#quarter moon ➼ ask box

[mccnstricken]

“ Don't lie to me. ” - Mike to Joker

4-Word Sentence Prompts

"Lie to you?"

Play the innocent, play the unsuspecting. In every instance where his own face is used against him, Joker finds himself relying on it in moments like this to save his skin. His brows knit further upwards, eyes staring wide— in such a way that makes him disgusted with himself. A grown man using tears as a weapon? That's just pathetic. But it's exactly what he needs to be right now: pathetic.

Just moments ago, Joker had been sitting alone in the dining hall. It makes him wonder if it was a chance meeting or if he had been followed, but he has no time to think further about it. What he needs to focus on is the current situation at hand: a confrontation that he had never truly been prepared to have. An encounter that had been waiting to happen, brewing silently with every second the two men co-exist within the walls of the manor. 

He blinks, to fake the look of trying to bat away any tears. "I know we never got along in the past, Mike, but... what makes you think I would lie to you?" He stays seated in his chair, looking up at the acrobat. It helps his illusion, it makes him small. 

Mike always liked family. Let's play with that angle. "For all the years we've known each other... you'd approach me like this after all this time? If you have something to say to me, you could at least have it in you to tell it to me straight..."

[alvojake]

High For This | P.SH

「pairing」 : seonghwa x fem!reader 「word count」 : 2.3k

「synopsis」 : who would have thought getting high with your best friend on a late saturday night would lead to things that friend normally wouldn't do.

「genre」 : smut, bsf!seonghwa

「warnings」 : MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!!, smoking, hot boxing, high sex, car sex, dubcon(mostly bc they're both under the influence), shotgunning, kissing, sloppy makeout, usage of weed (obvi.), cussing, petnames (bunny, love, baby, sweetheart...), teasing, clit play, fingering, unprotected sex, slight dacryphilia, biting/marking, creampie, edging, orgasm denial, praising, dom!seonghwa x sub!reader, dirty talk, begging, a tad bit of cockwarming at the end, lmk if I missed anything!!

It was maybe a quarter after midnight, the moon shining brightly in the cloudless sky as you sat in the passenger seat of Seonghwa's car. The air around the two of you was foggy and filled with wisps of smoke as you shared a blunt you had just rolled. 

It didn't take too long before the effects of the weed started to take effect, your whole body feeling light and your head far more clear than it normally was. 

“So you think you passed that test?” You breathed out slowly, letting the smoke cascade from your lips. Your eyes were half-lidded as you looked down at the half-smoked blunt that sat between your middle and forefinger. 

Seonghwa chuckled deeply as he reached over the center console to pull the blunt from your fingers. "The chem test? Yeah, I don't think anyone is going to pass that one.”

He wasn't wrong; this semester's chemistry teacher was a total dictator. You were sure that she gave the class that test just for her own entertainment because none of what was written on that paper was anything you had gone over. Hell, some of it wasn't even in the damn textbook.

“Yeah, you're probably right.” You hummed softly to the soft music playing through the car speakers, completely unaware of the fact that the dark-haired male was staring at you. 

Your face was illuminated by the purple lights from the led strips he had installed a few weeks back, and damn is he glad he did so. The purple, whispy air around you left you looking enchanting and out of this world. Your plump lips wrapped around the blunt once more, and the action alone left a burning warmth swarming through his body. He shifted in his seat as his pants started to grow tighter.

Noticing his gaze, you couldn't help but giggle internally, a mischievous gleam in your eyes. Pulling the blunt from your lips you leaned over the console, your chest merely inches away from his arm that he had propped on top.

“Hey Hwa,” you called out to the male, catching his attention. However, his breath caught in his throat when he realized how close you were.

Swallowing thickly, he tried his best to keep eyes away from your parted lips. “What's up?”

“I wanna try something.” Your voice was low as you reached forward, tracing your finger down his throat, a smirk forming on your lips when you felt him swallow. His eyes locked with your hooded ones before nodding slowly, completely unaware of what he was getting himself into. “Move your seat back.”

Seonghwa did as told, and as soon as the seat was far enough back, you climbed over the center console, careful not to drop the blunt or burn Seonghwa. His breath hitched as you settled down in his lap, your thighs on either side of his hips.

“What are you–”

“Shhh…” You pressed your finger against his lips, followed by a small giggle. "Don’t be so uptight; I don’t bite,” you cooed, moving closer to his face until he was merely inches away. "Unless you want me to.” 

Seonghwa swallowed thickly again, his hands finding a spot on your bare thighs. When did you become so bold when smoking? Not that he was gonna complain besides the fact that with every movement of your hips, you brushed against his half-hard dick.

“Have you ever shotgunned before?” You asked him, shifting your hips a bit but quickly bit back a moan when you felt his bulge against your clothed core.

“Yeah…” Seonghwa nodded, watching you intently as you brought the blunt back to your lips, getting the idea of what you were wanting to do. His hands rubbed up your thighs as he shifted a bit as you reached for his face.

Your eyes fluttered together as you held the smoke in your lungs, moving closer to the dark-haired male. He watched you through half-lidded eyes as you exhaled the smoke into his mouth, inhaling it until your lips were on his. His body filled with warmth as he got a taste of your lips, but they were gone just as soon as they were there, making him groan.

“Fuckkk.” His head fell back against his car seat, leaving you to watch his eyes flutter close. It was the hottest thing you’ve seen, and the heat that pooled in your lower gut was almost too much to bear, and you unintentionally rolled your hips against his. “Shit, don’t do that.” He hissed through gritted teeth, his hands gripping onto your hips.

“S-Sorry.” You stumbled over your words as his heated gaze fell on you, almost as if he were devouring you with just his eyes. 

Seeing the pout on your plump lips, Seonghwa could feel all of his sanity fly out the window. “Fuck it.” He growled before taking the blunt from your hand and putting it out in the ashtray that sat in his cup holder.

Then, in the next moment, his lips were on yours; the kiss was full of lust and need as he leaned against you. He pulled your hips flush against his, making sure you felt everything, swallowing all of the sweet noises that you made.

“Hwa.” You whined, head spinning as his lips left yours to find your neck. Your body felt like it was on fire, and with every roll of your hips against his, it felt like you were going to combust. 

You blamed it on the weed for why you were so sensitive, but god, did it feel amazing. Seonghwa’s teeth grazed over your jugular, making you shiver, eyes fluttering for a second. He released his grip on your hips, but much to his amusement, you continued to rock against him.

“Does that feel good bunny?” He cooed against your ear and all you could do was whimper, chasing your high that was on the horizon. “Just wait until I stuff you full.” 

His words made your head spin, your hips falter, and stars start to litter your vision. Seeing your reaction, he couldn’t help but chuckle, his hands going back to your hips. Just before you tipped over the edge, he halted your movements, causing you to whine loudly.

“Why?” You cried but were quickly silenced when his lips found yours again; he kissed you with so much fever that it was almost impossible to keep up with him.

He moved his hand down your thigh, dragging his finger across your skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps in his wake. Your breath hitched in your throat when he pressed against your clothed cunt, easily finding your clit.

“Were you planning for this baby? Wearing such a pretty skirt and my hoodie?” He teased you, gently rubbing your clit, eliciting a breathy moan from your swollen lips. The purple lights were reflecting off of the thin sheen of sweat on your skin, making you glow as your head fell back.

“I need you, Hwa.” You whined, your hands balled into fists around his shirt, and the male just smirked at you, loving how easy he got you to fold for him.

He then hooked his finger around the hem of your panties, pulling them to the side before running his finger through your slick folds. His eyes nearly rolled back at the feeling of how soaked you were, drenching his digits in seconds.

“Fuck bunny, you’re soaking wet.” He groaned, and you moaned right in his ear as your body slumped forward. “Sensitive, aren’t you, love?” Your hips bucked against his hand when he dipped a finger into your tight hole.

“Hwa– shit, please.” You begged, tears pricking at the corner of your eyes, the need becoming almost unbearable.

Chuckling, he watched your face contort as he curled his finger in your wet heat, relishing in the way your walls clenched around him. All of the little sounds that you made were like music to his ears, you didn’t care about your volume, and fuck did it turn him on even more.

“Please, what bunny? I wanna hear you say it.” He smirked, pressing a chaste kiss against your temple as your jaw went slack after he brushed over your sweet spot. He wanted to play with you until you were begging, but the way his dick was straining against his sweats, begging to be released, told him otherwise.

“Fuck!” You cried out, face buried in his neck, and his scent was dizzying, and you could have sworn that you could cum from the scent alone.

Seonghwa gritted his teeth when he didn’t get an answer from you, so he reached up, running his fingers through your hair before grabbing a handful and tugging your face out of his neck. A strangled cry fell from your lips as you looked at him, tears dripping from your eyelashes. The fucked out look on your pretty face made his dick twitch, a smirk tugging on the corner of his lips.

“You gotta tell me what you want, baby, or you won’t get anything.” He told you, and you whined, your body feeling like it was on fire, and the way his fingers brushed against your velvet walls made your thighs quiver.

Not getting any response from you, he let out a faux disappointed sigh, removing his fingers from your needy cunt. You whined loudly at the sudden emptiness, eyes pleading with him, but he wasn’t going to give in that easily. So you swallowed thickly before pressing your hips down on his as much as you could with his hand still holding your head.

“I want your cock Hwa, please. I need it so bad.” You begged, teary eyes pleading with him and Seonghwa felt like his pants got even tighter at the sight of the tears that dripped down your flushed cheeks.

He released your hair, letting your body relax before leaning back in his seat, eyes staring you down. “See, it wasn’t that hard, bunny; go ahead.” He motioned down to his pants. You were quick to raise your hips to wrap your fingers around the waistband of his sweats.

Pulling them down just far enough for his cock to spring free, causing you to gasp as it slapped against his abdomen. It was by far the prettiest cock that you had ever seen, the flush tip a pretty shade of pink, beads of translucent precum adorning the slit. Your mouth watered as you wrapped your fingers around the base, jerking him off.

“Fuck.” He hissed, hips bucking up at your touch, his body felt like it was on fire, and your slow movements along his swollen cock only made it worse, “shit, don’t tease, sweetheart.” His tone held a warning and you glanced up at him, your walls clenching around nothing as his hungry eyes stared down at you.

Jerking him off a few more times, you rose to your knees before reaching down to move your panties to the side, far too impatient to take them off. A loud mewl fell from your lips when you lined his tip with your entrance, the feeling already addicting.

Seonghwa watched you with a clenched jaw as you slowly sunk yourself down on his length, watching as your eyes rolled back when you fully bottomed out. The way your walls were squeezing around him made his brain melt, his hands landing on your thighs as you wasted no time grinding against him.

“Fuck you’re so tight, baby.” He groaned, head falling back as your pace picked up until you were bouncing on his cock.

“‘S so good, Hwa!” You cried out, hands clutching onto his shoulders for support. The feeling of his dick dragging against your walls made your mind turn to putty.

“Yeah?” Seonghwa chuckled before being cut off by a groan as you clenched around him, “You look so pretty bouncing on my dick bunny.” He leaned forward, latching his lips onto your neck, sucking and nipping at the skin until you were trembling in his hold, “so fucking pretty.”

“Hwa!” You screamed his name when he grabbed your hips and shifted you until your clit would brush against his pelvis bone every time you bottomed out.

“Shit, I’m not gonna last much longer.” He groaned, burying his face in your neck; his hold on you was almost bruising as he guided your movements.

“Hwa– fuck ‘m cumming! Oh my god!” You screamed as your vision turned white when your orgasm hit you like a ton of bricks, your nails digging into his shoulders as he helped you ride out your high. Your whole body trembled in his hold as your walls fluttered around his cock nearly sending him into orbit when he suddenly came.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” He chanted, teeth biting down on the junction of your neck as he pulled you flush against him. 

The both of you sat there in silence for a few moments as you caught your breath, the high slowly wearing off. Seonghwa was the first to move, detaching himself from your neck and looking at the bite mark he had left. He felt pride swell in his chest, knowing that you would have a hell of a time trying to hide it the next day.

“We should do that more often.” He teased, squeezing your hips making you laugh softly.

“What? Shotgunning or fuckng?” You asked, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck, and he just smirked at you, hands moving under your skirt to squeeze your ass.

“Both.”

You laughed only to be cut off by a small whine, your hips rocking softly against Seonghwa’s. The sensitivity made a shiver run down your spine as you collapsed onto his chest, your warm breath fanning his neck as you spoke. “I’m sure we can make that happen.”

@alvojake | Do not steal, plagiarise, translate, or repost any of my work

𝖉𝖎𝖘𝖈𝖑𝖆𝖎𝖒𝖊𝖗 : ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ɴᴏ ᴡᴀʏ ᴀ ᴛʀᴜᴇ ʀᴇᴘʀᴇꜱᴇɴᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏꜰ ᴀɴʏ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴇᴍʙᴇʀꜱ. ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ᴘᴜʀᴇʟʏ ꜰɪᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ᴀɴᴅ ꜰᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏᴍᴇɴᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ᴀɴᴅ ɴᴏᴛ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴛᴀᴋᴇɴ ꜱᴇʀɪᴏᴜꜱʟʏ.

[kth1fics]

Twisted Fate (M) | MYG

Twisted Fate

⟶ Pairing: Min Yoongi x Female Reader (Y/N) ⟶ Genre: Oneshot, Smut, Rated R | 18+ ⟶ Tropes: Vampire!Yoongi, Strangers to Lovers, Royalty AU, Supernatural AU, Fantasy AU ⟶ WC: 4.7k+ ⟶ Warnings: blood (obviously), some degrading, biting / blood drinking, breast play, choking, sparkling jealousy, unprotected sex, there’s a third party at play, some bondage, fingering, oral (f), threats, reader has a nickname. ⟶ Beta: n/a (no beta just complete yolo - if it doesn't make sense don't worry about it) ⟶ Summary: A slice of vampiric lifestyle here inside the Briarwood Manor walls after you ultimately picked the Lord you wish to serve. ⟶ Author’s Note: I actually feel very bad that most of all my hosted collaborations are incomplete. It happens though, ya know? This Yoongi is a part of the Briarwood Manor Collab, hosted by myself! I never expected to be writing this fic, honestly. But I hope it does well and is good enough! Please leave any feedback or comments on a reblog, post, or even my ask box! ⟶ Song Recommendation: Sweet Sacrifice by Evanescence

Masterlist ◈ Mail Box ◈ AO3 ◈ Ko-Fi

“Hello, puppet, did you miss me?”

The low mischievous voice whispers a chill in your ear. His cold hand comes to rest on your bare shoulder, stroking your soft skin. If anyone were to see they’d think his touch is sincere and tender, a loving gesture to greet his lover, but they’d be so very wrong. 

A puppet is what you are to him, nothing more. To serve however he sees fit. The nickname is quick out of his mouth the moment you pick him under the shine of a blood moon. You aren’t so sure what drew you to him in the first place. Maybe his aura played a trick on you, taunted you with his beauty and looks. An elegant and stoic composure mixed in one. The most unresponsive to the personal sacrifice (you) during the ritual.

You still remember the lifeless blink of his eyes when he first looked at you. From there you should have known he didn’t see the life inside of you. The vampire whose fangs ghost over your neck and haunt your nights is far from a lover. He’s an obligation. A duty. The choice you were forced to make among the six other princes.

Some nights you question what would have been if you picked someone different. How would the others treat their Church’s generous gift? Would you be more than a puppet?

His hand sends a visible chill through you. The sickly sweet voice of Lord Yoongi that you dread has returned after weeks away. There’s no doubt in your mind that there’s a toothy-grin widening on his face when he inhales your scent. You were just starting to enjoy that temporary freedom from his demanding fangs. Oh, how you wish he was gone just a while longer.

Yoongi had been away visiting a nearby kingdom to the West for business. Both Lord Namjoon and Lord Hoseok accompanied him. You know very little of their endeavors. Council work if anything. Matters that a blood-bag, such as yourself, has no business knowing. You are thankful for the pleasant peace of the manor while you had it.

You remain quiet, but your heart pounds in your chest. Anyone in an earshot can probably hear it pumping through your veins. Yoongi sends a full attack to your nervous system and he hardly touches you.

“Let’s pretend that’s excitement,” he comments as a nimble finger runs along your neck.

“H-How was the trip?” You ignore his first question completely. Faking a soft smile to please him.

“Nonsense,” he mutters as his mouth hovers the crook of your next. Your body already expects the snag of his teeth any second now. “Take off that pathetic excuse of a dress the servants dressed you in. I want you in my quarters. Now,” Yoongi whispers with demand.

You feel that there’s no room for objections, you’ve learned the hard way once or twice before. Disobeying Yoongi only makes things harder for you.

The first step you take halts as you feel his hand tug at the lace to your bodice. It snaps easily, loosening the material for an easier escape. Yoongi trails you, watches you with a burning hunger, as one by one you shed your clothes on your way to his room. 

There’s no shame walking down the corridors of the manor, you’ve gotten used to these trips. Seen many others in the same position. It’s the way of life here.

Yoongi’s room is one of the furthest from the grand room. It requires walking the stairs and passing several other spaces before reaching the crystal knob of his door. On occasion, his impatience forces you into the music room where he lays you on the piano lid and does exactly what one can imagine. 

Although, tonight doesn’t feel like one of those nights.

“You haven’t answered me yet,” his voice hums, “did you miss me?”

You don’t loath the man, but you know what he does to you. How you are easily frail compared to him and fear slipping up. The sharpness in his fangs and in his words and the strength in his grip and demeanor. You do not miss his beastly moods when he sucks your blood savagely and brings you to the brink of tears. To where you fall far too weak to put up a fight.

There are no soft sides to Yoongi, not from what you’ve witnessed anyway. When he’s finished with you, you’re sure he’ll do it with no remorse.

You want to answer truthfully. Saying ‘no’ is on the very tip of your tongue. Maybe his absence did make you feel useless in a way. But you also felt relief by being away from the ruthless need of your body. And for that, you feel a tang of guilt. Making you question how you actually feel.

“Yes, my Lord,” you speak sweet yet flat. “Your presence was greatly missed.”

Finally, you’re met in the center of his room. The still cool air swallows you as you stand there awaiting his next command. The click to the door shutting behind you resounds out loud. It leaves you trapped inside the vampire’s chamber.

“Of course you did,” he smirks to himself as he slowly undos his cufflinks. His eyes continue to scan you, admiring the shape of your body and nudity. “Go on. Sit.”

You see the nod of his head from your peripheral as you stare blankly at the dark silk comforter. A canopy hangs from the ceiling above, draping thick charcoal black curtains. There’s a litter of candles scattered throughout, none of which are lit. You’re granted very little light from the cascading moon from outside the tall paneled windows. It’s darker than usual due to the storm clouds. 

Everyday his chamber is cleaned and dusted even when left unoccupied. Yoongi likes his stuff maintained, presetine if he could. If one thing is out of alignment he will notice it. They have workers for several reasons, many for pure enjoyment and food.

As you take a seat on the side of the bed, Yoongi hovers. He stands close, taking your chin in his hand and tilting your head up to look at him. His grip is menacing, you’re aware of how easily a man with his strength can break your bones.

“Whore,” he comments as he looks down on you.

His voice cuts through you like a knife. Clear and loud. He watches the way your eyes flicker in shock and widen. Heat plasters to your face as his grip tightens.

“Do you think I don’t know?” He huffed a laugh. “Why don’t you tell me what I'm speaking about?”

“Y-Yoongi I –”

He slips a finger into your mouth, pressing down on your tongue to prevent you from forming any more words.

“Take my name out of your dirty mouth or I'll do it for you,” he threatens.

“I’m sorry!,” you attempt to say out of pure reaction. 

Yoongi leans in flashing you a smile, revealing his sharpened canines. His eyes turn a blazing ruby red, popping out of his stark black hair.

“I’ll release your tongue and when the second I do, I expect you to tell me.”

He waits for your acknowledgement before his fingers find their way back to cradling your chin.

“Lord Jimin,” the name falls out of your mouth just as your eyes fall to the ground. “I didn’t know what I was supposed to do,” you fester up.

How could you? With no guidance from the Lord you picked. He left you at the manor with very little discussion. There’s unspoken rules you’re still learning to this day. How are you supposed to know what Lord Yoongi wants when he doesn’t speak the words into existence?

“You’re not his,” Yoongi states. He rests one knee on the edge of the bed beside you. His other hand traces up your arm lightly all the way to the back of your neck. With his position, he brings your head back up to look at him. “I don’t care what he says. You picked me.”

“He would have killed me if I denied his advances,” you mention. Confusion and panic swells deeply in your eyes. “He only just –”

Yoongi snorts, displeased beyond belief. “He wouldn’t unless he wanted a war. He knows you belong to me and took the opportunity to take you when I was gone.”

“–Just bit me!,” you managed to get out.

“Hm?” Yoongi’s eyebrow quirks.

“He only just bit me. I swear there is nothing more!”

You plead with your eyes. You’ve never wanted to upset him in any way. The role you play is one you take seriously. If you were murdered by a fellow ally of your Lord, that would have madden him further, no?

Yoongi’s touch turns featherlight, nothing compared to how he touches you when he lays with you. Rough and demanding. Guiding you exactly how and when he wants it. It’s what you’re expecting from him.

He leans down close, slotting his head next to your neck as he breathes in your scent. “I’ll keep you locked up in my room.” Yoongi’s lips touch against your skin, you can’t help but shiver. “Spread your legs.”

Yoongi’s cool fingers ghost your core, leaving traces as they pass each inch. You feel the threat of his fangs against you, making your body heat up quickly. It is safe to say that you do miss the way he touches you. Feeling his grip all over your body, it brings you to places you’ve never – and will never – admit.

“But I'll have no property of mine” – he continues with his earlier words – “be shared like a whore on the street.”

You politely move your head to the side with his hand as direction, bracing for the impact of his teeth. They lightly drag along your jugular until he finds his desired spot before sinking them into your skin.

The feeling hurts like a razor sharp sting as you release a groan. Yoongi’s hand secures you in place as the other presses against your heated core. His fingers slip between your folds, gliding them across your clit and into your pussy. Drawing out the wetness he searches for.

There’s a trickle of blood that breaks through the seam of Yoongi’s lips, dripping down the front of your chest. He’s sloppy, unusual for him. Probably from the weeks away. You stay stagnant, letting Yoongi do as he pleases.

“Lay back,” Yoongi pushes you down before you feel his lips pressing kisses on your thighs. He continues to press two fingers into you while he reaches for your nipple, swirling around the hardening bud.

You close your eyes as you let out a shuddering breath. Your entire body is warming up, aching silently for more. Maybe he misses you?

“Do you want me to touch you more?” The voice is so low you can barely hear it over the heavy rain outside. When his touch does everything to ignite that burning sensation inside, how can you not want more?

“Yes,” you whimper when another kiss lands on your inner thigh. You feel your pussy tighten from the want, the need.

“Yes?” He questions, as his fingers pinch down hard on your nipple. It sends bolting zaps of pain through you, making you yelp at the action.

You feel his plunging fingers curl up inside you and drag against your walls. Your legs move on their own accord, body only reacting to the joyous sensation.

“Oh God, yes! Please touch me!” You plead.

Once your desperate words leave your mouth, he latches onto your clit, sucking the sweet tender bud eagerly. He pairs it well with the pace of his fingers in your aching core, possessive hand roaming your front as his body slots between your legs.

Your curious eyes travel downward to spy Yoongi’s black hair nuzzled between your thighs and feverishly licking at your leaking arousal. It takes everything in you to not place your hands in his hair, you know he doesn’t like being touched. But it looks so soft, so long and pretty. 

“I don’t want you to ever think about being bitten by anyone else,” he growls. “Your blood is mine and mine only.” You feel your leg being lifted enough for Yoongi’s fangs to pierce the skin on your inner thigh.

His words and actions make you whimper. Yoongi’s tongue laps over the bleeding blood on your skin.

“I won’t,” you affirm as you toss your head to the side. Absentmindedly your fingers thread through his hair, it feels like the finest of silks. “I only want you to bite me, Lord Yoongi.”

Your confession pleases him. He replaces his fingers with his tongue, diving it deep into your leaking hole. A moan slips from your mouth while your fingers fasten a lock in his hair. Lewd noises spill into the air from the vampire sucking and licking at your core, devouring the taste of you.

Doing what he says always grants you intense pleasure. Being good tends to satisfy you, you realized that a long time ago. Once Yoongi draws you agonizingly close to a climax, he withdraws his pursuit. Leaving you in a cloud of haze.

‘Is that it?’ you think to yourself. Why the sudden stop? Did you do something wrong?

Yoongi reluctantly pulls from you, forcing your hands off his hair with a sinister smile. Blood and arousal is smeared across his mouth and chin.

“What’s wrong?” you whisper the question.

You’re left huffing and puffing as you feel your orgasm slipping away from you. His menacing stare down doesn’t ease your mind and you feel your body shriveling up from under his scorching red eyes.

“Time to learn your lesson.”

Yoongi manages to pull your body up the bed to the headboard. Fastening two hard metal cuffs to each of your wrists. You’ve been here once before in a playful gig, but the motivation behind Yoongi’s tone sends a shiver to your spine.

You obey, as you should, while the darkness of the drapes shroud around the bed. You’re left with red glowing eyes staring straight down at you once again. His ethereal features, as beautiful as they are, frighten you to say the least. There's anger swirling inside of him. The angel you view Yoongi at shows how the cut of his eyes are deadly, the shape of his jaw is sharp and the curve of his lips stands against the casted shadows of the dark. You feel the anxious fear bubbling up inside your body, a spike of nerves setting aflame.

“What?”

He can read you like a book. Heart pinging higher than the normal rate. A confused quirk of your brows. Even the clearing of your throat and desperate breaths have him understanding your senses. Your body language tells him everything he needs to know about your fear.

“Brianne!” Yoongi snaps his fingers together as he calls upon a servant.

On cue, the door to his room opens and closes. She walks as punctually as ever, hands clasped in front of her apron as she curtsy bows to the vampire.

“My Lord,” she smiles. Paying you no mind as you lay naked and latched to Yoongi’s bed. “How may I aid you?”

“My puppet here is in need of a lesson. Care to participate?”

“It would be an honor,” Brianna bows.

Unspokenly, she begins to shed her clothes piece by piece. Yoongi hums to himself as he does the same. You are left strapped there, witnessing the entire event in confusion.

It’s as if this has been done before. You watch with worry as Brianne steps out of her skirt and pulls out the ties of her hair, allowing it to cascade around her shoulders. She steps toward the bed, eyes nearly lifeless, as she glances at you. There’s several, very visible, bite wounds on her body.

Quickly, Yoongi meets Brianne from behind. His hands guide her atop the mattress as she kneels near your feet. You curl up further, drawing your legs into yourself as your mind races with endless possibilities of what’s about to happen.

“Puppet?”

You flinch, very noticeably, at the bark of your nickname. You hadn’t realized how on edge your nerves are until now.

Yoongi follows behind Brianne, being sure to peer over her shoulder at you with his ruby eyes. Brianne is displayed before you, legs spread apart as she kneels, tits in full view. Yoongi’s crafty and daft hands sliding across her front and touching every piece of her. It’s a taunting scene, mentally riling you up inside.

“I want you to know,” Yoongi begins with a devilish low growl, “How easy it is,” he pushes aside Brianne’s hair to expose her neck, “For us to take a whore.”

Yoongi latches his mouth down on Brianne, forcing a muffled groan out of her throat. He bites, and bites, and bites, until there’s a chain of red leaking down her shoulder and arm. Some meet the mound of her breast, where Yoongi happily is cupping with his own hand while the other is gliding down her front and rubbing circles on her clit.

You watch in shame and fear. Seeing the way Brianne thrives from the mutilating hands and mouth of the Lord. Pleasure crosses her face, pain and ecstasy. She has no embarrassment with the noises that leak out of her. You swear you see her face mocking yours as you turn away.

“Look at me,” you hear the demanding growl of Yoongi.

But the burning heat of anger tingles your face. You fear disobeying him though. It only can make things worse.

“Puppet!” he growls over Brianne’s moans. Yoongi pushes Brianne down on her hands, her head closer to where you curl up against the headboard. “Look at what I am doing!”

You hesitantly glance over, hating the scene you see. Yoongi’s possessive hands scratch Brianne’s back as he lines himself behind her. There’s blood covering his front, smearing down his chest as his mouth gaps open. You squirm uncomfortably. As much as you loathe what’s happening, how your heart is thumping with disbelief and hatred, it bothers you even more that it turns you on.

Yoongi spits down at the junction between Brianna and himself and lathers his cock with his free hand. He slots himself inside her roughly, pulling out a loud moan from Brianne and forcing tears to swell in your eyes.

“Look at me!” He commands again, and this time you stare at his glowing eyes. 

Locked in and afraid to move. Sure you can see Brianne through the edges of your sight, you can see the way Yoongi’s abs flex with each harsh thrust he inflicts on her, the way her audible noises fill the room just like the way Yoongi’s cock fills her pussy.

He keeps his stare with you, eyes threatening. “How do you feel when I choose someone else? To make them feel this good while I feed and fuck them? Do you think you’re so special to go around and give yourself up like Brianne here?” He grunts between breaths, making sure to give Brianne a good ramming as her hips get pulled back into him. 

Yoongi continues to speak to you, “Do you want to end up like this?” He quizzes you again. He forces Brianne to flip over, revealing all those scattered bite marks on her body including his own. He arches her back by holding a hand under her. You can’t help but to flick your eyes down at it.

There’s a burning rage brewing inside of you, watching the way your Lord takes care of another. Bluntly in front of you as well. You don’t think you’re anything special, just a gift from the Church. There’s no doubt in your mind Yoongi has all the freedom to do what he pleases, but you’re mad that you aren’t the option when you were only raised to be such.

You remain silent and fear stricken. There’s upset and anger on your face and he can see that. Pathetically, you are his. You picked this. But desperately you want to only be his.

“No,” you whimper out. There’s a sad tear that rolls down the curve of your cheek.

“‘No’ what?”

There’s thorns forming inside of your throat, digging into it as if your voice doesn’t have freedom.

“No I don’t want this!”

Yoongi continues to thrust into Brianne, but his attention is on you. His hand closes down on her throat, squeezing slowly to prevent airflow.

“Have you learned?” His fingernails begin digging into Brianne and you hear her noticeable gasp. “That a whore is used by many and can be,” – he squeezes firmer, watching Brianne’s hands clasp around his wrist in protest – “killed with no feeling of guilt?”

There’s a gargle replacing the moans in Brianne’s mouth. Her eyes are bloodshot and full of tears. Yoongi pays no attention, he knows what he’s doing. But he keeps his ruby eyes on you, stalking your next actions.

“Yoongi, stop!” You shout with warning, “She’s going to die!”

“So?” His voice is cold.

“Stop!” you plead. “Stop it, stop it, stop it! I get it! I’m sorry! Just stop it!” Each hopeless syllable falling out of your mouth amplifies higher until you shout.

Yoongi finally halts his actions completely, releasing his grip on poor Brianne and pulling out of her. She gasps as her lungs fill with air, hands clutching her throat. Yoongi rolls her over, letting her legs hit the floor beside the bed and commands her to stand.

He analyzes her, wipes away the wet tears from her face before patting the side of her head. “Gather your things,” he beckons. “Please seek Lord Jimin and tell him you are but a gift from me.”

Brianne attempts a hoarse response but her throat is far too fragile to speak. She quickly gathers her belongings and rushes out of the room, holding her throat with a hand the entire time.

As the room falls silent, you can’t help but stare at the naked vampire in front of you. He’s thin, toned, skin milky pale due to his vampiric complexion and lack of sun. Cock stands out, still hardened as a hand runs along its length.

“Never become a whore, puppet. It’ll get you killed.”

Yoongi turns to look back at you, seeing how shriveled up you’ve become. He knows the power he holds and the loyalty you only wish to fulfill. It’s how you are raised. You want to act on your own actions, but Yoongi is the shotcaller. The owner of you.

“I’m only yours,” you state with a nod. 

Like lightning, Yoongi returns to you. Finger’s dipping into your cunt again. He groans with the seeping wet arousal leaking from you, making sure to comment on how you must have been turned on all along. He pushes deep inside your needy walls, stoking and thrusting his fingers at a quick pace almost as if he wants you to cum right then and there. His tongue works on your clit, swirling delicately around the sensitive bundle of nerves.

The pleasure between your legs causes you to tremble, Yoongi’s name falls out of your mouth as you tug on the cuffs chaining you to the bed. You’re beginning to feel the start of your delayed climax from before. Your breaths become shallow pants while you can’t help but ride Yoongi’s mouth desperately.

Your hazy mind takes away your active awareness and forces you to enjoy the senses you hear, feel, smell, taste, and see. Yoongi works his way up past your navel, peppering kisses on his pursuit to your clavicles. His teeth glide over your skin only enough to scratch you as you whimper from the loss of his tongue.

Somehow you end up on your knees and straddling Yoongi’s pelvis. He flipped you quickly to slide himself under you. The chains twist, forcing your wrists together. His hair fans out around his head as he rests on the pillow, eyes lazily looking up at your hanging breasts. You feel the cold hard hands on your hips as he leads you onto his cock, letting you slide against his length and spread your arousal on him.

You use your arm to muffle your moan as he slips his tip inside of you. The promise of his length inside of you makes you eager so you press down. Letting an inch deeper before he pulls you back up to begin the process again.

Yoongi leans up from under you to latch his mouth on one tit, sucking harshly at your nipple before sinking his fangs enough to draw blood. The sting hurts, you whine on the impact as he simultaneously draws your hips down onto him. Stuffing his thick cock inside your tight cunt.

You want to lean on him for support but those blasted chains hold your position high. In reaction, you bite your own arm as you feel the way Yoongi fills you up and feeds on you. The joyous satisfaction you gain from pleasing the Lord is soon to follow.

Yeah, there is no way you wish to be a whore. Yoongi is more than enough.

“You like it. Don’t you, puppet?” Yoongi chuckles. He pulls on your hair sharply, twisting your head to the side to admire his earlier bite mark. “You like being my little puppet and filled up like this, huh?” Yoongi grinds his hips into you, his other hand firmly guiding your body to ride him.

You’re left breathless, painfully in pleasure, but fully enjoying being filled to the brim by his cock. The recklessness of his grip on your hair and bleeding from his beautiful bites. It’s so devilishly good, you could never wish to be anything more than his puppet. 

“Ah, please,” you groan. The sound of skin against skin resonates throughout the darkened room. It’s mingled with your beautiful cries and his low guttural grunts. 

“I love it,” you confess.

You don’t ever want to be used to getting filled so well. You don’t want to be curious about the other princes and how they would treat you. Something about Yoongi is exactly what you need, you just never knew before. Is the lesson supposed to make you have this realization?

Yoongi releases a low groan against your skin, murmuring, “you feel so fucking good. You taste so fucking good.”

Once again, Yoongi sinks his teeth in you. The pain draws you closer to your impending orgasm and you yelp outloud. 

His thrusts become even more determined. Your chest arches into him as you tug on the cuffs that limit your hand movement. The noise from the headboard thuds rhythmically against the wall as your cunt clenches.

“Cum on me,” you hear the words tickle your ears. Yoongi’s hand wraps around your head and leads you into a bloody, searing kiss. He hushes your moans as his tongue dives past your teeth.

Metabolic tasting liquid seeps into your taste buds but you aren’t focused on the flavor. The cradling hand on your cheek and gentle soft strokes of his fingers on your hips are. The deepened kiss, full of lust and passion, sends you to overdrive as you whimper through your crashing orgasm.

Your legs shake against his sides in the same pace of your walls gripping his cock. Your blood trickles down on Yoongi’s chest as you ride out the waves of pleasure. Wet squelching sounds happen at the intersection between you and him as his thumb runs circles against your clit.

You feel your eyes fluttering shut as you groan. Your rolling orgasm kicks your body into realizing how much strain it’s handling. The harsh mixture of pain and pleasure. Your body is beginning to fall limp, the life and energy inside of you finally hitting their max. You want to collapse but Yoongi continues to thrust into you, perhaps chasing his own high.

“Ah,” you breathe as Yoongi’s mouth detaches from yours. His eyes focus on the mess of arousal on his lap, the way your cunt disappears his cock entirely. There’s a vice grip on your hips now, all you can do now  is be a toy for him.

A puppet, so he’d say.

Your head begins to spin as your vision fades into darkness. The last thing you see is the beautiful features of Yoongi, enjoying full on gratification from your body. Blood covered across his smooth poreless skin and black raven hair. 

moodboard credit: @kth1

© 2024 All rights reserved under @kth1​ - do not copy, repost, modify, edit, or translate any of my work without my direct consent. This TUMBLR and AO3 are the ONLY places my fics are posted.

[sometimesanalice]

A prompt party, Alexa? How in the world did I miss that? I'd be over the moon if you could write a little something for Bradley + "i’m gonna marry you one day." 🪩 ✨

Rebecca! Now you know I’m always down to write a little something for a smitten Bradley! I hope you enjoy!

It was a surprisingly quiet night at the Hard Deck.

You could actually hear the music playing out of Penny's old juke box, rather than just the faint essence of notes for whatever oldie was queued up over the usual rowdy ruckus. And there were more empty chairs scattered about than there were taken ones.

It was one of the rare rainy days they got in San Diego. The gray skies and drizzle driving even the best of Uncle Sam's finest under blankets and curled up on couches.

Bradley always liked the moody weather. He liked the way the clouds seemed to cling to the coastline. He liked the rough rolling waves as they broke against the shore with more force than they usually did.

But he wasn't look out the bank of windows out towards the beach, in fact, he had his back turned to it.

Because he was looking at you.

Bradley had been trying to ask you out for the better part of two months now. And he was starting to think that you were giving him the runaround.

He'd learned that first evening that you were only filling in as a favor to Penny- she and your mom went way back as sorority sisters- for a few months as Jimmy recovered from his knee replacement surgery.

Under normal circumstances, he’d take the hint and move on. And even if his mom hadn’t raised him right- which she had- Rooster knew that just because someone was nice didn’t mean they were interested. Especially when it was their job.

But he couldn’t kick the feeling that there was something there.

All he needed was one date to prove it.

It was more than the way you always seemed to catch him looking, because you were looking right back. Or the way you’d slip him a free drink every now and then, saying it was on the house. Or the way you found a way to brush past him a little too close whenever you'd swing by with more peanuts for Bob or a fresh round of drinks for his friends.

You were so damn smart and funny as hell. He’d taken to spending less time on his ESPN app and more time on the NYT trying to find interesting topics to get to spend a extra few minutes with you. Nothing felt better than earning a smile from you.

But any time he got close to asking you out or asking for your number, you were pulled away by something or another. The sound of broken glass. A pointed throat clearing from a thirsty patron. An emergency trip to the storage closet.

Rain was good luck in some places, and Bradley needed all the luck he could get. It hadn’t been on his side in the past two month, but tonight was his night. He was sure of it.

Especially considering he was the only person seated at the bar.

You'd been popping out and checking on people, delivering refills personally to the few people who had braved the elements instead of having them come up to the bar.

Rooster was patient, he didn't mind waiting his turn. After all, he had a shiny new NYT subscription to keep him company.

He smiles to himself when you work your way back to the bar, grabbing the bowl of limes and a cutting board, and setting up right in front of him. He watches as you deftly slice and quarter the limes into wedges, their bright scent clinging in the air.

“Why does it feel like I’ve seen less of you tonight than I do when this place is packed?” Bradley asks, saving the article he was midway through before closing out of the app completely.

“I’m just a one woman show here tonight, I told Penny to stay home." You're tidy and efficient in the way you store the prepped wedges and work to clean up the already immaculate bar. "It's means a bit more running around for me. But I don't mind, I like to keep busy."

"So I've noticed."

You look up at him from under your lashes, as you wipe down the prep space. "Have you been keeping tabs on me, Rooster?"

"Now I know you're teasing me." He sets his phone down and levels a look at you. "Because we both know you catch me looking often enough to know the answer to that."

You press your lips together, but the corners curl up anyways.

"Oh, Bradley," you say with a soft sigh. "Bradley, Bradley, Bradley..."

And then your eyes drop purposefully down.

The two of you stare at his phone sitting on the shiny bar top.

"You wouldn't," he rasps.

"I think I'm legally obligated to. There's a very official wood sign and everything." You look the picture of innocence, but you don't fool him.

"Sweetheart, c'mon."

"Are you asking me to bend the rules for you? Just because Penny isn't here?" You tsk, with a self-satisfied smile. "And here I thought you were a Boy Scout."

Bradley just shakes his head amused as you sashay up to the bell and give it a loud, long ring. A couple whoops go up in response, but no one gets up. Yet.

You walk back towards him with an all too pleased smile.

"I think you enjoyed that."

You smile wider and don't deny it. "I can't lie, it is a fun perk of the job."

He sighs. "And here I thought we had something special."

"Stop that, you're too pretty to pout," you tease. "You gave me no choice. I don't make the rules, I just follow them. And as much as I love Penny, I have a healthy dose of-"

"-fear-"

You smirk. "I was going to say respect. But also you're not wrong."

"And what about me?" he asks, sitting up straighter on his stool. "What are your impressions of me?"

"Oh you?" You tilt your head to the side, letting your gaze linger on his face as you muse. "You look like trouble."

"Do I now?"

"Mmhm. I thought it from the moment I saw you strut through that door." You say it like you're letting him in on a secret. "And there’s something you should probably know about me."

He leans in closer. "And what's that?"

You mirror him, leaning in as well and resting your elbows on the counter. Your face is just inches from his. “I’m really good at getting into trouble.”

He grins. “I’m gonna marry you one day.”

You tip your head back and laugh, it’s the best sound he thinks he’s ever heard. 

“That’s a bold statement from the man who still has yet to ask me out on a date.”

He opens his mouth, to do just that, after months of failed attempts. And then another one of the patrons saddles up to the bar, waving you down for your attention.

Rooster groans.

"Alas, it appears I have another gentleman caller," you sing, reaching for the towel and waving it like a handkerchief in his direction. "Guess I'll be seeing you around, Bradley. Maybe at the end of an aisle, who knows, the night is young."

The smile you give him promises that this conversation isn't over yet.

You spin away from him and don’t give him a second glance as you head over towards the thirsty man whose beer is going on his tab, but there’s a sway in your hips that wasn’t there before.

And Bradley thinks to himself, this is going to be fun. 

[buckets-and-trees]

Warm Shadows - The Dawn Has Come [double epilogue]

Collection: Warm Shadows Chapter Title: The Dawn Has Come Characters/Pairings: Alpha!Bucky x f!Omega!Reader x Alpha!Steve Word Count: 5.5k

Summary: The aftermath - and the happily ever after? An epilogue with two distinct parts befitting the journey with the two alphas.

Content Warnings: omegaverse: heat and ruts, manipulating bonding marks; explicit smut: oral (m receiving), clitoral fingering, breastplay, vaginal intercourse, unprotected sex, breeding kink, breeding

Additional Notes: My offering for the fourth week of Chris-Mas is the epilogue to finally bring the Warm Shadows saga to a close on the ONE-YEAR ANNIVERSARY from when I posted the first chapter! This is also filling my October prompt for @buckybarnesevents Build-a-Bucky Bingo with an appearance from our dear Alpine!

↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

FIFTEEN MONTHS LATER

It's been fifteen months since you returned to Wakanda. After the initial few weeks spent on your own while Steve and Bucky cleaned up all trace of the Captain Hydra project, your alphas returned to you weary and a little worse for wear, but unharmed overall. Waiting for them, you had done your best trying not to spiral into anxious worry.

You had put yourself to use volunteering to work in one of the schools. It was work you knew mattered, and the children were sweet, clever, precocious, and filled your days with so much to do and think about that it was a worthwhile distraction, and you went back to your living quarters blissfully tired every night. You were not a stranger to Wakanda, since you had been visiting with Bucky every year since your binding ritual, and so it wasn’t evenings of solitary loneliness night after night when you were off either - the small circle of friends you’d made over those previous visits kept you company often enough.

Even so, the reunion with your alphas had come just when you might have started to truly worry.

Keeping his promise, though, Bucky hadn’t closed off his bond to you completely like he had when you’d been taken. It was muted so he would neither worry you nor lose focus, but he and Steve both let their bonds be more open when they weren’t engaged in any specific operations.

The first full moon after they returned, Bucky and Steve had performed the ritual and sworn the blood oath to create a pack bond. It had been what Bucky had described, as beautiful as your mind had imagined, and surpassed what any of you had anticipated in elements of primal nature and magic combining to transform your connections and their power as alphas. It was something so sacred to have experienced that you rarely spoke of it because there simply weren’t words. Bucky later pointed out that the lack of records around the ritual and its effects made sense.

One of the triumphs of Steve and Bucky’s “clran up” mission had been the discovery - while destroying evidence - of the notebooks the Hydra scientists had used to document Steve’s torture and conditioning. Shuri and Ayo integrated that information with what they had done before in unraveling Hydra’s grip on Bucky as the Winter Soldier, and it had been a long - an unrushed - process, but after a few months, Steve began to believe (and he was the last one convinced) that he was free. He had changed, but he was a true version of himself again. Bucky, more than anyone else, helped Steve to see that he wouldn’t have to live in the shadow of what he’d done forever - though there were times the shadows would undoubtedly - and painfully - cross his mind.

Building a new chapter of your life in Wakanda, you had continued your work at the school. Steve had gone back to art and drawing. Shuri drew him in for opinions on political matters once or twice, then more and more often, until she had effectively enlisted him as an outside consultant on foreign policy. And Bucky, well, he had found his place once again in Wakanda's science research lab, but with more responsibility and working in actual partnership on bigger projects since the three of you were staying for longer.

You also relentlessly teased your alphas for their love of farming. They tended to a small pack of goats. But you didn’t complain when you watched them undertaking some of the more laborious tasks that required muscle.

Over a year, you really had carved out a life that worked for the three of you to figure out your relationship.

As dinner time approached, you and Steve were busy preparing a meal together in the kitchen of your small cottage. It was something that had become almost ritualistic for the two of you. Cooking together had become one of your favorite ways to spend time with each other.

"Did you remember to pick up some more herbs from the market?" Steve asks as he sets a pot on the stove.

You nod, setting down the cutting board with chopped vegetables. "Yeah, I got them this morning."

"Great," he smiles at you before turning back to his task.

You can’t help but smile too as you watch him work. This simple domestic life was its own healing balm.

You don’t hear Bucky come in, but Bucky’s arrival is announced by Alpine, who greeted him immediately at the door with a barrage of meows, chatting away at her favorite human. You and Steve don’t take it personally as she still doles out a bit of affection to you two as well.

He enters the kitchen carrying Alpine in the crook of his arm, scratching her head with his other hand. “Smells delicious in here,” he says, happily.

"Hey Buck," you smile and pull him close for a quick kiss.

"How was your day?" Steve asks.

"It was good," Bucky replies. "I spent most of it in the lab."

Steve raises an eyebrow at that, and the two of you exchange a look. Bucky usually likes to excitedly launch into some new development or bemoan a roadblock but with ideas of how he already wants to tweak his approach for the next day.

"What were you working on?" Steve presses further.

Bucky shrugs. "Just more tests on the vibranium alloys. Nothing too exciting."

You and Steve exchange another glance, sensing there's something Bucky isn't telling you, but silently agree not to push. If it's important, he'll tell you when he's ready.

"Well, dinner will be ready soon," you say. "Why don't you go wash up?"

Bucky nods, setting Alpine down gently. "Sounds good. I'll be right back."

As he leaves the kitchen, you turn to Steve.

"He seems off," Steve says quietly.

"Yeah. He didn't seem upset, just... distracted maybe?"

"Well, let's just keep an eye on him tonight," Steve suggests. "If something's truly bothering him, we’ll feel it.”

You nod in agreement with Steve, turning back to the stove to stir the simmering pot. The rich aroma of herbs and spices fills the kitchen, mingling with the comforting scents of the home you’ve built with your alphas.

Bucky returns a few minutes later, his hair damp from a quick shower. He moves to help set the table, falling into the familiar rhythm of your shared domestic life. As you bring the food to the table, you can't help but notice the slight tension in Bucky's shoulders, the way his eyes seem to flicker between you and Steve more frequently than usual.

Dinner conversation flows easily enough, with Steve recounting a particularly amusing incident from his day meeting with M’Baku in the mountain fortress of the Jabari. You chime in with stories from the school, delighting in the way both your alphas' eyes light up when you talk about your students' progress. Bucky listens attentively, but he remains more subdued.

He responds when spoken to, but doesn't engage in his usual animated conversation. You and Steve keep exchanging glances, your worry growing as the meal progresses.

As you're clearing the dishes, Bucky suddenly speaks up. "I have something I need to tell you both."

You and Steve freeze, turning to look at him. Your heart races, anxiety creeping in at his serious tone.

"What is it, Buck?" Steve asks, his voice calm but laced with concern.

Bucky runs a hand through his hair, a gesture you recognize as a sign of his nervousness. "I've been thinking about this for a while now, and... well, I think it's time we consider going back."

Steve's brow furrows, and you feel your heart skip a beat. "Going back?" you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

Bucky nods, his steel-blue eyes moving between you and Steve. "To New York," he clarifies, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

You exchange a glance with Steve, surprise and confusion evident on both your faces. Bucky takes a deep breath, his metal hand absently stroking Alpine, who has curled up in his lap. "Shuri approached me today with an interesting proposition," he begins, his eyes lighting up with excitement. "She's been working on plans for Wakanda's next International Outreach Center, and she's decided to open it in New York."

You lean forward, intrigued. "New York?”

Bucky nods, a small smile playing on his lips. "Yeah, in Brooklyn actually. And she's offered me a spot to work on the science and technology team there."

Steve's eyes widen. "Buck, that's amazing," he says, his voice filled with pride.

You feel a mix of emotions swirling inside you - excitement, anxiety, hope. "When would this be happening?" you ask, trying to keep your voice steady.

Bucky reaches out, taking your hand in his. "Not for a few months yet. There's still a lot of planning and preparation to be done. But," he pauses, his eyes meeting yours, then Steve's, "I wanted to talk to you both about it first. This obviously isn't just my decision to make."

Steve leans back in his chair, his brow furrowed in thought, so you take the lead on pushing the conversation forward. "It's a big step," you say slowly. "We've built a lot here, and Wakanda is incredible, but… I do miss our other home.”

Bucky squeezes your hand. “Me, too.”

“And Mexican food and pizza,” you add.

He laughs, and Steve smiles.

Then you look at Steve, studying his face, probing at the bond between you. “What do you have tucked away that you haven’t told us?” you ask, realizing for the last couple of days he’s been projecting perhaps too much of a business-as-normal attitude.

“Okay, fine, I might have my own proposition from Shuri as well,” he admits.

“And?” you push, Bucky sitting up straighter in his chair.

“She wants to open official diplomatic relationships with a handful of countries - the US being one of them - and wants to request me as ambassador.”

You and Bucky stare at Steve in stunned silence for a moment.

"Ambassador?" Bucky finally says, his voice a mix of surprise and enthusiasm. "Steve, that's incredible."

"It really is!” you chime in just as excitedly, your mind racing with the implications. “We have every confidence in you, but are you ready for that kind of public role again?"

Steve takes a deep breath, his eyes meeting yours. "I've been thinking about it a lot. And I think I am. It's not the same as being Captain America - it's not about being a symbol or a hero. It's about building bridges, fostering understanding. I think... I think I could do some real good."

Bucky reaches out, placing a hand on Steve's shoulder. "You could, punk. You absolutely could."

You feel a swell of emotion in your chest, pride and love for both your alphas mingling with a hint of uncertainty.

“How long have you been sitting on this?" Bucky asks.

Steve has the grace to look a bit sheepish. "She only approached me officially yesterday, but we've been discussing the possibility for a few weeks now."

Bucky turns his eyes back to you - they both do - and he tugs on your hand to bring you back to the present. “What’s on your mind, Omega?”

You chew on your bottom lip before voicing the thought in your head. “Positions to ship both of you back off to the United States… do you think Shuri’s politely trying to kick us out?”

Steve leans in, a wry grin on his face. “Kick us out? Can’t you see what she’s doing?”

“What?”

Bucky chuckles and joins in, "She's clearly giving us undeniable reasons to go home."

“But why?”

The two alphas exchange a knowing look before bursting into laughter. “Really, sweetheart?” Steve asks.

Bucky’s tone is teasing as he adds, “Do you not also have some news to share with us?”

Your brow furrows. “What do you two know that I don’t?”

Your two alphas exchange another look, then turn their eyes back on you.

“Omega,” Bucky starts, his voice now serious, “your scent changed in the days after you took our knots in your last heat.”

“We’re certain you’re pregnant,” Steve finishes.

You gasp, the words taking a moment to fully register in your mind before your hand moves to your stomach. "Pregnant?" you repeat, disbelief and excitement swirling inside you.

FIVE WEEKS EARLIER

You wake with a gasp, your body trembling with need. Sweat beads on your skin as waves of heat roll through you, igniting every nerve ending. Your nightgown clings to your damp skin as you writhe on the bed, seeking friction against the sheets.

"Steve... Bucky..." you moan, your voice thick with desire.

The room is still dark, the first hints of dawn barely peeking through the curtains. But your alphas are instantly alert, their enhanced senses picking up on your distress and arousal.

"Omega," Bucky's voice is a low rumble as he rolls towards you, his metal arm cool against your fevered skin. "We've got you."

Steve presses against your other side, his lips finding the sensitive spot behind your ear. "What do you need?" he asks.

Steve's hand cups your breast through the thin fabric of your nightgown, his thumb brushing over your hardened nipple. You arch into his touch, a needy whimper escaping your lips. "Please," you gasp, your body burning with desire. "Need you both."

Bucky's metal hand trails down your side, leaving goosebumps in its wake. "We're here, ‘mega," he murmurs, his voice husky with want. "We'll take care of you."

Your heats come once each season, good regularity for an omega, but with alphas only falling into rut once or twice a year, this is the first time the three of you have cycled together, both of your alphas finally syncing to you.

Steve's fingers find the hem of your nightgown, slowly inching it up your thighs. "Always so beautiful," he breathes, his eyes dark with desire as he drinks in the sight of you.

You writhe between them, desperate for more contact. Your skin feels too tight, too hot, and you need their touch like you need air to breathe. "Alpha," you moan, not even sure which one you're calling for – you need them both equally.

Your skin feels like it's on fire, every brush of their hands sending sparks of pleasure through your body. The familiar ache of heat pulses deep in your core, your body preparing itself to be claimed by your alphas.

Bucky captures your lips in a searing kiss, swallowing your moans as his tongue explores your mouth. Steve's hand slips between your thighs, finding you already wet and ready. You gasp into Bucky's mouth as Steve's fingers circle your sensitive bundle of nerves.

"So wet for us already," Steve murmurs, his voice low and husky.

You break away from Bucky's kiss, panting. "Please," you whimper, your hips bucking against Steve's hand. "Need you inside me."

Bucky's metal hand trails down your body, cool against your feverish skin. He gently pushes your nightgown up, exposing more of your heated flesh to the cool air of the room. Steve helps you sit up just enough to pull the garment over your head, leaving you bare between them.

The cool air of the room kisses your heated skin, making you shiver with anticipation. Bucky's metal hand trails down your spine, leaving goosebumps in its wake. Steve's fingers trace patterns on your inner thigh, inching closer to where you need them most.

"You're gorgeous like this," Bucky says, his voice low and husky. Steve hums in agreement, his eyes dark with desire as he drinks in the sight of you.

They’ve both been on the cusp of their ruts for the past few days, waiting for your heat to break, and you can smell the pleased anticipation positively rolling off them now.

You writhe between them. "Please," you pout, your body burning with need. "I need you both."

Steve captures your lips in a searing kiss as Bucky's metal fingers find your slick folds. You gasp into Steve's mouth as Bucky slowly slides two fingers inside you, stretching you deliciously.

“This cunt is crying for her alphas’ knots, isn’t it?” Bucky asks.

You nod frantically, beyond words as pleasure courses through you. Steve breaks the kiss, his lips trailing down your neck as Bucky's fingers work inside you.

"Tell us what you need, Omega," Steve whispers against your skin.

"You," you gasp. "Both of you. Please, I need to feel you both inside me."

Bucky growls low in his throat, his fingers withdrawing from you. You whimper at the loss, but then Steve is lifting you, positioning you over his hard length. You sink down onto him with a moan of relief, feeling deliciously full. He lays back, pulling you along with him.

"That's it, sweetheart," Steve breathes, his hands gripping your hips. "Take what you need."

You begin to move, rocking against Steve as Bucky watches with hungry eyes. After a few moments, Bucky moves to kneel next to your head. Without a word, you turn your head to take his cock into your mouth.

The room fills with the sounds of pleasure - skin against skin, breathless moans and whispered endearments. You rock your hips, taking Steve deeper inside you as you work Bucky with your mouth. Their scents surround you, pine and metal mingling with the heady aroma of your shared arousal.

Steve's hands remain on your hips, guiding your movements as you ride him. Bucky's metal hand tangles in your hair, not forcing but encouraging as you take him deeper. The dual sensations of being filled by both your alphas sends waves of pleasure coursing through your body.

"So perfect for us," Steve groans, his hips bucking up to meet yours.

Bucky's flesh hand cups your cheek, his thumb brushing over your stretched lips. "Look at you, taking us both so well," he murmurs, his voice thick with desire.

You moan around Bucky's length, the vibrations making him groan. The praise from your alphas sends a thrill through you, spurring you on. You rock your hips faster, chasing your pleasure as you take them both deeper.

Steve's hands tighten on your hips, his fingers digging into your flesh in a way that's sure to leave marks. The thought of being marked by your alpha only heightens your arousal.

The dual sensations of Steve inside you and Bucky in your mouth are overwhelming. Heat coils tighter in your core with each thrust, each stroke. You can feel yourself getting close, teetering on the edge of bliss.

"That's it, Omega," Steve growls, his voice strained with pleasure. "Come for us. Let us feel you."

You work your fingers against Steve’s bonding mark, and he groans in a primal way. “Omega, don’t - you don’t know - “ he warns.

But you suspect what will happen if you tease and torture the place where finally you claimed him back. You’re tired of Steve holding back, and you want to trigger the true primal alpha side you know he’s still keeping behind walls of restraint, shame, and worry.

Your heat makes you more desperate, but also brings you closer to your base instincts. You know what you want, what you crave, what you need, and you know how to get it.

And so you keep stroking, pushing, probing. Bucky watches you, inclining his head slightly - silently asking if you’re sure of what you’re doing, and you nod even as Steve’s body starts to shake beneath you and his thrusts become more erratic. Bucky nods and pulls out of your mouth.

In a swift motion, you bite Steve’s mark anew, and he shouts, and snaps - you feel it through your connection, and you preen in triumph, but only for a fraction of a second because Steve’s immediately flipping you over. Without pause, he continues to fuck you, your legs spread wide for him now.

"You want a wild alpha fucking you?" Steve growls, his eyes dark with primal desire.

“Yes,” you moan, raking your fingers down his chest as you feel the knot at the base of his cock start to swell and move into your slick, desperate channel.

Steve's thrusts become more powerful, more frantic. His hands grip your thighs, spreading you wider as he drives into you. With his knot growing inside of you, he can only rut, but his angle, the thickness of his length, the rubbing of the knot is perfection.

Bucky moves down to kneel next to Steve, his metal hand gripping Steve's shoulder. "Easy, punk," he murmurs, but there's a hint of arousal in his voice. "Don't break our Omega."

Steve snarls in response, but his thrusts slow slightly, becoming more controlled yet no less intense. You whimper at the change in pace, your body trembling with need. "Please," you gasp, "don't stop."

Steve's eyes lock with yours, dark with desire and something wilder. "Never," he growls, his hips snapping forward.

Bucky's metal hand slides down your body, finding your sensitive bundle of nerves. You cry out as he begins to circle it with expert precision, the dual sensations of Steve's thrusts and Bucky's touch pushing you closer to the edge.

"That's it, Omega," Bucky murmurs, his voice low and husky. "Let go for us."

Steve's knot swells further, catching on your rim with each thrust. The stretch is delicious, bordering on too much but not quite. You arch your back, chasing the sensation.

"Gonna fill you up," Steve pants, his voice rough with need. "Breed you full of our pups."

His words send a jolt of pleasure through you. "Yes," you moan, "please, Alpha. Want your pups."

Bucky growls low in his throat, his fingers working faster against your clit. "You’ll take our knots until you’re bulging for us, so full of our cum.”

You nod frantically, beyond words as pleasure builds within you. Steve's thrusts become more erratic, his knot swelling to its full size. With one final, powerful thrust, he buries himself deep inside you, his knot locking you together as he begins to pulse his release.

The sensation of being filled, stretched, and knotted pushes you over the edge. You cry out as your orgasm washes over you, your body clenching around

Steve's knot. Your vision goes white at the edges as pleasure courses through every nerve ending. Steve collapses on top of you, his body shuddering with aftershocks.

Bucky's metal hand continues to work your sensitive bundle of nerves, prolonging your orgasm. You writhe beneath Steve, overwhelmed by sensation. Steve nips and licks at the top of your chest while he’s locked inside of you.

As your orgasm subsides, you lay panting beneath Steve, his weight a comforting presence. Bucky's metal hand moves to stroke your hair, soothing you as you come down from your high.

"You okay, Omega?" Bucky asks softly, his eyes searching your face.

You nod, still catching your breath. "More than okay," you manage to say, a blissful smile spreading across your face.

Steve lifts his head, his eyes meeting yours. There's a mix of emotions in his gaze - love, desire, and a hint of concern. "Did I hurt you?" he asks, his voice low.

You shake your head, reaching up to cup his cheek. "No, Steve. I wanted the Alpha side you’ve been holding back from me." You pull him down for a tender kiss, pouring all your love and reassurance into it.

As you break the kiss, you turn to Bucky. “Give me your cock, Alpha.”

He laughs. “You’re already full of cock, greedy girl.”

“Only one hole. I want more,” you whine.

Bucky's eyes darken with desire at your words. "You sure you can handle more, Omega?"

You nod eagerly, licking your lips as you eye his hard length. "Please, Alpha. Need to taste you."

Steve shifts slightly, careful not to pull on his knot, allowing you better access to Bucky. Bucky moves closer, positioning himself so you can reach him without straining.

You open your mouth, inviting him in. Bucky groans as he slides his cock between your lips, the taste of him exploding on your tongue. You moan around him, the vibrations making him shudder.

"That's it," Bucky murmurs, his metal hand coming to cup your cheek. "Take what you need."

You work him with your mouth, your tongue swirling around his tip before taking him deeper. Steve watches with dark eyes, his hips making small, involuntary thrusts as his knot keeps you joined.

The room fills with the sounds of pleasure - Bucky's low groans, Steve's panting breaths, and your muffled moans. The scent of sex and arousal hangs heavy in the air, mingling with the unique scents of your alphas.

"So good for us," Bucky praises, his voice rough with desire.

Steve's hand finds your breast, kneading gently. The sensations of Steve's knot locked inside you, Bucky's cock in your mouth, and Steve’s kneading hand send waves of pleasure through your body.

Your heat simmers just below the surface, temporarily sated but far from over. You can feel it building again, a slow burn that promises to consume you once more. But for now, you focus on the taste of Bucky on your tongue, the weight of Steve inside you, the scent of your alphas surrounding you.

You want more of Bucky - more thrusting, faster, rougher - but you know he won’t give it to you right now. He’s content and determined to wait so he can knot and fill you as soon as Steve’s knot goes down. And you want him to fill you up, too.

Bucky's metal hand cups your cheek gently as you continue to work him with your mouth. His flesh hand strokes through your hair, the tender gesture contrasting with the raw desire in his eyes. You can feel his restraint, the way he's holding back from thrusting too hard.

"That's it, ‘mega," he murmurs, his voice strained. "You're doing so well."

Steve's knot is still firmly lodged inside you, but you can feel it starting to soften ever so slightly. His hand continues to knead your breast, occasionally pinching and rolling your nipple between his fingers.

Steve's knot finally softens enough for him to slip out of you. You whimper at the loss, feeling empty and needy. But Bucky doesn’t make you wait. He’s immediately pulling out of your mouth, his eyes dark with desire as he looks down at you. Moving in sync as only they could with their history in and out of battle, Steve makes way for Bucky to take his place between your thighs.

"Get ready for my knot," he says, his voice low and husky. “It will be the one of many this weekend, and you’re going to take it eagerly every time - from both of us.”

You nod eagerly, spreading your legs wider in invitation. "Please, Alpha," you whimper, your body aching to be filled again.

With one smooth thrust, he buries himself inside you, groaning at the sensation of your slick heat enveloping him. You cry out in pleasure, your back arching off the bed.

"So wet and open for me," Bucky growls, his hips starting a punishing rhythm. "Still dripping with Steve's cum."

The thought sends a thrill through you, knowing you're filled with one alpha's seed while taking the other. Steve lays beside you. He strokes your cheek before slipping his thumb into your mouth, and you automatically close your lips around it and start to suck and moan.

Bucky's thrusts are deep and powerful, each one sending sparks of pleasure through your body. His metal hand grips your hip, the cool metal a stark contrast to your heated skin.

“We’re gonna pass you between us, sweetheart,” Steve murmurs directly into your ear, then licks up the shell. “Keep you on our knots, fill you with our cum, make sure you’re going to swell with us after this heat.”

The thought of being passed between your alphas, filled with their cum and swelling with their pups sends a jolt of pleasure through you, makes you write eagerly for more. You moan around Steve's thumb, your hips bucking up to meet Bucky's powerful thrusts.

Bucky growls, his thrusts becoming more frantic. "Gonna fill you up, Omega. Breed you full."

"That's it," Steve murmurs, his voice low and husky. "Let go for us, sweetheart. Show us how good we make you feel."

Bucky's thrusts become more erratic, his knot beginning to swell, and Steve decides to torture you with divine licks pressed to the base of your neck over bonding mark he gave you, heightening your heat and bringing your primal self out more as you’d done to him. You can only moan and keen and grasp at them both.

"Alpha," you gasp, your body trembling on the edge of release. "Please, I need-"

"We know what you need, Omega," Bucky growls, his hips snapping forward with increased urgency. "Gonna give it to you. Gonna fill you up so good."

Steve's hand trails down your body, finding your sensitive bundle of nerves. He circles it with expert precision, adding to the overwhelming sensations. "Come for us," he demands, giving your engorged clit a pinch that triggers your orgasm, and you groan.

With one final, powerful thrust, Bucky buries himself deep inside you, his knot locking you together as he begins to pulse his release. The sensation amplifies and prolongs the intensity of your orgasm, your body clenching around Bucky's knot, trembling and gasping beneath him.

"That's it, Omega," Bucky groans, his body shuddering above you. "Take it all."

Your vision blurs at the edges as wave after wave of ecstasy courses through you.

As your orgasm begins to subside, you lay panting beneath Bucky, who collapsed on top of you, his weight a comforting presence. You kiss him, long and hard, momentarily sated.

But then you turn your head and reach for Steve, bringing his lips to yours. You move your mouth between them, needing their kisses more than you need air, eager and ready to take them over and over again through this heat, body more insatiable than you have ever been. And you can’t imagine anything else feeling as right as this does. They’re yours.

Forever.

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[jjunieworld]

── meet cute `🪄` . ִ ֗ 

pairing: kang taehyun x gn!reader

genre: fluff fluff fluff, strangers to ???, magician!taehyun, some crack ??? idk

synopsis: you had a thought and a dream, you were going to be a magician. so you did what one who wants to be a magician does next, you went to a magic store. and what did you do? accidentally knock over a shelf of bang snaps and came face to face with an actual magician.

word count: 1k┊v-day event masterlist┊masterlist

a/n: part four of my v-day event! cute and short little drabble after that heavy and angsty ass beomgyu oneshot! that episode of academy reincarnation really ignited a light in me. y/n also really reminds me of that one scene of rachel mcadams in the hot chick lmao.. i hope you enjoy! ♡

all your life you only wanted only one thing: to have magical powers. unfortunately, this was the real world. so, you had to do the next best thing—become a magician.

that’s how you ended up in the magic shop out in the outskirts of your town—the star seeker’s magical emporium—wandering up and down the aisles aimlessly. your fingers trailed along the various items. from cliché magical wands to stuff for making things “disappear,” this store had it all.

you were lost in your thoughts, thinking of how you could use all the items you saw when your eyes had caught on a product claiming that it could make you bend metal. in your distracted state, your legs had kept moving and in turn, you ran straight into the display of bang snaps.

the display and open boxes fell to the floor, loud snapping and sparks everywhere. you had jumped back in shock, a loud gasp coming from your lips, when an employee ran over with wide eyes. “oh my god… oh my god, i’m so—so sorry!” you sputtered, turning your attention to the employee.

he was wearing one of those stereotypical magician costumes, the ones with the top hat, cape, and tailored tailcoat. his gloved white hand held a thick, plastic looking wand. his dark hair was styled to the side out of his eyes. if it weren’t for the deep embarrassment and your face heating up, you would remark to yourself on how cute he was.

you got down to the floor as you began trying to clean everything up. “oh, it’s okay! don’t worry about it…” the employee said as he got down to help you. you looked at his name tag. taehyun.

“i completely destroyed the display, oh my god! how much does it all cost?” you asked as the two of you got everything cleaned up. you got to your feet at the same time he did, wiping the palms of your hands on your jeans. taehyun waved a hand in the air, “it’s really no problem! nobody really buys those things anyways except the kids who come in once in a blue moon.”

taehyun waved his plastic wand in the air and you chuckled. “see? abracadabra! now it’s like none of it ever happened!” he gave you a big smile as you returned the favor. “really? thank you so much!” you exclaimed. he rolled back and forth onto his tiptoes for a moment. “is there anything else i can help you with?” taehyun asked.

you hummed for a moment in thought, “no… but you work here! can you show me any magic tricks?” taehyun scoffed playfully, “can i show you any magic tricks… follow me!” he led you back to the counter and made his way behind it as he dug into the cash register.

taehyun pulled out a quarter and held it up in the air to show you. “watch as i make this quarter… disappear!” he beamed as he waved his other hand in front of the quarter. your eyes widened in shock, a smile creeping its way onto your lips as he held both of his hands up in the air. they were both empty.

“let me guess, it’s it your glove?” you said with a smug smile. you had watched hours of magic videos on the internet and knew just about every trick there was. taehyun shook his head, chuckling, “that’s for amateurs, i’m the real deal!”

he reached behind your ear, his hand brushing against the side of your neck and sending a shiver down your spine. you heard a slight “ding!” sound as taehyun pulled his hand back, quarter sitting in it. with raised eyebrows and a smile still on his face, he presented it to you.

smiling, you crossed your arms across your chest. “okay, okay! but i want something cooler!” taehyun’s smile turned to a smirk and he leaned over the counter towards you. “alright… but for this one i’m gonna need your id, please!” you playfully furrowed your eyebrows at him and reached into your bag.

when you got your id out of your wallet, you slid it over to him on the counter and taehyun grabbed it, doing a little spin in the process. you laughed at his display and he smiled at you. “are you ready… y/n?” taehyun asked as he glanced down at your id and you nodded eagerly.

taehyun did a little show of waving his hand in front of your id, making it disappear and reappear. his eyebrows raised slightly as he held it up in front of you, eyes shining, before flicking the card quickly. with wide eyes, you held your hand over your mouth as your id turned into a small white card you didn’t see him grab.

he slid the card across to you on the counter, then waved his hand over it so your id was next to it. taehyun gave you a shy smile. you grabbed the white card from the counter and turned it over. it had his name and number written on it. grinning from ear to ear you looked back up at him.

“let me take you to dinner sometime? i can show you way better magic tricks than this… the store kind of limits me,” taehyun asked, looking away from your eyes briefly. you giggled and nodded at his proposal. “are you free tonight?” you asked him, placing the two cards back in your wallet.

taehyun chuckled and nodded, scratching the back of his head and making his top hat fall into his eyes ever so slightly. “i am, it’s a date! i’ll see you tonight!”

© jjunieworld - all rights reserved. please do not repost on any social media sites, translate, or modify any of my works.

permanent taglist: @jjunberry @gothgyuu @spooksh0wbabe @beargyuuzz @kittyhyuka @dani-is-tired @soobieboobiedoobiedaboobie @rapmonie2047 @riaawr

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[domini-porter]

I’m Writing You A Scary Story: I Dare You

(Rizzoli&Isles, F/F, rated E for Explicit Witchery)(and sex)

Sooooo hi again; here’s the first part of this lil Halloween trifle! It is, as always, kind of weird. But I hope you like it so far!

Jane and Maura have weekend reservations at a remote cabin in the woods so that Maura can share in the Rizzoli tradition of Halloween dares, but ‘tis the season for things to go terrifyingly awry ;)

“Is that it?” Maura asks, leaning forward like an extra four inches closer to the windshield’s gonna crack the case.

“It better be,” Jane mutters. She’s trying to be nice. Well, not as cranky as she actually is. But she’s been driving in what feels like smaller and smaller circles around the darker and darker rural Massachusetts—or maybe it’s New Hampshire by now—woods for what feels like hours, and it’s pitch-black except for the glow of the moon just starting to rise huge and white over the treetops, and she’s got a headache, and she’s sick of being in this dinky little car, and she has to pee.

“My apologies for not anticipating a tree falling across the main road,” Maura mutters back from the passenger seat. “But that’s it. The listing said there’d be a big oak at the edge of the clearing, look.”

“Thank god,” Jane sighs, directing the Prius onto the dirt track she’s hoping is supposed to be the driveway, since she’s driving on it. Cuts the engine a few feet from the little cottage. “Uh, Maur . . .”

Maura’s squinting at her phone, frowning. “This is the place,” she mumbles. “The GPS agrees. And the pictures of the property look similar, but . . .”

“But I’m pretty sure the house in the pictures has, like, lightbulbs,” Jane groans. “Maura—“

“Jane,” Maura says back, matching her frustrated whine, but Jane knows it’s directed at her, not the . . . house. Even though the house, such as it is, deserves a lot more whining than she’s doing right now, particularly after she’d been forced to drive them in circles for three hours.

She grumbles. Huffs. “Is there, like, a key box or something? There better be plumbing in there, or I’m going behind a tree.”

“The key’s under the rock carved with a triskelion,” Maura says.

“And what’s a tri-skeleton, please,” Jane says as calmly as she can manage, even though her knuckles are white on the steering wheel.

Maura just rolls her eyes. “I’ll find it.” She’s out of the car and marching up to the creepy, darkened old cabin before Jane can even protest about bears.

“Maura,” she calls, struggling out into the chilly, silent evening. Her breath a white fog in front of her. The sound of her voice echoing around the little clearing, the spiky, crooked cottage in the center, the promised oak tree at one end, its massive branches spreading like a hand, reaching for her. She scoffs. Shakes her head. It’s just a tree, and it’s just dark, and she’s disoriented from driving in circles, and the place they were spending a relaxing long weekend turned out to be a creepy witch’s shack that might not even have a toilet, contrary to the listing Maura had found.

Maura, who’s using her cell phone flashlight to examine the dozens, maybe hundreds of rocks placed around the splintery front door in what look to Jane like deliberate patterns. Maybe a quarter of them have some sort of design carved on them. Great. Another sigh. “What are we looking for?”

“A triskelion,” Maura says crisply, not looking up at her. So she’s annoyed too. Perfect. “A design with three interlocking spirals. It represents—“

“You know I can’t look and listen at the same time,” Jane mutters, sweeping her own phone flashlight over the carefully-arranged patterns of stones. The designs were nearly all unfamiliar; symbols that looked almost like things she’d seen before, but not quite. Some of them made her gut clench when she looked at them too long, but she chalked that up to the rapidly-increasing urgency of her full bladder. “This one?” She nudges at a flat, oblong stone, groaning in relief when lifting it up revealed an old-fashioned iron key, half-buried in the dirt. “See? Triple skeleton.”

“Hmm,” Maura murmurs, holding out her hand for the key. “Can you shine your light on the lock?”

Even though Jane’s pretty sure if you find the key you get to unlock the door, she’s handing it over, wiping her hand on her jeans. Shining the light at the rusted old iron lock. “We can probably just break in,” she mutters. “Ten bucks says the door crumbles when you try to unlock it.”

Maura just ignores her. Works the skeleton key into the heavy lock, Jane half-expecting the whole place to crack into dusty splinters when she twists it.

To her surprise—and Maura’s too, given her little gasp—the key turns easily, smoothly, silently; the door swinging open with a faint creak.

They both gasp when the inside of the cottage is revealed. In stark contrast to its ragged, weatherbeaten exterior the inside’s warm, cozy, charming. A fire crackling in the stone hearth at one end of the main room, casting the interior in a cheery yellow glow.

“The owners must’ve come out earlier,” Maura murmurs, taking it in. “Though I do disagree with the wisdom of leaving a fire unattended.”

“Well great news, you can attend it now. I’m gonna find the bathroom.” She heads in the direction she’d most expect to find a bathroom, trying all the hand-hewn doors she sees—a closet, a cramped, dark room, a steep, narrow staircase—before finding what she sought; to her relief the facilities were, in contrast to the rest of the place, almost disorientingly modern despite being illuminated by a dozen wax candles in tall glass holders. Plain white toilet, claw-foot bathtub, chipped pedestal sink. Something about it seemed a little off, in a way she couldn’t put her finger on, but the pressure was good and the hot water came right out of the tap with no groaning or clanking or five-minute delay, so she counted her blessings and went back into the firelit main room, feeling at least a little more human.

“Any light switches in here?”

Maura’s prodding at the fire. “None I can find. There doesn’t seem to be any electricity at all, which the listing didn’t point out.” She stands up. Sighs. “We can go back home if you want.”

Jane feels that little crumple of guilt in her gut. The one she always gets when she’s been a whiny baby about something she feels better about now. Still, she’s a little sore about all of it, even if the bathroom had been nice. But Maura’s got that look. That disappointed look she’s trying to hide. “It’s late,” she shrugs. “And I doubt anyone’s gotten a whole-ass tree off the highway yet so if it’s between driving in circles for three hours the other way or roasting marshmallows in here I guess marshmallows it is.”

She doesn’t miss Maura’s brief, hopeful glance. The one that always makes her feel like an absolute jackass. It’s not like she hadn’t agreed to come on this little jaunt. It’s not like it hadn’t been her idea, practically. Hers and Frankie’s, sort of. They’d been talking at Sunday dinner about the Halloween dares they’d all used to set for each other every year, getting more and more dangerous as they got older until fifteen-year-old Frankie’d ended up in the hospital with a broken arm trying to run away from what he thought was Bigfoot but was actually Jane with Tommy on her shoulders, both of them draped in a brown sheet.

And Maura’d gotten that soft, wistful look on her face like she always did when she was watching Jane with her family, but especially when they were reminiscing about stuff they’d done as kids. Stuff she’d never done. Like daring each other to spend the night at the Witch Cabin out past Leominster State Park. The one thing none of them had ever seriously entertained, because nobody needs to get possessed by the spirit of any of the Salem witches, thanks.

“But Salem isn’t anywhere near Leominster,” Maura had frowned, pouring another glass of cab sauv.

“Yeah,” Frankie’d said with a knowing nod. “Made it a lot harder to track ‘em down, huh?”

Maura had looked confused. Jane and Frankie had exchanged sly glances.

“Maur, everybody knows about Salem. But you’re telling me you see all these accusations and trials and hangings and you don’t think you’d blow town?” Jane scoffed.

“But they were all false accusations,” Maura had pressed. “There’s no such thing as witches; simply religious persecution, political manipulation, and the combined persuasiveness of several teenage girls.”

“That was the scariest part,” Frankie shivered.

“Definitely the scariest part,” Jane had nodded. “But even though all those people were innocent victims, the Witch Cabin is real. One-hundred-per-cent.”

“Hmm,” she’d murmured, but Jane had seen the glimmer of interest. Not about witches being real—obviously the witch trials had been nothing more than sanctioned murder—but about the prospect of a Halloween dare. “Outside Leominster?”

And Jane had forgotten all about it, until Maura had sent her an email last week, with the subject line I dare you. Inside was a reservation for a cottage in what looked to be the middle of fuck-all nowhere, somewhere west of Leominster State Park. A rickety, pointed, ancient-looking place. It wasn’t the Witch Cottage she and her brothers had held in reserve as a nuclear dare—that was just an overgrown abandoned house on the outskirts of Fitchburg—but if there was ever a place witches had once lived, it was this one.

She’d felt a little ripple run through her at the message. The subject line, especially.

I dare you.

Maura knew how competitive she was. That she’d never chicken out on a dare. That, plus the context of it. Maura was inviting her on a long weekend to a spooky cabin in the middle of nowhere, because she and her brother had mentioned some dumb made-up legend. Because she wanted that kind of dumb joy, too, and who was Jane to refuse to take a day off work to support her best friend’s Halloween dream?

Maybe if she’d known how frustrating the drive would be and how there wasn’t any electricity she wouldn’t have hit reply so fast. Or would’ve typed something other than piece of cake.

“There’s marshmallows?” Maura says, perking up a little.

“Yep,” Jane nods. “Cheap ones. Full of chemicals. Perfect for toasting. But we’ll need to get sticks.”

“What about those?” Maura asks, pointing to a wooden rack hanging on the rough plank wall, a half-dozen thin metal skewers dangling from leather straps.

Jane looks at them, but feels something weird and clammy come over her at the way the glow of the fire paints their sharp points in liquid red light. “Nope,” she says, tearing her eyes away with a quick gulp. “You gotta harvest your own toasting stick. Those are the rules.”

“But it’s so dark—“

“I dare you,” Jane says smugly, folding her arms over her chest.

Maura makes a little noise of protest, then scowls, trapped. “What about bears?”

“Make a lot of noise,” Jane says. “But they should be going into hibernation anyway. Don’t worry,” she smirks. “You’re way too skinny. Not even a decent midnight snack.”

“Jane—“

“Double-dog dare,” Jane says.

Maura blanches. “That’s not fair.”

“Dares ain’t fair, sweetheart,” Jane grins. “And anyway, this place is surrounded by trees, it’s not like you’ll have to go into the big scary woods.” Waggles her fingers.

Maura’s scowling in earnest now. It always takes a little prodding to get her into the competitive spirit, but the way she’s marching over to the kitchen—what’s supposed to be the kitchen, at least, since there’s a huge wooden table and a hulking iron stove and racks of heavy iron pots and pans and a whole row of big, spooky-looking cleavers dangling from hooks—and rummaging around until she makes a noise of victory, turning back to reveal a small fixed-blade knife, its silver edge gleaming. “Last one to get their stick has to unload the car.”

And she’s out the door.

“Maura!” Jane starts after her—she’s left her phone, so she doesn’t even have a light; so much for being paranoid about bears—before realizing the game’s already on. She rushes into the kitchen area, shuffles around, but all she can find is one of the four huge cleavers. Hefts it. Not too shabby, all told. More her style than some cute little dagger, anyway. Leaves her phone too, so it’s fair. Fairer, anyway. And it’s not like they get signal out here.

“Maura?” She’s shivering as soon as she steps past the threshold. It had been chilly, and it was warm in the cabin, but she didn’t think it would be cold. “Maura, where are you?”

No answer. It’s silent out here. She frowns a little as she strains to hear Maura, rustling at the edge of the trees as she searched for the perfect toasting stick. To hear anything, actually; at first it had been the disorienting lack of city noise, but now she’s realizing it’s silent-silent. No animal noises. No sound of the wind in the trees, even though she can see the branches waving, black against the silver glow of the enormous moon. Naturally Maura’d booked the place for the full moon; if you asked her—or didn’t—to do a thing, you could believe she’d do it right.

“Maura?”

She pauses. Listens. Just that loud silence, filling the small glen. She scans the treeline. Thinks she sees movement off toward the south. A flash of something light-colored, anyway. Maura’s wearing a cream-colored sweater, but why’s she moving into the trees, away from the cabin?

“Maura, hold on, where are you going?” A little stab of annoyance as the pale shape disappears into the darkness. Jane sighs, heads after her. “It’s just a stick, Maur, I saw like fifty good ones between the house and here.” No answer. The trees are getting thicker. She stops. Listens again. Brow furrows as she hears running water. “Maura, are you over there? Just—just stop moving for a second, okay? I can’t see the house any more, and I don’t want to die on vacation.”

Just the faint rush of water, getting louder. A stream, maybe. And when she listens closer, a soft voice, murmuring. She sighs. Scowls. They’ve been here for twenty minutes and Maura’s already dragging her off on some unscheduled sightseeing trip. Even though she can barely see through the shadowy canopy, silver moonlight filtering down only intermittently as the branches shift in the soundless wind.

She can see what looks like a break in the trees a few yards ahead. In the direction of the burbling water sounds. Of Maura’s low murmuring. Must be the creek. Pushes her way toward it, hesitating at the treeline a couple feet from the silvery ribbon cutting through the forest. The pale figure she’d glimpsed was a ways off, kneeling on a wide, flat stone jutting over the bank of the stream. “Maura?”

The figure was facing away from her, holding something in the water. A woman, Jane guessed, but not Maura, unless Maura’d secretly brought along an old-fashioned long-sleeved high-necked nightgown.

Her pulse quickens. Breath gets thin and rapid. All the usual automatic physiological reactions to fear, or whatever years of voluntarily walking into dangerous situations has turned fear into. Awareness, maybe. “Hello?”

The woman doesn’t seem to hear her, or if she does, she doesn’t seem bothered. Jane inches out of the trees, wishing briefly she had her gun—even though she’s dealing with a woman in a nightgown—but she adjusts her grip on the heavy cleaver, which makes her feel a little better.

“Hey,” she says, louder. “Are you all right?” Takes a couple tentative steps toward her.

She’s still not paying any attention to Jane, but Jane gets the distinct impression she knows she’s there. As she gets closer she can make the woman out better; pale and slim under her loose, rough-spun nightgown. Long, rippling golden-red hair tucked over one shoulder, hiding most of her face. The moon’s fully up now, bigger than Jane’s ever seen it, its edges brushed with blood-red, and it’s making the water of the little stream glitter like silver, and the woman’s hair shimmer like rubies, and even though Jane’s years and years of training and experience are screaming about how none of this is a good idea, she’s still inching up to her. “Hello? Are you—“

The woman finally acknowledges her. Turns to face her. Jane nearly drops her cleaver when she sees her.

It’s not Maura, but not even the Superintendent himself would’ve blamed her for thinking it was. The same wavy red-gold hair. The same straight nose. Round cheeks. Wide, curious eyes. She looks younger, though. Or, no. Older?

“Uh,” Jane stammers. “I’m—“

The woman merely smiles at her. Lifts what she’d been holding under the water—a hollowed-out gourd, like Jane had seen at any number of Puritan village reenactments. The water inside’s the same silver as the moonlit stream, even though the woman’s body is blocking the light from reaching the jug; it’s almost as if the water itself is glowing, and not the moon.

She needs to get back to the cabin. To find Maura. The real Maura. And this woman—barefoot and underdressed for the weather as she is—doesn’t seem to be at all uncomfortable or distressed. Maybe she’s just one of Western Mass’s healthy complement of outdoorsy weirdos, living in hollowed-out trees and eating berries and drinking from streams until some intestinal parasite forces them back into the arms of civilization. Happens all the time. Not usually when it’s this cold out, but maybe she’s one of those witchy-types who always tend to replace the liberal arts undergrads around this time of year. Point being, she seems fine, and Jane’s suddenly totally okay with letting her do . . . whatever it is she’s doing.

“I’m gonna, uh, I’m gonna go,” she says, gaze flicking between the woman’s uncanny face and the softly-shimmering jug in her hands.

“Aren’t you thirsty?” the woman says. She’s got a weird accent, one Jane can’t place. Almost British, but that could just mean she’s from Rhode Island. More than that, though, her voice sounds rusty, somehow. Not unpracticed, but literally rusty. Creaking and groaning and like bits of sound are flaking off as the words come out of her mouth. Like she’s the thirsty one. Like she’s dying of thirst. Like Jane is, all of a sudden, staring at the glimmering water the woman had pulled from the glimmering stream.

It looks more like water than any water Jane’s ever seen, the closer she gets to it. Cooler and more refreshing and more delicious than any water ought to look, but every step nearer makes her mouth, her throat dry out, until by the time she’s next to the woman with the jug she can hardly get a rasping breath into her lungs. She’s got that yearning feeling in her chest as she looks at the gourd, the water inside rippling placidly. Maura had told her once that that yearning feeling often meant the body was signaling some sort of deficiency; that whatever she was yearning for contained whatever vitamin or mineral her body was running low on. If that’s true she has no idea what exactly she’s low on right now, but whatever it is, it’s right in front of her. Smooth and silver and she can practically smell it now, like the thickest, juiciest green leaves, like a shovel of damp earth being overturned, like the mineral sharpness in the air before it rains, like—

She stops dead, practically panting. It smells like honey, almost. Like flowers, somehow. It smells sweet. Thick. Heady. And she’s so thirsty now. So thirsty she could cry, if she could find any extra water in her for tears.

“Hold out your hands,” the woman rasps. At least she doesn’t sound like Maura, and now that she’s close—so close—she doesn’t look nearly so much like her. A lot, sure, but more like some old portrait of a distant great-great aunt or something. Not as refined, maybe. Still. Jane obeys.

The water glows like moonlight as it slips from the gourd into her cupped hands. Glows in her cupped hands. “Is it—“ she glances up at the woman.

“The water is sweetest in the fullness of the moon’s light,” the woman rasps. “Drink.”

She thinks vaguely about all the dozens of bacteria swimming around in creek water. Parasites and brain-eating amoebas. Things that fall in and die, sure. But also things that spend their entire lives there; being born and eating and fucking and fighting and dying and rotting, over and over. But instead of being grossed out like she vaguely knows she should be, all she can think, when she looks at her handful of glimmering water, is drink.

And when she does, it’s like she’s swallowing life itself. All those creatures being born and dying and being born and dying, over and over, the water itself seeming to be filled with all of that. All of those tiny lives. Millions. More.

And the glow. That goes inside her too. She can feel it spreading through her. When she looks at her hands, her fingertips are shimmering.

She can remember, sort of, being thirsty. So thirsty she’d wanted to cry. Like if she’d waited a second longer to lift her cupped hands to her mouth, it might have been too late. But now she feels quick and vital and strong. More than she’s felt in longer than she can remember. Like she’s just slept for a year, a hundred years, a thousand, and she’s finally woken up.

She takes a deep breath. Everything tastes alive, even the dead and dying things. The rotting leaves underfoot. The sludge of decay at the edges of the marshes dotting this whole part of the state. She can smell the creek, too, stronger now. Not like fresh green leaves, though. The thick, heady tang of iron on her tongue. Sucks in another breath, like a mouthful of blood, and it makes her feel like she’s swelling, expanding, like something inside her’s cracked open, something hot and eager and starving.

She can hear the wind now, she realizes. The scrape of the branches against the sky. The way the twigs sing and sigh as they rasp together. And then, just across the stream, something soft, quieter than silence, but she can hear it; can hear the sweep and shift of each feather as the owl swoops from a branch, as it vanishes, as the sounds of the living forest rush in to fill the soundless void the beating of its wings trails behind it.

The sensation is incredible, indescribable; she’s never experienced anything like this. Like every cell in her body’s thrown open the door to welcome in the night. She could stand here forever, maybe, letting it rush into her, but she hears the snap of a branch far off—hears it right next to her ear, but knows, somehow, it’s Maura, over on the opposite side of the clearing—and turns toward it.

Gasps when she nearly runs straight into the woman who’d offered her the drink. Standing right in front of her, right at the entrance to the trees. “Thank you,” she says, but it’s oddly difficult to get the words out. Like they’re coming from some place farther inside her body than usual. “But I have to—“ The woman shifts, and Jane thinks she’s moving out of the way, until she realizes the woman’s moving straight toward her. Is about to collide with her. “Hey, watch—“

—watch out

“Oh,” she breathes. Cold, sharp air, into her warm, soft body. Quick and vital and strong.

hey

“Trii mageti dugiou mi honorou. Nemeton. Betu-gi. Andero. Trii mageti dugiou mi donom.”

wait

“Tri anfofynn a wnaethpyd. Uchel. Rhyng. Islaw. Un rhodd a dderbyniwyd. Ei fwynhad triushed.”

what’s going on

“Three offerings I have made,” she says. “One above.” She reaches toward the unblinking silver eye of the moon. “One betwixt.” Kneels slowly, places her palms flat on the cold earth. “One below.” Digs her fingers into the soil. “One blessing have I received. The blessing of the Three.”

the what of the what? wait, just hold on, just—

“Rebecca,” she murmurs, and the sound of it is sweeter even than the sound of the brook; at last more than a plaintive whisper rasped out by the branches, driving her mad, madder, with each passing second, each passing day, each passing century.

each passing what? who’s rebecca? what the hell’s going on?

She’s slipping easily through the forest; she’s done it a hundred times, a thousand, and even though it’s been long, so long since she’s done it in a way that makes the dry leaves crush under her feet she still picks her way swiftly back into the clearing. Pauses at the edge, the breath in her lungs pushing out painfully at the sight of home.

home? uh, hello? what’s happening? why can’t i make anything move like i want? why—why can’t i talk?

Listen.

who’s there? what’s happening?

Listen.

She closes her eyes. Tips her face to the moon, its silver light cold as it pours down over her. The wind in the branches. Their creak and rasp. Things creeping through the tufts of dead grass, sliding and skittering. Things in the trees, shifting their talons, the bark splitting and splintering.

Listen.

The hiss of smoke escaping the stone chimney. The crackling of the fire at its other end. A bat, its leathery wings flapping so close to her face she felt the faintest puff of air against her cheek.

“Abigail.”

Her eyes opening. Her heart—thick and strong and hot inside her chest—beating faster.

abigail? my name’s jane. is that maura? why did she say abigail?

Listen, Jane.

She wants to run, to run straight across the moonlit clearing to her, but even though it’s been centuries, lifetimes, she knows they have to do it exactly according to the Way, else all will fail.

“Rebecca,” she calls back. Her voice holds.

“We meet by moonlight.”

“And by all the grace we have gathered.”

The wind rises in the trees. She turns her face to the moon again, feels a rush of awe, of fire as its silver face is curtained beneath a blood-red veil.

“Uchel.”

“Nemeton,” she responds. Raises her hand. Palm to the sky. The flash of her beloved silver knife from across the clearing. She raises the heavy cleaver.

whoa whoa whoa, what the hell—

Listen.

The blade cuts into the warm, soft flesh of her palm easily, as she’d known it would; no number of years would dull a single edge in their home, would blanket a single surface with dust, would let die a single ember in the hearth. She gasps, shivers at the sensation. The awe of it. How clean and pure. The lush heat of the blood sliding down her arm as she thrusts the offering skyward.

“Rhyng,” she hears from across the clearing, and though it’s not her voice, it’s her, at last.

what do you mean, ‘not her voice’? that’s maura, that’s what she sounds like

She sinks to her knees, the blood in her palm, on her arm warm, warmer, almost hot, almost unbearable as she offers it to the ruby moonlight. A sigh of relief escaping her when at last she lays the sliced-open palm flat on the cold, wet ground. “Betu-gi,” she calls back.

“Islaw.”

She raises the cleaver.

hey, wait, what the fuck—

Listen.

Brings it down only a hairsbreadth from her hand. Gives her wrist a hard turn, sending a wedge of damp earth flying. Lowers her bleeding palm into the space. Feels the blood drip from the cut into the earth. The roots of the plants. The home to which all creatures surrendered their flesh, eventually. “Andero.”

hey wait no I’m serious, what’s—what’s happening to me—

Us

us? wh—what

Jane

jane, that’s—that’s me

abigail

that’s

“Jane,” she says, and it sounds odd. Her voice sounds odd. Deep and rasping. Only for a moment, she thinks. It will only feel odd for a moment, if all was done well and true. Tries again, more forcefully. “Jane.”

“Jane?”

Across the clearing. Next to her oak tree. She looks different, of course she would, but jane seems to find her pleasant to look at, which inspires the same in her; it hardly matters, anyway, as long as—

She’s edging cautiously around the rim of the clearing. Not stepping directly into the moonlight until she’s well past any shadows cast by the wretched old oak. When she does, she seems to be infused with the moonlight itself.

“You said your name is Jane?”

“Jane,” she whispers again, the word dying on her lips as she leaps the last few steps across the silver-cast clearing, sweeping her into her arms, their mouths crashing together, biting and licking and sucking as though trying to consume centuries in seconds.

When at last they pull apart—gasping, choking, lips bitten, mouths smeared red—she can hardly stand, hardly breathe. “It was a success,” she rasps.

“Yes.”

“We do not have long, my love.”

“I know.”

And she’s got her by the hand, their wounds pressed together, blood singing into each other again, and it feels—it feels.

Even though they don’t have much time until the veil slips off the moon to complete their work, she halts them just before the door to their beloved cottage, its fire crackling warm and bright through the sparkling glass windowpane. Slides her tongue greedily into her mouth again, growling when she bites down, growling at the sear of pain, the rush of blood, at her tongue, just as greedily lapping it into her own mouth with a whimper, a moan. Her hand, the unopened one, briefly stymied by whatever strange garments she was wearing until that suddenly became clear, became fly, became zipper, became elastic, fingers recognizing along with her mind as she forced her hand eagerly, roughly, into the thick heat between her legs, both of them crying out, the sounds of their reunion echoing in the clearing, making the wind moan through the tops of the trees.

She lets her harsh yelp echo too, as Rebecca—Maura, she recognizes—finds the tender place on her throat where her heart moves closest to her skin. Closes her teeth around it, until she feels the skin break. Maura’s hot groan, the rush of wetness around her fingers, how easily she’s able to plunge three of them inside her in one hard thrust, as she gives herself over to her ravenous desire, to her hot, dark lusts, to all the things she’d promised herself for years. Centuries. All the things Maura had been promising herself, though her name hadn’t been Maura, it had been something else, something she can almost remember, though every gasp and wail in her ear pushes it farther and farther away.

“Jane,” she keens, the force of her coming apart making the trees shake down to the foundations of the earth.

When they return to their bodies, the wind is gently swaying again, though there’s a harsh, terrible noise coming from the other side of their house. Lights, flickering crimson and gold. She prepares to run for a moment before Maura stills her, a hand on her arm.

“Car alarm,” she says. “I know how to make it stop. Come, I’ll show you.”

By the time they’re inside, however, she knows, too. Grabs Maura’s keys from where she’d left them, tossed carelessly on the table. Jabs at the button, sighing with relief when the lights, the noise abruptly cease.

“How long have we—“ Maura begins, but Jane silences her with another kiss. Tender, this time. Lapping gently at the cut she’d bitten into her lip outside.

“Too long, and long enough,” she murmurs. Somewhere she feels her. Feels jane, kicking and struggling. She wonders if Maura feels the same thing.

“No,” she says with a crooked grin, one that makes Jane feel unsteady; jane too, somewhere down deep. “She’s very curious. She’s watching now, if you’d like to see her.”

She leans close. Gazes into her eyes; no longer the color they once were, but she can’t recall it any more; not that her last had been her true eyes, either. She likes these, though. The color of the autumn forest. Red-brown like a stag’s dropping velvet. Threaded with the gold of sapping leaves; flecks of green like patches of moss. Her eyes. maura’s eyes, whoever she had been. Gazing back at her, bright. Alert. Like a fawn, she thinks.

“She’d like to know if she can see jane,” Maura murmurs, reflecting silver moonlight back at her once again.

“jane is less curious,” Jane sighs. “She doesn’t understand, and not understanding frightens her, so she’s fighting it. She’s underneath, now. Until she listens. Then she can see.”

Maura frowns. “But we only have a little time.”

“I know,” she says. “We will use it well.”

wait—don’t—i don’t know what’s—maura—

[swervybeans]

Smoke x sick female reader

A/N: pulled this out my ass but I think it's cute so here you guys go. Also I am like half asleep so... yea I proof read it but I also zoned out like 12 times so... yea. Anyways requests are always open and I hope you enjoy.

Description: short story about reader having the flu and Smoke aka Tomas from Mortal Kombat 1 taking care of them.

Word count: 931

Type: SFW

------------

Tomas stands alone in the dinning room of the Shirai Ryu main temple. He collects the plates and silverware from dinner occasionally humming. the light glow of the moon adding a soft comforting feeling to the room and a soft rustle of leaves could be heard outside from the wind brushing against the trees made him feel content Normally clean up was a task Harrumi, Kuai, Tomas, and you did together but unfortunately you were sick with the flu and Harumi joined Kuai Liang out on a mission. So he was on his own for a couple days, it's not like it bothered him though. The constant movement felt good and kept his mind at ease.

When he finished up he decided to check up on you. It had been about a day since you started to feel sick and he was concerned about you. The thought of you being sick made him feel unwell too. You were one of his closest friends and he saw you as the light in his darkness.

"Come in..."

You heard a small nock on your door and knew who it was without even opening your eyes

Your voice was raspy and barely louder than a whisper, but he heard anyways and came into the room.

He looked at you with a frown as he closed the door behind him. You were curled up under your blankets your hair was everywhere, and your face was pale. You looked like shit.

"Hey, you."

Tomas walks over and sits on the edge of your bed. He was cautious not to make too much of a ruckus.

"How are you feeling?"

He says gently as he looks at you with worried eyes.

"Sh-"

Before you can finish your sentence you sneeze. Tomas see's the box of tissue on your nightstand and takes a tissue out to hand to you.

"Thanks."

You grumble as you wipe your nose. When you're done you decide to finish your previous sentence.

"I feel...like shit."

He sighs and nods understandably.

"I'm sory."

He said as he put his hand on your forehead to feel your temperature.

"Feels like a low grade fever."

You just give a slight nod in response as you sniffle.

Vrbada picks up your water bottle and feels that it's empty. Without a word he fills it up and puts it back where he found it.

He asked softly and looked down at your zombie like state .

"When was the last time you had medicine?"

"Breakfast..."

"Seriously?"

"Mhm"

Tomas sighs and nods.

"Be right back then."

He leaves and goes to make tea. He finishes up quickly and then returns to your quarters.

An arm wraps around you as he helps you sit up to drink the tea.

You say as you take bird sips from the mug.

"Tastes like shit."

"It'll make you feel better."

He says Patting your head and laughing slightly.

You just sigh and slug the tea back as quick as possible. When you are done he takes the mug and sets it aside.

You sit there and just stare at the wall with a blank expression. Not really thinking about anything.

After a few minutes of silence he speaks up.

"Want me to rub your back?"

It takes you a second to process what he is saying but you eventually nod and move to lay on your side so your back is to him.

Calloused hands slowly lifted your shirt and started to rub up and down your spine. His touch is slow as he scratches gently on all the right spots. Who would have thought the hands of an assassin would be so warm and caring.

You sigh contently and let him work his magic. It had starred to drizzle outside and you could hear the rain thumping against the window. The dim lighting in the room made you sleepy and your eye's started to heavy. Everything was perfect, except for the fact that you felt like you were run over by a semi truck...

A few coughs and a sneeze later you finally started to slowly slip into sleep, Toma's hands still running up and down your back.

When he realized you fell asleep he smiled and slowly pulled your shirt back down over your back. He covered you with the blankets making sure you'd be warm throughout the night. He blew out the candles that lit up your room, but decided to leave one lit on your bedside table.

He started to walk towards your door when he heard you mumble.

"Tomas..."

He immediately turned around and came over to you kneeling down in front of you.

"Yea?"

He whispered softly

However you were asleep and it was you sleep talking. When he realized this a small chuckle left his lips and he gently stroked your hair.

"You dreaming about me?"

He said softly

"... love ... you...."

You whisper.

He smiles and kisses your head.

"I know you do...but telling me in the dream world doesn't count"

After that you were completely quiet and your breath became even as you fell into a deep sleep. Tomas stood up and took the empty mug from earlier but before he left he spoke softly and said.

"Love you too, beautiful, and I hope you feel better soon."

----------------

A/N: well if you made it this far it couldn't have been the bad. Thank you for reader.

[mareagirls]

Hi! If you’re ever in the mood to write a sickfic I like this idea.

Peter and reader are on a date, but reader feels nauseous. But, reader doesn’t want to tell Peter because a: they’ve both been super busy lately between Spider-Man duties and college and/or work and b: because even if reader won’t admit it, being vulnerable and being taken care of kind of scares them. But Peter finds out/figured it out and wants to help and fluff ensues.

Anyway, it’s just an idea. No pressure to complete (obvi)! Hope you’re doing well and drinking water! <3

~🥧

 hey pie anon! i hope this is okay and i'm sorry it's months late! I forgot it was in my drafts :')

You realise something is wrong when you’re only a quarter of the way through your pizza and Peter is over half way through his.

You feel sick. Or at the very least least like you might be - nausea brewing uncomfortably in your stomach as you take small bites of your food.

Your boyfriend chats away opposite you, blissfully unaware that you've started to feel queasy, so you plaster a smile on your face and swallow hard. The two of you have been incredibly busy for the past few days between your work and his vigilante duties, and the last thing you want to do is ruin the first peaceful moment you’ve had together. You can tell how much Peter has needed a little normalcy. The thought of ruining it because you’re feeling a little off feels incredibly selfish.

Beyond that, you're not used to letting people take care of you, and though Peter has told you countless times that he likes doing it, you can never quite dislodge uncomfortable feeling of vulnerability that blooms in you whenever he does. Letting yourself be loved, allowing Peter to look after you when you're not feeling too well - they're processes. You've been trying to work on them for a while, but it's difficult. It always has been.

You’re just trying to rub at your chest discreetly when Peter looks up at you from his almost empty plate. 

"Everything okay?" 

"Yes! Yeah, everything is fine." Your reply comes out wobbly and you only realise afterwards that you’ve made too much of an effort to sound alright. You smile at Peter through gritted teeth and try foolishly to convince yourself that if you pretend the nausea doesn't exist, it'll go.

Peter doesn’t look like he believes you for a second.

"Are you sure? Do you not like your pizza?" He pushes his own plate towards you as if it's the easiest thing ever, offering you his last two slices. "Here, baby. We can swap."

The tender easiness in the gesture very nearly makes you want to cry. Peter Parker might just be the loveliest boy you’ve ever known.

"No, Peter it's okay. My pizza is good,” your hands shifts slightly to rub against your abdomen, Peter tracks your movements cautiously. “I'm just kinda full I think.”

Your boy raises an eyebrow at your barely eaten pizza but nods, never one to push you for explanations.

"I'll ask for the bill and a box to take the rest home. We can have the ice cream in the freezer when we get back. How's that sound?"

The thought of ice cream makes you feel queasy, but Peter seems so hopeful and he's looked so tired and sad in the past few days that you cant help but indulge him.

-

Once you’ve gotten the bill and packed your leftover pizza into a takeaway box, Peter takes your hand in his and guides you out of the restaurant.

New York City in the evening is a sensory nightmare, but your nausea does abate slightly thanks to the fresh air. You catch Peter looking down at you and stamp an awkward smile on your face.

"Home?" He squeezes your fingers gently.

Your stomach churns at the thought of having to go so far, but Peter is looking at you like you've hung the moon and the stars - the journey home feels a little more bearable with him by your side.

"Yes please."

"You okay to walk?" 

"I'm fine, Peter. I promise."

"No, you're not, baby. And that's okay, you don't have to tell me what's wrong if you don’t want to. Just let me take care of you."

You sigh, resigned. You don't even know why you tried to hide it from him. Peter can quite literally hear your heartbeat, of course he was going to clock that you're not feeling too well.

Peter keeps his body angled towards yours as the two of you walk, and you soon realise that he's shielding you the best he can from the light around you and all the bodies rushing past. It's a small gesture, one that he might not even realise he's doing, but makes your chest flutter pleasantly

Then, just as you think that maybe the nausea is easing up, another wave of discomfort overwhelms you and you stumble.

Fortunately Peter catches your wrist just before you can do any real damage, balancing your pizza box in his free hand. He helps you back up easily, his fingers a warm pressure on your skin.

"Woah. Hey, hey, sweetheart. Let's just stop for a second, hm?"

You are mortified, and very sorry about how inconvenient you're being but when Peter pulls you to a stop, you oblige. Tears swarming in your eyes, you make one last ditch attempt at snuffing out the discomfort by pushing your face into the soft sweatshirt your boyfriend is wearing. 

You feel him go still and for one horrible millisecond, you think he's going to push you away, but then Peter’s body relaxes and he presses you against him softly, almost as if he's afraid to hurt you.

You mumble into his chest. "I'm really sorry."

"It's okay, you don't have to apologise," his lips are soft against the crown of your head. "You're good. Let's take a moment, alright?"

You nod, sniffing slightly.

"We're nearly there. Just a few more blocks to go." 

Something like a whine gets stuck in your throat and Peter coos gently, a hand coming up to cup the back of your head. “I know. You’re alright, honey. I've got you.”

You straighten up after a few seconds, aware that this is not at all what he signed up for when the two of you left the house, and Peter frowns a little.

"You can lean into me, baby. You're not a bother."

And you do know, because he's said it to you countless times before in different variations. I like being there for you. You don't have to apologise. I'm here for you, it's kinda in the boyfriend job description.

Peter doesn’t have to repeat himself. When he nudges you closer, you lean in.

-

Once you’re at home, Peter lets go of you carefully, never taking his eyes off you as he reaches into his jacket pocket and pull out the keys to let you both in.

He places the pizza box on the microwave in the kitchen before following you through down the corridor, a hand ghosting the small of your back. When you reach the bedroom, he dims the lights.

You sit on the bed gingerly. Peter sits next to you.

"How are you feeling?" Peter asks.

You’re quiet for a while. Then, a small admission;

"I feel really nauseous Peter." You avoid his gaze. "It started in the restaurant. I don't... I don't know what's wrong."

Peter is silent for a beat. You take it as a sign that you've said something wrong.

"It's fine though. I'm sorry for ruining the meal. I know you were looking forward to this." your voice is hoarse. "I’m really sorry."

When you muster the courage to look up at him, Peter looks horrified.

"Baby, what are you talking about? You didn't ruin anything. It's okay." His hand comes up to brush at your jawline. "I got to spend time with my best girl. I feel like the luckiest guy alive."

You think he might be exaggerating just to make you smile, but there's real sincerity in his tone. "Do you want pain relief? Some ginger tea, maybe?"

Right now, you only want Peter.

"Can we just cuddle for a bit, please?"

"Oh, my girl." Peter is already pulling you down so that you're lying against his chest. "C'mere."

[loliwrites]

October: I'll Be The Moon

part three of fountain of sorrow

pairing: javier peña x f!reader  rating: explicit, 18+ minors dni  warnings/tags: set between s2 & s3, early/mid ‘90s, single mother [reader has a young daughter][child won’t play a massive role], lots of f bombs, some dude gets a lil handsy, BAR FIGHT w/ a little blood, terrible exes, SMUT, unprotected p in v sex, fingering, soft sex, creampie, hand restraint [just by other hands], praise kink, catching feelings, cigarettes [are bad for you], one use of bitch [directed at javi], one use of slut [directed at reader], pre during and post-sex photos, terms of endearment [querida, good girl], female reader, no physical description, protective!javi, no use of y/n. word count: 7.4k series masterlist a/n: switching pov’s in this one. hope y’all are enjoying!

Two and a half months. That’s what it had taken for Javi to realize something was different. Previous women had been lucky if they lasted half as long. He generally wasn’t one for follow-through outside of work. And when he tried to pinpoint what exactly it had been that tipped the scales, it was an exercise in futility. It was just that he’d woken up on this particular Saturday – the weekend before Halloween – with a pang in his gut knowing that you’d be tied up the following weekend with the muñequita and your baby daddy. He’d questioned that… the baby daddy aspect of it… and tried not to sound too jealous or too offended. Doubt crept in that he hadn’t been too convincing.

Maybe it had been because his dad had started asking questions. What’re you doing on weekends? You never answer your phone. How come you never go to The Tack Room with us anymore? What girl have you got on the end of your line now? Oh, if Chucho only knew it was the chiquita on the end of Javi’s line, he’d probably have him drawn and quartered.

Or maybe it had been that night last weekend where, after laying side by side in the orgasmic afterglow, you’d turned into him, curled your hand around his shaft, batted those pretty please eyelashes at him, and did your best damsel in distress act about how the Halloween decorations were in boxes in the attic. Too heavy, too big for little ol’ you to carry down by yourself. And though it was already two in the morning (and you promised a thank you blowjob), he’d never moved faster to climb up into an attic, sift through the dust and cobwebs for the plastic bins holding skeletons and bats and little witches. Truth was he would’ve done it for you even without the blowjob offer; a point made evident when after he’d set the bins in the living room, you sank to your knees in front of him to pay up, only to be confused when he also sank to his knees. And instead of allowing any sort of sexual progression, he dragged the first of the plastic tubs between you and yanked the lid off. The muñequita will be happy to see the house decorated for Halloween.

All Javier knew was that by the time he was sitting at the bar on this Saturday night, something was stirring in him that was getting increasingly hard to pinpoint or ignore. If not only for himself, but because ever since his little shutdown last month – the let’s not talk about Colombia shutdown – you’d done an exemplary job of keeping things pure business. The sex was… efficient, for lack of a better word. Small talk was nonexistent. Any question that may have had you curious never saw the light of day. And except for the little favors here and there, nothing personal ever came up. He didn’t know how, but you were too good at it. Especially at the bar.

Which is why tonight… Javier had his beer bottle clutched in his hands. White-knuckled in a firm grasp. He’s surprised the thing didn’t shatter. He could understand that it was a job. He’d been around enough working girls to know that sometimes getting better tips meant flirting with the patrons. And he knew he had no reason to feel any sort of possessive. You weren’t his; he’d made sure of that when he shut you down and told you that this was just sex. Maybe it was only because this guy wouldn’t leave you the fuck alone.

He was a couple barstools down from Javi. No one sat between them, much to Javi’s chagrin. He couldn’t have ignored this guy even if he was so inclined. But this asshole… Robert, you called him… was way too much of everything with you. At least in Javi’s eyes. He was too flirty with you. Too monopolizing of your time. Too goddamn touchy. All the times Robert reached over and touched your hand or arm was one thing. Javi didn’t think it appropriate but it didn’t make him want to knock him out. 

But the times when you walked out from behind the bar, drink tray in your hand, and Robert let his hand brush over your backside… too much. To you, Robert was just the drunk that hung out way too much at the bar. But he was also the drunk that tipped you way too much and you weren’t about to tell him not to. Was it demeaning to have him groping you… maybe. And normally you wouldn’t let it happen. But the money…

The first time it happened, Javi nearly got out of his seat, but he was given pause when you turned around and faced Robert. He thought you were going to knock him to the floor. But instead, you only shot him a playfully disapproving glance and shook your head before carrying on with the task you’d set out to do in the first place. And that… Javi knew that wasn’t going to be the end of it. The second time it happened, Robert had gotten brave with a firm hand placement on your ass. That time you turned around and gently chastised him. Something like, “Robert,” your voice elongated the first vowel in his name. But the drunk just giggled and acted like a little innocent boy. Javi, however, felt his blood boiling.

But the third time it happened. Game over. You’d come out from behind the bar again, this time to clear off some tables littered with empty glasses and bottles. And Robert, not having learned from your previous two gentle reminders to keep his hands to himself, reached out again, this time giving your backside a pinch. The time between your surprised shriek and Javi getting off his stool, wrapping his fist around the collar of Robert’s shirt, was miniscule. 

“Don’t fucking touch her,” Javi growled, yanking on Robert’s shirt. The man, already unstable, stumbled backwards but not to the floor.

The one benefit of your past relationship – and working in the bar – was that you’d learned rather quickly how to de-escalate drunk, testosterone-ridden men. But instead of going to Robert, you went toward Javi, pushing on his arm. “Peña, stop.”

“Get off me, bitch,” Robert slurred at Javier.

Javi’s focus, which had only momentarily been on you, almost annoyed that you were telling him to stop, was now back on Robert. “How many times she have to tell ya’ to stop, fuckin’ creep?” Javi maintained he still did the right thing. If the situation had presented itself again, he would’ve done the same exact thing. Cocked his fist back in the same way. Made contact with Robert’s nose the same way. And stood over him the same way as Robert clutched at his bloodied, broken nose while now on the floor. “If I ever see you touch a woman here ever again…”

“Javier!”

His eyes shot over to you, finding pure fury. You stepped in front of him and pushed him back with all your might. He only went back a step, which you figured was more due to his cooperation than your strength.

“Get out of here, Peña!” You yelled right at him, but instead of getting a move on, he went to open his mouth to rebut. “Go home, Javi!”

❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖

Something was up with Javi. You’d noticed it first after he’d turned down your blowjob offer after getting the Halloween decorations from the attic. He had never turned down a blowjob before. Usually it was a matter of how quickly you could get your mouth open. And just when you might’ve started to think that his attraction to you was waning, he’d give you the most mind-shattering orgasm. Which begged the question: what was up with Javier Peña?

It also struck you as odd that although he didn’t stop going to The Tack Room completely, you’d made an observation that he no longer came on the nights Chucho came around. You’d still see him at your house after work, but he didn’t show up at the bar to hang out when his dad also happened to be there. Which maybe was for the better considering Javier fucking Peña decked one of your largest tippers tonight. And had Chucho seen his son do that, you had the notion that he might just ship Javi back to Colombia, free of charge to Uncle Sam. And as if just punching the guy wasn’t bad enough, Robert’s face was busted. Lip split, nose broken. Blood poured from new holes Javi had punched into his face. 

You’d told him to get out of there. To go home. But you knew you’d see him outside your house that night. Would’ve bet your life’s savings on it, and would’ve doubled it because when you pulled up that night, Javi was sitting on the porch step – the same place you’d seen him that first day with your daughter. As soon as you threw the car in park on the driveway, he was standing up, brushing his palms on the back of his pants. Time had visibly calmed him down but it had only riled you up.

“What the fuck were you thinking?! Do you know how much that guy tips me?!”

Javier approached you, holding up his hands in front of his chest. “I’m sorry,”

“Do you know how much he tips me?!”

Whatever calmness time had given Javi, you were managing to pull him out of it. Your elevated level… not to mention your apparent biggest qualm being how much money you were going to lose out on… brought him to a spot he wasn’t prepared to go. At least, not with you. 

“You let him touch you so he’ll tip you better?” Javi pulled his wallet out of his back pocket and sifted through it until he produced a hundred dollar bill, “if money’s what you want, I’ll put it on your dresser before we fuck!”

“Fuck you, Javi!

“Fuck me?! I defended you and the only person you got mad at was me! How about the fucker that was grabbing your ass all night?”

You got up in his face, ready and way too willing to continue this argument. Had you just taken a moment… a millisecond… to think, you probably would’ve chosen a different path. “How do you know I didn’t want him grabbing my ass?”

There was a chance steam was coming out of Javi’s ears at this point. If you’d been a medical professional, you might’ve asked that he sit down, put his head between his knees, and take a few deep breaths. But you were not a medical professional, you were just pissed. And that last statement? After the steam had fully evacuated Javi’s ears, he scrubbed his hands over his face and shook his head.

“Okay,” he kept his fingers over his mouth and shook his head again. “Then go fuck that guy. I can’t do this anymore,”

Your heart dropped into your stomach. You’d wanted a fight. Maybe some hot, angry sex. But you didn’t want him to back off completely. And judging by everything you knew about him, you didn’t think he’d back off so easily. “It’s just sex. Who cares if I get it from you or someone else?” Even that sounded a little meaner than you hoped it would.

Javier shook his head and let his arms drop back down to his sides, emphatically. “‘cause I’m not gettin’ it from anyone else,”

“That’s not my problem,”

“Yes it is,” he insisted and glared at you. “I’m stickin’ up for you. And I’m decorating your house for Halloween. And I’m fuckin’ jealous you’re spending next weekend with your ex.”

A smile crept over your face, and though you did your best to hide it – to not let Javi think you weren’t taking him seriously – you knew he’d pick up on it. It was kind of endearing that Mr. Famous Playboy was jealous.

He tilted his head to the side, “don’t look at me like that,” he begged.

But you continued to. In fact, you let your smile widen as you closed the gap and pressed your hands against his stomach.

“Quit it,”

You giggled and curled your fingers into the fabric of his shirt. “You wanna come inside?”

He wrapped his arm around your waist and held you close. Fingers dragged absent designs at your lower back. “Only if you promise me something,” an earnest smile stretched over his lips. “Never sleep with that guy,”

“What guy?” You beamed.

“Good girl,” he patted your ass and turned on his heels with you. 

You unlocked the front door as quickly as your shaky fingers would allow. Maybe angry sex wouldn’t be happening tonight, but something potentially even better would be. Make up sex. It was unmarked territory with Javi. Up until now, there wasn’t anything to make up for. Up until now, outside of the ‘him being inside you’ part, the sex hadn’t been very personal. He’d made sure of that.

But now he was up in front of you and it felt so much different than all the other times. You’d found yourself cornered up against the wall in your entryway, Javi standing right in front of you. His knee had made a spot for itself in between your legs but his hands… they’d never been so gentle before. Slow hands. At one time they brushed over your skin without acknowledging the scars, marks, and blemishes that made up the entirety of you. But this time… they floated over skin with the lightest of touches, taking their time in exploring the expanse of you. Even the way he kissed you with the caution and hesitancy of someone not as sure of themselves. There was the fleeting thought that he’d remember who he was – what his intent was – and he’d pick up to the ravaging he was known for. Though he never did. Not tonight. Not as he cupped his hands around either side of your neck and used his gentle hold on it to lead you away from the wall and toward your bedroom. Not as his forward momentum was only thwarted when the back of your legs hit your mattress and he leaned his body over you, crawling forward to work you further up the bed. Not even when he’d gotten you fully reclined, with his knees straddling your legs, and started to help you undress. Fabric peeled from your body with the same amount of care painters took to canvas… sculptors to marble.

Shirt discarded to the side in an instant and his lips to your chest the next. Soft kisses traced your clavicle until his mouth met the notch at the base of your neck, then carried over across the other. Your hands migrated up over his shoulders and to the hair at the nape of his neck with gentle tugs. Maybe that’d get him to pick things up. 

But he was not to be riled. Even the act of you reaching behind your back and unclasping your bra was met with little acceleration. Javier simply reached up and pulled the now useless garment away from your body. Put his lips in its place. Let his tongue roll over your nipple until it pebbled in his mouth. And you pulled on the ends of his hair again, this time with more force until he relented and lifted his head. Stared at you with hooded, confused eyes.

“What?”

“What’re you doing?”

Javi looked down at your breasts and took a deep breath before he looked back up at you, “what?”

“There’s suspiciously no fingers, tongue, or dick between my legs,”

“M’getting you ready for me. I always do that,” he bowed his head and pressed his lips back to your chest, but when you pulled on his hair again for his focus, he groaned. “What?”

“You don’t need to. I’ve been wet since you punched that guy in the face,”

Javier’s jaw dropped. His eyes widened. Pure surprise raced through him. “You yelled at me for that and your fuckin’ pussy’s drippin’?!”

“Okay,” you positioned your hands on his chest and pushed against him, “you don’t have to be crass.” The distance you’d put between you by pushing on his chest was quickly made up for when you curled your fingers into the fabric of his shirt and pulled him back toward you. “Don’t go slow,”

Your hands tucked lower beneath the hem of his shirt, nudging it upwards until your fingers met his chest and he was all but forced to take it off completely. It soon joined yours at the end of the bed. But when your hands went for his belt, he snatched them away and lifted them above your head. You stared up at him, smirking, when he dropped his weight to you and pinned wrists down.

“Don’t be impatient. Let me take my time,” he pecked your lips and grinned when he pulled back and you jut your bottom lip out in a pout. “Put that lip away,” he ducked his head into the side of your neck and bit into your skin. “Just let me make you feel good,”

“You can do that without going so slow,”

Javi pushed himself up and sat back on his knees. Skilled fingers worked on the button and zipper of your jeans, “keep runnin’ your mouth and you’re not gonna get anything.”

“Peña–”

“Shhh, querida. Just take it easy,”

Convinced you would be – at least for a little while – he stripped you out of your jeans. As he continued on, leaning back over you and nudging the fabric of your underwear to the side so he could feel the proof of what you’d already told him, you realized the slow progress wasn’t as snail-like as you’d first complained about. It wasn’t that it was slow as much as it was intentional. For the first time in the two months you’d had this routine, it was settling in that this was Javier acting on something other than animal autopilot.

His lips came back to yours and took you into a searing kiss. His teeth nipped at your bottom lip. Tongue searched for entrance into your mouth, undeterred. Fingers found the opening they were looking for, too. Pushed into the tightness of your core and didn’t stop their forward motion until they were down to the last knuckle. Your jaw dropped, eyes fluttered open to find Javi’s already in a hungry stare at you. His mouth hung open over yours, sharing breaths as he curled his fingers inside you and brushed the tips against your gspot. A coo left your body, and the smirk that crossed over Javi’s face was undeniable. He had you right where he wanted you.

“Told you I’d make you feel good,”

You spread your legs further apart to give him as much free, open space as possible. Catching his lips for another kiss, the unhurried pace of his mouth and fingers was going to have you spiraling far quicker than you’d like to admit. Tongues lapped and rolled against each other in a battle both wanted to win but would gladly lose. And then he brushed his thumb over your clit, and you all but thought that was going to be your undoing. The way your legs flinched together around his hand, and the way every muscle in your body seemed to flex at once. Then, for better or worse, Javi eased his fingers out of you. Kept his eyes on you for any sign of too much discomfort, of which he only clocked a little. He backed off the bed until he was able to stand at the foot of it and rid himself of his jeans, all too thankful for the vision of you snaking your hand down your body. Fingers drifted past your breasts, to your stomach, and beneath the lace of your underwear to slide the flimsy fabric off your body. It caught on one of your ankles but you hardly paid it any attention; choosing to replace your fingers on your clit and massage yourself, equally thankful for the vision Javier was giving you. Of his hand wrapped around his shaft, jerking himself off with long, steady strokes. The sinewy muscles of his chest, shoulder, and bicep strained against his skin, and knelt back on the bed again. He used his unoccupied hand to free your ankle from your lacy underwear. 

Removing your fingers from your clit, you stretched your body out beneath him, grinning like a mad fool for the sight of him above you. For the way his sheer size and presence made you feel small; made for him to take at his whim. He released his member as he was now fully hard. The vein that ran along the underside of his length more prominent than before, and he lowered himself until the tops of his thighs were pressed against the backs of yours. His cock rest against your belly. From base to tip, he measured up to your belly button. A fact that was not lost on you as he held it in place as if to drive that point home.

“Camera,”

You flicked your glassy eyes up to his face, “what?”

“Where’s the camera?”

You swallowed, chest swelling with heat. You obliged, even if just to avoid his piercing gaze, and outstretched your arm toward the nightstand. He seemed to understand and bent over to carry on the plight. Though you watched carefully as he took the Polaroid out of the drawer and then quickly returned to his spot on his knees between your legs. Javi angled the camera downward, jaw slackening as he focused on the image in the viewfinder: Your breasts full and resting free all the way down to where your waists met. His length on full display for reference against your body. 

He snapped the photo and handed the grayed out picture to you. It was in your hands for just a second before he dipped his hips and sheathed himself inside your core. His eyebrows furrowed together and with the little coordination he had left in him, he set the camera down on the bed beside you.

“Javi,” you moaned out. It floated into nothingness in the space between you.

A groan released from his chest and he lowered himself to you, chest pressed to yours and his hands cupped together on top of your head, cradling you there beneath him. “Jesus Christ, you always feel so good,”

You grazed your teeth along his jaw until he lowered his head a little bit more, making it conducive for you to kiss him again. His hips began their slow thrusts forward. Each one only pulling himself out halfway before burying himself back in to the hilt. Little puffs of breath escaped your lungs each time he filled you back up.

“So big,” you whispered into his lips. The next thrust had his tip pressing against your cervix and you pressed your head further into the pillow, turning it to the side to catch your breath. His mouth went for your neck at first exposure. “You fill me up so good,”

The continued closeness of his hips on yours meant the friction against your clit was pretty much nonstop. Each pass of his body strung you higher and higher, and in an attempt to ground yourself, you reached up to curl your arms around Javier’s shoulders. The photo you hadn’t even bothered to look at yet discarded on the bed. But he all too quickly robbed you of that opportunity, and gathered both of your wrists in one of his large, strong hands. You whimpered at the lack of contact, but it then turned into a delighted hum when he lifted your hands up above your head and kept them pinned in place with his strong grasp.

“Worth the wait?” He chuckled.

You imagined the expression on your face showed pure bliss. Your pulse had already begun to pound, feeling it in your cheeks, ears, temples. Lips swollen and begging to be kissed. “Fuck me, Javi,” 

He smiled to himself, your eyes having drifted shut. There was one particularly hard and deep thrust before there was nothing at all. His hand no longer on your wrists. Chest and stomach no longer against yours. He wasn’t even inside you anymore. And that had you opening your eyes, whimpering, reaching blindly for him until you realized he’d sat back on his knees to get you in a different position. Limp for him to maneuver however he pleased, you shrieked when he wrapped his arms around your thighs and pulled you back into him. Then taking one of your ankles, he crossed it in front of his body until your lower half was twisted to the side, legs pressed flush together. Contorted like this, your upper half was still mostly in the position it had been in before, just a little more turned to accommodate for the twisted angle of your spine and hips. 

Javi grabbed onto your ass and tugged it gently to give himself a better view when he sunk his length back into you. You winced and let out a sharp cry when he pushed himself balls deep; your body struggling to acclimate to his full size at this angle. Through he reached for the camera again, his eyes never left your face.

“Y’alright?” he murmured, winding the camera up.

“Too big,” you panted out, trying to relax yourself around him.

He held the camera up and took another picture. This one he didn’t even bother removing after it printed. Just set the whole thing back down on the bed. “You can do it, querida,” he grinned and set his hands back on your ass, using the leverage to rock himself in and out of you slowly. He could feel your body fighting him still, but just as he was about to say the words, your instinct beat him to it. Your fingers pressed between your legs and began rubbing your clit. It moderately helped. It being slightly easier for him to push into you, “atta girl.”

“Javi,” you whined and pulled your hand away from your clit, moving it to instead wrap it around his wrist. “Javi,”

“Tell me,”

You swallowed harshly, fingernails digging into his skin, “this is no good for–”

But he was already pulling out of you and grabbing your ankle before you could finish. He placed your leg over his shoulder as he bent back down toward you. Both his hands planted on the mattress by your shoulders. He pushed back into you and immediately caught the moan it pulled.

“Better,” you smiled breathlessly and returned your hand to your clit to match the steady pace he set. “Good. So good,”

“God, you’re just…” Javi’s breath caught in his throat and the muscles in his stomach flexed, “so fuckin’ tight.”

You reached up for him until he obliged and leaned in closer to you. It nudged him deeper inside you and kept him there. “Come inside me,”

He shook his head and moved one hand from the bed to your neck; fingers loose. “Not before you,”

“Please. Javi, please,” you let out a needy moan and tilted your head back against the pillow, elongating your neck.

Javi growled and curled his fingers against your neck, grip tightening as he fought with himself whether to listen to you or not. Truthfully, he was hanging on by a goddamn thread. It wasn’t that he wasn’t close. It was that he didn’t want to get in the habit of coming first.

“Javi,” you begged.

“Are you close?”

“Yes. Please,” you purposefully squeezed yourself around him, pulling his shaft deeper. “Just want to feel all of it inside me first,”

He wanted to think about it while he had the chance. While he could hold out. But then your body fluttered involuntarily around him and his heart almost stopped. His hips stuttered, he bit back a deep, guttural moan, and then not being able to stop it if he tried, he came, rope after rope of his spend coating your walls.

“Fuck,” he muttered, feeling his member twitch inside of you. And normally, he’d be able to catch his breath. Take a minute and pull out of you. But now you were writhing beneath him, grabbing at the sheets and white-knuckling them. Though normally his body would prepare to wind down, there was only one thing he wanted now, and he’d do anything to get it. He laid his weight on top of you, his head beside yours, mouth pressed to your ear, “come all over me, querida. Let me feel you squeeze me.”

Your body began to tremble and a whimper tore through your chest.

“Show me what a good girl you are. Give it all to me,”

Clutching on to him with all your might, your arms wrapped around his rib cage, you hung on for dear life as your orgasm ripped through you. Your thighs flinched tighter to his hips. Silent pleas that he’d stay deep inside you. And you buried your face into the base of his neck, muffling the scream that came from deep within.

Throughout it all, Javi keep his soft, filthy whispers in your ear. Talked you through the entirety of your climax until you were a breathless, sweaty heap laying limp beneath him. And even then, he kept himself right where he was, lips at your ear; his hand cupped around your waist with fingertips drawing light circles on the small of your back.

“Atta girl, querida,” he pecked your neck, taking deep breaths so you’d try to align your breathing to his. “That’s my good girl,”

That had you moving again. Your hands gripped into his side with a little more purpose. Lips laid tender kisses to his shoulder. He lifted his head and kissed you intently. Slowly. Happy to take his time here, even as his member grew softer inside you.

“Can I take another picture of you?” He whispered and waited for you to nod. Only then did he pull out of you, eyes locked onto your core. His fingers searched the bed until they found the camera again. “Turn over for me,” he smiled when you immediately stirred to obey, “chest down, ass up.”

You shook your head and let out a quick giggle, “pervert.” Yet still did as you were told. Turned over on the bed and kept your chest pressed against the mattress with your back end higher than the rest of your body.

Javi removed the previous photo from the camera – the one of you on your side, your body seductively twisted and contorted for him. He wound the camera and then held it up to his eye with one hand. Then, using the other he smacked your ass once before taking it in a firm grip and pulled your cheek to the side. “Let me see it,”

“Hmm?” You turned your head to the side.

“Let me see it. Push it out,”

Your face grew warmer at his request. Yet again, you didn’t take a second to think before obeying him. Wanting absolutely nothing more than to keep hearing him say good girl, you clenched your muscles until you could feel the mixture of yours and his come seeping out of you. The sound of the Polaroid capturing the moment came next.

“Javi,” you moaned. The feeling of his come dripping down you, stirring you up all over again. 

But his hand was on you next. Two fingers started at your swollen clit and worked their way up your slit to gather the come you’d pushed out. And when he pushed it back into your spent hole, you let out another exasperated moan. “I know,” he whispered and playfully thrust his fingers into you, pushing his come back inside, deep. 

Only once he pulled them out, did you turn over and flop back down to your back. He was crawling up to lay beside you, having collected the three photos he’d taken of you tonight. And you’d curled into his side, head resting on his chest as he showed them off to you, the last of which still developing and growing clearer and raunchier with each passing second. Just the sight of it… and knowing it was you… with his come… you buried your face in his chest nervously. 

Javier laughed and kissed the top of your head. He set the pictures down beside him and used his now free hands to wrap around you, holding you close. “Feel good?”

You nodded against his chest, “feel great.”

He smiled and took a deep breath which he held, thinking. It stirred you enough to look up at him, finding him contemplative. But your gaze was unwavering and he decided to bite the bullet. “You know, I never see you when the sun’s up,”

“I’m busy when the sun’s up,”

Javi nodded. “Maybe I can take you out sometime. During the day,”

You rolled over onto your back, “you know I can’t next weekend.”

“Another weekend, then.”

What came next was a cruel, cruel turn of events because you wanted to give him a resounding yes. A sure thing. An absolute. But before you could answer, the doorbell chimed, reverberating noise through your house. You and Javi both looked at the bedroom door as if that’d tell you everything you needed to know about the person at the front door. But after a second, the doorbell rang again, and this time, Javi slid his arm out from underneath you. He was halfway up before you pulled on his arm.

“Stay here,” you rose out of bed and walked to the small closet, pulling from it a thin cotton robe. Javi wondered what that garment would do in terms of concealing your body, but you were out of the room too quickly for him to ask, and pulled the bedroom door shut behind you.

Trapped behind a door, Javi strained his ears for any information to clue him in on who was there. He wondered if it was your ex. And if it was, Javi wondered if he’d amble out of your room and sidle up beside you. That thought had him fully out of bed and pulling his pants up his legs again. But he soon realized it wasn’t. No, because he heard the muñequita’s voice ring through the walls and he figured it was your mom at the door.

Javi looked at the clock on your nightstand when he figured he should probably hide the photos he’d taken tonight with the rest that you’d previously taken of him. And he kept staring at the clock, wondering when you’d come back to him. Wondered if he should just walk out without a care of who was there to see him. Ultimately he didn’t though. Just as you’d done as he asked tonight, he did as you asked. Sat at the edge of the bed and waited until you finally came back.

The bedroom door creaked open and you slipped inside, taking the utmost care to close the door so slowly that virtually no noise came from it. Javi stood as you neared him again and pressed your hands to his chest. 

“I forgot her dad’s coming over tomorrow morning. It’s his day with her,”

Javi nodded, trying to be as understanding as possible. “I didn’t know he got any days with her,”

You nodded, “be my guest to take that up with the judge.”

He sensed you weren’t thrilled at all with the situation, and the only thing he knew to do in this moment other than go full DEA, was to try to comfort you. He lifted his hand and cupped it over the back of your head, guiding you into him. Scritching through your hair, he kissed the top of your head and let the silence wash over you both.

But you tilted up and set your chin down against his chest, “you wanna stay tonight?”

Javi pursed his lips and cupped his hands over your cheeks. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea,”

“I don’t know if coming inside me is a good idea but you do it anyway.”

Got him.

❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖

By the time Javi woke the next morning, you were already out of bed. Squinting through the sunlight that filtered in from the window, he glanced at the clock on the nightstand and noted it wasn’t that he was rising late, but you had risen early. And judging by your slightly elevated voice elsewhere in the house, he figured you were running around, trying to get the muñequita ready before her dad showed up to scoop her away.

Though he’d been kept in the bedroom last night, he decided that didn’t carry over into the daylight. Searching the floor for his shirt, he picked it up and slid it back over his shoulders. He did up the buttons and gave himself a passing glance in the mirror on his way out of the room. The muñequita’s voice grew louder as he ambled down the hallway, and he turned the corner for the kitchen, where he came face to face with her sitting at the table. You stood behind her, fighting with her fidgeting to tie her hair up in pigtails.

“Hey!” 

You looked up and followed the direction of her outstretched arm to find Javi at the end of it, in the threshold. He was clothed at least, but you’d been hoping he’d stay out of sight until it was just the two of you in the house again.

“Hey muñequita,” he strode into the kitchen and reached out to take her hand. He served to keep her still enough so you could finish tying her hair up.

“Why are you in our house?”

Javier opened his mouth but looked back up at you in the same moment, finding that your expression was much less chill than his was. He nodded subtly, quiet submission to you knowing the muñequita was still awaiting an answer.

“Go get your shoes on. Your dad’s gonna be here soon,” 

Without argument, she hopped off the chair and ran out of the kitchen. Her little feet padding their way down the wood floor until she reached her bedroom door and nudged it open with a creak. But your eyes were back on Javi in an instant, frustration rising. “What the fuck, Peña?”

He smirked and side stepped you, having locked on to the drip coffee pot on the counter, full and ready to be consumed. “What?” He opened the cabinets one by one before he found the one with coffee cups and pulled one out for himself. Even took his damn sweet time filling it up with black coffee before he turned back around and saw you staring at him. Unimpressed. Hip cocked out to the side with your hand on it. “Sorry, didn’t know I was some sex object you kept locked away in your room,”

“Not in front of her,”

“She was happy to see me,”

“She’s five! She doesn’t know what she is,” you scrubbed your hands over your face. “She’s my kid. You don’t get to make any decisions where it concerns her, okay? On the topic of us, I get to decide how and when she learns about it.”

“Come on, it’s–”

“Okay?”

He nodded, “okay.” 

That was all you let him have before you crossed in front of him and continued down the hall in the direction of your daughter’s room. It gave Javier time to look around the kitchen; at all the little things that made this your well lived in home. The chipping paint on the drawers. The cracked floor tile by the fridge. The way a few of the cabinet doors hung slanted and off kilter, creating uneven lines in between them. The sorts of things you would’ve added to a list for the man in your life had you had one. And it only made him think about if there had been another man between your ex and him filling that void. He hoped not, if only because that man did a piss poor job at fixing things around here.

And the attention he was giving that thought had him failing to fully acknowledge the knock on the door. Half conscious of it, he’d thought it was the muñequita tapping her fist along the wall as she came down the hallway. But then the knock happened again and it didn’t result in either of you joining him in the kitchen. Javi set his coffee cup down on the counter and thought about calling out to you, but then the knocking happened for a third time. This time accompanied with a man’s voice shouting a slur toward you and well… if you’d known anything about Javi’s time in Colombia, it was that he hardly ever played nicely and he wasn’t about to start now. 

He pulled open the front door, making sure his shoulders and hips were square to the man standing on the other side of it. A undoubtedly threatening stance. And it was received that way when the man he came to understand was your baby daddy eyed him up and down. Disgust and anger, and something else, rising in his face.

“Who the fuck are you?” He spat, trying to look over Javi’s shoulder and into the house.

“Let’s call me a new friend,”

He laughed incredulously. “Yeah, I’m sure. Slut doesn’t know how to keep her legs closed,”

Here, there was little thought. It was an instinct that long lived in Javier. Before Colombia, he hadn’t been able to save his mother from hurt and pain. Couldn’t save Lorraine from (in fact had been the direct cause of it), and so in Colombia he honed the skill he now carried with him every day. Practiced it until it was second nature… with Helena… Elisa…

Javi took one giant step forward through the threshold; one hand gripping the wrist of the other man, and Javi’s other hand at his shoulder. Turning his body and using it as the perfect amount of leverage to incapacitate almost any threat, he pressed forward until the asshole in front of him now had his cheek squished against the rough stucco wall of the house. Javi took his hand from his shoulder and readjusted until his forearm pressed against his upper back, rendering your baby daddy immobile. 

Javier took another step forward, his mouth at the ear of the man you’d once called a lover, and now called him something else. And though he fought, Javi held his ground. “If you say one bad thing about her, I will fuck you up. She’s gotta be nice to you ‘cause you share a daughter. But I don’t. I will end you,”

“Fuck you!”

Javi pressed harder on his back knowing once he let up, the other man would have the prickled imprints of the stucco on his skin. “And if the kid comes home with stories of things you said about her mom, I will fucking find you and I will fucking kill you.”

“Javi?”

Your voice called out from within the house and Javi took one giant step back, creating space between him and the man you were about to hand your child off to. The muñequita came to the door, a backpack nearly the size of her on her back, and reached out idly toward her dad. He clutched her hand, all but dragging her off the porch with a mention that he’d drop her back off tonight. But he was gone in seconds and yet you and Javi still stood on the porch – him watching the car peel out of the driveway, and you watching him. Scoping him out for what might’ve gone down.

“What happened?”

“Nothin’,” he shook his head and carried on back into the house.

“Peña?” You followed him back into the kitchen. He so coolly went back to the counter to retrieve his coffee, but you knew something was up. Your ex had never looked so riled… or flaunting skin that matched the stucco siding of your home.

“We had a chat, man to man. I think he’ll be on better behavior moving forward.”

[mccnstricken]

“You look absolutely terrible today.” | vera to andrew hrhrhf

general sentences, vol 2 (still aceepting!)

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?!"

Andrew stands defensively, absolutely covered in dirt, resulting from a particularly rough match. His shovel doesn't help him with appearances either, caked with mud and in dire need of washing (much like its owner). Widened eyes stare downwards at the perfumer, unsure whether to glare in offense or to continue to gawk in the shock of the statement even having to be said. The want to turn his back and run comes to a standstill with the need to spit and defend himself, digging his heels further stubbornly.

"If you have any idea how to- how to use this cleanly, you can be my guest!" He, inevitably, chooses to glare in offense as if greatly scorned and slandered against (despite the truth of the matter). Shovel in hand is raised and hit against the ground to punctuate his point, flecking some of the more dried mud off onto the ground. "But until then, you can keep your thoughts to yourself! Thank you, but no thank you."

"And who just says things like- like that?"

[dearmantis]

First Snow

Pairing: Aleksander Morozova /The Darkling x Tidemaker!Reader

Summary: Snow finally falls and you want to enjoy the freezing temperatures at night in peace.

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1.3k

Authors' Note: Yes, I wrote this because it finally snowed where I live and I really missed it. This is completely plotless and pointless, I won't lie. This is also not edited and English isn't my native language.

You've lost the feeling in your nose, ears, hands and feet twenty minutes ago, but you can't bring yourself to go back inside as you stare up into the sky, snow landing on your face and settling on top of your lashes.

The wish to lay down in the thick, undisturbed layer of snow in front of you is strong but you still remember the last time Aleksander found you buried under a few centimetres of snow, his face red from anger and the freezing temperatures.

"Do you want to freeze to death?" he had asked, voice sharp as a knife as he grabbed you by the collar, quickly pulling you up to your feet before removing the snowflakes sticking to your cloak, scarf and fur hat with quick, light slaps against the fabric and fur.

He has never been able to understand your love for freezing temperatures, for ice and snow, thick cloaks and hot teas, so you decide every year to sneak out during the coldest winter nights, leaving him, comfortable in his ignorance, alone as he works the night away.

You usually make it back inside before he notices your absence, the exceptions being few and far in between, so you don't think he knows just how often you leave him during the night to enjoy the winter in peace.

Of course you wish you could spend the nights with him, surrounded by shadows and frost, but he has simply never been the type to truly get it.

In all honesty, you don't fully get it either. Why snow and ice are what has you in such a trance while almost every other Tidemaker you know feels the happiest around lakes, rivers or the ocean. Closeness to the element you control brings ease to Etheralki, at least most of the time. It's like having a weapon close by that you'd be able to wield blindly if required. Why your favourite weapon is tied to a season is a mystery, however.

Humming quietly you rub your gloved hands together before lifting them up to your lips and blowing hot hair into them, trying to get some feeling back. The metal bench you're sitting on is still ice cold and refuses to truly warm up, instead sucking the heat out of your thighs, but it's also the only place where you can sit, and it's still too early to go back inside. The first heavy snowfall of the season deserves to be appreciated.

Thick clouds are sitting in the sky, covering the stars and blocking the light of the moon, drowning the surroundings of the Little Palace in darkness, the only light source being the small lantern you carried outside with you, housing a big, white candle, proudly burning with all it's might inside of the protective metal and glass box.

It's peaceful, so peaceful in fact that you don't even notice it when somebody approaches, stuck too deep in your own thoughts to realise what's going on until the person sits down next to you and holds a steaming cup under your face. Your head whips to the side, hands moving together in case you have to defend yourself, when you finally recognize the huge black fur coat next to you.

"Sasha" you huff, fingers wrapping around the hot cup, the warmth stinging as feeling returns slowly to your hands.

"I woke up because I got cold" he confesses, a small, bashful smile visible on his lips. "And you weren't next to me, so I looked out the window to see if I could find you out here."

You're sitting on the bench closest to your shared quarters, directly visible from the windows. As cheesy and stupid as it might sound, the closeness to Aleksander brings you a similar feeling of safety and peace as the snow. Staying too far away from him, especially when you're both vulnerable, easy targets – him being asleep and you being stuck daydreaming – is almost uncomfortable.

Taking a small sip from the tea he has brought you sigh softly, leaning your head against his shoulder. The dark fur of his coat tickles a bit against your skin as you respond.

"I'm sorry, Sasha. I just wanted to get outside and enjoy the fresh snow. I completely forgot that you could wake up."

Aleksanders sleep has always been notoriously light, waking up at the slightest of sounds, change of lighting or shift in temperature. All things considered it is quite a miracle that you got to spend those previous thirty minutes undisturbed. Usually you choose to sneak out while he isn't in the palace or while he's working the night away in the war room, but tonight you simply couldn't help yourself.

He shakes his head, lifting his own cup to his lips to drink a few sips before he speaks. "Don't worry about it, milaya. I should've expected this. You've spent the whole day staring at the falling snow outside. I just assumed you wouldn't dare to leave while I slept next to you. You usually only disappear when I work."

There's a thick layer of amusement audible in his voice and it warms your heart better than any cloak or fur ever could.

"So you knew?" you ask surprised, lifting your head from his shoulder to look at him. "But you always get so mad when you catch me. I don't understand-"

"Let an old man have his fun, milaya." Aleksander cuts you off, hand moving to your shoulder to press you back against him. "Of course I notice it when you sneak out. And I come and get you when you stay out for too long. It's cute that you thought I wouldn't notice it, though. Especially considering that I always have a Heartrender around to stand guard."

You groan loudly, taking another long sip of the tea before burying your face in the Darklings thick fur coat again. It smells nice, like rosemary and burning wood, with an underlying note of something sweet. Aleksanders own smell that you've never been able to fully identify.

"So Maksim betrayed me." you murmur into the coat, taking another deep breath to take in more of the smell. Sweet berry jam, maybe?

He laughs loudly, his body shaking with the sound as he leans his head against yours. "Betrayed? He is doing his job, don't be too hard on him."

His hand rubs your back carefully and you can hear him taking a big sip from his own tea.

You sit like this for a few minutes, occasionally taking a sip from your teas, enjoying the darkness and snow. When your cup is empty you place it on the ground in front of you before you stand up to quickly sit down on his lap, hands moving inside his coat to lay flat against his back, soaking in the warmth his body gives off.

Pressing yourself tightly against him he moves to rest his chin on your head as a laugh rumbles through his body. "Are you getting cold, milaya?" he purrs, placing his own cup next to you on the bench to free his hands and hug you freely.

"I just want to be closer to you for a bit." you answer softly. His thighs are so much warmer than the cold bench, his whole body radiating heat like a fire.

"You could be even closer to me if we went back inside." Aleksander whispers back.

"I don't want to go back inside yet. The Squallers are gonna remove the snow in the morning. I want to enjoy this as long as I can."

"Maybe, but we will freeze to death together."

"We will freeze to death by then."

You giggle quietly.

[ilguna]

☼ the moon loves the sun (Johanna Mason) ☼

summary; like two magnets, you and johanna will always find each other, inside of the arena and out.

warnings; swearing, weapon use, drowning, death and blood mention, the usual hunger games stuff.

wc; 7.2k

--

Out of the many tribute intake routines in the Capitol, you think the preparation for the Tribute Parade has to be your least favorite. There is absolutely nothing appealing about having strangers rip all of the hair on your body off. And then to be rubbed raw after by their fancy scrubs, stings like a bitch.

You don’t think the prep team fully understands the fact that you’re not used to their beautification process. You don’t have it done regularly enough for it to not hurt nearly as much. There are no places in District Five that specialize in what the Capitol does. Maybe in the Career districts, but certainly not in the outsiders. 

Besides, they don’t do it for the mentors, only the tributes. It doesn’t matter what the mentors look like after they win. You could ask for the prep team’s help, if you did like the way you looked after, but they already have so much on their plate from the stylists. 

This means the last time you had this done was about two and a half years ago, on your Victory Tour. You were hoping it would be the last time. And it would’ve, if it weren’t for this year's Hunger Games, which happens to be a Quarter Quell. 

Despite the fact that it’s been several months since the reading of the card, it still feels like it happened yesterday. You were sitting at home, hosting a few of the other victors for dinner to watch the Capitol showing of Katniss Everdeen’s wedding dress, which was being chosen through votes. 

No one had any idea of the announcement that would come after until Caesar mentioned it. Right around that time, everyone was beginning to wrap up. They were grabbing coats, pulling snow boots back on, preparing to go home because they had no interest in what the Capitol was planning this time for the Quell.

Once the anthem’s first notes began to play, the room around you came to a halt. President Snow came onto the stage, a boy following him. The boy was holding a wooden box, probably fully aware of the fact it contained an important card that would decide the fate of many people. What he didn’t know was it would steal the lives of those who didn’t deserve it.

Snow delivered a speech, reminding viewers of the Dark Days, and where the idea of the Quarter Quell was born from. He went on to tell you what the punishments for the past two anniversaries had been, before turning his attention to the boy with the box. He pulled out an envelope marked with a neat 75. He took his time breaking the seal on the flap, gently pulling the small square of paper out.

And then he turned to the microphone and read directly from the paper. 

“On the seventy-fifth anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that even the strongest among them cannot overcome the power of the Capitol the male and female tributes will be reaped from their existing pool of victors.”

You could hear a pin drop in your house. Even worse, you could hear the screams of your neighbors as the news hit them next.

It quickly became a different atmosphere in your home. At that moment, everyone wanted to leave to be with their families so they could console them. A couple of them even left their belongings because of the rush they were in. The last person to leave was kind enough to shut your door on the way out.

No one stayed to keep you company as you began to sink into your couch.

You don’t think anyone saw the twist coming. None of the citizens in the Capitol, and certainly no one in the districts. When you walked the streets the next morning, it was like a ghost town. Those who were outside, were pale, and almost avoided eye contact with you, as if it would be disrespectful.

While on the other hand, the Capitol has not been mourning the loss of their victors. In fact, all your prep team seems to babble on about is how excited they’ve been to see favorites return in the arena, remarking how the Tribute Center has been remodeled in several areas. 

You usually have a lot of patience for Capitol citizens, and you know that your prep team is nice—just painfully clueless—but there’s only so much you can take. The truth of the matter is that the Games aren’t about them this year. It’s about the Quarter Quell, and how far President Snow is willing to go to prove he’s in charge.

It’s about crushing the spirit of the victors.

“We’re almost done.” The girl tells you, her voice is higher than the boy’s by several octaves, and you can’t tell if it’s her natural voice or if she’s forcing it. Either way, the more she speaks, the worse your headache gets. You’ve been trying to nod and smile through most of their conversation, but you think they’re beginning to catch on to your strategy.

You hum a response to let her know you heard her. 

“Will you go over the checklist?” The boy asks, his accent is thick, harder to understand. You mentioned this to your girlfriend once—she’s a victor in another district—because you were curious as to why his was thicker than most of the citizen’s you’ve met. 

All she could tell you was that he was from a richer part of the Capitol. She sounded like she was being sarcastic when she said that, so you ended up having to ask District Five’s escort if it was true, and he was able to confirm it. Sometimes you can’t tell when Johanna, your girlfriend, is being honest, with how often she likes to mess with you.

“Of course.” The girl responds, reaching for a device she’s picked up and set aside a few times. She flickers her pink hair out of her face. “We’ve trimmed her hair, done a hair mask, washed and styled it. We fixed her nails. And we’ve waxed her body twice, and washed her three times.” She squints at the screen. “All that’s left is the lotion to rub down and I think we’ll be good to pass her off.”

“You think?” The boy asks. “You’ve been marking off the checklist, right?”

“Yes.” She raises her eyes from the device but doesn’t move her head. “She’ll be good to pass off after the lotion. You can apply it.” She promptly shuts off the device, sliding it onto the counter.

From what you’ve gathered from the few times they’ve willingly spoken to one another, you’re pretty sure they don’t get along. You wish you could say you recognize either of them from last year’s Hunger Games, but you think the prep team and the stylist got replaced. They’d been working on District Five for years, you’re not entirely surprised they’re gone, you just wish you were able to say goodbye.

“Fine.” The boy says, reaching for a bottle on a metal table. He squeezes a large amount of a white glitter liquid into his palm, and then approaches you. 

He takes his time wiping handfuls of it onto certain sections of your body, before going back and working from the neck down. By the time he’s done, the stinging sensation has subsided into a cool soothe. 

With that, the girl makes a wide motion with her hand, and the two of them file out of the room without another word, leaving you in there alone. The silence is nice, but it doesn’t last for long. The stylist must be eager to meet you, or get this over with, because she appears in the doorway and wastes no time getting to work.

“My name is Galina, I will be your stylist this year.” She says. “Stand up from the table.”

You follow her instructions, and wait patiently as she looks over you, inspecting every inch of your bare skin to ensure her prep team did a good job. When she’s done, she plucks the silk robe off the hook on the wall and hands it to you. You pull it on, and follow her into the next room.

“I will be taking care of you alone.” She informs you. “I work quicker than those two. I’m surprised they did as good of a job as they have.”

“They were very nice.” You murmur, feeling as if you need to defend them.

“Not to each other, that’s for sure.” She shakes her head, motioning for you to sit on a chair in front of a vanity. “This shouldn’t take long.”

She cracks her knuckles, which seems almost painful with how many gold rings varying in thickness cover her slender fingers. She doesn’t seem to mind them, reaching for your hair to get to work. She must be used to doing everything herself, because she doesn’t complain once about the circumstance.

It’s clear that Galina has a vision of what she wants to do with you, she doesn’t hesitate when she moves. There is no deliberation, she moves with confidence, conquering your hair, and immediately moving onto your nails next. She murmurs a compliment about how they’ve been perfectly shaped, and then she paints them an electric blue.

When it comes to makeup, she tells you to close your eyes and hold still. You’re not allowed to open them until she says, and by then, she’s almost done. All she does is apply a white mascara to your lashes, and then moves out of the way, giving you a chance to see yourself in the mirror. Her work is beautiful.

She accessories you in silver jewelry, tests to make sure your nails have dried completely, and then pulls a white and blue dress out of a closet. It’s over the shoulder, wrapped around your upper arms tightly to keep it from moving, and it ends just above the knee. 

“Everyone’s going after that fire effect because of Cinna.” She says. “I figured to let the sun do all the work.”

“Is it solar powered?” You ask.

“To an extent.” She runs her finger along a line of rubber that goes around your waist. “It’ll make you look like you’re glowing.” 

“Oh.” You raise your eyebrows. “That’s cool.”

She half-shrugs, “If you want to call it that. You can put on the heels and go. I’ll see you later this evening, after the parade.”

“Thank you.” You murmur, taking a seat on a chair to pull on the white wedges.

When you’re done, you let yourself out, because she’s sitting in the lounge part of the room, eating grapes while typing on her device. As much as you liked District Five’s female stylist last year, she wasn’t nearly this organized with tributes. It took her several hours to get your girl tributes ready. There was one year she took so long that your tribute was the last to walk out on the floor. 

It makes sense why Snow replaced her, and the prep team went too because they were just as bad as the stylist when it came to being timely.

You carefully shut the door behind you, walking down the cement hallway, following the signs until you step into the main area for the Remake Center. There are a couple victors out here already with their horses and chariots. You know some of these people by name, mostly those who won in recent years, all the older victors don’t really mentor anymore—besides the ones that have to.

Your eyes land on a close friend of yours, Finnick Odair. He’s standing beside his horse, talking to the tamer, who hands something over to him. Finnick nods his head in thanks, and then turns away to look around the room.

“Ah, look who it is.” He says when he sees you. “I see your stylist has gone with something different this year.”

“New stylist, actually.” You smile, coming up next to him. “And prep team.”

“Did you like them?” 

You open your mouth, taking in a breath, but no real compliments come to mind. Finnick lets out a loud laugh, wrinkles appearing at the corners of his eyes. He throws his head back for a couple of seconds, and then looks back at you.

“That bad, huh?”

“Well,” You start, “I mean, the prep team likes to argue and Galina, the stylist, is very straightforward. I think it’s nice that they’re quicker than the last bunch, but I would not surround myself with them frequently.”

“You’re too nice for your own good.” Finnick smiles, and then offers his cupped hand to you. “Have a sugar cube.”

“Sure.” You say, picking one off the top. 

You pop it in your mouth, causing it to water, but it soaks up almost instantly. It isn’t long before the cube loses its shape and has become a pile on your tongue. The sweetness spreads across your mouth, hurting your teeth. It’s worth the pain.

Finnick nudges your shoulder, jerking his chin up to make you look. You turn around to see what he’s looking at. A smile spreads across your face quickly, as you begin to run away from him, and to your girlfriend instead.

“Johanna!” You gasp.

She finds you with a smirk on her face, arms held out for a hug. You slam into her, hugging her tightly, as she rotates you in a small circle. When you pull away, she reaches for the undersides of your jaw to avoid messing up the makeup on your cheeks. She guides your lips to hers, a warm happiness spreads across your body.

She pulls away for a second, and then presses a quick second kiss to your lips. She lets out a quiet laugh after, using her thumb to wipe away the dark lipstick she transferred to you by accident. 

“You look stunning.” Johanna says, “I heard District Five got a new stylist.”

“And prep team.” You nod. “They’re better than the last group Five had, but I wouldn’t say they’re perfect.” 

“I wouldn’t say any of them are. Maybe District Twelve.” 

“I like your stylist.” You smile. “She has a theme and she sticks with it.”

Her eyes narrow at you. “She’s been doing this tree gimmick for several decades and no one has stopped her. I almost said something to her this year.”

“Oh, don’t. She’s old. She doesn’t know any better.” 

“As if I care.” She rolls her eyes.

“Well, I think you’re beautiful in anything you wear.” You tell her, causing a small smile to peek at the corners of her lips.

“Thank you, babe.” 

“No need to thank me, I’m just speaking the truth.” You take her hand, starting to pull her back to where you were standing with Finnick.

“Hey, Johanna.” Finnick says.

“What the hell are you wearing?” Johanna asks, letting out a snort.

Finnick looks down at his parade costume, which is almost inappropriate. His stylist has draped a golden net across his body, and it nets at his groin. His outfit is so fragile that all it’ll take is one bump before it falls off his body. 

His face twists. “I would ask you the same, but I think we all know what you’re supposed to be.”

Johanna mocks a smile.

“So, what’s the plan?” You ask, changing the topic before they start bickering.

He raises his eyebrows. “Is this your way of asking for an alliance?”

“I just thought that there’d be a plan in the works.” You motion to the chariots. “You know, since this is clearly rigged.”

“I don’t think anyone’s made one yet.” Johanna murmurs, “I’m sure someone will come out with something.”

“What will we even do?” You ask.

Finnick shrugs. “We’ll have to see what the Capitol does first. If I had to take a bet, though, I would say Haymitch might try to clean up his tributes’ mess.”

“If he’s sober.” Johanna remarks, you elbow her.

“I just hope it works out.” You sigh. “It would be a shame to have gotten here for nothing.”

—

“Ladies and gentlemen, let the Seventy-fifth Hunger Games begin!” Claudius Templesmith announces.

The countdown until the gong sounds, begins. You have less than a minute to figure out the arena and decide what to do next. And right now, it seems you’re off to a bad start.

The podium you have risen on is completely surrounded by water. Despite being from District Five, you are not the strongest swimmer. In fact, you only know the very basics to get you to land. You probably would know more if you went into a district job—they teach everyone how to swim if they work near the dam—but you didn’t. Instead, you got selected for the Hunger Games at seventeen.

There was never a reason to learn after that. 

You look into the blue waves, hoping to find sand. Maybe that way you’ll be able to wade to the beach that surrounds the water. Your wishful thinking is quickly gone when you realize there is no sand. It’s just water, and there’s no telling how deep it is. All you know for sure is it’s a drownable depth.

You take several breaths to calm the rising anxiety, lifting your eyes to focus on anything else around you. The golden Cornucopia is straight ahead, of course, just floating on a giant black rock island. There’s strips of black sand coming out from the island, connecting to the ring of beach.

Beyond the beach is the jungle. 

The sound of someone coughing nearby makes you jump out of your skin. You turn in the direction, and find another tribute, who's staring right at you. You think it’s the man from District Nine, but you can’t be sure. You’ve never seen him before the interviews last night. You don’t think he’s part of the rebel alliance. 

You eye him for a few seconds before settling on ignoring him. He probably knows how to swim just as much as you do. Probably even less. He is not the biggest threat in this arena, you can get away from him, especially since one of those strips of land is to your right. 

When the gong sounds, you’ll swim there… and then what? You go to the Cornucopia? You run into the jungle? If you go to the center, who’s going to be there? 

You have to close your eyes to focus on your thoughts. The only people that will be able to get to the Cornucopia first is going to be Finnick and Mags. Actually, it’ll be Finnick. Mags is in no shape to cut across this water like she was probably able to in the past. As cruel as that sounds, it’s just what happens when you age. 

Finnick will get to the middle first. He’s an ally. You can trust him to have your back while you grab a weapon. But how fast is Johanna going to be able to get there? She knows how to swim, you think. She won’t be the best at it, so it’ll take her time to get there. At that point, the Careers might already be there. You trust they were taught how to swim in their home districts.

As you weigh it, you realize it’s going to be dangerous for you to meet Finnick in the middle, much less Johanna. You begin to think it might be easier to find them in the jungle, when you remember how thick it’s going to be. And as nice as it would be, there is no way you can stand on the beach and wait for them to come to you.

You’re going to have to go to the Cornucopia and hope Johanna gets there in time.

The gong sounds seconds after your decision is made. You jerk forward to dive into the water, but hesitate at the last second, almost sending you over the podium. Your arms flail, trying to restore balance, but it’s too late, you’ve leaned forward too far. You manage to get a breath before you hit the water.

It’s warm, engulfing your body from head to toe. You kick hard, bringing you back to the surface, causing a wave to wash over your face. You sputter out a cough because of the salt water, and then you begin to paddle to the strip of land, taking your time getting there. 

Once your hands come into contact with sand, you pull yourself out of the water, and head directly to the Cornucopia. As you go, you take time to assess the people in the water, wondering if any of them could be Johanna. From what you can tell, most people are bobbing around, struggling to make it to the rock. And no one has the qualities of your girlfriend.

You’re almost to the center when Finnick rounds the corner with a trident in his hand, raised to attack, but then he relaxes. “Oh good, it’s you. Do you see Mags?”

“No. How about Johanna?”

“Not yet. She might be swimming this way, a lot of people are.” He motions for you to follow, and you do. 

You’re almost unable to hide your surprise when you see Katniss is here. How is she able to swim? There can’t be many opportunities in District Twelve, or at all. You give a look to Finnick, wondering if he’ll have an explanation, but he’s too focused on finding anything valuable on the island.

Katniss tenses up at the first sight of you, and then relaxes considerably. She trusts you, of course she does. She pulled that stunt in the Training Center, and while many people jumped to tell Haymitch they wanted an alliance, you let her have her space. Yes, she would be a very good ally with her skill, but you knew she would come around.

She did. Haymitch reached out to you to tell you Katniss wanted you to be her ally. By then, he’d already recruited you for the rebel alliance, so there was no action needed. It was more of a heads-up that you were going to be a trusted friend in the arena to her. As for Finnick and Johanna, it was a completely different story. They couldn’t help taunting her, naturally that drove her away.

“Let’s clear out.” Katniss says, moving down one of the rocks without waiting. 

You don’t follow immediately, digging around in the mouth of the Cornucopia until you find a long knife you’ll be able to use. As soon as you have it in your hand, you jog to follow Katniss and Finnick, who are heading after Peeta. He’s still standing on his podium, waiting patiently to be helped.

He can’t swim. 

Once you’ve joined them, Katniss begins to remove knives from her belt, likely thinking to go and retrieve him. Finnick grabs her shoulder. “I’ll get him.”

Katniss’s face twists. “I can.”

Finnick doesn’t listen to her, shedding his weapons onto the sand. “Better not exert yourself. Not in your condition.” He says, motioning to her belly, reminding her that she’s supposed to be pregnant.

A wave of realization crosses her face, mouth opening to say something. Before she can, Finnick prepares to dive. “Cover me.” He tells you, or her, and then launches off the rock strip.

You look over your shoulder at the Cornucopia, finding that the Careers have made it, and they’re gathering their supplies. You know Gloss, Cashmere and Enobaria fairly well. They weren’t your crowd, especially since you’re dating Johanna—she’s a pot stirrer—but the few conversations you had with them were polite. As for Brutus, you hadn’t seen him before the reaping. He’s an older victor, if you had to guess, he won around the same time as Haymitch. 

Water splashes. You whip in the other direction, worried it’s a stray opponent, and instead see Mags, paddling her way to you guys. She moves a little bit faster than you do, but not faster than Finnick. He’s able to get Peeta and swim him back to the rock before Mags has made it halfway.

“Hello again.” Peeta murmurs to Katniss, they kiss. “We’ve got allies.”

“Yes. Just as Haymitch intended.”

“Remind me, did we make deals with anyone else?” Peeta asks.

“Only Mags, I think.” Katniss nods to her, and she’s almost made it the whole way.

“Well, I can’t leave Mags behind.” Finnick laughs. “She’s one of the few people who actually likes me.”

“I’ve got no problem with Mags. Especially now that I see the arena. Her fishhooks are probably our best chance of getting a meal.” Katniss tells him.

“Katniss wanted her on the first day.” Peeta pitches in.

“Katniss has remarkably good judgement.” Finnick says.

He reaches down into the water once Mags has made it into his arms length. He’s able to scoop her out, her weight playing no factor in his strength. He places her on her feet, and then smooths some of her grey hair out of her eyes.

You do a full turn where you stand, looking for Johanna, hoping you’ll see her.

Between Mags’s accent and the mumbling, you have a hard time trying to figure out what she’s saying. Something about the belts and bobbing, you think. 

“Look, she’s right. Someone figured it out.” Finnick points, you follow his finger and find Beetee, flailing around in the waves, but he’s not drowning.

“What?” Katniss asks.

“The belts. They’re flotation devices.” Finnick says. “I mean, you have to propel yourself, but they’ll keep you from drowning.”

“We should go.” Katniss says.

“Does anyone see Johanna?” You ask, eyes still searching the water. 

“I don’t think she’s on this side of the Cornucopia, (Y/n).” Finnick tells you. “I’m sorry. We should be able to find her later on.”

“You’re sure?” You ask, turning to look at him. “If you’re sure, I’ll go. But if you think we won’t see each other again—”

“I’m sure.” Finnick tells you, his green eyes boring into yours. “It’s Johanna. She loves you. She’s going to find you. And we might even come across her by the end of tonight.”

“Okay.” You nod. “Let’s go, then.”

Mags crawls onto Finnick’s back, holding onto his shoulders tightly. He begins to lead the way down the spoke, with Katniss and Peeta taking the middle, and you slowly following in the back. A part of you waits for her to call your name to bring you back, but you know it’s not going to happen. She’s not here yet. And you can’t wait for her to be.

You’ll see her again soon.

—

As you near where Finnick is sitting on the jungle’s treeline, your body begins to shut down, knowing you’re safe. All it takes is your knee buckling to send you falling to the sand, barely catching yourself before you faceplant.

Since you’re still struggling to breathe, you close your eyes and take deep breaths to get a hold of it. It’s easy to forget just how exhausting the arena is when you’re watching it from the outside. You didn’t win that long ago, and yet your initiation preparation is already leaving. 

It felt like you were being electrocuted when you were woken up by Katniss’s screaming, warning you about the fog. To navigate the jungle’s greenery in the dark is a whole talent that you might’ve discovered. You tripped too many times to count, with how many roots and weeds stick out of the dirt, desperate to take you down. It didn’t help that you were being actively corralled by the Gamemakers via the poisonous fog.

You will say you got lucky, you didn’t get it nearly as bad as the others did. Their blisters cover almost their entire body, even after washing most of it off in the salt water. You mostly got it in patches on your arms and legs, because you were running for your life, willing to leave them behind to save yourself.

And then to immediately be attacked by mutts less than an hour later… Peeta had gone into the jungle to begin to drill into a tree to get water, and when you went to join him, there were these monkey mutts on the tree branches. They completely surrounded you, but their attention was on Peeta, who was oblivious.

Well, until he could sense the danger, then it was all over from there. There were monkeys flying at you from every direction, angry and ready to attack. Between only four of you, it was impossible to keep up. And they didn’t slow down. It wasn’t until Peeta was vulnerable, did things get serious.

A monkey went flying at him, Katniss went to rescue him, but right before he was tackled, an ally—the woman from District Six—came running out a tree she’d camouflaged herself into. She got right between the monkey and Peeta, killing herself but saving him in the process. 

As soon as the mutts had gotten their kill, they backed out. Peeta and Katniss are sending the woman off in the water now. She’s not going to make it. The fangs punctured vital parts of her chest, leaving deep holes. You had to walk away.

“It’s a good thing you’re with us.” Finnick says. “I don’t think we would’ve found a good path getting away from the fog.”

“You’re just being nice. I should’ve helped more.” You tell him.

“You did help. You found us a path.” Finnick says. “Besides, we definitely would’ve had trouble with those mutts.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen tributes get attacked back-to-back like that by the Gamemakers.” You murmur, using your finger to draw in the sand.

“I haven’t, either. There’s something going on.”

“I hope Johanna’s okay.” You look up at the jungle. She could be anywhere in there.

“It’s Johanna.” Finnick says, trying to comfort you. “She’s smart. She survived the bloodbath, and so did Blight. They’re probably together.”

You hum. Katniss drags her feet through the sand, coming in your direction. She’s got this solemn expression on her face, probably having something to do with the dead victor they had to say goodbye to. She stands over you two for a second before she speaks.

“Why don’t you two get some rest?” She asks. “I’ll watch for a while.”

“No, Katniss, I’d rather.” Finnick says.

All it takes is one look at his face, and she nods. “All right, Finnick, thanks.” 

She moves away, going to join Peeta, who’s already laid down on the beach. You watch them for a couple of seconds, before you look back at Finnick. There’s tears in his eyes, he swallows thickly. He must be thinking about Mags. You lost her during the fog.

“Do you want me to move?” You ask.

“No, it’s okay.” He tells you, wiping his eyes. “I want a minute.”

“Take as many as you need.” You tell him, looking away to give him some privacy.

The two of you sit on the beach, watching the sunrise, wordless. Katniss and Peeta toss and turn several times, trying to get comfortable on the uneven ground. For a while, Finnick sits still, and then he gets restless and gets up to gather some giant leaves from the jungle. He works beside you, creating mats that he hangs on the tree branches to give Katniss and Peeta shade while they sleep.

He moves on to making three tightly woven bowls. You take two of them from him to fill with water, which he thanks you for. He takes the third bowl and goes poking around in the saltwater. By the time the two of you come back together, he’s got a full bowl of shellfish. He shows you how to crack the shells open, and you try a couple of them.

“How do you like it?” He asks.

“I don’t.” You tell him honestly. “But it’s food, and I’ll eat anything right now.”

“Do you like fish better?” He asks, eyebrows raising.

You shrug, playing with a shell. “Not a lot of fish to go around District Five.”

“Really? You’re on the coast.”

“Not me, I live closer to the Capitol than I do to the water.” You tell him.

His face twists, tilting his head back while he stares at the sky, trying to picture it in his mind. “Where’s your Justice Building, then?”

“In the middle.”

His face twists.

There’s movement out of the corner of your eye, causing you to turn quickly to see what it is, but it’s only Katniss. She’s rubbing sand out of her eye, a quiet yawn leaves her lips before she blinks to focus. 

Finnick holds up one of the shellfish. “They’re better fresh.” He tells her, cracking it open and ripping a chunk of the flesh out.

She reaches forward to grab one, but stops at the sight of her hands. She scowls, beginning to get to her feet.

“You know, if you scratch you’ll bring on infection.” Finnick tells her sarcastically.

“That’s what I’ve heard.” She says back to him. She washes her hands off in the saltwater, and dries her hands by shaking her hands. She stops suddenly after she’s taken a few steps in your direction, throwing her head back. “Hey, Haymitch, if you’re not too drunk, we could use a little something for our skin.”

The parachute appears seconds later, as if Haymitch was just waiting for her to ask. She takes something in the palm of her hand, muttering, “About time.” And then she comes toward you two, taking a seat in the sand.

She unscrews the cap and begins to squeeze the ointment onto her palm. It’s thick, and dark, and it smells disgusting. She hesitates for a second, but as soon as she begins to massage it into her leg, she lets out a moan. Once she starts on her other leg, she hands it off to Finnick.

“It’s like you’re decomposing.” Finnick tells her, because it’s staining her skin a grey-green color. But he follows her example, and rubs it onto his scabs. 

“Poor Finnick. Is this the first time in your life you haven’t looked pretty?” Katniss teases.

“It must be. The sensation’s completely new. How have you managed it all these years?” He asks, passing the tube to you.

“Just avoid mirrors. You’ll forget about it.” She remarks.

You spread some of the ointment across the itchy patches, and as soon as it comes into contact with your skin, it disappears completely.

“Not if I keep looking at you.” Finnicks says back to her.

You begin to feel better once you’re covered. Katniss and Finnick are able to move more freely, too. When they’re done rubbing it on the exposed skin of each other’s backs, Katniss gets to her feet. “I’m going to wake Peeta.”

“No, wait.” Finnick gets up to join her. “Let’s do it together. Put our faces right in front of his. Come on, (Y/n).”

“His heart has stopped once already, I don’t want to share the responsibility for killing him again.” You tell them.

Finnick laughs. “I’ll just perform CPR again.”

You roll your eyes with a smile, watching them get in front of Peeta’s face. Katniss gently wakes him, shaking him, softly saying his name. His eyes flutter open, as if he’s a storybook princess, but then a scream leaves his mouth and he jumps three feet in the air.

Katniss and Finnick fall back away from him, laughing their asses off, rolling around in the sand. You join in on their laughter, but Peeta’s trying not to encourage their behavior by crossing his arms. All it does is set them off into giggle fits, where he struggles to fight off a smile.

“Guys.” You point at a parachute that’s coming down in your direction. 

Finnick pulls his attention away to see what you’re pointing at. He catches the loaf in his hands, examining it carefully. It’s one of the Capitol’s specialty loaves that they make in association with a district. This one is tinted green, marking it as District Four’s.

“This will go well with the shellfish.” He announces.

While Katniss helps Peeta with getting a layer of the ointment on his skin, you help Finnick clean the meat from the shellfish. He’s quicker than you are, but he appreciates the help. When it’s time, you gather together and eat the meat with the salty bread, taking healthy gulps of water in between.

It isn’t until you’re almost done, a few pieces left, does a scream erupt out from the far side of the jungle, causing each one of you to freeze and observe. A wedge on the other side is shaking, like an earthquake. Then, a huge wave breaks through the trees, soaring higher than the tallest one, coming down the hill fast. It hits the center water, causing a large ripple to spread out.

The four of you jump to your feet, watching as the tide reaches your knees, raising your belongings out of the sand. It takes a couple of seconds for you to grab what belongs to you, besides the jumpsuits, which have been eaten away by the fog so badly that they’re nothing but rags. You let it go.

A cannon fires. A hovercraft appears over the area, a claw being sent down to retrieve the body. It grabs them, pulls them out, and then disappears inside of the ship, which blends in with thin air seconds later.

As you begin to settle back down onto wet sand, Katniss halts. “There.” She whispers, nodding ahead.

You follow her gaze, seeing three people stumble onto the beach. The others retreat into the jungle treeline, trying to hide in the shadow, but you observe, squinting. They’re in rough shape, one of them is getting dragged out by a second, and the third one is wandering around in circles. They’re all covered in a dark red.

“Who is that?” Peeta asks. “Or what? Muttations?”

Katniss grabs an arrow, drawing it back on her bow. You hold a hand out to stop her, watching as the first person collapses on the beach, causing the second one to stomp their feet, turning to push the third one over.

“Johanna.” You say, moving forward. “Johanna!”

Johanna whips around to follow your voice. “(Y/n)!”

“Johanna!” You shout, sprinting across the sand. She throws her arms out to catch you as you collide into her body. Her hand hands the back of your head, squeezing you into her chest tightly. After a few breaths, all you smell is blood, so you pull back to look at her. “You’re not hurt, are you?”

Finnick has appeared at your side.

“No, I’m not hurt, babe. This idiot is, though.” She motions at the one laying in the sand, and now that you’re closer, you can see that it’s Beetee. The one walking in circles is Wiress, and she’s muttering something to herself.

“What happened?” You ask, rubbing the red on her skin.

She motions to the jungle. “We thought it was rain, you know, because of the lightning, and we were all so thirsty. But when it started coming down, it turned out to be blood. Thick, hot blood. You couldn’t see, you couldn’t speak without getting a mouthful. We just staggered around, trying to get out of it. That’s when Blight hit the force field.”

“Oh, Johanna.” You murmur.

“I’m sorry, Johanna.” Finnick says, Katniss and Peeta are just joining you.

“Yeah, well, he wasn’t much, but he was from home.” She says, she looks at you for a long moment. And then down at Beetee in the sand. “And he left me alone with these two.” She nudges him with the toe of her shoe. “He got a knife in the back at the Cornucopia. And her—”

All attention is on Wiress for a moment, “Tick, tock. Tick, tock.”

“Yeah, we know. Tick, tock. Nuts is in shock.” Johanna says, which seems to draw Wiress to her. As soon as Wiress begins to touch her, she loses her patience, shoving her down to the beach. “Just stay down, will you?”

You shake your head, putting a hand on her chest.

“Lay off her.” Katniss snaps, making it worse.

Johanna’s eyes narrow in her direction. “Lay off her?” She hisses. Before anyone can stop her, she slaps Katniss across the face. “Who do you think got them out of that bleeding jungle for you? You—”

“Woah!” You push Johanna back, and when she doesn’t budge, Finnick comes to your aid.

He throws her over his shoulder, but this doesn’t stop her from screaming insults at Katniss for her disrespect. You stand with Finnick in the water, watching as he dunks Johanna beneath the surface, turning the water pink. After about the twentieth time, she begins to calm down and come to reason.

“You’re going to apologize to her, Johanna.” You say. “That was uncalled for.”

“I’m dealing with a lot.” Her voice is harsh, but you’re not taking it personally. “It took me hours to get them down to the beach. Wiress kept running off, and Beetee’s as useless as that stupid spool of wire that I had to carry down for him.”

You take handfuls of water to dump in her hair, scratching it gently to get the dried bits off. She begins to relax, eyes closed, head tilted back. “I’m sorry I couldn’t wait for you at the Cornucopia.”

“It was better you didn’t.” She tells you. “When Beetee was finally done splashing around, he ran right into the Careers. If Blight weren’t there, he probably would’ve died because of it. He’s lucky all he got was a knife.”

“Did you get hurt at all?”

“No, none of them were able to touch me. We made it out to the jungle just fine. Wiress was still stable so she was guiding us to water for a while.”

“There’s no water in the jungle.” Finnick tells her.

“I figured that out after a while, but it shut them up so I went with it.” She admits. “Do you have any?”

“We can get water.” You tell her, wiping her eyes free of the salt. “And Finnick can get more shellfish, right?”

Finnick nods, “I can start, give you guys some privacy.”

“That would be nice, Finnick. Thank you.” You nod.

He wades away, you turn your attention to Johanna, who’s opened her eyes. You get to her level in the water, a smile on your face. She shakes her head, “Are you okay?”

“Besides some scabs and cuts, I’m fine. I’ve been worse.”

“Good.” She murmurs. “I was worried about you, but I saw that you were with Finnick and Mags, so I knew you’d be okay.”

“He’s got my back.” You agree. “I almost didn’t go with them. I had to tell him if he thought we wouldn’t see each other again, that I’d go back to the Cornucopia.”

“I’ll always find you, babe.” She tells you. “I will always get back to you.”

[hollowed-theory-hall]

Hey, just a thought I've had about Fleur and Veela in general that's been floating in my head, and I thought you might appreciate it; I don't think Veela have hybrid offspring. Unless they reproduce asexually, there are male Veela, or two female Veela can produce an offspring, than all Veela have a non-Veela parent. The books don't really give Veela much attention, so all of that is certainly possible, but I like to consider other possibilities. We never see Fleur describe herself as quarter-Veela, correct me if I'm wrong, but it was only ever other charcters saying she was rumored to be quarter-Veela. This may be a rumor spread by Fleur's family: non-wizards aren't allowed to carry wands, at least in Britain, treating her like a witch with Veela ancestory would improve how she was treated immensely. I mean, like how parents with black hair and blonde hair wouldn't really have a child with both their hair colors. It's be whichever one is dominant. I consider Veela to be the dominant trait. Maybe all daughters are Veela, and sons non-Veela. Essentially, there is no thing as a pure Veela, or maybe, all Veela give birth to pure Veelas, and claiming a partial inheritance gives them better rights in the wizarding world. Just my headcanon I guess.

I'm not sure about that... Like, my knee-jerk reaction is that there is a difference between part-Veela and ful-Veela.

Like, the main reason I say that is that Harry has a different reaction to full-Veelas than to Fleur (and even her mother who should be a hlaf-Veela):

Looking careworn, she [Fleur] left the room. Ron still seemed slightly punch-drunk; he was shaking his head experimentally like a dog trying to rid its ears of water. “Don’t you get used to her if she’s staying in the same house?” Harry asked. “Well, you do,” said Ron, “but if she jumps out at you unexpectedly, like then . . .”

(HBP, 93)

Harry has no reaction to Fleur's Veela magic. None. Even though others do react to them. Same with Fleur's mother who Harry notes is beautiful, but he isn't reacting to the magic:

Mr. Weasley, who appeared at the gate moments later, laden with luggage and leading a beautiful blonde woman in long, leaf-green robes, who could only be Fleur’s mother.

(DH, 107)

I think that is because he's gay (or at least not interested in women). But even he still reacts to the magic of full-Veela:

But a hundred veela were now gliding out onto the field, and Harry’s question was answered for him. Veela were women . . . the most beautiful women Harry had ever seen . . . except that they weren’t — they couldn’t be — human. This puzzled Harry for a moment while he tried to guess what exactly they could be; what could make their skin shine moon-bright like that, or their white-gold hair fan out behind them without wind . . . but then the music started, and Harry stopped worrying about them not being human — in fact, he stopped worrying about anything at all. [...] And as the veela danced faster and faster, wild, half-formed thoughts started chasing through Harry’s dazed mind. He wanted to do something very impressive, right now. Jumping from the box into the stadium seemed a good idea . . . but would it be good enough? “Harry, what are you doing?” said Hermione’s voice from a long way off. The music stopped. Harry blinked. He was standing up, and one of his legs was resting on the wall of the box. Next to him, Ron was frozen in an attitude that looked as though he were about to dive from a springboard.

(GoF, 103)

Similarly, the full-Veela in the Quidditch World Cup have abilities Fleur doesn't seem to have:

At this, the veela lost control. Instead of dancing, they launched themselves across the field and began throwing what seemed to be handfuls of fire at the leprechauns. Watching through his Omnioculars, Harry saw that they didn’t look remotely beautiful now. On the contrary, their faces were elongating into sharp, cruel-beaked bird heads, and long, scaly wings were bursting from their shoulders —

(GoF, 111)

Additionally, the fact that Veela can get pregnant and reproduce with humans kind of erases the option of asexual reproduction. Yeah, I know they're magic, but if they didn't need to get pregnant the regular human way for the continuation of their species, they wouldn't be capable of it (especially as the Harry Potter version of Veela aren't immortal like their folklore variants). So, that brings us to the lack of male Veela.

You are right that male Veela are pretty necessary to have a difference between full-Veelas and part-Veelas. While the Harry Potter books don't really give an answer regarding Veela reproduction, I went to the mythology JKR based on them.

"Veela" is an Anglicized form of the name "Vila" which is a fairy-like spirit from Slavic folklore portrayed as a nature spirit like nymphs in Greek Mythology. Both nymphs and Vila are portrayed as only women, but they are also portrayed as minor deities, as immortal and eternal like the nature they represent with abilities the Harry Potter Veela do not have. Veela very in mythology quite a bit but they tend to be shapeshifters often living in a water source. Regardless, they are only female in myth as well and I couldn't find anything about their births. I found one source that claimed a child of a Veela and a human man would be a half-Veela but it didn't discuss how full Veela came into being. Since the mythology Veela are immortal spirits of nature they are born out of trees and rivers, representing nature itself. So, unless this is the case in Harry Potter (I don't think it fits the worldbuilding much) this front didn't give us answers.

So, I went to Bill and Fleur's wedding to see if I could spot a potential male Veela or male part Veela. And the answer is I couldn't. It also seems like all part-Veela share the same hair, eyes, skin color, and general appearance regardless of who the father is, so you are right about the Veela gens being the more dominant ones (Fleur and Gabrielle are both described with silvery blond Veela hair like their mother, even though their father has black hair and is described as plump).

So, yeah, speaking of the info we have in canon it's actually possible part-Veela don't really exist and that Veela can just choose to activate their charming magic in a more active way (that affects Harry, like in the Quidditch World Cup) or not and remain with just their passive charm (that doesn't affect Harry). But this doesn't really give an answer to the extra abilities full-Veela seem to have that part-Veela don't.

Another issue I have with this theory is that if Veela were indeed born this way for centuries, there is no way anyone would believe Fleur is a quarter-Veela. I mean, wizards are dense often enough, but I don't think they are that stupid. They would know how Veela reproduce and then not believe said rumors.

I think JKR just didn't think through all the implications of how she portrayed Veela...

Point is, your headcanon is possible, and you can headcanon it but I personally prefer to think of Fleur as a quarter-Veela and believe male Veela do exist. Because they do sorta exist in myth.

There are Näcken from German and Scandinavian folklore that are shapeshifting water spirits that are portrayed as handsome men, they occasionally lure people to their deaths and occasionally fall in love with human women and go live with them. The Näcken in Scandinavian folklore are always portrayed as male. In German mythology Nixie or Nixe can be either male or female from what I read. So, male Veela could exist and just potentially be known by a different name with slightly different abilities.

I mean, the Veela in Harry Potter attract people with dancing and music, the Näcken plays the violin to lure people to drown. Both are shapeshifters that are spirits of nature (Veela in various locations: forests, air, and water while the Näcken are only associated with water). Both are sometimes malevolent and sometimes helpful to humans. There are a lot of similarities so I like to headcanon them as sorta of the same species but with different typical appearance and name, hence the confusion.

So in a sense, there are no full-Veela males, but the other similar creatures, Näcken. Now, I'm not sure if half-Veela and half-Näcken would be the same or different, but that's a whole other discussion and goes more heavily into my headcanons.

I can't speak to what JKR intended, but your headcanon is possible. I just prefer to imagine "male Veela" and "male part-Veela" are out there somewhere (the quotation marks because they use a name that isn't Veela, the full ones at least).

[yoruio]

Post!Hour of Joy Catnap x Reader HCs:

Genre: Fluff!!!!!!

AN: really short thingy I did, cant get the catnap brainrot outta my head, based him off a house cat a tad bit too much

☾ Catnap took some time to get used to you. And a lot of sweets— but in the end it all seemed to work out!

☾ The first few days, Catnap would stalk around the playroom to avoid the kids running about just so he could see what you were up to!

☾ Kickin and Hoppy would always spot him and pull him back into the play area every time he got caught.

☾ Catnap is not the one to give up easily and would sneak out during recess time and leave little trinkets on your desk

☾ Ever since you taught him how to be more social, he and the kids that would go to Playcare grew to become very close and would help him do tasks that require smaller hands, like folding paper or coloring with crayons.

☾ It's a miracle how he was able to find your quarters in this massive establishment.

☾ The first time it happened you saw a little purple paper cat with a tiny moon charm on it's chest. Hmm, you wonder who this came from.

☾ The next time you saw Catnap you didn't forget to give him a head scritch and a cheery "Thank you!"

☾ Catnap then on would find ways to sneak handcrafted toys into your office.

☾ Congrats, you're now his favorite person in the whole world!!! Till this day the little paper cat still stands on your desk.

☾ Catnap would always draw you every time there were arts and crafts activities in the playcare.

☾ Catnap doesn't know how Craftycorn works her magic with those hooves of hers, but the least he could do is draw a messy stickman of you. And what do you know, you adored his drawing! And now it's hung on a little frame in your room!

☾ Catnap, after you'd visit him around working hours his mood would noticeably get more lively... So lively in fact that he dashes all over the room like those house cats getting the zoomies. Dogday's in awe at how fast his sleepy buddy was. Hey, if the kids are having fun then he guesses it's fine!

☾ Despite Catnap's distorted voice box you never really minded how brief his answers were.

"You want to eat?" you chuckled. Lowering the box you were carrying to meet his gaze.

"No." he spoke, staring at you with his dotted white pupils.

"Uhm... Need something from me?" you asked curiously. You wondered what he wanted.

"...No..." He spoke again.

"You're just here to bug me, are you?" you huffed, a small smile etched on your face as you stared up the purple cat.

"..." His long tail twirled deviously.

You raise your brow at him with your arms crossed over your chest.

"Yes."

☾ The other smiling critters seem to like this side of the purple cat too! But what they don't enjoy is how loud his purring gets whenever he naps.

☾ Catnap likes to laze in your office at night. He often curls himself around your desk chair as you work. His soft purple fur a great insulator against the cold room.

☾ Catnap tends to be more active at night, hence the reason he's always scratching your bedpost. On some occasions, he'd even stretch like a cat.

☾ You made sure that after you'd finished all your paperwork you would snuggle up with him on the floor since he was a tad too big for the bed Play Co. provided for you.

☾ He hoped things would never change.

Ik ik its boring but I've been wanting a bit of sweet stuff yknow

This the thing Catnap made for u btw :>

Peper kat!!!!!!!

[fallenclan]

The Worry Box - Chapter 5: Altschmerz

a/n: hey guys it's lollipop have u missed me :3 back with a worry box chapter after [checks calendar] 7 months!!!!! rejoice!!!!

–

“I'm worried about Rowankit,” Newtscar mutters.

Silverbelly looks up from her herb sorting, and turns to face Newtscar.

Sometimes, Newtscar just walks into the medicine den and makes herself at home. Silverbelly won't begrudge her of that simple comfort.

She wishes Bluefern would come to her. She wishes Evie and Moxie would come to her, and she wishes Oaktuft and Goldenstar and everyone else who wouldn't come to her would. But they don't. She takes what she can get.

“Worried how? Emotional, physical–”

Because stars forbid Rowankit, or any of the kits for that matter, remembered it. They'd had nightmares for a quarter moon, and Mistykit had finally slept a full night just yesterday. They were all still confused, missed their siblings, but with any luck they wouldn't remember it.

“She winces when she plays,” Newtscar says. “I didn't– I didn't pick up on it until today, but she was whimpering, Silverbelly, I–”

“We can go look at her now,” Silverbelly interrupts. Because she knows Newtscar, and she knows that Newtscar is prone to the same sort of spiraling thinking of oh stars this is all my fault that Silverbelly is.

Newtscar briefly nods, and Silverbelly trails behind her as she walks back towards the nursery.

It's getting dark. The moon hangs heavy in the sky. She catches a glimpse of the clearing, where red still stains some dirt, and her wrenches her eyes away.

Bluefern blearily opens her eyes when Silverbelly and Newtscar come in.

“Hi, Silverbelly. I thought you just looked at me yesterday?”

“I'm looking at Rowankit today, I'm afraid,” she says. She kneels down to look at Rowankit, who is sitting next to Moxie.

“You think somethings wrong with her?” Moxie whispers, practically hovering over her as Silverbelly noses a very confused Rowankit. “She's--she's completely fine. I've been careful with her, the kits have been careful, everyone has been careful. We haven't talked about it around her, and–”

“Newtscar,” Silverbelly says. Moxie falls entirely silent, practically holding her breath. “Fetch Oaktuft.”

–

“You think it's permanent?” Oaktuft asks. It's not as much of a question as it is a confirmation.

“Yes,” Silverbelly says. “Lichenstripe once told me of a kitten with achy joints, back in Shallowclan. Her joints never stopped aching, even as she matured. I believe it's the case with Rowankit.”

“I see,” Moxie says. “Thanks for catching that, I hardly even noticed. Sometimes kits just get back up slower, you know?”

Rowankit sleeps peacefully next to Sleepykit, because Bluefern said that kits shouldn't sleep by themselves. So, every queen just cuddles around their kits in a giant cuddle pile every night. It's extremely endearing.

“Yes,” Silverbelly nods. “If she starts looking particularly shaky, take her to my den. I have herbs that can help soothe her joints.”

Moxie and Oaktuft nods, and that's that. Newtscar looks relieved.

Silverbelly leaves for her own den, and seed Stormsight remaking his nest, for possibly thr fourth time that day.

“What's on your mind?”

“Ah, not much,” Stormsight absently replies. “Just thinking.”

“Hm,” she grunts, and lays in her own nest. She casts a careful eye to Eaglepaw, who was already dozing off. She chooses sleep.

–

“Toro?”

The white cat keeps walking, just fast enough to outpace her.

“Toro!”

Thunder cracks over her.

The white cat turns around. They are faceless, though they look suspiciously like her dead mother.

She feels something brush against her. She whips around.

Nothing is there, except a single brown pebble.

“Stupid fucking rocks,” she mutters. “Stupid fucking dreams. Stupid fucking rogues.”

She hears shouting. She hears thunder, rumbling. Rain pattering, but none of it falls on her.

She steps closer to the cliff. Sunwish would tell her that was a bad idea, and she should wait until something happens naturally.

Ah, well. Silverbelly never has liked waiting.

One step forward.

“Hello?” Her voice calls.

She stills.

“I didn't say anything,” she whispers. “What?”

Something slams into her. She stumbles, and stares at the thorny vines and sharp rocks that await her at the bottom of this drop.

Falling.

Air rushing past her.

The odd feeling of victory, of revenge, of deserved deserved he deserved it.

guilt guilt shame shame why did you do it

Why did you

why did you do it?

it was for her

no.

he deserved it.

Silverbelly blinks her eyes open, facing the dark stone of her den and breathing the sharp tang of herbs.

–

“Nightmares,” Flyspots flatly says. “Nightmares, for moons.”

Silverbelly had taken the apprentices out, for some basic medical training. Because stars forbid some cat died on patrol over preventable injuries, and stars forbid some cat had a panic attack on patrol and nobody knew what to do.

“Yes,” Stormsight says. “Since the rogue attack, apparently.”

Silverbelly had covered all her bases. She had gone over what berries they don't need to be touching, let alone eating, what stupid tricks simply weren't worth it, which included backsliding off a branch of the Sky Pine, and basic medicinal herbs they could use on patrol.

“And I was going to find out about this when?” Flyspots says, from his awkward position. Wormshade stands next to him, looking a bit offended.

“Whenever he was comfortable,” Stormsight shrugs. “I'm sure he'd rather you not have found out about it like this either, but here we are.”

She'd gotten to the specific spot where she planned to discuss anxiety and panic attacks, and as she explained symptoms of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, she watched every apprentice slowly turn to look at Beepaw, who looked like he wanted to sink into a puddle.

“I just– I don't understand why he'd keep this from us.” Flyspots is practically dragging the words. “We're not that unapproachable?”

Silverbelly immediately shakes her head. “No. No, absolutely not. You're good parents, both of you.”

“So then, why?”

“You'd have to ask him.”

She remembers watery eyes, once Maplethorn had taken the rest of the apprentices back to camp. She remembers guilt and all my fault and she remembers things that weren't true.

“Just keep an extra eye on him,” Stormsight says. “Don't force him to come to you, but gently encourage it instead.”

Wormshade nods.

Silverbelly, clear as day, remembered sneaking out with Applebranch when they were still just Silverpaw and Applepaw. When they were still Silverpaw and Applepaw, before all the rocks and the omens and the death death death that left a bitter tang on her tongue when she managed to choke it down. She always snuck out through the tunnel behind the elders den, suppressing giggles and laughter when they finally squirmed out of the rocks.

Beepaw and Spiderpaw had both snuck out. Beepaw and Spiderpaw had managed to avoid the bloodshed. They returned in the middle of the night to eleven dead cats and their sibling badly wounded. They returned in the middle of the night to a red stained clearing.

And so, Beepaw told her, he couldn't stop considering the what-if's.

“Maybe, maybe if I wasn't gone–”

Silverbelly knows, as it is, that nobody has recovered. Not really. She still hears the occasional yowl, and she still sees Goldenstar sit on the high rocks whenever he can't sleep. She sees Bluefern pacing, and she sees Evie with one eye on the entrance, and she sees Robinblaze padding into camp at late hours of the night. She watches Eaglepaw scrabble at nothing in her sleep, and she hears shrill screams from the apprentices den. Things will get better, but she doesn't know when.

“I'm sorry for sneaking out,” Beepaw had said. “I should have been there to help.”

“Don't be sorry for saving your own life,” Silverbelly had replied. “I'm never going to be angry at you for being a kid, okay?”

“I'm not a kid,” Beepaw protested.

“You're still a moon old to me,” Silverbelly said.

“Yeah, okay gran. You're literally dissolving into dust as we speak, that's how prehistoric you are!”

Silverbelly laughed, and Beepaw laughed, and for a moment everything was fine.

“He'll get better, with time,” Stormsight assures. “For now, it's just a matter of supporting him where it's needed.”

Wormshade nods. “I'll do my best.”

–

Things get better over time.

She supposes that this theory can also be attributed to Goldenstar's odd, belated grieving process. For maybe fifty moons, he never let anyone close, and now he's making friends with Celia of all cats.

He decides, in his typical impulsive manner, to take a last second trip to the glow cave.

“Before I say anything, I want to ask Morningbloom and Sunwish. Can you do that, like can you ask a specific cat?”

Silverbelly shrugs. “I don't see why not. And what do you need to ask them for anyways?”

“I wanna know what they think of Celia,” Goldenstar replies.

“Oh? Did I miss something?”

“I'm thinking about asking him,” Goldenstar says. She nods, and he continues, “but I don't want Morningbloom to think I'm replacing her. I'd never do that. So, if she disapproves, then I won't.”

Silverbelly debates with herself for a moment. The relationship between Goldenstar and his dead loved ones was a tense, fragile thing. Trying to understand it was difficult. He spoke to Morningbloom and Sunwish and Honeygleam in dreams like they were still alive, like they had never been cruelly taken away from him before he was ready to say goodbye.

“I don’t think that loving Celia means you don’t love her,” she finally says. “Celia has been good for you.”

“I don’t want her to think I don’t love her,” Goldenstar murmurs. “Because I don’t think I could ever stop loving her to begin with.”

“Morningbloom would want what’s best for you,” Silverbelly says. She’s careful with her wording, because the last thing she needed was to set him off and revert him back twenty moons of healing.

“She would,” Goldenstar says. “I just want to make sure.”

They stop at the mouth of the cave.

“I’m sure you know the drill by now,” she says. A firefly flickers in the dim light. “Follow the glowing mushrooms, until you’re in the mouth of the cave.”

“You’re not coming in with me?” Goldenstar glances at her, then at the setting sun.

“I’m sure you can handle the trip on your own,” she says.

The real answer was that Starclan has certainly had no issues reaching her from the comfort of her own nest. In a place as spiritual as this, she’d never get a moment of rest within the cave. It was easier to stay outside and pretend like she wanted to watch the stars, or stay to keep watch.

After a long moment, Goldenstar finally sighs, “Alright. I’ll see you in the morning, I suppose.”

She thinly nods, and watches him disappear into the cave.

–

Sleep finds her anyways, between the sound of cicadas and owls hooting. She walks around in the dimly lit space, until she spots a light.

No. That wasn’t necessary. Lights are pointless. They may take her to the same space again.

She considers her surroundings, a bleak wasteland of mud and rotting leaves, and considers that anything would be better than here. So, she walks towards the light, mud dragging at her paws.

“Maybe Sunwish was right, when she said that being a medicine cat is miserable,” she mutters.

“Now don’t say that,” some cat whispers. A familiar voice.

“Sunwish?” She almost turns around, but a firm paw places itself on her cheek.

“Nice to see you too,” Sunwish grunts. “Don’t look behind you. Just keep walking.”

“Where am I?” She asks, between the awful sensation of mud between her toes, cementing between her pawpads. “What is this place?”

“Breezeshadow decided we needed a place to send evil cats, once they perished,” Sunwish steadily answers. “This is the Place of No Stars.” She hums, and continues: “It’s a bit of a mouthful though, I just call it the dark forest. We’re in the outskirts of it.”

“Is Goldenstar here too?” Silverbelly asks. “I should have gone with him.”

“Yes, you should have, but there’s no use dwelling on that,” Sunwish says. “But, I can assure you that he’s not here with you. Toro escorted him to our grounds.”

“Toro,” Silverbelly whispers. “How is she?”

“As well as she could be, with these circumstances,” Sunwish replies. “She gets along quite well with Breezeshadow, which is a relief.”

“Ah.”

“I suppose you didn’t want to go into the Glowcave today for personal reasons,” Sunwish begins. The dim light grows stronger. “But that isn’t important.”

“You don’t get it,” she says. Despite her respect for her mentor, it was easy to say the words. “You weren’t kept awake every night for stupid reasons.”

“The visions you receive aren’t stupid,” Sunwish chides. “They all have a purpose, and show you things most cats aren’t privileged enough to receive.” Her mentor’s voice echoes behind her. “I suppose you’re right, in that I don’t understand. I never did quite have the connection that you and Stormsight have. Maybe it would have made you easier to understand, back when I was still around.”

“I wish you would just tell me what I need to know,” Silverbelly glares. “Why can’t you do that?”

“I’m not the one sending you visions most of the time,” Sunwish says. Her tail glides over Silverbelly’s back for a brief second, and she stops. “That’s more up Breezeshadow’s alley.”

“But you know what’s going to happen,” Silverbelly accuses.

“No,” Sunwish says.

“You don’t understand how long I’ve been thinking about it,” she says, voice growing thin with desperation. “Please, you have to know something!”

Sunwish continues walking her along, but Silverbelly can tell that she's thinking.

“I think that you think being dead inherently makes a cat all knowing,” Sunwish finally says. “It doesn’t. The visions you receive scarcely are gifted to Starclan cats, but rather come from the Ancients. All we do is pass it along.”

“That doesn’t make sense.”

“You’re right, it doesn’t,” Sunwish hums. Silverbelly can see the sparkling light of Starclan’s grounds. “But it doesn’t change that I can’t help you with your visions. There are some things you need to figure out on your own.”

“I’ve tried,” she snaps. “I’ve had the same vision for 40 some moons, and you can’t give me a little help with it?

Silverbelly stops at the hole, into light and bliss and eternal greenleaf. She turns around.

Sunwish is staring at her, with mild remorse. “Maybe one day, you’ll understand.”

The vision of her mentor spurts blood at the neck, and dissipates into the ground, becoming just another shadowy figure. Startled, she steps away, trips over her tail, and falls, facing the sky.

“It’s Silverbelly!” A little voice squeals. “Smokekit, I told you I saw her!”

“That was dumb luck,” a second voice calls.

“Silverbelly! Silverbelly!” A third voice squeaks. “Are you okay? You look sad.”

Silverbelly blinks her eyes open. Four small blurs of fur are standing over her, in shades of gray, brown, black and white.

“Sandykit,” she realizes. “Smokekit. Icekit. Ravenkit.”

Sandykit startles backwards. Icekit and Smokekit break into cheers. Ravenkit continues prodding at her forehead.

“Are you dead too? Is that why you’re here?”

“No,” she says. “I don’t think so.” She rolls over, shaking off her pelt. “Do you know where we are?”

Ravenkit tilts his head. “Normally we sleep over there,” he says, stretching out a paw to a nice, distant swath of pine trees and rocks. “We snuck out to play, though.”

“Why did you sneak out?” Silverbelly asks.

“Because Toro was busy, and Rabbitpounce didn’t want to take us,” Smokekit answers. “He’s no fun anymore. He’s just in his nest all day.”

Silverbelly knows the issue already. Molesong hardly knew how to be a single mother, even with her family helping her. Eaglepaw and Hawkpaw both missed their father deeply. Of course Rabbitpounce felt guilt for something out of his control.

“You shouldn’t sneak out,” Silverbelly says. “He’s probably worried about you.”

Sandykit frowns “Told you so.”

Icekit and Smokekit’s previous elation fades, and they blow raspberries at Sandykit.

Ravenkit solemnly nods. “Yeah, I guess.”

“How about you take me back home?” Silverbelly asks. “You can show me all your favorite spots on the way.”

The kits look at eachother, then chorus: “Okay!”

—

She gets dizzy on the way back. She’s sure that the kits notice, when she has to stop every so often. It’s probably more noticeable, considering that they never get tired. But, they’re almost there, so she’s not too worried.

There aren’t many cats in the Starclan camp. She supposes most must simply be out and about, receiving prophecies and whatnot.

“Nah, Breezeshadow mostly does that,” Ravenkit says. “Most of the time, the older cats get prophecies. Like Tawnyash and Morningpetal.”

“Her name is Morningbloom,” Sandykit proudly corrects. Ravenkit sticks his tongue out at him.

“Yeah, normally we just go play,” Icekit adds. “Toro just says we aren’t allowed to go anywhere where we can’t see the sun.”

Silverbelly considers the area where she woke up, a dense forest where shadow took up more space than the sun. “You weren’t supposed to be in the place you found me at.”

The kits look sheepish. “Sorry, Silverbelly.”

She sighs. “What’s important is that you’re safe.”

She stops at a river. The blue water churns past her. It's speckled with stars and moondust, and hopes that flickered through her clan. She dips her face in it, allowing the cool water to splash her muzzle. She figures it probably shouldn’t be drunk from. She’s never been one to mess with spirit water.

Smokekit and Icekit skip down the river. Ravenkit and Sandykit follow, and Silverbelly picks herself up to move with them.

“There’s stepping stones that we use to cross the river down here,” Icekit announces, then sheepishly adds: “Toro says it’s not safe to swim in the river.”

“I can see why,” she says. “It’s very rough. The current might drag you down.”

She follows them to the stones, watching their tiny little star specked bodies go from one smooth rock to the next.

Eventually, they end up to the hollow that the kits were talking about. There are several nests, stuffed with perfect downy feathers and soft moss. One of the several nests are occupied.

“Rabbitpounce.”

Rabbitpounce opens his eyes, then wildly blinks. “Silverbelly? What are you doing here? Are Eaglepaw and Hawkpaw okay? How are Bluefern and Blizzardfang? Do you–”

“Slow down,” she stops. “I can’t stay, I’m just dropping off some kits.”

Somewhere within the time allocated for Rabbitpounce’s panic, all four kits had managed to hide themselves behind Silverbelly. She shoos them in front of her with her tail.

“What have I told you about going out on your own?” Rabbitpounce scolds.

“Not to,” Icekit sheepishly says. “Sorry uncle.”

Rabbitpounce sighs. “I suppose I was the same way at your age. I think Tawnyash is back from hunting, why don’t you ask him to play?”

The kits beam, and run over to Tawnyash, who sighs, accepting his fate as a babysitter for a bit.

“So what brings you up in Starclan?” Rabbitpounce looks her over. “You aren’t dead, I can tell.”

“Odd dream,” she says. “It’s not really important, though. How have you been?”

“Missing my family,” Rabbitpounce sighs. “Morningbloom has been great, though. And Holly and Lichenstripe, they’re nice too.”

Silverbelly nods.

“Silverbelly?” A voice calls. Too familiar, too good to hear after this time, so unexpected she stutters.

“Dawnshine?”

“Silverbelly!” Dawnshine shouts, mouse forgotten as he bounds towards her.

“Oh my stars,” she whispers. “Dawnshine!”

“Stars, I’ve missed you,” he says, with a brief lick to the shoulder. Silverbelly rests her head on top of his, because she was taller than him and she’d never let him forget it. Dawnshine stops, and backs away. “Why are you here?”

She hopelessly flicks her tail.

“You’re not dead,” he says. “Figured. You went with Goldenstar to the glowcave, right?”

She nods.

“So how’d you get in Starclan territory?”

Another hopeless shrug. “Dunno. I just woke up in the forest.”

“Okay. I’m not panicking at all,” he adds on. “I just need to figure out how to get you out of here.”

“Isn’t Breezeshadow the bridge between the dead and living?” Rabbitpounce asks.

“So, find Breezeshadow?” Silverbelly asks. “Can’t be hard.”

Dawnshine shrugs. “I haven’t seen her since she ferried me up here. It’s hard to say where she might be.”

“Isn't she Scorchstar's sister or something?” Tawnyash casually drops. “Just ask Morningbloom to find her for you.”

“Morningbloom's busy with Goldenstar,” Dawnshine interjects. “Maybe Sunwish?”

Silverbelly remembers the constant animosity, every argument between her mentor and former leader, and winces. “Not Sunwish.”

“Who knows where Nettlestem is,” Dawnshine mutters. “So that leaves… ah…”

“Wildfang might know,” Rabbitpounce says.

The four cats glance at eachother, then nod.

“Sure,” Silverbelly says. “Do you know where she might be?”

Dawnshine shakes his head. Rabbitpounce does the same.

“Normally she's here at camp, but right around now we could probably find her over by Shining Lake,” Tawnyash says, paw reaching to bat a moss ball back towards the flurry of kittens. “I could take you there.”

“Alright, so do we get going now?” Silverbelly asks.

“It would be best,” Tawnyash says, padding over to her.

Rabbitpounce motions to the kits, and they all walk towards him.

“Silverbelly has to go now,” he says. A chorus of awww’s quickly follow. “Say goodbye.”

“Bye Silverbelly,” Icekit says. “It was fun showing you the rocks.”

“Bye Silverbelly,” Sandykit says, solemn. “May Starclan light your path.”

“Stupid,” Icekit chides. “We are Starclan.”

“Yeah, I'm lighting her path,” Sandykit says. “Keep up, featherbrain.”

The two start quietly bickering. Rabbitpounce fondly rolls his eyes.

“Bye-bye Silverbelly,” Smokekit says. He stretches one paw up and waves to her, and slips, an endearing motion. “Can you tell Rowankit I miss her?”

“I will,” Silverbelly says.

“Bye Silverbelly,” Ravenkit quietly says, so quietly she nearly can't hear him over the bickering of his siblings. “Can you tell mommy I miss her?”

And there's her heart, shattered into a million tiny pieces. Little tears prick the corners of her eyes, in a way they haven't since her mother and two siblings died in one night. “Of course.” She takes one, shaky, delicate breath. “Of course I will.”

She says goodbye to the kits, and she walks next to Tawnyash for a long while.

She'd never known the tom while she was still alive. Goldenstar, once or twice, had mentioned his passing, a landslide that had taken out half their original camp and forced them to relocate. She'd never met him in dreams.

Come to think of it, she's only met Wildfang once, at her naming ceremony.

Before she can think of it more, they arrive at the spot.

Wildfang is an elderly tortoiseshell with gray eyes. She has long fur. Those are the four details she remembered from her naming ceremony.

Yet again, she thinks, the rocks had to ruin everything.

They stop at Shining Lake.

“Wildfang, are you out here?” Tawnyash shouts. “I've got a visitor!”

A few moments pass, and Silverbelly worries she may not be getting anywhere. Finally, a voice rings across the lake.

“Tawnyash?” A pause. “And Silverbelly?” Soon enough, a figure comes into her view. “Now, I might have expected seeing you, but how is Silverbelly here?”

“I don't really know,” she explains. “But we thought Breezeshadow might know.” She winces at how hasty she's being. “Can you take me to her?”

Wildfang nods. “Of course. Right about now, she's probably in the bridge.”

–

As it turns out, ‘the bridge’ is the Starclan version of the glowcave. Wildfang leads her up a winding mountain, to a cave that looks suspiciously like her own Glowcave. Wildfang says to go inside on her own, so she does. She follows the line of mushrooms, and finally stops at a glowing stream.

“Pretty, isn't it?” A feminine voice calls. “Silverbelly, right? Wasn't expecting to see you here for another hundred moons or so, but things have been a bit unexpected lately.”

“Breezeshadow,” she says.

“That's me!” Breezeshadow smiles. “So, what brings you to my humble abode? Did you die?”

“No,” Silverbelly says. “I don't think so. I shouldn't be dead, I just fell asleep outside of the Glowcave.”

“Oh,” Breezeshadow nods. “Okay. So, it's a lot easier for me to get you in the right spots when we have a direct window. I probably got confused, that's on me, sorry.”

“Oookay.” Silverbelly blinks. In the dim light, she can make out a brown singlestripe pelt, similar to Scorchstar's. Bright cyan eyes blink at her.

Breezeshadow isn't all that old, she realizes. Maybe Scorchstar's age.

“Expecting an older cat?” Breezeshadow quips. Silverbelly freezes. “Oh, don't worry, I'd expect some ancient all powerful being too.”

“Yeah, sort of,” Silverbelly says.

“Sorry, sorry, I got sidetracked. You need to get home, right?”

Little whispers dance around the cave.

“Yeah,” Silverbelly says.

She thinks about the rocks, and thinks about Breezeshadow, arguably the most spiritual cat know to her clan. This may be the closest she'd ever get to understanding.

“You're going to ask me about the rocks,” Breezeshadow says. “Right?”

“How did you..”

“A feeling,” the molly shrugs. “Well, do you want me to help you or send you back now?”

One chance. One chance to finally understand, get a good night's sleep, finally be able to look at the rocks and understand what they mean.

She nods. “Help, please.”

“Okay, so, these rocks,” she says, sweeping her tail over the rocks that look exactly like the ones she's been seeing for seasons. “They're all cut from the same stone.”

“They look different, though,” Silverbelly says.

“They are, but that doesn't mean they're not similar.”

“What does that mean?”

“What do you think?”

“I think I've been trying to figure this out for way too long,” Silverbelly snaps.

“It's like the spirit from earlier told you,” Breezeshadow says. “Being dead doesn't make a cat all knowing. All it does is give us a little more time to think.”

Oh. That made more sense than when Fake-Sunwish had explained it.

“And, here's what I think: it's a premonition. It's warning you of something,” Breezeshadow says. The darkest rock, chocolate brown, has one crack in the middle of it. “What that something is, I'm afraid I don't know.”

A premonition. A feeling that something bad will happen. Like the vision, of the scorched earth and shadowed sun that she recieved when–

Oh.

“I think you're starting to get it,” Breezeshadow quietly says.

The rocks had something to do with Scorchstar.

“Frankly, it's not good for you to be visiting Starclan at the rate you do. Too much time up here and your internal clock gets messed up. Lose your sense of self a bit.” Breezeshadow waves her tail around her ear. “I think I'd better send you back now.”

“Yeah,” she breathes. “Thank you, thank you so much.”

The rocks didn't mean anything good.

The feeling of stars, of fate death longing grief fate fate fate. The feeling of death death falling falling im falling—

why would he–

that hurts. oh, im bleeding.

She opens her eyes to the smooth stone of the mouth of the Glowcave, one bright star sparkling in the sky, and a lilac sky, and a phantom sensation of white hot pain searing through her.

-🍭

Previous chapters

(beetle note: ANOHTER CHAPTER OF WORRYBOX WOOOOO!!!!!!!!! fantastic as always,,,, read this one with rapt attention through breakfast, the part with the kits telling her "starclan be with you" made me almost spit out my toast)