#respectfully i would like to live inside your brain for at least a day

[sweeterthan13]

hey so can you please tell me your email address? i need to send you my THERAPY BILL

Shelter | Q. Hughes

summary: with another baby on the way, quinn is doing everything he can to stay afloat — caught between bug’s meltdowns and the emotional waves of a second pregnancy, he's trying to hold his family together. request: yes (sort of...) pairing: quinn hughes x reader content: dad!quinn, pregnant!reader, angst, hurt/comfort, bug cries, reader cries, he cries, everybody cries. word count: 7k ↪ main masterlist | dad!quinn masterlist

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Quinn feels like he’s walking a very thin line.

No — scratch that. He feels like he’s standing in the middle of a storm, caught between two colliding weather fronts, completely powerless against the way they crash into each other. There’s no predicting when it will hit, no safe place to take cover, no strategy to outrun it.

Because it’s never just you. And it’s never just Bug. It’s the both of you, moods shifting like the tide, always feeding into each other, never directed at one another but somehow always crashing straight into him.

And some days? Some days, it’s manageable.

Like today.

When he walks into the living room and finds you on the couch, arms crossed, a deep, dramatic sigh falling from your lips, staring blankly at the wall like it personally wronged you. Just minutes ago, he’d heard you laughing over something silly on TV — bright, loud laughter that made him think today might be one of the easier days. But now? Now you’re quiet again, moody and withdrawn, and the change is so swift he feels like he missed something critical.

"You okay?" he asks, careful, like he’s stepping around a landmine.

"Fine," you reply clipped.

He exhales, tilting his head.

"You sure?"

You don’t answer immediately, just sigh again, heavier this time, shifting like even sitting is exhausting.

"I’m just… tired."

Quinn waits, giving you space to say more, but you don’t. Just stare at the ceiling like it holds all the answers, hands resting on the curve of your bump, absently rubbing in slow, mindless circles like your mind is somewhere far away, somewhere he can’t quite reach.

"Did something happen?" he tries again, gentler this time.

Your head shifts in a faint shake, lips pressed tight as if the words are there but you don’t have the energy to form them.

"No. Nothing. I just…" You trail off with another sigh, irritation flickering behind your eyes. "Forget it."

And he recognises it then — the way you start to pull inward, the subtle shift in your tone, the way your sentences taper off, unfinished. He feels it in his chest, the first quiet gust of wind signalling the storm that’s just starting to build.

He barely has time to process it before, across the room, Bug — who had been happily colouring only seconds ago — lets out a huff, flopping onto her stomach.

Quinn watches as she sprawls out, face smushed against the floor, limbs star fished, exhaling another deep, woe-is-me sigh.

He fights the urge to laugh, because God, you really are the same.

"You okay, Buggy?" he asks, already bracing himself.

She peeks up at him with one eye, just barely, like the sheer force of her emotions is physically weighing her down.

"No."

A storm is imminent. He can feel it.

Quinn inhales slowly. "Wanna tell me why?"

Bug turns her head to the side, cheek squished against the rug, and gives him the saddest little shake of her head.

"No."

Quinn flicks his gaze back to you. You’re staring at Bug like she just spoke your soul into existence.

"You don’t know why either, do you?" he asks, lips twitching just slightly.

You meet his eyes, brows furrowing.

"I don’t wanna talk about it," you mumble.

Quinn presses his lips together, nods once. Okay.

Sometimes, the only way to get through a storm is to wait it out. Quinn knows that some tempers can’t be soothed with logic, some moods can’t be unraveled with words. Some storms, like this one, don’t need him to fight against them. They just need him to stand in the middle of it and let it rage.

So he doesn’t ask again. Doesn’t try to pry an answer out of either of you. Doesn’t try to fix it, even though every instinct in his body tells him he should. Instead, he does the only thing he can do.

He moves.

Crosses the room, drops onto the couch beside you with a quiet oof, and stretches an arm across the back, fingers grazing your shoulder. He doesn’t pull, doesn’t press, doesn’t try to force the storm to settle. Just makes room. Just waits.

You sigh, slow and heavy, but you shift, curling into him, cheek pressing against his chest, body melting into his warmth like the eye of the storm finally found its way to you. His arm drops, wrapping around you, rubbing slow, absent circles against your arm.

Then he looks at Bug. She’s still on the floor, cheek smushed against the rug, eyes peeking up at him, waiting.

He pats the cushion beside him.

“C’mere, Buggy.”

She sniffs, pushing herself up onto wobbly little arms, dragging herself over like she’s trudging through the worst day of her life. Quinn watches as she climbs up, tucking herself into his other side, curling in small and warm, sighing just like you had.

And just like that, the storm settles.

No thunder. No more crashing waves. Just quiet, the kind that lingers in the air after the worst of it has passed. The kind that feels a little fragile, like it could roll back in with the right gust of wind, but for now, in this moment, there is peace.

Bug sniffles again. “I was sad, daddy.”

Quinn presses a kiss to the top of her head, his voice quiet, steady.

“That’s okay, Bugs. Some days are just like that.”

You let out a small, tired laugh against his chest, and it’s not much, but it’s enough.

Because sometimes, you don’t need to outrun the storm.

You just need to wait it out together.

But other days? It’s chaos.

It’s stepping into the whirlwind the second he wakes up — Bug already teetering on the edge of a meltdown before breakfast, hair tangled and pyjamas half on, her voice pitching high because you poured the cereal in the wrong bowl. Again.

You’re standing at the counter, unmoved, hand clenched around a spoon, your jaw tight and eyes glazed like you’ve already lived an entire day before the clock reaches seven o'clock.

“I told you,” Bug sobs, pushing the offending bowl away from her, “I want the pink one.”

“I know,” you mutter, fatigued. “But the pink one’s in the dishwasher, baby.”

And that’s it. That’s all it takes.

She wails again, louder and sharper, face scrunching as tears roll hot down her cheeks and Quinn barely has time to step in, swooping her up before she hurls the spoon across the room.

It’s Quinn, caught in the middle. Again. It’s the only place he seems to exist lately. Wedged between tantrums and tension, between Bug’s tears and your silence, between holding it all up and watching it all fall apart anyway.

It’s watching Bug melt down in his arms, her tiny body wracked with sobs, while over his shoulder, you stand by the counter, wiping at your eyes, trying not to let him see you falling apart, too.

It’s the exhaustion weighing on his shoulders, the constant push and pull, the feeling that no matter how fast he moves, no matter how hard he tries, he’s always one step behind.

It’s knowing he has to be the steady one — has to be patient with Bug, has to be gentle with you, has to keep everything from tipping over. It’s feeling like every time he soothes one storm, another is already rolling in, relentless, giving him no time to breathe before he’s pulled under again.

And then, just when he thinks he has a handle on it —

It’s Bug sobbing before preschool, her little arms locked tight around his body, shaking as she begs him "please don’t go, daddy. I won’t see you when I get home."

And that’s not like her.

Bug has always been so good about goodbyes, so easy about his road trips, her little voice always chirping “see you soon, daddy! Win lots!” without a second thought. But today? Today, she’s wrecked. And so are you.

You’re standing by the door, rubbing your belly, looking just as lost as she does, eyes misty, voice barely above a whisper as you murmur, "I don’t know what’s wrong. She never does this."

Quinn exhales, slow and tight, arms still wrapped around Bug’s tiny frame, his chest rising and falling just a little too fast. His grip is firm, steady, but inside, he feels anything but. His pulse is hammering, heartbeat drumming against his ribs like a warning, like he’s already bracing for impact.

“Yeah… I know.” He doesn’t know what else to say. Doesn’t have an answer that will make this easier.

“Maybe she’s just having a rough morning.” But the way you say it — it’s not convincing, not even to yourself.

Quinn’s jaw tightens. His shoulders feel like they’re carrying a weight he can’t shake, like every second is stretching longer, heavier, pressing in on all sides.

“Maybe.” But he doesn’t believe it either.

Because it’s not just Bug. It’s you, too.

You, looking at him like you need him to fix it, like you need some kind of reassurance that this is just a phase, that this is just passing rain, that this isn’t something bigger. And he wants to. He wants to promise you that. But the words catch in his throat, swallowed by the weight of it all. Because it’s been weeks of this — Bug clinging, unraveling, her emotions rolling in like crashing waves. And you, right there beside her, all fraying nerves and overwhelmed tears, feeding off each other, amplifying the storm.

Quinn takes a breath, exhales through his nose, and turns back to Bug.

"Bug, baby, you’ll have so much fun at school," he tries, smoothing a hand over her hair, pushing damp strands away from her tear-streaked face. "You love preschool, remember?"

"Not today!" she wails, curling into his chest, fingers fisting his hoodie like she’s trying to anchor herself to him. "I wanna stay with you."

And God, that one hits hard.

Because Quinn wants to stay. Wants to pick her up and tuck her into his side and tell her "okay, Bug, you can stay with me today." Wants to call the team, push his flight back a few more hours, push the world aside for just a little longer.

But he can’t.

And you know he can’t, but you need something from him, too. You’re still standing by the door, trying to steady yourself, trying to be the strong one even though your eyes are glassy, even though you look seconds away from breaking down yourself.

The pressure is building. He feels it in the silence stretching between you, in the weight of Bug pressing against his chest, in the way your fingers rub absently at the curve of your belly, steadying yourself, like you’re waiting for him to do the same.

He wants to be there for both of you, wants to hold Bug tighter, press a kiss to your forehead, tell you "it’s okay. You’ve got this. She’ll be fine. You’ll be fine. We’ll be fine." But it’s too much at once. The wind is howling, the waves are rising, and he feels stretched thin trying to brace himself against the force of it all.

But he knows you need him to go. You need him to walk out before you start crying, before it turns into a full meltdown that none of you will come back from. You need him to rip off the bandaid before Bug convinces herself he’s staying, before she starts believing that if she holds on just a little tighter, just a little longer, he won’t leave at all.

So he sighs, pressing a lingering kiss to Bug’s temple before gently, carefully, peeling her off of him.

"I love you, Bugs. I’ll be back soon soon, okay?"

She doesn’t answer. Just hiccups, wiping her face on her sleeve, sniffling as you pull her into your arms.

And then your eyes meet his over the top of her head, full of something raw and helpless, like you don’t know what to do with all the emotion swirling in the room. Like you’re begging him for an answer, for reassurance, for something.

And God, leaving you like this hurts.

It’s not an easy exit, and it’s not clean. He has to pry himself away from it, has to force himself out the door, has to resist the pull of turning around and staying just a little longer.

Because it doesn't stop at Bug. Leaving her is always hard, but leaving you — like this, lost and overwhelmed, feeling it all so deeply — cuts deeper every time.

Because lately, it’s you who worries him most.

You, so off-kilter, so unlike yourself, so overwhelmed by everything that’s changing. And it’s not like when you were pregnant with Bug — back then, it was just you and him, just the two of you navigating the unknown together with late-night name lists and soft hands over your belly when she kicked. The days were slower. There was room to breathe. But now? Now there’s Bug and her big emotions to balance — her meltdowns, her sudden clinginess, the way she seems to unravel right alongside you — and you’re drowning in it.

You’ve been unraveling for weeks, worn thin by exhaustion, by hormones that send you swinging from teary to irritable to brittle in a breath. They crash into you like waves you don't see coming. One minute you’re fine, steady on your feet, the next you’re barely holding it together, blinking back tears at the sink while Bug wails over something small, something that shouldn’t matter.

And Quinn — Quinn is just trying to keep up. Trying to be your anchor, trying to be steady, but still, somehow, always a step behind, caught between your storm and Bug’s, trying to soothe one without making the other worse.

And maybe that’s the hardest part.

The fact that Quinn can’t fix it, and it’s tearing him apart.

He can’t figure out what you need. How to make this easier for you. How to take even a fraction of the weight off your shoulders when you won’t let him shoulder it with you.

Because you don’t tell him. Not like you used to.

You let the silence stretch, let the weight of it settle between you instead of reaching for him, instead of saying "this is hard, I need you, I don’t know how to do this." And Quinn would give anything to hear that. To hear something. Because he’s trying so hard but he doesn’t know what to do when you won’t let him in.

And the space between you keeps growing, widening like the tide pulling back before the crash. Conversations have turned clipped, exhaustion settling in too deep for either of you to bridge the space.

He reaches for you in bed, fingertips skimming your back, but you turn away, not because you don’t want him, but because you don’t even know where to begin. He doesn’t say anything. Just stills behind you. Leaves his hand hovering there for a beat too long before slowly withdrawing, settling back into the sheets like maybe if he doesn’t move too much, the space between you won’t feel so wide.

So the pressure keeps mounting, thickening the air, pressing down on Quinn from all sides. He’s drowning in it, desperate to fix it, to ease the weight crushing both of you, to be the one who steadies the ship before it all capsizes.

And then, the lightning strike.

The morning when you snap.

When he reaches past you for a coffee mug, presses a sleepy kiss to your temple, murmurs a soft "g’morning, baby," and you recoil, the sharpness in your voice splitting the air like a crack of thunder.

"Quinn, can you just—"

It’s too sharp, too sudden, too much for something so simple.

His hand pauses on the cabinet.

You inhale sharply, eyes squeezing shut like you already regret it, like you already hate yourself for it, but it’s too late. It’s already hanging heavy in the air, thick and suffocating.

He exhales slowly. Measured. Careful. Like he’s trying to track a storm without a radar, trying to trace the spark that lit the fuse but the truth is, he has no idea what just happened.

"What?" he asks, trying so hard to keep his voice neutral. "What did I do?"

"Nothing," you mumble, voice tight. "You didn’t — just forget it."

He can’t forget it, and he also knows better than to push when you’re like this, wound tight, brittle around the edges, balancing on the precipice of frustration and exhaustion and something you haven’t quite named yet. You’re a live wire in bare hands.

But, still, the response grates. Not because you’re upset — he can handle that. Not the weariness in your eyes — he knows it well.

It’s the silence that follows. The wall that goes up. The way you don’t let him in. The way you won’t let him shoulder even the smallest fraction of whatever’s sitting so heavy on you.

He exhales slowly, steadying himself, trying to meet you where you are.

"Baby," he tries again, softer this time.

You stand there, tense, fingers tightening around the fabric of your shirt, staring somewhere past him like if you don’t acknowledge the moment, maybe it won’t settle between you like all the others have lately. Like another weight added to the pile.

And maybe that’s what gets to him the most.

Not the sharpness in your voice, not even the exhaustion clinging to your features — understands all of that. But this. The distance. The way you don’t talk to him like you used to, don’t let him in, don’t give him anything to work with. It’s like watching a door slowly close, inch by inch, and he’s still standing on the other side, waiting, hoping, reaching for someone who used to reach back.

“Jesus,” he mutters. “Can you just talk to me?”

It comes out rougher than he means it to, frustration bleeding through the exhaustion, through the endless cycle of tiptoeing around this, around you. Around the way things have been unraveling, thread by thread, while he’s been trying so damn hard to keep the house from splitting at the seams.

And for a second, the silence that follows feels deafening.

Like thunder, rolling in just after the strike.

You press your lips together, your breath coming a little too fast, a little too uneven, and for a second, he thinks — maybe. Maybe this is where the storm breaks. Maybe this is where you finally let it all out, finally let him in.

But then, finally, barely above a whisper, "I don’t wanna fight."

And it’s not a fight. Not yet. But the air is thick with something unresolved, the kind of tension that settles heavy in the walls, in the space between you, in the quiet that should be comfortable but isn’t.

Quinn stands there in the middle of the kitchen, hands braced on the counter, chest tight, heart hammering.

Because this isn’t new. It’s never just one thing — it’s every moment that’s been pushed aside with a quiet “not now,” every heavy breath exchanged across the dinner table, every look that lingers too long but says nothing at all. It’s the soft sighs, the brittle “I’m fine,” the way everything keeps getting postponed — later, tomorrow, when there’s time.

Only there’s never time. Just distance. Just silence dressed as survival.

But it doesn’t stay like this. Not for much longer.

Because Quinn’s never been the kind of man to let storms rage unchecked. Never been the type to let the space between you stretch too wide, to let things fester and rot in the silence.

Except this time, he did.

This time, he let it build for weeks. Figured you needed space. Figured, like always, you’d come to him when you were ready. He didn’t want to push, didn’t want to risk being one more weight pressing down on you — afraid that if he reached too soon, too hard, you’d only pull further away.

So he waited.

And waited.

But you haven’t come.

And this storm? It hasn’t passed.

It’s lingered. A low-pressure system that settled over your home like a weight. It crept in quietly, in the stillness after long days, in the hush of the night when Bug’s cries echoed down the hall and neither of you moved fast enough. It’s soaked into everything, in the silence between you, in the quiet way you move around each other like you’re trying not to stir the air, like even a whisper might trigger the downpour.

It’s in the sighs you don’t explain, in the moments where his hand reaches for yours and only grazes your sleeve. In the way your shoulders curve inward like you’re trying to weather it alone. It’s there in the space between what you need and what he can’t seem to figure out how to give — lightning just waiting for a place to strike.

And Quinn is trying. He really is. He's trying to be steady. Trying to hold the line. He tells himself it’s just a phase, just exhaustion, just the weight of everything pressing down. That you need space. That you’ll come to him, like you always have, when the fog lifts and the words come easier.

Because sometimes, that’s what you needed. Back then, when it was just the two of you, when emotions swelled and you needed room to breathe, to process, to untangle yourself from whatever had you feeling off-kilter, space was good. A quiet moment alone, time to let the frustration settle, to come back to each other with clear heads and soft apologies — it worked. It made sense.

But it’s different now.

Now, space feels like distance, and distance feels like a crack waiting to split wide open. Now, there’s Bug and her big emotions. Now, there’s you, carrying another baby, carrying the weight of change, carrying all the moments he’s missing when he’s away. Now, when you pull away, it doesn’t feel like breathing room — it feels like a warning sign.

And every day that passes without addressing it, every night spent in silence, every conversation left unfinished, makes it feel less like weather and more like climate.

So tonight, when he hears the creak of your footsteps down the hall, hears the soft click of the bedroom door closing, he doesn’t wait. Doesn’t tell himself you need more time. Doesn’t lie to himself about the sky clearing.

He follows.

Quietly, carefully, he pads down the hall and pushes the door open, stepping into the thick of it, into the eye of the storm. He settles carefully onto the mattress beside you, leaving space — giving you space to speak, to move closer, to do anything.

But you don’t.

You just stare at your hands in your lap, fingers curling into the fabric of your shorts, and Quinn watches the way your shoulders rise and fall, notices the tension gathering like you’re bracing for something.

He exhales softly, rubbing a tired hand along his jaw.

"I'm trying," he murmurs, finally breaking the silence.

Your gaze flicks up, lips parting slightly, your chest tightening.

"I swear, I am," he says, quieter now. "I know Bug has been a lot, and your hormones, and the stress, and I know you’re just trying to get through it." His voice wavers for the first time, breath catching slightly as he drags a hand down his face, fingers gripping at his knee when they settle in his lap. "But I need you to talk to me. I don’t know how to help if you won’t let me in. If you keep pretending you’re fine when you’re not."

His voice isn’t sharp. It's not angry. It's just... tired. Not in the way he always is after road trips, after back-to-backs, after late nights followed by early morning skates — but in that bone-deep, heavy way that comes from holding too much for too long.

"I just—" He exhales sharply, tilting his head back against the headboard, dragging a shaky breath into his lungs. "I feel like I don’t know how to make this easier, how to fix it. I don’t know what to do anymore. How to help you, how to help Bug."

Your throat tightens, guilt pressing hard against your ribs.

"Quinn—"

"It’s killing me." His voice breaks over the words, and your heart clenches, because Quinn doesn’t break. Not like this. "I feel like I’m watching you fall apart, watching Bug fall apart, and I can’t—”

He stops abruptly, pressing the heels of his palms over his eyes, shoulders curling inward, like if he doesn’t he’ll completely unravel. His breath is heavy, chest rising and falling too fast, and then you hear it — a sound you’ve rarely heard from him, quiet and choked, a sob he can’t quite swallow down.

"I feel like I'm failing you both."

It slips out before he can stop it, before he can soften it into something easier to hear, and as soon as it’s in the air, it lingers — sharp, cutting. And God, you feel it. Feel it settle deep in your chest, feel the way it steals the breath from your lungs.

Because he’s never said something like that before. Not like this. Not with tears streaking silently down his cheeks, eyes squeezed shut as if he’s ashamed of it. Not in a voice that sounds like it’s been scraped raw, like the words cost him something just to say.

Quinn’s never been one to unravel. He’s quiet by nature, steady in the way he moves through the world. He carries things inward, processes slowly. He’s always been careful with his words, measured with his emotions — not cold, never that, but composed. Grounded. He doesn’t let things boil over. Doesn’t let them spill.

And this? It isn’t something he does. Not because he’s trying to be strong, but because he’s always been wired to endure. To hold it together. To keep going, even when it hurts.

Your hand moves on instinct, settling against his knee, desperate to ground him, to pull him back before he sinks too deep.

"Quinn," Your voice wavers and you barely get his name out before the weight of it all crashes over you.

His shoulders rise and fall with another sharp inhale, but he doesn’t move, doesn’t look at you. Just keeps pressing his palms into his eyes like he’s holding himself together by sheer force of will, fighting to regain control, fighting to hold onto whatever strength he thinks he still needs to have.

And that — that — is what undoes you.

"Baby, hey," you whisper, barely above a breath. "Look at me."

For a moment, you think he won’t. That he can’t. That if he does, if he meets your gaze, if he lets you see all of it, he might actually break.

But then, slowly, he drops his hands.

And when he looks at you, really looks at you — your heart shatters.

His eyes are glassy, jaw tight, lashes damp with tears, his expression so raw it knocks the breath right out of you. He swallows hard, shakes his head like he’s trying to clear it, but there’s no taking it back now. No shoving it back down.

He’s unraveling, and you can see it. See the way he’s been holding too much, how it’s been slowly crushing him, how he’s been trying so hard to keep everything together while you’ve been falling apart. See the way it’s eating at him. The guilt, the helplessness, the constant push and pull of trying to keep up with you and Bug while barely keeping himself above water.

And God, it wrecks you.

You shift without thinking, curling into his side, arms wrapping around his middle, pressing your cheek to his shoulder like you’re trying to hold him together with your whole body. And for a moment, he doesn’t move. Just sits there, stiff, like he’s not sure he’s allowed to fall apart, not sure if he should.

But then he exhales, shaky and broken, and his arms come around you. He pulls you closer, pulls you into his lap, like if he holds you tight enough, close enough, maybe the ground won’t feel like it’s giving way beneath him.

His face finds your shoulder, burying into the curve of your neck, and his whole body shudders with the force of the breath he lets out.

"You could never fail me," you whisper, voice barely holding steady. Your fingers slide into his hair, slow and gentle, nails brushing lightly along his scalp, trying to soothe, trying to settle.

Then your hands slide down to cradle his face, thumbs brushing along the sharp line of his jaw, coaxing him to lift his head and look at you. For a second, he resists — eyes squeeze shut again like he’s bracing himself, like he’s afraid of what he’ll see in your face. But when they open, you make sure you make sure he finds only calm. Only love.

"I mean it," you whisper. "You’ve never let us down. Not once. Not me, not Bug. You are everything we need, Quinn."

A sharp breath rushes out of him, like he’s been holding it in for weeks.

You press your lips to his temple, slow and aching, like an apology wrapped in affection. I’m sorry you ever felt that way. Sorry for the silence, for the way you shut him out, for every time he reached for you and found nothing to hold onto.

You linger there, breathing him in, hoping it says what you haven’t found the words for. That you’re still here. That you never meant to leave him standing in the storm alone. That you love him, more than you’ve said lately.

And maybe he hears it. Maybe he feels it in the way you hold him now, tighter than you have in weeks. Because his hands tighten too, curling into your back, tethering himself to you. And when he exhales, it’s steadier. Softer. A little less like the weight of everything is his to carry alone.

"It’s just… different this time," he murmurs after a moment, voice rough at the edges like he’s been trying to make sense of it for weeks but still hasn’t found the words. "It wasn’t like this with Bug. You weren’t—" He stops himself, jaw tightening. "I don’t mean—"

"I know," you whisper.

Because you do. He’s not blaming you. He’s not making this your fault. He’s just trying to make sense of it the same way you are.

“I don’t mean that in a bad way,” he adds quickly, tone softening immediately. “I just… I don’t know. You were still tired and emotional, sure, but we were —” He trails off, mouth twisting like the memory stings a little. “Happier, I think.”

You don’t say anything. Just nuzzle closer, biting your bottom lip. Guilt pressing in.

“We used to fall asleep on the couch talking about names. You’d make me drop everything when Bug kicked just to feel her. And now —” He breaks off, voice tightening. He swallows hard. “And now I walk through the door, I don’t know what version of you I'm coming home to. I don’t know if I should talk or keep quiet. I don’t even know if you want me here sometimes."

The words sting, and not because they’re unfair. But because they’re true.

You inch closer, guilt already starting to burn at your chest. Your nose finds the scruff of his cheek, breath catching as you press into him, barely touching but needing to be closer.

“I always want you here.”

He exhales, a shaky breath against your ear.

“It doesn’t feel like it,” he murmurs, voice brittle and splintering at the edges.

And the silence that follows is brutal — thick and sharp, like standing in the wreckage of something you didn’t mean to break.

His thumb moves in slow, steady circles against your back, like he’s trying to settle a tempest he can’t see but knows is there.

And all you can do is lean in, pressing a kiss to his jaw, eyes shut tight — like maybe, just maybe, if you hold him close enough, he’ll feel everything you have yet to say out loud.

Your voice comes out small, barely more than a whisper. “I know I haven’t been easy, and I'm—”

"You don’t have to be," he cuts in, gently but firmly, the words spilling out before you can finish. "I just need you to let me in," he murmurs, voice low, unwavering.

His arms tighten around you, solid and warm, like he’s trying to anchor you to him, trying to keep the distance from creeping back in.

"I don’t care if you’re mad, or sad, or exhausted, or don’t even know what you’re feeling. I can handle all of it — I want to handle all of it. To be in it with you. But don’t—" his breath catches, and he presses his forehead to your temple, exhaling slow. "Don’t shut me out. Don’t act like I’m just another thing to manage. Like I’m something else making this harder."

His words land heavy, settling in the space that’s grown too wide these past few weeks. And maybe that’s what stings the most — how much truth there is in them.

You close your eyes, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, because he’s right. That's exactly what you have been doing.

You have shut him out. You’ve held him at arm’s length, convincing yourself it was easier this way. Because some days, it was simpler to let the distance sit between you, easier to let the weight of it build instead of unpacking it, to let the storm build rather than admit how much you’re struggling beneath it.

"I’m sorry," you whisper, voice small, uneven, barely holding together at the seams.

Quinn shakes his head instantly, shifting beneath you, like the words sting more than they should.

"That’s not—" he exhales sharply, pressing his palm against his forehead, shaking his head before wrapping his arms more securely around you. "That’s not what I want, baby. You don't have to apologise."

His chest rises and falls against yours, breath warm against your hair. His voice is quieter when he speaks again, rough at the edges like it’s been sitting heavy in his throat for too long.

"I just needed to say it out loud," he murmurs. "To you. That this is a lot. And that I'm... I’m struggling too."

Hearing it like this, quiet and raw, knocks the air from your lungs.

And now the guilt crashes over you like a rogue wave, pulling you under before you have time to brace for it. It presses heavy, suffocating, settling in the spaces between all the ways you let the silence stretch too far, let the exhaustion dictate your words, where you let the distance grow instead of reaching for him.

Because God, you’ve felt alone these past few weeks — adrift, overwhelmed, buried under exhaustion and the hormones you can't control, and Bug’s big emotions — but you never stopped to think that maybe he has too. That maybe, while you’ve been sinking, he’s been out in the storm, fighting to keep you all afloat, barely keeping his own head above water.

And now, hearing him admit it — hearing him tell you just how worn thin he really is — makes everything you overlooked painfully clear. You knew, in some distant way, that Quinn was tired. But you hadn’t let yourself see it fully. You hadn’t noticed how carefully he'd wrapped himself in quiet; how the calm he wore wasn't peace, but exhaustion. How close he'd come to breaking, waiting quietly for you to see it.

The ache triples, guilt sharp and bitter as your fingers twist into his shirt before you can stop them, gripping tight like an anchor, like you can hold him here, hold him up, the way he’s been trying to do for you.

Your throat tightens as you whisper, "I should’ve seen it."

Quinn shakes his head immediately, his arms flexing around you, one hand splaying wide against the small of your back, the other slipping up to cradle the back of your head. His thumb brushes slow, soothing strokes against your hair like he’s trying to keep the wind from howling, steadying the sails before the storm hits. This is him trying to keep you from turning inward, from spiralling into blame.

"Baby," he exhales, tipping his forehead against yours. "Don’t."

But how can you not?

How can you, when you feel his breath shake against your skin? When he’s been carrying all of this alone, when you’ve been so wrapped up in your own unraveling that you never saw him fraying too? When it finally hits you that every sleepless night, every tantrum soothed, every moment spent steadying you and Bug, he was never steady himself?

You can’t help it. Because now, the guilt is a storm of its own, building too fast, too heavy to hold back.

Quinn feels it before he even sees it.

The shift. The way your breath catches, stutters, like the wind just changed direction, gathering force. The way your shoulders tense, then tremble, like the weight of the storm pressing against you is too much to hold back.

And he knows.

Knows the way your body reacts before the downpour. Knows the way your fingers tighten their grip — on fabric, on him, on anything solid — when you’re trying to hold yourself together. Knows the way your chest rises too fast, the way your throat works through a swallow that doesn’t quite make it past the lump sitting heavy there.

Knows the warning signs.

Because he’s seen your storms before. He’s weathered them, stood at the eye of them, braced against them, held you through them. And now, as the first crack of thunder rolls through your body — a tiny, barely there inhale that catches in your throat — he knows another one is coming.

And he doesn’t want that for you.

"Baby," he whispers again and and it’s not more a pet name — it’s a plea. It's a a quiet, desperate thing, frayed at the edges. Please don’t go there. Please don’t blame yourself. Please don’t break because of me.

His forehead stays pressed to yours, hands tightening around you.

But you just squeeze your eyes shut, pressing yourself closer, and that’s when he really feels it. The tiny shake of your shoulders, the uneven rise and fall of your chest, the way your body curls inward, instinctively seeking shelter.

Your voice comes out ragged. "I should've known. I was so wrapped up in myself that I didn't—"

"I know," he murmurs softly, cutting through your words. And it’s not a dig, not an accusation, just fact. Just something true between you.

And that hurts worse.

Because you never saw it clearly enough. Because he never told you. Because you never asked. Because you’ve both been drowning in separate storms, hands outstretched, but never quite finding each other.

His hand slips lower, sliding over your back, pulling you in until there’s nothing left between you but warmth and the quiet understanding that you’re in this together. That you should’ve been in this together all along.

"What do you need?" His voice is softer now, lips brushing against your hair, the question almost hesitant — like he’s afraid you’ll shut him out again.

You shake your head, barely a movement, barely enough to count, but it’s there.

"Just you."

And God, that nearly knocks him over.

Because he can do that.

He can be that.

He can be yours. He is yours.

He presses a lingering kiss to your temple, then another to your cheek, and a final one just beneath your jaw, his breath warm against your skin. His fingers slip beneath the hem of your hoodie, pressing firm and steady against your skin, like he’s making a promise without saying a word.

When your next breath shudders through you, breaking against his collarbone, Quinn just holds on tighter.

"I’ve got you," he murmurs.

You don’t say anything, just hold onto him, letting the quiet settle between you, letting the steady rhythm of his breathing pull you back, slow and measured, like waves finally lapping at the shore instead of crashing against it. Like the first stillness after days of wind.

And then, before the weight of everything can creep back in, Quinn exhales, deep and slow, his chest rising and falling in sync with yours.

"We’re okay," he murmurs, pressing his lips to your hair, the warmth of his breath sinking into your skin. "We’re gonna be okay."

And for the first time in weeks, you believe him.

Then he shifts, nose nudging at your neck as he tucks himself in closer, like he’s been aching for this, for you. His arms tighten, drawing you in like he’s gathering something precious, something fragile that he almost lost. You feel it in the way his body softens against yours, shoulders finally beginning to uncoil.

Then, his breath evens out, slower, like he’s finally letting himself rest, and it feels like something cracking open and being put back together all in the same moment. Like all the weight you've both been carrying is finally lifting, piece by piece, no longer just his and no longer just yours to bear.

Like after weeks of drifting in separate storms, you’ve finally found your way back to the same shore, the waves settling, the worst of it behind you.

[littlbnny]

𝐌𝐘 𝐋𝐀𝐃𝐘. ━━ ❦ caliban, the prince of hell.

𝐀/𝐍— ❦ hi! this is my first caliban imagine in almost over a year n omg it feels so amazin writing for my baby again... hope y’all like this. also, i changed the request just the tiniest bit... there is fluff, but it also got a lil dirty in some parts? sorry, anon! anyways, please reblog, like n share if you enjoyed this lil thing. also, feedback is very much appreciated! thank you for reading.♡

𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓— ❦ ANON ASKED; Can I please request a Caliban imagine where the reader (female) is mortal but he’s superrrr whipped for her and calls her “my lady” and keeps saying how much he loves her and is just really sweet to the reader??? Thank you. Xx // also, you may send in a request(s) here.

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘— ❦ caliban, the prince of hell, is totally whipped for his girl, you.

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆— ❦ caliban x fem!reader.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒— ❦ 18+! slut shaming! fluff n mentions of sexual themes! adult language! & any grammatical mistakes are my own!

𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵.

♡࿐ Caliban was in love. No, scratch that. He was so fucking in love, it hurt. The whole ‘love’ thing was new to him, like a foreign language one was just beginning to learn. Once he started feeling this strange emotion, it was like he became a whole new person. In his eyes, he saw himself as a better, new and improved version of himself.

Caliban always thought love to be a weakness, that he didn’t need it or that he felt it wasn’t worth his time. But with you, it was different. It felt different. Because of you, he was in love. Happily so, might I add. The two of you have only been dating for a little less than a year, but unholy Satan, it felt like decades had passed. It was like the two of you knew each other for centuries.

In all honesty, Caliban thought he would’ve been alone for all of eternity, which at the time, he was perfectly content with the thought of that. At least, before you – he was used to bringing whores to his bed chambers every night. Whilst he enjoyed himself most of the time, when he grew bored and had no more desire for said whore any longer – he’d either toss them aside, or kill them.

Although, now was different... All because of you. Speaking of you, Caliban had just finished ordering one of his most trusted followers to bring you to his chambers – and shall there be even a single scratch on you, he’d tear them apart limb by limb and watch with glee as their souls burned in the pits of Hell. “My Lord, as you requested, here is Lady –“

“Yes, yes – Beelzebub, you may go. Now.” Caliban commanded carelessly, looking up to see you stepping around Beelzebub cautiously, your eyes lighting up at the sight of him. Caliban smirked, standing up from the leather chair he was resting on, tossing the book he was reading aside and rushing towards you, wrapping you in his strong arms. Beelzebub bowed respectfully, but not before throwing you a disgusted look on his way out, the large wooden doors slamming shut behind him.

“Caliban,” you greeted, your heartbeat starting to race. You felt like a lovesick fool. “I – I can’t believe..why d-did you...?” you stuttered, craning your neck back to look up at the handsome Prince. “I can’t believe you sent one of the Plague Kings to come and get me,” you gasped, sounding like you were trying to keep that information strictly a secret. “You know I’m not supposed to be down here and what if –“

Caliban smiled down at you, quickly silencing your worried ramblings as he bent his knees down slightly to press his lips against yours, both of his hands reaching up to cup your face, your lips meeting in a frenzied, passionate kiss. You practically whimpered into the kiss, parting your lips as you felt your boyfriends tongue run across your bottom lip, knowing what he sought out for. Once your lips parted, Caliban wasted no time in slipping his warm tongue inside of your mouth, tasting you and groaning at how sweet you tasted, both of his thumbs lovingly stroking each of your warmed cheeks as he kissed you senseless.

“I missed you,” Caliban groaned into the kiss roughly, suggestively grinding his hips into your pelvis. You giggled in response, running your tongue along his, your teeth slightly clashing together with his, but neither of you cared enough to stop. You two could never get enough of each other – ever.

Your hands ran up to tangle themselves into his dirty blond hair, digging your fingernails into his scalp, causing him to hiss in pleasure. “I missed you more,” you breathed, before opening your mouth wider for him, feeling Caliban’s tongue run over the roof of your mouth. Next, he started slowly sucking on your tongue, swirling your tongue around with his, almost choking you in the process with how long his tongue was, but you didn’t care. If you had it your way, you’d never stop kissing him. Fuck, he tasted amazing... like spearmint gum and some sort of sugary sweet, he tasted delicious.

Then, Caliban began to run both of his warm hands down your sides, gripping and squeezing and touching and – fuck. He was so amazing and perfect. You loved him so much, he drove you absolutely mental sometimes. His hands were so big and strong and you were so obsessed with them when they were caressing you, you swear the feeling of his skin on yours was pure euphoria.

“My Lady,” Caliban murmured, trailing his lips to the corner of your mouth, then to your cheek, kissing it tenderly. “My Lady, my lady, my lady...” Caliban praised, causing your stomach to erupt in butterflies and your pussy to start gushing uncontrollably, knowing how much it drove you wild when he called you his lady, like you were royalty. Which, in his eyes, you were. You were his, always.

Caliban’s lips moved down to your neck, kissing the skin underneath your ear so gently that it barely felt like he was doing anything, while his hands were now firmly massaging and gripping your ass through your tight jeans. “Caliban,” you sighed, growing frustrated, your pussy now starting to clench down on nothing but thin air. You wanted him, you wanted him so badly you thought you’d snap any second.

It’s been days since he last visited you in your bedroom in the Mortal realm, and he fucked you so good and hard that night that the next day, you could barely walk. That night he was absolutely feral, he wasted no time in fucking your brains out, and you could’ve sworn you felt his cock in your guts as he pounded into you from behind that night. Although, that goes without saying that hours before, he was a complete tease. Eating you out for hours without letting you cum, which made you annoyed and crazy and you really thought you’d start crying hysterically if he didn’t quit his teasing then. Luckily – for the both of you – he did, and he – of course – slowly and sensually slid his cock deep inside of you, before fucking you like a good little slut.

Caliban loved you, there was no denying it. He’d do just about anything for you if you asked him, and he could be so sweet and charming, and most of the time so cruel, just the way you liked him to be. But praise Satan, he knew how to fuck you just right, like when to be soft and gentle and affectionate, with a dark twist of being rough and quick and downright sinful. You swore it was a talent only he possessed, which wouldn’t be a total shock since he did live in and helped rule Hell sometimes.

“My Lady,” Caliban sighed, grabbing your attention as you came back down to – well, Hell – and looked back up at him, snapping out of your sexual daydream. “Hmmm?” you questioned, batting your eyelashes up at the scowling Prince. Fuck, he was so pretty. The Prince of Hell smirked down at you, reaching one hand up to gently grasp your chin with long fingers, holding it as he examined your pretty face up closely and rubbed his calloused thumb over your swollen, bottom lip.

“Was my angel daydreaming again?” he chastised, his tone sickly sweet, as if he were talking to a five year old girl. You were always so fucking cute, playing dumb and naïve, but he knew you knew better. And oh, oh – he was teasing you, the bastard. Two can play that game. As expected though, your plans always seemed to backfire on you as you unconsciously started to rub your clothed thighs together desperately, knowing what was about to come.

Fuck the consequences.

So, you played along, praying that he would have mercy on you tonight. “No, my Lord, I’d never disobey –“ Caliban snorted, cutting you off completely as you amused him at your failure of attempting to lie to him. Him, of all people. Caliban chuckled, shaking his head fondly and kissing your lips once more, making you respond instantly as you stood on the tips of your toes, kissing him back eagerly. Your arms reached up to wrap themselves around his neck once more, pulling him so close that both your chests were pressed so tightly together, your hearts beating against one another’s as one.

Before speaking, Caliban wrapped you tightly in his arms, interlocking his fingers together behind your back, resting his interlocked hands right above your ass. “My Lady, I thought you learned your lesson the other night,” Caliban spoke in false kindness, leaning down to lightly drag his tongue along the shell of your ear. You hummed quietly, tilting your head slightly to give your boyfriend more access, feeling excitement flow throughout your body. Or, were you just a horny little slut, like your boyfriend said you were?

Caliban paused, taking in a short breath, feeling his cock harden almost unbearably at the thought of punishing you again, just like a couple of nights ago. “Bad girls don’t get to cum unless they tell the truth. And you, my lady – have sinned.”

fin

[alyssadeliv]

The Forgotten One

First       Previous

Chapter 3

Damian Al Ghul is the most beautiful baby Marianne has ever seen. Not that she’s seen a lot of newborns, but something inside of her knew no one would be as cute as her little brother. He was very tiny and that only encouraged her more than ever to protect him. Her mother thought it adorable, that if not training she was always at his side. Her grandfather thought it useful, like a bodyguard to protect his so expected heir. As a baby, he couldn’t do much yet, but she liked his company. It was rewarding to see him staring at her with those beautiful green eyes when she talked to him about her day. 

They grew up together, so it was only natural that they would train together. Marianne loved it when they would train or fight together, it was another excuse to be around her baby brother. Since birth, he has always been very bright, and very skillful. He’s only seven when he is allowed a solo mission, and she remembers how she begged her mother to allow her to accompany him, just to make sure he’ll be alright. The punishment she received from her grandfather was enough for her to never ask again. But as Damian had proved more than capable to handle every kind of situation thrown his way, she wasn’t so anxious anymore when he would leave for missions. But that didn’t mean she didn’t worry.

Her mother and the guardians became more strict with her training after Damian was born, focusing more on fighting techniques rather than the knowledge of the Kwamis, that part she was already very knowledgeable about. And because of that increase in her abilities, she was allowed to train with her brother, when he was about six. In the beginning, their fight was never fair, with more years of experience, Marianne had an advantage. But as the years passed by, and Damian learned, it became more equal. When they fought together they were formidable, the synchrony and the precision of their movements was something fascinating to behold. You would think that because of their strong bond it would be difficult to actually hurt each other in a fight, but together they were ruthless, always pushing the other. They brought out the better in each other. Marianne could proudly say she taught Damian a lot, especially in the art of diversion and dagger fighting.

Living in the League meant that you could never be too careful, and trust was something it had to be earned. Relations were discouraged because they tended to make you weak. But for the siblings, having each other was their strength. 

Even if both had their own room, it was common to find Damian sneaking to bunk with his sister or Marianne simply crashing at her brother’s bed after a taxing day of lessons. To everyone in the League, they didn’t have contact outside of training, and her grandfather made sure of that. He liked to call her his secret weapon, one that only his most trusted followers knew about. Being a very paranoid person, that trust revolved around 3 people, her mother, Sabine, and Master Fu. And she was sure that her master only knew about her because it was what created their alliance in the first place.

Like her, Damian wasn’t much better in the social department. He didn’t interact with kids his age, and all of his time was dedicated to perfect his skills. She was his one and only friends, but just like her, he wasn’t very good with words, yet she knew he adored her just as much as she did him. She was the heir to the Order of the Guardian and he the heir to the League of Assassins. They had duties to fulfill, expectations to reach, and people to please. It was hard, but at least they had each other.

Until they hadn’t.

She was sixteen and had just come from a long mission, all she wanted was to take a shower and curl into bed. This mission had been more taxing than normal, she was successful but it still took a lot from her. Ignoring her primal needs she made her way to the training grounds of the League, looking for her Master, to give him the mission report. 

“Master” She greeted. Wang Fu had taught her so much, but she could see very clearly that her teacher was flawed. Even after years in this life, he had a very kind heart. He tended to be a very recluse, only interacting with people from the Order or the League if he had to. She was the only exception to this, from the years of training with him, she knew he had a soft spot for her. Most of the time he acted very naively, and that still bothers her thus this day. But where he was kind he was also very strict with her training. That’s why she always pushed herself, to prove to him that she was worthy of her birthright, to be the true wielder of a Miraculous. 

It was already dark, and the League was quiet. Only the ones on duty would be awake, but it was common to find her Master meditating at all hours of the day at the Temple of the Miraculous. The temple was built by the order of her grandfather as a sign of good faith after the alliance between the two organizations was created, she spent most of her childhood there, reading the sacred tomes and connecting with her inner self. 

“How was it?”

“Successful as always. I infiltrated the party without any problem and locating my target was easy. The tricky part was luring him out of the crowd. But I managed. Using the Chinese hairpin I infused the poison in his bloodstream, he was dead in a matter of minutes. The poison won’t leave any possible leads, and I obtained the information requested. I shall pass it to Grandfather at our morning meeting, he requested that you be present as well”

“Any witness?”

“No.”

“Very well… Go ahead and get some sleep. Tomorrow after our meeting you will be having another section of training with Lady Shiva, she was very pleased with your recent development.”

She bowed respectfully and started to make her way to the chambers. She could feel the sleep piercing through her, but she pushed it aside, she needed a bath before even thinking of going to bed. 

She made it to the west wing of the League, where Damian opened the door after only two knocks, still in his sleeping clothes. At that time, she was the only one that would seek him out. He let her in without a word, and she immediately made her way into his bathroom. Being the Heir to the League comes with its perks. His room was bigger than hers and he had a bathroom all to himself. Compared to his room hers was rather simple, with a bed in the middle, a dresser, and a table with a chair. The Arabic aesthetic gave a stylish decoration to the plain room. His was more majestic, with a big bed with the most comfortable comforter she ever laid in and very well decorated. Only the best to the grandfather’s grandson. 

She stripped and laid her weapons carefully on the counter. With empty thoughts, she enjoyed the warmth of the water on her skin, and only after washing her hair twice, she turned it off. Sometime during her shower, her brother had delivered some of her clothes. Because they alternated between their rooms, it was practical to just leave a couple of clothes in each other’s chambers, that way no matter when, they would always have something to wear. She left the bathroom only carrying two of her daggers, even in the comfort of her brother’s bedroom, she could never let her guards down. He was laying on the mattress, half-asleep, just waiting for her. As she neared the bed he lifted the covers to let her in. And as she laid there at his side, feeling the heat of his body near her, with one dagger on the side table and the other under her pillow, she felt at peace. 

The peace was short-lived, however. She couldn’t tell for sure how long she had been asleep, but enough for her brain to be foggy. She bolted awake feeling another presence in the room. In one fluid movement, she grabbed her trusty dagger and went into action. She hit her target in one fluid movement. 

“What’s going on?” Damian was also awake, with a sword in hand, staring wide-eyed at the body laid on the floor.

“Get ready.” And with that they both started to prepare themself, gathering their weapons and changing into more appropriate clothes. In a matter of minutes, they were ready. Before they exit the bedroom, she turns to her brother.

“Take it.” She hands him one of her daggers. It’s from a set, her favorite. It was a birthday present from Damian. Two handmade daggers, one was white and the other was black, it had the Yin and Yang symbols carved in the handle. Representing the balance between creation and destruction. It was perfect for close attacks and throwing. He takes the black one without a fight, by now he understands the seriousness of the situation. With caution, they left the chambers. Now they could hear fighting happening in the background. She knew what she had to do, go to the temple, access information and from then try to create a strategic plan. Damian would come with her, without knowing what was going on, it was safer to continue together. 

They reach the temple without any problem, but there’s when things got problematic. A group of three people advances on them, two men and one woman all wearing black and covering their faces. She immediately goes into attack mode. Diving from the oncoming sword, puncturing the man tight as he attacked her, she analyzes the situation, his wound which does little to stop him is heavily bleeding. Because of her size, she could tell he was underestimating her, so she used that in her advance. She let him come closer, giving him a false sense of security, allowing him to believe her to be inexperienced. His sword makes contact with her left arm, and a red flow of blood makes itself known. Following her plan, when he comes close enough she grabs onto his torso and using his body weight throws him onto the floor over her shoulder. Once he’s down she reaches the dagger strapped onto her thigh and stabs onto his chest. Immediately turning her attention to the other two attackers that went after Damian she throws the dagger at the back of the woman, momentarily distracting her brother’s opponent. Grave mistake. Damian disposes of him quickly after that. After getting back her weapon, they keep their pace. 

Now they could see various members of the Order and the League fighting different opponents. The floor is coated in red, and in the distance, it is possible to see the beginning of some fires. Seeing her home being destroyed broke her heart but there was no time to grieve. On high alert, they arrived at the temple. They meet another group of black figures, not even thinking she immediately engages one of them.

She can’t tell how long that has been going on, she lost sight of Damian and their enemies just kept coming, there is no sign of Master Fu or the Miraculous Box, so she can only assume that he escaped without any problems. The other guardians are by her side, trying to overpower the attackers. In the distance, some explosions begin, shaking the foundation of the temple. Some stones start to fall, and immediately their opponents start to evacuate mid-fight. Based on that it is not difficult to reach a conclusion. Their target was the Order, they obviously planned to explode it to the ground. 

“It’s a trap! We have to leave the Temple, it’s going to crash!” With no hesitation she starts looking for Damian, she needs to find him and get him somewhere safe. It’s pandemonium, people running and screaming orders. Some bleeding and some already dead. It’s practically impossible to see with the smoke that found its way in. 

When she finally finds her brother, it’s almost too late, by now a lot of the foundation it’s destroyed, and they would be lucky if they get out in time. They start running, Damian ahead of her. They were almost at the entrance but something in her, maybe her instincts told her that they would not make it. Using the rest of her energy, she focuses on her inner strength, gathering a bit of magic in the palm of her hand. With one fluid movement, she pushes all she has into her brother.

The impact of her magic sends him flying out of the building, into safety, just in time to miss the pieces of the temple falling down.  

“MARIANNE!”

It's the last thing she hears before she feels the weights falling onto her body. For some minutes she feels everything, the burning pain in every inch of her body and the shallow movements of her chest. 

But for the moment that didn’t matter, she was tired, and she knew she could rest knowing her brother was safe.

“Ahbk ya akhi”

Hope you liked this new chapter, it was a bit longer than usual. I’m not very good at writting about fights, but I hope it wasn’t terrible. Let me know if you want to be added to the Tag List!

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[slasherkisss]

CABIN FEVER - JASON VOORHEES X READER [CHAPTER 8]

Summary In an effort to remove yourself from your previous life in the big city, you move to Crystal Lake. The cabin you had inherited from your father makes the perfect place for a fresh start, however, there is a secret in these woods (and within yourself) that you must come to accept…and to love.

A/N I finally managed to get some muse for this again! I have an idea of where I’m going to go with it and I can’t wait to actually finish this project, I’m gonna do it if it kills me. Here’s the next chapter at least...a year later lol 

——————————————————————————————

Months passed between the day of slaughter, and something inside of you felt heavy even after the deed had been said and done.

True to his word, Jason had taken care of everything. You had woken up the day after the Incident to clean sheets and the disappearance of both blood and body in your mind. It was as though the back of your head was trying desperately to push the thoughts of slaughter from you. To lock it away inside of your subconscious in a way that you would never be able to reach it again. It was something you didn’t need to remember, your brain insisted with desperation lacing the tone it usually took when it spoke to you, and you should simply accept that it would never be like that again.

The nightmares did not let you forget, though.

Each night seemed plagued with them, some more grueling than the other. More desperate in its plaintiveness each time you thought through the story that played within it. Your body in each dream pushed itself through dark, craggy forests and against the bare ground of soil. Roots curled with hunger at your legs as you chased your victim, breath heaving and weapon tight in your fist as you caught up to the terrified little thing. Your weapon always seemed to change in the time of your rest. Sometimes it was the trowel, pointed at its tip and built only for tilling the earth, and other times it was a machete with a glimmering blade and reflective steel like teeth bared for murder.

Sometimes, you were the one running from yourself. Your own form silhouetted in the darkness as you chased down who you knew you had to kill. Sometimes you tripped on the edges of roots so thick they might as well have been hands, and looked up into your own wild gaze. Your own form as you shakily held up the trowel against your fingertips. Sometimes it was you who screamed into the darkness as the weapon fell down into your skull and - oh - you could feel the pain in your body as the pressure drowned you in rivulets of dark red against soil.

You woke up more often than not during the night now, the nightmares ripping through your body in the form of a loud, shaky scream that would fill the forest late into the evening. You found yourself more than once awoken by Jason. His hands would cling to your sides and be pressing you firmly into the bed, keeping your arms away from yourself as what cuts you had given your skin due to your ragged nails blossomed over you. It was as though you were trying to write a message into your own body. If you squinted close enough, the lines you had scribbled with your keratin on the soft flesh or your inner arm were almost readable in their entirety.

Your fault. You did this. She’s dead. It was you! Always you.

As you pondered the threats of the voice inside of your head, staring idly at the slowly healing scars that littered your body now, you were pulled away by a knock at the door. It was a pounding and forceful thing that sent your already sensitive head reeling into a momentary headache. You could feel the pain behind your teeth and you could already tell it would slowly become a migraine after a few more hours of leaving it be. You were sure you had some pain killers somewhere left in your bathroom’s medicine cabinet. If not, you mused, you had willow bark and some rosemary out in your steadily growing garden. You could always whip up a remedy for it using those.

The second solid knock on the door made you more weary as you approached it, however. It was not how Jason knocked. He did so gently, afraid of breaking your doorframe if he slammed on it too hard. He never wanted to startle you with his force and, besides, as of late you’ve been allowing him to simply walk into your home without knocking. It was his home now as much as yours and the thought permeated your weariness to offer a fleeting touch of euphoria.

The third knock was accompanied by a voice.

“Hello? Is anyone home?”

You tensed, palms suddenly sweaty as you stared at the doorknob. You felt your stomach lurch in terror as you chewed on the inside of your cheek, biting down hard enough to feel the skin give into a bruising press of your molars. Jason was not due back from his daily patrol of the lake for an hour still. Likewise, he did not speak. He did not have a voice like that. Rough. Open. Unknown.

With a deep, long inhale you gripped the doorknob and slowly opened it up, the old wood creaking with every turn. You made a mental note to oil its hinges when you could.

The man standing in front of you was middle aged, the graying of the hairs littered in his beard giving it away that he was pushing closer to his 50s at the earliest. The thin lines of his wispy hair were hidden behind a dark brown Stetson rimmed with a small tassel of gold and a badge that indicated his status as a police officer from the local town station. Your mind could not read the words decorated on his tanned uniform. They floated against his skin like ancient hieroglyphs as you gripped the doorknob of your home tighter. Your knuckles turned white behind the frame.

You felt a cold rush of air hit your body and you stiffened, brows furrowing as you tried to act surprised and not as terrified as you felt beneath your skin.

“Afternoon, Ma’am,” The officer tilted his hat respectfully at you, “Sorry to bother you in… Your home. I just had a couple of questions for you regarding a few missing folks if that’s alright.”

You did not miss the pause in his tone as he looked around the forest, clearly uncomfortable in the vast outdoor space. You almost wanted to snort. Wasn’t it his job to patrol the woods? To keep hooligans and stupid hunters out of here in the first place? No, he wasn’t even doing that. Instead it was Jason who protected this forest. Who kept everything within it safe, far better than this fool who stood before you could ever do. You shifted on your feet, ignoring the damp spot of sweat growing on the back of your neck.

“Y-Yes that’s quite alright,” You managed out in a surprisingly even tone, your stutter passing as surprise for seeing an officer so suddenly, “It’s horrible to hear some people are missing, especially this time of year.”

“I know,” He sounded almost genuine in his remorse, “That’s why we’re asking around in case anyone’s seen them. Last I heard from another source, they were up camping out in the forest area around here. I figured since you lived up here, you’d be able to tell me if you’ve seen anything of ‘em around or close to your property? Have you ever walked around the forest and caught sight of some folks? Or seen any campsites set up close by, maybe?”

Your mind flashed to the images of the bodies dead on the forest floor, their red blood soaking into the mossy ground. Dead eyes stared forward at you in your mind, glossy with haze and their faces contorted into fear as their brains decorated the edges of tree trunks around you. You remembered the woman, your spade lowered into her skull and her blood warm on your hands as you watched her still pulsating organs devour themselves in an ouroboros of sin.

“Ma’am?”

You looked up with surprise, snapping yourself out of your momentary disassociation. You swallowed and sighed.

“Sorry, I was thinking if I’d seen anyone,” You were surprised how easily the lie left your lips as you shook your head, “Unfortunately, I haven’t seen anything but the deer lately. As far as I know, no one’s been around here.”

There was a momentary pause in the conversation. A quiet lapse as the officer gazed forward at you, a furrow to his brow marking his concern. Your heart pounded hard in your chest, moving its way up to your throat. He knew, you thought with terror rising in your veins, he knew that you were lying. That you had done it. He saw through your lies and into your soul. Into your sins and-

“Alright,” He nodded, “Thanks for your input. Now you don’t hesitate to call the station if you see any suspicious activity in this place, alright? It’s dangerous living alone in this forest, but rest assured we’ll keep it under control.”

“It’s been pleasant so far,” You find yourself speaking out softly, almost with a smile, “But I… appreciate the security, Officer…”

“Hughes. Darcy Hughes,” He introduced himself, his smile lines emphasizing his age as he gave you a brisk nod, “Take care of yourself and don’t get into any trouble, then.”

“I’ll certainly do my best.”

With another tilt of his hat and a hum to his lips, he turned away from you to file back into his police car that he had brought out, the top of it already slightly covered by fallen pine needles and leaves. He brushed them off gently before getting back in, offering one last wave to you through his windshield. You waved back, a smile plastered on your face as you watched him start up his vehicle, back out of the dirt driveway, and turn down the barely wide enough path to the town once more.

You didn’t stop waving until you were sure his car was out of sight. Slowly you turned back into your home, closing the door behind you, where you stood for a long, quiet moment.

Your legs shook the next second, trembling so hard that they gave out from underneath you. You collapsed to the floor, gasping for a breath you didn't realize you had been holding this whole time. You coughed, wincing at the pain of splinters gathering in your kneecaps, and you threw your hands out to catch yourself as you heaved. For a moment you felt like you were going to vomit onto the floor in front of you, but your throat was so dry with exhaustion that nothing dared to come up and ruin its scratchy heat.

You did it. You had made it out of that situation. Yet the weight on your shoulder burned like a brand, searing an invisible mark into your flesh as you cried out in pain, arching your back as if to escape the sensation.

Liar, your mind laughed at you, what a liar, lair, lair-

A new knock on the door startled you from your writhing episode on your floor. Your face paled in terror. Was the officer back? Maybe you could ignore his knocking. Maybe you could pretend to be in the back of your house and ignore the sound that scratched on your eardrums like a funeral march. Perhaps it was Jason? Returning early from his patrol and sensing your distress behind the door of your home? Your heart momentarily sparked with hope as you stood up on your feet again, feeling light headed as you turned and reached out, wincing at the feeling of the knob beneath your hand once again.

When you pulled it open this time, it was neither Hughes nor Jason. But someone new.

He was an older man, older than Officer Hughes certainly, with barely any hair on his wrinkled, liver-spotted forehead. The way his lip shriveled around his mouth indicated his lack of teeth, his sagging cheeks only serving to make the glare of dark brown eyes he trailed on you all the more intimidating. He stepped forward, invading your space the moment you opened the door. The scent of alcohol was radiating off of him, making you want to gag and cover your mouth as you took one step back into your home, swallowing hard.

“C...Can I help you?”

“Saw you talkin with Officer Friendly there,” He growled out with a raise of his eyebrow, “Told him you didn’t see nothin, didn’t ya?”

“Well, yes I-”

“Been a while since you been in town too, huh?”

Your eyes widened in surprise. It was true, you rarely visited the small town just outside of Crystal Lake. Since your self sustaining farm had taken off, you really only visited for canned goods to stock up on during the winter, or to sell some of your fresh produce to the local grocery store for a little extra money in your pocket here and there. When you did visit, you rarely talked to any of the locals that did not demand your immediate business. You exhaled, your fingertips drumming on the wood of your door.

“I haven’t had a need to.”

The man smiled, confirming your hypothesis on his missing teeth.

“Ya may have fooled the police, girl, but oh I know. I know just what you are, you know. Ain’t gonna pull the wool over ol’ Eddie’s eyes, oh no siree.”

He - Eddie you guessed - got closer to you, his eyes narrowing in a squint as you set your jaw in worry.

“Yer a witch, ain’t ya.” The way he said it didn’t mean it was a question, “Livin out here with yer potions and yer nature. I bet ya killed those folks, too! But oh, it don’t matter. You got em fooled, don't you?”

He was advancing more now, dangerous in his posture towards you as you swallowed hard. You stepped back into your home, moving your grip on the door to quickly shut it, but his boot clad foot blocked the entrance so it didn’t shut all the way. You gasped as he crawled through the gap, a spider with crazed eyes and gnashing jaws as he reached out for you with a glare.

“I knew you’d be trouble since ya came! Changing our town’s ways an communin out here with them spirits. Y’ain’t gonna fool me, not me! You’ll get turned right in and they’ll see ya for what ya are, ya witch! Ya daughter of Satan! Ya-”

He suddenly wasn’t there anymore. With a surprised yelp his entire form was peeled away from your door. You held your breath in surprise, your heart beating loud in your ears as you waited for another sign that he would come in. That he would break the door down and rip apart your form in search of his evidence. In search of anything to call you a witch once more. You looked at your hearth of bones and dried plants, setting your jaw as you understood the accusations, but did not want to hear them.

Instead all you heard outside was another strangled gasp of surprise. A solid snap of something fragile. A thud of body to wood.

You waited a few more seconds before gripping the frame in trembling hands, slowly peeling the door open to reveal what had happened just feet from you in your home.

Eddie’s head was bent to face his back, his eyes wide and dead in shock as his jaw hung limply, broken and bruising the tender skin of his old face. Only a small amount of blood dribbled from the dislocation of his jaw and neck, the tendons bursting against the bruising skin. His fingers curled in on themselves like a dead spider would curl its legs on itself. You stared, blank and unsure for the longest of moments as your heartbeat slowed in your chest. As you licked your suddenly too chapped lips in an effort to hold back your growing smile.

You failed, exhaling as the edges of your mouth upturned into something of a wide, relieved looking grin. You looked upwards from the crumpled body before you, a blush heating your cheeks as you admired the man standing in front of it, his breath coming in ragged gasps against his chest as he followed your gaze.

Jason reached out to you, ignoring the body on your porch. His fingertips roamed the vast expanse of your skin, feeling for any wounds or any indication that you had been hurt before he could reach out to protect you. When you gave a swift sign of ‘I’m fine’ his shoulders sagged in relief. His gaze returned momentarily to the body at his side. One hand reached up to his form, the awkwardness of signing with just a single one making it hard to read but understandable nonetheless. He refused to let go of you for even a moment.

‘What happened?’

‘Police came. Townsfolk are getting suspicious.’

The hand on your shoulder tensed, the pressure in creasing for only a moment.

‘Then I’ll kill them.’

‘No! You can’t get all of them.’

‘I want you to be safe.’

‘I’m safe with you. Always with you.’

Jason paused then, his hand finally freeing your arm as he looked away. He gazed down at the body in front of him, its tangled limbs and broken spine an homage to just what he would do for you. As if aiding in his thoughts, the wind blew gently through the trees. Fallen leaves swirled upwards in a momentary tornado. In the background, your chickens clucked in their coops and the soil housing both your plants and the dead bodies gathered for fertilizer filled Jason with a suddenly intense sort of want. He looked back at you. Through his mask you could see conviction. Surprised at the look, you tilted your head at him, brows furrowed in confusion. You reached your hand out to touch his face, rubbing along the rough edges of his hockey mask in a gentle gesture, one he leaned into as your touch grounded him.

“What’s wrong?” You spoke this time, your tone a weak whisper as you searched his gaze, “What are you thinking about?”

How he knew the next sign was beyond you, yet he moved his fingertips with such conviction that you could not help the heart stopping gasp that welled inside of you when he managed it:

‘Marry me.’

[afoolnottoloveu]

kiss you until your lips turn blue ♡

Summary: Reader’s first impression and first date with a handsome stranger (WC: 1.3k) {Masterlist <3}

Pairing: Spencer Reid x she/her!Reader

TW: none!

A/N: this is the first in my “series” (but not rly bc theyre not gonna be one storyline) of dodie song imagines :-) bolded lines are direct lines from the song, but there are some subtler references so i do recommend listening to the song before/after(/during? do yall listen to music while u read cause i cannot)

Song Pairing: Absolutely Smitten - dodie

--

she knew this feeling all too well. looking at him across the room, his brow furrowing in a look she’s never seen associated with that book, the book that had to be ancient. the library she worked at had a very special section dedicated to those types of books, but she rarely went there. but him, he seemed to have a connection to that section. maybe she would have to go there more often. she didn’t believe in love at first sight, not even fate. but god, was she infatuated. his long brown curls, his accentuated features. he looked like an absolute dork, honestly. a handsome dork, who was also an absolute stranger. an absolute stranger who was now walking over to her as she was still staring at him, oh god.

luckily for her, he was having a real hard time holding all his books, keeping his gaze on them and not her. “hi, i’d like to check these out please,” his voice was higher than she had anticipated, but she wasn't one to judge. she barely had a voice right this second. he had to have had at least 15 books, ranging all over the spectrum, from classical literature, to foreign novels, to science-y looking books, (she was an english major, if that wasn’t obvious). poor dorky stranger looked like he’d need some help. “are these all for you, love?” the nickname spilling from her lips before she could think. she did the smallest wince she could manage because he was looking at her now with those gorgeous brown eyes and she was hoping, praying he didn't notice the wince nor the nickname. (spoiler alert: he noticed. both.) “uh-um y-yeah, they are,” he gave a small chuckle. “you know you have to return all of these within 2 weeks, right?” “i’ll probably be back in 1” she gave him a wide-eyed stare. as much as she loved books, she could probably finish at most 3 in a week. was this guy some superhuman? “well, do you need help carrying these back to your car? i couldn’t help but notice you struggling to carry them to this counter,” she giggled, causing a flush to spread across the stranger’s face. “that’d be great,” he grinned, causing her heart to swell. well, handsome stranger, you have turned her insides into jelly. - tonight was her first date with handsome stranger, spencer reid. after he came back the third time, and the third time of helping him carry books back to his car, they both seemed to have the same idea, asking each other to get a cup of coffee at the same time. she still had work after that, but today was the day for that cup of coffee. (she couldn't really refer to him as handsome stranger anymore, but it felt right, so she would continue to call him that in her head.) she looked in the mirror on her apartment wall, wearing a golden sundress and a large brown overcoat. it was mid-september; not too hot nor cold, but DC tended to have a killer breeze that she was always sensitive to. this had to be at least her third outfit change, and she thought she looked okay, but an image of him popped in her head. handsome stranger, you have made her wonder if she’s pretty. (pretty enough for someone as pretty as him, anyways. how ironic.) she took a deep breath and a good look in the mirror. ‘he’s made you smitten. absolutely smitten.’ and with that thought, she quickly headed out the door before she could change her mind. ~ she had told spencer she was taking him to a ‘surprise,’ but from the walk there, spencer had already guessed where they were going. the pre-surprise coffee was delightful; the two talked about an awful lot of books, other things amongst. he was a freaking FBI agent! not only that, but he was a profiler; he read people for a living. what a job. she asked him how he could possibly finish 15 books in a week-she thought it was a joke when he said that at the time. his response just baffled her even more. ‘i have an IQ of 187, can read 20,000 words per minute and have 3 PhDs and 3 BAs.’ she wanted to pick this man’s brain. maybe handsome stranger wasn’t so poorly fit after all, what did she really even know about this superhuman? she, on the other hand, was a freaking librarian, one of the most boring jobs out there. well, not to the two of them. she actually adored her job. she was still working on her masters degree on her off time, but it was great easy money and the old lady she worked with, gina, was like another grandma. spencer mentioned wanting to volunteer sometime, but his work schedule was hectic, cases taking him across the country at the oddest times.

the two of them approached the library and she stuck the smallest key from her key ring into the door to unlock it. it was about 8pm on a sunday, and luckily the store closed an hour prior, leaving it to their devices.

“is this allowed?”

“don’t worry, love; gina co-owns the library, i’m sure she wouldn’t mind,” she flashed him a smile, causing him to blush.

the library was tiny, probably the size of a high school one. she lead him over to the checkout desk and looked for the microphone somewhere underneath the table. with the tiny building, she only needed to use it in case of emergency, closing warnings when it was packed, that sort of thing.

“so, can you dance?” she questioned as she placed the microphone atop the desk. all spencer did was get wide-eyed, so she would assume the answer was no. “that’s alright, that’s never stopped me before.” and at that, she pressed play on her phone and placed it next to the mic. a soft instrumental began to play over the speakers as she quickly skipped to one of the corners and plugged something in. suddenly, the hanging string of lightbulbs lit up, giving the place a beautiful dim glow.

“wow,” she heard spencer breath at the setting.

“do you like it? i wanted to dance around the room, i hope you don’t mind.”

that caused spencer to look at her with an expression she could not read for the life of her.

“c’mon, you asked me if i could dance,” ignoring the question, he stuck out his hand for her to take, which she did with a smirk and a giggle. 

leading her to in front of the desk, the two swayed to the soft melody. he placed his hands on her waist as respectfully as possible as she wrapped her arms around his neck, even though the height difference was significant. once the rhythm seemed natural to the two of them, she laid her head on his chest, and spencer did his best not to flinch.

“didn’t you say you were something of a germaphobe? is this okay, love?” she whispered. all he could do was nod, and he was being honest. he felt safe.

once the song changed to something older that he couldn’t quite place his finger on, he leaned his head back, causing her to look up.

looking into her almost pleading eyes, he was the one who whispered this time. “can i kiss you?”

she wanted to respond ‘you can kiss me until your lips turn blue.’ instead, she opted for a nod. and then, her world stopped spinning and time froze. his lips were on her own, and she hated to admit it to anyone but herself, but this was a new feeling to her. it was a welcome one at that, though.

once pulled away, he recognized the song. it’s almost as if everything was a little bit clearer after he kissed her. they continued to sway to the new song, at last by etta james. she didn’t know, but he realized, he’ll never let you go. and she, well let’s just say she may believe in fate.

--

Taglist: @bxbyspxncer @yesimaunicorn @pumpkin-goob @prettyboy-reid

[memory-mortis]

Little Kitten (Dio x Reader)

Why hello there! First of all, I have no clue what this is. It’s not smut. It’s not fluff either. It’s just... huh. A random idea I had like 2 days ago. Secondly, to all of you who sent me a request months ago, I am really sorry. Don’t worry! I am still working on them! But it’s taking really long because I just went through a small writing block and I was feeling a little depressed. I will finish them one day, it just might take a while. Anyway, without further ado, let’s get this bread

WC: 1.8k TW: blood, the usual Dio stuff

So this was supposed to be a self-insert, which means the reader was originally meant to be female, but now that I think about it, it could be perceived as gender neutral too. The reader wears dresses, but fuck it, boys and nonbinary folk can wear dresses too, fuck gender stereotypes amirite?

This one contains NSFW themes. 18+ only.

“My, my… what do we have here? A soaked little kitten.”

Those were the first words he ever spoke to you. They came within a fever dream, his voice coated in honey and silk, reaching for the deepest desires hidden within your soul. He clenched your heart in his fists, dug his sharp nails into its tender meat. Figuratively speaking, of course.

Lord Dio had found you on the side of the road, soaked from the rain, beaten and bruised. You were trembling, barely conscious, and the memory of him walking towards you, his steps reminiscent of those of a proud lion, was hazy and blurry. It is safe to say that you were very close to death, and you would’ve had perished had it not been for him. You couldn’t tell to this day why he chose you out of all the poor women lying on the street, but he took a liking to you and while many men and women came to his mansion only to never return home alive, he kept you by his side and even fed you. In return… he made you his little play toy. You didn’t mind. You had nowhere else to go, and no one had treated you as respectfully as Lord Dio. He knew your boundaries, and whenever you asked him to stop, he stopped, and that is exactly why you chose to accompany him to Egypt.

The full moon hung low over the streets of Cairo littered with dots of light created by street lamps. A cool breeze of fresh air poured in through the open window which you stood by, your eyes pinned to the view of the city that opened in front of you. You did not feel cold thanks to the blanket wrapped around your shoulders. Lord Dio would freak out if you didn’t take care of yourself and that was the last thing you wanted. A sigh escaped your lips in the form of a cloud of mist. While the air in Egypt was hot and dry in the day, once the sun set, the temperatures dropped close to the freezing point. You admired your master for being able to sleep in the scorching heat. You had tried to adjust your own sleep schedule to match his but it was always just too hot to sleep and so you had to settle for seeing him late at night and early in the morning, despite how lonely that sometimes made you feel.

You started reminiscing of your first days spent with Lord Dio. The very first night he took you home you were sick and tired, so you didn’t protest when he cleaned you up and helped you get dressed into warm new clothes. Besides, from the aura he gave off, you knew you couldn’t escape even if you tried to.

“My poor little kitten, malnourished, your cheeks are so thin and your eyes so sunken,” he purred into your ear as he washed your hair. You were so exhausted you leaned back into his touch and didn’t move when he ran his hand over your throat. Dio was pleasantly surprised by your reaction, you could practically feel the smirk growing on his face as he leaned over to smell your neck. “So compliant, so submissive,” he whispered as he stroked your cheek. “I think I’ll keep you around.”

You were not a fool. You knew that Dio wasn’t human from first laying your eyes on him. Everything about him was so surreal, so ethereal, he was inhumanly gorgeous and radiated the glow of a supernatural being. You knew he was a vampire. It wasn’t your first time spotting one. But you didn’t mind. You didn’t care if you were just another meal for him. You fell prey not only to his predatory instincts and tendencies, but also to his otherworldly beauty. You craved every single look of those sharp, golden eyes, you needed his cold touch. His attention was a drug that kept you up at night.

To your surprise, it took weeks for him to show any interest in drinking your blood. In fact, he hadn’t shown himself to you at all in the first few days. Each morning, you would wake up to eggs, bread and tea on your nightstand, and every evening you would find dinner on the floor in front of your door. Lord Dio was elusive, nowhere to be found no matter how hard you tried. Sometimes you would run to the door upon hearing footsteps, only to find a completely empty hallway, and for a moment you thought that you were crazy or living in a haunted mansion.

But then… you found him. He was sitting in an armchair in the library, an open book in his lap. Despite having his back to you, he registered your presence.

“Hello there, kitten,” he greeted you without even looking at you. You shuddered at the sound of his voice, just as soft and alluring as you had remembered. Finally, he closed the book in his lap and set it aside, stood up and looked at you. The view was breathtaking. He gazed down at you hungrily, a couple of golden locks falling into his face. He had no shirt on and his broad chest and toned abs were clearly visible to you. You noticed the scar all around his neck and you would’ve questioned him about it had it not been for sudden anxiety rising within you. Before you could notice, he was behind you, brushing your hair aside to take a good look at your shoulder. “Hmm, you’ve put on some weight. Good, good… now you don’t look like a walking skeleton anymore. Tell me, kitten, what’s your name?” he asked, his voice low and somewhat comforting. You immediately felt at ease, as if intoxicated by his presence alone. “Y/n,” you answered obediently. “Y/n…” he rolled your name over his tongue as if savoring it, engraving it into his memory. “What a pretty name for a pretty little creature. Say, y/n,” he spoke in a low voice, his lips close to your ear. You couldn’t help but lean your head towards him in a trance, drunk from the vibes he radiated. You couldn’t explain it if you tried, but something about him made everything feel right. “What do you say about becoming my personal plaything? I’ll treat you well. I’ll take you everywhere I go.” You nodded all too furiously, which made him let out a chuckle that took your breath away. “Good, good,” he growled excitedly and in a matter of seconds he was gone and back in his armchair. “Go prepare yourself. There are some dresses in your closet. We’re dining together tonight.” You didn’t waste any more time.

Lord Dio didn’t need to eat. He mostly just watched you while drinking his wine. Or blood. Who knew what he held in that wine glass. At first you felt really awkward. The food was really good, but you didn’t like people watching you gobbling down on it. Eventually, however, you got used to it. Every now and then you would look up and see him either reading or smirking to himself. Sometimes, his eyes would linger on the lower parts of your body. The dresses he would bring you every now and then were very pretty, you almost felt like a doll in them. You rather didn’t ask where he got them. But what was even more exciting was him getting you out of them.

The first time, he was surprisingly gentle. You could tell that he wanted to ravish you right then and there, but he held back, just for you. You were his little kitten. He couldn’t let himself break you, at least not so soon. It was a difficult task, but he did his best to make it a pleasurable experience. Still, to this day, your favourite nights were those where he let himself slip. The ones where he would rip your dress to shreds, push your face deep into the sheets of his huge bed and tear your body apart. Every thrust of his hips felt like the first beat of your heart, every “little kitten” whispered in your ear brought you alive, the real you that was not afraid to scream. You didn’t care if Vanilla Ice, or anyone else for that matter, heard you. It was hard to do so with Dio’s cock stretching your insides, the spell he cast upon you made it hard to form a coherent thought during those times.

He loved to hear your moans, he loved the way you called out his name. It gave him an incredible power trip, and his satisfaction brought even more pleasure to you. He never even tried to tone you down. He liked it loud.

You ran your fingers over the laced choker around your neck. It was one of his many gifts, and by far your favourite. Because it was his favourite too. It quickly became a necessity to wear these. After all, you didn’t want to walk around with the bite marks on your throat exposed. He didn’t drink too much. Every now and then he would get excited during sex and drink more than usual, which caused you to be dizzy, but you didn’t mind this either. In fact, it became something of a pleasant ritual. Your brain connected the dots between drinking blood and breeding and after a while you were conditioned so well your core would throb if he so much as licked the wound.

You’d seen the corpses of all the women and men he would drain of all blood. Something about you was special, your blood was different. He said it was like a juicy cherry on top of a cake. That’s one of the reasons why he kept you around. That, and the fact that you didn’t really question his decisions.

“You’re up late,” lord Dio’s voice echoed from behind you and you didn’t even flinch when he put his hands on your shoulders. “Can’t sleep,” you mumbled. “Oh? What’s keeping you up? Need to burn some energy?” He stroked your cheek with his knuckles and you shuddered at his touch. He froze when he saw the tears welling up in your eyes, turned you around and lifted your chin up to take a proper look at your face. “What’s wrong, kitten? What’s making you shed those tears? Did someone try to hurt you?” You shook your head in response. “They’re getting close, aren’t they?” Though it was a question, your tone made it sound more like a statement. Dio went silent for a moment. “Are you worried about me, Dio?” he said with a growing smirk. “I am the greatest being alive. They can try to get as close as they want, there is no way they could ever lay a hand on me.”

You sniffled and did your best to stop your quivering lip. Dio looked at you like you were a fragile little flower, wiped the tear on your cheek away with his thumb and leaned down to press a kiss to your forehead.

“Come, let’s go to the bedroom, little kitten. It seems that you need to be reminded of how powerful I am.”

[sleekervae]

The Neighbour [0.4]

Masterlist

The first thing Eva did when she came home was finish downloading the rest of Palaye Royale's discography. It was as though pushing the arrow on the saturation scale and suddenly her apartment with skeleton white walls and empty shadows was bursting with a new variety of rich colors. Songs that pulled back the whites in her eyes and forced open her ears to this new euphoria that was rattling through her brain and body like a pinball game.

The band's music drifted through the apartment for the rest of the night, tracks on a loop that was sure to make the tenants upstairs despise her. By the time she finished cooking dinner for herself she was lost in the cynical poetry of Warhol, entranced by the echoing of Remington's rasping screams that were never out of tune. And while she was supposed to be working on her latest article, Eva was instead watching the video for Lonely, the entire time feeling like her throat had been ripped out by a bare fist and forced to watch it beat out.

All in all, Dying in a Hot Tub took the crown for favorite. On a Saturday night, when she would usually be out with friends and drinking her problems away at the local bar, Eva was dancing through her apartment, pretending to sing along to the miserable and comprehensive words. A glass of cheap white wine sat on the counter, aiding in her inhibitions for having a rock concert in her living room. Pluto wasn't having any of it, retreating to his bed and ignoring her for most of the night.

Meanwhile, holed up in his own bedroom Remington scrolled through the Tumblr blog that Eva told him about: posts filled with poetry and proses that had him hooked as sure as he was doing drugs. Each post told a story, ranging from questions about her femininity, difficulties in growing up with an absent mother and a know-it-all dad, the first boy she had who humped and dumped her after prom. Remington wanted to read it all, falling deeper into the rabbit hole of Eva Kuznetsov.

His focus shifted from text to music when he heard a familiar sound: that sound being his own voice. The faint echo of words he was singing to crowds not months ago were suddenly swirling in the air, and when he turned to the complex, he found he had a clear view of Eva dancing away under the golden lights of her apartment. She had the screen door opened, not big enough for Pluto to squeeze through, but enough so he could hear the muffled music from his room. He knew he had pretty open access to Eva; he just didn't realize that he could see right into her space.

Which meant she could probably see into his room, too...

It was mesmerizing to watch her, spinning, jumping, her hair pirouetting around the sharp edges of her perfect jaw, all the while smiling and pretending to sing along. It was the most endearing thing Remington had seen in a long time, watching the real Eva come to life. She was uninhibited by people and impressions, dressed down in a pair of little cotton shorts and her hoodie, she was absolutely crazy and perfect.

Mischief soon got the better of Remington and he reached for his phone, eagerly selecting her number and typing. Across the way, Eva stopped dancing when the music dipped, indicating that she received a text on her phone. Brushing her winded hair out of her face, she grabbed her phone off the desk, her face going beet red when she was Remington's text:

Nice dance moves, Frances Houseman

She glanced up through the glass sliding door, mortified when she realized Remington could see her this whole time. Illuminated by the glow of the street lamp, his boyish smile seemed to shine brighter, clearly amused with this late-night entertainment. She took a deep breath and turned down the volume of the music, trying to collect herself.

How much of that did you see?

He responded not even ten seconds later:

Enough to know your hips clearly don't lie.

Shut up

And if I may ask, why are you looking through my window?

I can't help it. I'm vain enough that I get distracted by my own damn voice

Or you're just a fucking creeper

The fact that you haven't closed the curtain tells me you don't seem to mind an audience ;)

A familiar warmth spread through the pit of her stomach and Eva began to giggle uncontrollably; like a child that had been caught stealing a cookie from the jar and was so on edge she couldn't help but laugh. Stupid her for not closing the curtain.

Well I'm sorry, but the show is over now

She then went to the window to close the curtain, flipping off the smirking blonde as she shut out the rest of the world. Remington only laughed to himself, quickly texting back:

But the memories will live on in my brain

Fuck you, Leith!!

I think you should buy me a drink first, Kuznetsov

Eva just shook her head as she read his last message, downing the rest of her wine with a rose-tinted cheeks. Even with the music off, she still had Remington's soft raspy voice ringing in her head as she decided it was time to turn in. She couldn't help but start singing to herself.

"But I'm dying in a hot tub, I'm dying in a hot tub with my cat!" she lunged down and pointed both hands at Pluto. Pluto was unfazed, just staring at her with an unemotive expression. Eva's smile turned into a scowl.

"Well, fuck you too, then,"

✧✧✧

May brought the promise of vibrant flowers, bikini bodies and so many reasons for people to go out and mingle with their friends at the beaches and clubs.

Well... that was the case a year ago...

In Remington's mind, he and his friends had no need to go down to the beach and risk contracting Covid when he had a perfectly safe and clean pool and patio in his backyard. And within the last two and some weeks, he had succeeded in bringing Eva around more and more.

She got along great with everybody, which had Remington confused as to why she said she had it rough with friends. But everybody seemed to like her, and soon enough she had assimilated into their little pod. She started just with sitting outside with everyone, and when she was comfortable enough she came and hung out inside the house. Afternoons were either spent by the pool or watching TV shows and eating snacks. And the more she stayed over, the more Remington became fascinated with her.

Even Emerson and Sebastian couldn't deny that there was something about Eva that was unique; she was sparkplug of quick witticisms and lame jokes that people would laugh at just because she was so cute. She was mature way beyond her years, and yet she still had fun like a teenager trying to find themselves in high school. More than anything, the boys were curious to how close Eva and Remington were slowly becoming.

Remington liked hanging out in Eva's apartment. The environment held a different kind of vibe; like an aesthetic post you'd tag on Pinterest under a renovations gallery. But Remington was inside Eva's world, seeing the random art pieces she had hung on the walls and getting to hang with Pluto on the couch. He helped her bake when they couldn't think of anything else to do, and she always insisted he'd bring some home even when he assured her that he didn't need it. She was kind, homely, a woman with a clean soul and dirty mind who could make him laugh and didn't care when he openly belched after a soda.

Despite the pandemic, Remington was excited for his birthday. Any other time, he was at a bar or a house party with his friends, drinking until he couldn't feel his legs or ending up face-deep in a grimy toilet bowl. Even though the party wouldn't be as fun as it usually would be, Remington was looking forward to at least spend his birthday with his closest family and friends, only.

Eva wished she could have had the same optimism Remington did, but the Saturday before his birthday, she was none too pleased to find that the drain to her kitchen sink was leaking water. And apparently, it wasn't her landlord's job to come up and fix it for her.

"You want me to come take a crack at it?" Remington asked when Eva explained the situation.

Eva's phone was on speaker as she tried to navigate the utility box in the closet to turn off her water.

"Do you have experience in sink maintenance?" she asked.

"I don't," Remington admitted, "But that's what Youtube is for, right?"

Eva simpered, "As entertaining as it would be watch you destroy my sink, I respectfully decline,"

"You think too low of me, Eva," he whined.

"I just know you better than you think, Remington," she replied smartly, "I got a plumber coming by, anyway. And he can't get here 'til six for some reason so I'll be down a shower day,"

Remington's eyebrows furrowed down, "He's coming at six at night?" he asked.

"Yeah," Eva replied, seemingly clueless to the skepticism in his voice.

"What plumber makes house calls after five o'clock?" he said.

Eva stopped short, "Well, he's an independant freelancer. Makes his own hours, I guess,"

"You hired a fucking freelancer to come fix your sink?" he said incredulously.

"He's what I can afford," she replied.

"So he didn't come from an agency?"

"Nope!" Eva huffed, satisfied when she finally figured out how to turn off the water dial, "He came from Letgo,"

It was then Remington had a sinking feeling in his gut. He didn't blame Eva that she didn't want to splurge her money on a plumber, but the thought of her alone with a strange man -- who mostly carried a multitude of heavy tools -- made his hair stand on end.

"Maybe I'll come by and wait with you while he does the job," he said.

"Why?" Eva asked.

"Because you're a small girl letting a strange man into your apartment after hours," he replied.

Eva turned to her window, still having a firm view of Remington's empty, but messy bedroom, "You were a strange guy I let into my apartment," she countered.

"And now you have concrete proof that I'm not a creep, I'm just a little weirdo," he replied, "I'd just feel better being there with you, is all,"

Eva shrugged, understanding where he was coming from yet assuring herself that he was overthinking it, "I mean, if you wanna'... sure,"

"Great!" Remington grinned, "I'll be by before six,"

The early afternoon soon delved into the night, and just as he promised, Remington was at Eva's apartment ten minutes before six.

And the plumber was late.

Eva attributed it to traffic when the clock hit ten after, but then she was annoyed by twenty after. What was he possibly doing that he was twenty minutes late for a pay grab? Remington didn't say anything, though the knot in his stomach got tighter as the minutes ticked by. And when Eva assured him that he didn't need to stay, he simply shook his head and declined.

"The only way you're getting me out of this apartment is with a fucking pitchfork," he told her, smirking with pride. Eva only rolled her eyes.

It was finally quarter to seven when a battered, unlabelled black pickup truck pulled up in front of the complex. And just as Remington feared, a rather large man came falling out of the truck and started trudging his way inside. He carried no tools with him.

Both Remington and Eva had their masks on and the windows open as the plumber came inside. He was portly, older, and he wore the mask just under his nose; a particular pet peeve of Eva's. He was polite as he greeted the kids, narrowing his eyes at Remington. The whole time he was there, Remington made sure to keep Eva close to him.

"So, what seems to be the trouble?" the plumber asked, coming over to the sink but looking around slowly at the knick knacks and furniture within the apartment.

"Well, I'm not sure. It just started leaking all of the sudden," Eva shrugged.

The plumber glanced at the faucet, then took a look under the counter to the pipes. Eva began to understand why Remington was so eager to come over, now. He stayed well on his knees for longer than needed, not pulling out a flashlight to see in the dark shadows. Even Pluto seemed to sense something was off about this character, he leapt onto the top of the couch where he had a full vantage point of the typical case of plumber's crack.

The plumber finally sat back from his inspection, turning to the two kids, "I see what the problem is. I gotta' get my other tools from my truck, though," he said.

Eva and Remington glanced at each other with uncertainty, "... Okay," she drawled, "We'll, um -- we'll be here, I guess,"

"Okay," he forced himself back on his feet and exited out the door.

Not two seconds later, Remington heard the faint carry of voices in the hallways; a couple by the sounds of it. He took a look into the hall, indeed finding a pair of Eva's neighbours unlocking their door as the door to the stairwell slammed closed.

A few minutes passed, but Eva was confused when she heard the revving of an engine outside. She went to go look out her window, and sure enough, the black pickup truck was speeding away. Needless to say, she was shocked.

"What the fuck!?" she exclaimed, "He left!"

Remington came to look as well, not surprised but his fears quelled as he watched the truck disappear around the corner.

"Good," he said, "Truth be told, I'm pretty sure he wasn't here to fix the sink,"

Eva pulled her face mask off, "What, you think he wanted to rob me?" she asked.

"Or something a little more vile," Remington nodded, simultaneously pulling off his own mask, "He clearly didn't like the fact that I was here,"

Eva's face paled for a moment, now grateful she had let Remington in when he asked. How did he know, though?

"How did you know he wasn't legit?" she asked.

Remington scrunched his nose, "Well, first of all he's coming by at six -- well, seven o'clock on a weekend. Second of all, you found him on Letgo,"

Eva shrugged, "I don't trust Craigslist,"

"Because Letgo is any more reliable?" he raised his eyebrows with a petty grin, "This is the part where you say 'thank you for looking out for me, Remington',"

Eva narrowed her eyes at him, "Thanks for coming by, ya' smug shit," she glanced out the window again, "You think he's going to come back?"

"Not now that he thinks I'm here, too," Remington replied, "Like I'd leave my girlfriend alone with a strange guy at seven at night. In a fucking pandemic, too," he scoffed.

Eva looked at him quizzically, "... I'm not your girlfriend," she drawled.

"But he doesn't have to know that," he grinned back.

Eva had to admit, she was impressed. And moreover, quite grateful for Remington's persistence -- though she wouldn't tell him that.

"Aw, I have such a smart boyfriend!" she gushed sarcastically, clasping her hands together before going to fetch her Lysol spray.

Remington simply sat back down on the couch, feeling pretty damn good about himself now, "Anything for my baby!" he exclaimed happily.

"Shut up,"

[hyukiee]

Chapter 7: Influences

warnings: heavy drug mention, cussing, if your uncomfortable with drug use i would stop reading this story NOW

at this point i’ll post when i post im sorry lol let me know if you want to be tagged though

“So do psychedelics really fry your brain?” Hoseok and Jimin have been bombarding you with question while they took a break from their practice. They really have never been around someone like you before. “Only if you do it a lot, many people do it once and never feel the need to do it again,” you will always have a soft spot for psychedelics. You’ve done them about ten times too many but you are a hippy at heart. “Hobi would actually be the most ideal person to do psychedelics, he’s very happy and open minded. I learned the hard way you really have to be in a good mindset for it.” “Wahh, that’s so cool I bet it’s a cool experience,” Jimin responded. It almost sounded like he wanted to try it, you should probably stop talking… the idea sounds fun though. Tripping with the 7 idiots. You absolutely love tripping with innocent ass people, it’s so much fun to watch but you don’t want to be a bad influence.

Psychedelics aren’t addictive though…

“How are you feeling today?” Taehyung asked hugging you tightly with his sweat covered body. “Mm, a lot better actually.” “That’s good, you look a lot better today as well.” “You really do, I thought you were dead when I saw you sleeping on the couch yesterday,” Jin piped in laughing like a window wiper. Taehyung got more and more comfortable being touchy with you around the members as time went by but it’s saying the least when you say you live with 6 cock blockers. Not even the lust inside you could keep your mind off the awful idea Jimin and Hoseok gave you. The usual you wouldn’t think twice about this but you have to admit you’ve gotten comfortable here. You don’t want to mess things up with the guys, ever. Well, maybe it could be a little secret between the three of you… No.

“So why were you so curious earlier ?” You hopped over to Hoseok’s side as he started walking out of the BigHit building. “Mm, it intrigued me, I think Jimin might actually do it someday.” He laughed shaking his head thinking about him. “Don’t you? One day..?” Hobi stopped in his tracks and looked at you. He looked up at the sky in thought before responding, “Maybe, I mean like you said, most people only ever do it once.” You felt like a terrible person right now. “I would love to do it with you, whenever you would want to… i’d be the best to be with actually.” Hobi laughed as he got into the van with you. “I’ll have to think about it.” “Really!?” Okay, maybe you shouldn’t of sounded that excited but really? “Yeah, I mean.. it’s just a one time thing,” He said giving you a small smile. “Do you think any of the other guys would want to do it?” “Oh yeah, all of them probably with a certain amount of convincing.” “REALLY!?”

Is it fucked up that you know exactly how to get the boys to do drugs with you? Maybe. Will it backlash? Probably. You already got Hoseok, Jimin will be easy, Jungkook will probably easily follow, then Hoseok could convince Namjoon and he can convince Jin and Yoongi. That leaves Taehyung. If you can manage your way into getting Taehyung to do it, your best hope would be getting everyone else on board first. You’re not really doing anything wrong, you want them to experience something awesome that shouldn’t hurt them. “Yah, y/n cut to the chase already,” Jimin teased you. You brought him and Hoseok into a room to start your mission, you were definitely stalling. “I kind of got an idea and thought it would be really cool if we all did LSD together just once,” you spoke quietly paranoid someone would walk by and hear you. “Ahh, I mean… it sounds pretty scary but i’m sure you got us covered … that actually sounds pretty fun,” Jimin basically thought out loud about your idea. Two down, five to go. “How would you get it anyways?” Hokseok asked getting a sudden realization that you are brand new to South Korea, you couldn’t of possibly found any drug dealers that fast. “Oh don’t worry, I can get that shit shipped easy,” Jimin gave you a look, silently wondering how you would know this but come on, it’s you. “By the way, how should I ask Jungkook?”

“Wah, isn’t that stuff dangerous? I mean, I don’t know what the hyung will think about it honestly,” Jungkook rubbed the back of his neck responding to the question fo the week. “Well, Jimin and Hoseok said yes,” “Really?” He responded kind of surprised, you weren’t the only one that didn’t suspect those two to be the ones to say yes. “Aren’t you supposed to be getting sober though?” He asked giving off a little suspicion. “I am, this one time won’t change that at all, don’t worry,” “Good luck convincing Tae that,” Jungkook laughed patting you on the back. You weren’t the only one that knew how impossible it will be to convince Taehyung either apparently.

The boys did you good convincing the others to get on board but now Taehyung is the only one unaware of the sceam that’s going on. If someone slips up before you get to him your screwed. He was out getting food for everyone so you were just impatiently sitting in the living room, pretending to watch TV. You kept looking at the front door before finally, your handsome man walked through the door. Yours. God, don’t fuck this up. “Hey baby, what are you watching?” He asked kissing you on your forehead before going to set the food down. “Ah, I don’t really know to be honest,” you nervously laughed. “Tae, can we talk for a bit?” You started to play with your fingers and shake your leg. “Of course, you have your doctors appointment tomorrow by the way.. for your medication,” You almost completely forgot about that. Which is kind of a good thing, drugs haven’t been the only thing on your mind recently. Maybe you should of fled the country a lot sooner. “So basically i’m scared to ask this but literally all the other guys want to do it and it’s 100% a one time thing we can all take it to our graves-“ “Y/n.. just ask,” Taehyung slightly laughed at your blushing face. “Would you want to do LSD with me and the boys, just once?” You couldn’t read his face. It’s usually really easy to read his face but right now you just can’t. “Even Namjoon hyung agreed?” He looked surprised, but not mad. “Yeah, it’s just once it could be a really awesome and spiritual thing to bring us all closer,” you spoke quietly still on edge about him getting upset with you. “Well i don’t want to be the odd one out… if you manage to get it i’ll do it,” he said patting your thigh with a slight smile. Did you just convince all of Bangtan to do LSD with you? You’ve reached a new fucking level.

“Guess who got her drugs, guess who got her drugssss,” you sang skipping into the dorm grabbing everyone’s attention. “What? The LSD or your prescription?” Jin barely made out with all the laughing. “Both actually smart one,” you smiled flicking Jin’s forhead. Today is Friday so it’d be the best time to trip with everyone. You’ve never prepared so much just to do drugs. You have all the playlists, pillows, and water prepared for today. You couldn’t sleep at all last night, you can’t remember the last time you were this excited to drop acid. “Okay, so everyone leave the living room so I can make the place a vibe because we are tripping tonight!” The smile stuck on your face almost felt like you were already tripping. “Really?” Jungkook jumped up showing his nervousness. “Yes and don’t worry, we’ll all have a talk before it happens. Now get the fuck out… respectfully,” You hopped over to Taehyung and kissed him on his cheek before pushing him away with the other guys.

“Wah, is all this really necessary?” Yoongi spoke looking into the living room. You basically made a big fort with everything they may need or want laid out nicely. The OCD deep inside you kind of kicked in but it looked fucking awesome. The boys came in one behind the other and everyone sat in a circle so you could give the whole run down of what to expect and just simply calm their nerves. You were so nervous your first time but it ended up being one of the most beautiful experiences in your life. You told them the Dos and Don’t dos as you passed out 7 colorful tabs of paper and explained what they’ll feel and for how long. “So we doing this?” you asked looking around at everyone.

“Fuck it,” Taehyung said looking at you winking. Your favorite phrase.

“Fuck ittt,” everyone repeated.

[onceinsomniac]

Hey can I request a scenario with Sua from Dreamcatcher where her and the reader get into their first argument but they make up at the end? Thanks

Author’s note: First of all, thank you so much for being the first person to request something. Sorry it took a couple of days but I was trying to make sure it was good. I’m honestly not completely happy with how it turned out but I hope you will like it anyways. Also, I kind of accidentally went off script a little on what was requested and it was my first time writing Y/N so I hope it turned out well.

It’s Always Been You

You were sitting in a park bench, drenched to the core and wondering how exactly had things gotten to this point. You weren’t expecting things to turn out this way when you first awoke that morning. In fact, you had actually been really excited. After all, it’s not every day that you can celebrate your first-year anniversary with the love of your life.

You could still remember the day Bora had first come into your life as clear as if it had been yesterday.

You sighted exasperatedly for what had to be the fifth time in the last 10 minutes. It was the first Friday your demanding boss had given you off in what felt like forever and, after sleeping through the morning and most of the afternoon, you had been looking forward to relaxing on the couch with your favorite snacks and binge watching the new season of your favorite drama.

Your plans had been derailed, however, when you opened your kitchen cabinet only to realize you’d forgotten to stock up on said snacks. Or on food in general, really. You were used to spending most of your time at the office and eating there and since your job kept you quite busy you didn’t have lots of friends visiting you so you tended to forget to do the groceries more often than what was probably considered normal.

You felt annoyance fill you as you hastily shoved on the first pair of jeans and oversized hoodie you found. You could have easily foregone the snacks and just watched the drama but your unhealthy obsession with junk food meant you would now have to make a quick trip to the closest convenience store.

You took a quick glance at the alarm clock sitting on your dresser, surprised to see that it was already nearing eight pm. At least that explained the growling in your stomach considering you hadn’t eaten anything all day, to busy catching up on sleep. You walked out of your small apartment, shoving in your earphones and hitting shuffle on your playlist, quietly humming along to the song as you walked to the convenience store located a block away from your apartment.

You usually preferred walking places rather than driving, as it helped you think, and you had never really felt unsafe walking through your neighborhood but this time you could have sworn you could feel eyes staring at the back of your head. You quickened your pace, eager to get to the store which was right ahead. You quickly entered it, immediately feeling safer in the bright store than you had outside, where darkness was quickly descending.

Once inside, you walked over to the snack section, quickly forgetting the weird feeling you had felt, to busy trying to decide what to buy. You took your time deciding between barbeque or onion chips before deciding to get both. You had just moved to the chocolate aisle when you heard a scream coming from the other side of the store. You didn’t think anything about it as the scream sounded full playful. You simply rolled your eyes at people making so much noise before upping the volume of your music.

A few minutes later, you finally had everything you were looking for and were making your way to the cashier when two girls caught your attention. One was really short while the other one was quite tall and the shorter of the two was clearly the culprit of the screams you had heard earlier, considering the screeching that was still coming from her as she playfully hit the other girl on the arm, a huge smile on her face which seemed to grow as the annoyance on the taller girl’s face also grew. Although you could clearly see the fondness in the taller woman’s eyes even as she seemed about to hit her back.

Both women were beautiful but something about the shorter girl made you unable to move your eyes from her. Maybe it was the way she didn’t seem to care about the fact that she was in public place and was just having fun, or maybe it was the noisy laughter coming out of her, full of unadulterated joy. All you knew was that something about her called to you.

You were so busy staring at her that you didn’t realize that your staring had been noticed until you felt a pair of eyes looking at you. You turned to see the taller of the two looking at you weirdly, probably wondering why you were standing in the middle of the store staring at her friend like a creep. You felt yourself blush furiously at being caught before forcing yourself to look away. You quickly went to the cashier and paid for your stuff before heading towards the door.

It was there, however, that you saw that darkness had fallen while you were buying your stuff and remembered the feeling of being watched while making your way to the store. You stood by the door, hesitating and wondering if you should call a cab even though your apartment was just one block away. You stood there for a few minutes contemplating your choices when a voice broke through your thoughts. “Is everything all right?” a voice asked. You turned around to find yourself face to face with the two women you had noticed earlier. The taller of the two had been the one to ask.

“Oh yeah. Sorry. Am I blocking the door?” you asked, thinking that was why they had stopped to talk to you on their way out. “No, it’s okay. We were just wondering why you were standing motionless at the door. Especially considering the store’s about to close in five minutes”, the shorter one spoke this time. You had been so busy looking through the store you hadn’t even realized it was almost closing time.

“Oh. I’m not… I wasn’t…” you stuttered, not sure how to explain that you were too scared to go back out. “Do you live close?”, the shorter one asked. Usually you are very wary of strangers and wouldn’t tell someone you didn’t know where you lived but apparently your brain didn’t get the memo that the person asking was a stranger, albeit a very beautiful one. “Um, yeah. I mean. I live a block away”, you answered. “Great. We can walk you. It’s dangerous to walk outside after dark, right Yoohyeon-ah?”, she asked the taller woman who quickly nodded her agreement, a knowing smirk on her face. “I’m Bora by the way. And this is my friend Yoohyeon.”

“Hi, I’m y/n.” you answered. You stood there for a few seconds thinking of a way to respectfully reject Bora’s offer but she didn’t give you the chance. Before you knew it, the woman was clinging to your arm as if you were friends and dragging you outside. “It’s very nice to meet you y/n” she said.

As you all walked towards your apartment, you stayed quiet, not knowing what to say. Bora didn’t seem to mind, however, as she chatted on endlessly even though no one was answering. You were admittedly a little weirded out by the shorter woman and turned to look at Yoohyeon questioningly but she simply shrugged, apparently used to her friend’s eccentricity.

Once there, Bora finally let go of your arm before taking your phone out of nowhere. “What are you doing”, you asked her. “I’m giving you my number. I’m guessing you won’t mind considering the way you were looking at me back at the store”, she said. You found yourself blushing once again at the implication that she had caught you staring. She then gave your phone back to you, sending you one final smirk before turning to leave. “It was nice to meet you y/n”, Yoohyeon said before following after her friend.

You shrugged off the weirdness of the interaction and entered your apartment. You had just settled down on the couch to finally watch tv a few minutes later when a music note rang from your phone, warning you of a new message. You stared at the screen, watching the message from the unknown number. “Hey, so I was thinking of going to dinner tomorrow but its kind of unsafe being out there alone at night. Want to return the favor?”

A small smile made its way to your face as you could just imagine the smug smile the older woman was probably wearing at what she perceived to be a smooth move.

Dinner the next day had gone better than expected as you got to know the other woman better. You had quickly realized she was actually quite soft underneath the flirty exterior and she had made you laugh more during the dinner than you had in a long time. It hadn’t taken you long to accept her offer of taking you on a second date.

Things had moved quickly after that and soon you were in the best relationship you had ever been in. It had been a whole year and not once had you guys fought. Until now.

You had been so excited to celebrate you guys anniversary. You had woken up early in order to prepare for the day. You would have liked to spend the whole day with her but Bora was in the middle of preparations for a new comeback and she had to spend the day in the studio. It was unfortunate but you understood what you had been getting into when you got into a relationship with an idol and you fully supported her dreams, even if it sometimes meant you didn’t get to spend as much time together as you would have liked.

It was for the best anyways, you reasoned, as you were going to spend the whole day in the kitchen cooking up all of Bora’s favorite foods anyways. You knew Bora thought you guys were simply going out to a restaurant that night but you were planning to surprise her with a romantic, home-cooked dinner instead, feeling it was more intimate.

And so that’s how you spent the morning and afternoon, running around your too small kitchen cooking, and looking at your phone, wondering why Bora hadn’t yet responded to the message you’d sent her that morning wishing her a happy day and telling her you couldn’t wait to see her that night.

You figured she was simply to busy with practice to check her phone and shrugged it off. By 8:30 you had finished setting up the table, lighting candles and putting flowers in the middle to set the mood. Now all that was left was to wait for Bora to come home. You checked your phone once more, feeling a little annoyed at the radio silence but once more thinking it wasn’t Bora’s fault that she had to prepare for the new comeback. You knew she had been really stressed lately and had been staying even later at the company to practice more.

You watched as 8:00 became 8:30 and soon after 9:00 and still there was no sign of your girlfriend. You weren’t sure if you should feel angry or worried at this point. You decided to be understanding and wait a little bit longer but by the time 9:30 arrived you were starting to get seriously worried. This was so unlike Bora. She was usually always on time and would always make sure to call or text you if she was going to be late.

You called Bora once again only to get no answer, just like the last dozens of times you’d tried. Worried, you decided to call Minji. You were quite close to all the other dreamcatcher members thanks to Bora, but you were especially close to the leader and you knew she always answered her phone. “Hey y/n, shouldn’t you be out celebrating your anniversary with Bora?”, she immediately asked once she answered.

Confusion filled you once again. “I thought Bora was with you guys. She hasn’t come back from practice yet. I assumed practice had run late once again and she’d forgotten to call me”, you told her. There was silence on the other line for a few seconds. “What are you talking about y/n? We only had practice until noon today. Bora said she was looking forward to some plans she had made. We assumed she was talking about you guys anniversary?” she explained.

You felt annoyance creeping on you. “Thanks Minji”, you answered, ignoring the older woman’s worried questions and hanging up. You suddenly remembered that both you and Bora had downloaded the find my friends app so you guys could locate each other in case anything ever happened. Resisting the urge to slap your forehead at having forgotten such information, you opened the app on your phone and were surprised at finding the dot that represented Bora to be at a bar located about 20 minutes away.

You quickly made your way outside, calling an uber as it was already dark outside and you had stopped walking outside during nighttime after you had met Bora. At least alone as the older woman had scolded you one too many times and told you how dangerous it was. You waited anxiously for the uber to arrive and once it did, you quickly got in and told the driver the directions to the bar.

The ride took no more than twenty minutes but it felt like a lifetime to you. Once there, you quickly thanked the driver before hopping off, making your way into the bar. It didn’t take long for you to recognize Bora. She was sitting in a table with another woman, laughing at something she said, a drink in her hand.

You could feel jealousy forming in the pit of your stomach. You’d spent all day working your ass off for her and here she was spending your anniversary with another woman. It seems she was able to feel your glare as she suddenly turned in your direction, her eyes meeting your own. You expected her to look ashamed or guilty, but her smile only grew at the sight of you.

“Jagi, you’re here”, she exclaimed, making her way towards you. She grabbed your arm and started walking back, clearly intending for you to follow her but you remained motionless. She turned to look at you, confused, and finally saw the anger you were clearly trying to hide. Her smile faded quickly. “Jagi, what’s wrong?”, she asked.

“What do you mean what’s wrong? Maybe the fact that you’re spending our one-year anniversary with another woman”, you spat out. You noticed how shock quickly overtook her features. “What on earth are you talking about, y/n? Our anniversary isn’t until Tuesday.”

You chuckled darkly. “It is Tuesday Bora. Maybe you’d know if you had bothered to read your text messages.” Realization seemed to wash over her as her face turned guilty but you didn’t want to hear what she had to say. Without another word, you pulled your arm from her grip before running out the bar, ignoring the shouts for you to stop.

You kept running, almost as if you were trying to outrun the pain. Eventually, you found yourself in the park located near your neighborhood. It was the same park where you and Bora had had your second date and where you both had spent many weekends together. The park was empty at this dark hour and you made your way to the closest park bench before sitting down.

Your heart ached at what had just happened. Knowing that you had been so excited, waiting eagerly for this day to come, only to realize that clearly the day didn’t mean as much to Bora as it meant to you. You suddenly felt a jacket being thrown over your shoulders, shielding you from the rain you hadn’t even realized has started.

You were so lost in your thoughts you hadn’t even realized it had started raining. You felt the person sit besides but you refused to look at them, recognizing your girlfriend from the familiar smell of cinnamon and vanilla that seeped from the jacket that now hung around you.

“Jagiya, please look at me”, she pleaded. You refused, staring straight ahead. You heard her sight before you felt fingers grasping your chin, turning your face so your eyes could meet hers. “Jagi, I’m sorry. I know that’s not enough but I’m truly sorry. I just had so much on my mind and I’ve been so stressed out about this comeback that I completely forgot. I know it’s not an excuse. You deserve better than someone who would spend our anniversary with someone else. But I promise you that she was just an old friend from school. She was in the area for a job interview and she texted me so we could catch up. I swear if I had remembered our plans I never would have gone.”

Your heart clenched at the sadness in Bora’s voice. You knew she was telling the truth. You knew her to well to know when she was being honest. But that didn’t mean you weren’t still hurt at how the day you had been so excited for had turned out. “I know you would never cheat. It’s just. Seeing you with her made my insecurities flare up”, you admitted.

“I’m sorry”, she said. You could see how much she meant it by the sincerity in her tone. “I’m sorry”, she repeated, hugging you tightly against her. “It’s only you, I swear. It’s always been you.” She whispered in your ear. And for the first time that night, you felt like everything was going to be okay.

[thatnaruhinaanon]

[Part 3]

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Naruto reread Sasuke’s message one last time before dropping his phone on his desk and leaning against the back of his chair, his brows furrowed. His friend’s behavior wasn’t exactly strange: Sasuke had always had very little consideration for anything that wasn’t himself or his family but, even for his standards, that was a pretty dick move. He sighed. Whatever. Naruto would pick up the most expensive items on a menu somewhere and just give him the bill to pay, then; that was the least his friend could do.

He casted a glance around him, his eyes quickly scanning their surroundings. This room, just like the rest of the building, was relatively new and nicely furnished. The hospital must have been less than five years old and Naruto had to admit that he had been quite impressed upon seeing it for the very first time a week ago. His previous hospital well might have been one of the country’s most prestigious health care facilities, the premises themselves were now quite dilapidated and could certainly not compete against the wonders of the multibillion Uchiha money machine, as proven by this office. How big was it, twenty square meters? And just for one man? Naruto wasn’t used to such luxury.

Guiltlessly putting off the tedious set-up of his computer to a later time, he gathered up his phone and wallet before getting up, his hand hesitating to grab the thick orange parka he had showed up with earlier this morning. Usually, Naruto never left the hospital with his white coat on: sure, he had always been a bit of a show-off, but walking around in such apparel was for the braggers and the half-wits, which wasn’t his case. However, with such a big private hospital in the neighborhood, medical staff and patients must have been regulars of the restaurants and takeaways of the vicinity, and visually signaling on his first time out that he belonged to Konoha may be the smarter thing to do in case he needed help or anything. Plus, it wasn’t that cold anyway today for the season, courtesy of global warming.

Once on the sidewalk in front of the building’s main entrance and slightly shivering under the stiff fabric of the lab coat, his short and spiky hair catching the shy rays of sun that made it through the late February clouds, the hunt could finally start. He could have probably just ordered their meal online or checked for a place with good ratings beforehand, but there was something inherently exciting in just slipping his smartphone in his back pocket and wandering around those unfamiliar streets, on the lookout for a place to catch his eye. 

To be honest, Naruto had also never been good at taking advice from other people online and clearly prefered discovering and experiencing life by himself, at the risk of making mistakes and missing out on opportunities. He passed a Korean barbecue restaurant, located only two buildings away, as well as a burger place and a tiny ramen joint, but kept on walking -regretfully. Knowing himself, he would probably be trying that ramen place on the very next day and every other one of the week, so picking up something more to Sasuke’s liking for once was in order. Moreover, he didn’t want to eat like a horse on his first day of work, especially when he was to meet the Chief of surgery and the Head of General surgery right after. A lighter option would probably be more appropriate…

Naruto squinted as he carefully studied the different establishments in the busy business street he had just gotten in: around him, salarymen and women in suits and pencil skirts jostled around the crowded sidewalks, eagerly rushing inside their favorite lunch places to grab their takeaway. Hmm. All these small restaurants seemed like great options, but their lines were quite long, with some people even waiting outside sometimes, and he did not have this kind of time on his hands. He strolled a couple of meters, passing more food joints without making his mind. Hmm hmm. All things considered, ordering online may not have been such a terrible idea, afterall.

He checked the time on his phone, and his mouth let out a little annoyed noise. He really had to hurry up if he wanted to make it on time for Sasuke. Damn it. Should he simply head back to the hospital and get food delivered? Maybe…

A sigh of relief escaped him when, stuck between a fastfood and a sushi chain, the sight of a tiny takeaway restaurant with only three customers inside appeared to him, and he hurriedly stepped inside, so happy to have found a place with such a short line that he almost knocked down the person who was waiting right in front of him with the door.

“Wow, my bad, sorry about that!” He apologized as he cautiously closed the glass door behind him, embarrassed. The customer turned around and gave him a sheepish smile. 

“It’s all good, don’t you worry” they assured him with their soft voice before turning back again, and Naruto curiously looked at the menu, displayed on big black slates hanging behind the cashier. His relieved smile vanished instantly. 

He had entered some kind of salad place.

He may not have been a picky eater but vegetables were definitely not a food group that he willingly welcomed to his table on a daily basis, and salads were the most remotely thing from a meal possible in his eyes. Instinctively, he raised his hand up in the hair and scratched the back of his neck. No wonder why no one was eating here! What was he, a rabbit?

He was in a hard place. On one hand, he had no intention whatsoever to eat leafs and roots for lunch, but on the other side, time was running out and it was getting too late to get food anywhere else. He glanced around, looking for help… But nobody was coming to his rescue.

He took a few steps front.

“Hmm, excuse-me, Ms?” He dared asking in a whisper the woman he had almost smashed the door into. Her ethereal eyes looked up to him again, wide and surprised. “Do you know by any chance what’s good on the menu?” He added, shakily. “I’m grabbing lunch for a friend and I and this former isn’t big on vegetables”. His lips stretched, the smile he had intended as comforting and charming coming off straight awkward and creepy. The woman blinked. 

“I believe your friend is going to get disappointed no matter what…” She blinked again.  “Salad bars are not exactly renowned for their fish or meat.”    

Well, duh. He knew that already, he wasn’t exactly stupid. Just really unlucky to have walked into the one healthy restaurant on the street.

“Alright”, he conceded nonchalantly, “I’ll have what you’re having, then.”

The blue-haired woman raised an eyebrow, the ghost of a sly baby grin crossing her face.

“Except you don’t know what I’m having”, she pointed out to him, visibly amused by the turn of events. Naruto innocently shrugged his shoulders.

“I’ll just listen really carefully to your order”, he sassed back. The woman chuckled.

“And what if I whisper it to the cashier?”

Pfff. Too easy. “Then, I would just ask for what the person before me had”, he answered, a false serious look on his face that made the female customer's cheeks redden as she bit her smile away. In front of them, the line moved.

“Next customer, please?” Called the woman behind the cash register, and Naruto’s lovely line companion promptly moved forwards.

“Oh ah, sorry”, she managed to get out, the words now weirdly jostling against one another in her mouth, “May I have two number six with green teas, please?”

“Make that four, please!” Loudly chimed in Naruto, blatantly ignoring the somewhat scandalized look from the light-eyes woman that his familiarity was earning him, “But forget the green teas for me. Let’s tone all that healthiness down with some cokes instead.”

And with his order done, he respectfully took a step back to give his neighbor all the privacy they needed to pay. 

Perhaps having a salad for lunch wasn’t the worst thing. The little scene that had just played out  had somewhat reboosted him, successfully convincing his brain to release a wave of endorphins that were much needed on this stressful first day of work, and that almost compensated for the disgustingly green food he was about to ingest. Perhaps should he get the woman something, like offering to pay for her teas? To thank her for this nice parenthesis.

 “Are you working at the Konoha hospital?”

Pulling him out of his reflection, the crystal voice of the customer caught Naruto’s attention again and he almost imperceptibly shook his head to chase the fog that was clouding his brain. The blouse had been a good idea, in the end.

“As a matter of fact”, he answered with a boyish smile, “Today’s my first day there! How did you guess?” He added with a lopsided smirk as he stretched his arms wide open to highlight the white coat. He wondered for a second what his interlocutor did for a living: judging by her pair of black leggings under her long dark purple coat and her flats, she wasn’t working a desk job -unless there were some fancy young startups in the surrounding area he didn’t know about. Would it be okay to ask her about her own job?

He didn’t tergiversate for long though as, coming from behind the cash register, an employee was already bringing her up a big brown bag.

“Ma’am, your order!” Announced the employee, and Naruto found himself almost frustrated that they had been so effective and fast. He was enjoying this impromptu interaction. 

In front of him, the woman kindly accepted her package and, upon turning around to leave the shop, bowed her head in Naruto’s direction.

“It was a pleasure waiting in line with you” she told him, her liquid pupils focused on the floor. “May you have a pleasant lunch with your friend.”

“Thanks, you t-” started Naruto, but she was already gone, her small legs carrying her as quickly as they could outside of the door. The blond surgeon contemplated the glass for a second, dumbfounded. She had run away so fast. Was she actually in a hurry? She had seemed so calm this entire time, he would have never guessed so.

“Sir, your menus!”

With a polite smile, he walked in turn to the cashier and got his wallet out of his coat’s pocket. “How much do I owe you?” He asked, already reaching for some crumpled bills that he had shoved inside with very little care. The employee shook their head, and emphatically handed them his bag.

“The lady before you paid already. She said it was a gift for your first day of work.”

Oh.

He should have definitely offered to pay for her teas.

[Part 5]

[secret-engima]

So the Demons Verse is inhabited by fantastical races, yes? Not, I assume, JUST humans and daemons? What other races are there, and does each kingdom have it’s own main race? ie. demons for the Night Kingdom, humans for Lucis, such and such. (Maybe merpeople for Altissia, can we please have merfolk in Altissia??) And how do these other kingdoms react to the new Accursed?

Yes actually! Lucis is actually the most mixed kingdom for Historical Reasons my brain is too tired to make up on the spot rn. The original population was primarily Human, but that was back in like- Somnus’s time. By now everyone in Lucis is so used to seeing Elves, Dwarves, Fairies, hybrids, and the occasional Mer that no one bats an eye. That said, the other kingdoms are more heavily biased toward one fantasy race or other, even if the other races are scattered throughout.

Yes, Accordo is a kingdom of Mer. Altissia, the capital, is their only above-water city, meant to facilitate trade and communications. The canals are their primary roads but there are all sorts of waterpark style lanes and pools and things on the level of the stone streets so people can chat and be eye level.

Tenebrae is a kingdom of Fairies, deceptively delicate looking beings who are about the height of a human (not teeny thank you) and with razor sharp teeth. The Oracle is a Fairy Queen btw.

Niflheim is an Elven run kingdom, because I said so and because having humans be the evil empire dudes is boring. Of course, because of all the territory they’ve conquered, there are a LOT of other members from different races in there (barring merfolk, because the Niflheim continent is traditionally Desert and that was before they managed to tick off the Glacian and get cursed to nigh-on eternal winter).

Then of course, because fantasy world, there are other kingdoms that weren’t there in canon. Galahd is it’s own kingdom for one (inhabited by humans who hoard the magic art of skin-changing to themselves) that is a long-standing ally with Lucis, if an aloof one. There’s also a teeny kingdom up around the Rock of Ravatogh primarily inhabited by dwarves. Supposedly because they’re too stubborn to leave despite the semi-active volcano right outside their capital but mostly it’s because nobody ELSE wants to come near the semi-active volcano and they like their privacy and the lack of invasion risk this gives them.

Up in Niflheim, mostly by the shores or way up in the mountains, there are still human-run kingdoms btw. Niflheim leaves those scattered kingdoms alone (for now) because frankly all of those humans stubborn enough to live in first a desert and then a SNOW covered desert (and/or near the choppy waters of the ocean) is a bit too stubborn to be worth crushing (yet). Nobody is entirely expecting the uneasy non-aggression treaty to last up there, since the new and young (by elf standards) Emperor Aldercapt is not the relatively reasonable type his father was.

Also there’s a kingdom of humans who claim to be Solheim survivors by the way. Not sure where, probably way up past Vesperpool where you can’t get to in FFXV.

Nobody likes to talk about them.

They’re arrogant and nuts and only leave everyone else alone because the Night King’s kingdom would be right on their doorstep if they caused any trouble.

Speaking of, Insomnia’s kingdom isn’t just the city, it’s the entire island on which the city is founded and also a little bit of the mainland besides.

Anyway, on your other question: FICLET TIME. 

Word of the new Accursed spreads ... slowly. Most don’t believe it, only notice something is up because the daemon attacks have stopped (daemons can travel through shadows all around the world barring warded areas like cities and Havens, they just don’t LIKE to, apparently it makes them feel slimy and tired, but the original Accursed made them do it so the attacks were worldwide things). At first they think like Mors did, that something is Up and everyone privately bids a sigh of relief that Lucis is the next door neighbor to the Accursed and not them (Barring Galahd, who is the oceanic next door neighbor, they all begin battening down the proverbial hatches).

Only the Oracle suspects something drastic and unseen has changed, because she ... she FELT something. Unexpectedly in the night, as if the entire world had cried out in surprised relief. She had woken up with a start and all of Tenebrae had woken up with her to gawk as their magically grown, softly glowing trees and flowers all lit up until it was as bright as day and then just as quickly faded back to their normal soft glow. But she has no idea WHAT happened, just that it was after that the daemon attacks stopped.

And then stay stopped.

For a year. And then a year and several months. No sound, no sight, no word, no whispers of black magic trying to build in the dark places to form the cursed Night Clouds that let daemons roam free in the day (note: daemons in this world will not die if subjected to sunlight, but OH BOY will they get sunburn and will get sick from it. Moon, starlight, and greatly diffused sunlight is okay, but cloudless/mostly cloudless days? Not even the Accursed could force them out of their homes then).

And then, just when everyone’s nerves are at their tightest-.

Lucis is overthrown.

Oh, OFFICIALLY it is fine, King Mors still reigns, there weren’t even any casualties, but all the spies and witness reports and shaky letters to family in other kingdoms say the same thing. The Accursed marched on Insomnia with a horde of daemons that were incalculable, Night Clouds rolling out all the way to the capital of Lucis, covering the city sky as if the wards meant to prevent that exact event meant NOTHING. Then, just as quickly, the horde turned and left and the clouds retreated.

They took the Crown Prince of Lucis with them.

Ohhhhh boy the gossip and panic. The disbelief and fear, because what has happened, what has changed to give the Accursed that much power? Surely something MUST have changed or else he would have done that and more long ago. Even the Empire quails from the implications, ceasing its tentative pokes at it’s sister continent for fear of stirring Insomnia.

But four more years go by and the attacks never resume. Hunters and travelers report daemons spotted at night, wandering by doing who knows what, but they ... are non-violent. They do not attack travelers or try to chase down caravans, they just go about their night as if they had never had a bloodthirsty thought in their lives (until someone attacks, and then suddenly the bloodlust is back and the offender is torn to shreds). People learn fast to just leave the daemons alone and be left alone in turn, but it Freaks People Out.

Finally, FINALLY, the tension cannot be born, and Queen Sylva herself leaves to investigate, her husband in place as regent and her daughter safe and sound, a new Oracle in case ... she ... well. Hopefully that won’t happen.

She flies alone, hidden from view with magic, and lands respectfully at the border of the Night Kingdom. Her magic flares, not enough to be anything like an assault, but enough to be noticed. A greeting of sorts. No Oracle has done this since ... centuries at least, more perhaps, but legends speak of this ritual, of a date and time and way for the Oracle to meet with the Accursed and be let free afterward (for amusement, not honor, but everyone knows the Accursed likes “playing by the rules” just to prove that the rules cannot stop him from winning). She hopes the legends are right.

An hour later, her escort arrives. She holds her head high as the daemons lead her into the dark.

The city is not anything like she imagined. It is dark, yes, but not nighttime black. This is the dull light of dusk and twilight, sunlight filtering through the clouds just enough to support the curling greenery reclaiming the ruins of the ancient city, not enough to burn the skin of the inhabitants. Foreign magic weaves through the air and ground, but it does not reek like the black arts Sylva has encountered in the wake of the unseen Accursed. This feels different. Old and wild and ... calm. Dangerous, incredibly so, but passive. A predator watching her pass by, too relaxed to bother tearing her apart.

More than the magic, the city is ... ALIVE. Daemons flit to and fro, not screaming and bloodthirsty like she has always seen, but calm. They chatter and warble in a tongue she doesn’t know, haggling in marketplaces and gossiping as she and her escort pass by. A few small ones that could only be called children scamper by, pausing to blink at her in awe and Sylva feels just as surprised. She didn’t know ... she didn’t know daemons even HAD children. No one did. Most assumed the Accursed just ... created them when he needed more using his black magic.

Then she sees the human and the world stops. She jerks to a halt without thinking and her escort stop with her, growling angrily at her pause but she does not care. Her wings flick out from her back in an expression of shock before settling.

The human looks just as surprised. He gapes at her, clean and well dressed and healthy, if pale from such low light. Then, to her increasing shock, he bows and falls in step with the escort, bossily pushing a daemon out of step to take its place with a low, inhuman chatter noise that sounds like a coarse imitation of the daemon’s tongue. He tentatively smiles at her after taking his spot in the escort and she cannot think of how to react. Especially when she spots MORE humans lurking in the streets alongside the daemons, talking and haggling and pausing to stare at her.

What are ... what are humans doing here? The Accursed hated all the races, but the fairies and the humans were easily the ones he hated most. How had they survived?

She does not get a chance to ask, because by now they are approaching what must be the Accursed’s home, a towering building untouched by the ruin of the others. She is led inside and straight to a throne room that fits all her expectations (dark, ominous, with furs and trophy racks lining the walls, lit with will o’wisps) save for the inhabitants. Especially its king.

The Accursed is nothing like she expected. He is human. Physically he looks only about ... oh perhaps his late twenties or thirties, only a little older than her little Luna, who is only just now learning the rites and spells of Oracle magic. His hair is black and neatly kept, his clothes are fine, if a bit worn, and his skin is pale, but not unhealthily so. More strangely, she sees none of the signs of black magic she knew she should have been. His skin is not bloodless white, there are no patches of thick black stones from where the evil magic has managed to break free of his body and crystalize and a hundred other symptoms that are all ... not there. She thinks it’s an illusion until he straightens up on his throne and meets her eyes. They are blue, blue and clear as a summer sky. There is no hint of acidic yellow, no smoky swirls of black-grey where whites should be, no slitted pupils. His eyes ... are normal.

No black mage, no matter how skilled or old or cursed, could cast an illusion on their eyes. That was the price for using that magic. That was an unbreakable rule of magic itself. Magic had its colors, and those colors effected the eyes of the wielder and those effects could NOT be hidden (especially not while using spells, but even just passively. It was why Lucis Caelums always had blue eyes, and Oracles always had white-blue).

She stops, barely notices the daemon guards calmly filing out, as if she was not even a threat to be watched anymore, and tries to understand what she is seeing.

There is movement at the Night King’s side and she is startled to see Prince Regis, King Mors’ missing son, the one captured and dragged away as the price for Lucis’s continued existence. He is not a tormented, enslaved wreck she would have expected, he is dressed well, his face is unmarred by pain, his eyes, too, are clear of any curse or enthrallment as he bends down to whisper something in the Night King’s ear, almost like an ... advisor of some kind?

She reaches out with her magic, just a tiny tendril, out of sheer disbelief, looking for the spell that must be placed on the human prince no matter what her eyes are telling her. Before the magic can reach the prince, the Accursed’s gaze sharpens and his own magic snaps out. But instead of the biting pain of black magic meeting white and both burning the other in a flare of agony, her magic is given the equivalent of a light, scolding rap on the knuckles. A teacher warning a child to mind their manners and Not Touch and her wings flick as she tastes the unmistakable ozone-rainy texture of crystal magic on her tongue. Old and deep and far more powerful than she’s ever known it, not since the original rites and spells for it were lost, more powerful than any in written history even, but unmistakable.

The man on the throne is a Lucis Caelum.

“You have journeyed far,” says the Night King, the impossibility, on his throne as his magic settles down again, his lips twitching in a gentle sort of amusement she cannot comprehend, “to grace us with your presence, Queen Oracle. You come alone, as well. Are you not afraid?”

“Have I need to be?” She asks cautiously in return, “Has the hospitality of the Night King on this honored day and night, upheld since the times of the Fall, been rescinded?”

It is not her Oracle senses, or even her Queen sensibilities that spot the flicker of surprise and lost confusion on the man’s face, but those of a mother who is used to seeing her children pretend to be wiser and more mature than they are to impress her, only to stumble when they encounter something unknown. Another whisper from Prince Regis and the expression clears and his eyes light with understanding that is so innocent and fascinated that she cannot stop or shake the new, terrifying and fascinating, realization from her bones.

“It has not,” says the Night King smoothly, “yet I must ask, for what reason do you come?”

“I come,” she says slowly, “to greet the newly crowned Night King, and, if it pleases His Majesty, to receive answers to some questions.”

There is a frozen silence where the humans lurking in the shadows all gape at her. Then-.

Laughter. Soft and short and weary, but honest and not unkind, “I was wondering,” says the man (boy, for although age clings to his bones like a heavy cloak, she does not think he is a man by Immortal standards, not yet, or at least he shouldn’t but is, just like all children forced to grow up too fast) as he stands up and begins limping (limping and what blow could permanently injure an Immortal? Those who survive even burning to ash on the wind? She can think of only one answer, and the surety of her realization grows) down the stairs to meet her on even ground, “if anyone on the outside would figure it out.”

He stops before her, amusement mixed with only a thread of wariness in his eyes, a human too old to be natural, an Immortal too young to be ruling, “What gave me away?”

She stares into his eyes and feels the ancient power of her bloodline, the intuition that marked them as seers, stir. For a moment she tastes memory and pain, a curse willingly taken to spare the lives of others, a price willingly paid as blood weeps free of should-be mortal wounds. For a moment memory not her own whispers poisonously in her ears “The throne sits only one.” and in her blood another voice responds, “Off my chair, Jester, the King sits there.” She pushes it away, those are not her memories to keep or her burdens to bear. Those belong to the young Night King standing before her, looking at her without fear, but instead nostalgic fondness, as if he looks at her and sees the ghost of another at her shoulder (one of her ancestors perhaps, and the thought gives her pause).

“Your eyes,” she settles on finally, “the original Accursed had yellow eyes.” She has never seen him to know of course, but all practitioners of the Black Arts got them before the poisonous magic killed its own wielder, and the Accursed would have been no different despite his stubborn survival in the face of the death curse Black Magic gave all its wielders.

There is a flicker of surprise, then sadness, “Yes,” he agrees with a knowing that comes from experience, “they were.” He blinks as if to banish a memory, then dips his chin in greeting and gestures a hand toward one of the side doors of the Throne Room, “It is far too early for dinner,” he says politely, “but I am certain Ignis would be able to make something light to help you relax from your journey. Will you talk with me over tea?”

Feeling off balance and aware he could tell despite her calm facade, she dips her chin and flicks her wings in a return greeting, one monarch to another, “I would be honored.”

[kingofdirtandnothing]

@polyfacetious big ass Christmas Drabble Extravagaza: Day Twenty Four

The water is beautiful, pristine and blue, with frothy white peaks from the waves as they crest and fall over each other. It was somehow even bluer than the sky, that was wide open and only dotted with fat white clouds, the sun beating down on their shoulders with the full brunt of summer. 

Ben was going to be lobster red by the time they were done today. Poe could already see the pink starting to spread across the bridge of his nose and the broad set of his freckled shoulders. No matter how many times he re-applied his sunscreen, Ben managed to burn. 

And he was going to burn to a crisp if Poe couldn’t get him off of this cliff and down into the water below. 

“Come on.” Poe was trying for seductive, cool. He was pretty sure it was coming out wheedling, given the look that Ben was shooting him right about now. “It’s not even that high.” That was a bunch of bullshit, it was at least twenty feet between the edge of the cliff and the water. But that wasn’t how you sold yourself to people. You had to look on the bright side.

Ben’s eyebrow flicks upwards in answer, sarcastic and silent all at once. Poe wonders, distantly, if anyone else has to have conversations with their boyfriend’s eyebrows, or if he was just lucky. ‘Lucky’. Heavy on the sarcasm there. 

“It’s one jump. I won’t make you do it again.” Poe was true to his word about that. With every hike and every cliff dive, and every octopus tentacle on a plate or slimy oyster in a shell, Poe’s request had only ever been: once. Try it once.

It was the same way his mom used to do to him when he was a kid. ‘You try this once, and if you don’t like it, that’s just fine. But you have to try new things out in the world, mijo.’ When he was really little, Poe knows he gave his mom hell about it. Little kids are made for comfort and routine. They wanted things to be the same all the time. But his mom, she was a stubborn woman. A smart one too. Because over time, Poe came around to almost all of it. It made him adventurous, once he was old enough to get brave all on his own.

And Ben needed that too. He needed time to get brave all on his own. Because as much as Ben wanted to pretend like he was buttoned up and calm, there was an adrenaline junkie hiding beneath the skin. Poe had found him by accident, a few too many drunken kisses behind Peter and Eddie’s bar turning into hands inside of pants in a back alley while pedestrians walked down the street a few feet away. 

Now he wanted to nourish that adrenaline junkie, to show Ben all the fun you could have if you just swallowed down your fear and kept moving forward. And hell, the fear could be part of the fun if you looked at things the right way.

Because it was never about not being afraid. Everyone was scared sometimes, and Poe would like to punch the guy in the mouth who taught Ben Solo that men weren’t supposed to be afraid. That they weren’t supposed to cry. That he had to be stoic and quiet at all times. 

There was way too much inside of Ben to settle for being stoic. He deserved better than that, and Poe was going to be the one who gave the world to him on a damn silver platter. He just had to get him off of the ledge first. Baby steps.

“Listen, I’m nervous too. It’s a long way down. My heart is going a mile a minute. Feel it.” Poe reaches out, taking one of Ben’s big hands and bringing it to his chest so that his boyfriend could feel the rapid fire beating of his heart beneath the cage of muscle and bone. Up close like this, Poe could count each and every one of Ben’s eyelashes. If he wasn’t in a hurry to get down in the water, he would stay here as long as it took to do so.

“But that’s okay. It’s okay to be nervous. It’s okay to be scared.” Ben still manages to look a little bit surprised every time that Poe says that. But he was going to beat it into that pretty head of his until it became the norm. There was nothing wrong with being afraid. “That’s your body going ‘hey pal, this seems kinda shady. Are we sure we want to do this?” Ben huffs a laugh under his breath, and makes no effort to pull away. 

“The thing is, the body doesn’t know what our head knows, now does it?” Poe inclines his head towards the water. “This is a safe spot. This is an allowed diving spot. There’s signs up by the legs and everything. Which means people have come through here and looked for sharp rocks and made sure that we weren’t going to hit anything on the way down. So in times like these, we respect our bodies for looking out for us, but we also respectfully disagree.”

Ben is watching him like there isn’t anything else in the world that matters, and Poe wants it to stay like that forever. It’s why he talks so damn much. Poe Dameron has always been a talker, he’s gotten himself out of more than a few tough scrapes with just his words, but when it gets him Ben’s undivided attention, he starts tacking on extra thoughts and extra words to fill in the blank and keep those pretty eyes on him. 

“We can jump together. We’ll hold hands and everything.” Ben scoffs, but instinctively his eyes trip down to the hand still splayed against the tan skin of Poe’s chest. He wants to, he’s just fighting against some old thought or hang up that was keeping his feet on the ground.

Fuck toxic masculinity. 

“I’m serious. I want to jump holding your hand. And it doesn’t make me less of a man for wanting to do it.” Poe’s chin juts out, defiance written across every line of his face. He doesn’t even know if this is what the hold up is in Ben’s head, but he’s already on the wind up, so the words were coming out. Sorry Ben.

“If anything, it makes me more of a man. Because I’m man enough to say when I need something and right now, I need my boyfriend to hold my hand and jump off a cliff with me.” And as his little spiel winds down, Poe’s disdain and his anger shift like the breeze changing direction and he grins. “We’re not going to Thelma and Louise it, Ben. We’re just jumping into the ocean so we can swim.”

And just to round out all his options, Poe steps in close against the hand on his chest until Ben’s arm bends at the elbow and he’s able to step in closer, to put them practically chest to chest. (Even Poe has to admit they haven’t been eye to eye or nose to nose since tenth grade. Stupid Solo growth spurt.)

“Just think of how much fun we can have in that water, babe. You and me and nobody else close enough to see what my hands are doing under the water.”

Would Poe actually try getting Ben off underneath the waves in the ocean? Absolutely, if Ben showed even the slightest inclination that he wanted it. And given the way Ben’s tongue had just darted out to wet his bottom lip, Poe was pretty sure that he had him on the hook. 

Now just to get him over the ledge.

There’s a dark glint in Ben’s eyes that Poe is crazy freaking in love with. His boy had a dark side, Poe just had to get it to come to the surface sometimes. “So? What do you say? It’s an adventure. All you have to do is take that leap.”

Ben shakes his head, a strand of dark hair spilling across his forehead. “Everything is an adventure to you.” See, Poe knows how to read Ben. And his mouth might be saying ‘Poe, you’re a dumbass’ but his eyes were saying ‘I want to do this too’. 

“So!” Poe finally steps back away from Ben, and with a half glance behind him, perilously close to the edge. He throws his arms out wide, and hears the sound of a pebble skitter off of the side of the cliff. Poe knows he really can’t hear it hit the water, but his brain decides he can hear the weighty thump of it hitting the waves.. “What good is living life if you don’t have any adventures. What are we going to tell our grandkids about, Ben?”

Yeah, so he’s pushing it there. Maybe one day Ben would decide he wanted to settle down, to really settle down and do the whole boring office job and a wife with two point five kids and a dog. But Poe is banking (hoping) that it isn’t the case, and that he’ll have Ben with him until they’re old and grey. 

Who said you couldn’t have adventures with kids? His mom and dad used to take him hiking and swimming and kayaking all the time when he was a kid, and Poe loved every damn second of it. He loved waking up in a tent to the smell of coffee over the fire and the soft sound of his parents talking quietly. 

He wanted to give kids of his own that same kind of life, one of these days. A life where they knew they were loved, and that they were safe even when the world wasn’t always safe. That they could be brave and reach out and try things and still know that at the end of the day, their family had their back.

Not any time soon, but one of these days. 

“Poe…” There’s a warning in Ben’s voice, and he’s got a hand outstretched, like he could tug on some invisible cord and get Poe away from the ledge. Tough luck, pal. You were going to have to come and get him. 

“What? You too scared to come and get me?” Listen, Poe lives a spaghetti at the wall kind of life. And he was just going to keep throwing things at Ben until something stuck and they were in that crystal clear water beneath them. Seriously, the rocks were starting to burn the bottom of Poe’s feet. It was hot out here. 

“Are you…” He sees the second Ben catches on to what he’s about to do, and Poe even hears the mumbled ‘don’t you dare’ before he starts clucking like a chicken. And Poe goes all in on it too, tucking his hands up against his armpits and flapping his “wings”. “Bock bock!”

Who knew that in a stream of care, and constructive criticism and even a commentary on the state of masculinity in the world, that it would be good old fashioned childish insults that got Ben to move. 

Poe has just enough time to think ‘victory!’ before that big, broad shouldered body connects with him and they go hurtling off of the edge of the cliff, Poe whooping the entire way down. The water feels solid for a moment before they break through and cold rushes around him, bright and bracing. 

He finds his bearings, kicking his feet to make his way back to the surface, shaking the hair out of his eyes like a dog. Ben isn’t far behind, sputtering and laughing all at the same time. Ben’s smile had the same effect on Poe’s stomach as jumping off of a cliff. 

A real nice swooping. 

“See?” He’s going to be smug now, Ben. No two ways about it. “I told you it would be fun.”

[kookitykook]

Seven Soulmarks: Yoongi (“I’ve never actually listened to Kanye West.”)

~genre: soulmate au, fluff, sfw

~word count: 4.5k 

~warnings: none this is v cute  

~pairing: record store owner!yoongi x y/n (there are also features from a few of the other soulmates, try and spot them heh heh) 

~summary: At the exact moment of your twentieth birthday, the first words your soulmate will ever say to you appear in black ink on the inside of your left wrist. Seven boys meeting their soulmates shows once again how the universe knows exactly what it’s doing. 

See how the other boys meet their soulmates (all interconnected) 

Jungkook -- Taehyung -- Jimin -- Namjoon -- Hoseok -- Jin

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Min Yoongi considered himself a simple kind of man. 

He was fortunate and grew up in a loving family, he had a few close friends that he could always depend on, and he loved music. 

Yoongi enjoyed simplicity. He didn’t mind spontaneity or partying in other people, but that lifestyle just didn’t interest him. 

For his entire life all Yoongi dreamed about was opening up his own music shop. A place where people could come and find any sort of music that touched their soul. 

That was his dream. Simple, to the point, and attainable. 

So by the time his twentieth birthday had rolled around, Yoongi had worked tons of part time and random side jobs for five years and saved every single penny, and was able to buy the space. He was still in university, still a teenager, but he’d been smart enough and worked hard enough to make wise choices to realize his dream. 

And all that hard work was finally paying off. 

“Alright Mr. Min, here are the keys,” said the realtor of the empty space that would soon be Yoongi’s store. “Congratulations on your new property!”

Yoongi thanked the realtor, walking her out to the door and seeing her out. He turned back to look at his family and friends who had joined him for the occasion. 

He held up the keys to his store and grinned. “I did it.”

His mother squealed, rushing forward and hugging him tightly around the neck. The others that had amassed followed suit, his father and brother embracing him tightly, some of his buddies from high school, and his new friend from university that was just a year younger than him that he had met at the tiny on-campus record store (she’d been buying a Jonas Brothers album and he’d only slightly been judging her). 

“I’m proud of you, son,” his father said sincerely.

“Oh my boy is so grown up,” his mother added, hugging him for what felt like the millionth time. 

Yoongi just chuckled, returning the embrace tightly. “I wouldn’t be here without you all. Thank you.” He bowed deeply. 

“It’s a big day for you Yoongs,” his university friend said as she jumped up on the counter behind her. “It’s your birthday, the day you buy your shop, and your soulmark should be appearing any second.”

Yoongi narrowed his eyes, making his friend laugh. He had been hoping to avoid the topic of his soulmark in front of his parents, something she knew quite well. He needed to keep this in mind for whenever she got her soulmark.

“Oh, yes!” his mother squealed, checking the time. “You were born around 12:14. Oh, I can’t wait to meet my boy’s soulmate.” 

Yoongi scrunched his nose as his mother pinched his cheeks. “The mark doesn’t tell me when I’m going to meet her, Eomma.”

“Yes but still!”

“It should be showing up now,” his brother remarked casually. 

“Oh, let me look!”

Yoongi just sighed as his mother took his left hand and held the inside of his wrist up to her face. She cocked her head to the side in confusion. 

“Who’s Kanye West?” she asked innocently, mispronouncing the rapper’s first name. 

Yoongi’s friends and brother burst out laughing.

“Aw Yoongs, don’t tell me you’re stealing Kim’s man!” his friend shouted, leaning against his brother as she cackled. 

“Shut up,” he muttered, pulling his hand away and looking at the mark himself. 

There is black ink was his mark, the first words his soulmate would ever say to him. 

‘I’ve actually never listened to Kanye West.’

Well. That was … surprising. 

At his friends urging, Yoongi repeated the words. 

“Who hasn’t listened to Kanye West?” his brother mused. “Seriously, does your soulmate live under a rock or something?”

“Well at least we know you two will have to work on finding common ground,” his friend cut in. 

It was well known that Yoongi’s favorite artist was Kanye. Strange that his soulmate would have never listened to him. 

Yoongi just shrugged. “That’s fine. I can introduce her to him. She can introduce me to her interests, too.”

His friends and brother ‘awwww’ed. 

“Ack, shut up.”

***

You considered yourself a simple kind of girl. 

You were raised by a single mother, but your childhood had been filled with joy. You enjoyed fashion, had a soft heart for all animals, and you loved music. 

You had only been six years old when your mother enrolled you in a piano class, and even though you cried terribly when she left you at the strange new place for an hour, by the time the first class was over you were asking if you could come back the next day. 

That was the first time you discovered that music ran through your veins. Emotions that your six-year old brain didn’t know how to process yet suddenly made more sense when you heard that emotion being played on the piano or sang in the most beautiful way. 

Music became your life, and your mother did everything in her power to give you opportunities to pursue your dream. When you entered high school you were gifted a scholarship to attend an arts conservatory, which is where your talent really started to reach new heights. 

Soon you were being scouted for various university music programs and you even received a few invitations to join symphonies around the country. 

The world was your oyster, anywhere you wanted to with the piano, you could have gone. 

But … you were a simple kind of girl. 

Sure, traveling the world and playing alongside some of the biggest names in the music world would be great, but it just wasn’t for you. 

You didn’t want to move away from your mother. You didn’t need fame or recognition. 

All you wanted was to be with those you loved, play the piano, and share your love of music with others. 

So that’s what you did. You respectfully turned down all the wonderful offers that had been sent your way, hoping and praying that the opportunities would go to people who craved and deserved them more than you. 

After graduation you enrolled in a small online university where you earned your Associate’s Degree in business relatively quickly. You moved out of your mother’s house to an apartment complex near to her, but not so near that you didn’t have that sense of independence you wanted. And you started to teach. 

You never would have guessed that teaching piano would have brought you such fulfillment, but it turned out to be one of the greatest sources of joy in your life. 

Sure, there were kids who hated the instrument and were just there because their parents made them, but there were also the children who you saw so much of yourself in. You saw the joy and the emotional realizations on their faces as they played, the excitement when the notes started to click in their minds. 

It was one of the most fulfilling aspects of your life. 

And this is what you were talking about with your closest friend/roommate on your twentieth birthday as you waited for your soulmark to appear. 

“She’s an absolute genius, I swear,” you said to your friend, who was listening with a grin. “She’s only eight years old and she’ll be able to outplay me soon.”

“Oh I doubt that.”

“No, seriously!” You took a sip of your wine, throwing your blanket over your cold feet. “She’s phenomenal. I’m helping her parents look into some scholarship for an arts school. Gah, she’s so good. But anyways, I’m sorry, I keep talking about me.”

“It’s your birthday!” your roommate argued, pouring herself another drink. “And your soulmark day for crying out loud, you’re allowed to talk about yourself.”

“Yeah but what about you?” you pushed. “How are things going at the shelter?”

Your roommate was a few years older than you and waited tables, but spent her free time volunteering at an animal shelter just down the road — that was actually where the two of you had met. 

“Really good, actually!” she said, sitting up straighter and proceeding to tell you about the shelter’s new initiative to get all of the stray cats adopted by Christmastime. 

Before you knew it, a half hour and another bottle of wine had passed and it was almost time for your soulmark to appear.

“What do you think it will say?” your roommate asked, waggling her eyebrows at you. 

You laughed, stroking the still blank skin on the inside of your left wrist. “I don’t know. As long as it’s nice, I don’t care.”

Your roommate stiffened and you immediately realized your mistake. 

“Oh, I’m sorry, I — I wasn’t even thinking.”

“It’s fine, it’s fine,” she assured you, biting her lip as she looked down at her own wrist. 

(You hadn’t met your roommate yet when her soulmark had appeared, but the ink on her wrist read. ‘Do you have any idea who I am, you psycho?’ You had assured her that whenever she met her soulmate, the context of the situation would make the comment much less cruel, but she rarely believed you.)

“Tonight’s not about my mark,” your roommate said with a forced smile. “It’s about yours! How much time left?”

You checked your watch. “Uh, any second now actually.”

Your roommate squealed and scooted closer to you, both of you staring at your wrist as light music played in the background. 

You let out a heavy breath as black ink slowly started to appear. 

“There it is, there it is,” your roommate chanted excitedly

And sure enough, there it was. 

‘Hi, welcome to Agust D’s Records, I’m Yoongi.’

“Well then,” your roommate deadpanned. “That makes it … pretty clear.”

You stared at your wrist silently, mouth open like a fish. A dumbfounded, overwhelmed fish. 

“Yoongi,” you whispered after a few uncomfortably long, silent seconds. “His name is Yoongi.”

“Well where the hell is this Agust D’s Records place?” your roommate mused, whipping out her phone to search for the store. “We’ve got to go there ASAP.”

“This is so weird,” you murmured to yourself. “I … I don’t really know how to feel. I mean, I can find him like … anytime at all.”

“Yeah you really lucked out,” your roommate responded. “No mystery for you. And look here.” You leaned over to look at her phone. “The store is only a few miles from us. We can go see him tomorrow!”

Your heart seemed to seize in your chest.

“Or not!” your roommate said quickly upon seeing your panicked expression. “You can go see him whenever you want, it is completely up to you. If you want me to go with, I will, but I also understand if you want to go by yourself. The ball is in your court, Y/N.”

You gulped, resting your head on her shoulder. 

“Yoongi,” you repeated dumbly as your roommate stroked your hair. “His name is Yoongi.”

***

2 YEARS LATER 

“Okay I’m just saying to consider it, Yoongs.”

“Don’t call me that,” Yoongi muttered, glaring over at his best friend as he reorganized the Beatles section that a bunch of high school punks had put out of place. “Tell me again why you’re bothering me instead of doing your job that I so graciously pay you to do?”

His friend scoffed, sitting down on the ground and leaning back on her palms. “It’s a genius idea and you know it. The store is doing great, and your brother is more than ready to take over as manager here. This is the perfect time to look into opening a new branch!”

“I’m perfectly content with just one store for now. Why are you so hung up on this?”

“I just have this feeling, Yoongs,” she continued. Yoongi watched as she leaned forward, subconsciously rubbing her soulmark that she’d received only half a year ago. It wasn’t much to see, just a simple ‘No.’ “I feel like we’re meant to move into the city proper and open a new branch. I just know it.”

“Oh you do?”

“Yeah,” she retorted, passion lighting up in her eyes. “Don’t you feel like the universe is all connected sometime? Like … like we’re all causing ripples in a pond that overlap with each other exactly like we’re meant to. And I just feel it in my bones that we’re meant to expand the store! We’re not supposed to keep making our ripples here forever!”

Yoongi sighed, looking down at her with sympathy. “Look. I’ll be honest with you, your idea is a good one. But,” he said quickly when she started to beam, “I don’t think it’s the right time just yet. Let me think about it some more and look over our finances. Let’s not rush into our ripples before we’re supposed to okay?”

His friend grinned, nodding and jumping up to hug him tightly. “That was a pretty good metaphor, don’t you think?”

“No, it was stupid. Now go man the register and leave me alone.”

“Love you too, Yoongs!”

“And stop calling me that!”

Yoongi rolled his eyes as his friend disappeared around the corner of the aisle he was on. He loved that girl, but she drove him insane. He hoped his soulmate wasn’t so extra, he was pretty sure he could only handle one overly dramatic person in his life. 

It’d been just over two years since his soulmark had shown up, and he had yet to hear the words on his wrist. At first he used to try and find ways to bring up Kanye West to every customer that caught his eye, but that got exhausting and disappointing really quick. 

So he decided to just let it be. His soulmate would show up when they were supposed to. 

“Yoongs. Psst, Yoongs.”

“Did I not just tell you to go man the register?” Yoongi asked in exasperation as his friend popped her head around the corner yet again. “What is it?”

“She’s back,” she said with wide eyes. “That girl.”

“What girl?”

His friend rolled her eyes and huffed. “Don’t play dumb, you know which girl.”

Yoongi swallowed. He did know which girl she was referring to, he had known right away. 

You started coming into the shop about a year ago, and he had been struck right away. It had been a particularly rainy day, and your hair had been dripping onto your shoulders, making the green of your sweater look particularly dark. He had introduced himself to you like every other customer (albeit his voice had cracked because you were staring at him with the prettiest, widest eyes he had ever seen), but you had only nodded at him politely and skittered away to look at some of the ukuleles he had just put on display. 

 He didn’t think much of it. Maybe you were shy, or maybe you couldn’t speak. He didn’t want to make any assumptions, so he just carried on with his business and rang you up for the Demi Lovato CD you bought, giving you the usual speech on the music classes and membership opportunities the store offered. You had smiled, nodded yet again, and then went on your way silently. 

That had been a year ago, and since then you had been coming into the shop at least once a week, but nary a word had been said to him. 

It only somewhat drove him crazy. For a while he believed that perhaps you couldn’t speak, but then he heard you ask his brother a question about the piano classes that the shop offered. 

So you could speak, you just didn’t want to speak to him. Great. 

His best friend had a theory that it was because you were his soulmate, but Yoongi didn’t think that could be true even though he had never seen your mark. You had bought two Kanye West records in the last year, and when he’d asked if you enjoyed Kanye’s music you had looked up at him a little scared and nodded hurriedly before darting out of the shop. 

Still not a word though. 

It was strange, but Yoongi had decided not to dwell on it any longer. You clearly didn’t want to speak to him for some reason, but you were polite enough and always bought something from the store — whether it was a record, sheet music, a CD, or some of the local band merch that filtered through every now and then. 

You were a loyal customer, just … a quiet one. Fine by him. 

“Dude, let it go,” Yoongi muttered to his friend as she continued to stare at him like he ought to do something drastic with this information that you were once again at the store. “And leave her alone, too. She doesn’t need the likes of you bothering her to talk to me.”

“The likes of me?” his friend shouted incredulously. “Brat. Anyways, I still think you should go say hello to her. She’s always watching you when you’re not looking. And not in a stalker way, but a cute, infatuated way. Go say hi.”

“Go man the register.”

“Ugh, fine!”

He couldn’t help but chuckle as his friend left with a dramatic huff. A minute or two passed and he finally finished reorganizing the section, heading around the corner to grab a box of some new records to stock.

Then he saw you.

He couldn’t help but stop dead in his tracks. You hadn’t seem him yet, instead looking down at the new piano that had just come into the store yesterday. Your mouth was slightly open as you ran your fingertips over the keys almost … reverently. Your eyes were bright with wonder and Yoongi felt like the breath had been knocked out of him at the sight. 

It was a damn shame that he didn’t think you were his soulmate. 

He swallowed, licking his suddenly dry lips as he readied himself to speak to you. 

***

“That just came in yesterday.”

You jumped at Yoongi’s familiar voice, yanking your hand back from the keys of the absolutely stunning piano. You looked over, swallowing thickly as you took in his appearance.

He always looked good and today was of course no different. He had dyed his hair blonde a few months ago, and his roots had started to come in, but that only added to his semi-grunge look. Ripped jeans and a cuddle-worthy brown sweater donned his slim frame, and you somehow managed not to ogle him like a total creeper. 

You then remembered that he had just spoken to you in that low, smooth voice of his and was probably expecting you to respond somehow. 

You smiled at him briefly before turning back to the piano to admire it. It really was beautiful.

“It’s a Bechstein,” he continued, sounding almost … nervous? “Twelve years used, but it’s in great condition. One of our regulars had it passed down in his family and decided to let us have it for half the selling the price. It’s no Steinway, but … it’s damn nice. I almost hope nobody buys it anytime soon.”

You couldn’t help but hum in agreement, wanting to reach back out to the beautiful black and white keys but knowing that you weren’t supposed to play the instruments without express permission from the store staff.

You’d been coming to the store for a year now to shamelessly creep on your soulmate, you definitely knew the ins and outs of the store by now. 

It was getting downright ridiculous the way that you were refusing to speak to your soulmate. Your roommate was going insane about it, even more so since she met her soulmate, Taehyung. She and the famous singer had almost killed each other upon first meeting, but they were head over heels for each other soon thereafter, which meant she was insistent on you speaking to yours so you could have the same kind of relationship. 

But you were painfully afraid. Yoongi had said the words on your mark to him a year ago and you still had not said whatever words were on his wrist — words that you refused to try and get a peek of. 

“Do you play?”

It took you a minute to register that Yoongi had just asked you a question. You met his piercing eyes, almost melting at his soft smile. You swallowed and nodded. 

“I figured,” he said softly, moving slightly closer to you. You raised an eyebrow at him as if to ask ‘how?’ “The way you looked at it. Like you could already hear the notes you wanted to play.”

Your heart stuttered. 

Say something you idiot, you thought to yourself. He’s your soulmate and you’re pussyfooting around as if he isn’t. 

You opened your mouth to say something — what, you didn’t know — and Yoongi’s eyes widened. 

And nothing came out. Fear gripped your vocal cords and you huffed, turning back to the piano in frustration. What was wrong with you?

 You heard Yoongi sigh in disappointment and all you wanted to do was run out of the store. You were just about to to do that when he spoke up again. 

“Do you … want to play something?”

You looked up at him in shock. He was offering to let you play the Bechstein? There had been both a Bechstein and a Steinway for you to play on at the arts conservatory you attended as a teenager, but ever since then you hadn’t had a chance to play on anything other than your Yamaha. It was nice, but … it was no Bechstein. 

Yoongi laughed as you nodded frantically. He gestured for you to sit and you took a deep breath, steeling yourself to focus on the piano and not your soulmate watching you. 

The first touch of the keys had the rest of the world disappearing — Yoongi, the shop, your worries, everything. 

Your fingers drifted over the keys with a honed elegance that only a lifetime of practice and love for the piano could create. 

It was a piece you knew like the back of your hand — a piece you had written, actually. The notes ebbed and flowed, painting a melodious picture of your life. You played the sounds of your mother’s love and dedication for you, you played the anxieties of high school and the competitiveness of your music program, you played the joy of teaching your students, you played late nights with your roommate laughing about the most random things together, you played the feeling of Yoongi saying the words on your wrist to you, you played your fear of revealing yourself as his soulmate and facing rejection, you played your very soul. 

As the last note finally rang out, you opened your eyes, your lashes fluttering as you crashed back into reality. 

You heard a few random customers and Yoongi’s chatty employee clapping and whistling and you couldn’t help but grin and turn around, bowing your head in thanks. You turned back to look at Yoongi, only to catch sight of him staring intently at your hands that were still lingering on the piano. 

Or more specifically, staring at your left wrist. 

Somewhere in the middle of all of playing, your long sleeve had ridden up your forearm, revealing your mark. And from where he stood over you, Yoongi could see the last half of the words in black ink. 

‘ … Agust D’s Records, I’m Yoongi.’

You froze. All of the warmth that came from playing the piano before you vanished as you took in the expression of complete and utter shock on Yoongi’s face. 

“That’s …” he mumbled, blinking rapidly. “That’s my name.”

You weren’t sure you were breathing. He finally looked up, meeting your eyes.

“Am I …” he trailed off, staring at you like it was the first time he’d ever seen you. Between your performance that had felt like it was literally tugging on his soul, to now knowing that you actually were his soulmate after all … “Am I your—”

“I’ve actually never listened to Kanye West,” you blurted out so quickly all the words slurred together. 

Once those words were out, it was like a dam had broken. 

“I got my mark just over a year ago,” you continued, the word vomit spilling out of you. “It told me where you worked and your name a-and I was so scared at first but then I told myself it would be fine so I came to meet you, but then I saw you and I — I completely panicked. I froze up, I was afraid you would reject me o-or something and so I just didn’t say anything. But then I couldn’t stay away and so I just kept coming back, but then I dug myself into too deep of a hole and didn’t know how to bring up the fact that ‘hey, surprise, I’m your soulmate and I’ve been semi-stalking you for a while?’ Not that I actually have! I swear, the only time I see you is here in the store.”

You stood up them, fidgeting with your fingers as Yoongi continued to stare at you in silence. 

“But I had to have some sort of reason to keep coming back, because I just felt wrong when I stayed away, so I would come in and buy something. And I saw that on the ‘staff recommended’ shelf there was always some Kanye West album and truthfully, I’m not that into rap music but I figured I would try since you seem to like him, but I never got around to it even though I bought like three of his albums. And I know you probably think I’m completely deranged and you’re probably right, but I just — I get really nervous, you know? And you’re so nice and yet we seem really different, so I was afraid that you—”

“Stop.”

You froze, your mouth open as Yoongi cut you off quietly, holding his hand up. 

Here it comes, you thought to yourself. He’s going to tell me I’m completely insane and to get the hell out of his store. Well, it’s been a good run I guess. 

But Yoongi didn’t do that at all. 

Instead, he took three calculated, slow steps forward until he was right in front of you, almost chest-to-chest. You held your breath, unable to look away from his eyes. 

He raised his hands, placing his palms on your cheeks. 

“Your voice,” he murmured, “is beautiful.”

Oh. 

“I … I’m sorry it took me so long to say something,” you stammered out softly, feeling a whole new spectrum of emotions as he looked deep into your eyes. 

Yoongi smiled then, a gummy, broad smile that knocked the breath right out of your chest. 

“Don’t be. Our ripples crossed right when they needed to.”

You blinked, hands reaching out to rest on his chest. “I’ll be honest, I … don’t really understand that metaphor.”

“I’ll explain it later. I know we just officially found each other, but can I kiss you? Please?”

You smiled broadly, and it didn’t bother Yoongi at all that you nodded instead of speaking. 

[diegoh4rgreeves]

Sleepover

Story Summary: A domestic Diego Hargreeves and reader are married and have a daughter together. Her name is Grace and she’s sleeping over at her cousin Claire’s house for the night. The busy couple take advantage of their free night with some intense sex...

Pairing: Diego Hargreeves x Female Reader

Chapter: 1/1

Word Count: 1,836 words

Warning: Smut (specifically mommy/daddy kink), fluff, swearing

A/N: I’m not usually someone who likes the mommy/daddy kink. I thought this would be cute for a married couple with a kid though. Hope you all like it!

“Mommy! Where’s my knife?” a high-pitched squeal erupts the room.

The room is small and messy. Toy weapons are all over the floor and the bed isn’t made. You tell your daughter, Grace, to clean her room before going to her cousin Claire’s sleepover tonight.

You sigh. You wonder how your daughter has the nerve to put off cleaning her room all day. Now she’s packing up for the sleepover. Her backpack with the Umbrella Academy logo has some of her things inside it already. “Grace sweetie, you could find your toy if you clean your room first!”

“No!” Grace yells out.

You take a deep breath. “Why not?”

“Because I don’t want to!”

“Well, Grace,” you begin. “Life isn’t about doing what you want. You have to clean up after yourself, okay? Someday I won’t be he—"

Your husband, Diego Hargreeves walks in and clears his throat to interrupt you.

Your family upbringing isn’t the best thing ever, nor is it the worst. Diego, on the other hand, has never met his biological mother. Claire is the daughter of his adoptive sister, Alison. He was raised by his robotic mother who he was really close with, unlike his neglecting father. Diego’s mother is who his and your daughter were named after. He is very sensitive when it comes to telling his kid she’ll be on her own someday.

You nod respectfully to Diego as a signal for him to speak to your child. “Now Grace.” Diego crouches to her. “If you listen to mommy, you get to go to Claire’s sleepover, okay?”

The rebellious child stomps her foot, pouts, and crosses her arms. “No!”

Diego smirks. “Can you do that? I’ll take away your toys if you can’t.”

She groans one last time before picking up her toys and tossing them in the large toy bin.

Diego put his arm around you and kisses your temple with his warm lips. You smile from the tingle his kisses still give you. You lean your head on his shoulder and he rubs your back. You both watch your daughter clean her room and then make the bed.

“I found it!” Grace exclaims. “Mommy, I found my knife!” Grace runs over to you as she holds her toy with both hands.

You chuckle and crouch to Grace to give her a hug. “You see, sweetie. This is why cleaning up is important. You can see where your things are! Do you understand now?”

Grace let go of the hug and she nods. “I understand.”

“Good.” You kiss the top of her head. “Now let’s go pack.”

 -

"I miss her already.” You just dropped Grace off to her cousin’s house. You put your choice of drink down on the coffee table.

Diego and you are cuddling on the living room couch. Diego let one arm hang out the ledge of it. He’s holding out a can of beer. “I miss her too.” He leans in and whispers to you in a hot breath, “Just think of how I’m going to screw your brains out tonight though, mama.”

You giggle as he playfully munches your ear and growls. Your flap your arms, and you tell him to stop.

“Make me…” he purrs.

You grab his face and give him a hard kiss. He tastes like beer, and his scruff scratches your face. You let go and you look at each other. You want to keep the play-fight going. Instead, you can’t help but to smile at each other. “Gosh, when was the last time we had the house to ourselves?” You lean on Diego’s chest and put your arm across his chest.

He puts his free arm around your neck. He tilts his head. “I actually don’t know… Before we had Grace?”

You smirk. “Yeah, that was a looong time ago.”

“She’s such a blessing.”

“Yeah, she is.”

You both take a moment before looking at each other and pressing your lips together. “She’s so smart, like you,” you said in between a kiss.

“And she’s so pretty…just like you,” Diego smiles. He put his beer next to your drink on the coffee table.

“The fact that she worships you… A girl who loves her daddy.”

Diego releases you and gives you a serious look. “Do you also love daddy?”

Chills ran down your spine when he asks that. “Mhmm…” You blush.

He smiles with satisfaction and pulls you closer to him. He signals for you to straddle his lap, so you do. “Well, I love mommy…” He whispers in your ear. “She works so hard and is such a good girl…”

You can’t tell if Diego is expressing a mommy kink or BDSM, or both. Whatever is his sexual mood tonight, you like it. At least it’s a break from all the quickies before getting your kid ready for school. “Aww, well you’re just such a good obeying boy yourself.” You giggle and moan as you plant another kiss on him. You thrust him. He moves his hands from your waist to your butt. He squeezes one cheek. As you gasp from this, he twirls your tongue which tastes fresh of your drink. He also rubs your back with his free hand.

“Mommy, can we play here?” His deep voice arouses you so much when he says that.

“Of course, sweetie.” You smile in the kiss. “Anything you want…”

He smiles back. He likes you playing along with this. He plays with the hem of your shirt. “Can I take this off?”

You moan and lift yourself to his bulge. “Yes, please.” You touch his bulge with your clit and grind on him. He kisses you harder. It pleases you how excited he is so that makes you grind faster.

He lifts your shirt. You assist him in taking it off by pulling your arms up. He let the shirt fall beside you on the couch. You lean in and give him multiple hard kisses. He slides his hands underneath both cups of your bra and he fondles your breasts. You moan and unclip the back of it. You throw it across the room.

He salivates when he gazes your breasts. He puts his head down and helps himself to licking one of your hard nipples in circular motion. He pinches the other one. Then he shoves his mouth in the same breast he was licking. You tilt your head back and move your breasts towards him. He is so concentrated on this.

You dry-hump him again to get his attention. This gets him to take off his shirt. He reveals his muscular torso which you so badly want to lick. You put your head down to lick his chest. You look up at him. He’s smiling over your eagerness at his body. You smile back. Then you come back up to kiss the tip of his nose. You also pat his hardness, which gets him to unbuckle his pants. “Can’t keep mommy waiting…” You whisper. You can’t believe what you just said. Maybe this mommy kink is going better than you thought it would.

“Sorry mommy…” He lays you down on the whole couch and nuzzles you as he pulls his pants down and reveals his hard cock. He towers over you with his deep stare. He pulls your panties down to your ankles and stays down there. He spreads your legs and lays himself in between them. “Is mommy ready for her spa treatment?”

Your face gets hot when he says that. This freeing experience really does feel like a luxury. You blush and nod.

Suddenly he licks your clitoris and stuffs two fingers in you. You gasp. He pays no mind to your shock as he rapidly fingers you and he sucks on your clit. You thrust on his face. He puts in 2 more fingers which makes you yelp. You like it though. You tell him to keep going, so he does. He pushes his fingers in deeper.

Then he comes back up and gives you one last deep kiss before getting a condom out of the pocket of his pants on the floor. He looks at you and rubs himself before sliding the condom on. He slowly slides inside you and your wetness. You are so wet from this kink and open from 4 fingers in you just a moment ago. His entrance goes smoother than you both think it would. He takes a chance on thrusting fast in you. You look up at him with your mouth hanging. He looks at you with as much intensity.

He rubs your clit up and down with the tip of his index finger. You let out a thrust. He stops you and whispers, “Mommy needs a break. No more work for mommy.”

You moan and say, “Okay, sweetie. Do what you must.”

He raises his eyebrows. He really likes you playing along. He wasn’t sure how you were going to react to this new approach to sex earlier. He holds your wrists down and thrusts harder this time. “You just sit and relax, mommy. I love you.” He pants as he thrusts hard and fast. He looks as focused on this as he is when he’s boxing at the gym. You love watching him box at the gym…

You are shaking, and your loud moaning is in an odd rhythm. You call out Diego’s name as you grab your breasts and pinch your nipples. You suddenly tremble, and you roll your eyes. You clench inside him and he groans as he feels you press hard against him. He pulls out and jerks himself as he watches you orgasm. You call out his name multiple times, and you breathe out the first syllable of his name in the last call. He straddles you and he aims for your mouth as he rubs himself again. You open wide and catch as much of his semen as you can. Some bits of it falls on your shoulders which arouses and finishes him.

You pant and try to catch your breath. You look at Diego before you lean towards him and softly kiss him. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” he coos. “Also, I got us dinner reservations tonight…”

You gasp. “Is it at that one fancy place we always pass on the way to get groceries?”

He laughs. “Yeah, that one. Our dinner’s in an hour, so how about we take a shower?”

“Diego… You’re a naughty boy tonight… Round 2?”

He raises his eyebrows at you. “If you want… mommy…”

You giggle. “Thank you for the spa treatment.”

“It’s open all night… We just gotta have a dinner break.” He grins at you.

You chuckle. “That’s totally fair.” You put your hand out for him to help you up with.

Instead of helping you up, he puts you over his shoulder. You let out a yell and a hysterical laugh. He spanks you from behind as he walks you upstairs. He knows what mama likes…

[dicedungeons-and-dragons]

Waylan’s Sabbatical (6/?)

A chunk of writing following our party NPC (and my Son) as he breaks away from the party. Our campaign uses names of places from various fandoms for fun but they have no real relation to the source material. (We also call the Raven Queen Nara because of some hasty Wiki reading) This section contains Terran and Waylan’s first meeting!

TW: Mentions of past torture, general violence, injury.

Part: First | Previous | Next

“Wake up!” The slap rattles his teeth as it hits him. If he wasn’t already crying he thinks the blow would force tears to his eyes. A fresh taste of blood coats the inside of his mouth as his vision swims around the dimly lit room. The Crimson Sign sneers down at him. Gods what he wouldn’t give to forget the times that Maurak sat down at the bar to share a drink with Gadreel. Because those memories only make the monster standing in front of him, a monster who has shattered his bones and hacked away at his arm, more vivid. Maurak was always a monster. He had just hid it well. 

Another blow snaps his head to the other side, but this one is harder, hard enough he feels his cheekbone crumple inward and one of his teeth splinter and jam into the side of his tongue. Black spots dance across his vision and he tries to spit out the blood that’s rapidly pooling in his mouth before he chokes on it. 

“He wasn’t the only monster in hiding.” Oh. Oh, thank Gods. It’s another one of these. His head spins as he forces himself to look up. He’s standing in front of his own bound body, Maurak’s knife in his flesh hand, and his metal one raised to deliver another blow if need be. 

“It’s just a dream.” Waylan slurs to himself. “You’re not real.” 

“Not yet.” The blow comes again. But this time he feels it reverberating up the gears of his arm. Sees Gadreel’s head snap to the side. Sees Lugh spitting out blood. Sees Vani’s legs bent at odd angles. Sees Ray’s arm hacked off, tattoos still burning. And it feels so good. He loves pressing his metal hand against their begging mouths, love watching his hand catch fire and the flesh bubble and blacken on their face as their screams rattle against his palm. He burns them until he can’t see their faces anymore, until he wakes up screaming with smoke clinging to the back of his throat. 

****

It’s rare he wakes up screaming, and even rarer that he loses control of his magic nowadays. But when he comes out of his nightmare, brain soaked in pain and fear and sees a shadow moving towards him he strikes without thought. Magic dripping from his lips as he throws out a hand and blasts the approaching figure with a burst of flame.

“Waylan!” The Knight’s voice, so unfamiliar compared to the ones that haunt his dreams,  manages to shake him from the lingering terror.

“Fuck, shit, Gods I’m sorry,” he jumps from the bed and rushes forward. “Are you alright?”

“I’m well enough. It would take far more than that to incapacitate me. You were screaming.”

“I’m sorry. That doesn’t usually happen.” The Knight stares down at him for a long moment. It’s times like this, with glowing red eyes looking down at him, he remembers that the lich towers over him just like Radiance, Lugh and Gadreel used to.

“The screaming, perhaps, doesn’t happen. But I watched over you as you healed. I had thought your nightmares a symptom of fever, but they haunt you now as well.” Waylan swallows the wave of shame that tries to crawl up his throat, reaches for anger instead.

“It’s none of your business.” The words are covered in barbs but the lich doesn’t seem to notice.

“Why do you keep coming back into the forest, Waylan?”

“What the fuck does it matter?” He turns away from the Knight, stalks over to the wardrobe with no doors to grab his few belongings. “I won’t be back.” Because this is too much. Too close. He left Creta so that no one would ask him questions he can’t answer. He doesn’t need those questions to find him here, least of all out of the mouth of an undead. He gathers his things as quickly as possible and makes for the door. The Black Knight’s gloved hand slams into the stone beside his head, cages him against the wall before he can make a break for it. Sparks flick up over his fingers nervously. He can’t fight a lich. He’s not strong enough for that. And even if he could get away from him he doesn’t know the castle as well. The Knight could certainly catch up to him if he wanted.

“Waylan.” He says his name lowly, the sound of it reverberating against his helmet. “You are not a traveler are you?”

“What’s that even supposed to mean?” He says, his throat tight.

“You are not traveling, you are running. A coward, fleeing from a person, or a memory. And you have found a home in woods that makes cowards of all who journey inside.”

“You’re still here.” He snaps. “Two hundred years later in this place for cowards. What are you hiding from?”

“I’m not hiding. The forest you see and the one I live in are very different. You will stay here and I will show you.” The Knight drops his hand and gives Waylan a bit of space. “Maybe when I am finished you will be able to face what you were running from.”

“You aren’t going to keep me here against my will.”

“I’m not. But I think you know as well as I that you’d return again even if you left right now.”

And every nerve in him is scraped raw and pulled taut and he desperately wants to walk out the door, take his things, find a ship, and move on to a new place. He could be away from Okren in four days time if he didn’t rest. He could leave and never come back. Never blink at what might have happened to the Dark Forest and the warrior lich that lived there.

But the stump of his arm is aching, and his throat is still raw from screaming. He hasn’t heard from the others in weeks. He hasn’t slept well in months. And he’s tired of running.

****

The next morning the Knight has him up at the crack of dawn and as soon as he’s dressed and fed they’re heading out through the service tunnels and into the forest. To be honest he’s still half furious with himself for staying. The other half is furious with the lich for presuming to know so much about him and having the gall to be right. Which doesn’t make him much for conversation and they head deeper into the forest. 

Waylan’s been past the castle before. He’s gone about four days further, but it was extremely slow going. When he’d first started traveling through the Dark Forest he thought that the castle would be at the heart of the forest and the most difficult to make it to. But while there are plenty of monsters and treacherous land serving as deterrents, he found the actual landscape of the forest beyond the castle is far more hazardous. The Knight navigates through the foggy landscape with ease even as Waylan starts to struggle for breath as a the mist takes on a sharp and nauseating odor. It takes until about mid day, but eventually he has to pause, coughing hard enough that he thinks he might shake a lung loose. 

“Apologies, I forget the boons my existence offers me.” 

“Yeah, well, do you know if this fog is toxic for us lowly humans?” 

“It will not poison you, but it will be uncomfortable.” The Knight looks around and then says, “Ah, little one,” Waylan is about to start cursing when he sees the lich looking over at a squirrel that’s sitting up in a nearby tree. “Get a message to your master. Tell him I have come to visit and hope he will extend the same hospitality to my friend as he has graciously done for myself.” The squirrel cocks its head and then skitters across the branches, leaping into the next tree and then on into the thick forest until Waylan can’t spot it anymore. 

“I don’t think I want to meet your friend.” 

“I will do my best to keep you safe.” And Waylan doesn’t like the sincerity in the tone. 

“What am I about to meet?” 

“‘Who’, you’re going to meet the dragon who has made his home within my borders.”

“A dragon?” Realization slides sickeningly along the same path as sour air to his lungs. “A green dragon?” The lich inclines his head. “I can’t meet a green dragon, Knight! I helped kill one!” He hisses. 

“And why would I care about that little human?” The words come in raspy tones and Waylan tenses as he turns to face the new speaker. Fuck him with a dull pike. Fuck. 

There is no towering creature before him and somehow that makes what is standing there even more terrifying. Only old dragons can take human form and the one standing in front of him has to be old. And the older a dragon is the more dangerous. The man is tall and thin, too thin, with his dark leathers clinging to his body. His cheekbones jut out sharply as if he’s missed a few dozen meals, and the long fingered hands that he folds in front of himself as he considers the two of them are thin with his knuckles making knobby protrusions. His eyes are an unnatural vibrant yellow and his hair is shorn very short against his skull, so short Waylan can’t really tell the color, only that the fuzz is very dark. 

“If you managed to kill a dragon that means it was not worthy of life. What kind of higher being gets slain by a flea?” 

“Waylan this is Terran, the Hungry One.” The Knight dips his head respectfully and Waylan follows suit. “Terran, this is Waylan, the human who has been mapping the forest.” 

“Yes, yes, your little pet project. Why bring him to meet me?” Terran looks Waylan over disinterestedly. “Unless you’ve brought me an offering, Lich?” 

“Not this time.” 

Waylan is half a second away from casting a fireball between them all, turning invisible, and making a run for it. 

“He speaks draconic. You so often complain you no longer get to converse in your mother tongue I thought you would appreciate the opportunity.”

Waylan thinks he sees a spark of interest in the dragon’s eyes. “Is that true little human, do you speak a language far superior to the one that humans use to grunt through their meaningless lives?” 

Every inch of him bristles at the comment. And for a wonderful, suicidal moment, Waylan considers telling the dragon to go fuck himself in clean curt draconic. Instead he settles on, “If a language’s worth is based on how many know it then the ravings of a madman must be far more blessed than even Tiamat’s tongue.”

Terran stares at him for a long moment and Waylan wonders if he can still spit poison in this form. Then he looks over at the Black Knight. “He lives, for now.”

“Your patience is appreciated.”

[nate-santos]

Am I Alive? || Nate & Remmy

Nate didn’t often let people into his life. The few friends he had were the result of long and tiresome interactions as they slowly infiltrated his careful barriers. His own assistant had never been to his house and never knew where he was from. But something about Remmy felt...familiar. They’d both been through hell, though Nate would never pretend to know what war was like. They seemed like kindred spirits, and Nate wondered if he might actually have found someone who could compliment his neuroticism. Plus he knew better than most how hard it was to acclimate after a traumatic event and he wanted to help any way he could. So he donned his puffiest coat – offering more cushion should something happen. He also made sure to grab his sturdiest umbrella, one that he’d reinforced should any fish come flying down at him. The medical examiner had said four people had died so far, and Nate was not gonna be the fifth. After carefully making his way to Coffee Plus, he set up his little area and ordered a latte, waiting patiently with his hands cupped around his mug for his potential employee to arrive.

The offer for another job was extremely enticing, but Remmy would have to make sure it didn’t pay too much, because they could lose their disability if it did. And then, no more writing off Moose’s food, no more HSA, and no more cheap meds. But Nate seemed like a really nice guy, and he seemed to know how Remmy felt. How hard it was to reintegrate into society after witnessing something that inherently changes you. Inside and out. This time, they made public transport didn’t make them late but catching the bus early. Coffee Plus was the station they’d met Deirdre outside of, and if they didn’t get thrown in front of a car again, then it would already be a better meeting. They’d even tried their best to clean themself up this time. Combed their hair, put on their best jeans-- the only pair with no holes or rips-- and their nice jacket. When they arrived, they had to pause a moment outside, give themself that little pep talk that usually given in front of a bathroom mirror. But Remmy’s room didn’t have a bathroom mirror, despite the landlord saying they were going to replace it two weeks ago. The little bell chimed as Remmy pulled the door open and they glanced around. There, in the corner. Right wher eNate had said he would be. He looked almost as nervous as Remmy felt, bundled up in a puffy coat, tucked into a corner, cupping his coffee. They waved as they approached tentatively. “Nate?” they asked. “It’s um-- Remmy. Hi.”

A large grin spread across Nate’s face as Remmy appeared. Thank god they actually showed up. He shifted in his seat and motioned for them to sit. Nervously, his hands fumbled with the pages of one of his old sketchbooks, one that before this morning he hadn’t looked at in years. It made him want to start drawing again, drawing things that weren’t buildings at the very least. He’d have to thank Remmy for reminding him how much he’d loved doing it. “Hey! Nice to meet you!” He held out his hand, careful not to bump into anything. “I’m so glad you came! You want something to drink?” Nate caught his usual barista’s attention and waved her over. “I personally like the lattes, but everything’s really good!”

Remmy noticed the way Nate stayed tucked into himself and close to the table, but didn’t think it was anything they needed to point out or think about. They took his hand, giving it a firm shake. His hand was large and warm and it reminded Remmy of Dario’s hand. They smiled back. “Nice to meet you, too! Finally.” They slid into the booth across from Nate, glancing around. The coffee shop was small, but had that busy, local atmosphere. It was different from any place they’d been in Bangor. “Oh, um, sure! I’ll just have a um...Americano? Thanks!” Looked back over to Nate once the lady took their order. They had their sketchbook tucked under one arm and their eyes fell onto the one Nate had on the table. “Thanks for um-- agreeing to meet me. And-and offering me a job. And...all that other stuff.”

Nate grinned and took a long sip of his coffee. “Really, it’s nothing. I uh, you seem like good people!” He chuckled nervously, trying not to think about how cold their hand was. He drummed his fingers on the top of his sketchbook and fell silent for a moment. It had been years since he’d shown his drawings to anyone when it wasn’t work related, but this...sort of was. “The job is mostly menial, nothing too exciting, but I could definitely use the assistance.” He shrugged, thinking about the kid currently interning for him. Bobby was next to useless, especially when it came to moving samples around the office. “But whether you take the job or not, I’m happy to have met you!” He began to slide his sketchbook over, his knee bouncing at a hypersonic rate. “Plus I never get to trade art with anyone! Not trade trade, but like...look over pieces...share, that sort of thing.”

“You seem like good people, too,” Remmy said back. This was nice. This felt nice. And normal. Pleasant, almost. They eyed his sketchbook, before setting theirs on the table as well, still holding tightly onto it. They’d never actually shown anyone else their stuff. Except some of the other officers at the camp. “Oh, um-- I’m not sure mine are gonna be really good enough to like...compare to yours, I’m sure. But I’m glad I get to see yours! I’ve never exactly….shared this kinda stuff before. Wasn’t exactly um-- encouraged in the troops.” Stop bringing the mood down, Rem. They shook their head. “But, I mean-- I’m good with menial things! And physical labor. Also good at running errands! Whatever you need! If um-- you decide you like me.”

Nate laughed, wringing his hands anxiously in his lap. “Oh, definitely no comparing here! That’s the worst thing artists can do, really. Everyone’s styles and strengths are so different, like…” He reached out and opened his book to a rather choppy looking portrait. “Soft lines, not my thing. But straight edges, flowing concrete, somehow that I can do.” A hand reached up into his hair and began to twirl. “I’m sorry you weren’t uh...encouraged. Art’s….soothing. Even if what you draw isn’t.” Nate had specifically not brought the book he’d kept right when he first found himself in White Crest. All the images in there were charcoal drawings of pure angst, sadness and desperation. These sketches weren’t great, but they at least weren’t morosely depressing. “Well I already think I like you!” Nate grinned, hoping he wasn’t coming on too strong. He hadn’t realized how desperately he’d needed something as normal as coffee and a job interview, even as lax as this was.

“Really?” Remmy asked. They leaned in a little more when Nate opened his book, gazing in with wide eyes. “Wow, that’s so good! You’re really good.” Hands tightening on their own book. “Oh, it-it’s okay. I don’t think I coulda done anything with it, anyway. I guess it just helps...occupy my mind. I don’t mean like..busy work, or whatever, but yeah-- soothing. Like you said, it’s...soothing…” They remembered how the group therapist had encouraged writing or drawing as an outlet. Remmy had taken quite to it. They liked drawing what they saw, copying down detail in an almost hyperfocus manner. “Well, I think I like you, too! You’re really nice and open and...not weird. If that makes sense? Not that weird is bad! I’ve just met a few...really weird people, too.”

Nate nodded, sucking down more of the hot bean juice. “Like I said, anyone can be an artist. Doesn’t matter if you do anything with it. Just so long as it makes you feel good.” He shrugged, his eyes falling to his lap and his cheeks flushing. Nate never could take a compliment. “I cannot promise that weird won’t end up popping up,” he laughed nervously. What was he supposed to say? I’m normal now but wait till I die in some freak accident and come back trying to eat your brains? “But I’m glad I’m not the weirdest person you’ve met here. I mean, I hope.”

“Hey, a little bit of weird isn’t bad. Don’t they say like, normal is boring or whatever?” Remmy grinned. “You’re not, definitely not. I think the woman I met who tried to push me into a car is the weirdest I’ve met so far.” They shrugged it off. Deirdre was a mystery they didn’t really wanna think about right now. The waitress came back with their order and they took it gratefully, taking a long sip. “Um…” they pushed their notebook over towards Nate, a little tentative, a little shy. “I-if you wanna look.” Though they would never admit it, as they weren’t sure of their own talent, their eye for detail gave them the ability to draw from life fairly well. Thin pencil lines, sketchy figures, and some doodles of animals riddled the sketchbook, an unorganized mess, unlike every other aspect of their life. Some drawings layered on top of others, like stacks of photos. They sipped their coffee again.

Nate smiled, a touch of sadness in his eyes. “I respectfully disagree with those people. I’d take normal over weird any day.” Nate’s life was already filled with too much weirdness. “Wait- like she was shoving you into a car or...throwing you in front of one?” Nate’s brow furrowed and he felt oddly protective over this person he just met. “Of course I wanna see!” He reached out, delicately turning the pages of the sketchbook. It was practically exploding with creativity. Lines and shades he’d seen but never really seen, it was so unlike his personal style and so refreshing. You could see real heart. “These are amazing, Remmington. Remmy? Which do you prefer?” He glanced up for only a moment before being sucked back into the book.

“Kinda...both? I’m not really sure. She said she wanted to test something and almost threw me into a taxi. It was fine, obviously, but I got kinda mad at her after that,” Remmy said, as if getting thrown in front of a car was a normal thing. In all honesty, it just didn’t strike them as odd. After all, they’d stuck their hands into a live case of TNT before. Was getting hit by a car really that much different? They felt their chest tingle as Nate delicately flipped through the notebook, suddenly so nervous they couldn’t even drink their coffee, just hold the cup tightly. “What? Really? Y-you think so?” Swallowed. “Oh, um-- either! Either is fine! I don’t mind.” They rolled their bottom lip between their teeth nervously. “I just...like drawing what I see. Nothing special…”

Nate’s mouth dropped open and he had to actively think about closing it so as not to be overly rude. “She- on purpose?? Yeah! I’d be mad too!” Nate nearly had a heart attack just thinking about the ordeal. But he looked back down to the drawings to distract himself. They were really good. Not professional, but that didn’t mean anything to Nate. He actually felt most professional artists were stuck up and rarely creative. “Yeah, Remmy, these are awesome!” He beamed up at them. “I like what you see.” It had been so long since Nate had really stopped to look around, flipping through Remmy’s sketches was like being unafraid to wander through town. It felt free. “You should keep this up. Seriously. Even if it’s just for you.”

Remmy couldn’t help but give a shy smile. “Th-thanks. I, um-- I will. I haven’t had much time lately between all the...stuff, but...I think I’ll try and make time.” They smiled over at Nate, finally relaxed enough again to sip their coffee. “So, um-- do you like, design the buildings and stuff? Or just do more like...blueprints stuff? I’m not-- sorry. I don’t mean to sound like...rude, but I’m not really sure what architects do, like a hundred percent? I’m totally willing to learn though!”

Nate cocked his head to the side. “Like all the getting shoved towards taxis?” He frowned, hoping Remmy wasn’t befriending people that would willingly shove them into oncoming traffic. It wasn’t entirely unheard of in White Crest, especially in the seedier areas. Yet another reason to never leave his house. “Oh, yeah! It really depends on the project, and most of what I get to do around here is restoring some of the town’s older buildings, making sure they’re up to code while maintaining the historical integrity of the design.” He smiled softly, taking another sip of coffee. “But every once in a while someone wants to build an entirely new house or business, then I get to flex my creative chops.” He sighed dramatically. “Those fun projects don’t tend to come around as often, though, so sometimes I just teach a class at the college.”

“Yeah,” Remmy sighed, “like that.” They still hadn’t parsed out Deirdre’s actual intention with doing that. Was it to see if Remmy would move? If they would let her? If they would get scare and run away? It still baffled them, but she hadn’t been eager to talk after that, so the answer would likely never come. So Remmy would concentrate on the here and now. “Wow, that’s so cool! I had no idea that’s what architects actually did...do you go to the houses and like actually help build stuff? Or do you just do more of the like...drawing and planning stuff?” They couldn’t help but be excited by all this. They’d always loved learning new things, even if public schooling had made them feel inadequate. “And you get to teach at the University?? That’s SO cool!”

Nate frowned, already feeling the twinge of protectiveness over this person he’d literally just met. Remmy had already been through so much, they needed a soft place to land, not a place where people literally threw them into oncoming traffic. But he would drop it- for now. Not like he was in any position to go hunting down this person, and to do what, exactly? Yell at them? Punch them? Neither of those things were in Nate’s wheelhouse. “I don’t do too much building, but I do get to visit the sites sometimes to help oversee everything! A lot of what I do is actually project management and organizing the construction crews, but I’ve gotten to know most of the crews around here pretty well, so they send me progress photos and stuff. It’s really cool to see an idea you have come to life right before your eyes.” Nate paused, smiling sheepishly to himself. “It’s really not that cool, most people find it kinda boring. But I love it.”

“Oh, I think that sounds amazing!” Remmy blurted, without thinking much. They reigned themself back in sheepishly. “Sorry. I just-- I don’t think it sounds boring at all! I think that sounds amazing. Getting to do something that actually changes the world around you...even if it’s just a building. And seeing it in progress? That’s just…” they trailed off a bit. “That’s incredible.” They took another long sip of the coffee, realizing it didn’t much taste like anything. It didn’t fill any sort of need inside of them. Not like it used to. “It sounds kinda lame but...when I was younger, I think I always wanted to do something that could, like, change things for the better. I guess that’s why I thought going into the military might...you know. Be like that.”

Nate’s eyes lit up. He so rarely spoke to anyone, let alone about his work, it was refreshing to be able to gush about it to someone who thought it was as interesting as he did. Well, maybe not as much, but at least Remmy was feigning interest! “I’m glad you think it’s interesting! I could definitely tell you more about it, and I mean, if you come help out, you’d get to see a lot of it first hand, too.” Nate knew exactly what they meant. It was the reason so many of his high school peers had enlisted, not knowing what else to do but needing and wanting to do something. He smiled softly, feeling his body loosen a bit from the tense ball it had been in. “I’m Sorry. If it wasn’t, I mean. Like that. Doing something for the better. Or that’s presumptuous- was it?” And he tensed right back up again as he stuck his foot in his mouth.

“Oh, yes! That would be great!” Remmy said excitedly. They had no idea someone would think they were just pretending, because Remmy didn’t have it in them to lie or pretend. “I’d love to learn all that stuff! Even if I’m no good at it, I think it’d be cool to know!” They sipped the coffee again, their legs twitching excitedly. Remmy had never been this excited before. Was this was it meant to find something they loved? “Oh, um-- I think it was, a little. I don’t um-- it’s hard to explain. I think there’s better ways to change things, but...it felt like my only option. I wasn’t the smartest or funniest or strongest. So...that was pretty much it.” They shrugged. “But, I mean-- as far as job offers go, I um-- think I’d be happy to come work for you. I-if you’re still looking.”

Nate sometimes felt like he was looking in a mirror when he talked to Remmy. They’d only known each other a short while, but he felt like he understood them in a way he hadn’t felt in a long time. Sure, some of that might be how excited they were about architecture, but it was something more than that, too. Nate remembered what it felt like to be so lost, heck he was still unbearably lost. But when he did what he loved, it wasn’t quite so unbearable. It was part of the reason he hadn’t tried to just end things. Seeing Remmy light up like this, it ignited something in Nate too. “I would be more than happy to have you join the team, Remmy.” He grinned, holding out his hand more confidently than before. “Welcome to the family.”

Remmy couldn’t remember the last time they’d been this excited. They couldn’t remember the last time they’d felt this hopeful. Sure, it was just an assistant job, helping out around Nate’s firm, but it was more than anything they could’ve hoped for in coming to White Crest. Being a security guard was easy and it paid the bills, but it wasn’t exactly the most riveting job. After being in the field for so long, Remmy had found life wasn’t exciting anymore. Remmy took Nate’s hand eagerly. “Thanks, Nate. Really, thank you so much.”

@whatsin-yourhead