#moles as in the skin thing. if that wasn’t clear. not the creature.

[rooh-afza]

mole removals are crazy they really just shave that shit off

[st4vk1nmybra1n]

Muse.

Pairing: Model!Gojo x sculpturist!reader

Wc: 7k!

Cont: fluff, (sort of) slowburn, friends to lovers, part two of my previous model!gojo x reader, can be read as a standalone fic! Ending alludes to a separate fic with geto x reader bcs i can't resist it..

author's note: Contains in-depth information about how I perceive both gojo and geto’s (and even reader's) way of expressing art. In depth talks about their upbringings and backgrounds, amateur’s take on art so please feel free to provide feedback!! Comments are very much appreciated! Overall just very long and detailed fic. Please enjoy <33

Geto Suguru wasn't a man who put himself out there for the world. Unlike his friend, Satoru, Suguru was more to himself. He wasn't reserved, per se. He just had a greater preference to keep his theatrics and jokes to his friend group. Don’t get him wrong, he loves annoying his friends as much as his best friend, but he preferred to keep that side of him as something mainly for his friends. Unless it slipped out in the moment, Suguru wasn't going to tease or get overly cheeky. That’s just how he was. Not that it mattered much, though. He wasn’t the famous one, that was Satoru! And really, he was happier this way. He was content with his life so far, and he didn’t have the desire to change that aspect.

Being Gojo Satoru’s bestest friend ever (Satoru’s words, not his) came with a little bit of attention, regardless of whether it was something you wanted. And when you’re as alluring as Suguru, it’s inevitable! He’d had multiple offers in commercials and photoshoots, as nobody seemed to be immune to his charm. Maybe Satoru was getting to his head, but Suguru likes to think he has his own good looks that people seek out. He was almost the opposite visual of his friend, funnily enough. While Satoru had short, snowy white hair, Suguru had long, black tresses. While Satoru had frosty lashes, and big, bright blue eyes, Suguru had slanted, smaller and darker eyes. Though when the sun hits, they seem to have a purple gleam to them. While Satoru had milky, pale and untouched skin, Suguru had tan skin, rough at the hands, piercings in his ears and on his lips, along with a few scattered, intricate tattoos over the skin on his arms and back, his entire frame littered all over with freckles and moles. While satoru’s build was tall, lanky yet still well muscled, suguru’s build was an inch or two shorter, but more muscled. Even despite such differences, the two paired well together, contrasting the other beautifully.

It was clear there weren't many similarities in their looks besides the fact that the media thirsted over the fact that the both of them were hot. Another common interest was teasing and annoying their friends together, though Suguru tended to tire out of the activity 10 minutes in, only to sabotage Satoru and start bullying him. Another thing the two could silently agree on was their appreciation of art. Art, a form of expression that captures the beauty and essence of the object of one’s affection or fascination. While the two had different preferences for the type of art they enjoyed, they could appreciate the other’s outlook, even sometimes gaining an interest in it.

Satoru admired the art of a physical muse, the art of presenting a face or a body in a manner that captivates the viewer. The idea of filmography, photography, drawing, painting, and sculpting statues being centered around a physical being was something that made him feel alive. The ways of capturing a creature in so many colors, so many emotions. It all appealed to him. The sensuality of a sculpture or a photograph shot at just the right angle that made it a phenomenal art piece is something that always stood out to him. Sensuality and sexuality was something that Satoru considered natural, it didn’t phase him or arouse him in most circumstances, it only ignited a sense of admiration and appreciation for art. Satoru was confident in his sexuality, he held the form of expression to high regards, often channeling the feeling whenever he modeled.

Suguru on the other hand, had an appreciation for art that presented in the form of something non-human, yet so humane. Capturing the beauty of scenic views in a painting, or in a photograph or drawing was what stood out most to him. To see the ways one could imagine the same exact thing. While colors were great, he preferred neutrality, minimal color. Even with the lack of bursting and animated pops of color, grasping an object in the palm of your hand and honing it in the way you envision is more satisfying than he’d like to admit. That was the main reason he owned a tattoo and piercing parlor, to be able to engrave his art in the form of ink onto someone else for them to share that sense of admiration. It brought him joy, more than anything. Aside from doing tattoos and piercings, he did photography on the side with Satoru as his main muse. Satoru had a look to him that was just enough to stand out perfectly in front of plain colors, making suguru’s photography easy on the eyes and minimal. Perfect enough to satisfy both their preferences.

It was an arrangement the two had since they were 16, starting soon after the two had become friends. Suguru seldom captured shots of his other friends too, but Satoru had an annoying tendency to actually boost Suguru’s inspiration to create art. The two would constantly inspire the other to work, continuously driving one another to be at their fullest potential. They were stubborn as hell too, always wanting their own way instead of what the other wanted. Though as always, they would come to a sort of compromise, creating a mesh between their two styles and medium. Though, Satoru preferred to be the object of someone's desire, wanting art to live on vicariously through his body, using it as a vessel to perform and present himself as someone's muse, a piece styled and perfected so tediously to how one envisioned him to be fitting, while Suguru had a knack for capturing said art.

Suguru came from quite a liberalized background, his parents being way more laid back and open minded than the average family in japan. For that sole reason, Suguru was able to express himself adequately and comfortably, and he was quite self aware and emotionally intelligent. Having such a freedom to think, and understanding the weight of that trust his parents bestowed upon him from giving him room for self expression made him even more conscious of the decisions he took and put time into. He was quite comfortable in his identity, and had no qualms against discussing topics that many may consider taboo. That's just how he was, what else could he say?

Now on the other end of the spectrum, Satoru was brought up very traditionally and conservatively. The Gojo family was a well known family amongst your everyday crowd. Derogatory and narrow-minded statements were shoved down Satoru's throat routinely, irritating him to no end. It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that women weren't inferior, or that anybody who wasn't a "pure" japanese was a disgrace. Things like these were common knowledge to him by the age of 7, and he frankly couldn't care less about how the higher ups in his clan felt about women showing their ankles. Modesty and impurity were just, and anything else was blasphemous and an insult in the Gojo estate. Of course, Satoru didn't agree. So when he had met Geto Suguru, who had asked Satoru for a mini photoshoot, the white haired male agreed.

But what he didn't expect was to be handed a tight fit tank top. He wasn't uncomfortable by any means, just surprised. It was a pleasant surprise compared to the loose, traditional clothing he was forced to wear. Suguru was quite well versed in the latest of fashion trends, and Satoru was eager to learn more and change up his wardrobe in hopes of irritating the higher ups. Sooner or later, he got his first professional modeling gig. For the shoot, he wore white, loose cloth draped over his frame. Depicting him as angelic. That in itself was blasphemous, but the lack of coverage from the cloth would probably incite even more outrage amongst the elders of the Gojo clan. Belatedly, he'd realize just how happy he felt with the end result of his photoshoot. What once was an act of getting under the skin of his relatives, became an outlet of self expression that he never got to let out.

No sooner than later, Gojo Satoru had risen to fame, and was known as one of the most beautiful men out there, and he relished in the attention and the excitement he felt of being seen in such a light. The feeling of expensive silk garments draped over him, or the lack thereof, was exhilarating. Giving him the endorphins rush he craved constantly. The intricacy behind being styled with shawls and robes of fabric, or with minimal fabric, maybe something more daring like chains placed against his skin strategically, the glint of the metal against his skin only highlighting his milky skin. Sometimes in intricate, strappy belts or ropes around his frame. While daring and promiscuous, he was never opposed. He liked the idea of being presented to the world in many ways. He knew he looked good, anyway.

On the other hand, there was you; while not much of a model, you had a keen eye for arts like your two friends. You were a sculpturist; meticulously carving and molding out figures and statues with utmost dedication. You enjoyed working in the field, and it paid well enough. Sure, it was fun to paint and draw, but you much preferred sculpting. To bring a creation to life by creating a proper vessel in a three-dimensional form, was something else of its own.

You lived a life that seemed to be pretty ordinary, up in the beginning at least. Your parents weren't completely strict, they were pretty okay with most of your decisions. Alas, you grew up getting to indulge in your interests to a certain degree. That was only amplified when you'd made your friends in highschool. Having friends like Suguru, Satoru, Shoko, Nanami, Haibara and Utahime; it was nice. You guys were always close, pushing one another to do better than the last time. That's just how it was. You were close with Shoko and Satoru the most, finding yourself easily conversing with the two at all times. Not that you couldn't with the rest, but you just felt a click with the two.

And of course, overtime, that grew into something more with Satoru. It was like you were attached at the hip at times, running around the whole area surrounding your guys’ school to explore and find things to entertain yourself with. On some occasions, Suguru would join you. On those days, he and Satoru would look around for things to photograph, maybe use as a backdrop for their photography. On the days it was just you and Satoru, you both would wander around aimlessly, talking about anything and everything. Often, you'd talk about Satoru's shitty family, and his love and passion for beauty. You talked about your future and its possibilities, about what you wanted to do and what you saw yourself doing. Of course, it changed over the course of the years. Satoru had wanted to be seen by the world; perhaps as an actor. That stayed for a while, until he was cast for a modeling gig later on.

You had always been uncertain of your future, trying hard not to think about it too much, to avoid thinking way too much into the future. You preferred living in the present, alongside your friends. It was on one certain day during a sculpting class you had that you took often, where you were working on expressions. Making sculptures look realistic went hand in hand with learning the ins and outs of the body– understanding bodily anatomy was necessary for a detailed creation, and you were stubborn. When you started something, you needed to be good at it. Good enough to be proud of your work. And that took effort. So you dedicated hours and hours to sculpting. Working meticulously on your current piece, you thought deeply about how you wanted to do these features.

Carefully, you had sliced some clay from the face, smoothing it down to blend in seamlessly with the rest of the features. You carefully sculpted out the nose as well. Small, pointed with a soft slope going from the top to the tip. You carefully blurred out the lip lines, making a softer Cupid's bow. You defined the philtrum, carefully pressing into it. Then, you worked on sharpening the jawline, yet making it feel as human as it could be. After an hour or so of working on those details, you snap out of your trance with a sigh. You pull away, inhaling sharply at the work in front of you. Belatedly, you realized how similar it looked to your friend, Satoru. You were enchanted by it. You'd drawn and painted your friends before, but to create a human-like head so similar to one of your friends, like a statue signifying their importance to you– it was something you'd never thought to do.

When learning how to draw expressions and faces, you had to practice creating ethnic features and unique qualities, just to perfect the art of diversity. This was your first time creating a piece inspired by your friend. At least in the form of clay. And it was beautiful. You had dedicated hours and hours to this piece, and it was like you were short of breath as you saw this. It was unlike anything you'd envisioned before. That was the moment you had realized just how much you loved doing this. And as you sat alone in your class, having been the last to stay, you gazed upon your creation, your heartbeat accelerating just at the beautiful sight of it. Your friend was gorgeous, but creating this piece was like taking a piece of him from your memories, etching him upon the canvas that was the clay. In a way, you felt your love for said friend to grow more and more. The whole process felt more and more intimate, dedicating time to a statue of your friend. It wasn't just a regular drawing or painting, this was a piece of your heart, your blood, your sweat, and even your tears. The realization that you finally felt sure about what you wanted to do– it warmed your heart, your eyes growing cloudy with tears.

“Ah. You've finished. It's beautiful. This is your friend, is it not? Satoru, was it?” Your teacher had asked, to which you blinked, letting out a laugh and a nod as you wiped your eyes. It was. And the fact that it was recognizable not just to you but to other onlookers had made you feel accomplished. You sat there in silence, staring upon your work for half an hour after you'd finished, just taking it in. Eventually, you'd packed up your things and gone back home, still dazed from the burst of emotions it had caused you. But that was just the start of your obsession, and you only grew more and more dedicated to your craft. And eventually, you too had found what you'd wanted to do, just like your friend and your muse, Satoru.

The studio you worked in was spacious, quite empty, built reminiscent of an actual museum. You had a few occasional pieces around in the studio, consisting of statues of your friends and a few more abstract pieces here and there. Adding to the ambience of your work, it made for a peaceful environment and a great space. You seldom had visitors in the building, with the exception of your friends Suguru and Satoru, and Shoko on those days she wasn't busy. Occasionally you saw Nanami, Haibara, Utahime and even Megumi and his friends drop by. You were never opposed to visitors, finding it a pleasant change to the melodies you'd often be playing. You worked with music playing in the background, though you preferred to have it pretty quiet, just as background noise. Like tunes blasting in from a neighbor's house. It was a comforting sound, much better than risking your hearing with your song on full volume, as you worked. Not that you didn't blast music, no. You just preferred to keep it quiet as you worked.

Your sculptures consisted of random objects and trinkets for your friends and family, and some even for yourself. Some detailed china; though only for the sake of decor. Occasionally, you get commissions for your stuff to be displayed in lavish stores or museums. It was easy money for you! A good chunk of your work consisted of commissions from the upper class looking to have their lovers portrayed in the most romantic ways one could imagine– As a statue, reminiscent of times where artists would create a masterpiece of their muse. How romantic it is, indeed. But instead of the rich creating it themselves, they simply paid you to do the deed. And so you did! Not that you had qualms against doing so. You know the intentions behind the act itself is from a place of love and adoration, and if you can encapsulate the beauty of someone’s eternal love, then so be it. It almost felt like playing cupid, working your magic into each press of your fingers into the clay.

Sculpting can take days, weeks, and even months. But you preferred to take your time to perfect your creation. You found fascination in each piece you made. Sensual, thoughtful, innocent, small, cute, detailed. It didn't matter to you, you'd always find something interesting about each piece. You worked with a genuine care and devotion to each and every piece, finding yourself falling in love with them all to some extent. It was an intimate process through and through. To receive a request from someone willing to spend a fortune, just for a statue of someone they love so dearly. And so you built it up from the bones and flesh, encapsulating each detail with precision. And after weeks and maybe even months, seeing the fruit of your labor was a feeling like no other. It left you feeling many many emotions, being able to do something so special for others.

Just a day ago, you sat in your studio, surrounded by paints and a small sculpture. Just of a head, reaching to the shoulders. For practice, you reasoned. You'd been free from any commissions for just a few days, so you had decided to create a small sculpture. With your hands covered in wet clay, you had reached out, creating dips and dents in the face wherever you saw fit. Brows furrowed in concentration, you carefully and slowly reached forward, adding just a bit more clay to the cheekbones, huffing in satisfaction.

Now, with the sculpture dried and perfected, you sat and stared at it, pondering where you could go with it. Or well– you partially lied. You knew exactly where this was going, as you usually knew with all your pieces. This certain one had been created with a person already in mind, biting your thumb in concentration as you hummed, looking over your colors, then back at the sculpture. Carefully, you grabbed a few tones of colors, beginning to create the shade for the skin. Slowly but surely, you brought your creation into life, reviving it with color. High cheekbones dusted with a light flush, pale milky skin laid down against the canvas of the face. Bright, electric blue eyes, and platinum blonde, almost white hair. You meticulously shaded each and every part, deep in your focus.

As you start finishing up on the details a few hours later, adding more color to the plump lips, and carefully coating the sculpture’s lashes with white, you're slightly startled by the sound of a familiar voice. Very familiar. And as you leaned closer to add a few details, you looked into the one unveiled eye, feeling warmth spread through your heart, through your veins. The familiarity in the creation always left you feeling cozy and comforted.

“Hope you aren't too busy! Just felt like dropping by– oh hey, that's me, isn't it?” Crooned the voice of Gojo Satoru, the man your current sculpture was inspired by. You turn to face him, giving him a small smile and a nod.

“Yeah, it is.” You affirmed, wiping your face against the sleeve of your shirt, carefully avoiding the touch of your hands against your face and clothes.

“What's the occasion? Finally decided to dedicate your studio to me or what?” Satoru teased, sitting down beside you, to which you laughed.

“Not really. And do I need an occasion? I mean, you've got the perfect face to be my muse, why wouldn't I sculpt out something inspired by you.” You stated, as if it were the most obvious thing ever. Satoru looked upon you with raised brows, otherwise not speaking as he stared on. Not that he'd never heard such words. He had, quite a few times. But to hear it from you– and to see the dedication and admiration behind each detail, each carefully molded and dented feature of his face, it made him fall deeper and deeper into you. You had drawn white bandages wrapped around his head and over one of his eyes, the other carefully yet methodically uncovered, revealing the details behind his eyes.

In your other statue of him, you'd added his signature glasses. Most people keep his eyes uncovered when he models. Not that you covered his eyes up, no. You made sure to make his eyes equal to every other feature on his face. Sure, they were striking as ever to you and everyone else on this planet, but when you spend so much time around him, you realize how beautiful every part of him is. To you, each and every detail on his face is ethereal. And your work portrays that.

His eyes stood out always, but they were always accentuated in his shoots. But in your portraits of him, you made sure they stood out as they did when he sat on your bed, with the rest of his friends surrounding him. The way his eyes would stand out when he'd race with Suguru out on the fields in school, while you, shoko, nanami and haibara sat around, laughing lightly at the banter occurring between Suguru and him.

“You know, you really are something else,” Satoru mused as he snapped out his thoughts, glancing at the tower of paint that accumulated on your palette.

“You think so?” You cooed teasingly, nudging him slightly as you carefully began to clear up your space, letting the piece begin drying.

“Seriously, what's with you and this sudden sculpture of me? I mean, I'm not opposed to you.. sculpting me like I'm one of your french girls, but i thought you'd be busy creating pieces of young girls half naked for your rich clients that are way past their 60s.” He asked theatrically, dramatizing his words as he always did.

“I had free time. And I did it because I felt like it. You're just nice to sculpt, what can I say?” You answered back, tone cheeky yet sincere as you leaned your head against your palm, giving him a smile. He balked, scoffing with a laugh.

“You've got paint on your face now.” Satoru muttered out, tone laced in adoration. You blink, pulling away your hand to glance at the paint, gazing at it for a moment, letting out an ‘oh’. He chuckled once more, grabbing your water bottle from beside you, pulling out a handkerchief from his pocket as he began to pour some water over it. He carefully closed the bottle, turning to you. He gently grasped your chin in his hand, the other hand bringing the handkerchief to your face, dabbing away the paint from your cheek and the side of your chin. He then takes your hands into his own, pouring some water over them, using the handkerchief to pat down the water and clean up the excess paint. Once finished, he tucked away the dirtied handkerchief, running a thumb over your cheek before pulling away.

“C’mon, let's go home. I'm tired, and it's late now. You still got the food from yesterday in your fridge, right? I'll just microwave that for us.” He urged, holding out his hand to you. You glanced up, blinking slightly before you broke out into a grin, grabbing his hand as you pulled yourself up, intentionally trying to pull him down in the process. Though it does nothing to falter him, and instead he gives you a playful glare, clicking his tongue.

“Did I mention I think your sculpture today was beautiful?” Satoru had started once you both had settled down on the couch in your apartment, watching tv as you enjoyed your leftovers.

“Yeah? Because it's you?” You had teased, grabbing another bite of the day old spaghetti.

“No. Because it's you. I mean– it's something you made. It's me. But made by you. Who couldn't find it beautiful?” He spoke softly, a fond smile playing on his lips. “Though it's also because I'm beautiful, yeah.” He added, grin becoming larger. You rolled your eyes lightheartedly, watching him shove a huge forkful of spaghetti into his mouth.

“What's with all this sappy stuff, huh?” You shook your head, grabbing your glass of water to take a sip.

“Maybe you just make me a sap.” Satoru spoke with concealed sincerity, glancing up to see your reaction. Your lips quirked up in the slightest, though you didn't say much.

“You just say that to all our friends, or what?” You asked, placing your finished plate of food onto the table. You grabbed a tissue, wiping your lips clean.

“Nah. Just you.” Satoru answered honestly, this time not bothering with veiling his words. You were special to him. All his friends were in their own ways, but the adoration he held for you was unmatched for anyone else.

“Wow. Am I supposed to be flattered?” You asked sarcastically, to which Satoru spluttered. He blinked, deciding that now was probably a good time to confess. He opens his mouth to start, clearing his throat.

“Hey..” he started slowly, the softness of his voice immediately sticking out to you. Before he can continue, you both are interrupted by a knock on the door, and the familiar voice of haibara.

You sigh, grabbing yours and his plates, yelling out a ‘coming!’ to your incoming visitors. You quickly placed the plates by the sink, rushing to the door to open it.

“There you are! We brought cookies!” Haibara greeted you with a quick hug, followed by Nanami, Shoko, and Suguru. “We visited your studio, but it seems you're not pulling an all-nighter today.” He added, waving as he spotted Satoru.

“Yeah. I don't have any pieces to work on right now.” You answered, locking the door behind you as you walked back into your lounge, taking your seat again as the group claimed their own spots on your couches.

“What brings you guys here?” You asked, carefully opening the box of cookies they brought along. You grab a classic chocolate chip cookie, sighing lightheartedly as you hold out the box to satoru, who had been glancing at the box eagerly. He grinned, grabbing the double chocolate chip cookie.

“I called Satoru earlier, he mentioned he was visiting you. So we decided to drop by your studio, guess you guys came back here.” Suguru explained, to which you nodded with a hum.

“Yeah. He dropped by as I was finishing off a piece. We came back home and just had some dinner and.. yeah.” You nodded, taking a bite out of the cookie as Suguru, observant as ever, raised a brow. It was clear there was more to the story, judging by Satoru's slight stiffness, and your slight concern. Perhaps they'd interrupted something.

“I thought you said you didn't have anything to work on?” Shoko asked, curious.

“None for my clients. But I got bored so I just decided to sculpt something of my own.” You explained, shrugging your shoulders. You glanced at Satoru, who had devoured his cookie, now glancing at you with a pleading gaze. You raised a brow, unimpressed. He blinked his lashes at you, to which you tilted your head at the box. He shook his head aggressively, eyes glaring at the chocolate chip cookie in your hands, watching you bite down on it. You groaned in exasperation, wordlessly handing it off to him. He cheered happily, taking a huge bite out of it.

“Oh, what did you make this time?” Nanami asked, showing genuine interest. He was kind and always interested in your works, asking you many questions regarding your pieces. He'd even bought you paints and equipment on your birthdays!

“Just a small sculpture. Head to shoulders. Based off of Satoru. It's currently drying, I'll show you guys tomorrow.” You grinned happily, taking pride at any opportunities to present your works to your friends. At this, both Shoko and Suguru shared a glance, as if having a silent agreement.

“I see.. interesting choice, I suppose..” Nanami mumbled, his expression of disdain evident. Satoru gasped in offense, placing his hand over his chest.

“I'm the best choice! Have you seen me?” Satoru retorted sassily, crossing his arms. You let out a laugh, glancing between the two. You turn to Satoru, admiring his every feature and etching it into your brain, just so you can make your next statue of him even better. You take note of the contours of his face. The curve of his small nose, the curl of his lashes, the natural pout of his plump lips, the set of high cheekbones dusted with the faintest of flush. His cheeks looked soft.

Abruptly, you lean forward, poking your finger against his cheek. He yelps, glancing at you in disbelief.

“What was that for?!” He asked, whining in pain. You let out a laugh, unable to hold back your laughter from how funny the whole situation was.

“I'm sorry, I just couldn't resist!” you gasped out between bouts of laughter, not realizing the way his whining stops as he admires you, eyes softening as a smile takes over his own face.

Suguru observed further, sighing internally. He wasn't oblivious to the two pining over each other, and it seemed the rest of the group wasn't either. Even Haibara could tell something was happening there! And that's a big deal. Suguru knew his best friend had felt this way for the longest way. It was obviously in the way he admired you, obvious in the way he sought you out in a crowd before anyone else. Obvious in the way he glanced at you after telling a joke or saying something he felt was smart. He and Satoru were good friends, yes, but even Suguru could recognize there was something more to Satoru's relationship with you. You both were a constant in each other's lives, with you being present for a lot of Satoru's shoots and interviews. You knew him like no other, and it showed in the way you sometimes chimed in to answer a question, or when you talked and boasted about Satoru. Satoru came over to your studio a lot to unwind, just sitting and watching you add the details to your masterpieces. He'd tried to pick up sculpting alongside you, but the struggle was much too real for him. He preferred to just have himself be the canvas of his art. That didn't change the way you two were so heavily involved in the other's life, it was like you couldn't function properly without the other at times. If only you two would just kiss and get it over with already!

And so you sat, with one leg crossed over the other, eyes focused on Satoru as he finished up a shoot of his.

“Just tilt your head up in the slightest.. perfect, and push your shoulders back.. there we go..” the photographer spoke, the constant click of the camera sounding out in the otherwise quiet room.

“And we're done! Good work as always, Gojo.” The photographer praised, to which Satoru nodded, glancing towards your direction. You got up from your seat, approaching him with a bottle of water. In an instant, he chugs the liquid down his throat, breathing heavy as he finishes.

“I've got a short interview, then let's head home, yeah?” He murmurs, to which you nodded and grabbed the water bottle from his hand, patting his shoulder. They brought out a chair for him to sit on, the crew beginning a small interview for him during the shoot.

“So, how was your experience here, Gojo?” One person had asked, to which Satoru hummed, nodding his head as he thought about the question.

“It was nice, as always. The photographer and the whole crew were kind. Nothing special, it was okay.” He answered honestly, shrugging. “Any shoot is fun when my dearest friend is watching.” He added with a cheeky smile, to which you huffed.

“What he means is that he had a good time, and he's happy. If he were unhappy, he wouldn't even be sitting here right now. Consider that a win!” You added with a laugh, wanting to save his image of coming off too callous as always.

“It seems you're very close to your friend. Even closer than you are to Suguru Geto. What's that about?” The person asked, to which Satoru laughed out loud.

“What's that supposed to mean? I adore all my friends! This one's just the only one who seems to tolerate me the most. Suguru can be mean sometimes. I need a friend who'll join me when I'm joking around, Suguru just loves to humble me.” He answered, giving a wink towards the camera. The questions continued on, remaining pretty related to the shoot itself. Eventually, he finished up and began packing, his manager stopping him before he left to discuss tomorrow's schedule.

“So, what's on tomorrow's agenda?” You asked, to which Satoru sighed dramatically, grabbing your hand to drag you into the car.

“Don't even ask, honestly,” He sighed out, leaning back against the seat. He stretched out his arms, listening as you told the driver to drive to your studio. He opened his eyes, wordlessly raising a brow at you.

“Need to check on my sculpture, y’know?” You explained, to which he nodded, letting out a loud yawn as he let his head fall into your lap, grabbing your arm to place it over his closed eyes. You let your other hand run through his hair, combing through the locks, carefully brushing your fingers through it.

The drive wasn't very long, and you both quickly entered the space, Satoru's eyes flitting across the area to observe everything you'd ever created. He saw pieces of him and your friends, of dishes painted in careful designs and pots and other objects decorating the whole space. You quickly approached your most recent project, the one inspired by Satoru.

“It's dry.” You cheered, eyes carefully looking over the entire piece for anything out of place or incorrect. Once you finished, you let out a satisfied hum, placing the piece on one of the podiums to analyze it once more.

“Looks good, right?” You asked Satoru, eyes glancing up at him. He nodded wordlessly, eyes glancing back at the sculpture. It looked identical to him, but somehow, it felt even more gorgeous than how he looked, if that was even possible.

“Looks even better than how I look. How'd you manage that?” He asked, to which you laughed, nudging his side.

“What can I say? I just know you.” You answered fondly, gazing up at him. He looked back with a smile on his lips, eyes softening with adoration.

“Yeah. I guess you do.” He answered softly, eyes becoming more and more dazed as he took you in. You stared back, breaking eye contact as you leaned against him, sighing wistfully.

“You know, the whole reason I even started sculpting full time was because of you.” You spoke, to which Satoru looked at you with raised brows, having not heard this information before.

“It was during one of my classes. I just subconsciously started molding the clay to fit your features. I sat there for the longest time, just creating your features from each and every memory of you I had. And by the time I finished, I couldn't believe it. That was the first time I had fallen in love with sculpting.” ‘and you,’ you wished to add. Satoru remained silent, his breath catching in his throat at your words.

“It was the first piece I actually felt really proud of, and I stared at it for hours, just taking in the fact that I'd created something so beautiful. It was like I'd taken something from my heart and created a vessel for it. And that was when I'd realized that this was what I wanted to do. To this day, I still think back to that day. Hell, I even cried that day.” You laughed lightheartedly, shaking your head. “I realized so much that day, and I have you to thank for that. It's like you just constantly inspire me, Satoru. You really are my muse, you know?” You added, tone soft as you glanced up at him, meeting his eyes once more

Satoru remained speechless, in awe of the confession you'd just made. To hear those words from your mouth felt like you'd just poured out your heart to him. He swallowed shakily, letting out a deep breath.

“I'm in love with you,” He spoke out, tone completely serious and sincere. You blinked, eyes widening.

“What?” You asked, mouth opening. It's not that you didn't expect something like this. It was kind of obvious you two had something more, you just never got to addressing it. So to have him announce this out of the blue, it shocked you.

“I'm in love with you. I always have been. You know this.” He repeated, not taking back his words as he reached out, grabbing your shoulders. You blinked, letting out a laugh.

“Is this seriously how you're going to tell me?” You asked him fondly, to which he blinked, suddenly feeling a little sheepish. Nonetheless, he nodded, cheeks flushing.

“I'm serious. I mean it. I can't keep it in anymore. Not after what you've just said. I couldn't waste another opportunity,” he murmured, raising his right hand to cup your cheek, his left hand grasping your neck. You glanced up, raising a brow cheekily.

“Done beating around the bush?” You teased him, to which he let out a breathy chuckle, leaning his forehead against yours.

“You didn't say it back.” He mumbled, eyes still looking into yours with the love he'd festered over the years. You let out a small laugh, eyes crinkling.

“I'm in love with you, Satoru.” You spoke sincerely, your arms coming up around his neck. He smiled brightly, letting out a sigh of relief.

“You're way too precious to me. You always have been.” He confessed quietly, leaning down to finally press his lips against yours, thumb brushing soothingly against your cheek. You kissed back with the same constancy as his, arms tightening around his neck. He kissed you slowly, passionately, with devotion he had yet to show for anything besides his art. Carefully, almost regretfully, he pulled back, eyes peeling open softly, his breath feathering over your lips.

“God, I love you so much. I can't believe I waited this long to kiss you.” He whined ever so slightly, voice laced with a playful undertone. You let out a laugh, leaning up to peck him once more.

“Just be glad you did it.” You mumbled, lashes fluttering as you looked up at him. He nodded, smiling brightly as he brought you into a tight embrace, pressing kisses into your hair.

“I love you,” he repeated for the umpteenth time, to which you let out another laugh. You nuzzled deeper into his neck, hugging him tightly.

“I love you, Satoru.” You echoed, placing a kiss to his neck. He sighed once more, beginning to sway you in his embrace.

“Let's go home?” He asked, glancing down at you. You looked back up, giving him a nod.

“Yeah. Let's go home, Satoru.” You answered with a smile, pressing your lips against his cheek, watching the skin flush pink as he grinned, grabbing your hand in his, pulling you out of the studio, hand remaining in yours as you locked up the door. You turned back to face him, watching him stand there, the glow of the setting sun casting upon him. Looking as beautiful as always, Satoru smiled back at you, the look of fondness and adoration evident in his face. Already, you know exactly what your next piece will be. You just hope you can do justice to your depiction of your lover in the sunlight. For once, it seemed you truly understood those who dedicated entire careers to their beloved. For once, you played cupid in your own life, professing a love so deep that it knew no bounds. How strange it truly was to have a muse.

“Does this mean you both are together now?” Suguru had asked the next day, watching Satoru cling to you and pepper kisses all over your skin that he could see.

“Obviously!” Satoru cheered out loud, grinning as he swayed you in his embrace. You let out a lighthearted sigh, patting his arms that snaked around you.

“Took you long enough.” Shoko mused, words mumbled due to the cigarette resting between her lips. Satoru blatantly ignored the comment, nuzzling further into your neck from his place behind you.

“At least I'm not alone and miserable like you!” Satoru stuck his tongue out at Shoko, to which Suguru let out a small laugh.

It was true. As we already know by now, Suguru Geto was indeed not a man who put himself out there for the world. He was polite to the people around him and the people who came to get tattoos, but that was as far as most of his acquaintanceships went. He wasn't opposed to finding someone or loving someone, he just hadn't found anyone of intrigue.

Is what he thought– at least until a while ago. But even a man like Suguru would eventually find infatuation with someone. And that someone was starting to become a regular in his life. It seems that's how most love stories start, or at least how it started between his friends. As he looks down at his knuckles, he realizes that maybe, maybe it's time to accept his own feelings for a special someone…

[prettyflyshyguy]

It's actually WIP wednesday today. Have some short snippets from some things I'm writing. Some inFAMOUS things.

Festival of Blood extrapolation cause I can't fucking help myself. This is C-Virus 2.0. Help.

“Alright, now hold still. This might sting a little.”

Cole grunted in response to the pain as he felt the alcohol bite into the puncture marks. 

“Zeke that really, really stings.”

“I did warn you.”

Zeke’s technique was rough, but thorough, ensuring the wound and surrounding skin was clean before a second round of pain hit as the antiseptic gel he began applying spared no mercy. He paused in his application, a chill swept through his body as he watched Cole grimace from the burning wound. Zeke turned his attention back to the immediate issue, refocusing on the job he had dutifully assigned himself. The surrounding skin had bruised deep violet and grey, broken up by lines of scattering dark veins spreading outwards, creeping and crawling under the surface, like vines reaching out for purchase.  

“Where’d you pick up all this stuff anyway, Grey’s Anatomy? Nurse Jackie?” 

Cole’s voice cut the stillness of the rooftop. The man had a knack for lightening the mood, but Zeke knew him too well. Cole was unsettled. This was his usual method for deflecting. 

“I got it from Trish.” 

Zeke held his breath, glancing up at Cole as he pulled open a packet of medical adhesives. Cole was silent and still, staring out across the city skyline, though he wasn’t looking at the fireworks and balloons that dotted the hazy gloom of the clear twilight sky. Zeke continued, “Back in Empire City, while you were in hospital. Had a lot of downtime, yknow? While the world was going to shit outside. It was getting scary, man. Figured I’d ask her to show me how to do stuff right in case anything ever happened.”

He lined up the patch, confirming it was the correct size before peeling the plastic protective film off and gently pressing it onto Cole’s neck.

“Didn’t think I’d ever need to.”

Before the thought could linger, the snapping sound of Zeke pulling off his gloves pulled Cole back into the moment. 

“Okie-dokie Gary Oldman, consider yourself discharged. Be sure to give the Dunbar clinic a five star review.”

----

Forced Conduit Zeke (name pending)

Ok this is more a handful of notes but I NEED to get it out of my system or I'll explode. Ever since I hit the bombshell that Bertrand can create forced conduits by effectively mutating people I really, really, really wanted to see him do it to a member of the main cast. Now I understand why the game did not. But I'm the dickhead that wrote 23k words of Leon Kennedy being mutated by the C-Virus for the same reason so you can bet your sweet ass I'd do it again. Initially you'd think, sure, I'd hit Cole with that, and I sort of want to as more of a what if/one shot exploration. Less likely a full scale fic more just some fun noodling.

However. Hear me out. Ok hear me out. I love Zeke but he's a perfect candidate - he wanted powers, he's working undercover in the militia as a double agent, Cole's way too powerful to risk attempted containment and then mutating (the risk of him being too powerful a creature to control? What happens if they can't knock him out long enough for Bertrand to work his magic?) - what happens if Zeke is found out. Not only is he a double agent, he's The Demon's best friend.

He's feeding information to Bertrand's biggest threat and that just won't do. So naturally, what's a good punishment. What's a good way to send a message? What's a good way to drive home the point that Conduit's are monsters?

-

“You know the last time someone kidnapped and threatened my best friend, thing’s didn’t end so well for him.”

Bertrand has Zeke hostage, Cole shows up for a rescue, mirroring the mission from inF1. Zeke's in his militia uniform (conveniently) but this also reflects that he got caught. Bertrand talks about how he was good, but not quite good enough. He caught wind that there was a mole and the guy has resources, and this is the age of smartphones. Someone caught a photo of them together maybe, or a guard spotted something that lead to suspicion. Zeke never let it slip firsthand though.

Cole show's up, Bertrand threatens to shoot Zeke if he tries anything though. Cole's basically stuck watching. Bertrand has a monologue on the resources, time, energy it cost to rat out the mole. He's pissed off. Really pissed off. This would occur sometime after they found out he was making monsters, but before proof and confirmation was gained, so they were going by Nix's word and Cole's firsthand witnessing to Bertrand's personal transformation.

Bertrand continues to yap, but he keeps it vague. He talks about how he thought about doing what he’s about to do to Cole, but realised when he figured out Zeke’s connection and relevancy, he felt this would be more interesting. 

Cole is helpless watching as Bertrand begins to corrupt Zeke.

“... promise me you’ll get that... sonova...bitch....”

After they’re done, Bertrand leaves a distraught Cole to handle a large, monstrous corrupted Zeke.

Cole has to fight him, mostly avoiding attacks, trying not to cause harm and damage, now grapping with the horror that every other monster he's killed was distinctly a person - seeing Zeke infront of him looking similar, acting similar, but knowing who he is/was. Cole manages to restrain him, hauls him via a boat out into the swamp where Nix first showed him where Bertrand's blast went off, figures he'll be safe here if he just chains him to a tree while he figures out: what the hell is he gonna do about it.

Kuo calls and Cole brushes her off the first time (maybe right after or as he’s fighting Zeke) doesn't tell her what happened.

They meet up later and he does tell her. She doesn't respond well. She comes from the angle of “put him out of his misery” - make the hard, but right call. 

“I know this is a lot to ask of you, and we’ve already asked so much, but you need to be prepared to make the right call–”

“Why is it always up to me? I’m just some guy, I was nobody special!"

“Why does everything come down to me to make the tough decision? Why couldn't it’ve been someone else’s best friend? Someone else’s girlfriend? Someone else’s life?”

Cole spends a lot of time with Zeke, looking for a sign he's still in there. He plays his favourite song on an MP3 player wrapped in insulation tape.

“C’mon man, give me a sign, give me something I can work with here.”

“Just show me that you’re still in there. Please.”

Nix comes at it from the “you can keep him, like I did with my babies/pets” - he also flips out at this like “My best friend is not a fucking animal!” Kuo and Nix both have points, to be considered, he doesn't tell Kuo where he left Zeke cause he’s worried she’ll seek him out. This angers her. Nix figures it out, comes and checks in on how they're both doing. They have a heart to heart about things. Nix is more understanding, she knows what it feels to lose people close to you.

After a while of barely any progress, bouts of aggression, and growing concern, Cole starts to cave. He asks Nix again about how she bonded with the other swamp monsters.

"Show me."

[theashleymatt]

What to do When the Head Grows Back

Imagine, if you will, a group of sisters as they roll a headless body into a gaping grave dug on the grounds of a pictorial countryside cottage.  Hold that image close, know that we’ll get there soon enough.

It’s lashing outside today. I see the hairy trolls in the backyard sheltering under giant toadstools. I try not to think of how damp they must feel.  I break a nail on a tin of beans I open for soup. This bothers me more than the trolls, who I know can see me looking at them.

To get my mind off the damp and sad and cold trolls, I go to my study where I find solace in the goats and the swans and the chicks. Nested in their cabinets are all manner of billed, flippered and hooved creatures. I unlock and open one of the glass-fronted cabinets, the largest in the dank and dusty room – I must ask Gerty to stop shedding so much skin in here – I open the cabinet to pet little Ozzy.  Her coat is still bloody from the day she was hit at the cross walk between Ossington and Marshall. Hit square in the neck, must have broken on impact. I’m sad for her still. I wish the driver had met as tragic a death.  The blood on Ozzy wasn’t from the first impact.  No, it was from when an 18-wheeler coming the other direction didn’t stop and ran poor Ozzy over, smooshing her already dead deer body.  Her intestines and stomach popped out like the eye from a socket, they did. The taxidermist tried to tell me the blood would attract pests if they didn’t wash the fur. I told them I could handle the pests. It’s the trolls I have trouble with.  No, the blood stays. I don’t want to re-write history. That would be dishonorable to good, lovely, innocent Ozzy.  I dust Ozzy’s hooves and thumb her ears.  I look in to her fake glass eyes and think I see someone, something looking back at me. Her long-departed soul?  Really, I think I see a reflection.  Someone behind me. I don’t want to break the spell Ozzy has over me right now so don’t turn to see if there’s anyone there, ready to bludgeon me or tickle me under the armpits. Instead, I kiss the bloody fur of Ozzy and close the door to her glass-fronted forever home and move to the smallest door in the room. Just big enough for a sightless, defenseless mole. The rain is still coming down hard. There is a sense we could all be washed away and I’m okay with that. The nervous feeling, that is. Pit-of-the-stomach fear that I swallow and drink down like something bitter.

As I move to the smallest door in the room I pass by my prized possessions. My western European mallard from 1815, stunned to death by the cannons of the last Napoleonic war. Stuffed in the United Kingdom of the Netherlands and acquired in 1984 by my beloved nanny Rosemond and gifted to me on her deathbed. I pass by the last osprey to have been shot in England. Proudly displayed since 1847 and gifted to my grandfather in 1918 when its owner was clearing house and deserting his country in its most troubled time of need. The coward. England needed drag queens more than ever then. He and his fringe dresses and platforms, high-tailed it to the French Rivera. I’m not sure he fared very well there, but the murdered osprey at least got a safe home. 

I smell something off before I see what’s wrong in the picture. There is a burnt scent, of something delicious, sweet and spicey, with an undertone of boozy shit.  After I smell the smell, I see the smallest door in the room has been pried open, its tiny brass lock bent out of shape. I open the wooden door on my tiny, defenseless mole home and see the cavity filled with the wrong things.  I see a pile of figs and a coiled shit sitting in a puddle of whiskey, rather than what should be there.  Feet.  The two Christmas cactus-looking lobed feet plucked from the body of a Eurasian coot.  I found that coot myself, nesting amongst garbage along the edge of a canal in Gent. 1998 it was. That coot was asking for it. Calling out to its mate in the middle of the night and fighting off gangs of mallards that owned the waterway during the day. It was keeping me up night after night, echoing day after day, so bang, boom. I shot that Eurasian coot smack in the back. It was a mess. All that was left were its unique little tri-stemmed feet. Not like a duck’s feet, it must be known. There is so much memory wrapped up in those stems.  It was a mistake to show them to Gerty.  She has a second set of keys to every lock in this house.  Once I caught her sucking on the dried rubbery lobes like a baby with a soother. I had to swat her away before she did more damage to them.  But it couldn’t have been Gerty who took them, she’s on leave for the last misstep, and she has the keys so she wouldn’t have broken the lock. Gerty is a smart one, despite what I’ve said about her.  It wouldn’t be the trolls either.  While they are creepy and I wouldn’t put it past them to get up to no good, they fortunately lack opposable thumbs, at least the ones in our area, to work the doorknobs on the front door, let alone bust open a lock inside.  No, whoever did this is one sadistic hooligan. Ruining perfectly good figs by leaving them in a poo.  I’m tempted to eat one, a fig that is.  Give it a quick rinse.  The rain is letting up.  I resist the fig.

They say there are five love languages. I looked them up the other day to see which category I may have the danger of falling into. Some of the debased pie charts say gift giving is one. Others contradict that by saying it’s receiving gifts.  That’d be pretty selfish. More of a demanding and needy language. Contradiction sound more up my ally as a language I can speak.  Southy was a contradiction and a toucher. Old Southy. He’d paw and pet at you all day if you’d let him. I didn’t let him. It was all I could do to get away.  He’d try to hug me from behind while I was at the sink shaving pieces off a frozen fish for lunch. My back aching, my feet swollen. Touch, no thank you.  In the end we did have quality time together.  Southy was there when I took the coot out.  We made memories on that trip.  I invariably think of old Southy-boy, baby girl when I look at the coot feet. Maybe that’s why I’m thinking about hunting the thief down, even while I’m out at my happy place at this cliff’s edge, two days later. The storm is long gone but the earth is still sopping, damp and mucky. Another storm is already approaching.  I can see it out there, gathering steam. Collecting energy.  It’s disgusting.

At the bottom of this cliff I see the music box I threw over the edge a decade ago. No scavenger has come by yet to claim its broken pieces.  The music box was inefficient.  It took 20 minutes to set up to listen to a seven-minute song.  It was a glorious seven minutes. You could spend your whole life living up to those bombastic, clear, seven minutes of sound.  That’s why I threw it off the cliff.  I couldn’t handle the joy it brought and the time it took to get it.  I know I won’t be able to find answers at this edge about the smarmy thief that broke in to my sanctum. So, I leave my happy place.

Now on the moor, I’m looking for a hole. There’s a spot on this walk, the walk I used to take every day with Dag, every day until their back legs started going lame and we had to take her out back and put an end to her.  Trust me, in the end it was better for everyone. Everyone being me. Dag was all dragging sore-ridden paws, looked like they’d been gnawed at by a rabid beast. Dag and I used to enjoy the crisp constant blowing wind.  I’d know when the hole was coming up. Dag would start to get dead serious and focused, no more bounding and bouncing.  Laser focused. A scent in the air, one I couldn’t detect.

It’s a shame Dag isn’t here now. I could use the help. I hear the faint sound of screaming. I’m getting close. My boots start to suck in to the wet peat.  If I’m not careful I’ll get sucked right in and never be seen again.  I spot the hole.  A perfect circle, you’d think no animal could have made it. But that’s the hubris of man. To think only we can create symmetry with machinery and tools. You’d be a fool to think such things. Every year hikers come across this hole and think, what’s that there? unsuspecting of the life that lives below. They stick their plucky little necks down there in the dark, cold tunnel hoping to spot a goldmine or a bog body, but ultimately meet with Bea.  Delightful Bea.  I won’t trouble you with what Bea does to those jolly hikers. You I’m sure can imagine. The screams of the trapped hikers are getting louder.  I scream back, trying to harmonize, but it’s no use.  Theirs are talentless, purposeless screams. My sing screaming brings Bea to the surface and she is plum cute as ever. Wirey hair every which way, snout long and pointy with a nose so big and smooshy you just want to boop it.

“Good fine morning Miss Bea. Have you been well through the storm?”

“Petra Marla Oona.  Is that you?  You don’t have your usual odor, what have you been up to?”

I exchanged the necessary pleasantries with Miss Bea, she becomes cranky if I stay too long so I get to the point.

“Something broke into my house two nights ago. They took my coot feet.”

Miss Bea doesn’t skip a horse’s heartbeat with her analysis, “I think the South Knight is jerking you around. That’s my first thought and my instincts never let me down.”

I tense up at the name South Knight. Miss Bea, the perceptive little cunt, picks up on this.

“You look a little worried, Marla. Anything the matter? I can tell your anus is tighter than before. Trying your best to keep your innards from becoming outers?”

Miss Bea has become a terrible show off of late. Too many hikers in her lair.  She needs to be taken down a peg or two.

“Do you like that I send hikers your way Miss Bea?”

“Of course I do. I’m helping you, aren’t I?”

“Let’s keep it civil.” I kick Miss Bea in that bulbous snout of hers to keep her in place and leave the immaculate circular hole on the soppy moor to make a plan for visiting South Knight.

I yell back as I’m leaving, “Remember, I’ll stomp on your babies if they make tunnels near my land.”

Miss Bea doesn’t say anything, but I know she’s heard me.

Making plans requires a clear head and I have a tool for that. Something I’ve cultivated over the years. Hard fought, hard won. These things are different for everyone. Mine is named Shifty Barry.

I’ll never pass up a chance for a good ploughing from my sweet Shifty Barry. Getting right banged from behind in safe hands really does untangle the cables of the brain.

I exchange the moorland and rubber boots for nylons and a slinky dress. I get in my pickup and head for Shifty Barry’s.  The coot feet don’t matter to me much right now. Instead, the nagging, ever present thought is that Southy has one up on me. That gnawing feeling is worse than any good memory.

Shifty Barry is sturdy and stout with a good head of hair that seems to live an independent existence from its owner, set atop his head like a crown of silken springs. It must be said Shifty Berry isn’t shifty at all. But sometimes he can give a look that makes you wonder if he’s here on this plane with you or somewhere inside your brain picking at the pieces, looking for answers to the big questions, like what should I have for lunch or who will be on The Graham Norton Show this week.

Shifty Barry gives me his full attention the minute I walk through the door to his spotless cabin. He’ll gaze lovingly at me, smooth skinned Shifty Barry, tightly packed muscled Shifty Barry body. He’ll watch as I lay sunbathing in his yard by the deep dark, almost black lake.

All this after the ploughing though. The ploughing must come first. It’s not summer right now though so no sunbathing this time. But after the dress gets peeled off and the nylons get a hole ripped into the crotch so they can stay on during the ploughing we retreat to his sauna where we lay apart.  We lay apart so I have room to grow twenty feet tall and fifty feet wide.  We lay apart so I can expand and contract my lungs and stomach and suck in the hot, wet, orange essential oiled air. Suck in the universe and all its dirt and dust and hairy creatures. We lay apart and he looks at me with soft eyes before he drags me over to him, pulling me from my hips to eat and suck me clean off the bone.

I think about how I’ll approach the Southy situation and Shifty Barry is looking into my mind, eating his way through the knotty, calcified nerves. Digging out the truncated pathways that I’ve worked so hard to block and keep closed.  Ruts and tracks that I’ve forged to shoot currents back and forth, only to let one thought through.  One thought.  Shifty Barry has seen too much and wants to make new paths.  I don’t want his new paths.  I ask Shifty Barry to find my dress and give me a few dollars for a new pair of nylons. I sink myself one last time into Shifty Barry’s gaze and leave the way I came.

The South Knight’s home is tricky. One must always have their boundaries up and firmly in place. You’ll get sucked in otherwise, like the peatbog. South Knight has a persuasive streak, a pusher of things. Food, wine, clothes, dreams. All big and leaves you wanting. Another drink? Don’t go home. Stay the night. The empire is yours if you’ll only share another bite with me. One can become a gluttonous fool if one hangs around too long. A fool with a bad temper and short attention span.

Visiting South Knight is like stepping into a world unholy.  Passing through the modest wooden gate a pack or Irish Wolfhounds, all kind and shaggy, greet me. Never jumping or barking, never pawing or slobbering all over your legs. A stately cottage of stonework, brick and slate.  Bedraggled with all the potential for misery, yet somehow homely and warm with some unknowable form of eternal optimism and hope that keeps it light, airy and romantic.  Feminine energy permeates the walls.  Only one adult male resides here, and he is South Knight.  He’s softened since I knew him.  Time, I suppose does that. Once the urge to put themselves in every hole they see subsides, some form of kindness starts to seep in. He still doesn’t see the colours I can see though. No amount of waning fuckery will ever give him that.

Inside, the daughters in staggering numbers parade around in their day dresses, holding books and sewing needles and whisks and puppies. As I said, unholy. Among the daughters there is a servant woman. She never complains, but her body does. Her nerve endings scream and send sharp needles through her. Into her shoulders, her hips, her knees. Her feet, her wrists, her arms. She moves but just barely. She is stiff and stifled. She is a monster. A spinster. She is forty!  Can you imagine? Personally, I would have chucked her to the wolves at thirty-five, before she started to show signs of jowls, but South Knight proclaims to be a righteous man and wouldn’t dream of discriminating. Though I know him better. I knew him before this group of daughters, and I know him now. If he were so good why doesn’t he make his own meals, slaughter his own calves. Wash his own bed sheets and mend his own skirts.

I meet Gerty at the back servant’s entrance. She and the chickens are communing. She’s always been good like that.

“Hello Miss Gerty. It’s good to see you again.” I say, approaching cautiously.

Gerty is cradling chicken feed in her apron, all organs and crushed bones. The folded-up fabric sags under the weight of blood and flesh.  Sturdy Gerty doesn’t waver in her duties.  Where others might have dropped the feed and run for their master to alert them of imminent strife, Miss Sturdy Gerty gives me a wry smile and a warm, if not fake, greeting.

“If it isn’t Madam Oona brought back from the living. I never, ever expected to see you again.”

“If I had a choice, I wouldn’t ever have wanted to see this place, or you again either.”

“Well lucky us then,” Gerty puts her hands in the bloody feed. The hens and cocks continue to peck and scratch. I go through the servant’s entrance, leaving Gerty to her work.

I remember inside, but South Knight’s new wife has redecorated and remodeled so it’s the same, but different. A wall down here, a new window there. The new wife likes rundown things as much as Southy, so I'm sure they get on. It doesn't take Southy long to come up from his den. He surely smelt me when I first entered the gates. I could hear his cough before I saw him, a great phlegmy, hawking up a lung morning routine cough. Dislodging decades of souls he’s crushed with nitpicking and impotent indecision. Those poor creatures who didn’t have the strength to just get up and walk out the door. It’s so easy to not come back. Send a text one year saying happy new year and then just fall off the map. Save yourself, I will say to whoever passes me in the hallways. But I've come back, haven't I? Yes, I have. Those damn coot feet. Sentimentality will be the end and the beginning of me.

“You’ve grown!” Southy booms in his artificial kindly voice.  I’m fourteen again and I’ve recently gotten my butter tart sized breasts. Tiny things they are. But to Southy they are as exciting as coconut cream pies. He pretends he’s not looking, but I can feel his eyes.  I want to cover up, but I have nothing else to wear.  Southy gives me an awkward hug.  I’m as open as I’ll ever be in my life right now, hugging this person.  It’s not a warm, loving embrace. No calm, no serotonin going through me. It’s tense, not a full embrace. Fight, flight, freeze. Which will my body choose?

“Come. Sit.  The girls have laid the table for dinner. We suspected you may arrive. A drink? Celebrate the big girl coming home.” Southy shoos the only son out of a chair and takes his seat.

I comply. My defenses are secure, I will concede for a time.

“I’ll take champagne.” I say as I sit a few chairs away from Southy. I don’t need his hot spittle hitting me as he pontificates.

I’m given a cheap white. It tastes like sweet piss. All the daughters are drinking it.

“We never see you anymore. I get so lonely you know. You should call more often.” Southy says, pitying himself. “Go get me a glass for my beer,” Southy orders the only son.

Southy directs his attention back my way, “You know women are such trouble, wouldn’t you say. They are so smart, so smart at your age, smarter and even bigger than boys. If I were an alien, come down to this planet for the first time I’d say women are the dominant sex of the human species. When they are your age. But as they grow, they...no not that one.” The son is by the China hutch holding a beer stein. Southy tuts and looks at me as if to say, must I explain everything.

“No, the pint glass. Do you see which bottle I’m holding?” He holds his beer bottle up for all to see, he chuckles as if this is funny.  Southy looks at me again wanting me to agree, like the son is a fool for not knowing which glass Southy wants at this given time. The son brings a pint glass over.

“See here we go. Now we’re good.” Southy wipes his hands together.

The son moves to the far end of the table, he sits beside Gerty, hoping to shrink so he won’t be noticed.  Hoping to shrink to avoid further scrutiny or requests from Southy.  In his contracted state the son comments on Gerty’s hair clip, “Why are you wearing that one? It looks so sissy. Sissy baby, you’re a sissy baby.”

The smile Gerty has drops, she stops chatting with the girls around her and takes the clip out. She hears the sister next to her prattling away. Gerty gets annoyed and slaps her sister across the face. That sister slaps the next, that sister slaps the one beside her. Down the line the slaps go, daughter after daughter, sister after sister. They get to the end of the table where Southy sits watching all this fun. The daughter closest to him does not transfer the slap to his puffy, booze-bloated face where it should be planted, where that energy should end up, deposited from where it started. No. That daughter slaps the one who slapped her, and it goes down the line, the opposite direction. Slap, slap, slap, back it goes until it gets to Gerty once more. She holds that pain for a moment. That red hot pain.  She picks up the steak knife beside her plate and plunges it into the son’s chest. The young boy registers the shock. Southy is delighted by this chaos, thinking it’s a great lark. The son slumps in his chair. He’s dying. The lark is over.

“Gerty?! Look at what you’ve done!” Southy’s laugh has turned angry. He is stern. “My only son!” His only male punching bag. “My only son, murdered.” Southy looks distraught. He looks at me, “See. Women, only taking. Only wanting drama.” Southy is vindicated by Gerty’s actions.

“Gerty, go to your room.  No supper tonight.”

Gerty accepts the punishment and leaves. I know who I will ask for help from tonight.  Hair clip girl. Gerty. Old spinster Gerty has claimed herself and will be riding this murderous rage, this high, for a few days. She will do anything right now.

Southy takes the silence in the room as invitation to continue preaching, “As they grow, the girls they lose their ambition, they lose their intelligence. They only care about their looks and money. Men’s money. Just look around you. You see?” Southy gestures at the creatures at the table. “Women contribute nothing. They have it so easy and they still whine about it.”

“My feet.” I speak.

“What about your feet?” Southy looks at my feet, “You need new shoes? You came back just to have me buy you shoes again!?” Southy laughs at his shitty joke.

“My coot feet. My cherished Belgian souvenirs. I want them back.” I clearly say.

“Tut, tut my beautiful. I think you have that wrong. They are my feet.” Southy says.

I hold my resolve, “I shot that coot. I took its feet. They are mine.”

“Ooooh. You shot the coot!” Southy looks around the table for allies. Everyone is looking down. It’s quiet. No one wants to meet Southy’s eyes.

Southy continues, “I took you to that shabby gothic cesspit. Whatever you got while there, is mine.” Southy smashes his fist on the table.

“I got herpes there. Must have been yours then.” A few of the daughter’s chuckle. I smile at the son, slouched and dying in his chair. He smiles back.

Southy looks at the son, “I need the stein, why would you get me a pint glass for this beer?”

The boy continues to sag in his chair, blood seeping from the steak knife wound. He looks to the China hutch.

Southy turns his attention back to me, pretending his temper is under control, “You should stay the night. I never see you anymore. Do you have a phone?"

“I have a phone.” I say.

“Are your fingers broken? Can you not dial my number once in a while?”

“I’ll stay the night. Sounds like great fun.” I yield again.

Southy is overjoyed. Hands up in the air, arms wide, large sad belly out, “Here we go,” he shouts.

“No need for the stein son. We’re having whiskey tonight.”

When a person riddled with impotence drinks, they present as such common, depressed, sad creatures. Pitiful. Often angry. Often, they like to blame. They talk of grand futures that will never happen. They’re incapable. They will never change. I give serious credit to the ones who manage to break the bonds created by their surroundings, those who do change.  But they are rare gems. If that is you, you are a gem. Hold that. You are so powerful. Southy is no rare gem. He’s as common as nutrient-depleted dirt in America’s heartland.

After dinner the daughters file off to the reading room to mend stockings and crochet and do needlepoint.  The file off to play games on tablets, tell each other tales of escape and gossip about this new arrival who’s getting Southy’s goat.  I stay with Southy and his now dead son, still slouched in the chair.  I humor Southy and his idea of what a man of the house is. Decreeing from the head of the table and sipping cheap wine and downing whiskey after whiskey speaking ill of the world and falling deeper and deeper into a sad, mangled hole.

I humor Southy by drinking a finger of his bargain basement whiskey and get to the point.

“I’m not leaving here without my coot feet.”

Southy takes a deep breath, shifts his stiff unused body in his chair, failing to get comfortable. Downs his current whiskey, pours another, expecting that it will quiet his pain.

“I guess you’re never going to leave me again.”

I go to bed early leaving Southy to drink with his dead son.

I knock on the door where I know the daughters sleep. I slept in this room once. Single beds in rows like an orphanage. The one I want, Gerty, is awake. I can see her heart aglow from where I stand at the threshold. Her burning, angry, ambitious heart.

We sit on Gerty’s bed. I’m not worried about waking the others who have finished their activities for the night and are sound asleep.  If I do wake them, I want them to hear me.

“Do you want him dead?” Gerty asks me.

“I just want my coot feet. Do you want to get out of here?”

“More than anything.” Gerty was here when I was. She had been there before me.

“Can you help me get what I need?” I ask.

“If I can come with you when you go, I’ll get your feet. They’re surely in his study. He keeps the key in the cookie jar. He thinks we don’t know, but we’re the ones in the kitchen all day. As if we wouldn’t notice.”

We tiptoe through the house, a small candle lighting away. We step over one of the Irish wolfhounds enjoying the warmth of the dying drawing room fire. Southy is bent over in his armchair. Drunk, passed out. To rid the daughters of their tormentor all Gerty and I would have to do is impale Southy with that steak knife that sent his son. But that’s not what we’re here for.

In the kitchen we find the key among the ginger cookies. Into the study we go. On Southy’s desk the lobed feet sit, dried out and leathery. Gerty picks them up and pockets them.

“I’ll give them to you when we’re out.” she says.

I agree. We leave the room unlocked. Door wide open.

In the morning the daughters are all busy in the airy country kitchen, preparing breakfast. One is whisking eggs, another kneading dough, another frying bacon, and yet another peeling apples. A see of lot of ambitious faces in this workroom.

Gerty and I sit at the long, nicked harvest table, watching the daughter’s routine. The routine they did yesterday and the day before that.  The routine they’ll do every day into the future until they figure they can just walk out the door and never come back. We hear Southy coughing up a lung in another room.  I will say goodbye before I leave.  I won’t skulk away with my tail between my legs.

“You must stay for breakfast!” Southy decrees from the door behind us.

We all of us are at the table again, same as the night before. Only the son is now missing. One of the daughters must have cleared his body away but hadn’t gotten to the bloodstains yet. The daughters keep their heads down, they keep their mouths shut. They don’t eat, they don’t talk.

“I know you want to take my head over this, oh daughter of mine. Drawing you back here like this.” Southy says.

“Not anymore.” I say, “It didn’t work for me the first time, so why would I do it again?”

“I was surprised when it grew back, I tell you. My head that is.” Southy says with genuine surprise.

“A shame.” I say, I fork some runny, salty scrambled eggs into my mouth.

“Gerty is coming with me.” I declare as I stir milk into my coffee.

Southy spreads peanut butter on a piece of bread, tops it with fatty, floppy bacon. He fakes happiness at this news. “Oh, I see. Please take her.  You see how many of these girls I must provide for.” Southy gestures around the table with his knife, dripping oily peanut spread as he does.

“You’d be doing me a favour. You know, I have my eyes set on a new group of daughters. Did I tell you? Oh, beautiful black girls they are. They look just like beasts out of Africa. No, I mean it. Features just like apes. Fascinating. I see you making a face at me. But it’s true.”

I want to slice Southy’s throat. But I know it won’t do any good. He’ll come back worse, worse as ever.

“Why did you take the coot feet? Really.” I ask. I sip my coffee. I hate that I like it. I don’t want any good memories from this pastoral place.

“Ah, you’ve changed your tune. The coot feet, not my coot feet. I see you’re making progress.” He bites into his sandwich, shaking and dribbling. Through a full mouth, half chewing, half talking he continues, “I missed you. I wanted you back. The house can’t run right without you. Stay. It’s wonderful here. I’ll take care of you.”

Before I can tell Southy to slice into his nut sack, Gerty has lobbed his head clean off. I suppose she didn’t want to wait any more. I don’t blame her. Southy doesn’t deserve any more of us.

“Well done, Gerty!  I'll show you where I buried the first head.” I say.

Gerty nods with resolve, the axe she used on Southy poised in her hands.

Gerty and I stand at the foot of Southy’s first grave. His skeleton exposed as best as the daughters could do.  Eighteen of them, all with dirty shovels, stand around the fresh hole they’ve dug up at our request. Southy’s first skull stares up at us. Gerty holds Southy’s second head in her hands while another daughter drags Southy’s decapitated body towards the waiting group.

“I’m not sure this will keep him down.” I say to Gerty.

“I wasn’t in the mood to wait around for another chance. Maybe this time it will work.” Gerty says and throws Southy’s head in the grave and climbs in herself.

“Pass me that shovel.” She asks one of her sisters who accommodates. Gerty jams the shovel head into Southy’s mouth.

A group of sisters rolls the headless body into the hole. Gerty starts tossing the bones of first Southy out. All but the skull. One of the Irish wolfhounds takes a femur and trots off, happy with its find. Each daughter takes a bone, a keepsake perhaps, if they still hold some Stockholm syndrome love for this smelly fart of a man.  Others, to do their own witchcraft with.

Gerty positions the body belly down. She makes sure to keep the shovel-eating head at the feet and the old skull jaw down on Southy’s flatulent ass.

“What’s all this for?” I ask.

“I heard once that the head at the feet will keep it from reattaching. Belly down means he can’t climb up, but will claw further down. Shovel in the mouth to keep those wretched opinions to himself, even in hell. And skull on the ass, I’m not sure if that’s a thing. But if it is, now he can eat shit.”

I nod in approval as Gerty climbs out in quick order. I hold her hand to give her some leverage. The daughters take this as a sign to start filling the grave and each prays silently that this time the burial will stick.

The next morning comes, and the daughters continue as they always did. The chicken eat their scratch, the pigs get slaughtered, the well gets drunk from, the wood is chopped and fires lit. A few daughters say goodbye to me as they head off to market with woven baskets to sell and provisions to purchase.

Gerty and I take our leave.

It’s quiet at home.  Less feet moving about.  The trolls mind their business in the bushes. I place my Eurasian coot feet back in the cabinet where they belong. My animal room is complete once again. I ask Gerty to fix the broken door and lock that Southy busted.

I ask my son to get me a glass for my whiskey.

[lady-janes-smut-stash]

Could I request a Shoji smut with a fem reader? Perhaps it’s their first time and it starts with accidental intercrural sex?

Yes! Thanks for the ask! I had to look up what intercrural sex was- which was funny. I typed it in and clicked on the wrong video and from that discovered that the pizza man with his dick in a hulled out pizza box is actually a real thing- which is hilarious! 

Hope this does it for ya!

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Words:  2300 Characters: Mezo Shoji x Fem Reader Spice:  Spicy AF Warnings: Filthy Language, Smut, NSFW, basically erotica

Characters are aged up, Fic below the cut

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CARE FOR A SWIM?

The trees loom darkly over the fiery backdrop of the setting sun, chirping crickets echo through the sweltering cave like a quickened pulse. Sweat beads on your neck as you secure the last branch on your makeshift shelter.  

Not that you need a shelter inside a cave, but you are bored shitless waiting for Shoji’s return.

You plop down on the leafy bed and fall back to stare at the rocky ceiling.

“It’s too fucking hot for a fire...Should I snuff it out?”

You huff and turn from the flames, straining your ears for signs of approaching footsteps.

“Nah, he should be back any minute now…” He won’t complain if he returns to an empty fire pit. Hell, he might even be grateful for another task- but you couldn’t bring yourself to burden him. 

You reach up to smooth your frizzy hair.

“Damn humidity.” Nature refuses to cut you any breaks.

Not a full day passed since your class was divided into teams of two and dropped in isolated areas to implement your survival course knowledge.  

Your heart pounds. A full week alone with Shoji?

A hot blush stains your cheeks and your mind dives straight into the gutter. Erotic ways to pass time pop into your brain like perverse little gifts. 

Sexy thoughts aside, you and your partner were miles in the right direction for your survival course.  

Shoji found a shallow cave overlooking a picturesque stream and you built a fire and a few creature comforts for the both of you. The two of you are a good team, and you couldn’t be more pleased with the pairing.  Leaning up you take in your work with a smile.

You were eager to please Shoji, being left at the cave while he left for water felt far more domestic than it should have. Clearing the floors of stones sucked but you managed to build a wind barrier, shelter, and a makeshift bed.

A single bed.

You lept from your seat, humidity, and embarrassment heating your skin.  You check that the fire is contained and abandon the cave for some fresh air. 

Gathering enough for another bed would be a bitch.

You huff, yanking off your top and tossing it in the cave. Lifting your arms you wait for a breeze to slide across your damp flesh.

The air is stagnant.  

You stand for an awkward moment in nothing but your shorts and bra, the heavy air clinging to your limbs like sticky film. 

“This fuckin’ heat!”

The heat of the flame warps the cave interior, daring you to return to its hellish confines.

You purse your lips, glaring at the cave entrance.

“Yeah, no…” Aren't caves supposed to be cold? Nature was certainly fucking with you.

With Shoji due back any minute you weren't worrying about leaving the small flame unattended.  

You crunch through the leaves and rock, making your way toward the far end of the pond in search of privacy. 

You notice a steep slope covered in bushes and clusterings of trees sectioning off a part of the pond, it wasn’t ideal but it would work for some cover. 

You made a mental note to make a bathing screen in your free time as you trudged to the edge of the slope. Using branches to steady your descent, you silently slide down the slope towards the pond. 

“Y/n..” You stiffen at your name, grip white-knuckling on the thin branch supporting you. You ease forward, peeking over the shrubbery to find Shoji reclining against a boulder below. 

Your lips pursed to call his name but words fail you.

Soaking in the pond with his head tilting back against the rock, Shoji was a snack and your eyes ate him up. Those delicious muscles damp and glistening in the fading light set your heart pounding.

A light splashing draws your attention and you find ripples radiating from Shoji, the muscles of his thick arm jumping. 

Oh, shit! 

Your brows rose into your hairline, you didn’t have to see his front to know he was touching himself.

A pity you couldn’t see into the depths of the water.

Picturing him gripping his swollen cock, working himself into a frenzy with your name on his lips set your legs to trembling and heat coiling in your belly.

Shoji groanes your name a second time, his voice thick and needy.  You lick your lips, trailing your hand down your stomach to undo the button on your shorts. You ease your hand into your panties towards your throbbing clit.

Every grunt and moan from Shoji brings you closer to your own pleasure, guilt flushes your cheeks but you can’t look away. You have never felt so dirty- or so turned on.

Biting your lip you lean forward, dead set on a better look at your partner-

SNAP!

“Oh, SHIIIT-”

The world spins faster than you can react. 

The branch flies from your hand and you tumble towards the water like a heavy stone, twigs, and grass thwacking you as you go.  The water rushes forward and you brace for impact. 

This is going to hurt.

Pressure hits your stomach with a wet thwack as you are plucked from the air like a leaf on the wind to slam against Shoji’s broad frame. 

The momentum of the catch sends Shoji careening back then overcorrecting, falling forward.

You land hard on your stomach, your hands and breasts squelch into the muddy bank. 

Shoji’s large body lands on you and breath leaves you in a woosh, you flail about in the mud before the crushing pressure abates and you find yourself caged in by Shoji’s many arms.

Like a sunning crocodile, you lay stunned and silent with Shoji’s front to your back. 

You catch your breath before Shoji, forcing yourself to relax under him.  

You can feel his heart hammering where his chest rests against your back. That steady pounding anchors you and the reality of your situation comes into focus. His hard muscles pressing hot into the soft flesh of your back has your body reacting in full force. Your nipples bead and goosebumps flood your skin as you shift under him, pressing yourself against the places his body makes contact with yours.

Shoji sucks in a ragged breath and you gasp.  

There is no way, this can’t be real…

You squeeze your thighs together, testing what you know is true. 

A low moan ruffles the hair on the back of your head and the heavy cock caught between your thighs pulses. 

No way... you rub your thighs together drawing a moan from Shoji and your lips slide into a sly grin. 

Your hands sink into the bank, mud bubbling between your spread fingers as your rest your weight on your arms to rock forward and back. 

The thick head of his swollen cock pops in and out from between your thighs like a pervy game of whack-a-mole.  Liquid beads on the tip of his cock, smearing a creamy line on your shorts as you pull forward once again. 

Can I get him off like this? 

The thought runs hazy through your mind and you wonder how far his cum could shoot up the length of your body.

“Y/N…” His voice tickles your ear and his naked cock twitches between your thighs. Hands fisting in the mud, his hips drove forward, the delicious friction sends waves of pleasure to your brain. “S-sorry, I-”

The humidity had nothing to do with how hot and sticky you feel. You arch your back pressing your ass firmly into his hips for more. 

You felt bold. 

On your knees in the slick mud of the bank covered by your crush- who obviously returns your attraction- primal need swells within you.

“Shoji.” You moan his name, gripping one of the thick arms caging you. “Please, I want you to make me feel good…”

He nods his masked face presses against the back of your head.  He pulls his hips from you, removing his hot cock from the soft pressure of your thighs.

You whimper, reaching back for him.

He yanks down your shorts and panties and returns over you.

“Is this what you want?” He asks his wet cock slides between your thighs, rubbing against your aching pussy.

“Yes, please!” The ridge of his cock catches on your clit and you moan. “I want it all, fuck me!”

He grips your hips, lifting your lower body to line your dripping cunt up with his cock. 

“Shoji-” You moan as he eases the head of his cock into your eager hole. The burn is immediate and fierce.  His free hands pet and caress, comforting as you stretch for him.

He takes his time exploring you, leaving large dirty handprints on your breasts, hips, and neck.

Achingly slow, he sheaths himself inside of you, ever mindful of how you are taking his girth.  

At your pained whimper, he stops moving. 

Your head is fuzzy and your eyes unfocus, breath comes in short pants.

He fills you so completely you fear you might burst.

The stretch in your pussy burns as your body accommodates him and for a moment you fear passing out.  Looking down your body to where Shoji fills you, you choke on a gasp to find your lower stomach bulging with the sheer size of his cock. 

Frozen, panic bubbles up and you tremble under its weight.

Pressing against you, Shoji feels you shaking.

“We don’t have to do this,” His voice is sweet but firm,”I care about you and understand this is- a lot to take...” He rubs his narrow face against you before pulling away. His cock slides from your body, you feel every vein and ridge catch against your tender walls as he pulls out of you. 

“No, wait!” Your voice cracks and your muscles tighten around his cock, “I want this- I want you. It’s just- your cock is huge and I needed a little time to adjust, but I can take more now-”

“This is enough.” He whispers into your hair, pulling out of your body to the tip and returning slowly- no deeper than before. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

He fucks you gently at an achingly slow pace. The stretch eases from pain into pleasure, soon you are truly ready for more.

“Shoji,” You moan, water splashes cold on your thighs as he gently pounds you in a steady rhythm, “I need more.”

“More, yes…” He mutters, penetrating you deeper but not by much- need more than a taste, you need everything.

You brace your arms and slam your ass back onto his cock, forcing his hand and accidentally tripping him.  He falls hard, impaling you fully on his length. 

“AAAAIIIIIGGGHHHHH!” Your pained shriek bounces off the trees in a lingering echo. 

You moan between swallowed pants, holding firm to Shoji’s wrists as he tries to pull away.

“S-Sho big-” You slur, arms trembling “j-just gimme ha minute…Fuck!”

The ache was intense but fleeting, his cock twitches inside your throbbing core and softens.

“Y/N, let me go, I hurt you and I-” 

“Please, I want this.” Sticky liquid drips from your joined bodies into the shallow water below, you feel your heartbeat throb in your cunt. 

Sighing, you ease back and forth on his cock, gently testing the new sensations. 

He moans, cock hardening in a flash.  Gripping your hips, he takes control, setting a slow pace as he pumps into you.

“Harder, Shoji, I need-” 

His hips snap against yours, the sound of skin slapping and water sloshing echoes through the woods as he fucks you into the mud with bruising force, completely unrestrained. “Oh, don’t- stop!”

Your eyes water as you reach your peak, Shoji’s strokes grow erratic and he slams home from behind with a force that has you yelping.

You reach your peak, screaming his name with abandon as you are rocked by wave after wave of pleasure.

“I-I love you!” He moans with a final jerk, filling you with ropes of hot seed. 

Rolling onto his back on the wet bank he pulls you with him to rest on his chest- still connected by his softening cock.

Your contraceptive implant prevents pregnancy, but you can’t help but glow at the idea of bearing Shoji children. There was no doubt he would be an amazing father, and -one day- you wanted to be the woman to give him that.

“I love you too, you know.” You rest your hands over two of the six arms circling you, picturing a future together. 

Shoji blushes, morphing a hand into a mouth to kiss your cheek. You grin, breaking your connection, and turn to straddle him fully before taking him in.

Mud and leaves cake you both in a thick sloppy mess. His dark eyes gaze up at you, sated but fully reflecting the emotion you feel. You lean down and plant a sweet kiss over his masked lips. 

Mud turns light brown and cracks, dusting Shoji’s torso as you drop down to rest chest to chest on top of him. 

Your nipples harden under your bra, the damp fabric scratching against your sensitive skin. 

No sense in modesty now. 

You lift back up to rip the bra off and fling it onto a nearby branch where it bounces before sliding onto the muddy bank with a wet plop. 

“Hmmmm.” Shoji hums, gazing at your breasts with a glint in his eyes.

The set of hands gripping your waist slips up to graze your breasts, you arch into his touch, ready for a second round- minus the mud.

“Care for a swim?” 

[platypanthewriter]

The Tanning Rock

Harringrove April prompt 28, Tanning--Creatures!AU (This one grew to nearly 6k and I’m so sorry) @wasting-time-again​ HAPPY BELATED BIRTHDAY, HAVE A MERMAN!  XD

The lawyer who summoned Billy—about an inheritance, he said—was...weird.  Straight out of a movie, with long incisors and a cravat, and he steepled his fingers as he talked.  

Max said he was probably actually a vampire, and Billy agreed—which was weird, because as far as Billy knew, his mom’s family wasn’t exactly old money, and it was hard to imagine a vampire getting on a plane to fly clear to California and summoning him to a crypt full of file cabinets, all just to read a will about his mom’s collection of surfing stickers and pile of old National Geographics.  

Billy knew his father had disowned him, so he bit his lips together, waiting to hear that his mother had died.

“I am here about the estate of your grandmother,” said the vampire lawyer, and Billy drew a shaky breath of relief.  “Your mother was disowned—” he said, and Billy almost snorted a laugh—like mother, like son, he thought, “—and so her domicile has passed to you.”

“Wait, what,” Billy breathed, wide-eyed.

“It is an unusual case,” said the lawyer—Fangun and Stayk, est. 986, read his card, but Billy wasn’t sure whether he was speaking to Fangun or Stayk, or whether the whole thing was a joke yet, so he kept his mouth shut.  “You will take ownership of the house and land, however, you may not live there—that is, not year-round, not unless you are given an invitation by a resident.  It is a closed community.”

“...can I sell it?” Billy asked, and the deepset eyes of the lawyer stared back at him, bloodshot and dry.

“At well below market value,” he said, steepling his fingers again.  They made a dryish noise.  “As I said, they dislike outsiders.  And a stranger will be even more of an outsider than you, in whom runs...the blood of the place.”

Billy wondered, dully, whether he’d inherited a haunted graveyard, or a den of werewolves, and groaned into his hands.  Maybe he was part zombie somehow.  Just his luck.  “Where is it,” he sighed.

“It is not on commonly available maps,” said the vampire, and Billy nodded.  It figured, he thought, though his ears perked up considerably when his grandmother’s lawyer laid out a map of Hawaii.

 They got a ride from the shore on a fishing boat at four o’clock in the morning.  “It’s barely tourist season yet,” said the fisherwoman, showing Max how to steer.  “There will be a ferry, in a week or two, but I can give you two a ride out the day your visa’s up if the ferry quits sooner.”

“We want enough time to look around,” Max said, glancing at Billy.  They’d let their lease run out, and sold most of their things, because a few orange crates of records were a small price to pay for never running into Neil Hargrove around town.  “You could get a job on one of the normal islands,” Max had suggested, quietly, over and over.  “If they don’t like us enough.”

Billy’d never suggested moving Max so far away, but she’d assumed they were going, and after a while he went along with it.  It wouldn’t be so bad, he thought, getting a job in a hotel somewhere after the islanders threw him out.  Max would probably love it, in Hawaii.  

A fresh start, she had said, and it sounded good.

He and Max were greeted by a woman in a wheelchair, who stamped their passports.  “Technically, we’re a different country,” she said, smiling.  She had very brown skin, and looked contentedly half-asleep in the sun.  “You’re the only visitors on the island, for a week or two,” she said, cocking her head.  “We’re not always in a big hurry to scrub up the ferry for the summer.  We love the money, but the tourists...” she laughed, shaking her head.  “Three-month pleasure trip visa.  Have a nice summer,” she said, waving them away.  

Her benign lack of interest lessened Billy’s initial fears that he’d inherited membership in some rich, yoga-pants-wearing, white Human Superiority cult.  

 The house was traditional-ish, with a grass roof and walls, big open windows with no glass, only shutters, and a wide shaded veranda all the way around.  It looked over a beach with rolling waves, and Billy couldn’t wait to get his board out there.

“I’m gonna look around the house,” Max said.  “See if I can find any neighbors.  Maybe I can bring them cookies.”  She set her jaw, frowning around at their luggage, and the scattered pillows.  “Maybe we can buy some furniture somewhere.”

“...we can always just come here for summers,” Billy told her, breathing it in.  

“Yeah, you’re gonna have a great time getting a tourism job where you don’t work summers,” Max said, raising a sarcastic eyebrow, and Billy realized with a sinking feeling in his stomach that she expected him to figure it out.  Find someone who wanted him to stay, here, on the island, at his grandmother’s house.

“I’m no good at making friends, Max,” he reminded her, and she snorted.  

“Better get out of my hair, then.”  She folded her arms, taking another deep breath of the smell of grass in the sun.  After a long moment, she looked back at him again.  “...we’ve got a little over three months, Billy.”

He suspected it sounded longer to her.

 When he wandered down to the beach, Billy could see someone’s tanned shoulders lying across a jutting rock about fifty feet out, and he paddled a ways towards it on his surfboard, getting the lay of the ocean.  There was a rip tide, dark and eerily quiet, to his right, but the rest of the beach had shallow, warm, clear waves over white sand and coral until a dark dropoff about fifty feet out where the rolling waves began.  

As he paddled closer to the rock, he could see the man on it—asleep, Billy thought, just lying in the sun as the waves lapped at his skin.  As Billy drifted closer, paddling with his hands, he could see a long-fingered hand hanging in the water, and he paddled faster, suddenly wondering whether the man wanted to be out on a rock, or whether he was a Dude In Distress, his leg cramped, needing a ride to the beach on Billy’s surfboard and a trip around the boardwalk, and maybe some shaved ice.  

As Billy approached, the guy opened his eyes, frowning over at Billy with wide, half-awake brown eyes.  He pushed himself up on the rock with his arms like the goddamn Little Mermaid, Billy thought, amused. His throat went dry watching the flex of muscle, and the water droplets where the dude had lifted himself out of the bay.  

Billy paddled at random, a little, unable to tear his eyes away.  He cleared his throat.  “Just, uh, making sure you didn’t need any help,” he said, staring at the tanned arms and swimmer’s chest in front of him, nearly triangular, like a superhero.  “I, um.  Guess you’re fine.”

The guy raised his eyebrows, starting to smirk, and then his eyes widened, and Billy realized in a flash of blue and foam that he’d drifted right into the fucking rip tide.  Right in front of the gorgeous dude on the rock, Billy thought in the back of his mind, trying to hold onto his surfboard and let the rip tide take him wherever it would.  Just his luck, he thought, dying because he was so damn gay he saw nice shoulders and his brain switched off.  He hadn’t even gotten a chance to breathe before he got sucked down, and his lungs and sinuses were starting to ache worse than the rest of him, even as he was buffeted around against his board, when an arm slid around his waist.

He wanted to yell at the guy—and he did, in an explosion of bubbles—because what the hell good was it gonna do, swimming into a rip tide, but the muscles against his back and butt flexed, and they were moving sideways out of the rip tide, and then Billy’s head was above water.  He gasped and choked, coughing up half the sea.  The ocean moved soothingly around them, as this dude had no trouble holding Billy up, and Billy tried to clear his throat and eyes.  

“Have you seriously never seen a tail before,” the guy groaned, hauling Billy along like he was no more effort to lift than a little kid at the pool.  Billy felt rock against his thigh, suddenly, and scrambled onto it, coughing and wiping his eyes to see he was on the jutting rock the dude must have jumped off of, to save him.  

“How-how fucking humiliating,” he gasped out loud.  “Can’t believe.  C-can’t believe I fucking p-paddled into a rip tide.”

“You drifted back into the...yeah,” his hot rescuer said, still in the water, with one hand on the rock to hold him steady as he frowned at Billy.  His voice sounded a little odd—Billy was reminded of the Chinese grocery by his house, where their English was perfect, but they had a lilt as they tried to speak an atonal language with a tonal ear.  Up close, he was even prettier, with moles Billy wanted to track down his neck and shoulders, and a doubtful, scrunched-up mouth Billy wanted to kiss.

“Sorry,” Billy wheezed, still coughing.  “Sorry, I’m such a moron, sorry.”  He tried to keep his eyes above the water level, but some part of his brain kept looking for tanned legs kicking under the surface, and he suddenly registered that the moving colors weren’t just fish and anemones.  “Holy shit,” he coughed out.  “You have a tail.”

His rescuer frowned harder, probably worried Billy had brain damage.  “I figured that’s why you swam into the rip tide,” he said slowly, and Billy shook his head, groaning.

“No—fuck, I’m sorry, you—you’re just hot as fuck, I’m just a moron, I’m—damn it,” he sighed.  “Sorry, jesus, I’m so fucking rude, sorry, I just didn’t notice, I was like ‘How the hell did he get me out of there?  OH!’, sorry,” he muttered, sighing.  “...drown me.”

“I am though, right,” the merman said, grinning, “—hotter than you,” and Billy realized he’d found the only person on the island more annoying than he was.  

“Yeah, yeah, just laugh at the poor gay moron who nearly drowned staring at you, that’s nice,” he huffed, lying back against the warm rock to catch his breath.  

“Was it love at first sight?” asked his rescuer, and Billy opened his eyes to glare.  

“Shut up, asshole,” he grunted.  

“Just asking,” his tormenter asked.  “Are you gonna pine away, sighing over me?  Hey, d’you think you’ll always do that?  If I swim over in town, you think you’ll fall off the boardwalk?”

“Fuck you,” Billy told him, leaning his face in his arms and laughing.  “Yeah, probably, you shithead.  Are you gonna...follow me around?  So I can look like more of an idiot?”

“Mmm, can you though…” the gorgeous merman asked thoughtfully, and Billy growled into his arms, feeling his whole body warm.  He blamed it on the sun.  “Why,” his rescuer asked, pulling himself up to laugh against Billy’s ear.  “—you want me to follow you someplace?”

“Oh my god,” Billy groaned, laughing harder.  “Are you afraid to leave me alone now?  What if I try and eat my surfboard?”

“...are you gonna?” 

“Maybe?!” Billy told him, then pushed himself up, frowning around to look for it.

“I’ve got it, it’s right here,” the smug asshole told him, waggling the surfboard in the water.  “Want me to take you back to shore?”

“No!” Billy laughed, sighing.  “I’m going surfing, just because I nearly died making an ass of myself doesn’t mean—”

“Hrm, maybe I should keep an eye on you.” 

“Why,” Billy asked, then pitched his voice just a little lower.  “You like what you see?”

“I could get used to it,” the merman said, and Billy started to preen, but the dickhead finished with “—kind of a comedy special, kind of thing,” and Billy reached over and smacked a big splash of water at him.  

He laughed, his throat arching back, the gills along it thin dark lines that Billy fantasized kissing around.  

Just as Billy was considering grabbing the surfboard and using it as a weapon of blunt force trauma, the merman leaned in close, his smirk widening around pointed teeth, and his cool, salty lips pressed firmly against Billy’s.  Billy made a weird gulping noise in his throat, and the asshole started to pull away, but Billy leaned in, and fell clean off the rock.  His weight dunked them both, and they rose sputtering and laughing, Billy held securely in his merman’s arms as his surfboard floated away.  He couldn’t really bring himself to care.

“...my name’s Billy,” he panted.  

“...Steve,” the mer-dickhead said, raising his eyebrows, like it was weird to want to know his name.  

“...I inherited a house here,” Billy told him in a rush, drunk on kisses.  “I’m from California.  My mom used to talk about this place when I was a kid.  Surfing here.  With her mom.”

“...is she here?” Steve asked, steadying them with one hand on the rock, and glancing back at the beach.

Billy laughed, shaking his head.  “Fuck, sorry, you don’t need to know my shit.  We can make out.  You’re short-circuiting my brain.”

“...I should probably get your surfboard,” Steve told him, grinning, but he leaned his head in again, gentle with his sharp teeth, and Billy inhaled shakily as the points grazed his lips and tongue.  

“Jesus,” he whispered, once he could talk, and then he licked his lips and wrenched himself away to swim after his surfboard, just so his smug rescuer wouldn’t have to fetch it for him.  The waves got bigger as he got out to where the trees weren’t acting as a windbreak, and he clambered up on his board, glaring back as Steve wolf-whistled.

 When he let the tides pull him back towards the gorgeous merman on the rock, he lost his mind again, telling him his tail looked like a peacock butt, and Steve cracked up, grinning at him.

“...so, neighbor, you have to win someone over enough to invite you to stay,” he said, cocking his head.

“Yup,” Billy told him, pointing up at the house he’d inherited, built into the hill, the old grass vacation cottage blending in with the trees.  

“And your method is to tell me I look like bird ass,” Steve continued, and Billy grimaced, waving his hands.

“No!  No, I don’t—I know people have to get to know you.  Here.  I’ll…” he sighed.  “I’ll try for a few months and see what happens.  If nothing...clicks, maybe I’ll try again next summer,” he said, grimacing, and wondering what Max would do, if they weren’t allowed to stay.  Leave, maybe, he thought—she was seventeen, and she could get a job herself.

 He ended up teaching Steve to surf, after showing off his best efforts.  When he swam back, panting, Steve looked properly impressed, and even more tanned.  “Teach me,” he said, and Billy leaned in to kiss him again, nodding.  

“That gonna get you to like me enough to let me stay?” Billy asked, and Steve frowned at him, but Billy laughed, and leaned in for another kiss.

“Tomorrow?” Steve had whispered against his lips, and Billy got no sleep at all that night, he just rolled over every couple hours to check the clock, and see that another two minutes had passed.  

Steve was fascinating to watch on the board, his tail trailing as he controlled it with his hands around either side, his abs flexing as he held himself in a kind of plank pose with the support of his tail.  Billy watched, and realized he was drooling.  

“You like me enough to keep me?” he asked that night, teasing, and Steve laughed.  

“Ask me again tomorrow.”

 Merpeople—or at least, Steve, Billy corrected mentally, realizing he was dealing with a sample size of one—loved bread.  Like a cat, Billy thought, watching Steve eye his croissant, or bagel.  He started just bringing one every morning for Steve, and some coffee, and it was hilarious watching the fluffy flesh of a croissant dangling between Steve’s shark-like teeth.  He waited every morning, and even though Billy wasn’t sure whether Steve was waiting for Billy or the bread he was carrying, he got heart palpitations every time he came down the ramp to the dock, and he could see the little lump of Steve’s head on his folded arms, the rest of him hanging off into the water.

“A few bagels aren’t enough to win me over,” Steve told him, and Billy’s stomach twisted, a little.  He wished he hadn’t brought it up, kind of—the knowledge that he might have to leave hurt, like a sore tooth he couldn’t stop worrying at in his mouth.  “Maybe more croissants,” Steve said, smiling, and Billy brought him more croissants.

 When they’d arrived, they’d discovered the town was filled with mermaid stuff, and at first, Max and Billy had snickered at it, because surely even if there’d been a merperson or two living near a human town once, they’d died decades ago, or they just traded with fishing boats, far out at sea.  They hadn’t considered the amount of people in wheelchairs, or the spray bottles close to hand.

When Billy suggested he bring lunch down from town, Steve swam over to haul himself up—his tail flashing in the light—through the bottom of one of the little sheds on the dock.  Moments later, he banged the door open, wheeling out in an old rusty wheelchair.  He spun it in a circle, waiting for Billy to climb out of the water, and then zipped ahead up the ramp to the path.  

“Wait up, jesus,” Billy yelled after him, and Steve laughed, the muscles in his arms mesmerizing as they spun the wheels.  He slowed down eventually, panting, enough for Billy to jog and catch up.  “...lemme know if you want me to push,” Billy told him, and Steve snorted.  

“Touch my chair and die,” he said.  

“Fair enough,” Billy said, holding his hands up, and Steve laughed.  

“It makes me…” he squinted, thinking.  “...seasick…?” he offered, and Billy nodded, trotting along next to him.  

“Motion-sick, probably,” he suggested, and Steve mouthed it as he rolled along.  

 The lady at the shaved ice stand leaned out and folded her arms on the edge of the little window, laughing at Steve.  “You know they make those that work!” she called, and he flipped her off.  “They don’t have to be electric!  They make ‘em that just move smoothly.”

“It’ll just rust in my shed,” Steve told her, shrugging.  “It’s fine.”  As they waited for their tacos, Steve pulled up to a table, and his rusty, janky wheels kept rolling backwards, until Steve sighed and bent down to stuff some rocks under there.

“My friend Robin and I went in together on a nicer one,” he said, “—but I can’t park it in the shed.  This one’s not so bad,” and Billy’s perception of it shifted a bit—maybe it was more like getting stuck with an old beater car occasionally, instead of something Steve needed help with.  “...want to wander around, after?” Billy asked.  “I haven’t got any souvenirs yet.”

Steve paused, then licked his lips.  “Planning your trip home already?”

“...dunno yet,” Billy said, the invitation unspoken between them.  It seemed ridiculous to want to stay so badly just because he’d met a pair of gorgeously tanned shoulders and a teasing smile, but it also wasn’t...hard to imagine, lingering on the island to go snorkeling with Steve, and learning about the reefs—he’d absorbed enough for a few semesters of marine biology, he was fairly sure, but told as stories, just off-handed things Steve had seen—and Billy was already wanting a drysuit, so he could go in the fall.  Maybe Billy could get a job on a fishing boat, he thought vaguely, or help out in one of the shops.  

If Steve would invite him.

Steve had slid his hands under Billy’s swimsuit a few times, pressing him back on their rock, or on the docks, rocking into him as Billy panted and gasped and fell apart under his hands—but he never said anything, after, and Billy hesitated to ask whether it was...anything, to Steve.  Maybe he picks an idiot every summer, he thought, watching Steve smile at the depictions of mermaids on every surface of every shop on the main street.

“You all spend so much time keeping everything dry and dead,” he said, grinning over at Billy, who’d been anticipating a comment on the mermaid’s hourglass-like proportions, not her lack of water damage.  

“...oh,” he said.  

“I have a figurehead like that, but covered in anemones,” Steve said, cocking his head.  “It’s beautiful.”

“I mean...you could...plant a vine on it, maybe?”

Steve nodded.  “Put it outside in the rain, let it grow.”  The lady behind the counter sighed, rolling her eyes, and Steve laughed.  

“There’s a whole movement to ‘preserve’ our art,” he whispered to Billy.  “Which mostly means they don’t let it become our art.”

“Huh,” Billy said, wondering whether human houses looked like museums, or mausoleums, to merpeople.  

“Not to say that I’d pour water on your television set, or drop your mattress in the bay,” Steve said, grimacing a little, and watching Billy’s face.  “I get that much.”  He looked kind of uncomfortable with the lady behind the counter glaring at him, ducking his head.

Billy leaned to kiss him.  He nearly steadied himself on the chair, and then remembering it would roll, and just held his hands away.  Steve grinned up at him, particularly at his outstretched hands, and yanked Billy down on his not very much of a lap, hurriedly curling his tail up and around Billy’s waist as Billy threatened to slide down the smooth scales to the ground.  Billy threw his arms around Steve’s neck, wide-eyed, as Steve held the wheels firmly, keeping the chair from rolling backwards under the weight of two grown men.  

“Let’s go,” Steve whispered, and Billy nodded, breathing Steve’s sun-and-salt smell, and wondering whether it was okay to ask whether Steve would consider inviting him to stay—just until the next season, Billy thought, as the chair and Steve’s tail moved under him.  Until the next summer, when he could ask whether Steve wanted him to stay again, or whether he wanted Billy gone.

After staying a whole year, Billy thought he might not have it in him to ask whether Steve was tired of him yet, but the thought of waking every morning to run down to the docks with coffee and banana bread was addictive, and he tried not to think about the end.

 Billy ran into the lady who’d stamped his passport, and caught himself staring at her tanned legs propped up on the railing.  “Oh, I’m human,” she said, laughing.  “But I love it here.  I can even shop in the little bookstore, imagine,” she said, and now that Billy thought about it, he realized it had an elevator in the back, and little lifts for the walkways along the higher shelves.  “I’ve never had someone offer to lift me into their cafe, here,” she said, her nose wrinkled, and Billy nodded slowly.  

“Shoot that thing!” she yelled, when she saw Steve’s awful old wheelchair, and he flipped her off.

 “We can only invite a few people,” Steve told him, as they ate noodle bowls.  “It’s for somebody you marry, you know, their family, maybe.  Or if you leave the island, and have a kid.”

“Yeah,” Billy said softly, hearing the message clearly—invitations were not to be wasted, and Billy wasn’t special enough to keep.  He finished his lunch, trying not to feel all butthurt about it.  Max would probably understand.

Steve kissed him again, on the docks, and Billy leaned into it, feeling the familiar pressure of tears in his sinuses, and behind his eyes.  He had three weeks left, he told himself.  Three more weeks.  Steve slid a hand up the back of Billy’s head, humming against his mouth, and Billy let himself go soft in his arms.  

When they returned to the docks, Steve dug a big beach blanket out, and they spread it out on the sand, and Billy stayed out that night, losing himself in Steve’s warm hands and mouth, under stars like he’d never seen before.  

 Steve was watching his face the next morning, with a little frown, and Billy pulled away, sitting up.  

“Better than croissants?” Billy asked, smirking a little, and Steve sighed.  

“Was that what this was?  Fucking me won’t make me give you an invitation,” he said.  He didn’t look amused, the way he had over the bagels, and Billy wondered whether it had worked, a little.  Billy’d always had a talented mouth.

“I won’t know if I don’t try, will I,” he said, laughing.  “Maybe another round will help?”

“...I have to go,” Steve said, and he didn’t even fold up the blanket, just pushed himself off the edge and slid over the wet sand into the water, gone in a flip of tail.  Billy watched for long minutes to see whether he’d come back—they’d been spending every day together, but probably Steve had stuff he needed to do, all the things he’d done before Billy had shown up at the island, easy with his body and his affections.

Billy folded up the blanket, and sat it in the shed, looking around.  There really wasn’t much in there—it was the size of a small bathroom, with some knives for fishing, and a frayed net, and the beat-up wheelchair.  

It smelled like Steve, and Billy stood and breathed, his eyes blurring with tears.

 Steve didn’t come back, and after an hour or so Billy walked home, and ran into Max returning.  “Billy!” she said, with a wide grin.  “Nice night?  I was out getting breakfast.”  She told him about somebody named El, and somebody else named Lucas, and a Dustin.

Max was making friends too, he realized, which kind of made everything worse—she was doing her best, and Billy was just mooning over some guy who thought he was barely good enough for a fuck on the beach.  She’d even met their families, he realized, listening, and registered that he hadn’t met any of Steve’s friends.  He groaned into the pillows tossed around on the mat floor, and sighed.  

“Should I stop seeing him?” he asked, mostly at the ceiling.  

“I dunno why now,” Max said.  “You’re not gonna find somebody else in a couple weeks.”

“Shit,” Billy groaned again.  

“We can try again next summer,” Max said.  “I like it here.”

The idea of returning the next summer, once Steve was bored, was enough to make Billy clench his jaw tight against the pillow he was hugging, squeezing his eyes shut against tears.  “...yeah,” he said softly.

“God, you sound tragic,” she sighed, wandering over and dropping to sit on his butt.  He grunted.  “It’s fine, jesus.  Worst case scenario we have a, like, vacation home.  The vampire dude said we didn’t have to pay taxes on it.”

“Yeah, just pay for plane fare,” Billy sighed.

“He’s out there, y’know,” she said, “—tanning,” and Billy scrambled up so fast he dumped her with a drum noise on the taut mats.  

 When he swam out, Steve just stared out to sea, and Billy clung to the edge of the rock, biting his lips.

“I’m not giving you one of my invitations,” Steve said.  “So stop trying to manipulate me into it.”

“Yeah,” Billy said, kind of wishing they’d never met.  “Yeah, okay.  Do—is that all, or are you sticking around?”

“I’ll stay,” Steve said, frowning at him, “—if you still wanna waste your time on somebody who’s not—how do you say it?  Putting out?”

“...it’s not a waste of time,” Billy told him, swallowing hard.  “I just wanted it to last longer, is all—” and Steve’s eyes narrowed intently.  He grabbed Billy around the back of the neck, and yanked him into a kiss.  

 The remaining weeks, he took Billy snorkeling, and they had sex every night under the stars, Billy panting Steve’s name, and Steve holding him so tightly it almost hurt.  Billy took him to meet Max, and she eyed him warily, but Billy fought and succeeded at securing Steve a plate of brownies, and he was vocally appreciative.  She softened a little, at that.

 Two days before they had to leave, Steve was lying next to Billy on the wet sand, the waves lapping up nearly to their waists.  His shoulder was warm under Billy’s head, and smelled like the high ocean waves.  

“...d’you think you’ll come back next summer,” Steve asked, and Billy snorted.

“Depends on whether I can afford airfare,” he said, sighing.  “Depends on whether I can get a job somewhere that doesn’t need me in the summer.”

“...so I might just never see you again?” Steve asked flatly, and Billy laughed, shrugging.  

“I don’t know,” he said, “—do you want to?”

“...fuck you,” Steve sighed, and Billy pushed himself up to frown at Steve’s face.  

“I don’t know what you want,” he said, glaring back at Steve’s narrowed brown eyes.  “You wanted me to shut up about staying.  What am I supposed to say?”

Steve bit his lips together, and looked away.  “...you know I’m gonna give you an invitation.  You can just tell me.”

“What,” Billy whispered, scrambling to sit up, his heart pounding as Steve flopped over to scrabble around under his wheelchair, his tail flapping around a little in concentration, like a cat’s.  He held an envelope out to Billy without even looking over.

“There,” he said.  “All yours.”

“What,” Billy breathed, and then he half-crumpled it, opening it clumsily.  “You—you’re giving me one?”

“Two,” Steve said, flatly, frowning down at the sand under his hands.  “You and Max, right?”

“Holy shit,” Billy whispered, scrambling over to kiss him, once, then twice, relishing the little noise Steve made in the back of his throat when his lip slid between Billy’s teeth.  “I have to go tell her,” he said, half laughing, his vision blurring with tears.  

“Okay,” Steve said, quietly, and Billy hugged him before scrambling up and running back to the house.  

 Max stared at the two calligraphed invitations on the odd plasticky “paper” the merfolk used, written in Sharpie, and shook her head slowly.  “You did it,” she said, and Billy laughed, nodding.  

“He wanted me to stay enough,” he said, wiping his eyes, and desperately wanting Max to offer to handle the paperwork, so he could run back and kiss Steve.

There was a knock on the door.  Max ran and opened it, and a short-haired woman wheeled in in a rainbow overall dress, and a small, fancy electric wheelchair, her tail the reds and oranges of a sunset.  Billy never quite stopped being envious of how pretty the merpeople were.

“Steve gave you his invites, didn’t he,” she said, and Max slid them around her back, her eyes narrowing.

“...yeah,” Billy said, warily.

“Give them back to him,” she ordered, glaring between them.  “He’s been saving those a long-ass time.  He’s got plans for those, and he doesn’t need guilt-tripping by a pair of manipulative orphans, jesus.”

“I didn’t guilt-trip him,” Billy said, feeling guilty, suddenly, and remembering Steve’s stiffness as he handed them over.  “I didn’t,” he said, less certainly.  “...he...he just likes me, he wants me to stay—”

“He’s known you three months, and you told him you fucked him to get someplace nice for your sister to live,” she said crisply.  “Give them back.”

“He’s not giving them back,” Max hissed, but she was staring at Billy in horror.

“I didn’t say that,” Billy said, waving his hands.  “I didn’t!  Not...exactly.”

“Fuck you,” the woman said, glaring.  “You pressured him.”

“Fuck,” Billy agreed, his eyes tearing up again.  “Lemme—lemme go talk to him.  Max, give—give ‘em here.”

“No,” she said, sounding choked, but he walked over and grabbed them, and hugged her.  

“We’ll figure it out,” he said under his breath, for her ears only, and ran back out.

 Steve was perched up on his rock again, and Billy grabbed his surfboard and sat on it to glide out, paddling with his hands.  The water was clear under him, his shadow passing over the anemones on the reef, and he watched the fish darting around, swallowing repeatedly.  

“Hey,” he said, when he got close enough, and Steve’s head jerked around, glowering warily.

“...you came back,” he said.

“...you want me to stay, right,” Billy said, cutting straight to the chase.  “You gave me these because you want me to stay.”  Steve frowned back at him, and Billy’s heart sank.  “Answer,” he said, his throat closing around the word.

“It’s what you wanted, isn’t it,” Steve said, reaching out, but he just grabbed Billy’s board before he could drift into the rip tide again.  “You wanted to stay.”  He was tense, and he wouldn’t meet Billy’s eyes.

“What do you want,” Billy asked again.  “...because I think your friend Robin’s in my house, and she says I guilted you into it, talking about Max.  Do you...if I didn’t need an invite.  Would you want me to stay?”

“...I guess,” Steve sighed, and Billy swung his leg over the board, dumping himself straight down in the water, because he was definitely about to make some kind of awful noise, and the sea felt good on his hot, wet cheeks.  Steve couldn’t see him crying underwater, he thought, grabbing a jut of rock to keep himself from floating back up.  

He wished he could take a few slow breaths, he thought, closing his eyes, and then something brushed his arm.  He opened his eyes on Steve’s wide-eyed face, his hair swirling in the water.  Billy bit his lips together harder, his hands clenching on the rock, and Steve shook his head, pointing up. 

“Up,” he mouthed.  “Come on.”

Billy let himself be hauled upwards, and pushed up on the rock again, like when they’d first met.  

“What are you doing,” Steve asked, hanging on to Billy’s surfboard.

“Nothing,” Billy said, keeping his voice level.  “I thought you wanted me to stay.  For me.  You can have your invites back.  I didn’t—” he took a deep breath, hearing Steve’s voice say stop trying to manipulate me, and Robin’s guilt-tripping.  “I fucking know I’m pathetic, okay, you don’t have to pity me.  Sorry I—sorry I fucking tried, jesus, I just—” he shut his eyes tightly again, laughing as he imagined Robin’s disgusted look knowing Billy’d gone out and cried.

“Wait, fuck,” Steve whispered, clambering up next to him, where Billy barely fit by himself, since it was high tide.  He was warm from the sun, his tanned skin gleaming with water droplets, and Billy salivated, because his dick obviously hadn’t gotten the message it wasn’t wanted.  “Wait,” Steve said, half on top of him, his weight grating Billy’s shoulder blades against the rock.  Billy didn’t really mind.  “You only want to stay if—if I want you, what—what does that mean—”  His brown eyes were huge.

“...don’t really know how to be clearer,” Billy told him, unable to pull his eyes from Steve’s mouth.

“You don’t want to stay unless I’m happy about it,” Steve said, grabbing Billy’s hands.

“Yeah, that’s kinda how it gets, when you fall for somebody,” Billy told him, raising his eyebrows, and Steve took a shuddery breath and kissed him again.  He didn’t stop, though, he just kissed Billy and kissed him, laughing shakily, his eyes welling up with tears.  

“Don’t go,” he whispered, as Billy clung to him and the rock, trying to keep them from tumbling off.  “I want you here, I want you.  Stay with me.”

“I’m what you want?” Billy asked, startled, his brain hazy from warm kisses, and the scrape of pointed teeth.  “‘M yours then,” he whispered.  “All—all of me.  S’yours.”

They laid there so long, whispering and giggling, that Billy had tan lines of Steve’s fingers on his shoulder for months.

Here are the other Harringrove April prompts I’ve done!

[cherrywoes]

i. i wish i could say i'm sorry.

tw (general): graphic descriptions of blood, gore, sexual content, violence, homicide, physical torture, psychological torture, rape, dubcon, drugs, overdosing, suicide, cannibalism (brief desc/mention), knife play, wax play, dacryphilia, sadism, masochism, bdsm, corsetry, human trafficking, drug trafficking, oral fixation, thigh kink, stocking fetish, food play (and more to be named.)

tw (this chapter): teeth pulling with handcuffs, blood/gore.

THERE WERE THIRTY cinder blocks that made up the sidewall of your cell. Plain, white, unadorned with much else except for photos embedded into the stone with crude pins made out of fork prongs, they had served as both your entertainment and torturers; you counted each individual block and seam of filling down to a microscopic level, eyes flicking over each twist and bend in the layout. You had memorized it, of course, after a time—it was instinct at this point for you to scan the walls, making sure a block hadn’t been magically added into your cell to throw off your count. Each little divot in the spaces between drew your gaze, following patterns that you could imagine were there for a reason, even if they were likely mere coincidence.

“Inmate Akamine.”

The collar of your prison uniform itched at your neck, the cheap white fabric scraping against the flesh under your chin. You reached up reflexively to scratch it, blunt nails digging harshly into the afflicted skin without thought, ignoring the cop standing at the door of your cell with the telltale clinking of cuffs echoing through the open slat at the top of the steel contraption. You could feel the man staring holes into you when you didn’t reply, still lazily scratching at your neck to the point where skin could have started peeling underneath your fingers and you wouldn’t have been the wiser.

“Inmate Akamine,” the cop repeated, knocking the cuffs against the door. “Stand up and face the back wall and put your hands behind your back.”

You knew this routine. You would face the back wall, like he wanted you to, and he would put the cuffs on just a little too tightly, enough for you to feel the pinch of your wrists in the metal and leave something of a bruise or open wound later. You would then be escorted down the white halls, the other inmates as quiet as the grave, watching through the slats as you passed by, head raised high and spine straight. When you reached a certain point in the halls, the cop would stop and push you into a small, cramped room, no more than ten cinder blocks high and with a shitty fluorescent lightbulb swinging from the ceiling by a bare wire. Unsecured to the ceiling, it would swing slowly, tauntingly, from the force of the air conditioning vent beside it, never resting, never coming to a standstill. The room would smell like old paper and mildew and dark coffee wafting in through the underside of the door, creeping from the faculty room just next door where, more often than not, someone was cooking either strawberry flavored pop tarts or blueberry muffins within—it never differentiated. Inside this ten cinder block high room there would be a man waiting for you, sitting in a rickety metal chair with faux leather backing and cheap cotton to provide support. The metal legs would scrape against the floor as he rose to greet you with a too wide smile and too white teeth, his weight slightly too much and tilting the unstable square table slightly forward, rocking it towards you in his haste. He would then crush the wire tap in the potted plant in the corner beneath his fingers, fling it into the fresh, damp soil, and wipe his hands with a satisfied harumph. With yet another smile, he would unlock your cuffs with a skeleton key and lay them on the table, hands splayed wide in a gesture of goodwill. When you nodded your acknowledgement and took a seat across from him, only then would he produce a single immaculately rolled cigar from his lapel, clip it, and pass it over to you. You would huff and press it between your lips and allow him to light it with a cheap plastic lighter, exhaling a thick cloud of smoke from your nose that overpowered the smell of mold and paper and coffee and blueberry muffins or strawberry poptarts. When you had taken a few deep inhales, the air around your head thick with smoke, he would smile and lay his phone in the center of the table, press call, and scuttle out the door before the line picked up and you opened your mouth to speak.

“You know the drill,” the cop added, as an afterthought.

You got to your feet with the groan and complaint of your knees to accompany you. Years of sleeping on a thin mattress full of springs and a lack of exercise had destroyed your body’s constitution. Your neck popped when you rolled it experimentally, easing the tension in your spine and shoulders, turning to face the wall and putting your hands behind your back, fingers rubbing against each other in patient habit. The cold of the floor seeped through the cheap slippers they had given you, turning your toes to ice, but you had stopped complaining after the first week.

The metal door slid open with a disturbing squeal. The cop stepped inside, clearing his throat, smelling of nicotine and the pop tarts you hated so much. The key ring at his side tinkled when he moved to put the cuffs around your hands, cinching them a little too tight, fingers lingering a little too long when he stepped back and gripped your elbow, forcing you around to the open door.

You stepped through the threshold, toes still impossibly cold as the cop escorted you down the hallway. There was no jeering from your fellow inmates, no screaming or shouting or yelling but an impenetrable silence that lasted as you passed easily by the room of mold and coffee and paper, the cop’s encouraging hand upon your back and slipping dangerously close to your backside—a new development—sitting just upon the dimples in your back, made more prominent from lack of good food and terrible mattresses. His hand did not stray any lower, but you could feel his gaze burning into you as he directed you to turn a corner and face the long, artificially lit hallway leading to the first step of your freedom.

“Oyabun,” a man greeted when you entered the door. Dressed in a fine three piece suit, your family lawyer fixed you with a pretty smile and lowered eyes. A black Japanese koi crawled up the side of his neck and behind his ear, fresh work, the ink still dark and prominent upon his skin. There was no cigar waiting in his lapel for you; there was no burner cell tucked away in his coat for your use; there was no cheap lighter sitting in his pocket, mingling with spare change and buds of marijuana that clung to the plastic. “It is good to see you are well.”

The door closed behind you with the careful snick of a lock.

“Shingiin,” you replied calmly, with a voice that wasn’t quite pleased. “Nao. I take it your presence here is a sign that things are going well?”

His answering smile was as dark as the thoughts swirling around in your head. “Of course, Mama. We’ve all missed you, you know; being cooped up in Tokyo without you wasn’t nearly as fun as when you were there.”

“Of course it isn’t,” you answered knowingly, the tiniest of grins working up your lips. The cuffs bit into your skin tauntingly. “But I’m sure you’re not here to talk memories with me, are you, Nao?”

He shook his head, that gorgeous dark hair shining in the artificial light fixture above him. Nao was a very pretty creature of your own making—one of your many joys in life, no less, carefully cultivated from the streets and raised into a proper businessman and lawyer. He was as loyal a dog as they came and he obeyed when you called, heeled when you ordered it, and listened only to you, as all things should be. He owed everything to you, [Name] Akamine, and would drop dead in a heartbeat if you so wished it.

“No,” he laughed, then. His dark eyes twinkled merrily when he opened his briefcase and slid a manila file over to you, opening it up to the first page. In large, bold black letters, ‘case dismissed’ caught your eye. “I’m just here to give you the good news. Your case has been dismissed on the grounds of improper conduct, false evidence, and reports of extortion.”

You raised an eyebrow playfully, a true smile coming to your lips.

“Congratulations, Oyabun.” Nao Akamine stood and bowed low at the waist, victory in his voice. “You win yet again.”

“Do I ever lose?” You replied, peering over the papers with a keen eye. “It was only a matter of time. Tell me, when is my release date?”

Nao’s smile was positively vicious when he replied,”As soon as tomorrow, Mama.”

With that, you closed your eyes with a relieved sigh.

Prison whites never looked good on you, anyway.

“Tomorrow,” you repeated slowly. Your wrists twisted in the cuffs thoughtfully, digging deep into the skin, and fixed the file with an interested stare. Your lips, chapped and bitten harshly enough to draw blood, pursed when the edge of a photo caught your eye. Tucked between the papers, you wouldn’t have noticed it at all had it not been jostled by Nao sliding it across the table for you to see. With a jerk of your chin, you nodded to the picture. “What’s that?”

He pulled the photo free from its confines. It was a standard polaroid, the square photo within in black and white and slightly blurry from movement. Whoever had taken it had an unsteady hand or had been in a hurry. You scrutinized it as well as you could without the use of your hands, eyes flicking over a feminine face: pretty, unusually pretty, with oil black hair, a defining mole in the bottom right corner of her chin, and slate gray eyes framed by dark lashes. The photo had only caught her face and part of her ear, her surroundings too blurred to make out, but you could pick out the reflection of kanji in the glare of her glasses.

“Shimizu Kiyoko,” Nao provided helpfully, placing the photo on the table with a sly smile. From the same file, he produced three more photos, each depicting three men who were unfamiliar to you. Each of them appeared civilian, mundane, in the same blurry haste that the woman’s had been taken in. “She’s the provider for a new gang grouping up in the underground. We discovered them by chance, really—she’s good, but she’s sloppy. So are the rest of them.”

You expected as much. “And the three men?”

“Sawamura Daichi.” The dark haired male slid a photo forward. It depicted a man with close cropped deep brown hair, doe brown eyes, and a severe expression upon his face. Sunglasses were perched on his nose, obscuring some of his face, but the tattoo underneath his ear served well enough as identification. “He’s the ringleader in all of this, of course. He’s Ukai’s… protege, so to speak.”

A low hum escaped your lips. “I see. Does he have Ukai’s contacts? His supply lines?”

“No.” Nao smiled, then, and produced a stack of enlarged photos. They were heavy and glossy, produced with expensive stock and not polaroids. They were clear and pristine, and you could recognize the blood upon the walls and the teeth scattered on the concrete—more than one set, if your eyes were proving you right. You even spotted a gold cap littered among the rest of the pearly white front teeth, as familiar to you as the person who had put it in their mouth; you could just see the smile, the sharp edge of that golden canine when his lips were just too expressive to cover it. There were body parts and organs strewn about, of course, taken in the middle of cleanup, but they were of less interest to you. “We got rid of them as the old man’s will was being handed over. It was quick, clean, and they’ll have little idea who did it. Unless you want them to, of course, Mama.”

“I want his teeth,” you said, after a moment of consideration. “They’ll look lovely on my mantle, don’t you think?”

And Nao sighed in both amusement and adoration, tucking the photos back into the floppy manila file. “They’ll be stunning, [Name]-sama.”

“What of the other two?” You interrupted, eyes turning to the photos he had yet to hide from you. He stilled momentarily under your gaze, finely pressed suit enhancing the sharp lines of his torso and shoulders. A closer look revealed reluctance, hesitation, but like a dog with a bone, you persisted, moving so close to him that you could smell the tobacco on his breath and the mint of his toothpaste. “Acquaintances of yours? Friends? Old family?” A minute twitch of his pretty mouth. “Old family, then. I thought I taught you better, Nao.”

“You did, [Name]-sama,” he reassured you. He didn’t dare look up and into your eyes, because all he would see there would be sharp and savage disappointment. “They are—”

“They?” You repeated softly. There was a soft click of the locks on your cuffs. You freed your abused wrists from the metal confines with a small sigh, rubbing the tender flesh into something of a numbing pain, and flicked the fork prong you’d dislodged from your wall into a garbage can. You kept the cuff looped around one hand, the other coming up to flick open the file and page through it until you found IDs matching the photos on the table. You tutted, drumming your fingers in staccato rhythm and scanned the names upon the paper. “Kageyama Tobio,” you flipped to another page,”and Hinata Shoyo. Classmates of yours?”

You had brought in Nao as one of your own—had given him the Akamine name with full trust that he would serve you well, not unlike your mentors had you, once upon a time. You felt that trust had been well founded up until this moment, and it was a sour pill to swallow that he still harbored sentiment for a problematic horde of rats. You thought you had clawed out every emotional bone in his body and alienated him from his own emotions, but it was clear he had been holding out on you for quite some time.

“...Yes.” Nao’s tone was not as confident or self assured as it had been when he had greeted you at the door with news of your impending release. Now it was a noose around his neck, closing slowly enough that he was aware of it, choking off his oxygen supply and cutting off the blood to his brain and putting so much pressure upon his neck that the vertebrae popped and cracked. “[Name]-sama.”

“I see.” You placed the photos in their proper places and closed the file with a whisper of paper and cardstock. It brought with it a breeze of clean, new paper, much better than the smell of molding files accompanying the odor of coffee and blueberry muffins. You flicked the cuff in your hand freely like a switchblade, the arm dancing back and forth with the flick of your fingers. “Kneel, Jun-san.”

He paled at the use of his birth name. “[Name]-sama—”

“I told you to kneel.” Your tone broached no argument. He fell to his knees with enough force that you took pleasure in the way his knees protested at the sudden movement. If he didn’t suffer a cracked patella, you would be sorely disappointed. You inhaled and exhaled leisurely, reaching down and taking his face in your hands as gently as a mother would do a downtrodden son. Nao was so pretty it almost hurt you to do this to him; but weakness was punished in your family, and he knew it well. “Suzuki Jun. It has been a long time since you first disappointed me. I hoped it would have been the last.”

He didn’t apologize. He knew it was pointless to apologize for something he wasn’t sorry for. His eyes were downcast, mouth pulled in a tight line.

With a hum of displeasure, you pushed his top lip up with your thumb and painstakingly scraped the nub of your fingernail over the pearly white enamel of his front tooth. He shivered beneath your grip and attempted to move away, but you held firm, fingers digging into his jaw so tightly that his skin went white, and he was already pale enough. You peeled his cheek open to peer at his back incisors, noting the distinct presence of two gold capped teeth studded with diamonds in the bottom right row.

“These are new,” you observed idly, tapping your fingers against them playfully. When he winced, you knew they were fresh and improperly done. You chided,”Didn’t I tell you never to go to underground doctors for your work? Silly boy.”

A more thorough examination of his teeth proved pointless: you had your prize.

“I’ll take these,” you said, after a moment or two of thought. As if to remind him, you thumped the two gold caps with sick pleasure, relishing in the way he flinched back and his eyes went wide. You might have taken pity on him if he had cried, but so far he was as rigid and stalwart as you had trained him to be. It was almost a waste. “They will be payment for the individual weaknesses you harbor.”

You swung the unoccupied cuff up into his eyesight, holding the connecting hinge just so. You tested it experimentally on your finger, pinching flesh between it and wondering at their sturdiness. When you were satisfied by the way the metal still bit into your flesh like an obstinate blunt tooth worrying away at steel, you pried Nao’s mouth open with little care, sliding your hand in all the way up to the third knuckle. He gagged around your hand, throat working overtime to force you out of his mouth, hand coming up to grip your wrist tightly. Your makeshift pliers clamped down over the first golden cap with enough force to dent the precious metal. Diamonds scattered out of their previous settings and beneath his writhing tongue.

“What poor work,” you mumbled to yourself, wondering if the diamonds would hurt on the way down through his intestines—unlikely, as they were barely even the size of a sliver of your fingernail. With a sickening twist, you watched the cap pull free from the gum; red flesh erupted in irritation at the removal. A quick pop, and a broken fragment of tooth came with it, root pulling behind it. Nao was already shaking and looked ready to drop at a moment’s notice, so you snipped the root promptly and watched his eyes roll into the back of his head. You took your next tooth in a similar fashion, but you were disappointed when a cavity made it crumble into sections small enough for it not to have mattered at all.

A frown upon your face, you tucked the teeth away into his lapel and patted it reassuringly. He was coming to, but he appeared delirious with pain and had broken into a cold sweat. “Don’t worry. I won’t replace you just yet; not when you have so much to prove to me. Keep those teeth for me, will you? I’ll put them on my desk, right beside my cup of red pens.”

Nao gave no indication he heard your words, nor did you care. Tucking your hands behind your back, you cuffed yourself once more, always a little too tightly like the cop wanted, and knocked just underneath the knob to indicate you were ready to go. If the cop had anything to say to you about Nao slumped on the floor with blood oozing from his mouth, he didn’t say it, and instead escorted you back to your cell.

There was no improper touching this time when he removed your cuffs and placed them back at his side, unaware you had just used them to pull the teeth of a grown man out of his skull. Your cell door shut behind you with a penultimate slam, casting you in a faint shadow.

In a fluid motion, you sat back down upon your bed to stare at the wall, counting the cinder blocks one by one, following the pattern of indentations and striations upon them, mouth pulled into a frighteningly evil smile.

masterlist. | ii. come with me, destroy the masses.

[virryth]

Creatures of the Night | Woozi AU

Nothing intrigues you more than the silk-lined casket and its seductive inhabitant in an abandoned castle.

900+ | suspense, suggestive sfw, vampire jihoon x gender neutral reader

Author’s note: spooky season part 1~ vamphoon owo

Read more Jihoon AU | SVT AUs | Masterlist

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You don’t know where it began.

The last thing you remembered was a casket in the farthest room of the castle. An iron casket so worn, partially draped with an old silk curtain, that you see the visible dust on top of it. Your colleagues have gone out to inspect the original site of the incident, but you have found yourself more drawn to the old castle. The expedition wasn’t supposed to take this long, just a weekend trip, but your colleagues had uncovered a ruin in one of the caves nearby and wanted to check it out before the sun goes down in just a few minutes, so you were left alone of your own accord.

You love the feelings of worn-out woods and the structures of gothic castles and interior. The arches of the doorway, the tall and sharp buttresses surrounding the structure, the way a familiar and comforting scent of homeliness calls out to you. It was like a whisper that draws you further into the castle, into the farthest room of the abandoned ward.

You didn’t even know there was such a room. It wasn’t in any of the blueprint you had seen--you’d never forget it if there was indeed such a hidden room. The casket calls out to you in waves of soft wind and setting sun. There was nothing beside it. Just a casket in the middle of the room draped by the finest of red silk. 

You don’t know where it began.

Suddenly, you’re lying flat inside the casket, and your eyes seem to have lost its function. It was way too dark to make out anything, and as you slowly returned to your senses, the cracking sound of firewoods echoed in the distance. 

You sit up, fumbling around for your watch and your notes to find that the moon has risen. The strange sense of belonging fills you again. Movement distracts you from the corner of your eyes, and you look up to see a man. 

“You’re awake.”

His voice draws out like a whisper inside your mind, and you’re not sure if you’ve even seen his lips move. He was dressed in a deep-cut white cotton shirt and black trousers, the zig-zag lacing details in the front of his shirt displayed prominent muscles that put all the men you’ve met to shame. He walks towards you, kneeling beside the casket until his face was only inches from yours. 

His hair is jet black, slicked back with a hand and blended into the darkness of the room, and his eyes a deep glistening red in the moonlight. His skin is clear, pale, and almost translucence as the purple veins line the bit of skin along his chin. He’s beautiful, a timeless handsomeness that doesn’t seem to belong in this world. You don’t know who this man is--you’ve never seen him before in your life, but something about the upturn of his lips, the shape of his face, and even the mole underneath his left eye is familiar. They evoke a certain feeling in you, something so sweet, tangy, and painful that you’re sure this is what yearning feels like. 

“Who are you?” you ask, neck tilting slightly to study the man, yours eyes still not seeing as clear as you’d like. 

He smiles, sharp canines catching your eyes, as he moves closer, taking in your scent. So close that his eyelash flutters on your temple.

“You know who I am.” 

His breath tickles your ear as he begins carding your hair, moving the locks away from your neck. You’re simply entranced, your mind is as foggy as the clouds that hide the moon. Your thoughts hazy, your eyes threatening to close as you let the man approach you. You don’t feel a little of danger as he cups your face and leaves cold, sweet kisses on your skin. 

There’s no voice in your head that screams about the danger you’ll face. You know this man. You know him from a distant memory too far back to recover. You know it in your heart, in your soul, that he can never harm you.

You know that you’ve awoken him from his slumber today, as you did many years ago.

“I do know you,” you reply, giving in to the familiarity of his hand as he plants yet another kiss on your collarbone. It sends fire up your skin though his lips are cold as ice. 

“I’ve missed you, so dearly.” 

The man undoes the first few buttons of your blouse and presses a kiss on the spot beneath your ear. There is utmost tenderness and affection in his actions, and his breathing draws out long and even as if he’s used to this in the same way your body relaxes in his arms as if you’re used to this. 

He is parched, very much so for being locked in this castle for so long. You should have come the very first day you feel the castle call your name. You feel his tongue lapping on your neck, the sound of his breathing grows quicker, and you know what’s coming. It’s a sensation you remember in the dreams that haunted you since childhood. A certain craving, a desire to give what is yours and take what is his. His name comes to mind as he continues to wet the soft spot on your neck, your head tilting willingly to the side as you feel his hunger. 

“I’ve missed you, too.” 

You belong to him, and he belongs to you. You know you’ll have your share when he’s done and you can hardly wait for it. You call out his name the moment he sinks his fangs into your body as the memories flood into your mind. He is your lover. 

“Jihoon.”

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Read more Jihoon AU | SVT AUs | Masterlist

[gloves94]

Sunburn [Prince Zuko] 37

Warnings: 10,000 words Rating: PG-13   Pairings: Zuko/OC  

Sunburn Chapter M A S T E R L I S T My fan fiction M A S T E R L I S T

Aang was missing.

The Avatar had gone missing and Sozin’s comet was only two days away.

There really was no time to lose.

Aang’s friends looked for him everywhere, left, right, north and south of Ember Island but it seemed like he had vanished into thin air. Theories of Aang being kidnapped or running away crossed their minds, but he wouldn’t have abandoned his staff or Appa behind. No signs of struggle supported the theory that he had vanished.

Seeking for leadership the group turned to Zuko who – let’s be real – after years of practice was the most qualified at finding the Avatar. They had left Ember Island some time ago. Ominous clouds flickering with lightning approached from the distance.

“Where is he taking us?” Sokka asked Tsai as the rest of the group sat in Appa’s saddle while Zuko commanded the flying bison. The girl shrugged in return. He had that determined look on his face that she knew meant there was no stopping him now.

“Zuko, I don’t wanna tell you how to do your job,” Sokka began. “But why are we heading towards the Earth Kingdom?”

The group exchanged a look. “There’s no way Aang’s there.”

“Just trust me,” he replied mysteriously glancing over his shoulder.

The red head was presently leaning her head and arms crossed on the edge of the saddle. Her eyes fixed on the back of Zuko’s head. She was so proud of him. She had absolutely complete faith in that he would find Aang before the comet. It was then that she heard a loud coughing someone clearing their throat demanding her attention.

“What?” She rolled her eyes towards Sokka rudely.

“So, you two are back. For good?” He poked nosily. An evil grin on his face as he crossed his arms over his chest eyes narrowing mischievously. She was about to respond when Sokka raised his hand.

“You know what- I don’t want to know. Don’t say it.”

The edge of her eye twitched slightly. There wasnoway.

“What?” She deadpanned.

“No, no.” He said jokingly. “Don’t say it.” He repeated his vile grin stretching further.

“SOKKA I’M GOING TO KILL YOU!” She lunged at him grabbing him by the shirt and violently shaking him. Even her brother wasn’t able to hold her back. “YOU SAW US?!” She felt so violated having been caught in such an intimate and PRIVATE moment.

“You two were being so loud! I heard a loud clatter went to check. Saw you two cleaningthe floor.”

Her face resembled more of a beet now. Ughhh how embarrassing. The group couldn’t help but laugh at her mortified expression. Flustered an irritated she turned around and hopped over the saddle and slid down to Appa’s large head bumping into Zuko’s side.

There was loud giggling and sniggering in the back to which she shot a deathly glare at.

“So, where are we going?” She chirped with a smile. He looked at her from the corner of his eye and couldn’t help but smile a little.

“You’ll see.” He responded in an ominous tone.

xxx

Back at the Earth Kingdom, the group approached a familiar looking tavern.

“Wait-“Tsai paused as she stood outside of the familiar building. “Of course!” She slapped her forehead as it hit her now, it made sense for them to come here.

“Now you know why we’re here?” He asked. “Oh! You guys are going to love this!” She said excitedly turning to talk to the group as they walked into the seedy tavern. They all exchanged a confused look. The familiar stench of spilled booze sweat and probably pissed wafted through the air still lingering in the tavern after all this time.

“And what’s there to love about a seedy Earth Kingdom tavern now?” Katara asked eyeing the tavern with a slightly horrified expression.

“June,” Zuko and Tsai said in unison. He pointed a finger across the tavern to the onyx haired woman that was cooly seating down beating a man down with only a kick while enjoying a cup of tea.

“Oh yeah that weird bounty hunter with the giant mole.” Sokka said at the memory of meeting the bounty hunter.

“Mole?” Katara asked. “Her skin is flawless.”

June stood up avoiding an incoming fist ducking and gracefully taking down a man without spilling a single drop of her steaming tea.

“No, she has this giant mole creature that she rides around on.” Sokka continued explaining.

“The Shirshu.” Zuko stated. “It’s the only animal that can track Aang’s scent anywhere in the world. It’s the one shot we have of finding him.” Tsai explained. “Wouldn’t recommend riding in the back of one.” She bellyached remembering the motion sickness stomachache she got that first and last time she rode the beast with Zuko and Iroh.

They all witnessed as June cooly threw her drink up in the air flipped a man on his back and slammed him over a table without breaking a sweat.

“I don’t know who this June lady is, but I like her!” Toph beamed with a wide grin officially joining the June Fanclub.

The group watched as June kicked an empty seat away from a table and took a seat continuing to calmly sip on her tea.

"I remember she helped you attack us!" Sokka said, glancing at Zuko and Tsai accusingly.

"Yep. Back in the good old days." Zuko deadpanned and began walking forward towards June. Tsai was already fangirling at the bounty hunter’s side.

"Oh great," June drawled out sarcastically with zero enthusiasm at the familiar sight of the Fire Nationers approaching her.

“Let me get that for you,” Tsai said politely taking the teacup and re-filling June’s cup. She simply rolled her eyes at the gesture. Turning her attention to Zuko who was standing next to her. "It's Prince Pouty and Fan Girl. Where's your creepy grandpa?"

"He's my Uncle." Zuko corrected her sharply. "And he's not here."

June’s eyes bounced between the two girls that stood on Zuko’s sides.

“Oh hon, you should’ve run.” June said to Tsai shaking her head before taking a sip of her tea. “So, which one of you two is the one with the daddy issues?” June asked her eyes bouncing between both Katara and Tsai. Both girl’s eyes went wide with angry expressions on their faces. Sokka held Katara back. Zuko held the Tsai back while her brother sniggered behind.

“Good to see you worked things out with your girlfriend.” June added with a small smirk before taking another sip of her tea. “Hope I get a wedding invite.”

“Nobodyis getting married!” Tsai protested blushing brightly basically heaving after the double shot kill to her ego. A similar expression on Zuko’s face.

June waved her hand dismissively at them. "Okay, okay, sheesh. I was just teasing…” She took a sip from her beverage. “So, what do you want?"

"I need your help finding the Avatar."

"Hmph." She scoffed and raised her cup to her mouth, "Doesn't sound too fun."

"Does the end of the world sound like more fun?" Zuko demanded stepping forward with a scowl.

xxx

"Nyla." June cooed as she walked towards the shirshu, holding a fresh piece of meat in the air and shaking it enticingly. The shirshu begun salivating greedily at the scent of the raw meat. June tossed the steak up in the air and Nyla caught it eagerly, chewing it loudly. Smiling, June walked up to Nyla and petted its snout, "Who's my little, hmm, Snuffly-Wuffly."

Nyla grunted and jerked his head up, its toxin-coated tongue lashing out and forcing June to step back holding its snout down in a lock.

"Okay, who's got something with the Avatar's scent on it?"

“I have Aang’s staff!” Katara called from the top of Appa’s saddle.

"That'll work." June said, taking the staff from Katara and holding it in front of the shirshu’s nose. Nyla sniffed the glider for a moment gathering its scent then lifted his head and sniffed the air. She began walking around in circles around the group and the its master.

The shirshu walked back towards June and lowered its snout to the ground before laying down and covering its snout with its paws quietly growling as it gently rubbed it.

The group eyed the creature with a puzzling look.

"Well what does that mean?" Zuko asked crossing his arms.

"It means your friend's gone." June replied matter-of-factly, kneeling beside her pet scratching behind its ears in an attempt to comfort the beast.

"We know he's gone." Toph said dryly placing her hands on her hips. "That's why we're trying to find him." She said matter of factly.

"No, I mean he's gonegone." June clarified standing up and facing the group. "He doesn't exist."

The Avatar gang all exchanged concerned looks. Grim expressions on all of their serious faces.

“But that’s impossible.” Mecha cried out in disbelief.

"What do you mean Aang doesn't exist?" Sokka asked in exasperation. There was some hesitation on his voice "Do you mean he's...you know, dead?" He asked tentatively.

"No, we could find him if he was dead. It's a real head-scratcher." June said, shrugging.

"Helpful.Realhelpful." Toph scowled withdrawing her application from the June fanclub.

“So, what are we going to do now?” Tsai asked suddenly feeling that stressful sensation knot in her back shoulder’s again.

“Guess we’ll just have to off the Fire Lord ourselves,” Sokka said dropping his arms to the side.

“What are you nuts?” She looked at him with a bewildered expression. “What?” He shrugged his arms up. “It might even be easier this way since you’re not opposed to you know- taking care of him?”

“Ha!” She couldn’t help but laugh. “Really funny Sokka. Did you guys hear that?”

She looked up and to her surprise saw that nobody was laughing. Everyone was staring at her with a dead serious expression. She felt the blood drain from her face. “Why are you all staring at me like that?”

“You have been the only one to ever strike him and live to tell the tale.” Katara said quietly. “And the fire won’t be an issue.” Suki added.

“Which is a huge advantage.”  Sokka backed up her statement. “We’ll have your back.” Her brother said with a smile.

She looked at them with a horrified look on her face. This wasn’t her destiny. “No, you guys,” She shook her head feebly. “There has to be another way. If Aang’s not in the world- maybe- just maybe- what if he went into the Spirit World. Corporally in body and spirit with Momo?”

“Is that even possible?” Katara asked.

The group shared all shared a shrug giving each other puzzling looks.

“I’ve never connected to the Spirit World, but maybe I could try it? Find Aang bring him back?” She suggested.

“Well if you’re going to do it, you best do it fast,” her brother let out a low whistle and shook his head. “If you don’t want to off the Fire Lord thenI will!”

She turned to look at Zuko with a pleading look in her eyes. There had to be somebody else.

“Well,” June mused arching her eyebrows at the group. “It’s been real.” She said raising her hand up dismissively. Turning to mount her beast. “See ya.”

"Wait." Zuko called out, walking to the front of the group. "I have another idea. There's only one other person in this world who can help us face the Fire Lord." He faced June and held his hand out for her to wait, "I'll be right back with a smell sample."

They all eyed him curiously as he quickly climbed into Appa’s saddle and climbed back down holding a smelly sandal. The stench immediately attracting several flies which started buzzing around it.

"You saved your uncle's sweaty sandal? Ugh." Sokka asked in disbelief, pinching his nose and cringing at the strong scent. Suki, Mecha and Katara’s expressions of disgust mirrored Sokka’s.  

“Iroh does have a terribly strong body odor,” Tsai sighed.

"I think it's kind of sweet." Toph retorted with a sincere smile crossing her arms.

June was taken aback and gasped when Nyla suddenly lunged forward sniffing the sandal that Zuko was holding. She gasped in surprise and held on tightly to the shirshu’s reins as Nyla ducked furiously sniffing Iroh’s sandal.

"Let's do this." June said determinedly and tugged on Nyla’s reins as her beast ran madly desperately trying to find its target vanishing into the dark forest.

“Hey! Wait up!” Zuko shouted. The group quickly ran towards Appa and climbed on the flying bison ready to follow June. Appa flying into the air hot on Nyla’s trail.

The beast ran all through the night until dawn with Appa soaring after it. The teens all took turns between commanding Appa and sleeping. Nobody said much as they continued in their pursuit. Solemn expressions on everybody’s faces as the grim reality of Sozin’s comet arriving tomorrow dawned on them.

“Hey,” Zuko who was wide awake suddenly whispered to Tsai who was dazing off head on his shoulder. “Hm?” She grumbled sleepily. Toph was asleep on the other side of the saddle, Mecha a little next to her, Suki and Sokka in a similar position to them on the other side of the saddle.

“Do you remember the last time we rode the shirshu?” He said against her ear careful not to wake anybody else. “Don’t remind me.” She groaned at the unpleasant memory still with her eyes closed hugging his arm.

“Where…” He let out a small chuckle. “Where you holding on to me because you were sick or because of another reason?”

She opened her eyes suddenly feeling more awake than asleep and glared at him the slightest of smiles growing on her face.

“If I remember correctly,” She said removing her arms from his and slightly inching away from him. “Somebodywould’ve preferred if I fell off the shirshu that day.” She teased remembering how adamant he had been to her letting him go that day. He let out a humorous huff and wrapped both of his arms around again her pulling her close to him.

Both enjoyed the short-lived moment before reality hit both of them.

“Zuko, what are we going to do?” She asked looking at him with a worried expression. “What if we don’t find your Uncle?”

He wanted to insist that they would find him, that everything was going to be okay in the end, but there was so much uncertainty and ambiguity around them with the comet arriving in less than a day.

“We’ll figure it out.” He took her face in his hands. “We always do.” He hugged her.

“Zuko, if we don’t find Aang… What’s going to happen?” She held on to him tightly. Fear in her voice. Unsure of what to say he simply stroked the back of her head. “I’m going to try and enter the Spirit World tonight. See if I can find Aang.”

“We’ll find them.” He repeatedly soothingly.

Moments later they arrived to their destination. It was still nightfall. Great now an entire day had been wasted trying to find Iroh.

Days until the end of the world: 1. Nyla stopped on a gaping area of the outer wall of Ba Sing Se which divided it from the rest of the Earth Kingdom. The beast dug and pawed at the wall indicating that Iroh lay somewhere beyond it.

“We’re going to Ba Sing Se?” Sokka asked as Appa landed near the twitching shirshu.

"You uncle's somewhere beyond the wall." June stated as the Nyla stopped scratching the ground. "Nyla's getting twitch so he can't be too far." She looked up at the group. "Good luck." She said sincerely before pulling on the reins and riding away into the far away hills.

"It's been a long day. Let's camp and start our search again at dawn."

Xxx

It had all happened so fast.

"Wake up, you guys!" Toph called out in the middle of the night waking everyone only to witness a ring of fire surrounding them.

“There!” Toph shouted to an opening in the wall. There was no time to ask questions. No time to stop and look around and wonder what the hell was happening. There was no room to run to, no time to escape as four elderly men wearing fine robes colored in shades of blue and white stepped forward.

Master Piandao, Jeong Jeong, Master Pakku and King Bumi. All of them people whom the Fire Nationers had never met before.

"Well, look who's here!" Bumi exclaimed as he threw his arms out from under his robe, snorting and laughing in a maniacal fashion.

Katara sighed in relief as a a wide smile grew on her and her brother’s face. The rest of the group starred at them perplexed.

"Uh... What's going on?" Toph asked in confusion, "We're surrounded by old people."

"Not just any old people. These are great masters and friends of ours." Katara explained excitedly as she walked towards the four men and stopped in front of Pakku, bowing respectfully to her former master.

"So wait, how do you all know each other?" Mecha asked after the touching the Water Tribe sibling’s touching reunion with their new grandfather. He pointed at the four men in confusion.

"All old people know each other." Bumi joked and Piandao smiled at the boy from the colonies. The old king snorted and laughed as he asked. "Don't you know that?" He said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“You must be Sencha’s” One of them spoke eyeing the scarred teen before him.

Tsai pushed forward becoming entranced by the mentioning of her grandfather. Coming all the way to the front facing the elders. “You knew our grandpa?”

“Weren’t you listening Apple Hair? All old people know each other.” Bumi cackled once again finishing off with a snort.

“Yes, Sun Spirit.” Piandao responded calmly addressing the spirit that lived in her. She blinked twice taken aback by the knowledge the masters held.

"We're all part of the same ancient secret society." Piandao explained when his friend didn't continue. "A group that transcends the division of the four nations. Your grandfather was a part of our group as well. I lament his passing."

“Of course!” She said and dug into her her pocket to fish out the White Lotus Pai Sho piece that Iroh had given to her what seemed to be ages ago. Pai Sho is Afterall more than just a game.  “The Order of the White Lotus.” Both her and Zuko said in unison smiles of amazement on both of their faces.

"That's the one!" Bumi said comically bouncing in front of the other masters and raising a finger in the air,

"The White Lotus has always been about philosophy, and beauty, and truth." Jeong Jeong stated. "About a month ago, a call went out that we were needed for something important."

"It came from a Grand Lotus." Pakku said, taking over the anecdote from Jeong Jeong. He looked over at the Fire Nation’s former prince, "Your uncle, Iroh of the Fire Nation."

"Well that's who we're looking for." Toph said excitedly from behind Zuko.

"Then we will take you to him." Piandao said nodding his head slightly.

Tsai noticed how Zuko’s eyes softened at the mention of his uncle. They had finally found him. There was some hope after all.

"Wait! Someone's missing from your group. Someone very important." Bumi declared as he abruptly shoved the masters apart and walked towards the group. "Where's Momo!?"

"Uh..." Sokka cleared his throat, leaning as far back as he could when Bumi pressed his face against his, "He's gone. And so is Aang."

"Oh well, so long as they have each other, I'm sure we have nothing to worry about." Bumi stated calmly stepping back and patting his shoulder forcefully making Sokka bend forward. "Let's go!" Bumi cackled like a maniac as he slammed his fist against the ground making a tall stalagmite of rocks rise from the ground which propelled him over the wall of Ba Sing Se. The other masters shared an exasperated expression.

“Is he… Is he always like this?”

 Xxx

The group was being led down a rocky path that would lead to the Order of the White Lotus’ campgrounds. The group followed behind Bumi, Appa tailing behind them.

"So, Bumi," Sokka began as he walked carefully behind the king. "How did you end up escaping your imprisonment in Omashu?"

"Escape? I didn't escape. Everybody elseescaped!" Bumi exclaimed before throwing his arms into the air. "There I was, back in Omashu, waiting for justthe right moment. I didn't know what or when, but I knew I'd know it when I knew it."

Tsai topped in her tracks a obscure expression on her face. “You waited for the eclipse, didn’t you?” Her brother looked at her with a concerned look.

Bumi cackled and nodded rapidly, a maniacally grin on his face as he remembered how he took back his kingdom after being locked up in a metal box for months.

"Wow." Suki stared in amazement after Bumi had finished sharing his story. "You took back your whole city all by yourself!"

Bumi grinned proudly then glanced over his shoulder, "So what about you guys? Did you do anything interesting on the day of the eclipse?"

The group all exchanged a look.

"Nah." Zuko replied nonchalantly. “No, not really.” Sokka added. Mecha grimaced looking down at his scarred body. Tsai resisted the urge to face palm.

They approached a high hill and looked below from the incline to see dozens of small tents all pitched together at the bottom of rocky terrain. Odd dim lights illuminated parts of the camp. “Well, here we are! Welcome to old people camp.” Bumi said as he lowered a wall made of rock and waved his hand towards the camp.

The group stepped forward following behind the masters, but Zuko lingered behind his eyes scanning the crowd looking for any sign of his lost uncle.

"…Where? Where is he?" He asked stopping in his tracks.

Piandao, the swords master, stopped and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Your uncle is in there, Prince Zuko.” He responded pointing to a large tent at the end of the campsite.

Zuko felt his stomach flipping with unease. His last memories of his betrayal to his uncle, the only man who had ever cared about him, still prodding him like a fresh wound. Part of him had been dreading this moment. He looked down in shame averting his eyes from the tent. He felt the sword master walk away. He stood alone in the camp soaking in the memory of the most dishonorable and treacherous thing he had ever done. Why would his uncle ever forgive him?

He wasn’t worthy of a single ounce of sympathy.

“Come on!” He felt a hand hold his. “Let’s go see Uncle Iroh!”

He looked up and saw the girl from the colonies standing before him beaming with excitement. She was dying to see Iroh. She turned guiding him towards the tent, yet he couldn’t bring his feet to move stopping just a couple of feet outside the tent.

“What’s wrong?” She turned. “Don’t you want to see your uncle?” She asked softly dropping his hand.

Maybe he wasn’t alone, but he was still undeserving.

Of everything.

After all his cruel father never missed a moment to remind him, he had been lucky to have ever been born. His own father had hideously scarred him when he had groveled for his forgiveness only as a thirteen-year-old boy. Why would his uncle be any different?

“What if he doesn’t want to see me?” Insecurity and fear pricked him. Again, he lowered his head, his hands dropping to his sides as he deflated.

“Why wouldn’t he want to see you?”  

“Why would he?”

She remained silent. She wasn’t sure what she was waiting for but speaking felt wrong.

“My Uncle hates me, I know it.” He said with certainty. His eyes glued to the ground avoiding her prying worried ones. “He loved and supported me in every way he could, and I still turned against him. How can I even face him?"

She could’ve reassured him a thousand times that Iroh did not hate him. However, that wouldn’t have solved anything. She doubted if he would even believe her.

“I know you’re sorry and I think the most important part is that you’ve grown from your mistakes. Right?”

“I’m more sorry than I’ve ever been about anything in my life.”

“Then he’ll forgive you,” she stated. He looked up and saw her smiling sympathetically at him. “I know I did.”

He didn’t deserve his uncle or her.

She gave his arm one last squeeze while saying something about getting dinner. At this point he wasn’t listening. He clung to her hand, holding her in place.

“Thank you.” He said softly.

She left. He stood outside of his uncle’s tent wounds of regret and scars of shame holding him back. He stood outside with his head lowered, eyes glued to the ground like a coward.

He had to do it.

He let out a heavy sigh pausing in front of the tent flaps that were marked with the White Lotus symbol. It took courage he didn’t have to open the tent’s flap and step in.

"Uncle..."

Zuko was greeted by a familiar loud snoring as he stepped in and looked up. His uncle was heavily sleeping on the other sound of the tent. He couldn’t help but smile affectionately and walk further into the tent. He took a seat bending his knees underneath his body as he waited next to his uncle’s sleeping mat for him to awake.

He knelt with his head lowered listening to his uncle’s snores. Snores he never thought he would one day miss. It was pretty late; he didn’t think his uncle would wake up at this time of night. It was then that the snoring ceased. He raised his head slightly and his breath hitched in his throat when he realized his uncle awoke. He felt his chest swell with overwhelming emotion.

Iroh awoke when he felt a strong presence in the room. He sat up and stretched his aching muscles. Sensing the presence behind him, he turned slightly and from the corner of his eyes caught sight of a familiar face sitting behind him. He straightened up his back and remained silent.

Zuko felt his heart fall when his uncle kept his back turned to him. He swallowed the knot that had formed on his throat as he attempted to find the voice that he had lost.

“Uncle, I know you must have mixed feelings about seeing me.” He paused for a moment and closed his eyes fighting back the tears that had been welling in his eyes. His voice cracked with emotion as he continued. "But I want you to know, I'm so, so sorry, Uncle.” “I am so sorry and ashamed of what I did." He shook his head as the tear that brimmed in his eyes overflowed, sliding down his face. "I don't know how I can ever make it up to you, but I-"

He was cut off. He didn’t see his uncle turn and grab him by the sleeve yanking him forward for an embrace into his arms. He hugged him tightly. Tears slid down his face, the man couldn’t help but smile as he held his lost nephew in his arms.

“How can you forgive me so easily?" Zuko asked weakly as he returned the embrace. He was stunned by his uncle’s reaction. "I thought you would be furious with me."

"I was never angry with you.” Iroh explained his voice gentle. He brought his hand up to the back of his nephew’s head and hugged him tighter. "I was sad, because I was afraid, you'd lost your way."

Zuko closed his eyes and pressed his wet face against his uncle’s shoulder. “I did lose my way.” He murmured quietly; his words still weighted with shame.

Iroh removed himself from his nephew and held him at an arm’s length both of his hands on his shoulders as he looked at the man his nephew he had become with pride. “But you found it again…" He praised with a smile.  "And you did it by yourself. I am so happy you found your way here."

Both exchanged a smile. Iroh hugged him again and Zuko chuckled lightly. "It wasn't that hard, Uncle. You have a pretty strong scent."

Zuko didn’t know how long they embraced for.

“Midnight cup of tea?” The tent’s flap opened, and Tsai stopped dead in her tracks when she caught the deeply intimate scene between the two men. She didn’t want to interrupt such an important event. “Oh, uh- I’ll come back later,” she stammered awkwardly before retreating still holding the tray she was holding with tea and some bowls with dry noodles.

“Tsai!” Iroh greeted her cheerily happy to see the girl once again. He stood up. She looked around the room and placed the tray down on the closest table before embracing him “You did beautifully child.” “It’s so good to see you Iroh.” He hugged her back.

Zuko watched the interaction between the two still with watery eyes. This was his family now. The three of them were back together reunited.

“I hope my nephew didn’t bring you much trouble,” Iroh chuckled slightly. “Nothing I can’t handle,” she flashed him a cheesy grin. It was then that she got something out of her pocket. “Here,” she placed the White Lotus chip on his hand. “You’ll need this for the next time we play Pai Sho.” He couldn’t help but grin back.

Moments later the three sat on the carpet. Iroh enjoying a well brewed cup of lychee tea the two teens before him had their dinner. This meeting was nice, it felt extremely nostalgic, it was what the three of them had been missing.

“Iroh,” Tsai suddenly asked him. “What do you know about the Spirit World?

Iroh lowered his cup of tea and looked at her his lips drawn into a thin line.

“The Spirit World is a world filled with a vast range of immortal supernatural entities and more than often embody different aspects of life and nature.” He began. “I take it you’ve discovered your inner light. The truth about your spirit as being the one of light, fire and most important of all life. The Sun.”

She nodded. Both her eyes and Zuko’s looking at his uncle attentively.

“I’m going there tonight. To try and find Aang.”

Iroh stroked his beard seriously and closed his eyes for a second.

“It is extremely difficult for any human other than the Avatar, who is the bridge between these two worlds, to enter into the Spirit Realm. If you do it will require extreme concentration and you must be wary of your surrounding at all times. Remember, this is very important. There are good spirits yes, like the sun and the moon, but there are also dangerous ones. They will test and try and trick you Tsai.”

She lowered her head nodding in understanding.

“Iroh…” She began softly. “Why me? What is my purpose?”

“That I do not know the answer to.” He sighed.

Zuko placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. She raised her head nodding with a determined look on her face.

She had never done it but this time she had to. There was no excuse.

The trio finished their dinner and now Iroh and Zuko knelt on one side of the room. Tsai sat across them with two lit candles at her sides. Her legs were crossed under her body, eyes closed as she attempted the meditation, she had been practiced countless of times. She focused on positive emotions and on her breathing as she sought for some clarity.

“I’m glad you two made up, nephew.” Iroh whispered to Zuko. “How did you get her to forgive you? You know a woman’s heart is like glass, fragile but strong. Once damaged the-“

“I’m still in the room!” The girl snapped becoming a little flustered.

Iroh flashed her a nervous grin. Zuko face palmed embarrassed by his uncle. He would’ve never admitted it out loud, but he had missed this dearly.  

“This isn’t working,” her deflated in defeat, her shoulders dropping as she slouched.

“Stand up straight.” Iroh said in a slightly stern tone. A tone that reminded Tsai of her over-bearing mother. She did as she told. “If you want to reach the Spirit World and maybefind the Avatar you have to do this.” He instructed. “You can’t give up.” Zuko added.

It was late. The three of them had to rest. The comet would arrive later today. She couldn’t keep them up like this. Regaining her focus, sitting up with her shoulders up and back straight. She inhaled a deep breath and awoke in a different world.

“W-Where did she go?!” Zuko shouted in panic rising to his feet walking over to where the girl had been standing a minute ago.

How had she vanished just like that?

“She succeeded. She’s in the Spirit World now.” Iroh said wisely. “When will she be back?” He asked frantically turning to face his uncle. Iroh shrugged lightly and raised his shoulders. “Soon, hopefully.”

Zuko was officially freaking out. How was he supposed to get any sleep with both Tsai and Aang missing when the comet would be arriving in just a couple of hours?

“So,”Iroh began. An impish grin stretching on his aged face. “How’d you get her to forgive you? Did you follow my advice?” He said letting out a coarse chuckle.

“UNCLE!” The flustered teen protested.

Xxx

Tsai screamed uncontrollably as she free fell suddenly appearing in a night sky. She flailed her arms and legs, tears escaping her eyes due to the harsh wind that hurt them.

She braced for impact and landed on a large tree, then a branch and then ungracefully landed on the ground with a loud thud.

“Ugh…”She groaned painfully after being hit in the gut by spirits know how many branches and then slapping against the ground. It took her a moment to come to her feet and dust herself off. Immediately she shrunk as she looked at her terrifying surroundings. All of the trees that surrounded her in this forest had menacing faces that all seemed to look down on her.

“I can’t believe I actually made it to the Spirit World…” She said in awe, her voice trembling as she retreated. She played with her sun stone necklace anxiously.

“Hey! Watch it!” A man’s voice said.

She felt a chill run down her spine and slowly turned but didn’t see anyone. It seemed like she had bumped into a large mushroom that glowed in varying rainbow hues. She sighed hoping to ease her jumping nerves and lay her hands-on top of the mushroom using it to brace herself and take in a deep breath.

“I said- Watch it Red!” There it was that voice again. Looking down she realized it was the mushroom – speaking.

“Ah!!! Talking mushroom!” She leapt back falling on her behind crawling away from the mushroom. “Who do you think you are? Falling in-“ She wasn’t going to stick around and be scolded by a giant talking fungi. Screaming like a mad woman she ran away from the shroom shouting for the missing Avatar.

“Aang!!!” She shouted panic ringing through her voice. She did this for some time ducking at night birds that attacked her pulling on her clothes and her hair until she was simply walking exhausted. It seemed like she had been going around in circles. “Aang…” She called weakly now walking in circles.

“I’m pretty sure I’m walking around in circles,” She said out loud to herself. “That’s the same mushroom from earlier.”

“No, I’m not.” The mushroom spoke. She wasn’t fazed by it anymore.

She rolled her eyes irritated of this. She really didn’t have any more time to lose. Not that she knew how time moved in this realm. What would Iroh do? What would Zuko do? I mean he was the true master at finding the Avatar.

“Listen here fungus.” She said standing her ground. “I’m looking for a friend. He’s a boy about yei tall?” She pointed with her hand even though the mushroom did not have any eyes to see. “Bald? Has a blue arrow tattooed on his forehead?”

“Nope, haven’t seen him.” The shroom spoke back dismissively.

With hands on her waist she let out a frustrated sigh. She had already wasted enough time running in circles.

“I can help you with that cherub.” She heard a voice say. Again, she turned around looking for the source of this. This voice was nasal, shrill, it almost reminded her of Azula’s. It sent chills down her spine. It was then that she looked up and saw two massive yellow eyes staring down at her. The eyes closed and the massive creature fluttered down landing before her. The standing creature was larger than her and covered with dark fur. It’s two golden insects like eyes starred at her and it’s bat like wings remained sprawled out where two massive markings that resembled eyes seemed to be fixed on her. It was a batterfly. She knew that flutter bats, pollinating mammals, existed but this looked more to be a batterfly a hybrid of a bat and butterfly. It opened its small mouth the creature salivating as its fangs kept its mouth ajar. Uh-Oh… There was something about this creature that gave her a terrible feeling.

“I’ve been watching you.” The creature spoke.

“Who are you? Whatare you?” She asked raising her arms fearfully, stepping back defensively.

“Don’t be shy human.” The creature said advancing stretching out a wing to prevent her from escaping. She eyed the creature’s mouth with nervous unease.

“Think of me as a mere creature of the night. A silent observer. I have been watching you…” The creature cocked its head to the side still salivating. Something about this creature made her skin crawl. “I can help you. I saw your friend, this Aang… Bald, blue arrow, the Air Nomad, right?”

“Yeah!” She exclaimed excitedly. “That’s him!”

“Yes…” The batterfly drawled out slowly before slurping its own secretions. “I know just where he is. I’ll take you to him cherub. If you just get closer… Climb on my back. I’ll- yes – I’ll take you to him.”

She stepped back nervously looking up at the creature.

“You can just… Tell me where he is. Is that okay? I don’t want to be a bother-“ She inched back further and further until she once again bumped into the talking mushroom.

The batterfly became more agitated. It’s began slurping harder. Saliva soaking its front fur coat as it inched closer.

“Climb on my back. Come on. Just get closer- a little closer-“

Her eyes were frozen as she looked at the creature before her petrified. How did one fight a creature like this off? Her eyes darted around the space as she thought of an exit. “Closer!” Was the last thing she heard the creature hiss loudly. She raised her hands over her face crossing them in a defensive matter when she heard a loud hiss.

A bright light made her come to her senses. She saw the batterfly blinded by the light screech as it flew away hitting several trees and branches as it flew away. She stood in shock heaving with her heart on her throat. She guessed this is what Iroh had meant by saying they were dangerous spirits in the Spirit World.

She looked at her hands and realized she was glowing. Somehow, she had instinctually gone into the Sun State mode. She illuminated the room and noticed a translucent almost red string attached to her chest; her eyes followed the string which lead to-

“A lizard?”She deadpanned. She looked down and a couple of feet away from her stood what looked like a foot-tall red lizard with dragon features.

“Move your bum out of my face Red!”

“Oh, sorry,” She apologized to the talking mushroom and stepped away feeling rather foolish for a) apologizing to a talking mushroom b) did the creature even have a face? Shaking her head she returned her attention to the red lizard before her as the light around them dimmed until they were once again surrounding by darkness without the exception of the glowing mushroom.

“Are you stupid or just plain dumb?” It scolded. The way it spoke it reminded her of Sokka’s voice and tone.

“Excuse me?” She glared at the creature running out of patience. “I will notbe harassed by a talking mushroom, a- whatever that was and now insulted by a talking lizard.”

“Look who’s talking about harassment!” The mushroom below her spoke. This was officially insane. She heard the lizard continue to speak but wasn’t listening. “Watch it. Or I’ll step on you!” She threatened raising up a foot glaring down at the creature. She had had officially enough of the Spirit World ready to go back to reality any second now.

“Insolent girl!” The reptile fumed smoke coming out of its nostrils as it slowly grew larger and larger until its body snaked around her in a crescent moon shape. A dragon with scales the color of blood, massive wings, gleaming golden eyes beard and fur stood on all four legs before her. It’s voice now darker, more menacing as it snarled at her. “Out of all of my hosts you have been the biggest of headaches. Brass, impulsive, emotional, insecure- You are an absolute disgrace!”

It took her a moment to put two and two together. Surprised her jaw went slack and the petty insults went completely over her head at the surprise.

“Taiyo Shin,”She gasped. It was the Sun God. “It’s you.” Was all she could manage as she gawked at the massive dragon standing before her.

“What were you thinking? Everybodyknows never to trust the spirits of the night. It would’ve sucked you dry of your blood. Then again, I don’t think anyone would’ve missed you very much.” It scolded coldly glaring at her.

“Hey!” She protested. “It was my only chance at finding Aang. I had to do something.” She huffed. “Also - you and I need to talk.” She stepped forward with an accusing finger. Today would be the day that all of her questions were answered. There was no more time to waste.

“What do you want to know? And no- I do not know your place in the universe.” He let out a throaty chuckle looking at her with what looked like amusement.

She stood tall attempting to look down at the colossal creature. “Why me? And what do you mean I’m your host?” She looked at the spirit before her with large hopeful eyes.

The dragon looked down at her with an irritated look on his face and rested its head on a propped claw.

“You are familiar with our history. Eons ago dragons-“the spirit began dramatically. “Yeah, yeah, yeah- “She waved off dismissively. “Dragons were hunted, so you became human. I know. Whowas the first human that was your host?” She asked exasperatedly.

The dragon closed its eyes and smoke came out of its nostrils.

“The first was a man named Saisho, the rest are all a blur and then there’s you. Also, the first to come to the Spirit World.” The dragon said after a moment. “We came to humans and hid in plain sight amongst the same people that were hunting us. I have been passed from host to host for some generations now. I have witnessed their lives. Seen their joys, felt their pains. The reason we came to be one is unknown to me. I am simply passed from one host to the next. All hosts select their successors. Just as you will one day when the sun sets on your life.”

She listened attentively nodding her head slightly at everything the spirit had to say.

“So..” she began connecting all the dots. “Someone, chose me?” The dragon nodded. “And I will have to do the same- when I die?”

“No,” the dragon said flatly. “You’re not like your friend the Moon Spirit. You are as strong as all of the others that have come before you, you don’t need to leech of my life like your friend did to Tui.” He spoke referring to the Moon Spirit by name. “You are free to choose if you want this life, but remember…”

The dragon began rounding around her snaking her inside of a smaller and smaller circle. “We are fire, energy, and life.”

It stopped next to her resting its monstrous snout next to her. She raised a hand and slowly placed it on its scaly skin taking in the rough texture underneath her fingertips and brushing its golden beard. “Our purpose is to bring life as well as destruction to the worlds and like all things they must be balanced…”

She nodded slowly, finally understanding. “And you’ve been trapped inside humans this whole time?”

“By choice,” the dragon grumbled. “Now, get on my head. I’ve recon we’re running out of time and you still have to find your friend the Avatar.”

She nodded and struggled to climb on the dragon’s large head. It took her a moment to sit at the very front and grab onto both of its massive horns tightly.

“What’s your name anyways? You know, you can come out now right? Dragons are safe, they live in hiding but they are safe. You can live in the Sun Warrior Island, be happy, be with your kind. You know?”

“Call me Huo,” It spoke after a moment. “And I doubt it’d be as interesting.”

Huo didn’t give her a warning before stretching out its wings and lifting up in the skies which were breaking in dawn. She ducked and let out a breathless gasp as the dragon flew. They flew for some time passing glowing clouds as the searched from island to island.

“There,” Huo spoke and she could feel its body rumble when the dragon spoke. She held on tighter as it dove thru the skies to the island below. Landing on a small clearing in the middle of a jungle forest. The ground trembled at the impact.

Aang was sleeping on a small clearing above what appeared to be some ruins. Momo screeched loudly and hid behind Aang who groggily awoke eyes wide at the massive red beast before him. Aang raised a hand ready to bend at the dragon.

“Aang stop!” He heard a familiar voice shout.

The Avatar lowered his hand when he heard her voice. The dragon lowered its head and Tsai stepped down jumping off the side carelessly.

“Aang! I can’t believe I found you!”

They ran towards each other and embraced. Momo chirped and jumped on Aang’s head and then on her shoulder. It was good to see Momo too.

“Aang, I’ve found you. We have to go back!” She said letting go. “We don’t have time. Sozin’s Comet should be here today. I’ll-I’ll help you defeat the Fire Lord. There has to be something we can do. Maybe I can stop the Sun for just a moment?”

“Like all your other ones, that one too, is a terrible idea,” a throaty voice behind her spoke letting out some flames. Aang looked at the dragon behind her with his eyes wide. “Oh, this is Huo. He’s the actual Spirit of the Sun. He lives inside me.” She said casually motioning over her shoulder. After everything she had seen and lived in the past year and more, nothing seemed to surprise her anymore.

“It’s too dangerous Tsai. One lightning hit- We can’t lose you.”

She looked at him hard. Frowning a little. Both of her hands clenched as exasperated balled fists reflected her frustration.

“Doesn’t matter Aang. We’re out of time. I rather be in the real world than in the Spirit World. This place gives me the creeps.” She shrugged looking at her surroundings with unease.

“No,” Aang said stubbornly. “There has to be another way! I feel like there’s more to know. This feels undone.”

“So, you’re not coming back?” She said throwing her arms up in the air angry.

“Go back Tsai. I will return soon. I’m not running away from this.” He reassured her with a serious expression.

She sighed and lowered her head shaking it. She couldn’t believe this. This entire trip to the spiritual world had been for nothing. “Fine,” she sighed in defeat.

“What should I tell the others?” She said returning to climb on Huo’s head.

“That I’ll be back.” Aang said. Momo now sitting on his shoulder. She nodded and rolled her eyes at his response. “Oh,” Aang said as the dragon flapped its large wings getting ready to lift off. “Can you tell Katara than I love her?”

“You can tell her yourself!” She shot him an irritated look. “Let’s go!” She said to the dragon.

Letting out a rumbling roar Huo took off into the air.

“Little harsh?” It spoke to her.

“This entire trip was a waste of time. After looking for Aang for days and finding him he chooses to stay and do who knows what here all because it feels things feel ‘undone’ or whatever that means.” She huffed grumpily.

“Was it?” Huo spoke. “Was it all really for nothing?”

She marinated on the Sun Spirit’s words for a moment. Had this entire trip been in vain? She had accomplished something that not all humans had ever accomplished. Going to the Spirit World in both body and spirit was no small feat. She had also finally come face to face with her true self. She braced herself as the dragon flew higher and higher into the light ready to cross back to reality.

“I guess it wasn’t for nothing…” She said softly, yet loud enough for Huo to hear.

“As long as I am one with you no harm will come to you Tsai of Yu Dao…”

Xxx

The group sat in a circle around the campsite having breakfast. It had been a rough night. Everybody had a long day ahead. Sozin’s Comet would hit the Earth’s atmosphere in mere hours and Aang still wasn’t back. Neither was Tsai who had ventured to look for him in the dead of the night last night.

It was then that a high-pitched noise echoed off into the distance. The teenagers and some of the elders all turned around uneasily looking over their shoulders.

“Anybody hear that?” Toph suddenly said.

It was then that Suki looked up at the sun. She used her hand to shield her eyes from the blinding sunlight.

“Is that… a bird?” She said slowly eyeing an unidentified object that was falling from the sky.

“Is it Aang?!” Katara jumped to her feet looking up.

“That’s my sister!” Mecha shouted after catching a familiar glimpse of red.

“It’s Tsai!” Zuko shouted in panic.

The group could all hear the distant screaming coming closer. Meanwhile The wind whipped against her hair as she free fell down from the sky. She remembered the last words that the Huo had said to her and believed them to be nothing but lies.

“Is she flying?” Toph asked confused.

“Somebody do something!”

Toph couldn’t see. Katara didn’t have enough water to create a massive bubble or something to stop her fall. Suki looked around hoping to make a makeshift trampoline or something. Sokka, Zuko and Mecha ran around in circles hoping to catch her or soften her land. The three eventually bumping into each other and falling back.

They all looked up and heard some loud cackling before seeing Bumi rise high on a massive rock pillar and stretch his arm around catching the girl by her shirt midfall. She hung from his hand lamely, breathlessly, her face white in fear and hair messed up as she caught her breath.

“What were you doing in the sun?” The Crazy King cackled while still holding onto her shirt.

She wanted to respond something clever when she heard a tearing. That... was not good. She let out a scream when her shirt tore revealing the bandeau she wore underneath, and she once again fell luckily crashing on top of the tree boys that had been attempting to catch her. “Thanks for catching me guys,” she sat sitting on top of the three.

“Don’t mention it.” Her brother said gruffly catching the air that had been squashed out of his gut.

“What were you doing up there?” Sokka asked pointing up to the skies as everybody rose to their feet.

“It’s a long story. I’m just glad to be back,” she said sheepishly holding the back of her neck. “I found Aang!” She announced.

It took her some moments to explain to everyone what had happened in the Spirit World and that Aang wasn’t coming until he had fixed his unresolved issues or whatever it was, he still had to do. At some point in between Katara lent her an extra shirt.

"Uncle, you're the only person other than the Avatar who can possibly defeat the Father Lord." Zuko said to Iroh as the group had returned to having breakfast all sitting around in a circle.

“You mean the Fire Lord?” Toph raised a brow and pointed at him with her chopsticks.

"That's what I just said." Zuko snapped and Toph smirked a little before continuing to eat her bowl of rice.

"Hmm..." Iroh hummed thoughtfully.

"We need you to come with us." Zuko pressed unwavering.

Tsai’s eyes were focused on Iroh with a concerned expression.

"No, Zuko." Iroh lowered his chopsticks and shook his head lightly. "It won't turn out well.

"You can beat him." Zuko pressed not being able to come to terms with Iroh’s refusal. He gestured to his friends and then to himself. "And we'll be there to help."

Iroh sighed a long exhausting, draining sigh. "Even if I did defeat Ozai, and I don't know that I could."

“Hell, I’ll do it" Mecha shrugged bluntly. “Or my sister. Close your eyes a stab here a stab here. How hard can it be?” He shrugged insensitively earning himself a well-deserved kick from his sister.

“The only way for this war to end correctly without history seeing it as any more senseless violence, a brother killing a brother to grab power, a young man from the colonies seeking revenge,” he rationalized. Iroh looked around at the young adults sitting in a circle before him with a stony serious expression, "The only way for this war to end peacefully is for the Avatar to defeat the Fire Lord."

‘Great and meanwhile Aang is playing ghost back in the Spirit World jungle.’

"And then..." Zuko paused for a moment and turned to look at his uncle with an unsure expression. His eyes filled with hope. "Then would you come and take your rightful place on the throne?"

"No." He drawled out slowly. "Someone new must take the throne.” He said turning to face his nephew. “An idealist with a pure heart and unquestionable honor." Iroh smiled genuinely, almost proudly at Zuko. "It has to be you, Prince Zuko."

"Unquestionable honor?" Zuko asked in disbelief lowering his head. A shaken expression on his features.  He shook his head and raised his shoulders in a little shrug, "But I've made so many mistakes."

"Yes, you have." Iroh agreed lightly, "You struggled, you suffered but you have always followed yourown path, you restored your ownhonor. And only you can restore the honor of the Fire Nation."

"I'll try, Uncle."

The girl from the colonies appeared distraught and brought her knuckles to her lips appearing deep in thought, her eyes glued to the ground. Her other hand mindlessly reached for his knee in a comforting gesture. His expression was similar, his hand also mindlessly reached for hers.

"Well," Toph drawled out after a moment. "What if Aang doesn't come back?”

“He will,” Tsai spoke. “It’s Aang. We have to believe in him.”

"Sozin's comet is arriving and our destinies are upon us. Aang will face the Fire Lord." Iroh stated calmly. "When I was a boy, I had a vision that I would one day take Ba Sing Se. Only now do I see that my destiny is to take it backfrom the Fire nation so the Earth Kingdom can be free again."

"That's why you gathered the members of the White Lotus!" realization dawned upon Suki and she gestured towards the other members of the White Lotus that were wither sitting or standing around the camp.

"Yes." Iroh agreed with a nod then he addressed his nephew once more, "Zuko, you must return to the Fire Nation so that when the Fire Lord falls, you can assume the throne and restore peace and order." He then frowned. "But Azula will be there, waiting for you." He added distastefully.

"I can handle Azula."

"Not alone. You will need help."

"You're right." Zuko sighed softly then looked over at Katara with a small smirk, "Katara, how would you like to help usput Azula in her place?"

Katara smiled, "It would be my pleasure."

“Tsai?” He squeezed her hand and turned to look at her with a confident smirk. He knew he didn’t have to ask her. But her eyebrows were turned up in worry and she let go of his hand remaining silent. He gave her a confused look.

"What about us?" Sokka asked as he gestured towards himself, then Suki, Toph and Mecha. "What's our destiny today?"

Iroh prodded with a slight grin “What do you think it is?"

"I think that..." Sokka rubbed his chin thoughtfully then smirked triumphantly and slamming his left fist into his right palm, "I think that even if we don’t know when Aang is coming back we need to do everything we can to stop the airship fleet."

"And that means when Aang does face the Fire Lord, we'll be right there if he needs us." Toph added and punched her fists together eager to put the Fire Lord in his place.

“I used to think my destiny was getting my vengeance and destroying the Royal Family,” Mecha began. “But I’ve realized I’ve got to save what’s left of mine. I have to return to the colonies. Take them back from our father who will be there waiting.” He said looking up after a moment his eyes meeting his sister’s aggrieved expression.

“Tsai?” Zuko asked again shaking her shoulder lightly looking at her with concern. “You’re coming with us, right?”

She looked at the group and could feel all of their eyes scrutinizing her odd behaviour.

“I-I don’t know.” She confessed lowering her gaze.

“You’re coming with me, right?” Her brother asked.

“I don’t know.” She repeated again this time louder her tone more aggravated as she shook Zuko’s hand from her body.

“Where do you feel like you need to be?” Iroh asked gently. He lowered his bowl and his hands in his sleeves, despite his gentle tone there was a contrasting hard look on his face.

She didn’t want to say ‘I don’t know’ for the third time in a row. She shrugged uneasily. That forgotten dreadful feeling once again knotting in her stomach making her blood run cold. She hugged her body uncomfortably.

“I just feel like I have to be everywhere and nowhere. I feel like I have to be with Zuko to take down Azula, with Mecha to reclaim the colonies and face our father, with Aang to take down the Fire Lord, with you guys to take down the airship fleet, with Iroh and the rest of the White Lotus to reclaim the Earth Kingdom. I know it doesn’t make sense and I know I’m not the most skilled fighter or the brightest so I wouldn’t make a difference anywhere- but I have this terrible feeling...” She finished explaining a fearful look on her expression.

“You might not be the most skilled or the brightest,” Sokka said. “But you’ve certainly got the most spirit.” He added brightly.

She gave him a flat look; she was being dead serious about this.

“If you don’t want to come back to the colonies Tsai, just say so,” her brother glared at her misunderstanding what she was saying.

“But it’s impossible to be in all of these places at once.” Katara mused looking at her with apprehension.

“Is it?” Iroh stroked his beard thoughtfully.

“’Wouldn’t make a difference?’”Zuko said leaning to her side in disbelief at what she had just said. “Tsai, you’d make all the difference.” He hesitated before placing a tender hand on her upper arm. He paused for a moment. “Wherever it is that you choose to go.” He said in a strained tone.

She looked into his eyes and for a moment forgot that there were others around them. She thought for a moment deciding where it would be the best place to go. Where she was needed the most.

“Okay,” She whispered nodding sadly having made up her decision. “I’ll go to Yu Dao.” She said slowly. Zuko’s expression was unreadable. “Guess I’ll see you after the war?”  She said to him. She had already caused her family enough trouble to last a lifetime. She couldn’t walk out on them now. Not when they needed her the most.

He nodded understandingly respecting her choice.

“Ugh… There goes my breakfast.” Toph gagged interrupting the scene. Those two were just way too damn sentimental.

Iroh couldn’t help but smile a little at the younger girl, “Then let us prepare.”

xxx

Mecha packed up the supplies and weapons he would need on the back of the eel hound. An eel hound was a hybrid reptilian that could be considered one of the fastest creatures on Earth. Capable of climbing and running long distances on land as well as on water.

He noticed his sister was solemnly starring at the back of the prince’s head with what he interpreted as profound sadness.

“Alright,” he said turning to face her with an irate expression on his face. Growing sick of her moping around. He wanted her to come, he needed her to come, but not like this.

“Go,” He said bluntly.

She looked at him confused turning her attention to him.

“Go,” He nudged over his shoulder to Zuko and Katara who were packing to get on Appa. “You’ve been starring at him for almost an hour and haven’t said a single word. I know you want to go with him.”

“Mecha, I can’t. I’ve already- this entire situation. Everything that’s happened to our family. It’s my fault. I have to make things right.” She said feeling guilty as she mounted some supplies on the back of the eel hound. “I’m done making mistakes. I’m going back home with you. We both know its time.” She said sadly.

“A year ago, I told you to go, a year later I am telling you once again: Go.” Her brother said letting out an exhausted sigh and unmounting her stuff throwing it back to her. “It was my fault, I told you to go. Also, nothing I can handle.” He uttered seriously. If he had survived one of Azula’s thunder blasts he could survive anything.

“You can’t take ownership over my mistakes.” She protested.

“Besides,” He pointed a hand at Zuko and Katara ignoring her objections. “I can give you at least twentygood reasons why you should go to the Mainland with them-“

“Alright, go” She challenged narrowing her eyes crossing her arms over her chest.

“Alright,” He repeated in the same tone holding a finger up. “1) If Aang doesn’t come back, you’re the only one that can actuallylay a finger on the Fire Lord. 2) You’ve got to teach Azula a lesson, for the both of us. 3) Look at him, as much as I dislike Prince Ponytail- he needs you,” he admitted in defeat.

She couldn’t help but snigger a little at the nickname.

“He’s grown on you, hasn’t he?” “Shut up.”

“4) Youwantto go.” He sighed dropping his hand as if that was the only thing that mattered.

“I don’t.” She admitted. “I have a terrible feeling about today…”

“Excuses.” He glared unfaltering. “Also,” He said scratching his nose awkwardly before reaching for a scroll from one of his knapsacks. “I need you to do me a favor.” He said handing her the scroll. “Give this to Mai.” He asked a cheesy grin growing on his face.

She couldn’t help but hit his arm with the scroll. His grin only stretched. “The onlyreason you want me to go is so I can deliver a note for you. You selfish prick!” She hit him once again. God, her brother could be such a tool sometimes.

He shrugged in defeat still a lazy smile on his lips.

“Be well Tsai. I’ll see you after the war.” He grinned and hugged her. “Take care Mecha. I’ll see you soon… Hopefully.” She hugged him back tightly. “I’m so proud of you Vice Royal Governor.”

He was about to inquire on why there was such a sadness to her voice when they both turned when they heard a throat being cleared.

Zuko stood looking rather sheepish standing a couple of feet away from the embracing siblings. “I don’t want to interrupt,” he said awkwardly holding the back of his neck. “I just came to say goodbye,” He said tearing his eyes from the scene that felt much more private to him.

He was taken aback when a pair of arms wrapped around his neck in a strong hug that made him take a step back.

“What are you saying goodbye for?” She laughed a little. “I’m going with you!”

“Really?” He asked as a rare smile grew on his face. “I know Azula’s going to be excited to see you,” he teased. She hit his arm playfully. Both turned to face Mecha who was now on top of an eel hound.

“Mecha,” he said respectfully at the older boy.

The young man from the colonies sighed and steered the eel hound towards the couple. Zuko was expecting him to shoot him a jealous sibling death glare or even threaten him.

“Take care of him Tsai,” he said with a small smirk.

“Aren’t you going to threaten me?” Zuko asked in surprise.

“Nope, she’s yourproblem now.” Mecha laughed evilly. His sister shot him a glare. “Good luck,” he winked at them before riding away.

Typical Mecha.

xxx

Zuko sat on Appa's head ready to steer and guide him back to the Fire Nation. Katara and Tsai both sat back in the saddle they looked down at Iroh and the other White Lotus masters who all wished them good luck on their mission.

"So, If I'm to be Fire Lord after the war is over, what are you going to do?" Zuko asked Iroh.

"After I re-conquer Ba Sing Se," Iroh replied with a confident smirk, pulling a white lotus Pai Sho tile from inside his sleeve and flipping it into the air then catching it with the same hand. "I'm going to re-conquer my tea shop and I'm going to play Pai Sho every day."

“That best be an invitation,” Tsai smiled at him leaning over Appa’s saddle. Despite the grin on her face Iroh could sense a lingering cloud of worry.

Zuko smiled slightly at his Uncle.

“I expect you two to come and visit.

Suki, Sokka and Toph were ready across the field looking back at their friends on the back of Appa. Their eyes met and Sokka nodded once. It was time. "Goodbye, General Iroh."

"Goodbye everyone." Iroh responded as he looked at the heroes of tomorrow and closed his eyes for a moment bowing his head, "Today destiny is our friend. I know it." He said confidently.

Xxx

Meanwhile in a distant land…

Fire Lord Ozai stood as the Phoenix King, the ruler of an empire that would rise from the ashes. He stood on top of a hill looking down at the Earth Kingdom’s terrain. Gazing at all the land that would soon be his.

“It’s time for this world to end in fire and for a new world to be born from the ashes.”

The skies cried and darkened with blood as they shifted into an unnatural hue. Wind beat strongly against the mountains and howled.  

Sozin’s Comet had arrived.

xxx

Sunburn Chapter

M A S T E R L I S T

NEXT https://gloves94.tumblr.com/post/623698183927758848/sunburn-prince-zuko-38 PREV https://gloves94.tumblr.com/post/622943347798081536/sunburn-prince-zuko-36

[sestra-inestro]

The Carry On - (5/5)

Pairings: Mob!Bucky x fem!reader

Warnings: mentions of violence, mentions of animal abuse, SMUT!! 18+. Summary in the tag reblog! Masterlist

Today, you were at the clinic as Bucky walked in after his group therapy sessions and some time with Steve.

“Hey, baby doll.” Bucky smiled sweetly as he leant over the reception desk to pressed a kiss to your cheek.

“Hey.” You smiled at him. “How was today?”

“It was...” Bucky sighed. “Interesting.”

You frowned at his words. “Interesting how?”

Bucky frowned to himself before telling you. “We’ve had a problem with Thor for a while and an incident happened today. He was thrown out a window.”

“Oh my gosh.” You said in shock.

“Yeah.” Bucky sighed. “We trying to do something about it.”

You knew better than to push and frankly you didn’t really want to. You still had your problems with the business he is in but you were still grateful for some of the people working with him.

Bucky sighed but shook his head. “Anyway, are you ready for dinner.”

You were about to open your mouth to answer when a scared howl came from the back rooms of the clinic.

You sighed.

“We might be a little held up.” You said sadly.

“What on earth was that?” Bucky’s face washed with concern as he still heard the whimpers.

“We had a poor Rottweiler dumped at the front door today. One of his legs is broken but he keeps trying to get away from the nurses and running on his leg.” Bucky could see the worry in your eyes for the dog. “We can tell he has been abused and he’s so scared of everyone.”

“Jeez.” Bucky muttered as he tried to peer around the back. “What’s happening now?”

“They’ve got him and they are trying to retrain him before they give him painkillers and examine him further. But every time we touch him he must think he’s going to be hurt, so he screams.” You explained.

You hated seeing such a beautiful dog in such a frightened state.

“If his leg is that bad they will have to amputate it. And if no one comes to claim him then we will have no choice but to euthanise him.” You look away with tears in your eyes.

Bucky can see your distress about the situation.

“What don’t you claim him?” Bucky suggested.

You looked at him in shock.

“Can you do that? I mean, I don’t see why not, and if he was dumped here then I don’t think anyone will come back for him.”

You stared at him, still dumbstruck by his suggestion. He could see in your eyes that you were skeptic, and he couldn’t blame because of his previous actions. But he wanted more than anything to move passed it and make up for it.

You thought for a moment about the suggestion. You did not want to have this dog put down, it wasn’t fair. But he also might never be okay again.

“I just don’t think he deserves the be put down yet.” Bucky said softly, grasping your hand.

You looked up to his eyes and saw he meant what he was saying.

“You would be okay with this?” You gave a little smile.

Bucky smiled and nodded back to you. “Of course.” He said softly.

You stood from the chair and walked around the reception desk and wrapped you arms around his neck.

“What brought this on?” You asked, looking into his eyes.

His hands settled on your hips and he sighs. “Those creatures should have to suffer at the hands of a human.” You could see the hint guilt in his eyes. “They deserve to be on this planet a lot more than most of us do.” He gave you a sad smile.

You smiled back and softly cupped his cheeks, pulling his face to you and pressing your lips against his.

When you pulled back, Bucky witness the biggest smile stretch across your face.

“It will take a little while to get the papers ready. And he’ll have to stay here tonight.” You ran around the desk and started typing into the computer before lifting your head and looking at Bucky again with a grimace. “We might be a little late to dinner.”

Bucky smiled and waved it off. “Dinner can wait. Your dress is in the car, take all the time this needs.”

After a gruelling a hour of processing claim papers and arguing with nurses and doctors about taking this dog home, you finally got accepted and headed to dinner. Which was more a fancy gathering connected to a club. Your dress was very specially flattering and you felt so sexy. Bucky opened the car door for you and wrapped his arm around your waist lovingly, pulling your body to him.

“You are so gorgeous.” He placed a kiss to your jaw and your cheek, his fluffy beard tickling your skin and making you giggle.

“You’re handsome.” You slid your hands over his chest and nudged his nose with yours. “Tie me up later?”

He’s never tied you up before and the very thought of seeing you splayed for him makes his dick jump.

“Fuck yes.” He mumbled and bit his lip.

You brushed your finger over his lips and made your way to the entrance of the venue, swaying your hips and pulling him along after you.

Stepping inside, you both were immediately greeted with a loud voice.

“Barnes!” Tony Stark called out, lifting a flute of champagne in his hand.

You watched as the billionaire and his wife made his way over to you and Bucky.

“You’re late.” Tony shook Bucky’s hand.

“We had something very important to do.” Bucky smiled and squeezed your hip.

“June, you look gorgeous.” Tony leaned in to kiss your cheek.

“Thank you, Tony.” You gave him a tight smile. Ever since you’d found found that Steve and Tony suspected you were leaking the information you did your try and stay as civil as you could without completely avoiding them.

“How are you, June? I haven’t seen you in a long time.” Pepper have you a sweet smile.

“I’ve been really good, Pep. I’ve missed you.” You returned her smile.

“Hope you don’t mind, James but I need to steal your girl.” Pepper grasped your hand.

“Of course not.” Bucky pressed a soft kiss to your cheek. “Go have fun.” He patted you on the backside as Pepper pulled you away from the men.

“We’ll let them do their thing. I wanna know, hows the rural life?” Pepper swiped a glass from a bench as you walked passed it and handing it to you.

“It’s so quiet and peaceful. No traffic, no loud neighbours. It’s the best.” You said with a soft tone. You truly did love living in the areas you are in now.

“I’m trying to convince Tony to move us up there. I can’t deal with the traffic anymore. No matter how sound proof he makes the walls.” You laugh at her words.

“Pepper!” A voice called her name and caught both of your attention.

You saw four women and one man standing around a table with drinks. Two women you recognised as Natasha and Okoye and you had seen the man before but you couldn’t remember. One of the women you didn’t recognise had long brown hair that fell down to her mid back. Her black spaghetti strap dress hugged her hips and her waist, allowing you to drink in her entire body. Her eyes watched you as you moved towards them. You saw then rake over your body and you grew hot under her gaze, her look radiating pure sex.

The other woman let off a very different vibe. Her hair was pulled in tight, her dress stuck out with a dark green colour and her lips stained red. Her chin was stuck out and her eyebrows arched as she observed you.

“Hey, there.” Pepper greeted enthusiastically as you arrived at the table. “June, this is Wanda,” Pepper gestured to the beautiful woman who was giving you a sexy smile. “And Dot.” She said, pointing to the other woman who was very clearly judging you.

“Hi.” You tried to offer Dot a smile but she gave a small tight lipped smile in return.

“June.” Natasha brushed passed Dot and moved to hug you. “It’s been so long.” She squeezed you.

“It really has. How was your mission?” You asked. They pulled her out of Hydras gang after they learnt who the mole was.

Nat rolled her eyes. “Disgusting. Sleeping with a man that’s three times my age is almost the worst thing I’ve ever done.”

You smirked at her. “Almost.”

She hummed in agreement before winking at you.

“Okoye, how have you been?” You gave the woman a wide smile.

“You know, keeping a fully grown man from hurting himself with his own tech has its perks.” Okoye chuckled to herself before sipping her drink.

You smiled at her before moving your eyes to Wanda, who was watching you intently.

“And what do you do?” You asked in the most polite way you could and tilted your head.

Her eyes gave you a lustful once over before answering you. “I own all over this.” She gestured to the big space and the club through the big doors. “I mainly provide a safe space for the incoming cargo and deal with the shipments that are sent out.” She shrugged as if it was no big deal. “I also give special treatment to those few special people.” Wanda places her hand one yours and traces the back of your hand.

“Alright, down girl.” The man said, nudging Wanda with his elbow. “That’s a married woman.”

“That’s never stopped me before.” Wanda winked at you before removing her hand and picked up her drink.

“I’m not sure if you remember me, but I’m Clint.” The man introduced himself.

“I do remember you.” You pointed. “You were very drunk last time I saw you.” You remembered his loud laughing at your wedding.

Your comment made Clint blush. “Yeah well, I’ve managed to keep good control of my liquor lately.”

You nodded in approval.

“June,” Dot said your name, catching everyone’s attention. “We heard what happened with Bucky. He really pulled back on his involvement with the business.”

You frowned at the woman. You had never met her in your life and she knew what had happened with your husband. Everyone turned their heads to glare at her.

She pretended to clear her throat, as if she only just realised how strange it was to know that.

“Sorry, dear.” She gave you a plastic smile. “I used to date Bucky. I just found it so shocking he would man-handle his wife like that. He never hurt me when we were together.” Her chin raised higher as she boasted about her past with Bucky.

You narrowed your eyes at her and sighed. “What exactly do you want to hear, Dot?”

“June, you don’t have to.” Pepper touches your arm.

“It’s okay, Pepper.” You gave her a nice smile.

“Well, I guess I just find it interesting that you stayed with him after he did that, that’s all.” Her smug face was stretched into a smile.

“Not that it’s any of you business, but I made him beg.” You said simply. You weren’t going to feed into this bitches bait.

She gave you a look as if she was impressed. She took another sip of her drink before opening her fat mouth again.

“So, has he tied you up yet?” Dot asked with a smug smirk on her face.

You saw Natasha shift in her place, disapproving of Dots question. Okoye and Wanda rolled their eyes.

You sighed and looked down to your drink before curling your lip. “No, he hasn’t.” You watched as a triumphant smirk graced her face. “But I’ve tied him up.”

Natasha coughs into her drink as she took a sip. Wanda smiles at you proudly and Dots face turned into one of shock and confusion.

“Had him laying there for a long time. Teased him, edged him, finally let him cum.” You sighed at the memory. He looked so good underneath you, abs constricting and body sweating as he begged you to let him come while you worked the fleshlight over his hardened and purpled cock.

“He treated me so good after that.” You leaned in close to Dot. “You and I both know how good he is with his mouth.” You have her a wink.

Natasha began to fan herself as she listened to you take down Dot ever so sweetly.

“Dot, can you please stop. You’re making a fool of yourself.” Pepper scolded the woman.

Dot held up her hands in surrender. “Okay, fine. I can take a hint.” Dots words dripped with venom as she swiped her drink from the table and walked away.

“We have to kinda keep her around, because she dated Bucky.” Wanda said to you while eyeing Dot walking away.

“Yeah. They were afraid she might talk so it was either keep her around or kill her.” Clint explained.

You scoffed and lifted your drink to your lips. “Wrong choice.”

You watched as Clint laughed at your comment, went to speak to you but decided last minute.

“You look like you have something to say.” You say to Clint.

Clint puts down his drink and gives a sheepish smile. “Well, yeah I do, I do. But,” He pauses and lifts a finger to his mouth. “You seem like a really nice person and I don’t want to offend you in any way.”

You raised your eyebrows. “Ooh, this sounds interesting.” You are officially intrigued.

“Well, what did you think about what happened to the God of Thunder?” Clint asked you.

“Who’s the God of Thunder?” You frowned at him.

“You probably know him only by Thor, but that’s what he is known as around here.” Clint explained.

And you nodded. “Yeah he fell out of a window.”

“Well that’s one way to put it.” Clint suggested. “Another way is to say he was thrown out. And another way to put it is that he was thrown out by Bucky and even another way is to say he was thrown out by Bucky because of you.”

“Is that a fact?” You ask him.

“No, no. That’s just what I heard.” Clint held his hands up.

“And where did you hear that?” This rumour was now starting to amuse you.

“They.” Clint said simply and you nodded.

“‘They’ talk a lot don’t they?”

“They certainly do.” Clint nodded and looked at you.

“What else did ‘they’ say?” You asked.

“Well...” he trailed off his sentence.

“Did it involve the ‘f word’.” You arched a brow and smirked.

“No, they just said he had given you a foot massage.” These words confused you even more.

“You heard that Bucky threw Thor God of Thunder out of a window for giving me a foot massage?” You recounted in your brain.

“Yeah.” Clint nodded, amused.

“And you believe that?”

“Well the time I was told, it seemed reasonable.” He shrugged.

“You thought that Bucky throwing Thor our of a window for massaging my feet seemed reasonable?” You asked incredulously. What the hell do these guys talk about?

“No, it seemed excessive but that doesn’t mean it didn’t happen.” He lifted a finger. “I understand that Bucky is very protective of you.”

“A man being protective of his wife is one thing, what you’re saying,” You pointed to him. “Is a whole other thing.”

Clint nodded and you looked to the women. “Do you all believe this?”

They all shook their heads. “Nope, that’s just what has been heard.” Pepper confirmed that is was a spread rumour.

You hummed in response, you didn’t realise gangsters gossiped as much as they did.

“But did it happen?” Clint asked

“The only thing Thor ever touched of mine was my hand when he shook it.” You confirmed to him. “At my wedding.”

“Really?” Clint asked.

“When you little scamps get together you’re worse than a sewing circle.” You huffed at his question.

You picked up your drink and downed the rest of it. You couldn’t believe that I’m not even 24 hours rumours were already forming about the incident with Thor. You actually didn’t believe Bucky did it, but you weren’t going to tell him that.

A hand snakes around your waist and squeezed at your side. You smiled as you felt his body against your back and his lips on your neck.

“What are you birds talking about?” Tony asked, putting his hands on Pepper’s hips.

“Oh, just gossiping.” Natasha smirked as she pinched Clint’s forearm.

You turned your head to look at Bucky, seeing his beautiful blue eyes.

“You enjoying yourself?” He asked in a low voice.

“The time of my life.” You said sarcastically, pecking his lips.

Steve and his wife Peggy emerged with the crowd. Steve saw you and gave you a nod. He had been a lot more civil with you lately and as much as you still resented him, you stayed civil as well. Peggy was a beautiful lady who was always nice to you.

She smiled brightly at you.

“Hey.” You said to her giving her a quick kiss on the cheek.

“Hi darling.” She said back.

“We are actually about to head off.” Steve announces. “Gotta get home to those kids.”

“Yeah we should be going too.” T’Challa said as he stood behind Okoye. “Don’t want Shuri taking advantage of her time alone too much.”

“Bummers.” Tony stuck his tongue out. “We are going to head in there.” He pointed to the club.

Natasha clapped her hands. “Yes!” Her and Clint cheered.

Bucky kisses your hair. “So are we.”

“Alright you guys have fun.”

You waved them off as you made your way into the club.

The whole atmosphere had changed. The place was dark with purple, pink and blue colours replacing the natural colours. The music made the floor bounce and you can feel the heat of everyone inside.

“Hey,” Wanda called to and Bucky. “I have a room reserved!”

Bucky was intrigued. “I think you have interested her.” He whispered in your ear as you following the woman.

“Is that a bad thing?” You asked, looking up at him.

His eyes are changing colours with the lights. But you have see they are full of lust. “Absolutely not.” He says in a low voice. Because he knows Wanda, and he knows you.

You smirk at him. You knew that he knew.

You followed Wanda through a set of curtains which led you down a hallway that held many different curtain doors. She pulled aside a curtain and offered you and Bucky to head on in. You could still hear the music but it wasn’t so loud.

Inside the room and man was seated on the couch that wrapped around the entire room and surrounded a table.

“Vision!” Bucky greeted the man. They embraced as you shuffled into the little room. Wanda followed and took a seat right next to you.

“Jeez, it’s been so long.” Bucky patted him on the back and sat on the other side of you.

“Too long, my friend.” His British accent flowed through the room. “You must be his beautiful wife, June.”

“Very beautiful.” Wanda added.

You turned to find her gazing at your chest. Her eyes shuffled up to your face to look at your hooded eyes. Bucky and Vision continued to quietly interact.

“See something you like?” You asked her, your voice low and your lips pursed.

“Everything on you, I like. I can only imagine how it must feel to touch.” Wanda said, placing her hand on your exposed thigh and rubbing gently.

You placed your hand on Bucky’s thigh, catching his attention.

“Fuck.” Bucky mumbled under his breath. Vision smirked at you and his woman.

“You do this often?” You arched your brow at her.

She smirks. “Only to those who are absolutely captivating.”

“And your man doesn’t mind?” You ask.

She shook her head. “He knows I don’t believe in monogamy. I’m attracted to too many people at a time. And right now,” she leaned in closer. “I really attracted to you.”

Wanda’s heated gaze made your core tingle. Never had you met a woman who radiated so much sexuality. It was rolling off her in think waves and pulling you to her. You kept you hand on Bucky’s thigh as you and Wanda closed the gap between you two, lips touching in a soft kiss.

You felt Bucky shift under your touch, you squeezed his leg before taking it off and bringing your hand to rest on the base of Wanda’s throat. The kiss became deeper and her tongue poked into your mouth. You moan as you let her in, your body growing hot.

Bucky and Vision moves away from you two to watch, drinks and cigarettes in hand, enjoying the two women they love kiss.

Wanda’s body shifted so she was completely facing you and her hand gripped your thigh. You slowly hooked your hands under her arms and pulled her closer, feeling her breasts press against yours through your dresses.

Wanda moaned in your mouth and pulled your leg over hers, pulling you on top of her.

You straddle her and lean back to unzip your dress, maintaining heavy eye contact with her the entire time. Wanda watched you as she pulled the straps of her dress over her arms. You pulled your arms out of the sleeves and shoved them down your chest, freeing your breasts that were clad in your black lace bra. Wanda sat up quickly and latched her lips to you breasts, massaging them in her palms.

You leaned your head back and moaned at the feeling. Your thighs tightened around her waist to stay in place as she ravished your chest. From the corner of your eye you could see Bucky adjusting himself in his pants as he watched you. You smirked to yourself knowing he and Vision were enjoying watching the two of you. You looked down at Wanda and lift her face from your breasts to your lips. You kissed your feverishly and pushed her back against the couch.

You kissed across her cheek and down her neck, letting your lips touch her hot skin. You trailed down her chest to where her dress was and pulled it down. You sucked at the skin on her full, bare breasts as you freed them from the fabric of the dress. You heard Wanda’s sweet moan as you took her nipple in your mouth, swirling your tongues around her hardening bud. She arched her back into you and you looked up at her. Her skin was coloured by the atmosphere of the club room, pink, blue and purple dancing around you all.

You left her nipple and pulled her dress further down, your lips following until you reached just above her cunt.

You could smell her wetness and it made you hot. You pulled her dress completely off her body and ran your hands back up her thighs.

Wanda was looking down at you with lustful eyes. Panting from the heat, she opened her thighs to you, welcoming your touch.

You traced your fingers on the inside of her thighs and brushed over her core. You trailed little kisses to her centre before your lips placed a gentle kiss on her clit. Wanda gasped at the feather light touch and lifted her hips to you. You gripped her hips before allowing your tongue to diving into her core, feeling her wetness surround your tongue with its sweetness.

Wanda moaned at finally feeling your tongue on her. Her hips made gentle thrusts to your mouth as your tongue explored her entrances and lapped over her clit in the most delicious way. Your nose was pressed against her skin, breathing in her scent as you feasted on her cunt.

Wanda cried out and your tongue made a hard flick over her clit, sending a strong wave of sharp pleasure through her body.

“Oh, June.” Wanda sighed in pleasure. Her fingers find their way into your hair and caress at your scalp.

Wanda closes her eyes as you flick your tongue over her clit more. She gasps and moans as more pleasure washes through her.

“Yes, Junie. Yes!” She cries out. Her hips start to thrust into your mouth faster as your tongue circles her nerves which are quickly growing more sensitive.

Your hands went under her thighs and pulled her to you more. Her legs were locked in your arms as your mouth devoured her pussy and pleasure poured through her.

Wanda writhes under you and cries out as she fast approaches her orgasm.

You wrap your lips around her clit and suck hard. Your tongue flicks over her clit as you suck.

Crying out loudly, her thighs tremble in your arms. Her orgasm crashed through her as she pushes your mouth to her cunt. Riding out her orgasm she pants you name out and she grinds her cunt in your mouth.

When you finally come up, she is already trying to pull you back on her. You smirk at her grabby hands and push down your dress. You take it off and then unclip your bra, throwing it at Bucky who gladly catches it and sips his drink.

He watched as you climb back onto Wanda in your beautiful naked self. He was absolutely loving watching you bring pleasure to Wanda, because he knows the amount of pleasure you can bring to someone. He was proud to see you enjoying yourself as well.

You lift one of Wanda’s legs and lower yourself on her, wrapping the leg around you and straddling her. Her hands went straight to your hips that pulled you up to her lap, making your cunt slide against hers. You moaned loudly, feeling her wetness from her arousal and come and her throbbing pussy against yours.

Bucky groaned at the sight, feeling his cock now rock hard in his pants. Vision starts to palm himself through his pants, watching you scissor his girl.

“Fuuuck.” You drew out your word as you and Wanda grind your hips together. “Fuck, Wanda you’re so good.” You moaned to her.

Wanda’s hair was sticking to her forehead as she started to pant.

“Oh, baby.” Wanda moans back. “Your pussy feels so good.”

You moaned at her words and you thrust your hips faster. Your pussy is so wet it’s sliding against Wanda’s and spreading to the inside of your thighs. You lift her leg up to your shoulder so you can fully feel her. The feel of her brings your mind into a haze as the pleasure grows in your core and up your stomach.

“Oh my god,” You pant, moving your hips faster, chasing your orgasm. “I’m gonna come.”

Wanda’s hand latched onto your tit and pinch at your nipple. “Come in my pussy, June.” Her voice was husky. “Come all over my fucking cunt, baby.”

“Oh yes!” You scream.

You could feel Bucky’s lustful watch on you, making you hot under his gaze.

Your clit rubs harshly against hers and your legs tremble at the feeling of your orgasm right there. Wanda thrusts up into your pussy, making you come.

Your voice stutters and you feel your pussy release and you come all over Wanda. Wanda moans as she comes, feeling your pussy pulse and watching you throw your head back and moan for her. You legs shaking and your chest panting. Wanda sits up and pulls your head into a kiss, helping you through your high.

Your hips slow down and they jerk when you nudge your clit with hers, sensitive.

Wanda breaks the kiss and you rest your forehead against hers, catching your breath.

“You’re so good.” She whispers to you, making you giggle.

Wanda falls back against the couch and you roll off her, laying next to Bucky who caresses your body.

“That was so fucking hot.” Bucky says into your ear.

“It felt so fucking good.” You said to him, your voice low. Your arousal was starting to grow against as Bucky looked into your eyes.

You trailed your hand up His thigh to his dick, feeling how hard it was through his pants.

Wanda has shuffled her way up to Vision, leaning against him, panting and palming him through his pants.

Bucky brings your face into his hands and pulls your face to his, capturing your lips in a deep kiss. He moved his body to fit with your legs around his hips. You could feel him through his pants against your raw pussy. He trailed his lips down down your flustered and raw body and lifted your thighs over his shoulders. He peppered kisses across your soft thighs and caressed your hips.

You closed your eyes and ran your fingers through his hair. You loved feeling him between your thighs. He was always gentle and brought You release every single time.

His tongue lapped at your folds that were still soaked in yours and Wanda’s come. He hummed into your pussy at the taste. You mixed with another woman drove him crazy.

He pushed his tongue through your folds and pressed his entire mouth to your pussy, causing you to moan loudly.

“God, Buck.” You gasped.

He was taking extra care of your sensitive clit, swirling his tongue around it. He reached up with his thumb and pulled back the hood of your clit, placing his tongue directly onto your clit and licking a harsh stripe up. It made your body jerk up all of a sudden. He did it again with a smirk on his face, causing you to whack his hand. He knew it was too much for you to lick directly on your exposed nerves.

He let go of the hood and kissed your sweet clit before gently prying at your entrance with his finger.

You leaned back and arched your back as he inserted his finger and rubbed along your top wall, looking for your g-spot.

You opened your eyes with your head thrown back to see Vision had his hand on Wanda’s pussy, rubbing in circles and Wanda had pulled him out of his pants and was stroking his cock, both of them watching you two.

You looked down to see his blue eyes looking up at you, his mouth at your clit and his fingers thrusting into your cunt at and easy pace.

“Holy shit.” You gasped and grew your head back again as he hit your g-spot.

He added another finger and his the same spot again, this time curling his fingers to rub your spot. His tongue quickened with your breath.

You felt the pleasure building quickly in your stomach before snapping. Your walls clenched as you gushed around his fingers and you fisted his hair.

You let out a drawn out moan as you gives soft kitten licks to your clit.

You panted as he placed a soft kiss to your pussy before climbing back up your body again. You looked into his eyes and smiled, pulling him down to give him a firm kiss.

“You two are so hot.” Wanda said, pulling you out of your moment and making you giggle.

It had been a relaxing few months, settling into your new house and making it your own.

Bucky was currently seated on the living room couch watching the TV with Chief, your new three legged Rottweiler dog, laying at his feet. You smiled so happily at the scene that your cheeks were hurting.

Bucky turned his head to see you standing there, smiling like an idiot at them.

“What have you done?” Bucky asked with a raised brow.

“What ever do you mean?” You started to sway your way over to him.

“I’m not sure yet but your face says that there’s something you’re not telling me.” Bucky said. You rounded the couch and perched yourself in his lap. Chief lifted his head and his tail started to wag.

“Well you’re not wrong.” You admitted.

Bucky smiled at you and smooched your cheek. “What’s up?”

Instead of answering him, you offered his your closed hand that was holding what seemed to be a stick.

Bucky frowned and took the stick from your hand. He observed it to see it was a pregnancy test, and the little screen said ‘Positive’. He whipped his head to look up at you quick with wide eyes. You smiled brightly down at him and nodded your head.

Before you could register anything, Bucky had tackled your face with kisses and you fell backwards onto the couch with a loud laugh.

“Oh my god.” Bucky said cheerfully.

Chief got excited at the movement and jumped up to see his family happily kissing and laughing on the couch. He nudged at Bucky’s arm, which circled around him and pulled him closer in for a kiss as well, shocking the dog and making you giggle.

“We are gonna have a baby.” He said with a sigh and a smile.

“We’re gonna have a baby.” You confirmed, matching his smile. Chief whined next to you and you laughed, scratching his ears.

The three of you were very thankful to be surrounded by the people who enable each other to carry on.

[honestgrins]

Resonant || Klaroline

Inspired by the world of Onward, where technology edged magic out of daily existence because all creatures learned to adapt to a new life. Caroline might have taken the DNA test, but she doesn’t take her magical origins nearly as seriously as some people. Klaus, however, takes his birthright and the power it lends very, very seriously - but why would he kidnap an elf?

.

"I don't know what you want from me," Caroline snarled, her wrists raw from fighting her bonds. "But I do know this is not the way to go about it." The chair was cold through the thin silk of her dress, an excellent dress her date so didn't deserve. "Seriously, let me go, Nik. This isn't funny."

He pulled another chair from the edge of the cell where she awoke, tied up and confused. Twirling it before her, he straddled the seat to rest his arms on the back as he watched her with a gleeful smile. "Perhaps, now is the time to tell you my name isn't Nik. Not technically."

The laugh she let out was harsh. "Surprise, the guy who drugged me during dinner isn't who he said he was. I don't give a fuck, let me go."

"No, I think I'll keep you," he answered, amusement all too clear in his voice. "That is, unless you can free yourself. Then, I'm willing to negotiate terms."

She gave another jerk against her ties, but the metal cord obviously held. "How the hell am I supposed to do that?"

Smirking, Not Technically Nik traced his bottom lip with his thumb. "I trust you'll figure it out. Until then, let me introduce myself. Niklaus Mikaelson, at your service."

"Really crappy service," she spat, only quailing when her brain caught up with the bomb he just dropped. Horror dawned on her slowly as she saw him watching her with great interest. Not only had she been kidnapped - she'd been kidnapped by the Original Hybrid out to set a new world order. 

Magic had always been an accepted part of the world. Gnomes, elves, wizards, and so much more, everyone had their origins and lived as they chose. Specialized knowledge was shared through the generations, lovingly passed down to children and nurtured the necessary skills as they grew. Little ones were taught all the lore for such a world of wonder.

And then, the advancement of technology caught up. Wings were traded for sensible, mid-size sedans, and sorcery gave way to invention. The world became connected in a way it never was before, and all creatures adapted to new common goals until magic eased itself out of existence. Lore was still taught, mostly, though some stories had been forgotten, lost to time as populations mingled. The knowledge was generalized, until schools only taught the big points, nuance and details only so important as they appeared on standardized tests.

So, magic existed - at one point. The last vestiges only remained among those who trained in the skills their ancestors once held as a sacred practice. All creatures could be dangerous if they chose to be, and most people had a wide range of lineages to choose from in their quest for some ancient power. Bonnie had bought Caroline one of those DNA tests the year before; she presented and lived as an elf her whole life, it was kind of a kick to learn she was three percent centaur. "Maybe that's why I had a horse phase growing up," she had joked.

But Klaus Mikaelson was staring at her with greed, and she didn't think it had to do with a penchant for pony tails and killer legs.

The news was always talking about the underground revolution inspired by the Original Hybrid. Rumor had it he was cursed by a witch, his werewolf genes bound and useless. He was left to fend for himself when a rogue vampire attacked him. They were drawn to the healing arts, their need for fresh blood often a handy currency for those with terrible or no insurance. But when they were hungry, it could get ugly. For Klaus, though, the turn was particularly traumatic. Finding the witch who cursed him, he killed her to release his werewolf side, which allowed him to become something entirely new and untested in the world.

That last half was confirmed, Klaus himself having spread the story far and wide as his many surrogates tried to recruit new blood to his cause - to return to the natural state of magic until the world respected all species for the danger they posed. Caroline thought it was a resistance-flavored attempt at elitist elimination of diverse families, and she usually turned the TV off whenever some outlet dared to grant the monster some legitimacy and a chance to reach new ears. If she'd waited a bit longer, she might have recognized his face when he showed up on her dating app.

She'd been so excited for this date. He was charming and funny, a little acerbic, but she liked that mixed into her banter. He seemed like the perfect guy for her, passionate about his art. If only she'd known he was passionate about magical dominion over the entire world, then she might have tempered her expectations.

As he watched her every expression, though, she wondered why he went to such trouble. There was no need to sit through an entire dinner with her, to flirt with her and make her feel seen. It had been going really well, yet he had to have slipped her something for her to wake up in an actual dungeon. Who had a dungeon? 

Biting her lip, there were too many other things that didn't make sense. From what she had gleaned over the years his little movement had been actively acknowledged, Klaus went after powerful species. Giants, trolls, wizards he could win over to his way of thinking. She was an elf, with some siren, nymph, and a negligible bit of centaur in her line.

"What the fuck do you want with me?"

His head tilted to the side, that insufferable smirk only widening the longer it took him to answer. Her irritation grew until she tried to shake the metal ties again, and he narrowed his eyes with something like pity. "You truly don't know, do you?"

Caroline didn't want to give him the satisfaction of asking, but it wasn't like she was getting out of this nonsense by herself. "I know you're nuts and I'm filing a restraining order once I get out of here."

"Have you never wondered what magic might be bubbling under your skin," he question softly, his eyes lingering over the red welts on her wrists, "just begging to be released?"

"I took a DNA test," she bit back with a sharp grin, "turns out I'm a hundred percent that bitch who wants nothing to do with you or your little power trip. You don't want me, and I sure as hell don't want you."

Klaus propped his chin on his hand, chuckling. "I thought dinner was going pretty well, actually."

"You made a good impression," she admitted. "I'm a fast learner, though. Besides, don't you recruit big strong fighters to serve as cannon fodder for your worst ideas?"

With a casual shrug, he seemed annoying unperturbed by her accusations. "We all have our strengths. I'm most interested in discovering yours, however." His voice lowered, almost seductive as he leaned toward her. "Escape your bindings, sweetheart. I know you can."

She refused to ask how, not that she particularly wanted to pass his twisted test. But, she did want to escape. "I've never shown an aptitude for magic, ever. My best friend is a witch, and she would have noticed."

"No one noticed." He was watching her steadily, pleased she appeared to play along. "I wouldn't have if I hadn't gotten ahold of your results from the ancestry testing database."

"Stalker!"

His lips curled upward. "Not just yours, mind, I have a talented mole on staff there to keep me abreast of any...abnormalities in gene reports."

Blinking, Caroline tried to remember what that stupid app had told her. "Th-there was an eight percent unknown strain," she recalled. "But that's normal. 'Within the accepted range for interpretation,' is what I think it said. Too many species and generations to clearly delineate."

"I don't care for percentages," Klaus said. "Percentages mean nothing. It's about what resonates throughout your very being, whether it be the lion's share or a single thread. According to your genetic code, you have a very, very rare thread that I think resonates within you. And I think you can call it forth to escape those bindings."

Her heart was pounding. "What are you talking about?"

He stood, moving toward her to gently lift the pendant from the hollow of her neck. "This is very pretty, just like you," he flirted. "Have you never wondered why you favor gold jewelry?"

"It suits my coloring. What does my personal style have to do with anything?"

"Or why you can't help but soak in the sun at every chance you get? Your profile pictures are all outside, often lounging next to a pool."

"Hi, it's an excuse to post a bikini pic!"

Klaus smiled knowingly. "You tend to latch onto your friends, loathe to share them with others. Bonnie, was it? The friend who called halfway through our dinner? You're awfully possessive of her, aren't you?"

Anger welled within her, a boiling rage she'd never quite felt before and had no idea what to do with.

Of course, he just kept smiling. "It'd be a shame if something were to happen to this Bonnie, should you not be able to escape."

Her hands balled into tight fists and her breathing grew heavy. "Don't threaten my friends."

"Your friends," he asked, taking a tighter hold of her necklace as his fangs finally slid out to show just how dangerous he was, "or your hoard?" Then, he ripped her necklace off.

And all hell broke loose.

[lolmouseywritings]

Cursed Child

So this is what happens when I move, have no internet access to my computer, draw mdzs and watch Paper Dolls 2 gameplay from CJU on my phone. 

I will now go back to writing the WenWuxian Au. I’ve been working on.

I hope you enjoy this, and if you’re confused, ask away. 

P.S. I wrote this to get it out of my system. First time writing a horror story.

This will be on AO3, I also added the keep reading line

dabaizi: I think this mean brother-in-law. If I’m wrong, please let me know the correct title. I was trying to be accurate.

Summary: Lan Sizhui just wanted to run away. He didn’t realize it would drag him into a curse filled history of Gusu Manor. Running from fierce corpse’s, the ghost general and Yiling Patriarch, he could only hope he can get out of this alive.

Lan Sizhui sighed, his breath fogging up the glass window. He wasn't interested in the passing background, but it was something that got his mind off, as his cousin chastised him.

"Seriously? I know that I run away a lot, but I wasn't expecting you to do it," chastised Jin Ling tugging up his jacket. The chilly air from the mountains of Gusu was unexpected, but it was the place that Sizhui wanted to go.

Twelve years ago his parents passed away unexpectantly from the accident and he was taken in by his A-die and senior. It was fine, he guessed, but in the short while, his senior's health was failing. He was notorious for sleeping in late, but it was apparent that he had trouble getting up. Then he had trouble eating. He wouldn't even drink his favorite wine. Then one day-

He didn't wake up.

A-die didn't fare well, and now he hardly moved from Senior's side.

People called him cursed.

"Come on Jin Ling, no need to be upset, he just needed some space. Right Sizhui?"

"Yeah just ignore little mistress. He was just, if not, more worried than he let on." Then there goes. Jingyi was always riling up Jin Ling. It was a mystery to how they stayed being friends.

"Shut up, you- ZIZHEN! WATCH OUT!" Without question Zizhen swerves, hitting a tree branch and stopping the vehicle.

The boys step out, zipping up their jackets, and look around.

"Hey what the hell was that?" Questioned Jingyi looking straight at Jin Ling.

"There was a deer out on the road."

"There wasn't!"

"There was!" Ignoring the argument, Sizhui looks around and groans in despair. 'Damn the tire is out.' He looks at his phone and wonders just how cursed he is.

"My phone is out, is anyone else's phone working?" Asked Sizhui as the entire group shook their heads. All phones were out of service.

"Dammit! Uncle will break my legs!" Sizhui  patted Jin Lings back.

"It's okay.” Jin Ling shakes it off and glares at him. His stance aggressive.

"You don't get to say that, when you packed up and left. I know shit's hard for you, but it's hard on everyone else too."

"Calm down," Zizhen starts. "I'm sure none of us want to be in this situation. Best bet is to go to the nearest town and call for a tow. We can also call our families and let them know where we are."

"The nearest town is Moling. It will take us at least 2 hours to walk! And it's cold and I know that none of us want to walk for that long!" Gripped Jin Ling. Sizhui and Zhizhen shared glances, thinking little mistress.

"HEY I SEE SMOKE!" Exclaimed Jingyi. The group looks up to see what looks like a dilapidated manor. They agree to separate in groups of two. Zizhen and Jingyi at the car and Sizhui and Jin Ling to walk up to the manor and see if they could make a call. Sizhui would have honestly preferred Zizhen or Jingyi. Jin Ling, however, wasn't about to let him out of his sight. He was way too much like his uncle than he cared to admit.

Not a surprised considering how close the Jiang/Wei siblings are. Walking up the mountain was a tiring endeavor as the steps seemed to never end. It was worth it once they reached the entrance until they realized that no one lived in the house.

"I guess the smoke was just our imagination?" Remarked Sizhui.

"So the four of us imagined smoke coming out of this place." Jin Ling rolls his eyes. A nervous laughter escapes Sizhui at Jin Ling's rebuttal. With a sigh, Jin Ling walks up and knocks on the door. The icy breeze passes by, causing both boys to shiver. The door opens with a creek.

With a hesitant step, Jin Ling goes in.

"Hello?" His voice echoes into the manor. Not waiting for Sizhui, he walks in.

"Wait Jin Ling." He walks up the steps ready to follow his friend. As he steps in, it took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dark. Or it would have if he didn't feel a sharp pain at the back of his head.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ "You promised me!" "W̷̧̎͌̿͌͋̀́ë̵̟́̍̈́̚i̸̩̭̤̦̱̐-" "You promised me they would be okay! AND NOW THEY ARE DEAD!" "Please, listen!" "I'M DONE LISTENING! I'M DO-" ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Wake up. Junior master, wake up!" Sizhui groans, placing his hand to where his head felt a throb. He felt nothing wet, so that was wonderful news. There was a however a sizable bump on the back of his head.

"What happened?"

"Quick get up!" He looks up and notices that the voice he kept hearing was nowhere to be found.

"Where are you?"

"I'll tell you but you must leave the room or else-" He hears the heavy dragging of chains. It was his only warning before he hid into an old decorative closet. He held his breath as he took a peak thru the crack.

Pale skin, clumpy lumped black hair, poor posture and old tattered clothing. The chains were black, looked as heavy as they sounded, and covered in blood. 

Sizhui had to cover his mouth to hold back the bile as the heavy scent of iron, which he was certain was not only from the chains, filtered into the air. He waited as the groans and dragging chains disappeared into the next room. He gave himself some time to get out.

"Magnificent job," he heard the voice as he looked around to discover its origin. "Take the door on your left and walk down the hallway till you reach a door. It should take you outside. Walk down the path next to the pond until it leads you to a building surrounded by bamboo,  the Hanshi. Quickly!"

Without a word Sizhui follows the directions, eyes and ears peeled for anymore unearthly beings. Thank god he didn't have to take the door that- he shivered- thing took.

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

The man sitting before him was wrapped in gold robes with a peony emblem in front. He held a certain charisma that it almost made Sizhui want to sit down and drink the tea that was sitting innocently on the table. Prepared just for him.

Guangyao, as he presented himself, had the smile that made Sizhui want to run in the opposite direction. Especially when he told him what was happening.

"What do you mean that I'm stuck here?"

"Hm, kids these days are hard of hearing, I guess." Upon looking Sizhui's face Guangyao sighed and refilled his cup. "I mean that until you can set the resentful spirits to rest, there's nothing you can do to escape. The Yiling Patriarch has us trapped here until you can vanquish him."

"And why can't you do it?"

"I tried and failed. Now the Patriarch has me trapped here for who knows how long." Sizhui let out a breath of frustration.

Great! He leaves his home because his life is falling apart, gets caught at the gas station by his friends, their tire blows out because of a random tree branch, even though Jin Ling claims it was a dee- wait!

"JIN LING! Where's my cousin Jin Ling!" Guangyao looks at him confused.

"Jin who?"

"My cousin! He was with me!"

"Ah well, it's possible that he’s lost in the manor as you, Sizhui-er. Though I would start looking. He may end up dead before the night is over."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Sizhui cursed his luck for the umpteenth time. There were zombies in here, zombies that moved faster than what he would have liked them too, and some of them liked to explode! 

They sucked! 

They sucked so hard that- argh!!!! 

He hated them!

It didn't help that he met the chained zombie, a fierce corpse, as Guangyao like to call them. He saw him this time when he opened the door, thinking the room was clear, and chased him across the manor. He was lucky enough to find another closet to hide in. As soon as the creature left, Sizhui carefully climbed out and walked to another path.

Ok, so to recap he went to the library and found Elder Teacher's Scroll. It had spells for evocation, suppression, and rest. He didn't understand it much, but once he found the other items that he requested, he was sure Guangyao could help him. He placed the scroll in his back pocket, making sure it was secure.

There was still no sign of Jin Ling increasing his worry, as he hoped his cousin did not have to face those creatures.  He kept walking until he heard nothing. The crickets did not chirp and the sound of the wind was ominous. It had a haunting tune, one that spoke of longing-

"Is that a flute? No, it's a-". He looks up to see a man in a black robe, red trim sitting on the rooftop, a red ribbon holding back his hair. It was a black bamboo Dizi, the type that Senior would love to get his hands on and play. It looked like the man did not hear him until he opened his eyes, looking straight at him. They had a red glow to them that spoke of pain and suffering.

"Sen-"

"My, my, look what the mouse dragged in! Tell me, what did you do to get trapped in here?" The animosity in his voice forced Sizhui to recoil back. The laughter sent a frigid chill down his spine.

This wasn't, this wasn't-

"No matter, let's get rid of the pests, shall we, Hanguang-jun?" With a few notes from the Dizi, the room marked Jingshi bursts open and out popped a man dressed in a white robe as if he was in mourning, a white ribbon around his forehead and his long bangs covered his face.

Sizhui moved out of the way as the blade cut thru his jacket sleeve. The sting on his arm caused him to hiss. Run! He thought. He had to run so he could stay alive.

He ran to the path towards the classroom, but the man had an unnatural speed to him. He was upon him, but Sizhui did not plan to give up. He took another direction, and he was there. Another and he too was there. No matter what path he took, he was right in front of him.

Fleeing would not work, so he looked around and found an old rusted blade. He held up to block a strike from above and fell, feeling the shock to his very bones. Such a ferocious attack!

It didn't appear, as the man walked to him slowly carrying what looked like an air of serenity, but the movement and aggressiveness of his blade was monstrous. It betrayed the strength that this fierce corpse was capable of.

Sizhui couldn't even get up. It was stupid! He thought fighting that thing was his only choice to live, and now he regretted it.

He thought of the mischievous laughter and the stern but reassuring ‘Mn' from his guardians, his parents, as he closed his eyes.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ "Wen Qing, Wen Ning, it's okay! I'll give them the Stygian Tiger Seal and I'll go to Gusu. When I do that, they'll leave you and everyone else alone."

"Ẅ̵̧̨̠͇̦̩̹͕̰͉̥͔̪̯̱̙́̉̅͛́̅̎̔̎́̐́̔̃̃́̏̍͑̀̃͘̕͜ͅẻ̷̤̼̭̭͍̮̝͎̪̯͕͈͔̻͍͐͒̾̌͊̆̂̓̿̋̇̾͊̾̎̒̉̆͜͠į̴̛̤̩͕̙̗̥̠̦̬̙͈̗̟̖̆̽̃́͂̀̏̀͒̊̎̔̇̎̈̃̿͑̋̄̚͝ ̵̨̛̘̯͈̻̔͋͒̀͌̀̌́̌͋W̴̨̛̖̮̖̫̗̣̫͖̣̌̌̏̃̀̐̔̐̆͛͛̆̿͆̀̈͑͂͌͑̈́̂̓̕u̷̧̖͈͕̹̬̫͓̲̠͉̭͐̈́̓͋͐x̶̳͓̪̟̯̜̯̳͙̳͇̪̳̻̳̦̺̲̝̟̓̄͋̅̈́̑̋͜͠i̴̢̨̛̛̙̱̺͍̜͚̗̟͉̗̹̘̝̦͌͑͛̌̃̎̇̔̀̋̈́̊͊̾͋̉̓̽̚͜͠͠ͅͅa̶̹͖̤̝̗̻̹͎̦̤͚̮̯̪͎͇͕̗̫͙̠̹̹̎̇̀̈́͆̃̃̈́̈̈́̈̎͜͠͝͝n̵̳͉̤͈̗̽̏͛̈́͗̊͝͠, you know we can't accept this! You paid your debt! You took us out of the camp, you brought my brother back. Don't do this!" Ẅ̵̧̨̠͇̦̩̹͕̰͉̥͔̪̯̱̙́̉̅͛́̅̎̔̎́̐́̔̃̃́̏̍͑̀̃͘̕͜ͅẻ̷̤̼̭̭͍̮̝͎̪̯͕͈͔̻͍͐͒̾̌͊̆̂̓̿̋̇̾͊̾̎̒̉̆͜͠į̴̛̤̩͕̙̗̥̠̦̬̙͈̗̟̖̆̽̃́͂̀̏̀͒̊̎̔̇̎̈̃̿͑̋̄̚͝ ̵̨̛̘̯͈̻̔͋͒̀͌̀̌́̌͋W̴̨̛̖̮̖̫̗̣̫͖̣̌̌̏̃̀̐̔̐̆͛͛̆̿͆̀̈͑͂͌͑̈́̂̓̕u̷̧̖͈͕̹̬̫͓̲̠͉̭͐̈́̓͋͐x̶̳͓̪̟̯̜̯̳͙̳͇̪̳̻̳̦̺̲̝̟̓̄͋̅̈́̑̋͜͠i̴̢̨̛̛̙̱̺͍̜͚̗̟͉̗̹̘̝̦͌͑͛̌̃̎̇̔̀̋̈́̊͊̾͋̉̓̽̚͜͠͠ͅͅa̶̹͖̤̝̗̻̹͎̦̤͚̮̯̪͎͇͕̗̫͙̠̹̹̎̇̀̈́͆̃̃̈́̈̈́̈̎͜͠͝͝n̵̳͉̤͈̗̽̏͛̈́͗̊͝͠ shakes his head.

"They have to, besides my control isn't the same as before. It won't be long before they break through the seal. At least this way I can save-" ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

CLANG!

Sizhui opened his eyes as he saw that the blade, ready to strike him, wrapped in chains. The howl sent a shiver up his spine as the chain pulled back, sending Hanguang-jun back to fight the fierce corpse that followed him.

'I guess they're not friends!' He thought as he looked up and saw that the mysterious Dizi player gone.  Seeing an opening, Sizhui runs into the Jingshi and looks for the instrument, a Guqin. It sat on the table next to two white jars covered with a white cloth. From the smell of the fermentation, he could tell that taking a sip would burn his throat.

He shook his head. He had no time to think of such things and grabbed the instrument. It would be too heavy to lug this around and heads to the Hanshi.

He forced himself to forget that Senior looked like the man from the rooftop, along with the laughter.

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

He told Guangyao all about the Hanguang-jun and the mysterious man from the roof.

"Great, he knows you are here. Look if you see them again just run. When Hanguang-jun died they already knew him as one of the top cultivators. As for the man you saw, well, the Yiling Patriarch is an entirely different beast on his own. His ability to cultivate resentful energy is how he can bring fierce corpse's to life." He sips from the tea, savors it, then sets it down.

"From what you told me the Ghost General-"

"Ghost General?" Sizhui receives a silent reprimand from him causing him to stop talking.

"It's rude to interrupt. The fierce corpse with the chains. They knew him as Wen Ning, the Ghost General of the Yiling Patriarch. Though I find it odd that they would be fighting. Maybe something happened?" Sizhui shrugs. Everything was going over his head. Really, the sensible thing would be to grab Jin Ling and run to the edge of the forest and find a way out.

Jin Ling was still missing, though, and Guangyao had no way of knowing where he might be. Plus, it wasn't as if he could leave the Hanshi. He’s stuck in this beautiful and dark room, a partition serving as a cutoff from the tea table and the bed.

He notices a figure sitting slouched forward.

"So you've noticed my roommate."

"Who is he?"

"The last Sect master of Gusu, Zewu-jun."

"He's alive!"

"Hardly. He’s also afflicted by the same curse as me." Before he could ask more Guangyao smiles at him. "It's best that you look for the next items on the list."

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

With supplies ready, given by Guangyao, and an old rusted sword he found, which he knew he was useless with, made Sizhui felt slightly braver. Hopefully, the talisman's would be helpful.

The Library Pavilion was tricky to get to. He knew something was following him and knowing what the denizens of this cursed place was like, Sizhui was rightfully hesitant to meet this creature.

Finally reaching the place, he walks around looking for the secret passageway. Being in the library, however, he could not help but look at an open book talking about a chord assassination technique. Backing away, he forced himself not to jump when he heard whispers.

Lan-er-gege! You can't be mad! I've called your name so many times. Sizhui stops there. Lan? That's his family name. Why would he hear his family name? He thought back about his parents saying that they had an ancestral home once. But they never finished telling him anymore than that. After all, how could they when the 18 wheeler hit them, pushing their car over-

"Find the secret passage. Find the flags. Find the secret passage. Find the flags." He tripped. Face smacking the floor.

Did he mention how much he hated this place?

He rubbed his nose, checking for blood. Thankfully, there wasn't any and looked to see his foot caught on a handle. A handle that led to a door under the library. The secret passageway. He pulls it up and walks down the staircase.

Dust and cobwebs covered the entire place. Gulping he walks forward using the sword to clear the way making sure to not disturb any of the spiders.

"Well, I know that Jin Ling is definitely not here. He would just screech at this sight." He finds a stack of flags at the end of the room next to a jar. He makes a quick count and realizes he’s short one.

"Okay, where's the last one?" Looking around, he feels a sudden vertigo.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Come to Gusu with me.

I can't. What will happen to the Wen's? You know that the other Sects want them dead.

I can talk to brother.

I- I

Please W̴̢̳̻̮̪̱̤̖̲̤̟̱͌̈͌̆̚͠͠ͅę̶̮͖͍̕ḯ̴̛͚͉̜̙͉̰̱͐͝ ̴̲̺̭̰̆̈́͐́͒̀̋̋̋̓̾̕͠͝W̴̨̛̖̮̖̫̗̣̫͖̣̌̌̏̃̀̐̔̐̆͛͛̆̿͆̀̈͑͂͌͑̈́̂̓̕u̷̧̖͈͕̹̬̫͓̲̠͉̭͐̈́̓͋͐x̶̳͓̪̟̯̜̯̳͙̳͇̪̳̻̳̦̺̲̝̟̓̄͋̅̈́̑̋͜͠i̴̢̨̛̛̙̱̺͍̜͚̗̟͉̗̹̘̝̦͌͑͛̌̃̎̇̔̀̋̈́̊͊̾͋̉̓̽̚͜͠͠ͅͅa̶̹͖̤̝̗̻̹͎̦̤͚̮̯̪͎͇͕̗̫͙̠̹̹̎̇̀̈́͆̃̃̈́̈̈́̈̎͜͠͝͝n̵̳͉̤͈̗̽̏͛̈́͗̊͝͠ come to Gusu.  I will talk to brother. The Wen's will be safe. A̷͕̯͔̖̤͖̫̼̫̹̼͛̏͆͑͆͂̏̏͊͂͂́͘-̵̡͍̗̬̯͚̹̹̱̼̰̟̘̩̖̥́̐̄̈́Ỵ̵̢̮͎͚̱̗̯̘̹̉̋̂̔̓̍̇͆͗̈̃͑̐̈́̋̋̐͊̉͛̚͘͝͝ͅu̸̧̡̖͕̼̗͓̳͙͍̠̹̙̗̙̘̥͍̯͖̫̦̣͆̊͠͝ȧ̶̡̖̳̫̟͔̣̩̋̔̀̆̀̒͠ň̸̢̧̨̛̘̠̗͍͇̭̯̪̠͕̤͈͚͔̟͕͔͖̖͕͌̇̈́̿̏̈̇́̃̏̈́̎̃̚̚͜͠ will be safe-

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

A hand holds him up, and he calls out a name.

"Jin Ling?"

"Jin Ling? There is no Jin Ling, though there is a bastard with that family name." Her hair was up and her dirty black robes have seen better days. It looked burnt and ashy. She had a stern face, but oddly he felt the urge to see her smile. He shakes the thought and looks back, her face familiar, though he knows he never met her.

"Who-" She shushes him as they hear footsteps from above. It was slow and methodical. He catches sight of a white robe. Eyes widening, he hopes that his heartbeat would not betray their location. They lean back against the wall, standing still as statues. She silently signals him to follow her. He watches as she walks a few steps past the bookshelf to reveal a secret door, initially hidden by the shadows of the room. He works his way towards her.

The jar, caught by his jacket, falls with a loud crash. The woman gasps and holds out her hand. He darts to the door as Hanguang-jun breaks down the floor beneath him. As they enter, the woman is quick to close the opening making a grating rocky sound. The stone door should hopefully hold off the fierce corpse. His companion seemed to think otherwise.

"Quickly! Follow me!" They run down the passageway which leads to the forest. 

"He's still following us!"

"How do you know?" The sound of trees and branches falling behind him answers his question. Leaving him to wonder if this Hanguang-jun was strong enough to cut through the stone.

He's forced to stop when the woman turns towards him. From her robes she pulls out a needle which she uses to cut his cheek. He hisses as he watches her make a sigil. Something red and hazy appears next to her.

"You go down the path quickly, I'll meet you soon!" He didn't question her and took the path she pointed. He stopped at a dead end. For once it wasn't scary, in fact there were rabbits there. Sizhui sits down by the tree and hugs himself.

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

W̷̧̪̱͚͖̅̐̌̀́͠ȇ̶̛̹̜̐̋̀̎̈̄͝į̸̡̗̤͈̪͉̈́ ̷̟̻͔̋̋̓͂̌̋͊W̴̨̛̖̮̖̫̗̣̫͖̣̌̌̏̃̀̐̔̐̆͛͛̆̿͆̀̈͑͂͌͑̈́̂̓̕u̷̧̖͈͕̹̬̫͓̲̠͉̭͐̈́̓͋͐x̶̳͓̪̟̯̜̯̳͙̳͇̪̳̻̳̦̺̲̝̟̓̄͋̅̈́̑̋͜͠i̴̢̨̛̛̙̱̺͍̜͚̗̟͉̗̹̘̝̦͌͑͛̌̃̎̇̔̀̋̈́̊͊̾͋̉̓̽̚͜͠͠ͅͅa̶̹͖̤̝̗̻̹͎̦̤͚̮̯̪͎͇͕̗̫͙̠̹̹̎̇̀̈́͆̃̃̈́̈̈́̈̎͜͠͝͝n̵̳͉̤͈̗̽̏͛̈́͗̊͝͠. I love you.

Ah, L̷͍̣̟̬̤̹̝̜̪̮̭̈̌̀̿̑͑̈́̐̈́̐̇ȃ̵̧̫͕̪̰̻n̴͔̳͖͗̑͒ ̸̲̖̜͕̈́̀̂͌̏̐͂̇̎̚͘Ŵ̴̭͊̾̎̌̆͜͠a̴͍͉̳͍̐̓͜͜ͅͅͅn̴̜̺͖̰͉͖̻̆̂̾̓̈́̕g̸̗̈́͋͂̊̑͌̇͝͝j̸̢͓̣͎̟͠i̶͇̚! Warn me when you tell me things like this.

Mn

L̷͍̣̟̬̤̹̝̜̪̮̭̈̌̀̿̑͑̈́̐̈́̐̇ȃ̵̧̫͕̪̰̻n̴͔̳͖͗̑͒ ̸̲̖̜͕̈́̀̂͌̏̐͂̇̎̚͘Ŵ̴̭͊̾̎̌̆͜͠a̴͍͉̳͍̐̓͜͜ͅͅͅn̴̜̺͖̰͉͖̻̆̂̾̓̈́̕g̸̗̈́͋͂̊̑͌̇͝͝j̸̢͓̣͎̟͠i̶͇̚, take responsibility and hug me.

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

He wakes with a start.

That wasn't- that wasn't them.

It looked like them, but it wasn't them.

"Hey Sizhui! Wake up or I'll break your legs!" Sizhui rubs his eyes as he looks up to finally sees his cousin.

"Jin Ling, where were you?" Jin Ling scoffs.

"Looking for you! Come one let's get out of here. This place is creepy." Sizhui nods and stands up. They walk out of the grove.

"What were you doing, anyway?" Jin Ling asks, rubbing his arms up and down. Seems he lost his jacket while searching for him.

"I was running from zombies." Jin Ling stops to look at him, then laughs mockingly. 

"I'm serious! These fierce corpses were chasing me, and I had to run around getting these items. Look! I had to grab these flags to do a ritual-" He feels a sharp pinch on his arm. "Hey!"

"Can you hear yourself," asks Jin Ling as he tsks. "Zombies, rituals, really Sizhui I know you don't want to go home but stop playing around."

"I'm not-"

"Really? Then why don't you go visit jiu'jiu'-Xian? Visit-"

"I'm not playing!"

"As if! Look, I know the shit that everyone is saying. Cursed child, whatever! You just punch them in the face!"

"uh... A-die says I shouldn't."

"Your A-die doesn't even respond anymore. Coward." Sizhui turns his head sharply, eyes narrowing. Jin Ling raises his hand up. "Sorry. Low blow, but I'm serious. Everyone is worried about you and you can ignore those gossiping blowhards. They just want to say something to feel important." Sizhui doesn't even bother to get after for him.

"How did you find me, anyway? I didn't leave any notes." Jin Ling raises his eyes in disbelief.

"We sent pictures on the web and tv. Some dude caught sight of you at the gas station." Odd, he only saw granny there taking care of the counter and there were no cars around. Maybe it was a passing vehicle and the guy just saw him. It didn't matter. He tried to run because he wanted to escape. Better for everyone.

Ever since his parents died A-die and Senior took care of him as if he was their child. They still told stories about his mama and baba. A-die even taught him how to play the Guqin, though he knew he was rusty now. He stopped playing when A-die stopped responding. That was almost six months ago. Now he was the cursed kid that no one wanted to be around. Anyone that takes care of him meets a grisly end. He receives a harsh slap on his back.

"Hey, when we get back I'll stand by you and help you beat up those whinny ninnies." Sizhui snorts.

"Whinny ninnies? Have you been hanging out with Jiu'jiu-Cheng?" Jin Ling scoffs looking away, but not before Sizhui caught sight of his face turning red. It was then that they heard moans coming from one of the forked paths.

"Sizhui. Tell me you were really kidding about those zombies." Jin Ling stares at Sizhui, who shakes his head. They both turn just in time to see the fierce corpses heading towards them, now running since it caught sight of them.

With no prompting, they ran side by side to the hallways of Gusu Manor. Left, right they ran to hide from the monsters, but no matter where they went they found themselves unable to outrun them. It was as if there was a tracker on them. Letting these creatures were they were going.

Sizhui has a horrid realization.

"Jin Ling! Take this path! It should lead you to the Hanshi, you should be safe there!"

"What? No!"

"Do it! Wait for me there! I will meet you there!" He pushes his cousin and runs the opposite direction. The fierce corpses ignore Jin Ling and follow him instead.

Damn Guangyao! Couldn't he have told him that these flags were a damn beacon for these monsters! And he wanted to smack himself for leaving the sword behind. Though it would do much good since he had a horde.

He remembers the talisman and finds one that say's repress. As he runs he is quick to grab a box that was the perfect size for the flags, place them inside and places the talisman on it. It glows a light blue and slowly it appears as if he is losing them. Once he ran far enough, he found that he was further than he intended from the manor.

Luck was on his side when he caught sight of large, trumpet-shaped flowers. They were an intense blue. Finally, Sizhui was on his way to the Gentian house.

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

Arriving at the house was no trouble. It was the last item that was the issue. Guangyao had told him that at the Gentian House there should house the Stygian Tiger Seal. The only thing he found was the missing flag, which he placed in the box for safekeeping.

No matter where he looked, he could not find the item in question. Under the bed, in the desk drawer, the bookshelf with a sealed red and white urn, he even went to look under the boards, but nothing. He was about to call it quits when he heard the door open.

He hides in the closet and peeks to see the Yiling Patriarch. He looked around, confused. Crap! He’s bound to notice him.

"Aiyah! I must have left a mess. Oh, well." He sits down, pulls out a board and reaches in. From there, he pulls out a bottle that reads Emperor's Smile.

"He, he, he There's not much left so I may as well enjoy what's left." He pulls off the seal and drinks it. The fermentation strong in the air. Sizhui tries not to gag.

THUD! THUD!

He holds his breath when he sees the man stand up, angry.

"Get lost!"

THUD! THUD!

"GET LOST!" He hears the bottle of wine crash against the door, the resentful energy feeling thick in the air.

"GET LOST! GET LOST! GET LOST! DIRTY LIAR! CRUEL WORTHLESS DIRTY LIAR! MURDERER!" Sizhui almost felt faint by how much resentment was filling the air. Thick inky clouds expelled from the Yiling Patriarch. He wanted to cry, yell, anything, but all he could do was let out a pitiful sob. He sits back, upset.

It becomes quiet, the energy he felt gone. Sizhui covers his mouth. Did he hear him?

He sits still, listening. The footsteps are slow, as if trying to make the most minimal sound as possible. Maybe he heard but didn't know where the sound came from? If he's lucky he can sneak out and distract the Yiling Patriarch and maybe come back?

The door opens as a pale hand pulls him out. He screams as he's thrown to the partition.

"Oh, and look at this small mouse. Did you think I would not find you?" Sizhui crawls back, trying to get away from the man. The steps he took were still slow, but also predatory. The resentment, the ominous clouds now hung heavy in the air.

"Tell me what are you looking for mouse? Maybe I can help you?" Teased the man viciously. Sizhui is still crawling back until he finds an incense burner.

He throws it. It didn't hit him, but it gave him the chance he was looking for, which was to run to the door. As he opened the door, he barely missed being decapitated when he ducked to an opening.

"Damn that Hanguang-jun!" He doesn't turn to look back. But he could feel that they were close, which was bad. All the running was getting to him. He didn't know how long he could keep it up. He was about to trip, when he’s suddenly wrapped in chains and pulled up to the sky.

He's caught by the Ghost General. His heart, wrought in fear, goes to his throat as he faints.

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

Stop following the demonic path

Ah, L̷͍̣̟̬̤̹̝̜̪̮̭̈̌̀̿̑͑̈́̐̈́̐̇ȃ̵̧̫͕̪̰̻n̴͔̳͖͗̑͒ ̸̲̖̜͕̈́̀̂͌̏̐͂̇̎̚͘Ŵ̴̭͊̾̎̌̆͜͠a̴͍͉̳͍̐̓͜͜ͅͅͅn̴̜̺͖̰͉͖̻̆̂̾̓̈́̕g̸̗̈́͋͂̊̑͌̇͝͝j̸̢͓̣͎̟͠i̶͇̚, you have no-

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

L̷͍̣̟̬̤̹̝̜̪̮̭̈̌̀̿̑͑̈́̐̈́̐̇ȃ̵̧̫͕̪̰̻n̴͔̳͖͗̑͒ ̸̲̖̜͕̈́̀̂͌̏̐͂̇̎̚͘Ŵ̴̭͊̾̎̌̆͜͠a̴͍͉̳͍̐̓͜͜ͅͅͅn̴̜̺͖̰͉͖̻̆̂̾̓̈́̕g̸̗̈́͋͂̊̑͌̇͝͝j̸̢͓̣͎̟͠i̶͇̚, than-

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

Ẅ̵̧̨̠͇̦̩̹͕̰͉̥͔̪̯̱̙́̉̅͛́̅̎̔̎́̐́̔̃̃́̏̍͑̀̃͘̕͜ͅẻ̷̤̼̭̭͍̮̝͎̪̯͕͈͔̻͍͐͒̾̌͊̆̂̓̿̋̇̾͊̾̎̒̉̆͜͠į̴̛̤̩͕̙̗̥̠̦̬̙͈̗̟̖̆̽̃́͂̀̏̀͒̊̎̔̇̎̈̃̿͑̋̄̚͝ ̵̨̛̘̯͈̻̔͋͒̀͌̀̌́̌͋W̴̨̛̖̮̖̫̗̣̫͖̣̌̌̏̃̀̐̔̐̆͛͛̆̿͆̀̈͑͂͌͑̈́̂̓̕u̷̧̖͈͕̹̬̫͓̲̠͉̭͐̈́̓͋͐x̶̳͓̪̟̯̜̯̳͙̳͇̪̳̻̳̦̺̲̝̟̓̄͋̅̈́̑̋͜͠i̴̢̨̛̛̙̱̺͍̜͚̗̟͉̗̹̘̝̦͌͑͛̌̃̎̇̔̀̋̈́̊͊̾͋̉̓̽̚͜͠͠ͅͅa̶̹͖̤̝̗̻̹͎̦̤͚̮̯̪͎͇͕̗̫͙̠̹̹̎̇̀̈́͆̃̃̈́̈̈́̈̎͜͠͝͝n̵̳͉̤͈̗̽̏͛̈́͗̊͝͠ .

Did you forget what we promised? What's right and what's wrong?

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

Did you hear? The Jin Sect is cursed.

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

Another vision. Great. Ever since his hit on the head he tried to ignore them as time passed, but whatever happened back then seemed to want to make itself known. No matter if the audience is unwilling or not. He takes a deep breath and opens his eyes.

He awoke in what looked like a boarding room for school kids. As he got up, he’s quickly pushed down.

"You need to rest. You've had a hard night." It was the woman from before.

"No, no, I need to continue"

"And as a doctor I need you to sleep. My brother found you and saved you from those two." Sizhui’s confused.

"Your brother. He fought the Ghost General?”

"He is the Ghost General." His eyes widened as he looked around. "He's not here, but I am. My name is Wen Qing and you are?"

"Lan Sizhui." He noticed her hand stiffened for a moment, then continue with his wounds. She wrapped and cleaned his arm with a bandage and was now cleaning a wound was on the wing of his back. Funny, it must have been the adrenaline running in his system. He didn’t realize he was injured till now.

"What exactly are you doing? Running around, you should be leaving, not staying." She reprimanded as she cleaned and tidied up her supplies.

"I was told that I could not leave until I broke the curse."

"And who told you that?"

"Guangyao." Her hand freezes just as she was about to close her box.

"Guangyao? Jin Guangyao, you're listening to that beast!"

"What are you talking about?" He asked, understanding now that there was something more to his mysterious benefactor.

"He didn't tell me he was a Jin, just that his name is Guangyao." Wen Qing scoffs.

"Only because he doesn't want his crimes to be known. Listen here! You need to stay away from that man. He will only use you and throw you away once you're no longer any use to him."

"What do you mean?!" Wen Qing sighs.

"He is the reason that this curse came to be. A  long time ago our leader, Wen Ruohan, lost the war and they killed the survivors off. Only Wei Wuxian stood for us since we save him and his brother." She closes the box and puts it away.

"During the war he created the Stygian Tiger Seal. It was powerful, but it did its job, however later on he grew to fear how much resentful energy it was consuming. So he made a deal with the remaining Sects. He would give himself up and the Stygian Tiger Seal. In return, the Sects would let us live in peace." "I'm guessing that's not what happened."

"They killed us all and those remaining died without medical help. Even the smallest-" she chocked as tears fell from her eyes.

"You're not alive. Are you?"

"I died trying to hide little A-Yuan. But from what I hear, he didn't make it." She wipes away the tears.

"I don't get it. Why is it Jin Guangyao's fault?"

"It's his fault because under his father's order, he incited the other clans to attack by killing Sect Leader Nie and blaming us for it. If it wasn't for his brother, Nie Huaisang, finding out, then everyone would have believed we were guilty. I only know this because even now the remaining spirits love to whisper, but Nie Huaisang, visited  Wei Wuxian. He was heartbroken when he couldn't visit A-Yuan's funeral. They thought he was there to console him. They were friends during their schooling here in Gusu. Then a few days later he activated the curse. And now we are here, stuck in Gusu, unable to move on."

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

L̵̡̧̢̞̦̰͖͍͚͉̳͒͌̀͗̀â̵̧̯̫̦̳̟͉͖̣̝̄̆͑̆̾̑̈́n̶̥̔͋́̈̊́͘ ̸̢͉̬̞̲̘͎͊̐Ŵ̴̭͊̾̎̌̆͜͠a̴͍͉̳͍̐̓͜͜ͅͅͅn̴̜̺͖̰͉͖̻̆̂̾̓̈́̕g̸̗̈́͋͂̊̑͌̇͝͝j̸̢͓̣͎̟͠i̶͇̚ stood outside-

-wail in agony.

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

"Jin Ling! Jin Ling! Where are you?!" He pulled open the door, not caring about the commotion he was causing.

Both of them were getting out of here, he thought. They weren't staying there a minute longer.

"Sizhui-er! What's the matter?!" Guangyao appeared by the partition as he walked over to calm the teenager.

"My cousin! I sent him here. I know it. I saw him head this way."

"No, no, no, I saw no one come by. Here," he pours a cup of tea and presents it to Sizhui. It felt warm to the touch. "Drink this. You would feel better afterwards." Sizhui stared at the cup and felt a surge of anger as he threw the teacup, not quite hitting Jin Guangyao, but close enough.

"ENOUGH! Enough with the lies! Enough with the half-truths! Tell me what do my parents Lan Zhan and Wei Ying have to do with the spirits of Hanguang-jun and the Yiling Patriarch!?"

Jin Guangyao sighed, sat down, as if he was the one who ran around this damn place, tired. He looked at him straight in the eyes.

"It took a while to find all of you, you know."

"Excuse me?!"

"Lan Zhan and Wei Ying are the reincarnations of Lan Wangji, Hanguang-jun and Wei Wuxian, the Yiling Patriarch. Or rather, their half-reincarnations. So I called them. Pulled their souls over here." Sizhui punched him.

"YOU MEAN TO TELL ME THAT MY PARENTS ARE COMATOSED BECAUSE OF YOU!" Guangyao laughed, not a care in the world. The secret now out.

"See I made many choices, choices that led to the deaths of an entire sect, that led to the terrible descent into madness for Wei Wuxian. I didn't care. I was working my way to getting my father's approval, or at least I thought I did." He grunts as he gets up, wiping the blood from his lip.

"I was a war hero and shared the cups of brotherhood with two other known figures from the war, Nie Mingjue and Lan Xichen. Yet, no matter what I did, it wasn't enough." He gave an empty laugh. Sizhui felt uncomfortable as he felt the despair.  

"I ruined Sects for that man so that our Sect could stand on top. I killed one venerated brother so there would be no opposition, had the Wen-dog survivors blamed so we would kill them off. I destroyed Wei Wuxian's reason for living and relationship so we could appear righteous and powerful. Then I destroyed the one that truly mattered."  Sizhui gulped as the man in front of him reminisced.

"I didn't mean to, but I failed to see how much Huanguang-Jun loved Wei Wuxian. It was easy to see how much Zewu-jun loved his brother, and for him I made sure no harm would come to his little brother. Zewu-jun, he called me his equal. I wasn't some son of a prostitute, I was special to him. When I had the Wen's killed, the Yiling Patriarch cast his curse, which Huanguang-jun accepted... I saw how Zewu-jun broke down to see his brother give up, be taken willingly."

“Hanguang-jun blamed himself.” Stated Sizhui. Jin Guangyao nodded.

"Yes, and maybe he wanted to show that he would stand by Wei Wuxian's side. Who knows, that man didn't speak much, always keeping his thoughts to himself. Like I said, I didn't care about anyone else except for my father's approval and... Zewu-jun, Lan Xichen." Sizhui looks back at the man sitting on the other side of the room, hidden by the partition.

"Discovering what I did, Zewu-jun immediately blamed himself, for without his blessing's and his help, I would not have been able to do the things I did. When I tried to break the curse, the reason we couldn't was because of me. Zewu-jun could no longer trust me. So we- I failed. The only thing we did was just forcefully subdue part of the spirits." Jin Guangyao clenched his teeth, holding back the tears that threatening to spill from his eyes.

"My betrayal was too much, the pain that it wrought was too heavy, that he just shut down. I don't care wether any of the spirits here can find healing, but for Zewu-jun I want to break this curse and maybe he can finally move on." Sizhui sighed.

He just wanted to find his cousin and get the hell out. However, hearing what happened to the Wen siblings living the half cursed life. The memories of Lan Wangji sitting outside the Gentian house when he wanted to get Wei Wuxian to at least talk to him, hear him, see him. The pain when Wei Wuxian wanted to save little A-Yuan only to die. He never even got to see his body to mourn properly. Damn his bleeding heart.

"Fine, let's get started."

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

The Mingshi was musty smelling, perhaps from the mold, dark and littered with cobwebs. They worked quickly to clear it with only the light of the moon, from the broken ceiling, to guide them. Though ominous, Gusu must have been a beautiful place. He could almost imagine the foliage from the outside, how the ponds and rivers would have trickled and the birds singing.

But it wasn't. He would need his friends' hands to count how many steps he broke from him just placing the slightest pressure. He picked up the scroll and read the evocation and rest. As he told Guangyao it had been a while, but he hoped he could remember the hand placement to play these scores.

A nagging question had been on Sizhui's mind. Would the ritual work? And why? Figuring it wouldn't hurt to ask, Sizhui turned to ask Guangyao the nagging question.

"Sizhui-er, I have every belief that this ritual will work."

"And why is that?"

"Because, you have Wen Yuan's spirit." Sizhui's blank face caused Guangyao to sigh heavily.

"Part of the reason for Wei Wuxian's madness is that he blames himself for his adopted son's death. When he realizes that you're the reincarnation of Wen Yuan it may settle him down enough to allow us to play Rest for the peace that he denied himself." With all the cloak and dagger from Guangyao, his word was useless. So why go along with this?

"And if that does not work?"

"In the words of today's youth, we are totally screwed" Sizhui snorts. Guangyao side glances at him questioningly.

"You are out of touch."

"Shut up." Odd how that reminded him of Jin Ling. That is the most frustrating part. He met his cousin finally only to lose track of him.

He's startled when he feels a hand on his shoulder.

"I have it on good authority that your cousin is fine." Sizhui felt a familiar course of anger but was too tired to act on it.

"Is this something you've known for a while?"

"Not until I had confirmation." Knowing the man by now, that could have been a few hours ago or maybe right from the beginning. It was no use now.

Quickly they set the Spirit Flags and drew the sigil for evocation from the Elder Teacher's scroll. He pivots to see Guangyao holding the flute, Liebling as he called it, touching the mouthpiece, his lips pursed.

"Will you be able to play it?" Guangyao snaps out of his trance and nods.

"I've practiced, just not with this instrument, but it should be no different." Sizhui nods and takes his place.

"What do we do about the Stygian Tiger Seal?" That had been the only thing he hadn't been unable to bring with him since he had to run for his life. Really, he would do anything to not get near the madman.

He... he wanted to go home with his A-die and Senior.

"He'll bring it with him. There is no way that he would leave without it." Guangyao ignored Sizhui's glare as he puffed in indignation.

"Then what was the point of me going to the Gentian House?"

"To let him know that I haven't stopped."

Lan Sizhui had to count to twenty in order not to kill Jin Guangyao.

"You are the most aggravating man I ever met."

"Yes, Dage would tell me that often." He was not laughing. He wants to go home. Wants to find Jin Ling. Eat Lotus Pork Rib Soup and forget that this night ever existed. Sadly, he let himself get duped, he realized. He should have grabbed his cousin the first chance he found him and just ran the hell out of this place. Now he’s stuck here, baiting a madman who apparently had every right to curse this place, who held... Senior's soul. 

He realized the implication now. Did Senior not wake up because now, in his previous life, Wei Wuxian the Yiling Patriarch held his soul. It would make sense, weirdly. The doctors could not find out why he refused to wake up. There was no brain damage, no previous health problems. He was just asleep. A-Die is like that too. They had trouble waking him up, and now his appetite was non-existent.

That broke him.

He couldn't see him go down the same path as Senior. He was the one lifeline he had against, the vicious rumors that sprouted. Cursed child.

He left for that reason.

His parents died trying to get home quick to surprise him. A-Die and Senior are now dying because Guangyao called their spirits back and the only way to save them is to put the Yiling Patriarch and Hanguang-jun to rest. The doors open and the few candles that Guangyao lit flicker off, one by one. Sizhui follows Guangyao's lead as he plays Clarity. He did not understand what was happening, but he could feel the coaxing influence as Guangyao directed the energy to circle around them.

"My, my Lianfang-zun, you're still here? I would have thought you'd have wasted away," joked Wei Wuxian as he walked through the door. He wasn't alone. Behind him were scores of fierce corpses in faded blue and white robes marred with dirt and blood. They stood there as if in attention.

It became apparent why, when the Stygian Tiger Seal is pulled from his sleeves, floating in his hands.

"If I recall correctly, I wounded you."

"Yet here I am."

"Yes, very interesting. Anyway's give me back the Wangji. That Guqin doesn't belong to you." All this time Sizhui hadn't stopped playing as instructed, but felt nervous. The Guqin, called Wangji, trembled in Sizhui's hand. He didn't see how this could be a weapon, but right now he had no choice but to trust Guangyao. He played the notes on and on, concentrating on the music, trying to listen to the scene happening before him.

"Wei Wuxian, you know that it's time to stop."

"Time to stop? Funny, the time to stop should have been when I gave myself and the Stygian Tiger Seal up, the time to stop was when we locked ourselves up in Burial Mounds, the time to stop would have been after the war when the Wen's gave up. But you didn’t, did you?" He plays a harsh note and sends a red and black energy towards them.

The sound of Clarity encircling them dissipated the attack.

"Oh, and I guess you learned some new tricks? Then again, you always were so good at twisting something so good for your benefit weren't you?" Guangyao growled as he prepared to send an attack only to stop when the Yiling Patriarch moves to the side.

Lan Xichen was supposed to be in the Hanshi. Yet here he was floating, held by the dark resentful energy that the Yiling Patriarch exuded.

Lan Xichen dropped to the floor, shoulders slumped.

"And here is the other culprit."

Guangyao stilled. With a quick movement, he motioned for Sizhui to be ready to be on the offensive.

"Seriously dabaizi, how naïve could you be. Oh, wait you weren't, you were just willfully ignorant. You know Sang-Gongzi was kind enough to tell me how many times Dage tried to warn you about Jin Guangyao? He's a liar. You can't trust him outright. He's up to something. And what did you do?" He lifts the other man's chin up.

"You gave him the very thing he needed to kill him. Your action allowed him to pin the blame on the surviving Wen's and kill them. Tell me, why were you allowed to mourn for A-Yuan when your actions had  a hand in killing him." He could not see an expression from Zewu-jun, but Sizhui could see the tears.

"Tell me Guangyao, will you be willing to save Zewu-jun or will you let him die just like Sect Leader Nie?" The horde of fierce corpse's ran in and Guangyao’s forced to work double time. On one end he played Liebling to continue the surrounding shield, on the other he helped Sizhui to direct the attacks to the fierce corpses.

If they had more time. More chances to work together, their teamwork would have been possible.

It failed as a demon corpse plunged a blade into Lan Xichen's back. His body dropped.

"No!" Guangyao ran hoping to catch Zewu-jun as Sizhui let out one last attack, pushing back the fierce corpse's back. It broke the connection. Red eyes narrowed in irritation.

Guangyao held Lan Xichen's body as he wept in agony, trying to stop the blood. It seeped his beautiful white robes.

"Zewu-jun! Zewu-jun! Xichen!" Cried out Guangyao, his voice breaking in pain. Sizhui allowed himself to become distracted, not realizing that the Yiling Patriarch was right next to him. He stood up in fear only to feel him ram his hand to his chest.

It was odd as he looked down. There was no blood, in fact it didn't go through his chest, but he noticed a red energy where the hand went through. It wasn't until he felt a squeeze to his heart that he realized the terrible implication.

"I don't know how you broke the connection. A lucky strike, perhaps? It matters not, why don't you make your last amends, eh?" He squeezes his heart and Sizhui could only scream in pain. His mind blacks out.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ "I can't-" "You should take him. He see's you as his father" "..." "A-Die! A-Die!" "A-Yuan! How is my little turnip!" Sizhui can feel himself carried and as he squeals into the air. A-Die is so fun! Alway's burying him in dirt to make him grow like the turnip he is, taking him to the market and let him play with the toys. Although he never bought him any, he never thought to beg him to buy it. He's thrown up in the air, enjoying the excitement. He could hear Wen Qing chiding him and uncle Wen Ning moving around to make sure he didn't fall. No worries. A-Die will always protect him. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Yiling Patriarch let's go as Sizhui falls back gasping for air. He didn't believe Guangyao's remark, but he could feel A-Yuan's feelings and how safe he felt. Tears fell from his eyes as he tried to get ahold of the turbulent emotions within.

"A-Yuan? A-Yuan is that you?" Sizhui looks up and see's the man in utter happiness. He looked so young, so joyful. Like he had committed no atrocities in his life. He tries to back away, but frozen from the frenzied look of Wei Wuxian. The man hugs him, his shoulder becoming damp with tears.

"A-Yuan! You're back, you're finally back! Please tell me you're here to stay. I'll protect you. This time I'll protect you from anyone that wants to harm you! No one will hurt you here. I promise! We'll stay in the Gentian House, plant potatoes and radishes, I'll play the Chenquing for you, no nightmares. Maybe if I'm in a pleasant mood, if I can trust him, I can let that man play on his Wangji. Stupid man, naming it after himself, ha, ha, ha!" With each word the Yiling Patriarch hugged him harder and harder, his nails digging into him deeper and deeper to his sides.

He tried to push him back, but he just refused to let go. It was becoming harder to breathe. The sound of the iron chain was the only warning they had before the Patriarch pushed him away.

"Wen Ning... why are you stopping me? I get it now, why you did what you had to do. You knew he was little A-Yuan, but now you're trying to take him away from me? Why?"

"Because A-Yuan died and moved on!" All occupants looked back to see Wen Qing, holding a red and white urn, the same one he saw in Gentian House, standing by the doors.

"He's A-Yuan reincarnated, but he's not our A-Yuan anymore. Wei Wuxian let it go. It's okay. You did your best." Wei Wuxian shakes his head in anger.

"No, no, no! It wasn't my best. I trusted the wrong people! I thought I was doing the right thing. I had the best intentions, and you died, granny, uncle four, everyone died. A-Yuan died!" He makes way to grab A-Yuan only for Wen Ning to get in the way. Hanguang appears and sensing Wei Wuxian's intention runs to grab Sizhui, but the extensive range of the Ghost General's chain cuts him off.

He does a sweeping arc to the two men, who’re forced to step back. Lan Wangji however changes his momentum forward when the chain passed by him, intent to accomplish the new goal.

Sizhui grabs Guqin and plays more notes, remembering how Guangyao guided him. He plucked the strings towards Hanguang-Jun. It wasn't strong, but it caught him off guard. He picks up the instrument and runs towards Guangyao and to pull him away from this place.

They failed, but they can come back and make an alternative plan! Something that'll free his guardians, free the spirits!

He forgot how fast Hanguang-Jun could be when he appeared by his side and used his long legs to trip him. His face smacked against the floor and he’s forced down when a foot pushed into his back. The Guqin landed far from him. Guangyao was not idle, though, as he pulled his blade out.

"Get Zewu-jun out of here!" Sizhui nods as he attempts to pick up the body. He didn't know if Guangyao noticed or just ignored it, but already Sizhui could tell his body had lost its warmth.

Sizhui attempts to move the man's body, but he was tall and he had trouble moving him. He looked to Wen Qing to help him, but she just stood there.

"Wen Qing! Help!" But she shook her head.

A misstep happens as the chaotic resentful energy acts up and crackles in the air. It nearly hits Sizhui, which causes the Ghost General to change tactics and steps in to protect him and Zewu-jun’s body.

The negative energy pours into Wen Ning, who lets out a howling growl. Seeing Sizhui endangered Wen Qing is quick to throw the urn passing through him. He shivered, cold and confused. Why did she pass through him? Wasn't she a fierce corpse? Was she a ghost?

He hears a scream and turns to see Hanguang-jun cut the Ghost General into pieces.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ "Lan-er-gege! You can't be mad! I've called your name so many times." "Shameless." The innocent sound of laughter is heard in the air of the Library Pavilion. Lan Wangji lips tilt in a smile. He hides it before Wei Wuxian catches sight of it.

***********

The Wen's took so much and now Lan Wangji’s left to wander with Wei Wuxian’s brother to look for him. He could only hope they weren't too late.

*********** "Stop following the demonic path," he laughs, surprising the occupants in the room. "Ah Hanguang-jun, right? You have no right to tell me anything. This is Jiang Sect's business." Lan Wangji leaves confused. What happened to him?

*********** "Lan Er-ge-ge, thank you for playing for me." Lan Wangji smiles and thinks everything would be okay.

************ It wasn't okay. It stopped being okay, and he didn't know what to do. "Wei Wuxian." "Did you forget what we promised? What's right and what's wrong?" That promise, they promised to protect the weak.

************ He'll protect them. He'll uphold his promise like he should have when We Wuxian first left. "Come to Gusu with me." "I can't. What will happen to the Wen's? You know that the other Sects want them dead." "I can talk to brother." "I- I…" "Please Wei Wuxian come to Gusu.  I will talk to brother. The Wen's will be safe. A-Yuan will be safe." "Can you promise me that?" "Mn." He will make the promise again if it gives him the chance to protect him and the others when he should have.

*********** "A-xian. I love you." He murmurs as he held him close. They couldn't bring A-Yuan yet, seeing as the Lan was in discussion with the Jin Sect about this. It should be fine though, as his brother promised to see things through. "Ah, Lan-er gege! Warn me when you tell me things like this," giggles his love. He looked better now. His face didn't look as pale, and though he found out his golden core’s gone, it still wasn't impeding his recovery. "Mn." "Lan-er gege, take responsibility and hug me." He does, and so much more. This moment and all other moments would become so precious to him.

*********** "You promised me!" "Wei-" "You promised me they would be okay! AND NOW THEY'RE DEAD!" "Please, listen!" How could it all go wrong?! The Wen's killing Nie Mingjue. He still couldn't understand how such a thing could happen, but all evidence pointed towards them. "I'M DONE LISTENING! I'M DONE! WHY DID I EVER LISTEN TO YOU! I SHOULD HAVE STAYED AT THE BURIAL MOUNDS! At least-" He sobs and he could only watch in pain. "At least-AT LEAST THEY WOULD BE ALIVE. WEN QING... WEN NING... A-... A-YUAN!"

********* They found A-Yuan, hidden by the tree trunk and sneaked him back here. They were too late, and they prepared a private funeral. The elders however had stipulations. "Never! His outbursts are too dangerous. Did you not see the resentful energy around him! It would only agitate the boy's spirit. It's sad that we were too late to save him from the fever, but we cannot allow him to partake in the mourning ceremony! The poor boy's soul would be endangered." Lan Wangji stood outside as he heard Wei Wuxian wail in agony. He wouldn't even answer his calls. He stood there, like he did when he was younger for his mother, but now for his A-Xian.

********* "Did you hear? The Jin Sect is cursed. Many of the main family are dead. The young madam had to move back home to protect the heir. How sad that her husband did not survive. Some say he had a hole in his ribs." He ignored the rumors, when all he cared about was whether his love would open the doors. He sat there on his knees, waiting. Waiting. He never noticed when the Stygian Tiger Seal flew into one of the opened windows.

********** Jin Guangyao arrived, claiming that Wei Wuxian stole the Stygian Tiger Seal. Lan Wangji didn't care.

********** Lan Wangji can only watch in despair as the Gentian House, the home of his late mother and now of his love, surrounded by resentful energy. The others begged him to move, to stop the Yiling Patriarch, but he knew he couldn't. He didn't trust him. Wouldn't open the door. He didn't even want to talk to him anymore. He lost that right when he could not protect the Wens. 'If I gave you my life.' He thought as he stood there ignoring his brother's call. 'If I gave myself to the curse, would you please look at me? Just once more.' Tears slid down his face, his throat closing up. 'Please look at me once more.' Jin Guangyao had to pull Lan Xichen away as he watched his brother give himself up to the Yiling Patriarch's curse.

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

"GET OUT OF HERE!" Hanguang-jun stood still, surprised that Wei Wuxian was looking at him.

"YOU DID IT AGAIN! GET OUT OF HERE!" Without a word he leaves, but not before grabbing his Guqin, Wangji. The Yiling Patriarch surveyed the area, ignoring the longing look from Hanguang jun.

The ashes were scattered across the floor as Wen Qing held her brother's corpse cut into pieces. She wept as Wei Wuxian landed on his knees.

"Wen Qing," he sobs. "Qing. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." He kowtows before her. Wen Qing grabs his arm and shakes her head.

"It's okay. We've suffered enough, you've suffered enough. Let it go, it's time to rest," she utters as a golden light circles around her. Wei Wuxian could only cry as she disappears.

Both Sizhui and Guangyao leave with Xichen, allowing the Yiling Patriarch to mourn.

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

They arrived to the Hanshi in a somber mood.

They didn't succeed and Zewu-jun, who somehow lived all this time, was finally dead.

He was still curious how such a feat was possible, but Sizhui didn't even had the energy to sate his curiosity. The latest visions left a sour and bitter taste to his mouth. So much good intentions and it all lead to this hell.

Jin Guangyao fell. He waves off Sizhui.

"Go take him to his bed. I'll- I'll sit here and then join you for a bit." Sizhui nods and proceeds past the partition.

Odd that he never really walked passed here. Then again, he was never invited to the private room and with Lan Xichen mourning... it really wouldn't be appropriate.

He steps in and takes in the sight. The place was tidy. The books were in their place. A broken Guqin rested in one corner of the room with blood on its strings. It must have been Guangyao's as he remembered the conversation from earlier. The event must have been bad since it stained the wood.

Sizhui turns and finds a sight that should have terrified him, but after tonight's events he felt numbed. There on the bed was a dried up corpse. He wore the same clothes as Jin Guangyao but where the peony emblem should be, was nothing more than a hole, dried blood staining the fabric.

Jin Guangyao was a ghost too, huh? Odd how he felt real to the touch. Then again, so did Wen Qing. He wondered how that was possible, when she just passed by him, except for the urn holding the ashes. Were those her ashes?

He settles the last master of Gusu Lan to the bed, next to Jin Guangyao. Funny that Zewu-jun looked like he was sleeping peacefully. He wonders what his visions would have been. Did he and Guangyao share tea in this room? What was the relationship between him and his brother to fully entrust the safety of the now deceased Wens? He must have been a man of great integrity to have everyone trust him undisputedly.

He walks out of the room ready to face Guangyao's ghost, only to see the Yiling Patriarch standing over the fallen form of Guangyao.

"Stay away-" He stops short when he sees a sight for sore eyes. On the floor wearing Guangyao's clothes was his missing cousin, Jin Ling.

"This makes little sense."

"It does to me. I knew I killed him, I was just confused about how he could wield Liebling. After all, ghosts have no corporeal forms, so for them to hold on to anything they would need a relative or someone with a weak spiritual constitution to possess. Let me take a crack at it. A Jin? He has the same haughty look that all Jin's carry." Sizhui stood still, ready to grab his cousin to safety.

Wei Wuxian smirks.

"Don't worry, no more blood will be spilt. We have enough tragedies as it is. Question though. You are Lan, but you're not bound here. You could have left anytime you wanted. Especially when you found this one, so why are you still here?" Sizhui clears his throat.

"I can't leave till I free my A-Die and Senior. You have their souls"

"Let me guess. Guangyao? Here's the truth. He lied. Go ho-"

"You have their soul's! Their names are Lan Zhan and Wei Ying. Your laugh sounds almost like his if it didn't sound cynical and Hanguang-jun," he pauses. Unsure to tell him about the visions. "He is just as intimidating." Wei Wuxian laughs.

"Well, it makes sense why I felt out of it. It's only till recently that I feel coherent." He walks around the room taking in the sight and stops.

"You know that empathy can go two ways, right? It's hard for those that start off in the beginning, but once you get the hang of it, it becomes easier to look at the other side." He see's Sizhui's face and laughs.

"You know the visions you had. Tell me why did you run away?" It stuns Sizhui. did he know, no wait what did he know? Lying wouldn't get him anywhere, so he might as well be truthful.

"I'm cursed, or at least that's what other's say. My parents died when I was five and A-Die and Senior Wei took me in. After a while Senior Wei fell ill, with A-Die following along after that."

"Hm... and you thought running away would help?" Sizhui feels ashamed for the first time since he ran. Why did a man who placed a cursed, who almost killed him, wanted to kidnap him, now appeared to be admonishing him as if he did nothing wrong in his life? His mood was all over the place.

"Look kid you had good intentions right? Follow my advice, then. Running won't do you any good, it'll just make things more complicated. I ran instead of talking to others, confiding to others, and look where it took me." He gives him a grin, eyes appearing to water. "How about you go home and let those that love you help?"

"But the curs-"

"I'll take care of it. After all your what 15?"

"I'm 17!" He laughs lightly, painfully reminding him of Senior Wei.

"Take your friend home and leave. By the time you are walking down the mountain, we should break the curse. I just need to collect someone to help me."

"And you could have done this all this time." The devil may care smirk seemed to be a favorite face that Wei Wuxian loved to wear.

"Rule number one of a curse maker. Always know how to break said curse." He walks away, heading down the path that lead to the library. Sizhui wastes no time and wakes up Jin Ling.

"What the hell am I wearing?" As he takes it off, revealing his shirt and pants underneath. Sizhui finds his shoes and jacket in the closet, mindful to keep Jin Ling out of the room with the two dead occupants. No way would he be able to calm Jin Ling. 

Leaving no room for argument or questions, he pushes his cousin out of Hanshi and down the path that would take them down the mountain. Along the way, they met Jingyi and Zhizhen.

He answered their questions the best he could without revealing the horrors he faced. It was especially helpful when Jin Ling could not recall what happened at all. He saw Jin Ling look at him suspiciously, but figured he would explain to him at a later date. Now though was the time to leave this damn mountain.

Zhizhen was the first to hear the distant sounds of Dizi and Guqin playing.

"Wow, that sounds beautiful! Hey, are those fireflies?" The group looked around as orbs of light floated the night sky. Sizhui could feel it. They broke the curse.

Thank Jingyi who did not believe they were fireflies and urged them down the mountain.

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

The tow truck came and took them to Moling, where they called their Jin Ling's uncle Jiu'jiu'-Cheng. They could hear him threaten to break his legs if they moved from the spot.

Apparently the boys didn't ask or tell anyone they left to pick him up. He could only imagine how Jiu'jiu'-Cheng would react with him. He was always cautious about how he interacted with him, treating him like he was some porcelain doll. He didn't think that would last long after his latest stunt, though.

The next day, after a vigorous shower and thorough checkup, the injuries he had horrified his friends. He went to the hospital. The place was busy, but not as much as the one coming from his parents' rooms. Nurses were coming in and out, getting things and chit-chatting in excitement.

"What's going on?" he asked gu'gu'-li. Jin Ling's mother Jiang Yanli smiled, the joy reaching her eyes.

"Why don't you see?"

Lan Sizhui walked up to the room. It was a lot to take in.

Last time he was in this room Lan Zhan would just not move. Jiang Cheng, Wei Ying's brother, had to always come in and forcefully move him. Didn't work for long, as he always returned, until he could no longer move. He came to occupy the bed next to his beloved. He stopped coming in after that.

'That goes to show how much he loves Senior Wei.' He thought mournfully.

He didn't know what he was expecting, but the moment he came in heard  the rustling of the bed. It's been so long since he saw those grey eyes filled with mischief and glee. Tears erupted from his eyes.

"Well, there's our little rabbit." Commented Wei Ying, laying back comfortably on the pillow, his voice hoarse from disuse. He held back his gasp with a choke, foot pace quickening as he went to hug him. He felt so frail, and if he hugged him any tighter, he was sure to break him.

The sob came out, but he didn't care. He wasn't embarrassed, he just wanted to make sure that this moment was real. That the nightmares from Gusu manor were long gone. Senior Wei, he wasn't cold; he wasn't menacing and most of all broken. He was here alive! Living, breathing, and so warm. It was just so hard to let go. But he did when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He looked back and seeing those tired golden eyes.

"A-Die." His father turned him around.

"I'm sorry." Why was A-Die sorry? He didn't have to apologize. He was heartbroken. Lan Sizhui knew how much A-Die loves Senior Wei.

"Ah Lan Zhan, take responsibility and hug our little rabbit. Don't you see how worried he must have been." Lan Zhan agrees and hugs him tight. Lan Sizhui's eyes widened, then softened as he returned the hug.

"Don't worry about it. I know how much it hurt."

They stayed at the hospital room the entire day, reminiscing about the past and planning for the future. Jin Ling and the other's would join along. Almost caused them to be expelled, only to be kicked out when Jiu'jiu'-Cheng threatened to break his legs for his stunt. Running away had now permanently put him on the same list as Jin Ling, which said cousin cackled. Traitor.

Needless to say, Senior Wei forced him to stay the night to keep his adorable rabbit and show him all the love in the world.

Sizhui was okay with that as he slept on the couch happily. He was ready to welcome the many more days to come.

[drarryangels]

heyy so my birthday is in 3 days (the 14th) and i was wondering if you could write something for then? i really love your writing and *most* stories (i’m still crying bc of the last two)! it could be literally anything, i just wanted something cute and that hate that’s actually suppressed love vibe totally cool if you can’t/don’t want to, just thought i should try 😅 thank you 💜

Oh my gosh happy birthday!! (I’m probably going to post this early because I wanted to work on this as soon as I got this ask and Tumblr won’t let you schedule ask posts as far as I know) So happy EARLY birthday!! Thank you so much and I’m sorry about the two most recent fics! (I’m actually not and your reactions gave me LIFE) Thank you for being the sweetest and I’m so so so happy to write something for you!

Also I’m sorry I couldn’t decide whether or not to write something angsty or fluffy so I wrote both. (the second one will be coming on your actual birthday)

I still haven’t figured out how to sit across from you, and not be madly in love with everything you do, Draco thought, spooning more eggs into his mouth. 

Harry was laughing across the table, giggling and snorting at something Pansy had said. Draco didn’t know what she had said, but whatever it was had Harry losing his mind. He looked so beautiful in this light. Rich sunlight was sparkling in and out of perspective through the windows and dust motes caught on and ruffled through Harry’s hair. 

Draco smiled down at his plate. He had made Harry’s hair like that. Wild and untamed, finger tracks imprinted through his curls from last night and this morning. Sex and kissing and cuddling. Just one tiny sign of the fingerprints all over Harry’s body that Draco had left there. 

Harry’s toes tapped over Draco’s under the table and Draco’s eyes flicked up to meet Harry’s green ones. Every time. Every time, Draco couldn’t help but lose his breath. Being in love with Harry Potter had that effect on him. 

Pansy kicked Draco’s knee under the table, and even though it stung, he didn’t have it in him to glare at her. He knew it was her way to say stop looking like you’re so in love you can’t function, but that’s exactly what he was. 

At first, their friends, even Harry’s who had only known about their relationship for a week, had teased them about being in the honeymoon phase. But while the rest of their friends lost their desperate need for public sexy times and shifted towards the old bickering of people who knew each other too well, Draco and Harry didn’t change. 

Harry’s hands had never stopped shaking in nervous anticipation after that first time after their eighth year graduation when they had kissed for the first time. It had just been a light, soft thing, but it made Draco’s heart stutter in his fingertips. Draco’s heart still did that when they kissed. Harry’s habit of lacing both his hands through Draco’s before they went to bed never faded away. Draco’s insistence to eat half of the food off of Harry’s plate for every meal never dissipated. 

They were still just as madly in love as they had been since always. It wasn’t a honeymoon phase because it wasn’t a phase. 

They’d been together for over four years now, and everything was still a surprise. Every move was still a gift. 

Harry stood up from the brunch table and kissed Pansy on the cheek. Draco knew they were leaving the restaurant, but why? Hadn’t they just gotten here? Harry might’ve had an Auror meeting. Maybe he was just heading out earlier. Harry came around the table and grabbed Draco’s hand and beckoned him to follow along. Pansy just grinned and waved goodbye. 

Draco trusted Harry, and so he followed him. 

There was no one outside when they walked past the host at the front door and out of the local brunch place they’d been eating at. The streets were completely empty. 

Draco turned to ask Harry what was going on, but when he turned, Harry was there pressing him up against the side of the wall with beauty captured in his eyes. He was so close that Draco could almost see his own reflection in the glassiness of Harry’s eyes, but there was no roughness of lust. Harry’s hands were gentle on his hips and his mouth was just barely brushing the corner of Draco’s mouth. 

“I miss you,” Draco whispered. Harry leaned back in confusion, and then it was over. 

Draco sat up violently and looked around. Their bed was empty and the sheets were soaked with Draco’s sweat and the mess of rolling he had done in his sleep. A sharp pull tugged his stomach down into darkness.

Draco flopped back into bed and closed his eyes tightly. I miss you. Draco wished desperately to go back to sleep. That was the only time he ever got to see Harry now.

“Dada?” a small voice came from the doorway. “Papa?”

Draco lifted his head and squinted in the darkness. For a second, he saw two tiny boys clutching onto each other highlighted by the light coming in through the door, and then the image cleared. Scorpius was hanging on to the door frame with one hand, and the other one clutching on to the knitted blanket Mrs. Weasley had given him last Christmas. The pull in his stomach yanked down again, and gravity swam underneath him.

“Come here, bub,” Draco said quietly. 

Scorpius waddled over to the side of Draco’s and Harry’s bed, now just Draco’s, and held his hands up for Draco to lift him up. Draco picked him and lied him down in the curve of of his body. Draco lifted his hand to rub through Scorpius’ curly blonde hair. 

“Where’s Dada?” he heard Scorpius whisper. 

Draco squeezed his eyes shut and glance over his shoulder at the empty side of the bed where Harry used to sleep before… 

“Gone,” Draco whispered back, a hot tear sliding out of the corner of his eye. “They’re both gone.”

“Gone where?” Scorpius rolled over to face Draco and wrapped his small, dimpled hand into Draco’s shirt. 

Draco opened his eyes and let the tears drip down his face sideways. “They’re just gone, bub. It was an accident.”

“Dada?”

“He went in the accident, too,” Draco choked out. Scorpius set his hand clumsily on Draco’s cheek. Draco stared into his little, pointed his face. His son. Draco never thought he’d get to say that. Never thought he’d ever have a son of all things. Much less, two! Two sons, twins. 

“Why didn’t Alby come home?” Scorpius asked, his voice so small, so stumbly and young. 

Draco tried to swallow it down. Tried to swallow down the heaving sobs and the grief that was trying to stab everything in him to pieces. 

“He’s gone, too,” Draco said. His body shook, he could feel it shaking as if it was the only thing that made him real. He could feel Scorpius shaking too, pressed up against him, and the only thing he had left in this life. 

It had happened so fast. Harry had gone out with Albus into Muggle London. Sweet, lovely dark-haired Albus with Harry’s dark skin and Draco’s moles. His son, his perfect son. And Harry, dressed like a haphazard mess, just like he always was. Draco remembered the morning like it was happening then, all again. 

The orange sweater Harry had put on. Draco had tugged at it, prodding at Harry and telling him the Chudley Cannons sucked, and so did neon orange. Harry had kissed his cheek and then swatted his hands away before picking Albus up and swinging him around the kitchen. He had bellowed, “Whose ready for a day with the Aurors?” Albus had shrieked and squealed, “Me, me, me!”

It had been take your kid to work day. Albus had insisted on going with Harry into the Auror office for the day, and Scorpius had wanted to go to Draco’s apprenticeship job at the upstart wand making shop in Diagon Alley. So that’s what they had done. 

Draco didn’t find out until 15:02 the next day that Harry and Albus had been on the bus that’s brakes had broken down and driven straight off the road, killing all the passengers within the first five rows of seats. Damn Albus and his need to see absolutely everything and everyone through the front window. 

Scorpius hadn’t been with him, he’d been at the Weasley’s for several hours, and the first thing Draco did was Apparate to where the bus had crashed. It was gone. It was already a day later, and they’d cleared the bus and bodies. 

So Draco went to the hospital. Wizards didn’t need any identification other than wands, and therefore didn’t carry any IDs. The authorities didn’t know what to do with a man with a long piece of thin wood in his pocket and the tiny boy with a snapped neck who had been in his lap. They took them to the hospital and waited for someone to identify them. 

They didn’t ask Draco if he knew them. 

Draco didn’t even have to really see them. He’d crashed into the wall, and then into the floor because his husband and his son. His husband and his son, and oh Merlin. He’d never wanted to see this. He’d never wanted to see anything like this in his life. Dear god, dear god, why had Harry gotten that phrase stuck in his head? Oh god, they were really, really gone. His husband, and his baby boy. Gone, dead, blue, identified. They carried Draco out, kicking and screaming, and took him to the mental ward. He Apparated out when they shoved him in the waiting room. The Statute of Secrecy meant shit. 

The next thing Draco did was go to the Weasley’s. He snatched Scorpius up in his arms from where he’d been rolling around with Victoire on the kitchen floor and hugged him so tight, Fleur had yelped at him not to suffocate Scorpius. And then Draco had sat on the floor and cried harder than he’d ever cried in his life, still holding onto Scorpius. 

There was talking and a lot of crying after that. Someone had to tell the Weasley’s. Someone had to call Hermione and Ron back from their work trip to America, advocating for magical creature rights. Someone had to go back and put the funeral matters in order. 

Draco went to say goodbye later. He’d never wanted to see anything like this in his life. His 23 year old husband with combed hair and pale skin and a tuxedo on. And three year old Albus, who was too small to even really deserve a coffin all his own. Draco held Harry’s hand and ran his finger’s through Albus’ hair, and it was all so wrong. So, so incredibly wrong. 

He took Harry’s ring off of his finger and put it on a chain around his neck. There was nothing to remember Albus by. He was a baby. He didn’t have any rings or material objects that would hold on to the memory of his soul. All he had was a blonde haired twin who’d gotten left behind in the world of the living. 

It had been a week. One week. 

And Draco lied there, holding Scorpius close in the abandoned stale dark of his bed. Draco lied there with his mouth open, and spit and snot dribbling, and wailed silently. He held onto Scorpius’ warm, breathing body, and cried into his waving hair. He rocked in bed and stared at all the empty gaps that were left in his life. 

I still haven’t figured out how to move on from this, and not be madly in love with everything that used to be mine. 

-

(Notes: Holy crap. I feel like I just ran an emotional marathon after writing this. I meant for this to be fluffy and then I sneezed and uh… This is honestly the only fic that I’ve cried about while writing. I don’t cry about my own fics. Woah, you just proved me wrong. I am so desperately sorry @holdmybook I promise I’ll write something sweet for the 14th)

[gav-san]

White as the Driven Snow

-Wash-

1/7

------

You wondered how long it had been since you had seen the sky. Or breathed fresh air (and not the sharp ventilated afterbite of it). It was too long since you held felt the prickly blades grass between your toes or the wind fluttering your hair. Too long since you had seen the sun.

Your skin had once held a rosy glow but now was reduced to a sickly shade. This seemed supremely ironic as being locked away underground was supposed to prevent the grime and grit that the world above offered. But like a child picking up a dirty lollipop of the street, some things couldn't be prevented by you alone. Not that you would scream. No one would hear you, and at this point, you wondered if anyone good was even looking.

Your mother never exactly revealed why you weren’t allowed to meet her side of the family (totally understandable in retrospect), and your dad had been remarried after your mother’s death. Now all of that growing apart and not calling much was going to get you killed. 

But even if your life had been truly unfair in many respects, there were a lot of good things going on. You were in your second year of college, part of your college’s cheer squad, famous for performing at the UA sports festival, and had lots of friends.

This was not the slightest bit fair.

The slightest uncareful sound from your lips could cause these monsters to descend again, but not for any rational sort of torture. These masked creatures with false beaks were a special sort of savage. Clean wasn’t good enough for the plague doctors.

You needed to be spotless. Pure.

Ever since they had invaded the safety of your home, kidnapping you, all they murmured about was making you pure enough.

You hated that word.

You weren’t sure what the correct definition of Pure meant, but you soon got a dark idea of what it entailed.

Stolen, you had imagined many horrors. Human trafficking was not common in Japan, but it did happen. Girl shackled to beds, placed on drugs so they could neither escape mentally or physically. The plush doctor’s office didn't entirely fulfill that morbid fantasy. And upon waking, it took hours to connect the dots. Not until the female doctor with a large wart on her cheek gave you the worst surprise appointment of your life, did you fully realize how twisted the situation was. You didn't speak, trying to pick up on any fragment of conversation.

But all you heard were mutters of Overhaul, requests, Hassaikai, and those meant nothing to you.

Strapped up by one of the ‘expendables’ as they called themselves, you were subjected to several cosmetic procedures, some dangerous, teetering between being vaguely awake and unconscious. You finally break, begging for an explanation, and receive none, just a gag accompanied by a breathing mask. The woman examined you from head to toe, removing moles, and just so much touching. Lasik, teeth whitening, minor surgery, freckle removal, chemical peels, and microdermabrasion. She probably had some sort of medical quirk, because you should not have been able to do so much so quickly. Any hair specifically not on your head was lasered off, and your skin scrubbed and polished with creams that removed any hint of spots or blemishes.

The last memory in that awful office was of a large needle, and finally, through the cloth in your mouth, did you screech.

You awoke out of the drugged stupor with breathing mask strapped on you. No longer strapped down you quickly sat up, but didn't tear it off. You could feel the heaviness in your chest, and waited a long while, trying to take in your surroundings before doing anything rash. Your mother, long paranoid of some monster sweeping you away, had taught you to remain calm in an emergency. The long white dress you are in is light, and cool air pierces it easily from the air conditioning in the ceiling. The bed is screwed to the ground, and so you can't even adjust it away from the airflow.

The whitewashed room was small, featureless save for a large TV embedded behind glass in the far wall. The bare outline of a door was next to it, and it looked so much like a mental ward that panic did fill you. What had happened? Surely you had never done anything to warrant this! You tried to think of what had happened... Your last memory wasn't so clear, just you sitting at the dorm room kitchen counter, eating cereal. There was a knock on the door, strange as most people are on spring break. Perhaps a roommate got locked out? You opened the door, and then it was nothing... just black.

Clarity and an explanation don't come quickly.

Your only link to the outside world is the instructions that occasionally flash on the TV.

EAT. Meals appear on cue, painfully scanty and light.

SLEEP. The bare light on the ceiling goes out.

EXERCISE. You are not a lazy person. You had been on the Mustafar University Cheer team, taking tumbles, dancing and flirting riotously at events. But they don't care about your muscles and refusals. They want you thin, not fit. With a diet that rivaled celebrities and daily exercise routines, your body became slender and lean.

The day SHOWER appeared on the screen, you were perplexed. They had left you to sit in your filth and sweat for days, so the change in routine was sharp.

You didn’t have a shower in the room, and so the moment the door opened you got a real look at the monsters who moonlighted your nightmares.

It's another woman, with ugly, bulbous eyes and arms that twisted into tentacles as the elbow. Someone who would be bullied. Some quirks were worse than none. An ugly retort was on your tongue but as she lumbered forward, something black and viscous dripping from her body, you zipped your lips shut. A large, bird mask lay on her features, the beak twisted and unfriendly, like a toucan with a disease.

Down flat empty halls with no windows, she led you to a bathroom contained the most high-powered torture device spray possible. Brutal water pressure and you discovered one of the guards was female, as she was the one who forced you in, sprayed you down, and stuck soap all over you, all while telling you how fortunate you were. Apparently, your mother happened to be the second child of a prominent mobster, and the current head was looking for someone in the family to marry and continue the bloodline. You earned a slap when you suggested that your dog was still single. She told you since you were quirkless, you might as well be a dog.

You didn’t know how much more you could take. Any more showers and ritualistic cleanings by people with gruesome quirks who refused to look at you for long, only scrubbing when you have been insufficiently rubbed raw.

The smell of disinfectant and whatever was in the awful shampoo was all you smelled anymore, and they used something similar for laundry, done daily, if not more often. Was there a thing as too clean? You had never been dirty but this was an obsession. They were a cult of cleaning fanatics, and your body was their fixation. The mere white dress was your only article of clothing.

Even if you still had the strength to fight, the red reminder on your skin still stung from the decontamination chamber (what as you had named it). The tips of your fingers were still shriveled and pruned from grabbing the bottom of the shower. There was no more fight on you tonight, just the little desire to sleep.

Which is why you almost broke into sobs when the door opened again. She was back.

“The boss is coming tonight for final evaluation. We need to finish making you presentable.” 

“How  thoughtful.”

“Watch your mouth. Overhaul has little patience, and even if you share blood with the old boss, he will finish you himself.” She didn’t slap you. Instead, she just gazed at you with dark, hateful eyes.

“Is that his name then?  Overhaul?”  This earned a smack.

“You will treat Master Overhaul as a god. For all intents and purposes, he is one.” She carefully wrapped you in one of her clean tentacles. You didn’t get the heavy bath treatment, and you realized that she was being unusually considerate as she ushered your down endless long hallways. At the end of one, she opened a door and your eyes widened. 

Did it look like... a beauty parlor? In a mafia hideout? 

Not totally new, but spotless, and utterly white like everything else. There was a nervous-looking woman there to transform you was in all white as well. You looked at her, and she turned away, unable to look you in the eye. You turned to a mirror and didn't question why.

“Make her pretty. Try not to use much makeup. The boss has no patience for unclean things, so nothing with a heavy scent either.”

The technician went to work. There was the first hint of color as she opened her bag, glorious colors of tan, orange, brown and off white. The fierce smell of a beauty salon escaped and for a moment you were outside again. It made the next bit bearable, the part where she painted you, fixed your hair, and made your look alive. Unwilling to drag the terrified looking technician further into the delusion, you didn’t fight her. 

As she finished curling your hair, you glanced at the mirror, to see how she had done. What you had seen in the mirror for twenty years was gone, replaced by an almost photoshopped version of you. Real people didn’t look so strange. It wasn’t you.

A huge wave of nostalgia and misery hit you, bringing tears to your eyes. You desperately wanted your couch, sitting and watching some reruns of CSI or something normal. You just wanted to be normal again, eat ramen and wear your hair in a ponytail and enjoy the sun. Now pretty, clean and polished, you were given another white dress, this one much more fitted than the smock you had been in. Forced into the snug creation you were dragged to the last room.

You weren’t this woman in the mirror. You didn’t diet to be this thin or have hair this color or have eyelashes this long. This was a lie. And after the tears subsided, your only slim comfort was that it would be over soon. It was coming, the moment you couldn't do it anymore.

Mob blood withstanding, you were a bit mouthy, and that never boded well for you around people who had large egos. You had already lost several jobs and were barely funding your college tenure with your latest one at a bookstore. Well... had. It was just so unfair. 

A bitter thought kept coming to you, over and over. 

Where were the heroes?

The tentacle around you tightened.

“Don’t cry. I’ll get angry if you mess it up.” You sniffed, anger coursing through you. Who did these people think they were? If you were going down, you decided that they were all coming with you.

  The end of the line was one last room, generously sized, but filled. Rushed in by the tentacle woman, you still had time to see the final set-up. There were several other women here, all dressed the same as you. Each with their own handlers, each looking upset and panicked as the situation rightfully called for, each sitting tied to a chair, hands tied behind them. They looked to you, eyes wide and fearful, and you gazed back, understanding and upset.

You were led to the end, the last seat available, and forced into the same position. And then the entire group waited, and not a single soul uttered a word. Their handlers had beaten obedience into them. Well, for the moment.

The slowly growing dread that was starting to eat away at your nerves, and it was only a matter of time. Someone finally broke down, the girl with pink hair at the other end, a sob erupting. It was followed by a hard slap, and the sounds of a rag being stuffed in her mouth. She choked on the vile cloth, but finally managed to calm down, her 'handler' swearing viciously at the mess. 

Ten minutes passed.

Twenty minutes. Two more girls broke. They both received a rag in their mouths.

Thirty minutes. 

Fourt-

 The door opened.

 In a world rife with quirks that deform and mutate it isn’t unusual to see people who are suffering from the backlash of horrendous deformation and downright disability. It was almost as common as not for someone to be born with pink or green hair, then just brown or blonde. You hadn't given much thought to who are the monsters behind this desecration of women is, but you are sure he is no catch. How could someone who is so merciless to a potential wife be anything but ugly?

The other girls are curious as well, and you see eyes struggling to stay down. But caution is hardly going to help at this point, so you glance up. And before your head is shoved down, into your knees, you catch a glimpse of a pale face, delicate shaped, and exquisite amber eyes pointed away in disgust. Your chest feels an uncomfortable weight as you realize that not only ugly men are monsters. Even handsome men with glossy, golden eyes can be them, and the color sticks in your eyes, burning them. It’s not even an uncommon color, yet paired with black lashes and a narrowed expression, they appeared to be glowing. All of this is topped off with a bird mask.

No, you tell yourself, this must be the son of the man.

After a moment your thoughts return, enough to hear the sound of the man's measured steps, hurried and impatient. They come near, examining each downturned head, and you wonder if he can even see your faces. You can only see the faint image of your plucked face in his shiny leather shoes that appear in your downturned vision. You faintly register a second pair of shoes that follow, light as a child, but don’t see anyone.

“Repulsive. They’re all filthy.” He says, and you realized that this is the boss. There's no mistaking it. This was the guy with the phobia. It shocks you, as mob bosses were never this young, handsome or disgusting... right?

You don’t know his age, but his voice can’t be over thirty. It's something from a well to do accountant, not firm and deep like an evil All Might, but almost cracking and boyish. But such a mild voice wasn’t running off numbers. Just contemplating just how unworthy you all were. Obviously, the group hasn’t made a good showing. You can’t bring yourself to care anymore. All rational emotion has left you discontent, and needing a drink of water.

A high voice answers the boss, some lacky, probably with a crap quirk.

“These are the best we could find. Each is from an aligned mafia family, and most are quirkless. If not, well, that’s always fixable.”

One of the girls sobs through the napkin in her mouth, and you can imagine the anger in his glowing topaz eyes.

“You think any of these creatures are worthy of being next to me. Look at them. They are shaking. A disobedient woman is just as bad as a being  unclean.” The boss says flatly. "Where's Chronostasis-"

A monster with a cleaning disorder, and a bigot. He's talking like it's your fault, that you were here by choice, and your chest fills with a disdainful, mocking swearword. Unable to contain your utter vitriol as the absurd conversation, you wheeze out a  laugh. Well, at least it wasn’t the swearword, you think fatefully.

The room goes deathly quiet.

The other women are quiet, knowing you have just signed your death warrant, the first of the day. The leather shoes had retreated out of sight, but the sound of them returning is ominous. Not only that but the hand on the back of your head has twisted you forward painfully. She's very upset, you guess. The position is bad, and your lungs struggle to function properly. Tears pool in your eyes, and the makeup in coming off. Your hands strain, trying to escape the bounds. Your accompanying cough does nothing to improve your case. If there was ever a sign of uncleanliness, you’ve displayed it. Perhaps all those freezing cold showers had, ironically, gotten you sick.

One moment you are coughing to death, the next you are on the ground, the chair under you cracking into a million pieces. The surprise takes the air out of your lungs, and you manage to stop coughing. Your hands are freed, though still tied together, and wood in poking your back. Your dress rides up dangerously to your thighs.

None of this matters as much as the hands that are firmly around your throat. Small ones. For on top of you is what looks like a stuffed puppet come to life, a bird mask attached to his front. The top of the beak is dangerously positioned over your throat, weirdly strong for being a puppet. You laugh again, hysterical, and he drags your throat up.

“How  dare you insult Overhaul!” He says, and you slowly blink the mascara away, senseless.

The puppet turns up, glowering. The tentacle woman is in trouble. 

“Who is this creature who you have brought?!?!” The masked woman is pressed against the wall, sweat pooling around her face. Her tentacle hands are gripping the wall. “We  instructed you to only bring the best!” His hand is getting tighter, and your already strained breathing is getting even harder.

“She’s the old bosses granddaughter, from his estranged second daughter.” The woman whispers, frightened to death.

There's an audible pause. 

  “Mimic. Don’t kill her just yet.” The voice of the boss says, breaking the silence. The hand around your throat loosens, just a touch.

“She’s..." The words seem to fail the creature named Mimic. "Her? His granddaughter? The one?”

The handler nodded, and Mimic's hand is suddenly gone from your throat. You breathe in that overly sterile air, unsure of what had just happened. Had you been saved from death? You slowly sit up, coughing violently in your sleeve, and once the attack is over, you look around you.

The other girls and their handlers are gone.

Before you is a pair of black slacks, and you can see the expensive fabric he's wearing, though his ankles are bare between his white shoes and the pants. Your eyes trail up, slowly taking in the man before you, hitting the thick brown belt, hands in white gloves, a green parka with a purple color, until you see a mask that belongs 1656 and resolutely look down. You don't want to see his eyes again.

You have the undivided attention of Overhaul, who is giving you a similar appraisal, taking in the softness of your mouth, a slender tilt of your shoulders, the curve of your waist under the dress.

You wondered if he would lift his foot and crush your skull in himself, or if he saved that sort of thing for his cronies. 

A hand reaches out and not aware enough, you don't flinch. The plastic glove encasing his hand brushes your cheek, coming away with black and tan makeup. He brings it up to examine it himself, putting two fingers together to rub the colors together.

"My apologies. I didn't realize that you had come." You aren't sure what to say to such unhinged civility he provided. "It looks as though your stay here has been less than what is demanded."

You aren't looking up, so you don't see that his gaze has turned away from you, twisting to the woman on the wall behind you. You don't even realize it's happened until it's over. One moment the mob boss is standing before you, the next he has moved beside you, hand clutching the handler who had done little to gain your favor. But you don't realize that your silence is enough to sentence her.

You look over just in time to see him holding her.

As his hand squeezes the trainer’s face the woman just...  explodes.

Blood, organs, and sick flesh litter the room behind him, and your eyes widen in disbelief and disgust. Red drops hit your white dress and your feet move before you can think. Fear floods you, the ache in your back fades to a thrum as you scramble up, standing next to the door, trying to open it. It is shut like it never was meant to be opened in the first place. You glance back to him as he is straitening his stance, looking furiously animalistic at the mess he has made.

But upon hearing your cry of fear, the sound of your nails against the door he seems to regain sense.

He straightens, walking forward to the door, his one, plastic-covered hand placed on it. He's boxed you in, and you are forced to stare at his mask, refusing to look in his eyes. Never look into the eyes of a wild animal.

"It seems as though you will need some adjustments. Your mother has done you a disfavor." He doesn't explain himself, just raising a bloody hand to raise your chin. You don’t break into tears, just close your jaw so your teeth stop chattering, refusing to look him in his eyes. You can see that perhaps it's not just a mental disorder, as his skin has broken out into hives where the blood has touched, red angry boils that marr his pretty face.

He puts a plastic-encased finger to your lips. Nothing happens. 

“Acceptable. If just  barely .” It’s a threat and a promise rolled into a proposal you couldn’t refuse. 

Read more at https://archiveofourown.org/works/21353212/chapters/50860795

[cupcakemolotov]

A Broken Shield

Posted for Day One: Mythological Creatures of Klaroline AU Week. Not particularly mythological in this one, but did a bit of a role swap with Klaus as a witch and Caroline as a werewolf. Very AU, and not sticking to any TVD Canon. A tiny smidge of angst, but not romantically.

The bar was filled with smoke, the low voice of a witch touched with magic singing to the crowd. Not a siren, Caroline decided as she threaded through the swaying bodies, but perhaps a few drops of fae blood. Her voice was sweet if not strong, and her face was engagingly human. It was a song that invited you to stay, to drink, and probably why she had this gig. Once upon a time Caroline would have had a quiet word or five with the owner, given them a nice little fine. Mood magic was illegal when mixed with alcohol unless expressly agreed to and she hadn’t seen any of those warnings.

But she wasn’t a cop anymore. She had no authority and, Caroline supposed, no real inclination to involve herself in this small racquet. She’d only ducked into the bar to make use of its backdoor into an alley. It was a familiar shortcut, and her feet had followed the path without much thought. 

Evening was starting to fall over the city, the softly falling snow pretty.  She knew somewhere in the city a body was cooling and a detective was cursing the snowfall, the way it would ruin the lingering scents. A werewolf nose might be inadmissible in court, but no one was quite willing to dismiss what it could find, either. That forty-eight hours ago she’d been both detective and wolf had been an assist.

Now, she’d been striped of her badge and her wolf was angry. Pausing to let her eyes scan the room, she tiredly rolled her neck. She’d left the quiet seclusion of her apartment in hopes that a long walk would smooth the jagged edges of being so unceremoniously thrown out of what she’d considered her pack. The way her partner had watched her with a set expression.

Matt hadn’t been surprised. 

That had hurt the most. An unexpected betrayal from the one place she’d stopped looking for it inside a department that had slowly turned from home to a false sanctuary over the last decade. Police Chief Mason Lockwood was thinning the ranks, cutting his losses and she’d ended up on the chopping block. 

She’d known it was coming as soon as she’d seen the faces around her when she’d walked in, had braced her wolf with a stubborn will when she’d wanted to use teeth. Better to go now, when she still had her dignity and her pride than to let a man who would never be her alpha try to wear her down. 

It would be hard to find short term work in the city. No private agency would be willing to take her so soon, and even her nearly impeachable record wouldn’t mean much in a place where human and supernatural no longer blended quite so seamlessly. Something dangerous was brewing in the streets, but those were worries for another day. Tonight, she needed to burn off enough aggigitation that she could sleep. 

Ignoring the little tug of suggestion to continue to linger, her wolf brushed the magic easily aside, Caroline stepped back into the softly falling snow. Shutting the door quietly, she turned let the fresh air clear her nose. The snow was sharp, and underneath it were the lingering hints of those who’d walked the alley before her. The wind shifted, and her hair slid across her face just as another, more familiar scent caught her attention.

Stiffening, she bit down on a growl of frustration as the witch she had been hoping to avoid until she got her emotions under control turned and walked down the narrow alley. He paused for a moment, clearly not expecting to find someone already in the alley, before his mouth curled into a familiar, pleased smile.

With tumbled curls and entirely unfair lips, Klaus Mikaelson skittered along the edge of being almost too pretty. He played his natural charisma very well, oozing charm and enough heat to make the even the most devout of grandmother’s take notice. Caroline wasn’t devout and over the years she’d had cause to be thankful that he didn’t have the same sense of smell that she did.

“Detective,” he murmured. She had been braced for the familiar greeting, but flinched anyway. His smile flattened, gaze turning diamond hard. “So it’s not just a rumor.”

Caroline shoved her fingers into her jacket pockets to hide the way her nails curled into her palms. Forcing herself to ignore the flutter of happiness that coursed through her at his obvious temper on her behalf, she sidestepped his words. “Mikaelson. What are you doing here?”

His gaze narrowed at her deflect, and Klaus moved closer, until the familiar bite of his cologne and his intriguing personal scent overpowered everything else. “I own this bar.”

She blinked and looked over her shoulder at the dipilated sign, the scarred wood and slightly outdated exterior. It didn’t surprise her that he owned more real estate than the Department knew about, she just hadn’t expected this location to be one of them. Brow arching, she turned back to him, voice dry. “Did you know you’re employing someone with siren blood to sing without proper warnings?”

“Am I?” He shrugged. “Resumes are so hard to trust these days.”

Half-tempted to smile at his blasé tone, she shook her head and made to move further down the alley. Klaus shifted, blocking her path with his body. “Let me buy you a drink.”

Caroline blinked and then frowned. “I’m not in the mood to be interrogated.”

Her firing was still to new, too bloody of a cut for her to be willing to discuss it. That Klaus even knew about it confirmed her long held belief that he had eyes and ears inside the Department. It wasn’t much of a surprise, she’d spent years trying to get a mole inside his organization. It did suck that he’d been better at it than her. 

“Just a conversation, Caroline,” he coaxed. “We are something like friends, are we not?”

Her lips pursed as she considered his words. The thing between her and Klaus was complicated. He was pushy at his best, murderous at his worst. But much to her chagrin, her wolf had liked him from the start. Klaus, with his charm and his playfulness that acted as such a thin veneer for the violence that lived beneath his skin. It had taken the cop much longer to be so accepting, so willing to acknowledge the attraction he’d had never once tried to ignore. 

Today, heart sick and bruised, she wasn’t sure spending time with him was such a good idea. But then again, Klaus had never betrayed her and she’d given him ample opportunity for it. Maybe some company, familiar as he was, would ease her wolf enough she could sleep.

“One drink,” she agreed finally. Shoving her hair back, she glanced at the bar and shook her head. “Something quieter than here, please.”

His lips curved, dimple a shadowed tease. “I know a place.”

“When I said quieter, I didn’t necessarily mean empty.” Caroline’s words echoed around the room, and Klaus chuckled as he walked around the bar. His boots were surprisingly soft on the wood, and she absently wondered if he’d spelled them.

Witches. 

Giving herself a moment, she admired the feel of the newly renovated bar. If she remembered correctly, the location had been run by a witch twenty years ago and the premise had been badly damaged by a gang fight, and it had shut down shortly after. It had sat empty and rotting for a long time.

She glanced back to find him watching her, his eyes shadowed in the low light. He seemed content to watch her, but she hadn’t been looking for echoes of her own heartbeat, and this place was an old memory. “Do you own this one too?”

Klaus’ laughter was soft. “Not exactly.”

Caroline wondered what that meant. Shaking her head, she let her gaze sweep over the changes. “The update is lovely.”

His gaze sparked with curiosity. “Did you know it before?”

Unwinding her scarf, she finally walked towards him. “I used to live in the area.”

His brows arched high and he tipped his head towards a stool. “I didn’t know that.”

She gave him credit for only allowing a hint of disgruntlement to leak into his voice. Klaus had never taken kindly to her secrets. “Should you have?”

The look he gave her was flat and she laughed. Even if she hadn’t been the cop who butted heads against him and his people the most frequently, she thought that he might have still dug through her life with a fine tooth comb. She didn’t know what it would mean now that they were no longer technically on opposite sides. 

“It was a few years before I decided to be a cop again, and long before I’d have been on your radar.” Caroline murmured, answering his unvoiced question as she finished shedding her outer layer. 

Klaus considered her words with a little frown, but his face quickly smoothed over. “Perhaps.”

Rolling her eyes, Caroline pointed at the wall lined with bottles. “I was promised a drink.”

He glanced at the collection of booze. “Gin, if I remember correctly?”

She snorted. “Tonight is definitely a tequila night.” 

His brow arched but he obligingly hunted for a shot glass, movements sure and easy. Caroline wondered how much time he’d spent behind a bar. Picturing him with rolled back sleeves, the hint of the tattoos that were only partly visible when he bared his forearms, left her feeling a little flushed.

Pre-cop Caroline would have flirted hard.

She’d have to decide what post-cop Caroline wanted. 

“Lime?” His voice cut smoothly through her thoughts, and she shook her head.

“Not tonight.” Caroline braced her arm on the bar, studied him as he moved. “When did you work behind a bar?”

His lips curled as he poured her a shot and then set the bottle next to her. “Here and there, as needed. It’s a bit of a rare occurrence now.”

Klaus didn’t give her a chance to respond, lifting  his own bottle of choice, some fancy bourbon, and saluting. Tipping her head, Caroline downed her shot, and she let the burn of it ease the knot in her chest. It didn’t touch the grief, but the tight muscles in her neck eased a hair. Maybe she’d consider getting drunk after all. 

When she was alone again.

“I am sorry, Caroline,” Klaus said once she’d poured herself another drink, his voice low. She looked up to find him watching her, mouth set in a hard line. “The city will miss you as a detective.”

There was a wealth of meaning under his words. She and Klaus had worked against each more often than their goals had aligned, but he’d never let her chosen profession get in the way of what he claimed he wanted. He’d always done his best to push past the shield she wore, figuratively and literally, to find the woman, the wolf, behind the badge. But in his pursuit, he’d never ignored what she was trying to accomplish or how good she was at her job. It’d been the reason she’d never been able to fully shake him. He’d been as frustrated as he’d been fascinated by the cop.

But she didn’t feel up to picking through those layers. Not tonight. “Thank you,” she said simply. 

Klaus’ head tipped and his gaze moved along her face. “I am somewhat disappointed that Donovan has chosen to abandon you so fully.”

Caroline’s fingers curled a little tighter around her glass, and she frowned at him. “You’re fishing.”

“I don’t need you to tell me what happened in the precinct, sweetheart. It’s all over your face. For all that you’ve chosen to disavow the packs in the city, you’ve always been a creature that seeks bonds.” Klaus took another pull on the bourbon. “Lockwood is a fool.”

Caroline set her teeth, because she agreed. “Putting a wolf in charge of other wolves is never a good idea.”

Not without a clear cut dominance already in place. Human laws required that they avoid inconvenient things like dominance fights, and she hadn’t been the only wolf to disappear from the force. Mason was strong. But he wasn’t quite strong enough to leash the city. Caroline wasn’t sure he understood that. Her ex-captain was a political beast, and his vision was short sighted. 

Her wolf hated him.

Klaus licked along his lower lip, eyes probing. “Rumor has it Lockwood considers himself the Alpha, that he is trying to organize the packs.”

Caroline reached for the tequila. Her hand didn’t shake, but the hot spike of her wolf burned through her in a visceral rejection of such a move. When she glanced back up, Klaus was watching her with eyes gone calculating. 

“Mason Lockwood is no one’s alpha. He isn’t strong enough.” Her words were curt. 

The curve of his smile was dangerous. “Not for you.”

She shook her head. “He shouldn’t be strong enough for anyone.”

“Why?”

Scowling, Caroline took the shot. “Didn’t I say I didn’t want an interrogation?”

He made a low noise of derision. “This is hardly an interrogation, love. Merely… a conversation. I’d say one between friends, but we’ve never quite managed that, have we?”

“That’s because you’re a delinquent.”

His laugh was loud in the empty bar, the faint creases near his eyes doing unnecessary things to her chest. Dimples flashing, he shrugged. “Be as that may, that is hardly a current impediment.”

“You want to be friends?” The disbelief in her voice wasn’t faked. Caroline wasn’t sure either of them would easily be friends. The casual intimacy of it, the level of trust required for such a thing, it would always try to bleed into more. It was why she’d never let herself interact with him as anything but the cop.

His eyes brightened with the familiar witch fire, irises turning incandescent for a dozen heartbeats. “No.”

They stared at each other, the unspoken heat burning between them. Her wolf wouldn’t let her back down and Klaus had never given her an inch when he could take ground instead. Gaze narrowing, she let a hint of her wolf bleed into the open, the strict restraints of the cop gone. “Why bring me here?”

Something hot moved behind his eyes, a bright flash of the temper he hid behind the thin veneer of charm. “Your pain isn’t for public consumption, Caroline. It’s a private matter, with teeth. I don’t plan to share it.”

Her breath caught in her throat at the rage beneath his words. Her wolf liked that he understood. “I’m not yours to protect.”

He set his bottle down and pressed against the bar. “Not yet.”

Caroline’s gaze narrowed. “Arrogant.”

His dimples creased his cheeks and he shrugged. “Perhaps. But not entirely unfounded. We’ve known each other for ten years now, give or take. And neither my more… suspect activities not your previous profession has managed to cool the draw between us.”

Klaus was right and it was infuriating. There was something about him that tempted her, no matter what she told herself. Letting her wolf out to play, to challenge him, might have been a mistake. But it was no easy thing, to cage what lived beneath her skin. “I’m not even sure I’ll stay in the city.”

It was as close as she’d ever come to lying to him, and the angle of his jaw turned to stone. They stared at each other, tension a near violent thing between them, and she watched, fascinated, as he visibly unlocked his shoulders.

“Where would you go?”

Bemused at his iron restraint, Caroline shrugged. “I don’t know.”

He gave a short nod, the muscles in his jaw jumping. “Why leave at all?”

“If I stay, I become a direct challenge to Mason’s authority. He’s been systematically edging out any wolf strong enough to challenge him. And now, with a police force at his beck and call?” She shook her head slowly even as her wolf stretched its claws beneath her skin. 

“If your concern is his influence in the city, that’s easily handled.” A curl of his lip, gaze intent on his face. “You could work for me.”

Caroline snorted, derision clear on her face. “You can’t be serious.”

Both of his brows arched, Klaus seemingly unbothered by her disbelief. “Why not?”

There were dozens of reasons. Working for Klaus would be a risk in more than one area, and she wasn’t sure if it was smart. “You cannot possibly want the extra scrutiny such a move would bring to your... business. Mason already hates you, helping me would not improve things.”

Klaus’ magic sparked across his eyes in tiny, golden starbursts. “Lockwood is going to have enough trouble now that it is clear he’s using the humans to build himself a tiny fiefdom. Picking a fight with me will not be in his best interest, but I do so hope he tries it.”

He meant it. 

Staring at him, all Caroline could find was that dangerous calculation that had always fascinated as it had repelled. Fascinated, because Klaus had always been far more comfortable with the monster he’d become than she’d ever dared. Repelled, because the cop, her mother’s legacy, had always demanded she cage those instincts. 

Agreeing to his offer would be dangerous. 

“Klaus…”

“Caroline.”

The drawl of her name was a challenge. Setting her jaw, she pushed loose tendrils of her hair away from her face. “I’m not saying yes, but what on earth can you possibly expect I’d do?” 

Opening his arms, Klaus smiled. “Work here.”

She blinked at him. “You want me to wait tables?”

“I want you to run the place. It needs a manager.”

He really couldn’t be serious. “I thought you didn’t own this bar?”

“A mere technicality.”

Exasperated, Caroline looked at the ceiling for patience. “I’m a cop. That skill set doesn’t exactly translate to managing a business. Much less a bar.”

“Nonsense,” Klaus dismissed. “You’re more than capable of anything you set your mind to, love. Running a bar is hardly the challenge of hunting a killer, true. But perhaps you owe it to yourself to give yourself a breather before you go headlong into your next adventure.”

He meant it. The tense set of his jaw, the way his full lips pressed briefly together. It was mostly impossible to hide a lie from her wolf, and she was cop trained. More importantly, she knew Klaus. 

He’d give her this. A reprieve. A moment to find her feet. And maybe he’d even let her walk away. This terrible, fascinating man who held his people and his territory in an iron fist. 

For the first time, Caroline wanted to kiss him. To taste that unflinching belief in her on his tongue, to see if he felt as good as he looked. Flexing her fingers against the wood, she forced herself to ignore the burn of want in her veins and think. 

She’d loved this city. Caroline had lived as a lone wolf for too many years, watching her human mother age. She’d become a sheriff for her mom, had become a detective because it’d been familiar when she’d needed it. After her mother’s death, she’d walked away from her roots, her life and drifted for a decade. New York City had given her purpose. Klaus was part of that. But now she was cut loose from those ties, all her old human expectations, she knew her wolf would not so easily be pushed aside a third time. 

Caroline had no desire to surrender another inch to Mason. Not of her life. Not of her city. And her wolf wanted Klaus. It always had and maybe she owed it to herself to discover why. 

Something inside her chest settled, and she huffed to herself as she realized she’d needed this. To know that she wasn’t on her own again and beneath her rage and grief, she could see the start of a plan.

“Are you sure?” Caroline said slowly, glancing at Klaus from beneath her lashes. “I’m pushy. I’m likely to take over everything and claim it as mine, and don’t even get me started on the mess behind you.”

His slow curling smile was satisfied and devious in all the best ways, but he obligingly glanced over his shoulder. “Mess?”

She sighed heavily. “I thought you said you worked in a bar? Who organized the liquor, Klaus, and why did they think this was a good idea?”

A low sound of amusement. “I’m sure you’ll set it to rights.” Caroline rolled her eyes, but her grumpy response was cut off as he braced a hand on the counter between them and leaned forward. His eyes were witch-blue, sparks of gold glittering along his iris. “As for the rest, claim what you will, love. Claim everything, if you like. But don't be surprised if it claims you back.”

Her lips caught his before she’d thought the motion through. His unspoken warning that walking away would be no easy thing mingled with the promise his eyes made every time his gaze caught hers. The taste of his magic on his lips, the low rumble of surprise and want as his hands reached for her, was heady. Pulling away before he could tangle his fingers in her hair, she leaned back just enough that he’d have to follow her over the bar counter to kiss her again.

“Caroline.”

The edge in his voice, the glint behind his eyes left her lips inexplicably curling. Swiping her scarf from the counter, she didn’t bother hiding her amusement. 

“Klaus.”

He didn’t chase her, though the slow drag of his tongue across his lips told her he was considering it. Gaze finally narrowing in a clear warning, he tipped his head to the side. “Is that a yes?”

Dragging her teeth along her lower lip just to watch his eyes chase the motion, she shrugged. “It’s a ‘have your people send me their best offer’ and I’ll think about it.”

His dimples teased his cheeks with a smile that was all danger. “I like a challenge, love. Are you sure you want to throw down this particular gauntlet?”

Buttoning her jacket, she shrugged. “I’ll guess we’ll see, won’t we?”

Spinning on her heel, Caroline didn’t let herself turn back, even when his laughter followed her into the snow. Smiling widening, she turned her face up into the falling snow. For the first time since she’d left her precinct without her badge, she could breathe properly. 

She should probably avoid letting Klaus know that any time soon. 

[stereksecretsanta]

Merry Christmas, @whateverrrrwhatever!

For @whateverrrrwhatever, Merry Christmas! Hope you enjoy! :) <3

Read on AO3

*****

Christmas Kisses 

Derek pulled his truck to the side of the road, and pushed it into park. He stared at the sign in front of him, a tightness in his chest.

Welcome to Beacon Hills.

What the fuck was he thinking?

Derek sucked in a ragged breath, letting go of the wheel to rub at his eyes.

He was thinking he had no where else to go. Cora was officially married into a new pack. None of the relationships he’d had in the last ten years had made him want to… stay. He’d been wandering around long enough.

It was time to do what his dreams kept showing him. It was time to rebuild on his family’s land.

But ten years was a long time. And he hadn’t spoken to anyone from Beacon Hills since he left.

Dragging in another breath, Derek dropped his hand and looked up. The sign still looked back at him, but it looked… almost cheerful. It looked intact, at least. Maybe Beacon Hills wasn’t that bad anymore. Maybe all the hunters and werewolves and supernatural creatures had moved away. Maybe everyone he’d met here was long gone by now, and Derek was worrying about nothing. That was most likely, right? Ten years was a long time. Scott McCall and Chris Argent and… Stiles. They had probably all left.

He didn’t know why that thought made his chest tighten even more.

A flash of light brought Derek out of his thoughts, and he cursed when he saw it was a deputy’s car pulling up behind him. He pushed down his window when he heard the sound of a car door open and close, fully prepared to just get this over with and then turn the car around to put Beacon Hills behind him again once and for all.

But then his eyes widened when a familiar scent hit his nose.

“Hey, buddy, can I see your licence and- holy shit, Derek?”

They stared at each other, both of their eyes wide in surprise. Stiles was dressed as a deputy, all grown up and grown into an adult uniform. He looked… good. He looked great, actually. Derek tore his eyes away from him, looking down at his own scruffy leather jacket and jeans. His beard hadn’t been trimmed in weeks. He probably looked a mess.

Derek cleared his throat and got a hold of himself, he forced his eyes back up. “Stiles.”

“Yeah, uh, hi,” Stiles coughed, he looked a little dazed. Like he’d seen a ghost… though in some ways, he kind of had. Ten years was a long time.

Then suddenly, Stiles head looked sharply behind them, grabbing the receiver strapped to his shoulder. “Parrish stand down, it’s only Derek.”

“Derek who?” A disjointed voice asked through the speaker.

Stiles rolled his eyes, “Derek Hale. The wolf from years ago? Owns half of the preserve?”

Parrish? A vague memory of a deputy with some sort of supernatural powers came to mind. Apparently more people had stayed in Beacon Hills than he thought.

“Copy that,” the voice said before going silent. Stiles rolled his eyes again.

“Sorry, my partner can get a bit protective,” he grinned at Derek then, the same grin that Derek remembered from all those years ago. “How are you, man? What are you doing here, parked illegally right outside of BH?”

“I’m…” Derek flexed his fingers awkwardly against the wheel. “I’m good. I’m back.”

“Back? Like you’re moving back to Beacon Hills?”

Derek nodded, “yeah.”

“Dude that’s awesome!” Stiles said, causing Derek’s breath to catch. Did he… really want Derek to move back? After everything he’d put them through? “Scott’s still the Alpha around here, you should give him a call, make like a peace treaty or whatever. Hell, rejoin the pack if you really want to dive right back into it.”

Rejoin the pack? Derek opened his mouth, but Stiles had pulled out a notepad and was writing frantically on it.

Derek didn’t recall ever being considered part of the pack in the first place though.

“Not that there’s much to dive back into, most of the pack action nowadays involves bowling competitions or card games, but it’s a hell of a lot less stressful than the shit we did in highschool. Anyway - this is Scott’s number, this is mine, and this is my address if your doing what I think your doing and planning on sleeping in an abandoned building instead of, say, a place with an actual functional roof.”

Derek grunted when Stiles shoved the paper through the window. He wasn’t about to tell Stiles that was, in fact, his plan… at least for the first few nights.

“Tough luck, bucko, ten years changes a lot. Most of those old rundown places have been renovated now. You’ll just have to sleep on my couch if you’re unwilling to sleep in the motel. Which I don’t blame you for, the motel is creepy as fuck.”

“Um,” Derek stared down at the paper, at Stiles swirly familiar writing with an address and phone numbers written on it. “Thank you.”

Stiles smiled at him, “no problemo, pal.” He tapped the top of Derek’s truck. “Now get out of here, you’re not allowed to park here.”

“Right.”

Stiles gave him an awkward salut wave… thing, and then he walked out of eyesight.

Derek started his engine and drove away before Stiles even got into the car.

–

Derek drove until he got to his old family home, or at least where it used to be. The city had sent him a demolition notice years ago and he hadn’t bothered to reply. It was good that it was gone now. Nothing bad could happen if it was nothing but a hole in the ground.

He wasn’t planning on building here, but farther in. Closer to the river that ran through the preserve. Farther from the road.

Derek slept in his truck that night, curled up in his reclined chair. He regretted it as soon as he woke up, his back spasming and his mouth tasting like dirt. He was getting too old to do this.

Grabbing a bottle to swish the taste out of his mouth, Derek stared at the hole in front of him. He thought of maybe planting a garden here, when he was done with the house. Or making a makeshift pond, for the wildlife. California was always in a drought, it seemed, they would probably appreciate the extra water.

He’d think about that later. First, he had to relearn his territory.

Derek spent most of the day walking the length of his land, his senses heightened and his blood thrumming in his veins. It felt good, to walk these paths again. Felt like he was coming home, for the first time in years.

He ended in the clearing beside the river. The one he wanted his new house to be built.

It would be smaller, but more protected. Homier, if it went the way Derek wanted. He hoped the bushes along the east side could be saved, as they grew berries every summer. He could bake the pies his grandmother used to bake.

He could settle here, be happy here. He felt it in his bones.

With a final nod, he walked away, feeling like he’d made the first right decision in a decade.

–

Derek called Scott, who simply said that Stiles had told him all about it already, and that of course Derek could stay as long as he wanted. No questions asked. No concerns voiced. No… demand for a treaty, or request to join the town’s established pack.

Just a, “no worries, man, I’m sure I’ll see you around!”

The whole conversation only lasted two minutes, but it left him reeling.

Scott hadn’t sounded angry, or even annoyed, to hear from him… he’d actually sounded kind of happy.  Scott and Stiles had done a lot of growing up while he was gone, it was going to take some getting used to.

After that he wandered around the town, taking note of what changed and what hadn’t. Stiles had been right, all of the places Derek had stayed in before were gone. The old train depot was now a restaurant. His warehouse that he’d sold was a renovated apartment building.

Stiles had been right about something else too… the motel was creepy. And it smelled like mold, from the parking lot.

He climbed back into his truck and tapped the wheel, his eyes on the paper he’d shoved into his cup holder. Stiles had offered but… he hadn’t really been expecting Derek to show up at his house, surely.

But then… when did Stiles ever do anything he didn’t want to?

And Derek didn’t want to put his back through the pain of sleeping in his truck again. Or at least, that’s what he was telling himself.

The address Stiles had given him was only a few streets down from his old house. The building was smaller, but still had the same feeling to it. Still made Derek’s shoulder’s relax, and his grip on the wheel loosen. It wasn’t exactly the home he’d been picturing for a 27 year old man, but it fit, somehow. More so than an apartment building, or a basement suite. Stiles, for some reason in Derek’s mind, should live in a home with an apple tree in the yard, and a potted plant by the front door.

It suited him.

Or at least, he thought it did. Until he saw the pink bike leaning against the garage door.

Frowning, Derek double checked the address. This was the right place and, when he opened the door, it did smell like Stiles. Maybe that was a neighbors bike? A friends kid?

Derek shook his head, he supposed it didn’t really matter. Stiles blue Jeep, miraculously still working apparently, was parked in the driveway, so Derek went to the door. He only hesitated a moment before knocking.

A small girl answered the door.

“Hi!” She said, looking up with Derek with big round eyes.

“Um, hi.” Derek glanced around, “sorry, I have the wrong house.”

“This is the Stilinski residence,” the girl chirped, like she was answering a phone call, “who are you looking for?”

Derek blinked. This was the Stilinski residence?

“Derek, hey!” Stiles appeared behind the girl, and suddenly everything clicked. The two of them had the same hair, the same pale skin, the same moles. The only explanation was this was Stiles daughter.

Stiles was a father.

And Derek had showed up at his house, planning on… thinking he would… he didn’t know. But he wasn’t going to do it now, obviously.

“Dude, come on in,” Stiles waved him in, and Derek followed the motion wordlessly. The girl pointed to where Derek could leave his coat and shoes, so he did that too.

Next thing he knew, he was sitting down at a small round table in the middle of a kitchen, being served pasta with the two of them.

“Um..”

“Daddy’s spaghetti and meatballs is the best. Don’t worry, you’ll like it,” the girl told him seriously, before starting to shovel food into her mouth.

Derek blinked down at his bowl again, “um, thank you.”

Stiles sat down beside him, grinning sheepishly. “Sorry, I guess I should have mentioned…” he waved his hand vaguely around the table, in a very Stiles like gesture that Derek had missed. “Though to be fair, I didn’t think you’d take me up on my offer.”

Derek’s chest tightened, “I can leave.”

“No, no, not what I meant. Just, now I need to do some, you know, intros,” Stiles cleared his throat. “This is Matty, my daughter. Matty, this is Derek, an old friend of mine.”

Matty waved at him from across the table, Derek nodded back awkwardly. A daughter, confirmed. A daughter that looked… what, eight? He didn’t know, but she looked around that age. She looked like a mini version of Stiles, sitting here inhaling her dinner while watching everything Derek did.

Except for her eyes. Her eyes are hazel, and sharp in a way that would cut through anything put in front of her. They reminded him of someone… but it wasn’t Stiles.

Matty swallowed her mouth full of food, “are you a werewolf?”

Derek’s brows rose. Though he supposed with Stiles as her father, he shouldn’t be surprised. “Yes.”

Matty nodded, like she knew this already. “My names really Matilda, because Daddy says I’m the smartest girl in the whole wide world. Even smarter than Mommy, and she’s won awards for being smart!”

A woman whose won awards for being smart, and had sharp hazel eyes?

Lydia Martin.

Because of course it was Lydia. Who else would Stiles ever have a child with?

“I go by Matty though, because it sounds better,” Matty finished, going back to her food. Derek just nodded. Apparently him being a werewolf was less important than telling him about her name… this was…

This was definitely Stiles daughter.

–

The night was illuminating, to say the least.  Stiles was a good dad. A great dad. He knew what Matty needed before she did. He had her milk refilled before she even noticed it was empty. He had her colouring at the kitchen table, giggling at the Spongebob pictures, while he cleaned up the kitchen.

Derek coloured with her too, at her request. He even got to colour in Sandy who was, apparently, the best character in the show.

Stiles had Matty prepped and ready for school the next day by 6:30, had her curled up and cuddled for ‘getting sleepy time’, but 7:30.

She was asleep by 8.

He fell onto the couch next to Derek in clear exhaustion, but he smelled happy. Happier than he ever had before.

“I hope the couch is okay. Don’t really have any other space here. I know it’s not as big as my dad’s house, but I can’t really afford -”

“No, it’s�� thank you. The couch is fine.”

Stiles smiled at him. Wordlessly, he turned on the TV. They sat together in comfortable silence, reruns of an old sitcom playing. Only an hour later Stiles headed to bed himself, telling Derek he was welcome to their shower and anything in the kitchen if he needed it.

Derek lied on the couch, with a blanket and pillow that smelled of Stiles and Matty, wondering what else he had missed in the last ten years.

–

The next day, Stiles was up at 6:45, and Matty was up at 7:15. They had a very loud breakfast of toast, bacon and eggs in the kitchen. Derek knew all of this because he lay awkwardly on the couch and watched it happen. The living room was really more like an extension of the kitchen, with only the kitchen table creating a divide. He was happy observing them though. He was enjoying watching Stiles be a dad.

Well, he was, until Matty saw him lying on the couch with his eyes open.

“Derek! You’re awake!” She came running into the room. “Come have breakfast with us!” She grabbed his hand and tugged, showing no fear at all that he was a beta werewolf that could very easily toss her to the side.

He finally stood to to let Matty drag him to the kitchen, and he found Stiles watching them from the counter. His eyes showed no fear of Derek either. If anything, he looked wistful. Derek felt a tug in his chest, and he looked away, down at the table piled with bacon and eggs. When he looked back, Stiles was smiling at Matty again, asking her to get their plates.

Maybe he’d imagined that wistful expression. Maybe Derek had just wanted him to look like that because… because Derek wanted him to.

“Derek, you can butter the toast,” Stiles said, moving to help Matty set the table.

Derek swallowed, it was too early in the morning to be worrying about what Stiles looks meant. He dutifully went to the toaster, grabbing the pieces that flew out when they were done.

Matty ate breakfast standing on her chair, excitedly telling them both what she was going to be doing in school that day.

Stiles shoots him an apologetic smile, but Derek shook his head. It was nice to be in such a lively house again. It felt like a real home.

“And next week we get to go to the Gingleberry Farm, and Mrs. West said I can be the one to feed the chickens if I want to because I got all the questions right on my sheet, and I raised my hand the fastest when she asked if any of us wanted to feed the chickens. I bet we’ll all get to feed them if we want, but I get to feed them first. And then after that we get to see the pigs and-”

Derek smiled down at his breakfast. He could almost picture a small version of Stiles doing the same thing when he was this age. Hell, he could remember a sixteen year old Stiles, acting exactly like this whenever a new supernatural creature caught his attention.

“Alright, my little gingleberry, finish your breakfast. We gotta go in five minutes.”

“Daddy,” Matty laughed, “Gingleberry is a name, it’s not a real berry.”

“What?” Stiles frowned at her, “next you’re going to tell me a Flafahorn isn’t a real type of goat.”

“Daddy! You just made that word up!”

“Psh, I did not. The Flafahorn is a beautiful creature that doesn’t deserve your doubt. Back me up here, Der.”

They both turned to Derek, Matty’s eyes full of laughter, and Stiles full of amusement, but also a bit of tension. He probably didn’t think Derek would actually play along with his game.

But he could do this. This is something he’d learned to do with his younger sisters after all…. A lifetime ago.

Derek nodded seriously, “it’s true, Matty, the Flafahorn is a kind of goat that is about the size of a mouse,” Derek cupped his hands together.

Matty’s eyes narrowed skeptically, and Stiles was watching him like he had two heads. Derek ignored him though, his eyes on Matty.

“Really?” Matty asked.

“Of course, they live all around the world. Do you know where their favorite place is though?”

“Where?”

“The inside of little kids shoes.”

Matty blinked, and then started giggling, “noo! You’re making this up! Shoes are smelly.”

Derek nodded, “true they are, but the Flafahorn goats like that. The smellier the better, that’s why little kid shoes are the best. Because little kids have the smelliest feet.” He wrinkled his nose up at that, and Matty giggled again.

“Ew, Derek! I don’t have smelly feet.”

Derek shrugged, “better hurry up and finish your breakfast then, so you can go check your shoes. A Flafahorn might be in there right now, having a nice nap in your sneakers.”

Matty looked at him, and then looked at Stiles who didn’t seem to know what to make of any of this so he nodded. She turned back to her plate to shove all of her eggs in her mouth, chugged her orange juice, and then ran to the front door.

“Daddy! I need to check my shoes!” She shouted behind her.

Stiles shook his head, a smile growing across his face, “oh my God, I don’t even know who you are right now.”

Derek smiled, watching Matty peer into every shoe lined up beside the front door. “I used to do this with my sisters. Cora believed for years that a troll would move into her room unless she kept it clean.” Derek smiled at the memory. “She almost broke my arm when she was thirteen and she realized I’d made the whole thing up.”

“Trolls,” Stiles snorted, “Flafahorn goats, Jesus, what are you going to pull out next?”

Stiles stood up and started to collect the dishes, but Derek stood up as well and stopped him. “I can do this, go take Matty to school.”

“Wha- are you sure? You don’t have to.”

“It’s fine, I got this. It’s the least I can do.”

“Derek.”

“Stiles,” Derek lifted a brow. Stiles snorted.

“I don’t know how I forgot about those things,” Stiles nodded up at Derek’s forehead. “I used to be able to have full conversations with them.”

“I’m sure you still can. Now go, I got this.”

“Okay,” Stiles moved out of the kitchen, grabbing two lunch bags on the way. “Okay, um, stay here as long as you like, there’s a spare key by the front door if you need to go anywhere though, um… we don’t have much food, but feel free to take whatever.” Stiles hesitated another moment, before he did his strange salut thing again and left to help Matty into her coat and backpack.

Matty mostly needed the help because she was still peering into shoes, but she left a second later without a fuss.

Derek watched them get into the car through the front window, and then turned to the kitchen. It didn’t take more than ten minutes to get everything tidied up again, and he did notice in that time that there was barely any food in the fridge. Just eggs, juice, and half a container of yogurt.

He thought of going out and buying more, but he didn’t want to cross any lines. Stiles was being nice enough letting Derek stay here as it was.

After the kitchen was clean, Derek wandered around the house, looking at the pictures on the wall he’d noticed before but hadn’t wanted to look at with Stiles standing right there.

They were mostly of Stiles and Matty. A few of the two of them with the Sheriff. A few with Scott, who he supposed was Uncle Scott to Matty, Kira and Malia. A group shot with Stiles, Matty, the Sheriff, Scott, Kira, Parrish, Malia, Lydia, and a few people he couldn’t name, including a few other kids. It looked like a pack picture. They all looked really happy.

Derek was glad for them. Beacon Hills deserved to have a happy pack in it again.

There was also a picture of Stiles and Lydia, holding a very small baby version of Matty between them on a hospital bed. So, that confirmed that. That was the only other picture with Lydia though, aside from the pack picture, and he didn’t see any other signs of Lydia in the house.

Derek didn’t want to assume what that meant though.

The Stiles in the picture looked more like the Stiles he knew. The teenager who had his hair spiked up in a mess, and who wore colourful plaid shirts every day.

And with Matty being about eight now… Stiles must have been young when they had her. That would have been hard.

He wondered what it would have been like if Derek had been there to help. If Derek had-

Derek shook the thought away and moved on to the rest of the house. Though, it was really just the living area, kitchen, bathroom and two bedrooms. It was small, but it was cozy. Derek didn’t think Stiles had anything to be ashamed of living here.

He left before he fell to the urge to look into Stiles room. Stiles was an adult now, and Derek didn’t want to be the creep sneaking through his room again. They’ve grown. He was better than that.

He locked the door behind him, and sighed.

It was time for him to find a place to live.

–

Derek found a studio apartment that would let him move in at the end of the week. It was even furnished, which would be nice. And it was only a five minute drive from Stiles and Matty’s house… not that that mattered.

He found a construction crew who was willing to meet with him in two days to discuss his plans to build on his family land. Money wasn’t an issue, and Derek mostly needed the man power otherwise this could take him years on his own.

After that, he wasn’t sure what to do, so he decided to try out one of the new restaurants he saw in the downtown of Beacon Hills.

He was surprised to see Malia standing beside the front door when he walked in.

“Oh my God, Derek! Kira, Derek’s here!”

Kira came running out of the back, her hair tied up and an apron over her front. He stood still in surprise as both of the women circled him in a hug.

“It’s so nice to see you again, Derek!” Kira said. “Sit, sit, what can we get you?”

“Um,” Derek moved where Malia dragged him, sitting down at the table closest to the kitchen. He stared blankly at the menu Malia dropped in front of him. “I don’t know. Whatever you like, I guess.”

“Okay, I’ll go tell Casey to whip it up. Malia, get him water or something.”

The two of them left, and Derek looked around the restaurant. Most of the tables were full, but none of the customers seemed all that confused by Malia and Kira’s behaviour. Maybe this was normal?

Malia came back with three waters, and Kira came back a second later with her apron and hairnet off.

Apparently they were having lunch together.

It was a very informative lunch. The two of them told Derek how in the last ten years, it has been mostly peaceful in Beacon Hills. Everything calmed down seven years ago, after Lydia found a way to heal the Nemeton, and that had stopped the pull of other supernatural’s from coming here.

The pack had grown, and they were healthy and strong. Everyone had been able to move on, go to school and get real jobs. Kira and Malia had opened their restaurant. Stiles had become a cop. Scott now worked as the couch and science teacher at the high school.

“Science teacher?” Derek frowned, that was not what he had pictured Scott being.

“Yeah well,” Malia shrugged, “vet school takes forever, and he’s the Alpha. He kind of needs to be here.”

“Plus, I think this suits him better,” Kira smiled. “You should come by our house sometime! We have pack dinners every Sunday in our backyard, you should come.”

Derek frowned, “your house?”

“Yeah. It’s custom for the Alpha to host, you know how it is.”

“Oh, you and Scott,” Derek felt his ears warm. “Sorry, I thought you and Malia… nevermind.”

Kira and Malia shared a smirk, “no you’re right, we are. The three of us live together, with our two kids.”

Derek was sure his ears were bright red now. “Oh.”

Malia laughed, but Kira just smiled at him. Until she checked the time. “Speaking of, I have to go pick those two up from school, Matty too. I’m bringing them all here, after we head to the park for a bit, if you’re sticking around?”

Derek shook his head, “I should go. Thank you though, this was great.” He pulled out his wallet, but Malia batted his hand away.

“Our treat,” she said. “A welcome home gift.”

–

Derek sat in his truck, tapping his fingers against the wheel.

Ten years.

Eight year old Matilda Stilinski.

Seven years of peace with a healed Nemeton.

It didn’t take a genius to do the math. Lydia cured the town for her daughter. She probably spent her first year figuring it out, so Matty didn’t have to live in fear. Didn’t have to grow up like all the rest of them grew up… fighting evil every other day.

But then why wasn’t Lydia here now? Derek didn’t miss the fact that she was left out of a lot of Malia and Kira’s stories. She wasn’t in the pictures on Stiles walls. And aside from the one comment last night, Matty didn’t talk about her either.

And Kira was going to pick Matty up from school. Because Stiles was still at work and… who else was going to do it? The Sheriff was probably still working too, and Stiles didn’t have anyone else.

That wasn’t entirely true though. He had the pack now, and the pack was looking after Matty.

Derek tapped on his wheel twice more, and then made a decision.

If the pack was going to go out of their way to help Matty and Stiles, Derek could too.

He started up his truck and headed for the grocery store, to buy the food he knew Stiles and Matty didn’t have.

–

Derek was just putting the casserole into the oven when Matty and Stiles came home. Matty ran to her room, shouting something Derek didn’t understand. Stiles moved at a slower pace, taking off his shoes and lining Matty’s up with his beside the door before he straightened up and entered the kitchen.

Derek saw the moment Stiles understood what was happening, because Stiles suddenly looked like he was about to cry.

“I, uh, made a macaroni casserole,” Derek said, hoping he hadn’t done the wrong thing. “Is that okay?”

“Is that okay?” Stiles laughed, but his eyes were still shiny. “Dude, my kitchen is the cleanest it’s been since… since I moved in, and you have dinner cooking already, and you’re asking me if that’s okay?”

“I, uh,” Derek reached out to straighten a dish towel. “I hope Matty likes macaroni. I made sure it had vegetables in it.”

Stiles didn’t say anything to that. Instead, he stepped forward and engulfed Derek in a hug.

His second hug today.

“This is amazing, Derek, thank you.”

Derek wrapped his arms around Stiles gently, feeling his muscles relax in Stiles hold. This was the type of hug he used to long for. The type that brought comfort, after a long day.

They only pulled apart when Matty came waltzing into the kitchen, paper and pencil crayons in her arms.

“Derek, draw me a Flafahorn, I need to know what it looks like if I’m going to find one.”

Derek raised his brows, and looked over at Stiles, who was already watching him. They shared a smile. Stiles eyes looked less watery now. They looked like they were sparkling with joy.

Derek wished they could always look like that.

He sat down and picked up a purple pencil crayon, making up the imaginary goat as he went along. He smiled when Stiles sat down beside him and followed his lead, creating a picture that looked almost identical to Derek’s, with just a few added spots and horns.

Matty, her tongue sticking out in concentration, followed along, and soon enough it was more about the drawings, and less about the Flafahorn goats.

Derek felt happier than he could ever remember being.

–

Derek moved into his apartment that weekend, but not much changed. He still made the effort to go to the Stilinski’s every night to make dinner. He still spent his evenings colouring with Matty, going on walks to the park, watching movies on their couch.

And somehow, Derek found himself being invited to everything else as well.

He was asked to join the weekly Wednesday night dinners at the Sheriff’s house. He was invited along to Matty’s Thursday softball games, and the Stilinski Friday night movie marathons.

It was… nice. Special.  

Every time Derek worried he was overstepping his welcome, Stiles would catch his eye and smile. Or Matty would grab his hand and pull him to her next adventure.

He was helping them, and they were helping him. Like pack. For the first time since Erica and Boyd… Derek felt like he had pack again.

On the weekends, Derek often took them to the preserve to see how the new house was going, or simply to walk around the Hale land for fun.

And every Sunday night, they went to the pack dinner at Malia, Kira and Scott’s house.

He was always surprised how easily he was welcomed there.

Parrish passed him and Stiles a beer each as soon as they stepped into the backyard. Matty ran to join Robin and Elliot’s game of… something involving throwing, in the corner of the yard. Derek kept an eye on that while Stiles went to find Scott. He knew it was probably harmless, but Robin and Elliot were 5 year old werewolves. He didn’t want Matty to get hurt.

“You’re good for them,” a voice said behind him.

Derek turned in surprise when then Sheriff stepped up next to him. “Um, sorry?”

The man chuckled, “you’re good for them, Matty and Stiles. Matty’s laughing more now than I’ve ever seen her, and Stiles doesn’t have bags under his eyes anymore.” He clapped Derek on the shoulder, “I was working myself up to asking him to move back in with me but… I don’t think I have to now.”

Derek blinked, surprised. Stiles did seem more tired now, less stressed, but Derek didn’t think he’d done enough for his father to notice.

A warm feeling of pride burned in his belly, glad that he’d been able to help his pack like this.

“Come on, the kids are fine,” the Sheriff directed him back towards the house, “tell me all the updates for the new house of yours.”

Derek started talking about how the walls were finished, but now they needed to start electric and plumbing. He grinned when Scott and Malia joined in, and full on smiled when Stiles came up beside him, leaning into Derek’s space as he joined the conversation.

With Stiles at his side, and Matty laughing behind him, Derek felt more than just pack bonds thrumming through his veins. It felt like he’s surrounded by family.

–

On the Friday before Christmas break, Derek decided that a nice treat for Matty on her last day of school would be breakfast for dinner. Derek had everything set out by 5 o’clock, when Stiles and Matty usually come home Friday afternoons, but he was waiting for Matty to start.

He knew, from experience, that half the reason Matty loves waffles was because she liked squishing them down in the waffle iron.

Ten minutes after 5 Derek started to get worried though, and twenty minutes after that, Derek started to question if it would be too much if he went out searching for them… Beacon Hills was safe now, so they said. It was probably just a flat tire or something.

Not that Stiles knew how to fix a flat tire.

Worried, Derek moved to grab his keys and track the two down when he heard the Jeep pull into the driveway.

He would have been relieved if he hadn’t heard the shouting just a second later.

“You always take her side!” Matty screamed, her voice getting closer to the door. Derek only had a second to back away from it before it slammed open, and Matty barreled inside.

Stiles was right on her heels, “she doesn’t do these things to hurt you on purpose, Matty.”

“It’s Christmas! If Mommy loved me at all, she would be here with me on Christmas!” Matty stomped her feet and threw her backpack on the ground. Derek winced.

Stiles sighed, “Matilda, Mommy loves you, you know that. She’ll be here the day right after Christmas, and you can-”

“No she doesn’t! She hates me! That’s why she’s never here!”

“Your mom doesn’t hate you! She helped us get this house, remember? She bought you all your favorite clothes! She brought you on that trip to Greece last summer? She just can’t-”

“Stop it! Stop- stop!” Matty stomped her foot again and Stiles shut his mouth, his shoulders sagging. “You keep saying everythings okay, and- and she loves me, but all she ever does is give me things and leave! And I- I hate her! And I hate you for taking her side!”

Matty turned and ran to her room, slamming the door behind her. Stiles rushed to follow, “Matty, come on, open the door.”

Matty did not open the door. Stiles knocked on it, “Matilda Claudia Stilinski, open the door!”

“No!”

With that word, it was like all the strings holding Stiles up were cut. He hung his head, and then slowly backed away from Matty’s door until he collapsed onto the couch. There, he buried his face in his hands.

Derek stood by and watched all of this, fidgeting nervously when the scent of salty tears hit the air. He stepped forward when Stiles sucked in a watery breath.

“Hey,” he said, as softly as he could. It didn’t matter though, Stiles still jumped at the sound of his voice.

“Jesus, Derek, have you been here this whole time?” Stiles wiped his face, embarrassment quickly overpowering the scent of sadness. “Fu- fudge. Sorry you had to see that.”

“I, uh, I was going to make waffles for dinner,” Derek pointed lamely behind him, “because Matty likes using the waffle iron, so…”

“Yeah.” Stiles wiped his face again, but the tears weren’t stopping.

Derek had no idea what he was doing, “I didn’t know she had a lock on her door,” he found himself saying.

“She doesn’t, I just don’t go in there when I know she wants her space.”

“Oh.” Of course. Because Stiles was a great dad.

Derek didn’t know how to tell him that though…

He fidgeted foot to foot. God, he was bad at this. Stiles buried his face in his hands again and was obviously trying to get his breathing under control. When a fresh scent of tears hit the air, Derek moved to sit beside him.

He placed a hand on Siles shoulder, squeezing gently. “Hey, it’s going to be okay. Matty just.. Needs some time to cool off.”

“Yeah,” Stiles, remarkably, leaned into his touch. “But that’s just today, isn’t it? It’s not going to change the fact that her mother doesn’t live in California, constantly traveling for her fancy ass job. Or that her dad is a deadbeat cop who can barely afford groceries every month on top of all the bills, let alone school supplies. Or that both of her parents have no idea what the fuck they are doing because they accidently got pregnant when they were 18!”

Derek rubbed his hand down his back, “Stiles…”

“I know, okay, I know ‘it’s all going to be okay,’” Stiles sniffed. “It’s just that I’m the one who gave up my dreams, so that Lydia could follow hers. She was the genius, right? I had to, but I always thought,” he took in a steadying breath. “I thought she’d come back, you know? I didn’t think she would permanently leave the two of us here. I thought she would come back, if not for me, at least for Matty… but she didn’t.”

“You don’t deserve that,” Derek said gently, “neither of you do.”

Stiles let out a bitter laugh, “thanks, Der. But I… look, just for tonight, can we pretend I’m not the pathetic kid you feel bad for?”

Derek’s brow furrowed, “what?”

“I know I was the weak human when you left, I know you didn’t understand why I was even… involved in any of it, alright? I know that. And I get that you came back, and I was just like… even more pathetic than I was before. I’m just a weak, stupid, human who can’t even look after his own cub, and your wolfy instinct go into overdrive, right? I get it. You need to look after us, pack and all that, but can we just… pretend, for right now? That you’re just here to hang out? Please?”

Derek floundered, he had no idea Stiles thought any of that. He opened his mouth, but nothing comes out. Stiles gave him a tight smile, apparently taking that as Derek’s acceptance.

“I’m going to go shower before Matty comes out and sees me like this. If she comes out while I’m in there just.. Make waffles, or whatever.”

Stiles stood up and walked to the bathroom, his shoulders hunched the whole way. Derek watched him go, a frown stuck on his face.

–

Derek sat, confused, listening to the sound of Stiles too controlled breathing in the shower.

Stiles thought… Stiles really thought that he was the one not good enough for Derek? Stiles thought that Derek was only here to help, and not to spend time with them, because he thought Stiles was pathetic?

Derek, the person who had been homeless when they’d first seen each other again?

Derek wasn’t sure what to do with this.

A door clicked open, and Derek finally pulled his eyes away from the bathroom. Matty stood at the entrance of her room, her eyes puffy, and her pink sweater pulled down over her tiny, shaking, fists.

“Is Daddy mad at me?”

Derek shook his head instantly, “no. Not at all.”

Matty swallowed, and then she was running forward. Derek instinctively opened his arms, and a second later he had an arm full of third grader, Matty’s face squished against his chest.

“I’m sorry!”

“It’s okay.”

“I know Daddy does everything for me, and- and he doesn’t have time to do anything else, and he gave up everything for me and- and - I just want him to be happy!”

“He is happy, Matty, your dad’s really happy here with you.”

“Are you sure?” Marry sniffed, “he doesn’t… he doesn’t always look happy, when he thinks I’m not looking.”

Derek felt his brows pinch, “your dad… has to deal with a lot. But that doesn’t mean he’s not happy with you. It just means… he’s tired sometimes.”

“I know,” Matty whispered, leaning back. “Daddy wished Mommy lived here too, even if he never says it. We both want to have two parents here, like everyone else in my class.” Matty sniffed again, “but Daddy never says that, he always defends her and- and he says we’re good just the two of us. Is it so bad to want to be like everyone else though? Even if it’s just for Christmas?”

Derek shook his head, his chest aching for the little girl. “No, Matty, it’s not bad at all,” he brushed her hair back, “it’s okay to want things to be different. That doesn’t make you bad.”

Matty nodded, her eyes getting watery again. “I wish you were my other Daddy.”

Derek’s eyes widened, “what?”

“Charlie McClair has two mommies, so why can’t I have two daddies?” She asked matter of factly. “I think if my mommy doesn’t want to come be a mommy with me all the time, I should be allowed to have two daddies. And Daddy would like that too. He smiles a lot, when you’re around. And he likes your cooking, he told me.”

“Yeah?” Derek’s voice came out barely more than a whisper, he had to clear his throat, his ears growing red. “You would… really want me to stay with you guys? All the time?”

Matty rolled her eyes, “of course, Derek! you’re here all the time anyway, and we haven’t told you to leave.”

Derek smiled, “I guess you’re right. I’ll just have to do something about this then, won’t I?”

Matty nodded, “yeah.”

Derek chuckled, and then stood up, carrying Matty with him to the kitchen. “I’ll try my best, okay? So we can all be happy.”

“Okay.”

“But for now, how do waffles sound?”

“Waffles?”

“Yep, I got the iron out and everything.”

Matty squirmed out of his grip, and Derek smiled as he watched her excitedly start to put the batter together, her tears forgotten.

Yeah, Derek had some work to do.

–

Derek had to wait a few days to start his plan, which was a good thing because it took him two whole days to make the plan…

Well, it took him two whole days to go to Malia and Kira for help with a plan, and only because Cora told him too, but that wasn’t the point.

The point was it was Christmas Eve, and his plan was working.

Most of the pack had their own individual family traditions, so Christmas Eve was left open and Christmas day was for the pack holiday. Matty was going to the Sheriff’s house that night, meeting with Melissa, Scott, and their family, and Stiles wouldn’t have to worry about bringing her along when Derek asked for his help with an emergency at the new house.

Stiles had replied with an emoji he didn’t understand, but he was on his way, and that was the important thing.

Malia and Kira had helped him string up lights and decorations, making the unfinished house look welcoming. Kira had lit a fire in the just recently finished fireplace, and Malia pulled chilled wine out of their car and set it up in the almost finished kitchen.

Derek, nervous, spent his time finding the perfect place to hang the plastic mistletoe.

He finally settled on the doorway between the kitchen and the living room.

“He’s just dropped Matty off,” Kira said, looking at her phone, “we have to go.”

“Okay,” Derek took a steadying breath, “thank you for your help.”

He wrapped his arms around both of them this time as they circled him in a hug. He was getting used to these now.

“Stop smelling so nervous, he’s going to love it,” Malia said, giving him a gentle shove before the two of them joined hands and walked to their car.

He hoped she was right. He hoped Stiles didn’t laugh, look at him like he was crazy, and then tell him not to come near him or Matty ever again.

… he hoped Stiles didn’t find it weird that he’d already designed a room for a daughter that wasn’t technically his.

The sound of the Jeep pulled up outside of the house, and Derek took another breath. He could do this.

He told Matty he could do this.

He stepped outside as Stiles clambered out of his Jeep. “Wow, Derek, this place looks amazing!”

Derek grinned, proud that his mate liked their new home- before he shook that thought away. Jesus Christ, one step at a time.

“Thank you,” he cleared his throat awkwardly, “come inside.”

He stepped out of the way, and watched as Stiles looked around at everything, his face open and happy.

As it should be.

“Jeeze, you even had garlands over the railings,” Stiles pointed at the stairs. Malia had told him to do that, Derek hadn’t known the name of them. He nodded anyway. “So, what’s the big emergency?”

Derek swallowed, right, here goes nothing. He pointed towards the kitchen, following right behind Stiles on the way. As he hoped, Stiles stopped at the sight of the wine on the counter.

Right under the mistletoe.

“You can’t, uh, open a bottle of wine?” Stiles asked, his cheeks already flushing pink. “I don’t know if I can help you with that, it’s not like I’m an expert-”

“I can open it,” Derek said, “but I need someone to share it with.”

Stiles looked at him then, his eyes wide and hopeful, and Derek felt his chest loosen. Everyone had been right, Stiles did want this. He was just scared. Derek could be the one brave enough to get them there.

He nodded up to the mistletoe.

Stiles followed his look, and then his cheeks grew even more red, the flush going all the way down his neck and under his shirt.

“I- sorry, you’re waiting for someone else? You wanted my approval or-or-” Stiles tried to back away, but Derek grabbed his arm, pulling him back as gently as he could.

“There is no one else, Stiles, you know that. It’s just you and me.”

“Derek…” Stiles looked at the wine, then back up at the mistletoe, and then away, “you don’t want this, not really. I have a daughter. My life is a mess. I’m- I - you can do so much better than-”

Derek silenced him with a kiss. Not a deep one, barely a kiss at all, just Derek’s lips against Stiles.

Soft, gentle.

He ran his thumb over Stiles cheekbone, smiling when Stiles didn’t do anything but gape at him when he pulled away.

“Stiles, you are the kindest, most generous, and bravest man I have ever known. I’ve never thought of you as weak, or pathetic. I’ve never thought you were a mess. Especially not for having a daughter, who you chose to look after, even when her own mother left.” He brought his other hand up to cup Stiles face, his eyes filling with tears. “You took in a man who had nothing, and you gave him something worth staying for. You gave me a reason to put roots down in Beacon Hills, not just build a house on top of it.”

Stiles blinked, and a few tears slipped out. Derek leaned forward, but he didn’t have to lean far. Stiles was already moving to meet him in the middle.

This kiss was sweeter, their mouths fitting together like they were made for each other. Derek felt Stiles arms curl around his back, and he leaned into it.

They pulled away before the kiss got any deeper, but Derek couldn’t wait until he could explore every inch of this man. He pushed his forehead against, Stiles, breathing the same air, but when Derek opened his eyes, he saw Stiles watching him back.

He leaned away, feeling sheepish about this next part.

“So, I know we’ve only just now…” Derek gestured between the two of them. “But I know you feel uncomfortable in your own house, and I’ve built this place big enough for all three of us. I thought Matty could have the room down here, by the living room, and ours could be the one upstairs. And if- if we’re ever in need of more rooms, I could really easily add on-”

Derek stopped talking when Stiles kissed him again. When they pulled away this time, Stiles eyes were sparkling.

“I think we might need some time to get to that point but… yes, one million times yes to all of this. You’re amazing, Derek. I really can’t-”

Derek kissed him again, because Stiles had said yes, and he didn’t think he would ever get tired of kissing the man.

They ended up on the couch, Derek’s body draped over Stiles, sharing slow kisses and soft touches.

–

Christmas morning, Derek and Stiles tried to hide their new relationship, but Matty was too clever for them. She took one look at them sitting beside each other on the couch before she screamed with glee and jumped in the middle of them.

“My Christmas wish came true!” She shouted, “I have two Daddies!”

“Well, I don’t know about that just yet…” Stiles tried, but Matty was yelling again, and Derek was laughing along with her. It didn’t matter to him when Matty called him, as long as she knew that he cared.

Christmas morning was spent just the three of them, opening presents and eating sweets for breakfast. The afternoon was spent at the Sheriff’s house, where they all climbed into a family photo, and the Sheriff clapped Derek on the back and told him he was proud to have a new son in law.

Christmas dinner was at Malia, Kira and Scott’s. By this point, everyone knew about the two of them, and they didn’t feel like they needed to hide.

They spend most of the night curled up together beside the fire, as everyone enjoyed the holiday around them. The pack bonds warm in Derek’s veins, and Stiles warm in his arms.

Matty, happily telling everyone about her new two Daddies, filling their ears and making them laugh.