#just slightly make their limbs a hint too long and reach just a hint to far from under their cloaks

[puppetmaster13u]

A rule to go by if you're a goon in Gotham lol

Possessed Doll Au belongs to @phoenixcatch7 go check her out!

[ahqkas]

the night had worn on longer than you expected—one drink after another, endless conversations, and a pounding music that reverberated in your bones. now, as you stumbled through the front door of your apartment, the weight of exhaustion was heavy on your shoulders. your head felt like it was made of lead, your limbs sore, and your mind foggy with the aftereffects of a night that, while fun, had drained every last bit of energy from you. all you wanted was to sink into the comfort of your bed.

you glanced up at JASON TODD, your boyfriend, who was standing a few steps behind you, his brow furrowed in concern. he’d been quiet, observant, as usual, letting you enjoy the night while silently keeping an eye on you for any troubles. but now, the way his gaze softened at the sight of your exhaustion spoke volumes. you knew he was ready to take care of you.

“hey,” he said softly, his voice almost a whisper, “let me help you with that.”

you didn’t even need to ask what he meant. he could tell, just from the subtle way you tugged at the edge of your makeup, that you were too tired to deal with it yourself. his eyes softened, and before you could protest, he was already guiding you toward the bathroom.

once you were inside, jason gently pushed the door closed behind him, the dim light from the bathroom casting a warm glow over the space. he leaned against the counter, his green eyes following your every movement. you tried to muster the strength to undress your makeup, but your hands were uncoordinated, your tiredness making the simple task feel impossible. the smudged eyeliner, the lipstick that had begun to fade unevenly—it all felt like too much.

jason noticed your struggle, and without a word, he stepped closer, his presence a comforting weight against the overwhelming fatigue that clung to you.

“let me do it,” he said quietly, his voice soothing. “you don’t have to do a thing.”

his calloused hands, always steady, reached for your face with a tenderness that caught you off guard. you had gotten used to his strength, to his commanding presence when he was on the job, but now, in this quiet moment, you were reminded of the softer side of him. the part of him that wanted nothing more than to take care of you.

his fingers were gentle as they cupped your chin, lifting it just slightly to study your face. he gave you a small, reassuring smile, his thumb brushing across your bottom lip.

“i’ll take care of you, sweetheart,” he murmured before he dipped a cotton pad into the micellar water, pressing it gently to your skin.

you closed your eyes at the first cool sensation against your face, letting out a soft sigh of relief. his movements were soft, each swipe of the cotton pad sweeping away the remnants of the night. slowly, gently, jason worked his way across your face, always careful not to tug at your skin. he started at your eyes, where the mascara had long since smudged, his fingers soft as he carefully wiped away the stubborn eyeliner and mascara, knowing how sensitive that area was. the way he worked with such care made your heart ache a little.

“you’re really good at this,” you murmured, half-amused by how effortless he made it look.

jason chuckled softly, his lips curling into a small smile as he continued to cleanse your face. “i’m with you every single night,” he said, the hint of humor in his voice making the whole situation feel more intimate, more personal than anything else. “i guess i picked up a few tricks.”

you opened your eyes, catching his own. he was staring at you with a look so soft, so filled with affection, that it made your heart swell. you weren’t sure if it was the exhaustion or something deeper, but in that moment, you felt seen. in a way that you hadn’t expected, in a way that was rare. jason had always been there for you—through the highs and the lows, through the good and the bad. but here, now, in the quiet of the bathroom, he was taking care of you in the simplest, most intimate way. and it felt like everything.

“such a pretty girl,” he said quietly, his hands finally pulling away from your face once it was clean and bare of all the smudges.

you were left staring at him with hearts and twinkles in your eyes.

© ahqkas — all rights reserved. even when credited, these works are prohibited to be reposted, translated or modified

[eelnoise]

cut to the feeling

>in which zoro realizes he may have a thing for you

pre-ts!zoro x gn!reader cw: none! fluff! an: this was in my wips for so long but i'm so in my feelings about zoro that inspo finally came to me. also this is secretly selfship coded and is in the same canon as a few other fics. wc:2k

With another scorching day in the sun and a breeze that's hardly enough to move the ship at an acceptable rate, there’s a rare silence that spans the decks of the Thousand Sunny. The humidity is enough to keep even the more rowdy crewmates indoors with hopes of escaping the rampant heatwave.

Despite the intensity of the day, Zoro is ever a creature of habit—and can be found taking his usual afternoon nap under the slight shade of the mast, sans robe and sporting a large bandage wrapping along his bicep that covers the wound left by stray shrapnel from a skirmish with marines a few islands back.

It doesn’t bother him. Why would it? It’s just some extra sweat or an extra drink of water, might as well be a normal day for him.

Through the serene silence of the deck, Zoro's rest is disturbed all too early by the sound of one of the doors below creaking open. Familiar—though new—footsteps approach, clamoring up one of the staircases to his nestled spot in the shade.

He watches as you appear next to the mast and notes how your expression changes, seemingly surprised and somewhat relieved when you see him already wide awake and staring in your direction. He just looks at you, an eyebrow raised, as if waiting for you to begin.

“Do you have a minute?” you ask, fiddling with the strap of your bag and shifting on the balls of your feet.

Zoro tilts his head slightly, following your movements as you fidget nervously beside him. He remains silent for a moment, considering your request with a measured look. Finally, he speaks, his voice low and even. "A minute for what?" His tone is direct, betraying no hint of the curiosity that flickers across his features.

You take a moment to steady yourself, glancing around the expanse of the deck before focusing your attention back upon him. “Well,” you begin, your voice steadying as you notice the tension in his shoulders. “The short of it is—Chopper sent me to change your bandages.” You try to keep your tone light, but the seriousness of the situation lingers in the air.

Zoro grumbles something under his breath about Chopper being a mother-hen. He sits up slowly, stretching his limbs as he does. "Fine," he mutters, a hint of annoyance in his tone as he holds out his wounded arm in your direction. "Just get it over with."

"I'll make it quick, promise!" you say with a reassuring smile as you move to sit cross-legged at his side. The shift in position brings you closer, your warmth mingling with the afternoon sun, and Zoro finds himself oddly aware of the intimacy of the moment.

You work methodically, lifting his arm to rest gently across your lap. The warmth of your touch sends a rush of unfamiliar comfort through him, as if such kindness is a rare gift. His nostrils flare as the scent of your shampoo wafts toward him while you reach for the small scissors designed for cutting medical bandages.

He observes silently as you take his arm to gently rest in your lap. Zoro tries to remain collected, but he can't help but notice how your touch is both soft and sure—like you've done this a hundred times before. The slight scent of your shampoo wafts through the air, and a part of that signature tough-guy image wants to lean into it, to bask in the pleasantness of it all. But he resists the urge, simply taking in the moment as you reach for the scissors.

Zoro’s gaze follows your every movement as you tend to his wound, his focus intense yet unwavering. He remains still, allowing you to work without interference. As you gently lift his arm, he feels a strange warmth wash over him, unfamiliar and unexpected.

He tenses slightly at the unusual feeling, his senses suddenly heightened. Zoro's brow furrows as he tries to understand what this sensation is. He's used to discomfort, pain, the sharp bite of a sword against his skin. But this is something different. It's gentle, unfamiliar, but not unpleasant.

As you continue tending to his injury, Zoro silently observes every meticulous gesture you make. There's something intimate about this entire situation—the gentleness of your touch, the closeness, the way you focus so intensely on him. It's a foreign concept, something he's never really experienced before.

His hardened exterior slowly begins to crack as a sense of vulnerability creeps in. He can't help but notice the feeling of heat where your hands lightly brush against his skin, his muscles involuntarily tensing in response.

You find the wound is intact—not a single stitch busted open, the clean lines of the bandage reassuring in their neatness. “No broken stitches! Any pain?” you ask, your voice laced with concern as you carefully examine the area, searching for any signs of trouble.

Zoro shakes his head in response. "No pain," he replies gruffly, his stare shifting away from yours. His brow furrows as he tries to suppress the faint touch of redness that flushes his cheeks slightly. "I've had far worse than this," he adds, the hint of pride in his voice an attempt to return to his usual cool demeanor.

“Oh, I don’t doubt it,” you reply, turning to grab some antiseptic and a cotton pad from your pack. “You’ve got quite the steel will, from what I’ve heard.” You pour the liquid onto the cotton and gently dab it across his stitches.

Zoro tenses slightly as the cool liquid hits his skin, the slight sting pulling him back to the moment. He studies you closely as you gently dab the cotton pad across his stitches, the faint scent of the antiseptic lingering in the air.

He gives a small huff in response to your comment, the compliment making his heartrate spike ever so slightly. "You could say that," he says gruffly, his usual nonchalant tone cracking slightly.

You hum, a blend of a smile and soft laughter, as the breeze playfully tousles your hair, sending strands dancing around your face. Zoro feels an urge to tuck it behind your ear, the simple act stirring something in him he can’t quite grasp.

As you continue to clean the wound, Zoro's mind wanders. He finds himself acutely aware of your proximity, the warmth of your body so close to his own. It's a sensation that he's not accustomed to, one that stirs something deep within him.

There’s a silence that comes over the two of you as Zoro tries to fathom why you’re making him feel this way. He can feel his hands shake each time the pads of your fingers grace his skin, and it’s enough for him to ignore the remaining ache in his shoulder.

What is going on?

Zoro's heart races each time your hands touch his skin, his breaths becoming a little shallower than they should be. He can't understand why he's reacting like this to something as simple as changing bandages. He's never been fazed by something so trivial—and yet, the sensation of your touch against his skin sends tingles down his spine.

He fidgets slightly, shifting his position on the deck flooring, desperate to regain some semblance of cool composure. Zoro's thoughts are a whirlwind of unbidden, uncharacteristic impulses, the silence between the two of you growing thicker by the minute.

He feels like he should say something, to break the silence in an attempt to ease himself, and, maybe, he just wants to hear the caring timbre of your voice again.

“So,” Zoro begins, still not caring to look at you—his eyes fixed on the horizon ahead instead, “What’s the long of it?”

“The long of it?” You reply, and he catches you tilting your head up to him in his peripheral, but fights the urge to break his waning focus.

“You said the short of it is Chopper asked you to change my bandages.” Fuck. Why is he so bad at this? What even is this? Zoro can't help but inwardly curse at himself as soon as the words leave his mouth. He doesn't understand why he's so compelled to keep this conversation going, why he wants to hear more from you, more of your voice, more of your laughter…

“Oh!” You giggle, a sound so endearing that it disarms him, making it impossible to maintain his facade. “The long of it, huh? Well, you know Chopper doesn’t fare well in the heat. He’s busy whipping up extra burn salves.”

Your laughter wraps around him like a soothing balm, easing the chaotic thoughts swirling in his mind. He finds himself locking eyes with you for a brief moment, captivated by the brightness in your expression, before he quickly looks away, a flush creeping to his cheeks.

“Burn salves, huh?” he murmurs, his tone low and thoughtful, as he works to keep his demeanor nonchalant despite the flutter of nerves beneath the surface.

“Mhm, you know Usopp goes through the bulk of them.” You explain as you unravel the replacement bandages. "I don't think I've seen a full stock since stepping onto the ship."

Zoro lets out a low chuckle, the tension easing slightly. "Usopp is a walking disaster," he mutters, "always finding new ways to burn himself." Despite his harsh words, there's a hint of fondness in his voice, showcasing the bond they’ve forged through countless adventures.

Another giggle from you as you adjust his arm across your lap to ready it for rebandaging. How can such a small sound make him feel so tingly? Why is his free hand shaking with the temptation to touch you?

Zoro tries to suppress the shiver that runs down his spine as your giggle echoes through the air once more. He finds himself staring at your face, the way your lips quirk upwards into a small smile, and he has to resist the urge to reach out and tuck a strand of stray hair behind your ear.

His free hand clenches into a tight fist at his side, his knuckles paling from the force of it. Why is he feeling so drawn to touch you, to feel the softness of your skin against his calloused fingers?

Gently, the wound is wrapped up in a very neat way. You take your time to ensure it isn't too tight or too loose—finding a happy middle ground to keep his wound safe for healing. 

As you diligently wrap up the injury with a practiced touch, Zoro can't help but appreciate the care you take in your work. Your precise movements and attention to detail are soothing, almost captivating. He silently notes the way you find the perfect balance between compression and looseness, making sure his wound is protected yet unrestricted.

He takes in your every move, his attention shifting between your focused expressions and the gentle precision of your hands as you work. There’s a quiet intensity in the way you concentrate, and he finds himself drawn to the delicate care you put into tending to him, the unfamiliar warmth surging through him once more.

"All done!" You say happily, giving him a soft tap of your fingers to his wrist before moving to clean up the remains of his former dressing. "How's it feel?"

Zoro flexes his arm a bit, testing out the tightness of the bandage. It's snug, but not uncomfortably so. He glances down at the clean new wrapping then back up at you, the touch of your fingers against his wrist sending another jolt of electricity through his body.

He clears his throat, trying to hide the affect your touch had on him. "Feels... fine," he mutters gruffly. "Sturdy."

"Excellent," you reply with a bright smile, gathering your supplies with a practiced ease before rising to your feet.

Zoro finds himself oddly disappointed as you stand up, readying to leave. He wasn't expecting this moment to end so soon. He had become so wrapped up in your presence, in the quiet moments between you as you worked diligently on his injury.

He watches you gather your things, a silent, unexplainable longing for your company coursing through him. But he keeps his mouth stubbornly shut, his usual impassive exterior firmly in place.

But you ask him something he doesn't expect then, something he didn't know he'd be chomping at the bit to want.

"It's killer out here," you say, fanning yourself with your free hand, the light breeze teasing your hair as you glance at him with a bright smile. "I'm going to grab some water—Sanji's keeping some cold for everyone. Want a glass?" The way your expression sparkles makes his heart skip a beat, and he finds himself eager for any excuse to prolong your time together.

Zoro's eyes widen ever so slightly at your question. A part of him wants to decline, to maintain his usual aloof demeanor. But another part, a more impulsive part, leaps at the opportunity to prolong your time together. He clears his throat again, his voice gruff as he replies. "Yeah. Sure," he mutters. "A glass would be nice."

You nod, promising to be right back with some after disposing of his old dressings below deck—and though it seems like ages for you to return, you do with that same smile with an ice cold glass of water in each hand.

"Mind if I join you? It's nice being out here in the quiet."

As you return, glasses of water in hand, Zoro can't help but feel a flutter of anticipation in his chest. Though he outwardly remains stoic, he's inwardly glad for the chance to linger in your company.

He glances at the empty spot beside him on the deck floor. "I don't mind," he mutters, scooting over slightly to make room for you. "Quiet's nice every now and then."

As Zoro and you sit side by side, sipping on the cool, refreshing water, he finds himself surprisingly at ease. The silence between you is comfortable and soothing, a welcome change from his usual readiness for action.

As the minutes roll by, he can't help but notice the way you hum a soft, soothing tune under your breath, the sound blending seamlessly with the gentle lapping of waves against the ship. He turns his head to glance at you, a small, uncharacteristic smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

Perhaps this is something he could get used to.

[spxllcxstxr]

Kiss the Cook • M.B

(Gif not mine)

Request: could you do a mikey berzatto x reader blurb?? maybe some with the pair cooking together with some flirty banter/playful teasing sort of vibe:)) — anon

Summary: Mikey proves to be a distraction in the kitchen

Warnings: no pronouns used, food and cooking, mentions of donna, honestly its all fluff lmao

Word Count: 934

A.N: first mikey blurb and first bear writing! I hope you guys all enjoy!

•

It's noon when you finally wake up, Mikey's light blankets tangled in your sprawled out limbs. The house is quiet--too quiet, you realize while shifting out of the bed. Donna must be out smoking or somewhere with Lee. With Mikey not opening The Beef today, that could only mean he was downstairs waiting for you to wake up.

Knickknacks tremble precariously and wood creaks under your feet as you climb down the stairs.

You creep through the house until you get to the kitchen where Mikey is staring at the open refrigerator, staring into its white light.

“Lookin’ for something honey?” You ask, leaning against the threshold, arms crossed at your chest. You watch him jump slightly with a smile on your face.

He looks a bit sheepish, cheeks pink while one hand runs through his hair.

“I was, uh, lookin’ for something to make. For you.” He smiles and your eyes run over his relaxed figure.

“Why don’t we make somethin’ together, chef?” You wink, ambling over to him, planting a kiss on his cheek.

“Alright baby,” He kisses you quickly before he begins to pull things out of the fridge. “come help the master…”

You and Mikey easily work together, he tells you what to do and you do it. Maybe you’re not as skilled as Mikey Fuckin’ Berzatto, but you get the job done.

The chaotic nature of Donna's kitchen is gone; there isn't a barrage of egg timers going off nor is there the overwhelming smell of burning wafting through the room. All there is the sound of knives against the cutting board mingling with whatever soft rock is playing from Mikey's phone. For once, you can actually take a deep, non-anxiety induced breath in the Berazatto family kitchen.

“Can I trust you to start boilin' the water, babe?” Mikey calls out, eyes still trained on the onions in front of him. His tongue peeks out from the corner of his mouth in concentration, dark brows slightly furrowed.

Despite this, he seems at peace. Mikey's hands aren't shaking nor is his jaw unnecessarily clenched.

You lightly scoff at your boyfriend's teasing, abandoning your own task at the counter across from him. "I'm not an idiot, Mikey."

He hums, dark brown eyes lifting up from the counter and watching your form grabbing a pot from a cabinet.

"I'm gonna blow your goddamn mind with how well I can boil water, chef," You point at him, faking your seriousness.

“Alright, alright…” Mikey shrugs, lips upturned. “Prove me wrong…”

Getting the water to boil was easy, though it took longer than expected. You start throwing in things Mikey tells you to, staring at the water, silently praying nothing goes wrong.

Suddenly Mikey’s behind you, slightly swaying while looking over your shoulder. You hum in satisfaction.

His chest presses into your back, warm and calloused hands sliding across your torso in order to hug you closer to him. You close your eyes, smiling to yourself while taking it all in.

Mikey smells faintly of his cologne with hints of onion and various other herbs and spices mingling around him. He smells of home and the comfort of a homemade meal after a long day. He smells like your Mikey.

His beard tickles the crook of your neck, nose brushing over your skin as he presses delicate kisses just above the collar of your shirt. You giggle softly, the tips of your ears burning at his affection.

"You're supposed to say behind, Mikey..." You tease, placing your own hands on top of his own. Lightly your fingertips trace patterns across his skin. "No wonder The Beef runs like shit."

He ignores you, lips reaching your jawline and trailing across to the spot underneath your ear.

"Michael..." You murmur, titling your head up drawing his lips to your cheek. "Michael, I love you..."

His head dips lower, nose brushing against your own. Taking a quick peek you see that his own eyes are closed as well, the two of you living in the moment in his mother's kitchen.

Right now there's no drama with Donna or bickering with Carmy or the slew of questions that come with Nat. Just you and Mikey alone cooking; doing what the two of you love.

"I love you too, baby." Mikey whispers, placing a kiss right above the bridge of your nose. He squeezes your body once before pulling back his lips just an inch. "Your water's boilin' over."

You jolt, eyes springing open and widening at his words. The sound of boiling water ripping through the kitchen and overpowering whatever song is playing on the other side of the room.

“Fuck!”

Scrambling, you grab an oven mitt, carefully rushing to take the pot off the heat. A string of curses following you to the sink. Mikey chuckles behind you, offering no help whatsoever. His laughter fills the small kitchen and it would melt your heart if you weren’t doing anything important at the moment.

“And you said you were gonna blow my mind…” Mikey smirks, leaning against the counter. The corner of his eyes crinkle with laughter.

You throw your head back, groaning. “You were fucking kissing me and being a fucking distraction!”

He throws his hands up in mock surrender. “Well excuse me, princess, didn’t know giving you love and affection was off limits!”

“It’s not!” You huff. “But when I’m doing anything involving boiling water, you can’t be anywhere near me!”

“Alright babe,” He passes you, placing a delicate kiss on your forehead as he goes back to the cutting board. “Now get back to work, chef.”

•

[jenniferspet]

Part 2 of my werewolf bully story!!

TW Knotting, Shitty boyfriend

Sorry it took so long to get out Hope y’all like it!

When she awoke, the room was bathed in the soft glow of dawn. The curtains fluttered slightly, and the scent of rain-kissed earth filled the air. Carefully, she extracted herself from the tangle of limbs, her gaze lingering on the man who had claimed her so fiercely the night before. He looked almost sweet, his features softened by sleep.

Y/N slipped from the bed and gathered her torn clothing. Her heart raced as she tried to piece together the events of the night. Was this a twisted dream or a new reality? Did Grey truly want to be with her, or was this just another way to exert his dominance over her?

The floorboards creaked softly as she tiptoed across the room. She searched for her shoes, spotting them in the corner by the door. The house was quiet, the only sounds the distant chirping of early birds outside. As she dressed, she wondered if she should leave before he woke up. Maybe she could sneak out and pretend the whole thing never happened.

But the thought of facing another day alone, with the whispers and glares of her classmates, was too much to bear. And there was something about the way he was with her yesterday that didn't feel cruel. The sex was rough and dominating. But afterwards he was sweet, holding her through the night.

With a deep breath, she steeled herself and approached the bed, her eyes scanning his face for any hint of malice. His eyes fluttered open, revealing a sleepy confusion that quickly morphed into surprise when he saw her standing there. For a moment, neither of them spoke. The air between them thick with unspoken questions and uncertainties.

"You're awake," Grey finally said, his voice gruff with sleep. He sat up, the sheets sliding down to his waist, exposing the powerful lines of his chest and abs. "I didn't mean to... I didn't expect you to still be here."

"I'm not entirely sure I should be," she murmured, clutching her clothes to her chest. The words hung in the air, a fragile confession that echoed the tumult of her emotions. She wasn't sure if she wanted to be there, in his room, in his life.

Grey's expression grew serious as he took in her disheveled appearance, his eyes lingering on the bruises that had already begun to form. He reached out a hand, tentative, and she flinched. He sighed, dropping it back to the bed. "Look, about last night... I didn't mean to hurt you. I just..." His voice trailed off, and she could see the struggle in his eyes to find the right words.

"Just what?" she prodded, trying to keep the tremble out of her voice. "What is this to you? Some sick game?"

Grey looked away, his jaw tightening. "No, it's not like that," he said firmly. "I... I don't know what came over me. I've never felt this way about anyone before."

"But why me?" she whispered, the words barely audible. "Why did you choose me?"

He was silent for a moment before speaking. "You're different, Y/N. You're beautiful, even when you think you're not. And when I saw you reading about creatures like me, it was like... it was like nothing else mattered. I felt like I had a chance"

Her eyes searched his, looking for any trace of the sneer that had been there the night before. But all she found was sincerity, a raw vulnerability that she hadn't expected. It was disarming.

"What happens now?" she asked, taking a tentative step towards the bed.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I know I don't deserve it, but... I want to make this right. If you'll let me."

Her heart pounded in her chest as she took another step closer, setting her clothes aside. "How can you do that?" she asked, hope and fear warring within her.

Grey reached for her hand, his touch gentle. "I'll start by being nicer to you. And maybe I can fix this."

The tension in the room dissipated slightly as he pulled her into an embrace, his warmth seeping into her bones. She let herself lean into him, the comfort of his arms a stark contrast to the turmoil in her mind.

As they sat there, she felt something shift within her. Maybe, just maybe, there was more to this than she had thought. Perhaps Grey wasn't the monster she had thought he was. But she knew she couldn't let her guard down completely. Not yet.

"I need to know I can trust you," she said, her voice muffled against his chest.

"I'll earn it," he promised, his grip on her tightening. "I'll prove it to you."

Y/N pulled back, her eyes searching his. "How?"

"I'll stop the bullying," he said, his gaze unwavering. "I'll tell everyone that you're mine, and that means you're off-limits to everyone else."

Her eyes searched his, looking for the truth in his words. "And what does that mean? Being 'yours'?"

He leaned closer, his breath warm against her face. "It means I'll protect you. Take care of you. And maybe, if we give this a chance, we could... we could actually be happy together."

Before she could respond, he leaned in and kissed her softly, a stark contrast to the roughness of the night before. His lips were gentle, coaxing, and she felt a flutter in her stomach that she hadn't expected. His hands cupped her face, holding her in place as if he were afraid she'd pull away.

The kiss grew deeper, and she found herself responding, her arms winding around his neck. His tongue danced with hers, and she forgot about the bruises, the fear, and the doubt. For a brief moment, she allowed herself to believe that maybe, just maybe, there could be something real between them.

When he pulled back, she was breathless, her heart racing. "See?" he murmured. "I can be gentle."

But she didn't miss the underlying challenge in his eyes. This wasn't just about convincing her; it was about showing her a side of him that no one else had seen. A side that was more than the schoolyard bully.

They sat in silence for a moment and then, she took a deep breath and made her decision. "Okay," she said. "But if you hurt me again, I'm out."

Grey nodded, his expression solemn. "Fair enough," he said. "But I won't. I promise."

The next few days were a whirlwind of change. Grey was true to his word, and the bullying stopped. He walked her to class, sat with her at lunch, and even started defending her when others tried to pick fights. It was a new dynamic she was still trying to wrap her head around.

And the way he looked at her, it was like he was seeing her for the first time. No more sneers or cruel jokes. Just... admiration. It was strange, but also... nice.

But there was still a part of her that waited for the other shoe to drop. That waited for him to turn on her again. To use his newfound power over her for his own amusement. She couldn't shake the feeling that this was all just a setup for a bigger, more devastating blow.

But every time she voiced her concerns, he'd just smile and pull her closer. "Just give it time," he'd say. "You'll see."

And so she waited, watching him, studying every move, every gesture. Trying to find the cracks in this newfound kindness. But they never came. Instead, she found herself falling deeper into the warmth of his embrace, the safety of his arms.

As the days turned into weeks, she began to let herself believe that maybe, just maybe, he really had changed. That maybe there was something real between them after all. And as she leaned into another of his soft, sweet kisses, she couldn't help but wonder if this was the start of something beautiful. Or if it was just the calm before the storm.

One morning, as they walked to school under the cover of a crisp, autumn sky, she noticed a new face. A boy, tall and lanky, with a mop of dark hair that fell into his eyes. He hovered at the edge of the schoolyard, his eyes darting around nervously.

Grey, who had been whispering something into her ear that made her blush, followed her gaze. "Ah, new meat," he said, a hint of amusement in his voice.

"What do you mean, 'new meat'?" she asked, her curiosity piqued.

Grey chuckled, his arm sliding around her waist. "It's just an expression, baby," he said. "It means fresh blood. Someone new to mess with." His grin was wide, his teeth sharp in the morning light.

Y/N felt a twinge of unease. "You're not planning to mess with him, are you?"

Grey's eyes lit up with mischief, but he quickly schooled his features when he saw her concern. "Nah, not unless he steps out of line," he assured her, his voice dropping low. "But if he does, he'll have me to deal with."

The warning in his tone was clear, and she couldn't help but feel a thrill of fear and excitement. The new boy looked over, catching her gaze, and she offered a tentative smile. He returned it, looking slightly less lost.

As they approached the school, the new student looked even more out of place, his eyes scanning the unfamiliar faces with a hint of desperation. Y/N felt a pang of sympathy. She knew what it was like to be the outsider, the target. She also knew that Grey's protection could be as much a curse as a blessing.

In their first class, she was surprised to find the new boy sitting right next to her. He looked at her, his eyes wide with curiosity, and she gave him a small nod of greeting. "Hi," she whispered, trying to be friendly. "I'm Y/N."

"Hi," he replied, his voice shaky. "I'm Liam."

The bell rang, signaling the start of class, and she turned to face the front, her heart racing. The lesson began, but she couldn't focus. Every time she glanced at him, she saw the way the other students looked at him, the way they whispered and pointed. It was all too familiar, and she couldn't help but feel a kinship with him.

At lunch, Grey had to deal with some pack business, so she found herself sitting next to Liam, her usual tablemates giving her a wide berth. They talked tentatively, sharing stories of their hometowns, their likes and dislikes. He was sweet, with a shy smile that made her heart ache for his innocence in the face of the school's harsh reality.

As the days went on, she found herself looking forward to the moments they shared in class, the brief conversations in the hallways, and the occasional lunchtime chat. He was a stark contrast to the harshness of her usual routine, a gentle breeze in the storm of her life. His presence became a beacon of comfort, a secret she guarded from Grey, who had become increasingly protective and possessive of her time.

One afternoon, as the last bell rang and the students dispersed, Liam approached her with a hesitant step. "Hey, Y/N," he called out, his voice carrying over the din of the crowded hallway. "Could I... could I walk you home today?"

Her heart fluttered at his words, and she felt a strange mix of excitement and dread. Grey had never explicitly forbidden her from talking to other guys, but she knew the rules. They were unspoken but as solid as the steel bars of a cage. She looked around, searching for any sign of him, and felt a warm presence at her side.

Grey stepped in, his arm wrapping around her waist in a gesture that was both protective and possessive. His eyes locked onto Liam's, and she could almost see the challenge in them. "She's with me," he said, his voice low and firm. "Back off."

Liam's face fell, and he took a step back. "I-I didn't know," he stammered. "I'm sorry."

Y/N felt a surge of anger at Grey's possessiveness. She had made no promises to him, and yet he was acting as if she belonged to him. She shrugged off his arm and turned to face him. "What the hell was that?" she demanded, her voice echoing off the lockers.

Grey's eyes narrowed, the playfulness of the morning replaced with a hard edge. "What do you think you're doing?"

"What does it look like?" she shot back, her voice tight with frustration. "I'm just trying to be nice to someone new."

"You're mine," Grey growled, his eyes flashing with a hint of his wolfish nature. "You don't need to be nice to anyone else."

Y/N felt a cold shiver run down her spine. "Is this what it's going to be?" she asked, her voice steady despite the fear bubbling inside her. "You just want me to be your little pet?"

Grey's expression softened slightly, and he took a step closer. "It's not like that," he said, his voice low. "You just... I don't trust anyone else around you."

Y/N crossed her arms, her eyes flashing. "That's not fair," she said. "I can't just stop being a person because you don't trust anyone."

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I know," he admitted. "But it's hard. I just want to keep you safe."

The tension between them was palpable, a silent battle of wills. Finally, she spoke. "If we're going to do this," she said, her voice firm, "then you have to trust me."

Grey nodded, his eyes never leaving hers. "I'll try," he said, and she could see the effort it took for him to say it. "But I can't help the way I feel."

"Fine," she said, her voice softening. "But you can't control me, Grey. I need to be able to live my life."

He nodded again, looking slightly chastened. "I know," he said. "I'll do better."

The rest of the day passed in a blur, her mind racing with thoughts of Grey and Liam. As she walked home, she couldn't shake the feeling that she was being watched. She quickened her pace, her heart racing in her chest. When she reached her house, she collapsed onto her bed, the weight of the day pressing down on her.

The next morning, she woke up to a text from Grey, asking her to meet him at their usual spot before school. She agreed, though her stomach was in knots. As she approached the spot, she saw him leaning against a tree, his arms folded over his chest. He looked serious, almost... nervous.

"What's up?" she asked, her voice tentative.

Grey took a deep breath, his eyes searching hers. "I talked to the pack last night," he said. "I told them to leave Liam alone. He's not going to be a target."

Y/N's eyes widened. "You did that for me?"

He nodded, his expression unreadable. "I don't want you to be unhappy," he said. "And if that means letting you have friends... then I'll deal with it."

It was a small victory, but it felt like a significant one. For the first time since the claiming, she felt like she had a say in her own life. "Thank you," she said, her voice sincere.

He leaned in, his lips brushing against hers in a soft kiss that made her heart race. "Now, let's get to school," he murmured, his hand sliding into hers.

As the days passed, Y/N found herself drawn to Liam more and more. The gentle way he talked, the way he listened, it was like a balm to her soul. They became inseparable during class, sharing smiles and whispers that grew into laughs and confessions. His friendship was like a lifeline in a sea of sharks, a safe haven she hadn't realized she needed.

The other students began to notice the shift in the social hierarchy. Grey was still the alpha, but now there was a clear line drawn around her. He allowed her friendship with Liam, though his eyes never left them when they were together. It was a dance of power and control that Y/N was all too familiar with.

Slowly, she started becoming Liam's best friend. They'd sit together during lunch, sharing stories and laughter, and she'd help him navigate the treacherous waters of high school politics. He was a quick study, though, and it wasn't long before he was standing up for himself.

But Grey noticed the growing bond between them, his eyes narrowing every time she talked to the new student. One evening, as they were leaving school, he pulled her aside. "I'm throwing a party tonight," he said, his voice low and intense. "Make sure you're there."

Her heart sank. She didn't want to go to his parties; they were never anything but a show of his power and dominance. But she knew better than to refuse. "Okay," she murmured, trying to keep the disappointment out of her voice.

The party was loud, filled with the scent of beer and the heavy thump of bass. The house was packed with his friends, all of them looking at her with a mix of curiosity and contempt. She felt like a trophy, displayed for all to see.

Grey kept her close, his hand never leaving her side, and she felt suffocated by his possessiveness. But every time she tried to pull away, he'd tug her back with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "You're mine," he'd murmur in her ear, his breath hot against her neck.

The night grew later, and the party grew wilder. She could feel the tension building, the same energy that had been present the night he claimed her. It was like a storm was brewing, and she was stuck right in the middle of it.

Liam arrived, looking slightly uncomfortable in the sea of unfamiliar faces. He spotted her and made his way over, his smile genuine and welcoming. For a moment, she felt a pang of regret for the life she could have had without Grey's claim.

"Having fun?" he asked, his voice barely audible over the music.

Y/N forced a smile. "Yeah," she lied. "You?"

He shrugged, his eyes darting around the room. "It's okay," he said. "But I'd rather be doing something else."

"Like what?" she asked, genuinely curious.

His eyes lit up. "Like going for a walk," he said. "Or watching a movie. Something not so …. Loud."

The word stuck in her mind. Normal. It was something she hadn't had in a long time. "Me too," she murmured, her hand finding his in the crowded room.

Grey watched them, his gaze burning into the side of her head. She knew he was waiting for her to do something, to slip up, to give him a reason to take her aside and remind her of her place. But she refused to give him that satisfaction.

Instead, she leaned into Liam's side, whispering in his ear. "Would you like to go for a walk?" she asked, her voice filled with a dare.

He nodded eagerly, and they slipped out into the cool night air. The sound of the party faded behind them, leaving only the whisper of the wind and the crunch of leaves beneath their feet.

For a moment, she allowed herself to breathe, to feel the weight of the world lift from her shoulders. And when Liam looked at her with those kind eyes, she knew she had made the right choice.

But the moment didn't last. As they turned the corner, she spotted Grey striding towards them, his expression thunderous. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" he snarled, yanking her away from Liam.

Y/N stumbled, her heart racing. "We were just going for a walk," she protested, her voice trembling.

Grey's eyes flashed with anger. "You're mine," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "You don't get to just wander off with anyone you like."

Liam took a step forward, panicking slightly. "We weren't doing anything wrong!" he yelled over the music. "We just wanted some fresh air!"

But Grey wasn't listening. He was too busy pulling her closer, his grip almost painful. "You think you can just ignore me?" he snarled. "You think you can make a fool of me?"

Y/N's heart was racing. She could feel the power struggle between them, the tension thick and suffocating. She didn't want to be the prize in this game of dominance, but she also didn't want to see Liam get hurt. "Grey, please," she begged, her voice shaking. "We weren't doing anything."

But Grey wasn't in the mood for reasoning. His hand tightened around her arm, his eyes glowing with a possessive rage that sent chills down her spine. "You're mine," he repeated. "Mine to protect, mine to keep."

Liam stepped back, his eyes wide with fear. "I'm sorry," he stammered, raising his hands in a gesture of surrender. "I didn't mean to cause any trouble."

Y/N's stomach twisted into knots. She had seen this look on Grey's face before, the one that preceded the cruel jokes, the harsh words. But this time, it was directed at someone she cared about. "Grey, stop," she pleaded, trying to pull away.

But he didn't stop. Instead, he leaned in closer, his teeth bared. "You don't know what you're getting into," he hissed. "You should stay away from her."

Liam's eyes flicked to hers, filled with a silent question. She knew what he was asking. Was she okay? Could she handle this? And in that moment, she realized she couldn't. She couldn't watch him get hurt, not like this.

"I'm sorry," she whispered to Liam, the words tearing from her throat. "I can't do this."

With that, she turned and allowed Grey to pull her back into the house, his grip tightening with each step. The partygoers parted like the Red Sea, their eyes following the tense line of their bodies as they moved through the room. Once inside, he slammed the door shut behind them, the noise of the party muffling slightly.

"What the fuck was that?" he demanded, his voice a low growl that sent shivers down her spine.

Y/N stared at the floor, her cheeks burning with a mix of embarrassment and anger. "We were just going for a walk," she mumbled, trying to keep her voice steady.

Grey's grip on her arm tightened, his eyes flashing. "Don't lie to me," he snarled. "You were cozying up to him, weren't you?"

Her head snapped up, her eyes meeting his. "I was trying to be a decent human being," she spat, yanking her arm free. "What's so wrong with that?"

He stepped closer, his face a mask of rage. "You're mine," he repeated. "You don't get to 'cozy up' to anyone else."

"I'm not a possession," she shot back, her voice rising. "You can't just claim me and expect me to sit here like a good little girlfriend."

He grabbed her again, pulling her close. "But you are," he whispered, his breath hot in her ear. "You're mine, and I won't let anyone take you away from me."

Her heart raced, a mix of fear and anger coursing through her veins. She pushed against his chest, but he was immovable. "I don't belong to you," she hissed. "I never did."

With a trembling hand, she reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone, typing out a message to Liam as fast as her shaking fingers would allow. "Meet me at the park," she wrote. "Please."

Grey's grip loosened slightly as he stared down at her, his eyes searching hers. "Please, Y/N," he begged, his voice strained. "Don't do this. I'll change, I promise."

But she was already backing away from him, her eyes filled with a fiery determination. "You don't get to decide who I talk to," she said firmly. "You don't get to decide who I'm friends with. I’m so sick of you acting like you own me, I’m done."

Without another word, she turned and bolted from the house, her feet pounding against the pavement as she ran. The cold night air was a stark contrast to the stifling heat of Grey's anger, and she gulped in lungfuls of it, feeling more alive than she had in weeks.

When she arrived at the park, her chest heaving with the exertion, she saw Liam waiting for her. He looked worried, his eyes scanning the shadows as if expecting Grey to jump out at any moment. She rushed over to him, throwing her arms around his neck.

"Thank you for coming," she whispered, her voice shaking with relief.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his arms wrapping around her in a gentle embrace.

"I don't know," she admitted, leaning into him. "But I had to get out of there."

Liam nodded, his grip tightening slightly. "What happened?"

Y/N took a deep breath, recounting the events of the night. His expression grew stormy, his jaw clenching with each word she spoke. When she finished, they stood in silence for a moment, the only sound their harsh breathing and the distant echoes of the party.

"You don't have to go back to him," Liam said, his voice low and fierce. "You deserve better than that."

Her eyes searched his, looking for the truth in his words. "What do you mean?"

He took a step closer, his hands sliding to her face. "I mean, I'll protect you," he said, his voice earnest. "You don't have to be with someone who makes you feel like a possession."

Y/N's heart skipped a beat at his words. It was a tempting offer, one she had dreamed of for so long. But she knew the reality was far more complicated. "What if he doesn't let me go?" she whispered.

Liam's expression grew serious. "Then we'll deal with it," he said. "Together."

The park was quiet, the only sound the rustling of leaves and the distant hum of the city. The moon cast a silver light on their faces, highlighting the determination in his eyes. She felt a spark of hope, a flicker of something that had been missing for so long.

"But what about you?" she asked, her voice soft. "What about your safety?"

"I'm not afraid of him," Liam said, his voice steady. "I'm a werewolf too, you know."

The revelation hit her like a ton of bricks. All this time, she had been walking beside a creature just as powerful, if not more so, than the one who had claimed her. "What does that mean?" she asked, her voice shaking.

He took a deep breath. "It means that if he tries to hurt you again, he'll have to go through me." His eyes glowed faintly, the beast within him stirring.

The air grew thick with the weight of their emotions, the tension between them palpable. She reached up, her hand resting on his chest. "Liam, I don't want anyone to get hurt," she said, her eyes searching his.

He took her hand in his, holding it tightly. "I know," he said. "But I can't stand by and watch him treat you like that. You're not his to own."

Her heart raced at the intensity in his eyes, the fierce protectiveness that washed over her. "But what if he finds out?" she asked, her voice trembling.

Liam's grip on her hand tightened. "Let him," he said, his voice filled with a quiet confidence that she hadn't heard from him before. "I'm not going to let him hurt you."

Y/N felt a mix of fear and excitement. She had never seen this side of him, the one that was willing to stand up to Grey. "What are we going to do?"

He took a step closer, his thumb brushing gently over the back of her hand. "We're going to take this one day at a time," he murmured. "But I promise you, I'll be there for you."

Their eyes locked, and for a moment, she forgot about the danger, the fear, and the uncertainty. In Liam's arms, she felt safe, cherished even. And for the first time in a long time, she allowed herself to believe that maybe, just maybe, there was a way out of this mess.

With a tremulous sigh, she leaned into him, her eyes closing as his warmth surrounded her. His hand cupped her cheek, his thumb tracing the line of her jaw with a gentle touch that made her heart race. And then, without a word, their lips met.

The kiss was soft, tentative at first, as if they were both afraid to break the fragile spell that had been cast between them. But as the moments ticked by, it grew deeper, more passionate, filled with the promise of something more.

Liam's arms wrapped around her, pulling her closer, his kiss a silent declaration of his intentions. And as she kissed him back, she knew that she was crossing a line she could never uncross.

The kiss grew more fervent with each passing second, the taste of him like a drug she couldn't get enough of. His hands roamed over her back, her body responding to his touch in a way she hadn't felt with Grey in a long time. It was as if she had been starved for this, for the gentle kindness that Liam offered so freely.

The world around them melted away, leaving only the two of them standing in the moonlit park. It was a moment of pure, unadulterated freedom, a taste of what life could be like without the shadow of Grey's possessiveness looming over her.

When they finally pulled apart, Y/N's eyes were wide with shock and wonder. "What does this mean?" she whispered, her voice trembling.

Liam's expression was serious, his eyes searching hers. "It means that we're in this together," he said. "And I'm not going to let him control you anymore."

Her heart raced at his words, the reality of what she had done sinking in. She was standing up to Grey, and she had Liam by her side. It was terrifying and exhilarating all at once. "What do we do now?" she asked, her voice shaking slightly.

He took her hand again, leading her to a nearby bench. They sat down, the cold metal a stark contrast to the warmth that was still pulsing through her body. "We take it slow," he said, his voice steady. "We plan."

Y/N nodded, her mind racing with thoughts of rebellion and fear of retribution. "But what if he finds out?"

Liam's expression grew solemn. "Then we face it together," he said. "But we're not going to let him dictate your life anymore."

The rest of the night was a blur of whispered secrets and stolen glances, their hands entwined as they talked about their feelings and their hopes for the future. It was a future filled with uncertainty, but for the first time in a long time, she allowed herself to believe in the possibility of happiness.

When Monday morning came, she walked into school with Liam by her side, his presence a silent declaration to everyone that she was no longer Grey's to claim. The whispers followed them as they moved through the halls, the other students watching with a mix of curiosity and fear. Grey's eyes narrowed when he saw them, his expression a storm cloud ready to unleash its fury.

But Liam didn't seem to care about the whispers or the glares. He just kept his eyes on her, his grip on her hand firm and reassuring. They had spent the weekend together, mostly holed up in her room, talking about their pasts and their hopes for the future. He had shown her a gentle, caring side of himself that she hadn't seen in anyone else. They had watched movies, shared secrets, and even cooked meals together. It was like a taste of a normal life, and she hadn't wanted it to end.

When they reached their lockers, she pulled away slightly, her eyes searching for any sign of Grey. But he was nowhere to be seen. The hallways felt eerily quiet, as if the entire school was holding its breath, waiting for the fallout.

As they approached their first class, she felt Liam's hand tighten around hers. "You okay?" he asked, his voice a low murmur.

Y/N took a deep breath, trying to calm her racing heart. "Yeah," she lied, plastering a smile on her face. "Let's just get through this day."

But the day was anything but ordinary. Grey was strangely absent from school, leaving her feeling both relieved and on edge. Every time she looked over her shoulder, she half-expected to see his furious gaze on her. But as the hours ticked by, she started to believe that maybe, just maybe, he had taken her words to heart.

It was only when she was walking home that she saw him, leaning against a tree just outside the school gates. His eyes were cold, but there was no anger in his expression. Instead, he looked hurt, and it was a look that she hadn't seen from him in a long time.

"We need to talk," he said, his voice devoid of its usual confidence.

Her heart sank. This couldn't be good. "What about?" she asked, her voice wary.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Look, I know I messed up," he said. "I know I've been a dick."

The admission took her by surprise. "What are you talking about?" she asked, her voice guarded.

Grey's gaze was sincere, a rare sight in their tumultuous relationship. "I saw the way you looked at Liam," he said. "I know you're not happy with me, and maybe... maybe I deserve it. I was never good for you."

Her heart skipped a beat. Was he really acknowledging his behavior? "What do you mean?"

He took a step closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. "I want to be the one you choose," he said, his eyes searching hers. "But I can't force you to be with me."

Y/N's throat tightened. It was the closest thing to an apology she had ever received from him, and it was almost painful to hear. "What are you saying?"

Grey looked at the ground, his jaw clenching. "I'm saying that if you want to be with him, I won't stand in your way," he murmured. "But know this: if you choose him, you're choosing to leave all of this behind."

The threat was clear, but she couldn't help the spark of hope that flared in her chest. "What does that mean?"

He met her gaze, his eyes serious. "It means that if you walk away from me, you're walking away from my protection, from the pack." His voice was low, but she could hear the underlying current of power in his words. "You'll be on your own."

Y/N swallowed hard, the weight of his words heavy in the air. She knew what that meant. Without Grey and his pack, she would be vulnerable, a target for any supernatural being that took an interest in her. But with Liam by her side, she had a different kind of strength, one that didn't rely on fear and dominance.

"I understand," she said, her voice firm. "But I've made my choice."

Grey's eyes narrowed, but she didn't waver. "If you're going to threaten me, then I'll deal with it," she continued. "But I'm not going to live in fear anymore."

For a moment, they stood there, locked in a silent battle of wills. Then, without another word, Grey turned and disappeared into the shadows, leaving her heart racing.

Y/N took a deep breath, her hand still shaking in Liam's grip. "Thank you," she murmured. "For being here."

He squeezed her hand gently. "Always," he said, his voice filled with a quiet strength. "Now let's get you home."

The walk home was tense, each step fraught with the anticipation of Grey's return. But he didn't come. By the time they reached her house, the adrenaline had worn off, leaving her feeling both drained and oddly elated.

"Do you... do you want to come in?" she asked, her voice small. She hadn't meant to, but the words slipped out before she could stop them.

Liam's eyes searched hers, a question in their depths. "Are you sure?"

She nodded, feeling a sudden need to not be alone. "I could use the company," she murmured, her heart racing.

He followed her inside, his eyes scanning the room as if searching for any signs of Grey's presence. She led him to the living room, where they sat on the couch, the air thick with unspoken words.

"So, what's your favorite show?" she asked, trying to break the tension.

Liam chuckled, his eyes lighting up. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you," he said, a mischievous smile playing on his lips.

"Oh, really?" she teased, raising an eyebrow. "Let me guess, something with vampires?"

"Worse," he admitted with a laugh. "I'm obsessed with cooking shows."

Her eyes widened. "Seriously?"

"Seriously," he said. "There's just something about the competition, the passion, the creativity."

They ended up watching a cooking show marathon, their laughter echoing through the house. It was the first time she had felt truly relaxed in weeks, the first time she didn't have to watch her every move.

As the night grew later, she found herself leaning into him, her head resting on his shoulder. His arm slid around her, his warmth enveloping her like a blanket. She hadn't realized how much she had missed the simple act of cuddling, of being close to someone without the fear of repercussions.

Their conversation grew quieter, the laughter replaced by a comfortable silence that spoke volumes of the bond that was forming between them. And then, without warning, his hand found hers, their fingers interlocking in a silent declaration of unity.

Their eyes met, the tension palpable, and in that moment, they both knew where the night was heading. Slowly, as if afraid to break the spell, they leaned closer, their breaths mingling. And then, as if pulled by an invisible force, their lips met in a kiss that was unlike any she had ever experienced with Grey.

Liam's kiss was gentle yet firm, filled with a passion that didn't need to be claimed or taken. It was a kiss of equals, of two souls finding refuge in each other's arms. His hands slid up her body, the warmth of his touch igniting a fire within her that she had long thought extinguished. She wrapped her arms around his neck, deepening the kiss as she felt herself letting go of the fear and anger that had been her constant companions.

Their bodies pressed together, the heat between them growing with every shared breath. Y/N's heart pounded in her chest, a mix of excitement and anxiety. Was she really doing this? Was she really choosing Liam over Grey? The question was almost forgotten as Liam's hands began to roam more freely, his fingertips tracing the curves of her body with a tenderness she hadn't known existed.

He broke the kiss, his eyes searching hers for permission. She nodded, the need for air forgotten as she pulled him back down. His hands moved to the hem of her shirt, lifting it over her head. Her skin was bared to the cool air, goosebumps rising in the wake of his touch. His eyes took in the sight of her, a soft groan escaping his lips. "You're so beautiful," he murmured, his voice thick with desire.

They moved to the bedroom, their steps slow and deliberate. The floorboards creaked beneath their weight, but the rest of the house remained silent. It was as if the world outside had ceased to exist, and all that mattered was the two of them in this moment. He led her to the bed, his hands never leaving her body as they tumbled onto the soft mattress.

Liam's kisses grew more urgent, his hands exploring every inch of her. Y/N moaned, her body responding to his touch in ways she hadn't thought possible. With Grey, there had always been a sense of urgency, a need to prove something. But with Liam, it was different. It was as if he was discovering her, worshipping every part of her like it was the first time.

He pulled away, his eyes dark with passion. With trembling hands, he began to strip her, each layer of clothing revealing more of her smooth, soft skin. His gaze never left hers, his eyes filled with a fierce protectiveness that made her heart race. Every button, every zipper was a declaration of his intentions. This wasn't just about desire; it was about claiming her, not in the possessive way that Grey did, but in a way that was gentle and respectful.

Y/N felt a thrill run down her spine as Liam's hands continued to explore her. He was thorough, his fingertips tracing every curve and line as if committing them to memory. His touch was like a brand, setting her alight with a heat that grew more intense with every passing second. She reached for his shirt, her own hands shaking as she pulled it over his head. His chest was firm, the muscles rippling beneath her touch.

They lay there for a moment, panting, their eyes locked in silent communication. Then, with a groan, Liam leaned in to kiss her again, his hands sliding up to cup her breasts. His thumbs brushed over her sensitive nipples, eliciting a gasp from her. His mouth trailed down her neck, nipping and kissing as he went. She arched into his touch, her body begging for more.

With a gentle nudge, he pushed her legs apart, his eyes never leaving hers. He kissed a path down her chest, his lips brushing over her stomach and lower still. When he reached the apex of her thighs, she could feel the heat of his breath, sending a shiver through her. He looked up at her, a question in his eyes, and she nodded, biting her lip.

With a soft growl, he dipped his head, his tongue flicking out to taste her. She gasped, her hips bucking involuntarily. His touch was feather-light at first, a teasing promise of what was to come. He explored her with a gentle curiosity, his mouth moving with a skill that left her trembling. Every stroke of his tongue was a declaration of his desire to pleasure her, to make her feel cherished and wanted.

Her hands found his hair, tangling in the soft strands as she urged him closer, her hips rolling against his mouth. The world outside fell away, leaving only the sound of their ragged breathing and the wet, intimate noises of their lovemaking. She had never felt so alive, so seen. With Grey, sex had been a battle, a fight for dominance. But with Liam, it was a dance, a give and take that left her feeling powerful and vulnerable all at once.

He kissed her inner thighs, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin, making her whimper. His hands slid up her body, his thumbs teasing her nipples as he continued to taste her. She was lost in the sensation, the feeling of his mouth on her driving her closer and closer to the edge. And then, with a sudden, intense movement, he brought her over, her body convulsing with pleasure.

Her eyes rolled back in her head, a cry escaping her lips as she felt herself come undone. It was unlike anything she had ever felt before, a release that washed over her in waves. Liam looked up at her, his eyes glowing with satisfaction, his mouth wet from her desire. He kissed his way back up her body, his hands never leaving her.

When their lips met again, she could taste herself on him, the salty sweetness mixing with the mint of his breath. It was an intimate, heady sensation that made her knees weak. She wrapped her arms around his neck, her body arching towards him, begging for more. His kiss grew more demanding, his tongue delving deep as if he couldn't get enough of her.

And then, with a soft growl, he rolled them over so she was straddling him. She felt his arousal pressing against her, and she gasped, her eyes wide with both excitement and trepidation. He reached between them, his hand guiding himself to her entrance. Slowly, so slowly, he pushed into her, filling her in a way she hadn't felt in so long. She had almost forgotten the feeling of being stretched and filled, the way it made her feel whole.

His eyes never left hers as he moved, his hips rocking up to meet her downward strokes. Each thrust was met with a gasp, her body adjusting to his size and the unfamiliar feeling of someone else inside her. But it didn't feel wrong; it felt right, like they were two puzzle pieces that had finally found where they belonged.

Their rhythm grew steadier, the slap of their skin against each other's echoing through the room. Y/N leaned forward, her hands resting on his chest as she moved, her breasts brushing against him with every movement. Liam's hands slid up her back, gripping her hips, guiding her as he pushed into her.

The tension grew, the air around them thick with it. She could feel the beast within him, the power that he kept so tightly leashed. It was a thrilling, terrifying feeling, to be with someone so strong yet so gentle. But she didn't fear him; she trusted him. With every stroke, she felt that trust grow, the bond between them tightening like a noose.

His hands moved to her breasts again, his thumbs playing with her nipples as he thrust into her. The sensation was almost too much, her body a live wire of pleasure. She threw her head back, her hair cascading down her back, and she felt his teeth graze her neck. The threat of his bite, the promise of the pain, only heightened her pleasure.

"Can you take it?" he growled, his voice low and deep. "Can you take my knot?"

The question sent a bolt of excitement through her, the idea of such an intimate connection both thrilling and a little frightening. She nodded, her breath coming in ragged pants. "Yes," she gasped, her body aching for more.

Liam's eyes flared with desire as he felt her tighten around him. With a final, powerful thrust, he buried himself inside her to the hilt. Y/N's eyes went wide with pleasure and surprise as she felt his knot swell and lock them together, his heat searing her from the inside out. The sensation was overwhelming, but instead of pain, she felt a deep, primal satisfaction.

He whispered against her neck, his breath hot against her skin. "I love you," he murmured, his voice filled with awe. "I can't believe you're with me."

Her eyes met his, the love and warmth in his gaze almost too much to handle. "I love you too," she replied, her voice thick with emotion.

They remained connected, their hearts racing as one. The sensation of his knot was strange and intense, a physical manifestation of their bond. As the initial shock of pleasure receded, she felt a warmth spread through her, a comforting feeling of belonging that she hadn't felt in what felt like an eternity.

They lay there, their bodies tangled together, the room bathed in the soft glow of the moonlight filtering through the curtains. His arms were wrapped around her, holding her close as if afraid she might slip away. His breathing was still ragged, but it evened out as the minutes passed, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm beneath her.

Her eyes grew heavy, the weight of the day and the intensity of their encounter making her eyelids feel like they were made of lead. She could feel the warmth of his skin, his heartbeat in sync with hers, and she knew that she was safe here. Safe in a way she hadn't felt in a long time.

With a contented sigh, she allowed sleep to claim her, her body going limp against his. Her breathing evened out, the tension of the day slowly releasing its grip on her. Her mind drifted to dreams filled with a future she never thought possible, one where didn't have to look over her shoulder, where she could just be herself without fear of retribution.

[badathumanemotions]

After Hours

Spencer Reid x Reader x Emily Prentiss MDNI Category: Smut CW: Friends With Benefits, Co-Workers, Threesome, Strap On, Sex Toy, Vaginal Sex, Cum as Lube, No Prep, Pegging, Dom/Sub Undertones. WC: 5,024 Master List Spencer, Emily, and Reader have a friends with benefits arrangement. (Not Proof Read) @imagining-in-the-margins

Spencer Reid sat hunched over his desk at the BAU, the fluorescent lights above flickering in rhythm with his weary blinks. The mounds of paperwork and empty coffee cups served as a testament to the long hours he'd been putting in lately. His shirt was slightly wrinkled, and his tie hung loose around his neck like a noose made of silk. The tension of the latest case weighed on him like a lead blanket, stifling his usual brilliance and leaving him drained. The only thing keeping him going was the promise of relief that evening—a promise that had been whispered in the hallowed halls of the office in hushed tones and knowing glances.

Y/N looked up from her own paperwork, noticing Spencer's distraction. They shared a knowing smile, the kind that could melt the ice of the coldest of cases. Their eyes met, and in that brief moment, the electricity between them crackled. The air grew thick with anticipation, and the office felt hotter than it had any right to be. They'd been dancing around this for weeks now—a delicate tango of desire and professionalism. But tonight, all that would change. Tonight, they would let their hair down and indulge in the kind of stress relief that HR would never endorse.

Emily Prentiss leaned back in her chair, watching the silent exchange with a knowing smirk. She knew the signs of their mutual frustration all too well. It was a dance they'd performed countless times before, and she was always ready to lead when the music played. She casually stretched, her shirt riding up just enough to reveal the soft, bare skin of her midriff. The gesture was innocent enough, but the message was clear: the clock was ticking down to their rendezvous.

The minutes dragged on like hours, each second feeling like a lifetime. The office buzzed with the mundane chatter of cases and deadlines, but their minds were elsewhere—on the promise of what awaited them after the sun dipped below the horizon. The anticipation was a drug, pulsing through their veins, making their skin feel too tight and their nerves too alive. They all knew the script—the quiet nods, the lingering glances, the unspoken agreement to meet at Emily's place once the day was done. It was a ritual they'd perfected over the months, a secret shared only by the three of them.

Finally, the clock struck the magical hour, and the trio packed up their things with an unspoken haste. They made their way to the elevator, the weight of their desire pressing down on them like a heavy fog. The ride down was silent, the only sound the ding of the elevator as it descended floor by floor. Spencer's heart thudded in his chest like a bass drum, and he couldn't help but steal glances at Y/N, who returned his gaze with a smouldering look that sent shivers down his spine. Emily's eyes gleamed with mischief, her smile a secret shared only by those who knew what the night had in store.

Once they arrived at Emily's apartment, the tension snapped like a tightly coiled spring. The door barely had time to close before they were on each other, a tangle of limbs and desperate kisses. The scent of their need filled the room, a heady aroma that seemed to thicken the air and make it harder to breathe. They shed their clothes like snakes shed their skin, leaving a trail of fabric on the floor as they stumbled toward the bedroom.

Emily led the way, her dominance as palpable as the heat between them. She reached back and grabbed Y/N's hand, pulling her in close. Spencer trailed behind, his eyes wide with excitement and a hint of trepidation. The room was dimly lit, the fabric covered lamps casting a soft glow across the walls. The large bed in the centre looked like a stage set for their darkest fantasies.

Y/N's hand slid up Emily's back, tracing the lines of her spine before settling on the nape of her neck. They kissed deeply, their tongues dancing in a fiery tango as they stumbled backward onto the bed. Spencer watched, his eyes glued to the sight of their tangled bodies, his cock growing hard at the thought of what was to come. He felt a thrill of submission, knowing that tonight, he would be the one to watch and serve.

Emily broke away from Y/N, her eyes shimmering with lust and power. She turned to Spencer, her voice low and commanding. "Sit on the bed, against the headboard," she instructed, her finger pointing imperiously. Spencer obeyed without a word, his legs trembling slightly as he settled into place, his erection bobbing with every movement.

Y/N was then positioned with her back against Spencer's chest, their bodies fitting together like two puzzle pieces. Spencer's arms wrapped around her waist, his hands ghosting over her skin as Emily took charge.

"Hold her legs open," Emily purred. He eagerly complied, his palms pressing against the inside of Y/N's thighs, spreading them wide. The intimacy of the position made his heart race. He could feel Y/N's warmth radiating against him, her breaths coming in short gasps as Emily positioned herself between her legs.

Emily began to tease Y/N's pussy with a feather-light touch, her fingers dancing along the sensitive folds. Y/N's eyes rolled back, and she moaned, her body arching towards the touch. Spencer's cock throbbed in response, straining against Y/N's back as he watched Emily's skilled movements. Her thumb circled Y/N's clit, applying just the right amount of pressure to leave Y/N wanting more. The sight of his friend's pleasure painted on her face was intoxicating, a heady mix of desire and submission.

"You're so eager, aren't you?" Emily murmured, her voice a seductive purr. She traced her fingers down Y/N's stomach, leaving a trail of goosebumps in her wake. "But remember, it's up to me to decide when and how you come."

Y/N bit her bottom lip, nodding slightly as she felt Emily's hand cup her mound. The anticipation was exquisite, a sweet torment that had her entire body singing with need. Emily's eyes met Spencer's over Y/N's shoulder, a smug glint of pleasure in them. Spencer's own arousal grew as he felt the tremble in Y/N's body, the way she leaned into his touch as if seeking solace from the storm of sensation Emily was unleashing.

Emily's fingers slid lower, slipping into the warm wetness of Y/N's pussy. Spencer watched, his eyes transfixed as he felt Y/N's hips jerk in response. He could feel the heat radiating from her, the dampness of her skin against his palms as he held her in place. The scent of arousal filled the room, thick and potent, making his mouth water with the need to taste.

Y/N's moans grew louder as Emily's fingers began to pump in and out of her, the rhythm slow and deliberate. Emily's eyes met Spencer's, the challenge in them clear. He knew his role tonight was to watch, to serve, to submit to their desires. But the need to be part of this intimate dance was overwhelming. He felt Y/N's body tense and release, her muscles rippling under his touch as she rode the waves of pleasure Emily was crafting.

Spencer's cock was a steel rod pressed against Y/N's back, and the friction was maddening. He wished it was buried inside her, feeling her warmth and wetness firsthand. But he knew better than to interrupt the show. Emily's thumb circled Y/N's clit, faster and harder, and Spencer could feel her legs quivering in his grip. Her breath grew ragged, and her eyes squeezed shut as she approached the precipice of orgasm.

Emily leaned in, her breath hot and damp against Y/N's sensitive flesh. "You're so close, aren't you?" she whispered, her voice a siren's call. "But not yet." She withdrew her hand, and Y/N's eyes shot open, a silent plea in them. Emily's smile was cold, a knowing smirk that sent a shiver down Spencer's spine."

With a graceful twirl, Emily stood from the bed, her naked form casting shadows on the floor. She sauntered over to her nightstand, her hips swaying with each step. Y/N's eyes followed her, her breath hitching as she opened the drawer and pulled out a silicone strapless dildo. The sight of it sent a jolt of excitement through her, and she felt her own arousal spike in anticipation.

Emily turned back to them, the dildo held loosely in her hand. She straddled Y/N's body, aligning the dildo with her own slick entrance. Spencer watched, his heart racing, as she pushed the toy inside herself with a soft groan. The other end, thick and curved, nudged against Y/N's pussy, the promise of a shared pleasure.

With a deliberate motion, Emily pushed the dildo further into her own heat, the base pressing firmly against her clit. She leaned over, capturing Spencer's mouth in a bruising kiss, her tongue demanding entry as she claimed him. He tasted her dominance, her control, and he melted into it, his cock pulsing with every inch she took.

Suddenly, she broke away, her eyes gleaming with excitement. "Now, watch," she whispered against his lips. She positioned herself so that the dildo was at the perfect angle, and then, with a wicked smile, she began to thrust into Y/N. The other woman's eyes went wide with surprise and pleasure as she felt the fullness of the toy stretching her open.

The sight of Emily's body moving against Y/N's, the sound of their flesh slapping together, was almost too much for Spencer to handle. He could feel the vibrations through his own body, and the pressure against his cock was exquisite. His hands tightened on Y/N's thighs as he watched Emily's breasts bounce with every thrust, her muscles rippling with the effort.

Y/N's moans grew louder, her hips meeting Emily's with every push. The dildo filled her completely, the curve hitting all the right spots. Spencer's mouth went dry as he watched her face contort in ecstasy, her eyes rolling back in her head. He could feel her body tighten against him, her muscles contracting as she approached climax. The power dynamics of the scene played out before him like a live-action porn scene, and he was utterly enthralled.

Emily's movements grew more fervent, her breaths coming in short, sharp gasps. The dildo slid in and out of Y/N with a wet, needy sound that seemed to echo through the room. Spencer's cock was painfully hard, trapped between Y/N's back and his pelvis, begging for attention. He knew he wasn't allowed to touch himself—not yet—but the temptation was almost unbearable.

Y/N's body began to tremble, her moans turning into whimpers of pleasure. "Emily," she breathed, her voice strained and desperate. "Please…"

Emily's pace grew frenzied, her own pleasure building as she watched Y/N teeter on the edge. With a final, powerful thrust, she pushed the dildo deep into Y/N, the toy's base grinding against her clit. Her orgasm ripped through her, a violent storm of sensation that had her back arching and her nails digging into the bedsheets.

Y/N's eyes rolled back in her head, and she screamed out her release, her pussy spasming around the dildo. Spencer felt her body tighten, her muscles contracting in waves of ecstasy that seemed to echo through his own. He could see the desperation in her face, the raw, unbridled passion that Emily had brought to the surface.

Emily's own climax washed over her like a tidal wave, her hips bucking and her pussy clenching around the inserted end of the dildo. Her orgasm was a symphony of sensation, a crescendo that had been building up, and now it crashed over her with the force of a hurricane.

As the waves of pleasure receded, leaving their trembling bodies in its wake, they took a moment to catch their breath. The room was thick with the scent of sex, a potent perfume that seemed to cling to their skin. Emily's chest heaved, her eyes half-lidded with satisfaction as she stared down at Y/N, who was still lost in the aftermath of her own release.

"Now, it's time for the next act," Emily murmured, her voice like velvet. She slid the dildo out of herself, a wet sound that had Spencer's cock twitching with need. Y/N looked up at her through a haze of pleasure, her eyes glazed with desire.

Emily's hand reached down, gripping the base of the dildo firmly. "Put this on," she ordered, her voice low and commanding. Y/N took it, her hands shaking slightly as she inserted the wearable end of the toy, adjusting it until the thick, curved shaft jutted out from her pelvis.

"Now," Emily said, her voice a seductive purr, "it's Spencer's turn." She slid off Y/N and turned her attention to Spencer. He watched, wide-eyed, as she approached him, his breath hitching in his throat. The need to be part of this intimate dance was now a raging fire, consuming him from the inside out.

Emily's eyes never left his as she straddled him, her wet pussy sliding against his cock. She positioned Y/N so that the tip of the dildo was pressing against his asshole, the coolness of it making him gasp. "You've been a good boy, watching us," she cooed, her hands sliding up his chest. "But now it's time for you to be a good little slut."

With a wicked smirk, she leaned in and whispered, "You know you want it, Spencer. You want to feel Y/N's cum inside you." The words were a hot brand, searing into his psyche and making him crave the filthy, depraved act more than he ever thought possible. His cheeks flushed, but he nodded eagerly, his eyes never leaving hers.

"Good boy," Emily purred, her hand sliding down to grip his cock. She gave it a rough squeeze, making him gasp. "But we don't need to prep you, do we? You're so desperate for it, you're practically begging."

Spencer felt his face heat up, but he couldn't deny the truth of her words. The thought of the dildo lubed up with Y/N's cum filling him up was driving him wild with need. He nodded, his voice a hoarse whisper. "Yes, Emily."

Y/N took the cue, pushing forward with a gentle but firm pressure. Spencer felt the tip of the dildo breach his hole, the sensation a mix of pain and pleasure that made his eyes fall shut. His body adjusting to the intrusion as she slid it in deeper. Emily watched with a sadistic glee, her eyes never leaving Spencer's face as she tightened her grip on his cock, stroking it in time with Y/N's movements.

Y/N took her time, her eyes locked on Spencer's, gauging his reactions. With every inch she pushed in, she felt his body tense and then relax, his moans growing louder. The sight of his face—a picture of pure, unbridled lust.

Once the dildo was fully seated in Spencer, Y/N paused, her body trembling with the effort of holding back. She waited, not for permission, but for the moment when she knew he was ready for more. Spencer's eyes were squeezed shut, his teeth gritted, but she could feel his body begging for it. He was hers to use, to claim, and she revealed in that power.

With a wicked grin, Y/N began to thrust into him, her movements slow and deliberate at first. Each push sent a bolt of pleasure through Spencer, the sensation of being filled so completely was something he hadn't quite prepared for. The dildo stretched him, filled him, and the feeling of Y/N's firm thighs against his own was an erotic symphony playing against his skin.

Emily, not one to be left out, straddled his waist, her own wetness coating his cock as she began to grind against it. The friction was maddening, a sweet torture that had him begging for more. She leaned in, her breath hot against his ear. "Look at me," she demanded, and Spencer's eyes snapped open, meeting hers.

Her eyes held a fiery dominance that sent a shiver down his spine, and he knew he was about to be claimed in a way he never had before. As Y/N's thrusts grew deeper, Emily took his length in her hand, stroking him in time with the rhythm. The sensation of being filled and pleasured simultaneously was almost too much to handle.

Emily leaned down, her breasts brushing against Spencer's chest as she took his mouth in a searing kiss. She tasted like power and need, and he could feel her pulse racing against his tongue. With a wicked smile, she broke the kiss and slid down his body, her wetness coating him as she went.

Her hand guided his cock to her entrance, the tip nudging against her slick folds. Spencer watched, his eyes wide with anticipation, as she took a deep breath and slid down onto him. The sensation was indescribable, a perfect mix of tightness and heat that had him gritting his teeth to hold back his own orgasm.

Emily's eyes never left his as she took him in, inch by inch, her pussy stretching to accommodate his thickness. Her moan was a symphony of pleasure, a sound that resonated through his very core. The sight of her, her breasts bouncing with every descent, her eyes glazed with desire.

Spencer felt the pressure building inside him, the need to come a gnawing ache that was only heightened by the feel of the dildo in his ass and Emily's tight heat around his cock. He could feel every muscle in his body straining, his breath coming in ragged pants. He was a conduit for their pleasure, a vessel for their desires.

Y/N's pace grew more erratic, her thrusts now punctuated by her own moans of need. Spencer's hips rolled to meet hers, his body moving on instinct, his mind lost in the symphony of sensation. He was consumed by the pleasure, a willing slave to the two dominant women who had claimed him.

The pressure within Spencer grew to an unbearable crescendo, his muscles taut as a bowstring. Emily could sense his impending release, her own arousal spiking at the thought of him coming undone beneath them.

Y/N's thrusts grew more deliberate, her aim precise. With a wicked grin, she angled the dildo just so, the tip hitting his prostate with each deep plunge. The first time it grazed that sensitive spot, Spencer's eyes rolled back in his head, and a guttural moan tore from his throat. Emily felt his cock jerk, and she knew they had found the sweet spot.

"Oh, fuck," Spencer whispered, his voice strangled. The sensation was intense, a white-hot bolt of pleasure that shot through his body. It was as if a switch had been flipped, and his entire being was alight with desire. His hands gripped the sheets, his knuckles turning white as he tried to hold on, to keep from shattering into a million pieces.

Emily's eyes never left his as she began to ride him with renewed vigour, her hips rolling and bucking in a dance that was as ancient as it was erotic. She was a goddess, a queen, and he was her willing subject. Each bounce sent a jolt through his cock, a symphony of pleasure that had him on the edge of his sanity.

Her breasts swayed with every thrust, the sight of her riding him a vision that was burned into his mind forever. He could feel the beginnings of his climax building, a pressure that was both terrifying and exhilarating. The room was a blur of sensation—the smell of sex, the sound of skin slapping against skin, the feel of the dildo filling him up and Y/N's hands guiding him through the motions.

But it was Emily's eyes that held him captive, her gaze a brand that seared into his soul. "Please," he whimpered, his voice strained. "Please, let me come."

Emily's smile grew, the corners of her mouth tilting upwards as she felt Spencer's desperation. She knew he was close, his body trembling beneath her. "Not yet," she whispered, her voice a sweet torment. "Not until I say so."

With a grace that belied the urgency of the moment, Emily repositioned herself, her movements as fluid as water. She turned, her legs straddling Spencer's hips, leaving her facing Y/N. She reached back, her hand finding his cock, slick with her juices, and guided it back to her entrance.

Their eyes locked, the unspoken question in Y/N's gaze. Emily's response was swift and sure. Her hand slid around the back of Y/N's neck, pulling her in for a kiss that was as fiery as it was possessive. Their tongues danced, a duel of desire that sent sparks flying. Spencer could feel the heat of their passion, the intensity of their connection.

With a fluid grace that seemed almost inhuman, Emily began to ride him, her hips moving in a mesmerizing rhythm that had him panting. Each downward thrust brought her closer to Y/N, whose mouth was eager and hungry against hers. They kissed as if it were the last time, as if the world was ending and all that mattered was this moment of shared ecstasy.

Y/N's breasts bounced with every movement, and Emily couldn't resist the temptation. Her hands slid up to cup them, her thumbs playing with the sensitive peaks.

"Look at me," Emily murmured, her voice a velvet command. Y/N's eyes snapped to hers, the haze of pleasure sharpening into focus. Emily's eyes narrowed, her voice dropping to a sultry purr. "You're going to cum for me, aren't you?"

Y/N nodded, her breath coming in short, sharp pants as she felt the pressure building within her. Each thrust of the dildo into Spencer sent waves of pleasure crashing through her body, the sensation of being so intimately connected to Spencer a heady rush.

Emily watched them, her own arousal growing by the second. Her hand slid down her body, her fingers finding her clit, already swollen and sensitive from her earlier release. Y/N's moans grew louder as she pumped the dildo into Spencer, her own climax approaching like a freight train.

"Fuck, Emily," Spencer gasped, his body a tightly wound spring ready to snap. "I can't hold on much longer."

Emily's eyes gleamed with a sadistic satisfaction as she watched Spencer's desperation. She leaned down, her breasts brushing against Y/N's as she whispered into the other woman's ear, "Make him cum, baby. I want to feel him spill inside me."

Y/N's eyes widened with excitement, and she picked up the pace, her movements becoming more erratic and passionate. Spencer's body was a canvas of pleasure, his moans and gasps painting a picture of ecstasy. Emily's hand worked in tandem with Y/N's thrusts, her fingers moving in a circular motion over her clit, driving her closer to the edge.

Spencer felt the climax building, his body a symphony of sensation. He could feel the tightness in his balls, the ache in his cock. "Please," he begged, his voice a hoarse whisper. "Please, let me cum."

Emily's eyes met Y/N's, and she nodded almost imperceptibly. The room was a cacophony of moans and gasps, the rhythm of their bodies in perfect harmony. Y/N's thrusts grew stronger, more demanding, the dildo slamming into Spencer's prostate with a precision that had him teetering on the edge.

"Cum for us, Spencer," Emily purred, her voice a siren's call. "Give us what we want."

The words were all it took. With a roar that seemed to shake the very foundations of the apartment, Spencer's orgasm hit him. His body arched off the bed, his hips bucking wildly as ropes of cum shot out of him, filling Emily. Y/N's eyes widened in awe, watching the display of raw, unbridled passion.

Emily felt the warmth of Spencer's release, the thickness of his cum filling her, and it was like a spark to kindling. Her own orgasm crashed over her, a wave so intense it stole her breath away. Her pussy clamped down on his cock, her muscles pulsing in time with her heartbeat as she rode the wave of pleasure.

Y/N watched, her eyes wide with a mix of awe and envy, as Emily took her pleasure. The sight of Spencer's body, lost in ecstasy, was almost too much to bear. Her own need grew, a desperate ache that she knew only one thing could satiate. She pushed the dildo into Spencer with renewed vigor, the friction against her own clit driving her closer to the edge.

Spencer's orgasm was a thing of beauty, a testament to the power that Emily and Y/N held over him. His body arched, his muscles tightened, and his eyes rolled back in his head. Y/N's hips never stopping, milking every last drop of pleasure from his trembling form.

As Spencer's climax subsided, Y/N's own need grew more urgent. She could feel the pressure building, her clit swollen and sensitive from the friction of the dildo. She rode him harder, her breaths coming in ragged gasps as she approached her own peak.

With one last harsh thrust, she tipped over the edge into her own orgasm. Her body spasmed, the dildo buried deep within Spencer as she found her own release. Her eyes squeezed shut, and she threw her head back, the waves of pleasure crashing over her like a storm at sea.

For a moment, there was only the sound of their ragged breathing, the scent of sex heavy in the air. Then, with a final tremor, Y/N pulled the dildo out of Spencer, the wet sound echoing through the room. She collapsed onto the bed beside him, her body slick with sweat.

Emily leaned over Spencer's form, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction as she watched him try to catch his breath. "Good boy," she murmured, her voice thick with lust. "You did so well."

Y/N leaned back, her breath coming in ragged gasps, her hand still trembling from the intensity of her orgasm. She reached down, her grip tight around the base of the dildo, and with one swift movement, she pulled it free. It was a sensation that sent aftershocks of pleasure through her, making her whimper.

With a sultry smile, she tossed the toy onto the bed, watching as it landed with a soft thud. It lay there, glistening with their combined juices, a silent testament to the passion they had just shared.

Y/N leaned back, her chest heaving with exertion. She felt… spent, yet invigorated. Her eyes met Spencer's, and she saw the same raw emotions reflected in his gaze. "Good boy," she echoed Emily's words, her voice a caress that sent shivers down his spine.

They all lay there, a tangled mess of limbs and satiated bodies. The sweat glistened on their skin, mingling with the remnants of their climaxes. Spencer's eyes drifted closed, a content smile playing on his lips as Emily and Y/N cuddled closer, their soft bodies pressing against his. Despite the stickiness and the faint smell of sex, there was something incredibly comforting about the intimacy of the moment.

Emily's hand trailed lazily over Spencer's chest, her thumb tracing patterns on his skin as she listened to the steady beat of his heart. Y/N's head rested on his shoulder, her breaths deep and even as she too revelled in the afterglow.

In the quiet of the post-coital haze, the unspoken truth hung heavy in the air. They were all silently glad that they had this arrangement, this deliciously twisted dance of domination and submission that played out behind the closed doors of Emily's apartment. It was a secret garden of pleasure, a place where they could shed the weight of their jobs and their inhibitions.

Spencer felt the warmth of their bodies, the gentle rise and fall of their chests as they all tried to catch their breath. He knew that without these moments, without the fiery passion that Emily and Y/N brought to his life, he would be lost, drowning in the cold, clinical world of the BAU. Their arrangement was more than just sex—it was an escape, a sanctuary from the darkness that surrounded them.

Y/N rolled onto her side, her hand sliding up to stroke Spencer's cheek. He leaned into the touch, his eyes fluttering closed as he felt the tension of the day melt away. The three of them had found something special, something that went beyond the confines of their job descriptions and into the realm of the taboo. It was a balm for their weary souls, a reminder that they were more than just agents, that they were alive and capable of feeling.

Emily watched them, her own chest rising and falling with the slow rhythm of contentment. She knew that Spencer craved this—the release from his own mind, the chance to let go of his control. And Y/N, she knew, enjoyed the power, the ability to make him beg and whimper. They were all getting what they needed, a delicate balance of give and take that only they understood.

The silence stretched out, a warm embrace that enveloped them all. It was a testament to their connection, this unspoken understanding that no words could ever fully capture. They had found refuge in one another, a place where they could be vulnerable and strong, where desire didn't have to be whispered but could be shouted from the rooftops—or at least the four walls of Emily's apartment.

[moonsandmobilityaids]

The Brownies

Pairings: Poly!marauders x disabled!reader Summary: You let James and Sirius try your brownies. Warnings: Chronic pain, marijuana usage Series Masterlist

The evening unfolds like a sigh of relief, tension ebbing away as the night draws near. You're nestled in your room with Sirius and James, the three of you lounging on your bed. The fire crackles softly in the hearth, casting flickering shadows along the stone walls while its warmth seeps into every corner, warding off the chill of autumn that lurks outside.

"Another Saturday well spent," Sirius remarks, stretching his long limbs out before him. His eyes are half-closed, a contented smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "D'you reckon we could make this a tradition?"

James chuckles from where he's sprawled nearby, propped up against headboard. He runs a hand through his already messy hair, making it stand up even more. "Only if Y/N promises to keep providing the snacks."

Your room is spacious for one person with its double four poster bed draped in red and gold curtains, a self-adjusting fireplace that keeps the temperature just right no matter the season, and an ensuite bathroom complete with a large bath. It's become something of a sanctuary within the castle’s ancient walls—a place where laughter rings loud and worries grow quiet.

Tonight, though, it's not just the allure of good company or the promise of a reprieve from homework that has drawn them here. Earlier in the week, they'd learnt about your marijuana usage, and now both boys were eager, albeit slightly apprehensive, to see what all the fuss was about.

Sirius is all too willing, of course; the very idea of trying something new and seemingly forbidden ignites a spark in his grey eyes. His life has always been a dance between rebellion and seeking approval—from his family, from society—and so, when faced with an opportunity to push boundaries, he never hesitates.

"Alright then," he says, sitting up straighter, anticipation colouring his tone. "Let's see what these treats can do."

"Patience," you chide, a hint of laughter in your voice. You summon the box from your shelves, setting it down between Sirius and James who lean in closer, their curiosity piqued. With a flourish, you lift the lid, revealing the brownies nestled together. They're unremarkable at first glance—just squares of baked chocolate—but there's an unmistakable scent wafting up from them, something earthy underlying the rich sweetness.

Sirius reaches out almost instinctively, but you pull the treat away before his fingers can close around it. His brow furrows, confusion lining his face until he catches sight of your smirk.

"I have to make them last until Christmas," you explain, placing the brownie back into the box. "They need to be rationed properly."

James' hand hovers over the opening, as if debating whether to snatch one for himself. But your warning gives him pause. He withdraws, settling back on his heels while watching you with renewed interest. It isn't often they see this side of you—the one that plans ahead, that tempers impulses with reason—and though it's different from their usual recklessness, they find themselves drawn to your resolve.

"Alright then," Sirius concedes, leaning back. There's still a glint of mischief in his eyes, but it's tempered now, held at bay by intrigue. "So how do we go about this?"

"First things first," you begin, reaching for a knife on your bedside table. The blade glints under the firelight as you slice through the soft texture of the brownie, cutting it into smaller pieces. "You’ll start with half each. Any more than that... well, let’s just say you'll be begging for Madam Pomfrey's Pepper-Up Potion come morning."

The two boys exchange wary glances before turning their attention back to you. Their playful bravado seems to have faded, replaced by a cautious curiosity.

"And remember," you continue, your tone serious despite the faint smile tugging at your lips, "the effects are not immediate. You might feel nothing for a while, but don’t eat more thinking it didn't work. Give it time."

There's silence as they digest your words, the gravity of the situation sinking in. For all their daring escapades and mischievous pranks, they've never quite ventured into territory like this before. It feels both thrilling and daunting—a line being crossed, yet also a door being opened.

"Are you nervous?" you ask, breaking the quiet.

"A little," James admits, running a hand through his unruly hair once more. His gaze doesn’t leave the brownie piece you’ve set aside for him.

"Excited," Sirius corrects, grinning despite himself. "It's not every day you get to try something so... unconventional."

With a roll of your eyes, you pass them their portions. "Just remember what I said."

Sirius takes his share with a nod, studying the morsel closely. Beside him, James does the same, his eyebrows knitting together in concentration.

On any other night, such seriousness would be out of place. But tonight, it fits. Tonight, they aren't simply Gryffindor boys seeking their next adventure—they're explorers standing on the brink of unknown territory, maps unfolded and compasses pointing toward unseen horizons.

After Sirius and James have eaten their portions of the brownie, the three of you wait for the effects to start. The anticipation is palpable, an electric current that seems almost alive in its own right.

The mood in the room shifts from anticipation to something softer and more intimate as the minutes tick by. Sirius leans back against the pillows on your bed, his usual smirk still present but there’s a tenderness in his gaze as he watches you and James. It’s a look you’ve seen before, often followed by some mischievous comment or playful jab, but tonight it feels different—less guarded, more genuine.

James settles beside you, his arm wrapping casually around your waist and pulling you closer to him. His touch is familiar, comforting even, yet it sends a jolt of excitement through you each time. There's a certain thrill to being this close, surrounded by warmth and the faint scent of chocolate lingering in the air.

There’s a moment of quiet as the three of you sit together, the warmth of your bodies pressed close in the soft glow of the fire. The setting of your room, with its self-adjusting fireplace and the large bed, adds to the intimate atmosphere. You can’t help but feel a sense of contentment wash over you, a feeling so overwhelming it nearly takes your breath away.

"Feel anything yet?" you ask after a while, breaking the silence.

James shrugs, a small smile creeping onto his face. "Maybe. It's hard to tell."

You watch him closely, noting the subtle shift in his demeanor. His movements are slower, more deliberate as if he's taking care to savour every sensation. The corners of his mouth twitch upwards into a soft grin, and there's a certain lightness in his eyes that wasn't there before—a calmness that seems to radiate from within.

"Hmm," Sirius hums, his voice low and steady. He blinks slowly, almost languidly, and leans back against the pillows propped up behind him. There’s a quiet ease about him now, a stark contrast to the playful energy he usually exudes.

The tension in the room begins to dissipate, replaced by a wave of warmth and comfort that envelops the three of you like a blanket. You can’t help but let out a content sigh, leaning back against James, who wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer to his side.

For a moment, you simply sit there, basking in the closeness and the peace that has settled over the room. You glance at Sirius, whose eyes are now half-closed as he lounges comfortably on your bed. A lazy grin spreads across his face, and for once, he doesn't seem to be plotting any mischief or planning any pranks. Instead, he looks... relaxed, truly relaxed, something you realise you've never seen before.

And then there's James. Despite being naturally laid-back, there's always been an underlying restlessness to him, a constant need to do, to act. But now, all traces of that have melted away, leaving behind a tranquillity you didn't know he was capable of. His arm around you feels heavier, not with pressure, but with presence—steady, grounding, real.

"Y/N," Sirius' voice is softer now, a low murmur that barely penetrates the silence. You turn to look at him, and he's already moving closer, his hand reaching out to gently slide along your waist, moving James’s arm out the way.

His touch sends a shiver through you, not from cold but from something else entirely—something warm and thrilling that starts in your belly and spreads outward until it reaches every corner of your body. He leans in then, his lips finding the crook of your neck with an ease that speaks of familiarity yet holds a certain novelty that has your heart racing.

His breath against your skin sends goosebumps trailing down your arms, and even the faintest brush of his fingers feels electrifying. It’s as if all your senses have been heightened, attuned to every minute detail—the way his chest rises and falls against your back, the warmth radiating from his body, the scent of him filling your nostrils.

You close your eyes, letting yourself sink into the moment, into him. Your hands find their way into his hair, tangling into the dark strands as you angle your head to give him better access. You can feel the tension draining from your body, replaced by a sense of peace and contentment.

Sirius pulls away slightly, just enough to meet your gaze. His eyes are heavy-lidded, a clear sign of the drug taking effect, but there’s something else there too—a depth of emotion you didn’t expect to see. And then he’s leaning in again, capturing your lips with his in a slow, languid kiss that makes your heart flutter.

James, sitting beside you, watches this interaction with darkened eyes. His gaze is intense but tempered by the effects of the marijuana brownie. He doesn't interrupt, doesn't make any sarcastic comments or tease Sirius about his newfound tenderness. Instead, he remains quiet, observing.

You feel James' hand on your shoulder, pulling you back towards him. You turn your head to look at him and find yourself caught in his gaze. His hazel eyes are soft but hold a depth that makes your heart flutter. Then he's leaning in, closing the distance between you until his lips meet yours.

The kiss is slow, deep—the kind that makes you forget everything else exists. The warmth of his mouth against yours sends a shiver down your spine, and for a moment, you lose yourself completely. It's different from the playful kisses you're used to sharing, less hurried and more... meaningful.

James' hands slide up to cup your face, tilting your head slightly to deepen the kiss. You let out a soft sigh, parting your lips further as you lean into his touch. The world outside fades away, leaving only the three of you in this intimate bubble where time seems to stand still.

"Y/N," James breathes out, his voice barely above a whisper. There's an intensity to his gaze that matches the fervour of his earlier words. "I love you."

Your breath hitches in your throat as he pulls himself closer to you, erasing the last bit of space between your bodies. His fingers trail along your jawline before coming to rest on the nape of your neck, sending shivers down your spine.

And then he's kissing you again, deeper this time, his tongue exploring your mouth with a boldness that leaves you breathless. Your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt, holding onto him like he's the only thing keeping you grounded.

It's intoxicating, the way he consumes all your senses, leaving no room for anything else. And despite the fear creeping at the edges of your consciousness—because how could something so wrong feel so right?—you can't bring yourself to pull away.

Instead, you press closer to him, losing yourself in the rhythm of his breaths, the taste of his lips, the reassuring solidity of his chest against yours. A low moan escapes you, muffled by his mouth, and you can feel him smile against your lips—a small victory in this game that neither of you are quite sure how to play.

James pulls back from your lips, a grin spreading across his face as he brushes a strand of hair away from your eyes. "You're amazing," he murmurs, voice low and rough with emotion.

His gaze is soft, unfocused—the same look he gets when he's lost in thought or simply enjoying the moment for what it is. You can't help but smile back at him, leaning into his touch as his fingers trace lazy patterns on your skin.

Sirius remains close, his arm draped around your waist and his hand tracing small circles. Every so often, his lips find their way back to your neck, each kiss sending a shiver down your spine despite the warmth radiating from both boys.

There's a quiet intimacy in these shared moments, a sense of closeness that goes beyond physical proximity. And even though you know this isn't how things should be—that there are lines being blurred and rules being broken—you can't bring yourself to care right now.

James leans in closer, his hand reaching up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. His touch is gentle, almost reverent, and you can't help but lean into it. "We've got all night," he murmurs, his voice low and soothing.

Sirius chuckles softly, the sound rumbling through his chest against your back. "James is right," he agrees, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your stomach. "We're staying."

"Feels nice," James admits, his eyes fluttering shut as he sinks further into the mattress. A smile plays at the corners of his lips, revealing just how much he's enjoying the effects of the joint. His usually restless energy is nowhere to be found, replaced instead by a languid calm that matches the slow rhythm of the music playing softly in the background.

Sirius lets out a low hum of agreement, his eyelids heavy as he rests his head against the pillows. His gaze remains fixed on you, though, half-lidded and full of admiration. "More than nice," he corrects, grinning lazily.

There's no denying the intimacy of the situation—the way their bodies curve protectively around yours, the faint smell of musk and cologne, the lingering taste of James' lips on yours...

But beyond the physical sensations, there's something else too—a sense of belonging that warms you from the inside out. It's in the way they look at you, not as some piece in a game of rivalry and one-upmanship, but as someone they genuinely care for and want to share this experience with.

For the first time in what feels like forever, you allow yourself to fully relax, sinking deeper into the embrace of the two boys who have somehow become an integral part of your life. Your mind still buzzes with questions and uncertainties, but for now, you push them aside, choosing to focus instead on the present moment and the undeniable connection you share with James and Sirius.

[doumadono]

Hiiiii! I am squeezing into your inbox to

1. Congratulate you on your achievement. You deserved it sweetheart and I am so happy for you (maybe even a lil jealous! Hihi). Keep up the wonderful work and keep bringing joy and comfort to other people!

2. To request something!

I want some Vanilla-Mango ice creams in a cup with Maple syrup.

All of this for my one and only bunny Mirko! 🐇🤍I love ya girl!

Stay awesome!

A/N: thank you so much, honeypot! Your support means everything. I hope you'll like this short piece, and please forgive me if the character isn't quite right — it's my first time writing for Bunny Hero Mirko! ♥

5k FOLLOWERS EVENT MASTERLIST MY HERO ACADEMIA

The afternoon sun cast a warm glow over the city, painting the buildings with shades of gold and amber. You were walking through the park, lost in thought, when you spotted Mirko sitting on a bench, her prosthetic leg resting beside her. Her expression was distant, her eyes fixed on something far away.

Approaching her, you noticed the faint lines of pain etched on her face. You knew about her recent struggles with phantom pains, the cruel reminders of the limbs she had lost during the war. "Hey, Mirko," you greeted softly, taking a seat beside her.

She glanced at you, offering a small, weary smile. "Hey, Y/N," she replied, her voice carrying a hint of exhaustion.

"Is everything alright?" you inquired, concern coloring your words as you noticed the faint lines of strain etched upon her face.

Mirko sighed, her gaze returning to the horizon. "Just another rough day, I guess," she admitted, her fingers tracing the contours of her prosthetic leg. "The phantom pains have been acting up again."

You reached out, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. "I'm sorry, Rumi. That sounds really tough."

She looked at you, her eyes filled with a mixture of gratitude and sadness. "It is," she admitted. "It's like… I can still feel them, you know? My missing arm and leg. Sometimes, it's like they're still there, and it hurts so much…"

You squeezed her shoulder gently, offering your support. "I can't even begin to imagine how hard that must be for you. But I'm here for you, okay? You're not alone. You never were, sweetie."

Mirko's eyes softened, and she leaned into your touch, finding solace in your presence. "Thank you," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

You hurried to a nearby store to grab two bottles of water and some mochi. When you returned, you paused behind a large tree, watching Mirko.

She was someone you deeply admired, one of the few people who truly inspired you. Her toughness was unmatched, and secretly, you yearned to possess even a fraction of her spirit, to be as brave as she was. She was your role model.

You spent the rest of the afternoon with Mirko, talking, laughing, and sharing stories, sitting on that bench. You listened as she opened up about her fears and insecurities, her dreams and aspirations. And through it all, you were there for her, offering words of encouragement and comfort.

As the sun began to set, casting long shadows across the park, Mirko turned to you, her eyes shining with gratitude. "You know," she began, her voice trembling slightly, "even on my darkest days, knowing that I have you by my side makes everything a little bit brighter."

You smiled, feeling your heart swell with warmth. "And you make everything brighter for me too, Mirko. You're strong, resilient, and incredibly brave. I admire you so much."

Mirko's smile widened, and she reached out, taking your hand in hers. "Thank you," she said softly. "That means the world to me. After Jaku and the war, things really shifted," she said, her brow creasing slightly. "It's not like it broke me, but I've been feeling more uncertain. About everything, really. Even my own abilities."

You met Mirko's gaze with a gentle smile. "Rumi," you began softly, squeezing her hand in reassurance, "you have no idea how many lives you've touched with your bravery. In the chaos of Jaku and the war, you were a beacon of hope for so many. Every leap you took, every punch you threw, they weren't just acts of courage — they were beacons of light in the darkness for all those who lost their hope. You saved countless lives with your unwavering determination and your indomitable spirit. Never doubt your abilities, my dear Rabbit Hero Mirko," you urged gently, your words a steadfast anchor amidst the uncertainty. "You are a hero in every sense of the word, and the world is a brighter place because of you. The echoes of your courage will never fade."

Mirko leaned into you, resting her head on your shoulder. "Thank you," she whispered, her voice tinged with emotion. "I think that's exactly what I needed to hear today."

[kaces-graham-crackers]

Steps of a Midnight Waltz - Halloween Special

Jenna Ortega x Reader

Summary: When Jenna invites you to an exclusive masquerade hosted by one of her famous friends, you expect a night of glamour and mystery—but not like this. Surrounded by ghostly guests and forced to relive a stranger’s tragic love story, the two of you must uncover the truth before the clock strikes midnight…or risk being trapped in their world forever.

Word Count: 4.5k

The soft hum of the television filled the living room, casting flickers of light across the walls. You and Jenna lay comfortably on the couch, limbs entangled in a way that felt second nature after three years together. It was one of those rare nights where neither of you had obligations pulling you away, and you’d settled into the rhythm of your lazy evening routine. You’d made dinner, and she’d attempted to surprise you with dessert—though the slightly charred edges hinted she might have gotten distracted.

She handed you a dish with a sheepish grin. “Hey, it’s the thought that counts.”

“Definitely,” you smirked, pulling her close for a quick kiss. “But we might need some whipped cream to help with the taste.”

Jenna rolled her eyes, swatting your arm before resting her head against your shoulder, exhaling a contented sigh. This felt like everything you’d worked hard for—a cozy house you could call home, where she could crash after long filming days, away from prying eyes. She even had her own set of keys, a secret most people didn’t know. Just her way of slipping in and out unnoticed, something that amazed you considering her popularity. Sure, fan mail sometimes found its way to your doorstep, and the paparazzi occasionally loitered around your neighborhood, but inside these walls, it was just you and Jenna.

The two of you had just finished watching the latest episode of some murder mystery show when Jenna’s phone buzzed. She glanced at it, her brows furrowing slightly as she sat up.

“What’s up?” you asked, shifting so you could look over her shoulder.

“It’s Percy,” she murmured, showing you the message. Percy Hynes White—a close friend from the Wednesday set. “He’s inviting us to some Halloween masquerade party in the hills.”

Your eyebrows rose. “A masquerade party? Isn’t that a little… theatrical?”

She chuckled, tilting her head in thought. “Percy always did have a flair for the dramatic. He says it’s exclusive, just a handful of his close friends and some others from the industry.”

You took a breath, considering. Halloween was always a fun excuse to get dressed up, but something about the invitation felt… different. “Exclusive in what way?”

Jenna shrugged, but her eyes gleamed with intrigue. “He says it’ll be unforgettable, that he pulled some strings to make it really immersive. Maybe it’s some kind of performance thing?”

You glanced at the message again, Percy’s words echoing in your mind: Dress to impress, but don’t look too closely under the mask.

Jenna leaned into you, her eyes sparking with a hint of mischief. “Come on, it could be fun. Plus, it’s been a while since we did something different for Halloween.”

You grinned, nudging her shoulder. “Alright, but if this turns into some horror-movie experience, I’m blaming you.”

Halloween night came swiftly as you both got ready rather quickly, ready for whatever the night brought you both. Jenna appeared from her room, adjusting her mask delicately as she walked toward you. She was dressed in a midnight blue gown that shimmered under the low lights, hugging her form and flowing elegantly with each step. Her dark hair was swept back, revealing a pair of sparkling earrings, and the way her mask accentuated her eyes left you completely mesmerized. The faint smirk tugging at the corners of her lips told you she noticed your reaction, and she lingered just a bit longer, letting you drink in every detail.

“Close your mouth,” she teased, her voice a soft whisper as she reached for your hand, the warmth of her fingers pulling you out of your daze.

You couldn’t help but smile, shaking your head slightly. “You’re one to talk.” You glanced down at yourself, taking in your outfit—a well-tailored ensemble that hit the balance between formal and comfortable, a layered look that was sharp and understated, yet eye-catching in its simplicity. Jenna’s eyes swept over you with an approving look that made your pulse quicken.

“Shall we?” you asked, offering your arm with a grin that felt a little too wide, a little too proud.

She took it, her hand light on your forearm as she gave a playful nod. “Lead the way.”

With one last look at each other, you stepped out together, ready to face whatever the night had in store.

The drive through the winding hills of Los Angeles felt endless, the road narrowing as you ventured further from the city lights. Jenna was next to you, her fingers laced with yours, a mixture of excitement and curiosity glinting in her eyes. The invitation had given you an address, but no further instructions, and the closer you got, the quieter it became, the distant sounds of the city fading into an eerie silence. Even the moon seemed hidden behind a veil of clouds, casting a dim, otherworldly glow over the road.

When you finally pulled up to the entrance of a sprawling estate, there was no doubt this was the place. Large iron gates, illuminated by the soft glow of lanterns, opened before you, as if expecting your arrival. Beyond the gates, a grand mansion loomed, its silhouette stark against the night sky, ivy curling around the dark stone facade. It looked like something from another era, timeless and haunting.

Jenna squeezed your hand, her eyes gleaming beneath her delicate mask. You could feel her anticipation as you reached the grand staircase leading to the entrance, the sound of distant music drifting through the thick wooden doors. A sense of excitement buzzed between you, but something else lingered in the air—an unspoken feeling of unease.

“Ready?” she asked, glancing up at you with a grin that held a hint of mischief.

You returned the smile, adjusting your own mask. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

The doors opened with a low creak, and you stepped into a dimly lit hall, chandeliers casting warm golden light across the marble floors. The scent of old wood, wax, and something faintly floral hung in the air, inviting yet oddly unfamiliar. Around you, figures in elaborate costumes and masks mingled, their faces hidden beneath intricate designs of lace and feathers, jewels catching the light.

Jenna looped her arm through yours, her eyes roaming the room. “This is amazing,” she whispered, her gaze taking in the rich details—the polished wood paneling, the velvet curtains, the shadows that seemed to flicker at the edge of the room, as if watching.

You wandered through the room together, and as you moved, you noticed the guests were unusually quiet, their voices barely above a murmur. Some stood in groups, exchanging hushed words, while others seemed lost in their own world, dancing to the hauntingly beautiful melody echoing through the halls. It felt like stepping into another time, where the past lingered just beneath the surface.

Percy spotted you from across the room and made his way over, dressed in a black suit with a silver mask that covered half his face. His eyes glinted with a knowing look as he greeted Jenna, pulling her into a quick hug before turning to you.

“You made it,” he said, his tone almost too casual, as though he’d expected you all along. He gave a slight nod to Jenna, his voice low. “I’m glad you could come. This place has… a certain charm, doesn’t it?”

You nodded, glancing around. “It feels like we’ve walked into a dream—or maybe a ghost story.”

Percy chuckled, the sound soft and oddly distant. “You’re not far off. This place is full of memories. Just be careful what you wish for.” He gave you both a cryptic smile before blending back into the crowd.

You exchanged a look with Jenna, a shiver running down your spine at his words. There was something strange about the way he’d spoken, like he was in on a secret you weren’t privy to. But before you could dwell on it, Jenna’s hand tugged on yours, leading you toward the center of the room where a small group had begun to dance, swaying to the ethereal tune filling the hall.

As you began to waltz, Jenna’s eyes sparkled beneath her mask. She leaned in, her voice barely a whisper. “Feels like we’re in another world, doesn’t it?”

You nodded, but as you spun her, your gaze drifted across the room, and that’s when you noticed something peculiar—no one else seemed to blink. The other guests moved with a rhythmic grace, their faces hidden, yet they held an unsettling stillness, their eyes unblinking, expressions frozen. An eerie sensation crept over you as you watched a masked couple dance, their movements smooth but unnervingly mechanical, like they were moving on a loop.

“Jenna,” you whispered, pulling her a bit closer, “does anything feel… off to you?”

She tilted her head, her brows knitting together as she looked around. “Now that you mention it…” Her eyes narrowed, observing the room with newfound caution.

Just then, the music shifted, the tempo quickened, almost imperceptibly at first, but then it grew, urging the dancers around you to move faster. There was something unnatural about the pace, a feverish intensity that set your instincts on edge.

You shared a look with Jenna, an unspoken agreement passing between you both. Just as the other dancers’ movements grew frenzied, you stepped away from the floor, hand in hand, leaving the strange whirl of figures behind. With a steadying breath, you guided her toward the lavish refreshment table, hoping a drink might shake the creeping unease that had settled over the room. Jenna’s grip tightened on your hand, her gaze darting to yours with a spark of concern.

“Maybe we should—”

The air grew cold, and a collective whisper echoed through the hall, sending chills down your spine. The dancers froze mid-movement, their heads turning in unison to face you, eyes gleaming with a strange, unnatural light.

And then, almost as one, they resumed their dance, spinning and twirling. The sound of footsteps echoed behind you, and you turned to see Percy standing at a distance, watching with that same unsettling smile.

“What’s going on here?” you asked, your voice coming out as a strained whisper.

He shrugged, his eyes gleaming beneath his mask. “Sometimes, the past doesn’t stay buried. Sometimes, it comes back for those who walk in its shadow.”

A cold shiver ran down your spine as his words sank in. You glanced at Jenna, catching the flicker of unease in her eyes, and a silent understanding passed between you. Something was very wrong here, and you were caught in the middle of it.

You wandered through the crowd, each new step revealing odd inconsistencies that tugged at your instincts. The clock on the grand wall, gilded and majestic, ticked backward in quiet defiance. The ballroom mirrors reflected only fragments of the room, casting eerie angles of the scene but omitting people altogether. Occasionally, the live band’s music warped and echoed, like it was playing from a distant place, the sound bending just enough to send shivers up your spine.

As you both sipped your drinks, Jenna leaned in close, her voice hushed. “Have you noticed?” She nodded toward the guests around you. They seemed lost in conversation, but the same words repeated over and over, as if the entire scene was caught in a loop.

Before you could respond, a woman in an elegant mask leaned close, her voice soft but brimming with urgency. “It’s almost midnight,” she whispered. “You’ll want to take your places.” And before you could question her, she melted back into the crowd, leaving you and Jenna alone with her cryptic warning.

The masked host's voice boomed across the room, drawing every eye to the center of the grand ballroom. With a flourish, he held up a delicate glass, commanding the attention of his guests. "Ladies and gentlemen, tonight, you are not merely observers—you are participants! The midnight waltz shall reenact a tale of love and loss, bound by fate and preserved through time."

The crowd murmured, intrigued, and the host’s gaze lingered on you and Jenna. He gestured toward the both of you, his eyes glinting beneath his ornate mask. "Our main players, our lovers—these two shall carry the heart of tonight’s story."

You exchanged a glance with Jenna, a strange sense of connection sparking between you. Before either of you could respond, attendants appeared, offering you each an item. Jenna was handed a simple, elegant locket—a piece that felt surprisingly familiar, almost as though it was meant to be hers. For you, it was a worn leather-bound journal, its edges frayed and soft with age.

“These,” the host continued, “are yours alone, to aid in your journey. Cherish them well.”

The moment your fingers brushed the journal, a strange, unexplainable warmth spread through your hand, as though it held secrets woven through time. Jenna’s fingers traced the locket, her eyes glancing up at you, a look of bewilderment on her face that mirrored your own.

As you returned to the center of the ballroom, the host’s voice echoed through the room. “Embrace the story, become the lovers, and perhaps—just perhaps—you shall unravel the truth bound within.” He lifted his glass high, and the crowd followed suit, toasting to the night’s mystery.

In your search for answers, you managed to slip away to a secluded area, whispering urgently about the strange inconsistencies you’d both noticed.

“This is way too weird,” Jenna mutters, glancing back at the eerily synchronized dancers. “None of this feels right.”

You nod, gripping her hand tightly as you both approach the grand entry doors. “Let’s just leave,” you whisper.

As you push against the door, an unsettling realization hits you—your hands don’t even make contact. It’s as if an invisible force is keeping you at bay. You try again, pushing harder, pulling, but nothing works.

“What’s going on?” Jenna’s voice shakes slightly, and you can see the worry flickering in her eyes.

You shake your head, trying to stay calm. “It’s like… there’s a barrier.”

A heavy silence falls as the panic begins to rise, your hearts racing as you look at each other, silently questioning your next move. But then, footsteps echo behind you.

“Going somewhere?” a voice asks lightly. You turn to see Percy smiling, his gaze too knowing, his presence almost smug.

You glare at him, frustration and fear mingling. “What the hell is going on, Percy?” you demand, stepping forward. “What kind of game is this?”

“Game?” He raises an eyebrow, his smile growing wider. Before your eyes, his features change—his eyes darkening, his skin taking on an unnatural pallor as he shifts into a figure far older, with a sinister, regal presence.

You feel a chill run down your spine as he adjusts his collar, seeming unfazed by your reaction. “Convincing, wasn’t it?” he says, that smirk never leaving his face.

Jenna steps closer to you, her fingers tightening around yours. “We’re not playing your game,” she says, her voice cold, steady.

“Oh, but you are.” He gestures to the ballroom, where guests begin removing their masks, revealing twisted, decaying faces beneath. Ghostly forms, eyes vacant and flesh rotting, continue their dances as if unaware of their grotesque states.

“These guests… they’ve been here for centuries, driven by jealousy. This masquerade began as a prank, a cruel game played on two lovers who were envied for their devotion,” he explains. “But it went too far, ending in their deaths. In their rage, the lovers cursed this place, trapping their tormentors and any unfortunate soul who happens upon it.”

Jenna glances at you, dread dawning in her eyes as the host leans closer, a chilling satisfaction in his voice. “To escape, you must reenact their story. Relive their romance, their tragedy. There are three phases—two guided by the artifacts and memories left behind, but the final phase… well, that’s where all the others have failed. The midnight waltz—their final dance together. Complete it, and the curse is broken.”

You swallow, barely able to find your voice. “And if we don’t…?”

He smiles, stepping back as the ghastly figures drift around you. “Then you become part of the masquerade, like all the others, decaying one slow night at a time.”

The realization weighs heavily on you both as he fades back into the shadows, leaving you surrounded by cursed souls and an impossible task ahead.

The grotesque figures around you move in mechanical loops, whispering fragments of conversations that echo as if from another time. The midnight waltz, a doomed love, the need to break free—it all blurs together, and you can feel the walls of the ballroom closing in, the air heavy with the weight of centuries-old despair.

Jenna’s fingers tighten around yours, grounding you. “We’re getting out of here,” she says, her voice low but unwavering. The strength in her tone cuts through the haze of fear clouding your mind, giving you a renewed sense of determination.

You make your way back to the main hall, hand in hand. The first artifact is on display: a delicate, tarnished locket resting on an antique table, its chain coiled like a serpent around the pendant. You can almost feel its significance, the weight of the story woven into its metal.

Jenna picks it up, turning it over in her hands. “There’s something inscribed here,” she murmurs, squinting at the faint etchings. Together, you decipher the words: Bound beyond time, bound beyond death.

You exchange a glance, both feeling the eerie chill of those words sink in. “It must have symbolized their bond,” you say, voice barely above a whisper. “Their promise to each other.”

Jenna’s brow furrows as she looks at you, a flicker of hesitation crossing her face. “Are you saying we… we have to recreate that?”

You nod slowly, realizing that this isn’t just about physical tokens—it’s about re-enacting the emotions, the vows, the essence of the couple’s love. “It’s not forever,” you say, holding her gaze. “But maybe… just for tonight, we need to follow the steps.”

Taking a deep breath, she slips the locket around her neck. The moment it clasps, a strange warmth fills the room, and for a brief moment, the faded grandeur of the ballroom sharpens, as if it’s been restored to its former glory. The guests around you pause, their eyes glinting with a ghostly awareness, and the haunting music softens into a gentle melody.

You reach for Jenna’s hand, repeating the locket’s words together, Bound beyond time, bound beyond death. It’s a strange, almost surreal moment, and as the words leave your lips, you’re hit with a wave of emotions—flashes of memories that don’t belong to you. A hidden garden under moonlight, whispered promises, stolen glances. It’s the love story of two people who loved deeply and died too soon.

The vision fades, and you’re left breathless, the reality of the ballroom returning, though now the locket is glowing faintly around Jenna’s neck, signaling the completion of the first phase.

“One down,” Jenna murmurs, a shaky but determined smile on her lips.

But as you glance around, you realize the ballroom’s cursed guests have taken notice, their ghostly forms edging closer, their hollow eyes fixed on the two of you with a mixture of envy and hunger. The first phase has stirred something within them, a reminder of the love and life they can no longer possess.

With a renewed urgency, you turn to the next artifact: a worn leather-bound journal, resting on a pedestal in the corner of the room. Its cover is cracked and faded, as though it’s been handled countless times, and you can almost feel the weight of its history as you pick it up. The journal, you sense, holds the heart of the couple’s tragedy.

Jenna leans over your shoulder as you open the book, its yellowed pages filled with fragments of thoughts, scrawled notes, and images. It’s a scattered, chaotic testament to their love and the jealousy that surrounded it. Some words are scratched out violently, others rewritten with fervor. Over and over, certain phrases leap out: betrayal, envy, forever.

Your fingers trace the words, absorbing the story that unfolds. The lovers had found solace in each other, hidden from prying eyes, but were ultimately torn apart by the envy of those who could not bear their happiness. And in their final moments, they had written their last vows in this journal, hoping their love would survive, even if they could not.

Jenna’s fingers skim a passage near the end. In the midnight waltz, we found each other anew, becoming one, bound beyond envy, beyond fear. She looks at you, a sense of understanding in her gaze. “The waltz was their key… their way of defying the curse.”

You nod, feeling the intensity of the moment settle over you. “If we can complete it, maybe… maybe it’ll break the curse.”

But before you can speak further, a low whisper fills the air. The host has reappeared, his face cracked and ghastly, a ghostly grin stretching across his face. “Close,” he murmurs, his voice an eerie, mocking echo. “But remember, the waltz must be flawless. Fail… and you become one of us.”

The masked guests begin to unmask fully, revealing hollow, decaying faces, their eyes dark and empty. You realize they were just like you, attempting to escape and failing, cursed to haunt the ballroom forever.

Jenna’s hand tightens around yours, her jaw set with determination. “We’re not failing.”

Together, you take to the center of the ballroom. The final phase is upon you, and the music swells, filling the room with a haunting melody. You hold each other, positioning yourselves to begin the midnight waltz, the final act in the story.

As you sway to the rhythm, following the clues in the journal, the air grows thick, almost tangible with the memories of the lovers’ final moments. Each step is a reenactment of their love, each turn a testament to their devotion. It’s as though you and Jenna are slipping into their roles completely, becoming extensions of their story, living their emotions, their desperation to break free.

The guests murmur, the clock strikes closer to midnight, and you both quicken your pace. The music guides you, but something feels… wrong. The room seems to close in, and you can sense the host watching, waiting for a single mistake.

As the final chime rings out, you find yourself faltering, a sudden sense of dread washing over you. Jenna stumbles, but you catch her, your arms wrapping around her, steadying her.

“This isn’t their ending,” you say, voice firm, defiant. “We’re not bound to their fate.”

In a moment of clarity, you realize the way to break the curse isn’t to follow their tragic path but to reject it. Instead of finishing the dance, you pull away from Jenna, breaking the final pose. She follows suit, her eyes wide with understanding.

“No!” the host’s voice echoes, his face contorted with rage. The guests begin to wail, their figures blurring and fading as the room shakes, the walls cracking, the ceiling starting to crumble.

Hand in hand, you and Jenna turn and run toward the grand doors, which swing open before you. You burst out into the cold night air, the mansion collapsing behind you. The sounds of wailing and cries echo as the walls crumble into dust, the ballroom fading into nothingness.

Breathing heavily, you and Jenna look at each other, the weight of what just happened sinking in. You reach the car, slipping inside, Jenna’s hand clutching yours tightly. She’s shaking slightly, but her eyes hold a glint of relief, mixed with disbelief.

As you drive away, leaving the cursed estate in the rearview mirror, you glance at each other, a silent understanding passing between you. The mansion is gone, but a part of you wonders if the shadows of that night will ever fully leave.

When you glance back one final time, you see faint silhouettes in the windows, figures waving. You can’t tell if it’s a farewell or a warning, but as the city lights come into view, you turn your gaze forward, leaving the midnight waltz—and its ghosts—behind.

The weight of the night settled over you as you drove back toward the city, silence stretching between you and Jenna, punctuated only by the quiet hum of the car engine. The experience had left an indelible mark, a lingering tension woven into every stolen glance and shared breath.

Jenna finally broke the silence, her voice barely above a whisper. “Do you think… we actually got out?”

You hesitated, the question hanging heavy in the air. “I don’t know,” you admitted, your fingers instinctively tightening around the wheel. “But we’re here. Together. That has to mean something, right?”

She nodded slowly, though the uncertainty lingered in her eyes. For a while, neither of you spoke, each lost in the events that had unfolded in that cursed ballroom.

The familiar city lights gradually began to replace the eerie glow of the mansion, grounding you both back into the present. The reality of life outside those doors returned with the first streetlight that passed over you, illuminating Jenna’s face with a warmth and familiarity that finally eased some of the tension in your chest.

As you pulled into your driveway, the house stood as a reassuring sight—its warm lights a stark contrast to the haunting shadows you’d left behind. When the car came to a stop, you exhaled, feeling the grip of that midnight world finally starting to release you.

Jenna unclasped her seatbelt and turned to you, a small, weary smile tugging at her lips. “Let’s go inside.”

Together, you climbed out of the car, and as you stepped through the doorway, you felt the final remnants of the night’s dread fall away, replaced by a familiar comfort. You locked the door behind you, the soft click echoing in the quiet house.

She reached for your hand, pulling you gently toward the living room. Settling back onto the couch, limbs entwined, it was as though nothing had changed at all—as though the night’s horrors had merely been a dream.

But as Jenna’s fingers laced through yours, her head resting against your shoulder, you could feel the strength in her grip, the weight of everything you’d both just survived. And despite the questions that lingered, there was a peace that began to settle between you, a sense that, whatever shadows may still linger, they couldn’t touch you here.

As you drifted into the comfort of each other’s arms, the clock on the wall chimed softly in the distance, marking midnight. For a moment, a chill swept through the room, a final reminder of the midnight world you’d escaped.

But then, Jenna’s fingers traced a small circle on your palm, grounding you both. The warmth of her touch dissolved any lingering doubts, and you let yourself sink into the quiet safety of the present, leaving the echoes of that haunted waltz to fade into memory.

[lefteagleblizzard]

𝔏𝔞𝔲𝔤𝔥𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔞𝔱 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔩𝔬𝔴𝔩𝔦𝔣𝔢𝔰

Derek Danforth X gn reader

Summary: You were sprawled on opposite sides of the long, luxurious couch, with a beer bottle dangling from his fingers, you in a half-reclined position with one leg bent on the cushion and the other stretched to the floor. The air was thick with boredom, a rare lull in the otherwise frenetic life you both led. To fight it off, you start to respond online to all the annoying messages you receive online on social media. The situation escalated from there on.

Warnings: no pronouns used towards the reader so everyone can read. You and Derek are both high. Lots of curses. Inappropriate photos taken. Fluff. Smut. The parts written like this are comments and replies.

Words count: 4000 words

This can also be found on wattpad and ao3

The flickering light from the TV cast a dim glow in Derek Danforth's opulent living room. You were sprawled on opposite sides of the long, luxurious couch, he with a beer bottle dangling from his fingers, you in a half-reclined position with one leg bent on the cushion and the other stretched to the floor. The air was thick with boredom, a rare lull in the otherwise frenetic life you both led.

Your mind feels foggy, your limbs heavy, as you sink deeper into the couch. Derek, sprawled on the other end, lazily swirls the remaining beer in his bottle. His eyes, usually sharp with cunning, are now half-lidded, reflecting the same clouded haze that envelops you. The drugs have softened the world, and for a moment, the constant pressure of Derek's cutthroat lifestyle is distant and insignificant.

"Is it just me, or does everything feel incredibly dull?" Derek drawls, his words slurring slightly. His voice cuts through the comfortable silence, tinged with the kind of boredom that only comes with too much money and too much time.

You chuckle softly, nodding in agreement. "You'd think with all the money and power you have, things would be more exciting," you reply, your voice carrying a dreamy quality. The world feels both larger and smaller, possibilities seeming endless yet out of reach.

He snorts, a lazy grin spreading across his face as he props his head on his hand. "Right? Here we are, in the middle of everything, and still bored out of our minds."

"Hey, why don't we head to the bedroom? Find something a bit more fun to do?" you suggest, the monotony starting to wear you down. He makes no effort to hide his gaze as it trails down your legs, unabashed. A noticeable tent forms in his pants.

A slow grin spreading across his face as he raises his hand, gesturing for you to come closer. But just as you start to rise, your phone buzzes, breaking the moment.

You groan in exasperation, rolling your eyes. Derek's curiosity is piqued. "Who is it?" he asks, his voice tinged with irritation and a hint of jealousy.

"It's just another one of those idiots who won't stop messaging me on social media," you reply, rolling your eyes.

His interest deepens, and he leans forward slightly. "Let's see them," he says, the command clear in his tone.

You crawl towards him on the couch, moving into a sitting position against him while you show your phone to him.

You open your message requests, and together, you start to sift through the chaos.

The first message that catches your eye is from a persistent guy who begs for money.

Opening the chat, you see how the messages where sent every day at the same hour.

"Look at this one," you say, holding your phone out for Derek to see.

“Every. Single. Day. This guy, wakes up, and he knows he has to come at the same fucking hour to bust my balls with those stupid messages,” you said with a tone that mixed amusement and annoyance.

Derek laughed while his left hand held you tightly around the waist.

"Look at this," you say, showing Derek the message.

Please, can you send me some money? I really need it!

Hey, can you send me $100? I really need it. Promise I'll pay you back!

Hey! I need $3 to buy a new skin in my game. Help a friend out?

My cat needs a new toy. Can you send $7?

"Those are for sure some dumb teenager doing it for laughs with his friends."

"Let's mess with him, reply with something ridiculous.” he says, his eyes gleaming. You start typing something, glad you were capable to entertain Derek.

Sure, I'll send you a cent for every brain cell you're missing. Should be enough for a candy bar.

Derek laughs harder, his amusement growing. "Perfect. Hit send."

The next chat you had in the list was just a video sent by someone. It was all black and it still needed to be download.

Derek has placed his head on your shoulder, deeply invested on your phone’s screen. One of his legs bouncing up and down while his dirty blonde hair lightly tickled your face.

You clicked on the video and it started to load.

Only 20 seconds long.

A car was moving down a hill, the road engulfed in green-

Oh fuck! Not this video.

Derek hasn’t reacted the slightest.

Has he really never watched this video online? No friends of his pranked him with this?

He watches intently, and when the screaming monster appears, he jumps, curses, and pushes you slightly on the arm.

You laugh heartily, resting your head on his shoulder, the shared moment of amusement breaking the tedium.

"You're such an ass," he chuckles, his tone a mix of annoyance and amusement.

“I couldn’t resist! Your reaction was priceless!” With a playful grin you then gently nudge him with the back of your arm. “Look at those pests!”

You come across several messages from people judging your relationship with Derek.

You're only with Derek for his money. Admit it.

"What should we say to these jealous losers?" Derek asks, his tone dripping with disdain.

“Let me handle this” you said confidently, slowly tilting your head to one side, feeling the gentle pull along the opposite side of your neck.

You rolled your head forward, chin tucking into their chest, and continue the motion to the other side, creating a smooth, circular movement. A series of soft, crunchy sounds followed your actions. The muscles and tendons in their neck elongate and contract with each motion, providing a sense of relief.

Absolutely! Do you think he could buy me a yacht next? I'm running out of closet space for my shoes

Derek laughs, "I'd totally get you a yacht if you asked. Just say the word."

You grin back at him, "I know, but then I'd need a matching island. Can you manage that too, Mr. CEO?"

Derek looks at you with a mocking grin. "So it is true that you’re with me just for the money?"

You play along, nodding exaggeratedly.

"Absolutely. I'm just here to drain your bank account and live a life of luxury"

You and Derek burst into uncontrollable laughter, the kind that makes your stomach ache and your cheeks hurt.

Derek’s eyes are watering as he tries to catch his breath. “I can’t believe what we are doing,” he manages to gasp between fits of laughter.

You clutch your sides, trying to calm down. “People are going to think we’re insane.” Your eyes are watering, and your stomach muscles are starting to ache from the constant convulsions.

Derek wipes a tear from his eye, still chuckling. “If they can’t take a joke, that’s their problem.”

You both take a moment to breathe deeply, the laughter slowly subsiding. “Okay, okay,” you say, finally regaining some composure.

“Let’s see what other gems people have sent us.”

Derek nods, still grinning. “Bring it on. I’m ready for anything now.”

You're just another pretty face with no brains. Bet your boyfriend gets bored of you quickly.

Your brain almost instantly created a reply for this douche, your fingers dancing on the keyboard of your phone.

Brains? Who needs them when you have a face like mine? Oh wait, I've got both. Lucky me

Derek grins, "And lucky me. Beauty and brains in one package."

You laugh at Derek’s comment, feeling a warm blush spread across your cheeks. “Flattery will get you everywhere,” you tease, nudging him playfully.

Derek chuckles, “Just speaking the truth. Now, let’s see what else we’ve got here.”

You blocked this person, your fingers now memorized the series of buttons to press as you rapidly exit the chat and scroll through the messages, spotting another one that caught your eye.

You're nothing but Derek's plaything. Hope you enjoy being used.

You and Derek exchange a glance, and then both burst into uncontrollable laughter. The absurdity of the message, combined with the haze of your high, makes it impossible to take seriously.

Derek, still chuckling, says, “Wow, someone really thinks they’re clever, huh? What a joke.”

You giggle, wiping tears from your eyes. “Seriously, do they think we’re going to be offended by this? It’s just sad.”

Derek nods, his grin widening. “Yeah, it’s like, ‘Oh no, someone on the internet doesn’t like us!’ Whatever will we do?”

You both dissolve into laughter again, the ridiculousness of the situation making it even funnier. “I mean, if being your ‘plaything’ means getting to hang out with you, then sign me up,” you say, still giggling.

Derek smirks, “And if being ‘used’ means having a great time together, then I’m guilty as charged.”

“Watch this” you nudged him playfully while you started to type a perfect reply.

I do! He's quite generous with his toys. Ever tried a private jet or a penthouse suite? Didn't think so

The sound of your laughter is infectious, you could feel your cheeks beginning to burn and tighten from the sheer effort of smiling and laughing so hard.

“I’m just astonished by how people can’t mind their own fucking business”

Your facial muscles protest against the prolonged workout.

Derek roars with laughter, clearly enjoying the banter.

Despite the discomfort, you can’t stop laughing, and every time you try to catch your breath, something funny happens again, reigniting the laughter.

Derek's curiosity gets the better of him, and he starts fumbling for his own phone, struggling slightly due to his inebriated state.

“Your phone is always glued to your hands, how you did you even lost it?” You giggled while looking around on the couch.

“it got jealous of how much attention I gave you.”

You help him locate his phone, and he starts scrolling through his own inbox.

"I bet I have some of these idiots messaging me too," he says, struggling because he's a bit high. He mumbles, his fingers clumsy on the screen.

Sure enough, Derek finds a treasure trove of messages from people trying to get his attention. He reads a few aloud, his eyes widening with disbelief and amusement. "Listen to this one," he says, his voice dripping with disdain.

*I desperately need your help to pay my rent. Please, sir*

You burst out laughing again. “Oh my god, do people really think that’s going to work?” you say, clutching your stomach.

Derek shakes his head, still chuckling.

“Apparently. I mean, come on, at least be creative if you’re going to beg for money.”

You giggle, “Yeah, like, ‘Hey, I need money to fund my dream of becoming a professional couch potato.’”

Derek laughs even harder, nearly dropping his phone and spilling his beer. “Exactly! At least that would be entertaining.”

What do they think I am, a charity?

Together, you navigate his inbox, finding messages from people trying to ingratiate themselves with him or begging for favors. His responses are curt and scornful, reflecting his disdain for those he considers beneath him. Each sarcastic reply and biting remark from Derek sends you both into fits of laughter, the absurdity of the situation providing endless entertainment.

It was absurd the amount of people who texted him for some money.

One message catches Derek's attention. A request for money, predictably coming from someone with a flimsy excuse and a generic sob story. Derek's eyes light up with mischief, and he suddenly leaps off the couch with surprising agility.

"I've got an idea!" he exclaims, his voice slightly slurred but full of energy. You watch as he disappears momentarily into another room.

He returns with a wad of cash, a manic grin on his face. "Let's show them what it's like to ask Derek Danforth for money!"

He throws open the large windows overlooking the sprawling city below. You follow eagerly, a mix of excitement and bewilderment coursing through you as you realize what he's about to do.

"Are you serious?" you ask, giggling uncontrollably, the absurdity of the situation heightened by the substances in your system.

"Watch this," he says, still grinning. He holds up his phone, recording himself in selfie mode. "To all you lovely people asking for my money, here you go!" With a dramatic gesture, he begins tossing bills out the window, the wind catching them and scattering them across the cityscape below.

The two of you burst into laughter, your sides aching as you double over, watching the spectacle unfold. Derek can't hold back a huge grin, his laughter infectious and carefree.

"Consider it a donation to the air fund!" He shouts into the camera, tears of laughter streaming down your cheeks. "And to whoever finds it first!"

He sits back on the couch, gesturing with a lazy wave of his hand for you to join him. You slide over, nestling close to him, feeling his warmth as he pulls you tight against his side. His hand rubs your waist gently, a comforting and familiar gesture that makes you feel lightheaded and content, the substances in your system amplifying the sensation.

Derek ends the recording grinning widely. You can feel the vibrations of his laughter as it rumbles through his chest, his amusement infectious.

Sitting there, enveloped by Derek's warmth and the shared hilarity of the moment, you feel a profound sense of camaraderie. The laughter you're sharing becomes a highlight of your evening, a memory you know you'li treasure.

"You know," he says, still chuckling, "this is the most fun l've had in weeks. Maybe we should make this a regular thing."

"Reading and mocking my messages?" you ask, amused by the idea.

"Why not?" he replies with a mischievous grin. "It's better than dealing with all the idiots at work. Let’s see if we missed any important messages while we were having fun.”

You and Derek kept scrolling through the endless messages on your phone, one particularly haughty comment catches your eye. "Look at this one, the final boss" you said, your voice dripping with sarcasm as you read aloud.

It's so unprofessional to sleep with your boss, especially with those photos that you take with him. People like you give hard-working people a bad name.

Derek snorts, his expression a mix of amusement and disdain.

"Unprofessional, huh? Who does this guy think he is?" He leans closer, his stumble scratching your cheek. "What photo is he even talking about?"

You both rack your brains, trying to recall what could have sparked such a message. Derek's eyes narrow as he tries to remember. "Was it the photo of you sitting on my lap at that party?" he asks, his brow furrowing in thought.

You shake your head, recalling the night in question. Those damn paparazzi. "Nah, it was of two months ago and it one got deleted almost instantly by your mother. Maybe he saw the one where you put me on top of that table and we were making out?"

Derek's eyes light up with mischief, a slow grin spreading across his face. "You still have that photo?"

"Of course I do," you reply, smirking as you scroll through your gallery.

"Send it to me now," he orders, the command clear in his voice. You begin to follow his instructions, but Derek suddenly grabs your phone from your hands, his eyes sparkling with a new idea. "And about this asshole, I have an idea."

"What are you planning?" you ask, intrigued.

"Just follow my lead," Derek says with a devilish smile. He pulls you closer, and you think he's about to take a selfie of the two of you kissing. But as his rough hand cups your chin, guiding you into a kiss, you feel his other hand taking your wrist and placing it on his clothed dick.

Your eyes widen in surprise, and you realize he's lowered his phone just enough to capture the provocative scene.

He snaps the photo, his middle finger prominently displayed alongside your shocked expression. Derek laughs loudly at your reaction, his amusement filling the room. You can't help but join in, the absurdity of the situation breaking any remaining tension.

"You're insane," you say between fits of laughter, leaning against him.

Derek grins, a wicked gleam in his eye. "Insane, but effective. Let's send this to that arrogant prick."

You both wheeze with laughter as you attach the photo to the message and hit send. Without missing a beat, you block the guy permanently, your chuckles filling the room.

The camaraderie in your shared mischief is palpable, a stark contrast to the dark and twisted world you both inhabit.

Derek then tosses your phone to the other side of the couch. "Hey!" you protest, but your words are cut off as he pulls you into a quick, hungry kiss.

His lips are demanding, his hands possessive, as if he's claiming you all over again.

Derek shifts, pulling you into his lap so you're straddling him, your knees pressing into the couch on either side of his hips. The new position brings you even closer, and you can feel the heat of his body through your clothes. His hands roam your back, pulling you tighter against him as the kiss becomes a battle for dominance.

He breaks the kiss, his eyes dark with desire. "So, about that fun you proposed earlier..." His voice is a low growl, sending shivers down your spine. The playful banter and shared mockery have only intensified the chemistry between you.

The room is filled with a charged silence, the soft hum of the city outside barely penetrating the intimate bubble you and Derek have created on the couch. The air between you crackles with a palpable electricity, every breath, every touch, every shared glance a spark that ignites the flames of your desire.

Derek's hands, warm and confident, trail over your skin with a possessive tenderness that sends shivers down your spine. His fingers trace the curve of your waist, the dip of your back, exploring you with a reverence that speaks volumes of the depth of his feelings. You respond in kind, your hands mapping the hard planes of his chest, the sinews of his arms, committing every inch of him to memory.

As your lips meet again, the kiss deepens, growing more fervent, more insistent.

Derek's mouth moves with a hunger that mirrors your own, his tongue dancing with yours in a passionate ballet. The taste of him- whiskey, smoke, and something uniquely Derek-intoxicates you, pulling you deeper into the vortex of your shared passion.

With a sudden, fluid motion, Derek flips you from his lap, pinning you beneath him on the couch. The shift is so seamless, so graceful, it leaves you breathless. He hovers above you, his eyes dark with a mix of lust and something deeper, more profound. The weight of his body presses down on you, grounding you, anchoring you in this moment of intense connection.

"Can you believe the things people send us?" you murmur, a laugh bubbling up even as your breath quickens with anticipation.

Derek grins, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "People are ridiculous," he agrees, his voice a low rumble. "Jealousy and stupidity seem to be in endless supply."

You giggle, the sound light and carefree, a sharp contrast to the intensity of your physical connection. "All those messages, people thinking they can get to us."

His hands find your legs, lifting them and wrapping them around his waist.

The movement pulls him closer, your bodies aligning perfectly, the heat between you a tangible force, You cling to him, your arms encircling his neck, your fingers tangling in his hair as you draw him even nearer.

He shakes his head, lowering his lips to your neck, kissing a line of fire down to your collarbone. "They're jealous because they see what we have and want it for themselves," he says between kisses.

"Let them be jealous," you whisper, arching your back as his mouth continues its journey. "We only need each other."

Derek's gaze locks onto yours, and in that moment, the world narrows to just the two of you. The raw emotion in his eyes is mirrored in your own, a silent exchange that speaks of the depth of your bond. He lowers his head, his lips brushing against your neck, your collarbone, each kiss a brand that sears his presence into your very soul.

The rhythm of your breathing synchronizes, the rise and fall of your chests a harmonious dance. Derek's hands roam your body with a slow, deliberate purpose, exploring every inch of you with a reverent hunger. His touch is both a question and an answer, a promise and a plea, as he seeks to merge not just your bodies but your very beings.

You arch against him, your body responding instinctively to his, every nerve ending aflame with desire. The couch beneath you seems to melt away, leaving you suspended in a world of pure sensation, where nothing exists but the exquisite pleasure of being with him. Your movements are a symphony of passion, each touch, each kiss, each whispered word a note in the melody of your love.

As Derek enters you, the world seems to hold its breath, the moment stretching into eternity. The sensation is overwhelming, a rush of heat and light that engulfs you, binding you together in a way that transcends the physical. You gasp, your fingers digging into his shoulders as you cling to him, your bodies moving in perfect harmony.

The rhythm of your lovemaking is a primal, instinctive dance, a perfect union of flesh and spirit. Every thrust, every caress, every shared breath brings you closer, your bodies melding together in an ecstasy that defies description. The intensity of your connection is almost too much to bear, a bright, burning star that consumes you both in its fiery embrace.

"You know what's funny?" he asks, his voice a husky whisper as he moves within you.

"What?" you manage to gasp out, each word a struggle against the rising tide of pleasure.

"That they think they can touch this," he says, his lips curving into a wicked smile. "As if they could ever come between us."

You laugh, the sound blending with a moan as his movements bring you closer to the edge. "They have no idea."

"Exactly," he agrees, his pace quickening, driving you both higher. "They can't even imagine."

"And those comments about you and me," you say, your breath hitching as a

particularly deep thrust sends waves of pleasure through you, "like they know anything about us."

Derek chuckles, a low, throaty sound that reverberates through your body. "They're just envious. They see us together and want what we have, but they don't understand it. They never will."

You nod, your fingers clutching at his back, your nails leaving crescents in his skin. "They don't know the half of it," you manage, your voice a mix of laughter and breathless need.

Derek's eyes soften, a rare vulnerability shining through. "We've been through so much," he murmurs, his lips brushing against your ear. "And look at us now. Stronger than ever."

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, not from sadness, but from the overwhelming emotion of the moment. "I love you," you whisper, your voice trembling with the sincerity of your words.

You arch against him, your body responding instinctively to his, every nerve ending aflame with desire. The couch beneath you seems to melt away, leaving you suspended in a world of pure sensation, where nothing exists but the exquisite pleasure of being with him. Your movements are a symphony of passion, each touch, each kiss, each whispered word a note in the melody of your love.

As you reach the peak of your pleasure, the world around you dissolves into a blinding white light, a symphony of sensation that leaves you trembling in its wake. Derek's name escapes your lips in a breathless whisper, a prayer, a benediction, as you shatter in his arms. He follows you moments later, his own release a powerful surge that leaves you both spent and breathless.

For a long moment, you lie there, entangled in each other, your bodies still trembling from the intensity of your shared climax. The room around you is silent, the only sound is the soft, mingled breaths of two souls who have become one. Derek's weight is a comforting presence above you, his warmth seeping into your skin, his heartbeat a steady rhythm that lulls you into a state of blissful contentment.

Slowly, reality begins to seep back in, the edges of the world sharpening into focus. Derek lifts his head, his eyes meeting yours with a look of tender amazement. He brushes a strand of hair from your face, his touch gentle, almost reverent.

"I love you," he whispers, the words a sacred vow.

"I love you too," you reply, your voice trembling with the depth of your emotions.

Derek smiles, a soft, genuine smile that transforms his usually hardened features. He leans down, capturing your lips in a sweet, lingering kiss that seals your bond. As he pulls back, you see the promise in his eyes, the unspoken commitment to face whatever comes next together.

The night stretches on, and as you lie there, wrapped in the warmth of Derek's embrace, you know that you've found something truly extraordinary.

Derek's arm is draped over you, his breathing steady and relaxed as he dozes beside you. You find yourself staring at the ceiling, your mind drifting to the aftermath of the evening's antics. The reckless messages, the bold selfie, the outrageous video-all flashing through your mind like a highlight reel of rebellion.

A small smile tugs at your lips as you think about the chaos you and Derek unleashed online. You know that if his mother, President Jessica Danforth, were to discover what the two of you had done, she would be far from pleased. The thought of her disapproving gaze and the inevitable lecture about responsibility and propriety flits through your mind.

But lying here, wrapped in Derek's embrace, you can't bring yourself to regret any of it. There's a thrill in the defiance, a sense of freedom that comes with throwing caution to the wind and living in the moment. The laughter you shared, makes it all worthwhile.

Derek stirs slightly, pulling you closer. You nestle against him, savoring the warmth and the closeness.

Whatever consequences might come, they seem distant and unimportant in the face of the connection you share with him.

[sloanesallow]

Charmed

This is a re-work of some old fanfic, written for the "Lucky Charm" event on the HL Discord server. Just some Ominis banter, Quidditch playing Sebastian and an MC who won't admit her feelings. SFW | 2k words [Read on Wattpad] - [Masterlist]

On the afternoon of tryouts, Sloane sits in the high-rise stands, using an old pair of binoculars to view the players as they gather on the field below. Ominis is at her side, darkened glasses perched on his nose to protect his eyes from the sun. If he had it his way, he wouldn’t be there at all–but both made a promise to their friend to attend for “moral support”. 

When the school year started, it was Headmaster Black’s full intention to continue the ban on Quidditch, for reasons unspecified. After a month of pestering from Madam Kogawa and the prospective players, he finally relented and begrudgingly allowed the sport to resume. Sloane pays the notices no mind, still too afraid of flying to have a desire to play. It was surprising when Sebastian announced his intent to join, looking for a healthy distraction. It would be, in his words, a positive change from last year’s extracurricular activities. 

And so, instead of spending the morning studying for the upcoming Charms exam, she is observing, trying and failing to make sense of how exactly Quidditch is played. It doesn’t take very long before she finds herself focusing on one person in particular. Sebastian is on the field, waiting for his turn on Imelda’s test circuit. Sloane isn’t brave enough to tell him in person, but he looks rather dashing in the uniform, standing confidently amongst the nervous hopefuls.

The outfit makes her realize just how much he’s grown over the summer, broad shoulders filling out his clothes, lanky limbs replaced with toned muscle. Every day he seems that much taller than her, grinning when he has to tilt his head down to meet her eyes. There is still a hint of boyish charm in his face, but nearly all the cute baby-fat has disappeared from his cheeks, leaving a handsome man instead. 

Sloane ponders the changes to her own body and how awkward the process is. She knows her hair has started to grow out, the ash-blonde waves reaching past her shoulders, long enough now for a small braid. While she hasn’t gotten any taller, she’s had to replace most of her wardrobe when her bust seemed to slightly increase in size overnight, the new curve to her hips harder to hide beneath her skirts. Puberty is mentally exhausting, too, with how unexpectedly wild her emotions become. One thing she did not expect is how hopelessly boycrazy she feels, and how it sends her usual anxiety soaring. 

What little knowledge she has about romance has been gleaned from novels, Jane Austen and Emily Bronte filling her childhood bookshelf. They make it seem so easy and effortless, when in reality, falling in love is terrifying, embarrassing, and potentially maddening. But it could also be exciting and delightful, the swirling of butterflies in her stomach making it feel as if she is in a perpetual state of floating. 

Though, she isn’t in love yet, is she?

Ominis hums, sounding amused. “Surely there must be something more interesting than Sebastian to focus your attention on.”

How does he do that? Sloane lowers the binoculars to peer at him. “Are you teasing me?”

A small smirk breaks through his usual stoic expression. “Now why would I do that?”

Sloane softly chuckles, enjoying this cheeky side to Ominis, more frequent now that the chaos of fifth year is (mostly) behind them. In building a new foundation for their friendship, he’s become more relaxed around her, allowing her to see the personality that made him Sebastian’s best mate and closest confidant. Ominis has also changed since they first met, sharpened features hinting at the man he’ll soon be. He’s sprouted up too, and to Sebastian’s dismay, will likely be the tallest of their group by the end of the school year. Conventionally speaking, he is very handsome–pretty even, and Sloane wonders if Ominis knows it. Where Sebastian is indifferent about his appearance, Ominis is pristine in presentation, not a single hair out of place. She wonders if there are any potential suitors he’s been keeping secret. 

“I want to ask you something, but I don’t want it to come off as intrusive, or rude,” Sloane starts. Ominis nods, silently urging her to continue. “How do you know if you are attracted to someone?” 

His eyebrows lift in curiosity. “Romantically? Are you asking me specifically, or generally?” 

“Perhaps a little of both,” she answers. “I know that physical attraction isn’t the most important thing when choosing a partner, but–”

“How could I possibly tell the difference between a great beauty and a dud?” 

Sloane rolls her eyes, “you don’t have to put it that way.”

“Honestly, with no frame of reference, I find whatever preferences I may have are tied more closely to someone’s aura, their personality,” he explains with a sigh, tilting his head to the side in thought. “I was still a young boy when I taught myself how to read speech patterns. You can learn a lot about someone’s character by the way they speak.”

“I suppose it’s a cliche to assume you’d want to touch someone’s face to learn their features, correct?” 

“That’s…far too intimate,” Ominis shakes his head. “I may not be able to tell you what color your eyes are, or if you have dimples, but over the years and with the help of my wand…if I focus well enough, I can envision what someone’s expression is during conversation. Though, I don’t need it now to know you are smiling.” 

Sloane feels a tad bit shy. “That’s…remarkable, Ominis.” 

“I try,” he chuckles. “Sebastian says you have a very pretty smile. I’m inclined to believe him.” 

“Flatterer,” she murmurs, blushing as she flicks her gaze back over the railing to try and spot their friend. “Sebastian really said that?”

“He says a lot about you,” Ominis doesn’t elaborate, his expression untelling. 

Sloane playfully swats his arm, prompting him to laugh. Curiosity be damned, she wants to know more. “You’re friends with Sebastian—”

“Regrettably,” he interjects, humorously. “You are, too.”

“Yes, but you’ve known him longer,” she drags her teeth across her bottom lip. “What can you tell me about his past…liaisons?” 

“Pardon?”

Oh, this is a mistake. Sloane feels the embarrassment spread–this isn’t the same as giggling gossip sessions in the Hufflepuff common room, where the other girls excitedly share stories of stolen kisses and raunchy letters. Not that she ever actively participates–the only kisses she experiences are the ones in her dreams. 

“Oh. I understand,” Ominis says, cutting through her thoughts. “It’s quite comical, actually, how Sebastian’s reputation has been blown out of proportion when it comes to liaisons,” he mimics her, but waves his hand in dismissal. “He is no Lothario. As long as I’ve known Sallow, he has never shown any interest in courting anyone, preferring to break curfew in the library than out sneaking around with a giddy skirt. Especially after Anne got sick, the last thing on his mind was romance”

“The gossip-grapevine is not true, Siobhan. Whatever you may have heard,” Ominis assures. “Trust me, Sebastian would’ve jumped at the first opportunity to tell me if he was experienced, regardless of my objections.” 

Sloane can feel the heat radiating off her face. Does that mean Sebastian is still uninterested? Has she been misinterpreting their closeness for something entirely platonic? She almost regrets bringing it up in the first place. “I…don’t know what to say.”

“If it makes you feel better, his laissez faire attitude has gradually disappeared over the last year,” he offers. “Just about when you arrived.” 

“Me?”

Ominis half-shrugs as if to say obviously. At least that’s what Sloane wants to believe. Is he insinuating that Sebastian likes her? Does Sebastian want something beyond innocent friendship? She doubts Ominis would imply such a thing unless there is some truth to the matter. But his lack of clarity makes her wonder if she should not press the issue, and just let nature take its course, so to speak. It is a lot to process, considering she is still trying to figure out if her feelings are more than just a school-girl crush. 

The tone shifts and Ominis turns his head towards her–it’s the most he can do without being able to make direct eye contact. “He is like my brother. He is my chosen family, for better or worse. I have no love lost for my Gaunt relatives, and if I’ve learned anything in the last year, it is that I will always be loyal to Sebastian.” 

It takes a moment for Sloane to respond, softly smiling. “Are you…telling me not to hurt him?”

“Not exactly. My hope is that Sebastian doesn’t completely fumble the situation that is slowly presenting itself. Not again,” Ominis states, mirroring her expression. “I’m rather fond of you, Siobhan. It will be good for Sebastian to have some…good in his life.” 

Oh. Sloane perks up, realizing what he means. Her mind races, imagining a hundred different scenarios, wondering what exactly Sebastian has been revealing to his friend, intentionally or not. What else does Ominis know? Before she can ask, a flash of green whizzes by, circling around their heads and the perimeter before hovering just out of reach near the railing. 

Sebastian flashes a wide mouthed grin, laughing as he removes his padded helmet and shakes out his hair. Sweat curls the ends even more than usual, chocolate-brown strands sticking to his forehead. His freckles are more prominent in the sunlight and Sloane wonders how long it would take to trace each one with her fingertip. She shakes the thought from her mind, forcing her own bashful smile. She prays her cheeks aren’t as red as she imagines. 

“Enjoying yourself?” she asks, standing up and carefully leaning against the railing to be closer. 

“I forgot how thrilling it is to fly,” Sebastian answers, breathless and excited. “Are you sure I can’t take you for a ride?”

Sloane bites the tip of her tongue as Ominis stifles a snicker, both catching the unintended innuendo. At least she hopes it is unintended–she’d feel scandalized otherwise. “I–I’m sure.” 

“Rain check, then…” Sebastian’s smirk is frustratingly handsome. He glances down at the field below. “We’re about to run the course one last time, then Imelda will post her decisions in a few hours. Given how much she already dislikes me, I was wondering if either of you had a good luck charm handy.” 

“Yes, because I regularly keep such trinkets on my person,” Ominis sarcastically replies. 

“Just make one!” Sebastian argues. 

“That defeats the purpose!”  

“Not if you charm it correctly!” 

“Correctly? What do you take me for, an incompetent first-year?” 

Sloane sighs at their bickering and searches her belongings for something that can be easily charmed and worn. With a quick tug she removes the short, silk tie from her shirt collar and readies her wand. The two look on with a mix of curiosity and trepidation, understandable given her magic’s recent instability. But a good luck charm is simple enough, right? 

The first flick of her wand produces nothing. She anxiously laughs and reins in her focus, whispering under her breath. If you don’t work and provide the good luck Sebastian needs, I’ll break you in half and take you back to Olivander—

Another swish and a shimmer coats the fabric, disappearing with a blink.  Sloane silently thanks whatever forces came through for her. “Ta-da!” 

Sebastian maneuvers his broom closer to the stands, extending his arm to her. She nervously pushes up his sleeve just enough to wrap the golden fabric around his wrist, tying it off with a small knot. His gloved fingers trail against her forearm and she wonders if he can feel the rapid pattern of her pulse. It isn’t until he flexes his hand and looks down at the makeshift charm that she is reminded of the fairy tales she read growing up, in which gallant knights asked beautiful princesses for favours before battle. 

There is a different kind of shine to his eyes as he gazes at her, lips slowly curling into a smile. “Thank you.” 

As she watches Sebastian fly away, she notices Ominis regarding her with an all-knowing expression. “You’re never getting that back.” 

“I know.” 

[petrichorium]

To Serve

in which crown prince chigiri hyoma wants to reward his loyal attendant.

chigiri hyoma x gn!reader

word count: 3k reader: neutral/slightly masc (they/them pronouns, clothing not described, neutral terms, performs a masc role) tags: fluff, royal au, mutual pining, non-sexual intimacy, navigating an odd relationship, fun prince/servant devotion note: my first commission omg!!! this was truly so fun to write, thank you so so much to the lovely incredible @syddisheep for reaching out to me ♥️ if you enjoyed this, or any of the rest of my writing, and would like to commission me, check my commission sheet to learn how & see if any slots are open!

“Is there something wrong, your highness?”

[Name]’s words snap him out of the reverie he’d wandered into. He blinks, shaking his head and feeling the weight of his wet hair heavy against his nape. He wishes quietly that [Name] were the type of person who would allow him to hug them; would perhaps even hug back, allow him to melt into it. But he knows they aren’t, just as he knows they’re fully taking in his slack jaw and starry eyes aimed at them, which is why their brow is furrowed and their head cocked.

“You’re too good to me,” he tells them, and they give him a muted smile.

“Impossible, my prince. I am merely here to serve you to the best of my ability. Now, let me finish your hair. I won’t have you complaining to me all day if it dries poorly.”

Hyoma returns from his hunt victorious. He doesn’t carry his quarry himself; he’d handed it off to a knight, who is now long gone, delivering it to the kitchens dutifully. Later, he will provide Hyoma with the antlers. He’s not entirely sure yet what he’ll do with them.

[Name] stands waiting at the stables, that pristine posture—spine stiff, shoulders back, arms clasped behind them—striking a familiar silhouette before Hyoma and his party draw close enough to see any features. They greet him with a bow.

“Welcome back, your highness,” they say. “How was the hunt?”

“Fair,” he says in turn. “I caught a stag. It gave me a good chase.”

He chooses to abstain from telling them of the wild boar downed by the Wanima brothers. They raise a gloved hand, palm up, for Hyoma to take and allow them to brace his descent from his stallion. He does so without hesitation.

(And then, as his knee twinges in pain when he lands on solid ground, he is thankful for the aid.

He hides his wince. [Name] sees it nonetheless.)

Hyoma lets his eyes slide over to them, voice light as he continues. “You wouldn’t happen to be in need of anything made from antler?”

They shake their head. “No, my prince.”

“Ah.”

The pair makes their way to Hyoma’s chambers swiftly. In the privacy of his bedchamber, with servants preparing the bath in the adjoining room, [Name] helps him out of his overclothes. The brushing of their hands against his shoulders is brief, their fingers nimble as they pull off his coat and kneel to remove his riding boots, careful with his knee. He’s quickly left in his loose linen undershirt and his trousers; they’ll be removed soon enough as he makes use of the bath waiting for him.

It’s now that they give him a more thorough once-over. They take care not to touch him now, eyes scanning his form attentively, arms tucked behind their back even as they lean in close. Yet when they make a gesture for him to move he ignores it, determined to force them to reach out again.

They sigh as if aggrieved. Still, they lower to bend before him and move closer. Hands still gloved, those deft fingers wrap gently around his lame knee, turning his leg slowly to test his mobility, keen eyes leaping from the limb to his face to gauge his reaction.

“Do you ache?” they ask.

“Always.”

The response earns him only the hint of a smile and a mildly exasperated shake of the head, and he fights down the wholly undignified grin that threatens to spread across his face. [Name]’s thumb and forefinger tighten just minutely upon his knee, not enough to pinch, but the motion sends a little thrill through him.

“I shall tend to your knee, of course,” they say, “but where else?”

They shift him more, precise in their grasp to force him to move his entire body, and he winces at the growing soreness in his thigh and the harsh pangs in his lower back—the result of compensating for his injury, [Name] tells him. He certainly believes them.

“The typical places,” he settles upon reporting, and they nod in satisfaction.

“Very well. I have a salve I’d like to test out, it ought to soothe some of the pain.”

They hold out a hand as always to help him up from his seat. Then, once he stands, they turn and exit, heading for the bathing room ahead of him to dismiss the servants.

They’re the only one inside once he enters himself.

The motions of allowing them to disrobe him fully are ingrained so deeply within him that he thinks of nothing while he raises his arms to help them remove his tunic and then steps out of his underclothes. They lend a helping hand, too, when he steps into the bathtub, bracing his weight as he balances gingerly on his sore legs.

He settles quickly, leaning back against the edge and allowing the hot water to soothe his aches and pains. He feels more than sees, with his eyes blissfully closed, [Name] pull their stool up closer, surely perch on it with that ever-perfect posture. They shuffle, making just enough noise that it beckons him to blink his eyes open to look.

Those pristine white gloves lay perfectly folded next to them on the stool. At just the sight his breath hitches minutely—hopefully too minutely for [Name] to notice, though he doubts it. His eyes snap away just as fingers find his hair; he closes them again swiftly, but that doesn’t stop his mind from conjuring up the image of their bare hands.

He still leans back into the touch, unable to stop himself, as [Name] undoes the knotted ribbon holding his locks back from his face. Folding it up just as diligently as their own gloves, they set it aside and comb their fingers through his hair just enough to loosen it. They don’t speak to request he dip his head back into the steaming water but rather they guide him physically, palms pressing against his scalp to press him down softly.

Often, Hyoma is content with this. Often he allows himself to enjoy it; the quiet, the company, the tending. Today, however, it isn’t enough.

“One of these days, [Name], you ought to join me in here,” he says when he comes up, as [Name] reaches out with dried hands to wipe the water from his eyes. The first thing he sees is their face, the barely-there roll of their eyes. He leans in close. “How rude. You dismiss your prince’s words?”

“I would never,” they say, but they make sure to roll a strand of hair around their finger and tug just enough to hurt as they ease him to lounge back against the edge of the bathtub once more. “You read too much into things, your highness.”

Hyoma hums at that. Their fingers thread through his locks again, more thorough this time, scratching at his scalp and then pulling down to the ends, occasionally dipping back into the water with a cup to wet it again. His eyes flutter closed at the sensation. If he were a cat as [Name] so often compares him to, he should think he’d be purring.

They retrieve his favorite comb from a shelf behind the tub and continue detangling. It runs through easier and easier with each stroke; long after the final catch of a knot they continue, slow and steady, a soothing rhythm. A part of him—the fanciful, admittedly romantic part of him—likes to think they’re prolonging the experience, that perhaps they enjoy it just as much as he does. The logical part of him says they’d never do something so indecorous.

Still, this is the nicest part of the process. His hair is smooth and silky now, just as he likes it. There’s no yanking. [Name] is always gentle, purposeful, careful not to tug too harshly, but a certain amount is always inevitable, especially after strenuous days such as a hunt.

(For a time, he refused to let any attendants tend to his hair. For many months that included [Name], so guarded and cautious he was even towards them.

It was a particularly taxing day, wherein any motion caused searing pain in his knee, which changed his mind—[Name] had stood faithfully by the bath politely averting their gaze as he sat there, stiff and cradling his knee, before finally stepping forward to kneel and plea, in that unruffled tone, that he allow them to aid him.

He’d acquiesced.)

Now they set down the comb, retrieving in turn a simple hair clip which they use to tie his wet strands up off his neck and away from his face.

When the task is done they shuffle their stool further down the length of the tub—but not before pausing for half a moment to lean in and tuck a strand of hair behind his ear, giving him a rare smile that meets their eyes. Then they turn their attention to his body.

Those hands, he thinks, work miracles. He no better understands why his mother insisted upon an attendant with medicinal knowledge than when [Name] is skillfully massaging the tender parts of him. They’re able to pinpoint which muscles are worse by the way they twitch beneath his skin, or how he moves to compensate. Within minutes, between their expert fingers and the steaming water, the pain dulls to something far more bearable.

They wash him then, meticulous and tender. He feels as if his mind is floating as they move him around and lather him with soap only to wash it off; it’s a hazy, dreamlike feeling and he relishes it.

Far too soon they’re pulling back to help him up and drying him gently, then leading him back to his bedchamber and dressing him in just his underclothes. Already the ache is returning—less than before, but still more than he’d like. He hopes this salve might extend his relief.

They set him down in his chair and retrieve the container, kneeling before him and beginning to apply it. The largest portion goes to his knee; it’s cool to the touch, soothing on that point alone, but it tingles and leaves a numbing sensation as well that sinks quickly through his skin to the muscle beneath. They give a smaller application to the other places, and it truly helps, especially as they rub it in with precise movements like they use in the bath.

Soon enough they’re helping him to his feet again, draping a fresh linen undershirt over his shoulders and fetching a tunic. Careful with his hair, they dress him fully, brushing the fabric smooth and tugging his leggings free of wrinkles.

They kneel before him to lace up his boots. He watches, eyes keen, their own gaze fixed so closely to the task before them that they don’t notice his staring at first, until they look up.

Their eyes meet his, and they widen slightly, perhaps due to the intensity of his staring. He’d like to say he can’t help it, that they’re so mesmerizing when they’re concentrating it draws him in, but the words catch in his throat. Instead he looks away bashfully.

Their hand finds his lame knee, squeezing just barely in silent question.

“‘S fine,” Hyoma attempts to say, but it comes out hoarse. He clears his throat, lifts his head to stare at the ceiling for a moment to catch himself, and then attempts again. “It’s fine. Better.”

“How much better?”

He tests, lifting his leg and bending his knee, swinging it forward and to the side and tensing different muscles. “Not insignificantly. I’m impressed.”

[Name] nods in approval and rises to their feet.

“Where did you get the salve?”

“I made it,” they say breezily. “I’ve been working on it for many months now. Nearly a year, I’d say.”

Nearly a year. He realizes with a mild start that it’s coming up on a year since [Name] had been assigned to him—had they truly been developing such a thing since then? Even in the early months when he’d been cold and dismissive?

“Is there something wrong, your highness?”

[Name]’s words snap him out of the reverie he’d wandered into. He blinks, shaking his head and feeling the weight of his wet hair heavy against his nape. He wishes quietly that [Name] were the type of person who would allow him to hug them; would perhaps even hug back, allow him to melt into it. But he knows they aren’t, just as he knows they’re fully taking in his slack jaw and starry eyes aimed at them, which is why their brow is furrowed and their head cocked.

“You’re too good to me,” he tells them, and they give him a muted smile.

“Impossible, my prince. I am merely here to serve you to the best of my ability. Now, let me finish your hair. I won’t have you complaining to me all day if it dries poorly.”

Hyoma’s eyes fall to the side again, not entirely accepting of the claim but aware he would never win the argument, and [Name] finally rises to their full height to round the chair. Hand coming forward to find his shoulder, they pull him back and guide him to tilt his head back once again with another hand along his jaw. The touch leaves a gentle warmth, even as it’s disappointingly fleeting; it still has his eyes fluttering closed.

They remove the hair clip and the sopping strands fall limply at his back, immediately dripping water. [Name] pats it dry with a towel just as he’s long instructed them. They meticulously continue until his hair is left more damp than soaked, and then turn to fetch a set of ribbons from his dresser.

“Do you have a color in mind, your highness?” they call to him before the drawer is even opened.

“I trust your judgment for the day,” he replies easily, knowing already which ones they’ll choose. Given the opportunity, they will always gravitate towards the pretty sky blue ones, bright but not garish, gifted to him by an ally: Jyubei, crown prince of a nearby kingdom. [Name] has often mentioned how well the color compliments his hair, and has on more than one occasion praised Prince Jyubei’s eye for such things.

(Hyoma now pushes down the bitter taste in his mouth when they mention it. He might console himself by informing them that Jyubei likely sent a servant to buy them, but he knows better. [Name] is correct, he has a good eye, and would never be the type to allow anyone to purchase pretty adornments for him.

And they’re very correct that the color compliments him well, plus he can hardly be too bitter about the way they smile at him when they catch sight of the pretty blue they chose among his magenta locks.)

Sure enough, they return swiftly with the very silk strips in hand. As with everything, they fold them to set them upon the table next to them. Another comb—one which was once used in the bathroom, but has since fallen to the wear and tear of utilizing such a thing daily—lives upon his dresser. [Name] already has it in hand, though they hardly need it as they run it through his hair easily.

They don’t need to ask him what hairstyle he wants. He long trusts them, full confidence given in their taste, and therefore merely lays back and keeps his eyes closed to rely solely on the sensations.

Their hands are as skilled as can be expected for someone who has been braiding his hair daily for many months on end. They’re careful not to tug too harshly, just as when they’d washed it, plaiting the strands with care and ease. The style chosen is one he often enjoys; they braid one side in rows against his head, leaving the other loose, letting the hair fall to the side in a soft curtain. They tie it off expertly with those ribbons, small enough for detailed use and opulent enough that the bright color only draws attention to their elegance—he raises a hand to run his fingers along their handiwork, admiring the care put into it.

“What would you like from me, [Name]?” he says finally, hand falling slowly from his head.

Their face is still, seemingly impassive. If he didn’t know them as he does he wouldn’t see any emotion—but he does know them, and so he picks up on the tiny furrowing of their brow and minute pout of their lip. They shake their head, and Hyoma rises to his feet quickly, catching their hand—not too tightly, not grabbing, but gentle. They freeze at the contact.

“Anything,” he says, and as their gaze pans up to him he knows they comprehend his meaning. Those eyes crinkle, shoulders falling slack, leaning in towards him and turning their gloved hand to grasp his own.

“I want nothing more than to serve you, my prince,” they tell him, and he wishes he could kiss them.

But that is that.

[Name] stands awaiting their prince’s arrival weeks later, watching him approach from a distance.

They find it a wonder how he can sit so elegantly upon that horse, knowing how much pain he’s in when he rides. They can only hope that their salve helps—and they think it does, from the changes in his expressions. Any improvement, they suppose, is better than nothing.

He only becomes prettier as he draws closer. It isn’t a hunt today; he’d gone into town to retrieve a mysterious item from an artisan. [Name] figures it’s about the antlers. It isn’t their duty to ask.

Prince Hyoma smiles broadly when he catches sight of them. He’s antsy, excited; he holds a small box in his hands and clutches it as he takes [Name]’s offered one to help him down. The stablehands take his horse away. He curls his fingers around [Name]’s and tugs them away to dip into a hidden alcove nearby.

“I asked if you were in need of anything made from antler,” he begins, and hushes them when they shake their head, dashing from their lips yet another assurance that no gifts are necessary. “I hope this is sufficient.”

He opens the box. A comb sits there—a replacement, they realize, for the worn one in his bedroom. And beneath it…

Two hairpins. A matching set, decorated in union; one larger, more elaborate, fit for a prince, and the other more understated. [Name] brings a gloved hand to their mouth in realization.

“One is for you,” their prince states in a low whisper, as if he needed to clarify. “The other for me. I hope this is enough.”

Their eyes jump to meet his, finding the pink watching them keenly for a reaction. The motion they choose is entirely on impulse.

They step closer, hand flying out to pull his own from the box and, at the same time as them bowing slightly, pull it up to their mouth. They press lips to the back of it, tender and lingering, brushing against the soft skin as they speak.

“Thank you, my prince.”

[thelurkershideout]

summerfest day 7

companion or fallen

Notes: Warnings for blood, descriptions of injuries. I'm not sure this scene is exactly what I wanted it to be but I had a lot of fun with it. There's a good brother moment for Vilkas and Farkas that I really like!

The smell of blood filled Jorrvaskr as Vilkas slammed through the doors, half collapsing into a pillar as he lowered her to the floor. The last thing Gwyn heard was Skjor and Aela shouting.

When she woke she was on a table with Tilma leaning over her, carefully ministering to the claw marks across her chest. Her body was heavy, a freezing ache spread from her limbs. Eyelids barely open, the high ceiling of the main hall faded in and out of focus, just slightly too slow to sync with the pounding in her head.

“Are you sure?” Skjor’s harsh voice came from somewhere by her feet.

“I'm positive, it was Arnbjorn.” Vilkas grumbled back through what sounded like gritted teeth.

“Traitor.” Aela was nearer to her head than the others.

“Did he say anything?” Kodak was calm and soothing.

“Not much that I heard b- ow FARKAS!”

“If you held still this wouldn't hurt as much.” Farkas was trying not to sound bothered. Vilkas let out an exasperated and painted groan as Farkas returned to tending his wounds.

“He knew her name.” Vilkas’ teeth ground together.

“So he had been following you? And you didn't notice?” Aela’s voice seemed closer, was she pacing?

“He might have -” He cut off his own thoughts with a deep breath. “No, he didn't even seem to remember me, but he knew her.” 

Nausea gurgled up from Gwyn's stomach. Half focused memories flickered in her mind. The Sanctuary. Dark Hallways. Whispered threats. Arnbjorn’s pale eyes, constantly watching. 

“You think he was after her?” Skjor sounded unconvinced. 

“He lured me away, a trick for easier access to her.”

She wanted to speak. The nightmare had finally caught up to her, and she needed to explain herself.  Her head continued to pound, the pain in her chest was suffocating. Her first attempt at words came out a quiet groan.

“Shhhhh,” Tilma reached up to place a soothing hand on her forehead. Footsteps drew closer until Kodlak appeared opposite her. His face was calm, a hint of concern only noticeable in his brow. The metallic taste and smell of her own blood was nearly overwhelming. 

“D-dark,” she finally managed to barely squeak out a word. Kodlak’s hand replaced Tilma’s.

“Breathe slowly child,” Kodlak's voice was even and soothing. “Slow full breaths.”

Gwyn followed his words. Long slow breaths that strained against her bruised ribs. The nausea subsided slightly. The room was silent.

“Try again, Gwyn.”

“Dark,” the word clawed its way out of her throat. Jagged and sharp against her scream strained vocal chords. “Brotherhood.”

There was a long deafening silence. Kodlak's brow furrowed deeper, the concern seemed to shift to anger.

“The Dark Brotherhood?” Skjor finally broke the silence. “Are they hunting you?”

“Yess” she exhaled.

“Do you know why?”

“I-I…” her eyes squeezed shut as tears began to roll down her cheeks. “Left.”

More silence. No more running now. 

“You left the Dark Brotherhood?” It was Kodlak's voice directly above her. Gwyn didn't dare open her eyes.

This was it. Everything she had worked for, the years spent rebuilding herself, gone in an instant. Nausea crept back in. She was a liability. She would return to wandering, this time with a werewolf haunting her every move.

Hello little lamb. Arnbjorn's taunts echoed in her pounding head.

“You were an assassin?” Skjor nearly laughed. “She's lost too much blood to make any sense.”

“We should get her to a bed,” Tilma's voice was quiet.

“Put her in mine,” Vilkas volunteered quickly. “She'll need it more. I'll sleep with the welps.”

“You're all going to ignore this?” Aela's voice was angry.

“She's not exactly capable of coherent conversation, Aela.” Vilkas snapped back.

“We could be inviting the Dark Brotherhood into our home.”

“It does not matter.” Kodlak's voice cut off Vilkas before he could get a word out. “She took her oath, she has proved her honor. She is a Companion, and we take care of our own.”

Arms slid underneath her to lift her from the table. The warm light of the main hall was replaced with the cool dark of the downstairs. Her fellow recruits whispered amongst themselves as she was carried past.

“It looks worse than it is. She will recover.” Tilma said as she was lowered onto a bed. “She needs rest more than anything.”

A large hand rested on her shoulder.

“We will talk about this in the morning.” Kodlak's voice was firm.

[skzoologist]

Unfamiliarity [five]

word count: ~10.5k

genre: Hybrid AU, no pairings

warnings: anxiety, heavy signs of PTSD, even heavier hints of being experimented at, past abuse, occasional curse words, hurt/comfort (a LOT of it), scums trying to buy hybrids and talking about owning them

summary: With two new variables added into his life, how will Bae deal with it all? Or: Hurt/comfort, the chapter

a/n: Iiiiiiii'm back! With another chapter! More than a month late, shame on me! To be honest, besides all my medical issues, it was a bit hard to write this chapter, because there was no heavy angst in it. This is the chapter for the two newbies to fit in, for Bae to get used to them, so it is basically fluff. But very essential fluff. You'll see why : )

Please let me know if I left a warning or anything out, I will add it in! Reblogs, likes and feedback are greatly appreciated!

!This is just fiction, my interpretation of Stray Kids. By no means is this how they are and how they behave in real life!

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I hadn’t left my den in days, even though my body ached from being crammed into such a small space with little to no movement. The bed above me gave me no room to wiggle around, pulling out a heavy sigh from between my lips.

I was exhausted, mostly sleeping my time away.

Everything was wrong. The smells, the mood, the atmosphere, even the noise. Nothing was alright. The house that I felt safe in was gone, now filled with an unfamiliar presence and unease. While I was the cause of the latter mostly, no doubt about that, I wasn’t the only source either. I could smell it, feel it, even if faintly. The members were worried, guarded against the newcomer that I’d only laid eyes on once. Even their human, Jisoo, smelled wrong, the grass overgrown and dry.

I closed my aching eyes once more, my ears ringing from the silence that fell over the entire place. It was silent again, just like it was yesterday and the day before that and even before that, my mind by now muddled, gleefully playing tricks on me by presenting me with long gone memories. Their presence was weird after being locked away for so long, giving me welcomed and loathed knowledge all the same. I shuddered, nearly unable to differentiate between them and reality in my hazy vision.

As I drifted off once again, I found myself back at my workplace, in my old life, when I was young and naive. A simple suit donned my body, one that you would see on any other office worker as well. You could hear the gentle taps my shoes made on the pristine tiles and the endless clicking of buttons as the other workers typed away diligently. There were hushed whispers when I passed by, the cause no doubt the goal of my short walk. 

Yet, I paid them no mind, pushing the nervousness down as much as I could, my jittery hand reaching for the door of my boss’ office. The hinges creaked slightly, robbing my attention away for a single second before my eyes were looking forward again. My boss was an average man, slightly on the chubby side with black hair and eyes. Nothing was eye-catching about him, neither his appearance, nor his personality.

Maybe that was why I’d trusted him so foolishly.

Of course, I hadn’t known what awaited me at that time, so I nervously sat in the chair in front of his dark oak desk, hoping I wasn’t in trouble for anything. The man smiled, slightly wider than usual, his eyes dancing in the shadows. His lips moved, yet no sound left them. I squinted, feeling as if the air was getting hotter around me, my clothes now too tight on my skin. 

But no, the harder I focused, the brighter everything became. 

I could hardly make out anything around me, only feeling the inescapable hold on my form as I was dragged away. No matter how hard I tried to escape it, my limbs felt numb, heavy, as if they themselves were asleep. I struggled and struggled fruitlessly, until I eventually gave up, my surroundings much darker now. 

A soft touch registered in my brain, soon followed by a calming coolness spreading from my forehead, easing my aching body and allowing me to close my eyes for a few seconds. Soon my eyebrows furrowed, because that didn’t sound right at all, yet I couldn’t tell exactly why.

Forcing my eyes open once again, I was met with the blurry sight of someone’s back. Murmuring could be heard around me, but none of the gibberish sounds made sense to me. The person in front of me turned back, gently caressing a hand over my feverish skin and tucking a few strands of hair away. His lips were moving, but I only caught a few words, like ‘awake’ and ‘alright’. The surrounding noise immediately quieted, other bodies shifting closer to me. One held my hands, stroking a thumb over my knuckles gently, while the other played with my hair, scratching at the base of my ears every so often. I let out a sigh I didn’t know I held, the actions soothing me as faint traces of sweet flowers and fruits and pines hit my nose.

Ah, I was with them now. 

I was safe.

No other thought crossed my mind as I closed my eyes for a final time, drifting off into a dreamless sleep.

-.-.-

The next time I awoke I felt much better, my senses sharper and mind clearer. A simple glance was all it took for me to realise I wasn’t in my den anymore, instead resting in a different room, on a different bed. The air was filled with everyone’s scents, an obvious telltale that I was still in the house. Jisoo’s huddled form was next to me, his head resting on his folded arms as little snores left him occasionally. He looked tired, the skin under his eyes darker than usual and his hands rough, too cold to the touch. I placed one of my hands on his, slightly warming it up, even if for only a few minutes.

Letting out a silent sigh, I cautiously got out of the bed, careful not to wake the sleeping person in the room. A wet rag fell into my hands, letting my hair fall onto my damp forehead and slightly stick there. I placed it next to the bowl of water as I passed it by, my steps careful in approaching the door. I still felt weak, yet it was incomparably better than last time.

The hallway was bright, forcing me to squint my eyes as it flooded my senses, blinding me for a good few seconds. Blinking the bright spots in my vision away, I slightly stumbled towards the living room, knowing who I would find there even in this weakened state. Once I reached the stairs, I leaned against the rail and simply watched them, drinking the sight in. 

Jin was pestering Lino, until the latter had enough and took a pillow in his hand. That was all it took for Jin to bolt away, afraid of the feline that was chasing him now. Channie giggled as he watched them, shaking his head at their silliness. Jisung was leaning against the wolf, perfectly content there as he was seemingly focused on something else. Lixie and the fostered pup were pestering Binnie, who pretended to be annoyed, even though he was quick to break into a smile in the next second.

They all seemed so happy, so…content like this. My heart ached a bit, because I wasn’t there with them.

I wasn’t needed.

I couldn’t, nor did I want to force my eyes away, burning the sight into my mind, even when I heard footsteps approaching to my right. It was Jisoo, the only other occupant of the house who wasn’t part of that chaos. He leaned onto the railing next to me, amused by the events unfolding right in front of him.

“Aren’t you joining them?” - he whispered so quietly, had I not had sensitive ears, I wouldn’t have heard him.

I just shook my head, taking a last glance at the others before I straightened up and turned away. All I wanted was to go back to my den in silent peace, but the human had other intentions.

“Nah, we’re not having this useless angst in this household. You’re gonna communicate it out, like it or not!” - his voice raised in volume with every word, his arms winding around my middle as he hoisted me up.

Of course everyone’s attention was on us by the time we reached the last step on the stairs, their bodies frozen mid-action. It would have been hilarious, had I not been the centre of that attention. I couldn’t even struggle out of Jisoo’s hold, too afraid of accidentally hurting him and it was too late anyway. My cheeks reddened when I met their gazes, my own drifting to the floor in response.

I couldn’t have been prepared for what was to come.

All of them just dashed towards me, except the stranger, pushing me and Jisoo to the ground. The poor man took the brunt of the fall, making me feel sorry for him already. The hybrids on top of me didn’t care about that at that moment though, no, they were too busy rubbing their faces into my neck, my wrists, anything they could get their hands on to scent me. Purring and chirps filled the air, even Channie was being vocal about his feelings. I let them do what they wanted, battling this frenzied warmth in me that wanted to break outside. It was hard, and had Jisoo not made a sound that was closer to something that a dying dog made rather than a living human, I was sure it would have bursted out.

“Are ya okay now? How’re ya feelin’?” - Channie immediately started fretting over me, checking me over for any signs of injury or sickness once we freed the human beneath us all.

“Can ya stand? Sit down, Bae hyung, c’mon, this way.” - Lixie was the next, leading me away to the couch, even as the questions never ceased.

They left me no time to answer any of their inquiries, leaving me with no choice but to watch them fret around. Lino checked my temperature at least four times by now, his sharp eyes analysing me from head to toe. Binnie asked me if I was hungry countless times already, and after not getting any answer, he instead went to grab something from the kitchen. Jinnie was the most dramatic, saying how he thought I was dying and how glad he was that I came back from the brink of death. He also latched onto one of my arms, the other already belonging to Lixie and his deadly grip. Channie wasn’t any better than the two, since I was laying in his arms, no matter how smaller he was than me.

Only one person wasn’t latched onto me who was cuddly, my eyes easily finding the nervous form of the little squirrel. I didn’t understand why he was hesitating so much, but soon I realised he didn’t want to accidentally stress me out and cause the episode I had in the facility to reoccur. His intentions warmed my heart, adding onto the already big pile in there and causing a smile to slip onto my lips. Our eyes met and with a small nod of my head he brightened up and jumped at me, making the wolf underneath give out a little ‘oomph’ sound.

And just when I thought they were done, Binnie came back, an entire plate worthy of a warm meal in his hands. I looked at him, my arms tied down, and he looked back at me, a determined glint in his gaze. A sweatdrop rolled down the side of my head, a spoon raised in front of my lips. Everyone was expectantly watching me, but mainly the little pika, a pout settling onto his lips the longer I didn’t do anything.

He… he really wouldn’t budge, would he?

Accepting defeat, I took the offered bite. It felt as if everyone let out a silent sigh of relief, the atmosphere brightening around us. It confused me, but if it made them happy, I had no choice but to continue accepting every bite, no matter how humiliating it was.

Once we were done -because you could be sure he fed me the whole thing-, Binnie proudly stood there and nodded, taking a seat with us once he put down the empty plate on the table. I half-laid, half-sat there for a bit, just enjoying everyone’s presence and scents in peace.

But I had to address the odd one in the room soon, so I opened my eyes and looked around.

Sure enough, Jisoo was sitting next to him, quietly chatting. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, the two even let out a happy little laugh sometimes. Yet, I could catch the occasional quick glance in our direction from the pup, the slight changes in his smell. It was muted thanks to everyone else’s scents, but the boy smelled like burnt lint, as if someone used too much detergent in a failing machine. It slightly scorched my nose and throat, cutting into flesh and nerve, but it was easily bearable with us being at home.

The stranger had honey brown hair, his fur the same, blending together perfectly. His ears drooped on top of his head, gently flopping around with every head movement. His tail was fluffy and straight, making it clear what breed he was. Just a simple golden retriever, a common choice to keep at home. Not like I couldn’t tell that anyway, his smell was void of any of that disgusting clean and antiseptic. It was better this way, with only three of us having it.

Our eyes met and he smiled at me. I blinked back at him, one of my ears flicking, but he merely looked back at the human and continued talking.

This puppy was…weird. Even when we’d met at first, I’d had the same thought. He hadn’t cared about how I looked, hadn’t given me any weird looks, he just smiled at me and introduced himself. And after I’d done the same, he’d asked me if we could play. Just that. Play. I’d declined, because he had still been a stranger to me just like now, but he’d looked so sad it’d made me feel guilty.

He seemed so, so… purehearted. Something that seemed impossible in this cruel world. Something I’d only seen in Lixie so far, making me sure the snow leopard was born naturally, despite his breed.

While the pup wasn’t fully welcome here in my eyes, he wasn’t a threat either. He felt like a guest, something that fit with the fact that he was only staying with us temporarily, the facility only able to make Jisoo foster him, not adopt him.

We had two fosters with us, something that sat weirdly in my stomach.

“Whatcha wanna do today, baby?” - the wolf’s question broke me out of my headspace, making me turn towards him, even though I couldn’t see him from my position.

I remained silent for a while, quietly thinking. I didn’t really have anything in mind, I just merely wanted to spend time in the others’ presence. When I glanced at the windows displaying the green and yellow leaves dancing in the wind, Lino spoke up, surprising me.

“No, you cannot go out, the weather’s too harsh for that and you’re still sick. Do you know how worried we were? We found you in your room, burning up!” - his voice was harsh, yet I could see the hurt and pain in his eyes. “We were really worried, Hyung. We thought we’d give you some space, but after you just shut yourself in your room, we went to check up on you.” - Lixie followed up, his deep voice sad and quiet. “It was me, I found you. You didn’t answer your door, and I just had a bad feeling. When I looked under the bed and found you panting there, I…” “It’s okay Hyune, you called me and Channie hyung. Everything’s fine now.” - Binnie comforted the leopard, the latter tearing up as he recalled what had happened.

I felt the guilt slowly eating me up from inside, the weight of making them all worry to the point of tears sitting heavily on my shoulders. It was never my intention, and never would it ever be.

“I’m sorry.” “Baby, why’re ya apologising? It’s not your fault that ya got sick. Your immune system was a bit weakened from the shots, that’s not your doing.”

We sat in silence after that, their hold on me only tightening. I found no words to say, and in turn neither did they. Only the purring picked up a notch, relaxing my rigid form further. I found myself unconsciously burying my nose into the lil squirrel’s nest of hair, rubbing my face there in content. He buried his head into my neck deeper in response, my tail thumping against someone’s leg in content.

I would have happily continued, had I not remembered that we weren’t alone in the room. So with a silent sigh, I lifted my head up, making the others look back at me.

“TV?” - I suggested, answering Channie’s long ago spoken question.

This got everyone in an excited frenzy, plans already being made and bodies already moving around. I watched them with curious eyes before something finally crossed my mind, something that should have happened a long time ago. My muscles became taut once more, air refusing to escape from my frozen lungs.

“I shouldn’t be near you guys, you’ll get sick.”

Everyone looked at me as I just passed the wide-eyed squirrel into the wolf’s hold, my legs carrying me away from their frigid forms. I could definitely tell I was still not fully healed now, the ground beneath me uncertain and my mind a bit fuzzy.

Laughter caught my attention, quiet as it rang through the air. It came from one person only, a smile on his face hidden behind his hand. Our eyes met soon afterwards, mirth clearly dancing in his. I could only watch with confusion, even when he stood up -only after gently patting the puppy on the head-, long legs carrying his now quiet form towards me.

“Bae, it’s alright, they all knew it already. Do you know how hard it was to battle them, just so I could take care of you instead of them? Where do you think these scratch and bite marks came from? Had Seungmin-ssi not helped me, I probably would have lost an arm!” - an airy laugh left his lips, no anger could be seen anywhere, only gentle warmth as he gazed at his injured limb.

Amidst the protests and denial flying around from the hybrid’s lips, Jisoo’s eyes met mine again, slightly crinkled from the smile widening on his lips, expression so soft I almost couldn’t believe it. Because he was looking at me like that. Not anyone else, not any of the other hybrids or other humans he knew, no.

His eyes were looking at me alone.

“Sometimes you’re so dense, I wonder if you didn’t actually crawl out of one of those fantasy stories I have sitting on my shelves. It��s alright, you know. These stubborn idiots wouldn’t let you be alone even if you wanted to. Now go and let them pamper you, shoo.”

With that, he let my hand go and pushed my back, his touch tender, yet strong enough to move my uncertain form. I stumbled forward, right into awaiting arms. The scents I treasure enveloped me completely, robbing me of my anxieties and uncertain thoughts. Their hold on me was firm, encasing and guiding me to wherever they wanted to, my body unresponsive to my relaxed and ill mind.

I was vaguely aware of laying in a sea of pillows, surrounded by everyone, every inch of my body hogged by someone laying on it. A noise droned on in the background of my mind, soft lights accommodating it from the TV. I paid no mind to it, the sound of purring, chirping and low growling resonating in my ears pleasantly instead. The smell of lint and laundry lingered around, yet I didn’t find it completely unpleasant. 

Everything else masked it well. 

The forest was blooming, the trees were swaying happily in the salty wind that caressed their leaves and pines. The flowers were singing in delight, their sweet nectar luring in various colourful creatures of nature. The trees that bore fruit were visited by animals who happily munched away on their sweet juices, not scared away by their slightly sour taste. Even the grass was thriving, its blades shining on the sun. Soft, orange rays peeked through the canopy, warming up everything it touched, letting every creature bask in its gentle warmth. The painter took his usual seat once more as well, paintbrush gliding over his canvas in his quest to capture the moment.

And amongst that, I tiredly laid down, head resting upon my weary paws, cold fur warmed by the sun.

I was home.

-.-.-.-

The presence of the puppy was weird in the house. He wasn’t your typical dog hybrid, in the way that he didn’t rush at you and seeked your affection. He was calmer in a sense, usually not the one to approach you first. Sometimes he was in a more cuddly mood, finding a partner easily in one of the members who resided here. 

Of course, just as he had his calm moments, he also had his playful ones. The entire place became a warzone, his tricks always keeping you on your toes as you couldn’t be sure what he came up with this time. Did he temper your snack? Did he sneak into your room and play around with your chair, or maybe even your clothes? You never knew, causing everyone to grumble in annoyance once they’d found out. But even with all that, even with all their frustrations, there was always a warm shine in their eyes, something that betrayed how they truly felt. Never was any of them truly annoyed with the pup, the more playful ones even retaliated.

And yet, I was never one to experience these.

The playful puppy never played pranks on me, never approached me first. But whenever I looked at him, his eyes held no anger, hate, or anything in my direction. It was only curiosity, and something else I couldn’t quite put my hands on. I appreciated it, getting enough time to grow used to all the sudden changes amongst the pack, and yet… there was a weird feeling in my chest, a suffocating experience whenever I watched them play around. My gap-filled memory failed to recall what it was, forcing me to quietly watch on in painful silence.

Taking a deep breath in, the scent of resin and freshly washed clothes filled my lungs, the process not stuttering and unpleasant anymore. I indecisively glanced at the two, the wolf and the puppy cuddling on the couch, my legs deciding in my stead on what to do as they carried me to them. The couch dipped under me, two greetings welcoming me and a squeeze on my leg, the latter Channie’s doing.

The TV was playing another drama, as usual, one I’d already seen in the past with Jinnie on one of our long drama-watching nights. Channie’d only seen bits and pieces of it before whenever he joined us on our nightly adventure, so I wasn’t surprised why he was the one watching it with the curious puppy. Their attention was back on the bright screen, giving me a chance to lay against the wolf’s shoulder. He brought a hand around my form, not letting me escape even if I wanted to. But I didn’t want to anyway.

We sat there for a while, the serene atmosphere lulling me into a comfortable headspace. I wasn’t paying attention to the show, content with just existing in the others’ presence.

Maybe that was why I didn’t immediately realise when the puppy touched my hand, uncertain and hesitant. His fingers were slightly cold, probably due to the ever so slightly dropping temperatures that came with the changing weather. His big, dark, chocolate eyes were trained on me, pulling my gaze in and trapping it inside easily. He was right in front of me, sitting in Channie’s lap comfortably and I didn’t find the heart in me to deny him. 

So, I let him tighten his grip on my hand, so tight that he was pushing my fingers together lightly. My body didn’t move in protest even as I let him slowly drag my hand into his lap, where he started playing with my fingers, curling and uncurling them in a seeming rhythm.

I merely blinked at it all sleepily, not finding the puppy’s actions uncomfortable. I only realised this when I felt the strong scent of pine, so clearly elated that I had to lift my head and look at who it belonged to, catching such a fond expression on his face that my mind short circuited. His own dark pools were lit up, the light inside dancing around in happiness. Those dimples I loved so dearly were on display, proudly laying in their rightful place.

My ears twitched and I looked away, that expression so bright it felt like I would burn to ashes if I’d looked at it any longer. Guilt bubbled up inside me along with confusion, the little voices whispering that I didn’t deserve his gaze. Their words held truth to them, my past haunting me every night with vivid pictures, not letting me forget my sins and my scars.

The moment Felix walked in I gave him my attention, thankful for the distraction and the warmth of his chest as he pressed into my vulnerable back.

-.-.-

The whiny voice of the little squirrel woke me up, adamantly defending himself against the rumbles of the wolf, the latter sounding tired and worried. I slowly blinked my eyes open, letting out a silent sigh when the thought of starting the day and leaving my den crossed my mind.

“And now you woke him up, great.” - grumbled the wolf, sighing loudly. “What, oh, uhm, sorry Hyung. Good morning…?” - the herbivore muttered out, unsure, instantly lowering his voice and blinking up at me with doe eyes.

I rubbed at my eyes to shoo the sleep away, blinking back at him in my den. He was squeezed in beside me, laying on top of me as much as the limited space allowed to. My eyes drifted back up to Channie’s form, only seeing up to his torso as he sat there. His face popped into my vision when he leaned down, lightly waving at me with a guilty expression. I looked back at the little squirrel in my arms, wondering what was going on, something tickling the back of my brain.

Didn’t I go to sleep alone?

My eyebrows furrowed the more I looked at Jisungie, his expression morphing into a guilty one as well. He caught onto what conclusion my still waking up brain arrived to, scrambling to provide a worthy enough explanation for his actions.

“I couldn’t sleep last night, but your scent is nice so I wanted to ask if I could crash here, but you weren’t answering your door, probably because you were asleep, so I sneaked in and I’m so sorry pleasedon’thateme.” - he rushed out in one breath, scared eyes gazing into my own.

I willed my stiff form to relax at least a bit, sensing that something was amiss, something that the little squirrel in my hold didn’t want to admit just yet. My instinct-driven brain accepted his reasoning with difficulty, the notion of intruding upon my den waking up old memories. But it was alright, I kept telling myself, I wasn’t there anymore.

“It’s alright Channie, thank you.” - I muttered out, turning towards said wolf.

He looked uncertain, but he still nodded and left after ruffling my hair, careful of my ears. Having the little creature to myself, I looked back at him, watching how he let out a sigh of relief once the door closed.

“What happened?” - my question was quiet in the still air.

I got no reply, merely eyes avoiding mine.

A nudge of my nose and a squeeze of my hands on his waist was all it took, his head buried into my chest and side, his hold tightening on me.

“I wasn’t lying, your scent really does calm me. I, I dunno what happened, I guess I was just feeling anxious. I didn’t wanna wake anyone, that’s why I’m here now. ’m sorry…” - his voice was muffled, my ears picking up on certain words only thanks to their enhanced state.

I tightened my hold on him before letting go, instead rolling onto my side and taking his chubby cheeks into my gentle hold. It was over in a brief second, but my lips pressed onto his forehead, my protective side coming out full force. 

When I opened my eyes up again, I could see how much his own shined, like the moonlit surface of a lake. Something vulnerable was hiding inside, in the bottom of that lake, locked away from view and touch. It longed to be let out, to feel something besides the crushing weight of the water, endlessly waiting there. 

My chest squeezed together once more, stronger than last time, the dam threatening inside of me to break. But I couldn’t let that happen, not when his own dam broke, when those eyes glistened as tears cascaded down. I brushed the droplets away, shushing him softly.

“A-are you like-, like me?” - the broken question left his lips, words interrupted by hiccups, but I understood him nonetheless.

I knew what he was referring to, of course I knew it. How could I not? When that clean still clung to him stubbornly, when his clothes just sat on his form weirdly. Something always rubbed me the wrong way about them, just like how unique his colours were, a void opening up in the pit of my stomach and my limbs feeling out of place once more, my bones aching as if they grew too long.

Because he was so much like me, and I was so much like him.

I shushed him once more, brushing his hair away from his forehead before pressing another brief kiss there, hugging his shaking form into mine. The ocean was raging, waves and tides crashing into each other in sorrow. Plants were torn out of their places, sea creatures hiding in their coral homes. A single intake of air burned my nose and clogged up my throat, the salt sitting heavily in it, as if it was snow itself.

I simply laid there, letting the boy cry his anger and hatred and anguish out, holding him, hoping it would hold his broken apart pieces together.

His tears only dried up after an hour or so, his hold on me loosening and his breathing evening out as he drifted off to sleep. No doubt his body was exhausted, little tremors still running through him every so often. I tried to pull one of the blankets onto him as best as I could, now slightly regretting sleeping here and not on top of the bed, like the others did.

At first I’d found it strange, but nobody’d really mentioned this habit of mine after witnessing it for the first time. So I never felt pressured into following their ways, only doing so when we slept in a pile. There were days we just gathered together, sometimes because one of them felt lonely, sometimes to scent each other. On a few occasions we even let the human in, if he slept at home -his work had him busy often-.

And then, then there were the other times, when that gaping void opened up in my chest, urging me to seek someone out once again. They always teased me, but never once did they turn me down and force me to sleep in my cold den alone. No, all of them welcomed me with open arms, latching onto my form once we laid down on the bed, heads usually snug in the crook of my neck. While their beds were big, big enough to comfortably house two snuggly hybrids, it always felt a bit too crammed with me added into the formula.

I sighed, brushing my fingers through the small squirrel’s hair once more. My other arm had fallen asleep long ago, an uncomfortable knot forming in my back from the awkward pose I had taken up. I really wanted to let him sleep for just a bit more, but I was nearing my limit. The delicious scent of food drifting up from the kitchen didn’t help either, tangling up my empty stomach.

But no matter what, the boy wasn’t waking up, not to words, nor touches.

Having been left with no other choice, I slowly wiggled us out of my den, being careful to not harm the one in my hold. Once we were out -and i caught my breath-, I properly positioned him on top of me, legs on my sides and my arms on his back, secure. Standing up was another challenge, one I had to take slowly to make sure Jisungie wouldn’t just fall out of my hold, hitting his head on the floor. That would be a horrible alarm to wake up to, one I wanted to avoid at all cost.

A long sigh left my lungs once I was finally standing, the small squirrel fast asleep in my arms. His fingers were tangled into my shirt, hold so tight I was afraid he would rip the fabric apart. His tail was comfortably laying on one of my arms and his own leg, ears relaxed on top of his head.

He looked so tiny in my hold.

My stomach rumbled in protest, hurrying me out of the room and down the stairs. I mumbled a greeting out to everyone once I saw them lounging on the couch, their wide eyes burrowing into my form and a few, confused greetings answering me back. 

I all but ignored them and their hushed whispers, opting for the kitchen and the still warm food on the table instead. It was probably courtesy of Lino, knowing the cat and how he was, painting a small smile onto my lips. There were two bowls waiting for us, telling me quietly how the others had already eaten, easing some of my worries.

I sat down before one of the bowls, eating carefully with the squirrel in my lap. Soft snores left his lips, one of his cheeks squished as he laid on my chest. The skin underneath his eyes was raw and red, making my heart ache. I only looked away from him once I heard the sound of footsteps, one of the chairs next to me now occupied.

The mellow scent of flowers wafted through the air, curiously poking around. A single glance was all it took to change that, his presence now blanketing us in the silent room. His dark eyes were warm, despite the questions clearly swimming in there. No sound left his lips as he sat there, head propped up on top of his palm, almond shaped eyes trained on me. I gazed back, watching him slowly blink at me. I blinked back, his relaxed ears slightly lifting upwards before drooping back down.

I tried not to think about the immense warmth pooling in my chest, my lips pursed to hide the smile breaking out on my face. The food in front of me looked much more interesting, something my stomach agreed with hungrily.

Jisungie only woke up once I was done with eating, my gaze torn away from watching Lino washing the dirty dish left from my meal. The small boy looked around, confused, questioning gaze stopping on me.

“You were sleeping too deeply.” - was my only reply, amused eyes watching him piece everything together.

The cat nearby snorted in amusement, now on his way back to us.

“So your best solution to this was to carry him down and leave him in your lap?” - Lino asked, his famous grin already dancing on his lips.

We both flushed at hearing that, although I stayed quiet, unlike the little herbivore, who just sputtered out nonsense and broken words in self-defence. The cat found this all too entertaining, humming along with excitement clearly written on his face. I nudged the squirrel in my lap at one point, gaining his attention, watching me as I gestured at his now probably lukewarm bowl of food. The flare on his cheeks cooled down a bit, a hand coming up to his chin as he was deep in thought, although I had an inkling what it was about.

A few minutes later he hummed, shaking his head and slotting it back into the crook of my neck. I sat there, flabbergasted, aware of Lino laughing and cackling at my expense. My skin heated up, mouth opening and closing a few times, unable to decide what to say.

In the end, I decided that staying quiet would be more beneficial, along with avoiding Lino’s gaze and not reacting to his teasing, no matter what. Which was a hard task in itself.

Taking in a deep breath, I coaxed Jisungie to not hide in my neck anymore, silently turning him around so he was facing the table as well. Deja vu was hitting me full force, as I’d fed a certain leopard like this not too long ago. I pushed the memories and the heat on my cheeks away, instead silently urging the boy in my arms to take the bite. He did so reluctantly, the muscles under my touch feeling tense and rigid. Eventually they started relaxing with each bite, the small smile on his face slowly blooming the more he ate. Even his tail was relaxed, happily swishing around gently.

Once his bowl was empty as well, he let out a content sigh, leaning back into me. Lino took the bowl away, washing it and placing it next to the other one to dry. He stopped teasing us at one point - only after he took some pictures- and just watched us, that familiar warmth dancing around in his eyes that usually Channie’s held. It was strange, but in a good way. 

Not wanting to break, I ignored it once more, all my attention on the relaxed herbivore in my arms.

“Alright, let’s go to the others!” - he all but shouted, excitement rolling off of him in waves. “But you aren’t moving?” - Lino asked, a knowing lull in his voice. “Of course not, Hyung will carry me.” - he answered, causing the cat to burst out into laughter and my skin to heat up.

Maybe he was a bit too relaxed.

-.-.-

We were lounging on the sofa, Jinnie in my arms, his chest kicking up a storm with all the purring. His content couldn’t have been more obvious, his scent flourishing and coating the room in charcoal and paint, his spotted tail curling and uncurling in a slow pace pleasantly. Those wide, shining eyes were fixated on the screen in front of us, his ears twitching when something surprising happened in the show, grazing against my clothed skin.

We spent the night like that, the young leopard eventually falling victim to sleep, snoring away quietly.

He’d been glued to my side ever since I’d fallen sick that one time, keeping tabs on me and dragging me to wherever he wanted. That usually entailed having a night filled with drama episode after episode, although he also liked to quietly be near me and paint, or simply sketch something with graphite. And sometimes, sometimes I joined in, that blooming smile on his face too irresistible to deny his wishes.

Of course Jinnie wasn’t the only one who monitored me, it was every single member of this household.

Channie? He checked in on me often, ushering me to sleep eventually. Lino was my living shadow, making sure I ate enough and on time. Binnie made sure I moved around enough, playing with me in the garden regularly. Lixie liked to drag me to play games or just stick to me, as if he was my second layer of skin. Sungie was similar, although definitely more chaotic and full of teasing. He really should’ve spent less time with our resident cat, they were impossible to be near without heated skin whenever they were together.

And the puppy…

He’d engaged more with me, talking about anything that held his interest at that moment. This often boiled down to books and stories, having seen me read one before. I never minded, his view and take on the words that were inked upon the paper had been refreshing, a nice lull to listen to. I found the expression that would usually sit upon his face as he was animatedly talking endearing, much too bright compared to my muted presence.

Much like his scent that’d cleared up and now smelled purely fresh, with an underlying hint of vanilla, his presence was soothing too. There’d been times I’d caught myself with my guard completely let down, eyelids drooping as he was reading from a book, his voice quiet and sweet.

Having been laying there for a while now with Jinnie not showing any signs of waking up, I took him in my arms properly. With an arm around his back and the other under his knees, I stood up, the TV screen dark with the simple click of a button. He stirred a bit, but settled back in, deciding that the crook of my neck would be the perfect place to snuggle his nose into. A small, silent breath left me, my own nose gently burying into the crown of hair that sat graciously upon his head.

The walk to his room was brief, my long legs efficiently carrying us both to his door. I didn’t need to be cautious with opening it, since no one decided to crash in his bed for the night. A miracle in itself, considering how cuddly everyone was.

A little noise left his lips once I had put him down on the soft covers, a sigh following it soon after as he settled in. Grabbing the blanket from the side, all crumpled up at the edge of the bed, I swiftly covered him up and sweeped a stray strand of hair away from his face before leaving.

Blinded by light the moment I turned around after closing his door, I shielded my eyes and blinked a few times, annoyed at the bright spots swimming in my vision. 

Wasn’t it just night?

A brief look around helped clear my confusion slightly, the halls bathed in orange sunlight. My sense of time was probably jumbled due to not sleeping at proper times, the most realistic explanation I could come up with on the spot. A deep sigh left me, already knowing Channie would berate me for not sleeping at night, so I turned to my left and headed to my den, intending to sleep.

A stray puppy prevented that from happening.

He appeared from the stairs, probably only woken up not too long ago, if his sleepy look and the big yawn that escaped him was anything to go by. The moment he caught my standing form in the living room he smiled, a lazy wave greeting me below. I waved back, watching as he made himself a cup of coffee, my nose scrunching up in distaste.

The smell of that beverage always tingled my nose in the wrong way, utterly unpleasant for my senses, especially after they became heightened. The first time the others had found out they’d laughed at me, only Lixie saved me from a still giggling wolf’s hold and thanked me for not leaving him alone in the coffee dislikers group.

Naturally, this sly little puppy’d joined the others in teasing me the moment he’d found out, even now a content smirk danced upon his lips that he failed to hide behind his mug. Failing the urge, I rolled my eyes, yet the edges of my lips perked up slightly. This boy was a handful, but he somehow fit right in with us.

A warm touch broke me out of my train of thoughts, his fingers gently holding my hand and leading me away to the couch. His mug was replaced by a book, the hard cover familiar with its unique design. He plopped onto the plush surface, dragging me down next to him and gingerly placing the book into my hands. I confusedly looked at him, since he was the one who’d usually read either silently, or out loud to me.

“Could you… maybe you could read for me today? Please?” - his voice was uncharacteristically quiet, dark eyes wide and pleading.

Despite my previous confusion, my body didn’t hesitate to open the book on the first page, the printed words quietly leaving my lips. The puppy next to me seemed to be taken aback for a second, but he quickly shook it off and settled in. 

As pages passed and time flew by, his weight eventually sank into my side, head placed upon my shoulder to curiously glance at the pages and occasional illustrations. I turned the book slightly towards him, always giving enough time for his eyes to scan the shapes drawn by the ink. An appreciative hum left his lips, quiet, as if he was afraid of disturbing something. Even his tail was quiet as it thumped against the couch in glee, drawing a small smile onto my face.

A quiet sound could be heard from behind me, startling me out of my trance and causing me to whip my head around to it. Binnie stood there like a deer caught in headlights, form rigid and smile apologetic. I instantly relaxed, the danger alarms in my head quieting down slowly, but surely.

The puppy at my side grumbled a bit, rubbing at his eyes as if he was on the verge of sleep, lightly glaring at the little herbivore behind us. Binnie apologised out loud this time, taking the scolding of the pup full force. Sensing that no true grudge was behind it all, the sight was quite entertaining to behold, the older simply taking the words quietly. That in itself was a small miracle, showing how much of a soft spot Binnie had quickly developed for the fostered pup.

Done with their little play, the little pika went towards the front door, grabbing the light jacket he usually wore out on his morning runs. But before he could properly put his shoes on and leave, the puppy called him, grabbing his attention.

“Hyung, are you going on a run?” “Yea, why?” “Can I come with?”

The question stunned the man so much that he’d frozen for a few seconds, merely blinking back in heavy silence. Then, as if we stepped into a tropical forest itself, the room was filled with the scent of citrus and nektar. My lungs stuttered from the sudden onslaught, but soon relaxed and demanded more hungrily, already addicted.

“Sure, uh, yea, of course. Change into something, I’ll wait here with Bae hyung. Actually, Hyung, you wanna come with us too? Move around a bit, it’ll be good for you.” - his question didn’t exactly catch me by surprise, having gone with him a few times already in the mornings.

I nodded, watching the smiles break out on their faces, one more tamed than the other. The puppy nearly ran up the stairs while I calmly strode up them, watching the other in case he stumbled and fell. Thankfully, he didn’t, passing through his doorway unharmed. 

Shaking my head at the silliness of it all, I headed towards my room as well, digging out the light clothing the others’d gotten me back in the day. They’d insisted on getting this, probably already knowing they would drag me to morning runs and workout sessions. I didn’t fully mind, the fabric light and airy on my skin, much less annoying than those harsh jeans. They’d long given up on making me wear them, probably not wanting to witness me growl at an inanimate object so intensely ever again.

A quick change later I jogged back down to the living room, the puppy soon to follow. The collar lightly hit against my collarbones, its weight unwelcomed. Their own ones were tighter around their necks, although with plenty of breathing room left between skin and leather. Everyone wore them in a similar way, even Jinnie got used to them quickly.

“Alright, let’s go. Just follow my lead, we won’t go too far.”

The colourful leaves crunched underneath our feet with every step, their orange and yellow exterior bending and breaking apart. My tail swished along behind me gently, the cool temperature a pleasant sensation with all that thick fur. Brisk air entered my lungs with every inhale, refreshingly sharp on the senses. My eyes looked around ceaselessly, marvelling at every little thing I could possibly find.

I’ve never had the chance to just leisurely look around before deciding to join Binnie in the mornings, long years of my life having been spent with endless running and fighting against fate. To this day I could never truly process that I was safe, that I didn’t need to hide alone in dark alleys anymore and scramble for scraps of food at every given chance. Being out in the open again, running, brought a deep-seeded instinct out of me, one that had always been hard to fight. It’d been what had kept me alive in the past, so of course it would never be easy to ignore. My teeth itched, hands twitching with the urge to touch the rough pavement that we ran on. The warm hat on top of my hat felt unnecessary and annoying now, my ears begging to be freed and feel the wind freely.

But I couldn’t allow that.

The animal I could turn into was too recogniseable, too risky to be seen. Something that the others realised as well, them being the ones asking me to not change forms for these morning runs. I’d obliged, not even willing to entertain the thought of being found by them.

Pushing the urge to let fur swallow my weak skin, I focused back on the roads, tuning into what the two boys were chatting about in front of me. They were bickering and playing around, something that I grew used to quickly, since they never really stopped doing it. But they always did it with smiles on their faces and a light breeze to their scents, calming my senses and useless worries instantly. Most of their choice of topics flew over my head, either because I had no idea what they were talking about, or their voices turned into a big, soothing buzz in the back of my mind.

Right until I felt a gaze on the back of my head, my fur bristling in response.

“--ot true, ice cream is clearly superior!” “No, frozen yoghurt is! Tell him, Hyung!”

I all but ignored them, eyes carefully looking around for the danger.

“...Hyung?”

The feeling never stopped, urging me to continue looking, nose higher up in the air to catch its smell.

“Bae hyung?”

An unpleasant aroma picked up amongst the others, clearly on its way over to us. A deep growl ripped out of my chest as a warning, the two in front of me startling and looking a bit panicked. Not even thinking for a second I pushed them behind me, staring at the human calmly approaching us.

Its presence itself was revolting, the smell so overpowering and artificial that the urge to gag almost won over me.

“My my, what have I found? Something as rare and unique as this hybrid is just walking out in the open, and without its owner at that? Where are they, hmm, little doggy?” - the voice purred, fake and disgustingly sweet.

Another growl crawled out of my throat, a dangerous sharpness to its edges, cutting into walls of flesh, the taste of blood blooming on my tongue.

“Oh come on, don’t be like that. I just want to talk to your owner, ask if they would be willing to sell you. I’m willing to pay, quite heftily. Your burgundy fur is just splendid looking in this autumn weather, I wish I had a coat like that. Maybe I could find one, to match with yours, little pet.” - those eyes were below me, yet they looked down upon me, as if I was worth next to nothing.

They were just like that scum’s, glinting in the dark the same way, mouth morphing along the same curve.

It was revolting.

My teeth ached as my growls strengthened, begging to be sinked into flesh once more, to get rid of the danger once and for all. Every fibre of my being shouted for that same goal, forming together to see it through.

“Fuck off.”

And yet, it never came down to it.

“I wasn’t talking to you, pet, but since you started, you could lead me to your owner.” “I said fuck off. I won’t ask another time.”

The little pika’s form in front of me was firm, unbudging, voice so low and threatening I could nearly mistake him for a different person. His arms were crossed in front of his torso, muscles rippling in an intimidating way, the tiny ears that were hiding in his mop of dark curls were facing me in a harsh angle. That usually sweet citrus was sharp, acidic, yet I found myself soothed by its presence.

Without uttering another word, merely shrinking down in fear, the human left hastily, their shoes tip-tapping loudly against the cement.

“Come on Hyung, let’s go back home.” - a gentle voice asked me on my side, a similarly soft hold laying on my arm that only registered in my mind at that moment.

“It’s okay Bae, we’re fine. See?” - it was Binnie this time, gaze tender as he took hold of my other hand, thumb calmly grazing over my knuckles before he gingerly placed it on his chest.

The surface thrummed in a steady rhythm, pulse strong and unwavering. I let it flow through me, swallow me whole, the continuous beat travelling through my skin, meeting my own wild one. They danced around each other, my own one erratic, but with each step it slowly calmed down, settling back into its rightful pace.

Opening my eyes once more, I was met with the patient expression of the pika, cheeks dusted with pink from the harsh breeze. His eyes held nebulas, shining in those dark depths with countless little stars and directing their light on my muted form. A weary little giggle left his lips, and while I didn’t know the reason for it, I drank in the sound like a weary traveller.

The little puppy was on my other side, cheeks similarly bitten by the weather and dark eyes gazing up at me. A smile took its place on his face, wider the more I looked at him. His tail moved behind him left and right, the gold-woven fur swishing in the wind gently. A squeeze could be felt on the hand he held, as if he was reassuring me of his presence.

I let the two lead me back, back on the roads we just ran on, their hold on my hands never disappearing. My mind was still reeling, emotions nearly impossible to battle. The best I could do was let the two take me away into safety, blindly trusting them to do so.

My eyes were useless, vision filled with fear and anxiety. Thoughts bounced around in my brain, voices whispering into my ear. What if I failed to protect them? What if I was found and led the danger to them? I would never forgive myself for causing them harm, the mere thought pushing my stomach into knots and causing my lungs to stutter. The act itself sounded like a sin, and I was sure I would be dragged back into hell for committing it.

But through all that, another little voice kept feeding words into my mind, asking with a vicious voice: What if they actually wanted to sell you? What if they wanted to get rid of you, since you’ve always been so useless and weak, always causing them trouble? Maybe they finally got bored of you, history repeating itself.

The blood inside my mouth tasted like copper and iron, a much too familiar sensation.

The moment our feet hit wooden boards and warm air heated our skin, I twisted my hand out of theirs, bringing them into my chest and burying my head into their hair. They felt rigid, surprised by the sudden turn of events, but soon they relaxed in my hold, scents changing and betraying their worry and confusion.

“Hyung, it’s okay. We’ll usher them away for you.” - the puppy’s voice was muffled against my skin, head slightly turned towards my face. “Don’t worry Dal hyung, she won’t ever find you again, I’ll make sure of it.” - the pika’s choice of name surprised me for a second, only making me tighten my hold on the two.

“Please don’t leave me.”

My voice sounded so quiet and broken, I couldn’t have told it belonged to me. The scent of citrus and fresh vanilla strengthened, hugging my form like a warm blanket on a winter night. Hands wrapped around me, their hold firm and tight, as if they never intended to let go of me. The thought itself comforted me, and maybe, just maybe, I could let myself believe that it would become reality as well.

“Of course not. I’m never letting go of you, jagi.” - Binnie answered as if he had heard me, the dam breaking and letting the world see my vulnerable self.

The puppy didn’t say anything, but his hold impossibly tightened on me, head shaking slightly against my chest, as if he was defying the very existence of words I uttered. My form shook in their hold, their hair wet as sobs rocked through my body. I buried my nose deeper into their hair, their necks, seeking comfort from their existence itself. It never felt enough, but they let me indulge myself, not even once trying to break out of my hold and leave me.

Soon enough footsteps resounded down the corridors, scents sharpened with worry. Not having the power to speak, nor the will, I shifted, bones cracking and mending in a matter of seconds.

Yes, this form soothed something deep inside me, my mind just a tad bit calmer now.

I still continued to push into Binnie and the pup, their fingers buried deep inside my thick coat of fur. The others hurried towards us, Lixie falling to his knees and sliding the last few metres. He took my much too heavy feeling head into his hold, thumbs gently wiping the still leaking droplets away. The bright eyes that sat above those lovely constellations were glassy, slowly filling up with their own tears. He’d always been a gentle soul, emotions easily swayed from those he felt for.

“What happened?” - it was the wolf, a warm hand placed on me despite the question not being directed at me. “Some fucker walked up to us and asked for our so called owner, just to buy Bae hyung.” - Binnie’s response was basically growled out, his hold on me tightening.

But it was nowhere near tight enough compared to Channie’s hold. 

My fur was stretched, a few strands tearing out from the force. The pine trees were taller than usual and bathed in a cold palette, their roots and branches writhing and splitting in anger. Wind helped them in their wake, its form harsh and unforgiving as if a storm was brewing nearby.

A small whine left my smothered form, body leaning against his. The wind calmed down just a bit, the trees looking more vivid and less harsh. He muttered out an apology, hand smoothing down my roughed up fur. 

And yet the storm was still brewing, the sky covered by dull clouds, the earth itself trembling in silent fury.

That lovely flower field was covered in thorns, their nectar dangerously sweet and alluring. That same sweetness could be felt in the air, its presence so thick that you could choke on it alone. The easel was laying on the ground, empty, red and black splotches of paint being its only companion. The sun hid itself, covering everything in darkness and cold, only egging on the raging sea in the distance.

Moving forward, I stumbled into those in front of me, the storm slightly letting up, but never disappearing. I nudged them all with my nose, earning a few apologies and silent pats. Hating how the little snow leopard was feeling, especially because of me, I placed my head back into his hold, licking his tears away. The salt was nothing compared to the taste of the raging sea, almost non-existent to my senses. A few giggles were my reward, a bit wet and broken compared to their usual selves, but I appreciated them nonetheless, giving him another little lick on the nose. He purred back, the sound so quiet I nearly missed it.

A single glance back at the two was all it took for them to understand, a tiny pika landing on my back and a honey-dipped puppy pressing into my side. Thankful for their quick understanding, I deeply rumbled, a little chirp and a bark greeting me back. Not wanting to waste any other time, I took the puppy’s fur at his nape into my hold gently, carrying his smaller body easily between my long legs. The others gave way to me, letting me carry the two into the closest room, its door luckily left open.

The place smelled like pine and sweets, the signature scents of Lixie and Channie. Their happy, relaxed essence calmed me a bit, making my form less tense. Finding the bed thankfully empty of any unnecessary items, I jumped onto it, letting go of the pup in my hold. He sat up and looked at me as I temporarily laid down, allowing the tiny pika to jump off of my back. The two looked adorably small together, urging me to bundle them up and never let go of them.

Exhausted both emotionally and physically, I acted on that urge, dragging the blankets together in a circular shape around us. After walking around in the little makeshift nest, I looked at the two awaiting hybrids, a low sound leaving my chest to let them know they could take their place now. They happily bounced in, curling up next to each other. My much bigger form joined theirs, draping over them like a protective veil. An appreciative sigh left both their forms, bodies snuggling closer to mine and seeking my warmth silently.

With each deep breath the alarm bells in my head slowly shut off, the whispers disappearing and fading into nothingness, all those doubts and fears locked away once again. The only thought in my head was how warm it all felt, how wonderful everything smelled, as if I was in a bakery, freshly baked pastries with fruits and vanilla cooling off on the counter. 

Nothing else mattered anymore.

These two pack members were in my hold now, safe and taken care of.

⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰⋅⋅•⋅⋅⋅•∙∘☽༓☾∘∙•⋅⋅⋅•⋅⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅

next chapter

[sukunaslilgurl]

Now we are free

Chapter Ten:Awakening

The room was dim, the only light coming from a small oil lamp flickering on a nearby table. The faint scent of herbs and sweat lingered in the air, mingling with the metallic tang of blood. Sukuna’s eyes fluttered open, heavy with exhaustion. His vision was blurry at first, shapes and colors merging into indistinct patterns, but soon his surroundings became clearer. He drew in a ragged breath, his chest rising slowly. Pain rippled through his torso, sharp and biting, but it was muted compared to the fiery agony he remembered. His head throbbed, and his limbs felt like they were weighed down by stones.

Where am I?

He shifted slightly, wincing as the movement sent a jolt of pain through his side. His fingers brushed against soft linens—clean and unfamiliar. He tilted his head, scanning the room. It was modest but well-kept. Shelves lined with jars and bandages were pushed against one wall, and a bucket of water sat near the bed, stained pink from blood.

Then his gaze landed on her.

Irene was seated in a wooden chair by his side, her head resting on her arms as she dozed. She looked exhausted, her long, curly hair falling in loose waves around her face. There was a faint smudge of soot on her cheek, and her hands—resting on the edge of the bed—were calloused and red from constant work.

Sukuna’s brow furrowed. He remembered her vaguely, like a fleeting shadow in his mind. The slave woman. The one who had tended to him before…before everything went black.

The memories came flooding back in fragments. The arena. The towering last Thracian opponent. The searing pain as the blade sliced through his torso. The roar of the crowd. And then…nothing.

His breathing quickened as he tried to sit up, but the pain in his abdomen flared, forcing him to lie back down. He clenched his teeth, his muscles tensing. The movement must have disturbed Irene, for she stirred, her mismatched eyes blinking open. She sat up quickly, startled.

“You’re awake,” she said softly, relief evident in her voice. She leaned forward, her eyes scanning his face as if to confirm he was truly conscious.

Sukuna didn’t respond immediately, his crimson eyes narrowing as he studied her. “Where…?” His voice was hoarse, barely more than a whisper.

“You’re in the medic room,” Irene answered, her tone calm but firm. “You’ve been unconscious for four days. We thought…” She hesitated, her gaze dropping for a moment. “We thought you wouldn’t make it.”

He let out a slow exhale, his eyes shifting around the room again. “I remember the fight. The Thracian…”

“You won,” Irene said quickly, as if sensing his unease. “You killed him. But you were badly injured. The wound on your torso—it was deep. You lost a lot of blood.”

Sukuna grunted, his hand instinctively moving to his side. He felt the rough texture of bandages beneath his fingertips. “And now?”

“You’re alive,” she said, a hint of defiance in her tone. “But barely. If you try to move too much, the wound will open again. You need to rest.”

He looked at her again, this time more intently. Her words were sharp, commanding even, despite her status as a slave. It was strange. Most people feared him, cowered before his presence. But not her.

Then something caught his eye.

On the table beside the bed was a small silver ring. It was plain, unadorned, and entirely out of place among the medical supplies. Sukuna’s gaze lingered on it, and a flicker of confusion crossed his face.

“What’s that?” he asked, nodding toward the ring.

Irene followed his gaze. “It’s yours,” she said simply. “The guards found it among your things when they brought you in. I thought you might want it close.”

Sukuna frowned, reaching out slowly to pick up the ring. His fingers trembled as he held it, the cool metal pressing against his palm. The sight of it stirred something deep within him—a memory, faint and distant, but just out of reach. For a moment, the room was silent, save for the sound of his labored breathing.

“Why did you stay?” he asked suddenly, his voice low.

Irene looked at him, her mismatched eyes meeting his crimson ones. “Because you needed help,” she said simply.

Sukuna’s grip on the ring tightened, his jaw clenching. “And what does it matter to you if I live or die?”

Her gaze didn’t waver. “It doesn’t,” she said, though her tone was quieter now. “But I don’t think anyone deserves to die like that—not even you.”

Her words hung in the air, heavy and unspoken. Sukuna said nothing, his eyes dropping to the ring in his hand. The weight of her answer lingered, gnawing at the edges of his mind.

For the first time in years, he felt something unfamiliar—a flicker of unease, of uncertainty. But he buried it quickly, shoving it deep down where it couldn’t reach him.

Instead, he closed his eyes, letting the exhaustion pull him back into the darkness.

One hour later

Sukuna’s crimson eyes opened again after a few moments of silence. The ache in his body was a dull roar, but his mind was sharpening. He turned his head slightly toward Irene, who was still watching him cautiously, as if expecting him to lash out.

“How long was I gone?” he asked, his voice rasping but steadier now.

“Four days as I already told you,” Irene replied. She adjusted the damp cloth on his forehead with care, her touch light but firm. “You’ve been in and out of fever. It was bad.”

He grunted, his eyes narrowing. “And when can I fight again?”

The question caught her off guard, and she froze for a moment, staring at him in disbelief. “Fight?” she repeated, incredulous. “You can barely sit up. If you so much as stand too quickly, that wound will tear open, and you’ll bleed out in minutes and die probably.”

Sukuna exhaled heavily, frustration evident in the way his fingers curled into fists. “I wasn’t asking for your opinion, woman. I don’t care about it alt all. Just tell me when.”

Irene’s expression hardened. “At least two weeks. Maybe longer,” she said firmly. “Your body needs time to heal, or you won’t survive the next fight.”

“Two weeks?” Sukuna scoffed, his lips curling into a grimace. “Do you think Gojo will wait that long? He’ll have me back in the arena before the blood dries.”

“He won’t if he wants you alive,” Irene countered, her voice sharp. “You’re no use to him dead.”

The corner of Sukuna’s mouth twitched, almost into a smirk. “You think Gojo cares about that?”

Irene didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she picked up a bowl of water and a clean cloth, dipping it and wringing it out before pressing it gently against the dried blood on his arm.

“I don’t care what Gojo thinks,” she said after a moment. “But if you try to fight like this, you’ll die, Sukuna. And I’m not wasting my time keeping you alive just so you can throw it away in the arena. Men are such fools wasting their lives like it means nothing.”

Her words were blunt, but there was no malice in them—only a strange mix of determination and exhaustion. Sukuna’s gaze lingered on her face, trying to read her. She was different from anyone he’d met before—brave, or maybe just foolish. Either way, she didn’t cower before him, and that intrigued him, though he’d never admit it. And she was indeed beautiful in his eyes.

“Stubborn, aren’t you?” he muttered, leaning his head back against the pillow.

“I could say the same about you,” Irene shot back, her tone lighter now but still firm.

Sukuna closed his eyes for a moment, letting her words sink in. Two weeks. It felt like a lifetime. He wasn’t used to being out of commission, and the thought of lying idle while the world moved on without him was maddening.

But deep down, he knew she was right. His body was in no condition to fight. For now, he’d have to endure the humiliation of rest.

“Fine,” he said finally, his voice low. “Two weeks. But if I don’t heal by then, it’s on your head.”

Irene raised an eyebrow, a faint smirk tugging at her lips. “Then I’d better make sure you heal, hadn’t I?”

Sukuna’s eyes, heavy-lidded but sharp, lingered on Irene as she worked on cleaning the wounds that hadn’t yet healed. He could feel the pull of stitches and the dull throb in his torso where the blade had cut him deep. His voice broke the silence, gravelly but commanding.

“Who’s been tending to me?”

Irene didn’t look up. “Me,” she said simply, wringing out a clean cloth in a bowl of water.

Sukuna’s gaze narrowed. “Why?”

She paused, glancing at him for a moment. “Because if I didn’t, you’d be dead,” she said bluntly, before returning to her task.

He grunted. “What a waste of time.”

Irene’s hand froze mid-motion, and she turned to face him, her mismatched eyes hard. “Is that what you think? That your life is a waste of time?”

Sukuna smirked faintly, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I’ve seen slaves die for less than what I’ve done. It’s just another fight. If it’s not this one, it’ll be the next.”

Her jaw tightened, and she leaned closer, her voice lowering. “Maybe. But that doesn’t mean you throw yourself away like you’re nothing.”

Sukuna’s smirk faltered for a brief moment, replaced by something unreadable. “You talk like you know me,” he muttered. “Like I’m something worth saving. Your emotional way of thinking makes you weak.”

“I don’t know you,” Irene shot back. “But I know what it’s like to be treated like you’re nothing. And I won’t stand by and watch you destroy yourself for their amusement.” He studied her, his crimson eyes scanning her face as if trying to discern if she was serious. Her defiance was something new—refreshing, even.

“You’ve got guts, I’ll give you that,” he said finally, his voice quieter now. “But you don’t understand the world I live in. I’m not here to be saved. If I die it was my fault to be weak…this shouldn’t matter to you.”

Irene straightened, setting the cloth down and crossing her arms. “Maybe not. But as long as I’m the one keeping you alive, you’ll listen to me. You need rest, food, and time to heal. If you don’t want to die in your next fight, you’ll do what I say. And this is my matter then.”

Sukuna let out a low chuckle, though it was strained with pain. “You’re bossier than most people I’ve met. Doesn’t suit a slave.”

“And yet here you are, alive because of a slave,” she countered, her tone sharp but not unkind.

Sukuna fell silent, his head leaning back against the pillow. He hated to admit it, but she had a point.

After a moment, he spoke again, his voice softer, almost contemplative. “What’s your name? I have seen you many times but I still haven’t asked about your name yet.”

She blinked, surprised by the question. “Irene,” she said after a pause.

“Irene,” he repeated, as if testing the sound of it on his tongue. “Don’t let your guts get you killed, Irene.”

She almost smiled but didn’t. “Don’t make my efforts a waste, Sukuna.”

The room fell quiet, save for the faint crackle of the fire in the corner. Irene turned her attention back to tending his wounds, and Sukuna allowed himself to close his eyes again, drifting into a restless but healing sleep.

Later

As Sukuna drifted in and out of consciousness, Irene returned with the small bowl of soup she had carefully prepared earlier. The rich scent of vegetables, herbs, and tender pieces of meat filled the air. She hesitated for a moment, staring at him as he lay there, his broad chest rising and falling with each labored breath.

Setting the bowl on the bedside table, she gently touched his shoulder. “Sukuna,” she said softly.

His eyelids fluttered, and with a groan, he turned his head toward her. His crimson eyes were half-open, clouded with fatigue and pain.

“What is it now?” he rasped, his voice low and rough.

“You need to eat,” she said firmly, lifting the bowl. “If you’re going to heal, you need your strength back.”

“I don’t need your damn soup,” he muttered, attempting to turn away, but the effort made him wince.

Irene’s eyes hardened, her voice taking on a sharper edge. “Listen to me. You’ve been lying here for days, barely alive. You can’t fight again if you starve yourself to death before you’re healed.”

Sukuna scowled but didn’t respond, his pride keeping him from admitting she was right. Irene dipped the spoon into the warm broth and held it close to his mouth.

“Just one bite,” she insisted, her tone softening slightly. “It’s not poison, I promise.”

He huffed, narrowing his eyes at her, but reluctantly parted his lips. She carefully tipped the spoon, allowing the warm liquid to slide into his mouth.

He swallowed and frowned, his expression unreadable. “It’s not terrible,” he muttered grudgingly.

“That’s high praise coming from you,” she said dryly, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

She fed him slowly, one spoonful at a time, pausing between bites to make sure he didn’t strain himself. His gaze occasionally flicked to her, his sharp eyes studying her face. She focused on the task, refusing to meet his stare, though she could feel the weight of it.

“You’re too stubborn for your own good,” he said suddenly, breaking the silence.

She looked at him, startled. “And you’re too proud to admit when you need help,” she shot back.

He smirked faintly, though it was weak. “Touché.”

When the bowl was empty, Irene set it aside and wiped the corner of his mouth with a cloth. “See? That wasn’t so hard,” she said lightly.

He didn’t respond, his eyes closing again as exhaustion pulled at him. But as he drifted off, his voice was barely audible.

“You’re persistent, Irene. I’ll give you that.”

She watched him for a moment, her expression softening. “And you’re stubborn, Sukuna,” she whispered, more to herself than him. “But I’ll keep you alive, whether you like it or not.”

She stayed by his side through the night, the firelight casting flickering shadows across the room as the tension of the day slowly gave way to quiet determination.

[vir-tanadahl]

Summary: AU. After Felassan fails to secure the eluvian password, Solas summons him to Haven to assist in addressing the rising threat of Corypheus. When the situation takes a dire turn, Felassan accompanies Solas in joining the Inquisition. It isn’t long before Felassan recognizes that Marel Lavellan holds the key to saving this world—and possibly to altering Solas’s own plans. Find on Ao3!

Chapter 12: The Slow Arrow and the Wolf

Marel drifted back into consciousness slowly, her senses stirring one by one. The first thing she registered was warmth—the steady, grounding heat of someone’s arms around her and the rhythmic sway of a horse beneath her. 'Warmth.' The sensation was so foreign after the cold, suffocating weight of her collapse that it disoriented her. Her sluggish mind struggled to reconcile the present with fragmented, hazy memories. 'Where am I? What happened?'

Her eyelids fluttered open, the blurry shapes above her sharpening into the canopy of trees. The dappled sunlight filtering through the leaves was too bright, piercing through the lingering fog of exhaustion and making her wince. The world tilted slightly, the swaying motion of the horse making her stomach churn before it settled into a soothing rhythm.

A low, familiar hum reached her ears—a Dalish tune, soothing and steady, carried by a voice with a teasing lilt. The melody tugged at her, a lifeline pulling her further into wakefulness even before she consciously registered its owner. 'Felassan. He’s... humming?' The realization cut through her disorientation, grounding her in the present.

She shifted slightly, her body uncooperative and heavy, eliciting a sharp intake of breath from above. “Easy, da’len,” Felassan murmured softly, his voice low and steady. “I’d rather not explain to the others why you ended up face-first in the dirt.”

His teasing words broke through the haze in her mind, anchoring her in their familiarity. 'Felassan. Still trying to make me laugh, even now.' The thought brought a faint flicker of comfort, though it was short-lived as the memories began to press in again.

Blinking groggily, Marel tilted her head back to glance up at him. His face was half-hidden in shadow, his expression lighthearted, though his eyes betrayed deeper concern. “Where… where are we?” she rasped, her voice faint and hoarse. Her throat ached, her words catching like they hadn’t been used in days.

“Safe,” Felassan replied, his tone deliberately casual. The tension in his grip, however, hinted at more than his words let on. “Though I’d appreciate it if you didn’t make a habit of magical implosions. Bad for morale, you know.”

Her brow furrowed as fragments of memory surfaced—flashes of light, the Spirit of Hope, the surge of magic that had torn through the clearing. She pressed a hand to her temple, where a faint throb of pain lingered. The spirit. The wisps.'That scream... did that come from me?' The memory of the raw, uncontained magic twisting through her made her shiver. “What… what happened?” she murmured.

Felassan exhaled, the sound a mix of weariness and humor. “You had a moment—one of those dramatic, magical ones. And for the record, you did knock me off my feet. Literally.” His smirk tilted slightly, the teasing light in his eyes softening. “I don’t say that lightly.”

Guilt threaded through her exhaustion, twisting in her chest like a blade. “Did I hurt anyone?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, each word thick with apprehension.

Felassan’s lips quirked into a faint smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “Aside from your pride? No. Solas got a bit banged up, but he’ll live. And Cole—let’s just say he’s learned a healthy respect for boundaries.”

The corner of her mouth twitched faintly at the joke, but the guilt didn’t ease. She tried to sit up, but her limbs were leaden and uncooperative, every movement feeling like dragging herself through mud. Felassan’s arms tightened briefly, steadying her. “Relax, Marel,” he said, his tone quieter now. “You’re not carrying the Inquisition on your back right now. Let someone else do the heavy lifting for once.”

'Let someone else...' The thought was foreign, almost absurd. She had carried the weight of others for so long—her clan’s expectations, the Inquisition’s demands, the unrelenting judgment of those around her—that the idea of letting go felt impossible. 'But I couldn’t carry it this time, could I?' The memory of her collapse, of the magic spilling from her in a chaotic surge, tightened in her chest.

The gentle sway of the horse beneath her began to lull her, though her mind raced, piecing together fragments of the clearing—the Spirit’s words, the wisps, the overwhelming release of all she had held inside. “The Spirit…” she murmured, her voice trailing off.

Felassan’s tone softened further, losing its usual teasing edge. “It left something for you. For now, just breathe. The world’s still here, da’len. It can wait a little longer for you.”

'The world can wait?' The idea felt as foreign as it was tempting. She stared at the trees around them, the shifting shadows soothing in their familiarity. 'How long has it been since I let the world wait? Since I let myself stop?' Her breathing hitched slightly, the weight of everything she had carried pressing against her chest once more. But Felassan’s steady voice, the warmth of his hold, and the rhythmic sway of the horse anchored her. Slowly, she let her head rest against his chest, her breathing evening out as she surrendered to the moment. The exhaustion didn’t leave her—it was too deep, too heavy—but she allowed herself this brief reprieve. 'The world can wait. Just for now.'

The steady sway of the horse beneath her kept Marel tethered to the moment, though her body grew heavier with each step the animal took. She leaned slightly against Felassan, his arm firm around her waist, anchoring her to the here and now. The rhythm of the ride, the warmth of his hold—it was enough to keep her grounded, even as exhaustion threatened to pull her under. 'Just stay here. Don’t think. Just breathe.' The simple commands in her mind felt monumental as she clung to the steadiness of the moment.

“Hold on, da’len,” Felassan murmured, shifting slightly to free his satchel. His voice was softer than usual, lacking its familiar teasing lilt. Marel glanced up at him, curiosity flickering through the haze of fatigue. 'What’s he doing?' The question formed weakly in her mind, but the weight pressing down on her muted any urge to ask aloud.

With one hand steadying the reins, Felassan rummaged through his satchel until he retrieved a small bundle wrapped in soft fabric. He held it up, the glow of the setting sun catching its edges, painting it in hues of gold and amber. “They left this for you,” he said quietly, his tone carrying a gravity that made her sit up slightly despite her sluggish limbs. “Found it on the ground after you decided to see how far you could launch all of us. Spoiler: pret-ty far.”

'Left for me?' Marel’s heart gave a weak, uneven lurch. The words stirred something in her, unease coiling beneath her ribs. Her gaze fixed on the bundle as Felassan carefully unwrapped it with one hand, revealing a delicate circlet woven from braided roots, moss, and spider silk. The moss shimmered faintly, catching the fading sunlight in a way that made it seem alive, while the roots pulsed gently, as though in rhythm with her uneven breaths.

She froze, her chest tightening. Her breath hitched as fragmented memories of the clearing surged back—raw vulnerability, the Spirit of Hope, the storm of magic that had poured from her like an unrelenting tide. 'No. Not that. I can’t face that right now.' Her body tensed instinctively, but her limbs felt too heavy to act on the flight impulse that raced through her mind. “No,” she whispered, her voice trembling. She shifted, trying to pull away, but the movement jostled the horse. Felassan’s arm tightened around her, steadying her. “I… I can’t—”

“Easy, da’len,” Felassan interrupted, his voice steady and calm. He lifted the circlet slightly, keeping it within her line of sight but not pressing it toward her. “It’s not a curse.” His tone softened further. “It’s a reminder. Spirits don’t leave things like this without purpose. They’re not in the business of wasting effort.”

Her breathing quickened, panic blooming in her chest. She pressed a hand over her heart, as though she could contain the storm rising within. “It’s too much,” she stammered, her voice thin and edged with desperation. “I don’t deserve it.”

Felassan exhaled slowly, his usual smirk absent, replaced by something patient and understanding. “Deserving isn’t the point,” he said, his tone low and soothing. “Spirits don’t care about guilt, Marel. They care about what you could become.”

The horse beneath them shifted uneasily, its muscles tensing in response to her agitation. Felassan held the reins firmly, his steady hand anchoring both her and the animal. His voice, so often light and teasing, now carried a rare edge of seriousness. “Breathe, da’len,” he said softly, though the firmness of his tone cut through her spiraling panic. “You don’t have to wear it. You don’t even have to accept it. Just… hold it. See it for what it is.”

Her hands hovered uncertainly in the air, her fingers curling into fists and then releasing, as though she no longer trusted them to obey her. The thunder of her pulse roared in her ears, drowning out the soft rustle of the forest around them. 'I can’t trust myself. Not after everything.' The thought burned through her, raw and jagged, until Felassan’s voice pulled her focus back.

He leaned in slightly, his arm tightening around her, steadying her trembling form. “Listen to me,” he murmured, his tone grounding. “You’re not fighting the whole world right now. You’re just here. Sitting on this horse. With me. That’s all. Stay here, Marel.”

'Just here.' The words landed softly, cutting through the chaos like a stone settling at the bottom of a restless stream. Her fists slowly began to unclench, her fingers trembling as they lowered toward her lap. The noise in her mind didn’t stop completely, but it began to dull, Felassan’s steady rhythm anchoring her. 'I’m here. Just here.'

Carefully, Felassan lowered the circlet into her lap, his movements deliberate. His arm adjusted around her again, holding her steady as the roots pulsed faintly against her trembling hands, casting a soft glow over her fingers.

She flinched at its touch, her voice breaking. “Why me? Why now?”

Felassan glanced at her, his expression thoughtful, his tone softening further. “Because they saw something in you. Something worth reminding you of.” He paused, his hand brushing the reins as he steadied the horse. “You’ve been carrying too much, da’len. Maybe they think it’s time you let someone—or something—help you carry a little of it.”

“I don’t know what they see in me,” she whispered, her voice raw and strained. 

Felassan chuckled softly, the sound cutting through the tension like a warm breeze. “Spirits don’t leave their treasures with just anyone. They’re picky, like me.” His gaze softened as it flicked to her, the humor fading into quiet seriousness.

His words struck her like a quiet echo of the Spirit of Hope’s presence, a reminder she wasn’t ready to confront. But as she stared at the circlet resting in her lap, its glow soft and steady against her trembling hands, she felt the faintest flicker of something beneath the weight of her doubt. 'Maybe one day I’ll see it. But not yet. Not now.' She pressed her lips together, her gaze falling to the forest floor beneath the horse’s rhythmic steps. 

She leaned slightly into Felassan’s hold, her breaths evening out. The pulse of the circlet’s roots steadied her, a gentle rhythm beneath her fingertips. The world still felt overwhelming, the weight of her burdens unchanged, but for the first time in a long while, she felt the smallest whisper of something fragile yet undeniable: the possibility of rest.

Felassan moved deliberately, placing the circlet into her hands with practiced care. Its braided roots and moss pulsed faintly beneath her fingers, emitting a calm, rhythmic glow that mirrored a steady heartbeat. She flinched slightly at its warmth, but it didn’t burn. Instead, it seemed to hum faintly, a quiet presence she couldn’t ignore. 'It’s alive,' she thought, the realization strange but not unwelcome.

“That’s it,” Felassan said quietly, his voice a soothing balm. “It’s not going to hurt you. Just let it sit with you for a moment.”

Marel stared at the circlet, her wide eyes unfocused at first. The faint glow reflected in her gaze, the gentle pulsing light rising and falling like her uneven breaths. Her lips parted as though she wanted to speak, but the words seemed caught in her throat. 'It’s just... moss and roots. But why does it feel so heavy?'

Felassan didn’t press her. His voice remained calm and steady, a gentle current drawing her further from the edge. “You’re stronger than this, da’len. I’ve seen it. And if I’ve seen it, the spirits have too. This isn’t a test or a trap. It’s just a reminder of what’s already inside you.”

His words settled over her like sunlight breaking through heavy clouds. Slowly, her breathing began to even out, though her hands still trembled faintly against the circlet’s surface. She gripped it tightly, as though anchoring herself to its soft glow. 'What’s already inside me? If it’s there, why can’t I find it?'

Finally, she exhaled shakily, her voice barely above a whisper. “It feels… alive.”

Felassan nodded, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips. “Of course it does. Spirits have a flair for the dramatic. They wanted you to notice it.” He tilted his head slightly, catching her gaze. “And now you have. That’s the first step.”

Marel met his eyes briefly, the faintest ghost of a smile tugging at her lips. Though her body still felt heavy, the wild racing of her thoughts had slowed. 'It’s not gone, but it’s quieter now.' She looked back down at the circlet, its glow steady and grounding, and tightened her grip slightly. 'I don’t know what this means. I don’t know if I deserve it. But maybe... maybe I can hold it. For now.'

The horse’s steady gait and the rhythmic sway beneath her began to feel less disorienting, more like a lifeline. She leaned slightly against Felassan’s hold again, her breaths evening out. The weight of her burdens hadn’t vanished, but with the glow of the circlet steady in her lap, it felt just a little lighter.

The sun bathed the forest in hues of gold and amber, its light filtering through the canopy in shifting patterns that danced across the trail. Solas led the group, his silhouette sharp against the soft glow. His movements were deliberate, his posture rigid, as though the weight of his thoughts pressed heavily on him.

Marel’s gaze lingered on him for a moment, noting the tension in his shoulders and the purposeful way he avoided looking back. 'What’s he thinking?' she wondered, her thoughts sluggish but persistent. 'Does he blame me? Does he blame himself?' She swallowed hard, the memory of his sharp words in the clearing replaying in her mind. 'He doesn’t trust me—not really. Maybe he’s right not to.'

The silence surrounding him was almost oppressive, a tension that hung in the air like a storm building on the horizon. Every few minutes, his head turned slightly, his sharp gaze flicking back toward Marel.

The glances were fleeting, careful not to linger, but frequent enough to betray his unease. When their eyes met, even for a moment, something unreadable flashed across his expression—concern, frustration, perhaps even guilt. Yet before Marel could make sense of it, he always looked away, his focus snapping back to the trail ahead. 'Say something,' she urged silently, though the words remained unspoken. 'Say anything. Even if it’s just to tell me I made a mess of things.'

Behind Marel, Cole rode tethered to her horse. His hands fluttered constantly, twisting the reins into restless loops, a physical mirror of his internal turmoil. She could hear his soft murmurs drifting forward, fragmented phrases that reached her like whispers carried on the wind.

“She’s tired… the roots feel heavy… the glow is warm, but she doesn’t trust it yet,” Cole murmured, his voice carrying the gentle cadence of someone trying to make sense of a puzzle. Marel’s chest tightened at the truth of his words. 'It’s not that I don’t trust it—it’s that I don’t trust myself with it.' The thought clawed at her, sharp and unrelenting. 'What if I fail again?'

Occasionally, Cole’s voice sharpened with self-reproach. “She was drowning,” he murmured, his tone a mix of sorrow and understanding. “I didn’t push her under. I only reached for the surface.” His voice fell silent for a moment, but Marel could feel the weight of his thoughts circling back again.

She wanted to reassure him, to tell him he wasn’t to blame, but the words caught in her throat.

In the middle of the group, Felassan rode with an easy grace that seemed almost at odds with the tension around him. His arm remained firm around Marel’s waist, adjusting with practiced ease whenever she slumped forward, her body sagging with exhaustion. “Steady, da’len,” he murmured each time, his voice low and soothing. His other hand held the reins lightly, his relaxed posture a stark contrast to Solas’s rigid tension.

Humming softly under his breath, Felassan filled the silence with a Dalish lullaby, a melody Marel recognized from her childhood. The tune wove through the air like a thread, grounding her amid the weight of her thoughts. 'That song,' she thought faintly, the familiarity of it stirring something bittersweet in her chest. 'I haven’t heard it in years. Not since…' Her thoughts trailed off, unwilling to follow the memory to its painful conclusion.

She leaned against Felassan’s chest, her head resting near his shoulder. Her eyes fluttered shut intermittently, though the rhythmic sway of the horse and the steady hum of his voice kept her from fully succumbing to sleep. 'I don’t know how he does it,' she thought, listening to his soft humming. 'How he makes everything feel lighter, even when it’s not.'

“You know,” Felassan remarked lightly, his voice pitched low enough not to disturb the others, “if you keep nodding off, I’ll start charging for the service. ‘Personal Marel Stabilizer,’ five silvers per mile. Very exclusive.”

A faint, tired laugh escaped Marel before she could stop it, a small sound that broke through the oppressive quiet. The brief moment of levity eased the tension, if only slightly. 'Felassan,' she thought, her lips twitching faintly into the ghost of a smile. 'You always know when I need a joke, even when I don’t think I deserve one.'

Her gaze drifted forward again, to Solas’s silhouette leading the way. The tension in his form seemed heavier now, more noticeable in contrast to Felassan’s easy calm. 'You don’t have to carry it all alone, whatever it is,' she thought toward Solas, though she knew the words would never reach him. 'I know what it feels like. I know how it breaks you.'

As the sunlight warmed her face, Marel shifted slightly, allowing herself to relax just a little more against Felassan’s steady hold. For now, the trail stretched ahead, the forest alive with soft light and rustling leaves. 'Just stay here,' she told herself again. 'One step at a time. One breath at a time.' It wasn’t hope—not yet. But it was a start.

Solas glanced back sharply at the sound of Marel’s faint laugh, his gaze lingering longer this time. His lips pressed into a thin line before he turned forward again, the tension in his shoulders visibly tightening.

Marel noticed, albeit groggily, her mind drifting but catching the flicker of something in his expression—frustration, perhaps, or worry wrapped in anger. 'What now?' she wondered, her thoughts sluggish but circling back to the same relentless question. 'Is he upset with me? Or just… everything?' Her chest tightened faintly at the thought. 'Probably both.'

“He’s upset,” she murmured softly, her voice barely more than a breath.

Felassan tilted his head slightly, a faint smirk curving his lips. “Of course he is,” he replied, his tone light but laced with knowing. “He’s got all that concern for you bottled up in his head and no idea where to put it. It’s practically leaking out of him.”

'Concern?' The word sat uneasily in Marel’s mind, tangled with doubt. 'Is that what that was? He didn’t seem concerned when he was scolding me in the clearing.' She pressed her lips together, hesitant. “I didn’t mean to… make him angry,” she said with a sleepy sigh, her brow furrowing as her head tilted further against Felassan’s shoulder.

“Angry?” Felassan scoffed softly. “He’s not angry, da’len. He’s Solas—he overthinks things until he’s so knotted up he can’t see straight. You threw him off, that’s all.”

Marel blinked slowly, the explanation circling her mind. 'Threw him off?' The idea felt both strange and oddly reassuring. 'I didn’t mean to.' She let out a faint, weary breath. “Feels like I’m always throwing him off,” she murmured, her words slurred with exhaustion.

Felassan chuckled quietly, the sound a gentle vibration against her. “Good. He needs it. Otherwise, he’d spend the whole day thinking he’s smarter than the rest of us.”

A ghost of a smile tugged at Marel’s lips, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. 'Smarter than the rest of us,' she repeated silently. 'He probably is. That’s part of the problem.' The thought lingered, heavy and unresolved.

The trail wound deeper into the forest, the soft calls of birds and the occasional rustle of leaves filling the spaces between them. The weight of the previous day’s events hung over the group like a shadow, their unspoken thoughts pressing heavily into the quiet.

Felassan shifted slightly in the saddle, his voice carrying softly to Marel. “You’re not going to crumble on me, are you?” he teased, though the gentle undertone in his voice betrayed his concern. “Because if you do, I’m leaving you with Solas.”

Marel smirked faintly, her lips twitching upward. 'Crumble? I feel like I already have.' The circlet in her lap pulsed faintly beneath her fingers, its steady rhythm grounding her in the moment. 'But I’m still here, aren’t I? Still holding on.' Her grip on the circlet tightened slightly, as though to reinforce that thought. She glanced at Felassan briefly, his casual humor masking something deeper, something steady. 'He jokes because he knows I need it,' she thought, the realization bringing a faint warmth to the edges of her weariness. 

The forest around them shifted in rhythm with the horse’s steps, the canopy above dappling the path in soft light. Marel leaned a little further against Felassan, her breathing slowing as she let herself rest, the faint pulse of the circlet a quiet reminder of her own resilience. 'Maybe I’m not crumbling,' she thought, the words fragile but deliberate. 'Maybe I’m just finding a new way to hold on.'

The forest opened into a secluded clearing, sunlight filtering gently through the treetops to dapple the ground in soft, golden light. Felassan’s sharp gaze swept the space, lingering on the sturdy trees and the gentle slope of the terrain. “Here’s good,” he declared, pulling lightly on the reins to halt his horse. His tone carried an easy authority, leaving little room for debate. “We rest here. If anyone objects, I suggest they take it up with the trees. I hear they’re great listeners.”

Marel stirred slightly at his words, the warmth of his voice pulling her back into awareness. 'Rest here?' she thought groggily. 'I didn’t even realize we’d stopped.' The weariness pressing against her felt endless, like a tide pulling her under. She tried to lift her head, but it felt as though her body belonged to someone else. 'How did I let it get this bad?'

Cole dismounted silently, his movements unusually subdued, while Solas remained in his saddle, his gaze scanning the clearing with measured precision. His lips parted as though to speak, but Felassan cut him off with a sly grin. “Unless, of course, you’d prefer we press on until Marel actually collapses. In which case, I trust your healing spells are ready, Solas?”

Solas’s gaze narrowed slightly, irritation flickering across his face, but he said nothing. With a sharp inhale, he slid down from his horse with practiced precision. “I’ll start the fire,” he said curtly, his tone clipped. Marel’s eyes flickered toward him briefly, catching the tension in his movements. 'He’s frustrated,' she thought weakly, guilt gnawing at the edges of her awareness. 'Probably with me. Again.'

Felassan watched him stalk toward the center of the clearing, amusement tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Always so agreeable,” he muttered under his breath before turning back to Marel.

Felassan adjusted his hold as Marel stirred faintly, her head lifting just enough to glance groggily at the clearing. Her expression was dazed, exhaustion dulling her usual sharpness. 'Focus,' she told herself, though her thoughts were scattered. 'At least look like you’re holding it together.' But the effort to even lift her head felt monumental.

“All right, da’len,” Felassan said, his voice gentler now. “Let’s get you down before you pass out and make this more dramatic than it needs to be.” Sliding off the horse with fluid ease, he landed lightly on the ground and reached up to steady her. “Come on,” he murmured. “Easy now.”

Marel shifted, attempting to move on her own, but her legs felt like lead. 'I can do this,' she thought, though the ache in her limbs screamed otherwise. As she tried to dismount, the world tilted sharply, and she leaned heavily into Felassan as he lifted her down, his hands firm and steady. Her feet barely touched the ground before her knees buckled, her body too weak to hold itself upright.

'Not again,' she thought bitterly, embarrassment tightening her throat as her cheeks flushed. “Sorry,” she murmured, her voice barely audible. 'Why am I always so useless when it matters most?'

Felassan’s arms tightened instinctively, keeping her steady as she swayed. He cut her off with a playful scoff, warmth threading through his tone. “If you apologize one more time, I’m dropping you,” he teased, though his grip never faltered.

Her lips twitched faintly, almost forming a smile, but it faded as she tried to shift her weight again. “I mean it,” she muttered. 'I don’t want to be a burden. Not to him. Not to anyone.' “You don’t have to—”

“Da’len,” Felassan interrupted, his voice softening as he steadied her. “You’ve been carrying too much for too long. Let someone else do it for a while.” His words were firm but kind, leaving no room for protest.

'Carrying too much?' The phrase lingered in her mind, cutting through the haze of exhaustion. 'I’ve always carried it. Who else is supposed to?' The thought was stubborn, clinging to her like a shield, but as she leaned into Felassan for a moment longer, something about the steadiness of his presence loosened the tight coil in her chest. 'Maybe just for a little while,' she allowed herself. 'Just this once.'

Her breathing was shallow but steady by the time he guided her to a fallen log at the edge of the clearing. Easing her down with care, he crouched to adjust her cloak around her shoulders. The small act of attention felt foreign, almost too much, and yet it was grounding in a way she couldn’t explain.

“There,” he said with a smirk as he straightened. “You stay here and look pitiful while I make myself useful.” Winking, he turned back toward the horses, leaving Marel seated on the log.

She watched him go, the faint smirk still playing at his lips. 'How does he always know what to say?' she wondered, her fingers brushing the edges of the cloak he had adjusted. The circlet in her lap pulsed faintly beneath her hands, its steady rhythm grounding her like a quiet heartbeat. 'Maybe he’s right,' she admitted reluctantly. 'Maybe I don’t have to carry it all right now.'

As Marel settled, her gaze drifted toward Solas, who crouched in the center of the clearing, arranging kindling with precise, almost mechanical movements. His back was turned, his shoulders stiff with tension. She watched him for a long moment, her lips pressing into a thin line. Though exhaustion weighed heavily on her, the memory of his earlier glances lingered, along with the tension radiating from him. 'He’s always so composed,' she thought, her fingers brushing absently against the circlet in her lap. 'Except when he’s not. And today… he’s not.'

The thought unsettled her, a faint pang of guilt threading through the haze of her exhaustion. 'Is this because of me?' The question lingered, heavy and persistent, until she found herself summoning what little strength she had. “Solas,” she said softly, her voice barely carrying across the clearing.

He paused mid-motion, his hands hovering over the firewood, before turning his head toward her. His gaze met hers, his expression unreadable. “Yes?”

Marel hesitated, her fingers curling slightly around the circlet in her lap. 'Why did I even call his name? What do I expect him to say?' The thought prickled at her, but she pushed through it. “Are you… upset with me?” she asked, her voice quiet but steady. Her heart thudded dully against her ribs as the words left her, her exhaustion making the vulnerability feel rawer than usual.

Solas’s expression flickered, a momentary crack in his composure, before he straightened and brushed his hands against his clothing. “No, Marel. I am not upset with you.” His tone was measured, but restraint edged his words, as though holding something back.

Her gaze dropped to the circlet as her fingers tightened around it. 'That’s not the whole truth,' she thought, the ache in her chest deepening. 'Why can’t he just say what he’s really feeling?' “You seem like you are,” she murmured, her voice softer now. “If it’s because of what happened… I didn’t mean to—”

“Stop,” Solas interrupted, stepping closer. His voice softened, but there was a sharpness beneath the surface. “You do not need to explain yourself. What happened was… beyond your control. I only wish I had seen the signs earlier.”

The weight of his words pressed against her, sharper than she expected. 'Seen the signs earlier?' she thought, her breath catching slightly. 'Does he think this is his fault? ' Her gaze flickered up to meet his, searching his face for an answer he wasn’t giving.

Before she could respond, Felassan’s voice rang out across the clearing, shattering the moment like a blade cutting through tension. “Hey, Solas! Since you’re so good at keeping things under control, maybe you can help me with this cursed saddle strap?”

Solas’s jaw tightened, his lips pressing into a thin line. Marel saw the frustration ripple through him, the tension he had so carefully contained slipping just enough for her to notice. 'He’s holding back so much,' she thought, the realization filling her with both unease and a strange kind of sympathy.

He glanced back at her, his gaze lingering for a moment longer than necessary. “Rest, Marel. We will speak later,” he said before turning away. His measured pace toward Felassan betrayed a faint undercurrent of irritation, his movements sharp and deliberate.

“What exactly is the issue, Felassan?” he asked, his tone clipped as he approached.

Felassan grinned, utterly unbothered by Solas’s mood. “Nothing a bit of your famous efficiency can’t solve, I’m sure.”

Marel watched them for a moment, Felassan’s easy banter clashing with Solas’s restrained annoyance. The tension between them felt almost familiar now, a thread of lightness amid the weight of everything else. Letting out a soft sigh, she brushed her fingers over the circlet in her lap. Its faint pulse grounded her, a steady rhythm that mirrored the slowing beat of her heart as her eyes grew heavy. 'At least they’re not hovering,' she thought, though she knew the reprieve was temporary.

Felassan set the circlet gently beside Marel once she was seated near the fire. Its faint glow cast soft, shifting shadows on the ground, the intricate braided roots and shimmering threads catching the firelight like strands of liquid gold. She stared at it, the warmth of the fire brushing against her face, but the weight in her chest refused to ease. 'It’s beautiful,' she thought, her fingers hovering near the glowing threads, 'but it feels like too much.'

Felassan crouched beside her, his tone unusually quiet, carrying a weight she wasn’t accustomed to hearing from him. “They saw something in you,” he said, his voice steady but laced with meaning. “Enough to craft that. Spirits don’t waste their time on people who don’t matter.”

Her throat tightened at his words, a lump rising as her gaze dropped to the ground. 'They’re wrong,' she thought sharply, her mind rebelling against his statement. The thought escaped her lips before she could stop it, her voice wavered, hollow and brittle. “They’re wrong. I’ve failed at everything. The Inquisition, the Dalish, my family…” Her words trailed off, heavy with regret and self-reproach. 'All I’ve done is fail,' she thought bitterly.

Felassan’s voice sharpened slightly, a thread of steel cutting through her spiraling thoughts. “You think failure defines you? Then you’ve missed the point entirely. You’re still here, aren’t you?” His words struck like a blow, cutting through her defenses. He gestured toward the circlet, his movements deliberate. “That’s not just a gift. It’s a challenge. A reminder that even when you think you’ve broken, you’re still growing. Like roots through stone.”

'Still growing?' The idea felt foreign, distant. She stared at the circlet, its faint glow pulsing in time with her unsteady breath. Her fingers brushed it hesitantly, the smooth braids and faintly pulsing threads beneath her fingertips a tangible tether. “I don’t know who I am anymore,” she admitted, her voice trembling, her words barely audible. “The Herald, the Inquisitor… it’s all too much. It’s suffocating. I feel like I’m… disappearing under it all.”

'Who am I without those titles?' she wondered, the question echoing hollowly in her mind. 'Do I even exist without them now?'

Felassan leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his usual smirk absent. In its place was something quieter—an empathy rarely shown but deeply felt. “Then take the mask off, da’len. Right here, right now. You don’t have to be the Herald, the Inquisitor, or anyone else they decided you should be. Just… be Marel.”

The words landed harder than she expected, cutting through the layers of armor she’d built around herself. A lump rose in her throat, and her vision blurred as tears spilled over despite her efforts to hold them back. 'Be Marel,' she thought, the simplicity of it almost unbearable. 'Who is Marel, though? I don’t even know anymore.' She wiped at her cheeks quickly, a flush of embarrassment coloring her face. “I’m sorry,” she whispered hoarsely, choking on the words.

Felassan shook his head, his voice low and steady, a firm anchor. “You’re allowed to feel this, Marel. You’ve been carrying the world on your shoulders. Let someone else hold it for a while.”

Her gaze lifted hesitantly to meet his, searching for reassurance in his eyes. His words settled into her, not entirely banishing her doubt but carving out a small space where it could coexist with something softer. 'Can I?' she thought, the question fragile and hesitant. 'Just for a moment, can I let someone else carry this?' Her lips trembled as she stammered, “Can I… can I have a hug?”

Felassan blinked, startled for a moment, her vulnerability catching him off guard. Then his expression softened, his answer immediate. “Of course.” He pulled her into his arms with care, his hold steady and warm, grounding her without overwhelming her. “There. Not so pathetic, is it?” he murmured, his teasing light but gentle.

A shaky laugh escaped her, muffled against his shoulder, blending with the quiet sound of her tears. For the first time in what felt like forever, she felt safe—allowed to simply exist, free of judgment or expectations. 'It’s not everything,' she thought, her tears slowing as his warmth steadied her, 'but it’s something. And for now, maybe that’s enough.'

In that moment, the crushing weight she’d carried for so long seemed just a little lighter.

The clearing was quiet, the soft crackle of the fire filling the spaces between the group’s unspoken tensions. Marel leaned slightly closer to the warmth, her fingers brushing the edge of the circlet in her lap as her thoughts wandered. 'How do I even begin to fix this?' she wondered, the question heavy but familiar. The weight of the day pressed against her, a constant reminder of how fragile her composure had become.

Cole approached hesitantly, his small frame illuminated by the flickering flames. His hands fidgeted, fingers twisting together as though searching for words. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice fragile. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just… wanted to help.”

Marel looked up at him, her exhaustion softening into a faint smile. 'He always means well,' she thought, the warmth of his sincerity cutting through her weariness. “I know, Cole. You didn’t do anything wrong,” she replied gently, her tone steady despite the fatigue tugging at her every word.

Relief flickered across his face, his wide eyes reflecting the firelight as her words settled over him. Yet he lingered, his concern evident in the way his gaze hovered over her. Even as he stepped back, he stayed close, his quiet intensity speaking of a need to ensure she truly meant what she said.

Her chest tightened faintly at his expression, a pang of guilt threading through her. 'He worries too much,' she thought, her gaze dropping to the circlet again. 'But maybe… maybe I haven’t done enough to show him I’m okay.'

Moments later, Solas approached, his steps measured and deliberate. He stopped a few paces away, his posture stiff and hands clasped tightly behind his back. His expression was carefully neutral, but the sharpness in his eyes betrayed the tension simmering beneath his composed exterior. “Are you injured? Do you require healing?” he asked, his tone formal, almost clinical.

Startled by the detachment in his voice, Marel glanced up briefly before shaking her head. “No… I’m fine,” she said softly, her voice firm despite her exhaustion. 'Fine,' she repeated silently, the word feeling brittle on her tongue.

Solas inclined his head, acknowledging her response, yet the tightness in his jaw didn’t ease. For a moment, he hesitated, as though weighing whether to say more. Ultimately, he stepped back, his voice clipped. “Very well. Rest, then. You will need your strength.”

His retreat was precise, his movements deliberate, but his gaze lingered, sharp and searching as it flicked between Marel and Felassan by the fire. The flames cast dancing shadows across his face, deepening the unreadable expression in his eyes. 'He’s watching me,' Marel realized, her heart giving a faint, uneven lurch. 'Why does it feel like there’s so much he wants to say but never does?'

There was more than concern in his gaze—something tangled and unspoken. Perhaps it was regret for the sharpness he had shown her in the past. Or frustration, stirred by her vulnerability and the feelings it awakened in him—feelings he could not easily reconcile.

Marel leaned into Felassan’s quiet comfort, a faint smile softening her features as he murmured something teasing in her ear. She didn’t catch the words fully, but his tone was enough to ground her. 'At least someone here knows how to make me feel normal,' she thought, the warmth of his presence easing the edges of her anxiety.

Watching her, Solas’s jaw tightened, and his gaze flickered away. With a deliberate turn, he refocused on his tasks. His movements were precise, almost mechanical, as though action could temper the storm within him. Yet the silence around him was weighted, heavy with words he chose not to speak.

'He’s retreating again,' Marel thought, a faint ache threading through her chest. 'It’s always like this. Just close enough to feel him, but never enough to reach him.'

For the rest of the evening, Solas kept his distance. He engaged with the group only briefly, his responses clipped and efficient. Though physically present, his solitude was palpable, a tension that thrummed beneath the surface.

Marel watched him occasionally, her fingers brushing against the circlet as her thoughts circled restlessly. The fire crackled softly, its warmth wrapping around her, but the unanswered questions lingered, casting shadows as long as the flames themselves.

As the night deepened and the fire’s glow softened, Felassan settled beside Marel, the circlet held delicately between his fingers. He studied it in the flickering light, turning it slowly so the faint glow of its threads caught the firelight.

Marel’s gaze drifted to the circlet in his hands, its quiet pulsing rhythm drawing her attention. ‘It’s beautiful,’ she thought, her fingers itching to reach for it again, though the weight of doubt in her chest kept her still. ‘But it feels like it belongs to someone braver than me.’

For a moment, Felassan was silent, his usual levity absent. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter than usual, carrying a weight that caught Marel off guard.

“This isn’t just for you,” he began, his tone deliberate. “It’s for us, too. A reminder that even when we’re stupid, stubborn fools, we’re still worth believing in. Spirits see what we can’t.”

Marel blinked, startled by the unexpected gravity of his words. She opened her mouth to respond, but Felassan’s gaze shifted briefly across the camp to where Solas sat, his back to them, silhouetted against the firelight. He seemed absorbed in his own thoughts, his posture rigid and distant.

Felassan’s smirk returned, sharp and knowing, as he turned back to her. His voice dropped to a more casual, pointed tone. “Speaking of stubborn fools… you’ve noticed, haven’t you? He’s been perfecting his ‘solemn statue’ routine all evening.”

Marel hesitated, her shoulders tensing as the weight of Felassan’s observation settled over her. She glanced toward Solas, the flickering firelight casting sharp lines across his face. “He’s distant,” she murmured. “But I don’t understand why.”

Felassan exhaled softly, his expression briefly thoughtful. “Because he doesn’t know how to help you right now. And for Solas, that’s a special kind of torment. He’s used to fixing things with sweeping gestures or clever plans. Subtle emotional care?” He shook his head with a quiet chuckle. “Not exactly in his repertoire.”

Marel frowned, her gaze lingering on Solas as a pang of frustration rose in her chest. ‘He doesn’t need to fix me,’ she thought, her fingers curling slightly around the edge of her cloak. ‘Why can’t he just… be here?’ Her voice was quiet but tinged with frustration as she spoke aloud. “So instead of trying, he just… broods?”

Felassan laughed softly, his smirk widening. “Oh, da’len, he’s not just brooding—he’s overthinking himself into a corner. And here’s the kicker: the more he cares, the worse it gets. It’s easier for him to pull back and pretend he’s aloof than to risk saying the wrong thing and making it worse.”

Her fingers tightened slightly around the circlet in her lap, tracing its glowing threads. The faint pulse steadied her breath but did little to quell the ache in her chest. “It doesn’t make it easier for me, though,” she said, her voice faltering. “It just feels… lonely.”

Felassan’s smirk softened into something more empathetic. He nudged her shoulder lightly, the gesture warm and grounding. “That’s Solas for you. Brilliant, stubborn, and occasionally useless when it comes to the heart. Don’t hold it against him too much—it’s his way of caring, even if it’s maddening.”

Marel’s lips twitched into a faint, wry smile, though the vulnerability in her voice was unmistakable. “I’m not sure how much more of his ‘caring’ I can take.”

Felassan leaned back, resting his elbows on his knees with an easy air. “Then don’t wait for him to figure it out. Speak your mind when you’re ready. He’s got the wisdom of the ages, sure, but sometimes even he needs a good kick to use it where it matters.”

Her gaze dropped to the circlet again, its faint glow catching the firelight. The weight in her chest lightened just slightly as Felassan’s words sank in. ‘Speak my mind?’ she thought, the idea both daunting and strangely freeing. ‘Maybe someday. But not yet. I don’t even know what I’d say.’

Felassan's gaze returned to the circlet, and his tone turned serious again, losing some of its teasing edge. “But before you worry about him, focus on this.” He tapped the circlet lightly with one finger. “Spirits don’t waste their energy on just anyone. They see something in you, Marel. Maybe it’s time you start seeing it, too.”

Marel brushed her fingers over the braided roots, the faint pulse of magic steadying her breath. ‘What do they see?’ she wondered, her chest tightening again. ‘I wish I could see it too.’

“Do you really think I can do this?” she asked softly, her voice trembling with uncertainty. Felassan shrugged, his smirk softening into something warmer. “I think you’ve already been doing it. All that’s left is for you to believe it yourself.”

A soft laugh escaped her, shaky but real, and her lips curved into a small, wry smile. “You’re insufferable, you know that?”

Felassan grinned, leaning back with a theatrical sigh of contentment as he returns the circlet. “And you’re stubborn. Like I said, da’len, it’s why we get along.”

Marel leaned back slightly, letting the warmth of the fire and Felassan’s steady presence wrap around her like a shield. Her fingers traced the circlet again, its glow soft against her skin. ‘Maybe,’ she thought, her heart feeling just a little lighter, ‘maybe he’s right.’

The camp had settled into a tranquil hush, the forest alive with the soft chorus of crickets and the occasional rustle of leaves. The fire burned low, its embers casting a warm, flickering glow that danced against the encroaching darkness. Marel sat close to the dying flames, the circlet cradled gently in her lap. Her fingers traced the braided roots and glowing threads, the faint pulse of life within them steady beneath her touch—a rhythm that echoed like a heartbeat, anchoring her to the present.

‘Why did they choose me?’ she wondered, her thoughts a quiet tangle of doubt and exhaustion. The pulse of the circlet was comforting, grounding, but the weight of its meaning pressed heavily against her chest. ‘What do they think I can do that I can’t see for myself?’

While still near Marel, Felassan had moved to rest against a tree, his silhouette partially cloaked in shadow. His eyes, half-lidded, tracked her movements with quiet interest. A lazy grin played at the corners of his mouth, softening his usual sharpness. “See? You’re starting to get it,” he said softly, his voice barely louder than the crackle of the fire. “Little steps, da’len. That’s all it takes.”

Marel didn’t answer, but her head dipped slightly in acknowledgment. The heaviness in her shoulders hadn’t lifted entirely, the weight of the day clinging stubbornly to her like a second skin.

‘Little steps,’ she repeated silently. It sounded so simple, but even the thought of taking those steps felt monumental. Her grip on the circlet tightened, her fingers brushing the faintly glowing threads with something almost like reverence. For the first time in what felt like forever, she felt a flicker of stability—fragile and fleeting, but undeniably real. ‘Maybe it’s enough for now.’

The fire burned lower, its embers fading to a soft, muted glow. Marel leaned back against the log behind her, the rough bark pressing against her cloak. Her eyelids grew heavier with each passing moment, the forest sounds blending into a soothing backdrop. The circlet remained in her lap, its faint pulse steady and comforting, like a quiet promise of resilience.

As her breathing slowed, Marel allowed herself to drift, surrendering to the pull of sleep. Exhaustion swept over her like a tide, and for the first time in a long while, the weight didn’t feel quite so crushing.

‘Just rest,’ she told herself, the thought a soft whisper. ‘Just for a little while.’

Sleep offered no solace. The peaceful clearing dissolved into a maelstrom of jagged shapes and blinding green light. Marel was thrust back into the moment when the anchor had flared uncontrollably—the surge of raw energy tearing through her body and soul.

The Spirit of Hope’s voice echoed faintly, warped and fragmented, its once-soothing words now distorted into something unrecognizable. All that remained was the hollow ache of vulnerability and exposure.

‘Please,’ Marel thought, her voice rising in her mind as panic surged. ‘Not again. Please, no.’ She stood alone in the dream, shrouded in shifting shadows that seemed alive, pressing closer with every breath. Her hands clutched desperately at the glowing wound of the anchor on her palm, its searing heat consuming her. Pain radiated through her, relentless and suffocating. She screamed for help, her voice raw and pleading, but the silence that followed was deafening. No one came.

The nightmare twisted again—a surge, then another blinding blast of magic. The shadows tightened, the light burned, and the pain became unbearable. Marel’s knees buckled as she collapsed in the dream, the pressure crushing her, and then—with a violent jolt—she awoke.

Her breath hitched, her chest rising and falling in uneven gasps as reality reasserted itself. The remnants of the nightmare clung to her like a dark veil, lingering at the edges of her mind. ‘It’s over,’ she told herself, though her pulse continued to race. ‘It’s over.’

Her body trembled, and sweat dampened her brow as the remnants of her nightmare faded. Around her, the camp remained still, the fire’s faint embers casting soft, flickering light into the clearing, grounding her in the present.

The circlet in her lap pulsed steadily, its rhythm grounding her like a lifeline, but her hands wouldn’t stop shaking. Her wide, unfocused eyes darted around the camp, searching for something—anything—that could anchor her further, a sign she wasn’t alone. ‘They’re all here,’ she reminded herself, her gaze sweeping past Felassan’s resting form and Cole’s quiet silhouette. ‘I’m not alone.’

But the reassurance felt fragile, slipping through her fingers as her gaze fell to the faint, green glow emanating from her hand.

The anchor pulsed erratically, its light flickering like a flame struggling against the wind. A sharp, stabbing pain radiated from it, and she cradled her hand instinctively against her chest. Her teeth sank into her lower lip as she fought to suppress the whimper rising in her throat. Tears stung her eyes, the fear swelling inside her like a tidal wave poised to crash.

‘Not here, not now,’ she thought desperately. Her companions needed rest, and she couldn’t bear the thought of waking them—especially not Felassan, who had already carried so much of her weight. Her trembling fingers brushed against the circlet as she clutched it tightly, its steady pulse a quiet counterpoint to the erratic rhythm of the anchor. Forcing her breaths to slow, she pressed the circlet against her chest and closed her eyes, willing the magic within her hand to still.

Marel’s breath came in shallow, uneven bursts. Her eyes darted nervously toward the faint outline of Solas’s sleeping form across the camp. His breathing was steady, his silhouette unmoving against the dim light, but the thought of disturbing him sent a pang of doubt through her chest.

‘I should handle this myself,’ she thought, her trembling fingers curling into a fist over the anchor’s erratic glow. ‘He’s done enough. I shouldn’t be so—’ Another sharp pulse of pain shot through her palm, interrupting the thought. She winced, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip to keep from crying out. The light flared brightly, casting jagged shadows across her lap.

Her gaze lingered on Solas, caught between the fear of waking him and the desperation bubbling up in her chest. She felt the pain rise again, and with it, her resolve crumbled. ‘I can’t do this alone,’ she realized, the thought as much an admission as it was a plea.

Clutching her cloak tightly around her shoulders, she rose to her feet, her movements slow and hesitant. Each step toward Solas felt heavier than the last, her legs trembling as she crossed the camp. She stopped just short of him, her voice faltering before she found the strength to speak.

“Solas? It’s flaring,” she murmured, her words barely louder than a whisper. Her chest tightened as the words tumbled out. “It hurts, and I—” She swallowed hard, her voice breaking slightly. “I didn’t know what else to do.”

Solas stirred, his movements precise as he sat upright. His expression softened, concern flickering in his sharp gaze as he studied her trembling form. “You did well to come to me,” he said gently, his voice low and steady. The calm in his tone was grounding, drawing her closer despite her unease.

Her hand hovered uncertainly near her chest, the erratic glow of the anchor spilling green light over her fingers. Solas extended his hand, his movements slow and deliberate, giving her the choice. “May I?” he asked softly, his tone leaving space for her to refuse.

For a moment, Marel hesitated, fear twisting in her gut. But the warmth in his gaze quieted the storm within her, and she nodded, her trembling hand inching toward his. The anchor pulsed wildly as his fingers brushed her skin, its erratic light casting fractured patterns on their faces.

‘What if it doesn’t stop?’ she thought, panic tightening her throat.

Solas’s hands closed gently around hers, his touch firm but calming. The warmth of his palms steadied her, and she exhaled shakily as he began to weave a faint shimmer of blue light through his fingers. His magic mingled with the green glow of the anchor, pushing against its chaos with deliberate precision.

“Close your eyes,” Solas instructed, his voice low and grounding. “Focus on your breath. In through your nose… slowly… and out through your mouth.”

She hesitated again, her breaths shallow and uneven, but his voice carried a quiet authority that she couldn’t ignore. Marel closed her eyes, though the jagged pulses of the anchor still burned vividly behind her eyelids. She focused on his instructions, inhaling deeply, the air cool against her lungs, and exhaling slowly, releasing the tension in her chest.

With each breath, the chaos began to ebb. The anchor’s light softened, its erratic pulses aligning with the rhythm of her breathing. The stabbing pain in her palm dulled, retreating like a tide pulling back from the shore. ‘It’s working,’ she thought, relief blooming faintly in the wake of the fading pain. Her shoulders sagged, the weight she hadn’t realized she was carrying slowly lifting.

“Good,” Solas murmured, his tone warm with quiet approval. “The anchor is responding. You are regaining control.”

Marel opened her eyes, her gaze dropping to their hands. The anchor’s glow was softer now, its pulses steady and rhythmic, mirroring the calm she felt beginning to spread through her. “Thank you,” she whispered, her voice fragile but sincere.

Solas released her hand carefully, the faint shimmer of his magic fading into the night. He leaned back slightly, his sharp eyes studying her face with quiet intensity. Marel didn’t move, her fingers brushing absently over the anchor as though ensuring it had truly calmed.

Solas watched her closely, his brow furrowing faintly as he noted the tension in her frame. “The anchor is calm now,” he said, his tone steady.

Her gaze drifted toward the edge of the clearing, where the firelight bled into shadow. The trees loomed dark and still, their silhouettes sharp against the night sky. Despite the anchor’s calm, a residual unease lingered, the remnants of her nightmare still clinging to the edges of her mind.

Solas’s voice broke the silence, soft but probing. “Nightmares?”

Her eyes flicked toward him briefly before dropping to her lap. She nodded faintly, unable to find the words to explain the weight of what she had seen. 

He let the silence stretch, his patience unyielding, before he gestured subtly to the space beside him. “If staying closer would bring you comfort, you are welcome to remain,” he said, his tone calm and inviting, as though the offer required no further thought or explanation.

Marel sat by the fire, its soft crackle blending with the distant rustle of leaves. Solas’s invitation lingered in the air, his calm voice echoing in her mind. 

Her fingers toyed with the edge of her cloak, the fabric rough against her skin as she wrestled with the decision. The fire’s warmth brushed her face, but the chill from her dream clung to her like a shadow. She glanced at Solas, his posture steady and unintrusive, and felt the weight of his silent patience.

At last, she shifted closer, her movements slow and uncertain. Each step toward him felt like crossing a threshold she hadn’t fully prepared for, but she pushed herself forward. Settling beside him, she drew her knees to her chest, her form curling inward defensively. When she leaned lightly against his shoulder, she hesitated, waiting for some sign of disapproval.

None came.

Solas remained still, his presence a steadying force that she hadn’t known she needed. The fire cast flickering patterns across his features, softening the sharp edges of his profile. Though he said nothing, his quiet acceptance was grounding, a reassurance she hadn’t dared to ask for.

Her breathing began to slow, the tension in her shoulders easing as the warmth of the fire and Solas’s calm steadied her frayed nerves. She rested her head against him fully, exhaustion washing over her like a tide. ‘I’m so tired,’ she thought, the admission threading through her consciousness as her eyes fluttered shut.

Sleep came swiftly, pulling her into its embrace. Yet, her dreams were not the gentle reprieve she hoped for. They unfolded in jagged, fragmented images—blinding green light, the anchor flaring uncontrollably, searing through her palm as chaos raged around her. The suffocating helplessness she’d felt earlier returned, an oppressive weight pressing her down as shadows swirled and clawed at her.

‘Not again,’ she thought desperately, her subconscious straining against the tide of fear. But the nightmare tightened its grip, its darkness coiling around her like a shroud.

And then, something shifted.

The jagged edges of her dream dulled, and the suffocating pressure began to ease. A cool stillness spread through the dreamscape, steady and calming, like the hush of a forest after a storm. In the newfound quiet, she became dimly aware of a presence—steady and watchful, grounding her in a way she couldn’t fully understand.

At the edge of her vision, a shadowed wolf prowled, its movements deliberate and fluid. Its glowing blue eyes shone faintly, piercing through the darkness like beacons. Though it kept its distance, the wolf’s presence was undeniable. Its silent vigilance pushed back against the chaos, creating a fragile calm.

‘What is this?’ Marel wondered, her thoughts a whisper in the stillness. The wolf didn’t approach and it was just far enough in the tree line to make it hard to see, but it remained, its form a barrier between her and the jagged nightmares that had once consumed her.

The shadows surged again, but the wolf let out a low growl, its deep resonance rippling through the dreamscape like a thunderclap. The sound scattered the darkness, its grip loosening as though it were nothing more than dry leaves caught in the wind. Slowly, the oppressive shadows receded, leaving behind a quiet calm that felt almost foreign.

The landscape around her transformed. Trees rose tall and proud, their branches intertwining to form a protective canopy. Silvery moonlight bathed the forest floor, casting soft, shifting patterns of light and shadow. The air was cool but gentle, the oppressive weight of her earlier dreams gone. The wolf lingered at the edges of the forest, its glowing eyes watching her with a quiet intensity. It didn’t move closer, but it never strayed, its presence woven into the sanctuary like a silent promise.

Marel wandered through the dreamscape, her steps light and unburdened. The absence of fear was strange but welcome, a comfort she hadn’t expected. ‘What changed?’ she wondered briefly, but the question drifted away, distant and unimportant.

The searing green light that had once threatened to consume her now pulsed gently, its glow a steady rhythm that felt almost soothing. The wolf remained, its form a sentinel at the edge of her awareness, its eyes a constant reminder: ‘You are not alone.’

***

When first light of dawn filtered through the trees, soft and golden, casting long shadows across the quiet clearing. Felassan stirred from where he had leaned against a sturdy tree through the night, stretching with a low groan as his joints protested the hours spent in stillness. Rubbing the stiffness from his neck, his gaze swept the camp, instinctively searching for Marel.

“Marel?” he muttered under his breath, his voice low but edged with concern. He straightened quickly, his relaxed demeanor slipping as he pushed off the tree and took a step forward. His eyes flicked between the dark outlines of the trees and the smoldering embers of the fire, his thoughts racing. She wouldn’t have wandered off—would she?

Then he saw her. Relief hit him like a physical force as his gaze landed on her small form, lying beside Solas near the embers of the fire. She was curled tightly into herself, her arms drawn close to her chest, her body angled toward Solas as though seeking warmth or safety.

Felassan let out a slow, controlled exhale, his posture easing as his eyes took in the scene. The circlet rested near her hand, its soft glow casting delicate patterns on her fingers. Her expression was peaceful, her breathing steady.

Beside her, Solas’s form was still, his presence a quiet sentinel even in rest. Felassan’s lips twitched into a faint smirk, the tension draining from his shoulders as understanding settled over him.

“Still playing the silent guardian, I see,” he muttered under his breath, his voice carrying a familiar teasing lilt. But beneath the quip was something softer—an acknowledgment, perhaps even approval, for the unspoken care in Solas’s watchfulness. As though responding to the remark, Solas’s eyes opened, sharp and clear despite the early hour. His gaze immediately found Felassan, their locked eyes exchanging an unspoken understanding.

Felassan tilted his head, his grin widening. “Busy night?” he asked lightly, though there was a probing edge to his tone.

Solas didn’t answer immediately. His gaze shifted to Marel, lingering on her serene expression. A fleeting softness touched his features—barely there, yet unmistakable—before he masked it, his attention returning to Felassan.

“She needed rest,” Solas replied simply, his voice even but weighted with meaning.

Felassan chuckled softly, leaning back against the tree. “And you just happened to ensure she got it? How noble of you,” he teased, his grin taking on its usual sharpness.

Solas sat up slowly, brushing invisible specks of dirt from his robes with deliberate precision. “It is better for all of us if she is well,” he said, his tone pragmatic. Yet, despite his calculated response, his gaze flicked back to Marel, lingering for a moment too long. The faint light of the fire caught his expression, briefly illuminating something deeper—a care he wouldn’t name, much less admit aloud.

Felassan’s smirk softened as he glanced between Solas and Marel, his voice quiet as he murmured, “I’m sure it is.” He leaned back against the tree once more, the moment settling into the calm of the waking forest.

He watched as Solas rose and moved toward the fire, his steps measured and deliberate. For a moment, Solas’s gaze flicked back to Marel, where she lay curled in quiet repose. The lines of tension that so often marred her features were smoothed away, her breathing soft and steady, her face untroubled by the burdens she carried while awake.

“Better for her, you mean,” Felassan murmured to himself, his voice low and contemplative. Though barely audible, a faint smirk tugged at the corners of his lips, tinged with quiet amusement. His eyes lingered on Solas a moment longer, catching the subtle pull of his attention back to Marel—unwelcome, but unmistakable—despite his outward composure.

Felassan shifted his gaze upward, his expression softening as he took in the sky. He let out a soft sigh, leaning back against the tree, the bark pressing against his shoulders as he stretched his legs out before him.

Closing his eyes, he allowed himself a rare moment of stillness. The camp had settled into a gentle rhythm—the quiet crackle of embers mingling with the faint rustle of leaves, the waking forest murmuring its soft, steady song. Despite the trials they had faced and the uncertainties ahead, a flicker of contentment rested on Felassan’s expression. Subtle but undeniable, it mirrored the first light of dawn breaking through the trees—a reminder that even in the shadow of what was to come, there could be moments of peace.