#it was strange and only some of us are left | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hyukascampfire · 3 days ago

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THE TERRIBLE HALF-TRUTHS OF THE UNDEAD ҜING

⠀(🍂 ) 𝓡EVENANT in folklore, a revenant is a spirit or animated corpse that is believed to have been revived from death to haunt the living ... ( 𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑦𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡 )

1︎5.5k revenant!yeonjun · ƒ ! r ft. soobin ⸺ ✴︎ 𝖿𝖺𝗇𝗍𝖺𝗌𝗒 ... smut, violence, angst, death, animal death & vivid descriptions of animal death, major character death, unprotected sex, cumming inside, dry humping (because bring it back), biting, dom yeonjun sub reader, mentions of death in childbirth, reincarnation, teasing, breast worship, yj calls reader ‘my love’, def some typos

🪶 ⦂ how fun is this collab? :,) this fic was so fun to write. i personally believe that tsfawc enjoyers will love this one,, but you'll have to read it to confirm that, right? hehe. and of course, go read everybody else's if you love this one! they're all set in the same world, and everybody worked so hard on these fics. send some love their way!

rꫀׁׅܻblogs & asks arꫀׁׅܻ always apprꫀׁׅܻciatꫀׁׅܻd!

𝒪𝑁𝐶𝐸 𝒰𝑃𝑂𝑁 𝒶 𝒯𝐼𝑀𝐸, in a land far, far away, where the treetops touched the soft clouds of the sky and the water sparkled under the glowing sun, where mountains rose high, and long, deep caves ran through them, where the sea met shore in collisions of swirling, foamy punches, where the undead walked among the living, where the winged flew above the finned, there was a land where things beyond reason and rhyme existed perfectly true. Among those strange beings and within the veils of Aethera, there was a girl loved by death.

He sits on your shoulder, a dark, boding shadow and glared at those around you with promise in his eyes.

That’s how it seems, anyway. That’s how everybody looks at you. They dodge you, whisper about you, evade your gaze as if he might reach his claws for them next if they linger for too long.

Crows with dead eyes arrive at your doorstep like some lover’s cheeky gift, other poor creatures like fat grey mice are left to rot in the wheatfields, and yarrow stocks wilt outside the wall of your room. If Death thinks that you are flattered, he misunderstands you. You are terrified of nothing more than dying. The first time, it was a sly joke. Then it happened again, and you watched their eyes change. And it happened again and again, and your people are a suspicious type. Something can only be a coincidence so many times.

When you began to sneak into a little shack with a village boy, you thought that maybe, somehow, this would all pass. He died too. There’s really no coming back from that, is there? You don’t blame them. You’re not the freak that they all believe you to be—none of them get close enough anymore to know that, though.

The wickerbasket’s handle creaks under your fist. You usually only forage along the shallow line of the forest; you pluck from bramble bushes topped with plump berries that crawl between trees during the summer, and when the crab apple tree’s branches hang heavy with the fruit, you snatch those up too. You’re more useful to your family out here, in the woods that they deem just as cursed as you. Where you won’t be their burden.

Crisp autumn leaves crunch under your boots. You scan between them—more grey and rotted this late in the season than fresh and orangey—for the edible mushrooms and roots that you usually forage at this time of year. The basket’s already pretty heavy with a variety, black morels and sorrel and burdock, as you bend down to pull a truffle from the dirt against a tree.

You drop it down with the rest of your finds. The basket smells like earth, no doubt your hands do too. You dust your palms off on your skirts and go to rise back from your squat.

A deep, billowing horn pierces the forest’s silence. It’s both far away, wiggling between the whispers of rustling leaves, and much too close. It draws out. Long. Bone-chilling. You freeze, scanning between each tree trunk and praying that you won’t find what you fear you might.

You are much deeper into the woods than you usually are. Than you ought to be. And you know what that horn means—you know that it means something far worse than what you’d been afraid of, coming into these woods. Much more primordial than the hide-behinds you were scared you might find this deep, much less avoidable than the faerie rings you stepped around.

Why would The Wild Hunt be here? A shudder runs down your spine, and you curl your fingers into your skirts and lift them as if to prepare to run, but you don’t. Your feet find root in the forest floor and all you can do is stand terribly still in catatonia. Their horn sounds again, and a procession of wicked whoops and howls follow. Wild hoofbeat rumbles under it all—the hunt and their rides. You hope that they’re just passing through, and you won’t so much as see one of those wild riders. There were plenty of folktales that the matrons of your village would bolster to terrify you as children, but you knew even then that their stories of the riders, with their flesh falling away from them and their pale or beady eyes and their gnarled maws and frightening figures as they rode on the backs of equally terrible steeds, were not fabricated. They are not a bogeyman or a wailing banshee; they are death made in the flesh, and they are here. In your forest.

Your legs won’t work. You curl your clammy fingers tighter around your basket and lean into the tree beside you. How deep had you wandered into the forest? Hopefully not too far; when you gain the courage to run, you hope that they do not send their hounds to snap their foul breath on your heels. Maybe just standing here and blending into the trees is best. The Hunt would love a chase, and you don’t want to become their next.

The next call comes and you throw that all to the wind. Your heart pounds against your ribcage as you let your basket clatter to the leaves and you take off. You fly over roots and shrubbery and between the trees, your blood roaring in your ears faster. You’d oblige if you could.

Above the loudness of your frantic mind, the harrowing whinnies and The Hunt’s ruckus dulls until it’s faraway again, and then it’s gone. Well, you don’t stop to check if they’ve really passed through the forest. You just run.

“There you are, love.”

His voice cuts through your frantic escape and stops you dead in your path. You almost go crashing down over the ground with the force that you dig your heels into it. Though the voice is non-threatening, you don’t turn to face the source.

He speaks again. You already know who it is. He, old as the earth you stand on itself, leads that band of wild riders. Is the king of the undead, collects souls for reaping.

And he’s the one who’s plagued you with his attention. Death.

“Why do you keep your back turned to me?” he says. “I frighten you. That hurts.” His voice lilts with amusement and sharpness. “I wish that you would face me.”

You’re not fond of the way that he speaks to you with a familiarity. But then again, you’re not fond of dying, either. Your legs are boneless beneath you. Turning, you slowly indulge him, though it takes a great amount of willpower to not run again like your jittering jaw and trembling hands ask you to.

The King of Death stands tall and utterly preternatural, leaned against a crooked tree in the woods behind you. His smile cracks across his face in a jagged way that suggests he finds you amusing, but none of that meets his eyes. They’re the color of the greyish, rotted leaves beneath you. The dark shadows beneath his eyes are the only thing belying the weight that his infinite life might have on him. That, and the hollowness that rings from him.

And though he sounded entirely playful, you are shaken by the sorrow that you find in him now that you’ve turned. Even more so, you’re not sure why you feel it echoed somewhere in the hollows of your bones. “I’m sorry,” you say. It trembles terribly. You want to say that you’re sorry you caught his attention, but it seems you’ve always had his attention. It’s more that you are petrified down to your marrow that the time’s come that you face this… strange infatuation. Here he stands: the one who leaves hollowed out husks of creatures at your doorstep. Should you run or thank him? Is Death as prideful a creature as the other kinds that inhabit Aethera? “I don’t mean to…”

He pushes off his tree, fixing his cape that cascades over only one of his shoulders. It’s tattered and falling apart like the rest of his clothing, though you think that the bronze stitching and swirling oakleaf patterns in the black say that they might have been immaculate at some point. Or maybe they weren’t, and they had started that way. He is Death, anyway. “You’re sorry?” he says. “Why are you apologizing to me? You’ve hardly done a thing to warrant it.”

Faltering, you wet your chapped lips. You’re not really sure. Holding back another apology for fear that you’ve offended him and he’ll now strike you down for it, you say, “I thought that, maybe the hunt was…” Wow, you sound stupid. You can see in the sly smile his lips form that it amuses him. That’s almost worse than angering him: intriguing him. What you really should be doing is boring him so that he’ll find you a waste of his time. Then, maybe, he’d give up haunting you.

“After you?” he finishes. Shaking his head, he says, “My hunters only answer to me.”

“Oh,” you say plainly. Part of you wants to ask why that should comfort you, especially when you’re the one that he sends little bits of death to, but rationality keeps those words in the back of your throat. You don’t really want to know. “Why are you passing by here?”

Something akin to old longing passes through those witty eyes, and then he eats up the distance between you with languid steps of his long legs until he’s nothing more than one last step in front of you. The closeness consumes the air in your lungs, leaving nothing for you but short and shallow drags. The forest has gone dead silent aside from the sound of it. His voice is even more magnetic now that he’s so close.

You recoil when he brings a hand up to brush the pad of his thumb over your cheek and then cup your jaw, as if afraid that he might snuff you out here and now. His fingers are softer than you thought they might be, and the lines of his face sharpen into what you think is hurt. Hurt that you flinched?

“We go here and there,” he says, “but it’s been a very long time since we came here.” There’s a certain thickness to his words; a certain tension coiled over them from something that you’re not privy to. And yet, there’s a farawayness, too. You bet he’s full of a lifetime of secrets. Lifetimes of secrets. “But I think I’ve found myself a reason to finally return.”

Breathy and still struggling to flatten out your breathing, you ask him, “Why?”

The Undead King’s smile turns wicked once more, and he doesn’t answer you. It’s awfully eerie.

“Do you have… business here?” you try again. It’s a roundabout way of asking, do you have someone to take away?

“I have business wherever the living go,” he says, letting your face go but not giving you any more room. You narrow your eyes. He’s quite good at non-answers. “Nothing is more certain than that I will greet every living thing eventually. I’ll come to take you, too, when the time comes.”

Your mouth dries up. The entirety of your home, all the people you’ve ever known, fear you for all the death you bring. Not one of them fears it more than you do. You’ve seen it enough to fear its frightening finality.

The drop of your face must’ve told him how much that scared you. “Dying is not such an awful thing, love. Living pales in comparison.” Searching your eyes, he adds, “But I’ve not come to take you.”

That’s easy for him to say: that death isn’t something to fear. His words don’t calm your thundering heart, but you offer him a, “Thank you…” It trails off toward the end when you realize that you don’t have his name. If he has one, anyway.

“Yeonjun.” He tilts his head, strands of sparrow hair brushing over his watching eyes. “Most don’t know it, but you’re not most people, are you?”

Your breathing had just begun evening out. It’s a shame, the way that it kicks back up at the way he looks at you. “What do you mean?” you say, but of course you know. Nobody else is given dead things like you. It’s not like you yourself are very strange; you like pretty dresses and sharing gossip with friends just as much as any other girl your age.

Giving you another one of those knowing smiles that he uses just like words, he steps back. “I’m sorry that I scare you how I do.”

You don’t answer him. What could you say to that? That he doesn’t? That would be a lie, and he would know it.

Yeonjun’s eyes flit over your face, over your cheeks made pink by the autumn cold, lingering on your lips for a few unexplainable beats, and then landing on your eyes where he searches and finds something that sends his throat bobbing with a thick swallow. “I don’t mean to be your monster. It’s only that…” He steps back again. “You remind me a terrible amount of someone I once knew.”

“Who?” Though your shoulders relax a bit with some distance between the two of you, you do your best to not let your guard down. All the stories that you recall being told, all those cautionary tales passed down through word of mouth around a fire, end with some stupid girl thinking that the monster could be changed or tricked. You’re willing to bet that the man in front of you, no matter how human he looks or how enchanting his words are, could be neither.

That doesn’t explain the ache in your chest when he holds your eyes for too long. But you shove that feeling way, way down. It’s nonsensical.

His voice takes on a parting tilt when he says, “It doesn’t matter anymore. Death takes us all.” Yeonjun dips his head at you. His smile wavers. You’d think that crooked smile on his mouth was indelible had you not seen it twitch down at the corners only for a moment. If you’d have blinked, you’d have missed it. “You think I’ll hurt you,” he says, “well, don’t let me stop you. Go ahead, run. I apologize for your basket.”

Death takes us all. You’re not sure what that’s supposed to mean, coming from him, but it sends a cold wind up your spine and goosebumps crawling over your skin.

He watches you go. You don’t look back when you do, but his gaze sits on your back until you’re sure you’re out of his sight. When you return to your home, your mother asks where the basket full of ingredients for supper went.

You imagine what her face might look like if you told her the truth. But that was impossible, so instead you tell her some stupid story about a wolf that startled you so bad that you ran home paying no mind to where your basket was. It’s close enough to the truth.

༺ ꘏ ༻

It doesn’t matter what you do; you can’t get his face out of your head. While you cut butter into flour and then roll out dough, simmer fruits over flame and you slice cheese off blocks, you replay that meeting in the forest. The memory spins and turns over no matter how hard you try to put it away from your thoughts.

It’s not every day that somebody meets the likes of him. You can’t blame yourself; he had such captivating eyes. Dark, playful, and endless. There they are again. You sigh and dust your hands off. Maybe you are just as strange as they all think that you are. Morbid curiosity is like that, though. Taking the most normal of us and making you wonder what you absolutely should not wonder about.

And you absolutely should not wonder about him.

The sun has begun to hang high in the sky, but the breeze that crawls through the window you pulled open before you got to work is a crisp one. Autumn’s really come, now. Outside the window, a huddle of children play around in the leaves that you’d raked up. You’ll have to rake those back up, but you hardly have the heart to tell them to take their playing elsewhere. Their giggles and small voices waft in with the breeze, and a traitorous part of you yearns for a family that you know you’ll never have. No man would risk that fate, not after what happened to the last man who paid you any attention. You grit your teeth at the memory.

Having a face for the thing that’s made your life the way it is is strange. Seeing him in the flesh, with handsome eyes and a taunting mouth, looking something near human, you think you’ve come to resent him for it. How dare he ruin your life? He, more than anybody, should know how fleeting life is. What is in it for him to deface what little time you have? You keep going back to that thought: why did he ever even appear to you in that forest? There is not one story in which you remember Yeonjun showing his face to those he hasn’t come to claim. Death makes his visits swift and purposeful.

Moreover, why on earth would he even look your way? You wish there was a plain way to ask him why, or even to plead with him to stop. Whatever it is he’d ask of you, you think you might give him. To get back to living, you would.

A deep, familiar voice from behind you gives you pause. “Want some help with that?” Soobin says. He stands in the doorway, his head nearly brushing the top of the frame. It’s made too small for him. Most things in your tiny village were made too small for Soobin. There had been a time where you’d been taller than him, that had hardly lasted long enough.

“As if,” you dismiss and gesture at his dirty hands. He’d no doubt been out working his family’s field, his tunic sleeves rolled up to his elbows. “Cow shit isn’t an ingredient.”

Anybody else might’ve scoffed or taken offense, but he just laughs and invites himself in anyway. It never fazes Soobin. He doesn’t let you push him away.

It’d be better if he did. How long before he ends up dead, too? Alive one moment, and then a husk without a soul next. You don’t think you could handle seeing cold, dead eyes where the annoying, warm shine should be. Of course it would be better if he stayed away, if he had half the mind to. Even most of the children have heard enough from their mothers to stay a healthy distance. He’s not too much better than a child, though.

“Isn’t it?” he says. His cheek is smudged with whatever sort of dirt he’s got on his hands and under his nails. “I’m done with work for the day. Want to go out to the field?”

You two have always ran off and avoided your life in between willowy, flaxen wheat stocks. They were just tall enough at this time of year to hide you away. But, for some reason, your stomach does a quick flip at the thought of being outside. It’s silly; couldn’t he find you here, too? “I’m busy,” you say. You’d already kneaded this roll of dough plenty, but you dig your fingers into it and begin again.

“Busy?” he scoffs, “Since when are you too busy to get away from work?”

Gritting your teeth, you let the sounds of your kneading answer. Now, more than ever, he should keep his distance. You know one thing that you’re sure nobody else does: Death’s come to visit.

His brows shoot up in your peripherals. “I don’t get answers today?”

“I’m sorry,” you say, giving up working the over-kneaded dough only because your arms ache. “Why don’t you go talk off the ear of some other poor village girl? I’ve heard as much as I can handle today. And then when that one’s tired, you can bother the next, I’m sure.” You soften the words with a quick smile his way. No matter how many times you say something sour in hopes that it’ll send him away, as soon as you glance up at his face, you reel it in.

His company is all you’ve ever had. The least you can do for him is make sure he doesn’t end up like carrion, even if he chooses to take that risk himself. You don’t know why he does.

Voice playful, he says, “I’m glad to hear that you believe I’ve got ladies falling at my feet, but I’d rather not annoy a pretty girl, so you’re my only option.” He pokes at the sleeve of your simple cotton dress. “Should I drag you out of here? Don’t your arms hurt doing all that?”

“Oh, you are a refined man, aren’t you?” you say, shuffling out of his reach. Damn him, he makes it difficult. “Well, I am a pretty girl, so you should take yourself elsewhere.”

Soobin smiles easy. “I’m bored out of my mind. You’re just going to let me suffer?”

“That’s not my issue.”

“I’d argue that it is,” he says. “Come on. Why are you giving me a cold shoulder?” Leaning, he tries to get a look at your face. “Did I upset you? I wasn’t aware that you cared much about what I thought.” When you spare him a sharp glance, he says, “I think you are very, very beautiful. Would you stop ignoring me, now?”

You wish you could fall into the easy banter that comes with being around Soobin, but you can’t. You can’t let him be around you. “Soobin, stop it,” you say, draining your voice. You don’t look at him while you say it.

Going quiet, he seems to notice that today’s different. His gaze is heavy as he stares at you for a few long moments. Crossing his arms over his chest, he asks, “What happened?”

You swallow. “Nothing. I’m just doing something.”

“Oh, alright,” he says, tone inflicting in a way that says he doesn’t believe you one bit. He pushes off the counter. “I’ve put up with you pushing me away for years. You think I don’t know what you’re doing?”

“Soobin,” you warn. If you look at him, you fear you’ll be forced to watch the only one who never cared much what a risk it was being around you leaving. So you don’t.

Your friend raises his hands in the air defensively. “Okay, then.” He makes for the doorway with languid, lingering steps. As if he doesn’t want to leave. “Tomorrow..”

That’s both a threat and a promise, knowing him. Sighing and watching the rowan tree out your window sway, you bid him a curt goodbye.

If only that jerk took offense to things. It would make things an awful lot easier for you.

༺ ꘏ ༻

Being out in the wheat fields brings you peace when you’re alone, but you find it to be terribly lonely. The earthy, sweet scent of it wraps around you, and the stalks whisper against each other in a soothing way.

When you look beside you, the patch of wheat imprinted with the shape of your bodies is empty on his side. You are quite weak; it makes you want to go knocking at his door for his company. But that would be the selfish thing to do, so you card your fingers between the golden straw instead.

A chill trickles down your spine. You feel his presence before you even see him; it’s a feeling that you used to get fleetingly, as if something far away was tugging at you. But then he became real, a living thing in front of you that can touch, and that is much different.

“Why is it that I always find you out in the wilderness?” Yeonjun says. His voice comes from behind you.

Has he been watching you? You stand and dust your bottom off, heart kicking to life. “It’s nice out here,” you say. In truth, you haven’t come outside since that day. You’ve dodged Soobin and made a million excuses as to why you won’t go anywhere past the fences of your home. “I like to… watch people go about their days. It’s interesting.” It’s true—you always watch from afar how the village folk interact. How groups of girls your age link arms and whisper to each other, how neighbors come together to fix up a shoddy fence. You watch them be a community that you are not a part of. Watching it tastes bitter sometimes, but mostly you take pleasure in imagining yourself there with them. You’re not sure why you try making small talk with him, but what else? Should you go running again? If you were to listen to your pattering heart, maybe that’s what you’d do. He’s hardly shown you any bad will, though, and he’s the one that’s come to you. Maybe it’s silly to wait until something bad happens to be cautious.

A thousand pounds in stones sit at the center of your chest, though, and his voice makes them feel lighter. Why on earth that is, you’re not sure. It’s a nice relief regardless.

He smiles. It's different from the ones he showed you before. It’s knowing; more sweet than cracking over his face like the smile you would expect from the likes of him. What use might he have in being sweet? “Could I join you?”

Blinking dumbly at him for a second, you nod. “Oh, uh… Yeah.” Settling back down into your spot, you spare him a few curious sideways glances.

The breeze billows over the gold stems, moving them like gentle waves over the ocean and blowing your hair in it too. The flattened bits rustle under his weight. He doesn’t even turn his face toward the village; instantly, his gravitational eyes are on you.

“Do you come here often?”

“I do,” you answer. Mostly when you and Soobin have too much to do and not enough will to do it. “It’s nice. The village doesn’t like me much, so it’s easier out here.” You don’t mention that mostly you don’t come here alone.

Yeonjun’s face becomes far away. It looks strikingly like somebody forced into an old, unpleasant memory. “Don’t like you?” he asks, “What reason would they have for that?”

“They fear me. Things go wrong around me, that’s all.” You pluck at the hay absentmindedly. “Things die. They’re smart to stay away.”

The hay whispers much louder for the long moment he remains quiet, digesting what you’ve said. Maybe deciding what to say, considering that it’s his fault.

“Die?” he asks, voice inflected with surprise.

Turning to him, your brow creases. Shouldn’t he know? He’s the one that’s done it to you. “Everything that gets too close ends up dead. Everything,” you say, resting your temple on your knee. “So, I guess, I just keep it all at arm’s length.” You look back at your tiny village, a collection of familiar, un-familiar thatch-roof homes.

Continuing to blink at you, his eyes narrowed in a strange grimace, Yeonjun says, “Death follows me, too.”

What? A laugh of disbelief bubbles up in your chest. Of course, death follows him. You cover your mouth with a hand to obscure your laugh, but you just giggle at him harder.

A laugh twitches at the corners of his mouth, too. “I mean it,” he says. The lines of his face become distant again, eyes both trained on your face and melancholic as if the sight reminds him of something.

It ignites a question in your mind about something he said in the forest. “You said that I reminded you of somebody,” you say, testing the waters. “Who?”

A muscle feathers in his jaw. He looks away, as if he can’t look at you while he says it. “I loved a girl from this village once. When I was human, no less than you.”

You falter, mouth falling open to ask all the questions that flurry through your thoughts. You settle on one. “You were human?”

“I was,” he says ruefully. “And I had everything. I had the love of my life. I think that even the most bitter of creatures on this island had envy for our love. She would braid dandelions into my hair, and then I’d braid them into hers.” He swallows thickly and pauses, as if the wound was still festering and fresh. “And then she died. She died starting our family. She died because of me, in my arms.”

You don’t know what to say, so you just look into his shining eyes as if that’ll help. You’re not very useful with people, much less comforting them.

“I couldn’t accept that. I wouldn’t. So I went where I shouldn’t have gone, and angered something much bigger than myself. They thought it would be a fitting punishment for me to live an eternity, the King of Death who could not bring back his dead lover.” The harrowed look that he gives you, only briefly, has your chest heavy all over again. “They have a sense of humor, the forces.”

You imagine what it would’ve been like for him to lose his lover in that way. How far he’d gone to try and have her back, but death does not give back. Where had he gone to have been turned into this? An immortal thing, forced to roam the world and scoop up the souls of the living for an eternity? To be bound in ancient bones and made to remember forever how you had lost your lover?

The grandness of what you want to say is too big, but all those words feel pitying and patronizing in a way that you don’t think will actually bring him any comfort. Rather, you doubt anything you say will be able to patch up a wound older than you could imagine. Simply, you offer him a raw, “I’m so sorry.”

Yeonjun lets a crooked smile replace the trembling at his lips. “As long as I live, so too will she,” he says, placing his palm over his heart. “Death doesn’t so much happen when we leave behind our bodies, but when we’ve left the minds of the living.” Narrowing his eyes at you, he brushes hair behind your ear with his knuckles. “I know she lives on, somewhere out there. Somewhere. I’ll find her.”

That intrigues you. “Is there some way that you could bring her back?”

The grim light in his eyes tells you his answer. “My curse is to take life,” he says, “not to give it. But the one who made me this, he is cruel in a twisted way. If I were to find her, as a human or an animal or a blade of grass in the forest, only then could I rest.”

It is cruel. “You’ve been searching, then,” you conclude. “When you find her, you’ll both be able to rest.” But how could he find her, if as he says, she could be any living thing? Where would he even begin?

Slowly, he shakes his head, throat bobbing. “Death needs a farrier.”

She would become what he is. You swallow thickly. Was it not him who caused the deaths that follow you? Or, at least, it was not on purpose?

Opening your mouth, you go to tell him that you’ll help him look. You’re sure you’ll be of no help. He’s spent an immortal lifetime searching, and he still hasn’t found his dead lover. Nobody would know better than him where to look.

The ground shakes beneath your palms with impact, and something cuts through the wheat. The noise of its bleating becomes nearer until the both of you scramble up to find out what’s in such distress.

A deer stumbles around wildly. It looks lame, but you don’t see anything wrong with its legs. Your throat tightens at the awful sound, piercing and sad. Frozen, you watch it try to stay upright before it finally collapses down, legs still kicking as though it still wants to run but its body has begun weakening on it. “Oh my god,” you say, stumbling back. The sounds; its sounds are awful, echoing in your bones and constricting your thoughts until they’re a pinched panic.

There’s an arrow lodged into its ribcage, deep and at a terrible angle. You already know that it’s pierced some vital organs, if not its heart. It continues to writhe on the ground, not ready to give up. You’re not sure if you should approach it—you don’t want to scare it, and you can tell by the look in its wet eyes that it already wants to be away from you.

Or, maybe it had come to you. How else had it found the two of you in the middle of this field?

Yeonjun’s already on it. He puts his knees into the dirt and dried wheat to kneel by it, running his hand over the beast's pelt in long strokes. The small buck flinches at first but relaxes once he learns that his touches are gentle, not the gnashing of hungry teeth ready to make him a meal.

Blood runs like lead through your veins. You say, “Can we help it?”

He shakes his head. “He’ll die.”

Whip-lashed, you swallow thickly. He says it so unphased, and you’re sure he is. You can hardly make yourself mirror that serenity that he exudes as he runs his hand over its flank, but you get on the ground beside him anyway.

The buck’s breaths slow to desperate drags for breath. For a few long minutes, the two of you sit in silence and stay with him until he no longer fights, until his breaths are ragged. You feel his side, still warm and alive, but you see the life going from his eyes. You sit here, talking to each other about nothing just so it hears gentle voices as it goes, for a while.

Eventually, he’s gone. Quiet and at peace, no longer hurting. This time, when you look over to Yeonjun who still smooths over the deer’s skin even as he goes, guiding him delicately into whatever greets us when we go, you see death as a gentle thing.

༺ ꘏ ༻

Though you never seek him out, Yeonjun always finds you. In hidden places, away from prying eyes, he appears behind you and makes himself known. Well, you have a feeling that he watches you for a while before saying anything. It’s hard not to feel the strange tingling of his gaze over your form. It’s akin to the sixth sense that’s supposed to keep you safe out in the dark hearts of forests, an innate feeling that tells you some beast with a rotten, pale maw watches you between the trees.

Yeonjun doesn’t feel rotten, though, preternatural and eerie as he is. As you shirk your duties and talk with him for hours, you stare into ancient eyes and watch his crooked mouth move around his words and you feel an odd comfort. As if he’s the only one who’s ever understood you, or maybe that your strangeness pales beside him and for once you’re nothing but who you are. So many nights, the sun fell on your talking until the night insects buzzed from the grasses and your eyes were heavy.

Sometimes, as you dozed off with your back to a hay bale or a hardwood wall of the abandoned home beside yours with its sagging thatched roof, you caught such festering longing in his his eyes that you’d let your lashes fall and pretend to sleep so that you could imagine what it was that he longed for. No doubt his lost lover. When you imagine him, bound in bones and coming back to haunt the living for an eternity as he mourns her infinitely, searching for her in impossible places, your chest aches with a gnawing intensity.

It’s a terrible, cursed existence. Even the nothingness of death becomes a paradise beside it.

“Is it scary?” you ask into the air, sat criss-crossed on the thick duvet of the bed. He sits across from you, looking perfectly lazy. Moonlight pools in like sterling mist through the shutters.

“What?” He watches you, sitting in your plain dress, as though you’re the only thing in the world.

You’ve begun to wonder. Wonder about those looks he gives you.

Shifting, you fix the shoulder of your soft chemise where it’s slipped down when you catch his eyes lingering on it. His throat bobs. “Dying,” you elaborate. “Is it really nothing? After we go, all of it was for nothing?”

A slow smile tugs his full lips, made a bit red in the middle where he likes to worry it. It’s such a human habit to see on something so far from human. “Hardly,” he says. “It’s like going home, right where your soul is supposed to be. Who do you think rides with me?”

Furrowing your brows, you tilt your head toward one shoulder and let your hair pool there. “The riders are dead?” You had thought they were undead in some way like Yeonjun, other sorts of revenants come back to life with their own purposes. Then, are their creepy horses dead, too? A chill goes down your arms. Sometimes, sitting here with him when his face is made soft by the orange glow of the fire he puts on, you forget what he is.

“They are.” He nods, leaned back onto his elbows, his eyes alight with a hunger that makes your insides feel funny. “It doesn’t stop once we’ve died. You don’t need to be scared, my love. So many things end, but then so many things begin. The earth no longer holds you down, the weight of being is gone. You don’t know anything like it; you don’t know leaving behind the pleasures of earth to know the ones that only the afterlife can show you.”

His eyes laced with something entirely else, he adds, “And it’s not the end. Not for everything. For some it’s only the beginning, and for others, those who have not yet fulfilled their purpose, they come back to the flesh. They return.”

You can’t tell if he means himself, or something else. The weight in his eyes, dark, endlessly swirling pools, makes you wonder again why it is that he’s lingering here: the place that he had not visited once since the death of his lover, for the fact that it still hurts too much. Why his shadow of death, his fault or not, was tangled in your soul enough to brush its fingers over the things around you.

“It’s scary,” you say, breathy. The thought of eternity.

Soft hairs brush over his eyes as he tilts his head at you. “Do I scare you?”

“No.”

“No?” he echos, pushing himself up so that he leans back onto his palms. “Isn’t that strange? Pretty little thing says she’s not afraid of death, but her heart races when I’m near. Her sweet heart jumps at just the brush of my leg. Are you sure you’re telling me the truth, love?”

Your blood roars in your veins, inflaming your cheeks and making your head dizzy. Nobody’s ever looked at you like that before. Hair prickles on your skin. “Yes,” you breathe.

Feral delight sparks in his eyes, black as pitch. His smile turns up all feline at the crooked corners. “Crawl to me, then.”

Like how fire licks up oxygen in any room it is in, his words steal the breath right from your lungs. What does he think you are? You blink at him wide-eyed and dumb for a moment.

How can he say that as though it were nothing? Moreover, how does the ravenous flare in his eyes, his head tilted back as he watches you down his nose expectantly, do that to your belly?

Your mind glazes over with something thick and heady, and you damn the nerves in your belly and begin to crawl from your end of the bed to his. His tongue darts out to wet his lips, making sure you feel every inch of the taunt in his eyes as he trains them on you. When you’ve gotten to him through the thickness in the air, you settle into his lap and bracket his waist with your thighs.

Yeonjun takes the soft fat of your hips in his fingers. “Fuck,” he says. It sounds like he’s barely holding the gates on something endlessly consuming. Something that might break loose on the two of you, and leave you changed forever with its hungry, gnashing teeth. His head hits your collarbone. “Tell me to stop. Please, tell me to go. Because I don’t know how.”

“Don’t,” you say. “Don’t stop. I want it, Yeonjun. I want this.”

He straightens, pupils blown and eyes as tense as his set jaw. “No, you don’t understand what you’re asking for. All I’ve ever done is ruin. All I’ll ever do is ruin. I won’t ruin you; not again.”

That rings bells somewhere outside the heavy fog that’s infiltrated your mind, but they don’t sound too alarming when he looks as though he wants to drag his teeth over your heart to taste its beating. It doesn’t touch the ground, when you want him to, so badly. So badly that you taste it on your tongue and it tinges your words as you tell him, “I do know what I’m asking for. I want you. Yeonjun. Don’t you want me too?” Voice and confidence wavering, you pull back. Maybe you’ve read this all wrong. A tickling shame crawls over your skull. “Do you not want me?”

“You think I don’t want you?” he says, straightening up and meeting your gaze. His breath is hot on your mouth. “I want you so fucking bad. You are in the marrow of my bones. Fuck, I have done nothing but want you, but I am foul. I will only hurt you.”

He takes your hand and places it over his chest, where a heart should be. Beneath your palm, you do not feel the thumping of an alive thing. Yeonjun has no heart. You knit your brows and examine the strain of his features. Does he think that you’ll be disgusted? Maybe the girl you were in that forest might’ve been, but being near Yeonjun has changed you in ways you couldn’t start to put your finger on. “I’m asking you to,” you say. “Show me what you want to do to me. What you’ve wanted to do to me.”

Searing silence burns between you as he drinks that in, and then he shoves you onto your back. Supporting himself with an arm beside your head, he curls his fingers into your hip and nudges your thighs wider. He doesn’t lift the hem of your chemise like you expect him to. No—Yeonjun begins to grind himself into your cunt through all the layers of your clothes. Though your dress is bunched up and his pants lay between any real contact, Yeonjun’s hard and that friction tastes fleetingly sweet.

“I want you to beg me for it,” he says, grinning down at you with cruel intention. “Beg me, and make it so pretty.”

You let little sounds linger in that back of your throat and become hungrier each time he grinds against you. It’s so much, mind swimming and sparks spraying up your spine, and yet each time it is not near enough. Damn that foxish smile on his face; you beg for him anyway. “Yeonjun,” you breathe, curling your fingers around the wrist of that hand with which he pins your hip. “P…lease, will you help me? It feels so good; I want more, please.”

He raises his eyebrows at you and an eager grind comes right over your throbbing clit.

You know he wants more than that, but mortification already is making your voice unsteady and your cheeks burn. “Yeonjun,” you huff, hips wiggling.

The king of the undead delights fully in your shame and rewards you with more of those pointed, dry grinds. Your legs tremble; he’s giving you so little, and yet your need takes it and magnifies it into something grand.

Though he pretends he’s on some high ground, you hear his shuddering breaths each time his fucks his hips against you. He feels that roiling, liquid need in his belly just as vehemently as you do. The room fills with your breathy pants and grinding bodies. You catch your lip in your teeth and begin to meet him half-way. Your moans are low and sweet, and each one sends his jaw tighter.

You twist and grind against each other like fumbling teens until you’re coiled up so tight that he has to pull himself away. Your throbbing cunt protests, but you know he doesn’t want you cumming like this.

“You want me to show you what I’ve wanted to do to you?” he says, working at his pants. His eyes are so drunk on you, and his cheeks betray his state. “Open your legs, my love. Let me show you a little death.”

Throat gone dry, you slowly let your thighs fall open. The dull throbbing between your thighs roars to life. He slides your skirt up your leg, stopping when he frees your knee to pepper a few hot kisses into it. Once he’s got it bunched up at your ribcage, he runs his tongue over his dry lips to wet them. “Fuck. Such a pretty pussy. I want to fucking eat you up.”

“Yeonjun,” you whine. His name is all you can muster out, anticipation sharpened to a knife point.

Flashing his teeth, he purrs, “You like that, you filthy thing. I bet you’d like for me to fuck you till your brain’s gone and all that’s left is my name. Isn’t that right? Is that what you want?”

Your thoughts stall and you nod, making your mouth into a filthy pout. God, how you want that. Maybe he’s right about you being filthy. Coming from him, it sounds like a delicious thing to be.

The pretty, leaking tip of his cock brushes your clit as he slides it up and down your slit to collect the mess there. Your thighs jump to close before your mind gets the better of it. He does this a few times—up and down, letting you feel and get used to the size and length of him all the way till his cockhead kisses your clit and you squeak.

“Are you comfortable, love?” he asks, shifting your hips with strong hands. “Do you need anything from me?”

It’s so at odds with his other, nastier words. Your head spins, the moonlight blurring. “I’m okay,” you tell him. “I… just want you. Want you to put it in, want to feel you.”

His cock catches on your hole, and he begins to push forward with promising pressure. But then he pulls back, smiling downturned. You whine; why can’t he save his capriciousness for later? You’d almost had it…

“I could give it to you, or I could not…” He hums. “Wouldn’t that be so cruel of me? To leave you wanting?”

You flutter around nothing. Every inch of your body buzzes. Alive. You are more alive now, at the promise of Death’s touch, than ever before. The irony might be something to wonder about if you weren’t dribbling down onto the bed sheets with crude need. “Stop it,” you say. Your voice is whiny. You’re glad you can hardly hear yourself past the pounding in your bloodstream.

That delights the King of Death. He wrinkles his nose at you, burning you alive with his eyes as he presses his palm to your belly and guides himself into you with his free hand. You wrap around each inch of him slowly. The air between you bows under the weight of your gazes; he holds your eyes the whole way, inch by inch until he’s seated fully into you with his groin flush to your body. He stretches you to fit, and yet it’s just right. You could ask for no more or no less; you might even think your body was made for him, were you not too busy circling your hips to feel him.

“Good?” he says, squeezing your hip. “Do you need a moment?”

Pursing your lips, you test out the shape of him with another wiggle. “Maybe… Maybe a second.” Truth be told, you need a moment to grapple with the sparks sprinkling over your mind more than you need a moment to adjust to his stretch. You let out a shuddering breath.

He traces circles into your belly, just beneath your navel. The pad of his thumb goes round and round, warm on your flesh. “As long as you need,” he says, but it’s more like a triumphant, playful coo. There’s that lopsided smirk. One day, you’d like to kiss it off him. Taking that hypnotizing finger, Yeonjun trails it up your stomach, over your ribcage. He hooks it beneath your dress and drags it higher, revealing the soft swells of your breasts to the air. You shudder, body so, so hot that your nipples peak and tighten against the cool air.

“Such pretty tits,” he says, brushing his knuckle up the underside of one. “Everything about you. Such a pretty, pretty body. God, I don’t know if I want to worship it or ruin it.” His breaths fan over your skin as he bends down and pops an eager nipple into his mouth, lavishing it before releasing it with a lewd pop and letting his mouth fall all over your breast. Lick here, nip there, until you’re squirming adequately and squeezing him like a virgin. Then he blows cool air over it and watches with eyes like a cat toying with its prey as you shudder harder, your chest jumping. “Fucking look at you,” he sneers.

“Junnie,” you say, lost for breath. You think you’ve walked yourself into the lion’s den.

His breathy laughs fall over your breast. Taking his teeth, he drags them over your skin, right over where your heart thunders a rhythm fully for him, and then he bites. Nothing more than a shallow mark, the shape of his teeth in your soft tit. He lingers there, admiring the sight before he straightens himself up again.

“Fine.” He pulls out of you slowly, but you know what comes after that, so you savor every second of it. “I suppose you’ve wanted after it long enough. Let me hear your sweet voice again, my love.”

Yeonjun fucks you just right. His cock nudges right up on your sweet spot as if he’s done this before. Like he knows where to find it. You gasp and whine—you’re just happy he’s finally giving you something.

“Oh, fuck,” you mewl. His shoulders wear the red crescent marks of your nails. “That’s—so good right there.”

Ever egotistical and cocky, he croons, “Yeah?” Rolling himself back, he makes it his mission to hit it ruthlessly.

A sharp, pitchy sound comes tumbling past your lips. You bring your hand up over your mouth, letting your eyelids dust your burning cheeks so that you can brave the flipping in your spine and deep in your belly. It’s nearly insufferable—the way pleasure licks up your spine, how it spreads out into your veins and takes control of you.

“No,” Yeonjun growls. “Don’t you dare close your eyes. Let me see that look in your eyes when you cum.”

Your eyes are heavier than they’ve ever been, but you open them. The sight that greets you is worth the effort. Yeonjun’s lip twitches and then he throws his head back, the column of his neck on display as his Adam's apple jumps around a thick swallow.

If that sight wasn’t enough to send you teetering down into whatever depths of lust and ecstasy that he crawled out from, then the angle he hits as he pushes one of your thighs to your chest is. The world frays, deep tremors starting at one small point in your cunt and then exploding up through your stomach and down the back of your thighs. Your chest arches off the bed and you mewl helplessly, fighting and embracing your orgasm in an intoxicating death.

“Oh, fuck,” Yeonjun growls, strained with something whinier as he watches you shake beneath him. “Fuck. I’m gonna—fuck, I’m gonna cum…” His voice chokes as his hips become stuttered more than pointed, the slick sounds of your own release tangling up with his grunts and pants until he shudders and stills, cumming into your puffy, fluttering cunt.

You both catch your breaths as if there’s no air in the room left for a while. His hair’s damp on his forehead, as is yours on your neck, and his eyes droop lazily. More lazy and content than you’ve ever seen him.

Collecting you to his chest, where only your heart thumps away frantically, he presses his mouth to your ear and says, “Do you think death is so scary now?”

With your limbs nothing more than boneless and liquid pleasure floating slowly through your thoughts, you smile.

A little death can be more visceral than living, you think.

༺ ꘏ ༻

The tree stump beneath you makes your tailbone ache. You sit criss-crossed, watching Soobin work away at the soil and tend to that section of the fence that’s begun to rot and sag. Your mouth moves endlessly, filling the space that would otherwise just be made up of his grunts of hard work.

“You know, you ought to help me if you’re just going to sit and watch,” he says, straightening to swipe at his forehead, sweaty despite the cold in the air.

“Totally improper,” you say, smiling at him cheekily. “Are you saying that you can’t handle yourself, strong man?”

He glares at you with the venom only somebody made to put up with hours of chatter could muster. “What’s got you so talkative?” he says.

You know he means why you’re suddenly not glaring him away. You can’t tell him that you’ve spoken with Death himself, so instead you say, “Nothing.” Letting your legs dangle down, you smile at him.

Yeonjun hadn’t done any of it. It’s a comfort, to some degrees, to know that. It’s not your fault that they died. Being around them, being around Soobin, won’t make them turn up dead. The rest of them still don’t know that—and they wouldn’t believe it, anyway—but the black shadow hanging over your shoulders dissipates.

For the first time in so, so long, you do not feel marked by death.

“Sure.” His smile tilts. “A week ago, you wouldn’t even look at me.”

Rolling your eyes, you decide to give him a hard time. “Not true. You just have a way of getting on my nerves.”

“I take pride in that.”

“Take pride in what? Being insufferable?”

Crinkling his nose, he says, “Knowing how to bother you best.”

“Get back to work, stupid.” Your heart soars. It’s good to have friends. To let yourself have friends is an ever better thing. Is this how it is? To be with others and not feel like their burden, or like they’re crossing their fingers behind their back to ward off whatever bad things you might bring onto them? He’s made it his mission to hover around you no matter what, but this feels different.

Maybe, for so long, part of it has been your own gloom that’s obscured it all. Maybe if you didn’t bare your teeth to anybody who got too close, it could’ve been like this always. You hate to think that your own isolation could be some part your own fault. But how were you not to show your teeth when someone tried to reach their hand out to you?

It doesn’t matter now. You shove that all down and let yourself feel the slight warmth of the sun’s glow on your skin where it peeks through the clouds. It’s a nice day, you shouldn’t ruin it with those thoughts.

The sun’s begun making its descent when Soobin’s done. He takes a long drink of water, hissing with relief and crumpling down to the ground with his back to your stump.

“Are you making any way with that girl you were talking to me about?” you prompt.

Giving you a long look over his shoulder, he says, “Don’t.”

“What?” You laugh a little, raising your brows down at him. “I’m not doing anything.”

“You know what you’re doing,” he says, voice flat as he picks stickers out of his fingers.

Soobin’s had a thousand different crushes. There was that daughter of the shepherd, and then the wealthy merchant’s daughter and her long pretty hair, and then the neighbor… Well, you could go on. None of them ever really came to fruition for the poor guy. He thinks that it’s because he’s a poor farmer’s son, but you always tell him that it’s because he’s got an insistent mouth, and that he should be more grateful that you deal with him. Your lips turn up at the corners a little thinking about it—he’ll find the one eventually, but you like the indignant look on his face when you say it.

“I mean it!” you say, nudging him with your leg. “Tell me. I want to know.”

“You won’t even tell me what’s happening with you. Until one of us quits keeping secrets,” he says, placing accusation heavy over the words, “I’ll keep my dealings to myself. What’s it to you, anyway?”

Feeling the weight of his head as he lets it loll lazily against your thigh, you decide that it couldn’t hurt to tell him. The itch to tell somebody crawls under your skin. Especially to tell him. “You know the other day? When I was… being awful?”

His body shakes with a vindicated laugh. “If you’re nothing else, at least you’re self-aware.”

You skirt around that with your own, more awkward, laugh. It’s nice that he thinks so, but you don’t feel it. “Stop,” you huff and nudge him again. “I was foraging out where I usually go. But I guess I wandered out farther than I thought I did. You remember when they used to tell us stories, right? Like the bogeyman. That he’d come snatch us up if we didn’t listen.” Your mom especially had loved that one, back when she cared what became of you. Would she care again, if you told her that everything was fine? “Well, I don’t know if you remember the one about The Wild Hunt, but… Anyway, I was picking some stuff, and…”

Sitting up from his exhausted slouch, Soobin looks like he’s suddenly come back to life. “What?” he interrupts. His voice is strangely serious.

“What?” you say, brow creasing. “They travel here and there… but they were here. In the woods. Like, I heard them.”

Tersely, he asks, “What were you doing that deep in the woods?”

“I mean, I just kept on finding nice stuff until I just… was deeper.” You survey him. You hadn’t thought that he’d react like this. “So I ran, and then there was this guy,” you say, watching realization fall over his face. He knew those stories as much as you do—knew where you were going with this. He is as starkly superstitious as the rest of your people, you forgot. Pushing past the grimace on his face, you say, “And I knew that he was the king. The one from the stories. It was so weird; it’s like you can feel it. And I spoke to him, and then…”

Stood up now, he cuts you off once more. “Are you kidding?”

“Why are you being like that?” you say, messing with your skirts to quell the defensive bite in your tone. “I didn’t do anything.”

“You didn’t do anything? Are you trying to get killed?” He throws up his hard-working hands. “We have rules for a reason. Don’t go out into the forest, don’t make deals with faeries, don’t follow a banshee scream. And then you go and talk to the king of death? How am I not supposed to be upset about that? You know that…” Soobin blinks a few times as if second-guessing what he’s about to say, but he says it anyway. “You know that he’s the reason that they treat you how they do. You know that he’s the one who ruined your life. Why would you ever mess with that?”

You push yourself up from the ground, eyes burning. That stings like a cut. “He didn’t do it. None of it is his fault,” you say, furrowing your brows. “What are you trying to say, Soobin? Just say what you want to say. Come on.”

“He didn’t do anything?” He scoffs, letting a heavy silence hang suspended in the air for a moment before saying, “Is that what he told you? And you just believed it? Listen to yourself, does that make any sense? He’s played with your life like it’s some fucking toy, and now he’s come to rub it in your face. Think about it: do animals just fly into anybody else’s windows and die? Do the trees that they pick from just end up dead? It’s his fault that they all treat you the way you do.”

Mouth opening and closing, you don’t know what to say.

He sees the hurt in your burning eyes and tries to reel it back in. “What I’m trying to say is—”

“I know what you’re saying,” you say, grabbing up the lunch you’ve been nibbling on. “I know exactly what you’re saying. I just never thought you’d say it out loud.”

“Say what?” Soobin says, his voice raising behind you as you storm off.

That you think it’s my fault, you want to say. That they all die because I am a plague, and you are a charity worker for being my friend. Instead, you just leave and try to choke down the tightness in your throat.

༺ ꘏ ༻

You curl your arms around yourself, the night biting cold. Yeonjun had dragged you from bed, and who knows what hour of the night it is? If the heaviness beneath your eyes is to judge it by, it’s far too deep in the dead of night to be outside with your boots half-laced and nothing but your sleep chemise on.

You might’ve just stayed wrapped up in your blankets if you weren’t so lonely as you’ve been. Soobin’s been scarce. The most you see of him is in the fields from morning to afternoons. You hope that he’ll stop by your doorstep and knock so that you can groan about it but swing the door open anyway each time, but he doesn’t. He thinks that you won’t want to see him, and so he allows you your space.

That couldn’t be further from the truth. It’s hard to be the one to come back after a conversation like that, though. You watch him from the windows and hope he understands at some point instead. It’s an awful lot easier.

Other than preparing meals and window watching, you’ve been up to nothing much at all. You hadn’t realized how much you had, but you feel him in his absence.

“It’s cold…” you say. The fog of breath that punctuates it makes your point. Whatever he’s brought you out here for, you have no doubt it’ll be something strange. The grin on his face tells you as much.

Leading the way, he heads for the Darkwood. “Only you would come rushing out without a cloak for your shoulders.”

“Well, only you would drag me from my nice, warm bed at this time of night. For what?”

“Can’t anything be a surprise with you?” he says, shooting you a cheeky glance over his shoulder. “Surprises are fun.”

“Surprises!” you say, working your legs to catch him. “Not surprises that involve you bringing me out into the woods. You know, it’s awfully suspicious. Somebody who sees this might think that I am the type to… sneak out with men.”

“Aren’t you now?”

Your lips tug down. “You know what I mean.”

He laughs in his airy way, a twig snapping under his foot. You’re well in the woods, now. Probably somewhere near where you’d first met him.

Lifting a brow, you look at him expectantly. Maybe a will-o’-the-wisp will come floating through with its light bouncing off the trees. That would be a nice surprise, you admit.

Yeonjun circles you. His presence behind you tingles in the way it always does, but true chills erupt when his breath puffs against your ear. “Close your eyes. I have something I want to show you.”

Your mind wanders back to what Soobin had gotten so twisted up about. It might be naive and reckless and against everything you ever learned, but you let your eyes fall shut to blackness. If he was going to hurt you, you imagine he’d have had that opportunity a mind-numbing amount of times before.

“Are they shut?” he asks, waiting for your nod. His voice comes from in front of you now. “I want you to keep them shut. You can’t open your eyes, or it will all go away. Okay?”

“Okay,” you breathe, mind full of a bounty of questions. You don’t even know where to begin to assume what he’s got going on, so you stand there shifting your antsy feet.

There’s a strange, rustling sound that catches you off guard with your eyes closed. It drags on for a long moment. Curiosity pries at your eyes; you want nothing more than to just crack an eye open to spy the source of the ruckus.

It’ll be gone if you do, anyway.

You let out a surprised squeak as something rises up beneath you, as if risen from nothing more than the dirt and roots of the forest floor, bringing you up from the earth. You wobble and send your hands out to find a perch.

A horse. It’s a horse, its mane so tangled and windswept, but matted and clumped with leaves that crunch under your palm when you find them. It reeks of mud—everything around you begins to smell of earth and decomposition.

You know that if you open your eyes, you’ll find yourself sat upon the pale white steed of the Undead King, its eyes white and its knobby knees almost as famous as the leader of The Hunt himself. It chuffs beneath you.

“Are you ready?” Yeonjun says over your shoulder. You can hear the feral grin in his voice. It’s the leader of The Hunt, a creature of folklore, that sits behind you now. He curls an arm around your waist and tugs you closer to him, securing you against the wall of his chest. “Hold on tight, my love.”

The call of the wild, that horn, bellows again like it had the first time you heard it. Rather than coming from nearby as you thought it would, it dances between trees far off just like it had that time, too. Your heart jumps up into your throat.

Taking off with a howl, the Wild Hunt follows it.

You dig your fingers into Yeonjun’s at your waist. Weight melts away, and you know you’re in the air. Your belly swoops in tandem with the howls and hoots of the riders, heart palpitating to the hoofbeats. How there’s hoofbeats as you ride through the air, you’re not sure. The ghostly fleet manifests around you in vivid imagery, though you squeeze your eyes shut. They are wild enough to imagine just what they might look like: with their clothes and flesh in tatters, with their eyes beady or pale, with their hounds piercing the air with their calls and running alongside them, they are a perfect personification of freedom.

Whip-lash sends you reeling, body going rigid. You grit your teeth and squeeze your eyes harder, wishing that you’ll touch ground soon and that everything would become real again.

Yeonjun feels you go stiff. Bringing his head back to your shoulder from his own delight, he says, “It’s okay. You’re okay. Let it into your bones. Do you think I would let it hurt you?”

He is their leader. If it got too much, you know Yeonjun would be there to catch you. Curling your fingers into his, you release that tension and allow their drumbeat to echo through you.

And when it does, your blood begins to sing along. The wind whips your cheeks and your hair, and you begin to laugh with them. The Hunt twists and turns and dances through the air, an apparition in the night, but nothing more than that.

It comes to a slow, eventually, until the noise and even your steed crumbles back down into the dirt it appeared from. Your eyes pop open hoping to catch at least a glimpse of them, but only the dark forest and pale moonlight answer. Your legs threaten to give out on you, veins still thrumming, but, oh, do you feel alive.

You feel more alive than you ever have, more than you ever could have hoped to have known. Mind spinning, you stumble. Yeonjun catches and steadies you before you can go scraping your knees on a rock.

“Oh my fucking god,” you say.

The laugh that Yeonjun breaks into has you sending him a glare, but you break too. Everything about him is ironic; and how ironic indeed that Death himself should show you how to be alive, rather than to just live?

༺ ꘏ ༻

The air is so fresh in your lungs when you step outside that it nearly burns. You clutch your basket of warm fig tarts. Songbirds trill and fly between tree tops that slowly become more bare the deeper you fall into the season, singing their sweet songs that sound like new beginnings.

Raising your hem from the ground churned up into mud from the afternoon’s trickle, you prance into town with a lively pep in your step. You spent all last night making these—Yeonjun had kept you company, watching you how he always does as you pored over making them just right. His cruel snicker when the jam had simmered over flame for too long and became too thick bounces off your bones in a sweet melody. You’ve come to adore his wicked delight, the way his smile cracks over his face and the facetious raise of his brows, more than you fear it.

Sending small smiles to the people that you pass, you stop by a huddle of kids digging sticks into the mud. They look up at you with curious eyes, stopping to gawk.

“Hey, guys,” you say, pulling back the cloth laid over the sweets. “I’ve made some fig tarts. Do you like fig? I bet you’ll like them; they’re sweet.”

The kids stand up, eyes big as they share a look. They don’t let out so much as a peep before they scurry off home.

You blink. Well, you’re used to weird reactions, but that was… different. Picking up your deflated shoulders and hesitant limbs, you make a shoddy attempt at not letting it dampen your good morning. You were expecting wary looks, anyway.

You head down a little further toward the far side of your home village, the side that breaks off after a fenceline into a great, grassy field. There’s a bustle, mothers washing their clothes in pails and hanging them up to dry and a few others whispering at each other lowly as they go about their days.

An old woman so old her back curves and her fingers have gone knobby makes her way to wherever the day’s duty demands her to be. Your neighbor—an eccentric old lady bound in her times. You decide on her: the elderly are forgotten by the young. She might enjoy knowing that her neighbors still know she exists.

“Hello,” you say, showing her your basket with a hopeful, excited heart. “I have some treats that I was wanting to give out. I know they might not be much, but would you like one? I’m not the best baker, but I do it often enough.” A face like that, dragged down by her years on this earth and not long to death, has no doubt spent many years making meals for her family. You imagine your goods would be nothing beside hers, but it’s the gesture, no?

“Oh, girl,” she says, voice crackling as she clutches her shawl tighter around her shoulders. “I’m afraid it’s best if you found yourself missing from this place. Hurry yourself up and spare the drama.”

The incessant cawing of a crow from a clawed tree fades into the background as you furrow your brows and lower your basket to ask, “...Huh?” Your belly goes up in knots; terrible knots done up tight and fast. You haven’t got a clue what she’s talking about. Elders always did speak a bit strange, though. It could be nothing much; she’s a stern old lady.

But her eyes are not angry and glaring in the way that a harrowed old hag might turn her nose up at the youth. They drag down with a cold pity.

“Listen to me, girl.” She points at you with one of those worn, sun-spotted hands. “You had best leave. The boy’s gone, and they are already not fond of you. Who will they point their fingers to?” the woman says. “I hardly know you, but I would hate to see it.”

The rest of her words fade into the roaring in your ears, the feral drumbeat of your heart like a wardrum in the cage of your ribs as it beats against them as if to escape from you. You don’t feel the basket in your hands, don’t feel the solidity of the earth beneath your feet, and don’t feel a single one of your thoughts like tangible things. They flit as if liquidated into a rotten, sick mush.

Nothing. You can think of nothing. Nothing real; nothing holding you to the earth.

“What?” Your voice hardly reaches your ears, but what does is weak and broken and like a plea for her to tell you that it’s not really what you think it is.

And if you could see or hear anything beyond your fraying little rift in reality, you would’ve heard the man coming up to you. You would’ve heard the words coming from his angry, sneering mouth, and would’ve done something when he picked up a pail of water, and you would’ve been shaken by the nasty ice water that runs down your frozen body and plasters your hair and clothes down as he pours it over you. But none of it cuts through your stupor.

He yells some awful, stabbing things at you, and a few others join him. They tell you that you are nothing but a plague, tell you to leave and to not come back here.

But this is your home. Where else would you go?

With your sopping wet dress clutched in your shaking fists as though that might keep you grounded, you choke down the tightening of your throat and sift through their faces, searching for his face. Those brown eyes, brown and always shining with nagging playfulness, do not come up anywhere. Jaw trembling, you search harder. Out on the field where he should be at this time of day, at your doorstep demanding that you go spend the day doing nothing with him, in someone’s yard helping them fix up a broken fence, no matter where you look, neither his broad silhouette nor his cheeky, dimpled face is there. You continue to stand stricken dumb, looking for him even though you know by the churning in your belly that it’s true, and you’re just hurting yourself trying to find him right where he should be.

Fine. Alive. Untouched by your disgusting, destructive presence.

When you can no longer fight the strangling tightness in your lungs and your dress is as heavy as your heart, you take off. The hem of your dress drags in mud and sticker bushes and catches on stray twigs, and you don’t know where you’re going, but you just run. You’ll give them what they want.

You stumble, probably like some lost, undead thing, until you find yourself at the edge of the forest. Only then do you let the wall of whittle-edged tears roll down your face. And you assume you sound like a choking, dying animal with how you choke and heave on them, but he was the one you might’ve dropped your head and cried to, so what’s the use of making it pretty? No; you let it all fall as it is.

Soobin’s dead. Soobin’s dead, and it’s nobody else’s but your own fault. You clutch your chest to staunch that old ache that’s grown teeth and tears at your heart; you have and will always be the end of everything that comes near. You are just as much the plague that you began to pretend, to believe, you weren’t. It was your stupid hope that maybe you could have something and not watch it become carrion that drove that pick. It was by your hope that he’s gone.

The hair on your arms begins to raise. You pick your head up and find Yeonjun standing in front of you.

There’s a few beats of long, dreadful quiet as he takes in the state of you. He drags his eyes down and they become liquid flame—something different from the impious delight that he is made of. He becomes the King of Death.

“What happened?” he says. The chills on your arms prickle furiously at the words, furling out distant and yet furious like the center of the fire.

You shake your head, wiping your soaked cheek.

“What the fuck happened?” he growls again, taking your face into his hand. “Who did this? Who did this to you, my love? I need you to tell me who the fuck did this to you.”

Letting the venom in your mouth out, you shove his chest and say, “Get away from me. Don’t fucking touch me.”

Yeonjun’s face twists up, looking scalded. Not surprised, though. “Don’t do this,” he says. “Let me hold you while it hurts. Don’t push me away. I can’t… I won’t lose you again.”

All the pieces that you had been putting into the corners of your mind snap together at that. As many suspicions as you had, though, it feels sour hearing it confirmed from his mouth. That you are his dead past lover, reincarnated or whatever you are. That it was his presence—because even though he stayed away for centuries, a part of him still lingered with you—that now has torn down everything you ever thought you could love. He, standing there in front of you like a kicked puppy, is the ruination of your life in the flesh. The flipping of your stomach is nauseating.

“I hate you,” you spit. “I hate you so much.” You repeat it a few more times, and you sob it into his chest as he takes you into his arms. “Is this what you wanted? You’ve been waiting for this forever, haven’t you? To find me again, so that you can die and fucking leave me here. So that you can make me exactly what you are, while you get your peace. You are a liar and a thief. All you’ve ever done is steal and take. How could you do it? Huh? Tell me…” Your voice trembles and staggers off. “Tell me how you made love to me, how you made me believe that you loved me, and all you ever wanted was to save yourself? You betrayed me.”

Pulling back, Yeonjun says, “No.”

“Yes,” you say, stumbling back away from him with a shaking, accusatory finger pointed at him. “Yes you did.”

Fingers itching to reach out to you, he holds them back by curling them into fists. “No. That’s not fair. I have spent an eternity loving you. I spent the entirety of my immortal, monstrous life searching for you, just so that I might find you in any form. I would have been glad to find you as a leaf in a tree, as long as I found you. But, then, I find you alive. Alive and back, as if… it never happened.” He steps toward you, aching to be near you. His voice wavers. “Please, don’t do this to me, love. Please, just let me have you again. I’ve waited… I’ve waited and I’ve waited, and I finally have you, and now you’re looking at me like I… Like I’d ever hurt you. Finding death—finally getting to die would be worth nothing if you weren’t there with me. It was never about that.”

“I could never love you,” you say, matching his steps forward with steps away from him. “I could never love a monster that does… Does nothing but kill. Take.” You know your words are cruel, but you need them to be. You need him to hurt, you need him to go so far away from you that never again will you cause another living thing’s death.

“You did.” Yeonjun’s mouth cracks into a pained smile, sharp at the corners. “You loved me just as much as I love you, once.”

“Just leave me. Leave me, and I wish to never see you again. If you love me, then you’ll give me that.”

He looks at you, clever eyes intense and glassy, for a long time. And then he says, “Would that make you happy? Would it make it so that you could live a happy life, and find yourself something to live for?”

What’s left for you? A small village that won’t ever embrace you? No, it wouldn’t fix your life. But you open your mouth and tell him, “Yes.”

“Okay,” he says, brushing his knuckles over your cheeks reverently. He swallows in your features, running over them for what he knows is the last time he’ll be seeing you—the very last time he’ll see the face of his undying love. When he finally opens his mouth again, his voice is gentle. “I’ll leave you. If my being here hurts you, then I won’t be selfish. I love you, darling.”

Don’t go, you want to tell him. Please don’t leave. Please, hold me. But your mouth is dry, and you let the radiant hurt in your chest stop you. You let him go.

༺ ꘏ ༻

There’s only one place you can think of going to. It’s the only place your vagrant feet take you.

His spot still is held sacred by the flattened, gold wheat stalks. Your best friend, still living here on Earth in at least one way even if he’s not here to listen to your stupid rambling. And he would maybe complain, but he’d always listen.

The last thing you’d done was fight with him. What an awful thing—what an awful way to repay him for being the only one who ever dared to get close.

You sit in your spot, beside his, and rest your chin on your knees. If only the ground beneath you would open up and swallow you whole. You’d deserve it.

What’s left for you? Is there a place in the world that would keep you happily once they see what you do? No. There is not. You wish you knew what to do; you wish you had somebody to ask.

Releasing a long, tight breath, you just sit and wait for something to give you answers. A gentle breeze makes your hair dance, but it does not whisper anything to your ears. Something’s circling over head, but it doesn’t caw in the cadence of his laughter.

The day moves along without you. You’re not sure how long you sit, but it stretches somewhere between a few minutes and eternity. No matter how long you wait, there are no answers. No matter how long you mull over it.

Conceding, you begin to push yourself up from the ground. A rustle in between the foliage stops you before you stand.

A tawny hare leaps out in front of you. It sniffs around you, nose twitching. Then it stands back on its haunches. It stares straight at you, an intelligent light in its eyes that knits your brows. The wild thing stands there with a purpose that is uncharacteristic of a forest animal.

But entirely familiar in the face of your best friend. That shine in its eyes as it stands there, nose still twitching, makes your chest tighten up.

“Hey,” you say, as if it might answer you. Your eyes well up with hot tears again. Of course, it doesn’t.

Maybe you’ve gone mad, but you know that it’s him. That idiot, coming to show you that he’s okay in the afterlife—to visit one last time and to let you know that you shouldn’t worry for him or cry for him. Look at him, full of life once again, he seems to say. The hare blinks its beady eyes. It lingers there for a long time, the ease of peace found in his gaze that Soobin hadn’t had in this life, saying that there is still something waiting out there for us once we go. You reach out a hand. He does not flinch as you scratch behind its ear.

“Okay,” you whisper. “I’m glad to know you’re alright. I know what I need to do, now.”

He blinks.

You laugh a hoarse, breathy laugh, familiar in only the way that Soobin could achieve. “You look stupid.”

Indignantly, the hare stops a bratty foot in a way reminiscent of one of Soobin’s huffs before it settles back down onto its forelegs and scurries off. He goes to live out this new form of life, because it’s true: life does not end in death. He’s shown you that.

Maybe, like this, he’ll find that pretty lady that loves him the way he deserves. That loser.

༺ ꘏ ༻

You spend only one night in your home and you know that what you’ve chosen is right. After spending your day out in the field, you sneak under night’s cover into your husk of a room and let yourself sleep there under the covers one last time. When morning breaks through the window, you gather your weary bones up and leave.

You run into your mother on the way out. She doesn’t yell at you to leave, but her eyes have gone cold. Colder than you’re used to. You’ve killed again, in every way that counts. So you don’t bother with bidding her or any of them any grand goodbyes. You couldn’t handle the relief you might find falling over them, should you.

Plopping down to the floor, you take a few bites of the cheese and bread lathered in sweet jam that you’d swiped from the kitchen. The grass is long and willows in the wind, bending and dancing prettily. It’s so soft; you enjoy the feeling of it beneath your fingers in your quiet serenity. The scent of it, fresh over the baseness of dirt, you breathe into your lungs.

It would be the loveliest place to spend the rest of eternity.

For the first time, Yeonjun appears in front of you rather than behind you. He materializes from nothing, his elbow on his knee as casual as if he’d been sat there the whole time. The darkness beneath his eyes seems heavier, but then again you know that exact heaviness. It sits right in the very center of you.

You both are quiet for a bit. You let the tall grass whisper, instead.

“Bread?” you say and slant your lips into a smile. Bringing it up, you offer it to him.

His smile wrinkles his nose and curls at the edges. Entirely him. Yeonjun accepts the bread, ripping a bite out before throwing it away into the sea of green. Once he’s chewed, he leans in and captures your lips in a kiss that’s utterly at odds with his sharp mouth. Your lips move over each other gently, save for an indulgent nip or bite here and there.

He pushes you back into a bed of sweetgrass, never letting your lips go. Not to breathe, not to say something that’ll pale in comparison to the sweetness of your mouths on one another. He kisses you until he’s had enough to fulfill a lifetime without it, and then some more.

“My love,” he whispers into your skin, his breath hot on your collarbone. “Mine,” he says, pressing a kiss into the column of your neck, and then he says it again with a hot kiss to the place where your dress suggests your breasts. He says it a handful more times as he pushes your skirts up your thighs. “My love forever. I waited for you so long, and I would do it again.” Lowering his voice to a honeyed whisper, he adds, “I would find you no matter what.”

Laughing softly, you run your fingers through his raven hair to better see his eyes. You know he would.

Gently giving you one more of his lingering kisses that make your skin tingle, right into your bare shoulder, he presses into you. You loose a soft breath, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. The beating in your chest slows to a content purr as he begins languid thrusts in and out of you, rolling pointedly and unhurried.

Yeonjun makes love to you in a thousand dusted kisses and sweet words, your hands holding each other’s soft edges. Yeonjun traces the lines of you, taking the pads of his thumb down your cheeks and your lips and then his hand over the swell of your breasts and down your belly and over your thighs. Clamping down on him as your belly grows tight in the way it had the first time you had done this, your thighs begin to shake.

Breathlessly, as you hurdle over the edge, all that you can say is, “I love you, ‘Junnie.”

Yeonjun smiles at you and then presses his face into your neck. He doesn’t even brace himself against the grass to chase his own peak. Neither of you want this to end; you want to hold on to this moment and let it span forever. Slowly, Yeonjun rolls up into you until his hips finally stutter and he cums into you, his cheeks pink. The weight of him above you as he shakes with your shared ecstasy, and even as you both have come down and are nothing but lazy, is the only thing in this world. He is the only thing in this world.

Once you’ve both evened your breathing out, you roll apart and face each other, still just two forms bending the grass into your shapes. Blinking slowly and digesting his features one at a time—the angle of his eyes, softened but never tamed, the line of his nose, the line of his mouth always so proud and playful, and that pretty dot below his left eye—you let them solidify fully in your mind.

“Yeonjun,” you say, finally meeting his eyes across from you. “I want to go. I’m ready.”

The gentle, knowing look that he gives you soothes over the way your heart begins to race in your chest in rebellion. “I know,” he says.

Of course he had known. Yeonjun had been called here to ferry you into the afterlife. He had known the moment he appeared in front of you that his last soul to reap would be you; an ironic circle of karma that should be cruel, but you two make it something sweet. Chewing on your lip, you will your hands to not shake as you curl toward him. You’re no longer scared of going. You know that if you’ll be with him, it will be okay. It won’t be so scary. A hot tear rolls down your temple and then drops into your hair. “Will you be with me? I won’t be there alone?”

He tucks some hair behind your ear reverently and then leaves his hand there. “I don’t know,” he answers. “But I won’t leave you. I’ll stay right here with you.”

You lay there for a long time. Chatting and giggling and just looking into each other's eyes, until your heart becomes slow and all you feel is the wind singing in your blood. Yeonjun presses one final kiss to your forehead.

Maybe, in some years, somebody might dig up your bones and find you immortalized like this in your love. Your bones bowing toward each other, as if even death were not enough to stop you from reaching for each other. Or maybe they’ll just find yours, and Yeonjun still curling into them how you know he will for an eternity more.

Either way, the going is still slow and gentle, as death always is.

🪶 ⦂ tears. omfg i cried writing this which could totally be me being a bitch baby but it DAMN. omfg.

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pricegouge · 20 hours ago

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Omg I have achieved enlightenment: bear!Price while reader wears period underwear... No tampons to hide the blood.......

okay this isn't quite what you asked for but it got carried away lmao

linking the fic cause i haven't written for it in roughly 2k followers whoops

cw: period sex. primal play. mentions of past cannibalism. breeding kink. dubcon kinda, but i assure you bunny is fine. unedited, sorry. MDNI

it's strange how much winter has changed for you, since being with john. when you'd moved back north you'd been looking forward to the snow and the visible changing of the seasons. but then the reality of the cold had set in before you'd even set in yourself and with the hardship came the depression, the general malaise that clings to you like mold in the dark and the damp of the season.

but then your partner had made it explicitly clear that he expected you to hibernate with him and everything about the dark months got easier.

you still miss the sun quite dearly, but not having to spend your whole day locked in an office or something meant you could at least sun bathe in the window on clear days, or bask like a little lizard in front of the army of sun lamps john had gotten you in the weeks before succumbing to his slumber. you'd told him or maybe two would suffice but you'd learned the hard way his animal instincts were hardest to suppress come late fall, his need to pad his apartment with absolutely every amenity either of you could ever dream of needing during the long winter not something he could ignore, no matter how unreasonable. which is how you'd ended up with a collection of no less than ten lamps, though you weren't really complaining come february when you'd not seen the sun properly in so long you were half convinced it was some mass hallucination and you needed the artificial glow injected directly into your veins.

they were set up over the headboard on a timer, a long power strip designed more so for griswald family christmas lights than for in-home use. but john would rather sleep through 15k lumens beamed directly at his head than wake up to find you usually spent your days int he living room so needs must.

he did that sometimes, wake up. it hadn't been something you'd expected so he'd scared the piss out of you the first time he'd lumbered into the living room and barked about getting back to bed. you rarely left his side anymore, only creeping out when absolutely necessary for food or sanitary needs.

when he let you, that was.

you can't budge him. he lays across your chest with such a heavy, dead weight, you'd be concerned about him if not for the deep snores he keeps issuing directly into your ear. at this point it's the only thing that lets you know he's not faking it, either, seeing as you've been actively trying to wake him up for the better part of half an hour.

"john," you pant, shoving at his bicep as you continue to try wriggling out from under him. the bed is too soft, keeps swallowing you deeper into its comfort like quick sand every time you try to squirm away. "john, i have to use the bathroom." your leg escapes the confines first, a false hope for freedom. he snorts when you shift too far away and his hand grips tight around your hip, pulls you with him when he rolls away.

perched half over him, you'd be thrilled with your new position and the escape it promised if not for his eyes fluttering open as you straddle his thigh, embarrassment building when you see his nose twitch instinctively.

"be right back," you promise, but his hands are even more insistent now, keep you pinned to his side with your legs hitched over his hips as he wakes a bit more, base instinct kicking in more quickly than his brain can keep up with.

perhaps that's why his jaw widens over your cheek, breath a hot pant against your skin as his fingers creep up and over your thigh, hitch it impossibly higher until he can brush his fingertips against -

"john, i have to use the rest room," you try to insist, but he growls when you go to pull away, rolling until you're pinned beneath him again.

"bleeding, honey," he grumbles, as if telling you some grave news you were unaware of.

"i know, sorry," you hedge, unsure how he'll feel about the fact the he very likely has period blood on his thighs and fingers now because you hadn't been expecting it for a few more days and had fallen asleep with no protection.

he answers that doubt for you by shoving his own fingers in his mouth, a thick groan leaking between the webs of his fingers at the taste.

oh, right. he's a freak.

"john, i -."

"sh sh sh sh," he murmurs, eyes heavy-lidded and dark when they finally focus on you properly. his hand falls to your hip again, leaves a sticky wet trail across your skin as it glides lower. "just hungry," he supplies by way of explanation, and for the first time since understanding his secret, you worry about the nature of what he means by that.

it's just that he does look like he could eat you right then, maw open and lax as his chest heaves with breath. he's overgrown and unkempt, his beard thick and scraggly. it's late enough into the season that he's lost some mass but it only lends to his voraciousness, draws some prey instinct deep within you to the surface, has you fawning under him as his fingers find your cunt again.

"not gonna hurt you, honey," he promises, but his voice is tight with need and you can't deny him when he's so indigent so you let your legs fall open around him, unflattering pair of plain cotton panties on display.

the air is cold against your pussy, the wetness of your own blood chilling against your skin. john shuffles closer on his knees and you feel the hot length of his cock slot eagerly into the crease of your thigh, his warm, broad palm cupping your cunt through your panties. you try not to pay attention to the way his hand comes away stained. he doesn't let that go to waste either, licking at it almost distractedly as he continues to pull your panties off. he struggles with his own bottoms for a moment, gives up completely when he decides they're out of the way enough, draw string straining around his thick thighs. this winter has been kind to him. or maybe you have - perfect mate, keeping him fed even when he's too lethargic to cook proper meals. he's not lost so much weight this year, his build still absurdly impressive despite the long, slow crawl of the season. he knows it, too, when he's awake and present enough, at least. takes great pride in rubbing his belly and telling you how luck he was to find you.

tonight is no such night, the very concept of the king's own evidently too much for him to tackle, already reduced to grunts and sighs, his breath hot and heavy before you'd even properly begun. last week you'd awoken in an empty bed, found him sitting on the kitchen floor while absolutely ravaging a hock of raw lamb. he'd sounded much the same at the time as he does now, heavy cock slipping between the sticky folds of your pussy.

you sit up enough that you can see over your own tummy, gasp when you see how bloody you already are, red staining his skin and clotting the thick curls at the base of his cock. when he rocks forward, his tip kisses his own belly, staining the fur there too.

"John, we need a towel, at least," you try to reason, leg swinging over his head as you attempt to roll away -

and absolutely freeze in place when john - sweet, sweet john who has never so much as raised his voice at you - snarls and uses your own momentum to pin you on your belly, looming over your back until his breath pants hot against the nape of your neck, voice a low threat against your skin when he asks where you think you're going.

there are some times the actual danger of who, and what, he is hits you like a ton of lead. the way he'd eaten a grown man had certainly been one, the desperation he succumbs to in late fall another. and yet, somehow, you'd never felt at risk in his presence before; always certain that being his mate would keep you safe.

but a bear would fight a prospective mate when challenged.

your palm settles on his thigh before you can really think it through, a soothing touch to counteract the shakiness of your voice as you soothe, "nowhere, baby. i'm right here, hm? right here."

john doesn't even huff in acknowledgement, breath still puffing agitatedly as he begins to nose at the side of your throat. you bare it instinctively, let him drink his fill of your scent, parse through it so he can find his own among the notes - his bed, his home, his mate.

he's still eerily silent when he settles his weight over top of you , cock still hard and sticky with blood when it slots between your cheeks.

"John -?" you start, unsure really what you plan to say. stutter out anyway when he growls in warning, lets his teeth scrape over the knob of your atlas vertebrae. his voice is tinged with something dark and inhuman when he pulls away, just enough you can still feel the scrape of his mustache when he speaks.

"just be good for me, rabbit."

you can do little else, pulse hare-footed and nerves so overloaded they can't decide which action to execute first. john does not kiss his way down your spine as he's done so many times before, instead dragging his teeth heavily down your nape, the thick skin there catching and tugging until he hits the collar of his own oversized shirt. he groans, perhaps in approval, the odd mix of yours and his sweat caught between the fibers of cotton. but it seems you're not the only good thing he wants to ruin today, his hands coming up to tear it free from you, one long rip that would hide your surprised gasp if he wasn't so carefully attuned to your weakness, falling back over you with a jumbled mix of predatory snarls and deceptively human coos. "ain't gonna hurt you," he promises, and you risk eye contact enough to peek over your shoulder at him, get your face shoved back into the pillow by a whiskery muzzle pressed much-too hard against your cheek for you effort.

"and what about your bear?" you chirp, wiggling beneath him when he begins to grind his cock against you.

john chuckles, or would, maybe, if he had a better concept of human reactions at the moment. "won't hurt you, either," he asserts, perhaps trying to convince himself because he can't seem to help stretching his maw over the hinge of your jaw even as he says it, wet tongue working over your pulse point when he continues. "he's just gotta eat, 's'all."

he wolfs down your words when you reply too, thumb pressed against the fluttering vein in your throat as he licks your lips. "he gonna eat me?"

john doesn't answer at first, just growls when he reaches down to tilt your hips up, pulls your cheeks apart so he can bury himself between them better. "if you ask nicely."

you envy the lamb.

john's got your hips folded over his own arm, your knees braced wide enough he's wedged his own between your ankles. your arms hold most of your weight, shoulders aching because you can't quite fall forward at this angle, john's thick forearm digging painfully into your tender, crampy belly when you do. at least he hadn't toyed with the lamb like this, didn't drink down its rich blood with wet slurps and satisfied groans. at least the lamb didn't have to bite back soft sighs, squeals of surprise when this beast nipped at it, overeager and toothy.

but it's hard to draw the line at bite marks on your ass when he's so sweet after, tongue laving at the wound as he whines along with you, kisses it better with his lips sealed over your own, pussy fluttering around his hot tongue.

his free hand is just as bad, holding your cheek spread wide for himself with twitching fingers, squeezing divots into your soft flesh which he distracts himself with, pulling away to brush whiskery kisses over them and chuckle darkly when you flinch away, expecting teeth.

you want to tell him to stop playing with his food, are mildly afraid to remind him of the sentiment. "john," you whine instead and he shoves at your hips so hard you flop forward onto the mattress, feel him shuffling up behind you until he straddles your hips.

"said be good, bunny," he growls and his thumbs hurt when he hooks them on either side of your ass, spreads you wide for his inspection. you can feel his cock head bobbing against your cunt, clench around nothing reflexively. he groans when it forces a heavy clot out, reaching down to guide his tip after it, a blood hound nosing around a burrow.

"but john, i -."

he shuts you up with his dick notched up against your entrance, broad head bullying its way past your lips before you're properly ready, aided only by the thick glide of blood and slick.

"rabbits get bred, bunny," he grits, something about the cadence rubbing you wrong, as if he's explaining something very basic to you. "they get bred by their mates. are you gonna be a good little bunny for your mate?"

you'd ignore the cajoling if you could and just wriggle back onto his cock properly. but his grip won't let you, fingers bruising tight upon your hips when you try. "yes, joh - ouch!" you shriek, hand reaching wildly behind you to catch his wrist before he can spank you again. but he's not winding back for another, his big mit kneading at the tender flesh instead. you peer over your shoulder to pout at him again, get distracted by the wild look in his eye and the blood matted in his beard, painted across his cheek. he looks untamed, more bear than man. you remember the crunch of bone between his jaws, the way his other form had stared back you, blood up from his battle, undecided if he wanted to kill you or put a baby in you.

you decide for him, using your grip on his forearm to pull him back up over yourself properly, jaw tilted to lick the blood from his cheek as you beg your mate to breed you.

"good rabbit."

#gouge answers #fatted rabbit #bear!price

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thursdayinspace · 2 days ago

Text

Since yesterday was the anniversary of the Sushi episode (Rm9sbG93ZXJz — yes, I just looked it up), here's a little ficlet, set after they came out of that warehouse. I was in need of some fluff, and also I love that episode. tagging @today-in-fic and @poangpals

Somehow, the night seems less quiet all of a sudden as they step back out into the street. It’s almost as if the world has been holding its breath, seeing how this was going to play out. Reality on hold. The nightly noises are back now, wind rustling the leaves, even their steps sounding less hollow. She feels almost dizzy, a little like waking up from a really strange dream. The world feels shaky, not quite solid under her feet.

Mulder sighs deeply next to her and stops walking. She stops too, turning sideways to face him.

“Was that all real?” he asks.

“I think so.”

“Of all the strange things we’ve seen…” He laughs softly.

“That was definitely among the strangest, yes.” She laughs with him, shaking her head. “Remember those times I used to call your theories science fiction?”

“The ones you didn’t call outright crazy.”

“Yeah.”

His smile is soft. “Yeah. I remember.” He pauses for a second before he continues. “So. What happens next?”

She has no idea. But there’s always the safe option. “I should probably go home. I’m pretty tired.”

“Yeah. Me too.”

He smiles at her and she feels her heart beating faster in her chest. The truth is, she wasn’t entirely sure at the beginning of this evening whose house she was going to end up in. Neither one of them had said the word, but that had been a date tonight. She’s sure of it. And if it hadn’t ended so abruptly, if one of them had said something… Her face falls as realization hits her. “Oh.”

“What?” he asks.

“I can’t go home. My house blew up.”

“You—Oh. Right.”

“I should…” She hesitates. “I should probably check on the state of it. To see if there’s anything there left to salvage.”

“Do yo want me to come with you?”

She doesn’t want to go at all. It seems oddly tempting to just forget about it, to pretend it didn’t happen. Honestly, if it burned down then it burned down. She didn’t really have anything of great value in there. Nothing she would really, truly miss, most of her personal items left behind in boxes at Mulder’s house because she didn’t want the reminder of their happier times. Truth be told, she never liked her new place. “You parked your car in front of my house.”

“Yeah.”

“Can you call us a cab? One with a real human driver.”

“Don’t you want to get your phone back first?”

She sighs. “You’re right.”

Everything is where they dumped it earlier and they gather their possessions—she leaves only the vibrator behind.

He calls them a cab. They’re quiet on the way to her house, both of them exhausted. When she gets out in front of what used to be her home, he follows her. There’s a last, lone fire truck there, and she chooses to stand and wait and process as Mulder goes to talk to whoever is in charge. She says nothing until he gets back to her.

“Well,” she says.

“Shit,” he says.

That describes it pretty well.

There isn’t a whole lot left.

She sighs and wraps her arms around herself. “I think I need a place to sleep.”

“You have a place to sleep,” he says simply.

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

She doesn’t have an answer to that question.

He drives them back to his house. She feels like she should say something, but even if she wasn’t very attached to her place, being pretty much homeless all of a sudden is not a great feeling.

“I’m sorry, Scully,” Mulder says quietly.

“It’s just… strange, not having a home.”

“You have a home.”

It seems he has made it his mission to state simple facts tonight. She has no idea what to say, but they’re pulling up in front of his house at that moment, and so she gets out of the car and waits for him at the foot of the porch steps. He takes his time joining her there. She knows he’s waiting for her reaction but she’s tired and none of her defenses are in place, and if she speaks now she’ll tell him how she feels, and then he’ll know.

So she watches as he locks the car and makes his slow way over to her. She follows him up the steps, into the house, stands and waits as he closes the door behind them. When he turns to look at her, she forgets to be exhausted, she forgets everything that happened.

His eyes on her are all that matters in the world. The softness in his gaze, the way he stands facing her, solid and unmoving, ready for her to step into his arms and be safe there.

She has never loved anyone this way. Nobody else has even come close.

And she’s done, she’s just done. The world is a mess. But she has something to hold onto. He’s here, he’s right here, and she can’t breathe for a second. She doesn’t believe in fate, but she’s so tired she’s just going to accept it as a sign from the universe that her house blew up after she failed to kiss him after their date. A huge fucking neon sign from the universe, an arrow pointing right at him, flashing letters saying “kiss him, you fucking coward.”

So she does.

She realizes she still hasn’t said anything to him. “You have a home,” he told her, and she’s been looking at him in silence ever since. She hopes he understands that this is her answer.

With a few steps she closes the distance between them and pulls him down into a kiss. He kisses her back immediately, wrapping his arms tightly around her, and yeah, he’s right, she has a home.

She has him.

“Stay,” he whispers against her lips.

She smiles into the next kiss. “I don’t think I have any other choice right now.”

“No.” He pulls back, his eyes amused and hopeful at the same time. “I meant for longer than just tonight.”

“Oh.” She waits for her mind to start screaming at her that this is a bad idea. For the panic to set in. It doesn’t happen. “Yeah.”

He carries her up to bed for no other reason than that he wants to, and she wants him to. She falls asleep in his arms and wakes up there as well.

It feels like being home. Maybe that’s okay.

#txf #the x files #msr #mulder and scully #poangpals #fic #ficlet

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studiogrimm810 · 2 days ago

Text

Baby

pairings/characters: (pining)dean winchester x impala!reader, sam is also there

summary: when a novice witch doesn't know what spell she's casting, she accidently awakens life in an inanimate object

warnings: none really, this one is just super silly imo

word count: 2,778

A/N: this is a request!!! and if i'm being so honest, this was kinda difficult to write lolol,, i'm such a stickler for lore accuracy and just explanations but some things were left to be unexplained. i just decided to take that pressure off and just have fun w this one. enjoy!! heheh

———————

Dean chased the young witch through the rows of books that decorated the campus library. He skidded around a corner that she swiftly slipped past and bumped into a shelf, knocking over dozens of books in the process, but he didn’t halt. He pushed harder, letting his feet stomp the outdated carpet as he crawled closer and closer.

Sam, close behind Dean, kept the same speed but with a slithering stealth as to avoid the clumsy piles of books left in his brother's trail.

The brothers were almost on her, ready to tackle and question. They were drawn to the college campus after seeing articles and news coverage of strange happenings at the university, they had come to find a novice witch who hadn’t intended on hurting people. So, when Sam and Dean cornered her on the top floor, scouring through the archives of textbooks for anything religious or cultist, and confronted her- she ran.

Here she was again, pounding helplessly against a set of locked glass doors.

“Stop running,” Dean pants, “we just wanna talk,” he tried to coax her to stay but it didn’t work. She fumbled with something in her pocket and threw out a puff of dust at the door with a trail of words. The metal lining of the doors melted and glass shattered, settling into the floor in a prickly goo. She obviously wasn’t expecting that, but she used the opportunity to dart. “Fuck,” Dean hissed, sprinting after her.

She was headed to her vehicle, a simple hatchback with one too many stickers on it, and hopped in. Dean, ever so ready for a car chase, whipped out his keys and instructed Sam to get in as quickly as possible.

The witch pulled up a book and out another jumble of herbs, chanting something incoherent.

Just as Dean opened the door to Baby and dipped in, Sam in sync, he instead bypassed the seat entirely and landed on the stiff concrete with a groan.

Tires skidded and the witch was gone.

Dean looked around him, no steering wheel, no leather seats, no car. Only the keys remained in his hands, but the Impala vanished.

“That bitch!” Dean was seeing red, seething as he jumped to his feet and paced, scanning the parking lot for any desperate hint of his Baby. “When I get my hands on-.”

“Dean-,” Sam stated cautiously, trying to get his brother’s attention.

“It ain’t gonna be kind, I’m-.”

“Dean!” Sam barked and Dean spun around to face him.

“What!?” Dean thundered, riddled with rage. Sam looked over at the bundle of items on the cement. There were a few duffles, a splay of weapons, a few books- all items that Dean knew were homed in the trunk of his precious Baby. But, under the emergency blanket they leave in the back seat, was you.

“Who the hell are you?” Dean booms with clenched fists. Your eyes are wide and observant, looking over his tense form. The blanket over you slips, his rage haltered with confusion as his eyes dart to the slipped cloth and he realizes you’re naked.

“D’ya mind?” You grimace in annoyance, holding the blanket over you the best you can.

“Shit, right,” he spins on his heels, looking right at Sam, mouthing ‘what the fuck?’ in which he gets a confused shrug in return.

You stumble up to your feet with a heavy sigh, hugging the blanket around your chest like a towel. You brush back your messy hair which is as ruffled and tangled as you feel in this worn blanket.

“Fuckin’ hate witches,” you grumble, adjusting the blanket that’s hugged tight over you breasts and when Dean turns back to you, he has to forcefully advert his gaze.

“Who are you?” Dean repeats his question, a little less forcefully this time.

“Baby,” you shake your head with a small tilt that Dean almost matches. The tone of which you say makes it sound like you’re worried about his confusion.

“Baby, your name is Baby?” Dean scoffs, not believing a word.

“Well yeah, you gave it to me,” you hook a hand on your hip and cock your head, waiting impatiently for him to catch up. Dean's face falls, twisting in confusion and turning back to look at Sam who is just as confused.

“C’mon, Winchester, I know you’re not this slow,” you pinch your nose, sighing and dropping your hand by your hip, keeping the other hooked on the edges of the blanket.

“How do you know my name?” Dean asks, stepping closer, his brow furrowed.

“I’ve been owned by a Winchester for the past forty-some years,” you say as if it’s common sense. You look back and forth between the brothers, annoyed with how dense they’re being. “Jesus, take your time,” you roll your eyes and go over to one of the duffles, bending down to shuffle through the bag. The blanket hugs your ass, the gentle fabric lining your curves and kissing your dips. Dean’s eyes linger and he forgets the issue at hand.

You pull out one of Dean's flannels, dropping the blanket to your hips and slinging the flannel over your shoulders. Dean swallows thickly and gawks at your smooth skin, noticing a strange birthmark on your shoulder. It resembles the chicken scratched initials that Sam and Dean carved into the Impala all those years ago.

What the fuck?

“Wait so-, you’re telling me that you’re the Impala?” Deans brow raises. You dip back down to retrieve a pair of boxers- making sure they’re clean- and slipping them up your legs, discarding the blanket fully. As you turn to face the boys, they take notice of the many marks on your body, all the tone of a birthmark, but lined on your skin like tattoos. The Devil’s Trap that was painted on the inside of the trunk spanned your entire thigh, and other wardings and markings litter your forearms.

“Good boy! You did it,” you praise sarcastically, dropping the feigned excitement instantly. Dean ignores the effect your words have on him. Sam is speechless and Dean honestly feels a little put in his place. You look back between them, awaiting a response.

“You guys should really get your shit back to the motel or something. Someone sees this and they’re gonna have some questions. Sorry I can’t hold it anymore,” you look back at the pile of items on the pavement. You look back at the boys to find them still dumbfounded with dropped jaws and words caught in their throats.

“Seriously, you two need to catch up if you wanna get me fixed. This skin feels weird,” you shudder dramatically, folding your arms over your chest.

“So,” Dean clears his throat, losing his confidence when your expectant eyes burn into his own. “You’re-.”

“Getting impatient,” you nod, walking past them both to the closest car- a Jeep- and popping the lock to get in and hotwire it. Quickly, you get it roaring to life and bring it over to the boys, putting her in park and hopping out. The loose flannel barely hugs your torso and you have just enough buttoned to cover the more sensitive parts of your chest, but Dean’s eyes still linger on the soft flesh exposed by his flannel.

“You guys gonna get to it?” You ask, gesturing to the pile of their items. They oblige mindlessly, collecting their items that used to be housed by the Impala- you, they suppose. They’re still so confused by the whole ordeal and they just follow the order and pile into the stolen car. You round the front and get in the passenger seat, expecting Dean to drive.

The ride back is tense. You’re sat in the front seat, letting your fingers trace the modern interior of the car.

“What is this? Just plastic?” You ask, glancing over at Dean who has to keep his eyes on the road in fear that if he even catches too much of you in his peripheral vision that he’ll crash the car out of negligence.

“Yeah,” Dean says, clearing his throat. His hands grip the wheel and his foot presses a little harder into the gas.

“Don’t give her so much love, Dean, I’ll start to get jealous,” you tease with a soft nudge. You turn back to face Sam. “Comfy back there?”

“Fine,” Sam nods curtly, eyes glazing over your form. “What, um, what was it like? How is this even possible?”

You adjust in your position, resting against the chair and thinking of a way to word it. Then you remember.

“Y’know when Gabriel put you guys in that ‘Night Rider’ illusion? That was pretty accurate, Sam. I just can’t talk or think too much. I just know. But, when I was given this body, I came equipped with language, thoughts, and conscious recollection of my lifespan,” you explain proudly, sitting up a bit straighter with a smile.

Their silence causes your smile to falter. You nibble at your lip and turn back around.

“You’re upset,” you note to neither brother in particular.

“No, no, we’re just confused. We’ve never- this just doesn’t really make any sense,” Sam rationalizes because of course he does. He’s always the practical one, trying to give everything a cause for its effect.

“Yeah, listen, sweetheart. To us, the Impala has been a car. Our home on wheels. We’ve just never given it a second thought to it being you,” Dean offers, not wanting you to feel uncomfortable or unwelcome. The boys couldn’t describe it, but they felt a connection with you, one of which made the reality of your situation settle with them semi-rationally.

You don’t have a response to give, so instead you just look out the window and watch the trees pass- wondering who they could become too.

———

The motel is as rundown and dull as you expected, but it was still the first room you’ve gotten to explore yourself so you aren’t complaining.

You look along the peeling wallpaper, different patterns and colors lining the odd textured wrap. There’s a painting of a field of flowers with a windmill, it’s pretty, but sunbleached you’d assume due to lack of color.

The brothers are whispering something between each other, but you can’t really make it out.

Dean goes to grab a beer, popping the cap and getting your attention. You tilt your head and walk over. Dean has taken a swig but you reach up to grab it from his lips.

“The fuck?” he gurgles through a gulp of beer. You take a swig and cringe.

“Yuck, with how often you two drink these, I really had higher hopes,” you shake your head, handing the bottle back. Dean watches you with a raised brow as you walk back over to look around the room more.

“So you’ve never-,” Dean starts but he realizes he doesn’t even know what his question was.

“If it’s not something a car does, then it’s not in my history,” you interrupt, looking over the books on Dean’s bed, selecting John’s journal.

“But you know us?” Sam contributes.

“Yes,” you say without looking up from the journal.

“How?” Dean barks exasperated.

“How do you know how to breathe?” You combat, looking up at him with a stoic face but rolling your eyes in annoyance before looking back down at the journal.

Dean can’t help but watch as your eyes scan over the page. Your hair feathers around your face and the contrast of your skin to your hair makes you almost sparkle. Your attitude is like a cherry on top of this melted sundae.

“John and Mary-,” you let the names roll off of your tongue, “It’s unfortunate I won’t get to meet them,” you say, flipping through the pages, “I suppose you two will do,” you joke with a smirk.

Dean's own smile works against his initial dread for the situation, enjoying your snark.

“You ain’t missing much,” Dean shrugs, taking a swig of his now sticky beer. He can’t tear his eyes off of you, the way your lips silently move as you read and when your gaze hardens at certain points of the text.

You tilt your head and move the book to look down at the birthmark on your thigh. You trace the skin thoughtfully.

“Keeps demons out,” Dean fills in.

“Yeah, I know,” you blurt, not as a remark but just a statement. “I bet it won’t work like your tattoo- oh! Tattoo’s, I want some,” you snap your head up from the book and Dean's eyes widen in amusement.

“Tattoo’s,” Dean echos with a smirk, “really? You’re a human now and that’s the first thing you wanna do?”

“You offerin’ sex?” You ask with feigned seriousness. He chokes on another gush from the beer, sitting up and tripping over his words. You cackle having earned the exact reaction you baited for. Sam also chucked at Dean's fluster, not used to seeing his brother so put in his place.

“N-no, that’s not… I don’t even, like- you don't-,” he trips over his words, setting his beer down and trying to find a casual way to situate his hands.

“Calm down, De, or else you’ll make me believe you’re actually considering it,” you wink, setting down the journal and stretching. “Now that tattoo?”

“I mean-,” Dean shrugs, looking over at Sam who is as careless about the request as Dean is. “It’s your body now, may as well have fun while you have it,” Dean clears his throat, rubbing his hands together after successfully landing on that as the casual placement.

“Hell yes!” You cheer in victory.

———

After finding more suitable clothing for you, the brothers usher you to a nearby tattoo parlor. They wanted to find a reason to tell you no just because of how odd this whole situation seemed but they couldn’t say no to you.

The walls are lined with reference art, some good and some great. All different colors and styles. The kind woman behind the desk greets the trio casually and not overly happy like you’d expect a usual receptionist to be.

“Dean, show her,” you instruct, glancing back at Dean, wanting him to show her his tattoo. The woman looks expectant at Dean in a way that makes him feel a little small- almost like she’s matching your light agitation and subconsciously taking your side with little to no prior knowledge of the situation.

Woman power! You think with a stifled giggle.

Dean rolls his eyes but that’s all that’s defiant about him as he unbuttons his flannel- a different one from earlier because you’ve refused to give his back, but Dean wasn’t complaining about the way it hugged your waist since you’ve tied the loose pieces into a knot on your stomach- and showed the woman his tattoo.

“Sick, and where do you want it?” The woman nods in approval and looks back at you. You think for a moment but point at the center of your sternum, right beneath your tits. “Got it, let’s get you some paperwork and I’ll start a sketch.”

You haven’t stopped talking Dean's ear off as you half-ass your clipboard of paperwork. You point out different works on the wall and tell him where you’ll put it on your body next. He has to force out the mental image of the one you say you want on your ass.

“Miss Winchester?” Your adopted name is called by the receptionist from earlier.

You handle the pain like a champ and Dean makes a joke of how many car crashes you’ve survived- the artist doesn’t get the joke but you snort.

Sam offers to go out and get some food for the trio and you insist Dean stay with you. The placement of your tattoo leaves your chest exposed and as flustered Dean gets at first, you're honestly a little impressed with how well he keeps himself together.

The artist doesn’t talk much outside of small contributions to yours and Deans conversation. She doesn’t seem to mind too much though.

Sam makes it back with the food and the artist leaves you to have a break from the intense blackwork she’s doing on such a sensitive spot.

Conversation doesn’t stop and Dean has to take a moment to fully admire how well you fit with them, like a missing handlebar they never knew they lacked.

Dean starts to wonder just how bad it would be losing the Impala if it meant keeping you.

The way you light up at a joke Sam tells proves that Dean will be just fine with one of the other rust buckets on Bobby’s lot.

———————

thank you so much for reading!! <3

>pictures are not my own, i have the originals linked here (pinterest) >>check out my other works here

>tags: @blossomingorchids @areswasneverhere

#supernatural #fanfiction #fandom #supernatural fanfiction #dean winchester #dean winchester one shot #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester fanfiction #supernatural fandom #spnfandom #spn fanfic #dean winchester x impala!you #1967 chevy impala

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truelotus · 2 days ago

Note

(Oooh first time requesting smtbhing so hopefully I'm doing this right ;-;)) But can I request Aizen kidnapping his darling using his evil evil hypnosis during the SS arc when everyone thinks he's a little sweetheart?

(Btw take ur time and no pressure 🤗)

Tricked out ᢉ𐭩 Sosuke Aizen X reader

𓂃۶ৎ warning: abduction, kidnapping, manipulating

𓂃۶ৎ context: Aizen unknowingly to you, uses his kyoka suigetsu to hypnotize you, manipulating you subtly.

a/n: I was finally able to do this request! tysm for it and thank you for giving me time to do it <3

Captain has always been very kind to you, after you joined his squad and you were able to become a seated officer, he took more interest in you. He’d come by, to see how well your training was going, help you with anything you needed. He even listened to the problems you had, he was definitely one of the most kindest captains.

But you couldn’t help but feel.. odd? around him.

It felt like it was too good to be true? or something? Nothing felt right of real once Aizen would come around, and even when he left you be. That strange feeling continued to linger, making you feel uneasy.

You’d often feel this feeling even at night, you could never get a peaceful good night sleep.

And tonight, once again you’ll feel that same exact uneasy feeling. But you knew, that you could never fully trust this man, there was something dangerous about him, but thats all you knew.

The air in the soul society felt unusually still tonight, tonight the feeling was much more pronounced than ever before. Maybe it was because of the odd things happening around maybe? Lately you felt like you’ve had more eyes on you than ever before.

But you would brush those feelings away as soon as Aizen would come, he distracted you from the feeling.

You were staring off into the night, listening closely to the droplets of the rain, only the rain could bring some peace to you. You were at your assigned room of squad 5’s barracks. You were up late, unable to sleep. You were so deep in thought, you didn’t notice that someone was coming towards you.

You jumped when feeling a hand touch your shoulder so casualty, you grabbed the hand quickly, then you quickly released it once you looked who the hand belonged to.

“Everything okay? I’ve noticed that you’ve been very tense recently.” You could see the genuine worry on his face, you straightened out the wrinkles of your clothes, trying to hide your embarrassment from your face.

“Captain Aizen! I’m so sorry, I was just.. anyways. Yes, I’m alright. Things have just been feeling like, a dream? lately. So i’ve been on my toes, that is all.”

It was strange on how he always showed up, it was like he planned on it.

Aizen hummed, putting his hand to his chin, as if he was deep in thought about something. “I see.. this seems like something that should be discussed over tea, would you like that?” Aizen replied, giving you a sweet smile that almost the whole seireitei is familiar with.

“A-Are you sure captain? I don’t want to prevent you from doing your work.” You were a bit hesitant, unsure about the situation. You only felt strange once your captain was around, would things go bad once you join him for tea? Or maybe Aizen was the key to solving this issue..

“Nonsense, It’s quite late anyways. What duties would I be doing at this hour?” He put his hand out to you, waiting for you to grab it, to join him. Still cautious, you accepted the hand that was out for you. Aizen’s smile slightly widened.

Strange.

Everything felt strange.

His hand didn’t feel like, his? There’s no way that this could be a impersonator of captain Aizen, right?

Aizen continued to hold your hand as he guided you to his room, even though his hand felt strange, unreal. There was some warmth to it, making you blush. Aizen’s hand was big compared to yours.

You cursed yourself for even blushing, you know very well that this man isn’t the man he projects himself to be. But it was strange, how come all of the sudden you were feeling actual romantic feelings towards him? It was as soon as you grabbed his hand, has he done something or?

Soon enough, the both of you made it to his room. He quietly shut the door behind you as you entered, “Please, make yourself comfortable. I will get the tea ready.”

“Yes captain.” You said as you sat down at the kotatsu. You felt awkward, you’ve never been in Aizen’s room before, alone. You were fidgeting with the ends of your clothes, messing with your hair, constantly changing the seating position you were in.

It didn’t take long for the tea to make, Aizen entered the room while carrying a tray with a kettle, tea cups and bags of tea.

He sat the tray down, then showing you a variety of the tea bags he had. “Here, I brought these out. I didn’t know which one you’d like.” You never really drank tea, so you then asked, “Which do you prefer? I don’t often drink tea so.” For a second, you could see the smile on his face twitch.

“Oh then, I suggest this one. It is my personal favorite.” You nodded, watching him pour the boiling water into your cup then as he brought the tea kettle to his cup, he spoke as he poured the water, “So, tell me. What is on your mind?”

You weren’t sure on what to say, you couldn’t trust this man.. or could you? Were you just overthinking things and making assumptions.

Yeah that should be it right? Captain Aizen would never do anything to you, he’s one of the nicest in the entire gotei 13. You could trust him, he is your captain after all.

This “thoughts” of yours were only implanted by Aizen. He then finished stirring the tea for you both, handing it to you.

“I can’t explain it, recently things have just been weird. I feel like I’m being watched 24/7.. And it really only happens when..”

“When I’m around?” He said as he brought the cup to his lips, you lowered your cup down slightly, surprised by his answer. Has all of this actually his own work?

You froze, unsure on what to do. Were you in danger right now? Should you run? What were his reasons for it?

You dropped your cup, ignoring the burning sensation, the boiling water was burning your thighs but you ignored it. “Ah, careful now.” His tone was smooth, he was so casual about this right now. Why?

He got up, walking over to you. He was going to soak up the tea on your thighs but instead you pushed him away.

“You want a explanation? Very well then.”

He flaunted his spiritual pressure, forcing you to stay down, to stay in place as he spoke, “Yes, I’m honestly very surprised you noticed. Most people don’t notice my perfect hypnosis.” You were confused on what he meant on, “perfect hypnosis”

You couldn’t move, even if you wanted to. His spiritual pressure was just too much for someone like you. You wanted to swat his hand away when you saw it getting closer to your face, he held onto your face, squishing your cheeks together with his hand.

“It only shows that you truly are something special.” You tried so desperately to move, but of course he wouldn’t allow it.

“Captain..”

“I knew that you’d be some use to me from the very start, this was just a test. To see if I was right, and it seems like.. I was correct.” He brought his face closer to yours, his lips dangerously hovering over your own lips.

“I noticed you from the very start, You noticed my kyoka suigetsu. That is what peaked my interest in you, nobody else was able to see it but you.” You weren’t aware of the powers of his zanpakuto, he never bothered to explain them to you.

“What do you.. mean.”

“Oh right, you do not know the power of my kyoka suigetsu.” He used less of his spiritual pressure to force you down, giving you a little break. “It is, complete hypnosis.. it is able to completely control all 5 senses, it’s a very interesting zanpakuto, don’t you think?”

You weren’t sure when exactly he used kyoka suigetsu on you, but you weren’t going to ask. You knew you had no time, you needed to run, to get away.

Even while he was flexing his spiritual pressure, you slowly stood up, using all your strength just to barely stand on your feet. Aizen smirked, seeing you try so hard, miserably.

“Seems like you don’t understand that you are very important for what I have planned.”

“You’re right.. I don’t understand. I don’t understand why you chose me out of all people.” You slowly walked to the door, dragging your feet. Aizen only watched as you slowly walked away, knowing you were weren’t going to make it far.

“Because, you’re different. I’ve seen your abilities before darling, I believe that they’re going to be useful to me.” You reached to the door, ignoring him as you slowly opened it.

His spiritual pressure still had a affect, so running was hard for you, but you were going to run like your life depended on it.

“Fuck fuck fuck..” You were a sweaty mess, your thighs still burned from the boiling tea, your legs were weak and failing on you.

You tried to run as far as you could, and when you thought you lost him—because he wasn’t chasing after you— you rested for a bit.

How were you going to report him? Would anyone believe you? Would he just use his complete hypnosis on you again?

“I really don’t see the point of running, you knew very well that I was going to find you quickly.” His voice sent shivers down your spine, unable to move once again.

You slowly turned around to face him, he somehow looked bigger than before, only frightening you even more. “Please..! captain Aizen.” You begged him to stop.

“Come, you were destined to be by my side. You’ll soon see that is your only faith.” He stepped forward, making you feel smaller than ever. “And if you scream, I might just have to kill you. Or maybe punish you. But we don’t want that to happen do we?”

You oh so desperately wanted to fight back, but what would be the point of it? He was going to successfully kidnap you in the end.

He smirked down at you, seeing you so helpless did something to him. He swiftly grabbed your collar, pulling onto it.

“Please! Let go of me!”

“I don’t want to be rough with you, so please don’t make me.”

He dragged you by the collar of your shirt back to his room, to keep you.

All to himself.

To help him pursue his plan.

And you had no choice.

You were going to help him and that’s that.

#bleach fanfiction #bleach fic #bleach x reader #bleach smut #bleach x you #bleach headcanons #bleach oneshot #bleach scenarios #aizen sosuke x reader #aizen x reader #aizen x you #aizen sosuke smut #sosuke aizen x reader #anime x reader #anime x y/n #anime smut #truelotus #captainaizenxre

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tarnishedxknight · 2 days ago

Note

Ashelia froze for a moment. Did... did Larsa not know Gabranth was Landisian? Well and why not, she supposed. I didn't know Basch was Archadian, not until last night. "Yes. He and Basch lived there until they were sixteen. Basch told me last night. As I said, we... we discussed a great deal many things..." Ashe said with an air of sadness, almost as if she was lamenting who she was before she knew the information she'd learned during that conversation. One can never go back to being innocent or ignorant, even if they wish to, she thought.

At Larsa's comment of Gabranth not speaking of his Landisian blood, Ashe sighed a little. "I think it is more that... he wished to leave it behind him. So did Basch. I've known him all my life and yet... all these things he told me last night, he was saying for the first time. I never knew he had Archadian blood, never at all. I don't think my father knew that either. Or if he did, neither one of them ever informed me." It didn't change her view of Basch, not really, but it did... change her view. Overall.

His accent. "Mm. Yes, how strange it is that Gabranth seems to have an accent different from those of Archadia. He's been there so long, why has he not lost it? Basch lost his. I vaguely remember him speaking differently when I was a small child, but he gradually spoke more and more like a Dalmascan, until I forgot that he'd been anything else."

Ashe fell silent - a feat not easy for the talkative and opinionated former princess - while Larsa spoke of his mentors and of Drace specifically. It seemed that he'd been scooped up by Drace just as Ashe had been by Basch, in that moment when their own questioning might have spiraled out of control had they been left to their own devices. Ever the protectors of us, they are, she assumed.

"I don't think it's childish at all, Larsa. Finding out that one's father wasn't really his father is not small matter. I think you are entitled to your disarray, frankly. And I think those closest to you will understand that you are upset and need your space." At least... they should.

But as Larsa began to speak of Dalmasca, and her father, and all that she and Basch had suffered, Ashe felt antsy and uncomfortable. Yes, she was sad, angry, and grieving, but she had a problem with being lumped together with Basch. The levels of their suffering were, in her mind, not even close to the same.

"Basch suffered greatly," she insisted after listening to him share his thoughts on the subject. "I was spared the worst of it, I feel, save for losing my father and my sadness over the loss of Dalmasca's sovereignty. He was starved and tortured, denied freedom and light and food and sleep at times. For two years. I cannot even begin to imagine what that must have been like for him."

She couldn't help the way her mind wandered to the man responsible... Gabranth. How could Basch's own twin brother do this to him? To her father? How was this man that Larsa admired so much, his actual father, be the same man who had committed such heartless and cruel acts? Given Larsa's mental disruption over this whole affair, however, Ashelia refrained from asking those questions. She didn't want to upset her friend.

Instead, she smiled at him. "I think it would have been different, if you'd been Emperor. You would have changed Archadia for the better, Larsa. I know it. And together we could have changed Ivalice." Such chances were lost now, but there was comfort in the possibilities, even if they were only fantasy.

"Give yourself time. Apologize when you are ready," she said encouragingly, knowing how hard apologies were, especially for awkward situations such as these. With regard to Basch, though, she drew in a long breath and released it as a thoughtful sigh. "I think he might tell you some things. But if I know Basch, he may at times say that his brother's story is not his to tell. Perhaps he thinks certain things too personal for him to share, and that Gabranth should do so himself. But he will tell you some things. We can go see him, if you like. I know he would love to speak with you."

Larsa did not expect to be unfrozen at all, let alone in the future. When he had snuck upon Gabranth's ship set for Pharos he did it to ensure the peace would be possible. The last thing he remembered was running towards fallen Gabranth and then... Light. (Marvel AU) - tarnishedxjudgement

@tarnishedxjudgement

Noah didn't have the same abilities and resources in this time period with which to inform himself of anything and everything that was going on around him. He was in the dark, most of the time, unless directly informed of things, a condition he hated. Being at the mercy of others he neither knew nor trusted for information was not a position he usually found himself in.

It was the reason he hadn't known about Drace being found after him until she was brought one day to the training compound. Inexplicably, after executing her in his own timeline, here she was again, seemingly from another. The entire experience was wholly jarring, but not nearly as jarring as losing his only son.

So often had Noah thought of Larsa in the months following his revival in this strange time. Thoughts invaded his peace, his sleep, his ability to function, until he found himself so erratic and unhinged that he did not recognize himself anymore. Even Drace found it difficult to comfort him, and she had always been a master of that feat. There was no closure to be had, no second chances, no going back... and that knowledge was eating Noah alive from the inside out.

But once again, information had been kept from him, and yet another arrival from Ivalice to the Avengers compound was neither expected nor necessarily wanted. Would it be another Dalmascan? Gods forbid a Rozarrian. And the way the people of this time seemed to think that all Ivalicians got along and would be happy to see each other was beyond irritating to him. Nevertheless, when he was specifically summoned to greet this newcomer, Noah begrudgingly left his quarters to do so.

What he saw... stopped him dead in his tracks. Within seconds, his expression betrayed him, and within a few more, he was on his knees, his legs giving way in disbelief of the sight that lay before him. It was little Lord Larsa, looking just as he did when last Noah laid eyes on him, perfect as can be.

He knew he should say something, but words betrayed him as well as his own legs had. Instead, he merely stared, the absence of his helm serving to display to the boy all the shock, confusion, and relief at seeing him standing there. Finally, he forced out the only two words he felt he could say without falling apart.

"My lord..."

#tarnishedxjudgement #side muse: ashelia #{ royal avenger } ᵐᶜᵘ ᵛᵉʳˢᵉ #{ the darker corners of ivalice } ᵐᵃⁱⁿ ᵛᵉʳˢᵉ ⁻ ᵈᵃʳᵏ ᵉᵈⁱᵗⁱᵒⁿ

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gingerteafairy · 2 days ago

Text

THE GREAT GUIDE FOR JAILBIRDS IN LOVE

warren lipka x fem!reader part one here

summary: Warren weren't that prepared for the silly little thing called love, learing that, sometimes, you really need to fight for it (literally).

tags n warnings: highly suggestive (can be categorized as smut, but it's too small for that), language, fights, blood, angst, some sensitive topics. word count: 13k

Rule #5: Appearances Can Be Deceiving

Warren adjusted his tie around his neck once more, huffing as he stared at his reflection in the mirror. He absolutely hated this. Ties, polished shoes, neatly pressed shirts... If it were up to him, he would’ve shown up in ripped jeans and an old t-shirt. Or better yet, naked—if that weren’t illegal. But there he was, in a freshly ironed blazer and expensive cologne.

And why?

Because of you.

You, who made him spend beyond his budget on a small bottle of sophisticated perfume. You, who convinced him to actually wash his hair, tying it back into a decent ponytail. You, who made him use the fancy deodorant he reserved for special occasions. His shaved face, smooth as a baby’s skin. You, who made every bit of effort feel worth it.

“Yeah. Okay.” Warren took a deep breath, snapped his fingers, and lightly slapped his own face. “Oh, almost forgot.”

He rushed out of the room, the sound of his shoes echoing as he hurried to the living room. On the table, a narrow vase held a bouquet of red tulips, a folded note tucked between the petals. His name, written in his messy handwriting, made a smile involuntarily tug at his lips. He picked up the flowers gently, inhaling their scent, blinking a few times as if it brought him back to reality.

“Alright. Let’s do this.”

He left an hour early, driving with an uncommon focus, determined that nothing—traffic, long traffic lights, or bad luck—would ruin this evening.

A familiar tune started playing on the radio, and without thinking, he began singing along.

“Close your eyes, give me your haaaand… Do you feel my heart beating? Do you understaaaaand?”

He was so caught up in the excitement that he didn’t even notice the strange look from a man in the car next to him, stopped at the red light. When he did, Warren furrowed his brow and slapped the side of his own car.

“What’s your problem?”

The man frowned, rolled up his window, and drove off when the light turned green.

“Coward.” Warren rolled his eyes and kept singing, his fingers tapping on the steering wheel. “Am I only dreaming aaaaa… It’s eternal flaaaame.”

The tires slid smoothly along the road until, finally, his house came into view. Warren took a deep breath, turned off the radio, and replaced it with the CD he’d burned earlier that afternoon—but decided to keep it silent.

Before getting out of the car, he glanced in the rearview mirror. He ran a hand through his hair, made sure his beard was still in place, adjusted his collar, and cracked his neck to release the tension.

“It’s going to be fine.” He whispered to himself.

Then, he stepped out before his nerves could talk him into turning back.

He walked with determined steps to the door, straightening his posture. When the door opened, the sight in front of him stole all the air from his lungs.

You looked stunning.

The silk dress hugged your curves just right, elegant without being over the top. Your makeup accentuated every contour of your face, the sparkle in your eyes, the soft lipstick. Every detail contributed to the perfect image that Warren couldn’t stop admiring.

“My God…” He swallowed hard, blinking several times, making sure he wasn’t dreaming. “You’re…”

The word vanished from his throat.

“You’re… amazing.”

You smiled, blushing slightly as you adjusted the strap of your dress.

“Thank you.”

Warren blinked, as if returning to reality, and quickly extended the bouquet toward you.

“Oh! These are for you.”

“For me?” Your smile widened as you took the flowers, examining them with affection.

“I hope you like them…” He murmured, a little shy, rubbing the back of his neck as he tried to hold back the grin that kept wanting to break free. You grabbed the small note tucked between the flowers, your name written on it in his handwriting.

“Hey, don’t open it yet.” Warren’s voice came out hurriedly, and he gestured with his hands as if trying to stop your movement in midair. “Wait until I leave, please.”

“Why?” You raised an eyebrow, pretending to open it.

“No… it’s just…” He took a deep breath, shoved his hands in his pockets, and stared at the ground. “I’m embarrassed, that’s all.”

You laughed softly.

“You’re not embarrassed to kiss me in front of my house, but you’re shy about a little note?”

“It’s different, okay?” He grumbled, looking at you from under his lashes. “So… shall we go?”

You nodded, closing the door behind you. He extended his arm, and you slipped yours around his as you both walked to the car.

When they arrived, he opened the passenger door for you, tilting his head slightly in a chivalrous gesture.

“Wow, such a gentleman.” You teased as you got into the car.

“I always do this.” He rolled his eyes and stuck out his tongue before walking around the car and sitting in the driver��s seat.

He turned the key in the ignition, and before starting the engine, he looked at you with a mischievous grin.

“Did I ever tell you that you're the most beautiful thing in the world?”

Your face flushed, and an enormous smile spread across your face before you could even reply.

“No.”

“Well, let me tell you now. You look absolutely wonderful tonight.” He flirted shamelessly, not taking his eyes off you as he pressed the button on the radio.

The soft intro of Wonderful Tonight by Eric Clapton began to play.

You widened your eyes, surprised by the coincidence.

“No way, Warren.” You laughed, bringing a hand to your face. “Oh my God!”

“Casablanca, my dear.” He winked and started the car.

The music filled the car’s interior, and you let yourself sway gently to the rhythm of the melody. Warren, at the wheel, hummed along, occasionally pulling faces and pretending to play air guitar, making you laugh every time.

The CD playing was made specially for tonight. Warren had burned it earlier that afternoon, carefully selecting each track, though you might never know that little detail.

Or maybe, in a few years, he would tell you.

But not now.

Now, he just wanted to enjoy every second of this moment by your side.

The venue was packed, and that was clear as soon as they pulled into the parking lot. Cars lined every available space, and an excited buzz could be heard coming from inside the club, as if the very air was charged with festive energy.

Warren parked and, before even turning off the engine, he turned to you with a soft smile.

“Ready?”

You nodded, adjusting your dress over your legs.

He got out of the car and walked around to your side, opening the door with a gentleman’s flourish. He extended his hand to you, firm and steady, his fingers warm against the cool night air. You took his hand, letting him help you out with grace, avoiding any misstep in your high heels.

Warren didn’t immediately let go of your hand. He kept his fingers intertwined with yours as you walked toward the club’s entrance. The red carpet led up to the main door, where a tall, serious-looking security guard stood waiting to check invitations.

He handed over the passes, and without delay, the security guard allowed them through. Once inside, a subtle mix of floral scents and fresh food enveloped you both. The hall was beautifully decorated, with sparkling chandeliers casting golden light across the room. There were snack tables strategically placed, while waiters moved around offering glasses of champagne. Background music played softly, blending with the hum of lively conversations.

Warren leaned in slightly toward your ear, his voice low but laced with genuine concern.

“Are you comfortable with all this?”

The warmth of his breath brushed your skin, sending a slight shiver through you.

“Yeah… it’s fine.” You reassured him, glancing around. Some familiar faces appeared, while others were just blurred figures in the crowd.

He didn’t seem entirely convinced. His hand gently slid to your bare back, the tips of his fingers caressing you softly, discreetly.

“If you want to leave, you know you can tell me.” The firmness in his voice was comforting, like a silent promise.

“Thank you, Warren.” You smiled, biting your lip lightly as you felt his almost protective touch.

His response came in the form of a gesture: his hand slid to your waist, fingers tightening slightly, as if reaffirming that he was there for whatever you needed.

“Hey, sweetheart! How are you?”

The sweet yet vibrant voice made you turn. A well-dressed older woman approached with a warm smile, the gleam in her eyes revealing genuine affection.

“Mrs. Beavers!” You exclaimed, opening your arms to welcome the woman's gentle embrace. “How are you? It’s been such a long time.”

Warren took a subtle step back, observing the interaction with curiosity.

“I’m doing great, darling.” Elizabeth Beavers pulled away slightly, holding your hands with warmth. “You look radiant tonight. More beautiful than the crystals in these chandeliers, and trust me, we paid a fortune for those.”

You smiled, feeling your face warm at the compliment. “Thank you. And you, Mrs. Beavers—you're still pure luxury and elegance.”

Elizabeth laughed, her eyes sparkling with amusement.

“You’re quite the charmer.” She teased, giving your hand a light, affectionate pat. “But call me Elizabeth, you know I feel ancient when you call me Mrs.”

She then shifted her attention to Warren, appraising him with a long, discerning gaze.

“And who’s this handsome young man by your side? Your boyfriend?”

Warren, who had been silently observing until now, straightened up and extended his hand casually.

“Warren Lipka.” He said with a half-smile, sensing that Mrs. Beavers posed no threat.

“An exotic name for such a charming man.” Elizabeth quipped, winking her green eyes. You wondered how someone as sweet as her had ended up with a son like Daniel. They didn’t even seem related, much less mother and child. “And where’s Luke? He must be growing up fast.”

“At a friend’s house. They’re playing camping.” You responded, watching Elizabeth nod in approval.

“How wonderful.” She smiled, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “You should swing by my place to pick up your gift later; I’ve got a little surprise for you, too.”

You laughed, already imagining what it could be.

“My dear boy,” Elizabeth continued, turning her attention back to Warren with a fond look. “Did you know this lovely lady was the most beautiful girl in school when she was 17?”

“Really?” Warren raised an eyebrow, a smile beginning to form on his lips. His hand returned to your waist, pulling you gently closer.

“Yes! The prettiest of them all.” Elizabeth sighed dramatically, fanning herself with a lace handkerchief. “And when I saw how sweet she was… Oh my, I nearly disinherited the useless Daniel just to have her as my daughter.”

Warren chuckled, enjoying the conversation more and more.

“And it looks like her little party girl is all dull and dreary,” Elizabeth added, rolling her eyes.

“Oh, Elizabeth, you’re being harsh.” You teased, laughing as you leaned in closer to Warren, settling against him in a side hug.

“My dear, she’s awful, dreadful.” Elizabeth shot a conspiratorial look. “If she ever dreamt Daniel had a kid with someone else, I’m sure she’d cancel the wedding.”

Warren, who had just been following the conversation up until now, furrowed his brow in confusion and made a vague gesture with his hand.

“Wait… she doesn’t know that they…?”

“Of course not, darling.” Elizabeth made a face of boredom. “You think he’s going to tell that airhead he had a life before her? Not a chance!”

Warren turned slightly to face you, leaning in to murmur in your ear.“Can I go beat him up now?”

You laughed, covering your mouth to stifle the sound.“No.” You whispered back, trying to hold back your laughter before returning to the conversation.

“Oh my God! I can’t believe it’s really you!”

The excited voice made you turn instantly, only to be pulled into a tight embrace. The familiar scent of floral perfume surrounded you, and even before seeing her face, you already knew who it was.

“Claire! Oh my God, it’s been forever!”

The hug was strong, almost overwhelming, but completely filled with affection. Claire pulled away just enough to hold your arms, her eyes sparkling with excitement as she took in your appearance from head to toe.

“You look stunning!” She exclaimed, clapping her hands excitedly before casting a playful glance to the side. “And who’s this, huh?”

The mischievous tone made you smile even before you could respond.

“This is Warren. He’s with me tonight.”

Warren gave a small nod, his eyes quickly scanning Claire before returning his gaze to you.

“Hmmm, bad boy vibe.” She teased, laughing, and you had to hold back a laugh too. After all, he was a bad boy, in a way.

“I get a little crazy with this, you know.” You said, winking at Warren before turning your attention back to Claire.

Before Claire could reply, Elizabeth rejoined the conversation, hooking her arm around Claire’s with a motherly smile.

“Claire, darling. We were just talking about Honey.”

The expression on Claire’s face shifted instantly, the laughter vanishing as pure disdain filled her gaze.

“That one’s even dumber than Dan.” She spat, tossing her long blonde hair back with an exaggerated motion. “The bitch said I use hydrogen peroxide to lighten my hair. Well, she’s the one who needs it to clean her rotten soul.”

“Claire!” Elizabeth scolded, furrowing her brows.

“Oh, Mom, stop. I know you were saying the worst things about that air head.” Claire crossed her arms, raising an eyebrow.

Elizabeth sighed, rolling her eyes with amusement.

“Anyway, folks. I’ve gotta go. My boy’s waiting for me. My hot nerd is finally on my hands” Claire said, sending you one last knowing look.

“Tell me all the details later.” You teased, laughing.

“The normal ones or the hot ones?” She shot back, grinning slyly. “You know I can't stop talking about my love life, sunshine. You’re the only one who can match my freak.”

You rolled your eyes, laughing, and Claire blew a kiss before disappearing into the crowd.

“But Warren,” Elizabeth turned back to him with a playful tone, “If there’s one thing time has done for this girl, it’s made her even more beautiful.”

She pointed to you, a mischievous smile curling on her lips.

Warren looked at you for a moment longer than necessary, as if absorbing every detail of your face before responding.

“You seem like a good man.” Elizabeth continued, her eyes evaluating him. “Can I rest easy?”

He let out a short laugh, tilting his head slightly. “If it’s up to me, you can sleep soundly.”

“Brilliant.” Elizabeth smiled, clearly pleased with his response. “Now, excuse me, I need to speak with Denver.”

She kissed you quickly on the cheek before heading to a nearby table where an elegant man waited.

Warren followed her movement, and upon seeing her greet the man with a kiss on the lips, he furrowed his brow.

“Oh… that’s Denver.” His curious gaze landed on you. “Don’t you think old couples kissing is kinda gross in a cute way?”

You simply smiled, watching them together. “Thirty years married. Can you believe it?”

Warren whistled lowly, shaking his head. “Seems almost unreal.” He mused, then turned his attention back to you. “Where do you want to sit?”

You scanned the room for a moment before pointing to a table further away from the bustle.

“Hmmm… how about over there?”

“Perfect.”

His smile was genuine before he leaned in to place a soft kiss on your forehead. That simple gesture made your chest warm.

When you reached the table, Warren pulled a chair out for you, ensuring you were comfortable before gently pushing it back in place.

“Would you like a drink?” He asked, already scanning the room for the bar.

“Sure. Whatever they have. I trust your judgment.”

He raised an eyebrow, a playful smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“That’s dangerous.”

You just laughed and shook your head, watching him walk away toward the bar. While you waited, you couldn’t help but watch Warren for a few seconds, admiring the way he walked with such confidence. His hair perfectly tied back in a ponytail, the sleeves of his jacket fitted just right, subtly revealing the hidden strength in his forearms.

Yes, you definitely trusted his judgment.

You rested your chin on your hand, your eyes following Warren as he approached the drinks table. He seemed lost in the vast array of options, furrowing his brow as he scrutinized the machines. His nose wrinkled slightly in concentration before he pressed a button – and immediately, liquid spilled over the edge of the glass.

You couldn’t help but chuckle softly, shaking your head.

“Oh, darling. You never learn, do you?”

The unexpected voice sounded far too close to your ear. Your body stiffened instantly, a chill running down your spine.

Daniel.

You turned your face and came face-to-face with him, his breath hot and laced with false sweetness brushing against your skin.

“Sorry… did I scare you?”

Your heart skipped a beat, but you quickly composed your expression.

“No.” You coughed, subtly shifting your chair back with a calculated movement. “What were you saying?”

“About your boyfriend.”

Daniel’s smile was sharp, predatory. He crossed his arms, eyes darting between you and Warren, who was still fumbling with the drinks machine.

“I’ve done some research on him.”

Your jaw tightened. You kept your posture firm, but your shoulders instinctively tensed.

“And what does that have to do with your life?” Your voice came out cutting, harsh. You stood up, your body automatically adopting a defensive stance.

Daniel chuckled lowly, tilting his head to the side as if amused by your reaction.

“You always surprise me, doll. It was one of my favorite things about you.” He took a step forward, his hand reaching toward your face. You caught the movement before your instincts could even react – and you stepped back.

“Enough talk, Daniel.”

Your hand rose instinctively, slapping his with a firm strike. The sharp sound echoed between the two of you.

Daniel laughed. A low, drawn-out laugh. He glanced at his now slightly reddened hand and shook his head, as though genuinely impressed.

“Got some strength, huh?” He lifted his eyes to yours, a twisted glint in them. “They say bad company corrupts good manners.”

Your blood boiled. Your breath quickened. You tilted your head, narrowing your eyes.

“What did you say?”

Your voice came out louder than expected. The buzz of the room quieted, and like a domino effect, people began to notice the tension between you two.

Daniel saw it. And he reveled in it.

He grinned, leaning dangerously close to your ear.

“Prisoners really cause some serious damage, huh?”

Shock ran through your body like a jolt of electricity. Your stomach dropped instantly, as if the ground had disappeared beneath your feet. Without thinking, you shoved Daniel hard, feeling the tension burst from within you. He stumbled backward, his feet sliding on the floor, but, surprisingly, didn’t lose his balance. Instead, he let out a loud, cruel laugh, as if it were just a game to him.

“What was that?”

Warren’s deep voice cut through the air like a sharp blade, penetrating. His expression was loaded with controlled fury, his eyes fixed on Daniel with an intensity that seemed capable of piercing through anything in its path.

You blinked, your heart pounding as if you had just run a marathon. Your gaze quickly scanned the room, trying to anchor yourself to something familiar, until your eyes found Warren’s. He was by your side now, the forgotten glass on the table, his jaw set, the muscles in his face clenched in a tense expression. The silence between you two was thick, like a bomb about to explode.

“What was that?” Warren repeated, his voice now lower, but the threat in his words was palpable, like a blade ready to cut.

On the other hand, Daniel, with a fake smile plastered on his face.

"She's so good when she's like this, isn't she?" His voice dripped with provocation.

Before you could react, Daniel casually reached out and brushed a hand over Warren's shoulder, as if brushing invisible dust off his suit.

"She only likes the ones who are at the bottom of the barrel. Such a masochist. Delicious in bed."

Warren froze.

The air grew heavy. You felt his body stiffen, the muscles in his jaw tightening. His gaze, once sharp, became lethal.

"What did you say, you motherfucking piece of shit?" His voice was low, hoarse, almost a hiss. He took a step forward.

"Did you learn that vocabulary in life or in prison, mate?" Daniel scoffed, his eyes swiping up and down Warren's body with calculated contempt. Warren's blood boiled. Without hesitation, he grabbed the collar of Daniel's suit, pulling him roughly closer.

"Say that again if you dare." Daniel laughed. An irritating, petulant laugh that only served to inflame Warren's fury even more.

"Looks like not much has changed since then." He shoved Warren hard, smoothing his jacket as if to erase his touch. Then he leaned forward slightly, his voice low and venomous. "Enjoy your little friend while you're at it. She'll have a baby with you when you start to get on with life." Just like he did to me and that little freak of yours."

That was the last straw. Warren's punch landed squarely on Daniel. The impact was sharp, brutal. Daniel stumbled backwards and fell to the ground, clutching his face with a groan of pain.

"Shit!" He yelled, pulling his hand away to see the blood running down his nose.

"Warren, no!" You ran to him, but Warren was already blinded by rage, climbing on top of Daniel to throw another punch.

The guests around you froze, some murmuring in shock, others watching the scene without being able to look away. Elizabeth clapped her hand over her mouth, her eyes wide, and you saw, in that instant, her heart breaking into pieces. Your own chest tightened—not for Daniel, but for her. Despite everything, he was still your son. Denver looked away, hiding his face in his hands, unable to watch.

"Come here, honey." Claire pulled you by the arm, pulling you away from the fight that was unfolding. in an increasingly bloody manner. "You'll end up hurting yourself if you get in the way."

His body shook, blood pounding loudly in his ears. "Say that again." Warren's voice was a growl as he grabbed Daniel's collar, pushing his head against the floor. "Say it, you fucking bastard. Say on my fucking face."

"Security!" Daniel screamed, twisting to try to gain control of the situation and landing a blow on Warren. The impact made a cut open at the corner of his mouth. Warren laughed. A harsh, almost animalistic laugh.

"Even Luke can be stronger than you."

The name hit Daniel like an invisible blow. His face contorted for an instant, but he quickly disguised it with a growl of rage.

"You bastard!"

He raised his fist, but Warren was faster, spinning and immobilizing him again. Seconds later, two security guards grabbed Warren, pulling him back. Two others grabbed Daniel, forcibly separating them and taking them to opposite corners.

"Let me go! Let me go." Warren growled, pulling away with a sudden movement. He ran his hand over his face, wiping the blood from the cut. "I'm going to kill you." "I'm going to press charges against you, you piece of shit." Daniel spat the words, trying to free himself from the security guards' grip. His face was red with fury and humiliation. "You're going to jail again!"

The crack of the slap echoed through the room.

You grabbed the collar of Daniel's shirt, pulling him closer, your eyes fixed on his.

"If you tell the police, I'll tell your fiancée what you said when you abandoned our son."

The color drained from Daniel's face.

"You’re not that brave."

He tried to laugh, but his eyes wavered. You saw the exact moment he realized that, yes, you would have the courage.

"I doubt she knows that." Your voice was cold, cutting. "And I don't think you want to ruin the wedding before it even starts the dollhouse acting to hide the jerk you are."

Daniel tensed, the muscles in his jaw tightening.

"Fine." He huffed, pulling away from the security guards and massaging his arms. "Fine. Fuck, okay. I won’t call the cops."

"Fine." You pushed him away one last time before turning to Warren and taking his hand. "But no visiting Luke."

You leaned forward slightly, staring at Daniel with a look of pure ice.

"You don't exist to him."

Daniel opened his mouth to retort, but Warren, still breathing heavily, cut him off.

"Wow, that was hot" He grunted without thinking, his eyes sliding up and down you, appreciating the fire in your eyes.

"Not now, Warren." You grunted back, forcing a brave face, trying not to laugh at the gravity of the situation. "You're dead to me and Luke, Daniel."

You took a step back, lifting your chin.

"Act like it."

"But—"

"Whoa, dead men can't talk." Warren snapped his fingers, interrupting Daniel with a mock-casual tone.

"What?"

"Quiet."

"You're—"

"How can you talk with all that dirt on your face?"

"Bro!"

"Rest in peace." Warren made the sign of the cross before raising his middle finger at Daniel. "In hell."

The entire room was silent for a second, until a small group of youngsters burst into applause and muffled laughter. The distraught parents tried to silence them, but Warren spun on his heel, spreading even more chaos.

"Censorship!" he shouted, raising his arms theatrically.

"Warren!" You laughed, pulling him by the arm as the first drops of rain fell outside.

Without even looking back, you focused on the only thing that really mattered at that moment.

Warren laughing.

Free.

Turning back to the party just to give the middle finger to anyone who dared to exist.

He got into the car, the smile still dancing on his lips, patiently waiting for you to settle in next to him before starting the engine.

The rain began to thicken.

But you didn't care.

Because, that night, you left there the same way you came in.

Together.

"Where to?"

Warren's voice came low, still charged with adrenaline, as he got rid of his damp suit and tossed it carelessly into the backseat. His hair stuck to his face, messed up by the rain and the fight, and he brushed it away with a quick movement of his hand.

"My house." You replied, trying to fix your hair in the car mirror. “As soon as possible.”

Without taking his eyes off the road, Warren felt around in the backseat, grabbing a random rag and throwing it to you.

“Thanks.”

“You’re very welcome.” His playful tone made you smile.

Without warning, he slammed his foot on the accelerator, making the tires screech against the wet asphalt. The horn honked loudly as he pulled out of the parking lot. “Screw all of you!”

“That’s it! Screw you!” You laughed, leaning your face out the window, feeling the cold wind and light rain against your skin before shrinking back into the car. Your heart was still beating fast. Warren laughed too, but this time with a certain nervousness, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. “What did we do?”

“I’m so fucking screwed.” He let out a loud sigh. “I’m going to jail, aren’t I?”

“You won’t.” You patted his shoulder, feeling the tension in his muscles. “Trust me.”

He glanced quickly at you before turning his attention back to the road.

“Daniel doesn’t even have the courage to admit to his own fiancée that he has a son.”

“Coward.” Warren snorted.

The car was silent for a moment, only the sound of the engine and the rain filling the space. Then, a smile played on his lips.

“And what was that, girl?” He ran his tongue over the corner of his mouth, still feeling the metallic taste of his own blood. “Wow. I got goosebumps all over.”

He let out a short laugh, shaking his head as if he still couldn’t believe what had just happened.

“I’m telling you, you have the stereotype of a criminal.”

You leaned slightly towards him, lowering your voice.

“Yeah?” Your hand slid along the back of his seat, your fingers lightly brushing against the warm nape of his neck. “What are you going to do with that?”

Warren’s laughter died there.

He turned his head to you, his eyes dark in the dim light of the dashboard. He bit his lip, the muscles in his jaw tensing. Your innocent, shy eyes tried to hide it, but he knew. He knew exactly what was going through your mind.

“This car is going to stop.” His voice came in a thick whisper. “And now.”

Warren turned the steering wheel with a firm movement, throwing the car onto the shoulder of the highway.

“Hurry, darling?” You laughed, feeling your own body heat up as he pulled the handbrake and parked in a darker area, away from the traffic.

Warren leaned towards you, his hands sliding to unbuckle your seatbelt. His eyes burned with barely contained desire.

“You have no idea how much I’ve been holding back.” The last thing you felt before you gave in completely was the heat of his hands pulling you into an urgent, hungry kiss.

You purred and took off your seatbelt, forcing your body onto Warren’s lap. He pulled the lever back so you could fit without moving the steering wheel, steadying his hands on your body when the seat reached its position. Straddling your legs on either side of Warren’s waist, you found yourself free to continue the kiss, holding his face in your hands.

Warren palmed your thighs, pulling your dress up so he could touch them directly, marking the spot with his firm fingers. He lifted the fabric once more so he could touch your bum, pulling the elastic of your panties so you could feel the softness of the flesh. You moved forward, brushing against the tent that formed in Warren’s dress trousers, panting into the kiss. You deepened, hungry for him: biting, sucking, licking. Whatever you were entitled to and Warren could give you, you took.

“Oh, shit.” You groaned, feeling the metallic taste in your mouth, remembering Warren’s cut. “I’m hurting you, aren’t I?”

“Fuck that bruise.” He grumbled, scraping his nails across your skin, pulling you closer. “You’re hotter than that.”

“You look so attractive with that bruise.” You whispered, kissing his mouth more calmly.

“Hmmmm, I think I’m gonna start hurting myself more.” He chuckled softly into your face, capturing your lower lip in a hickey. He noticed the small red stain of his blood on your lip, touching it with his thumb. “You look delicious with blood on your mouth. I’d love to visit you in jail if you killed Daniel.”

“Would you? And what would you do to me there?” You flirted, moving closer, shaking your hips back and forth. Warren gasped, throwing his head back, trying to maintain control with his hands on your hips.

“I was going to exercise my right to come and go, come and go, come and go.” He murmured hoarsely, pulling you closer to brush your lips against his. “Damn, I almost came imagining you killing the guy.” He laughed, breaking the kiss.

“You’re horrible, Warren. Look at that.” You laughed in disbelief, resting your hands on his shoulders.

“That’s not even the worst part.”

He began, his hands going up your back to slide the zipper halfway down, grabbing the straps of your dress to slide them down your arms, catching a glimpse of your breasts that he had fantasized about so many nights.

“The first thing that caught my attention about you after your smile was your hips.”

“Really?” You gasped, feeling his hand lightly support the weight of your breasts in his palms. “Why?”

“Because women look really hot with that littl fat on their hips after having a baby.” He finished with a straight face, making you laugh out loud. “So, I kind of already suspected that the kid was your son because of your ass.”

“You’re a terrible person, Warren.” You spoke about his lips, stealing a slow and lingering kiss, massaging his lower lip with your tongue.

He licked his lips and went to your ear, biting the lobe before whispering. “And you love it.”

“You’re a bad influence on me.” You reciprocated in the same tone, closing your eyes to feel him distribute slow kisses on your neck, giving a long, slow lick to your throat.

“And I’m gonna influence you to fuck with me in this car right now.”

Soon his strong arms wrapped around your back, pulling you closer. Strong, intense, passionate. That was Warren’s description of your body, of kissing you, of biting you, of hearing you moan, of having you completely. And you had him in that old car, now, so special to you.

Rule #6: Haste is the enemy of perfectionYou had convinced Warren to stay a little longer at your house after all the chaos that had unfolded. The atmosphere was calm, soothing, like a warm cup of hot chocolate on a rainy day.

He closed the door softly behind him, watching quietly as you made your way to the kitchen. You carefully poured water into the vase to preserve the flowers. Your fingers grazed gently over the delicate petals before you placed the note next to them, careful not to lose it.

That’s when you felt it.

Warren’s arms wrapped around you from behind, his warmth melding with yours. He leaned in slowly, pressing soft kisses along your neck, trailing down toward the base of your throat. Your body relaxed under his touch, your eyes instinctively fluttering shut as your hands found his, gripping them gently over your own skin.

He smiled against your ear before placing a long, lingering kiss on your cheek, tightening his embrace as if trying to merge with you.

You turned in his arms, but didn’t pull away, your bodies still pressed close.

Your fingers traveled up his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath his damp shirt. Slowly, they made their way up to his neck, then to his face. Your thumb traced a gentle path along his cheek, and for a brief moment, Warren closed his eyes as if savoring the sensation.

When he opened them again, the dimples were visible. His unruly curls fell over his face, even more endearing under the soft yellow kitchen light.

“I prefer you like this,” you whispered, running your fingers through his hair, feeling the soft texture. “Your hair is beautiful.”

He tilted his head slightly to the side, almost reflexively, as if your touch was pulling him in.

“I thought about cutting it,” he murmured, his voice quiet, hesitant. “I thought maybe I should look more like those neat, ‘normal’ guys... I don’t want people to look at us funny when we walk down the street together.”

You frowned.

“Don’t ever do that.”

Your tone came out firmer than you’d expected, and Warren’s gaze locked onto yours, searching your face. His expression softened, but his words were still filled with quiet resolve.

“Don’t change just to fit what others want, Warren. I like you just the way you are.”

He blinked, as if needing a second to process your words.

“You like me?”

The question came out in a disbelieving tone, almost startled.

You paused.

Only then did he realize the words that had slipped out, unfiltered, as if they were second nature to you. A warmth crept up his face, and his gaze faltered, as if he had just ruined the moment.

But Warren didn’t let it slip away.

His hands moved to your face, holding you with a gentle but firm grip, forcing you to look at him.

“I like you,” he said again, this time with more certainty. “I’m embarrassed to say things like this... I didn’t want you to open the note in front of me because I’m a shy idiot when it comes to stuff like this.”

He looked down, took a deep breath, and then met your eyes again.

Silence.

He was searching for the right words.

“It’s just that…” He swallowed hard. “You’re worth me losing my shyness. You’re worth changing.” His eyes studied every feature of your face. “Changing into a better man.”

There was something raw in his voice. A genuine longing.

“Clothes, shoes, hair... I want to be worthy of you. Because I know I never will be.”

“No, Warren.”

Your voice was almost a whisper, but it carried weight. You swallowed hard.

“You are worthy.”

He blinked, surprised.

“Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.” You took a deep breath. “I know you’ve messed up in life. Who hasn’t? But that doesn’t define you.”

You hesitated for just a second, gathering your courage.

“You are Warren Lipka.”

A pause.

His chest rose and fell in quick, shallow breaths.

You closed your eyes for a moment before reopening them and saying the words that had been stuck in your throat:

“My Warren Lipka.”

His lips parted into a smile. He was trembling slightly, but it was the kind of tremor that came from someone trying to hold back something much larger, something he wasn’t ready to let out.

He leaned in slowly, pressing his lips to your forehead. His eyes fluttered shut before he rested his forehead against yours, his breath warm against your skin.

“I like you.”

The confession came out as a whisper, thick with an emotion he hadn’t yet dared to name. He pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, his gaze intense.

The words I love you caught in his throat, but they were there, hanging in the air between you. You could feel it.

It was in the way his fingers trailed lightly down the back of your neck, as if testing the waters of something deeper. It was in the way his eyes burned with a desire to be closer, to bridge the gap between your souls.

“I like you too.” You hesitated, feeling the weight of your own feelings pressing down on you.

The silence cracked in the space between you, thick with unspoken words.

The moment felt too beautiful to be rushed by grand gestures, by too-big words.

“I really like you, Warren. A lot.”

He closed his eyes for a brief moment, as if savoring every syllable before pulling you into a tight embrace. His chest pressed against yours, his heartbeat a steady rhythm beneath the skin. His scent mixed with yours, a delicate blend that felt like home. And even without saying another word, you both knew.

You were his.

And he was yours.

For the whole night, if it came to that.

You stroked his hair gently before pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. “Want anything before we sleep?”

He mumbled something against your neck, his voice muffled. “Just you.”

“Then let’s get rid of these wet clothes before bed.” You smiled, tightening your arms around him.

Warren sighed, reluctantly pulling away from you.

“Alright.”

He ran his hand through his hair, the curls even more charmingly messy now.

“You can shower first, I’ll wait for you in the room.” He stepped back to let you pass, then paused, glancing over his shoulder. “By the way... where’s your room?”

You pointed down the hallway to the door at the end. “That way.”

Warren followed the line of your finger, nodding his head.

“Thanks. I was worried I might end up in Luke’s room by mistake.”

You chuckled, already walking toward the bathroom. As you closed the door behind you, the last thing you heard was Warren’s muffled laughter echoing through the house, filling the air with warmth.

Your body craved water in the middle of the night, pulling you from sleep. The familiar warmth enveloped you, and you realized Warren was holding you close. His arm was firm around your waist, as though he wanted to keep you there forever. His chest rose and fell in a calm rhythm against your back, his messy hair brushing against your skin.

You tried to slip away slowly, careful not to wake him. His arm was heavy, but with gentle movements, you managed to free yourself from his embrace.

You got out of bed and walked quietly to the kitchen, your bare feet meeting the coolness of the floor. You poured the water into a glass and drank in silence. Flashes of last night danced through your mind—too vivid to be just a dream.

Warren had been in your room. He was still there, sleeping deeply, and that was proof everything had really happened.

A small smile tugged at your lips as you stood there.

Then, you remembered the note.

The one he’d written with the bouquet.

The one he’d asked you to read only after he’d left.

But… he was asleep. It wouldn’t hurt to look.

You tiptoed over to the table, carefully grabbed the note, and unfolded it. Your eyes ran over the first line.

“Hi, I don’t know how to start this.”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly. You pressed your hand over your mouth to stifle the sound, but your eyes were already glued to the paper.

“I have a rulebook. It’s called The Great Guide for Jailbirds in Love. I wrote it in prison when I was thinking about getting out and how I wanted to build a family.

One of the rules is: haste is the enemy of perfection. That’s why it took me so long to tell you I love you from the first time I saw you.

But you know I’m all messed up and love breaking rules, right? You didn’t need that much time to see that.

Well… that’s it. I love you, princess. A lot.

P.S.: Sorry if I start a fight and then tell you I like you. I get really scared when it comes to love.

I love you forever.

—Warren Sillyka.

(Also, I love the nickname Luke gave me. Congrats on raising such a cool kid. You’re an amazing mom. I want to be his dad, if you’ll let me. But maybe that’s just an excuse to wake up by your side every day. Now I’m talking too much. xo.)”

Your heart tightened.

You read the note once, twice, over and over again.

The “I love you” was there, unafraid. No hesitation.

You felt a smile stretch across your face before you even realized it, and with the note pressed to your chest like it was the most precious treasure in the world, you returned to the bedroom.

Back to Warren.

Back to the arms that, even in sleep, seemed to know exactly where you belonged.

Rule #7: Forgiveness Is Not Forgetting

The week flowed with the softness and intensity of a fast-moving river, its days drifting by in a harmony that felt almost like a dream. What once seemed trivial and mundane became extraordinary. Warren and you found yourselves closer than either of you had expected, a bond deepening without words, but through subtle gestures and glances that spoke volumes. You would purposely brush against each other, exchanging discreet smiles, your hands almost imperceptibly grazing as he, with a natural ease that felt rehearsed, would wrap his arm around your waist, as if by instinct—catching you before you could fall, though perhaps trying to keep you from losing yourself in something far greater.

The most intimate moments began to intensify. During lunch breaks, conversations flowed easily, often veering down paths that felt deeper than any trivial subject. And when no one was watching, the kisses in the storage room tasted of secrets and freedom.

It was a Friday afternoon when everything seemed even more vibrant, almost unreal. Luke, with that pink bubblegum sticking to his lips, was animatedly chatting with Warren, who leaned casually against the counter. Standing tall, he looked like a protective wall, listening intently to every word from the boy, even if their conversation was lighthearted and playful.

"Caleb the Giant knocked over my headphones, and you know what happened?" Luke said, his little legs swinging restlessly in the high chair, more excited than anyone else in the room.

"Oh, it was nothing, just a master move, huh?" Warren grinned, his eyes sparkling as he raised his hand for a high-five. Their laughter echoed through the space, but suddenly, he seemed to remember his role as the "adult." He straightened up, more serious now, though still maintaining a gentle tone. "But don't fight, Luke. Fighting never solves anything, even if Caleb is a walking bore."

Luke pouted, crossing his arms with a scowl. "That's not fair, Warren. You were cooler. Now you're starting to sound like my mom."

"And your mom is right, you know?" Warren sighed, still trying to maintain his responsible demeanor, but it was clear he spoke from his own experience. "Fighting only creates more trouble. But if anyone challenges you, you have to stay polite. Just say, 'No, thank you.'"

Luke wrinkled his nose, clearly skeptical of how effective that suggestion would be. "That doesn’t work with Caleb," he muttered, throwing his arms up in frustration as if the solution were just out of reach.

"He does that because, deep down, he’s jealous, Luke." Warren spoke in a more serious tone now, but it also carried a surprising understanding. "Believe me, I know what I’m talking about. People like Caleb do things like that because they don’t have what you have. He may have all the cool toys, but... what about the rest?"

"But he's rich, Warren! He has everything he wants!" Luke countered, a skeptical look in his eyes as if that was the explanation that should settle everything.

"It’s not just about what he has, Luke." Warren smiled wearily, leaning against the counter, his arm stretched out, his calm expression hiding a subtle bitterness. "Try forgiving him. That’ll throw him off. It’ll mess with his ego, be the ultimate power move. And you’ll have more control than you think."

"Forgive him?" Luke looked puzzled, his head tilted adorably as he mulled over the suggestion. "If I tell him I forgive him, it’ll be worse. He'll laugh at me again and spread it around that I’m a coward."

"That kid’s the real coward, Luke," Warren grumbled, almost without realizing he was dropping the "responsible adult" mask he was trying to maintain. "But look, if he keeps it up, you can play your final card: tell him you’ve got a bodyguard who's ready to stop all the bullying in the world."

Luke’s eyes lit up, immediately excited as if he’d found a new lever to pull. "And who’s this bodyguard?"

Warren, with a mischievous grin and an easygoing look in his eyes, extended his hand to the boy, exuding the confidence of someone who knew exactly the power a simple gesture could hold. "Warren Lipka, at your service, secret agent to Luke."

"Awesome!" Luke couldn’t contain his joy, raising his arms in an impromptu celebration as if he had already conquered the world.

"Warren, are you busy today?"

You stepped out of the office, a stack of papers clutched in your hands, your phone pressed against your neck, while your disheveled hair fell messily over your face. Your expression was tense, betraying the chaos of the day. You couldn’t help but move hurriedly, your eyes glued to the phone as if it were the only thing keeping you afloat in the storm.

"No, what’s up?" Warren asked, his brow furrowing in immediate concern. He approached you with quick, purposeful steps, his gaze locked on your tense face. He knew that when you looked like this, something urgent was happening.

"I need you to watch Luke." You replied, your voice tight and direct. Snatching the phone from your hands, you typed quickly, your mind racing at full speed. "I’ve got a parent-teacher meeting today, and his doctor just called me. She needs me to come in urgently. I’ll stop by Elizabeth’s to grab his gift while I’m at it."

"So, you’re going to be out the rest of the day?" Warren asked, his eyes never leaving you for a second, like he was trying to gauge what else might be coming.

"Pretty much." You exhaled sharply, frustration escaping through your teeth. Your phone wouldn’t stop vibrating, adding to the pressure already mounting inside you. "Damn, I have to go now. You can close early if you need to. If it gets tough, and if he wants to go out, be careful with the people around. If he starts getting too stressed, give him his headphones, okay?"

"Got it." Warren nodded, trying to process the flood of information while you already began to move, ready to leave.

"Thanks, Warren. Bye." You said, giving him a quick peck on the lips—a brief, yet meaningful gesture—before you hurried toward the door.

"Hey." He called, his hands automatically running through his messy hair. He straightened up and looked at you with a soft smile, his demeanor calming. "Now, that’s better. Bye."

"Thanks. I owe you one." You shouted over your shoulder, already heading out the door, your footsteps echoing quickly down the corridor. On the way, you dropped your phone, muttering a curse under your breath as you bent down to pick it up.

At least Luke hadn’t heard the mutterings under your breath, and without wasting any more time, you jumped into the car and sped off toward your appointments.

“It’s… four-thirty…” Warren started, adjusting the watch on his wrist before casting an amused glance at Luke, who was practically bouncing out of his chair. A small smile tugged at the corners of his lips, his calm tone contrasting with the boy’s energetic excitement. "How about we finish our work quickly and then hit the mall?"

“Yay!” Luke shouted, his little eyes sparkling with excitement as he sprang out of his seat. He grabbed Warren’s hand, eager to rush down the hallway. "Let’s go! Let’s go! Let’s go!"

“Why the rush, little man?” Warren laughed softly, matching Luke's quick pace until they reached the middle of the aisle, between shelves of cookies and snacks. He placed his hands on his hips, relaxed yet alert, like he was in perfect sync with the boy. "Let’s get the work done properly first, before anything else."

“It’s because there’s a giant octopus at the mall!” Luke exclaimed, releasing Warren’s hand and already hopping around in impatient excitement, eyes glued to him, waiting for him to start opening boxes.

“An octopus, huh?” Warren raised an eyebrow, a mischievous smile creeping onto his face as he sliced open the box with a pocketknife, careful not to nick Luke’s small hands. He tucked the knife into his pocket efficiently and, with the other hand, began organizing products onto the higher shelves.

“It’s not a real octopus, Warren. I’m a kid, not stupid.” Luke teased, laughing as he grabbed a pack of chocolate cookies. He placed it within his reach, his eyes lighting up with the idea. "It’s like a ferris wheel for kids. And I love octopuses! My favorite is theGrimpoteuthis, or dumbo octopus if you find it hard to say. "

“What do you like so much about octopuses?” Warren asked, genuinely curious, continuing the tedious task. He leaned slightly forward to reach the top shelves, but his eyes never left Luke, interested in what he might say next.

“I really love octopuses.” Luke answered, his enthusiasm contagious, pausing to share his thoughts while still working. "Octopuses have 8 tentacles, and it’s almost the same distance I have from my mom. We have 7 years and 7 months between us."

“Wow…” Warren said, impressed but still keeping his playful tone. "But hey, let’s focus on the work, little guy. We can’t waste time on this right now, or the squid will be gone." He winked, teasing lightly, but with a smile on his face.

“It’s not a squid, it’s an octopus.” Luke rolled his eyes, chuckling as he returned to his task. He seemed to find a nice balance between being serious and playful. "Wanna hear more octopus facts?"

“Sure. Hit me with it.” Warren chuckled softly, his eyes bright with genuine interest in what Luke might say next. He admired the boy—his mini-me, but with his own spark. He wondered silently how you had managed to raise someone so wonderful, someone who, despite everything, remained so pure and curious.

“Okay, here it is. Did you know octopuses have three hearts?” Luke asked, his voice full of anticipation, his eyes locked on Warren’s face as he quickened his work pace, grabbing packages with the efficiency of someone used to the job.

“Three hearts? That’s a lot.” Warren mused, tapping his chin casually, though his eyes remained focused on the task at hand. He picked up the heavier packages with precision, his posture relaxed but attentive, and his curiosity piqued by the conversation.

“Yeah. And did you know they have blue blood?”

“No way, you’re lying.” Warren teased, laughing softly when he saw Luke’s mock angry expression. He could tell the boy was eager to show off his knowledge. "I’m kidding. Why is it blue?"

“They have hemocyanin. I don’t know what that means, but my mom said that cyan means blue.” Luke explained with a thoughtful expression, and Warren nodded along, showing he was listening carefully.

“Did you know they’re super smart?”

“Oh, I know. I saw this crazy video of them escaping from aquariums.” Warren perked up, his voice rising a little with excitement, but he quickly caught himself. He didn’t want to sound like he was just telling any random story. The truth was, he’d watched those videos trying to learn escape strategies—something he never thought he’d need in real life. "But I get what you're saying. Octopuses are smart."

"Yeah, some even solve puzzles!" Luke shared, rubbing his hands together and shaking off the dust that clung to his fingers. He beamed with pride, happy to be teaching Warren something new. "I’m done."

“Me too, just one little thing...” Warren squinted, adjusting the price on a package of cookies that had been mis-labeled. He seemed more focused on the task now, but his eyes were still on Luke, keeping watch. "There. All done. Let’s go."

After getting into the car, Warren began to feel something new, something different from anything he’d experienced before. He glanced in the rearview mirror, checking that Luke was safe in the back seat, and a sense of belonging and purpose filled him. He found himself in a role he’d never imagined taking: someone who truly cared for another person, simply and genuinely. As he drove, he guided Luke, asking him not to stick his head too far out the window, helping with the small things the boy couldn’t quite understand or process.

For a moment, Warren felt as though he was healing something inside himself, something that had been lost along the way. He saw Luke as a kind of mission, a purpose. Taking care of him was something Warren never expected, but now it felt like something he would always do, a silent bond that couldn’t be broken, no matter what was happening around them. He knew Luke wasn’t his biological son, but there was something more, something neither he nor you dared to admit. The truth was simple, yet complex: family wasn’t just made of blood.

“Stay there, I’ll open the door.” Warren gently indicated, walking around the car to open the door for Luke. “Can you unbuckle your seatbelt and get out by yourself?”

“I can.” Luke replied confidently, stretching his legs to jump out of the car, but before he made any move, he asked a curious question, his eyes fixed on Warren as he unbuckled his seatbelt. “Hey, why do you open the door for mom if she can get out by herself when she’s with me?”

“It’s chivalry, Luke. It’s a nice gesture that shows how much I care about her.” Warren answered with a sincere smile, carefully closing the car door to avoid hitting any of Luke’s limbs, even though the little boy was already far from the door. His posture was relaxed, but he was still focused on what he was doing.

“Hmm, so all the men who do that really like the women they’re with?”

“Most of them just don’t like seeing the car scratched or the door broken because they don’t trust the girls.” Warren replied with a playful tone, but also curious about Luke’s question. He took the boy’s hand as Luke extended it, beginning to walk side by side through the shopping mall.

“Do you think that about mom sometimes?” Luke looked up at him with curious eyes, as though the answer had a much deeper meaning than he realized.

“Only sometimes, when she’s wearing those huge heels or when she’s mad about something.” Warren responded with grace, trying to lighten the mood while holding Luke’s small hand. “Is she always that scary when she’s mad?”

“Very much. Uncle Daniel says she’s always been like that. One day he even wanted to call the police.” Luke revealed, squeezing Warren’s hand a little harder, as if sharing an important secret, a revelation. His tone grew more serious, as if he were sharing something he’d heard many times before.

Uncle Daniel? That echoed in Warren’s mind. He realized that Luke still didn’t know who his father was, and it caused a strange pang of discomfort inside him. But he forced himself to continue the conversation without letting that thought take over. What mattered at that moment was that Luke was right there beside him, and he wanted to make the most of it.

“Hey, why do you always wear headphones? Do you really like music that much?” Warren asked, trying to steer the conversation away from Luke’s father, as if the silence between them could ease the growing tension in his mind.

“My ears hurt if I listen to too much loud noise. My mom said I’ve been like this since I was little.” Luke revealed, and Warren felt his mind grow even more confused with this information. He was trying to make sense of it all but decided to leave the topic for now.

“You’re still little, Luke.”

“Boring.” Luke stuck out his tongue at him, but his smile quickly returned, and Warren couldn’t help but laugh with him. “You’re the strangest adult I’ve ever met, Warren.”

“And you’re the strangest kid I’ve ever met, Luke. We’re even.” Warren teased, beginning to swing their hands as they walked. He felt a connection with Luke, a strange sense that, despite everything he had gone through, maybe—just maybe—he could be a good example for this boy.

“Everyone says I should be normal and that I’m weird. I get sad about it. But it’s different with you.” Luke smiled, and those words made Warren’s heart tighten. He felt something so strong, as if he were seeing Luke’s true pain right there, but also his strength.

Luke was an incredible kid, too good for the world he’d been given. He didn’t deserve any of it, but Warren knew that, somehow, he could still be a part of Luke’s life, doing whatever he could to help him. He didn’t know the reason for Luke’s suffering, but something inside him told him that, if he could change anything, he would do everything possible to make sure Luke had a lighter future.

“You know, being normal is boring. Normal people are boring.” Warren began, cracking his neck slightly to ease the tension that was starting to build up. The conversation was taking a lighter tone, but he knew the impact his words could have. “One day, I told your mom I wanted to be normal, and she told me never to do that. She likes me the way I am. That’s really important.”

“She says that to me too, but she’s my mom.” Luke whined, swinging his hands together in a slightly exaggerated way, still with that tone of someone wanting to express all his frustration but not knowing how. It was as if the boy had some doubt about what it truly meant to be "normal" and how he fit into this world.

“But this time, I’m the one saying it.” Warren replied, now with a calm that almost sounded wise, as if the words were coming from a place of real experience and understanding. “Next time someone calls you weird, know that it’s a compliment.”

Luke seemed to absorb the information, and a shy smile appeared on his face, as if a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. “Okay.” The boy’s expression, which had been heavy, was now more comfortable, lighter. Slowly, he was starting to understand that being who he was was fine, and he didn’t need to fit into molds imposed by others.

As they walked through the mall, Warren kept his thoughts focused and serious. He knew that, no matter how simple they seemed, people’s internal battles, even the smallest ones like Luke’s, were real. They were so different, yet so similar. Each had their own fears and sadness, and sometimes the pain seemed to come from such unexpected places. Luke was still so young, yet already felt loneliness, which made Warren’s heart tighten. He knew he couldn’t let that continue. He didn’t want Luke to feel how he sometimes did—lost and alone.

“Is that the octopus over there?” Warren asked, pointing to the children’s ride with a giant purple, colorful octopus, where a few kids were having fun, looping around and shouting with joy. He tried to steer the conversation toward something lighter, something they could both enjoy together.

“Yeah. I have the little card from when I came with my mom.” Luke said, all excited, grabbing his little backpack and opening it quickly to pull out his Aquamen card, which made Warren smile. The boy had a habit of holding on to memories, and it made Warren feel a pang of tenderness. “Here it is!” He showed the card with a victorious expression.

“Good taste, kid.” Warren teased, admiring the boy’s dedication to keeping that card with so much care. He walked over to the reception, validated the card, and added credits, always keeping Luke’s hand between his, as if not wanting the boy to get lost in the sea of people. It was their first outing, and in a way, Warren felt like a real father, trying to protect and make everything perfect for Luke. The attendant handed the card back, and Warren smiled as he returned it to the boy. “All set, let’s go.”

“Aaaayyy!!” Luke exclaimed, his hands clapping joyfully as he ran toward the line, jumping and skipping with contagious energy. “Come on, Warren!” He looked back over his shoulder, with that big, radiant smile, waiting for Warren to follow him.

“I’m coming.” Warren laughed, running to catch up with the boy. He already knew how important it was for Luke to have someone there, someone to trust. As he reached the ride, he placed a careful hand on the boy’s shoulders. “Alright, I’m here. You’re up next. Have fun. I’ll be right here, okay?”

“Okay.” Luke nodded, eagerly climbing into the seat of the ride. He looked a little nervous, but at the same time, his smile showed he was ready to face whatever came next. The attendant adjusted the safety belt, and Luke stayed there, firm, eager for the fun that was about to begin.

As the ride started to ascend, Warren watched Luke’s face carefully. He saw the boy’s smile expand, as if the whole world was too small to contain the happiness he was feeling at that moment. It was a genuine smile, the kind that only appears when someone is truly enjoying themselves. Luke’s expression was pure wonder, and Warren felt a deep sense of satisfaction, as if his mission was being fulfilled.

He stayed there, waiting, watching, feeling time pass in a more peaceful way. The octopus made a full rotation, and Luke waved from the top, his hands flailing, while his face lit up with contagious joy. Warren smiled back, a silent laugh escaping his lips, and moved a bit away, looking for a nearby bench to sit and wait. He bought a bag of popcorn, trying to distract himself a bit as time passed.

But inside, he was calm. The feeling of being there, part of this moment in Luke's life, was more than he had expected. It was as if, somehow, he had found a piece of himself in that boy. Something he hadn’t realized was missing.

Warren walked over to a distant bench, where exhausted parents occupied the seats, their faces revealing the weight of a long day, toys in hand, and tired gazes that said more than words ever could. But while he tried to distract himself by observing the scene around him, something caught his attention. Daniel was there. He appeared at the amusement station, his face weary, eyes slightly misty from exhaustion, still sporting a faint bruise that seemed to silently tell a story. Their eyes met. Warren felt a pang of guilt. That man still represented a part of an unresolved past, but he didn’t want to deal with that now. He waved briefly, averting his eyes from Daniel and focusing again on Luke, as if the problem wasn’t standing right in front of him. But, contrary to his plans, Daniel approached, walking with a downcast look, like a defeated lamb, carrying an invisible pain.

“Can I sit here?” Daniel's voice was low, almost as if he feared the answer, as if even the simple act of asking for permission was a burden for him.

“It’s a free country.” Warren replied, with a neutral tone, polite but carrying the coldness of someone wanting to maintain distance. He shifted slightly to the side, making no real effort to hide his internal irritation.

Daniel sat beside Warren in silence, his hands crossed almost defensively. His posture was slumped, eyes heavy with deep dark circles, as if he carried not just physical tiredness but an emotional weight that he couldn’t let go. He sniffed once, the sound almost lost in the tension between them.

“Did you come here to get hit again?” Warren asked bluntly, grabbing a handful of popcorn and tossing it into his mouth. The question was direct, cutting, as if he wanted to wound that man a little more with his indifference.

“No… Actually, I was passing by and remembered this place.” Daniel said, looking around, his eyes lost in something distant, as if the memories of those times suddenly overtook him. “I came here with her when Luke was a baby.”

Warren didn’t answer. He only nodded, a small gesture, no words. He didn’t have much to say, nothing that would really matter in that moment.

“Honey broke up with me.” Daniel sighed heavily, as if the weight had been lifted from his shoulders, an unasked-for confession. “The same day, in front of everyone.”

Warren responded automatically, with visible boredom in his voice. “Sorry to hear that.” He wasn’t interested in sympathizing with Daniel anymore. The sad version of the blond man was starting to irritate him.

“I paid so much for that party. I did everything she asked. She drained every penny I had saved in my savings account.” Daniel continued, completely ignoring Warren’s grimace, unloading another piece of his pain. “She never had to ask me for anything, even when I insisted.”

“She?” Warren repeated, his tone dripping with sarcasm. He knew exactly who he was talking about, no need to mention her name. He had heard it all before, and the frustration was beginning to build inside him.

“I was so jealous when I saw you two together for the first time.” Daniel confessed, his body sinking into the bench as if gravity itself was pulling him down, too weak to fight the weight of his own words. “We hadn’t spoken in years. I found out she never dated anyone after we broke up. Then, when I saw you together, with Luke smiling like he never did with me, my brain short-circuited.”

“Am I supposed to feel sorry for you?” Warren scoffed, rolling his eyes with an impatient tone. “Your big idea was to throw a wedding invitation at her?” He couldn’t hold it back anymore. The irritation was visible, and the words came with a subtle venom. He didn’t want to know about Daniel’s feelings, or his old frustrations. He wanted to focus on the present, and Daniel didn’t belong in that picture.

“I went crazy, don’t blame me.” Daniel said, his expression twisting with discomfort, fingers messing with his once-blond hair, which now looked dull and lifeless. “Deep down, I always knew I liked her, and I was looking for someone shallow to replace her. Someone who didn’t know anything about me, and I could pretend to be someone else to escape the past.”

“Then why did you leave her?” Warren cut through Daniel’s words sharply, almost like a knife. His voice was threatening, and Daniel instinctively clicked his tongue, letting out a frustrated huff. He knew that question didn’t have an easy answer, but Warren wanted to hear it from Daniel. Why all this mess?

“I never abandoned her.” Daniel grumbled, running his hand over his head, as if trying to push away the painful memories that still haunted him. “I just didn’t know how to take care of Luke. That’s all. I didn’t… know how to deal with him. It was getting on my nerves. Consuming me. I couldn’t concentrate on college and my parents are rigid about it. Every time I had to take him to the doctor or something.”

Warren felt anger bubbling up inside him. “And what’s so bad about that kid that you’d do something like that?” The question came out almost as a shout, his patience already at its limit. He closed the popcorn bag tightly, his fist clenched, trying to control the fury that was about to explode.

“He’s not normal. You must know that. You don’t need to be an expert to see it.” Daniel pointed at Luke, who was still playing away, before turning back to Warren, as if trying to justify himself. “When he was born, he cried all the fucking time. After a while, he started to be quiet like a mouse. He wouldn’t express anything, wouldn’t talk. We took him to the doctor and they said they didn’t know what was wrong.”

Warren's stiffness eased a bit. He leaned back in his seat, listening to the story, trying to keep control and process what Daniel was saying.

“I always liked parties and all. Whenever there was one at home, Luke wouldn't stop crying for a second.” Daniel continued, rubbing his tired eyes, a shadow of regret beginning to appear in his voice. “He didn't like being picked up, he bit people, kicked them. He was violent. He was a... freak.”

Warren bit back the curse that was about to come out, his fists clenched, his body tense as he tried to listen without losing his train of thought. “Freak.” The word felt like a punch to the stomach. He wanted to scream, but he forced himself to stay silent.

“I left them alone when he was about 9 months old. I couldn't stand living with it anymore. I thought: it was an accident, so why should i care?” Daniel's voice broke, and his lips trembled, as if confessing was torture. “Today I regret that.”

“Good for you, you should suffer more.” Warren spat, his voice cold as ice, uncrumpling the popcorn bag and grabbing another handful, his stomach churning. He didn’t want to feel sorry for Daniel, not after everything he’d done.

“So I heard from a phone call when he was three and a half.” Daniel trailed off, sobbing, his breathing heavy as he ran a hand over his chest. “Claire. My sister… Told me Luke was autistic.”

At that moment, Daniel broke down. He began to cry, his hands on his head, his shoulders shaking with each sob. Warren’s eyes widened, a little disconcerted. He looked around, desperately searching for something to distract himself, but here they were, in the center of everything, in a public scene he didn’t know how to handle.

At first, he hesitated, but something forced him to reach out. He placed his hand on Daniel’s back, a clumsy attempt to calm the man, trying to at least appear decent in the face of his pain.

“She… raised money and went to these expensive doctors by herself and found out about this.” Daniel continued, his words coming out in a disjointed way as he wiped his face with his shirt. “She didn’t tell me about this. She found out from my sister. I tried to help, but she wouldn’t. She said I was fucking dead to her. I’ve never seen them since that day. Luke doesn’t even know who I am.”

Warren felt a tightness in his chest, but his anger didn’t go away. He couldn’t let this go.

“Man, you were the biggest jerk ever.” The words came out harsh, but necessary. He caught Daniel’s attention with a simple but cutting sentence.

“What?”

“You were an idiot. The worst.” Warren continued, shaking his head in disapproval. “I know she forgave you, I do too. I can’t even imagine what the first few years must have been like…”

“Then why does she treat me like this if she forgives me?” Daniel interrupted, his voice desperate, his pain showing, but also his confusion and wounded pride.

“Forgiving isn’t the same as forgetting,” Warren said, his voice firm, almost emotionless, as he removed his hands from Daniel’s back, wiping them on his pants. “And she’ll never forget this, Daniel. It’s her son.”

“I know.” Daniel sniffed, running a hand over his face, and a hint of remorse showed in his eyes, but it seemed too late. “I know…”

“Uncle Dan?” Luke asked curiously, his voice soft. Warren didn’t even realize when the boy had gotten off the ride. He was so immersed in his own thoughts that everything around him seemed distant.

“Hey, baby octopus.” Daniel answered in a forced voice, trying to sound cheerful, but the smile he tried to show didn’t convince anyone.

“Are you okay?” Luke frowned, approaching him, his big, sincere eyes full of concern.

“Yes, I am, Luke. Thanks for asking.” Daniel smiled back, but the expression was an effort, his body tired and his mind restless. He forced himself to get up from the bench, trying to hide the weight of the situation. “It’s time for me to go.”

“You’re leaving?” Luke tilted his head to the side, visibly disconcerted. He looked at Daniel, who just nodded silently, as if that were explanation enough.

“I have to take care of some things.” Daniel lied, forcing his throat not to tighten. He didn't want the boy to see the pain in his eyes. Not now.

“Take care, okay?” Warren was sincere. Even though he hated him, he was still as complicated a person as he was.

“Thanks. Bye, Luke.” Daniel finally said, waving quickly before turning his back and walking towards the exit, his posture hunched, as if he carried more than just regret. His footsteps echoed as he walked away, disappearing into the crowds of the park.

Luke looked at the place where Daniel had gone, confused, as if he was trying to understand what had happened, but couldn't. He then turned to Warren.

“What happened to Uncle Dan?” Luke asked, his voice soft and full of uncertainty.

“Adults complicating simple things.” Warren replied, trying to make the moment seem light. He shook the empty popcorn bag, trying to mask the feeling of emptiness that still accompanied him. “Want some?” He offered the bag to Luke, but he knew the little boy wasn't interested.

“I want a burger.” Luke replied with a mischievous and defiant smile, taking Warren's hand again, as if it were something natural, as if they were together in any situation, without the complications of adult life.

“You'll owe me that trip when you're an adult. I'm getting my pockets empty.” Warren smiled, feeling a little lightness return to his heart. He threw the bag of popcorn in the trash with a determined gesture. “But I also want to eat something with more substance. Will you have some soda?”

“My mom won't let me.” Luke pouted as he started walking, his hand still firmly in Warren's. “She says I'll grow up with bad bones, she only gives me juice. She makes beetroot, orange and carrot juice for breakfast.”

“Typical of your mother. I hate beets.” Warren rolled his eyes, letting out a light, more relaxed laugh. He always found it funny how some mothers could be so strict about certain foods.

“I hate it too. It's so disgusting.” Luke whispered, almost as if he was confessing a deep secret, something that no one should ever know.

Their laughter was spontaneous, a moment of complicity that made the day a little brighter. Despite all the heavy revelations that were still engraved in his heart, Warren knew that what mattered at that moment was to make Luke smile. He wanted, for a brief moment, to banish the ghosts of the past and give the boy something simple: happiness.

“I bet you’ve never had Pepsi with lime.” Warren said, raising an eyebrow, trying to spice up the conversation with something fun. He started walking towards the fast food joint, determined to do what every father would do: spoil good habits with a pinch of fun, lots of sugar and fries to go with it. It was a small diversion, but he knew that these small gestures could mean the world to Luke.

#warren lipka x y/n #warren lipka x you #warren lipka #warren lipka x reader #x reader #imagine #reader insert #fanfic #evan peters #evan peters fandom #evan peters x reader #evan peters x you #evan peters x y/n #american animals

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rwshfordgirl · 2 days ago

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Can I request a fic where reader and Hector are uni roommates and she has a crush on him but she thinks he’s dating someone else cuz he keeps talking about a girl but turns out it’s his baby cousin and it’s angsty af but then fluffy af?

Thank u in advance and I really like your writing please keep feeding us mother 🛐

BABY COUSIN

all images were taken from pinterest.

a/n: I feel like I could have developed it more but I rewrote this fic twice lol but I have high expectations for the second part of it ;) thank you very much for the request and I'm happy to know that you like my work.

hope you like it!

Hector had just woken up from a nap when I saw him stopping in front of me at the kitchen counter. "Did you get much sleep?" He nodded and I smiled. "Hey, do you mind going to the grocery store for me today?" I glared at him before taking a sip of my juice "I don't mind, but did something happen?" He denied as he rubbed his eyes "I'm going to take my mother to see Lucia."

Lucia, a name I started hearing frequently four months ago. I remember well that when I moved into this apartment, on my first night he came home late and said he had just met her.

He visits her often, talks about her almost all the time, but I've never seen her. He's never shown me pictures of her and never brought her here.

It's strange because I feel jealous of him going out to someone I don't even know and it makes me a little upset knowing that Hector doesn't feel for me what I feel for him, but I can't force him to do or feel anything.

I already knew Fort before I came to live with him in the college accommodations, we were in the same year but in different classes at school and I couldn't take my eyes off him. I'll never forget a mutual friend's birthday party we went to and while playing spin the bottle, I ended up giving him my first kiss.

But we were never close, not even after the kiss. And time passed, we changed schools and I only remembered the kiss we had shared. I didn't imagine that I would have a falling out with my old roommate and be forced to change accommodation at the beginning of the third semester. I also didn't imagine that boys and girls could live in the same apartment, much less that Hector goes to college here. And he seemed so happy to have me as a roommate.

And I found myself again at twelve years old, in love with Hector. He managed to improve what was already good, every day more beautiful, every day more thoughtful, more funny and more special. Lucia is lucky.

"Oh, is she okay?" I asked politely, trying to hide something strange I felt and didn't know what it was.

"Yes, but my mother really wants to see her and so do I, to be honest." He smiled at me. "Have a nice trip then." I said as I walked towards the kitchen exit "See you later."

I left the apartment with only one thought in mind. "I have to forget about Hector." even though it's impossible since I share an apartment with him. But I went to the market praying that someone as perfect as him would appear in my path.

But it was the return home that left me completely in shock, in the notification bar of my cell phone it appeared that there was a message from Hector, a photo. I opened it, maybe I was going to see Lucia for the first time.

I stopped in front of the building, bags on the floor and my mouth open. Lucia is a baby, Lucia is a beautiful baby. My God. Lucia is a baby. I laughed nervously while mentally cursing myself for being jealous of a baby.

I went home, left the groceries in the kitchen and laid down on the couch, still in disbelief that Lucia was a baby. I felt relieved even though I knew that I would probably not confess my feelings to Fort now. But I kept wondering if at some point she had already mentioned that she was a baby and I hadn't paid attention.

I laughed at myself while opening again the photo he had sent, in the caption "Lucia.❤️" and in the photo he was holding her on his lap while smiling at her. I think I would melt if I saw this in person.

The sound of the front door opening made me jump off the couch and put my phone aside. Hector approached me smiling. "Did you see the picture of me and Lucia?" he asked. "Yes, you two are very cute! But you didn't mention that she was a baby." I told him "My baby cousin." he replied "Your baby cousin?" Lucia continues to surprise me "Yes! She's four months old." I smiled "Hector, every time you talked about her I imagined a girl of our age." He laughed "But Lucia is such a cute baby, I want to meet her in person one day."

#football imagine #football x reader #football one shot #footballer imagine #football blurb #ol imagines #hector fort blurb #hector fort x y/n #hector fort fluff #hector fort imagine #hector fort x reader

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familiarscars · 2 days ago

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Lost In Control | Bad Omens | CHAPTER 33

adult content | minors do NOT interact.

⋆ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆. Bad Omens X ex-girlfriend and singer!Reader.

⋆ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. You and Noah had a difficult ending but you still need to support each other for the band.

⋆ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆(𝐒). melancholy, ex-boyfriends, difficult relationships, alcohol abuse, swearing, drug addiction, violence.

I really need your reblog! On Tumblr, the content reaches more views and is delivered more through reblog and I really wanted more people to be able to read what I write. I'm counting on you from now on, ok?

Coming home after a day like that became your only goal. You longed for a warm shower, soft sheets, and, for the first time in a long time, a deep sleep. During the rest, your thoughts would rearrange themselves, and the next steps would unfold with more clarity. Little by little, everything began to fall into place, each piece revealing a fragment of what once seemed unreachable.

You no longer felt trapped, like someone with their hands tied, defenseless in the face of the unknown. Because now, finally, you knew your past.

Although still cloudy in some places, it was no longer a complete mystery.

When you crossed the door, the silence hit you like a punch to your empty stomach. You turned on the living room lights, but the space remained sterile, devoid of any sign of life. Even the kitchen counter was spotless, with no traces of breakfast dishes or any hint that anyone had been there.

Your fingers slid across the cold surface of the countertop, and a growing discomfort settled in your chest. The more you examined the perfection of that empty space, the less at ease you felt, from the kitchen to the slow, deliberate steps you took on the stairs.

With a lump in your throat, you walked toward the bedroom, each step echoing in the silence of the house. The doorknob was cold in your hand when you turned it, hesitating for a moment before pushing the door open.

The shock hit you like a dry punch. The room seemed... smaller. Or maybe it was just the absence of him that made it feel so vast and strange. The drawers were open, empty. The closet, once filled with clothes, now displayed only hangers with a few pieces, gently swaying with the draft escaping through the window crack. The desk, where he used to leave scattered notes and forgotten items, was impeccably empty.

Your chest sank. You blinked quickly, as if the simple act of closing your eyes and opening them could change that reality. But nothing changed. He was gone.

For real.

He had simply left, taking with him everything that could have been proof of his existence there. The pain came slowly, first as a tightness in your stomach, then spreading in cold waves throughout your whole body. Your fingers trembled as you touched the bed, feeling the fabric still stretched, untouched.

The truth hit you.

He was gone.

"So this is how you felt..." you said quietly as you sat at the edge of the bed.

Your body weighed like gravity had doubled its force on you. Every inch of that house felt different now, as if everything was a little out of place, a little wrong. The silence became deafening, filling every corner with a breath that pressed against your lungs, making it hard to breathe.

The pain was raw. Ripping.

You experienced in your own skin the same feeling he must have felt the day he was torn away from you without any choice. No matter how much of a mess things were between you, it never crossed your mind to simply leave, to leave behind the home you built together. As if the burning fury inside you for everything that led to that unfair situation wasn't suffocating enough, the deep pain that rooted in your chest and refused to leave only served to fuel it to grow even more.

Time seemed to stop.

And all that was left was his absence.

And through the wavering, tear-blurred gaze, you noticed something among the clothes still remaining in the closet—a small, discreet object that stood out among the fabrics. Your heart raced as your trembling fingers pulled the clothes aside, revealing the outline of a box. Something inside you hesitated.

You pulled the box out of its hiding place, where Noah, perhaps, had left it forgotten. Placing it on the bed, your eyes traced every corner of it, hesitating, while something uncomfortable crawled under your skin, like an intuition you couldn't ignore. Inside, there were papers, aged by time, and as soon as your eyes landed on the neat handwriting on a few of the pages, you recognized it immediately.

They were letters.

Nine of them.

Nine years.

"Just a few days ago, my therapist suggested that finding an alternative way to express my feelings could ease the weight I carry, without having to face one of my biggest fears: saying them to someone.

One of the biggest, because, to be honest, I’m afraid of many things. I’m afraid of making the wrong decisions, of never being good enough, of not becoming someone I can really be proud of. I’m afraid of dedicating my life to the band, putting everything into it, and still failing at not putting it where it deserves—failing not just myself, but my friends. Deep down, I think what scares me the most is the possibility of not being good enough."

"I never thought it was necessary to live beyond my own bubble. I always had a single goal, and within my obsession for perfection and control, nothing could deviate even slightly from what I had planned. I never saw the need for anything beyond that. I never had other dreams. I never saw anything beyond the band and the hard work to make it grow.

Until I met her.

I’ve never known anyone like her. Maybe because I never really knew what life outside was like. But she seems to have an absolute certainty about the world, as if she already knows every detail before even living it. She walks with unwavering confidence, makes decisions without hesitation. She has talent without effort, without preparation. And more than anything, she possesses something I’ve always wanted to know: the absence of fear—of living, of diving in headfirst.

With her, everything feels simple. She has this fury to explore, to experience, to feel the world pulsing. To get sick and heal, to get hurt and stand up again. Everything I believed about needing a controlled life crumbles in front of her.

She makes me want to be, at least a little, as brave as she is.

She’s made me her biggest fan."

"I have never felt this happy.

Things are working out in an almost alarming way for someone anxious. I don’t feel like talking to anyone but her. I have no other topic of conversation that doesn’t revolve around her. My eyes can’t capture anything around me except for the furious, blade-like gaze of this woman.

We’re growing more every day, carving out our place. Everything I ever dreamed of is finally becoming real. I feel good. My band is happening. And I fall asleep and wake up every day next to my greatest idol.

I never imagined letting go of the reins would work. But she was right. I can be free too.

Now, the only fear I have left is just one: forgetting all of this one day."

Wiping under your eyes with the sleeve of your sweater, you folded the paper in half and set it aside on the mattress before picking up the next one.

"Four years together and we barely had a place to call our own. She gave me a beautiful ring, with a black stone on top, and I… well, I gave her a lightning bolt keychain. It was all I could offer, since everything we made went straight to the band. But things were going well—a solid second album, sold-out shows, our name appearing at bigger festivals—and that persistent feeling that our luck was about to turn.

Knowing her like the back of my hand makes me realize that something’s off. She’s been too quiet, too distant, sometimes acting in ways I can’t decipher. But I’m so immersed in the band that all I can do is hope she’s okay.

This will pass."

"She always dreamed of a bigger house.

We finally have a bigger house!!!!!!

Our house.

I thought our achievements would make our problems insignificant in comparison, but instead, they only grew. They say you never truly know the person you share a roof with, no matter how much time passes. But I don’t believe that, even though the woman of my life is self-destructing before my eyes.

I know her well enough to believe that tomorrow, this problem won’t exist anymore.

I can still save her.

Can’t I?"

"Maybe it’s just exhaustion making me overthink, and I shouldn’t give it so much importance.

But I can’t shake the feeling that I don’t know her as well as I thought. It feels like we’re hiding things from each other. She seems to prefer anyone’s company over mine, as if even the sound of my voice is an irritation.

We drowned ourselves in work, and it drove us apart. We barely talk anymore. She’s lost all interest in the band, always high, always altered. She says I’m suffocating her, but I don’t understand.

It’s been three days since she last came home. I should be writing music, but my mind refuses to function. The stress has been consuming me to the point of physical pain.

I never thought this thought would cross my mind, but now it’s here, relentless.

I think we’re ceasing to exist."

Your chest tightened, crushed by an invisible force with every word in that timeline written by Noah. You had never known what it was like to be on the other side. Overloaded routines served as a shield, pushing you both away from the real problem.

He stopped seeing you as the days passed, but only because, before that, you chose not to be seen.

"I achieved everything I ever wanted—almost everything. I spent years working to bring the band to this point. I dreamed of our name being praised by fans from all over, of world tours, money, critical recognition, seeing our brand everywhere. I wanted this more than anything.

And now I have it.

But I’ve never been so miserable since she left."

"I no longer feel like singing.

With each passing day, I feel more exhausted. The stage, which was once my refuge, now only makes me uncomfortable. Anxiety attacks have become frequent, my nights of sleep shorter and shorter, and my mind seems incapable of forming even two sentences. I’m drifting away from the very thing I worked so hard for.

My band.

I’ve distanced myself from my friends; I spend more time alone than I ever have. The reflection in the mirror is someone I no longer recognize. Maybe I’m sick because that’s how I feel—a body that only breathes and fulfills its obligations, without any pleasure in anything at all.

She definitely stopped loving me."

"We canceled a tour because I collapsed on stage. For the first time, I wondered if maybe I didn’t want to do this anymore.

I wish I could tell her that. Maybe she would understand. We always talked about everything... She felt this more than anyone when I forced her to keep working on my dream.

God, I miss her so much. I deeply wished she would feel the same pain I did, that she would be consumed by the same sense of betrayal, that she would experience the suffering of wanting every new day to be the last—just like I have since the moment she betrayed me. I wanted her chest to burn like mine, but every time I try to hurt her, it backfires, like an arrow missing its target and hitting me instead.

I’ve been hating myself more each day because I despise having to act this way.

I’m not like this."

Tears streamed hot down your face, mixing with the suffocating knot in your throat. You had never imagined the pain of separation had been so deep until you saw his words, until you felt, through them, just how broken you both were before you even had the chance to fix anything.

It was unfair.

Before you could even try—back when it was still possible—something bigger destroyed you both. It sickened you. It turned two beating hearts into mere breathing bodies, trapped in a cycle of absence and pain.

And now, all that remained was the crushing weight of what could have been.

With trembling hands, you began placing the letters back into the box, but before you could close it, something caught your attention.

There was another piece of paper.

Smaller than the others, almost unnoticed among the letters. Your heart faltered as you picked it up, feeling the weight of something different.

It was the last thing he had written:

"I feel like I forgot something important."

⭑ @bloody-spades ; @iluvmewwwww75 ; @anarchydomainglory ; @foliosgirl ; @lacy1986 ; @chey-h ; @supersquirrel1996 ; @zozaline ; @just-randomm-stuff ; @do-it-jakey-baby

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mendessi · 9 hours ago

Text

things i say when you sleep | chapter eleven

multi chapter bodhi durran x fem!oc

word count: 7k

chapter summary: The Battle of Resson.

content warning: canon typical violence & injuries, liam ):, mentions of death

AO3 masterlist

nine | ten | eleven | twelve | thirteen

Magic beyond the wards feels different.

It's more freeing, but the lack of control concerns me slightly.

The terms we left Basgiath on feel strange, even though we went on orders. The account of War Games doesn't change the fact that Xaden pulling us caused more tension with Dain.

This was the first long flight Gleigeal and I had done, and my back aches when I dismount. We're stopped at a lake not too far from Athebyne so the dragons can drink. The view isn't too bad, and I take a moment to admire it. The quadrant grew quite boring after staring at the same walls for too long, so the change in scenery was nice.

"You okay?" Liam asks from my side as he dismounts Deigh.

"Call if you need me." I say to Gleigeal as he steps towards the lake. He chuffs in response, and I turn to Liam.

"Just sore," I vocalize my sigh as I stretch my back and shoulders. My back isn't the only sore thing, but I'd rather not mention that I can still feel Bodhi between my legs. "You?"

"I'm good," He nods his head, "Happy that you're here."

Things are so different now than they were a year ago. Everyone was trying to force my hand into following Xaden blindly, but Liam was the only one who gave me a choice. He was the only one who approached me in a way that worked. I have him to thank when it comes down to it.

I give him a small smile, and we watch as Andarna unclips from the harness attached to Tairn's. Xaden is a fucking genius.

"I'm gonna go check on her," Liam says as he approaches her once she lands on the ground.

The energy feels slightly weird, but I try to keep my shields down just a crack. I want to feel what's going on around me, and I don't want surprises. Especially not during War Games.

I lean against a tree and watch the rest of the headquarters squad situate. Xaden approaches Violet and laces his fingers with hers, and I can't help the subtle smile that finds its way to my face.

Xaden hand-picked this squad for a reason, and nobody here would judge the way he feels for Violet. At least not out loud.

"Who would've thought? Xaden and Violet," Bodhi says, appearing at my side. I didn't even hear him approach; I'd been so lost in thought.

"Who would have thought?" I verbally agree. I did think. I thought many months ago, actually.

"How are you?" He asks, leaning against the other side of the tree.

"I'm good. Nervous, but good."

The common knowledge that when we return to Basgiath, there's a chance that other cadets won't doesn't sit right with me. I trust that the squad I've been placed in for this exercise will return home just fine, but I can't say the same for the others. Anything could happen, and as much as I'm not worried for those I'm currently with, the idea of anything happening to Rhi, Sawyer, or Ridoc frightens me. Especially Ridoc. Who would I share a bed with when I'm upset?

"Everything is gonna be fine. Xaden is gonna have us leave for patrol at some point tomorrow, and you can see how the drops work," He says.

"You don't think Violet will question why I get to go and she has to stay?" I ask.

"Liam will stay with her to keep her distracted, and you can explain to him when you two have time alone," he tells me. "You should rest. Sit with me for a minute."

He sits down with his back to the tree and his feet apart. He pats the grass between his legs, and I shake my head with a laugh as I sit. I lean my back against his chest, and he wraps his arms around my shoulders. The position is quite comfortable, and I sigh in content as I watch the dragons drink from the lake.

"You look good in flight leathers," He says, his thumb stroking my arm lightly.

"Shut up," I hit his thigh playfully and tilt my head to look at him.

"I'm happy you're here, Ani," He says. "I would've been worried if I couldn't have my eyes on you for five days."

"I can handle myself," I say as he raises his hand to brush my cheek.

"Hey," He says gently, "I know you can."

I want to kiss him, but the inner monologue I had with myself during the long hours of flying stops me. I know I let him kiss me before we launched to leave Basgiath, but I don't want any more intimacy with him til we draw the lines around whatever this relationship is. I shouldn't even be allowing myself to sit like this with him.

"I would've just missed you," I tell him.

"We'll have some time when we get back before Conscription Day to do just about whatever we want," He says.

"I want to talk first," I reply, and he nods.

"I know." His thumb brushes my bottom lip. "Me too."

Our time is limited under this tree, and the conversation we need to have is going to have to wait. Maybe tonight, after we establish headquarters and retrieve our next missive, we'll have time.

"We have company," Gleigeal says, and Bodhi must receive the same news from Cuir because we're both to our feet within a heartbeat.

"Fuck. Violet doesn't know." Bodhi takes off running, and I follow behind him. I have practically sprint to keep up with his large strides.

"Gryphons?" I ask, pushing to keep up.

"Yes, but I'm told they're allies." He replies. A breath of relief fills my lungs.

When we approach, I feel the power radiating off of Violet, and I do my best to dim it.

Gryphons stand in front of them, and my lips part at the sight. I'd only ever seen them in drawings, but I'm amazed at how magnificent they are in person.

Violet is thrashing in Liam's arms, and Tairn's piercing roar makes my ears ring. Liam releases her, and I join her at her side. I can feel her betrayal seeping into my chest, and I consider raising my shields fully shut. It's a bitter feeling, and I don't like the way it hurts. I feel for her; I do. I know exactly how it feels to be kept in the dark.

She looks to me, scanning me for any sort of surprise or the same sentiment of betrayal, and she shakes her head when she realizes I don't.

"You knew?" She asks me, her voice slightly wavering.

"To an extent, yes. But there is so much you don't understand." I reply. I recall the time that Bodhi had said the same words to me when I arrived in the quadrant.

"You almost had me fooled," She scoffs and turns her attention back to the conversation happening between Xaden and the fliers. Her words sting, but I know that I would feel the same way. I don't hold her at fault for it.

"Venin never come this far west," Is the next line of the conversation I catch.

All I'd been told was that we'd supply venin-killing weapons as a form of aid. I had put two and two together that it was to fliers, but seeing it happen in action was insanely surreal. My entire life, I'd been kept on the outside, and finally, not being the only person in the room who was clueless felt freeing.

"Until now. They were unmistakably venin and had one of their-" One of the female fliers start. Xaden is quick to cut her off.

"Don't say anything else. You know that none of us can know the details, or we put everything at risk. All it takes is one of us being interrogated." I focus on Xaden's feelings and am shocked when I sense a bit of fear. He turns back to look at me for only a moment, and I know I've been caught trying to read him.

"Details or not, it looks like the horde is heading north. Straight toward our trading post on the border across from your garrison at Athebyne. Are you armed?" The male flier asks.

I reach for Bodhi's hand just to have something to hold. This was never something I anticipated when I agreed to help with the drops next year.

"We're armed," Xaden confirms.

"Then our job here is done. You've been warned. Now we have to go defend our people. As it is, this side trip only gives us about an hour to reach them in time." The flier says. I look at the entire drift of fliers, trying to remember faces. Something tells me that this isn't the last time I'll be seeing them.

My heart sinks. Ever since Bodhi told me that venin were real, it never really struck me as true. Of course, I believed him, but it was just so insanely baffling that the stories we'd been told as children were accurate accounts of history. Standing here in front of a drift of fliers, people that are supposed to be our enemy, who are about to head into battle against them, is hindering.

Bodhi laces our fingers together and squeezes my hand comfortingly, and I glance at his side profile. Still so beautiful.

"I wonder what your King would be willing to pay in order to get back the daughter of his most illustrious general. I'm willing to bet your ransom would be enough to defend all of Draithus for a decade." The male says, tilting his head to look at Violet.

Bodhi drops my hand, and we instantly move closer to her, and I'm prepared to fight if need be. Violet's power sizzles in my chest as Tairn snarls behind us.

"Try. I dare you." Light flashes above us, and the corner of my mouth twitches upward. She has it handled. It's ridiculous how powerful she is.

Xaden's shadow-wielding never fails to impress me every time I have the pleasure of witnessing it. Watching him defend Violet is extremely satisfying, and I don't hide my amusement at how the fliers back off after it.

After the drift is gone, all of us turn to Violet. I feel bad for her, knowing exactly how she feels, but I don't know how to comfort her. There's nothing I could say that would make this situation better. I know that this is a conversation she has to have with Xaden.

Her feelings are so overwhelming so I try to reach out and do what I can to ease them, but she's too damned strong and I haven't even begun to hone my signet. I'm not even sure if adjusting the intensity of someone else's emotions is something I can do, but I've been dying to test the theory. What better moment than now?

When she raises her voice at Liam, I let go of the strand of color that I know is her's. I'm either making it worse or not helping at all.

I turn and reach for Bodhi, grateful when he wraps his arm around my shoulders. I don't like the conflict happening in front of me, especially when I've convinced myself I'm the reason it's escalating.

"And you." Violet turns to me, and I grip Bodhi's jacket between my fingers. "You spent all this time pretending to hate them when you've been working with them all along."

"That's not true." Anger bubbles beneath my skin. She's upset, and I can't blame her for anything she's saying. Xaden will clear the air, hopefully. If anyone can get through to her, it's him.

"Everybody go back to the shore. Now." Xaden says, and we oblige. They need the space, and Xaden needs to get through to her.

"She will come around. Just as you did," Gleigeal says, and I hope he's right.

We sit in the sand, and Bodhi absentmindedly plays with my fingers as I watch the water lap against the shoreline.

"When we get back to Basgiath, we'll go into further detail about drop shipments before Xaden leaves," Bodhi says, and I hum in response, not really paying attention to him. "What's wrong?"

"I know how she feels," I say quietly, turning to face him. "I feel bad for her, that's all. And knowing that those fliers are about to go head to head with a 'horde' and we can't do anything about it is... horrifying. I want to help."

Bodhi takes in my words and processes them slowly.

And fucking War Games. There's still that, too.

"She'll come around," Bodhi says, and I shake my head.

"She's not me, Bodhi," I tell him. "She has lived her entire life believing in one thing and was raised differently than we were. I forgave you quicker than I should've. Don't count on the same from her."

Violet isn't wired that way. She's like me in the sense that it takes a lot for her to trust, but this isn't something she'll move past as quickly as I did. It was easier for me because I grew up with Bodhi, Garrick, and Xaden. I have a relic. She doesn't. Gaining her trust again will take time.

I unsheathe the alloy-hilted dagger that Xaden and Bodhi put into my possession not too long after I found out about the venin and draw in the sand with it.

"It's not easy lying to those you care about," He says, "Especially something to this scale."

"I know." I keep my gaze on the tip of the blade dragging through the sand.

"Listen, Ani," He gently takes the blade from my hand and tilts my chin to look at him, "I don't know what's going to happen over the next couple of days, but if I don't say this now, I'll regret it."

"I can't." I shake my head, pulling away from him to stand up, "I can't do the goodbye stuff. I'm sorry."

"Ani, please," He stands up too, reaching for my hand, "Let me just-"

"Mount up." Xaden's order grabs our attention, and I'm slightly thankful, though the look in Bodhi's eyes pains me.

"We'll talk when we're back in Basgiath," I tell him.

Ever since my family died, goodbyes have never been my forte. I didn't get to say a single word to any of my family members before I never saw them again, and this isn't something I can handle. Whatever Bodhi was going to tell me will have to wait.

"I hope that you putting off that conversation won't come back to bite you," Gleigeal says as I mount.

"I am not capable of having that conversation right now." I reply.

When we arrive in Athebyne, the energy is extremely off. When I join Bodhi, he glances at me sideways, and I look around at the empty outpost.

"There's no one here. Divide and search." He looks between Bodhi and me. "You don't take eyes off of her, you hear me?"

Bodhi nods curtly, and he, Garrick, Imogen, and I split away from him and Violet. The rest of our squad splits into small groups as well to search the seemingly abandoned outpost.

"So are you two..." Garrick gestures between Bodhi and me.

"I knew it," Imogen snickers.

My cheeks heat up, and I put distance between me and Bodhi. "Let's focus on the task at hand."

"I'm just saying, if you are, you know that we support you." Garrick continues. He's trying to get a rise out of Bodhi, and the way his strand of emotions in the Riorson library burns brighter tells me it's working.

"Shut up." Bodhi glares at Garrick, and he and Imogen break into laughter.

We enter the southeast tower, and Garrick is quick to find a missive addressed to Xaden. So, to counter Xaden's assumption, this does have something to do with War Games. Thank Zihnal.

We cross the rampart, and while Bodhi and Imogen engage in a minor argument about something I can't hear, Garrick falls in line with my step.

"You spent a lot of time avoiding me this year, Ania." He tells me.

"I spent a lot of time avoiding a lot of people this year, Garrick." I look up at him as we walk.

"Yeah, but," he shrugs, "You started talking to Xaden and Bodhi again and never came back to me. We grew up together, too, you know."

He's not wrong, and I do want to clear the air with him, but right now is not the time. Not when he's about to hand off our assignment to Xaden.

"I promise I'm not deflecting because I genuinely do want to have this conversation, but can we please wait til we get back to Basgiath?" I ask.

He smiles, "You were so quick to anger earlier this year. Look at you, having an actual conversation."

"Shut up," I laugh lightly and nudge his arm with my shoulder.

"I'm gonna hold you to it, little Alistair. We're having that conversation the second we land back in Basgiath." He says as we approach Xaden, Violet, and Liam. Garrick hands over the missive to Xaden and he pops the seal.

"That's from Colonel Aetos," Violet says.

"What's it say? What's our assignment?" Garrick asks.

"Guys, I see something past the trading post. Oh shit." Liam says.

The way the energy shifts is enough to make my head spin. I have got to get this empathy thing under control.

"So I've been trying to tell you," Gleigeal says, and I mock him down our bond.

"It says our mission is to survive if we can," Xaden says, and the way he pales makes my skin crawl.

Bodhi immediately reaches for my hand, and I don't dare to pull it away.

"Guys, this is bad!" Liam yells, and Imogen is at his side within a second.

Every single person from our squad is appearing at Liam's alert, and Xaden looks to Violet.

"This isn't your fault." He says to her before looking between the rest of us, "We've been sent here to die."

Xaden's emotions are the only ones I focus on while everyone else rushes to the battlements to see what Liam sees. He's... scared. His gaze meets mine, and he shakes his head. Somehow, he can sense when I read him, but I don't even think he's upset at me for it.

"I should've never brought you here," He says to me. "Fuck."

It takes everything in me to focus on what's happening. The conversations in front of me happen so quickly that I almost don't catch what's being said. I'm too busy trying to close the book where the emotions of those around me are starting to grow wildly. I cannot have a repeat of what happened on the field with Gleigeal.

"The letter says this is a test of your command. You have the choice of abandoning the village of our enemy or abandoning command of your wing." The section leader says.

"What the hell does that mean?" Bodhi snatches the letter from his hand.

"They're testing our loyalty without saying it," Xaden says. "According to the missive, if we leave now, we’ll make it to the new location of headquarters for Fourth Wing at Eltuval in time to carry out our orders for War Games, but if we leave, the trading post of Resson and its occupants will be destroyed."

Violet reeks of guilt, and I wish I knew why. There's no way she could know something like this would happen.

"By what?" Imogen asks.

"Venin." Liam's words don't shock me, but they should.

"I liked it better when we just delivered the weapons," Bodhi says under his breath.

"We are joined by seven gryphons," Gleigeal says.

I look to Bodhi, who likely just got the same message from Cuir.

"How many people live in Resson?" He asks.

"More than three hundred," Imogen replies.

"Then let's get down there."

The way he reacts, ready to defend innocent people, sets off an absurd feeling in my chest. The way he stares down his cousin who blocks him from running into the unknown is the reason I-

The thought doesn't finish forming because Xaden is on a justifiable tangent about the risks of marching into Resson. Once a gryphon flier approaches us and tells us to flee, my mind is made up.

I want to stay, and I want to help. Innocent people will die if we don't leave. I don't care about the risks. What good are we with dragons if we don't at least try to help?

This could've been prevented if the leadership in Navarre hadn't deemed it necessary to hide this knowledge from the public. They're all in the dark, just like I was.

"I’m not going to order any of you to join me. I’m responsible for all of you. None of you crossed that parapet because you wanted to. None of you. You crossed it because I made a deal. I’m the one who forced you into the quadrant, so I won’t think less of anyone who wants to fly for Eltuval instead. Make your choice.” Xaden says.

"I know if Beckett were alive, he would be here by our side. And he absolutely would not walk away from this fight." I say, looking to Xaden. I could very well be on the death roll come tomorrow, but I know what the right thing to do is.

"I was worried you'd say that," Xaden says, but there's a tiny hint of a sad smile.

"I chose well," Gleigeal tells me.

Every single one of us agrees that we're fighting. Whether we make it home or not, at least we die doing what we as riders swore to do.

Liam tells us what he can see from where we are, and I take a deep breath as I look at Bodhi. He's already looking at me.

Xaden gives us directives one by one. I'm to assist Bodhi and Garrick in evacuating the town. We're approaching our dragons when Xaden's hand wraps around my wrist.

"If you're telling me to stay out of this fight, I'm not going to listen to you," I tell him, pulling my wrist from his grip.

"I was going to tell you that I am proud of the person you've become," He says.

I remember after Threshing when he told me that Beckett would be proud of me. Xaden's pride in me means just as much, I realize. Beckett was a great brother in every aspect. But he wasn't my only brother.

"I'll see you on the other side of this," I tell him.

"Stay alive, Ania. Not just for Beckett, but for me too." Xaden doesn't give me the chance to reply. He turns on his heel and walks toward Violet.

"It is a shame that I never got to meet him," Gleigeal says as I approach his foreleg. I smile softly, thinking of the time when Gleigeal "didn't think he would mind his presence".

"Let's not dwell on what could have been," I reply.

I'm about to mount when Bodhi appears at my side. I open my mouth to speak, but he grabs my waist, pulling me into a devastating kiss.

My hands immediately find his face as he pulls me as close to him as humanly possible. It's passionate and deep and just what I need to prepare me for what we're walking into.

When he pulls away, his gaze locks on mine.

I look for the strand of emotions I know are his, but they don't sprout from the book in the Riorson House library. The spiral down from the mage lights hovered above, entangling themselves with the deep green tendrils of my own. He is more than a part of me at this point, and the feeling pounds in my chest. I know we share it as one.

"Ani-" He starts, with his forehead resting against mine.

"I know," I whisper. "Tell me after."

He kisses me one more time and then walks away to mount Cuir.

Everyone's attention is directed to the dragon that flies overhead, spiting blue fire. I immediately recognize it from the drawings in the books we read as kids.

"Is that a wyvern?" I ask Gleigeal.

"Unfortunately," He replies.

"Anyone want to change their minds?" Xaden asks and is met with silence. "No? Then, mount up."

Perfect. Is there any part of Fables of the Barren that is actually fictional?

Bodhi and I share one more glance before the entire squad is mounted on their dragons, heading into battle.

"Be prepared to relaunch at a moment's notice," Gleigeal tells me when my feet hit the ground.

The town center is a mess. People are running in a million different directions; children are screaming and crying. I don't give myself a moment to panic; I simply jump straight into action, guiding people in the direction safest to get out of Resson.

A venin stands on top of the tower, blue flames spewing from his hands into the town below him.

Tairn and Violet fly by, and the entire clock tower goes up in flames before collapsing in on itself.

"Soleil found a mine entrance. Start directing civilians toward it," Gleigeal shouts down the bond, and I nod my head. I see Bodhi and Garrick further up and assume it must be that way, so I start sending them that way.

The last couple of civilians from my end of town are now closer to Bodhi, so I take one last look around to ensure there are no stragglers.

"Mount, now!" Gleigeal's roar sounds, and I don't question it; I just sprint.

I execute the quickest mount I've ever done and look below as he launches with me halfway up his back. I nearly lose my footing but manage to catch myself on his spikes. The venin that stood on top of the clock tower emerges from the flames, and my breath is stolen from my lungs. Dragon fire is no use. The gryphon flier explaining that four of them is a death sentence makes so much sense now.

Fuck, what did we get ourselves into?

Gleigeal lands next to Liam, and I dismount, landing directly next to him.

"You okay?" He asks me, and I nod.

"Dragon fire doesn't work," I tell him.

I flinch as lightning strikes a section of the city wall, silently begging Violet to get her aim under control.

"I got the mine entrance open!" Soleil calls.

Liam and I take no time in starting to usher the townspeople into it. I don't have eyes on Garrick and Bodhi anymore. Bodhi was told not to take his eyes off of me, so I can imagine the fear he's feeling.

"Can you relay to Cuir-"

"Already did," He replies. "Enemy approaching."

I turn around, my jaw dropping as I watch the venin channel from the ground. The ground around it essentially dies, turning an ugly gray color.

Soleil is already charging at it, and I move to run after her. My feet skid when I halt, and I almost lose my balance. Not even two steps into the dead zone, she collapses and so does her Brown Clubtail. I hear Violet's scream, but my eyes don't leave the venin.

Its eyes lock on mine, and I know I'm next. The gray patch begins to expand outward. I won't make it back to Gleigeal at the speed it moves out, no matter how quickly I run.

I hold my hands up, focusing on the lanterns that line the path. I pull open the curtains in the library and pull every light source I can see into my palms before forcing my energy into them. The flare that rips off my palms is so bright that I have the instinct to look away, but I don't because I know it does not affect me. It's the same way I can look at the sun and not be bothered by it.

The venin lifts its hands to its eyes and stumbles backward. I take the small opportunity to sprint, but I refuse to look back.

"Faster!" Gleigeal's shout rattles my brain.

Again, I'm barely up his spine when he launches. The deadzone is only feet away from us, and I release a breath I didn't know I was holding.

"That was far too close." Gleigeal's tone is angry.

"Liam and Deigh, are they safe?" I ask.

"They launched in time," He replies, and I nod as I retake my seat.

Gleigeal and I engage in combat with a group of wyvern, and I've never struggled so hard to keep my seat in my life. The banks and rolls that Glegeal does has my ass lifting out of my seat each time, but it pays off because we manage to take out every single one. So long as we can keep them away from the town, then at least we've done some good.

"Tairn and Deigh require assistance," Gleigeal tells me, and I look around for them.

My stomach sinks when I see Violet struggling to hold Liam on top of Tairn. Deigh is fighting the disgusting beast for his and his rider's life.

"I cannot interfere without risking your life," He says as we fly under head.

"I don't care. Do what you have to!" I shout. I couldn't care less what happens to me so long as my friends live.

My Red Swordtail obliges my request, and I pull the leftover light energy from my hands, ready to wield at a moment's notice. I hold tightly onto his spikes as he interjects himself into the battle where he can to help Deigh. It's still too risky without taking out both the wyvern and Deigh.

"On the right!" I scream. A riderless wyvern appears, and Gleigeal is forced to let go of the wyvern holding onto Deigh. Luckily, Tairn was there within a second, snapping his teeth into its shoulder.

Gleigeal turns quick enough to snap his teeth into the wyvern's wing, shaking his head so furiously its wing comes clean off. The wyvern can't level out and has no choice but to accept fate and fall to its death.

The roar that Gleigeal releases is so loud that it makes my head split. He dives towards the ground and lands roughly, nearly making me fly off of him. I dismount at record speed and rush to where Violet is holding Liam in her lap.

"No," I whisper. "What happened?"

"Deigh is gone."

"Help me get him to Deigh." Violet cries, and I do my best to help lift him.

"Gleigeal was on the wyvern. I don't understand how this happened." We're stumbling under Liam's dead weight.

Xaden and Sgayel land a moment later, and Xadeb immediately takes his weight off of us. I follow him as he carries Liam toward Deigh. Liam's speech is weak as he's lying down with his dragon.

Perfectly healthy Liam is seconds away from his last breath, and there's nothing that can be done. If I can just give him this one thing and lead him into a painless sleep, then I'll do it no matter what the cost is.

Pain is an emotion just as much as it is a feeling, and Liam is full of it. If I can just... I don't listen to a word he and Xaden are saying, I simply reach my hands for his face. The pain that radiates from his skin at my touch makes me cry out. It isn't just his pain, it's Deigh's too.

"What are you doing?" Xaden asks.

"Release him, now," Gleigeal demands, but I ignore him. "Ania, let go!"

"I'm taking his pain," I whimper. I force my hands to stay steady against his cheeks as I absorb every last ounce of it.

Liam deserves to die pain-free. He shouldn't be dying at all. It fucking hurts.

When I no longer feel anything, I let go and stumble back toward Violet to let Xaden have his moment with his foster brother.

My knees hit the rocks, and even though she reaches out to make sure I'm okay, her eyes stay locked on Liam and Xaden.

"What did you do?" She asks.

I can't answer. I'm trying to control what's happening in the Riorson House library that I built into my head.

Nothing makes sense.

Liam is dead.

The first person with a relic that I trusted. The person who gave me so much of his time when I pushed back so hard. He made me care about him, made me let him in. Now, he was gone.

"Please tell me Bodhi is okay," I beg Gleigeal.

He's silent for a moment but then chuffs, "They are alive."

Grief barrels at me at breakneck speed, and a scream tears through my throat. It is mixed with Liam's pain and all of our sorrow at the loss of him.

"You can't do this right now," Violet demands as she cups my cheeks. "You have to finish this battle. Get it under control."

Control it. Don't let it control you.

I take deep breaths that shake my entire chest.

Focus on one thing.

The theory. To try and dim Violet's anger. It might've backfired earlier, but it worked on Liam. I could feel the pain slowly leave his body and enter mine until there was nothing left to take.

"Now, Ania!" Violet screams, and I'm brought back to my senses.

I sit up on my knees, ignoring the way that the ache lingers in my entire body.

"Tairn needs us to keep the wyvern off of him and Sgayel," Gleigeal tells me.

When I stand, the world tilts, but I shake my head and move as quickly as I can toward my dragon.

"Then we keep the wyvern off of him and Sgayel," I say out loud as I climb up his foreleg.

We do just that. Or we try to.

Everything happens so quickly. One minute, we're in the sky, and the next, Gleigeal screams at me to dismount.

He barely had time to tell me it was because he wouldn't be able to control his landing with the way a wyvern was on our tail. My running dismount was not the best, and I land in a roll that leaves my entire body in a type of pain I've never felt before.

When I stand, my left leg nearly gives out, the pain earth-shattering. I think my hip is fractured from the landing.

"I'm coming back, get ready," Gleigeal says, and a few moments later, he growls. "There are too many on me, I will not lead them back to you."

"Something is wrong with my hip," I cry out.

This might be where I die.

The sky is orange from the blistering fire, and the sun is slowly setting. I get so much power from the sun.

I look down the path, the light posts flickering, when I see the shadow of a venin appear. I unsheath the only alloy-hilted dagger I was given and hope for the best.

As he gets closer, I can tell he likes the fact that he gets to have me in hand-to-hand. It's like he can sense that I'm injured. If he wanted to, he could channel and drain the ground and kill me either way. Still, he approaches me with a devilish smile on his face that chills me to my bone. He'd rather kill me with his bare hands.

"Thank you for choosing me." I push the thought outward, and I know it's his roar that I hear from the sky.

"I will not tolerate that talk!" Gleigeal roars.

"A rider without their dragon," The venin laughs wickedly. "I can't wait to get my hands on you."

"In your dreams," I snarl.

Within the next heartbeat, he advances on me. One thing I was taught was that venin will adapt to your fighting style, so every couple of seconds, I switch. I fight like Xaden. Then Ridoc. Then Bodhi. Then Liam. Every person I have ever sparred against, every pattern I have ever written into my journal, I use it.

When I get far enough, I throw a blinding light to catch him off guard. I haven't perfected this skill, but I push out light flares that heat my palms to an unnatural degree. Anything to keep his hands away from me.

Each flare hits him in the chest, and I shift the particles to heat. He screams, and I know that it likely feels like someone just set a fire in his chest.

The adrenaline has dulled the pain in my hip, but each step burns.

While he's distracted by the light burning in his chest, I try to get a read on his emotions. There's nothing but rage and fury. He's just a gray, miserable being. There's nothing to work with. Nothing to manipulate.

"You are approaching burnout." Gleigeal says. "I can't get to you in time."

"I have made peace with what will happen," I tell him.

The light dies out, and he's on the move towards me again. I'm fucking exhausted and my will to keep going is running thin. I'm not walking away from this alive.

The venin throws two hits and kicks into my knee, but I don't have the speed nor mobility to stop myself from falling to the ground. I land on my back, my head hitting the ground with a crack.

Everything is happening in slow motion.

"Back up is coming," Gleigeal assures me. His panic surges through me, but I barely have time to register when the venin stands above me.

Gray figures are falling around us as lightning cracks across the sky.

"Thank you for what you are about to give me." The venin says as he crouches down next to me. "I'm going to make this slow and painful."

The way to kill venin is to strike them with pure power, with which none I have left.

His hands reach for my wrists, and my eyes flare with panic. He slowly draws power from me, drop by drop, and I scream out, kicking my legs for purchase.

Gods, this is how I die.

War Games seems like such a distant memory, a figment of something that doesn't matter.

Now, I'll be reunited with Mom, Dad, and Beckett. And Liam will be there too.

"FIGHT." Gleigeal blows the channel, and power surges through me. Energy pulses through my fingertips, and I notice that they're glowing.

Light is not something I bend, it is something that I am.

Everyone that I have ever lost and ever loved, I use them to push me to grip the venin's face.

I force every ounce of burning light I have into his skull. It takes a moment, but he screams and fights to pull away. His temples burn bright under my fingers, and his skin his hot to the touch. He releases my wrists, and I force myself to sit up, holding him with a bone-crushing grip.

I can see the power, my power, burning bright behind his eyes. It takes everything in me, but I can read his fear, and that only pushes me further. He knows I'm winning.

The power behind his eyes flashes rapidly, and his eyes roll back before he falls limp. I rip my hands away from him and back away from his body.

Wyvern drop out of the sky around us, and I smile tiredly as I look up. A sigh of relief leaves my lungs, and the ground shakes when Gleigeal lands next to me. I almost let myself fall back, but he's there behind me. His entire body is flat as he catches me on his nose.

"You fought well, Ania," Gleigeal says.

"Is it over?" I ask. I can barely keep my eyes open. I feel so sleepy now.

"It appears so," He replies.

Several footsteps approach, and I flinch away when someone leans down in front of me.

"It's just me, sunshine." Bodhi's face is in front of mine, and I blink quickly, trying to determine if he's actually here or if I'm dead.

"Bodhi," I whisper. He lifts my hands into his, examining my wrists closely. "Is everyone okay?"

"Everyone is fine." He nods quickly.

"I used too much, I think," I say, and he shakes his head.

"No, you did good," He tells me softly, brushing his thumb against my cheek. He sits against Gleigeal, and if I had the energy, I would be surprised that he allowed it. He pulls me in between his legs against his chest, and I wince. "I'm sorry, Ani. I'm sorry."

"Never be sorry." I use his words against him as I tilt my head upward, with a small smile.

My arms feel like they have hundred-pound weights strapped to them when I lift my hand to trace his jaw.

"Beautiful," I say, but the word forms in a whisper.

I'm still convinced I'm dead and dreaming.

Resson killed me and everyone I love, and this is me reuniting with Bodhi in the afterlife.

"Sorrengail is down," I hear another voice to the side. I think it's Garrick. "We need to prepare Xaden for the worst. If we lose Ania too-"

"Garrick." Bodhi snaps before turning his attention back to me.

Oh.

This must be serious. I open the Riorson House library, and nothing streams in from the window. The normally deep green mage lights are gray, and the book that monitors the emotions I allow myself to feel is neatly closed. The library itself, on the other hand, looks like someone set off an explosion in it. The shelves are knocked over, and books scatter the floor.

"Am I dying?" I ask Bodhi.

"I don't know," He answers truthfully. A single tear rolls down his cheek.

"Bodhi, I have to say-"

"No," He whispers. "Please, don't. Tell me later."

"Fuck," I hear Garrick mutter.

"You may rest now, Ania," Gleigeal says.

I allow myself to succumb to the darkness.

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