#i know its just simple live laugh love cooking but i cannot wrap my mind around it

[ehlihr]

i need to understand the lore of witch hat kitchen like it feels almost absurdist

[forever-rogue]

Afterglow - Part 12

A/N: Hello! Are you all ready for some of the softest Frankie and Bee? Because yeah...it got soft! As always, feedback and comments are welcome, and if you’d like to be tagged, let me know. xx 💕

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 4.6k

Warnings: language, references to sex, one punch

AFTERGLOW MASTERLIST

FRANKIE MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST

»»————-　♡　————-««

1 Year Later

“Hi Honey!” an exhausted sigh escaped your lips as you dropped your book bag by the door and kicked off your shoes. The smell of something delicious cooking immediately reached your nose as you the sound of two feet and four paws met your ears. A grin spread across your face as you spied Daisy and Frankie rushing towards you. 

“Hi Bee,” he beamed as he wrapped you up in his arms and pressed a gentle kiss to the side of your head, “you’re just in time - I just finished dinner. How was school?”

“Good,” you pressed a kiss to his lips before reaching down and giving Daisy a handful of pets, “long though. I’m exhausted! Oh, but we learned about lemurs and their evolutionary history and it was just so...interesting. They’re so cute and there’s so many species. For one of our assignments we need to go and observe primates at the zoo and I thought I could watch the lemurs! But - oops, I don’t want to bore you. How was your day, Frankie?”

“You will never bore me,” he quickly cut off any negative thoughts or ideas you had. You couldn’t help but grin at him, as he reached up and gently cradled your face in his hands, “whatever you want to tell me, you know you can. I want to hear about it all. Yes?”

“Yes,” you agreed, knowing that if this was anyone but Frankie, the outcome would have been a very different result. Especially if you’d gotten...no. You weren’t even going to let your mind go to that place. Not when your whole world was in front of you, “I love you, Frankie.”

“I love you too,” a gentle brush of noses as the two of you grinned at each other. You opened your mouth to say something but were quickly cut off by the loud rumbling of your stomach, “dinner time. Come on, let’s eat and you can tell me all about your lemurs.”

“Only if you tell me all about your day,” you took his outstretched hand and let him lead you to the kitchen. To your delighted surprise, you found a bouquet of sunflowers and daisies on the counter, “those are beautiful!”

“They’re for you,” he said simply as he pulled two plates from the cabinet. Your brows knitted together in surprise as you quickly wracked your brain as you tried to figure out if you’d missed some sort of holiday or anniversary, “they’re a just because I felt like it surprise. I saw them when I took Daisy for a walk after work. I thought you’d like them.”

“I love them,” you touched some of the soft petals, “and you - very, very much.”

“I know,” he winked as he plated up some of the pasta and sauce and you took a seat at the counter. You liked this - this simple, wonderful domesticity of getting to come home with and live with your lover. Not just your lover - but your love. The man that had had your heart forever it had seemed. You couldn’t help but spot the pictures of the two of you on the fridge, beaming and grinning from ear to ear. They’d been taken on a camping trip the two of you’d gone on earlier in the year. Frankie caught your far off look and chuckled softly, “what’s wrong, sweet Bee?”

“Nothing,” you reassured him, “I just...I like this a whole lot. Us, being together, everything. It feels so...right, natural.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” he promised as he set a plate in front of you, “you were always the one, Bee.”

“Just like you, Francisco,” you leaned into his side as he brought his plate next to you. Just before sitting down, he reached into the giant glass canister that was filled with treats for Daisy. She looked at him with wide, shining eyes as he gently handed her a few treats; you couldn’t help but laugh at the sight, “I imagine she’s had dinner and cannot be starving.”

“That may be, but we’re eating now and I don’t want her to feel left out,” he insisted as you broke into a fit of giggles at his silly insistence. He scoffed playfully before taking his spot next to you, “you laugh, but you know she’s very perceptive.”

“I do know,” you agreed as you nudged his side, “what a caring, considerate boyfriend I have indeed.”

You couldn’t help but kiss his cheek as you looked at him fondly. There was so much light and life behind his eyes now, so much happiness. They crinkled into the corners whenever he smiled and his one dimple made a spectacular appearance. His hair had grown out more, chocolate tinged with caramel and curling deliciously at the ends. He looked so happy and healthy, so much better than he had when you’d first reunited. It hadn’t always been easy for him, and some days were harder, but he’d never had a set back once, despite the darkest days. In the end, it had been you. You’d been the shining beacon, the light of his life, and had gotten him to have the courage and strength to get through it all. Just like on your bad days, he was there for you. 

“It’s been a year, you know,” he whispered after you’d eaten in silence, using a piece of bread to scoop up that last bit of sauce. You looked at him in confusion for a moment before you realized what he was speaking about, “since we’ve been together...again.”

“It feels like it’s been no time at all,” you said softly, “and yet it feels like its always been like this.”

“I agree,” he grinned as he swallowed his last bite, causing you to giggle as some sauce clung to the corner of his mouth. His brows knitted in confusion as you leaned over and swiped your thumb over the sauce and wiped it away. Frankie grabbed your hand and licked your thumb clean before holding it against his scruffy cheek. You felt flushed at the gesture, both intimate and sweet in its own way, “I love you, Bee.”

“I love you too, you silly man,” you sighed in content.

“Now - tell me all about your day,” he insisted as he walked to the fridge to get a couple of beers, “no details spared. Hit me with them!”

»»————-　♡　————-««

“This is beautiful,” you made quick work of unzipping your light sweater and tossing it onto the large, plush blanket Frankie had laid out for your little picnic. Despite having seen you in countless variations of clothing, Frankie still managed to be astounded by your beauty; he felt his heart thump wildly as he looked at you in only your sports bra and leggings. You turned and gave him a curious smile, “what? Do I have something on my face?”

"No, it's nothing," he promised with a shy smile as you walked over to him and played a lock of his hair, "you're beautiful."

"Oh my gosh," you snorted with laughter as you gently pushed his chest, "such a fool, Francisco! You've known me for how long? You can't possibly still feel that way."

"I'll always feel that way about you," he insisted with a cheeky grin, "especially when you look like that. Nice ass."

"Haha," you flipped him the bird before strolling over to the water. Stopping at the edge, you made a quick show of pulling off your leggings and bra. Luckily, you were in a very secluded area and no one was likely to stumble upon you, "have you seen yours? Nice ass! Now come on and get in the water!"

"Why?" he groaned lightly at the enticing sight as he pulled off his shirt and shorts, and came over to you. You both knew he would give in to you. He would be a fool to turn you done.

"Its a perfect day for a swim," you insisted before diving into the cool, gentle water, "come on in, Frankie! The water is wonderful!"

“It’s cold,” he huffed lightly, watching as you swam back up and broke through the surface, grinning at him. He reminded you so much of the boy you had convinced to swim with you when you were just kids. You splashed some water at him, causing him to give a jokingly stern look before he swam over to you, “I’m going to get you!”

“No!” you grinned like mad before trying to swim away, but he was quick to catch up and wrap his arms around you, pulling you tightly against his chest, “you’re a cheater!”

“How am I a cheater?” he laughed as he rested his chin on your shoulder, “all I did was swim!”

“I don’t know,” you insisted, but I know you did. He laughed as you quit struggling against him and let him hold you. As his grip loosened, you turned to face him, wrapping your arms around his neck before pressing a kiss to his plush lips, “hi.”

“Hi,” naturally Frankie took every opportunity to steal a kiss from you. You studied his face, bringing a hand to his cheek as you used a few fingers to trace over his features and breathe in him. How he was still the same boy underneath the years that had aged him to the man you now loved, “what?”

“Nothing,” you repeated his words from earlier, “I just love you a lot. Like a lot, a lot.”

“Well that’s good,” his grin stretched from ear to ear, “or else this would have been really awkward, because I happen to love you a lot, a lot too.”

You only made a small sound in your throat before you grabbed his face and pulled him towards you and crashed your lips again his, “fuck - I love you so much.”

»»————-　♡　————-««

"This was a good idea," you popped a few berries into your mouth before turning your head back to soak up some soon, "what caused this spur of the moment decision?"

Except it wasn’t spur of the moment at all. But you didn't know that yet.

“Nothing really,” he insisted with a small grin, “just wanted to spend the afternoon with my favorite girl.”

“Favorite, huh? What about Daisy? I see those eyes you two pull at each other,” you grabbed the glass champagne and downed it all in one, hiccuping at the bubbly taste. He wasted no time in refilling your glass and his, trying to summon up the courage for what he really wanted to say.

“Okay, you got me - one of my favorite girls,” he laughed before clinking his glass against yours. You let out a small sigh before lying on your back and resting your head on Frankie’s thigh, “tired?”

“A little,” your yawn gave you away, “it was a long night and someone insisted I get up early and go hiking and everything. Plus the warm sun and food isn’t helping. I promise I won’t fall asleep...for long.”

“Mhmm,” he leaned down and pressed a kiss to your temple. 

It was silent for some time, only the gentle ebb of the lake and the sounds of birds in the trees and creatures on the ground meeting your ears. You could have dozed off, but didn’t quite yet...instead you soaked up Frankie’s warmth and played with his hand in yours.

“Frankie…?” you asked softly after a while. He was leaning up against a large tree, and if you didn’t know better, you’d think he was asleep. Frankie made a small sound, encouraging you to go on, “have you ever...you know what? Never mind, it’s silly.”

“You know you can ask me anything, Bee. If it matters to you, it’s not silly.”

“Have you ever thought about having kids?” you swallowed the lump in your throat and you were suddenly glad your eyes were closed against the sun and he had his sunglasses on, “I-I mean specifically us having kids. I know we joked about it as kids but...what about now?”

Frankie’s breath hitched in his throat and he almost dropped your hand in surprise. He was so choked up, he almost couldn’t get the words out, “I-I...ummm…”

“It’s weird, huh?” you hoped this wasn’t him easily rejecting you, “right before I was going to marry Chad, he thought I was pregnant for a moment and he just seemed so….I dunno. He told me I shouldn’t be pregnant before we get married and then we should have a kid and get it over with. Can you believe it - just get it over? I never...I would never want to have a child with someone that was only having one to be able to say they have one. It’s horrid.”

“He really was the worst.”

“In every way,” you agreed with a tense laugh, “I’m sorry for just springing this on you...it’s just been on my mind, I guess.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry for,” he insisted as he shifted you, so you were perched in his lap and facing him. He pushed his sunglasses to the top of his head and studied you intently, “yes, I have thought about it. Many times...there’s no one else I’d want children with besides you, Bee. I-I...I would be lucky to have you as the mother of my child...or children. I’ve often thought about a little baby bee running around.”

“Baby bee,” your eyes stung lightly with tears as you repeated the words back to him; your throat constricted with emotion at the mere thought, “I love that...what about a baby fish? I like the sound of that too. What a lucky child they would be to call you their father.”

“I would never want to have a child just because that’s what society wants,” he swiped his thumb over your cheek to brush away the single tear, “I want a child because we’re in love and that’s what we decide to do. If and when you’re ready, I-I’ll be ready too.”

“Yeah?” you asked softly as his large hand rested on your neck, and he nodded, “because I’d very much like if you knocked me up, Francisco Morales.”

You raised an eyebrow at him before the two of you broke into fits of laughter. That was one of the many beautiful things about your relationship; no matter how serious and important it was, you both were able to find a laugh and look on the bright side. 

“I wouldn’t mind knocking you up,” he mused playfully, “we might have to try a lot though...I don’t know if you can handle it.”

“Oh, I think I can handle it,” you insisted, “can you?”

“I guess we’ll find out,” he grinned as you laid against his chest and let him wrap his arms around you, “there’s one more thing I want to do first…well not necessarily first, but I-I want to ask.”

“What is it?” you asked as you placed gentle kisses to the bare skin of his shoulder. He shifted lightly and swallowed the lump in his throat, “Francisco?”

“I…" without saying a word, he reached into his pocket and fumbled around for a moment as you watched him with a mixture of amusement and confusion. When he appeared to be satisfied, he paused for a moment before inhaling and deeply, "there's something important I want to ask - that I've been meaning to ask you for so long now. I think now is the perfect time."

"Francisco," your hand was on his chest as he held his hand up and displayed a small, velvet pouch. You raised an eyebrow in question, instinctively reaching for it but stopping yourself at the last moment, "baby-"

"Take it," he whispered softly as you obliged him and delicately procured the black pouch from him. Curiously opening it up, your heart almost stood still as you pulled out the most beautiful ring you had ever seen. Your mouth dropped open as you looked between him and the ring a couple of times, "do you like it, Honey Bee? I-I helped design it and I hope you like it...but if you don't-"

You quickly cut him off with a kiss, pulling him as tightly against your body as you could, only pulling back when you were left breathless, "I love it - it's beautiful. I love you, so much Francisco. Are you...asking me-"

"Will you marry me, Bee?" he gently took the ring from your shaking hands as you offered him your left hand.

"Yes," you whispered as he slipped the ring onto your finger. You took his hand in yours and gave it a tight squeeze, "yes, a million times yes. Of course I'll marry you. That's all I've ever wanted."

"Me too," he grinned as though a huge weight had been lifted off his shoulders. He knew, deep down, that the chances that you'd say were slim, but still, there was always that little bit of doubt, "you were always the one. Always."

"Yeah," you agreed with a gentle kiss to the corner of his mouth, "you're the one, my love. It was always you."

»»————-　♡　————-««

"You didn't have to do all of this," Frankie's eyes were with wonder and excitement as he looked around the exquisite restaurant. It was fancy, definitely more so than anything you'd normally consider, but you'd wanted to do this for Frankie. The man had been complaining about wanting a good steak for so long, you'd taken it upon yourself to find the best steak restaurant in town.

"I know," you promised him as you pulled out his chair for him and motioned for him to sit down, "but I wanted to, my love. You always take such good care of me, I figured we - you - deserve it. Plus, think of it as a way of celebrating our engagement!"

"I can't argue with that," he smiled lightly as he reached across the table and put his hand over yours. He knew that while excited about your engagement and wanting to tell the world, part of it had been hard on you. Your family still wasn't on speaking terms with you, by their choice and despite efforts from both of you. It wasn't something that plagued you constantly, but times like this made you wish things were different. 

The silver lining in all of this was that through your reunion with Frankie, you'd gained his friends as yours as well - the infamous bee they always called you. You still had Allie and Anna, who were absolutely more than thrilled to know Frankie was your person. Plus with starting school again, you'd made friends with several people that you enjoyed spending time in and out of class with. At the end of the day, however, there was nothing better than getting to come to Frankie. He was your everything, as you were his.

"What are you thinking?" he asked as you took a sip of wine as the two of you waited for your meals, “you have your thinking face on.”

“You always knew me too well,” you teased lightly, “I was thinking about how much I love you. How lucky I am to be with you, and get to call you mine. That no matter how much we’ve been through, we get to be together in the end. That no matter what happens with my family or whatever, that I’ll have you, and so many others. That you are my family.” 

“Always,” he promised with a small smile, “I’ll always be here for you. I’m not going anywhere, you know that. You are my family, my home, and my heart, Bee. You always have been.”

“I know that,” you beamed, lighting up his whole world, “I always have too...I love you.”

“I love you too.”

»»————-　♡　————-««

“I think I’ve got room for dessert, don’t you?” you teased as you stood up and reached for his hand. Frankie’s eyes grew wide as he realized exactly what you meant, “the pie we baked yesterday, and I think there’s ice cream in the freezer.” 

“Baby-” he was somewhere between a laugh and a groan as trailed at your side, “you’re killing me.”

“Oops,” you teased, completely amused by his reaction. 

"Well, well, well," your blood ran cold at the sound of the eerily familiar voice. Frankie kept walking, unaware that anything was wrong until he noticed you weren't following him. Turning on your hell, you slowly came face to face with Chad, "look what the cat dragged in. Didn't think I'd ever see you again."

"And that still would have been too soon," you lightly rolled your eyes, "and while I feel like I'd love to stay and argue and rehash everything, I'm going to be the better person here and just walk away."

"Because you have nothing to say," he chided as you tried to blow him off. But then you saw who he was with, "pity."

"Yes," you sighed, "what a pity indeed. Clarissa! I didn't think I'd see you again either. Are you together? I didn't think you liked Chad- all the time you spent talking shit about him, must not have been real, huh?"

Your friend, former friend anyway, looked at you with a scowl as pursed her lips but remained silent. It might have been pathetic and petty, but in the moment you couldn't help it.

"And just who are you here with? That pathetic looking man over there? The one that's watching you with concern...ahh, yes, an engagement ring," his eyes flicked to your left hand as you felt your blood boil. He could taunt and make fun of you all he wanted, but he would never say a word about Frankie, "its...precious. He must have spent his whole life savings on that. I don't get it...you had everything - I gave you everything - wealth, status, luxury and you left all of that...and for what?"

"Don't you dare," you held up your finger and jammed in front of his face, "don't you dare talk about him. He is a far better person than you will ever be. He is everything to me. I left you because I couldn't commit to a loveless marriage and society and people I don't care about. You never loved me, let's be honest. You loved my name, my family's wealth, their status. That's all that ever mattered to you. And yet I am the one who sounds pathetic?"

"What can he offer you?" Chad smirked as he leaned back in his chair.

"Bee-" Frankie could easily sense the tension flowing between the two of you and had come over and reached for your hand, "come on, let's go home."

"Bee," Chad almost howled with laughter as you glared at him, "how perfectly adorable. What a cute couple - the failed socialite and the...what? Some sort of kitchen boy?"

"That is enough," you almost shouted at him as seemingly half the restaurant turned to look at you, "stop this. What is the point?"

"Does there have to be a point?" there was nothing but a smug grin on his face, "you could have had it all and now you've got...him. You could have so many other choices and now what? You're going to be-"

But before he could say anything else, you swung your arm back and landed a punch, right in the middle of face. The action shocked you so much, and Frankie and Clarissa - and the rest of the establishment that you were all awestruck for a moment. The crack of his nose had surprised you most and you’d immediately recoiled and clutched your aching hand. Frankie’s hand found your shoulders as he pulled you against his chest.

"Stupid bitch!" Chad jumped to his feet and clutched his bleeding nose, “who do you think you are?”

“Come on,” Frankie’s voice was low and gentle in your ear as he pulled you back from the scene, “we have to go.”

Nodding lightly, you let him usher you away, but not before you turned around to speak your last bit of peace, “I hope I never see you again. But I do hope you find someone you love, truly love, and someone that loves you. Because there is nothing better, and even though you are horrid, you deserve it too. There is one thing I learned from you - how to be truly loved by someone and let them love you back, and for that I thank you.”

You turned around before he, or anyone else, could say anything, grabbing Frankie’s hand with your own and pulling him out of the restaurant amid quiet murmurs. 

Only stopping once you were outside, you let go of his hand and sighed heavily. Frankie looked at you with something akin to a mix of awe and love as he took your injured hand and studied it. You winced slightly as pain had already settled in the joints, “that was...impressive. Where did you learn to throw a punch like that, Bee?”

“You,” you admitted with a laugh, “back when we were kids! You said it was important to always know how to throw a good punch and you taught me. I guess I must have remembered it after all these years.”

“I guess I taught you well,” he brought your hand to his lips and pressed a gentle to the already prominent bruising, “so that was him, huh?”

“Unfortunately,” you agreed with a bitter huff, “could you have imagined if I’d married him? How absolutely terrible that would have been. I made the right choice, I know, and I’ve known that for a long time now. It was always you.”

He leaned over and kissed you softly, tasting faintly of the sweet wine you’d had with dinner, “let’s go home, sweet Bee. We have to tend to your hand and not let it get worse.”

»»————-　♡　————-««

“Frankie?” you were laid on top of him on the small bed in your dorm, fighting off sleep as he continued to read. You’d insisted on stopping for a nap, and he’d insisted he needed to finish his book that day - he was deeply invested. He made a small sound, urging you to continue you on as he played with a lock of your hair, “I have a request - it’s silly…”

“Tell me,” he insisted softly as he set his book down, “come on, Bee, tell me.”

“When we’re old and married,” you wrapped your arms around his middle as you rested your head on his chest, “I want a dog, and a house with a big yard where we can grow lots of flowers. And two kids - at least. I-I know it’s silly, to think about the future so far ahead, but I like to dream.”

“I don’t think that’s silly at all,” he promised softly, a flush of warmth rising in his chest and face, “I-I like the sound of that, Bee. Does that include a white picket fence? I was thinking more about like..shrubs...or lots of flowers, like an open concept.”

“It includes whatever you want,” you turned and grinned at him, pressing a kiss to his lips, “as long as you’re there, it doesn’t matter. None of it does, as long as you’re there. I love you so much, Francisco.”

“Of course I will be,” he promised softly, “I’m not going anywhere. I love you too, Bee.”

“Read to me?” you asked as you handed his book back to him, “I can’t think of a better thing than falling asleep to the sound of your voice.”

“Anything for you, Bee…my Bee.”

»»————-　♡　————-««

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[thesmutshewrote]

Shh

Boyfriend!Kuroo x F!Reader (feat. Kenma/Nekoma)

Genre: fluff, smut

Prompt: “you better be quiet, princess”

Warnings: punishment, vibrating toys, overstimulation, oral sex (both receiving), degradation, public masturbation, choking, swearing, voyeurism, lingerie, name calling (slut, daddy, master)

Words: 10.4k

A/N: This is a College!AU! where Nekoma is Kuroo’s college team, therefore all characters have been aged up! I don’t see Kuroo as a fuckboy sex god, but I do think he knows exactly what he’s doing in the bedroom.

---

Summary: After your boyfriend Kuroo finds out his team will be having a dinner party after their first day at the National Tournament, you offer a little extra motivation. Little did you know, you’d be suffering in a deafening silence before the night ends.

---

Spending time with your long term boyfriend Kuroo has been your source of comfort, happiness, and simplicity. He’s an attentive lover, so much so that you wonder if he lives inside your brain, accurately reading your every thought. The pair of you met in high school during your second year and shortly became a couple afterwards, adored by your peers. As loyal as they come, Kuroo is loved by all who meet him. He has always motivated you throughout all your days, easy and difficult, helping you grow alongside him. Every morning that you wake up and pry your sluggish body out of bed to leave for school, every extra unnecessary purchase you decline yourself, every assignment you force yourself to finish is all for the sake of becoming a stronger partner for your accomplished boyfriend. He makes every inconvenience an opportunity and his ability to change the mood of a situation amazes you. That’s why it comes as no surprise to you when he’s able to create chaos within you at a moment’s notice.

He’s no stranger to fabricating playful competitions between the two of you which result in complete and utter pleasure for you, usually. The way he tempts and taunts you ever so slightly for weeks on end allowing you no release creates a hunger within you so insatiable even Kuroo himself can’t deny it. He knows exactly which buttons to press to make your face flush a bright rosy pink. How to conjure a heat between your thighs like magic at the will of his speech. Knowing he doesn’t even have to touch you to make you frustrated gives him an immense amount of pleasure. He loved corrupting you into the kinky succubus you’ve become, thanks to his overwhelming talents. You boast that your boyfriend is an absolute god in the bedroom, the best you’ve ever had, since he’s had a lot of practice with you. So when he creates bets and games that end in sinful pleasure, you can’t help but accept his offer and gamble with your body in hopes of a sweet reward.

---

“Babe, you’ll never guess what coach just texted us!” says a wide eyed Kuroo, leaning next to you on the bed to reveal blue and grey chat bubbles from the Nekoma volleyball group chat.

You read the latest text from Coach Nekomata announcing that they will be having a team dinner following their first day at Nationals, followed by excited texts from the other boys asking if there will be meat. Typical.

“Wow, that sounds like it’ll be really fun! You’ll deserve it after your match tomorrow,” you say, excited for your boyfriend.

“It sounds like a good time, but I had other things in mind as a celebration instead,” he says in a low voice, smirking and putting his hand on your thigh.

“Noooo sir,” you snicker, removing his hand. “It’s getting late and you need to get plenty of rest. We don’t have time for any of that tonight.”

“Is that so? Daddy wants to win tomorrow and in order to do that, I need to relieve some of this stress. You’ll be a good girl and get on your knees for me, won’t you?”

The look in his eyes is dark and moody while the corner of his mouth turns upwards in a sadistic smirk. You knew this means he has a strong desire to be pleased and won’t be satiated until he’s been properly taken care of by his submissive slut. You also knew this was the best time to tease him and make him even more aggressive with you, but tonight was different. The usual hunger that constantly dwells within you has dissipated and a new sensation is causing an uproar in your mind you cannot shake; torment him. 

Moving towards your raven-haired lover with a sensuous grin swept across your face, you crawl over top of him and lean down only inches away from his lips and get ready to utter the words that could easily be your demise. Wrestling with the need to satisfy your own cravings and carry out your bratty ploy, you hover over him a few seconds longer enjoying the sight of his full lips. Deciding to stay strong in your idea to tease him, you gently kiss him before pulling away and laying back down on the bed next to him. 

“No thanks,” you retort as you watched the dismay fill his face. Witnessing a sight so rare made it difficult to contain your laughter until sheer devilishness contorted his face. Before he could utter a word about your disobedience, the brightest idea flooded your brain. 

“Instead, let’s play a game.”

“Don’t test my patience,” he warns. “You better think long and hard before you explain this little game of yours because if it doesn’t satisfy me, you will have a long night ahead of you.”

Knowing how serious and restless he’s becoming, you create a deal that will entertain you while giving him enough pleasure in the long run that he won’t torment you too much. 

“If you win tomorrow, I will let you do whatever you want to me for one night; any of your wildest fantasies you’d love to try on me and I won’t tell you to stop. However if you lose, I get to use you in any way that pleases me,” you explain hoping he will agree to this deal knowing you’ll win either way.

Kuroo stares at you confused for a moment before busting out in a deep laugh. 

“Chibi-chan, that isn’t such a fair deal.. for you. We both know I’m going to win tomorrow on the court and then I will take you as my prize,” he taunts. Just the thought of him immediately coming to scoop you up in his arms after winning the game and taking you to the locker room to claim you has you biting your lip.

“..in straight sets. You have to win in straight sets.”

“Deal,” he says with a sly grin, pulling you closer and positioning your leg bent over top of his, giving him a perfect handful of your ass. 

“Watch your hands, lover boy. You can wait until tomorrow to have your fun with me,” you tease.

“Just be prepared because I’m going to punish you thoroughly for being such a disrespectful little brat when I win tomorrow and I’m going to enjoy every last second of watching you come completely undone at my touch.”

“Promise?” you smirk, biting your lip.

“Promise,” he glares at you with sultry eyes. 

---

The next morning you wake up feeling drowsy, the excitement of your bet kept you awake leaving too many thoughts running through your head waiting to be sorted. Noticing the cool feeling of the sheets behind your back, you turn around to notice Kuroo missing from your bed. “How long has he been gone?” you thought. As you check the time on your phone, you smell the disgustingly delicious aroma of a familiar scent coming from the kitchen. Bacon.

Mustering the strength to stand up, you quickly stretch before wrapping yourself in your blanket like a burrito to contain the warmth of your body. In the kitchen you discover Kuroo slaving himself over the stove cooking up a full breakfast for the two of you to share together. His generosity knows no bounds, but with the distress you caused your horny boyfriend last night, you became skeptical about the intentions of this homemade meal. 

“Good morning, beautiful. I hope I didn’t wake you,” he says smiling.

“What’s all this for, baby?”

Kuroo finishes plating your food and places it on the table next to a large glass of cranberry juice. He gently kisses your cheek before sitting down across from you. “Can’t I make my girlfriend a nice breakfast?” he pouts.

“Since when did we have this?” you ask, taking a sip of your cranberry juice.

“I went out this morning and bought some. I want my dessert to taste extra sweet tonight,” he snickers.

You roll your eyes at his filth while trying to hide your excitement, reminiscing how absolutely divine his tongue feels on your sensitive bud. Attempting to ignore the ungodly thoughts plaguing your mind, you quickly chug down a few sips of your juice, before instantly being brought back to reality by the mildly acidic taste. Kuroo hasn’t taken his eyes off you once since you’ve sat down and you’re hoping he didn’t notice the effect he had on you with the insinuation of being given such an intimate gift, but nothing gets past the trained eyes of the captain. 

“Isn’t it a little too early to be making a mess of yourself, love?” he teases looking up at you before taking a bite of his food. The way he dangles his fork loosely in his hands in front of his mouth gives you a perfect view of the veins slightly embossed in his knuckles. You clench down your teeth in a feeble attempt at cooling yourself down. A pink flush radiates across your cheeks as you realize a second later that your panties are already slightly wet with your slick. Your eyes shut closed slowly as you sigh and bite your lip, aggravated that he caught you so easily. 

“I’ll allow it this time, but don’t even dream of touching yourself before this little game of yours has claimed its victor.” He lifts himself off his chair and approaches behind you, resting his hands on your shoulders, gently squeezing them with his strong hands. He whispers in your ear, “if I can’t have you, you can’t either.”

After taking a hot shower to make an attempt at calming yourself down, you can’t seem to make any leeway as your imagination runs wild on possibilities for tonight. Running through every lustful dream you’ve been waiting to try with Kuroo if you win and wondering what he could possibly want from you if he wins. You manage to obey his one simple request and refrain from touching yourself, but the way he got you worked up so easily made you so frustrated. Upon finishing your shower, you pat yourself dry and head back to your room where you find Kuroo almost ready to leave. 

“I have to head out early for warm ups and a little meeting so I’ll have to meet you at the gym. You have the directions, right-” he stops as he turns around and watches your towel fall to the ground, leaving your bare ass before his eyes. He looks you up and down, biting his lip, imagining all the things he wishes he could do to you if he had the time. 

“Oops, my towel fell,” you flirt as you bend over to pick it up, exposing your folds for a brief moment before you straighten up again. 

Suddenly you feel his clothed body pressed against you and his length hardening against your back, while he leans down and whispers in your ear, “I will have no mercy on you tonight. You want to act like a slut so desperate for this cock, I’ll make you beg for it.” He leans down and gives you a quick peck on your bare shoulder before collecting his things and making his way out the door.

---

You finally make it to the gym and are able to score a seat in the front row of the stands with some Nekoma alumni Kuroo had introduced to you before. The boys finished their first match in straight sets, taking the victory as you cheered them on through every play. You could tell Kuroo was putting in extra effort at blocking today, glancing at you every now and then with an expression that says “prepare yourself.” He must be intimidating up close, since this team had trouble spiking against him, not that you’re surprised by your boyfriend's skill. 

After finishing up on the court, the team joined you up in the stands waiting for the next team they’d be playing to finish their game. Kuroo made his way over to you only to be cut off by a tall, silver haired boy you were close friends with.

“Y/n! Did you see me out there?” Lev asked you excitedly. 

You looked up at your boyfriend who was attempting to hide his disappointment, but sat behind his teammate for you to catch up. Noticing the expression on his face, you decided to rile him up a bit and test the boundaries of his temper. 

“Of course I saw! You’re the ace so everyone is watching you,” you say charmingly while putting your hand on his shoulder and looking back at Kuroo with a smirk. His eyes bulge staring at you, but he tries to play cool. 

Lev looks at you with stars in his eyes, adorably excited by being noticed as the ace. “Really? Thanks y/n!” he says as he hugs you tightly. 

Kuroo’s eyes flare up even more and he starts looking visibly angry. You look up at him helpless with innocent eyes that say “I didn’t do anything wrong”, loving the reaction you were getting from your flustered captain. Before either of you knew what was happening, Lev received a slap to the back of his head and immediately pulled away from you. 

A feisty blonde stands above Lev with an expression that looks to be a mixture of fear and anger. “What the hell are you doing, baka?! Kuroo is going to murder you for that!” he exclaims. 

Obviously unaware of his surroundings, Lev turns around to see your boyfriend staring at him while he cracks his knuckles in his hands, his eyebrows furrowed. “S- Sorry Kuroo-san. I couldn’t help it. She called me the ace!” he exclaims, earning a glare from Kuroo who still looks unamused at the tall boy’s antics.

“Don’t touch her,” he says sternly. Kuroo normally isn’t quite this possessive, but you think back to his words this morning and realize why he’s acting this way. “If I can’t have you, you can’t either.” The thought of anyone touching your body before he’s allowed to makes his blood boil.

In perfect timing, the next round is about to start so the boys start heading back down to practice their serves and spikes before they face their new opponent. As the team makes their way out, Kuroo stops by and gives you a kiss on the cheek before he whispers in your ear, “one more dirty trick and I will punish you right here for everyone to see since you seem to like an audience so much.”

Before you can say anything in response, he leaves to join the others out on the court. You wonder if you’re pushing him too far, but quickly justify your actions with reason. He’s more than capable of staying focused during games and as for your teasing, the worst he can do is punish you which was expected either way. You had nothing to worry about, or so you thought. 

Kuroo seemed distracted during this match. They were barely able to take the first set and you weren’t sure if that was because their opponent was simply better than the last team or if you’d really gotten into his head when you flirted with Lev. All you can do now is cheer on your man, you think to yourself, and accept your punishment later.

Approaching the back right corner of the court in a fresh rotation is none other than Kuroo, preparing to serve during their match point in a very close game. He looks over at you and the look on his face makes you freeze, knowing just how he’s feeling. The most stressful serve of the game rests upon his shoulders. 

“Kuroo, nice serve!” you cheer, as you stare at your boyfriend with eager anticipation. He nods at you and for a moment, the corners of his lips turn upwards. 

The whistle blows and Kuroo serves a perfect ball right to the opponents setter, limiting their options during the play. After a few short volleys, the ball goes back to the opponent and they make their last efforts to win the game. Their setter sends the ball left, just as Kuroo had anticipated, as the spiker lines up for the kill. Jumping at the perfect time, Kuroo and Lev leap up to block the ball. The spiker aims for a cross and sends the ball right into Kuroo’s hands. He completely shuts the ball out as they watch it fall on their opponents side. Their libero vaults towards the falling globe, extending his arm out as far as he can. Managing to get close enough to receive it is already slightly annoying, but the match is settled when their libero is unable to connect with the ball, just a fingertip away. 

The boys burst out in cheers, running to each other for a team hug while everyone frantically jumps, excited to play the sport they love for at least one more game together at nationals. You run down to the court as fast as you can and run to your boyfriend who opens you with arms wide open, jumping up to hug him. 

“I’m so proud of you,” you exclaim with a smile stretching from ear to ear. 

“Thank you, my love. You know what this means?”

You wait for him to make a smart remark about punishing you, but instead he answers, “this means we’re going to dinner.” The smirk radiating on his face has you confused. You assume this means he’s going to surprise you after dinner with whatever he has in mind for your punishment. Little did you know he had already planned every minute of the rest of your night.

You give him a kiss before he retreats to the locker room with his teammates and gets cleaned up for dinner. After staying back to talk to the alumni that came to the match while you waited for everyone to finish, Coach Nekomata approached the group. 

“It’s so nice to see you again,” he says to his former students. “and y/n, always a pleasure. Please keep cheering for us. Your presence brings us great strength.” His words are warm and comforting, especially knowing he means exactly as he says. “We’re having dinner together tonight as a team. All of you are more than welcome to join us,” he says before taking his leave.

The alumni talk amongst themselves and decide they will all be attending the dinner since they have extra time and miss their former teammates. You maintain conversation with the alumni, asking questions about Kuroo and his past on the volleyball team. It’s not every day that you get to hear first hand from an outside source all about the mannerisms of volleyball player Kuroo. 

Finally the doors to the locker room open and we wait in anticipation, but only your boyfriend walks out. Approaching him, you ask why he came out alone.

“I have a present for you. Go put it on,” he orders.

“This is so sweet. What is it for?” you wonder.

“Decoration for my prize,” he whispers, shooting you a wink.

Your eyebrow lifts up as your smirk matches his. Brushing past your lover, you make your way to the restroom for some privacy. Knowing his tendencies, you couldn’t even imagine what was in the bag, but you knew you probably didn’t want to unveil it on the gymnasium floor while other teams and camera crews were on their way out. Your boyfriend was the classic boy-next-door type. He does well in his studies, he’s laid-back and kind, and loves spending time with his friends. This dominant side of him only comes out in fragments when he teases, occasionally referred to as a provocateur, but no one would believe you if you told them how much he loves treating you as if you were a whore so needy for his cock. If you were honest with yourself, that’s exactly what you were.

Pushing aside the tissue paper, you see red fabric curled up at the bottom of the bag. Removing it carefully, it feels heavier than you had imagined. You unfold the lacy thong to feel a weighted object at the front end of the crotch. “Oh no,” you thought. 

Holding up your end of the deal, you slip on the panties and put the ones you were wearing in the gift bag. Making your way out of the restroom, you’re surprised to find Kuroo standing outside the door waiting for you. He grabs your hand and pulls you towards the exit. “Come on, everyone is waiting for us to go eat. You sure took your sweet time, love. Does that mean you’re excited?”

---

Before you knew it, you were at the restaurant being seated with the rest of the team. You sat down next to your boyfriend and began socializing about their matches and catching up with the rest of the team. While you're in the middle of a conversation with Inuoka, you feel the little vibrator inside your panties turn on and rattle against your clit just enough to surprise you and make you jump. Your leg hits the underneath of the table as you yelp, gaining a few startled stares from the team. 

“Y/n, are you okay?” Inuoka asks with a worried expression.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just a leg spasm,” you cover, shooting a glance at your boyfriend who looks very pleased with himself, leaving the vibrator turned on.

You reach down to grab more food and lift it to your mouth, blowing on it to prevent your mouth from burning, but also using it as a cover for the sighs leaving your lips. Taking a bite, you purr “mmngh this is so delicious!” You glance over at your boyfriend who looks a little agitated that you’ve managed to find a way to cope with the situation so quickly. Every time he increases the level on his remote controlling the vibrator in your panties, you take a bite of food and moan into it, disguising your pleasure as an erotic lust for food. You may appear strange to others, but this is the best you can do under the circumstances to ride out your high without being caught. 

Kuroo leans next to you and whispers in your ear, keeping his volume loud enough that the people close to you could hear if they paid attention to you. “You better keep quiet, princess.”

“But it’s so good!” you whine, dipping your fingertip in sauce before kitten-licking it clean. 

“You’re making such a mess of yourself,” he growls, wiping a bit of sauce leftover on your lower lip with his thumb. 

“Ew, get a room,” a disgusted Lev shrieks.

---

The rest of the night proceeds as expected. Every time you try to speak to anyone when there’s a considerable amount of attention on you, he turns the vibrator on and shocks you. 

“Are you sure you’re okay?” asks Fukunaga. “You’ve been jittery all night.”

“I’m just excited to see you guys play again tomorrow. Can’t help myself from shaking with excitement!” you explain, slightly lying and exaggerating to circumvent the tension building. You glance at your lover with a hint of annoyance, knowing he’ll pick up on your impatience for dealing with this punishment. In response, he turns up the power level to the third of seven settings, shooting you a glance that reads “I’m not done with you yet.” You clench your legs shut in search of relief only to gain the opposite. Your fingernails dig into the soft palm of your hand attempting to prevent a reaction as the pressure builds at your core.

As embarrassing as it would be for you to be caught doing something like this, especially in the presence of someone as respected as the Coach, it’s turning you on immensely being in the presence of so many people whilst having your sensitive bud being toyed with by your boyfriend. Discreetly, you move your hand to his lap and rub your hand over his bulge, earning you an increase to level four. Your hand naturally retreats away from him as you flinch, taking the change in speed as a warning not to be too bold since this is your punishment after all, but you can’t resist and you reach your hand back over, palming him through his sweatpants.

Looking mildly flustered, Kuroo allows you to touch him and ease some of the stiffness he’s feeling from the confinement of his pants. You glance up into his dark eyes and you smirk at each other, enjoying the scandalous situation you’re both in, before turning your head back to the table to avoid suspicion. Just waiting for one of you to slip up and be too obvious is sounding more and more like a challenge than he had ever intended it to be. A glutton for punishment, you take his hand under the table and slip it under your skirt, guiding his fingers to the wet slick seeping through your new panties and he lets out a small sigh. You bite your lip at the thought of what he’d do to you if you were at home, and Kuroo noticed this too. He saw you were lost in thought so he used it as the perfect opportunity to change the rhythm of the vibrator. Still on level four, the tempo of the vibrations shifted as he moved through the three options the device had. As he stumbled on the third, a wave of pleasure ran through your body and you couldn’t hold back as a whimper escaped your swollen lips. 

Luckily the group was getting a little rowdy since the alumni at the end of the table were already drunk. This time you barely managed to hold yourself back, but the increasing swarm of pleasure rising through you was pushing you dangerously close to your climax. You shot your boyfriend another expression, warning him you’re almost at your limit, but he just smiled at you knowing exactly what you meant.

Due to all the pulses your throbbing clit is receiving, it’s almost impossible to eat anything now. You’re trying your best to avoid suspicion, but every time you have a piece of food up to your mouth, he zaps you and your hand shakes. You could handle everything else, but not being able to eat was frustrating you more than words could describe. You were going to need a lot of energy to keep up with him tonight and he wasn’t providing you with any sustenance. 

Looking up, you see the teammate sitting across from you staring at your boyfriend. The setter glanced at Kuroo and back in your direction before averting his attention back to another conversation. “Did he notice something he shouldn’t have?” you wonder, but quickly dismissing the question as your folds begin throbbing from the intensity of the vibrator on your clit.

You took a sip of your water, draining your cup, trying to avoid eye contact with the boys. Kuroo hasn’t experimented with the remote while you were drinking thus far so you thought of it as your safe haven when you need to take a brief break. However, you’re now completely out of water and have to ask for more.

“Excuse me, could someone pass me more- ahh!” you yelped. Everyone was looking in your direction now, not only the group you came in with, but people seated at nearby tables as well. Your head ran completely blank as the embarrassment took over. You feel like everyone knew your dirty little secret of how your boyfriend was viciously toying with you in public, even in front of his respected elders. 

The setter who was staring at you earlier broke the silence. “Sorry, y/n. I didn’t mean to kick you.” You were startled by the sudden apology, especially because you were both aware he didn’t touch you.

“That’s okay, Kenma. I was just surprised, that’s all,” you explain. Everyone calmed down after they heard his apology, but it only makes your heart beat faster. You turn to Kuroo and notice him staring down at his phone, typing away at something. You sneak a glance and see messages to Kenma. 

“Do you know?”

“Do I know that you’re messing around with your girlfriend at a team dinner? Yeah, I know.”

“How did you figure it out? You’ve been single for as long as I’ve known you.”

“I’m single, not blind. Just go easy on her. If Coach finds out what’s going on, you’ll be doing diving drills as punishment.”

“The only punishment I’m focused on is hers.”

After he sends that final text, he puts his phone away and suddenly, the most powerful surge of vibrations you’ve felt this whole night came rushing to your core, forcing you to grip the table and bite down on your lip hard to suppress the moans attempting to escape from your tightly locked lips. You grip your boyfriend’s thigh with the other hand and shoot him a look that says everything he needed to know. You were about to cum right in the middle of the restaurant.

Knowing this, Kuroo didn’t dare change the level and interrupt the waves of pleasure being released through your lower half. Instead he leaned in to whisper in your ear words that made you blush.

“Since you like an audience so much and he already knows your little secret, I want you to look at Kenma when you cum for me.” 

You look up at your boyfriend smirking as he nods his head in the direction of Kenma who was already staring at you. His gaze was different than when you first locked eyes after he had protected you from getting caught. Instead, his eyes are piercing as if to undress you with his eyes. He knows exactly what’s happening to you and for some reason, you find it unbelievably exciting. You bite your lip and ogle his movements, knowing he’s trying hopelessly to conceal his hardening length underneath his sweatpants.

“Do you see what you’re doing to him, y/n? I can only imagine how fucking sexy you’d look taking him in your mouth,” he hums. 

The idea of your boyfriend watching as another man takes advantage of you has come up in your fantasies before. Maybe if you had won the bet, you would’ve asked for a threesome, but you push that thought to the back of your mind as your orgasm washes over you. You grip Kuroo’s leg hard, feeling like you were about to crush his bones. Obeying his orders, you look directly into Kenma’s eyes as you struggle to prevent your face from contorting and giving up your secret to the rest of the table. Kenma bites his lips as he gets drunk off the expressions you’re giving him. He’s unable to pull his eyes away from you and his arousal increases steadily. You see his hands move over his crotch, slightly palming himself.

You lean over to Kuroo and without taking your eyes off his best friend, you whisper, “Seems to me like he’s being punished just as much as I am. You won’t allow him any release?”

‘I know you like an audience, baby, but you’re mine and only mine. He can look and dream all he wants, but can’t touch,” he whispers back at you. For challenging him, he finally increases the device to its highest level. An overwhelming flash of white comes to your vision as you’re now shaking uncontrollably. His firm hand grips your thigh, steadying you to prevent speculation in your final moments. Kenma watches you closely as his deep lust washes over him and he’s forced to quickly announce his departure to the restroom, obvious to the pair of you that he needs to finish himself off in private.

As you ride the wave of pleasure until completion, you’re left feeling filthy in your chair. Heaving and out of breath, you look at your proud boyfriend and mutter the words he’s been waiting to hear.

“We need to go home. Now,” you say quietly, yet stern, the fire of your lust still ablaze in your eyes.

Smirking at you and putting his hand on your leg once more, he rubs his fingertips on your inner thigh, dangerously close to your dripping entrance. His eyes drift to his teammates as he speaks, “Coach, if it’s okay I think I should take y/n home now before it gets too late.” His hands squeeze your thigh slightly, letting you know he hasn’t stopped paying attention to your needs. 

“Rest well tonight so you’re prepared for the games tomorrow. The competition will only be getting harder from here on out, okay? Take her home safely,” Coach Nekomata replies.

Standing up to leave, you smile at the team as you try to cover yourself up as much as possible, trying to keep yourself from getting caught when you’ve already gotten this far. Your slick has already seeped through your panties and coated your thighs in sweet juices so you try keeping your legs closed as much as possible. 

“Thank you, Coach. We’ll be leaving now.” Your boyfriend says his goodbyes for the night and walks behind you out the door. 

---

You walk out the front door of the restaurant and no sooner does Kuroo have his hands on your waist. Smiling at his touch, you turn around and look up at your boyfriend giving you a pleased grin.

“You did so well in there, princess. Although I’m going to discipline you for being such a brat,” he leans down pressing his lips to your ear. “Do you have any idea how badly I wanted to fuck you right then and there, for everyone to see that you’re mine?”

You bite your lip upon hearing his words, knowing you were able to offer a little torture to him as well made you lean against him, your body pressed against his. A sigh falls from his lips and he starts walking forward slowly, letting you know he was ready to start walking again. On your way to the bus stop, you can’t help but mention a thought you had while in the restaurant. 

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Of course you can, dummy. What’s on your mind?”

“Would you ever be interested in a threesome?” you ask quietly, turning your head from him to avoid letting him see how bashful that thought made you.

“Hm, I’m not sure. I never seriously considered it because I like having you all to myself, but maybe that’s something we can try. Seeing how wet you got when Kenma watched you was really hot,” he explains.

You smile slightly looking down at your footsteps in line with your boyfriends. Worried that the question would make things awkward for a moment, a swarm of relief fills your troubled mind. Kuroo had always been ready to try new things, especially if you mentioned you wanted to try it first, but this felt different. As adventurous as he is, he is also very protective of you. You thought he might get jealous and neglect the question entirely, but you were happy he’s even considering it. Suddenly all your worries fade away, not sure why you even had them in the first place with a boyfriend as amazing as him. 

“Who would you want to join us?” you ask, the question sounding very light as your tone shifts.

“How could you ask me that?” he jokes. “You’re the one who’d be getting railed by them.”

“What about Kenma?”

“No, absolutely not. I think his heart would combust from the excitement of the situation, baby.”

You both laugh, joking together about fantasies you may act on one day. Talking to your boyfriend like this was so comforting, knowing you could confide in him about anything, but it also really turned you on. Hearing all of his kinks and fantasies spilling from his lips only makes you want to fulfill those dreams for him. You know he’d do anything to please you and acting on your own fantasies brings him immense amount of pleasure. As long as he can make you cum, he’s game for anything you desire.

---

On the bus ride home, you rest your head on his shoulder. There weren’t many people around so you didn’t feel the need to be as careful when initiating skinship. You were seated in the back corner, far from the gazes of other passengers who chose to stand in the front. Feeling your touch, he kisses your forehead before resting his cheek on the top of your head. Enjoying the feeling of his warmth, you close your eyes and allow yourself to get lost in thoughts of your lover. He wasn’t a perfect man by any means, but you knew he’d always try his best to take care of you and make you happy. You were lucky to have found a man who is not only your lover, but your best friend as well. The time you’ve spent by his side made you realize that he was the only one you could ever call yours. No one else could compare to the love you held in every corner of your heart for him.

“Baby,” you call.

“Hm?” Kuroo lifts up his head to look at you as you do the same.

“How did I get so lucky to have you?”

A smile creeps onto his face as he chuckles at your question. “You know, I still get butterflies when I look at you? Every morning I wake up with you by my side and I wonder what I did to deserve this life I’ve been given.”

“I love you so much, Kuroo Tetsurou,” you say, smiling as you stare into his hazel eyes.

“I love you too, chibi-chan,” he said, smiling back at you. He leaned in and kissed your cheek, but instead of pulling away, he leaned in close to your ear and whispered. “I can’t wait to show you how much I love you when I make you see stars tonight.”

“Oh my god,” you say, rolling your eyes. “Go to horny jail, you perv!” You can’t help but laugh as you swat your boyfriend’s toned thigh.

Both of you spend the ride home laughing and joking with each other. You listened as he shared stories about his teammates and he listened to your stories about Karasuno that you heard from Kiyoko and Yachi, your best friends. Nearby passengers gaze at the pair of you with jealous eyes, unbeknownst to you, as they admire your relationship. An old woman seated a few rows ahead has been listening to you banter and enjoy each others’ company as she stares out the window, watching the city lights pass her by. “Oh, young love. What I wouldn’t give to remember that feeling again,” she thinks to herself as she smiles. 

---

As you finally arrive at your shared apartment, you both enter and shut the door behind you, kicking off your shoes. Suddenly you’re swept off your feet, being held in the arms of Kuroo who is now carrying you bridal style towards your bedroom. You giggle and wrap your arms around his neck to secure yourself to him. He turns on the light as he enters the doorway and carefully places you at the edge of the bed, leaning down to kiss you. His lips feel soft against yours, pulling you into a passionate kiss before stepping back. He stands up and makes his way to the candle on your dresser, lighting it before turning off the bedroom light.

He approaches you slowly, “Since we won our matches in straight sets, just as you asked, it’s time for me to claim my reward.” His knee comes between your legs as he leans down on you, forcing you to move backwards on the bed and spread your legs to either side of his body to allow him space to crawl up with you. The warm glow of the candle highlights the outline of his body as if the sun itself kissed his skin and allowed him to possess its radiance. You can’t help but admire his breathtaking features as he hovers over you, and with this he explains the details of his promised reward between soft kisses.

“I want to take my time with you,” he finally says, peppering kisses on your jawline. “I want you to feel my desire for you raging through me.” His kisses move down your neck slowly. “I want to make love to you,” he admits before his kisses become harder. “And I want you to be a good girl for me.” He sucks carefully on your neck as you close your eyes, enjoying every honey-drenched word uttered from your boyfriend’s mouth. Your hand creeps up the back of Kuroo’s neck as you run your fingers through his raven hair. An airy moan escapes your lips when he bites at your neck, leaving a bruise. 

He leans up and looks in your eyes with a serious, yet sultry expression plastered on his face. “Do you think you can do that for me, kitten?” The corner of his lips pulls up into a smirk that has you questioning what awaits you, but as promised, you must comply.

“Of course, master. Anything for you,” you say as sweetly as you can muster. You can see the glimmer in his eyes at the name you unexpectedly called him. “If you’re going to have full control over me, then master is a fitting title for you, am I wrong?” you ask.

Kuroo bites his lip as he processes your words, his eyes veering down to examine your body sprawled out underneath him. He notices the dark hickey he’s already painted on your neck and he smiles, admiring his work. Your shirt lays flush against your skin, accentuating your curves, begging for attention as it strains against your chest. Those red panties he bought for you, still drenched in your own cum, peek out from the hem of your skirt. 

His hand reaches down to caress your inner thigh, moving closer to your heat. “You’re so sexy,” he whispers as his other hand pushes up your skirt to get a better look at the mess you made for him earlier in the restaurant. His fingers press against your clothed slit and he groans at the feeling. “Fuck, chibi-chan, you’re still so wet for me. I can’t wait to eat you,” he growls. Removing his finger from your panties, he lifts you up and pulls them off of you. You scoot backwards on the bed to give him more space, which he wastes no time filling. He lays down in front of you and spreads your legs with both hands. 

Suddenly you feel his soft lips on your thigh, kissing your supple skin, and you twitch slightly at the chills it sends through your spine. His lips attack your skin rougher, allowing his teeth to slip through and nibble at your delicate thigh. Your back arches and you whimper, feeling a tinge of both pain and pleasure. Kuroo smiles at your reaction and rewards you with a gentle kiss over the abused area before moving to the other side. The kisses on your opposite thigh immediately trail directly to your bare core, eventually making their way to your throbbing bud. All of the overstimulation you experienced at the restaurant made you sensitive, forcing you to overreact at the slightest touch. You gripped the sheets next to you as he kitten-licked your clit gently and you moaned. His eyes peered up at you, not wanting to miss a single move you made, and you watched them darken as you held eye contact when he began sucking on the little bundle of nerves he’d already set on fire.

“Fuckk, Tetsu, that feels so good,” you whimper, your brows furrowed together at the intense movements of your boyfriend's tongue. The fist firmly gripping the sheets found its way to the black hair falling messily over Kuroo’s eye to push his hair back for a better view of his face as he ate you out. His tongue rolled over your folds sloppily, letting his saliva mix with your juices to keep you drenched. He could feel you clenching around nothing as his tongue danced along your slit. 

You throw your head back against the bed as you feel the pad of his thumb beginning to gently rub against your throbbing clit. Kuroo enjoys the lewd moans he’s pulling from your swollen lips as he picks up the pace of his thumb, allowing his tongue to slip inside of you. Unable to control yourself, your body convulses under his touch, making you grind against his mouth. You could feel yourself getting ready to come undone all over again and try your best to look Kuroo in the eyes when you cum all over his tongue. He notices you staring and pulls his mouth away, only to add two fingers inside of you, curling upwards to hit your sweet spot.

“That’s right, kitten. Watch me while I destroy you,” he groans deeply. The tone of his voice taunts you, challenging you to defy him. His fingers piston in and out of you at a cruel pace, carefully positioned to continue abusing the same spot. Your hands come down on either side of you to curl the sheets into your fist as you squirm underneath his grip, your orgasm quickly approaching. Even the noises flowing from your mouth couldn’t be controlled anymore, the once cute sounds becoming cries for release of an animalistic nature. 

“I can feel your needy pussy gripping my fingers,” he hums. “Cum for me, baby.”

With those words, your head pushed down against the bed and your eyes shut tight as you finally released all the tension he’d built up inside of you. Your chest rose and fell rapidly as you attempted to catch your breath and you looked down to see his face and arm dripping wet. You hadn’t even noticed you had squirted, but Kuroo looked up at you with a devilish grin as his tongue peaked out to lick his lips.

“Such a good girl for me. Now, open,” he orders as he rests his fingers on your lips. You happily oblige and stare deeply into his eyes, sitting up as you suck your juices off his fingers. He uses his other hand to pick up the hem of his shirt and dry his face, wipe your juices off his face lazily as he watches you. Your hands take advantage of his newly revealed torso as they slide up his toned abdomen, pushing up his shirt even more. He pulls his shirt off for you in one swift motion while you get up on your knees and pull him into your lips. The kiss is passionate and slightly rough, your lips fighting for more attention. He bites your lip and tugs on it, allowing you a moment to break away from his lips and trail your own down his neck. 

He groans slightly at the unexplored area suddenly being given attention, your tongue dragging a line up his neck before you suck on it. Your kiss is gentle, unable to leave marks on him wherever his uniform doesn’t cover, so you move lower to his chest. His toned chest is left with a trail of wet kisses as you go lower, your hands reaching up to find the waistband of his pants. You palm his hardening cock over his sweats and he groans, admiring how hot you look worshipping his body in the way you know he loves. Your kisses pepper over his happy trail before you pull his pants down just enough for his large cock to spring free from the constricting grip. You’re down on your hands and knees in front of him, legs spread wide with your ass in the air, your skirt lifted enough to reveal your ass. He groans at the sight as you take his length into your hands and begin to stroke him. 

“Any special requests, master? It’s my turn to please you.” Your flirtatious, bratty tone makes him want to put you in your place, teach you who exactly is in control. 

“Suck.”

You stick out your tongue and run it from the base to the tip before swirling your tongue around it. You kissed it gently, moving your lips to the side of his shaft. His hand reaches down and grabs a fistful of your hair, pulling your head back and forcing you to look up at him. “I said suck. Now,” he threatens. The sheer dominance in his tone pooled wetness at your core again as you obeyed. You spit on his shaft and rubbed it in with your hand before wrapping your lips around the tip. You bobbed your head down slowly, trying to coat every inch with your spit. Each time you pulled your head back as you bobbed, you rolled your tongue out to lick the underneath of his shaft and you watched as his head lolled back. 

As his cock got wetter, your mouth got sloppier, bobbing your head quickly with your cheeks hollowed. His groans slipping through his mouth were nothing short of sinful and you loved hearing the reaction you earned from him. He gripped your hair in his fist, gently forcing you to take more of him and fucking your throat. You tried to look up at him as the tears pooled at the corners of your eyes, threatening to fall from the harsh movements of his hips. He allowed you to pull your head away as you gasped for air and smiled up at him with your tongue out, stroking his length with your small hands. He looked down at you in awe, the little slut he made for himself smiled so pretty for him after being face fucked. He couldn’t have asked for anything more.

He pulled you up and took off your shirt before gently laying you back on the bed. Leaning down, he peppered kisses over your left tit while his hand came up and squeezed the other. His tongue flicked around your nipple before sucking and pulling at it. You sighed and ran your hand through his hair as he continued playing with your tits. He removed his lips from your left and moved onto the right, giving it the same attention with his mouth. Your back arched into him as he sucked on your nipple, rutting against him to find more friction on your aching core. As much as you loved the attention he was giving your chest, your aching hole clenching around nothing yearned for it more. He kissed down the valley of your breasts, leaving hickeys in his wake before sitting up and hovering over you. He wiped his thumb across your lips, hooking it in your mouth as he positioned himself over you again. “What do you want me to do to you? I want to hear you say it.” You try to respond, but his thumb makes it hard for the words to come out of your mouth, your reply mumbled. He removes his thumb and grips your face instead. 

“I want you to fuck me, Tetsu.”

He smirks and groans, “beg for it, kitten.” He lines up his aching cock to your pussy, slowly rubbing the tip against your folds.

“Please fuck me. I need to feel you inside me and I want you to be rough. Please, master. I need it.” Those vulgar words slipped from your pretty mouth as he thrust into you, bottoming out all at once. You gasped at the new feeling as you clenched around him, your back arching off the bed as you searched to hold onto something. You reached for his arm and you squeezed it as he starts to fuck you to a rhythm, not letting you adjust to his size.

His hips thrust into you hard, shaking your whole body from the force of it. He pushes your legs down towards your chest and leans himself on top of you. The angle he’s pressing into you makes you clench down around him as he deeply thrusts directly at your sweet spot. 

“Shit, yes, please fuck me just like that,” you whimper, the intense pleasure pooling in your stomach. Hearing you beg for it only made him thrust harder into you, loving the way you sounded when you were so needy for him. You quickly felt your third orgasm of the night threatening to escape you as he mercilessly pounded into you, grazing your cervix with every pump. You grabbed his arms with both of your hands, squeezing them while you stared into his darkening eyes.

He watched every quirk your face made as it contorted with pleasure, adoring how beautiful you looked being fucked out. His hand came up to your neck and squeezed the sides of your throat gently, just barely cutting off your air flow. Your mouth hung agape as you stared up at him, brows furrowed as you focused on the sensation flowing through your body. Your moans became shrill as your orgasm washed over you, squirting all over your sheets and Kuroo’s torso. Your juices dripped down him deliciously and you felt it dripping down your thighs as well.

Kuroo looked down at the pleasant sight with a devilish grin, pulling out of you as you caught your breath. “You’re so wet for me tonight, babe. Now turn around so we can cum together this time.” Getting up on your hands and knees proved slightly more difficult than you had anticipated. Your legs already feel shaky from the intense position he’d kept you in and you can hear him chuckle as he helps you position yourself in front of him, satisfied with his work. He pulls your skirt off, finally leaving you completely bare, and he looks down at you, biting his lip. You can feel him lining the tip up to your entrance again, but he pushes it in very slowly and stops when just the tip is in.

“Be a good girl and bounce on it.”

You quickly follow orders as you push your ass back on him until every inch is inside. His groan echoes in the room behind you as you start grinding yourself on his cock. There’s something about the feeling of using him to get yourself off that makes you feel so dirty and both of you love that sensation. You bounce back faster, slamming yourself against his hips and moan for him. Before you can continue, Kuroo’s hand lands on your lower back and pushes you down against the bed before taking control. He pistons his hips into you as he stuffs you full, your head now pushed against the pillow. His hand comes down hard on your ass, spanking you a few times in a row, leaving your ass red and tender.

The sensations you’re experiencing all at once become overwhelming, but he’s making you feel so good and you don’t want it to stop. You match his pace and continue bouncing back on him slightly in an attempt to keep your needy hole filled with him. He bites his lip as his grunts become more staggered, approaching his end. He leans down and reaches his fingers around you to rub your throbbing clit. Your body immediately becomes limp at the touch of his finger as you scream. The sensitive bud feels as if it had burst into flames all over again.

“Where do you want my cum?” he asks breathlessly. You can tell he’s dangerously close to his release, but so are you with the way he’s toying with you. 

“Inside me! Fill me up, master!”

He groans deeply, “Fuck, such a good slut for me.” With a few more thrusts, his pace becomes faster and uncontrolled. In a final thrust, he paints your insides white and you cum around him as he slowly thrusts into you to ride out your highs. A symphony of heavy breathing fills the room accompanied by the sight of sweaty luster on your skin. You fall down completely on the sheets and try to rest your abused body as you feel him fall on the bed beside you, trying to catch his breath.

“Did you get what you wanted, Tetsu? The prize you were after?” you questioned, already knowing the answer.

Kuroo curled up next to you and pulled you close, cuddling you into him. “I always want to make love to you,” he says, kissing your forehead. “You’re so beautiful and sexy like this.” His hand gently comes down to your ass, rubbing circles over the red marks he made earlier from spanking you. You always loved his gentle after care, especially since he loved being rough with you. He knew you needed to be pampered a bit to compensate for his power, even more so on nights he doesn’t hold back.

“Can we lay here for a minute before we go get cleaned up? Frankly, I don’t think I can move,” you say laughing, knowing that you were only half joking. He chuckles, looking down at your legs proudly.

“Don’t worry, chibi-chan. Just lay here and I’ll get you all cleaned up, okay?” He kisses your forehead again before walking to the bathroom to get a warm, wet towel. He comes back to you and asks you to spread your legs for him, which you obey. He smirks as he sees his seed dripping from your aching pussy before wiping away both of your juices. His washes you gently as you try getting your energy back. You sit up in bed and grab the cloth out of his hand.

“It’s okay, Tetsu. Let’s go get a shower. We need to change the sheets so I have to get up anyway,” you gesture to the large wet spot in the middle of the bed from your cum. He helps you off the bed and walks with you to the shower.

“Start showering without me. I’ll prepare the bed for us before joining you.”

You nod and get in the shower, cleansing yourself of the remnants of the intimate act you shared with your partner. You reminisced over the time you spent together as a couple, your love never wavering. How could it when you had such an amazing boyfriend? He’s stayed consistent through thick and thin, always taking care of you, as if the honeymoon phase was forever. You smiled to yourself thinking about how he used his opportunity to have you in whichever way he wanted to make love to you, as you often do. Although the vibrator was a sneaky little trick, you didn’t put it past him since you’ve tried many scandalous things over the years to add some spice into your sex lives. Reminding yourself of just how lucky you were was something you did daily, always making sure to remind Kuroo as well that you were grateful for him. Your relationship was healthy and fun. It was the kind of love that made everyone around you jealous as they patiently waited for their special someone to arrive. 

Kuroo joined you in the shower after cleaning the bed and putting on new sheets. You both washed each other, admiring the sudsy curves on each other’s bodies. The warm water rinsed the soap off your bodies and you dried up before hopping into bed. You spent the night wrapped up in each other as you cuddled up to sleep, sharing the warmth of your blanket. 

---

The next morning you woke up earlier than Kuroo who was sound asleep beside you. “He must be tired from all the energy he used up yesterday,” you thought to yourself. You decided it was your turn to make him a big breakfast. Being well fed and energetic would surely aid in his upcoming matches and Coach Nekomata would kill him if he was ill-prepared. Kuroo made his way into the kitchen before you had even finished cooking, so he helped you set the table. After eating, you both got dressed and left together for the gym.

“How’s your condition?” you ask, your boyfriend seeming more lively.

“I feel good! Your cooking certainly helped me wake up. Although you know I’m going to win today regardless,” he winks. 

“Ah, yes. My big, bad boyfriend is gonna tear up the court!” you joke sarcastically. You both laugh and banter as you enter the gym and meet up with the rest of the team. They greet you and Kuroo before he retreats to change into his uniform, leaving you alone with the boys. You can feel their eyes on you, which was strange, especially since you’ve grown so comfortable with them. What could they possibly be staring at? Sudden realization flooded your mind that your neck was covered in hickeys. You pulled your hair down to cover your neck, avoiding eye contact with the team and trying to feign innocence. A few laughs burst through the silence, their owners being Lev and Yaku.

“Hey, what are those?” Lev teases. “Is that why you and Kuroo left dinner early last night?”

“Y/N, I thought you were more innocent than that,” Yaku pouts, looking flustered.

Your face flushed pink, attempting even more obviously to hide them now that they’ve noticed. The commotion caused the rest of the team to look over, curious as to what was going on. Your eyes panned over the familiar faces, but stopped as you landed on one face in particular who was staring at you, his gaze different from the rest. Kenma. The rosy flush raged into a full tomato red at the hungry eyes of your boyfriend’s best friend who was gazing upon your neck.

“I can’t believe you left without me,” he whispers under his breath.

Kuroo approaches the team, fully changed and ready for practice, “What’d I miss?” The boys disperse except for Kenma who was still staring a hole into you. Kuroo caught on to what was happening after seeing your neck and walked over towards his best friend. Before completely passing him, he stops and mutters something to him loud enough for only you and Kenma to hear.

“You’re lucky my girl likes you. Maybe next time I’ll share.”

[plazmafields]

Cullrian Mulan AU

Word Count: 27,573

Summery: After escaping the Venatori and his family in Tevinter, Dorian finds refuge with a kindly older woman on a farm in Ferelden. When the Inquisition comes knocking looking for volunteers, Dorian can't help but overhear that they are looking to defeat the Venatori once and for all. He could join, but he can't have them thinking he might be a Venatori himself, especially not the Commander.

Forward: Holy jesus mercy, this literally took me years to get to. Between wanting to build out the universe to make it all fit together, then getting some serious writer's block (because nothing I love can come easy), then actually writing the damn thing! This has been a journey, and I really hope you all enjoy. I know it's a pain to read long fics on tumblr, so just let me know if you'd prefer it on AO3 or something. All my love, please enjoy my longest fic ever!!

__________

Just as the sun began to rise over the hills surrounding the farm, songbirds began to chirp, stirring Dorian from his sleep. Though he hated the insistent noise, he had to admit it was a softer wakeup call than Halward pushing ten tired slaves into his room to make him “presentable” before another noble’s daughter arrived. When Dorian had rejected the woman betrothed to him since birth, his mother offered that perhaps they should find an equally suitable candidate that Dorian could see himself getting along with. Poor mother, just trying to help; but she would never understand the true reason for Dorian’s rejection. Or perhaps they knew, and just couldn’t bear to face it as truth.

It took Dorian a moment to fully wake before he was hurriedly getting dressed and cleaned up, hoping to make it downstairs in time to make breakfast. As he descended the stairs, however, the scent of eggs and baking bread filled his nose. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply. While it smelled wonderful, he still felt a bit guilty for making his kind host cook for them both.

At the bottom of the stairs, he smiled and gently bowed his head at the middle aged woman at the stove. “Good morning, Miss Ella,” he said as he entered the kitchen just off the stairwell.

“Good morning, dear. How do you like your eggs?” The woman turned to greet him with two plates of food in hand, each set prepared differently.

Dorian didn’t look at the meal before responding, “I’ll take whichever you don’t prefer.”

The older woman frowned, distinctly upset with the answer. “Ser Dorian, I insist you choose. You’re my guest, after all. I want to make sure you’re comfortable.”

The two stood both with expectant stares for a short while until Dorian sighed, taking one of the plates. “And I want to make sure I’m as nonintrusive as possible.” He turned quickly, taking a seat at the quaint kitchen table.

The woman smiled gently as she joined him. “I’ve said it once and I’ll say it again: you are not intruding. I took you in, and that’s the end of it. You should feel as though we share this house, just as we share this food and the land where it grows.”

Dorian couldn’t help but let out a small chuckle as he began to eat. “Thank you, Miss Ella. You’ve been far too kind to an undeserving stranger.”

Miss Ella scoffed as she swatted at Dorian’s arm with her handkerchief, “Oh, don’t say such nonsense! Everyone is deserving of kindness, especially when they show such courtesy in return.”

Dorian said a quiet thank you as he continued to eat, trying to avoid another kind hearted argument with the woman. They stayed silent for a long moment until the woman shook her head and laughed.

“The only doubt I have about you is where you’re from. Not that I mind your secrecy; I understand the need. I only wish I knew so I could know who to thank for your wonderful manners.” She teased, wholeheartedly.

Dorian smiled despite the remembrance of home life, and answered gently, “I hardly think my parents had much to do with my manners. They’re not the kindest of people, unless they’re trying to impress someone.” His smile slipped slightly, enough for Miss Ella to notice.

“I’m sorry, dear,” she frowned and reached across the table, patting the back of Dorian’s hand, “I didn’t mean to strike a nerve. I wasn’t meaning to imply life was perfect, only that you seem acclimated to the finery in life. However, I know that comes with its own stresses and consequences.”

“You’re certainly right about that,” Dorian sighed, finishing the food on his plate.

As he stood, he took Miss Ella's empty plate as well, taking the dishes and cutlery to the wash basin to clean. As Dorian began scrubbing away, there came a rather harsh knock at the door. The two glanced curiously at one another before Miss Ella went to answer.

Dorian slowly set the dishes in the water, listening closely to who was at the door, waiting to see if it was a voice he recognized, come to take him back to Tevinter.

Instead, he heard a voice clearly announce: “Hello, serah, we’re here on behalf of the Inquisition. We’re requesting that every household contribute at least one able bodied person, or sign for a draft, if necessary.”

“Oh yes, the Inquisition. You’re the ones who patched up the sky, yes? While I would love to be of service, I’m afraid I am unable to enlist—”

“How old are you, ma’am?”

“I beg your pardon?”

Dorian heard the soldier clear his throat. “I asked your age, ma’am.”

Miss Ella, seemingly a bit taken aback by the direct nature of the question, gingerly answered, “Well, I’ll be turning fifty at the end of next month…”

The sound of confirmation and flipping paper piqued Dorian’s curiosity, as he slowly peeked into the foyer to watch the interaction.

The soldiers all nodded, one pulling out a form. “You’re within the age range to sign for the draft. If you would please—”

“I’m sorry?” Miss Ella stared in awe at the men before her. “I am the sole owner of this farm; all the land you see within several acres is my land! I cannot simply leave my property; who would be here to care for the animals? I would be more than willing to donate crops to the cause, but I am not going to leave my animals and harvest to suffer.”

Dorian watched on, ready to stand up for his gracious host, when the soldier tucked the form back into his satchel. “Ma’am, I understand your concerns, but I’m afraid, as valid as they may be, they cannot stand in the way of the fact that we need soldiers. As the Venatori threat strengthens—”

“I would be willing to volunteer,” Dorian stepped into view of the doorway, “on behalf of the household.”

Miss Ella turned with surprise, giving Dorian a worried look. He simply smiled and placed a hand on her shoulder.

“Very good, Ser. And thank you.” The soldier pulled out a list of volunteers’ names and began to assign Dorian an ID. “What is your relation to this woman?”

“My son.” Miss Ella spoke up, “Dorian Rider.”

Dorian gave a gentle, thankful look, trying not to make it too obvious to the soldiers.

“I assume, then, you were born in Ferelden?” The soldier studied Dorian’s dark complexion suspiciously.

“Orlais,” Dorian lied, “but I’ve lived here much of my life…”

The soldier seemed to find that more believable as he nodded, noting the answer on the form.

“And what is your role in the household? Just a simple description of what you do around the house will suffice.” The soldier asked, poised to write.

“I help maintain the farm.”

The soldier nodded, “Very good. And do you have any experience with fighting or combat?”

“Spell—” Dorian quickly closed his mouth, remembering mages were not supposed to live or practice magic outside of the Circles in Ferelden. He worriedly glanced at Miss Ella, before he noticed the soldier give him a friendly grin.

“Don’t worry,” The soldier said, lowering his writing board, “the Inquisition is not here to discriminate. We take anyone willing to risk their lives for the cause.” His eyes went soft, as he seemed to sympathize with Dorian. “I was a thief in Denerim before I joined. I’m not one to judge. Thank you for volunteering, Ser. Serah.”

The soldiers each gave a respectful bow before starting off to the next house. The one with the writing board called over his shoulder, “We’ll knock again when we’re ready to head off to Skyhold. Please be ready. You need only to bring your personal effects; we will have weapons and armor for you there.”

Miss Ella quickly closed the door and grabbed Dorian by the shoulders. “What are you doing? I thought you were hiding out! This is a sure way to bring attention to yourself, boy!”

Though she shook him lightly, she was not angry as Dorian looked in her eyes. The only thing he saw there was fear and worry. For him; for his safety.

Dorian took her hands in his and smiled reassuringly, “I’ll be ok. I can handle myself in a fight. Besides, what was I supposed to do, let them take you away from your livelihood? That hardly seems right.”

Miss Ella continued to look him in the eye for a time, all the while tears starting to well, before they eventually fell and she wrapped her arms around his waist in a tight hug. “Thank you so much, dear. I just hope they keep you safe from whatever you were running from. Maybe one day you’ll be free of fear, and you can tell me everything.”

__________

Finally at Skyhold, the entire cart full of recruits gazed upon the glory of their new home for the foreseeable future, everyone taken aback by the size of the castle. Once through the gates, Dorian found himself being shuffled through a group of anxious troops, somehow ending up near the front of the crowd. Just as he began to wonder what all the fuss was about, the entire mass fell silent, standing mostly at attention.

A pale skinned man with thick blond hair strode up to the group of recruits, his presence alone demanding full attention. As he scanned the crowd, seemingly impressed with the number of volunteers, he momentarily locked eyes with Dorian.

The mage immediately froze, holding his breath as the blond’s eyes studied him. It seemed like minutes before their eyes met again, the blond saying kindly, “Welcome to the Inquisition.”

Dorian didn’t realize the blond was addressing the whole group, and not just him, until the entire mass said in unison, “Ser, yes, Ser.”

Dorian jumped at the roar, averting his gaze to his feet. The rest of the blond’s speech went by as a mumble, Dorian only picking out a few things. “I am your commander,” “thank you for your service,” “we are all fighting for the same cause,” etcetera.

“Those of you who are weary from the journey may feel free to retire to the barracks and claim a bunk. Make certain your items are secure and accounted for. As for those anxious to begin your service, please follow my associate Seeker Cassandra; she will give a brief tour of the grounds.” The blond gestured to a broad and powerful woman, who already appeared annoyed. “As she will be assisting me in your training, I expect you all to treat her with the same respect and authoritative recognition as you would me.”

The blond Commander took a final look over the troops before dismissing them to follow Cassandra or head to the beds. But just as Dorian followed after the retiring group, he heard a gentle summons.

“You there, mage.”

Dorian turned to see the Commander watching him with a careful eye. “Dorian, Ser.” He answered.

“Ser Dorian,” The Commander let the name roll on his tongue for a moment before continuing, causing Dorian’s breath to hitch in his throat. “I understand you’re an apostate.”

Dorian let out his held breath in a deep sigh, nearly rolling his eyes. “Yes, I am. Ser. I don’t suppose you’re going to turn me in to your recent allies?” He crossed his arms and lifted a brow, challenging the blond standing several feet from him.

The Commander narrowed his eyes, “I certainly wasn’t planning on it.” He slowly closed the distance between the two of them in several long strides, saying in a low tone, “Unless you’re going to have a problem with my authority, Ser Dorian.”

With the blond so close, Dorian felt his heart speed up. Something about his presence made Dorian feel held in place. Not as if he was trapped, simply that he couldn’t make himself step away.

Dorian scanned his eyes over the Commander’s form, noticing the Chantry insignia on his bracers. Ah, Dorian thought, he plans on taking care of me himself.

“Not unless you’re going to play those little Templar tricks to dispel my magic when I’m simply trying to warm my tea.” Dorian could have sworn he saw the corner of the Commander’s lips curl up at his accurate observation.

“That would just be rude. No, I wanted to inform you that, despite my past, I have very little patience for discrimination.” The Commander's eyes scanned over Dorian's body once more, “If anyone says anything, does anything, or even looks at you in a way that makes you suspect ill intent, do let me know. They’ll be dealt with discreetly.”

Dorian wasn’t sure how to feel; between the Commander’s word choice and his eyes wondering Dorian’s physique, he felt maybe the blond knew his preferences just by looking at him. Did he have to be more worried about that than being an apostate? Though Dorian knew little about the south, he knew even less about their feelings on…sexual endeavors. More specifically, who you ventured those endeavors with.

Dorian hadn’t realized how long he’d been staring at the Commander without answering until the blond tilted his brow up. “That is an order, Ser Dorian.”

He was shaken from his trance by the mention of his name in a soothingly gentle voice; surprising for a man in his militant position. “Yes, Ser.” Dorian responded quickly, eager to have the Commander’s caressing gaze off him.

The blond smiled, seemingly content with the response. “Good. And don’t be afraid to approach me.” He leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice even more to an impossibly comforting near-purr, “I don’t bite.” He grinned reassuringly.

Perhaps I’d rather you did, Dorian thought, admiring the Commander’s gait as he strode off, heading for his office.

In the barracks Dorian chose a bed, near to the wall to prop his staff and hang his pack, filled only with a few herbs for mixing potions and a book or two.

Though his sleep was fitful, he woke more or less prepared for training the next morning, those blasted birds even louder in the mountains than Miss Ella's valley farmland. Their loud singing mixed with the shuffle of new troops preparing for training woke Dorian far earlier than he would have liked. But he hurried along, seeing he was one of the last troops to rise, and made it to the training grounds just as the sun rose above the horizon.

He had eyes on him the moment he walked onto the grounds, scared young men and women glaring at him and eyeing the ornament on the end of his staff, watching cautiously as magic flowed through the crystal gem, all originating from Dorian’s fingertips. All the looks, the suspicion, made him feel as though he was not exactly blending in like he had hoped. He scanned his fellow soldiers, finding most were pale. Those with dark skin like his seemed no less acclimated to his presence. Their undertones were all cold blues and greys, making Dorian’s red-brown skin stand out in an unnatural, if stunning, manner against the natives.

As Dorian felt more and more uncomfortable in his own skin for the first time in years, a voice echoed off the fortress walls from behind him.

“You’re late.” Dorian turned to find the Commander stalking toward him, free of his armor and only covered by simple leather trousers. His chest was dusted in scars of all sizes; some reaching from collar bone to hip, one leading Dorian’s eye down a mischievous path to the Commander’s laces.

“Did the bells not wake you? Perhaps I should make that your responsibility; to wake and ring the bells for everyone else to hear? Since they seem not to faze you.”

Dorian scoffed, “I suppose you would like all your men to be late as well, then? If I were in charge of the bells, we’d all be waking half past tea.”

The Commander seemed equally confused and annoyed with Dorian’s flippant nature, seemingly having no respect, no regard for his position.

As he closed the distance in a quick stride, Dorian simply crossing his arms and sighing, almost bored by the interaction, he said lowly, “Fall in line before I make an example out of you.”

Dorian, sifting his words through his head, began carefully evaluating his next move. While he didn’t enjoy being told what to do, and very much enjoyed testing people’s patience, he decided against saying anything at all, taking several steps back and lining up with the other troops.

The Commander relaxed his shoulders, turning slowly to take his place in front of the herd. As he glanced back to face his troops again, and saw Dorian at the front line of their formations, he quickly changed his mind.

“Alright Ser Dorian, since you seem to enjoy being the center of attention, perhaps you would like to help me demonstrate some defensive maneuvers.”

Dorian tensed. While he was proud of his magical knowledge and ability, he knew things the average Ferelden mage most certainly would not. He had to be careful of what spells he used, as not to let on too much or attract attention.

But he relaxed as he saw the Commander reach for an extra sword and shield, gesturing for Dorian to step forward. He stabbed his staff into the ground and sauntered up to take the weapons. As he did, the Commander asked quietly, “You do know which end to hold it by, don’t you?”

Before Dorian could think, he grinned and responded in a flirtatious tone, “I’ve had plenty of experience handling swords, Commander.”

The Commander stared at him blankly as a slight rosy color filled his cheeks, then cleared his throat as he handed the sword off to Dorian.

“How much experience do you have with shield work?” The Commander asked, getting into a proper fighting stance.

Dorian mimicked his movements, obviously less confident with a sword and shield. “Certainly less than with staff blades and staff defense,” he muttered.

The Commander nodded once. “Let us spar—so that I can evaluate what you know—then, we’ll try it again with your staff. All I want you to do is defend.” The troops drew closer, forming a circle like a fighting ring around the two. “Don’t let me into your personal space.”

Dorian wanted to make a suggestive remark about his personal space, but the time was lost as the blond charged at him with speed and an unfair amount of force. Dorian dodged and defended as best he could with what little knowledge he had while the Commander showed no mercy, but ultimately, in only a matter of seconds, the blond had managed to disarm him and enter his space.

They were nearly chest to chest, Dorian breathing somewhat heavily while the Commander hadn’t even broken a sweat.

“Your movements are arrogant,” he announced, loudly for the rest of the troops to hear, “despite having no idea what you are doing, clearly. While half of defense is confidence, not showing your enemy weakness, it is not the whole fight.”

He stepped away from Dorian, acquiring his stance once more. “Again,” the Commander proclaimed, “with your staff this time.”

Dorian smirked as he pulled his staff blade out of the soil, poising himself for a good fight. He knew this was about physical defense, no magic involved, but by the Maker if he wouldn’t fight back.

The Commander once again charged at him, but this time Dorian knew what to do. He twirled his staff, directing the sword’s momentum away and back to the Commander, using his own power against him. Aside from a huff of disapproval, the blond went unfazed, using the off-railed momentum to carry his shield arm forward, bashing Dorian’s staff in an attempt to throw him off balance. But Dorian stabbed his staff blade into the ground, stopping the blond’s shield dead in its tracks. The Commander pressed forward, waiting for Dorian to inevitably lift his staff and take the force.

Rather than lift his staff, Dorian used it as leverage to swing his body around and kick the unsuspecting Commander’s sword from his hand. Unfortunately for Dorian, his opponent was ambidextrous, catching the sword in his left hand and switching the shield to his right. At this point, the Commander was visibly annoyed, putting more force into his blows, testing the mage’s strength. Dorian held his position for as long as he could, motivated by the troops’ shocked mumbling to one another.

Finally, after several minutes, the Commander’s sword came down on the blade of Dorian’s staff, throwing off the momentum and leaving Dorian open for the Commander to once again step into his space.

After this round, however, they were both panting, a sheen of sweat lightly reflecting on the blond’s chest. Dorian kept his eyes up, staring intently into the Commander’s.

“Much better,” He said flatly. “You use your staff as an extension of yourself. You know not only the magical maneuvers, but the physical ones as well. You still need to work on paying more attention to your opponent, and less to your own actions. They should come as second nature, as I’m sure your magic does.” The Commander backed away once again, relaxing his grip on his weapons. “Well done, overall. I’ve worked with and against many mages and, routinely, close combat was their weakness.” He scanned Dorian from head to toe, shrugging slightly. “I wouldn’t go so far as to say I’m impressed, but…” extending his hand out to Dorian, “I respect your ability.”

A nearly collective gasp came from the audience of troops around them, all surprised at Dorian’s redemption. From problem recruit, to Commander-respected mage. Perhaps Dorian had nothing to worry about after all.

He took the blond’s outstretched hand and shook it lightly, bowing his head with thanks and returned respect.

“Now then,” the Commander signaled for the troops to regroup into previous formation, “While we have mages among our ranks, many of you would not find the maneuvers performed by Ser Dorian particularly useful, unless you plan on fighting nonlethally.” A quiet chuckle simmered through the troops.

“For the majority of your sakes, I will have my associate Cassandra help me with your training. I warn you, she is a stickler for form. And rightfully so, as it could mean your life…”

The rest of training went by with little incident, other than the occasional calling out and embarrassing of inept recruits. And by the end of the session, nearing lunch, everyone was exhausted.

As the mass headed off for the dining hall, dismissed reluctantly by the Lady Seeker, Dorian saw from the corner of his eye the Commander and Seeker talking in hushed voices, glancing occasionally in his direction.

I’ll speak with him, he made out from the Commander’s lip movements. After nodding and donning a linen shirt, Dorian watched from his peripheral vision as the blond closed in on him.

“Ser Dorian,” he placed a light hand on the mage’s shoulder, “Could I speak with you a moment?”

Dorian acted surprised, even going so far as to ask, “Am I in some sort of trouble?”

The Commander chuckled, “Not at all. Performing well in front of your peers in nothing to be punished for. However, on the topic of your performance, I wanted to ask you a few questions.”

Dorian’s breath hitched. Kaffas, they’re getting suspicious, he thought to himself, trying not to appear alarmed.

The Commander led him away from the hungry glob of languid recruits and in the direction of a more private location, beginning to ask several questions along the way.

“So, if you don’t mind my asking, where did you learn to fight with a staff?” he asked nonchalantly, hands clasped behind his back in a relaxed manner.

“I went to a very prestigious academy; one where our days were filled with nothing but magical and alchemical training. More general teachings—reading, writing, arithmetic—were expected to be taught in the household between school hours.” Dorian explained, leaving out any details that could be traced to Tevinter.

The Commander nodded, humming in understanding before asking, “In Orlais? I read in your recruitment form you were born and raised there.”

“Indeed,” Dorian knew quite a bit about Orlais, and spoke a bit of Orlesian, so he supposed he could continue this lie rather well. “I was lucky to be born to a noble family.”

“I’ve never heard of the Rider family.” The Commander stated bluntly, making Dorian’s heart jump a little.

“Well,” he began, spinning a believable story in his head, “we were unfortunately, when I was rather young, stripped of our finances by a business partner who ran off with my parents’ money. The rest appears to be history.”

The Commander narrowed his eyes, taking Dorian up and down once again. “I prefer my history well documented.”

Before Dorian could comment, a runner jogged toward them, handing off a stack of papers.

“Commander! New reports for you, Ser. Spymaster says they’re not urgent, but could be useful.”

The blond sighed and skimmed several of the papers, a lock of frazzled hair falling in front of his face. He rolled his eyes, handing the papers back to the runner, “Useful seems an over statement. Jim, take these to my office and tell Leliana, respectfully, this matter is a waste of my time.”

The runner nervously nodded, jogging off from whence he came. The Commander sighed and pressed his thumb to the bridge of his nose as he thought aloud quietly, “I am not the negotiator, that is Josephine’s job and it should remain her job if we are all to stay sane…”

He dropped his hand after a moment with a deep sigh before turning to Dorian. “I apologize, Ser Dorian, but I’ve work to do before the next bout of training. If you’ll excuse me.”

“Certainly, Commander…?” Dorian waited for a reply.

“Cullen. Always Commander Cullen, of course.”

“Of course,” Dorian agreed. “Until this afternoon, Commander Cullen.” He gave a graceful bow, the Commander simply ducking his head slightly in acknowledgement before they parted ways.

__________

Dorian tossed and turned that night, nerves and nightmares drilling deep into his conscience. He woke with a start, finding his fellow troops all still asleep, gentle blue moonlight shining through the slit of a window. Determined to clear his mind and be able to go back to sleep before training that morning, Dorian set off for the battlements.

After climbing the steps, passing the few troops on night watch, Dorian found a good spot to clear his head, out of the path of patrolling guards. He leaned against the stone wall and hung his head over, propping himself up on his elbows. He sighed, hoping his nerves would leave with his breath and leave him his confident self once again. But the worry continued; worry about being found out, about being dragged back home, about dying a face in the crowd, no one knowing him for what he wanted to stand for. A man against the fear mongering of his homeland, a man against the all-ruling wants of the Imperium, the good Tevinter.

But above all else, he worried about dying before he could prove to himself that he deserved all that recognition.

Just as the feeling of existentialism began to consume him, he heard a sudden voice from behind him, gentle and light. Soft, in a way.

“Shouldn’t you be getting some rest? You trained hard yesterday, you deserve it.”

Dorian jumped and turned to see the person speaking to him. He found the Commander, once again in linens, leaning in the doorway to what Dorian assumed was his office.

“I don’t mean to interrupt your brooding,” Cullen said apologetically, coming to lean against the battlement walls as well. “I heard walking around out here, and the guards don’t patrol this close to my office. I thought maybe there was trouble. Was I correct?”

Dorian smiled gently, looking out over the mountains again, “If I’m deserving of a rest, you are far beyond deserving. Letting recruits wail on you for hours? You must be tired.”

Cullen took a deep breath, letting it out as he spoke, “They don’t know nearly enough to have actually done any damage. I’ve certainly taken worse.”

They stayed silent for a moment before Cullen spoke again, “But you didn’t answer me.”

Dorian looked at him curiously.

“Is there trouble?”

Dorian chuckled, letting out a breathy laugh and ducking his head. “No, I’m just a bit sleepless. It’s nothing new, nothing I can’t cope with.”

Cullen nodded, quiet for a moment, before saying, “With all due respect, Ser Dorian, I don’t believe you.”

Those were not words Dorian needed to hear. They only added to his nervousness over being found out. He wanted to get out of there, quickly. “I suppose I should head off then, back to bed. Don’t want to be late for morning training again.”

“There’s no curfew, you know. Well, the tavern closes an hour after sunset, but there’s no rule saying you can’t wander the grounds.”

Dorian wasn’t sure how to continue, still poised to walk away.

“Would you mind if we talked a moment?” Cullen asked innocently, gesturing to his office.

Dorian reluctantly entered the Commander’s office and took a seat.

“Our ambassador looked into your ‘noble family’, by the way.” Cullen uttered as he closed the door, sauntering over to his desk and pulling Dorian’s recruitment form out to place in front of the mage.

He was fucked, he knew it. They found out who he really was and they were going to assume he was a Venatori spy, interrogate him for information, maybe even kill him.

“Only noble Rider family in Orlais was over two hundred years ago and they died out from inherited illness. So…” Cullen lowered himself into his seat, propping his elbows on the desk and placing his head on his wound hands, “Why did you lie?”

Dorian looked through the papers in front of him; his recruitment form, his payment contract, the information dug up on the Riders, but found nothing about his true identity. Did they not figure out who he really was? Was Cullen keeping the information from him to catch him in another lie? Dorian took a deep breath before testing his luck.

“I was staying with an old friend of mine in the Hinterlands when your recruiters came knocking. My friend manages her land all on her own—it isn’t much, but she’s not as spry as younger folk—and I came to help her. The recruiters were insistent that she ‘volunteer’ or that she sign for a draft. Obviously, she can’t leave her crops and animals to parish, so I offered to go in her place, on behalf of her household.”

Dorian held his breath, waiting for Cullen to react.

The blond took a breath before restating, “Your friend is older and you wanted to make sure she wouldn’t lose her land by being drafted?”

Dorian nodded, still barely breathing.

Cullen pursed his lips and slowly bobbed his head, glancing back down to Dorian’s papers.

Finally, he opened his mouth to speak, “My recruiters were trying to force her to volunteer? Or sign for the draft? That goes against their orders, which are, simply, to spread the word of our cause and take those who volunteer for a draft, if necessary, or to join the ranks.”

Dorian let out his breath, slowly as to not let on how truly relieved he was. Cullen had not only accepted his story, but truly seemed to believe it. Not all of it was a lie, in fact most of it was true, if not laid in truth.

“Let me ask next, did you give us her name when volunteering? Or some other alias?” Cullen raised his brows like a disappointed parent catching their child in a lie.

Dorian knew giving his real name would give him away and possibly get him killed, so he instead continued the lie. “No, my name is Dorian Rider, however I don’t believe there’s any relation to the Orlesian family. As far as I know, my roots are in Antiva. However, I do not know much about my heritage. My family…” He cringed at the little truth he was about to slip in, “My family disowned me for not following their life plans for me. I only know where my parents were born.”

Cullen’s eyes went soft, emotion slipping through his interrogation mask. “I…I am truly sorry. That’s something I’ve been lucky enough to never have experienced. I won’t press the matter.”

Dorian nodded in thanks, his heart finally settling.

“While your intent was in good standing,” Cullen said, running his hands through his natural curls, “I must still report this as misconduct. You could have worse; I’m going rather easy on you for this sort of misdemeanor. I expect I will not regret my decision, Ser Dorian?”

Dorian nodded, just relieved the whole confrontation was over.

“Good, then I believe everything is settled,” Cullen stated, leading Dorian to the door.

As Dorian began to hurry off, Cullen called after him, “And Ser Dorian!”

Dorian turned to listen.

“I said while sparring I would not go so far as to say I was impressed with your performance. It seems I told a bit of a lie myself.”

Cullen gave a knowing look before closing the door to his office.

__________

After several days of following a simple routine—getting up at the arse-crack of dawn, training for the morning, eating lunch, then training until sundown—Dorian began to feel comfortable with his new surroundings. Since his impressive display sparring with the Commander, people had begun to respect him, addressing him politely as he passed, even if Dorian was hardly their acquaintance. He felt good, confident in himself once again, and sure his secret was completely safe.

As he wandered the courtyard, clearing his mind after a lackluster lunch with the other recruits, Dorian noticed an elf with a powerful stance, Dalish markings on his skin, approaching him with purpose in his step.

“Dorian Rider, yes? I’ve heard much about you from your fellow troops; and our Commander himself.”

“Inquisitor!” Dorian suddenly realized, only having seen the man from a distance before now, “It’s an honor. And I’m happy to have good things said about me.” He bowed, low and respectful.

The elf scoffed, “Please, enough with the formalities. I was hoping to speak with you, if I could.” He gestured forward, in the direction of the main hall.

“Of course,” Dorian answered as he followed, only a slight nervousness rising in his chest.

When they arrived in the hall, few people occupying the echoing space, the Inquisitor began to ask, “From all I’ve seen and heard, you have quite a talent for magic and fighting. While all mages are technically apostates now, I understand you were an apostate before all the in-fighting broke out. Is that correct?”

Dorian nodded, thinking he knew where this was going. “I was indeed. While I won’t claim to be better than a Circle mage, I do believe I had the opportunity to learn many magic forms the Chantry might frown on. Excluding blood magic, of course. A disgusting use of power.” Dorian shuddered slightly, remembering its uses in Tevinter politics.

“Absolutely. You seem an upstanding man, one who would not abuse the privilege of living outside the Circle.” The Inquisitor sauntered slowly toward a door at the side of the hall, pushing it open and beckoning Dorian through. Dorian obliged, waiting in the short corridor before holding the second door open for the elf.

“Among my people blood magic is considered savage and unnatural, as many others feel, Circle mage or no. While I believe the Circle has a place, I do not believe it is to control or constrict mages, but to teach them and help them learn to control themselves and their own power. From what Commander Cullen has told me about Kirkwall, I think the Circle has driven more mages to consider dark magicks as a means to escape. Horrifying things they may never have even conceived of if given more freedom.”

The elf seemed oddly adamant for a non-mage, making Dorian slightly suspicious as to where the conversation was headed. But as the Inquisitor led them to a massive room with a massive map table, Dorian felt there would be no trouble today.

Several men stood behind the map table, some Dorian recognized as the Inquisitor’s associates, and others he’d seen around Skyhold with no context as to who they were.

“I’d like to introduce you to some of my most trusted members and friends of the Inquisition.” The elf gestured forward with a sweeping motion, triggering everyone to bow their heads and smile.

“Firstly, Solas, who has been with us from the beginning, helping me cope with the Anchor and studying its power.”

The tall slender elf smiled softly, “It is a pleasure, Ser Dorian.”

“Secondly—of course you know him—our Commander, Cullen, leader of our forces, ex-Templar, currently slowly dying from lyrium withdrawal he never told me about.” The Inquisitor eyed him angrily as the Commander gave a sheepish smile, muttering some sort of apology.

“And of course, the roguish duo of Varric and his little shadow Cole.”

The Dwarf waved as he continued to tune up his crossbow, saying casually, “Good to meet you, pretty boy.”

The young man behind him, on the other hand, looked Dorian curiously in the eyes before uttering, “You’re different inside your head: lacking, loathing, lonely; soft words never enough, but harsh words too harsh to heal.”

Dorian gave the Inquisitor a side glance, eyes wide with surprise. “Um, yeah. He does…that.” The Inquisitor apologized.

Dorian nodded tentatively to each of them before saying quietly to the Inquisitor, “While it’s lovely to meet everyone, I’m not quite sure I understand what this is about.”

The elf chuckled as he approached the war table and walked around to join his colleagues on the other side. “I, Eridan Levellan, would like to personally induct you into my inner circle, to join me and my allies—and closest friends—in the monumental task of keeping the Inquisition afloat and keeping our allies, and prospective allies, satisfied and compliant.”

Dorian’s jaw fell open in shock, meaning to say something, but at a loss for words.

The Inquisitor laughed again, “Allow me to explain my reasoning: Cullen and Cassandra told me about your skill with fighting and magic after your first display, and have kept me up to date on your progress and ability as it’s been relieved to us through your training. While I am incredibly glad to have you among our forces, I think your skill could be better put to use in the field, when it’s just me and a small group out and about.”

He pulled Cole and Varric into his side, arms around their shoulders and a hand on Solas’s arm as he stated, “While I have other members in my inner circle, these three are the ones who most often join me on my personal missions. Providing immediate aid, closing rifts, dealing with people’s weird family problems in exchange for supplies and alliance—we see it all, and it’s all dangerous. I think I could use someone with your talent out with me, watching my back!”

The short, and surprisingly stocky elf seemed incredibly excited about the concept, raising his eyebrows to question Dorian, imploring him to accept the offer.

When Dorian hesitated, Solas spoke up, voice soft and reassuring, “If I am to have an opinion in the matter, I would be delighted to work with another mage interested in the magicks not taught within any Circle. As an apostate myself, I chose to study spirits and ancient magicks, finding lost pieces of history in the fade as I dreamt. Many mages from the Circle believe this means I have made pacts with demons, and explaining my innocent intentions becomes tiresome. I, for one, would welcome the addition of a like minded apostate into our ranks.”

“The only apostate I ever met escaped from the Circle and it’s all he ever talked about. ‘Templars this, rebellion that.’ Had an insane spirit living in him, too. I’d like to spend time with less crazy mages,” Varric chimed in.

“You think about acceptance, but have never come to expect it. I’ve seen the dangers, lived with them. If that’s acceptance, I would have to change for it. Would I be myself after that?...” Cole was suddenly next to him, despite being under the Inquisitor’s arm only a second ago.

“Sweet Andra—! Can you not do that?” Dorian exclaimed, almost jumping away.

“Don’t mind him. He’s some kind of ‘good’ spirit. He doesn’t really understand boundaries.” The Inquisitor said, coming around the war table to pull Cole away by the wrist.

Cullen’s voice, the softest of everyone’s, gained Dorian’s attention immediately, “As the one who recommended this to begin with, I of course think you should accept. You have a wonderful talent that I can’t use among my troops. It seems a pity to waste it under my command.” He gave an encouraging smile, making Dorian’s mind up instantly.

“Inquisitor, it would be an honor to be part of your inner circle. I accept.”

The Inquisitor practically cheered, ushering everyone out so he could explain what would be expected of Dorian. Dorian listened intently, making sure to joke with the elf to gain his trust and form a feeling of comradery.

After stepping out of the war room, Dorian found Cullen waiting for him, leaning against the ambassador’s empty desk, standing upright when Dorian entered the room.

“I’m happy to hear you’ll be traveling with the Inquisitor from now on. As I said before, I truly think your skills will be better suited in the field.” Cullen extended his hand to offer congratulations.

Dorian took it in a confident grasp, giving a single solid shake. “I appreciate the referral. I’m certain it will surprise you to hear, but not many people appreciate my efforts.”

Cullen chuckled, “I can certainly relate; there have been times in my life where I felt the same. Looking back…” the Commander trailed off slightly, “Well, I’m not so certain anymore that my efforts deserved to be appreciated.”

“I assume you mean your time as a Templar?”

The blond sighed, rubbing nervously at the back of his neck, “Yes. I followed faithfully, but I realize now I was not following the right path.”

Dorian smiled, understanding completely, “Believe me, Commander, I know the feeling.”

They were both quiet for a moment before Cullen asked, shyly, “Would you mind if I asked…?”

“My family. What my family had planned for me, for the rest of my life. I followed as faithfully as I could until…” Dorian looked at his feet, eyes full of pain, trying to avoid Cullen noticing. “Until I was older and understood what they expected of me. After I dared to defy them one too many times…”

Dorian stopped. He couldn’t say anymore. Yes, it might give him away, but that wasn’t why he couldn’t speak. He knew, he remembered what his father was willing to do to change his preferences, and it hurt too much to say out loud. The man he thought had his best interests at heart turned out to only care about himself. Saying it out loud was like admitting a truth Dorian didn’t want to accept.

Cullen tried to look him in the eyes, touching his hand ever so gently to gain his attention. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s alright, I’m learning to accept it. It just…isn’t fun to talk about.” Dorian gave a pained smile.

Cullen sighed, dropping his hand from Dorian’s in favor of rubbing at his neck again, “I know. One’s past shapes who they are and who they become. Sometimes it’s difficult to accept who you were…”

Dorian saw the familiarity in Cullen’s gaze—distant and unsure—and heard the regret in his tone, but decided not to push the matter.

“Or, uh, who your parents were, I mean. I-I’m sure you’ve always been this wonderful. A wonderful person, that is! Good, uh, good moral standing, and all that.” Cullen’s face was very quickly getting red as he tried to avoid eye contact and stutter through his explanation.

Dorian chuckled, taking pity on the blond. “I understood what you meant, Commander, no worries.”

“Cullen.”

“Pardon?”

The Commander looked up suddenly, looking directly into Dorian’s eyes. He hadn’t noticed before that they were nearly gold. “Call me Cullen. You’re no longer under my command, so please: just Cullen.” He smiled so genuinely that Dorian almost forgot to respond.

“Oh, yes, well…” he laughed a little more to fill the silence as he thought. “I suppose I like the title. It suits you.”

Cullen smiled sheepishly, the blush coming back, less strong this time. “As you wish, Ser Dorian.”

Dorian rolled his eyes, shifting his weight to a more casual stance, finally feeling comfortable, “Now you’re just teasing me.”

Cullen poorly faked a look of offence, “Tease? Never!”

“Mm, you should work on your poker face, Commander.” Dorian couldn’t help but smile a bit.

Cullen laughed with him before the two fell silent again, neither wanting to leave, but neither knowing what to say.

“I…I wanted to ask a while ago, but I didn’t want the other recruits to think I was giving you special treatment: would you care to continue sparring when neither of us is busy? As odd as it may sound, I enjoyed the challenge.” Cullen seemed to be looking anywhere but ahead, avoiding Dorian’s eyes.

Dorian grinned, also avoiding eye contact, feeling like a childish school boy dodging around outright flirting with one another. “I would like that, actually.”

The two agreed on a time and place, and parted ways for the rest of the day. Dorian wandered a while until he saw the Inquisitor again, casually asking about continuing to sleep in the barracks.

“Oh! We can find you more private quarters if you like. I certainly wouldn’t want to live with a bunch of other people if I didn’t have to. Talk to Josephine, our Ambassador; she’ll find an open room for you.”

And so Dorian did, and by the end of the day, he had moved his belongings to a small—but comfortable—room with a view of the tavern and gardens. Right off the side of the main hall, and up a few flights of stairs, Dorian’s door opened to a balcony where he could see everything. While he knew these rooms were meant for visiting guests, and it may not be a permanent living situation, he had to admit it felt good to have his own space again. He did what had to be done to survive—slept in inns, travelers’ camps, worked odd jobs before finding Miss Ella’s farm— but it certainly wasn’t the lifestyle he was used to.

But that lifestyle was far out of reach now. As he sat on the edge of his new bed, mindlessly sorting his collection of magical trinkets, he wondered if life would have been better if he went along with his family’s plan to begin with. Marry the girl, have another mage son, continue living a lie for the rest of his life. He often told himself it would have been easier, but that wasn’t true. How could it be easy to deny your true self for your entire life? How could it be easy to force yourself to have sex with someone you could never be attracted to until you finally had a child?

How could it be easier than leaving everything you’ve ever known behind? That was difficult enough on its own.

“I don’t know;” he thought aloud, “how could it be harder?”

“Harder?”

Dorian jumped, conjuring a small flame in his palm on instinct, letting it fizzle as he saw the Commander in the doorway, leaning casually on the doorframe.

“Hey, it’s alright,” Cullen said, extending his hand out as he carefully approached, “I didn’t mean to frighten you. I just thought I would come see how you were adjusting. All this, it must be a bit of a transition.”

Dorian’s palm quickly cooled as he let out a long breath, slowly calming down from the scare. “It certainly is. I’m not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, but it seems so sudden. Too sudden.”

Cullen chuckled, “I’d say you’ve earned it. But of course I would, I made the suggestion. How do you feel about it all?” he cocked his head on a slight angle, like a curious dog.

Dorian gestured for the Commander to sit next to him, the blond taking a tentative seat. “It’s odd. Coming here the way I did. Knowing what I came from—money, power, having to exceed expectations if you wanted to get anywhere in life…it was so stressful, and running away from it all was so stressful. And now…”

Dorian turned his head to see Cullen’s innocent golden eyes filled with understanding, knowing just as well what it was like to run from the only life you’d ever known. He found himself entranced, forgetting everything as he lost himself in wisdom-filled, pained eyes that reminded him of his own, a tired glaze darkening the once bright shine of hope they held years ago.

“And now?” Cullen repeated, hardly voicing the words.

The moment felt so intimate; the bed was somewhat small, so they were seated close, leaning toward each other. Cullen’s hand was pressed to the bed to support him as he leaned, placed right behind Dorian. It almost felt like they were embraced without touching each other. He felt comfortable, so comfortable he couldn’t even bring himself to question what was happening. So he simply let the moment linger. It didn’t feel awkward, it didn’t feel drawn out. It just felt…comfortable.

It seemed like an eternity before Cullen’s leg gently bumped his, the blond letting the tips of his fingers rest on Dorian’s thigh. He wasn’t sure what the intent of the action was, but it only made Dorian lose himself more. At first he was just lost in the ex-Templar’s eyes. Now he could see the entirety of him, inside and out. And after scanning over his body, Dorian’s eyes locked on to the blond’s lips. The room froze, time froze. Dorian saw Cullen’s adam’s apple bob as he swallowed harshly, obviously wanting more than just Dorian’s eyes on his lips.

Dorian let himself move closer, just a bit, and Cullen did the same.

“And now,” Dorian’s voice was somewhere below a whisper, “things almost feel easy.”

“They could be,” Cullen’s voice was even, giving nothing away. Dorian wished there was some sort of hoarseness, wobbliness, something in his voice that made it clear what was happening here.

But Dorian wasn’t sure. He needed to be certain before he outed himself here. In Ferelden, in the Inquisition, in this moment with Cullen. He needed to be certain.

So he backed off, leaning away again and closing his eyes. He heard the Commander sigh next to him and clear his throat, shifting away.

“You sound like you have a lot on your mind,” Cullen sounded disappointed, but by this point Dorian had already convinced himself not taking a chance was the better course of action.

“I can leave you with your thoughts, if you like?”

“For now,” Dorian sighed, “That might be best.”

Cullen nodded, standing and heading for the door. “Until tomorrow?” he asked, audibly confused about their situation.

Dorian smiled gently, “Until tomorrow, Commander.”

__________

Dorian slept only a few hours that night, anxious and almost excited for Cullen and his appointment. He wore something more or less appropriate for sparring, forgoing his Inquisition sanctioned armor in favor of his own. It fit his form in a much more flattering way, and the magical embellishments made it more practical as well. He had a bounce to his step as he exited his room, using his staff halfheartedly like a walking stick as he went.

Before he reached the training grounds, Dorian took the time to admire how empty Skyhold felt. There were a few soldiers on the battlement, tired runners getting back from late errands, even two recruits who thought they were being stealthy while stealing a bottle of ale from the closed tavern. They noticed him, swearing as they sprinted off into the bushes to enjoy their find, and Dorian couldn’t help but chuckle at their youthful behavior.

He felt content. Things were going well. He knew he shouldn’t let his guard down, but Dorian couldn’t force himself to be paranoid in this peaceful moment an hour before dawn. He looked to the sky to see the scar and the moon almost perfectly aligned, about halfway set. He had time.

Just as he took a deep breath, a gentle voice barely rocked him.

“Fancy meeting you here. Any reason you’re up so early?”

Dorian turned to see Cullen with a smirk on his lips and still in full armor, despite normally dressing down to train and spar.

“I believe we had a date, Commander. It appears you may have forgotten, from your dress.” Dorian let Cullen notice as he purposefully drug his gaze over the blond’s physic, deciding against licking his lips. What about the wee hours of the morning made Dorian so openly flirtatious, he would never know. Even when it came to men who otherwise wouldn’t be his first choice, Dorian was always more open minded at the early hours.

Cullen raised a brow under the sensual scrutiny, “Oh, I haven’t forgotten. And I could say the same for you, in your…intricate attire.” He dropped his sword and shield next to him on the ground as he began to remove his upper armor, leaving his boots and trousers alone.

“Oh, do you like it? I would have brought it out sooner if we weren’t made to wear uniforms under your command. Boring, ugly uniforms.” Dorian shuddered dramatically.

Cullen shook his head and smirked as he loosely held his weapons, now shirtless and prepared to spar. “I didn’t assign those uniforms, you can take that up with the Inquisitor. However, I doubt your armor would be very practical when rushing into battle. Too many belts.” He eyed Dorian’s armor, trying to figure out how it worked.

Dorian adopted a pose to show quite a bit of his body, showing himself and the armor off at once. “It’s not nearly as complicated as it looks.” Stated matter-of-factly, before dipping his voice to a more sultry tone, “I could show you if you like. With practice, you could become quite proficient. It doesn’t take me much time to strip out of it all.”

His eyes were lidded as he watched Cullen. The Commander’s expression hardly changed as he said, oh so quietly as usual, “Perhaps I’ll keep that in mind.”

He hadn’t hesitated with his response, and Dorian found himself caught off guard at Cullen’s boldness. Maybe the morning hours had an effect on him as well.

“Well then,” he said, squaring up to Dorian, “How shall we start?”

Dorian followed his lead, “Magic or no magic?”

“None yet. I haven’t had to defend against magic without my—what did you call them? ‘Little Templar tricks’?—in quite some time. I don’t want either of us to get hurt. Perhaps when we have some supervision.”

Dorian sighed and said in an overly exasperated tone, “Shame; I was rather hoping these would be…private sessions.” He winked.

Cullen’s face heated, but it didn’t stop him from responding, “Out in the courtyard? This is hardly private. Now, if you ever show me how to work that ‘armor’ of yours; that I’d consider a private session.”

The morning was chilly, dew freezing on to the grass, but it was warm enough that Dorian should not have visibly shivered. He couldn’t pull any excuse when Cullen noticed. It was obvious what was happening. The blond smirked at him, Dorian trying not to think about the effect Cullen’s flirtations had on him. Not here, and certainly not now. Dorian had designed his armor himself, and liked that it fit in a way that left few things to the imagination, but if this sparring session got a little too handsy, Dorian may be wishing he had worn the Inquisition’s armor instead.

Thankfully, Cullen didn’t mention Dorian’s reaction, and simply started their training, leading with the initial blow as always. Dorian could dodge and throw up wards like there was no tomorrow, but he wanted to train his defense, not just evasion. So he used his staff to block and parry Cullen’s attacks, focusing his mind on observing his opponent, just as Cullen had been telling him to.

Before long, Dorian was focusing less and less on Cullen’s form, attack patterns, or eye line, and more on his body, movement, and gaze.

His eyes seemed sharp, knowing exactly where he wanted to land a blow. His body was under full control, every muscle accounted for and flowing to where his gaze wanted them. He moved with such grace for a warrior; surprisingly loose and agile for all his heavy armor and muscle build.

Dorian had continued to successfully dodge and defend while in his trance, but he hadn’t been holding his ground very well, slowly backing up and losing awareness of where his feet were.

Inevitably, his foot landed on uneven ground and he slipped. But long before he would have hit the ground, Cullen wrapped his arm around the mage’s waist and pulled him back up, their chests flush.

Dorian was tense, not even having realized he’d been falling until Cullen pulled him back. He returned from his thoughts when he heard Cullen’s voice say with an incredible tenderness, “I’ve got you.”

“You certainly have…”

Cullen cocked a brow, gentle smile still donned, as he waited for Dorian to make a move. He wasn’t letting go until Dorian told him to, and Dorian finally had the confirmation he needed to take the risk of making said move. His body relaxed against the Commander’s as he let his arms slide between them, nimble fingers tracing up Cullen’s marred chest. Dorian let his hands rest on either side of the blond’s neck, slowly pulling him forward to let their lips meet.

But just as their lips brushed together, they heard footsteps skid to a halt in front of them.

Cullen sighed and turned his head, growling with frustration, “What!?”

The troop looked stunned, having only just realized what she walked up on. When she failed to answer, the Commander let go of Dorian’s waist and marched slowly, intimidatingly toward the recruit, nostrils flared and steps heavy. The young woman backed away with her hands close to her face as if Cullen might actually hurt her. Dorian couldn’t blame her for thinking he might; the blond certainly wasn’t calm.

“I-I’m so sorry Ser, I just w-wanted to be e-early—”

“What do you think the bells are for? So you can wake up before them? If you showed up to battle early, do you know what would happen?”

“I don’t—”

“It would be you against an army, with your fellow soldiers miles behind you. You would be dead before you even had time to scream.”

The poor girl was shaking by this point, trying to stutter an apology through wobbly breath.

Cullen closed his eyes tightly, grumbling as he pressed his thumb and forefinger to the bridge of his nose. “While I appreciate your incentive,” he began after he calmed down, “I expect you all here exactly when I say. Not a second later, nor a second sooner. Don’t be early, be on time.”

He looked apologetically to the girl as she continued to quiver. Cullen placed a hand on her shoulder and turned her around, gently prodding her back toward the barracks. She walked off slowly, still in shock.

Dorian smiled and shook his head, arms crossed, as Cullen sauntered back over to him with an embarrassed blush, rubbing at the back of his neck.

“That poor young woman is going to have nightmares” Dorian looked at Cullen accusingly, but he couldn’t help smiling at how ridiculous the whole situation was.

“I’m going to have to apologize to her later. I think I ruined the moment more than her seeing us did.” Cullen’s blush reached from the tips of his ears all the way down his neck and to the bottom of his collarbone.

Dorian chuckled and stepped closer to Cullen again, placing a hand on his cheek only to be greeted with the heat of his blush. “Perhaps we can bring it back before the bells. Unless you’d like to frighten a few more of your troops this morning? Show them who’s boss, etcetera?”

Cullen scoffed a little, but he was smiling. How could he not be, when Dorian was gently caressing his face and coaxing him into a kiss? He replaced his hand on Dorian’s waist and pressed against him, the mage pulling Cullen in tighter by the biceps.

And, finally, their lips met. Dorian meant for it to be rather chaste, leaving Cullen wanting more, but he couldn’t pull himself away. It wasn’t the same kiss he had gotten a hundred times in Tevinter. It wasn’t a formality during a loveless night together. This kiss was warm and soft, tender and compassionate, much like the man giving it.

Dorian’s hands slid up Cullen’s arms to hold his neck firmly, for fear the blond might pull away before Dorian had gotten the chance to relish the kiss. Cullen let his shield clatter to the ground, wrapping both arms tightly around the mage, hands splayed across his back, trying to feel through the armor. For a moment, Dorian considered removing the upper portion of his armor, so the two could be skin to skin, and he could feel Cullen’s callused hands up and down his back. By the Maker, that’s all he wanted in the moment, but he forced himself to save the stripping for somewhere other than the training grounds.

It almost felt like it lasted for hours by the intensity and the way the sun had risen over the fortress walls in the meantime. What finally broke the kiss was the striking ringing of the morning bells sounding Skyhold to wake up. Both men jumped at the sound, completely forgetting their surroundings while locked in each other’s embrace.

Dorian’s surprised eyes locked with Cullen’s with a matching expression, and both couldn’t help but laugh at their reaction. Cullen’s arms were still around Dorian’s waist, and Dorian’s draped over the Commander’s shoulders comfortably. It wasn’t until the men caught a glimpse of approaching grounds keepers that their embrace fell away, standing back awkwardly from one another before they were discovered.

“I…”

Cullen raised his eyebrows, waiting for Dorian to say something, because he was too stunned to do it himself.

“Thank you. For the sparring, that is. I…enjoyed it.” Dorian didn’t want to believe he was blushing, but he knew blood was rushing to his face.

Cullen smiled, only extending his hand in response. Dorian took Cullen’s hand in a firm grasp, giving a single solid shake. They stared at one another for a moment before Cullen stepped forward, his hold becoming gentle and soft. Eyes still locked with Dorian’s, he pressed a lasting kiss to the back of the man’s hand, the gesture holding more emotion than Dorian knew how to respond to. So, instead, he just smiled and ducked his head.

“So did I.” Cullen said lightly bringing their entwined hands away from his lips.

__________

His mind was in shambles, there was no way he could focus with his heart and head racing like this. Adrenaline had his hands shaking and his legs restless, so he paced. And paced and paced, around the room like it was a stage and all his anxiety and fears were the actors in a play.

But all these were real. Far too real for comfort.

Dorian exasperatedly threw open his door, rushing to the tavern to drown his panic attack away. As he walked—it was more of a jog, if he was honest—he wondered if there was really any reason to be anxious. Had anyone even seen him snogging the Commander? Would it be as scandalous in Ferelden as in Tevinter? While he doubted it, his anxious mind was having none of his logic.

When he entered the Herald’s Rest, it was fairly loud, the Inquisitor and Bull getting rowdy with the Chargers and a few stray recruits. Good, plenty of noise to drown out his thoughts.

Dorian grabbed a seat and a drink and proceeded to drink his feelings.

He hadn’t been counting, but it must have been an hour after he started drinking—and seven drinks in; he had been counting those—before a large and gruff hand smacked him playfully on the shoulder. Dorian jumped, turning quickly and narrowing his eyes. As he looked up, he saw a massive rack of Qunari horns and muscle looming over him, tankard in hand and bare chested.

“How’s it going? You’re that mage who kicked Cullen’s ass, yeah?” he lowered into a chair across the table.

“Is that how the story’s been spun?” Dorian’s words were melding together as he swirled his drink around in its mug.

“Might as well go with it,” the Oxman shrugged. “Better than being known as the undercover Vint, right?”

Dorian immediately sobered, back straightening and voice dropping low. “Who are you? What do you know and what do you want?”

Bull raised his brow, “Not even denying it? I’m guessing you aren’t normally this careless when you’re sober. Don’t think you would have made it this far.”

“Answer me,” Dorian growled through clenched teeth.

Smiling, Bull leaned his beefy arms on the table, dropping his tone as well. “I’m Ben Hassrath. Don’t worry, it’s no secret, actually I think that’s the first thing I said to the Inquisitor,” Bull cleared his throat and adjusted to lean even farther across the table, “It’s my job to read people, know things they would never admit by just looking at them. Besides, you really don’t think a Qunari would recognize a Vint when he sees one?”

Dorian couldn’t think straight; the way Bull talked quietly felt as if he didn’t want to out anything, but why would he bring this up in the first place if he was going to keep it a secret?

“I can pay whatever you want, I come from a very wealthy family. Just name your price and I’ll—”

Bull held up a hand to stop him, “Yeah, your family might be rich, but you’re not, are you? You ran off with the clothes on your back and something expensive to sell, just in case. Isn’t that right?”

Dorian’s mouth hung open as he tried to process the information, the fact that Bull was hitting every nail on the head with no more information than what he could see on Dorian’s face.

“That’s what I thought. And don’t worry, I don’t need you to pay me. I know you’re not Venatori, just a regular cocky mage boy. You won’t hurt anyone, not on purpose anyway.” He leaned back, crossing his arms in triumph, watching as realization washed over Dorian’s face.

“You’re not going to tell the Inquisitor? Or the Inquisition as a whole?”

Bull shrugged, downing the last of his ale, “No point. You’re keeping this a secret for a reason, and it’s a pretty good one. It’s probably what I would do in your shoes.”

Dorian took a moment, then shook his head, “But…you were in my situation. And you told them who you really are.”

Laughter echoed around the tavern as Bull belted out, “Oh, I guess I did, didn’t I?” He let the last of the laughter trickle out in several smaller huffs. “Well, at least the whole world isn’t at war with the Qunari.”

Dorian rolled his eyes, “For once,” he muttered.

Bull sneered at him, “Watch it, Vint boy.”

Dorian sighed a breath of relief, hanging his head in his hands. He had no reason to trust Bull would keep his word, but for now it was enough.

After a moment of relative silence—as silent as it can get in a tavern after dark—Dorian heard the chair across from him creak as Bull leaned forward again.

“So, uh…I can see you have a lot on your mind. Think I could help clear your head a bit?”

Dorian looked up in near disgust. He wasn’t sure it was genuine, more just to keep up the Qunari-Tevinter feud. “I think not.”

Bull shrugged and stood, sauntering back to his Chargers. “Suit yourself. You know where to find me if you change your mind.”

While Dorian had to admit he was curious, he was far too enamored with the Commander, thinking back over and over on their moment in the courtyard that morning.

__________

Paranoia had filled his bones for days, taking over his thoughts and actions. He wanted nothing more than to be alone, do as little as possible that could draw suspicion. He separated himself from the troops, the inner circle, the Inquisitor. Bull, especially.

And he tried to separate himself from Cullen, a major source of his anxiety. But every time he saw the blond walking toward him, with a sweet crooked smile that acknowledged their mutual feelings without bringing them to the forefront of conversation, Dorian could feel his shoulders relax and his mind declutter.

And, of course, it happened again. As Dorian trained in the courtyard, he could see the Commander’s infamous armor out of the corner of his eye. He just stood, watched as Dorian put his magic on display, not necessarily trying to impress anyone, but being impressive nonetheless.

At that point, Dorian was finding it hard to tell if Cullen was watching him out of adoration or suspicion. In an attempt to hide his nerves, Dorian ceased his casting and gave Cullen an exaggerated side glance.

“Enjoying the show, Commander?” He shifted his weight to one hip as he poked his staff into the ground.

Cullen raised his brows innocently, “Show? I was just admiring your form. A natural gift, I’m sure.”

Dorian strode up to where Cullen was leaning against a wall, “My form, he says.” He was tempted to run a hand down the blond’s chest, but chose not to out of fear of passersby noticing.

“I was simply studying how you move for the next time we spar, that’s all.” Cullen’s cheeks were ever so slightly pink.

Dorian grinned, “Is that all you were ‘studying’?” his voice was low and rumbly.

A few seconds passed before Cullen had to look away, his face turning bright red, unable to control a smile. Dorian had to give him props for how long the Commander managed to flirt back.

“I was actually here to ask if you had a bit of spare time,” Cullen’s blush slowly left his cheeks as he spoke, “but I figured I would wait until you were done.”

Dorian tilted his head a bit, “I might, depending on what for.”

“Chess.”

Was the conversation still flirtatious? Was “chess” a euphemism used in the south that Dorian wasn’t aware of?

“Chess?”

Cullen chuckled, “Yes, it’s something I like to do to clear my head, and you’ve seemed…full-headed, let’s say, as of late.”

Dorian huffed a laugh, “That would be one way to put it, yes.”

Cullen smiled and gestured to the garden, “Shall we, then?”

They didn’t say much as they walked to the garden, but Cullen began to explain as he pulled out Dorian’s chair for him, “My sister and I used to play chess against each other in hopes of beating our father one day.” He walked around to take his seat once Dorian was settled. “Eventually, she became even better at the game than Dad, so the new goal was for me to beat her. My brother and I practiced for months, hoping one of us would be able to beat her at least once. The look on her face when I finally won…”

The memory of triumph put the sweetest, most juvenile smile on Cullen’s scarred lips. Dorian couldn’t help but inquire, “A girl and two boys? Sounds like you parents had their work cut out for them.”

“Two girls and two boys, actually. Mia is the eldest, Rosalie is the youngest. I’m the older of us boys, however. Branson is a few years younger than me.”

Dorian scoffed with shock, “Quite a large family, isn’t it? And to think, I have no entertaining sibling stories to share.”

“Only child? You must have been spoiled, getting all the attention.” Cullen moved a piece on the board to start off the match.

Dorian gave a single harsh laugh. “Hardly; if my parents spent money on me, it was for my schooling. Only the most prestigious academies for their little heir.” Dorian rolled his eyes as he made his move, sitting back and crossing his arms after.

Cullen’s expression was so gentle and sympathetic. Dorian didn’t enjoy being pitied, but he knew Cullen wasn’t the type.

“Children should be free to have fun. It wasn’t fair of them to make you work so hard.”

Dorian felt a deep compressed anger bubble up before he said, “Children should be free to have fun, teenagers should be free to have fun, and I believe adults should be free to have fun. We should all just have fun with whomever we want and no one should have the right to judge us for it.”

Arms crossed over his chest, Dorian took a moment to calm down before looking back up to meet Cullen’s gaze. He seemed shocked and a little worried. Dorian looked at him expectantly with eyebrows raised.

“Uh, yes, I agree!” Cullen rushed to assure him, “I’m just not sure where that came from. Is that what’s been bothering you these past few days?”

Dorian sighed, “I suppose it’s part of it. That has been bothering me for most of my life, truthfully.”

The rest of the match was played in silence, Cullen only interjecting once to call Dorian out for cheating. They both laughed as Dorian replaced the affected piece, but they fell quiet again to finish the game.

“I believe that’s Checkmate.”

Dorian shook his head playfully, “You’re in the right line of work, it seems. Strategy is your forte. Good game, Commander.”

“And to you, Dorian. Care to play another round?”

As much as he was enjoying Cullen’s company, Dorian’s mind was tired from all his worrying—though this had been a good distraction—and he just needed to rest.

“I’m afraid not. I’ve things I wanted to get done today, I’m sorry.”

Cullen rose from his seat, “It’s no problem at all.”

Dorian rose as well, but neither went anywhere. They both just stood, looking softly at the other.

“Um…” Cullen rubbed at the back of his neck. “Could I walk you back to your quarters, then? Or wherever it is you’re headed.”

Dorian felt a flattered smile tease the corner of his lips. “I would like that, yes.”

On the steps up to the loft of the main hall, Dorian cleared his throat before speaking, “I apologize for my outburst earlier. I’ve just been thinking about my life back home recently.”

Cullen shook his head and placed a gentle hand on the mage’s back, “You have nothing to apologize for. I was hoping a game of chess would help clear your mind, so I was expecting you to vent a bit.”

At Dorian’s door Cullen added, “You know, you should feel free to talk to me. About anything. I said that when we first met, and it hasn’t changed just because you’re no longer under my command.”

As he stood in the doorway, Dorian glanced from Cullen to inside his room, wondering if he should act on their mutual attraction, or continue avoiding Cullen forever. How would Cullen be hurt if Dorian’s lies came to light? Not nearly as badly if they were just friends.

Dorian took a deep breath, “Maybe talking would help.”

Cullen smiled loosely.

“Or…” I’m really going through with this, aren’t I? “maybe not talking would help…”

Cullen’s smile fell away as he caught Dorian’s meaning. He didn’t make any move toward or away from Dorian, just like the first time he had been in his room. He simply said, in the quietest voice just above a whisper, “Whatever you’d like, I’m here.”

That was Dorian’s last chance to not do something stupid, but he ignored his racing heart. “I’d like you to come in.”

Cullen took a single stride into the room, closing the door and locking it behind them. He slowly closed the distance between them, placing caring hands on Dorian’s hips, waiting for more invitation.

Dorian let his hands glide up the armor on Cullen’s chest, watching his fingers draw closer to Cullen’s neck, the blond’s eyes studying his unsure expression all the while.

Just as skin met skin, Cullen whispered, “We don’t have to do this. No one’s making us. If you’re not certain—”

“I’m certain about you,” Dorian met his gaze, “I’m only uncertain about letting myself do this. I’ve fucked this up before, I don’t want to fuck it up with you.”

Cullen let out a pained sigh, gently taking Dorian's face in his hands and kissing him. How could something so soft be so intense all at once? Dorian dug his fingers into the fur mantle of Cullen’s armor, walking them backward toward the bed. With each step, a new article of clothing fell away, until they finally fell onto the bed in only their trousers. Cullen’s attention turned to the mage’s neck, Dorian biting his lip at the sensation.

Cullen’s kisses moved up and down and back up slowly and methodically, making Dorian arch off the bed ever so slightly with each touch, subtle noises escaping his lips. Cullen wrapped his tongue around the shell of Dorian’s ear, breathing heavy but quiet, “I can’t begin to tell you how you make me feel. I adore everything about you. I admire your confidence and how unabashedly ‘you’ you are. I can hardly stand to be away from you the more I get to know you.”

Dorian was nearly breathless as Cullen kissed his way down the mage’s chest. It wasn’t until those callused fingers started to loosen his laces that he felt he couldn’t breathe at all.

As Cullen made tantalizing work of Dorian’s last remaining garment, he whispered with raw emotion, “Nothing could change the way I feel about you, Dorian Rider.”

With that, Dorian sat up and grabbed Cullen’s hands to pause their work.

“Stop.”

Cullen’s head shot up to look Dorian in the eye, worry flooding his mind. “Are you ok?” he lifted himself to sit on the edge of the bed next to the mage, caressing his cheek with one hand, stroking his hair with the other.

“You don’t know me, Cullen. You don’t know what you’re saying.”

Confusion washed over Cullen’s features, “I…I don’t understand. I want to know you. I feel like I do, but if I don’t, then I want—”

Dorian shook his head vigorously, “Cullen, you don’t get it! You wouldn’t want me if you knew me.”

Cullen’s eyes went stern, “Dorian, I just told you nothing could change my feelings for you. Nothing. I meant that.”

Dorian removed Cullen’s hand from his face, gently stroking the Commander’s knuckles with his thumb, “Please go, Cullen. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“You could never hurt—”

“Please,” Tears threatened the rims of his eyes as he tried to hold his ground. He wanted nothing more than Cullen’s body against his, but he knew Cullen would only be let down, falling for a fake man Dorian created.

Cullen took a moment to lean his head against Dorian’s, a wordless goodbye, before he rose and began throwing on his armor, scattered from the door to the foot of the bed. Dorian watched his hands as Cullen silently dressed, glancing back periodically to gauge the mage’s feelings.

As he opened the door to leave, Cullen’s weak voice called back, “You can tell me anything, Dorian. I meant that, too.”

“Not anything.”

The room turned cold when Cullen left, and the breeze from the door closing behind his one chance at love shook the tears from Dorian’s eyes, falling onto his shaking hands.

He could have been sitting there for hours—he wouldn’t know—just trying to…well, he wasn’t sure of that either. He felt so numb despite the tears he could feel on his cheeks. He couldn’t decide if he needed a drink, a good sob, or some self-pleasuring. None of them would make him feel better, but they would make him feel something.

He’s gone. Dorian kept repeating in his head. He’s gone, and I sent him away. He confessed his feelings to me, feelings I share, and I told him to go. I can never get him back, I sent him away…

__________

He didn’t remember falling asleep, but when the bells rang out, his eyes opened. They were dry and sore from crying; probably still red, too. Dorian reluctantly dragged his body out from under the fur blankets and sulked over to his mirror. Yes, definitely still red. He didn’t want to go out like that. He didn’t want to go out at all, for fear he might have to face his lost lover.

No, I didn’t lose him. Dorian stared himself down in the mirror, I pushed him away.

Dorian managed to make himself presentable, but he felt like a fraud in his own skin. He had settled into the identity of Dorian Rider, but somehow Cullen had undone all his hard work. Dorian was once again faced with himself, nothing to cover the shame he felt lying to a man who cared for him so deeply. And yet, he made no effort to tell Cullen the truth.

He would only be hurt that I lied to him, things are better this way. Interesting, the way Dorian continued attempting to convince himself he was in the right, when every part of him knew better.

Before he could psychoanalyze any further, Dorian pushed his chair back from the vanity and marched out the door, leaving his doubt at the threshold.

On the walk to the library, he felt like people were looking at him differently. They weren’t, when he looked closer, but nothing felt comfortable anymore. And things only became more uncomfortable when in the main hall Dorian’s eyes locked with golden ones on the other side of the room.

Cullen was entering the hall to the war room, papers tucked under his arm, when he glanced up, double taking before locking his gaze with Dorian’s. He wanted to run to the Commander, throw himself into the blond’s arms and apologize for everything. But melting on the other side of the hall would have to do. Cullen’s stare went soft as he saw the pain in Dorian’s eyes. They both knew the other was aching for their love, but both were too scared.

Cullen finally shook his head and looked down at his boots, disappearing into the ambassador’s office without a word.

Dorian tried to brush it off, tried to focus on his research, but to no avail. His mind was flooding with his mistakes. Though his eyes trekked the page in front of him, though his fingers turned the pages, he processed nothing. His mind was too full.

If there’s any perfect place to brood, it would be a library. Everyone passed Dorian without suspicion, assuming him to be lost in his work, all the while his crisis played out in silence. By the time the sun was setting, Dorian had read several works, but only had a page of notes. He tried to be productive, at least.

Now he had a choice to make: go back to his room and sleep his problems away, or go to the tavern and drink his problems away. Decisions, decisions.

Drowning his sorrows did sound tempting, but Dorian had pretended to be okay around enough people today. Besides, he didn’t need Bull to dive into his subconscious.

Dorian reached his quarters and, just as he prepared to shed his clothes and fall into a fitful sleep, a frantic knock rattled his door. He nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound. He waited a moment, but nothing more happened. Dorian slowly approached the door and unfastened the latch. Right as he did, the door flew open, nearly knocking him back.

Cullen charged into the room with a wrinkled piece of parchment strangled in his fist. He slammed the door behind him, and somehow quietly screamed, “What, by Andraste, is this?!”

He held up the letter just long enough for Dorian to see a familiar signature at the bottom of the page. “Halward Pavus.” Oh, Maker, no.

Dorian’s jaw dropped, eyes wide, hands turning clammy. He had no words, not that Cullen was interested in listening.

Cullen threw the note behind him, roughly grabbing Dorian’s shoulders and pushing him into the vanity behind them. Dorian tried to babble a “this isn’t what it looks like” before the backs of his thighs collided with the table and a pair of harsh, sweet, warm lips crashed against his.

Before he could return the kiss, or even close his eyes, Cullen pulled away and stared him down. “You really had me falling for you. Was that your plan? Get close to the Commander of the Inquisition so you could leach information from me to send back to your Venatori parents?!”

“No, Cullen, I would never—”

“You made me fall in love with you.”

That word took all Dorian’s breath. His previously pounding heart stopped. Tears welled up in his eyes as he realized what he had done, the pain he caused, the trust he’d broken. This is all he wanted to prevent.

“I-I’m so sorry, I never wanted this—”

“You aren’t even going to deny it?!” Cullen stood back from him, disgust in his eyes. That look alone could ruin Dorian.

“Cullen, please! I’m not Venatori! I tried to hide because I knew you’d think a Tevinter mage was Venatori, I knew you would think I was a spy, or a thief, or—”

“Lying only makes you look guiltier, Dorian! Bull told us exactly what he was going to do if he joined the Inquisition and we took him on his word because we were desperate. If you had told us, told me the truth—”

“Would you believe a mage walking through your gates saying, ‘Yes, I am a very powerful necromancer from Tevinter, but I swear I’m not Venatori’?”

Cullen’s face contorted again, backing up further, “You’re a necromancer?”

Dorian should have held his tongue. If he had stayed quiet, would they have given him a trial? But he supposed staying quiet is what led to this mess in the first place.

“Cullen I—please, give me a moment to explain! I never wanted you to get hurt, I didn’t mean to fool you into falling for me. I promise you, I never wanted any of this!”

Cullen’s voice dropped, “You didn’t mean for me to fall in love with you?”

Dorian’s shoulders relaxed, “No—well, yes. I—I hoped you were falling too because, Cullen, I lo—”

Cullen’s jaw clenched and he nearly gripped Dorian again, taking all the strength he had to hold back. “Don’t…say it.”

“But, Cullen, I really do—”

Cullen was on him in an instant, hands digging into his hair, lips locked in a heated kiss. Passion mixed with anger and confusion as the two men lost themselves in physical sensation.

Dorian gasped for air as the kiss finally broke, Cullen asking through panting breath, “Make me believe you. Prove you’re the same man I loved.”

Dorian searched the blond’s face for something that could help him, but he found only hurt and betrayal. “I…I can’t.” he didn’t know how he could fix this, he didn’t think he could.

Tears finally fell from Cullen’s eyes as he looked to the floor, crossing his arms over his chest and turning away, not wanting Dorian to see just how much he’d hurt him.

“Get out. Take your things, food, lyrium potions. I don’t care, take whatever you want, just…”

Dorian held his breath, devastated to hear what came next, “I don’t ever want to see your face again.”

He was crushed, he felt like his legs would give out from under him. But Dorian moved as he was told, gathering his things, tears staining each item he touched.

Cullen refused to look at him, keeping his back to Dorian as the mage packed all he could.

Dorian approached the door slowly, hoping Cullen would stop him to say something more, something that could bring Dorian hope for seeing each other again. But he got no such reply.

“Don’t let anyone see you leave. I’m going to tell them you vanished into the night before I could confront you. They won’t come looking for you. Neither will I.” Cullen’s glazed eyes rose to look into Dorian’s, puffy and bloodshot. “Goodbye, Dorian.”

His heart sank. He felt like he might vomit, if he had any strength. He felt so weak and lost.

“Goodbye, Cullen.”

With those final words, Dorian was gone. He did as Cullen told him, making sure no one witnessed him leave into the dark. With nowhere else to go, he headed toward Miss Ella’s farm. Dorian didn’t know how he would tell her, but he was done lying. He’d hurt the most important person to him already, nothing could be worse.

__________

Cullen stood in the empty room with his eyes closed, hands over his face, wiping away his tears so he could pretend he wasn’t hurt. After taking a moment to compose himself, Cullen began searching the room halfheartedly. He threw open drawers without really looking, making the place look ransacked in a rush. Once he’d scattered things in a believable way, he turned his attention to the lock on the door. He took the hilt of his sword and knocked the latch loose, making it look like he had broken in. That should be enough to convince his fellow advisors.

Cullen quickly returned to the war room where many members of the inner circle, along with the Inquisitor and his advisors, waited in anticipation for the Commander’s return. As the door swung open, all heads turned toward him, each with equally expectant and worried looks. Cullen’s face was blank, but his feeling of defeat was still obvious.

“Well?” Cassandra stepped forward, worry in her eyes but anger on her face, “Where is that Venatori bastard?”

Cullen sighed deeply, the rest of the room raising their brows in unison.

“Gone. I didn’t find him in the ‘Rest or his room.”

Cassandra scoffed, “Then we send a search party. Check all corners of Skyhold, then we—”

“We can send all the search parties you want, Lady Seeker, but there’s nothing left of him here. I broke into his quarters and looked for any information as to where he could be or what he hoped to gain by joining our ranks, but I found nothing. He either took everything important with him, or destroyed it.”

Everyone’s heads fell, shoulders slouching in defeat.

The Inquisitor looked to Cullen with sadness strewn across his features. “And to think, we had all become so close…and it meant nothing to him.”

Tears threatened Cullen’s eyes again as he remembered how desperately Dorian had clung to him, tied to convince him he was innocent. But innocent men don’t hide, innocent men don’t lie.

“I know. But that must have been what he wanted. For us all to get comfortable, slowly leaking him the information he needed.” He closed his eyes tightly, shaking and dropping his head, “I should have never let him join the inner circle. I’m sorry, Inquisitor.”

The Inquisitor looked back to his party, nodding toward the door. All but the advisors exited the war room, leaving the room silent and cold. Once the space was empty of onlookers, the Inquisitor shuffled over to Cullen with wet eyes. They looked at one another for a long moment before the Inquisitor wrapped his arms around Cullen’s waist. Cullen’s eyes widened in shock, looking down at the elf hanging onto him for dear life, before he gave in and squeezed the Dalish’s shoulders in return.

They stood like that for a moment, Leliana and Josephine watching on solemnly, wrapped in their own somber embrace. The elf pulled back but stayed close, saying in a quiet voice, “He was my friend, Cullen. Our friend,” he gestured to the women behind him, “I know he was yours, too.”

Cullen felt his heart stop, then fall into the empty pit in his chest. “Yes,” he said gently, “the closest I’ve had since…in a while.”

The elf made certain the door closed quietly behind him as he left, Josephine following closely behind. Before Leliana made her move to leave as well, she handed Cullen a short stack of papers.

With a soft voice, she said, “I’m sure this isn’t the best time to tell you, but I started digging right after we intercepted the letter. I found the names of a few close friends and accomplices of the Pavus family. One of which has been heavily involved with the Venatori since before the term was coined, before they worshipped Corypheus.”

Cullen flipped through the pages, sloppily skimming the words on each one.

“Name?” Cullen asked, no nonsense.

“Gereon Alexius, a former mentor and family friend, from what I found. If Dorian had anything to do with the magicks Alexius had been developing…”

“I’ll go over it in the morning. Thank you, Leliana.” Cullen’s voice was flat and flavorless.

The spymaster sighed, placing a sympathetic hand on Cullen’s cheek, palm surprisingly warm. “I know what you felt for him. When I first joined the Hero of Ferelden on her journey…”

Cullen looked at her with understanding.

Leliana cleared her throat, never having gotten this personal with the Commander before. “Well, people have feelings that sometimes contradict with their goals. And they choose which to follow. Often, I think, they choose the wrong path.”

Cullen nodded, eyes squeezing shut with hurt.

“What I’m trying to say is this: I wonder if he didn’t lie to you about the way he felt, but knew it wouldn’t align with his plans.”

“I can’t have feelings for someone who supports the Venatori’s agenda. He fooled me, Leliana. I fell for a man that doesn’t exist.”

Leliana’s hand fell from his cheek. “Have you considered his personality may have been real?”

Cullen opened his mouth to reply, but nothing came out, his brow simply furrowed.

She gave a slight smile, “Please rest, Commander. The war can wait a night.”

__________

Cullen didn’t sleep that night, his dreams plagued by images of Dorian and echoes of their final goodbyes. He could still feel the mage’s thin fingers in his hair, the passion and meaning in each kiss they shared. Cullen would wake frequently throughout the night, sweating and conflicted, his emotions at war with reality.

It was futile after a while, and only served to drain his energy more each time he woke, so he stopped trying to rest, instead making his way down to his office to mull over Leliana’s research. The blond felt hopeless as he read, not recognizing any of the names of the influential families mentioned, despite them all being connected to someone he thought he knew.

As he skimmed the next few pages—mostly filled with descriptions of how money was passed amongst the families for favors, something Josephine could use later—Cullen’s eyes paused on a description of Dorian. The quote seemed to be a letter sent from a man called Felix, to Dorian’s father:

“Lord Pavus,

My father has been rather busy with his project, so he asked me to write you in his place. Dorian has been of exponential help with his academic knowledge, but also with his experience. My father truly appreciates you continuing to allow Dorian to remain with us. As promised, he is kept an eye on, allowed only to leave the grounds with the accompaniment of myself or a guard. Speaking personally, your son is a great man. He has been nothing but honest with us, and I consider him a friend. I am starting to suspect he does not know my father’s intent with their project, and I am beginning to worry he may cease work if he discovers its purpose. Know that, should that happen, I will not stop him. Our task was to keep him from trouble, and if he deems the project as such, I will trust his judgement. My father and I have different views on these types of magicks; Dorian seems to enjoy thinking about the hypothetical, but he agrees that these things are better left to imagination. While the project is important to my father—and of course to myself, if it can work to cure me—I feel a need to allow Dorian to do what is best for himself. These are my intentions, not my father’s. He has all intentions to hold up his end of your bargain. I have made no such promises to you. Be aware of that.

Yours Truly,

Felix Alexius

P.S. Dorian asks that you do not attempt to contact him directly. He has nothing to say to you.”

Cullen could deduce two things from the letter: Felix Alexius is Gereon Alexius’s son, and whatever they were working on was magic most people have an aversion to. Could it be blood magic? What would blood magic have to do with curing someone of an ailment? Even if this Felix was possessed, blood magic could only transfer the demon to another living being, not banish it. Blood magic is a demon’s domain.

As much as he tried to focus on what information he could draw about their “project”, Cullen couldn’t help but see how devoted Felix was to Dorian. While he claimed in the letter to consider Dorian a friend, could they have been more? Another detail about Tevinter Dorian had hidden.

“Nothing but honest?” Cullen thought aloud, “If only. Would have saved me a few headaches.”

Cullen drug a hand over his face, wiping away a tear he hadn’t noticed pooling in the corner of his eye. This was harder than he thought it would be, to consider his paramour could be capable of aiding the Venatori, or even worse, being one of them.

He took a moment to collect himself before dressing in his usual armor and setting off for the war room where he would wait for the morning to fully rise and his fellow advisors to arrive.

Entering the hall leading to the war room, Cullen was greeted by Josephine at her desk looking exhausted, mulling over paper work of her own. She looked up upon hearing the door creak open and gave him a weak smile.

“Couldn’t sleep?” she asked knowingly, fixing her frazzled hair.

Cullen nodded, “I see you couldn’t either. Manage to dig up anything else?”

Josephine sighed, bringing a tall stack of parchment up from the floor by her feet. “There are many noble families associated with the Venatori. Most are from Tevinter, of course, but there are a surprising handful from Antiva.”

Cullen plopped into the seat in front of Josephine’s desk, about to start sorting through the things she’d dug up, when the door creaked again, Leliana leaning her head in.

“I thought I heard you up, Josie. Commander.” She nodded to Cullen in greeting.

He nodded back, handing her his notes from the morning, “I found a letter in what you gave me, from a young man named Felix. It looks like he’s Alexius’s son, and he knows what they were working on. Something big, something dangerous, something even Dorian seemed hesitant about.”

“Blood magic?” Josephine asked, walking around her desk to peer over Leliana’s shoulder.

“That was my first thought, but the people of Tevinter have a long history with blood magic; I wouldn’t think a Tevinter would have any qualms about using it. No, this must be something people don’t play with.”

The women shook their heads in unison. “Corypheus is driving his followers to play with the laws of nature.” Leliana said under her breath.

“Possibly. We need to find Alexius before he completes his project, if he hasn’t already.”

The women nodded, Josephine rushing off to wake the Inquisitor.

As the door swung closed, Leliana turned to face the Commander, kneeling on the ground before him. “Are you feeling any better? I take it you didn’t sleep well.”

Cullen shook his head, leaning forward in defeat. “I understand you have eyes everywhere around Skyhold, but how is it you knew about me and Dorian, but didn’t know Dorian was pretending to be someone else?”

Leliana sighed, crossing her legs under her, “I don’t know. I feel like I failed us, I let such a huge threat pass through our defenses. He must have been extremely careful. It…it makes me wonder if he has other correspondents in our ranks.”

Cullen nearly choked on his bitter laugh, “One thing at a time, Leliana. If there were any other Tevinters in the Inquisition, they would have fled with Dorian. They’d know they had been found out. We can look into it after we find this mentor of Dorian’s and find out what that secret project is all about.”

It didn’t seem to make the spymaster any less nervous, picking at her fingernails and staring into her lap. Cullen sighed, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder, “You haven’t failed anyone. I’m the only fool here.”

Before she could reassure him, the door flew open again, the Inquisitor and Josephine holding yet more research. Cullen stood, bowing his head respectfully.

“What’s this about a secret project?” The elf asked, almost panting.

“I found a letter from Dorian’s mentor’s son describing a project using magicks none of them felt comfortable messing around with. We’ve ruled out blood magic; we think it could be something even more threatening.”

“Are we certain? Dorian seemed very against blood magic when we spoke about it. He almost looked sick talking about it.” The Inquisitor nearly snatched the letter from Cullen’s hand when offered.

“Even if those were his true feelings on the matter, blood magic is not a rarity in Tevinter, and even this mentor and his son seemed hesitant.” Cullen explained, pointing to his notes in the margins.

The elf sighed, sitting in Cullen’s now vacant seat. “This is bad. So bad.”

“Yes…” Cullen sat as well.

After a long silence where the room seemed as tired as the people in it, Josephine spoke up.

“Should we start work on a plan of attack?”

“I’ll see if I can hunt Alexius down. Maybe find his son, if I can’t find the man himself.” Leliana was already heading back to her nook to send out spies.

The Inquisitor absentmindedly nodded, approving but reluctant. “I’ll see who wants to come along to fight an insane Venatori with some mystical secret magic. Wish me luck.” He stood and shuffled toward the door.

“Cullen, form a small band of troops. Some of the more talented Templars, if you could. I have a feeling we’ll require their abilities.”

“Yes, Ser.” Cullen said bluntly, watching the Inquisitor as he exited.

Josephine and Cullen turned to one another. “I’ll see if anyone is willing to trade their honor for a bribe. I suppose we’ll regroup after we’ve all finished. Stay strong, Commander.”

“Thank you, Josephine. I will certainly do my best.” Cullen gave a respectful bow before leaving the ambassador to her work.

As he walked down the main hall, ready to turn left through Solas’s quarters toward his office, Cullen noticed the light breeze coming from a door to his right. He glanced over and saw the garden mostly empty before the door swung shut again. He could use to clear his head.

So he turned right instead, stepping out into the garden. Cullen breathed in and held it, letting the silence wash over him. He let the breath out and began slowly pacing the garden. He brushed his gloved fingertips across the leaves in the herb planters, watched on as a bird drank from the well, and stepped over the line of ants making their way to their hill. But when he reached the gazebo, he stopped.

Cullen looked on solemnly at the chess board, pieces still set as they were when he and Dorian had played, a few knocked over from wind. Cullen sat in his seat and stared across to where Dorian should have been. He’d looked so beautiful that day, the sun backlighting and outlining his face. He had still had a sheen of sweat from sparring, glistening off his toned arms and neck. Cullen heaved a long sigh before moving one of Dorian’s pieces forward.

“Check mate,” He whispered, “You got me, Dorian.”

After a moment Cullen stood, making his way into the small Chantry set up in one of the rooms off the garden. Andraste’s likeness watched him as he entered, false golden eyes seeming to follow him. Cullen gently lowered himself onto a knee, clasping his hands in front of his face before the shrine.

“It’s been a while since I’ve done this properly.” He admitted.

Cullen proceeded to recite the Chant of Light and several prayers for the men and women he would be taking with him to battle. One for the Inquisitor, one for himself, one for his friends, and one for his family.

Before he stood, Cullen closed his eyes tightly. “He may not deserve it,” he said softly, quietly, “but Maker please, keep Dorian safe. I doubt more and more the decision I made sending him away. I should have let him say his piece. I didn’t know Dorian Pavus, but I knew my Dorian. There has to be something of the man I loved in there. It couldn’t have all been a lie. He cried for me, he told me he didn’t want to hurt me. I can’t bear the thought of it all having been manipulation. Please, wherever he is, keep him safe.”

__________

Cullen would have preferred it hadn’t taken as long as it did, but here they were two days later with plans sprawled out on the war table. Each advisor had done their work quickly but surely, getting as close to the truth as they could in such a short time frame. Cullen had his Templar volunteers and a solid fighting strategy, Leliana had her eye witnesses, and Josephine had her bribed sources.

As the Inquisitor wrapped up the meeting, all attendees on board with the plan, he asked, “Any final questions?” Hesitant to move forward with their search.

The room had a sad sort of silence, none of them sure they would return safely, or return at all. They had been lucky since Haven to avoid any true life or death battles, but they were all well aware this would be like no fight they had fought before.

With the lack of any remaining questions to help him stall, Lavellan turned to Cullen with soft eyes. “Are you ready, Commander?”

After a deep, deep breath, He nodded. They were all on their horses and off in an instant, Skyhold’s gates behind them reminding them there was no turning back.

Hours later, after following the directions Leliana’s spies could write out with any certainty, the party found themselves passing through Redcliffe Farms, past the stables and the druffalo, to a fork splitting the trotted path in two.

“This way, I think.” The Inquisitor said, checking the written description again.

“Are you sure?” Cullen chimed in quickly, riding up to align their horses so he could glance over the elf’s shoulder. “The only thing up the hill is the watchtower. A stream beyond that. I expect if the Venatori were holed up there, the stable master and his wife would have noticed. Certainly our guards in the tower would have seen them come and go.”

Lavellan chewed the inside of his lip as he became less convinced they weren’t out on a wild goose chance. “The reports just say ‘Venatori activity traced back to Redcliffe Farms. Suspected to be in Dead Ram Grove.”

Increasingly frustrated by the vague intel they had managed to scrounge up practically overnight, Cullen let out a scoff. “Dead Ram Grove is the start of the stream, where the water flows down from the mountains. The only thing there is water and sheep. Obviously Leliana’s helpers need their heads examined. It’s pointless to even look.”

As Cullen turned his horse around, ready to head back to the farm and ask around, the Templars all perked up in unison.

“Commander,” Barris pulled his horse to block Cullen’s path. “There is magic here. It’s faint, not like a mage is present, but a spell they left behind. Whether they remain here, or have since left the area, I still believe it’s worth investigating.”

Cullen looked over his shoulder for conformation, the Inquisitor already leading the group ahead. While he trusted Barris’s sense for magic, Cullen also felt dread, part of him hoping they wouldn’t find anything Venatori related. Or at least nothing that would confirm Dorian’s connection to them. But he followed dutifully, returning to his position right next to the Inquisitor.

As they passed the watch tower overlooking the farm, and led their horses to wade through the water as they followed upstream, Cullen’s heart raced. The Templars continued to sense lingering magic, perhaps even an active enchantment; a ward meant to hide things in plain sight.

“Dispell,” Cullen commanded, Barris and his soldiers taking deep swigs of lyrium. Cullen averted his eyes as they did.

Moving as one, the Templars gave two hardy hits each to their shields, and a shock wave erupted out from their group. It made no noise, but bounced off the walls of Dead Ram Grove like an echo. The party stayed silent in waiting.

Distant voices could be heard speaking Tavene.

Cullen and Lavellan whipped their heads around to look at each other with wide eyes. “Venatori!”

Hurried but quiet, the party leapt off their horses, loosely draping their reins over branches to keep the steeds in place. They followed the voices to a low cliff overlooking the grove. There was little foot traffic, with overgrown grass and weeds, dead trees leaning to make a morbid arch. As they inched closer, a small sconce lit on its own, causing the Inquisitor to jump.

He took a hesitant step forward, narrowing his eyes at the greenish blue flame. “Veil fire.” He whispered behind him. “That means mages.”

Part of Cullen’s heart sank. While he knew this would lead them to gaining an edge against Corypheus, a selfish part of him wanted them to find nothing, so he would never learn more about just how much Dorian had lied to him.

Entering the ruins of what must have been an old exit from the deep roads, massive stone pillars loomed, along with menacing statues of cloaked skeletons driving their swords into the ground. The group felt uneasy, each member fidgeting and glancing to every corner of the room. It was dark, but the light from outside showed them a staircase leading even further into the earth, and further into darkness.

Cullen blocked the Inquisitor from continuing, rather taking the lead himself to protect the elf from a possible ambush. Making their way forward only led them to darker and darker rooms, no torches in sight, only dim Veil fires that continued to flare up ominously as they approached each sconce.

Just as they entered the final room of the cave ruin, Cullen starting to think there may be nothing here after all, the room came to life, sconces bursting into multicolored flames, illuminating the space to reveal that they were surrounded.

“Inquisitor,” a dark figure in Tevinter robes grinned smugly from a ruined throne at the far end of the room. “Welcome.”

“Sheath your weapons,” the surrounding mages demanded, drawing ever closer with staves outstretched.

The party looked to Lavellan for instruction, and he nodded, returning his sword to his back. The group followed suit.

“We were beginning to wonder if you might realize how close we had drawn. Corypheus sends his regards.” The mage stood from his seat, tossing back his hood and crossing his arms behind him.

“Oh, we found you out quickly,” Lavellan snarled, “Your little spy wasn’t as stealthy as he thought. Maybe you should handle your correspondents’ communications more carefully.”

The Tevinter’s brow raised, looking surprised, but always taunting. “My ‘spy’?” he inquired with a lilted voice, “Do tell, Inquisitor.”

Cullen rolled his eyes. “No need to play coy, Alexius. We intercepted Magister Pavus��s attempts to contact his son, whom you so clumsily slipped into our ranks.” Cullen’s bitterness and blame had all lifted off of Dorian in that moment as he directed his hurt onto Alexius, the man responsible for all this heartbreak in the first place, as far as Cullen was concerned.

“Magister Pavus’s son?” Alexius’s grin dropped, “You speak of Dorian, Commander?”

Cullen flinched at the mention of the mage’s name.

Alexius looked to the throne behind him, tracing a finger along the arm. “My poor Dorian; if only he could have seen the good he could achieve. Not only for Tevinter, for the world.”

Cullen was in shock at what he was hearing. If Alexius hadn’t sent Dorian to the Inquisition, then who did? Could all that Dorian said, that fateful night on which he was banished from Cullen’s sight, be true after all? From where he stood, all Cullen could see was a backlit outline, but the mage before them began to make an obvious, sinister movement toward his pocket.

“What Dorian never realized, what I tried to teach him through our research, is that Thedas…Thedas needs direction,” his voice was low as he turned, eyes glistening with intent, knowing he had won.

“Thedas needs control.”

Blue light began sparking in the mage’s palm, lighting his crazed expression from below, broken sounds of laughter escaping his lips as he raised his hand higher.

The Inquisitor and Cullen watched on with masked fear as a small talisman on a leather cord began to rise on its own from the palm of Alexius’s hand, crackling in an unstable, uncontrolled manner. Just as dread and the weight of their own mortality began washing over the party, a voice called out from a shadowy corner:

“No! I won’t let you do this.”

The blue cast vanished at once, the talisman dropping from its ominous floating and back into the mage’s hand. Alexius whipped his neck around, eyes worried and shocked at once, obviously recognizing the voice. The young man had dark, tired eyes as he revealed himself from the dark. His skin lacked color, and his hair was thin. He looked as if he had lived a man’s full life in only a few years, and he was exhausted.

“Felix!” Alexius ran to the young man’s side. “My son, you should be resting, you’re too weak; you look so pale!”

Cullen’s shoulders relaxed as he heard the familiar name. “Felix?” he said quietly, then directing his question to the man himself, “You were friends with Dorian, weren’t you?”

Felix pushed past his father, standing before the party with confidence. “I am. I know him well, and I know he would never have helped with your project if he knew what you planned to use it for.” He turned to face Alexius, pointing an accusing finger. “You lied to him! You lied to me! You said this was for my health, that you thought this could save me! You betrayed his trust, my trust!”

His eyes went somber as he quietly asked, “What would mother think?”

That sent Alexius into a rage, shouting furiously, “This could bring her back! Both of you would be safe, healthy, happy! I did this all for you both!”

Tears began to well in his eyes as Felix retorted, voice meek and sad, “No. She would have never wanted this.”

Alexius became irate, nostrils flaring and fists clenching, “How dare you!!” he screamed. “You have the opportunity to have your mother back, to have never lost her at all, and you tell me she would never want this? You stand before me, your own father, who has loved and raised you single handedly since she passed, telling me this isn’t all for you?!”

“Raised me? Single handedly?! What about all the days, even weeks, I went without seeing you because you were too hung up on your project? Too lost in the past to spend time with your own son? After my mother died in front of my eyes!”

Alexius’s hands began to burn with fire, the talisman feeding off of his rage and sparking once again. “You would be in the grave with her if it weren’t for me! All that research, just to keep you alive for all these years! You would have died within days of her if it weren’t for all my time spent in that damned laboratory, slaving over revolutionary medicines I now learn you weren’t even grateful for!”

“I wish I had died with her!” Felix’s cry echoed through the stone of the ruin walls. “I’ve been suffering for years! I feel the Blight eating away at me from the inside every moment I continue to breathe! You have no idea the pain you’ve put me through!”

The room fell silent, Alexius thinking on his son’s hurtful words.

“Well,” he said after a long while, voice raspy with emotion, “If my magic can’t serve to help you,” he clenched the talisman with ferocity, “It will serve Corypheus just fine!”

The room lit with blue lightening, the talisman flying into the center of the space and igniting with quick bursts of magical energy, barely controlled. Alexius howled with mad laughter, arms outstretched to feed the talisman with all his mana, fueling the chaotic reaction.

“Father, No!” Felix screamed, throwing himself at Alexius, tackling him to the ground.

While the Venatori were distracted, all watching in awe at the display of power destabilizing in the center of the room, the Inquisitor sprinted forward, drawing his sword and charging to take Alexius out for good. But, from the corner of his eye as he wrestled with his own son, Alexius spotted the elf’s attack. He managed to get a hand free from Felix, commanding the talisman to explode with a magical fury of light spiritual wisps, imploding inward on itself, sucking the Inquisitor in as he screamed in agony, his every essence torn across time and space. Cullen and the Templars watched on in abject horror, Lavellan’s blood curdling cries echoing in their minds.

Though the Inquisitor was gone, his blade continued his momentum, flying across the room and driving directly into Alexius’s shoulder, causing him to tumble off Felix and crash onto the stone floor.

“Venatori! Attack the Inquisitor’s reinforcements!!” Alexius hollered as he stumbled off to his escape.

“Retreat!” Cullen commanded, tailing Barris and the rest of the Templars as they fled, defending them against attacks from behind as they fought through the Venatori hoard before them.

Once there was a hole in the opposition’s defense, Cullen called out, “To the watchtower! Tell them to fire on the river! Shoot anything that moves!”

The Commander fought off those trying to prevent their escape, helping his team push to the ruin entrance. When they reached the threshold, each member jumped back onto their horses, galloping off to the watchtower and the camp just beyond Redcliffe Farms for backup.

“Open fire! Venatori!” Barris yelled to the watchtower guards. A shower of arrows came down almost instantly, flying just behind their horses, taking out many of the Venatori swordsmen. But the mages hadn’t left the mouth of the ruin, and Cullen was right there waiting for them. Dodging the hail of arrows and trying not to fall off the short cliff, Cullen fought back as many of the mages as he could while he waited for backup from the camp. Barris came riding back in just in time to save Cullen’s back from an attack he didn’t see coming.

As their numbers dwindled, it became easier for the Templars to dispel almost all the defensive magicks the Venatori were using, causing the remaining few mages to panic and retreat back into the ruin, following Alexius’s escape route.

Exhausted, but still on edge, Cullen and Barris’s Templars made their way back to the farm to regroup and process what had just happened. What had happened to the Inquisitor?

As they rounded the corner to check on the guards at the watchtower, Cullen heard footsteps running up behind them.

“There’s a straggler!” He called out, pulling out his sword and shield again, ready to strike.

“No, don’t shoot! I want to help you!”

Cullen stayed poised as he watched the man come into view. It was Felix, panting and running toward them, unarmed.

“What did you do with the Inquisitor?!” Cullen inched closer to Felix, still not convinced he could let his guard down.

Felix stopped several feet away, leaving enough room so Cullen felt unthreatened. He raised his hands above his head to show he meant no harm. “He’s not dead, I can promise that much, but I don’t know where he is.” His hands lowered as he scratched his chin in contemplation. “Well, that’s not quite what I mean. I know where he is; he’s here.”

Cullen’s sword and shield lowered and he looked at Felix with confusion.

“What I should say is: I don’t know when he is.”

Frustrated, Cullen ground his teeth, “Enough being cryptic! Just tell us where Alexius took him!”

Felix shook his head. “This is going to take a lot of explaining, and it will sound outlandish, but you have to believe me. I was there when my father and Dorian developed this, I know how it—”

“Spit it out!” Barris barked, now standing next to Cullen, also ready to fight.

Felix sighed, “He sent the Inquisitor through time.”

The Templars looked around at each other, none having heard of such magic before.

“Don’t lie to us, boy! We have you surrounded.” Barris raised his shield in preparation before his arm was pushed down.

“He isn’t,” Cullen held Barris back, then sheathing his own weapon and shield. “When we first suspected Dorian was Tevinter, Leliana found the letter we all read in the mission briefing. The letter was written by Felix, and he said the magic they were experimenting with was magic no one had ever considered manipulating before. Because it’s dangerous; one doesn’t just mess with the laws of nature.”

“You saw my letter? To Dorian’s father? So that’s how you knew of me, and that I know Dorian.” Felix approached slowly as he connected the dots. “So you must see now: Dorian knew he was developing a way to manipulate time, but he thought it was for me. He ran away, here to Ferelden, the moment my father started to speak of joining the Venatori. And he would never have helped in the first place if it wasn’t a matter of life and death.”

Cullen looked Felix up and down, taking in his thin frame, eaten away at by something inside of him. “You said in there that you’re sick. Is it really the Blight? I’ve never seen anyone survive past a day, let alone a year.”

Felix nodded sadly, eyes going even darker, “Yes. While my father is no healer, he is an excellent alchemist, and created many medicines to try and help me while he worked on a more permanent solution to curing me. That’s when he…recruited Dorian to help. It was more like blackmail, but Dorian just wanted to help me.” He looked down at his hands, wringing them nervously. “He was like a brother to me. He never knew this would happen.”

Barris lowered his weapons completely, but would not sheath them. “Then…did you send Dorian to the Inquisition?”

Felix’s eyes went wide, “No, I never even knew he joined. I haven’t been able to contact him for months. It was too risky, I couldn’t have my father knowing I planned to stop him. Dorian always said he would be by my side on that day, But after we lost touch…”

Cullen felt his shoulders relax; Dorian wasn’t Venatori! What a relief. But he felt no relief, as just as the revelation swept over him, another realization came to tighten his chest. He drove Dorian away for nothing. He broke the mage’s heart, and his own, based on assumptions.

“I never let him say his piece…” Cullen thought aloud.

“What?” Barris turned to him, finally putting his weapons away. “You spoke to Dorian? When?”

Cullen wiped a hand over his face before glancing over to Felix. “It looks like the two of us have a lot of explaining to do.”

__________

As they rode their horses back to Skyhold, Barris in the lead and Cullen protecting the rear of the group, Felix tapped Cullen’s shoulder from behind.

“Cullen, is it? Could I ask you something?” Felix said as he shifted uncomfortably on the back of Cullen’s saddle.

“You’ll call me Commander until we know we can trust you.”

“I didn’t mean any disrespect, Commander, I assure you.”

Cullen had to stop himself from groaning. He would have liked to say he was angry, but the only thing jumping around in his mind was confusion. The only thing he was angry about was his decision. And frankly, he was tired of thinking about it. He was only making himself feel worse.

“Just ask your question.”

Felix nodded and asked, “I hadn’t heard from Dorian after his initial letter telling me he had arrived in Ferelden. I’m missing a lot of time between then and now. Could you tell me what happened that led to you believing Dorian was Venatori?”

Cullen heaved a deep sigh, “It’s not a short list of events, I’ll warn you.”

Felix chuckled, “We’ve nothing but time at the moment.”

“I suppose,” Cullen half-heartedly agreed.

When he finished catching Felix up to speed, the young man was silent for a long while, mulling over the details.

“It sounds like Dorian trusted you.” He prodded.

Cullen dropped his gaze to the reins in his tightly fisted hands. “I know I trusted him. I thought he had betrayed my trust when we intercepted his father’s letter, but I…” He squeezed his eyes closed, “I said things I wish I hadn’t. Things I didn’t mean. I know now that I betrayed him, just because I wouldn’t listen.”

“I still can’t believe you spoke to him before he vanished.” Barris chimed in from the front of the formation. “You lied to the entire Inquisition! Even your friends. That’s me I’m talking about, by the way. You lied to me.”

“I know.” Cullen sighed, “I’m sorry. I just…wanted to make sure he was safe. I didn’t know what the Inquisitor would do to him. But I guess it couldn’t have been much worse than what I did…” Cullen’s voice fell off as he remembered all the things he said.

I don’t ever want to see your face again…

Entering Skyhold’s gate led them directly into a crowd of people wanting to congratulate the Inquisitor on defeating the hidden Venatori forces. But when Cullen passed under the arch and into the courtyard with the Inquisitor’s empty horse led behind him, all the chattering stopped.

“Where is Lavellen?” Cassandra asked with worry. And as Cullen’s horse turned to reveal the second passenger, “And who is that?” She growled.

Cullen lowered himself off the horse, pointedly not offering Felix any help to get down, which he did ungracefully.

As he handed the reins off to a stable hand, Cullen told the Seeker, “Call a war meeting.”

__________

“You WHAT?” The ladies exclaimed in unison.

Cullen drug a hand over his face, leaning on the war table and sighing before he said, “I know it was stupid of me, but Dorian isn’t Venatori, so there’s no danger in him being out there on his own.”

“But you didn’t know that when you sent him away!” Josephine shouted, as much as the mild-mannered woman could.

“Look,” Cullen closed his eyes tightly, pinching the space between his brows, “I lied. I lied to all of you and put you in danger because I let myself get too close. I considered Dorian a friend. I didn’t want him to be in danger in the hands of the Inquisition. I’m sorry. I know I was reckless, and I’m sorry.”

The room fell quiet as the women looked to one another, silently acknowledging Cullen’s apology.

Cullen continued after recognizing the soft looks in their eyes. “But what we need to do now is find him. He’s the only one who might know how to get Lavellen back.”

“Dorian can reverse engineer a spell better than anyone I’ve ever met,” Felix added, “He’ll be able to undo this. I’m certain.”

“Well, mister ‘best friend’,” Leliana turned to Felix, annoyed that he had cut in, “Where do you propose we start our search?”

Felix took a second to think. “In his initial letter, to tell me he had arrived, Dorian mentioned he was staying with an older woman in the Hinterlands. He simply called her ‘Miss Ella’. She has a small farm, he said. I haven’t heard from him since then, so that would be my only guess.”

Cullen nodded, “Even if he’s not staying with her, he might be hiding out nearby. Runaways tend to return to places they know first.”

“I trust your ability to hunt down a mage, Commander.” Cassandra said, too dry to tell if she was joking.

But before the hunt could begin, all of Skyhold needed rest and time to absorb the news of the Inquisitor’s disappearance. No rest came to Cullen, however; as if he expected it to. His mind and heart were racing. What if they couldn’t find Dorian? Who would be able to bring back the Inquisitor?

And what if they did find Dorian? Would he forgive Cullen for what he had said? Would he attack or flee?

Worst of all: what if they found his body? Just another casualty of the war between the Templars and mages. Another victim to Corypheus’s forces.

Cullen squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head to clear the image from his mind. He couldn’t bear the thought that his final words to Dorian would be his banishment, never able to redeem himself. Never able to beg for Dorian’s forgiveness.

With his eyes still closed, Cullen heard footsteps drawing casually closer, not trying to sneak, but also cautious.

“Can’t sleep either?” the voice was still slightly distant, not wanting to get too close. Cullen opened his eyes to see Felix, immediately skeptical as to why he was being allowed to walk the castle on his own.

Felix read his expression and chuckled. “Your spymaster has someone tailing me. The Lady Seeker isn’t far behind either. You don’t have to worry, I’m not here to assassinate you or something.”

“Who knows, I might welcome it at this point,” Cullen said under his breath.

Felix’s brow pushed together, “What happened between you and Dorian?”

After a long moment of staring through Felix, the Commander dropped his gaze to his folded fingers leaning on the battlements. “He was incredible to watch. So skilled with magic and combat; it was mesmerizing.” Cullen lifted his head to look up at the stars above. “And intelligent, as well. I enjoyed talking with him about the books he was reading, and the documents I was trudging through. He never looked away while I spoke.”

Felix gave a soft smile, looking to the heavens himself. “I know exactly what you mean. Dorian loves to talk about his research and learn what others have been studying. It made him a great student, one of the reasons he caught my father’s attention as a sponsor.”

A silence fell between the men as they both remembered their friend fondly. Cullen quietly asked, “Can you tell me about the Dorian you knew?”

Felix cocked his head curiously.

“I’d like to know if any of him was the real him.”

A sympathetic smile warmed Felix’s expression. “You described Dorian pretty perfectly just then. Always willing to debate—or argue, whichever he would get the most satisfaction from—and always showing off. He pretends to be self-centered, but he’s the most caring man I’ve ever met. And while I’m not interested in men myself, I don’t think there’s a person in all of Thedas who can deny Dorian’s charm.” Felix chuckled once, “Always the flirt, that one.”

Cullen’s heart dropped. “So he flirted with everyone?” He asked in a whisper, not really meaning it as a question. But Felix still answered.

“He did, but there were always different kinds. It took me long to learn each of them.” Feeling more comfortable with their relations, Felix approached the battlements himself and leaned his hip on the stonework, crossing his arms and looking out over the mountains. “There are four types, so far as I could tell: for showmanship, for de-escalation, for banter, and for real. The showmanship is self-explanatory, Tevinter is built around relationships and marriages. Dorian had to faine interest in his women suitors to keep up appearances. De-escalation, just flirting to calm an argument. Telling people what they want to hear, you know. And of course a little flattery back and forth between friends was his favorite.”

“How could you tell if he ever meant it?” Cullen asked, hopeful.

Felix ran a hand over his hair as he thought. “Dorian is a very honest man, most of what he says he always means, even if he doesn’t say it directly. He might think a noble woman is quite pretty, for example, and rather than tell her flatly, he will go out of his way to make her smile by flirting. ‘By the Black Divine, my lady, have you any common blood to Andraste herself? You have striking eyes, just like hers! And those cheekbones, they could surely cut marble!’ He likes to make people smile.”

“And he’s very good at it,” Cullen couldn’t help the fond grin that spread his lips.

“That he is.” Felix agreed, finding himself with a smile of his own as he reminisced.

__________

Cullen stood silent with his head down, fist poised to knock against the solid wood door before him. He hadn’t had to do something like this since Kirkwall; sharing the tragic news of a Templar’s death with their family. Somehow, this felt similar, having to tell someone Dorian clearly cared about, that he wasn’t who he said. But at least he didn’t have to tell her Dorian was a Venatori spy.

He took a final deep breath before giving a hardy knock. It took only seconds for Miss Ella to answer, like she had been waiting by the door. The door swung open with an audible whoosh, to reveal an older woman with joy in her cheeks, giving way to pleasant confusion when he looked Cullen up and down.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I was expecting someone else. Is there something I can do for you, dear?” A sweet smile wrinkled the skin around her eyes.

Cullen couldn’t help but give a small smile back before clearing his throat and beginning to explain, “Commander Cullen, at your service, ma’am. We are looking for a troop previously employed in our…”

Cullen’s eyes squeezed tightly shut and he sighed, “Dorian. He stayed with you for a while, didn’t he?” He dropped his voice to a whisper so the others couldn’t hear his informality.

Miss Ella reared back a little, bringing the door closer to her so she could close it at any time. “I...oh, I rent my spare room to travelers, I suppose a ‘Dorian’ could have passed through--”

“Ma’am, please. You’re not in any trouble. Neither of you are, we just…” He couldn’t look the sweet woman in the eyes as he said, “I made a mistake. It came to our attention that he had been lying about his past, and I handled it very poorly. If he’s been back here...please, we need his help.”

Miss Ella still didn’t seem convinced, opening her lips to give a vague excuse. Cullen decided to show a little urgency.

“Ma’am, the Inquisitor is missing. Kidnapped, or otherwise incapacitated by the Venatori.”

Miss Ella gasped, covering her mouth with both hands. “Did...did he do it?”

“No, while Dorian is from Tevinter, as we found out, he has nothing to do with the Venatori. But he knows about their magic, and we need him to help us get the Inquisitor back.”

She took a moment to process before stepping aside in the doorway and beckoning them all to enter. Cullen, Felix, and Cassandra crammed into the small farmhouse, while Barris and his templars waited outside. Only Felix accepted an offer of tea.

“He did come back, but he didn’t come inside,” Miss Ella recalled as he stirred honey into Felix’s tea. “He made it nearly to the welcome mat, but no further, and said he was sorry. That he couldn’t stay because I wouldn’t be safe, and it was better if he kept the truth to himself, because he didn’t want to involve me. I figured he must have people after him, so I was expecting a visit, but not from the Inquisition.”

Tempted to sit, but ignoring the urge to slump into any nearby furniture, Cullen rubbed at the back of his neck, “Yes, well, while I’m not at liberty to say much, I made a rather large mistake that--”

“To which are you referring?” Cassandra asked with her arms crossed, scowl doned.

Cullen glowered back and continued, “...that put us all in danger. Dorian included.”

Cassandra let her arms drop, brow softening as she recognized Cullen’s regret.

“Well, as I said, he didn’t stay here long. He headed in the direction of Redcliffe, not taking the roads but going through the woods.”

They stayed long enough for Felix to finish his tea, then they were on their way north to Redcliffe, taking as odd a way they could in hopes of coming across Dorian’s trail.

After nearly an hour of trudging, one of Barris’s templars stopped.

“I smell viel fire.”

Cassandra looked at Cullen with a quirked brow. “Are you certain? How can you tell it isn’t just fire?”

Barris nodded, “I smell it too. It’s like fire but without the smoke, just the heat.”

“Any wards?” Cullen asked.

“None. It shouldn’t be hard to find him if we follow our noses.”

Cullen nodded, letting Barris lead the charge. Soon after, the group came across a very small clearing, staying in the trees to keep cover.

There in the center of the brush, surrounded by wildflowers, sat Dorian, playing with the green flames before him, deep in thought.

Cullen stared longingly, wishing he could just run out and hug the mage, hold him and never let go.

“I’ll go. You all wait here.” Cullen began pushing branches aside.

“You don’t think he’ll give you any trouble?” Barris held him back.

“No, but he will panic if he sees a group of templars coming out of the bushes at him.”

Cullen took a deep breath for courage and stepped out into the sun.

It only took a few steps before Dorian shot out of his seat and grabbed his staff, summoning a ball of fire in his hand. Cullen put his hands up, away from his sword and shield. Slowly, Dorian recognized the blond hair, honey eyes, and marble skin. His guard lowered along with his staff, but only slightly.

“C...Cullen?”

Cullen let out a sigh of relief, lowering his hands and taking a step forward.

“Stop!” Dorian yelled, “This is some kind of trick isn’t it? So what type of demon are you, hm? Rage? Envy? Desire?”

Cullen’s eyes went wide before his brow furrowed with worry, “No, Dorian it’s...it’s me. It’s Cullen.”

Dorian scoffed, “No, that’s not possible. He told me he never…” he swallowed hard. “never wanted to see me again.”

Cullen flinched at his words, seeing how much they had hurt. “I didn’t mean any of it, I swear. I was just scared, I didn’t think before I spoke, and I hurt you. I’m...Dorian, I’m so sorry.”

Cullen watched as emotions came and went in rapid succession across Dorian’s face.

“Make me believe you.” The mage whispered. “Prove you're the same man I loved.”

Those words. They struck him like a knife in the chest, tearing his heart out. Those were his words.

“I can’t…” Cullen whispered back.

Dorian’s staff fell abruptly into the grass, the fire in his hand disappearing into embers as he ran to Cullen. He wrapped his arms around the blond’s shoulders, Cullen returning the embrace just as tightly.

They pulled back, only to bring the other closer into a crashing kiss, tears spilling over onto both men’s cheeks.

“Dorian,” Cullen choked, “I’m so sorry, I said so many things I didn’t mean. I should have listened to you. Maker, I’m so--”

Dorian put a finger to the blond’s lips, then brought his to meet them. “I love you.”

Cullen’s eyes only watered more as he leaned their foreheads together and said, with all his heart. “I love you too.”

They both heard the trees opening from behind them, glancing that way to see Cassandra and Barris with his band of templars.

And Felix.

Dorian’s face lit up as he ran to meet his friend. “Felix!”

Their chests collided as each man wrapped an arm over the shoulder and around the waist of the other.

While the two were updating one another on what had happened between seeing each other last, Cassandra approached Cullen with an annoyed huff.

"So that's why you let him go." She crossed her arms.

Cullen sighed, turning to face her. "Yes," he stated, "because I didn't want him thrown in our prisons, because I didn't want him questioned for hours without rest. Because I love him. Is that what you want me to say?"

The corner of the Seeker's lips turned up on one side, barely a smile at all. She placed her hand on Cullen’s shoulder. "Yes. And I'm glad you do."

It took him off guard, but Cullen was grateful for Cassandra's understanding. He knew she read those romance novels--Varric made sure to boast about it to everyone in Skyhold--but he never expected Cassandra of all people to be forgiving.

Suddenly her face went stern. Pulling her hand away and pointing a finger, she whispered through clenched teeth, "Don't tell anyone I said that. As far as Josephine and Leliana need to know, I'm still angry with you."

Cullen tried not to grin as he nodded.

He turned back to Dorian and Felix who laughed together as Dorian placed a kiss to Felix's cheek. Cullen smiled as he watched them reconnect, a warmth filling his chest.

"I hate to interrupt a reunion," Barris cut in, "but we have grave news about the Inquisitor."

"The Inquisitor?" Dorian looked to Felix, "Your father. He didn't…"

Felix cringed as he nodded, head dropping, eyes closed tightly.

Dorian slumped, arm falling off Felix's shoulders. Cullen came behind him to place a comforting hand on his back.

"He's not dead, is he?" Dorian asked with a heaviness in his breath.

"We...we don't know." Cullen brought Dorian in by the waist, hugging him from the side. "Alexius used an amulet to...send him through time, was it?" He looked over to Felix to make sure he had gotten it right.

"So he finished it." Dorian's eyes widened with fear.

"No!" Felix put himself between Cullen and the mage, "He could never perfect it after you left. Something went wrong when he cast the spell; it wasn't like when you did it."

"You've traveled through time?" Cullen pushed Felix aside to ask Dorian.

Dorian grinned, "What? Never been with a man who invented time travel? Oh, no, of course not, how silly. Because I invented it."

"Dorian." Cullen said sternly, looking for a straight answer.

"No, I didn't go through time. Alexius and I sent an apple core a week forward in time and it came back rotten." As he gave the explanation, a wave of realization washed over Dorian, "But what's when the spell didn't work!" He grabbed Cullen but the hands with excitement. "The plan was to wipe the apple from existence, and only those who cast the spell would remember there ever having been an apple there. The fact that you all remember the Inquisitor proves the spell failed!"

"But how do we know where--when he is?" Barris asked, trying to keep up.

Dorian let go of Cullen's hands to twirl his mustache in thought. "Ah! Have you any paper, my love?"

Cullen grabbed some parchment and charcoal from one of the templars' satchels.

Dorian took the supplies eagerly, kneeling down to use his seat as a writing surface. "Look here," Dorian pulled Cullen in close as he drew a diagram, "We don't know when the Inquisitor is in time, yes? But we do know where. He'll be exactly where he was transported from."

Cullen nodded, following so far.

"So we need to go back to where and, somehow, enter the fade because--"

"Because time doesn't exist in the fade." Cullen cut in, "You can feel for his spirit and pull it back through the veil from the other side of time!"

Dorian smiled, excited that Cullen understood, "Well, I can't. While I studied the dead, I don't have any control over the spirits I use to possess the bodies. But I know someone who does."

"Solas." Cullen, Barris, and Cassandra said together.

__________

Back at Skyhold, they explained the plan to Solas, Cullen's fellow advisors still suspiciously eyeing Dorian.

"I'm impressed with your knowledge of the fade, Dorian. Yet you've never entered it, is that right?" Solas sipped at his coffee.

"I still have my sanity, that should be a dead give away."

Solas grinned, "Indeed. And yet you understand its properties well. And this plan of yours is nearly fool proof."

"Nearly?" Cullen leaned in, "We need better than nearly. We need the Inquisitor back."

Solas held up a hand to calm him, "Nearly is the best place to start. I can help you, but the Inquisitor's spirit isn't the only thing on the other side of time. We need to find his body. Both were transported, were they not?"

Dorian nodded, "Yes, that's where I'm uncertain. Can he enter the fade without performing the ritual himself?"

"Do you know the Arl of Redcliffe, Commander?" Solas asked, hands behind his back as he rounded the desk.

"You're talking about the incident with Conor and Bann Tegan. I've heard the story." He watched Solas with suspicious curiosity.

"I am. There is a way to perform the ritual on another, without entering the fade yourself…"

Cullen's eyes went wide, "No! No one is doing any blood magic!"

"Blood magic?" Dorian looked to Solas with anger. "You're suggesting I perform a blood ritual on the Inquisitor? Nonsense!"

Solas shrugged, "That is the only way I know of to return both the Inquisitor's soul and body as one."

Dorian scratched his chin as he tried to think of another way. "If I had the amulet here…"

Felix perked up, "What if I could get it from my father?"

The room looked over to Felix.

"What? Is it safe after what you did to help us?" Cullen asked.

Felix shook his head, "My father may not be in his right mind, but he's always been a father first. If I need him, he will be there with open arms."

Dorian slowly walked to Felix. "You'd steal from your own father for us?"

Felix smiled, "I would steal sweets from his personal stash for you all the time."

Dorian smiled and gave him a hardy thump on the shoulder. "Then we need to head back to Dead Ram Grove."

The day had been long and exhausting, and while time was of the essence, they all needed rest.

But Cullen couldn't sleep. He tossed and turned in an attempt to find a comfortable spot, but to no avail. Finally, he decided it wasn't worth fighting and went for a walk to think.

He walked the battlements until he was sick of looking at stone walls. When he got back to his office, no more ready to sleep than before, he thought of Dorian, how he had so much more he wanted to say, and so many more apologies to make.

Heading across the bridge to the library, Cullen tried to be as quiet as possible opening the door to Solas's floor. The door creaked ever so slightly, and Cullen heard a calming voice say, "Dorian is downstairs."

He looked up to see Solas painting a mural of the fade on the atrium wall.

"Oh I was just…" Cullen started, but Solas gave him a knowing look. "Thank you." He said gently as he headed for the main hall's staircase to the basement.

Once down there, he saw a soft red light emitting from a door across the hall, where a small private office was. He smiled as he heard Dorian quietly talking to himself.

Cullen pushed the door open silently, seeing Dorian's back facing him. He snuck up and wrapped his arms around the mage’s waist. Dorian gasped before realizing who it was, then leaning his head back and humming in contentment.

"Couldn't sleep either?" Cullen asked in a breathy whisper.

Dorian sighed, "I have to know what I'm doing when I reverse the amulet's magic, if Felix can get it off his father. If we can find his father. Hopefully they've stayed put."

Cullen hummed, acknowledging Dorian's concerns. "I wish we had more time, then you could perfect this."

Dorian turned in Cullen's arms and wrapped his around the Commander's neck.

"I wish we had more time, too." He looked deeply into Cullen's eyes, leaving the silence between them.

Cullen quickly caught on, walking Dorian into the desk, lifting him by the thighs to sit atop it. "We have a couple of hours, at least."

Dorian smiled, bringing Cullen in for a light kiss. It quickly became something more, with hot hands finding fasteners on the other's armor and unfastening them. Their kiss turned deep and passionate and nearly frantic as the men wasted little precious time.

Dorian leaned back and pulled Cullen over him, holding him close as he whispered between kisses, "I never stopped loving you. I couldn't make myself stop after you told me to go. You had me."

Cullen kissed down Dorian's neck as he whispered back, "I thought it was just me. And I need you to know I only sent you away because I was scared. I didn't know what the Inquisition would do to you. I was only upset you'd lied to me."

"But you know why I had to." Dorian held Cullen by the cheeks to get his attention. "Would you have wanted me if I had told you I was a Tevinter necromancer."

Cullen pulled the mage’s hand back and kissed his palm, "I want you now, don't I?"

Dorian's words were thick with need as he whispered, "Do you?"

"More than anything."

And the love they made in the night, in a private tucked away space, far from the eyes and ears of Skyhold, was more than either man had felt in many years. Possibly all their lives.

__________

Cullen smiled as he rode alongside Dorian's horse, listening to him and Felix reminisce. They had a long history, from what Cullen gathered, and cared for each other like brothers. It felt good to see Dorian as his true self, and not a bundle of half truths peeking out from behind an alias.

The group was much larger this time, with closer to fifteen templars, including Barris, along with the addition of Solas and a handful of other mages. Cullen was grateful for the help, even if it meant spending time with Solas, trying desperately to find something to talk about.

When the team arrived, they tied their horses up at the camp near Master Dennet's stables and took off on foot toward Dead Ram Grove, signaling the watch tower to stay on guard.

At the entrance to the cave, Cullen took Dorian's hand and squeezed tightly while giving him a worried look. Dorian smiled gently, squeezing back. Cullen nodded and signaled the group into formation and forward. It was still dark, but with several mages summoning flames into their palms, they would be able to see any ambushes this time.

The team stepped cautiously into the final room of the cave where the Inquisitor had been torn through time. It was quiet, with the scattered corpses of Venatori from their failed attack on Cullen’s crew. Dorian winced as he saw the familiar clothing of his homeland, not happy to be fighting his countrymen.

Cullen looked to Dorian with concern, wordlessly asking if he was alright. Dorian nodded and continued on, reminding himself these men chose this path.

After glancing around the room, everyone turned to face Cullen with disappointed looks.

"There's no one here. How are we going to bring the Inquisitor back without that amulet?" One of the mages asked.

Dorian bit his lip as he thought.

Before he could come up with anything, Felix spoke up. "No, there must be another way out of here. My father didn't head for the entrance when he retreated, he went further in."

Cullen nodded, "That's right, everyone look around! There must be--"

Dorian placed his hands on the wall at the back of the cave and closed his eyes, reciting a spell quietly.

Before anyone could ask what he was planning, the wall dissolved away, revealing a laboratory and a barely conscious Alexius breathing heavily on the ground, books scattered where he sat.

"Father!" Felix rushed to his side as he pulled bandages from his bag. Alexius’s wounds were deep and unhealed, but not from Lavellan's sword, which laid across his lab table, still coated in blood.

"My son," Alexius’s voice was incredibly weak, sounding more like air than words.

Felix began applying pressure to his father's rotting wound, exposed flesh healed open.

"We have healers here, just hold on," he said even as the healers shook their heads, wounds too old to fix.

Dorian approached with caution, nerves rising at seeing his old mentor again. He stepped into view just as Alexius looked up.

"The Venatori," he wheezed, "they left me, abandoned me. Told...told the Elder One I failed them."

Felix's eyes began to well up with tears, "They were using you, father, just like you used Dorian. They wanted your magic, that was all."

Tears tugged at the edges of Alexius’s eyes as well, as he admitted, "The Elder One...Corypheus...he came to take the amulet, tried to kill me. But...but I…"

He began to cough and sputter, blood leaking from his nose and mouth. He tightly grabbed Felix's hand, holding on with all his strength as he gasped and panted for air.

The air was stagnant, musty and old. Without a draft present, Dorian and Felix could feel as Alexius’s last breath escaped his chest and hit their skin.

Felix sat back on his hunches, eyes glazed, staring down at their entwined hands.

Dorian looked away and closed his eyes tightly.

A long silence hovered in the room, Dorian's hand gripping Felix's shoulder to comfort him. He looked down at his hand, still clasped in his father's, and felt something heavy and cold kiss his palm. He pulled his father's hand away to find the amulet, pulsating and smooth, as if never used.

"Crafty bastard," Dorian said as he lookes at the amulet in pristine condition. "He repaired it, but not perfectly. The way the magic is calibrated, it should work in reverse."

Dorian looked from the Inquisitor's sword to the books scattered on the floor.

"He was going to bring Lavellan back and try again."

"Maker's sake," Felix dropped his head into his hands.

"It's already 'calibrated' to bring him back? That saves us some time, doesn't it?" Cullen looked to Solas for confirmation.

"I am unfamiliar with time magic. I believe everyone to be, except for Dorian." Solas gestured from Dorian to confirm.

He nodded, taking the amulet from Felix and looking it over for imperfections. "Indeed it does. So long as he's done it correctly."

Dorian began work on his spell with the mages silently watching on. Though he had asked them not to, they often asked questions, to which the usual reply was, "This is time altering magic, you know. Let's not forget the danger of this."

When they began to ask too many questions they wouldn't get an answer to, Cullen stepped in and shooed them away. After they scattered, Cullen placed a hand on the small of Dorian's back, resisting the urge to wrap his arms around the man from behind. He wanted nothing more than to rest his head on Dorian’s shoulder and close his eyes. And when he would open them, the Inquisitor would be there unscathed and everything would be normal.

Cullen heaved a deep sigh at the thought, Dorian turning to look at him with concern.

"Something the matter, amatus?"

"Who?" Cullen asked, not really having absorbed the question.

Dorian chuckled, "You, silly. Are you alright?"

Cullen shook his head slightly, eyes closed, "No. I mean, yes, it's nothing, just...who is Amatus?"

Dorian rolled his eyes, wrapping his arms around Cullen’s neck. "It's Tevene, a term of endearment like 'honey or 'dear'." A smirk came to his lips as Cullen scolded himself for sounding jealous.

"Sorry, I'm just nervous about this whole situation. I didn't mean to…" Cullen trailed off.

Dorian pressed a nimble finger to his lips. "It's alright, I'm nervous too. This is something I've never done, never even considered having to do. But it will turn out. The Inquisitor will be fine, I promise."

Cullen stared with anxious eyes for a long moment, "That's an awfully confident promise."

Dorian's calm smile faltered ever so slightly, but Cullen caught it, placing a warm ungloved palm to the mage's cheek. "I trust you, Dorian, but it's not your fault if he doesn't come back."

Dorian cringed, "This has all been my fault. If I had just been honest from the beginning--"

"Stop." Cullen leaned forward to silence him with a kiss, forgetting the others around them. "Hunting down the Venatori has been our goal this entire time. This may have happened eventually, you couldn't have changed this."

Dorian nodded, lips still so close to Cullen's. "You're right, I know you are, but I would feel much better if I could bring him back."

Dorian grabbed the calibrated amulet and a tome off the lab table, breaking free of Cullen's embrace and moving toward the center of the room to prepare the ritual.

Solas stood from his crouched position, holding out his hands to take Dorian's completed spell.

"The most difficult bit will be leaving the fade at the same time you entered. Make certain you do not interrupt the flow of time." Solas warned as he started casting.

Dorian looked to Cullen one last time before a green and yellow tear opened before him and he stepped through.

Hours passed and still Dorian hadn't returned with the Inquisitor. Cullen paced the room along with the mages, while Solas maintained meditation in the center of the room, waiting for the beckon call.

He couldn't take the suspense any longer. Cullen gingerly walked near and around Solas to see if he could still hear him. Solas coldly spoke, quiet and even, "I am entirely aware of my surroundings outside the fade, Commander."

It made Cullen jump at first. He then asked, "Are you...in there with them? Can you help them?"

Solas stayed completely still with his eyes closed and legs crossed as he responded, "No, I cannot. I am simply suspending my mind in the fade, but I am not there as they are. They went in physically, body and spirit as one. I would have gone in myself and done this more quickly, but alas, there must be someone on the other side to pull the Inquisitor back through. Dorian has an excellent understanding of time, but the fade can disorient even the brightest minds."

None of this made Cullen feel any better, or more confident that they were safe. "But can you see them? Are they alright?"

Solas sighed, annoyed at having to dumb things down, "Dorian and the Inquisitor have made contact. I can sense their spirits near one another, but I cannot see anything. Were I there, I could use my senses. I am not, however, so I must feel for their souls. I know not where they are in time, or how they fair."

Cullen grunted in frustration. Why did he expect a clear answer?

A short while passed and Solas began to rise, grabbing his staff again. "Everyone stay back, the tear could pull you in!"

Everyone scattered to the edges of the room, watching in astonishment as Solas tore the veil open, Dorian and the Inquisitor stumbling through back into the 'real' world, haggard and panting.

Cullen approached slowly as the tear sealed behind them. When Dorian locked eyes with him, he ran into the Commander's arms.

"Cullen," he whispered in his ear, breathy and shaking, "Thank the Maker, it's you"

Cullen returned the embrace but was still confused. "Yes, it's really me. What happened? Are you alright?"

The rest of the room rushed to the Inquisitor's aid, healers starting to mend cuts and bruises and wrap them gently but with urgency.

Dorian pulled back to look Cullen in the eyes, tears nearly falling onto his cheeks. "Time moves differently. I hoped we would be out in a few days, but it's been weeks, maybe months for us. Lavellan said he'd been sent into the future and stuck there for nearly a year. I can't begin to imagine…"

Dorian shuttered and pulled Cullen close again, Cullen shushing him softly, running calloused fingers over his hair.

__________

Back at Skyhold, a crowd waited anxiously at the base of the steps from the main hall, nervous chatter rumbling through them. The Inquisitor was in his chambers, healers and templars looking him over, a scholar begging him to recount his experience.

Cullen and his fellow advisors took deep breaths before opening the doors of the main hall and descending the steps until they reached the middle landing.

"People of the Inquisition!" Cassandra shouted over the chatter, "The Inquisitor is safe and in good health!"

The crowd sighed a collective sigh of relief as they applauded.

Cullen smiled as he added, "All thanks to the brave and valiant efforts of the templars," they raised their swords from within the crowd, people cheering. "Our mages," they raised their staves as well, Solas smiling as he bowed his head.

"And lastly, this man." Cullen held out his hand, inviting Dorian from the front of the crowd to join him. "This man, who joined with you as a troop, rose quickly through our ranks with his impressive display of magical knowledge; who joined the Inquisitor in the field, and contributed to the important research done in our library."

Dorian was already stunned as he stood above all the people of Skyhold, but Cullen took both hands in his, and faced him full on. "This man, who risked his reputation, his place in the Inquisition, and ultimately his own life, to return the Inquisitor to us from beyond time. Dorian Pavus."

Felix, standing at the front, looked up to Dorian from within the crowd and shouted, "To Dorian!" The crowd joined in with thanks, crying out with joy for their Herald’s great return, and the man who saved him. Dorian looked out over the crowd as they said his name, as they recognized him for all his deeds despite his lineage.

The good Tevinter.

He smiled as he turned to Cullen once again. "A tad overdue, if you ask me."

Cullen chuckled, "You're impossible."

Cullen pulled Dorian in for a long and tight hug, the crowd around them cheering for the Inquisitor. Cheering for the

[happyandticklish]

Silent Laughter

Notes: It has come to my attention that I have written nothing for Shincelty, despite the two of them being one of my favorite parings on that show, and I have decided to right that wrong today. 

Summary: Shinra proposes an experiment and Celty deals with her own inner doubt.

Usually, Celty didn’t mind the fact that she couldn’t speak.

It had its downfalls, of course. Pulling her phone out every time she wanted to communicate even the simplest of concepts wasn’t ideal, and could be highly frustrating at times. However, she had found over the years that there weren’t many moments when she needed to speak. Living with Shinra meant that conversations tended to carry themselves, even if she never spoke a word. His bubbly enthusiasm for everything more than made up for her monotonous silence.

There were moments, though, when she found the block highly aggravating.

That day brought forth one such moment. Celty had been relaxing, her body splayed lazily upon the leather couch the two shared while she waited for her husband to return. Normally, Shinra was the main occupant of their household, as he worked from home. Today though, he had been invited out by Izaya.

Or. Well. Invited probably wasn’t the right word. Izaya had called the other up on the phone and threatened to kill Shizuo should Shinra not meet with him to discuss “important personal matters”. This was code for Izaya being too stubborn to merely ask Shinra to hang out with him. He did this often, threatening homicide (usually towards their beloved Shizuo) if the other did not agree to meet up with him. At first, Shinra had been concerned, but after it had happened a couple of times he quickly saw through Izaya’s lazy façade. He called him out on it occasionally, but each time Izaya would merely shrug, insisting he had no idea what the other was talking about.

Celty herself had never understood their friendship. It wasn’t that she necessarily disliked Izaya; she understood that people were complicated and did complicated things because of it. Still, he seemed like a dangerous friend to keep, and one whom Shinra was often irritated by. Whenever she inquired about it, Shinra would just smile in confusion, replying, “What do you mean? Why wouldn’t we be friends?”

Celty allowed her thoughts to drift aimlessly as she waited, allowing the sun filtering through the blinds to warm her. Today was the first day in a while that she hadn’t been busy with work. Izaya, one of her main employers, was pre-occupied for the day as previously stated. Even the various gangs scattered throughout the city, all of whom tended to want her for some impossible task or another, had lightened up in their normally relentless persistence. She could hardly remember the last time she had been free to simply lounge around. She decided to take advantage of the moment, allowing herself to drift off into the vague semblance of sleep she exhibited.

She was roused almost minutes later by the sounds of a door kicked open and the exuberant tones of Shinra’s voice as he entered. “Celty! I have returned! Sorry I’m late; Izaya ended up running into Shizuo at Simon’s and I had to prevent the two from destroying the city in one go. Are you home?”

He struggled out of his shoes, hopping back several steps in his attempts. He popped his head into the living room, smiling once he noticed her. “Hey.”

Celty sat up, waving slowly as she brushed off the remaining lull of sleep. Shinra slowly slipped off his coat, taking a seat besides her on the couch. She started to bring her phone out from her pocket, intent on typing some semblance of a “how was your day?”, but before she could do so she found herself enveloped in the arms of the scientist. She froze, the suddenness of the action throwing her off guard for a moment. He buried his face into her shoulder, softly mumbling, “I missed you.”

Slowly, Celty allowed her muscles to relax, melting into the embrace. Shinra tended to be a more physical person than most, eagerly leaning against shoulders and knocking knees with others while watching movies; whenever they went out for any kind of date he always made sure to interlace his fingers with hers as they walked through the crowded streets. Sometimes, if the stress of work had caught up to him, he would curl up on her lap and she would run her fingers through his hair, allowing the other to relax. For him, touch meant affection, love, and caring. She had learned as much over the years.

She wrapped her arms around him in unison, wishing she had a mouth to kiss him, to reassure him how much she loved him too.

“How about we stay here?” he implored into her shoulder. “Forever. Just you and me and Shooter. We’ll both quit our jobs and I’ll cook you omelets and you can watch those dumb tv shows you’re so fond of, and neither of us puts our lives on the line for the sake of Ikebukuro.”

She curled her fingers in his hair, implying in that gesture everything she couldn’t say. He sighed, his body drooping against her. “I know. That doesn’t mean a man can’t hope.”

Celty retrieved her phone where she had dropped it on the cushion. She typed out a quick sentence, tapping Shinra’s shoulders insistently. He glanced up, eyes scanning the screen. We can grab something to eat, if you’d like? There’s a new sandwich place that opened up downtown.

“No,” he said, shaking his head resolutely. “If I cannot stop time, then at the very least I can make this moment last as long as possible. I’m sorry Celty, but I’m afraid I cannot move from this position. If I were to let go of you, there could be earth-shattering consequences.”

Earth-shattering? she replied skeptically.

“Utterly disastrous,” he confirmed in deadpan.

She tilted her neck down at him disapprovingly. You’ll have to let go eventually, you know.

“You can’t make me.”

Those words, spoken impetuously from the mouth of the foolish scientist, forewarned his doom. In the two’s time together, Celty had discovered many things about Shinra. She knew that he was fond of games and had a strange taste in cooking. She knew that he still listened to pop music, completely unashamedly, she might add. She had also learned that he was, quite possibly, one of the most ticklish people she had ever met before.

If she had possessed a mouth, she might’ve smirked.

Slowly, she returned her hands to his back, running her nails gently up and down the other’s spine. Shinra closed his eyes with a relaxed sigh, utterly unaware of the trick she would soon play on him. As time went on, her touch traveled casually away from his back, almost, almost, brushing against his sides. He tensed against her, arching a little against her touch.

“Celty.”

One finger carefully drew a path up his left side.

“C-Celty,” he tried again, his smile transforming into a wobbly grin as he tightened his grip around her. “No.”

Two fingers, scratching just under his ribs.

“This is entirely unfair,” he informed her, squirming away from her touch. “C-Completely and u-utterly uncalled fohor.”

All at once ten fingers on either side, scribbling with devastating softness. He yelped, bursting into a round of panicked giggles and squeezing her tight as he fought to keep himself from shoving her away. “Cehehelty, thihis ihihis mehehehean!”

His thin button-up did little to protect him, and she managed to get at his slender sides with ease. Each curl and twitch of her fingers sent him into helpless spasms, his arms trembling in their hold. Only when she pinched that one spot on his hips did he finally let go, arms shooting down protectively.

“Ohohokay, okay!” Shinra yelped, scrambling back on the couch. He took a moment to regain his bearings, pointing a finger at her accusingly. “You can’t use that against me every time you want something, you know.”

But you love it?

“That is…” he trailed off, a flush rising on his cheeks. “Irrelevant information. Besides, it’s not fair. How come you’re the only one who ever gets to tickle me?”

The black smoke surrounding her swirled inquiringly. What do you mean?

“Well, I mean, you’re—” he stopped himself, giving her a stern look. “You’re… not ticklish, right?”

Why wouldn’t I be ticklish?

“Well you’ve never reacted when I tried before,” he pointed out.

Shinra, she typed slowly, as though she were speaking to a child. I don’t have a head—I wouldn’t be able to laugh.

This gave the other pause. It had never occurred to him that her lack of reaction could have been because she couldn’t react, as opposed to her being unaffected. Now that the idea had entered his head however, it wouldn’t leave him alone. Part of it stemmed from a purely scientific viewpoint (could Dullahans be ticklish?), though he couldn’t deny that a greater portion of him was grateful for the chance at revenge.

He leaned across the couch eagerly, his attention entirely captivated by this new concept. Celty leaned back warily, but not away. “We do know that you feel pain, admittedly to a more muted level than most. That would imply that you can feel sensation. I guess I never connected the dots in my head before.” He put his hand to his chin, considering. Finally, he looked back up at her, a slightly hesitant look to his eyes. “Would you… would you be okay if I tested it?”

Tested it? Celty repeated slowly. As in…

“Tickle you,” Shinra filled in. “Only if you want to, of course. I wouldn’t consider doing it without your permission. Don’t get me wrong, I’ll be dying of curiosity. But I understand if you don’t want to.”

Celty tried to imagine it, what it would be like to experience what had brought Shinra to the ground many times in the past. She knew she had been tickled before, though usually never purposefully. Merely an accidental glance against the side, a poke to get her attention. Once Shinra had grabbed her hips and squeezed suddenly, but his attempt had ultimately failed as Celty merely turned questioningly towards him.

She found it difficult to believe that something as simple as a light touch could bring her to hysterics, though she’d seen it work on Shinra countless times.

Alright, she agreed at last, finding that she herself was curious as to the outcome. I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to try.

Shinra’s eyes widened, clearly having expected more of a fight from her. Still, he wasn’t about to let a chance like this pass him up. Cautiously, he uncurled her leg, placing it on his lap gently. He raised his hand, pausing inches away from her foot and quickly adding, “Oh, and make sure to tell me exactly how this feels! This is research, after all.”

Celty tensed, preparing herself for an onslaught of… well, what she wasn’t sure. But when Shinra lightly dragged his finger up her sole, she didn’t experience any kind of profound reaction. It was a prickling sensation, one that alerted her nerves to the action, but nothing altogether noteworthy. Shinra continued to drag the same finger up and down her arches, seemingly wanting to take it slow so she had time to process.

“How does it feel?” he asked curiously, glancing up from his task but not stopping as he did so.

Celty raised her phone, ready to type out a response, when suddenly Shinra’s finger drifted slightly, going in vague zig-zags down her foot. She jerked forward with a start, her toes curling protectively.

“Celty?” Shinra asked hesitantly. “Are you okay?”

Yes, she typed out, the words halted as she tried to come to terms with her own feelings. It just… tickled.

“It did?” Shinra confirmed excitedly. “That’s incredible! What did it feel like?”

You know what tickling feels like, she pointed out.

“Well, yes,” he said, nodding. “But for all we know, it’s an entirely different sensation for you.”

Celty’s fingers paused over her phone as she tried to decide a way to describe the earlier feeling. Electric. But also soft, at the same time. Sort of like when a bug crawls on your skin, but more intense.

“Interesting,” Shinra murmured. “I would say that’s pretty accurate to what it feels like. Still, we’ll probably have to do more testing to further confirm it. Would you be okay if I kept going?”

Celty thought about saying no, the vague devious excitement in his eyes making her wary, but she found that she was just as curious to experience the startling sensation again. It was strange to think that in all the time she had been among humans, she had never participated in the silly ritual. She nodded, and eagerly Shinra returned to his task, scratching lightly at her soles once more.

Again, strange sparks of feeling shot up her leg, and she jerked against his hold unconsciously. Shinra appeared more bold now, spidering his fingers softly over her sole with reckless abandon. She clutched her phone tightly, drawing her other knee up to her chest. It was somehow a comfort to protect the one foot that she could, the action giving her a strange sense of control over the situation. When he reached the ball of her feet, she spasmed, hilarity rising in her throat.

It was odd. Throughout all her life, Celty had never known the ability to laugh like others could, and never before had she felt an especial need for it. Now though, with Shinra’s fingers wrecking hell upon her, she found the need to laugh growing stronger, despite the fact that there was no outlet for it. She shook noiselessly, her shoulders drawing in.

“Wow Celty,” Shinra said, smiling affectionately over at her. “I never realized you were this ticklish. If I had known, I would’ve struck my revenge years ago.”

Celty wrapped her arms around herself, knowing that had she the ability to, she would be blushing right then.

She was able to survive a couple more minutes, squirming futilely on the couch, though that was more an unconscious protest than a genuine attempt to escape. He had discovered a spot on her toes that made her jump, her hands fisting into the fabric of the couch as she fought to keep herself from shoving him off.

It was only after five minutes had elapsed, that she began to realize the silence filling the room, stretching like a chasm between them. Guilt prickled slightly at her chest. Normally when the two of them were together, she had her phone on her and could therefore uphold easy conversation. Now though, with the distractingly pleasant and unbearable sensations squirreling through her, she was finding it impossible to type anything.

In an instant, black mist had wrapped itself tightly around Shinra’s wrists, pulling his hand away. His eyes widened in surprise at the sudden gesture, and he turned to see Celty quickly typing out a response. “C-Celty—”

Wait.

He frowned, tilting his head in concern. “Is… is everything alright? I didn’t go overboard did I? Whatever I did, I’m sorry—”

No, she interrupted, waving her hand fiercely in denial of his statement. You didn’t do anything. It’s only…

She hesitated on her next sentence, trying to think of a way to phrase it. Shinra waited calmly for her response, his eyebrows drawn down with vague worry.

I was just thinking that this can’t possibly be fun for you, she said at last. Shinra opened his mouth to deny the statement, but she quickly began typing again before he could say anything. I can’t laugh like other humans, or smile, even though everything in me wants to. Doesn’t that take away from it? For you I mean?

Shinra blinked, the words clearly the last thing he had expected. “Celty… how could you possibly think that?”

Celty didn’t respond, though her silence said everything he needed to hear.

He held up his hands imploringly, and after a moment Celty dissipated the mist with a flick of her hand. Once he was free again, he reached out, grasping her hand in his.

“For all the time I’ve known you, I’ve never had to identify you with a voice. And so I learned to recognize you by the other things that made you you, the soft step of your footsteps, the impatient cross of your arms when you’re exasperated with me. I don’t need to hear your voice to know you’re there. So in that case, how could I possibly long for a sound I’ve never even heard? I don’t need to hear your laugh to sense its presence. I can see it in the way you scrunch your shoulders, the tension in your muscles, the way your body shakes besides me. It may not be audible, but to me, it’s the most beautiful sound in the world—the laughter of silence. It’s so perfectly you, how could I possibly hate it?”

His words were spoken innocently, like when a child brings forth a truth they know to be real beyond a shadow of a doubt because they haven’t learned to suspect the world yet. Celty’s heart lifted in her chest, a burst of euphoria lighting and melting her limbs. She clutched his hand back, before reaching for her phone once more and quickly typing a response.

Thank you.

He grinned, flushing a little, as though her ineloquent reply had meant just as much to him as his words had to her. “There’s no need for that. I was simply speaking the truth. Although…”

She startled as he reached forward suddenly, enclosing the two of them in a hug. The true intention of his gesture became clear in a moment as his hands latched onto her sides, his fingers curling in just slightly. “If you really want to thank me, then I wouldn’t mind a continuation of our earlier experimentation?”

Celty paused, and then, with a wild carelessness, she hugged him back, tracing out a simple word onto his back.

Yes.

[bffsoobin]

Windflower

01|02|03|04|05|06

↳ after a heartbreak you find yourself in a small town looking for purpose. you find employment with Choi Soobin and his impressive ancestral home. when you start to fall in love again, there’s no way for you to predict what you find in the depths of the home and Soobin’s mind.

➤ hanahaki au, angst, slight fluff, dark themes

Word Count:6,881

Warnings: swearing, descriptions of sickness and feeling generally unwell, mentions of doctors/medical treatments, deception, descriptions of anxiety/panic, horror, pain, major character death, general dark themes! Please proceed with caution if you’re sensitive! (also I did not proof read)

A/N:excuse my language; but holy fuck. I cannot believe this is the end of Windflower. This is insane. Windflower is my passion project, and the desire to write it is half the reason I opened my account on here. While it hasn’t been the most popular writing on my blog, I have been really really proud of it. Thank you to everyone who has been reading and supporting this since the beginning! I love you all!

•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•☾☼☽•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:••:•.•

Soobin sat with his head dipped toward the dark wooden dining table. He was scrolling through what appeared to be a website for a plant nursery; as if he needed more within the home. You were sitting opposite of him, peeking over the top of your laptop where you were pretending to read an article on the ten best shows coming to Netflix this fall. Following the night of your drunken rage, the two of you had patched up your relationship as well as you possibly could. You’d traded apologies, talked it out over a store-bought cheesecake and moved on. 

At least, you assumed he had. He acted as if you hadn’t accused him of being some type of fraud and proclaimed that you could no longer trust him. Everything was eerily the same, despite Soobin’s increased caution around you in certain settings. Gone were the days of him laying a hand on your back as you cooked or resting his head on your shoulder while you both dozed off on the couch. 

You should have been grateful for his physical distance. Happy that he was giving you the room you had hinted at needing on that night a few weeks ago. Instead you were annoyed. Frustrated at the way you craved to feel his comforting touch even though you knew it would only bring you more pain in the end. For a while, you worried that his avoidance meant he had seen the evidence of your stupidity floating within the toilet bowl, but you knew Soobin well enough to know that he would have talked to you about it. Right? He would have brought it up; although slowly and with extreme caution, and asked you what he could do to help. He had proven himself to be mature and thoughtful, even after you’d tried to push him away. 

He finally stirred in his seat across the table. You could actually hear a few of his bones crack with the movement and you stifled a laugh. 

“What’s so funny?” He tried to sound intimidating, but his voice was so inherently soft around the edges that you couldn’t hold back the laugh. 

“You’re just an old man,” you were poking at him, you knew, but it felt good. You felt normal. Almost like you were back to the time when the two of you were truly just friends. He planted both of his large, vascular hands flat on the table and leaned his weight forward. 

“I’m an old man? You do know we’re the same age, Y/N. So if I’m so old...” he paused for dramatic affect as you stared up at him in amused awe. “Then you must be ancient.”

An offended gasp, obviously feigned, slipped between your lips; which you now noticed you’d chewed raw as you were thinking earlier. 

“How dare you? I am the epitome of youth! My hair is flowing, my skin is flawless,” you pointed to a blemish on your chin you knew for a fact you’d had for days. “My youthful beauty is unmatched, can’t you tell?” You weren’t sure where your sudden good mood had come from but you basked in it. Even as Soobin used his hands as leverage to lean closer to your face, you didn’t budge. You couldn’t. This close up, you could spot every single little freckle on his face. The dynamic shades of his irises became more and more distinct until he finally stopped advancing toward you. It was easily the closest the two of you had been in weeks. 

“Hm, you’re right. I can tell. There’s something about you...” he squinted his eyes as if he were scrutinizing your every feature. “You are beautiful, Y/N.” 

The sentence brought an unwanted visceral reaction through your body. It was too much like a confession, too close to the exact words you needed to hear from him. A shooting pain rippled through your heart. You shuddered out an exhale, shutting your eyes tight as if that would stave away the pain. In a blind panic, you pushed away from the solid table and made to put as much distance between yourself and Soobin as possible. Then your migraine hit, the feeling like someone had stuck a red hot iron rod behind both of your eyes. Fuck. On top of that pain, a cough worked its way up your throat, producing a petal into your mouth that was slimy and bitter.

You only made it two and a half steps before your knees gave out, sending you hurtling toward the floor in a free fall. Sticking your hands out just before the impact, you accepted the fact that you were about to get a concussion out of your own inability to properly distance yourself from an unrequited love. But the sensitive skin of your face never bounced off of the original hardwood flooring you had once drooled over. 

“Y/N?” Soobin was panicked, stooped down  next to you as he had managed to barely break your fall and turn you around to lay on your back. Your vision was still swimming, but you cracked open your eyes very slowly. 

‘What’s wrong? Do you need to go to a doctor?” 

“No,” you croaked out, “was just a migraine.” Soobin scoffed. 

“I’ve never seen anyone nearly pass out from just a migraine, Y/N. And in all the months I’ve known you, you’ve never-”

“I’m fine.” You asserted, sitting up as well as you could with his arms wrapped protectively around your shoulders. “They used to happen the last time I- uh, when I was in college. It’s okay, they’ll pass.” You were lying right through your teeth. The last time you had a migraine this badly, your then roommate had rushed you to the emergency room and discovered that you had hanahaki. There was no doubt that history was repeating itself. 

 “Okay.” He was frowning, obviously unconvinced as he pushed a hand against your lower back. “At least let me help you upstairs.” 

----

The migraine either dissipates or you simply become accustomed to it. The petal you had coughed into a tissue when you first reached your room had dried, sitting on your bedside table in its perfect little form to mock you. You were so disgusted that you couldn’t even bring yourself to throw it away. No longer sensitive to light, you shrugged out from underneath your sheets and stretched your limbs until they cracked. A dull thumping was still present at the base of your skull; a reminder of what you’d just suffered. A sickly feeling of anxiety passed through you like a breeze, making the hair on the back of your neck stand to attention. Soobin was clearly not convinced by your insistence that your sudden ailment was nothing of concern. And he was right. In all the time you’d been around him, you never once experienced a spell quite like that, so how was he supposed to not be suspicious?

Although, you had to hold onto hope that he truly didn’t know any better. It seemed as though he was blissfully ignorant to the truth behind your sickness, and you’d like to keep it that way. For as long as you possibly could, anyway. 

You hadn’t even noticed that you were pacing across the floor until you landed your weight onto a particularly squeaky board that sounded ridiculous in the otherwise quiet room. Freezing on the spot, you held your breath for some reason you truly couldn’t explain. Of course, there was no logical reason to do so, and the action only resulted in your lungs contracting violently. Your upper body shuddered as you opened your mouth instantly. Holding your breath for just a few seconds should have been a simple task, but to your weakened heart and lungs it felt like running a whole marathon uphill. 

Buckling over, you heaved in mouthfuls of oxygen until your heart rate dropped back down to a normal rate. Add shortness of breath to your growing list of signs that should send you running for the nearest clinic. If you weren’t so foolishly attached to the man who was probably worrying about you downstairs, you would have already been booking yourself an appointment. 

It just seemed totally inconceivable, even in your predicament, to leave Soobin behind within his ancestral house that surely felt horridly empty being lived in alone. You would sooner walk over lava barefoot than put him through that. It was stupid. So incredibly stupid, but you were literally willing to put your life on the line just to look after Soobin. He had really weaseled himself deep into your psyche. But you knew you were to blame for holding the door wide open. He had done so much for you, surely you could do him to kindness of sticking around as long as you possibly could.

So you trudged down the steps like you did every day, expecting to come face to face with an overly worried and doting young man standing in the kitchen or living room awaiting your arrival. But the lower level of the house was oddly silent when you descended the steps. The low hum of the washer and dryer running were the only indications that someone beside yourself was even there. Curiosity spiking, you made your way to the vacant living room to peer out of the windows. It was a bit hard to see him from this angle, but you spotted Soobin lounging on the back deck, skin browning in the sun and eyes closed in content. His arms were tucked behind his head, effectively lengthening his torso and giving you a full view of the sliver of skin that was peeking out between the top of his waistband and the bottom of the white cotton t-shirt  You noticed that he was once again wearing the outfit he was donning when you first arrived at the front gate weeks ago. Although the outfit was simple and generally unremarkable, you would never forget the way your heart lurched at the sight of his lithe body the first time. The warm pull of nostalgia nagged at the back of your mind, so you selfishly let yourself sink into its embrace and recall the trepidation you had once approached the grounds with. 

Soobin had charmed you so easily with his windswept hair and boyish charm that it was a shock you didn’t begin to grow flowers for him the first time you met. To be fair, the version of you who had rolled into town almost two months prior was much more cautious than the version you were now familiar with. Part of you missed that version of you; who was simply drifting through life, unattached to anyone and looking for a new spot to plant her roots. But you knew you weren’t built to live like that, as your attachment to Soobin had proven wholeheartedly. 

Suddenly, you felt a lurching in your chest that didn’t necessarily hurt you; but urged you to go outside and talk to Soobin. A subconscious pull that reminded you that your body craved his attention just as much as your mind did. The weather was beautiful today, a pleasant temperature that made your skin feel like it was glowing as soon as you were under the sun. As soon as you stepped onto the porch, Soobin whipped his head around in your direction. Cutely, he scrambled to sit up, hair frizzy from the static of the Adirondack chair he had been lounging on. 

“Are you feeling better?” A warm hand encased the left side of your face, Soobin’s sloped nose just inches away from yours as his speckled eyes studied every single pore and line on your face. 

“Uh- I’m-” his proximity was making your jittery, heart rate spiking as you tried to collect your thoughts. “I feel better. The migraine is gone.” You ignored the way the same dull ache from earlier was beginning to seep into the edges of your brain. 

“Oh, good!” A rush of his breath blew over your sensitive skin, sending your eyelids into a flutter. When he removed his hand, you felt oddly cold and empty despite the heat of the atmosphere. “Look, I don’t want you to do any work around the house until you’re feeling better. And I can call my doctor to get you in for a-”

“No!” The word jumped off of your tongue before you could reign it in; rudely cutting Soobin off as his eyes widened in shock. He shifted his weight as his eyebrows knit together in worry. You licked your lips- suddenly dry- and tried to collect the thoughts that were running laps in your mind. How could you possibly explain that going to the doctor would be a grave mistake and mark the end of your companionship. 

“You don’t want to go to the doctor? I promise he’s really nice, Y/N, and he can get you medicine for your migraines.” His perfect lips were pulled into a worried pout, a thin sheen of sweat glazing his skin only exemplifying his perfect complexion. 

“No, it’s just that...when I had them before they ran a bunch of tests,” you were hedging the truth and you knew it, but hopefully Soobin couldn’t tell the difference, “and there was nothing they could give me to help them. So a doctor would just be, ya know, a waste of time.” The skin on the back of your neck was heated in worry as you shot Soobin what you hoped was a convincing grin. 

“Okay.” He was still frowning but he seemed to believe you. “Just please let me know if you want to go. I don’t want you to be miserable. And you’re still not doing any yard work,” he grasped your bicep and led you over to the chair he had just been lying in. His grip was strong as he gave you no choice but to sit down and relax. The plastic was heated from the sunshine and the heat of his body as you settled in and looked up at him, blinking slowly. 

“I’m not gonna break, Soobin. I can handle watering the plants and doing some cleaning inside. You are not going to wait on me hand and foot.” You put some fire in your tone, hoping to edge away the anxiety you were feeling creep up the back of your throat. Having the exact person who sent your body on a fight against itself watching over you like a mother cat watches its kittens would surely put you six feet under. 

Soobin’s eyes steeled as he crossed his arms over his broad, defined chest. “No, Y/N. I am going to wait on you, because you’ve spent so much time waiting on me, and you deserve to have someone take care of you. Please let me take care of you, bub.” You were speechless at the strength of his voice coupled with the nickname he had only used in a teasing manner prior to this moment. The longer you stared at the toned muscle of his arms crossed over the widest part of his torso, the more your throat began to tickle with the insistence of soft, red petals that were looking for an escape. Panicked, you looked away quickly, coughing as softly as you can to hopefully pass the action off as simply swallowing down the wrong pipe. Just when you think the moment has passed, an unwavering push at the back of your throat had you involuntarily gagging. Soobin sprung into action, patting a large hand between your shoulder blades as if he were burping an infant. He was calling your name, pulling some strands of your hair away from your face in a bid to get your attention; but you ignored him. Your stomach rolled, the pressure in your lungs and heart only increasing at his touch that you tried to shrug off. 

Eventually the muscles of your esophagus stopped constricting and fresh oxygen could flow back into your crowded lungs. Hot tears slipped down your cheeks and you wiped at them in embarrassment, hiding your face from Soobin’s intensified gaze. You could only imagine what he was thinking right now; as you’d just went from insisting you had no need for a doctor to dry heaving over the side of his deck furniture. The thought had you shrinking into yourself even more. He was going to catch on eventually, wasn’t he? Fuck. You couldn’t avoid this much longer. The evidence of your disease was only mounting and Soobin was more observant than ever before. 

“Y/N.” The call of your name brought you, slowly, out of your own mind. “Look at me.” The words could not have been any clearer, yet you shook your head like a petulant child. He sighed. “Please, I’m worried about you. Please let me take care of you. I can’t,” he stopped and you could hear him swallow clearly. Was that a sniffle? Your heart clenched in response. “I can’t sit here and watch you hurt.” 

Still ashamed, you raised your head from your hands and stared out over the yard instead of facing him. You didn’t think your stuttering heart would survive seeing his expression in this supercharged moment. You’d sooner drop dead than see Soobin crying over you.

“Okay,” you acquiesced, mind already running in the direction of a backup plan, “I’m sorry, Soobin. You’re right. I do need you to look after me. Just please.” you swallowed, tasting the oddly earthy tang of flower petals on your tongue. “No doctors. You have to promise me.” Finally turning your body to face his, your earlier suspicions were confirmed. 

Your heart constricted painfully at the sight of him, eyes rimmed red and watery with unshed tears and a line of worry creasing the soft skin of his forehead harshly. “Fine.” He huffed, clearly displeased with your stipulation but willing to make the sacrifice. 

“Thank you,” the words were whispered, caught in a sudden gust of wind, but he heard them nonetheless and sent you a small nod. 

“Of course.”

----

Soft sunlight filtered through the flowy white curtains hanging over the windows of the library. You weren’t sure why you hadn’t spent much time in this little haven since you moved in. Soobin’s cousin had filled it with plush armchairs laden with soft fleece blankets and the most comfortable throw pillows you’d ever felt. The books were certainly outdated, but you found some classics that satisfied the itch for escape you had begun to cultivate. Currently, you were flipping through a vintage illustrated coffee table book- the front page tells you it was made in 1962- that gave diagrams and names of all types of flowers. You shouldn’t have been surprised to find this type of literature here, as Soobin himself had admitted to learning the meanings of flowers in his free time. 

The pages were delicate, so you flipped them carefully, fingers tracing over the edges that felt like they might melt between the oil of your skin. As you turned onto a new page a brightly colored sticky note, not unlike the ones you used to mark up textbooks, drew your attention toward the flower it was attached to. You recognized the flower as jasmine immediately, familiar with the patch of it that weaved among its neighbors in the garden. Brushing the sticky note aside, you read the delicate cursive underneath it: eternal and unconditional love. Cute. The image of a younger Soobin thumbing through the book, tongue pushed out in concentration as he researched warmed your heart. 

A tremor of weakness passed through your arm, making your hand shake. A feeling of dread- which you desperately tried to push down- reminded you of just how much worse your condition had become. You had noticed it lately, the way you felt much more faint than normal, how much more often you had to take a moment to catch your breath, the way your whole body would shake when you cough up a mix of blood and petals into the sink. 

But for now, you chose to lose yourself in this book and the newfound hunt for Soobin’s sticky notes of interest. You had to skip a few pages before you found the next ones; two bundled together in the upper left corner of the page marked off forget-me-nots and begonias. Gently lifting the sticky notes revealed the meanings behind these flowers, also featured in the backyard, to be true love and deep compassion and communication or connection, respectively. Curiosity mounting, you continued to flip through the weighty book. At first, you began to think that maybe the three notes you’d already found were all that lived within the forgotten book. As you neared the end, your eyes caught on two more, this time on opposite ends of the page. One partially covered an illustration of a snapdragon, the other highlighting the small flowers of a buttercup. Your nails caught on the edge of the blue paper as you lifted it. Buttercups: neatness and innocence. The definition made sense, calling back to memory the way your former best friend had coughed up a handful of the pale yellow flowers when you were just children. She was easily the most pure and innocent person you’d ever met, and given the matching nature of the boy who’d also been secretly pining over her; you couldn’t think of a more perfect example of the type of flower representing the relationship. 

You wondered if Soobin had chosen and planted these flowers with the image of the relationships they’re indicative of in mind. The snapdragon’s description was totally covered by the sticky note; so you nearly had to pry the whole thing off before you could see the cursive. Deception. The word stared back at you. It seemed very out of place among the other markings that Soobin had made. You knew for a fact that a tall, thick patch of snapdragons were growing proudly in the garden, among all the other flowers with soft, beautiful meanings. Interesting. You would consider the fact that Soobin was only drawn to their aesthetics, but the way the drawing was marked with the same enthusiasm as the others was certainly curious. 

You decided that you were thinking way too far into this. For all you knew, the snapdragons were simply planted by someone in his family and he had gone looking for their meaning. Nearing the end of the book, you were simply skimming over the book. Your eyes were starting to get tired, fatigue dancing under your skin as you considered taking a nap right there. On the final, yellowed page of the flower identification book, you spotted something alarmingly familiar. A red flower whose petals fade into a pure white near the stem. The exact same petals that had been crawling up your throat and ruining the little bit of safety you’d found within Soobin’s home. 

Suddenly on high alert, you sat up straight, eyes watering as you finally focused enough to comprehend the definition. The red windflower. Death and forsaken love. Your throat went completely dry, heart dropping down to your stomach. The petals pushed against the soft flesh of the inside of your throat, scratching at the back of your tongue as a harsh reinforcement of what you were reading. Death? Surely you had joked with yourself that you felt as if you were dying, but was that not just because you hadn’t seen a doctor? 

A new gagging cough slipped past your lips, consuming your senses totally as you focused on not spewing a mix of blood, spit and flower petals onto the surely expensive leather chair. Finally, you collapsed back in the chair, chest heaving, book laid open on your lap. Fresh tears brimmed your eyes. You needed to leave. As much as you desired to stay around Soobin and bask in his company, you were becoming increasingly worried for your life. You had to find a way to get him out of the house long enough for you to pack up the essentials and flee the house. It would hurt. It would hurt so bad, but nothing could be worse than the message of doom that your body was giving you. Loving Soobin would literally put you in an early grave. 

“Hey, Y/N, you okay?” Soobin’s voice came cautiously from somewhere behind you and you jumped, clasping the book shut quickly. 

“I’m-” you tried, voice too wrecked from coughing to continue. You cleared your throat, ignoring the painful pinch that created and tried again. “I’m okay. But I was wondering if you’d do me a favor?” Thinking on your feet had your head spinning, and you hoped he couldn’t sense the waver in your voice as you spoke. 

He approached slowly, sitting himself on an armchair opposite of you. The knees of his jeans were stained brown with dirt, a sight not uncommon after his time in the garden. He pushed a hand through his mussed up hair. It was a nervous tick, you knew, and you felt awful for worrying him. Maybe it was better if you left after all. 

“Could you go out to Hank’s and get me a Smore’s sundae? I would drive myself but...” a vague gesture over your generally unwell body made the point clear. “I know it’s pretty far out of town but I’ve been craving one since the first time we went.” 

“Of course. I’m done outside, I can go. Are you sure you’ll be okay alone? I’ll be out for probably like 40 minutes to get all the way there and back.”

“Yes, Soobin. I can still handle myself alone. I’m not that sick.” The irony of the statement was not lost on you, but it seemed to have placated him enough for him to slip on his shoes and leave the house. As soon as he was gone, you threw yourself off of the chair. Your heart rate had been in a constant state of increase for weeks, but you just had to just push through it for now. 

In a flurry of packing that was all too familiar to the way you left your college apartment,  you began to gather your things. You felt a twinge of guilt for leaving behind some of your things for Soobin to contend with, but you had to push it aside in favor of working quickly. All of your personal items, chargers, enough clothing for two weeks, toiletries and any money you’d brought along with you were stuffed into your trusty tote bag. You took one last sweeping look around the room, anxiety licking at the back of your neck as you feared you were running out of time. Many of your dressers were still full and you had left the bed a mess but your most important items were tucked underneath your arm securely; and that was enough for you. 

As you descended the stairs, you tried to ignore the way you wobbled dangerously down them until you finally got to the bottom level of the house. A bittersweet feeling rose in your chest as you surveyed the kitchen where you’d cooked and baked so many times. The living room beckoned you with similar memories of taking naps in the sunshine and watching your favorite films. A stray tear you didn’t know was welling up made a hot streak down your face before dripping off of your skin. No matter how much it hurt, you had to keep moving. The floor creaked familiarly under your feet as you approached the front door. The handle was cold under your fingers as you twisted, but the satisfying creak and rush of fresh air that you were expecting never came. You tried again, but the door didn’t budge. Locked. Okay, that made sense. Neither of you really used the front door, so of course it was locked up. Leaning down to inspect the doorknob, you realized that the age of the home meant that you would need a skeleton key to slip into the door and crack it open. 

Slightly annoyed, you took a deep, steadying breath and headed for the backdoor. You would have to walk further to get to your car; but the back door should be unlocked, considering Soobin had just left out of it. With more fervor, you gripped the door knob and twisted, just to be met with the same resistance the front door gave. A flash of hot panic consumed you as you jiggled the handle again, just in case it would make any difference. Soobin must have locked it out of habit when he left, and you knew for a fact that he had the only key-as far as you knew- with him out at Hank’s. Blindly, you grabbed for your cellphone before realizing how useless that would truly be. No one knew you were here. You didn’t have any other friends in town, and it’s not like you could call the police to come help you without Soobin finding out. Sweaty palms made your phone nearly slip from your grip as your mind worked in overdrive. 

“Okay.” you whispered to yourself, “where would he keep spare keys?” Rifling through a mental list of all the nooks and crannies of the home, a sudden realization hit you. That room upstairs where you had hit your head! That would explain why the room seemed oddly clean, and it was feasible to believe that what you mistook for an AC unit was actually a safe of some kind. Back up the steps you went, heart thumping in a rhythm that was surely unhealthy for someone as young as yourself. 

When you finally got to the room, you found the mismatched furniture exactly where you left it. Soobin had clearly made no effort to move back the dresser or the table that you’d begun to slide out of the way; only making your mission so much easier. 

For the first time today, you had luck when you pulled at the handle of something. Up close, you seemed to be clearly looking at some kind of built in storage compartment, made of a light metal and easily accessed by a small pull lever. Your fingers slipped as you swung the door open, excitement rising at the prospect of being correct about the keeping place of the keys. 

As fast as the excitement and relief had risen, they were quelled and buried deep underneath a wash of confusion. Within the confines of the compartment, you were faced with... flowers. In the middle, acting as some sort of centerpiece, was a pressed snapdragon stem. An entire cluster of flowers, attached firmly to a greened stem was propped up on a small stand; shrink wrapped in protective plastic. Something about the sight was oddly familiar. The stem was cut so perfectly across, completely unlike the way a garden sheer or someone breaking off the plant would present. A memory surfaced to the top of your mind, recalling the first time you’d had your flowers removed. It was cut in the exact same manner; with the precision only a surgical tool could make. Although you’d tried to bury the whole process in a dusty corner of your mind, you did remember your doctor offering the option to take the removed flower home. It had appalled and confused you, but it was clear that that was the source of this exact flower. 

“What the fuck?” you whispered, catching sight of an almost unrecognizable sharpie scribbled on the corner. CS. Initials? Oh god. CS. Choi Soobin. Your hand recoiled as if you’d been burned, the feeling of bile raising toward your tongue. He had told you that he never grew flowers, so what the hell was this? Why would he keep this a secret? Hurt and panic joined hands and wreaked havoc on your nervous system. You could barely think straight. Was this his...trophy case? 

When you shifted on your feet, you spotted a small envelope resting behind the stand. A sick feeling of curiosity had you reaching for it. At this point, you had no idea what to expect as your fingers stick to the material thanks to the sweat permeating your body. It takes a few tries, but once you finally get the envelope slipped open, you can’t tell what you’re looking at. The lighting was too awkward, so you dumped the contents out onto the surface of the compartment. You weren’t sure what you were expecting to see; but it certainly wasn’t this. Dozens of flower petals, dried and shrink wrapped in the same fashion as the haunting centerpiece spilled out in front of you. The smooth metal surface sent them all skidding, so it took you a second to get the whole picture. The first one to catch your eye was a white, pointed petal that you could easily identify as jasmine with the same handwritten pair of letters on one corner. YJ. Another protected petal, this one the tell tale purple-blue of a forget me not bore the letters SA. In fact, you could match every single one of these petals to a flower you had been fawning over in the garden since your arrival. 

One that had scattered toward the back of the case seemed to compel you even though you couldn’t quite see it. You reached for it blindly, bringing a few, clearly much older flowers forward with it. Sifting through them only struck more and more fear into you. Every instinct you had was telling you to run, scream, pound on a window until you could bust out. Soobin was clearly not all he had claimed to be. But a dark, twisted side of yourself you didn’t know existed wanted to sift through all of the petals and match them up with the garden you’d cared for. Resting at the bottom of the pile in your hand, you finally came across the petal you’d initially reached for. 

It was about the size of a penny; red, fading into a simple white at the bottom. This was it. This was the exact petal that you’d spit out onto your bedside table after your first awful migraine. Now that you thought about it, you never did throw it out. You were too disgusted to even face the flora that haunted you. 

Your heart stopped. The sharpie on this flower was smudged, as if he had been in too much of a hurry to let it dry. Your initials were there, clear as day. He had collected your flower for his sick collection. He had collected...you. 

The little happy world you had built yourself came crashing down like a ton of bricks. If he had done this to you, then surely all of these other petals came from others who had come to work and live with him. You recalled an early discussion about family tradition as you thumbed over a group of much more withered looking flowers. 

This was the family tradition. 

Alarms blared in your mind. Get out, your mind urged faster than your feet could move. Tripping over yourself, you hoped that Soobin wasn’t home yet, as you had no idea how to get out of the home. Your feet pounded noisily on the hardwood but that was the very least of your worries. Skidding into the kitchen, your blood ran cold.

Soobin. 

“Hey,” his voice was smooth, unwavering as he leaned against the sink nursing a bottle of water. On the island there was a brown paper bag with Hank���s logo printed on the front. “There’s your ice cream.” 

You didn’t know what to do. Clearly, you had been caught red handed with a tote bag in hand and anxious sweat rolling down your face. 

“Oh, uh. Thanks.” The room sat creepily still as Soobin’s eyes, devoid of any clear emotion, roved over you. He quirked an eyebrow as he pushed himself off of the counter. You couldn’t move, even as he stalked closer. 

“What happened to you resting? You’re sick.” He had asked a question but it seemed clear we really wasn’t looking for an answer. 

“I just-” your words turned into a gasp as Soobin gripped your shoulder so hard that it hurt. Gone were the usually careful caresses of his fingers as he pushed you backwards. With your body already weak it only took one wrong step for you to be sent flying toward the floor. On instinct, you tried to grab onto Soobin’s solid body for support, but he stepped back and watched you fall, bouncing the back of your head off of the floor hard enough to go limp. Consciousness came and went as you struggled to do anything in the name of self defense. Your lungs and heart were too compromised to acquire and pump the nutrients your body needed. Soobin crouched over you, studying you with a passive look on his face. 

“Ya know,” he sighed, pulling the tote bag away from your body. “I really did like you. I hoped to have spent some more time with you, but you’re just,” he clicked his tongue, grabbing you firmly by the ankles and giving an experimental tug. You slid along the floor easily. “So. Nosy. Too nosy for your own good.” 

“Soobin, you’re not- this isn’t-” a dark chuckle passed between his lips. The ones you once dreamed of. 

“You don’t know me. This is exactly who I am, Y/N. This is who my whole family is.” He dropped your ankles harshly, secure in the fact that you were too weak to get up. A shroud of darkness filled your head as you grayed out from the panic. When you awoke again, it was to the sound of birds chirping. It hurt to open your eyes but you did it anyway, spotting Soobin just above you, wielding a shovel. 

He smiled down at you, deceivingly handsome, as he stuck the shovel into the pliant ground just to your side. Looking to your left, you spotted a freshly dug shallow grave and your blood ran cold at the recognition that he must have been digging this earlier in the day when you were reading. 

“Please, don’t do this.” you begged with the last of your energy. “Soobin, please. I- I love you.” Desperation had you spitting out your deepest secrets in a bid to catch his attention and change his behavior. 

“Awe,” he crooned, grabbing onto your wrists with a grip that would certainly bruise your delicate skin. “I know.” One sharp movement had you landing on your back in the dirt, several feet below ground level. The impact pushed all the air out of your compromised lungs and you didn’t even have the semblance to lift your head and scream to anyone listening. Soobin stood above you, blocking the sun from your view as he dropped something onto you. It took you a few moments, but you soon realized he had dropped a handful of red windflower petals and seeds onto your front. You shuddered. This is surely what had happened to all the other people who carried the flowers you’d found. This was how Soobin kept his beautiful garden. Sacrifice. 

Wordlessly, he piled shovel fulls of dirt on top of your body. With your eyes slipping shut, all you could do was feel the weight of being buried alive consume you. 

----

Soobin hated the winter. It was too long, too cold, too boring. He usually spent the whole time holed up in his home, dreaming of the day the weather warms. 

Finally, finally, after months of waiting the time had come. An early summer breeze pushed his hair out of his face. This season he had decided to go for a purple color that seemed to suit his complexion well. Sitting on his favorite deck chair, he gazed out at the beginnings of his blooming garden. All of the usuals had cropped up, but it was with great pride and delight that Soobin regarded the patch of red windflowers that had begun to grow. For their first season, they were going strong, covering almost the entire plot of land he had allowed them. For a while, he had been worried that the new plants wouldn’t perform well, since he’d never dealt with them before. But he was quite proud. 

As he sipped from a frosty glass of lemonade, he heard the distant crunch of his driveway gravel. It had been almost a year since the last time he heard it, but his heart jumped in excitement. Stretching his limbs, he began a lazy meander toward the front gate; already making out the slight static of the speaker as someone spoke into it, introducing themselves and asking if they were in the right place. Clearing his throat, he rounds to corner to the great iron gate surrounded by his guarding trees and glances back at his garden. Then he advanced, opening the gate as he came and beckoning his new guest inside the boundaries of his property.

“Hi! I’m Soobin. This house belonged to my great-great-uncle and his wife. Well, wives.”

tag list: @unlocktxt @magicisland9-34 @givethnofucketh @yeonjjuniverse​ 

[kpopfanfictrash]

Darkmist (M)

Author: @kpopfanfictrash​ as part of the  Deadly Intentions collaboration with @underthejoon​​ @lamourche​ @floralseokjin​ @prolixitae​ @btssmutgalore​ and @taetaetrashhh​ 

Creative Contributor: @taetaetrashhh for organizing the collab and this wonderful moodboard!

Pairing: Yoongi / Reader (third person)

Genre: Hellhound!Yoongi / Magical!Reader / High Fantasy

Word Count: 30,868

Rating/Warnings: 18+ for mature themes and sexual content. Character death depicted (not main). Violence depicted in both fight scenes and flashbacks. Unprotected sex. 

Summary:  Y/N has always known she was different. A ward in a city where all know their name. A girl apprenticed to a blacksmith. And a shadow-singer –  a magical being who controls the night and sees all within. Even those who would prefer not to be seen.

A/N: There is some Welsh mythology referenced to within the fic, but it is by no means canon.  [ CROSS-POSTED TO WATTPAD HERE ]

In the lone dark of night, a rooster crows to the dawn.

Y/N stirs, warm beneath bedcovers in the tiniest room of Tywll’s only tavern. Her mattress sinks under her weight, holding her equally captive as her dreams. Fingers curling into blankets, she burrows even deeper to feign sleep.

The darkness wraps around her lovingly, as one would a friend. For a moment, she nearly sinks back into sleep, but no – her eyes open.

The rooster does not crow a second time. If Y/N does not wake now, she will miss opening the forge for the day. Gritting her teeth, Y/N swings first one leg, then the other from bed. The floor beneath her feet is freezing, the last dregs of summer but a vague, distant memory.

As she fumbles about for a match, Y/N’s eyes grow accustomed to the dimness. This happens easily for her, just as it is unusually difficult for her to light her lamp. When it finally works, catching beneath her, Y/N exhales in triumph.

Stretching both arms overhead, she walks to her wardrobe and examines her the clothing. Few are suitable for work in the forge. As a fifth-year apprentice of Owen, the town’s blacksmith, Y/N is well-accustomed to the demands of her job. She is also accustomed to returning with singed hair and burnt clothing, which makes her options somewhat limited out of necessity.

Not that her belongings are much to speak of, regardless. As the orphaned ward of Mervin and Rian Talog, Y/N lives a simple life in their tavern. In the morning, she wakes and travels to the forge. In the evening, she returns home to assist as a barmaid. Her life is straightforward, if somewhat unconventional.

At least, it is unconventional in the eyes of the town. For Y/N to be a girl, unmarried and sweating away in a man’s field – well, some see it as close to near sanctimonious. Luckily, Mervin and Rian have never been of that mindset and are not much for gossip.

Still, Y/N cannot deny her time is running out. As soon as her apprenticeship finishes and Owen declares her his successor, she intends to leave and open her own shop. The thought makes her feel somewhat empty though, as if there should be more, but Y/N usually pushes such emotions aside.

Her kind often feel empty.

Straightening, Y/N surveys herself in the mirror. Her leather work apron stays at the forge every night, so for now she dresses in a plain tunic and leather pants borrowed from Mervin. There is no seamstress in town willing to make them for women. Turning swiftly, Y/N grabs her cloak from her chair and blows out the lamp.

The night is not as dark as before.

It is not yet day, though – the sun still hesitates below the horizon. At the edge of earth, the sky lightens a touch, but there is still a half-hour before the sun comes into view.

Exiting her rooms, Y/N stares at the night before climbing downstairs. Her bedroom is the only one at the top of the tavern. When she was younger, she liked to pretend her rooms were a tower – the most luxurious in the town, envied by all. As she grew older though, Y/N ceased in her thinking and saw her rooms for what they were.

Four flights of stairs, and quarters which nobody wants.

Still, the room holds a certain magic to her still. Hand skimming over the banister as she descends, Y/N fastens her cloak upon entering the kitchen.

Mervin sits at the worn wooden table, bent over a pile of books with his spectacles. Rian is behind him, bent over the heat of the fire. Pushing hair back from her face, she frowns at the flames and critiques its temperature.

Y/N nearly smiles, recognizing this stance from the forge. One might not imagine cooking and metalwork to be similar but oddly enough, they involve the same concepts.

When she enters, Mervin looks up. “Morning,” he greets, smiling faintly.

Y/N nods, glancing at Rian. “Morning,” she says, smiling back.

Rian waves a spatula, then continues to stir. “Should I add sage?” She cranes her neck to look at them both. “Or would that be too savory?”

“Never.” Mervin drops a wink at Y/N. “Hard to imagine your cooking could take a wrong turn.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere.”

“It’s not flattery if it’s the truth,” protests Mervin.

Rian gives him a look. “And lies will send you to the wrong part of Annwn.”

Annwn – or, the Otherworld. It is the duty of all in their town, their province, their world to live a full, productive life and pass on in peace. The summation of decisions a person makes in their life will determine where one goes in the next – when they arrive in Annwn.

Mervin chuckles and returns to his ledger. “Why ask my opinion at all? Add salt instead.”

Rian nods, already reaching out for the canister. Y/N smiles, gripping her cloak tighter as she moves towards the door. The tavern is already busy – she can hear guests through the door, chatting and laughing. Y/N has no desire to see them this morning though, so she purposefully leaves out the back door.

When Y/N was twelve, she was already at work in the evenings. She helped when she could, clearing dishes from tables and washing them inside the kitchen. It was not unusual for those her age to work, but most had jobs which did not involve the town drinking.

People say many things when they are drunk; things they otherwise would not say to one’s face. One night in particular stands out in Y/N’s memory – the night she learned what the town thought of her situation. Or, most of them, anyways.

The town drunk – Trevor – brought this to her attention. To be fair, he did not know she was standing there. Did not bother to look over his shoulder and check if she could hear; he merely guffawed at a joke and barreled on with his story.

“Poor Mervin didn’t know what to do with himself, eh?” he roared, slamming beer down on the table.

Y/N flinched when ale flew over the top. She would be the one cleaning it up later.

“It was a late October morning – misty as Annwn, mind you! Mervin goes out early-like.” Trevor leaned in, cheeks ruddy with ale. “He goes to set out the milk bottles and there – on the doorstep! – was a baby. A baby!” he said to uproarious laughter. “Imagine, Mervin with his spectacles an’ whatnot, finding a child!”

Y/N did not see what was so funny about the matter.

She was twelve at the time, not stupid. She saw how the other villagers treated her, how they treated her family. Y/N knew they were different. Most of the men in Tywll were loud, boisterous creatures who frequented their inn – or, they frequented their tavern, at least. From what Y/N could see, they spoke much, complained often and solved very little.

Whereas, Mervin was magic. Not true magic – not the magic which makes villagers light pitchforks, chase down demons and witches at night. No, Mervin was magic in that he could change things. Armed with books and his numbers – admittedly, these seemed like magic to most – he created wealth for the town in the oddest of ways.

This made people regard him warily though, which Y/N did not understand.

On the night in question, Trevor was in an uproar. “Rian did the convincing,” he said, wiping his mouth with one hand. “Mervin took ‘er in, wanted to find a home but Rian put her foot down. Said it would stay with them.”

Hearing this information, Y/N’s eyes widened. “Is that true?” she asked, over the din of the crowd.

Before that night, Y/N had always thought Rian did not like her much. Y/N mistook her gruffness for anger, when in reality Rian was simply not prone to fits of emotion. She did not love magic or fairytales, but she did love Y/N.

Trevor’s back stiffened, hearing her voice. The rest of his table saw Y/N standing there and were suitably embarrassed by the turn of events – except for Trevor himself, who slowly turned in his seat.

“Go on,” he insisted, gaze clouded with drink. “Out with you, now! This place isn’t fit for a child.”

Y/N’s lower lip trembled and she turned around to flee, moving as fast as her legs would allow. It was Rian who found her later on in the pantry; she was the one who knew all her hiding spots. She did not say a word about the incident but gave Y/N a warm cup of tea and for the next month, Trevor was banned from the inn.

When he could return, Rian warned Y/N not to listen to nonsense. This was something Rian said often, and something she said even more to Y/N. Do not listen to nonsense, do not believe in fairytales. Do not search for saviors, magic, or destiny. Do not place faith in the books by her bed, since faith belongs to the gods alone.

Y/N would nod and pretend she understood – until Mervin would sneak in at bedtime to read another story. Their lives worked in this manner. Their family worked in this way, happy in the most unconventional of ways.

Waving at them, Y/N slips out the door. As it falls shut behind her, she looks up at the sky.

The first rays of dawn are slipping over the horizon – not enough to banish the mist, but enough for her to see by. Setting off down the lane, Y/N hums to herself. Tywll is a small town, tiny enough that there is only one road. Still, travelers come often from all parts of the province – it fuels their economy and makes them rarely want for anything.

Y/N’s shadow is cast as she walks, scrunching and stretching over muddied dips in the road. It rained all last night, making Y/N’s feet sink as she walks. Unfortunate, since she has only one pair of work boots.

It took Y/N a month to convince Owen to be his apprentice. It took longer to raise the necessary money for a leather apron and boots. Y/N is rather old to still be an apprentice; nearly twenty and still, she is in her fifth year. At least she is close to finishing, though. Y/N is a fast learner and, given a few more months, she hopes to be able to produce a piece to Owen’s satisfaction.

Luckily, Owen is not one of the many in town who refuse Y/N due to her gender. The main reason he balked was due to the cost of having an apprentice. The effort of slowing down to teach is enormous – although Y/N hopes she has more than made up for this cost over the years.

Ducking her head, Y/N continues on down the lane. She is lucky to have so many sources of happiness. Mervin and Rian care for her as their own. Owen, a blacksmith, is willing to teach her his craft. Truly, it is more than any one woman can hope for – which is why Y/N feels guilty to admit she is lonely.

Outside of the aforementioned people, not many in Tywll enjoy Y/N’s presence. Oh, they tolerate her. Most of them purchase her wares as a blacksmith, accept her ale in the tavern, but Y/N has always been considered an outsider.

She was not born here and so, will never belong.

Of the few who are kind, the only one nearing her age is Gwen – Owen’s daughter. He is a single father, if a doting one and Y/N has never cared to ask for the details. Anytime Gwen’s mother is mentioned, Gwen hastily interrupts with her skilled art of small talk.

Nearing a bend in the road, Y/N adjusts her cloak to glance over her shoulder. The mist in this part is thicker than normal, never fully dissipating even when the sun is high overhead. Tearing her gaze from the shadows, she looks ahead – and freezes.

A pair of red, glowing eyes stare back from the darkness.

There is no one else in the square.

Or, this is what Y/N thought when she entered – the pair of glowing, red eyes seems in direct contradiction to this. Darkness writhes around them, attempting to solidify but before this can happen, Y/N spins around on her heel. Grasping her cloak, she rushes out of the road.

Heart pounding, she darts down the alley which leads to the forge. Not daring to glance over her shoulder, Y/N listens for footsteps which follow, but hears none.

If Y/N has learned anything from her fairytales, it is nothing good comes from a Grim. Grims are hound-like demons who lurk in the shadows, warning of nothing but death and despair. Sometimes, their meaning is even more sinister. Sometimes, Grims are the Cŵn Annwn themselves – the feared hellhounds of Annwn who answer to none but Lord Arawn, ruler of the Otherworld.

The Cŵn Annwn have one job. Find souls which belong in the Otherworld and bring them to their desired location – often painfully, and in the basest way possible.

Fighting a shiver, Y/N continues her journey. As she walks, she almost manages to convince herself it was nothing. It was likely only a dog in the shadows. The red glow probably came from the sunrise. Rian is right – Y/N’s imagination is far too active, drawing conclusions which make zero sense.

Except – she has this feeling in her blood, a singing in her bones. Heat stirs within her, as though seeking an unanswered call.

Ignoring all this, Y/N steps into the yard of the forge. Determinedly, she closes the gate behind her. Gwen looks up at the sound, ceasing her sweeping to give Y/N a wave. Switching her broom to one hand, she fixes her hair clip with the other – a silver and jade pendent Owen bought her last Yuletide.

Seeing her there, Y/N slowly relaxes. Nothing bad can happen in the presence of someone like Gwen. Lovely, serene and admired by all, Gwen is the pride and joy of Tywll. Y/N cannot even dislike her for this, though – Gwen is every bit as kind as she is beautiful.

“Hello, Y/N!” she calls out, smiling brightly. “Lovely weather compared to yesterday, no?”

Y/N shields her face as she walks, blocking the sun which breaks over the horizon. Elongated shadows stretch towards her, the longest they will be until the sun sets again. Y/N smiles, moving to answer when a dissonant crack sounds from above.

Both Y/N and Gwen look up, startled when a branch breaks loose from the tree.

Gwen’s lips part, about to scream but before she can, Y/N jumps into action. She moves without thought, throwing herself forward and wrenching power within. The branch veers off-course, smashing into the window – narrowly avoiding the door where Gwen stands.

Staggering backwards, Gwen drops the broom she was holding.

The window lies in shattered pieces, all over the lawn and the branch sticks grotesquely out of the house. Gwen stares for a moment before whimpering, tremblingly pressing a hand to her mouth – the window could have easily been her.  

Owen appears then, hurtling head-long around the side of the building. He must have been in the forge, since he still wears his apron, only one of his work gloves discarded.

Skidding to a stop, he sees the chaos before him. “What happened?” he blurts. Gwen still has not moved, standing before the doorway. “What happened – are you hurt, Gwen?”

Gwen shakes her head, hair escaping her clip.

She points – finger passing briefly over Y/N – to land on the tree overhead. “It was the branch!” she gasps, eyes wide. “It broke off from the tree and hit the window right next to me!”

Rushing forward, Owen barely notices the glass crunching beneath his feet. Y/N sags, relieved by their distraction but neither one of them notices, too consumed by their relief.

“Gods,” Owen gasps, coming to a stop. He removes his hat, making a hurried gesture over his heart. “To think you were standing there. It must have been the storm,” he adds, glancing up. “Lightning must have struck last night, and rain loosened it further.”

Gwen nods, a bit dazed. “It must’ve been.”

Stepping forward, Owen wraps his daughter tightly in a hug. Y/N looks away, lowering her gaze to the ground. He mumbles into her neck – a prayer, or a thanks of some sort – which does not seem like something she should intrude upon.

Folding her hands behind her back, Y/N closes her eyes. Her heart races, as though she has run a far distance and her hands are badly shaking, which is why she conceals them. It has been a long time since she allowed herself a reaction.

It has been even longer since she opened that part of herself.

At last, Owen breaks free. “Y/N!” he calls, noticing her there. “I’m so sorry to scare you like that.”

“It was nothing,” Y/N says. Crossing the yard, she feigns concern scanning the bright shards of glass. “I’m glad no one was hurt. You’re sure you’re not?” she asks of Gwen, searching her frame

Smiling kindly, Gwen bends for the broom. “Quite certain. Thank you for your concern.”

Y/N nods. “Can I help in any way? Pick up the glass, or…?”

“Oh, yes.” Owen blinks, seeming to notice the mess. “Y/N, could you get pail from the forge? We can gather these larger pieces while Gwen sweeps up the rest.”

She nods in acknowledgement, gathering her cloak to hasten away.

As soon as Y/N turns the corner, she stops and sags against the side of the house. Breathing in deeply, her legs barely hold as they waver beneath her. Head spinning, Y/N chastises herself for such an obvious slip. The last time she lost control in this way, she must have been a child.

It cannot happen again.

Blankly, Y/N stares at the grey wood before her. Her vision blurs, threatening her happiness at having helped in some way. Because even if what she did was dangerous, at least Gwen is safe. At least Owen is happy, and their family remains intact.

It is hard to chastise herself for a result like that. Slowly pulling herself upright, Y/N regathers her bearings and goes to fetch the pail. If she is gone for too long, Owen will be suspicious.

Still, an inkling of worry lingers the rest of the day. Red eyes continue to haunt from the shadows, causing Y/N to wonder if she did the right thing. Each time she looks over her shoulder, there is nothing to see.

The morning passes by in a never-ending list of things to be done. Owen is the only blacksmith in Tywll – a fact not unusual for a town of their size, but due to a steady stream of travelers means he is constantly in demand. He is expected to know a variety of crafts, all of which can be daunting. Locksmith, silversmith, armory – Owen knows them all. It means Y/N, by extension, is expected to know them as well.

She does the menial tasks while he labors – pumping the bellows, replacing coal in the furnace and changing the anvil when Owen begins a new task. She is happy to do this, since it means she is that much closer to owning her own shop.

Around sundown, the work finally slows, and Y/N allows herself a moment of rest. Coming to a stop, Y/N wipes sweat from her brow and pushes hair behind her ear. The forge is sweltering even on the coldest of days, let alone midway through autumn. Still, Y/N has always preferred this to the chill.

Owen finished work nearly an hour ago – now he stands at the counter, wrapping an axe up in fabric. Although their town is too small to have a Lord or a Knight, they have several merchants wealthy enough to imagine themselves both. Cadoc is one of said merchants – a finicky man whose family has lived in Tywll for centuries.

He commissioned an axe from Owen last month, which was notable because Cadoc usually purchases his goods from Dowais –a larger town several kilometers away from Tywll. He rarely buys local, but for Owen, he seems to make an exception.

Wrapping the blade against harm, Owen looks at Y/N. “You’ll be fine closing the shop on your own?” he asks, already grabbing his coat.

“Yes, of course. This isn’t my first time closing. Go on – Cadoc is not the type to be kept waiting.”

Owen chuckles beneath his breath. The statement is true – a fact they both know and yet, few would dare say.

“Alright,” he says, firmly grasping the axe. Pausing on the threshold, he glances over his shoulder. “If you leave before I’m back, take those extra nails home to Mervin. Alright?”

Y/N nods, busy scrubbing the soot from the metal. Once he is gone, she continues to clean. The forge stays open past sundown, but customers rarely stop by so late in the day. It is little risk to Owen if Y/N is here alone.

Glancing around, Y/N sets down her cloth and realizes the shadows are longer than she thought. Already, the day grows to a close and soon enough, winter will be upon them. Listlessly, Y/N wonders how many more seasons she will face in this town. Day in and day out, the same trials and tribulations. Why, it is almost enough for –

“Excuse me.”

Startled by the new voice, Y/N whirls and nearly trips over her water.

A stranger stands in the doorway, hat removed from his head. Y/N notices his hands first. They are large yet delicate, clasped around the brim of his hat.

She next notices his face as he steps into the lamplight. The man is beautiful – there are no other words to describe him. With pale skin and midnight-black hair, he might well be a painting. Indeed, Y/N wonders briefly if this is the case.

Then he blinks, shattering the image.

“We’re about to close.” Y/N drops her rag in the bucket. It seems uncomely to hold suds in his presence. “The master smith recently stepped out for a delivery. He will not return for a while.”

“That’s alright,” he says, glancing around. “I’m in no rush.”

Arching a brow, Y/N surveys his face. The man’s accent is not from around here; there is a formal drawl to it, vowels elongated in a way which speaks of nobility. Curiously, Y/N lowers her gaze to his coat. Finely made.

“Do you have a message I can give him?”

The man’s gaze lifts. “Perhaps,” he allows, laying a hand on the counter. “Might I ask who you are?”

“An apprentice.”

His eyes gleam, since this is not what he asked. “How intriguing.”

“Because I’m a woman?

His brows shoot upwards, withdrawing his hand. “Of course not.”

“Then, why?” she asks pleasantly.

“Actually, I did not come to inquire after your services.” He abruptly changes the subject. “But to offer you mine.”

“And what services are those?”

Rather than answer, the man glances over his shoulder. Through the windows of the forge, Owen’s main door is visible. Most of the glass has been cleared, but evidence of the accident remains.

The stranger’s lip curls. “Odd weather we’re having lately, isn’t it?”

The way he says this makes Y/N’s heart almost stop. It takes her a moment to re-start, a moment to recover and during this time, he looks at her over his shoulder.

“The rain has been unusually strong,” she agrees.

“Indeed.”

The stranger says nothing else and there is no trace of humor to the inky black of his gaze. The rest of his clothing is also well-made, Y/N realizes – again, unusual for Tywll. This coupled with his accent has her hackles raised in alarm. This man is clearly an outsider.

Lifting her chin, Y/N attempts to look down her nose. “Why are you here?” she asks again.

“I’ll confess – I came because I’m curious.”

“About?”

When he leans in, Y/N catches a whiff of a scent not unlike burnt wood. “I arrived in the village early this morning,” he says.

“A lovely time of the day.”

“Incredibly so,” he says, expression inscrutable. “Dawn is the most honest time of day, I have found.”

“That’s an odd way of putting it.”

“Is it? The nighttime can mislead things. Darkness often conceals that which is best left alone.”

“Or,” Y/N offers. “It allows the freedom of no one else seeing.”

The man does not respond, silence growing between them until Y/N realizes she may have said too much. Schooling her face to neutrality, she offers a smile. “As I said. Are you sure there is nothing you wish to purchase?”

“Oh, no. Merely my services. I was traveling this morning and saw the branch in your window – you see, I’m a tradesman of sorts.” He pauses, flashing a smile. “I replace wayward things.”

“Replace?” Y/N’s brow furrows, glancing outside. “Like the window?”

“Amongst other things,” the strange man allows. “Odd, though, for the branch to have fallen that way. Based on the tree above, seems like it would have hit the front door.”

Y/N freezes, glancing up and in that moment, realizes her mistake. 

The man’s smile sharpens – a razor in disguise.

Withdrawing, she shakes her head. “The oddest of incidents. Your concern is noted and appreciated, of course.” Heart racing, she turns to regather her things. “I’m afraid there are others in town who can help, though.”

He chuckles. “None like me, I can assure you.”

“Be that as it may, we have no need of your… services.”

“Of course,” he says, smile widening. “I must respect your wishes on the matter.”

Bowing low, he replaces the hat on his head. Y/N is somewhat surprised to find him giving in so easily. From what she knows of traveling merchants, they rarely take no for an answer. As he begins to leave the shop, the man pauses on the threshold and examines an object. Seeing what he looks at, Y/N stops with one hand in the rags.

“This…” He tilts his head to one side. “Is lovely, whatever it is.”

Y/N tries not to scowl.

She does not think he means this as an insult, but the man’s tone and mannerisms are so strange, she cannot help but react. The object in question is one she made late at night in the forge. It began as a lone ball of metal, but under Y/N’s careful manipulation became molten tendrils of fire which seem to dance in the lamplight.

It is useless, per Owen’s criticism, but still – he did not throw it out.

The stranger considers it a moment, then turns back to Y/N. “Did you make this?”

Y/N straightens. “Yes.”

He returns to the object, surprised. “It is quite good.”

“Truly?” Y/N attempts not to look interested but cannot deny that she is. She finds herself wanting to know more about what this mysterious stranger thinks. The thought catches her off guard.

Hiding a smile, he turns in her direction. “It is,” he insists, offering her his hand. “It was lovely to meet you, apprentice blacksmith of Tywll.”

“Y/N,” she says, holding out her hand in turn.

The moment their fingers touch, a fire blazes through her.

Immediately, Y/N releases him, as if burned. It is too late. She stares open-mouthed at her palm, unable to see any visible damage. Yet her skin feels oddly scalded, her bones ringing with strangeness only magic can forge.

Terrified, she glances up – and finds him staring back.

Darkness swirls in the bottomless depths of his gaze. “Who are you?” he growls, taking a hasty step forward.

“Is there something I can help with?”

Owen appears on the threshold.

The stranger halts, emotions clearly at war on his face. Slowly, logic seems to win out, and he reluctantly turns. Owen continues to stare, clearly unimpressed by his manner of speaking. Y/N assumes he did not hear much, but the little he did could not have been good.

“I apologize.” Genteelly, the stranger bows. “I was merely offering my services to your apprentice, should you need to replace your window. Terrible storm last night.”

Owen does not look away. “I prefer my customers wait outside until I arrive.”

“Of course. My apologies, for any offense.”

“None taken.” Owen watches him go. “You are a tradesman, then?”

The man comes to a stop at the door. “Of a sort.”

“Quite a good one, I’d imagine to be able to afford clothes like those.”

“I do well enough.”

“I see.” Owen still does not move. “Well, then. I would hate to keep you from it.”

The man pauses before nodding, reaching into his coat. “Here,” he says, turning to hand Owen a card. “I will be in town a few days longer. Should you have need, you’ll know who to ask for.”

Accepting this, Owen places it beside him on the counter. “Thank you.”

The man nods again before leaving. He hovers on the threshold, half in and out of the shadows before he enters the night. Owen watches him disappear, waiting until he is gone before turning around. Y/N does this as well, still clutching her hands as if burned.

Owen looks sharply at her. “Did he say anything to you?”

“What? No, nothing.”

“Then – touch?” Owen asks, and Y/N realizes he saw the man take his step forward. “Did he touch you?”

“N-no,” she stammers quickly, uncertain why she defends him. “Nothing of the sort.”

Owen surveys her a moment, then nods and walks past. “No good travelers,” he mutters, shutting the door – he is not looking at Y/N and does not see how the name sends a chill down her spine. “Always thinking they own the towns they stay in, huh?”

Ignoring the calling card on the table, Owen strides towards the furnace. Y/N watches him stoke the flames, oddly embarrassed by the whole interaction. It is not as though the stranger did anything untoward. He was odd, yes, but that hardly constitutes condemnation.

Besides, there is the small manner of his skin, like flames when they touched.

This is not something she can say to Owen, though and so, Y/N shakes her head. “Nothing for you to be angry about, I’m certain.”

Owen pauses, shoulders slowly relaxing. “Alright,” he sighs. Hovering a moment, he turns to meet her gaze. “Why don’t I finish the rest? You can head to the inn, come back in the morning.”

“Are you certain?”

“Yes, yes.” Owen waves a hand. “Go and help Mervin and Rian. Nice night like this, I’m sure the tavern is bustling. I’ll be fine.”

Y/N hesitates, before nodding and undoing the strings of her apron. The garment is covered in soot, but this cannot be helped in the forge. Y/N does her best to wash it with water before hanging to dry in the pantry.

As she exits the forge, she spots the calling card on the table.

Glancing upwards, she sees Owen’s back is now turned. Before she can think, she plucks the card from the table and slides this into her pocket.

Immediately, Y/N pushes open the door and enters the night. The temperature drops several degrees and she stops, wiping sweat from her forehead. Realizing the stranger saw her in such a condition, Y/N frowns as she sets off down the road.

Humming as she walks, Y/N pointedly ignores the events of today. A feat which proves to be impossible when she reaches the inn, coming to a stop in the coolness of its shadows. Fighting a battle within, Y/N slowly reaches into her cloak to pull out the card.

The card is plain – white, with silver filigree letters. The calligraphy is almost too delicate to be real, thin swirls of writing which transcribe only a name.

Min Yoongi.

Y/N flips the card over, expecting to see more, but it is empty. Frowning, she slips the card again in her pocket and resumes her path to the inn. Try as she might, Y/N cannot shake the man’s face from her mind.

The blood in her veins heats, nearly combustive at the thought.

Y/N enters through the back door to change into her clothing. Work in the tavern requires a dress, not pants and her hair up on her head. The new apron is stained with spilled food, not soot but the effect is largely the same.

Hurrying into the kitchen, Y/N grabs a tray by the door. “Where do those plates go to?” she asks Rumilda, their cook.

Rumilda is not of Tywll either, but has worked for the Talog’s since before Y/N was born. Even so, she is still considered an outsider as well. 

“Table under the window,” she instructs with a wave. “The traveling couple with the newborn.”

Nodding, Y/N pushes open the door with her hip. As she enters the front room, she winces at the noise. Owen was correct – the inn is, indeed, busy tonight. Edging around a table of men playing cards, Y/N reaches the window and sets her plates down.

“Here you go,” she says, smiling brightly. The couple voices their thanks, the father gently bouncing a child on his knee. “Is there anything else I can get you?”

“No, no,” says the woman, waving her off. “Thank you.”

Y/N nods, turning around with her tray to exit the room. Rian is at the bar, a large oaken structure which has stood the test of time. Rian always is the one pouring the drinks – she is best suited as gatekeeper, determining when men should be cut off.  Mervin always stands at the front door. He greets guests when they arrive, tallying their bills and determining the price.

On a night as full as this one, Y/N imagines the rooms to be costly. Pushing her way through the crowd, Y/N returns to the kitchen and sets down her tray.

“Lord, the inn is busy,” she remarks, already grabbing a plate. “Lots of strangers, too.”

Rumilda nods, ladling stew into a bowl. “Quite a few coming through town on their way to the autumnal festival in Dowais. Rian mentioned five alone this morning, though she expects there to be more.”

Nodding, Y/N picks back up the tray. “Where is this one going?”

“Table to the right of the fireplace,” Rumilda says. “One of the travelers from this morning, just off the road. Well-off, too, so take care not to spill.”

“Alright.” Y/N is mid-way to the door before her feet falter. “A solo traveler you said?” Wary, she glances over her shoulder. “You’re certain?”

Rumilda continues to stir. “Yes, yes, of course. Mervin gave him the best rooms in the inn. Why – Y/N?” Looking up, she squints through the steam. “You seem as if you’ve seen a ghost.”

Dazedly, Y/N pulls herself from her thoughts. “It’s nothing,” she says, continuing on. “Nothing at all. The table by the fireplace?”

“Yes, that’s the one. Hurry, now – someone that wealthy won’t be kept waiting long.”

Nodding again, Y/N pushes open the door. It swings shut, the noise of the tavern enveloping her smoothly. A solo traveler this morning and wearing finely-made clothes – Y/N cannot help but think of Min Yoongi.

He did say he would be staying in town, and theirs is the only inn in Tywll.

Pushing her way through the crowd, Y/N tries to ignore the pounding beat of her heart. The man asked too many questions about her. Good questions, intelligent questions – ones which gave Y/N pause. Men like that are not to be trusted.

And then, there is the matter of the heat when they touched.

Skirting around the final table, the fireplace comes into view – and Y/N exhales in relief, not recognizing its occupant.

The man is not Yoongi; that much is certain. 

He is taller, with lighter hair and a thoughtful expression. Rumilda was right, though – he is dressed immaculately, clearly in possession of wealth. His cloak is a deep shade of scarlet and he wears gloves on both hands; ones of fine leather Y/N could never wear in the forge.

Y/N stares for a moment before realizing her place and hurrying forward. The man is also quite handsome – this fact cannot be denied.

“Hello,” she greets, setting his stew on the table. “Is there anything else I can get you?”

The man looks up, meeting her gaze.

Y/N blinks, the room slowing around her. His gaze is ice blue, almost impossibly so – it is unnerving, how beautiful his eyes are.

“How kind of you to ask,” he says, smiling easily.

“It’s only my job.” Y/N forces herself to respond. “I work in the tavern.”

“Ah, I see. Then, it appears I am in your debt this evening.”

Ducking her head, Y/N cannot help but be charmed. There is something about him which she finds calming – perhaps the lilt to his voice, or the easy smile to his lips.

“Not at all,” she insists, looking up. “This is my family’s inn. Our job is to make you comfortable. After all, you’ve paid for it.”

The man’s smile widens, leaning back in his seat. “Ah, I see. You make a good point. And what did you say your name was, again?”

“I didn’t.” She pauses. “But it’s Y/N, all the same.”

“Y/N,” he says slowly, rolling the word. His gaze brightens. “A lovely name. Your parents have exquisite taste.”

The man glances up at the bar – to Rian – as if in deference, but Y/N does not correct him. Rian did not name her, neither did Mervin, but that hardly seems prudent to discuss at the moment. The stranger will learn soon enough of her past from the locals, if he decides to stay.

“Thank you.” Y/N manages to keep her voice level. “Now – truly, is there anything else I can bring?”

Smiling back, he lowers both hands to the tablecloth. Most of his clothing is simple, if well-made, except for the bright silver ring on his hand. There is a sigil upon it which Y/N finds oddly familiar. When the man sees her gaze lingering, he pointedly removes his hand from the table.

Y/N’s cheeks heat, gaze lifting to his.

The lines around his mouth seem somehow less genial. “Perhaps more wine? What vintage is known in these parts?”

“None, I’m afraid.” Shaking her head, Y/N tries not to dissect his reaction. Some people are merely private about their belongings, after all. “More ale than wine, unfortunately.”

“I see.” Just as abruptly, pleasantry returns to his face. “In that case, what would you recommend?”

The man’s hand is still hidden, Y/N cannot help but notice.

She hesitates before speaking, finding the entire interaction to be odd. Perhaps she is being too critical. Perhaps she is reading too much into his mannerisms – likely so. After seeing a grim in the shadows, the incident with the branch and meeting Min Yoongi, Y/N is certainly on edge.

“Oh, many things,” she says lightly. “Rian can make anything you like.”

“Sounds wonderful,” he says, sounding like he means it. “I do apologize – I’m being rude, I haven’t introduced myself yet. I am Alvah. I arrived to Tywll this morning and am thoroughly taken with your town.”

“Are you?” Y/N arches a brow. “You’ll have to explain to me why.”

Alvah pauses, as though uncertain whether she is joking before he bursts into laughter. 

Y/N smiles reassuringly. “About that ale,” she says, already turning away. “I’ll be back in a moment.”

Alvah murmurs his thanks as she leaves, but Y/N is already gone, plunging into the crowd. Tywll receives a lot of travelers, especially this close to the autumnal festival. It is not unusual for one or two to stay longer than intended, infatuated by the charms of ‘village life.’

They all leave eventually, though. Only the townspeople ever stay in Tywll.

Stopping at the bar, Y/N lowers her tray to the counter. “One ale,” she says, glancing at Rian. Alvah is hidden within the crowd, so she does not bother to look. “The table over by the fireplace.”

Rian nods, grabbing a glass. “I’ll have the new serving girl take this over to them,” she says, sliding a different cup towards Y/N. “Her other tables are in that area, anyways. I need you to take this wine upstairs. Room seven.”

Y/N blinks, seeing the fine vintage before her. She did lie a bit, telling Alvah they had none of renown. Rian and Mervin save a bottle or two for their most important guests. Rather uneasily, Y/N glances at the stairs.

“Oh,” she says, reluctantly taking the glass. Swiftly, she squashes the disappointment this brings. Alvah was kind, and not bad to talk to. “Room seven, you said?”

“Another solo traveler,” Rian nods. “Although he hasn’t come down yet. Paid a pretty penny though, so make sure he’s comfortable.”

Turning away, Y/N takes the glass from the counter.

Making her way towards the stairs, Y/N nearly spills several times. She is almost glad for the task, as it places her firmly out of reach of loud men and fast hands. The stairwell is a respite, a moment of quiet in the otherwise chaos.

As she climbs, Y/N begins cataloguing all she must do before closing. Help Rumilda scrub the pans, assist the new serving girl in calculating the bills – usher out drunkards before Rian catches wind. When she reaches the door to room seven, Y/N barely hesitates before knocking.

Glancing over her shoulder again, she is almost ready to put the wine down and leave when it suddenly opens.

“Thank you,” says a male voice, “but I – you!”

The inhabitant sounds familiar, if somewhat surprised and Y/N swiftly turns back around. Eyes widening, she nearly drops her wine when she comes face to face with a pair of familiar, dark eyes.

Min Yoongi stares. “What are you doing here?”

“Me?” Y/N blinks, recovering her voice. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m staying at the inn.” Leaning a shoulder to the wall, Yoongi crosses his arms. “Or, are there other places in town to stay?”

“Well, no.”

“Well, then.”

Y/N glances past him, into his room. A flickering fire casts shadows across the floor, illuminating nothing but a black steamer trunk – and Yoongi, who is looking at Y/N as though she might be a stalker. 

Incensed by this idea, Y/N straightens. “I just… I wasn’t expecting to see you,” she clarifies, glaring back.

Yoongi tilts his head. He is dressed more casually than before, in only a plain tunic and trousers. His boots lie abandoned at the foot of his bed – it is strangely intimate, to see him in socked feet.

Yoongi’s gaze moves to her hand. “Is that wine for me?”

“I’m sorry?” Y/N blinks.

“That wine.” He nods to the cup. “Did you bring that here for me, or are you merely doing a mandatory room check?”

“It’s for you,” Y/N blurts, unable to think of a response.

Shrugging, Yoongi turns around and leaves the door open. He pads to the fireplace, removing the iron to stoke the flames higher. Y/N steps into his room, hovering at the edge and wondering what she should do. The shadows seem to leap out, stretching for her – unnoticeable to the untrained eye, but Yoongi does not seem untrained.

Warily, she takes a step backwards.

Yoongi looks over his shoulder. “Come in,” he says, replacing the fire iron. “Don’t just stand there.”

Teeth gritted, Y/N closes the door. When it was opened, she was too shocked by Yoongi’s appearance to think of questions to ask. Now, though, she can think of many things – and most do not require an audience.

“Why are you the one bringing me this?” Yoongi asks, watching Y/N walk closer. “Not that I mind, of course.”

Y/N glowers, handing over the wine. She is careful not to touch his skin in the process – oddly enough, Yoongi exhibits similar restraint.

“The owner of the inn asked me to.” Y/N hesitates. “They – I work for them in the evenings.”

Yoongi gives the wine a dubious swirl. “You work for them.”

“That’s what I said.”

Lips quirking, he lifts the glass to his mouth. Taking a slow sip, Yoongi does not look away and, apparently finding it to his satisfaction, turns to set this on the windowsill. The moonlight casts a pall over his features, making him seem otherworldly.

Glancing at the door, Y/N wonders how much longer to stay. There are still a million things to do before sleep – but still, she has questions for him. Who he is, why he is here, why his skin seems to burn and affect her so dearly.

Yoongi pointedly clears his throat.

Glancing over, Y/N is startled to find his gaze on hers. Strangely enough, she sees just as many questions within for her, as she has for him.

“I wonder,” he murmurs, taking a step forward. While Yoongi stares, his gaze hardens to something like ice. “Do your employers know you’re a shadow-singer?”

Y/N freezes in place, feet rooted to the floor.

She cannot think beyond the pulse in her veins, the thud of her heart and the singular thought in her mind.

Run.

Run, she does.

Barely does she make it two steps before Yoongi appears, materializing easily between her and the door. His cup of wine is still held in one hand – setting this down, he wipes a hand on his trousers.

“You can try to run,” he starts, but Y/N is no longer listening.

Shuddering to a halt, she whips her head sideways. Rushing towards the window, she stops short when history repeats itself.

“Let me save you some time,” says Yoongi, stepping out of mid-air. “Any time you run; I will appear.”

Seething, Y/N pauses to consider her options. Simply put, there are none. None which involve keeping the world as it is, that is. Already, Yoongi knows what she is. It is only a matter of time before he tells the town, so the only thing left is her final defense.

Magic.

Swallowing hard, Y/N resigns herself to a fate long avoided. If her secret is out, she has nothing to lose.

Inverting her gaze, she reaches within. It has been such a long time since she allowed herself to descend. The sensation is akin to stumbling around in the dark, seeking out something which may or may not appear. Eyes clenched shut, Y/N empties her mind to push onward. There is a door always within, pulsing with power and beckoning her near.

It never leaves, calling out to her even when she refuses.

At last, fingers brushing wood, Y/N slowly unlocks it.

For a moment, nothing happens. For a moment, she stands there, body quivering with anticipation – and then.

Shadows burst forth, searing her veins like a drug.

The sensation is akin to fire, to bliss as greedily, Y/N inhales and savors the power. She shudders, overwhelmed by the magic after so long without. Darkness floods her body, searching for weakness, but finding nothing of note. Yanking this back, Y/N reigns in her thoughts and does not relent. Wrestling for control, she demands the darkness obey her, forces it to twist and bend to her will.

Take me away, she demands, teeth gritted.

When she opens her eyes, Y/N finds herself in the Shadow realm.

Unfortunately, so is Yoongi. Teeth bared like a dog, his eyes seem to glow red in the darkness.

The Shadow realm is not one to linger in. It exists, by definition, in between worlds. To her right, Y/N can see the sharpened edge of Yoongi’s bed, the cold black of his steamer trunk. It all wavers though, as if seen from underwater.

On the other side of her is pure darkness.

Growling, Yoongi clenches his fists and strides forward. “Idiot,” he seethes, gripping her elbow.

Y/N inhales, glancing at where their skin touches. Rather than burn, his touch now seems to enhance. Shadows twist around them both, emboldened by the strength of their combined power. 

Yoongi’s eyes widen, staring at this in shock.

Shaking his head, he grips her even tighter and the real world appears.

Stumbling forward, Y/N feels drained by the abrupt lack of shadows – the abrupt lack of power to feed on. The real world feels too harsh, too cold and she longs for the sweetness of night. 

Hissing under her breath, Y/N whirls to face Yoongi.

He stands across the room, picking a shadow from his tunic to fling into the fireplace. It hits a rogue flame with a sizzling sound. “Idiot,” Min Yoongi mutters, under his breath. Accusatorially, he looks at her over his shoulder. “What were you thinking, entering the Shadow realm like that?”

His gaze is intense, stalking forward but Y/N does not allow herself to be crowed. Holding her ground, she pokes his chest with a finger.

“Me?” she demands, stopping him in his tracks. “What were you thinking, coming after me? What… even are you?”

The question tapers off, losing steam at the end. He knows what she is – Yoongi knows Y/N is a shadow-singer, one of the feared brands of magic which thrives in the night. There are many kinds of magic, but shadow-singers are feared above all. Y/N is a human who can travel the Shadow realm, one who can bend the darkness to her will. That is what she did earlier, saving Gwen from the tree branch. The shadows knocked it aside.

Yes, Y/N is a shadow-singer and Yoongi knows it. And still, she does not know what he is.

Hesitancy enters his gaze. Some of his mask has disappeared from the first time they met. As though scrubbed away in the Shadow realm, he no longer seems entirely human. His eyes still glow faintly red, as they did in the shadows.

“Please, Y/N.” Yoongi twists his lips. “Don’t sell yourself short. You already know what I am. You have since you saw me this morning.”

“This – this morning?” Y/N repeats, mind reeling.

Yoongi came into the forge during the evening. If what he says is true, then it was not the first time they met. But Y/N met no other strangers during the day – unless. Slowly, her eyes widen with realization. 

Yoongi is correct. She knows what he is.

“We met in the square,” Yoongi says smoothly, twisting a hand over his chest. Still looking at her, his eyes seem to gleam. “I am Min Yoongi, of the Cŵn Annwn.”

Y/N could not move if she wanted to.

It is so obvious now, in hindsight. Of course, Yoongi is Cŵn Annwn – no other beings travel the Shadow realm so easily. No one else is granted that type of dark magic. The Cŵn Annwn are the final enforcers of the Otherworld, sent to the Real world to resolve the worst kinds of incidents. Namely, those which involve magic.

Seeing her face, Yoongi takes a step forward. “I see you know what I am.”

“I – I know you.” Y/N takes a hasty step backwards. Her back nearly collides with the wall. “I don’t understand why you’re here, though.”

“Don’t you?” Yoongi tilts his head. “You saved someone who was not supposed to be saved, Y/N. Lord Arawn is without a soul, and you are its cause.”

“Am I…” Y/N stares at him, mouth gone suddenly dry. “What... what does that mean? Am I to die in her place?”

Yoongi pauses a moment longer than necessary. “I don’t know.” 

“How... how can you not know?”

“It has yet to be decided.”

“How convenient.” Y/N hesitates. “When will you know?”

Something like amusement crosses his face. “When Arawn decides, I imagine.”

“And when will that be?”

“Uncertain,” Yoongi says. “Until then, I am to keep an eye on the human – and on you, shadow-singer.”

Y/N flinches back from the name. “Stop calling me that.”

“Why? It’s what you are.”

“Not anymore,” Y/N mutters, turning away. She probably should not turn her back on one of the Cŵn Annwn, but she cannot help it. Continuing to look at Yoongi now that she knows what he is seems impossible.

Every time she looks at him, she remembers the Shadow realm. She remembers Gwen, her power and with that power comes memories best left forgotten. She remembers a small village in the woods, the rending of screams in the night, a singed smell of flesh.

Squeezing her eyes shut, Y/N balls her hands into fists. Counting slowly down from ten, she waits until the screams fade from memory. Hastily, she locks the door in her mind.

When she opens her eyes again, Yoongi stands before her.

“Ah!” she yelps, stumbling backwards. “What are you doing?”

Yoongi recoils as well. “I could ask you the same thing! You’ve been silent for several minutes. Why are you trying to suppress your magic, witch?” he asks, seeming curious.

“Don’t call me a witch!” Y/N scowls, striding past him again.

Yoongi stares after her in disbelief. “Why not?”

“Someone could hear!” Y/N snaps. Coming to a stop at the table, she hesitantly drops a hand to its wood. “Don’t you know what those in the Real world do to magic?”

When she looks over her shoulder, he is looking at her.

“I… do know.”

Yoongi sounds almost remorseful and Y/N hesitates, thrown by his answer. “Then...” She pauses, shaking her head. “You know why I can’t admit what I am.”

“I do – to others. However, why can’t you admit it to yourself?”

Y/N stares back, unsure of the answer. There is something in his expression which gives her pause. Something about the way he said I do know, which makes her think he truly does. There are legends about the Cŵn Annwn which say they once were human – although how a human becomes Cŵn Annwn at all is a story not told.

Quietly, Yoongi clears his throat. “I take it your employers do not know what you are, then?”

“No, they don’t. And they are not only my employers – I’m their ward.”

Yoongi looks up in surprise. “You live here? At the inn?”

“Yes.”

He glances past her to the door. “Interesting.”

“And I would prefer to keep it that way,” Y/N interjects, walking until they stand nose to nose. “Which brings us back to you. What do you want?”

Yoongi arches a brow. “I told you. The Otherworld needs a soul.”

“Yes, but which soul? You’re being horribly cryptic.”

His upper lip twitches, unable to help himself. “As though magic could be any other way.”

Y/N’s teeth grit, about to give him a piece of her mind – when a singular thought occurs to her. “How did you know what I was?”

“A shadow-singer?”

“Yes,” she says. “How did you know I have magic?”

Yoongi looks at her a second, then stretches out a palm. “Touch me.”

Y/N’s lips part in surprise. “I beg your pardon?”

“Skin to skin contact.” Gently, he wraps his hand around hers. The center of her palm tingles. “I can tell when someone has magic by brushing their skin.”

Y/N’s cheeks heat, choosing to ignore the feel of his skin on hers. “I see,” she says, glancing down to look at their hands intertwined. Abruptly, she pulls hers away. “So, you knew what I was at the shop?”

“Yes.”

“Then why did you leave?” 

Yoongi exhales. “I – the master smith returned,” he mutters, brow furrowed – as if he does not understand it himself. “Like you said, humans do not react kindly to magic. The instructions I had were to identify the witch, keep an eye on you both – and await further instruction.”

“But what further instructions?” she asks, aware she is toeing a dangerous line. “Why wouldn’t Arawn simply take Gwen’s soul to restore the balance? For that matter, does Arawn come chasing after every soul who is saved?”

A muscle in Yoongi’s jaw ticks. “It is not my place to ask questions,” he says at last. “I know no more than you do.”

With that, he turns and walks across the room.

“Liar.”

His feet falter, coming to a stop. “What?”

“I said, liar,” Y/N repeats, calmly – too calmly. She knows she should not be saying these things, but she is tired. Tired of lying, tired of hiding and tired of feeling as though she has no control.

“Whose soul are you really here for?” she asks.

Yoongi turns slowly, disbelief in his gaze. “What do you want me to say?” 

There is a growl to his words as he speaks, a trace of Cŵn Annwn within. Before, Y/N had almost forgotten to whom she was speaking.

“Do you want me to say your soul is more valuable to Arawn than hers?” Yoongi asks silkily. “Is that it?”

Y/N’s gaze widens as Yoongi comes closer.

“Do you want me to tell you he often does that?” he asks, gaze flashing with night. “Switches out one soul for another – one he deems more valuable?”

“Valuable?” Y/N’s voice is nearly a whisper. “For... what?”

Darkness crosses his expression. “It does not matter,” Yoongi says stiffly. “You already know too much. We all die eventually, Y/N. Annwn is without a soul now and someone must fill it. The possessiveness of Arawn might seem like a bad thing to humans, but it is necessary for reason to hold.”

“What good is magic if I cannot use it to save anymore?”

“What good, indeed?” Yoongi bites. “When you do not use it anyways?”

Y/N falters, having no response to this. He is right – before today, she had not used her magic in nearly fifteen years.

“That’s what I thought.” Yoongi turns, walking away to stare at the moon. “Perhaps we should leave things here for tonight. I think our intentions are known enough, yes?”

“Intentions?” Y/N nearly laughs. “What – that you’re a hellhound, I’m a shadow-singer and only one of us is in control of their soul?”

Yoongi’s mouth twists, looking up at the moon. “Neither one of us are in control of our souls, Y/N.”

Y/N stares at him for a moment. Whatever Yoongi thinks, he does not elaborate and eventually, she decides he is right. There is nothing more to be said – not tonight, anyways. Not with her soul hanging in the balance and Arawn on the horizon.

Turning on her heel, Y/N walks towards the door. “I’ll be going, then,” she says, one hand on the handle.

Yoongi does not respond.

Giving him one last look, Y/N pushes open the door and enters the hall. She pauses on his threshold, a thought occurring to her which needs to be said. Perhaps it is idiotic, but she needs to try.

“What if I offer myself?” she asks, glancing over her shoulder.

Yoongi stiffens, looking at her. “You would do that?” he asks, his expression unreadable. “You would willingly give up your soul up for a human?”

“Not any human. Gwen.” Her jaw tightens. “Would it work?”

“It would be… unlikely.”

Resigned to the answer, Y/N nods. At least she asked – which is the best she can do. Turning away, she again grips the doorknob.

“Out of curiosity.”

Y/N stops, her exit halted again. “Yes?”

“It has been a long time since I met a shadow-singer.” 

There is a note of longing to his words Y/N does not understand. It also is not a question.

“And?”

“It just is odd,” he exhales. When Y/N turns to look at him, he reaches out for the wine. “Odd, for humans to continually hide the things about themselves which are beautiful.”

For a moment, she stares and does not respond. Yoongi does not look at her though, says nothing more and at last, Y/N retreats to the hall. Shutting the door in between them, she stands for a moment before heading downstairs.

The shadows drift beside her in the darkness, begging to be seen.

Y/N does not look.

She rarely does.

“The faerie was greedy, gluttonous and would not be satisfied with mere gold. No, it wanted the child and so, a message was sent to the castle.”

Blearily, Y/N opens her eyes and squints across the fire. The storyteller sits on the other side, completely oblivious to her sudden appearance. Y/N feels both present and not, hollow and whole. Vaguely, she is aware she is dreaming but it is more than just that – this is also a memory.

Flames leap above the fire, disappearing into darkness with bright sparks of light.

Y/N is seated on a log, feet swinging quietly beneath her, unable to touch the ground. She cannot be older than five. Smoke drifts under her nostrils, notes of caramelized sugar beneath. There are treats to be had here tonight, but not until the story is over.

Nuzzling into her father, Y/N’s eyes flutter shut. It is always here she feels safest – here in this dreamworld, with both parents by her side. This place is not real, though. Were Y/N to travel here, she would find nothing but burnt bones and darkness. The village of Crymych no longer exists.

Once upon a time it did, though.

Once upon a time, Crymych was a haven for magic-users. For witches and warlocks, and all manner of beings who lived at peace with one another. In Crymych, no one worried about fairy tales, or told their children not to believe – everyone knew they were real.

On the other side of her father, Y/N can see the blurred outline of her mother.

On the night of the memory, she stared into the fire, absent-mindedly twisting the shadows with her fingers. Y/N watched this eagerly, hoping one day to have that much control.

Magic was hereditary in all families. Whether this came from the mother or father was a flip of the coin – Y/N’s power came from her mother. Her father was not like the two of them; he was a life-giver, a designated healer in the town. His power was the most mysterious of all, since under the right conditions, he could knit breath and bone back together.

At other times, he could not. This was largely why life-givers were despised by humans. Actually –this was largely why magic-users were despised by humans. Nothing at all was consistent about power.

The humans at their fireside that night did not seem to hate them. They all sat across the circle from Y/N, listening to the storyteller and laughing in all the right places. While Y/N watched, one of them smiled and spoke eagerly to Crymych’s leader, Emrys.

Emrys was a light-bearer – a highly prized power, even in a magical community like theirs. Shadow-singers and light-bearers were amongst the rarest of magic and Crymych was lucky to have both.

While Y/N watched, Emrys accepted a cup of wine from the human. The two smiled and talked, looking nothing at all like the enemies they are supposed to be. This particular band of humans claimed to be different. The called themselves the Travelers and wanted to help witches and warlocks reintegrate with society – or, this is what they said.

The Travelers all dressed in a similar fashion, wearing all-black from head to toe. They even wore gloves on their hands; something Y/N found to be strange. In their community, gloves only got in the way of a hard day’s work.

The Travelers were the first non-magical guests in Crymych in Y/N’s young memory. Usually, humans chose to give them a wide berth. Magic was notoriously fickle – not to mention frustrating.

“It is not their fault,” her father murmured to her mother. “Not really.”

Her mother’s hand curled into a fist, effectively stopping the shadows. “No?” she exhaled, brow furrowed.

Y/N’s father’s lip twitched. “Humans know we can do incredible things,” he said softly, unheard by the others over the fire. “They watch us perform remarkable feats. So, when we can’t always help…” He shrugged, trailing off. “In their grief, humans often lash out.”

“And what of our grief?” Y/N’s mother glared at the Travelers. She was never very good at hiding her facial expressions. “What of our pain?”

“People are afraid of the unknown,” he said quietly. “They do not understand our magic and so, they do not understand us.”

“Fools.”

“Perhaps.” Wrapping an arm around her mother, he squeezed gently. “But so are we.”

Y/N’s mother glanced at him, expression softening. It was clear she did not trust the humans, but she did trust Y/N’s father. Even now, many years later, their relationship has always been a paradigm for Y/N of love.

For the rest of the evening, her mother was silent, although her tight-lipped expression was evidence enough of her displeasure.

Y/N stopped listening to the storyteller at some point, too tired to remain awake. As she dozed against her father, she caught snippets of conversation around the flames. The Travelers mingled easily with the citizens of Crymych, pouring them wine and drinking with abandon. They toasted to their magic, to power and insisted it was something to be celebrated, even revered.

Remarkably, they were not lying – the Travelers did revere magic.

They simply considered humans too debased to use it.

That was the night Y/N awoke to a blood-curdling scream. She was old enough by then to sleep in her own room and she nearly fell on the floor in her haste to wake up. Kneeling on her mattress, she pressed her nose to the window – and jerked back in fear when crimson splattered the glass.

Y/N squinted, not understanding – but then saw the crumpled shape on the ground. 

She saw the unseeing eyes of Emrys staring back at her.

Y/N screamed. 

Hearing the sound, Emrys’ murderer whipped around, silver knife held aloft. Seeing her face, he snarled and raced for the door. Y/N did not stop to think, throwing herself off the bed and sprinting fast down the hall.

The front door rattled as she ran, shoulder slamming into it from the other side. At the end of the hall, Y/N skidded to a stop and threw open her parents’ bedroom door.

Her mother’s head snapped up, eyes red-rimmed as she clutched at her father. He was unconscious, held limp in Y/N’s mother’s arms while she roughly shook his frame.

“Y/N.” Dropping her father, Y/N’s mother stumbled from bed. She glances past Y/N to the hall, hearing the disturbance at the front door. “Get out of here. Now. Hide!”

Her father lay on bed, head lolled to one side. A five-year-old Y/N stared helplessly on, not understanding why he did not move. Then, she realized something important. Her mother had not drunk the wine that night. Her father had. Horrified by this realization, her legs froze in place – and the front door flew open, shattering against the wall.

“Hide!” Y/N’s mother yelled, rushing past.

Shadows swirled at her fingertips, yanked from the ground as her mother met him head-on. The intruder screamed, shadow shoved down his throat. Whirling around, Y/N rushed to her father and tugged on his hand. He did not move, drugged and unconscious.

“Wake up, daddy,” she gasped, vision blurring. Her mother screamed, dark shadows rushing through the entrance to the room. “You have to wake up.”

Y/N’s mother stumbled into the room, clutching her shoulder. Blood dripped through her fingers and, seeing Y/N, her eyes widened. “Hide!” she hissed, gathering a thick ball of shadow. “RUN!”

Shocked into motion, Y/N finally obeyed. While her mother gathered the darkness before her, Y/N darted past and into the hall. Their front door stood open, ajar to the night but as soon as Y/N reached it, she shuddered to a halt.

Her town was lit by fire.

Several homes were already ablaze, doused with kerosene and sent up in flames. They stood as terrible lampposts, lighting the carnage within. Blood pooled on the ground in dark puddles, multiple bodies lying limp and twisted between them. Dark shapes darted from the shadows, cackling with laughter and calling out to each other.

Slowly, Y/N took a step backwards.

Glancing over her shoulder, she saw the hallway behind her was clear. Her mother’s shadows were no longer there, which could only mean one thing – turning around, Y/N ran back inside.

Her feet pounded floorboards beneath her, hallway growing longer with each step she ran. When she finally reached the bedroom, Y/N realized in horror her father was dead. His throat had been slit ear to ear, blood ruby-red on the sheets. As for her mother, Y/N arrived just in time to see her gutted through with the knife.

Her mother choked, hands twitching around the steel in her gut.

Someone nearby screamed – in a far-off part of her mind, Y/N realized it was her.

Dropping her mother to the floor, the man slowly turned. Blood dripped from his knife to the ground – his black gloves were stained with it, his silver ring tarnished with crimson.

As he took a menacing step forward, Y/N came to her senses.

She ran.

Sprinting down the long hall, the world seemed to blur. Shadows stretched out to her eagerly, wrapping her body and calling her home. Closing her eyes, Y/N begged for safety – and when she opened them, she had entered the Shadow realm.

No one found her there.

Inhaling sharply, Y/N tears herself from the dream to sit upright in bed.

The only sound in the room is her breath, which is deafening. Hands fisted in sheets, Y/N clenches her eyes shut and wills her heartbeat to slow. Chest rising and falling, Y/N reminds herself over and over where she is.

Tywll, not Crymych.

A tavern, not her parents’ home.

Slowly, her eyes flutter open.

Staring at the wall, Y/N’s cannot help but remember. For so long, she has tried to forget. To forget what she was – what she is – and how she became who she is now.

Haltingly, Y/N tugs back her covers to stand from the bed. Padding to her washbasin, she splashes cold water on her face. Staring at herself in the mirror, Y/N grips the bowl.

A stranger stares back at her.

Well – not a stranger, but Yoongi is correct. She is not a shadow-singer. She is not the person her parents raised her to be – but then again, the person her parents raised her to be is someone who cannot exist. The world will not permit her to.

Y/N does not know if anyone else survived Crymych’s massacre. In theory, they might have. Only the adults drank the wine, but Y/N cannot imagine anyone else lived through that carnage. If her mother and Emrys died, two of the strongest in their generation, it is unlikely anyone lived.

It is an accident Y/N is alive at all. She certainly did not intend to travel to the Shadow realm that night. It took her three days to make it back to the Real world and once she did, the Travelers were gone.

Her parents were gone too, but in a different way.

Swallowing, Y/N tears her gaze from the mirror. It has been a long time since she had that nightmare. She cannot help but blame Yoongi for it. If he had not shown up the way he did, asking about her past and forcing her to relive it, she would not have fallen down this hole once again.

And yet – glancing over her shoulder, Y/N ensures she is alone. No one watches her from the shadows, no one waits in the hall.

Closing her eyes, she reaches slowly inside to unlock the door. It does not take as long as before for her power to flow. Exhaling, Y/N sags in relief as her magic floods through her. 

It has been so long, she almost forgot what a blessing it is.

The shadows twist around her ankles, climbing her arms to slip up her neck. Y/N relishes in it, tipping her head back to better enjoy the burn. The darkness has always been a comfort to her – it has always offered her protection, rather than fear.

Exhaling slowly, tears prick her eyes. Y/N wipes these away. It has been so long since she allowed herself to use magic. So long since she allowed herself to be real, to be true and to embrace what she is. The experience hurts.

It also feels right.

Once sated, Y/N releases her hold on the shadows. They do not flee from her this time. Instead, they seem to hover. She looks at them wistfully – until finally, Y/N leaves the door open and returns to bed.

Slipping under her covers, she draws them up to her chin. Her insides are aflame, but no longer does she find the sensation unpleasant.

Uncertain, she turns her head on the pillow. That spark, the feverish sensation – she realizes it was not Yoongi, exactly, but her magic. 

Like calls to like.

Shivering, Y/N sinks lower and pulls the sheet overhead. Curling in on herself, she wonders if he even needs to sleep. She wonders if Yoongi felt anything at all when they touched. Then, Y/N wonders why she bothers thinking of him at all.

Pushing all this away, she allows the warmth of sleep to pull her under.

For the next week, Y/N distances herself from the inn.

It is not so difficult – claiming increased work at the forge, Y/N simply slips out early each morning and returns in the evening. When she does, she washes dishes with Rumilda and stays far from the tavern. In the morning, she helps Rian in the kitchen until it is time to go.

In this way, she avoids Yoongi.

Y/N knows this to be a hopeless endeavor. Yoongi is Cŵn Annwn – it is impossible to hide if he truly wishes to find her. He can enter the Shadow realm, which is something Y/N finds intriguing, despite her feigned disinterest. She has never met anyone else who could. Y/N, herself has only traveled there twice.

Once, on the night of the Travelers and again, the night Yoongi found her.

Since he does not find her, Y/N assumes he has no need. This also interests her, along with the idea that Lord Arawn plays favorites. Not much is known about the dark King of Annwn, aside from his power and aura of mystery. Equally little is known about the Cŵn Annwn and yet, here Y/N is with one sleeping at her doorstep.

Closing the door to the inn, Y/N pulls her cloak close and sets off down the lane. She is later than she meant to be, due to Rumilda taking ill late last night. As Y/N darts around the tavern, her cloak catches on the edge of a barrel.

“Ah!” she yelps, swiftly jerked backwards. Her hand is already reaching for the clasp when a voice interrupts.

“Here, let me help you with that.”

Glancing up, Y/N is stunned to see Alvah before her. She had almost forgotten his existence. His fingers work nimbly at her cloak and, once free, Alvah takes a step back. 

Smiling at her, light brown hair falls into his gaze.

“I – thank you,” Y/N stammers.

“Not a problem,” Alvah says, wrinkles forming at the corner of his eyes.

He really is attractive. Y/N noticed it the other night in the tavern but now, in the clear light of day, the fact is infinitely more apparent. Tugging her cloak around her neck, Y/N nods and sets off down the road.

Alvah falls into step alongside her.

Y/N looks up, surprised.

Seeing her face, Alvah’s lip quirks. “I’m sorry. You’re probably thinking I’m following you. Aren’t you?”

“Well.” She pauses. “Now, I am.”

He laughs easily. “Rest assured I’m not. I merely have business in town.”

“Business?” They continue to walk, turning down the next lane. “Most of our guests move on from Tywll in a few days. Isn’t the autumnal festival next week?”

“Ah,” Alvah says, as though he understands the confusion. “I’m not most guests, though.”

“Apparently not,” Y/N says, upper lip twitching.

They continue to walk on in silence, Alvah’s gloved hands are clasped behind his back. He glances sideways at her. “I’ll confess, I can’t leave until I accomplish something of worth.”

“Something of worth?” Unable to help herself, Y/N teases a little. “Can it be anything, or does it have to be something specific? Does a long walk constitute ‘something of worth?’ Does sowing a field? Planting a harvest?”

Alvah laughs and tips back his head. “I actually had something in mind.”

“Oh? What?”

“The merchant, Cadoc,” Alvah admits, faltering somewhat. “I need him to offer my father a trade deal. If I can convince him of this, I’ll be granted our land as its heir.”

“Oh.” Something akin to disappointment settles within Y/N’s stomach. The son of a landowner is far above her station. “That is something of worth, indeed.”

“I hope so. If I manage this, I hope I can advance in other aspects of my life.”

“In what way?” 

Absently, Y/N tucks a strand of hair behind an ear. Her skirts drag through the mud and she is woefully aware she walks to the forge. Whomever Alvah’s future wife is, Y/N is certain she will not have hands dirty with soot and steel.

“In marriage, for one,” he says quietly.

It is at this very moment Y/N steps in a puddle and nearly face-plants in the mud. Alvah’s hand quickly steadies her, grasping her elbow before she can fall. Glancing upwards, Y/N’s cheeks heat with embarrassment. 

Yanking her arm free of his, she clutches her cloak. “I’m so sorry,” she breathes, looking back at the puddle. “I, um – I just don’t often speak about…”

“Marriage?” Alvah prompts with a smile.

Silently nodding, she turns down the street to the forge.

“Why not?” 

Alvah follows. 

Now, Y/N knows he is following her. There is nothing else this way but the forge and she glances his way, oddly pleased by the realization. “I would think that’s obvious, no?”

“Not to me,” Alvah says pleasantly.

Although it is still early, the town has begun to wake. Several townspeople throw open their shutters, sweeping their stoops in anticipation of a day’s work. Y/N glances their way, feeling the thrum of life in the air – and yet, none glance in her direction.

“I’m not exactly the sweetheart of this village,” she says, under her breath.

“I don’t know that’s a bad thing.”

Despite the thrill his words give her, they turn the next corner and come into view of the forge. 

Alvah continues to walk, glancing her way. “Was that too forward?” he murmurs. “I apologize, if it was.”

“I – no. I only am not sure I agree.”

“No?”

Y/N sighs. “My current status limits my options.”

“Status?”

Coming to a stop at the gate of the forge, she gestures limply at its doors. “There are not many who wish to marry a woman apprentice.”

Alvah’s gaze brightens, realizing what she is saying. “You work... here?”

Y/N nods, lips tight.

“But that’s wonderful. Why, I – oh. What happened?” Alvah frowns, seeing the boarded-up window.

“Oh, nothing much.” Y/N shrugs, pushing open the gate. “There was a storm the other night. A branch fell.”

Alvah frowns, examining closer. “A storm? I – oh, I’m sorry. I’m being nosy, aren’t I?”

Y/N laughs, shaking her head. “Not at all. Most townspeople would’ve already formed their own conclusions.”

“I don’t wish to be seen as most people to you.”

Y/N’s heart flutters, though she does her best to temper the response. It would not do to be attracted to Alvah. As much as he wishes to believe they could work, Y/N knows they would not. He is the wealthy son of a land-owning man and Y/N is, well, Y/N.

“A branch crashed through the window,” she explains, returning to his original question. “Narrowly missed the smith’s daughter, Gwen.”

“You don’t say.” Alvah resumes staring at the window. “What a lucky break it missed her.”

“Yes. Lucky.”

Alvah pauses, then looks at her cryptically. “This daughter – was she injured?”

Y/N is surprised to find him so interested. “I don’t think so,” she admits, startled into the truth.

Alvah’s expression turns sheepish. “I’m afraid I must apologize again. You’ve now seen me for what I truly am.”

“Which is?”

“Insatiably curious,” he laughs, offering a smile. “I ask far too many questions when I’m nervous.”

“Oh?” Y/N glances at the forge. “What would you have to be nervous of?”

Rather than answer this, Alvah gently takes hold of her hand. Y/N looks down in surprise, thrown when he lifts this to his lips. Brushing a kiss to her fingers, he slowly releases his hold.

Y/N stares at him in shock.

“You tell me,” Alvah says, low and direct.

When her lips part, but nothing comes out, he turns back up the road.

Y/N watches him leave, uncertain how she should feel. She rubs the back of her hand with one thumb, attempting to commit the gesture to memory. As nice as his touch was, it was only that. Nice.

It did nothing to spark the life in her veins.

It did nothing to stir the magic in her blood.

Turning around on her heel, Y/N enters the forge.

At the end of her day, Y/N is thoroughly exhausted.

She stands in the middle of the forge, bellows held in one hand while she strokes the flames higher. Owen left a half-hour prior to make another delivery, directing Y/N to finish up today’s metalwork. It was a large step towards her independence, being left alone in the forge.

Feeling prideful of this, Y/N sets the bellows aside and picks up a large piece of metal. She needs to create several more horseshoes, since the recent crowd of travelers has bled their stock dry. Holding the metal over the fire, Y/N slowly melts it in each direction. Glancing briefly over her shoulder, she ensures no one watches and tempers the edges with darkness.

Yoongi chuckles and steps from the shadows. “Does Owen know you do that?” he asks.

Y/N yelps, nearly dropping the horseshoe in the flames.

Yoongi’s smile widens, walking closer. “What are you doing?”

Scowling, Y/N retracts the horseshoe to dunk in the water. “Creating something,” she mutters, staring into the bucket. “Something you wouldn’t know anything about.”

Yoongi comes to a stop at her shoulder, peering over. “Creating something with magic?”

Y/N’s gaze flies upwards. “Will you please be quiet?” she hisses. “Someone could hear.”

“Someone like Gwen?”

Swiftly, Y/N removes the horseshoe and stomps to the shelf. Satisfied by its shape, she places this down and whirls to face Yoongi. “Touch her,” she blurts. “And I’ll have something to say about it.”

“Like what?”

Ignoring his mirth, Y/N strides past him to undo her apron. The leather is heavy, sticking to her chest in a way she pointedly ignores. It is not as though Yoongi would ever look at her like that. However – when she glances his way, she sees Yoongi look hastily up.

Almost guiltily, he avoids her gaze.

Y/N pauses, uncertain what just occurred. Deciding she is imagining things, she resumes hanging her apron. “Leave Gwen out of this, alright?”

Disappearing from where he stands, Yoongi reappears beside her. “You know I can’t promise that,” he says, low. “Just like you can’t promise not to use magic. It’s not what we are.”

Enraged by his casual use of magic, Y/N lifts her chin. “Since you seem so intent upon continuing this conversation,” she hisses. “Let’s do it outside of my workplace.”

Without waiting for his response, she grabs her cloak to push open the door. Exiting the forge, Y/N sends a dark wave of magic behind her to clean its surface. Ignoring Yoongi’s smirk, Y/N strides down the road.

“So.” He catches up to her easily, sticking his hands in his pockets. “Can we continue our conversation now?”

“What conversation?” Y/N pulls her cloak tighter. “You broke into my place of work and now are stalking me home.”

“To the inn,” Yoongi corrects. “Where I also rent a room.”

“And the breaking and entering part?”

“Doors are... confusing for Cŵn Annwn.”

Scowling, Y/N lowers her voice. “Doesn’t excuse your impropriety.”

Yoongi shrugs.

He becomes uncharacteristically silent as they walk through the town. The town’s lamplighters are almost done for the evening, the contained flames of the lamps casting shadows over the ground. Y/N stares at it all, feeling their tug in her soul.

It seems now she has let magic back in, it will not be denied. If the time should ever come when Y/N must part from it a second time, she is not sure she will be able to do so.

Yoongi exhales at her side. “Actually,” he says, sounding hesitant. “I came by to ask you something.”

“Oh? How bold to ask more, when you already barter my soul.”

He scowls, looking her way. “I’m not bartering your soul, Y/N. You tangled with fate by saving that girl. That kind of thing has consequences.”

“What type of consequences?”

Yoongi pauses, only to chuckle. “Oh, no,” he mutters. “Only the dead and dying know that. You know, for a human, you have a worryingly low sense of self-preservation.”

“Perhaps if you were more forthcoming.”

“Oh, yes. Ask the night to tell you its secrets.”

The corner of Y/N’s lips lift despite herself. It is funny, in a way. The questions she asks Yoongi, the frustration she holds for him – they are in many ways similar to the frustration humans have with witches. She cannot understand him and his rules and so, she thinks him against her.

Subtly, she glances sideways.

Yoongi is already looking back.

Hastily, Y/N jerks her head forward. “What did you wish to ask me?”

“Oh. Right.” Yoongi sounds disappointed, which causes Y/N’s heartbeat to race. She tempers it quickly, scolding herself for being so silly. “I wanted to ask if you’ve seen anything unusual.”

“Unusual?” Y/N nearly smiles. “More unusual than a shadow-singer walking with Cŵn Annwn through the town square?”

Yoongi laughs, a deep rumble. “Yes, more unusual than that. I only ask because, well – before my arrival, did you have any difficulty accessing your magic?”

Y/N pauses at the next street corner. The lamplight does not reach this far, giving them space to remain unseen.

“No,” she says, squinting upwards. “Or – I don’t know. I never really tried.”

Yoongi comes to a stop. “Never?”

“It was out of necessity.”

“I know, but…” Yoongi stares at her incredulously. “Damnation, Y/N. How long have you refrained?”

“Fifteen years, give or take.”

“Fifteen… fifteen years?”

“Yes, well.” Y/N exhales and resumes walking. “We all do what we must in order to survive.”

Seeming troubled, Yoongi falls into step alongside her. “The reason I ask, is many of my messengers have been odd since I came here. Reluctant to travel. One even mentioned this area being cursed against magic. Is that so?”

“I don’t really know.”

“He said a great massacre of witches and warlocks took place some fifteen years ago.”

Hearing her history said so casually aloud, Y/N’s feet falter beneath her. She comes to an accidental stop, staring blankly at his back. Vision blurring, her hands ball into fists.

Yoongi continues several paces before realizing she does not follow. “Y/N?” He turns, gaze widening when he sees her expression. “I – oh.”

He seems to do the math in his head. Fifteen years since she last used her magic. Fifteen years since witches and warlocks were murdered. The reality of her situation dawns on him, but before they can speak further, a door bangs open and drunk men tumble out. Yoongi unthinkingly moves closer, glaring at them as they pass. 

Y/N shivers, rubbing her arms to regain control. “It’s fine,” she mutters, shaking it off. “Let’s just go.”

Yoongi looks at her dubiously but nods, following suit.

As they enter the main part of town, the moon breaks through the clouds. Silvery light casts the square in an otherworldly sheen, seeming to exist half-in and out of reality. Smoke curls over the roofs, grey against the inky black of the night. Tywll is quieter after dark, but only barely.

Across the street, a mother lingers in the door to her household. She chats with the milkman, a toddler clinging to her ankles while another one darts into the street. He does not pay attention, swinging around a lamppost and nearly hitting his head on a carriage.

As gently as she can, Y/N uses her shadows to urge the child back to its mother. When she turns around, she sees Yoongi watching.

“What?” she demands, walking faster. He says nothing, merely following suit. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“No reason.” Yoongi seems genuinely puzzled. “I just don’t understand you, that’s all.”

“Me?”

“You hid your magic for fifteen years.” Lowering his voice, Yoongi glances around. Apparently, her apprehension is catching. “You say it was out of necessity, because these people would have killed you otherwise. And yet – whenever you do use magic, it’s to their benefit. You saved Gwen from harm. You pushed that toddler to safety.”

Y/N’s cheeks heat. “And?”

“And,” Yoongi shrugs. “It’s odd, that’s all.”

“What is?”

“That you would choose to help those who would kill you without hesitation.”

Her eyes widen, feet faltering, but she keeps walking down the road.

Seeing her reaction, Yoongi tilts his head. “What is it?” he asks. “Was it something I said?”

“You just…” Y/N’s brow furrows. “Treat life so cavalierly. That’s all.”

Yoongi seems mildly offended. “I assure you, I do not.”

“But you do.” Y/N finally comes to a stop. “You’re an enforcer. You only deal with the dead, with souls who have already been weighed and found wanting. Souls without an option for redemption. I live here, though.”

“And where is here?” 

“I live amongst the living,” she says. “In my eyes, there is always room for redemption.”

Yoongi’s gaze flickers with something undefined. “There are some who would call you naïve.” 

“I imagine so,” Y/N says, shrugging to walk past. “I’ve never much cared what people thought about me, though.”

After a moment, Yoongi gives in and follows. As they wind their way through the town, the lamps become more and more sparse. The pools of light lessen between them. Rather than be unnerved by this fact, Y/N welcomes it, embracing the night.

When they finally reach the inn, Yoongi stops.

“Well.” Y/N glances sideways, tugging again on her cloak. “Will you be in Tywll awhile longer?”

Yoongi cranes his neck up to examine the roof. “I imagine so.”

“I see. Are you coming in?”

Yoongi looks at her. “In a bit. I need to meet a messenger outside of town.”

His lips part, a question within but before he can ask it, Y/N places a hand on the doorknob. “Well, goodnight,” she says, pushing inside – until her hand is caught in his.

Startled, she looks down.

Yoongi’s hand has slipped easily through her fingers. He holds her gently, steadily, as though she is something to be treasured. When she looks up, she finds his gaze darker than night.

“I don’t wish to harm you,” he says, low and sincere.

This is what Y/N wanted from Alvah’s touch. This heat racing through her veins, this unbearable lightness of her heart – this is what she wanted from Alvah but instead, feels with Yoongi.

Swiftly, she tugs her hand from his grasp. Y/N cannot afford to forget their situation, not for a moment. Yoongi is here for her soul and at any point in time, may be forced to take her to Annwn.

Steeling her spine, Y/N pushes open the door. “Then don’t,” she says, walking inside.

The door swings shut behind her, leaving Yoongi out in the cold.

Y/N leaves early the next morning.

Because of this, Alvah is not waiting to greet her. She did not expect him to be – based on their previous conversation, Y/N holds little hope for a relationship between them. Alvah was nice to talk to, but there is not much more she can ask.

Unlike Yoongi – Y/N’s teeth grit – who somehow manages to get under her skin every time.

Walking fast down the lane, her cloak brushes the ground. The moon has sunk below the horizon, which means the rising of dawn cannot be far off. Rubbing her arms, Y/N fights to keep herself warm.

At the next bend in the road, her feet falter beneath her. 

Something is wrong.

The door to Owen’s home is ajar, left standing open to his front yard. Slowly, Y/N resumes walking and glances side to side. No one else on this street is awake yet, so no one else has noticed the disturbance.

As Y/N draws near, she becomes certain in her assessment. The front gate is unlocked, as though forgotten, or disregarded. Gently, Y/N pushes this open.

“Hello?” she calls, peering into the mist.

No one answers and Y/N is just considering leaving when Owen emerges from around the house. His appearance is off – apron half-tied and hair all askew. He looks past Y/N for a moment, before zeroing in on her face.

“Y/N.” Jerking to life, he rushes across the yard.

“Own?” Y/N frowns and pushes open the gate. “What’s wrong?”

“I – Gwen,” he pants, coming to a stop. “I can’t find Gwen.”

“What do you mean?” Y/N glances around, as though Gwen might pop up any moment. “That doesn’t make sense.”

“I know,” says Owen, frantically wringing his hands. “I can’t find her anywhere. She’s not in her bed, nor the kitchen, nor the forge. I – I looked everywhere I can think of, Y/N.”

“Alright.” Y/N steps forward. “Alright, we’ll find her. Perhaps she went out this morning? Did you need bread, or water?”

Owen simply looks at her, dazed. “No, no. Gwen never leaves before I start work.”

Y/N does not know how to respond. The best-case scenario is Gwen did leave on her own – otherwise, the possibilities take a darker turn. “Let me help you look,” she insists. “Maybe you missed her.”

Slowly, Owen nods and follows meekly behind when Y/N enters the yard.

The two search the house from top to bottom, the yard from back to front, but find nothing. Owen is correct – Gwen is gone and what is worse; her bed remains unmade. It does not seem she slept here last night. This has Owen beside himself, not understanding how he misplaced her.

Y/N assures him this is not his fault – perhaps Gwen left to meet friends. It would not be kind of Gwen to do so, to make her father worry like this. Indeed, it would not be like Gwen at all, but at least in this scenario, she would be safe.

Returning to the front yard, Y/N glances up at the house. “There weren’t signs of a break-in.” 

Owen nods slowly. “A good thing.”

In a way. It means Gwen knew the intruder – it does not mean she is safe. 

“We’ll find her,” Y/N exhales. “Maybe she went to the next village. Or, a friend’s house? Is there any place she might have stayed the night?”

Owen’s gaze sharpens. The implication in her question is clear – Gwen is young, beautiful and has many admirers. She might have run away on purpose.

“Possibly,” Owen says. His shoulders sag. “There was someone she was interested in lately, I know. Very recent. Gwen is a good girl, she really is, but… well, she can be romantic.”

For a girl of their age to be called romantic is hardly a compliment. Often, it means they lose their head when in love.

“Well, then.” Y/N sighs. “Perhaps we keep this quiet as long as we can.”

Owen hesitates because, on the one hand, if Gwen is in danger people should know right away. On the other hand – if she did run off with a man, it would cause irreparable damage to her reputation.

“We’ll give her until the end of the day,” Owen determines, reaching behind him to re-tie his apron. “If she is not home by then…”

Y/N nods, understanding the implication. If Gwen is not home by nightfall, the consequences cannot be stopped.

The day drags on longer than usual. Although much work is done in the forge, it seems to take twice as long. Owen keeps glancing out the window, as though he expects Gwen to return home any minute. 

As the day wears on, the sun rises and falls, she does not appear.

Finally, Owen shoves his tongs in the water. “I’m heading into town,” he announces, undoing his apron.

Y/N looks up, wiping her brow. “You’re what?”

“Going into town,” Owen repeats, hanging his garment up on a hook. “I’ll see the sheriff and tell him what’s happened. Either Gwen is in danger, or she has run away. Either way.” He sets his jaw. “I’m bringing her home.”

“Are you certain?” Y/N does not wish to dissuade Owen, but she does feel a certain duty to point out the risk. “If she’s run off, perhaps…”

Owen stares out the window. A shadow crosses his expression, considering the unthinkable. 

“And if she hasn’t?”

Were it anyone else, Y/N would consider running off the more likely option. Tywll is so small, it is rare someone steals a loaf of bread, let alone a woman. However, Gwen is not just anyone. She loves Owen dearer than anything else in this world – and Y/N knows she would not leave without saying goodbye. There is something very wrong with this picture.

Slowly, she nods.

Owen takes a few minutes longer before slipping out the door. Y/N begins cleaning the forge, but her head is not in the process. She is too distracted by thoughts of Gwen – where she might be, who she is with and what Owen will do, if she never comes home. 

When she leaves for the night, Owen still has not returned.

Gwen does not come home that night either, nor the one following.

Rumors spread like wildfire through the village – malicious ones, dismissive ones. Ones which have Y/N waking from nightmares again, but this time they are not her own. At some point, Rian bans talk of Gwen in the tavern, but this does not prevent them from discussing in hushed tones.

Y/N overhears as she waits on the tables, replacing their ale and trying hard not to listen. At first, the town suspects Alvah, then Yoongi. They quickly move on when neither one leaves, nor their rooms contain Gwen.

It would not make sense to stick around after committing a crime.

And so, the town turns to other culprits. There have been many travelers in Tywll, traveling through for Dowais’ autumnal festival – it is hard to remember all, but the town tries. Y/N stops listening after a while, only caring about Owen and the safety of Gwen.

At the end of the second day with no sign of Gwen, Y/N begins to grow restless. Yoongi has not been seen much since Gwen’s disappearance. To be fair, Y/N has not seen him at all since they walked home from the forge, but his absence the past few days has been noticeable. As though he does not wish to speak and is avoiding her questions.

It would only be natural for her to suspect Yoongi and indeed, Y/N does for a time. Looking at things objectively, Yoongi is the obvious culprit. He was sent to watch over their souls and he warned Y/N that at any moment, he could drag them away.

And yet – if this is so, and Yoongi has taken Gwen’s soul, why is he still here?

For he is here, even if he is often absent. His steamer trunk is still in his room – Y/N checked this once, against her better judgement – and she has even seen him disappear out the front door. Yoongi is still IN Tywll, which makes Y/N wonder what he knows. 

She decides to find out the very next night. Standing at the foot of the staircase, Y/N waits until Rian looks away before slipping upstairs.

The noise of the tavern muffles on the second floor. Y/N walks down the hall, taking purposeful care not to make too much sound. Room seven is at the end, its number in gold peeling letters upon the front door. When no one answers, Y/N tentatively pushes this open.

Yoongi is not here.

A candle sits on the front table, gathering dust. This does not surprise Y/N – if Yoongi is anything like her, he probably prefers the dark. Stepping further inside, she pulls the door shut behind her.

The trunk lies at the foot of his bed, a dark jumble of clothing within. This sight nearly makes her smile, since it seems so horribly human. The Cŵn Annwn should have clothing of shadow, or some otherworldly substance which does not exist in this world.

Speaking of which – shadows curl at Y/N’s ankles as she walks. This seems to happen more and more lately. Darkness spreads wherever she touches and each place she does, Y/N gleans a sense of the object.

Yoongi has not been here for hours.

Paused at the foot of his bed, Y/N looks around. Gwen is not here, that much is obvious – from what Y/N can tell, she never was. This means Yoongi must be equally perturbed Gwen has disappeared. He was supposed to be keeping an eye on her, after all.

Darkness pulses in the corners, beckoning her near. Y/N stiffens, realizing where Yoongi must be. If he is not here in Tywll, if she can find no trace of him in this world – he must be in another.

As soon as Y/N thinks this, the world wavers around her. Y/N forces this back and tries not to travel, but then wonders why. Yoongi told her not to enter the Shadow realm but then, he is not here.

Yoongi does not tell her what to do.

Inhaling gently, Y/N closes her eyes.

This time, she feels the world shift and when she opens her eyes, she is expecting the nightmarish landscape.

Still, the Shadow realm seems different today. Its edges are blackened, crumbled apart at the seams. Somewhere in the distance, Y/N hears a scream. Whirling, she faces the same way she came but sees nothing. The Real world wavers just beyond reach and all that exists here is shadow.

“Hello?” Y/N calls.

Her voice does not seem to echo. This makes sense – there is nothing here to produce the vibrations.

Slowly walking forward, Y/N peers into darkness. Her magic exists here, but less. Or – perhaps it is more. Her magic is stronger, but this place is made out of shadows. Being surrounded by so much makes her somehow feel small.

When Y/N takes another step forward, a shape stirs in the darkness.

“Hello?” she says, coming to a stop. “Who’s there?”

The shape stirs once more, beginning to solidify into something huge, something massive. Y/N’s eyes widen, head tipping back to see the end of it. She trembles, about to scream when –

Yoongi appears, dropping from the dark sky before her.

He snarls, gaze red and teeth bared – canines as sharp as hellfire itself. Yoongi does not glance at Y/N, only having eyes for the monster before them. He growls a second time in warning, one hand splayed to the ground.

The thing rears back, twitching grotesquely before it freezes in recognition. Yoongi stares at it silently, daring it to strike and slowly, the thing reneges and melts into twilight.

Yoongi remains frozen until he is sure it has gone.

His head snaps sideways to Y/N. “What were you thinking?” he growls, pushing himself up from the ground.

As he strides forward, he adopts a more human appearance. The red of his eyes dims, canines shortening but there is still something wolfish to his gaze.

Y/N stares over his shoulder, searching wildly for the thing in the shadows. “I – what was that?” she gasps.

Yoongi comes to a stop. “There are more things which travel the Shadow realm than just you and I, Y/N,” he says grimly.

“You!” she blurts, remembering why she came. “I was looking for you, Min Yoongi. We need to talk about Gwen.”

“Not here,” Yoongi mutters, gripping her wrist.

Before Y/N can protest, they melt away and reappear in his room.

Flinging her hand away, Yoongi strides across his floor. He comes to a stop at his bedside, grabbing a decanter and removing its top. Tipping the bottle sideways, amber liquid pours out.

As the daughter of an innkeeper, Y/N recognizes the sharp tang of alcohol. “What are you doing?” she asks, nose wrinkled.

“I’m drinking,” Yoongi says calmly, replacing the stopper. Turning around, he drinks the glass in one gulp. “I occasionally drink when others test my patience.”

“Your patience?”

“Yes, my patience,” he snaps. “You may be able to enter the Shadow realm, Y/N, but you are woefully unprepared for what you will find there.”

“Why? Because I’m human?”

“I – no.” Yoongi seems bewildered. “Because you haven’t used your magic in fifteen years, Y/N! You’re a child, learning to walk. If that Gwyllion had managed to touch you…” He pauses, refilling the glass without touching the bottle. “Your soul would’ve separated from your body and you would’ve wandered the Shadow realm for eternity. Is that what you wanted?”

A chill travels Y/N’s spine. A Gwyllion. 

She has heard stories about the famed demons of twilight ever since she was little. Gwyllions lurk in the shadows, dwell in the places between realms and rip souls from their bodies. She never once imagined one could hurt her, though – her, a shadow-singer.

Shaking his head, Yoongi surveys her reaction.

“No,” Y/N blurts, trying to remain in control. “That’s not what I wanted.”

He glares at her again before tipping his second drink back.

“I…” Y/N’s brow furrows. “If you can re-fill that with magic, why bother by hand?”

“Why, indeed?” Yoongi mutters. “Maybe because I – unlike you – don’t draw attention to myself in idiotic ways. I finish the tasks I am assigned and when I seek information from others, I don’t take unnecessary risks!”

Y/N pauses, zeroing in on the last part of his sentence. “What information are you seeking?”

Yoongi takes a step closer. Smoothly, he waves a hand to make the glass disappear. “Gwen,” he mutters. “Your friend. The soul I was assigned to watch has disappeared.”

“Yes, I know. That’s why I’m here.”

Yoongi pauses for a moment. “You think I took her.”

“No.”

He blinks, surprised. “No?”

“No.” Y/N shakes her head. “If you had taken her, you would’ve already left. Since you’re still here, I can only assume it was someone else.”

Yoongi stares at her at moment and Y/N wonders if this is the first time someone did not assume the worst of him. 

“Well, you’re correct.” Turning around on his heel, Yoongi walks towards his trunk. “I didn’t take her. That’s why I was in the Shadow realm at all – I was visiting another of the Cŵn Annwn to request information.”

“Did they have any?”

“No,” Yoongi mutters. “She’s gone.”

“I know that. Honestly, Yoongi, what have you even been doing these past –”

With a snarl, Yoongi disappears to reappear before her.

Stumbling backwards a bit, Y/N recovers quickly to glare. “One of these days, that shock factor is going to wear off,” she snaps.

“You don’t understand,” Yoongi insists. “When I say gone, I mean gone. I can’t find Gwen in the Real world. Nor in the Shadow realm. She’s not in the Otherworld. Gwen is gone.”

As Y/N freezes, comprehension dawning, Yoongi deflates.

“There’s something else going on here,” he says finally. “Some kind of magic I’m not taking into consideration. It doesn’t help most of my informants refuse to meet me in Tywll because of the Travelers.”

Y/N responds to this, automatic. “The Travelers haven’t been in these parts for years.”

“No, Y/N.” He looks at her gently. “They were quiet for a while. Recently though, they have been killing witches and warlocks up and down the north coast.”

Suddenly speechless, Y/N stares at him in horror.

“The last they were sighted was near here,” he adds, quiet. “If it helps, it is not as bad as the last time. Most speculate it’s only a few humans, not as many as before.”

Y/N cannot breathe. All this time, she should she was safe. She thought she could just wait out the storm and then, everything would be fine. It would seem the Travelers will not die, though and fleetingly, Y/N wonders if she will ever truly live.

Swallowing, Y/N moves towards the door. “Fine.”

“Y/N,” Yoongi exhales, clearly not believing her. 

She turns back around. “What does this have to do with Gwen?”

“I don’t know. I wish I did.”

He seems to be at a loss. The trunk behind him is still open, as though it might suddenly contain answers. Y/N stares at this and wonders how Yoongi came to be Cŵn Annwn. There are times when he seems almost human and then other time, woefully not.

Like the Yoongi she saw in the Shadow realm, eyes red and snarling with warning.

“Take me with,” she says suddenly.

Yoongi blinks, startled. “I – what?”

“When you go to find more information.” Y/N looks up, taking a step closer. “The next time you go to the Shadow realm, take me with.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Are you serious?” Yoongi looks at her, incredulous. “After everything I just said? You’re a liability, Y/N.”

“A liability you’re in charge of,” she reminds him. “You’re in charge of my soul, too, Yoongi. How would it look if I disappeared, too?”

Jaw snapping shut, Yoongi glowers at her. 

Sensing she has hit a nerve, Y/N continues. “Besides,” she says, pressing on. “I can help. I know this town, I know its people. I can help you. Just – let me. Please,” she adds, voice breaking on the word. “Gwen was my friend. I need… I have to do something.”

Yoongi stares at her for a moment, uncertain. Finally, he exhales and turns. “Alright. When I have another lead, I’ll come get you. Satisfied?”

“No.” Y/N watches him walk towards the window. “I want to go now.”

“Too bad.”

Y/N nearly smiles, but catches herself. There is no condemnation to his tone and Y/N knows he does not mean to be rude. He is only stating the facts – straightening her spine, Y/N wonders when she began reading Yoongi so well.

She wonders when she began trusting him.

Because she does – or, she trusts him more than most in her life. With this realization comes a modicum of guilt because Y/N has now gotten what she came for. She has more information, along with a promise and so, she should leave.

Before anything else can be given. 

“Thank you,” she says, reaching out for the knob.

Hovering there, she considers turning around. The room waits expectantly behind her, as though Yoongi also holds his breath. Steeling her spine, Y/N forces such nonsense aside and steps into the hall.

As the door falls shut behind her, Y/N hears him exhale. The sound is ragged, meaningful but is cut off before she can dissect any further. Hurrying away, Y/N tries not to replay the sound in her mind.

Y/N is not woken the next morning by the rooster.

Instead, it is Mervin’s hand on her shoulder which rouses her from her sleep. He holds a candle above her, the flickering flame illuminating his frame. Seeing him like this, Y/N blearily focuses on his face above hers.

“What is it?” she murmurs, pushing herself upwards.

Mervin’s expression is grave, his features drawn.

Recognizing this, Y/N tenses. “Mervin?”

“It’s… it’s Gwen.”

He does not need to say more – the rest is clear. If this were good news, he would be smiling. If this were good news, Mervin would not be waking Y/N in the middle of the night.

Fingers trembling, Y/N reaches out for her dressing gown. “What is it?”

Taking a step back, Mervin places the candle beside her. “They found her an hour ago,” he says, hollow. “She was in the river.”

Y/N freezes, fingers clutching the fabric.

Mervin does not stay long, leaving soon after to give her a few moments of peace. Changing in a daze, Y/N walks downstairs and realizes halfway she forgot several steps in her routine. Her hair is rumpled, buttons mismatched, but no one in the tavern seems to notice. Much of the town has gathered before Rian’s fire, huddled in groups and speaking in whispers.

When Y/N enters, she sees Rian by the fire. The bread is forgotten behind her, half-risen on top of the counter. Mervin clasps her hand, talking gently into the side of her hair. The sight is so unusual, Y/N comes to a stop.

Looking up, Rian hastily wipes a tear from her cheek. “Owen came by,” she announces, briskly standing to return to the bread. “The forge will be closed for the foreseeable future, so there’s no work today.”

“Alright,” Y/N exhales, having expected as much.

She stares at the kitchen, amazed to find it much the same as before. It seems almost offensive, to continue feeding the town and housing their guests when Gwen no longer exists. It seems their life should also come to a stop, out of respect for hers.

Mervin spared her the details of Gwen’s death out of consideration but as Y/N walks through the tavern, she catches the highlights, regardless.

Gwen was found in the river. She was drowned, with nary a mark on her body. No signs of struggle. No signs of injury – self-inflicted or otherwise. Gwen was merely found dead, eyes glassy and wide as she stared from the river.

Already, there are whispers of magic.

Throughout the morning, Y/N continues to overhear conversations. It was unnatural, the way she died and so, magic is the obvious conclusion. A tragedy of such magnitude has never occurred here before. People have died, yes but not like Gwen.

It seems impossible for her to be gone and so, people look for impossible answers.

For the rest of the week, Y/N throws herself into work. It helps to keep her moving, to stay distracted from the idea of Gwen being pulled from the river. She does not see Owen, though she would like to. He is firmly embroiled in a nightmare of his own and Y/N knows his life will take time to heal. Instead, she busies herself with the tavern, the inn and does not think about Gwen.

Or, she tries. 

This proves to be impossible when her death is the only subject Tywll is willing to talk about. Waiting tables each evening, Y/N hears gossip despite herself. The men all discuss the physical aspects of the death. How her lips were blue – cold, from the water – how her limbs were stiff, to the point where she could not be moved.

The women discuss what it means for their town. Gwen was a sweet girl; a good girl and it cannot be ignored she went voluntarily. There were no signs of struggle at the house. Whomever killed her remains at large and if they are near, everyone else is in danger.

Y/N continues to glance at the staircase, wondering when Yoongi will find her. Arawn cannot be pleased by Gwen’s early demise. Despite the ominousness of his presence, the Cŵn Annwn are never dispatched to intervene – only to bring humans to Annwn for judgement.

Although it may be foolish, Y/N finds herself believing him. This was not Yoongi’s plan, she can feel certain of that much. Yoongi might be many things, but he is not cruel – and the way they found Gwen was cruel.

Squeezing her body in between tables, Y/N comes to a stop at a large group of townspeople. The most important men are all gathered, Cadoc amongst them, and – to Y/N’s surprise – Alvah beside him. He speaks quietly with the older man and Y/N wonders absent-mindedly if he remains at work on his deal.

It would be highly insensitive if he were. As Y/N removes his glass though, she realizes they do not discuss business at all – but Gwen.

“I’m telling you,” Cadoc says under his breath. “You’re wrong. None of the men in this town would’ve laid a finger on her.”

Stiffening, Y/N places the glass on her tray.

“Of course not,” Alvah says, shaking his head. “I didn’t mean to imply they would. Only, it’s difficult to know anyone’s true intentions these days.”

Trevor grunts, from the other side of the table. “Man’s right. Would be madness to rule out the townsfolk, simply because blaming a traveler is easier.”

“Exactly.” Alvah glances over his shoulder. “Although…”

Cadoc squints over his cup. “Although, what? Spit it out, man.”

Shaking his head, Alvah wraps a gloved hand around his glass. The silver ring on his hand gleams in the firelight. “No, never mind. It is a silly thought.”

“What is?”

The rest of the table looks on, waiting for more. Looking up, Alvah realizes they hang on his every word. Y/N lingers too, motions slowed to ensure she hears what he has to say.

Alvah leans in. “Are there any in town who have… magic?”

“What are you implying?” Cadoc says sharply.

“Nothing,” Alvah says – quickly, as though embarrassed. “It is only… I have traveled much, my friends.”

The rest of the men grumble and glance at one another. Y/N finds it strange to see these men trust an outsider so quickly. Alvah has only been in Tywll a matter of weeks and, under any other circumstances, he would be a suspect of the murder.

“And?” Trevor demands, narrowing his gaze.

“And she died with no marks on her body,” finishes Cadoc, glancing at Alvah. “Is that what you’re getting at, boy?”

Alvah nods in relief. “Doesn’t it seem odd?”

“It does.” Cadoc inclines his head, hand tapping the table. “Still. It is rash to assume magic so fast.”

Y/N is surprised to hear Cadoc the voice of reason in this scenario. She has never much liked the merchant – he usually gives Owen impossible deadlines, and then even shorter ones follow when he manages to meet those.

“Obviously,” Alvah nods. “Likely, there is no magic involved. It is only strange, that’s all.”

“It is,” jumps in Trevor, gaze scanning the tavern.

Y/N turns before he can spot her. Reaching the next table, she purposefully remains within earshot. For the most part, they seem to have moved on – but then Alvah leans forward, whispering something to Cadoc. The first part is inaudible but the second, Y/N hears.

“… odd, he hasn’t come downstairs since they found her.”

Y/N’s blood chills when they look towards the stairs.

Glancing upwards, she sees Yoongi descending. He is dressed in his usual black, sparing no glance for the townsfolk before exiting the building. Multiple heads follow him, Y/N notices with alarm.

She is not sure how she missed this before. Of course, now that Gwen has been found, the town searches harder for her killer. It would seem they do not suspect Alvah, but they do Yoongi.

The wrongness of this twists deep in her chest. Yoongi did not kill Gwen; Y/N is certain. She may not know who did, but she is determined to find out. Which means it is even more imperative Yoongi take her to the Shadow realm. They need to find answers, and fast.

Before her expression can give her away, Y/N hurries into the kitchen. She stays there the rest of the night, helping Rumilda and washing the dishes. She cannot face the town now, unable to stomach their deliberate ignorance. It reminds her too much of Crymych, of her people screaming in fright and the horrible certainty those Travelers had when they killed.

Magic is evil and so, must be extinguished.

Scrubbing a pot harder, Y/N’s brows furrow. She cannot help but think yes, sometimes magic is evil – but in many ways, humans can be worse.

The evening is long. People do not want to leave the safety of the inn and its fire. Eventually, Rian is forced to shoo them all out with a rag, telling them to come back when they open tomorrow. Once they are gone, Y/N brings their dishes into the kitchen. She rolls up her sleeves, ready to work but Mervin reaches out to place a hand on her arm.

“No,” he says gently. “I think you’ve done enough for today. Go and sleep.”

Y/N pauses, glancing at Rian but she also says nothing, scrubbing away at the sink. When Mervin arches a brow, Y/N sags in relief.

“Alright,” she says, untying her apron. “But if you need any help, I’m –”

Cutting her off, Mervin shakes his head. “We’ll be fine. Go.”

Despite her protestation, Y/N is glad for their intervention. While work kept her going at first, it now feels a drag on her senses. She misses the forge – the hot yield of iron, the simmering heat of the furnace. She misses creating something. She misses Owen’s quiet humor and eating with Gwen during supper.

It was a haven once to her, but it no longer exists. The weight of this falls upon Y/N’s shoulders with each step she climbs. Once in her room, she slowly undresses. Each layer she sheds gives no relief to her burden. Turning around, Y/N cannot help but think it should have been her.

She is the magical one, she should have stopped this from happening. She should have been smarter, should have seen the signs earlier and done something to stop it. For sure, she should have kept a closer eye on Gwen after the accident.

Their souls were linked, after all.

“Y/N.”

Whirling at the sound of the familiar voice, Y/N clasps a hand to her throat. “Yoongi,” she chastises, willing her heartbeat to slow.

Yoongi winces and steps out of thin air. “I’m sorry,” he says, cloak swishing around him as he walks. “I came as soon as I could.”

“Does this mean you’ve found something?”

“Or nothing,” Yoongi exhales, coming to a stop right before her.

“You found something? Or, nothing?”

“Yes.”

Her frown deepens. “You’re being purposefully confusing.”

“Not purposefully,” says Yoongi. He shoves a hand through his hair. “I have a lead on information. Someone who may know what happened to Gwen – but I’m not sure. Hence the something, or nothing.”

“I see.” Forgetting about undressing, Y/N grabs for her cloak. “When do we leave?”

Yoongi does not respond, so she glances over her shoulder. She finds him staring back at her, gaze oddly pleading.

Slowly, she straightens. “You promised,” she reminds him.

“I know I did.” Yoongi inhales. “I know, but…”

“But what?”

“It’s dangerous. You don’t understand.”

“I do.” Y/N narrows her eyes.

“You don’t,” Yoongi insists, stepping forward. His hands find her wrists, sliding up to her elbows. Wherever his skin touches, a delicious heat thrums through her veins.

“Say that I don’t,” Y/N says, through gritted teeth. It takes everything in her not to be distracted. “I still want to come. You promised to take me.”

His brow lowers in frustration. “Even though your life will be in danger?”

“My life is always in danger,” Y/N says, breaking off. “It always is and I’m used to that fact but Gwen is the one who died. And I…” Exhaling roughly, she swallows.  “It should have been… I could have…”

Understanding dawns on his features. “It wasn’t your fault.”

She looks at him helplessly. “No?” 

“No,” he says sternly.

Y/N looks at him for so long, she nearly forgets what she wants. “All the same,” she says quietly. “I want to come.”

Yoongi returns her gaze, weighing the consequences. Whatever he sees in her expression must convince him because he finally takes a step backwards, holding out a hand.

“Fine,” he exhales, entwining their fingers. “Do not speak once we arrive, though. Let me do the talking.”

Y/N glances at him in surprise. Contrary to most men in this village, Yoongi has always listened to her when she spoke. He has never once tried to quiet her. Knowing he would not offer these boundaries without reason, she slowly nods. 

“Fine.”

Yoongi nods, setting his jaw as they disappear.

They reappear on a damp riverbank.

Letting go of her hand, Yoongi swiftly steps forward. He peers into the shadows as Y/N crosses both arms. Their location is unfamiliar. Y/N does not recognize the place, nor their surroundings. They are not in the Shadow realm – but neither are they anywhere she has been in the real world.

Willowy moss drips overhead, creeping down tree trunks to blanket the ground. Glancing at Yoongi, Y/N wonders why he let go of her hand. Opening her mouth to ask, she remembers his warning and slowly closes her lips.

Yoongi comes to a stop at the edge of the river. “Hoseok?” he calls. There is no answer. “Hoseok, I know you’re here.”

Mist rises gently from the water. This is a wild place, Y/N realizes. She can feel this in her bones and no longer, is she certain they are outside of the Shadow realm. Perhaps this is simply an unexplored part, an unfamiliar part. Rubbing her arms, Y/N glances around and wonders if she has been foolish.

Perhaps she should have asked Yoongi where they were going before leaving – definitely, she should have asked something before blindly following.

A shape solidifies before them, stepping from darkness.

The man wears a dark cloak, like Yoongi, but the similarities end there. He is taller, with a narrower face and distrusting eyes. Inhaling sharply, the man’s nostrils flare and Y/N gets the distinct impression he is scenting them.

Yoongi watches lazily while he does this. “Are you done, Hoseok?”

Hoseok’s head snaps down with a smirk. “Nearly.”

Exhaling deeply, Yoongi folds both arms over his chest. It is the oddest thing – although Hoseok searches the darkness behind him, he does not seem to see Y/N. It is as though she were not present at all, or somehow invisible.

“You stink like a human,” Hoseok says, eyes glowing red. “You’ve spent too much time with the mortals, I fear. Losing your touch?”

Yoongi does not react. “I have a job to do. Unlike you, I follow my orders.”

Hoseok’s gaze tightens. “Were your orders to get that village girl killed?” 

“Someone else interfered,” Yoongi growls.

“Obviously.”

“Enough,” Yoongi drawls, waving a hand. “You know why I’m here. You said you have information. Get on with it.”

Hoseok calmly examines the back of his hand. “I did say that, yes.”

“So, do you?”

The corner of his mouth lifts. “If I tell you, then what will you give me?”

Yoongi’s jaw tightens. “How about I won’t report you to Arawn for interfering with the investigation of another Cŵn Annwn?”

When Hoseok rolls his eyes, Y/N stiffens. Of course – Hoseok is also Cŵn Annwn. Looking closer, Y/N can see the truth of the matter. Hoseok’s red glowing eyes and the way he stepped from the shadows – obviously, he is Cŵn Annwn.

Still, Y/N cannot shake the feeling they are not the same.

“So predictable,” Hoseok mutters, glaring at Yoongi. “Always threatening to run and tell daddy.”

“The information?” Yoongi repeats, sounding bored.

Hoseok sighs. With a wave of his hand, a shadow appears in his palm. While Yoongi and Y/N watch, the darkness swirls and solidifies into a hair clip, lined with silver and jade.

Y/N nearly gasps, recognizing it to be Gwen’s. It is the one Owen bought her for Yuletide last year, the one she rarely removed because of how much she loved it. Remembering her promise to Yoongi in time, Y/N clasps a hand over her mouth. The noise remains stillborn.

Hoseok tilts his head. “Is this answer enough?”

Yoongi takes a casual step forward. “Did you get this from the girl?” he asks, examining the object. “Because I’ll be honest, Hoseok – pulling strange things from shadows has never impressed me.”

“It’s hers,” Hoseok mutters, lips pulling back from his teeth. “I was the one who escorted her to the Otherworld. She drowned, yes?”

“Mm.” Yoongi makes a noncommittal sound. “I’m afraid I need more than that.”

Y/N glances between them, hardly able to believe the callous way they discuss this; as though Gwen were an object, not a person. As though this were mere currency and she, a transaction. In a way, Y/N supposes this to be true.

“Blonde hair, rosy cheeks.” Hoseok arches a brow. “Rather attractive, for a human. Kept speaking of her father. Owen? Said she wanted to see him one last time – a predictable final request.”

“Alright.” Yoongi cuts him off, his distaste for the other Cŵn Annwn obvious. “I believe you. Now – the information?”

“Ah,” Hoseok pauses. “That.”

Twirling a hand, Hoseok conjures a soft plume of shadow. It snakes around his wrist, undulating gently with each twist of his fingers.

“I still don’t know what’s in this for me.” Hoseok smiles. “Until then, I’m afraid I simply don’t recall what Gwen said.”

Yoongi’s lips pull back. “Hoseok, you distasteful piece of –”

“Language,” Hoseok interrupts, holding up a hand. “And don’t try to threaten me with Arawn again. We both know he’s as displeased with you, as with me right now.”

Yoongi glares at him heatedly, clearly displeased by the way things are going. His eyes glow faintly red – not as noticeable as Hoseok’s, but the implication is there.

“I’ll relinquish the next hunt to you,” Yoongi says at last. He spits out the words, laying them at Hoseok’s feet. “The next time Arawn pits us against each other for a soul, I’ll let you win. Does that satisfy your request?”

Hoseok’s eyes gleam with interest. “It does.” He pauses, then laughs and twists the shadows before him. “I plucked this from the girl’s memory before transporting her to the Otherworld. It’s the last thing she saw before she died.”

Y/N watches a gloved fist appear from the shadows. The hand slowly flexes and unflexes, as though clenching life from a body. The hand wears a glove, finely made and on one finger rests a strange, silver ring.

Staring at this, the river seems to fade in her peripheral. 

“Alvah,” Y/N breathes.

Yoongi goes utterly still.

Abruptly, Hoseok straightens and the glove disappears. Glancing over Yoongi’s shoulder, his gaze widens – as though seeing Y/N for the first time. Taking a slow step from the shadows, Hoseok begins to walk forward.

“And who is this?” he asks, focusing in on Y/N.

Y/N swallows, meeting his gaze. Unlike Yoongi, there is no mercy to his expression. She gets the distinct impression this man enjoys what he does, who he is.

Hoseok comes to a stop, letting out a low laugh. “Yoongi,” he purrs, incredulous. “Are you up to your old tricks again? Bending the light. You devilish creature. And yet – also foolish,” he murmurs. “Bringing a human to neutral ground. Free for anyone to take.”

“She’s not yours,” Yoongi snarls, crouching reflexively in between them. “She’s mine.”

Hoseok’s upper lip curls. “Not here, she isn’t.”

Before Y/N can scream, Hoseok lunges in her direction. Yoongi is faster, his hand grabbing Y/N’s wrist to pull into night. Y/N gasps, vision unraveling as the world disappears. The riverbank slackens, Hoseok’s red eyes vanishing as they reappear somewhere else – only to disappear again.

They do this several times, visiting worlds Y/N does not know the names of. She sees an endless sea of metal, the tips of smoke curling from rooftops. This is replaced with a gaping, red maw in the ground. This vanishes too, and she sees Hoseok’s lips pulled back in a snarl. Then he is gone, and they stand on a riverbank, covered with mist – and then they are back in Tywll, stumbling against the inn.

Y/N lets out a noise as her back hits the wall.

Yoongi drops into a defensive crouch. In one hand, he brandishes a strange, silver knife – his other is thrown out, keeping Y/N back.

She blinks, not having seen him when he pulled this. Her back is pressed to the wall, heart beating hard in her chest. Nothing happens for one beat, then two. Hoseok does not appear from the darkness. They stay like that for a moment, breath coming in pants.

Finally, Yoongi straightens. He stares into the darkness, as though waiting for something and then turns around. 

“You,” he blurts, the noise strangled.

Y/N stares back, struggling to comprehend what she just saw.

Yoongi slides his knife into his belt. “Explain,” he breathes, stalking forward. “Explain why you spoke back there, why you revealed yourself! Why you nearly go yourself killed.”

“I– Alvah,” she exhales, barely audible. Out of everything tonight, that vision remains clear. “The ring on the memory’s hand. I... I know it. It belongs to Alvah.”

Yoongi comes a halt inches away from her face. “What do you mean?”

“The ring.” Y/N sags against the inn. Her knees buckle beneath her, barely keeping her upright. “Alvah has one just like it.”

Yoongi is quiet for a moment. “And you’re certain of this?”

“Yes.”

He glances over his shoulder at the town. It lies silent, draped in moonlight while Yoongi considers. “Well, then.” He returns to Y/N. “Alvah is not who he says he is.”

She releases a breath, slowly closing her eyes. “Obviously.”

Y/N expects Yoongi to chuckle, or give some sort of admonishment, so when he does neither, she opens her eyes.

Yoongi stares back at her, inches away from her face.

“Yoongi?” she asks, self-consciously licking her lips.

“I… Y/N.”

He sounds oddly hesitant, standing before her in moonlight. Gaze darkening, his gaze roams the planes of her face. Y/N can feel this heat of this in her body, still pressed to the wall.

“Yoongi,” she breathes in.

Clenching his jaw, Yoongi closes his eyes. “Don’t say that.”

“Your name?”

“Don’t say my name like that,” he repeats, barely audible. Eyes opening, he lifts a hand to slowly place on her cheek. “Don’t say my name like you wish there was more.”

“And what if I do?” she asks, made bold by the dark.

Yoongi’s gaze drops to her lips, unbidden. As though in a trance, he takes a step forward. The hand which was once on her cheek slips to her waist.

“If you do,” he exhales. “I may do something I’ll regret.”

“Do it.”

This is all the coercion he needs to kiss her.

Y/N inhales, breath stolen by the press of his lips against hers. She has been kissed before, but never like this – never with teeth and fire and meaning between them. Her arms twine around his neck before she can stop them, pulling him forward as her spine hits the wall.

Yoongi’s lips bruise her, thrill her and a thousand other contradictions. His tongue is greedy, seeking whatever purchase he can find at the seam of her lips. One hand cups her face, large fingers splayed until he pushes a piece of hair back. Y/N arches against him, assisting in letting him take what he wants. Her hands are equally needy, thoughts a blurred line between logic and sanity.

Suddenly, he gasps and pulls back. 

Yoongi stares at her in shock, reaching tremblingly up for his lips.

Y/N stares in this direction as well.

“I – Y/N,” Yoongi breathes. “We can’t.”

“Why not?”

He looks at her helplessly. “You know why.”

She does know, although she is loath to admit it. Y/N has always been a rational being. Logically, she knows this is the last person for her to fall in love with. Yoongi is not even a person anymore – not really. 

And yet – her heart, the traitorous fool, beats solely for him.

Swallowing, Yoongi does not move. “Please,” he breathes, dragging his thumb down her jaw. His hand cups her chin, his body curved over hers. “You are not yet safe. Please, just… wait until I can ensure that you are.”

“Alright,” Y/N says, finally nodding. Softly, she places her hand over his. “But promise to return.”

“I promise.”

Yoongi bends for another kiss but before their lips can touch, vanishes away into darkness.

Y/N exhales, collapsing against the wall. In all honestly, she understands why he did this. Had he kissed her again, she would not have let him leave.

Slowly pushing herself upright, Y/N enters the house and returns to her bedroom. Slipping inside and up the stairs, she undresses swiftly and slides into bed. After a long moment, she gets up and locks both window and door.

Once satisfied, she crawls under the covers and stares at the ceiling. Her mind refuses to turn off, dissecting each hour with unwavering precision. Each breath of wind against the side of the house makes her turn, certain Hoseok has found her. Y/N begins counting down the seconds until Yoongi returns – or, until she falls asleep, whichever comes first.

At some point, she must doze off because the next time she wakes, it is to black cloth over her nose. Inhaling sharply, no oxygen enters and Y/N flails, jerking against her intruder.

“Hello, Y/N.” Alvah’s smile is calm, cutting through the darkness.

That is the last thing Y/N sees before the drug takes hold and she falls back on the bed.

Head lolling onto her chest, Y/N jerks into consciousness.

Her arms are pulled tight behind her back, rope cutting into her wrists and holding her hostage. Firelight flickers in the corner of her vision as blearily, Y/N squints.

She cannot remember where she is, why she is here.

A roaring fire dances before her. Light from the flames leap over her skin, forming cruel patterns. Cringing away from this, Y/N realizes she rests on her knees. Wobbling, she nearly falls forward but the rope binds her in time, stopping the motion. Exhaling lowly, hair falls in her face.

Across the fire, someone chuckles.

Suddenly remembering the events of tonight, Y/N’s head lifts.

Alvah smiles from the other side of the flames, sharpening a knife in one hand. He is dressed entirely in black – tunic, waistcoat, overcoat and trousers. If Y/N did not know any better, she might think him on his way to a party.

Slowly, he stands. The silver of his knife gleams as he walks closer. “You left me no choice, you know,” he says sadly, stopping before her.

Y/N does not respond, twisting again in her ropes. Reaching out for her magic – she inhales. Nothing happens. The shadows refuse to come, her darkness lies vacant and still. The door remains stubbornly locked in her mind. Panic shoots through her, making her tremble. Each pulse of her blood feels sluggish and slow; Y/N can only assume this is because of whatever drug runs in her veins.

Alvah crouches before her. “Kissing a hellhound in the open like that.” Gently, he tuts and presses the knife to her chin. “Why, anyone could have seen you – and I did,” he says, gripping her hair and yanking back her head. “I saw you, Y/N and truly, I must thank you. Without that, I would’ve kept searching in all the wrong places.”

His hands are still gloved, identical to the mirage Hoseok showed. That strange, silver ring still rests on his finger. The sigil seems so familiar to Y/N and yet, she cannot quite place it.

“What?” Alvah laughs. “Are you choosing now to be quiet? A few weeks ago, you wouldn’t stop giving me information. Couldn’t stop telling me about the town. It’s people. All the… strange happenings going on.”

Y/N’s stomach sinks swiftly. Remembering their walk through the town, she now sees it from a different perspective. Alvah was trying to gather information from her. This entire time, he has been searching for magic.

“Ah.” His lips twitch. “You understand.”

“You,” she whispers, the word scratching her throat. “You thought… Gwen had magic.”

“I did,” he agrees. “I was most displeased when I couldn’t convince her to show it to me. Her death was an accident, you know. I merely thought she needed proper… incentive to perform. I was wrong.”

Y/N’s head spins, realizing what he means. 

He tortured her. Alvah tortured Gwen seeking a confession, but never received one – because she was not magical. He tortured Gwen because he thought she was Y/N and eventually, Gwen died.

“You… monster.”

Alvah’s expression darkens. “Not a monster,” he hisses. “I am merely doing what’s necessary to rid this world of monsters. Of those who hoard their power and refuse help to humans.”

Y/N stares at him fearfully. “What are you?”

Mirthlessly, he laughs and releases her hair. Y/N’s head droops forward. 

“Your worst nightmare, witch. I’m a Traveler,” Alvah breathes. “I was created to take the night from creatures like you.”

Imagines flash before her eyes, unbidden. Her parents’ bodies on the floor, Crymych awash in fire and blood. Her father’s throat slit, a knife plunged into her mother’s gut – and the human who did it, slowly turning around. She remembers him wiping blood from his knife, silver ring on one hand.

Y/N’s gaze flies to Alvah’s fingers.

Seeing where she looks, his lips curl upwards. “You recognize this?”

“Yes.” Y/N stares at the sigil, her knees pressed into dirt.  “I’ve seen it before.”

“You’ve seen it?” Alvah’s brow furrows. “In person?”

Y/N nods. “At Crymych.”

Alvah stares at her for a long moment. “Liar.”

Y/N stares at him, confused by his expression. Alvah looks back at her, as though she is the impossible one. But – the longer she thinks about it, the more it makes no sense. The Travelers who visited Crymych were adults – they were her parents age and older, but Alvah is her age. It is impossible for him to have memories of Crymych.

Unless.

“You killed Gwen,” Y/N says slowly, piecing it together. “But… she was killed by magic. Drowned, by a water-shifter.”

Alvah stares at her a moment before smiling. There is no mirth to the gesture. He starts chuckling, rocking back on his heels and swiping angry tears from his gaze.

Ruthlessly, he whips out his knife to point at her chest. “You,” he exhales, with something like relief. “I’ve found you at last.”

Y/N stares at him, wide-eyed. “Me?”

Alvah nods, frantic. “The child shadow-singer of Crymych. I heard all about you growing up.”

Recoiling, Y/N stares at his long, silver blade. She again reaches for magic, finding none, except – there. Barely anything at all, but something faint stirs in her veins.

Alvah snarls at her expression. “Surprised I remember? No? Ah, I see – you tried to use magic, and found that you can’t.”

When Y/N scowls, jerking forward, he laughs.

“Your magic will return when the drug wears off,” Alvah assures. “But that won’t be for a while. Not until after I kill you. Unless…”

Y/N stops struggling. “Unless, what?”

She needs him to keep talking. She needs Alvah to continue his monologue until her magic returns, or Yoongi discovers her missing. Glancing over Alvah’s shoulder, Y/N stares into the darkness at the edge of the campfire. Alvah must be the threat Yoongi’s contacts were afraid of. It is he who has been ruthlessly carving a path of blood up the coast.

“Come with me.”

Startled, Y/N’s gaze snaps upwards. “What?”

“Come with me,” he breathes, pushing himself upwards to stand.

Reaching behind her, Alvah swiftly cuts her ropes. Before she can fall, his hands grasp her shoulders to lift her to her feet. Y/N stares at him in shock, too confused to run.

“Yes,” Alvah breathes, his grip vice-like on hers. “I see it now. You were spared, just as I was. You were sent to Tywll to live amongst humans and see the good in humanity. You were a child, too – of course you were spared.”

“Spared?” Y/N stares in horror. “Whatever are you talking about?”

Withdrawing his hands, Alvah retreats to stalk around the fire. Once on the other side, he whirls to face Y/N. “I’m a water-shifter, like you said,” he exhales, pulling off his glove.

Flexing his fingers, he stares down at his palm. Brow lowered in concentration, he waits until a pale, spinning orb appears above his fingers. The water dances and glimmers, catching the light.

Y/N stares at this in horror. Gwen was drowned with that water.

“I’m also from Crymych,” Alvah breathes.

It makes sense, in a way. Y/N always wondered if others survived. If anyone did manage to escape the burning houses of Crymych, it would be a water-shifter.

When Y/N says nothing, Alvah closes his fingers. The water splashes over his fist to the ground.

“The Travelers spared me,” he explains. “They took me with them, taught me what a curse my magic was. They explained I would be saved if I joined them. If I used my magic for good, instead of my inherent evil.”

“By… killing those who have magic.”

“Yes.” Alvah steps forward, ecstatic she understands. “Exactly.”

“But how could that possibly be good?” Her words halt him in his tracks, leave him staring at her. “You were in Crymych, Alvah. You saw what the Travelers did. They slaughtered your family… your friends…”

His face hardens. “They did that for the greater good, Y/N. Our friends and family were corrupt, they were evil. They holed themselves up in the forest and refused to help. Y/N,” he sighs, walking back around the fire. “I know it’s difficult to understand. It was hard for me, too. But now I see,” he whispers, stopping before her. “And you can, too.”

He waits, looking at her expectantly and Y/N’s heart breaks a little for the boy he once was.

“Alvah,” she whispers, so pityingly she nearly breaks apart.

She cannot imagine what hell his life must have been. To see his own family butchered, then be taken by his would-be murderers and raised as their savior. A dark messiah turned against his own kind.

Slowly, Alvah pushes up the sleeve of his tunic. He reveals angry, red welts on his arm. “This is what the Travelers saved me from,” he insists. “A fire-starter was drunk that night and lost control. Y/N – you didn’t see what you thought you saw. The Travelers managed to pull me out of the flames. They were only fighting in self-defense, Y/N.”

“No.” Y/N shakes her head. “Oh, Alvah – no. It wasn’t self-defense. I saw them. I watched them murder my parents, I saw them put our elders to sleep. They laced the wine they gave them with drugs, like you did to me.”

Alvah’s gaze flicks towards the handkerchief on the ground. For a moment, doubt crosses his face, but this is banished as easily as it came.

“I – no,” he breathes, re-gripping his knife. “You cannot tempt me with lies. I know my purpose. I will remain true.”

Y/N stares at him, helpless. In her mind, the door is almost open – she wonders if this is Alvah’s first time drugging an actual witch. Either that, or he spoke longer than he meant to when he realized who she was. Perhaps he genuinely does think this is fate, that they are meant to be together.

Either way, the longer she stands here, the more she feels her magic pulse in her veins. Almost enough to fight against his.

“What will you do?” Y/N asks, watching him walk towards her.

“Will you join me?”

Alvah tries to keep his voice even, tries not to seem eager, but Y/N can see his obvious want. His hand flexes on the hilt of his knife and again, her heart slowly breaks.

“No,” she whispers.

His expression breaks, catches and then heals, all in one moment. 

“Then, you must die.”

Alvah whirls, brandishing the knife and Y/N inhales to wrench shadows from darkness. To her immense relief, the darkness obeys. The surge is weaker than usual – she is weaker than usual – but her shadows coalesce before her, knocking his weapon aside.

Alvah curses, spinning and trying again. His knife cuts through darkness, slicing it open and Y/N gasps, stumbling backwards as though she, herself has been hurt.

“You see?” Alvah laughs. His breathing is heavy, light hair askew. “This is no ordinary knife, witch. It cures evil.”

He has returned to calling her witch, a sneer on his face. Y/N falters, grasping frantically for the tree trunk behind her. She glances to the side, searching for a way out because she does not yet have energy to attempt the Shadow realm.

When Alvah lunges, she dodges and stumbles down towards the river. Her feet splash into water, glancing over her shoulder to find him.

His laughter rings out behind her, following suit – albeit at a slower pace. “Ah,” Alvah teases, “you wish to fight on my domain, do you?”

Before Y/N can recognize what this means, the water rises around her. Her eyes widen, the only warning she has before she is dragged under. His water forms claws, grabbing her clothing and keeping her under. Y/N gasps, accidentally inhaling and choking on liquid.

The water enters her lungs, making her cough and in the corner of her eyes, Y/N can see darkness closing in. She wonders dizzily if this is what happened to Gwen – suddenly, her eyes open.

Gwen will not have died in vein.

Reaching deep within her – past the door, past limits she is not even aware of – Y/N tears darkness from the maw of power itself, yanking this to her chest and releasing into her veins. The heat simmers for a moment, unseen – and then she explodes.

Shadows erupts, twisting as they push out the water. Alvah falters at the side of the river, staring at her in shock. Y/N inhales, steam rising from her skin – and she opens her eyes. Her shadows shoot forward, streaming fast towards the bank.

Alvah screams when they wrap around him, binding his limbs and holding him hostage. Slowly, as if in a trance, Y/N walks from the water. Both hands are before her, twisting the shadows in ways she does not understand – she only knows what needs to be done and the shadows obey. It is like something else has hold of her mind, feeding her knowledge she has yet to be taught.

She is furious. And Alvah should pay.

Shadows are shoved down his throat, through his nostrils where they writhe in his lungs. Y/N twists them up, making it hurt and he screams out again. Inhaling sharply, she drags her shadows out to force him to his feet. With another twist of her hand, she scoops his knife from the ground.

Alvah catches this limply.

“Fight me, then!” she yells, tears blurring her vision. “Fight me on even ground!”

Alvah blinks, suddenly lucid as he lurches forward. Y/N dodges his first swipe. Her shadows wrap around his neck, pulling him backwards and she laughs, manic. Spinning, she faces him on even footing. Her darkness coalesces, forming a barrier as something moves in the shadows.

Y/N pays this no mind, too focused on her revenge. Darting forward, she knocks Alvah’s weapon aside. Her darkness is alive, pulsing around her in coils and blades. Whirling, she turns back and – Alvah’s knife sinks into her shoulder.

Blinding clarity bursts through her. Shuddering to a halt, Y/N gasps at the pain.

Teeth bared, Alvah wrenches the knife from her body. He prepares to strike again – until Yoongi appears, shoving between them and flipping his knife.

“Y/N, CLOSE YOUR EYES!”

Hastily, she obeys. Blood trickles between fingers, shadows appearing to wrap around the wound. Squeezing her eyes shut, she turns away from his voice. From beneath her eyelids, she sees the clearing blaze suddenly with light. Y/N winces, lifting her uninjured arm to shield herself from the blow– but even so, it is painful.

Trembling back from whatever Yoongi is doing, Y/N staggers away. Even once the light has faded, the back of her eyelids gone dark, Y/N refuses to look.

Twigs crunch beneath boots, drawing closer.

“You can look now, Y/N.”

Slowly, she lowers her arm. Y/N’s shoulder still bleeds, blood trickling into the sleeve of her tunic. She does not care about this though, staring dazedly at Yoongi. He still holds a silver knife in one hand – when he sees her looking at this, it swiftly disappears.

Alvah is nowhere to be seen.

“W-where is he?” Her teeth chatter, glancing around.

“In Annwn,” Yoongi says simply. “He attacked one of the Cŵn Annwn. His life is forfeit to mine.”

“But…” Y/N stares, still not understanding. “He was attacking me.”

“Not in the version I tell Arawn.”

“Yoongi,” she exhales, an admonishment.

“Not here, Y/N.” Yoongi glances cryptically out at the river. “We must return to Tywll. I’ll need to return to Annwn soon for questioning.”

“Now?”

Yoongi pauses, glancing at her. “No,” he murmurs, stepping forward. Gently, he slides both hands into her hair. “Not now.”

“Then, when?” she asks, head tilting upwards.

Refusing to answer, Yoongi brushes a kiss to her forehead. “Never mind, when. Your soul is still pure,” he murmurs against her skin. “That’s all that matters.”

Y/N’s brow furrows, another question on her lips. “What do you mean by–”

Cutting her off, they dissolve into darkness.

They reappear in her bedroom, walls solidifying around them in a turret of grey.

Y/N exhales, sagging forward as his hands keep her steady. She looks up at Yoongi, weary from blood loss. His gaze darts to her shoulder and swiftly, he frowns.

“I-it’s nothing,” she breathes. “Really, I –”

Yoongi closes one hand over her arm, frowning in concentration. Y/N stares at him in wonder when warmth seeps into her skin. Beneath his palm, her muscles knit together, blood flowing again as her skin heals smoothly over.

Once finished, Yoongi exhales and takes a step backwards. He seems paler, slightly drained and yet, satisfied. His hand gently falls to his side.

Y/N stares at him, speechless. “I – how?” she blurts, gaze darting to his hand. “How did you do that? I mean, how did you find me tonight?”

The side of his mouth quirks. “Is that all you want to ask?”

“No.” Y/N shakes her head, still somewhat dazed. “I have so many questions, I don’t know where to start.”

“Then I’ll start at the beginning. I found you by luck. I tried many places before that one.”

“And you’re… a light-bearer.” Y/N frowns, glancing down at her arm. She can still feel where the brunt of Alvah’s knife went in, where her skin broke apart. “Or a life-giver? What are you?”

Yoongi gives her a sad smile. “I was,” he corrects. “I was a light-bearer.”

“Then how did you heal?” Y/N’s head spins. “The last time I saw someone heal was, well... It has been awhile since I knew a life-giver.”

“The Cŵn Annwn are unique,” Yoongi says quietly. “We each retain the powers we die with, but… for each magical soul we transport, we glean their powers as well.”

It dawns on her then, what exactly Yoongi offered Hoseok. A win on the next hunt. He must have meant this. It is the job of the Cŵn Annwn to return magical souls to Annwn. Based on their conversation, it sounded as though Arawn often pits them against each other. 

Which makes sense. The incentive is that whomever returns with the soul keeps the power.

Y/N’s skin begins to crawl. “So, what you’re saying is…”

“I have many powers, Y/N.”

“I see.” She looks at him for a moment, seeing him in a new light. “And what of the other thing you said? About my soul being pure?”

Yoongi’s lips tighten. “Nothing.”

“Yoongi.”

“You shouldn’t know,” he exhales, shaking his head. “I shouldn’t place that burden on you.”

“Yoongi.”

Swiftly, he turns and walks the length of her bedroom. Y/N’s bed is pushed into a corner, the sheets still mussed from when she was roused from it earlier. Roused is a kind word. Looking at the mattress, Y/N shudders when she remembers Alvah’s hands on her body.

Yoongi comes to a stop at the window. “Have you ever wondered how one becomes Cŵn Annwn?”

“Often,” she says honestly.

For a moment, he simply stares at the town. The moon cuts through the plane, illuminating his face. “You kill someone with magic,” Yoongi admits at last. “And then you die. Instead of going to the Otherworld, you enter Arawn’s possession. It is why Arawn plays these games, you see. When he sees a magical human he wants, occasionally he sets them up to enter his service... later.”

Staring at Yoongi, comprehension begins to dawn – and with it, comes horror. This must have been what happened to him. With a sinking stomach, Y/N realizes how close she came to joining the Cŵn Annwn tonight. She nearly killed Alvah with her magic and if she had, that would have been it.

She would have belonged to Arawn, like he does.

“You see?” Yoongi exhales, searching her face. “I’m telling you things you shouldn’t know. I’m bringing danger into your life you shouldn’t have. I – we…” 

Breaking off, he shakes his head.

“Yoongi.” Y/N walks forward. Coming to a halt before him, she looks up. “You saved my life.” Before he can protest, she adds, “And my soul. You didn’t have to do that.”

“Maybe not.” His expression falters. “But then – maybe I did.”

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t you understand, Y/N?” Frustration enters his tone. “I want you to live. No, need you to live. You deserve more than this half-life, this cursed life – you deserve freedom. Not a half-existence like…”

“Like yours?” 

“Yes. Like mine,” he finishes, somewhat broken.

He does not move away though and so, she places both hands on his arms. Slowly, achingly she slides them around his neck. Her fingers brush the dark hair at the nape of his neck. 

Yoongi swallows. “You deserve more,” he breathes, closing his eyes. 

“And if I don’t want more?”

“You – you don’t know what you’re saying.”

“Oh?” Y/N narrows her gaze. “From what you said, my options are clear. I can die a pure soul and go to the Otherworld – where you are not. Or, I die with blood on my hands and am cursed. But then, I would be with you.”

“Don’t do that,” he murmurs. In contradiction to his words, Yoongi’s hands wrap around her waist. “Don’t act like it would be worth it.”

“Who are you to say it wouldn’t be?”

“Because you don’t know me.”

Her thumb lovingly strokes the back of his neck. “I know you’re honest,” she says lowly. “I know you’re the only one who helped when I needed to find Gwen.”

He pauses. “I had other motives.”

“Don’t be so self-deprecating. There was more to it than that – you saved me tonight when you didn’t have to.”

“Again,” Yoongi exhales, tortured. “Other motives.”

“Not for my soul.” When Yoongi falls silent, Y/N continues. “Ever since you came, you treated me as an equal. More than that – you saw me in ways no one else would. You forced me to see myself that way, too.”

“I hope you do,” he murmurs, suddenly insistent. “I don’t want you to hide, Y/N.”

“You see?” she breathes, tilting her chin. “You say things like that, and then say I don’t know you. I know you’re feared, even amongst the Cŵn Annwn.” Her lips twist in an almost smile. “I know Arawn favors you above the rest.”

Based on Yoongi’s expression, this statement is correct. “It is never a good thing to be loved by the king of hell,” he says.

“Still. Do not pretend my options are clear, Min Yoongi. I know which path is unbearable, and it is the one without you.”

“Y/N,” he whispers, finally breaking. His hands close around her waist, drawing her near. The heat of his breath drifts across her lips.

Y/N’s heart stutters painfully. “Please,” she whispers, lifting her chin. “Please, Yoongi. Kiss m –”

Cutting off the word, he crushes her to him.

Longing leaps through her veins, her gasp eaten by his, swallowed by his kiss. As they collide, hands twining, fists clutching, Y/N loses herself in him.

She forces herself to be still, to not reveal how desperately she wants him. It is hard though, when he is kissing her with abandon, as if they stand at hell’s door. His lips tempt and torture in equal measure, and she is spinning apart.

Forcing himself back, his forehead finds hers. “Y/N,” he growls.

“Yes?”

Yoongi wrenches open his eyes. “Your shadows.”

Startled, Y/N glances down to find tendrils of magic around them. Darkness shifts at her feet, curling and uncurling and slowly, Y/N looks up.

“Is it strange?” she asks, still pressed against him. “I can try and stop it, if –”

Yoongi catches her hand, entwining their fingers together. “No,” he says, earnest. “Never.”

Y/N smiles, relaxing when he walks the two of them back to her bed. Her knees hit the mattress, pausing a moment before he kisses her softly. His mouth teases hers, pressing until her lips part and his tongue slips inside. Her hand moves under his tunic, brushing the skin at his waist.

Yoongi stiffens at this, groan caught in his throat. “Y/N,” he says, biting down on her lip. “Don’t tease me.”

“Why not?” she purrs.

Growling lowly, Yoongi grips her waist and pulls her body to his. Y/N shivers, feeling the firm press of his muscle – Yoongi’s knee parts her legs, watching her lazily as her core aches around him.

“Is that all?” she asks, breath catching.

Yoongi’s gaze turns molten, slowly reaching down to gather the hem of her skirt. “I can barely restrain myself as it is,” he confesses, pushing the fabric up her thigh. “If you continue to tease, I’ll stop trying.”

“Stop, then.”

Yoongi’s lips are at her throat before she can finish the words. He kisses her clavicle, working his way upwards and searing her skin. Grasping her jaw with one hand, he turns her head sideways to gently kiss the crux. Inhaling sharply, Y/N tries not to groan when his tongue laves the same spot.

He does not stop there, descending her neck with carnal sensuality. Glancing up at her bosom, Yoongi awaits further instruction. Eyes lidded and heavy, Y/N looks down at him and nods. Yoongi’s hand slowly works upwards, tangling in the laces of her bodice. His fingers and magic work until they pull back, dropping the string to the floor.

Y/N inhales, hands clasping her dress before it can fall.

Without her laces, her hands are the only thing holding fabric between them. Yoongi’s gaze darkens, intent as heat sinks between her legs. She wants him – badly but cannot of think how to ask. It does not escape her then, how many realms he is above her.

Softer than silk, his palm cups her chin. “Will you let me see you?” Yoongi says gently.

Staring back at him, Y/N slowly nods her head.

Yoongi’s hands slip down, interlacing their fingers to pull hers back. The dress drops to the floor and Yoongi inhales, dazed by the view. He stares at her for a moment, transfixed by her bare skin in moonlight. When he looks back up, his gaze seems to glow.

Not a red glow, like in the Shadow realm, but an unearthly silver – that of a light-bearer.

Y/N stifles a smile. “You said you were a light-bearer?” she whispers, shadows snaking his thighs. “Is this a side effect of that?”

Yoongi shivers, then nods. “Yes and no,” he growls, backing her up to the bed. “It is because of my power, but it is happening because I am indescribably happy.”

Before she can respond, his lips are on hers. Yoongi kisses her eagerly, messily as their tongues intertwine. No longer does Y/N deny what she wants of him. It is obvious anyways, in the needy press of her body to his. In the rutting thrust of his breeches against the silk of her core.

“Oh,” Y/N gasps, hands curling into his hair. “Yoongi.”

He swiftly pulls back to undo his belt. Sliding this free from his pants, it drops heavily to the floor. Staring at Y/N, his knees follow suit – one by one, kneeling before her.

“Please.” Yoongi licks his lips, tortured. “Let me taste you.”

Y/N stares at him in shock.

Yoongi mistakes this silence for hesitance. “I’m sorry,” he exhales, sitting back on his heels. His chest rises and falls against the dark of his tunic. “Are you… have you ever…?”

“Yes,” Y/N says, recovering herself. Swiftly, her hands wrap around the bedpost behind her. “I have lain with men. It is only, no one has ever offered me that… so freely.”

His gaze narrows, as though in disbelief. “Well, then,” Yoongi says lowly, sliding a hand up her thigh. “What foolish men, to deny a feast.”

Barely does she have time to comprehend before Yoongi is at her core, spreading her folds to examine her body. Exhaling, she stares at his crown of dark hair.

Yoongi looks up, a sinful smirk on his face. “I thought so,” he purrs, delicately swiping her mound with his thumb. Y/N shivers, trembling above him. “Already wet and wanting. Just begging to be eaten – I bet you taste sweet.”

He moves before she can answer, pressing a virginal kiss to her thigh. His other hand finds her knee, lifting her higher and pressing her ass to the bed. When his lips brush her core, Y/N slowly inhales. He kisses her gently, wet and open against her sex. It feels good, all his licking and teasing – until he comes to a stop.

When Yoongi smirks up at her, Y/N’s heart stops. She realizes he may be her undoing.

Slowly, his tongue drags up her sex. Repeating the gesture, he gathers her juices up with his mouth – sloppy and eager, until she is panting above him. Yoongi’s hand curls under her knee, opening her wider before he finally gives in and drape this over his shoulder.

Letting out a guttural groan, Y/N releases the bedposts to fist in his hair.

If anything, this spurs him on, tongue laving circles around her clit until she is eager and swollen. Y/N gasps out his name, thrusting against his face without meaning to. She is chasing something she does not understand, every inch of her body alive and on fire. At some point, his hand drifts down to her ass – then to her entrance, circling her core.

“Gods.” Still gripping her waist, Yoongi jerks back and wipes his lips with one hand. His mouth is wet, sinful and smeared with evidence of her arousal. “You’re so wet, Y/N. So perfect and needy. I – I need to be inside you.”

Hearing him say this, Y/N clenches around nothing. “Yes,” she breathes, as he stands from the floor. The front of his trousers look unbearably tight. “I want you inside me. Want you to stretch me out.”

Growling, he clutches her body closer. “I can use my fingers first,” Yoongi says sweetly, licking the shell of her ear. Tugging on this with teeth, he elicits a shiver. “Make it easier.”

“No.” Y/N grasps his chin, returning his lips to hers. “No, I want you inside me. Want your cock,” she murmurs hastily, already undoing his trousers.

Yoongi chuckles, letting her do so. “Do you? Where?” he asks, pulling his tunic overhead.

Lowering herself onto the bed, Y/N looks up and stills.

She has not seen him naked before. Only bits and pieces – the sliver of skin at his throat, a flash of underarm when he rolled up his sleeves. Those mouth-watering veins which wrap the length of his fingers. Y/N was right in assuming those veins wrap other things, too. Now though, he is bare, beautiful and entirely hers.

“What?” Yoongi tilts his head. “What is it?”

“Nothing.” Reaching up, she pulls him down with her. “I only… I do not wish to be parted after tonight.”

Lowering a knee to the mattress, Yoongi’s hands cup her face. “Nor I,” he allows, giving in and kissing her fully.

Falling backwards, Y/N arches against him. Yoongi’s right knee nudges between hers, rubbing her center to provide the friction she craves. Yoongi releases a moan, feeling her slick on his thigh. Grabbing hold of her hips, he forces her still.

“Not like that,” he murmurs, kissing her gently.

Y/N melts forward, hands cupping to roam his body. Yoongi is equally greedy, exploring her skin with unrivaled attention. It is only when she feels his cock, hard on her stomach that Y/N remembers what she is after.

“Oh,” she breathes, looking down.

His cock is pretty, in a way she could not have anticipated. Wrapping a hand around himself, Yoongi slowly slides up and down on his length. Y/N watches this, lips parted as his red, leaking tip disappears and reappears between fingers.

“I want you inside me,” she whispers. “Now.”

Yoongi chuckles and releases himself. “Alright. How?”

Slowly, Y/N turns around to rest on her knees. She looks at him over her shoulder. “Like this. From behind.”

Yoongi stares at her in awe, pupils blown out with lust. “Are you certain,” he murmurs, already moving into position. “It will feel deeper this way.”

“Mm,” Y/N inhales, lowering herself to her elbows. “I – I like that. Like to be stretched.”

“I see,” Yoongi murmurs, bed dipping as he moves into place.

His hand slides up her core and Y/N shivers, ducking her head. Seeing her splayed in the moonlight makes his cock twitch. Her cunt is already dripping – Y/N can feel the arousal smeared on her thighs, dripping down to pool at her clit. Yoongi’s hand slides from her ass, cupping her pussy and feeling her wetness. He holds her like that for a moment, rubbing her clit with his finger.

“You like that?” he murmurs when she groans. Slowly, he slides his fingers apart and begins scissoring her clit. “What about that?”

“Oh,” Y/N sighs, pushing back on his hand. “Please – please.”

Yoongi smirks, rubbing her as she ruts up against him. As he moves forward, her pussy clenches and he presses his tip to her cunt. He inhales for a moment, as though in preparation. Gently gripping her waist, he slowly thrusts inside. Immediately, he is met with resistance. Y/N is wet, that much is obvious – her pussy leaks eagerly around Yoongi’s length, but she is still so tight. Needing to be stretched, like she said.

Y/N moans, arching her back to take him in deeper. Yoongi goes slow, letting her feel every inch. Y/N’s hands fist in the sheets, her mouth open with pleasure. God, it feels so good to have him inside her. Yoongi is only halfway and already, she has never felt this full. Already her body reacts to him in ways she does not understand.

Yoongi lowers a hand to her back, rubbing each side of her ass. “There,” he murmurs, pushing her down to take the last, final inch. “Such a sweet girl for me.”

“Am I?” Breathlessly, Y/N squeezes her walls around Yoongi’s cock. “Doesn’t feel sweet.”

Withdrawing slowly, Yoongi grabs her ass to shove back inside. Y/N moans, lurching forward as his cock grinds mercilessly to her walls. “Maybe not,” he admits, thrusting again. “What’s sweet though, is imagining what you’ll look like full of my cum.”

Whimpering, Y/N pushes backwards again. It is the first time a man has spoken so freely in bed and in response, Y/N feels on fire. Her nipples brush the mattress as Yoongi fucks into her, filling her body with each thrust of his cock.

“Oh – oh – oh!” she gasps, jolted forward.

“Sh,” Yoongi murmurs, hand wrapping around her mouth. “As much as I love your volume, we are not alone in this house.”

His thumb slides down her throat, cock slipping in and out of her body. Spreading her legs, Y/N lets him take it, hard from behind and loses herself to the bliss. His hands are strong and sure on her body – as his hips bruise her ass, his hand cups her breast and roughly pinches a nipple.

When she groans again, louder, Yoongi growls. “Y/N,” he grunts, snapping his hips to her ass. “I meant it – I’ll stop, if you can’t be quiet.”

“Make me,” she gasps.

“Make you?”

“Mhm, make – mmph!” she yelps when Yoongi withdraws, grabbing her waist to flip her on the bed. Hovering above her, he grips her knee, yanks it up and thrusts smoothly back in.

Y/N gasps, lisp parting as she is wantonly split by his cock.

“Make you?” he growls, fucking harder. Y/N gasps, head thrown back when he begins pounding into her body. “With pleasure.”

His lips descend on hers, hot and needy as her arms wrap around him. Yoongi spreads her even wider, pistoning like a madman into the warmth of her pussy. Her walls clench tightly around him as he fucks her wide open. His tongue is in her mouth, hands hot on her body as he pins her to the bed. Y/N cannot think around the blinding, surging pleasure within her.

“Yoongi!” she gasps, head hitting the sheets.

He continues to move, rolling his hips as she shakes underneath him. “That’s it, Y/N,” he murmurs, sliding a hand in between them. “That’s it, darling. Let go.”

His fingers brush over her mound, doing skilled, nimble work as her body clenches around him. Everything in her body is so tight, searing and unbelievably full. Hands clutching his body, Y/N cries out his name as everything breaks apart. A deep, shattering wave arcs through her, eyes rolling back in her head as she loses control.

Fire and magic wrap them both, Yoongi shuddering into her neck as he also comes undone. Sated and blissful, Y/N relaxes against his chest. Softly, her fingers curl into the base of his hair. Yoongi exhales, brushing a kiss to her collarbone and softening inside her.

“I meant what I said,” he murmurs, meeting her gaze. “I do not wish to be parted.”

Her limbs wrap tighter, preventing him from leaving. “Then, stay.”

“Y/N…” Hesitant, he stares and then finally nods. “I will,” Yoongi murmurs, brushing his lips to hers. “For tonight.”

Waving his hand, he conjures a cloth at their side. Cleaning her off, he disposes of the rag. They lie down together, limbs entwined. Yoongi’s arm slides under her waist, her right hand on his chest as his leg drifts between hers.

“I could stay here for days,” Y/N whispers, eyelids already drooping.

Yoongi smiles, watching her shadows drift lazily up from the floor. “Me, too,” he murmurs, curling around her.

They fall asleep like that, two souls entwined.

When Y/N wakes the next morning, he is gone.

Even before she opens her eyes, she knows. She knows from the heavy feeling in her heart and the frigid space beside her in bed. And still – her stomach sinks when she opens an eye and sees nothing.

Well, not nothing. The blanket has been quietly tucked in, his clothing removed from the floor but a smooth piece of paper is placed on her desk. Seeing this, Y/N pushes her covers slowly aside to sit up. The morning air is cold, biting her skin but she largely ignores this, standing up from her bed.

The note is precise, to the point – much like Yoongi. He does not mince words, which Y/N would normally appreciate, but not now. Not when she is staring at lines on a paper and trying not to be furious.

We will see each other again.

That is all.

Y/N stares at this for a moment before the anger overtakes her and she crumples it into a ball. Breathing heavily, she stares out the window – the moves to toss it away but stops short.

Mechanically, she smooths out the paper. She stares at its lines for a second time, waiting for the hidden meaning. Surely, Yoongi would not leave without a reason. Deep down though, she knows what the reason is. Yoongi was unable to convince Y/N she was better off without him and so, he has removed himself from the picture.

Gritting her teeth, she resigns herself to this truth.

Yoongi is gone.

The sun is starting to rise, grey streaks of dawn beginning to light the sky. Y/N is surprised no one has come to wake her yet, although admittedly, she has nowhere to be. Owen has not yet re-opened the forge. It has only been a week since Gwen was found in the river. 

Remembering this, Y/N closes her eyes.

Last night seems like a dream. It seems ludicrous to think only a matter of hours ago she was stolen from bed, dragged to the river and nearly killed in the same manner Gwen was. She did not die, though. She fought back, Yoongi appeared, and – Y/N stops that thought in her tracks.

He is gone now.

Opening her eyes, Y/N stalks towards her wardrobe. Yanking clothes from the drawers, she dresses hastily before heading downstairs. Emotions churn in her stomach, each one grappling for attention over the other. In a way, this is easier – Y/N can push them all aside, forcing herself not to remember.

She does not think of Alvah, nor the manner in which she was taken. She does not think about Gwen, drowned under the river. She does not even think about Yoongi, the celestial being with stars in his eyes.

When Y/N reaches the kitchen, she pauses with one hand on the door. The images threaten to overwhelm then, rising to block out the day, but Y/N has always been good at compartmentalization. Shoving these behind the door, along with her magic, she arranges her skirts and steps into the room.

Seeing Mervin brings Y/N to a stop. Both Rian and Rumilda are gone, which is an oddity in itself. Mervin sits alone, reading his ledgers, an uneaten apple beside him. Rian will likely be alone in a minute to scold him for forgetting.

“Good morning.” Mervin pauses, scribbling something down in a margin. “Did you sleep well last night?”

Forcing herself to move, Y/N walks to the table. Pulling out the chair beside him, she slowly sits. “Well enough, I suppose.”

Melvin’s lips lift. “That is better than nothing.”

“True.”

He is quiet for a moment, turning the page in his ledger. Y/N stares down at the table, listening to the hum of people outside in the tavern. If feels surreal, sitting here as though nothing has changed. And yet, everything has. Gwen is dead, so is Alvah and Yoongi is – well, it does not matter what Yoongi is. 

Yoongi is gone. The certainty of this sits hollowly in her chest.

“You’re reviewing the books now?” Y/N glances over, attempting to distract herself. “I thought you do that in the evening.”

Mervin nods, pushing glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Normally, yes. However, two of our guests departed this morning.”

“Oh?” Y/N fights to keep her voice neutral. “Which ones?”

“Oh, those two wealthy ones. Alvah – well, never caught his last name – and Min Yoongi.”

“I see.” Y/N’s lips tighten, attempting to stay silent – but unable to stop herself. “Did either one say anything before they left?”

“Well, let’s see. Alvah left before dawn,” says Mervin, setting down his quill. “The other stopped by and paid for them both.”

Y/N’s fingers freeze on the table. “He did?”

“Mhm. Said the town was lovely, but his work was calling. He said he would stay if he could, but it was imperative that he leave. Which seemed odd,” Mervin remarks, arching a brow. “I barely remember him leaving his room.”

“That’s true,” Y/N says, turning swiftly away.

She stares into the fireplace, willing herself not to think long on the matter. Yoongi needed to leave, it hardly matters if it was voluntary, or not. He is not here any longer and so, she must move on. They had a wonderful night, but it was only that – a night. He was right to insist they would not work. She is human, a witch and he is – more.

Gently, Mervin lays his hand over hers.

Y/N looks up in surprise.

His gaze is piercing, behind his spectacles. “You know…” Mervin hesitates. “We never expected you to stay here.”

“W-what?” stutters Y/N, dumbfounded.

Mervin smiles sadly. “We took you in, of course – we fed you, clothed you and loved you all these years. But… we never expected you to stay.”

Y/N finds herself at a loss. “You didn’t?”

“Not in a bad way,” he hastens, as though she might misunderstand. “We merely knew you were different; knew you were special.” Mervin pauses, purposefully not saying magic. “This town stifles people like you. Rian and I wanted more for you than that.”

“You both aren’t stifling.”

“Perhaps not,” he allows, smile lilting. “If you’re truly happy here, we would not kick you out. I’m merely letting you know... we understand if you can’t stay.”

“If I… can’t.”

He looks at her meaningfully. “If there’s somewhere else you must be. Or – someone else you must be with.”

Y/N stares back at him, dazed and wonders if Mervin also has magic. Only a mind-seeker could understand as much without her saying a word. Or – perhaps it is only a parent faced with the fate of their child.

“Thank you,” Y/N whispers, feeling her vision blur. “Whatever happens – thank you.”

Mervin nods, smiling gently and withdrawing his hand. Picking back up his quill, he returns to the ledgers and Y/N stares at his books. All this time, she assumed because Yoongi was gone, she had been left behind. However – perhaps she is looking at this the wrong way.

Yoongi is gone, meaning there is nothing keeping her here.

All of a sudden, his note takes on a new meaning.

Boughs of the willow trees hang overhead, dripping to brush the grey banks of the river. Aberbwlch is a lonely stream, narrow where it separates the Real world from Shadow. Steam rises from its surface, curling shapelessly before dissipating to night. If there are any stars, they do not shine here.

On the bank of the river, a shadow steps from the darkness.

Her cloak is dark, trimmed with fur against the emerald green of the forest. She does not look at her surroundings, merely stares straight ahead.

“I know you’re here,” Y/N finally says.

A moment passes, maybe two before Hoseok appears.

He is dressed similarly to the first night they met, plain black clothing hewn from darkness itself. Cocking his head to one side, he regards Y/N warily. She is the one who arranged their meeting, after all.

“I was surprised to hear you sought me, human.”

Y/N’s upper lip curls. “Were you?” she asks. “You’re a terrible liar, Hoseok.”

Surprise flits across his face. Only a moment, before he throws his head back and laughs – it is not a pleasant sound. Lowering his chin, he regards her again.

“You are much younger than I thought,” he remarks, beginning to circle around her.

Darkness curls at her fingers, displeased by his movement. Y/N expression remains stoic, as though this whole interaction is merely a social call. In a way, it is. She has seen many things these past months; things she will never forget, and Hoseok’s actions are child’s play compared to those of the Shadow realm.

Slowly, she looks at him. “Is there a problem?”

Hoseok comes to a stop. “No,” he murmurs. “It is just odd. It is not often one of your kind asks for my help.”

“By my kind, you mean human?”

“No.” His smile flashes in darkness. “I mean pure,” he breathes, caressing the word. “There is not blood on your soul.”

Y/N nearly stiffens. “Then, you must know why I’m here.”

“I’ve heard rumors.” Hoseok raises a brow. “Musings, if you will.”

“Then you know I am serious.”

“Perhaps,” he agrees, gaze sparking with interest. “Or, perhaps I am merely curious of the girl who seeks the Otherworld.” Slowly, Hoseok takes a step forward. “Curious of the human who dares request an audience with Arawn – Lord of all things dead and unseen.”

Y/N stares back. “What would make you curious about that?”

He merely smiles, shaking his head. Closing his eyes, Hoseok deeply inhales. Y/N does not move, tries not react while Hoseok scents out her intentions. It does not last long – his brow swiftly furrows, not understanding what he finds.

“It’s true.” Hoseok’s eyes snap open. He stares at her in wonder – and possibly, a touch of fear. “Your soul remains pure and still, you seek an audience with the devil. A meeting with Lord Arawn. Why?”

For the briefest of seconds, Y/N’s façade slips and Hoseok sees the determination beneath. He sees her raw anger, the soul-wrenching longing and nearly recoils in shock.

“Perhaps he has something of mine,” Y/N says quietly. Just as swiftly, her boredom returns. “And perhaps I am determined to get it back – at whatever the cost.”

Her hand clenches around a note in her pocket.

Author’s Note: This is a one shot at this time! I know, I know, I set it up for a sequel. LOL right now though, I plan to leave this open ended. I hope you enjoyed!

© kpopfanfictrash, 2019. Do not copy or repost without permission. 

[ahsoka-lives]

Iris pt. 1

The Elevator  Inquisitor!Cal x Reader- Parts 2&3 are up now!

Word Count: 1417

Warnings: none. nosmutyet

A/n: I cannot write summaries to save my life but this is the first part of a series I’m doing for Cal because I love him sm and there just is not enough fics for him! Pleaseeee be gentle I haven't written in ages but I am open to constructive feedback. Ty!!!  I Forgot to put this in when I originally posted so I’m sorry about that but, the gif is NOT MINE. It’s by @calkesttiss​ 

   You considered yourself lucky. There were thousands of jobs to fill throughout the Empire, and you had managed to get one of the more comfortable ones. You were a droid technician on a remote imperial base where high ranking officers, special forces, and the ever-intriguing inquisitors lived when not doing the empire’s bidding. Unfortunately for you, there were more droids aboard the ship than people meaning your days were often busy. Each room was equipped with a kitchen droid and an automated laundry machine etc. Its a bit ridiculous, but you were in no position to make such comments. 

You had just finished your last appointment for the day, the light control panel had given out in someone’s office, and you were making the fairly long walk back to your living quarters. As you walked past the massive training room you couldn’t help but let your gaze wander over the last few who were still going at it at this hour. Your eyes linger on a man who was blocking blaster shots fired from a training droid with a staff. His back muscles flex with every subtle and not so subtle movement of his arms that were equally toned. You felt your breath catch in your throat when you caught a glimpse of his face. He was beautiful. His hair was a brilliant reddish-orange that contrasted well with his black training gear. His jaw was sharp and eyebrows furrowed in concentration. And his eyes were such a nice compliment to his freckles, a deep green that reflected the light emitted by the blaster, and oh they were staring right at you.

Oh, Gods. How long had it been since he realized you were being a creep! A blush burned into your cheeks as you quickly turned to continue down the hall as fast as you could without running. What was Wrong with you?? Why did you have to drool over the possibly very dangerous man who was training to be more dangerous? You sigh to yourself as you reach the elevator and quickly push the button and step inside. 

“Safe at last.” You mutter as you enter your floor code into the elevator pad. A light ding sounded and the doors began closing and they were so so close to shutting but you just weren’t that lucky. A hand shot between the doors causing them to hum open again. Tall and lean, the man you had been gawking at stepped in beside you. 

You stiffened and forced your eyes ahead of you, wanting to avoid all and any eye contact. You can’t believe your luck. All this time on this base and you had managed to keep yourself out of any distasteful situations. And now, here you are chest pumping, eyes frozen ahead of you and thinking of how quickly he could take you out. Hell, he was probably trained for it and the men(and women) who resided here did not handle disrespect well. You frequently had to repair damages caused by the temperamental and egotistical residents. You recall how defined his arms were as the thought of them being used to snap your neck crossed your mind, only to be interrupted by the feeling of someone standing unbelievably close to you. 

An arm was reaching over your shoulder with ease to input another floor causing you to gasp lightly. His chest was radiating warmth and it seeped across your shoulders and back. Before he could finish punching in his floor code you were shuffling away from him, putting as much space between you and his enticing warmth. 

“Sorry, I- I wasn’t paying attention.” The words just tumble from your lips before you catch your brain forming them. 

“Was I that distracting?” He muses now leaning against the elevator wall, relaxed and now he is the one staring. You feel his eyes burning holes into your head.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Great plan. Just pretend nothing ever happened. You almost want to laugh at yourself. 

“Oh, so that was someone else’s heart I could feel pounding when I caught your eyes? Good to know.” You could practically hear the smirk forming on his lips. 

Bing! Sweet relief, how long was that elevator ride?? 

“No, sorry you must be mistaken.” You rush your words and hurry to get off but your wrist is caught in his warm and surprisingly comforting hand- you’re cursing yourself for your thoughts and turn to face him. You’re certain your heart had stopped all together now. He was so close. His eyes boring into yours as you tried to wipe the scared look off your face. 

“There’s no need to be afraid of me. I don’t want to hurt you.” His voice is deep and gentle as his eyes scan your face. He is so much prettier up close. His lips are a subtle pink and you can’t help but think how they might feel agains- Wait.. was he smirking again?

You snap out of it and you take your wrist from his grasp. You realize how flustered the elevator made you as you take in the free air. You also realize the man was now wearing a sweater, also black, but the most surprising was the symbol on the right side of his chest. He’s wearing the badge of an Inquisitor. 

“Are you always this quiet...” He pauses and leans a bit toward you to read your ID badge. “Y/n” He sighs your name testing it on his tongue, seeing how it tastes. A small smile creeps onto his face and steps back into the elevator, letting the doors seal and finally carry him away. 

You turn and rush to your room. You quickly lock the door behind you as if he would be knocking on your door at any moment. And if he wanted to, he could. Inquisitors are the highest ranking in the building. They lead the special forces units and the officers. They’re force-sensitive assassins with the utmost skill. Hell, some can even read minds. They each have their own private hall and keep mostly to themselves. They live by a different set of rules than the rest of us, they have more leeway to do as they please. It makes sense, with what they do for the empire, they must be kept content. 

But what did that mean for you? He had said he didn’t want to hurt you which is a good sign. 

You sigh and make your way to the shower. You turn on the water and let it warm up while you strip off your uniform. A simple pullover sweater and pants, your dress code was relaxed since you work where people live. You step under the warm water and let your brain unwind. Before you know it, your mind is back on the Inquisitor. Maker, he was pretty. Strong, agile but also somewhat kind and reserved. He gave off confidence but it wasn’t arrogance. Your mind wandered to his hands and how his touch felt against your skin, it made something swell inside of you that you almost didn’t recognize. 

You groaned and shook your head. You did Not want to end up being tied to an Inquisitor. Could they even be involved with someone? You tell yourself you shouldn’t even care because it was never going to happen. Why are you even assuming he wants anything to do with the girl he caught staring at him from across the room? 

After turning off the water and wrapping yourself in a towel you pick up your clothes to carry to your room. A light thud makes startles you, your ID had fallen from your sweater. You pick it up and glance over it, a nervousness comes over you as you remember that your badge not only says your name but your occupation and call number. 

How much attention had the Inquisitor paid to your badge? 

Beeeep boop beep!

A notification sounded on your tablet, someone booked an appointment with you. 

“Read it to me, B-5.” You call to your droid who was cooking dinner in your kitchen. 

“Appointment for Malfunctioning BD-1 Droid at 0900 Hours. Location: Floor level 7, Cal Kestis.” Your droid recites. “Would you like to see the full card, y/n?” 

“Sure pull it up, B-5” You couldn’t remember issuing anyone a BD-1 droid so they must have brought it in themselves. You go meet your droid companion in the kitchen and  there was the answer to your question, one of them anyways.

The Inquisitor paid great attention to your badge. 

[highviewsmoved]

⁂ shigaraki tomura x reader. (old god shigaraki & female reader)  ❝ gods cannot love mortals. ❞

Similar to the seasons, death changes.

There are whispers of an ancient deity that descends when it is someone's time to go. Who appears when men fall in war, in sickness or in their own beds rattling their last breath.

The name of his is unspoken, for he has wandered the earth for years, collecting souls, leaving death and destruction in his wake. An omen of some kind, similar to the caw of a crow. He will exist.

He will be there and he will wait.

Death himself comes for her in early autumn, when the trees are bare, the branches similar to skeletal fingers pushing up from the earth; the leaves stuck wet to the ground after a morning of rain.

She is cleaning, yukata rolled to her legs and sleeves tied in tasuki to keep from getting wet from the splash of water. It was simple, an easy mistake. She suddenly missteps when she goes back to refill the bamboo tub, falling in head first into the freezing stream.

The locals, the people in her village warned her the water is vicious for its current. The current had stolen a child not too long ago, the mother’s wailing echoes could still be heard throughout the mountain. Water fills her lungs, suffocating her, as her head knocks against a rock.

She is now at the mercy of the beast, and she hopes the river deity will spare her. When she resurfaces much later she has blacked out, unknowing what or who had saved her.

She remembers the abyss; white and red.

And the face of a man who crumbles.

--

Her mother tells her she lived because he had spared her.

“Who, mother?”

“Death,” she says simply. “He can be merciful.”

She listens carefully while the porridge cooks, the smell delicious. She grips the rag between her fists tightly, and she thinks she has seen the face of death. He is very similar to a human.

Curiosity gets the best of her. “Is he always alone?”

Mother is quiet for sometime, she’s not sure she may have heard her. Until she finally responds. “Yes, always.”

--

She sees death when he takes the soul of an old man in her village, the grieving of the family being heard as others come out of their huts to see the mourning, and she sees him.

Death is there, and he comes with the snow in winter, so unlike when he comes in spring or in summer. The frost creeps into her lungs, as she watches him, holding firewood close to her chest.

The old man by his side as Death looks at her, his spider lily eyes holding hers, as if enchanted; and she feels the tickle of snow on her cheek.

She does not cry, but her heart feels heavy. How many more people will he leave with?

--

Death stumbles upon her; she is kneeling, gazing up at the old chestnut tree, and when he hears her calling he comes. She has believed in him.

“Do you take away my people?” She asks him, her hands on her thighs, talking to this deity who has been known for so long. The tale whispers about him being the one who appears when death and destruction are at bay. In the middle of battlefields, always by a sea of corpses he steps through. She is not afraid of him, perhaps she should be.

The branches shiver, light splaying through.

He is there and he does not speak.

Her voice shakes, her fists tightening. The feeling of pain gripping her throat. “Where do you take the dead?”

Tomura responds, in a tone crisp like winter. “Home.”

--

His voice is the hiss of a snake, coiled deep around her throat; a warning. “This is a small mercy.” He had been there when the cliff near her almost swept her away, he had come just in time as she thought of him. He had heard her heart.  

She cannot deny him, it is true that all the chances he has given her have been at best, luck. Or maybe it is him saving her. This she does not want to believe. He has saved her many times but has not spared her people. She should despise him.

Her voice is steel and iron, “you have given me many.”

He looks at her, taken aback as if she had slapped him. She exposes him like a wound, she realizes this much too late.

“The last time,” he reminds her, tone poisonous.

--

She has not seen him since the leaves have changed and at dawn he comes to her, underneath the large chestnuts. The wicker basket has fallen, she cannot bear to look.

“Who have you come for?” Her question is lost in the breeze, tears wet against her cheeks.

She is tired of fighting, of trying to fight off death himself (she has not fought him, she has welcomed him) who has come every time the season changes and for the people in her village. For the people she loves.

He has come anyway. Despite no one believing in him, praying to him; except for her and her mother. She hoped he would listen.

“Do not ask such things if you wish to not know the answer,” his tone is cold but his eyes burn against her back; skin prickling at the heat.

She exhales heavily, breath shuddering. She has cried for hours knowing her mother's time is soon. Deep in her heart she has known he will come anyway.

“Please,” she cries gently, then with much more pain, “please don’t take her away.”

Tomura cannot hold her to that. No more. It is time. “You know already.”

Her chin quivers, trying so hard to be strong. “Then answer me this, when will you take her?”

He thought it was obvious enough, but he will give her what she asks. Only this time; always this time.

“At dawn.” Then with much more promise, “I am coming for her at dawn.” If it is this morning or the next or the next. She does not know.

--

She remembers the first time she saw his face, covered in a mess of hair, bright and glowing like starlight. His eyes redder than the spider lilies that bloom across the meadows. They say the meaning behind those flowers is rebirth, to say goodbye. He is clad in all black, the fabric wrapping around him tattered from travel.

“What is your name?” Her knees are touching soft grass beneath her, dewy from the morning. Her heart pounds considerably louder when his footsteps have quieted.

“Tomura,” it is said like a breeze, so gentle that it carries.

She swallows, curious about his name, so she speaks it and the tree branches bend against the power it holds. Leaves fall changing to brown. The wind howls quietly, slipping by through her hair and face.

“Why have you come here, Tomura?” The wind swirls above.

He approaches, shadowed by the shade. “I come to know.”

“Know? Of what?” She turns her head in a peculiar way, eyes full of wonder. How odd for a deity to make themselves known to a human. So many times this god of death and destruction has done this. So many times he has hid in the shadows of mourning.

“Of things I seek and do not understand.”

Her heart trills like a songbird.

“Am I something you seek and do not understand?”

It is brave to ask such things, the temperature has dropped considerably and the birds have stopped singing. Everything has grown quiet, even the god near her.

“Yes,” and he is gone, she turns quickly to see and notices the patch of brown earth where he stood, the lush green that surrounded him, had paid the price.

--

She has prayed to Tomura, the god of death and destruction to protect her people, he has not forsaken them. He has saved them despite the bitter feeling of grief still anew. The loss of her mother, the old man, and so many more. All of it is painful. Living is painful.

Home, he had said. He takes them to a place where they can rest peacefully is what he promised, but she cannot help but wonder if he had created this, or if this was how life always is.

Death is a cycle.

--

She dreams of a large hand, of a wasteland surrounding her; she wanders the terrain filled with nothing, and she sees him. White hair and dark cloak billowing in a wind she cannot feel.

“Tomura?” She calls, and he does not turn, he stands there. When she reaches him he has slowly become dust, withering in the wind, sweeping past her.

She is suffocating from the particles as it wraps around her. She awakens, the fire put out in her home, smoke rising, the fabric of her bedding stuck to her sweaty body. She knows what her dream is about.

He will soon be gone.

--

“Will you die?”

“Yes.”

“How?”

“I fade away.”

“When?”

“Soon.”

She runs to him, closing the distance, her embrace is tight against him, he can feel her heartbeat. Her time ticking slowly away.

She will die of old age. He will die because he loved.

She breathes close; warm breath near his ear, and he sighs. He has dreamed of this. Tomura’s mind goes elsewhere during nights away. He has always dreamed of her.

Her soul he has spared, slowly collecting the surrounding ones. She knew this, yet here she is, with him.

He is feared and known. She is a human.

Gods cannot love mortals.

“Live for me,” she gasps against him. “Fight and live,” she begs, her body shaking with guilt. She has unknowingly brought his end.

“I cannot.”

“What can I give you in exchange? My soul?” He exhales, sounding close to a laugh, a smile cracking his lips.

“I will not allow that exchange.”

She pulls away, eyes filled with bitter tears, and she has never looked more brilliant than ever. She is alive.

He longs to touch her like he has often wished of doing.

So he does. Fingers, crumbling slowly; he touches her cheek, and she is so surprised to find it warm; soothing like the summer sun.

She leans into it, wishing she could have this moment forever.

“Your name—“ she stops, then touches his face, his hair, his lips. Caressing all of him.

“Tomura means to mourn,” he says, eyes glittering.

“I will mourn you, yes,” she promises, his arms wrap around her waist, hands moving towards her shoulder blades. How long has he lived without this? Centuries. Her lips brush close to his temples, “but I will love you always.”

Tomura leans in close, foreheads pressed together, lips breadths apart.

“And I you.”

--

She awakens in the forest holding nothing but black fabric.

--

When it is her time to go from this earth, she is old and weary. She had grandchildren, marrying a kind farmer who passed before her. In her seat she stares out where the chestnut trees stand tall, woven in branches.

The blossoms from nearby waft in the wind. It is her time to go, she grips the piece of black fabric she has held onto.

She closes her eyes, and she rests peacefully, her heart stuttering to a halt.

The way it is painless, as it wraps around her; darkness is not as the stories say; it is not unforgiving. The tunnel of light she moves through as she is back in the wasteland from a dream she had years ago.

Tomura stands tall, cape billowing in a windless desert. She gasps, tears streaming down her face as he is turned to her. Not like the dream of where he seemed so far, but now he is so close.

She goes to him, embracing him once more.

“Welcome back,” she says against his chest, he holds her tightly, no longer crumbling.

“I have been here and I have waited,” his voice is still rough like wood being scraped.

He wraps her close, his hands still warm like sunlight, hair bright and eyes similar to spider lilies.

“You are human?” She asks, pulling away to look at him, eyes searching his features, he still looks the same since the last time she saw him all those years ago.

“Deities are born from humans,” he states, “we are one and the same.”

Her tears are wiped gently with his thumb, fingers gliding across her neck and collarbone. This closeness he has missed.

She grabs his hand and presses her lips to each finger. Tomura no longer takes, he has given and given until her soul found his. They were born for this moment, she no longer hears the sorrowful noise of cicadas in the summer sun, silence has never felt more welcoming.

It is not harsh or lonesome, they have one another.

“I kept a part of you with me,” she confesses against his cheek, and his hands glide down her back, the feeling of her he has craved for years since he left.

He keeps her so close that they could become one. “And you can continue to do so, as long as you stay with me,” he murmurs.

Her breath fans his hair as she brushes her fingers through the locks. “Always and forever.” She is finally home with him.

The promise between god and human has been made, and they stay like this for eternity.

[sanders-sides-fics]

In My Dreams: Chapter Fifteen

Warnings: crying, shovel talk

Masterlist

Word Count: 1754

-

Virgil sat at the table in the castle’s kitchen with his dad. A few servants lingered, working on different tasks but giving the father and son space as they talked. Virgil appreciated the gesture, despite how he invaded the kitchens to spend some time with his dad. He missed being able to walk around generally unnoticed by others. In Sandres, he had just been the chef’s boy, but here, he was the prince who’d finally found his way home.

The allotted space did not stop him from being looked at. Occasionally, a curious maid would eye the prince, surprised to see him in the kitchen and even more surprised to see the flour on his shirt.

He had grown a bit more used to being watched over the past few months, but sometimes it would still bother him. Today was one of those times. He took a bite of his warm scone to distract himself from the watching eyes.

Patton laughed and reached out to wipe crumbs off of Virgil’s chin, “I see princedom has turned you into a messy eater?”

Virgil set the scone on the plate in front of him and wiped his chin off before wiping his hands on his shirt, hoping that he could get the flour off.

“Dad, I think you’re forgetting years of me making a mess in your kitchens with Roman,” Virgil teased, “with our quests to collect midnight snacks.”

“How could I forget? The two of you ate a week’s worth of bread in one night. A feat I still cannot believe two eleven-year-olds could pull off alone,” Patton ripped a small part of his scone and popped it in his mouth. 

Virgil laughed at that, thinking back to the stomach ache he had the next morning. It was before he was Roman’s servant. They were just friends back then, still young and more mischievous than responsible. Dad had pitied him and given him ginger for his nausea, he never heard if Roman had gotten into trouble or not.

Virgil shrugged, “In my defense, Roman dared me to do so. And I was too stubborn to say no.”

“Yes, how could I forget you two were thick as thieves back then. I’m glad you’re close again,” Dad smiled.

Virgil looked over his dad’s face. The smile on Dad’s face looked genuine, his eyes softening and the wrinkles around his eyes gently creasing. Virgil felt relief. Dad actually thought this courting was a good idea, or at the least was happy for Virgil. Virgil thought courting Roman was good, but seeing his dad’s reaction was reassuring.

He was growing a little old to need his dad’s reassurance, especially considering his dad lived a kingdom away. It did not change that Virgil valued what his dad had to say, but he knew one day he would need to make important life decisions without seeking that reassurance. Be it with Roman at his side or alone.

“I am too.”

“How did the two of you like the lunch I made?”

Virgil smiled at his dad, “It was wonderful. It was nice to have your cooking again, Dad. It made me a little homesick to eat some of the dishes here and have them not taste the same.”

“I missed you too, Virgil, but don’t let that stop you from enjoying things here, okay?”

Patton reached out and patted his hand, hesitantly. Virgil knew he was worried, even if his arms appeared to be alright again. The feeling of ice encasing his arms was not pleasant and he frowned at the phantom feeling of ice crawling its way up his arms, immobilizing them.

“I’m trying, Dad. Sometimes it just happens without me realizing it,” Virgil moved his hand to hold his Dad’s, reminding himself that he could still move them.

Virgil knew he would get used to the changes eventually. A lot of it was still strange to him, but he was adjusting bit by bit. He learned the layout of the castle. The different halls and staircases had felt familiar but distant at first, but now he could find his way around and roam nearly everywhere within its walls without getting lost. He’d grown close to his brother and learned about their family.

He did miss how simple things were before Remy arrived in Sandres with Logan, but he would rather it have happened than have spent the rest of his life the way he was before.

“I know, kiddo. It will get easier and this isn’t a goodbye. I wouldn’t be a very good Dad if I decided to go back and ditch my son.”

“Oh, I don’t think you could stay away, even if I weren’t here.”

Patton gave his son a confused look and the prince snorted quietly.

“Dad, I have eyes,” he said.

Patton covered his eyes with his hands, embarrassed as he began to blush, “I didn’t think that you noticed. I’m sorry.”

Virgil shrugged, “That is part of why Roman and I snuck off to the library at the feast, but it isn’t that bad. If it makes you happy.” 

“I think it could,” Patton said quietly, voice unsure. “And even so… If things go the right way, I would need to move here… And if your courtship with Roman goes well, you’d go back to Sandres. I’d lose you both.”

Virgil smiled sadly, “Remember what you just said about how this isn’t goodbye, Dad? Even if both of those things happen you’re still my dad, but I am grown. You don’t need to give up a chance like that for me, I’m okay.”

His dad sniffled and pulled out a handkerchief to wipe his eyes. Virgil reached out and patted his dad on the arm. Dad pulled him into a hug and held him close, burying his face in Virgil’s neck. Virgil shivered at the feeling of cold of tears landing on his neck. He wrapped his arms around Dad and held him close.

“You aren’t going to lose us, Dad. So, if you want this, go for it. Don’t let me hold you back,” Virgil murmured. “I love you, Dad.”

“I love you too, Virgil,” his dad whispered.

-

Roman watched King Remington fold the trade papers and put them in an envelope. Their talk about the trade had gone well. Every point King Remington had brought up sounded correct and did match what Father had written down as notes for Roman to refer to during the agreements. The only thing Roman noticed to be wrong was how tense King Remington was during the talks. Roman had a feeling it was not over salt prices though.

“Is there anything else you want to talk about?” Roman asked the king.

King Remington looked at him, eyes hidden behind dark tinted glasses Roman had never seen him wear before. He wondered how the king could see inside with them on.

“There is, though it is not about the matters of our trade agreement,” the king said. “It is something much more dear to my heart than the sale of our goods.”

Roman shifted in his chair and accepted the envelope as the king handed it to him.

“Virgil?” he guessed.

King Remington nodded, “My brother, yes.”

Roman put the envelope into the bag on the floor next to his chair, noting which part he put it in. He resisted the urge to hiss in pain at the strain on his back as he bent down. He sat up straight in his chair, ready to talk to the king.

“Have I broken any rule in regards to courting in Picais?” Roman asked.

The king sat back in his chair and lifted the tinted glasses up so they rested on the top of his head, revealing sharp blue eyes focused directly on Roman. King Remington narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms.

“None at all. From what I’ve seen, the two of you are very fond of each other. So, I’ll warn you now. Do not mess with my brother’s heart,” King Remington spoke menacingly. “For if you do, there will be consequences your father cannot protect you from.”

Roman resisted the urge to squirm under the gaze of the king. He had no intentions of ever meeting those consequences or of taking the actions that would lead to them. However, he understood that the king did not want his brother harmed, especially when such a short time had passed since Virgil was returned to him.

“I understand, King Remington. I have no intentions of harming your brother, I can give you my word on that,” he said. “Virgil has already talked to me about such actions with past courtings and we have acknowledged together that I will not do that.”

The king sighed in relief. Roman watched him for a sign of what he was thinking. He hoped Virgil’s brother trusted him enough not to try to force them to separate. It wasn’t fair to Virgil if the king acted out of fear of Roman’s past actions. 

“Thank you for being honest with me and admitting that you have done wrong before. It makes it easier to trust you when you’re not trying to make yourself look perfect for me,” King Remington told him earnestly.

Roman nodded. He didn’t want to lie and have something come out later and taken the wrong way. He had changed since the king had met him and wanted to prove it. Though, Roman was sure the king would have disliked this courting for how he acted the day King Remington arrived in Sandres.

It was childish of him. And he was ashamed to have just accused King Remington of disrespecting his father. 

“With respect, King Remington, I don’t believe Virgil needs protecting,” he said, mindful of his wording. “I have known Virgil a long time, and he will make his thoughts known, especially if he believes he’s being toyed with. And if I were to ever physically hurt him? He would defend himself, though I never would.”

The king smirked at that, “He’d toss your princey butt right out of the way. Would barely lift a finger.”

Roman knew that Virgil would. His levitation skills were improving from when he was in Sandres, and even then, Virgil had told him how he had accidentally thrown Logan across the room.

“So we have an agreement?” he asked.

King Remington nodded, “I believe so. I trust you with my brother, as long as he wants you to have him.”

“Of course.”

[mymothershumility]

❛ I know you. If I was blind, I would know who you are. ❜

past transmissions || { always accepting }

{ Part 1 } & { Part 2 } & { Part 3 } & { Part 4 } & { Part 5 }

{ @neverflownwithme }

‘We should give our daughters a brother.’ The words are whisper soft, syllables brushing through the chilled air as a deep chuckle follows close behind them. Crimson colored leaves are gathered beneath booted feet, staining the pristine white landscape.

‘Or, at the very least, enjoy the attempt?’

‘I have always found our previous endeavors to be quite enjoyable.’ A soft laugh comes next, the sound nearly foreign. Hands brush back into loose silver hair, mouth finds soft skin. The laugh comes again, softer than the first, as dark amethyst eyes flutter closed.

‘If my lady wife desires it, then I shall do my best to see it fulfilled.’

Amethyst eyes fan open, whispers mingling around her. Words are whispered, soft and loving. They are entirely different from those she has come to know over the last two moonturns while confined to the capital. As sleep fades, she attempts to listen to what is whispered. The words are too soft to discern. Names linger upon the air, though. And, it is those that she hears.

‘Torrhen.’

‘Visenya.’

The whispers fade after that, the rooms around her going silent save for the crackle of the fire in the hearth, the twitter of songbirds chirping out among the trees, and the crash of waves down over the shore. For the first time in weeks, there is no pain pulsing hot through her neck and head. Everything is utterly calm. It’s strange how it all feels.

Pushing up from where she has been resting, Laira is surprised to find herself tucked onto one of the sofas within the sitting rooms of her apartments. She cannot recall how she has come to be there… doesn’t even remember entering her apartments on Dragonstone.

Her arrival upon the island stronghold the night before had been a frantic one, framed by torrential rains, howling winds, and crackling lightning. Much of her arrival, Laira does not recall. After her flight from King’s Landing, she remembers slipping from Viserion’s back within the courtyards. There is little else that seems to come to mind beyond that, though. Her thoughts are muddled… as if she has only just woken from some living nightmare.

‘You are safe here,’ a soft voice whispers. It is reminiscent of one that had been whispered in her dream.

For the first time in weeks, Laira believes the words. For the first time, she has no fear.

Glancing about her, Laira pulls the blanket that had been draped across her some time in the night away from her. She finds one of the castle’s maids curled into an armchair positioned near the hearth, legs drawn up into the seat with her and head resting along the tops of her knees. Her rooms are otherwise vacant. Yet another strange feeling. The last several weeks have scarcely seen her left to herself.

For the moment, the solitude is welcomed.

Rising, Laira moves quietly across her apartments towards the attached washroom. Upon the vanity within the space, a basin of fresh water has been set alongside fresh cloths and towels. Using one of the fresh cloths, Laira dips it into the water before using it to clean the signs of travel from her face. With the silvered mirror hanging upon the wall before her, Laira sees herself for the first time since everything had fallen apart that night within the gardens.

The effects are truly startling. There are dark circles beneath her eyes, those that she knows will linger until she has given herself ample time to rest. Even more striking is the way her cheeks have sunken in. She had known that she had lost weight –had been able to feel it in the hang of her chemise and her robe– but had not realized how much.

“Your Grace!”

The voice doesn’t startle her, not like it would have back in the capital just a day before. Looking into the silvered mirror, Laira sees the maid rising in a near panic from the armchair she had drifted off in. Recognition dawns upon the queen as the girl draws closer to her.

“Mira,” Laira greets, using the cloth in her hands to wipe at the column of her throat and then back around her neck. “Did you stand watch over me all last evening?” she asks, looking down at the girl when she comes up beside her. Laira knows she looks far from the vision that departed Dragonstone so many months ago to take King’s Landing back from the Lions. It matters little to her, though.

The maid reaches a hesitant hand out towards the queen, letting it settle against her elbow and ignoring the monarch’s question to her. “Your Grace,” the dark haired girl says, “you should be resting. You were bleeding when you arrived last night,” she tells the queen. “Please, come back and sit.”

Laira spares a glance down her front at Mira’s words, spying the dried blood upon the edges of her chemise. Part of it has come from the lingering effects of her miscarriage. The other is from the fresh cuts along the inner plains of her thighs. The result of mounting Viserion without the protection of riding leathers between her skin and the dragoness’ spinal crest and scales.

“It is of no concern,” Laira assures her. “My attire was not appropriate for journeying here upon my dragonmount,” she says. “The cuts will heal.”

Mira seems uncertain, her worry still palpable. She gives a soft nod of her head, though, and retracts her hand from the queen’s arm. “Yes, Your Grace,” she murmurs. “The kitchens should be finishing with the morning meal. I will go fetch you a tray. I will send for the footmen to prepare the tub for you as well.”

Laira gives Mira a smile, watching as she bobs a curtsy and departs at a near jog from her rooms. She’s content to allow the maid her worrying, content to let her do what she believes is best for her. Wiping the last of the dirt and grime from her face, Laira rinses the cloth and sets it down along the top of the vanity after wringing the excess water from it.

Waiting for Mira and the footmen to return, Laira takes the time to search through the wardrobes within her rooms. In her flight, all her gowns and other items of clothing have been left behind in the capital. Even Dark Sister and Dark Star were left behind in her haste. So long as Viserion is with her, she has no fear of an attack, least of all from the attendants among the castle walls. Yet another change… something more that is utterly strange in the moment.

She cannot help but wonder why… she cannot help but wonder what has changed.

There are a number of gowns, dresses, and other things available for her to wear. As Laira looks through them, she takes out a simple pale blue gown belted at the middle with a sash of dark amethyst. Made from Lyseni silk, it is trimmed along the bottom hem in pale silver colored Myrish lace. Cut to leave her shoulders bare and with long elegant bell sleeves, the dress was simple enough to wear in solitude around the castle, yet elegant enough to don should others come to the island.

She is not expecting the latter, yet the thought still crosses her mind.

Placing the dress across the back of an armchair, it takes her a moment to find a pair of soft slippers in the bottom of one of the wardrobes. The same dark amethyst as the sash around the waist her dress, Laira places them in the seat beneath the dress.

When the footmen arrive to prepare the carved stone tub within her washroom, Laira steps from the room and out onto her balcony. Beyond her rooms, the morning has dawned in hues of pale pink and lavender. The air is crisp and songbirds continue to twitter out among the trees within the gardens. From her spot, she can see the whole of the gardens. Directly beneath her balcony, Viserion has made a place for herself. Curled into a tight coil, the cream and gold dragoness is dozing peacefully in the early morning sunlight. Something more that brings a sense of peace to the queen. Her dragonmount had not been so at peace in weeks… something that the two of them had shared.

Perhaps it is Viserion’s peace that is influencing her own. Or, perhaps Laira’s own has influenced the dragoness. Whatever is to blame, Laira cannot help but to be thankful for it.

Bathing is a drawn out endeavor. Submerged in the smooth stone tub up to the hollow of her throat, Laira allows the heat of the water to seep down into her bones. It seems that every part of her aches from exhaustion, aches from the neglect she has allowed herself to engage in. She soaks until the water is warm at best, using her remaining time to scrub her skin and hair clean with a vanilla and lavender scented soap. Her hair rinsed, Laira takes time to comb the knots and tangles from the strands before pinning them up into a nest of damp curls atop her head. Once her hair has dried a bit more, she will let it down and allow it to dry in its natural soft curls.

Out of the tub, the queen wraps herself in one of the thick towels that have been left behind for her. Beyond her washroom, one of her dressing gowns has been set out for her along with a fresh chemise. The chemise is longer than she typically wears, made from pale golden silk and reaching down to brush about her ankles. The dressing gown is just as long, made from the same soft silk and colored deep emerald green.

Slipping into both, Laira returns her damp towel to her washroom and reemerges into her rooms to find Mira entering the doors with a tray laden with food. Mira sets the tray on the low table in front of the sofa the queen had rested on the previous night, beckoning the woman over with a pat of the cushions.

“Your Grace, please come eat,” Mira insists, patting the cushions again. “The cooks in the kitchens recalled your preferences from your last visit. We received a fresh shipment of items only yesterday morning.”

Moving away from the sofa, Mira heads for the bed on the other side of the apartments. While the rooms were often aired out and the furnishings properly cleaned and dusted every week or so, linens were not often changed unless the chambers were occupied. Mira immediately sets out to change the stale linens, moving the heavy down filled duvet away to pull the linens from the bed.

“I will have these washed, Your Grace, and will bring you fresh linens,” Mira tells her, gathering the sheets in her arms. “Please eat. They are many of your favorites on the tray,” she promises, moving out of the queen’s apartments afterwards.

Her apartments now empty, Laira seats herself back on the cushions of her sofa. Mira has brought her more than enough food to break her fast.

The tray is filled with freshly baked flatbread, chickpea paste seasoned with garlic and drizzled with olive oil, soft goat cheese sweetened with honey, figs, and peaches. There are slices of cucumber and radishes along with clusters of red and green grapes and cherry tomatoes. Cured salmon is piled in a bowl at the center of the dish along with a bowl of soft black and green olives that have been marinated in olive oil and a variety of herbs and spices. There is a cup filled with warm mulled apple cider, another filled with chilled water, and a third that has chilled goat’s milk sweetened with honey.

As she eats, Laira listens to the sounds of Mira reentering her apartments and beginning to remake her bed with fresh linens. It takes time and by the time that the maid has finished, half of her meal is gone. Only a few sparse slices of cucumber and radish remain. Over half the chickpea paste is gone and there are two slices of cured salmon left in her bowl. Her cup of cider has been drained in full alongside her chalice of water. The cup of chilled goat’s milk remains largely untouched.

“Is there anything more that you require, Your Grace?” Mira asks. Her tasks completed, she comes to stand beside the queen’s sofa, smiling at the food that is gone from the queen’s tray. “I could bring you more cider or water from the kitchens if you would like.”

“You have brought me more than enough, Mira,” the queen assures, taking up one of the final pieces of flatbread. Swiping it through the chickpea paste, she chews carefully on it before taking up one of the remaining pieces of cucumber. “You never answered my earlier question to you,” Laira continues, brushing the slice of cucumber through the sweetened goat cheese. “Did you keep watch over me all last evening?” she questions, taking the bite of cucumber into her mouth after she has finished speaking.

Mira hesitates, shifting for a moment in her place. When she answers, her tone is genuine. “Those of us who received you out in the courtyard were worried for you, Your Grace,” the maid tells her. “You were bleeding and you could barely stand. Maester Pylos worried you had suffered greater blood loss than we were aware. He attempted to aid you out in the yard, but your dragonmount would not allow him near you. It snapped at us when we tried to aid you. It was not until you collapsed onto the flagstones that it allowed us to help you into the castle.”

Laira listens to Mira’s tale, unable to recall any of the details that the maid is recounting. In truth, Laira struggles to recall her flight to Dragonstone… she struggles to recall why she fled there. All she can truly remember is that for the last several weeks, she has been in pain.

All she can remember is that when she departed the Red Keep upon Viserion’s back, she had been frightened beyond possible belief.

“I stayed with you through the night, Your Grace,” Mira admits. “I was afraid that something may happen to you if I did not. You were muttering to yourself. With your injuries, I did not wish for you to wake only to be disoriented and somehow hurt yourself more.”

Mira goes quiet after that, bright blue eyes looking over to Laira. She has been quiet throughout the entirety of the maid’s recollection. After a moment of silence, Mira adds, “I do not know what happened, Your Grace. But, none of us here would allow anything to happen to you. You are safe here. We will see it made so for however long you wish to remain here.”

Laira gives the young girl a shaky smile, realizing only then how tight her chest suddenly feels. It has been a time since she has felt completely safe. Laira realizes, with a sudden rush of clarity, that there is nothing here that will harm her. She realizes, as well, that the fear that had driven her to her family’s ancestral seat had been improperly placed.

“Thank you, Mira,” the queen tells her, her words genuine. “Your loyalty truly means everything.” She goes quiet, rising slowly from her seat. “I am sorry if Viserion frightened you last evening. She is only ever defensive against others if she believes me to be in danger.”

With her wounds, it was likely that Viserion had perceived anyone that she was unfamiliar with a threat. Laira knew, as well, that her fragile state had not aided matters.

‘A foul beast has been tormenting you,’ the soft voice whispers. ‘He continues even now. He has turned his attention to your husband now that you are beyond reach.’

Had she still been trapped within the walls of the Red Keep, such whispers would have seen her dissolving into tears. There is something different about them here. The voice is different… the very tone so entirely different from the one she has come to know over the last weeks.

‘Call him here,’ the voice urges. ‘He will be safe here. This is where he should be. You must stay until the Bleeding Star rises and the stones splinter open.’

It crosses her mind –brief as it is– to take Viserion and return to the capital. If something means to strike against her husband, she will see him made safe. Memories from the Red Keep steadily arise as she thinks to return, though, and she finds her fear too great to attempt a return. There is another alternative, though.

“May I ask a favor of you?” Laira questions suddenly, beginning to move towards the doors that lead into her solar. She hears Mira’s quiet steps following just behind her.

“Of course, Your Grace. Anything. You need only speak the word.”

Passing into her solar, Laira finds the space just as she had left it during her last visit. There are pieces of parchment atop her desk along with pots of various colored inks and quills. A brief snap of her fingers lights the sconces on the walls and the candles that are upon her desk. When she seats herself behind her desk, she pulls one of the pieces of parchment to the center and uncorks an ink pot. Taking up a quill, Laira dips the tip into the ink pot and begins to scrawl a quick note.

She lets the ink dry once her note has been penned, leaving the parchment unfurled as she searches for a piece of ribbon and a piece of colored wax. She finds both in the back of her desk drawer, drawing out a piece of amethyst colored ribbon and golden colored wax.

“My husband recently returned to King’s Landing from a journey to the Stormlands,” Laira speaks, flipping the parchment over onto its back to scrawl one final thing before beginning to delicately wind the piece into a tight roll. “I need this to reach him as quickly as possible.”

“Your husband, Your Grace?” Mira asks, curiosity coloring her words. The last time the queen had been present on Dragonstone, she had not spoken of a husband. Though Mira believes she may know the man’s identity, she knows that it is best not to assume.

“Lord Stark,” Laira tells her, sparing only a glance up at the maid before looking back to her task. Securing the parchment with her chosen ribbon, Laira holds the piece of wax above the flame of one of the candles on her desk. She watches as the wax heats, melts, and then begins to run. It’s a quick movement from the flame of the candle over to the parchment she is still holding tight in hand.

The wax drips down onto the parchment, covering the ribbon where it intersects and sealing the parchment together. The queen allows the wax to set for a moment before pulling a seal from within her desk drawer. She presses the it against the wax, letting the sigil carved into the seal set into the wax. When she pulls the seal away, the solitary dragon of Jayd is pressed within the wax. The letter is held out to Mira, then.

“Take this to Maester Pylos in Sea Dragon Tower and have him dispatch his swiftest raven to King’s Landing with this in tow.”

Mira takes the parchment without second though, immediately curtsying to the queen. “As you wish, Your Grace. I will see it delivered and dispatched immediately,” she vows, turning and departing the queen’s solar with hurried steps.

Laira listens to her maid’s departing steps, listens until her footfalls fade into nothing. When silence reigns within her apartments, the queen glances about her solar once more. There are a stack of books from the castle’s library still stacked within an armchair near the solar’s hearth. Laira remembers taking them from the library herself, intending to read them during her time on the island. She had never been granted the time during her previous stay.

Rising from her seat, she picks up the books –three in total– and leaves her solar to return to her bedchambers. As she passes through the doors, the sconces upon the walls and the candles upon her desk extinguish with a quiet flicker of flame.

Out in the sitting room of her apartments, Laira spies a small gray and white cat peering up at the tray of food that has been left on the low table in front of her sofa. It’s one of the castle cats, those that wander about the grounds and keep various pests away. It has wandered in through the open doors of her apartments, lured in by the smell of her morning meal. When the little cat catches sight of Laira, it scampers under a nearby armchair. A noticeably pregnant belly sways with it as it waddles away from her.

Setting her books down upon the sofa, Laira reaches to pick up the bowl of cured salmon and the cup of goat’s milk that is still left on her tray. Bending, she sets both down just beside the table. As she straightens, she sees the little cat watching her from underneath her chosen hiding place.

“It is yours if you would like it,” the queen speaks, hands reaching to pick up her discarded books. She’s crossing to her bed, then, setting the books down onto her bedside table before shrugging from her dressing gown. As she turns the duvet and the fresh sheets back, Laira catches sight of the small cat slinking out from underneath the armchair. She makes for the dishes on the floor immediately, devouring the fish with clear enjoyment.

Laira leaves her to her meal, glancing over once more after she has settled herself into her bed. The fish is gone by then and the little cat has turned her attention to the cup of goat’s milk that has been left for her. Though it is early, the queen can feel the onset of fatigue descending upon her. The result of too many sleepless nights within the Red Keep.

Resting along her pillows, Laira is only two pages into her chosen book when she hears the scratch of claws pulling against fabric. Another glance finds the little cat pulling herself up onto the chaise at the end of Laira’s bed. It’s there that the little cat stops, sprawling herself across the cushioned seat.

By the time the queen sets her book aside, the little cat has moved from the chaise and halfway up the mattress of her bed. Curled into the crook of the queen’s knees, she has settled into a peaceful sleep. Laira does not attempt to move her. Instead, she simply slips herself down where her head can rest against her pillows.

She’s dreaming before she even realizes it. And, for once, it’s peaceful.

Arms reach to ensnare about broad shoulders. Silver hair spills forward, cascading over those same shoulders. A deep laugh follows the display. An annoyed huff follows the laugh, crimson painted lips turning into a soft pout.

‘Do you find me amusing, husband?’ Gloved fingers reach, briefly brush at mahogany colored locks. Despite the earlier huff and pout, there is a fair share of amusement shining from dark amethyst eyes.

‘Endearing is a more accurate description.’ The response is an easy one, framed with the press of a strong hand to silver strands. The touch is gentle… is always gentle when it comes to her.

‘Perhaps you forget my prowess when it comes to battle.’ Words are framed with a soft smile, one that has become reserved for him and for their two little ones. ‘Perhaps I should remind you.’ There is a tease, now, and the nip of teeth against the bare skin along the other’s throat.

‘You remind me often enough.’ There is a grunt with the nip of teeth from the other. He seizes her hand in his own, drawing her arm down until his own mouth can press against the exposed skin of her inner wrist. ‘You simply forget.’ And, now, his own words are accompanied by the nip of his own teeth to the skin of her wrist.

She jumps, nearly growls her next question into the line of his jaw. ‘What do I forget, husband?’ she questions, mouth setting against the skin of his jaw.

‘I know you. If I was blind, I would know who you are.‘

{ @fullrangeofemotions & @truetargaryen & @xcoatlicuex & @zaldrizo & @hisvipereyes & @ialwayswasthebest & @adornishviper & @iveneverbeenagoodgirl & @viperparamour & @shewhoisironborn & @thequeenmaker & @aladyofwinterfell & @anunfailingkindness & @fairytalesandstars & @therosesofhighgarden }

[anxiouslymalicious]

Beat You To It

Pairing: Ben Hardy x (fem) Reader

Summary: Periods are usually full of ups and downs, a bumpy ride, especially emotionally. This time, however, your emotions are all over the place as you just started taking the pill. But nothing could prepare you for the emotional roller coaster ride that ensues, especially as Ben comes home earlier from filming abroad.

Word Count: 2631 (oops?)

Warnings: none I think? Unless you count bad writing and talks about periods as one?

A/N: This is my first time writing something and actually publishing it. I hope you enjoy it!

It was a quiet Saturday night. You and Frankie were alone in the flat you and Ben moved into almost a year ago and although Frankie was a sweet pup, you still felt terribly lonely. The reason was simple.

Hormones. Birth control pills, to be exact.

The two of you had been talking about you going on birth control one quiet night when you were cuddled up on the sofa, a trashy tv show playing on the tv. You had been having troubles with your period for quite some time now and your doctor suggested using birth control to get it back on track. It wasn’t serious so you didn’t think about it too much. Ben then joked that he would be able to find out what sex without a condom feels like, but it might have been the light buzz of the wine you had opened during dinner. Neither of you mentioned it again, but the thought never left your mind. So, as soon as Ben told you when he would be leaving for filming, you made an appointment with your gyn and asked for a prescription of the pill, which you had promptly received.

Now, it was about 3 weeks later and you were on your first period while being on the pill and it was… Something.

Obviously, you and your doctor talked about the side effects of the pill and she told you about what to expect during the first three months, but you did not expect for the side effects to hit you nearly as hard as they did.

Besides light nausea shortly after taking the pill the first few days, you thought that the little hormone pills were treating you good. Until your first period arrived.

One advantage of taking birth control pills was that your cramps would be less intense and your periods in general would be easier on you. Or at least that’s what everyone told you. What they forgot to mention, though, was that the first period on the pill might not be that easy on you.

And so, you were drowning in self-pity.

Your period had started a day late, it was a Friday morning and you awoke with pain in your abdomen. Groaning, you turned around, trying to reach for Ben, but your hand only managed to find Frankie, curled up into a tiny ball of fur, laying on Ben’s side of the bed. A sigh escaped your lips as you remembered that he was still filming and only supposed to come back next week. No matter how often he left, your mind never ceased to forget that he wasn’t there when you woke up.

Tears welled up in your eyes. How badly you needed him at this moment to just hold you. Maybe make you breakfast in bed. And give you back rubs. And treat you like a queen. Just for today.

Nonetheless, you pushed through the day. Although your emotions were all over the place (you had yelled at three people, cried as you found out that you ran out of your favourite cereal, laughed your arse off at Frankie trying to catch her own tail and all of that even before leaving for work), the cramps were intense and your head felt as though a truck ran over it, you got through the whole work day. You couldn’t have been happier when you came home, greeted by Frankie’s happy barking and the warmth of your flat.

The rest of your day, you had spent on the couch in the living room, eating pizza, watching whatever was on tv whenever your pain killers didn’t knock you out and Ben even called sometime during the evening.

Ben always called you when he was gone. It was only on very rare occasions that he didn’t manage to call you and talk with you sometime during the day and even on those days, he recorded a voice message before passing out on his bed and making up for the missed call as soon as possible.

Your phone calls with Ben were almost therapeutic. Both of you managed to talk about anything that was bothering you. Whether it was your annoying colleagues, a scene that worried him, or just talking about the dreams you two had and trying to make up the funniest meanings. One time, you two managed to talk about how your dream about stargazing meant that you possessed the ability to live in space and were actually born as a product of a star dying, but you couldn’t go back because you needed the doctor to help you and so you needed to wait for him and his Tardis to appear.

This time, it was just him being overly excited about how well everything was going and how awesome everyone on set was. You really wanted to tell him how bad you felt, but that would also ruin the surprise of telling him that you guys wouldn’t need a condom the next time you two were in the heat of the moment.

And now, it was Saturday night. You had barely moved from your seat on the couch unless you really had to, like when you had to go on a walk with Frankie, go to the bathroom yourself or get open the door for the delivery person bringing yet another order of yours. Last night, you had seen a tv trailer for Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince and you couldn’t stop a few stray tears from falling as you stared into Dumbledore’s sickly pale face. You already knew back then that you would regret watching that movie. But you did it anyway.

You couldn’t stop the tears from falling, not even if you tried, as you watched the heart-breaking scenes take place.

As you were so busy wailing like a baby, wrapped up in your favourite blanket with an empty cup of tea on the coffee table and empty take out boxes and chocolate wrappers splayed out all over the coffee table, you did not notice Frankie jumping up with curiosity at something she heard.

You also didn’t hear the jingling of the keys in the lock of your flat.

Or the sound of a bag dropping in the living room.

Not even the sound of an incredibly deep laughter managed to pull you out of your trance.

You flinched as you felt a hand on your shoulder, the sudden touch scaring you, and a shrill scream escaped your lips. In a moment of fear, your body involuntarily tried to move to the other end of the couch, your abdomen cramping up at the unexpected movement. You whimpered softly at the pain, wrapping your arms around yourself in an effort to ease the pain at least a bit.

“Hey, princess, it’s me, calm down.”, Ben almost laughed at your reaction. Until he noticed your dishevelled appearance.

Your hair was all over the place, your eyes bloodshot from the little amount of sleep you caught the previous night and the many crying sessions you had over the past 48 hours. Your cheeks were puffy and flushed and tear streaks stained your skin. Chocolate was smeared in the corner of your lips.

You were wearing one of Ben’s old sweatshirts which he should have gotten rid off ages ago, but you always saved it from its doom in the trash by saying that it was far too comfortable to throw it away.

Pants had long been abandoned, or at least Ben assumed so as he saw one of your bare legs sticking out from under the blanket that he knew you only pulled out if you were in need of comfort.

“Y/N, what happened? Are you okay?”, Ben was now worried. He had never seen you like this before. He was now kneeling on the floor in front of the couch, grasping your hands. This only caused more tears to fall. You had officially ruined the surprise. Ben wasn’t supposed to be home yet. He was scheduled to come next week, when your period was over and you were feeling great.

But there he was, seated in front of you, his green eyes staring right into your own (y/e/c) orbs, trying to put together the pieces, but failing.

Frankie had now joined you, laying her head comfortingly in your lap, almost like she was trying to encourage you to tell him what was going on. And you tried.

But all you managed to get out was a weird brabbled speech.

“He-he- Dumbledore, he died and I cried, but you weren’t supposed to find out until Thursday, when you came back and you were not supposed to be here yet. But now he died and you’re here but you shouldn’t be. And Frankie was supposed to help and- and I didn’t want to watch it, but it just kind of happened because I cannot resist Harry Potter and you know that.”, you didn’t make sense. Not to Ben, not to yourself.

“Y/N, are you drunk, love?” Ben was now trying not to burst out laughing, gently placing his hands on your cheeks and wiping the fresh tears away from your cheeks.

“No, I’m not, I haven’t had a sip of alcohol in months! Oh wait, that’s a lie. I’m lying to you and myself. It was just last week. I’m not an alcoholic, though, I swear.”, you sobbed, defending yourself.

“Then what’s going on, love?” soft giggles emerged from Ben’s lips as he watched you. He really didn’t want to, but watching you was more than just hilarious.

You took a deep breath and closed your eyes for a moment. A new wave of tears welled up in your eyes as you looked at him.

“I started taking birth control pills, but didn’t tell you because I wanted to surprise you. And now I’m on my period and you’re home early and ruined the surprise. I had it all planned out! Wanted to cook for you, wear something sexy, seduce you and tell you that you wouldn’t need a condom, but now you’re here and caught me crying over a movie I have seen a few hundred times already.” You were watching Ben’s face closely, awaiting some kind of negative reaction.

“Oh, love, really? You put yourself through all this stress for me?”, Ben was amazed. You nodded silently, afraid that if you opened your mouth, you would only keep on sobbing.

Ben now moved onto the couch, pulling you into him and wrapping his arms tightly around you.

“I love you, Y/N. I really do. Thank you so much.”, whispered Ben as he ran his hand through your hair, trying to calm you. Nothing but love and adoration were in his voice, and the moment would have been perfect, if it wasn’t for Frankie suddenly barking. Neither of you had noticed that you were almost crushing the little dog in between your bodies as you hugged and were now feeling unbelievably sorry.

“Tell you what, love. I’ll clean up a bit while you move to the bedroom and then we’ll cuddle and I’ll rub your belly. How does that sound?”, asked Ben, softly kissing your temple as he wiped away the last stray tears on your cheeks.

“Sounds perfect. Marry me please?”, you asked, only half joking. Ben chuckled as he got up and placed a kiss onto your lips, then wiped at the corner to wipe away the chocolate that was still smeared there. A light giggle left your lips as you watched your beloved boyfriend disappear in the hallway, probably to grab a bin or something to get rid off the trash. You followed him shortly after, your blanket wrapped around you, walking on shaky legs into the bedroom and dropping your tired body on the bed.

Just as you were about to doze off, you heard the sound of Frankie’s paws hitting the floor before she tried to jump onto the bed. A soft smile grew on your lips as you moved to look at her, gently petting her.

“Thank you so much for sneaking into my flat a few years back, you little rascal. Without you I may have never met your hooman and we wouldn’t be right here right now. My life wouldn’t be the same without you two.”, you whispered lovingly to her.

“Our lives wouldn’t be the same without you either, Y/N.”, mumbled Ben from the doorway of the room. He had a glass of water in one hand, a heating pad in the other. He gave you a soft smile, that one special smile that only you got to see. It was so soft, barely noticeable at times, yet so full of love and adoration. You couldn’t help but fall in love with him a little more whenever he smiled that special smile.

He set the glass on the nightstand, then opened his fist to drop a pain killer next to it. “Just in case you need one. Don’t feel like getting up again.”, Ben explained in a mumble. You nodded.

He then changed into his pyjamas before he lay next to you, moving as close as possible. Grabbing the heating pad, he turned it on and gently placed it on your tummy as you lay with your head on his chest. His heartbeat was calming to you. You knew that he was alright and safe, right there next to you.

“Hey, love?” Ben’s voice was soft.

“Yes, love?”, you asked in reply, looking up at him. You hadn’t felt this content in a while, not since Ben left for filming, and you didn’t want for that moment to end. Ben was grinning at you now, like he knew something that you didn’t.

“I never answered your question.”

“What question?” You were confused.

“The one about marrying you.”

“Oh.” Your heart skipped a beat in fear. Was that too much? Could you blame it on the hormones?

Ben’s hand was in a fist, only using two fingers to lift your hand lightly as his other hand was running through your hair.

“Guess you kind of beat me to the question. But I beat you to the ring.”, he whispered, looking at you intently as his hand opened and laid the ring in your hand. You looked at him like you couldn’t believe what was happening. By all means, you couldn’t.

“Well, what do you say, love?”, you asked as yet another wave of tears welled up in your eyes.

“I say ‘let’s put a ring on it’.”, he grinned, carefully slipping the simple gold band onto your ring finger. Neither of you could stop yourself from smiling as you moved to press a lingering kiss to his lips, your fingers finding his cheek and gently tracing it.

“I love you with all my heart, Ben.”, you whispered as you parted from the kiss.

“I love you with all my soul, Y/N.”, he whispered back.

“Today was such an emotional roller coaster ride. Let’s go to sleep and celebrate tomorrow.”, you whispered, pressing another kiss to his cheek. With a sigh, you got up to go to the bathroom one last time before going to bed.

Needless to say, that your phone was blowing up with messages from Joe when you came back.

‘Y/N Y/L/N, how DARE you steal MY MAN?!’

‘Cardy B and I are very disappointed.’

‘And you didn’t even ask for our blessing!’

“Sorry, princess. I couldn’t help myself and just had to tell someone.”, Ben grinned at you like a four-year-old who had just stolen some sweets. You playfully rolled your eyes at him, moved to lie down on the bed and plugged in your phone before typing one single message to Joe.

‘Guess I beat you to it.’

 A/N2: This was based on my actual experience as I was put on the pill for troubles with my period, except I am as single as I could possibly be and was sending my friends some of the things you can read here as hilarious voice messages. They had the time of their lives, I think?

[mikesmokelotsa]

Shore Leave

The environmental readouts were nominal numbers, indicating no toxins to be found within the vicinity of Yaath, the fourth most resource-intensive restaurant within the Hades Gamma quadrant. The atrium of the spired, glistening silver purple architecture folded in a stock fourth-dimensional pattern, oscillating in between different frequencies of time, showing little hints of the space the building held, would hold, and had held, in a kaleidoscope designed by minds long forgotten to the records of The Federation Alliance. Bustling about hurriedly were many different servers, some multi-limbed, others non-humanoid, bio-mechanical, and others literally Servers, as the place was newly networked to work with any standard UniCom, making ordering a dish from the far spiral end of the galaxy as simple as thinking of it. The glittering spires, the permanent UV adjusted sun, held aloft in a permanent stasis of cold fusion, providing light but no warmth, was the proudest display of bio-diversity and hospitality in a quadrant unknown for its tolerance. The breeze simulated; it blew itself across many dining tables in the Simu-Deck, rustling the antique paper napkins on the table of an engineer, and a First Officer having dinner.

"It's multi-dimensional. A kind of temporal-spatially electrified version of what they might call obsidian on Ancient Earth. Even though there are no igneous minerals involved. I guess it's kind of a nebular quartz that appears only here in this quadrant? I've always wanted to see it." The Engineer said, wrapping their eating utensils in the paper napkins, like they'd seen in old Terran records.

"It's beautiful." Said The First Officer, placing one hand on the table, the other reaching for her glass.

"I always thought about coming here, but as a reward. Not really as a before kind of thing."

"It's shore leave. We have to have shore somewhere." The First Officer touched her UniCom, and closed her eyes. "What are you getting, honey?"

"More wine."

"It is shore leave!" The Engineer touched their UniCom, and thought about a delicious bowl of grated Zyxtium, a favorite edible mineral from adolescence.

In a flash their UniComs sent their thoughts through the networked airwaves reaching the chefs inside, whose concoctions crafted aromas that permeated throughout Yaath and into the simu-outdoor deck, the false sun beaming down on a bright, perfectly crafted blue-silver sky, that shined the constellations from your home solar system, based on your UniCom preferences. The Engineer recognized Cassiopeia, and Kolara, and C#11408-B, from their studies at Academy. The Engineer had no constellations from their own solar system, being wiped out in The Third Dirge.

"What are you thinking about, love?"

"The Future."

"Mmm." The Engineer reached for the drone delivering the food and drinks.

"It's going to be...Even more than we previously expected. It's looking like a lot more."

"That's why we plan. That's why we know that this next system is important. Uncharted new worlds are always terrifying."

"The problem is always difficult. How do we make our presence unknown to Class 5 civilizations anymore? Is this the right way even? I don't know sometimes." The First Officer looked wistfully at the projected shifting spires, the ones that reminded her of the mountains from Eden Prime. The clouds shifted into a shape not entirely unlike an elephant, then just as quickly disapparated.

"Careful. You know that Captain Kass has a plan. Why do you think we were even given shore leave? I'm sure she's on an away mission getting some vital part needed to chart this new system safely and securely."

"I'm not losing faith in our Captain, I just feel so restless. So emotional and distraught. I know on some level, intellectually I'm worth it, worth having this title, this uniform, and working directly alongside the Captain is like, trying to..."

"...Trying to describe magnetism to an organic infant."

"Quaint! But sure!" The First Officer laughed.

"I know what you mean. The few times I've been on the bridge I've felt it. That powerful sense of energy, of confidence, of love and care."

"Yes, The Captain exudes it with all her being, and it's like nobody else notices it? Or takes it for granted that She'll Figure It All Out At The End, and whenever I tell people that I worry for her, that I worry for the crew, for the ship itself, everyone thinks I'm doubting. That there's some criticism or judgment I'm making."

"When the truth is only the opposite."

"Yes!"

The Engineer drank their wine in a single gulp, while taking bites of algae-loaf, each mouth taking care to breathe in between chews and swallows. A drone wizzed by, playing a simple midi-tune, with a screen that flashed CONTINUE PLAYING??? ONLY 2 CREDITS! The First Officer touched her UniCom and thought it away. The Engineer thought it back, and bought four extra tunes to play.

"I don't doubt the Captain's plan. I know that this is our best chance really. I know it's all thought out and safe but... Whenever we enter a new system, it's the Captain who's the most vulnerable you know? They represent us all. They live and die on it."

"I've calibrated the stealth systems religiously for the last fourteen rels. I promise you, they're primed and absolutely our best chance at all of this going peacefully and promisingly."

"I know."

"I don't work next to her, but I admire the Captain endlessly. I just need you to know that even though you worry about her, I'm sure she's considered you in the full equation of things too, you know?"

"Yeah." The First Officer gazed into her glass of wine.

It reflected her augmented irises, which asked her for approval to analyze the alcohol content of her beverage. She canceled the prompt with a blink.

The Spires shifted and spun. For a second, flames burst from within them, showing a day in the future when Yaath may catch fire, or a day in the past when it did. It burned now too. The sky shifted to a super-intelligent shade of neon purple. It began to sing. The midi-drones chimed in.

MENTAL CHEMICALS

POSEIDON'S CHORUS JOINS FOR US

LOSING CONTROL INSIDE OF TIME

GUIDING FORWARD INSIDE OF MIND

DOES THIS ONE HAVE CONTROL

ABYSSAL ABYSSAL ABYSSAL

ABYSSAL ABYSSAL ABYSSAL

The Engineer looked at The First Officer, who leaned back in her seat, sipping her glass. She listened to the skysong, and closed her eyes. She looked beautiful, and around her glowed an aura only visible on a spectrum human eyes couldn't see. The Engineer noted to paint or draw it for her one day, as there were no words to fully describe it in her language.

"You shine when you talk about The Captain you know."

"I know, you've told me before."

"It's just very bright!"

"It is?"

"It is."

"Do you remember the first time we met?"

"It was at Academy wasn't it?"

"No, I mean, when we met met."

"Oh."

"Yeah. That was a dark time, I know."

"No it's okay, I don't mind talking about it with you. You're the only one who I can really even talk about it with."

"I think about it all the time."

"What? Why!?"

"Because even though The Agamemnon was a nightmare, it was when we made it out, and when we got into that escape pod together, and that we even made it out of that place, before that madness began to take everyone."

"I don't know. I never want to think about the things I saw that day. The things Primrose did to the crew. To himself. To you..."

The Engineer held their biomechanical hand up to The First Officer's cheek. They wiped away a tear from her eye, taking her temperature, feeling her heartbeat, her mineral and nutritional readouts, the compositions of all the chemicals inside of her, they could feel the raised levels of cortisol, adrenaline and salinity dilution, probably from excess rehydrating.

"I can raise your serotonin levels, babe, if you want?"

"No, thanks though. I'd rather do it the old fashioned way." With that, The First Officer finished her wine, and leaned across the dining table, pulling The Engineer close.

They kissed.

"I'll never forget it, my love. When I saw you in that hallway, those radiation vents cooking you. The way you moved. The way you helped Augustine until the very last moment. Before they were cooked in that thing. Before you were cooked in that thing! And how I wondered and doubted and had so many doubts and mixed feelings about being a Second Officer, and every single time I think about it I think about how you deserved that credit. That is was you and your strength, and your capacity to withstand things mere humans cannot. That there's no way I would've been able to to do the same for you. I felt so small and weak and scared. I remember feeling so trapped and knowing Primrose was coming specifically for me, and the whole Artifact was just a goose chase for him to get us locked into that course into the gas giant. I want to forget about it all but I just can't, and even though I'm so afraid and embarrassed I'm still happy that I survived! That I made it out and with my sanity intact. That we both did together. No matter how many recommendations I put forward, no matter how much I suggested you get this promotion, because I  outrank you, they gave me the credit. It's nonsense! It's an injustice and it isn't right! I can't even think about how much you gave to be here, to have me be here, and I think about how you're still an engineer, and how you deserve to be on the bridge with me, by the Captain's side!"

"Oh, sweetheart. You know I'd love nothing more than that, but I'm an engineer. They need me down in the depths of the ship. They need my solutions. My expertise."

"I know. You're so amazingly smart. I can't even imagine."

"I can show you if you like?"

"You're always full of surprises. Of course!" The First Officer chuckled through tears.

The Engineer reached their hand, interweaving their seven organic digits with the fingers of The First Officer. Their hands clasped together, The Engineer closed their eyes, and touched their UniCom, activating a homemade program they had been working on in between missions, just for this occasion, on one of the few planned allotments of shore leave before venturing into the uncharted Darkspace. The program began to run, and the bio-mechanical parts of The Engineer began to whirr and flicker as the information was channeled into bio-electric energy, synced up to their UniComs, united their minds in a singular vision.

They stood alone, surrounded in off grey to white. They faced each other.

Before them was a great blue sea, a vast archipelago, each floating with all manner of glorious things, some with foods from all over the universe, others with media handpicked from thousands of FedAlliance cultures, others with activities in abundance, and all within a thought's distance away. The Engineer showed how it worked, and reached down into the island, picking it up with their hand and expanding it into full scale. They were now on a beach. The sand crunched under their feet.

"I don't think sand is supposed to crunch like that!" The First Officer joked, cracking a mischevious smile. The tears fading from her face, indistinguishable from the work of the program or not.

"I'll get the hang of it eventually."

"I know you will. I can't believe you made all this yourself! This is incredible!"

"What's really incredible? Is how much time it took to get the time flux equations right. I dunno how they do it here in Hades Gamma, fourth-dimensional thinking is tough even for me."

"Time Flux? Like a dilation?"

"Yeah, but mentally induced through my biomechanics."

The Engineer reached down and expanded a small island onto the top of a table that was thought into existence.

"Here, try this."

The Engineer handed The First Officer a square that had a picture of a laser sword on it. She placed it into her mouth and saw a saga told in nine parts immediately as if she had lived it herself. Every struggle, every hope and dying wish of an ancient republic from an impossibly long time ago, and the battles made in its last dying days, and the violent but inevitable reclamation of that republic from the empire that conquered it. She watched them all grow, and die, and begin again. It was lifetimes.

"End program." The Engineer said.

The First Officer shook her head and looked up at The Engineer, who was smiling.

"Did you like it? All of that only took two minutes in Terran time. I know we've got a long way to go after this leave, and that the next mission is vital but deeply uncertain. And I just wanted to make something so that we'd have time. That's what the program is really. It's time. For us. We can see and do all the things we've wanted to in there, and it's only a fraction of the time out here."

The First Officer smiled.

"Then let's stay here."

"I want to, but I'm scared."

"You don't need to be. We're all going to be okay. You've convinced me of that now."

"It's not that I mean, I didn't even do anything!"

"You know you don't have to. You just do. By being here."

"Even though I'm not actually there, there?" Said The Engineer, with heavy hearts.

"But you are. And you will be. And you always have been."

"I love you. I cannot wait for us to be on mission together again."

"I love you too. The bottom deck feels so far away from you, even though we're still on the same ship, we're thousands of miles away from each other."

"Do you think we'll get to see each other in atmo before shore leave ends?"

"Maybe."

The Engineer got a red alert on their diagnostics screen, telling them a fusion coupling had come undone or corroded. It was the kind of problem that required manual maintenance.

"Oh no!" The Engineer cried, giving away the seriousness of their dismay.

"Go save it. Go do it, darling." Said The First Officer, knowing exactly how this played out.

"I'm not! I don't want to leave you! But if I don't look into this well..."

"Go ahead, darling. Do what you do. Save the decks. Keep the engines burning so I can guide us on the bridge. Keep us safe. And stay alive!"

"I'll try!" The Engineer said with a wink and a kiss.

"I love you."

"I love you so much."

Then The Engineer faded away in a flicker. Like a telemetry signal suddenly dropping off the spectrum. Their form leaving behind the unprojected canvas The Engineer was occupying, revealing the food, bowls, and utensils were actually unused the entire time. A side effect of Yaath's 1-1 Hard Light projection tech.

The Engineer closed their UniCom connection to Yaath. They leaned back into their chair and began to upload their program before making their way to the fusion couplers, both mouths smiling wide.

The First Officer sat at the dining table, and a midi-drone buzzed nearby. She thought at it, making it play a song she had heard The Engineer humming one day, while fixing a manifold. It was soft and sweet, and had a few harsh notes that made the melody blend with the way the sky sang, a newer tune, one that rose and shined with lucid hope, and the suns setting behind the spires, now showing a thousand different lifetimes celebrating a moment, whether it was a birthday, or a victory, or a New Cycle, or an end to a long, hard-fought war. But they were happy, and they were smiling, and The First Officer took solace in that for them, their past times were forever here.

She leaned back, and a drone refilled her glass of wine. It asked:

"Do you feel better? A standard Yaathian greeting. Hospitality planet and all.

"Yes." She said. "I'm feeling much better. Much."

She sighed, but lovingly.

[soldierallen]

Married 8.

Warnings: domestic henry, a kiss, mention of the word whore, probably a curse word or two

Featuring: Henry Cavill, Sebastian Stan, Robbie Amell.

Part 7:

/

It was already dark by this point

she would always sing in the car to new music that only she listened to everyone hated that she liked every single new song on the radio however they adored their best friend so it didn't bother them that she would sing loudly on road trips, it wasn't new to them it was traditional except for tonight, she sang nothing and looked out the window Henry tried to get her talking every once and awhile but it didn't work.

"Wait in the car for me, I'll be back" he said, he walked up to his front door unlocking it and slipping in quickly

Henry's such a good man, I wish I could have someone like him you know someone who takes care of me like he does, thinks about me..when nobody else does she sat there thinking of all the things that could've happened tonight- not one thing she wanted happened, he didn't stop the wedding she didn't stop the wedding he said he loves her but never continued to say anything else

Only 20 minutes later he had walked out in different clothes "oh comfy" she smiled sadly at his warm comfy clothes "its not like you don't own most of my clothes at your place" he said getting into the car she smiled devilishly "you know I can always buy you your own, oh and also I'm missing a certain sweater and if I find it in your closet I'm taking it back"

"Rude" she said rolling her eyes "it's not rude it's my sweater" he rolled his eyes putting the keys into the ignition the seatbelt noise and lights turning on

"Is it the white one with the buttons" she admitted he started the car with a laugh "yeah" he looked at her "oh you can have that back I don't even wear it" " I'm taking back the clothes I like" "you're not" "I am" he backed out of his driveway and drove off onto the road to her house

"Okay fine but there is two pieces you absolutely cannot have"

"Which are?" He said looking at from the corner of his eye "the navy blue sweater with the white letters of the sleeves, that's the sweater you put me in when I stayed at your house... that one night" she trailed off he knew and put his hand on her hand for reassurance "and that grey t shirt it's so comfy and big smells like you" none of the words on the clothing would come into her mind "you took that out of my drawer you thief!" he said "it's no big deal I'll buy you a new one!" She explained she loved arguing with Henry like this, it was just a lot of teasing it never went further than teasing ever.

"I'll be looking forward to it" he laughed and so did he adored their playful arguments about literally nothing it felt so pure to him knowing that he still had that friend, that one friend who you could talk about anything with smile with laugh with, she has always taken my side and I've taken hers.

Sebastian was worrying as soon as he walked into that front door, everything came crumbling down.

"Mom" sebastian yelled his mother coming down the stairs quickly hearing her son's voice "baby" she put her hands on his face "I messed up I really messed up ma and I don't know how to fix it" he paced she hugged her boy he hugged her back "I'm gonna lose y/n I'm gonna lose her cause I made too many mistakes that aren't fixable" he was so worn out at this by time he wanted nothing more than to just perish, nothing felt real.

"sit down, you can always fix things between you and y/n just tell her everything the truth the real truth." she sympathizes with him he sat down on her and his "father's" couch "where's tripp" he was so done with this day he rubbed his forehead cold metal on his skin he looked up the wedding ban still on his finger he pulled it off and threw it across the room it hitting the wall falling behind the TV.

"He's asleep he was so angry at her he couldn't contain it, cheating on you like that? He's is very protective over his kids seeing her hurt you like that drove him crazy"

"Tripp doesn't care you're just saying that to make me feel better" sebastian folded his arms over chest looking at the TV screen which played some kind of cooking show it was quiet "your father loves you sebastian, can you just not be a jerk for 10 seconds and maybe you will realize that all the people in your life love you and care about you." His mother was right and he knew she was right it was just his anger and his frustration would always come out at the wrong times.

"Is rose okay?" His mother nodded "she had a talk with faith and she reassured her that you were okay" he laughed.. the sound draining quickly

"Do you remember what grandpa said before he passed" she laid her head on her sons shoulder he gave her a questioning look "Something Broken Can Always Be Fixed" she looked at a frame picture of her father and sebastian on the wall a few months before he got sick, sebastian opened his jacket pocket feeling the silver ring she gave him he pulled it out looking at it twirling it in his finger "she gave this to me a few days before the wedding, she said she needed to give me it now because the wedding was going to be too hectic to actually see my reaction" he swallowed thinking about a more simpler time, and then he remembered the argument in his driveway and that... that was the worst day for him.

"Grandpa gave it to her to give to me when I needed it the "most".. now I know why she gave it to me so early" he looked at the engraved writing inside of the ring, "how did he know to give it to her?" His mother asked "She's been in my life forever he knew she was someone to keep forever"

Henry put down his bag on her bedroom floor "what if I just call him to see if hes okay?" She was still thinking about it, I mean he did confess his love for her.. she should talk to him at least for a minute right?

" but after everything he's done you still want to check on him?" she stared at him "what if he needs me" "you both will live with it, you both need a breather from each other I promise it's for the better" he looked for her remote throwing it at her she turned on the TV, the news was on it was 11pm on a Sunday, the streets were somewhat quiet..

He sat next to her on her bed she laughed at him whilst he stared at her studying her facial features, he always admired her.

she pulls the hair tie out of her hair fixing it on her wrist, looking at him from the corner of her eye "what?" She finally broke the silence

"You know, I always thought you were gorgeous" she smiled "oh come on" she put her hand on his shoulder

"When we were nineteen I considered asking you out and I chickened out!" He said both of them laid on the pillows watching some show

"Nineteen year old me was a hoe" she said with a laugh "nineteen year old you was hot" he half smiled she pushed his arm lightly

"nineteen year old me would've so fucked nineteen year old Henry, we were very fuckable than" she smirked "yeah twenty five year old y/n and Henry are very fuckable dont underestimate us" he filrted, he got up looking in her closet she blushed lightly

"After all these years you still make me blush" she threw a pillow at his backside which he caught and threw it back at her "I'm very charming what could I say" he laughed but it was muffled her clothing in the closet making it seem quieter.

"Where the hell is my white sweater?" he said inside of the closet looking "the last article on the right side should be it" she focused on his back and butt "I am not a sexual object you can objectify" he looked over his shoulder at her with a fake frown she laughed very loudly covering her face in embarrassment he turned to her "I'm kidding" he pulled the sweater out onto her bed "I thought this was nicer? How long have you had it"

"A few months I thought it was comfy but it was just itchy" she laughed

"We should eat?" He suggested

A phone call ruined the mood definitely. It was Henry's and it was Sebastian

"Hello" he answered the phone putting it on speaker.

"Are you with her?" Seb asked he looked up at her for an answer she quickly nodded no

"No I'm alone what's up" He acted like he was concerned when in reality he wasn't.

"I think I need to see her just explain everything really get to the bottom of it?" He sat next to her she looked at Henry, Henry looked at her gave no real answer

"I think you should do whatever you feel is right" Henry said, he wanted them to mend their relationship but he knew sebastian wasn't going to do that properly.

"Is it too soon?" He was curious

"No do it because you want to not because you have to" Henry wanted to get mad and just scream and tell him to wrap it up were adults!

" if I just give it time??"

"How long is she suppose to wait for you?"

Sebastian had no answer on the other side

"Don't call her than it's that simple" he looked at y/n for reassurance she had no reaction

"Henry, I didn't know how I felt about her until the night of the argument it really got my gears turning that I was making a mistake I didn't feel like myself"

"Seb you haven't been yourself since Alex walked into the party on the roof, it's a completely different person you have turned into, you know that y/n told you" he looked at y/n and she mouthed "he knows he just wants to hear you say it" she said to Henry In a small whisper

"I know I just wanted to hear you say it" Henry gave her these eyes like how did you know "I know him" she mouthed no words coming out of her mouth

"Henry I didn't call for you to be angry"

"She said it, I absolutely couldn't care less if you get together or not"

"She doesn't want to talk to me.." he was bummed, and tired I think sebastian needed to sleep for the next week and think about what he did "she wants to talk to you beileve me just not tonight call her tomorrow and work it out alright" Henry said

they hung up and Henry gave her a weird look

"why did you want me to do that?"

"I don't want to suffer anymore if he wants me if can call me I can't do it.." she said he turned to face her getting closer to her "you're a good women, my best friend you deserve someone who will take care of you" she pulled him towards her face her kissing him he kissed back lightly a small smile creeped onto his face "what was that" he asked "I wanted to see what it would be like, was you okay with it" she was a little afraid thinking she overstepped

"I liked it" he tried to contain his self from giggling it was just funny to him, that they kissed and it didn't certainly mean much to the both of them... or so they thought. she got up grabbed her phone off the living room coffee table

"Okay I'm not watching a chick flick" he insisted coming behind her resting his chin on the nuk of her shoulder

"You love my chick flicks cavill, romance is the key" she looked to the side of her to see his face

"Fine I choose the food" he grabbed the phone out of her hand "hey" she got offended "I don't want Chinese or thai food" "you're making me sad"

"You get a chick flick, I get those tacos from down the street"

"You always complain their bad?" She looked for her jacket

"Yeah? Your point is?" He said she laughed shaking her head, never mind she thought.

"Or I get a chick flick and we go get both" she dangled her keys in his face he grabbed them "okay"

"Why" she whined

"Because you're a horrible driver"

"You just keep offending me?"

"I guess it's in my nature" he laughed kissing her cheek she was fluttered by butterflies in her stomach, she liked the way Henry made her feel.

"Should I change my shorts it's cold" she said

"Change I'll wait for you"

"Thanks" she went back into her room to change her shorts when all of sudden she realized.... I kissed Henry?

He watched her walk back into her room his brain exploded with questions... I kissed y/n?

He bit his lip knowing that she wanted that she wanted him, it was crazy for him to ever think she wanted him in that kinda way, he didn't just like the kiss he loved it.

When they got into the car it was quiet but a comfortable quiet a very bearable nice quiet being in the company of someone you would do anything for was a good feeling.

"Are we just not gonna talk about you kissing me earlier" he tried to keep a straight face wanting to smirk so badly

"I just wanted to see what it was like that's all" it was kind of a lie, she wanted to feel something anything and she got it she felt butterflies

"Oh okay" he nodded at her, a red light appearing in front of them he looked to his right at her she looked at him "can you stop staring at me" she let out a small laugh "you're beautiful I can't help it" he looked back at the road

They got to the thai place ordering, they waited when a familiar face they had just seen a few hours ago appear, Robbie.

"Robbie??" Henry called out to the man sitting by himself, he held y/n's hand his protective side coming out strongly

"Henry y/n" robbie said he was still in his suit no tie on his dress shirt unbuttoned hair was tousled he looked like a wreck

"Hows it going y/n after everything?" Robbie knew feelings for sebastian

"Okay I guess, what happened?" She asked, Henry felt sympathy for the guy all he wanted was the girl he loved and got put into a lot of other shit. And so did she "Well after you all left, sebastian's father yelled at me for ruining his son's "marriage" and taking away the one good thing sebastian had in his life" robbie air quotes marriage because it wasn't a real marriage and they both knew it "and then Alex came and told me to eat shit and screamed at me for the first time in 4 years that was fun, and now am here eating thai food alone at almost 1am" he was so frustrated

"hey go get the food" Henry whispered to y/n and that's what she did

"Listen robbie what you did today was a bold and brave move, you had more guts than any one of us since the past 5 months I know things are probably really shit right now but I promise everything will fall into place" he put his hand on his shoulder a comforting hand robbie gave a comforting smile "I did this all for her, and i get nothing out of it" he said the women with his order ready to hand it to him, "I know everything's gonna be alright" he patted his shoulder once again and regrouped with y/n "thanks for the talk Henry you're not so bad" robbie tried to joke around Henry laughed "yeah people tell me that" he held y/n's hand out the door

"What you did was really nice of you"

"What?"

"I heard you"

"Yeah I just felt bad for the guy"

"Me to, but I guess me and robbie are going through it together huh?" Henry smiled sadly and hung his arm around her "we're gonna get through it okay?" She nodded they got into the car and drove to their next destination, remotely "bad" tacos as Henry says.

Tagged @hiddlestonstansworld @lovely-geek @imcalledflorence @misz-adrii @escapistdreamer-wishfulthinker @someplxce @cuddlesforlashton @coffeebooksandfandomsohmy @weasley16 @ilovethewayyourheartbeats @vogueworthy-barnes @xeniarocks @thisismysecrethappyplace @racheo91 @gravedollie666 // if anyone wants to be untagged or tagged please leave a message ty♡ also I do not own any gifs or images of any kind.

[undermounts]

Hi I saw you were writing for The Arcana, and I wanted to request one where the fem!apprentice lost their dominant arm in an accident? And it's up to you how you want this to turn out angsty, fluffy or something else? Sorry if it's specific...

I loved this request! It’s one of the most unique ones i’ve gotten and there was a lot of room to work do stuff with. I hope i did it justice!!

ALSO GIVE ME ASRA AND APPRENTICE DOMESTICITY

It wasn’t anyone’s fault.

The carriage, the accident, her arm… Nobody could have ever predicted that would happen. It was the last thing anyone ever hoped would happen—especially Asra.

He can still remember that day, clear and vivid in his mind as if no time had passed since.

The marketplace had been especially busy, crowded with traders from overseas and the audience that gathered to marvel at the foreign trinkets and goods. Asra was not fond of crowds; they made him feel uneasy and trapped. But that day was a special occasion, for it marked one whole year since his apprentice’s second life began. For that, he was willing to brave the crowds. Asra had planned to go alone to pick up a few goods to cook her favorite meal for dinner and a few gifts to celebrate the occasion and all of the progress his companion had made—her efforts to recover never ceased to amaze him—but when she had stopped him at the door and asked to come along (I’m ready, Asra. Take me with you.) he couldn’t turn her down.

But I should have known…

…should have known not to worry about how she handled the crowd, but how the crowd handled itself.

…should have known I can’t always be so lucky. Some risks are not worth taking.

…should have known that I can’t always save her.

Asra had left the market with her, hand in hand and arms full of goods. Their favorite bread was nestled in the crook of his elbow, still warm from the oven. Pouches of spices swung from their fingertips, burning the inside of his nose. A new stone pendant hung around her neck, resting between the valley of her chest. Asra could still remember the way a smaller stone glittered against her skin, the twin necklace he had brought back for her from one of his travels. It matched the one he had. She wore it every day….

It had all happened so fast.

There was some sort of entourage–the courtiers, probably–that poured through the narrow, crowded streets of Vesuvia by carriage. The crowd had surged around them, Vesuvians spitting curses at the court as the carriage rumbled along the cobblestone road.

Even the smallest details of that day were vivid in Asra’s memory, but the accident was a blur. One moment, he had her hand in his, their necks craned to seek the quickest way out of the stirring crowd. The next, they were shoved into the middle of the street, her hand was torn from his, and the world around Asra exploded.

She did not scream, but Asra was certain that he did. Vesuvians were yelling, outraged and shocked as he fell to the ground, knees scraping against the stone as he extracted his beloved from beneath the wheel, her mangled arm dangling at her side.

“It wasn’t your fault.”

Her hand is on his shoulder, squeezing softly. Always gentle, always kind. Do I deserve this?

It has been almost a year since the accident and Asra’s guilt still lingers. He had lost her once, how could he forgive himself for nearly losing her for a second time? Why must she pay for my mistakes?

Asra closes his eyes and takes a shaky breath, the glass window fogging slightly before him as he turns. She stands before him, eyes soft and the hint of a smile in the curve of her lips. Momentarily, the guilt slips from Asra’s mind as he takes in the beautiful sight of her, alive and breathing by his side. His heart thumps loudly in his chest, blood rushing in his ears and drowning all thoughts, save for one. He loves her, he loves her, he loves her.

His tyrian gaze falls from her face, down the column of her neck and along the line of her collarbone. She is lovely, he thinks, his hand moving on its own accord as it settles on her shoulder, warm beneath her touch. Nimble fingers brush the hair from her shoulder and sweep across her skin to the other, which ends abruptly in a stub of smooth, silvery skin.

The accident had taken her arm.

“Asra.”

And still, she forgives him.

“Asra.”

Her fingertips press into his skin as she takes his chin in her hand, forcing his eyes to meet hers. The compassion swirling in her eyes is so raw and pure, it makes his heart strain against his ribcage.

“It is not your fault.” Her voice is firm, leaving no room for argument, although everything else about her is warm. “Do you understand this?”

Asra whispers her name, the soft word a plea on his lips. He has not forgiven himself yet and he cannot bring himself to lie to her.

“Tell me you understand, Asra,” she orders. She takes his hand and holds it to her lips, kissing his palm and setting it over the edge of her shoulder where her arm disappears. “This–” she squeezes his hand, “–is not your fault. You blame yourself, I know, but you are not at fault. There is no way you could have known, and we can’t stop doing things because we are afraid of what might happen. You can’t save everyone.”

Asra’s breath hitches in his throat as he’s transported to another, darker time when he had said those very last words to her before she slipped off into the night and walked out of his life. The memory, painful as it is, moves him. He wraps her in his embrace, breathing in the familiar scent of her as her arm slides around his narrow waist.

“I’m alive, Asra. That’s all that matters. You and I are still here.”

He nods against her shoulder, his pearly curls tickling the underside of her chin. Her heart beats soundly beneath his ear and he remembers that this is all he wants, all he needs. “You’re right,” he murmurs, lips dragging against her skin to kiss the spot above her heart. “This is all that matters.”

She lowers her voice, tilting her head so her mouth is near his ear. “This isn’t your fault. Say it. Tell me so I know you understand this.”

Asra draws back, holding his forehead to hers as he takes a shaky breath. “It…is not my fault.”

“It isn’t,” she echoes, drawing back to kiss his temple. Asra’s eyes, wide and so full of something she could never quite figure out, are trained intently on her face with so much warmth, she can’t help but wonder—hope—if maybe their hearts are riding the same wave. “Now,” she clears her throat, averting her gaze before her warming cheeks can give her away. She slips out of Asra’s embrace and tangles his fingertips with hers, a teasing smile on her lips. “Can you give me a hand downstairs?”

Asra can’t contain the quirk of amusement that twitches at the corner of his mouth as she turns on her heel for the stairs to the shop. Really? “A hand you say?”

She doesn’t respond, but Asra catches her smirking when she glances back at him to beckon him forward.

She says it is simple work, restocking the shelves with herbs and crystals, but it wasn’t always so easy. Ten months ago, even the smallest of tasks were frustrating burdens. Hard to open jars became piles of smashed glass. Handling coins and currency took too long. Even writing was too difficult and irksome, for she had to learn how to do it all over again with the wrong hand.

But now, she and Asra move about the shop fluidly, ebbing and flowing like the waves as they take on or hand off tasks the other could not quite complete without even needing to ask. For the apprentice, working with only one, untrained hand soon became as easy as working with two and working with Asra became second nature.

It had been rough at first, but patience and a lot of care carried them through together.

Asra hums softly as he settles a cauldron in the fireplace, his magic filling it with water for a new brew as he tries, and fails, to coax the fire salamander out of the kettle. The small creature was particularly stubborn today and Asra assumed it still had a grudge against him for not cleaning out the ash after the last fire.

“Switch?” His apprentice appears at his side, fitting her chin into the cradle between his throat and his shoulder to gaze down at the obdurate salamander. Her arm curves over his chest as she holds up a glass jar, blue, faintly glowing flowers pulsing within. “I can’t get it open.”

Asra smiles softly and nods, taking the jar from her hand and quickly kissing her fingertips before they slip away just as her lips briefly find his cheek and she bends over the kettle. Not long after he frees the lid from the glass jar does he feel the heat of the fire flare up at his back, orange light flickering across the room.

“Got it,” she grins, cat-like and full of teeth as he turns back to her, the fire salamander racing over her knuckles and up the length of her arm.

“So you did,” Asra laughs and plucks the salamander from her shoulder, returning it to its kettle as he hands her the open jar. “Thank you.”

It’s a simple exchange, but it speaks volumes about who they are, together and apart. “Thank you.”

And they continue on like this, just as they always have for days, for weeks, for months, because the accident is in the past, as are most traumas, and despite all of the pain and heartbreak, they have grown. They have grown around the pain of loss, the separation of death, and the heavy burden of misplaced guilt. They have grown around the struggle of learning to live again and learning to live on. Despite all of this, they grow like blossoms in the spring through the melting winter snow.

Asra crushes herbs and sprinkles spices, she mixes the brew and tends the fire.

She stocks the shelves, Asra opens the jars.

They grow together, complementing pairs and intertwining vines. They grow, green, healthy, and lovely.

Pieces have been lost along the way, but they are better than before, two halves of a perfect whole.

They grow. They flourish.

[anonymouswriter2311]

Mad Archer Prompt’s Chapter 18

I’m back! From today I will be back to my regular updating schedule, can’t believe how fast this week off has flown in! I’ve got some exciting prompt’s lined up for you amazing people, as well as some twists and turns in My Robin and a new holiday-inspired Mad Archer Story! Coming up on Thursday on Little Robin’s Adventures: Alice and the Robin’s take a small trip to Wonderland to see Little Alice!

This prompt was sent by anonymous over PM, thanks for the prompt!

Mad Archer Prompt’s, Chapter 18: The Wedding Part 1

Zelena had gone a bit overboard this time. But, who could blame her? This was her daughter’s wedding, her big day! So, the redhead pulled out all the stops, she hired Belle’s Father to do the flower arrangements, Granny was brought in to work with the Royal chef’s, she had Alice’s favourite type of tea specially shipped in from Wonderland and she had even talked Regina into letting them have the ceremony in the Royal Ballroom.

 “And down here, we will have the Royal Band.” Zelena pointed out to the small group, that consisted of, Robin, Alice, and Killian. “Oh and, I know you love your candy Alice, so we’ll have a candy table in the far corner.” The redhead winked at her soon to be daughter in law.

 “Sounds great Mom, right babe?” Robin smiled brightly, as she squeezed her fiancé’s hand bumping shoulders slightly. The archer was beyond excited, she had waited so long to finally settle down with her true love and in 24 hours that wish would come true.

 “Yes, everything sounds wonderful Zelena.” Alice gushed, feeling a little overwhelmed by all the extra touches Zelena had been adding each day.

 “Oh, I’m not finished, sweethearts. There’s so much more to see!” Zelena clapped, jumping up and down excitedly. “Just wait till I show you name cards with your faces on them!” The redhead announced as she dragged her daughter away from her fiancé.

 “I thought you or Robin was supposed to go all psycho bride?” Killian chuckled as he draped his arm over Alice’s shoulder.

 “Papa! Be nice!” The blonde gently pushed her Papa away, instead deciding to take his hand in hers, as they walked through the large room.

 “I’m always nice to Zelena!” The pirate chuckled, beaming with love and seeping with pride. He couldn’t believe that he had lived to see this day and he was going to make sure that everything went perfectly, even if that meant taking a backseat on the wedding planning. “I’m just trying to bring out that pretty smile of yours...is everything okay love?” Killian mumbled, noticing how quiet his usually talkative daughter had gone.

 “Why wouldn’t it be? Papa, after years of running from evil and being separated, I finally have the two people I love most in this world right next to me.” Alice shook her head, getting rid of the pesky voices of doubt that were trying to get through. “I guess, I’m just a little bit nervous.” She finally admitted as she ran a shaky hand through her tattered hair.

 “About marrying Robin?” The one-handed man stopped abruptly, forcing Alice to turn and face her Papa.

 “Not about the marriage! I’ve wanted this for so long...it’s just...no it doesn’t matter. I’m just being silly.” Alice spoke, sounding like she was trying to convince herself more than her Papa.

 “You sure love?” Killian raised a playful eyebrow, but his eyes held nothing but worry.

 “Of course Papa! Tomorrow, I’m marrying the girl of my dreams...everything is fine.” The blonde smiled her brightest smile, as she pulled her Papa into her arms, hiding the look of fear that was creeping its way onto her face.

 “Alice! Mom wants to show us the table arrangements!” Robin bellowed, breaking through the sweet Father-Daughter moment.

 “Coming love!” Alice giggled as she reclaimed her Papa’s hand and skipped down to her love and future mother in law.

 ***

All the preparations had been finalized, the dresses were hung in separate rooms waiting to be worn and the friends and family of the two brides drank and ate in the castle, sharing stories, both embarrassing and full of love.

 “I cannot believe that I’m standing here right now, in front of family and friends. Most of you knew me before when I was trying to steal your baby.” Zelena smiled apologetically at the Charming’s, who shook their head in amusement, any hard feelings long since forgotten. “When I didn’t want a sister.” She added winking at Regina, who couldn’t help but smirk. “When you fed me magic onion rings.” The redhead shot daggers at the blonde savior, prompting the table to erupt into a fit of giggles.

 “Yeah...still sorry about that!” Emma huffed playfully, forcing the giggles to worsen.

 “I know...most importantly, everyone here has been on this amazing journey of watching my beautiful baby girl turn into the gorgeous young lady that she is today.” Zelena wiped away a stray tear, as she turned to fully face the archer. “Robin, you are the best thing that’s ever happened to me. And I know, we don’t always see eye to eye, but one thing we agreed on from the very beginning was that you had struck gold when you met Alice!”

 “Mom…” Robin moaned, as she laced her fingers with Alice’s.

 “Shh, if I can’t embarrass you now, then when can I?” The former wicked witch laughed, as she reached out to gently touch her daughter's free hand. “Alice dear, from the first day that Robin brought you home, I knew there was something special in you. You brought out the very best in my daughter and vise versa. You two have a love that is so rare, The Dark One even tried to bottle it up a few times. I am so happy and so proud of you. Both of you!” Zelena added, letting the tears fall happily.

 “To Robin and Alice, tomorrow is the start of the rest of your lives together!” Killian stood, raising his glass of water and prompting everyone else to do the same.

 “To Robin and Alice.” The group for former princes, princesses, villains and pirate’s announced happily.

 “I love you…” Robin whispered as she leaned in to peck the blonde's lips gently.

 “I love you more.” Alice coed, cuddling into Robin’s arms for the rest of the evening. Many more stories were told, most of them leaving Robin red in the face, but she didn’t mind. She had Alice in her arms and tomorrow, the blonde would be hers forever.

 ***

It was late when the pre-wedding celebrations finally came to a stop. Couples held hands as they exited the Grand Hall and made their way to their Royal rooms for the evening. Zelena placed hundreds of little kisses on the bride’s faces, excitement seeping from every pore as she hugged them for the last time. Killian was more reserved, limiting the number of kisses to only a handful, saving the overexcited parent act for the actual wedding. All that was left in the end, were the two brides, arms wrapped around each other as they walked through the Royal garden, towards Alice’s room for the night.

 “You okay? You’ve been a little quiet all night.” Robin mumbled, stroking the back of the blonde's hand lovingly.

 “I’m just thinking about things.” The blonde replied sweetly, bumping shoulders with her lover, before laying her head gently on the strong shoulder of the archer.

 “Good things I hope.” The archer held her breath, hoping and praying that Alice wasn’t suddenly having second thoughts about marrying her.

 “Great things…” Alice smiled the brightest of smiles, solely reserved for the archer.

 “Can you believe that this day is finally here? Tomorrow, we will be Mrs. Jones-Mills!” Robin was buzzing with joy and excitement, bouncing slightly on her tiptoes as the two stopped outside the small guest cottage.

 “It’s everything we’ve wanted for so long,” Alice added, twinkling their fingers together, not quite ready to say goodnight.

 “I don’t want to leave.” The archer whispered, taking a step closer to the blonde so that their fronts were grazing slightly. “I can’t imagine going to sleep without you pressed up against me.” She husked, sending shivers down Alice’s spine. Genly Robin wrapped her arms around the blondes slender waist, pulling them together, as close as humanly possible. Breathing each other in deeply, before lips crashed together. Moving in a dance that was specifically created for these moments together.

 “It’s just for one night.” Alice breathed out, pulling them both back to reality. “One night apart, then a lifetime together.”

 “Goodnight my love,” Robin mumbled dreamy eyed and lightheaded.

 “Night, Nobin...sweet dreams.” Alice placed one more small kiss on the brunette’s wanting lips.

 “They will be because you’ll be all I dream of.” The archer winked, nipping Alice’s sides gently still not ready to let go of her yet.

 “Go.” The blonde pushed her away playfully, biting her lip as Robin began to walk backwards, smiling massively.

 “I love you, Alice Jones!” Robin shouted as loud as possible as she gave the blonde one last wave, before taking off towards her own room.

 “I’m sorry Robin Mills…” Alice mumbled, feeling her heart crumble in her chest. She had been trying to deny this feeling all day, but there was no running away from it. She loved Robin, that would never change...but all of this was just too much for her. She liked their simple life together, a life filled with long walks through the forest and tea parties on rainy days. She loved the way Robin always cuddled into her while she was sleeping and Robin’s inability to cook. She loved everything about her life...but she was scared...so she ran.

 ***

Zelena had barged into Robin’s room at the first sign of daylight, armed with the hand-picked hair stylist, makeup artist and of course Regina. They all drank champagne, calmed Robin’s nerves and gushed when she walked out with her dress on. She had decided to stick with the more traditional kind of wedding dress, keeping it as plain as possible, but allowing a small amount of glittery detail around the chest. The archer was on cloud nine, and nothing was going to bring her down...that was until she heard a loud series of knocks at the door.

 “I’m coming! Keep your hair on!” Robin called out as she gently jogged to the door, as best as she could in a dress. The archer gasped as she opened the door to find her soon to be Father in law, looking rather distraught. “Killian? Everything okay?”

 “Robin...you look...wow, you look beautiful.” The one-handed man was at a loss for words, he had rarely seen the brunette in a dress, let alone one as beautiful as the wedding dress Zelena had designed for her.

 “Thanks...how does Alice look?” Robin bounced excitedly, just thinking about what the blonde would look like walking down the aisle. “Wait no! Don’t tell me, I want to be completely surprised when I see her!”

 “Aye...about that.” Zelena quickly interrupted before Killian even had a chance to speak.

 “Is that the pirate, bring him in! I want to make sure he isn’t looking as scruffy as usual!”

 “One second Mom!” Robin bellowed back, before smiling brightly at the pirate, giving him her full attention. “You were saying?”

 “It’s Alice.” Killian gulped, unsure of how to break this kind of news to the archer. “She’s gone!”

 TBC

AO3