#this has been in my drafts for a few days now because i��m afraid i forgot scenes where all this is addressed or i’m just wrong but

[stutterfly]

Love Bytes 09 |  Trivia: 01001100 | KNJ (M)

Last time on Love Bytes 08: After a night that left your head spinning, your best friend confessed his feelings for you. Now that you’ve admitted the same, everything is different.... but is it?

Rating: M (Explicit 18+)

Word Count: 17K

Series: Love Bytes (9/9)

Genre: Friends to lovers, IDIOTS to LOVERS, fluff, humor, slow burn, friendship feels, angst, pining, sexual tension, SMUT, Bestfriends!au, CollegeProjessor!Namjoon, IT/Nerd!Reader

CW& Other Tags: corny humor, nipple play, an absurd amount of kissing, dirty talk, grinding, fingering, hair pulling, sexual instruction, let’s play just the tip, cunnilingus, blowjob, protected sex, sexual roleplay, unprotected sex, adoring boyfriendJoonie, suave Joonie, supportive friendships, love talk, dorks in love

Pairings: Namjoon x Reader, brot7

Posted January 2021 by stutterfly & cross-posted to ao3. Do not repost.

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You’ve crossed the line you’ve been so afraid of only to discover there really isn’t anything to fear at all. Namjoon has already made you a totally non-burnt breakfast and told you about the success of his student following the release of the poetry program. When he brings up the poem he wrote as an example, you beg him to read it for you.

He apologizes again for that day when you clicked on the document containing the draft, with dozens and dozens of half-thoughts and scribbled words placed within. He wasn't ready to show you then. He settles on the couch and opens his laptop. You look over his shoulder as he clicks a vaguely familiar document labeled: Trivia_L_Final. Unable to sate your curiosity, your eyes scan through the first few lines but he quickly flips the screen down.

“Patience."

"Ugh," you complain. "But you said I could see."

"I said I was gonna share," he clarifies with a snort. "That doesn't mean I want your speed-reading ass going through it at lightspeed without understanding any of it."

"Fair." You cross your arms but stare at him expectantly, trying your best to be patient.

“Is this love?”

He pauses to spare a glance up from the screen and freezes when his eyes meet yours. Even after everything you’ve shared he still finds himself sweating through the thin tank top he’s put on. Although he’s sure he’s masked his apprehension behind a wall of stone, all it takes is your soft, reassuring smile to break through. A wave of serenity quickly douses the anxiety. It crashes against his wall, and erodes its harsh edges until all that’s left is a familiar longing to kiss your lips.

“Is this love?” he repeats with emphasis. “Sometimes I know. Sometimes I don’t.”

He can’t stop grinning at the way your smitten gaze matches his own. It’s a difficult decision, but ultimately he chooses to ignore the urge to pull you in for the hundredth kiss of the morning and continues on instead. You sit and listen, hanging on every word you know was painstakingly thought out and written for you.

You're my person. You're my desire. You're my pride.

You're my love. One and only love.

The closing words are left echoing in your head. It’s so easy for you to forget that Namjoon is as smart as he is. Right now you feel too stupid to respond. Nothing can possibly match the perfection of his poem.

“Please say something.” He quickly closes his laptop and sets it aside. “Actually, wait, don't. It was too much wasn’t it?” He reaches over and places a large palm over your forehead and begins lightly rubbing. “Delete it from your brain.”

A laugh bubbles from your throat. “What are you doing?”

“Wiping your hard drive.”

His response has you cackling. Did he really just make such a lame joke all on his own? You grab his wrist and pull him close while a big cheesy grin graces your features. “I think I’m rubbing off on you.”

He groans as he leans in and pauses before kissing you. “You are.”

His hand gently cups the back of your neck as he slips his tongue inside your mouth. You lose yourself to the rhythm of your tongues rolling across one another, hungry to keep tasting and feeling. It takes every ounce of self control you have to pull away long enough to breathe out a compliment.

“You’re incredible. Your poem is so good.”

“I had a good muse.” He smiles and moves in for another kiss but you press a finger to his lips.

“I mean it. I love what you wrote. I don’t think anyone’s ever written anything so beautiful with me in mind.”

To spare himself from the embarrassment tingling in his belly, he presses his lips to the pad of your finger with a few light, teasing kisses before moving to repeat the motion against your neck. Goosebumps immediately prickle at your flesh and you can’t help the way your hands travel along the warmth of his body, seeking to consume his heat to assuage the chill in yours.

“You make it easy,” he mumbles, kissing a line up to your ear.

“Do I? I thought I made it harder.” Your smile grows impossibly bigger as you reach down to palm him through his basketball shorts and find exactly what you’d been hoping to.

A breathy sigh warms the shell of your ear. “Fuck. You know you do.” He drags the lobe through his teeth and exhales another sigh at the way you tease his shaft. “Wanna practice?”

He whispers the words against your ear like they’re some secret he’s almost too shy to reveal and you deliver your response with equal timidity. “Please?”

Warm fingers press into the skin at your stomach and travel upward. The action disregards the flimsy white fabric of your borrowed shirt, which slides up with the rising of his arm. You think he's about to cup your breast when he suddenly changes direction and slides his fingers around your ribs to tickle you.

"Na-Namjoon!"

You're a little offended that he would do you dirty like this when you basically just begged him to fuck you for the second time today. But, if you're being honest you're also incredibly grateful. He knows how to take the nerves out of everything with such ease that you almost forget how new this aspect of your relationship is.

You grab at his hand, effectively pulling him down into a kiss brimming with laughter between the pair of you. When you try to retaliate he grabs your wrists to keep your cold fingers at bay. As his tongue dips into your mouth again, he slowly guides your hands above your head. You shift beneath him, spreading your legs so he can slot a knee between them and get even closer. It feels like it's always been this way. Nothing's going to change. This is just you guys. It's always been you guys.

At the heart of your friendship, it's always been about you being dorks together and having each other's backs. You'd never considered the possibility of adding even more physicality to it before but now you don't want to imagine life without it because it feels so fucking good. It feels so fucking right.

Instead of bearing his weight down on you, he drags your bottom lip through his teeth and lets it snap back. He hums a satisfied sound as he rises, pulling you to your feet with him. Your head feels light and for a moment it feels like you might float away, but his arms are strong and they ground you in a tight embrace. He begins walking you backwards and peppers your neck with light kisses.

“Trying to get me back into your bed, huh?” you tease.

He brushes his nose against your neck and inhales deeply, taking in your scent before expelling an airy, audible sigh. “Ah… You see right through me. I mean we could do it on the couch if you prefer. I just thought it might be a little more comfortable, you know, somewhere where I can lay you down so you don’t get a leg cramp or anything.”

You can’t help but laugh at the absurdity of his statement. “How considerate.”

“Yeah, you know, ‘cause I plan on being between your legs as long as it takes.”

“Oh?” You feign ignorance. As he spins you towards him you’re glad he’s holding you steady because it feels like you’re about to faint. “As long as it takes for what?”

The tone of his voice drops low as he leans against your ear. “To make you cum.”

You stiffen in his embrace, frozen by interwoven fears of inability and inadequacy.

“Is that okay?” he asks, guiding your stiff form towards the bed.

The large, borrowed t-shirt bunches up around your thighs as you sit on the edge. It seems like every few days he’s telling himself he’s never seen you look so beautiful. Maybe you’re really to blame for the increased frequency. Now you’re looking at him in a similar light to the way he’s always seen you, and it’s added a new layer to everything.

“Yeah.” You nod, pausing to chew on your lip. “Just… don’t expect too much, okay?”

“Hey, no pressure. I promise. I just want to make you feel good.”

You pull him into a kiss before wiggling backwards up the bed. He follows your lead, slotting a knee between your legs as he climbs over you in an attempt to chase your lips.

“You do make me feel good. All the time.”

He assails your neck with kisses until he’s hovering above your lips. “Really good, though. Like right now. Right here.”

He takes a moment to meet your eyes as he ghosts his fingertips over your stomach, traveling down towards your mound. Almost as if he second guesses himself he stops and moves his hand back up to rest just above your navel.

“Can I try again?”

An embarrassed smile creeps across your face. “You really want to, huh?”

“Of course.” He pauses and his voice drops to a low whisper. “Will you show me how you like it?”

Your palms slide up your cheeks until your fingers cover your eyes. You purse your lips and try to keep your brain from short-circuiting. “Joooon.”

“What?” He shakes his head and offers a small laugh. “Why are you so shy now?”

“Because,” you murmur.

“Because...?” he prods when you leave the explanation unsaid.

“I’m embarrassed.” The words tumble out in a whisper but he seems to catch them regardless.

Hot, sweaty palms encircle your wrists and push them aside. It doesn’t take much effort to separate your hands from your face and when he does he slides his hands up to meet yours. In perfect sync, the pair of you weave your fingers together like you have a thousand times before.

The truth is that you want him. You want him so badly that your cheeks are on fire and all you can hear is your heartbeat in your ears. Despite seeing his mouth in motion, every nerve ending in your body is preparing for his touch. Anticipation overrides every other command in the forefront of your mind as your knuckles press into the pillows beside your head.

“Don’t be embarrassed,” he whispers, planting a kiss on your cheek. “Your body is perfect. I could spend all day exploring it, exploring you. I wanna learn what feels good for you. Teach me. Teach me how to make you cum.”

In a stupor you blink slowly and gape at him in wonder, offering a tiny wordless nod. You’re not sure if you’ll be able to instruct him with much success. It’s not like you’re a teacher in any sense of the word and it’s definitely not something you’ve ever tried to talk through with a partner. But his eyes seem to sparkle in the dim light and the sight floods you with the determination to try, even if you don’t know how to begin.

Luckily Namjoon has an idea to assist with comfortability. He carefully positions himself beside you and runs his fingers down your chest, basking in the sight of your areola, which are perfectly visible through the faded fabric.

“You look so hot in my shirt.”

Your ears flush with heat at the compliment. Massaging light circles around the nipple he’s chosen to tease, he watches in wonder as it grows rigid. He experiments, alternating featherlight touches with a tiny pinch between his fingers.

“Do you like this?”

Words seem to escape you at the moment so you nod and mirror his actions on your other nipple. The barrier between his fingers frustrates your growing desire for skin on skin contact. You slowly hike up the shirt past your stomach to expose your breast. His eyes widen and guiltily dart away.

You pull the shirt back down abruptly and sit up with hot embers of embarrassment heating your cheeks. Maybe he's having second thoughts now that he's seeing you up close again. Before your mind can spiral too far he places his hand over yours.

"Sorry. It's not that. I just— Promise me you won't ask me to forget? I want to remember how you look, how you feel, how you taste.”

Relief cools the fire in your face and you half-heartedly chuckle as you climb over his lap. Cupping the side of his face, he Instinctively he leans into your touch.

"Joonie, I don’t think I could ever do that now. There's not a single restore point we could go back to, and I don't want there to be. I never want to pretend like I don't love you with my whole heart ever again. Because the moment you kissed me it's like this weight lifted from my shoulders. Everything I'd been locking away in my heart finally broke free. And it felt… incredible. It felt right. There's not a doubt in my mind. You're my person. You're my light. You're my pride."

"My one and only love," he adds with a kiss to your palm.

You smile and nod, pushing down the tears threatening to spill out of your eyes with a joke. "Are you gonna change your mind now?"

"Wouldn't dream of it." He smiles at you softly, watching you struggle to regain your composure as you sit back on his abdomen.

"Good. 'Cause it's like a totally binding thing now."

"Oh, okay," he laughs and lifts himself with his elbows to get a better look at you. "You gonna type up those terms and conditions for me? I'll sign, Geeksquad. Get me those papers."

"Yeah, yeah. Let me write a draft right now.” You press him back against the bed and lean over his chest, splaying your fingers out for a moment before pretending they're tapping away at a keyboard.

"Under this agreement, I, Y/N, agree to the following conditions..."

"God, you're a dork."

"We have fun. We have lots of…" you stop to giggle and wiggle your eyebrows, "you know, sex when we both want it."

He rolls his eyes but he's smiling so big his cheeks hurt. "You're so corny and I'm here for it."

"And…" you pause and meet his eyes as you fake-type the next condition. "We don't ever feel bad about loving each other. I'm in love with you and I don't want to waste another minute of my life acting like I feel any other way."

He looks down at his chest. Your fingers have stopped moving. "Is all that going in the, uh, love contract? It's a binding thing, you know."

"Yes, yes," you agree, pretending to catch up on typing. "If something doesn't work, we will talk about it. Deal?"

He doesn’t even stop to think about it before he answers, looking down at your fingers like they'll show him an invisible dotted line. "Okay where do I sign?”

"See I'm typing on your heart because that's how this works. So..."

You bite your lip and lift your shirt over your head, watching his eyes struggle to stay focused on your face. You really don't deserve him.

"You type and sign right here." Your fingers lure his gaze down to the valley between your breasts and then slightly to the left. "Right on my heart.”

He ghosts his fingers over the area you’ve pointed to and licks his lips, trying to hide his smirk. “Actually your heart is a little bit lower and a little bit…” He massages his fingers against your breast. “Here.”

“Hmm. Educational and strategic. What a combo.”

"Do I gotta type the whole thing up before I sign?"

You roll your eyes. "Depends. You gonna type as shitty as you usually do?"

He tongues his cheek as he starts tapping away at your breast with his two pointer fingers. It’s too true to reality. “Under this agreement I, Kim Namjoon--”

“Nevermind this is taking too long,” you complain, wiggling over his lap. He quickly drums his fingers over your chest. “--Agree to everything you just said. Signed... Namjoon...” His fingertips trace his name along your breast. “It’s a deal.”

“Okay, okay.” You laugh and reciprocate. “If you break it I'll probably cry and Jennie will beat you up."

“Like I would ever…” he mumbles.

With a rut of his hips he cups your breasts in his hands and resumes gently working his fingers over your nipples. Following the slow rhythm he sets, you grind yourself down and thumb at the band to his basketball shorts, pulling them down just enough to reveal that sliver of dark hair leading below. A loud groan escapes with his breath. His heart aches to feel you against him again, without barriers.

He sits up and heaves his shirt over his head with reckless abandon. His arms are immediately wrapping around your waist, fingernails digging into the skin of your back with the hope feeling your body can assuage the ache in his chest. The heat of his mouth envelops your nipple before you can comment on his earnest behavior and you whimper instead. His rough embrace draws you closer, and his sinful tongue batters your nipple as you loop an arm around his neck and tangle your fingers in his hair.

The suction of his mouth makes you throw your head back. “Fuck, Joon.”

He moans and skims his lips across your chest to show your other breast love. Despite his adoration for the current position of his face, it’s not enough. Greed overtakes him. He holds you tight and musters the strength to flip you onto your back. The tiny squeal you make in response makes his dick twitch. You make such wonderful sounds.

As you draw him into a kiss, the barrier of silky basketball shorts do nothing to conceal his hardness. It makes you crazy. You want to feel his dick glide against your folds again. When you raise your hips to grind your clit against him he meets your motion with equal enthusiasm.

“Take them off,” you mumble. “Put it in me, Namjoon. Please.”

It’s hard to say no when every fantastical thought about you he’s ever had is now coming to fruition. How long has he yearned to hear those words? He thinks of earlier. He thinks of the disappointment he holds for his own performance, how he squandered his opportunity to make you feel the way you deserve.

“But I wanna go down on you,” he insists, slowly making his way down your torso. He plants deep kisses as he goes, working a trail of tiny dark marks into the surface of your skin.

“Joon…”  Your fingers claw at his back as he descends.

“Show me how you like it. I’m a good student. I promise.”

The ever present flames in your chest burn hotter, searing a path to your cheeks. He kisses along your hip and pauses to inspect the bruise from your earlier slip. He carefully creeps past it, and instead focuses on the skin of your inner thigh. Taking your hand in his, he positions it over your cunt. He rests his cheek against your thigh to watch the way your fingers settle in place.

“Are you gonna be looking at me like that the entire time?” You laugh, covering as much of your sex as you can with your hand.

“I’m a quick learner,” he assures you. “Plus…” He leans in and laps at the glistening slick in the space between your fingers. “I could taste you all day.”

“It’s after noon,” you mumble, drawing your fingers away to allow him greater access to your folds.

“Mmm,” he hums against you, letting his tongue explore every crevice of your labia. “You want me to keep going?”

Your head falls back against the pillow and you lift your hips with a whimper. “Yes.”

“How?”

Pulling his mouth back just enough to allow your finger to creep back into place, he offers a blissful sigh as you work light circles against your clit. He places a finger over yours and follows the movement, listening to your quiet breathing. He cocks his head to the side and repositions, sliding his finger beneath yours to take control.

“Like this, baby?”

It’s been so long. You’d forgotten just how good it feels to have someone else touch you, to not have to put the work in yourself to attain the reward. It feels so good. Maybe you will be able to let go.

“A little more pressure.”

You guide him again by pressing down over his finger and moving him towards the peak of your clit. He immediately gives in to the change of pace. After a little while he finds his own rhythm and you move your fingers to the back of his head where you tangle them in his hair.

“Yes, like that.”

Confident in his ability to hit that spot again, he glides his fingers down to tease your entrance and brings his lips to your clit. Your entire core tingles as he presses down and creates suction around the tiny bud. As your hips lift in ecstasy he wraps an arm around your thigh and slips two fingers into your slick cunt. Much to his delight you moan in tandem with your desperate exhale.

A proud grin spreads his lips apart and he does his best to hide it by battering his tongue over your clit instead. How many fantasies has he indulged in? How is it that they all pale in comparison to your true taste and sounds? Determined to keep himself on task, he focuses on the spot you seemed to favor and presses his lips back down while rolling his tongue along you. His fingers curl up and search for the promised sweet spot within your cunt.

You tense and clench around his fingers, body desperate to draw him deeper, to take more of him inside of you in any way that you can. Then you feel it: the unmistakable pleasurable pressure steadily rising within. You don’t want to let it slip away this time. With the pads of his fingers pressing as close to your g-spot as he can, the area of your clit you need him to hit with his tongue seems to shift.

Palms shaking, you pull on Namjoon’s hair to guide him to your newest point of pleasure. “Right there. Right there.”

He moans and expels shaky breaths through his nose. Immediately feeling guilty for being rough, you soften your grip and lovingly smooth back his hair. Disheveled, sweat-slicked strands fall against his forehead, rebelling against your touch.

“Sorry,” you mumble, cradling the sides of his face, trying to draw him up from his position. “Did I hurt you?”

He doesn’t budge. Dark brown eyes flicker upwards. The electric tingle in your heart steals your breath as you’re caught in his lurid gaze. He digs his fingernails into the soft flesh of your inner thigh and the energy contained in your chest bursts. Shockwaves of internal chills scatter throughout your body.

“Don’t you dare apologize,” he whispers. “Pull me however you want, baby.”

His voice is so low and soft that it barely registers to your ears. Your brain doesn’t have time to process the words before he drags his nose over your clit and sucks on your labia. You gasp out his name as he moves back to tongue your clit. He keeps his eyes on you as he plunges his fingers into you with a renewed sense of urgency, desperate to make you say it again. It doesn’t take long for a stuttered verse of his name to sputter from your pretty lips.

Another shockwave of excitement pulses through your gut. He makes it so easy to lose yourself in the pleasure he offers. Any shame and anxiety falls to the wayside, making way for your impending orgasm. You gasp out a pitiful sound and grind your pelvis towards his soft, plush lips to create even more pressure where you need it most. There’s no doubt he feels the way you clench around his fingers and because he reaches as far as he can in search of your g-spot and looks to your face for any sign of discomfort. Instead he finds you looking back through half lidded eyes that threaten to close any moment. With your eyebrows knitted together and quivering lips parted, he knows you’re on the brink of coming undone.

You reach for the back of his head as you lift your hips and cry out. You might not make those exaggerated pornstar moans, but yours are infinitely better. It’s better than anything he could have imagined. His name spills from your lips again, tired and quiet as you come down. There’s no need for you to tell him to stop or push him away this time. His softened lips are already crashing down against your mouth.

As you glide your tongue along his, the tang of your own juices fills your mouth. It doesn’t bother you. If anything it spurs you on to wrap your arms around his back and pull him closer. You tug on his shorts again. This time he raises no argument. He inhales a shaky breath as he goes in for another kiss and works the clothing down his legs until he’s steadying himself over you and clumsily struggling to kick them off.

You take his face in your hands while he gracelessly fights the fabric caught around his ankle and he smiles at you. Another jolt of electric butterflies pulse in your gut, frazzling your senses as they travel outward from their point of origin. By the time the sensation reaches your brain, it carries along the weight of your feelings. You reflect on how he cares for you, how he’s always cared for you. Navigating the key pleasure points mapped to your body is just one more way he can show it. You’re so incredibly lucky to have someone in your life so attentive and considerate of your needs. It makes you wonder how you meandered through life without a guiding light like Namjoon to lean on for support. Meditating on that thought threatens you with torrid tears.

“I love you,” you whisper.

Before he can respond with you draw him into a deep kiss, crossing your legs behind his waist to pull him closer. His shaft presses against your sensitive clit as he grinds himself down. While your body reacts with a twitch, you still roll your hips up to meet him. His bottom lip quivers and you suck it between your teeth, slowly drawing it away from him. When it snaps back to him he chases your mouth and presses you down into the pillows.

He follows the enticing motion of your hips with a loud groan. The slippery nature of your folds promises to make his entrance effortless. Each pass his cock makes over your cunt is another strike against his willpower, but god if it doesn’t feel amazing. It would be so easy to slip in, just a little bit, just enough to satisfy the aching need of the tip that inches closer and closer to your cunt. The way you lift it for him only serves as a greater invitation.

He rolls himself through your slick folds, floating on the high of the pleasure, encouraged by the moans you breathe into his mouth. He ruts into you, coasting into your entrance just enough to make him break the kiss with a whispered expletive. You whimper as he retreats and try to beckon him back with another gentle roll of your hips. He sighs, allowing himself to rock back into you enough to coat the tip of his dick with your warmth. Your cunt pulses against him, seeking to lure him further inside.

Again he surrenders to your salacious advance, sheathing the head of his cock in its entirety within your heat. You gasp and moan at the welcome intrusion, pulling on his hair as though it will move him closer than he already is.

“Please,” you whisper. “Fuck, you feel so good.”

Desperate to feel the stretch of his cock diving deep inside, you make your best attempt to raise your hips higher to take more of him in. He moans into your mouth, gently rocking himself further into your cunt and then slowly pulling back out.

Playing this game is dangerous. He knows that. But with each gasp and moan he pulls from you, the stakes rise. He tells himself he’s allowed to drive another moan from you with his teasing. Just one more time. One more sound. He tests his own resolve with each shallow thrust, never sinking deeper than before.

“Joonie,” you whine as he pulls back again. “Please. Stop teasing. I want your cock in me.”

His stomach does a somersault and it snaps him back to reality before his hips can snap forward instead. He leaves the comfort of your sweet cunt to lean over you and fish for the packet in the drawer of his nightstand. It should be right on top, but it’s not. Where the fuck is it?

The sticky wet head of his cock slips against your belly while he frantically rummages through the drawer. You shudder and reach down to take him in your palm, earning you a breathy curse in response. He spares a glance towards your mischievous eyes before looking down at the way you gather the moisture from the peak of his cock and pump it down to the base. His eyes roll back in delight for a moment and he drops onto the weight of his arm. The drawer rolls out farther than it should and promptly clatters off its track and onto the carpet below.

“I can fix that,” he announces.

“Are you okay?” You laugh, trying to sit up to help.

“Fine,” he murmurs, leading you back to the pillows with a kiss. “You just got me a little...”

His eyes wander to the nightstand. Perched on its surface are the remaining foil packets he’d been searching for in the drawer with its contents now spilled on the floor.

“Oh my god.” He sighs.

“Yes?” you press with a smile. “You good?”

“Mhm.”

He quickly snatches one up, fumbling it in his hands for a second before he recklessly rips it open. He leans back on his knees to roll the condom on, but about halfway down his shaft the rubber splits and snaps against his fingers. He vents a frustrated sound from his throat and scolds himself internally for being too excited, too eager. He wasted another one in his haste.

“I’m sorry,” he says in defeat. “Hold on.”

You’re already carefully opening the last packet while he rises to discard the bits of ruined rubber. “It’s okay. Come here. I got you.”

As he approaches the bed you reach out and begin to slowly roll the new condom down his shaft. He watches your hands roam over his cock with wonder. You seem much more confident now that he’s made a complete fool of himself for the millionth time today. Maybe you won’t think of him as so much of a saint now. He’s just as much of a mess as you are.

“You don’t have to worry so much,” you say with a slow pump of your hand over his cock. “I always have that five dollars, you know?”

It’s difficult to take your eyes off of the perfect shape of his dark cock. It’s veiny and thick in your palm, and long enough to make you wonder how it might feel hitting the back of your throat.  You manage to shift your gaze to his face and beam at him.

His worried expression melts into a dimpled smile. “Geeksquad saves the day again, huh.”

“Yeah. Pretty great, right? So, come here.” Despite feigned confidence, your jaw trembles with anxiety as you settle against the pillows once more. Nerves set your body alight with excited anticipation. “And put your cock in me.”

He slots himself between your thighs and cups your cheek, catching the subtle shiver of your body.

“Cold, baby?”

“Excited,” you admit, grazing your fingers over the expanse of his back until they’re nestled in the hair behind his neck. You kiss him.

It doesn’t matter how much time he’s had to recuperate. As soon as your lips are on his and he’s teasing himself into you, he knows he’s in trouble. You’re so tight. How is he supposed to last? Inch by slow inch you take him in, then out again. Your fingers twirl around strands of his hair until you’re sure it can’t be twisted any further.

“Oh fuck.”

Your jaw drops and you gasp a stuttered slew of nonsense as he bottoms out. He remains there, unmoving as your body adjusts to the stretch of his cock. Every executable file in your brain stops working as you lie beneath him with your mouth agape, eyes wide, and fingers tangled in his hair.

“Need a minute?” he asks, peppering kisses along your bottom lip and lightly working it between his teeth.

Finally you find the command in your brain to resume all processes. You moan into his kiss and purposefully clench around him.  “Do you?”

“Evil,” he murmurs as he begins setting a slow, steady pace with his hips. “Goddamn, you’re tight.”

You throw your head back in ecstasy, exposing your neck for his mouth to latch onto. Your hands explore the muscles of his back, digging into the sculpted flesh with your nails. He grunts against you, sucking a mark into the crook of your neck to muffle the sound. Taking time to follow the creases dividing the defined muscles of his triceps, your palms drift further down to curl around the pillars of his forearms. Without disrupting his pace, he reaches up to lace his fingers with yours.

The back of your palms press into the soft pillows beside your head. You’re connected as deeply and as literally as two people can be and still you crave more. When you moan his name into the open air he trails a line of sloppy open-mouthed kisses to meet your lips. You meet each slow thrust with a roll of your hips and a desperate need to keep him inside of you forever. Frenzied panting fills the space between you as you break the kiss.

Dark eyes full of adoration peer down at you, focused on the way the force of his accelerated thrusts shake every part of your body but leaves your gaze untouched. It’s insane just how much he cares for you. By now you must be sick of hearing his declarations of love, but he wants to say it all the same. He wishes he could make you cum for him like this. He would do anything to make you cum a second time before he does. Maybe with more practice he’ll learn your body well enough to make it happen. For now he’ll settle for making you feel good. You’re enjoying yourself at the very least.

A smile spreads across your face and a sweet laugh slips out. “What?”

“What?” he echoes, lost in the sight of you beneath him like this.

It’s like his head goes empty when you laugh like that, when you look at him like you’re shy and infatuated at the same time.

“Looks like you wanna say something.”

The serious expression plastered on his features matches the intensity of his whisper, “Yeah. Maybe I do. You wanna know what it is?”

Every muscle in your cunt contracts around him. He purses his lips, takes a slow breath through his nose and relaxes his pace.

He leans next to your ear and whispers in a quiet tone, “You’re just so fucking sexy.”

You’re so flattered that all the embarrassment resting on the tip of your tongue dissipates the moment you open your mouth. Flustered words form and then decompose the moment they’re to be spoken into existence. All that comes out is a broken sound of uncertainty.

It’s like the lights dance in his eyes as he takes a moment to straighten up and regard your features. His lips press against your forehead, then your nose and he pauses over your lips.

“I love you.”

The words fall from your mouth easier than ever. “I love you too.”

He kisses you like it’s the first time: passionate, desperate, and needy. You break off to rest your forehead against his.

“So are you gonna cum inside me or what?” You can barely conceal the smile that breaks through your pursed lips.

“Wow. So am I just a piece of meat to you, Geeksquad?” he jokes.

“I mean… Protein right?” You make a ‘yikes’ face at him and start to laugh.

He shakes his head but he’s grinning like a fool. “Well if it’s what you want…”

Just like that he calls your half-bluff. He ducks his face into the crook of your neck and begins to suck another mark over the fading mark from his earlier endeavors. Your laughter quickly turns into a string of moans as he resumes the previous tempo of his thrusts. A surge of adrenalin flips your stomach on itself and excitement pulses through your body at the thought of his cum slowly dripping out of your cunt.

“I do.”

You squeeze his hands and shimmy him away from your neck so you can sink your teeth into his shoulder to hide the shame of your desire. A broken moan rattles its way up his throat as he entertains the fantasy you’ve conjured in his mind.

“You want me to fill you, hmm?” he whispers in a breathy tone between shallow breaths.

There’s no doubt in your mind that he feels the way your cunt tenses at his words to offer a wordless answer, but you also offer a muffled hum of affirmation.

“You want me to fuck my cum into you just like this, baby?” His words are followed by the sound of his balls slapping against your ass at a new feverish pace.

“Yes,” you whimper and bring your lips to his, high off the sensation of his dick plowing into you.

“Gonna take it all for me?”

“Mhm. Cum for me,” you plead between sloppy kisses. “Cum inside me.”

“Oh shit, baby,” he gasps.

You don’t get another opportunity to coax him into letting go because he’s already slamming his hips into you and crushing his mouth over yours. He’s buried deep inside of you when his hips still but you wiggle beneath him and purposefully clench to give him the tiniest overdose of pleasure. He sighs as he leans back, finally releasing his death grip on your sweaty palms.

“You’re beautiful,” he says, planting a kiss on your forehead.

“You’re sweet,” you murmur, running a hand through his sweaty hair. “Good lay too.”

He rolls his eyes but smiles nonetheless. “Likewise.”

When he pulls out to rise and dispose of the condom you already miss his shape, but the unmistakable ache starts to set in: the ache of a pussy pounded too well after a long hiatus. You clamp your legs together and roll onto your side to expose the skin of your sweaty back to the cold air of the room, closing your eyes as you listen to the patter of raindrops against the window.

“You okay?” he asks.

“Mmm.” You don’t bother opening your eyes. “I seriously need another shower. Sorry about your bed.”

He kneels on the floor next to the edge of the bed and carefully moves the hair from your face. “You can soak my sheets any time.”

“Hmm. I’ll keep that in mind. Sounds gross though. Definitely don’t wanna lay in the puddle behind me.”

“Tired?”

“Yeah.”

“You gonna sleep right there?”

“No.”

You’re such a liar.

He lets a few seconds of silence pass before he speaks again. “How about shower and movie?”

You peek at him from beneath one eyelid. “What movie?”

“Thinking The Kick, unless you have something else in mind.”

“No, that’s— Wait, what time do we have to be at Tae’s?”

Namjoon’s eyes widen and he rubs the back of his neck. “Later… Uh, about that. Are we— I mean on one hand I don’t wanna make a big deal about it but…”

You bolt upright. “Oh no. They’re gonna make such a thing out of it. Nevermind. I’m never seeing them again.”

“It won’t be that bad.”

“Won’t it? Oh my god, if I show up in your clothes…”

“Geeksquad.” He grabs your face.

“Joonie.”  

You reciprocate the action and squish his cheeks towards the center of his face, causing his lips to pucker. He quickly takes your hands into his own.

“Hey. Look at me,” he pauses to make sure you meet his eyes before he continues. “You’re fine. Stay. We’ll figure it out when we get there and we’ll do it together.”

“Okay,” you breathe a sigh of relief. “Okay.”

“Be my ride?” He flashes you his wide dimpled smile.

“Only if you’re mine later.” You wink and draw him into a chaste kiss.

───── ⋆⋅☆·⋆ ─────

"Geeksquad."

His voice sounds distant and soft while reminding you you’re home. In this moment, you’re safe, you’re warm, and you’re loved. It’s too comforting to move away right now, too comforting to bring your eyes to open, so you cling to the heat of his body.

“Hey,” he tries again, gently nudging your shoulder. “Geeksquad, wake up.”

You make sure that your distaste is apparent with a loud grumble. You nuzzle against his chest with your cheek and hum like it will drown him out. He laughs softly as the sound fades away. He briefly lets silence fill the space, which allots you the precious seconds needed to hit the imaginary snooze button and doze off again. It seems he isn't having it when he lets out a loud sigh.

“You missed the end and it’s already five,” he tries to reason. “Weren’t you the one who told me not to let you sleep too long? Unless…” He carefully snakes his fingertips down to your side, hoping to remain undetected. “...You changed your mind about going home to get all cute because you finally realize you are cute, you know, without trying."

You groan against his chest and that seems to be enough to keep him quiet. Just as he feels your head begin to drop down he starts talking loudly.

"Oh, I see. You just really wanna be out flaunting how good you look wearing my clothes. That’s it, right?"

You lightly smack your hand against his chest but don’t allow yourself to let your guard down until you’re certain he's given up.

"That must be it," he continues. "Not you... Being a pain in the ass to wake up. At all.”

With your head pressed against his chest, you find it difficult to drift back off with every loud word dropping from his mouth and vibrating straight into your eardrum. Still you rock your forehead against him and try to ignore his booming voice. When his fingers dig into your side to tickle you, your body jolts up straight and you can’t help but laugh.

“Wow. She speaks,” he jokes. “...Kinda.”

You wiggle against his grip, thrusting your chest up while dipping your head back. You attempt to scold him with his name between a fit of giggles. “Stop,” you wheeze.

“But I love the way you laugh.” His fingers relax despite his words. He leans in to press his lips to your perfectly exposed neck.

Your breathless laughter quickly transforms into a subtle slew of whimpers. He swathes his tongue across a particularly sensitive spot and your breath hitches. You grab his arm and pull down like you want him to crush you like a bug. He doesn’t. Instead he smirks against your neck when he feels your nails dig into his bicep.

“Joonie…” you whine.

He offers his inquiry in the form of a hum that radiates vibrations from the point of contact with your skin.

You’re embarrassed to admit the million things you want to ask him to do right now in place of complaining about his teasing. “Come closer.”

“Closer how?” he murmurs before kissing that spot again.

You take the hand at your side and slip it beneath the worn fabric of your shirt. You don’t have to lead him very far until he’s molding the flesh of your breast with his hand and you’re panting shallow breaths into the air around you. The sweet kiss at your neck turns into a sinful demonstration. The things he could do to you, for you. Do you truly know?

You know you never want him to leave. The heat from his mouth seems to sear a path of lava straight to your core. Your fingers glide through his hair and settle at his jaw. It takes all of your self control to gently push him away from that delightful spot he’s found so that you can plant a soft kiss against his jaw.

You draw out a groan as you pull away. “Maybe we should just cancel.”

“Mmm, don’t tempt me. You know I will,” he murmurs, chasing after your lips.

You lean back just a bit further, a grin plastered on your face as you allow him to press his mouth against yours just one more time.

───── ⋆⋅☆·⋆ ─────

The rain has been reduced to a light patter against your windshield now. You’re grateful that visibility is decent as you pull up to the familiar curb in front of Namjoon’s building. Already waiting just within the building’s entrance, he sprints out at the sight of your headlights. He eagerly hops into the passenger seat and you do your best not to look over at him. Suddenly, you’re nervous. Have your palms ever secreted this much sweat in your life? Still you keep your hands planted on the steering wheel, staring ahead like you’re playing the role of a first-time chauffeur.

Sensing a lingering apprehension, he clears his throat as his seatbelt clicks into place. “Everything okay?”

Keeping the car in park, you allow yourself to look over at him. He smells good. He looks incredible, even in a simple black tee and jeans. And he’s looking at you like all he wants to do is kiss your lips for the millionth time today. It’s like you can feel the anxiety melt from your face.

“I’m nervous,” you admit, shaking out your hands as though that will clear the sweat from them.  “I don’t know why I’m so nervous.”

Your sheepish laugh causes him to reach out for your sweaty palm. To your surprise his hand is just as hot and moist as yours. Regardless of how uncomfortable it is, he holds on tight and laces his fingers between yours.

“It’s okay. Me too.”

The pair of you stare at each other for a few seconds in silence, just smiling and trying to think of what you were going to say before promptly getting lost in one another’s eyes. How is it you’ve never noticed the softness in his features when he looks at you like this? It still feels kind of surreal. But your heart skips a beat and you allow yourself to acknowledge the way heat radiates from your cheeks. You want to kiss him, to reassure him you’re not going to waffle on him again, but you’re too entranced by the infatuation smeared across every aspect of his face.

When you finally speak, he starts at the same time and you both have to pause and laugh. Silence falls between you, but it’s not uncomfortable. It’s charged. It’s shy. It’s excited. He bites his lip and drags it through his teeth as his eyes rake over any part of you they can.

“You look beautiful.”

You lick your lips and your smile grows larger in response. “I- Thank you. I’m. We-- I mean, you look…” A nervous laugh slips into the breath between your words. “Hi.”

He leans across the armrest and plants a soft kiss against your lips. The moment you reciprocate his tongue dips into your mouth and glides against yours. It takes all of your willpower to keep the car running instead of plucking the keys out and dragging him back into his apartment to fuck him stupid. Still you rely on him to break the kiss.

“Hi,” he whispers, dragging a thumb across your cheek as he cups your jaw. “Still nervous?”

You nod. “My stomach hurts.”

“Hey, they’re our friends. It’ll be okay.”

“I know. You’re right.” You sit back against your seat and stare blankly out the foggy windshield. “I haven’t answered Jennie all day. She’s asking and I… I don’t want to answer.”

His heart sinks. It sounds like you want to keep things a secret, even though he knows you’re a terrible liar. No wonder you’re so nervous. It’s the last thing he wants to do, but if you asked he would attempt to cover for the both of you. He sincerely hopes you don’t ask.

“It’s just… I don’t want it to be a text. I mean, do we go in holding hands?” you ask, instantly allaying his fears. “Do we just announce it?”

He breathes a sigh of relief. “Geeksquad, come on. Pretend like nothing’s changed. Things are basically the same right?”

You nod, but your expression casts uncertainty over the action. “Right, right. We can just say it like that, right? I mean, we still work at the same place. We still like to hang out together. Watch movies,It’s just a little more… intimate. You know, the kind of time you spend with someone that you care about and like… make out and have bomb sex and—”

“I’ll tell them we’re together,” he interrupts. “You’re my girlfriend. You signed the love contract.”

“Okay but you’re not going to tell them about the contract right?”

“Mmm. Maybe. Didn’t see anything about it in the terms and conditions.” He laughs.

“Uh, the fine print says you’re sworn to secrecy of its existence. You know, like fight club.”

“Must have missed that. Didn’t have my glasses on, you know?”

“Oh, here.” The lightbulb in your head flickers on. You rummage through the compartment beneath the armrest, presenting Namjoon with the glasses you’d been meaning to return for some time now. “Maybe these will help. You left them at my place.”

“Shit. I thought I lost those.” He sighs, taking them from you. “Wish I hadn’t ordered another pair.”

“Sorry, I kept forgetting to give them to you,” you admit.

He smiles. “Did you forget, or were you pining over me? Be real with me, Geeksquad.”

You roll your eyes. “Okay. I’m gonna start driving before I push you out of this car.”

“Sniffing them because they remind you of me?” he teases.

“Yeah. They smell like avocados.” You laugh as you turn your attention to the road. “You’re lucky hipster glasses are in.”

“Alright, baby.”

He hums in amusement, sparing a glance out the window beside him. It seems like the barrage of rainy days may be coming to an end soon. At least he hopes so. There’s not much he wouldn’t give to take you to his favorite hiking spots, have a picnic with you under clear blue skies, or lay on a sandy beach with you by his side.

“You keep calling me baby,” you point out quietly, pulling him from his reverie.

“Wha— I’m sorry. It was heat of the moment and it felt really natural when we were fucking you know? But if it’s weird now, I-I can stop. I’ll stick with tried and true Geeksquad.” He stumbles through his embarrassment in true Namjoon fashion.

“No, I like it. I just wanted to tell you it... makes me feel good. Way better than Geeksquad.”

“Yeah, you are.”

You smirk and reach for his hand and he gives you a tight squeeze, driving the rest of the way in a comfortable silence. Holding his hand is enough to keep you distracted from all the noise in your head.

───── ⋆⋅☆·⋆ ─────

Knock-knockknock—-knock-knock.

The answer to your knock is the resounding pound of Hobi’s fist through the barrier of the door.

KNOCK-KNOCK.

The door swings open and Hoseok’s smiling face greets you. Namjoon’s hand falls from around your shoulder on instinct. Although Hoseok’s eyes briefly drop to Namjoon’s twitching fingers he draws no further attention to the reaction, stepping aside and gesturing for the pair of you to enter. Seokjin’s incoherent shouting carries from the other room, nearly drowning out your greetings.

“It’s about time.” Hoseok tips a bottle to his lips and the majority of the liquid sloshes back down as he makes a face and runs to shove it against Yoongi’s shoulder. “Yuck.”

Yoongi takes a hearty swig without so much as a glance away from the kitchen. The unmistakable bounce of a ping pong ball springs from the unseen room and you lean back to attempt to see around the blockade Yoongi and Hoseok’s bodies have created between you and whatever is happening in there.

“They started playing while we were waiting for you. Should be done soon,” Hobi says, walking back towards you. “Jimin and Tae put up a good fight but Jungkookie is too good.”

“You didn’t have to wait. We could have met you there,” Namjoon says, rubbing the back of his neck and stealing a sideways glance at you.

Hoseok raises an eyebrow and smirks, his eyes following Namjoon’s to you. His bony finger pokes your spine and you instantly tense and straighten your posture.

“I think we all wanted to wait.”

He knows. Even as you spin towards him you feel it. Despite the words left unspoken, somehow he already knows.

Yup. It’s time. Just get it over with. Easier thought than done.

“Why?” you blurt.

“Well...” Hoseok begins, ghosting his fingers over your shoulder as he walks towards the couch to put his shoes on. “We wanted to see you guys. Had a feeling we might not see too much of you as the night goes on. Figured you might want some,” he pauses to finish knotting his shoelace, grinning at you as he stands, “hmm, alone time?”

“I— Pssfht. What?” The unexpected shrillness of your voice cuts through the space between you. You clear your throat and do your best to dampen your anxiety. “I mean, like, why would we—? We’re—We, uh, whew… Is it hot in here?”

Words are no good right now. Anything else you say will just be another unnecessary embarrassment to endure. Your heartbeat resides in your ears as your flight response kicks in. Namjoon must hear it too because drapes his arm around your shoulder and pulls you towards the comforting mass of his chest.

Your fingers fidget with your keys even though you know you won’t need them tonight. You consider tossing them in the bowl Tae keeps on the counter, but that would require walking past the rest of your friends and abandoning Namjoon. You agreed you would face them together.

Namjoon smiles softly and gives your arm a reassuring squeeze. “We’re good, man.”

“Are you?” The look on Hoseok’s face tells you he’s hoping you’ll expand on Namjoon’s short answer. “How are you doing, Y/N? Has that douche tried to contact you?”

You almost forgot about Jihoon. It seems like such a distant memory now. The sting of his words echo in the darkest corner of your mind, but not for long. A smile forces those thoughts to scatter as you look to Namjoon for support. You take a breath and exhale a relieved sigh.

“Nope. He’s gone for good, I think.” You reach for Namjoon’s hand, using the courage his touch instills to fuel your confession. “If he comes back around I’m sure my boyfriend will try to kick his ass.”

“Wait. It’s finally happening?” Hoseok’s eyes go wide and he springs from the couch in an instant to poke his fingers against your sides. He didn’t expect to be totally correct in his assumptions, but he hoped for it. “For really real?”

You said it first. Out loud. Namjoon’s stomach churns in excitement as he looks at you. You’re grinning like a dork and nodding even though he knows you’re embarrassed as hell. Yeah. He’s pretty sure he’s never been more in love with your goofy ass smile. Hoseok covers your entwined fingers with both of his hands and practically drags you both towards the kitchen.

“Guys, guys! It’s official!”

The ball leaves Jungkook’s fingertips, launches across the table and circles the rim of the final cup as his opponents turn away. The room goes quiet, save for the airy spin of the ball slowly decelerating into the contents of the cup. Namjoon adjusts his glasses and you swallow hard under the burning spotlight of your friends’ eyes.

“Drumroll, please!” Hoseok demands with a smile, rolling his tongue to begin the buildup. “Bdrdrdrrdrdrdrdrdrdrdrdrdr--”

Yoongi presses his lips together to hold back a smile and begins drumming his fingers on the wall beside him. Not willing to be outdone, Seokjin and Jungkook join in, pounding their fists on the table, followed by the light tap of Jimin’s hands against his thighs, and the smack of Taehyung’s palms against his face.

“I present to you the moment we’ve all been waiting for…” Hoseok ducks behind the pair of you and lifts your arms like you’ve just tied for victory in a boxing match. “Joonsquad!”

The inflection at the end of his tone makes you cringe almost as hard as the nickname.

“Nope. No. We’re not calling it that.”

“Joonsquad? Really?”

The combined cheers from your friends drown out your objections.

Jimin’s arms are the first to wrap you both into a tight bear hug. “I’m so happy for you both.”

The statement seems genuine, but you’re flooded with the embarrassing memory of drunkenly slobbering over his face. Namjoon had always reminded you that Jimin was used to keeping things casual but still you find yourself ashamed for going there. Harmless flirting and games of chicken ruled your friendship with Jimin for so long. You used to fantasize about his lips exploring your body, but it seems so preposterous now. You’re not sure when it happened, but things changed.

Despite your mind’s acknowledgement of his beauty there is no worry accompanying it, no butterflies wreaking havoc on your senses. Your simple crush has faded into surface appreciation. It seems easy to recognize that now that you’ve stopped trying to push down the feelings you have for your best friend. Any lingering affections you bear resemble nothing more than a strengthened friendship, much like the one you’ve shared with Jennie for years.

Even with all the back slaps and fistbumps, Namjoon’s eyes are trained on you in a smitten stupor. Embarrassment does nothing to steal the light in your eyes or the joy in your laugh. All of the congratulations in the world can’t reach his ears when you’re looking at him like that.

“I knew it!” Jennie comes running from around the corner, pushing past all the men in her path to throw her arms around you. “No wonder you’ve been dodging my texts. I wanna know everything.” She attempts a whisper, but softness doesn’t translate through the liquor already clouding her voice. “In detail.”

Namjoon clears his throat loudly to combat the redness spreading along his ears. “Where are we headed? Seesaw?”

Everyone looks at one another like they hadn’t really thought about it.

“Sure. Your first drink is on me.” Yoongi throws an arm around Namjoon.

Hoseok weaves his arm beneath Yoongi’s from Namjoon’s other side, beginning to walk them towards the door. “It’s a dancing night, don’t you think?”

“How about we hit up the strip club after?” Jungkook suggests, already tugging his sneakers on and stumbling towards the door.

Seokjin rolls his eyes and claps a hand around the youngest’s neck. “Do you really want to break up a couple so soon?”

“What? They can look together, right? Wings doesn’t discriminate. It’s like a bonding thing. You don’t mind, do you, Y/N?”

“Don’t worry, Y/N. We’re not going there.” Seokjin turns back to Jungkook to whisper, “Not every celebration needs to be at a strip club.”

“I’ll remember that on your birthday,” Jungkook mutters, already on his way out the door.

The others begin to follow suit but before you can get too far, Taehyung latches onto your elbow. “Keys.”

“Right.” You produce a tangled mess of keychains and keys. Namjoon hangs back to wait with you, leaning against the doorframe as Tae disappears.

“You’re always welcome to stay here,” Tae offers as your keys clang against the others in the bowl.

Namjoon chews on his lip and looks to you. As long as you’ll lay next to him he doesn’t care where he sleeps tonight.

“Depends how drunk we get,” you reply with a smile, lacing your fingers with Namjoon’s to lead him out of the apartment. “Thanks, Tae.”

He grins and pats Namjoon’s shoulder after locking the door. “Don’t worry, Jungkook washed all the sheets yesterday.”

You flip up the hood of your sweater and tighten the strings to cover your face. You’re definitely not coming back here tonight.

───── ⋆⋅☆·⋆ ─────

You’ve done your best to balance your attention between your friends throughout the night, sharing food, drinking and laughing together. But as the night continues you feel your energy draining with each attempt to remain social and engaged in conversation. You’re grateful when Namjoon steers the conversation away from you, leading most of the table towards the bar to collect more drinks for everyone. Only Hoseok and Yoongi are left to hold down the table with you. You’re pretty sure Namjoon is counting on the majority of the group getting distracted and splitting off. At least you’re hoping that’s what he’s playing at because you’d really like to get away from all the questions and stories.

When you yawn Yoongi nudges your elbow out from under you, forcing you to catch yourself before your chin slams against the table.

“Tired?” he asks with a smirk, eyes focused elsewhere.

“Mmm,” you agree with a nod. “I guess I should get up before they come back or I’ll be stuck here forever, huh?”

“You know, you’re not being rude if you want to head out. You don’t have to stay and prove anything. We’ve all been rooting for you to get together. If you wanna slip away for some privacy, you should.”

It’s funny how well your friends know you. You can’t even remember what life was like before they came along.

“A break from questions would be nice,” you admit with a stretch of your arms.

Hoseok, who’s been nursing the same drink all night, brings the glass to his lips and gulps down a rather large sip and scrunches his features together. “Blegh. Ooooor you can come dance with me.” He wiggles his eyebrows for good measure.

You stare him down, tonguing the straw to your tequila sunrise and trying to steal the last sip of the drink from the ice that remains in your glass. Is he trying to fuck with you?

“Don’t worry, I’ll be good.” He laughs, offering you his hand. “Namjoonie’s not much of a dancer, but I think he’d be willing to learn from you more than me. Think I can teach you something to show him before he gets back?”

“Hobi, I know how to dance,” you say with a laugh, although you’re already taking his hand.

“Mmm, do you though?” Hoseok flitters his free hand back and forth. “Ehhhh.”

With a roll of your eyes, you spare Yoongi a glance. “You coming?”

Yoongi leans back in his seat with a shake of his head. He casually pops a fry into his mouth.“Go on. I’ll send Namjoon your way so Hobi will keep his hands above your waist.”

“That’s just rude,” Hoseok scoffs, pulling you towards the dance floor.

He’s true to his word, dancing as respectably as someone with hips like Hoseok can. He guides your hips with his hands as he sways behind you.

“You’re perfect for him,” he says.

“What?” Your rhythm falters and you lose your sense of balance, stepping on his foot as you try to keep yourself from falling. “Sorry.”

He laughs, tickling your sides. “See? That’s what I mean. Took you dummies long enough to realize it.”

“It’s my fault. I was too scared and stupid to see what was right in front of me this entire time.” You sigh and lean back, surprised to find his chest a decent distance away. “I still think he’s too good for me.”

“Oh, pffft. Stop it,” Hoseok chides in your ear.

“I hope— Ugh, nevermind.”

“What?”

A small chuckle escapes with a held breath. “It’s dumb.”

“So?”

“I just— I hope my love is good enough for him.”

“I wouldn’t worry about that.”

His hands hug around your stomach and push you closer to him, but the way they subtly tremble as they descend to rest on your hips feels different. When Hoseok steps around and hands still clasp you from behind, your heart soars. If not for the familiarity of the stiff chest at your back and the loving embrace enveloping your form, you might be nervous.

Namjoon’s lips caress your ear as he whispers, “You know it is.”

Even your best attempt to hide your embarrassed smile would fail, so it’s a good thing you’re not even trying. Hoseok wears a satisfied grin as he watches you turn towards Namjoon for a shy kiss. He thinks about leaving you with dancing advice, but instead he decides to slink away wordlessly. There isn’t anything he could say right now that the two of you would hear, not when you’re in a world of your own like this.

It’s easy to lose track of time as you grind against him, teasing him with every swaying motion of your hips. Every sigh against your ear spurs you on to press him further. Even with all the layers between you, the hard length grinding against your ass is ever-present and obvious enough to make you want to bend over so he can take you right here.

Instead you dance and feel his body move against yours until exhaustion starts to set in. Tae and Jennie are already waiting for a ride by the time you step outside. Your cheeks ache from smiling so much and every muscle in your face is too tired to speak. She looks just as tired as you but she gives you a small greeting.

It’s funny how you don’t find anything odd about the way she leans into Tae as they sit near one another, or the way Tae is absentmindedly stroking her hair. You feel like it should be odd, but the world is so far away that you can’t hold the details in your brain long enough to make a connection. Between the haze of alcohol and sleep, you’re too far gone to think too much about it.

Namjoon keeps his arm around you as he talks to Tae, but you don’t catch much of their conversation. Sleep threatens to take you where you stand. You count yourself lucky that Namjoon cares for you so well. You close your eyes to rest for a moment, but when you open them again he’s unbuckling your seatbelt and helping you out of the lyft. You shuffle past the threshold of Tae’s home.

Namjoon leads you down the hall to the guest room and pulls on the dangling chain on the lamp  near the bed. A soft yellow glow fills the room as you start to sleepily yank the clothing from your body. Namjoon quickly goes for the open door, but Tae is already in the doorway averting his gaze with one hand and holding a small quilt in the other.

“Thanks. She, uh, gets really cold,” Namjoon says, blocking your body with his frame as you bend at the waist to untie the shoes you now realize are blocking your pants from sliding over your feet.

“Sorry. Let me know if you need anything else,” Tae mumbles, clearly embarrassed. “Goodnight.”

“Night,” Namjoon murmurs back, clutching the quilt as he softly closes the door and turns to you. “Baby.”

“Hmm.”

Your foot is stuck in your shoe but you can’t get your foot out because your shoe is stuck in your jeans. This is a conundrum.

“Baby, you’re gonna fall. Sit down. I’ll help you.”

“I can do it,” you mumble, plopping down on the edge of the bed.

“I know,” he says, already on his knees before you.

He frees your legs and gives you a kiss as he helps you wiggle below the bedspread, setting the quilt on top of your side.

“It’s hot,” you mumble.

“I know.”

“Too hot for blankets.”

“I know. How about the sheet?” he asks, rolling everything back except for the topsheet. He knows you. You’ll want them again soon enough.

“Mm. Come here.” You reach your grabby hands out for him as he flicks the light off.

“I’m coming.” He laughs and slides beside you. “So needy.”

Although you know he can’t see you pout, he pulls you toward his chest anyway and it turns into a smirk against his warm skin.

“It’s ‘cause I needy--you” you slur with a giggle, planting your lips against his chest in a drawn out kiss.

“You’re a hot mess and I love you,” he says, shaking his head.

“Love you, too.”

It’s clear you’re already falling asleep but he gently strokes your arm until the world around you begins to cool and fall away. When you roll away with a shiver, he carefully secures your body in a cocoon of blankets and drapes his arm and leg over you. Not even overheating could keep him from your touch. A wave of calm overtakes him.

This time he knows: this is love.

───── ⋆⋅☆·⋆ ─────

Months into your relationship,you’ve have prepared for the end of the semester by planning a little vacation for just the two of you. Namjoon struggles to get through his last day of work, daydreaming about staying at Tae’s summer home and laying on the beach with you. His favorite hiking spot isn’t too far from there and he’s been dying to take you and show you the clearing of wildflowers he loves so much. Hopefully they’ve bloomed beautifully.

He yawns and stretches out, flipping the binder on his desk. It’s been a long day, commemorating the end of a long week. He’s exhausted, but he’s graded every last paper and is in good shape to submit final scores by the deadline. His phone buzzes against the dark wood in the only spot bereft of errant papers. He flips the screen around, finally allowing himself to check the time and give in to distractions.

You: Still working bae

He smiles, thumb gliding over the screen effortlessly while attempting to organize the mess on his desk.

Namjoon: Just finishing up. You: 😏 You: can I You: come before you finish You: it’s only fair

He halts his efforts to stare at his phone.

Namjoon: … You: yes?? Namjoon: 🤦‍♂️ You: what? I’m serious You: 😈😈😈 Namjoon: You on campus? You: I mean... You: who else is gonna be your ride 😘

He shakes his head, smile growing wider as he glances up at the monitor before him. He definitely doesn’t miss running to catch the last bus on late nights. He’s nearly done logging final comments. He’ll be done sooner than you can get here, but this might be as good a time as any to make the reveal.

Namjoon hits the icon to call you, swooning at the familiar image of you stealing his drink. He straightens his glasses and types away at the keyboard while trapping the phone between his ear and shoulder. It doesn’t ring for very long.

“Joonie?”

“Hey, I gotta upload these grades but I’m having trouble.”

You sigh. The last thing you want to do tonight is work, especially not with what you had planned. “What kind of trouble?”

Even as he types away on the keyboard, his mind searches for a term, some kind of red alert to get you off the phone and into his office so he can tell you in person.

“Uh… blue screen.”

“Blue screen of death?” You rub your temple. “What does it say?”

“Uh,” he swallows, pausing to proofread the comment along with the grade he’s about to submit. “It just restarted.”

“On its own?”

Submit.

“Yeah.”

“Is this the first time it’s doing this?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, see if it starts up okay. We can always come back before we go on vacation.”

“Baby, I really want to get these done tonight. I was so close to being done so we can start tonight.”

You sigh heavily and check your makeup in the rearview mirror. “Is it starting up?”

“No, it’s beeping.”

Even straining your ears doesn’t help you pick up on the sound.  “Are you sure?”

“Can you come here? Please?”

Your heart melts. “I’ll be right there.”

You turn the car off and grab one of Namjoon’s oversized hoodies from the backseat. You slip it over your skimpy outfit and carefully make your way to the library, tugging on the hem like it will somehow magically cover all the exposed flesh down to your knees. No such luck. Regardless of how many times you’ve practiced wearing these awful heels, it’s not like you expected to be walking up several flights of stairs in them.

There’s no security guard at the station across the quad. You don’t know if you should feel as happy as you do about that. Despite the voice in the back of your head telling you to get in your car and demand an escort to his office, embarrassment outweighs any fear for safety and you push on. Only a familiar yellow cardigan draped over a chair greets you at the receptionist’s desk, its occupant long gone for the night.

Adrenaline pumps through your veins as you climb the stairs, passing stack after stack of dimly lit bookshelves until you’re standing outside of the only office still illuminated. Thankfully the door is propped open and you power walk as fast as you can towards it. The faster you can fix it, the faster you can head home and celebrate the end of the semester the way you originally planned.

He nearly tips the chair as he stands. It hits the back wall of his office with a graceless bang. “Y/N? Are those heels? Did you drive here in those?”

It’s difficult to keep your lips as they are when he adorns that expression, features battling between where they might settle: aroused or awestruck. You’d rather not screw up the perfect lipstick application you worked so hard to achieve— not yet at least. The plan is to be on your knees when that happens.

“You look—” he pauses as his traveling eyes try to glean any information they can. His voice lowers to a whisper and he quickly attempts to sate his curiosity with a wandering hand up your thigh. “Are-Are you not wearing anything under there?”

Before you can answer his fingers find the pleated fabric hidden beneath the hoodie and a new, eager question fumbles from his lips. “What are... you wearing?”

As much as you’d like for him to keep exploring, you muster enough willpower to smack his hands away. It’s only fair that he has to wait while you work.

“Computer first. You said it was beeping. Did it ever start back up?”

He swallows hard as you round the desk and start troubleshooting. It’s hard to think when all the blood in his brain is quickly evacuating in favor of inhabiting a far less intelligent location. He’s supposed to say something. He knows that much. But you look so beautiful he forgets how to say it. Your brows furrow in frustration and you sigh his name.

You’ve done your makeup, your hair is down for the first time in a long time, and you even put on a cute outfit as far as he can gather. But here you are in his hoodie, donning a pair of blue-light blocking glasses, rolling up the baggy sleeves, and tying your hair into a tight ponytail as you start to go into full on geeksquad mode. Even with your hunched shoulders and irritated tongue clicking, you’re trying to help him, still beautiful in the way he loves.

Underneath all that skin-deep beauty that fades with time, within the wrinkles that have already begun to crease the edges of your eyes and the corners of your mouth, you shine. You shine brighter than any star he’s ever seen. Months of reflecting your light haven’t been enough to show you the true glow of your soul, but he’s confident that one day you’ll see it.

He’s pulled back to reality as your scowl settles on him. Repeatedly pressing the power button with your finger won’t change the fact that he’s purposefully unplugged it, a fact it seems you’ve come to realize when you reach for the VGA cable and there’s nothing there.

A charming, dimpled smile graces his features and he picks up the monitor with ease. “I, uh, think maybe something fell off before you got here.”

“There’s nothing wrong with your computer, is there?” You lean back in the chair and sigh as he stands there like a fool on the opposite side of the desk, cradling his LCD screen like a bouquet.

“No,” he says sheepishly. He gently lowers the monitor to the floor and sighs. “I planned on presenting this better, but you distracted me. There’s something I’ve been wanting to talk to you about for a while now.”

Your stomach is spinning and you take in a deep breath. Oh fuck. Is he really going to break up with you? No, he can’t be. He wouldn’t be smiling about that. Would he?

“Nothing bad,” he quickly adds, circling behind the desk and your chair in one large stride. His thumbs dive into the fabric of your hoodie to rub circles into your shoulders.  “At least I don’t think you’ll think it’s bad…” Terror strikes at his belly and he adds, “Unless you do...”

“Joon. Please. You’re stressing me out. Whatever it is, just tell me.”

He spins the chair around and squats down onto one knee. He straightens his tie and reaches for your hand, sending your stomach on another rollercoaster ride, only this one is running in the complete opposite direction and you’re equally as unprepared. You’re not really a marriage kind of person. Well, maybe you are, but you’re not sure. It’s too soon to know! You’re more of a limbless amoeba at this point, stuffed into heels and floating with the other protozoa in the petri dish of the universe, unthinking, just existing.

The world stops as he reaches into his coat pocket and you find yourself too petrified to speak. You close your eyes and slump into the chair like you’ve become a being comprised solely of pudding. Your skirt rides up as you sink and your panties shrink into the world’s thinnest thong. Have you ever held a breath for this long? Maybe you’ll melt through the mesh seat and evaporate into the cheap carpet below. It takes him too long to realize his latest mistake.

It was probably the pudding hand that tipped him off.

“Oh. Shit. Okay. No, look at me. I’m not—” He laughs and sets something in your palm, closing your fingers around it and holding them there. “Look.”

You finally settle on the floor before him and squeeze the item in your palm. It feels unremarkable, like a basic wire or plastic cap. The most remarkable part about it is that it is definitely not a ring.

Relief washes over you with the breath you exhale. “Joon. You’re killing me. Please.”

“Here’s the thing.”

He releases your hand so you can look at this unremarkable thing that has caused you so much panic. It’s the plastic head of a CAT5 plug, pins and all. You tilt your head to one side and inspect it with childlike curiosity and bewilderment.

“I’m not that bad with computers. I mean, I’m not like you-level, but I’m not as bad as you think.”

Things begin to click into place. This isn’t just any ethernet plug. It’s the first one, the one you couldn’t fathom disappearing like it did, leaving a mess of wires in its wake. Namjoon just seemed so clueless that you naturally blamed drunken students vandalizing campus property for shits and giggles. It never crossed your mind that the sweet, quiet professor could have staged the whole thing.

“Before I knew you, I wanted to know you. But I felt like I needed an excuse to talk to you so I…” He reaches into his pocket and adds various bits of broken plastic and screws to your cupped hand. “...did this.”

You blink stupidly at the pile in your palm, watching busted pieces of plastic slide off the side of the tiny heap of junk and fall onto the floor beside your knees. “Oh my god. You…?”

“Breaking things seemed like the easiest way to spend time with you,” he admits. “At least at first. I started doing less destructive things after a while. Deleting empty documents. Unplugging my keyboard. Turning off bluetooth. Moving my email shortcuts. I mean, damn. I thought you caught me more than once. I kept waiting for you to call me out. I dreaded it. I hoped for it.”

A cackle bubbles in the back of your throat but you suppress it with a snort. “So you held onto these? This whole time?”

“I didn’t know if I should like, recycle them or not and it’s not like I could ask you. And I mean googling that just seems suspicious. I’m not about to land myself on a watch list or something. But like, for real, you should definitely tell me if I can recycle them though because I have more and I would really like to clean out my drawer.”

Laughter breaches your lips in full force. “You faked being bad at stuff this whole time? Joonie, are you serious? I can’t believe I fell for the way — the way you type!” You cough and wheeze, trying to catch your breath between laughs. “With two fingers! I should have known. Only dads type like that. Oh my god. “

He offers a sheepish smile. “Actually, I really type like that. Something about the keys.”

“Oh.” Your laughter dies. “Sorry. I mean that like… mmm. You know what, I meant what I said. Kinda crazy, considering you text faster than me.”

Namjoon rolls his eyes. “Okay. Texting is different.”

You cross your arms, burying the broken pieces in your clenched fist. “Have you ever needed my help? Should even come running anymore?”

“Hey, sometimes I really do. I’m still clumsy. Plus, it’s out there now. I have no reason to waste your time... unless you want me to. I won’t stop you from climbing under my desk in those hot pants you wear with all the little pockets.”

You furrow your brows and scoff, an incredulous grin spreading across your face. “My cargo pants? Those pockets are huge.”

“Not compared to your ass.” He shakes his head with a smile, holds up his hands like he’s cupping your ass and pretends to squeeze it a couple times.

“Why are you like this?” You laugh with a roll of your eyes.

“Excuse me, who’s the one getting so drunk she’s going on thinking it’s hot to talk about making guacamole with my avocado dick?”

“Vaguely remember that. Smeared it all over me though, didn’t you?” You grin and wiggle your eyebrows.

He purses his lips and takes a breath. “If you mean watched you drink too fast on an empty stomach while we waited for takeout, sat with you while you dry-heaved for 20 minutes untiI I carried you to the couch and held your hand till you drank enough water to fall asleep, then yeah. Smeared it good.”

“And that’s why… I love you.”

You lean in and stop short of his lips, sitting back enough to narrow your eyes at him.

”Wait a minute. Projector.”

If you’ve been living on a ramen and cereal diet for two years because of a man’s inability to properly express romantic interest, you’re going to be pissed, regardless of how much you love said man now.

“Oh, hey, no. Hold up. The projector was a real accident. I cried,” he reminds you. “I will proclaim you as my goddess and savior for all time on that one.”

“Goddess, huh?” you smirk and close your fist around the busted pieces, leaning in for a kiss. “You gonna call me that instead now? I think I like that better than Geeksquad.”

He hums disagreement against your lips, “Mmm-mmm.”

You rest your forehead against his. “Promise me you won’t purposefully break anything else going forward.”

“I promise. That includes your heart,” he whispers, cupping your chin and pressing his lips against your cheek.

“You are so corny.” You pull at his tie, grinning as you lure him to your lips again. “And I’m so here for it. Now are you gonna help me up so we can start our vacation? Or are you gonna sit there with a hard dick and pretend like you still have work to do?”

He clicks his tongue and rises to his feet to extend a hand to you. As you attempt to pull yourself up, he reaches for your sides and lifts you with ease until you’re perched on the edge of his desk. He didn’t ask you to part your legs yet they spread for him anyway, wrapping around his waist and pulling him close.

“Are you gonna make me guess what all this is about?” he asks, tilting his head to the side and giving your crude ponytail a soft tug.

You smirk, staring at the red streaks of your lipstick circling his mouth while you try to ignore the heat between your legs that begs you to take him right here. You’ve imagined fucking on this desk thousands of times, but at least you still have enough sense to realize the risk in playing out that fantasy. He’s got a perfectly good desk at his place anyway.

“Take me home and maybe you’ll get to find out,” you say, pulling your keys from the hoodie pocket and letting them hang from your finger.

He groans as he takes them from you. “You know I can’t do highways.”

“Backroads are fine.”

“It’s gonna take forever,” he complains, dropping his head to your shoulder.

“It’s a good time to practice. Come on.” You pat his back a couple times and hop down from the desk, making sure to grind yourself against his erection. “I promise I’ll make it worth the wait.”

───── ⋆⋅☆·⋆ ─────

As soon as you’re in his apartment, you remove the hoodie to reveal your very crude surprise: a slutty schoolgirl costume. Eyes wide and jaw slack, he stops loosening his tie to imitate a lifeless statue of a drooling neanderthal.

“Y/N, what is… Why?”

“Because,” you begin in a low, sultry tone as you drag your fingers over the soft silk still in his hand. “I want you to teach me a lesson.”

His soft exhale fills the space between you and he stumbles to form a response. He laughs nervously, unable to compose himself. “What?”

You bite your lip, suddenly feeling stupidly uncertain. “You… watch this porn all the time, don’t you? At least I thought you did. Oh. Oh god. This is stupid. Sorry.”

He grips your shoulders to keep you from running towards the bedroom. His eyelids flutter for a

second as he struggles to compose his thoughts. “No. It’s fine. I’m all for roleplay. I’m just... I’m not into the teacher-student trope.”

You frown and reach into the hard-drive files of your brain for any porn you’ve seen on his computer. He’s lying and he knows you know it. He wilts under your puzzled gaze.

“I’m not that into it. Like a lot. I’ve seen some, but only when the story is there.”

“Oh, the story?” You hold back a giggle.

Is he really trying to tell you he’s watching porn for the plot to cover for some terrible porno choices? He should know by now that you don’t care about that. You’ve watched more than your fair share of terrible videos just to get off and immediately hated yourself after. It shouldn’t come as a surprise considering he pretended to be a total idiot with technology for years to cover up his feelings.

“What? I’m serious. I think it’s great when the woman is the teacher and the guy is her equal, you know? She definitely makes as much as he does, if not more because she does it in tight clothes because of the dress code, you know? And he comes in one day after hours and is like how does all this work, anyway? And she starts explaining but you know a button snaps and there’s tension. Baby, you know I’m a feminist. I would never—”

“Joonie. I’m not judging you. I wouldn’t do it if I wasn’t into it myself. I thought it might be fun. And I mean… I really wanted an excuse to have you bend me over your desk, but if you’re not interested I can just—” As soon as you start to work at the buttons of your blouse, he reaches out to stop you.

“We can try it,” he says, bashfully taking a step back and tapping his fingertips against yours. “I’d like to, if you’re down.”

You see an opportunity to break the tension and put him at ease, donning your best valley-girl accent. “Oh em gee, Professor Kim! You are, like, my favorite teacher. Is there some way I can get some extra credit? Puhleeeaase.”

“Nope, none of that,” he says with a laugh, twining his fingers with yours. “As a rule you cannot use that voice.”

“Fair enough.” You lead him towards the desk and gesture to the chair nearby. “How about I’m the teacher since you like that plot point so much?”

He chews his lip to hold back a toothy grin and watches with eager eyes as you bend at the waist to inspect the desk before him, giving a clear view of your ass and panties as your skirt rises. You relocate anything valuable to the nearby bookshelf and work on gathering the papers strewn about the surface.

“Sorry just let me gather up all my extra paychecks,” you mumble.

Once the desk is clear you perch yourself on its edge. Namjoon is already holding out a hair tie and a pair of glasses.

“You forgot these at the staff meeting.”

You roll your eyes and grin, working your hair into a messy bun and resting the glasses atop your head. “Thank you, Professor Kim.”

“Professor Kim is my father. Call me Namjoon.”

You purse your lips and try your best not to laugh, uncrossing and recrossing your legs purposefully. “I suppose you can call me Y/N, then.”

He makes no attempt to hide his lurid gaze, but his eyes travel to your face and he smiles. “Can I call you beautiful, instead?”

“Very smooth, Joonie,” you chuckle, breaking character for a moment.

“Joonie. Hmm. I like the way that sounds in your mouth.”

“I think there’s something else you’d like in my mouth. Maybe you’d like to put it in?”

Namjoon straightens in his seat as you approach, chest heaving in anticipation as he spreads his legs further so you might slot yourself between them. He dips his tongue into your mouth and you work his belt off, slowly sinking to your knees as you try to will yourself to break away from his kiss. He’s eager to unzip his pants and free his cock for you. It stands at attention, eagerly awaiting your touch.

Your breath warms the tip as you skim your lips across him, teasing him just enough to have him twitching, aching to thrust into that pretty mouth. He bites his lip as he looks down at you and inhales sharply through his nose the moment you grip his shaft. The moan that follows is like music to your ears and you grant him the flat of your tongue to reward such a sound.

He combs his fingers through his hair and clutches your shoulder as you take him into your mouth. The dark swollen head of his shaft is thick enough to make your jaw ache, but the sound of him cursing and losing all sense of coherence makes it worth it. As he sinks further into your mouth, he tilts his head back and squeezes his eyes shut in ecstasy.

You take him as deep as you can, allowing your spit to coat his cock. He likes it when it’s sloppy, when you’re drooling over yourself while he fills your mouth and you’re more than happy to oblige. Your eyes water as he flirts with the back of your throat with a soft, shallow thrust. When you choke his head snaps up to focus on you but you wave his concerned look away and grip his shaft tightly.

A thin string of precum and spit still connects your mouth to him as you lean back for just a second to compose yourself.

“Hope you don’t have any other meetings planned.”

“Why’s that?” His palm gently cups the back of your head, waiting for the moment you’re ready to take him again.

“I’m gonna make a mess of you.”

“Good.”

You meet his eyes and gather as much spit in your mouth as you can, allowing it to dribble down his cock before pumping your fist over him. He doesn’t have time to guide your head back down because you’re already on him again, working him over with your hand any place the warmth of your mouth can’t reach.

He chokes out an expletive and buries a hand in your hair, taking in the sight of your perfect mouth offering the bliss he craves. “You take me so well.”

You bob on his cock until he snakes his fingers down to undo the first button of your blouse, granting him access to a sliver of cleavage. He’s eager to see more of you, to feel more of you. Even after months of being with you, it doesn’t take much to tip him over the edge. He won’t last much longer if you keep going, but he’ll be damned if he blows his load in your mouth before even getting an opportunity to touch you.

“I wanna feel you,” he murmurs, leaning forward to coax you away from his cock and back to his lips.

The moment you press your lips against his he reaches for your waist to help you stand. He’s about to follow suit when you surprise him, straddling his lap and grasping at his tie to pull him towards your chest. His cock throbs as it grinds against the slick barrier of your soaked panties, begging for entrance as he buries his face in the splendor of your cleavage. A roll of your hips tempts him to push your panties aside and plunge into you like this. His fingers work as quickly as they can to pop open a few more buttons before slipping down to grip the meat of your ass.

“Fuck me,” you plead, grinding yourself down.

His arms tense and before you can entice him further he stands with a grunt, hoisting you onto the desk. You barely have time to react as he yanks your panties down and plunges a finger into your dripping cunt. Planting an arm behind you and keeping the other clasped around the back of his neck, you weakly attempt to keep yourself somewhat upright.

“How about you make a mess for me instead,” he whispers, leaving your cunt in favor of rubbing quick circles against your clit. “And then I’ll fill you up. Walk you out of here past everyone so they can see my cum dripping from your thighs. Everyone will know what a filthy slut you are for me, won’t they, beautiful?”

The way your muscles tense up nearly gives you a cramp. You bite your lip and nod with a pathetic fucked out grin as he fucks his fingers into your cunt, continuing to rub against your clit. Your elbow wobbles and you frantically grasp at his shirt instead, balling the material into your fist, desperate to undo the buttons but too close to nirvana to remember how to perform such a simple task. Your legs shake against the surface of the desk, and while the steady rhythm of his finger against your clit is heavenly, you’re ready to cry when his fingers leave your hole empty and aching to be filled.

“Joon, please.”

As soon as the desperate plea leaves your mouth, the tip of his cock teases your entrance, providing small, shallow thrusts that send you soaring past the threshold of your release. He can’t help but smile against your kiss as you drag his bottom lip through your teeth and melt into his form. Your walls spasm wildly around him and he gradually lets the pressure off your clit, instead increasing the pace and depth of his thrusts. He fucks you through the shockwaves of pleasure that follow your orgasm, stilling only when your eyelids stop fluttering and you’re able to meet his gaze with a fatigued satisfaction.

“Why’d you stop?” you wonder, lazily opening the buttons on his shirt. Pert brown nipples poke out from beneath the soft fabric, with the silky tie still swaying between them.

He watches you with a smile for a moment before pursuing the last few buttons of your blouse. Quickly working it off your shoulders, you give him the opportunity to reach for the clasp of your bra. It doesn’t take long for him to sweep you into a deep kiss, entranced by the way your skin feels against him while he’s still buried inside of you.

“Bend over this desk for me, baby. Show me that sexy ass.”

You whimper at the loss of his cock but do as he asks, knowing you’ll soon be full again. He lifts your skirt, takes both cheeks in his hands and squeezes before giving one side a slap. The moan that escapes you is embarrassing and it spurs him to repeat the action.

“Fuck,” he whispers, finally allowing his cock to press against cunt once more. “So fucking wet.”

Your own juices coat the expanse of your thighs, slowly trailing down them. Without warning he slams into you hard and fast. Wet slapping sounds fill the room as he holds your hips, driving them back to meet his thrusts.

“So fucking tight.”

You grip the opposing edge of the desk and moan. “You’re so deep, baby.”

“Fuck...” The word is exhaled through a shaky breath.

“So deep you could read me poetry,” you whisper, unable to stop the joke even though you know he’s on the cusp of cumming.

He huffs out a strained puff of air as he tries his hardest not to laugh. He gives in to the laughter after you begin to giggle. Unable to save himself, he leans into the joke that threatens to ruin his orgasm. “You’re my person. You’re my desire. You’re my pride...”

His thrusts are sloppy, his legs tense. You crane your neck to look over your shoulder to make sure he’s not mad. It must be your own grin that is contagious because he’s smiling even though he’s shaking his head at you.

“You’re my love. One and only love,” you recite for him, reaching back for his hand and pushing your hips back into him with force.

His grip on your hip tightens and he squeezes your hand. He slams into you a final time with a moan, ensuring he’s as deep as he can be before filling you with his seed. The pleasure amplifies every time you try to wiggle back for some sort of movement and he moves his hand to your ass, digging his fingernails in like it will keep him grounded. He leans over your form, kissing any bit of skin on your back his lips can reach.

Regardless of the sensitivity he keeps himself buried in you, hoping by some miracle he’ll stay hard enough to fuck you a second time. He can’t tell what’s his mess and what’s yours anymore as it drips down his balls to his thighs. As he finally slips out, you turn to face him with a sweet smile on your lips.

Your fingers glide through his hair and trail down to cradle his cheek. “I love you.”

Namjoon leans into your touch, pressing his lips to the inside of your palm. “I love you too.”

Maybe it’s the endorphins, but he can’t remember the last time he felt so comfortable and happy with another person, someone he can be so unapologetically himself with. He’s completely certain that he’s bound to you by fate. The love you share is destiny, a gift from the universe he never intends to take for granted.

No matter what the future holds, he knows he wants you by his side through it all: his one and only love.

[eldritchqueerture]

Hello! This is a project for @summer-in-the-archives-event that I worked on with @horizonindigo! We came up with the idea together and based our individual works around the poem I wrote, included in the fic. You can find their absolutely amazing art here!!

I freaking loved working on this one and I got more and more excited as we progressed. I also surprised myself with the poem itself a bit, definitely didn’t expect it to end up quite as cool, if I may say so myself. It was incredibly fun to write.

Big shoutout to @sunflowers-and-frogs for beta reading, I love you bestie <3

I would like to thank all the mods that made this event possible! It’s my first time taking part in anything like this and it was really, really fun, so THANK YOU <3 Love you guys :3 Anyways, enough of my rambling kdfjgkjsdfg

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply Category: M/M Fandom: The Magnus Archives (Podcast) Relationship: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist Characters: Martin Blackwood, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist Additional Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Canon-Typical The Lonely Content (The Magnus Archives), Kissing, Excessive Tea-Making, Set in Episodes 159-160 | Scottish Safehouse Period (The Magnus Archives), Poetry, Love Confessions Warnings: self-esteem issues, typical Lonely content, discussions of free-will and determinism, graphic kiss

Summary: As Martin fights the remnants of the Lonely's influence on their ride to Daisy's safehouse in Scotland, he focuses on his feelings for Jon to keep him tethered to reality. He watches Jon be himself in the safety of the cottage, share these small intimacies of domesticity and the words come to him as a poem weaves itself into the pages of his notebook...

He feels the taste of salt in his mouth, as he looks out of the car window at the rapidly falling away landscape, covered in the darkness of the night. He feels Jon’s presence next to him, focused on driving but glancing every so often at him with concern. Martin feels like he should say something, somehow fill the silence that has befallen them, but no words ever find their way to his mouth. He stays quiet, watching the trees pass them by, trying to ignore the anxious churning in his stomach. He’s always been pretty good at filling awkward silences with chatter; at least before the Lonely. Now… he can’t help but feel bothered by Jon’s presence, even though he did all of this for him, even though this is what he’s wanted all this time; it’s like a splinter, prickling at his mind, almost causing him physical discomfort. He swallows and feels the salty taste on his tongue; he discards the thoughts and tries his best to breathe through the discomfort, instead focusing on the sensation of Jon’s warm hand on his.

Martin used to be the warm one; he’d always been generating heat and his mind goes back to the early days in the Archives when the basement was cold in the winter and both Tim and Sasha used to gravitate towards him with their respective cups of tea during breaks. Now his whole body is cold, the chill of the ocean breeze and fog having settled in his bones so deep he thinks he’ll never feel warm again. The thought isn’t sparking any emotions in him though. It’s just a thing that he’s learned to accept, just as the fact that he’ll always be alo—

“Do you want me to put on some music?” Jon asks with another one of his glances. Every time, he raises his eyebrows a bit, and tilts his head to the side; Martin expects the concern in his eyes, but he sees something else there as well. He’s been afraid to put a label to the expression for the fear he’s reading him wrong, but the bolder part of his mind tells him it’s fondness.

Jon’s hand is warm, and his thumb grazes the skin of his palm just a little, as if not sure he’s allowed to. Martin looks down at their hands and feels warmth spark in his stomach; he smiles.

“I’m sorry I’m—I’m not really good at the whole, uh… small talk thing,” Jon adds with a flush, turning his head back to the road. “I should probably be talking about something, though, to, uh… to keep you here. I suppose.” He visibly cringes at his words.

“It’s—It’s fine, Jon,” Martin chuckles, and Jon relaxes, fixing him with a quick smile of his own. “I’m just… you know.” He looks down at their hands again and has a brief feeling they belong to someone else. Not him. Never him. “I’m not quite… out of that. Yet.”

Another look of concern. Martin feels heat prickling at his cheeks and he’s a little bit glad, because at least it’s a feeling. He interlaces their fingers and looks out the front window.

They spend the ride in relative silence. Jon tries a couple more times to start small talk and fails; they stop at a gas station at one point and Martin takes out his notebook when Jon disappears inside the station to pay for gas. He flicks through it and his eyes stop at an unfinished draft; he started writing it shortly before Peter took him down to the Panopticon, but he’d only managed to get a few first lines down. Despite still feeling the cold in his bones and his mind being clouded by the remains of the fog, words come to him, and he starts scribbling. He continues to do so even when Jon comes back with tea and an assortment of snacks, blushing just a little bit when Jon shoots a curious look at the notebook. He doesn’t ask and Martin is thankful for it. He’s not the sort to show his drafts to anyone, especially to the subject he’s writing about.

It’s 1am when they arrive at the cottage; they’re both exhausted and they quickly take their bags inside and lock the door. The cottage is small and practical, just Daisy’s style; it’s also quite dusty from months of abandonment. Martin yawns as he opens one of the bags to get the essentials. They should leave unpacking and cleaning for the next day.

He hears Jon’s footsteps on the wooden floor coming back from the initial run of the house and he turns to tell him that, but the somewhat sheepish look on his face stops him in his tracks. Has he ever seen Jon look sheepish before?

“So, uh, obviously this was Daisy’s safehouse when she was, well… Avoiding people,” he says, not meeting Martin’s eyes.

“I hope ‘avoiding people’ doesn’t mean killing them in this context,” Martin snorts, not sure if he’s entirely joking. The humour is lost on Jon, however, as he looks at him confused for a moment before he processes Martin’s words.

“Oh, no, no, I-I don’t believe she, uh… She just slept here.” Jon shifts awkwardly. “And that means there’s uh, there’s only one bed.”

Martin’s eyes widen and his lips form a little “Oh”.

“Of course, if you’re not comfortable with sharing, I can just take the couch, you need some proper rest and I’m used to running on low sleep” —Jon averts his gaze as he speaks. He grabs his bag and walks over to the couch, and Martin wants to stop him talking and just say that they should share the bed, but his voice seems to have left him at this crucial moment. He just stares as Jon places the bag on the couch and looks back at him, aware of the silence. “Martin?”

Martin swallows, a familiar cold freezing his toes. He feels the damp sand underneath his bare feet and a chill runs down his spine. He blinks and tightens his grip on the bag he’s been holding. This is real, he is real, Jon is real.

“You need good rest too,” he finally manages to say, and he’s surprised by how clear and normal his voice sounds; it makes Jon relax a bit. “We should share the bed, if-if you are comfortable with that.”

A small smile appears on Jon’s lips and a warm feeling fills Martin’s stomach again; he knows the smile is for him.

“Okay,” he says softly and picks the bag up.

They manage to keep the awkwardness of it to the minimum; they’re both very tired and at one point it just doesn’t matter anymore. Jon hands Martin a separate blanket and he pushes the disappointment down into a void inside him where he keeps feelings to come back to when he’s alone. It would be foolish of him to hope for cuddling since they haven’t talked about anything yet.

He expects to fall asleep as soon as his head touches the pillow, but he finds himself awake in the darkness after goodnights are said (Jon’s voice sounds so soft and tender Martin has forgotten all about his earlier disappointment). He’s laying on his back, eyes closed, and he feels Jon’s presence on his right. His breathing is steady, not yet slow enough to indicate sleep, but calm and relaxed. Martin peeks out through half-lidded eyes – he hasn’t gotten used to the darkness as much yet, but he can see Jon laying on his side, facing him, his eyes closed and his hair loosely framing his face. One of his hands rests close to his head on the pillow. Martin blinks, fully opening his eyes now and smiling softly. As his vision clears, Martin notices Jon frowning ever so slightly, and he wonders if the faint lines between his eyebrows smoothen when he’s asleep.

“Is watching people sleep a usual activity for you?” Jon whispers with amusement as he opens his eyes and Martin gasps with surprise and looks away, feeling heat prickle at his cheeks.

“Wha—uh, no! No, of course no—Sorry, I—” He rambles, and he thinks he might just die from embarrassment when he hears Jon laugh quietly.

“It’s fine, Martin.” He shakes his head with a sigh. “Really. I-- Sorry, I thought a joke would, um… lighten the mood somewhat.”

Martin risks a look at him and wonders if the red on his cheeks is visible through the darkness. Jon looks at him with that expression again, something Martin would very much want to classify as fondness if it didn’t feel so impossible. But now that he thinks about it… Would it really be thatfar-fetched? Jon had gone into the Lonely just to get him out. Would he have done that for anyone else? Martin rolls his eyes at himself in his mind, of course he would. He did go into the Buried, and it was for Daisy, a person who has threatened him multiple times, kidnapped and almost killed him. If Jon was ready to lay down his life for her, out of all of them, it shouldn’t be surprising he would do the same for his assistant; it says nothing about his feelings on the matter.

Martin’s memories of the Lonely are hazy. He remembers the cold, the dampness, and the loneliness. He remembers his thoughts, the lonely ones, and how they felt both alien and familiar at the same time. He remembers the comfort, the feeling of fitting in, but also the pain and the fear, just before they were numbed by the cold and the fog that made him forget. And then suddenly, Jon was in front of him, looking at him with desperation on his face, tears in his eyes glowing with a green light. Was it Jon calling for him, or just the Beholding?

“What are you thinking about?” comes Jon’s voice and Martin realizes he’s been staring into the air for a while. He blinks and looks back at Jon.

“Uh…” He searches for words before he gives up on trying to come up with an excuse. His voice is quiet when he speaks. “Why did you do it?”

Jon blinks at him a couple times and rises to lean on his elbow, to better look at Martin.

“What do you mean?”

“The Lonely,” Martin says, not meeting his eyes. Jon is wearing a blue t-shirt with a logo of a band Martin doesn’t recognize; the shirt is loose and it uncovers one of Jon's shoulders which would probably be distracting if Martin’s mind wasn't chilled by the remnants of the fog. “Why did you come for me?”

Even without looking at him, Martin sees Jon’s forehead ripple. A while passes as Jon searches his face and the thought that he shouldn’t have asked starts creeping up to Martin’s head. Shouldn’t have brought any attention to the subject, he should just be glad, he should—

“I care about you, Martin,” Jon says in a very gentle and quiet voice, like he’s afraid anything louder would take away the meaning of his words. Martin looks up at Jon and the hint of that intense blush from before makes it back to his face. “You’re… You matter to me. You will always matter to me.”

Martin can’t stop a small smile appearing on his face and Jon mirrors it.

“Thank you,” Martin whispers, feeling a warmth settle in his chest, finally driving the cold away.

“Anytime.” Jon lays his head back down and settles back with the right hand near his face. “Sleep well, Martin.”

Martin closes his eyes contentedly and he curls up on his right side, facing Jon, as if trying to keep this warm feeling from escaping his chest too soon.

“You too, Jon.”

---

Martin wakes up alone in an unfamiliar bed, the smell of foreign covers filling his nostrils and for a second he panics. He opens his eyes and the memories come back to him; their late arrival at the safehouse and laying down to sleep next to Jon.

He sits up, looking at the space Jon had occupied. It’s vacant now, just the curled up covers he left behind, but it manages to bring a blush to Martin’s cheeks, nonetheless. It feels so… intimate to know that they slept next to each other. It makes him feel warm and cosy.

Martin gets up and goes to the bathroom before he finds Jon in the kitchen. He’s humming quietly as he finishes cleaning the table and he looks up when Martin enters.

“Good morning, Martin.” He smiles and Martin’s afraid he’s going to melt. He takes a quick look around and notices that their sparse kitchen supplies are mostly unpacked, and the kettle is already on the stove.

“How long have you been awake?” He asks; some of the shock must have made it to his voice because Jon looks amused.

“Two hours or so. I’ve always been a morning person.” He shrugs and finishes cleaning the table. “Tea?”

A smile lights up Martin’s face and he gets swept up by the familiarity of the activity, while Jon busies himself with fixing up some breakfast. As both of them work in the kitchen, Martin notices the casual brushes of their skin and touches of the shoulders. He doesn’t know if he’s doing it consciously or if it just happens naturally, but he knows that Jon’s open demeanour is drawing him closer than before. He wonders if he’s been like this ever since he woke up from the coma, and there was just no one to appreciate it.

The morning is relaxed, the casual conversation flowing a lot smoother than the day before, and after breakfast they set out to clean the whole cottage and go down to the village to buy some actual supplies. The village is small, but the local shop provides all the essentials they need; for a moment Martin forgets about everything outside of that village and shopping for groceries with Jon, as if this is their life now, in the Scottish Highlands, living together in a cottage. They talk about cooking dinner, and the cows they passed on the way, and Martin thinks he could get used to that.

The bubble bursts when they finish up and Jon decides to call Basira. She picks up after a while and updates them on the absence of both Jonah Magnus and Daisy. Basira says she’ll send some statements up to them when the Institute stops being an active crime scene, and a shadow passes over Jon’s face. Wrapped up in a conversation about their taste in dinner dishes, it was almost too easy for Martin to forget food isn’t the only sustenance Jon needs. He finds it easier to forget things ever since the Lonely. They walk back to their cottage in silence, Martin grabbing Jon’s hand as soon as he lets go of the phone.

When they get back, Jon declares he’s going to take care of unpacking and cooking, and even though Martin knows Jon to be stupidly stubborn, he’s surprised by the strictness with which Jon insists he sit back and relax. Martin doesn’t really complain; he’s spent his entire life caring for others and, to be honest, it does feel rather good to be on the receiving end for once. He watches Jon from the couch for a while, before he takes out his notebook and looks over the poem he wrote in the car.

Wisps of mist conceal my eyes

A lone indulgence to lose one's face

And soothing a part inside that cries

With chilling sadness and numbing grace

The steadfast rhythm of waves ashore

As ocean breeze leaves a taste of salt

The words forgotten, erase what I swore

Until I hear your voice once more

I wondered many times what it might be

That we finally took to calling "us"

What would be left if we broke free

Of dread and horror's eternal grasp

The Eye looms aloft, ever-present dread

Watching all, eternal lids apart

You made your choice unaware you were led

By strings of web, against your heart

Jon starts humming under his nose in the kitchen as he cuts something on the board; the water in the kettle boils slowly and fills the air with a quiet whistle. Martin smiles while shooting a subtle glance at Jon; he seems to notice his gaze and falls quiet, but a smile lights up his face when he sees the fondness on Martin’s face. For all this talk about Jon “losing himself” in the role of the Archivist, this seems as human as you can get. Martin never favoured the approach the other archival staff took to the knowledge of the significance of Jon’s position, and he often wondered how they could look at him and see a monster. Of course he made bad decisions, but so did everyone. They’ve seen or read about so many avatars giving into the powers that fed them and yes, maybe Martin is biased, but Jon was nothing like them. They’ve all been caught in this huge web of statements that turned real; the more they struggled to break free the more tangled up they became, and it wasn’t Jon’s fault that he ended up in the centre of it. He knows Jon tried to make right choices every step of the way. Can you really blame a human being for failing to completely resist something that’s beyond mortality and human reality? One way or another they ended up here, together, and yes, maybe the Eye and the Lonely are still looming as very tangible threats, and Jonah Magnus is nowhere near being stopped, but at least they’re together now. Martin remembers thinking the Unknowing was the endgame, the last chapter of this horror for them, and he remembers the hopelessness of their story getting a bad ending that essentially pushed him into the Lonely; now he feels a different kind of an end approaching – he dares to be hopeful. Maybe everything works out in the end? Maybe, if they were safe and happy, it wouldn’t actually be the end of the world.

Martin looks down at his notebook and starts writing, sticking the tip of his tongue out in concentration.

What is a monster? Where is the line

That would separate us from the world

All I know is our paths align

And we together can battle the cold

You cut through the curtains of mist and See

The green glow fades when our eyes meet

My lips form a soft and quiet plea

To be loved has never felt so sweet

To be loved is a new feeling for me

I only know how to love from one side

But with you I hope we can once be free

Maybe ignore the whims of the tide

Although I know we're not nearly through

I taste and savour your voice, your breath

If only for a moment, we can start anew

And I will follow you even to death

As he stares at the last word of the finished poem, his hand with the pen hovering over it, he registers that his eyes have watered a bit. He blinks the tears away quickly as Jon sits down on the couch next to him, looking at him with a gentle worry. Martin looks up at the two mugs of tea he’d placed on the table.

“Did you make tea?” He asks with mock bewilderment, and Jon scoffs at him.

“I know how to make tea, Martin.” He nudges him with amusement, that gentle worry not quite gone from his eyes. “What are you writing about?”

Martin falls quiet, pressing the notebook to his chest in a knee-jerk reaction.

“Thought you didn’t like poetry,” he huffs out a laugh that’s only a little bit self-conscious. Jon shrugs, reaching out for his mug and taking a sip.

“I don’t understand it. And yes, I have been known to dislike it at times, but… Maybe I could be swayed to give it another shot.” Jon rolls his eyes fondly and looks at Martin out of the corner of his eye, a look that says ‘for you’. Martin grins, heat pricking at his cheeks once again.

“You see, i-it’s all about emotion.” He places the notebook gently on his lap face down and reaches for his own mug. “You w-want to put all of your emotions into words in a-an artistic way, that has a rhythm and, uh, and feels alive. And you want your, uh, your readers to feel that, that emotion through your words.”

Jon listens attentively and his eyes aren’t leaving Martin’s face; at one point Martin gets distracted by it and forgets where his explanation was going. Jon’s gaze has always been intense, in different ways throughout the time they’ve known each other. At first it was judgemental, the gaze of his boss, full of unmet expectations; then it was piercing, watchful and suspicious; as time passed, it seemed to gain more and more weight of the Beholding, something Tim always complained about. After Martin had joined Peter Lukas, the rare glances he got from Jon were full of yearning that Martin didn’t understand at the time; didn’t want to understand. Now, it’s that gentle fondness, interweaved with something intangibly sad and Martin feels an urge to hug him, to bring him close to his chest and never let go; to bury his face in Jon’s hair and protect him.

They move to place their mugs at the table at the same time and snort, amusement quickly turning into a fit of laughter. Jon throws his head back a little with it and Martin wonders if he has ever seen him laugh so openly before. He didn’t think it was possible for him to fall in love with the man even more, but once again, his heart proves him wrong. He stares at him with a lovestruck expression and thinks they should really talk about it. Martin doesn’t know where to start though and Jon seems to be thinking in a similar direction because his expression shifts into gentle seriousness.

“Martin, I…” He starts and bites his lip. “I need to apologize.”

Martin straightens a little; it’s not exactly what he expects.

“I—The way I used to treat you…” Pain and guilt flash through Jon’s face as he looks away for a moment to gather his thoughts. “It was not okay. None of it was okay. And I’m—I’m really sorry for that. It doesn’t—I know it doesn’t change anything that happened, but I” —he sighs. “I really am sorry. I hope I can, somehow, uh… somehow make it up to you.”

Martin reaches for Jon’s hand, and he looks down in surprise; Martin sees his eyes start glistening.

“I’m sorry for everything that happened to you.” He continues in a whisper and his eyes are locked on their touching hands. “I’m so sorry about the Lonely. I’m sorry that you’re trapped in all of this with me, and I would understand if you decided to leave—”

“Jon.” Martin squeezes his hand and Jon’s eyes shoot up to look at him.

“I’m sorry, that’s not an apology,” he sighs again. “I just… I’m sorry, Martin. About everything.” His other hand grips Martin’s. “I’m glad you are still here. I’m—I’m so glad, you d-don’t even know,” he laughs.

“I think I do.” Martin smiles gently. “Thank you for saying that. I’ve—I've forgiven you for a lot of it a long time ago. A-And the rest just isn’t your fault.”

Jon frowns.

“The Lonely was always there,” Martin shrugs. “Peter Lukas was just… a catalyst, I think. But now I have you.” His finger grazes the outside of Jon’s palm and his heart flutters in his chest when he sees that small smile appear on Jon’s face. “And you can’t be blamed for Elia—Jonah’s games. We’re all just… a bunch of people who didn’t know what was going on until it was too late.”

Jon’s eyes fall as he nods slightly.

“He’s still up to something,” he says quietly.

“Figures,” Martin laughs bitterly. “But we’re here now. And frankly, I don’t really want to think about him when we’re finally…” The word ‘together’ gets stuck in his throat, as if it would breach this fine line of ambiguity they’ve drawn between themselves. Jon seems to fill it in and his eyes land back on Martin.

He’s never wanted to kiss him more than he does right now. Jon's eyes are wide and glistening with something that looks suspiciously like hope, and his fingers gently graze the outside of Martin's palm. Warmth spreads in his chest and his eyes flutter a little, not breaking the eye contact. He wants to pull Jon close to his chest, to run his fingers through his hair and feel his breath on his own skin. To really feel like he's there, next to him, with him.

Before he can follow through with any of that, something sizzles in the kitchen, loud in the silence, startling them both.

“Food!” Jon chuckles slightly before he jumps to his feet and rushes to the kitchen, while Martin snorts and follows him. Jon stirs the pan with curry and sighs with relief when he sees it's not burned. He turns down the heat anyway and checks on the rice.

“Jon, this smells amazing,” Martin says, peeking into the pan with cheese and spinach. “I didn't know you could cook.”

“Well, contrary to the popular belief I was a functional human being. For a while,” Jon snorts and leans against the counter to look back at Martin. “It's Palak Paneer, my grandma taught me when I was a child.”

“It looks fantastic,” Martin grins, and Jon rolls his eyes in mock exasperation.

Even though the moment's lost, the remains of the feeling can be felt between them as they prepare the plates and take the food to the table. They easily fall back into usual chatter and, as soon as they’re finished, Martin jumps to wash the dishes. Jon relents after extensive affirmations from Martin that he's alright and he can definitely take care of a couple dishes in the sink, and he drops onto the couch with a content sigh instead.

Martin finishes up with the dishes and dries his hands on a towel.

“Do you want some tea?” He asks and hangs the towel back on the rack. When there's no response, he turns to the couch. “Jon?”

Something sinks in his stomach when he sees that the object that consumes Jon’s attention is the poem he’s finished; he scratches his neck, as his cheeks take on a pink tinge. “Oh…”

He walks up to the couch, unsure, trying to gauge Jon's reaction. His face seems tense, he squeezes the notebook in his hand so hard his knuckles go white, and his eyes are focused at one point on the page.

“Um... Jon?” Martin asks weakly, his heart drumming in his chest so loud he's sure both of them can hear it.

Jon jumps to his feet, startled, and looks up at him with eyes wide, like a deer in the headlights. Martin instinctively raises his hands in a placating gesture, as Jon registers his presence, looks down on the notebook in his hands, and quickly puts it on the table as if it stung him.

“Martin, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to look, it was just there and—”

“Hey, Jon, it’s alright!” It’s maybe a little not alright, since the poem is nothing short of a love confession and a wish Martin had no right to assume would ever be true, so Jon reading it is less than ideal. Martin rushes to gently place a hand on Jon’s shoulder but when he recoils from the touch, Martin withdraws his hand, cursing everything about himself.

“No, I, uh…” Jon runs his hand through his hair, eyes darting between Martin, his hand, and the notebook frantically. “I shouldn’t have— uh, it’s—it’s your private business, what you write about, so—”

Martin is sure he’s tomato red on the face by this point and hopes against hope that the afternoon light filtering through the curtains obscures it just a little. Jon, on the other hand, doesn’t have the embarrassed blush that usually darkens his cheeks; instead he breathes fast, his hands shaking ever so slightly. Martin sees him hunch just a little, making himself smaller.

“Um, yeah, I, uh—” He starts fidgeting with his fingers. Did the idea of—of love frighten Jon so much? He was stupid to leave it out in the open and now Jon knows, and it’s not how he feels, so he hates him… “I’m sorry.”

Jon’s eyes snap to him, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“For what?”

Martin huffs out something like a pained laugh.

“Th-That’s not exactly how- how I wanted to tell you.” He wrings out his hands and shoots Jon a pleading look. What’s done is done and the only thing he can hope for is for Jon to let him down easy and never speak of this again.

“Tell me?” Jon looks down at the notebook again and there’s the worry again, stark on his face. He breathes out, slowly, and looks at the floor. “I don’t—I don’t even want to think this is a possibility…”

Martin doesn’t need to imagine what it would be like to be stabbed, if he wanted to - he’s pretty sure the acute pain of his heart shattering in his chest is close enough. His mind tries to catch up to the emotions, slow them down just a bit, because something seems off, and isn’t this a weird way to reject someone you must have known had a crush on you? But his throat tightens with the swell of pain and shame and Martin blinks away the tears welling up in his eyes.

Jon sighs and plops down on the couch, hiding his face in his hands and pushing his glasses up to his forehead.

“We d-don’t have to talk about it, if—if you don’t want to,” Martin says quietly. He sits down next to Jon, careful not to touch him in any way, and puts his hands between his knees.

Jon lets out a bitter laugh.

“Isn’t that what they—the Web would want? Just… mindlessly follow, go with the flow until something… irreversibly bad happens?”

Martin turns to Jon with a frown.

“Wh—What?”

Jon looks at him with something glistening in his eyes and Martin can see the lines of pain and misery written on his face like they belong there.

“The web,” he says faintly. “Strings of fate. I—” He lets out a breath. “Was I just being manipulated this whole time? Was I ever really—Did I ever have a choice?”

“Jon... what are you talking about?”

“You—You said I was...” He reaches for the notebook and points at a verse with his finger. “’Made your choice unaware you were led by strings of web against your heart.’ How—W-Why did you say this?”

Martin stares into Jon's green eyes with concern, yet parts of his heart start to weave themselves back together. However confused and worried Jon seems to be, none of it is directed at Martin; he looks at him with desperation, almost pleading, and he realizes they’ve been having two different conversations at the same time.

“Oh-Oh, God, Jon, I-I didn't mean—I just, it's a-a metaphor, just that, you know,” he takes a breath. “It does remind me of a web, the-the way we got caught up in Elias' plans.” He looks down, his cheeks burning as he remembers why Jon would get caught at this specific phrase. “I'm sorry for, uh, using that, it was just the first thing that came to my mind and—”

Jon exhales next to him and Martin risks a look up. The uneasiness isn't gone from his face but he relaxes just a little bit, enough to stabilize his breathing.

“I'm sorry for this… this whole thing, Martin.” He gestures at nothing in particular and it's his turn to look at the floor, as if it's all of a sudden the most interesting thing he's ever seen. He starts fidgeting with the notebook. “I'm just—What if it’s true?” His voice goes higher at the question and he closes his eyes. Martin squeezes his arm. “What if I am just... Just a puppet? An inhuman, helpless puppet in the hands of—Of some spider pulling the strings?”

A tear rolls down Jon's cheek and Martin grabs one of his hands. It’s small and still shakes a little; he tries to put all the protectiveness he feels into this small gesture. Jon doesn’t recoil this time, instead taking a moment to watch Martin’s hand clasp around his.

“Jon,” Martin starts softly. “You're still you. You're not some—Some spider puppet that can't make choices.”

“But what if—”

“You've made a choice to go into the Lonely for me.” Martin bumps their knees together lightly and Jon looks up at him. “I don't suspect any webs would need me alive to push you into it. It was You.”

Jon looks him in the eyes and Martin barely stops himself from reaching up to his face to wipe away his tears.

“Or it just makes us think that we have a choice but are ultimately helpless against fate and everything we do is determined by intricately crafted circumstances,” Jon whispers. “Maybe free will is a lie.”

Martin blinks.

“Jon...”

“Maybe I was never able to stop it. Any of it.” Jon’s voice grows more horrified and even though his eyes are directed at Martin's face, he seems to be looking somewhere past him. “Maybe nothing we try to do really matters.”

“Jon.” Martin’s voice gains a bit of force, even though he feels all but sure. “What do you see?”

Jon frowns. “What?”

“Look at me and tell me what you see?” The force is gone; the sentence sounds more like a feeble suggestion than a request, but Jon's eyes refocus on Martin's in a frown of confusion.

“What do you mean?”

“We're here now,” Martin says quietly. “And yeah, maybe our decisions are all predetermined or whatever. I still think it matters that we try. I think our experience matters. And you're not a-a monster without free will, Jon. You care about people, and you’ve sacrificed a lot for other people. You've made your own choices and, no matter if they were good or bad, they were still yours. And I think that matters.”

Jon blinks at him for a moment, then his shoulders slump with a sigh and he interlaces their fingers. Martin doesn’t miss it and he feels warmth in his chest.

“I've always been afraid of—of my will not being my own anymore,” he confesses quietly. “Of, uh... of not knowing the difference.”

“I get it,” Martin nods. “If it’s any consolation, I see a lot of Jon in you still.” Jon looks up at him with surprise and Martin gives him a half smile. “I see a very changed Jon but it's still Jon.” He strokes Jon's palm as his heart picks up the pace. “The same Jon I've first fallen in love with.”

Jon exhales softly, his face caught in a soft surprise, and Martin smiles around the dull ache in his chest.

“You don't have to say anything. I'm sure you've known for a while, but I just... I wanted to say it.”

With every second that passes in silence, however, Martin's cheeks grow hotter, and he concludes that this might have been a mistake.

“I-I'm sorry. M-Maybe I shouldn't have said that, I… I don't want things to get weird or anything, so, uh, we can, we can just forget—”

“Martin.” Jon says his name in a soft and kind of inquisitive way that makes his heart bounce around and transforms the ache in his chest into swirling butterflies again. Martin looks up and Jon’s head is tilted to the side, his face still wet with tears, but he notices something hopeful glitter in his eyes. “I love you too.”

Martin frowns, suddenly wondering if he isn't dreaming. Is Jon really saying what he thinks he is? Did he hear correctly? Maybe he misheard—

“I have for a while,” Jon's voice is still quiet and soft. “I didn't want to say anything because I thought it was too early after the Lonely and you might not feel this way anymore, but...”

Martin swallows, acutely aware of how loud his heartbeat is. He squeezes Jon’s hand and smiles slightly.

“I... I didn't know,” he whispers, not trusting his voice to cooperate.

“As soon as I woke up from the coma, I wanted to tell you,” Jon says. “I thought I was too late; that it took me too long to stop denying the feelings I had because I didn’t know how to deal with them, and I'd missed my chance.” He laughs bitterly.

“So that’s what it was about,” Martin whispers, as Jon's actions towards him throughout his time as Peter Lukas’ assistant start falling into place. Jon looks at him with a frown, so he adds, “The ‘let's gouge out our eyes and escape'.”

Jon scrunches up his nose and clears his throat.

“Yes, well. Yeah.”

Martin chuckles quietly.

“I don't think I would have lasted in the Lonely if I understood then. But then again. It didn't really matter in the end. It didn't help.”

“But it was your choice,” Jon echoes Martin's words from before and their eyes meet again.

“Yeah. It was my choice.”

They stare into each other's eyes for a moment, losing track of time, before Jon smiles slightly and looks back at the notebook.

“I really am sorry for not asking your permission, though,” he says. “I got so caught up in the metaphor I didn’t even finish it.”

Martin blinks, the warmth from his chest spreading to his cheeks again.

“D-Do you want to?”

Jon smiles softly, this new smile that Martin has only seen in the past couple of days, always directed at him.

“If you’d let me.”

Martin needs to look away, unable to handle the affection in Jon’s eyes. He mumbles an ‘okay’ with a smile that’s not entirely under his control and gets up.

“But I am making that tea whether you want it or not, waiting for someone to finish reading something is a torture.”

He hears Jon laugh as he heads back to the kitchen.

When he comes back with two steaming mugs, Jon is waiting for him with a smile and his nervousness dissipates with his next words.

“I like it,” Jon says. “Apart from the, uh, web metaphor, obviously. It's hopeful.”

“Y-You do?”

Martin swallows; the pleasant tingling in his stomach is back. He places their mugs on the table and reaches out to join their hands again. Jon intertwines their fingers immediately and caresses the outside of Martin’s palm with his thumb.

Jon looks down at the verses again and smiles softly, almost sheepishly, a familiar blush darkening his cheeks.

“I—I don't know if there would be anything for us outside of. You know. The fears and all that,” he grimaces. “At least, for me. But, uh…” He looks at Martin again with a hopeful expression that makes Martin melt a little, and he gently caresses Martin's cheek with his free hand. “I really like the thought of it.”

Martin's brain might be short-circuiting at this moment and all of his thoughts take form of fuzzy static.

“Me too,” he says, suddenly breathless. Jon's hand rests cupping his cheek and, are they a bit closer than they were a second ago? Jon's gaze slides down Martin's face to his lips and he feels he might faint right there and then. He doesn't, instead gathering up his courage to take a breath.

“Can I kiss you?” Jon asks first and Martin feels his lips form a grin.

“Please,” he breathes out; the next second their lips meet, soft but urgent, desperate and sick of waiting. Martin's hand dives into Jon's soft hair, fingers scraping the delicate skin of his head and earning him a low sound from Jon's throat. They pull each other closer and find a rhythm to lose themselves in for just a moment; the sensation of Jon's tongue swirling in his mouth, of his slender fingers on his cheek and his neck, the pressure of his body against his chest; all of it making Martin dizzy with happiness.

Martin pulls away when his lungs painfully remind him breathing is still a necessity and he opens his eyes to look at Jon – His soft lips, his nose, his pockmark scars, and his eyes, green yet with no trace of Beholding in them. He takes him in whole, with all of his flaws and all of his virtues, and he feels seen in return, seen by the man he loves and who loves him. The weight of it all hits Martin like a crashing wave and he pulls Jon in for a tight embrace.

“I love you,” he whispers against his shoulder, and he feels Jon's arms tightening around his torso.

“I love you too, Martin.”

[babbling-idiot2]

Raoul Silva x reader

Requested: “Hello!! May I please request a Raoul Silva x female reader? Where the reader works with Bond, but for a time is kidnapped by Silva and then when she escapes and works with Bond again she is conflicted because she has feelings for Silva and then there is a showdown between her and Silva but she doesn’t shoot him when she has the chance?? And then they end up kissing. (Bond is not around) If that is waaaaaay too specific, I completely understand. I’m also a writer and really like this idea, I just don’t have any motivation right now. But If that’s too specific, then just something Silva x reader please?? If not, that’s cool! Thanks and have a blessed week!” -By Anon

Warning:

(Hello! Thank you for requesting and I hope you enjoy this. It’s actually kind of funny I had a fic for him in the drafts but never got around to posting it. But this was a better idea then mine so, I hope you enjoy!!)

*****

It wasn't suppose to be hard. Nor was it ever hard to do your job. Sure a few bruises and cuts here and there but it was your job and you enjoyed it. You have feared for your life before but at this point in time you weren't that scared anymore. Especially when it involved getting kidnapped. Now you had gotten kidnapped before. But it was also so easy and almost boring. Like they didn't try anymore. Well that was until you got kidnapped by a man named Raoul Silva. You knew him from a brief glimpse of a case file yet you didn't know enough to be interested. Only in the fact he is a ex MI6 agent. That's the only thing that caught you attention. 

In training you are taught many things. One being to never get involved with the target. Ever. If you did you would also be terminated. So, you never ever were involved with anyone. Even outside of your job. But luck would have it, as you've found yourself in quite a pickle. Did you get kidnapped? Yes. Was it on purpose? Well of course not. Did you know who kidnapped you? No! But it was quite the shocker to find out the ex MI6 agent, Raoul Silva had been the one behind it. When you were finally sat down. You sat in an empty room. Filled with high tech computer equipment and the sound of people moving around behind you. Mostly out of boredom and the fact that they themselves are bored with this charade. Then as you were also getting bored, you hear an elevator. You looked forward and could clearly see an elevator opening at the end of the room. Silva steps out and begins walking over to you. "Miss Williams. It is truly a pleasure to finally meet you. I must say that I have read much about you." He’s close enough now that your finally able to see him up close. You shouldn’t be thinking this about your kidnapper but he was very much more attractive then his picture "Good things I hope." "Oh nothing less of good I can assure you. Though I am disappointed they left out so much." You continue to look at him, trying to figure out where he was going with this, already having a good idea "Well that's the point isn't it? To keep as much personal information out of the files?" He tilts his head and nods slightly "Yes. I suppose that's correct but I must admit, I would like to know more about you before I get to the real reason why I brought you here. If you don't mind?"  You raise and eyebrow curiously as you continue to follow him with your eyes. You didn't answer and he seemed to just take that as a yes. He was walking around the area, not once making his way towards a chair. He kept walking, pacing in the same line as he questioned you on your past. "From what I know, you were a top student in school. A plusses and never once a B. You were dedicated to learning everything. You even graduated 2 years earlier than your classmates. Did you enjoy it? High-school, I mean." You shrugged your shoulders "Its hard to remember everything, since it was a little while ago. I do remember enjoying it though. Many good memories." He hums out in either approval or refusal. Which turns out to be refusal. "I do not believe that. You see your file here says, 'School for miss Williams was, in her words: Troubling, I was bullied a lot and had no friends. My studies were the only thing I focused on. I was the laughing stock of my high school career." You didn't say a word, you had no idea that he was really seeing your file right in front of him. "Now Miss Williams, you were bullied, treated horribly and now you are an MI6 agent. Says you've never had any infatuation for anyone in your life. Is that true?" You close your eyes and shake your head "No. I've never been in a relationship nor do I ever want one." He chuckles and looks at you, straight in the eyes "Miss Williams you do know I have your file here and every word you've said is a lie. I do not think that is a good idea. Tell the truth." He says now looking at the file again. This time you roll your eyes and adjust yourself in the seat "I was in one relationship in college. We only dated a week." "Why?" "Because he was a creep. And an asshole." "See now that is what a want to hear. The truth!" You roll your eyes again and become even more annoyed. 

You had no idea how long it had been but what was for sure was that it was long enough. You could hear the sounds of gun fire coming from outside of the building you were in. You thought for a moment that you were hearing things but when you heard the door being slammed open and the sound of an MI6 agent calling your name, relief washed over you. You were soon taken onto one the helicopters and was taken back to HQ. There you were met by a medical team and M. She was glad to see you walking and not in a body bag. She nodded your way before telling the medical team to take care of your. Also ordering you to go with them, knowing how much you hated any kind of medical attention. But you agreed and went along anyway.

Not even a day later you were reunited back with bond and even he was happy to see you again. But sadly even though reuniting gave you a slight feeling of happiness, you were conflicted. For a time you didn’t know what by. Was it work? Did you receive bad news? Did you say something and regret it? You had no idea, until it hit you one day like a truck. You thought back to when you got kidnapped by Raoul Silva. You couldn’t get him out of your mind. It was like he was an infection in your brain and you couldn’t get rid of it. Bond could tell something was wrong with you. Just by looking at you for an extended period of time, he could tell. But he had no idea what it was or better yet, who it was. 

You were ordered to go after him. Simple task, easy enough right? Well not exactly. You were hot on his trail, right behind him and yet he was just that much faster then you. Suddenly out of know where he turned this corner and right before this very large door could close you just made it through when it closed with a loud thud. Silva was at a dead end and had no where to go besides the way you came. When he turned around you already had a gun pointed in his direction. Completely prepared to shoot him if he made one wrong move. He knew that you would so, he would have to choose his next words and moves very carefully. “Miss Williams, I am very amazed at how you caught up so quick. I was not prepared for this encounter today.” “Yes well, you’ve screwed up your chances at getting out. I suggest you make yourself comfortable.” You say gesturing to the ground. He knew you wanted him to sit down on the ground but he couldn’t let that happen. “Miss Williams, Or better yet, Y/n? We both know that you won’t shoot me.” He says stepping closer. Though the fact that he knew your name was quite jarring, it didn’t impair your judgement. It was a sign that he was trying to get close. And you most definitely couldn’t let that happen. You pulled the hammer of your gun back and stepped a bit closer, keeping eye contact as to try to intimidate him. “You really think I’m afraid of what M will do if I shoot someone like you? I could care less. You’re actually lucky your up and walking now.” You never once let your confident and intimidating persona drop, not around him and at a time like this, it would be game over for you. But Silva was smart and he could see through your demeanor. “You are smart Miss Y/n. And you hide your private life so well. So hidden like a hermit in the sand. Yet I see right through the cracks. You have feelings for me.” You clench your jaw and shake your head “In your dreams Silva. I could never like someone like you.” “In my dreams? No, no, no y/n. In your dreams. You’ve thought about me since the day you got kidnapped by my men. Ever since you saw me and now, you cant get me out of your head. You can’t hide your feelings for me y/n.” He says now even more closer then he was before. You couldn’t back up anymore, for the door was closed and there was no escape from this. Your finger tightened and he saw this. He reached his hand out. Hoping that you wouldn't pull the trigger. Your brain told you to pull the trigger and end all of this now. But the more irrational part of you held you back. When he got close enough he wrapped his fingers steadily around the barrel of the pistol. He directed it out of the line of his face and slowly stepped into your personal space. He smiled at you and tilted his head at you. “There we are. I knew you couldn’t shoot me.” “It’s the worse decision I’ve ever made. I’m just as good as dead as your are now.” he starts to shake his head at you “No! No, no, no, no my dear! No one will know about this. Not even Bond. You just have to keep this a secret. You’re good at that, right?” You clench your jaw at hearing that. Keeping a secret from the MI6 was like trying to keep candy from a toddler. But nevertheless you nod your head and look to the side. You weren’t looking away for long until you felt a hand on your chin pulling you back. You looked back at Silva and saw a look in his eyes. You weren't sure what it was but what he did next gave you a good idea. He leaned forward and kissed you. It wasn’t for long but it definitely took the breath out of you. When he pulled away, on instinct you chased him slightly. When you realized what you did you looked away embarrassingly. Hoping he didn’t notice. He did, and smiled from ear to ear. Kissing your forehead and the side of your face. He leaned down where his mouth was near your ear before whispering “You should never feel embarrassed around me dear. I want to see you for you, not what they made of you.” You swallowed your embarrassment and looked up at him before leaning in slowly to kiss him back. It was quick, nervous and very sloppy. You were sure you kissed the side of his mouth. He smiled nonetheless and looked down at his wrist. Sighing out in annoyance he looks back to you. “I’m very sorry my dear, but I must end this meeting. I am suppose to meet my men in 5 minutes or our plan is ruined. Till next time my dear.” As he was walking away you stared confusingly at him. “Wait so this was part of the plan wasn’t it?” He turned back as he was about to pull a hatch open that was in the ground. He smiled at you cheekily. “My dear, I have a plan for everything.” He says as he closes the hatch behind him. You stared wide eyed at the hatch before you. 

“Well then, where did he go Williams?” You sighed out in annoyance “Like I told you before. I went down the hatch as I saw him do, when I got to the bottom he wasn’t there. He was gone. I ran to the end and searched. He was gone.” M stared at you, disappointment lacing her features as she looked at you. You could practically feel it by now. She shook her head and waved you off not bothering to say another word to you. You rolled your eyes and walked out. Fully intending to just go home. 

When you got there you hung your coat up and slipped your shoes off at the door, barley noticing the other pair of shoes right there next to yours. You looked up and sure enough you could see the back of someone's head sitting on your couch. You didn’t have your gun, and hand to hand combat was the only thing you had up your sleeves at the moment. When you came around the couch all thoughts of intruder and fighting left your mind. Silva was sitting there flipping through one of your magazines you had sitting on your table. “You know, you should invest in better security and better reading material.” He says still eyeing the magazine. “And you know I have a full bookcase right there? Also I like to be notified when I have company before they come over. I hate surprises.” He smiles and lays the magazine down, looking up to you with the same smile on his face. “But you like me, so it’s a welcomed one.” You shake your head smiling before walking over to the kitchen. You looked back and he was still seated there, looking out into space of your living room. You had no idea how you were going to deal with him. You had no idea how long this would go on for, but only time could tell now.

*****

(Hello so, I hope you liked this! If you did, any kind of feedback is amazing and highly appreciated! I hope you enjoyed and I hope you have an amazing day/night and stay safe out there in the world!)

[kimnjss]

capital h | pjm + jjk

⇢ pairing: jungkook x reader x jimin ⇢ genre: smut. ⇢ word count: 7.6K ⇢ theme: established relationship | threesome.  ⇢ rating: explicit. ⇢ warnings: cursing, dirty talk, slight nipple play, oral (f/m receiving), threesome, semi-public fingering, humiliation kink(?), slight dom!jimin, slight switch!jungkook, slight sub!reader, voyeurism, exhibitionism, penetrative sex, unsafe sex (wrap it up, loves!). a hint of jikook at the end. ⇢ summary: after learning of the activities your boyfriend and his best friend use to partake in, you can’t help but what to be apart of them. everyone always says, two is better than one, right? ⇢ A/N: this has been in my drafts for about three months, lmao. finally, i finished it and posted it! im lowkey excited because this was a lot of fun to write, and i’ve never written anything like it so! alright, yeah... let me know what you think x.

Your damp locks laid sprawled against your boyfriend's muscular thigh. Warm fingers twisting the wet curls between his fingers. Movements slowed due to the toe-curling, orgasm-inducing, mind-blowing tub sex you just shared. The last thing you had wanted was to get out and brave the cold air, but laying here, wrapped in his sheet with nothing underneath, you didn't want to be anywhere else.

 Being in Jimin's arms was a rare occurrence these days, moments like this becoming cherished treasures that you looked forward to. Excitement was the easy way to describe how you felt when he and his six best friends were pulling up in front of your house, inviting you to spend their day off with them.

 Of course, it was all Jimin's doing, you wouldn't have met any of those guys if it wasn't for your chance meeting with the handsome dancer. They liked you enough, though. Each showed you that they accept your relationship in their own way.

 Seokjin, the oldest, had become something of a big brother to you; oftentimes taking your side on the rare occasion that you and Jimin argued. Never failed to give you insightful advice after the fact. Yoongi didn't really pay you any mind, but he thought you were cute and often times found himself cooing at you. You were closest to Hobi and Joon, becoming fast friends due to your like personalities and sense of humor. They thought you were hilarious, Jimin didn't see it.

 As for the two youngest... despite you dating his best friend, Taehyung didn't really show much interest in you, neither did Jungkook. Yet, Taehyung did put in the effort to make conversation and make you feel included, unlike the youngest male. You had been convinced that he didn't like you, until a few weeks ago when his blatant staring began.

 He'd be quick to look away whenever he knew he was caught, but he wasn't that sneaky. You never missed the cocky grin he'd try to hide or the knowing look he'd shoot in Taehyung's direction. There was definitely something up and it definitely involved you.

 “What do you think of Jungkook?” The question was falling from your lips and you had your never-ending thoughts and overthinking to blame. 

 Jimin let out a snort of a laugh. “Jungkook? My best friend, and teammate? The guy that's been like a brother to me for the past 7 years? I guess he's alright,” Sarcasm dripped from his words and you rolled your eyes, lifting your head from his lap.

 Your hand met his shoulder, gently pushing him back against the headboard. “I'm being serious. What do you think?”

 “So am I. He's like a brother to me, why?” He found this sudden interest in the maknae odd...? Especially for you. It was obvious that the two of you didn't really socialize, so why were you asking about him all of a sudden? “What do you think of him?” Jimin prompted when your answer didn't come fast enough.

 Taking a moment, you debated whether or not you should even bring this up. As he said, Jungkook was like a brother to him... what if calling out his weird behavior ended up rubbing Jimin in the wrong way and now you were without a boyfriend.

 Jimin wasn't the type for dramatics, though. Everything was comfortable with him, not many things reaching his 'serious business' radar, so this should be fine, right? Right. “He's fine...” You buffered, teeth chewing at your lower lip.

 Jimin pinned you with an expectant look, hated whenever you, or anyone, beat around the bush when there was obviously something on their mind. Taking this, you urged yourself to go on. “...I've just noticed like lately he's been... checking me out?” Mentally, you flinched, hoping the news wouldn't upset your boyfriend.

 His chest rumbled as he barked out a laugh, head cocked back as the sweet sounds left his plump lips. Pillow soft punches met his stomach as you tried to get him to focus. “I'm being serious, Jimin! He's always staring at me with that stupid face,”

 You imitated Jungkook's seemingly signature facial expression, eyebrows raised and tongue pushed into the inside of your cheek, eyes tracing over your boyfriend's body hungrily like Jungkook had done to you many times before. Another laugh left his lips at the sight of your face and you were scoffing, pushing him back again.

 “I don't know why this is funny to you. I just told you one of your friends has been mentally undressing me, you should be livid!” You were quick to silence the insecure thoughts that his lack of reaction had floating around your mind.

 It was no secret that Jimin was a jealous guy. What's his, is his... you were his! He should be enraged that some guy was looking at you like a piece of meat, he was the only one that was supposed to look at you like that. So why was he laughing?

 Seeing that you were obviously upset, Jimin was reaching for your arms, uncrossing them from your bare chest. His hands held loosely on your wrist as he pulled you toward him, landing a soft kiss to your lips. “I think it's funny because it's not a big deal. Me and Jungkook are boys, he's not gonna try anything with you.” He assured you, another kiss landing on your lips.

 “Okay, but, I heard him and Taehyung talking and-” You weren't even able to finish your sentence because he was sitting up, squinted eyes finding yours. “Taehyung was talking about you?”

 Oh, now he wanted to be jealous? Scoffing, you pushed him back against the headboard. “Yes.” You couldn't help the roll of your eyes. “I was trying to tell you. Not only is Jungkook always checking me out, but I heard them talking about you and us... and something about an H?”

 Jimin's expression softened, eyebrows relaxing as his cheeks tinted a few shades light of red. “Oh.” Crooked teeth worried his lower lip as he reached a hand up to push his hair back on his forehead.

 “Oh? What does H stand for, Jimin?” Obviously, he knew exactly what they were talking about and it was making him... blush? “It's nothing.” He answered a bit too quickly. “It's something.” Your words chased his, a slight bite in your tone.

 His eyes widened. “What are you gonna get mad if I don't tell you?” Laughter laced his words, but it wasn't the 'Ha-ha so funny' type of laugh, it was a type of nervous laugh he let out when he felt like he dug himself in a hole.

 You were nodding your head simply, shoving the blanket from your waist. “Yup!” Hopping from the bed, you began searching the room for the jeans you had ditched the second you were entering his bedroom. Jimin was sitting up quickly, voice stopping your movements just as you got your jeans over your thighs. “Alright, alright! I'll tell you. Come sit back down,”

 A triumphant smirk spread across your lips, as you crossed the room back to his bed. You sunk back down onto the comfortable mattress, crossing your legs underneath your bum as you awaited his explanation.

 “First of all, this was before I met you so you can't hold this against me,” He prepped and you nodded your head, gesturing with your hand for him to go on. “A while ago... with my exes, or just like girls that hung around us... Jungkook and I would, you know...”

 You had pretty a good idea what he was alluding to, but you weren't the type to graciously take a hint. “No, I don't know... you would, what?” He was rolling his eyes at the smirk on your lips, hands pushing his hair back out of habit.

 “Share them, our girlfriends, the groupies... It was fun, you know? Capitol H doesn't stand for anything, it's literally what our bodies do,” He let out a short laugh and you picture the way an H looked. “...So I'd be the middle part?” You clarified, your words making Jimin's eyes snap up to you.

 “Who said...” His words trailed off, brows furrowing as he visibly went through the thoughts bubbling in his mind. You didn't blame him. Despite the occasional interesting position or location, you liked to keep it pretty vanilla.

 Well aware that Jimin was more experienced than you, you didn't want to disappoint. You always thought vanilla didn't technically mean boring... at least it didn't to you. But after hearing that he use to partake in regular threesomes you couldn't help but wonder what else the other girls he's been with let him do.

 Just the pure fact that you were considering this, putting yourself in the situation was enough to baffle your boyfriend, confuse him enough to convince him that you were just fucking with him. A laugh slipped past his lips as he shook his head. “Come on, Yn. You wouldn't be into that.”

 “How do you even know?”

 “Well, because I know you. It was a long time ago, Yn. They were just talking shit, you don't have to-” Annoyed, you were cutting him off.

 “I might want to. I could be into it, you don't know. Jungkook is cute and...”

 His face was twisting, and you were afraid you had said the wrong thing. Sure of it when the words left his lips. “Are you saying you want to fuck, Jungkook?” Thankfully, he didn't exactly look angry... just a little bit put off?

 A hand reached out for his, easily lacing your fingers together. “Listen, I know I'm not that... adventurous, when it comes to sex... but if it's something that you enjoyed doing or if you just want to, I'm just saying... I wouldn't be against it.” Your thumb soothes over the back of his hand and enjoys the smile that pushes onto his lips.

 His eyes soften again, staring up at you lovingly. The confusion of whether or not you had just admitted you were into his bandmate gone and forgotten. “I promise, I like the sex we have just fine, don't worry.” He was leaning forward, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, his arm wrapping around your waist to pull your body into his.

 Four days passed since your conversation with Jimin. More and more time was spent around their dorm, soaking up as much time with him as you could before he was jetting off to his next schedule. Being around him all day, though, meant that you were around his friends all day too.

 It wasn't a big deal, these guys were cool. At least, most of them were. In the past days, Jungkook had become bold, to say the least. Not looking away when he's caught staring, instead of waiting for you to be the one to break. On top of that, it was like the kid never knew when to shut up, always coming up with a snarky comment or undermining you but at the same time calling you 'Noona' with that boyish grin of his.

 Jimin no doubt told him all about the talk that you two had if those boys were sharing girls... there was no way they weren't sharing secrets. You don't know what you knowing about their sexcapades did for him, but it clearly had gone to his head. It'd be best to just ignore him, you decided. No matter how undeniably attractive he was, there was nothing there for you. You didn't want him. Didn't need him, no matter the dampness that ensued whenever he smirked. And of course, you didn't ever notice the size of the bulge that constantly pushed against his pants. Was that boy always hard, or something!?

 Like right now, just walking across the lawn in search of the ball he had been playing with, but right there fighting against his swim trunks... a huge boner! You cursed the moment Jin suggested a pool party would be a fun way to spend the afternoon.

 It had sounded fun at the moment. Yoongi said he was going to barbecue and you were even more convinced when your boyfriend was making his way down the stairs shirtless in his swim shorts. The sexy one-word tattoo on full display, ripples of his abs seemed to glisten, the single trail of hair below his belly button disappearing underneath his waistband.

 Yeah, you'd definitely enjoy this afternoon. So sure of it, until you were catching sight of the man that followed him down the stairs. Jungkook, of course, who else could irk you just with their presence?

 A lot taller and more muscular than your lean boyfriend, black shorts hanging loosely on his hips, giving you a perfect view of the well-worked on V-line that acted a huge fucking arrow to his dick. Gentle lips found the top of your head, a strong arm wrapping around your waist. “You look pretty,” Jimin mumbled into your ear, and you grinned, leaning into his chest.

 Jimin was always very vocal when it came to the things that he liked to see. You showing some skin? Definitely at the top of his list. Took that into account when you picked out your swimsuit for this gathering; a red triangle string bikini, lacy black flowers decorating your breasts, and hips.

 It was obvious that Jimin thought you looked good, could tell with the lingering glances in your direction as you laid on your back trying to soak up some sun. What you didn't account for was the slight chance that his friends might think the same. And by friends, you meant Jungkook, of course.

 Poor kid couldn't take his eyes off of you, not even for a second. Which explains his constant need to get out of the pool and retrieve the ball that he kept failing to catch. The situation almost funny, if the sexy flex in his arms as he pulled his body out of the water didn't always catch your attention. If your eyes weren't automatically trailing over every ridge and bump of his muscles.

 He'd smirk when catching you, toss his long wet hair before slipping back into the water. Wouldn't even wait to see the annoyed roll of your eyes, not as it mattered – he had already caught you staring, more than once. Acting as if he didn't affect you was a waste. And to make matters worse, Jimin was always right there observing each and every one of your interactions with the kid, face giving nothing away.

 Not angry, or annoyed. Just watching, as if he was curious to see what you'd do. How you'd react. As if he had put this whole entire thing in motion earlier and was observing the aftermath. 

 By the time Yoongi was announcing dinner, your body was buzzing with annoyance. Or was it desire? Either way, you were about two seconds from ripping your hair at the roots. Jimin sat beside you, the first time he was within arms reach the entire evening. He grinned, wrapping a strong arm around your waist and pulling you close engulfing you with his sweet scent. 

 Stupidly, you found yourself relaxing in his arms. Head falling on his shoulder while a hand lifted to press against his stomach. He was warm but still a little wet from the pool. You felt the movement of his head but didn't bother with lifting your head to see who he was speaking too. Stupid, because seconds later the spot next to you was being taken up.

 Guess who.

 Of course, Jeon Jungkook was slipping into the space beside you, a cocky grin playing on his most likely soft lips. His eyes flickered over to Jimin's before he was dropping his focus back onto you.

 “We've got burgers and hot dogs, and Jin is coming out with the chicken,” Yoongi called out, stepping toward the table with a tray of meat in hand. The second the food was in reach, the boys were hurrying to load their plates.

 Like the ever so dotting boyfriend, Jimin loaded up your plate as he did his. Comfortable conversation surrounded the table, voices overlapping and thick strings of laughter falling from their lips. You weighed in where you could, beaming when you were able to make a few of them laugh along with you.

 It was fun. Talking to them, getting along. Despite the fact you had been dating Jimin for a while, conversations with most of his friends were surface level at most. It didn't really bother you, but it was a good feeling knowing that if needed, you could get along with these guys.

 “No, yeah... if you're into old-time movies, you should definitely check out...” Taehyung's words were fading into the background, your attention slipping from what he was saying and to the warm hand on your thigh. Jimin's. An unsuspecting smile on his lips when you looked up to catch his gaze. 

 Just barely catching the title of the movie Taehyung was referring to, you turned your attention back to him. “It's good? I should check it out.” He nodded, all at once losing interest in the conversation, Jin's story catching his ear.

 There was a mischievous glint in Jimin's eye as he spread your legs apart, tips of his fingers trailing up your bare thigh. His head tilting until his lips were able to reach the skin of your neck, leaving a wet trail of kisses down the length.

 You felt your body melting into him. Ready to succumb to whatever he had in store for you, the tingle of anticipation rushing through your veins. A familiar heat spreading throughout your body, lips curling into your mouth as you waited. The press against your left side had your eyes snapping open, darting to the cool tattooed hand making it's way up to your thigh. Jungkook.

 His fingers inching up your thigh, closer and closer to your core while Jimin held your legs apart, fingers tight against your flesh. “If you don't like it, tell him to stop.” His words are hushed against your ear, and you're nodding quickly, hearing the sincerity in his voice. 

 Jungkook wastes no time, callused fingers finding your clit through the fabric of your bikini bottoms. He presses down, fingers moving in circles as your body jolts at the sudden friction. “She's sensitive,” He speaks as if he's taking notes rather than trying to hold a conversation. You hold your breath, legs spreading slightly. Jimin's lips fall from your skin, cheek resting against your shoulder so he can see.

 Never did you think you'd be the one to have such a penchant for something as risky as public foreplay, but here you were growing wetter by the second, the thought that either one of his friends could catch you with a simple turn of their heads. It had you unbelievably turned on, mixed with the fact that your boyfriend was watching you rather than doing it definitely added to it.

 Jungkook laughs beside you, but not at you. Delved in a conversation with Namjoon across the table as if his fingers weren't pushing your bottoms out of the way underneath the table. A long finger lazily traces over your wet folds. Jimin's chuckle covers the gasp that leaves your lips when Jungkook's fingers graze over your bare clit.

 Jin is smiling appreciatively in his direction at the support of his joke. You were going to get caught. The thought and the consequences weighing heavily on your mind, causing you to shift attempting to close your legs. “It's fine,” Jimin assures you with a whisper, strong hand holding your leg in place.

 The moment you're relaxing, Jungkook's hand is reaching down to grasp your other thigh. Easily lifting it to hook over his own, giving him total access to your throbbing pussy. It's not lost on you how hot it feels to be exposed like this, but you're not given any time to analyze what it means as soon as Jungkook traces his fingers over your entrance.

 The tips of his fingers take their time with gathering the wet arousal that had accumulated between your legs before they're moving back up to tease your tight hole. Teeth digging into your plump lip as the tips of his fingers slowly begin slipping into your core.

 Trying your damnedest to keep your face from giving away what was going on underneath the table. You force yourself to concentrate on the words coming from Namjoon's mind, although they're just words... not coherent enough to follow the actual story.

 Slowly, Jimin is reaching his thick fingers down between your legs, using his middle and index fingers to spread your lips further apart, giving him a better view. You gasp, Jungkook's fingers pumping shallowly in and out of you. 

 For a moment, your body stills, afraid you had been too loud just then. Calming when you realize none of them were looking in your direction, not even Jungkook who was the cause of all of this. No, he was seemingly wrapped in conversation with Taehyung, a teasing smirk on his lips that you guessed was meant for you.

 Jimin was the only one look at you, watching Jungkook's long fingers bury themselves deep inside of you. He's flexing them, curling and uncurling as the pad of his thumb fingers your needy clit. He's basically drooling at the sight, wet lazy kisses landing on your shoulder. His hand resting over his covered crotch, palming himself through the fabric. 

 A louder, desperate whimper is falling from your lips. This time catching the attention of Taehyung. Words coming to a halt as his eyes dart between the three of you, a wide smirk slipping onto his features. “Are you alright, Yn?” There's a teasing glint in his eye, letting you know he's not at all asking if you're alright. No, he knew exactly what was happening underneath the table and he was making it all of his business to tease you about it.

 Plastering a tight-lipped smile onto your lips, you muster all the strength you can to nod your head. “I'm fine,” There's a strain in your voice, giving him enough reason to pull a look of concern, his head tilting to the side.

 “Are you sure? You look a little flushed,” His brows furrow, topping off his fake worry and you're suppressing the urge to roll your eyes. The encounter is catching Namjoon's attention beside him, his gaze lifting to study your face. “Oh, yeah. You don't look so good.” He weighs in, actually looking worried about you.

 Jungkook takes this growing attention as an invitation to speed up the movement of his fingers. Hand tightening on your thigh, keeping you from snapping your legs shut. Two fingers plunging deep inside of you, tips brushing against the spongy spot inside of you. Jimin's domineering gaze watches your face, waiting for your response.

 However, it doesn't come. The thrusts of Jungkook's fingers, mixed with the relentless strokes of his thumb on your clit has a moan falling from your lips. It's loud and breathy, and definitely recognizable even if all attention wasn't on you. You see Jungkook's eyes widen from the corner of your eye, but he's being really careful about not looking directly at you.

 You do, actually, see him steal a glance in Jimin's direction... almost as if he's asking for guidance, but he's being ignored, Jimin's lust-filled eyes never leaving your face. “Take that kinky shit upstairs,” Yoongi speaks flatly, bored expression on his face as he stares at you.

 Jimin's hand is quick to reach between your legs, adjusting your bottoms as Jungkook withdraws his fingers from inside of you, pushing your thigh from his. You ignore the way your walls flutter at the sudden emptiness, snapping your legs shut as embarrassment reddens your cheeks and dampens your pussy.

 “Let's go.” There's no room for protest with the way he speaks, excusing himself from the table as he looks expectantly between you and Jungkook. The younger male is quick to stand, watching you as he pushes his glistening fingers into his mouth. Your heart pounds as he slowly sucks your juices from the digits.

 The other boys have turned their attention from you three, still, your body felt hot. Cheeks flushed and pussy pulsing with want. Need. You needed them, both of them. Need to have both of them on you, around you, inside you. With a breath, you're standing, following them into the house and up into Jimin's room.

 Jungkook shuts the bedroom door, flicking the lock as Jimin turns to look down at you. “You still not against this?” Eyes much softer now, gentle hands finding your hips in order to pull your body toward his. You're nodding without a second thought, want buzzing in your veins. No way were you backing out now.

 Despite the grin rapidly growing on his plush lips, Jimin was still asking: “Are you sure?” Your words chased his, hands reaching up to land on his jawline. “I'm sure,” Your lips found him, instantly being parted by their thickness. His tongue twists and tangles with yours, a single hand reaching to grasp your jaw, holding your head in place as he licks into your mouth.

 Suddenly, he's pulling back, soft eyes tinted with a dark desire. He's turning your head with the grip of his strong hand, your eyes finding Jungkook who had moved to stand directly behind you.

 Jungkook is quick to capture your lips with his. Soft lips tasting heavily of cherry, you kiss him back, body turning, melting into his as the erection between his legs brushes against your lower belly. He bites into your lower lip, tugging it slightly and pulling a whimper from his lips.

 You feel his smirk as his tongue slips past your parted lips, mapping out every inch of your mouth while his hands drop to your scarcely covered ass. Hips pushing back, involuntarily surrendering more of your ass to his. Jungkook's lips are falling from yours, hands sliding underneath the fabric of your bottoms to cup your bare ass.

 “Jungkook,” You gasp out when his hands squeeze down hard on your ass, grip pulling your body tight against his. With little to no effort, Jungkook is lifting your body off of the floor, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. He walks the two of you to the bed, laying your body onto the soft mattress.

 When he had moved was lost on you, Jimin now sitting comfortably on the chair adjacent to the bed. Hard cock straining against the fabric of his swim trunks, his hand resting over it as he watched you with his best friend.

 With your legs hanging loosely from his hips, Jungkook leans down to bury his head in the crook of your neck. Sucking wet hickeys into the skin while his large hands trail down the gentle curves of your body, fingers finding the tight bows on either side of your hips. Your breaths come out labored, rapidly losing yourself in the way he's tonguing at your skin, teeth grazing its sensitivity.

 “Fuck,” He groans, hips pushing into yours. The sound of his voice nearly startling you, with how quiet he has been since the start of all this. “I never thought I'd have a chance to have you like this,” He sighs softly against your skin. Only a second was spared for you to wonder just how often he thought about having you like this. If Jimin knew.

 Jungkook's hands were quickly traveling up your back, a single tug on the string of your bikini had it loosening around your chest. He wastes no time with discarding it, tossing it somewhere behind him before leaning down. Hot tongue connecting with your hardened bud, rolling it around in his mouth. A soft moan slips past your lips, head falling back just enough to catch sight of Jimin.

 Teeth worrying his plush lips, a hand-dipped into the front of his shorts as he watches you. Hooded eyes find yours and you swear you see his cock twitch in his hand. Your fingers tangled in Jungkook's hair, holding his head against your chest as he grinds his covered cock against the flimsy material of your bathing suit.

 Your legs tighten around his waist, pulling his closer as you lift your hips. Jimin's groan mixes with the sound of yours, Jungkook's head lifting only for a moment to catch sight of his older friend, only to drop back down mouth latching onto your neglected nipple.

 “Make her cum, Kook,” Jimin speaks hastily growing impatient with how slow Jungkook was being. How he seemed to be taking his time, reveling in each moment he had with you. Allowing himself to memorize every inch of your body while he had the chance.

 The sight demand has Jungkook's body jumping to action, teeth grazing over your nipple as his hand travels down the front of your body dipping into your bottoms and covering your pussy without pause.

 Your legs squirm while his fingers toy with your bundle of nerves a wet trail of kisses, creating a line from your breasts down the middle of your body. You're sprawled out beneath him, legs wide as you wait for what you know is coming. It's not long before his head is between your legs, looking up at you with the sexiest pout and you feel as though you could cum at the sight.

 “You're soaked,” His head is tilting slightly, licking along your slit in one click motion and you're moaning out. “I've always wondered the sounds you'd make having your cute little pussy eaten.” His thumb is covering your clit, stroking it gently as your core flutters, from the growing smirk on his face, it's safe to say he noticed.

 Strong hands holding your legs apart, Jungkook lunges forward to press his soft lips against your folds. He sucks kisses against your damp lips, tongue stroking against them slowly. You're whimpering, can feel your pussy dripping as you reach down to tangle your fingers in his soft locks.

 He's quick with the up-down movement of his tongue against your slick pussy lips, tracing over each ridge and cure but avoiding that one spot he's sue would have you falling apart instantly. Instead, kept his thumb pressed against it still, motionless.

 Your hips lift, rocking into his face while his tongue lowers to tease your wanting entrance. Large hands curling around your hips to grasp the cure of your ass, pulling your body tighter against his mouth. “Fuck, Jungkook!” The shout falling from your lips as he ups his speed, the tip of his nose nudging against your clit.

 Jimin's breathy groan sounds from behind you, the familiar fap of his hand working against his hardened cock filling your ears and egging you on. His thumb slowly plays with the head, spreading the precum leaking from it. Having him watch you, turned on by the sight of you moaning his friend's name, turned on enough that he was jerking himself off at the sight. It made you feel hot, an unexplainable rush of desire coursing through your veins.

 Jungkook is pulling his tongue from inside of you it quickly being replaced with two long fingers. He pushes all the way to the knuckle, curling them to press deep inside of you. You feel the coil in your stomach slowly tighten as he continues his movements, your orgasm approaching.

 A silent scream leaves your lips the moment his lips are wrapping around your neglected clit, sucking softly as his tongue teases it. Hips lifting and rolling, body convulsing as your orgasm begins to wash over you. Jungkook's grip tightens around your shaking thighs, holding your legs in place as he pushes another finger inside of you.

 His lips suck down harder, head tilting to the side to twist your clit along with it. That paired with the new stretch of his added finger have you cumming hard all at once. His name leaves your lips in a desperate mewl, grip tightening in his hair as your back arches off the bed.

 Jungkook's pulling his fingers from your body, letting up on the suction around your clit relaxing into gentle licks of his tongue. His strong hands cover your ass, holding your body against his mouth as you ride out your orgasm. He laps up every bit of your wet cum, ignoring the sensitive twitch of your legs until he's finished. Until he's satisfied and sitting upon his knees, licking your arousal from his lips.

 He's staring at you with so much want, lust, lips slightly swollen and very red. His hair sticks up messily around his head from the grip of your fingers, chest heaving with heavy breath as he watches you.

 Jimin stands from his position behind you, hands tugging his shorts the rest of the way down his legs before he's taking slow strides in your direction. With much effort, you're lifting your body until you're seated. He grins down at you, a hand wrapped around his length while the other reaches for the nape of your neck.

 “I want you to suck me off while Jungkookie fucks you open, how's that sound?” He's wearing such a sweet smile on his face, a direct contradiction to the words that fall from his lips and the vulgar things they convey. You're nodding your head quickly, either way, leaning into his touch as his hand travels to rest against your jaw.

 Jungkook has stood from the bed, discarding his shorts in the process. He's rummaging on the other side of the room, but your focus is not on him. No, your attention is stuck on the man in front of you. His soft thumb brushing against your lower lip, your mouth falling open. He grins.

 “You made me so hard baby. Loved seeing you cum on Kookie's tongue, did it feel good?” You're nodding your head, eyes snapping up to find his. He chews on his lower lip, tracing the curves of your lips with the tip of his cock. You try to move your head to coax his cock into your mouth, but he's having too much fun teasing you to let that happen.

 Pushing your tongue out, you manage to slide it over the underside of his cock. He groans, head lolling to the side as he gives in, slowly guiding his cock past your lips and into your mouth. Your lips latch onto his dick and quickly begin licking and suckling at his length. His teeth dig into his lip as he watches you, hand reaching to grasp your hair.

 “Your mouth feels so good, baby.” He pants, rocking his hips forward slightly. Your body warms at the praise, sucking harder and speeding the bob of your head. His lower belly tightens, both hands tangled in your hair and tightening to hold your head still. Mouth widening, you allow him to push his hips forward, taking more of his cock down your throat. 

 You let him gag you, spit gathering around your lips as tears brim in your eyes. Hands braced on his hips as if that'd be enough to slow his movements. With the fucked out look on his face, the grip in your hair; it was obvious he didn't plan on letting up any time soon. Not like you even wanted him too, anyway.

 Jungkook was coming to crouch behind you, large hands finding your hips. The palm of his hand is slapping against one of your cheeks, forcing your body to jolt forward a muffled moan leaving your lips. The movement pushing you down further onto Jimin's cock, the head hitting against the back of your throat causing a cough to fall from your lips.

 Reluctantly, you pull back, a thin string of saliva connecting your lips to his length as heavy coughs shook your body. Jungkook let out a loud laugh, hands on your hips positioning your body onto your knees. Jimin's unmistakably gentle hand rubbed at your back, attempting to soothe your coughs as he lined his cock with your lips once more.

 You were taking him into your mouth once more, sucking with much more fervor this time. He chuckles above you, eyes flickering up to Jungkook who's fingers caressing your wet pussy lips. “She's so wet, Hyung. Think she liked choking on your cock.” He comments, fingers lazily stroking your pussy.

 Warmth spreads through your body at his words. Jungkook was much different from Jimin, sexually as well as everything else. Where Jimin never mentioned how much he knew you liked to suck him off, Jungkook was more than willing to voice his revelation that you were particularly dripping. As if he got off on the thought of embarrassing you, and it should annoy you, but it only made you want him more.

 Wanted to prove to him that you didn't so easily wither, that it would take a lot more to make you shy away. No matter the blush the took over his cheeks every time he was crude.

 His hand reached for your hair, tangling in the soft strands and slowly pulling you off of his friend's cock. Your back was soon pressed flush against his chest, a strong arm wrapping around your waist. You can see Jimin clearly now, muscles glistening with a thin layer of sweat as his palm stroked his wet cock.

 Jungkook's dick is pressed firmly against your ass cheek and your hips slowly rock back, rubbing against it. He bites back a groan, hand dropping to hold your hips in place. “You want me to fuck you, Yn?” His mouth is right by your ear, but he's speaking loud enough for both you and Jimin to hear. “Want me to make you cum, again? But this time on my cock... make you fall apart while your boyfriend watches, you'd like that, huh?” Rough fingers find your clit, flicking and tugging at it. And you nod frantically, spreading your legs wide from him and avoiding the lust-filled gaze of your boyfriend.

 He reaches for your chin, lifting your head so you're looking directly at Jimin. Jungkook moved behind you, shifting his hips until the tip of his cock nudges your awaiting entrance. “Say it,” He hisses into your ear. “Tell him,” His lower lip drags over the shell of your ear, fingers dipping lower to spread your lips for him.

 “I want-,” You feel heat growing in your chest, Jimin's expectant gaze making you feel small. He's stroking his cock much slower now, waiting on labored breaths. Jungkook's fingers pinch your clit and pleasure shoots through your veins, body twitching. “Don't be shy, princess. He can take it...” His fingers rub figure eights into the bundle of nerves.

 There was no telling how you looked right now, fucked out and panting. Desperately trying to wiggle your hips in hope to steal away more than he was letting you have. Lips are swollen and cheeks tear-stained from having Jimin's cock down your throat moments before. Your back arches against his chest as he drags the length of his cock over your slit, teasing you.

 “I want!” You shout, an electric shock of pleasure fueling you, “Jimin, fuck... watch me. I want you to watch me when Jungkook fucks me,” You plead, crazed eyes staying trained on your boyfriend. “Want you to see him make me cum.”

 “Fuck,” Jimin groans, at the same time Jungkook is pushing inside of you. His thick cock spreading your folds and breaking through your walls. You let out a loud whine, pushing back against him welcoming each inch of his length. He's groaning only when he's bottoming out, hands falling to your hips, body dropping onto your knees again.

 “She's so tight,” Jungkook sighs, pulling his hips back until the tip of his cock is catching on your pursed entrance. He pushes forward quickly, pulling a wail from your lips. Repeating the action until he feels your walls loosening around him.

 He's soon falling into a steady pace, hips snapping against yours as his fingers bruise your hips. Your legs spread wide as you fist at the bedsheets below you, whiny moans leaving your lips as you move back against him. Jimin steps back, no doubt taking in the sight in before him. The way your eyes continue to roll, flushed cheeks and mouth open wide. How your back curves into the globes of your ass the ripple with each strong thrust of Jungkook's hips. “Fuck, baby. You're taking his cock so well,” Jimin praises with a proud look on his face. 

 His soft hand brushes your hair out of your face, holding it back in a makeshift ponytail. “How does it feel, baby?” Weakly, you lift your gaze to look up at him. “S-so good,” Voice hoarse and breathy. Jungkook grins behind you, angling his hips to slide deeper inside of you.

 “Such a good girl,” Jimin's free hand wraps around his cock. And your mouth is opening before your mind can register what he wants, warm cock filling your mouth, your lips wrapping tightly around the base.

 He's sliding down your throat easily, your head bobbing in time with the slow thrusts of his hips. You reach your hands forward to grasp his balls, hands massaging against the velvety skin and his pants. Incoherent mumbles of praise fall from Jimin's lips as his head falls back.

 He looks so hot, even from this angle. The veins of his neck prominent with the clench of his teeth. Collarbones thick and on full display, housing his well worked on pecks and the tight ripples of his abs. His hand lifts to grasp your hair, holding your head in place to thrust shallowly down your throat.

 “S-shit, I'm cumming.” Jungkook whines from behind you, hips pressed flush against your ass while his legs tighten. You feel the familiar expansion of the condom around his cock as the sounds of his whiny moans fill the room. Jimin lifts his head, a chuckle leaving his lips as his eyes find the pink-cheeked man in front of him.

 “That was quick,” Jimin teases, pulling his hips back until his cock is falling from your lips. Jungkook does the same. Your body shocked instantly with emptiness, you whine in protest, hips wiggling in search of your release.

 “It's been a while,” Jungkook defends, slumping against the mattress, arms lifting to cover his eyes. Desperately trying to slow his breathing, not paying any mind to the cum that leaks the condom in thick globs painting the sheets underneath him. “Did Kookie even make you cum?” Jimin's words are directed to you and you're quick to shake your head.

 He tsks, hand reaching for your thigh and flipping your body onto its back. Your legs spread as he lowers himself between them, cock easily pushing its way deep into your pussy. A moan falls from your lips, hips lifting to meet his thrust. “Let me show you how to do it.”

 Jungkook is removing his arm from his eyes, turning his attention to yours and Jimin's bodies. He watches as Jimin's firm ass lifts and drops into you, each powerful thrust pushing your body up. Watches as your nails mark up his smooth back. Listens to the way his groans mix with your whimpers.

 Your eyes catch his for a moment, and you're soon realizing that he's not watching you. Mouth parted and eyes dazed as he stares. But not at you. Jimin's reaching his hand down, fingers finding your clit as he pushes you toward your nearing orgasm. Eyes screwing shut, you let yourself feel it.

 Toes curling and back arching as your release washes over you. Jimin hisses from the way your walls clench around his cock, his thrusts becoming sloppy, untimed. Jungkook watches as he cums, filling you up. Your name falling from his lips in a breathy moan. Your legs tighten around his waist, holding his body tight against yours.

 Minutes pass before Jimin is pulling out, rolling onto his back with a huff. He grins wide down at you, lips catching yours in a loving kiss as his hand moves between your legs, pushing his escaped cum back into your pussy. You can't help the giggle that leaves your lips from the feeling.

 “You did so well, baby.” He's complimenting you after his lips are releasing yours. You smile wide, eyes shifting between him and Jungkook. “It was amazing, thank you.” Jungkook nods his acknowledgment while Jimin presses another kiss to your lips, before standing from the bed.

 “I'm gonna go run you a bath,” Jimin grins, kissing the top of your head gently before disappearing into the bathroom. The second he's gone, Jungkook is standing from the bed. His cheeks are flushed, hair messy, and he looks out of breath; but nevertheless he's moving as if he couldn't get out of there fast enough.

 You let him. Don't bother to ask him why. You know why. And now that you knew, all the little things surrounding were starting to make sense. As if a neon sign had been flashing the warning from the beginning, but you had chosen to ignore it. Explained it away as Jungkook being a protective best friend, but you were wrong. You were so wrong. Realization was hitting you all at once and you wondering how many of their conquests found out the exact same thing.

 Jungkook was in love with Jimin.

requests are open

[blametheeditor]

Halloween

Warnings: Cursing. Mentions of people being treated like pets.

Run Down: Halloween means a newly shrunken Jeremy who’s been hiding demands candy. Jeremy’s can’t survive without candy.

This has been waiting forever in my drafts, and ‘Spirit Halloween’ just got put up in my town, so it’s spoopy season baby!

___________

“So, any ideas for what you want to be, Caleb?”

Mike should’ve known such an innocent little question would’ve alerted their stuttering guard. Because of course the bastard had a mental calendar for when certain holidays would be. And of fucking course he also knew Phone Guy wasn’t asking their hell spawn who he wanted to be when he goddamn grows up.

But of course he didn’t. Really it’s Vincent’s fault for not reminding him the triggers of Jerber’s extremely dangerous ideas.

“I can be anything?”

Caleb had never heard such a thing! Of course he’s gone trick-or-treating before, his father always making sure his sister got to have a great night. A great night allowed her older brother to tag along and guaranteed their eldest brother to keep watch.

He still got candy, especially with the tears that constantly streamed down his face earning more than his siblings.

But no matter what, Axel still had to attempt and be cruel toward the middle White.

...he hated every single costume ever picked out by his brother.

“God-“ Scott’s out of his seat at the question, motioning for Caleb to grab Vincent. “We’re gonna get you whatever you want.”

“Really!”

“If you don’t hurry up you won’t.”

Mike smirks at the eldest guard pulling a ‘dad’ move. Not that he fucking cares if Caleb’s father would get pissed off by a random costume appearing. It’s Halloween...never mind he has no goddamn idea.

But apparently Jeremy knew.

“M-M-M-M-M-M-M-M-M-M-“

The stuttering guard couldn’t even finish the lead guard’s name, trembling as he stands beside the man’s shoe in the attempt to gain attention.

And, well, ‘beside’ was a stretch even for him. He was a solid hundred feet from both Mike and Scott.

Can you blame him, though! They’re giants! Everyone was giant! Every thing towers over him! He used a couch for safety, and now he’s in the open air!

Anything can grab him. A spiderweb, a vacuum, shoes, hands. Even something like a book can fall or a coffee cup, a stuffed animal, piece of cloth.

This was a terrible idea...

Jeremy nods rapidly in agreement to his thoughts. Frightful grey eyes glancing all around him before he turns back to his safe haven.

FAZBEAR!

He’s far away from Mike and the couch! AND IN THE MIDDLE OF THE LIVING ROOM!

G-G-G-G-G-G-G-Get c-c-c-c-c-c-c-c-c-c-c-c-c-c-crushed. G-G-G-G-G-G-Gonna g-g-g-g-g-g-g- get c-c-c-c-c-c-c-c-c-c-c-c-c-c-crushed.

...no. No. He’s been afraid for too long. He, he really has been. Locking himself beneath the couch, making it so if anyone wanted to watch something they had to pull it on a phone or laptop. Carefully entering the living room together so they don’t seem like they’re cornering the only shrunken guard out of the entire family.

A solid month of being cared for but not talking. Requesting anything unless the essential giants were able to even attempt to grab him.

Not that they’ve tried. Everyone has kept away from Jeremy at his asking. Not because he’s a pet only to be fed and played it a few times a day, but because he asked.

And they listened.

He can do this! He’s gotten this far! Pressed against the wall, inching his way, freezing whenever someone even breathed...but he was getting there!

But everything is huge. He used to stand only a few inches below Mike. Now he barely has a few inches and the man can hold him in one hand. The lead guard’s shoes were longer than he his tall, maybe even the ankle is his height. Capable of crushing him without even knowing. Wiping away blood with a single scrape and the thought it had been an annoying bug.

St-St-St-St-St-St-St-St-Still M-M-M-M-M-M-M-M-M-M-M-M-Mike.

“Caleb you take forever,” Scott chuckles, waiting patently for his best friend to finally emerge from the hallway. Most likely took the little boy hostage.

“Here, I’ll go grab the asshole.”

Mike nods at the eye roll as he moves to stand-

“M-M-M-M-M-M-M-M-M-M-MIKE!”

-not up. Stand down apparently.

Jeremy thought he was prepared. He really did. He raced the last hundred feet to his idol’s shoe, hand grasped a fold of the slacks, and he gently pulled on them while giving a fearful yell to gain attention.

But he didn’t know what was better. A giant who didn’t know he was there, or a giant who did know he was there. Bright blue eyes locked on his minuscule form.

F-F-F-F-F-F-F-Fazbear! F-F-F-F-FAZBEAR!

“Hey, Jerber.”

Scott freezes at Mike’s greeting, just barely keeping himself from whirling around. Of course he turns around! But at least he doesn’t scare-

“Holy shit.

”Jeremy?”

Vincent nearly yells. But a growl does escape when Scott quickly holds a hand up and tells him to stay still.

Mikey got to be near the adorable thing! Not fair!

The lead guard raises an eyebrow when the stuttering guard squeaks in fear and attempts to hide in the fold of his pant’s leg, the tiny face no longer aimed toward him but the other quote unquote ‘giants’.

“You needed anything, Jer?”

Vincent doesn’t move. Or Scott. Or Caleb. They stay standing where they are. Watching him, but they’re not trying to grab him. So that’s a win!

“Jer?”

“H-H-H-H-Halloween?”

That’s when Caleb lights up, looking up at Vincent who clearly was on board with the idea of having Jeremy out trick-or-treating with them. They’d be able to actually spend time with the last member of their group!

Too bad both Scott and Mike looked frozen solid. And long enough for Fritz and David to walk in undetected.

“I’m just saying.”

“Mr. Harrison, you know for a-“

Jeremy squeaks again, stumbling back when tennis shoes cause the ground to tremble. He didn’t even know who’s it was, nor did he care.

It was too close! Too close and going to step on him! No one would know or care or anything!

“Jeremy? Is, is that...”

David’s eyes widen when Fritz’s question was indeed aimed toward the stuttering guard himself.

But did the teenager really have to lie on his stomach? Sure this was a pinnacle moment but the floor is disgusting. And demeaning to be down there.

Those green eyes actually begin to water as a hand settles close to Jeremy. Not to grab him, just to make sure he knows he’s there. “Jeremy, you’re finally out from under the couch!”

The minuscule head nearly shakes as a no. Because if Fritz was comfortable with being so close to him, what if the giant accidentally crushed him with a careless movement? Or thinks Jeremy is comfortable enough to be around them without precautions? Is okay with getting...picked up?

“Are you okay? Mike hasn’t almost stepped on you or anything?”

“Step on your ass, Irish Jig.”

Jeremy shivers, but he stays put. The towering redhead was emitting heat so he really couldn’t move away even if he wanted to.

When had he been so cold? Was he always this cold? Now that he thinks about it, he’s always been really cold ever since he shrunk. And now out from under the couch, it felt as if his toes were going to snap off.

“Y-Y-Y-Yeah. I, w-w-w-w-w-wanted to go...t-t-trick-or-t-t-t-t-treating.”

Mike shrugs at the knowing look Fritz shoots him. He then glares over at Vincent’s pleading puppy-dog eyes before jerking his head toward the tiny Jerber still clinging to his pants.

“I-I-I-I-!”

The purple man doesn’t attempt to assure their friend he won’t hurt him. All that matters is purple man, stuttering guard, and that’s it.

“Vincent!” Fritz hisses as the murderer flops to the ground beside him. He glances over to see a fearful Jeremy staring at them with wide eyes, looking as if he’d like to be invisible.

“It’s Jeremy!”

“But-!”

“JEREMY!”

The young adult shakes his head, squeaking when Vincent looks back at him. His voice was surprisingly quiet but clearly the man wanted to pick him up! Not only that but made an earthquake and he apparently was told it was ‘okay’ to be near the incredibly fragile human being and-!

“D-D-Don’t touch my h-h-h-h-h-hair!”

Only a smirk is given when those grey eyes widen, realizing a fingertip just ruffled his hair. Something that should’ve crushed him gave the most gentlest of touches. It felt as if it was a usual ruffle like Vincent always does.

That’s when the purple man ruins it. “We’re picking Caleb’s costume out! Why don’t you come with us!”

Be picked up. Carried. Around giants that don’t care about him and would rather treat him like a pet!

“Vince,” Scott begins, smiling at the relieved expression given from Jeremy as he calls his best friend.

Well, what he assumes is a relieved expression. Too small to truly make out the facial movements. But there’s no fearful shaking so he’d call it a win.

“I’m not hauling everyone with me. You need fresh air, I’m the only one sane enough to drive, and this trip is just for Caleb.”

“Scotty!”

A scowl toward his friend, what seems to be as if he’ll just grab Jeremy, and then Vincent finally stands up.

Slowly. Carefully. A smile toward the young adult watching him in awe.

“Don’t go back under the couch. Or I’ll get Mikey!”

“Goddamn it, not again!”

Fritz smiles as Caleb waves at their friend before racing Vincent outside as Scott quickly follows. The eldest guard does give a look to David and Mike but otherwise leaves them be.

“So, Jeremy’s out.”

The business man smirks at the squeak given by simply speaking before glancing at Mike. “We should tell the other dumbasses.”

The stuttering guard freezes up, having forgotten that there were even more night guards. Speak of the devil, too...

“Mike, you’ve seen my wrench?”

“Jackass, I told you to go-“

“Well I didn’t!”

Eggs then halts when he notices Fritz lying on his stomach.

THEY CAN FINALLY USE THE HAMSTER BALL!

“JEREMY!”

“Eggs! Not so Mikeing loud!”

Fritz whacks at their friend’s leg as the mechanic only grins down at their now ‘roaming’ friend. And honestly, he’s missed the squeaks, the fearful look and posture. He knew it was there every single time they would talk to him while under the couch, but it’s one thing to see and one to imagine.

Besides, the guard is adorable!

“Why couldn’t I have gotten shrunk! Pull off so many tricks! Give Mike a heart attack! Annoy the hell out of Harrison!”

“Jeremy, we’re glad you’re out,” Fritz murmurs, smiling as he’s focused on again. Away from the Eggs-ness that was making the young adult want to back away and never emerge again.

There’s a small nod. “M-M-M-M-Me t-too.”

“So are we gonna get him off the ground or what?”

James raises an eyebrow at David’s question, only to stop when he sees a tiny form attempt to hide behind Mike’s shoe.

“Vincent knows?”

“Phone Guy had pulled him out.”

The horror guard nods. He then carefully kneels beside Fritz. One look and it’s clear Jeremy thinks he only wants to inspect him, an interesting thing to ask questions and learn about.

But he was only there to scan their friend for injuries. Amazed that he wasn’t so scared-

Wait. Halloween is coming up.

“Jeremy, any ideas what you want to dress up as?”

Grey eyes snap open at the question, the young adult looking up at the giants watching him for an answer. Even David seemed interested, odd as it seemed.

“Pokémon.”

Mike only laughs at the glare given before he shifts, bending over until he’s practically upside down to Jeremy. With a hand palm up offered to the kid. “Wanna talk it over with the bastards on the table?”

[talyas-train-blog]

Can you please make some dating headcanons for the Star Tugs, please? (You can do the Z-Stacks later if you want to)

*screaming* IM BACK

I've been working on this for like 2 months, it sat in my drafts box for about a month and a half with just TenCents' and then Big mac was added like a month ago LMAO

Why not make it an even longer post?👀

Star Tugs, Z-Stacks character relationship headcanons

Sorry about the massive post ya'll hope you enjoy

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

Star Tugs

Tencents

General

Very loving throughout the whe relationship but can be very hardheaded/stubborn.

Will bring you flowers when ever he can or leaves notes on your door/office.

Loves to cuddle and watch movies at night.

Favorite dates are sitting at the end of the doc and talking with you.

Beginning of relationship

Thought that you would never like him or want to date him so be kind of acted cruel when feelings arose.

And then something happened

You were pushed off one of the tugs once and without thinking TenCents dove into the frigid water after you and pulled you out.

He held you in his arms until medical personnel could show up and he broke down when you left in an ambulance.

He showed up to the hospital the next day with flowers and when he saw the tubes and wires he cried

Throughout your stay he cringed a little as tubes and such were taken out.

He stayed by your side and held your hand until you woke up and kissed you the minute he could.

He told you how much he loved you and how he felt so bad for being such an ass and he ended up spending the night curled up in your hospital bed with you.

Oj and Hercules still have the photos

Big Mac

General

Veey sweet man

Loves to tease you though so be prepared.

Will give you kisses on the cheek as a way to show love or as a goodbye if he's in a rush.

Kind of protective, specifically when it comes to the Z stacks.

Beginning of relationship

You never expected him to have feelings for you. Not because he does what TenCents does, but because he shows his love in ways that you really have to look for.

You work with him? He'll help you and work with you whenever he can.

You live with the fleet? Will try and help you with meals or cleaning or just keep you company.

He vents to you a lot and thats another way you can tell you've learned his trust.

When he asks you out it's more or less a "would you like to see a movie together?" Or something along the lines of that.

Your first "date" was very sweet and he did did his best to spoil you and make you feel comfortable.

The first time he said i love you, you bith looked at eachother stunned and then smiled

10/10 amazing man.

Otis Jones (O.J)

General

Very sweet and traditional lover.

Will compliment everything, your eyes, your smile, your laugh, you hands, anything he can compliment he will atleast twice.

Is traditional in the sense that you aren't officially dating until he takes you out a few times

Holds your hands and give you kisses on your knuckles whenever

He also does this little thing that if your hands are scuffed or dried he'll put lotion on them for you.

Beginning of relationship

Very upfront with his feelings as he knows that keeping them hidden can only hurt your relationship with eachother.

Very politely asks you while making dinner or cleaning the dishes with you.

Doesn't want to tell anyone until your officially together and comfortable with it.

As i said before he wants to take you out and test the waters a few times to see how you feel about dating.

Brings you daisies and always holds your hand when showing you something.

Top Hat

General

Shows his love through buying gifts and surprisingly, dancing!

Is like Otis in the sense that he wants to take you out a few times before being official.

Little side note, your first kiss was on the stern of his boat as the sun went down to the song You Send Me by Sam Cooke during a party.

Beginning of Relationship

Grampus and Billy were the first to find out and Tophat was slightly pissed.

His love language is very much physical touch and buying gifts so things like slow dancing, soft touches, and new jewelry.

Kind of rubs that whole thing in Hercules' face

Doesn't want kids but very much loves yours if you have them or your nieces and nephews.

If you have siblings he will definitely have a drink with them and have long conversations with them so long as they are smart and can be sarcastic.

You have a promise ring with it, it's a thing for if he ever has to go out to sea you know he's with you.

Plans on marrying you as you are the only person he's been very attached to.

Warrior

General

Very much a himbo but he loves you so much.

Fell very hard very very quick and Big Mac kimd of teased him for it but definitely cheered him on.

Very very in love with you and was the first to say I love you.

Beginning of relationship

Isn't good at dancing or with his words so he told you he loved you by writing it out in a letter.

Walks down the docks while you take about your day and how you're feeling are his favorite "dates".

Loves to hear you laugh so very much, it never fails to make him smile.

Will give you kisses randomly and that's how the rest of the fleet found out.

He had a job with SunShine and as a way to say good bye he ran up to you, grabbed you, and kissed you and ran.

50/10 very loving and genuine man.

Hercules (my most developed character LMAO)

General

O h t h i s m a n i s a f l i r t .

Lives to make you flush.

Gave you a necklace with a photo of him and TenCents in it (TC is basically his son).

Gave you little hints that he was smitten with you right off the bat.

Wasn't afraid to ask you to dinner but you weren't official as he wanted to test the water bc past relationships went to hell.

Everyone knew he had actual feelings for you, he was sweeter on you and seemed to trust you more, and smile at you more than the others and is always more goofy around you.

Beginning of relationship

Took you to a bar to go dancing and the song Sh-Boom - Life Could Be A Dream came on and when he dipped you at the end of the song he kissed you and held you close as the next song came on, foreheads pressed together.

Definitely sleeps with you in his arms every night and his two cats sleep with you. (TenCents and Sunshine have konked out with guys a few times.

Dates where you lay out a blanket in a field and read or look at the stars are very common (he does this thing when if you're on your stomach reading he'll lay his head on your thighs or ass)

Again, lives to make you blush and he'll do basically anything to make you turn as red as TenCents' Scarf.

Loves to dance and sing.

Dusk is sometimes spent dancing on his boat.

Loves to dance to hound dog with you

Sunshine

General

Relatively mature lover.

Very gentle and sweet on you and loves to make you laugh and smile.

Could be covered in grease or dust after work and would still bring you flowers or a sea shell he found if he got the chance.

"Oh boy, here comes lover boy Sunshine!" -tophat

Big mac definitely soothed him into telling you about his feelings.

Beginning of relationship

Very nervous to tell you and stuttered a little when talking to you.

Grabbed your hand by accident one day and thats when you turned to him and told him you had feelings for him.

Poor man almost passed put and fell into the water out of pire relief.

Nights spent watching movies or sitting on the beach talking about dumb things together are his favorite ways to spend time with you.

Z-stacks

Zorran

General

Oh god you never thought he had feelings for you.

He was a complete asshole and seemed to live pissing you off.

So when he asked you out you were stunned and almost turned him down, but decided you would give it a shot.

Very difficult man, but he was a lot softer on you after a little while.

Beginning of relationship

This relationship definitely started by you snapping at him over something hime dod and him leaning down to your face and saying something like "well aren't you a cutie"

You just about smacked him and then it settled in that he was basically flirting with you.

First date consisted of a walk down the streets of San Francisco (yes this au is in SF CA bite me.)

He took you into a shop and pointed out a cat stuffie that you said looked like one you had when you were little and he bought it for you with a red bow on it a few days later.

His love language is definitely gifts.

Zebedee (my love)

General

Absolutely lover man

Basically the Hercules of the Z-stacks just a little harder to read.

Has a son. His name is Zip. You are a parent now.

Zebedee was brought up in a weird house hold so he works very hard to make sure you are comfortable and he doesnt make the relationship miserable.

Beginning of relationship

Was quite open about the whole thing and surprisingly practically cussed out Zorran when he started with his shit.

Very much a sweetheart and would do anything with you if he could.

Zak

General

Dickwad. Doesn't know how to show his love for you, but it's there.

Shows his love by being protective and always being aroune basically.

Very rarely actually smiles but when he does cherish the fucking moment.

Beginning of relationship

"Sir wtf everyone thinks you hate them" kind of vibe.

Thought he just wanted to get to know you but now you're a week into the relationship and holy fuck i want to get married.

Wants to hold your hand most of the time and just hear your voice.

Zug

General

Little bit of an asshole but tries his best

Buys you little things like journals if you like to write or seeds if you have a garden.

Wears ties and always has you pick them out and if you aren't around he wears the one with your favorite flowers or colors on it.

Beginning of relationship

Teases you and acts like a big man when you first get together but then he realizes how much he loves you and becomes a big softy.

Loves to cuddle randomly and Zorran is a little piss baby about it

Loves everything about you, especially your eyes and he always makes it known.

Zip

General

Kind of a ditz but you have to love him for it.

He was a stuttering mess when he told you he had caught feelings and held out a single sunflower for you to take.

Loves to lay his hedon your lap as you play with his hair and talk or watch a movie.

Likes to write stories, a lot of them involve you, and he reads them to you! He's a very good writer and so many of his characters are really well developed and beautifully designed.

He has a little brother named Zacary (Xacary?) and his brother often helps Zip set dates and such up

Beginning of relationship

I have a little headcanon that Zip might have partial autism but he has ADHD and he was abused as a kid so the relationship is a little rough for him at first.

Adjusting to the whole thing of hey they love me, i love them, i can trust them.

But as he warms up he helps more, and dances with you more, and begins to really thrive in the relationship.

Is definitely in love with you even if he forgets to tell you some days.

He's trying his hardest, give him a little time

Zorran definitely had feelings for you qnd was pissy when you fell for Zip and Zip fell for you

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

Gonna add Boomer, Lillie, Billy, Grampus, and Cappy on later in a reblog.

[nordleuchten]

what were other friends that Lafayette made during his time in the continental army (others than hamilton and laurens)?

and also, did he pick up some/many fights with others ('cause of diferent opinions or smth) while he was in america? thank youu

Hello Anon,

sorry that it took me so long to answer you, I somewhat misplaced my draft and things went downhill from there. Thank you for our great question though. La Fayette made many other friends beside Laurens, Hamilton, Jefferson and Washington, but many of them are often overlocked. (I copied parts of a previous post that also dealt with La Fayette’s friends, so please be not surprised if some passages may sound familiar.)

La Fayette was the sort of person who made friends easily. He was not a grumpy person, being on good terms with somebody was his default mood so to speak. Some of the lesser-known friendships that he struck up during his time in America were with James McHenry, James Monroe, Henry Laurens, Nathanael Greene and Baron von Steuben for example.

James McHenry first met La Fayette when they both were members in George Washington staff. McHenry later transferred to La Fayette’s staff (March of 1781) and was one of his most trusted aide-de-camps. He often was chosen as La Fayette’s “liaison-officer”. I have three excerpts from letters by La Fayette, detailing his relationship to McHenry. The first one was written by La Fayette to McHenry on February 15, 1781, a few months before McHenry joined his staff:

My tender friendship and affectionate Regard for You, will Not lengthen this letter with Assurances from My Heart While the Heart itself must Be known to You. I intend to write You Again in a few days and with Every Sentiment of Attachement and Esteem Have the Honor to be Yours

Lafayette

The second letter was addressed to General Greene on August 12, 1781, concerning a potential transfer McHenry’s into Greene’s staff.

McHenry is So well Acquainted with My Sentiments for Him that He knows My attachement is independant of whatever Steps He Might take on the occasion. He knows I am not of a temper that finds faults with the Measures of My friends, and that I will ever feel an obligation to the Man who obliges General Greene.

The last letter was written to McHenry on December 26, 1783. McHenry at this point had already retired from the army.

As an ardent lover of America I am glad to Hear of the influence You are said to Have in Congress. As Your most affectionate friend I shall Be glad whenever You Have an opportunity to display Your abilities. If Congress do not send me Any Commands, I shall Most Certainly embark in the spring. If they Have Commands for me, I would Be thrice Happy to Receive You along with them, and to Make with you french and European travels. You ought to Make them charge you with some political commission to Courts in Europe, and I would like going as a volonteer with you. [Manuscript torn; part a line missing] Your family and our friends. Most affectionately I am for [manuscript torn; several words missing].

Lafayette

I showed you this many letters for several reasons. First, McHenry deserves more attention if you ask me. Second, they show not only their emotional relationship but also their professional relationship and illustrate how convinced La Fayette was by McHenry’s merits - and lastly, I like them all and could not decide. :-) Years later, during La Fayette’s imprisonment, McHenry was among the people who tried to help him gain his freedom.

On to James Monroe. Monroe was, just like Hamilton, close in age to La Fayette (actually, La Fayette was older then Monroe by several months) and spoke French. They both moved in the same social circles during the Revolution and had some common friends. It was also Monroe, who, with the backing of Congress, invited La Fayette to visit America once more in 1824/1825. La Fayette received the rights to some land during this visited and later gifted some of this land to Monroe so that Monroe could start paying off his mounting debts. Here is what La Fayette wrote to Monroe on December 19, 1784:

My dear Sir

I Have Received your letter to mr jefferson, and shall very Carefully deliver it. Our old friend Gibbs will give you a Bundle of papers for McHenry which I Beg you will keep for Him untill He Comes to Trenton. To morrow morning, My dear Sir, I set out for Europe, and Before I go, it is pleasing for me once more to assure you of the value I Have By Your friendship, and of the affection and regard I Have the Honor to Be With My dear Sir Yours

Lafayette

(I may or may not have chosen this letter because McHenry also makes an appearance.)

Another friend was Henry Laurens. Laurens was the father of John Laurens and the president of the Continental Congress for some time. He and La Fayette first started corresponding when La Fayette was recovering from his gunshot wound. He wrote Laurens on December, 1777:

I am indeed very importune to wraÏt so long a letter. You'l find me very troublesome, and I make haste to put an end to it by the short assurance of the eternal friendship I am with - Dear Sir Your most obedient servant

(La Fayette had a moment of self-realisation right here.)

Another very dear and very close friend of La Fayette’s was Nathanael Greene. There is a letter from La Fayette to Greene from November 10, 1780 that perfectly captures his feelings. La Fayette wrote:

My dear friend (…)For My friends, My dear Sir, I have No different feelings from those which I experience for Myself. I therefore feel for you, as I would do on My own account was I the Commander of the Southern Army. (…) But Whatever Might be hereafter the Case, Whatever Bad chance (and in our profession chance is Some thing) a Malignant fortune Might throw in Your Way, Be Certain, My dear Sir, that My friendship as well as My esteem for you are founded upon Such a Bazis As Cannot be shak' d By Any Run of Good or ill luck which May subject You to the praise or to the Blame of Common opinions. In all Cases, My Good friend, I am heartly willing to have My fate united to Yours, and By this junction of Stars to have My little share in Any thing Good or Bad that May happen to the troops Under your Command. I Beg you will present My Best Compliments to Your family and Most affectionately have the honor to be Yours forever

Lafayette

In the same letter to Greene, La Fayette also described his feeling for Henry Lee, a member of the prominent Lee family and someone La Fayette met through the army. He wrote Greene:

As I am Sure that My friend Lee will apply for being attach'd to me, I Beg leave to Support the Motion of that officer whom I Love, and on whom I Greatly Confide Both for Advice and execution.

The Baron von Steuben (what a legend) was also counted among La Fayette’s friend. The two of them spend a lot of time together during the Campaign in Virginia. La Fayette wrote to von Steuben on July 16, 1780:

I received, my dear baron, the letter you had the kindness to write me, and I am infinitely appreciative of the token of friendship you give me. (…) The confidence I have always had in your friendship and the new proof of it that you have just so graciously given me, my dear baron, assure me that you will be willing to make efforts and use your influence and authority to get first-rate men. (…) In a word, my dear baron, I put my interests in your hands and, counting on your friendship, I am utterly at ease. (…)I hope I do not need to assure you of my tender affection

This list is by no means exclusively but I think these were the most important friendships for La Fayette. Others friend that could be mentioned was Joseph Reed, William Heath and William Carmichael … now on to the “picking fights part”. No, La Fayette was nobody to pick fights. That was simply not his style. There were disagreements of course, mostly over military and army matters, but these could either be dissolved or La Fayette acknowledged that he was for the most part the more junior and inexperienced person in the disagreement. He was however somebody who was not afraid of letting his opinion be known.

There are for example Generals Gates and Conway, two officers who were involved in what was called the “Conway-Cabal”. There is a bit of a discussion nowadays about the true extent and nature of the “Conway-Cabal” but for people back then, for people like La Fayette, it was a very serious affair. Previously he had been on quite friendly terms with both Generals, even trying to form a deeper friendship with Gates, but after the “Cabal”, their relationships soured. La Fayette wrote the following about Conway in a letter to Henry Laurens on January 26, 1778:

Amongs All the men who could be sent under me Mr. Connway is the most disagreable to me and the most prejudiciable to the cause. I Confess you that love and friendship have alwals been my duties. This last sentiment I feel to the most perfect degree for General Washington. How can I support the society of a man who has spocken of my friend in the most insolent and abusive terms, who has done, and does every day all his power to ruin him, who tries to spend the fire in every part of the army and the country?

La Fayette also manged to almost get into a duel while in America - but not with an American but an Englishman. The British had sent a peace commission to America to probe the possibility of a peace treaty. One of the people they send, Lord Carlisle, insulted France in an open document. La Fayette felt offended on behalf of France and challenged Carlisle to a duel in late September of 1778 - Carlisle refused. The Marquis noted of the event in his memoirs:

In a public letter, signed Carlisle, the French nation was taxed with a perfidy too universally acknowledged to require any new proof. With the effervescence of youth and patriotism, M. de Lafayette seized this opportunity of opposing the commission; and the first impulse of M. d'Estaing was to approve of his conduct. A haughty challenge was sent from head - quarters to Lord Carlisle: the answer was an ill - explained refusal, and the impetuosity of M. de Lafayette was attended with a good result, whilst the prudence of the president was ridiculed in every public paper.

Roughly two decades later he wrote in his mauskripts:

Lord Carlisle refused, -- and he was right.

I hope that I could answer your question and I hope that you have/had a fantastic day!

[losingmymindtonight]

been on a for-your-own-good imposed exile from my phone & social media since Friday, so what’s a gal gonna do except eat pizza, reread The Inheritance Cycle, and finish old fic drafts?

I humbly present: Peter can’t sleep, but Tony’s a father now, and he’s got a few tricks up his sleeve.

--

Peter was okay.

He was. That wasn’t even him being self-sacrificing (like May thought) or deferring some kind of PTSD (like Tony thought) or anything. Most of the time, he was totally, completely, undeniably okay.

As a general rule, he just didn’t think about Thanos. He was too busy for that, with planning for his school’s Europe trip and patrolling and learning how to be a big brother to Morgan and resettling a whole apartment with May and rediscovering the absolute thrill of being alive along with the other fifty percent.

He had a good life, and considering everything that had happened, he was so, so lucky.

So, Peter was okay. Despite what Tony and May seemed to think.

He only ever had problems when the sun fell.

Vigilante by day, anxious wreck by night, he thought, more than a little bitter.

There was a bone-aching frustration that came with insomnia. He couldn’t sleep, but he was tired. God, he was so, so tired. His eyelids creaked, his face was tight and worn. Every inch of him was screaming for rest.

And yet, well, here he was: awake, staring at the ceiling, mind swirling down the inescapable drain of death throes and battle heat and the memory of his DNA vibrating apart.

He clenched his fists, then slowly pried them apart. His wrists hurt, yet his webshooters were comfortingly cool on his bare skin.

“Mister Parker,” F.R.I.D.A.Y. suddenly said, and Peter still jumped despite the fact her volume had been lowered and pitched into her softer night mode. “I apologize for the intrusion, but per my protocols, I am to alert Boss if you or Morgan are awake for longer than thirty minutes from the hours of 11:00 pm to 6:00 am. I thought it was only fair to warn you that he is en route to your bedroom and you should be prepared for his arrival.”

There was a time when an alert like that would’ve filled him with annoyance. A time when he would’ve met Tony at the door with a sharp reminder of, I’m almost an adult, I can take care of myself, on his tongue. Now, though, he just felt a dull splash of surprise.

“Mister Stark has rules for if I’m awake?” He asked the ceiling, blinking slowly at the smooth molding. It was different than the popcorn texture in his apartment. Probably easier to deal with when it came to painting.

As if on cue, his door swung open. A soft, yellowish bar of light flashed over his sheets and then collapsed in on itself with a distant click. Huh. So Tony thought that this needed to be a private conversation. 

“It’s called the Cradle Protocol,” Tony offered, and despite the fact that Peter hadn’t actually looked in his direction yet, he could hear the man’s smile in the warmth of the words, like curling into a fireside on a winter’s day. “You know, in case you were wondering.”

“I wasn’t.”

“Oh? Thought you spent most of your life wondering about pretty much everything.” His bedframe creaked as Tony settled down near his hip, and suddenly Peter didn’t have much of a choice but to stare up at the man, taking in the burn scars on his face and the gray in his hair and the quiet love in his eyes. “That’s what kids are best at.”

“I’m not really a kid anymore,” he whispered, but not a single inch of the words felt defiant. God, he wanted to be a kid again. He looked back on the moments he’d spent racing to adulthood and wanted to cry. Wanted desperately to hit rewind on all of it.

“All of us are kids, in the end,” Tony said, like it was the easiest thing in the world. “And you’ll be my kid forever. Sorry. No exchanges or returns on that policy. It is how it is.”

Tony’s thumb brushed soothingly over his cheek as he spoke, and the contact was rough and calloused and so intensely familiar that Peter let his eyes squeeze shut against it, swallowing hard.

“I don’t want to exchange it,” he whispered, and somehow he felt a little ashamed to admit it. Like he was rearing up against the order of things. Or, like he was admitting the truth in a space where untruths were expected.

There was a pause. Peter blinked his eyes open again, and saw that Tony’s gaze had drifted away from him. He was looking up at the headboard, soft curves of sadness mellowing his face.

Finally, he breathed, eyes tracing their way back to Peter’s own, gentle yet intense.

“Why aren’t you asleep, Peter?”

It was a redundant thing to ask, and both of them knew it. There wasn’t a person in the world who couldn’t guess the why of that question. There were probably a million different people all around the world staring up at a million different ceilings, all cold-eyed and shivering because of the same goddamn reason.

“I don’t know,” he lied.

Was it still lying if everyone knew that what you were going to say was a lie before it even left your mouth?

Tony just nodded, like those three words had told him everything that he’d needed to know. For all Peter could figure, maybe they had.

“Alright.” Tony patted his thigh through the blankets, then stood. “C’mon. Get up.”

It probably said a lot about him, or maybe more about his relationship with Tony, that he was already climbing out of bed even as he muttered a halfhearted, “where’re we going?”

“On a mission,” Tony said, gently tugging one of Peter’s oldest and softest hoodies out of his closet and pushing it against his chest. “Put this on.”

He did as he was told, tottering lazily into the hallway, too exhausted to do anything but follow.

“What’s the mission?”

Tony glanced back just long enough for Peter to see the corner of his mouth quirk up. “I need to put my baby to sleep.”

If he hadn’t been so goddamn tired, he would’ve picked up on the wryness in Tony’s voice. As it was, he blinked hard, brain whirring against the fogginess.

“‘S Morgan awake?”

The question startled a bark of laughter out of Tony. “God, Pete. I can’t believe you’re even managing to walk in a straight line right now.”

They were at the front door, now, and Tony snatched the car keys off of their hook in the entryway and ushered him into the cool night air. Cricket chirps swelled all around them. Peter let his eyes drift shut at the sound, then smiled when he felt Tony snag the edge of his sleeve, gently guiding him over the gravel.

“Ought to get this paved, huh?” Tony muttered, almost to himself, but Peter let the words fall over him anyway. “Would make life a hell of a lot easier when we got those summer monsoons. Plus, less of a tripping hazards for the kiddos, especially when they’re half asleep.”

“‘M awake,” he protested.

“I know,” Tony said, almost under his breath. “I’m working on it.”

Peter heard a beep as one of the cars unlocked, and he forced his eyes back open. They were standing in front of Tony and Pepper’s minivan, something which Peter still couldn’t quite wrap his head around. Tony Stark owned a minivan. Sure, it was a nice minivan, with leather seats and F.R.I.D.A.Y. installed and parking sensors, but it was still a minivan.

“C’mon,” Tony muttered, using the hand that wasn’t braced against Peter’s back to pull open the passenger’s side door. “Slide in.”

He let Tony manhandle him into the seat, even though he could’ve easily done it on his own. The exhaustion had stripped his stubbornness away. The only thing left was a yearning urge to be protected, cradled, loved.

It was good, he supposed, that those three roles seemed to be Tony’s favorites to fulfill.

Tony got into the driver’s seat, then double-checked Peter’s seatbelt twice before starting the car. He cracked the back windows, and the cricket chirps and nature swell mixed hypnotically with the buzz and hum of the engine. Peter closed his eyes and took a deep breath, turning his face in Tony’s direction when he felt the man’s eyes on him.

“You’re supposed to be looking where you’re drivin’,” he murmured, knowing that his smile was all drowsy and lopsided. He could feel them moving, though, so he wasn’t wrong.

“Nobody’s out this late.”

“Still need to stay on the road.”

“Oh, hush. I’ll take no driving smack from the child with a learner’s permit.”

He yawned. “Passed the test.”

“You sure did,” Tony murmured, pride warming the words. “I’ve got that picture that May took after hanging in my office.”

“I know.” A shard of longing pierced his chest. “Felt normal that day. Jus’ for a bit.”

He opened his eyes just in time to see guilt cascade over Tony’s face. Whoops. He really hasn’t meant to make his mentor sad. He was just loopy from all the sleepless nights, wading through the detachment weighing in his head. It was hard to stay conscious and keep his filter all at once.

“I’m so sorry, Peter,” Tony said, hands gripping the wheel so tight that his knuckles flashed white under the occasional streetlamp. “I wish I could take it all away.”

Peter just blinked. God, he was tired. His brain ached with it.

“You can’t.”

And Tony couldn’t. Peter knew that. Iron Man could do a lot of things, even survive the constriction of space, but he couldn’t void memories. Nobody could.

“No,” Tony admitted, and even through the fuzziness in his head, Peter found the wherewithal to be surprised, “but I can be here.”

Peter let his eyes drift shut again. Somehow, that was all the fixing that he needed Tony to do. I can be here.

That was it, wasn’t it? It was why the memories of Thanos rung so clear at night and pitched silent during the day. Because Peter hadn’t really been afraid of dying during the battles. He’d been terrified, horrified, by the thought of being left alone.

And at night, in his bedroom, walls and doors and locks between Tony or May or anybody else who would stave off the quiet, that fear was so much easier to taste.

He was so, so afraid that at the end of it all, he’d been irreversibly alone.

“Can you talk to me?” He whispered.

He just wanted words. Something substantive in the nothingness of night. And Tony was only ever speechless when there was something to be afraid of.

He’d... He’d been silent when Peter had died. Had been silent after he’d done the Snap, too. The look on the man’s face, the lack of speech in the haze, had rung in Peter’s nightmares ever since.

He could hear the roughness in Tony’s voice when he responded, and Peter couldn’t help but wonder if he was thinking about his silence on Titan, too. If he even remembered the stillness from the Compound’s dust.

“Of course, buddy.”

And he did. He talked about Rhodey and college and the first time he met Happy. Peter found himself drifting in and out as he rambled, although he never seemed to fully wrap his hand around true sleep. He’d nearly get there, Tony’s words fading into something he couldn’t quite comprehend, and then he’d recognize the shift and jolt himself out of it.

Somehow, it was even more frustrating than what he’d been doing before. At least then, he’d known he wasn’t going to get any sleep. Here, it kept dangling in front of him. And to make it worse, every aborted attempt at sleep felt like a failure. Like he’d screwed it all up, despite all the effort Tony was putting into helping him.

“Sorry,” Peter suddenly muttered, blinking away his most recent near-rest. Tony fell silent. “Sorry, sorry.”

“Shh, Pete,” Tony soothed, right hand abandoning the steering wheel and settling on his arm. “It’s not your fault. We’ll get there.”

“‘M trying.”

“I know you are. You’re doing great.”

For a breath, Tony just rubbed Peter’s arm, breath and nature filling the car.

“I used to do this for Morgan, you know,” he finally said, voice low. “Learned it within the first month. Think I must’ve put a thousand miles on the car, driving around just for some precious minutes of peace.”

“Ben used to drive me around when I was little,” Peter mumbled, twisting until he found a comfortable position: draped over the center console, head just inches away from Tony’s elbow. The console was leather and padded, which made it a surprisingly good pillow. Plus, he was close enough to pick up the steady thrumming of Tony’s heartbeat. “I didn’t like sleeping after my parents died. Car always worked, though. Dunno why.”

Tony’s hand settled on the top of his head, and a swoosh of comfort whisked from that one point all the way down to his toes. “It’s the vibrations from the engine. Low frequencies make us tired. It mimics the sensation of being rocked to sleep.”

He smiled. Trust Mister Stark to turn anything into a physics lesson. “‘S science,” he muttered.

Tony’s thumb swiped over his temple. “It’s science,” he repeated. “Do you want another story?”

Hmm. Yes. And he wanted Tony’s hand to stay right there, too. The tips of his fingers kept brushing over the nape of his neck, and the pattern was nice. Slow. The kind of monotony that was so easy to get lost in.

“Mm.”

“How about a special one?”

“Mm.”

“Well, since you asked so nicely,” Tony said, laughter in the words. He sounded pleased, though. Peter was too busy falling asleep to figure out why. “Y’know, I never went to Queens much when I was a kid. Howard wasn’t a big fan. And then I didn’t have much of a reason to go once I was an adult. Everything I needed was in Manhattan or Malibu. Point is: imagine how surprised I was when a web-slinging vigilante actually forced me out there…”

Peter drifted off long before he could recognize that the story was about him.

--

Peter half-surfaced to the quiet thud of a car door opening, and the crunch of shoes on gravel.

It wasn’t the usual way he woke up. He’d gotten used to jolting into consciousness, sweat slicking his trembling limbs and damp sheets snarling all around him. It was a violent thing, full of heartbeat and rib-ache.

But this was soft. Warm. Safe hands slid under the back of his neck, his seat tilting back until he was lying almost completely flat. On instinct, his eyes flickered open, and he grinned sleepily at Tony, who shushed him in a barely-there murmur.

“Nice and easy, Pete,” Tony said, voice warm and safe and already blurring. “Now be a good boy and go back to sleep.”

And for once in Peter’s life, it was as simple as that.

[diavolodigitale]

Heart of Stone

Cullen + red lyrium = the Big Sad

One of the favourites of mine when it comes to my own works. I absolutely loved writing it so I do hope it will find its reader one day.

Genres: Angst, Drama, Dark, Deviates From Canon, Hurt, Mental Health Issues

Pairing: Male Inquisitor Lavellan & Cullen Rutherford, (optional) Male Inquisitor Lavellan/Cullen Rutherford

Characters: Cullen Rutherford, Male Inquisitor Lavellan, Varric Tethras, Cassandra Pentaghast, Solas, Cole, Vivienne 

Rating: M for Might be disturbing for some readers

Size: around 18 pages

THE PAIRING IS OPTIONAL! This work is not intended to contain the pairing male!Lavellan/Cullen, but I am also completely fine if somebody chooses to read it that way. 

The numbers in the text stand for the songs in my playlist you have to listen to while reading to get a better experience.

Here's the list of songs: 1. Soap&Skin - The Sun 2. L'Enfant De La Forêt - Katabasis 3. L'Enfant De La Forêt - Noir-Etang 4. Soap&Skin - Deathmental 5. L'Enfant De La Forêt - ...For The Love Of God 6. Soap&Skin - Janitor of Lunacy 7. Soap&Skin - Sugarbread 8. Soap&Skin - Marche Funèbre

(01) “Why won’t you let me out, Inquisitor?”

“Don’t talk to me.”

“I thought you came here to talk. You always do.”

“I said don’t talk to me!”

“Abandon all hope, ye who enter here… Have you abandoned?” Cullen twitched forward; the chains holding him clinked loudly in dead silence of the prison cell. “Have you? Have you, Inquisitor?”

Inquisitor turned away, afraid to look at the face of somebody he once called a friend. Pale, worn-out, and distorted, it resembled a shadow of a person, a spirit who escaped the Fade and now lurked among others with nothing reminding him of what he used to be.

“I want to see your eyes, Inquisitor. You made me like this, you keep me here. It’s all your fault.”

“It isn’t. You are here because I have faith in you. You won’t make me hate you, no matter what you say.”

“Oh, you already hate me,”—Cullen laughed insincerely—“I know you do. I can sense it. But there is still a chance…”

Inquisitor raised his head. He gripped the bars tightly and leaned forward, so close that he could feel cold iron touching the skin on his cheeks and forehead.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

Cullen closed his eyes. His body was relaxed, hands were loosely hanging. The veins visible under half-transparent skin were pulsating red.

“If you could let me share the song with you…” he muttered under his breath. “It’s so serene. You’ll see, you’ll understand then. You left me here on my own with it, and I accepted it, and so will you.”

Inquisitor’s hands exploded with a burst of magic as he clutched the bars with all the force he had left in his weakened body. His teeth were grit and his head hurt. He tried to say something, but no sound came out – his throat seemed swollen and a feeling of pressure in his chest made it difficult to breathe.

“You owe me this. I’m here because of you. Listen to me”—Cullen made a pause, waiting for the Inquisitor to react—“Listen to me!” he shouted, gripping his fists and rattling the chains that bound him.

Lavellan looked him in the eyes, ready to suffer through whatever he had to tell him.

“The song I used to hear is nothing compared to this one…” went on Cullen in a less agitated manner. “It embraces, caresses… I would hear it in my sleep, but now I don’t sleep anymore... First, the dreams left, and now I don’t need to sleep at all. I just listen.”

“I’ll find the cure,” said Inquisitor in an attempt to persuade Cullen, though, not sounding confident enough to believe it himself.

“I don’t need any cure, Inquisitor. I am not sick. I need to get out of here, I need to feel the wind, the heat of it is KILLING me!”

“You have to withstand it. The lyrium will devour you if you don’t resist, you know that!”

Cullen chuckled. His voice was crispy and low after spending so much time in a cold cell without any food and water. He wasn’t denied it, he just refused to take any.

“You’re not supposed to resist,” he made a special emphasis on the last word. “It makes you stronger, it lets you see so much more… You have no idea.”

Inquisitor let go of the bars frozen by a sudden outburst of his magic. He barely managed to keep it inside as it wanted to get out so eagerly and uncontrollably. This place smelled of despair and desolation and it took away all the energy he had. He wanted to leave, but could not force himself to do so.

Cullen slowly hummed a few notes while crossing his legs on the bare stone floor. He drew deep long breath and a hint of a smile touched his chapped lips as he spoke.

“I hated mages. You already know that, I recon. As any other reasonable templar would do. I was afraid of their power, but now… Now I am not. Your magic doesn’t scare me, Inquisitor, because soon even you won’t be able to stop me.”

“I don’t want to stop you. I just want to help.”

“Help yourself, Inquisitor. You look pathetic.”

Lavellan looked not much better than his former Commander. He barely got any sleep, always having to help others, being not himself, but the Inquisitor. Those few free moments he had he would spend in this dungeon of anguish, chiding himself for what had happened to Cullen and making himself suffer by looking at the sufferings of the templar.

Time was passing by mercilessly. He wished he could stay there without any movement forever, but the whole world was frantically spinning around him and without his intervention everything could fall apart any minute. He threw one last tired look at the templar and left the prison, foolishly hoping the next time he came everything would be different.

“I’ll be here, Inquisitor. In case you want to chat.”

Cullen didn’t stop smiling. His posture was stiff and eyes were blank, glowing crimson red.

 (02-03) “Inquisitor.”

“Yes, Solas?” Lavellan stopped to greet the elf with an exhausted half-smile on his face. He knew he couldn’t fool him, but the habit of pretending had already become a part of him.

“You’ve been there again. Don’t deny it.” Solas’ eyes were piercing the Inquisitor. It was not a question because he did not really need the answer, he knew everything intuitively. This terrifying power of his never left Lavellan any chance of retrieval.

“Yes, I have. I am trying to understand…” Inquisitor looked down in a kind of shame, like a child who did what was not allowed. “There must be something I can do,” he added quietly.

“If you really want to help him, you must put him out of his misery. This is the only option. The longer you wait, the more his condition deteriorates,” said Solas in a tone that did not allow for any disagreement.

The throbbing pain in his temples made Lavellan feel as if he also heard the song. The one that outvoiced all his thoughts and common sense, forced him to say what he didn’t mean and let slowly crawling insanity possess his mind.

“I don’t care. I do not care what you think, Solas!” he yelled, not paying attention to all the other people in the castle yard who were startled by his outburst of anger. “I will not abandon him, even if it will be the death of me!”

Solas frowned. This was the only visible sign of his dissatisfaction. Even though he greatly disapproved of what the Inquisitor’s opinion was, he would never lose his temper.

“You don’t belong to yourself anymore. People rely on you, and you have to remember that. Sometimes thousand lives are more important than one,” he simply said.

Lavellan shook his head, now feeling ashamed for his behaviour. He did not mean it, merely didn’t know how to defend his position anymore.

“I know… I am sorry,” he replied. “I promise to think it over. I just need some rest; it’s been a long day.”

“Indeed, it has. I understand, my friend. Great responsibility lies on your shoulders.” Solas patted Lavellan on the back. “Don’t try to carry it on your own. We are all here to share it with you.”

Inquisitor nodded gratefully and hurried to leave the unpleasant conversation behind.

“Varric wanted to see you. He looked worried,” said Solas after him.

“Thank you. I will see him at once,” answered Inquisitor, disappointed that he couldn’t be left alone even for a moment.

The dwarf was right were Lavellan assumed he would be – near the fireplace in the great hall, working on his drafts. The mage approached a wooden table and took a seat on a chair near Varric.

“Your Inquisitorialness,” said Varric and took his gaze off the pages scattered all over the table. “You look… good enough.” The expression on his face suggested he was of a different opinion.

“You don’t have to lie to me, Varric. You’re the only person here allowed to criticize me so we’re friends no matter what you say.”

“Okay, well, a little rough around the edges, but I’ve seen worse.” The dwarf smiled in a friendly way, finally put aside his soaked in ink quill and diverted all of his attention to the conversation.

“I appreciate the honesty,” said Lavellan. His head still hurt, but the tender warmth of the fire in the fireplace and the calm air always present around Varric made it easier to endure.

“Chuckles probably made it sound like a big deal, but there wasn’t really any significant reason I needed to see you. Just wanted to tell you that Cassandra took over all of Commander’s plans and… Well, she’ll take care of everything. Things will continue as planned.”

“I appreciate that as well,” said Inquisitor, his voice gradually becoming quieter. He knew he should talk to Cassandra. After all, her role in the Inquisition was already great enough, and now she had even more responsibilities to deal with. Yet he did not know what to tell her. He could neither congratulate her not say that he was sorry. All seemed wrong.

“Look, I know you don’t want to talk about it, but let me say something. I know how it feels.”

Varric also possessed the ability to know what people around him thought about and it made the Inquisitor consider the fact that he was the only one who couldn’t see past the pretension of others. He couldn’t even understand his own thoughts, let alone somebody else’s.

He didn’t answer, just looked blankly in front of himself, right into the void, at nothing in particular.

“I lost my brother to it…” continued Varric.

“I’ve never heard you had a brother. What was he like?”

“Stubborn would probably be the best word to describe him.”

“Seems like you two had quite a lot in common,” said Inquisitor jokingly.

“Not really. He was this “businessman” type of guy – always thinking about profits and dubious affairs. And, unlike me, he wasn’t a charismatic and talented hero-lover.”

“Obviously. It is hard to find another dwarf like you.”

“Impossible, I would say”—Varric heaved a deep sigh and his tone shifted to a more serious one—“It’s difficult to come in terms with at the beginning, but sooner or later you just do. It’s long and complicated, but we’re all here to support you. We knew what we signed up for.”

Inquisitor thought that it wasn’t true. He didn’t know. Cullen didn’t know. Nobody knew. Even so, he would probably be able to accept any consequences if they applied to him personally, but he was not ready to watch others degrade that easily.

“You should go and lie down. My talks make you sleepy, apparently.” Varric gave Lavellan an encouraging wink in an effort to end the conversation on a higher note.

“It’s good to hear at least one actually useful advice today,” said Lavellan. “Let me know if anything needs my attention.”

“Of course.”

Varric dipped his quill in ink and continued writing. Inquisitor headed to his quarters, trying not to pass out from fatigue on his way there.

 (04) The next time Inquisitor entered the dreary prison, he barely managed to hold in a scream of terror. Cullen’s state was rapidly decaying. Red lyrium crystals were nesting on him, tearing the pale skin from the inside, feeding on his flesh. The whole cell was illuminated by appalling red light emitted by the crystals that were now part of his body. It was unbearably hot down there – apart from light, the lyrium also radiated heat. Cullen hardly moved since the last time Inquisitor saw him.

“I thought you’d never come,” he said with the same ominous smile he demonstrated previously. There was neither kindness nor hospitality in it.

“I was busy.” Inquisitor swallowed his horror before the intimidating creature dwelling in the basement of his castle and approached the cell. “Does it hurt?”

“It used to. It was more painful when I tried to oppose my addiction. Now, having given in, I see that there was no point in it. The most difficult path isn’t always the right one.”

“I refuse to believe that this is really what you think!”

Lavellan’s right hand flushed with green light. His constantly pressured and distraught state of mind depressed his control over magic abilities, especially those concerned with the Mark. Closing small tears grew more and more troublesome, as his power did not obey him and instead forced more demons to come out of the Fade.

“I gain power while you lose it. How ironic.” Cullen’s red eyes were staring right into Inquisitor’s soul, omitting what was on the outside. Lavellan’s appearance made it obvious that he was also experiencing drastic changes, but Cullen did not need to see how he looked to know that he was broken already. “The Anchor doesn’t belong to you, so soon it will turn against you, the way it should’ve done long ago. And then the Master will take it.”

“The Master? Now you serve him? Cullen, have you forgotten what he did to our people? Haven’t you seen how the Sanctuary was destroyed?”

“I remember everything perfectly, and that is why I understand how fast he will achieve dominance over everything else. You’re blind, Inquisitor, and I gained my sight here, in this dark basement, thanks to you. I pity you for how miserable your efforts to defy us are.”

“You have never talked to him, Cullen. He is insane, he blatantly uses everyone who supports him. They are disposable! Do you really want to be one of them?”

“I don’t need to talk to him, I have the song. It’s with me all the time. Unlike you were.” Cullen stopped smiling and grimaced. “If the song I heard from usual lyrium reminded the voice of the Maker, then this one sounds like the Old God. Something greater than all of us, something indescribable and immensely strong. There is no Maker in the Golden City, Inquisitor. Nobody cares about your soul, might as well sacrifice it in the grand battle for this world. But betting on the right side.”

“Cullen, you’re not yourself anymore…”

“Have you just noticed? What kind of leader are you if you don’t pay attention to what is going on with your advisors and trusted ones? To how Leliana bends down under the weight of the decision she makes for you, to how the Bull is torn between what is dear to him and what he must do, to how Cole suffers every minute he is present in this world affected by the vices and sins people commit… And all because of you.”

Lavellan tried not to yield, not to show that every word pierced him like a dagger. Every day he thought about all the lost opportunities, missed chances and mistakes made. Every night he lay sleepless because of the regrets and guilt haunting him whenever he closed his eyes. He did not see darkness under the lowered eyelids, only the faces of people he lost to the war nobody was ready for. However absurd templar’s words were, he would believe them because he himself was disappointed in what leader he turned out to be. He tried not to yield but did it quite poorly.

“Even though you don’t admit it, I know you’re crushed. You’re as lost as the day the Breach opened and you were the only one to survive the explosion. I could show you the way… or end you. You decide.”

“I don’t need any help from you. You are not the person you pretend to be anyway... We’ll talk everything over, but only when I bring back the Commander I know.”

“How persistent,” said Cullen, stretching every word as if he was savouring them. “It’s a shame you weren’t so determined previously. Perhaps it would have saved a lot of lives and your beloved Commander in his previous form. Although, I am quite upset that you prefer to disown me now that you don’t like the way I am anymore. You turned out to be so shallow…”

“We’ve all seen what lyrium does to the templars, Cullen… Your words will not influence me because I know that it’s the Blight talking in you. Once you get rid of that filth—”

“You’re not really so certain, are you?” asked Cullen mockingly and laughed. “You think you can just rip it out of me, but it runs through my veins now. You can try whatever you want, you can break the crystals, you can cut them out, you can use your wretched magic, your Mark, yet you will not make the song go away. It will grow louder and stronger, and so will I.”

“You haven’t eaten for days, Cullen. You don’t sleep, you don’t talk to people. Your life slips through your fingers. Nobody is allowed to go down here except for me, so I am the only one who can help you. Please, don’t make it worse for the both of us.”

“I’m not the one making it worse. You are.”

Cullen turned his head away from the Inquisitor, not willing to talk anymore. The crystals on his body glimmered with red lights. There were no other light sources in the basement so Cullen’s face was illuminated only by this sinister glow. His eyes as well as the veins visibly pulsating under the dead-white skin of his drained body were red. Everything about him was red. The fetters around his wrists were covered in rust, but the glow of the crystals made it seem like they were rotting.  

Lavellan couldn’t help but notice that most of the crystals were growing on his left shoulder and the appropriate side of his neck, forming a cluster. A number of smaller ones was spread over his stomach and forearms. Although he had already spent days in the cell, his body wasn’t as weakened and feeble as it should have been, and it scared the elf. He really wasn’t going to die or surrender that easily.

Inquisitor did not know how long he stood there without saying anything, just examining the former Commander. At one moment, the realization that he hated being there just dawned on him. He slept for a few hours and even tried to eat before coming, but now felt as if he hadn’t had any rest for weeks. The heat produced by the lyrium crystals made him feel feverish. His vision became dizzy and he thought that he may lose consciousness if he stayed here.

The room that always felt so empty now seemed to be filled with presence. Cullen was the only prisoner, but to Inquisitor the basement seemed overcrowded: he couldn’t breathe freely, his whole body hurt as if he was pushed around with heavy shoves. Convincing himself that there was nothing he could say or do to help Cullen right here and right now, he decided to leave.

Cullen said nothing.

 (05) “Oh, dear, you look hideous,” said Vivienne, catching Inquisitor on his way to the war table. Her voice suggested that she was both unsatisfied and a little bothered. “We need to do something about that immediately,” she added, looking him up and down.

“I am sorry, Vivienne, but there is no time for that. One of our scouts went missing and we need to decide where we should start searching. I promise I’ll get some sleep later.”

“No-no, beauty sleep will not help you anymore. I’m afraid, we need to eliminate the cause of your worries or else you’ll scare all our allies away.”

“I know what you want to tell me and no, I will not—”

“This is not a discussion, my dear,” said Vivienne, interrupting Lavellan who already raised his hand as a sign of protest. “It’s difficult for all of us, but you cannot show your weakness. You represent the Inquisition and appearing like that is almost the same as telling everybody we are just a group of worthless bandits. Look at those clothes, at that face… You look like you were the one who sat in that cell with no fresh air and good company. Please, I beg you, don’t make me feel ashamed of you.”

“I cannot promise you to deal with what bothers me, but I will pull myself together,” managed to utter Inquisitor after a few seconds of silence.

“And the clothing.” Vivienne looked skeptically at the old torn leather armor Inquisitor had been wearing for god knows how many days.

“Yes, I will surely change it.”

“That is what I wanted to hear. Don’t let others use your vulnerability against you. Don’t look like you have any in the first place.”

Inquisitor nodded to the Grand Enchanter to pay his respect. She gave him a polite nod as well before leaving him in the great hall. In reality, he rarely shared her point of view regarding pretty much anything, but he just could not resist her openly: she was too powerful and too valuable. Her knowledge of Orlesian court and magic powers were of great use to the Inquisition so sometimes he just needed to say what she wanted to hear in order to keep their temporary peace.

He hurried to open the heavy wooden door that led to the command centre. All of his advisors had already gathered at the war table. All, but one.

As days went by, Inquisitor slowly descended into madness. He frantically slaughtered all enemies he met on his way being as merciless as never before. His magic powers grew to be more effective on the battlefield, burning, freezing, and crushing, but, at the same time, almost uncontrollable. There was no middle ground for him, only lethal blows. Each red templar he spotted made him furious beyond all reason – he used every single spell on them to see what dealt the most damage. He couldn’t use his healing powers anymore, but instead gained the ability to bring the strongest pain to every red lyrium addict he saw. Blackwall, Dorian and Varric shared his hate for the enemies they fought, but certainly did not approve of his methods. They thought nobody deserved that much suffering, no matter what they did.

When time allowed it, Lavellan would stop to examine the bodies of the deceased templars. He paid special attention to how the crystals rooting in their bodies developed and grew, how the skin around the ruptures looked and behaved. He killed countless knights, guards and marksmen, observing how different were states of their corruption. He noticed how crystals pierced their armour, making it part of them. Some of them wore helmets overgrown by it, so he wondered how they could even see anything. A few shadows he eliminated had arms completely covered in lyrium which made them much more dangerous than the others, raw lyrium being extremely harmful in any state, but at the same time filling their existence with agony: contact that close made them lose their humanity faster and degraded their physical and mental state.

Once on the Emerald Graves, Inquisitor, accompanied by his loyal followers, met a Behemoth. An enormous lump of red lyrium barely provoked the thought that it used to be a person – not a single part of its body remained intact, everything was completely covered with crystals. The air around it was pulsating with heat, and the red glow it emitted blinded them. The fight was long and tedious – Blackwall was severely injured after receiving a massive blow in his leg and Dorian exhausted all his magic forces and couldn’t continue without a dose of lyrium to boost them. When the existence of the monstrosity was finally ended by Inquisitor’s ice spell, they managed to catch a glimpse of a silhouette resembling that of a human being inside the Behemoth before it collapsed to the ground. The atmosphere became heavy, as they were crudely reminded that the creatures they were forced to fight used to be people at some point. Some of them, perhaps, didn’t choose this fate and would rather continue living their ordinary lives.

While his companions stood gloomy and silent, mulling over what happened to the world they once knew, Lavellan approached a pile of dust left of the Behemoth. He couldn’t lose such an opportunity to study it because it was the first specimen that was so corrupt that it wasn’t able to say a single word and could only scream and produce inarticulate sounds. Lately Inquisitor became almost obsessed with researching how lyrium developed in the bodies of templars, so all he could think about was finding out how it influenced human organism and seeing if it could be prevented somehow. He approached the pile and was extremely disappointed to see that there was almost nothing left in it. Being in some kind of frenzy, with his bare hand he grabbed a small lyrium crystal – the only visible part of the templar that hadn’t disintegrated yet. A few moments passed before Varric noticed what Lavellan was doing and hurried to him to drag him away from the pile and throw away the crystal. Inquisitor’s hand and fingers were already influenced by the mineral and a few deep burns were left on the skin.

All the way back to Skyhold Lavellan listened to Dorian lecturing him about how irresponsible he was. Blackwall silently frowned and lagged behind, holding on to the handle of his sword hanging in a scabbard on his side. Varric occasionally sighed and said that he agreed with Dorian. Inquisitor’s hand throbbed with pain but he did not really care. The only thing that bothered him was the fact that he didn’t make any progress in researching the influence of lyrium.  

He stopped visiting the prison at Skyhold. He was afraid to descend there and see something more terrifying that he had already seen. He wanted to send somebody down to check on Cullen occasionally, and Leliana agreed to come herself, not wanting anybody else to become the witness of what happened to the Commander of the grand Inquisition. She feared they would lose their influence and authority if the details about Cullen’s corruption became public; the Inquisitor feared he would lose any hope left after seeing his friend one more time.

After one of the visits, Leliana reported that Cullen’s left arm is covered with red lyrium crystals up to his elbow already. Apart from that, she added that he also refused to talk to her. He didn’t even acknowledge her presence.

 (06) “So… how are you doing here, Cole?” asked the Inquisitor his ghostly companion one gloomy evening. He couldn’t forget what Cullen said about him not caring about his friends. He was troubled to learn they were down, but recently just didn’t have the time to address that.

“This place is not a home. Too dark. Everybody’s hurt.” The spirit lowered his head, hiding his eyes behind the brim of his hat.

“Are you hurt too?” carefully inquired Lavellan.

“I don’t know. They are. I absorb the pain, it stings like bees, but stronger. But it brings relief to the others.”

“You don’t have to help them if it is hard for you. It’s impossible to help everybody. I don’t want you to feel pain because of that, Cole,” said Inquisitor, concerned about the spirit. He knew that comforting others was the actual reason his friend existed, but didn’t want to tolerate such state of affairs nonetheless.

“I came here to help. Pain is temporary, death is not. I take the pain and put up with it for a short while, and they are free and calm. Better than listening to their screams.”

“I see…”

It was always difficult to communicate with Cole. He was there but also in hundreds other places at the same time. He responded to questions, but was talking about something only he saw and understood. He looked like a young boy, so everybody perceived him as such, but, in reality, he knew much more than any other person in the castle. He knew about misfortunes of every soldier in the Inquisition, about their worries and fears, but nobody really knew anything about him. Inquisitor was sorry that he didn’t take enough time and make enough effort to get to know this sad entity better.

“You are the only one I can’t help. I see your pain, it’s red and dense and floats like a haze. You are surrounded by people, but they are not there. You’re alone and lost in the fog and you suffocate. I want to help.”

Lavellan moved the hat from Cole’s eyes to see his face. Usually there was no expression on it, but it was important to see his eyes to establish at least some kind of contact.

“I know, Cole. I know. But it’s my burden, and I will carry it. Others here are also miserable, so just do what you can for them. Whatever you feel right.”

“I tried to take away your fear.” Cole looked Lavellan directly in the eyes. “I come when you sleep, I watch, try to lead the demons away. They are strong, bloody, proud, drag heads of their victims as trophies. You don’t let them in, yet the fear stays. You need to rest, but not sleep. Watch yourself.”

Cole suddenly disappeared as he sometimes did. Lavellan remembered him standing beside him a second ago, but now he wasn’t there anymore. Some of Inquisition’s soldiers and commanders were against Cole’s stay in Skyhold, but the Inquisitor remained unshaken in his decision. He saw what the boy did to help those who were in need, and it was more than he himself could have ever done. The spirit didn’t disappear out of a sheer wish, somebody needed him. He always answered the call.

 (07) Lavellan was lying on the side of his bed, twisted and rolled up in a blanket. The bedsheet around him was crumpled and wet from sweat. He was in fever, as if instead of frosty mountains outside of Skyhold only sand dunes enveloped him with unbearable heat. He was delirious and mumbling something to himself. Before his eyes was the same prison cell he chose not to visit anymore. Crystals grew from every wall, from the ceiling and stone floor. They seemed to be alive, breathing and singing the song. Parts of mutilated human, elven, and dwarven bodies were stuck in the lyrium, feeding it with last drops of blood left in them, making its red colour more prominent and vivid. Inquisitor saw familiar faces captured eternally inside the crystals, lifeless, pale, and distorted. He gripped his staff tightly, ready to fight whoever would come to face him. His injured fingers hurt but he tried not to focus on the pain.

“I hoped to see you once again,” said the voice he knew all too well. He turned around and saw Cullen sitting on the floor with his back leaning on the wall. He wasn’t chained. “I was so upset you stopped visiting,” he continued.

“I couldn’t…” started Lavellan, but Cullen did not want to listen.

“I know what had really happened. You thought I was a burden and you had no wish to continue coddling me. But who will take the responsibility, Inquisitor Lavellan?”

“You should ask your new master about that!” yelled Lavellan angrily. He didn’t really know how much responsibility laid on him for all what had happened, but now he didn’t want to admit anything at all. Not before Cullen.

“He is doing what he must, and you are making things more complicated. Do you really believe you are a hero? A Herald of Andraste? You’re just a thief!”—Cullen spat on the floor in front of him—“All you know is stealing and deceiving. Who gave you the right to decide what’s right and what’s wrong? Why do you think it was better for me before I changed? Tell me, I want to know.”

“I’ve seen what this “transformation” does to the others. They become inhumane, forget their language, families, friends. They live in constant pain and their life is deprived of meaning. You don’t need to be the Herald to understand that.”

“I am different. They are unworthy, nobody cares about them. Do you know the names of all your soldiers, Inquisitor? Do you mourn the death of every one of them? Then why do you worry about those templars so much? They have their own fate and will be rewarded for their diligence. Unlike all those people stuck in here with me,” said Cullen and smiled, waving his already corrupt hand in the direction of ghastly faces behind the glass surface of red crystals on the walls.

“Are you now tormenting people who worked with you and admired you?” Lavellan felt dizzy. He used his staff to help himself stand straight, but his energy was being drained by the red lyrium filling the room. “What kind of commander are you?”

“An improved one. You should’ve noticed how insecure I used to be. Afraid that people would judge me for what I say or do, afraid to confess to you about my decision to stop taking lyrium. Wasn’t it hilarious? Perhaps, you kept me close because I amused you.”

“No, I didn’t. You were one of the best people I have ever known. It’s a shame you turned into this.”

The mark on Inquisitor’s hand started glowing and he felt as if he would lose consciousness soon. His vision got blurry, making it difficult to concentrate on the templar.

“Oh, I know what you feel now…” Cullen laughed repulsively. “Fear, regret, disbelief, disappointment… A little bit of sorrow maybe? Don’t try to lie to me.” He stood up. No shackles held him, now he was free to do whatever he wanted. “Are you ready to face the truth?”

Lavellan squeezed his eyes shut and tried to escape the nightmare. He knew this couldn’t be real.

He opened his eyes and found himself lying on the bed in his quarters. Cole was sitting beside him, silently saying his mantra. He stopped when noticed that Inquisitor was already awake.

“I heard your scream. Nobody here screams that loudly, only whimpers. It was almost too late. The haze swallowed you, I didn’t see, couldn’t find. I am glad you believed me.”

“The thought that it’s just a dream… Did it come from you?” Lavellan removed the blanket and sat on the bed.

“Yes. I wanted to destroy the fear and regret, but could only take you out of the nightmare. You shouldn’t be left alone.”

“Thank you, Cole… Could you stay with me?”

“That is what I implied.”

Lavellan didn’t feel like closing his eyes again.

 (08) “This is impossible! We do not have time and resources to do it!” said Cassandra. Her voice sounded as agitated and decisive as always.

“I need it! I’m not asking you to bring me Coryphaeus himself, just a few red templars.”

“You have lost your mind! How can we capture them alive if even touching them may be lethal? It’s too dangerous. You know that they never surrender.”

“It can change everything. The lyrium in dead templars is most likely also dead, there is no use of it, but if we bring them here alive… I will be able to study it, I’ll examine how it responds to different treatments and…”

“They already suffer! Even if they look like monsters, they are under the influence of it. You want to torture them even more, doesn’t it bother you?”

“What bothers me is the absence of any results in my studies, Cassandra. I need at least a tiny bit of useful information.”

Inquisitor was uncompromising, but Cassandra did not want to agree to his proposal. After all, the Inquisition was still part of the Chantry and they simply couldn’t capture templars and experiment on them. She was one of the people who started the Inquisition and didn’t want to see it come crashing down.

She sighed.

“We will make a decision at the council meeting.”

“Then tell everybody to gather.”

As one of the advisors, Cassandra made it clear that she didn’t support this endeavour of the Inquisitor. Leliana, being more practical and open-minded, decided that they should take the risk in case there was at least one possibility to gain some intel in the process. Even if they didn’t learn how to cure the corruption, they would probably discover the templars’ weak spots. Josephine was inclined to support Cassandra out of her morals, but seeing Lavellan in such despair made her budge.

Two people were in favour, so they started the operation.

Cassandra feared that soon they would not be able to keep Inquisitor in line. He was becoming more and more radical in his methods and didn’t share his thoughts with them anymore. He was grim, slept only three hours a day and most of his time spent in the libraries or on the battlefields. From the latter he would often come injured without even noticing it, as if he couldn’t feel it or didn’t care enough to notice. Their cause was still a priority to him, but determination and hope vanished from his eyes. They became dull and cold.

When first templars were delivered to the castle, he locked himself in the forge with them and didn’t come out for a few hours. Nobody was allowed to enter. There were no screams, but the silence made it seem even worse. Everybody was on the edge, not knowing what to expect. It happened a few more times, but the Inquisitor never shared anything about what he did or what results his experiments showed. As time passed, he became even more withdrawn and solitary. Solas tried talking to Lavellan about the Commander and what his inertness did to him, but with no success. Inquisitor was deaf to all inquiries.

 When the blizzard settled down and the sun managed to send a few rays through thick clouds, one of the Inquisition’s soldiers knocked on the door to Lavellan’s quarters.

“Come in,” said Inquisitor, not bothered to look away from the book he was reading.

“My lord, Sister Leliana went on her usual check and he wasn’t there…” The soldier started stammering as Lavellan abruptly pierced his gaze into him. “He escaped,” mumbled the soldier.

Inquisitor knew it would end like this. He awaited it and feared.

[kd-holloman]

Writerblr (Re)Introduction

I've seen quite a few writerblrs do some re-introductions posts lately and since I have been pretty inactive for the last four months, I thought I should do one too!

Hello, everyone, I'm K.D. Holloman. I like to read and write a little bit of everything! I'm always looking to make to writer friends, so feel free to reblog, introduce yourselves, and tell me about your WIPs!

I only write one project at time because if I try to do more than that, my brain gets overwhelmed and nothing gets accomplished. With that being said, here are my WIPs (if you would like to read snippets / learn more click on the title). Please let me know if you'd like to be added to any taglists!

The Traveler's Gift

Rating: M for violence, language, crime, etc.

Summary:

Louis Mahoney has always considered his ability to teleport a gift. Amid a battle for power among Chicago's most nefarious mobsters, his "gift" transports him from 1923 to present-day Chicago.

Trapped in an unfamiliar era, Louis learns the mobster scene is still alive and well when he is kidnapped for his superhuman abilities. Just when things look bleak and he's nearly given up hope, he's given a choice. He work for Chicago's most notorious mobster, Rick O'Shea, or die.

After agreeing to work for O'Shea, Louis is forced to bear witness to a true injustice and makes a promise to himself to take O'Shea down for good. However, his plan for revenge is sidetracked when he ends up under the watchful eye of the mobster's most dangerous weapon, a volatile and murderous young man known as The Reaper.

TTG is a 76k speculative fiction novel with LGBT themes. I queried a few agents, but ultimately decided the novel would be too complicated for an agent to market and have decided to self-publish it once it's ready.

Currently, TTG is waiting for me to save up enough money for a cover design and formatting before publishing.

The Reaper's Curse

Rating: M - Violence, language, crime, etc.

Summary:

Slater O'Brien and Louis Mahoney are paired up together with a common goal. They're going to take down Rick O'Shea. The problem is they can't do it alone and after years of making enemies, everyone who could possibly help would rather put Slater in a grave instead of offering extending a helping hand. With his powers on the fritz and backed into a corner with nowhere to run, Slater and Louis agree to work together with an unlikely ally.

Getting the best of O'Shea isn't the only mountain Slater and Louis will have to overcome. Slater is going to have to allow old wounds to heal and open himself up to people from his past, even if he's afraid of putting them in harm's way. Louis will have to come to grips with the terms that he may never return back to 1923 and he may be stuck in the twenty-first century forever.

As you can see, my summary is still a work in progress. TRC stands at 67k in its second draft. I'm hoping to boost that number up about by 10k or so in the future. I started re-writing it a few weeks ago. I basically scrapped my previous drafts and started from the beginning. I'm not plotting this draft. I'm going to see where the story takes me.

Oh, Hell

Rating: T+ - Mild language, violence, blood, scars, demonic and angelic possession, mentions of death, mentions of abuse.

Summary:

The only thing Israfil wanted when he was cast out of Heaven was to have his wings back. Now that he has them, he just wants to be left alone. He makes a few friends and seeks solace in a small college town in the middle of nowhere called Wakefield. Thanks to the help of a few local witches, Israfil is able to hide from his brothers in Heaven if he stays within the towns protective wards. His reclusive life gets a little more interesting when he lets his best friend, Tabbi Depraysie, talk him into attending Wakefield College.

Young witch, Tabbi views college as the start to a life of independence. Though, it’s a little hard to prove she’s ready to blossom as an adult when her Aunt Maggie has her under her watchful–and seemingly all-knowing–eye. When a spell book with the potential to bring Hell to earth goes missing, she’s determined to prove that she isn’t a child any longer.

For as long as she can remember, Nyssa Dean has the voice in her mother from her past-life in her head. It convinces her that Wakefield is the place she needs to be if she wants to be together again. The cost? Learning that fellow freshman, Israfil Jones isn’t who he seems to be and intentionally opening a portal from Hell.

Oh, Hell is an urban fantasy novel with an intended forty-five chapters. I'm still on the first draft and it is currently on hiatus.

[fonteyn]

enter a king and a queen: chapter two (king caspian x reader)

Summary: King Caspian has returned from his travels with the crew of the Dawn Treader and, forced by the Council of the Lords, has to sooner rather than later find a wife in order to secure the future of Narnia. He, however, wasn't counting on feeling rather different as he meets the young Queen of Calormen, a long time enemy nation that now presented itself as an ally to Narnia. As the two rulers get closer and closer, they start questioning themselves: should they follow their hearts or choose their countries instead?

Pairing: King Caspian x Queen of Calormen!Reader

Word Count:  8.3K

Rating:  M (Mature), tw mentions of abuse.

A/n: I know t’s been a while but here’s the second chapter. I was initially planning on including more things but it got really long so I ended up deciding to break down some of the events on two parts of which I have mostly already written. I hope you guys enjoy it! Please remember to like/reblog if you liked it and also that english is not my first language so there might be errors (despite several reviews of the draft). I’d also love if you replied or sent an ask with your thoughts regarding the story or even if you have any requests that you might want me to write about. So without further ado, here it is.

 CHAPTER THREE | 

“Dear Caspian,

The winds are cooler and the sun sets earlier every day. It seems winter is fast approaching here.

Harvest has been good.

My brother has invented a smarter method for harvesting the crops and with so, trade has been particularly prosperous, so much that our profits will probably last us well though the next few seasons.

Not much more other than that has been going around.

Peace sometimes feels strange. There are days that I find myself still thinking and planning battles, as if the war hasn't ended so many moons ago.

My people seem content in keeping things in order. I have noticed when walking amongst them that smiles are a more common occurrence but also laughter on the streets, parties, dancing and much more.

Children will often play right outside the castle's walls, no longer afraid to come near them.

Memories of the dark days under my father's rule seem to be finally fading away.

I have since decided to keep the gates open for all those who want to come in and enjoy the gardens. I think everyone deserves to have a look at them, breathe in the fresh air and smell the flowers before nature gets its rightful rest during the cold times.

I will admit that I often think of you.

One day there came in a boy that reminded me of you.

I am not entirely sure why but I have a feeling you weren't so poised as a kid.

The boy had long slick brown hair and wild eyes and we met at a rare occasion on which I was left alone with my thoughts.

He must have seen me on other occasions before for he knew without asking that I was his queen and so he approached me slowly and bowed his head asking if he could take one of the flowers from the garden as a gift to his mother.

When I responded that he couldn't he was upset. I told him that it was my duty to protect all living things and wouldn't let him to take the flowers away from their nature and their sisters because doing so would condemn them to a terrible fate. I promised him that the gardens were free for all people to come visit.

I also said I would be more than happy to receive his mother with him at the palace for her to enjoy the beauty that it offered first hand.

He apologized and proceeded to explain that his mother was very sick and hadn't been able get out of bed for many months before that.

In the end, I gave him a moult of the flowers he liked the most on a pot for him to take care of at his home and went along with him and a royal physician to deliver the gift to his mother.

She has since recovered and is now working as part of the servants at my home.

When I am at the gardens, I often reminisce about our first meeting.

I also wonder about what have you been doing. Are you still having adventures at sea or have you gone back to the mainland?

I wanted to meet you again. It's been so long since we met face to face and there are things that simply do not fit in the size of a letter.

I hope everything is going well for you and for Narnia.

With love,

you friend, et belator.”

______________________________________________________________

“My dear friend,

It's been so long since we talked, I thought you had forgotten all about me at this point.

Obviously this is due to my own mistakes. Opportunities to write to you were easy to find when I was at sea, but now that I am back at the mainland, time slips through my fingers uncontrollably.

I have seen so many beauties out there that reminded me of you, though to be fair, none even palled in comparison to your grace.

I only wish you had been able to accompany me for I certainly cannot possibly describe them well enough to capture their essence.

We recently finished the reconstruction of Cair Paravel and now, more than ever, I must urge you to come visit me. I only thought of you when deciding on matters about the remodeling of the gardens. It would be an honor to host your presence and maybe get your approval for the hard work I've done here.

There's so much more I wish I could tell you through this letter but words seem to escape me whenever I attempt to form a coherent sentence.

Hoping to see you soon.

Caspian.”

_______________________________________________________________

Past time.

When you first met the young King, he had his back turned to you, his sights set on the center of your private garden where a gigantic tree, measuring about one hundred feet tall, stood proudly at that same exact spot for a about a thousand years. You approached him silently as to not disturb the quietness he found himself entranced with, sizing him up carefully.

"Are you and your men being well treated, your majesty?", your voice cut through the silence, previously only interrupted by the nature that surrounded both of you.

He attempted to hide his surprise, not being aware that he had company. 

"Yes," he turned around and paused upon laying his eyes on you, struggling to find his words, "we are being very well treated, indeed I...am very thankful for your hospitality."

"There’s no need to thank me," you smiled softly, "despite our reputation in other kingdoms, it is part of our culture to help all those who find themselves in need on our shore."

He shuffled on his feet, uncomfortable by what you insinuated. Calormenians indeed had a reputation for being ruthless and now that it was clear you knew who he was, he was starting to become more aware of who you were. He should've realized it the moment saw you. Your clothes, your hair, the confidence in which you talked to him, all of those were traits he wasn’t accustomed to. You had a royal demeanor, looking as if you had been born to rule, which to be fair, you probably did.

Realizing how rude he must've looked, he bend down on one knee.

"I apologize for my demeanor, your majesty," he raised his head and saw a flicker of something flashing in your eyes, "I hadn’t been warned that it was you the one whom I'd be meeting."

You chuckled and showed him a carefree smile.

"There's no need to pretend to be anyone else but yourself here," you looked around, "to hell with all those formalities, you and your friends are my guests and so I shall receive you all as my equals."

He frowned, marveling at what you had said, then slowly rising from the floor.

What an unexpected turn of events that day had. Before, him and his men had been growing more and more restless at sea, given that after a storm faced by the Dawn Treader they had lost most of their supplies and the nearest known amicable port was many miles away, that forced them to make risky decisions and attempt to disembark on a strange port from a long time enemy nation and hide their identities while they searched for food and water, which of course, didn't turn out working out because as soon as they had stepped in land, soldiers surrounded them and brought them into the castle.

"Did you have a chance to look around the garden before I sneaked up on you?", you tried to change to a lighter subject

He stared at you in amusement, only now beginning to realize that he was dealing with a very different situation then he had prepared himself to deal with. No fighting, no war talk, no treats. He was unable to refrain from slightly laughing at the situation at hand as he noticed that you were actually attempting to make small talk.

He watched you walking in his direction and felt nervousness building on his chest, the hem of your dress lightly touched his left leg as you surpassed him in direction of the tree he had been staring at before you joined him. The tree itself had jumped to his attention as soon as he arrived in that garden, not only because of it’s size, albeit it really was gigantic, but also because of the strange beauty it provided. He thought about how it must’ve been planted there for many generations, dating back maybe hundreds of years. Things like that marveled him, something that had probably seen so much and endured it all.

"This tree has been here for over a thousand years," it was as if you were reading his mind, your voice was low and soothing, "the whole castle was built around it," you glanced at him and saw he was drinking every single word you uttered, "some people think that the force of our nation is intertwined with its life, the roots are so deep that they've known lengthy times of peace and prosperity, those of which many of my citizens are only now having the opportunity to experience". 

You continued, "For the last one hundred and fifty years, this tree had not blossomed, so much so that rumors arose saying it had perished along with any hope for our souls, many thought that our time had ended and we doomed to perish under my father’s rule ", you continued, "but ever since I came back to live in this palace, after he was gone, we took proper care of it, and as you can see,” you pointed at the pink flowers dangling down in branches, “it seems she's finally ready to bloom again."

You stepped away from the tree, and folded your hands behind your back, staring at him head on.

"Know this, King of Narnia," you took a step in his direction, your voice dropping lower to make sure your words could only be heard by him, "My reign, much like yours, has just begun. I do not believe superstition, but I do believe in peace", you swallowed hard and continued, "I want my people to thrive, to live long enough to see their children grow without worrying about when their sons and daughters will be thrust into battle and war. That is my greatest objective and I hope that with help, I can finally give them that.".

He took a step towards you, his expression unreadable. In a single conversation you had manage to throw off many of his previous conceptions about you and your people. He had no idea what to think about all of this new world you had given him a glimpse of. However, something deep within him told him that you were being genuine, you were not lying or attempting to deceive him. He could see your words were true because the way you spoke about your people was the same way he spoke about his own.. He was aware you could've easily turned him away, left him and his men for dead. At the same time, you knew that bringing him into your palace was a huge risk, but one you had deemed was worth taking. And so, his heart told him that it was time he took his own risk. 

"Know this, Queen of Calormen," he echoed your words looking deep within your eyes, "It would be my greatest honor to be able to accomplish that alongside you."

 Present time.

You woke up in a strange bed, in a strange room, taking a minute to realize where you were. Cair Paravel. In Narnia. The furthest you had ever been away from home. The thought made you feel as if a rope had tugged hard on your heart. The last time you had left Calormen was when your mother managed to smuggle you out of the country in an attempt to avoid a terrible fate your father was about to boast upon you. She gave her life for yours, leaving you with a hug and a promise: it was your duty to protect your people, and when you were old enough you had to fulfill that role, it would be up to you to cast your father out of the throne and take it back, no matter the consequences. It was a matter of survival, not only for yourself but for your people. 

You decided to get up from the bed and start your day before fragments of your past could take over your thoughts and disturb the tasks you already had lined up for the day. You weren't in Narnia to reminisce over long passed trauma, you were here to secure peace once and for all so that you could safely go back to your country and rest easy. Watch the seasons come and go without worrying about a battle death count that raised every single day, lives reduced to mere numbers in a sheet of paper.. Life could move on as it should. Only then you could forget all about the dark times, forget about war and bloodshed, and most of all, forget all about narnians and their all righteous King. 

You got dressed in a long soft yellow colored flowy gown, keeping accessories to a simple extent, limiting yourself to wearing your royal rings, two simple gold bands on your respective ring fingers, and a simple golden thread intertwined with your braided hair. 

It wasn't long until the castle's maids brought in your breakfast that came along with a note from Caspian in which he explained about that he wouldn't be able to have breakfast alongside you due to urgent matters he had to attend and then proceed to invite you to take a walk later after the council meeting you were both scheduled to participate in.

Soon, you were walking along the castle's corridors to find the rest of the delegation that had come along with you. 

It had been rather difficult choosing who would accompany you on this trip, specially because you had to keep in mind that although you wanted to bring your top advisors along with you, they were needed back home considering that your younger brother would technically be in charge while you were away. And the gods knew just how much he needed good people surrounding him. In the end, you settled upon bringing only a handful of people that were necessary, two members of the royal guard, Lilyan, an army Captain who knew narnians and their customs, and both of your handmaidens, Rose and Khiara. A small party was easier to handle and would seem less threatening, after all, there was still the entire crew of the ship you had came in who were loyal to Calormen and would, in case of an emergency, help you in any way they could. 

You had previously gotten a tour of the castle so finding the rest of the delegation wasn't difficult as they would be resting at one of the many drawing rooms within the castle, you knew they'd be in the one that was the most strategic for a getaway and the closest possible to the sea. 

Home must be calling them as much as it calls to me, you thought.

When you opened the door to the room, they didn't even notice your arrival. The spacious hall had a large windows through which sunlight beamed high, there was a seating area that had enough surfaces for about twenty people to lay down and rest, in the center of the room there was a round table, in which you found your comrades gathered around seemingly mid-way through a heated dispute at a cards game to distract themselves. 

You stood for a minute watching them, your presence still going unnoticed. 

"It is nice knowing that some of us seem to be having fun already", you spoke.

Surprised, they scrambled to their feet, bowing to you.

"Your majesty," Lilyan started, "we didn't know when you would be up."

"I've been up for hours, Captain."

"I think....", Lorian, one of the members of your royal guard, interjected, "I think what my colleague was attempting to clarify is that we thought you'd need some more time to recover from the trip, your majesty, that's why we didn't want to disturb you."

You gave them a relaxed smile. "It's alright, no need for clarifications" your gaze soon turned more serious, staring incisively at the group to  get your words to come across, " I just hope that all of you will continue in this mission with responsibility, knowing that our nation's future is in our hands, as I have previously made quite clear".

They looked down, nodding along. Your orders were poignant before even setting foot in Narnian soil. This was diplomatic mission and so there were to be no disturbances to the schedule. No provocations, no rudeness, but above all, no fighting. All those who wanted to take part had to follow the protocol agreed beforehand. 

"Now, which one of you will take me to courtyard?", you prompted with a smirk,  "I don't want to leave our host waiting too long."

In the end, Lorian volunteered to accompany you to the courtyard. As you made your way further in the halls of the castle, you noticed how he was walking alongside you constantly looking around in nervousness, the uncomfortable silence told you he was debating with himself on saying whatever the hell he was thinking.

"If your thoughts get any louder, you won't have to decide to speak up or not, because I will be able to hear them from here, Lorian.", you commented.

"I'm sorry, your majesty," he smiled, caught in the act, "I just don't mean to disturb you with me mindless wondering."

"That's absolutely nonsense" you threw a glance his way, maintaining your step, "tell me, what are you wondering about?"

"Honestly, your makesty", he cleared his throat, "I don't think the narnians have so far treated you enough respect", his eyebrow furrowed, "yesterday, when we were disembarking I accompanied you not too far away from where you stepped and noticed how several of the noble men and women shrieked in your presence," he paused for a second before continuing, "I do not know enough about the circumstances that brought you to want to come all the way here instead of just securing trade deals through correspondence, but I do know people, and see their whispers all around. I know it is difficult but I have a feeling that they not only were not pleased to see you here but they are not willing to respect you how you deserve."

"You say that because our definition of respect for a long time has been fear, Lorian."

"Well, am I wrong to think so though? We will soon lose the one weapon against other nations. The fear they had from us, lurking in the shadows was what kept them at bay but now, and don't get me wrong, I completely agree with you about making peace but, if we make peace, how can we be sure they won't just wait until our guard is down to slaughter us all?"

"You just said so, peace itself is left," you stopped and grabbed his arm, holding him where he stood, "to make peace peace, we need to trust, I know it is hard, but it the only option we have if we want to succeed, you may think I am a fool for trusting narnians but know, that I do not trust all narnians,” you swallowed hard, “I do, however, trust their King. Still, if they dare, at any given point to think about attacking or taking advantage of our people I will not hesitate to bring hell upon those who betray us."

"If you say things like that, I'm afraid I won't be able to argue with you anymore, dear Queen."

"Then don't argue anymore, Lorian", you resumed to your walking.

"Right...", he paused, looking around before turning to you with mischievous eyes, "can I ask you one more thing though?"

You shook your head in disbelief, finally giving in.

"Of course, ask away."

"How are you able to endure their actions towards you so well? I mean, you walk into a room and it goes silent, they all look at you as if you are just a foreigner and they wish you weren't here but have to keep up with formalities.". 

"I..." you swallow hard, "I have been through much worse things than silly attempts to pester my mood", you smiled, hoping that would convince him that you were telling the truth. 

It seemed to do the job, as he soon went back to being silent, finishing the walk down to the courtyard without any other inquiries. 

 When Caspian saw you walk into the courtyard, he could swear his heart stopped for a moment. In your simplicity, you looked like the sun had blessed earth with a ray of sunshine, your skin shining gold and bright, like a million golden coins bounced off of you, complementing your every feature. He shook his head, in an attempt to make it function properly, he couldn't possibly be like this, dazzled and speechless, every time you simply were to stand next to him. You being there was also a reminder of what he couldn't have. He had to choose a wife soon, and you simply didn't qualify in the list of possibilities. 

Yes, you were from a royal family. Yes, you were intelligent and kind and had a beautiful soul. You were good ruler, but you were already the queen of your own country. And of course, there was also the fact that Caspian wasn't blind to know that the possibility of him courting you would possibly anger the Council even more than if he chose to just stay single for more five or so years, he knew that this alliance still had a long way to go and many of the older Lords were not so keen on making peace, having trusted Caspian's word and judgment that this, in fact, was the right thing to do. After all, this was not only about peace, it was about forming a sustainable alliance. He feared that if he were to put his own feelings out there, maybe some people could get the wrong idea that the peace treaty was being done solely because he wanted you, or worse, because you convinced him do it. 

Also, in that point, things always seemed to get a bit hazzy when he thought about feelings when it came to you. Yes, he was attracted to you. Yes, he adored your conversations, through letters or otherwise. Yes, his heart seemed to skip a beat every time you spoke his name. But that didn't mean he wanted to marry you, right? It meant he was a man who saw the value of a woman., He had those thoughts in your regard because, given both of your titles, he could easily relate to your own struggles, in that way, finding topics of conversation wasn't difficult at all, unlike the many times he embarrassed himself in the past couple of months when it seemed all the Lords in the castle had decided to allocate their daughters to meet him. That was all there was to it. Nothing more that a checked admiration for your persona. Which of course didn’t explain why sometimes he thought of you before going to bed. Imagining how your skin would feel against his own under the sheets, his mind taking its own direction as he struggled to stop thinking about you.

He saw you thanking your companion and allowing him to go back to his own tasks as you could walk the rest of the way to the council meeting alongside Caspian. Before you both could do anything else, you and Caspian had to attend a Council meeting with the Lords of Narnia to discuss many matters regarding politics and the crafting of trade deals to secure your alliance with their kingdom. 

"You look radiant this morning, my lady," Caspian approached you, smiling and taking your hand to plant kiss on the back of it," are you ready to finally meet the council?"

"You are too charming, Caspian" you laughed, "I suppose I am as ready as I'll ever be."

"You know, you have been the talk of Narnia in the past couple of weeks, a lot of people seem very interested in meeting the Queen of Carlomen in person, so I don't doubt that we might have a bit of a hard time finding our way out of the castle soon."

"Out of the castle? Why would I be so keen on that?", you eyed him curiously.

"Well," Caspian sported a sheepish grin, "In your letters you told me a lot about the way you interacted with your subjects and so, I must admit I was inspired by your actions and decided to venture out in such escapades myself."

"Oh, really?", you said, incredulous. 

"Yes, and after we finish these meetings I want to take you to meet my people, as you have so kindly taken me to meet yours."

"If that's the case then, let's finish this as quickly as possible", you smirked. 

When Caspian walked into the room where the small council met, all those present raised  from their seats, bowing to his presence. 

"My lords" he walked in with you following his steps, you noticed how the Council was formed by a group of six men and one single woman, all of them appearing to be in their late sixties. Caspian took the time to acknowledge her personally, "Lady Lockwood", he said bowing his her in her direction

"I am sure, many of you already met her yesterday, but today I am pleased to formally introduce the bunch of you to our newest friend, the Queen of Carlomen."

One by one, the lords and lady bowed to you and Caspian studied your features in the corner of his eyes. You stood there proudly, but not imposing, you had a very natural polite authority that emanated from your demeanor, thought he was sure you could just as easily turn into someone as ruthless as the stories of the battles you won told. 

"Shall we commence then?", Caspian sat down on the large round table with you right across from him, "First off, I'd like to welcome our guest and thank her and her country for the generous offering they brought with them to our people," he looked around the room, his seriousness only briefly broken by a smile he directed to you, "as many of you know, they brought along in their ships hundreds of pounds of food and supplies as a gift to the narnian people."

"Yes, that's very lovely of her," Lord Bennet  spoke up, disdain poorly hidden in his voice as he looked in your direction, "We salute you, your highness, and thank you for your kindness, despite its redundancy."

Before Caspian could say anything, Lord Hampton raised from his seat and spoke up. "What I think Lord Bennet was attempting to say, your majesty, is that you certainly didn't have to go through the trouble of shipping all those goods here yourself, but we are grateful for your gift.", he swiftly tried to correct the impressions left from his colleague's rudeness.

"There's no need to thank me, my lords," you tried to sound serene even though you were hiding  your trembling hands under the table, "a gift is a gift, we had a very prosperous harvest in my country and so it only seemed logical to share with our newest allies, as I hope we can, in the very close future, cement this relationship in benefit to us all."

Looking around the crowded room you doubted yourself. Should you even have ventured yourself in coming all the way here to look at those stuffy lords in the face? Was it worth it? You had to mentally repeat to yourself that yes, it was worth it. It was a small part of your plan to finally be able to stop fighting and give true dignity to your people. But for some reason you couldn't stop thinking about how this could, in fact, have been just as easily done through letters. Lorian’s voice seemed to be resounding in your ears. There was some truth behind his words, you didn't really have to ride to Narnia and face the dangerous cloud that your feelings placed upon on judgment when Caspian was involved.

Suddenly, you felt like a fraud, hiding behind your people, hiding behind diplomacy to see a man one last time before he was forever out of reach, trying to hold your grasp on a fantasy land you weren't allowed to take part in ever since your father had cut all your girly childish dreams when on the day he murdered your mother for allegedly betraying him. 

 "I assure you, we are very much interested in that, my lady", Lord Vanderbilt voiced, "as do the common folk which as we speak are celebrating the early results of this alliance."

His words eased your conscience a bit and you could feel the tension inside you getting a less extreme, slowly starting to regain control of your still trembling hands. You only hoped you weren't coming across as nervous to them as you truly felt inside, as if you were a twelve year old again hiding from your father when you had done something you knew he'd punish you for. 

The meeting continued and several different subjects were discussed that went  from arranging when the next shipments of supplies would arrive and the types of products Narnia could offer in return to last minute details on Caspian's birthday celebration ball. You noticed how he shifted uncomfortably when they arrived on the discussion of the affair, fully aware that the Lords expected him to give them something in regards to the marriage circumstances responding to the dreaded question on if he had yet chosen a wife. 

"Of course, my liege, we do not intend on interrupting or getting in the middle of your own personal affairs, "Lord Hampton argued, "but the council is here to guide you and we need to remind you, your majesty, that there's a public outcry for a Queen, and more importantly even, the necessary production of an heir to the throne."

You looked around the table, the other Lords nodded and muttered in agreement.. You saw for a moment Lord Bennet staring at you, a strange look of displease in his eyes that was gone as soon as he noticed that you had seen it 

"In that sense, I wonder, my Lady," Lord Bennet spoke directing his words to you, "what about you? I am sure most of my Lord colleagues would appreciate to have our dealings with a rightful ruler of Calormen, and so, when do you have intentions of marrying and finding such person?"

You stared at him astonished, was he...was he directly challenging your legitimacy as ruler? Your eyesight crossed briefly with Caspian’s.

"Lord Bennet,” Caspian started getting up from his chair expressing exasperatedly his concerns, “I do not by any means think it is polite to ask a lady a question in those regards!". 

"Oh no, by all means my lord, it is perfectly okay," you interrupted him, giving a poignant look that made him sit back down, "I am the rightful ruler of Calormen and so I assure you that, with or without a husband, our dealings are secured", you affirmed, "however, in regards to your question about when I am to be wed, my answer is: all in due time, my lord, all in due time." 

He looked thoroughly displeased with the answer, pressing his lips together in a tight line. The rest of the room filled with awkward silence. What a strange man, you thought, he's probably one of those people who have been spreading conspiracies about me seducing Caspian to overthrow Narnia. And judging by the rest of them, he clearly wasn't the only one.  

By the end of the meeting you were exhausted and in desperate need for fresh air away from the tension in that room. All those present rose from their seats in loud free flowing conversation, you were about to reach for Caspian to talk about where were you going to go next when Lord Bennet cut in front of you, grabbing his king by the arm and stealing him away for conversation, you could only briefly overhear a few of the lines spoken.

"You see, my liege, my daughter Genevieve is exceptionally excited for the celebrations taking place, she's been preparing for what it seems like weeks with her silly womanly antiques," you had to control yourself to not roll your eyes after his ridiculous consideration, it always irked you seeing men speaking in such ways about their daughters, reminded you a lot how your father would speak of you to others, "I'm afraid she already spent the equivalent of a whole year's worth of grain in gold just buying dresses and jewelry," he laughed and then continued, "she's a very beautiful girl and very much looking forward to meeting you, my King."

Caspian only nodded along politely, crossing his arms in front of chest, trying to keep the man further away from him as possible in such a small space. Certainly he didn't want to be in that conversation almost as much as you were hating be overhearing it. Something clicked on that moment though and everything made sense: Lord Alistair Bennett had no interest in particular over the problems that came with not having a line of succession to the throne, his goal was more in regards to seizing power through his poor daughter. If she were to become the next queen of Narnia, who knows how much power he could usurp through her position? That worried you. Men like that worried you. Those who didn't care about anything other then power. Those who were willing to do anything to reach it, even selling their daughters. You still remembered as if it had happened yesterday the way your own father had attempted to sell you to the highest bidder when you were still a young naive girl. He failed and never got another chance after that, you thought bitterly.

Maybe it was better if you waited outside for Caspian to finish his business 

You started to make your way to the door and jumped when a soft hand was placed upon your elbow stopping you on where you stood.

"I was hoping you and I could have a bit a chat before I lose your attention to our King, my Lady," you looked to the one who was speaking and saw the only other woman who had attended the council meeting other than you, "I think it is wise for us woman to stick together, don't you, dear?". 

You grinned in approval when you saw the mischief in her eyes, it seemed that finally, you had maybe found yourself an ally other than Caspian. 

"I must admit I am impressed, I struggled much more than you when I first started having to be in the same room as these stuffy old Lords to try and put something other than war and greed into their small brains," she muttered, "you handled them quite nicely, I think."

"I appreciate your kindness, Lady Lockwood" you smiled, “I am however only here to serve my country.”

"Oh please, dear, don't be silly, call me Helena," she intertwined her arm with yours as you walked together in direction of the door, "I wish my son Elias was here to meet you so I could finally show him what a real woman of honor looks like instead of the filthy whores he enjoys fucking so much."

You stood in wide-eyed astonishment with her words, unsure of what to do or how to react to her blunt sincerity. 

"Don't be shy, silly," she brushed her behavior off, "I am old so I'm allowed to say such things."

You chuckled uncomfortably to her words, still too surprised to say anything of substance. 

"Another matter that quite surprised me is how much you, thankfully, look like your mother...." she said. 

"You knew my mother?", you looked at her, not understanding how that was possible.

"Yes, I did, in fact I met her as a young maiden long before the poor girl had to be given away to that ratchet man.", she pursed her lips in disgust when referring to your father, "I even thought for a moment of arranging a betrothal between my son Thomas and her, but soon I found out I was too late and her fate was already sealed", she exhaled in disappointment, as if a minor inconvenience had just come across interrupting her day, "better to have been a bored lady than a tortured queen, I suppose."

You shrieked on her mention of a tortured queen. A flash came across your mind. A world in which your mother wouldn't have been shipped off to marry of father as a payment for a transaction. A world in which she could've fallen in love and gotten married, maybe even with Lady Helena's son. She would have known love and peace and forgiveness, her body wouldn't have been disgraced with abuse. Her life wouldn't have been destroyed by the men who, at least in part, played a role in giving you life, only to then torture you and your brother, the only things that brought any light into her life. She would've been safe from all the pain she endured in Calormen. In a perfect world, you'd be safe with her, maybe even be a lady in court, someone who'd been trained in the arts of sewing and not bearing a sword, someone who could easily charm a man into naive courtship, get married and live happily ever after, but that wasn't the case.

Caspian must have noticed your distress, and thankfully finally been able to get rid of the Lords that surrounded him because he was soon standing by your side, sliding a protective hand on the small of your back. You attempted and failed to hide your embarassement.

"Lady Helena," he said and then placed a kiss upon her hand, "I am sure you and our friend have much to talk about but I am afraid we have many tasks planned for the day and I'll unfortunately have to steal her away from you," he smiled charmingly, and in that moment you noticed how he was a perfect trickster. His good boy charms took him far. That in itself made you adore him even more.

"Oh yes, of course, my King," she bowed politely, throwing a glance in your direction, "I will be on my way and leave you to your tasks.", she giggled pronouncing the last word. 

She walked down the hall and when she was finally out of ear sight you finally let yourself breathe.

"Oh thank god, you saved me," you exhaled laughing, "I was completely unsure on what to do next."

"I wouldn't worry too much about her," Caspian responded, his hand lingered on your back as he started giving you reassuring rubs with his thumb, "and I am not so sure that you need anyone to save you."

"That's really funny, Caspian," you chuckled, "next time, please don't leave me alone for too long."

He came closer, whispering in your ear "I don't intend to ever do that my lady".

You were so struck by his boldness that you took a step back, looking embarrassed. You cleared your throat before speaking.

"So where do we go now?".

He paused, looking around to check one last time if anyone was overhearing you, a smirk played on his lips when he answered,"Now, we ride out". 

Caspian moved along with you, again placing a hand on the small of your back to guide you through the crowds, he seemed to enjoy doing that, as if he was somehow protecting you. Lilyan and Lorien followed closely behind, exchanging a strange look between them, frowning over the King's action towards you. You seemed comfortable, though, which showed them that that it most definitely wasn't the first time he had touched you like that. They worried for you, after all it was their duty to protect you, and maybe it wasn't good that he acted in this way. Soon you'd go home and he would stay, you'd be separated for the years to come, probably only meeting again in unfortunate circumstances, and what would come of all this intimacy? They shrugged it off thought, it wasn’t their business, after all, you were wise enough to make your own decisions.

And so you did. Both of you, now escorted by a group of two castle guards and your companions Captain Lilyan and Lorian made your way on horseback to the nearest village around Cair Paravel. Caspian was making good on his promise of showing you some of the beauty that Narnia had to offer during your stay, and it turned out that a lot of it lied among its people. With all the imagination and descriptions in the world,the paintings you had seen in countless books, nothing could've prepared you for the sight upon you. When Caspian said he wanted to show you around the villages near Cair Paravel you pictured a small market and a few simple houses, but this...well, this was beaming with life and glory. An enormous avenue built of white stone charted a path that cut the entire town, huge thatched-roof houses, a square with a water fountain marking its middle where a group of children played, throwing water at each other. Farther away, you could spot a band, cheering on and entertaining wanderers, two beautiful dancers moving in harmony to the tune being played. You smiled and took in the smell of freshly baked pie coming for a nearby bakery, immediately climbing off your horse to explore on your own pace. 

As you made your way around, many different aspects jumped to your attention other than the colors, music and fresh air. There was laughter and rumble that reminded you so much of home. Caspian caught you looking more then tentatively at a particular fabric store that displayed the most gorgeous intricate tapestries you'd ever laid your eyes upon.

"Do you wish to go over and look more closely?", he asked.

"Yes," you barely had time to respond before he grabbed your hand and dragged you with him. You laughed and before you knew you had been chatting for quite a long time with the owners of the store, a woman named Cordelia and her husband. 

"I am honestly so very impressed," you looked closer at a particular sample they had presented to you of a golden woven fabric, "I have to admit I had never seen such beautiful work, I'd love to bring some of your pieces back home with me."

Caspian watched as the couple scrambled to thank you for your praise and offer you some of their best work for you to take back to Calormen with you, both of them expressing their honor in the matter endlessly. After choosing more than a couple of pieces of cloth you paid for your newly purchased items and told the store owners that later that day some of your people will come by to get them.

You and Caspian moved on with your walk, he pointed out specific places to you, where they made the best food, the best bakery, the finest weaponry.

You stared at everything in awe, all news things brought a smile to your lips that Caspian had been struggling all afternoon to keep his gaze away. He must have been staring a lot at your, because at some point the pair of you were stopped by a flower merchant who made a show of bowing to you both.

"What a beautiful couple your majesties make," he bowed "my King, why not give flowers to the beautiful lady who accompanies you?" he gave Caspian a knowing look.

 A nervous smile illuminated your features, as Caspian responded that yes, of course you were deserving of the most gorgeous arrangement the merchant could provide and then proceeded to give you a bouquet of mixed flowers, neatly tied with a ribbon in a bow. You looked around, attempting to diffuse the  self-consciousness heat that ran up your spine and shield yourself away from Caspian's eyes, instead you were met with a crowd that had started to gather around you, people gleefully greeting their King and yourself. The flower merchant took advantage of your distraction and whispered to Caspian, "You are very lucky man, my liege, a woman like that is hard to find." He was gone before Caspian could fumble his words out of those comments. 

Soon, a little girl who probably didn't have more than five years old tugged on your dress requesting your attention, you crouched down to her level, her thin voice asking: "Would you like to dance with me and my friends?"

To which you, for Caspian's surprise, replied, "Well, that depends...can you teach me how to dance?"

The girl's eyes shone bright as she answered, "Yes! It will be brilliant, just follow my steps.

Before he could say anything, you had been pulled by the hand to join a group of girls, giving them your fullest attention as they taught you the steps of their routine. Caspian stood watching you from afar, hearing your laughter from where he stood, the sun was still shining bright illuminating your skin in a golden hue, the world around him seemed to disappear as he watched your every move. Inside he was amazed at how easily you were able to win his people's affections so quickly and he could feel something different blooming inside him. 

For the past three years he had found himself constantly thinking of you, but having you there, in front of him, bone and flesh made the whole difference in the world. He had spent so long dreaming about you that he had forgotten how much better it was to have you close to him. And now, watching you talk and interact with his people he couldn't help but feel a roaring pride that yes, he in fact was right about you. He was right to think of you as a kind, loving, devoted leader, a smart funny beautiful woman that made him feel as if he was a teenager once more, trying to figure out how to properly act around a pretty girl. 

All of those things only made it worse when reality hit him. He had to make himself stop thinking about you in such way. It not only wasn't proper, it was something impossible that would only hurt you. You valued his friendship, and he knew that, so what would you think if you knew about those dangerous thoughts going on his head. Besides, he was already on his way to marriage, lots of Lords, including several members of the Council had introduced their daughters to him, all of them that could make a powerful match for a royal marriage. So why was it that every time you were near him, he couldn't help but think about the softness of your skin and your cunning eyes staring back at him. Why was it that he often caught himself staring at your lips when you spoke?

"So, you are a Queen?", a little girl's voice broke him from his mental gymnastics, "you mean you are married to a King?".

Farther away, Caspian saw that you were sitting in a circle, surrounded by small children, your hands carefully braiding the hair of the child who had asked you the question."

"Yes, I am a Queen, Lucy," your hands made a crossing movement, continuing to braid the girl's long locks, "but I am not married to a King, you see I was the firstborn, so ever since I was a baby I was meant to rule."

"That's quite nice," little Lucy responded, "My mom said that Narnia has no Queen, or princesses, but hey!" the girl turned suddenly to you, "maybe you could be our Queen!".

The children around you seemed to agree, nodding along with Lucy's idea. Caspian saw that once you shifted on your feet, trying to diffuse your self consciousness, he could feel his body heat rising just on the idea. 

You cleared your throat, "Actually, as much as I wish I was your Queen, my dear Lucy," you attempted to say diplomatically, "the king and I are only very good friends." He saw your eyes flickering to him and quickly moving elsewhere once he met your gaze.

"Ah, that's too bad," she responded, quickly going back to talking about all the things she most like to do around the village. 

It was almost night time when you finally returned to the castle. Caspian didn't speak much on the ride home, his head was too full of confusing thoughts, a mingle of memories ranging from council meetings, sprinkled with fresh memories from his day by your side. You climbed off your horse and insisted on assisting him with putting the horses back on the stables. He watched you in amusement as you took the saddle off the horse and started brushing it carefully, humming a soothing melody along with the work. Your fingers carefully working away the knots on the horse's mane. 

When the night came to a close, in the safety of his bedchambers, Caspian was beginning to understand that those thoughts he'd been having about you might not be as as harmless as he once believed.

-

Tagging some people that expressed that they enjoyed the first chapter :)

@a-dorky-book-keeper​​ @lilbabyhoneypot​

[kennahbunny]

Harry Potter Preferences Pt 2: Relationship Development

Disclaimer!: If you haven’t read my other HP Preference “How you guys meet” then this won’t make much sense. I also plan on making a single imagine for each of the boys for their storyline, so please be patient. I have to brainstorm then write drafts for each story then finalize, then edit, then post. So it’ll take a while to say the least. I also have so many ideas about a crossover with different shows! AHH! I’m so excited! Also, I’m posting these stories on Wattpad and Tumblr.

Part 1  Masterlist

Harry: After you helped him with his potions homework that one night. He noticed you more every day, he kept an eye out for you hoping to see you say thank you and hopefully make it a regular thing. When he did see you, it was in a class where he couldn’t just get up and talk to you and when class was over you seemed to disappear when class was dismissed. He was determined to talk to you, and when you weren’t in class when he saw you, you were surrounded by your girlfriends, laughing, gossiping. A week went by when he finally saw you alone, he took his chance to ask you for a study date. Harry wanted to know, you were so kind to him, you didn’t seem to care about him being the chosen one. He felt like he could talk to you, open up and talk about his past without somebody asking about ‘you know who’.

Months pass and now you’re close friends and your feelings for each other grew even more but neither one of you wanted to ruin the amazing friendship that you had. Every Quidditch match you went to for him, you weren’t as close with him as the golden trio they had their special bond. What you guys had was special, he kept telling Ron how he felt about you and how afraid he is to ask you out just cause of the fact that you might say no and that you don’t feel the same. Boys, right? So a week passed of you two being awkward, both contemplating to admitting your feelings and eventually, it gets to the point where you finally build up the courage to ask him.

You notice Harry in the courtyard with Hermione and Ron, you run up to them thinking, 'Oh what the hell.’ “Harry!” They all turn their heads when they recognize your voice, they say their hellos but your mind was on one thing. “Hey, Harry can I talk to you for a sec?” Hermione and Ron share a knowing look, Harry nods and says sure. I pull him to the side,

“So what is it that you needed to pull me aside to say?”  You gave him a nervous smile, “Would you like to go to Hogsmeade?”

“Like all together? Sure.”

“No, like just us on a date?” He smiled, “I thought you didn’t like me like that. To be honest, (Y/n) I’ve fancied you awhile and was too afraid to ask you and I’m so glad you did.” You were so relieved you kissed him on the cheek, then blushed once you realized what you did. “Oh, sorry.” He didn’t say anything, he just simply returned the kiss and said he’d see you this weekend.

Ron: Days after the party Ron couldn’t shut up about you, it was starting to get on Harry’s nerves and Hermione’s not because she was jealous or anything she thinks you would be good for Ron, it’s just Ron couldn’t go one conversation without mentioning your name. For example,

“Ron, did you get that Transfiguration homework done?” Hermione asked.

“No, but I bet (Y/n) probably did, she’s so talented and smart. Did you see her today? She’s so pretty an-,”

“Ronald!” Hermione snapped her fingers in his to snap him out of his trance, “I get it, you fancy (Y/n) but that’s not what I asked.” she huffed, “Just man up and go ask her out.” Harry nodded, “Yeah mate, it’s getting old at this point.” He patted Ron’s shoulder and nodded in (Y/n)’s direction. Ron noticed and instantly stiffened up, his heart raced every time he saw you. So that’s what he did, well that’s what he attempted to do…

It ended up being a complete disaster… When he approached you at the entrance of the great hall, he froze but it was too late you already saw him and waved, excited to see him and get a chance to talk to him again. “Hey! I’ve been meaning to chat with you again,” You meet him halfway, you can’t help but smile every time you see him. There was just something about him that made you happy, meanwhile, in Ron’s brain, it looked like that one scene in Spongebob where his brain was on fire and there was mini Spongebob’s running around screaming. Yeah, that was what it looked like. Ron blackout, but from (Y/n)’s p.o.v his words came out fast and all jumbled.

“Uhhh… erm, Hiwouldyouli-want-tomaybegoonadatewithme?” He was visibly nervous, he swaying side to side, and you could guess his hands were clammy. You felt bad for the guy, you fancy him too.

“I’m sorry?” You gave a sympathetic look towards him, trying your best to understand what he just said. You think you heard the word date? He took a deep breath and tried saying it again,

“Would you like to go on a date with me? Please?” Ron wanted to punch himself for being such a git, he was thinking this is going very bad and he was so lost in his thoughts that he barely heard (Y/n) says yes.

“What?” He looked confused, “Did you say yes?” You giggled at his nervousness, “Yes, I’d love to go on a date with you.” He has a goofy smile on his face, “Great, so this weekend?” You nod eagerly.

Draco: The past few weeks, you dreaded going to potions class. Every day it spiked up your anxiety levels to the max, you try to stay as calm as possible but your thoughts keep running in circles about how good Draco smells and other things, then you tell yourself to snap out of it and by the time you do you’ve missed a section of very important notes or you knicked yourself with the knife when you were supposed to be cutting some ingredient. Damn. Before you swapped partners you were the 3rd best in class, right behind Draco who was behind Hermione. 'Maybe Snape did have the right idea putting use together, he probably thought we’d make a good pair considering how smart we both are. He’s probably disappointed with how many mistakes I’ve made since working with Draco, and Draco must be annoyed with my clumsiness. Why do I have to have a crush on such a git?! Merlin, I need to get a grip.’

When I’m not messing up it seems like Draco enjoys my company? Or isn’t completely annoyed by it anyway. We get along well enough,

“Hey, erm, do you have any plans later tonight?” I turn my head to look at Draco. 'Did I just hear that right? Did Draco Malfoy just ask me out?’ I turn my head to see Snape going over our homework from last week,

“Um, I just have some homework from other classes to go over but other than that I’m free. Why you ask?” I whisper back unsure of what his intentions were? These past weeks, Hermione has told me Draco hasn’t been harassing her as much which I find strange but I’m glad about that. “No reason, well it’s just that you could use some extra studying and I thought you’d enjoy my company.” 'Ugh, why do I like this guy?’  “Uh, thanks? We could study together after dinner, that’ll give us a couple of hours before curfew. Sound good?” He nods then goes on with class like that conversation never happened. 'What the hell just happened?’  

Fred: Ever since that prank you pulled on that Ravenclaw word spread and still no one knew who pulled it off. Of course, there was an announcement saying that the staff knows who done it so they might as well come forward and accept their punishment but weeks went by and nothing happened, no surprise there. The only people who knew were Fred, George, and your two dormmates. Fred was so proud of you, well everyone was but Fred especially. After that prank you caught yourself spending more time with the Weasley twins and you started to develop a crush on Fred. There was something about his personality, he was so easy to talk to aswell.

Free period, I finally get a chance to breathe. “(Y/n)!” Noo~ I turn around to figure out if it was George or Fred calling my name so I know who to knee in the balls, they know not to bother with my “study” time. I just want to go to my common room and take a nap, that’s it. The time I waste talking to whoever, there goes how many minutes of sleep I lost.

Oh, it’s Fred. “Oh, hey Fred.” I move to the side of the hallway so I don’t get crushed by the stampede of students. Damn, he’s cute. “Hey, (Y/n) I was wondering if you wanted to join me and a few of my other friends this weekend at Hogsmeade?”

“Sure, I’d like that. May I ask why the sudden interest in me?”

“Well, if you must I fancy you” You’re taken back “Really? You fancy me?,” You pointed to yourself, “Not Angelica? Because I heard she fancies you, also I’m so boring. I don’t understand why you would fancy someone like m-”

“(Y/n)! I fancy you alright and there are reasons I fancy you. The more time I spend with you the more I fall for you. I find it adorable that you take naps after classes and one more thing you’re not boring! You’re hilarious, you’re so carefree and that prank idea you had was genius! So please stop being so down on yourself and please come to Hogsmeade with me this weekend” The entire time he was caressing your face, it was sort of difficult to focus on his words when you were so lost in his eyes.

You can’t stop smiling, so you just nod a yes, “Great, now will you let me join you for a nap. I could use one right about now.” You looked confused, “Wait, I thought you didn’t have a free period today?” You raise your eyebrow in confusion.

“You’re right I don’t but it’ll probably be boring and I would most likely fall asleep, so why sleep there at an uncomfortable desk when I could be cuddling you?” You laugh as he sends you a wink, “Who said anything about cuddling?” “I just did.” You laugh some more, “Now cmon slowpoke time’s a-wasting.”

George: The Yule ball was still a while away so you were glad George asked you when he did. On our date, we found out a lot about each other and we have a lot in common. And you became a little bit less mysterious to him and his feelings grew more for you. You had no idea what he had planned for the date so when he told you to meet him at the Astormany Tower at 11:00 pm you were a bit anxious, to say the least.

You try you’re best to walk quietly so you won’t draw any attention from a prefect or worse Flich or Mrs. Norris. It was freezing out so it was really difficult to look cute while not freezing to death. So just opted for a hoodie and some skinny jeans, you tried your best with your makeup skills, you decided to keep it natural and you left your hair down. You kept fidgeting with your hair and hoodie strings as you make your way up the tower’s stairs. At the top of the stairs, you see his read hair almost immediately, you also notice a blanket spread out on the ground with a woven basket sitting next to him.

He still hadn’t noticed you, and an evil idea popped into your head. You closer you snuck towards the less control you had of keeping a straight face, you couldn’t help a huge grin. You make a growling noise as you grab his shoulders quicky,

“Merlin!” George jumps up from his spot, “he turns around quickly to see me laughing. He can’t help but laugh as well, "Well hello to you too,” You calm down from your laughing fit and finally admire the scene George laid out in front of you. It looked absolutely beautiful out tonight, the stars were out and the moon was bright enough to light up the tower. You were at a loss for words, that was until George offered you a seat which you gladly accepted. The rest of the night was filled with laughter, endless talking and food lots of food. That date was only the beginning of something great.

Neville: Second year, you became friends, you always stood up for him against Malfoy or any other person that gave him a hard time. Third-year, he started to develop a crush now that both of you were changing, growing into your bodies. There was something about you that changed that only he truly noticed, you were more confident in yourself. You were before last year but you’re even more so now and it made him care about you, even more. Now it’s year four, a full two years later and talk about the Yule Ball has come into full effect. The talk about the ball is stressful but so is this essay for Muggle Studies.

You help him with his self-esteem problems, you’re his outlet when it comes to his feelings about his parents and his grandmother. Neville tells you things that he just can’t with his grandmother, every day you two grow closer but you’re too scared to admit the way you feel to him because you think he just sees you as a friend, nothing more than that. You like the way things are and you don’t want to risk anything by saying something you might regret.

“Hey, Neville,” You guys were sprawled out on one of the couches in the Gryffindor common room You guys tend to take up the whole couch which annoys some people, you were laying on your back while Neville was sitting properly on the couch as you were using him as a footrest. You tap him with your foot until he lifts his head from his Herbology book he was lost in.

“Hmm, yeah?” He glances at you then goes back to his book, “Ugh, Neville~~~ I need your help with my essay. Can you please reread it, I feel like I can do better with it.” He closes his book, to give you his full attention, “Alright, hand it over.” You hand him your paper, he takes a few minutes going over your paper and you take this moment to gaze at him. You think about how attractive he’s become since you first met him, he’s truly becoming a man and damn do you wish he will take you to the Yule ball.

“(y/n), did you hear me?” You snap out of your thought and come back to Earth, “Huh, sorry I was spacing out.” He laughs, “Well yeah that’s because you’ve been up all night and getting up early in the mornings to finish this essay.” He hands back your essay and starts to push your legs off his lap. You sit up, eager to what he has to say, “Well how is it? Does it more detail? Does it sound good enough, do I need to edit it anymore-” “Alright, I’m going to stop you there.” He turns to face towards me, grabs my hands and pulls me in closer. “It’s perfect. Now go to bed.”

Cedric: Every week you and Cedric would meet at a tree near the Black Lake and you’d swap books. You’d give him a muggle book and he’d give you one that he’d think you’ll love, and every week you’d talk for hours about how much would love or hate that book. He found your passion for books to be adorable, he found it so cute that you’d rant about how much you’d dislike a certain character or how a different character deserves to be treated better and that they’re misunderstood.

You were ranting on and on about how Luce from Lauren Kate’s “Fallen” doesn’t deserve Daniel because she treats him horribly for some reason?. He stopped listening after a while because he was too distracted by the way the sun hits the back of your hair. It sort of had a halo effect and he thought you looked absolutely stunning, he always thought you looked amazing even if you didn’t. He is so captivated by your beauty that his silence didn’t go unnoticed by you, you thought you were boring him so you stopped taking about starting blushing.

“Sorry, am I boring?"Cedric being the gentleman he says, "Oh no of course not, I just love how passionate you are about these things. It’s one of the reasons I fancy you.” He gave you one of his signature smiles. You stared at him dumbfounded, “Sorry what? Did you just say you fancy me?” You really couldn’t believe your ears. He sat up from his laying position to look at you properly, (Y/n) would you like to go on a date with me?“ Cedric hoped deeply that you would say yes, with a hopeful look on his face your mind was racing with questions. "Well? What do you say?”

“Uh, yes, of course, I’ll go on a date with you.” You were so happy you didn’t care what was the reason he’d fancied you but your mind did quickly fill with insecurities. “Ced?” He smiled, he loved the fact that you already have a nickname for me. “Yes?” “Why do you want to go on a date with me? I swore you like Cho?” He gave you a confused look, “Cho? I don’t fancy her at all, she’s pretty and all but you’re who I’m interested in. I feel like I already know you, you are so down to earth and I want to get to know you more. I need to get to know you more or I feel like I might explode, there’s something so captivating about you and I can’t put my finger on it.”

You were at a loss for words, and before you knew what you were doing you hugged him and he returned the favor within seconds. “I never have had someone say something so sweet about me like that, and that speech how can I say no?”

[imaginationintowords]

Falling

Harry Styles x Famous!Reader angst

[Plot: inspired/loosely based on Harry’s song Falling. Harry and his famous ex sit down to talk, for the first time since their breakup years prior.]

[hope you guys like this. Started drafting this last month after I first heard Falling. Let me know what you think!]

To support my ko-fi

When Y/n was approached to do this interview she had agreed to do so, with an open mind. She was finally in a place where she could talk about what had happened without breaking down or feeling any kind of negative reaction. She had finally healed, properly in private over the past few years. She had finally moved on, found someone who treats her as their equal. But something stilled seemed off, it wasn't until her therapist brought up the idea of finally getting closure. Closure. She would finally be able to ask the questions she had let go, the insecurities that sometimes still loomed over her current relationship. So she agreed to do this artist on artist interview when approached by Variety.

Yes it was a way to promote the new movie that she is not only staring in, but co-wrote with one of her best friends. A movie inspired by heartbreak. She didn't do it for the promo though, the movie was already generating Oscar buzz. She is doing it for herself, to finally close this chapter once and for all. Once it was closed for good, everyone would stop hounding her about what had happened, and if there was any hope for reconciliation, even though she herself has been in a committed two year relationship. She needed to do this to show the world that she is more than just this person's ex.

She was more surprised to hear that he had agreed to do it. There was no one more private than Harry Styles.

This would be the first time they have seen and talked to each other since their breakup in December of 2015. The producers had asked if she wanted to meet him before they started shooting, she declined. If she was going to do this she was going to do this all the way.

The producers decided on having Harry waiting on set in front of the cameras, then Y/n would walk in and greet him. They wanted to keep it as natural as they possibly can in a room filled with cameras and people. The setup was perfect for an intimate one on one. No one off camera was going to be allowed to give any input. It was all on Harry and Y/n to keep the conversation going. Last minute they decided to only have a limited of people in the room, to respect the two artists who were about to bare it all out. So in the end it would be two camera guys, the director, one producer, Harry and Y/n's manager, Harry's mum Anne, who had decided to come last minute, and the two main acts.

"You ready?" Cat, Y/n's manager, asked her as the sound guy finished putting her mic on.

"Yeah. I am." Y/n nodded, looking at herself one final time, before they began the short walk to set.

When Y/n walked in she was greeted by the director and producer, politely shaking their hands. She immediately felt his eyes on her from where he sat in front of the cameras, patiently waiting for her. For once in her life she actually wasn't nervous, she had been nervous the last couple of weeks leading up to this, but right now as she listens to the director explaining what's going to happen, she feels a sense of relief, to finally get the closure she deserves.

Harry on the other hand was a bundle of nerves, he hasn't been able to sleep properly since he agreed to do this. He had only agreed because he wasn't expecting Y/n to agree to do it. She had kept his name out of her mouth in the media since the day they broke up. He had a feeling she and her team also had him blacklisted, any media outlet forbidden to ask Y/n questions about him and their failed relationship.

When he had heard she agreed to do it, he could have sworn his heart stopped for a second. He was actually going to have to do this. That scared the shit out of him. He would have to be vulnerable in front of not just the world, but the girl that he had broken. The girl that still to this day occupied his mind from time to time. The girl that he couldn’t help but compare all the other girls after to. The girl that he still wrote songs about to this day. The girl that just by being in the same room as her had him falling in love all over again. 

The second he saw her enter the room, his heart stopped, his breath got caught in his throat. Everything just stood still. She had always had that affect on him. Making him fall just by the sight of her. He was finally able to see her beauty again in person, photos online didn't do her any justice. She was what the media called, "the girl next door" beautiful, everyone adored her, everyone wanted a chance to be with her, and yet she was oblivious to it all. Never truly believing she was as beautiful as everyone made it seem, and in some way that was probably his fault, for not making her believe she was truly that beautiful.

It took everything in his power not to go over to her and embrace her. He had to will himself to stay in his seat, until she approached him.

She finally made her way over to him, well more to her seat across from him.

Harry had started to get up, until he realized he wouldn't be getting the same greeting that everyone else got, so he sat back down, slightly embarrassed.

"Hi." She softly greeted him, as she sat in her seat.

"Hi." Now that she was in front of him, he had no idea what to say or how to begin all of this.

"Nervous?" She asked him.

She always did know him so well.

"Very. You?" He lightly laughed, making eye contact with her for the first time in years. Just like that he can’t help himself but to fall for her 

"A little. More curious than anything." She honestly answered, willing herself to forget about the cameras around.

"Really? Why so?" Harry asked, taken back by her answer.

"There's a lot of unanswered questions between us and I think we owe it to each other to find those out. So I'm curious to see what your take was on everything."

"Right." He started to get more nervous.

This was going to be a very emotional hour, for the both of them.

There was a beat of silence, then Y/n took a deep breath and began.

"How about we start easy then. How have you been? And don't give me that politically correct Harry Styles bullshit. Truthfully how have you been?" She asks, which causes Harry to let out a snort laugh.

"I've actually been good. Finishing up this new album. Working my ass on it. But I'm very proud of it. Really let my guard down this time."

"Difficult isn't it? Having to let your guard down, afraid of what everyone is going to make of it. But I guess that's why we do it, huh." She states.

"Exactly. I mean an album is nothing compared to writing a whole feature film. Talk about being vulnerable. I can't imagine doing that." Harry praises her. He remembers when she had told him years ago, during the first year of their relationship, that she and her best friend were writing a movie together.

"Yeah. That wasn't easy. We went through many, many drafts. Originally we wanted to write a romantic comedy. It wasn't until-" She stops herself, forgetting for a second who she was talking to.

"Until?" he presses her to continue, having a feeling of what her answer was going to be.

"It wasn't until we broke up that we decided a romantic comedy wasn't what we needed to write. I couldn't write one, not after that." She honestly answered.

"Why is that?"

"Because after our break up, the only thing I could write about was heartbreak. And not that cheesy sugarcoated shit, the real honest truth heartbreak. It just started to flow out of me, as soon as I started to type, that's what came out. So that's when we decided to change the idea of the movie. If we were going to put out a movie about breakups, it was going to be about great big breakups. Not just the bad ones. Not just the good ones, if those even exist. The ones that change a person. The ones that shake you to your core. The ones that don't seem possible to recover from. The ones that have you questioning, how can you ever fall out of love with someone you had planned to spend the rest of your life with. Those kinds of breakups. The everlasting ones." Y/n felt her eyes began to tear up as she described her inspiration. She took a breath to calm her nerves.

"Wow." Harry responded, feeling himself get choked up.

"I'm sorry." he apologized.

"For what?" Y/n asked, taken back by his apology. His long overdue apology.

"For the way our relationship ended. I'm sorry." He tearfully apologized.

"Our relationship was long over before we ended it. We should've ended our relationship before it got bad, but I think we were both holding onto something we both thought we could salvage. But we were just too far gone. We were just too young. I loved you, I was scared."

"Selfishly I didn't want to let you go, because I couldn't bare the thought of you loving someone else. Selfishly, I still can't bare the thought of you loving someone else." He truthfully tells her.

"That's unfair of you."

"Do you hate me?" Harry asked, the one question he's been dying to ask. If he didn't ask it now, he wouldn't have the guts to ask it later on. Better to just rip the band-aid off.

"Hate is such a powerful word. Small, but powerful. But I did. Not anymore. But yeah, I hated you. I think you know, slash, knew that. I wanted nothing to do with you. The way we ended, it shattered me. Then to see the pictures of you with another girl less than a month later. I wanted nothing but to hate you."

The answer knocked the wind out of him a little, he always assumed she hated him, but the confirmation just broke him.

"In the past almost four years, I've learned a lot about myself. Who I am without you. Who I was with you. Looking back on it, I didn't like who I was with you. I loved you so much, that I would do whatever you asked of me. Looking back, I don't even know who that girl was. I can't even fathom that i was like that. I was more mad that I had let myself become like that. I had always prided myself in being an independent woman, especially back then. But that definitely wasn't the case. I had lost myself to you.

Looking back on it now, it wasn't real. Who we were in public versus who we were behind closed doors.  We would be all happy out in the world but the second we got home, and those doors closed behind us, we just shut each other out. You shut me out. You were seeking comfort from other. When I should have been the one you ran to. You had written songs about being able to run to me for anything, but that wasn't the truth. It became pretty clear that we weren't happy anymore. That you weren't happy anymore in the relationship."

"I was." Harry retorted, feeling upset that that's how she felt.

"No you weren't. If you were, you wouldn't have done what you did. You wouldn't have said what you said. I wouldn't have left in such a haste that final night. You weren't happy. Neither was I. And it's okay to admit that." She calmly said.

Her calm demeanor was starting to make him a bit uncomfortable. He definitely wasn't expecting her to be so calm about this all. Especially since the last time they talked was a screaming match. But then looking back on it now, it was just a one person screaming match, and that ball laid on his court.

"You don't talk about me." He states, trying to regain his composure.

"No, I don't. I couldn't because it was too hard. Especially at the beginning. So I just had any talk of you blacklisted. It was better that way. It isn't the world's business to know what happened. At least not then." she softly laughs signaling to the cameras.

"It's what I needed to heal. Now if someone mentions you, I don't feel the same as I once did. It doesn't break me. Truthfully, until someone mentions you, I kind of forget."

"Sorry." she apologizes, when she sees his reaction to her answer.

"Have you listened to any of my solo stuff?"

"No. I couldn't. And as time went by I didn't feel the need to. I think it's better that way."

"Didn't you ever get curious?"

"No. My friends told me about it. Even said you slipped my name in one of the songs. Which I think, at the time, just added more fuel to the fire."

"Really?"

"Not everyone is going to find that endearing, Harry. Especially not with the way we ended. I didn't want to hear you playing the victim." She explains to him, a little offended by his reaction.

"I wasn't." He defended himself.

"Right. We were both at fault, but last time I checked you were the one moving on after a few short weeks. At that moment, when I heard you name dropping me, and then to see the comments online, it made me so mad. And it was a set back to my own healing. Here you are telling the world how heartbroken you are, but then you are just out in the open with a new girl, no worries on how that would make me feel." she emotionally tells him, with tears in her eyes.

"Which took me some time to realize that you didn't owe me anything. We were no longer together. You were free to do whatever you pleased, with whoever you pleased. I had to accept that I had no right in the decisions that you made post-us." she calms down.

"We were never meant to last forever. I see that now." she expresses what she had learned years ago, the revelation that finally allowed her to move on.

“You’re going to need to stop doing that.” she tells him, he could feel the pity.

“Stop what?”

“Writing songs about me. You need to let me go.” she informs him.

"Do you ever regret our relationship?" he bluntly inquires.

"No. It taught me some valuable things about myself, and about relationships. Do you?" she asks back.

"Never." He says.

There was a moment of silence. No one sure if the conversation is over, as it had already been an hour since they began. The director was about to call cut, when Harry spoke up.

"I'm scared that you'll never need me again." he truthfully says, tears brimming his eyes.

"That shouldn't scare you. You should want nothing but the best for me, like I wish nothing but the best for you." she explains, her eyes matching the same emotion as him, feeling the end of the conversation close by.

"Are you happy?"

"Truthfully? Yes."

"Do you see us ever getting back together?" his bottom lip trembles a bit.

"No." She truthfully answers, a few tears escaping.

"Does he make you happy?"

"Yes." she smiles, at the mention of her current partner.

"Is he the one?" he asks as the tears fall down his cheeks, afraid of the answer that's about to come out of her mouth.

"Yes. He's the one." she bites down on her bottom lip to keep herself from crying out.

"I still love you." he confesses, crying.

"I know." she bittersweetly discloses.

She gives him one final smile, before she gets up and gives his hand a comforting pat, as she makes her final exit out of his life for good.

[Permanent tagged: Permanent tagged: @definitelynotafangirl @1awesomeash @princess-evans-addict @geeksareunique @sebbbystaaan if you’d like to be removed just ask and I’d be happy to do so]

[barafishu]

Glorified Jail: Part 1

Here it is, I finally posted something! I’ve had this in my drafts for so long that it feels good to finally put it out there for someone to read. Now, this is going to have parts to it (which I’m still polishing). But I’d like to thank everyone for being so kind and patient with me. So, without further ado, here you go! Enjoy!

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Male Reader x Deer Minotaur (Nyx)

I was walking to my job, it just being another of work for me. I walked up some old, metal stairs to where all the workers go. When I walked in, I saw the costume designer with pins in his mouth. "Early as always, Jiàn," He spoke through clenched teeth. "Of course, gotta set an example for the other performers," I replied. "That's my boy!" I turned to see my boss, Catherine Valdez. "It's almost time for everybody else to start showing up, so go get ready." She said as she lovingly patted my shoulder. I hummed and left to go ready in the makeup room. I made a beeline for the clothesline and pulled out my outfit. I grinned in excitement as I began to strip.

After I was "suited" up, the next thing to do was apply makeup. I hardly need any because I have a wonderful complexion, but I do put on some concealer for some blemishes, do my brows, eyes, and put lip gloss on. When I'm ready to go on, Catherine came in to see if I was ready. I turned around to look at her. "You look sexy, as usual," She said and I smiled softly. "Thanks." I stood up and walked to stand in front of her. "Let's get going, hot stuff." She teased and I chuckled as I followed her out into the den. The place was bathed in red, as usual. Patrons were seated in their seats, drinking to their heart's content. Alistair's voice huskily spoke throughout the room through a speaker. 

"Hey everyone, and welcome to Red Horizons! Don't forget, tonight is guys night, so drinks for the men are all half price. And now, our next dancer is ready to come out for you! Someone better call a priest, cause it's gettin' sinful in here with this demon, Incubus!" I heard cheers and whistles from the crowd. "It's showtime Jiàn, give 'em a good show," Catherine said as she gave me a wink before she walked away. A promiscuous smile graced my features as I stepped out from behind the curtain and approached the pole in the middle of the room. The crowd erupted with cheers and whistles when I grabbed the pole, swinging myself skillfully around on it.

I moved with grace on the stage, gripping the pole as I spun myself around it. After a few minutes, I started unbuttoning my billowy, white shirt with my back to the pole. I slipped my shirt off as I moved down the pole to my knees before jumped back up and using my shirt now to swing around on the pole before tossing it aside. More whistling erupted from the crowd, and a handful of bills landed on the stage. I continued to tease the crowd, making sure to really show off my figure. "Let's hear it for Incubus! He'll be back later tonight to put on another show for you guys, so stick around! For now, sit back, grab a cool drink and relax. We'll have another show for you guys starting in just a bit!"

With another spin on the pole, I crouched down to father the bills on the stage. With my back to everyone. Several hands reached out to cop a feel of my butt, and when I wagged it around, those same hands slipped more bills under my strap. After collecting all my money, I disappeared into the back to put it away and touch up my makeup and to drink some water. It's my break now, but I wanted to check in with Louis at the bar. The rest of the night was filled with taking drink orders, dancing, and doing a couple of private shows. Soon it was 1am, ending my shift. After a long night of work, I was excited to be going home.

I changed into my day clothes and closed my locker, not forgetting to put on my combination lock. I got outside into the back alley that leads to the employee parking lot. I sigh, staring up at the sky and seeing that the moon is full. "Hello, excuse me?" A rumbling voice shakes me from my poetic thoughts. I jump, staring straight ahead at a broad figure. I reach into my pocket for my keys, which are adorned with pepper spray and a little keychain that looks like a cat, but can be used for stabbing. "Sorry. I, uh-" he holds his hand up defensively. His eyes looked almost empty, as if only filled with regret. His face is contorted into some form of distress, lips quivering as his eyes dart to and fro.

He puts a hand over each of his pockets, face still looking in fear, until his right hands falls over his breast pocket. He breathes a sigh of relief and looks at me. He starts talking, but not in a language I understand. But eventually he finds a thread I can follow. "I was a fool. I had settled down and yet I squandered my one chance at a proper life. Felt the road would always take me in." My brows knitted together, still being suspicious of this man. He took a hesitant breath as he released his clenched fist. "I ended up throwing away the one place I could call a home. It's been rotting for who knows how long and now I'm old. Always wondered if someone would ever take over and treat it right. Now, you do remind me of myself, but I wasn't a good man. Hopefully you don't have the mean streak I had."

He waits for me to confirm or deny if my character matched his own when he was my age. "Well... I'm far from perfect, but I do try my best," I reply casually. "Is that so? I suppose that's as good as it gets. At least nowadays you can try." He stops suddenly but continues nonetheless. "Back in my day my father treated me like dirt and no one batted an eye. I saw that happen a lot, too — I wasn't the only one. It made beasts out of my siblings and I, having a father like that. But don't you think i"m blaming him. You can only point the finger at your dad for so long, eh? At least eventually I found a way to make a living." The man rambles in the same language from before.

I've realized that it's Italian and perhaps I couldn't recognize it in the beginning was because of his drunken state slaughtered it. Sometimes he'll stop and stare at me, as if expecting a response. A nod or a grunt is enough to get him going again. His voice becomes graver and deeper as the night goes on. It is soothing, in a way, even if at times he'll again allude to having a rough, sorrowful past. Eventually, he stops and his gaze seems to shine with lucidity once more. "I must say I am terribly sorry. I'm afraid I never asked for your name." I immediately tell him that it's Jiàn. I don't mind telling him my actual name, since he's so out of it right now. "I'm glad I got to see you again, Jiàn."

I try to recall if I've met him before, but nothing comes up. Maybe his thoughts are too muddled perhaps due to alcohol that he thinks we've met before. The man's eyes become glazed again and his hand starts shaking. "You seem like an open minded man. Things have changed so much. I think it's the technology, spirits, and the arcane don't mix well with it. Or maybe... it's something in the eyes. The unknown is not as frightful either, so much mystery has been lost. and so the bridge with the fantastical broke down." The old man freezes for a moment, then looks back to me. "Oh, I was rambling again, was I? I'm sorry." I shake my head, offering a kind smile.

"Don't worry about it, that's interesting to hear... The world is a more mysterious place than we like to think. Perhaps fantastical things aren't as common, but they manage to slip by the cracks every once in a while. Or perhaps the supernatural is still out there, speaking in whispers instead of speaking plainly," I share my perspective. "Whispers... You are quite a sensitive young man. There's humility in sensing how much there is out there, yet to be learned. Perhaps... Yes, you seem to have turned out nicely. Special. Hum... perhaps you can do it. Here, I'd like you to have this. I'm sure you'll take better care of it than I did." The man takes an old piece of paper form his breast pocket and extends it to me.

"The deed for the place I told you about. The one I squandered. I'm old, tired. I would like you specifically to have it. I don't quite feel like I have any more time to waste." I stare at the folded piece of paper and he waits a moment before continuing. "Just take it. It's yours. A grandiose place, a palace. Time's taken a toll, but you will love it. Just, please, take care of it, be good. Give him a purpose." I raise an eyebrow at him. Did this old man try to give me a palace just like that? Now who would do that? His wandering gaze betrays his drunken state. At times he seems outright confused, as if he didn't know how he got here in the first place.

I can't take it. It wouldn't be right to take advantage of someone like him. And that's assuming that piece of paper is a deed. It might just be a used napkin with a nice seal. The old man's gaze wanders around. With his hand still extended he squints his eyes at me, then looks down to the paper. He struggles to put his thoughts together... but for a brief moment his expression grows firm and lucid. "You must think I'm crazy. But please understand, this is my last chance to do it right. Just... take the deed." I give in to the old man's pleas. I'm just accepting a piece of paper, after all. It's probably nothing, and if it indeed is something important I can try returning it.

The old piece of parchment looks unimaginably ancient — older than you, that's for sure. But the wax on it seems reasonably new, perhaps even fresh. I break open the seal and examine the paper's contents. It's gibberish, written in an alphabet I've ever seen before. Well, it would seem like this was all for nothing. I stick the paper in my jacket pocket. The corners of his mouth wrinkle, and he shakes ever so slightly. But his joy is short-lived. His gaze wanders once again. When his focus returns to you be furrows his brow, taking in each of my features one at a time. The man mumbles something to himself, takes a sip of his coffee, and smiles. "You are a very kind young man, Jiàn."

He does remember your name, at least. "I'm so sorry... I ran away and after a while, I never looked back at what I ran from. Please, forgive me..." I part my lips in confusion. "What do I have to forgive you for? Who are you?" I see the man hesitate and break into a nervous sweat. He then suddenly stops and seems to once again lose all sense. I say my farewell to the old man and thank him for the wonderful company. He subtly bows to me. "No, Jiàn. It is I who ought to be grateful. It was a pleasure meeting you." I leave him and start taking drink orders. The rest of the evening, all I could think about was that weird interaction I had with that old man. "Why talk to me like that? We're strangers... Ugh, I'm too tired for this." 

I now sat in my apartment on my bed. I check the deed again. I couldn't read it at first — maybe I was too tired. But now the once-gibberish characters make some sense to my brain. It's like reading a language that had branched off from my native tongue a few centuries prior. It is just alien enough to be unrecognizable at first. However, when I squint hard enough I find that the characters remind me of my alphabet. And then the words' meaning pops up in my mind. It's unsettling, in a way. It feels as if my brain is shifting from inside out the more I look into it. But try as I might, it's hard to even acknowledge this discomfort — it melts away at the blink of an eye. 

Maybe the old man really had give me something of value after all, not a worthless scrap of paper. I sigh as I settle in my bed, having already stripped myself of my day clothes. It was around noon and while most people would be working or doing another number of things, all I was going to do was sleep. I release a relaxed sigh, happy to just be home and especially, in a bed. However, I couldn't sleep. I tossed and turned and was going from one side of my bed to the other. I huffed as I flopped onto my back and stared at my ceiling. In the corner of my eye, I could see the deed. I felt as if the old parchment was making fun of me.

I muttered a string of curse words as I sat up and harshly grabbed the paper. I narrowed my eyes at it. But as I continued to stare intensely at it, I realized that the words were starting to make sense. It hurt my eyes and I could feel a headache coming on, but I persevered. But I felt as if the paper was sucking in and now I didn't even have the choice to look away. It felt like my surroundings were starting to shift and warp, but I couldn't look to be sure. Suddenly, and to my amazement, the old writing began to glow, illuminating my face. "What the..." I breathed as I ultimately became lost in the scribbles. The last thing that I remember was that I felt extremely dizzy and sleepy... then darkness.

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When I wake up, I slowly realize that I'm not being greeted by my bedroom ceiling. Instead, I only see the large leaves of tropical trees. I abruptly sit up and vigorously look around. I'm in a pocket of trees, I think. "What... What the hell is happening?" I breathe as I begin to panic. I stagger as I get up on my feet and continue to look around. It's then that I spot a giant structure to my right and I realize that it's a palace. Breathing hard I look to the infinite horizon behind me. I look back to the palace as I think about all those details. Something catches my eye, however; a porch overlooking the valley beneath the palace. The valley stretches to the cloudless horizon, framed to the right and left by more cliffs.

Looking down to the bottom I can just make out the outline of a flourishing riverbed stretching out. I notice there's a cave opening in the cliff wall, right below the palace. Its exit lined with statues, the details of which I can't make out at this distance. My thoughts are halted as a more pressing matter sneaks up on me: the heat. Regardless of the weirdness around me, there's no escaping the sweltering sun. I walk to the entrance. The doors are unlocked. It's hard to tell for how long this place has been abandoned. The building itself surely is old, the exterior is severely decayed. It wouldn't be surprising if the interior is teeming with wild animals, rotten walls, and fallen pieces of ceiling.

But instead it's just... dusty. Humid and stagnant too — the walls are water damaged and there's a lot of mold. However it's not as bad as one would think. I call out in the hopes someone, anyone, might be there. Maybe some squatters? But just like outside, there's no signs of human life at all in the palace. Up ahead is a tall spiral staircase going both up and down. No matter how many twists and turns I took, the hallway never wrapped back into itself. Backtracking all the way back to the parlor was the only option. The spiral staircase seemed much more inviting than wandering the seemingly endless hallways. The marble handrails were lined with burnt-out lamps.

It was impossible to see much in the darkness down below. The second floor was mostly bedrooms. But here, the outer hallways were lined with sprawling windows showing a courtyard behind the palace, close to the cliff's edge. I took the hallway leading further towards the palace's back, and a single turn to the right brought me to a vast room. Right beside its entrance was a bar and to the left was a medium sized table and two couches. Further left there was a tall window of stained glass, like the ones in a cathedral. And through a glass door beside this window was a garden. Behind the counter, the bottles of fine spirits are still half-filled. They glimmer in exquisite browns, reds, and blues.

I close my eyes, and imagine how this place was decades ago. The whistling wind shifts. It turns into the hum of human life, footsteps and breathing. Chairs being dragged, cutlery and plates clinking. Laughter, whispers, people talking to each other from one side of the room to the other. People dressed so nicely. A barman in front of me, serving the finest drinks I can imagine. He knows my name and how I like it. And eagerly listening to all my rants and complaints. I open my eyes. I'm back in the abandoned palace, majestic and destroyed. One can understand why the old man wished to pass it on to someone who would care for it. It's then that I remember the deed.

I pat all over my body until I feel something in my jacket's breast pocket. I tap my the pocket once more, making sure the crumpled parchment is still there. Even the yellowed, stained paper exudes warmth now. I stand up and walk out. As I do so, I notice a large purple stain on the floor behind the counter, and the glass shards of what used to be a wine bottle. I proceed further into the palace. There's a lot to see still. All the way down the hallway a set of sliding glass doors beckon me. But from afar the difference is clear. The wallpaper is ripped, and one of the doors is cracked. I step on something hard. A revolver bullet. I push the door to the side and am greeted by an even more chaotic sight. It's the palace's lounge.

The tables was overturned, and all the chairs and plates lay broken on the floor. There's a darkened stain in the middle of the room which trails into the kitchen. It leads me past the pantry and to the massive iron door of a cold room, which is locked from the outside and boarded up. All around the kitchen things are strewn about. There's even a pan on the stove with what must be fossilized food, and the sink is filled with dirty dishes. On a nearby counter is a revolver covered in thick dust, and I think back to the bullet in the hallway and the stain on the restaurant floor. The old man wasn't kidding when he said he wasn't a good person. I breathe in, preparing myself for a terrible sight.

The rusted door fights against my will, but stands no chance. Darkness pours out. The stench strikes first. It's the stagnant smell of blood and rot. It clings to my nose and mouth like a bitter oil. Before my eyes can adjust to the darkness a second wave of stench hits. It's like a farm, too — the scent of dusty fury, maybe even hay, but cooped up in a hot, humid room for decades. And, last but not least, stale shit and piss. This place has it all, the stench of a thousand different deaths. The light pouring into the cold room shines on the floor in front of the doorway. Empty cans of soup and glasses of jam are strewn about over the trail of old blood. Whoever was locked in here didn't die quickly.

The cold room extends into absolute darkness, a hallway in and of itself. I proceed, scraping my shoes on the floor so I don't trip over the refuse. The entire floor is covered with discarded glasses and cans. Whatever scraps were left in them has long rotted, dried and crumbled into dust. Both my footsteps and breathing echo. The overbearing humidity drapes across my back, and my breathing becomes agitated. The stench is stronger. My sight finally adapts to the dark. At what must be the cold room's far wall, I notice something. Whatever is it, it's slouched on the floor, motionless. As if it died where it stood after who knows how long locked here. My eyesight is used to the dark now.

The distant pillar of light bleeding from the doorway is enough to avoid tripping on the discarded glass. I crouch in front of the thing. It seems to have the head of a deer, but it's been mixed with other animals that I can quite place. It's covered in fur, aside from the patches of sickly, exposed skin. Instead of paws or hooves, it has taloned toes, along with a sickle claw. Half of its skull is exposed. The bone still has a smattering of blood dust near the remaining flesh. Its left eye socket is empty and I can't help but involuntarily gulp. And while it seems to have long hair that's in a lazy braid, it can't hide how deathly thin this stag was. It died from starvation, not from whatever destroyed its face.

That's enough. I stand up and turn back to leave. As I do so, my rustling clothes and echoing footsteps break the curtain of silence. That's when I heart it. Breathing as faint as a moth's wings flapping. I look back to the corpse. I realize that it's looking at me. Its chest expands and contracts. I take a step forward and it follows my movements. I stand my ground. The thing's eye remain locked on me, squinting slightly when a string of fresh air blows into the cold room. The exit is just five seconds away if I turn back and sprint. If push comes to shove, the gun is still outside. The thing remains on the floor, barely moving. The blinking of its eye is drawn-out and deliberate.

Its head droops down, as if it can barely hold itself awake. Its lips, or whatever remains of them, part. Its breathing becomes easier to hear. "I beg your forgiveness. I'm in such a sorry state." What an understatement. "What are you?" I ask as I continue to study the peculiar creature. I quickly realize that he's completely naked, not that that bothers me at all. "I am the Palace's Keeper and Prisoner of its walls." His voice is raspy, nearly a string of grunts booming through the room in contrast with his disheveled body. "And you're the Master now, which makes me your servant, bound to your will. I cannot disobey your orders." The thing cradles his head between his arms, his voice comes out muffled.

"If you wish to know what thing am I, I am a hybrid monster. About my sorry state, the previous Master did this to me. As your servant, I shall answer the Master's questions." He remains with his face hidden for awhile longer, he does look up, he stares at the exit and not at me. He squints his eye and raises a deathly thin forearm over it. He scuttles an inch to the side, so my shadow covers him. "You are a prisoner, but you are also the Palace's Keeper?" His eye narrows and ear droops. "Yes. I was sentenced by the High Council to spend eternity here. I am an abomination and failed the one task that was given to me. The High Council made this land to house me in my damnation."

I take a step forward, intrigued by this creature. "The Master is meant to be my torturer, and to the end is given control over the land. But there was a past Master, and with at his will I became the Keeper." He closes his eye for a moment, lost in a daydream. "Why were you locked here?" I ask before I looked around the disgusting room once more. What could possess somebody to lock someone up in here? "That is what the last Master saw fit. He shot me then commanded that I stay here, in this room. But as you can see, I am undying. It only hurt, I cannot be killed. He locked the door as well, but his command was enough. I cannot disobey, as I had no way out. I am a prisoner, after all." 

I shifted on my feet, feeling sorry for the broken creature in front of me. "Why did the previous Master do this to you?" The stag recoils, shrinking further into a fetal position. "Being a monster is reason enough for damnation, Master. He chose to return the Prison to its original purpose, I presume." His bony jaw opens and closes, chewing on nothing. "It hardly matters, regardless. I cannot die." His open wounds stand out as he speaks. "How can I help with your injuries?" He exhales sharply at my words. His face sinks again between his legs. "Master need not worry about me. I cannot die, and it stopped hurting a long time ago. A skull feels no pain." I pull the Palace's deed from my breast pocket.

"So it's this that makes me the new Master?" I ask as I hold up the parchment. "Correct. The ownership of Havena was transferred to you. I always know who the current Master is and his name." I've asked all my questions but another comes to mind now. "What's your name?" He hesitates before answering. His burning eye shifts ever so slightly. "The Master holds the right to pick my name. But if it is your wish to know, the one I was given at birth is Nyx." For a split second his remaining eye reflects a strand of light from outside. He realizes then how tired, thirsty, and hungry he is. But it doesn't matter. After all, he cannot die. As a servant his duty takes precedence.

The stag readjusts to a kneeling position. The cracking of his kneecaps bounces off the cold room's walls. He bows his head to me. "The bond between jailer and prisoner is born from the deed, while that between Master and Servant is willfully chosen. Will Master hear my oath of servitude?" I raise an eyebrow at the skeletal stag's gesture. I cannot muster a response. In my silence, the stag glances up to me. He starts shaking, barely able to hold his hands together. His lips tremble in anticipation. "Master, this land was designed to torture me." The stag's voice cracks. For the first time I notice a tail thrashing behind him. 

"The oath of servitude is what keeps it at bay. Please, Master, allow me to recite it and take me into your service." I can only nod in response. With my authorization he is able to proceed, after a minute to bring himself together again. "Prisoner Nyx pledges loyalty and servitude to the Prison's Master. The Prisoner is made Keeper of the Palace above the valley, and is bequeathed the power to realize the Master's will. The Master in turn binds Havena, forbidding it's malicious entities from leaving said valley. The realm was engineered to torture the Prisoner, and indeed its mission shall be accomplished. The Prisoner will carry the burden of servitude, but shall not suffer Havena's wrath within the Palace's territory. The Prisoner, shielded by his Master's will, is made safe as long as his duty is fulfilled."

Nyx dares not look up to me. Once he finishes his oath, his silence is broken only by the drops of sweat dripping from his trembling face. "This is a lot to take in, if I'm being honest. And this oath you were talking about, what does it mean?" I ask as I take in all of his injuries, counting them one by one. "It's what protects me, my lord. There are creatures in the valley, they cannot harm me inside the Palace as long as I am under the Master's service. The previous oath remained for as long as the Palace remained without a Master. With your arrival I am made vulnerable again." He pauses, his breathing becoming even more shaky. "Please, allow me into your service..." I bite my lips slightly, feeling a weight settle on me.

"Very well. Assuming you are speaking the truth... yes, I accept you as my servant." My words bounce off the walls and slither their way out of the cold room. The light dripping from the door behind me falters. My shadow, draped over the deer minotaur, flickers and shifts slightly. The world itself shudders under my words and responds by shifting into a new shape around me. Nyx still looks down, his frame now slouched further forwards and no longer shaking. "My gratefulness knows no bounds. I shall not disappoint. I may be in a sorry state now, but I'll be quick to recuperate. If Master so allows, I will take my leave. I need only take a trip to the infirmary to patch myself up."

He raises his head ever so slightly, glancing at the doorway. "...I am still unable to leave the room, until you command me otherwise." Undying as he may be, the stag's body is atrophied. He won't go far on his own. I kneel down to his level. Despite the darkness, I can make out his scapulae and sagging skin. "Can you walk on your own?" Nyx averts his eye by looking down to his legs. "Master ought not worry about me. I can make it to the infirmary on my own. I've been through worse." He won't look up to me. There's just a hint of pride in his voice. "Very well. You have my permission to leave the room." Without uttering a word the stag bows to me, then puts his hands on the ground to try and rise up.

He struggles, first in snapping his knees from this new position and then in finding his balance. He succeeds after holding on to one of the shelves. One step at a time he ambles towards the door, taking breaks to rest against a wall and adjust his eyesight to the light. It takes a long time, but he leaves the cold room and makes his way to the infirmary. I follow him closely, making sure he doesn't trip and get hurt. His back is covered in bed sores. Against all odds, Nyx can indeed make it on his own. The infirmary has layers upon layers of dust and rust. Squinting his eye, Nyx walks up to the drawers. He examines each on, silent, until one of them reveals shards of green glass and a purple, dried out stain.

The stag slouches forward and sighs. He scrapes a finger on the drawer, trying to gather some of the purple dust, but it's no use. He continues looking around and I do the same. All I find are dusty bandages, long rotted medications. I put it back when I notice Nyx's intense gaze on me. "What are we looking for exactly?" He takes a hesitant breath before cautiously answering my question. "The only thing that can heal me is... the Master's blood." My posture straightened at this and I repeated his words. The stag nods meekly, "The Master's blood heals me." This is a turn of events, which is a complete understatement if you ask me. "Uh, how much blood do you need?"

I'm certainly not out here giving out a whole blood donations worth of blood. "The severity of my wounds determines the amount needed. I estimate that it'd only take.... about a tablespoon. But it is your decision of how much to give me." I can't help but sigh in relief, saying that that's something I can sacrifice. "Past masters chose to make a small cut along the fleshy part of your thumb." I nod and look around for something sharp, preferably a clean scalpel. I soon found one and made sure it was clean before positioning it against the soft flesh at the base of my thumb. I suck in a deep breath and release it simultaneously when I cut. In the corner of my eye, I see Nyx flinch. 

A red line that's about a centimeter long begins to show. "Is that alright?" I ask as I look up at Nyx. "Yes... that's perfect." He looks longingly at my hand, as if he's been waiting for this this whole time. I hold out my hand to him and he licks his dry lips but I can still tell he doesn't trust me. He nears towards my hand similar to a wild animal. I wait patiently and soon, I feel him begin to lick up my blood. He breathes in deeply through his nose before he begins to hungrily suck on my hand. He grabs my hand and pulls it towards him, seemingly impatient at the pace he has been going. It's only been a few minutes, but I can already notice some of his wounds healing. The stag notices me watching.

He pulls back and his lips, or what remains of them, curl into a proud half-smile. "Yes. I can heal quite quickly, provided I have master's blood for it." With one hand, Nyx squeezes out more blood onto his fingers and reaches a hand to his back. His fingers seem to barely graze one of the bed sores. "Let me help you with that. You can't see it." He droops his ear in defeat, knowing full well I'm right. However, he turns his back to me with a speed betraying his eagerness. His tail flicks to and fro behind him. I take the scalpel into my hand once more and deepen the cut. I dab a piece of old gauze on the flowing blood and get to work. The stag's wounds have a black tinge to them.

A dark oil seems to have accumulated on them, oozing down his back in clearly defined rivers. He flinches when the fabric touches his damaged skin, but pushes back against me at the same time. His wounds close quickly — in an almost unsettling speed. ten minutes later my blood has clotted, but it was enough to rid Nyx of his most egregious bed sores. He lays a hand on his skull. "I'll need a lot more blood for this." I ask if I need to cut my other hand. Nyx has a shy curve on his lips when he looks up to me from the bed. His tail flicks to the left, to the right. He swings his taloned feet over the floor. When he speaks his voice is grave, however, rumbles with sobriety.

"You've been too kind already, Master. It would be terribly unfitting of a Keeper to impose a task upon his Master, let alone as many as you've aided me with so far." His one remaining eye is half-closed. "Please, worry not about me." He speaks then with a twinge of relief. "Unless Master has a task for me, I shall take some rest here and then wash myself. I am most unfitting now, for a Keeper of the Palace. Master need not worry." I frown at that. "Shouldn't you have some food first? What if you pass out in the bathroom?" I ask as I subconsciously count every one of his ribs.

"That shall not be an issue. I can obtain sustenance now that you've accepted me into your service. The Master commands Havena, and through the oath you have bequeathed me some of your power. I shall not go hungry again. There is much I can gladly teach you about the land, Master. It shall tend to  your needs, if you know how to lead it. Observe." For half a second it's as if the entire world blinks out around me, and my mind goes blank alongside it. Now Nyx had in his hands an overflowing bunch of grapes. "Do you like grapes? I hope these are to your liking." I hesitate before accepting food from him. Shouldn't he the one eating first?

"The Master eats first, only then may the Keeper feed. Regardless, Master has been kind to me, and I would be happy to share with thee." The stag seems eager to have me taste the grapes. They are impossibly sweet but I only take a few so he may start eating. He flicks his ears and tail at my enjoyments, then starts wolfing down the grapes. He barely looks up to me now. As soon as he's run out of grapes a new bunch appears in his hands, then a cup of water and more fruits still. When he does finally look up to me, he slows down and tried to clean his muzzle of all the juicy bits. His eyes betrays a tinge of self-consciousness.

"I am sorry. I am more a beast than I am man. Sometimes it gets the better of me. I should not be so brutish around Master. Although, in my defense, my table manners are excellent when I have the benefit of not being starved." He cracks a half smile. Even naked, with a disfigured muzzle covered with grape juice, Nyx looks up to me with a noble-like posture: his back is straight and his shoulders shift slightly to a broader stance. There's a tinge of pride in his barely noticeable smile — the small joy of having kept his dignity even in impossibly harsh circumstances. Perhaps this would be a good moment to let the stag have some privacy. But before I speak, I notice the change in his eyes as he stares at me.

He sucks in a quiet gasp as his eye almost pops out of his head. I'm startled by this and quickly ask what's wrong. "You... You have her eyes..." A bitter smile falls on my lips. "Her eyes, huh? Guess I still have girly eyes." Now it was Nyx's turn to be confused. I notice this and say, "Ah, I was born a girl but realized that I'm actually a guy. I started hormone treatment and had surgery to remove my breasts. Now I'm legally Jiàn Talisko." I can see so many questions swirling in his eyes. He opens his mouth but closes it immediately. "I'll let you have your rest. I'll come back to check up on you later." Nyx bows to me — dignified, despite the juices running down his mouth and chest.

"I shall be presentable after washing up, Master. Worry not about me." I smile and give him a nod. "Very well. If you do need help just... Yell, alright? I don't want you getting hurt. Even if you can't die, as you say." Nyx takes a good look at me. His dark eye glimmers softly under the infirmary's light. There's almost a wetness to them. He breaths so slowly as he gazes at me, tail flickering to and fro. He takes in every feature of my face, one at a time. "Thank you for releasing me, Master." His eye betrays his drowsiness. He bows to me and, in doing so, nearly falls asleep. I tell him to go get his rest. "I will." I let him have his privacy. Once Jiàn's gone, Nyx breathes in a shaky breath.

"It can't be... yet he has the same eyes as her and the same last name. It has to be her... but now she's a he. Maybe that would be a problem for others, but he's still has to be the same person I've grown to admire. He has to be..." Nyx thought before he succumbed to sleep. I'm back in the ruined hallway. It stretches into the eating hall and further into the Palace. Up ahead something catches my eye: a leather-bound volume. A cursory look reveals most of its pages have been torn out, but the covers back side contains something written in the same script from the deed. The glyphs shift and twist under my gaze, marching into place the harder I stare.

After a few minutes however it turns uncomfortable, as if my mind was being drilled by the paper. I take a seat at the bar, just a foot away from the green glass shards scattered about over the purple stain. I lose myself in deciphering this script. 

Nyx's Sentence

Hereby the High Council of Mer'elleth sentence the Prisoner Nyx to eternal damnation for his meekness and cowardice in disobeying his task. With this sentence his prison is created, the Land known as Havena, born out of the High Council's will. Havena shall serve as a kingdom to lost souls. Among the mortals of Earth, a Jailer will be picked to command and rewrite the realm. The Jailer and the Havena's mission is to secure the Prisoner's eternal torture. The Jailer shall enjoy power and freedom to rewrite Havena as to better enact his vision. Nyx of Khaen with every drop of his blasphemous blood is hereby sentenced to Havena. 

By this decree the High Council's will is done.

I'm pulled from my trance by the bang of a door closing down the hallway. The light around me has shifted. I look back to the garden and the sun is already setting. Time passed in a flash, and now the barely registered steps on marble floor reaches my ears. The stag enters the lounge, sees me, and bows. "Hello, Nyx. Did you sleep well?" I greet him. "I did, Master. I must thank you for allowing me rest." I smile and slid off my chair. "That's good to hear. I take it you have no issue with your bath?" I ask warmly, happy to not smell the decades of filth on his fur. "I did not." Nyx stand up and looks at me directly.

"I should ask for your forgiveness. I left you waiting without providing a tour of the Palace. That was awfully unfitting of my position as the Palace's Keeper. I am at your disposal now, however. There are a few questions eating away at me, if you don't mind. But we can leave them for later if you aren't feeling well," I say. "I am well enough to fulfill my duty. What is it Master wishes to know?" I give into his stubbornness, knowing that I've basically been ignoring his role. "Well, to start off... I'll admit I'm a little worried about you. How are you feeling? Was the shower enjoyable?" The stag shifts his gaze, trying to read my expression and tone. Looking for a tinge of irony, or perhaps malice.

"I — I am well. It was quite peculiar showering after all those years. I had forgotten what water felt like. It is fortunate that my — my wounds were closed. It could have been a painful affair otherwise. For quite a while I just stood there, under the water. Thinking and feeling. All of that is to say... Yes, I am doing well. It is kind of you to ask. Is that all you wished to know?" After being reassured that he's alright, I move onto my most wanted answered question. "How did I get here? I kinda just woke up nearby." Nyx averts his eyes before forcing himself to meet my gaze once more. "Well, the powers in the Deed had brought you to this plain of existence."

I tilt my head, silently asking him to elaborate. "You are still on Earth, just in a different dimension. This dimension was created by the High Council, and they are the ones who have granted you the power to bend the laws of this reality." I say that I understand, but this leads me to another question. "This place... it isn't normal. In other words... what kind of place is this?" The stag's gaze goes to the floor. His feet scrape against it. "This realm was created to imprison me, the jailer's mission is to keep watch. And for that purpose the High Council saw it fit that matter could be spontaneously created... So the jailer's job would not be interrupted by 'petty things' such as material limitations,"

He pauses to look up at me and I nod for him to continue. "It is, as well, the Master's compensation. Being able to create whatever your heart desires of thin air... that is quite a reward, wouldn't you say?" I chuckle and agree with him. "That's right. This is no small power, with some creativity anyone could make a fortune off this place." I say, knowing that I'm barely scraping the surface of attaining such wealth, not that that was a goal for me. I'm content with what I have right now, however; no one wants to say no to owning a few nice things.. "Well, there are a few limitations... The realm refuses to make gold and silver in large quantities. As keeper it is my duty to instruct you on this matter."

"I'd appreciate that a lot, but we can leave that for later if it's complicated," I say, to which he nods in understanding. "Does Master have more questions?" He asks. I quickly nod and ask, "Who is the High Council? You've mentioned them before and they're the ones who did all of this." Nyx nods and swallows thickly before answering, "The High Council can be described as Gods. They are a group of beings that have been here since the creation of the universe. All races have come from them and were allowed to choose where to live. Humans chose Earth." I absorb what he's telling me. "So there are others like you?" Nyx's shoulders sag, his eyes filled to the brim with loneliness.

"...No. I am the only one of my kind. I shouldn't even exist; an abomination is what I am." I frown at that and get up from my seat. "Why do you say that about yourself?" Nyx sighs, as if it's supposed to be obvious. "I am the product of a Council member and a lowly creature. My existence is a sick joke, Master..." I release a sigh, not knowing how to comfort him. "Why should it matter that you were an accident? You're still here. I myself wasn't planned to be born. But I guess our situations are polar opposites, so I shouldn't try to compare. I just don't like seeing you hurt like this..." Nyx stares at me with wide eyes, clearly surprised by my response. 

"Thanks for giving me some insight. Don't go overexerting yourself, I suppose this isn't a priority right now. Getting you patched up is more important. " "I think that's all I had in mind for now. This is a lot to take in. That gods and you exist, for starters, and that this place can just create matter out of thin air. Thanks for telling me all that. I'll just need some time to process it all," I say with a soft smile, unknowingly making the stag's heart beat faster. "It is a pleasure to serve. Could I provide Master with a drink? Would that please you?" He looks behind me, to the wall covered by dozens of bottles of liquor. "Well, I don't think those are safe. I checked a few of them, they weren't smelling right."

The corner of my lips upturned in humor. "That will not be an issue. I can muster more for Master," He insists. "Very well, go on." The stag walks behind the counter. The world blinks around me, and when I look again he holds a bottle of whisky. He walks with a spring in his step, but stops once he sees the purple stain on the floor. Whatever smidgeon of chirpiness was on his face is gone. He lowers himself to the floor and runs a hand over the dried-out wine. He tired scraping the dust off the ground, then rubbing his hand on it, to no avail. "What's on your mind?" I softly ask. The stag speaks without looking up to me. 

"He went all the way, the previous Master. Locking me away wasn't enough, he had to go as far as breaking everything." He pauses as he frowns, as if scolding himself. The stag rises and supports himself on the counter. He summons a rag and goes through the motions of dusting. "No matter. Now, what is Master's want? I should tell you upfront, the Palace's liquor is quite impressive." Nyx may be up and walking, but he's still far from being well. He can use the help. The spiral staircase remains as welcoming as before. "Here. This floor is dedicated to the Master and those he allows in. The Palace bends to the Master's will. My power is similar to yours, albeit much weaker. In due time, the Palace shall conform from the ground up to your vision."

We reach my room and Nyx opens the doors for me. The living room ahead of me seems to have resisted the damage of time better than the rest of the Palace. It is dusty, and some chunks of the wall show the beginnings of mold, but that is nothing compared to the devastation I saw in the kitchen. Nyx says nothing at first. His gaze seems to be lost in the distance as he walks around inspecting the room. There are lines of wooden carvings on shelves. During the stag's silence, I take the chance to explore it myself. The living room is a sprawling lounge made to receive guests, both in great number and for an intimate get-togethers.

Under the sunset's light the wooden floor colors the room with a soft, warm hue. There's a master bedroom with a vast closet still filled with clothes. It's a wardrobe pulled straight from a cosplay convention, robes and more robes organized with a tireless devotion. There's also a large office, the kind you'd expect from an important executive. Sitting on the desk is a selection of finely-decorated fountain pens and a stash of documents, for the most part written in delicate calligraphy. Most of the documents are signed by a "Master Bastien", Although a handful bear an illegible scribble for a signature. There's a finely furnished bathroom off in a tight hallway to the side of the living room.

At the end of the corridor, after a sharp turn, there's a cramped, windowless chamber. It has a handful of remnants of the living room's warmth, albeit muted. The wood's color is faded, the ceiling is a meter lower, there is a little to no furniture. There is, however, an austere bed that looks larger than your typical single. Beside it is a tiny chest of drawers, with a handful of dusty poetry books piled on top alongside more wooden carvings. This room affords privacy, but little else. Nyx is going over it when I arrive. He cradles every wooden carving in the room, examining them one-by-one. Many of the carvings depict great deer. He opens one of the books, and a page marker falls from it.

He looks down at it but doesn't bother picking it up. The stag opens a small closet off to the side, and takes out what seems to be a long piece of fabric. He smells it, or perhaps hugs it to his chest. His bony snout leaves a stain of blood dust on it. He sighs and shudders. The stag looks back to me, acknowledging my presence for the first time since arriving here. "I am frightfully sorry, I was lost in thought. This floor is the Master's quarters. It contains your bedroom, office, living room and any other installations you wish to add. This room we are in, this... was my bedroom. I serve the Palace, but above all else I serve the Master." He lays the fabric gently down on his bed.

"It is often considered convenient to have me around, as I can cook and help the Master however he sees fit. There were Masters who had children, for instance. I would assist in tending to them, providing entertainment and play while the Master rested. Master Bastien was a man of culture. He enjoyed having me play my lyre for him at night." The stag's gaze wander away again, his hands starting to caress a wooden carving. It's at this point that I excuse myself to go to the bathroom, to which he tells me where it is. While in there, I have to take a breather. Everything that's been happening shouldn't be happening at all. I sigh and finish up my business, later washing my hands out.

When I walk out, the setting sun's orange tones color the entire apartment. It turns the suspends dust in the air into thousands of sparkling diamonds. The previous Master's carvings stare at me, wide-eyed and beckoning me further into the Quarters. The smell of old dust seems so small compared to how sweetly the room welcomes me. If a place could ever be alive, and if it could ever be naked, this is it. The Palace itself embraces me, its intimacy laid bare. Nothing moves and Nyx is nowhere to be seen. Silence reigns, save for a faint hum of life. I leave the wine bottle on the living room table. I delve deeper into my quarters, and the hum grows louder and sharper.

It's like breathing, ragged and pained. The dust visible under the sunlight shudders. The sound is coming from the office. Nyx is standing over the desk, his back to me, sobbing. My footsteps are not enough to make him aware of my presence. The stag sobs again and again, each one coming from deeper inside of him. They begin meek, hardly more than a snort. But he lays his hands on the desk and curls forward. His vertebrae jut sharply from his deathly thin skin, made more obvious by how he hunches over. He spits out a sob from the depths of his lungs. The dam bursts, he breaks into wave after wave of grunts and half-muffled screams.

He presses his face against the desk and claws at it, leaving his marks in the pristine wood until he falls to the ground, curled up like a child. He sees me then with his tear-drenched eye and ignores my presence. Master or not, I am too small. He curls further into himself, mouth covered by his hands as he lets out another muffled yell. The stag's voice breaks midway through and he goes silent, even if his mouth is still locked in agony. But Nyx looks up to me, aware of my presence, and makes no effort to hide or cower. In fact, he tried to speak, but I can't understand his slurred words, only that his voice has a tone of welcoming. I cross the gap separating the two of us on step at a time.

Nyx's eye does not avert from me. I sit by his side, back to the desk, and only then his gaze drops down to the floor into further sobbing. I drape an arm over his shoulder and pull him to me. The stag doubles down his crying, now muffled by my shirt. His fingers dig into me — his claws digging into my skin and draw a slight amount of blood from his pressure, but I don't mind. I rub the back of his head and let the stag go at his own pace. As the sun sets further, darkening the room, his crying grows quieter and more discreet as well. When all is dark except for the stars shining beyond the window, Nyx's hands relax and he slouches fully onto my chest.

He almost seems to be asleep, but I catch his eye looking up at me. Nyx is pacified, but I give him a few more minutes to make sure. His fingers dig into me one last time right as he sighs. "I beg your forgiveness, Master. I let my emotions control my strength and have punctured your skin with my claws." I shake my head as I caress his head. "Not to steal your line, but I've been through worse, Nyx. I will survive. I'm just happy to be here for you." He breathes in shakily, to which I wrap my arms around him in a hug. I give him a quick squeeze and pat him on the back before I help him up. He says nothing about what just happened, but accepts my hand.

And when I leave the office, he stays close by my side. Back in the living room, I guide Nyx to the sofa. He sits without questioning, but accompanies me with his gaze as I take a seat facing him. Nyx leans back on the sofa, a weak smile painted on his face. "Thank you for being so kind to me, Master." I wave my hand, giving him a kind smile. "Don't mention it, it was nothing." This seems to set the stag on a new train of thought. "Is that so? Master, if it is not impertinent of me, would you answer a few questions?" I give him a big smile, happy that he's finally willing to look past his role. "Sure, I don't see how that could be a problem," I reply as I sit across from him.

"I wish to know about the War. How did it end?" I tilt my head slightly. "War? Which war?" I ask. "The Cold War. The conflict between the Americans and communists. How did it end? Did communism take over the world?" I stop myself from laughing at such an idea, but I know that he had no way of finding out until now. "Yes, the world is doing fine, the Americans won the war. A lot of stuff happened since then." I briefly tell him the world's history after the Cold War, especially the aftermath of the war. "Oh, I'm so relieved to hear that. I've spent all those years locked away thinking about it. Master Bastien talked so many times about America..." His eyes glaze over in recollection.

"The fields of sunflowers, the fragrances, the fields. He found his way to the Palace, a shell-shocked young man fresh off the battlefield. He inherited the deed from the previous Master, and his rule over the Palace was a sight to behold. He was very kind, had a preference for bring in victims of war. It wasn't easy caring for so many amputees and shell-shocked men, but it was worth it. He loved it here, but I suppose he loved America the most. I couldn't dissuade him from returning home, to help in the protests for civil rights. He died in 1962. I felt it right when it happened. Felt the bullet going through my head in the middle of the night. In 1969, the next Master arrived, Master Cassius." 

At the mention of Cassius' name, Nyx's gaze harshened and he became tense. "Cassius wasn't bad at first. He was very eager to please, to be of use to the guests. But there was something in him... A greed, I suppose. To merely be liked wasn't enough, you see. He and Master Bastien differed greatly. Bastien had a vision, to bring comfort to those affected by war. Cassius, on the other hand, didn't want to be liked, but worshipped." I bitter look washes over his features. "He had his eyes on a guest, a woman who held his mind in the palm of her hand. I can only believe it went badly. And so, he... well, you saw what he did to me. The guests are gone, and the Palace has been left to rot... I had glimpsed the beginnings of madness in his eyes. I am no fool. It was clear he was no sane man but I hoped he'd be harmless."

I immediately have the sense that I know said person personally. "I believe I met this Cassius you speak of. He gave me the Palace's deed. Talked a bit about himself, said he squandered his one chance at something good. He's a drunk now. Can barely talk right. He apparently was looking for me but I've never met him before." Thinking back to it, I relay what my past thoughts were. "When I checked the deed it all seemed like gibberish, too. I could only believe he wasn't thinking right and gave me some used napkin. He said he had done bad stuff during his life, but I never imagined it was bad as what I saw here." Nyx's brow is furrowed and his eyes wander.

He twiddles his thumbs while I speak. "He's still alive, then." He closes his eyes, wrinkling his visage in anger. Nyx looks up to the ceiling. His voice is relaxed now, almost soothing, but it carries a spike of sobriety. "Master, if you would once again permit it, may I speak freely? I may overstep my boundaries of being an outsider that has been looking into your life." I give him a curious look but slowly nod. He takes a deep breath before he begins. "If I'm not mistaken, your father left you when you were young, correct?" I narrow my eyes, wondering how he knew that. Even under my stare, Nyx wills himself to continue. "Did you ever learn the name of your father?" I have to hold myself back from scoffing.

"Of course, Mama had told me his name is Cass-" I choke on my words, realization slamming into me like a train. "N-no... no way," I say in shock as my posture dips forward slightly. "Cassius Talisko was my last Master. I remember him talking of his only child, a daughter named Ari..." Nyx gets up and retrieves something from the bookshelf. He looks at it for a moment before he returns to his seat. He slowly hands me the photo and I feel myself having to hold in a sob. It was a picture of me at one of my most memorable dance recitals. I was twelve in the picture. "Cassius had told me a lot about you, Master Jiàn..." I softly run my finger along the picture. "This is why you acted weird before...you had recognized me."

Nyx nods in affirmation. I sit back in my chair with a deep inhalation of air. Nyx silently watches me. "Master, if once again you would accept it, may I ask a question? This one however may be out of place for me as Keeper." I give him permission to tell me. "Havena was created to torture me as punishment for my crime. But over the years, the human Masters chose to impose a different will onto this realm. Each Master had a vision for it. We had a good run, a few good centuries ever since we started. Until, as you saw, Cassius came along. I wish to know your intentions. That is awfully out of place for me, as Prisoner. You are my captor, and I shall obey whatever your will may be." 

Even at his words, he seems to not care anymore. "Nonetheless, I wish to have my impertinent question answered, if it isn't much. I should let you know, before you answer, that I am used to suffering. I've been through a lot worse than what you saw today." He took a shaky breath before continuing, "If your will is to torture me, like Master Cassius did, then you need not pretend. However, you accepted my oath and took me into your service, and now you've treated me with kindness. I would believe, then that you are not like him. Be honest, if you will. My servitude to you remains regardless of your choice, as I have none myself." I feel for the stag sitting in front of me. Such despair and sorrow in his voice... 

I looked away from him, not being able to believe how cruel my father really was. Mama had told me that he wasn't a good man, that's why when she found out she ran away with me to protect me from him. "I didn't know what I was getting into when I accepted this deed. A lot has happened in a single day. Finding out I had met my dad at my work of all places, somehow being transported here, finding this place and meeting you, who knows more about me than most just from a picture. I couldn't have imagined any of this from his ramblings. But... yes. I intend to be a good Master, to the Palace and to you. I know you're feeling me out, trying to see if I am the same as my father. But I'm not trying to trick you. By what you've told me, I'd have no reason to. Maybe it's hard for you to believe me right now, but I mean it."

Nyx does not answer at first. Only his deep breathing cuts the room's silence. "It's been so long. I don't know for how many years I was locked away. I must admit, the mere thought of asking gives me chills. Master, can you... imagine? For centuries, I've been tending to this Palace. It was my mercy, what saved me from torture and gave me purpose. It was hard work, and not all Masters have been kind over the centuries. But it was wonderful nonetheless, I enjoyed every moment of it. And then... Master Bastien died. I could have done more to try and stop him. I should have. The he came, Cassius. I am used to pain, but I had grown accustomed to having a purpose." 

He looks up at me, into my eyes. "Today you freed me, took me into your service, and now you call tell me you wish to be a good Master. Allow me to speak frankly. I am afraid of you. Terribly so. You are my jailer." He lets out a sigh, as if confessing that had taken some weight off of him. "Over the centuries I grew comfortable with enjoying my Masters, but after Cassius it's all come back to me. I am so afraid of what you can do to me. There's no choice but to obey your every command. I am so sorry for saying this. It is profoundly out of place for the Keeper to address the Master in such a way. I suppose that, even if I'm afraid of you I've lost my fear of pain and overstepping boundaries. All of that said... Despite my fear, I find myself... wanting to believe you." Nyx gets up from the sofa and walked up to me.

He's clearly tipsy, stumbling about as he approaches. The stag kneels before me. "I wish dearly for your words to be true. I am not afforded choice on whether or not I shall obey you. I am a Prisoner. But if indeed your words are true, if your heart is truly set on being a good Master... Then I shall follow you. Not out of duty, but out of want — and were I ever allowed true freedom I would remain by your side. I swore to serve you, and now I swear to follow you — for as long as your word holds true." He looks up to me. The room is dark, lit only by moonlight coming through the window, but I can see a glimmer in the stag's eye. I pull him from his kneeling position into a hug.

He is light, barely heavier than a child. In my arms he is stiff and cold, but just as my hands stroke his back he returns the gesture and rests his muzzle on my shoulder. He sniffles once, twice, and presses his face into my neck. "Thank you, Master." He breathes in deeply, as if learning my scent. Night quickly settles. The Palace has no electricity, but I can do with candle. My shadow and Nyx's slither onto the walls, trembling alongside the flickering flames. The Master's quarters are filled with the velvety sounds of life — breathing, footsteps, furniture creaking under me. From outside, a passerby would see this ruined Palace with a single candle-lit window.

If he perchance tried exploring it, he'd only find unending hallways of black and white marble. He could seek out the comfort of this candle-lit room but would never find it, locked away as it is behind a doorless wall. Silence drips back over the two of us. More often than not Nyx is turned towards me, following with his gaze. Just when I realize how hungry I am, he summons a humble feast for me — fruit, cheese, water, even a regular bottle of wine. He turns his back to you to set the table. He stumbles a bit, and a few apples roll off to the ground. I catch him giving me a sideways glance. His nostrils flare under his nervous breathing. Nyx seizes.

His back broadens as he breathes in, and then his shoulders slouch forward with his exhale. He gazes back at me, as if trying to say something, and after a few seconds he returns to setting the table. His tail flicks behind him, perhaps even with some chirpiness. When dinner is ready, he presents it to me with a half-smile on his lips. My candle-lit dinner is simple and uneventful. Any offer to have Nyx eat alongside me is brushed off with a shake of his head. It's a long, deliberate movement. I then ask him if there's any way to restore the Palace's electricity. "There is, yes. We must perform the revival ritual, and for that we must use a special object. It is an obsidian dagger, and it will bring the entire Palace back to life." Shortly after, with nothing else to do for the night, the both of us find rest in our respective rooms.

The deer minotaur dreams. 

After another taxing day of being used and abused, Nyx sought comfort in his Master's quarters. Master Cassius was in the dining hall, holding a party that Nyx would rather not attend. Not that he was wanted, anyway. He planned on just going to his room, but something had caught his eye. He turned towards it and saw that it was the photograph of Ari, Cassius' daughter. He gingerly plucks it from the shelf and scans the image. He remembers what Cassius had said about her. How she was so smart and ambitious. That she was born to dance. Cassius had joked that she was dancing before she started to walk. While Cassius was never part of her life, he had made sure to keep tabs on her.

She's so full of life. Wherever she goes, happiness and kindness follow right behind her. Hearing more and more about the girl, he found himself wanting to know her personally. But what started as wanting to be her friend, slowly turned into a pining for her. He so desperately wanted to love her, give her every part of himself. He closes his eyes and hums but when he opens them, he finds himself in a field of white flowers that seemed to stretch forever.. Everything was glowing, especially a certain person. It's then that he realizes that it's Ari. But as he continues to stare, she morphs into a man. A man he knows is Jiàn... his new master. Jiàn was humming a sweet tune as he braided flowers together.

Jiàn smiled and looked up to meet his eyes. He suddenly jumped up and started laughing as he ran away, looking back at Nyx, beckoning him to chase after him. A playful smile found his lips as he started walking in the direction of where Jiàn was going. Jiàn glanced back, before laughing again and speeding up. The two ran through the field, the summer breeze playing with the Jiàn's hair. However, their little game ended when Nyx reached out and grabbed Jiàn, bringing him into his chest as they fell to the ground. Nyx now laid on his back, staring down at the heap of a man on top of him. Panting softly, Jiàn looked up at Nyx . He hummed softly as he pushed himself up, his face now level with Nyx's.

No words were spoken as the two got lost in each other's eyes. Jiàn smirked before a look of yearning filled his gaze as he leaned forward and captured Nyx's lips. Nyx hummed into the kiss, feeling that all too familiar warm feeling build up in his chest. As they parted, a string of saliva kept them connected before ultimately breaking. "Where are you today? On a distant planet? Or perhaps you're deep in the jungle." Jiàn laughs and pulls back to look into Nyx's eyes. He brings a hand up and lovingly strokes the deer's cheek. "It's such a shame that dreams don't last long, especially the good ones." With a final kiss, the serene field starts to crumble and so does Jiàn.

He jumps from dream to reflection. Master Bastien and Cassius. The cold room. The new Master. Freedom from the darkness. Food — and wine. Nyx grasps the dusty sheets. It's been decades since he slept on a bed. He feels no bedsores on his back. Instead of the cold room's stench there is only the slightly mold smell of his old room. His lips — half deer, half skeletal — threaten to curl into a smile. But doubt eats away at him, churns in his stomach. The stag unceremoniously rises from his bed. No matter what comes next he must work, work and then work some more. While he shuffles through the he mumbles an old poem from memory.

"You came. And you did well to come. I longed for you and you brought fire. To my heart, which burns high for you." A mirror makes it clear how much of a disgrace he is. The gaping, fleshless hole in his skull makes his ichor bubble and threaten to burst from his mouth. But... he's less of a disgrace than he was the day before. And for the last fifty years. There is some mercy in that. He forces a half-smile and goes out. As soon as he steps out, however, his ear flicks. He catches a distant tune — chirpy, once could say even joyous. It is faint but unmistakable.The smile disappears from his face and is replaced with a ghostly grim canvas.

[ashesarrows]

The Girl Who Soared Over Fairyland and Cut the Moon in Two by Catherynne M. Valente- FULL REVIEW

This review is the complete version of its counterpart on GoodReads.

This book really disappointed me. The roughest thing is that it’s right in the middle of the series, so you have to read it if you want to continue. There are bright spots (Ell! Saturday!), and I can sense the incredible book Valente was trying to write, but overall, this was a flop. Would’ve been a DNF if I hadn’t promised myself I’d finish the series. 

So, firstly: I’m a longtime fan of Fairyland, and I commonly list the first book and Valente herself as my favorite book and author. I had no negative preconceptions about the book going in. In fact, I know I have an irrational fear of series, and at first I thought my struggles with this book could be chalked up to that. 

But I loved the second book. It was entertaining, a good follow-up, and a unique new story to explore. When I picked up the third book and only got a chapter in before forgetting about it, I had a lot of excuses—I was burned out. I didn’t like the Blue Wind, and I didn’t want to read about her. I was busy with school.

As it turns out, having picked the book up three years later and finished it this time, none of that was true. This time, I was yearning for more of Fairyland, I quite liked the Blue Wind, and I had ample time to read in. 

It just wasn’t a good book.

I talk about planning/pantsing a lot, and that’s once again relevant. I’ll excerpt from my review of another book:

There are two types of NaNoWriMo writers: the planners, & the pantsers. Planners have an outline ready before they write, and pantsers go "by the seat of their pants"—very few, or even no, plans. Both have pros/cons; here I'll focus on a common pitfall for pantsers.

Almost every Western narrative… follows something akin to the 3-act structure. There is a main conflict which builds to a climax and is then resolved (think Star Wars’s Death Star.) For any good narrative, you need MOTIVATION-GOAL-CONFLICT—and occasionally stakes[.]

This book does not have a conflict.

So where do you find 300+ pages of writing? Just have something happen & see what comes next as a response!

The problem is that this makes an unworkable first draft. Things Happening =/= Satisfying Plot Arc. In editing, you have to take everything you've written and organize it into a plot shape, often cutting things that don't fit. (Planning is the opposite; tons of work upfront/you usually end up UNDERwriting.)

...The most common method of writing on Wattpad is pantsing. 99% of the time, writers write & then post chapters on a set schedule. Can't edit plot structure when you upload one chapter a week.

Now, I knew that Valente was a pantser before I read this book, and that she originally uploaded Fairyland one chapter a week. I was very impressed when I first found out; I don’t recall sensing any of these pitfalls in the two previous books. It is hard to write a book with no editing—it is damn well near impossible. Whether I liked this book or not, the first two are a triumph just for that. Valente has been writing this entire series with both hands tied behind her back and her eyes taped shut, and I have to commend her. Even my feelings of frustration are almost overshadowed by how impressed I am that it took three books for her to fail.

Valente herself acknowledged editing concerns in multiple / interviews. From the latter link:

I remember being at a convention right after it really hit, and somebody in the audience asked, “Well, you realize you can’t go back and change anything, because you’ve already posted it online.” And I said, “Oh, shit.” It had never occurred to me that that was gonna be a problem. I kept a couple weeks ahead of the posting schedule, but again, much like writing The Labyrinth in ten days instead of thirty, I just ran ahead with something without knowing that I couldn’t do it and it worked out incredibly well.

Did it? I feel differently, and this review aims to explain why.

This book lacks plot. Valente is attempting a 3-act structure, which relies heavily on a central conflict. There has to be some big mission; some big goal. First book example: September has to beat the Marquess (goal and conflict) OR ELSE everyone in Fairyland suffers (stakes/motivation). Every moment of the book ties back to this larger goal.

The central conflict of this book appears about halfway through. You know the moon, and the yeti, and splitting things? This comes up over a hundred pages in. September, and the audience, has no idea about any of that for a hundred or so pages, and so for that amount of time, the book is unconscionably boring. 

The beginning of the book sees September afraid she’s too old to go back to Fairyland, which is a great central conflict idea for the one chapter in which it exists. Aha! A book about growing up and the associated trials and tribulations. That’s a fantastic theme, and yet I forgot about it entirely until the end, where it briefly awakens again, after an entire book of Not That At All. More on this later.

For now, the book takes September back to Fairyland, which should be wonderful, but Fairyland seems to have become all exposition and no action. A whole chapter of The Blue Wind lecturing September, for example. This is a character we don’t know, have no reason to be attached to, and are being actively hindered by as she relentlessly slows the plot down. And then September gets talked at by an alligator or something, and then another something something… I don’t remember any of this, because it was not relevant.

This isn’t like Fairyland #1, where September might need to befriend someone to gain access to magic which would help her on her quest. In fact, for this first half of the book, September doesn’t even have agency! Someone hands her a MacGuffin (I refuse to recall its name) in the form of a box, and she Must carry it to some city or other on the moon. Why? Who knows. She just must. And she does. And you’re thinking to yourself, why isn’t September making her own ship and leading revels? We know, as an audience, that she’s more than capable. What on Earth has got her seeming so meek? She even sasses characters, but somehow always ends up doing as they ask.

The book also takes all this time to reach any characters we know and love. The readers want Ell and Saturday! We do not care about a horde of lecturing adults with no connection to a central plot or September! Looking back, I can see how Valente may have been hoping to pull off something similar to Alice in Wonderland, but in Alice nobody speaks for a full page. This is just one example:

direct link

I’m hard pressed to even call this exposition, because it tells us nothing about the world we’re in. It’s just a sermon Valente wants us to hear. And worse, because I’ve read the last two books, I know she can pull this off. It doesn’t have to be this way. Many people said many things in Fairyland #1, and it worked because there was a plot that the speeches were part of. 

(If you just look at the quotes page for this book, you can see how many there are—and how repetitive they get. X is a Y, okay, alright…)

But this sort of thing reached its peak when it almost ruined Saturday. Don’t worry, he’s generally well-written, but when September meets him and he starts lecturing? It’s just awful to read. Suddenly it’s not Saturday talking but Valente speaking through his mouth, giving those sermons again, and it just makes you want to scream.

This made me recall an old writing rule—“never remind me of the author’s existence.” I want to feel as though real people are really saying these things, and when all of them speak identically, it’s really difficult to believe that. I won’t deny Saturday his right to say poignant things, obviously, but in this case due to the volume of lectures, and the proximity of his to the others, and the obvious preachiness of all of them, it really got in the way of my even enjoying the scenes with Saturday. And come on; that is unforgivable.

But there is a plot. There is an, ahem… other MacGuffin. A paw? A yeti’s paw. Something about time. Look, at this point I just wanted to finish the book. The original MacGuffin had become a new one, which would lead them to the third, and all this because at 100 pages in someone said “hey there’s this yeti we really hate around here,” and September went “sounds awful I’ll go hunt him right now.” And of course she can, because she has been DOING NOTHING FOR THE LAST HUNDRED PAGES. What is she going to do, something else? There IS nothing else to do in Fairyland apparently. Again, what this book does to the world & inhabitants of Fairyland is near criminal.

So the plot starts here, and it’s not great—September takes it up because there’s nothing else to do, and of course her friends come along, but (at least to me) it seems obvious that Valente invented the moon’s political situation and the Yeti just to come up with SOMETHING for this book. It never felt convincing that this had really been happening behind the scenes in the other books. On top of that, since we get very little context (despite the lectures!), it feels less like a vital quest and more like September (again) doing something because someone else told her to. We really don’t get any other perspective on the issue until the very end.

But talking about the end will require a spoiler tag, so I’ll avoid it for now. Let’s take a break to talk about how confusing the book was overall. I often didn’t know where the characters were heading or why, or what role a new character played, or even if they were there or not.

After seeing a GR query about this particular issue, I went back and researched it. The character Candlestick allegedly leaves the party on page 189:

Candlestick had not come with them after all, turning up her peacock tail and refusing to speak further with any of the lot of them.

But then shows up in not one but two lines in the next chapter anyway:

The Tyguerrotype, the thirteen bouncing Glasshobs, the quivering houses—and September and Saturday, A-Through-L and Candlestick—had a little thickness, but no more than a thick sheet of paper. (201)

“Did we see what?” called Candlestick. (204)

I understand why Valente wouldn’t want to make major plot edits to the books after posting them, but why didn’t an editor read through this even once? It would have been easy to fix—delete one line, or even just a word. It seems clear through surrounding context, looking back, that Valente intended to leave Candlestick out of these chapters, so why didn’t anyone confirm that for readers?

It’s just not fair to your audience to leave things like this in. It’s not professional. It makes me look down on the publisher, to be quite honest, because they apparently couldn’t take the few months necessary to re-read the draft and offer Valente edits on these bare minimum issues.

So you can understand why I wasn’t sure what was going on most of the time. Especially in the beginning, when multiple characters existed just to lecture, it was hard to get attached to any one addition to the party because I could expect them to be gone without incident or importance within two chapters. 

For example, the Periwig (whose name I refuse to look up) who works with Ell in the library says she has cursed him to stop him from flaming around the books. Yes, Ell is having uncontrollable flaming issues now. As a reader pummeled by random lectures, watching September ferry around MacGuffins, this just felt like an “oh shit we have to come up with a NEW conflict for these characters” ploy, without much thought or logic. And I had no idea what the curse was for over fifty pages, until on page 173 there’s a specific reference to Ell getting smaller after he shoots flame. I’m sure there were more earlier on, but I missed them, and who can blame me after a hundred pages of content that was not relevant to the story.

This plot point is never satisfyingly wrapped up, either. Why did the Periwig think this was a good idea? Could she have undone it? Why did nobody address her about it? And why was it solved the way it was? Nothing made sense.

What’s really frustrating is what could have been. Near the end of the book, I turned to the back cover just to avoid continuing to read, and I looked once again in total bafflement at the two starred reviews of the book pictured there. Booklist’s back cover quote reads as follows:

As usual, Valente enlightens readers with pearly gleams of wisdom about honesty, identity, free will, and growing up. September often worries who she should be and what path she should follow, but the lovely truth, tenderly told, is that it's all up to her.

And, despite having read roughly two hundred pages of this book, it was only once I saw this quote that I understood what Valente was trying to do.

This is a great idea. And there are ELEMENTS of it here, and even elements I quite like. Occasionally, the lectures September hears do in fact correspond to some aspect of this theme (“you become what you are called” is one example of a line I could tell meant something, but needed to be expanded to accomplish anything.) It’s hard, as a reader, to differentiate between lectures addressing a vital theme in the story and lectures that are just talking.

Returning to Ell’s curse, it turns out that [SPOILER] Ell was just flaming for what is essentially dragon puberty, which is a GREAT opportunity to build on this theme! Somehow, though, we don’t get that.. I would have loved to see Ell have to deal with, essentially, a sexual awakening, and that did not happen, and it feels like the cure scene is random and therefore wasted. [END SPOILER]

It doesn’t help that Valente also wastes a scene with FANTASTIC potential where September literally destroys her fate by giving it no prior context, no weight in the plot, no relevance to the conflict, and fifteen tons worth of expositional lecturing to drown in. I want to love these scenes; some of these scenes utilize my favorite tropes! I just can’t get around all the ways Valente is leaving her story out to dry.

Then there’s the clothing September wears, her new designation, Aroostook the car, the attempted blossoming romance between September and Saturday: so many elements which could have made that theme great. It’s like a broken puzzle.

This brings us to the Yeti. I’m just going to go full spoiler, because I’m mad.

[SPOILER]

The Yeti is a reverse twist villain?? Can we stop with this? It’s not interesting & not an engaging surprise & also feels like going “ha ha I fooled you.”

From the moment September set off to beat him, I was wondering—are we really doing this? Based on one random person’s complaint? September has made it very clear that she doesn’t understand the politics of the world she’s inhabiting, and yet: this. Unlike in the first book, where the Marquess’s evil is confirmed by every person she comes across and September ends up fighting her out of personal connection, this just seems like meddling. September has no skin in the game; it’s almost a white savior trope—especially when the history of the Moon parallels colonization!

And then The Gang sees future-Saturday helping the yeti, and instead of thinking “maybe we got this wrong based on one person’s lecture” they think “ah FUCK maybe Saturday is going to be evil” and manufacture totally unnecessary conflict.

But it’s not even that they misunderstood, or that their source was biased; the end result is that the Yeti was seen as evil because he DIDN’T CARE THAT HE WAS. He gives this “none of their business” answer that is fundamentally unsatisfying (and makes no sense—had he explained, THEY WOULD NOT HAVE BOTHERED HIM) because at the end of the day, it means none of September’s actions in Fairyland were necessary. She just showed up and left. Nobody, not even the story, needed her. I guess September and Saturday have now kissed (twice!) which is great for them but not something that makes the whole book worthwhile.

[END SPOILER]

And on top of this, there are typos. I already covered the issue with Candlestick, so here are the others quickly:

 “All of us,” September said gently, and held out her hands. “I know what you said, Miss Candlestick, but however you count it, our fates are stuck together and stitched up good.” She paused for a moment, looking down at her flowing black silks and her own small hands. “Closer than shadows, she finished.” (170)

“If you’re not to tired after your cannonades.” (179)

The full moon rose passed the high barn windows, spilling in like milk. (248)

(First sentence ought to have put the end quotation mark after the word “shadows,” but accidentally places it after September’s dialogue tag. The second sentence should use “too” instead of “to”. The final sentence needs to either say that the moon “rose past the high barn windows” or “passed the high barn windows”, likely the former.)

What gets me is that this last sentence is on the last page. Even if Valente and her editors never flipped through most of the book, surely someone would’ve noticed this? It just drives home how little anyone cared. About Fairyland, of all things!

And then Valente, who DID NOT EDIT THIS BOOK, has the audacity to include lines like these.

September reached inside and took out the red book. It was heavy. A girl’s face graced the cover, finely embossed, but it was turned away, gazing at some unseen thing. Perhaps it was her own face, perhaps not. A miniature version of herself, after all. Was it an answer? Was it everything already written?  “You can’t argue with something that’s written down,” she said, stroking the red locks of hair on the cover. “If the heart of my fate is a book, there’s nothing for it. Once it’s written, it’s done. All those ancient books always say ‘so it is written’ and that means it’s finished and tidied and you can’t say a thing against it.”  Oh, but September, it isn’t so. I ought to know, better than anyone. I have been objective and even-tempered until now, but I cannot let that stand, I simply cannot. Listen, my girl. Just this once I will whisper from far off, like a sigh, like a wind, like a little breeze. So it is written—but so, too, it is crossed out. You can write over it again. You can make notes in the margins. You can cut out the whole page. You can, and you must, edit and rewrite and reshape and pull out the wrong parts like bones and find just the thing and you can forever, forever, write more and more and more, thicker and longer and clearer. Living is a paragraph, constantly rewritten. It is Grown-Up Magic. Children are heartless; their parents hold them still, squirming and shouting, until a heart can get going in their little lawless wilderness. Teenagers crash their hearts into every hard and thrilling thing to see what will give and what will hold. And Grown-Ups, when they are very good, when they are very lucky, and very brave, and their wishes are sharp as scissors, when they are in the fullness of their strength, use their hearts to start their story over again.

(page 184).

Like... all of that, and then she didn’t edit September’s story? I’m appalled.

At this point, you might well say I’m being far too harsh. I understand that. These next five paragraphs are for you.

For the first few months of (re)reading this book, I genuinely felt like I must be a bad reader, or my attention span was gone, or I just didn’t like Valente or her work enough. Looking at all the incredible reviews here, I felt jealous—and frustrated. Why couldn’t I just enjoy this book the way everyone else did? 

Obviously, I never want to dislike a book, but this was one that I almost feel betrayed me. I know there’s a significant amount of entitlement there; Valente doesn’t owe me any stories, let alone good ones. 

At the same time, I made every effort. I owned all the books, was working hard to read a series despite my long-time struggles with them, and, well, I LOVE Valente! I constantly talk about her work! And even someone like me—someone who’s usually a pretty fast reader, loves the series/author in question, and was determined to finish this book—struggled throughout. 

So I’m frustrated that the book made me feel like an idiot. I’m frustrated that, for the apparent crime of being devoted to Valente’s work, I was put through this. This book would be one star if not for the world of Fairyland and the returning cast—if this had not been a Fairyland book, I would not have finished reading it. For that first half, I was bribing myself (with better books) to read one or two pages at a time. Really.

Like I said, it didn’t have to be this way. I know damn well that Valente can do better than this. If Valente had been given the opportunity to edit this draft into a polished book, she could have done it. It’s only because of these restraints that she chose—and she is a grown woman who may choose what she likes—that the book came out this way. It’s genuinely hard to review, because I understand why she wrote the book this way, and I understand why she did not later edit the majority of the text, and I also have the perspective of a disappointed reader. It’s hard to balance all of that.

So two stars it is. I’m a little sad it took so long to review this book, because I was REALLY pumped to review it when I first finished, but I hope that on the contrary letting it sit has allowed me to be more objective and less emotionally upset by it. 

I hope to pick up the fourth book soon, but with the combination of it being unrelated to the main cast and the letdown that this book was, it’ll be a while before I feel up to it. Don’t worry, though, because I will come back to update you as to whether the series overall is worth continuing. I have every hope that it will be.

[likesomekindofcheese]

Songbird of Jamestown (Samuel Castell x fem! Reader) Chapter Six

Summary: The year is 1619. You are one among the “maids to make wives” who landed in the Jamestown colony. Despite the hardships faced, a kind recorder helps you through and catches your eye. However, he is engaged to another woman who has given you an ultimatum- be near him or be alive.

Word Count: 6K

Content Warnings: illness, mentions of death and sex and things get really...heavy for a bit (but no smut, I promise...not yet)

Taglist: @bluesfortheredj​ @queenlover05​ @themficsilike​ @itscale​ @itsametaphorgwil​ @supernaturalee​ for help with the ending and when I was feeling stressed about the drafting process, i love you), @blamerogertaylor , @yourlocalmusicalprostitute​,  @theworksgaga​  @theoneandonlyeclecticepileptic​ @rubystarflight​ @theoneandonlyeclecticepilepic   @joemazzhello

“Master Castell,” you began, breathing in deep.

He was dressed in his yellow clothes. The same he wore on that first day. It was oddly poetic.

“Master Castell…I’m leaving,” you announce plainly.

“I know, I got your message as soon as I left the assembly. And I saw you walking by I…I…why are you leaving?” he asked, he folded his hands behind his back politely.

“I was not…successful here. The company has a price on me that must be repaid. I came here to be married. And I have other, uhm, offers in the next community over,” you say.

You look down on the dirt.  It is hard to look at him. You do not want to. You did not want this pain.

“But Y/N…are you well? You’ve been sick. The other day you were barely there, it seemed. I knew not if you would even live and now…you are walking and talking. And now you’re going to leave the next day?” he asked.

You swallowed hard, “Doctor Priestly says I’m fine.”

“Look at your bags, they’re touching the mud! You look like you can hardly carry them! Something has happened to you, please tell me!” he begged.

“Please leave, Samuel,” you ordered him, you feel a crack in your throat.

“What, why? Have I…Y/N…are you leaving because…of me? Have I been cruel? I promise, if I have, it was an accident!”

“Don’t play games with me…don’t play pretend and then act like you’re sorry…” you protested.

He was right about your bag. Its weight feels unbearably heavy now. You dropped it, sighing from the release. Your breathing feels shakier.

“I’ve…I’ve cried so much these few days, don’t m-m-mind me…I’m just weak and womanly, you know, and I keep trying to be strong but…” you mumbled, tears finally breaking out.

“There, there, shhh…” he offered

He ran up as you as you finally released those suppressed tears.

Then he takes you in his arms and embraces you.

It is surreal, the feeling of his arms around you. It is too close. Your body stiffens from how close you are to him, unused to such physical intimacy from a man. His warmth and musky scent of ink and tobacco were overwhelming.

As much as you wanted to toss him aside, to throw your fists at him and scream “I hate you!” from how angry you felt at everything, at how angry that his letter put you into such danger…you could not.

The cart driver walked up and asked, “is the lady alright?”

“She’s just upset. She’s saying her goodbyes.” Samuel assured him, with a gesture of peace.

Feeling embarrassment from crying in front of a stranger, you turn up to see the driver. He tipped his straw hat at you as you wiped your face with your sleeve.

“Well, jus’ let me know when she is ready.” he ordered, lighting up a tobacco pipe and smoking.

He walked out into the fields, noting you both and leaving to give room for privacy

You saw Samuel watch him until he walked away and then led you to stand aside, near to where the graves stood like crosses growing on the field. Where no one else about town could see.

“Are you planning to leave or is the company sending you? Was this your choice?” he asked.

“Yes! But…no, not actually, no, no, no because…b-because…neither, because…because…” you fretted, the words were failing to come out of you.

There was one thing that would explain it all. Or explain as much as he needed to know. As much as would keep you safe before you left, and he was wedded.

“I’m doing it for your good and for mine too,” you informed him.

You pulled him away and then got into your bag and pulled out the copy of Ovid, flipping the pages to the letter in the back.

Samuel’s face turned pink and his jaw fell open slightly. He folded his arms and covered his mouth.

“Samuel…did you actually write this?” you asked.

“Yes…I was going to give it to you when you were better and…I lost it. Y/N, how did you find it?”

“Did you really mean it, every word?” you interrogated, ignoring the question.

He paused and then answered very softly, “yes.”

“So…this isn’t a trick or a trap? Something that could get me hanged?” you continued.

“Y/N…I meant every word.”

“You see, I have to go. It is too dangerous to be here. And even if this letter weren’t found, I’m the one standing in the way of you and everything you’ve been promised,” You explained.

“Y/N…I’m so sorry. It was on my desk in my house among my personal things. I hid it and locked it away. I never thought anyone would…”

She must have snuck into there and retrieved it.

You blinked your eyes quickly, looking up at him softly.

“I will miss you so much, you were the best part about Jamestown.” You blabbered, holding the book close to your chest.

“As were you, Y/N. I wish you to stay, but if you want to leave, you can leave. I could…I could visit you. Give you a wedding present See your husband. See your children. See you happy and smiling. Like you used to be. Help you if you needed it…”

Remembering Jocelyn’s threats, you shook your head.

“You can’t…you can’t visit me. I can’t risk being seen with you at all. This is the last time we will ever talk to each other,” you assured.

“Y/N…before you leave, tell me…do you feel the same?” he questioned.

You paused Your head lowered to the ground.

“Goodbye, Samuel,” you lamented.

“Just know, every last letter of that is true, Y/N, ” he mentioned, pointing to the book.

You turned your back and walked forward to the cart.

You paused before getting on it. You pulled out the letter and looked at it, though you had reread it a few times, still processing it, there was one phrase that struck you now. A phrase you remembered from Samuel’s words.

“If you are ever in dire need of assistance…”        

You looked at him, the letter, and the cart. Your legs shook from inside as you walked to the driver and shyly requested “Sir, go on without me.”

“Are you sure, miss?”

“You have been paid already, so there’s no need. Go home. I am staying here.”

You turned around to Samuel as you heard him whistle at the horses and click his tongue as a signal to move.

Samuel’s face began to lighten, and you saw his frown turn to a smile as you walked back to him.

“The real reason I was leaving…. I was just afraid. I am afraid, now. But I’m not going to run. I’m not going to hide. I’m going to stay, and I’m going to fight. I won’t just sit by and let the worst things here happen…just…you said in the letter if I ever needed help…” you began.

“Yes?”

“I need it…I…I’m in danger. That was the real reason I was leaving.” You confided.

“Is someone threatening you?”

Stomach cramping, you kept eyeing around you in case anyone was nearby.

“Is it possible to go somewhere private?” you pleaded.

“Of course, there’s a place around the fort. Where the forest begins,” he offered, pointing to the trees.

The sun was moving into the later afternoon, its bright yellow glow drowning the village now turning everything a little orange. There was a small smell of cooking fires preparing suppers across homes.

You both walked around the fort and then to the opening of the forest beneath some trees. The wind whistled around some trunks that fluttered the leaves on their heads in answer. The bushes were high enough that most heads couldn’t see you. You felt the crunch of sticks beneath your feet and the footfalls of rabbits, expecting hunters.

“It involves someone you know…You will want to sit down…” you began quietly.

He sat down on the grass, sticks creaking beneath his weight as he rests on his knees. You lay down, feeling the soft dirt and smelling the earth around you, sitting on your knees as well.

You take a minute, then your eyes met.

“First of all, you must promise that you believe every word I say. I’m not making any of this up. I’m not saying this for any reason or plan of my own accord or yours. I am not lying in order to spread harm to people. I only want to save myself right now. I’m in danger. Someone’s threatening to kill me.”

“Who…who is it?” he asked.

Pausing, your fists clenched. Heart slowly picking up speed again, you dared not back away from looking into his eyes.

“Jocelyn Woodybrg,” You answered flatly. “She found the book with the letter. Then she poisoned me.”

“Jocelyn?”

You took a deep breath in, all of it seeming surreal

“That was why I was sick. She poisoned my water. I could be dead now if it weren’t for Verity. Then after I woke up, she confronted me. She said since I was her maid and because she had befriended the governor, no one would believe me if I reported it. I was shown the letter from the book. Samuel, I swear to you, I never saw this letter or knew of it until she showed it to me…”

Swallowing again, you saw that although his brows furrowed, Other than that he seemed frozen, his blue eyes wide.

You continued, “she said she had arranged the cart and contacted men who might be interested in marrying me in the town over these past weeks. I had to leave or else…she would find a way to destroy me!”

You backed down, your hand gripping onto your skirt. Not even believing the words that were coming out of you. A couple tears returned. But it felt amazing to finally tell someone. An inhale long denied came through you, as if finally gasping for air after swimming underwater for ages.

He handed you a handkerchief again to wipe off tears and snot now filling your nose from all your crying. You kept twisting it in your hands as you spoke.

“I…I know it…it all seems ridiculous. But…you have to believe me. I’m not lying. I’m not making this up to make her look bad in front of you. I thought if I told anyone, they would just think I’m saying these things out of jealousy and…it would be useless,” you said.

“I believe you, Y/N. I believe you! You already have my sympathy and my admiration.”

“Admiration?” you ask. Your head tilted a little.

“Things like these break people. Make them cruel. But you seem yourself. And you could have held that pain in, you could have run off and not consider asking for help, but you’re asking for it now. I believe you. You don’t have to let that worry torture you anymore…” he sympathized.

“She gave me a choice, leave here or die. She made a threat, and she will act on it. She’s proven it’s possible for her to kill me. I…I only want you to understand what she has done to me and this…this side of her.”

“She wasn’t like that when I met her, years ago. I could have never guessed she was capable of such acts. Y/N…I’m so sorry that I let this happen,” he said.

“It’s not your fault. You didn’t know.” you comforted.

It then hits you.

“Mercy…do you remember the time she struck Mercy? Has anything else happened between them?”

“Jocelyn’s always on edge with the poor girl…and then she turns around and is cheerful as ever. And Mercy never complained about anything to me…not that she would. Mercy’s too used to cruel people, poor soul, and you know how the child worships Jocelyn if you ask her.”

“Where will Mercy be by now? Perhaps I could ask her some questions, she could know something. That could give everyone proof and no one would think I’m making it up. Oh, where on earth would she be…” you babbled, your eyes darting with your racing thoughts.

“She’s in my house!” he replied.

“How do you know?”

“She lives and works there, of course!”

You both smiled. You feel it grow, curving up- almost like stretching a limb. It is a little painful from lack of use, but present.

“Y/N…thank you for telling me…but there is one thing I have to be sure of before I do anything else…” he whispered.

There was a rustle from a few more rabbits scurrying away. A few birds let out long, descending notes above you.

“Y/N…do you…tolerate me?” he asked, backing away a little bit.

“Tolerate?” you ask, your voice squeaks a little and you duck your head, avoiding his eyes. You notice his cheeks growing pinker.

 “I…you have read the letter” he turned pink “you understand how it is I…I feel about you. And I’ve promised to protect you, which I will always do. Y/N, all I need is an answer. If you don’t feel the same about me, I will still help you, but I will never bother about it again. But…do you feel the same?”

You looked up at him, almost pulling the handkerchief apart.

“Y-y-yes” you stuttered out timidly.

You went red and held your face in your hands. The little cloth fluttered to the dirt. Laughing a little, you returned it with it’s brown stains.

“Oh my goodness, I can’t, I can’t, I can’t believe I…I’ve said it to you, please, oh, I’m so embarrassed. I love you so much, I’ve worshiped you the moment I saw you, isn’t that silly?” you prattled, overwhelmed.

“It’s not, Y/N…I’m….I’m happy you do.”

He gently takes your hand and rubs on it a little bit. You savor the feeling, warm and smooth. You feel a few cold rings press into you, but not too hard, and you both sit there a while. Though you notice a ring for the engagement is still there. Reminding you, like a little demon.

A small breeze picks up and you feel its coolness. It becomes sunnier.

“I can’t believe, I actually love someone who loves me in return! I thought it’d never happen!” you say.

He pulls you to him and embraces you for a bit, then you both stand up and he presses his forehead to yours gently.

“Can I…Can I kiss you?” he asked.

Freezing a little bit, you looked around. No one seemed to be watching. There were no movements anywhere. Not even from the rabbits.

Breath hitched, you gulped and said “You’ve made a promise to her…”

gesturing to the engagement ring you saw in his hand and fiddling with it.

“I’m…learning more about her. I’m not even sure if she loves me. But you love me. And I love you. And we may not have this moment again. We’re safe here.”

You nodded. “You may.”

He pulled you close and kissed you very sweetly. It was odd and wet, but beautiful. He barely finished one when he went in for another deeper one.

You pulled back for bit.

“We…we can’t!” you say, pulling away, though laughing a little like a child stealing a pastry.

“Just one more, please!” he begged.

“Alright!”

So he pulled back for a third and you let him. You smiled and he gently caressed your cheek.

“Thank you…Y/N…for indulging me.”

“You’re a fine kisser, I was the one indulged! Could you…could you walk out first…I will follow after I just…let’s not give anyone reason to talk…” you suggested.

He took both your hands and kissed them “I will”

The gesture made you grin wider again and his eyes were bright.

“Thank you, dear Samuel.”

“I could hear it all day if I could!”

He let your hands go and walked back albeit with a slight hop.

Waiting for as long as you could, you took in the sun now shining. You heard bugs and the small lizards climbing the trees. Laying down, you saw as the trees rustled above you and clouds floated slowly. You wanted to stay here forever.

You knew you had to return. But you took your time tracing your lips delicately and wondering if all of this had happened.

After you were sure enough time had passed, you walked back.

Once you were sure it was the time of the meeting in church, taking Samuel with it to record the events (with Jocelyn in the audience knowing every small event that happened here like a hawk) you knocked the door of the Castell house.

Mercy answered it, with a broom in her hand, and jumped, letting out a squeal of surprise.

“Oh, Y/N! Y/N!” she cried with joy.

She ran over and hugged you, and you smiled, hugging her back.

“Shhhh, Mercy, I need you to stay quiet!”

“How can I be quiet when there is such joy! But…why are you here? Shouldn’t you be away by now?”

“Mercy, I’m here to see you! May I come in?”

“Please!”

It was rather simple: wooden and light with a large table as soon as you walked in, a little vase stood in a corner with a few white flowers on top of a chest. You saw a large table in front of you as you walked in.

“Mercy, I’m…I’m going to stay. I’ve rejected the marriage offers.” You told her as she pulled up a chair.

“You aren’t leaving! Oh, what happy news! What a heavenly day!” she cried.

“Mercy, yes I��m staying. And I have a few questions to ask you…could you sit down for a bit?”

“Yes, I can!” she said, settling herself into a chair. Wiggling a bit with excitement.

“How are you, Mercy?” you ask.

“Today, I am quite well. This morning God has given me another day to live and so every day I wake up I am thankful.” She answered.

“That is good, and Mercy… do you enjoy working for Miss Woodbyrg?” you asked.

“Oh yes, I have never had a Mistress before! And as beautiful and good as Mistress Woodbyrg is- I could have married her myself!”

“Even when she struck you?” you asked.

“I…I deserved it. Sometimes she would chide me about my mouth but…it is a fault, and I should learn to control it. She had her moods, yes, but she is a kind, sweet, dear lady!”

“How has she…how has she felt since being here? Has she acted strange?” you ask.

“She…she doesn’t like it here. She doesn’t seem happy with anything. When she asked me to change the sheets on her bed to be clean- this was the very day she arrived, see- I told her they were washed this morning. Clean as can be. And she frowned! Thinking clean sheets as dirty, can you imagine! But she is so troubled, it seems…”

“Troubled? How come?”

“She says she has trouble sleeping! So the master asked me to stay the night a few times to attend her. I saw her, middle of the night on her chair and there was something in her hands- it was belladonna. She has been taking it to ease her pain to sleep!”

She paused a little, frowning.

“I don’t know if I should have said that. There are so many things I am to say and not to say it gets a little confusing.”

You slowed your breath.

“Really? Isn’t it poisonous?”

“That’s what I told her, but she said it wasn’t no harm and was helping her sleep, but I said I couldn’t sleep as long as she was troubled and she sent me away to my room.”

You wondered if you could trust her. To tell one other soul the truth. Perhaps.

“Mercy I…I may have seen her with the belladonna too, as I was working with her…do you think me a gossip?

“If I am honest, a bit…”

You smiled a little “I’m just worried… I wanted to be sure. I just…I just needed to hear something from you. I wanted to be sure it was real and not my imagination.”

“What is it, miss? Is something troubling you too?”

“Mercy…I’m just scared because…your mistress…doesn’t like me.”

“But you’re so good to everyone, miss! Why shouldn’t she?”

“No matter what I do…I can’t get her to stop hating me…” you confess.

“Well, she prayed for you! I saw it myself. But I prayed for you even more, just to be sure.” She added.

You decided to leave it at that.

“I must be going…” you finish.

“But Miss…even if our mistress has her little angers it’s only because she has pain. And even if she doesn’t like you… you’re still a kind lady, in my eyes.”

You smiled and said a simple “thank you, Mistress Mercy.”

She gave her wildest smile at that and walked you outside.

Then there was the next step of your plan, hurry home. Some people glanced to see you running back with a full sack. Joy and that odd mix of anxiety and certainty gave strength to your arms and you carried it as if it were nothing.

You went into your home, thankfully undisturbed by any presence since you left. Dropping the sack, shutting the door, locking it and shutting the window, you set to searching.

You looked among the food and pots. You looked under the table, under the bed, blankets, and pillows.

Something under your pillow was shining too bright to be a crumb of food or a hair.

Looking carefully, you saw it as a pearl earring.

It was Jocelyn’s, no doubt. She had planted and planned your fate had you refused her ultimatum.

Now came the time to wait until the next church service tomorrow.

You dressed simply, washed your face with water, and taking a few careful bites of bread and fruit and drinking milk from one of the goats. You could not seem weak to anyone and your appetite was returning.

As the church bells rang, you took the pearl earring in your hand and clasped it tightly. People gathered in and you followed. The familiar sight of brown wooden walls, pews, and the altar that seemed still despite everything that had happened. Though a few curious faces turned to looked at you.

People went to you and said “oh, Miss Y/L/N! You are well again!” Every face, even a few who weren’t familiar, smiled at the sight of you. It was like being surrounded by a flurry of concerned chickens. The church groaned as feet shuffled your way.

And at that moment you saw Jocelyn’s blonde head turn.

Now, if you wait forever, this will never be done. Not with everyone in town here.

“Oh, Miss Woodbyrg! You left something at my house.” You said.

Her reaction to your appearance was that of large eyes and a slightly lowered jaw, only showing a bit of her teeth. Her eyes scattered away from you, briefly, as if figuring out what she could say.

“Misstress, when you were nursing me the other day, as you were so kind, you forgot something by accident! Allow me to return it to you- you must have dropped it!” you insisted loudly.

With as long and clear a movement as you could, so everyone going into church could see, you handed the earring back to her, placing it in her hand.

“I’m glad you have your earring back!” you chirruped.

Her nostrils flared.

“Oh Miss Y/L/N, as am I…and what of your…your proposals?” she asked.

You heard the footsteps of the minister make his way; the service would begin soon.

“I only wish to stay here. Seeing I’ve made a name of myself and there are plenty of men. Will you need my services tonight? I can also check my house, perhaps nursing there may have been more things you have forgotten?”

“Oh, no, Miss Y/L/N you can…you can be dismissed from my service. I…I wish you to rest and…and find yourself a proper husband in that time,” she said.

Her face was still frozen, though her cheeks were getting redder and the slight scowl couldn’t lie.

You smiled wider and wider; it was easier to focus on the sermon today. People continually looked at you, hoping you were well.

And as you knelt to pray, you remembered Mercy’s words, the simplicity of her gratitude in just living. Things that a week ago perhaps you took for granted.

“Please…give me one more day…one more day to breathe…one more day…”

Once you returned home, you ripped the back page of Dante. Looking at the table, you saw the pen and ink you had borrowed thankfully still remained. Dipping in the pen, you wrote:

“MERCY SAW HER WITH POISON. ASK HER. BURN THIS” in your shaky, clumsy handwriting.

It would be better to wait. Perhaps tomorrow there would be less business in the evening for the church meetings. Once you were sure it was the right time, the sun dipping into the evening, you hurried to the meeting hall to the corner on the far right where Samuel always sat with his book, scribbling away. You could hide the note for him to find.

The next evening came and your heart hammered as you prayed Jocelyn’s wandering eyes would not search his records. But as you passed the Castell house with its door open, you noticed Mercy sweeping.

A “hello” barely escaped your lips when you saw her suddenly stand still. She swayed for a little, barely able to hold the broom.

Then she collapsed on the floor.

Letting out a little scream you ran to her.

“Mercy! Wake up! What’s wrong!?” you asked.

“Miss Y/L/N…I…I’m so sorry, I…I just feel so…so horrid…” she mumbled, there were a few tears and she was shaking.

With all your strength, you pulled her to her feet, noticing a little curtain with a small room, just enough for a servant, you dragged her there and placed her on the bed.

“Mercy stay on the bed, I’ll be back,” you promised.

Lifting your green skirt, you ran out. Eyes searching, you noticed Silas looking at the butcher’s wares perhaps for the Sharrow’s supper.

You shook his shoulder and said “Silas! Do you know where the apothecary is?”

Feeling the panic in your voice he replied, “Miss Y/L/N? Yes, I do!”

“Please get him at once, hurry! Mercy’s sick-she could be dying!”

“Should I bring Master Castell as well, miss?”

Pausing a little, you said “yes…yes, of course!”

He dipped your head, offering “Miss Y/L/N…you were a great help to Alice…she wouldn’t be here, in body or spirit perhaps if it weren’t for you, and…and I don’t think I would be either, thank you” before bounding away.

You immediately fetched some water, brought it into Mercy’s bedroom. and lapped off her forehead With a cloth

“Mercy…oh, Mercy…can you hear me?” you wonder.

“It’s…spinning…everything spinning…” she mumbled.

You untied her cap to cool her off, brushing out her long, wavy hair with her fingers. It was incredibly beautiful, thick and the color of a dark chestnut tree. If only she did not have to tie it beneath a cap all day long.

“Mercy, stay awake, please stay with me…please don’t pass out!” you begged.

But then a memory struck you. This was not too different from your condition a few days ago.

Running with all your strength and a newfound anger, you went home and returned with a bit of the medicine Priestly had given you. It was only a little from what was left in that vial, but it was enough. Rushing back, huffing a little from all your activity, you went before Mercy on her sickbed and tipped the vial to her small mouth.

“Take this…”

“No…I need to rely on…God…if my faith is strong enough…he’ll save me…” she mourned.

“Mercy, I…I think God would want you to take it. I think you caught my sickness. This saved me and…I don’t want to lose you, why else would God give it to me first? It’s a sign, Mercy …so please take it!”

You lifted it to her lips and the girl swallowed a little obediently.

“Mercy…tell me at once…do you remember…when were you with Mistress Woodbyrg?” you asked nervously.

“I…the other day…I just asked her if the belladonna was helping…with her sleep…and she told me not to talk of it…and…and I said I was just worried…and I have to talk of a thought if it consumes me…do you understand?”

Your heart raced, all you could think was no, no, no, no, no…it couldn’t be…but, she can be like that…you found that out already…

You nodded.

“I understand, Mercy…”

Doctor Priestly entered in a few minutes.

“Doctor, I leave you to examine her but…I suspect she has the same symptoms I did…” you explain, holding out the medicine in your hand.

“I gave her this medicine to be safe…”

“Quick thinking, miss, thank you! Could you…could you strip her down to her shift? I’ll…. I’ll leave the room…” he walked out a bit.

You undid Mercy’s apron and pulled her dress over her head then laid her down. The girl was very slight, like a thimble, and she did not resist. She was only barely conscious, holding on with the medicine.

You laid her down and then walked out, waiting for a while as Priestly spoke with her and examined her. You sat at the table, trying to listen to the sounds outside to distract yourself, wondering how on earth you would explain to anyone what you were doing in a man’s house unaccompanied.

Doctor Priestly returned.

He looked at you and nodded his head with a worried look.

You handed him the rest of the medicine and said you had to leave. But once you left the house, Samuel was running up with Silas.

“She’s sick?” he asked, eyes wide with worry.

Silas bowed to you and ran off to carry on with his evening duties.

You nodded and before anyone else could catch you, you passed the note to his hands.

“The same as me,” you confirmed before you ran away.

You wanted no reason to give anyone suspicions about you two. The least you could do right now was pray and wait.

That evening, Samuel made sure Mercy was peacefully sleeping by the time it would be dinner. He was going to din with his fiancée. Or that was what she thought. That was what was normal.

She walked into his house to find there was no smell of cooking. And his face did not look warm. There was no Mercy either. Only a small, soft snore coming from her closed room was a sign the servant was there at all.

“Is the supper ready?” she asked coolly.

There was no answer. Samuel stood in the middle of the room, his hands behind his back and his eyes like steel.

“You can’t let your maid sleep when there’s a meal to prepare.”

“I can’t have supper with poisoned food a maid ate…Jocelyn…what were you doing with belladonna?” he asked sternly.

“Was…was Mercy spreading something false?” she asked.

“Jocelyn…please tell me the truth, yes, Mercy fell sick. Christopher said it was poison. And I learned you had it. What is it belladonna for?”

“I…I needed it.” She answered.

“Why would you use it on a child who poses no threat to you?”

“I…I must have…have dropped it. I needed it to sleep.”

“The symptoms matched Y/N’s. When I asked Priestly, he said she was poisoned too. I don’t see how attacking both of your servants would have helped you sleep.”

“She…just wouldn’t… would not keep quiet that I had it!”

“Why didn’t you tell her you were finally at peace then? That you were sleeping well. Is it her fault that you kept saying you were worried and kept the thing with you? Why were you keeping belladonna in the first place? Do you really need it to sleep or is it something else…are you lying to me? Who else are you trying to poison.”

Jocelyn backed a little bit. Then she folded her hands in front of her, calm as ever.

“See, Samuel…if the Marshal was out of the way- Think of how many people would be help. How they would love it once you were governor.”

“Jocelyn, if you were caught, you would have been hung!”

“I would not have! The men here are corrupt, they’re going to ruin everything and everyone! You should know that better than anyone.”

“Well, what about Mercy? Or even Miss Y/L/N? How could they ruin the town? What would people here think of a woman who poisons her servants?”

“Miss Y/L/N had to be taught a lesson. She…she’s mad for you, Samuel. You’ve…you hurt me! You hurt me when you mention her name!”

She walked toward him, backing him before the fireplace.

“And you retaliate by trying to kill her? Jocelyn, I chose you to marry. I even told her in private that I chose you for my wife. How can I marry a woman who tries to kill any person I talk to? Would you have hurt her if you knew that?”

“As long as she’s here, as long as she can even look at you, I know you’ll never be mine and…she’s going to ruin you,” She spat softly.

“Ruin me? How?”

She pushed him down to a chair.

“Little Y/N won’t give you anything. Do you know what she even told me when I finally asked her about you?”

She touched the sides of his face to look right at hers.

“She said she wished you were a poor farmer and not a recorder so she could be with you! What will that entail, hmm? Think of what that means. No house, no money, nothing but the dirt and plants and heat and work when Massenger, Farlow, and the rest destroy everything. How could you live like that?”

He stood up a little more, he took her hands but pushed her away, lifting from his chair.

“Jocelyn, when I met you, I thought I loved you. You were kind. You cared about others. I thought when I paid your passage that I was agreeing to marry that woman I met in Oxford. But you’re not the woman I thought you were.”

He let go of her hands. But she didn’t keep her distance.

“Don’t you want rule over everything you see? Don’t you want to change things here? See what kind of leader you would be …”

“You mean, what kind of leader you would be…”

She paused.

“We could work together…I could make you like a king…we could be happy…and I love you”

She moves closer, touching his face and kisses him. By instinct, Samuel kisses her back. Something about her was so attractive and her kissing was indescribable.

“And…just imagine the wedding night with me…she could not please you like I could, Samuel. And…we do not have to wait until then…Technically we are married now. I could show you what it would be like, starting tonight”

She kept kissing him and moved her hands underneath his clothes, finding the buttons.

He squinted his eyes. She was cool and soft. His lower body felt tight and hot.

But he thought of Mercy, asleep in her room a few feet over. Just a few steps ahead of death. He thought of Y/N, darling Y/N, crying and afraid to even tell what happened to her.

Who would be next? Was it worth this one moment of pleasure?

Fighting the heat rising in his body, he pushed her away gently.

“Don’t touch me, please” he asked.

“But I know you like it, I know you like danger, I know you like fun…and looking there, I know you like me,” she purred glancing to his breeches.

Her hands lowered from his chest and seemed to go to the seam of his pants. Resisting his own arousal, he finally pushed her away.

“I asked you to stop!” he said.

“You don’t understand, Samuel…pleasure, safety, change…!” she said. As she stepped forward, he stepped back.

Breathing in deep, his hands shaking a little he said “the money has been paid, I promised I would pay for your passage here and it’s been covered, the company won’t care. I talked with the governor today. I wanted this to be done quietly and peacefully. And he gave me his consent.”

He slipped off his engagement ring and placed it on his desk away from her.

“I refuse you, Miss Woodbyrg. You’re free now,” he said.

“You could be a king with me!” Jocelyn argued.

“I think I would rather be a farmer. Now please leave,” he finished.

Once he thought his heart would stop racing, right before she turned the door, she looked at him and said:

“The slut will die for what she has done to us. To the colony. She wants to stay here, then she’ll die here.”

Samuel’s stomach dropped as she shut the door with an odd quietness. But her words still echoed in the room. If he had to help Y/N like she asked him to, he had to act fast.