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knjoodles · 4 years

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incomparable | taehyung x reader

pairing: taehyung x reader

genre: angst, fluff

word count: 4.9K

warnings: supposed cheating, struggle with body image, low confidence. (i have struggled with all of these things myself)

summary: with taehyung’s busy schedule, you often wonder why it seems he wants to be everywhere but by your side.

lowercase intended

you loved taehyung.

no, you love taehyung. the love you and taehyung shared was something that you’d never experienced before. something unique, something different.

it had all started when the two of you were in high school, being forced to talk to each other as you were paired together for a social studies project. you were a quiet, reserved student, one who had at most three friends and wasn’t looking to make more. once a social butterfly, the endless bullying you’d suffered in your early teen years, being completely excluded from your entire grade, made you cling to those who didn’t succumb to the rumors. to this day, you weren’t quite sure why you were targeted. what you were sure about, though, was the bitterness of the people who hurt you, who went as far as to blackmail old friends to end their friendship with you. you learned to trust few, but cherish them the most. your warm and welcoming personality turned cold to those you didn’t know, not fully letting them in until the still scarred, younger version of you was assured they wouldn’t betray you. you didn’t lose the happy-go-lucky (y/n) you always were, she’s just hidden away. like an exclusive, vip perk for those you’d trust with your life.

taehyung was like you, minus the traumatizing bullying. he was full of energy, a ball of sunshine who would never be seen with anything less than a smile. both of your respective friends found it amusing how such different people just happened to be paired together, and you were left as dumbfounded as the rest. it’s not that you found taehyung annoying, no. he was just very loud.

it started with the two of you working at the library, taehyung lugging a large board across the isles to a large community table. he waved at you giddily, trifold board bouncing against the library’s carpeting as he dashed towards you, footsteps loudly hitting the floor. waddling towards you, panting lightly, he greeted you, slumping in the seat in front of you. you were annoyed. you couldn’t believe this was what you had to work with.

the project? report on a european country and its state in the 18th century. before you could even finish your question on what he wanted to report on, taehyung slammed his large hands onto the hardwood table, exclaiming that he wanted to do portugal. with his excited form dangerously rocking back and forth on his chair, the two of you began work, reporting on 18th-century portugal.

by the second or third time you’d met up, he wasn’t that bad anymore. the two of you had conjured a few inside jokes and you looked forward to your meetings with him, as it had become a practice for the two of you to talk about what struggles plagued your teenage lives while your parents rang your phones, trying to figure out where the hell you where and why you weren’t home by now. it was funny to you and taehyung. things were good.

fast forward to senior year, where taehyung had been usurped into your friend group, all five of you marching off to places where you shouldn’t be at ungodly hours. that was the dream of being eighteen yet still a child, the amount much freedom that you could savor, but only for a short time. as your friends all sat on the roof of your high school at midnight, you remember glancing at taehyung, wrapped in his jacket underneath your shawl due to the cold weather. he was different from when you’d first met him; his face was maturing, and he had a handsome glow to him. his raven hair was highlighted by the pale moon, a silver lining shining against his locks. as he gazed unto the bright city before him, you noticed his flawless facial features: eyes, round and excited, skin, smooth and without fault, nose, tall and attractive, and lips, plump and seemingly carved into perfection.

for the first time in your life, your stomach felt like a jumbled mess sitting next to him. your breath quickened and you wanted to hide, feeling the sudden urge to make sure you looked amazing every time he looked at you.

taehyung was popular with the girls and the boys, as expected. as much as you hated it, you couldn’t help but feel insignificant next to taehyung. classmates of all ages would swarm and gawk at him, staring at his practically god-sculpted visuals and kind soul. taehyung was perfect, and everybody knew it. it hurt you, sometimes. knowing that even though you were close friends, he may think of you as a sister, not a lover. there were hundreds of people in your school alone that would be a better match for taehyung than you. the self-destructive language bubbled inside of you every time you saw him laughing with someone else, eyes full of joy.

you broke down in tears in front of him in his room. he was clueless as to your feelings for him, but seeing you sobbing mercilessly ripped his heart into little pieces. you cried about how you never felt like you were enough, how you just wanted one person to look at you the way you look at them, how you knew they were out of your league but you still wanted to be with them. hand rubbing your back comfortingly, taehyung assured that anyone who didn’t want to be with you was stupid, and the guy who you liked was an asshole. you laughed at his comment, and he chuckled with you, thinking he made you laugh in a time of need. he did, but not for the reason he thought.

it’s the early-middle of senior year. the last of college apps had been sent out, but taehyung was pursuing something you thought to be incredulous. he burst into your room as you edited a project essay, startling you. his hyper aura transferred to you as he beamed that he’d been accepted as a trainee to bighit entertainment, a small, yet promising company. jumping up and down in unison, you hugged him tightly, wanting to show just how proud of him you were. he deserved it, he worked hard. you’d been accepted to a large university in seoul, essentially spelling out that you and taehyung would be moving to seoul to pursue your careers. this was when your heart felt as tense as ever, knowing that as a trainee, taehyung would be restricted from doing almost anything. and, when he becomes an idol, he’d be restricted from literally everything.

it was a normal day, your tired mind barely staying awake due to your midnight rendezvous with your friends. what was abnormal, though, was taehyung’s intentional avoidance of you. every time you approached him, he’d grow silent and slip away. every time you looked at him, knowing fully that he was boring holes into the side of your head, he’d dart his eyes, staring at the floor. it left you perplexed and slightly discouraged. the sudden lack in interest towards you rubbed you the wrong way: what could you have possibly done to drive him away this much? as you sat in silence against the brick wall, drumming your pencil against your leg, scouring through your mind for any reason for his actions, taehyung put his hand on your shoulder tenderly. the sudden touch made you simultaneously drop your pencil and look up, somewhat confused that taehyung just appeared after seemingly wanting to disappear the entire day. taehyung asked to talk.

he pulled you to the back of your school where it was quiet and crisp from the cold, winter air. as taehyung stood silent in front of you, wringing his hands nervously, you prepared for the worst. thousands of tragedies flew through your mind, not knowing what exactly to expect, but his body language spoke for itself. staring into your eyes deeply, he sputtered a confession of attraction, blurting how he wanted to go on a date with you.

how that night, so long ago, he, too, felt something different.

the two of you had become one.

after graduation, that’s how the two of you lived your lives; taehyung, in and out of his busy schedule as an idol, and you, studying endlessly to pursue your medical career. taehyung had warned you that once he debuted, he’d have to leave your shared apartment and move into dorms with his friends turned co-members. you remember how this conversation went down: he talked to you as you faced him in bed, your hand resting on his clothed chest. you responded by kissing his forehead lovingly, reassuring that it’d be okay, that nothing would be wrong.

of course, you’d said that with the thought taehyung wouldn’t become a worldwide sensation, that his face wouldn’t be all over twitter, instagram, and almost every billboard in sight. taehyung’s schedule consumed him and, as a result, your relationship as well. his appearances at your apartment became shorter and shorter, and everything felt lost. no hugs, no kisses, no dates, no nights over, no sex, no him. no nothing. it was you, in your apartment, by yourself, wishing that taehyung would unlock the door and pull you into his arms.

his international trips hurt, too. it’s not that you didn’t trust him — no, you trust him more than anything — it was the fear which would corrode you in high school reemerging in the back of your mind. that dark whisper, moaning that everything was not okay. that taehyung knew you weren’t there, knew you wouldn’t know. what would stop him? his manager, and risk a scandal that could wreck his career? his members, who knew that if he fell, so would the entire group? no, they would never. you have no one on your side but you.

you didn’t want to feel uneasy at the slightest thought of leaving your side, but being alone causes your deepest, darkest fears to keep you company. before taking a shower you’d stand in front of the bathroom mirror, nude, and unconsciously point out all the flaws you see in yourself. how, even with your feet apart, your legs only seemed to gain fat. how your waist was never as tiny as the women who would serenade thousands of people in sold-out concerts. how, regardless of all the good pictures you’ve snapped of yourself, you would never be pretty enough to stand confidently next to taehyung.

hiding the relationship was what bighit felt to be the best move. you knew it was just to protect taehyung from getting swarmed and harassed even more, but a small part of you couldn’t help but feel that it was your fault. your fault that you weren’t good enough for bighit to announce you as taehyung’s girlfriend. not thin enough for netizens to accept you as worthy of dating the kim taehyung. not smart enough, not pale enough, not attractive enough to be called his. you were afraid that bighit found you to be an embarrassment. how dare you crack the perfect image of bighit; how dare you.

taehyung had returned from day four of their seoul concerts, which they had scheduled to end their tour, not kick it off. to the surprise of both you and his members, he’d gone straight to your apartment, falling into your arms exhaustedly. as he unhooked himself from your smaller frame, you looked up at him, quietly scrutinizing his face. he looked tired. his eyes no longer had the same glow. they were darkened and blinking slowly. he was tired.

at night, he clung to your body, wrapping his larger form around you. his leg rested, hooked on yours, his arms holding you as he snored softly behind your ear. you almost felt horrible. it was as if all his pain, all his sleepless nights, all his exhaustion was reflecting onto you. it was so bad that you felt it, too.

they had let the members sleep in for once. taehyung, chest rising and falling rhythmically, was still in deep sleep at ten in the morning as you slipped out of his arms, getting out of bed. as you roll your neck, stretching your body, taehyung’s charging phone received a notification, grabbing your attention. still half asleep, you waddled towards it, reading that taehyung was expected to be at rehearsal in two hours. you groaned at the thought of waking him up after he’d just gotten some sleep, but you’d rather have him cranky for twenty minutes than stressed out that he’s late to practice shuffling towards his sleeping figure in bed, you shook his arm lightly, earning a hum and eventually the opening of eyes from your boyfriend. “already?” he croaked, pushing his unkempt hair out of his face to squint at the clock. 10:10 a.m. he slumped back into bed, groaning loudly into his pillow. he was as reluctant as you were.

it was their last performance of this tour, the most important one at best. you could see stress seeping through taehyung, his mood serious, his face stone cold and intimidating. you found it scary, yet oddly sexy. he’d invited you to stay backstage for the last concert, as afterward, the entire crew would go for dinner, and he wanted to spend this important night with you. his warm words suppressed the negative thoughts that clouded your mind for a moment.

you knew they’d come back. they always come back.

all members except for jungkook were backstage, either fanning themselves, changing, or renewing makeup. jungkook was on for his solo, the screams of the audience muting any conversation from backstage. you slouched on a leather couch, rolling the ball of your foot against the floor in boredom. taehyung suddenly emerged from behind a curtain with four women following close behind, his body clad in a handsome suit, perfectly defining his form, complimenting his body in every which way. he looked breathtaking, which was something you couldn’t say for yourself.

the poltergeist which haunted your mind at the darkest hour began to emerge yet again, practically tearing your confidence down as taehyung stood tall, waiting for his stylists and makeup artists to finish their work. one woman seemed to lead all of them as she pushed them back, scolding the rest of her team as they had gotten too close.

you only caught a glimpse of her, but it had hit you that she was essentially all you strived to be, and everything the public would expect of taehyung’s partner. her legs were long and slim, creating a perfect height between her and your boyfriend. her hair shimmering against what stage light entered past the curtain, you could see of just how beautiful she was. her eyes were large and round but still dainty and fit her face perfectly, her nose had a natural, flawless bridge, and her lips were round and complimented her features to the tee. face naturally shaped with a perfect jawline and body curvier than you could ever expect yourself to be, you felt as though you should pull away.

where could you even go at this time? trying to find an exit to the venue, your eyes kept traveling back to taehyung and his makeup artist, who were giggling away at a joke one of them made. you despised the growing lump in your throat, knowing you had no right to be mad: you trust taehyung, and he trusts you. he’d never do anything to hurt you.

well, if that was the case, then why were they so close?

you glared at the pair chuckling in unison, his makeup artist whispering a phrase as she cupped his cheek in her left hand, right hand redoing his foundation. taehyung laughed breathily at whatever she had mumbled, looking at her as if she meant the world to him. you felt that lump growing larger and larger by the second. you told yourself you wouldn’t cry, that you wouldn’t make it about yourself when it was taehyung’s time to shine, but it was hard. you were cracking.

as an assistant swiftly switched the makeup palettes the artist was using, she bent down and exposed taehyungs chest and collarbone, re-lining black veins that were supposed to resemble a spider bite from maze runner. taehyung was now scrolling on his phone, completely oblivious to the hell you were experiencing only a few ten feet away. her hand glided down taehyung’s chest, stopping in the middle, near his solar-plexus. seeing her so close to your boyfriend who was now open chested in the middle of a cold room which already would tense his muscles, not to mention having a woman drag her hand down made the pit in your stomach grow more hollow by the second. you tried to swallow whatever thoughts plagued your mind; you knew you were probably a joke in bed compared to her. she would be so much better for him.

you wanted to look away from the two of them acting so intimate as if she was the one who’s been by taehyung’s side since he was eighteen. that was you, it was you who sat with him and comforted him, it was you who sat alone for hours in restaurants, waiting for him to show up, it was you who could only see the remnants of taehyung’s presence from the night before, as he’d arrive and leave while you were asleep. it was you that missed his touch, his energy, his love. or was it?

as jungkook’s stage came to a close, the audience cheering louder than ever before, the rest of the group prepared to perform ‘on’ as one, all six of them standing on a platform that would raise them into the final stage. relieved that taehyung was finally leaving her side, your delight was soon met with upset as when he climbed onto the platform, she adjusted his suit and laced her fingers with his, squeezing his hand tightly and wishing him luck.

this was your breaking point. you slipped out of the backstage rooms and into the venue’s hallways, dropping against the wall to catch your breath. tears rolling down your cheeks slowly, you swallowed yet again, the lump in your throat heavy and persistent. you stood in the dimly lit hallway alone, hand against the wall, trying to calm yourself down. it was nothing, you thought, trying to reason with yourself. you’re making this about you again.

but wasn’t your relationship with taehyung partially about you? two conflicting sides fogged your mind, clouding your judgment. you had no clue as to what to do. you felt helpless, and, most dreadfully, alone. you were alone. no one with you, no one in the vicinity. it was you, and your dark thoughts. it wasn’t any different from the other times when taehyung was absent, but this was different. it was as if your fears were proven true. you felt as though there wasn’t much hope.

after collecting yourself, you waited patiently until the end of the concert, which reached an official close around midnight. watching taehyung thank his concert staff, shaking their hands confidently and thanking them endlessly, you collected his things as well of yours, awaiting his presence next to you. to your surprise, two strong arms wrapped around your waist, a chin resting on your shoulder. “did you enjoy the show?” taehyung hummed, voice groggy from performing for hours on end.

“mhm,” you replied, placing your phone laying on a table back into your backpack, zipping it tightly. “you did great.” you knew that you sounded out of touch; hell, even you could hear it.

“thank you, baby,” he pecked your neck softly, something that always sends butterflies straight to your stomach. “we’re going to dinner to celebrate ‘cause, you know… end of the tour!” he beamed, pushing his cheek against yours. “do you want to come with us, or do you want to go home? it’s okay if you don’t want to come, i understand, but i really, really want to spend tonight with you and everyone else i love.”

you looked at him tiredly. two different narratives were running in your mind: one, who wanted to support taehyung in all he does, and another, who believed you didn’t belong here, who believed no one wanted you here. with taehyung’s reassurance that at least he wanted you around, you nodded, grasping his hand. “okay, i’ll come.” you smiled weakly, kissing his temple. the amount of emotional torment that had been cycling endlessly in your mind had taken a toll on you, the way taehyung’s heavy schedule took a toll on him. the two of you slipped into a large, black ford, your mask and coat disguising you as a staff member.

their afterparty was a dinner, the whole restaurant rented out for bangtan and the bighit staff. seated next to taehyung, you found his energetic personality to never falter, as his cheerful tone mirrored that off this afternoon. tables were connected into one large strip, the entire group chiming together with laughter and warm energy. laughter and warm energy towards everyone but you.

taehyung knows you as someone who doesn’t talk too much in large groups; you tend to talk to a couple of people near you and don’t really venture far, not being antisocial or shy, but willingly secluded. you attempted to chime in many times to conversation, only for it to be met with awkward glances from the staff and your comments not even being registered into the table chat. your happy remarks grew quieter and quieter until you found yourself saying nothing, just picking at the food in front of you and eating quietly, realizing that everyone had someone to talk to but you.

the most difficult thing, though, was the fact your boyfriend was sitting next to you, babbling away with his makeup artists, stylists, and manager. you’d been completely rejected from the conversation, thrown out like trash, and he hadn’t noticed. his makeup artist talked with him contentedly, seductively stirring her drink with its straw. you focused on chewing on your practically untouched, trying not to think about the chemistry that was brewing in front of you. you physically felt your heartbreak, tears brimming your eyes once again. breathing deeply, you tried to mask your pain, slouching in your chair and pulling back so that your face couldn’t be seen. taehyung’s loud burst of laughter made you realize that he hadn’t even registered your exclusion.

to your surprise, taehyung chose to accompany you home instead of leaving for his apartment. the car ride quiet, you sat away from taehyung, knees facing the door instead of forwards. you glanced into the midnight streets of seoul, the entire city lit up with commercial buildings, hotels, and restaurants peppering the black night. you heard taehyung shift in his leather seat, the material squeaking against his hands trying to muffle the sound. the car ride home was awkward and uncomfortable, two things you’ve never felt before when with taehyung. you’d feel happiness, excitement, your heart bursting, love dripping from you like honey. this? this was not you, and this was not him.

from getting out of the car, you immediately dropped your things onto the couch and beelined straight for your bedroom, wanting to get out of the clothing you’d been wearing in a hot, humid dining room for the past two hours. taehyung followed, disappearing into the bathroom to wash his face. standing in just your underwear, you caught sight of your leg on your wall mirror. shuffling fully into view, you stared at your half-nude body, shuddering at the state of it. the stress of work and your relationship had begun to take a toll on you; you noticed you’d gained some weight and that your body looked just as exhausted as you. you swiftly turned away from the mirror, not wanting to let any more dark thoughts penetrate your mind. the night had been bad enough already, why should you make it worse for yourself?

tumbling into bed, wearing nothing but an old, large shirt of taehyung’s and your panties, you pulled the covers closer to your body, laying on your right side. you felt the mattress shift as taehyung scoot next to you, his chest hitting your back, his leg habitually enveloping yours, arms wrapping around your waist. he began to nip softly at your neck, ear, and cheek, “hey,” he murmured in between peppering you with kisses, “are you okay? you didn’t say much tonight.”

you lay a hand on his arms, wrapping tighter around your waist, pulling you closer to his body, and loosened them, swallowing. “i’m okay.”

“i know that whenever you dodge my questions by saying you’re okay, you’re most definitely not okay,” he mumbled in your ear. pulling your shoulders towards him so you were facing him, he tucked the hair covering your face aside. “what’s going on, (y/n)? what happened? you can tell me,”

looking up into his concerned, round eyes, tears involuntarily began streaming down your face, wetting the pillow next to you. taehyung pulled you closer to his chest, letting the shirt he was wearing soak your tears. he did this to make you feel protected, but also hide your face from view, knowing that he can’t help but cry whenever he sees you cry first. ‘hey, what’s happening?” he whispered tenderly, caressing your head in his hand, holding you tightly. “please, please don’t cry, we’ll figure it out! tell me what’s wrong, baby,”

“i don’t feel like i’m enough for you,” you sighed, your voiced stifled by the fabric of his shirt.

“baby, i can’t hear you.” he rubbed your back, kissing your forehead.

half dejected, half angry, you howled, “i’m not enough for you!” taehyung’s sorrowful look morphed into an astonished one, eyes darting all over your face, mouth open, trying to say something, anything. “i… i just… i see you all the time with beautiful women who are the fucking definition of the beauty standard here, beautiful faces, bodies, personalities, and i just sit there and wonder what the fuck do i have that keeps you by my side?! whenever you leave for tours, i’m mortified that you’ll find someone better than me and replace me, and even worse, with all your disappearances, i’ve been starting to think that’s already happened! you look at that fucking stylist, who i have no right to be mad at, like she’s the apple of your eye! like she’s your girlfriend, like she’s the one whose been with you since day zero! my worst fear is that you could replace me at any given moment when you’re one of the only things that make me happy right now!” you sobbed, putting your head down to avoid taehyung’s gaze. “i’m not anything like the people here. it just hurts so much to see you spend more time away from me. i’m scared, taehyung, i’m so, so scared,” you hastily wiped your tears with the back of your hand, the loud gasps and hiccups from crying still audible, even when you tried to mute them.

“(y/n), i… i didn’t know, i’m so sorry,” taehyung was at a loss for words, seeing you, his one true love, expose how demolished you were by all of the unspoken torment. his heart began to split in two, tears forming against the corners of his eyes. “look at me,” he whimpered, prompting you to look up at his reddened face, adam’s apple bobbing. “i didn’t know you were hurting this much… but, baby, really? i’ve loved you for nearly eight years at this point, do you think i’d leave you for some janky, flirtatious lady i’ve known for less than a year? you are more than enough for me: you listen to me when i’m hurting, you comfort me when i’m sad, you make me so, so fucking happy every single day, not to mention, are amazing in bed… i could go on. you’re the smartest, most talented, most fierce woman i’ve ever met in my entire life. you look doubt right in the eye and give it the finger all the time. why not this? you mean the world to me, and i’m sorry you ever even thought i’d cheat on you or lose my love for you. i love you more and more every single day. i love your mind, i love your beauty, i love your personality, but most importantly, i love you. i’m not lying when i call you the love of my life.”

you smiled at your boyfriend laying in front of you, a couple tears falling from his eyes and onto the pillow, disappearing into the fabric. “you’re right, i’m sorry—”

“nuh-uh,” he stopped you, putting a finger to your lips, shaking his head. “you didn’t do anything wrong. i’m sorry that i haven’t been giving you the attention you deserve, alright? i love you more than anything in the world. i swear, this will never, ever happen again.”

“promise?” you moved closer to him, head tucked under his neck. taehyung tilt your chin upwards and kissed you compassionately, pulling away to look at you and take in your beauty.

“i promise.”

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samingtonwilson · 4 years

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Apartment 8C - Chapter 4

The First, First Date

SERIES MASTERLIST // PREVIOUS PART

Summary: college au. you and bucky are the closest of friends, the most functional of roommates, and… exes. but just because it didn’t work out romantically doesn’t mean he has to move out! it’s not like he’s so deeply in love that he can barely breathe. totally not in love. at all. not even a little. maybe.

Pairing: bucky x reader

Warnings: LANGUAGE, the use of marijuana/pot/weed/reefer/that loud

A/N: i had a bad thought while writing this chapter and i’m not going to share it with y’all because that might put y’all off this story. actually fuck it, i’ll share the thought. isn’t it so weird how obsessed we all are with love? like these are college students with so much more happening in their lives but they’re sitting around and always talking about love. and a lot of us do that shit too. weirdos.

There’s a knock at the door and Bucky replies to it with a groan. A loud, I don’t give a fuck if the neighbors hear me kind of groan.

Slumped on the couch, phone balanced on his stomach and remote control set on his thigh, he very nearly snarls. He doesn’t bother to pick up either electronic as he stands, letting his phone fall face down on the area rug while the remote knocks against its corner with a clang.

His journey to the door is comprised less of steps and more of a slide, a glide, a bit of a skate. He’s thankful he kept his socks on and unlocks the door, eyes half-lidded and heavy head tilted back. “The delivery instructions said to text and leave the bag at the door, not to knock and make me get up.”

“That how you talk to delivery people? They should ban your sorry ass from Doordash.”

He straightens his head and glares at Steve— smirking, smug, smart ass Steve who holds a large brown paper bag in one hand and a six pack in the other. It somehow makes Bucky frown deeper. “You intercepted my delivery?”

“And brought you beer,” he holds the cardboard case up and shakes it, smiling.

That smile fades, however, when he pauses in thought for a moment. He frowns then, indignant. Pushes Bucky out of the way to cross the threshold into the apartment. “So, you know, you’re fuckin’ welcome, you ungrateful jerk.”

A sigh and Bucky shuts the door. He watches as Steve appraises the room and feels no shame at the look of disgust on Steve’s face. Instead, he rolls his eyes when Steve fully faces him. “I don’t want to hear it.”

“You clean out your fridge? It broken or something?” Steve asks. He sets the bag and beer onto the coffee table, shuts Bucky’s dead laptop that he hasn’t bothered to charge. Steve then places Bucky’s phone and the remote control on the couch and begins to gather the empty take out containers still cool from the refrigerator.

Bucky grits his teeth at the sight. “Steve, just— What the hell are you doing?”

“Picking all this shit up so we can eat and watch the game,” there’s a cheerful lilt through his words. He sends a smile Bucky’s way, humor in the blue of his eyes, as he passes to toss the containers into the trash. “Thanks for asking, Buck. What the hell are you doing?”

“I—” Bucky still stands by the door. His arms are crossed over his chest, his brow furrowed in incredulity when Steve crosses to the couch once more and falls into the cushions with a sigh of relief. “Steve, I’m not in the mood today, man.”

“In the mood for what?” The volume of the television is turned up, Steve hugs the elephant cushion to his chest. “You were gonna watch the game anyway, so was I. Might as well do that in the same place and eat a li’l somethin’ while we’re at it.”

Bucky’s sigh is one of defeat. He takes steps back to the couch rather than skating over, and sits beside Steve with a mumbled, “I didn’t order anything with your fat head in mind.”

Steve leans forward to pull the bag open, paper crinkling as he pulls a sandwich from the depths. He tosses what remains in the bag onto Bucky’s lap. “Stopped at a deli on the way here. Don’t know what the fuck you’re eating but it smelled like dog shit.”

He smiles to himself. Wryly. “What deli you stop at?”

“Shelsky's.” There’s pride in Steve’s voice. Arrogance in his posture. “I didn’t want to cheap out and settle for something worse.”

“That’s where I ordered from, you fucking snob.”

“Must’ve ordered something nasty then.”

A sarcastic hum of agreement and Bucky shakes his head. He narrows his eyes at the television as Steve flips through the channels in an attempt to find something more entertaining than the advertisements currently airing on Fox. “Why’re you really here?”

“It’s Thursday night,” he replies, using a keychain to pop the cap on a bottle of beer. “Titans are playing the Jags.”

“You don’t care about either of those teams.”

Steve drops his smile now. He scowls and settles back on Fox, unsatisfied. “Can’t a guy eat a sandwich, drink a beer, and watch a game with a friend without the third degree?”

“Couldn’t have done that with Sam?”

“I do a variation of this with Sam almost every night. Wanted to spend time with you today.”

“But—”

“Buck, for shit’s sake, let me be here for you without making us both live through me saying why.” He reaches forward to pull another beer from the carton, placing it in Bucky’s lap, and slouches back against the soft grey velvet. “And if you wanna talk about it, I’m here for that, too.”

“What’s there to talk about?” Bucky asks, more rhetorical than expecting an answer.

There’s a pause as Bucky gazes at the television with practiced focus. His arms fold over his chest again. His knee bounces.

“She’s on a date,” he continues after the lull stretches for too long. “She was going to start dating eventually. I’m okay with it. Happy for her. T’Challa’s a good dude. Good looking, good soccer player. Smart. It’s nice. Good for her. I’m happy for her. She deserves someone like him. I’m happy for her.

“He actually came to the door. Didn’t text her to meet him downstairs, didn’t show up empty-handed. We both know how uncomfortable she is with actual romantic gestures and I guess he knows, too, because he gave her a Ziploc of peaches like she had in class the day they met. It’s nice. He’s a good dude. I’m happy for her.”

Through the thick silence that falls over them, Steve blinks. “Christ, you know you just spoke for a minute straight without taking a breath? I think you said ‘I’m happy for her’ thirteen times.”

Bucky’s inhale is loud and pointed, his exhale a huff. He’s no longer interested in eating the sandwich he’d ordered, suddenly full from all the leftovers he’d tucked into just minutes ago. All he wants is for Steve to leave.

Well. That’s not all he wants.

But it trumps his other desires. Momentarily.

“I know you’re happy for her,” Steve says as Bucky parts his lips to tell the former off. Bucky shuts his mouth now, though. And just listens as Steve’s voice grows softer, eyes no longer dancing in humor. “But I know you’re fuckin’ miserable, too.”

He knows there’s no point denying it. No point denying what’s so plainly written across his face.

But he tries anyway. “M’not miserable. I’m ha—”

“You can be both.” Steve, unwrapping the parchment from his sandwich, keeps his eyes on the television. “It’s possible to be happy for her but miserable at the idea of it all deep down. S’why I thought you might wanna move out.”

“She’d still go on dates if I’d moved out.”

“You wouldn’t have to watch her going on them.”

“I’m okay with her dating.”

“I’m okay with a lotta things, too. Doesn’t mean I wanna see it all happen in front of me.”

Bucky watches as Steve takes an impossibly large bite out of the sandwich, Russian dressing smearing over his lips. “I’ve got a date, too.”

“Buck,” Steve’s mouth is full. Horribly so. And Bucky scowls at the sound of his thick voice. “This ain’t a date. Don’t know how many times I gotta tell you. I just don’t feel that way about you, man.”

A sarcastic smile and even more dry laugh. “Shut the fuck up. I’m talking about Connie.”

Steve scowls as he swallows. “That perky little brunette from the bar?”

“Perky?”

“I can just look at her and tell she was on her high school cheerleading squad.” Around another bite, he adds, “Seems nice enough, I guess.”

“She is nice.” He pauses only to mumble more to himself, “And emotionally available.”

Steve cocks an eyebrow and briefly looks at Bucky in skepticism. “What, you determined that from just a few days of talking?”

“On the second day she told me she’s liked me since freshman year orientation.” He sighs your name then. Slowly. Laboriously. “She was somethin’ else entirely. You know how long it took her to admit she liked me?”

Steve nods upwards and flips the channel when the commentators on the pregame show begin to argue.

“Took her three months after we started dating to admit she liked me. And she never said it again after that.”

Steve drags the back of his hand over his lips, wiping off a bit of stray dressing. In visible disgust, he wipes his hand on the discarded butcher paper. “Some people show their feelings rather than say them.”

Bucky seems to smile at that. Unbeknownst to himself, there’s a slow grin spreading over his lips.

He thinks of instances. Instances when silence would act as a wall but actions a wrecking ball.

The morning after your third date when you’d tried your best— despite your absolute inability to cook— to make the breakfast he always orders at the diner in Astoria.

The eggs were runny in places, burnt in others and the bacon was traumatically floppy under a layer of not-even-close-to rendered fat and added oil. You’d apologized as he scrubbed the pan and plates, bright yellow dish rag waving as you insisted repeatedly that you couldn’t live if you’d given the guy you’d only just begun to date salmonella.

Independence day when you’d Irish-goodbyed from Steve’s birthday party only twenty minutes after arriving to steal away to the rooftop of Mama Wilson’s brownstone in Harlem.

You’d said something about fireworks and pizza, a six-pack of beer already snagged off the kitchen counter. Played it off as Sam’s idea, his house keys in the pocket of the navy blue bomber jacket you’d “borrowed” from Bucky. Nothing about Bucky’s hatred of parties at the Rogers-Wilson residence, though. Not even a hint until he overheard your apologies to Sam’s mother for the intrusion— an apology you later denied, kissing him silly to make him forget any further questions.

The week before you’d broken up— a week Bucky remembers less for the distance you’d successfully created— when you sought comfort in him after a long day.

Your boots had been kicked off by the door, your bag and its contents scattered beside them. You’d tearfully slurred words together, words he barely caught, in explanation. Something about work, and school, and your mother’s unnecessary opinions about your major and future. Something which forced sobs from your chest as you set your head against his. You’d wrapped your arms around him tightly, the two of you huddled together on his worn barcalounger as he stroked your hair and pressed kisses to the crown of your head.

It’s well after the game has ended— Steve vengefully chowing down on your once-hidden stash of This is for when I have my period chocolate, Bucky barely paying attention to the episode of The Office the two had resorted to watching— when you come home.

Hair mussed, lips swollen with gloss smudged every which way, you stumble through the doorway with a laughed, “No more rule-breaking on the first date, T’Challa.”

The door is shut and locked just as T’Challa begins to respond. You spin and press your back to it, still laughing but quietly, more to yourself. You open your mouth to greet Steve and Bucky, both looking at you in either confusion or amusement, but shut it as a knock at the door cuts you off.

“I’ll call you,” T’Challa promises through the wood. There’s a chuckle laced through his words, a smile in his voice.

Exaggeratedly, you scoff. Still grinning however. “Who calls?”

“I do,” he replies without concern that your neighbors may complain about his volume. “And you’re gonna pick up.”

“Oh, am I?”

“Yeah, you are. ‘Night.”

You don’t respond beyond a hum and stand at the door until you’re sure he’s gone. A nod to yourself and you step away as you remove that navy blue bomber jacket to toss it onto the counter. You also toss a smile over your shoulder to Bucky. “You here just to eat my chocolate, Rogers?”

“No,” Steve says without a glance in your direction. “I ate your ice cream, too.”

You shut the freezer. Empty-handed. Frowning. “Your stomach’s just a bottomless pit, huh?”

“I’m a growing boy.”

“Have I told you how uncomfortable it makes me when you call your grown-ass self a boy?” you remark, settling for a bottle of water from the refrigerator. You pause before shutting the heavy steel door. “You clear out all the leftovers, too?”

Steve peers at Bucky, the latter stuck in a thoughtful, sad stare, and nods. “Yeah. We’re all out of food at my place and I don’t get paid ‘til tomorrow night.”

You’re frowning in consideration as you walk to the barcalounger and fall into it sideways, legs swung over the opposite armrest you’ve set your back against. “Fair enough. How was your day, Buck?”

The question breaks him from whatever daze he’d fallen into and he blinks. Averts a steady gaze when you shift a bit to look at him. “The Jags won.”

You smile. It’s warm, a little honeyed. “Is that good or bad?”

“Neutral.” He can’t help but smile himself. It doesn’t even falter as he asks, “How was your date?”

A shrug. Your eyes narrow at Michael Scott as he attempts to toss pizza dough. “T’Challa got a large popcorn at the movies.”

“Damn, he’s got money.”

You laugh, startled. Bucky grins when you do, too. “That’s what I said! I also beat your high score at pinball in the theater arcade.”

“Went on a date with a guy who’s got money, beat my pinball score. You’ve just had a magical day, haven’t you?”

There’s a softness and affection in the way Bucky speaks and looks at you, your responding giggles just as sweet. Steve, sitting between the two of you, almost feels as if he’s intruding on something, an empathetic ache in his chest as he watches. “Explain the pinball thing.”

“Bucky and I went to the movies last month and fucked around the arcade while waiting for our showtime. And he got so competitive.” You roll your eyes at the memory. “We ended up missing the movie because he was determined to beat the high score this poor kid had just set when we got there. Took him hours and, like, forty bucks in tokens.”

“It didn’t take me hours.”

“We got there in the afternoon and by the time we left, the employees were cleaning the popcorn machines,” your expression and tone leave no room for argument. “Only took me two hours.”

Steve looks between you two, fighting the urge to scoff at the satisfaction in your eyes and the combination of annoyance and so much adoration in Bucky’s. “Two hours? You miss the movie again?”

“No, I snuck out before the movie ended. Said I had to pee and went straight to the machine so none of the kids in our auditorium could take it before I got there.” You ignore Steve’s disappointed gaze. “T’Challa was confused and probably unhappy I made him sit there for so long while I played.”

“Probably unhappy?”

“I didn’t ask.” A nonchalant shrug and you flash them a knowing smile. “Beating Bucky’s score was my priority so I could come in here and casually mention it like I’m not bragging only to bring it up everyday for the rest of his life.”

Your eyes meet Bucky’s and, at the look you’re giving him, Bucky has to remind himself that the two of you are no longer in a relationship and he can’t just kiss the arrogance away. “Sucker.”

—

It’s a makeup caboodle.

Pale pink and lime green. A tropical flower sticker pasted to the clasp. There’s a ribbon tied to the handle— deep magenta velvet in a neat bow.

It’s unassuming. A little innocent looking. Like it should belong to a seventh grader in the nineties just learning how to use glitter eyeshadow and lip balm palettes.

It’s when you pop it open, the mirror attachment springing up only to reflect Wanda’s skeptical features, that the pungent smell permeates throughout the kitchen and small living room. Skunky, but a little floral.

A speckled glass pipe, multicolored glaze splattered over a white base, sits in the top compartment alongside a few toothpicks and a package of rolling papers. In the compartment directly below rests a round steel grinder, three-tiered and emblazoned with the engravement of a manufacturer’s name.

The biggest compartment holds many small glass jars. Tiny mason jars you’d bought at a flea market. All different colors, all labeled with white circular stickers.

Wanda sits up in her stool at the sight, pulls the caboodle toward herself and sifts through the jars. She removes three of the jars and looks at you with widened eyes. “You’re insane.”

You shrug and take the grinder when she hands it to you. “I like being organized.”

“You should see her room,” Bucky says as he shuts his bedroom door behind him, shoes in hand. He smiles at the two of you, beard freshly trimmed to just barely above stubble and eyes a bright blue. “Most organized mess I’ve ever seen.”

You nod, tearing a bit of the sour diesel bud apart to place carefully between the metal teeth in the topmost chamber. You smile at her from your spot atop the counter, legs folded and back pressed against the shelves behind you. “There’s a method to my madness, Wan. Hand me a toothpick.”

She complies and removes a blue jar without a label. “What’s in this one?”

“Blue dream. Jar’s blue and I ran out of stickers.” There’s a click as the lid is magnetically snapped back onto the grinder. You twist it to the left twice, then to the right once. “You picking her up or meeting her there?”

Bucky, leant against the wall as he slips his shoes on, looks up. “What says ‘This is a real date, not a hookup’?”

“Going to dinner and not having sex after.”

He replies with a dry laugh and narrowed eyes. “Which of the two options— picking her up or meeting there— says that?”

“Picking her up.” You tear the stem off the bottom of the bud and place it as a barrier over the hole in the pipe’s bowl. “Might be too late to tell her that now, though.”

“Already told her I’d pick her up. I was just making sure I did the right thing.” You see his lips spread into a self-satisfied smirk when you finish filling the bowl. “Looks like I did.”

You smile back, though sarcastically. “Girls like a little humility in the guys they date, you know.”

“She’s liked me for three years now,” he says. He pulls on a jacket and pats every pocket on him to make sure he’s got his wallet and keys. “She knows what she’s herself getting into.”

“Bucky, baby, I live with you and I had no idea what I was getting myself into.”

Wanda snorts a laugh at that, taking the pipe and a bright pink lighter from you.

Bucky’s eyes fall into a glare. “So normal first dates don’t end in sex?”

“No, they don’t. Most people actually wait until after the third date. It’s, like, in the dating manual for successful relationships.”

“Huh,” he breathes. He takes his phone when you remove it from the charger to pass it to him, smiling up at you. “Looks like we were doomed from the start.”

“Maybe.” You watch as Wanda exhales a steady stream of opaque smoke punctuated by a soft cough. You slide her bottle of water to her. “Or maybe we’re the exception to the rule. Apart, we should follow normal date conventions. But together, we were too hot to wait that long.”

Wanda hands you the pipe and lighter. “What happened to humility?”

Before sparking the lighter, you answer, “I’m not dating a girl.”

Your next inhale, once you’ve adequately charred the top layer of pot, burns in your throat and you hold it in your chest. You smile at Bucky when he shoots you a sly grin, lips in a cirlce as you exhale. “Have fun. Don’t order the tiramisu. They skimp on the espresso.”

He nods once and straightens his jacket. You watch as he unlocks the door, opens it, and steps through with a simple wave. Your eyes remain on the door even after it shuts.

It isn’t until Wanda’s fingers brush yours that you break your stare. “What?” the question is nearly barked when she offers you a look of something eerily similar pity.

“Nothing! You just— You look a little lovelorn.”

Your features crumple. “Ew. No, I don’t. I look amazing, you look lovelorn.”

“Okay, Queen of the land Defensiva,” she mutters once she’s exhaled. “I’m just saying. You were staring at that door like you want to take it home to meet your mother.”

“Maybe I do. It’s a nice color. I picked the yellow out myself.”

“Nat told me about that night at the bar. About how Bucky flirted with that Connie chick right in front of you.” She watches as you take a hit and your head lolls back against the shelves. “That must have sucked.”

“It did.” You trace the bumps on the ceiling and sigh. “But it’s okay. Larger picture, broad scheme of things. It’s okay.”

“What’s that mean?”

A shrug. You take a sip from your own bottle of water. “We’re both okay. We’re both moving on, we’re still able to be friends and roommates. I can sit here and watch him go on dates with her if that’s what it takes. A little pain for the larger cause.”

There’s a beat of silence as Wanda takes a long drag. You break it as you muse, “Do we talk about this shit too much?”

“Yeah, maybe. Should we order a pizza?”

CHAPTER 5: ARE YOU OVERCOMPENSATING?

#bucky #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fic #a8c

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babieateez · 4 years

Text

spending the day on the beach with your surfer boyfriend jongho always makes for a lovely day

especially when the tide is high and the waves are crashing hard against the shore

and seeing jongho interact with the ocean is always so enchanting with the way he wades out into the deep with his board under his arm and his hair slicked to his forehead

with the saltwater and sweat from the sun beating down and by the time he’s laid down on his board waiting for a wave to propel him you can see the water glistening on his tan skin

when he finally catches a good wave and stands on the board you can see his trained muscles working to keep him balanced and the wind is blowing through his wet hair

and it almost looks like one of those scenes from a movie where everything goes into slow motion and jongho catches your eye and smiles at you and you know he’s doing it to show off

it still makes you smile and roll your eyes because does he really have to be so extra????

but you find it endearing nonetheless

when he decides he’s surfed enough for the day he comes and lays with you on the beach and you discuss how the waves were until he gets restless

because this boy isn’t great at sitting still so he finds one of the many beach volleyball games going on and offers to play

and damn he’s really a jack of all beachgoing trades because he can spike the ball with the best of the players

just like when he’s surfing, he just looks like he’s in his element and his smile is radiating just like the sun

when his team scores the winning point, he gets so excited and goes to where you’re watching the match and celebrates with you

maybe a few kisses get exchanged between the two of you during all of the excitement but neither of you are complaining about it

you love seeing how going to the beach brings out the highlights in jongho’s hair and puts a smattering of freckles on his forehead and cheekbones and just how lovely he finds everything about the beach

he always asks for your help putting the sunscreen on his back and you always find yourself becoming enchanted with the way his skin feels under your fingers

and the way his broad shoulders have definition of the muscles he’s worked to build with swimming through the waters

sometimes you can’t help but linger as you apply the sunscreen to the spots he can’t reach and it makes him feel so flattered and pretty

by the time you’re done, he just turns around and plants a kiss on wherever he can reach while you blush and try to tell him that you’re in public

there could be kids around and you don’t want to traumatize anyone but you’re actually just embarrassed that he’s being so openly affectionate with you

and sometimes when you both go out to the beach, you’ll see people with their dogs running near the water

jongho always gets so starry eyed when they come up to him and sniff him and he can’t help but pet them and coo to you that dogs are perfect

so happy and loving and they’re adorable too and you always think

hmmmmm that reminds me of a certain man that i am in love with

sometimes you let him know that he’s just like a puppy and it just makes him look at you with his big eyes all wide

you swear you can see galaxies reflected in his irises

eventually you have no choice but to grab his hand and tell him that you love him so much

and he could kiss you silly every time you tell him that and he always responds by saying he loves you just as much but you’re not sure that’s possible

because he’s your everything he’s the reason you wake up warm and happy every morning and he’s the reason you know how to love and he’s in your soul he’s so deeply ingrained in you that it seems impossible to have any thoughts without him in them

every memory you can think of has him in it, every breath is for him

when you’re both alone you tell him that and he responds by saying that he can’t express his adoration and love for you in words

so instead he tries to show you with with wandering hands roaming the skin on your face, mapping every line, every shape, every part of you and his eyes never stray from you

and suddenly the galaxies in his eyes have changed

they form a constellation of you and him loving each other for eternity and a day

and with his hair still stiff from the saltwater of the beach but with your hand entangled in the strands and his fingertips touching your cheek you both fall asleep to dream of loving each other

#ateez #ateez scenarios #ateez imagines #ateez au #jongho scenarios #jongho imagines #jongho au #sfw #jongho #choi jongho #c.jongho #bee writes

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tw-anchor · 4 years

Text

37. Nothing Good

Anchor

Stiles Stilinski x Original Character

Episode: 3x13; Anchors

Word Count: 6,537

Warning(s): Mature language, canon violence + gore, hallucinations, nightmares

Author’s Note: I’m sorry for my absence. My grandma died, so I haven’t really had the motivation to write. However, I’m back with Season 3B and I’m so excited because I freaking love this season. I hope you all enjoy! Make sure to tell me what you think, reblog, and like!

Masterlink in Pinned Post!

"Okay, so, you go like this," Stiles instructed Olivia, a nimble string of blue yarn twisted between his fingertips. He flipped one bit of the yarn over the other and made a loop, quickly tying it into a knot.

Olivia copied him, rolling her own yarn, a deep emerald green, into a knot.

"Now you slip the needle in like so," Stiles demonstrated with Olivia following his movements. "Good and then you do this," he slipped the yarn through the fingers of his other hand and looped it through his first loop. "No, not like that. Like this..."

Olivia sighed in frustration. "Why do I even have to learn how to crochet, Stiles?"

"Because I know how to crochet."

"Why do you know how to crochet?"

"Because it keeps my hands busy," Stiles informed her as he kept working at his yarn. "Plus, you know we have to get these mittens ready for Cornelius before winter comes otherwise his toes will get cold."

Olivia turned away from Stiles, where he was sitting on his couch, and looked out the window. Out in the backyard, sat the T-Rex that had imprinted on Stiles like a baby duck, knocking around a soccer ball with his tail. Cornelius was gentle for his species, but when Olivia told Stiles that he should get a pet, she had expected him to pick out a dog so Sirius could have a friend to play with.

Unfortunately, all Cornelius wanted to do with Sirius was eat him.

"Don't let them in."

Olivia turned back to Stiles. "What?"

"Don't let them in. Don't let them in!"

Before Olivia could even begin deciphering Stiles' words, the doorbell rung.

Giving Stiles a bewildered look, Olivia stood from the couch and wandered into the Stilinski's foyer in order to answer the door. She was pleased to see that it was Allison.

"Al, come on in," she said happily.

"Thanks, Liv," Allison grinned back at her. "Do you mind if Kate comes in, too?"

Dark storm clouds rolled in over the horizon as Allison walked into the house, revealing Kate Argent behind her. The older blonde smirked evilly at Olivia as lighting crackled just a few hundred feet in front of the house, followed quickly by a deep roll of thunder.

"Goody," Kate wrinkled her nose in delight. "Another Hale."

Heart racing, Olivia quickly slammed the door in Kate's face. She stumbled away from the door, pivoting so she could run and tell Stiles about Kate, when the door rang once again.

"Don't let them in, Olivia!"

For whatever reason, Olivia didn't listen to Stiles. She turned back to the door, as if forgetting about Kate's presence behind it, and opened it. This time, it wasn't Kate at the door, but, instead, Scott. Crimson red eyes gleamed at her while the true alpha waited to be let into the house, a dribble of thick blood falling from his lips.

"Hi, Liv," Scott greeted her innocently; when he went to wave at her, she saw that his sharp claws had replaced his blunt nails and his palms were covered in more blood.

Olivia stared at him wide-eyed, her eyes darting behind him. On the sidewalk leading up to the Stilinski's house, laid Kate Argent. She was dead; her throat had been ripped out, along with most of her intestines. Her blue eyes were wide open and glazed over, staring at Olivia as if she was still alive and begging the anchoram to help her.

"Scott, what did you do?"

Thwack!

Scott didn't get to answer her; an arrow sank into his chest from behind Olivia. Scott roared, his werewolf features blinking into appearance. She felt like she was moving in slow motion as she turned and spotted Allison, her crossbow gripped tightly in her grasp, pointing the tip of a new arrow straight at Scott.

"Get away from him, Olivia," Allison commanded, voice controlled and calm. "he's a monster."

"Olivia!"

Olivia's head whipped toward the living room, where she heard Stiles scream. She wanted to go to him, to run and get him out of there, but she couldn't. It was like her feet were glued into place.

Scott's growl caught her attention. He leapt at Allison, but didn't get far. Practiced and precise, Allison let go of her arrow; as soon as the sharp tip impaled itself into Scott's forehead, Olivia was passing out.

...

She woke at once when the bed jostled violently and Stiles sat up from his pillow, panting frantically. She rubbed her eyes and blinked for a few seconds, trying to clear the blurriness in her vision, and rolled over to his side of the bed.

"Stiles?" she murmured quietly, worriedly, as she reached for him. Even though she couldn't see his face, she could feel the dampness of his sweat on the bare skin of his pale back. "Are you okay?"

When he didn't answer right away, still trying to catch his breath, she sat up and curled her arm around his waist. His skin was clammy and his face was pale, the usual redness underneath his mole-speckled cheeks absent.

"Sweetcheeks?"

Stiles sighed shakily. "Yeah," he grabbed her free hand and brought it to his mouth, kissing her knuckles gently. "I was just dreaming."

Olivia frowned. "What kind of dream?"

Stiles hesitated as he grimaced, the paleness of his skin stark against the pinkness of his lips. "It was weird," he said finally. "It was like a dream within a dream."

"A bad dream," she assumed.

He let out another shaky breath. "Yeah."

Olivia frowned and leaned forward slightly, kissing his shoulder blade. "I'm sorry."

"Not your fault," Stiles said quietly as he turned toward her. His eyes narrowed at her suddenly, confused. "Wait a second...Livvy, what are you doing here?"

Olivia furrowed her eyes, ready to remind him that this was the bed they shared. It was then that their door creaked open. Stiles was immediately distracted by it, his body stiffening as he nervously glowered at the door.

He let go of her hand and then slipped out of her hold, stumbling off the bed.

"Stiles, where are you going?" now he was confusing Olivia.

"I'm just gonna close the door."

"You should leave it. Come back to bed, Stiles."

"No, no," Stiles brushed off her concern. "I should close it."

"Stiles, don't worry about it."

Stiles kept walking toward the door. "What if someone comes in?"

Olivia shook her head. "Like who? Sweetcheeks, you need sleep."

"No," Stiles denied her vehemently. "What if they get in?"

"What if who gets in? Stiles, just leave it. Please, you're scaring me!" he kept walking. "Stiles, no! Stiles, please don't go in there! Stiles, don't, please!"

He wasn't listening to her and it was maddening. He couldn't go through that door. He couldn't!

"Stiles, don't!" she begged loudly. "Stiles, wake up. Wake up!"

"STILES!"

Olivia's mouth clamped shut, teeth snapping together roughly, when Sirius yipped nervously, rousing her from her nightmare. She inhaled deeply when the hinges of her door quietly squealed open and Lydia rushed into the room

"Something's wrong," she breathed as Lydia crawled into bed with her. She didn't dare look at her cousin's concerned green eyes, she kept her own peeled to the ceiling. "Something's wrong with Stiles, Scott, and Allison."

Olivia wasn't a psychic, she couldn't see the future. However, some part of her, some anchor part of her, knew that something was going on with three of her packmates. Her nightmare had freaked her out to her core, but it was just telling her something that she already knew. Something that she had known for two weeks. Dying, and subsequently coming back to life, had affected Stiles, Scott, and Allison more than they let on.

Their three tethers—Scott's had changed to a deep red, Stiles' stayed his beautiful caramel-whiskey the same color of his eyes, while Allison's glowed a comforting pink—seemed like they were always pulsing. She didn't specifically know what was going on with Scott, but she did know more about the effects on Stiles and Allison. And with the dream she had, more was coming to light.

Seeing Stiles struggle broke Olivia's heart to the core. He was constantly having nightmare after nightmare, and what's more, was his sleep paralysis. She had never gone through sleep paralysis herself, but she had done some research after that first night that Stiles experienced it. It was supposed to be horrible and terrifying, knowing that you're awake but you can't physically move your body. It left Stiles tired and traumatized, though he tried his best not to show it.

Allison, like Stiles, was having terrible visions—just without the sleep paralysis. She would blink and suddenly she'd be in a different place. And what haunted her the most was her aunt, Kate Argent. Allison had told Olivia and Lydia that Kate would appear out of nowhere, stalking, or taunting Allison until she grabbed her nearest weapon to fight back. It was terrifying for her, and the person who would come face-to-face with whatever weapon Allison kept stashed close to her.

And Scott was afraid of himself, his alpha self. While not nearly as terrifying as Stiles and Allison's issues, it was still a big deal to Scott. Scott had learned control fairly quickly for a bitten werewolf and his transition to alpha had screwed with his head. He constantly thought that he would turn into a monster like Peter and that he had no control over his transition. It scarred him; he wouldn't even try to make his wolf features appear in fear of not being able to turn back.

And though Stiles, Allison, and Scott bore the brunt of the sacrifices, Olivia was affected too. Every time Stiles had a nightmare, she'd have one too, and would wake up hearing his screams. Whenever Allison was pulled into one of her hallucinations, her tether would vibrate and Olivia was forced to stop what she was doing to check on her best friend. And while Scott's visions weren't as violent, they made his tether light up like fireworks on the Fourth of July; and, infuriatingly, when Olivia offered her help, he refused it.

More and more her concern for her boyfriend, best friend, and alpha began to grow. If the darkness that they earned from the sacrifice was this bad now, how much worse would it be in a few months, years?

She had to do something about it. She couldn't just sit by while her friends went certifiable.

"Like this," Olivia held out her left arm, where the plaid sleeve of her blouse was carefully rolled up, and then her right arm, where the fabric stopped prettily on her wrist. "or like this?"

Lydia pursed her lips together, her index finger on her chin, as she seriously contemplated her cousin's fashion choice. "Hmm...you should roll the sleeves," she said finally, eyeing Olivia's bottom half, which was covered by a khaki-colored skirt, dark tights, and heeled ankle boots. "it'll contrast all the business-casual down here."

Olivia glanced at her skirt and then shrugged, knowing what Lydia meant. Carefully, she rolled up her right sleeve until it matched her left and then turned to Lydia expectantly.

Lydia nodded in approval. "Good."

Olivia turned to her locker, a smile quirking her lips. She reached for her textbook for history—where'd they would be introduced to Mr. Westover's replacement—but stopped before her fingers could grip the hard cover.

Allison's tether was glowing brighter than usual, the neon pink blinking on and off. She turned her head, following her instincts (which were, by now, mostly those pesky whispers in her head), toward the set of double doors down the hallway. She was on the move before they swung open and when they did, she was able to catch Allison.

The taller brunette's breathing was frantic as she looked around with wide, confused eyes. It was obvious that she did not remember driving to school, let alone arriving. Olivia squeezed Allison's hands soothingly and pushed some calming effects toward her tether.

"Hey, Al, it's okay," she said softly; she didn't notice as Lydia came over to them, giving Allison a worried look. "You're all right. I've got you."

"I-I was at the morgue," Allison restlessly gestured to the doors. "And Kate, she...she..."

"You're at school and you're safe," Olivia informed her calmly. "Kate's not here. You're okay."

It took a second for Allison to respond, her brown eyes nervously shifting around the hallway. But, finally, she nodded. "Sorry."

"Don't apologize," Olivia was firm; none of this was Allison's fault so there was no point in apologizing. "We just need to—oh, shit..."

Olivia's gaze tinted violet as Scott's tether caught her attention. It was blazing frighteningly and she saw him moving quickly, right into Stiles' tether.

"It's happening to Stiles and Scott, too," Olivia told Allison as she came back to herself. She glanced at Lydia and added, "We need to find them. They're out front."

The three of them turned and left the school, using the same doors that Allison had stumbled through. With Olivia's abilities, it didn't take long for them to find Stiles and Scott. It seemed that it was Stiles who brought Scott out of his hallucination, as his hands were still gripping his shoulders, holding him into reality.

"I'm okay," they overheard Scott assure Stiles.

"No, you're not," Stiles said knowingly. "It's happening to you, too. You're seeing things, aren't you?"

Scott blinked at Stiles, who had let him go. "How'd you know?"

Olivia, Lydia, and Allison were close enough to the boys now that Olivia felt safe speaking up.

"Because it's happening to all three of you," Stiles and Scott turned at the sound of her voice. "frequently, might I add."

Scott deflated slightly. "You can feel it?"

"Every time," Olivia confirmed while slipping her arm around Stiles' waist; it was against their PDA rules, but she didn't care as long as it calmed him down. It did; he pressed a grateful kiss to the top of her head. "There's the nightmares and the visions, of course, the periods of lack of self-control."

Lydia smirked and crossed her arms over her chest. "Well, well, look who's no longer the crazy one."

"We are not crazy," Allison disagreed firmly while Olivia shook her head at her cousin.

"Hallucinating? Sleep paralysis?" Lydia listed as evidence to the contrary. "Yeah, you guys are fine."

She readily ignored the glare that Stiles was sending her, in order to give Scott and Allison an I-told-you-so look.

Scott sighed, agreeing with her slightly. "We did die and come back to life," he admitted. "That's gotta have some side effects, right?"

The bell rang; they had five minutes to get class or they'd be counted tardy.

"We keep an eye on each other," Stiles spoke up, his tone final. "And Lydia, stop enjoying this so much."

Ignoring Lydia's offended look, Stiles and Olivia walked away. Olivia's grip on his slipped from his waist to his hand as they walked and it was taking all of her self-control not to keep staring at Stiles. She couldn't help it; she was worried about him.

"You know, Livvy, I like when you stare at me, I really do, but only when it's, like, the sexy kind of stare, you know?" Stiles joked, clearly trying to lighten the mood. "Or when it looks like you're daydreaming about me. Honestly, when those are combined, that's when I'm happiest—"

"You're such a perv," Olivia laughed but then sobered up. "But, okay, I get it. I'm sorry for staring."

They entered the school once more and walked through the hallway, heading to their history class.

"I just don't want you to worry about me," Stiles sighed. "It's just a couple of nightmares."

"It's not just nightmares, and you know it," Olivia disagreed as they entered Mr. Westover's old classroom. "and I'm gonna worry about you, even when you have your happiest days. You know why?"

Stiles raised an eyebrow at her while sitting in his seat. "Because you've turned into a worry-wart?"

Olivia sat in the seat behind him. "No," she rolled her eyes, sending Scott a smile as he sat in the seat next to Stiles, before looking back at her boyfriend. "it's because I love you, sweetcheeks."

Stiles made a show of rolling his eyes and muttering unhappily, but the way he gripped her jaw and pulled her close for a kiss told her that he appreciated her and the way she cared about him. The tip of his tongue brushed against her lower lip, nibbling on it gently, and when she opened her mouth to receive him, he pulled away with a beautiful smile.

"Love you, baby," he gave her a quick but searing kiss on her flushed cheek. "and another point for Stiles."

A huff came from Olivia's lips as she took in his words. They had been playing a game recently, because Stiles loved games—especially games that annoyed the pants off of Olivia. It all came down to his hate of their PDA rules and he was being so pathetic about it (pathetically cute, much to her chagrin) that she agreed to make a game out of it. If Stiles got her to break one of her rules, he got a point. The more points he got, the better the prize—a prize in which they had yet to set.

Damn him!

"I hate you," Olivia scowled at him, though she had to fight to keep the expression on her face.

"No, you don't!" Stiles sang with a chuckle.

Rather than stroke his ego, Olivia gave her attention to the front of the class. Their new teacher, Mr. Yukimura, had entered the room and had just finished writing FDR's famous Pearl Harbor quote on the board. She had high hopes for Mr. Yukimura, as she had met his daughter, Kira, in her free period and she seemed quite nice.

The bell rang once more as Mr. Yukimura set his piece of chalk down and clapped the dust off of his hands.

"Good morning, everyone," he greeted the class pleasantly. "My name is Mr. Yukimura and I'll be taking over for your previous history teacher. My family and I moved here three weeks ago. I'm sure, by now, you all know my daughter, Kira...or you might not, since she's never actually mentioned anyone from school...Or brought home a friend for that matter."

A loud sigh came from a couple seats behind Olivia. The whole class turned to look as Kira, dressed in a black crop-top with her hair in beautiful waves, slammed her head against her desk. Olivia smiled slightly as the new girl looked up and gave everyone a sheepish smile.

She usually didn't like people—her friends, obviously, excluded—but when she met Kira, she instantly felt a connection with her. Kira was bubbly but shy and awkward and it made Olivia want to take her under her wing and into her group of friends. They had an awkward friend—Stiles—but now they needed a shy one and Kira fit that bill.

Olivia waved at her and smiled in satisfaction when Kira returned her action shyly.

"Now, let's begin with American History at the turn of the twentieth century..."

"Maybe we need a little more time to get back to normal."

Stiles quietly scoffed at Scott's words. Leave it to Scott McCall to be optimistic even when they were going crazy. He grabbed his combo lock and started fiddling with the knob, reciting his memorized combination as he twisted and turned it to the right marks.

"Yeah, try not to forget we hit the reset button on a supernatural beacon for supernatural creatures," he frowned and narrowed his eyes when his lock did not open. He tried his combination again, though the numbers on the lock were far from normal. "There's a pretty good chance things are never going back to normal."

He tugged on his lock, frustrated. Long gone were the usual numbers; in their places were symbols. Symbols that he had never seen before. His skin prickled with irritation and fear as he stared them down, trying to make sense of them.

"Yeah," Scott sighed in agreement, missing out on Stiles' frustration.

With a grunt, Stiles let go of the lock and turned to Scott, ready to rant about his sudden inability to read. However, he stopped point blank when he saw that Scott's eyes were his alpha-red, not his normal chestnut-brown.

"Oh, dude, your eyes."

Scott gave him an alarmed look. "What about them?"

"They're glowing," Stiles said hurriedly and Scott ducked his head. "Like, right now. Stop, Scott. Stop it."

Scott's breathing picked up as a wheeze as he raised his hand over his red eyes. "I can't," he panted, panicked. "I can't control it."

Stiles grimaced, wondering where Olivia was, and grabbed Scott. "All right, just keep your head down," he advised, looking around at the classrooms on either side of the hall, trying to remember which one was empty during third period. "Okay, come on. Keep your head down."

He led Scott into freshman history classroom and slammed the door shut behind him. Scott ripped away from him, grunting loudly as he tried to gain control, and tore out of his jacket.

"Get away from me," he growled at Stiles when he tried to help him. "Stay back."

"Scott, it's okay."

"I don't know what's going to happen," Scott insisted thickly, through his fangs.

Though Stiles wanted to ignore his friend's warning and just grab him and tell him that everything was going to be okay, he didn't. He stayed back, not only for his safety, but to respect Scott's wishes. After all, what if Scott couldn't control himself and ripped Stiles into pieces? That'd be a disaster, for both of them.

The door swung open and Olivia rushed into the room only a second after Scott started digging his claws into the flesh of his palms. Stiles stayed back and let her do her thing, watching as she kneeled in front of his best friend and grabbed his forearms.

"Scott, Scott, listen to me," her eyes were glowing purple under her ministrations. "You're going to get control of yourself now, all right?"

"Pain—"

"Pain makes you human, I know," Olivia agreed with Scott, nodding empathetically. "All right, so focus on that pain. Let it ground you. That pain is an anchor."

Stiles knew that this was serious, he really did. But between his fear and anger at the situation he, Scott, and Allison were in, his heart couldn't help but melt. Olivia had really come into her own as an Anchor. She was empathetic and gentle and though he loved her as she was previously—self-deemed the Ice Queen—he only grew more and more in love with her with each passing day.

God, I'm so fucking lucky to have her.

Olivia and Scott were sitting on the floor now, blood covering the alpha's arms and the Anchor's hands. Scott was back to his human self, back in control, but Olivia continued to give her support, holding onto Scott until she felt he no longer needed her. Stiles plopped down next to them and handed them some tissues he snagged from the teacher's desk.

"This isn't just in our heads," he admitted as Olivia let go of Scott and started wiping her hands of his blood. "This is real and it's starting to get bad for me, too. I'm not just having nightmares. I'm having dreams where I have to literally scream myself awake...And sometimes, I'm not even sure if I'm ever actually waking up."

Olivia swallowed thickly, giving her boyfriend a concerned look. "What do you mean?"

"Do you know how you can tell if you're dreaming?" Stiles looked between Olivia and Scott, watching as the latter shook his head. "You can't read in dreams. More and more, the past few days, I've been having trouble reading. It's like I can't see the words. I can't put the letters in order."

Stiles focused on Scott so he didn't have to see the heartbroken look on Olivia's face.

"Like even now?"

Stiles looked around the room, focusing on the posters taped to the brick walls. They were history posters, obviously, but he couldn't make out the words. All the letters on each and every one were mixed around, like he was suddenly dyslexic. The only thing he could make out was a picture of Lincoln's memorial—but there weren't words on that one. He couldn't read.

"I can't read a thing."

Things had not approved overnight. Allison in particular was having difficulties, so Olivia stuck to her side like glue. After she left art class, where Allison was having trouble holding her brush still, to help with Scott's control, things had not gotten better for the hunter. According to Lydia, Allison spaced out after getting red paint on her canvas and was close to a panic attack.

Lydia, being the strategist she was, suggested that Allison practice with her bow after school. The three of them went out to the woods behind Olivia and Lydia's house and set up a target for Allison to shoot. However, Allison's shaky grip on the paintbrush was much like her grip on her bow. She couldn't stay still, no matter which way she held the string and launched the arrow.

In the end, their little experiment had been a disaster. Allison ended up having a hallucination of Kate—one that Olivia could not bring her out of, no matter how hard she tried—and tried to shoot Lydia. She would have killed the redhead if it wasn't for Isaac's newfound crush on the hunter. If he hadn't been following them and hadn't caught the arrow heading right for Lydia's head, she would be dead.

It had been a restless night of sleep for Olivia, courtesy of the nightmares keeping Stiles awake, and things only got worse when she went back to school the next day. After sleeping through the first two periods in the nurse's office—Olivia was her favorite student and she was often able to escape there during class if she already knew the lesson for that day—it had been Coach's class.

Having gotten a nap in, Olivia felt fine. She was taking notes along with Coach's lecture and had answered a question or two when she was called on, when she felt it. Stiles tether almost ached as it lit up the map of her pack. In the desk in front of her, Stiles was still awake and writing furiously in his notebook but he wasn't reacting to anything she sent to his tether to calm him down. It was like he was asleep, but he wasn't—his eyes were wide open and he kept writing the same phrase over and over again in his notes.

Wake up. Wake up. Wake up.

Coach, who had been trying to get his attention, had enough of his ignorance. He blew sharply into the whistle, causing Stiles to jump high in his seat, completely shocked.

"Stilinski!" Stiles glared at Coach, wide-eyed. "I asked you a question."

"Uh, sorry, Coach," Stiles apologized, centering himself. "What was it?

"It was, 'Stilinski, are you paying attention back there?'"

Stiles grimaced. "Oh...Well, I am now."

Coach pressed his lips together unhappily. "Stilinski, stop reminding me why I drink every night," he turned away from Stiles. "Does anybody else want to try the question on the board?"

Stiles sighed in relief now that Coach had turned his attention to someone else, and turned to Scott and Olivia. She knew that her face must have shown how worried she was, because Stiles was quick to assure them that he was okay.

"I'm okay, I just fell asleep for a second."

Olivia glanced at Scott and then at Stiles' notebook, looking over his handwriting. He was writing to himself, telling himself to wake up, and he hadn't. Not until Coach used his whistle to get his attention. So, physically, he wasn't asleep, but he thought he was?

What the hell is going on with him? Olivia worried to herself.

"Dude," Scott nodded at Stiles' notebook. "You weren't asleep."

Stiles glanced at his notebook, his eyes growing wide with confusion. At once, he grabbed it and slammed it upside down so he didn't have his own handwriting haunting him.

Soon, class ended with the ring of the lunch bell. Olivia, Stiles, Scott, and Lydia—who also had economics class with them, but sat on the other side of the classroom with Danny—went to the courtyard to eat. Allison and Isaac met up with them and though they all had brought food, eating was the last thing on their minds.

They compared stories about what was going on with Stiles, Scott, and Allison. The more they heard, the more they knew that they had to do something. They just didn't know what.

"Okay, so what happens to a person who has a near-death experience and comes out of it seeing things?" Scott asked, bringing them back to the start of the conversation.

"And is unable to tell what's real or not," Stiles added grumpily.

Allison nodded, "And is being haunted by demonic visions of dead relatives?"

"They're all locked up because they're insane," Isaac answered, idly throwing a potato chip into his mouth.

"Ha," Stiles laughed sarcastically and sneered at him. "Can you at least try to be helpful, please?"

"For half my childhood, I was locked in a freezer," Isaac reminded him. "So, being helpful is kind of a new thing for me."

"Hey, dude, are you still milking that?"

"Yeah, maybe I am still milking that."

"Guys, I mean this in the nicest way, but shut up," Olivia interrupted them, grabbing Stiles' hand that rested on her thigh and squeezing to the point he winced. "Turning on each other is not gonna help us."

"Hi!" a new voice chirped and Olivia looked up to see Kira standing at the end of their table. "Hi, sorry. I couldn't help but overhearing what you guys were talking about and I think I actually might now what you're talking about."

They all stared at her expectantly.

"There's a Tibetan word for it," she explained as she took the empty seat next to Scott and across from Lydia. "It's called Bardo. It literally means in-between state."

Lydia narrowed her eyes at the newcomer. "And what do they call you?"

Scott gave Lydia a reproachful look as Olivia spoke up, "Her name's Kira. I told you about her, remember, Lyds?"

"Right," Lydia nodded, giving Kira a once-over. Olivia didn't know if her cousin felt threatened by the fact that Kira knew something she didn't, or because Kira was sitting close to Scott. "the new girl."

"Yeah. So, Kira," Olivia caught their new friend's attention. "are you talking Bardo in Tibetan Buddhism or Indian?"

Kira shrugged. "Either I guess. But all the stuff you guys were just saying? All that happens in Bardo," she nodded confidently. "There are different progressive states where you can hallucinate. Some you see, some you just hear. And you can be visited by peaceful or wrathful deities."

"Wrathful deities?" Isaac repeated skeptically. "And what are those?"

"Like demons," Kira grinned. Olivia knew that if Kira knew they weren't just talking hypotheticals, there wouldn't be a smile on her face.

"Demons," Stiles scoffed, frowning at Olivia, who smiled sympathetically. "Why not?"

"Hold on," Allison spoke up. "if there are different progressive states, then what's the last one?"

"Death," Kira answered casually. "You die."

Olivia, Stiles, and the rest of the pack shared at look, one thought on each of their minds.

Shit.

The crackle of electricity was unmistakable, especially when they were being held in such a small room. Olivia found herself chained to a fence, her toes unable to reach the rough wooden floors, between two familiar men. Derek was on her left with a stubborn expression on his face and Peter was on her right, scowling in pain. Both of them were shirtless, but Olivia was still fully clothed in the pajamas she changed into at Allison's apartment while they studied.

Derek glared past her, his pale-green eyes spewing hate at Peter.

Peter noticed. "Why are you looking at me like this is my fault?"

"Because it is your fault."

Derek's statement was followed by a sharp shock rocking through their bodies. Olivia gasped in pain and clenched at the metal fence, her fingers practically molding the material around them.

"It's all your fault," she added when the electricity cleared.

"Yeah," Peter sighed. "you're probably right."

There was another crackle and Olivia's body shook from current that ran through her. She knew that she should have been dead by now, that she should have died from electric shock and from the sheer pain that came with it, but she wasn't. For whatever reason, she was still alive and held captive with her father and cousin.

"You see this equipment?" the man who had been controlling the electric current spoke up from where he sat by an old, rusty transmitter. "Very old. The settings are not quite accurate anymore. So, it's hard to tell just how far to turn the dial."

Olivia's teeth rattled together in her mouth as Peter grunted, "I think it's a little high."

The man didn't like the way Peter spoke to him. He grabbed the knob that controlled the strength of the current and turned it higher. A scream forced its way out of Olivia at the fresh wave of electricity and Peter growled, but Derek merely grunted.

"I've seen some crack their teeth, others? They just shake and shake even after their heart stops," the man laughed as he looked back on Olivia, Peter, and Derek. "Sometimes we don't even know they're dead," he cut the electricity and laughed again. "but nobody wants to play a guessing game. So, why don't you just tell us. Where is la loba?"

The man walked away from his station and took root in front of Olivia, Peter, and Derek.

"We don't know where la loba is," Derek answered strictly, trying to catch his breath.

"Yes, you do," the man disagreed. Derek stayed quiet. "Well, we have our methods of persuasion. So, one of you gets cut in half, the other talks."

Olivia grimaced just at the thought of a hemicorporectomy. Those reminded her of Gerard Argent and she couldn't stand that old asshole.

"I would love to be the volunteer, but we really don't know what you're talking about," Peter spoke up. And then, just because he was Peter, he barbed, "And honestly, isn't bisecting people with a broad sword a little medieval?"

The man chuckled. "Broad sword? We're not savages," he nodded at one of his men and the man picked up a chainsaw, revving the engine. "We all wonder how far your little healing trick goes."

Olivia saw the man with the chainsaw position the rapidly-moving blade at Derek's arm before she clenched her eyes tightly shut.

"What do you think?" the main man asked. "Can you grow back an arm? We're pretty sure you can't grow back your head."

"Boys," a sharp, feminine voice cut through the buzz of the chainsaw.

The electric tool's power was cut immediately and when Olivia opened her eyes, she saw a tiny woman enter the room. She, like the men they were with, was Latino in heritage and spoke with a heavy accent when using the English language.

The woman spoke to her men in her native language as she walked further into the room. Both men rescinded away from Olivia, Derek, and Peter and stopped to watch the woman do her work.

She stopped in front of the three Hales, giving them a once-over.

"No hablo Espanol," Derek said curtly, lying through his teeth. While Olivia only had two years on Spanish on her belt and wasn't quick to the take when people spoke it around her, Derek was. It was one of his best subjects in school.

The woman clicked her tongue. "You speak many languages, Derek Hale," the woman spoke in her native language, though this happened to be a statement Olivia could translate. "You know exactly what I'm saying and you know who we want."

The woman pulled something out of the pocket of her cute old-lady sweater. Olivia could see that it was a blade of some sort, maybe curved to cut something specific. The woman took slow steps toward them, holding the blade out threateningly.

"Where is the she-wolf?"

Was she talking about Cora? That was the only female werewolf that they knew now. But what did these people, these hunters, want with Cora? She hadn't done anything wrong.

Even if they were asking about Cora, Derek wasn't going to give his sister away.

"We don't know any she-wolf."

The woman pressed her lips together and nodded. "I know you won't talk, lobito," she turned, completely bypassing Olivia, and stood in front of Peter. "This one will talk. This one loves the sound of his own voice."

"You should hear me sing," Peter said sarcastically.

The man, the main one who was in change of the electrical current, smirked viciously. "We want to hear you scream."

Peter shook his head and glanced at Derek. "No one ever wants to hear me sing."

Olivia rolled her eyes. "Shut up, Peter."

Peter faced the woman again as she spoke, "What could we do to persuade you, hmm?" she lifted the blade against Peter's temple and drew it down his face; Peter winced as his fingernails sharpened into claws and blood dripped down his chin. "Where is the she-wolf?

This time, Peter kept his mouth shut.

The woman didn't like that. Quickly, she whipped the blade away from his face and brought it down on his hand. Peter's ring finger on his left hand was chopped off swiftly, blood bursting out all over his chest as he screamed.

"Oh, my God," Olivia breathed, her stomach turning.

"Think about it," the woman called, from where she had turned around. She studied the severed finger in her hand. "I'm only going to ask you nine more times."

And with that, she dropped the finger, and walked out of the room.

Olivia inhaled deeply as she sat up, her palm sloped against her racing heart. The dream—no, the nightmare—she had been having felt so real. Much more so than the dream she had of Stiles, Scott, and Allison the other night. No, what had happened in her dream had really happened, though it was obvious that she wasn't there. Derek and Peter were in trouble, trapped by hunters in Mexico, and she had to do something about it.

A sharp gasp came from next to her. Olivia watched as Allison jumped awake from her restless sleep. Placing a calming hand on her friend's shoulder, she tried not to panic as Allison pulled a ring dagger out from under her pillow.

Yeah, none of this was okay.

(Gif is not mine)

#teen wolf rewrite #stiles stilinski x oc #stiles stilinksi x reader #teen wolf #stiles stilinski #teen wolf fanfiction #stiles stilinski fanfiction #stiles stilinski x original character

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jinned · 4 years

Text

mea culpa | seokjin | m

snippet: you’ve traveled long and far to seek out a warlock to be your teacher. but he ends up teaching you much more than just magic...

pairing: seokjin x female reader, ft koh shinwon

genre: smut, fluff, humor, angst

au: fantasy, warlock jin, half warlock reader

word count: 16.9k

rating: explicit

warnings: swearing, demon summoning, mentions of the demon realm, mentions of death, mentions of blood, mentions of smoke, seokjin has a traumatic past, y/n’s parents died, seokjin feels responsible for someone else’s death, seokjin tricks a demon, someone is briefly on fire, mentions of infidelity, hidden identity, seokjin passes out in one scene, their love is gross

sexual warnings: explicit sex, impreg kink, oral (male receiving), oral after vaginal sex, dirty talk, licking, marking, choking, slight praise kink, begging, teasing, unprotected sex, seokjin is a dom and this shit aint vanilla so ur WELCOME, sir kink

a/n: you might recognize this fic from my old blog. if you do, please do not mention the name of my old url or pseud to protect my identity. thank you

Smoke erupts and billows instantly from the pentagram, making Seokjin fly backwards to avoid inhaling too much of it. In his youth he’d found out the hard way that sulfur infested smoke tends to burn the nostril hairs. Seokjin would spend the next couple of weeks after summoning a demon scrunching his nose in every which way to try to find some sort of relief from the constant burning and itching. Sulfuric smoke is also, surprisingly, not great for home decor! Numerous amounts of perfectly good curtains just...destroyed. They never even stood a chance. Endless nights were spent mopping the walls and so much money was wasted on scented candles...

Seokjin has learned immensely since then. Now, summoning a demon is as easy as loading a dishwasher. Annoying, nobody wants to do it, but relatively easy nonetheless.

The dark bluish grey smoke continues to build throughout the dimly lit basement. With walls made of concrete and hardwood floors, Seokjin had almost forgot to add windows when designing the place. Talk about ventilation problems.

Seokjin huffs annoyedly and grabs a book of spells off the shelf, sits down in the corner chair and waits. He knew that demons relating to love especially enjoy taking their sweet ass time being summoned.

Finally, after getting halfway through the spellbook, a dark body starts to bubble to life inside the pentagram. Its back is hunched over, shaking in movement as a cat would do before throwing up a fur ball. A large groan shakes the walls and Seokjin remains expressionless as he reaches out and catches a book that’s falling in midair, still reading his book in his other hand. He throws the fallen book back up into the air and with magic pushes it back into its rightful spot on the bookshelf. Seokjin resists the urge to yawn.

The head of the demon starts to form now. Its slimy somber scales shimmer in the dark room. Seokjin reaches behind his chair in the corner and grabs his umbrella. He opens it towards the demon and waits as he continues to read. The demon stretches its head upward towards the high ceiling and shakes vigorously. Globs of black slime and demon sweat splatter the room and bounce off the umbrella. After counting to ten, Seokjin closes the umbrella and sets it up against the bookshelf.

“What do you require from me, warlock?” The demon snarls, wet goopy blobs of drool seeping webs from its sharp jaws. Seokjin glances up and unfortunately notices the steady drool pool building at the demon’s feet, sneaking into every crack in the hardwood floors. Unknown to most amateurs, demon drool does not come out easily and the smell will last for a couple of decades if not longer. Seokjin groans realizing all but too late that he forgot to put his tarp down before drawing the pentagram. But that’s alright. He felt like moving soon anyways.

“Hello there, Asmodeus.” Seokjin smirks and slams his book shut, tossing it up into the air as it finds its spot on the shelf with other books. “What does one normally require when summoning the demon of lust?” Seokjin stands and picks at some dirt under his fingernails before crossing his arms to glare at the grotesque beast in front of him.

“You need a love potion.” The demon pants heavily, still trying to regain his breath.

“Precisely,” Seokjin says unamused. “So, if you may-”

“Not so fast, warlock. You know the deal. You know what I want,” it howls lowly.

Seokjin wishes he would have kept the book so that he could throw it at the demon. “Really there’s no need to act like an animal. You know the deal,” Seokjin mockingly throws back. “We negotiate price and then you give me the product. How about...five?” Seokjin wagers.

A wet gurgling sound erupts from Asmodeus’s throat. “Ten!” He demands.

Seokjin paces back and forth in front of the pentagram, holding his shoulders high with poise.

“Absolutely not. That’s far too long. Seven years of freedom. That’s my final offer.”

Asmodeus grunts his response before waving his hand side to side in the air. The smoke around him twirls and spools around his clawed hand. A few more drags of his claw and an object begins to form in the air. A faint flurry of pink light starts to shine amongst the dark bluish grays of the room. Seokjin stares completely mesmerized. The object takes full form and Asmodeus breathes out of his mouth to push it towards Seokjin. It’s a vial no bigger than Seokjin’s pinky finger. Inside, it holds a vibrant pink liquid. The vial has a pointed tip sharp enough to cut through skin. The knob on the top swirls in different directions, giving off a flare for the dramatics.

Seokjin gasps as he takes it into his hands. “It’s so cute!”

“I knew you were annoying. Paimon said so himself.”

“Aw man really? I thought Paimon liked me,” Seokjin pouts and sits back down in the corner chair. “I thought we had quite the lovely chat last time.”

“No demon wants to sit here and compare poetry with you for eight hours. Especially not the demon king Paimon.”

“Oh!” Seokjin slaps his palm to his forehead. “Paimon is the demon who grants slaves! Not the demon who is a slave! Damn. I guess I do tend to forget I get to hold you guys here until I say so,” Seokjin sighs heavily, “And all this time I thought he was actually interested in discussing Frost vs Dickens.”

The demon growls, its patience running thin, “No one...will ever...be interested.”

“Alright! Alright!” Seokjin tucks the vial safely into his robes and then raises his hands in defeat. “Then I guess we shall proceed with your payment.”

The demon licks its lips in excitement.

“I am so grateful you have decided to this favor for me for free!” Seokjin snaps his fingers together. Asmodeus tries to take a step out of the pentagram only to be burned and forced back by the invisible shield containing him.

“What?” The demon screeches at the top of its lungs, the force of the scream pulling Seokjin’s hair up in an oddly styled updo that remains in its horrid placement once the demon stops.

Seokjin takes a second and coughs, trying to get the smell of Asmodeus’s breath out of his face. He smooths down his coat front, then looks back at the demon. “I would be...careful with how you react next. I think you are forgetting who my dear old auntie is,” Seokjin walks around the room, cooing the words. “And you and I both know how desperately my beloved auntie wanted a child of her own, so guess who’s her favorite thing in all the realms?” Seokjin lays on the taunting as thick as he can. The demon huffs so intensely that sulfuric smoke comes out of his nostrils. His silence only boosts Seokjin’s ego.

“That’s right.” Seokjin turns his back to the demon only to look over his shoulder and bat his eyelashes as prettily as he can. “Me. I’m her favorite! So, I’d save my breath if I were you. No use in trying to threaten me. Cause I know that you know how unforgiving dear old Lilith is.”

“You just promised me seven years of freedom on earth.” Asmodeus tries to keep his anger under control by keeping his voice level.

“Yeah, I promised you seven years of freedom...from me!” Seokjin beams at Asmodeus, putting a little gleam of sparkle on his teeth for better impact. “I never said what type of freedom you’d receive. Although, I will say, I will miss you terribly.”

“You abuse your magic so…so much wasted potential.” Asmodeus sways within the tight confines of the pentagram.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I’ve heard it all before from my father,” Seokjin mutters and looks back towards the bookshelf. Resting at eye level is a dark orb. Although it may look ordinary to anyone else, it inflicts pain deep within Seokjin’s body. The deep hurt that comes forth with the memories causes such physical pain that it leaves him gasping on the floor if he’s not in the right mental state. Today is just a pinprick. Seokjin looks away before it can cause any more harm.

“You will regret this, warlock. You’re already on thin ice with many other demons you’ve mocked.”

“Oh, please.” Seokjin turns his back to the demon and takes out the love potion from his robes. He stares deeply into it and listens as if it were talking to him. As the pink liquid moves back and forth with momentum, Seokjin feels a pull in the back of his mind.

You will never be loved.

Seokjin quickly shakes away the thoughts and puts the vial away yet again. Asmodeus is saying something behind him, ranting more likely, but he can’t hear the words. The weight of loneliness comes crashing down around him and all he wants is for this demon to be out of his house so that he can get to work on the potion.

“Yeah, yeah.” Seokjin waves at the smoke, not even bothering to look at Asmodeus. “I’m done with you. See you in seven years when you can come back to play! Flectere si nequeo superos, Acheronta movebo.”

Asmodeus roars and tries to rush out of the pentagram. He bounces back as if a force field binds him inside. “You can not move Hell you-”

Seokjin will never know what horrid name Asmodeus was about to call him, for he had already sent the demon back to Hell were it belongs.

Smoke rushes out through every crack in the room as it flees the scene. In a matter of moments the only proof that a demon had been summoned is the pentagram in the center of the room and all the snot and drool alongside it.

Seokjin takes out the vial once more and watches as the liquid sloshes around inside. Normally, when his head is a little more leveled, Seokjin would have asked about the side effects, how to properly use such a powerful concoction, and anything to fact check to make sure he was given the right potion. Under these circumstances though, Seokjin has grown impatient. Asmodeus, as hellish as he can be, is ironically an honest demon. Only novice warlocks have been tricked by him and that’s only due to the tricky wordplay Asmodeus gets off on. Asmodeus could be a much better demon if he would just listen to Seokjin’s poetry debates.

Seokjin leaves the room and shuts the door gently behind him. He walks up the stairs into the main floor of his home before heading up even more stairs towards his study in the attic. Across the room is an old wooden desk that’s been with him through many travels over the years. The walls are lined with yet more books covering almost every genre and subject. Every genre, that is, except horror. Seokjin can’t stomach the stuff.

He sits down in his desk chair and runs his hand over the top of the desk, wiping away the dust from its surface. Seokjin takes out the vial for the last time and uncorks it. The smell alone is overwhelming of peaches and roses, but masked beneath the innocent and alluring fragrance is an underlying darkness. Suddenly the peaches are rotten and the roses wilted. This is dark magic indeed.

Seokjin takes a deep breath and begins the spell.

Seokjin opens up the windows in his living room to let the dusty air waft out. Recently acquiring an old forgotten spell book, he’s been trying to revive some old tricks and... well...one of them was definitely not supposed to be resurrected. He wipes the soot from his face with the back of his hand, cringing at the smokey smell.

"All I wanted was to transport in time," he grumbles. Seokjin stares out one of the windows and revels in the newfound sunlight. He's locked himself inside for days now and completely forgot that spring is just around the corner. Well, by the looks of it, it's here now and has been for a few days. Bright rays of sunshine cascade down through his window, warming his skin. He closes his eyes and takes in the moment, finally allowing himself a seconds peace of mind.

Opening up his eyes again, he watches as the townsfolk of Daemur bustle about. Ah, to be human and have human agendas. He thinks to himself.

Daemur has always been a quiet town and that's what initially drew Seokjin to it about fifty years ago. The people are kind and over welcoming, but at the same time they keep to themselves unless they want something from him. They never bother to stop and think, "hmmm I wonder why blooms of smoke constantly come out of that weird warlock’s home at the edge of the town?" And for that, Seokjin loves them.

Plus it does make it easier that if they try to find him, they can’t no matter how hard they look. Seokjin is very prideful over his glamour work. What makes the glamour even better is that the town is in the middle of the desert. Most of the time, the people get confused and think it was just a mirage and head back to where they came from.

As the years go on, Seokjin begins to grow rather bored and, if he dare say, lonely. Being the only warlock in town has its nice moments. His favorite part being the constant praise and idol worshipping from the humans whenever he decides to step into town. Who wouldn’t love that? The cons outlist the pros, unfortunately. People are constantly calling out for him asking for help with simple tasks or wanting him to teach them magic and spells and how to summon demons. He can no longer walk about the town freely without someone tugging on his shirt sleeves asking for some sort of favor. Seokjin shudders with the memory of a young man who had approached him several years ago wanting to become Seokjin’s apprentice. Although he could have handled the situation a little bit better and more maturely, Seokjin still blames himself for that man’s death. He had no idea how serious the human boy was about summoning a demon and in Seokjin’s impatient youth, he had given that boy a summoning book. The young boy was charming, had a lot of potential. But so naive. His mundane fascination with magic was what ultimately lead to his undoing. So, Seokjin definitely had to rethink how he handled human affairs after that situation.

He isn't the only magical creature in Daemur, no not even close. Being surrounded by others from his world definitely soothe his mind from time to time. It just isn’t the same as being with those who understand him, those he can relate to. While other magical creatures remain close, he is the only warlock in the vicinity.

Seokjin plops down by the windowsill in his home and continues to stare out at the world before him. Maybe he should move again...he never did like staying in one place too long. The restlessness has definitely been creeping back into his bones like a deep tickle. Despite this, he just can't seem to shake this feeling that something is not only missing, but something very important is here in Daemur. He just hasn't found it yet.

Seokjin is about to get up and practice more spells when there's a knock on his door.

He sighs, tilting his head back for a moment before lowering it and standing to see who could possibly be bothering him yet again. And how the hell did they get past the glamour?

Growing up, your parents tried to hide you from anything that involved magic. Any storybook that had even the hint of magical creatures or magical worlds? Immediately tossed away. You always thought they were just being overprotective, simply trying to shelter their only daughter from delving too far into the world of make believe. You firmly believed this until you were around the age of twelve. That was when you cast your first spell. On accident, of course. But that’s also when you found out that your parents kept your identity from you your whole life. You tried getting them to talk to you about it, but every conversation was immediately diverted. It drove a wedge deep between you and your parents and none of your questions were ever answered.

Until the day they died.

And that's how you got here, walking this long dirt road trying to keep your hopes up and the soles of your shoes in tact. The sun has been beating down on you for the past few days, your skin now sizzling with burns. Your body feels like it'll never stop sweating and every pulse of the vein in your head makes you more and more dizzy. You've already torn the sleeves off of your shirt to use them to wipe off the dirt and sweat, but it just keeps coming back. With just a small backpack resting on your shoulders it's starting to feel as if the entire world is resting there too. Everything you knew growing up was not real.

The dust from the road puffs up in clouds of smoke with every step you take. Your throat feels like sandpaper as you trudge on, knowing very well that the town coming up in a few more miles is your final destination. If only there were some trees or hills or even a single cloud, just something to block this ghastly sun.

You shake your head and trudge on, trying to ditch the negative thoughts. The more you dwell on it the worse it will get.

So, instead, you focus on him.

Waking up feels like trying to shove boulders off of your body. You groan and sit up, trying to rub out the kinks in your neck. Today is the day, the day you make it to Daemur. You shake off your aches and pains and walk with a newfound spring in your step, determination the only thing keeping you going. For the most part, you zone out which helps you maintain your rhythm.

And then you see her, Daemur. In all her glory. Small townhouses erect in the midst of the desert like terrain. But something makes you squint your eyes. It looks to be as if there's grass and shrubbery, trees and flourishment. You look behind you and all you see is the dry with the tiny dirt path you've been walking on. Circling above the town are white puffy clouds, bringing a sense of peace and calm. There's no other explanation for such an anomaly.

The rumors must be true.

Something magical lives here.

You walk into the town and you're surprised with how friendly the public is. On the map it shows that Daemur is a relatively small town with a low population, and yet, many people bustle about with friends and family members, getting fruits and vegetables from street carts and gardening in their front lawns. You smile as you nod and wave back to those who have greeted you as you pass them.

"Oh, miss. You must have traveled so far. Please come sit down and have a glass of water." An elderly woman grasps you by your elbow with a gentle touch. With your body already feeling so weak and at its breaking point, you allow her to herd you into her small cottage house and straight into her dining room. She sits you down and brings you a tall glass of water and sits across from you.

Trying to remain mannerful, you sip on the water and try to look as if you’re not extremely uncomfortable in this stranger’s house. Your throat cries out as the water slowly slides into your mouth, begging you to relinquish your control. In truth, all you want is to take the glass and dump the water right over your head.

"Don't worry, dear. You're more than welcome to use the shower after you get some food and water into your system. I've got some soup warming up on the stove that will be ready soon."

Her kind words make you want to cry tears of relief. She reminds you of your own late grandmother with her long silver hair tucked away in a loose braid, strands twinging out and about. The soft wrinkles around her mouth and eyes show how much she's laughed in her lifetime and that brings a smile to your face. Your original suspicions and uneasiness slowly disappear.

"Thank you. For being so kind. I really wasn't expecting it when I walked into town." You cough slightly as your vocal chords try to adjust from not speaking for so long.

"Nonsense! It's what we pride ourselves on! No stranger should ever feel like an outsider here. We've all grown up in this town together so we all get excited when someone new comes to visit. Oh! By the way, my name is Miana. I always forget to introduce myself," she laughs and hits the edge of the table with her hand as she rocks her body back and forth.

You smile, feeling completely at home with this woman. "I'm Y/N."

"Well, Y/N. You best get cleaned up. I'm sure you're probably here to see the warlock. All the newcomers usually are."

"So he is here! The rumors are true?" You say a little too excitedly. Miana gets up and walks over to the stove and stirs the soup, completely unfazed by your intense enthusiasm.

"Yes. He's here. He's been a true blessing to this town. Saved us from the droughts. Without him, this town wouldn't have survived," she sighs sadly, but smiles immediately afterwards.

That surely explains all the greenery and clouds up above.

"Where is he?" You blurt out a little faster than intended. Miana giggles at you, finding your excitement endearing.

"None of us knows where he resides though. He's very private. Only the deserving can find him."

An eerie wave washes over you. "What do you mean by deserving?" You can't see Miana who's still in the kitchen.

Then, slowly with a voice that could freeze water, she says, "Are you what he deserves?"

You leave Miana's home after taking a shower and eating, her last words dangling around in your head like spiders descending from their webs.

The old woman had disappeared when you emerged from the bathroom, a simple note on the door saying she had gone back into town and that you can stop by the house again if you ever need anything.

Something deep in your gut tells you that you won’t need to go back there.

Are you what he deserves?

"What could that possibly mean?" You ponder out loud. Worry overcomes you. You don't have any money, any unique skills, and your looks are pretty average. How do you know if you're what he deserves?

Passing more cottage homes, you walk deeper into town. That sense of ataraxy you felt when you first arrived is back and you take a moment to relish in it. The cool breeze blankets your skin and soothes the burns on your body. Hot and cold dancing together across the tops of your bare arms and shoulders gives you a sense of floating, like you're ascending away from this world.

You force yourself out of the feeling. There’s no time to waste and you need to focus.

Up ahead is a Brobdingnagian tree standing higher than any building you have ever seen in your entire life. With an abundance of green and yellow leaves, the branches cascade down towards the ground, almost like arms wrapping around something they’re trying to protect. Birds flit around and talk to one another, completely ignoring the people below. You keep walking until you see the top of a chimney with reddish smoke billowing from it. Picking up your pace, you nearly trip over some of the tree roots.

What you thought would be just another cottage turned out to be a grand home, a mansion compared to the other houses in the town. What appears to be a white base coat paint on the house starts to shimmer the closer you get. Almost as if diamonds are laced in the paint. With large windows and a long walkway, this house is a dream come true.

Without really thinking twice, you walk up the steps and grasp the brass knocker and let it fall. Deep, thundering echoes clang throughout the confines of the home, ringing a lot louder than you were expecting.

When you're just about to give up and walk back towards the heart of the town and beg Miana for a place to stay, the door opens. Your heart pounds deep within your chest, your breath catches in your throat. A gorgeous man stands before you in black dress pants and a black button up shirt tucked all the way in. He's wearing an elegant open dress robe with splashes of purples, greens, and blues in what appears to be an upward splattered pattern. Behind the clothes, though, is what really gets your nerves going. This man has a chest reflecting perfect curves of a hilltop, his shoulders broader than the horizon line as he leans against the doorframe. He crosses his arms over his chest and his toned muscles physically bulge. When your gaze meets his you almost gasp for breath. Aloof eyes look you up and down, his jaw clenching before he meets your gaze once more. His black hair curls slightly at the end which would have given him a sweet boyish look if not for his sharp and defined facial features. There's something domineering about his stance, something...powerful.

"Are you going to just stare at me or is there something I can help you with?" He sighs and cocks an eyebrow up.

Panicked, you try to remember what brought you here in the first place.

"I'm uh...looking for someone!" You blurt out.

"Okay. And you need me because..." he draws out the last word, leaning forward slightly.

"I'm looking for a warlock."

This time, his expression changes from curiosity and unamusement to annoyance. His eyes flick up to the corner towards his home and then quickly back to you. He takes part of his bottom lip between his teeth, not necessarily chewing on it, but rather holding it in place. He looks deeply trapped in thought.

"I'm sorry if I'm disturbing you, I'll just go." You point back to the town and begin to turn when he grabs you by the crook of your arm. Heat radiates where he touches you. His hands are darkened with a black ashy substance, smearing traces of it behind on your skin.

"I'm the warlock." He proclaims proudly. He begins to lead you inside his home, your stomach churning from nerves and you hope your arm isn't shaking in his grasp.

He ushers you to the left once inside his home which appears to be his living room. A single grey couch that looks as if it hasn't even been touched faces an unlit brick fireplace. There are shelves surrounding the room with little shiny trinkets and dusty looking books.

The stranger guides you to the couch, motioning for you to sit. Expecting him to sit beside you, you move over to the far side to give him some room. But he remains standing.

"Go on then. Plead your case."

"Plead my...? Excuse me? What's your problem?" Anger flickers deep within your stomach, rising up quickly. You lean forward to look closer at him, your eyebrows knitted firmly together.

"You clearly want something from me. Go on now. Just spit it out and we can get this over with. If it's too boring I'll probably say no. If it's too intense...I'll probably say no. Just get it out there and if it's interesting maybe we can work something out. Go on. You're wasting my time." He walks closer to you and sits on the coffee table, now a little too close to your person. He leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees, lowering himself to your eye level. He smiles and juts his head to one side, making you want to push him away even more.

"I wanted to ask you about warlock stuff," you say through gritted teeth.

"Adorable! Go read a book on warlocks." He stands up and turns away from you, waving his hand lazily. You stare after him, completely flabbergasted as he walks into the other room. For a moment, you remain on the couch. Should you leave? No. You’ve traveled far too long and endured too much to just give up now. Plus, it’s not like you have a home to go back to. So, instead of sitting there like a useless fool, you stand up and follow him.

The warlock is in his kitchen, leaning over the island and munching on a red apple. He smiles at you quickly with cheeks full before going back to chewing.

After swallowing, he looks at his half eaten apple as if debating on taking another bite or not. “I take it you’re not going to go read a book then?”

“No,” you say flatly. “I came all this way to talk to you specifically.” You keep your voice steady and present yourself as someone who won’t back down easily.

He sighs and takes another bite. “Fine!” Juice dribbles down the sides of his mouth. “Fire away.” He makes a finger gun and fires at you.

Not expecting him to give in so easily, you panic and your brain turns to mush. All the questions you had planned to ask, everything you had prepared, gone. You reach back and scratch the back of your neck, hoping that’ll jog your memory.

"So, uh, how long have you been doing the whole wizarding thing?"

“Wizarding thing? I-" he scoffs, eyes widening for a moment before he shakes his head and walks around the island until he’s invading your personal bubble yet again, jutting a finger into your face. “Let’s get one thing very clear. I am not a wizard. I am not a sorcerer. I am a warlock and you’re pretty damn lucky I’m a nice one too. If you would have called anyone else a fucking wizard they would have sent you to the demon realm faster than you can blink. The only reason why I even brought you into my home was because you somehow managed to slip through my glamour and that is not an easy thing to do.” He tuts and shakes his head.

“I’m-I...I’m sorry? I’m still new to all of this and-...wait. There’s more of you?”

“If there were more of me, sweetheart, the world would most likely implode. But I’m assuming you meant are there more warlocks like me-like us.” He quickly corrects himself and picks up an object from one of his shelves, wincing as he does so. It appears to be a black rock that’s had its sides smoothed and rounded. He twirls the rock in his hand, mulling it over apathetically. “Yes,” he mutters. “There are others.” He stares into the rock more closely. His earlier apathy and sarcastic aura has gone away. He now looks at the object as one would look at an old photograph of their childhood home now demolished into something unrecognizable.

“Wait, how did you know that I’m-?”

“Part warlock?” He interjects. “And yes, you’re a warlock not a witch. I don’t know who started that whole thing- anyways.” He cuts himself off. “Well, for starters, if you were fully human you wouldn’t have been able to find me in the first place.” He gestures around the room vaguely with the rock still in one hand. “This whole place is protected by magic.”

“Why?” You ask.

“I hate door to door salesmen.”

Ignoring his lame attempt at comedic sarcasm, you continue, "So...what you're telling me...is that the whole 'does he deserve you?' thing was all a joke?" Your voice raises near the end of your sentence, your anger getting the best of you. Turning away from the warlock, you pinch the bridge of your nose and take a deep breath to regain your composure.

"Well.” He places the rock back on the shelf and saunters closer, making you back up against the doorframe. He puts his palm against the door, right by your face and leans in further, his voice low and melodic. "Are you deserving of me?"

"No, no, no. She said are you deserving of me," you huff and push him away lightly. You hate the way your heart started to pound the closer he got. And hate the way you almost expected him to kiss you.

"I’m assuming you ran into that old bags Miana. Don't listen to her. She's clinically insane and thinks she belongs in the magic world and is my own personal secretary or something. Oh, and also." He smiles as he walks over to the dinner table and tosses a bright red apple at you and takes a large bite out of his own. "Don't let the whole warlock charm get to you that easily. Make it fun for me at least."

It's like you hit a brick wall. Your eyes widen and your mouth drops open as you brainlessly catch the apple with both hands. Did he make you want to kiss him with magic? Did he make your heart rate increase?

He sighs and leans against the table, now facing you. He takes another bite of the apple and rolls his eyes. "I'm not a faerie, don't worry. I can't use my magical tricks to make you fall in love with me."

Your shoulders relax and you let yourself breathe again.

"Damn, don't look too relieved." He pouts.

"I have every right to throw this apple at you," you taunt.

"Do it." He juts his chin forward and raises his eyebrows as he says it with a nice bright smile to finish it off. You swallow what might as well have been that rock he was looking at earlier.

You let out an annoyed breath and turn away from him, taking an angry bite out of the apple out of spite.

“So, do you have a name or am I just supposed to call you Sir Warlock or something?”

“Oh ho, Sir?” It looks like he’s about to say something more but he laughs before he can get the words out. He continues laughing until tears start to escape the corners of his eyes. You stare at him, annoyed that you’re not in on whatever it is that’s making him laugh so hard.

“Okay. What’s so funny?”

“Nothing.” He exhales loudly, wiping the edges of his eyes with his fingers. “Let’s just say...sir is an old...nickname I used to have and completely forgot about.” When he sees you staring at him with a confused stare he pokes his tongue out and bites down, leaning in close to your ear and whispers, “In the bedroom.”

You feel it. All the color leaving your face. It’s like it’s slowly being drained from top to bottom. After all the color is gone, the blood slowly gets pumped back into your face, which feels as if it’s burning and your breaths come out as gasps. This should not be turning you on right now. He is a stranger and you don’t even know his name-

“But you can call me Seokjin.”

“I’m, Y/N.” You smile nervously, avoiding his gaze.

“Great! Now that we’ve been properly introduced, let’s have a meal and we can get to talking.” Seokjin claps his hands and heads to the fridge to take out some leftovers. After getting everything ready, he sets two bowls of dumplings down on the table.

“So, what’s your story then, Y/N? Why did you travel so far to find me?” Seokjin dives into his food, his tone light and curious. The atmosphere has drastically changed since you first arrived. Seokjin appears to be more relaxed and, in all honesty, you feel more relaxed too.

“Well.” You try to chew faster, swallowing your food much too early causing you to gag slightly. Thankfully, Seokjin doesn’t notice. Or, at least, pretends he didn’t. “I came home from school one day to find my parent’s house completely trashed.” You set your fork down by your bowl, gazing deeply into your dumplings. Only, you’re not exactly staring at them. Instead you see the memories of that day as clear as if they were happening right before you once again. “It was clearly a break-in,” you sigh. You can feel Seokjin’s gaze on you, but your eyes remain glued to your food. “I went upstairs to see if they were home. All I saw was their bed had been sliced apart, everything from their closet was scattered on the floor...it was bad. I ran back downstairs to the kitchen and-” your voice cracks then. Taking a few deep breaths to compose yourself, you’re thankful that Seokjin hasn’t tried to say anything to comfort you. He patiently waits for you to continue when you’re ready.

“I found them on the kitchen floor.” You raise your head up and look at your new friend. Wordlessly, he reaches his hand across the table and wraps it over your clenched fist. His hand is warm and a tingling sensations raises from your hand and all the way up your arm. You no longer feel like you’re about to cry and the burdening weight has been lifted from your chest. Your shoulders relax and you look at Seokjin questionably. He gives a short smile, looking away from you.

“It’s an anxiety spell. Thought it would help a little.”

Warmth flutters into your chest as you stare at his hand on top of your own. “It does,” you say.

“So you’re here because you need my help to avenge your parents?” The idea of helping you no longer seems to be annoying to him. He asks this with sincerity and empathy. Although it’s nice and reassuring, it’s not why you came here.

“No. The police found my parents murderer the next day. Their death is not what brought me here.”

He raises an eyebrow, clearly confused.

“I’m here because there was a note in my father’s hand. I think he wrote it before he...died. That’s when I found out they weren’t my real parents. And that’s how I knew to find you.” You pause to take a sip of water, relishing how the cold calms your dry throat.

Setting the glass back down, you look at Seokjin’s hand from your peripheral vision. It’s still wrapped around yours.

A deep insecure thought swarms your mind, one that you’d normally push away and ignore. But something tells you that Seokjin might be just the person who would understand.

“My whole life.” You start out slowly. “I always felt as though I didn’t fit in. There was always something off, something missing. And now I know that basically my whole identity was hidden from me. If you’d have me, I’d love to practice under you. If you could teach me about your world, our world…I think it’s what my dad wanted for me. I think he knew how much I was struggling with myself. I’ll do anything you need me to do. I’ll do all the cleaning and chores...just anything to learn about who I am.”

Seokjin removes his hand from yours and the panic immediately comes back. He doesn’t need anyone to do chores for him! He’s got magic for that!

Seokjin clasps his hands together and looks to his right, towards the window. The trees are dancing in the wind, birds soaring around like little kites. They move with the wind, letting it guide them wherever it pleases.

You push your chair back and stand up, the sound of the legs of the chair against the hardwood floor making you cringe.

“I’m sorry if I overstepped. I understand it’s a lot for me to ask. You barely know me. If you don’t wish to take me on as your apprentice I will search for another teacher.” It takes everything within your willpower to keep your bottom lip from quivering. Seokjin stares at you with shock. Silently, he stands and comes over to you. This is the part where he wordlessly points to the door, you think. Where you have to leave with your tail tucked between your legs. You’ll never be able to scrub off this shame and embarrassment for the rest of your life.

Sparing him, you turn to leave on your own. You manage to take two steps before he grabs your wrist, his grip tight.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

You turn back to look at him, trying to keep the tears out of your eyes.

“We have about six hundred years of material to go over. If you want to learn anything we’ll have to get started right away.” Finally, a smile breaks out onto his face. And how could you not smile in return?

Then, a thought dawns on you. “Where will I stay?”

“With me, of course,” Seokjin assures without missing a beat. With his hand still wrapped tightly around your wrist, he guides you to the stairwell. He motions for you to go ahead of him and with your hand hovering lightly over the banister, you do so.

“Are you sure about this? I don’t want to overstep.” The thought of staying in the same house with a warlock as gorgeous as him sends a bolt of electricity throughout your body. What have you gotten yourself into?

“Don’t worry about it. I have plenty of room here anyways. And it’ll be more convenient to have you close so we can get enough training done.” He stops in front of one door in the dark hallway. He places a hand on the knob but hesitates.

“Hey, um. About earlier.” Seokjin raises a hand and rubs the back of his neck, his fingertips brushing the ends of his black wavy hair. “I was rude when we first met. I’m just so used to people bugging me all the time and trying to use me like I’m some dispensable miracle worker. I’m kind of excited to be working with you. It’s been a while since I’ve been around another warlock.”

You smile, taking the compliment more to heart than you probably should.

“Half warlock.” You remind him. He laughs and opens the door to your new bedroom.

You’re panting loudly, clutching at your knees and leaning forward to try to get some oxygen back into your lungs. Sweat races from your temple down to the edge of your jawline, dripping onto the matted flooring. A couple of months ago when you had first started training with Seokjin, you would have been embarrassed for him to see you like this. It was undeniable from the beginning; you have a crush on him. So, of course, being sweaty and gross looking isn’t ideal. But all of those worries and insecurities flew out the window after you realized that you were focusing on the wrong thing. One, you’re here for yourself and to learn more about who you are as a half warlock. And two, the way to impress this warlock was through magic and you’ll be damned if you aren’t going to crush everything he throws at you.

“Good.” Seokjin paces in front of you. “You caught on to that one rather quickly.” He turns his back to you, his hands clasped firmly behind him. You stare down at your bare feet, hoping that you’ll be able to sit down soon. The muscle at the arch of your foot is twitching and tightening with pain and you’re not sure how much more you can take. You’ve been practicing for hours now and haven’t had a break since breakfast.

Suddenly, something twinges in the back of your mind and your head whips up, looking straight ahead. Hovering not even two centimeters away from your right eye is the sharp blade of a small throwing knife. Your heart rate increases, your chest rising and falling more harshly than before as you allow your focus to contract, letting the knife fall on the ground in front of you.

“Very good!” Seokjin claps his hands and rushes towards you. Grasping your shoulders tightly, he gives you a light shake. His smile is contagious and you smile in return before letting your body fall to the floor. You cross your legs and rotate your neck in circles, feeling the pleasurable cracks as you do so.

“Please, no more surprises. The next knife you throw might actually end up in my eye.” You rub your forehead in lazy circles.

Seokjin joins you on the floor and places a white towel on your lap. You pick it up and dab away the pools of sweat surrounding your body.

“I’ve never seen a warlock do that so quickly into their training.” He beams. “I must be a good teacher.”

“I got lucky.” You correct him. “I know all your tricks now.”

“Nope!” His smile is so broad it must be hurting his face at this point. “I threw that with magic. Only very advanced warlocks could catch a knife like that. And even more advanced warlocks can sense that knife was even thrown in the first place. You’re ready for the next step!”

You groan and lay back on your back, throwing your arm over your eyes to protect them from the light above. Every muscle in your body feels heavy, which is funny because your training strictly involves mental work. At this point, your brain might as well just be a bowl of mashed potatoes.

Seokjin moves and you slide your arm up to your forehead so you can watch what he does. He walks over to the other side of the room towards the cubbys that holds your shoes and water. He picks up something you can’t quite make out. You sit up and squint your eyes to try to see better.

“Whatcha doing?” You ask, finally giving up on being sneaky.

“Huh? Oh, sorry, I thought you might have fallen asleep.” Seokjin sets down what you now see is a black rock.

“Is that the same rock thing you bring into every room?”

Seokjin freezes for a moment, his hand still hovering over the object.

“It’s...not a rock.” He hesitates.

“Then...what is it? It has to be important since you carry it around with you.” You see pain flicker in Seokjin’s eyes and you force yourself to stop talking. There is definitely something special about this object and it’s clear he’s struggling to decide if he should tell you or not.

You stand up and walk over to him. You place a gentle hand on his arm to try to get his attention away from the object. There’s something sentimental about it, and yet…

“It brings you pain. Why?”

Seokjin looks at you quickly, surprised at your words for some reason. His eyes shake back and forth, unfocusing and his mouth hangs open slightly. He looks away from you and bows his head back down. Some of his bangs look like they're painfully poking his eyes but he makes no motion to move them. All you want is to reach up and move them away for him, to care for him, but instead, you remain where you are.

“This,” he says slowly and, apparently, painfully. His chest rises and falls in an adante fashion. “This is an orb. From my home realm.”

“I thought most warlocks were born on earth?”

“Yes. I was the first to be born in a demon realm. Uhm.” He pauses and the way he takes in another deep breath pulls on your heart.

“I’m sorry this is not something I have told anyone before.” He admits.

You sit down on the floor once again, pulling on his hand for him to follow you. The orb rests above in its cubby.

“You know you don’t have to tell me anything you’re not comfortable with. It’s your story and I can see there’s some deep hurt relating to this. But I’m here for you and I don’t want you to go through this pain alone.” You reluctantly let go of his hand as he sits down across from you. Both of your knees touch, but you miss the feeling of his hand in yours.

Seokjin is looking down in his lap, lost in thought. You sit there, patiently in silence, waiting for him to talk next.

After a few more moments, he looks back up at you. "It is not uncommon for women to die when giving birth to warlocks." He starts slowly. "So, it's really no surprise that my mother died while giving birth to me." Seokjin looks back down at his hands in his lap, his eyes glossing over as if he was reliving these moments. "My father loved my mother. Or so I've been told," he chuckles and shakes his head, glancing up towards the orb. "I personally don't think demons are capable of love. But he swore on the devil himself that he would have done anything to save her. That's why she was in the demon realm when she gave birth to me. My father thought that having her there would somehow change things. Amongst his colleagues, he thought that they could save her." Seokjin starts to scratch at the tips of his fingers, a nervous habit you recognize. Going against what your mind is screaming at you not to do, you reach forward and take his hand in yours. Rubbing soothing circles with your thumb, you focus your energy towards him like how he trained you to do.

"Thank you," he whispers, squeezing your hand. "It's so weird. I'm older than dirt but I still have a hard time talking about my feelings."

"It's because you're a man." You say quickly and as soon as the words are out of your mouth, you're afraid you've made a joke in the wrong atmosphere.

Seokjin stares at you before he bursts out laughing.

In this moment, time slows. Your eyes close and you feel your body rock with laughter. You lean into Seokjin and he leans into you. Your head rests on his shoulder and you clutch his arm for support. The overwhelming feeling of comfort you feel with Seokjin runs rapidly through your veins until you feel it deep within your heart: You would do anything for him.

Seokjin pushes himself off of you, but keeps his face close to yours with one of his hands resting on your thigh. There's a mystical look in his eyes and for a moment you think that maybe, just maybe, he feels the same way you do.

Your heart flutters with the feeling that he might kiss you and all you can think is, yes. I'm ready.

As you're about to close your eyes and lean in to him, Seokjin clears his throat and looks away from you. Your heart plummets to your stomach and sits there, waiting to be digested.

"My father gave me this orb,” he continues. “Right before I was cast out from my home realm. I was about ten years old at that point. He even named it for me." Seokjin laughs but there's some sarcasm resting deep in there along with pain.

"Ex Nihilo," he spits out the words. He props one knee up and rests his arm upon it, putting his weight on his other hand that's resting against the ground behind him, his body now open towards yours. Seokjin’s looking off into the distance. You rest your hands in your lap and stare at him with wonder. It's difficult to sympathize with him and trying to calculate what to say is getting hard. You want to know what happened with him, but at the same time, you don't want to pressure him.

"Seeing as you've only just begun your Latin classes I'm guessing you don't know what that means." He smiles halfheartedly. "Basically it was father's cruel joke to remind me that I am nothing. I was made of nothing and I will always be...nothing." He pauses and you have the feeling that you should say something. But he continues before you get the chance to decide.

"I feel as though its name has changed though. Right before you arrived I was actually trying to inspect it."

"Can it do that? Change its own name?" You ask.

"It's a magical object after all. I wouldn't look past it." He shrugs. The orb is perfectly within his peripheral vision. Seokjin continues to look forward.

"What's its name now?"

"Mea culpa." He laughs.

"'My fault,'" you recite in a whisper. "Seokjin. Whatever happened to your mother, it is most definitely not your fault. You were a baby. You had no control over that. This might be a no shit thing to say but your father is a demon and his only agenda was to make you feel worthless because he couldn’t get what he wanted. You’ve taught me yourself. Demons are selfish, cunning, and heartless. Why would your father be any different?"

"Thank you, Y/N." Without much warning, Seokjin takes your hand in his and examines it. Goosebumps erupt over your body and each part of your skin that connects with his feels electric.

"I don't know if I'll ever believe that. But I'm trying."

"Sometimes that's all we can do."

The morning sun rises the next day before Seokjin can even peel himself out of his sulfuric smelling clothes. Asmodeus really did have a unique smell of his own.

Seokjin sighs and changes quickly, wanting to be one of the first people at the market when it opens.

Fumbling with his shirt buttons, he gets through half of them before realizing he has put his shirt on inside out. Seokjin’s head pounds as he tries to focus, the lack of sleep clearly catching up to him. Trying to shake it off, he goes into the bathroom and splashes cold water onto his face before heading out the door.

Seokjin's leisure stroll is interrupted by the sudden chaos that greets him as he reaches the main street of Daemur. People everywhere are screaming, not in pain, but in anguish. More than a handful of people are leaning against objects or buildings, clutching their stomachs as they vomit. Others are moaning as they sway back and forth, the focus and light completely gone from their eyes. Something about this sudden heatwave is affecting the people not just physically, but mentally as well. Normally his magic helps keep the town nice and cool despite being in the middle of the desert. But something has changed. Seokjin can't deny the pull on his own sanity. It tickles in the back of his brain like a loose hair stuck inside his shirt.

As he approaches the market area, Seokjin jumps out of the way of a human male who’s shirt has caught fire. A woman, also human, runs after him, with a flaming torch raised high above her head.

“Sleeping with another woman!” She shrills. “After all we’ve been through together!”

The man continues to scream and drops down to the dusty ground and rolls around doing his best to put out the fire.

The man rises to his knees after the fire has been extinguished, panting heavily as he tries to regain his breath. Soot is smeared across his face and a good chunk of his hair has been singed off. The shirt he's wearing looks as if one touch will make it crumple off of his body. “I swear, my love! I don’t know what happened! It was as if I was possessed! One minute I was talking to the trader and the next I was suddenly in love with her! It was like magic possessed me, I swear! I don't even remember having sex with her!”

Like magic. Huh.

Seokjin continues on, leaving the couple and ignoring the unsettling feeling forming in the pit of his stomach.

He walks over to a cart and inspects some of the vegetables and expects the cart merchant to greet him as he always does. But he’s nowhere in sight.

Something strange is going on indeed.

Conjuring up that spell couldn’t have had anything to do with this…could it?

Abandoning the produce, Seokjin hurries home to make sure you're okay.

"Y/N!" Seokjin calls out as he enters the home. "They were, uh, out of cabbage!" He quickly, and poorly, lies.

"I don't remember asking for cabbage."

The sultry tone of your voice hidden upstairs throws Seokjin off guard and makes him stop in his place. That's not how you normally talk. Seokjin's afraid to admit it, but it sounds like you're trying to be...seductive?

"Are-are you okay?" He calls up from the bottom of the staircase.

Soft and even footsteps come towards him. His heart rate quickens and for the first time in a couple hundred years, Seokjin is truly nervous.

He watches as your fingertips touch the banister lightly as you descend the stairs. Seokjin closes his eyes and imagines that it's his arm your finger is trailing down. That thought alone is euphoric.

He opens his eyes and finally gets a good look at you. And what he sees is truly mouthwatering. You're wearing a black lingerie set with matching robe hanging loosely off your body. Seokjin licks his lips eagerly.

The spell worked!

You stop on the last step so that you're a good few inches taller than he is. Seokjin cranes his head slightly to look up at you and with every piece of willpower he can harness, he tries to keep the excitement out of his face. And his pants.

You reach out and trace along his jawline and, once again, it takes everything in Seokjin to contain himself. There's fire within your touch and it causes his entire body to burst into metaphorical flames.

There's a momentarily dazed look in your eyes, as if you're zoning in on something far away. As quick as it came, it's gone and you're pulling Seokjin's chin up towards you where you kiss him hungrily. It's not exactly how Seokjin had dreamt his first kiss with you would go. Where he expected slow and gentleness, this was fast and intense. Power surges through his lips as he fights for dominance but you’ve quickly taken control. Your arms wrap around his shoulders and a moan escapes his lips as you tug on the ends of his hair by the nape of his neck. Intrigued, Seokjin moves his hands beneath your robe and wraps his arms around your waist. He clings to your soft skin, letting his nails drag lazily over each individual rib. You sigh against his mouth, arching your back as you cling to him.

Panting heavily, Seokjin breaks his lips away from yours. "I've been waiting so long for this. You have no ide-"

"Shut up I don't care. I need you right now," you growl and throw yourself back onto him. The sudden impact of your body against his causes Seokjin to stumble backwards. You lose your footing and almost slip off the step.

The loss of balance jumbles some fogginess in Seokjin's brain that he didn't realize was there. Clarity comes forth as he looks back at you and realizes something isn't right.

Then it clicks. The couple in town, the sick, that far away look in your eyes...

"Y/n, hey, snap out of it. Something weird is going on. This isn't you." He holds you at your biceps and a low whine leaves your lips. Your hair spools onto your face, covering your eyes and getting into your mouth, but it looks like it's not bothering you one bit. You smile devilishly with your teeth showing, sliding your tongue slowly across the tops of your teeth.

"I know you want me," you chuckle out a purr, your hands begin to roam across his chest in a hypnotic pattern. "I know how much you want me to suck your big fat cock and-"

"Okay! Nope! We are stopping this right now!" Seokjin manages to pull himself completely out of the fog and cuts you off and, meaning no real harm, pushes you away from him. He hates how hard it is to do so. He can feel his cock twitching inside his pants and he has to take a moment to recollect himself.

You stumble back on the stairs, losing your balance and landing firmly on your butt. Seokjin closes his eyes tightly and gathers all of his strength to remember a spell, any spell, that could help him in this moment.

Seokjin opens his eyes suddenly and thrusts his closed fist in your direction. "Deditionem!" he yells as he opens his hand so that his palm faces you.

Trembling, your head turns to the ceiling, your neck stretching and constricting in a painful-looking manner. When you look back at him, the glossy look is gone from your eyes. His shoulders relax and he rushes to you.

"Seokjin? What happened?" you wonder.

As he's holding you, he hits a mental brick wall. An idea formulates quickly in his head but it can't possibly be true. That damned demon couldn't have tricked him...or could he? Was Seokjin not clear enough when he said he needed a love potion?

"Don't worry. I think you're just dehydrated from all the training. Magic has weird ways of messing with your brain. Doesn’t help that it’s been abnormally humid outside as well." He stands you up and covers you up with the robe you're wearing, tying a tight bow across your stomach. He sees your eyes widen, a slight gasp to go with it, as you realize what you're wearing. Neither of you acknowledge it as you cross your arms firmly against your chest.

Walking you to the kitchen, Seokjin sits you down on a stool and goes to get you a glass of water. As he's sliding the cup across the kitchen island, his heart feels as if someone is gripping it tightly, squeezing it until it's suffocating. You're not looking at him and he's terrified that things have changed drastically between you.

After a few long, agonizing moments of silence pass with you gingerly sipping on your water, Seokjin breaks the silence.

"I felt it too."

Your eyebrows furrow as you glance in his direction. "Felt what?"

"That weird...I don't know something weird with my brain. It was like someone put a damp blanket over it. All of a sudden my thoughts were clouded and everything seemed confusing. And...to be perfectly blunt here...I got really horny?"

You had just taken another sip of your water, but it doesn't stay in your mouth long as you practically inhale it with surprise. You cough loudly, pounding your fist against your chest to try to get the remaining droplets out of the wrong tube and down the right one. Seokjin wants to come over and rub your back to help except the timing just didn't feel quite right for him to touch you.

"Well." You try to speak but just end up coughing more. "Thank you for your honesty. Really wasn't expecting that kind of answer." You laugh and swivel your body to face him,

Seokjin presses his lips firmly together before erupting with laughter. Both of your heads lean in with one another, letting the stress of the moment lift from your bodies as you continue to giggle it out. Tears prick the corners of Seokjin's eyes and his ribs start to get increasingly painful with each chuckle.

“If you feel that weird haze coming back over you, remember to concentrate and center yourself. Weird stuff is going on in the town and it’s affecting the humans a little bit more intensely than us.” Seokjin looks at you with deep concern. You’re slouching, putting all of your weight on to the counter. Your eyes flicker, trying to remain open but wanting so desperately to close.

“Let’s get you to bed,” he whispers. You lift your arms out towards him and his heart beats harder in his chest than when he saw you practically naked. Seokjin’s fingers feel tingly as he wraps his arms around your body and lifts you up. He carries you to your room and is about to set you on the bed when you pipe up.

“Stay with me.” Your voice is lower than a whisper, but he hears you loud and clear.

Seokjin sits down with his back against the headboard, his arms still wrapped tightly around your sleeping form. Your head is resting perfectly against his chest, right over his heart.

The next morning Seokjin is enthusiastically bustling around in the kitchen preparing different platters. Under his breath, he hums an upbeat tune. It would be endearing if it hadn't woken you up from a deep sleep. Your were having a weird dream that involved you very confidently confessing your attraction to Seokjin. Waking up had you feeling confused on so many levels. The dream felt so real and you could have sworn Seokjin had stayed with you last night.

"What's up?" You mumble, rubbing your knuckles across the tops of your eyelids.

“Hey!” Seokjin smiles brightly at you, giving you zero clues to if anything abnormal had happened last night. “How did you sleep?”

“Okay, I guess. I think I had a weird dream and...now that I think of it...I don’t remember much from last night?”

Seokjin turns his back to you and continues cooking. “Oh...haha...that’s weird! It must be from the heat!”

“Yeah.” You rub your forehead. “Must be.”

"Well, I have exciting news!" Seokjin turns around and smiles at you before continuing to season what looks to be eggs. There's a small flame flickering mid air as his pan floats above it. Seokjin looks at it and twirls his finger at it, causing the pan to shuffle the eggs around.

"Gotta love magic." He winks.

You sit down at the table and yawn. "What's the news?"

"We're going to throw you an Ad Aetetem!"

"An adda what?"

"Ad Aetetem!" Jubilantly he sits down next to you and pats his hands on your knees. "It's a warlock tradition! When a warlock comes of age, we throw an Ad Aetetem to properly introduce them to the world. It's a very big celebration, very important to our culture. We can invite the whole town! We can dance, feast, and everyone can get to know you."

You're not gonna lie. His excitement is a little too much to handle this early in the morning. Normally, you wouldn't care about a formal party such as this, but that youthful flicker in Seokjin's eyes is contagious. A smile creeps up on your face. It would be kind of nice to have a party thrown in your honor.

"Okay." Chuckling, you look down at your lap before looking back at him. "Let's do it."

The following weeks, all you discussed was your Ad Aetetem. From the colors to the food to the music, Seokjin made sure everything would be perfect for you. All of this attentive pampering definitely did not help you extinguish the little crush you had on him. No matter how hard you tried, you just couldn't seem to distance your feelings for him.

Over the next couple of weeks, Seokjin passionately invests himself in teaching you the remaining little tidbits of what will be expected at you Ad Aetetem, from the dances that will be performed down to the dress you’ll wear.

“Don’t worry too much about it all. I’ll be right there with you. There won’t be other warlocks since there aren’t any who live nearby, so a lot of these traditions can’t be completed like the group magic dance.” He’s talking a little faster than normal, flipping through pages of an old book to show you different drawings of other coming of age ceremonies.

“What other creatures will be there?” In the handful of months you’ve spent in Daemur, you haven’t actually come across another magic creature. Seokjin had told you that the other creatures don’t like to mingle that often and reside themselves in neighboring areas, but you’ve always been curious to meet them.

“Uh, let’s see, merpeople can’t...for...obvious reasons. But I’ve gotten RSVP’s from werewolves and vampires. Some humans will be there as well. I sent out invitations to the faeries but...I don’t think any of them will be coming.” “Why not?” You ask curiously.

“The faeries and I have a history.” He licks his lips nervously and focuses on the book he’s holding. “And the townspeople suspect the faeries have something to do with this heat and everyone acting crazy.” “Oh. I see. What do you think?”

“I, uh, I’m not sure. They’re tricky creatures. Very easy to fall into their traps. But don’t worry.” He smiles and closes the book. “They’re very smart and can fend for themselves. I keep my distance from them.” He articulates slowly.

You spend the rest of the day finalizing the plans with one another, but that quickly turned into the two of you just talking long into the night about everything and nothing all the same.

You pace back and forth in your room, your dress feeling more constricting against your ribcage as the seconds go by. Pressing your fingers to your lips, you try to focus. It's just a party! No big deal! Well, except it's a party for you and people are here for you and you'll need to talk to all of these people- shit wait. Some of them aren't even people!

Little by little, you're giving yourself a headache and wondering why all of this is even necessary.

A few more anxiously drawn out minutes go by before Seokjin's head pokes through the door, a large smile on his face as he greets you.

"You ready to get this thing going-? Oh no." He rushes in and stands before you. "Y/N. What's wrong?"

You wish he'd take your hands, that way they'd be out of your face. You can't seem to move them elsewhere, though. Instead of gnawing on your fingernails you resort to worrying away the inside of your cheek.

"Don't worry about them. They're here to celebrate you. It's really important in our culture when a warlock comes of age. I want you to be able to experience it."

"You said that they usually come of age at like...eight. I'm twenty-three."

"Better late than never! Also, look at it this way. Normal warlocks take eight years to master their basic spells, thus coming of age. You've been here only a few months, no prior training and barely any knowledge of the magic world. You've surpassed them all by far." Seokjin grasps your shoulders and gives you a slight shake, smiling down at you. "Give yourself more credit."

His words make you want to cry with how sincere they are. Seokjin may be all jokes ninety-eight percent of the time, but in moments like these, he really comes through for you.

You straighten your shoulders and lift your head up higher, allowing yourself to smile back at him.

"There she is!" He chuckles and holds out his elbow to you. You take it gladly and let him walk you out. "There's my girl," he says softer and opens the door.

The sound of cheers, clapping, laughter, and dancing footsteps can all be heard at your Ad Aetetem. Versatile colors splash across the dance floor as people move to and fro. Long tables sit against the walls with an assortment of fish and chicken, complemented by an array of fruit and vegetable platters. Another table holds an Ad Aetetem tradition of drinks mixed with spells to keep the party alive. Fan favorites include a truth serum, hair color change, cup of laughter, and one that makes you sneeze bubbles, amongst others. Seokjin warned you beforehand to not drink any of the drinks that were darker in color because those are the ones that tended to have the most consequences. An orchestrated band is playing on the stairwell as people continue to dance before them. Bright and shiny new chandeliers hang high above, casting rays of yellow.

A fair amount of people showed up, a couple hundred or so. You were not aware that many people even lived around this area. You’re happy to see that the vampires and werewolves are mingling happily with one another and the attending humans.

The party had started half an hour before you made your appearance, as per tradition. Seokjin made a beautiful introductory speech as you descended the stairs, greeting everyone with a smile.

You did your best to talk to as many people as possible, all you really wanted, though, was to dance with Seokjin.

You notice very quickly that Seokjin is popular amongst the majority of the crowd.

As Seokjin gets pulled in several different directions by those pining after his attention, someone else approaches you.

“Hi,” a sheepish voice behind you calls. “My name is Shinwon. Do you want to dance?” You turn to see a tall curly haired handsome man smiling down at you with soft eyes.

“I would love to!” You take his hand and he leads you to the dance floor. You quickly look around to see if you can spot Seokjin, but to no avail.

You learn that Shinwon is a werewolf who has recently joined a neighboring pack. It takes a bit to get him out of his shell, but a few jokes here and there have him laughing in no time.

“Thank you for inviting me to your party, Y/N.” His voice is soft and calming as he talks.

“I’m glad you came. It means a lot to me.”

Shinwon lifts his arm up to twirl you and then pulls you against his chest.

“Your dress is very pretty, by the way. Lilac really suits you.”

Biting your lip nervously, you try to contain your smile. Is he flirting with you?

You’re about to respond to him when you look up and see Seokjin staring at the two of you with two cups in his hands.. His eyes are slightly widened as well as his mouth. Before you can say anything, he dashes out of sight.

“Excuse me, Shinwon. I have to go find someone.” You break from Shinwon’s embrace and leave the dancefloor.

You look around for Seokjin for a few minutes before you find him standing against the wall with a man you’ve never met before, but they appear to be close friends. They laugh with drinks in their hands talking about who knows what. You walk over to them when something the other man says pricks your ears.

“So, you gotta tell me, now that you’ve had some of that truth concoction, did you have anything to do with this weird heatwave or was it the faeries like everyone else is saying?”

Seokjin laughs and slaps the guys shoulder. “That’s not fair...you know I can’t lie...it was me though. A mistake! But me nonetheless…” He sways in a drunken like state.

“Buddy! What happened?” They both laugh.

“I tried to make her love me by using something I got from a demon, but I guess he tricked me!” Seokjin laughs softer now and shakes his head.

You stand frozen in place, utterly confused at what Seokjin has just admitted.

He wouldn’t...he wouldn’t...

“I’m in love with her,” he sighs.

That’s it, you’ve had enough. You march over to them and grab Seokjin by the front of his shirt and drag him away from his friend and out of the ballroom. You walk briskly up the stairs until you reach your bedroom, closing the door behind you as you turn to face Seokjin.

“Hey!” He yells at you and you release him from your grasp. “What gives?”

“You tried to curse me into loving you,” you accuse flatly.

“I-.” He pauses and swears under his breath, realizing he’s been caught. “Well, don’t say it like that!” He groans. Seokjin distraughtly places his hands against his cheeks and shakes his head vigorously. Very slowly he slides his hands downward, still pressed to his face, causing his skin to squish and slide humorously until the ends of his palms meet and he’s standing there in a prayer pose. “I tried to-”

“You used a curse to make me love you, but it didn’t work and that’s why I threw myself at you that one day.” You interrupted, all the pieces finally connecting with one another. "I thought that had been a dream but it all makes sense now. You even said when we first met that warlocks can't make people fall in love with them and yet you still tried this-"

“Okay fine!” He throws his hands up in defeat. “I tried to use a spell, not a curse! And it very clearly did not work out in my favor so I apologize.” He courtesies dramatically and it takes everything in you to hold in your laughter. Of course you want to be mad at him for being so stupid, and yet, you can’t help but be thrilled that he feels the same as you.

“Well.” You walk over to Seokjin and reach past his head to grab a dusty old book off it’s shelf. Feeling him tense from the mere implication that you might touch him surged a whole new type of power through your body. You smirk, paying more attention to the book. “That explains why my eggs reeked of sulfur.” You glance at him slyly. His mouth drops open quickly and shuts just as fast. “For someone so old,” you sigh and place the book back. “I’d figure you’d have more experience with the ladies.”

“Hey now, I’m not that old!” He whines.

“You’ve told me before how even you don’t know how long you’ve been alive.”

There’s a long pause where, once again, you try to reign in your laughter as Seokjin scrambles to defend himself.

After a few incomprehensible words and sputtering, Seokjin gives up.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. I messed up.” He hangs his head low and covers his eyes with one of his hands.

You try to think of what to say next, your heartbeat punches against your ribcage taking your breath away. Your mind can only settle on one thing.

“I think I know why the spell didn’t work.”

Jin looks down at the ground near his feet.

“-Because I’m incapable of being loved-”

“-Because I’m already in love with you-”

You both say at the exact same time.

Seokjin’s eyes widen and you cover your mouth with shock.

“Jin...you can’t honestly believe that to be true!”

“I’ve lived for how long now? I don’t think I even know anymore. Countless times I’ve had hope. Countless times I believed love was true. Then I met you. And I knew. I knew deep down that love is real. Until I saw you flirting with that werewolf and I rethought everything. And I thought back to everything my father has said to me...”

“I love you.” You blurt out. Seokjin’s eyes widen as he stares at you and you can see that in his heart he still doesn’t believe you.

“I knew there was something special about you from the moment we meant that went beyond your status as a warlock. That werewolf? Shinwon? Yeah he’s nice, but he’s just not you. I don’t want anyone else, Seokjin.” Now you hear your heart beating in your ears, making you feel dizzy. All you want is for him to believe you.

For a moment, you’re afraid that he doesn’t.

Until…

“I’ve wanted to do this since the moment you figured out the mea culpa.”

And that’s when he gives in to the magnetic pull between both of your lips. An electric current hits your lips and travels down throughout your whole body. One of his hands cusps the side of your cheek, his thumb molding perfectly with the curvature of your neck underneath your ear. A deep sigh dances freely out of your lips as Seokjin continues to deepen the kiss.

Not even vampires feel this hungry.

He deepens the kiss further and you feel giddy at how he can't seem to get enough of you, but, neither can you get enough of him.

Both of your hands roam over each others bodies as if searching for something they've been missing for a long time. As Seokjin pulls on your lips, you're pulling on his shoulders, trying to find any way to get your bodies closer to one another.

There's magic within his lips and after all of your training you know he's not doing it on purpose. This is a natural magic, a natural bliss.

No kiss could compare to this one.

Seokjin's tongue swipes against your bottom lip. You gladly part your lips and submit to his tongue, following his lead as you wrap around each other. When you break apart you're left gasping for air. The hungry look hasn't left his eyes and it's clear that he's not finished with you yet.

His hands roam within your hair, almost massaging your scalp.

"You're so beautiful," he moans, his voice raspy. You groan as he tugs on your hair, making your chin tip upward towards the ceiling. Seokjin takes a long lick at your neck, making you shiver within his grasp. He starts slowly nibbling on your neck where he licked you, each love bite sending shots of arousal down to your sex.

All you want is for him to touch you.

Seokjin takes your earlobe between his teeth and that's when you can't hold in your moans any longer.

"You like that?" He groans with your earlobe still caught in his mouth. He bites down harder and pulls slightly. The pain causes you to wince and lean in towards him.

You clutch onto his chest, gripping his shirt within your fingertips.

"Kiss me again," you pant out, barely able to get the words to formulate right. But he understands you perfectly.

This time, he approaches you slowly. Placing both hands on either side of you, he presses his forehead lightly against yours, guiding you back until you're laying down on the bed. Seokjin takes a moment and brushes your hair aside. There's so much love in his eyes as he looks at you and you think that you might cry. The way he carefully brushes your hair away and continues to comb his fingers through your hair is beyond blissful at this point.

No one has ever looked at you like this, as if you were the only thing that mattered.

"I love you," he whispers so slowly it could have been a song. Tears prick the corners of your eyes as you smile up at him.

"All my life," you whisper back. "There has only ever been you." You reach up and grab the collar of his shirt and pull him down to you.

This kiss is slower, more gentle. He molds his lips carefully with yours, drawing them out as long as he can.

One of his hands brushes back the hem of your shirt. His fingers dig into the skin above your hip making you gasp against his mouth. Surely there will be little half moon markings from his nails later. You reach up and weave your fingers into his hair, tugging slightly to see how he responds. He moans into your mouth and sinks his fingers deeper into your skin, moving his hand down along your hip until he reaches your back. You arch with the pain, causing your hips to buck against his crotch.

That was all it took.

Seokjin quickly pushes your shirt up as far as he can. You push him back until you're sitting up and take your shirt off all the way. Seokjin marvels at your chest and it doesn't take long until his hands are cupping your breasts. His fingers graze lazily across your nipple, causing you to shudder in front of him.

Suddenly, he pulls himself off of you.

“Go downstairs and tell everyone the party is over,” he growls, readjusting his shirt and pants. “There’s something I have to do.”

Your face feels warm and flushed as you yourself adjust your own shirt back into place. With magic you re-sinch the strings of your corset and hurry downstairs.

After everyone has left, there's a loud crash from above. You rush up the stairs and open the door to Seokjin’s study to see him surrounded by broken glass. In his hand he's holding the orb his father gave him. Seokjin is hysterically laughing, his hair matted and sticking out in odd directions.

"Jin...what's going on?" You say cautiously.

"It all makes sense! He's the reason why I've been trapped! He's the reason I can't move on. This orb. He's used it to poison my brain."

"Do you mean your father?" You take a few steps into the room, holding out your hands in front of you to keep him from doing anything too drastic.

"Yes my father. He gave me this so that I could torture myself. All my life I grew up carrying this thing around. But no more. Today is the day I end this stupid spell. I don't need his constant reminders. I can't move on until this is destroyed." With that said, Seokjin raises the orb high above his head and throws it down towards the ground. It shatters with a satisfying sound, sprinkling the floor with what looks like diamonds.

After a moment, the shards evaporate into bluish smoke surrounding Seokjin. His eyes widen in panic.

"Fuck. I didn't think about something possibly being inside." He looks around him to make sure none of it touches him.

Bewildered, he looks up towards you, a distraught look in his eyes.

"Y/N!" He yells and dashes towards you. You look around you to see where he was looking at and see that one of the shards slid to your right and the smoke started to cling to you like a bur. Frozen in place, your mind stresses to figure out what to do. There’s a scream in the distance and you’re barely able to recognize it as your own. You don't have long to think before Seokjin crashes into you. You brace for the impact thinking that your back was going to hit harshly against the floor. But, instead, you're hovering in Seokjin's arms.

"I got you. I got you." He says over and over again, cradling your head in one of his arms, his hand firmly pressed against the top of your scalp. He turns his head away from you and blows out with an inhuman amount of force, sending all of the smoke back to the back of the room and away from you both.

To your surprise, nothing more comes of the smoke.

"I think it was meant to kill me if I touched it." Seokjin is staring at the parts of your shirt that have been disintegrated by the smoke.

Suddenly, Seokjin's body stiffens up. His eyes roll to the back of his head and his muscles begin to tremble.

"Seokjin!" You scream as he falls to the ground. You feel a current of power surge around you as he Seokjin remains on the ground. A hauntingly evil voice echoes within the crevices of your mind. No audible words are said, but dark and painful memories resurface to the front of your mind. Squinting your eyes shut and smacking your hands over your ears, you rock back and forth and mumble one of the many chants Seokjin has taught you that's supposed to help keep evil at bay. You repeat it over and over again until the energy finally leaves, making you gasp.

When Seokjin comes to, the first thing he does is wipe the drool from his chin. He sits up slowly, staring at his hands as if he didn’t recognize them.

“It’s over, now. I’m free.” He jumps to his feet and laughs.

“Something does feel different,” you admit. “As if there aren’t anymore clouds in my mind. Everything is so much clearer.”

Seokjin looks at you and smiles. “It’s all thanks to you.” He embraces you, kissing you softly as he pulls you closer.

You accidentally poke your tongue against his bottom lip, but he runs with it. Pushing his tongue into your mouth, you let him overcome you. The kiss quickens and soon enough you’re both panting, desperately grabbing at each other until he can’t take it any longer. Seokjin breaks the kiss to pick you up into his arms and rushes back into your bedroom. He throws you onto your bed and starts taking his clothes off of you.

“I believe we have some unfinished business to attend to.”

Apparently it doesn’t take much to make you come undone.

You strip off your clothes before he’s back on top of you, his mouth attacking yours. You grasp his shoulders tightly, making him groan as your nails sink into his skin.

Seokjin moves off of you and lays on his side while you remain on your stomach. As he continues to kiss you, his hand trails down lower and lower until it reaches your folds. He takes one finger and rubs little circles around your clit, eliciting sweet moans from you. He moves his finger lower until it’s at your entrance and he slowly pushes it inside.

“You’re so wet for me already,” groaning he curls his finger upward to hit your sensitive spot. “You haven’t even gotten my cock yet.”

With that said, you reach your hand over to grasp his hardened member, giving it a few pumps as he continues his ministrations.

“I want you,” you sigh loudly, unable to go a second longer without him filling you up. “I want you inside me, please.”

You don’t have to tell him twice.

He sits up and moves himself between your legs, giving his cock a few pumps before he lines himself up to your entrance. He enters you slowly, the head of his cock throbbing as he pushes himself in deeper. You lean your head back as a loud moan erupts deeply from his chest. He lifts his head towards the ceiling in pleasure. He brings his head back down slowly, his eyes fluttering as he regains his focus on you. His stare alone is sexy. His forehead is already beaded with sweat and a thick strand of his hair is slick with sweat and stuck on his forehead. His panting is borderline animalistic.

“I don’t think I gave you warlock sex education.” Jin pants through his chuckling and smirks at you. Panicking, you assume something grotesque is about to happen and wonder if you should back out. His cock still deep inside you, he leans his head down towards your ear.

You feel his breath tickle the edges of your ear, causing the hair on the back of your neck to stand up as he says, “Our stamina is out of this world.”

That’s when he slides himself almost all the way out of you, only to immediately slam back in. A high pitched gasp leaves your chest and you instinctively reach out to grasp onto his arms that are on either side of your head.

“Stay with me, baby girl.”

You nod your head rapidly, trying to calm down your thoughts, but all you can think about is how good he feels inside of you.

“Use your words now and tell me.” Seokjin leans back slightly and with the gentleness of a dove, he places his hand at the base of your throat. “Does this feel good? Being stuffed full of cock?”

“Yes,” you moan, wishing desperately for him to move.

“Yes, what?” His fingertips drum against the side of your throat one at a time.

“Yes, Seokjin.” You’re barely able to finish saying his name. His hand closes around your throat, choking a gasp out of you.

“If you want to cum tonight you’ll think back to when we first met. Particularly to one specific conversation we had. Now, let’s try this again.” He leans in closer to you until the tips of your noses touch. “Yes, what?”

It doesn’t take you long to realize just exactly the conversation he’s referring to.

“Yes, sir! Yes, sir!” You moan as he thrusts deeply into you and releases your throat at the same time. You gasp for air right as the tip of his cock hits your sensitive spot, eliciting a rugged and broken inhale from your lungs.

“Good girl,” he praises and quickens his pace, continuing to pound you into the mattress. “You look so beautiful, taking my cock so well. Do you want to cum? Huh? Do you think you deserve to cum?”

“Yes, sir, please. Please let me cum.” You cry out.

“Ahh. You’ve been a good girl.” With that said, he presses a finger firmly over your clit before circling the nub. You arch your back and lewdly moan out as he continues his thrusts. The build up happens all too quickly and before you know it, the corners of your eyes become blurry and you’re coming undone.

After you come down from your orgasm, Jin removes his cock from your drenched pussy and stands up off the bed.

“What?-”

“Down.” He snaps his fingers and points down towards his cock. A thick line of your arousal drips from the tip of his head down into the carpet.

“Do not make me tell you again.” He commands.

“Yes, sir.” You immediately scramble off the couch and get down on your knees, grasping his cock with both hands and giving it a couple of pumps before laying the tip on your tongue. The sweet tang of your juices on your tongue is almost too overwhelming, but you don’t dare remove him from your mouth. The taste of your own juices lathering your tongue is an experience you're not quite used to. Just feeling how sweet you taste around his cock sends another burst of arousal throughout your body. With your lips wrapped securely around the tip, you use your tongue to swirl around his shaft, causing a very rewarding moan from Seokjin. You do this a couple more times as you sink your mouth further and further down his cock. As you reach the base of his cock you gently grasp his balls in one hand, squeezing lightly as you let your throat adjust to his length. Seokjin grips his hands tightly on your hair at the scalp of your head. Tears sting your eyes at the pull of his hands, but it’s all pleasure, no pain.

“Fuck are you going to just swallow me whole or start sucking?” Seokjin answers for you by using his hands to guide your head back and forth on his cock while you continue to gently massage his balls.

“Oh yeah, baby. Just like that.” He moans, encouraging you to continue. His cock fits deliciously inside your mouth. His girth alone makes you feel as if you have to put in work. There’s this underlying need to prove your worth and to satisfy him in any, and every, way. Picking up your tempo, you watch as Seokjin comes undone by your movements.

You release his cock from your mouth and slowly swipe your tongue around the tip, causing Seokjin to shiver almost violently. You seize the opportunity and press your tongue firmly on his slit.

"Oh, fuck!" He yells and clutches the top of your head, your hair weaving around his long slender fingers. Shutting your eyes tightly you try to ignore the sting on your scalp and focus on getting him closer to his release.

Right when you think you've got him, he pushes your head back and removes himself from your mouth.

"I need...to ask you...something," he pants heavily, sweat dripping down the side of his forehead and sliding past his temple. Something seemingly unattractive such as sweat has you licking your lips and struggling to breathe.

"Anything," panting out, you watch as he smiles quickly.

"Have a baby with me."

You should be shocked, thrown off guard, arousal evaporated. All of those things would make sense, but what made more sense is him. All you've ever wanted was a family of your own and ever since discovering who your real parents were, you've had this empty looming space within your chest. Warlocks can't have children together. But you're not full warlock now, are you?

"Will it work?" You ask quietly.

"It's worth a shot. I mean, look at you. You’re half warlock. Maybe the human part of you can still conceive.” Seokjin kneels down next to you and cusps your cheek in his hand. “All my life, I've been alone. Now with you, everything feels complete. All my life I've watched others have their own families while I'm stuck here isolated. If we could have our own family..."

You smile, understanding his desire in a way you can't explain.

"Let's do it," you whisper confidently.

Something switches in his eyes and then he's hungrily grabbing at your hips and flips you over so your ass is up and facing him. With one swift motion Seokjin slaps your ass firmly with the palm of his hand, quickly rubbing small circles over the spot instantly after impact.

"I'm going to fill you up so good, baby," he coos and takes his cock and slowly rubs it up and down against your folds.

"Don't tease," you say into the pillow, want and need dripping from your vocal chords. It takes everything in you to resist every urge to buck back against him. The stimulation on your clit is making you see stars in the corners of your vision.

"What's teasing is that empty womb of yours," he grunts and inserts himself back into you. The familiar stretch brings forth a satisfying moan from your lips. He remains still for a moment to let you adjust and to catch his breath. In this moment you wish you could see his face or know what he's thinking exactly. Right now, you're having a hard time forming any coherent thoughts other than 'fuck' and 'this feels good'.

When Seokjin starts to move again there's something sobering about the way he rocks his hips gently, hitting your sweet spot in a sensual manner. You crane your neck to try to get a view of him to see if something's wrong. He continues his slow rhythm, breathing heavily behind you.

"Seokjin?-"

"I want to come like this." He picks up his speed, but does not increase his intensity.

And that's when you feel it, a touch of energy reaching out towards you. You gasp out loud as you realize that he's omitting his thoughts out towards you. No images appear in your mind, yet you know what he's trying to convey; his love for you.

Eyes watering, you feel yourself beginning to uncoil once more. Seokjin groans behind you, his pace quickening and becoming sloppy. Right as you scream out his name and come, his cock twitches inside you, shooting delicious come into you.

Seokjin flattens his chest against your back, holding you tightly. You feel his chest expanding with every breath he takes. Your thighs begin to shake and when he notices he rolls himself onto his side so that you're spooning together.

Silently, Seokjin combs his fingers through your hair. His breath, having calmed down, brushes softly against the nape of your neck.

You're exhausted, but force your eyes to stay open.

"Did you mean it?" He whispers and tucks some of your hair behind your ears.

"Mean what?"

"That you love me?" He whispers so quietly you have to take a second to let your brain put the words together.

You flip over so that you're facing him. He avoids your eyes and continues messing with your hair as a distraction.

"Did you mean it when you said you wanted to have a baby with me?"

Seokjin nods his head and finally drops his eyes to meet yours.

"I love you, Seokjin. I meant it earlier and that hasn't changed. And I don't think it ever will. No one can ever compare to you and how you love me."

There's a sparkle in his eyes as he smiles and leans down to kiss the tip of your nose.

"I hope this works, ‘cause you'll be an amazing mother."

"And you'll be an amazing father. I wonder if there's a spell that will let us know."

"Oh, I might know some people who can sense it right away. But for now, let's sleep. We can find out tomorrow."

𝓂𝒶𝓈𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉

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echthr0s · 3 years

Text

the first holiday season in this apartment, Sparrow and I went with her family to a tree farm and cut down a tree. this was a pretty novel experience for me for several reasons, and it was a lot of fun. we brought the tree home, and Sigma, my friend and our roommate, who had been drinking, sidled up to the tree and soggily apologised for what had been done to it.

this didn’t strike me as remarkable at the time because it was just an in-character thing for them to do, but Sparrow had her own response to the event, which I heard about a few times since then, which cemented the occurrence in my memory. and over the years it’s stuck in my craw a bit, and in reading lately about our modern colonialist relationship with the earth and such-not my thoughts are finally starting to unravel from the yarn ball that is my brain and be coherent;

essentially, from my point of view, what Sigma did is affirm the living-being-ness of this pine that we’d rather cavalierly chopped down and propped up in our living room like a trophy -- a traumatic event, made even more traumatic for going unrecognised, unseen. Sigma drank like a fish and a lot of the time it caused more harm to their immediate environment than good, but sometimes it just highlighted some of the more illuminated if erratic aspects of their nature -- like an inclination towards animism that probably would have been beautiful if encouraged properly, but instead end up as fodder for ridicule because it comes out when they’re drunk and in the company of people who don’t really think much of them as a person already.

it’s only recently that I’ve begun to notice a particular thing that happens, particularly if you’ve been subjected to a lot of toxic shame. let’s say... someone is eating a salad that they’d just made out of ingredients from the farmer’s market, and you’re eating, like... I don’t know, a McDonald’s meal. and it just pisses you off. that person thinks they’re so perfect, eating that salad. you just know they’re doing it to spite you. “at least I won’t be hungry again in a half-hour,” you snipe, waving your burger in front of them so they can smell the hot beef and cheese. but the reason you’re behaving like that isn’t because you’re actually mad at them or think they’re stupid or arrogant or brainwashed or whatever it is. you’re experiencing a shame response -- “damn. maybe I should be eating a salad too... and I did just read that article about the meat industry...” -- and your protector impulse has leapt in to save your ego.

I recognise that response in how I originally felt about the tree incident. I am ashamed of not recognising the tree’s being-ness, its relationship with the land it had grown on, the bond that was unceremoniously severed when we took a saw to it. I am ashamed of not being kinder to it in this process, and I am deeply ashamed that we cut down trees just to serve as props for a commercialised, consumerist holiday! what Sigma did -- unintentionally, of course -- was highlight that shame. what we had done was worthy of an apology. but Sigma shouldn’t have been the one giving it.

anyway, we have a plastic tree now

#i ended it like that because it's funny buuuut i also want to add that i don't necessarily think a plastic tree is better either #because it's /plastic/#but i DO think that if we keep that one plastic tree for a couple of decades it evens out #what's important about all this to me is not finding The Most Rightest Perfectest Thing to do. it's about thinking about it at all #about our relationships with the beings we treat as things; about how we can improve those relationships even in this society #if you're always thinking about that sort of thing; you make more conscientious and thoughtful choices #even if some of them end up being wrong later; you are already in a position to learn from it #and sometimes learning comes from sources you don't expect. sometimes someone else unwittingly shines a light #singularity.txt

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oops-prow-did-it-again · 4 years

Text

Pokémon Retold: Ultra Sun - Chapter 11 (Arceus, Forgive Me)

Pokémon Retold: Ultra Sun on FFN

Pokémon Retold: Ultra Sun on AO3

Pokémon Retold (series) on AO3

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Gladion truly had no idea just how thin the walls of that motel were until that morning. He awoke to the sound of a high-pitched squeal, followed by almost manic laughter. At first, he thought to merely ignore it—it wasn’t like that motel was the perfect image of safety—but his Riolu, Vitalis, scrabbled at the door and whined like his life depended on getting outside. His frantic attention to the door woke Null as well as Gladion’s other pokémon, who quickly took interest in the door, too. Groaning, Gladion leapt out of bed, knowing that Null would need supervision now that he was awake if nothing else. His Sneasel, Zorua, and Porygon weren’t exactly paragons of obedience, either, and he didn’t trust that door against their combined forces.

Daring to peek through the tiny window in his motel room’s door, he heard another shriek and more laughter, and saw a group of people converging on someone else. The details were difficult to make out from their obscuring, dark clothes as well as the occasional flurry of rain. Even so, he noticed a midday Lycanroc trotting around them, as well as a Crabrawler pounding the earth with its fists just a little beyond them. Gladion caught a glint of silver from between the gathered people in black and then they separated just enough for him to see that it was the same small girl from Po Town he had seen playing with a Sliggoo the day before. She was on her knees, caked from the waist down in mud, but the signature Skull Gang medal hung around her neck, the off-white hat pulled over her head, all enough for him to identify her even from this distance. Suddenly, the Lycanroc lunged at her, snapping fangs dangerously close to her face; she brought her hands up in front of her and squealed. The people in black just laughed, chattering away to one another in Alolan faster than Gladion could hope to keep up. He swore the Lycanroc laughed, too, as it barked in rapid, high-pitched succession, prancing around her trembling frame proudly.

Feeling a rush of anger and anticipation, Gladion scrambled to throw himself properly together, decidedly omitting his own Skull Gang apparel from his getup. He may not have wanted to feel that close to Skull, but the fact of the matter was, she was a young girl regardless of her allegiances. He knew what it was like to be at the mercy of vindictive adults and he was not about to leave her to them. She didn’t deserve whatever they were about to do, whereas those men deserved a world of hurt for ganging up on her.

Recalling his pokémon, he flew out the door, forgetting to close it, and hollered at the gathered people. As they whipped around to look at him, he realized they were all men, native Alolan, looking to be no older than thirty at the most. Even that seemed like a stretch. One of them curled his lip at Gladion and spat at the ground. “You got somethin’ to say?” he asked tauntingly, patting his chest in a clear indication that he was ready for a fight. Gladion wasn’t sure why he would have done that… It wasn’t like people tended to engage in fistfights that often when pokémon battles were available, and they clearly had at least the Lycanroc and the Crabrawler.

The little girl froze as she spotted Gladion, shivering between her adrenaline and the frigidity of the mud and rain, and swallowed anxiously. Gladion pursed his lips and scowled at the gathered men. “Yeah. It’s called ‘pick on someone your own size,’” Gladion growled. “Girl’s no older than eight or nine. The hell are you doing attacking her? You’re grown men. Get lost.”

“Who are you s’posed to be?” another one of the men scoffed as his buddies laughed amongst themselves. “Missin’ your chains, lowly Rockruff. Ain’t you gotta wear your Skull colors? Show your nasty, heathen pride?”

“Who I am is, frankly, none of your goddamn business,” Gladion spat as he crossed his arms.

He realized a little too late that his choice in language was pushing it too far. That word carried an entirely different connotation on these islands. Whereas Galarians or Unovans would have waved off its use as particularly vulgar slang, Alolans saw it as using the Tapus’ names in vain, and coming from someone they believed had already forsaken them? He had just messed up, indeed.

The Lycanroc and Crabrawler turned their attention on him then, the former curling its lips into a cruel snarl, while the latter pummeled the earth uncomfortably close to his feet. The men shifted so they surrounded him instead of the little girl, moving in tandem like a school of prowling Basculin. “Say, when you say pick on someone our own size,” the first man came again coldly, “did ya mean someone like you, homeboy?”

Tensing at that, Gladion cut his eyes at the girl. “Go!” he hissed. Why are you still here? “Get back to Po Town. Now!”

She lurched, then looked frozen again momentarily, before leaping to her feet and sprinting away, throwing up dirt in her wake. The Lycanroc abruptly veered away from Gladion and raced after her. Panicking, he reached for Null’s Ultra Ball only to feel calloused hands latch onto his arms, the third man that hadn’t spoken yet snatching it from his grasp. Wrestling against their hold, Gladion ultimately pulled them all into the mud in a writhing pile of arms and legs, unable to see—and frankly, not sure if he would have wanted to, anyway—if the little girl had been caught by the Lycanroc or not. He furiously kicked and thrashed, even going as far as to snap his teeth at one’s ear that drew close to his face. His mind had cleaned itself of coherent thought and he was in sheer, plain survival mode.

“Get OFF of me!” Gladion howled when he found a moment to breathe, only to be met with a swift punch across his face for the remark. He wasn’t sure if it was from one of the men or their Crabrawler. Stunned, he fell limp and more blows befell his abdomen and ribcage, each one furthering the length of his temporary paralysis. It wasn’t long before he felt truly hopeless, curling into a ball against their blows, shuddering and praying it would end soon. Fleetingly, he wondered why they wouldn’t have wanted to battle him instead of this, or why they had attacked him at all, why they had ganged up on the young girl; of course, he knew the answer. The deep-seated Alolan hatred for the Skull Gang. Before that day, he hadn’t any idea just how pervasive and violent it could be. Above it all, though, he felt pathetic for having failed to defend himself so fantastically, because finding himself on the receiving end of blows was something he was familiar with. Sure, Lusamine’s occasional slaps and strikes couldn’t have held a candle to getting kicked around by three men and a Crabrawler, but the sheer inexplicable nature of her outbursts, the randomness of them, the exacerbated hatred in which she had regarded him following Lillie’s leave, had made them just as traumatic, had made this almost impossible to bear.

He just wanted it to stop. To just stop. He loathed that feeling of helplessness. It was something he had raged against in his rebellious escape from Aether Paradise. It was why he hated Lillie so deeply. She had abandoned him to Lusamine and to the capital punishment his mother was more than capable of dishing out… Yet, just like always, instead of violently defending himself, he was curled in the fetal position, taking their beating like the sorry sob he was. He hoped the girl had managed to escape the Lycanroc. At least that would have made it somewhat worth it, even if he was doubting his decision to get involved on her behalf by that point.

He was coughing and spluttering against the mud desperately for air when he faintly heard someone bellow, “Savage Spin-Out!”

The repetitive pressures in his side left him suddenly, even though pain still spasmed throughout his abdomen as his body came to the realization it was over. Blinking fervently against the flash of green light that played out overhead and shock, Gladion slowly realized that the men, plus their Crabrawler, had been knocked away from him, wrapped in thick, silken threads, and were unconscious. Exhaustedly fighting the mud to stand up, Gladion heaved for breath against stinging, agonizing lungs as he nervously traced the threads to find their source. Standing just a few feet away with his shoulders arched and a familiar midday Lycanroc slung over one of them, the little girl at his hip, and his Golisopod towering next to him, Guzma had a blank, cold stare on his face. He grunted in acknowledgment to Gladion, then tossed the Lycanroc to the ground like a sack of potatoes. Normally, such a sight might have made Gladion cringe, but he found it didn’t bother him that much then. That Lycanroc had been taught just as much prejudice as the men themselves had shown. Although it wasn’t its fault, he couldn’t help but feel a sense of righteousness, seeing it receive some retribution for its actions. It had been willing to maul a young girl, after all.

Stalking over to the fainted men and their Crabrawler, Guzma wrenched a hole open in the silken threads with a disgusting, wet crack!, retrieving Gladion’s Ultra Ball. Without turning to look, he flicked the Poké Ball back at Gladion, who unceremoniously scrambled to catch it from midair before it hit the mud. With a kick to one of the downed men’s crotches for good measure, Guzma spun around to face Gladion and huffed.

“Another rule,” he grumbled, “keep a pokémon out around ya if you’re gonna be pickin’ fights and don’t get close enough for people to grab ya.” Gesturing to the downed men, he added, “See that? They ain’t had a problem attackin’ a little girl. What makes ya think ya can get close to ‘em without ‘em hurtin’ you?”

Shaking his head tiredly, Gladion mumbled, “I don’t know…” I really don’t. I just… I didn’t expect that at all… He surreptitiously rubbed his right side. He felt like he’d been hit by a truck rather than just kicked a few times. Then again, that felt like nothing compared to his wounded pride, to the rush of shame at having been beaten so easily, even with Null at his side. What would Guzma think, seeing him get beaten down so easily? As much as he wanted to rebel against Skull thanks to Plumeria’s double-crossing nature he had seen the previous day, he hated the idea of being alone again even more.

As if picking up on his train of thought, Guzma snorted. “Don’t look like ‘at, chin up. Ya got jumped. Don’t matter what pokémon you have on ya if ya don’t remember to send ‘em out before shit gets ugly.” He cracked the slightest hint of a grin. “By the way, shitty form. Plumeria needs to teach you some methods of gettin’ outta situations like that, ‘cause I ain’t always gonna be there to save your ass. You was lucky I was headin’ outta Po Town and Lil’ua found me.” He paused, crossing his arms, and then sighed. His expression softened as he eyed the little girl, still standing dubiously a little away from him. She looked lost, as if everything that had happened was too much to process. Gladion sharply looked away from her and Guzma, staring at his shoes, finding he didn’t blame her. “But…” Guzma sighed, “I do wanna thank ya… Ya saw a Skull member in trouble and ya stepped in.” There was another long, grim pause. “That’s part o’ what bein’ in Skull means. Standin’ up for one another. Ain’t nobody got our backs out here but us. And you, Lil’ Aether, can have our backs real good… Anyway, Lil’ua?”

Gladion unconsciously started to pluck at his hair with his right hand as he heard the little girl muster a trembling voice. “Guzma, ae?”

“Start talkin’,” he heard Guzma bark, “where the hell is your Ma, and why the fuck was you out here alone?”

She floundered for a response, finally yelping, “W-was bored! Ma ain’t at Po Town right now… Went to Akala few days ago…”

“And she ain’t back?”

“No…”

“Figures…” Guzma muttered under his breath. “Still, you know fuckin’ better,” Guzma spat. Gladion heard the squelching of mud underfoot and winced as he accidentally wrenched one of the remaining locks of hair from the left side of his scalp. He snatched his right hand with his other, vice-gripping it to hold it down, quickly dropping the torn hair so Guzma would hopefully not question it. He wasn’t so lucky, as the footsteps paused and Guzma shouted, “Lil’ Aether?”

Gladion hated that nickname, and to be honest, he hated that defending that little girl had put him in that situation. In fact, he just hated his situation entirely! If his mother had simply kept her damn head screwed on straight, had Lillie not bolted the first chance she got from Aether, he wouldn’t have been in such a situation to begin with! Had Lusamine simply let him study at school normally, he could have gone anywhere in the whole world to further his studies, to make something of himself, to just live a normal life with a normal family! But no! Instead, he was relegated to crawling on his belly to the deepest recesses of Alola to escape Aether’s corrupted claws, with no family to his name aside from Null. The Skull Gang boasted of their familial nature, but he couldn’t help but partially feel like he had escaped the frying pan and hunkered down in the oven; he had escaped Lusamine’s brutality and bladed tongue, but now he would find himself at the mercy of shortsighted, angry Alolans, fueled by their belief in the Tapus and a prejudiced resentment for all those related to Skull. He almost contemptuously snorted. Yet, somehow, he felt safer there than he ever had at Aether…

“Gladion.” Guzma sounded much more serious this time.

“What?” Gladion frustratedly answered him at last, arching his shoulders and practically hugging himself.

“You’re bleedin’ on your head. Better come in and let Makua take a look at ‘at. Guy can work miracles, I tell ya. One o’ my best, oldest friends.”

He didn’t know who Makua was and he didn’t intend to find out. “No.” Clutching Null’s Ultra Ball tightly, Gladion abruptly turned on his heel and narrowly glared at his motel door, stomping his way back over to it. Plumeria had told him to head to Po Town that morning, but he had no desire to satisfy her request. He wanted to lock the doors, turn the pathetic TV that was lodged in the corner of his room on, raise the volume to an unreasonable amount, and forget the Skull Gang for the day. He supposed he wouldn’t have any choice but to keep Null out from then on. If others were going to jump him for his relation to Skull and if they were going to assume they could beat him down if they didn’t see him with a pokémon, then he’d make sure the first pokémon they saw was Null. If they were scared, fine. If they thought he was a monster, fine. If Null slashed the hell out of him on occasion, fine. He’d make it all fine.

Maybe one day he and Null could even get payback on all those who thought they could have kept him down. Maybe one day, he would make Lusamine beg him for mercy rather than the other way around, or maybe one day, Lillie would come crawling back for his assistance, and he’d leave her high and dry with no explanation just as she had left him. Sure, she didn’t know just how bad things had gotten following her absence on Aether Paradise, but whose fault was that? Most certainly not his! Maybe—

Pressure on his shoulder. “Gladion,” Guzma growled, “I’m serious, you’re bleedin’—”

Wrenching out of his hold, Gladion pitched Null’s Poké Ball and snarled, “Leave me alone! Just leave me alone!”

For a moment, Guzma and Gladion both stared at each other in equal shock, both panting to try and catch their breath, while Null started idly clawing at its bronze mask again. Despite all his anger and desire to look as fierce as possible, Gladion had no idea that his emerald eyes were stretched wide in fear, his nostrils flaring in survivalist panic, all body language Guzma seemed to recognize, given the way he winced and ran a hand through his thick, white hair. “Y’know,” Guzma mumbled, “I thought I’da done you a favor to kick ya back to the streets and keep ya out of Skull. But… I can tell there’s a lot more to ya than I know.” Guzma pressed his lips to a hard line and glowered at Gladion. “I ain’t got a clue what that rich bitch did to ya. But I been where you are before.” He took a step back and held both hands up in surrender.

Curling his lip, Gladion hissed, “Whatever. The hell do you know about me?”

“Nothin’ exact, but I don’t need to. Go back to your motel. Keep that pokémon o’ yours out from now on.” Guzma suddenly smiled a little and snapped his fingers, his Golisopod cutting the threads between itself and the downed men and hobbling closer to its trainer. When it lowered its armored head next to him, Guzma stroked its head. “I didn’t become the only one to ever evolve a Wimpod by keepin’ it in a Poké Ball, that’s for damn sure. Look out for your pokémon and it’ll look out for you. I don’t care what Aether did to that mutt o’ yours. I’m sure it’s the same.”

He bristled at the use of the word mutt but managed to find the self-discipline to keep his mouth shut. Still, Gladion’s right hand managed to snake back up to his hair and start plucking it free again. “Thanks,” he tersely muttered. Now go away. Now go away and leave me alone.

Waving a hand at him, Guzma loudly sighed. “Go relax for a while. Ya earned it. Thanks for savin’ Lil’ua. She’s one o’ the poor saps that was born into this mess. There’re prob’ly some o’ us that could deserve a good beatin’ every now and then, but she ain’t it.”

Gladion didn’t watch him gather Lil’ua and leave. Instead, he casted a final, nervous glance to the unconscious men, their Crabrawler, and Lycanroc, and then scurried back into his motel room, Null following at his heels. He anxiously inspected the inside before shutting and locking the door, realizing he had left it open before, though he found nothing amiss. He retreated to his bed immediately, mud and rainwater be damned, and Null leapt onto the mattress after him. He stared him down with gray, wanting eyes for a moment, before cocking his head to scratch sharp claws loudly against the helmet.

“We’re going to find a way to do better,” Gladion reassured him abruptly, his voice tense and heavy against the still air of the small room. With the traces of a dark grin, he added, “But before then, we’re going to become the toughest there is. I will punish those that deserve it and let them know they can’t ever put me down again… That they can’t ever put us down again. Do you understand me, Null?”

Null paused his scratching briefly and uttered something of a mechanical grunt at him. Gladion wasn’t sure what it meant, but it looked as if Null were curiously listening closer.

“Aether taught me a lot, Null,” Gladion huffed, staring at his hands, feeling a cold, tingly sensation slowly work its way from his feet up. “Pokémon are often at the mercy of people and people do a lot of awful things given the opportunity. And those people don’t get punished when their victims are silent.” He looked up then and stared Null in the eyes. “Skull is violent and troubles challengers because they don’t have a choice. Talking and doing it peacefully didn’t work, if what Plumeria said was true.” Even though I have a hard time trusting her after what she said… “I stole you and ran away from Aether because there were no other options.” He broke into a wide, hungry grin, clenching his right hand into a fist in front of his face. Null reared away briefly, then lowered its upper body to the bed in a poised, battle stance, giving that eerie clanging noise that Gladion knew was its battle cry. Encouraged, Gladion sternly said, “We are enforcers, Null. We’ll punish those that deserve it since nobody else will on these islands, and we’ll save those who need it. I might not appreciate Plumeria tying me down to Skull, but I’m not going to let them own me. Nobody owns me. Nobody owns you. It’s me and you, Null—forever and always!”

Null happily jumped on the bed, though when he landed, he immediately went back to scratching and pulling at the mask.

“And more than anything, one day, I will get that mask off you.” Gladion licked his lips and practically bared his teeth. It might have disturbed him somewhat in the past, how much he lavished this vengeful ideology, but right then, it felt like heaven. Aether and Alola both could snake their curling fingers into him and try to pull him down, reach for his throat, hungry for his skin, but they would never succeed. He wouldn’t let them close in on him, or Null, or anyone else that didn’t deserve their fury… He dared to stroke Null’s mask, bracing himself for a strike, though he was pleasantly surprised when it didn’t come. “I will get that mask off you, Null. I swear… Even if I have to beat the method to do so out of Faba’s stupid face.”

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

Selene cocked her head curiously at the triangular, golden landmarks at either edge of the entrance to the Verdant Cavern. Captain Ilima was speaking, but her gaze had naturally wandered to those landmarks, and she had, admittedly, lost track of what he was saying. They had intricate, yet simplistic carvings etched into a pole, with two, angular projections on either side of it, while stone had been packed at the base to hold the landmarks up.

As if following her gaze, Captain Ilima laughed softly, drawing her attention back to him. She still found it eerie, the way his silvery eyes seemed to understand exactly what was going on around him, as if the film over them weren’t there at all. Selene had thought to question him about it during their initial discussion, but had backed out of it in the end, a little nervous to question a Captain’s appearance so bluntly. “Those are trial landmarks,” Captain Ilima explained with a flick of the wrist toward one of them, “they help challengers locate trial sites in case they don’t have someone to help guide them. They’re impermanent since trial sites can change pretty rapidly depending on the Tapu’s whims.”

“Oh,” Selene nodded slowly. “That makes sense… So, er… What did you say the trial was again…?” She flushed red embarrassedly and rubbed the back of her head. Hau, standing to her right, snickered. Elio was too lost whispering back and forth with Lillie to comment on the situation at hand, his Litten circling their feet impatiently. She wanted to roll her eyes at them. Although Lillie sniped at him with cold, biting remarks on occasion, they were practically thick as thieves already, as if Elio was somehow drawn to her bitter attitude. Selene didn’t understand it.

“You’ll go in and navigate to the deepest part of the cave,” Captain Ilima patiently explained again, smiling at her gently. He seemed so kind and understanding. She supposed he had to be, given the way his mind had to work with the ability Tapu Koko had imparted on him… She wondered if he ever regretted his ability. He had sworn up and down during their first discussion that it had opened his eyes to a much larger world, one he didn’t think he would have ever had the opportunity to see, without it, but she had to wonder if such an ability overwhelmed him at times… If it did, he certainly didn’t show it. “There, you’ll combat my Totem Gumshoos. He is a pokémon that was blessed by Tapu Koko, as much as I was… I’ll admit, it makes me happy to see you three willing to take this Trial on together. The Totems are very difficult to fight alone, since they can call other wild pokémon to assist them. They are not to be taken lightly. Now…” He cleared his throat and straightened his back, his expression suddenly taking a much more austere turn. “Once you enter the Verdant Cavern, you will not be able to leave until you complete the trial, or you forfeit. If you forfeit, you will need to wait…” he trailed off and blinked, another light laugh breaking his severe look. “Well, normally, I’d say you would have to wait at least a day before trying it again, but if you do that, you won’t need to attempt the trial again at all, since I won’t be a Captain anymore… Anyway, my point is, you should be ready before entering because you cannot leave without forfeiting. Are all three of you ready?”

Selene and Hau both nodded vigorously, Selene’s Rowlet clicking its beak in annoyance at her bouncing head. Snorting in amusement, she wondered why the pokémon insisted on standing there when it hated her moving her head so much… It was kind of endearing, as if he thought if he did it enough, she might be ‘trained’ to listen to his warnings. Anyway, when Elio failed to respond to Ilima’s inquiry after a few seconds, Selene rolled her eyes and hissed, “Earth to Elio!”

“Huh?” He dumbly stared at her and then Captain Ilima for a moment, and then grinned nervously. “Ah, sorry… Yeah, I think I caught it all, and I’m ready, or whatever…”

Captain Ilima looked as if he were fighting off a smirk with the way he looked on Elio. “Very well then,” he announced before turning on a heel to march into the cavern, throwing his arms out theatrically. “Let the Trial of the Verdant Cavern begin!” He was soon swallowed up by the shadowy entrance to the mossy cave.

“Do you get to come in and, uh, watch, or anything like that?” Selene heard Elio ask Lillie.

“Uh, no. Fairly sure pretty boy’s Gumshoos would eat me for daring to bring my Island Challengeless arse inside,” Lillie answered bluntly. Shrugging, she spotted a large boulder nearby and took a seat on that, crossing her legs innocently. She looked so sweet and harmless like that. Selene was a little alarmed by the flare of distrust she felt in her chest as she noticed that about Lillie, though… Ugh, she didn’t like buying into the obvious social conditioning against those that didn’t participate in the Island Challenge—she and Elio hadn’t even wanted to initially, and Elio still probably didn’t!—but something about Lillie was just… off. Something felt wrong about her. Selene just couldn’t shake that feeling…

“Aw,” Elio whined. “Well… oh, well.” He snapped his fingers and made a show of fingerguns that made Selene want to drag him into the cavern, if for no reason than to get him to stop embarrassing himself. “Seeya later, then~”

Lillie snorted. “See you, Torchic.”

Gaping back at her like a Magikarp out of water, Elio finally dramatically sputtered, “So rude!”

Groaning, Selene glanced to Hau. “Hey,” she started gently, “he said all of that in Galarish… Did you catch it all?”

“Oh, heard before,” Hau shrugged back at her. “No need.” Eagerly bouncing from foot to foot, he set Popper down to the ground (he had been hugging the pokémon close to his chest again), then rushed off into the cavern. “C’mon!” he called over his shoulder, Popper scrambling after him a little unsteadily.

Forgetting all about her inhibitions, Selene darted after him, Elio shortly on her heels, leaving Lillie alone just outside of the Verdant Cavern. None of them thought anything about that, considering how fiercely Lillie had defended herself before, and so, none of them could have known just how frightening it was to Lillie…

…or just how frightening it should have been to her.

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

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brent-sunborn · 4 years

Text

Shadow Savior

(( Follows The Attempt / Co-written with @kidcatgemini ))

“This how y’ thought y’d be fucked t’night, lass?”

Syrielle had no time to react. Hardly any time to blink! She moved to bring her hands up to try and block the blow, but one of them was held down. The other came up much to slow, as Alteris brought the jagged piece of glass down. She screamed!

But rather than the sharp pain she anticipated, she felt Alteris pull away from her entirely! She sat up quickly, and saw why. Another elf had come up behind Alteris and pulled him back off of her! The two grappled a moment, before Alteris was thrown - behind the counter, into a large cabinet of fine porcelain dinnerware. Plates, bowls, teacups and shelves all shattered, coming crashing down atop the would-be assassin!

Syrielle gasped, and looked to the other elf. Gattius? No. Another Void Elf. Dark leathers, long hair… familiar blacksteel daggers and a plated face mask…

Alteris brought his legs back up beneath him quickly, seeming stunned! He narrowed his gaze at the other ren’dorei, seeming just as shocked as Syrielle to see him here! It didn’t last long. The elf lunged for Alteris, slamming him back into the shattered cabinet with one hand, and stabbing him without a moment’s hesitation with the other. Alteris let out half a gasp, unable to breathe for the moment… before his body disappeared in a plume of shadow. The other elf grunted, gripping his side with his free hand as Alteris vacated it. He braced, tensing as if he had expected the random jolt of pain to shoot through him as Alteris’ body vanished from sight. It was over… Alteris was gone. And the other elf turned his narrowed gaze to Syrielle.

The Cryomancer was frozen with fear, recognizing Brent Sunborn as he turned his deadly gaze towards her. This was the first she’d seen him in his ren’dorei form, much more threatening than his Sin’dorei one had been. Last time she’d seen him, he’d abducted and delivered her into Tharinel’s hands; an event that left her well traumatized.

Panic set in and her mind went blank. Pupils dilated and her pulse increased as adrenaline flooded her system. She wasn’t even thinking about Alteris or what had happened to him. All she could concentrate on was getting away. She scrambled off the counter, but let out a pained cry. Her bare feet landed in the mess of whiskey and shards of glass now covering the floor thanks to Alteris’ improvised murder weapon. Pain shot up her legs as the shards implanted deeply. Worse yet, she slipped as she tried to move forward, landing hard on her hip.

Tear filled eyes looked up as the threatening figure brought a knee down in front of her. She couldn’t find her voice to scream or cast a spell, so frozen by fear she was at the sight of him.

“Relax.” he said, tone curt - irritated. “I’m not here for you.”

His ebon-steel dagger slipped silently back into its sheath at his hip, reinforcing his claim. With a bit of a light scoff, Brent took hold of Syrielle’s foot and began to pluck shards of glass from it. His gaze parted from hers, instead intent on the task at hand. He would’ve preferred not having to deal with her at all; collateral was always so messy. But at the same time, he couldn’t let Alteris kill her. Despite having delivered her into such dangers before… things had changed.

Nepen’thea had still cared for this one, after all.

So instead of silencing another witness, the Ghostblade set to helping her out. At least, enough so she wouldn’t bleed out all over the floor in her pathetic panicked state. The larger chunks were removed easily enough, and the smaller ones hadn’t set in too deep. He ripped at the hem of her nightie to retrieve a length suitable enough for a bandage - so paralyzed in fear, she did little to oppose him. Fear… or perhaps confusion, at this point. He didn’t seem concerned either way.

“He’s not dead yet.” he informed her - because revealing that the elf who had just tried to kill her was still out there seemed like a smart thing to say to the fear-struck cryromancer. “But he’s far from here. Trapped. He’ll be dead soon enough.”

The makeshift bandaged tied tight and snug at her foot, before Brent stood. Halfway. He still hovered over Syrielle, offering her a hand up from the floor. Brow still knit in agitation, he waved a few fingers quickly at her, beckoning her to make haste.

“Get up.”

By now, Syrielle seemed to have regained some basic functions. She blinked up at him in confusion. What was he doing here? Why had he saved her? Why would he care to help her at all? Was this a trick?

Still, her hand took his and allowed him to pull her to her feet. She winced as she put pressure on her damaged feet, but the makeshift bandages made it at least possible for her to stand upright.

“Wh-what’s going on?” She finally managed to find her voice, small as it was, “Why are you helping me?”

“--I’m not helping you.” he snapped back, almost defensively.

He eyed the Cryromancer, gaze lingering as he turned. She seemed okay… now, at least she wasn’t sniveling and flopping about. He sighed slowly as he stepped away from her; it was the least threatening thing he could think to do, at this point. Instead, Brent looked over the shattered porcelain and shelves that broke during the brief altercation. He gotten Alteris out of hiding, now he only had to get back and finish the job.

“... Not intentionally, anyway.” he elaborated. “Came to kill Alteris. He just… happened to try to kill you, too. Almost let him, honestly.”

He shrugged, glancing back to Syrielle.

“But Thea liked you for some reason.”

Alteris had mentioned pissing some people off when he’d requested to lay low. Obviously, he’d lied about not being traced back to the Starfrost manor. He’d also conveniently forgot to mention that Brent Sunborn was one of the people hunting him. Syrielle’s hands balled into fists as she realized the dangers Alteris had purposely put them in. Gattius has trusted him, so Syrielle had trusted him as well.

And once again, trust nearly got her killed.

Her ears flicked, and perked up as a Brent made mention of Nepen’thea. The Cryomancer had wondered for some time if she’d survived the Void explosion as well. Now she knew that she had.

—but then, why was Sunborn speaking of her in past tense? Her ears lowered at the implications.

“...liked?” She repeated, hoping she was reading that wrong.

Brent was quiet for a moment - but the silence spoke volumes to confirm it. He looked once more to the cabinet, where his quarry was last seen. Subtly, he tilted his chin up in that direction, as if to motion to it. To point it out.

"Her killer." he practically whispered, though pain and anger both rang through loudly in his words. "She'll be avenged."

Syrielle’s ears wilted and she leaned back against the counter. She closed her eyes and lowered her head. Nepen’thea had been an enemy of the Phoenix Guard… a cultist playing with ancient dark forces. Surely, her death was a good thing for Azeroth, but Syrielle only felt sorrow at her passing. She remembered the beautiful, friendly elf that helped her get her bearings when she’d first arrived in Dalaran. Her best friend and lover. What had happened for her to turn onto such a dark path? Could Syrielle have somehow done something to stop it had she noticed her friend slipping away? Had she been too wrapped up in her studies to notice the signs?

And Alteris… anger flared. She’d allowed him into her relationship, into her home. And he repaid her by attempting to end her life. The selfish fool clearly didn’t care for anyone except himself.

She took in a deep breath, swallowing down the lump in her throat as she looked up at Brent. She gave him a nod. She had no doubt that he could get the job done.

“Thank you.”

“Hmph. I’m not doing this for you.” Brent replied, coldly. “I’m just running down Thea’s killer. Don’t get it twisted.”

The Ghostblade exhaled sharply out of his nose, a scoff stifled by his metallic mask. He really would’ve preferred not to have to interact with anyone at all during all this. But if it had to be someone… someone Nepen’thea valued was probably the best he’d get. He shook his head, before looking to Syrielle once again.

“Don’t forget about her. I know what you meant to her. Even after Suncrown Village…” he trailed off, letting the pause linger for a moment. “She never bore you ill intent. Your friends, sure, but not you. And… she had nothing to do with when I…”

Another pause - he knew she remembered that well enough. It was true, though; Nepen’thea had nothing to do with the deal Brent had made with Tharinel. He wanted to make sure Syrielle knew that. It was a sobering realization that, of any other living being on Azeroth, this weepy, dorky, Cryromancer was probably the only other person Nepen’thea truly loved.

“... Just don’t forget her. Because once we start forgetting her… that’s when she’s gone for good.”

He fidgeted, uncomfortable with the vulnerability that hung over him. But it had to be said.

“I know I, of all people, don’t have a right to ask anything of you. But if you really wanna thank me for this…”

He nodded once. More than enough words had been spoken. Far more than he’d planned to say to anyone at all tonight.

“I could never forget her,” Syrielle shook her head, “Never.”

She brought a hand up to wipe at the tears. She couldn’t quite hold them back. Knowing Nepen’thea was truly gone now. Knowing she had nothing to do with Syrielle’s capture and torture. Answers to questions that had kept her awake over the past year and a half. There was closure now. Relief.

Now, she could truly mourn the loss.

“Stab him a few extra times for me, yeah?”

It seemed like a good place to end the conversation. With a final nod, Brent stepped into the shadows… and out of sight.

(( @nepenthea for mention ))

~*~

#character story #Syrielle Starfrost #Alteris Sunwhisper #Brent Sunborn #Nepen'thea Dusksinger #void elf #blood elf #Quel'Thalas #warcraft

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mordellestories · 5 years

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Love and Necrogamy

A Beetlejuice Fanfic

Chapter 1

At seventeen years old, Lydia Deetz found herself engaged to a six-hundred-thirty-seven-year-old poltergeist. Though she had accepted the deal willingly at the time to save her new ghost parents, she had not intended to go through with it at all. Even though she did little to stop the ceremony, her family tried their damnedest to get rid of their dangerous and unwanted rescuer before he could seal the deal. And they did. Or so they thought.

Unfortunately for the teenage bride, the officiate had performed the ceremony to its completion. The words "I now pronounce you Ghost and Wife" had gone unheard by pretty much everyone in the room. Let's face it, when there is a giant sandworm crashing through your living room, it's hard to pay attention to whatever else is going on. All had retired for the evening after the tumultuous affair and were on their way to a not-so-blissful sleep until Lydia's bloodcurdling scream had everyone racing to her room. They found her in her black, bulky nightgown hopping up and down in a panic, and pulling on her finger like she was ready to be free of the appendage altogether.

"It won't come off!" She yelled, wide-eyed with her cheeks streaked with sweat and tears.

After calming the poor girl down, it was evident she was referring to the simple, gold wedding band that the vile villain had managed to slip on her ring finger before being fed to the Saturn giant. Each guardian tried their best to pull the forsaken thing off the goth girl. They tried soap. They tried baby oil. They tried ice. They tried engine oil. They even tried Delia's homemade, organic, vaginal lubricant that she claimed could rehydrate the Sahara. Nothing worked. They all decided it was too soon to be making conjectures. Delia suggested that Lydia lose a few pounds - just enough to wriggle the offensive thing free. No one had any other suggestions, so Lydia got herself on a strict diet - not that she was very hungry anyway. Finding yourself to be an unwilling, underaged bride can sort of squelch your appetite. Barbara took it upon herself to stay in Lydia's room every night, just in case.

Matters only worsened when one morning both a marriage certificate naming Lydia Deetz as Wife and Betelgeuse Horeson as Husband, and a Handbook for the Recently Married to the Deceased showed up on Lydia's vanity. While Lydia took the news with silent defeat, Barbara had a complete meltdown. As her ghostly godparents charged for the Afterlife Waiting room to appeal on her behalf, Lydia sauntered off to the local cemetery and brooded.

It had been a whole month. She had been married an entire month, but her grimy, gross husband had not come to claim her. She wondered if he was still being digested. She paced the graveyard for hours while she read her new manual on being a dead man's wife. Twisting the ring on her finger as she pondered on the endless scenarios her dark imaginings could come up with, she decided to end her misery by confronting the source of her anxiety. With newfound knowledge and courage, she went home, climbed upstairs, locked herself in her room, and waited for the witching hour. Adam and Barbara had still not returned, and Delia tried to be motherly by asking her stepdaughter if she needed her to sleep the night with her, which Lydia denied emphatically.

The house was finally quiet and midnight rolled around. Lydia touched the cool glass of her vanity mirror. Saying his name once would establish a connection, like dialling a phone number, but he would have control over answering the call. She didn't want that. Saying his name twice while touching a reflective surface would summon him to that specific object, and doing so at the time of the witching hour would give her complete control over the summons. Uttering his name three times, well, it could be deduced accurately what might happen then.

She inhaled deeply and steadily. "Betelgeuse." Her wedding band glowed green, and the hairs on her arms stood on end. "Betelgeuse." The surface of the mirror fogged over, completely obscuring any reflection. She waited, but the fog did not clear. Another long moment passed until she heard the sound of a finger gliding on moist glass beneath her hand. She removed her hand quickly and watched in awe as letters spelt themselves crudely on the mirror.

HI, POOKIE.

Lydia nearly gagged at the pet name, but her panic started to build effectively taking over her disgust. She'd made contact. "Where are you?"

HERE. A-DUH.

"Why can't I see you?" She asked suspiciously.

The fog danced on the surface silently until it began to clear enough to reveal a pair of smug blue eyes encircled by black. "Didn't think you wanted to see me, sweetums. Lookin' a little..." his hand appeared and motioned at her up and down, "traumatized." He chuckled, and his hand disappeared.

Lydia crossed her arms over her chest and gave the ghost a challenging look. "I'm just fine. Show yourself."

The poltergeist let out a chortle, and the fog vanished, revealing the merry looking dead guy dressed in swim trunks. And that was it. His mossy, black-stained chest was bare along with his protruding beer belly, and he had a little cocktail umbrella tucked behind one ear. His hair still looked like a matted mess, but it was damp and hung low on his shoulders. He was sitting on a beach chair and looking very much like the first time they'd met - not counting the snake encounter, of course.

"That's not what our little bond tells me," he smiled and raised his left hand. His wedding ring gave off a small green glow as hers had when she first called him.

The raven-haired teenager could barely keep her bored expression in place as she realized that he meant he could sense her distress.

"So!" He slapped his bare, moldy knee hard and leaned forward. "'Sup?"

Utterly amazed, Lydia shook her head. "What's up?" She said with disbelief. "What's up?! We're married. That's what's up!"

Betelgeuse splayed his hands before him and looked around before giving Lydia a confused quirk of his brow. "Yeah? That was the deal wasn' it? I save yer friends, you set me free?"

Lydia furrowed her brow and began to pace. "So, you are free , then?"

The poltergeist grinned wide and sat back, crossing his ankle over his knee. "Free as a bat at dusk, babe."

She caught a quick glimpse of something she did not want to see hanging in the gap of his bathing suit between his legs. "Ugh," she scowled and averted her gaze, "so we're square then?" She asked with impatience. "Are you done terrorizing people?"

Betelgeuse scratched the inside of his ear, then ate whatever he had pulled out. "I"m a freelance bio-exorcist. Terrorizing people is my job. And I'm very good at my job." He gave her a mischievous grin. "As you're well aware."

Lydia scoffed but silently agreed with him. "What I mean is, are you done terrorizing us. Me. My family?"

The mossy ghost looked amused as he gave Lydia a slow once-over. "Sure," he said with mild sincerity. "For now, anyway." He exposed his filthy, blackened overbite again with a snicker.

The goth girl plopped down on her bed and buried her face in her hands with defeat. "What have I done?" She breathed with quiet despair.

Betelgeuse rolled his eyes and shifted in his seat, uncomfortably. "Look, kid. You called me right outta my vacation, 'kay? I haven't done anything but enjoy some time under the Hawaiian sun. So, don't beat yerself up just yet. I've been a good boy." His eyes shifted in his sockets with uncertainty. "Unless you count what've been doin' under the sheets if ya know what I'm sayin'?"

Lydia looked up and studied the ghoul trapped in her mirror. He did not seem as menacing, manic, or dangerous as when they parted ways. "You're on vacation? In Hawaii." She almost couldn't believe it. "What happens when you get bored with that?"

He shrugged. "Well, I uh, go back to work," he replied simply. "Gotta provide for my little ball and chain." He winked at her.

She scoffed. "Consider yourself relieved from that duty." She eyed him a moment longer. "The handbook says we will be audited to make sure the marriage wasn't a fraud to get your papers."

Betelgeuse waved away her comment. "Don't you worry your pretty little head over that. I'll know when they're comin' to check up on us. I'll call ya, then you summon me, we answer a few questions, act like we're in love, badabing, no one will be the wiser."

Lydia felt a strange surge of bravery as she stood and sauntered closer to the mirror. "What if I say no?"

A darkness clouded over Betelgeuse's eyes as he gave her a hooded gaze. "We made a deal," he said with a mirthless smile.

She decided to ignore the warning in his tone. "Yeah, but I didn't know I had to see you again and again for the rest of my life. It's inconvenient."

"As I said it would be," he retorted condescendingly. He relaxed a bit and clicked his tongue. "But I get yer point. Ya know, being married to me does have its perks," he said sleazily while he waggled his eyebrows.

"Ew. Not interested," Lydia bit back with disgust.

Betelgeuse's face fell into a bored expression. "For once, I didn't mean it like that." He did — a little. "I mean," he amended, "not everyone has a talented, personal poltergeist they can whip outta their back pocket whenever they want. Think of me like a genie or somethin' like that. Shit, I'll even give ya three wishes."

Lydia considered the ghost's words. She could think of several instances in her past where a poltergeist could have been very useful. With school starting soon, she wondered if she'd make new enemies in her senior year. Plus, there was one thing she wanted more than anything that only a ghost could help her with. She had been biding her time to ask the favor of Adam and Barbara, but part of her already knew it was too great a favor to ask of them. If he wasn't going to bother her or her family, she could keep their deal a secret and use him when or if she needed to.

"Unlimited wishes and we have a deal," she bargained with a smirk.

"Five," he haggled back.

"A hundred thousand."

He stood up, scrunched up his face and shook his head. "Unlucky thirteen, my final offer," he grated through clenched teeth.

Thirteen was probably more than enough, Lydia thought. "Deal."

The poltergeist let out his famous, wild cackle. "You got it, Lyds. Now, if ya don't mind, I was about to work on my tan line before ya called. We good?"

Lydia bit her lip before answering. "I have a wish."

Betelgeuse let out a loud phlegmy sigh of impatience. "Already?" He shook his head, then sat back down in his chair. "Fine. Spit it out."

"I want you to find my mother," she mumbled quickly. "I have, um, a letter." The ball of nerves sat at her vanity, uncomfortable with his proximity despite the barrier, and pulled out her letter from a drawer. "Can you give it to her?"

The poltergeist snapped his fingers, and the letter glowed green before its astral copy was sucked out into the portal before her and into his hand. He read it right in front of her without a care.

"Well, don't read it!" She outraged.

Betelgeuse let out a whistle, folded the letter, and tucked it who-knows-where behind him. "That was awkward," he muttered before clapping his hands together, enthusiastically, "you got it, honey." With a pop, he was suddenly floating in the air dressed as some corpse version of the genie from I Dream of Jeannie. "Your wish is my command," he said in a scratchy feminine voice. He crossed his arms, gave an exaggerated nod and a blink, and then he was gone.

The mirror returned to normal as soon as he vanished, which left Lydia unnerved. She followed the instructions to trap him in the mirror, yet he was able to leave before the Witching Hour had ended. He shouldn't have been able to do that. She wasn't sure what was scarier. Him having more power than she realized, or the visual of him in a belly dancer's outfit with curves in all the wrong places.

-------

Even after losing seven pounds, the ring would not come off. It should have been enough. Lydia decided to end her fruitless diet and also turned down other ludicrous ideas of being taken to the emergency room or a mechanic to get it removed. Barbara and Adam returned after four months with unfortunate news as well. Juno reminded them that their vouchers had been depleted and even if they still had one, the caseworker could do nothing.

"But," Barbara amended, "Juno said that there would most likely be a visit from some auditors!" She exclaimed with joy. Her smile fell. "Except we don't know when they'll come or who they'll be."

Adam adjusted his glasses on the bridge of his nose. "So, it could be as early as tonight!"

"Or when I'm eighty," Lydia replied dryly.

The married couple gave each other a guilty frown. "Well, I don't think it'll be that long..." "Possibly..." They responded in unison.

Lydia shook her head and started to giggle. She gave everyone a thumbs up and turned to leave. "Going to my room now."

Barbara went to place a comforting hand on her. "I'll be right up to-"

"No, no. I don't need you to sleep in my room anymore," Lydia responded with boredom.

"But what if he comes back?" Adam retorted. "Your birthday is in a few days! What if he," the ghost stopped short when Barbara placed a hand on his shoulder to stop him from saying what he was going to say next, "comes back," he muttered.

Lydia knew what he was implying. She would be eighteen in three days, and they worried if Betelgeuse would come to try and consummate the marriage. She shrugged and giggled mirthlessly again while she sauntered up to her room. She wasn't too disturbed about their theory. When she last saw the poltergeist, he did not seem eager or even concerned with trying to claim her as his actual wife. In fact, he appeared annoyed she'd even called him. Plus, she hadn't seen or heard from him since she summoned him that one night. When Lydia entered her room, she found a box on her bed with a note.

STUDY UP, BUTTERCUP. -B

She tore the box open thinking it was something to do with her mother, but instead she found numerous pages in a stack. She flipped through some of the pages and realized it was all written accounts about Betelgeuse. The further she dug through the papers, the older the pages looked. At one point she found parchment written in what appeared to be Old English or some other language.

"What the hell?" Lydia scoured through more papers until she tossed everything back in and charged for her vanity. "Betelgeuse-Betelgeuse!"

The mirror took no time at all to reveal the poltergeist in a hideous plaid suit, his hair combed over with thick gel, and he was sporting sunglasses. His arms were opened to his sides as if they had just been curled around a waist each. Startled to find his evening prizes gone, Betelgeuse jumped back and wildly looked around. "Where'd ya go?! Come on, I thought we were havin' a good time!" His search led his gaze to Lydia. "Aw, shit," he deflated, kicked at the ground, then changed his tune. "Hey there, little missus," he crooned affectionately, "got questions for your dear ol' hubby?"

"Why did you leave your unintelligible biography on my bed?" She asked in a hushed whisper.

Betelgeuse motioned to the sky for patience. "For the audit, dear," he drawled. "You need to know some things about me if we're gonna sell this sham."

Lydia perked up at the mention of the audit. "Are they coming?"

"No, but you should be ready for when they do, because it will happen. Could be tomorrow, could be when you're eighty. Who knows. Better safe than screwed though."

The teenager fumed for a moment. "Why should play along when you haven't even granted my first wish yet?"

Betelgeuse puffed out his chest and placed his fists on his hips. "Hey! I did too!" He defended. "What did you want a certified return receipt?!"

Lydia sunk in on herself and dropped into her chair. He had delivered the letter and her mother never replied. "How long ago?"

Outraged, Betelgeuse stomped on the ground and pointed a finger at her. "Right after I left ya! I keep my end of deals, kid. You should know that by now," he barked. The ghost could tell she was down in the dumps and he couldn't have her natural inclination toward melancholy get the better of her. For the sake of his freedom, he would not allow her to go off the deep end just because her mother was an asshole. "Hey-hey, listen," he consoled as he raised his hands in supplication, "forget that broad, okay? You wouldn't even like her, honestly. Can't believe I'm gonna say this, but the red-headed-medusa is a better mommy figure for ya anyway. Plus, ya got the Sandworm cowgirl on your side now."

The goth teenager couldn't help the smirk that curled up on her lips at the nicknames the poltergeist had given her parental figures. "You've got to be joking," she snickered.

Betelgeuse removed his sunglasses then crossed his heart. "I wouldn't lie ta ya, babes."

"I think you would," she retorted playfully.

He nodded his head. "Yeah, well, not about this. I'd call your mom a cunt but she lacks the warmth and depth."

She bit back a laugh. "You know I'm a child right?" Lydia jabbed.

Betelgeuse rolled his eyes and gave her the okay sign. "Lucky for you, you'll magically turn into an adult in three days," he mocked, "you can appreciate my humor then."

Lydia gulped down her sudden distress. He knew her eighteenth birthday was fast approaching.

The poltergeist scrutinized her brief but apparent displeasure. He was quick to deduce the problem. He chuckled. "All right, babe, I've got some bets to place on some crap tables, so unless you have another wish ready, I gotta hit it."

She pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes. "Well, there is this girl named Claire…"

A sleazy grin spread wide on his face. "Go on ."

-------

Lydia spent her birthday week in complete bliss. She had been pampered by her family, and Claire was out of school because she had scabies. The evening of her birthday was somewhat awkward. The Maitlands and her parents stayed up with her until midnight, of course, they never mentioned the reasoning behind their motives but Lydia knew. Midnight came and went and Betelgeuse made no appearance. When Barbara finally left Lydia's room the goth girl locked her door with a sigh of relief. There was a sudden rush and a green glow that came from her vanity. Lydia whirled around fully expecting Betelgeuse to be standing smack in the middle of her room in one of his ridiculous getups holding onto a bouquet of flowers or box of chocolates and a perverted smirk plastered on his face. What she found was a flat, velvet black box with an elaborate red bow.

She looked at her mirror for signs of her husband, but he was not there. She approached her gift with caution and gingerly untied the bow. When she lifted the lid, Lydia gasped. Delicately, she grazed her fingers on the finest red fabric she'd ever seen. She pulled it out of the box and raised it before her. A red and black spiderweb poncho that was perfect for her size. She would have scoffed and tossed it aside, it was something she'd never wear, but when she glanced at her mirror she couldn't help but smile. She shook her head, folded her gift and placed it back in the case. She hid it with all the other things that were from him, everything she wore on their farce of a wedding and his biography were carefully tucked away in a steamer trunk with a false bottom. Just in case he could hear or see her she decided to be polite.

"Thanks," she mumbled.

No reply came.

----

Love and Necrogamy is a Beetlejuice multi-chapter fanfic on Ao3 and FF by mordelle. (complete)

#love and necrogamy #Beetlejuice #Beetlejuice/Lydia #Beetlejuice cartoon #beetlejuice movie #Beetlejuice and Lydia #beetlejuice fanfiction #beetlejuice fanfic

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loversandantiheroes · 5 years

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Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply Category: F/M Fandom: Dragon Age: Inquisition Relationships: Female Inquisitor/Cullen Rutherford, Female Lavellan/Cullen Rutherford Characters: Cullen Rutherford, Female Inquisitor (Dragon Age), Female Lavellan (Dragon Age) Additional Tags: Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Lyrium Withdrawal, Lyrium Addiction, Mild Gore, Hurt/Comfort, first comes the hurt, then comes the comfort, I swear there will be comfort

The threat of Adamant looms, and the cracks begin to show.

Perpetual love and thanks to @songofproserpine for the beta reading <3

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“And people say I’m stubborn!” Cassandra shouted after Cullen as the door shut.

Aadhlei stood staring at the door, thunderstruck. “Maferath’s balls, Cassandra, what was that about?”

The Seeker folded her arms with a sigh, arranging her face into a rough semblance of her usual irascibility. But there was an unusual, uneasy edge to it, the expression ill-suited to her face. Cassandra was worried.

“Cullen told you of his decision to stop taking lyrium?”

“He did. I can’t say it’s a decision that hasn’t worried me, but it was clearly important to him.”

The image of him came to her, bent over his lyrium kit. Some go mad, others die. A cold little knot landed heavily in her stomach.

Maker don’t you dare, she thought, and swallowed hard. “Am I to take it the attempt is going poorly?”

“Most attempts do,” Cassandra said with a sad shake of her head. “He is ill, yes. He pushes himself too hard. He always has, but more so now. The man has not stood still since we received word of Adamant. He has seen two Circles fall, and more than his share of demons because of that, even before Veil was breached. He is afraid that he cannot protect our people, or you, from what we will face. He is a stubborn man, driven, but that same stubbornness has twisted in on him.”

“He thinks he can’t do it without the lyrium,” Aadhlei said. For all his anger at the Order, Cullen still held - and, she suspected, always would - an unflagging loyalty to the people that served in it. The Templars were instruments crafted with a purpose, and even as he shed the chains the Order imposed he still sought that purpose, still sought to prove they could do the good he’d been raised to believe in. But now the Order was all but shattered, and so few Templars still stood that had not been cut down in the war or stained with red lyrium.

A familiar wave of regret twisted through her. Thoughts of Therinfal Redoubt and the things they had found in its deserted halls clutched at her with a thousand tiny hooks, each one a bright and burning red. For the thousandth time, she wondered if there was more she could have done, if there had ever been a chance….

Too late for that, she told herself. It’s done, let it lie. She dropped her head, letting the straggled mess of her hair hide her face. All the wear and worry of the past two weeks seemed to be landing in her at once. And above it all sat a new weight, a heavy, pressing concern that what was wrong with Cullen was beyond her ability to help.

Pulling her focus back, she realized Cassandra was still speaking, either unaware of the her distress or electing not to acknowledge it. “Cullen has the chance to break that leash to prove that it is possible, to himself and to anyone else who would follow,” she said, more than a little pride in the words.

“What can we do?” Aadhlei asked, trying to brush away her tears as discreetly as she could.

“Not we, Inquisitor. I have done what I can. He wants me to recommend a replacement for him. I will not. It is unnecessary, and quite frankly it would destroy him. He has come so far, and weathered so much already, I will not take this chance away from him simply because he is afraid.”

Cassandra took a step back, spreading her hands. “I cannot claim to know what he needs, but I know that he is capable. He can do this, he just needs reminding. And he needs care that he is too stubborn to seek out on his own. In that I must defer to you. You are the healer. And your bedside manner is certainly preferable to mine.”

Aadhlei sighed, long and tired. “We were to gather at the war table in an hour. Please inform Josephine and Leliana the meeting is postponed until we may all attend.”

“As you say, Inquisitor,” Cassandra said. The Seeker regarded her a moment longer, mouth pursed. “May I ask you something?”

Aadhlei nodded, barely listening. Already she was running down remedies in her head, trying to think of things to say, things to do. Anything that might help.

“There have been rumors around Skyhold for some time. About you and the Commander. I knew that he had long held you in high regard, but tell me, is it true? Are the two of you-”

“Would it be a problem if it was?” she asked, words worn to a needle-sharp point.

Cassandra gave a slight shake of her head, a strangely satisfied look on her face. “No. He needs someone. As do you, I suspect.” She cast a quick glance over Aadhlei, as if finally taking in the state of her. “I don’t suppose telling you to get some rest before you see him will do any good.”

A short, barking laugh escaped her. “Maker, as if I could sleep after - no, Cassandra. No it would not.”

“Then go. I will see to the council for the time being.”

The sight of him stayed with her as she rushed up to her quarters. Ashen-faced and shining with sweat, making for the door on legs that bore him up through strength of will only. The worst of it had been that jagged catch in his voice as he’d passed her, muttering for forgiveness. The shame in his voice, the defeat, had been overwhelming.

Her traveling clothes hit the floor in showers of dirt and sand. Every inch of her ached. Exhaustion left a tingling thrum in her limbs that made it feel as if she was still on horseback, rattling around in the saddle. All she’d held onto on the long, punishing ride back to Skyhold had been the promise of a hot bath and the thought of Cullen’s arms around her again. She hadn’t written. Not once since they rode out of the Western Approach. There had been no time. All the world for her had been fitful sleep and hoofbeats. Maker, she regretted that now.

What if I can’t fix it? Wounds she could heal. Breaks she could mend. Maker’s sake, she could even stitch up holes in the sky these days. But what could she do for wounds she couldn’t see? When the break was not a bone but something deeper and far more essential. When his body was tearing itself apart for want of a thing that poisoned his mind. What then?

Her mind kept returning to his words the day he’d told her about the lyrium - some go mad, others die - worrying over them again and again like a tongue on a loose tooth.

“Maker, don’t you dare,” she said aloud. Pointing a shaking finger skyward, she called up in a stern but breaking voice, “You hear me? Go kick over someone else’s ant hill. Or better yet, get off your omnipotent arse and do some fucking good for a change!”

Steady, child. Kenna’s voice, cracked and kind. You’re no good to anyone all twisted up.

Aadhlei braced herself against her desk, a strangled sob caught in her throat. Kenna, her foster mother, had taken ill one winter, not long before the war broke out. A cough came creeping in with the sharp winds and settled deep in her lungs. No remedies would touch it, no matter how hard Aadhlei tried. As the weeks wore on and her condition worsened, Aadhlei grew desperate. In the end she had given Kenna a sleeping draught to keep her settled and, in one last frantic attempt to save her, she had tried to heal her by magic. A powerful spell, not dangerous, but strong . The sort of thing she had always been discouraged from using, lest she risk drawing the attention of the Templars that roamed the village from the Chantry.

And it did nothing. But she was stubborn, a bull-headedness fuelled by love as much as fear, and she had refused to see the truth of the matter: Kenna was old, and Kenna was dying. And so she had kept on trying again and again, pouring magic into the old woman’s flagging body until she had run herself dry, collapsing out of sheer exhaustion.

When at last she woke, Kenna was dead. Her first failure. The first taste of real loss.

Hardly your fault, poppet. There are some hurts in this world that aren’t yours to heal. But that doesn’t mean you give up, and that doesn’t mean you sit about and do nothing. So you steady up, now. You’ve work to do.

“Aye, mum, so I do,” she muttered.

She threw open her wardrobe, breath shuddering through the tears that flowed steadily down her cheeks, grasping half-blindly for something clean and uncomplicated to pull on. A small pile formed beside her - things that were an ungodly mess of buttons, laces, and buckles - before she pulled free something ivory-colored and lace-trimmed. Either some form of fancy night dress or a long chemise meant for more formal wear. “Fuck it, that’ll do,” she mumbled, pulling it over her head. If it stained, Maker knew she could afford to have it replaced. Her apron hung near her potion cabinet and she tied it on rapidly, stepping into a pair of soft leather slippers and thumbing the catch on the cabinet.

Inside was an odd mish-mash of prepared potions. There were still a few bottles of the basic tinctures she’d mixed up for Cullen, and she scooped them up. Three squat bottles of a purplish-red liquid sat lined up on the far right side. Midnight Oil, she usually called it, something she’d put together to keep herself going when sleep wasn’t an option. A bad thing to make a habit of, but a help when necessary, and right now it was deeply necessary.

Aadhlei grabbed two of them, considered, then took the third as well. She cast a long, hard glance at the small wooden box on the bottom shelf, the one she kept a few lyrium potions in. If worse came to worst and she had to heal him with magic, if he’d even allow it, taking one now might not be a bad idea. Yet she had found herself almost unwilling to take them after Cullen had confessed he had given it up. It felt wrong somehow, offensive, almost, knowing what the substance had cost him.

In the end she decided against it, closing the door a little reluctantly. A faded green shrug lay across the back of her desk chair, and she slipped it on, too hurried to drag on a proper cloak. She pulling her big leather satchel off its peg, stowing the tinctures and two of the potions inside, and slung it over her shoulder.

Popping the cork from the third potion, she knocked it back swiftly and set off down the stairs for the Commander’s office.

The path felt like a gauntlet, deflecting staff and redirecting messengers with short barks of “Later,” “Fine,” and “On my desk.” Solas, looking worn enough himself after the journey back, regarded her perplexedly from his desk as she passed him, making with more than a little haste for the door to the catwalk. The coldness of the air hit her like a physical blow. The nervous buzz in her limbs subsided bit by bit as the potion began to take effect, but it did little for the tight coils of tension that wound up her back and around her ribs, squeezing tighter as the cold sank into her. Maker, why hadn’t she thought to take a damned cloak?

Unthinking, she pushed open the door to Cullen’s office without knocking. A mistake, to be sure, and hardly courteous to boot, but she was still too unnerved for the sake of courtesy, and now too cold to want to linger on the doorstep. As the door swung open she heard Cullen’s cry of frustrated anger and a flash of movement and brought the large, heavy bag up like a shield, ducking her head behind it. Something collided with it hard, ricocheting off to splinter against the door frame. The remnants of his lyrium kit lay scattered at her feet, a small shattered phial of crystalline blue glinting prettily in the weak torchlight.

“Maker’s breath!” Cullen lay half splayed against his desk, breath short and eyes wild, the momentum of his throw and the shock of her appearance knocking him off what little balance he still had. “I’m sorry! I didn’t hear you enter, I didn’t, I would never, are you -” He let out one long, shaking breath as she lowered the satchel and he saw she was unharmed. A fraction of the shock drained from his face, but what replaced it was a look of such utter misery it hurt her to look at. “Forgive me,” he said again.

Kicking the broken box away, Aadhlei closed the door, considered, then bolted it and crossed to do the same to the others. The last thing he needed was another interruption. “Talk to me, Cullen,” she said, willing her soothing voice to service, the one she kept in reserve for the sick or gravely injured. “What’s wrong?”

The creases in his brow deepened, shoulders slumping. “No, you’ve been riding for days. You don’t have to-” he began, and then his legs finally gave out and he collapsed against the corner of the desk with a groan. Aadhlei rushed to him, taking his weight, waiting for his breathing to slow and whatever spell had gripped him to pass.

“Aye, I do,” she said. “Come on, you need to sit.”

“I never meant for this to interfere,” he said as she eased him into his chair, sounding so small it was as if he was a child in armor, waiting to be punished for his failure.

“It’s alright, Cullen. But I need you to talk to me, and I need you trust me, alright?” She swiped a hand across his brow, felt the heat of fever under a slick of sweat. It gave off a sour smell, but beneath that Aadhlei realized she could smell the faintest scent of burning, like a lightning strike. “Are you in pain?”

He hesitated. Then, again, so very small, “Yes.”

“Where?”

“Everywhere. All over. My joints are on fire. And my head.”

“Dizzy? Sick to your stomach?”

A nod. “Both.”

She began unbuckling his vambraces and pulled off his gloves. His hands were like ice, and covered in that same thin, slimy sheen of sweat. “Squeeze my hand, hard as you can.” He began to mutter a protestation and she put a finger to his lips. “Meant what I said. Hard as you can. Tougher than I look, remember?”

He nodded against her finger. The hand closed, squeezed just barely as firm as a handshake, then shook violently.

“You feel hot or cold?”

“Freezing,” he said. As she moved her hand from his mouth he caught it, pressed it desperately to the side of his face, and closed his eyes. “Forgive me,” he said again. Not just an apology now, but an appeal.

Aadhlei bent double, pressing her forehead to his, feeling the fever baking off him in waves and not shrinking. “There is nothing to forgive, Cullen.”

She did not expect him to laugh, or the for that laugh to sound so hard and bitter. He pulled away sharply, letting her hand fall.

“You should not sound so sure.” There was a horrible, manic sparkling in his eyes, feverish and wild. “You have no idea the things….you asked me once what happened in Ferelden’s Circle. Shall I tell you? It was taken over by abominations. One of the senior mages, Uldred, decided a Blight was a fine time to push for an independent circle. When the Grand Enchanter refused, Uldred and his ilk resorted to blood magic to get their way. We shut the Circle down so the maleficars could not escape, but that only trapped us in there with them. The Templars were slaughtered or corrupted. Most of the mages who would not bend the knee to Uldred’s coup were bent with blood magic or killed outright. Demons took care of much of the rest. My friends were cut down in front of me.”

A haze fell over his eyes, not dimming their fire but making it distant, and Aadhlei shivered. She had treated enough soldiers now to recognize that look, to know where he had gone, and that all she could do was hold on and wait for him to come back.

Cullen took a long, measured breath. Then another. A third breath, sharper and shallower, and Aadhlei thought briefly of a man preparing for a deep, sudden dive. “I was tortured,” he said in peculiar, toneless voice.

The word hung in the air, pendulously, like a body on the gallows. It seemed to hold such a foreign weight on his tongue that she wondered truthfully if he had ever said it aloud, ever allowed the admission of such a deep and private injury to be spoken.

“I don’t even know how long. Days, I think, but it felt like years. No food, no water, no lyrium. Demons scrabbling at my head. Or maybe it was the maleficars, I can’t be sure. I cannot be sure of much. It’s all…I...they tried to break my mind and I - how can you be the same person after that?”

He carried on, barely blinking, seeming to breathe only to keep the words moving. “For years I was nothing but fear and anger rattling in a suit of armor. Still, I wanted to serve. What else was there for me to do? And they sent me to Kirkwall. Maker help me, I thought I knew then. I thought I knew what needed doing, who needed protecting. I thought I knew who the enemy was. Meredith used that against me . Told me what she wanted me to hear and hid what she knew even I would oppose. I was her bloody lapdog for years while she abused the Mages - abused our people for standing up against her - and she used us to do it. And the Chantry did nothing. Not for anyone. Andraste preserve me, neither did I. I trusted my Knight-Commander,” he said, his face contorted in revulsion. “I aided her, for god’s sake! I defended her! By the time I saw through her, when the lies were finally too large to swallow and I saw the fear in the eyes of our charges for what it was, it was too late. It all happened again. Kirkwall’s circle fell. Innocent people died in the streets.”

At last his eyes focused again and locked onto her with a desperate ferocity. “Can’t you see why I want nothing to do with that life?”

“Of course I can,” she said, striving for a soothing patience, but her voice shook with tears she could barely keep in check. She wanted to help, she always wanted to help, but what cure could she offer for this? What remedy for wounds of conscience and memory? She sucked in a breath, trying for reassurance, for understanding. “Cullen, you don’t have to-”

“Don’t!” He turned his head away, throat working.

He wants the blame, she realized with an awful sinking in her chest. Wants disgust and anger, not sympathy. It’s all he thinks he deserves, especially from a mage.

The urge to reach for him, to give some kind of comfort was overwhelming, but she kept her hands locked on the edges of his desk, the knuckles slowly turning white. Not yet.

“I’m not going to blame you, Cullen,” she said softly. He winced, too raw for softness, but she kept on. “If that’s what you want of me, then I’m sorry, because I can’t do that. I won’t. When they sent you to Kirkwall, they didn’t send a Templar, they sent a man who was scared and wounded and looking for someone to blame. And that made it very very easy for the wrong kind of people to hook their fingers into you and get you to follow. That you’re trying to do better now, that you’re trying to change and make up for that - and bloody well succeeding at it - takes more strength than I think you give yourself credit for. And that it hurts you so deep says you have far more goodness left in you than you think. In my experience, bad men have little time for remorse.”

She reached out a tentative hand and laid it on his arm. He flinched, hard, and she drew back immediately. “Whatever happened before, you’re not that man now,” she told him. “You told me once that you joined the Order because you wanted to help people. And that is all I’ve ever seen you do. You’re a good man, Cullen Rutherford. If you want my forgiveness, for whatever it’s worth, you have it. But you’ve come far enough that maybe you should try to forgive yourself, too.”

A strangled sob escaped him and he twisted away. As if finally unable to bear her kindness any longer, he launched himself to his feet and set to pacing, unsteady but frantic.

Aadhlei’s heart sank. Wrong, wrong, Maker help me I got it wrong.

“How can you - why aren’t you angry?” he cried thickly. “How can you say such things - how can you even stand to look at me? Can you not see the blood on my hands? You should be questioning what I’ve done, the decisions I’ve made! Blessed Andraste, how can I atone for something when I can still feel it happening? I thought it would be better without the lyrium, that I would gain some control over my life, but these thoughts won’t leave me,” he said, harsh and strangled, a scream made quiet.

He fell to an anguished babbling, words falling from him faster and faster. His hands tugged at his hair, raking it into wild, ragged furls. Tears cut fresh tracks down his cheeks. It was a terrifying contrast to the controlled demeanor he had always upheld, but the small part of her, the part that spoke patient truths in Kenna’s voice, was almost relieved at his frenzy. A bone that had set poorly would need to be re-broken again before it could be set true. Break clean, Cullen, she thought, hopeful now in spite of her fear.

"Blessed are those that stand before the wicked and do not falter. I cannot falter. I cannot. How many lives depend on our success? Adamant waits for us, a demon army in its walls, and I am meant to lead our people into that! I must send you into that! And I do it hobbled for the sake of my own selfish pride! I swore myself to this cause - I will not give less to the Inquisition than I gave to the Chantry! I should be taking it!”

With that last he lashed out finally, fist driving into the bookcase with enough force to crack the shelf and send books scattering to the floor. For a moment he simply stood there, teeth bared and hand bleeding, and then he slowly folded, the fight and fire extinguished all at once. “I should be taking it,” he said again in a voice heavy with defeat.

There it is.

She crossed to him slowly, and this time when she touched him - feather-light, a question of permission made with fingertips - he did not recoil. “Cullen. Listen to me. Forget the Inquisition, forget the war. Is that what you want?”

A look of horror settled on his face. “No. Maker, no. I want to be free of it. I need to.” Desperation and exhaustion shook his voice ragged, but his eyes seemed clearer and more focused.

“Then do not put your neck back in that leash for our sake. Please, Cullen. You can do this. I know you can.”

Cullen pulled his hand away from the broken shelf. A ragged gouge cut across his knuckles. He stared down at the trembling mess of his hand with a furrowed brow, listening to the gentle patter of his blood against the stone floor. “The sickness I can take,” he said slowly, “but these memories have always haunted me. Even with the lyrium. If they become worse, if I am not strong enough to endure it-”

“You are,” she said, and carefully cradled his bleeding hand. “I have never seen a match for the strength in you, Cullen. If anyone can do this, it’s you.”

He hitched in a watery breath. “I’m sorry. I did not want to - I was afraid let you down.”

“You never could. I’m proud of you. But I will not stand by and watch you suffer and do nothing. You don’t have to do this alone. Let me help you, Cullen. Please.”

Something settled in his face then, something like gratitude, and he seemed all at once steadier with it.

“You’re still here,” he muttered in a wondering voice.

“Aye, so I am.”

He leaned into her with a shuddering sigh, and Aadhlei thought she had never heard such a singularly relieved sound in her life. He nodded, forehead rocking against hers. “Alright,” he muttered.

Aadhlei shouldered her bag again and pulled Cullen tight to her hip. “Come on, lean on me. Let’s get you to bed.”

#da:i fanfic #cullen rutherford #cullen x lavellan #cullavellan #f!inquisitor #f!lavellan #oc: aadhlei #this chapter is even more terrifying to post!! :D

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