#shadow puppets (cut my strings)

[vnti-vnxiety-recs]

Serenade of the Damned (M)

★ PAIRING: Pied Piper! Haechan x Little Red! Reader

☆ WORD COUNT: 10k

★ GENRE(S): Dark fantasy AU, Dark Fairy Tale AU. Magic. Smut, enemies to ??

☆ SUMMARY: The Pied Pier was one of the most feared folk legends of your time. Little did you know he was real and was coming to take your life. You, who was known as the wolfhunter, realized that the hunter had become the hunted.

★ ☆ WARNINGS: mature themes. Minor character death, knifes, blood, violence, alcohol, unprotected sex, gangs, threats, killing, 18+, MDNI

☆★ NOTES: Hallo! This is something that is totally different from my usual writing style, so im a little nervous to debut this, but im so excited because this concept was so freaking cool. I've been sitting on this for a while, but I thought it would be best to post in oct to fit the Halloween spirit. See the request that inspired it here.

Glossary Changelings- a shapeshifting race of beings that are related to the fey Tiefling- a humanoid race with devilish ancestry. They are known for their large horns, extravagant appearance, and carefree attitude Halfling- A halfling isn't a half-breed in that sense. They are their own separate race. They're called halfling because they're about half the size of a human. Half-Elf- A race that has a mix of human and elf traits Half-Orc- A race that has a mix of human and orc traits Harengon- race of rabbit-like humanoids Half-Harengon- A race that has a mix of human and harengon traits

In a quaint, shadowy town, where cobblestones whispered secrets and fog clung to alleyways, the figure of the Pied Piper emerged like a ghost from the depths of folklore. Clad in a tattered cloak, his features were obscured by the dim light of the moon, but the shimmer in his brown eyes betrayed a glimmer of mischief. To the townsfolk, he was more legend than man; a cunning sorcerer with the rare gift of crafting melodies so mesmerizing that they can lure even the most elusive creatures from the depths of their dens.

But behind his charisma lay a tale steeped in darkness—a story of pain that turned sweet melodies into lethal harmonies. The legend goes that the Piper had once been a simple musician, beloved for his ability to summon the gentle creatures of the forest with a mere note. But after tragedy left him scarred, his music dulled into a haunting echo of vengeance. Now, he used it to lure unsuspecting victims to their brutal demise.

He made his way toward the shadows of the town, the air thick with the anticipation of a storm. His target tonight was none other than the famed wolf hunter, Little Red. Much like him, numerous tales whispered through the streets about this legendary wolf slayer. He didn’t care; all he knew was that someone wanted you dead and was willing to pay a pretty penny for it. With each step, he breathed in the electric air, a smirk playing on his lips, ready for the deadly dance that awaited. 

Once upon a time…

There was a girl raised with cruelty. Some say she was raised by wolves. She knew nothing but brutality and lies as she grew up. Her family was ruthless and cold.

At a young age, she didn’t grasp the true nature of their business, but she sensed it was far from safe. Whispers of peddling girls and dirty money surrounded her family’s name, wrapping around it like a dark shroud, leaving a bitter taste in the mouths of those who spoke of them.

That girl was you.

You would come to learn that your parents were merely puppets, with someone behind them pulling the strings of their misdeeds. Like a fool, you were a puppet's puppet. You ran their errands, cleaned up their messes, and shouldered their burdens, enduring their brutal beatings when something went wrong.

One day, everything changed. 

You came home to an empty house, silence swallowing you whole. They had abandoned you, cutting their strings and fleeing with their puppeteers' money, leaving you behind in a world that was already merciless enough.

It wasn’t long before your grandmother found you, just before the bruisers came looking for you and your parents. Your grandmother was harsh, but you always thought she loved you in her own way. The forest was your new playground, a wild expanse where you learned to fight, to survive, and to become something more than a victim. Her love was implicit in the hours she forced you to spend deep in the woods, stalking prey, learning to hunt, and discovering how to protect yourself. You braved the harshest weather and the most unforgiving conditions, and though she never spoke loving words, you told yourself that this was better than the life you had before. 

You grew stronger, sharper, and more cunning. Each scrape and bruise taught you resilience, and every moment of solitude in the forest became a lesson in self-reliance. In time, you transformed from a puppet to a predator in your own right.

But soon, new whispers would begin to follow you.

You grew older, you could stand on your own two feet and you didn't need anyone but yourself.

Working at the nearby tavern, you earned a meager living delivering food to families in the area. You tucked delicious meals into your picnic basket and pulled your red hood high over your head.

Your grandmother had insisted you wore a hood in the city—she always said, "Wolves never forget." It had been years since your parents had run off with their tainted money. The Wolf Gang, a notorious bandit group that terrorized the townsfolk and threatened the crown with their ruthless dealings. They had once pulled the strings of your parents, and now they were still searching for you and your family.

As the end of your shift neared, you gathered your cloak tightly around you, seeking warmth against the biting chill of the approaching evening. After finishing your last delivery, all you wanted was to sink into the comfort of your humble home.

You entered the crowded tavern, your red cloak immediately drawing attention. The tavern master, a burly man with a thick beard, called out from behind the bar, his jovial tone slicing through the lively atmosphere of clinking mugs and laughter. “Heading out, little Red?” he teased, a grin spreading across his face as patrons turned to see who had just come in.

“Don’t call me that,” you replied, making your way to the bar.

“Oh, come on, Red. You won’t even tell us your name. What else are we to call you?” a half-elf named Renjun chimed in, leaning against the bar with a playful smirk.

“Faye,” you offered back, your voice laced with indifference. “Or Edith. What about Celeste? Do any of those names suit me?”

The tavern master chuckled, shaking his head.

Another voice chimed in.  “Oh come on, Renjun, we all know she can’t give us her name 'cause the wolves are after her,” a drunken half-orc named Hendery piped up, slurring his words as laughter bubbled up around him.

“Our little Red? Yeah, maybe when the Great Oak grows wings,” your boss added, his laughter infectious. "I do hear whispers of The Wolf Gang creeping closer to town. Just be careful out there." His expression turned serious for a moment, eyes scanning the room to ensure no unwanted ears were listening.

“I can handle myself,” a knot of unease tightening in your stomach. You understood the truth that lurked too close to the surface, the gnarled roots of your past intertwining with your present. The jokes and jests may been harmless to them, but the threat was all too real for you—a shadow that loomed ever closer.

With a wave, you turned to leave, the laughter of the tavern fading behind you, each step taking you deeper into the night. The forest beckoned; it was a sanctuary you understood better than the city. This is where you resided with your grandmother; she had less influence over you now but she was still as cold as ice. 

As you approach your cottage your human eyes struggled to perceive much in the darkness, the moonlight offering only a faint glimmer of clarity about the situation before you. The window to your cottage lay shattered, and the door hung limply off its hinges. At first, an icy fear gripped you—had a pack of wild animals broken in? But as you stepped through the threshold and took in the scene, you realized you were only half right.

A wolf towers over your grandmother's body, her ragged breaths shuddering in her chest. Its long, gangly limbs covered in fur and its ferocious muzzle are coupled with an unsettlingly humanoid shape. It looks like a nightmarish wolf, standing unnaturally on bent back legs. It's a perverse mockery of both wolf and man. These wolves were changelings, creatures that often adopt grotesque forms. Changelings can transform into whatever they desire. In a bid to evoke fear throughout the town, their gang had chosen a form that is both terrifying and unnatural.

"Get away from her!" you cry out, drawing a long hunting knife from your cloak. It may not be the ideal throwing knife, but it’s all you have in this moment of desperation. With precision, you hurl it at the creature. The creature howled in pain, a guttural sound that echoed through the silence of the night. It staggered back, the blade lodged deep in its shoulder, before bolting through the back doorway and disappearing into the darkness beyond. You could feel your heart pounding in your chest as adrenaline surged through your veins.

You rush to your grandmother, a whirlwind of emotions crashing over you. A part of you still harbored resentment, but she was all you had left. Kneeling beside her still body, you fought to steady your breath.

“Don’t fret, child. All will be well soon,” she rasps.

“Save your breath; I’ll find help,” you insist, tearing off a strip from your ragged dress to staunch the flow of her blood.

“There’s no time. Just promise me this: you will seek revenge. He wont just forget he saw you here. You must slay him before he tells the pack.”

In her final moments, she doesn’t utter words of love or comfort, but instead urges you to finish the job. It feels as if the last remnants of your heart shrivel and die alongside her, leaving a hollow void.

You stand up, your resolve hardening as you retrieve your knives from the secret spot beneath the loose floorboard. With a determined breath, you slip out the back door, embracing the darkness of the night.

He was wounded. He didn't get far when you found him. You weren't a puppet anymore; you were a hunter, and that night you killed your first wolf.

Any hope for a normal life died that night. She had thrust this burden upon you, and you could almost hear her voice echoing through the darkness, pushing you into a path you never wanted to tread. You didn’t want to kill that wolf. You wanted to run, you knew they would chase you but you were tired of fighting.

When the weight of his lifeless body slipped from your grip and sank into the murky depths of the sea, a pang of regret twisted in your gut. Days later, the waves returned him to the shore, a grim reminder of your actions. You realized then that you couldn’t simply wash this away.

With each report of the recovery, the whispers in the village grew louder, the shadows seemed to close in on you, and you found yourself a target. You didn't want to have to go further into hiding and you definitely didn't want the bounty that was put on your head.

The red hood, once a cherished gift from your grandmother, had become a symbol of something far darker. It hung around your shoulders like a curse, a silent testament to the blood that stained your hands and followed your name like a whispered sin. 

Then why do it? You had no choice. It was her dying words.

In this world, dying words carry some of the strongest magic imbued within them. They possess the power to curse, bless, or even command. When someone hears the dying words of another, they are bound by an unbreakable pact—compelled to fulfill the deceased’s last wish or face dire consequences. So, not only did your grandmother use her final breath to send you on a path of violence, but she also wove a curse around your fate, ensuring that if you failed to see her wishes fulfilled, you would bear the weight of her wrath.

Three cheers for family.

Your life was never comfortable, but you had grown accustomed to it. Working at the tavern provided easy coin, and you were frequently rewarded with free meals that warmed your belly and warded off the chill. The camaraderie of the patrons offered a fleeting sense of belonging, a brief escape from the harshness of your reality. But now, you stay hidden deep in the woods, very rarely do you go into town.

With winter just around the corner, the familiar game you hunted had grown scarce as the animals retreated into their dens. You were forced to broaden your field. You became a shadow among shadows, relying on your nimble fingers and quick wits to steal and swindle whatever you could in the city to put food on the table.

Tonight you were on a small heist, targeting a goblin who operated a brothel in the seedy pleasure district. He was known for his shady dealings and had amassed enough enemies that you weren’t particularly concerned about the theft tracing back to you.

You slipped through the winding, dimly lit alleys when you heard it—a sound unlike anything you had ever heard. It wrapped around you like a warm embrace, soothing your frostbitten ears and igniting a spark of warmth in your chilled body. Mesmerized, you followed the music, feeling an overwhelming urge to shed your clothes and dance, to lose yourself in the heat of the melody.

Your mind was clouded as you pursued the sound, unsure of where you were headed until you rounded a corner and spotted a figure. There, perched atop a barrel in a dark alleyway near the port where the wolf’s body had washed ashore, sat a man.

“Come to me, bring me the one who spilled blood,” he whispered, his voice carried softly on the wind. At first, you almost missed it, caught up in the resonant tune still echoing in your head, but as you stepped closer, the music faded. Rooted in place, you could only stare at the man—or perhaps the creature—before you.

He seemed human enough, but you knew better than to assume. Some beings intentionally concealed their otherworldly traits, opting to project an image of weakness—patiently waiting for the moment they had the upper hand to unveil their true selves.

“Who are you?” You asked, your back ramrod straight, unable to relax even a single muscle.

“Most call me the Pied Piper; some call me Haechan. But those who do rarely live long enough to share the name.” 

The chill of his words seeped deep into your bones at the realization that the Pied Piper was after you. You had always thought of him as a mere childish legend—tales spun to keep children in line, cautionary fables whispered at bedtime. Yet here he was, very much real, standing before you and setting off every warning bell in your body. 

He hops down from his seated position, setting his flute down on the barrel where he once sat. As he steps into the moonlight, he looks breathtakingly beautiful. He appears no older than you, soft brown hair tousling in the breeze, and delicate features that he likely uses to make his enemies underestimate him. But you’re no fool; you see right through him, right to the wolf in sheep’s clothing. 

He smiles at you, a disingenuous smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, as he closes the distance between you. Leaning down until your faces are inches apart, he distracts you, ensuring that all you can see is his face—the last sight you might have before your demise. You catch a glimpse of his deft hand reaching into his cloak, expecting something deadly. But instead, you’re taken aback when he places a gentle kiss against your lips.

Kiss of death.

Your grunt is muffled against his lips as a sharp pain lances through your side. He had stabbed you, just as you thought he would.

In one fluid motion, he withdraws his knife from your flesh just as he pulls his lips away from yours. The sudden pain breaks whatever trance he has on you. You jolt into action; he clearly didn’t expect you to be a skilled fighter. Maybe he thought you’d simply lie down and bleed out. But whatever he anticipated, it certainly wasn’t the swift kick to his chest that sends him reeling backwards. 

Seizing the moment, you sprint away, adrenaline coursing through your veins, fueling your escape as you leave him momentarily off balance.

You clutch your wound and don’t look back, sprinting through the dimly lit streets until you find yourself standing before the only place you know that might offer some help. The tavern looms before you, its wooden sign creaking in the breeze, the faint flicker of lantern light spilling from the windows.

You slip through the back entrance. The tavern has closed for the night, but you knew that the staff often linger for a drink or two. The sounds of laughter and clinking mugs filter through the air, guiding you like a beacon. Stumbling toward the main room, you knock over a few pails and brooms in your haste, the noises echoing in the silence of the empty halls.

“Red?” your boss calls from the dimly lit main room.

The last thing you see before darkness overtakes you is the sight of everyone jumping to their feet, concern etched on their faces as they rush to your side.

When you regain consciousness, you find yourself sprawled across a large wooden table in the center of the tavern, the surface sticky from spilled mead. Your cloak has been pulled aside, revealing the bandages wrapped around your wounds. A soft glow of magic hovers just above the injuries as Mark, the town’s cleric, administers a healing touch.

“Leave it to you to abandon your work and come crawling back half-dead,” Ten, a tiefling who worked alongside you, grumbles with a sigh.

“You’re just mad you had to pick up her shifts,” Lia, the only other human in the tavern, replies with a playful smirk.

“Will you all quiet down?” your boss interjects, his voice firm. “These doors turn away no friend.” He meets your gaze with a comforting smile, and you wonder if this is what a father’s love feels like.

As Mark’s magic dims, he gently removes his hands from your body. “You’re healed, but you might still feel some minor discomfort in this area,” he says, clasping his hands together. He must have been summoned in the dead of night to tend to you. You want to express your gratitude, but all that escapes your lips is a low groan as you try to sit up.

“Easy, you’re still sore,” Doyoung, a half-harengon with rabbit ears standing alert in worry, cautions you. You’ve always appreciated Doyoung; his expressive ears always reveal his emotions, making him a refreshing constant in a town shrouded in secrecy. He’s likely the closest friend you have.

Lia brings you over a glass. "Drink this, I mixed in a potion that should have you feeling a little better"

Gratefully, you take the cup and down it in one go. The warmth of the potion flows through you, easing the aches as you exhale a sigh of relief.

“Sorry for the intrusion; I didn’t mean to bring any trouble. I should be going now,” you say, attempting to pull yourself to your feet.

“No trouble at all, my dear,” your boss replies, his tone warm. “I’m not sure what kind of mess you’ve gotten yourself into, but if you ever need sanctuary, these doors are always open.”

“A little heads-up would’ve been nice if you were just going to disappear,” Ten chimes in.

“He just misses you—ignore him,” Lia laughs, her voice lightening the mood.

You look at them, a genuine smile creeping onto your face. Maybe you weren’t so alone after all.

The Pied Piper was real, and you were on his hit list. Rumors and legends shrouded his name, leaving you unsure of what parts were true and what wasn't. The one thing you were certain of was that his music did possess the power to enchant. You needed to discover his weaknesses—was it the pipe that held the magic? Or perhaps it wasn’t the pipe at all; maybe the true magic lay in the breath he blew into the instrument. 

You had to find him; you couldn’t just wait for him to show up again and gain the upper hand. Once he had his sights set on you, there was no stopping him from finishing the job. He didn’t chase you that night; he didn’t have to. With just a simple call from his flute, he could lure you out whenever he wanted. He was the cat and you were the mouse. You figured he liked to play with his food.

You had to find him and get some answers. Rumors spread as easily as the plague through the cobblestone streets of this city, and it wasn’t long before his name surfaced again. Tracking his movements was difficult; you had to sift through rumors to find the truth. It was like chasing a ghost but soon you had a lead.

His dark cloak enveloped him like a cloud of smog, and his steps were light as you followed his figure into the woods. You weren’t nervous. This was your hunting ground. You stalked him like a silent panther tracking its prey. 

As you ventured further into the woods, you came upon a rundown cottage with a thick thatched roof. You hid behind a tree as he entered the dwelling. After a few moments, a soft, warm candlelight flickered to life inside, casting shadows as you observed his movements. Carefully, you circled around the house, determining that the best way in was through the back. 

You waited until he moved to the front of the cottage before making your move. Slipping a knife through the crack in the back door, you lifted the rusty latch used to secure it. You entered quietly and shut the door behind you, holding your breath as you listened for his footsteps. The house was eerily quiet. 

Slinking along the wall, you made your way through the dimly lit house. The back door had led you into a small, cluttered kitchen. The air thick with the smells of old spices and something sweet that had long since gone stale. Haphazardly stacked dishes piled in the sink, their surfaces dotted with remnants of food that had dried and congealed.

Peeking around the corner into the front room, you took in the scene: a large desk was strewn with crumpled papers and half-filled bottles of ink. In the corner sat an old chest, its surface marred with scratches and mysterious stains, hinting at secrets long kept. A simple chair and a cushioned bench offered a rare spot of comfort in the otherwise bare space.

The room felt almost empty, save for the creaking floorboards that echoed with your every step, but the atmosphere was charged with an unsettling tension. A single door across the room caught your eye, and you assumed it led to the bedroom.

Just as you were about to move toward that room, you felt a knife pressed against your throat.

“I should thank you for making my job a lot easier, you know,” he says.

You freeze in your tracks, the cool blade pressing against your skin. You try to catch a glimpse of him from the corner of your eye. Raising your hands, you attempt to project confidence despite your precarious situation. “I always thought you were just a legend, but here you are. Tell me, who do I have to thank for sending a mere mice charmer to try to kill me?” You smirk, hoping to buy yourself some time and distract him just long enough to disarm him.

“A mice charmer? What are you, then, to have fallen into my trap?” he retorts.

Seizing the moment, you grip the arm that holds the knife and pull it down toward your chest, away from your throat. With a swift twist, you slip out of his hold. Maintaining your grip on his wrist, you twist it harder. The knife clatters loudly to the ground as you kick it away. Grabbing his shoulder, you pull him forward and drive your knee into his stomach. He doubles over in pain, and you quickly pin him down with a knee to his back.

You slip out your own blade and press it to the soft skin of his cheek. “Don’t move. Lay flat on the ground, and if you move even a muscle, I will hurt you.” You sense he isn’t quite the fighter he appears to be; he likely lets his magic do the heavy lifting for him.

He flattens his body against the rotten wood of the cottage and nods reluctantly. You slowly rise, keeping your knife steady, and make your way to the cloth you noticed earlier lying on the ground. You rip off a substantial piece and return to him, using it as a makeshift rope to bind his hands. 

With a swift motion, you pull him up and sit him in the chair in the corner of the room, making sure he can’t easily escape. 

“A mice charmer is nothing without his flute and enchantments, huh?” you sneer, looking him over with a mix of curiosity and derision.

“What do you want? Clearly, if you were going to kill me, you would have done it by now,” he retorts, glaring at you with a fierce intensity

You look at him under the flickering candlelight of the room. His cloak is missing, leaving him in little more than a simple white tunic and black breeches. A chain is tucked into the neckline of his shirt—probably a keepsake or a charm, something that hints at his connection to whatever magic he wields. You stride forward, seize the chain, and yank it, pulling him abruptly forward.

“Watch your tone, or did you forget I’m the one with the knife?” you warn, leaning in closer, your voice low and threatening.

His burning gaze doesn’t falter for a second, revealing the calm resolve of a man who isn’t new to the concept of death. His hands are probably as bloody as yours, if not more so. He’s been captured, but he’s not broken, and that only makes you angrier.

“Who sent you to kill me?” you demand, your patience thinning.

He chuckles darkly, the sound reverberating through the tension of the room. “With how you treat people in their own homes, I wouldn’t be surprised if you had more enemies than you could keep track of,” he replies, a cruel smile curling his lips. “But we both know who wants you dead.”

You push him back into his chair with force, and he grunts as his back collides with the wooden seat. “You better kill me, because if I get free, you’re dead,” he warns, his brows furrowing in a glare that could cut glass.

His confidence is infuriating, and you feel your grip tighten around the hilt of your knife. “You really think you can scare me with threats?” you say, your voice low and steady. "You're in no position to make demands."

He leans forward slightly, the chains around his neck jingling softly. “You may hold the knife, but you’re still desperate for answers,” he counters, a glint of malice in his eyes. 

You ignore his outburst, your thoughts racing as you assess your next move. You had suspected the wolves sent him, but confirming it wouldn’t hurt; you needed to know what you were truly up against. Weighing your options, you realize that killing him could lead to the same disastrous situation you found yourself in before. On the other hand, leaving him tied up while you made your escape was hardly a safe bet. How many times could you flirt with death before it inevitably caught up with you?

"You overestimate your importance," you say, stepping back from him. "I used to think you were some mythical creature that dragged children from their sleep with haunting melodies when they misbehaved. But you’re just a dim-witted knave with a flute." He bares his teeth and struggles against his restraints, but you remain unfazed. "You don’t frighten me, and slaying you would be a bore."

“If you leave me here, you will regret it,” he growls as you turn to leave.

“If I leave you here, you will owe me for sparing your life—don’t forget that,” you reply coolly before stepping out of the cottage.

Each night that has followed that encounter has been nothing but fitful bouts of sleep. You toss and turn, haunted by the shadows of uncertainty, constantly looking over your shoulder, and darting your gaze at every creak that disturbs the silence. Had he seen you? Would he come for you? You knew he would call your bluff if he could see you now, taunting you with the knowledge that you were not nearly as unfazed as you would have liked to pretend. 

You just needed a few more days to gather some coin and collect your belongings before making your escape. This was long overdue. There was nothing left in this town for you, and you had no desire to fight for a place that felt more like a trap than a home. The memories that lingered here were a weight upon your heart, but the thought of remaining any longer made your skin crawl with discomfort. 

If the wolves wanted this shithole, then they could have it, you had no intention of being among them when they claimed it.

It was your last night in this wretched town, and the anticipation of freedom coursed through your veins. You had already saddled the horse you had bartered for, packing all your belongings tightly—everything you could carry and nothing more. Now, all that remained was to wait for the first light of dawn to break over the horizon. 

Traveling under the cover of night felt far too risky; the shadows held too many unknowns, and you were no skilled rider. You knew you needed the gentle light of day to navigate the forest safely on horseback. The thought of losing your way or stumbling into danger sent a shiver down your spine. 

You were deep in sleep when a noise startled your horse outside. Exhausted from a long day of packing, you stirred slightly but let sleep pull you back under. 

You barely registered the creaking floorboards as someone entered your room. Your body was too tense and sluggish from the day’s work to react quickly. As you fumbled for your knife, a figure lunged at you, pressing a hand against your mouth and silencing you. 

A cold blade pressed against your throat, paralyzing you with fear. You lay stiff in bed, heart pounding, knowing no one would hear you scream in the darkness of the forest.

“I warned you, didn’t I? There’s a bounty on that pretty little head of yours that I have to collect,” he coos, his voice chillingly close as his body pins you to the mattress.

The knife presses deeper into your skin, a sharp reminder of your predicament. You mumble against his palm, and he lifts it slightly, allowing you to speak. “If it’s money you want, I can get it for you.”

“I don’t think you know just how much you’re worth,” he replies, chuckling as he grips your cheeks, squeezing them.

“The king of wolves is worth more,” you say, summoning as much confidence as you can.

His smile vanishes. “What a sweet talker you are. If you think I’m foolish enough to believe you could get the bounty from the king of wolves, you’re insane.”

“I can kill the king of wolves.”

“You’re a liar and a thief. Now give it back.”

The charm from his necklace—the very piece you had swiped the last time you were with him—was the key to his power. You had suspected that taking it would render him powerless, and now, faced with the reality of his desperation, you confirmed that he truly needed it to imbue magic into his flute. Without it, he was helpless. You only took it to buy yourself time; if he could lure you out with just a note again, you knew you would be doomed  from the start.

“Only if you agree to let me up. You won’t find it if you don’t let me get it for you.”

“You insolent little—”

“Ah ah,” you warn him with a smile, feeling the power shift in your favor. He steps back to the center of the room but keeps his knife pointed in your direction.

“Find it, now,” he growls.

“I can slay the king of wolves; grant me but a moment. This bounty is surely tenfold that of mine. The queen herself placed it upon his head; she would give us whatever we desire for his life,” you counter, your words dripping with allure.

“Charm, then we can discuss further,” he reminds you, his eyes narrowing.

You huff and roll your eyes, rising from the bed. The silk nightgown clings to your body, its delicate fabric highlighting your curves while the hem flutters just above your knees. The thin straps slide off your shoulders, exuding both elegance and vulnerability.

You notice a blush rising in his cheeks, a mix of embarrassment and something else. His gaze lingers on you longer than it should before he looks away, but not before you catch the flicker of desire in his eyes.

You slyly retrieve your hidden knife while he isn’t looking. Your heart races and as you pull out the charm from your brassiere, holding it up like bait. He takes a step closer, intrigue evident on his face, but you raise your weapon, warning him to stop.

“Stay where you are,” you command, brandishing the knife. The blade glints in the light, and the tension between you grows thick, hanging in the air like a charged storm.

“You shall not claim my life, for I possess a greater offer in exchange for it,” you declare, your tone resolute and laced with the bravado of a champion, your heart racing.

He lets out an exasperated sigh. “How do you figure you will kill the king of wolves?” 

“I’ve evaded you three times now, and you’re the ever-so-feared Pied Piper. Give me some credit,” you reply lightly, hoping to shift the mood.

He responds with a sly smile. “Impressive, I’ll grant you that, but it’s still not enough.”

“You're going to help me enchant him, and then I’ll take him down. Simple as that,” you say. Under different circumstances, you’d have dressed it up with more flair, but fatigue still linger.

“And why would I help you?” he asks, skepticism etched on his face.

“Because I know more about you than you think. My bounty won’t even cover half of what you need, but a wolf’s bounty…” you whistle, letting the weight of the impressive figure hang in the air, “that will cover everything and more.”

His expression hardens, and a flicker of unease crosses your mind. You wonder if you’ve made a grave mistake by bringing up his debt. 

“Careful where you tread,” he warns, his voice low and edged with threat. 

“You help me take down the king, and we both get what we want. Think about it.” 

He studies you for a long moment, weighing the risks against the potential reward, and you can almost see the gears turning in his mind. The tension thickens, but you know you’ve struck a chord.

“Two days. That’s all you get,” he says, his voice icy and firm. “I’ll be back tomorrow to go over the details. If you try to run, I’ll find you and kill you before you can even plead for your pathetic life.”

“Deal,” you reply, tossing him the charm. You assume he needs his flute to use it, and since you don’t see it on him, you figure it’s safe to hand it over.

With that, he vanishes like a wisp of smoke, a true phantom of the night.

The silence that follows fills the air like a heavy shroud, and you take a moment to steady your racing heart. The confrontation has left you on edge. You run your fingers through your hair, exhaling deeply. Two days. You have that long to devise a plan, gather what you need, and prepare for the next inevitable encounter. 

As the darkness settles around you, the weight of your situation becomes clearer. To kill the king of wolves, you’ll need more than just a tongue-in-cheek plan. You’ll need finesse, strategy, and perhaps a little bit of luck. 

And maybe, just maybe, a deeper understanding of the man you're working with.

This time, when he arrives, you're clad in your red hood and more prepared than before—but so is he. As he enters your cottage, you notice the flute strapped to his back and charm hanging around his neck.

“Neutral territory,” he states. “You’ll find I’m quite formidable with my magic,” he warns.

“Only a fool would think otherwise,” you reply with a smile.

You invite him to sit in your front room and make tea for both of you. He watches you take the first sip before drinking from his own cup.

“You know you're ruining my reputation, right?” he calls out, a teasing edge to his voice. “You're supposed to be dead and the wolves are impatient.”

“Don’t worry, I have a plan for that too,” you respond, your tone steady.

You pull off your red hood and hold it out to him. “With this, you'll claim my bounty, and that should be enough to keep your skin in the game.”

“You really want to kill the King of Wolves?” he asks, raising an arched brow over his cup of tea.

You let out a long sigh. “I could run, but wolves never forget. They will just track me down again. No more running.”

You lay out your plan in detail, and though he appears skeptical, he ultimately agrees to go along with it. A hush falls over the room as you both sit in the weight of your scheme, each of you reflecting on your respective roles in this dangerous game.

“Permission to ask a question?” you ask with a small smile.

He glares at you, annoyance clear in his eyes. “Somehow, whenever you start running your mouth, it pisses me off.”

“Is it true, the reason for your debt?” you ask anyway, intrigued.

He grips his teacup harder, his knuckles whitening. Not many people knew much about the Pied Piper; the legend loomed large, but even fewer knew the man behind the title—Haechan, with his soft features and heavy burdens.

“Yes, I went into debt to save my sick mother. As you can see It was all for nothing, given the fact that I'm here and she's not. I take on these jobs to earn money. Any other invasive questions, Red? How about I ask one—why are the wolves after you, and how do you get a silly name like Little Red Riding Hood?”

“My name isn’t Red; it’s Y/N,” you reply, bold in your assertion. You’ve never shared your real name with anyone before, but you figured it was time to even the playing field.

“And the wolves?” he presses further, curiosity sparking in his eyes.

“My parents stole away with some of their money. They want revenge,” you say with a shrug. “They got it when they killed my grandma."

As the gravity of your shared burdens swirls in the air between you, you realize that beneath the legends and whispers, Haechan was just a man, and you were more than a mere tale woven into the fabric of the woods. The truth hung heavy, intertwining your fates tighter with each revelation.

“And then you killed one of theirs,” he finishes for you, piecing it all together. “So it looks like we both have had our fair share of tragedy. Now look at us.” He shakes his head, a mixture of disbelief and resignation in his tone.

You had never thought of it that way—how similar your paths had been. Maybe out of everyone, he would understand you the best. Looking at him was like gazing into a mirror that reflected not just your struggles but also the shadows of loss and revenge.

Haechan was handsome, his lips plump and cheeks soft, giving him an almost innocent appearance. Yet, his eyes—oh, those eyes were hard and cold; they spoke of the dark secrets he carried, secrets that were all too familiar to you.

“Tell me more about your mom,” you say, breaking the silence that hung heavy in the air.

Haechan's expression shifts; a warmth creeps into his features as he recounts memories of his mother. He speaks of her laughter, of the stories she told, of how she would comfort him during storms and the way her love enveloped him like a soft blanket. Each word is laced with nostalgia, and you can’t help but feel a pang of jealousy at the warmth these memories hold. He was loved.

“She sounds like someone who could light up the darkest paths.”

He meets your gaze, and for a fleeting moment, the facade of the Pied Piper slips away. In that instant, all that remains is Haechan, the boy behind the legend.

“Tell me about your grandma,” Haechan says, curiosity in his eyes.

You take a deep breath and recount your upbringing. Your words are cold and empty as you speak of her harshness, how she cursed you and left you no choice but to kill the wolf that started all of this. 

“She never cared about me,” you finish, feeling the weight of your memories.

Haechan’s brow furrows. “Sounds like she was trying to protect you. If that wolf had escaped, you would have been in danger either way.”

You consider his words, the soft glow of candlelight flickering around you. Maybe he’s right, but it doesn’t change how cruel she was. “It’s too late to redeem her,” you say. “Her protection crushed any chance I had at love or hope.”

He shakes his head. “You’re not defined by her actions.” 

“But am I not defined by her cruelty? To learn is to experience. How can I know love if I’ve never truly felt it? I might just perish tomorrow,” you say, a bitter laugh escaping.

“It doesn’t have to be that way,” he replies gently, his gaze steady. “I still owe you for sparing my life back at my cottage. I can show you what love looks like.”

You narrow your eyes, skepticism creeping in. “And how would you do that if we don’t feel love for each other?”

He leans closer, a spark of mischief in his eyes. “We can pretend, just for this one night. I can show you how I would love you.”

A rush of emotions swirls within you—fear, curiosity, and a flicker of hope. “What do you mean?”

Haechan's voice is soft yet earnest. “Let’s create a moment together, something to hold onto, just in case tomorrow doesn’t come.” 

You hesitate, heart pounding, caught between the pain of your past and the promise of something new.

“Come,” he calls to you, as he stands. His hand outstretched, inviting yet unsettling. You’ve never felt this exposed with anyone before.

You know you’re being reckless, but what does it matter? Life could slip away from you at any moment—what have you to lose? You grasp his hand, and he leads you into your bedroom. 

He closes the door behind you, sealing off the world, and presses you against it, his arms creating a cage around you. 

“At any moment,” he says, his voice low and steady, “if you wish to stop, you have but to hit me.”

You manage a smile, trying to ease the tension coiling in your stomach. “That sounds quite tempting.”

His hands brush up against your cheek, his fingers lingering just a moment longer than necessary. “Once you feel my hands on you, you won’t want to let go.”

Your cheeks flush at his promise, and your heart races. His touch is gentle, as if you were a delicate doll, something precious that he couldn't bear to break. 

He leans in and captures your lips in a soft kiss, a sensation even more tender than you had imagined. His fingers glide over your face before trailing down to your neck, drawing you closer and pressing your body against his. The warmth of him enveloping you is just like the music that filled the air the night you first met by the docks. A sound escapes you—a breathless gasp—one you had never made before.

You can feel Haechan's smile against your lips before he begins to shed the layers of your clothing. Naked and vulnerable, you stand before him, yet your mind races too fast to truly register your defenselessness. His lips find your neck, leaving a trail of heated kisses and gentle nips, igniting a shiver of sensation. You moan softly, your body writhing under his tender yet possessive hold. You were completely at his mercy.

"Like music to my ears, my love," was a low murmur against your skin. His gaze clouded. His eyes swam with emotion you didn't recognize. A heady, intoxicating blend of longing and something else, something wilder. It was as if the taste of you, the sweetness of your mouth, had intoxicated him, leaving him drunk on desire alone. He trailed kisses down your neck, his lips leaving a trail of damp heat against your collarbone and shoulder blades. His hands roam over your body, mapping out every curve before they find their way to your breasts, soft mounds yielding under his touch. With a gentle yet firm grip, he kneads them, pinching and tugging softly, drawing out more moans that escape from your lips.

The old, wooden door groaned under your weight as you leaned against it, your breath catching in your throat. His lips, soft yet insistent, found their way to your nipple, a feather-light touch that sent shivers down your spine. You felt yourself drowning in his touch, in the way he made you feel utterly adored.

His gaze, dark and intense, met yours, the kohl lining his eyes like a smudge of night against the tan canvas of his skin. His tongue flicked playfully, a teasing caress that sent a jolt of pleasure through you. Each movement was deliberate; each touch a whispered promise.

He shifted his attention to your other breast, his deft hands working in perfect harmony with his mouth. You couldn't help but arch your back, your body instinctively seeking more of the exquisite torture. The rough wood of the door dug into your skin, a stark contrast to the velvety softness of his lips and the warmth of his hands.

His touch was an orchestra of sensation, a dance of pleasure that stirred something deep within you. It was a raw, primal connection, a language spoken without words, understood in the depths of your soul. The world narrowed, fading into a blur of color and sound, leaving only the intoxicating presence of him, his touch, his gaze, and the overwhelming sensation of pleasure that threatened to consume you entirely.

“I want you to feel everything,” he whispers, his breath hot against your ear, making you shudder with anticipation. 

He falls to his knees, a look of hunger in his dark eyes. With a swift movement, he lifts one of your legs over his shoulder and presses his mouth against your most intimate parts. A jolt of heat surges through your body as you try to squirm away from his eager touch, but his grip tightens, keeping you firmly in place. Your mind races with desire as you yelp out, your hands instinctively reaching for his thick, dark brown locks, tangling in your grasp. The intensity of the moment overwhelms you as you give in to his fervent passion.

“Hae—Haechan!” you gasp, his name feeling foreign yet perfectly right against your tongue. Each syllable feels like a spell, causing a desperate moan to escape from him as he feverishly licks at you. His grip on your hips is tight and bruising, but you welcome the pain as it fuels your desire for him. You grind your hips against his tongue, unable to control yourself as he dominates you with his mouth. He pants against your heat, driven by pure impulse as he closes his eyes and savors every delicious taste of you.

His lips and tongue move with wild abandon as he sucks on you, filling the small cottage with shameful groans and wet smacking sounds. Your legs start to tremble, but he shows no signs of stopping. You cry out and your head falls back, hitting the door behind you as you convulse in his grasp. A powerful sensation washes over you, causing a tightness in your gut before it finally releases. Haechan eagerly licks you up, cleaning away the evidence that you left all over yourself and on his face.

Your breaths slow down and meld together, as if in perfect harmony. The gentle rise and fall of your chests echoes in the quiet room. "I lost myself for a moment," he says softly, with a hint of apology laced in his words. It's almost as if he didn't intend to take you on this journey to the 12th gate of heaven, but couldn't resist the pull either.

He sets your leg down gently, and  he helps you right yourself.  He guides you to the edge of the mattress, and as he lays you down, there’s a palpable shift in the air. You watch as he stands before you, the heavy cloak slipping away to reveal more of him, piece by piece. The sight of him in his white tunic and dark breeches sends your heart racing, and when he sheds those as well, leaving only his undergarments and the silver charm necklace you once stole from him, your breath catches in your throat. 

You instinctively look away, your cheeks flushing.  Your body betrays you, reacting in ways you never anticipated, aching for connection. There’s a pull within you, a desire to close the distance and feel the warmth of his skin against yours. 

This man who had once threatened your life now stands before you, igniting a raw, undeniable longing that makes your heart race. You grapple with the gravity of the moment, torn between fear and desire.

He used to be your prey, but as he leans down and crawls onto the mattress, you start to see him in a different light. He presses his lips against yours once more, humming a tune that sends shivers down your spine. Your body melts into relaxation, and your senses are heightened even more than before.

“It's not the flute, is it?” You struggle to speak between kisses.

"I don't think I want to reveal any more secrets to you tonight." he responds with a playful smirk.

You surrender to the sensation as it consumes you. He was right - you had never experienced anything like his touch before. Your eyes follow him as he removes his undergarments, and you become slick at the sight.

“This might hurt; just relax and focus on the melody,” he says with a soft caress of your face.

You nod, realizing now that you trust him more than you initially thought. He coats himself in you and you moan at the lewdness of the act. He was coated in your arousal and soon he was slipping inside of you. He hums a beautiful note, one imbued with magic, easing any discomfort.

“It's beautiful,” you say, captivated by the sound.

His eyes shine at the compliment, and he kisses you.  It was strange to think that this love was all an act, because if this is what pretend love felt like, you could only imagine the intensity of real love. 

His hips sway to a rhythm that you can't quite hear, but you feel it pulsating through your body. His movements are fluid, like the  waves in an ocean. The chain around his neck, swinging in time with his thrusts. Your legs instinctively wrap around his waist, clinging to him as if he were the only life raft in the midst of a raging storm. With every thrust, he fills you up with his love, overwhelming you with intense pleasure and making you feel alive. In that moment, it's as if you couldn't survive without him, and he knows it. He pours his love into you, determined to fill every empty space so that you never have to feel alone again.

His movements quicken, the rhythm growing more urgent as passion overtakes you both.  Haechan's eyes lock onto yours, dark and intense. 

"You're a symphony," he murmurs, voice rough with emotion. His fingers trace delicate patterns across your skin, leaving trails of tingling warmth in their wake. You arch into his touch, craving more. 

Moonlight streams through the window, bathing your entwined bodies in an ethereal glow. The air is thick with the scent of arousal and magic. 

You run your hands along the planes of Haechan back and you cling to him as your overtaken by that feeling again. The release makes your limbs weak and mind numb.

Your muscles clench and release around him in a tidal wave of pleasure, pulling him deeper into you with each thrust. He finally withdraws, his body trembling as he releases on your stomach, The air is thick with tension and the scent of sex, but as Haechan's magic fades, all that remains is the sound of your rapid breaths.

As he settles beside you, the silence encases you both, thick with unspoken words and emotions. Your mind races, trying to make sense of how the events had unfolded so drastically. 

You glance sideways at him, marveling at the stark contrast of your feelings—a sudden urge to survive, to revel in this newfound complexity. It was almost surreal: one moment you were in peril, and now, here you were, yearning for the warmth of his presence. 

Determination courses through your veins; you refuse to succumb to the fate that looms ahead. If this is what Haechan's love felt like—the intoxicating blend of danger and allure—then you would indeed fight tooth and nail for every moment you could grasp. 

Working alongside Haechan had become a bit awkward, but you pushed the tension aside as you both raced through the labyrinthine alleyways of the town. The urgency of the mission overshadowed any lingering emotions between you. You had received a promising lead on the elusive King of Wolves; a halfling informant had mentioned spotting him stumbling out of a tavern, drunk and vulnerable. 

The king was never without his entourage, a handful of ruffian wolves who surrounded him like shadows. Despite them believing you to be dead, you understood that you still needed to be cautious. The element of surprise was in your favor, but luring him out would require a careful strategy.

Everything was going according to plan so far. If the informant was correct, then Ten had successfully slipped something extra into the king's drink.

As you maneuvered through the narrow streets, your mind raced with possibilities. You would have to bait the king, drawing him away from his pack. That's where Haechan came in. Haechan kept pace with you, his presence a steady reminder that you weren't alone.

Haechan maintained a watchful eye on the pack from over your shoulder as you both tracked the wolves ahead. The night was quiet and chilly, with a biting wind that whipped through the alleyways, assaulting your exposed skin. You cursed yourself for having given away your hood.

You waited patiently, your heart racing as you scanned the scene for the right opportunity. Though Haechan remained silent, the melody of his flute echoed in your mind—a lullaby only the chosen victim could hear. He knew that timing was crucial; if anyone interrupted or stopped the target, the trance could easily be shattered. Every second felt like an eternity as you both prepared to strike when the moment was just right.

The pack was a grotesque sight, with elongated frames, snarling muzzles, and bent, crooked limbs. Their figures resembled a tall, slender man who had forced his way into the mouth of a wolf, wearing the creature’s body like a horrid costume. They looked sickly and unnatural, and it came as no surprise that they struck fear into the hearts of the townsfolk. 

While trolls, goblins, dwarves, and other creatures managed to coexist with humans, these beings were unlike any you had encountered before. They had made a conscious choice to adopt such a horrifying appearance. They were changelings—shapeshifters capable of assuming any form they desired. They had chosen to embrace the guise of ghouls and monsters that haunted the night.

As the pack slinked past an alleyway, the King stumbled in, his steps unsteady from drink and poison. He leaned against a cobblestone wall to steady himself, his gang too intoxicated and merry to notice him faltering behind as they continued forward. 

Without a moment’s hesitation, Haechan lifted his flute to his lips and began to play a silent composition. Almost instantly, the King's body straightened, moving as if pulled by invisible strings, like a toy soldier suddenly animated. He began to march further  into the alleyway, drawn by the haunting melody, oblivious to the world around him.

You wait a few seconds, holding your breath as the pack continues down the road, their grotesque figures just out of sight. Haechan remains vigilant, his eyes locked on the pack, ready to act if they turn. You know that time is of the essence; you can’t afford to let them discover the King’s absence.

With a swift movement, you push yourself off the wall and follow the King into the alleyway. Haechan’s silent melody fills the air like a ghostly whisper, and you can feel the tension building as the King’s contorted form glides deeper into the darkness. Your knives are unsheathed, gleaming under the faint light, ready to strike. 

A few feet behind him, he suddenly halts. You hold your breath as you witness his body crumple, a howl of confusion escaping his lips. For a moment, it seems he’s still lost in the depths of the enchantment—but then he stumbles, regaining control. 

Realization dawns on you: Haechan must have shifted his focus to the pack once they noticed their missing king. Haechan's magic is now redirected, enchanting the pack that seeks out their leader—perhaps to coax them away from the alley and give you precious moments to act.

You watch as the King sways unsteadily, his eyes flickering with awareness. He glances around, scanning the alleyway for any sign of his gang, oblivious to the danger lurking just behind him. You know you can’t wait any longer; it’s time to make your move. 

He's drunk. He's an easy target. Take him out. The mantra echoes in your mind as you silently slip out of the shadows, your heart pounding in your chest.

With lightning speed, you dart forward, knives glinting in the low light as you approach the swaying figure of the King. He doesn’t see you coming; his bleary eyes are still scanning the alley, lost in confusion and intoxication. 

In one fluid motion, you bring your blades up, the metal shining with intent. Before he can react, before he can summon the last remnants of his senses, you strike with precision. The cut is clean; a swift arc of steel, and his head rolls away from his body, the wolfish features contorted in a final grimace of surprise.

You expect his body to crumple into a lifeless heap, but it doesn't. The headless form sways for a moment, arms reaching up as if searching for its lost head.

“Shit!”

You manage to slip away while he’s still floundering in his confusion. You sprint, heart racing, hoping that Haechan can hold off the other cronies for as long as possible. You may have lost him for now, but you know he has your scent and will find you soon. Your feet carry you through back alleyways and down dark streets until you're bursting into the crowded tavern. You’re met with laughter and cheers that erupt around you as you stumble inside.

“Aye, look, it’s Red!” the patrons call out in greeting. You have no time for pleasantries. Ten gives you a startled look from behind the counter, aware that something has gone awry. You send him a quick, urgent glance and head toward the back of the house. Ten excuses himself and pulls a bewildered Doyoung along with him.

“Well? What happened?” Ten whispers, barely able to contain his surprise.

“I killed him. Well, I thought I did. I cut off his head, but he’s not dead,” you reply, arms crossed and brow furrowed in confusion. “We don’t have much time. I need your help.”

“No way! I already poisoned him on your behalf,” Ten exclaims, raising his hands in exasperation.

“You poisoned the King of Wolves!” Doyoung gasps, his rabbit ears flattening against his head in fright.

“Keep it down!” you hiss, casting a wary glance around. You regretted not filling Doyoung in on your plan earlier, but you didn’t want him caught up in this mess

“What’s going on back here? Red, is that you?” Lia calls as she approaches the small circle where you all huddle.

“Look, guys, I don’t have time to explain, and I’m sorry to drag you into this mess but If word gets out that the King of Wolves was poisoned at this tavern, you will all be on his hit list. So you might want to help me!”

“Who poisons the King of Wolves!?” Lia gasps in shock.

Doyoung points an accusatory finger at Ten, who shoots him a glare in response.

“Guys, focus! There’s a headless wolf after me, and if I don’t leave soon, they’ll come after you too,” you remind them. “Any ideas on how to take him down?”

“Aren’t the wolves changelings?” Lia asks.

“That’s what I’ve heard,” Doyoung confirms. “I read once that if you light them on fire, they burn to ash.”

“I heard that if you show them their reflection, they cower,” Ten adds.

“Well, he doesn’t have a head right now, so that’s out of the question.” You say.

You hear distant howling. That cant be good and your thoughts flicker back to Haechan—where is he? Did he manage to shake off the wolves? The cold grip of worry squeezes your chest as the distant howling amplifies

“I have to go now. Don’t worry; just keep your heads down. If anyone asks, the King of Wolves never stepped through those doors.”

“Where are you going?” Lia asks, concern etched on her face.

“I need to finish this.” You grab a candle lantern from the wall and head out through the back door.

You sprint toward the docks, adrenaline coursing through your veins as you push your body to its limits. Haechan had agreed to meet you there if anything went wrong. The gravel underfoot shifts with each hurried step, but the sound of your heartbeat drowns out the crunching noise. You can feel the rush of impending danger creeping up behind you, reminding you that time is not on your side.

The alleyways give way to a wider street, and you navigate around groups of townsfolk enjoying their evening, blissfully unaware of the chaos unfolding just moments away. Their laughter and loud conversations contrast sharply with the urgency of your mission. You dodge around a cluster of patrons who block the path, their jovial cheers fading into the background as you push through the throng. The crowd thins as you approach the water, and soon you find yourself alone. The air is thick with salty brine, and the sounds of waves lapping against the shore become the only company you have left.

But before you can take a breath of relief, a razor-sharp slash rakes across your back. Pain erupts, and you stumble forward, the lantern slipping from your grasp and extinguishing itself in the dirt with a soft hiss. Darkness envelops you momentarily, panic bubbling up as you realize who had struck you.

“lɹᴉƃ uɐɯnɥ ʎllᴉs,” an ancient voice rumbles behind you, low and mocking. He had no mouth yet you could hear him.

Struggling to gather your bearings, you force yourself to turn and face him—the King of Wolves. The sight of him sends a jolt of dread through you. His haunting figure looms over you. You can feel the fresh blood seeping through your clothes, and your back aches with a pain that warns you of the severity of the wounds. Even with magic, you know it will take days to fully recover from cuts this deep.

You force yourself to stand tall, despite the agony radiating through you. The howling you heard earlier echoes in your mind, a haunting reminder that you’re not alone. Panic flares anew as you realize that his cronies could emerge at any moment. You hope Haechan can fend them off a little longer. you have to think fast.

"ʞɐǝʍ ǝɹ'no⅄ ˙puᴉɥǝq ɯoɹɟ ƃuᴉɥɔɐoɹddɐ 'ǝɔᴉpɹɐʍoɔ ɥɔns oʇ ʇɹosǝɹ no⅄" he snarls, the effects of the poison and booze long gone.

"I'm not afraid to use underhanded tactics on scum like you." You shot back, circling around him, both of you sizing each other up.

He lunged, and you barely dodged his claws. Your body was tired, aching all over, but you were determined to stay on your feet. You threw a knife, but your aim was off, and he sidestepped with ease. It was frustrating; your eyelids felt heavy, and you could hardly focus.

Then, you heard a melody—a familiar tune that made your heart race. Suddenly, energy surged through you, making you feel lighter and stronger. You didn’t need to look around to know who it was. Revived, you fought back, pushing the king back for once. He swung at your ankles, but you rolled away just in time. You were on slightly equal footing, but you needed to gain the upper hand before he wore you down again.

Footsteps approached, and hope flickered inside you.

"Red!" Lia shouted. She was with Ten and Doyoung, and relief washed over you.

"Stay back! It’s too dangerous!" you warned, trying to keep the king's attention on you.

"Don’t be a hero!" Ten yelled, annoyance clear in his voice. "You can’t win without us!"

You exchanged blows with the king, your heart racing as you saw Doyoung preparing an arrow. You held the king off while Lia lit the arrow's tip. In one fluid motion, Doyoung let it fly, and the king of wolves erupted into flames. You all stepped back, eyes wide, as you watched him burn to ash.

Just then, Haechan appeared around the corner, flute in hand, playing that energizing melody that made you feel like you could take on the world. It was the last thing you heard before the music faded and everything began to blur around the edges.

It had been a week since that fateful night. The echoes of that ancient voice still haunt you, but you pushed the memories aside as you stood before the queen, the severed head of the wolf king resting ominously on a velvet cloth. Her eyes gleamed with a mix of approval and intrigue as she took in the sight.

“You have done well,” she proclaimed, her voice a soft yet commanding presence in the throne room. “In ridding us of this beast, you’ve secured not just our safety, but your own place in history.” With a graceful wave of her hand, she summoned her guards, who strode forward bearing an opulent chest. 

As they opened it, a dazzling array of rubies, emeralds, and sapphires spilled forth, glimmering like stars in the dim light. Gold coins cascaded down in a shimmering waterfall, their clinking a symphony of wealth

The sheer abundance of treasure left you momentarily speechless, and you could hardly believe the magnitude of your reward. You accepted gratefully but your mind lingered on Haechan. He had chosen not to attend the queen’s audience, cloistering himself away as he still relied on the myth of his existence as a shadow. He preferred to operate in secrecy, a specter amongst the whispers of the realm.

You stroll into the tavern, the warmth and chatter wrapping around you like a cozy blanket. You’ve brought some gifts and treasures, a little token of thanks for the friends who stood by you in that crazy battle. It just felt right.

"Drink up, fellas! Drinks are on Red tonight!" your former boss shouts, raising his mug high and getting everyone's attention.

You wince at the name. "Would you stop calling me that already?" you groan, rolling your eyes.

Lia smirks, leaning against the bar. "What do you want us to call you, then?"

"Just call me Y/N," you reply, finally giving them the name you’ve always wanted them to use.

"Y/N, huh? It suits you," Ten says, pouring a mug of mead for a troll at the bar, who looks way too eager to drink it.

"Was that a compliment?" you tease, raising an eyebrow.

"Don’t push it," he shoots back, giving you a mock glare, but you can see the hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

Laughter echoes through the tavern as everyone raises their mugs in salute. The atmosphere feels electric, and in that moment, you know you’ve found your people.

As twilight deepened, you made your way to a familiar cottage, navigating through the dense woods that wrapped around the kingdom like a protective shroud. 

Rubies and a dazzling array of gems spilled forth as you toppled over the chest, the treasures scattering against the old, rickety floorboards of Haechan’s hideout. The glint of gold caught the flickering light of the lantern, creating a mesmerizing kaleidoscope of colors that danced across the dim space.

Haechan leaned back against the wall, a sly smile tugging at his lips. “So your word truly holds value, huh?” he teased, walking up to the trove. His fingers sifting through the precious stones as he reveled in his unexpected fortune. “Now, what’s your next move? I can’t imagine the pack isn’t hunting for the one who took down their king.”

You shrugged, a casual air masking the weight of your adventure. “They’re pretty useless without their leader. The royal guard has rounded up most of them, and for any stragglers, they’re probably getting out of town as fast as they can.”

He raised an eyebrow, a hint of hope creeping into his tone. “Are you planning to stay, then?”

“Never did I claim that,” you replied, glancing around the haphazard room. “There’s nothing for me here. I can’t spend all this gold in the slums anyway; I’ve got to see the world.” You stretched with a bored yawn, letting the wild possibilities of adventure wash over you. “But it would be a trifle dull to travel alone,” you hinted, letting a coy smile dance on your lips.

“If only you had a companion,” he shot back with a grin, earnestness hidden beneath the teasing.

“I know, it’s quite sad, really.” You turned toward the exit, pretending to be disinterested. “Well, I’ll be on my way.”

“Y/N.” The sound of your name, spoken for the first time, stopped you in your tracks, resonating in the air and binding you to the moment.

You looked over your shoulder, curiosity piqued and a smile still lingering. “Yes?”

Haechan shifted, his gaze steady and sincere. “You don’t have to go alone, you know.”

For a heartbeat, you considered the weight of that offer. Freedom beckoned ahead, yet the idea of shared adventure was equally tempting. You felt a connection forming, a spark of possibility that ignited your imagination. The world awaited, filled with danger and excitement, and perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad if Haechan journeyed alongside you.

“What do you say then?” you replied, a playful challenge in your tone. “Are you ready to step out of the shadows and into the light with me?”

Note: I might expand this world more for other members in the future so if you guys have any cool ideas that would work in this setting, lmk and i may incorporate them into a work in the future (far future cause i need to finish my other wips lol)

[lunarmoves]

who i see, looking back at me (ch3)

pairing: sebastian solace x reader

mentions: post-urbanshade fic, no use of y/n or pronouns, u are his partner <3, hallucinations, non-sexual intimacy, yearning the yearning!!, touch aversion, hurt/comfort, tentative reconnecting, mild dissociating :)

a/n: i lied btw, there are now 5 chapters instead of 4. if u guys see the number increase again, know it was against my will. the characters do whatever tf they want, apparently. anyways, this chapter simultaneously feels like so much happens and also nothing at all. have fun!

word count: 12.3k+

masterlist | part two

ao3 link

You dreamt of a face, looming over your own as you laid supine on something soft. 

Everything felt muddled—like you were sunk deeply underwater and still continued onward in your neverending descent. Details eluded you. Any sharp edges or angles were softened into nebulous clouds of seafoam green and teal, with light that gently painted the planes of your face in a tender touch. A quiet pressed along the sides of your head, stifling in its presence. You could not move. You were weighed down by something you could not define, your vision hazy and unfocused. 

When you closed your eyes, the backs of your eyelids felt like they were awash in blue. Blue, blue, blue. Infinite, it seemed. Just like the ocean, a distant part of you thought.

You breathed in and out. Calm. Quiet. Then, you opened your eyes. Properly, this time.

The ceiling of your room was coated in shadows broken apart only by a fragile light coming from your slightly parted curtains. You stared, gaze half-lidded, up at it. Not really seeing it. Not really processing. Distantly, you could feel the pull of sleep once more. But you could not bring yourself to return to it. Could not manage to fall back into a slumber even if you tried. 

So you dragged yourself up until you were sitting in bed, blanket sprawled across your legs. Your upper body slumped like you were a puppet cut from its strings. And you just stared forwards. 

Sebastian—fake Sebastian, not real Sebastian—stared back. 

You didn’t move a muscle. You only watched him—unblinking, eyelids heavy like they were weighed. There was something rooting you to your bed, a heavy pit in your gut that made it difficult to do anything other than stare. 

It was quiet. So, very, quiet. 

“Why are you still here?” you murmured after what felt like hours and hours of sitting there. Dawn had long passed, the bright light of the sun poking its way into your room to splay across the floor. You blinked slowly at him—nonchalant as he was where he stood across from the foot of your bed all this time.

His gaze lowered as his smile widened to show off each and every one of his teeth. It was not a kind look. A chill ran its fingers down your spine. 

“You know why,” was all he said. He continued to stare at you, his hands tucked inside his pockets. Waiting, almost. Maybe even expectantly. 

Your jaw tensed and when you swallowed, you could feel the dryness of your throat. Your gaze flicked over to your closed bedroom door, then back at him again. You did not like this.

“I’m working on it,” you whispered, momentarily closing your eyes so you could grip at the unsteady pieces of yourself and pull them together. Even now, you could still see all that blue, etched into your eyelids. Blue and gray and gray and blue. Soft and unfamiliar. 

You sighed—long and deep and vaguely unsteady. Then you turned away. 

Scrubbing a hand down your face, you rolled your shoulders and leaned over to grab your phone from the nearby nightstand. Clicking it on, you squinted down at the time. Shit. If you didn’t get a move on, you’d be late for work. You slipped out of bed, bare feet coming into contact with the cool floor. There was a certain grogginess that still lingered in your body and mind. You yawned and rubbed at your eye as you shuffled over to your door. But before you could open it, you hesitated and took a moment to listen beyond it. 

There was nothing. Not a peep or a shift. Looking down at the crack between the door and the floor, you saw only darkness. No faint light seeping through it—like there wasn’t anyone there. Doubt was beginning to sink its unrelenting tendrils into your body. It was so easy to imagine that the room just past your bedroom door was vacant. That there was only your couch and your television and your coffee table. Still and lifeless. A breath being held before the inevitable chaos of morning. 

But no, you told yourself again and again and again. This was real. If you closed your eyes, you could still feel the cool, hard texture of Sebastian’s hand in yours. The smooth metal of his ring as you ran your thumb over it. This was real, and you would keep repeating it to yourself for as long as it took to properly settle in.

You sighed, long and silent. Well, the day wasn’t going to wait for you to start. 

Gripping at the doorknob, you quietly cracked the door open and squinted into the dim light of your living room. It was darker than usual—an explanation made imminent when you glanced at your windows to see their curtains had all been tightly closed. You could still see sunlight fighting to make its way through the thin material, so it wasn’t like it was completely dark. You just had not expected it, really. 

Turning your gaze back towards the contents of the room, you noticed Sebastian had moved some things around. Not by much. The couch was pushed back a little and the coffee table was off to the side of the television instead of in front of it. All to make space for Sebastian’s large body—tightly coiled as it was in the spot between the couch and television. 

You lingered curiously for a moment over the way his tail looped around like a snake to form a makeshift bed for him. And when you finally glanced over to his face, you saw that he was already watching you. Something in your gut jumped slightly when you made eye contact with him. Over his head like some sort of shawl was the blanket you’d gotten him last night—a defense against the yawning sunlight, most likely. 

“Good morning,” you greeted to break the silence, though soft enough to not disturb the sleepy morning atmosphere. 

“G’mornin’,” he murmured back at you, lifting himself up from his tail to squint blearily at you through the dim. His voice was raspy and deep with the edge of sleep. Fatigue. It made something in your stomach twinge. 

He raised himself up, dropping the pillow he’d been hugging to stretch out his arms—strange to look at, honestly, with three of them attached to his torso—and tugged at the lure on his head to turn it on. You shuffled over to the bathroom to brush your teeth in the meantime and found yourself wondering if you should offer him a toothbrush. Not that it would do much, you thought to yourself as you ran the small bristles along your teeth. His teeth were large and sharp—jutting in his mouth like the jagged edge of a mountain. The teeth of a predator. 

And wasn’t that strange to think about? You suppressed a shiver. 

You supposed it wouldn’t hurt to give him one, even though you were sure he’d probably have a difficult time holding the tiny thing in his hand. Might even accidentally break it, honestly. 

After you finished refreshing up in the bathroom, you exited it and caught his eye almost immediately. He watched you in a nearly lazy manner, head propped atop a hand from where he was using his tail as a rest of sorts. 

You jutted your thumb behind you at the bathroom. “There should be spare toothbrushes in the cabinet if you want to use one.” 

Sebastian blinked at you slowly, then opened his mouth to purposely run a light blue tongue over the front of his teeth. He smacked his lips together and gave you a look. 

“Don’t think you got anything that can deal with these nasty things,” he said dryly. You rolled your eyes at his response. 

“It’s better than nothing,” you replied with a shrug and turned to shuffle back over to your bedroom to grab your work clothes. “You can at least use some mouthwash.” He only hummed after you, not moving an inch even as you could feel him continuing to follow you with his gaze. 

Your clothes were thrown on in record time and you grabbed your work bag from the back of your bedroom door to head over to the kitchen. Rubbing at your chin, you opened the refrigerator and took a moment to peer at its contents. You had enough leftovers for another day, but that wasn’t accounting for Sebastian and his… larger form. You glanced over at your sink and saw that there were no dirty dishes in there from last night. It didn’t seem like he had eaten anything. You frowned. Maybe you should go grocery shopping.  

“I think I’m gonna go to the store after work,” you called out at him as you grabbed ingredients for a quick sandwich to make for your lunch. “Anything you want in particular?” 

There was a thoughtful hum—so low and close that you jumped slightly and looked over your shoulder to find that he had followed you into the kitchen. He loomed almost directly behind you, his hair slightly mussed from the blanket he’d had over his head. How you hadn’t heard him slip into the tiny space, you would never know. 

He seemed to hesitate as you watched him, your arms full of bread and condiments. Then, “Actually, can you grab me a burger and a pack of Marlboros?” 

You paused, processing his request in your mind. “Sure,” you eventually said, nudging the refrigerator’s door closed with your hip. Grocery shopping could wait for another day. “We can do takeout for dinner, I suppose. But…” It was your turn to hesitate, and as you took in the way he clasped two of his hands together—not quite able to meet your gaze—you felt your eyebrows crease. “You… still smoke?” You didn’t think he’d have access to cigarettes in a, well, underwater facility. It’d certainly force him to quit cold turkey.

He shrugged idly as you headed over to the tiny kitchen table to dump all your ingredients on it and start slapping together a simple sandwich. “Yeah, sometimes I was able to get a pack when they upgraded my living arrangements,” he said vaguely, his eyes focused on your hands. He turned to look out at the living room. “Helps take the edge off, y’know?” 

Your head bobbed in some semblance of understanding, even as your lips pulled down in a frown. “Well, okay,” you told him warily, briefly glancing up at him. “Just… try not to make it a habit, alright?” Again, you mentally added.

He snorted and suddenly seemed very interested in toying with his lure. “Right.” 

Your sandwich was made and packed neatly away into your bag. The ingredients were put back in their proper locations. You did a final pat down to make sure you had everything, then slipped out of the kitchen with a banana clutched in your hand as a meager breakfast. You had to scoot around the thick curls of Sebastian’s tail, the muscles just under his scales shifting as he moved to accommodate for your path. You didn’t want to step over him. Everything seemed so cramped, all of a sudden, and you weren’t sure how that made you feel exactly. 

No use deliberating it now. You were running late. 

“Again, help yourself to anything,” you told him as you tugged on a light jacket by the front door and bent down to make quick work of your shoes. “I’ve got some books laying around if you’re bored and the T.V. remote should be somewhere if you wanna watch something.” 

“I think I’ll manage,” you heard him reply, his voice low and amused. 

You exhaled through your nose. Straightening up, you fixed your clothing—doing a final check of your reflection in a mirror you had hanging on the wall near the door—then finally looked towards him.

Him, Sebastian. As he curled in front of you a short distance away after following behind you like an ever present shadow. Hands clasped together with his half-lidded gaze and golden lure gently illuminating the space around you. 

(“I’m out for work!” Sebastian called, his voice echoing through your apartment to reach where you were in the bedroom.

“Okay!” you called back, preoccupied with picking out what you were going to wear for the day. Hmm, beige or burgundy? “Be safe!” 

There was a beat of silence. Then:

“Um, excuse me,” Sebastian’s disembodied voice said dryly. “Aren’t you forgetting something?” 

You snorted and rolled your eyes as you set your clothes down on the bed. Exiting the room, you met his expectant look with your own amused one while you walked over to him waiting by the door. 

He bent down closer towards you once you stopped in front of him, raven hair framing the sides of his face. Your hands found the collar of his jacket, where you fixed it properly so that one of the flaps wasn’t raised. Honestly, how did he not notice it before? There was a mirror on the wall right next to the door.

“Bye,” you told him purposely, tilting your head back so you could press a kiss to his waiting lips. He tasted faintly of nicotine and frozen waffles—a rather… interesting combo, you supposed. You could feel the way he smiled smugly against your mouth. He hummed into the kiss, and you broke away to give him a small grin. “That better?” 

“Much, thank you,” he replied, a certain twinkle to his gaze as he stared adoringly down at you. His cheek dimpled on his right. “And don’t you ever forget again. There’ll be a price to pay and I’m afraid you won’t like it.” He paused, then shrugged. “Or maybe you will.”

“Oh shut up.” You slapped lightly at his chest and shoved him towards the door with a laugh.) 

You took a deep breath. In, then out. Silent. It felt like an infinity resided in the few seconds you both stood there. Waiting.

Your lips pressed together, and you eventually gave him a small, unsure smile. 

“…Bye,” you said, opening the door to let in a small stream of sunlight. His eyes squinted slightly at it, but you found you couldn’t quite look at him. How the tables have turned. “Be back later.” 

The light of his lure dimmed slightly. “Have a good day,” he murmured with a gentle wave of his third arm, something indescribable to his gaze that you couldn’t quite make out before the door had already been shut in his face. 

Your stomach churned, upset and tight. 

As you drove to work, you just couldn’t get that image out of your head. Sebastian, in the middle of your tiny living room. Too large. Too much. His body held in a way where he seemed to be pulled towards you, yet also…. not. Subtle enough that any less observant person would not have noticed. 

You sighed, a deep and long thing that did nothing to ease the tension lining your shoulders. 

Work was busy, not allowing you to sink too deeply into your thoughts as you darted around the clinic. A reprieve, almost, from the events of the last couple of days. You were grateful, but by the end of your shift, you were back at square one. Always, your mind drifted back to him. Him, him, him. You knew nothing else. 

Standing on line at the nearest fast food joint, you stared unfocused at the menu displayed on a small flat screen television behind the counter. How much did he even need to eat now anyways? You weren’t entirely sure, but even the size of his torso was so much more that you were certain it was nowhere near the amount you ate on a daily basis. Were there things he couldn’t eat anymore? Were there things he was partial to? There was a conversation to be had, especially if you were to go grocery shopping sometime in the not-so-distant future. You didn’t want to poison him by accident or something. 

When it was your turn to order, you got a sandwich and fries for yourself. For Sebastian, you bought a triple decker burger, then—after pondering it with furrowed brows—you ordered another. And two extra large fries. And a couple bottled drinks. Hopefully it would be enough for now. If not then, well, he could raid your kitchen.  

After a quick run into a convenience store for the rest of his requested items, you started on your way home. The drive was quick, the golden glow of the sun dipping to kiss the horizon casting itself gently through the windshield of your car. You pulled into the gravelly driveway of your cottage and grabbed your bags from the passenger seat. Then, you locked up your car and bustled over to your front door. The curtains you could see just behind the front-facing windows were still tightly drawn. 

As you unlocked the door, you called out an “I’m home!” and shuffled properly inside. Silence greeted you. Closing the door was like pinching the flame of a candle to douse it, a fragile darkness taking over. You looked around, blinking in an attempt to get your eyes to adjust faster. 

You could just make out Sebastian’s form coiled in front of the couch. He was staring down at something in his hands, but you couldn’t quite make out what, exactly. Toeing off your shoes, you gently placed your work bag on the ground next to them and picked your way over to him. 

“Sebastian?” you murmured, your hands gripping at the fast food bag as you came to a stop somewhere to his right. Faintly, there was the smell of fish. It felt like you were standing in a bubble that resided outside of time—if you even exhaled too loudly it would pop and the moment would be lost forever. 

His ear fin twitched slightly, and his head jerked like he was glancing at you from the corner of his eye before looking back down at his hands. You waited for him to speak, your gaze trained on the side of his face—unreadable as it was. 

“What’d you keep this old thing for?” he eventually rasped out. You peered down at his hands to see he was holding onto the flannel you usually kept hanging on the back of your bedroom door. You hadn’t touched it in… a while. But it still hung there, unwilling as you were to pack it away out of sight. His thumbs smoothed over the checkered fabric. “Hardly seems worth saving.” 

“It was your favorite,” you replied simply as you continued to observe him. He only grunted. The faint glow from his eyes looked airbrushed along his hands and arms. It made you feel as though you were underwater. You found yourself adding, “I kept some other things, too.” 

“Did you, now?” He hummed and shot you a sharp grin. “Couldn’t get rid of me even if you tried, huh?” It was a weak attempt at a joke, you knew. 

“No,” you told him, gaze softening. “Never could.” 

Sebastian exhaled, long and faint and vaguely unsteady. You held your hand out, and after one long, contemplative moment, he gently dropped the flannel onto your palm—his grip nearly mechanical as he released it. Your fingers curled into the soft clothing. 

“Here,” you said as you offered him your other hand holding onto the fast food bag. “Go set the table. I’ll be there in a minute.” 

He cleared his throat and carefully took the bag from your grip. With an unoccupied hand, he gave you a salute. “Yoooouuu got it, boss!” There was a cheer to his voice that you knew was forced, but you didn’t point it out.

Instead, you rolled your eyes and slowly made your way to your room, a soothing light flickering on behind you from Sebastian tugging on his lure. Well, at least you wouldn’t have to worry about your light bill now, you thought wryly to yourself. Shaking your head slightly, you hung the flannel back in its designated spot. Then, you beelined straight for your closet and spent a bit digging around until you located that box of Sebastian’s things. Unsealed and unassuming. You shifted it around in your hold, drumming your fingers along the cardboard thoughtfully. 

When you arrived at the kitchen, you saw that Sebastian had neatly laid out everything from the bag onto the wooden table. Wrapped sandwiches, cartons of fries, bottles of drinks. In one of his hands resided the pack of cigarettes that you had tucked into the bag after purchasing them from the store. The accompanying lighter you got for them was in his other hand, and he rotated it around idly for a moment before pocketing it and the Marlboros in his jacket. 

You noticed he had moved one of the chairs away from the table to take its spot, his tail coiled underneath him. You guessed it was just easier for him to avoid any furniture at all, given his size. Especially a small table chair like that. You walked over and set the box down on an unoccupied surface of the table. 

“It’s not much,” you said as you pushed it slightly towards him. His gaze flicked down to eye the partially open flaps. “But well… I just couldn’t give them away.” 

“What’d you end up doing with all my stuff anyways?” he asked curiously as you wandered over to the sink to wash your hands—stepping carefully around his tail occupying the space of your kitchen. There was a light shifting sound as he poked around in the box that stopped almost as soon as it had started. The light illuminating the kitchen dimmed ever so slightly. His tail twitched behind him.

“Sold them,” you replied as casually as you could, drying off your hands and making your way back to the table. “Or donated. Gave your mom some things too.” 

As you sat down, Sebastian lowered himself so that he wouldn’t tower over you from where he was positioned across the table. It didn’t do much. You still felt like you were sitting before a minor giant, forced to lean back in your seat lest you strained your neck looking up at him. You had to suppress a frown. He tapped his fingers atop the table’s surface. You noticed the box was no longer sitting where you’d originally placed it. In fact, he had set it on the ground—out of sight, out of mind. You did not acknowledge it. 

“Did you give her my guitar?” he asked, maybe a little hopefully, but you shook your head. He frowned. “My Xbox?” Another shake of your head. “Damn. Lucas didn’t want them?” 

“Nope.” 

“My most prized possessions,” he complained, crossing his arms over his chest. “Gone, just like that.” 

“My bad,” you said dryly, reaching out to grab your sandwich and unwrap it. “I should’ve known to keep them for when you would obviously return.” 

He clicked his tongue. “Shame on you for not having the foresight to do so, honestly.” 

You rolled your eyes. “Oh shut up and eat your food.” 

He smirked and grabbed one of his sandwiches. Even a triple decker seemed so small in his hold. How was that supposed to satisfy him? You frowned into your sandwich as you took a bite, trying not to make it obvious you were watching him as he carefully tore off the wrapping with the tips of his fingers.

He held the burger close to his face, peering at it with half-lidded eyes. “I don’t even remember the last time I had a burger,” he murmured and turned it this way and that. Inspecting it thoughtfully. Some of the mayonnaise slapped into it seeped out of the sides as his grip tightened.    

The glow of his lure was like a spotlight as it illuminated everything beneath it. You and him, crowded around your little table in your little kitchen. Nothing else existed outside of it. How strange, you mulled to yourself. You could feel something stir in the pit of your stomach—following the haze of a distant memory that felt just a tad too out of reach. 

You hummed, eyeing his upper body as he finally took a bite that was large enough to demolish half of his burger at once. A lithe torso with lithe limbs attached to it. A looseness to his clothing. Even a gauntness to his face if you paid close enough attention to it past his scarf. The implications of it all settled around your neck like a noose. 

“What did they even feed you?” you wondered, gesturing at him slightly with your partially eaten sandwich. He did not tell you much, in hindsight, about his time trapped underwater. What he did on a day-by-day basis. It was purposeful, but still, you were morbidly curious.

“Oh sweetheart, you’re assuming they fed me at all,” he said as he grinned that shark-toothed grin of his.

You paused to take in his words, then felt yourself give him a concerned look. Worry creased your eyebrows together. His grin faltered minutely—so minute, in fact, that you almost thought it hadn’t at all. 

“Kidding!” he exclaimed suddenly, his eyes crinkling and smile stretching in a way that did not reassure you one bit. “I’m kidding! It was mostly fish.” You waited for him to elaborate, but he didn’t. It only made your frown deepen. You were doing that a lot tonight, it seemed.

“…Right,” you said, unconvinced. You nibbled on a fry, the salt deliciously coating your tongue. “I’m guessing you’re pretty sick of it, then.” Mentally, you crossed fish off your list of foods to buy at the grocery store. 

“You have no idea,” he muttered sullenly, polishing off the rest of his burger and reaching for the second. There was a glob of mayonnaise on his cheek. Your gaze softened. 

(“Baby,” you said amusedly, watching him shovel the last bits of dinner into his mouth. There was marinara sauce all over his mouth. “You’re a mess.” 

“Well that’s just rude,” he huffed, eyeing you haughtily, “you don’t see me attacking you outta nowhere like that.” 

You rolled your eyes. “That’s not what I meant and you know it.” You picked up a napkin from the holder in the middle of the table and gestured at him. “Come here.” 

He tilted his head at you but complied, leaning in closer across the table. You carefully wiped at his mouth, running the napkin tenderly over his lips and chin. You made sure not to tug too harshly on his lip ring; he’d told you before that it still bled pretty easily. He watched you with all the focus in the world, his gaze trained on your face. And when you deemed him clean enough, you gave him a little smile and tapped at the tip of his nose with your finger. His eyes crossed to look at the motion.

“There,” you said, satisfied, as you leaned back in your seat. “All clean.” 

He mirrored your movement, then set his chin on top of his fist as his eyes crinkled warmly at you. “Can’t get enough of me, can you?” He grinned sharply. 

You only grinned back. “Not really, no.”)

“You’ve got a little—” You gestured to your face. When all he did was blink at you rather obliviously, you huffed out a little laugh and grabbed a napkin. For a moment—a short, inconsequential moment—you hesitated. Then, you offered it to him. “Here.” 

He looked down at your hand. And after another short, inconsequential moment, he reached out so he could take it, extra cautious to ensure his claws didn’t catch on your fingers. “Thanks,” he mumbled and wiped at his face. You only offered him a smile. 

“So!” You snagged another couple of fries, ready to push all of… that behind you. “Anything you can or cannot eat? I’m thinking of doing groceries tomorrow.” 

He hummed thoughtfully, his third hand’s fingers tapping at the table while his other two focused on unwrapping his other burger. “Not really, no. Surprisingly I kept most of my ah, digestive abilities, you could say,” he told you dryly. “Although, I seem to crave more of a, mmmm, meat heavy diet.” He smiled strangely and took a bite of his sandwich. 

“Meat heavy, got it.” You took a mental note of that. “Got any food requests, then?”

“Completos,” he said immediately, looking at you rather intently. “God, fuck, I’ve never craved anything so badly. Barros Lucos, too.”

You nodded, adding all the ingredients you would need to your list. Hot dogs, avocados, tomatoes… “Anything else?” 

The two of you spent a while coming up with meals to make over the next few weeks—which essentially amounted to Sebastian listing things he had missed or wanted with the faintest of rasps to his voice. Spaghetti, butter chicken, quesadillas. You had to grab your phone so you could make a proper list or you’d forget it all. With each one, you could feel your heart sinking deeper and deeper into your chest. An ache you were all too familiar with reared its ugly head. And you didn’t know how to deal with it. 

At one point, though—while telling you the ingredients so he could make Charquicán—something seemed to shift within him. You weren’t sure what happened. Only that he quieted down and took on a more… ruminative air. You didn’t press him when it occurred. You just offered a few other options for meals, then let a silence settle between you both as you finished up your meals. 

Eventually, though, you decided to gently prod him. “Penny for your thoughts?” 

Sebastian slowly blinked down at the table. Then, his eyes seemed to flick up towards you and off to the side. He snorted out a laugh, but you could tell it was half-hearted. “Gonna take a lot more than a penny for them,” he tried humorlessly. When you only patiently waited for him to continue, he sighed and his third arm wrapped itself around his abdomen. 

He avoided your gaze, raven hair partially covering his face. “Do you… still talk to my mom?” 

Ah. That explained it. Your tongue suddenly felt dry in your mouth. “I do. Your siblings, too.” 

His head snapped towards you, and for one split second—he looked hopeful. His mouth opened, then closed. And he hesitated, expression scrunching slightly as his hands fidgeted with each other. 

You took the chance to gently ask, “Do you… want to see them?”

“I— of course I do. Is that even a question?” he blurted, then seemed to reel himself back in. He looked apprehensive, his lips pressing together. “It’s just… I…” he trailed off. Unwilling to voice the thoughts that swirled around in his head. It didn’t take a genius to guess what they revolved around. 

“It doesn’t have to be right away,” you told him in a soothing manner. “Lucas won’t be free until next month anyways. I can invite them over around then. We have time.” 

“Right,” he forced out. He twisted the ring around his finger. “Right. Yeah.” 

“Yeah,” you echoed back at him. And after taking in his closed off demeanor—his reluctance to fully face you—you decided a distraction was in order. “Alright, how about we watch a movie?” 

He agreed—lost in thought as he was—and you shooed him off to the living room while you cleaned up in the kitchen. You set the chairs back in place at the table and noticed the box was gone from where Sebastian had placed it on the ground. And when you walked over to join him by the couch, you saw that he was holding that panda plushie in one of his hands. The box sat innocently on your coffee table, flaps wide open. His thumb ran repeatedly over the plushie’s short fuzz, a distant look on his face. 

You grabbed the remote and plopped yourself down on the side of the couch he wasn’t sitting in front of. His tail curved out to the side so that it wouldn’t be in the way—a hulking mass that reached towards the front door with how he positioned it. You took a moment to compare his upper body’s presumed weight with the sturdiness of the couch. 

You cleared your throat, and he tore himself away from the plushie to look at you. “Y’know, you could probably sit on the couch if you wanted. I think it can hold your weight.” Or some of it, anyways. Definitely not with the rest of his lengthy tail. 

He made a face, disbelieving. “Are you sure about that?”

Your head swayed side to side as you considered. “Mmh, yeah. Like ninety-seven percent sure.” 

“And the other three percent?” he asked flatly. 

You shrugged and had to suppress a smile. “Well, in the event that you did break the couch… it would be pretty fucking funny.” You grinned at him when he gave you an unimpressed look. “Come on, have trust in my couch. She hasn’t failed me yet.” You gave the cushion next to you a little pat. 

He eyed you and the cushion dubiously, then seemed to cave when you only patted it a little harder. “Alright, fine. But I sure as shit am not paying for it if it does.” 

You watched as he lifted himself up—the muscles of his tail tensing underneath his scales—and carefully eased his weight onto the couch. Not too close, not too far. Just enough for there to be a foot’s worth of space between you and him. 

The moment he stopped holding himself up completely, his form sinking into the couch cushion, you felt your body inadvertently tilt towards him—off balance with the additional weight. You made a surprised sound as you caught yourself before you could fall onto him, your hands grasping at the armrest of the couch you were closest to. You scooted yourself closer to it, heart beating wildly in your ears. A low warmth crawled up into your cheeks that you willed away.

The couch creaked as Sebastian finally settled in. And after a second of you both holding your breath and waiting, you exhaled and shot him a smug look. “Told you so.”

“I don’t remember you being this annoying,” he said, though the lightness to his voice told you he was messing with you. “Were you always this annoying?” 

You scoffed and had to resist the urge to reach over to shove him. Not that it would do anything. “Shut up. What do you wanna watch?” 

He shrugged. “I’ve got years of movies to catch up on, I don’t really care.” After saying that, though, he seemed to mull it over in his head. And then quietly—so, so quietly you had to hold your breath to hear it—he mumbled, “D’you… got any new favorite movies?” 

You turned his question over in your head. “Yeah, I think so.” 

“Let’s watch those, then.” 

“Hmm.” Your gaze softened while you watched him, a warmth settling deeply in your stomach. He didn’t turn to look at you, instead electing to stare down at the plushie still in his hold. “Okay.” 

You managed to stay focused on the movie you pulled up for about a quarter of its length. And then you got distracted with stealing glances at Sebastian. He paid attention to the film for the most part—the glow of his eyes stark with him having turned his lure off—but every so often you caught him staring distractedly either at the box sitting on your coffee table or the plushie in his hand. Quiet. Contemplative in a way that was haunting. 

You debated saying something. Part of you wanted to just pretend you hadn’t picked up on anything—for his sake or your own, you weren’t sure. But eventually you gave in when he seemed too deeply lost in thought, vacant look to his eyes. 

You cleared your throat and made a show of warily eyeing the plushie in his hand. Memories from a time long passed flowed through your mind. “I hope you’re not planning to do anything with that.” 

Sebastian blinked back to the present. “Huh?” 

You nodded at the panda plushie. He looked back and forth between you and the plushie for a bit until he realized what you were implying.

“Well I can’t do it right now,” he said like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “It’s gotta be when you least expect it.”

You gave him an unimpressed look. “When I least expe—” 

Bap!

Stunned, you blinked at Sebastian as the plushie fell to your lap. There was the leftover feeling of fuzz in your mouth. He immediately started to wheeze, one of his hands slapping over his eyes while he shook with laughter strong enough to mildly shake the couch. In hindsight, you should have expected that.

“Fuck, fuck, that’s the second time so far. I need to keep a tally,” he cackled, breathless and delighted. Well, at least he wasn’t in his prior funk anymore. That was all you could ask for, really.

“Some things never change, huh?” you said dryly. You picked up the plushie and tossed it at him. He chortled some more when it harmlessly bounced off his shoulder. 

Letting out a gentle sigh, you glanced over to the television to see the movie was almost at its end. Fatigue from the day’s events was starting to press against your eyes. Ahh, you should brush your teeth and shower. Standing up, you stretched out your arms over your head. The muscles in your shoulders and back moved with the motion, your shirt riding up ever so slightly. You tugged it down and turned to look at Sebastian, his teal eyes already trained on your form—faint smile still lingering on his face from his previous laughter. 

“I’m gonna get ready for bed,” you told him and grabbed the remote to toss in his direction. “You can put something else on if you want.” 

“Aw, already?” He pouted, not bothering to pick up the remote just yet. “It’s not that late.” 

You snorted. “It’s not, but I have to get up early tomorrow. Again. Y’know, like people with jobs tend to do.” 

“Right, right, my bad. How could I forget?” Sarcasm oozed from his words. “Well, don’t let me hold you up.” He made a shoo-ing motion with one of his hands. 

You snorted again and turned on your heel to head over to your bedroom. And once you were inside, you paused once you grabbed your towel from its place behind your door. Usually, you would change your clothes in your room after showering, but… Did you really want to walk around in only your towel right now? You glanced out the door at Sebastian—who looked like he was painstakingly trying to browse other movie options using the tiny remote. You looked back down at your towel, squeezing the soft material. 

…This was stupid. You were overthinking the smallest things, it seemed. You pinched at the bridge of your nose. And after standing there feeling like your innards were knotting themselves together over and over, you forced yourself to gather up your necessary nightwear. Then, you made your way to your bathroom for the quickest shower and redress of your life. 

As you went to brush your teeth, you noticed another toothbrush sitting in the cup you used to hold your own. The bristles were, well, not destroyed exactly, but they stuck out all over the place instead of in their neat lines. A peek into the tiny trash can you kept in the bathroom revealed the remains of a toothbrush snapped in half—the bristles on that one utterly destroyed. Your bottle of mouthwash was also significantly emptier than it had been this morning. You had to suppress a smile. Mentally, you added more to your list of groceries, as well as a better toothbrush for Sebastian to use. 

Upon exiting the bathroom, your towel slung over your shoulder and dirty clothes in hand, your eyes landed on Sebastian. With his lure still off, the light from the television painted the living room in shades of navy and purple. He wasn’t paying attention to the movie he’d put on, still running his thumbs repeatedly over that plushie. You cleared your throat, and his head snapped towards you. 

“Well,” you said lightly as you walked over to your room, “I’m heading to bed. Ni—” 

“Wait—!” he cut across you, his eyes widening as he lurched slightly in your direction. One of his arms raised halfheartedly. One beat. Two beats. And then he hesitated, lowering his arm as he slouched down into the couch. He sighed—quiet, weary—and turned back around so he could stare absently at his box of things once more. “...Never mind.” 

Your mouth opened, then closed. You lingered outside your bedroom for a moment, waiting to see if he would say anything else. But when he didn’t, you gave him one more look, your lips pressing together. 

“Good night,” you whispered, one of your hands resting on the edge of the door frame. 

“G’night,” he murmured back. He didn’t look at you. This felt infinitely worse than last night.

When you finally slipped into your room for the night—heart weighed by something you could not define—you made sure to leave the door slightly ajar. 

The following morning passed similarly to the previous one, with you shuffling out of your bedroom to find Sebastian already awake. He gave you a sleepy “Morning,” and took to watching you sleepily as you scurried around getting ready for work. 

“I’ll probably be back a little later than usual,” you told him hastily as you tugged on your shoes and slung your bag over your shoulder. “Don’t wait up if you get hungry.” 

“Mmmkay.” He gave you a lazy wave from his coiled lounging in front of the couch. The pillow you’d given him was pressed to his chest, his arms tightly wrapped around it. “Have a good day.” You offered him a quick smile, lingering for only the most minuscule of moments before you slipped out the door.

You were hoping for an easy shift at work, especially with all the shopping you’d need to do afterwards, but it was not kind to you. Fatigue weighed heavily upon your shoulders as you left the clinic. There was an itch behind your eyes that you knew would only worsen over time. You huffed and buckled yourself into your car. The quicker you could get this done, the better.

You’d intended to visit your regular grocery store, but upon deliberating it while driving down one of the main roads, you decided to go to your town’s warehouse store. Buying items in bulk would probably be better for you and Sebastian. And your wallet. 

With one hand holding onto your phone and the other pushing around a cart, you went hunting for all the things you’d need. Plus some more items that your eyes caught onto and you figured wouldn’t hurt to bring home. A giant box of granola bars, for one. A couple rotisserie chickens. A container of honey crisp apples. Honestly, you could probably buy anything and he would be happy with it. He never was much of a picky eater. 

You spent some time in the cleaning supplies aisle, looking at various brushes used to scrub sinks or pans. You picked one up, weighing it in your hand and peering at the thick bristles attached to the rectangular head. A traditional toothbrush was clearly out of the question. This would have to do for him. You’d probably need way more tubes of toothpaste as well. 

At one point, you passed by a clothing aisle and took a moment to stare at various shirts and sweaters. You picked out a particularly large, black shirt and tried to imagine if it could fit over Sebastian’s long torso. Probably not, especially with his extra arm. You frowned as you hung it back up. You might have to look online for larger sizes. It was something to discuss with him later.

After making your way through the store, ensuring you got everything on your list, you headed towards self-checkout. And as you scanned each item and placed it on the large scale attached to the monitor, you were hit with just how much you bought. It was… a lot. Almost triple the amount of groceries you typically got biweekly. You nervously eyed the receipt once it was printed, then decided you shouldn’t worry too much about it. You had your savings, and if anything, you could always pick up extra shifts at the clinic. 

Once everything was packed away neatly into the trunk and backseat of your car, you drove back to your cottage. By now it was dark outside, the roads lit up by street lamps that glowed with sleepy cream-colored light. There was the smallest scattering of stars overhead, most of the sky overtaken by cool gray clouds passing lazily by. 

Eventually, you pulled into your driveway and killed the engine. Grabbing some of the items you could carry from the backseat with one hand, you rummaged around in your bag for your keys and made your way over to the door. 

“I’m home!” you called out once you opened it, letting the dim moonlight seep into the darkness of your living room. As you dropped your work bag onto the floor and gently set down the items in your hand next to it, a golden light flickered on. 

“Welcome back,” Sebastian greeted smoothly. A quick glance upwards showed him steadily making his way over from the kitchen. “Was wondering when you’d return.” 

“Admittedly, that took me longer than I’d expected,” you said with a sigh. You gestured down to the groceries on the floor. “Do me a favor and pack these into the kitchen? I’ll bring everything else in. Just shout if you don’t know where something goes.” 

“Alrighty,” he agreed easily, and you turned on your heel to make your way back over to your car to bring in everything else. The quicker this was done, the quicker you’d be able to finally relax. 

It didn’t take too long with the both of you working together, but it was a lot of groceries. Sebastian was able to carry quite a few items to the kitchen on his own—something that would have taken ages on your lonesome. It meant he had to move back and forth between the front door and kitchen, though, and you could see his tail curved all over your cottage. Over the couch, around the coffee table, looping about the kitchen. It really put into perspective just how long he was. And well, it was certainly something to ruminate on.

He didn’t seem to have any issues with putting things in their proper places, thankfully. It wasn’t like it was all too different from how you both organized things way back when. Bread in the fridge, fruits in the little basket on the counter, cereal on top of the refrigerator, potatoes in the cabinet under the sink. It was a major help to not have to pack everything up by yourself, you had to admit.

Finally, you grabbed the last few items from your car’s trunk. The large box of granola bars and a few other frozen boxed items that you stacked on top of it to make the trip easier. Holding it all precariously in one hand, you locked up your car and carefully made your way over to the front door. 

“This is the last of it,” you said as you stepped into your cottage and used your foot to close the door behind you. It was difficult to see where you were going with all the boxes in the way. You toed off your shoes and headed towards the kitchen. “Did you finish packing ev—” 

Your foot caught on something. 

You let out a yelp, lurching forward as you lost balance. The topmost boxes slipped down to the floor, landing with nearly consecutive thuds. Your heart leapt in your chest, but before you could really brace yourself for impact, something snatched you by the back of your jacket and tugged you slightly into the air. 

“Shit! Watch where you’re going!” Sebastian chastised you as you dangled above the floor for a bit before being set gently down. You blinked rapidly, still not quite processing what had happened. “Coulda busted your head right open.” 

“Sorry,” you said automatically, then glanced down to see you’d tripped right over a part of his tail—that was already shifting out of your way to make your path to the kitchen clear. You swallowed. “I— Sorry.” 

“Jeez,” he grumbled, bending down to swipe up the boxes you’d dropped. “And to answer your question: Yes, I did finish. Though I dunno where you want this to go.” 

With his third arm he brandished the sink brush at you, already having removed it from its plastic container. You blinked at it once, then gave yourself a mental kick to the behind to snap yourself out of it. Focus. Here and now. 

“Ah. That’s your new toothbrush,” you told him as you forced yourself to continue on to the kitchen. 

There was a tiny pause. “You’re joking,” he said incredulously as he followed behind you—the low shifting sound of his body your only indication.

“Nope. You’re welcome.” 

“You expect me to brush my teeth with this?” 

“Ordinary toothbrushes weren’t gonna cut it for you,” you told him amusedly as you slipped the box of granola bars atop the refrigerator and opened the freezer. You gestured at him to hand you the boxes he was holding and he complied, though he was still frowning at you like you’d just suggested the most absurd thing in the world. You rolled your eyes. “It’s better than nothing.” 

“That’s what you said about the regular toothbrushes,” he said in exasperation, then sighed. “I should have expected this,” he muttered to himself, eyeing the brush some more as he rotated it about in his hands. 

You closed the freezer door and turned to look up at him. “Did you put away the toothpaste and mouthwash, too?” 

He jabbed a finger over to the bathroom, still scrutinizing the brush. “I put them on the counter.” 

“Okay, I’ll put them away. Give me your toothbrush, I’ll put it in the cabinet.” You extended your hand, waiting for him to stop being so dramatic. He ran a hand down his face and huffed, but eventually dropped the brush onto your palm. You had to suppress a smile. Looked like you won. 

You made your way to the bathroom and exactly what you’d said you’d do. Sebastian’s brush went into the cabinet behind the mirror. The extra toothbrush sitting in your cup—with its destroyed bristles—went into the garbage can. The mouthwash and extra toothpaste were both tucked neatly away into the cabinet under the sink. You washed your hands and rolled your shoulders with a silent sigh. 

After exiting the bathroom, you tossed your jacket into your room and wandered back to the kitchen. That same fatigue from earlier was starting to make a reappearance. It laid heavy hands along your shoulders and the back of your neck. You chewed at the inside of your lip as you glanced at Sebastian—who was sweeping his own gaze across the kitchen—then at the clock on your stove. 

“I am way too tired and it is way too late to make something,” you admitted as you rubbed your hand over your abdomen when your stomach gave a little rumble. “Did you eat the rest of the leftovers?” 

“For lunch, yeah,” he replied as he flicked his head to the dish rack. The associated containers and utensils sat there drying. 

You hummed and slipped carefully around his tail to reopen the refrigerator. Might as well use some of the things you bought today. “How do you feel about cereal for dinner?”

“Don’t care, either way.” He shrugged and glanced up at the top of the refrigerator, where the boxes of cereal stood. “I saw those Reese’s Puffs you bought today. Feels almost targeted, honestly.” He sniffed. 

You grinned as you walked over to the cabinets. “That’s because it was.” 

After you grabbed a bowl and spoon for yourself, you turned around to compare it to Sebastian’s hand size while he moved one of the kitchen table’s chairs to the side again. There was no way he’d be able to comfortably use such tiny things. The bowl alone was more like a cup for him. You rubbed your chin and bent down to grab a basin and a pot spoon, the metal of each reflecting the light coming from Sebastian’s lure. This would have to do. 

You set everything down on the table, then grabbed the Reese’s Puffs, your own preferred cereal, and a gallon of milk—juggling them all in your hold carefully until you could drop them on the table. Sebastian snorted when he saw the basin and pot spoon, but didn’t say anything else. You sat down with a sigh, suddenly acutely aware of your own aching feet and pressing itch to your eyes. 

And so there you both were again. Sitting across from each other in your little kitchen.

Still strange. Still unfamiliar. 

You wondered when you would grow accustomed to it all.

Sebastian cleared his throat as he reached for the Reese’s Puffs to begin pouring it into his bowl. “So! How was your day?” 

You shrugged at him, copying his actions with your own cereal. “Tiring, I suppose. How was yours?” 

“Boring when you’re not here,” he said immediately. He poured milk into his bowl, then gestured at your own so he could fill yours as well. You pushed it closer to him and watched the stream of milk as it splashed against your cereal. “But this isn’t about me. This is about you.” 

You raised an eyebrow. “It is?” 

He nodded and recapped the milk jug. “I told you all about me,” he said simply, “now I want you to tell me all about you. What have you been up to all this time?” 

There was a warmth settling itself in your stomach—like you’d just swallowed a spoonful of hot soup. You tried not to let it affect you so much. “I’m… not sure if there’s really much to say,” you said, a small frown splayed on your lips as you picked up your spoon. 

Sebastian flapped a hand at you. “Pssht, bullshit! There’s always a tale to tell. Come on, don’t hold out on me.” He grinned at you suddenly, sharp. “Unless you’ve got something to hide?” 

You gave him a look. “Right,” you said flatly, “like my secret job I do after working all day at the clinic.”

He snapped his fingers. “Now we’re talking!”

You snorted, then hummed thoughtfully as you swirled your spoon through your bowl. “Honestly, there really isn’t much to say,” you told him quietly, thinking back to the years and years of grief and solitude. “I work. I come home. I read or watch T.V. or play shitty songs on my ukulele.” You chuckled. “Occasionally I text some friends still living in the city. Or call your siblings or mom. Maybe I hang out with coworkers very seldomly. But mostly I just…” you trailed off, thinking about the evenings spent lost in thought at the dock or within the cove. Thinking about him, mostly. Mourning him. You shrugged. “I dunno. Daydream, I guess.” 

The gaze he pierced you with made you feel like you were being picked apart and analyzed, piece by piece. “Hmm, I see.” You were certain he knew you were not telling him everything. 

Well, you thought to yourself wryly, that makes two of us. 

It was okay, though. There were some things that were just better off left unsaid. 

“How about any work stories?” he asked after shoveling his spoon into his mouth to crunch noisily down on his cereal. “You said you work at a clinic, right? You gotta have something from your time there.” 

You mulled it over in your head. “Well, there was this one time…” 

For the rest of dinner, you recounted what tales you could remember from your job. Dramatic coworkers, strict bosses, strange patient interactions. You didn’t think some of them were all too interesting—maybe just a way for you to rant or express your incredulity at dealing with people—but Sebastian listened raptly either way, his ear fins flicking every so often. He offered his own little sardonic quips from time to time (“No way,” he drawled when you told him a patient stopped taking all their medications then was surprised when they felt awful afterwards), and it made you realize later on just how… normal things were between you both. Right then and there. 

Sitting at a too little table, in a too little kitchen. You and him, like it had always been before everything happened. 

It made you crave more. Sunk its talons into your body and filled you up with a want want want. 

Addicting. 

You watched Sebastian scrape up the last of his second helping of cereal onto his spoon, sleepily blinking at him in the quiet, comfortable aftermath of your last story. Your gaze caught onto the long sleeves of his jacket, then traced upwards to the scarf still wrapped loosely around his neck. Faintly, you recalled wandering past the clothes section at the warehouse store you went to earlier. Right. 

“What size are you?” you found yourself asking, eyeing up his jacket and trying to estimate how long it was.

Sebastian let out an offended gasp, dropping his spoon into his bowl while his third hand raised up to his chest in shock. “Why I never! Babe, you can’t just ask someone that!”

You snorted. “I was talking about your clothes and you know it. So?” 

“Why are you asking?” he asked warily, shooting you a narrow-eyed look.

“I was thinking we should order you some new things to wear,” you told him and leaned back into your chair. “You’ve gotta be tired of wearing the same fit every day, right?” 

He shrugged, his head flicking to the side slightly like he was staring out at something other than you. “I got used to it.” 

Your gaze softened. “Well, I think you deserve at least a new shirt. Maybe a sweater.” Then, to lighten the atmosphere and give him an easy out, you said, “Besides, what if I’m tired of seeing you in the same clothes, huh? What if I wanted to see you in something nicer? Ever think about that?”

Sebastian looked back at you, his eyes widening ever so slightly as he processed your words. His lips tensed together when you only smiled knowingly at him, and his cheeks darkened minutely. He opened his mouth, paused, then after appearing to consider what to do next, his lips twisted into a feigned grimace. The edges of his lips twitched. You had to hold back a laugh.

“Eugh, are you flirting with me?” he asked, one of his hands reaching up to tuck his hair vainly over his ear fin. His face scrunched up like he was wrinkling his nonexistent nose, though his lure got a smidge brighter. “You should know, I’m a married man.” He wiggled his third arm’s fingers at you, his ring glinting in the light from his lure. 

You rolled your eyes. You did that a lot with him, you noticed. You opened your mouth to respond, then found yourself darting your gaze past his torso when something blurry moved in your periphery. 

Fake Sebastian leaned against the door of your refrigerator, hands tucked neatly into his pockets as he smiled widely at you. Uncanny, almost. His eyes crinkled into crescents that still seemed to pierce right through your body like an arrow. A reminder. And for one short, inconsequential moment, you froze. 

(Teal eyes. Fingers like knives. Body covered in scales. Pungent smell of fish.)

Deep breath in, deep breath out.

You forced yourself to look back at actual Sebastian, who watched you with slightly furrowed brows. Appraising you, almost. Evaluating. You smiled at him, willing your stomach to stop twisting itself into heavy knots. You were working on it. “So? Size?” 

If he found your lack of a retort suspicious, he did not make it known. Instead, he sighed and leaned back away from you. When had he gotten closer? 

He picked at the material of his jacket sleeve. “I dunno. This shit was all custom made probably.” He moved his third arm around, bringing your attention to the sleeves it had both from his jacket and undershirt. 

You frowned, tapping your finger against your chin. “Guess we’ll have to take some measurements. Gimme a sec.” You stood up, your chair making a little scraping sound as you pushed it back and beelined for your bedroom. 

Rummaging around in your closet, you let out a little “aha!” when your fingers found purchase on the cool metal of a small measuring tape. You pulled it out and scurried back over to Sebastian, your fingers already pulling at the little metal tab at the end to stretch out the flimsy tape. 

“Okay,” you said as you stood next to your chair and pulled the tape out until it was a few feet long. “This shouldn’t take too long. Let’s—”

But you found yourself hesitating as you looked up at him.

You’d… fully intended on helping him measure his waist, chest, and torso length but… As you peered at his face with his glowing eyes trained on your hands, you were suddenly struck with the startling memory of his snarl—snapping at you as he lurched backwards from your touch. The sinking pit in your stomach it caused, and the way he turned away from you like he just could not bring himself to look at you. 

“Not yet,” he’d said, strangling out the words like they were suffocating him. “Not yet.” 

Your grip tightened on the measuring tape. He continued to watch you, his mouth deepening into a frown when you didn’t say anything else. It shook you from your thoughts. You cleared your throat and abruptly loosened your hold on the tool. 

Not yet, you told yourself. Time, you just needed time.

For him and for you.

“Actually,” you said in as thoughtful a manner as you could, hoping against all that your expression was schooled into something similar. You let the tape retract into the metal body of its container and set it on the table to slide it over to him. “Take your measurements. I’m gonna clear the table and grab my laptop in the meantime.” 

When you grabbed at your bowl and his own larger basin, it looked—for one, terse moment—like he wanted to say something. It was in the way his gaze seemed to dart down to the tape, then back up at you. The way his jaw tensed, then relaxed just as quick. 

He sighed, long and quiet. 

“I don’t think you’re gonna find anything that fits… this,” he grumbled as he picked up the tiny measuring tape with thick, careful fingers. One errant flex of his hand and he could crush it rather easily. It was as unnerving as it was captivating. 

You made a noncommittal sound as you placed the dishes into the sink and grabbed the sponge to scrub them down with soap. “Eh, who knows. There might be sizes large enough on certain websites. And if anything, we can probably custom order something for you.” 

He only grumbled something indecipherable, the sound of the measuring tape being stretched out filling the air. You busied yourself with rinsing the dishes, quietly ruminating on the strange proportions of Sebastian’s body. 

His torso was quite long—almost as long as your entire body, honestly. Any shirt you got him might be… a bit short on him, but that was fine. Your one concern was how lithe he was, in addition to his length. It might cause him to get utterly swamped in whatever you would purchase. Not to mention you’d most certainly have to cut a hole in the material to allow his third arm freedom. You’d probably also have to buy shirts made of stretchable material, particularly so he could get his big head through the neck hole in the first place. 

Ahh, this was more complicated than you’d originally thought. 

It was fine, though. Anything to make him more comfortable. 

Drying your hands off on a nearby towel, you glanced over to see Sebastian still measuring his chest’s circumference—his eyes squinted in focus as he carefully pinched the tape around his body. You let him be so you could scavenge around for your laptop. You couldn’t remember where you last left it. 

Once you found it—tucked underneath the couch, of all places—you went back to the kitchen to plop yourself back down in your chair at the table. The measuring tape was already set on its surface, and Sebastian watched you silently with his arms crossed over his chest as you powered on your laptop. You placed it in the middle of the table, so that you both could see its screen properly. 

“Alright,” you said once it booted up and you opened the notepad application, “what’s the verdict, chief?” 

He told you his measurements, and you typed them up for reference. Then, the search began. It wasn’t all that hard to find a website that sold clothes for individuals on the taller side, honestly. What sucked was finding one that had a size chart that matched his own measurements well enough. Either his chest measurement was way too small, or his torso length was too long—it was just as you’d predicted. You’d have to compromise. 

Sebastian was… well… quiet, as he watched you scroll through numerous sites. Not melancholy, really, but… resigned, almost. Maybe even tense. You weren’t sure how to define it. His gaze just seemed distant whenever you glanced up at him to get a read on what he was thinking. It was not an expression you wanted to see on him—that you liked seeing on him. You cleared your throat. 

“I hear baggy, almost-crop tops are the new look,” you joked as you gestured to the size chart on one website that seemed like the best option out of the others. “What do you think?” 

“Hmm?” He blinked as he seemed to come back to himself and glanced briefly down at you. With your expectant gaze on him, his own darted to your laptop and he focused in on it with a squint. “Oh yeah, they’re right up there with skinny jeans and fedoras.” 

You huffed out a laugh. “It’s the best we’ve got that’ll kinda fit you. We can buy a couple to test them out. I can return them if anything.” 

“Whatever you say,” he said vaguely. It made your lips twitch slightly into a frown. 

“Are you… okay?” you hesitantly asked him, turning your body in your seat so you could face him properly. You hadn’t noticed until now but his lure had dimmed. Not too much to be stark, but enough that you glanced briefly up to it in concern. “It’s just… you seem out of it.” 

He didn’t reply. He only stared down at you. A quiet permeated the air, broken only by your soft breaths. The hum of your laptop’s fans. His mouth opened slightly, just enough for you to hear the small inhale he took. Then— he seemed to snap back to himself, his body going from stock still to sudden motion. 

“Just peachy~” he crooned, his eyes crinkling into upturned crescents as he shifted closer to your side of the table. “What options do they have? I’d kill for a turtle neck.” He peered at your laptop with a curious hum, lowering himself down so he’d have a better view. One of his hands braced gently along the edge of the table. 

This close—mere inches of space between you and him as he hovered just over your shoulder—you could smell that poignant, fishy odor. Stronger than it had ever been before. That sank itself into your senses and reminded you of just what you were dealing with. 

Inhuman inhuman inhuman inhuman.

Your breath got caught in your lungs for a second before you forced yourself to breathe normally. You willed yourself to focus on something else, anything else. Anything other than the blatant lack of cinnamon or gentle musk you were accustomed to. Had been accustomed to.

Deep breath in.  

Faintly—your brain inadvertently registered—beyond that piscine scent, was the smell of your detergent. The gentle, clear scent was so different that it was almost jarring. You looked at him from the corner of your eye, latching onto the sleeve of his jacket. It looked… clean. Soft.

Not the point, focus! 

Deep breath out.

“Here, see for yourself,” you said as casually as you could as you shifted your laptop better towards him. He was deflecting, but so were you. It was as clear as a sunny sky after days of rain. There was nothing you could do about it. Or rather, nothing you wanted to do about it at this time.

Eventually, though, you would have to.

But not yet.

“I can’t—” Sebastian cut himself off with a clear of his throat. You craned your head to the side to look properly at him, the way he purposely stared at your tiny laptop and not at you. “I can’t use a touchpad, I fear. My hands are, ah, too cold. And hard.” 

“Oh,” was your response, dropping from your mouth like a rock. You… hadn’t even considered that, actually. You frowned and looked at the tiny arrow keys. His fingers were too big to even properly use those, as well. It didn’t help to eradicate the coolness that was starting to spread throughout your body. You pulled your laptop a smidge closer towards you. “That’s okay. We’ll look together.” It was the only reassurance you could think of to say.

You thought he’d be pickier with what shirts he wanted, but he didn’t seem to mind the ones you pointed out. There was still that… aloofness to his voice, but he seemed to get better when you found some AC/DC and KISS shirts to add to the cart. You didn’t want to buy too much in case they ended up not fitting him at all. In any case, it was a good start. 

You also ended up looking around for a website that did custom sizes after ordering from the first one. You did find one—a tailor that said they would use the customer’s measurements to adjust the clothes they had to fit their size—but you were unsure how it would work with someone like Sebastian. In any case, the two of you agreed to test it out with one of the displayed flannels on the tailor’s website, hoping no one would say anything as you punched in Sebastian’s frankly eyebrow-raising measurements and submitted the order. Maybe it would be chalked up as someone wanting a robe, or something.

When that was all said and done, you leaned back in your chair while your laptop powered off and scrubbed at your face. You were tired. You could feel it in the heaviness of your eyelids and shoulders. You were so ready to hit the—

“So!” Sebastian clasped his hands together and slithered away from you to give you some space to stretch your arms. He looked at you expectantly. “Movie?” 

Ahhh. How could you say no to him after all that?

You suppressed a tired sigh. At least you didn’t have work tomorrow. “Go pick something. I’m gonna get ready for bed.” 

“Yippee!” He gave you a thumbs up and snaked his way into the living room. You took a moment to rub at your eyes, then scooped up your laptop to head to your bedroom for your nightly routine. 

Once your teeth were brushed and your nightwear was slipped on, you trudged over to the couch and flopped down next to Sebastian. Not too close, not too far—just like yesterday. Your eyes caught onto the box of his things, still sitting innocuously on your coffee table. Its flaps were sealed shut. You didn’t linger on it. 

Sebastian already had a movie queued up on the television, and as soon as you gave him the go ahead, he carefully pressed play on the remote with the tip of his finger. 

“What movie is this?” you asked as you let yourself slump into the cushions. Your legs stretched out in front of you, your heels resting on the carpet you had on the floor.

“Pacific Rim,” he replied, reaching up to tug his lure off. “I remember wanting to watch it in theaters, but then… Well.” His voice lowered into a grumble. “Never got the chance.” 

You hummed. “Now’s as good a time as any.” 

He let out an “mmhm” in agreement.

You didn’t even make it past the introduction. 

You could already feel yourself nodding off even as an action scene played out on the screen. The darkness of the living room paired with the comfort of your relaxed body was a deadly combination. You vaguely registered movement somewhere behind your head and shoulders, but you were too far gone to really process what it was. 

There was a cool sensation on your cheek that prevented your head from slipping to the side any further.

And when you woke up, hours later in the middle of the night, you found yourself tucked neatly into bed. Blanket wrapped comfortably around your body and gentle moonlight drifting its ghostly hand across your sheets. You blinked hazily up at your ceiling, then looked over at your open bedroom door. 

The quiet drone of the television just outside followed you back into your dreams.

part four

[brittle-doughie]

Body swapping fic

Gingerbrave and the gang: *looking for y/n*

Strawberry cookie: where are they, we've been looking for y/n for five hours now?

Wizard cookie: yea, I' getting worried abo-

*hears yelling*

Y/n in shadow's body: SHADOW YOU GIVE ME MY BODY BACK, RIGHT NOW!!

Shadow in y/n's body: *Laughs* you have to caught me if you wanted back!!!

The others : 😓😕

And hope to see the other cookies reaction to this with crossit cookie also seeing this along with the ancients and other yeast beasts too.

If Shadow Milk Cookie doesn’t get out of that cookie’s soul right now-

Dark Cacao would be even less patient, he was sick of one Beast that nearly crumbled him, he didn’t need another bringing you into this.

Possession by a Beast is no easy matter and something to be taken seriously by White Lily Cookie. She’s seen how Shadow Milk is with his puppets.

Golden Cheese is more defiant towards this Shadow Milk Cookie possessing her friend. She demands he releases you before she has to force him out and it won’t end well for Milk there.

Hollyberry wasn’t having any of this, but surely the Beast is supposed to be doing something more destructive then just stealing a body. Is this really what Shadow Milk is investing all his time to?

Mystic Flour doesn’t see any point in the Ancients trying. Once Shadow Milk has a soul in his strings, it’s unlikely they’ll ever be cut.

Burning Spice was getting bored. Where was the destruction to be had with this power if all Shadow Milk was going to do is play games?

Was she even in the right timeline, what was going on-

[alicenpai]

the shadow and her living doll 🌹🌼 print for montreal otakuthon! come see me at next week from aug 11-13 ✌

you can grab it as a print here if you so wish ! WIPs & other thoughts under the cut

shadows house is such a fantastic series & i wholeheartedly recommend it... the story delves into super dark horror elements but doesn't present itself as a story with no hope. hope must be found and then tenaciously gripped with all one's heart, much like pandora's box. it tickles the victorian gothic part of my brain forever imprinted on me since i was 14 haha...

in the first draft i had marionette strings hanging above the characters (kinda reminds me of Erased.. since I just finished rewatching that ahaha...) & shadow puppet hands on the sides, almost as if gripping each character. i decided against it in the end, to let the characters shine in the spotlight (literally).

i also wanted a more active or lively pose, but kept in line with the stiff victorian portrait style, caused by long camera exposure times. i'm not sure if that worked out better bc i'm unsure if this drawing is interesting to people wahahaha.

initially i also wanted more of a dollhouse theme, but each draft got more and more muddy, so i decided to save it for another day (i'm around ch 90 in the manga, so probably a good call to save a more complex idea until i'm all caught up)

^ quick 5 min style test i posted recently! in that post i stated that i wanted to streamline and simplify my art style more, especially after the recent bunch of illustrations i did in the past winter that took way too long to complete, at the sake of my health.

im continually looking for areas to simplify more in my art, but one of the areas i will NOT skimp on is depicting fabric!!!!!

what also helped was working on my sense of structure in my spare time, so that i could be better at depicting form without relying so much on shading to show 3d forms. i love colouring, but i need to be working smarter, not harder from now on. using 100000 shades and highlights is just not feasible anymore wahaha.

in this drawing i loosened up with the bg and kept it rough, inspired by the wonderful xeroxed bgs of 101 dalmatians, and only implied details, rather than actually rendering all of them.

the tldr is that i draw too slowly i just would like to be able to make more drawings more often!!

[headingalaxys-spicy]

Can I ask for a country!reader with aph america, china and russia who used to depend on them for survival in the past because they were very poor, but now they are successful and distancing themselves? Thanks

I uh got lost on this one and it’s a long Drabble where I think I hit the mark but didn’t .

This one is kind of a long read.

Anyways I still hope you enjoy!

America 🇺🇸

Reminsing about the times you used to cling to him for everything.

You and your citizens needed food because your nation was experiencing a once-in-a-mellinnia drought?

You got it. Alfred would have prepared you and all of your people a splendid feast. He’s more than happy to provide.

Lacking clothes?

Not a problem. He’s made sure that all the clothes you require are bespoke. You look stunning & quickly made any other nation stare at you in awe whenever you attended world meetings with Alfred. Since you needed him, you did your best to prove your loyalty to him in subtle but sufficient ways. You always hung off his arm whenever meetings adjourned or before they began. You always sat next to him & voted in his favor when he did something for you. You’d become the lovely little charm he enjoyed showing on the world stage. He loved having all the strings attached to you. You were like a perfectly crafted marionette doll made just for him.

Alfred was always interested in maintaining dominance in your relationship. It was amusing to watch you attempt to break that power dynamic.

Alfred is going to allow you to cut your ties to him symbolically. He’ll allow your economy to blossom, the education sector to bloom, and you have one of the best healthcare systems. You’d figured out how to be efficient. But you had no military because you depended on him, and he couldn’t have you be too far independent from him. But to some degree, he wants you to believe that you are. He didn’t want to lose, just like England. He was better than him and felt that he’d always maintain control over you. It was obvious you couldn’t take care of yourself. You needed him. To him, your success was temporary.

The moment he sees the first string break from his precious puppet, he begins devising a plan to pin you with iron strings.

“Y/N? Why are you looking into how to structure a military? Aren’t the bases I gave you enough? But also aren’t your people kinda weak and like being with books and having intellectuals and farmers?”

“Yeah….” You began hesitantly and try to concoct a lie that would soothe his fears about being abandoned. You began to abhor the tight strings that choked the life out of your wrists. You wanted to begin to break free so that you could create a future independent of him & his contracts.

“No…actually…” Your voice was trembling now. You forced your arms outwards to the open air, waiting for the divine silver scissors to cut loose your wrists.

“I appreciate you, Alfred… I really do…but” You stare at him straight in the eyes, summoning your strength. His blue orbs had darkened with scary ghost-like shadows. Still you marched onwards.

“But I want to build myself up and be on my own.”

Alfred bit down on his own lip. Holding back his rage was difficult for him but he was desperately in love with you. He thought you would have known that it would have been your permanent place to be with him. The deal was that you were supposed to be in debt to him forever. And forever means until the end of time! Till the two of you were the last people standing in the midst of an alien war, the only ones on a desolate island. You were designed perfectly for him, but he had to let you find out just how difficult it is to be in charge of through thick & thin.

“That also means….” You place a comforting hand on his cheek to break him out of his internal fantasy of the two of you against the world. You attempt to soften the blow to his already bruised ego. A sprinkle of light briefly flashes over his eyes. You already know that what you’ve just started is going to be a major emotional endeavor.

“I can pay you back” A bright like the summer sun smile graced your face & melted some of the ice that had formed in his heart after hearing you wanted to become independent from him.

‘Y/N why do you have to do this to me? Why in hell do you want that of which is forbidden?’ He placed his hand on top of you hand that still cradled his cheek.

“Okay just let me know if I can hel-”

“NO! No… America…I’ve got to learn how to do things on my own. If I depend on you all the time I’ll never know how to do anything.”

The strings that are attached to your soul shake. Your wrists had been cut free by the silver scissors. That feeling was terrifying and magnificent.

Alfred's heart was hit with the sharp sting of a lightning bolt. What he feared was beginning to manifest into reality. It left a bitter taste in his mouth. It made him insanely angry and drove him mad. You never called him by his nation's name like that, at least not in a long time.

“Okay [Country Name]. We can talk later.” He politely removes your hand from his face and leaves you without giving you a hug good-bye. Alfred didn’t give you another glance before he left you alone. Once the door slammed shut that’s when his scheming began.

He will take you down like an agonizing tumor once you have your nation properly running. Alfred will allow you to stabilize because he wants to dissolve you slowly. He will document every miscalculation, bad decision, and failed proposal & use it as evidence that you should have never been allowed to be in charge of your own nation. This time his newer strings would be made of impenetrable steel.

Cartels and Mafias suddenly began to spring up in all of your major cities and spread to the suburbs. Your police departments were ineffective at solving the crime waves that were sweeping your small nation. Your government, of course, was in a panic due to the magnitude and rapid pace of these crime sprees. It only took three weeks for the chaos of the mafia wars to be taken to the quieter streets in the suburbs. There was an apparent hunt to find a drug den that had the product of at least $15 million. It was also rumored that it’s likely a scared diamond somewhere in your nation's midst.

“Oh, this is getting insane!”

You were watching the coverage of your nation's trials and tribulations on international television. America’s news outlets seemed to be particularly harsh. Deep down you were beginning to doubt whether being independent from him was the right choice.

‘Everything is getting so bad so quickly.’

You tap your fingers nervously against your desk until the fact dawns on you that: Dealing with tough issues was a part of life.

You take a deep inhale in and call a meeting with your boss, emergency response teams, & negotiators. You pop open your computer to take notes and devise a plan. You were ready for the crazy next few months with lots of caffeine and difficult conversations.

Alfred hates that you’ve become self-sufficient and can handle the major crises he’s constructed. You had cut loose your feet by now. You knew your silver scissors hungered for more. All you had left to cut was that of which was around your neck. He didn’t want to see you free.

The next thing Alfred will try to attack is your economy. Can’t run a nation on an empty bank account. As he drew up plans to make your nation sink under, there was a delicate knock at the door. He knew it was you. His heart hums fast-paced with anxiety-filled music.

‘Why won’t they be mine?’ He repeats over and over again in his mind. He swiftly flips his plan board to its other blank slate.

“Come in Y/N I know it’s you!” The door swings open to unveil his lovely puppet. You were ecstatic as you practically sprinted to him as you busted through the door. You had a white envelope with you.”

“Here you are Alfred some of what I owe you!” You gleefully hand him your payment. His heart begins to reveal that it has cracks that begin to deepen.

‘They can’t be doing this! How could they?!?! How in the fuck can they not see that they were made for me!’ Alfred didn’t want to admit he admired your determination. You really could be indepe-

Blood crept up his throat at the thought of your independence.

The check that you handed him may as well have been the sharp end of an axe. It made his blood run between ice and fire. He was angry that you desired the forbidden fruit and sad to some degree that you didn’t want him as much as he wanted you.

‘Weren’t you always supposed to stick around with the people who save you….Y/N? I’m your hero after all those decades…That means I’m supposed to own you for life dammit.’

Your hand on his shoulder will jolt him back to reality.

“Alfred, are you okay?”

“Me? Yeah. Yeah. Just busy and consumed with a few important things.” His eyes don’t meet yours they stay surveying the ground. He’s fighting the urge to pin you down & steal your silver scissors before they have a chance to become the ax. It means that you’d be able to sever your ties forever and be in-

“No.” He says to the frigid air-conditioned room.

“Hmm?”

“Long day Y/N and even longer month. You should go.” He shoos you away in an attempt to save face & not showcase his worse tendencies just yet. He needed you to believe that he was 100% on board with your plan to be 100% independent from him.

“Okay! I won’t linger. I’ll have another payment for you soon!” You rush off to continue with your ambitious endeavor. His heart never failed to flutter furiously whenever he was hit by your fiery determination. That’s one of the reasons he loved you and why he had to have you. He was itching to have you living with him again.

Once he see’s that you’d come a significant way in paying off your debt to him you had flourishing trade deals with larger countries that seemed to benefit your population greatly. You were doing it. The thick thread that was around your neck shook.

Alfred’s eye will twitch in reacting to the shift in power. He hated how you weren’t in his home doing more important things like cooking with him, playing video games, pigging out on pizza and watching movies. You knew how to soothe him, make him laugh, and fit perfectly between his arms.

Why did you have to break your responsibility to protect his heart?! Alfred’s inner turmoil about losing you will only increase. It will reach a boiling point where he’s going to resort to kidnapping you if you refuse to have a close permanent relationship where he can easily dominate you.

He shatters those silver scissors you possess into millions of tiny pieces. He doesn’t fail like Arthur because he is superior to that old man of his past. The iron strings will be bitterly cold & burn your skin. The steam of hate will be felt in the air as you know Alfred would never allow you to be without your strings. After all, you were all he’s ever wanted in his lonely life.

China 🇨🇳

There are many early mornings when the beauty of the Spring Blossoms takes his mind off of how his heart aches when he’s without you. With his legs crossed and his mouth inhaling deeply, his mind takes stock of the lack of noise in the background.

You weren’t there because you’d moved away.

Yao’s eye twitched at that awful thought. It made him sick to his stomach. He’s been through numerous wars, scandals, collapses, & centuries worth of bullshit. It’s not like he hadn’t felt betrayal but since he regarded you differently from the others. You had a certain effect on his heart, making him infatuated with you. You were like a rare gem unearthed from the Forbidden City. You were special to him, and no one else was allowed to have you. He, like Alfred, will want to maintain a calm & collected composure in front of you. Yao didn’t want you to know he hated the idea of you separating from him to become more independent. He wanted to keep you trapped in his beautifully crafted glass cage.

‘How in the hell does Y/N not love the life I meticulously crafted for them here?’ His mind wanders to all the fun outings you did together….hand-in-hand. One of the main things he enjoyed doing with you was drifting through Wangfujing snack street—the hustle and buzz of the sea of people that frequented the busy night market.

He loved being your guide & seeing your face light up when you tried something new & enjoyed it.

‘How could that not be enough for you Y/N?’

His nails scrape at his freshly pressed sage brown military uniform. The thick fabric crinkled under his frustration. He understood that having power over you would eventually make you want to escape him. He, however, was impressed with how you breached security systems and bypassed his guards.

For as long as you depended on him Yao primarily treated your relationship as he was your mentor that you were always supposed to adhere to. He always took up most of the time you had in the majority of your schedule. Yao hardly allowed you without his supervision either he or one of his guards was beside you. But what did that matter? Why should you complain? He provided for you since you’d come to him at his doorstep. You were desperate, destitute & in great need. You required his assistance & his tender love and care.

“Of course, y/n of course! Come in! You look sickly I can nurse you back to health!” Yao was ecstatic when you crawled to him in your desperate hour. It meant that he had an opportunity to ensnare you for all of your existence. That’s why he crafted that golden cage for you. It was beautiful, and that's all that should have mattered to you. Yao defended you well whether it be in the negotiation room on the world stage or even on the battlefield.

Yao had you covered. But you were still desperate to leave. It’s why the ground had tiny shards of glass that cut into him deeply.

Yao takes another deep inhale. He understood all too well that this was just a rebellious state & you’d soon be reminded of your place. All he’d have to do is retrieve & re-educate you.

Yao is going to devise ways to make your economy come to a sluggish crawl. He knows it is foolish to allow you to have a strong cultural economy which allowed your nation to expand your tourism, architecture, & education sectors. This allowed you to have time away from him so that you could develop your own ideals… a determent to his dominant control over you & your people. He wanted to keep you trapped in the delusion that you needed him for your survival.

‘The time for my sweet y/n to play this foolish game of independence has run it’s course.’

Yao’s mind blissfully wandered back to the days when he’d first found you: poor, destitute, and alone. You didn’t have any fight within you as a struggling nation. You and your people were on the verge of giving up all hope. Everyone who was a [name of your nation's people] wanted to resign themselves to being dissolved into the cold void of space, leaving behind nothing more than a chapter or two within the catalog of history.

That all changed when you caught the eye of one of the oldest empires in the world: China. He sought you out due to the fact that you were a lovely nation that sat near the sea. You had prime port spots and beautiful land whose capabilities were best suited for farming. He could take you under his wing & teach you how to utilize your available resources to it’s full capabilities. Not to squander itlike you were so foolishly doing.

He recognizes that his first huge miscalculation in maintaining control over you was allowing you to have unsupervised educational rights. You began to craft a population that valued critical thought over blindly following direction from those in charge.

Yao’s eye twitches once more. The thought of having to contend with a [country name] intellectual, professor, or anyone who’s been through your unique but effective education system meant he had….

“General Wang!” You have a response to the contract that you sent to [country name] for review.

Yao was eager to see your response to a partnership deal that was riddled with a ton of underhanded loopholes he could take advantage of if you disobeyed him. He was able to sense the hesitation in the soldier's hand. It wanted to jerk back. To keep his eyes away from the offensive sight.

“Let me guess the Magpie didn’t want to nest and make a home in its beautifully gilded cage?” No trace of surprise in his monotone voice. Within the calm, there was a silent raging anger brewing beneath his skin.

‘How fucking dare you Y/N. Using me. Don't you know once in debt you’ll always be in debt?’

It takes him a couple of decades to even acknowledge that he has feelings for you. By the time he does, he’s already rescued your nation a few times. He knew he felt differently about you just he couldn’t pinpoint why.

Yao hoped that you’d be satisfied with having the illusion of freedom. You could pick your clothes, what you ate, what outings. That was enough for a while. After all, you did come from a [country name] where there was nothing but struggle and strife and hardly enough to get by. It was easy at first to satiate your population with feasts that had high-quality and fresh food. Dim Sum day and night accompanied by the best teas and wines.

Yao LOVED showing off his knowledge of tea, whether it be a strong black tea that kicked alive all of your senses or a green tea that relaxed you to sleep and gave you lovely dreams. Crafting food and drinks was one of his specialties. He put extra passion and flare when it came to making food for you. That and he is trying to show off. He didn’t always need military power or grand spectacles to captivate. Thats what he had developed his cooking skills for. He could prove that he was more than just a political stronghold…he had a gentle side too. Yao is going to make a spectacle while he cooks. He will do back flips as he makes your pan-fried dumplings or spruces up your rice. His heart flutters with joy whenever he sees you giggle. It was like getting a strong hit of opium. You’re his addiction, and he wasn’t going to give it up. He wanted to create reasons as to why you should always be around him. So if keeping you poor was a part of the game, he was willing to do so.

He’s not an idiot or blind to how you’d be in pain from him being ruthless in trying to keep you under his thumb. So he does give you some economic leverage and allow your people to concentrate solely on art. He adored it when you created masterpieces especially when they were exclusively for him. It was easy & it wouldn’t burst the delicate bubble of reality that he wanted to keep you trapped in. It prevented the both of you for a while from thinking about the future. Yao could once again see his and your nation become tied together and be content. However, that's a double-edged sword as it does eventually lead you to crave more.

Yao is going to create a cyclical conundrum for himself: Give you microdoses of freedom that slowly show you that you can be independent and happy while fighting the urge to want to take you over and never let you be free and see you sad. He still has to worry about you seeking susbatantial answers he’s not really ready to answer (if ever). He hoped to some degree that as an immortal nation, you’d come to be infantilized forever. But he could not pause progress.

“You’re 100% right sir. Y/N & [citizen name] didn’t really want to be beholden to you anymore. The parliament has decided to vote against your proposal. They seem determined to forage their own way.”

“Dammit Y/N why do you have to be incredibly headstrong!” He springs to his feet as soon as the anger rushed through his body.

“Why do you have to be so ungrateful? Why do you show no respect? How in the world can Y/N not see that I LOVE & just want to PROTECT you!”

“Well, sir I suppose it’s time to resort to less gentle tactics to make them concede.”

“Oh, my rebellious misguided magpie. What am I going to do with you? Looks like you’re going to do with you? Looks like you’re going to need a heavy dose of tough love.”

Yao snaps his finger for his soldier to come close.

“If they want to prod the dragon as it sleeps then I’ll let the people of [country name] find out how foolish that is.”

Yao is going to “peacefully” kidnap you meaning he will bribe who he can and kill whoever can’t be reasoned with money when it comes to your security detail. He’s going to make a show of it. It will start when you accidentally cut yourself with glass. It will begin at the sole of your foot. Birds will suddenly join your midst. A black and white feather will land in your small puddle of blood.

“More won’t have to be spilled Y/N if you just give in.”

Russia 🇷🇺

At first, Ivan will be lax & he won’t really acknowledge the things that you’re trying to do to separate from him. He’ll want to believe he’s downed too much vodka and cocktails. It’s nonsense. Nonsense. All of it. Since you’d been with him for so long & still in debt to him he believed that’s guarantee that you’d never leave him. At this point in his mind, he’s built the narrative that you stayed because you loved him.

“ I wish things didn’t have to be this way,” Ivan says coldly with his pipe in one hand and love letter in the other.

At the beginning of your relationship, when you and your people were down on your luck, he saw you as a feminine version of Latvia that he wanted to protect and bear hug 24/7.

“Let the loving, warm arms of Mother Russia help you.”

Ivan is eager to assist you & your impoverished people not only because he is fond of you but because you have beautiful tracks of land when it’s not being bombarded by drought and animals facing severe infection and plagues. It seemed for some reason that sunshine and prosperity had been avoiding you like finding a cure to heal your cattle.

“Hmm? Ummm…” Were the only words that you could summon. You were shocked that one of the superpowers would come over to chit-chat with you. To some degree you knew you were hardly a faint blip on most nations radar.

“Y/N you’re cute when you behave like a nervous kitten.” He placed his gloved bear paw on top of your head. When he did so you could finally take stalk of how much taller he was than you. At least a foot and a few inches. Your muscles soon tensed up and intimidation along with a host of other emotions suddenly flooded your nervous system.

“Ha. Ha. Ha. I guess. I’ve been under a lot of stress lately you know?” Nervous still you began to involuntarily shake. You could tell if it was caused by your nerves or hunger. Being in his presence was intense. You bite down on your lip hoping there was at least some decent food when you got back to your room like your boss had promised. Your facade of keeping it together without collapsing seemed like an impossible task.

“Stress? What kind of stress? Tell me da? We are friends now after all aren’t we?” His pure periwinkle eyes sparkled with glitter with hints of black specks within them.

“Huh? I mean we’ve been on a few committees and have been in a few voting blocks together, but it’s …” You knew you had to be careful with your choice of words. One wrong one and you knew he could crush you in one quick motion only using his wrist.

You hardly had the energy to stand. You began to wobble. You became woozy.

“Come. Y/N. Come. You must sit sunflower. You look pale & weak.”

You were definitely going to ignore his emphasis on the word ‘weak’. You kept it as a mental note in the back of your head.

‘He’s being a bit suspicious and creepy. I wonder if he’s about to offer…’

“About to make you a kind offer you won’t forget.”

‘Is he!? No. NO. I’m definitely going loopy due to hunger.’ You were trying to concoct a response that was equal parts composed, resilient, and calm. However, that process was cut short when a grey, black, and white static filled your eyes. Rendering you incapable of seeming like a nation that had their shit together. Quite the opposite. With no response, Russia will take the lead. He placed his hand on your upper back. He took note of how your palms and fingers were spread apart wide in an attempt to stabilize yourself. Your eyes were glazed over with an exhausted grey mist.

He chuckles in amusement.

‘Man, this is going to be easy.’

It took a few minutes before your haze finally lifted. However, it felt like your soul had left your body and you were just an empty husk running on fumes.

“Um, this is really a conversation for a later time…” Unable to think of ways to navigate a negotiation with a massive country like Russia. You could at least buy yourself some time and try to talk to someone for advice. You know that it seemed benevolent but had plenty of tight ropes, strings, and red lines that come attached with such a deal.

“After the meeting, we can talk it out over dinner. I can show you some of my nation's best food.” His aura brightened at the fact that you’d be more within his domain and far deeper within his influence.

Russia, at this point, is kinda like a honey trap. He learned this tactic from his friend (enemy at times) America. Knowing how to be a smooth charmer even though he tends to have an unsettling presence that has chaotic energy with a baby face. He incorporates but doesn’t copy America. Russia tends to lean on his disarming soft face to help him and instead of offering punishments first, he’s more likely to offer an insensitive with maybe a threat at the end. (This only tends to happen if he can’t see that you’re responding positively to what’s being offered.) So Russia knows how to show more restraint.

Of course, you didn’t say no to the private meeting you had with him. Your boss practically begged you to do so, along with some of your citizens and advisers.

“How can we say no? You have to Y/N! What do we have to lose at this point?”An advisor stated with urgency.

“We can figure it out as we go but we must do something! This is a sign this is it!” Another citizen piped up.

“All right, all right I’ll go.”

Ivan will introduce you to this five-point plan that he drafted. It will be showcased through Matryoshka Doll. The five stages will explain how you will become one with Mother Russia without losing your recognizable national heritage.

‘Don’t worry’ is what he’ll assure you. He’s got all the heavy lifting. Just allow him to set the pace and control everything.

Ivan won’t immediately snap you up like a Venus fly trap. He knows that he has to manage you and all of your people, constituents, and other parties. He’ll let all settle in before he begins to move any plan forward.

Ivan’s scarf had wrapped around your shoulders as he brought out a Matryoshka doll that was about the size of your thumb.

“You will receive a new one once you complete a new phase. It shows how close friends we’ve become.”

Your eyes wander down to the bright red hooded figure that is decorated with Ivy and Azalea flowers. You ran your index finger down the smooth surface. You admired the intermixing of the pastels with the primary colors. The florals seemed to string themselves together like a fence that had cursive graffiti on it. In the back of your mind, you still couldn’t help but feel that you were making a huge mistake even if on the surface, things between you and Ivan would be smooth.

“We first have to ensure that your citizens are able to eat, have proper housing, and all of their other basic needs are met. You’ll have to live with me of course.”

‘Maybe, I’m just overthinking it. After all what choice do I really have? It’s not like I’ve been able to survive to well on my own.’

Your thumb continued to rub the fresh paint. The Azalea flowers encapsulated and sustained you. They were lovely because they represented the current concealed love. The colors made you feel safe and comforting. The coolness of the wood brought goosebumps to your skin. Your immune system was trying to send warning signs but you continued to ignore them for the idea that permanent comfort wasn’t too far off. The suffering was beginning to be too much to tolerate daily.

Ivan will make sure that you’re comfortable in his house. He’ll allow you to go see your nation every 4 months or so. The rest of the time will be you learning proper Russian, the culture, history, etc.

As you began to adjust to life with him, you enjoyed not having to face hardships. It was nice not to have to worry about where your next meal was to come from or how some of your particularly vulnerable cities managed to survive with minimal resources. These questions were no longer at the forefront of your mind. You allowed the sweet side of life to dull your senses.

The next part of Ivan’s five-point plan involves him having full jurisdiction of your military bases, ports, secret hubs, etc. He didn’t want you or your population getting into battle.

Ivan’s log-like arm was draped over you, and he introduced you to some of his seasoned commanders who’d be taking over all of your military operations. As you trailed behind him through the Russian-built base, you were in awe of the immense firepower he possessed and was lending to you. It was a not-so-subtle reminder of how much you now depended on him. It was the first time that you realized that you entered an inescapable pact that you made with Ivan. Your mind had finally registered the second doll with the Camellia flowers had been firmly sealed around you as it was tossed into the sea.

A firm squeeze on your hand brought you back to reality. Ivan’s sweet and somewhat sinister smile that adorned his pale snow face reassured you that everything would be fine so long as you were in his care.

If you want to escape him with the least emotional and economic damage and the lowest detriment to your citizens, then you really should have prevented him from setting up any kind of military infrastructure. So he now has a strategic advantage if (and or when) you try to separate from him.

As a nuclear power he of course, never let you have a program for energy much less for weapons. If you ever asked about such things ice and snow will coat the room while his face will have the everpresent smile remaining on Ivan’s face. His icicle-like ‘why’ was more than enough for you to never bring the subject up with him again.

The comfort began to feel more like constriction….suffocation. The air around you felt like you were in the vacuum of space.

The final matryoshka doll is decorated with cedar leaves (I will live for thee), Yellow Hyacinths (Jelously), Ivy (Wedded Love), and Primrose (I cannot live without you). It was handed to you right before the two of you began another tense meeting on why you’re trying to become more independent.

“I will not be without you Y/N nation of [insert most recognized attribute]”

“Hmmm?” Trying to make sure you didn’t just hear that highly possessive statement. Trying to give Ivan a chance to walk that back. After a minute of uncomfortable silence, you break it.

“Ivan, are you okay?” Your voice trembles out.

“Da Y/N….But we do have some difficult discussions to be had.” He closed his book with a loud thud, it was loud enough to make you jump in your seat a little.

At this point, it’s game over. Whatever well-thought-out plan you may have made to be independent of him may as well be strapped to a rocket being sent to the moon. If you want to be successful, you’d need another superpower backing you or extremely good socioeconomic conditions and political unrest in Russia to actually be able to win against him.

[dystopicjumpsuit]

Dj! I‘m so glad I just found our your doing cuddle requests! As I‘m in a terrible Crosshair phase atm, may I request 2 or 14 with him? The boy needs lots of hugs.

Thank you!

I'm Right Here.

A/N: My beloved @somewhere-on-kamino! 🖤❤️ Please accept deepest thanks for your patience while you waited for me to fill this request! This fic stands alone, but it is the same Reader from “I Know,” so there’s a brief reference to a prior breakup. Reader also still experiences the fallout of unspecified trauma, as they did in “I Know.”

Pairing: Crosshair x Reader (GN; has hair)

Rating: T (but as always, minors DNI)

Wordcount: 2.1k

Warnings and tags: angst; Reader has a brief dissociative episode and the beginnings of a panic attack; hurt comfort; cuddles; implied/fade to black sensuality

Summary: Crosshair has returned to the Batch, and it’s kriffing weird. The prompts are getting the greatest feeling of safety from cuddling/cuddles after being touch-starved.

Suggested Listening:

This fic smells like: Indigo by Nest (citrus, tea, fresh figs)

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This is weird. 

You glanced across the cockpit of the Marauder toward Crosshair, who stared out the viewport, carefully avoiding eye contact. 

This is kriffing weird.

In all the time that had passed since the last time you’d seen him, all the times you’d dreamed and fantasized about reuniting, it was never like this. When Hunter set up a rendezvous to collect Omega on a desolate moon, the last thing you expected was to see Crosshair walk down the ramp behind her. The shock of it had punched the air from your lungs and left you reeling. 

And he’d seen it. Of course he’d seen it. He saw everything. The way your joy at being reunited with Omega had morphed into confusion, surprise, and inevitably, anger. It was gone in a flash, but the damage was done.

And now you sat on opposite sides of the Marauder, deliberately not looking at each other.

Omega was confused. She didn’t know. You’d never told her the truth about your history with her brother, and neither, apparently, had he. For some reason, that stung. You knew it made you a hypocrite, but at that particular moment, you didn’t care. 

There had been a brief instant, all those months ago, when you thought you were finally going to get him back. Discovering that he’d turned on the Empire had sent a fierce, hot stab of hope through your chest. And then… Eriadu. Ord Mantell. Hemlock.

Tech.

There had been no hope after that. Just months of endless, fruitless searching: crisscrossing the galaxy more times than you cared to think about, watching the faces you held dearest grow haggard and worn with grief and desperation, ignoring the way your reflection revealed the same about your own. 

And then, a miracle. You almost hadn’t believed Hunter when he told you Omega had commed him. But it had been true, and as she crashed into your arms, you’d felt nothing but unadulterated, transcendent joy. 

All of which collapsed like a puppet with cut strings the second he stepped off that ship.

So yeah, it was kriffing weird.

The jump to Pabu took a lifetime. Omega and Wrecker’s conversation filled the awkward silence, granting you a respite, at least for now. You glanced toward the cockpit, where Hunter piloted the ship silently. He, too, was wary of Crosshair, but the relief and elation of having Omega back was evident on his face, and it eased the ache in your heart to have your little family back together—at least, as much as possible. 

After several hours in hyperspace, Omega and Wrecker fell asleep, and the ship descended into silence. You took over for Hunter in the cockpit so he could get some rest, and for a time, piloting the ship pulled your thoughts away from the confrontation that you knew was inevitable. You just hoped it would wait until everyone else was off the ship.

A shadow moved at the edge of your vision, and you turned to see Crosshair settling into the copilot’s seat. He said nothing for a long while, and you refused to be the first to speak. The tension stretched like a thread of spider silk between the pair of you, binding you together: always on the verge of snapping, but never releasing either of you from its tangled bonds.

It had always been like this. Even when you were running for your life on the opposite end of the galaxy, you could feel the connection. Tenuous, frayed, but unbroken. And now he was here, sitting less than a meter from you, and it was unbearable.

Kriffing weird.

His voice, low and bitter, splintered the brittle stillness of the cockpit. “Gonna give me the silent treatment for the rest of your life?”

“Thinking about it,” you replied.

“It wasn’t like this last time.” 

He spoke quietly, barely loud enough for you to hear him over the hum of the hyperdrive. Wrecker and Omega slept on, but you had no doubt Hunter could hear, and you mentally cursed Crosshair for doing this in front of him.

“That was different.”

“Why?” he asked. “Because last time, you were the one who left?”

Stung, you gritted your teeth and punched in a minor adjustment to your route. “Because I never tried to kill you.”

“If I’d wanted that blaster bolt to hit you, it would have.”

“Cocky,” you muttered.

“Realistic,” he corrected.

You refused to answer, instead gazing out the viewport at the endless swirl of hyperspace. He was right, gods damn him, and you both knew it. But that still didn’t change the incontrovertible truth that he’d chosen the Empire over his own family. 

Over you. 

You’d made excuses for him, defended him to his brothers, pointed out that even Wrecker—even Rex—hadn’t been immune to the effects of the inhibitor chip. And then, when he had the chance to choose of his own free will, he picked them. How could he ever expect things to go back to the way they had been between you?

The cockpit descended once again into silence. Within minutes, Hunter’s deep, regular breaths that revealed he, too, had fallen asleep, leaving you and Crosshair alone in a fragile soap bubble of privacy. He waited for a response that never came. With a scoff, he turned away from you to watch the viewport, absently picking up his mug. His hand trembled, sloshing the hot tea on his skin, and he cursed under his breath. 

That was new. What the hell happened to him?

Before you could voice the question, he stood abruptly and stalked out of the cockpit, leaving you alone in the dim, flickering light.

It was midday on Pabu when the Marauder touched down, and a small crowd had gathered on the landing pad to welcome Omega home. You watched from the ship as Shep and Lyana, Phee, and several other islanders swarmed around the batch. Even from the distance, you could see the discomfort on Crosshair’s face, and you let out a grim, inaudible laugh. It wasn’t justice, but it was a start.

You remained on the ship to complete the post-flight protocols, and before long, the raucous sounds of the crowd faded away as the celebration migrated elsewhere—presumably to Shep’s home for one of his legendary feasts. You’d join them soon. For now, you just… couldn’t. Not yet. You finished your tasks and dropped into the pilot’s seat. With a heavy sigh, you leaned forward to rest your forehead in your palms, bracing your elbows on your knees and tunneling your fingers through your hair.

You weren’t sure how long you stayed like that. It could have been minutes or an hour. A soft footstep on the ramp brought you back into your body, and without looking to see who it was, you spoke.

“Not now, Crosshair.”

“Not Crosshair,” Hunter replied.

Surprised, you sat up. “I figured you wouldn’t let Omega out of your sight for the next… I don’t know… fifty years or so.”

“I can see her from here.”

You laughed. “Of course, you can.”

“She’s asking for you,” he said quietly. “You all right to come out?”

“I’m fine,” you snapped, not bothering to suppress your surge of irritation as he treated you like some breakable thing.

For everything that Crosshair had done, at least he’d never looked at you with that expression of concern, like he was afraid you were going to disintegrate in front of him. He knew you were more resilient than that, even when you didn’t believe it yourself.

Hunter’s jaw firmed. “You know you don’t have to—” He broke off with a sigh. “Fine. Yeah.”

Dank farrik, you wanted to needle him. You wanted to start a fight, to give yourself an excuse to vent the grief and the rage, the exhaustion and the frustration, the fear that had become your ever-present shadow over the past months. You wanted to see those eyes fill with anger instead of worry when he looked at you. But he didn’t deserve it. And he wasn’t the one your rage was truly directed at, anyway.

With a final, deep exhale, you stood and followed him down the ramp. The walk to Shep’s home was uncomfortably silent, but by the time you arrived, you’d wrestled your emotions sufficiently under control that you were able to muster an overly bright smile and shift into charming social butterfly mode. 

Crosshair hovered on the perimeter of the group, alternately keeping watch over Omega and glancing at you from the corner of his eye. Aware of his scrutiny, you allowed a few locals to get flirtier than you normally would as you mentally flipped him the bird.

The party went on for hours, stretching late into the night, until eventually, the crowd began to dwindle. Wrecker appeared to be exceptionally cozy with one of the locals who’d been his dance partner all night, while Hunter and Shep settled into a corner for a quiet chat. Omega and Lyana had long since passed out on their laps. 

You were kriffing exhausted.

Hunter’s eyes followed you as you slipped away. You could feel them on your back, and they only spurred you to walk faster as you made your way back to the Marauder. The night breeze off the ocean was cold, and you’d been too distracted and upset when you left the ship to remember to put on a jacket. Hugging your arms around yourself, you hurried through the dim streets of Pabu up the hill to the landing pad. Once you were safely inside the ship and the hatch sealed behind you, you slumped against it, then slid gradually down to the floor.

The Marauder was dark and blessedly silent, and you stared vacantly into the shadows, waiting for the chaos in your mind to settle. Inhale, two, three, four. Hold, two, three, four. Exhale, two—

WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT?!

A murky shape loomed in front of you, and you flinched away with a hoarse curse, curling in on yourself protectively as your heart thundered and your lungs seized in terror.

“It’s me,” Crosshair said, resting his hand on your wrist. “It’s just me.”

“Cross.” His name tore out of you with a sob, and you buried your face against his shoulder, clinging to him while the galaxy tore itself to pieces around you.

His arms wrapped protectively around your body as he cradled the back of your head in his hand. You could feel him shaking, but then again, you were shaking, too—trembling so hard it felt like your skin couldn’t contain you. 

Breathe, breathe, just breathe, it’s all right, you’re not back there again, it’s not real.

“I have you,” he whispered. “I’m right here.”

“I know,” you choked out. “I have you, too.”

His arms tightened around you, and very slowly, you began to relax as your panic ebbed, and a feeling of safety you hadn’t experienced since the end of the war settled over you. How long had it been since you’d allowed anyone to hold you like this? Since he’d allowed anyone to hold him? How long had you ached to feel him again, to have him in your arms, to breathe his familiar scent and listen to the beat of his heart? 

Too long. Far too long. 

You wanted to crawl into him, to press yourself against his body until not a molecule of air separated you from him. It was impossible to be close enough. 

“You’re freezing,” he murmured.

“I’m all right,” you lied through chattering teeth.

He exhaled a silent laugh. “Of course you are.”

He didn’t bother to argue, just gathered you up, stood, and guided you to the nearest bunk. He stole the blankets off the rest of the bunks and climbed in after you. The space was narrow, but it wasn’t the first time you’d shared it, and it felt like the most natural thing in the world for him to lie on top of you and wrap his arms securely around your body. 

Tucking your cold nose into the crook of his neck, you whispered, “You know I’m still gonna yell at you, right?”

“Obviously,” he replied, his lips brushing softly on your earlobe. “Tomorrow.”

The warmth of his breath, the touch of his lips—stars, it’s been so long. You found yourself softening beneath him, not intentionally, but without hesitation. His mouth moved lower to taste your skin as his hand slipped beneath the hem of your shirt and grazed up your side. 

“Yeah,” you breathed. “Tomorrow.”

---

Want more Crosshair? Here’s some spice and some fluff.

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[dogbites-puppylove]

Hello! I hope you're well.

Can you do a Damian Wayne x Male reader oneshot? Based on the song "Stacy's Brother" by Mad Tsai.

Damian finds out that Male reader is the little brother of [Big! Sister].

Then Damian decides to approach [Big! Sister], in jobs, projects, etc. All this to get closer to Male reader.

Maybe a sporty, extroverted and clumsy Male reader?

I can't get it out of my head that Male reader is somewhat nervous about being around Damian due to Damian's personality and the fact that he is taller than M!r doesn't help.

Also, Can I be anon 🛸?

Male! Reader x Damian

TW: description of yandere mentalities and actions (obsession, possessive tendencies, stalking, etc)

Tags: Yandere! Damian Wayne x Reader

Solitude is preferable to irritants for Damian, so to prove useful enough to be a contact of his is difficult. He’s an heir first and a human second,this is fact, every thought he has is spent towards a goal, and every goal to another's gain - this is the natural state of his operations. Much like a king's pristine puppet he is a glorified prize that must maintain itself. If he meets his darling through a sister or really any family member not of his own, the darling has no backing to stand. Simply and utterly he is beneath nothing to Damian - and maybe that's how he got trapped. 

Contacts from his mother provide lethal abilities, contacts from his father are useful and cut throat -expectation and criteria create his world brick by brick - everything has its place of necessity. A contact form outside this world is easy to push off - it's useless and creates nothing but problems for him - but his Darlings sister is needed and to maintain relations he must come to know Darling - so he takes to this as a bat. The Darling is a lesion, a bleeding pus addled wound in his world of rules and he must get you to heal - it's a clinical and medical perspective. He is his own greatest triumph and Darling are the termites that are picking at his puppet strings. 

Diagnosis comes from close observation- and he needs to be perfect to complete his tasks. You are stalked and detailed without mercy - without decorum, for the first few months you aren't even human. Damian takes a while stalking him, perching on the ceiling and staring through windows - devouring every image with curiosity. Like a dog lapping at its bleeding wounds - Damian tends to him with hypothesis and obsessiveness  - laving over him with his tongue until he’s all that he can taste. Every detail is crucial - every twitch of his muscle under his skin and every time his drops of drool on his pillow in the throes of the Darlings sleep. 

It begins with details and ends with praises and reverent prayers - what used to be details of something he needed to heal became the height of his worship. Damian slips from the king's grasp and becomes a tumbling mess of flash and singing blood  - the para social relationship nurses itself into an infection. 

Sporty? Good, keeping himself in shape is the least of the training that his Darling needs to do in order to stay safe in Damian’s own shadows. Not to say he’d ever let anything touch his darling but it's crucial to keep him in good shape. Paranoia runs in his blood - it's how survival is formed, it's passed on heirloom. 

Extroversion is hardly a trait he is foreign to - in fact it's perfect that his Darling seems to seek out others in social situations. As his other half, his humanity given flesh - it's obvious he would have the skills to express it. 

So what if he’s clumsy? It's simply the innocence of untarnished life showing through - Damian has none left - not even in the hollows of his bones - but his darling can make up for it. To him it's an even trade - like heaven and hell to the spirits that pass. 

After sufficiently gathering all he can from the window - it's only so long before he reaches in. He needs you - from the wound is born an infestation and Damian is sick with it - it fills his orifices and body and mind until Darling infect his brain. He won’t blame you for it - how could he - but you’ll have to take responsibility. 

Your sister is a means to an end - from the beginning of her contact to the time he uses her as a ticket into your life. He blows up her phone, her email, her everything - it's intensive and consuming and he won’t stop even if she answers. He needs you awfully, horribly to the point he might bleed out if he doesn't have his hand on your skin. She tries once to pull away - for her youngest brother's sake - she wakes up with a katana and a whispered warning to her ear. She does not try again. Sometimes you can see her eyeing you from the other side of the room with something like an apology on her face. 

Sharing a gender orientation gives him easier access to you - into bathrooms, locker rooms, and a sort of social intimacy that society gives leeway. It's not overly suspicious as he leaves an arm on you - seeks you out - it's what friends do. You're both boys so there's nothing to be shy about Darling. 

Of course he makes you nervous - ha can’t blame you - he's a trained assassin and you're all but a civilian but he’d never harm you. Never dream of it, even, to harm you would be his death. But it doesn't stop his eyes that are far too familiar for a stranger, nor the offsetting way he accommodates you so easily - as if he knows you better than yourself. As if he’s a worm in your brain and was wriggled so far it's made its home - a parasite. It sets you on edge - pulls at your skin until your organs and bones and he still needs to go deeper. 

Author's Note: Hi anon! I don’t actually have a cohesive list of anons but if you want to identify yourself with emojis i'm all for it :)). Also - my writing in general doesn’t incorporate gender a lot but I hope this is ok. 

[bl00dlight]

A Song of Shadow & Flame

CANON Dark! Aemond Targaryen x OC niece Targaryen. | SERIES

All NSFW warnings apply in future chapters.

Word Count ~ 3.5k+

Index

i ● ii ● iii ● iv ● v ● vi ● vii ● viii ●ix ● x ● xi ● xii ● xiii ● xiv ● xv

vii ~ 'Lord of the Tides'

129 AC

VISENYA - DRAGONSTONE

The sky above was grey, as it always was upon Dragonstone. The air thick and cloying, the inescapable stench of salt, smoke and brimstone filled the lungs of all who dared cross upon its stormy threshold. It was always warm here, clammy - even when it rained.

I oft found solace, riding high over the plains of ashen volcanic rock. The sulphuric steam stinging my skin as I let my dragon take me high upon Dragonmount. There I let myself venture upon its edges, discarding my boots and feeling the jagged stone beneath my feet. I enjoy feeling how it cuts and presses into my skin, sometimes I leave bloodied and limping. Though it feels good, feels righteous to have my blood dried upon its rocks, ritualistic. Just as I claimed Silverwing, I shall claim this island as my own one day.

I watch as Silverwing scurries into the large cavern etched into the side of the mountain. She oft goes there, for that is why Vermithor can be found lazing. It is a strange sight, seeing two beasts which strike such fear into the hearts of men, so affectionate with each other. I too have found comfort in their embrace, often falling asleep aside the two beasts as a child, usually as they coiled. My father, Daemon would be the one to find me, to scoop me in his arms and return me to Dragonstone.

Vermithor had taken a liking to me, he was an aloof beast - distant. Yet it was my bond with Silverwing which softened his gaze upon me, allowing me to sit by them both under the torch light, reading. Silverwing had always been the most gentle of the elder dragons, tentative to my thoughts and whims. I needn't say many commands, for she already knows my desires. Many found it odd I had claimed her over Vermithor, thinking his temperament was more aligned with my own. In some ways, I wish I had. There was something terribly revealing about claiming such a docile dragon. Something vulnerable, as though it revealed my own heart to others without any need for confession.

This was my home, not King's Landing - city of piss and rotting teeth. Dragonstone was a place of magic; I can feel it simmering in the air and ground. Sense it when I place my palm on the rocks. That low humming of the hearth of Valyria, of the Targaryen's. Many find it to be a grim place, akin with Harrenhal - though mystified with blood magic instead of a curse.

But it is that which drives me to it, my heart doesn't fear it's darkness nor its danger. For I know within it, for those truly of the blood of the dragon - its darkness is merely there so that our fire may burn brightly. A cocoon of warmth. It is not like the emptied and sullen corpse of Harrenhal, no, Dragonstone is full - it is alive. So, it came as no shock to my mother that I had forfeited my claim to the throne, opting to rule Dragonstone instead and allow my brother, Jacaerys to be her heir.

The realm deserves a King of a kind and just nature; that is not me. My temper burns too hot, and I have no desire to be pulled as a puppet on a string. I have no taste for politics, nor can bear the burden of pleasing the faith. In that regard, I am much like my father, and he was not meant for the throne either.

Daemon, of course was outraged by this notion and doubled down, claiming my willingness to give up the throne proved I was fair enough to sit upon it. But I know that is not true, for if it were - my mother would have refused me. At first, of course she protested but came to see that my heart lies here, not in court. And I shall continue our line, where our House belongs and I shall raise my brothers Viserys, Aegon iii and any child I might have here - amidst the ash and warmth.

My mother has been generous in her patience of me, and my father overjoyed with the notion that I have not wed yet. They are letting me decide who is worthy, and I still have made no choice. Marriage is to be political yes, but I cannot bare marrying and laying with a man I feel little for. I wish to have what my mother and father have, but there is an unlikely chance it seems.

The most promising match's hail from House Stark and Blackwood. Though neither of which please me greatly. In truth, I had wished to marry as mother did, to a Targaryen, to have an ancestral wedding too. Though it seems the God's did not write such a thing within my fate. So, in turn, I wait. I wait to see just where this path of what has felt like endless girlhood shall end. I am but eight and ten, still no marriage or children to speak - some have suggested that I shall take after my great Aunt Saera Targaryen. In truth such a life sounds rather pleasing; fucking lovers then taking off to Lys, pretending to be a maiden to exploit patrons of pleasure houses. Only difference being I would not have to pretend at first.

As I made my way across the stones, I noted the sky dimming slowly, twas time I return home. Even for a Targaryen, nights on Dragonmount can be treacherous. It was no surprise to me that upon my return, more news of dramatics at King's Landing filled my ears. Luke's legitimacy was being called into question as heir to Driftmark by Vaemond Velaryon, on account of Lord Corlys' sudden illness. Of course, we were to be dragged to the capital for his trial. Despite the matter being settled already, it seemed those sniveling Hightower’s were to reconsider claims that had already been declared by King Viserys, though it was no surprise either to hear how my grandsire had deteriorated in years passing. A part of me longed to visit from time to time, though I knew why mother had to leave. Why it was impossible to stay amongst those dens of vipers.

I sat in Lucerys room, my hand entwined with his as he sat upon his bed. The both of us watching as Jace paced back and forth, ranting and muttering.

"Tis an outrage... how can Grandsire let this stand!" Jace paused and turned to us, his face curdled.

"I... do not know." I say softly, contemplating his words.

Jace's face hardens, he scoffs and turns to where Lucerys and I both sit. His finger pointed directly at me," We should not have spent such time away from King's Landing. Mother ought to have trusted us to face them!"

"She has been rather busy brother, rearing us. Tis not her job to entertain the Hightower’s wicked lies and let us spend our lives defending ourselves against them." I can only shake my head at my younger brother's fierce words. For I know he is brave and true, at times Jace can be too stern for his own good.

Jace purses his lips and turns to look upon the view of the bay. I can tell he has no argument against me, so I smile softly and turn my attention to my other brother, who nestles himself upon my shoulder.

"They aren’t lies though... are they?  Even the Velaryon’s think it so. " The silence is broken as Luke's soft voice fills his chamber. His head rising from my shoulder as Jace turns once more.

“Ser Vaemond does not speak for the Sea Snake, brother…” I said, gently brushing his dark hair from his eye.

“But he speaks the opinion many seem to share.” Luke mutters lowly.

 I turn my head to Jace, and both our gazes interlock as we struggle to confirm what our younger brother already knows. The silence continues, and then, Jace steps forward, his tone proud and measured.

"It matters not what they say. The only relevant truth is the fact we are Targaryen's and that Grandsire, and the Sea Snake supports yours and all our claims." Jace beckons, giving Luke a small smile. We both exchange another look before I watch as Jace turns, making his way towards the window once more.

In the corner of my eye, I can see how Luke’s face curdles with discomfort, I turn my head and give him a gentle nod, “You worry too much. All will be well in time.”

“There is much to worry about. I… I do not feel I am right to rule Driftmark, mayhap they are right to challenge me. I know nothing of commanding a fleet.” His dark eyes lower themselves to the ground, Lucerys frowns softly and I can’t help but pull his chin up so that he might look into my eyes once more.

“What do any of us know of our future duties, brother? What does Jace know about protecting the realm, or I about ruling Dragonstone? That is for us to uncover in time. Fuck the treacherous webs our enemies spin, they have their own wants… desires that tempt them. We need not listen, for once we sit upon our thrones their voices shall be too quiet to even hear.” As I let go of his chin, I found the excitement in my tone again. Lucerys face shifts to chuckle quietly and I do the same, he nods giving me a soft glare before rising to his feet to speak with Jace.

I take a moment to gaze upon my two brothers, to see them now growing into men… when it felt like only a moment ago they were mere boys before me. To see how their temperaments became more distinct by the day, gave me a sense of relief for our futures. They were good and brave, it seemed such were rare traits in times such as these. Their dark hair gleamed bronze in the sunlight for a moment, and I was filled with a warmth, a love that I couldn’t quite explain. Though yes, they were my mother’s sons – at times it felt like they were just as much my baby’s as they were hers. How I had held each one upon their birth and ran my fingers across their fat cheeks when they were babes. How, now as they grew into men it was the hard bone of their jaws my fingers would feel beneath them. Such sentiments made my stomach coil with a grief for our youth, for the innocence I felt was being chipped away at by the day. Yet now, seeing them before me, they still appear as the small boys I once held so close, and I knew it would not be very long until I had to let them go.  

●

The trip to King’s Landing was but a short one on dragonback and the Princess Visenya indeed watched her earthly surroundings go from smoky wonders of Dragonstone to the dust filled haze of the capital. She practically felt her stomach reel from the mere thought of the familiar stench, and after leaving Silverwing in the Dragonpits it came as a surprise to all her family that upon their arrival to the Red Keep, none from their own House were there to greet them. Only Lord Caswell appeared before Princess Rhaenyra, approaching her with an understanding gaze. Of course, Alicent and her peculiar spawn would not show the decency of kin, for they weren’t. Not truly. Perhaps by blood, but it seemed that made matters worse given the context of the Blacks return. Still, Visenya thought, it had been six years since last they saw the rest of their family. Six years since the night on Driftmark which led to an even greater rift… six years since he had lost his-

“Sister!” Jacaerys snapped his finger before her face, snickering at the dazed Princess.

Visenya looked up from her entranced gaze, realising she had been staring at the ground below, she looked around to see the bustling of carriages and servants around her. The Princess shifted to her two half-brothers, Jace and Luke standing before her. The glimmer of Rhaenyra and Daemon’s silver hair disappearing into the darkness as they made their way into the keep.

“Mother and Daemon are to have an audience with Alicent, and it seems none of the Hightower’s have made time in their day to greet us. We are on our own.” Jace scoffed, folding his arms as he cocked his head.

Visenya raised her brow, nodding as she began to walk, “Tis a blessing really. I do not wish to ruin such a beautiful day with the look of their sullen faces.” Her head turned as Jace and Luke followed alongside her.

“They did all seem rather grey didn’t they?” Jace jested, chuckling to himself.

The three young Targaryen’s continued forth, making their way up the stairs from the middle bailey and into the halls of the Keep. Visenya spoke once more.

“I’d imagine all the years of conspiring and prayer has meant for little time in the sun. They likely appear as corpses now.” The Princess hollowed her cheeks as she gave a wink to Luke, winning a small giggle from him.

Once they had reached Maegor’s Holdfast, the siblings had branched off, returning to settle in to their childhood chambers. As Visenya reached hers a wave of bitter nostalgia washed over her, she let her fingers glide upon the stone walls observing how it had been kept so similar yet… different to how she had left it. Naturally, she had taken her belongings with her but the furniture and the deep crimson bedding. Yes, it had been left just as it was. Her eyes scanned the room, taking in the freshly lit candles, the small dish of water and soap which sat in a silver tray upon her vanity, a small rag draping over the chair. Visenya smiled, knowing the servants had remembered such preferences of hers. Near her bed, sat the small trunk of the few belongings she’d brought from Dragonstone. Upon the mattress itself, lay the scarlet gown and matching slippers.

She sat upon her bed, taking in the smell of damp and mildew. The air around her was quite cold, though a fire crackled. It was likely her chambers had not been used since her departure, from the smell of it – it seemed to not have been cleaned very often either. She settled in, and soon found herself sitting at her old vanity. Admiring how she had grown, how the last time she gazed into this mirror she was but a girl.

The princess had indeed grown vigorously as the years passed. Much like her parents it seemed she had inherited both the mind and body of a dragonrider. Imposing, her body had become – not only to others but to herself. Her form Junoesque, unyielding in its femininity as her hips and breasts were among the first thing to develop suddenly. It seemed almost overnight she had no longer fit into the clothing she once freely adorned, her body changing, aching even. The first time she had gotten her moonblood felt like a life sentence for Visenya, as no more did she feel the same kind of unawareness of her body. The princess had felt like she was now very much a prisoner to her newly found womanhood, she seldom understood why such changes were needed. Why every moon her belly would swell, growing heavy and coil with pain, how she would have to crawl to her mother’s quarters and lay by her side simply to reassure such things were normal. Though, as the years had gone by, she adjusted to such feeling, relished that the pain she felt at times was proof of her fortitude. That no man could endure such sufferance so frequently.

Visenya marveled at her sun-kissed skin, the way her silver hair gleamed now that it had grown even longer than her mothers. She kept it loose, unbound; for she relished in letting her body grow as it pleased, there was no use in taming herself; her hair included. Indeed, did the Princess enjoy herself – for no matter how beautiful a man thought her to be, it was herself which she wished to appease the most. The Princess was strict regarding her standards, unwavering that she would be dressed in the finest gowns, and smell of the richest scents the realm had to offer. Whether it was silk from Dorne or perfumed oil from Lys – she simply refused to lead a life without such beauty within it. Some may think it shallow or indulgent, but Visenya knew it was merely her lust for life which drove her towards such luxuries. She wished to experience everything, wished for a life of sensuality and passion. There was no grey cloud in her sky that was without a silver lining, for she would not accept much less than satisfaction. After all, there was so much suffering in the realm, so much ugliness and brutality. She owed it to every poor soul who died so terribly, to live life as it ought to be lived. Indulging and embracing pleasure and beauty in every way, for so few had the opportunity to.

Such mentality, did however, lead her at times to indulge in the filtrations of men and despite Visenya’s bravado, she was gentle at heart - oft stringing men along rather than shatter their dreams of winning her favor. Such is exactly what her father had told her worried him before their arrival to King’s Landing. He spoke of how difficult it was stopping his inclinations to assault the few men he might find leering at her at Dragonstone. King’s Landing, however, was a different beast and Prince Daemon had no doubt he would be combatting an endless sea of men who might have more lecherous ideas. He had spoken sternly about keeping to herself, not drawing attention to herself beyond what would already be given. That if any man were to approach her, she would deny him.

The Princess of course, found her father’s worry amusing, the few times she had entertained men had only ever ended up with innocent mischief being made, and at times drunken affections… which were oft less innocent in nature.  But she was no fool as to lose her virtue before marriage, for she knew how such a thing impacted her mother and she had promised herself that her virtue was a pleasure in itself. That there is beauty in saving herself for the truest, purest of loves, as there is beauty in indulging in fleshly pleasure. Visenya was positive no man would attempt to accost her in such a manner, for if they did they would face the wrath of her mother and of course the looming threat of her rumoured father, Prince Daemon.

As she prepared herself to leave, she peeled the thick, black riding leathers from her frame, cringing at the particular scent of sweat and dragon that ruminated from them.  Visenya then doused the rag in the bowl of water, using the soap to scrub at any and all places which eluded to such a scent. Soon, she had changed her undergarments, and drew the scarlet shaded gown over her frame; it’s sleeves long and elaborate, intwining string which laced across her structured shoulders. Visenya then pulled a small vile of perfumed oil, from her trunk, dabbing it upon her skin and threading it through her hair. The contents of which filled the room with the smell of heady jasmine and musk, a recent gift from a nobleman in Lys.

As she left her chamber, she was accosted by Jace and Luke. Who swiftly grabbed her wrist pulling her along the corridors as they babbled about going back to the middle bailey to re visit where they trained as children.

 Once they reached those fateful steps, they let go and waved for her to join them in a busy yard below..

“Come. You can watch.” Jace beckoned, Luke stopping upon the steps to look up towards her.

Visenya shook her head, leaning against stone banister upon the mezzanine which overlooked the commotion below. The Princess cocked her head to the side, “I’ve just changed… I have little intention of getting myself filthy once more.”

“Of course…” Jacaerys shook his head, rolling his eyes as he let out an amused scoff, “Suit yourself then.”

With that, the two boys trotted down the steps, and Visenya looked upon the bustling yard below.  She watched with a hearty smile as her brothers made their way towards the wooden weaponry stand, Jace playfully swinging one of the swords at Lucerys. However, she noted the few people who glared at her brothers and the whispering that occurred in their presence. A slight anger rose in her belly, do these fat old Lord’s and Lady’s have little else to do but gossip?

She waited until a pair had noticed Visenya’s scowling from above, and smiled smugly when swiftly they turned their heads and went about their business. A small gathering had distracted the Princess, as it seemed there to be an on going sparring session in the far corner of the yard. The whipping of long silver hair catching her attention, and she noticed how her brothers had soon caught wind of the action, joining the crowd below.

The silver haired figure was lithe with lean thew and a tall frame all tightly contained in black leathers. He swiftly jostled the sword in his hand with a fine precision, but her eyes caught a familiar sight, that it was Ser Criston whom the figure dueled against. A cunt, though he may be, but a talented fighter indeed.

Criston swung his Morningstar, shattering the figure’s shield. He’s done for. Visenya thought. However, she raised her brow in intrigue as the figure discarded his shield with fierce aggression and then began striking. Perhaps not. She thought again, impressed by his fortitude. One after the other, a flash of steel and light locks before he ducked and turned – it was then when she felt her heart practically fall into her chest. The figures face sharp and aquiline, his skin pale… too pale. That familiar grey.

It was the black eye patch which was tightly fastened over his right eye which gave it away.

Aemond.

He continued on, fighting harshly and fiercely against Cole before finally, winning the duel. Visenya looked at her brothers below, hearing Aemond’s voice mutter something to them both as he had finally acknowledged the two young Princes’. Though something had told her, Aemond was well aware of their presence. Jace looked up at Visenya pleadingly, and it came as no surprise then when she looked back, she noticed Aemond’s gaze follow her brothers upwards.

For what could have only had been a second, they clocked each other. The Princess felt her eyes widen, shock, fear, anger, intrguie, digust; any and all emotion flooding through her in those fateful seconds. He noticed her, he took her in. He knew it was her. She tussled her hair back and looked away, pretending as though she hadn't recognized him.

Aemond narrowed his eye upon the Princess, scanning her briefly. He had only gazed upon her for a second, he tilted his head as if he was contemplating something before his attention was drawn to the incoming drawing of the heavy gates.

Visenya steadied her breath and watched as the gates opened with a heavy moan. If only to make matters worse, the arriving party was another headache in itself... Vaemond Velaryon.

○viii○

[vellichor-of-the-solivagant]

Extra: The Night Before Rio De Janeiro

Task Force 141, Keegan & Konig x Female Criminal!Reader

Previous Chapter / Masterlist

Hunters who are forever hunted, always time-counting.

Often, they dream of drowning.

Water dyed in crimson, they found themselves sinking in.

They felt like puppets, crimes stuffed like cotton within. 

Ordered by a man behind a desk, their burdens grow.

Pulled by the string master behind the show.

Living in the darkness of night.

A sacrifice without a name nor a shed of light.

Nocturne of their nightmares continues, lasting and drawn.

Through each fire they make, the heart begins to wan.

Sinners who have taken others’ mantles of transgressions.

None are sentenced guilty in their visions.

A ghost, set out, shrouded in the mists of their deeds to catch another ghost.

Pray tell, oh, one who stand unmoving from their post.

Draw the curtains, which is the good you perceive?

Rather than good, which is the lesser evil you believe?

Anointed demon inhibiting other demons.

Group of people, neither good nor bad, for reasons.

On the clock, in this endless cycle of hunting, everyone hides scars.

Never linger, regardless, further into the shadows on a night without stars.

Such as your time would cease to continue

The Night Before the Mission in Rio De Janeiro

Jonathan Price scanned you from head to toes, making you tilt your head to the side and raise your brow. He kept his eyes on you for a minute, before he let out a sigh. “You surely know how to keep my boys entertained,” he spoke in a low voice, grabbing a handgun suspended on the wall. You watched him step into the range and aim at the target meters from where he stood.

“I guess, we vibe?” You answered, unsure of your words, and snatched a copy of his gun. You walked into the range and stood beside him, raising both of your arms as you gripped with comfort and fired. “I mean, your boys are good at making conversations. I, being talkative depends on—”

“Tell me,” he shot a bullet straight into the middle of the target, making the loud noise cut you off, “why did Shepherd bring you to us?”

You stared at the bullseye he just made. “For more manpower—” you stopped as he turned to you with the gun aimed at your forehead. “Uh, what’s this for, sir?” You dropped your arms down to your side.

“You are not normal,” he declared, finger staying on the trigger. “You don’t flinch with a gun on your head. Shepherd refers to you as a tool.”

You rolled your eyes and clicked your tongue. “He believes what he believes. He says what he says. That’s his weakness and, it should be your weapon.” You let your gun drop with a thud on the floor, making his eyes flicker down at your feet for a second before his attention locked on you. 

“And why should I listen to you?”

“Because in the long run, you will need me.” You smiled. “Time is running out. Emperor is rising.”

He narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean?”

You pointed a finger up. “His first target will be the golden eagle who soars in the sky, his shadow hounds, and those who take one for one.”

Price scoffed. “Yes, you are making sense right now.” He returned your smile, but it quickly dropped as the nozzle of his gun met your skin. “Who the fuck is targeting us, and why do you know about this?”

“I am the one the Czar calls his princess.”

The Captain’s eyes widened.

A black sheep of the herd, branded a criminal under the eyes of the one who has declared to make people pay their Price.

Yet, not only the Ghosts of the past hunt down what had gotten away, slipped away like grains of sand from their hands.

A man, obedient of the time, an emperor of his ideals seeks to bring the black sheep into his arms.

Will the Shepherd who had captured the sheep be able to keep it?

Will the other take back what was his?

Was the black sheep truly what it seems?

Or was it a wolf who brings snapdragons everywhere it goes?

Next Chapter / Archive of Our Own

Taglist: @yyiikes , @the-faceless-bride , @cassiecasluciluce , @annoyingstrawberryballoon @unicorngirly1, @thriving-n-jiving, @squidalapobre, @tallicaside @eustassh

[milkbobatyun]

for you, i'd do it all over again

pairing: illumi x reader

genre: angstober, events

summary: you loved illumi, to the extent that you would destroy yourself, work yourself to the bone, with the silver of hope that he would look at you with love in his gaze, but does he ever?

word count: 904

a/n: finally wrote an illumi fic for you @nfekwefdskldm, some creds to you, (¬_¬") *big sigh from me* "miss skibidi rizzler @nfekwefdskldm" for giving me inspo for the last part (smw save me i was held at gun point to say this)

his nen was overpowering, stifling the breaths lingering in your chest. blood ran down your forehead, the scarlet liquid of life streaming from the shallow cuts all around your body.

illumi’s tall figure loomed over your crumpled body, his gaze cold and unfeeling.

“you’re weak.” his emotionless voice echoed around the chamber, the light catching and reflecting off of his golden shiny needles, peeking from his fingers.

“get up.” he ordered, voice sharp and unyielding, as though failure to comply was not an option.

your limbs felt like lead, weighing you down as your muscles screamed in protest. the love, no, the fear you had of him gnawed at your insides, threatening to crush your resolve.

despite the pain, you placed your shaking hands onto the ground, pushing against the cold stone floors of the training room. you were fighting to stay awake. after all, no ordinary person could fight for 36 hours straight, without sleep.

slowly and painfully, you forced yourself to your feet, fire smoldering behind your eyes, defiant and ready.

“good,” he murmured, face unchanging. this wasn’t praise. it was merely a comment, an expectation. it was a requirement that you finished this intensive training before you went onto your mission.

and so, you stood, shaky but upright, facing the twisted monster before you, the one that your heart held true to, knowing that he only saw you as a puppet on a string, not his lover.

the mission had been long and intense, you stalked your prey day and night, sleepless, driving by the hope of going home to illumi. you imagined him, waiting in the foyer of the mansion, despite the ungodly hour of night, impatiently hoping for you to get home, so he could wrap you in a warm, comforting hug.

the poison surged through your veins, a biting pain that kept you awake as you trudged up the mountainous path. you clung to the miniscule shard of hope, that he would be waiting for you. something, anything to make this suffering worthwhile. you had sacrificed many things to be with illumi. your friendships, your family, your self-esteem. all of it, now lost because of your selfish love for this man.

with aching arms, you pushed open the heavy gates, panting for breath. your vision was swimming and you felt nauseous, but you pushed on. home was only a few paces away.

a flash of white hair appeared from the corner of your eye. killua had come to greet you.

“you look terrible,” he commented, nose scrunched in disgust, though his eyes reflected pity. “honestly, i dont see what you see in my brother.” he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “you’re better off with someone else.”

you forced a wry smile. the heart, you thought bitterly, is a foolish thing.

with a resounding creak, you swung the weighted doors of the mansion open, eyes squinting in the dimly light hallway. shadows danced across the walls, the flames of the candles their dance partner. your vision swam, sweat pouring down your forehead, the floor spinning under your feet.

“you’re home.” illumi’s voice rang out from the shadows. “report on your mission.”

you felt his cold, calculating eyes scan over you. a pause filling the air. you waited for something more—a hint of concern, a tinge of worry in his tone.

“never mind,” he dismissed, voice devoid of emotion as always, though you could detect a faint hint of impatience. not a hint of worry or pity. “come find me when you have cleaned up.”

with a flick of his long ebony hair over his shoulders, illumi turned on his heel, footsteps echoing down the hallway as he departed, leaving you alone in the vast foyer.

heaving a sigh, you slumped onto the floor, clutching your stomach as you fought back the urge to throw up onto the carpet. the poison multiplied the pounding headache ten-fold, as you collapsed into yourself, but worse still was the ache in your heart—the slow, consuming burn of disappointment, sadness, rejection that not even sleep and rest could fix.

you could work yourself to the bone, bleed yourself dry, rip your heart out and present it to him on a silver platter, but nothing—nothing—could make him turn and look at you with a shred of love in his soulless eyes.

you used to find solace in the quiet moments with illumi, but now they suffocated you, tainted by the thought of him. he draws you like a moth to a flame, companionship morphing into ugly manipulation, eating away at your sanity.

you see his presence everywhere—the flickering lights, the air that thickens around you. each encounter tightens the noose around your neck, your laughter turning hollow, joy a distant memory.

days blur into nights, sleep slipping through your fingers like sand. and yet, you find yourself in his room, conversing with the devil who kept you awake, every revelation another thread unravelled, each response from illumi twisting your words, feeding on your vulnerabilities.

you’ve lost sight of who you are, now merely a dried out husk. the noose is tightening, choking you with illumi’s influence, whispering your name, sending chills down your back.

you find yourself losing, fading, in this dance of control, voluntarily following illumi as he manipulated you, trapped in a nightmare disguised as a dream, as illumi watched your life slip away, numbness enveloping you in its cold embrace.

taglist (open): @yeonjunsfox, @nfekwefdskldm

∧,,,∧ ( ̳• · • ̳)  © curated with love by milkbobayun 2024 / づ ♡

[sunseed-fandump]

I can only imagine what would happen once Shadow Milk’s weaved story of lies and manipulation on the kids breaks. It’d definitely happen somewhere around Beast Yeast (presumably around the point when Lily seals him back into the tree) where either two scenario’s happen: 1. The kids are left completely helpless and distraught once Shadow Milk’s influence is gone and Pure Vanilla, Lily, with the help of Chili and Custard take the kids through a “healing arc” of sorts or 2. The kids immediately run away from the Faerie Kingdom and stay with the CoD in a similar fashion to the Chess Choco’s from Ovenbreak which causes the manipulation cycle to continue..

You’re right to assume everything comes to a head during Beast-Yeast.

The kids are so so happy for their Ringmaster! And of course Shadow Milk Cookie is sure to shower his little performers with plenty of praise. They’ve done SO well! He’s so so proud! And now that he’s out, he can give the kids a glimpse of that happy peaceful world he promised them!

But the cracks start to show. By this point, the kids have already had a few moments of doubt over the course of their journeys. However it’s when he starts puppeting the faeries when the kids start to get a sense of “maybe it’s not just my imagination”

The Circus is here! But nobody seems to actually be having any fun. There’s monsters and fighting and cookies getting hurt. This doesn’t look happy OR peaceful. This is just pure chaos.

And much to everyone’s surprise, when Shadow Milk commands the kids to take care of White Lily. They hesitate.

So the kids tell him. “This isn’t what we wanted” “Please stop hurting them, can’t we get along?” “I’m so tired, I don’t wanna fight anymore”

Well that wasn’t in the script, but! It’s no big deal.

After all that’s what puppet strings are for.

It takes the decisive swing of a sword from an unexpected ally to cut them free.

Post-Shadow Milk influence, the Kids would have memory problems since the Beast would frequently mess with their heads and redact certain events. They’ll heal and gain things back, but they’re going to be very skittish at first. Strawberry is going to be so stressed she basically bursts into tears whenever anybody who isn’t Gingerbrave or Wizard looks at her.

The kids kind of go back to that survival mindset they had before escaping the Witch; “everything wants to hurt you, don’t give them the chance.” So they’re constantly huddled up in corners trying to make themselves as small as possible, trying to figure what to do. Where do they even go from here? What’s going to happen to them?

It’s scary. Luckily they’re surrounded by good cookies now.

[lunarmoves]

in the aftermath of the pizzaplex's fire and your acquisition of a new roommate, you had yet to grow accustomed to a little... quirk of theirs that you hadn't expected to arise: their need to be in the same room as you all the time.

which wouldn't be a problem in itself if it wasn't literally every. single. room. in your apartment.

"sun!" you snapped as you heard the telltale sound of your bathroom door creaking open over the pattering stream of your shower. you were pretty sure you'd locked it. "come on, again?! what did i say about privacy?"

you could see his silhouette emerge through your curtain, tall and slender. a huff escaped your lips as you peeked around its edge to see him standing in the fluorescent lighting of your bathroom. his hands were clasped together in front of his chest and his eyes immediately latched onto your face with a little twitch.

there was a small pause as you frowned at him. then he spoke with a mild inflection to his voice. "you were taking too long."

"sun," you said, exasperation thickly lining your words, "i was in here for barely five minutes."

his rays spun slightly to the left, eyes creasing as he squinted at you. "that's five minutes too long!"

you had to resist the urge to drag a hand down your face. sun only watched you, something ephemeral passing over his faceplate that you couldn't quite catch. you sighed and ducked back behind the curtain. "fine! stay there while i finish, please."

you knew from past experience that he wouldn't leave no matter how much you threatened him, so—utterly resigned as you were—you let him hang around as you sped through the rest of your shower. his shadow swayed side to side idly, gaze no doubtfully still latched onto the little gap where your curtain stretched desperately to reach the wall. you kept an eye on it just in case.

with a squeak of the faucet, you turned off the shower and squeezed out some of the water from your hair. then you reached out to grab your towel hanging from a hook just beyond the curtain, pulling it quickly towards you so you could pat yourself dry and wrap it around your body.

and with reluctance lining your fingers, you dragged the curtain to the side and blinked up at sun standing closer than before—hands twisting themselves together.

he grinned down at you, head bowed forwards. a white pupil stared down at you against a backdrop of indecipherable grey. "done?"

"yes," you huffed and reached out a damp hand to push against his chassis. he moved to the side with your ministrations as you stepped out of the bath and made to grab the clothes you'd set on the sink's counter. before you could, though, sun reached out a large hand and swept the bundle into his grasp.

you gave him the stink eye, but he only spun his rays eagerly at you. "allow me, friend!"

"fine, fine." you rolled your eyes and exited the bathroom, not bothering with the lights since sun would flick them off as he followed. you beelined straight for your room, your lithe sun-shaped shadow sticking closely behind you.

"just dump those in the hamper." you waved towards said hamper as you walked over to your dresser to start pulling out your pajamas.

"can do!" sun saluted and made his way over to it to toss your clothes inside. the bells attached to his wrists gave a little jingle as he did so.

you picked out a large shirt and tossed a glance at sun over your shoulder, where he stood in the middle of your room and watched you with those blank eyes of his. "remember what i told you, bud? give me literally two minutes to change."

sun swayed on his feet a little, a sort of unwillingness sticking to his wired frame. "but—"

"sun," you said in a way that left no room for argument. you pinned him with a serious look and pointed to the ajar door. "out."

like something straight out of a kid's cartoon, sun slumped forward, arms hanging loosely in front of him like a puppet cut from its strings. you had to suppress an eye roll at his theatrics. "heartbreak be my downfall in the end! oh woe is me!" you followed after him with a snort as he sighed loudly and turned slowly around to trudge out your room. "does love not sway your actions against me—"

"yeah, yeah," you interrupted him once he'd passed over the threshold of your bedroom and turned around to give you as much of a puppy-eyed look as he could for a seven foot robot. "two minutes, man."

before he could distract you again with some dramatic tirade, you shut the door in his face and locked it. for certain, this time. you eyed the knob, then trudged deeper into your room to go through your nightly routine. a glance at your door showed a shadow lingering just outside of it and you huffed quietly.

hair was dried, lotion was applied to your skin. you tugged your undergarments and pants over your legs before grabbing onto your shirt. and just as you were about to tug it on, you heard a faint click.

your gaze immediately snapped over to your bedroom door, and you had just enough time to throw your shirt on before a familiar face poked through the gap. rays spun impishly at you as you placed your hands on your hips and glared at the perpetrator. "dude, seriously?"

"two minutes were up!" sun replied defensively and stepped further into your bedroom. his grin was stretched wide over his face, gaze firmly cemented onto your own.

you pinched at the bridge of your nose. "sun. you really need to give me more privacy. i have boundaries and you need to respect them, okay? both of you." lord knew moon wasn't any better.

sun cocked his head at you, the quiet of your room disrupted only by a quiet whirr that came from his chassis. and there it was again—that look that glossed over his face too quickly for you to decipher properly. you shifted uncomfortably, damp hair sticking to the back of your neck.

"privacy," he mused quietly to himself. then, after the drop of a beat "we do not understand it."

"we have had this conversation before, i'm sure." you sighed with all the exhaustion of someone who had too much to deal with too soon.

"yes," he agreed easily, approaching your form closer until he stood mere feet away. a chill settled around you, accentuated by the way sun watched you attentively. "we still do not understand."

you opened your mouth to go through your usual spiel, but before you could, sun bent forward so that his face was level with your own. your jaw clicked shut as you were forced to stare into pinprick pupils threatening to drag you under.

"we do not understand," sun whispered, and the change was so stark that your heart stuttered in your chest. "we have given you all that we are and more," he mulled in a clipped manner, inscrutable. "bared ourselves to you. bent backwards at your every call and whim." his gaze pierced through you in an unyielding strike.

you pursed your lips together, something cold settling itself in your chest. "i didn't—"

but he cut across you before you could finish, his eyes widening in an intense stare that you had a difficult time uncovering where this was all coming from. his smile grew taut like a string about to snap.

"it is only fair you return the favor, friend."

[kymerawrites]

BROKEN PROMISES

Summary; After being betrayed by your own organization, you turn to Simon Riley for revenge. He welcomes you into his dark world with open arms, and you fall for his charm. However, Simon's love is conditional and manipulative, and he exploits your pain for his own gain. As you become a pawn in his sinister game, you discover that there is no happy ending with a man like him.

I never imagined I'd find myself standing on the other side of the law, but after being betrayed by my own organization, turning to Simon Riley for revenge seemed like the only option left.

The shadows of the dimly lit warehouse loomed around me as I waited for him, the man known only as Ghost. Every whispered rumor about his ruthlessness echoed in my mind, but the sting of betrayal from those I once trusted burned hotter. As his silhouette emerged from the darkness, a chilling sense of foreboding washed over me. This was a dangerous game I was about to play, but the hunger for vengeance had already consumed me.

"You're late," his voice was cold, yet mesmerizing, cutting through the silence like a knife.

"I had to make sure I wasn't followed," I replied, trying to mask the fear and uncertainty in my tone.

His eyes, hidden behind the skull-patterned balaclava, seemed to pierce through me, assessing, calculating. "And why should I trust someone who's just switched sides? How come I should trust someone like you kyla?" He said slowly

"Because," I said, stepping closer, "no one knows my former team better than I do. I can give you everything you need to destroy them."

A slow, menacing smile curved beneath his mask. "Very well, but remember, loyalty to me comes with a price."

That was the begin of something destructive and irreversible.

Days turned into weeks as I immersed myself in the underworld I once fought against. Ghost was true to his word ‘loyalty to him came at a steep price.’ I found myself entangled in a web of deceit, violence, and power plays, each day pulling me further from the person I once was. The revenge I sought came with unforeseen consequences, and the closer I got to Ghost, the more I realized how deep his darkness ran.

The first step into Ghost's world was like diving headfirst into a pool of shadows, each promise he made, each smile that tugged at his lips, was a carefully crafted act of manipulation. Despite the danger, I couldn't help but be drawn to him.

As time went on, I found myself falling deeper into his web of darkness, blinded by my desire for revenge and the subtle charm he wielded like a weapon. He played me like a puppet, each string tugged with calculated precision.

"You're not here to make friends, doll. You're not here to trust." That was something he'd say often

The late nights became a haze of alcohol fueled debauchery and shattered promises. Ghost's presence loomed over me, his voice a drug that sent my senses reeling. There were times when he'd hold me, his touch a mix of tenderness and possessiveness, just barely brushing the line of cruelty, as if testing my limits.

"You're mine," he'd whisper, his breath hot against my skin, "and I don't share my toys. Remember that."

As the nights bled into days, I found myself trapped in a cycle of torment. Ghost's love was a twisted, manipulative game of give and take, a constant battle for power. One day, he'd be gentle, his touch soft and soothing, the next a storm of passion mixed with cruelty.

"You're a distraction," he'd tell me, his eyes cold and devoid of all emotion. "You're a weakness I can't afford."

"Then why do you keep me around?" I once asked, the pain in my voice echoing through the room.

He'd turn his gaze to me, a flicker of something dark and dangerous in his eyes. "Because, doll, you're not just a weakness." He'd take a step closer, the air between us crackling with tension. "You're a toy I can't quite put down yet."

The days when his eyes would go cold and devoid of all life were the most torturous. He'd treat me like a mere tool, his touch harsh and biting, his words a barrage of insults and harsh truths.

"You're a liability, love," he'd say, his hands grasping my wrists, holding me against the wall. "You're nothing but a complication."

"I am not a complication!" I'd fight against his grip, my heart racing, my mind spinning from the clash of emotions.

He’d press closer, his body pinning me to the wall, the heat from his body making me shiver. A sinister smile would play on his lips, a cold gleam in his eyes. "Oh, but you are," he growl. "A beautiful, messy complication that I both hate and cannot get enough of."

I always felt the question, was this the right decision? Why did I ever resort to ally with our biggest enemy as an act of vengeance. The moment Simon layed eyes on me he knew he could have me in the palm of his hands, at his mercy.

Ghost had a way of sensing weakness and exploiting it, and he knew from the first moment he laid eyes on you that you were ripe for the taking. He could see the fire burning in your eyes, the fierce determination to seek revenge. He could see your vulnerability, the raw pain and anger lurking just beneath the surface.

With a sly smile, he'd reach out and gently caress your cheek, his touch both gentle and possessive. His voice would be a seductive whisper in your ear, "You came to me because you were desperate. You came to me because you had nowhere else to turn."

Ghost's words were a masterclass in manipulation, each one carefully calculated to mold you into what he wanted you to be. The sweet words were a honey trap, a temporary release from the harsh reality of your situation. The mean words were designed to chip away at your resolve, to remind you of your helplessness.

And the devoid and emotionless words were there to dehumanize you, to remind you that you were nothing more than a toy in his games. But it was the passionate words that were the most dangerous.

One evening he had an informant who posed as a driver for one of the other men in his gang on the floor, I knew him that was one of my old teammates, the moment he saw me he went mad, rampaging a lot of slurs and words which most couldn’t be made out

Ghost stood back, silently watching the scene unfold, a smirk on his lips. He enjoyed this, seeing the pain and suffering play out before him.

"Seems like you know him," he said casually, leaning against a wall.

My teammate went on to call me all the names in the book “you dirty lying bitch! I knew you would end up doing the wrong thing, oh I hope you’ll get mauled when the rest sees you when you have no where to hide anymore!” He screamed

I looked at him coldly and chuckled, my gaze darkened as I looked him in the eye “Simon, why do you let this nothing worth loser disrespect you, and me.. no one should disrespect you or his woman.. isn’t that right?” I smirked as I turned around to face Simon.

This was the first time I acted like this, like I belonged in this position, next to him. As if I was his backbone

Ghost's eyes widened slightly, a flicker of surprise in his gaze. He was not accustomed to seeing you take charge like this. You had always been the submissive one, the one following his lead, obeying his orders. But now, you stood there, exuding a confidence that he had never seen before.

A slow smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "My, my," he chuckled, his voice a low rumble. "Looks like someone's found their spine."

Simon walked towards the man, who was held down by 2 of his other man. Guns pressed to his side

The man's eyes widened in terror as Ghost sauntered towards him. The air grew tense, thick with the promise of violence.

Ghost came to a stop right in front of the man, looking down at him like a predator sizing up his prey. "You had a lot to say just now, didn't you?" he growled, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous tone.

"Insults, name-calling, threats... all pretty bold words for someone in your position." Ghost's lips curled into a sinister smile as he leaned down, his eyes locked on the man's terrified face.

"But you seem to forget," he whispered, his voice dripping with menace, "that I don't tolerate disrespect. Not towards me, not towards my people. And definitely not towards her." He gestured towards you with a nod.

The man's face paled as he realized his mistake. He had crossed a line by disrespecting you, and now he was facing the full wrath of Ghost.

"Please," he whimpered, struggling against the men holding him down. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean-"

Ghost cut him off with a sharp backhand to the face. "Too late for apologies," he snarled. "You had your chance to show respect, and you blew it."

Ghost had zero tolerance for disloyalty and disrespect, that much was clear. The former teammate who had once been part of your team now found himself on the wrong end of Ghost's wrath.

"You forget who you're talking to," Ghost growled, his eyes narrowing as he stared down at the man. "My word is law, and your words are nothing but trash."

Simon clicked his finger and told me to come, as I walked towards Simon he put a gun in my hand “prove to me that the reason you came to me wasn’t a lie. Prove to me you are loyal to me.” He said coldly

Your heart pounded in your chest as Ghost handed you the gun, his words ringing in your ears. This was it, the moment of truth. He wanted you to prove your loyalty, to show him that you hadn't made a mistake coming to him.

You took the gun, the cold, hard metal feeling unfamiliar in your hand. You looked up at Ghost, his eyes cold and calculating as they gazed at you.

"What do you want me to do?" you asked, your voice steady despite the fear that gripped you.

“Show ur revenge, show ur vengeance” he said leaving me to finish the job

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself as you aimed the gun at the trembling form of your former teammate. This was the moment you had ached for, the chance to exact your revenge on those who betrayed you.

Ghost watched you intently, his gaze unwavering as you stood ready to pull the trigger. His eyes were dark and emotionless, no trace of the man you had come to know during your time with him. This was the ruthless, coldhearted version of him, the one who expected total obedience and loyalty.

You felt the weight of the situation press down on you, the lives of other people in your hands. But Ghost's command echoed in your head, demanding that you prove your loyalty to him.

With one last deep breath, you steadied your aim and pulled the trigger, ending the life of a man who was part of the betrayal.

Your heart pounded in your chest as the smoke cleared, the room falling silent. You had done it, you had taken revenge on one of the people who had betrayed you.

Ghost watched you silently, his eyes locked on yours. He nodded slowly, a hint of approval in his eyes. "Well done," he said quietly. "You certainly proved your loyalty to me."

Ghost's touch was gentle yet possessive as he cupped your cheek, his eyes tracing over your face. There was a hint of something dangerous in his gaze, a dark thrill that stirred within him. He motioned for his men to leave, and as the room cleared, he leaned in close to you.

"There's a place I want to take you," he whispered, his voice low and seductive. "Somewhere less... messy."

That evening he gave me the best love he had, moaning, whimpers, hot candle wax and a lot of pain inflicting and pleasure was made

That night, Ghost unleashed a side of himself that you had never seen before. He was rough and demanding, his touch leaving deep, pleasurable marks on your skin. He moved with a sense of purpose and intensity, his eyes locked on yours as he took you to places of pleasure and pain.

"You're mine," he growled in your ear, his voice low and possessive. "And I'm going to make damn sure you never forget it."

You were caught in a web of desire and passion, blind to the fact that Ghost's love was a toxic, twisted game. He had consumed you, his cruel words and rough touch molding you into something both beautiful and broken.

But as the night wore on, a sense of foreboding settled over you. You knew deep down that this was not the happy ending you had hoped for, that being tangled up with a dangerous man like Ghost would only lead to pain and destruction.

[honeybeezgobzzzzz]

𓅨 Love in the Dark: Chapter Eleven

Love in the Dark: You discover an intense connection with a dream lover, yearning for a love beyond physical appearances. As your encounters blur the lines between the waking world and the Dreaming, your grapple with the complexities of desire, friendship, and mortality. Can you truly love in the dark?

Warnings: More Angst.

To Note: Morpheus/Dream x NAMEDFem!Reader.

Word Count: ~2.6k

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Matthew swoops back into the Waking World, landing once again on your window sill. His heart pounds in his chest, fear and hope warring within him. The moonlight bathes your apartment in a soft glow, and he strains his eyes to see any sign of you.

The light is on inside. The blinds are slightly askew, allowing him to see a sliver of the interior. A flicker of movement catches his eye and he holds his breath, waiting. And then he sees you.

You're there, sitting on the couch with a cup of something warm cradled between your hands. Your face is drawn, shadows under your eyes speaking volumes about the toll recent events have taken on you. But you're there. You're home.

Relief washes over Matthew and he caws softly in reassurance, though you can't hear him. He watches as you take a sip from your cup, then set it down on the coffee table with a sigh. You lean back against the couch, your gaze distant and lost in thought.

Summoning his courage, Matthew taps on the window with his beak. The soft sound catches your attention and you turn towards the window, your eyes widening in surprise when you see him. Slowly, you rise from the couch and approach the window, opening it just enough to let him perch on the sill inside.

"Matthew?" you ask, your voice tinged with disbelief. "What are you doing here?"

Matthew ruffles his feathers, his beady eyes full of concern. "Kora, what's going on? Everyone misses you. You look like you haven't slept in ages and I am worried that Fēlix is going to cry Petunia out of her treehouse! What is going on!?"

The raven's exasperated cries echo in the silence of your apartment. Matthew, ever the audacious bird, eyes you expectantly. But instead of a biting retort, a tired sigh slips past your lips.

"Matthew," you begin, your voice quiet and strained. "You don't understand."

He cocks his head to one side, scrutinizing you. The audacity of his stare feels heavy in the room, but you're too weary to feel truly bothered.

"Then make me understand! Okay? I used to be human, remember? Talk to me!"

A hollow laugh escapes you. "You want me to talk? Fine." Your red rimmed eyes, highlighted by the bags beneath, simmer with pained rage. "Mortals and the Dreaming do not mix," You tell him, your nose flaring and your eyes burning yet again. "Me and the dreaming don't mix!" The words hang in the air between you, heavy and fraught with unspoken meaning. You see Matthew's beady eyes widen as he digests your words.

"What the hell are you talking about, Kora?" he finally squawks, concern lining his voice. "What the fuck happened that had you running out of the fucking throne room?"

Your eyes, your pained eyes, which hold so much anguish and heartbreak, went dead.

"I opened my eyes, Matthew, I opened my eyes," you say, hollowness within your voice making the raven's heart drop. With that you harshly shut the window, blocking him from speaking more.

Matthew's words ring in your ears long after he has gone. You lean against the window, the cool glass soothing against your fevered forehead. "What the fuck happened?" He had asked a fair question. One that deserves an answer, even if it's only to yourself.

You trudge back to your couch, the weight of the world on your shoulders. Your gaze falls on the half-drunk cup of coffee sitting on the table, its warmth long gone. Like a puppet with its strings cut, you sink onto the couch, burying your face in your hands.

The silence of your apartment wraps around you like a shroud. In its embrace, you let out a breath you hadn't realized you were holding. You remember his voice, not Morpheus's royal tone but his softer, intimate timbre, as it whispered sweet nothings in your ear during stolen moments of ecstasy.

Your fingers trace over the place where his hands had caressed within your dreams. The way he would wrap an arm around you as if to protect you from everything outside your shared bubble of anonymous bliss.

But now...

Now that bubble is shattered.

You sit up straighter on the couch, forcing yourself to take a deep breath. You need to be strong. You've been through worse and survived. You'll survive this too. But you didn't want to have to.

"I opened my eyes," you murmur into the silence, repeating the words you'd told Matthew earlier. The truth of it settles heavy in your chest. The dream lover who had captured your heart wasn't just any dream or nightmare... he was Dream himself. Lord Morpheus. The ruler of all dreams and nightmares, not just a creation of one.

You could live with spending your life within the arms of a dream or nightmare during your sleeping hours. You could live with that because somehow you could make it work. But not with an Endless. He is unobtainable because he isn't a dream or nightmare. He isn't made to be your own.

A tear slips down your cheek, trailing a wet path down to your chin before falling onto your lap. But there are no more tears after that one— you've cried enough for one night.

"I opened my eyes," you say again, this time with more resolve. "And I will keep them open.

It rains the next week, beginning on the night of Sunday and carrying well into Wednesday where you are numbly going through motions at work. You have several meetings to attend for marketing and sales and profit. Monotony.

You sit in the meeting, eyes glazed over as the presenter drones on about market segmentation and target demographics. The fluorescent lights flicker overhead, casting harsh shadows across the faces of your colleagues. You try to focus on the PowerPoint slides, but the words blur together into an incomprehensible jumble.

Your mind keeps drifting back to the Dreaming, to him. The ache in your chest throbs with every heartbeat, a constant reminder of what you've lost. You clench your fists under the table, nails digging into your palms as you try to keep yourself in the present moment.

"Kora, what do you think about this strategy?" Your boss's voice cuts through your reverie, and you snap to attention. All eyes in the room are on you, expectant and curious.

You clear your throat, scrambling to recall what had just been said. "I think it's a solid approach," you begin, hoping your voice sounds more confident than you feel. "But we should also consider..."

As you speak, you feel a flicker of something at the edge of your consciousness. A whisper, a caress, a fleeting sensation that sends goosebumps racing across your skin. For a moment, you could swear you feel his presence, as if he's standing right behind you.

But when you turn your head, there's nothing there. Just the blank wall of the conference room and the puzzled faces of your coworkers. You shake your head, pushing down the surge of longing that threatens to overwhelm you.

"...consider the potential risks," you finish, proud of how steady your voice remains. Your boss nods, satisfied with your input, and the meeting continues.

You force yourself to pay attention, to take notes and contribute when called upon. But all the while, your heart aches with the knowledge that no matter how hard you try, you can't escape the pull of the Dreaming. Of him.

The meeting ends, and you gather your things with shaking hands. As you step out into the hallway, you feel a gust of wind brush past you, carrying with it the scent of night-blooming jasmine and something uniquely him.

It’s always been him.

Your breath catches in your throat, and you whirl around, searching for the source. But there's nothing there. Just the empty hallway and the distant sound of footsteps echoing off the linoleum. With a heavy sigh, you turn and head back to your desk, the weight of your heartache settling once more upon your shoulders. You have work to do, a life to live. Why couldn't your mind leave you in peace?

Rain pelts against your skin, drenching you in seconds as you walk home. You can feel your clothes sticking to your body, the fabric heavy and sodden. But you don't care. There's something cleansing about the rain, something that makes you feel as if it could wash away all the pain and heartache. You tilt your face towards the sky, letting the cool droplets splash against your cheeks.

Your shoes squelch against the wet pavement, each step sending tiny ripples through the puddles forming on the sidewalk. Your hair is plastered to your head, rivulets of water streaming down your back. But still, you walk on.

People rush past you, umbrellas bobbing as they hurry to escape the downpour. They give you wide berths, shooting you curious looks as they pass. You must look a sight, a woman walking alone in the rain without an umbrella.

A gust of wind sends a spray of water into your face and you close your eyes, letting out a shaky breath. It feels like surrendering to the storm, surrendering to the torrent of emotions raging within you.

You can't escape him, not in your dreams and not in your waking hours. He's everywhere and nowhere all at once. He's in the soft murmur of the wind through the trees, in the warmth of the sun on your skin, in the sound of rain falling on a tin roof.

But he's also in the silence that follows a blissful embrace after a tryst, in the space beside you where he should be occupying, in every moment that now feels empty without his echoing presence. Your heart clenches with longing and regret, with unspoken words and unachievable dreams. The rain feels like a mirror to your soul, wild and untamed, full of turmoil and beauty all at once.

As you turn onto your street, a particularly strong gust of wind nearly knocks you off your feet. You brace yourself against it, squinting against the onslaught of rain. Your home looms ahead, a beacon of warmth and safety amidst the storm. Rather than glumly march to the front door, you decide to grab your neighbors tricycle and drag it into the safety of the gated alley between your homes.

You leave the tricycle by your neighbors back door and turn to head to your own, curling your fingers into your palm as numbness begins to emerge. You are mere steps from your back door when the air changes in the small alley and you pause.

The wind picks up again, whipping your wet hair across your face. A chill races down your spine that has nothing to do with the rain. You turn slowly, the familiar presence behind you making your heart pound in your chest.

There he stands, in the shadow of your apartment building. Morpheus. You almost believe you are hallucinating, but his form is solid and rain is striking his body. Dripping from his midnight hair, running down string cheekbones.

"Kora," he begins, his voice a soft rumble that makes your entire body tremble. "May we speak?"

His formality makes you scoff despite the pounding of your heart. You cross your arms over your chest, feeling oddly defiant despite your soaked clothes, tangled hair, and raw heart.

"Go ahead," you reply, raising an eyebrow at him. "It's not like I'm going to wake up." You can see the flinch his eyes make, even if the action does not physically appear. Your words hurt him and even though your heart still feels raw, you don't feel joy in his reaction.

His gaze pierces through the veil of rain, capturing yours with an intensity that leaves you breathless. "Kora," he implores, the plea in his voice wrapping around your heart. "Let us speak where you are not exposed to the elements."

His concern for your wellbeing, real or feigned, sends a wave of bitterness washing over you. Your fingers tighten into fists at your sides as you take a step closer to him, the rain plastering your hair to your forehead.

"No," you say, your voice cutting through the roar of the storm. "We talk here, Morpheus. Out in the rain. Or not at all."

His displeasure is palpable in the charged air between you. His lips press into a tight line and his gaze hardens. But you don't back down. You won't let him dictate the terms of this conversation. This is your realm, not his. You start to turn away, ready to retreat into the sanctuary of your home when his hand shoots out, gripping your arm. His touch sends an electric jolt through you, freezing you in place.

The rain pelts down on the both of you, yet the world around seems to fade into insignificance. It's just you and him, your gazes locked in a silent battle of wills. In a swift movement, he pins you against the side of your building, his hand still gripping your arm while the other one rests lightly against the brick wall beside your head. You breath heavily and wonder if he plans on stealing your sight like he had every time before.

And yet his gaze still holds yours, the stormy skies reflected in his eyes. The moment stretches out, the only sound the rain drumming against the pavement and your own heart hammering in your chest. Then, with a suddenness that leaves you breathless, his lips are on yours.

Shock ripples through you as his mouth moves over yours, his kiss passionate and demanding. Your eyes widen in surprise but you don't pull away. You can't. His presence is overwhelming, a storm within the storm. He is kissing you and you can see him. Your hands shoot up to cradle his jaw, your fingers trembling as they touch his skin, warm and real beneath your touch. It is almost laughable when your eyes shut on their own accord.

His lips move against yours with a fervor that steals your breath away, each kiss a desperate plea, an unspoken promise. His fingers curl around your arm, his grip tight and possessive. His other hand finds its way to your waist, pulling you closer until there's no space left between you.

Rainwater trickles down your face, mixing with the salty taste of his lips. His mouth moves against yours, warm and insistent. The cool rain pattering against your skin contrasts with the heat radiating from him, making you shiver in response. Then his hand moves from your waist to cup the back of your neck, fingers tangling in your wet hair. He tilts your head back, deepening the kiss. His tongue brushes against yours, drawing a weak whimper from deep within your throat.

Despite the rain soaking you to the bone, you feel warmth spreading through you from where his body is pressed against yours. His hand at the back of your neck tightens its hold on you as he pulls away from the kiss. Your heart pounds in your chest as you look up at him, breathless and dazed.

His gaze is intense as he watches you, his eyes dark and filled with an emotion that makes your breath hitch in your throat. His thumb brushes against your cheek, wiping away a raindrop that clings to your eyelashes.

"All I want," You whisper out, "Is you. But I can't love you in your dark."

His thumb pauses on your skin, his unwavering stare deepening. A glimmer of... remorse? Comprehension? It vanishes before you can interpret it. His ensuing words are a hushed murmur, almost lost to the rain's rhythmic dance on the pavement. "Then love me in your light."

With his words echoing in your ears, a desperate plea in the pouring rain, you make your choice. Your hands move from his jaw to the sides of his face, fingers splayed wide as you quickly pull his lips back to yours. You make your choice.

Date Published: 10/22/24

Last Edit: 10/22/24

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[armandsfangs]

Young Daniel Molloy hears of a mysterious Sanctuary called Night Island. Strange people watch over the humans there, who never seem to want to leave. It's a self sustaining utopia but sometimes the people get sick and occasionally disappear. Sometimes new ones are compelled to move there. Daniel is one such human, only he thinks he just wants to do some investigating. One of the strange folks in charge catches his eye, a handsome gentleman who is the only one of them seen in the daytime. Armand.

"I know you're followin' me," Daniel says casually. He's leaning against the wall of a surprisingly clean alleyway, away from the carousing crowds, with smoke slowly curling from the cigarette hanging out of his mouth.

A figure melts out of the shadows, tall and slender, dressed like a modern casanova, the open collar of his shirt revealing an expanse of cinnamon toned skin.

"You're sharper than you look." The stranger's delicate enunciation makes Daniel pause. A sense of déjà vu. Or it could mean nothing.

"Might cut you if you get too close," Daniel replies glibly. He takes a long drag from his cigarette as he eyes the stranger. Daniel can admit when another man is physically attractive. It doesn't mean that he's gay or anything.

The stranger smiles. His teeth are perfect. "Armand. Pleased to make your acquaintance."

"Daniel. Are you gonna tell me why you were followin' me, Armand?" He likes the way the name feels in his mouth, like it belongs there.

Armand saunters closer. In the slanted light of the alleyway, his eyes appear to be glowing orange. They're fixated, unblinking, on Daniel. The hair on the back of Daniel's neck stands on end. A primal sort of fear skitters down his spine and promptly takes a detour to coil itself in the pit of his stomach as equally primal arousal.

"I know who you are," Armand says simply.

Daniel raises his eyebrows, trying to look nonchalant. "You're a fan of my book?"

"Something like that." Armand is close enough to touch. Close enough to wrap his fingers around that stupid wide open collar and pull him in for a ki— Daniel blinks, and looks away, suddenly embarrassed by his train of thought. But it's not like Armand can tell what he's thinking, right? Why is he smirking like that?

"Autographs are $20," Daniel says roughly.

Armand does not break eye contact as he leans in, the palm of his hand braced against the brick wall next to Daniel's head. Inexplicably, Daniel wants to nuzzle into that richly tanned hand, to feel those fingers around his throat —

"You're getting ahead of yourself," says Armand, clearly amused.

Daniel flushes. "Hey, I'm not like playing for the same team or whatever you got goin' on, just so you know."

"I know," says Armand, far too knowingly. His other hand reaches up to trail along the soft underside of Daniel's jaw and down his throat. "You came here to investigate leads for a new story. To expose the mysteries of Night Island."

A shuddering breath escapes Daniel's lips, every nerve in his body pulled taut like puppet strings at the mercy of Armand's elegant fingers. His cigarette falls and rolls away, forgotten.

Daniel fights to get his voice back. "Yeah, so what's it to you?"

In an instant, the soft touch at his jugular becomes a vice. Daniel gasps. He can't even struggle. Armand's expression flickers. Was that sadness?

Eyes like burning suns bore into him. "Sisyphean fool that you are. This is your final warning. Leave and do not return if you value your life."

Dark spots dance in Daniel's vision, blotting out Armand's visage like an eclipse. Just as his consciousness is about to slip away, soft lips press against his, painfully tender. He aches with the need to reciprocate, to hold Armand in his arms, to never let him go again —

The vice grip loosens and Daniel drops like a puppet with his strings cut. He wheezes, trying to catch his breath. He looks up in fear.

He is alone. The alleyway is empty, except for a snuffed out cigarette.

Who was he expecting? No matter, he has to get home.

Daniel touches his neck and slots his fingers against the blossoming bruises. If he tries hard enough, he can almost feel a hand holding his.

---

Holy shit I did not expect to write this much. Thank you so much for the inspiration, anon!

Just in case it's not clear, it's meant to be post devil's minion era where Armand is the one who ended it with a memory wipe, but Daniel keeps wandering back to Night Island to "investigate" (lowkey still looking for the love of his life) so Armand has to keep kicking him off the island. They are both Sisyphean fools lol

[triangle-strategy-notes]

The Hierophant and Automatons Concept Art

Concept art for the Hierophant and the other puppets/automatons you face in the final battle! Translation notes and image id under the cut.

Translation notes:

Japanese doesn't usually include gendered pronouns, so when I use "it" and/or "her" for the Hierophant, I'm inserting those based on my best guess given the context—it's not anything the designers intended to include.

The word I translate as puppet/doll/automaton is in most cases the same word, but I use the different English translations interchangeably depending on the context.

"Homunculus" on the first page is literally "nculus". I'm assuming it's shorthand for homunculus so that's what I put for clarity, but I might be wrong about that. On the second page, the actual word for homunculus is used explicitly.

"The threads are manufactured using a special growth process" seemed to have a typo or two. I tried to account for that and I think I got the translation more or less accurate, but I still feel a little bit uncertain about it. Notably there might be something about 2 strands being woven together.

"Do not defy" might have also been translated as "do not betray [me]".

Image Ids:

[Image id: Two pages from the Triangle Strategy artbook centered around the Hierophant and the automatons. The first page is titled, "C Hierophant (puppet) Rough Draft". There are several drawings of the hierophant and her doll-like construction. One note reads, "Sought after and made a human". Another reads, "A. Puppet — Ball-jointed doll". There is a subheading labeled, "B. Flesh" with some text that reads, "Even though it comes from a desert country, the skin is white and pure to the point that it looks bloodless." Another note reads, "Lifeless eyes" and another says "Do not defy". One note that points to the Hierophant's clothing says, "The garment is modeled after the Goddess of Salt's." Another reference drawing has the note, "The most complete one at the moment (Hierophant Puppet)". Another note says, "I call it 'homunculus', but it's in fact only an extraordinary puppet that has the appearance of being alive. That said, it was indeed given some human body parts during its creation… The human 'hair' is not only the doll's puppet strings, but also its internal parts, which enable the puppet to circulate magic efficiently and to manifest a level of power beyond that of a mere puppet." Another note gesturing to the puppet strings says, "The threads are manufactured using a special growth process." Another says, "Countless unfinished things." One drawing has the puppets attacking and grabbing onto a man with a sword. A nearby note reads, "If they get a hold of you, it's pretty dangerous!" An illustrator's note at the bottom reads, "The request for this included a surprise: 'the hierophant is a puppet!' I remember having a lot of back and forth about what puppets are in the context of the world, and Mr. Ikushima's ideas concerning the setting also helped. (Yasuaki Arai)".

The second page has several images, including one large one of a smoky purple room with automatons crawling down from the ceiling with Idore in the center pulling the strings. To the side there is another illustration of the puppets hanging up near the throne room's domed ceiling. At the top is a note that says, "From a distance, it looks like there is a painting on the ceiling, but in fact there are count- less unfinished puppets hanging in the shadows, and the puppeteer can control them all at once to attack." Another nearby note reads, "In the shadow of heaven, countless unfinished puppets are hanging." Next to Idore is the note, "His Excellency, The Puller of Strings. Controls countless homunculi at the same time and causes them to attack. Similar to spellcraft, it is a highly refined technique." There are some additional drawings of the automatons and hierophants showing some of their more inhuman traits, as well as some conceptual drawings of internal organs including a brain. A note reads, "If they really are just puppets, then there's no need to bother with brains or internal organs." At the bottom is a designer's note that reads, "This is a rough idea of the final boss Idore, the Hierophant, and the other puppets. I believe we also make good use of Mr. Ikushima's ideas in the battle planning. (Arai Yasuaki)" /end id]