#ill get back to in trousers soon i promise i just need to a) take a quick break and

[heliophaestus]

🎵and they’re off!🎵

[chubbybuckydumpling]

Royally Screwed

words: 4.2k

pairing: chubby!stableboy!bucky x royal!female!reader

warnings: arguing, period (probably not) accurate problems, smut, fluff, oral (f and m receiving), fingering, unprotected sex, power dynamics

A/n: dear anon, I’m sorry it took me 2 months to write this, I hope you’re not too upset. I changed the original prompt a little, I hope you still like it! Dividers by @firefly-graphics

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The wind is blowing through your hair, a cool breeze that relieves you from the hot summer sun. Your horse is galloping under you, his strong legs taking you over the loose ground. The rays warm your face, a welcome sensation. You missed this, riding through the afternoon, taking time to just live, all troubles and worries forgotten.

Admiral has always been close to you, your first horse and best friend since you were twelve years old, merely a child. The Arabian Stallion slows down to a trot on your command, the high grass tickling his side. You let your hands roam over his dark mane, feeling the sturdy hair under your fingers.

A single bumblebee flies ahead of you, its loud buzz making you smile. The scene around you makes your heart feel lighter, a warm feeling that floats through your chest. You let Admiral come to a halt and slide down from your saddle.

You trail your hand over the horse’s muscles, the short hair caressing your palm. His strong snout nudges your arm and he neighs, causing you to giggle, “You did so well, boy” You wrap your arms around Admiral’s muscular throat.

His scent fills your nose, it’s familiarity never fails to bring you comfort. The animal scratches over the earthy ground as the sound of hooves hitting the floor ripples through the air. You whip around, parting yourself from your companion. A little further away, you see two of the guards coming your way. Their horses are quick and strong, but they have nothing on your Admiral.

“Lady Y/n”, they yell out and you can’t help but roll your eyes. The men reach you quickly, panic in their eyes, “Your highness, you must remain in close proximity for us to successfully protect you at any time”, one of them states, trying to deepen his voice.

“Of course”, you smile at them, “it wasn’t my intention” A lie. You purposely mislead them to have a moment of your own, some quiet minutes of peace. The guards exchange glances until one of them shrugs. “We see. Now, it is of utmost importance to immediately escort you home. We shall keep you as safe as possible, your highness”

You sigh internally, but follow the mens’ orders without argument. Admiral snorts stubbornly, but reluctantly follows your lead.

The sound of birds singing and insects chirping brings you great joy as you gently rock back and forth with the steady trot of your horse. Unknowingly, these were the last moments you would spend outside of the castle for quite some time.

The guards at the gate salute as you pass them. The warm sun has kept you comfortable in the open where the wind was stronger, but you quickly start to heat up inside the walls of your father’s estate. Admiral soon comes to a halt in front of your mother. The woman is fuming as she approaches you, her face twisted into an angry grimace.

“Your father and I need to talk to you, young lady! You are in serious trouble”, her malicious voice hisses as you jump off of Admiral’s back. Your mother’s fingers wrap around your arm to pull you towards her, but a warm smile is on her face. A muscle in her jaw twitches and exposes her true anger. She speaks to one of your guards, but you can’t be bothered to listen for something has caught your attention.

A man has walked up to your horse to pet his head. He is gentle with Admiral, careful and loving even. You let your eyes rake over the man. The typical stable boy clothes are obscuring your view, but you can make out the bulge of his tummy, his big arms and thick thighs. His long brown hair falls over his face, some strands are stuck to his forehead as the sweat glistens over his face. This man looks like an absolute dream and you can feel your lips twitching up.

You begin to walk towards him, a giddy feeling brewing up in your stomach, but your mother pulls you back, “Oh no, you are not getting out of this one. Follow me, now” She drags you behind her and you wish to struggle against her grasps, but won’t dare to resist her. Not at that time at least. You take one last glance in his direction, hoping to see his face, more of him. You find his gaze, stare into the warm blue of his eyes before your mother pulls you out of his view.

A sad sigh escapes your lips, but you promise yourself to go and find him as soon as possible. The way he looked at you, sweet and shy, is replaying in your head, his sweaty form a picture in your mind. Whoever that man is, he makes your insides throb with desire.

Your father’s yelling rips you out of your trance and you look up to meet his vicious glare. He takes a deep breath with closed eyes and when he meets your eyes again he looks calmer. His hand reaches out to your face, cupping your cheek.

“My daughter, what am I going to do with you?”, his voice suddenly sounds sad, “Y/n, you know that you need to enter a marriage soon. I need you to be on your best behaviour, this is about your future. I only want good things for you” You rest your palm over your father’s, “I know, father” He brushes his thumb over the apple of your cheek, “You’re so beautiful, my only daughter. I know this isn’t what you want, but at least let me make it as pleasant as possible for you”

You sigh and stare right past your father, “I already gave my word to marry whomever you choose, father” His hand falls from your face and wraps around your fingers, “I don’t want to hand you to anyone, don’t you understand? I want someone that cares about you” He squeezes your hand, “But you need to behave,Y/n. The men of higher status, they won’t accept an ill-mannered, rebellious women”

Enraged, you rip away from his touch, “I am not ill-mannered” Your mother gasps at your outburst, but your father smiles at you. He steps forward and grabs you by the shoulders, “I know that. Believe me, I do. But these other men don’t” A sigh escapes your lips, but you nod nevertheless, “Okay, father. I will do my best” He grins and it jumps right over to you.

Your father pulls you into a warm hug and whispers to you, barely audible, “I could not be prouder of you, my child” A warm, comforting feeling spreads through your chest and you feel like a little girl, no worries or problems, just love and happiness on your mind. You pull away from the hug and watch your father’s eyes crinkle.

Your mother forces a cough and directs a pointed glare at her husband. He sighs and turns to you, “However, your mother and I have decided to ground you for the next few days. We cannot let your temperament ruin your future. We ask you to stay on the estate’s grounds” This is obviously your mother’s doing. She always cared more about your standing and reputation, but you’ve learned to just accept her orders.

“Yes, father”, you nod at them, “Mother” A satisfied look settles on the woman’s face, hands clasped tightly. “You are excused”, your father rasps and you leave the room, a sour look sneaking onto your lips. Stupid marriages. All of your life, the fact that you will be married off as soon as someone worthy shows interest, has been hovering over you, a subconscious thought that drained your energy, leaving you exhausted and numb. You can’t believe that this dreaded day is moving closer so fast.

You enter your room and sit down on your bed. The mattress gives out under your weight and perfectly molds into a comfortable shape. You let yourself fall until you’re lying flat on your back and close your eyes. Slowly, the darkness and exhaustion consumes you ,hugging you like a warm blanket.

The shine of the moonlight dancing through the window rouses you from your sleep. The light has a slight pink tint and colours the dim room in a nice shimmer. A yawn escapes your mouth and you sit up. The cool air makes goosebumps appear on your skin, yet you feel drawn to it. Suddenly, an idea pops into your mind. Surely, nobody would notice if you left for a little to see Admiral.

A grin sneaks on your lips as you wipe the nasty crumbs from your eyes. Quickly, but careful to remain silent, you dress in your warmer riding clothes, the training ones, not the dresses. Thick, warm leggings and a nice, comfortable pullover. On your way out, you grab a wooly hat to cover your ears, smiling mischievously.

Skipping, you make your way through the halls. A giddy sensation rumbles in your belly, the excitement of knowing you’re about to go on a ride. The door knob feels cool under your skin as you turn it to open it. The freezing air seeps into the kitchen, swirling around your body. Adrenaline shoots through your veins and your legs begin to move on their own, moving faster and faster until you’re running, your feet carrying you over the well known path.

You come to an abrupt stop when you see a small light in the stables, most likely a lit candle. Nervously, you sneak closer to peek around the corner. In the dim shine you manage to make out the features of the beautiful stable boy from earlier that day. His hair is falling free, framing his chubby face so beautifully.

A long sleeved linen shirt layered with a dark vest and brown trousers clad his thick form in such a delicious way. For some reason, this man made you feel things. To your surprise however, he is standing next to Admiral, gently stroking the horse’s strong, defined face. Weird, you find yourself thinking, Admiral usually does not tolerate close proximity with anyone but yourself.

That fact is seriously arousing. This beautiful man being so gentle to your hot headed horse is insanely attractive. Your heart fills with warmth the longer you watch him. He whispers into his fur, smiling adoringly at him. The stable boy’s big hands look so soft against Admiral’s fur, his thick, long digits massaging the strong muscles. You bite down on your lower lip, a sly smirk forming. This beautiful sight almost made you forget about the cold.

Your lungs fill with air as you take a breath of encouragement before you move out of the hiding spot. Making sure to move your hips extra seductively, you wander closer to the man of your desire. It’s easy to pinpoint the moment he notices you by the way his eyes double in size and his entire body freezes. The look of fear in his eyes tugs at your heartstrings.

Gently, you take a step closer to him, but he shies away from you, like a baby deer, scared and vulnerable. “Lady Y/n, I beg your pardon. I didn't mean to intrude”, he stumbles through the words, clearly afraid he upset you. You smile in hope of looking safe and not angry. “You’re fine”, your voice is gentle, almost like you’re talking to a child, “It’s impressive. Admiral really seems to like you”

He shyly looks up to you to gauge your reaction, nervously playing with his fingers. “He’s very beautiful”, the man whispers and tucks some of his loose strands of hair behind his ear. You grin, taking another step forward, “He is”, you reach out to scratch Admiral’s neck, “So are you”

A deep blush rises on his cheeks, warming his skin. You continue talking, eyes trained on the stable boy’s chubby face, smiling warmly at him, “So, what’s your name, pretty boy?” Nerves cloud his eyes, his chest rising and falling quickly, “James, b- but people call me Bucky”

“That’s a real pretty name”, you purr, “Bucky”, testing out how the word feels rolling off your tongue. Lower lip between your teeth, you reach out to touch his biceps. His strong muscles flex under your touch, but it feels soft beneath your skin. Your fingertips squeeze around him as a surge of want ripples through your body.

“I saw you with Admiral this afternoon and I could not stop thinking about you. You’re so good with him, it’s very”, you smirk and lean closer to him, lips right next to his ear, “arousing”. The whispered word makes him gulp and he feels himself twitching in his loose pants. He can’t deny he feels attracted to you, especially in these casual clothes that you’re wearing right now.

He’s been eying you for months now, always hidden away in the shadows or behind corners. He heard so much gossip, so many rumours that intrigued him, but your bond with Admiral really did him in. To see how caring and tender you were with the horse made him crave the same attention from you. He wanted your affections and love, almost like he needed them, but he knew better than to approach you. His family depends on his earnings, he would not challenge that security he could provide. But now it seemed like maybe he could have both.

The close proximity makes his heart race, your breath tickling his sensitive skin. You feel his nerves, so you move even closer, pressing your body against his. He tenses up, but shyly reaches for your waist. “I really want you right now, Bucky”, you whimper, pushing your breasts forward and up against his chest. His breath catches in his throat, but he somehow finds the energy to tighten his grip on you.

The feeling of your body against his further arouses him, a shiver running down his spine. With all the courage he could muster, he looks up at you, “I really want you too” Your hands run over his chest and grip onto the edges of his vest, “Then take me”

Pulling on the leather, your mouths crash together. His rough, chapped lips fit right onto your own soft lips, a result of your maid’s tending. The smacking sound immediately helps you relax into Bucky’s frame, letting out a little sigh. With newfound confidence, he traces your lower lip with his warm tongue, leaving you yearning for a taste.

You open up for him, letting him explore your mouth. He moans at the feeling, licking into you greedily. Little glimmers of want spark in your belly, nipples hardening as the simmering pleasure begins to grow. Your saliva mixes with his, tongues dancing together in an aroused display of want.

Just as you were about to shrug off his leather vest, Admiral neighs right next to you. Bucky shrieks, jumping away from you. You stare at him, a slight fear of being caught running through you before a grin etches on your lips, laughter bubbling in your chest. Bucky mimics your giggling, his eyes crinkling adorably, lips swollen.

Grinning you pet your horse once, but turn to the chubby stable boy to pull him after you. The back of the stable is dark, only Bucky’s candle serving as a source of light. You turn around, coming face to face with the pretty boy. The golden glow makes him look so beautiful, the breath stuck in your throat. It’s completely silent, only the sounds of your breathing audible.

You gulp, stepping even closer to him. Carefully, you take his candle and place it on the floor, close to a pile of hay. “Bucky”, you whisper, “please” He takes a deep breath, but closes the distance between you two, once again connecting your mouths. Gently, he grabs you by your waist, both hands feeling warm and powerful on your body. Your own fingers wrap around his neck, playing with his beautiful hair.

With tongues intertwined, Bucky closes his arms around you to lead you towards the hay, supporting your weight. “Wait”, he mumbles against your lips, reluctantly pulling out of the embrace, “Let me just…” With care, he shrugs off his vest and places it over the hay. A soft smile spreads over your face, a funny feeling whirling in your belly. You take the chance to take off your hat.

“Well then, gentleman”, a purring sound fills the air, “I could use some help undressing” He gulps, eyes widening in arousal. Slowly his hands find your hips, fingers sliding under your shirt. The immediate warmth that seeps into your skin makes you gasp, moaning lightly at the feeling. His digits trace your skin, gently lifting up your shirt so you can take it off.

His hands roam your exposed skin, exploring your body to his full extinct, feeling every curve and uneven spot. You reach behind your back, unclasping your sturdy bra. Bucky gasps at the sight, eyes trained on your exposed breasts. Your nipples harden, once more, under his fiery gaze and you gently push his hands towards the, your body burning for his touch.

The moment his palm cups you, a needy moan escapes you which spurs Bucky on to massage your breasts with more enthusiasm, toying with your nipples. Greedily you let your hands wander under his linen shirt, reveling in the feeling of his soft skin. The chubby rolls feel delicious under your touch, gending to your wishes. You hastily free him from the offending clothing, pressing your body against his.

Arousal and need is flaming inside you and you desperately press your lips together into a hungry kiss, teeth crashing against each other. “Please, I need you so much” He nods, breathless, and gently lays you down on his vest. You catch a glimpse of his tented trousers, saliva running in your mouth, the sight so delicious, especially paired with his big thighs.

Bucky’s chubby fingers work your fuzzy leggins down your legs. The cold air causes goosebumps to raise on your skin. You hear him gasp when he looks at your exposed heat,dilated eyes transforming into a hungry stare. “You’re beautiful”, he groans, his hand cautiously travelling up your thighs. You nod as confirmation and Bucky runs two of his digits up your heat.

He traces your outer lips, your anticipation rising. You hold your breath, hands running through the hay that the vest doesn’t cover. Finally, he leans up and spits on your core, further lubricating you. He finds your clit and begins to rub gentle circles into it, a stuttered breath leaving your mouth.

Bucky trails down to your opening, carefully inserting two of his fingers into you. “Fuck”, he groans, pushing in further, “you’re so tight and wet” He starts to fuck you with them, slowly at first, then faster, his gaze set on you. The squelching noises fill the air, soon joined by your moans. Suddenly he hits a special spot and you arch your back, pressing into him as a loud, guttural groan leaves you.

Your gaze meets Bucky’s and you begin to move your hips on your own, “Please do it again, do it again” Your begging eggs him on and he adds another finger, his strong thrusts leaving you breathless. Your eyes roll into the back of your head, pleasure building up in your lower belly.

All of a sudden you feel something wet around you, followed by a suction right around your sensitive nub. You moan loudly, hands flying into his hair. His penetrating gaze meets your eyes and with an especially hard suck the coil in your tummy snaps and you cum around his fingers, your core grabbing him tightly. You feel him moan against you, but he keeps fucking you through your orgasm, prolonging the addictive high.

Finally, you regain your senses and push him away from you, too sensitive for any further stimulation. You look at him. He sits in front of you, his chin wet with your slick, chubby belly rolls folding into each other deliciously, his trousers tented with his obvious want. A smile plays over your lips, “You look so beautiful like this, James”

He perks up when you mention his name, a shy, but aroused glint in his eyes. “You really think so?”, he sounds so little your heart starts aching for him. “I’ve never seen someone as stunning as you”, you crawl up to him, hands on his cute little cheeks. You feel his breath graze your lips and lunge forward, mouth against his, tongues tangling.

One of your hands drops lower to cup him. He feels heavy in your palm and so nice. A craving awakes inside you and you squeeze him through his trousers, a lovely moan ringing in your ears. Your fingertips hook around the waistband and you pull all the bothersome clothing off of him. His cock jumps free. It looks delicious, hard and slightly curved to the side, thick veins running along the length of it. The bulbous head is covered with his foreskin, a trail of precum has made its way down some of it.

The sight of him is so beautiful, his thick thighs making you bite down on your lip. You bow down, one hand gripping his leg, the other slowly fisting his cock. You watch as the foreskin pulls back to show his wet, sensitive head. With one last look into his face, which is contorted in pleasure, you take him in your mouth, slowly sinking down on him.

He moans, hands cupping the back of your head. You suck on him, yearning for his cum, his taste .Fondling his balls, you become even more hungry for him. He smells so husky, so good, mouthwatering even. Slowly, you take him even deeper, your nose buried in the curly pubic hair. His hips stutter, pressing his length even further into your throat, a hearty groan leaving him. You splutter around him, your gag reflex kicking in.

Pulling off, you take deep breaths, spit running down your chin. “‘m sorry”, Bucky mutters, his own hand now wrapped around himself, fisting his wet cock, “It just feels so good” Your pussy clenches at his words and you lay back down, spreading your legs. “I bet this will feel even better”

Bucky groans at the sight and shuffles closer. He runs his thick head along your slit, coating it in your wetness. Managing to hit your sensitive clit with his cock, he groans, twitching in want. Gently, Bucky positions himself at your stretched hole and begins to push in. He moans, steadily spreading you over his cock until he bottoms out.

Sweat runs down Bucky’s face, pleasure and desperation filling him. He tries to refrain himself, but when you begin to whimper and grab onto his thick arms he crumbles. Bottoming out, his fat balls slap against your bum. Slowly he pulls out again, just to thrust right back into you. His cock is so hard and curved perfectly, he fits inside you so well.

The sounds of skin slapping and moaning is the only thing you can hear, sweaty bodies moving in unison, a play of mutual pleasure, need and adoration. Bucky’s chubby belly feels so good against you, especially paired with the delicious feeling of him hitting your spongy g-spot over and over again.

His hands are all over your body, grabbing handfuls of your breasts, playing with your nipples, holding your thighs and squeezing your waist. His moans and whimpers sound so delicate and sexy, almost serene and calming, but so arousing. The squelching of where your core envelopes him makes you arch into him, his chub so soft against you, yet his obvious strength makes you clench.

His length fills you so good, his hard, quick thrusts turning you on enormously. His fattened up cock makes you mewl, all the sensations adding up into one big coil of pleasure.

Bucky’s sounds grow louder, his hard thrusts faster, more irregular. His cock begins to pulse in you when he drops a hand to your sensitive nub, drawing quick, strong circles on it. Your body is on fire, spasming under the stable boy, your hips meeting his thrusts. You feel so close to the edge and when Bucky grunts, “You’re so good for me, you’re gonna make me cum” you fall over.

Your body shakes, yet you feel like you’re floating. A warm, fuzzy sensation enveloping you, like a soft blanket hugging you close. You feel Bucky’s naked skin against you, his fingers on your skin and his breathing against your neck, but you can’t open your eyes. He grunts loudly and pulls out, but you’re so blissed you don’t find the energy to do anything but whimper.

“Thank you”, he mumbles, his soft lips resting near your collarbone, some spare hairs tickling you nicely.

Slowly, you become more conscious and manage to blink, opening your eyes. Bucky is cuddled against your side, laying on the hay. His arm is wrapped over your waist. You spot his white cum on your tummy; It looks slightly dried and feels a little itchy.

You turn to look at him, a soft smile forming at his beautiful face. His long hair frames him so well, a delicate sight that makes your fingers itch to draw. Instead, you cuddle closer to him and close your eyes. You know you’ll have to get up soon, nobody can find out about this, but for now you want to enjoy this moment of peace and serenity for a little while longer.

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[realcube]

characters dealing with a deep sleeper! s/o  (_　_)。゜zｚＺ

characters: bokuto, oikawa & saiki k 

tw// swearing, fluff, mentions of death, illness, funerals, sexual references 

Kōtarō Bokuto

he literally thought you died 

this was your first time sleeping over at his home and last night, y’all were stuffing your faces with treats until your stomachs ached

you had mentioned several times how you were feeling sick - even after bokuto took you out for a late-night run - but he just told you to take a pain-killer and sleep it off

but now he was kinda regretting not calling someone to help 

like what if the sickness was a symptom to a deadly disease which took you overnight?

plus, he had tried everything he could think of to wake you up: he shook you, he blasted music from his phone, he opened the curtains to allow blinding light to shine on you, he flicked spits of cold water onto your face and he literally wafted cookies around the room in hopes you’d catch the scent 

but it was no use as even after all that, you didn’t move an inch

he tried to check your pulse which he believed to be on the wrist but he couldn’t think it 

so either he was too stupid to find the exact location or......you didn’t have a pulse

he’ll admit, it was an eerie thought that there could be a dead person in his bed rn but even he considered that a rather outlandish idea 

how could a person as healthy as you just die overnight? so he did what any reasonable person would do in that situation-- no, not call a doctor

he held a funeral for his beloved s/o 💀

he gathered all five of the plushies laying around his room (all of which were owls) and lined them up on the foot of the bed 

‘we are all gathered here today to celebrate the epic life of my partner, (y/n) (l/n).’ he sobbed into the sleeve of the black blazer he had pulled out of his closet, ‘gone too soon.’

silence. but in his mind he was met by a chorus of ‘aww’s and whimpers from the crowd

‘i loved them. (y/n) was my rock; they helped me through some of the hardest points in my life--’

his speech was cut off upon hearing one of the audience members pipe up, ‘bo, what are you doing?’

a wave of excitement washed over him as he scurried up to the line of guests, closely examining each one, ‘i didn’t know y’all could talk!’

you rolled your eyes before leaning forward and gently tapping the back of his head, ‘it’s me.’

upon laying his eyes on you, healthy and alive, his lips curled into a foolishly large grin as he immediately pulled you into a tight hug, ‘(Y/N), you’re alive!’ he cried

you gasped at his rather dramatic reaction before slowly melting into his embrace, ‘yes, i am.’

as your lips parted from the skin of his jaw and he slowly let his arms fall from your waist, you finally inquired, ‘did you hold a funeral for me?’

bokuto’s eyes-widened at your ‘crazy’ suggestion, ‘uhhhh, nooooo.’

if his elongating of each word wasn’t enough to show that he was lying, the dead giveaway would have to be the sheet of A4 paper with ‘(Y/N)’S FUNERAL 😭’ written on it that was stuck to the door with blu-tac

ignoring his completely false reply, you leaned back on the bed and picked up on the owl plushies, gently stroking it’s soft fur, ‘are these the guests? why are there only five?’

bokuto shrugged, picking up one himself and absentmindedly attempting to balance it on your head, ‘seven; if you count me and you.’

you giggled, about to make a inquire about the names of each guest until bokuto suddenly through his arms around you again 

‘why didn’t you tell me that you are such a deep-sleeper before?! i was so worried - i thought you died! please never die on me again, (y/n)?’

you smiled, pulling back to plant a sweet kiss on his cheek, ‘i promise.’

Tōru Oikawa

he would take advantage of this opportunity lol

the first time y’all slept over together as a couple, he had no idea that you were as deep of a sleeper as you actually are

like he thought you meant ‘i sometimes sleep through my alarms’ deep-sleeper

NOT ‘IT TAKES A WHOLE NATURAL DISASTER TO WAKE ME UP IN THE MORNING’ DEEP-SLEEPER (/h)

anyway, at first, he’d probably just freshen up while you sleep: take a shower, wash his face, brush his teeth, floss etc so he’s no longer effected by that ✨morning crust ✨

but when he pokes his head out of the bathroom and noticed that your sleep asleep, he tries to blow-dry his hair bc he knows how much you like it when it’s all fluffy

but his blow-dryer was quite loud so he put it on for a few seconds to see if it’s wake you up and just as he expected, you were still sound asleep

so he blew-dry his hair until it was that soft texture that you liked so much- all while you were still like (∪.∪ )...zzz even though the blow-dryer was making a racket 

you were still sleeping and upon looking at the time, he realised that it was completely fair considering it was currently half past 8 and he had just woken up extremely early for some unknown reason

he didn’t want to wake you so he was just doing to go out for a run or make breakfast until he caught a glimpse of himself in mirror

o.O

despite his  puffy hair and pearly-white smile, he still looked sloppy

but it was definitely bc of his stained, torn, washed-out pyjamas tbh

he was just wearing an old T-shirt that he’s had for god-knows how long and a pair of grey sweatpants; it wasn’t a look

he had no idea what possessed him to wear such casual nightwear while you were at his house - especially when you chose to wear something so relaxed yet titillating - but he knew that he needed to change

after a while of rummaging through his nightwear drawer, the best he could find was a pair of white, silk, loose-legged trousers which he had bought for a halloween costume many years ago

it was pretty classy though :)) he was sure that you’d like it 

however, he still couldn’t find anything to wear on his top half but there is no fashion problem oikawa can’t solve 

thus, he went shirtless ( •̀ ω •́ )✧

he also threw on some jewellery too, just for the lols

you weren’t awake yet thought, so after he set up some candles to create a ‘mood’, he just sat next to you on the bed, scrolling on his phone and anticipating your reaction once you woke up

for a moment, he thought that he might’ve went when too far but upon taking a look at himself in his front-facing camera, he realised that there was no harm in spicing things up

once he noticed one of your eyes slowly flutter open, he quickly tossed his phone to the side and turned his body to face you, shooting you a kind smile and he gently ran a hand through his fluffy hair, ‘morning, angel~’ he cooed

you grumbled your greeting in response, then proceeded to rub your eyes to make sure you were seeing him correctly, ‘what are you wearing, tōru?’

‘can a guy not dress up for his special someone anymore?’

you rolled your eyes, playfully slapping his chest and going to hop out of bed until he pulled you back down against the sheets

a faint gasp escaped your lips but you were quickly hushed by oikawa pushing his finger against your lips, ‘you’re not going anywhere, (y/n).’

Kusuo Saiki

this was the first time you ever slept over at his house or next to him yet y’all had been dating for year and a half

he was just scared that he might accidently do something crazy in his sleep (bc of his powers ofc) and the last thing he wanted to do was hurt you 🥺

you were patient with him though but bc y’all had never woken up together before, he had no idea how deep of a sleeper you are

he thought it was cute at first bc you were laying there like the beauty you are, lookin’ all serene and calm and stuff

but after a while, he got bored on his own  #•̀ ︿ •́

also, you promised to bake macarons with him for breakfast and he was hungry as hell, still he didn’t want to eat without you but if he didn’t wake you up rn to make macarons, he’d surely starve to death while they were in the fridge

on any other day, he’d just try do it himself but when you helped him make food- it just hit different 😍

‘(y/n), wake up.’  he spoke into your mind using his telepathy, while light nudging your arm, ‘i’m hungry.’

you didn’t reply, seeming completely knocked out

he tried the next best thing, holding his annoying alarm noise near (but not too close) to your ear

still nothing, though

his last human attempt was aggressively pulling your blanket away but even after that you showed no signs of waking up so he realised that he’d have to resort to using his physic abilities

he considered using his astral projection to possess your body but he felt as though taking over your body might cross a few boundaries 

but he did try duplicating himself so he could shake you from many different angles but it was still no use

he continued to use his telepathy to try wake you up but it didn’t seem to work either

after multiple different attempts of using his powers to try wake you up; here he was, standing in the middle of some dystopian, apocalyptic scene - alarms ringing in the distant along with sirens, screaming, honking and wails. everything around him seemed to be engulfed by flames which created thick, smoky air 

he wasn’t really sure how he got here but he was pretty sure it started around the time he tried to form an energy ball 

whatever 🤷‍♂️ it’s no biggie

he jumped back in time so he was standing next to your bed once again, exactly where he left off before he created the energy ball

he stared down at your sleeping figure and let out an exasperated sigh as he realised that he’d have to employ one of his most dangerous tactics

he really hoped it didn’t have to come to this

‘(y/n), if you get up right now.’ his voice rung through your head, ‘i speak with my voice.’

just like that, both of your eyes shot open as you hastily sat up on the bed

‘do it, saiki!’ you cheered, a foolishly large grin plastered on your features

and he couldn’t help but smile too 

curse you for being so cute

[dreamescapeswriting]

Only Yours ~ JHS [M] [Request]

WORD COUNT: 3K

GENRE: Fluffy, smut, possessive Hoseok, fluffy ending,

PAIRING: Hoseok X Fem!Reader

A.N: Don't read if you're under the age of 18/19 depending on the law in your country/state! Love ya'll Hope this is okay for you doll

You stared out of the small window in your living room as you debated about going to work or not, Hoseok chuckled when he walked in to see you standing there. Pouting at the rain that seemed to be hammering down outside, it had done nothing but rain for the last two days. Luckily the roads seemed to be clear enough for everyone to drive on, no flood warnings were issued either so you didn't have to worry about not getting home. Hoseok knew how much you loved staying at home on rainy days, you would curl up on the sofa beside him and read a book or just watch TV. You loved listening to the sound of the rain hitting the windows and the roof of the house.

"You have to go out there sooner or later," He laughed as he came up behind you and wrapped his arms around your body kissing your shoulder softly, you sighed to yourself knowing he was right but that didn't mean you were wanted to go. Work was dragging you in over overtime while Hoseok had the week off from work. The first time in months he finally had some time off and you couldn't even stay at home with him. The rainy season was the best season to curl up next to someone you loved and yet you were being pulled further and further away from your loved one.

"What if I call in sick? Tell them I have chickenpox or the measles or something." You whined your mind filling with a random illness you could tell them you had to stop you from going into work. The common cold was too easy so you had to go with something like the chickenpox, someone contagious to those around you. Hoseok just began shaking his head as he pulled you towards the front door or you would never leave. It was like trying to get a child ready for school who really didn't want to go or trying to get Jungkook up in the mornings.

"You're only there for six hours, it'll fly by." He laughed softly as he watched your face fall at the mention of how long your shift was. It wasn't like you hated your job because you didn't, you adored your job but the one thing you hated about it was being away from Hoseok all of the time. If he wasn't at work you seemed to be at work and if you weren't at work he was either on tour or at the studios all day until late. But that was your life together and you wouldn't change it for anything else in the world, Hoseok was the love of your life and you were his.

"Go, I'll be here when you come home. A nice home-cooked meal and hot chocolate waiting for you." He promised as he wrapped your scarf around your neck and tightened it up so you would be warm enough to walk to the car. The thought of Hoseok cooking on the brand new oven was alarming, he hadn't used it yet but the last time he tried to cook in the old apartment he almost burnt it down.

"Don't burn the house down? We only just moved in and the neighbours already hate us enough," You told him as you remembered your landlord telling you both about the complaints he'd received from the tenants next door. Whenever the boys came around to see you or Hoseok it always ended up with them being loud, the joys of being friends with seven crackheads. All of them hyped up from their days at work or from a concert. It wasn't your fault that the neighbours were all old and moody all of the time, 

"I'll give them something to complain about, we're not even loud." Hoseok chuckled as he bent down to give you a small kiss on the lips, you kissed him again...Then again trying to kiss him enough times so he would tell you to stay but it didn't work. He turned you around and pushed you out of the front door, standing in the door frame as he watched you pull out onto the road and head off.

As soon as you'd been gone long enough for Hoseok to know you wouldn't be coming back he went to make himself a hot drink and then head upstairs, he was going to be the nice boyfriend he always was and finish unpacking things for you. The two of you had been together for five years and this was your first big place together meaning there were boxes from the old apartment and your old home that needed unpacking. 

"Where to start?" He hummed as he walked into the spare bedroom where all of the boxes were being stored, he grabbed your clothes boxes and headed back to the main room unpacking everything for you. He thought it might have been a nice surprise for you to come home to since both of you had been too busy to do most of the unpacking after moving in a week ago. 

Hoseok had severely underestimated how much clothing you had as he finished unpacking the seventh and final box and took a couple of steps back away from the wardrobe. 90% of what was filling it was your clothes and he'd already unpacked all of his own.

"Damn babe how much-" Hoseok stopped speaking to himself when he found another box in the spare bedroom, it was duck taped tightly and had some love hearts drawn all over it. Smirking to himself he picked it up and carried it into the main bedroom to take a look at it. The two of you shared everything with one another so it wasn't as though he was doing something he shouldn't have been. He grabbed the pair of scissors from the bedside cabinet and slid the box open to reveal some folders and then more boxes.

"What have you been hiding Miss Y/l/n?" He chuckled to himself as he pulled one of the folders open to see a Yoongi poster inside of a plastic wallet, no big deal he knew you were a fan before you started dating but as he continued to flick through the folder it became more and more obvious that they were all pictures of Yoongi.

Next, he pulled out one of the smaller boxes to reveal every single Yoongi photo card that had been published with their albums, it must have taken you years and years to get every single one of only his cards. Then there was more items at the bottom of the box, every shooky item available in print. He knew he shouldn't have been growing jealous at the thought of someone other than him being your bias but he couldn't help it. Jealously was bubbling up inside of him at the thought of Yoongi being your bias, especially when he thought about how close you were to Hoseok as a friend. He knew that the two of you would never do anything to hurt him but the anger that was raging inside of him wouldn't let him see past the anger and the jealousy. The thought of you and Yoongi hanging out together and one day admitting to him that he was your bias hit Hoseok hard and he decided to pack the box up, leaving it on the box and waiting for you to come home from work.

"Hobi!" You cried out as you walked through the front door of your house, the warmth hitting you instantly as you shivered. The rain had started to turn to snow and you were freezing to the point where you could no longer feel your face. Hoseok had seen your car pull into the driveway so he headed up to the bedroom to wait for you, leaving the box in perfect view so you knew what was going to happen,

"Hobi?! I'm home..." You took off your layers of coats and scarfs and kicked off your shoes walking into the living room to expect to find Hoseok sitting there but he was nowhere to be seen, the lights were all off downstairs so you headed to the bedroom. 

"Hoseok are you taking a nap?" You giggled pushing the door open but stopped giggling the moment you saw the box sitting there, covered in hearts and drawings you'd done. 

"Hobi..." You whispered as you looked at the box but Hoseok wasn't in the room, at least not where you could see. He came up from behind you and pulled you back into his chest, arms wrapped around your waist.

"How was work?" He asked as he began to pull off the cardigan you were wearing, you looked at him out of the corner of your eye and bit down on your lip, you could sense that something was wrong with him. Normally you would come home to a nice conversation before he attacked you with kisses. 

"It was okay...W-Where did you find-" He cut you off with a rough kiss on the lips and you smirked against his lips, you knew how possessive Hoseok seemed to get in the bedroom but you'd never meant for him to find that box. It wasn't even supposed to come with you in the move, you were supposed to leave it at home.

"You're mine, you know that right?" He smirked as he began kissing down your neck, his voice muffled by your neck as he kissed and sucked on the exposed skin. You hissed at him while nodding your head in answer to his question. 

"I'm all yours Hobi," You confirmed as he continued to attack your neck in kisses, biting and sucking on every bit of skin he could sink his teeth into turning you into a whimpering mess. 

"You're not allowed to hang around with him anymore, you're mine." He growled turning you around to look at him, you whimpered, even more, when you stared into his eyes to see they were clouded over. Lust filled eyes as he stared down at you, biting his lip as he pushed you down onto the bed. You watched him from the bed as he looked down at you, biting on his lip as he waited for you to start talking to him.

"He's just a friend," You whispered but he didn't care, he ripped the trousers you were wearing as he tried to get them off you as soon as possible. He was going to do anything and everything he could to make sure everyone knew that you belonged to him, that you were his and his alone.

"Mmm look at you," He hummed as he looked at your exposed core, he ran his fingers up and down your folds as he chuckled to himself the small touches making you whimper. Whenever you and Hoseok had sex it was like he was an entirely new person and you loved it, no one could ever imagine the type of person he would become, 

"I'm the only one who makes you dripping wet like this, right angel?" He cooed as he continued to run his fingers through your folds, using his index finger to rub around your clit making you hiss out at the lack of contact he was giving to you. 

"Only you," You told him as you bucked up to keep the connection between you,

"So needy and I haven't done anything to you yet," Chuckling darkly he kissed your neck once again, moving his hands away from your heat and unbuttoning the blouse you were wearing. Ripping it open leaving your black bra exposed to him, 

"Take it all off, everything." He ordered as he sat down on the edge of the bed, it was now that you noticed he was dressed in nothing but his boxers. Palming himself through his trousers as he watched you get off the bed and slowly begin to strip out of the remaining clothes for him. Kicking them to the other side of the room as you got onto your knees and crawled towards him, running your hand up his thigh as you locked eyes with him.

"Nuh-uh, tonight is about you baby girl." He told you as he pulled you up from the floor and placed you back down onto the bed.

"Shall I bring Yoongi in? Make him watch you as I fuck you?" He smirked up at you as he kisses up your thighs, biting down on your skin softly, 

"Maybe I should call him right as your cumming around my fingers and you can let him know who you belong to." Your head was in a whirlwind at all the things he was saying but you shook your head at him, 

"Just fuck me," You begged him as you stared down into his eyes pleading with him with the look in your eyes, 

"Look at you, moaning and begging for me like the good girl you are," He chuckled coldly as he watched you bucking against his touch. You were desperate for him to touch you even if it was just a small one, 

"Please Hobi, need you." You knew how pathetic you probably sounded to him but you didn't care, all you wanted was his hands on your body. All over your body. He smirked looking at you as he used his thumb to circle your clit, pressing two fingers against your hole as he chuckled. 

"Are you sure you need me? Tell me what you want me to do, exactly what you want me to do." He stared at you, kissing softly on each thigh as he got dangerously close to your core but never giving you the contact that you desired the most. 

"E-Eat me out." You whimpered nervously as you locked eyes with him, you'd always been so nervous about receiving oral but tonight you were dying for it. You knew that when Hoseok was in a mood like this there was no holding back, he would be rough with you and within seconds of you asking his face was buried in your heat. Tongue gliding through your folds as he traced every curve he could delving into your entrance and moaning against you sending vibrations throughout your body. 

Moans and whimpers left your body as you cried out his name, he smirked against ou as he felt you clench around his tongue. 

"Hobi!" You whimpered running your hands into his hair as you pulled onto his hair pulling him closer to your core as you chased your high. Each lick of his tongue made you cry out louder and louder as our mouth fell open. 

"Close! So fucking close!" You hissed out as he continued to assault your core, eating you out roughly, 

"Cum for me baby," He mumbled into your core, pushing two fingers into you as he sucked and softly bit down on your clip. Your walls clenched around his fingers as your head rolled back against the bed. Legs shaking as you came around his fingers, 

"Y-Yes! Hoseok!" You cried out as you came around him, tears welling up in your eyes as your high faded away quickly from you. 

"Fucking love it when you tighten up like that princess...Do you want to do that around my cock? Huh?" He smirked as he kicked off his boxers, rubbing himself in front of you as your mouth watered at the thought of him being inside of you. 

"You want me to fuck you full? Stretch you around it?" You nodded desperately as you reached out to touch him but he just rubbed the tip of his cock around your clit. Hissing as he felt you buck against him for more than the small contact he was giving to you.

"Just fuck me already," You hissed at him and he slammed into you making you yelp out and wrap your legs around his waist, he smirked at you as he held himself in place, 

"You like that? Nice and rough?" He chuckled as he continued to thrust in and out of you roughly, hitting the right spot with every rough thrust. 

"Fuck!" You moaned out as your back arched away from the mattress and you rolled your hand down your body to rub your clit for him. Mind spinning as the orgasm built up once again, 

"H-Hobi-" You moans trailed off as you felt yourself getting closer and closer, the build-up getting more and more intense with each thrust of his cock. Your eyes widened as he continued to push into you, getting rougher each time. 

"I know princess, let go." He looked into your eyes as he smirked wider at you, watching the way your eyes rolled back as you tried to focus on nothing but the pleasure he was giving to you. 

"Fuck." You cried out as you rolled your hips up, 

"So fucking pretty stretching around my cock huh? Are you sure I can't show Yoongi?" He leant down as he continued to slam into you, replacing your hand on your clit with his own as he continued to rub you in large rough circles, 

"I want him to hear you cry out my name, 'cause you're fucking mine." He grunted as he continued to fuck into you, 

"Hoseok!" You screamed out as he hit into the one place that made your eyes water and made your world spin, you went over the edge cumming around him as you screamed out his name. Nails dragging down his arms leaving marks as you clenched around him over again but Hoseok didn't stop. His rough thrusts continued until he came into you, moaning out as he fell down into your neck. Kissing your skin softly as you both panted heavily together.

"You know I didn't mean it right?" Hoseok asked after you'd been laying together in silence for a couple of seconds, 

"Didn't mean what?" You mumbled turning to look up at him as you drew small invisible patterns into his skin, 

"When I said you couldn't see Yoongi, y-you can do what you want I just-" You kisses his lips as you tried to set his mind at ease a little, 

"I know baby, it's okay." You reassured him as you laid back down with your head on his chest just listening to his heart beating as he pulled you closer to him. 

Tagline: @lyoongx @mitzwinchester @fan-ati--c @kneel-begyourpardon @taestannie @rjsmochii @sw33tnight @bisexualmess007 @innersooya @sweeneyblue1​ @jin-from-the-block​

[pterodactylterrace]

Guys Like You ~ENDING~

Title: Guys Like You

Chapter: 20

Chapter Summary: My ill fated attempt to tie everything up nice and pretty and end on a positive note. In my head, this went a different way, but I decided to go the happy route for everyone

Rating: 18+

Warnings: Mentions of blood and childbirth 

“I feel like a blimp.” Faye groaned, giving up on trying to fasten her sandals herself and plopping down on the bed instead.

“I think you’re gorgeous.” Henry soothed, straightening out his tie in the mirror and crouching down to help her with her shoes.

“I can’t see my feet.”

“They’re still here.” Henry chuckled, leaning forward and pressing a kiss to her swollen belly.

“What about my vagina?” Faye grouched, smoothing a hand along her bump.

“I plan on thoroughly investigating that later.” Henry purred, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

“Why not now?”

“Because we’ll be late if we do. Now come along, darling. We both know everyone is dying to see the bump.” Henry encouraged, standing and gently helping her to her feet. They had posted earlier that week to his Instagram about their newest addition. Just a picture of a Superman onesie, captioned “Baby Boy Cavill, coming early next spring.” To say it had blown up would be an understatement. This was going to be their first public outing since they had announced the pregnancy. Faye had gone back and forth several times on whether or not she had wanted to actually accompany him, ultimately deciding to spend the evening out with her fiancé.

“Carry me?” Faye whined, giving him a pouty look.

“I’ll carry you around all you like after the premiere. If we show up in wrinkled clothing, people may get the wrong idea.”

“Henry, I’m pretty sure they know we’ve been having sex.” Faye pointed out, gesturing vaguely toward her belly. “Plus, you’ve done a wonderful job of making sure I’m satisfied at all times.”

“The pleasure is all mine.” Henry chuckled, placing a hand on her lower back to urge her to the door and quickly readjusting himself in his suddenly too tight trousers. This woman was going to be the death of him. All she had to do was allude to sex, and all the blood would rush straight to his groin. He was fairly certain she had trained his dick to get hard with just a look, not that he was complaining. He’d heard several men grumbling about how their partners didn’t want anything when they were expecting. He seemed to get lucky with the opposite. She’d been much friskier during her first trimester, but after she hit the halfway point, she was damn near insatiable.

“Now make sure you behave. Hands to yourself.” Henry murmured in her ear, the couple stopping just long enough to remind the babysitter that Briar had to be in bed by eight and to tell the little girl goodbye.

“You were joking about the hands to myself thing, right?” Faye questioned almost as soon as the driver had rolled up the partition.

“It’s been less than two hours.” Henry half laughed, tangling his fingers with her wandering digits.

“So? Are you really going to turn down getting busy?”

“Darling, we’ll make a mess right before we end up in front of a ton of cameras.” Henry pointed out, kissing the back of her hand lovingly. “Just try to contain yourself for a few more hours, then I’ll be yours all night.”

“All night?”

“All night.” Henry confirmed, kissing her temple adoringly and gently placing a hand on her swollen stomach. “You look beautiful.” Henry whispered, shamelessly staring at her cleavage.

“Don’t be a tease.” Faye pouted.

“My apologies, darling.” Henry chuckled, resting his cheek against her head.

~*~

“I’m not leaving this house again until this baby is born.” Faye declared dramatically as she flopped down on the couch.

“Does that mean you’ve decided on a home birth?” Henry asked, glancing up from the puzzle Briar was trying to put together.

“Yes.” Faye growled, glaring down at her extended belly. “Tell me, Mr. Cavill. Is there a particular reason you decided to put a gigantic baby in me? Hmm? Is this some sort of payback for something?”

“Darling, the doctor said he’s only slightly larger than average.”

“Baby brother is BIG!” Briar giggled.

“Yes, he is.” Faye agreed, pushing herself up from her slouched position. “He also likes to kick Mommy in the ribs.”

“I’m sorry, darling.” Henry cooed, pushing himself up from the floor to sit next to her on the couch.

“You should totally carry the next kid.” Faye grumbled, leaning against him.

“I would if I could, darling.” Henry assured, wrapping his arm around her and kissing the top of her head.

“My feet are swollen, my belly is huge, I’m pretty sure I just peed a little and all I can think about is oranges.” Faye grumpily listed off, wiggling her way to the edge of the couch and rocking herself to her feet.

“Oh…” Henry mumbled, his eyebrows pulling together as he watched the wet darkness rapidly spread across the back of her sweats and down her legs.

“Oh shit.” Faye gasped, staring in horror at the wetness soaking into her pants. “Oh fuck… Henry!” She yelled, trying to peer over her stomach to see her legs.

“Yes?” Henry asked unsurely as he stood himself up, intent on cleaning the mess before it soaked in anymore.

“I don’t think that was pee.”

“What?”

“That. Wasn’t. Piss.” Faye ground out, snapping her head around to look at him.

“I don’t know what you’re trying to get me to understand, darling.” Henry admitted, his brows pulling together as he studied her face. “Wait… you don’t mean?” Henry whispered, realization washing over his face. “But he’s not due for another couple of weeks!”

“Well, it looks like he was just as tired of waiting as I was!�� Faye grumbled.

“Mommy, you had an accident.” Briar pointed out as she put the last piece in her puzzle, hopping to her feet and scampering off down the hall, assuring her mother she would find her something else to wear as she ran off.

“Ok… I’m not going to panic.” Henry promised, more to himself rather than to his fiancé. “I’m going to call the doula and the nanny. Do you need me to help you to the bathroom?”

“I’m not contracting, I can walk.” Faye pointed out.

“Just in case it starts, then.” Henry suggested, resting one hand on her lower back and taking her hand with the other, keeping pace beside his fiancé as she did an odd combination of a shuffle and a waddle to the bathroom.

“FUCK!” Henry shouted as soon as the door was closed, his heavy footsteps falling down the hallway as he ran back to the living room, frantically trying to locate his phone. “KAL!” Henry called, his wild eyes darting around the room. “Kal where’s my phone?!”

“KITCHEN!” Faye yelled from the bathroom, rolling her eyes to herself. “So much for not panicking.”

“Thank you, Kal!” Henry called back, his rapid steps sounding again as he crossed the house, snatching his phone from where it was peacefully charging on the counter, hitting the contact number for the doula and impatiently listening to it ring.

“He does know the dog can’t talk; I promise.” Faye sighed, shoving her wet clothes down and sitting on the toilet to kick herself free. “Papa’s just a little excited right now. He’s going crazy waiting to meet you.” She assured her swollen stomach.

“Faye?” Henry called softly from the other side of the door, slowly cracking it open and giving her an apologetic smile. “She’s asking questions I don’t know the answer to.”

“What does she want to know?” Faye asked, watching as he slowly slid his giant frame into the bathroom with her.

~*~

“You’re doing so good, darling.” Henry whispered, gently running his hands up and down his fiancé’s back. “Another one’s coming up, deep breath.” He instructed, his eyes flicking to his watch back to Faye. He gripped her hips firmly and dug his thumbs in right where she’d shown him so many contractions ago, rubbing in slow small circles to ease the pain in her back.

“I wanna get in the tub.” Faye groaned as the tightness in her belly began to ease.

“Alright, darling. I’m going to need you to stand up with me.” Strong arms wrapped around her and slowly helped to her feet; an adoring kiss being planted to the crown of her head. “Now I need you to walk with me, can you do that?”

“Yeah. It’s not bad between the contractions.”

“I’ll be right here if you need me.” Henry assured, taking her small delicate hand into his calloused paw, slowly leading her to the bathroom. He let her rest against the sink as he fiddled with the taps, plugging the drain once the water had warmed.

“Fuck… Hen…” Faye hissed, her jaw clenching along with her distended abdomen.

“I’m right here, I’m right here.” Henry quickly took her back in his arms, letting her lean against him as he tried to find the spot on her back from the new angle.

“For fucks’ sake, how long has it been?” Faye groaned, helping Henry pull her shirt off and toss it onto the growing pile of laundry she was creating during her labor.

“Just over three hours.” Henry informed, biting his lip at his fiancé’s hopeless groan.

“That’s it?!”

“You’re doing so good.” Henry repeated, expertly unclasping her bra with one hand and casting it aside to help her step into the warm waiting water. He settled in next to the tub, holding his phone up where she could see it and pulling up one of her favorite shows, hoping to distract her.

~*~

“I wanna push.” Faye gasped, her knuckles going white as she squeezed the side of the tub, her entire body tense with a contraction.

“That’s great, that’s your body telling you you’re ready to have your baby.” The midwife assured, gently wiping her face with a wash rag. “You’re in charge here, how do you want to do this? Do you want to stay in the tub, or do you want to move somewhere else?”

“I’m staying.” Faye groaned, maneuvering herself to her knees with Henry’s help.

“You’re so close, darling.” Henry whispered, kissing her forehead adoringly, wincing slightly when her next contraction came, and her nails dug into his arm. “You’re doing so good.”

“Henry, I need you.” Faye hissed, desperate hands attempting to drag him into the tub with her. “Come here, please.” She pleaded, throwing her arms around his shoulders when he carefully lowered himself into the tub with her.

“I’m right here, darling. I’m right here.” Henry assured, rubbing her back softly, letting her lean into him as much as she wished. He paid no attention to the blood tinging the water or her nails digging into his shoulders. Instinct took over when Faye said she could feel the head coming. He reached between himself and his fiancé, gently cradling his son as he was pushed into the world.

“He’s here. He’s here.” Henry gasped after a final push, bringing the baby to his chest, quickly wrapping an arm around Faye’s shoulders to ease her back against the side of the tub.

“He’s here.” Faye breathed, a tired smile spreading across her face as Henry gently laid their son on her chest, peppering her forehead with adoring kisses and pushing her wet hair from her face.

“You did it, Faye.” Henry whispered, smiling down at the baby in her arms, his heart swelling with pride. She did that. His fiancé just brought a new life into the world. In that moment, he was simply blown away at just how strong she could be. It took almost all the mental focus he had remaining not to propose to her again, still crouching in the blood and goo filled water with her.

Reluctantly, Henry removed himself from the tub, taking a second to appreciate Faye’s demand of the oversized bathtub when they had renovated the bathroom. He was quick to rinse himself off in the other shower, throwing on dry sweats and returning to the bathroom where Faye was still gushing over their newest addition. The baby was handed to him while the midwife attended to his fiancé, draining the tub and gently rinsing away the sweat and mess clinging to her skin with a cool stream.

“He’s so tiny.” Henry whispered in awe, staring down at his minutes-old son.

“The hell he is!” Faye groaned, shooting him a look fit to kill.

“I think he agrees with you.” Henry grunted, his son’s chubby fist finding his chest hair and gripping it tightly, squirming his newly freed limbs the best he could in his tight swaddle.

“He’s only small compared to you.” The midwife compromised, Henry helping Faye step out of the tub with one arm, the other tightly cradling their son to his chest, hovering close as the midwife helped her to redress. “You have another child already, right? So, you know the bleeding is going to continue for a few weeks. Make sure you rest as much as you can. Now isn’t the time to be a hero. You’ve just gone through a lot; you need time to heal.”

“Can I have our son back now?” Faye asked, raising an amused brow at her already doting fiancé, who reluctantly handed the infant back to his mother.

“Rest, darling.” Henry reminded her, securing one arm around her rapidly deflated waist and holding her tight to his side, walking her back to their waiting bed, their son’s bassinet already pulled up close to her side.

“I wanna hold him a little more.” Faye pouted when Henry took the baby back, holding her hand to help her into bed the best he could.

“Lay down first. You’re getting shaky.”

“Then can I hold him?”

“I suppose, since you did just birth him an all.” Henry playfully sighed, handing off their son again and seating himself on the edge of the bed, content to just watch mother and child for the time being.

~*~

“Papa?” Briar yawned, shuffling into their room with her stuffed bunny in tow.

“Yes, princess?” Henry mumbled, already half asleep after changing his son and passing him back to his mother for a midnight feeding.

“He too noisy. Can you tell baby brother to be quiet? I can’t sleep.”

“You heard her, Liam. No more screaming in the middle of the night. You need to use your inside crying after 9pm.” Henry informed his young son, the only reply being his son’s usual cooing grunt as he continued to nurse.

“Sorry, Briar. He’s still little, he needs a lot of attention right now.”

“I like attention too.” Briar pouted, stubbornly climbing into their bed and perching herself on Henry’s stomach as she watched her mother.

“I know, baby. I’m sorry.” Faye sighed, fighting the tears welling in her eyes.

“How about Mummy takes you to the park for a little bit tomorrow?” Henry suggested

“Liam is too little to be bringing out to a playground, Hen.” Faye pointed out, relatching the child when he stopped to stare at her nursing bra in confusion.

“So feed him right before you go, and again when you get home. You need a break from baby duty, babe.” Henry suggested, shifting Briar off his stomach to sit next to him instead.

“I wanna go, Mommy!” Briar whined, looking up at her mother hopefully.

“What if he gets hungry while I’m gone?”

“I know damn well you have extra in the fridge. It’s a bit of a surprise when you add some of that into your coffee in the morning by mistake, by the way.”

“So that’s why I was missing some.”

“I thought it was that ‘fancy’ cream you get from the farmer’s market. I was wrong.”

“It was in the same bottle, though.”

“You little…” Henry grumbled, pushing himself up on his elbows to glare at her properly. “Why would you refill a container with milk that looks startlingly similar to what was in it in the first place? You set me up for failure!”

“Mommy, I sleep with you tonight?” Briar asked hopefully, blissfully ignorant to her parent’s playful discussion.

“No, baby. You’re not going to get any sleep in here with us. Baby brother wakes up too much at night.” Faye explained, glancing hopefully at Henry. Understanding what she was trying to tell him, Henry snatched the little girl up and rolled out of bed, smiling at her excited squealing as he carried her down the hall under his arm surfboard style.

“Do you want me to turn on your Baby Shark music?” Henry asked once she had been replaced in bed, Kal lazily licking at her ear when she rejoined him. He didn’t bother even waiting for an answer before flipping through her tablet, pulling up the hour long loop they usually played for her at bedtime.

“Kal wants ice cream.” Briar informed him, batting her lashes up at her father figure hopefully.

“Kal knows he can’t have ice cream. It’s too hard on his stomach.” Henry yawned, looking suspiciously at the canine.

“No, he wants it for me, silly.” Briar giggled.

“You know the rules, princess.” Henry sighed, brushing her hair from her face softly. “Now get some rest. We all love you.”

~*~

“Did we wait long enough? Do I still look like a slob?” Faye fretted, turning this way and that, her eyes fixed on her lower stomach, trying to see if it still protruded further than she wanted.

“Faye, relax. You look amazing.” Her sister assured, turning her away from the mirror. Briar was happily running in circles with her little flower basket, all too excited to be involved in the affair. Her twin sister was in a beautiful, blue floor length bridesmaid dress, her younger sister in a matching shorter dress and her brother struggling with the matching tie.

“Are you ready to marry?” Her mother asked her giddily, squeezing her daughter’s hand softly.

“I am. I really hope he is too.” Faye replied, stealing a glance at the closed door.

“Oh please, he was ready to marry you the first time he saw you.” Her brother scoffed, finally taming his tie into something passable. “You’ve been killing the poor guy making him wait this long.”

“I didn’t want to get married while I was pregnant.”

“I really don’t think he would have cared.” Her youngest sister pointed out. “He seems pretty convinced the sun shines out of your ass.”

“Hear that, Delilah?” Her brother jumped in, setting his teasing eyes on his sister. “Get you a man that looks at you the way Henry looks at her.”

“It’s the same way you look at pizza.” Their sister added.

“I’ll find someone when I want to.” Delilah grumbled, shooting her younger siblings a glare out of the corner of her eye.

It took the effort of three people to hold Briar back once the music started, all desperately explaining that she was going to be almost last to go. Once the time came, she threw all her flower petals on the ground at the start of the runner and then sprinted down to the other end while laughing wildly. It was deemed that was close enough and it was finally Faye’s turn to walk the aisle.

Her father’s arm was a steady, comforting constant, something she desperately needed in that moment. She could swear she saw a small tear forming in the corner of her husband-to-be’s eye, but mostly his face was one of proud surprise.

Niki was elected to hold the ‘ring bearer’ the baby happily drooling all over the ring box he was allegedly in charge of. The photographer went nuts with pictures when Henry gently pried the box from his son’s chubby fist, removing the ring from inside and handing him the box back to chew on.

The couple stared into each other’s eyes, everything else melting away in that moment as they both closed a chapter in their lives, only to begin a brand new one they hoped would be filled with adventure with two simple words.

“I do.”

Tags:  @weallhaveadestiny @lunedelorient @summersong69 @mis-lil-red @lharrietg @amberangel112 @mansaaay @packerfan43

[lemonjoonah]

Blood Bounty - Part 2 (M)

Pairings: Yoongi x Reader, Taehyung x Reader, ft. Seokjin x Namjoon Word Count: 15.5K Rating: M Genre: Historical fantasy AU, Vampire AU, Thriller, Drama, Smut Warnings (contains spoilers): unprotected sex, fingering, oral (f. receiving), vampire feeding during intercourse, referenced non-consensual vampire feeding, attempted non-consensual vampire feeding, attempted vampire feeding on a minor, referenced captivity, referenced injury to animal, blood, violence, gore, threats, obsession, poisoning, murder, minor character death(s), illness, referenced death of brother, historical medical practices, self-inflicted injury (for the sake of vampire feeding), contemplation of action which might result in self-harm, discussion of drugging (with vampire blood)

| Series Masterlist |

Summary: He’s taken everything from you, your blood, your memories, your life, and after months spent as Taehyung’s own personal feast, you eagerly take your chance to flee. Unfortunately your escape doesn’t go as well as you had hoped, as you are soon caught by another blood thirsty beast. The vampire Yoongi claims to know you, and that he wishes to return you home. But when you can only remember the pain caused by his kind, you find it difficult to trust him, since he too could just be another monster waiting to feed.

A/N: Just a quick note, there will be a few flashbacks in part two, all of which should be italicized (as long as Tumblr doesn’t fail to format properly). Hope you all enjoy it, and please let me know what you think!

...

You wake before Yoongi at the start of dusk, after having fallen back asleep propped against his chest. The tension in your thighs from your two days of riding resurfaces as you stand. Restricted to a strained hobble, you grab the nearest supply sack. Heading outside to take a moment of privacy and address your bodily needs, while leaving Yoongi to continue his rest.

As you finish putting on the fresh clothes you acquired the day before, swapping out for a new tunic and the much needed smaller boots, Yoongi bursts out the door of the ramshackle house. His face fraught with worry. “Your Highness?!”

“Here,” you call over to him, stepping out from the cover of the trees. “I’m here.”

His chest heaves with a sigh as he relaxes. “You should have woken me.”

“So you could hover over me as I change?” You ask with a raised brow as you fit your cap back on your head.

“N-no... it’s just best if...” Yoongi’s reply is marked with stuttered speech and a tone of frustration. “H-how can I keep you safe if you wonder off in the night? You act as though you don’t have a bounty on your blood. There are sure to be hunters about and still looking for you.”

“I didn’t stray far, and there was still light out when I left you.”

“Even so, it worried me to wake, and not find you by my side.” He mutters, before returning inside to fetch the horse’s tackle and the rest of the bags.

“It won’t happen again.” You promise to his turned back, disarmed by his compassionate concern.

While he readies the horse for the day's journey, you keep to the front of the stead. Holding on to the bridal, you brush the dark mane as you make a request. “Are we able to stop at a river soon? The waterskin is running low.”

Yoongi nods, “We will cross one shortly before my ally’s post.”

“Your ally?” You ask, your heart starting to race as you panic over the suggestion. “You never said we would have to meet with more of your kind.”

“He has a residence he keeps for the clan between here and your castle. He will have a spare room and bed for us. I can promise you resting there will be far more comfortable than it has been the past two nights.”

“And it’ll be safe for me to be around such company?”

“He has no need for your blood. He resides there with his blood consort, a human-”

“A human! A captive-”

“No, no of course not.” Yoongi cuts in. “They are companions, Namjoon feeds Seokjin by choice, and in return Seokjin looks after him with his own blood, keeping Namjoon free from age and ailment.”

“But-”

“Seokjin will not approach you if I ask him not to. I trust him.” Yoongi comments as he straps the last bag in, the horse now equipped to depart.

Placing your foot in the stirrup before Yoongi can even offer to assist. Muttering your apprehension over the situation as you attempt to mount the stead. Though your endeavour to reach the saddle on your own fails miserably, resulting in your back colliding with Yoongi’s chest as you fall. His arms catch yours while your foot remains caught in the metal brace. “Careful now,” Yoongi warns you.  

“I know. I can do it on my own.” You urge back, frustration edging out into your voice over your apparent state of helplessness, as you struggle to right yourself.

“I’m sure you can.” He chuckles, while pushing you up and onto the horse, before joining you himself. “But it doesn’t mean you have to.”

You shrink down between his arms trying to avoid his touch, continuing to fume over the prospect of spending the day within reach of another vampire. Yoongi may have become less of a concern after the revelation last night, but the thought of being in such close proximity to someone of his clan puts you on edge.

As you shift in the saddle trying to find a comfortable position for your seat, one of his hands comes to clutch your waist. He presses you back against him, mercifully relieving some of the weight from your thighs.

“Better?” He asks.

You nod in reply. Despite your bitterness you lean into him further, the ache being a far more pressing issue at this moment, then the ally you meet later tonight. Soon finding comfort in his support, you turn your concern to the other vampires that neither you nor he can dismiss so easily. “Earlier you said that Taehyung’s hunters are still about, you don’t think they would make it out this far and this quickly do you?”

“For you? Most certainly. I’m sorry to say, I doubt they are far behind.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because I was forced to work among them. The swiftest way for me to get to you on my own was to be granted an invitation inside, but to do that I needed to hunt. I gave them a false identity, calling myself Agust, and my services in an attempt to gain their favour.” You go rigid in the saddle. Yoongi must have sensed the change as he is quick to clarify his words. “I never gave them people, only blood I acquired in the same way that I obtained it for myself.”

“And how do you do that?”

“You know I can’t tell you,” Yoongi mutters. You’ve come to despise this answer, still huffing at his need to keep all a secret. “When you keep insisting on hiding it, I start to doubt more and more that I will like the answer.”

He hesitates before replying. “What if that is what I want?”

“I thought you said I shouldn’t judge so quickly? Now you wish for me to dislike you and your ways?” You blurt out in confusion. Why after attempting to build your trust would he want you to hate him so.

“Not necessarily, just to question and be critical once you have all of the information, to hold your own opinion and not my own view. If your memories come from me how can I know that they are unbiased.”

“But how is that a memory of mine if it’s your method of feeding?”

Yoongi doesn’t respond but merely clenches his jaw when you look back at him, refusing to speak anymore on the subject.  

The silence between you stretches on for most of the night, he checks in on occasion to ensure that you are well. But other than that you hardly exchange another word, right up to when Yoongi slows the horse at the sight of the moonlit river and bridge. He helps you dismount, and unhooks a pack from the saddle, giving you access to the provisions you require.

“Our stop is only a few more minutes away down road. We have several hours until day break.” He nods to the river, “Take all the time you need. I’ll give you some privacy and take the horse just around the bend.”

When Yoongi leaves your line of sight, you remove your boots, roll your trousers, and step into the chill waters. You take one stride in and another unit you are submerged almost to your knees. Filling up the waterskin you take a long daft, while also savouring the coolness of the river your skin and sores. The bandages on your heels are a ragged mess, in desperate need of being replaced. You reluctantly return to the banks, crouching to rummage through the pack to hunt for something that could be of use to protect the broken skin.

You have no such luck in locating any spare cloth, but find instead a heavy roll of leather at the bottom. Dragging it up to the surface of the pack, you are curious as to what it might be. While peeking up to ensure that Yoongi has not come back to check in, you loosen the string ties and unravel the well-worn wrap. There’s a small clang from whatever lies inside as it unfolds. Your heart races as you attempt to brace the objects within, slowing your motions to prevent the noise from happening again. Not wishing to draw attention to your invasion of the vampire’s belongings.

But your cautionary actions come to a swift halt when tucked inside you find sharp metal instruments, encompassing a variety of shapes, sizes, and serrations. Kept well enough to glare back at you as they reflected the moonlight. You immediately drop the leather carrier to the ground, and stumble away from the horrific implements. Though in your fear and hurry, you miscalculate the security of the ground on which you stand. Teetering on the rocks at the river’s edge, you fall back. Losing your hat to the current, while your hands plunge into shallow water. The sharp pebbles of the bank dig into your palms, skinning off the scab of Taehyung’s bitten wound.

You gasp in pain, pulling your hand out from the river to inspect the freshly opened break in your skin. Yoongi appears seconds later, reaching out for your hand from the edge of the water. “Are you hurt?”

You look from your palm up to Yoongi. The sting of the lesion and his presence triggering a memory of a darkened cobblestone street, a fanged monster hidden beneath a hood, reaching out for your hand, caked with dirt and blood. Then a gap, a break in your recollection, ending with a flash of Yoongi taking that same hand and passing his own blood over yours to close the cut. The brief glimpse ends, leaving you with a bleak look at your alleged friendship.

“You... you gave me your blood?!” You ask, delving further back into the river out of fear, the prospect of the freezing water is nothing compared to the demon who seems to have poisoned you long ago.

“What are you-”

“You gave me your blood. You used your sway to compel me into-into caring for a monster like you!”

His face falls at your accusation. “Is that how you truly view it then? You do in fact see me as a monster?”

“How else can I? Why else would someone like you carry those tools other than to harm? ”

Yoongi looks down, his lips tightening upon seeing your discovery. “Because you gave them to me!” He counters, to your shock and horror, allowing his forced confession to sink in for a moment before continuing in a more sombre tone. “If you feel that I influenced you poorly, for that I am deeply sorry. I thought, I hoped you might have seen it all differently. I had your blessing back then, but I can see that I was right to question my undue-influence on you.”  

“I’m not talking about your influence, but your blood, you used it to manipulate my thoughts and actions! If I gave you such things I was surely under your spell.”

“No, I would never intentionally force you to think a certain way! But your circumstances back then made you vulnerable, I fear they made you open to my persuasion, and to desire my good graces.” You stand there thigh deep in the river, frozen in place, as his words continue to challenge your perception and memory. “If you revoke your once good opinion of me I will not fault you for it. But I don’t know how else to remedy my mistakes other than to take you home. Can you please trust me long enough to do that?”

“I-” You begin, while trying to figure out where your answer will end, your head swimming with conflicting recollections of his blood, and kindness to you.

But your answer is halted by the sudden change in the vampire before you. Yoongi turns his head back to the line of trees his nose lifting before like it did when he caught the scent of the highwaymen. “Hunters, they’ve found us.”

A shiver passes over you, unrelated to the cold water. “You can smell them? Are they Taehyung’s?”

“No, not them per se, but the blood they are dressed in, and based on that...” He turns back to you, his expression fraught with worry as he points to the river. “Go in further and remain in there until it is safe to come out. They will not be able to fetch you if the river reaches past the leg of their mount. Promise me, whatever happens, whatever I say, whatever you hear, you will not leave until you are certain it is safe.”

You nod unable to verbalize your agreement. Your breath catches in your chest as you continue to lower yourself into the water's depths. The slow current comes to reach your waist, just before a mounted hunter and his much larger companion on foot break near the banks of the river.

“Agust,” the mounted hunter address Yoongi by his false persona, confirming your dread of who they serve. “Fancy meeting you here. We thought we smelled something sweet, but had not realized you would be attempting to collect it too. Since when do you capture live prey? I thought you dealt more in bottled goods.” He proceeds to laugh at his own words, while his fellow remains silent.

“This bounty is mine Thane.” Yoongi commands from the ground standing between you and them. His attention focused solely on the vampire with the stead, marking him as the superior of the two hunters in your eyes.

“Is it now?” He asks with an air of conceit. “It looks more like it’s just beyond your reach. Smart of her to use our weakness in such a way.”

“She’s just playing a game,” Yoongi mutters. “She won’t last long in there, the cold will send her out soon.”

You wish it wasn’t so, but there’s truth to his words, for you are unsure of how much longer you can bear the frigid temperatures. The chattering of your teeth brings further evidence to them that the chill has sunk deep into your skin.

“If she was so difficult to control why did you not give her your blood?” The larger of the two hunters asks.

“What, and taint the product with my own?” Yoongi spits back, looking offended that the hunter would suggest such practice. “I plan to take her back to Lord Taehyung, unspoiled, and alone.”

The lip of the leader, Thane, curls at Yoongi’s comment. “I do not think you will. She seems like more than you can handle.”

“Then you and your partner leave me to fetch a human who may breach the water’s banks.”

“No, you will come with me. Averill will stay and watch her.” Thane nods to the hulking vampire next to him.

“And leave my blood bounty with you? I think not.” Yoongi’s worry starts to cross into his voice, his wavering tone evident to even you. He stands down with a fake chuckle and proceeds to dismiss their presence by busying himself with the task of repacking the belongings you left out of the sack. “If you're not going to send for assistance leave me be, for I plan to wait as long as it takes to recollect her for his lordship.”

“And what will you do when the sun rises? You are not in a position to negotiate Agust. You should be glad that we are offering to even do you this favour. I hear the reward for this one is greater than any before. Lord Taehyung is offering an immediate position among his keepers to whomever can capture her.”

It becomes clear to you that they will not give in so easily, and Yoongi too pauses upon hearing this news. “Since you insist, I will go with you, but he does not make an attempt to touch her until we get back. If I find out you’ve tried to cross me-”

“He will stick to the shore of the river, until our return.” Thane looks to his companion who nods to confirm that he will abide to such terms.

Yoongi turns his back to them, the light of the moon granting a dim view of the concern on his face. He points one figure at the ground, what you can only only read as a supposed signal for you to stay, before mounting up and riding off with one of the hunters in the direction of his ally.

The vampire on the water's edge began to prowl back and forth, watching you with intrigue. “You look cold and tired my dear. You should come out, let’s not play this game any longer.”

“It’s not a game.” You mutter in response to the vampire.

A menacing grin takes hold of his face. “Of course it is, your kind consider hunting to be of sport, do they not?”

You turn your head and ignore his comment. Letting minutes pass with you in silence, until the vampire's pacing comes to a halt, and the smile has all but faded from his features.“Where the hell are they?”

Considering the torment his clan has brought you, you take great pleasure in seeing his frustration rise. “What’s wrong?” You tempt him, hoping that he might be foolish enough to try to reach you on his own. “Does the night wane too quickly for you? Is the vampire afraid of a little sunlight as well as running water? With so many weaknesses it’s a wonder you’ve survived.”

“There are still a few hours to go until sunrise human, I wouldn’t raise your hopes just yet. Because when I pull you from that river, I will show you just how well I survive. ” No sooner than the threat passes from his lips, a single horse rides back into view. Though to your terror it is not Yoongi’s stead, but Thane’s, with it’s rider wrapped his tattered and blood stained cloak. Your chest tightens and breathing stops, as you consider what might have happened to Yoongi. His absence brings grim thoughts to your mind regarding his fate, fearing what kind of situation he must be in to prevent his return.

Looking downriver with a choked sob, you contemplate your only escape with Yoongi now gone, ready to take the current to its end, or yours.

The imposing vampire that was left with you calls out to his ally. “What in the devil's name took you so long? I thought you were going to deal with Agust, and bring back someone who could assist? I see no humans!”

Thane doesn’t answer out loud. After dismounting he pulls his cloak tighter, and approaches his friend, leaning in to talk to him. It’s not until a stake pierces Averill’s chest that you see the true face of the rider. Painted with blood from, and contempt for, the being he just slaughtered.

A sense of déjà vu grips you once again, and refuses to let go. You’ve witnessed something like this before, so many years ago. Another memory starts to resurface, another vampire slaying much like this, both executed by the hand of... “Yoongi?!”

...

-10 years ago -

Just a few hours outside of the palace walls, that is all you desire. Dressed in your lady’s maid’s change of clothes you go in search of the sights outside. Hoping to find something unfamiliar and new. After hearing the very maid you ‘borrowed’ the clothes from, discuss the bakery, the public houses, the marketplace, and more. You could no longer hold back your curiosity. Your books and maps are not enough to quell your taste for adventure, your eyes seek to explore the areas that the tomes in your library fail to touch. And since it all resides on the crown's land, surely you have a duty to study it?

As much as you would have preferred to go out in the day, the cover of darkness is so much easier to slip out under. No one should look twice at a person your attire, and you yourself are not expected to be anywhere else other than bed.

Unfortunately that means the bakery is closed and the market packed up. The only place warmed with light and presence is the tavern, but you know it would be foolish to go in there. For you have no coin on hand for a meal, and are far too young to have any other sensible reason for entrance.

Despite your first expedition not being everything you wanted, it only makes you determined to plan better for your next. After two hours pacing the streets, looking for sites of interest, you consider heading back. You turn to face the direction you had just travelled and look for another route home, not wishing to view only the same roads as before. Travelling one side street and another, though you soon make an error and find a dead end greeting you on the third.

Turning about, you double back, but fail to notice the slick pile of refuse, which sends you falling forward. Your hands reach out to stop your face colliding into the cobblestones, while the rest of your body flattens painfully in your tumble.

Following the shock of your plummet you take a moment to inspect your well-being from the ground. You curse your foolish inattention when you find your palms coated in mud, and stinging with scrapes. Resulting in a small amount of blood, beading on the surface of your skin.

A man dressed in a long cloak and hood from the nearby road turns into the alley and encroaches upon your, no doubt pathetic looking form. You thought he might be there to offer his assistance after such a fall, but he only looks down upon you with a hunched posture.

“Well aren’t you a rare breed. Surely you are not from these parts, or I would have found you before.” His sinister words immediately put you on your guard, after giving you the impression that you are something to be collected rather than aided.  

“I’m sorry sir but you are mistaken.” You ascend from your knees and brush yourself off, seeking to flee his uncomfortable presence, but the stranger blocks your path. With an outstretched arm, his hand rests against the wall, taking up the entire width of the alley. The lower half of the man’s face peaks out from beneath his hood, only to show his tongue darting out to wet his lips. You clench your jaw and stand firm, attempting to give him reason to reconsider preying on one such as yourself. “I hail from here, and my family expects my return soon. Now let me pass.”

“I am not mistaken, I know a new and valued vintage when I smell it, and you are quite something...” He steps closer as you back away, continuing to cut off your escape by dragging his fingers along the stone wall. His stride resembles that of a predator, narrowing in on their presumed feast. You raise a hand in to signal for him to stop, but he merely gives it a keen stare.

“Did you hurt your hands my dear? Here let me take a look.” He reaches out with his own taloned hand, his long fingers ending with sharpened nails. “I can help heal them right up for you.”

“Thank you sir, but I would rather just go home and tend to them myself.” You give one last plea, one last appeal to his humanity. Fearing that his next action against you will be truly monstrous.

“It will take only a moment, and I promise,” the fabric of his hood falls back to reveal his feral face with pointed teeth, “You won’t remember a thing.”

He grabs your hand, pulling it to his mouth. You try to tug it back, but his grip is like none you’ve felt, so firm that even the strongest pull you can muster has no impact on him. Even a push to his chest from your other fist does not disturb him. You close your eyes waiting for the pain of his strike but there’s nothing of the sort. Only a soft grip on your wrist for a second and your hand is released. You open your eyes back up in hesitation, to find your attacker pinned against the wall by another.

“We do not feed on children! Have you forgotten our clan’s law?”

“Yoongi, I’m sorry sir you’re right. But you must understand, you must smell how sweet her blood is. Do you not find it as tempting as I?”

“We do not feed on children.” The newcomer reiterates his tone drawing into a low growl.

“Surely she is not so young that you cannot make an exception this once? No one else in the clan has to know sir, it’s just us here. I’ll even share her with you.”

There’s a swift flash of movement and the second has impaled the first through the chest with a wooden stake. The predator who cornered you looks on him with shock before slumping down the side of the wall, leaving a strip of blood in his wake.

You stare into the vial stranger’s blank eyes, unable to quell the worry that he might still launch an attack on you. “Is-is he, is it-” You manage to stutter out, as you battle your nerves, deeply shaken, but increasingly grateful for the intervention of the one before you.

“He’s dead.” The vanquisher tends to the cast-off on his coat and skin, brushing his hand over the crimson stains while he addresses you. “You should run along princess, it’s not safe for you to wander about at night.”

“You-you know who I am?”

“I’ve come across your scent before, it was just after one of your family’s gallant displays of authority.” You tilt your head confused by what he could mean. He takes in your bewilderment and explains further. “One of the royal processions, I spotted you just after dusk when you returned to the castle some years ago. Your aroma is not one my kind would forget.”

“Your kind, what do you mean your kind? What was he?”

“A weak willed monster who feeds on blood, and hunts by night. He is not alone out there, so you should stay very far away from the darkened streets.”

“But you are not like him.”

“I swear to you, he and I are the same.” The man comes towards you lowering himself on one knee and baring his fangs. “He is a vampire, and so am I.”

You don’t turn away but look at them with curiosity. His brow furrows as you move in closer. “And what of your name?” You ask, desperate to know more about him, for his appearance, his very existence, has certainly become the most intriguing part of your night .

“You don’t need-”

“But I would like it.”

“Yoongi. I go by Yoongi,” he mutters, looking taken aback once again. “May I?” He extends his hand for yours. You give it to him with little hesitation, wincing as his thumb brushes the mud away. He pauses upon noticing your discomfort and extends an offer to you. “If I take away this pain, will you promise to go straight home?”

You nod back, wondering how he could offer such a thing. He bites his hand before taking your own, rubbing the blood over the scrapes. And to you surprise, the cuts vanish before your eyes, the skin forming back together as though your fall never happened. Regardless if this being thinks he is a monster or otherwise, it’s apparent a miracle cure flows through his veins. Your brother's condition jumps to the forefront of your mind. “You can heal wounds? Cuts and contusions too?”

“I can.” His answers with a raised eyebrow.

“So you could help my brother?”

“Your brother, what of him?”

“He has an illness. My parents don’t want to spread word of his condition, but whenever he gets hurt, he bruises and bleeds without end. You can save him, right?”

“I cannot assist your brother.” He rises from his knee and proceeds to drag the body of the former vampire deeper into the shadows, all while continuing to answer your request. “Making myself even known to you goes against the wishes of my clan. I should wipe your memories, but if I do, I fear you’ll forget the danger and return here once again.”  

“Please! He needs your help.” You beg, hoping that he’d agree to be your salvation once again.

The self proclaimed monster looks at you, while tugging the stake from the chest of the corpse. Meeting your eyes when you refuse to look away from him or the gruesome sight. “If you swear to stay within the walls of your castle and tell not a soul... I will see what I can do.”

You lead him back to your home, the vampire following a few paces behind. Returning to the passage hidden in the roots of the hedge, the trap door beneath the flora, from which you ventured out earlier tonight. You open it stepping in first. Your companion stops as if being held back by some invisible force. “I need your permission to enter.”

“Why?”

“Consider it a courteous limitation of my race. Now do you want me to heal your brother or not?”

“Yes, you may come in.”

Lighting the lantern you left for yourself at the entrance, you lead him through the dark tunnel beneath the castle.

“What is this place used for? I can’t imagine anyone ventures down here much.” He remarks brushing away cobwebs that stretch across the path.

“It is an escape tunnel, to ensure the safety of the royal line. Only my immediate family knows of it. If there were to be danger we could flee down here and leave the grounds. And no, they do not visit here, only I come down myself when I wish to hide away.” The hidden offshoot of the cellar is ample space for you, and far less restrictive than the palace above ground.

You climb a set of stairs ending in a door which returns you to the halls of the castle, the entrance to the secret route concealed behind a painting of a king who came long before. Peeking out into the corridor you find it clear of guardsmen and servants, and doing the same again at your brother’s door.

The physicians and surgeons had left him for the night, which allows for Yoongi to slip in behind you. He checks over your sleeping brother, paying close attention to both the recent injury to his knee and the incision on the inside of his elbow. “Why was this made?” He points to the latter. “It’s too clean to be an accident.”

“Bloodletting, they bleed him regularly to dispose of the weakened blood.”

“Weakened Blood?” Yoongi shakes his head as he reopens the spot on his hand, spreading his blood over your brother's wounds. They close up with the skin returning to its normal state and hue. “I hadn’t realized that surgeons practiced such things. If you want to keep him alive don’t let them bleed him anymore. Come to think of it...” He examines the tools of their trade, and roles up the leather pouch in which they are contained. “May I borrow these? I might have a use for them.”

“Take them, please.” You urge, breathing a sigh of relief. It’s a shock to see your brother's condition, which has plagued your family since his birth, so easily remedied with Yoongi's help. But the worry over the uncertain future still holds. “What if it happens again? How will I find you if I shouldn’t leave the castle?”

“You said few know of the cavern below? I’m in need of somewhere safe to rest during the day when I come to town, that spot will do. If I have your consent to use it?”

...

It’s been a couple weeks since your first meeting. The vampire, Yoongi has grown more comfortable within the tunnel beneath, and far less hesitant around you. You’ve learned so much about him, and his shrouded kin, both the good and the bad.  

He lays back against the stonewall his eyes closed in satisfaction. Far different from the first few  times you met him. “You look... more relaxed.”

He keeps his eyes closed as he gives you his answer, “I had the ability to address some of my needs I’ve been neglecting. I’ve been able to feed on a far more frequent basis.”

“Oh...” You exclaim, not knowing how to comment further on the topic.

One of his eyes opens to peek at you while he remains at rest. “Does that scare you? Do you fear me now?” He chuckles darkly.

You respond with a quick and decisive, “No.” Catching the vampire by surprise judging from his tongue in cheek and open mouth.

“And why is that?”

“If you took no issue with human suffering you wouldn’t have saved me. You wouldn’t have saved my brother. Did you bring pain to the person you feed on?”

 Yoongi scoffs, his tongue still rolling in his cheek as he looks to the floor. “No, I did not. And I have you to thank for that.”

“How did I help?” You ask in utter bewilderment. The two of you have never discussed his own meals before.

“When a vampire feeds they don’t often care about the damage they cause, they can make their prey forget they ever saw them, becoming nothing more than a bad dream. I have been struggling with this way of life for a while now. But you, you gave me another method to feed, and for that I am eternally in your debt.”

“I still don’t understand.”

“I know,” he chuckles back. “I’ll show you one day. When I can be certain it is safe to do so.”

...

A month later, Yoongi sneaks into your room in the dead of night, waking you from your slumber.

“Wh-what’s wrong?” You ask with slurred words as you rub your eyes.

“Nothing, nothing, but I’m ready to show you. Dress in what you wore when we met. We can’t have anyone recognizing you.”

You bolt up out of bed and dash over to your desk. Yoongi watches as you tug out the false bottom you created in one of the drawers that hides the cotton-spun dress from sight.  

“You appear to be well versed in the art of hiding secrets princess,” Yoongi laughs, as he examines the panel.

“When every eye in the household seeks to critique you, you find ways to hide your less-than-amiable indulgences.”

“And is that what this is?” The vampire holds up a book of cartographic exploration also stored in the secret nook of the drawer. “An indulgence?”

You take the tome in question from his hand and return it to the drawer, replacing the panel to conceal it. “For a situation like my own it is.”

After changing into the plain garment Yoongi takes you from the castle, bringing only the leather roll of surgical instruments you had given him. He doesn’t take you far, a house, located only a five minute walk beyond the gates of your castle. “Are you sure you want to see this?” He asks as his fist hangs above the door.

You nod, curious as to how he’s been feeding himself.

“Very well, if anyone asks you are my assistant.”

“Assistant for what?”

He answers only with a wide grin as he knocks. The door opens a fraction, by the hands of a startled woman, whom Yoongi is quick to greet. “Sorry to intrude, and so late too. I heard you might be in need of a surgeon?”

“W-we can’t pay,” she croaks back, and attempts to close the door, but Yoongi stops it by placing the leather case in the gap.

“I require no monetary payment. My services have already been covered.”

“By who?” The woman is sceptical, and rightly so. Based on your experience with your brother’s past needs, you know a surgeon’s fee to be no small price.

“The daughter of the crown.”

“The crown? But why would she-”

“Because there are those in this kingdom in need of my assistance. I’m sure you’ve noticed the rapid recovery of your neighbour just a few doors down.”

Her eyes widen, lighting with hope. “The surgeon was you?”

“It was.” He answers with a closed lip smile.

The resident looks from Yoongi to you, her gaze lingers for a second on your appearance, before opening the door further. “You may come in.” She takes you to a small residence, her hands trembling as she escorts you into a nearby bedroom.

The stench of a sickly-sweet rot overpowers your nose the moment you step into the room. You cover your mouth in an attempt to keep down your rising dinner, while Yoongi goes to the aid of an unconscious man laying in bed. A deep and putrid gash extends from the inside of his thumb to his wrist.

“Another surgeon said he might need to take the hand... it’s not so bad is it?” Her voice quakes. “My husband won't be able to work if he loses it.”

“No, he’ll keep it.” Yoongi states, as he lifts a ceramic bowl, notched at the rim, from the bedside table and props the wounded man’s arm over it. Several small cuts already adorn the weak skin at the crease of his elbow joint. “I take it you've bled him regularly?”

The wife nods. “Yes, but we ran out of money. I couldn’t afford to have anyone else continue the bleeding. So I attempted it myself.” She looks down at the floor in shame, clearly upset that she had not been able to help her own husband.

“He will be well again. I promise I can heal this.” He assures her, before turning to you. “Can you hold these for me?” Passing you the same tools you gave him just months before. You unravel the leather pouch. Exposing the sharp tools for his selection, his slender fingers choose one of the smaller blades to make the incision. As the scarlet fluid drains, Yoongi calls for fresh linen and the wife leaves the room in search of his needs.  

The second she is out of sight, you start to question the vampire. “Bloodletting? But I thought you said-”

“It’s both a cover, and an exchange. He gives me his, and I’ll give him mine. I must thank you for the tools, they’ve been very helpful in keeping up the disguise. But do you think you can keep her out? I can’t let her see this next part, the improvement to his hand will be too drastic and too quick for her not to suspect a mystical source.” Yoongi requests as he breaks the seal on a bottle filled with thick crimson fluid. Pouring out a drop he rubs his blood onto the festering wound of his subject's hand.

You nod, watching the two sides of the laceration seal together, leaving only a clean scar. When the wife returns with a knock at the door, you take the material and ask her to wait there. Thankfully she obeys without much resistance, taking a seat just outside the room, her eyelids drooping from exhaustion, and her skin slick with the sweat of worry.

You hand over the linen to Yoongi who wraps it around the previously infected area. The man, much to your concern, remains unconscious. “Will he wake soon?”

“It might take some time, but yes. He still has a fever, but that should break in the next couple of hours with the infection gone.”

“And that?” You nod to the basin of blood.

“That, I will keep for myself.” Yoongi finishes wrapping the man’s hand before taking a wine skin from his coat, carefully pouring the viscous fluid into the flask, and taking every drop.

“It won’t affect you adversely even though he was ill when he gave it?”

“No, his ailment won’t harm me.” Taking a draft as if to prove his point, he wrinkles his nose as it goes down, and licks his lips clean to hide the evidence of his feast. “The taste isn’t always perfect, but it fills my needs, and it’s far better than the alternative.”

Yoongi passes off the patient’s care to his wife and warns her not to remove the bandages for several days. A continuation of his ploy to maintain that his methods have a more realistic recovery rate.

After returning you to the passage of the castle shortly before dawn, Yoongi looks to be apprehensive, wringing his hands as he bids you farewell for the day. “Seeing that... taking part in it wasn’t disturbing to you? You do not think it malicious for me to lie and profit in such a way?”

“No, not at all.” You shake your head, and beam at the vampire before you. “I was pleased that you showed me.”

“I owe my thanks to you,” he whispers, as a smile starts to cross his own features.

“But I did nothing.”

“You gave me the idea. I was not aware, nor did I think to benefit from such a human norm. I thought I was condemned to feed like a monster until the end. So as long as you approve, as long as you think it decent to conduct myself in this way, I will continue.”

“You’ve already helped us so much, how could I not? You are the reason my brother is well again, the reason that man will continue to live and work. You are more a saviour than any being I’ve met before.”

...

You thought him a hero in your past. Every action had a valid reason, every motive morally sound. His store of blood, the surgical knives, every memory of his history with you is beyond reproach.

“Yoongi?”

The friend of your past, falls to his knees beside the body of the hunter. He raises a hand to his face to contain a cough, but even from your distance you can see scarlet sputtering from his lips and spilling down between his fingers.  

“Yoongi!” You wade through the water as quickly as you can. Reaching his side while he continues to expel blood. “What happened?”

“Powdered silver.” He sputters again spraying your drenched trousers and ground with scarlet. “The bastard asked for some of my drink. I obliged to maintain my cover, but I didn’t notice he poisoned it in the process, and then took a sip myself.”  Despite his state he proceeds to hastily shove the body of the vampire into the river, where it starts to burn and disintegrate in the current. “Don’t worry, much like this one, he is far worse off than I.” Yoongi chuckles darkly before doubling over in another fit.

“We need to get you somewhere safe to heal.” You take his shoulder and help him on to the stolen horse.

“Seokjin, he's waiting for my return. I left everything with him. Down the road,” he whispers as another clot of blood leaves his mouth. “You’ll find a stone house.”

Once he is mounted you take the spot behind him this time, in an attempt to keep him in the saddle. “Yes, I remember it now...”

...

- 9 years ago -

You’ve fallen into a routine, where every morning an hour before sunrise you wait in the underground passage to see if Yoongi will show. It’s been over a week since he’s visited last. In the year you’ve known him he has never stuck to a schedule, his visits are random but frequent. You pass the time waiting with a travel log of a famous explorer, and an atlas for reference, studying the map and marking his trek as you pass through the pages. Cartography has long become a hobby of yours, much to the disappointment of your mother, she deemed such interests as unladylike forcing you to hide your activities. Though your hands stained with ink from your nightly studies, have betrayed you on more than one occasion.

The trap door to the outside opens, revealing your long awaited friend. “Yoongi!” You run and pull him into a hug. When you allowed him to rest here and tend to your brother as needed, you never thought that he would become your salvation too, your craved glimpse into the outside world which you have long since been denied. “You said you’d only be gone a few days!”

“I know forgive me princess, something came up. The travel back was slower than expected.”

“Were you able to do what I requested?”

“I was.” He pulls out several pages you had torn from your atlas marking them with details important to those of his kind. “Excuse my penmanship. It’s not as practiced as it once was.”

Dismissing his concerns with a wave of your hand you peer down at the sheets eager to see the world from his eyes, starting with the details closest to your own home. “Who is Seokjin?” You ask pointing to a dark spot labelled ‘Seokjin’s Post’ less than a day's ride away.

“I see you waste no time.” Yoongi smiles at your enthusiasm. “A member of my clan, a keeper, one who is stationed at a waypoint for ease of travel.”

“A keeper?” You ask unfamiliar with the vampiric title.

“One who has a claim to our land, and can give permission to other vampires to enter. It’s an honour to be trusted with such a responsibility.”

“Are you a keeper?”

“A form of keeper, yes, I share claim to the main stronghold with our clan’s lord. It took me near a quarter century as a clan hunter to be given permission to even enter, and three times as long to gain my current status. It is a prestigious role, but also a double edged sword, for it also is what keeps me away.”

“I should like to see it.”

“My clan’s fortress? No, I will never take you there, your scent could plunge the whole estate into chaos.”

You frown at the inability to visit his station, but continue to search the map. Finding another castle marked much like his own out to the west. “What of this one? ‘Lord Taehyung’s Fortress,’ you have never spoken of him.”

Yoongi goes rigid as he hovers over the mapped sheets with you. “I have not, for he is of a different clan, with far darker ambitions than our own. I choose to mark it as a warning and a place to avoid. If you should ever hear of or be near someone in his service, run. Run as far and fast as you can.”

You swallow any further questions regarding the rival clan, uneased by Yoongi’s words. Changing the subject again to learn more of your confidant and friend. “Where did you come from if you have not always resided with your clan.”

Yoongi forgoes the sheets you have given him of the surrounding area, taking the atlas out of your hands, he flips the pages to a wider view of the land. “I come from out here.” Pointing to an area not on the page, but to the right of the book, far more east than the last recorded city.

“Off map? Could we visit your old home instead?” You ask, your excitement bubbling to the surface.

“No it is far more than a night’s journey away, making it too long of a trek for you. It would take months on foot, and even if we were to make it, I doubt there would be much left, for the hearth kept by my family grew cold long ago.”

“I would like to see the area at the very least. We could get a horse. Money is no object, I have-”

“Princess, even still, your absence would be noticed. You cannot just disappear for weeks on end and return when you please. You would lose your home, your own station.”

“What if I told you that I don’t want to be a princess. That my dream is to leave this castle, and find an adventure with you.”

...

- 5 ½ years ago -

For years this disagreement raged between you both, with you desiring to leave, and him insisting you must stay. His return is always a bright moment, but your partings always cast a dark shadow when he once again embarks alone. Existence without him in the kingdom is so cold and rigid, to the point where you’ve come to rely on his visits to breathe life back into you, needing his company to live as much as your brother needs his blood. To your dismay the length between each of his appearances grows longer. Though his apologies still accompany him each time you must wait beyond his promised return.

“I told you, you should invest in a horse.” You mutter as you cling to him, greeting him with your usual hug the second he slips into the underground tunnel.

His hand draws across your back soothing you with his presence. “And I’ve told you I don’t need one for myself alone.”

“Then you will get one when we leave together?” You ask, pulling away looking up with hopeful eyes.

“Princess...” He growls as you once again bring up the dreaded topic.

“We need to talk about this Yoongi. We can’t go on like this forever.”

“No, but how is your brother? What would happen if you left?” Yoongi asks, setting up his bed roll for you both to sit on. He never leaves anything behind out of concern that someone in your family will find it while he’s away. Requiring him to get re-situated upon every return.

“He is well...” Your statement trails off unable to make a further valid argument regarding his situation.

“But that could change in an instant. And if you’re not here-”

“I might not be here much longer anyway!” Your statement hangs in the air between you both.

His face reads only of confusion, with his mouth hanging open as he attempts several false starts to respond. “Wh-What do you mean?”

You take your seat next to Yoongi determined to make him see it your way this time. There has been something weighing on you, feelings that you’ve found difficult to approach, but if you don’t say it now you worry you’ll never get to. “I am eighteen Yoongi, and well of age to marry. There have been suggestions of prospects and matches. I’ve tried delaying them but I know I will not stay in this castle much longer either way.”

His eyes darken and brows furrow. “I suppose congratulations are in order then.” His words in no way match his expression.

“No, they are not! I don’t want that life, I’ve told you this before. I have no wish to leave this castle only to become locked in another. You know that is what will happen! Any union made will be to benefit the kingdom in an alliance, they will have their own expectations, their own walls I cannot cross.”

“Maybe that is for the best though. You will live the life you were intended, saving you from a life with a monst-”

“You are not a monster Yoongi, I do not need saving from you!”

“If not from me, then at least from my kind. I cannot give you the life nor the safety which lies here, or in another castle with your own kind. A life alongside a vampire will not have a happy end.”

“And what of a life without living one’s dream? Without the one you’ve come to admire and befriend. Can that have a happy end? Would it not bother you to yield me to another who is not as kind, nor caring as you? Yoongi, I lo-”

Yoongi emits a low growl halting your argument and paramount confession. “I profess I would loathe to lose you too, but dreams and desires change. I do not wish for you to regret your path with me as I once regretted choosing this life too. If it weren’t for you... ” His voice trails off as he hangs his head in shame. “I could not bear to see you suffer knowing I brought you the pain which haunted me for years. The loss of a family, of a home, I do not wish for you to endure the same.”

“Then what would convince you? What will show you I am truly earnest in my desire?” You ask hoping to find the answer to not only show your determination to leave, but your true feelings for him too.

He pauses the discussion, getting up to pace the room. His fingers run through his hair as he ponders your query. “I don’t want you forced into this because of circumstances beyond your control...” He stops his stride mid thought, and glances to you.“I can still supply your brother with blood if you choose to marry, and leave my side. Now in having that safety I need to know that you’ve given this consideration more time. Without the weight of your brother's life hanging over you.”

“It has been all I’ve wanted these past few years, to leave this place with you.”

“But first I need you to give this life the honest chance without my presence. I will leave you with enough of my blood for the time I’m gone. Though we should discuss who you will entrust to take care of him if you are in another castle, or with me.”

“My lady’s maid.” You suggest, for you know she loves him as much as you, though she tries to keep it concealed. “I would trust his life to her, but how long do you plan to stay away?”

“My clan intends to launch a wave of hunters into rival territory, it’s the best chance we have to take down Taehyung’s stronghold.” Yoongi explains while returning to the seat next to you. “If we can do this before you wish to leave then I will be as far greater ease to take you from here, but knowing that they are out there now worries me when it comes to your safety.”

“How long Yoongi?” You reiterate, scared by his avoidance of your question.

“Six months.”

“But that’s such a long time!”

“If you want to leave with me you will have to endure it, but I wish for you to take this time and consider your options. Don’t close every door yet, simply because of how you feel now.”

You inch closer to him, “My answer will be the same half a year from now. I want you to take me will you.”

“Nevertheless, I would like to wait, and hear it again upon my return.”

“I will do as you ask, but after that wait, I expect you to be ready for me to leave alongside you. We’ll need a travel plan, supplies, and a decent horse too.”

“Whatever you require, I will have. I’ll even let you name the stead.” Yoongi promises with a smirk. Taking the glass vial of blood he uses on his patients from his coat, he gives it to you. Cupping your hands as you take it from him, he leans in, putting his lips enticingly close to your own. “I’ll be back for your final answer, just please think it over. I will bear you no ill will if you decide...” He pauses, a grimace weighing heavy on his expression. “If you decide, you would be better off if you forgot me entirely, and moved on with your life.”

“I would never wish to forget you.” You give another thought to confessing further, telling him how much you’ve grown to love him. How you crave more than just to leave with him. Wishing to close the gap between you and seal your deal with a kiss. But despite your determination to confess to him earlier, you hold your tongue and lips in place. Suspecting that he will dismiss those desires too. When he returns, you reason with yourself, putting it off for a little longer. Yes, then you will express it all to him.

...

Just as Yoongi said, further down the road and nestled between the trees, there resides a small stone house. Had you not been looking for it, you might have missed it entirely. You stop with a pull of the reins, sliding down from the saddle you tie the horse to an outdoor post, and proceed to help the increasingly catatonic vampire with his own dismount.  Propping one of his arms over your shoulder you approach the dwelling and hammer on the door.

A booming voice responds from the other side. “It damn well took you long enough!” It opens to reveal a tall man draped in a spattering of blood, extending from his broad shoulders to the small of his waist. He curses upon the sight of you and the barely conscious Yoongi on your shoulder. “I told him he wasn’t well enough to return to you alone.”

He looks human at first glance but a small chuckle reveals pointed teeth hidden by his set of full lips. “‘I must do this Seokjin,’” The vampire utters in his imitative tone of Yoongi. “‘Just look after this one’s body for me.’ That is the last time I do you a favour. I swear I’ve never seen a vampire’s corpse so saturated with blood.... even ruined my favourite shirt.”

Seokjin takes Yoongi from you and calls out to another. “Namjoon? Come help me with this determined fool and his human princess.”

You cringe from the unexpected use of your title, but the vampire pays you no mind. Looking to his human partner who descends the stairs. Namjoon ushers you into their residence, looking troubled by the state of your soggy clothes.

Just as with the abandoned house from the night the windows have heavy shutters that close from the inside, most of which are currently open, letting in the night air. But this dwelling is thankfully well lit, with several lanterns bolted to the walls, a fire roaring off to the side, and an iron candelabra at the centre of a massive wooden table.

The vampires take the lead up the narrow wooden stairs, with you and Namjoon trailing behind. Gliding through an open door in the upper hall, Seokjin places your now fully unconscious companion on the bed of a well furnished room. He takes Yoongi’s tunic and tears it open, exposing a trail of burns down his throat and chest.

“I’ve never witnessed a silver poisoning to this extent. It’s a miracle he was able to still retrieve you.” Seokjin mutters.

Namjoon grabs a blanket from the cupboard, and wraps it around your damp shoulders, before attempting to take you from the room. “Come let's get you some dry clothes.”

But you stand firm and refuse to be parted from Yoongi. Concern grows within you over Seokjin’s statement. “Will he- will he recover?”

“Yes, but it’ll take time. Though if he feeds soon, his injuries will heal far quicker.”

“Do you have any blood on hand?” You ask on his behalf. “With his supply poisoned he has nothing else to drink.”

Seokjin’s eyes bore into you expectantly, a smile coming to the corner of his lips. “Am I not looking at his blood consort now? Has he not fed from you?”

You shake your head, backing away from Yoongi’s supposed ally.

He takes in your reaction with a tilt to his head. “That must have been a struggle for him, considered I’m using all my power to not feed from you now.”

Namjoon steps in between. “Let her be Seokjin, you know who she is, and where she’s been kept. She’s clearly scared to do so, I can spare-”

The smirk on the vampire’s face dies with the offer of his human. “You will do no such thing! Your blood is mine, and mine is yours is it not?”

“It is, however-”

“Then that is the end of this discussion. If she wishes to help him then she must make that sacrifice, not you.” The vampire pushes his human out of the room before he turns back to you. “If I were in your position I would heal him, and do so quickly... for he has given up far more for you than a few drops of blood.” Seokjin then shuts the door behind him, leaving you alone with Yoongi.

You pace back and forth at the foot of the bed, hugging your blanket close in comfort. When you consider feeding him, your anxiety starts to rise to an undesirable peak, with the feeling of your heart rising to your throat and pounding in your ears. Your mind can’t help but draw on the memories of Taehyung's feeding, but this instance is different, with you in control, and the one who requires blood is not a monster but your past saviour, and love.

You empty his bags on the desk provided in the room. Making one last effort to look for any additional store of blood that might have remained unpolluted. Finding nothing but clothes, and basic supplies, until the roll of surgical instruments hits the wooden surface with a dull thud. Left with no other option but the tools before you, you grow more determined to push down the horrors of your past. Doing it for the sake of Yoongi, and the returning portion of you who adores him so adamantly.

Freeing one of the knives, you take a deep breath, and slice along the partially opened scar on your hand. The pain takes control for a moment, forcing your jaw to clench and your breath to seethe between your teeth, as the sight of scarlet turns your stomach. But seeing Yoongi suffering brings your mind back to focus as the blood wells to the surface, creating a thick pool in your palm. You go to him and straddle his form taking his chin in one hand to open his mouth. You clench your ruby drenched fist and tilt it over him. The first drip hits Yoongi’s lip, the second entering his mouth. His eyes fly open, and a snarl leaves his throat. Reaching out he grabs your hand, not to draw it closer but to push it back towards you.

“You’ve spilled enough of your blood for my kind.” He whispers, his ache evident in the hoarseness of his tone.

“Seokjin said you needed it. Will you just take it.”

“No! I have no wish to become the next monster who haunts your dreams.”

“You won’t, I remember now. From my first time meeting you, all the way up to our parting. You did so much for me and my family. You were right in saying those you feed off of were not your victims, I saw how they suffered from illness and injury.” Your voice starts to quake as you force it all out, confining his depth of importance to you to a few small statements is no easy task. “I understand why you feared your influence over me in the past. But please, know now, I do not consider myself a casualty of yours. I give you my blood of my own free will.”

You offer your hand once again but Yoongi doesn’t move his narrow gaze giving the impression that his decision is final. “Very well.” You counter, as you cup your hand with your own, pressing down on the wound as you consider the already escaped blood. “It seems a shame to waste it though. Maybe your friend Seokjin will take it, he appeared to be interested.” You play your bluff, hoping to gain a rise out of him the way Seokjin claimed Namjoon.

Shifting your weight, you ready to leave, but Yoongi moves faster, pulling you down to lay beneath him. “Why must you be so stubborn?” He mutters as he places one hand gently over your eyes obstructing your view of him. “Please, if I am to do this don’t look. I don’t want you to remember me by this act.” His other hand takes your blood soaked palm in his grip before he finally presses his lips to the dripping wound.

The tug of his mouth on your skin is gentle lasting only for a few seconds. His tongue then starts to drift down the scarlet trails that lead across your fingers, licking every inch of your skin clean. His touch is soft and attentive, you find yourself enjoying his caress, forgetting entirely the purpose of his actions. But it’s soon brought to an end when a soft scrape of his fangs crosses your knuckles, with your immediate instinct to flinch, it incites him to draw back and apologize.

He removes himself from your hand, and turns to draw his own blood. When he goes to press it to your laceration he hesitates and gives you his assurance. “This will only heal it. Do you trust me to do that?”

You nod with a deep breath and clenched teeth, dreading this part most, you look away until the tingling sensation of the skin's repair stops. When your gaze returns to the spot you find it without flaw, for his blood had also erased the scar of Taehyung. Tears begin to prick the corner of your eyes .  

Yoongi wipes at the edge of his mouth taking away the dark remnants of your blood. “I didn’t hurt you did I?”

“No, quite the opposite. Thank you for taking it away.”

“I’m sorry you had to bear his marks for so long.” His lips kiss the newly healed skin of your hand before he lays down on the bed next to you. As much as he tries to hide it you can see that he’s still weary from the silver. Your fingers trace down the slowly fading burn of his throat, a rumble of contentment flowing from it as his eyes close.

Embracing the softness of the bed you were promised earlier, and far too weary to change out of your damp clothes you join him in sleep.

...

You rest for only a few hours with the sun starting to break across the horizon, shocked but grateful that no appearance of Taehyung brought halt to your peaceful slumber. Rising to close the shutters to the light, you leave Yoongi to his sleep.

You open the door a slight amount, checking to see if anyone else is about, when you find a form of kindness you had not expected on the floor in front of your room. It would seem that Namjoon must have brought food while you slept, a small collection of bread, cured meat, and fruit awaits you along with the clothes he promised. Though your current outfit is now dry, you take the fresh garments inside for a later change before you depart in the evening. The food however, barely lasts a few minutes in your presence. For you indulge hastily on the wonderful meal as you sit at the rather cluttered desk.

Naturally, the mess you made earlier in the night still remains, the contents of Yoongi bags strewn over the desk and floor. Once finished with your plate, you start to pack the clothes and supplies all away again until there are only a few items left, including a piece of folded parchment lying in the corner. You flatten it out across the surface of the workspace, reuniting yourself with Yoongi’s map.

Of course, it wasn’t always his. No, this was the map that you had made from the fragments and pages he recorded. It was intended to be a gift for him upon his return after those long six months apart. Every stroke of the pen, every hour, and every drop of ink which bled into this creation brought you so much joy. But you also remember the sorrow that led to the error, the blotch left while trying to conceal the map before the ink had set.

...

-5 years ago-

It has been seven months since Yoongi’s departure, with no whisper or hint to his whereabouts. The blood supply he had given you was fully consumed in the past fortnight. You assure your lady’s maid, whom you imparted with the knowledge of the cure, that your friend will return soon. But still you wait for him, while putting the finishing touches to the map in the form of an ornate compass rose.

With the final mark of ink in place, your mother bursts into your room, consumed by a wealth of tears. You fold the map in haste, and tuck it under a book. Thankful that she is too distraught to realize that you should be in bed and not at your desk, but the news she shares gives grave reason to her oversight. Your brother had fallen from his own earlier in the night, causing a lesion to the back of his head. Without the aid of your vampire, you know it to be a likely death sentence.

Come near dawn, you wait in the hidden passage, praying for Yoongi to show. But when the sun comes to rise without his presence, you can only hope that your brother will survive this day without the medicine he’s grown so dependent on. However, as night falls, his health worsens, and the physicians resort to bleeding him again. You try to stop them, but that only results in you being banished from his room.

With no other options left, in the late hours of night, you don another of your maid’s old dresses, tugging it out from your hiding spot, and replacing it with the finished map which now bears an unfortunate scar. Taking your usual path you escape to the town of your kingdom. Your plan, to pace every street until you find him, or another who might know of his whereabouts.  

...

Your memory fails to pass the darkened cobblestone roads which frame your search. Leaving you to conclude that was when you were found by your capture of these past five years. Yoongi was right, the open night is dangerous for one such as yourself, even so he left you with little choice, he broke his promise first.

There’s a creak from the bed behind you, but you keep your focus forward on the map, still trying to piece it all together. Until two hands wrap around your waist and Yoongi’s chin comes to rest on your shoulder.

“You said you would come back.” You remain still in his arms, scolding the vampire with tears threatening to spill from your eyes. “Why didn’t you return to me as promised.”

Yoongi turns you around to face him, raising your chin with his finger. “You remember our arrangement?” You nod your response, refusing to meet his gaze, until he lowers his own head in disappointment. “There were... difficulties. I know it does not excuse my broken oath in full, but I was prevented from going to you.” He sits you back down in the desk chair and kneels before you, taking your hand in his. “Taehyung had found the hunters we were attempting to embed in his ranks. He dealt us a swift blow with their deaths, and then sent his men east, towards our fortress, and your kingdom. The keepers, such as myself, were ordered by our own lord to remain within the walls of our residences, out of concern that we might be captured and lured into giving Taehyung's clan access.”

“Then you should have sent word of your delay!” You cut in, had you known this you never would have left to find him.

“I did. I wrote a letter and sent it by raven, telling you to stay within the castle walls no matter what. That it was far too dangerous for you on the outside, and my return would be a longer wait. But I received no reply. I thought then that you did not want to hear from me, that you had chosen a different path. It was weeks before my raven returned badly injured. I feared then that my warning might have gone astray.” He sighs, as continues to recount  the dark narrative. “I couldn’t remain a willing captive of my own home when I know you might be in danger. So I renounced my title, I gave away my claim and access to the stronghold. Lowering myself to the status of clan hunter so I could leave and find you. But I was too late, you were already gone and well beyond my reach. I searched your room looking for any clues as to how you ended up in his hands. I found no dress, and only that in your drawer.” He nods over to the map.

“I have spent the past five years trying to correct my mistake of not going to you sooner, for not leaving with you when you asked. But when I found you again, without your memories, I had no way of knowing the choices you made or any feelings you had previous to your captivity. I kept our past from you so as to not impact your previous decisions with my own desires. If you thought me to be a monster who groomed you for my own needs, I would back away. If you were just catering to me to save the life of your brother, I wanted you to be free of that.”  His hand comes to the side of your face, with a finger dotting at a tear that had fallen from the corner of your eye. “I’m aware I don't deserve it, but please I must know. What was your decision before I let you down so horrifically, what was it that led you to be in his custody?”

“I never felt pushed to stay by you because of my brother's condition. I had no wish to marry nor leave with another, it was never simply about journeying outside the castle for an adventure. I wanted to be with you. Those six months we spent apart only confirmed what I did not wish to tell you out of worry you might dismiss those feelings too. I loved you, and still do.”

Yoongi chokes out a wavering sigh of relief, lowering your head by his hand, he presses his forehead to yours. “And I you, your highness. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry I didn’t listen. I just didn’t want to unknowingly imprison you by my side with-without-”

“I know.” You whisper back. “You were right to be concerned, I was young and sheltered. I do not blame you for what happened. When the blood ran out, I could wait no longer. I had to find you. I went into the town but that is the last I remember.”

“And there you were taken.” Yoongi pulls back pausing as he bites his lip. “Now that you remember. Has your desire to return home changed?”

“I-I don’t think it can Yoongi. I still have so many gaps in my past. I hope that my return will mend that, as my time with you has brought light to our own history. Despite that, even if I was whole, the loss of my brother, it-it complicates things.”

“Your kingdom needs you to have an heir, a son to maintain the line of the crown.” He swallows glumly, as you reach out to clutch his hand. “Something that I cannot give you.”      

“When my duty was just for the sake of pleasantries between kingdoms I could find it within reason to leave, but now, the kingdom’s people, the ones you’ve helped to save are at stake.”

Yoongi gives you a solemn nod. “At least now you can be certain you will not be sent away.”

“Once I return home...” You pull back, folding your hands on your lap, fidgeting while you ask the next important question of him.  “Will you plan to stay nearby like before? You will not leave me alone again will you?”

“I must. With my lower position now, I will likely be sent back into Taehyung’s land again. Though I will be glad of it, for I can not stay still while he is still hunting, and risk you falling prey to him again. And for the sake of our attachment I feel that our parting would be easier on the both of us. Especially since it will not be long before you are asked to-”

“Marry?” You let out a deep breath of air in an attempt to dispel the building weight in your chest. Is he right to think that upon your return you’ll be bound to another so soon? You hope that there would be time to find yourself again, to re-educate your mind into what it was before. But how long will that take and how patient will your parents be without the line of succession secured. You can only hope any man who is chosen will be... will be, “Though I wish it to be you who remains by my side, if my future husband has half the character of you I should be so lucky.”

“Do not say that.” His voice cracks with his hushed plea.

“Why not?”

He stands up before you, pulling you from your seat, and tucking you into his chest. He holds you there while with one hand to your back, and the fingers of the other rooting amongst your hair. He breathes in deeply, whispering the challenges to his choice. “Because it’ll make leaving you so much harder. You made my cursed existence not only bearable, but desirable. When I consider the possibility of spending my life, with the one who gave me purpose, who saw me not as a monster but as a salvation, who I came to love more than I thought possible.” Yoongi lifts your head again, directing you to look up at him. “An eternity with you, is the greatest temptation of all.”

You reach up to take his face in your hands, delivering a solemn kiss to his lips before pulling away.“If we can not have eternity, what of one moment within it? One final memory together to help us through the time we must spend apart. Can you give me that? Can you give me yourself?”

Yoongi’s mouth comes down to you in search of another, the wave of passion in his approach is so much stronger and forceful than your own. His tongue, endeavouring to taste you in a far different manner than hours ago. “You already have me, my blood, my life, my love, it’s all yours.”

He picks you up and returns you to the bed with him, tugging off his oversized shirt, while you remove your own. His mouth seeks out your neck, your collarbone, and downward soon finding the peaks of your chest. He’s soft and careful not to leave a mark as his lips tug gently on your skin. With each graze of his tongue he insights an inadvertent reaction from you, in the form of a moan or twitch. As your fingers tangle in his locks, his eyes gazing up to look for your expression. “Are you sure you wish to continue?”

You lower your hand to his face, dragging your fingers across his cheek and lips. “Yes, I can’t tell you how much I desire a memory like this.”

He stands to remove your pants before lowering back down to hover over you on his hands and knees, straddling you as you lay on the feathered mattress. His fingers trail down the side of your chest, your waist, you hip, before moving inward to reach between your folds. You inhale with the first touch of his fingers to your slit. As his index starts to stroke from the inside, his thumb circles your clit. Forcing you to groan into his mouth which comes down again to cover yours.

Once he appears satisfied with the wetness pooling around his digits. He pulls out and takes his finger to his mouth with a hungry moan. Cursing as it slips out from his lips.

Your face heats up, embarrassed by his reaction. “Surely you are making too much fuss over it.”

“You think I don’t find you enjoyable? That I can’t see, feel or taste how divine you are?”

You grin, taking pleasure words despite their boastful nature. “Divine? No, you are just too kind to say otherwise.”

“Then allow me to prove you wrong.” Yoongi smirks, adjusting to take his place between your legs.

“What do you intend to-” He answers your question before you can finish, his mouth latching firmly onto your cunt. Your words lost as he takes in a long draft, his tongue playing along darts inside of you before shifting up to tease your most sensitive spot. When paired with his fingers, which once again come to stretch your inside, you do not stand more than a minute before biting the pillow to muffle your scream. Drenching his mouth and hands with your cum.

“As I said divine.” Yoongi grins as he looks up at you, his lips glistening with your fluids. After leaving  you with no energy to debate his notion you can only nod and accept his truth. He cleans his fingers once again with his tongue, before sending them to undo the laces of his trousers.

When his cock slips free he takes your hand, guiding it along to stroke his shaft. His head falls back in pleasure, giving you the confidence to grow bolder. You sit up to meet him pulling his length down to glide along the outside of your folds and become wet with your slick.

You find to his mouth again with a kiss as he throbs against the inside of your legs and mound. “You are sure of this then?” He asks one last time.

“I am.” You promise looking into his eyes as he leans you back and guides his cock past your folds. The air in your throat catches, and your eyes flutter as you adapt to the sensation of him inside you.

The back of his fingers brushing at your cheek before folding out to cup your face. “Still with me?”

You nod back, pushing your lips to his upper chest and shoulder as you adjust to him. Yoongi lowers you back down to the bed, cradling your form as you descend. Finally cocooning you in a close embrace, with his nose buried in the nape of your neck.

His cock swells, and you arch your back in response, meeting his chest with yours. With his arm tucked around, he keeps you in that position. Dragging his hips away and towards, his thrusts come slow as your arousal coats his shaft. Every push becomes easier for you to take, but it would seem it’s harder for him to hold on. His forehead comes to rest on your shoulder a rasping grunt, as he remains inside. He changes tactics and turns to tend to your neck instead, slowing his pace to a halt, as he kisses the marked spot.

You take note of a low growl emitting from him as he continues to lavish the spot. He must hate it as much as you, his failure to come to you in time on display before him. But you know no amount of simple affection will remove the spot from view.

“Yoongi?” You ask in concern as his disdainful rumbles grow louder. Adjusting your head to get a glimpse of his pained face, you find a dampness forming in the duct of his eye.  “Yoongi, is it-”

“I hate how he continues to mark you. It shouldn’t be here between us.”

“Then take it.” You suggest, for you like him are unable to tolerate it any longer.

He looks fearful of what you ask, his eyes wide as he explains, “I’ll need to break the skin.”

“Then do it. Please, help rid me of this too.” You tuck his head back down so his lips come to rest against your neck. No longer fearing such an act with him, not after the gentleness he showed you before.

His mouth opens with his teeth dragging across the scar. There’s a brief prick of pain before the spot is soothed by his lips. Yoongi’s groans of satisfaction start to encourage and blend with your own, his arms continuing to embrace you and coddle you.

With his still mouth fixed to your neck, you feel as his tongue turns beneath his teeth, and with a swift bite he laps his own blood on to the fresh wound. The lingering pain soon falls away as the skin heals. Your head swims in a state between dizziness and pleasure, a sense of euphoria takes over.

You place your hands on his hips wanting him to resume, craving more of his pleasure. And so the thrusts return with Yoongi’s hand pressed to the small of your back, ensuring that your clit grinds against him as he pushes deeper. He dives into you to the point where you can hear the dull thump of the bed frame against the wall.  You wish you could hold on longer, you wish you didn’t have to let go, you find yourself whispering Yoongi’s name repeatedly as if it might change that. Only to be left stuttering between breaths as you claim your last climax.

He pulls out after his own release, hovering as he smiles down on the sight of you, and your legs wrapped around his thighs. After taking a moment to collect himself he goes to grab the washing dish and jug of water, dipping the supplied towel he proceeds to take care of what he left behind. You attempt to claim the cloth from him, as he lingers between your thighs, but he insists on being though. With a grin tugging at his lip each time the towel passes over your sensitive flesh and causes you to twitch.

“I will not forget this, not ever.” Yoongi whispers once finished, as he takes to your side covering you over with the blanket.

You nod in agreement, brushing the hair from his face. “When it is all done, I want you to come back to me. I don’t care how long, I have to see you again.”

“I-I will try, but I cannot promise I will survive this task. If my demise will allow me to stand between you and him then I will gladly become that barrier.” You gasp ready to argue against such a sacrifice, but one tap of his finger to your lip stops your conflict in its place, allowing him to finish. “Rest now. Think not of what we can’t change.”  

You curl into Yoongi trying to do as he suggests. Though just as you get comfortable there’s an unexpected tap on the shutters of your room, a circumstance made even more surprising when you remember yourself to be on the second floor of the house. Your vampire rises, careful to open the window so no light shines on him. Allowing a raven to make its way inside.

Yoongi is quick to free it of a rolled letter attached to its foot before releasing the bird and blocking out the window behind it. As his eyes scan the paper, his brow furrows and his hand clenches the parchment to the point where it starts to crackle in his grip. He proceeds to throw back on his clothes, not even bothering to change out his torn shirt, while keeping the letter clutched in his hand.  

“Yoongi, is something-”

“I need to talk to Seokjin. Stay here.” He growls bursting out the door in a formidable rage, slamming it behind him. You give time for him to descend the steps before crawling from your bed wrapped in the sheet and leaning your ear to the solid wood that bars you from the hall, but nothing can be heard through the thick barrier.

You can not help but fear what might be wrong for Yoongi to react in such a way. Going against his command you throw the clothes Namjoon left you and ready to exit your room. Carefully pulling on the latch of the door so as to not make a sound. You ease through the smallest crack you can muster before settling at top of the stairs, hidden from the view of the floor below. The voice of the vampires trailing up from the main room.

“You have her smell all over you, lucky bastard,” Seokjin groans. “How did she taste?”

Yoongi doesn’t answer the question, posing his own instead, with a rustle of parchment and a loud thump on the table. “How long, how long have you known of this?”

“Yoongi-” Seokjin responds, the uncertainty of his tone is a jarring contrast from your own previous interaction with him.

“Answer me Seokjin!”

“I couldn’t tell you, you gave up your position, because of her. You know there is information we must keep from the hunters in case it falls into the wrong hands. I’ve known this to be the truth since you first went to recover her from Taehyung. We all knew it was your primary goal to retrieve her, but I wasn’t allowed to say anything that might cause a change in course from you. If you had known you would not have led her this way.”

“So you kept me in the dark? All these years?” Yoongi seethes. “I promised I would take her home! And you're just now sharing with me that I can’t? You didn’t care if I knew the whole truth, just as long as in the end I brought her closer to the clan’s reach?”

“We can keep her safe.”

“No, she deserves her life away from us. She has been tortured enough Seokjin. How am I supposed to tell her this? She was just starting to recover, to remember her past, and to trust me again, but this... it will break her. She won’t accept this new fate if this is your only solution.”

“Then don’t tell her, don’t give her a chance to refuse. She accepted your blood, did she not? Use it to send her off to sleep and don’t wake her again until she’s resting comfortably behind the clan’s walls. You can return to your old life, Hoseok will grant you your title back if you do this, I’m sure of it. You can be the high keeper again, with your princess safe by your side.”

There’s a loud clamour and groan, prompting you to peak just around the edge to witness the struggle. There on the table, Yoongi has pinned Seokjin, his fingers wrapped around the vampire's neck.

Seokjin doesn’t appear to be too put off despite his situation, choosing instead to give advice to the one who has him by the throat. “You’re immortal Yoongi, she is not, you need to remember that. Her sadness will be only temporary if she chooses to hold it against you, but if you go against us now you will be alone, without a clan for eternity.”

Yoongi stands there in silence, no more refusals, no more rebuttals. Instead of continuing to argue on your behalf, he nods and lets Seokjin up from the table. His fellow vampire claps him on the shoulder and mutters, “You’ve made the right choice old friend. Hoseok will be pleased to have you back in the clan’s coven.”

While they embrace every part of you is lit ablaze with pain and anger. You both had been played, but he... he acquiesced to his puppeteer, and plans to string you up too. There’s nothing that could willingly compel you to take shelter in a castle full of vampires again... with Yoongi by your side though? You consider the notion for a fraction of a second before a resounding ‘no’ takes hold. Your younger self might have gone, and willingly so, but now the cost to you and your people is far too great.

With the growing list of broken promises, how long before the vow of safety fractures for the sake of his clan too? What is there to stop the situation from evolving into your own past with Taehyung? You can not, you will not endure that kind of life again.

With your only option being to run, your head concocts a plan to flee. Creeping back to the bedroom you crack the window open, and glance over the edge, thankful to see that there are several crates stacked close enough for you to reach with your feet. If you’re lucky Yoongi will stay downstairs for some time and have no reason to believe you’ve flown from his side. Fitting a spare cloak you escape out the window taking the map with you. Climbing down you flee towards the stables out back.  

There you find the horse without a proper name, another painful reminder of Yoongi’s promises, and inability to return. Forcing you to recognize the constant pull between you and his clan. Your heart is left broken down the line of betrayal and understanding, for how can you entirely fault him when you yourself are determined to return to your own kingdom at the expense of his happiness. In the end the both of you are left to suffer the pain of duty over love.

Not wanting to journey with such a bitter token of the past, you choose the other smaller stead stolen from the hunters instead. Mounting the horse, you ride off into the noonday sun, eager to make it home before he or his kind have the ability to alter your course.

[spencers-renaissance]

dry me off and hold me close

Summary: Derek has finally relented and is bringing his boyfriend Spencer to meet the rest of the team. That means, though, he has to finally tell them about his boyfriend's disability. Terrified that they'll react badly, he puts it off until he can't anymore. Turns out he was worried for nothing.

Tags: so much fluff, protective derek, disabled spencer, caretaker derek, au: spencer is not in the bau, team as family, hurt/comfort, light angst, est. rel, day to day disabled life, physical disability/chronic illness

Pairing: Derek Morgan x Spencer Reid

Word Count: 5.7k

Masterlist // Read on AO3

Hello! I am nervous to share this one, I won't lie. It's incredibly personal. It was a pain in the arse to write but I love how it turned out and I hope you do, too. Just a note: this may be triggering for some people - there is description of nausea and severe chronic pain, as well as frequent references to ableism towards wheelchair users.

As soon as Rossi brings up the prospect of a fully-catered family dinner at his ‘mansion’ this weekend, Derek’s heart sinks. They’re on their way home from a pretty gruelling case and it’s well-deserved of course, but he knows what comes next, knows what question will be asked of him, and he’s dreading it. There’s only so long he can go on avoiding answering. 

“Please tell me you’ll finally let us meet Spencer, Derek,” JJ asks, levelling him with a look to rival one of Penelope’s. “At this point I’m starting to think you’ve made him up.” 

Spencer is very real. He’s a very real, very sexy, very intelligent man who Derek has no doubt would get on brilliantly with the team. But Spencer also happens to be disabled. And while his boyfriend has had decades to get to terms with broaching such a sensitive, taboo topic, Derek has not. He’s far from ashamed of Spencer — that’s not it at all — he’s just so protective of him, and the idea of others being touchy or patronising or outright rude around him is an idea he’s never been able to get used to, no matter how many times he’s witnessed it.

Derek’s laugh is strained as he rubs his face awkwardly, trying to find the words to politely decline, but the others are pouncing on him before he can speak. 

“You’ve put it off enough times now, Morgan,” Emily says, siding with JJ. “If he’s even half of what you say he is then we’ll love him. Just bring him along. Rossi doesn’t mind.”

“Oh no, I’m dying to meet the man who could finally tie Derek Morgan, ladies man extraordinaire, down,” Rossi chimes in.

“He definitely sounds like my kind of guy,” Alex agrees. “I’m impressed you managed to land such an educated man, Derek.”

He looks sort of desperately towards Hotch who raises his hands guiltily. “I would actually like to meet him, too, Morgan,” he says reluctantly, a rare smile playing across his face.

Derek groans and throws his head back against his plane seat. He can only be glad Penelope isn’t on the flight because she’d be absolutely relentless in such a conversation. 

As hesitant as he is to let his team in, maybe it is time to finally get over himself and bring Spencer to meet them. After all, none of them have ever given him actual cause to be so nervous, and he knows they’d all inevitably fall in love with him almost as quickly as Derek did, so really it’s his own fears and fierce protective instincts keeping Spencer away from his second family. 

“Fine,” he relents, anxious butterflies not easing. “He’s home this weekend, and apart from planning lectures I think he’s free, so I’ll ask him. But I can only promise to ask, I won’t promise he’ll agree.” It’s a pointless caveat; Spencer’s been bugging him to meet the team almost as long as they’ve been bugging him to meet Spencer, he’ll jump at the chance to go to dinner with them. 

“Finally,” JJ groans, pretending to collapse against Emily in relief, who giggles fondly at her antics.

“I’m sure we’ll love him, Derek,” Rossi says reassuringly, a proud fatherly look on his face that has his chest clenching painfully. 

As everyone settles down, his stomach churns anxiously as he stares back out of the jet window. He knows everyone will love Spencer; he just doesn’t know how to tell them what to expect. What if Spencer has a fainting episode or gets nauseous at dinner time? What if he can’t keep his energy up or is too photosensitive to have the lights on? What if meeting that many people at once overwhelms him? Spencer always tells him he worries too much, but he can’t help it — not when the love of his life is involved. 

He’s brought out of his nervous stewing by Hotch. “You know, Morgan, if you really don’t want to bring Spencer, you don’t have to,” he says softly, making him look up to see everyone staring at him guiltily. 

“We didn’t mean to pressure you,” JJ says hesitantly, and the others agree, all clearly having noticed his pensive expression.

He forces himself to take a calming breath and bite the damn bullet already. Spencer would be rolling his eyes at him. “Okay. There’s something I haven’t told you,” he starts carefully. He hasn’t had to introduce the concept of Spencer’s disability to anybody since he told his family. “Spencer is disabled. He has a chronic condition that impairs his mobility along with bringing a whole host of other symptoms, and while he’s had it for most of his adult life, I’m still not used to broaching the topic and I didn’t know how you would react. He already experienced enough difficulties in life, he doesn’t need my co-workers, hypothetically, being patronising or weird about it. So, I put it off.”

It feels like a weight off his chest once it’s out in the air, but the surprised looks on his team’s face make him briefly wonder whether telling them was a mistake after all. “Spencer will really look forward to coming though,” he rushes to continue. “He’s on his own a lot of the time and struggles to make it out of the house except for work if I’m not there, so he can feel quite isolated. It will be nice for him to spend time with other people, and finally meet you guys.”

By the time he’s finished speaking, everyone seems to have mostly recovered from their immediate shock, and look relaxed and intrigued again — far more appreciated expressions on Derek’s end. 

“Well,” Rossi starts, and he feels like holding his breath in anticipation, “will he need any accommodations?” Relief spreads warm and thick across Derek’s chest as he feels himself physically relax. Of course immediate support would be the response from his team; he was stupid to think otherwise. 

“His mobility fluctuates daily. Sometimes he can walk small distances okay, other times — and more frequently — he needs aids like forearm crutches or his wheelchair. Can I text you on the day and let you know?”

“Of course,” Rossi promises, a warm smile on his face, “whatever you and Spencer need.”

“There is one more thing, if Spencer’s coming it will need to be earlier in the evening… think more six rather than eight. He’ll be too exhausted later in the evening and he needs to be home early to get the amount of sleep he needs.”

“That’s fine,” Rossi agrees immediately, “six it is.”

“Sorry for pressuring you, Derek,” JJ says, tilting her head as she looks across the table at him. “But we’ll love Spencer, this won’t change anything.”

“Yeah, fuck you for thinking we’d be assholes about it,” Emily chuckles, punching him softly in the arm. 

Derek grins at her before shaking his head. “I’m just too protective of him,” he explains a little guiltily. “He thinks it’s ridiculous but I can’t help it. We’ve been together nearly five years now and I’ve seen the things he has to go through, professionally and in his day to day life. I just saw an area for potential harm, no matter how slim the chances, and immediately bricked it up in my mind. It’s hard to tear walls down like that.”

“Well, I’m glad you did,” Alex says in her signature gentle tone, smiling at him.

“I can’t wait to meet him,” Hotch agrees and Derek gives them all another quick smile before they settle in for the rest of the flight. 

It’s late by the time Derek unlocks the door to his and Spencer’s home and he knows his boyfriend will already be in bed. It had been a weird adjustment when they’d first started dating, Spencer having to be home by 10pm so Spencer could get at least nine hours of sleep, topped up by regular naps during the day. Now though, he’s completely used to operating around Spencer’s sleep schedule; it’s just routine. 

He makes his way through the house quietly, toeing his shoes off and shedding his coat before dumping his bag in the living room and padding up the stairs. The house is dark but their room is dimly lit by Spencer’s night lamps, there to ease him off to sleep and keep him company when bouts of painful insomnia torment him. There was a time Derek used to mind, but those days seem so long ago now. He climbs carefully onto the mattress, taking off his trousers and socks but not bothering to change into anything new.

As gentle as he is with his movement, Spencer still stirs beside him. “Derek?” He blinks sleepily over at him in the soft light of the bedroom and Derek immediately scoots over and wraps him in a hug. It might be gone midnight but he misses Spencer like crazy when he’s away and physical contact is very much essential business right now.

“Yeah, baby,” he whispers as he relishes the feeling of Spencer’s small frame against his own. “Sorry I woke you.”

“It’s okay. Just glad you’re home. Missed you.”

“I promise I missed you more,” Derek murmurs as the warmth of the room and comforting presence of his boyfriend wrapped around him finally break down the walls he’s been holding back the sleepiness working a 5 day case inevitably brings. 

“Make me pancakes in the morning?” 

Spencer doesn’t need to ask, it’s a tradition for Derek to make pancakes for breakfast the day he gets back from the case, but it makes him smile anyway. “Anything for you, baby boy,” he yawns. “Go back to sleep. I’ll see you in the morning.” 

⭐️

Derek waits until dinner the next evening to bring up the subject of the dinner party. It’s just a simple takeaway on the sofa of the house Derek had renovated for them, but even five years into their relationship, every moment shared with Spencer feels like a date. 

“How would you feel about going to a dinner party with the team?” Derek asks when there’s a lull in their conversation. Spencer’s just finished explaining a complicated debate he’s having with one of his colleagues about kinetic particle theory and Derek has no idea how to respond. Moments like these used to make him feel stupid and inadequete when they first got together, but now he just stares fondly at his genius boyfriend and wonders how on earth he got so lucky. 

Spencer lowers his fork. They’re eating chinese but he still hasn’t mastered chopsticks, and it never fails to make Derek smile. “Are you serious?” he says, an excited grin spreading across his face.

“I am.” He quirks an amused eyebrow as he takes in Spencer’s eager expression. God, he’s so fucking in love.

“Well obviously I want to go,” he giggles, “you know that. When is it?”

“Saturday.”

Spencer just launches himself into Derek’s lap in lieu of response, not that he has far to move on their cosy sofa, slotting himself against his body as they melt into one another. “Thank you for finally getting over yourself,” he says with his face buried in Derek’s neck.

Derek’s responding laugh jostles both of them as he wraps his arms around Spencer’s small frame, loving the way he fits in the palms of his hands. “I’m sorry it took me so long, baby,” he says, tone transitioning into sincerity. “But they can’t wait to meet you, and you’re going to love them.”

“I know,” Spencer says drily, pulling back to look him in his eyes. “Why do you think I’ve been pushing to meet them for the last five years?”

Derek answers with a squeeze to Spencer’s waist and a kiss to his shoulder. “Go on,” he says, lifting him off his lap to sit on the sofa next to him. “Finish your dinner.” 

“Mm, I think I’ve had enough,” Spencer hums nonchalantly, busying himself with putting the carton on the coffee table as if Derek doesn’t know him like the back of his hands. 

“This is your favourite dish from your favourite Chinese and you’re expecting me to believe you’ve just had enough,” he says, raising an eyebrow. “What’s wrong, pretty boy?”

“Nothing,” Spencer says, but he sounds winded and Derek isn’t stupid. He levels him with a look. “Okay… I just feel a bit sick is all.”

“Floor, sofa, or bed?” He’s aware of the nausea protocol, and he moves his own dinner aside as he springs into action. 

“Floor.” He’d been surprised the first time his boyfriend had crawled onto the floor and lay curled up until the nausea passed, but it was second-nature now. Apparently, the flat, firm surface was the most comfortable when such intense sickness consumed him.

“Okay, baby, let’s go.” He gently lifts Spencer off the sofa and down onto the floor, taking care not to jostle him too much. His eyes stay closed, face screwed up as he tries to weather the waves of nausea crashing over him. It never fails to make Derek’s heart twist in pain. “Are you actually going to be sick?” The majority of nausea spells usually pass on their own with no vomit to speak of, and Spencer’s usually very good at telling which kind it is.

“No,” he whispers, reaching his hand slowly towards Derek’s and gripping it tightly. He gets the message and lays down next to him, stroking his hair softly as they wait in silence for Spencer’s body to right itself. It only takes about twenty minutes to pass, and when it does, Derek carries him to bed, bringing him his toothbrush and a flannel as they follow another of their set routines that have been established over so many years of being together. 

“I love you so much, Spencer Reid,” Derek murmurs as they lay in bed together that night, the soft light of their bedroom catching on Spencer’s cheekbones.

“I love you more, Derek Morgan,” Spencer whispers back, voice slurred as he cuddles further into the arms of his boyfriend. 

“Not possible,” Derek insists, but Spencer’s already dropping off to sleep. 

⭐️

Spencer wakes up on the day of the dinner party in what Derek can clearly see is nothing short of agony. He doesn’t try to hide it, they’re mostly past that now — although he still sometimes convinces himself he can handle smaller symptoms by himself, no matter how many times Derek insists they’re a team — but he doesn’t say much either. The morning is spent on the sofa, using numerous heated blankets and painkiller combinations until he can at least think straight. 

“How do you feel about this evening?” Derek asks as lunchtime approaches, rubbing Spencer’s good arm gently as he leans against him, legs outstretched on the chaise. 

Spencer hums. “I’m gonna take a nap after lunch,” he decides after a moment of deliberation, “and then decide. I think with meds and the wheelchair, I’ll be okay.” He pauses for a moment as he nibbles nervously on his bottom lip. “Do you think they’ll be weird about the chair?”

“No, baby,” Derek says decisively. Really, he can’t believe he ever thought anything different, but he was scared and fear easily spirals into irrationality. “They won’t even blink. Especially since I warned them about the mobility aids. I think they’d be more surprised if you walked into the Rossi mansion.”

“You sure?”

It hurts Derek’s heart to hear him so anxious and uncertain, and it’s only more painful because he knows it's rooted in experience. He’s had to fight for most of his life to be seen as a competent adult, equal to his peers despite his disability, and people can be cruel. “I’m sure. And even if for some reason they were dicks about it, I’m there, okay? Nobody’s gonna get away with being anything other than an angel towards you when I’m around.”

Spencer giggles at that, turning his head into Derek’s chest. “You turn into the hulk when you’re protecting me.” 

“I do,” he agrees, chuckling at the sound of Spencer’s adorable laugh, “and for good reason. No-one hurts my baby. You know that, and everyone else knows it, too. We’re gonna be just fine, pretty boy.”

Spencer sighs, reassured by Derek’s words. “Love you,” he whispers, twisting a bit to press a kiss to the side of Derek’s neck. 

“I love you more,” Derek promises, lifting a hand to rest on Spencer’s cheek.

“Not possible.”

The rest of the day passes slowly as Spencer takes it easy, deciding that he’s definitely up to it after a decent nap curled up against a reading Derek. They get ready together, Derek helping him shower when his arms hurt too much to wash his hair and getting him dressed in his favourite outfit before dressing himself. 

By the time six thirty rolls around, Spencer’s feeling a little bit better, his meds are hitting the spot and they’ve mastered all the wheelchair adaptations to make his life as easy as possible over the years. His cushions and heated seats connected to the wheelchair’s motor, which he uses to help self-propell at work, ease the pain as much as they can and the built in phone charger always makes him popular whenever they go out with friends. Plus, his cane and crutches connect neatly to the back of the chair, giving him more options, which is especially helpful on nights like this. 

“Comfy?” Derek asks as he pushes him out of the apartment and into the hallway, locking the door behind them. 

Spencer hums in affirmation, wiggling a little as he settles into the warm support of the chair. They have a ground floor apartment for safety reasons: Spencer needs to be able to exit the building if the lifts stop working, but it’s also convenient. They get down to the garage quickly and Derek helps him into the passenger seat before packing the wheelchair in the boot.

He spends the journey in contemplative silence and Derek can’t keep himself from shooting worried looks his way. His hand makes its way onto Spencer’s knee and he rubs his thumb gently against the skin, before stilling the digit, all too conscious of how painful repetitive stimulus can be, especially on days like these. 

“Stop worrying, baby,” he says, ten minutes into the drive when Spencer still hasn’t said a word. His bottom lip is chapped from the worried chewing it has endured for most of the day. “They’re going to love you, I promise.” 

“You really think so?” 

Derek’s about to answer quickly but he looks over and sees how absolutely dead serious Spencer is. He sighs. “Let me tell you exactly why. Alex is a fellow academic with the softest streak of anyone in the BAU field team. Emily and JJ have the ability to befriend literally anyone, and Penelope already is in love with you, just from what I’ve said about you. She’s told me so multiple times. Rossi immediately accommodated you and wasn’t at all fazed when I mentioned your disability. Hotch is a gentle fatherly type when he’s talking to good people and the rest of the team, so he’ll just be interested in you as a person. There’s no-one I’m worried about, okay?”

“Okay,” Spencer whispers eventually, finally sounding like he actually believes him. 

“Besides, you’ve already got one member of this team whipped,” Derek smirks, glancing over at him again. 

He considers it a win when Spencer rolls his eyes, and his grin couldn’t be wider when he hears him mumble, “arrogant asshole” under his breath.

Derek’s grateful Rossi doesn’t have a gravel driveway as he gets Spencer out of the car and into his wheelchair, before pushing him the short way to the front door. They’d battled some tough terrain over the years, and gravel was absolutely his least favourite. As they approach the house, though, he notices that Spencer’s grip on his armrest is tight enough that his knuckles are white, and it hurts Derek’s heart that he’s only this nervous because real people and real experiences have given him genuine reason to be. 

Before he gets to knock, though, the door is thrown open by an uncontainably excited Penelope. “You’re here!” she shouts, and completely bypasses Derek to shake Spencer’s hand. He’s glad she doesn’t crouch, just leans down a little so he doesn't have to reach up so far. “You must be Spencer. I’m Penelope. It is a crime that Derek has kept us apart for so long, but none of that matters now. Would you like me to push you in through to meet the others?”

“Um, it’s nice to finally meet you, Penelope,” he says, smiling at her genuinely. “Would you mind if Derek keeps pushing me, though?”

“Oh, no, that’s fine!” Her smile doesn’t drop a bit. “Come through, everyone’s already in the living room. Oh, and hi Chocolate Thunder.” She sends him a quick wink. 

“Hi, Mama,” he says, rolling his eyes. He’s grinning, though. So far, so good. 

They follow Penelope further into the house after Derek closes the door behind them, and the girls get up first. “Spencer, oh it’s so good to meet you,” Emily says, coming up and shaking his hand. “I’m Emily, this is JJ.”

“Hi,” JJ says, shaking his hand too, giving him a conspiratorial look. “I’m glad we finally bullied Derek into bringing his oh-so-secret beau to meet us.” 

Derek just grins. “What can I say? I’m protective of my baby.” He reaches down and placed a hand on his shoulder, squeezing it gently. 

“Ignore this caveman,” Spencer laughs, and Derek is sure he rolls his eyes again. “I’ve been dying to meet you all, too.”

“Well, it’s our pleasure,” Alex says, coming up for her turn. “I’m Alex. Your paper ‘How Thinking Makes Us Write’ you published a couple of years ago is incredible; I used it in my Psychology of Writing class last year and only just realised it was written by Derek’s top-secret boyfriend! I’d love to talk to you more about that later.”

“That’s so cool, wow, yeah I’d love that.” He smiles at her, clearly feeling a little flattered by the immediate praise of his work. Derek thinks it’s the least he deserves.

“I’m Aaron, but everyone calls me Hotch,” Hotch says as he and Rossi step forward, a warm smile on his face. “Sorry to overwhelm you with all these introductions, but it’s lovely to meet you. It really is a shame Derek’s been so secretive.” 

Spencer smiles up at him. “Are we all going to dunk on Derek all night? Because if that’s the case, I’m glad I came,” he laughs, twisting around slightly to look at Derek. 

“Yeah, yeah, keep talking, pretty boy,” he says, raising a brow. “Two can play at that game.”

“You’re too whipped, I’m not worried,” Spencer dismisses him, before touching his hand lovingly, letting him know that he’s only teasing. 

“I don’t doubt it,” Rossi says. “I’m Dave, or Rossi, whichever you prefer. I actually own this house, despite being the last in line for a formal introduction. I’m sorry I didn’t greet you at the door, Penelope had been waiting on the stairs for half an hour so she could be the first to greet you.”

“That true, baby girl?” Derek chuckles, looking over at her. 

She doesn’t even have the decency to look embarrassed, but then Derek doesn’t know what else he expected. “This is on you,” she defends herself, “if you hadn’t waited so long to introduce me to baby genius here, I wouldn’t have been so desperate to meet him.” 

Spencer laughs at their interaction, turning his attention back to Rossi. “It’s nice to meet you,” he says. “Derek told me you were really accommodating, so thank you for that.”

He waves the thanks aside with a dismissive hand. “It’s nothing. Speaking of which, though, would you rather eat in your wheelchair or transfer to one of the dining chairs.”

Derek knows what’s about to happen even before he sees Spencer tense up. “Give us one second,” he says, wheeling him out into the hallway. Decisions are really hard for Spencer to make on bad days, especially those that pertain to his health or needs, and being under the eyes of so many people was not about to make that an easy interaction.

“Derek…” Spencer says anxiously, looking at him for help as he feels his mind spiral into fogginess at the question. 

“Okay, it’s okay, baby,” he says soothingly, crouching down in front of him to be at eye level. He takes his hand and kisses it gently. “Do your hips need a break from the chair or would it be more painful to transfer?” 

Phrasing questions like Rossi’s as directly applicable choices is always more digestible for Spencer and he sees him visibly relax at his words. “Hips need a break.”

“Great,” Derek says. “Do you want to go back in or do you need a minute to yourself?”

“No, I’m fine,” Spencer says, and he believes him. He instantly relaxed at having made a decision. “Let’s go back in.”

“As you wish, sweetheart.”

They walk back into a room full of vibrant conversation and laughter. “Oh, Spencer, Spencer,” Emily says, immediately roping him back into the conversation without making a big deal of him having to leave the room, “we’re debating whether Derek’s really the slob Alex insists he is. You need to help us settle it.”

“I shared a room with him once, okay,” she says, “it was a state!”

“I don’t doubt it,” Spencer agrees. “At home, he’s so anal about ‘everything in it’s place’ and won’t even let a mug sit on the counter without being washed up. But whenever we go away, he can’t keep the place clean, it’s the weirdest thing. It’s like his suitcase vomits its contents all over the room.”

“Hey, I didn’t know this dinner was gonna be all about airing my dirty laundry,” Derek laughs.

“Literally,” JJ points out.

“Right,” Rossi says, interrupting the laughter filling the room. “Dinner is ready, so we should eat. Did you come to a decision about seating, Spencer?” Derek’s impressed at how much he knows about accommodating disabilities. He probably has someone close to him who’s been through something similar to Spencer.

“I’ll transfer,” he confirms.

“Great, we can just move your wheelchair to the hall once you’re settled so it’s not in the way, if that’s okay?”

At Spencer’s nod, they all file into the kitchen/dining area and choose their places. Penelope bags the seat to Spencer’s left, Derek sitting to his right, as the other girls sit opposite them. Hotch and Rossi sit at Derek's end of the table. He holds hands with Spencer under the table all through the delicious pasta primavera, helping to ground him, reminding him he’s right there. 

Conversation and laughter flows with the wine Rossi serves, and Derek doesn’t even mind his embarrassing stories being shared with the team, because it’s Spencer, and he’s so far gone for this man that he could slice him open and with his dying breath, Derek would thank him. 

“I love you, really,” Spencer grins up at him, after he’s just revealed his Nina Simone shower concerts to everyone sitting around the table, everyone cracking up as the tough exterior Derek’s built up at work over the years slowly disintegrates, his own boyfriend fuelling the fire. 

“And I love you, baby,” he says, leaning over to kiss him briefly, before pulling back. “Even when you spill my deepest darkest secrets.”

“Well, aren’t you two just the cutest,” Alex says fondly. “You’re a lucky man, Derek.”

“No, I’m the lucky one,” Spencer insists. “Do you know what he said when we first met? We were at the supermarket, and I was reaching for some baby carrots. He said ‘whoa, pretty boy, don’t get those ones. They go off far too quickly. Someone as beautiful as you deserves better than that’. No mention of the wheelchair or bags under my eyes. He didn’t see Disabled Spencer, he just saw Spencer. Asked for my number then and there.”

“You were irresistible,” Derek says fondly, brushing a thumb against his cheek. “I knew right at that moment I would spend the rest of my life with you.” 

“Stop,” Penelope begs, “my heart is literally a puddle on the floor. This world needs more Derek Morgans.”

“I’ll toast to that,” JJ says, her face just as soft as Penelope’s. 

“A real toast,” Hotch says, raising his glass with a happy smile on his face. Derek very rarely sees such a relaxed expression on his face, and as much as they have their disagreements, it’s a nice thing to see. “A toast to Derek and Spencer. May your happiness live long and be as contagious as it is tonight.”

Everyone toasts to his words, and Spencer buries his face in Derek’s shoulder, a little embarrassed at the attention. They sit around the table a little longer, but Spencer slowly sags against his body, finding it painful to keep himself upright. 

Noticing this, Penelope claps her hands. “Shall we move back to the living room? I bought chocolate and Rossi has wine.”

“This is true,” Rossi says as they all get up. He grabs Spencer’s wheelchair from the hall and Derek helps him back into it as they head back to the sofas.

“It’s weird using my chair inside,” Spencer laughs as Derek pulls him into his chest so he doesn’t have to keep himself steady upright, everyone else settling themselves around the room.

“Do you not need it often?” Hotch asks. 

“No, I need it quite a lot. I just don’t usually have to. Derek’s usually fairly insistent on carrying me around our apartment.”

“We’ll never live in a big house,” Derek says, chuckling along with anyone else. “I couldn’t haul this big lug around a Rossi mansion, now could I?”

“Hey!” Spencer smacks his side lightly. 

“You’re 6 foot tall, baby,” Derek defends himself. “You might be tiny but there’s still a lot of you.”

“Fair enough,” Spencer acquiesces, laying his head just under Derek’s chin. 

“Right,” Rossi says, coming back into the room, “I have more of your non-alcoholic wine, Spencer, and more of the real stuff for everyone else. Hand out the chocolates, Penelope, and we’ll have ourselves some satisfied guests.”

“I don’t live here, old man,” Penelope says, raising an eyebrow but getting up from her seat cuddled against Emily and JJ anyway. 

“Hey, you answered the door to pretty much everyone today; you’re co-hosting.”

“Can’t argue with that, Penelope,” Emily says drily, looking on amusedly as she huffs but hands out the chocolates anyway.

Derek discreetly pops two painkillers out in his pocket and hands it to Spencer, who swallows them down with a sip of his non-alcoholic wine, relaxing as they start to take effect. They all chat leisurely for a while, enjoying each other’s company in a non-pressured environment where they’re not surrounded by high profile cases and serial killers. 

Eventually, though, Spencer starts to fall asleep on his chest, clearly feeling relaxed enough in the warm room, pressed up against his boyfriend and surrounded by the reassuring conversation of people he trusts. As soon as Derek notices, though, he knows it’s time to get him home and into bed before any true crisis of pain or fatigue takes place. 

“I think we’ll need to get going, guys,” he says quietly, drawing everyone’s attention to Spencer’s dozing form. He watches as their faces soften and conversation quietens, everyone clearly enamoured with his boyfriend. It occurs to him that he feels no jealousy, only pride that he gets to call this wonderful man his, that he’ll be going home with him tonight, tucking him into bed and cuddling him until he falls asleep. 

He shakes Spencer gently, and the others start to get up, tidying or just moving through to the kitchen so as not to embarrass him when he opens his eyes. “Sorry,” he murmurs sleepily, as he looks up at Derek. “I’m tired.”

“I know, baby,” he says softly, feeling so fond his heart could burst. “Let’s get you home, yeah?”

Everyone’s sad to see him go, gathering at the front door to say their goodbyes. 

“You are invited to every BAU event from hereon in,” Penelope asserts confidently as she leans down for a gentle hug. She whispers, “you’re better company than Derek, anyway.”

“I heard that, Mama,” he says, poking her in the side.

“You were meant to,” she says, sending him a pointed look, before dropping the act and wrapping him in a hug as the others say goodbye to Spencer. 

“It was so nice to finally meet you, Spencer,” Hotch says warmly. “Derek had better not keep us from seeing anymore of you.”

“I’m not sure I could possibly get away with that anymore,” he sighs. “Guess I’ll have to share my baby with you assholes.”

Spencer rolls his eyes at that, stifling a yawn. “Come on, caveman,” he says, rolling his eyes again. “I need to get home.”

“Anything for you, my highness,” he chuckles, before lifting his chin with his knuckle and bending down to kiss him briefly. 

“Bye, lovebirds,” Emily calls as they make their way to their car.

“Drive safely,” JJ shouts, which makes Derek laugh fondly. He does love his team.

“See you on Monday,” he calls back as he helps Spencer into the passenger seat. They drive home in the comforting darkness of night, illuminated by the car and street lights of the city, and satisfaction pools in his stomach as he reflects on such a perfect evening as Spencer falls asleep against the passenger window. It really couldn’t have gone any better, and the relief he feels is staggering: the two most important facets of his life finally integrated after far too long.

While his whole life feels like it’s finally falling into place, all that really matters is that the man who is his entire world is happy, a small smile on his sleeping face as the shadows of the city brush their way over his cheekbones. He has to force his eyes back to the road, but he can’t resist the hand he slips into Spencer’s, or the smile that lights up his face as even in his sleep, Spencer’s fingers curl themselves around his.

Spencer's symptoms in this fic could fit any number of neurological conditions, but his unnamed condition was modelled on my own experience with fibromyalgia. I have a rather severe case, as would Spencer if he was diagnosed with this illness. The symptoms could also fit these conditions in one way or another: Myalgic Encephalomyelitis (M.E.), Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome (EDS), Lupus, Rheumatoid Arthritis or Axial Spondyloarthritis, as well as others I'm sure I'm forgetting.

Everything about Spencer’s disability is true to the chronically ill/disabled experience as I know it, and to learn more please visit the end notes on AO3 where I explain in a little more detail some of the features of Spencer’s symptoms and condition.

<333

taglist: @criminalmindsvibez @hotchgans @suburban--gothic @strippersenseii @takeyourleap-of-faith

[janekfan]

Duress

https://archiveofourown.org/works/30665933

As ever, Jon’s timing was impeccable.

Impeccably awful.

Barely a month into his new “promotion” and already he could feel a toll. If he was completely honest with himself he hadn’t expected quite this level of work despite not being a stranger to long hours. To put it bluntly, the archives were a mess. Gertrude hadn’t left any clues as to how filing was done and it all seemed so haphazard he had to wonder if it wasn’t on purpose. He was up to his elbows in files he’d found in a water stained cardboard box when Tim sauntered up, looking down his nose at the papers in disgust. Jon wished he would help and didn’t know how to ask for it with their relationship as strained as it currently was. Tim had silently allied with Sasha when Elias made the announcement and they were all navigating the current situation gingerly. Jon didn’t blame him. She needed support. The statements and recordings and organization could wait until they were ready.

“Hey there, boss. Was wondering if you wanted to come out with us tonight.”

Oh, of course. It was Friday, wasn’t it.

Jon looked around his office, strewn with papers and post-its and worse off than it was this morning. Guilt welled up in him like blood from a wound. Tim was losing his already limited patience with him.

“Uh, yes, that would be nice. It has been a while.” He leaned back and wiped his dusty hands off on his trousers adding to the light streaks already there.

“Yeah, I’ll say. Too important to hang out with us now, ey Jon? Now that you’re a corporate bigwig?”

“I am not!” Tim held his hands up in supplication.

“Just kidding, yeah?” It didn’t sound like it was just anything; certainly not the jokes Tim used to tell. This just felt cruel, probably because Tim thought it was the truth. Jon could admit he was prickly and difficult and knew he never won over many. If he lost Tim and Sasha over this he didn’t know what he would do. “Usual place.”

That exchange happened hours ago and Jon didn’t feel well. He couldn’t go out like this, pulse pounding, head throbbing, vision swimming. He’d have to cancel. But he’d canceled at the last minute on them so many times before and he could tell their patience was wearing thin. How was he supposed to choose between his new job and his old friends? Why couldn’t he just be normal for once?

Why did Tim choose now to forget this sometimes happened?

Any moment they’d be by to collect him and Jon was so dizzy he wasn’t altogether sure if he could stand. He hadn’t felt like this since Uni when he and Georgie spent many a late night studying for exams. He’d crashed shortly after, struck down with some illness or another, and barely remembered more than a glimpse of her face staring down at him with concern. Surely they would understand?

“Ready, boss?” Casual with his jacket over one shoulder, Tim leaned into the office, scowling when he laid eyes on him, exasperated. “Really, Jon?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” Tim scoffed. “S’sorry. I know it’s rude, I’m just. Tired.” That was a part of it anyway.

“You know, Jon, you say you still want to be friends and then never hang out with us.”

“I know, I’m--”

“You’ve cancelled so many times at this point I don’t know if it’s even worth inviting you.” Jon’s heart nearly stopped, a painful lurch that all but choked him.

“...Please.” Bare more than a whisper, Tim raised an eyebrow in question.

“What?”

“P’please keep inviting me.” If Jon wasn’t so sure he’d pass out upon standing he’d be springing to his feet. “I, I, I’m there. Next Friday, bells on, I swear.”

“And tonight?” Cold sweat slipped down his spine. But if he rested this weekend, took it easy next week, maybe asked them for a bit more help-- “Sure, boss.”

The weekend came and went and Jon tried every trick in the small volume of self-care tips he actually paid attention to. He wanted to show them what they meant to him, even Martin, new and bungling as he was. If they were to be a team, he needed to get to know him. And besides, Sash and Tim enjoyed his company. Had been inviting him out the whole while. Unfortunately, Jon was still exhausted from not sleeping well for bad dreams and restlessness, not eating enough because anxiety turned his stomach. But he’d made a promise and he vowed to make good on it.

Monday saw a fresh pile of work stacked neatly in the center of his desk blotter, old assignments shoved off to the side and a note in Elias’ neat scrawl informing him that this was the priority. Jon spent the next hour putting together the things he’d been in the process of collating and jotting down a list of instructions that even Martin could follow before dragging it out to where his assistants were working.

“Hullo, Jon.” Bright and cheery, Martin chirped a greeting and Jon forced a small smile.

“Morning.” Tim and Sasha nodded back, expectant looks on their faces. “I, um. Well, Elias brought in some more documents for me to take a look at.”

“Promotion came with some extra obligations, did it?” Tim laughed, elbowing Sasha good naturedly.

“Yes, I suppose it, it did.” Jon shifted nervously, anticipating the answer even before he’d asked. “I was hoping you would be able to help me with these ones?” He lifted the stack and Tim made a show of whistling.

“Wow, I mean. I would, boss, but I’m in the middle of this other thing you gave me last week.”

“Oh. I was. Well I was rather hoping you’d have wrapped that up by now.” The room began to tunnel and Jon staggered just a step even though he was standing still. He hadn’t been able to use his cane and handle this veritable mountain.

“You and me both.”

“Jon?” Martin’s worry was more embarrassing than anything else and he forced himself to focus despite the trembling in his hands. “I can take some of them.” But the messy heap on the corner of his desk in danger of toppling hardly seemed smaller than it had the week before. It wouldn’t do to add even more to what the other man couldn’t seem to handle but...

“Th’thank you for the offer.” He selected a few slim folders and handed them off and somehow the work in his arms became heavier.

“No problem!” Martin was beaming so he must have done something right and it sparked a bit of warmth in him. “I’ll make an exchange for another, soon as I finish this up.”

Tuesday went much the same, though Jon’s insomnia and sore joints forced him out of bed and he decided to use the gift of time to come in early to get a bigger start on the old mess so he had more time for the new mess and while Martin was slow it helped to have someone else tackling it with him. He suspected that Tim and Sasha were making a statement in their being shiftless and Jon couldn’t find it in himself to address it instead hoping that once he proved himself they could move past it. Using the stairs proved foolish as Jon nearly took a header from vertigo and he thanked the stars he was early and alone so he could sit down and wait for the episode to pass. Lord, he hurt. Joints on fire, white-hot fire pokers of pressure needling his hips. He hung his head when tears of frustration began to fall.

Wednesday found Jon buried alive and struggling. He had to stay late in order to finish out the day and by the time he made it home he could barely stand, falling into bed and waking the next morning still dressed in his wingtips and work clothes. Marginally better for the rest, Jon used the boon to plow through the rest of Elias’ assignment, skipping lunch he knew he wouldn’t eat anyway to finish.

“Oh, Tim!” He called out his door as he passed, relieved that he wasn’t ignored. “When you have a moment could you take these up to Rosie?”

“Sure thing, boss.”

Jon pushed away the disappointment when the end of day came, his assistants left, and the box still sat on the corner of his desk.

No bother, Tim probably forgot and Jon searched the stacks for the department’s hand truck with its one sticky wheel and found it loaded up with more of Gertrude’s chaos. He didn’t have much choice than to shove at it unceremoniously until it toppled over, papers fluttering out of their folders and under shelves. He’d just have to deal with it later. What’s one more thing? When he tugged, his shoulder very nearly came loose and his yelp of pain was swallowed up in the dark and the dust. Noone around to hear him anyway.

More tears.

He was a mess.

He went along more carefully, cursing the squeak of the blasted wheel, cursing Tim for his forgetfulness, cursing Elias for letting him even steal the job from Sasha to begin with. Cursing time itself because he wanted to go home and it was already an hour past.

“Rosie, I’m so glad I caught you.” She was just starting to collect her bag. “Can I leave this for Elias to collect when he gets in?”

“Of course, Jon!” She helped him lift it to her desk and disguised his taking a rest with interest in her writing a note of explanation.

“Thank you, you really are a lifesaver.” Jon chuffed a weak and humourless laugh. “I don’t know what I would have done.”

“Of course, dear. Just take that along with you so I don’t have to hear about it from the night staff.” The dolly. Yes. It would have to go back down with him wouldn’t it?

Thursday Jon could barely lift his arms. The debacle from the day before had taken whatever they had left and he was scared that at any moment, his arm would drop from its socket. That happened sometimes. So far, no doctor had figured out why.

“Ready for tomorrow?” Tim jolted him out of staring at his pen cup and the surprise set his heart to racing. Jon didn’t know how many minutes he’d lost.

“Ah, uh.” Absently, he rubbed at his chest, willing the battering tempo to slow before it shook him apart.

“Boss.” It sounded too much like a warning and felt too much like his last chance to prove he had what it took to be their friend.

“I’m not backing out!” Quick to cover up his fumble. “Don’t forget to collect me.”

“Never!” Jon couldn’t help but hope he did.

It was a short walk to their usual pub and Jon pushed himself to keep up, breaking out in cold sweat as the nausea from his laboring heart rocked his stomach. He couldn’t wait to sit down. They were regulars enough that the first round appeared before them as if by magic. Jon sank into the conversation around him, sipping from his pint, wishing it was water, and interjecting when he felt up to it. Martin kept staring at him. Jon didn’t have the energy to pretend.

“Oh come on, boss! Our company can’t be that boring!” Tim was three drinks in and clapped Jon hard enough on the shoulder to rattle his bones. Jon bit his tongue so hard he tasted iron.

“Ah, no, just a long week.” His voice was papery as a wasp nest, thin and drawn. “Looking forward to a lie in.”

“Aren’t we all?” Tim drained his glass and Jon looked down at the worn scratched surface of the table to hide his irrational irritability with the statement. He didn’t corner the market on sleeping in. The others deserved a restful weekend just as much as he did.

“I’m surprised you managed to make it through Elias’ busy work.” Sasha murmured, selecting a chip and using it as a means for sauce delivery.

“Martin helped a great deal.”

“That’s kind of you to say, Jon, but we know who worked his way through the majority.” They exchanged a warm smile.

“Yes, well. Any you did, I didn’t have to. It was very much appreciated.” Martin was bright red and Jon’s cheeks were warm, from alcohol or otherwise, and Tim’s cawing laughter rang bright as a bell over the cacophony around them.

“You’ve broken him, Jon!” They caroused well into the evening until Martin mercifully faked a yawn and explained he had an early morning. Jon almost hugged him and if it weren’t for the state of his shoddy joints he may well have. Holding up a very drunk and very affectionate Tim, Sasha nodded to him.

“This was lovely.” Her grin beamed. “We’ll have to do this again.”

Jon dreaded it.

That month they dragged Jon out to the shops for lunch a few times each week. Catching dinner after work became a regular occurance. Sasha hosted a movie night one weekend. Friday nights at the pub continued.

Jon wasn’t sure which was worse; the exhaustion or the steadily increasing pain, but it felt worth it when the frosty attitude began to thaw. They were still friends. That’s what counted even though the littlest tasks had become huge when faced with choosing which ones to do at the cost of himself. He knew better and still he was overspending, going into the red just to collect more and more debt with no way to catch up other than lose his friends. Something was going to break. Jon hoped it wouldn’t be him.

Groggy, slow, Jon came to with his cheek mashed into the statement he’d been skimming. Something was...wrong. His heart. Racing, pounding against his breastbone, trying to hammer its way to freedom or jump straight out his throat. He blinked hard, trying to bring anything into focus and failing. The first attempt to stand had him face down on the desk again, the next he took in steps.

Sit up. Let the room stop moving.

Breathe. In. Out. Count them.

Ignore the agonized beating. Ignore the fear that came with it.

Stand. Slow. Wait. Patient.

Let the world fall still.

Jon didn’t bother picking up his bag. His phone, wallet, keys, all in his trouser pockets.

“Sorry all. I. I think.” He paused, gulping for air, swallowing none. “Need to go, go home.” If what made it out of him were even close to words he’d consider himself lucky. His tongue was thick and clumsy in his mouth, tripping up the syllables fighting their way past the rabbit-quick hammering,

hammering,

hammering.

“What’s wrong?” Sasha was at his elbow, Tim halfway out of his seat.

“Not feeling well.”

“You sure you can get home, boss?” Nodding absently Jon made his way carefully to the lift before Martin could offer to call him a cab or something equally ridiculous.

Muscle memory got him back to his flat and it wasn’t until he collapsed into bed that he remembered it was Friday and he’d again ducked out on drinks again. Tears collected on his lashes, slipping down his temples when his trembling got the better of them. They. This. All his hard work and he’d undone it. Before the encroaching black overtook him he fumbled with his phone, tapping out an apology to the group chat and barely managing to hit send.

He slipped in and out. Lucid one moment, hallucinating the next, burning away to nothing and ending up on the floor more than once after passing out attempting to, to…didn’t matter. There wasn’t enough in him to attempt it again, opting to lay flat on his back in the sweat soaked sheets trying not to move for the pain. For a wild, hysterical moment Jon was sure he would die here, alone, phone just out of reach, melting in wretched heat and so uncomfortably hot it was difficult to remember a time when he wasn’t.

Jon hurt.

Everything was darkness and agony. Each tremor an earthquake threatening to tear him apart. He was trapped in treacle, done up in bits of twine, strung together with razor wire and unable to move. It was a familiar voice that clawed its way down to him. Lifted him up, low and soft, a stone tumbling down a mountain and catching Jon up in the landslide. He thought he answered, made some attempt at a response, drawn out of him like water from a well. Hurting and disoriented Jon drifted. Consciousness slipping in and out through his fingers like the surf, breath like coals banked beneath his ribs. Jon’s body wouldn’t cooperate as it should and time seemed to skip from one moment to the next between long bouts of nothing.

A heavy palm, cool and comforting, came to rest over his forehead and Tim materialized out of nowhere, startling Jon enough that he keened when each joint shrieked and protested at his moving.

“Sh, sh, shh.” Tim. That’s right...he wasn’t sure it was true, but he was wiping down his over sensitive skin with a damp flannel to quell the coals for a handful of moments.

“Wha’s..?”

“When you didn’t come in yesterday or this morning, we figured we should check on you.” So many words. Too many to parse more than a few but the flood came anyway, streaking into his greasy hair because he’d been sure no one would come and Tim kept applying the cold compress; wrung, applied, repeated, and Jon sobbed with the simple relief of it, tears cool against the incandescence of his skin.

“Are you...l’leaving?” He winced at the raw scrape of his voice against his vocal cords. “Been. You’been s’so angry with m’me.” Tim’s face fell and Jon wanted to apologize. It was the illness, that’s all, lowering his defenses and simmering his many insecurities just below a fractured awareness that refused to keep them in where they belonged. Instead his breath hitched and he choked on a whimper of defeat. “Tri’tried so hard ‘nd still. M’sorry.”

“It’s alright.” So unbelievably soft. Jon thought he’d ruined this long ago and the tears came somehow faster. “I think we need to call an ambulance, bud.”

“No...nonono…” Jon didn’t want to be poked and prodded by strangers and stuck full of needles alone in a cold sterile room. Even in his ragged state Jon could see Tim was torn. “Pl’please.”

“Okay, okay,” he soothed, gentling him with a touch. “But if you can’t keep this down we have to go.” Medicine. Lucozade. Fed to him mouthful by mouthful in the intervals he was awake.

Quiet sounds he recognized, Martin. Sasha. Hushed. Martin tipped the next sip into him and Jon wasn’t aware of much, but he was aware enough to know he was disgusting after having slept and sweated in the same bedclothes for days. Martin wouldn’t hear of it and Jon didn’t know where to put all the feelings and he was so tired of crying and couldn’t seem to stop.

Sasha, they told him, has gone out for supplies and they asked if he’d like help getting out of his uncomfortable trousers and button down, now missing several buttons no doubt from his restlessness. Jon didn’t trust his voice, only nodded, trying and failing to sit up, losing consciousness entirely when one of them levered him up with an arm behind his shoulders. Tim was explaining it to Martin when he came around, peering up at them through fluttering lashes.

“S’al’...” Clumsy, the words wouldn’t come to him.

Together, they shift his limbs, passing him back and forth between, one moment resting against Martin’s chest, another tucked into the hollow where Tim’s shoulder and neck meet. He should be helping but he can barely stay with them, just concentrating on the pulse currently beneath his ear to ground him. Carefully, as though he is some precious thing, they rid him of the awful, disagreeable stickiness and their low murmuring seems such an intimate thing. He isn’t worth it. This. And then soft, clean clothes, well worn and familiar and when Jon surfaces again he’s with Tim on the sofa, bundled up and more comfortable than he’d been in months.

Martin is changing his sheets.

“I’m sorry, Jon.” He didn’t know what for and shook his head, or tried anyway. “Made you think you had to push yourself like that. Ignored how exhausted you were and guilt tripped you into not telling us ‘no’.” Lord, so many words, Jon dizzied himself trying to catch them, hold them, decipher them. “You should be able to trust us, and I.” A suspicious sniff. “I’m sorry.” Jon relaxed into him with a hum he hoped conveyed something.

“I think I remembered which meds he tolerated best.” Sasha elbowed her way into the flat, face lighting up when she saw he was awake. Kind of. “Jon! Thank god. You were in such a bad way.” Whispery and rushed, the same feeling in it as with Tim. “Let's get you dosed up and back to bed, okay?”

It was late evening judging by the window. The reading lamp was on. Martin sat beside him with a book he couldn’t recognize by cover alone.

“Mah’in..?” So it hadn’t all been a hallucination after all.

“There you are.”

“Miss’d work.” He nodded, uncapping a bottle of sports drink and holding it to his chapped lips. Jon drank what he could.

“Not important right now, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Gave us a scare.” Easy, like it was nothing in the world to do it, Martin laid the back of his fingers against his neck, against his throat. “That’s a relief. Tim called us in a panic.” By way of explanation. “But I think you’re past the worst of it now.”

“Don’, don’ remember.”

“Probably for the best. We’ve decided, if you’re alright with the arrangement, that one of us should stay with you.” That sounded okay even if normally Jon would fight it tooth and nail. He did remember being alone and scared. “Tim and Sash are talking. I get the feeling we missed something very important.”

“Mm.” Jon tried to sit up and swooned, came around with a pillow behind his back.

“Dunno if I’ll get used to that any time soon though, I’ll be honest.”

“Happens sometimes. Th’that’s why…” Martin picked up the thread.

“You cancelled on us. I understand. And I hope, I hope you know you can always tell me, us, I hope, when you need to. There’s no shame in it. I’ll admit, I’m upset with Tim.” He fussed with the quilts, smoothing out imaginary creases. “He knew this was something to look out for and he didn’t tell me.”

“No, it’s--”

“Nothing to be embarrassed about.” Martin spoke with conviction. “Ever. I don’t want you to, to push yourself like this for a blasted game night. We can do other things as a department. Things that don’t jeopardize your health like this again.”

“Martin’s right.” Sasha sat at his feet, draping a hand over his ankle, and Tim stood at the foot of the bed. He looked proper chastised, eyes rimmed in red and swollen from crying.

“I’m so sorry, Jon. So sorry. I should never--I was angry and frustrated and used it to. To hurt you. Make you think we’d stop being friends over a stupid night out. Not like I lifted a hand to help you! When I knew you wouldn’t ask a second time!”

“S’okay.”

“It’s not!” Tim was a staunch friend. The type who got to know you so well and sometimes aimed too precisely at your soft parts. He didn’t need another telling off. Exhaustion lapping at his limbs, Jon curled his fingers in poor imitation of a come hither gesture. Willingly, Tim allowed himself to be pulled along by it, slotting himself beside Jon on the mattress to hide his own tears in his chest. Graceless, Jon managed to tug a hand over the back of his head, tangling fingers in Tim's hair, surrounded by friends and not alone.

“Will be, then.”

[the-last-kenobi]

AHHH YOU’RE TAKING REQUESTS 🚨🚨🚨 Okay okay uhhhhh I can’t decide between 13 or 18 so you choose! With hurt Obi-Wan and caretaker Anakin, please!

I AM INDEED TAKING PROMPTS

And because you’re amazing and I love all your writing I have decided to write both 13 and 18 into one story, we’ll see how this goes yikes.

From this various prompts list

_

Anakin moved quickly up the hallway, trying to keep his footsteps as soft as possible.

It was very late — or very early, depending on one’s point of view. The low-lights were on, and Anakin felt like he was intruding somehow, in this residential wing that was almost entirely deserted due to the war.

The damned war.

Anakin clenched his fists. I can’t afford to be angry right now, he told himself. I need to talk to Obi-Wan and I can’t start out by yelling at him.

It was tempting to lash out at Obi-Wan.

They hadn’t had a proper conversation in months, not since the Hardeen operation and everything that it had entailed, and then Obi-Wan up and vanished on some discreet mission, stopping only to ask Anakin for a ship to borrow.

Anakin had discovered Obi-Wan’s return only when Acquisitions had notified him that his ship would be late in returning to his care due to extensive damage. Flight logs indicated that his Master had returned a full five days before. Five days without so much as a comm message letting his lineage know he was back home. Nothing.

For a few hours Anakin had foundered, stewing in disbelief and anger, but as night crept in he had begun to feel something different.

Concern.

And something that might have been the Force, prompting him, pushing him.

And so here he was, silently keying in the manual code to Obi-Wan’s quarters — technically still his own, although he spent most nights at Padmé’s or in a private room.

The door swished open.

It was utterly dark.

That wasn’t unusual; when he had the chance, Obi-Wan preferred to sleep in complete darkness. He said it felt more natural. No distractions tugging at his brain.

What was unusual was the state of disarray.

There was a kettle sitting on the counter, so near the edge it made Anakin nervous. He walked over and moved it a few inches, his eyebrows flying up when he felt the weight. When he lifted the lid, it was obvious that this was days-old, and untouched to boot.

Was Obi-Wan sick? Was he in the Halls? Surely someone would have notified him. Surely.

Anakin looked around and took note of the robe discarded against the wall, the boots left in the middle of the walkway. There was an empty mug on the reading table, and a holo-still sitting beside it, as if Obi-Wan had stared at it for awhile and then set it down — the only item that looked carefully treated.

On closer inspection, it was a holo of Obi-Wan, far younger than Anakin had ever seen him, next to Qui-Gon and a dark-skinned woman he had never seen before.

Qui-Gon was in the center, facing a little to the left, his eyes on the woman, a full smile on his face. Anakin stared. The Jedi he remembered had been understated, his smiles always a little sad. This Qui-Gon looked about to throw his head back in laughter. The woman was looking down at Obi-Wan, who stood on Qui-Gon’s other side. She was nearly as tall as Qui-Gon, her hair was braided into several intricate sections; she was smirking conspiratorially at the young Padawan.

And Obi-Wan was smiling shyly back. Although his Master wasn’t looking at him, he had draped one arm around Obi-Wan, and the boy was leaning into the casual touch.

They all looked ridiculously young and ridiculously happy, and Anakin didn’t even know who one of them was. He had never heard of this woman, or why she wasn’t around any more, because she must not be, and he had certainly never heard stories of Obi-Wan’s apprenticeship. Not unless it was relevant to whatever they had been doing, or whatever lesson Obi-Wan had been trying to teach.

His Master was so damned secretive.

Angry again, Anakin replaced the holo-still and glanced around the room, thinking to check the Halls of Healing next.

Then he spotted something that made him instinctively recoil.

A Mandalorian helmet, sitting on the chair, painted in stark black and red and rendered in Death Watch’s style.

Heart hammering, Anakin picked it up and examined it, finding gouges and dents in the beskar alloy, signs of years of wear and tear.

Why was it here? Why was there a Death Watch helmet here, in their rooms? It didn’t make any sense!

His first wild thought was that the extremist group had somehow broken in, taken Obi-Wan, and left this behind. Then he mentally shook himself. That was beyond absurd.

So what then?

Anakin tucked the helmet under his arm and cautiously approached his former Master’s room, pressing the door aside slowly.

Obi-Wan was right there.

Sitting on his bed, dressed only in stained and scorched trousers and an undershirt, his head in his hands. His fingers were buried so deeply in his hair it looked as if he were trying to tear his skull open.

“Obi-Wan!” Anakin burst out without intending to, the last few hours of anger, confusion, and momentary panic getting the better of him.

Except the older man didn’t react at all.

“...Hey. Obi-Wan.”

After a pause, the man on the bed shifted slightly, and then sat up. His fingers hastily brushed his hair back into order as he did, and his face, though white as a sheet, was a perfectly blank mask.

Anakin didn’t buy a bit of it.

“Obi-Wan... tell me what’s going on.”

The man who was Obi-Wan but wasn’t acting at all like him gave a slight shrug. “There’s a lot going on, Anakin, we’re at war. What is it you needed at one in the morning?”

Well, at least he knows what time it is.

“You’ve been back for days. I haven’t seen you.”

“Ah. Your ship?”

“I’m not worried about the ship. I’m worried about you. I don’t even know where you were!” Anakin said, his voice rising again. He cut himself off quickly.

Obi-Wan frowned slightly. “I was... on leave.”

“On leave?” Obi-Wan didn’t go on leave. Obi-Wan never stopped working, hadn’t since Geonosis. “You said it was a mission.”

The older Jedi passed a hand over his mouth before speaking again. “I... it wasn’t an endorsed mission. I undertook it myself.”

A non-endorsed mission... “You mean you went off on your own?” Anakin demanded, shocked. “Tell me you weren’t chasing Maul!”

Obi-Wan went white to the lips. He opened his mouth to speak, and then he spotted the helmet under Anakin’s arm and choked on his words, falling dead silent.

Anakin considered for a moment. Then he studied the helmet again. Taking it in.

Death Watch.

Mandalore.

A personal, self-assigned mission.

Satine.

Red and black.

Maul.

“...Oh, Force, Obi-Wan.” Anakin said numbly. Thinking of Padmé. Thinking of Obi-Wan and the confession he’d made to Satine, one that Anakin had not been meant to overhear. “I’m so sorry.”

Obi-Wan said nothing.

He just stared at Anakin for a few moments before nodding his head in acknowledgement.

Anakin set the helmet down on the desk and edged closer to the bed, his eyes on his friend, wary as if he were approaching a traumatized animal. “Can I sit?”

A nod.

Anakin sat down.

“...Is it all right if I hug you?”

A very long pause. A small nod.

Anakin placed his palm on Obi-Wan’s back, then slowly moved so his arm was around the man’s shoulders. When Obi-Wan didn’t pull away, Anakin drew closer, tilting his head down to rest on Obi-Wan’s shoulder. Like he had when he was younger, and his Master was the best in the Temple, in the whole galaxy, and there was no war, just missions and too much meditation and time enough to just sit like this when they were tired and overwrought.

Obi-Wan shuddered in his hold. Not repulsed, but something else. Like he was cold.

“Obi-Wan?” Anakin asked.

His friend shook his head, but trembled harder, his breathing fluctuating.

“Obi-Wan.”

“Feel... nauseous,” the redhead mumbled, and then he doubled over, toppling head over heels towards the floor. Anakin cried out, lunged and caught him just in time, hauling his former Master into his arms and holding him, his heart pounding from the sudden shock.

“How long has it been since you’ve slept? Or eaten?” he demanded, thinking of the tea kettle.

“Mm... not since the night I got back. For eating. I don’t know about sleeping. I honestly... can’t remember...” Obi-Wan murmured. He was shivering now, his face pale and twisted with discomfort. He looked too weak to move, and he really must have been, because all he managed when Anakin cradled him closer and stood up with him in his arms was a low groan.

“We’re going to the Halls,” Anakin informed him curtly, striding out of the room with Obi-Wan in his arms, still trembling.

Obi-Wan made a noise of protest, but Anakin shook his head. “No. You need to see Healers.” He watched his friend’s eyes mist over vaguely, with grief or with illness it was hard to say. “I’ll stay with you the whole time,” Anakin vowed, meaning every word. “It’ll be fine. As soon as they’re ready to release you we’ll come right back here and you can sleep in your own bed.”

Obi-Wan mumbled something that seemed to include, ‘not a child.’

“Yeah, yeah, and I’m not your Padawan anymore. We still boss each other around. Just how it is,” Anakin said.

Obi-Wan huffed a laugh, tilting his head against Anakin’s shoulder. He took a deep breath. Then another. And then he was asleep.

“Damn,” Anakin whispered aloud. “Damn, damn, damn, you’re really not in good shape. You shouldn’t be this easy to carry, for one thing. Dammit, Obi-Wan. Why do you have to be so secretive?”

Is he secretive?

Or have I just never asked, and never listened?

Anakin honestly didn’t know, and that bothered him.

“Sleep, Master,” he murmured, adjusting his arms so that Obi-Wan was more comfortable. “We’ll talk when you’re ready. I promise. I’ve got you. We’re going to make it through this whole damn war, together.”

_

[sonnet009]

Wilder: Amir’s Story (Route Summary)

PROLOGUE:

MC decides to flee Ziya alone. A rotund wine merchant named Barlow offers her a timely rescue, smuggling her out in one of the wagons in his caravan. On their journey across the Shining Sands MC learns that Barlow is a wealthy and ambitious man who can afford not only a team of djinn guards but even a pleasure slave. It is this pleasure slave who warns MC that Barlow intends to ransom her back to Ziya and urges her to leave the caravan. Though MC suspects the surly Jamal just wants to no longer share his wagon, she takes his advice and flees from Barlow under cover of darkness.

CHAPTER I:

A sandstorm drives MC up into the Western Hills. There she is captured by a tribe of wild djinn and presented to the tribe's chief, Amir, who takes great interest in her and decides, instead of killing her, to keep her as some sort of prisoner. MC cannot understand the djinn tongue and Amir cannot speak hers, and so their interactions are fraught with misunderstandings, frustration, and mistrust.

As her time with the tribe passes MC is treated with contempt by most of them, attempts an unsuccessful escape, and continues to butt heads with Amir – an arrogant man-child with no manners as far as she can tell. She also meets Hani – an older ex-slave who is also an outcast among the tribe. Hani speaks both the human and djinn tongue and, being a kind woman, starts translating for MC and Amir. As MC and Amir start trying by themselves to learn parts of each other's language, their relationship begins to slowly improve.

Every night after dinner Amir will tell animated, theatrical tales for the enjoyment of his tribe, while Hani translates them for MC. Hani also teaches her things about the tribe, such as the fact that Amir went from orphan to the youngest and strongest rahki (chief) in the Hills, and how MC should watch out for Amir's closest friend, the hateful and vicious Kherga.

CHAPTER II:

Amir decrees that MC is no longer a captive but a guest of the tribe, allowing her freedom to move about the camp. This is an unpopular decision among his people, especially with Kherga. As the days and weeks pass, MC spends time with many of the tribe, pitching in with chores, and finds that not only is she growing stronger and hardier but that some of the tribe members seem to be warming to her – and she to them.

One morning a hunting party, led by Kherga, is about to head out. Amir impulsively invites MC to join, to Kherga's disgust. MC fails rather spectacularly at hunting a wild boar and cuts her legs on an undergrowth of thorns – the hunters find this uproariously funny. Amir takes MC to a nearby river where she can wash her injury while he leaps into the water and splashes around like a child. He tries to coax her in as well and is dismayed to learn that she cannot swim. In turn, MC learns that Amir is picking up the human tongue much quicker than she the djinn tongue. He acts the immature fool, but he is very intelligent and an enthusiastic learner.

After bonding, the two return to camp. The atmosphere turns dark. Kherga holds court and has been whipping the tribe into an angry frenzy. MC doesn't need to speak the language to know that her continued presence here is the main cause of contention. Kherga challenges Amir's leadership and the two fight. But when some of the djinn grab MC in the chaos, Amir immediately abandons the challenge to force them to release her. As the tribe surrounds the two of them it is clear that Amir has lost his place as chief. He throws MC over his shoulder and runs, pursued by his former brothers and sisters, until he reaches the mountains known as the Knives – a place where the tribe will not follow.

CHAPTER III:

As soon as they are clear of the tribe Amir just stops and sits on the ground, shattered by disbelief and grief. MC believes the coup to be her fault but Amir is quietly firm that it is his. They have nowhere to go but forward, so they journey on. Amir is despondent and distracted; entirely unlike the djinn that MC had been getting to know.

Suddenly Amir goes entirely still, alert in a way he hasn't been for days now. He has sensed Hamza and his men approaching from behind. A battle ensues in which Amir brutally takes down any man who dares attack him – and MC does her own share of violence, shocking herself. But when Hamza is at his mercy Amir refuses to kill a helpless foe and instead takes MC's hand and starts running. Newly alive and euphoric from battle Amir pulls MC into a kiss – then, once the adrenaline fades, collapses from his wounds.

MC and Amir shelter in a cave while she tends to his injuries. He requests more lessons in the human tongue while he recovers and in return she asks for more traditional djinn stories. They are soon on the move again and make it to the other side of the Knives. As they continue on their journey they share more stories and lessons – and learn that there is a particular insult that both their cultures share. “Ki bo ki,” Amir teaches MC. “Fuck yourself,” she teaches him in turn.

CHAPTER IV:

Amir follows MC even past the Knives, into the farmland on the other side. He has nowhere else to go and neither seem to want to part just yet. He is also as excited as a child to see so many new sights. The two run into a blind woman on the road and help lift her cart out of a ditch. In thanks, she offers them lunch.

Once they reach the lady's farm she offers them both some of her produce and some clothes for Amir – at MC's request. Amir hates the shirt and he doubly hates the trousers, but MC insists that he keep them on while they are in human lands.

On the road again it isn't too long before they are waylaid by bandits who demand all their money, possessions, and Amir himself. Amir doesn't understand what is happening until MC explains the situation to him, after which he confidently tells the bandits to fuck themselves. After easily defeating the men, Amir and MC go through their ill-gotten belongings and find some broken slave bands. Amir agrees to wear them in order to fool any humans they may meet in the town ahead, but both he and MC feel disgusted by the performance.

CHAPTER V:

Now in the port town of Dijarah, Amir is amazed by the place but simply does not blend in. A man who takes offence to Amir spits at his feet, shocking the former rahki who has never been so affronted or so lost. He and MC stop at an inn for dinner, sharing a table despite the taboo, and learn that they have come to town on the right night – the Fish Festival is tonight.

Neither MC or Amir have ever attended a festival and let their excitement and curiosity overpower their common sense. When night falls they walk the now colourful streets, enjoying the food stalls, the games, and... the alcohol. Another first. They sit together at the water's edge and share another kiss, this one not fuelled by adrenaline but their shared sorrow at the thought of parting. MC shares the whole story of her escape from Ziya and journey to Umar. Amir vows to see MC safely onto a ship but then he must return home to the Hills, to seek justice and redemption with his tribe.

The fall asleep there by the water and wake wrapped around each other and facing the bemusement of the dock worker who finds them. MC finds a ship heading for Umar but is reluctant to book passage and say goodbye to Amir right then and there. Amir feels the same, casually suggesting breakfast in an attempt to distract her. But things are soon thrown into chaos as Hamza appears, spotting them and giving chase. Amir helps MC hide in a crate being loaded onto the ship from before, gives her knuckles a kiss, then leads Hamza away through the crowd. As the crate is loaded onto the ship, MC waits in the dark. A stowaway. Alone.

CHAPTER VI:

MC hides in the cargo hold, the ship having left port. She is alone, hopelessly worried about Amir, and heartbroken to know that she will never see him again. Then he pops out of the crate next to hers exclaiming, “MC!” and clapping his hand over her mouth to muffle her startled scream. Turns out he lost Hamza and doubled back to join her, unable to leave things as they were. Their days as stowaways begin. They pass time with stories and Amir finally tells MC about the expectation his tribe had for him to take a mate, and how it was part fascination and part rebellion that led him to claim MC as his when she was brought before him.

The confinement soon takes its toll on Amir who hates being unable to see the sky. MC makes him promise to stay hidden but he soon breaks it, discovered by sailors who take him before the ship's captain. MC follows in a panic and offers all the money she has – but the captain is surprisingly friendly, saying Amir has told him of her plight and that he is happy to give them passage to freedom in Umar. He gives them a cabin and asks in return only that MC remembers him and mentions him to all of her highborn friends and family as the gracious captain that saved her life.

One night there is a terrible storm. MC finds Amir up on deck, naked, arms outstretched, face raised to the rain. As the thunder and lightning crack around them, MC and Amir embrace passionately. They spend the night together in their cabin, primal desperation eventually turning to gentle intimacy, and fall asleep as close as two people can be.

CHAPTER VII:

Upon arrival in Umar the captain directs MC and Amir to a safe place to stay called Minerva's. It soon becomes apparent that Minerva's is a pleasure house. They stay the night anyway, though Amir barricades their door with heavy furniture just to be safe from everyone's... rapt attention. In the morning a free djinn called Royo appears to escort them to her employer, the merchant-turned-lord Yasir. It seems the good captain tried to sell them out but, fortunately for them, Yasir has no interest in cooperating with Ziya.

At Yasir's estate there is one more surprise waiting – Uncle Makram. He and MC share a tearful reunion and he vows that he will keep her safe from now on. MC also makes him promise to ensure Amir is returned safely to his homeland. Bemused, Makram agrees. The arrival of a righteous and unstoppable Hamza breaks the peace of Yasir's estate. He demands that MC be turned over to his custody immediately.

Makram is the one to stand up to Hamza. He calls in the Heartseer who long ago proclaimed MC guilty of murder and has him confess to lying about what he saw – though he will answer none of Hamza's questions as to why. Makram, Hamza and Yasir go to another room and, when they return, Hamza seems cowed and ground under Makram's heel. Though still clearly disturbed, he apologises to MC and declares her innocent.

CHAPTER VIII:

MC, Amir, Makram, and Hamza are journeying back to Ziya together. They are currently passing through the Shining Sands in a carriage manned by a driver generously gifted by Yasir. When they pass close by to the Hills, the carriage stops to allow Amir to disembark.

Amir and MC stand in the starlight, sand under their feet, and know that this time they must say goodbye. MC asks for one last story and Amir tells her the tale of two legendary djinn lovers and the reysoko (blood bond) they shared by marking each other's flesh and drinking each other's blood, making them inseparable by even death. Unable to embrace under the scrutiny of the others MC and Amir must then simply say farewell and part ways. Amir heads off, up towards the Hills. MC returns to the carriage.

As the journey to Ziya continues through the night, MC suddenly realises that Hamza is no longer sitting out beside the driver. She forces Makram to admit what he, Yasir and Hamza discussed in that private room back in Umar – a plan to blame the shah's murder on a djinn plot, claiming that Ran was an assassin from Amir's tribe. As they speak, Hamza has met with a squad of his best men and they are following Amir's tracks to lead them to his people. MC slaps her uncle and leaps from the carriage, unhitching a horse and riding as fast as she can back towards the Hills to warn Amir and the tribe.

CHAPTER IX:

But by the time MC makes it to the camp there are already signs of a razing. Some djinn lie dead. Hani is leading many of the survivors in an attempt to avoid the soldiers by moving about the forest – as she knows the human tongue she alone is able to eavesdrop on their plans and work around them. MC leads a squad of Hamza's men away from them and into the undergrowth of thorns that she once blundered into, back when she briefly lived here.

She finds Hamza and Kherga, surrounded by dead djinn and humans alike, circling each other and both badly wounded. Hamza lands the killing blow on Kherga just as Amir comes running onto the scene, howling in grief and fury. Amir faces Hamza and they fight once more. This time, when Hamza is at his mercy, Amir does not hesitate to kill him.

When the last of the soldiers limp away in defeat, the tribe comes back together. Silently they build a giant pyre and burn their dead upon it. Amir watches Kherga's body burn, clasping MC's hand tightly in his. They stand there until the fire burns out and Amir's brothers' and sisters' souls have flown to the sky.

BITTER END:

The tribe reinstate Amir as their chief. After the ceremony Amir escorts MC to the edge of the Hills. Though she will miss him, she simply cannot leave behind civilisation. Whether she will stay in Ziya or begin a new life in some other city, she is not sure. But she has a choice, which is more than she has ever had before.

They share one final embrace, then MC turns and walks away. She feels Amir's eyes on her back until he is so far away that he is no longer even a blur on the horizon.

SWEET END:

With newfound respect and gratitude for Hani, and with Amir's blessing, the tribe choose her as their new chief. After the ceremony Amir escorts MC to the edge of the Hills to say a final farewell. MC makes it ten steps before turning and running back to Amir. She asks if she can stay with him. He is kissing her before she finishes the question.

Free from their old responsibilities, MC and Amir find a place to settle in the Hills just for themselves. Amir is teaching her to swim. Exhausted from the lessons (and perhaps more than that) they lie on the bank, lazily playing with each other's hair. Just like the legendary lovers that Amir once told her about, he marks MC's shoulder with a bite. She does the same to him, and their bond is forever sealed.

[ahatintimepieces]

Creeping Vines

A gift fic for the lovely @smieska-draws‘ sick au! Luka seeks out the help of Mari, the florist, as a mysterious illness plaguing him grows worse and worse.

Word Count: 1983. CW: illness

His fingers grasped the clasp of his cloak, pulling the hood tighter around his chestnut curls as he tried to block out the breeze. It was actually warm out, maybe? The brick wall that he ran his quaking fingers across to keep steady felt toasty as it bathed in sunlight, but he couldn’t stop shivering. He stumbled on the cobblestone for what felt like the millionth time. He caught himself, dropping against the wall and taking a moment to reorient himself.

Was it a good idea to leave the manor without his beloved when he could barely walk? No. Probably not. But while Vanessa would have been glad to investigate in his stead, she had been gone when he woke up and he had been too anxious to wait. Besides, she had already been doing so much for him. She practically made caring for him during his illness her one job. He wanted to try and at least manage a short visit with someone he thought could help on his own.

But he wasn’t sure he was going to make it at this rate.

His breathing was labored as he glanced around. Kids and villagers ambled by. They didn’t look his way long enough to recognize him. With his ragged, old cloak and dull brown trousers and a crooked shirt that had been easy to throw on before leaving the manor, he looked more like a disheveled wanderer than their prince. Which was good! He didn’t particularly want to be recognized in such a state.

“Ah—ah!” His nose scrunched up as a sharp gasp heralded an impending sneeze and he quickly ducked into his elbow. “Ah—choo!” The force of the sneeze nearly caused his legs to buckle beneath him as the pressure in his head swelled. He gripped the wall and moaned quietly as he tried to straighten.

A strand of purple snot pulled away with his nose. Wincing, he rubbed his nose with his sleeve and wiped the strand onto the brown cloth. As he sniffled, he eyed the violet goop that held spots of black ash. His heart sunk in his chest.

He was getting so much worse.

Tightening his grip around the clasp, he pushed himself forward. Soon, he came to a familiar alleyway and turned the corner, unsure if he wanted to cry from relief or distress as the carts full of vibrant flowers came into view. Marigold, the florist and his dear friend, had her back to him as she trimmed thorns from roses.

“M-Mari,” he wheezed as he came to the shop. His voice was strained and using it caused him to cough. The cough magnified, sending tremors through his chest and he slid against the wall. Everything shook and he held onto the brick, causing his knuckles to pale.

“Luka!” Her voice sounded so far away.

It wasn’t until several moments after his coughing flittered out that the world stopped shifting beneath his feet long enough for him to open his eyes again. Marigold stood in front of him, her features creased in horror as she held out her arms, ready to catch him if he fell.

“Luka, you look awful,” Mari scanned him. “What on earth are you doing here? You should be in bed!”

“I-I need help.” He had to fight to articulate each word. A familiar, uncomfortable heat bloomed across his forehead and he swallowed thickly. Walking all the way from the manor might have been too great a strain on his body, but Mari was the only one he could think might have the answers he needed.

“Okay,” she said softly, “Let’s get you a chair and you can tell me what’s going on.”

He felt a warm hand gingerly pry his death-grip from the brick wall and he stumbled as she led him over to the counter with a stool. He lowered onto the stool and as soon as the weight was off of his legs, he slumped over the counter, still clutching the clasp with his right hand as he tried to pull the cloak tighter around his endlessly shivering body.

“You’re burning up,” Mari muttered as something soft pressed against his forehead.

He closed his tired eyes. His muscles ached and he knew he was trembling uncontrollably, but he couldn’t stop no matter how tightly he curled in on himself. The pressure on his head pulled away and he blinked, watching in a daze as Mari stepped away.

He heard the distant sound of water splashing, but he didn’t register where it came from. Even after Mari turned around with a wet rag and small cup of water, he vaguely tried to remember if there was a stream nearby (there was not).

“Why didn’t you head straight to the doctor?” Mari asked as she pushed the cup into his hand and held the damp rag against his forehead. “Scratch that, I thought Vanessa has been having the doctor visit the manor.”

“She has,” Luka breathed out, leaning into the rag. Despite how he felt ready to collapse, he smiled at the thought of his princess. He wished that she was beside him, using her ice magic to help abate his fever. But his brows furrowed as he thought about all the doctor visits and check-ups. “The doctor just thinks it’s a nasty flu, but I—” his voice cracked, and he paused as he sniffed. After swallowing and feeling the gunk caught in his throat slide down, he winced. “But I think it’s something else.”

“Drink some water,” Mari encouraged.

He remembered the cup in his hand and lifted the cool drink to his lips. Oh! The water was sweet and refreshing and felt so soothing on his throat. The tea Vanessa had been giving him to keep his fluids up was wonderful, of course, but the fresh water did help him to perk up a bit, especially after he downed the whole cup in just a few seconds.

“Why do you think it’s something else?” Mari asked as she took the cup back.

His right hand around the clasp clenched painfully, but this was why he came in the first place. He slowly pulled his hand away from the clasp and held out his palm for Mari to examine. She gasped.

Blossoming across his palm, was the outline of a dark purple flower with ragged lines shooting out of the petals like lightning bolts. The outline was flush against his skin, as if it were no more than a tattoo, but it pulsed and shifted on his palm. Mari cupped his trembling hand, helping him to still while she watched the flower petals flutter.

“It was there when I woke up earlier.” Luka couldn’t help the whine that laced his voice. “And the center hadn’t been filled in when I last checked. It’s spreading.”

“It’s some kind of magic?” Mari quirked an eyebrow, leaning forward.

“It has to be,” Luka said helplessly.

A magical illness. He had no idea how he caught it, or what it meant, but he just knew he was getting worse and worse. Each new morning felt like his energy had been further zapped from him and dark purple bags seemed to permanently line his eyes. Underneath the hood, his hair was knotted and disheveled, matted with salty sweat from his constant oscillating between feeling feverishly warm or unbearably cold.

Part of him did feel a little vindicated after the doctor repeatedly dismissed the severity of his symptoms, but even knowing there was something else wrong with him, he still didn’t know what and that was what scared him most.

“Please tell me you know what this is,” he begged. “What flower is it? Do you recognize the shape?”

“Uh,” Mari grimaced, giving him an apologetic look. “I’m not sure, hold on.”

She stepped away and his hand dropped onto the counter. It stung a bit, but hardly mattered compared to the rest of his aching. He watched as Mari’s vibrant red braid bopped against her back with her movement.

“I’ll copy the image and start looking through my books,” she explained, returning with paper and a pen. He nodded, holding out his hand so that she could record the flower.

Purple slowly stretched across the bottom of the petals, staining them with splotchy pigment, and Luka’s fingers twitched while his fever spiked.

He groaned, slowly lowering his head onto his outstretched arm as his cheeks flushed. The world tilted. His ears began to ring like a dissonant bell was stuck clanging in his head. He hissed, nuzzling into his arm and biting his tongue. A metallic taste pooled in his mouth. He didn’t think he bit that hard. Was he truly losing his mind or were his teeth feeling sharper? The ringing grew worse. His heart pounded as he felt himself falling through nothing. A sharp pain registered in his head, but he couldn’t place what happened as his breathing became frantic.

“Luka!” Mari’s voice was muffled, like she was calling to him from dry land while he was submerged in viscous water. His eyes shot opened. The vibrant sunlight shone as Mari crouched over him. His chest rose and fell rapidly as he looked around in a daze.

When did he end up on the ground?

Fear spiked in his chest and he hurried to push himself up. The sudden movement caused his head to throb, and he lifted the hand with the flower to it but paused when he saw not only that the bottom parts of the petals had grown a deep violet, but the jagged vines shooting from the flower had crawled to the back of his hand, pulsing with sharp looking thorns that traced his veins. He took his other hand and brushed his fingers across the stained skin. He met Mari’s startled gaze with distress twisting his features.

“I need help,” his voice broke. “Please.”

“I’ll take you to the doctor,” Mari said, looping his arm around her shoulder. “And then he can call the Queen so she can take you home.”

“It hurts so much,” Luka mumbled weakly as she pulled him to his feet.

“We’ll get to the bottom of this,” Mari promised, carrying his weight as she guided him on the short walk to the doctor. “I’ll keep researching and meet you at the manor, okay? Or the Queen can come to me. You really shouldn’t be walking around.”

He could only nod, holding back the whimpers that were lodged in his throat. Before he knew it, he was laying on a cot at the doctor’s clinic, shivering as he gripped his cloak and as the doctor took his vitals and noted the strange markings that continued shifting on his hand like shadows. By the time Vanessa burst in, demanding to know why he left the manor without asking her first, Mari had left the waiting room, presumably to research what ailment he was suffering.

He returned to the manor with Vanessa, clinging to her side and breathing sighs of relief as she ran cold fingers through his damp bangs. He mumbled apologies and thank-yous all the way back to bed, where he asked her to stay with him until he fell asleep.

She continued to stroke his hair and encourage him to drink warm tea that was supposed to help soothe his symptoms.

“Thank you,” he croaked, nuzzling against her chest as she held him.

“There, there,” Vanessa cooed, brushing his bangs from his eyes. Her soft features smiled down at him. “Don’t worry, my prince. I’ll give you all that you need. You don’t need anything else.” She pressed a kiss to his forehead, and he pressed deeper into her embrace.

“You’re too good to me,” he muttered as his eyelids began to feel too heavy to keep open. His breathing steadied as sleep overcame him. She grinned.

“I know.”

[mldrgrl]

Broken Things 17/24

by: mldrgrl Rating: varies by chapter, rated R overall See Chapter 1 for summary and notes

November approaches quickly.  The surveyor is due to arrive in only a handful of weeks.  The horses are coming along just fine with their training.  Mulder’s relationship with Katherine feels like it’s moving forward at a pleasant pace.  Just before the last weekend of the month, he asks her if he might accompany her into town that Friday.

“Of course,” she says.  “But, you don’t need to ask.”

“You might have plans with your friends and I wouldn’t want to intrude.”

“I would like to call on Susannah and Monica and Doctor Black, but that doesn’t mean you aren’t welcome to join me.”

“Then, I will accept your invitation.”

“My invitation?  You invited yourself.”

“Did I?”

Probably the only thing he finds more delightful than when she raises her eyebrow at him is when she rolls her eyes at him.

He asks if she’d like to attempt to drive the wagon into town, but she declines.  She feels that she’s only just mastered the carriage and has not had any wagon lessons yet.  She’s more than happy to have him drive them.

Their first stop is the mercantile.  Susannah rushes out to greet them and pulls Katherine inside by looping her arm through hers.

“We’ve got the prettiest new fabric in that will suit you so well,” she says.  “I’ve been hoping you’d come by and held it just for you.”

“John,” Mulder greets, as he enters the store.

“Mulder, what timing.  The denim trousers you ordered arrived just this week.”

“Thank you, I’ll take them now if you’ll wrap them.”

“Already done.”

“Katherine has our supply list, but it looks like your wife has absconded with her.”

“Yes, she’s been waiting for her to come in.”

“I’ll just take a look at the catalog in the meantime, I may have a few other things to order.”

“Certainly.”  John slides the thick book of merchandise across the counter to Mulder.  “We saw Melvin ride through town a few weeks ago and take Doctor Black back with him to the ranch.  Heard you had taken a tumble from a wagon.”

“Just a little shoulder damage.  That does remind me, if you have any liniment, I’ll take a couple tins off you.”

“We’ve got Sloan’s.  The oil.”

“That’s fine, two bottles.  No, make it three.  I’ll bring one to the Doc.”

“He said Katherine patched you right up and did about as good of job with it as he would’ve done.”

“I guess if I had to compare the two, I much prefer the bedside manner of my wife.”

Mulder chuckles as John blushes and fumbles with the bottles of liniment.  He’s saved from any further conversation of his shoulder when Katherine appears with Susannah and some bolts of cotton fabric with a blue paisley pattern.

“Kate, you have our list?” Mulder asks.

“Oh, yes.”  She opens the little drawstring bag at her wrist and gives John the paper.

“Now that Katherine’s taken over from Melvin, you don’t have to translate his hieroglyphics any longer.”

“Yes, lovely handwriting.”  John nods and then starts to collect items from the list, all business.

“I was just needling your wife about that Sunday dinner get-together we promised,” Susannah says.  “You be sure not to keep her so busy she can’t do some proper visiting.”

“She is more than free to ride out at any time to come calling, but it has been a bit hectic lately.”

“Oh, we heard about your fall.  Doctor Black said Katherine did all the doctoring for him and he didn’t lift a finger.”

“It was a mild concussion and a shoulder dislocation,” Katherine explains.  “Just required a re-set of the shoulder and a good deal of rest.”

“John, put in for five of these undershirts here on page 67.  Kate, is there anything you might want from Montgomery Ward?”

“I don’t know.”

“Take a gander and put in for whatever you find with John.  I’m going to head across the way to the lumber mill just for a few minutes.”

“Alright.”

Mulder leaves Katherine at the mercantile and goes across the road to the mill.  It’s a noisy place with a lot of sawing and yelling and hammering.  The smell of sawdust is everywhere.  The air is thick with it and Mulder can swear he feels it clinging to him as soon as he gets within five feet of the place.

“Mr. Hartwell,” he shouts, waving his hat to get the foreman’s attention.

Mr. Hartwell leaves the saw he’s working with stuck in the lumber he’s cutting and takes his gloves off to shake hands.  “Mr. Mulder, good to see you,” he says.

“I’m soon to be in need of some lumber.”

“Oh?”

“I took over Old Man Goodwin’s plot and I’ve got a surveyor coming out a little more than a week from now.  He’s supposed to get me some plans for a bigger barn, new stables, and we’ll be doing a new bunkhouse and expanding the house eventually.”

“Is that right?  When might you be needing your order?”

“I hope to break ground by winter.  At least on the corral.  I’ve been clearing trees on the property and we can recycle some of what we’ve already got.  You still have a record on the build on my current plot?”

“I reckon so.”

“Let’s start with that same amount.  I’m about to run down to the bank.  I’ll tell Mr. Skinner you’ll be giving him an estimate and he can advance anything you need and I’ll take what I can get by let’s say, mid-December?”

“Well alright then.”  Mr. Hartwell nods.

“I’ll also be in the market to hire labor, so if you have anyone in mind you can point my way, I’d be most grateful.”

“I’ll ask around.”

“Thank you.”

The two men shake hands again and Mulder heads back to the mercantile.  John Jr. is loading up the wagon with their purchases.  He gives Mulder a wave.

“How are things with your sweetheart?” Mulder asks, helping to load the last of the crates from the porch.

John Jr. sighs.  “She broke off with me a couple weeks ago.”

“Well, now, that’s a shame.”

“She said I was boring and then the next day she was holding hands with Luke Doggett.”

“That the Sheriff’s boy?”

“Yes, Sir.  I can’t even be mad over it because Luke’s a nice guy.”

“Be patient.  You’re a hard worker and you’re not boring at all, you’re stable, like your father.  You’ll find a great girl one day that’ll appreciate that.”

“Naw, I think I’m done with girls for awhile.  I’m gonna save up and get a horse.”

“Well, horses are good too.  When you’re ready to buy, you come see me.  I’ll give you a good deal.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Mulder chuckles to himself as he walks away from John Jr. and goes back into the mercantile.  Katherine gives him a smile that makes him want to wrap his arms around her.  He puts his hand at the small of her back instead.

“Ready?” he asks.

Katherine and Susannah say their goodbyes.  Mulder helps his wife up into the wagon seat and then they head to the bank.  He leaves Katherine at the line to the teller’s window and waves to Skinner who motions him into the office.

“I wanted to let you know that we’re moving forward on the expansion,” Mulder tells him.  “Mr. Hartwell should be coming by with an estimate for lumber.  I told him to speak with you and you’d arrange to advance him anything he might need.”

“I can do that.”

“I also, uh…”  Mulder turns his hat over in his hands for a few moments and then he glances out into the foyer of the bank before he shuts the door to Skinner’s office for a bit of privacy.  “If you can get word to my lawyers through the branch in Fort Worth that I’d like to update my will, I would appreciate it.”

“Certainly, if that’s what you want.”

“I’m sure I’ll need an update of my account holdings, so whatever they need they can have time to put it together.”

“What brought this on, if I may ask?”

“Had a fall from a wagon a few weeks ago.  Nothing drastic, mind you, it just got me thinking and I’d like to make sure that if...well, if anything should happen, there’s no question of what my wishes are.”

“Your wife would be protected, by law.”

“Not well enough.  I want to make damn sure the ranch will stay with her, and I want to make sure Melvin will be taken care of as well.”

“I’ll get word and if anything comes back from your lawyers, I will let you know.”

“Thank you.”

“Does she even know?  Who she really married?  How much you’re worth?”

“No.”

“You might want to tell her sometime.”

“When the time is right.”

↭

Katherine feels more confident this time when she pays the mortgage.  The teller is polite, calls her Mrs. Mulder, slides the card to her that she needs to sign with a fountain pen and she doesn’t hesitate this time to write Katherine Mulder next to the date.

She’s finished before Mulder is done speaking with Mr. Skinner, so she waits for him outside by the wagon.  She’s never really gotten a good look at the town before.  The row of businesses stretches long and wide.  If the bank is the end point, the mercantile is the start.  In between there’s a sawmill, a blacksmith, the saloon, an icehouse, a cafe, a flour mill, a bath house, a meeting house, the sheriff’s office, a barber, a boarding house, a livery, a laundry, and the house of ill repute, as Mulder referred to it.

She knows there’s a church somewhere and a school, but they must be hidden in the outskirts of the town.  Doctor Black must have his practice somewhere off the main road as well.  Monica had said she lives off the road that veers left from the bank and she wonders how many other homes are out there and where everyone lives.  The Byers may make their home as part of their store, but presumably Mr. Skinner does not sleep in the bank.  And she remembers that Susannah said he had a wife.

Mulder comes outside and stands next to her.  “When I first got here about the only things that existed were the mercantile and the saloon,” he says.  “Sometimes it seems like all this just sprang up overnight.”

“Susannah was telling me today that a Wells Fargo office is coming in next year.”

“Long overdue for that, if you ask me.  Nearest place to send a telegram is either Abilene or Fort Worth, depending on where you’re at.”

“How many folks live here?”

“I can’t say I know for sure.  If I were to wager a guess, maybe fifty or so in town.  There’s a lot of ranches around these parts that do their business here, so if you consider them to be part of the town, there’s got to be at least another hundred.”

“It’s strange, but I grew up in a city of twenty thousand people and it always felt very small to me.  But, standing here, on a street you can probably walk up and back in a quarter of an hour, it feels enormous.”

“Well, they say everything is bigger in Texas.”

“I have heard that.”

“Where to now, fair Kate?”

“Where does the Doctor live?”

“Up that way behind the boardinghouse.”

“I’d like to drop in on Monica first then, since the Doc is on the way back.”

Katherine takes Mulder’s hand to climb into the wagon and he drives them down the road, over a short bridge, and then past a grove of trees.  A house appears as soon as they clear the trees, like an island in a sea of bluebonnets.

“Goodness,” Katherine says.  “Monica said you can’t miss it.”

The rumble of the wagon must have alerted her friend.  Monica comes out to the porch, wiping her hands on a dishrag.  She waves and jumps down the steps to greet them as they come down the lane.

“I hope you don’t mind us dropping in,” Katherine says as she climbs down from the wagon.  “We were in town so I wanted to say hello.”

“Are you kidding?  I’m thrilled.”  Monica hugs Katherine hard and keeps an arm around her shoulders as she waves to Mulder.  “I’ve got cornbread in the oven that’ll be done soon.  You’ll stay and have a cut before I bring dinner out to John, won’t you?”

“Well, that sounds too good to pass up,” Mulder answers.

“Come on in.”

The Doggett residence is similar to the ranch house.  There’s a dogtrot that runs from the front to the back, but the left side of the house is all kitchen and dining area, presumably bedrooms are on the right.  Monica offers them chairs at the table and then checks on the cornbread.  Mulder holds a chair out for Katherine as she loosens her hat and removes her gloves, but he doesn’t sit down right away.  He moves over to a breakfront along the wall and runs his hand over the smooth wood.

“This is a beauty,” he says.

“My boy built that,” Monica answers, proudly.

“The Sheriff did this?”

“No, our son Luke.  I swear he was swinging a hammer before he could toddle.”

Mulder nods and continues to run his hand down the side and across the front.  “How old might Luke be?”

“Fifteen.  Just had a birthday on the 13th of October.”

“That’s funny, we have the same birthday.”

“Your birthday was the 13th?” Katherine asks.  She’s mildly embarrassed that she had no idea her own husband’s birthday had passed.

“I didn’t even remember myself until just now.”

“What year were you born?” Monica asks.

“1861.”

Monica closes her eyes and tilts her head for a few moments.  “You’re a three,” she says, with a brief nod.

“A three?”

“Yes, in numerology.  Your life path number is a three.  It means you like to inspire others and make them smile.  But, if you feel you’ve been misinterpreted you can become sullen and withdrawn.”

“Is that right?”  Mulder grins as he looks at Katherine and she raises her eyebrow.  “But, I thought I was blue and red.  Now I’m a number?”

“Oh, you told him about his aura?”  Monica beams.

“I um…”  Katherine can feel the heat rising to her cheeks as though she were caught gossipping.  Mulder must sense her discomfort for he finally sits down beside her and takes her hand before hanging his hat on his bent knee.

“One day I’d like to hear all about it,” he says, squeezing Katherine’s hand.  “I was just wondering though, Mrs. Doggett-”

“Oh, call me Monica, please.”

“Monica, that’s really high quality work your boy does.  How would you feel about letting him come out this winter and work on an expansion out at my ranch?  I’d pay him, of course.”

“I’d have to speak with my husband about it, but I’m sure Luke would be thrilled at the prospect.  He’s been at us to quit school for the last few years.”

“Oh, but he can’t quit school,” Katherine says.

“Well, most of the kids around here quit by the age of twelve.  They’re needed at their farms or ranches.  Luke’s been the oldest in the schoolhouse for the last two years and he’s been pretty anxious to move on.  John wouldn’t let him since we don’t have a farm and he’s certainly not going to allow his son to take on a job at the saloon, which is about the only place that’d hire a boy his age.”

“I’m going to be looking to hire quite a few men starting next month or so,” Mulder says.  “There’s plenty of room in the bunkhouse for him and I’ll see to it he comes home for the week’s end.  Your husband is welcome to ride out any time to check in.”

“I would keep my eye on him as well, if you’re at all concerned about that,” Katherine adds.

“Oh.”  Monica puts her hand on Katherine’s arm and smiles.  “I don’t doubt that.  My, what a lovely ring!”

“Thank you.”  Katherine runs her thumb along the side of her ring band with her thumb.  “My husband got it for me.”

They spend the next half of an hour with Monica Doggett, sharing a slice of cornbread and chatting amicably.  Mulder asks her more about this numerology thing and she happily shares with him more about his life path based on his birth date.  When it’s time for them to take their leave, Mulder offers to drive Monica to the Sheriff’s office, but she says she would much rather walk.  It’s just about her only time to herself and she enjoys it.

They ride back up into town and Mulder passes the bank to go down a smaller road behind the north side of the town.  He points out a house up the ways with a sign hanging at the front that simply says ‘DOC’ etched in wood.

For some reason, Katherine feels nervous on the way up to the doctor’s porch.  She knows she already made a good impression on the doctor, but still wonders if that was just politeness.  The doctors she knew from nurse’s training were mercurial.  Someone bearing a compliment one day could come bearing condescension the next, or worse.  

Mulder opens the door to usher her inside.  Doctor Black peeks out from behind a curtain and smiles broadly.

“Just my luck,” the doctor says.  “I’ve just set a broken bone and could surely use your assistance while I mix a plaster.”

“Of course,” Katherine says.  She immediately takes her gloves off and hands them to Mulder.  

There’s a young boy perched at the edge of the exam table, no more than five or six, sniffling and sullen.  Katherine moves to him and right away she can see that his left wrist is broken.  She smiles at him and takes a gentle hold on his arm, cradling his wrist in her hands so the doctor can get to work on mixing a plaster.

“My name is Katherine,” she says to the boy.  “Who might you be?”

“Joey Skinner.”

“Is Walter Skinner your father, son?” Mulder asks.  

Joey nods and then wipes his nose with the back of his good hand.

“Has anyone gone to fetch Mr. Skinner?” Mulder asks Doctor Black.  “I could run over to the bank right now.”

“Yes, why don’t you do that.”  Doctor Black nods to Mulder and then hands Katherine a roll of gauze.  “I trust you can wrap up that wrist.”

“Certainly.”  She deftly holds Joey’s arm with one hand and uses her thumb to pin the edge of the gauze down and begins to wrap.  “Joey, you tell me if this hurts, okay?”

“Okay.”

“So, how did this happen?”

“I was playing tag with Grace and Emma and Isaac and I was ‘It’ and I was running and I tripped on a rock and I felled down and my hand hurted real bad.  Grace yelled for Miss Holly and Miss Holly bringed me to the doc.”

“Well, I think you’re a very brave boy and we’ll have you fixed up in no time.”

“Now,” Doctor Black says, rolling a small table over with a bowl of milky liquid and wrappings.  “Joey, this might feel a little cold, but you do your best to hold still, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Excellent wrapping,” the doctor tells Katherine.  “Would you like to do the plaster?”

Katherine nods and the doctor moves the table to her side so she can work.  She runs the wrapping through the liquid and winds it around Joey’s small wrist and arm, moving methodically.  She has experience with setting and wrapping broken bones, but never on a child.  She’s cautious, but tries to be quick for Joey’s sake.  Doctor Black provides her with a few short instructions as she goes.

“Beautiful work,” Doctor Black says when Katherine is wiping her hands dry.  “Joey, is there any pain in your wrist now or in your arm.”

“It’s kinda itchy.”

“Yes, it might be, but you can’t scratch right now, I’m sorry.  We’re going to let it dry and when it’s done it’ll be hard as a rock and keep your wrist in place so it can heal.”

Joey’s bottom lip begins to tremble.  “Is it gonna be on my arm forever and ever?”

Katherine puts her arm around Joey and rubs his shoulder.  “Not forever, sweetheart, just a few weeks is all.  And the doctor will probably check on it a time or two to make sure it’s healing properly.”

“That’s right,” Doctor Black says.

“Joey!?  Joey!?”  Walter Skinner bursts through the door with Mulder behind him.

“Hi, Daddy.”

“Joey.”  Mr. Skinner rushes over and for a moment, Katherine is afraid he’s going to grab the boy up in a fit of panic before the cast sets.  

“Everything’s alright,” Katherine says.

“What happened, son?”

“I was playing tag…”

As soon as Joey starts up with his story again, Katherine slips away from the exam table to go to Mulder.  “He okay?” Mulder asks.

“It wasn’t a bad break.”

“Good.”  He pulls Katherine’s gloves from his pocket and hands them to her.

Doctor Black comes up to the two of them and he and Mulder shake hands.  Mulder gives him the extra bottle of liniment he bought at the mercantile and the doctor thanks him.

“Looks as though your shoulder’s healed nicely,” Doctor Black says.

“Yes, well, I happened to have a very strict nursemaid to see me through.”  Mulder chuckles and Katherine demurs a little.

“If you think you could spare your wife for a few days a month, I’d be happy to have the help here.”

“Oh, I really couldn’t,” Katherine answers.

“Why couldn’t you?” Mulder asks.

“Well, there’s just so much to do.  And the expansion is coming up, so…”

“I’m sure we can work something out.”  Mulder nods to the doctor and at Katherine.  “Good skills should never go to waste.”

Katherine is all but rendered speechless.  She doesn’t know if she’s shocked or grateful or why she should even be so surprised.  Mulder’s the only man she’s ever known that doesn’t seem to want to control her in some way, who seems to want her to have independence as much as she wants it.  And she doesn’t just think he’s putting on airs of a generous husband in front of the doctor.  She believes that he means what he says.

“We’ll talk it over,” she says.

“Joey.”  Mulder produces a quarter and walks over and hands it to the boy.  “Next time you’re in the Byers mercantile, you tell Mr. Byers you want a bag of his best penny candy.”

“Gee, thank you, Sir!”

After they leave the doctor’s place and get back into the wagon, Katherine sits close to Mulder and holds his arm as he drives.  “Did you know Mr. Skinner had a boy?” she asks.

“Hell, until a few weeks ago, I didn’t even know he had a wife.  He doesn’t talk much.”

“I think that minor panic may have caused him to lose what little hair he’s got left.”

Mulder roars with laughter.

[written-in-flowers]

A Simple Game: Part 1

Pairing: Yoongi x Taehyung

AU: daechwita!au, royalty!au/ Genre: Smut, fluff/ Rating: Mature

Word Count: 6k

Disclaimers:  These works are completely fictitious and for entertainment purposes only. They are not meant to reflect or label the members of BTS in any way. The events within never took place. Thank you.

Warnings: executions, mentions of blood, depictions of violence, manipulation, nsfw content

An idea came to him suddenly, “I like you, Taehyung.”

“I’m honored, Your Majesty.” 

“But I can’t just send them all home and insult their families. I made a promise to choose from five suitors, and I cannot take that back now.” Coming close enough, Yoongi detected a hint of jasmine from him and inhaled. Of course, it’d be jasmines. Namjoon knew he liked the scent from the bushel outside his bedroom windows. “If you wish to be my royal consort, be my companion and share my bed,” he whispered lowly to him, “Get rid of them for me.”

Masterlist > Next Chapter 

AO3 Link!

*****

Marriage and love have never been high on his priority list. His kingdom always came first. He needed to keep control over his subjects and make sure his country prospered. So, when his advisors came to him and suggested he marry, Yoongi gave it very little thought. He can run his country by himself perfectly fine; he didn’t want another person spoiling it. However, they all insisted he marry soon and quickly. He only needed a spouse to rule the country as regent should he fall ill or go to war. The security and future of the throne depended on who and when he married. If a woman, they will give him princes and princesses; if a man, they will care for any children Yoongi may adopt or have elsewhere. He did not have a preference either way. To him, love and romance were meaningless in the end. He saw as much in his own parents. They married out of duty to their families and country, not because they liked each other. He spent years watching them tolerate each other’s presence, and rarely saw them together outside court. His father told him love is a weakness a king can’t afford. His mother said it’s a want, not a need. 

Still, Yoongi decided he’d rather get it over with now than later. He sent out a summons to every loyal and noble family in the kingdom. They are to present any eligible sons and daughters to the king for a possible betrothal. His advisors suggested he pick out ten for a narrower field, but Yoongi decided on five instead. The quicker this business is done, the better. That morning, his servants took extra care of his appearance: they fixed his long blond hair into a top knot on his head and secured it with a gold band and pin. They’d initially dressed him in a red and gold hanbok, which meant to make him more regal. Yoongi detested this and immediately demanded they bring him the black and gold colors of his clan. 

“I will not be dressed up like a doll,” he scolded one of the servants. “You go and tell those old fools that.” 

“Oh, Your Majesty, they only want to make sure you look your best.”

Namjoon came through the door as the servant rushed out the door. In green and brown, black panthers ran across the sash keeping his tunic and trousers together. The sight of his chief advisor and childhood friend relieved Yoongi’s irritation somewhat. The king nearly tore off his shirt and discarded it to the floor. 

“I decide what I wear, not them,” he said. He looked at himself in the mirror, fixing the top knot on his head. “Are they here yet?”

“They’re filing in from the entrance hall right now,” he replied, taking a seat by the window. He noticed Namjoon’s long body and his broad shoulders. Yoongi always looked so much shorter standing beside him; most people did. “People from all over the country have come to have tea with you. You should hear some of them,” he chuckled, “They honestly believe you will pick them over the others.” 

“I am not surprised,” he said, pulling a tunic over his head. “They will do or say anything if they think it’ll win them favor with me. I imagine there will be plenty of flattery and gifts presented to me; they’ll tell me all about their strengths and how special they are at them. I don’t know what it is with these nobles,” a servant slipped the overcoat over his shoulders for him to wear, “They all received the same basic education. They act as if being good at diplomacy or warfare or the arts makes them stand out so much. I can do all those things too.” He felt his friend watching him as he continued dressing. He saw his jaw slightly jutted forward in thought, and asked, “What are you thinking, Namjoon?” 

“The other officials have their children in line for you. They’ll no doubt push them to the forefront for you to choose. I’m only wondering who will make the first move.” He picked at the grapes on Yoongi’s table, popping one into his mouth. “My little brother is one of them too, you know.”

“I figured as much. Your father responded to the summons sent to him.” He took a seat at the vanity table where they’d laid jewelry for him to choose. “In all the years I have known you, I have never met any of your siblings.”

“Well, I was fostered here in the capital, wasn’t I?” he asked. "My family has offered you a place at our table many times.”

“I’m aware. It’s difficult to leave the capital when I leave it in such...greedy hands.” 

“My father understands. You know my family have always been faithful servants to the crown,” he bowed his head, a playful smile bringing out the dimples in his cheeks. “I hope you will at least find him agreeable.”

“If he’s anything like you, then maybe I will.” 

Yoongi finished dressing as Namjoon listed off the day’s agenda. He knew he cannot simply pick anyone. If he could, he would. But this is his country, his kingdom. Should something happen to him, it’ll fall into that person’s hands until someone is named. It’s not a light decision.

Later on, he sat in his private room as suitors came through the door. It became an endless loop of men and women. They brought lavish gifts, praised him and told him what an honor marrying him will be. They demonstrated their ‘desirable’ skills, entertaining and talking to him. Yoongi will admit he is difficult to impress, so he did not expect to find anyone truly worthy. It’s only marriage; it’s not as if he needs to love this person.The process proved taxing, tedious and downright irritating, yet he found a good handful of potential partners: 

Jung Hoseok, Advisor Chulsoon’s eldest son. A thin man dressed in emerald and gold, he complimented Yoongi on his diplomacy with the Baekju affair. He’s fairly versed in politics, but he suggested can always use a teacher. He’d brought a small jade statue of two circling serpents, the symbol of Yoongi’s clan. The king took it graciously, then had it placed with the other gifts behind him. 

Park Jimin, the beautiful son of a loyalist family. In layers of lavender and pink, he is a vision of beauty as well. Soft features accompanied by full lips and a sweet eye smile would awe anyone. If for nothing else, he’d certainly make a beautiful consort. He mentioned he can dance and sing any time Yoongi likes; he will never bore the king’s guests and is a perfect host. Coming from a loyalist family, who never turned away from his father during the war, put him on the list. Yoongi knows he can at least count on him to not betray the crown.     

Jeon Jungkook, youngest of General Jeon’s sons, has the body of a soldier. An admirer of Yoongi’s swordsmanship, he gifted the king a new sword. The hilt glittering gold with black leather, the fine blade can cut through any man easily. He is educated in warfare and plans battle strategies to ensure victories. He admitted the boy showed great enthusiasm for sports and the arts. He proclaimed to have won several sporting events back home; he’d gladly demonstrate them one day. Yoongi let him pass through to not insult the boy’s father. 

Kim Seokjin, a young man from a wealthy family, presented Yoongi with a crate of fine stones and gems taken from his family’s mines. He certainly showed off his wealth more than the others. He kept his long black hair up with jewels and golden hairpins. Yoongi noticed he wore fine pink silk and white lace on his cuffs. He mentioned how his family’s unlimited funds would help keep the crown out of debt. Yoongi idly told him the crown is never in debt because of the taxes, but he insisted that he’d be able to give him whatever he wished. Seokjin went into the garden with the other suitors. 

Yoongi considered leaving his choices down to four, but then one final person arrived. Standing behind Namjoon was another young man in light blue and white robes. His youngest brother. Without even speaking, he already outshined the others. Yoongi examined every detail he could find from afar. Rather than gold or silver, white pearls dangled from his ears, matching the hairpin keeping his hair up on his head. Hair the color of dark chocolate fell around a handsome, round face that no doubt made people sigh dreamily. He already imagined himself running his hands through the silky locks as he kissed those full lips. Long lashes brimmed large eyes that wouldn’t meet his out of respect; Yoongi wished to see them so much closer. He’s a true beauty; a blooming flower among weeds. Yoongi felt intrigued, wanting to know more.

“Your Majesty,” Namjoon spoke in a deep voice, “May I present to you Master Kim Taehyung.” 

“It is an honor, Your Majesty,” Taehyung bowed, keeping his head down and still not meeting Yoongi’s eyes. 

“Your brother?”

“My youngest pure blooded brother,” Namjoon smiled in a nod, “Unbetrothed and never married, he has no children or wives to follow him into your household. Our grandfather personally educated him on many subjects and he is very well versed in the fine arts. He’s-”

“-Leave us,” Yoongi interrupted him. 

Namjoon did not protest. He bowed to Yoongi, then made his way out of the room. Silence hung in the air between the two of them. Yoongi walked slowly over to Taehyung, taking in every inch of him as he moved around him in a circle. He stood the way a young master should: shoulders drawn back and his back straight, a stance of confidence. Yet, he did not have the hardness he saw in generals or officials. He carried a softness that masked what was hidden beneath. Yoongi wanted to know what was under it. 

“Sit with me,” he walked back to the small table, “Eat. You must be hungry after your long wait.” 

Even the way Taehyung moved so fluidly and elegantly spoke of his upbringing. He nibbled on food left out of them and sipped quietly. Rather than babble about how accomplished and educated he is, Taehyung showed it. In a light, charismatic manner, he answered Yoongi’s questions about his views on religion and politics, which mirrored his own. He too spent his childhood at his grandfather’s elbow, learning about diplomacy, politics, warfare, and law and order. They shared grievances over strict tutors, and spoke about their favorite subjects. He even made Yoongi laugh recounting a story involving his reading tutor and his dog, Yeontan. He felt different from the others. Everyone acted so formal and eager to please him. Taehyung acted as if they were two friends meeting for tea; not a king and his subject. He nearly had him fooled. 

However, as time went on, Yoongi began noticing things: how Taehyung flaunted his best looking features, how he insisted on pouring the tea himself rather than let servants do it, pretending to be mesmerized by the capital’s culture and city life. Yoongi should have known he is too good to be true. Namjoon is his brother after all; Yoongi still remembers all the times his friend outsmarted and tricked those around him. However, rather than be angry, he felt amused. 

When he caught Yoongi staring intently at him, Taehyung smiled shyly. “Is there something wrong, sire?”

“Not at all,” he shook his head, setting down his teacup. “I’m only admiring you.”

“And do you like what you see?”

“Yes, very much.” He then added, blowing gently over his hot tea, “I’ve always been fascinated by panthers. It is the symbol of your clan, of course.” 

Taehyung paused, “Your Majesty? Panthers? What of them?”

“You’re quiet. You’re stealthy and patient. I bet if I hadn’t said anything, you would have waited for the right moment.”

“Forgive me, but I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You do. You’re not very good at keeping up a game, Taehyung. I suggest you get better at it if you’re going to be here at court. Then again, the court is full of fools, so perhaps you’ll get lucky.” He took a sip from his tea, taking in the warmth against the cool winds coming into the room. “I should’ve known what I was dealing with when Namjoon brought you to me. I’ve known him since childhood so I should have suspected.” He continued, “When did he start educating you on how to best impress me?”

The younger locked eyes with him. The innocence melted into confidence bordering on smugness, “Since you announced you’d be looking for a husband or wife. My father said it’d be an honor for our family if I became your royal consort; he told me, imagine the power we’d hold if I had a say in what goes on in this country.” He scoffed as he held his tea cup in both hands, “Apparently Namjoon being your chief advisor means nothing to him.”

“But as my consort, it’d be easier for you to sway my decisions and influence me...as if you could in the first place.” 

He smirked, and flipped hair over his shoulder, “So, you’re saying I couldn’t convince you not even a little?”

“I’d certainly let you try,” he replied, returning his grin. “But, my family has ruled over this kingdom for decades. I cannot let the charms of a pretty boy sway my every decision. When you’re an authority figure, you need to remain undeterred by others. I’m sure if I’d given into them, my officials would be running the country and not me.”

“And they would love that.” 

“They would.” He put his cup down as he said, “I do want someone with a mind of their own, however. I cannot be with a person who does what others tell them without question.”

“Which means all those idiots out there should go home.” 

Yoongi laughed. He laughed for the first time that day. The smile felt odd on his face, but delight still filled his chest. “They’ll be complacent, that’s for sure. They will sit quietly, nod their heads and do as they’re told. They’re only here because their families expected them to.”

“Do you not see that with me?”

“Oh, you’re certainly here because your father and brother asked, but you...you’re not frightened of me.”

“Why should I be? I haven’t committed any crimes or done you harm, Your Majesty.” He then batted his lashes, “Do you think I am capable of such things?”

Yoongi shook his head, another smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, “No. Never.” He then added, “You’re not that stupid. You know what to say. You know how to flatter and impress people. You play different roles according to what people like the best to keep them off their guard. It honestly worked on me for a while. You truly had me believing you’re an innocent, delicate angel who cares more about others than himself. Namjoon must have told you to play that card.”

“Then I ask for your forgiveness, Your Majesty,” Taehyung bowed his head slightly. “I did not mean to offend you or play you-”

“-Don’t worry, pet. I’m not angry with you. I find it an admirable quality. The court is full of flatterers and liars; you need to have a brain to work past them. You might graceful, beautiful and soft, but you’re not stupid, and I like that.” He stood up from the table, “Come with me.” He brought Taehyung over to the window that overlooked the garden. “You see those people down there?” he nodded to the group of suitors assembled below them. 

“Yes.”

“Do you know anything about them?”

He hesitated for a moment, then said, “I might know a thing or two. I had someone look into them for me; who told me things about them that they’d rather keep quiet.”

Yoongi nodded in understanding, “I’m not the only one with spies then.”

“No, sire.” He faced Yoongi, “I wanted to know things about my competition before I came to court. I wanted to have things I can use against them if needed. I figured they might try to do the same, so I wished to beat them there.”

He looked at Taehyung, impressed by the effort. “Why should you need to know anything about them? Are you threatened by your competition?”

“Hardly,” he snorted. “You said it yourself, Your Majesty,” he looked back to the people below. “The court is a viper pit full of snakes wanting to bite each others’ heads off. This isn’t like in those dusty villages where peasants fight each other for scraps of food or a fancy bracelet. We have to be quieter and cleverer around here.” He smirked, “I mean, my brother sits on your advisory council. Do you believe he got the position by playing nice with everyone? No. I wanted secrets that I could use against them should they try to do the same to me.”

“And what if simply exposing secrets doesn’t work?”

Taehyung glanced at him, a glimmer of mischief in his eyes, “Then make some up.” Then the younger man stared at him for a good while. Yoongi felt him reading him, searching and deciding something in his mind. It reminded him of Namjoon. “If I should become the royal consort of the king, then it’d be my words against theirs.”

“If you were mine,” he gently touched Taehyung’s chin, keeping their gaze locked, “Nobody would dare try in the first place.” Taehyung did not break away from him or flinch under the stare. He looked right back, that mischief fading slowly into flirtation. For once, Yoongi did not find this irritating. He liked how the man’s eyes darkened slightly, the way his body relaxed and moved closer. Taehyung might’ve been a few inches taller, but this did not bother Yoongi. He cupped Taehyung’s chin, letting his thumb rub on his rounded jawline. “If you were mine...if you sat by my side and remained faithful to me...nobody would dare speak ill of you. You might not hold equal power, but you’d be feared.”

“What if I wish to be loved by my people instead?” he asked, not moving away from Yoongi’s hand, but instead touching his wrist gently. A shiver went through him feeling warm fingers touch his wrist, and then his arm. He dared move closer. 

“Then loved you shall be,” he replied in a low voice. 

“And if I wish to be loved by no one other than you?”

“Then you’ll be worshipped.” 

Yoongi could almost feel Taehyung’s lips on his own, but they kept their distance. He gradually slipped his hand away; he couldn’t bring himself to move away. An idea came to him suddenly, “I like you, Taehyung.”

“I’m honored, Your Majesty.” 

“But I can’t just send them all home and insult their families. I made a promise to choose from five suitors, and I cannot take that back now.” Coming close enough, Yoongi detected a hint of jasmine from him and inhaled. Of course, it’d be jasmines. Namjoon knew he liked the scent from the bushel outside his bedroom windows. “If you wish to be my royal consort, be my companion and share my bed,” he whispered lowly to him, “Get rid of them for me.”

“Not all in one day surely?”

“No. I’ll tell them they’ll be staying until the Harvest Festival where I’ll make the announcement,” he said. “You have until then to prove exactly what you’re willing to do for me.” 

“So, a fortnight then?”

“Yes.” 

Taehyung weighed this offer in his head, then said, “I’ll accept your challenge, Your Majesty.” 

The pair smiled at one another. If he’s right about him, Taehyung will be one to watch. He dismissed Taehyung, and told the council officials he’s done selecting his five candidates. He spoke to the people in the garden. He told them they’d be staying at the palace until the harvest festival in two weeks. He caught their wide smiles, hearing their gratitude waft through the air, but it was Taehyung's face he searched for. The man did not look at him. He studied the people in front of him, already picking his first target. Yoongi could not wait to see what the young man had in store for his competition. 

****

The group gathered for dinner later that evening. Serving the finest of foods, several performers came into the center of the room to entertain. Yoongi really only noticed the singers and musicians since he’d already seen the acting troupe. It’d been towards the end that Seokjin offered to perform for the group. He took to the middle and called for a harp from the men nearby. Trying to impress Yoongi, Seokjin sang a song while expertly playing the harp. He caught the glances he gave the king as he sang. Little winks and smiles were meant to entice him. While everyone awed and admired him, Yoongi rolled his eyes. ‘The Bluest Bird’ is a song he’s heard more times than he can count. He finished off his dinner quietly, giving the man the bare minimum of attention. 

“Your Majesty,” Namjoon whispered to him, “My brother has prepared his own performance for you. Send this one away and let him truly amaze you with his gifts.” 

Yoongi decided he’d give Taehyung his first chance. He let Seokjin finish his crooning before he called for Taehyung. He cannot show favoritism, so he let Namjoon suggest his brother come into the center. The group watched the young man bow before calling for the musicians to strike up a soft melody. Yoongi did not recognize the chords or notes they played. Then Taehyung began singing, and the people around them no longer existed. Deep and soothing, he sang a gentle song Yoongi never heard before. Unlike Seokjin, he did not flirt or smile at him. He sunk himself in the music, showing the passion through his words instead. Yoongi remembered being this mesmerized only once in his life when a popular singer performed for his father on his birthday. He’d been lulled into that song as well. He felt nothing but serenity at Taehyung’s low voice. When he finished, Yoongi clapped along with everyone else.  

“What song is that?” Yoongi asked, drinking from his wine cup. “I’ve never heard it before.”

“I call it ‘Winter Bear’. I composed it myself,” he answered. 

“It’s a beautiful song,” he nodded. 

“Thank you, Your Majesty.” 

“Do you often write your own music?” 

“I do. I’ve always had a great passion for music and singing as a child,” he began. “It’s why I was excited to come to Daegu, sire. I heard your city is rich in artistic culture with so many wonderful musicians, artists, poets, actors and playwrights congregating here. I’m,” he smiled shyly, “I’m quite interested in hearing His Majesty play for us too. My brother says you play the lute beautifully.”

“Your brother should learn to not spread rumors,” he said, hiding his blushing cheeks as he eyed Namjoon. 

“But it is true, sire,” Namjoon chimed in. “You have been studying instruments from a young age, and even then you exhibited incredible talent. I merely told my brother since you both seem to share a passion for the arts.” 

Another thing meant to bring them together. Yoongi coughed and said, “Perhaps you can sing for me another night, Taehyung, and I can accompany you?”

He smiled brightly, “I’d like that very much, Your Majesty.”

His brother dismissed him and called for another volunteer. As Park Jimin performed a graceful fan dance, Yoongi continued glancing over at Taehyung. He sat talking with one of his companions, a man as equally beautiful but fairer in skin tone. They sat close together, drinking and talking with wide smiles. 

“Namjoon, who is that with your brother?” he asked, leaning over to him. 

“Ah, our brother Yeowool,” he said, eyes focused on Jimin in front of them. “He’s very well known back home for his beauty alone, but I promise you he’s much more than his looks.” He forced himself to look away as he said, “I would have brought him forth to you, Your Majesty, but unfortunately Yeowool is illegitimate. We have the same father, but different mothers. Therefore, he is not fit to marry a king.”

“That’s no matter to me. I’m simply curious. Are he and Taehyung close?”

“Very close. Yeowool is the only brother living at home with him, honestly. My other brothers are either married or in the military. Taehyung begged me to let him bring Yeowool. If...If having a bastard child in your court displeases you, sire, I can have him sent home.”

“No, no, no, nonsense,” he immediately said, “There’s no need.” He knew the statement pleased Namjoon, but Yoongi did not acknowledge it. “You say he’s popular?” Yoongi continued, watching the two pick at their plates while they watched Jimin. 

Namjoon clapped when Jimin landed a particularly high twirl in the air. “Yes, but mysterious and sharp-tongued I will say,” he said over the applause. “He’s base-born so he carries this unattainability people like.”

A perfect spy. An illegitimate son will raise no intrigue or suspicion in court. He can go places and talk to people Taehyung cannot. Yoongi made a mental note of it, then turned back to Jimin. He did, however, catch Seokjin’s sour face watching Taehyung also. He must be embarrassed being eclipsed so easily. Yoongi suspected the younger man will face retribution somehow for what he’d done tonight.  

Yoongi retired to bed much later with Taehyung’s voice in his head. Hearing he’d like to experience Daegu’s culture made him proud. Art appreciation is another quality he realized he wanted in a partner. It’d be nice, he thought, to enjoy the theatre with another person. He often went alone whenever a particularly famous performer came into the city; he thought Taehyung might be interested should the chance arrive. Walking through the palace to his bedchambers, he wondered whether his father once felt the same. Did he have a partner pictured in his mind but settled for Yoongi’s mother? Did he ever consider finding someone he truly loved or solely focused on political gains and alliances? The man had plenty of concubines, but Yoongi learned they only gratified his sexual appetites, not anything meaningful. He personally never gave it thought before. He dismissed his guards for the night, leaving only two of them outside his doors. Walking inside, he finally found the peace he’d sought after all day. 

“Good evening, Your Majesty,” a sultry voice said behind him. 

On his bed laid Seokjin. In a thin robe made of sheer red fabric, he laid across the bed in front of him. The robe just barely covered his naked form underneath, giving Yoongi hints to his most intimate areas. He’d untied his hair to let it cascade over his shoulder; glossy pink lips curled at the sight of the king. A lustful twinkle in his dark eyes let Yoongi know his purpose here. Yoongi gulped thickly and glanced around. 

“What are you doing here?” he asked, stunned by his appearance. 

“I’ve come to help you unwind after such a long day,” he answered. He sat up, letting the opening of his robe fall to the sides to show his sculpted chest. “You said as much in your letter.”

“My letter?”

He nodded over to his vanity where someone left a note. Yoongi picked it up to inspect the paper. In black ink, the handwriting is very similar to his own, even the signature at the bottom could fool anyone. Yoongi read it out loud: 

"Seokjin, ever since we met a fire has burned in my loins. I ache to touch and kiss every inch of your slender body. Only your lips can relieve the pain building up inside me. Forever yours, Yoongi.” He laughed to himself, reading the words over again. He’ll admit it is an excellent forgery. It did not take him long to figure out who’d written it. “Who gave you this?”

“I found it in my bedroom, sire. You’d left it on my bed.”

“I didn’t leave this on your bed.”

“But it’s in your handwriting.”

“Yes, because somebody forged this to trick you.” Yoongi smelled a hint of jasmine coming from the paper, and hid his smile. “I also don’t wear jasmine perfumes.” 

“Then perhaps this mystery writer thought we’d be a good match,” he smiled, trying to save the situation. He finally let the robe drop around his waist so his torso became exposed. Yoongi whipped his head away to his amusement. “Don’t be shy, Your Majesty. If you choose me as your husband, you can look at me all you like. I can be very good in the places where it counts.”

He rolled his eyes and scoffed, “Master Seokjin, please cover yourself and leave.”

“Leave? Aren’t you at least a bit curious, sire? Don’t you want to taste it before-”

“-What I’d like is for you to leave,” he said firmly, looking back at him. “I’m frankly disgusted that someone of your status would degrade and dishonor themselves this way. You waltz into my room, lay on my bed and bid I fuck you like some kind of whore. Have you no self-respect? No shame? You should be insulted by this. You should be demanding an apology, not throwing yourself at me.” He spotted tears building in the corners of Seokjin’s eyes, but he had no sympathy for them. “Now, get out.”

Yoongi watched Seokjin tearfully run from the room. Taking a deep breath, he walked over to the window overlooking the gardens. He’s impressed. He never expected Taehyung to take out one of them so soon. Looking across the courtyard space, he saw a figure move in front of a window. Judging by the slender frame and long hair, he recognized Taehyung. He smirked to himself. Naturally, he’d choose the quarters closest to Yoongi’s while still keeping his distance. For a brief moment, he envisioned Taehyung in Seokjin’s place. He’d wear white though; a color of purity and innocence that Yoongi can slowly peel apart piece by piece. They’d explore one another with lips and hands; they’d find the most sensitive parts and tease them endlessly. However, he quickly erased the image from his head. He cannot let one person bewitch him so easily. He is a king after all, and must not give into his weaknesses. 

He sent Seokjin home the following morning.

[alma37]

A[h]arrowing evening - chapter 2

I kind of promised another chapter if I reached 100 hits on AO3. I am a little behind schedule, but a promise is a promise.

So, here is the chapter 2.

Fandom : Dracula TV 2020

Relationship : Agatha x Dracula

Rating : this one tends to M but not quite

I still have not counted the words.

@hopipollahorror​ @lady-of-the-wolves​ @thebeautyofdisorder​ @festering-queen​ @feralstare​

[let me know if you don’t want to be tagged]

@vampyrsbride​ @khyruma​ no idea if you even read fanfiction

Anyone else who didn’t ask to be tagged but still read my shit,

everyone, I hope you’ll enjoy!

As Dracula was settling comfortably for the night, a knock resounded on his door. Curious, he went to open and was startled to find a swaying Agatha in front of him.

- Agatha! To what do I owe the pleasure? Or is it displeasure tonight?

The young vampire waved her hand and slurred :

- I came to aplo... to aloo... ap.., to say I'm sorry.

The older vampire frowned :

- Are you all right?!

- Nether bedder!" She was leaning dangerously sideways until she was supported by the doorframe.

- Did you take something?" Dracula asked, incredulous.

- Noooo!... " But after a short pause, she admitted : "I just drank a drunk!" And she sniggered. Agatha never sniggered.

- Oh my! Are you drunk?!

- Mabee a little bit. But he tasted sooo good!" Agatha mumbled, ecstatic.

- What did I tell you about drinking drunk people?!

- Pff!" The younger vampire scoffed. "I drrink whoeve' I want, Mr 'now-it-all.

Now she was listing dangerously towards Dracula who held her upright by the shoulders.

- Do you understand how much alcohol is needed to affect us?! How much blood did he have left in his alcohol stream?!" He asked drily.

The former nun, leaning on his chest now, snorted.

- Did you just make a joke?

- Perhaps.

- You shooould not do that.

- Why not?

- Because... it makesss you likeable. And I am not sh-supposed to like you. I am sh-supposed to.. to kill you! See? I still have my little arrow with me, just in case.

Agatha brandished in all directions the wooden weapon she got used to carry since Dracula turned her. Weary, the older vampire got hold of it before his younger kin could do some damage to either of them.

- Yes, I can see that. I'll keep it for now, if you don't mind.

Agatha made a gesture, that could either mean she didn't mind or its exact opposite. When she didn't try to take back her weapon, the Count concluded it was the former and returned to their previous conversation :

- Did you just said you liked me?

- Ov course not! Why would I do that?! You mush... must get deaf in your old age.

- I assure you my hearing is quite good. You just said you liked me." He persisted.

- Nooooooooo. No, no, nononono. No..." Another short silence, before :" Maybe. A little. But I am rrrreally d-drunk at the moment, so you'll have to ashk... aks... hashk me again tomorrow. When I sh-slept it off.

- When you slept it off, you are going to wish me to the devil. So...

- Zat's not... jat's... that... Yeah!... Maybe we should sleep it ohf togejer, zen.

- I beg your pardon?!

- Zat way, no dish... no dims... no w... no sc-scoffing at.

- I won't sleep with you when you are drunk, Agatha.

- Why not?! I am vewy ri... very vi... willing at the moment. When will you 'ave anozer chance, do you think?

- God, give me strength!

- Did you..." Agatha sniggered for the second time in the evening. " Did you just take God's name in vain?!" before she dissolved in laughter, at the utter dismay of her older kin, while actually slouching against him.

- That's exactly why." The only thing keeping her up was his arm around her waist. When she finally calmed down, he tried to lead her towards the bedchamber :

- Come now. I am putting you to bed.

But Agatha resisted his pull. Even drunk, she was still a vampire.

- Only if you're coming with me into it.

Dracula towered above her.

- Agatha, don't push me. You know I want you. But not like that.

Far from being cowed, the younger vampire slid along his chest until she was an air breath from his mouth before flashing him a brilliant smile :

- Draaackeyyyy... me loveyyyy. Don't be so meaneyyyyy.

The older vampire snapped :

- That's it. That's enough! I am putting you to bed now.

Lifting her like she was a bag of feather, he threw her on his shoulder. Sober Agatha would have been scandalised. Drunk Agatha, however, sniggered for the third time and purred :

- Ooooh! Me very own cave man!... Cave vampire!" Then, even upside down, she set about removing his shirt from his trousers. Dracula couldn't believe what was happening : a few weeks ago, she almost killed him and now, it appeared that she was intent on undressing him.

- Agatha, stop that!" He admonished her, to no avail.

The younger vampire, apparently, was determined to see him naked before they could reach the bedroom. She was really trying his self-control.

- Agatha, if you don't stop, I am going to do something I have wanted to for a long time and you will be left with only regret and self-loathing in the morning. Is it really what you want?

At last, this made her stop. Dracula couldn't help but release a relieved sigh.

Once they reached the bedroom, Dracula slid her down to the bed. He put a knee on the floor to remove her shoes. Agatha, surprisingly silent, was watching him. When he straightened up to help her lie down, she unexpectedly put her hand under his shirt flat against his abdomen. Dracula fought to keep what was left of his restraint.

-Show me your scar.

- It's gone. You know we don't scar." The older vampire answered while removing gently her hand from his skin. She was warm from the blood, which wasn't helping with his growing lust. Luckily, she didn't resist. But she looked disappointed :

- I wanted to kiss it better, as you asked me. As an apology.

- You did, don't you remember?

- Hum! Yes. But I wanted to do it more... Can I kiss you better somewhere else, then?

- Agatha..." But before truly realising it, he was leaning forward. His restraint was flying through the window.

The kiss started sweetly, a mere brush of the lips, but drunk Agatha was demanding and Dracula, unable to resist, gave her what she asked. Soon they were tangled with each other, the older vampire not sure anymore how many limbs his younger kin had, as she seemed to touch him everywhere at the same time. He finally stopped her hands from their roaming and threaded their fingers, while exploring her mouth with avidity. In all their 123 years of fighting, she had never let down her guard and never allowed him this close. Until tonight. She was exquisite, as always. Warm and soft and... softer?

Dracula raised his head to note, with a mix of dismay and amusement, that his nemesis had fallen asleep in his bed. Well, at least, she finally was where he wanted her. The vampire shook his head and laughed softly at the irony. As it was, she wouldn't be able to stake him come morning. Small mercies.

*************

A few hours later, Agatha emerged slowly from her slumber. For a few instants, she couldn't remember but when memories flooded back, she put a pillow on her face and groaned. How could she do that?

- Oh! I see you are awake. Hum! And not suffering ill effects from your over-indulgence.

- Sweet Jesus! It really did happen, then?! I still hoped it was a nightmare.

- I am afraid not, Angel.

- I can't believe I did that. This is so embarrassing!

- Well, it could have been worse. I could have given in.

At those words, Agatha removed the pillow from her face - She couldn't smother herself anyway - and looked at her supposedly oldest enemy. He was watching her with a mix of fondness, resignation and longing. Or so it seemed to her guilty mind.

- I am so sorry, Vlad. I... Well, thank you for resisting. At least one of us didn't embarrass themselves last night.

- My pleasure, Angel. And don't thank me, I wasn't able to totally resist, if you remember well. If you hadn't fallen asleep, honestly..." He trailed before falling silent.

Agatha dropped her gaze on the sheets, a new wave of mortification washing over her.

- Yes, well, I provoked you. So, for once, I don't blame you. You actually showed remarkable restraint.

-  Did I hear you well? Did you just pay me a compliment?! You may suffer ill effects after all." Dracula teased her.

- Nevermind." Agatha mumbled, going out of bed. Dracula presented a helping hand, which, after only a slight hesitation, she took. Once upright, though, she had to grip it more tightly as she swayed on her feet.

- Hum. Not totally unscathed, then." The older vampire remarked, without mirth.

- I'm fine." She defended herself."I just feel a little numb.

- Yes, of course. My mistake." He answered, with a knowing smile this time.

- Oh do shut up, Dracula!" The younger vampire growled, as she tried to remove her hand from his. But Dracula didn't let her.

- Maybe you should stay the day. Sleep it off.

- Dracula...

- I promise you : no mischief, no ulterior motive. If I may say so, you don't look so good. You could rest here, I won't bother you.

- I don't think..." She hesitated.

- I can bring you some clean blood to clear your head and you can lie here as long as you want." Dracula added when he sensed her wavering.

Agatha was thinking about accepting his offer as she felt exhausted, but still she pondered.

- Where will you rest? It's daytime.

- Don't worry about me. My sofa is quite comfortable.

The former nun snorted :

- Your sofa is as comfortable as a marble coffin and at least a foot shorter than you!

Dracula shrugged.

- Well, I still have to put a bed in the guest bedroom, so it will have to make do.

Agatha looked at her nemesis' bed : it had been made for him, so it was probably a foot longer than her and at least, large enough to house a small village. She gulped then took a deep breath :

- Your bed is big enough for the both of us. And since, you were the gentleman and offered me its exclusive use, I would be a very sore guest if I'd let you sleep on this terrible furniture you dare call a sofa.

Despite his surprise at her unexpected proposition, Dracula chuckled :

- Well, if you get into the habit of coming to see me while drunk, I may need to invest into a second bed. Or...

Agatha raised a warning finger :

- Don't even think about finishing this sentence, Count.

The older vampire grinned but stopped talking. After an awkward silence, Agatha added :

- You should think about replacing that sofa, too.

- I will." At his tone, she looked at him. He was watching her back with that same expression again.

- Are you sure you don't mind?" Dracula broke the spell. "I must admit I got quite fond of my bed, since I don't need my coffin to sleep in.

- No. I mean : I don't mind." But she insisted, to be sure : "You promise me no mischief.

- You offered me to sleep with you." He countered, teasing her.

Agatha didn't catch the joke, if her scandalised look was any indication :

- I was drunk!

Dracula laughed at her outraged tone.

- I'm joking, Agatha. Relax.

he sat on one side of the bed and patted the place next to him.

- Come on. You look dead on you feet. I promised you no mischief. I'll keep my word.

Agatha sat carefully on the bed then lay down next to her old enemy. They didn't say anything for some time. Dracula rearranged his limbs then put his hands behind his head, settling in.

Agatha was lying next to him rigidly, debating with herself, until finally she sighed :

- Oh Hell!" And throwing caution to the wind, she rolled on her side to nestle against him. It was quite nice, actually.

The older vampire stayed still for a moment, unsure what to do. Then, slowly, he put down one arm to place it around her shoulders and bring her a little closer to him.

- No mischief." She mumbled into his shirt.

- No mischief." He confirmed with a smile in his voice. "Even if you make it hard for me to keep my promise."

- Not without a partner." His younger kin replied softly, already on the verge of sleep.

Dracula resisted laughing at her tart answer, so as not to disturb her. She was relaxing against him and very soon, he could sense she was fast asleep. No partner indeed.

He couldn't hold it any longer and laughed, barely disturbing his exhausted partner. She muttered in her sleep, then settled against him once more after throwing an arm across his chest.

Perhaps, she would heed his advice next time. But Dracula hoped she wouldn't. Drunk Agatha was almost as fun as angry Agatha and far more agreeable.

The older vampire looked down at the woman in his arms. Maybe he was the one high, in this instance : he still couldn't believe his nemesis was actually sleeping, sober and peaceful, in his embrace. If God had decided to be done with him and Agatha was His sword arm, Dracula decided then and there that it was a small price to pay for a few hours with her in his arms. And with that satisfying thought, he slipped in a comfortable slumber.

[clareisa]

Consequences -「Son Dongju」

♠ - exorcist!Xion X demon!Reader

♠ - genre: exorcist!au, angst, suggestive

♠ - words: 1,8K

♠ - A/N: I know my stories are not the best, but I still hope they are not terrible. I would need more words to do a good story but unfortunately I don’t have the time. Please, forgive me, everyone♥

♠ - 4th October -  ♠ creeptober ♠

♠ - warnings - mentions of religion, disrespect of sacred place, mentions of blood, exorcism, coercion

♠  - English is not my first language, so please, excuse my mistakes

 Dongju was a regular boy from the countryside. Hardworking, generous, kind, peaceful and devoted to his faith in God, the good and bad, and the afterlife. Since he was a little boy, he wanted to work for the church, and not because of money or prestige. He just wanted to help people and lead them to be better. Because he believed everyone is kind in their true nature.  His parents were intensely proud when he got accepted to the theology school as a common farmer child, but they said he has unique qualities and determination to be part of God's servants.

 Soon, he didn't know why, but Dongju started to find interest at the more of a dark spectrum of his faith. It didn't mean he wanted to become a sinner. He just became captured by all the dark myths surrounding him, and the fascination of the other side of the coin.  Exorcism fascinated him the moment he got to know about it, and even though it was hard, sometimes even sad or disgusting to look at what was happening, he didn't give up.

  Soon he became very good at his job of casting out demons off from bodies of innocent people. Until one time...

 The moon was in the first quarter that night when Dongju arrived in a small village on the Han River. He came on the request of the head of the village, who sent a letter asking for help for his supposedly possessed daughter. And it turned out it was the case.

 Dongju was next to her bed for the whole night, trying to get the stubborn evil spirit out of the young girl's body. The demon was talking throught her. First just making fun of him, but as time was passing by, the demon used the girl's body to start touching Dongju in places that weren't appropriate.  As this started, Dongju took her hand in his and started saying out loud prayers, begging higher powers to kick the evil spirit out while intensely looking into the girl's eyes, making sure the demon can hear and see him clearly throught the young girl.

 The screams of agony were echoing throught the house as the method was finally working, and the painful process of the stubborn demon leaving without its permission started.  The girl's hand where Dongju was holding the rosary started burning, causing the smell of scorching human flesh to fill the room. Her eyes went up, the iris not even seen anymore, mouth opened in suffocating scream and the body trembling in an inhuman manner.

 "Crux sancta sit mihi lux, not draco sit mihi dux..." that was the beginning of the prayer Dongju was repeating.  "Vade retro satana, Nunquam suade mihi vana..." he continued even throught the screams and the girl biting his arm, piercing his skin and little creek of blood were falling down the rosary and then to the floor.  "Sunt mala quae libas, Ipse venena bibas." he finished with the last part saying that what they are offering is not wanted and the entity should drink their own venom.

 As he looked the last time deep in girl's eyes, he fell into a vision.

 He suddenly saw the face of a woman. The woman had white eyes and a smirk playing on her red lips.  Her voice resonated in his mind like an echo, "You think you this ends here?" she chuckled, "We'll meet soon... Son Dongju." and that was the moment the illusion in his mind fell apart, and he came back to reality, kneeling next to the bed holding the burned girl's hand, bleeding himself.

 After that, everything went smooth like usually. Dongju was happy that the family gave him some little money and cooked dinner. Yes, he was starving, and yes, he was in need of money also.  He was one of the best exorcists, but the church distanced themselves from him a long ago when he didn't agree to scam people out of money even when the humans around them wasn't possessed, just ill.

 Since then he was travelling, trying to earn money and then sending them to his parents because their business wasn't going really well and they were both ill.

 He thanked the family, took his things and probably an hour before sunrise, he got on his journey back home. As he was passing a church that was in the same village, he decided to go in, pray for a while, and think about the vision he got.

 As he opened the heavy wooden door, the cold air and smell of myrrh hit his senses. It was familiar and felt safe. Nothing bad could happen in this saint place.  He got on his knees in front of the altar, connected his hands, closed his eyes and started praying, thanking the higher power that he could save the young girl this night.

 "Well, well, well... who we got here, huh? Isn't it the same punk who forced me out of that body and interrupted my fun time?" suddenly a smooth women voice echoed through the church.  Dongju's eyes immediately opened he stood up and quickly looked for the source of the dangerously seductive voice.

 He froze to the ground as he saw an actual demon for the first time in front of him. How did he know? Well, it was more than obvious.  Her eyes purely white, giving no clue of actual living being inside. Her raven black hair was falling to her thighs, and her ashy skin was looking too unhealthy for blood even pulsating underneath. Her sharp nails painted in same black colour as her plump lips.

 Dongju immediately squeezed his rosary, "How did you get here? This is a sacred place!" he shouted at her not exactly sure what he should do since he was never in such a situation before.  "Sacred? Here? Ha! Let me laugh. This place was never even consecrated, my dear. Why you think this place has the most possession cases, huh?" she chuckled and smirked, looking at his handsome being up and down.

 Dongju just gulped but didn't say anything. She rolled her eyes even though he couldn't see, because of the white colour.  "Look, I don't want to hurt you," she started slowly walking 'down the aisle' to him, but he immediately showed the rosary up, trying to protect himself in panic.  "Woah, Woah... slow down, baby boy. I said I don't want to hurt you." she said stopping a couple of meter in front of him.

 "Then what do you want?" he asked.  "I wanna work with you. As simple as that." she smiled.  "W-what?" he was confused now.  "You know... I would possess someone's body, and you will easily get 'rid of me' and get the reward, which we would spread in half. Good plan, right?" she leaned her head to the side as if it was the most normal thing happening.

 Dongju was slowly going crazy. This wasn't real, right?  "No... this... you.." he pointed at the female demon, " you are not real. This is just a dream, or I'm too tired, and it is happening just in my head." he said taking a deep breath, trying to calm down.

 "Oh, it is very much real, baby boy." she walked to him, "Should I show you how much?" she whispered with a smirk.  Dongju at that moment put the rosary at the side of her neck, making the demon scream in pain and walk back two steps.  

 "Ouch! That hurt, you know?!" she held the place when he burned her ashy skin a bit.

 "No, you are not real. I'm just hallucinating. I saw you before when I was helping that girl, it is just my imagination." he was trying to lie to himself again because he was a little scared now.

 "It was me, you idiot!" she sighed in annoyance. "Ok, I'll help you to believe. And because you interrupted my fun in that human's body, you can see it as a punishment," she said with a smirk on her face.  In a matter of one second, she was standing behind Dongju and hilding him under the neck. That was the moment the young exorcist finally accepted that this is real, and a real demon is going to kill him.

 "Oh, no, no, no. I won't kill you," she said.  "Y-you know how to read my mind?" he gulped as her long nails scratched his neck slightly.  "And not just that... don't worry your punishment will be pleasant, I promise," she whispered the last two words.

 The beautiful but freaky demon girl suddenly connected their bodies as close as possible, "Just relax and enjoy..." she smirked as she slowly pushed herself into his body, becoming part of him, possessing him.

 Dongju suddenly just heard her voice in his head. "Mmm, your body is strong and healthy." she giggled, "What a pretty young man we have here?" she chuckled and moved with his hand without him approving.  "Leave me alone!" he shouted in his mind.  He could see and feel everything throught his eyes and body but just couldn't control any of his body parts.

 "Let's have some fun since you ruined my last entertainment." she chuckled in his mind and sat his body down on the bench, the one right in front of an altar.  "Now let's show your Lord how he created you in his image." she giggled.

 Dongju's hands moved under her power and started buttoning down his dress shirt and pulling down his trousers slowly.  "What? NO! Let me go, you insane demon!" he whined in his mind.  "No. I have a weak spot for handsome cute humans, I wanna you to enjoy yourself." she chuckled again.

 She took down finally his underwear and here he was. Completely under demons control, naked in front of an altar.

 "Please, let me go. I..." he didn't even finish the sentence as his hand under your power took his bare member and started stroking up and down in slow teasing motions.  Dongju whined in his mind. It felt so bad, so embarrassing, so degrading, but the actual physical pleasure as his hand was going faster under the demon woman control was undeniable and liked the feeling even though he was disgusted by himself.

 "Your mind can try to stop me, but your body wants it so bad. I'm a very polite demon but no one interrupts my fun without consequences," she smirked when he finally moaned as she made him grip his already hard cock tighter.  "Maybe I'll let you have your fun with me later because I saw how you were looking at me, baby boy." she was having so much fun torturing the young man.

 "But now your consequences are that I'll make you cum right here, on the altar of your lord so he can see you clearly..."

[chaotickitty45]

This has been digging a hole in my brain since the dragonspine quest. Enjoy!

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“If the elemental flow is unimpeded, you will only feel momentary discomfort,” the alchemist explained.

Aether frowned doubtfully at the flaming potion seated on Albedo’s workbench, considering whether he should actually drink the concoction or not. He’d really only just met the alchemist; was it wise to trust him so readily? But, Albedo did just sample it himself with no ill effects, and based on what he’d experienced so far with the man he had no reason to distrust him. There was also the possibility of getting some answers about his place in this world, which would be more progress than he’d made in the past month of dead ends. Aether cast aside the clenching in his heart at the thought of his sister (he’s going to find her, no matter what), picked up the flask, and downed the potion in a few gulps.

By the end of the third gulp, Aether wished he hadn’t. A bitter taste coated his tongue and the liquid burned as it made its way down his throat. He couldn’t help but scrunch his nose up in distaste.

“Tasty?” Paimon asked. “You got a funny look on your face.”

Coughing slightly to clear the burning sensation (no, it didn’t help), he reassured Paimon that he was ok. Turning to the alchemist, he began to ask if the burning was normal before his stomach turned uneasily and black wisps started rolling off his body. He was on fire?!

Paimon swivelled to Albedo, worry coating her voice. “You said you tried some already! Are you sure it was ready? What’s happening to him?"

Aether turned in panic towards the alchemist as he tried patting out the flames and commanding his stomach to stop doing loop-the-loops.

“Hm? oh this was the result I was expecting. And a very positive one at that,” the young alchemist reassured them. “In conclusion, it seems that you, Aether, are no different than a human of this world.”

Albedo’s reassurance eased his worries, doubly so as the black flames began to die out, but it did nothing to reduce the discomfort in his gut. Sweat beaded on his forehead, the room having become uncomfortably warm. “Is it hot in here?” he asked while wiping his clammy hands on his trousers. Albedo glanced dubiously at the dying fire, then to the beginnings of a blizzard forming outside the cave of the campsite.

“Quite the opposite,” Albedo responded with a frown. “How are you feeling?”

Aether shook his head to clear the fuzzy spots in his vision. More heat rushed to his cheeks, making him feel lightheaded, and he swayed in place as the room began to tilt. Clumsily, the traveller sought to brace himself on the workbench before he toppled over.

The alchemist had said these side effects were normal, right?

Aether heard glass shatter around him as his grip on the bench slipped. Luckily, Albedo had noticed his unsteadiness, managing to half catch him before he fell over completely. The alchemist huffed with exertion as he struggled to keep him upright.

“Aether, you’re going to have to help me out here. Do you think you can get your feet under you?” He managed to nod in response, although the heat made it difficult to focus on moving his limbs where he wanted them. He must have done something right because he felt them moving, most of his body weight being supported by the alchemist. A few moments later, Aether felt something blissfully cool against his skin, easing the unbearable heat.

He must have blacked out for a moment; he fluttered his eyes open to see a fretting Paimon floating above him, dusted in a layer of snow. She appeared to be trying to speak with him, but he couldn’t make sense of the jumbles of sounds through the loud static in his ears. He could feel a violent reaction continue to swirl in his stomach, extending to his limbs and his head. He was in a vortex, spinning around and around, his entire body burning and cooling simultaneously.

A brisk slap against his cheek caused him to refocus his gaze. Albedo’s face, eyebrows slightly furrowed, was far too close to his. Snow settled on his long eyelashes, his nose and cheeks tinged a slight pink. The deep sea green of his eyes reminded him of another world, one coated in water and where life flourished under the vast seas. Lumine really loved that place, and he remembered promising her that they’d return to see it again. He wondered how she was, and if she still thought of that place too, and of the unending aqua.

Another slap.

“—verse reactio—Aeth—, this — importan— how—re—feeling—symptoms.” He managed to partially process the alchemist’s words.

Symptoms? Was he having a reaction to the potion? Albedo had mentioned he’d prepared something for this, so he needed to help him by telling him what was wrong. His head throbbed, thoughts swirling in his mind and making it very difficult to think.

Carefully, Aether tried to focus and convey his discomfort. “H-hot,” he managed to say before a sudden exploding pain ripped through his temples. Coupled with the tightness and nails digging into his chest, he found himself unable to squeeze out anything else other than a sharp exhale. Instead, he settled for tapping his temple with a clumsy finger, followed by hovering a hand on his chest and stomach. He vaguely noticed the crease between Albedo’s brows deepen.

“Breathe deeply,” he instructed, before disappearing out of sight.

All Aether could do was lie there, hazily watching the falling flakes of snow. When had they moved outside? Another shock of pain tore through him, tears stinging his eyes as he let out another short wheeze. He tried taking a deep breath as Albedo had instructed.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

So far so good.

Breathe in.

He felt his chest rise, more nails digging into his stomach and the returning vertigo making the vortex feeling return. He squinted his eyes closed to stop the spinning, but he still felt the sensation of the world tilting around him. As he choked out another gasp (sob?), Aether wished he could pass out, but it seemed consciousness didn’t want to leave him.

“Albedo, hurry!” he heard Paimon yell. Aether silently agreed with her. Stupid potion.

The swirling in his stomach returned in force; he was going to be sick. Barely managing to turn on his side, Aether proceeded to heave the contents of his stomach onto the snow beside him, staining the pristine white a sickly yellow. Now laying unmoving on his side, head resting on the slowly melting snow, he noticed purple sediments scattered amongst the yellow.

Moments later, the hurried crunching of snow underfoot signalled Albedo’s return. He didn’t even have the energy to feel embarrassed, just lying there and begging the vertigo and pain to cease. The snow felt cool on his cheek.

Aether felt himself being pulled upright, the sensation of heat immediately returning as he was pulled away from the coolness of the snow. Grunting in objection, he tried wriggling away to return back to the solid, cold, unmoving ground. Firm arms held him in place, pressing something to his lips.

“Drink,” they instructed.

No, he wasn’t going to have any more of that foul potion! He pressed his lips firmly shut, turning his face away. He felt them sigh.

“Don’t be a child. This will help.” He still refused, smacking a clumsy arm in an attempt to knock the potion from their hand. Another sigh. “So be it,” he conceded, laying him back gently in the snow. Ah, sweet sweet coolness. He vaguely heard the alchemist converse with Paimon, too focussed on trying to block out yet another surge of pain to hear them clearly.

“Now!”

Without warning, his nose was pinched, forcing his mouth open to breathe. Paimon rushed at him, bottle in hand, and a warm, sweet liquid was poured into his mouth. He didn’t have a chance to sputter before a hand was clamped over his mouth too.

Eyes wide, he stared at his floating friend in disbelief. He felt betrayed; how could Paimon go along with this? She didn’t make eye contact, flinching and curling back on herself with a squeaked apology before disappearing in a brief shower of stars back to her pocket dimension.

The alchemist gave her no mind. “Swallow,” he instructed plainly.

Unable to breathe, he tried to scratch at the alchemists hands and arms, but they were unrelenting. Eventually, his lungs could take no more and he was forced to swallow the mouthful before he passed out from lack of oxygen. As soon as he did, the alchemist released his grip, sending Aether gasping for air and promptly into a coughing fit before collapsing back into the snow.

It wasn’t long before the potion’s effects took hold, the traveller’s eyes fluttering closed, limbs relaxing, and his breath deepening. His head lulled to the side, unconscious. Albedo crouched beside the blonde for a few more minutes before checking his temperature. Placing a clinical hand on the traveller’s forehead, Albedo hummed in approval when his skin felt cooler compared to the burning heat he had exhibited earlier. Good. Now he just had to get the unconscious boy back into the campsite so he didn’t get frostbite.

After trying and failing to lift the boy, Albedo settled for dragging the traveller by his arms. Once inside, he positioned him onto his bedroll, arranging his limbs at less awkward angles and tucking a thick blanket around him. There. Leaning back and huffing slightly in exertion, Albedo left the traveller to rest as he mulled over the results of the experiment.