow is one of the very few who dare to come near this part of the swamp now. The brackish waters part around her feet, and the heels of her elegant boots leave no prints in the mud. The gators go scurrying away at her approach, and high in the moss-draped trees, the cicadas fall silent.

The snakes, though, make no move to flee. They watch her with their bright, slitted eyes, and they bow as best as they can. She is one of them. She offered an apple to Gideon, and another to Alecto, apples of forbidden, carnal knowledge. She is the snake in the Garden of Eden given human form, and she is the mistress of this particular bayou.

Once upon a time, her great-great-grandmother, who had herself lived an unnaturally long life, had told Harrow that their family was descended from that one wicked snake, that they were more serpent than man. At the time, Harrow had thought she was joking, just a senile old woman weaving mindless tales.

She knows better now.

This wickedness is in her blood. Her parents had tried to fight it, but Harrow has long since given in. There's no use in trying to deny who she is.

The wickedness is as much a part of who she is as the swamp is.

The Nonagesimus family have always been the masters of this bayou, back since the 1750s when the house and its great iron gate had sprung seemingly overnight from the mud. That was centuries ago. Harrow isn't sure of the year anymore, but she is certain that it's high summer now. The children should be catching fireflies and the old biddies should be sipping sweet tea on the porch while their husbands talk about the weather, but Harrow is the only Nonagesiumus left in all the world, and the sinking mansion sits quietly in its watery grave, waiting to claim her as it has all the others.

Her family is long gone.

Harrow, with her twisted magic and her unnatural tastes, is all that remains of her once-great, once-powerful family.

The irony of it is enough to choke her, to send her hundreds of dead relations a-spinning in their graves. Or spinning in their coffins, at least. There are no graves here.

2

Though the closest towns are lively and New Orleans isn't terribly far away, there is no music in Hell's End.

There was, once upon a time, a lovely harpsichord in the parlor, but Harrow used it as firewood ages ago. Her mother had been an accomplished player, and she had taught Harrow to play, too, but Harrow couldn't bear the sound. Even in dreams, it breaks her heart.

There was an old gramophone once, too, but it met a similar fate. One too many times, it had come alive in the night, likely by Pelleamena's hand, and Harrow had thrown it from the top gallery. She still steps on its splinters from time to time.

The closest thing Harrow can bear to a song now is Ortus's low humming, though she's not sure it's a hum at all. It's a purr, almost, like that of a cat, a soft, comforting sound. It's the sound of his aura, she thinks, gentler than ever in death.

On occasion, she joins in on the hum, letting it rattle its way up her throat and down through her chest. It's a tender, deep sound, and she worries sometimes that it will shake her apart if she lets it.

Sometimes she thinks she wouldn't mind shaking apart. She could sift her way down through the warped floorboards, down into the manor's sunken foundation and even lower, drifting down, down, down.

Maybe she'll sink all the way into Hell. Maybe Alecto will be waiting for her there, her dark, dark eyes full of longing and anger. Gideon won't be there, though, Harrow knows. Hell is the last place Gideon belongs.

Harrow, though, belongs there. A witch, a homosexual, a murderer. Where else would she belong?

3

The wicker chairs set out behind the house are sinking and rotten, but the ghosts don't favor the back, and so Harrow often finds herself sitting there in the low evening light. Her legs are crossed at the ankle, her wide-brimmed hat pulled low, a book resting open in her lap, though it's too dark to read it now.

The mosquitos are a choking cloud this time of year, buzzing thick in the air, carrying diseases on the wind. They have taken too many of Harrow's kind already. She swats at them with her lace-gloved hands, but they're never deterred. Stubborn things, she thinks. They're the only swamp creatures that don't seem to fear her.

It has to do with her blood, she's sure. There was wicked magic in her veins from the day she was born, and they can smell it, even now, long after she's been bled dry. Though they hover around her like a plague, there's nothing left in her for them to drink. She used it all up trying to bring back her parents, her family name, her old life, her dead lovers.

But they're all gone now, and her magic can't bring them back. Not in any way that matters.

Her parents are gone, interred in the grand white marble mausoleum out behind the house. It's sinking into the swamp, like everything else is, a few centimeters every year. The doors can barely be opened now. When Harrow dies, there will be no way for her to join them in the tomb. Maybe that's for the best. Maybe she doesn't deserve to be with them. They certainly wouldn't welcome her, not after all her disastrous attempts to bring them back.

She doesn't deserve to be with Gideon in death, either, though no one to this day seems to know exactly what became of her. For all Harrow knows, Gideon is in some gator's belly. Had been, anyway. No one has seen her in decades. No one is even looking anymore. Not even Aiglamene is looking anymore. Gideon was murdered, Harrow is certain, likely by the church itself. The worst things always happen to the best people.

And then there was Alecto. A predator, yes, but Harrow's predator. There isn't a day Harrow doesn't regret drowning her, but there was nothing else to be done about her. She was mad. She was inhuman. She was everything Gideon wasn't, and Harrow had taken comfort in that for a while. But Alecto had ripped poor, sweet Ortus limb from limb in a fit of rage, and her drowning was a far easier death than she had deserved.

Alecto sits on the fence at the edge of the property most days, her dark, empty eyes staring off into the distance.

On particularly gloomy days, Ortus joins her. Even dead, he can't bear to be alone. He's more a great mass of shadow than a true figure, weak even in death, but Harrow would know him anywhere. Her heart aches when she sees him. The sad, tremulous smile he gives her makes her want to die.

But after all she's been through, is there anything that doesn't make her want to die?

Is there anything in the great, wide world that makes her want to live?

If there is, she hasn't found it.

At this point, she doubts it exists at all.

She doesn't live now, anyway. She just survives.

4

Slowly but surely, the Nonagesimus house is sinking into the mud.

It's been sinking for years, of course. It started the day Harrow's parents died.

Died.

It's too gentle a term. They didn't pass away in their beds, old as the hills, their souls well-prepared, as parents should. They didn't go peacefully. They didn't just die.

Pelleamena and Priamhark hung themselves from the high branches of the cypress tree that had been growing just inside the gates since before the gates had even been erected. Harrow had been the one to find the bodies, the one to cut them down, the one to lay them to rest in the family mausoleum.

Her being the one to read their note was by far the worst of it.

You bring shame on us, it had said. It had been scrawled in her mother's elegant handwriting, and her father hadn't even bothered to sign it. Harrow often finds herself wondering if he even read it, or if he had found Pelleamena's body before Harrow had and followed his wife to the grave of his own volition.

It was Harrow's fault either way, and to this day, after all these decades, she carries the weight of it on her back. It weighs so much that she can barely stand upright, hunched like an old woman in her wanderings. She would be an old woman, were it not for her magic. This eternal life is her punishment, and she deserves every single second alone.

Her parents were ashamed of her, and probably had been for most of her life. Even as a child, there was something wrong about her. They had tried and tried for more children, but alas, she was the only one to make it to birth. Their only daughter, they whispered, the blood witch. Their only daughter, the necrophiliac. Their only daughter, the homosexual. Their shame had driven them into the arms of Death, and their precious child had played witness to it.

She should have seen it coming from a country mile away, but she hadn't. She had been too busy trying to resurrect Gideon and kill Alecto to notice their downcast eyes and trembling mouths. She hadn't noticed how they had wasted away until she was cutting them down from their twin nooses.

Harrow supposes it doesn't matter. Even dead, her parents are with her now.

They stand silent most days, pacing the sinking house's top gallery, staring out over the swamp with their dark, sunken eyes and their sewn-shut mouths. Dead men, after all, tell no tales. She's made certain of that.

Though they can't reply, not in words, she does talk to them sometimes.

Today, though, she's more focused on the foxfire darting through the trees. This is no swamp gas, she's sure. She's intimately familiar with that particular sight. Instead of the usual blue, this light is violet, and it moves slowly, ambling through the trees without a care in the world.

There's someone down there, Harrow realizes.

The question is, is this person living or dead?

5

It isn't alive.

Harrow isn't sure if it's human, but certainly is not alive.

She meets it outside the iron gate, her hand resting against the metal, as if its narrow bars can somehow protect her from this strange half-dead girl.

"Hello," it says. Its smile is sharp and fanged, its voice a rasping whine, like dead tree branches scraping a window during a storm. It takes Harrow's hand in its golden right one, presses its soft, bluing mouth to her knuckles, and Harrow can feel the coolness of it through the lace of her gloves. It's prettier than it has any right to be, despite its wasted appearance and its pallid skin and the deep, dark shadows beneath its eyes. "Have you been waiting long?" it asks, catching her eyes with its own.

Waiting? Harrow doesn't wait. She takes. The only thing she's waiting for is death. Perhaps, she thinks, this is Death. "Who are you?" she asks, slowly, stupidly. Her voice is rough from lack of use, the croak of a frog more than the voice of a witch. It's oddly fitting.

The other woman, tall and pale as a ghost, laughs at her, and the sound is the knell of church bells ringing on a foggy morning. They're funeral bells.

Hear the tolling of the bells -- Iron bells! Harrow thinks. She pulls her hand away, wraps her arms around herself. What a world of solemn thought their monody compels!

It asks, its voice low and seductive, "Who do you want me to be, Harrowhark?"

Harrow bristles. No one has called her by her name in years. She doubts anyone even knows her name anymore. Only old Aiglamene would remember, if she even remembers anything. This time, Harrow asks, "What are you?"

The eyes roll. They're a ludicrous shade of purple, striped with blue and brown, deep-set and heavy-lidded. They're inhuman. "I'm no one," it says, then approaches her, reaching a hand toward her face. Harrow doesn't flinch, even when the soft fingertips and sharp claws brush her cheek. "And yet everyone knows me." It moves closer, and Harrow can smell it: Musty, powdery, with something sweet underneath. Something terribly, deathly sweet. "Everyone faces me."

It's the smell of rot, Harrow realizes. "You really are Death."

It leans closer, brushes its mouth against hers. It agrees in a voice like shattering ice, "I really am."

6

"I've been waiting for you for years." Harrow feels strange saying it, but she can't take it back now. She feels stranger still letting this creature into her home, but she can't take that back, either. Why would she want to? Death is the first physical guest she's had for decades. It's been all ghosts and vermin for far too long. "Where have you been?"

"Around," Death says, its eyes roving as it steps into the manor, stepping gingerly through the puddles in the foyer, its feet bare. It's dressed all in white, its long skirt trailing on the floor, the hem damp and muddy. It wears only a camisole on top, the straps thin and hanging off its bony shoulders, short enough that it leaves a few inches of its midriff enticingly bare. Harrow startles at that: She hasn't been enticed in decades. She startles again when she realizes how utterly human it is to feel enticed. Perhaps she's still human after all. "I keep a very busy schedule."

Harrow has the distinct feeling that that isn't true, but she doesn't dare say so.

Death itself has come to her.

It's hard not to feel special in the wake of it, and she swallows down a wave of pride. Pride. She hasn't felt that in ages, either.

"You really live like this?" Death asks as it steps into the parlor, the damp rug squelching obscenely under its bare feet.

This room had once been grand, but now, it's little more than a shadow of its former self. A ghost of itself, like its mistress. The walls are lined in ceiling-high shelves full of moldering books and pretty little treasures, the Persian rug unwinding at its edges, the lovely chaise discolored and misshapen from years of sweat and sitting. All the furniture in the house is in such a state. Harrow can't find it in herself to be embarrassed by it anymore.

Death takes a seat on the chaise, kicking its bare feet up onto the far end, its delicate ankles crossed one over the other. Its skin is so pale that the worn navy velvet makes its veins all but glow.

It's otherworldly, and Harrow comes to sit in front of it on the warped wood of the floor. She arranges her skirts carefully, keeping her tattered slippers hidden under her equally tattered hem. Had she known Death was finally coming for her, she would have dressed better. "Why are you only here now?" she asks, an unfamiliar desperation in her voice. Of course she's desperate, she thinks. She's been waiting since before the turn of the century. She's been waiting longer than most people get to live.

"I told you," Death says, picking at a loose string on the arm of the chaise. A bit of the piping comes off with it. "I've been busy." It glances up with its ludicrous eyes, meets Harrow's gaze, holds it fast. Harrow feels caught in their depths, like a fly in a glass of sweet tea. Sweet it is, though. "And I thought you would have come to me on your own by now."

7

The following morning, Harrow wakes alone, still dressed and still exhausted.

She's disappointed, but she can't bring herself to be surprised. She's poison, after all. Even Death itself can't bear to be around her. She can't say she blames it.

She's still on the floor in the parlor, the chaise empty, but it still has that smell clinging to it: Musty and cloyingly sweet. Like violets, Harrow thinks again. Death has eyes like violets. Who would have guessed? Certainly not her.

She had always imagined Death as a skeleton wrapped in a black robe, a scythe at its side, its eyes empty black pits in its skeleton face. Death didn't look like a girl, but an ancient being, rotting away from the inside. She had had a nightmare, once, that Death had come to her in the guise of her long-dead aunt, Glaurica. In the dream, Harrow had very nearly taken its hand.

She had never feared Death. Even now, having met it in person, she doesn't fear it.

Death was the first real companionship she had felt in ages.

She thinks this even as her mother crosses the room. Pelleamena is dressed in the same long, trailing black dress she wore on the eve of her death, her long black hair pulled into a braid that hangs heavy down her back. It looks eerily like a rope. She's reaching for a book on the ceiling-high shelf, but her hand goes right through the spine, and she pulls back, staring through her transparent fingers as if it hasn't happened a thousand times over.

Harrow watches her, silent as a stone.

Even in death, they barely acknowledge each other.

Priamhark, as much as the ghostly thing that wanders the house is Priamhark, is less dead. When Harrow watches him, he watches her right back.

"Father," Harrow says to him as he paces the gallery.

He doesn't speak, Harrow has made certain of that with her postmortem sewing, but he looks at her, and his dark, dark eyes are gentle.

They stand together, his lighter-than-air hand over hers on the gallery's splintered railing, and this night, the swamp is dark.

8

When her parents killed themselves, Harrow called the police.

Hours passed.

No one came.

Pigs, Harrow had thought.

She's been alone ever since, save Death and the ghosts. Even Aiglamene has stopped visiting.

Harrow doesn't mind being alone most of the time. It's the peaceful nights that get her.

In the quiet, under the singing of crickets and the rumbling of the gators, she can hear Gideon's voice. Gideon, asking, You really gonna wear that? Gideon, calling her baby. Gideon, begging for her touch.

From time to time, it's Alecto's voice in her head, whispering songs and poetry and utter nonsense. Too much of her voice, and Harrow is certain she'll go mad. For the moon never beams, without bringing me dreams of the beautiful Annabel Lee, Alecto sings in her whispery, water-logged voice, and the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes of the beautiful Annabel Lee.

Now, though, it's Gideon's voice nor Alecto's she hears.

The air is hot around her, humid, and Harrow loses herself in the fantasy, her black eyes slipping closed. Her chewed-down nails rake against her skin, and she imagines a golden hand in their place. She imagines bluing lips at her neck, too-sharp white teeth sinking into her neck. She imagines the cool, meager weight of Death above her. It's Death's voice she hears, and in its creaking hanging-tree voice, it whispers, Come.

Harrow does.

9

You bring shame on us.

Though her mother hasn't spoken in half a century, Harrow can still hear the words in her voice. She had a lovely voice, Harrow's mother. It was elegant and soft, almost musical. Her words always came slowly, carefully selected before they passed her lips. The note was probably exceptionally well selected. Short and sweet.

The note is tucked into the neckline of Harrow's gown, the paper tucked against her heart and tinged yellow from years of sweat and tears.

Harrow can't bear to be without it.

It's her cross to bear, and she must bear it alone.

10

It's a full week before Death shows itself again. Harrow finds it in her room, stretched out on the molding canopy bed. The canopy is less lace now than Spanish moss, the covers mildewed and practically falling apart. Death doesn't seem to mind. It looks perfectly at ease, its hands joined behind its head, its right leg bent, the other tossed over its knee. It was humming to itself, its pale foot bouncing along to the rhythm.

Harrow can hardly believe that it's back.

Death's voice is an undignified whine when it asks, "Did you forget about me, Harrowhark?"

How could I? Harrow doesn't say. She does say, "I tried to." It's not entirely true. "I thought you'd abandoned me again."

"Abandoned you?" Death looks almost offended, its golden hand coming to its chest, clutching invisible pearls, but its laughter is high and sweet, bouncing off the crumbling walls like birdsong. Harrow represses a pleasant shiver at the sound of it. "Harry, my love," Death says, smiling with blue lips and too-sharp animal teeth, "I have been beside you since the day you were born."

My love? Harrow's cheeks go warm, but she ignores it, asking, "Since I was born?" It seems impossible. It also seems impossible that Death exists as a person at all. She's been surrounded by impossibility for as long as she can remember. This shouldn't be so surprising. "How could you possibly have time for that?"

"There are half a million Deaths," says Death with a wave of its hand. It wears lacy, threadbare gloves, and its cuticles are bluish, its nails chewed short. "This is just the area I chose to cover," it's saying, though it doesn't sound at all interested. Harrow wonders if it's even capable of interest. "There are fewer people here, less work. I can just hover most of the time."

The dark cloud of Death follows us, Harrow's grandmother had once told her. It seems she was right. Harrow can't quite believe it, even now. It's a curse, her grandmother had told her, and we deserve it. "Why me?" she asks.

"Why not?" Death shoots back. It holds out its arms, and against her better judgment, Harrow climbs into bed beside it, letting it enfold her. The gold of its skeletal right arm is chilly through the worn lace of her dress. "You Nonagesimus types are my favorite. You always come to me so willingly."

Harrow props herself up on her elbow, meeting Death's eyes with her own. "You know my family?"

"All the dead ones," Death says with a shrug that sends the strap of its camisole slipping off its shoulder. The veins just beneath its icy-pale skin are especially visible there, and Harrow lifts a hand to trace them. They have a green tint to them, and she wonders if there's blood in them at all, or if this iteration of Death has algae and swamp moss in its veins. "I gave the kiss of death to your father, and to your mother, and to Glaurica, and to sweet Ortus." Death ticks off each name off on its spidery fingers. Then it looks down at Harrow, one colorless brow lifting. "And then there was Alecto." Harrow feels the blood drain from her face, the breath fleeing her lungs in a single second. "She wasn't one of you, was she?"

"She could have been," Harrow says, softly, "eventually."

"You sent her to me gift-wrapped, didn't you?" Death doesn't sound at all bothered, and it slips its fingers beneath Harrow's chin, forcing her to look it in the eye. "It had been so long since I received a sacrifice like that. Your people don't offer tribute like they used to."

"Our magic isn't what it used to be," Harrow says.

"I wonder why," Death says. Its smile fades, though, when it asks, "You're how old? I'd say your magic is working just fine."

Harrow's lips threaten to smile, but it never comes. She says, "It's impolite to ask a lady's age."

Death itself laughs at her, songbird-sweet. "All you want is to die," it says, sounding bemused, one brow lifted in a match to the corner of its mouth, "and yet you'll live forever."

"For far too long, anyway," Harrow agrees, shivering when Death's golden hand slides into her hair, carding carefully through choppy black locks.

The silence that falls then isn't silence at all. Outside, the wind is in the trees and in the water. The cicadas are singing. Birds call to one another. Harrow's heart is beating a mile a minute, pounding in her ears. Death's heart isn't beating at all.

Softly, its voice almost a purr, Death says, "Did you know you've been dying your whole life?"

Harrow scoffed. "Isn't everyone?"

11

"Where did you go?" Harrow's voice is soft and plaintive, and she hates it. She's straddling Death's waist on her bed, its pointy hip bones pressing into the backs of her thighs. It feels like too much too soon, and it's far too intimate, but she has no intention of pulling away. She could stay like this forever.

Death presses its fingertips, both the flesh ones and the golden ones, into Harrow's hips. "Someone needed transporting," it said with a shrug of its narrow shoulders.

"You do that?" Harrow asks. Her hands are resting against the flat plane of Death's stomach, her fingertips tucked just beneath the hem of its camisole. "Transport people?"

"I transport souls," Death says. Its eyes are on Harrow's, searching for something in her black gaze. "This one was the last one in the area, save you."

Harrow's unkempt eyebrows draw together, her eyes flittering off to one side. As far as she knows, she's the only person still living in the area. She asks, "Who was it?"

Death, strangely, hesitates. "An old woman called Aiglamene," it says, and there's a strange weight in its voice, as if it knows how much Aiglamene meant to Harrow once upon a time. "Must have been a hundred and twenty years old." Its hands slide down to Harrow's thighs, its thumbs coming to rest in the creases of her knees. "Maybe even older than you."

"By a bit," Harrow agrees, doing her best to keep the sudden numbness out of her voice. "I didn't know she was still here."

"Keeping an eye on you," Death says, "from what I can gather."

And now she's gone, Harrow doesn't say, but the words fill her chest. It hurts.

"You should have seen her automobile," Death is saying, sounding almost mystified. Its hands are joined behind its head now, its eyes distant. "Such an incredible machine!"

More to herself than to Death, Harrow says, faintly, "I've never seen an automobile." Gideon had one that she was immensely fond of, but she hadn't trusted it on the marshy roads of the swamp. Alecto, old-fashioned thing that she was, chose to simply walk. It had made her disappearance so much easier.

"You're so behind the times, Harry," Death chides, though there's amusement clear in its voice. "You should come to town with me." It gives her a sly grin, looking very much like the fox that managed to break into the chicken coop. They're both foxes, Harrow realizes. "The things I could show you..."

"No." Harrow says it far too quickly, and her eyes dart off to the side, embarrassed. "No, I belong here. My magic ends here. I would age fifty years if I ever left the swamp."

"Shame, that." Death doesn't sound particularly bothered. Instead, its hands come to Harrow's thighs again, pushing the fabric of her skirt immodestly high, up past the tops of her stockings. It takes everything Harrow has to keep from pushing her hips into the touch. "But there are so many things I can show you right here."

12

The next time Harrow wakes, she isn't alone.

She's on the great bed in her room, Death's arms wound tight around her and holding her close. Her chest is pressed to Death's side, its skin bare and cool to the touch, devoid of breath or a heartbeat. It's eerily still. It's not Harrow's first time in such close contact with a corpse.

Outside, through the thin curtains over the balcony doors and the windows, the light is thin and greyish, either dusk or dawn, but certainly overcast. There's a storm coming. Harrow wonders if Death will simply sleep through it.

Death, unsurprisingly, sleeps like the dead. All through the night, it didn't move even once.

Was it only all night? It could have been years, for all Harrow knows.

As she lays quiet in Death's arms, she's surprised to find that she doesn't mind that idea. Let her dream her life away in the arms of Death. There are worse fates.

13

Just inside the door of the sinking manor is an antique dark wood table. On top of it is a crystal vase filled with flame-orange roses.

They were a gift of Aiglamene, given shortly after Gideon vanished in a rare gesture of comfort.

They are the single thing in the house that isn't rotting.

Harrow stands before them, staring, willing life through them.

Death stands beside her, watching quietly, its arms crossed over its chest, its head tipped curiously to the side. "I can feel their age," it says, its voice soft and thoughtful. "How long have you had these?"

"Decades," Harrow says. She plucks one from the crystal vase and tucks it behind Death's ear. Immediately, the life leaves the petals, and even when Harrow touches the petals, she can't revive it.

Death says, softly, "Are you afraid, Harrowhark?"

"No," Harrow says, and is surprised to realize that she means it.

"Good." Death steps behind her, wrapping its arms around Harrow's waist, resting its pointed chin on her shoulder. Its skin is soft and chilled. "With old Aiglamene gone, my attention is all yours."

The smell of violets mingles with the scent of roses, and Harrow realizes there's nothing she wants more.

14

"How do you do it?" There's something like awe in Death's voice, its head tipped to the side, a chipped tumbler half-full of decades-old scotch in its golden hand. "I'd lose my mind if I had to stay here all the time."

There's no derision in its tone, and Harrow says, "Maybe I have."

"Suppose you wouldn't know if you had," Death says, taking a long sip. "You could be dead right now, couldn't you? Would you even know the difference?"

She isn't dead. She may be dead inside, but she still feels. Harrow feels the chair she's sitting on, threadbare and creaky as it is, feels the warped wood beneath her bare feet, feels the coolness of Death sitting beside her. She would know, she tells herself.

She doesn't quite believe it.

15

Death goes out sometimes, wandering through the swamp and into the towns.

Harrow watches it leave from the iron gate, Ortus at her right, Alecto at her left. Her parents keep close, too, sewn-lipped and sullen.

Even with the ghosts, Harrow is alone, waiting.

Her life has become a waiting game, and she finds she doesn't mind, because she knows she'll never be alone for long.

Death always returns to her, sometimes with a man to sacrifice or a woman to seduce, sometimes with a butchered gator or a pot of jambalaya it found God-knows-where. It rarely comes to the manor empty-handed.

Death is courting her, Harrow realizes, and for the first time in decades, she smiles.

16

The courting is gentle. Death often is, isn't it?

It comes softly, like sleep, darkening the edges of the world and drawing it all in close.

Death steals the very breath from Harrow's lungs, pinning her flat against the wall. Its blue lips are pressed to her nape, its golden hand resting lightly around her throat, its spidery flesh hand at her hip.

Its voice is soft when it says, "You were made for this."

Made to be used by Death itself? Made to cater to Death itself? Made to be a lover to Death itself? The answer is obvious. "I was," Harrow agrees, her voice nearly lost in her heavy breathing. "I am."

17

Harrow spends her time in the arms of Death itself, now. But is that any different from how she lived before?

At the end of a long day, she waits beside the rusting gate, waiting for her deathly love to return to her.

The branches of the too-familiar cypress shake above her, Spanish moss swaying in the breeze. She presses a hand to its rough bark and wills it to live. Like the roses, it must live. It's a monument now. This tree is her old friend, known all her life.

As is Death, approaching through evening fog, violet eyes shining in the dark.

Being in the company of Death is better than being alone, Harrow supposes as Death's arms wind around her, pulling her close. Death's lips are blue and chilled against hers, but she melts into the feeling of it, as she always does.

As they walk back toward the sinking manor, they pass the old sign. Is your soul prepared?

Death trails its golden, skeletal fingertips along the top of the sign as they pass, and the wood is immediately overtaken by mold and mushrooms, the paint flaking off in great chunks.

"Is my soul prepared?" Harrow asks as they walk in the dark.

"Oh, Harry," Death laughs. Its glowing eyes turn to her, hypnotic and bright as lightning bugs. "Your soul has been ready for me since you were born."

[poptod]

I don’t know if you take requests for Benjamin but could you do a fic between him and a sorceress/sorcerer reader. Maybe they meet in the forest and he watches her/him (maybe it becomes a series)?

notes: ooo that's a good idea! i've never written for him before (or seen twilight) but ill try my best. notes extra: i just finished watching a compilation of rami in twilight and holy shit twilight is so fucking bad its hilarious anyway. didn’t stay all that true to the prompt (sorry) but I hope it’s sufficient nonetheless

+

That's not quite right.

For several weeks now, there's been something off about the scents in the forest. He's not the only one to have noticed the change, but he is the only one suspicious of it, which he assumes is part due to his connection with the earth. It doesn't bother him, their lack of concern – for some reason, he prefers searching on his own. Hours spent alone amongst the tall, dark trees lined with glittering snow, humming to himself, and tracking the changes in the air.

Today is especially quiet. Almost silent. While it's uncharacteristic for the world to fall silent, it's a common sight in this forest, where nothing quite lives anymore. The trees feel more like stone beneath his fingertips than like wood, and the snow at his feet freezes his skin far colder than it should. 

As the strange scent grows stronger the feeling begins to linger in his own steps, tracing the only walkway through the snow in all the forest, marking him as the singular disturber of the peace. His heart pounds as the dread weighs heavier yet in his chest.

It comes to a point where the pressure is overwhelming, pulling down on his shoulders and legs, begging him to kneel in the presence of nothing more than a sun-lit clearing. Nothing grows in the dirt circle, but there has to be something about it; the snow doesn't cover the earth like it does in meters just steps away. He pauses just outside the edge. Here is where the scent is strongest – there is no doubt.

When he raises his hand to where the sunlight streams from above, he finds a hard surface to press his hand against. His brow quirks upward as he presses harder, gauging the invisible material, wondering as to its' origins. It's a sort of magic, though he can't tell the type. Maybe pagan.

Warmth flows through him when he chants reveal in a silent language. A simple command, and the protection spell around the circle is weak enough to fall at the utterance of his spell.

The mirage falls in just a second, dripping down from the sky like a cloak till what remains is a stone tower. Moss and vines creep their way up the cracks and fissures, somehow still a vibrant green in winter, and presumably kept that way by the warm sunshine falling on this particular spot. The scent, though – it's intoxicating. Not quite good, but not unpleasant either. More like a potion mix of lavender and mustard seed. It overpowers all his other senses, begging him to give in further to his curiosity.

Muttering and footsteps sound from behind him, and in a flash he's hidden behind a small cluster of trees, peeking through the bark to see the clearing and tower.

You appear from the dark, and the first thing he notices is the comically large hat on your head. It covers your face entirely in shade, and though most of your other clothes are just as comically too big for you, it's... cute. You look smaller than you already are, and for some reason Benjamin finds himself blushing. The walking stick in your hand rises high above your head, carrying a crystal atop it that reflects the sunlight in a red hue, casted like stained glass on the white snow.

You're mumbling to yourself as you slowly make your way to the tower's entrance. His eyes widen when he notices a trail following you – half-baked spells and enchantments that glitter like dust in the sun's rays, dissipating in the air before they can fall to the ground. It draws his eyes to the book in your hands that's the size of his head, with old tattered pages covered in notes.

There's a druid in the forest.

He decides it's best if he's the only one to know. The others can get far too protective of territory, misunderstanding the modern way of the world all too easily. It takes a little work to make sure they don't wander too close to your hidden tower, or catch onto your scent and rambling spells, and soon he finds himself with a full-time job of protecting you. Oh well – it's something to do, and in the evenings he can watch you beside the river almost fully frozen over with ice.

The scarf wrapped around your neck is a little too big, drooping onto the ground from your shoulders hunched over the ice. Benjamin's beginning curiosity surrounding you has by now grown into a fondness, strange as it may be. You aren't all that good at protection spells or defensive spells, but you can bend life to your will, moving the water and plants without the power of crystals or runes. The trees seem to whisper everywhere you go, leaves and pines breaking off the branches to simply follow you. He can hardly blame them – he's following you too, after all.

Your nose has turned a blushing pink from the cold, a hint that leads him to believe you're human. Blood and all. Maybe that's part of the reason he likes watching you. You're the only creature within fifty miles that still has warm blood, as all the creatures of the forest have long been driven away by the mere presence of Benjamin and his cult.

It's a few weeks in before he notices that you're humming each time you speak. As though put under a curse, each word you mumble goes to a tune, one that haunts his dreams the second he hears it. All that long term exposure to you must be doing something to his brain – something that convinces him he needs to protect you, something that tells him he shouldn't dare speak to you.

He knows that since you're a druid, you're aware of the existence of the supernatural, but that fact brings little comfort to him as his tongue traces his fangs, watching you with hooded, red eyes. Your magic is different from his own, though to the outside eye the two of you are far more similar than he'd deem correct. The definitions of your different magics are a little shaky, but after some thought he decides that yes, you are a druid. Not a witch, or a warlock, or a sorcerer – none of them quite fit the powers that you have. The way the earth bends to your step.

If Benjamin can't find you at the tower there's only one other place you are; the river. It's still half-frozen over, but as of recent you haven't been all that focused on the water. For the most part you're focusing on the earth, melting the snow beneath you in order to reach it.

You're humming again. Watching the ground with focused eyes, holding glowing fingertips above the fertile earth.

"Idir ann is idir as," you sing, and it must be the first time he's clearly heard your voice, as it circles his head like whiskey and sways the trees into a gentle dance.

Whatever language you're singing, it must be a sort of enchantment. Maybe an offering of good wealth to the lifeless forest. All the world seems to hum in harmony with you, creating your own orchestra that swells with every breath you take.

"As an sliogán, Amhrán na farraige..."

"Suaimhneach nó ciúin – Ag cuardú go damanta."

When did he start humming?

How does he know the tune?

Something is in the air. It's like that scent all over again – all he can think of, all he can feel is you and your magic, overpowering the thoughts of ancient trees and godless skies.

"Between the here, between the now," you sing softly, and he could swear he almost had a heartbeat again, just to lose it in your hypnotic song.

Now you're singing in English – a language he can obviously understand – and with his curiosity towards the meaning of the lyrics gone, he can concentrate on the spells falling from your hand. Tiny stars, tiny universes drift down from your fingertips, landing on the earth as a sprout of vibrant green begins to stretch upwards, a small, white bud on the end.

"Neither quiet nor calm... searching for love again."

It doesn't feel like something so heavenly could come from you. Actually, the way your voice echoes in the forest, the way it combines with your magic makes it feel as though it's coming down from the sky like rain, falling on waiting ears and eager eyes.

When did he start singing with you, under his breath?

How does he know the lyrics?

"Between the stones, between the storm Between belief, between the sea I am in tune..."

And then it stops. The swell dissipates and what you're left with is a white flower sprouted in the ground, the center a vibrant purple that fades into the soft petals.

It's the only color the frozen forest has.

He doesn't quite know what he's doing, when he emerges from his hiding spot long after you return to your home. The sun will rise soon and the others expect him back before then, but something pulls him, something forces him to stay as 'something' always does. It's probably your lingering magic – that's what he reasons as he steps closer to your flower, wide eyes observing every detail of the white and purple petals.

Kneeling in the snow, he raises his hand above the flower, shifting the wind to brush against the single leaf and allow the pollen to float into the air. Magic like yours falls from his hand – golden stars, drifting onto the ground where they stay like gemstones. It takes a moment before the earth willingly absorbs them, but the moment it does another flower sprouts and blooms much faster than yours did.

Two of them sit there now, one purple and the other blood red. You'll find it - he knows you will. You come here almost every day.

He walks back home with your song occupying all his thoughts, twisting and tweaking him even hours after. It echoes in his head, over and over and over again, until all he can think of is you.

Neither quiet nor calm

Searching for love again...