#dawn clean moodboard

[jjullianstuff]

#min yoongi #yoongi #agustd #d day album #d day is coming #agustd icons #haegeum #amygdala #sdl #interlude dive #interlude dawn #huh? #polar night #icons moodboard #messy packs #clean moodboard #alternative icons #alternative moodboard #alternative aesthetic #clean icons #moodboard coquette #black moodboard #dark moodboard #haegeum agustd #bts suga #bts yoongi #bts #bangtan boys

[delopsia]

a moodboard for my currently untitled Rhett fic, containing childhood friends to lovers, a broad-spectrum soulmates AU, and Hanahaki Disease 💙

+ a bonus snippet

The back of his knuckles graze up your naked side, guided by the thin path of a decade-old scar. A branding from younger, brighter days; the ones when Cecelia would let you spend weekends on the ranch. Waking up at dawn to help Rhett with his ranch chores because the quicker things got done, the sooner you got to run down and play in the creekbed. 

"Still can't believe that piece of glass marred ya like that," Rhett mutters after a long moment. You can't see into his thick skull, but you've got a feeling that he's got a similar memory flickering through his mind. 

"To be fair, I did fall on it," slipping your arms through the clean shirt, you pull it over your head, and once again, that old scar is out of sight. 

That half-hearted chuckle sends a warmth rushing through your veins. The exact one that shouldn't be there. But he hasn't the slightest clue of the wildfire sitting next to him, back to tapping along on his steering wheel as he drives through the main stretch of town. Past feedstores, tourist shops, dinners, the grocery store, and every other little niche boutique hidden between. 

"Thank you." You hardly recognize that it's you speaking. Hadn't realized it was your voice until the sound of it met your ears.

It's a little too quiet in this truck.

But Rhett just reaches over to shake your shoulder. "Y' don't gotta thank me for shit like that," for a fleeting second, he's got just enough time to look away from the road and offer you a lazy smile. "'s what friends do, ain't it?"

Your chest feels like it's been stuffed with cotton. Meek, you nod, attention suddenly on the floorboard and nothing else—nothing else to say. 

Yeah. That's what friends do. 

He doesn't make mention of it, but you've got the feeling that your SOS text must have interrupted another one of his dates. A pile of rose petals rests at your feet, scattered as if they've been swept off the seat in a hurry to make space. Caked in mud and the rainwater that tracked in from your shoes. Storebought, that much you know for sure.

Roses don't grow in Wabang. 

#rhett abbott #rhett abbott x reader #delgato's moodboards #delgato's previews

[schibi12]

Hiya! So about a year ago I posted a sort of rant and rough concept idea I had of doing my own take of Descendants and Ever After High which you can read here

Well after months of thinking, creating, scribbling and sleepless nights I finally have a what I think a good enough concept to post.

To start things off I want to clarify that this is my own personal take on descendants and Ever After High idea of Fairy Tales characters having children and following their lives and adventures, with this being my version of this concept there are many differences from that being

No relation to Disney Characters, my characters are gonna be more related to the original fairy tales than the Disney versions but there might be smol references to Disney

No Legacy thing, yeah the children here are not gonna repeat their parents story

My characters are still kids, so no teenagers in high school but more like kids who are in middle school,there will be characters who are teenagers and older but I want to focus on the hopes, dreams and fears of growing up especially during that awkward age

I think that's all the aspects in case there are more or I forgot I will mention them in future posts

In this post I am gonna present some characters with some visual guides/moodboards I did for each of them respectively

Dawn and Jour - Children of Sleeping Beauty

Fraternal twins who where once inseparable but now are somewhat estranged, both booklovers since childhood.

Dawn is an optimist, kind, fun-loving daydreamer, very feminine who loves tea parties, balls and sewing, a romantic at heart who loves making friends and the happiness of others, and she also has the magical power to see and control others dream's

Jour a realist with dreams and yearning to explore the world, and values courage and chivalry, he wants to be a traveling knight like the one in the stories and books, he likes horse riding and sword fighting, and even though he and his sister are estranged don't even dare to give a bad look to her cause his protective brother instincts take over.

Rowan - Child of The Dark Fae

The eponymous dark fae who cursed Sleeping Beauty to an eternal slumber, he is the first child to be of "villain" origin to get into the Academy so everybody expects to be this bold, manipulative, cruel, revenge thirsty individual which he is the exact opposite of, he is this timid, anxious and kind, who enjoys practicing and studying magic, being with his pet Raven Orphée and spending time with his mom, but this being his first time away from home and his mom and then being ostracized in school lets just say he is not having a grand time but things do get better.

Cerelia - Child of The Fairy Godmother

The resident queen bee/mean girl of the academy, and with her being not only the daughter of the famed Fairy Godmother who is also the headmistress of the academy she is certainly considered royalty around the school, she is selfish and has a mean streak but to her closest friends is deeply caring and loyal to them, a young lady who enjoys the pretty things in life and loves playing in her clavichord and may or may not abuse her magical powers for her own personal gain.

Anara - Child of The Frog Prince

A rambunctious young lady who adores exploring the surrounding forests and swamps of the Academy, collecting and studying the many plants in it, an active, stubborn and unruly, she is loyal to her friends, and even though her mother wants her to be a prim and proper princess to attend balls and tea parties, but she couldn't care less and just wants to go on at adventures.

Leif - Child of Snow White

A darling gentleman, who is naive, generous and gentle kid who really likes cooking and baking, cleaning and sewing which comes into conflict with his dad who wants him to be a courageous and chivalrous knight but he can't fight with a sword to save his life...literally

And that's all for today one day i will give them better and more formal character sheets but that's all I have at the moment and I hope you enjoyed and I will see you real soon!

#schibi rambles #writings #fairy tales

[jotatetsuken]

Moodboard Masterlist

I'm going to make moodboards a regular thing since I'm so grateful for the responses received with the moodboards and I'd love to look back at them :D I'll be adding to this list as and when I make them. Also, lmk if you want the drabbles in these moodboards to be made into oneshots <333

Ryuuguji (Draken) Ken - Y2K Aesthetic

Kenma Kozume - Cute Date Aesthetic

Nozel Silva - Soft Aesthetic

Tooru Oikawa - Blue and New Love Aesthetic

Atsumu Miya - 70's Aesthetic

Atsushi Murasakibara - Grunge/Sunset Aesthetic

Atsumu Miya - Soft/Pastel Aesthetic

Tetsurou Kuroo - Dreamcore

Wakatoshi Ushijima - Nightluxe

Suguru Geto - Black and Gold

Ryomen Sukuna - Goblincore/Fairycore

Shuuji Hanma - Lovecore (suggestive)

Shinichiro Sano - Indie

Daichi Sawamura - Cottagecore

Mirko - Baddie

Kei Tsukishima - Light Academia

Jotaro Kujo - Gold

Kento Nanami - Dark Academia

Ermes Costello - Beach/Summer Vibes

Rintarou Suna - Confession on a rooftop at dawn

Hajime Iwaizumi - Monochromatic

Julius Novachrono - Soft Aesthetic

Megumi Fushiguro - Chilling in the car and home

Levi Ackerman - Cleaning with him + Simp + Control Freak (suggestive)

#shyna likes to make moodboards #<- hehe new tag lol

[sunnydaleherald]

The Sunnydale Herald Newsletter, Friday, November 10

HARMONY: "What about me? What's my job?" WESLEY: "Uhm... Guard the car." HARMONY: "You got it, boss! (Sits on the edge of the hood) Anyone comes near this car, I will rips his throat out." WESLEY: "No. No killing." HARMONY: "Oh. Okay, maiming only."

~~Disharmony~~

[Drabbles & Short Fiction]

Weekly Drabbles #39 — Understanding by veronyxk84 (Buffy/Spike, PG-13)

adoringly, agonisingly by CallMeVampy (Giles/Jenny, E)

M.I.B.: Aliens don't exist! Do they? by DeamonQueen (Buffy/Spike, PG)

[Chaptered Fiction]

Forgiveness Doesn't Come Easy - Ch. 4 by slaymesoftly (Buffy/Spike, unrated)

Stepping on Butterflies - Ch. 1-4 by melodys_muse (Buffy/Angel, T)

We Don't Know What's Around the Corner - Ch. 8 by the_widow_twankey (Angel/Spike, M) COMPLETE!

Early One Morning - Ch. 3 by all_choseny (Buffy/Spike, NC-17)

Forgiveness Doesn't Come Easy - Ch. 4 by slaymesoftly (Buffy/Spike, NC-17)

Dead End Plots - Ch. 14 by Melme1325 (Buffy/Spike, NC-17)

Goodbye to Everything That I Knew - Ch. 7 by fortes775 (Buffy/Spike, R)

Destiny or Choices Made? - Ch. 27 by charmed4lifekaren (Buffy/Spike, PG-13)

New Normal - Ch. 24 by holetoledo (Buffy/Spike, Adult Only)

The Neighbor's Point of View - Ch. 56 by the_big_bad (Buffy/Spike, PG)

Trip to the other side - Ch. 9 by texaswookie (Halloweentown movie xover, Buffy, Giles, Scoobies, FR18) COMPLETE!

The Break of Dawn - Ch. 2 by violettathepiratequeen (Buffy/Spike, PG-13) COMPLETE!

Tales From Sunnydale - Ch. 175 by violettathepiratequeen (Buffy/Spike, PG-13)

The Plunge - Ch. 1-5 by Harlow Turner (Buffy/Spike, PG-13)

Early One Morning - Ch. 3 by all_choseny (Buffy/Spike, NC-17)

Forgiveness Doesn't Come Easy - Ch. 4 by Slaymesoftly (Buffy/Spike, NC-17)

Vampire Whxre - Ch. 3 by ClowniestLivEver (Buffy/Spike, Adult Only)

[Images, Audio & Video]

Artwork: A painting I did of Giles cleaning his glasses... by ghostrabbit87 (Giles, worksafe)

Artwork: I don't really draw as often as I used to... have a Spike by evilwickedme (Spike, worksafe)

Manip: Once upon a time, a hero slayed the dragon. A kiss saved the day.' by l0veisntbrains (Buffy/Spike, worksafe)

Moodboard: 365 characters; buffy summers (buffy the vampire slayer) i may be dead, but i'm still pretty... by sylthrein (Buffy, worksafe)

Fanvid: Fanvid by bluestarsandclouds (Buffy/Angel, worksafe has lots of kissing)

Gifset: VAMPIRE APPRECIATION WEEK 2023 Day 04: An Underrated Vampire ⚰️ Mercedes McNab as Harmony Kendall by whatisyourchildhoodtrauma (Harmony, Gunn, Spike, worksafe)

Gifset: BUFFY THE VAMPIRE SLAYER 5.10 “Into the Woods” by whatisyourchildhoodtrauma (Anya, Xander, worksafe)

Gifset: Vampire Appreciation Week [2023] ~ Favourite Vampire/Non-Vampire Dynamic by sulietsexual (Connor, Angel, also Darla, Wesley, Lorne, Cordelia, worksafe)

Gifset: Vampire Appreciation Week [2023] ~ Favourite Vampire(s) by sulietsexual (Darla, Angel, worksafe)

Gifset: [revamped] iwillrememberyoumarathon BANGELUS — NINE INCH NAILS by marie-moreaus (Buffy/Angel, worksafe)

Gifset: lgbtqcreators creator bingo + overlay/poster design -> Buffy the Vampire Slayer + This Is War by lopeirce (Riley, Scoobies, Spike, Dawn, Giles, Faith, Angel, Buffy, worksafe)

Gifset: BUFFY SUMMERS | 4.12 – “A New Man” by charmedslayer (Buffy, worksafe)

Gifset: Vampire Appreciation Week 2023 ↳ Day Two: Favorite vampire/non-vampire dynamic → Buffy and Angel by buffysummers (Buffy/Angel, NSFW ish has nudity)

Manip: Touched By Your Presence - Ch. 2 by honeygirl51885 (Buffy/Spike, NSFW)

[Reviews & Recaps]

The thing is, I don't really think Chosen is one of the show's better season finales... by coraniaid

Other scattered thoughts on The Zeppo... by coraniaid

In Triangle Spike started helping the disaster victims... by aphony-cree

[in Amends] really really vibing with evil ghost jenny as the third participant... by jennycalendar

Much Ado About Nothing (2012) by zmuda1234

Slayers [Audible] was awesome and the hate is overblown. by khannan14

[Recs & In Search Of]

Spangel [Spike x Angel] fic rec list [multiple fics recced] by spangelmybeloved

ISO: ofsongbirds seeks Discord 1x1 RP Partners for Faith Lehane [roleplay]

ISO: FarmMouse84 seeks Fanmail postal address for James Marsters

[Community Announcements]

Discord: [commenter offers Discord invite to Buffyverse Comics and Novels group]

[Fandom Discussions]

POLL: AO3 Femslash Top 100: Semi-Finals Fuffy by ao3femslashtop100-tournament

POLL: Platinum Bracket: Round 2, Poll 3 Spike by blond-jerk-tourney

What are your thoughts on Xander? [ask answered] by tara-maclay-is-still-alive-guys

BUFFY THE VAMPIRE SLAYER 6.03 | Afterlife [parallels gifset] by neshamas

BtVS 3x04, 5x22 | AtS 4x10 [Spike and Angel - two types of monsters gifset] by mycatismyfriend

BtVS 3x17 → AtS 1x18 [Faith progression gifset] by mycatismyfriend

... buffy keeps on expecting faith to just completely trust her without any reservations... by jennycalendar

One of the weirder bits of fanon... the Scoobies regularly introduce Giles to people as "the librarian..." by coraniaid

I really hate how Buffy and the scoobies behaved to Spike in s5... by dreamsuvivor

[Fuffy incorrect quotes] by andrew-heard

They needed to define Willow's problem earlier by garfan and others

Question - Spike & Buffy––sibling or romantic? updated by NoShip

Is Willow worse than Faith? updated by multiple posters

Question - How do you guys think spike would've died at the end of his original run updated by NoShip and famicommander

Alyson in DWTS [video] by Klaus Kartoffel

POLL: Best minor buffyverse character by zombiehoosier

POLL: …What is the best age to become a vampire?? by duvet-cover

Imagine what would have happened if…. [Buffy stays dead and Kendra comes to Sunnydale] by duvet-cover

Do you think season 3 Faith and Buffy would have liked badass era Wesley? by LightBlueSky55

Giles in "Lies My Parents Told Me" by K2SO4-MgCl2

Do you think Faith ever went back to prison? by zmuda1234

Season 4 Episode 6 Wild At Heart by MapleTheUnicorn

IMO, Buffy jumping to save Dawn was a pretty big “plot hole” by Decent_Till4294

Watching Angel [ATS] and losing any respect I had for him by WembleyToast

A Hole in the World by RachelisRach

Who was the most over-dramatic Big Bad? by 0000udeis000

Why didn't the government choose to fund buffy at all? by Tsole96

What is Twilight? [in the comics] by ngiothlitren

[Articles, Interviews, and Other News]

Interview with the Writers of Slayers: A Buffyverse Story by Audible

James Marsters FAN EXPO San Francisco 2023 Schedule [starts Fri Nov 24] via dontkillspike

Submit a link to be included in the newsletter!

Join the editor team :)

#buffy the vampire slayer #angel the series #fan art #meta #fan fiction #ats #btvs

[takizawa-web]

𝗒𝗈𝗎 ɑ𝗋𝖾 ɑ 𝗉̱͟𝗋͟𝖾͟𝖼͟𝗂͟𝗈͟𝗎͟𝗌̱ 𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗌𝗈𝗇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ʕ> ⌓ <｡ʔ

ɑ𝗇𝖽 𝖾𝗑𝗍𝗋𝖾𝗆𝖾𝗅𝗒 𝖼̱͟𝗎͟𝗍͟𝖾̲, 𝗈𝗆𝗀!!⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⊂/⠀♡ ⊂)

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀𝗁𝗒𝗎𝗇ɑ&𝖽ɑ𝗐𝗇 𝗆𝗈𝗈𝖽★★★★

#hyuna and edawn #hyuna #edawn #hyuna icons #dawn icons #archive moodboard #icons #indie icons #clean #k-pop #hyuna and dawn icons

[thescarletwitchsapprentice]

Tonight You Belong To Me (Yandere!Mermaid!Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader)

(Moodboard made by @daughter-ofthe-harpy​)

Reader is 18+

What happens when you catch the eye of a mermaid princess?

(WARNING: Yandere behavior, implied/explicit drugging)

Wanda Maximoff had an extreme distrust and hatred of humans. She saw them as selfish, greedy, wrathful, merciless beings. She had lost her brother Pietro to them as well, so her feelings towards them were, in her mind, absolutely justified. 

And then….you appeared. 

She was resting upon a rock watching the water glisten against the sunlight when suddenly she heard a lovely voice singing.

“I know You belong to somebody new But tonight you belong to me.

“Although we’re apart You’re a part of my heart And tonight you belong to me.”

She looked around when she spotted you; a lovely woman in a flowing beach dress, skipping innocently along the shoreline, collecting and admiring seashells in a pail, the only one on the beach. You made sure to wash the sand off of them to fully appreciate their beauty. As you did, you felt the white horses of the sea tickle your feet and you giggled.

Wanda became smitten, but she also became terrified. What if you were actually selfish and cruel and this innocence was just an act?! She had to test you. Using her magic, she conjured up a baby turtle by the shoreline stuck in a plastic soda can holder. Would you help the poor, innocent creature or ignore it? 

The turtle caught your attention and Wanda waited with baited breath as you approached it. 

“What happened?” you asked it as you knelt down gently. “Poor little guy….”

Carefully you picked it up and tried to get the plastic off as gently as possibly, coaxing the turtle all the while. It took you a long, long time, but eventually you managed to get the plastic off with no harm done to the turtle, much to your relief. You set it down near the shoreline and waited for it to head into the sea. Soon enough it swam into the white horses and into the sea. You went back to collecting seashells when you saw a bunch of trash along the beach; it made your heart ache. How many more turtles would be injured if someone didn’t clean this up? Immediately you set your pail down by your beach blanket, grabbed a new one, and began to collect as much as you could while continuing that song you were singing before.

Unbeknownst to you, Wanda had seen all of this, and her heart had melted. Your sweet, gentle, innocent nature was no act. It was genuine. So Wanda allowed herself to be overcome with love. You were perfect, just…..perfect. More than anything, she wanted you in her arms, to protect you from the selfish humans. To love you for eternity.

“Shame this’ll be the last time I’m here,” you sigh.

Hearing this, Wanda panicked. The last time?! You were the first human she’d seen show any act of kindness to an innocent creature, and now she was never going to see you again? No, she couldn’t let that happen. She was too in love to let you slip out of her grasp, and you were too sweet and innocent to be amongst the cruel humans any longer.

“Maybe I’ll stay late,” you decide. “Savor this before I move away.”

Perfect. Hearing this, Wanda began to formulate a plan to get you to stay. And it was going to work.

She would make sure of it.

====================================

It was around midnight and you decided to head home to get some rest before moving. But then you heard a hypnotic voice sing out.

“I know You belong to somebody new But tonight you belong to me.”

It was…..beautiful. You found yourself sighing happily as you walked back to the shoreline.

“Although we’re apart You’re a part of my heart And tonight you belong to me.”

You headed over to a rock, the voice close now. In the shimmering moonlight, you could see the figure of a woman in the water. Her hair was shimmering and wavy, colored brown with hints of red. On her head was a crown of shining and shimmering sea shells, and as you got closer, you saw just how beautiful she was.

“Wait down by the stream How sweet it will seem Once more just to dream In the moonlight.”

Out of nowhere, you sat down on the rock and she gently took ahold of your hand. Butterflies fluttered around in your stomach as she offered you a conch shell. Inside of it was an aquamarine liquid that smelled amazing. You started taking a sip and before you knew it, you’d downed the entire thing. 

Immediately your legs merged together and a glistening mermaid tail with seemingly-iridescent scales formed over them. Your dress faded away as a matching mermaid top formed over your chest. A wisp of scarlet beckoned you into the water.

You pushed yourself off the rock and into the sparkling sea.

Immediately Wanda pulled you in close and gently poured the ocean water over your head as she hummed a soft lullaby, the wisps of scarlet mixing in with it. You began to feel sleepy, so you laid your head on Wanda’s shoulder as your gills formed.

How precious you looked as your eyes fluttered closed; it only made Wanda fall even more in love with you. She gave you a gentle kiss on the forehead before gently diving back into the water to take you back to her mermaid kingdom, where you would be hers now and forever. She would make certain of it.

“My honey I know With the dawn that you won’t be gone Cause tonight you belong to me.”

#yandere scarlet witch #yandere imagine #yandere x reader #yandere wanda maximoff #mermaid wanda maximoff #yandere mermaid #yandere wanda maximoff x reader #yandere wanda maximoff x fem!reader #yandere avengers #yandere marvel #marvel imagines #avengers imagine

[dawn-cafe]

Modern AU meet-cute series

A/N: I didn't have to include a moodboard with this but I felt like being extra.  Also... this was meant to be just a headcanon list but here's a whole ficlet, I guess! Can’t decide if I’m gonna finish Childe’s or Diluc’s after this, so inputs are welcome. Requests are open, rules are here! -Hal

Prompt: meet-cute

Content includes: Part 1 of Modern AU meet-cute series. model!kaeya, semi-ooc kaeya i think, florist!reader

Pairing: kaeya x gn!reader

Kaeya: he's a model who's escaping the paparazzi and you're closing up your flower shop

Kaeya's a pretty big-name model in Mondstadt.

He's been featured in Fontaine Fashion Week for the past 2 years and has modeled for every season for Favonius & Co.'s works.

With such popularity, you'd think he'd have some sort of body guard to keep him away from the prying eyes of Teyvat Pop News.

But no, he's a pretty stubborn guy and Jean, his manager, never fails to give him a piece of her mind every time.

He finds himself escaping from a few paparazzi as he's walking home from the mall, so he detours and tries to find a place to rest after he think he's lost them.

Kaeya then spots the lights on inside a little flower shop and thinks, "Oh, thank god."

You're closing up your little flower shop, sweeping the floor of any fallen leaves and flower petals you've cut up for the day. Normally, you'd keep the shop running til evening, but something felt off and you couldn't place what it was. So it's only late afternoon, yet the shop sign has been flipped to 'CLOSED' and you're packing up hours before closing time. There's faint music coming from the back room and you're humming along to the tune when the serenity gets cut off by something knocking on glass. You jump in surprise, looking behind you to see someone by the porch. By the looks of it, they were out of breath from running.

Setting aside your cleaning equipment, you walk up to the door to see a blue-haired guy, dressed in similar-colored clothing, hands on his knees as he pants. He looks up at you with starry blue eyes and blows his bangs away. You think he looks familiar, and that he's breathtaking even when he looks frazzled.

The chimes ring as you open the door a crack. "Hey, sorry..." you start, "but we're closed for the day." you tell him halfheartedly.

Kaeya stands up and you see he's taller than you expected. He leans back and looks to the side past the road, and blue eyes meet yours in desperation. "Sorry, I'm trying to get away from... a few people." His head tilts to the side, puts on the best puppy-dog eyes he can muster, and clasps his hands together. "Can I come in and stay for a while?" he pleads.

It's bizarre, you think, that someone could look so innocently cute yet dangerously handsome at the same time. At first, your instinct is to open your mouth and agree to help him. Of course, if this was a bad situation and you're the only refuge he could find, who were you to deny him? Though there's also the possibility that this could be a really bad scheme, and he'll rob you as soon as you let him in. He looks too dashing to do such a thing, but you can never be too sure... but also do robbers even wear designer clothes like he does?

He senses the hesitation in the way you don't immediately respond. "I-It's nothing dangerous, I swear!" Kaeya's slim hands are held up in front of him in defense before he runs it through his deep blue locks. The cool afternoon breeze sweeps his cologne to your direction. He smells of mint, of fresh summer air and freedom. "The paparazzi won't get off my back and I could really use the help," He explains briefly.

At the mention of paparazzi, it makes so much more sense. You still don't remember where you've seen him, but he sure fits the role of some celebrity by the way he dresses and carries himself. That... and his face looks really attractive. He's still smiling at you with just the tiniest bit of desperation creeping in his voice when he talks. All caution goes out the window as you open the door wider. There's still no one behind him, but you usher him inside your little shop. "Alright, but if they start bombarding my business, that's on you." you warn him playfully.

The breath he's holding escapes as he exhales in relief. "You're an angel," He beams at you with the brightest of smiles.

The door closes and is locked once again, and you go around the shop to close the blinds just a little. Kaeya breathes in. He's not the first stranger to walk in your shop, but it sure feels a little awkward as if you're being judged. "Do all flower shops smell this good, or is it just yours?" he asks coyly, taking in the array of flowers and plants on display. The playful roll of your eyes and your retort of "Do you ask this to all florists, or is it just me?" make him laugh, with his eyes crinkling at the corners and a hand over his chest.

He follows you around, assisting you in closing up, and you don't miss the way he wipes a bead of sweat off his forehead most likely due to his escapade. "It's better this way," you say, pulling a string to close a set of blinds, "at least they won't see you." With the last of the blinds shut, you turn to your pseudo-customer and ask, "Would you like some water?"

"Please." the embarrassment shows on his face.

You disappear in the back room for a bit, grabbing a bottle of water from the mini-fridge. When you emerge to the front of the shop, you find Kaeya seated on a barstool next to the counter, idly thumbing the calla lilies on display next to the cash register. The beginning of the day's sunset peeks through the slats of the blinds, capturing him like a painting. It's peaceful, ethereal, and you almost want to pull out your phone and take a quick photo to immortalize what you see. It doesn't help that some love song starts playing on the shop's speakers. The spell is broken when he catches you looking, and he looks at you with an easygoing smile.

Clearing your throat, you step forwards and place the bottle of water in front of him. You feel the heat rise to your cheeks, and if he notices you were staring, he doesn't comment on it. "Here." You place the bottle in front of him and he takes it eagerly. "Thank you." Kaeya bows his head graciously.

Picking up where you left off, you hold the broomstick and dustpan and start cleaning the floors again. "So um... you're gonna have to forgive me," you sheepishly smile at him, "but why are you being chased by the paps?"

As fate would have it, the magazine rack next to the counter has several magazines including a copy of last month's Mondstadt Fashion. And he recognizes himself on the cover, wearing a few of Favonius & Co.'s Spring Collection pieces. Kaeya picks up the magazine and places it on the counter, which you peer at curiously. The double-take you do makes him laugh again, watching you look at the cover, then to him in front of you, and back at the cover.

"Oh," you murmur as the realization dawns on you. "you're a model."

You don't dwell much on celebrity gossip so you don't really recognize most of them at first glance. But no wonder he seemed familiar, you'd seen him in a couple of magazines both in your store and in news sites. If paparazzi were chasing him, he must be a huge hit with the general public.

For Kaeya, however, he shrugs like it's no big deal. "Specifically, Teyvat's hottest model and top bachelor of 2021." he says as he closes the water bottle cap. "According to Mond Fashion." he adds with a cheeky wink. You scrunch up your nose impishly. "Still though, having paparazzi invade your privacy and all." you shake your head to the floor mostly, still occupied with cleaning the remaining dirt. "Glad I could be of use somewhat." you tell him.

“Kaeya.” he holds out his hand in a formal handshake.

You give him your name and grasp his hand; it’s soft, like the smile that never leaves his face

Kaeya offers to help around with your closing routine, but you stop him before he could pick up the broom again. It feels wrong having someone else do your tasks even though it's offered in good faith (and after all, he wanted to repay you for taking him in past your closing time). So you settle with having him arrange your excess daisies in a basket for tomorrow's bouquet orders. It's pretty easy work that he couldn't mess up, so you leave him at it while you clean out your floral buckets. Still, you try to speed through your routine and leisurely chat with him, thinking he must be bored with his task. 

What hobbies do celebrities even have?, you wonder. Surely it can't be chatting up some florist and counting flowers.

"Do I look pretty?" he asks abruptly. And when your eyes land on him, your breath gets caught in your throat.

Kaeya looks different. In fashion magazines he's featured in, he's always prim and proper, composed. It's not to say he's stiff, because he definitely carries that confidence wherever he goes. But to be dressed and told to act, smile, and pose a certain way; it can look... artificial. But here, sitting on a barstool with a few daisies in his hair; here with his blue jacket draped across his lap, a loose white shirt and hands full of flowers. Here, where instead of studio lights, it's just the soft lights overhead on your small store. And here, where instead of cameras taking shots upon shots of his face, it's just you in your apron that he focuses on.

"Breathtakingly so." You smile.

By the end of the day, he has a whole flower crown on his head and you wonder why blue's related to sadness when it's brought you joy when you least expect it. 

#i swear i only meant to make this a headcanon list #somehow i ended up with over 1.6k words on kaeya alone so that's that #i know nothing about flower shops im sorry #and i haven't written in ages #just hal things #genshin impact #genshin impact moodboard #genshin moodboard #genshin impact fanfic #genshin fanfic #genshin kaeya #kaeya alberich #kaeya #kaeya fanfic #kaeya x reader #kaeya moodboard #moodboard #fic

[buckyownsmylife]

into you - tom hardy smut

The one where you help him read his lines and things get slightly out of script

Warnings: smut, no foreplay, unprotected sex

A/N: This was another Hardy request I received not so long ago. I ended up going with a PA again 🤷‍♀️ Also, I think I might end up investing in these banners more than those moodboards for my fics, lmk what y’all think 🤔The moodboards just take forever to make and these last few I’ve made were simply terrible, in my opinion 😂

Y/N’s P.O.V.

“You in there, love?” The smile on my lips was instantaneous, the last traces of sleepiness vanishing from my face like the man appearing through the trailer’s door was some kind of super powerful, instant coffee. I knew at least the side-effects from withdrawal were much the same.

“Where else would I be?” I joked, still busying myself with cleaning a bit around the room as I waited for him to take off the coat that was a part of his character’s characterization. Tom just grunted, checking himself in the mirror like he still couldn’t believe in the power of cinematic make-up before glancing in the direction of the shower.

“You say it like you got nowhere better to be.” Was this a joke? He knew it was the truth, he had to be saying this just to tease me. Still, it was better to join in than to make this a bigger deal that it was, so I just snorted.

“You say it like you don’t know you’re the best company ever!” I mocked in a fake girly voice, giggling at myself after I reached the end of the sentence. I’d also finished with the general clean-up and I gave myself a nod as a recognition for my efficient work, before finally meeting my boss’ eyes.

“Careful, sweetheart. When you say stuff like that I only end up falling deeper.” A wink was sent in my direction, and stupidly, my heart skipped a beat at the sight of the man who was supposed to be my boss - and nothing else - joking about being in love with me. 

It was moments like these that showed me regardless of how strongly I tried to shove it away and push it to the farthest corners of my mind, I was still falling deeper and deeper for him with each passing day I spent in his company.

“I have to go take a shower, wash this make-up off me. You’ll still be here when I get out?” Like he said, I had nowhere else to be, so I just shrugged, letting my body fall on the couch while releasing a deep sigh.

“I guess. You need me for something?” When he didn’t immediately answer me, my curiosity was picked, so I raised my gaze to find him leaning on the threshold of the bathroom’s door, shirt already off and a boyish smile on his lips.

“I always need you, sweetheart. But I was thinking about maybe running some lines, are you up for that?” All I could do was nod, mouth suddenly too dry to do anything else as I watched him enter the bathroom and close the door behind him. Images of what it must be like in that cramped room, the fog slowly relaxing his muscles as he let his jeans drop to the floor before curling his thumbs in his boxers and then…

I needed to stop.

Tom’s P.O.V.

Fuck. I knew I should find it in me to turn the water to a cold temperature, but the warmth just felt so good against my tired muscles and it was becoming clear that not even the frigidest of showers would be able to stop my cock from hardening, not while she was still right there, behind that door, waiting for me, looking like that. God, how could she not know what she did to me?

Three years I’ve waited. Three years. Trying to see any sort of definitive sign that she was as into me as I was into her. Because, since things in my life could never be easy, the woman I ended up falling for worked for me. And as much as I wanted her, I could never find it in myself to be that guy who just ends up screwing someone’s lives because of his own egoistical wishes.

If I revealed my interest in her and she didn’t reciprocate it, there was simply no way for us to keep working together like this. My heart couldn’t handle it and I’d never want to make her uncomfortable in any way.

So I just waited and waited and waited for the perfect opportunity that always seemed to slip through my fingers. And in that time, we only grew closer and closer. A P.A.’s job is already quite dependent on having a tight connection to the person they’re supposed to assist, but we were just so damn similar. And it seemed like she just understood me - beyond the needs of her regular day-to-day tasks - on a profound level, from my wicked sense of humor to my fears and anxieties.

It was really no surprise that we had become as close as best friends. She was the person I trusted the most now, even with the stuff I wouldn’t regularly confide to a personal assistant, and I knew the new nature of our once strictly-professional relationship was easily apprehended by her, too.

It only added a new layer of difficulty for the mess we’d found ourselves in, a new bond I could easily destroy if the resolve I had so cautiously built came crumbling down. But now that the cracks had appeared, it was only a matter of time before it all became clear and I was left with whatever came of it. So I decided to take a stance.

“You ready?” I asked, once dried and with loose and comfortable clothes that allowed me to relax even further after such a stressful day on set. This was it. This was the moment of truth. I was really going to do this.

“Sure. Can you throw me the script?” Oh, right. I looked around the now (thanks to her) tidied trailer to locate the little brochure right over the mini-fridge, offering it to her on the correct page.

“There you go. You sure you don’t have anywhere else to be? We might be here for a while.” If things go according to plan, I thought but didn’t voice it, although I was surprised that she couldn’t hear how loud my heartbeat had gotten in this cramped space.

Y/N’s P.O.V.

“Positive,” I confirmed, not looking at him as I took advantage of the excuse of becoming familiarized with the words I’d have to speak. “I’m yours for the night.” I don’t think I would have realized just how… different these words could sound if it wasn’t for the silence that followed. But when my head whipped up and my eyes met his, panic undoubtedly very clear in my expression, all I got was, “I need you to listen to this and listen carefully, because it is my heart that speaks directly to yours.”

For a second, I just blinked, completely confused about what was happening until suddenly it dawned upon me. Right, the script. I glanced down once more to check my line before reciting it, “Speak if you must. I don’t know what you could possibly say that would erase this mess you’ve made.”

Fuck. I’d forgotten this movie had a pretty intense romantic storyline. I hadn’t been on set for any scenes other than the action sequences, so it’d completely disappeared from my mind that this was a possibility: that Tom would ask me to rehearse love scenes with him.

All I could do now was pray that my heart would come out of this unscattered.

“I need you to know that I want you, in more than one way - in more than the expected way. I want you as more than a friend and maybe as more than a lover too.” Once again, I was dumbfounded by the words that left his lips, uncertain of what to do. Those weren’t the same words on my script, they weren’t the ones I was expecting to hear.

“I need you to know that I need you, in more than one way - in more than the traditional way. I need you as more than a friend and maybe more than a wife too.”

Like it knew something was about to happen, my heart sped out of control, and I tried to force my hands to stop shaking as I licked my lips and took a moment to breathe. “Are you… Are you sure that’s the right line?” I managed to ask, but all I got as a response was a small, almost shy smile.

Tom didn’t do shy. This felt different.

“Can I touch you?” He asked. That wasn’t in the script either. And somehow, everything in the universe seemed to click into its rightful position because somehow, right then, I just knew.

“Yes.” It came out more as a whisper than anything else, but in a second his hands were on me, one on my hip and the other on my hair and I could just barely comprehend that this was about to happen when his mouth descended upon me.

His kiss was everything I thought temptation would taste like and it consumed me like nothing else. Chapped lips pried mine open and at the touch of his tongue on mine, my knees faltered, but he was right there to keep me up.

“You don’t know how long I’ve wanted you.” I don’t know if I shivered because of the feeling of his warm breath against my lips or the words in itself. I just knew I suddenly felt warm, really warm, like something was burning me from the inside, and I was desperate to take him with me.

My eyes traveled up his body until they reached his own, both of us breathing hard against each other. I could feel his fingers gripping my hips tightly, and just that small gesture of possessiveness was enough to have a whine threatening to escape my throat.

“Yes,” I breathed out, lost in his gaze. “I want you too.”

Apparently, that was all he needed to fully let go of his control, mouth desperately tasting mine before abandoning it to litter kisses all over my jaw, down my neck until he stopped to suck a bruise on my throat, like some sort of ownership sign that he was anxious to leave on me. I was struggling to even catch a breath, but somehow managed to bury my hands inside of his shirt, clawing at his back with each new nip and suck that he gave me.

When we finally parted, the first thing he said to me was, “Can I take this off?” while playing with the hem of my dress and I’d never heard Tom that needy before. It almost felt like he would be the one whining any second now, and the thought that he could truly desire me that much had my head swirling.

I’d barely nodded in response and he was already pulling the fabric over my head, discarding somewhere in the tiny trailer. I couldn’t care enough to look for it right now, too preoccupied with the way his eyes explored me, hands immediately reaching out to get rid of my bra, too.

“Take off your underwear and sit on that couch.” It felt like an order. “Spread your legs for me.” That definitely was one. And I wasn’t stupid enough to disobey it.

Although still trembling with the anxiousness that came from the unpredictable turn of events I was living through, my body felt electrified by his gaze, by his obvious desire for me. It wasn’t hard to follow his command, even if some part of me wanted to feel at least a bit shy about being completely naked while he remained fully clothed. But the tortured groan he let out after I completed the task and exposed myself to him made it clear I’d done the right choice by abiding by his wishes.

“You’re so fucking hot.” Well, I felt hot under his burning stare, so it seemed appropriate. Still, I had to ask, since it seemed like I was about to lose my damn mind, “Then why are you just staring?”

Tom’s P.O.V.

The question, that barely hid the eagerness behind it, made me smirk while I approached the trembling little body waiting for me on the couch. “I fucking knew it,” I teased, kneeling before her and delicately tracing her jaw with one finger. “I knew you weren’t any innocent little angel.”

The look she gave me from under her eyelashes almost had me second guessing what I’d just said, but I knew better. Raising to my full height, my fingers made quick work of my clothes before I wrapped a fist around my member, slowly jerking myself to the sight of her naked body.

“I knew you were perfect for me even on this level.” She licked her lips as her eyes kept following my movements, and I panted at the clear sign of desire when she reached out to grab me. “No, darling. I can’t control myself much longer and I still need to prepare you.”

When I made a movement towards her, sitting by her side on the couch, I was surprised to see her close her legs before I could reach out for her, quickly climbing on my lap with as much eagerness as I was exhibiting myself.

“No, no teasing,” she pleaded, wet and warm cunt grinding against my hardened member as she wrapped her arms around the back of my neck. 

“I don’t want to tease, I want to prepare you,” I tried to explain as I reached out to grab her arms, holding them between us instead. She pouted, clearly fully intended to guilt me into skipping foreplay, but I didn't want her to regret this later, even if she still asked this while clearly knowing just how big my cock was. “The night’s still young, baby. We have plenty of time to get acquainted with our bodies.”

I nibbled on her earlobe as I tried to convince her, but she wasn’t having it. That much became clear as she continued to grind herself against me, before saying, “I don’t want you to prepare me, I want your cock in me. I want it to hurt.”

A shiver went through my spine at her words, temporarily freezing me. And that was all the time she needed to pull her hands from mine and take my cock in her own grip, quickly aligning it with her hole before starting to descend back to my lap again. 

“C’mon, Tom,” she tried to snap me out of it. “Fuck me hard. Show me just what I’ve been missing.” Those words, paired with the feeling of her tight pussy beginning to ride me, had me breaking out of my control in a second.

“Fuck, you’re hot,” I growled before taking a hold of her hips and quickening her movements until her breasts were bouncing right before me. “I should have known you’d be a little cockwhore, huh? I’m gonna fuck you against every wall of this trailer before fucking you on top of each and every piece of furniture. Let’s see if you’ll still be hungry for more when I’m done with you.”

The moan she let out at my words had my cock twitching inside of her, fingers pressing tightly on the soft flesh of her hips as I struggled to keep my composure and not spill myself inside her tight walls so damn soon.

“You’re so fucking wet, even without any foreplay,” I absentmindedly commented, and while it seemed like she wanted to say something, maybe explain herself, the way I was ramming into her clearly stopped any sane words from leaving her lips. It was only a mess of moans and whimpers, until suddenly, a single word came out, clear as day, at least to my own inebriated mind and hard-as-a-rock cock.

“Holy shit,” I cursed, throwing my head back as I grabbed her ass to keep her riding my cock. “Moan my name again. Moan my fucking name, Y/N. Don’t you dare keep it in.” It seemed like my command was unnecessary. She screamed my name like it was the only thing she knew how to say as I felt her pussy milking me for my cum, her own orgasm taking over her.

Y/N’s P.O.V.

As soon as I was able to breathe again, his hand was forcing me down to meet his lips again in a desperate open-mouthed kiss. “Such a good girl for me,” he whispered, still fucking himself up at me, and the overstimulation was so delicious I squeezes his shoulders to keep my whimpers in, scared that he’d slow down. “I imagine you like this so many times.”

Giggling, I wrapped my arms around him while I resumed my previous movements, riding his dick with all I had, determined to feel him spill inside of me. “Is it anything like you imagined?”

He just groaned, squeezing my ass and letting his head fall back on the couch before admitting, with lust-filled eyes that looked up at me from his eyelashes, “It’s so much better. So much better than just jerking off to the thought of you.”

His words, the raspiness of his voice as he uttered them, had me clenching around him, and ultimately, that’s what brought him close to his own orgasm. “Can I cum inside of you?” He asked, fingers squeezing my hips tightly as he took full control of my movements in his need to get to that pleasurable end. A nod from me had him finally there, cumming inside of me as his entire body freezed, immobilizing me on top of him, too.

“What about now?” He asked, barely able to stay awake as his fingers traced circles on my hips, eyes closed while I did the same, resting on his chest. “Can you still stay?”

Laughing, I pulled away just enough to deposit a quick kiss on his lips before readjusting myself back to my previous position. “Positive,” I repeated, thinking back on just how much had happened since the last time I said that word to him. “I’m right where I need to be.”

#tom hardy smut #tom hardy #smut #my fics #tom hardy requests #tom hardy reader #tom hardy x reader #tom hardy reader insert #tom hardy reader inserts #tom hardy fanfiction #tom hardy oneshot #tom hardy oneshots

[moderarato]

oc aesthetics. 

thanks to the lovely @solarisrenbeth​​ for tagging me in this oc aesthetics challenge!!! I’ve been in desperate need of inspiration, so I made a messy moodboard to go along with it. tagging @nerdferatum​, @sailorpleiades​ @follies-fixture​, @notasdryapricots​, and @ariendiel​​ (if ya want to, no pressure as always <3)

ESTE [she/her, LITG + Body Count] 

highest aesthetics score: Light - Incandescent Bulbs | Body Language - Insecurity & Anxiety | Sense - Touch

— LIGHT SOURCES

SUN RAYS. effervescent smiles, dandelion puffs, bare feet, beach waves, flowers pressed into books, champagne glasses, rose-gold eye shadow, boho skirts, wire-rimmed glasses, hair in loose waves, kaleidoscope eyes, sunshine in your hair, fire in your soul.

INCANDESCENT BULBS. crop tops, floral print, dancing in the rain, quiet defiance, hand-knit beanies, rosé, painted bookmarks, marble floors, cirrus clouds against a blue sky, polaroid pictures, hands held, fingers intertwined, flower crowns, baby bluebirds.

STARDUST. lace bralettes, brisk breezes, jasmine-scented perfume, books with yellowed pages, tracking constellations, sterling silver, violin music, chess games, iced coffee, glittery dresses, high heels, secret grins, midnight meetings, wishing upon a star.

CANDLE FLAMES. denim jackets, gladiator sandals, braided hair, messenger bags, movies at the cinema, stolen kisses, wax-sealed envelopes, haiku poetry, cherry wood, succulents, fountain pens, jigsaw puzzles, soft tired eyes, hidden smiles, cuddling with someone you trust.

MOONBEAMS. newspapers, over-sized sweaters, dancing shadows, fleece throws, cutoff shorts, piano chords, red wine, messy buns, embossed journals, a hint of blush dusted across your cheeks, freshly fallen snow, tranquil solitude, burning incense.

AURORAS. combat boots, burgundy lips, infectious laughter, spiral-bound notebooks, pencils used down to the stub, ripped jeans, painted nails, cloud-watching, summer thunderstorms, hiking trails, vinyl records, film cameras, skating on a frozen lake, hot chocolate by the fire.

FIREWORKS. dancing until the break of dawn, Heelys, being wheeled around in a shopping cart by your best friend, the euphoria of soaring through the air, being excited for what the future holds, group hugs, colorful tattoos, bronzer-highlighted cheeks, hugging a stuffed animal, lifting a child onto your shoulders, space buns, bright streaks in your hair.

— BODY LANGUAGE

DEFENSIVENESS. arms crossed on chest, crossing legs, fist-like gestures, pointing index finger, karate chops, stiffening of shoulders, tense posture, curling of lip, baring of teeth.

REFLECTIVE. hand-to-face gestures, head tilted, stroking chin, peering over glasses, taking glasses off; cleaning, putting earpiece of glasses in mouth, pipe smoker gestures, putting hand to bridge of nose, pursed lips, knitted brows.

SUSPICION. arms crossed, sideways glance, touching or rubbing nose, rubbing eyes, hands resting on weapon, brows raising, lips pressing into a thin line, strict, unwavering eye contact, wrinkling of nose, narrowed eyes.

CONFIDENCE. hands behind back, hands on lapels of coat, steepled hands, baring teeth in a grin, rolling shoulders, tipping head back but maintaining eye contact, chest puffed up, shoulders back, arms folded just above navel, wide eyes, standing akimbo.

INSECURITY & ANXIETY. chewing pen or pencil, rubbing thumb over opposite thumb, biting fingernails, biting lips, hands in pockets, elbow bent, closed gestures, clearing throat, “whew” sound, picking or pinching flesh, fidgeting in chair, hand covering mouth whilst speaking, poor eye contact, tugging pants whilst seated, jingling money in pockets, tugging at ear, perspiring hands, playing with hair, swaying, playing with pointer; marker; cane, smacking lips, sighing, rocking on balls of feet, flexing or cracking fingers sporadically, leg bouncing.

ANGER & FRUSTRATION. short breaths, “tsk” sounds, tightly-clenched hands, fist-like gestures, pointing index finger, rubbing hand through hair, rubbing back of neck, snarling, revealing teeth, grimacing, sharp-eye glowers, notable tension in brow, shoulders back, head up; defensive posturing, clenching of jaw, grinding teeth, nostrils flaring, heavy exhales.

— SENSES

SIGHT. small towns, big cities, six thirty curfews, lights that take the place of stars, blanket nests, light through the blinds as a wake up call, found family, finding a single star in the middle of new york city, window shopping, watching something terrible and enjoying it, wilted flowers, faded caricatures, bright, bold colors.

HEARING. crickets and lightning bugs, car engines and a.c. units, a phone call to mum/dad, laughing with friends, jokes that are so bad you have to laugh, the clicking of computer keys, noise cancelling headphones, the sound of silence, muffled music from another room, drumming fingertips on a table, clicking of pens, listening to a clock and swearing the ticks get slower, ringing in the ears, the voice of someone you love, pitch shifted songs.

TOUCH. being held close during a long night, fleeting reassurances, holding hands when you’re scared, brushing fingers through strands of hair, freshly dried clothes, bruises on your knuckles, silk and satin, your favorite pet’s fur or feather, wringing your hands anxiously, snuggles, comforters in the dead of winter, nails against skin, cold metal, leather in summer.

TASTE. coffee in the morning, tea in the evening, bubblegum that lost its flavor, alcohol burning the back of your throat, homemade cooking no matter what’s made, blood in your mouth, stale air, mint, fresh vegetables, that processed taste of citrus candy, the first meal you cook by yourself that tastes good, foreign sweets, fast food, bittersweet, sour, spicy, sweet, bitter, too much salt on fries.

#I don't think we are supposed to tally them but #the end results...too fitting tbh #ok this challenge gave me LIFE #I want more like this #I'm sorry I'm so extra an made a mb you know I cant help myself when it comes to este hjgfhjg #rr: tag game #rr: moodboard #rr oc: este

[midnightswithdearkatytspb]

Forever & Always: Stage 1 - Denial | Pt. 1

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Witch!Reader; Platonic Avengers x Reader

Words: A little less than 2.2k words

Rating: Teen

Warnings: Grief (Loss of Parent), Depression, Anxiety, Angst, & Fluff (more to be added) If you see something that I missed don't be afraid to tell me.

Synopsis: Y/N “Birdy” (nicknamed by her family), comes from a long line of witches and warlocks, living her days at the New Avengers Compound, alongside her friends. The Avengers are part of her family and her family is always welcome to the compound. Things for once seemed to be going well now that all was right from the attack on Thanos, everyone was alive, all was forgiven, friendships were thriving, that all ended when Birdy’s brother came calling with sad news, their mother had suddenly passed. These are the stages of grief Birdy faces, through the loss of her best friend, her protector, her mother.

Info: The Sebastian edit in the moodboard is done by @nix-akimbo and the dividers are done by @firefly-graphics. A big thank you too @sllooney for beta editing this, all mistakes are mine. I've had this finished for over a week I just hadn't had the heart to post, but I had my laptop out so here it is! I do not give permission for this to be translated or to be posted on other sites without my written permission.

Forever & Always Masterlist | My Masterlist

Baby wails rang through the kitchen as Birdy sat on the floor with her back against the cabinet. She felt exhausted as she tried to calm her speeding heart, her husband was gone on a mission, and she has been left to take care of the 6 month old twins on her own.

Lyra and Grant had been crying since they had woken up this morning at the crack of dawn and it was now noon. Birdy had tried feeding them, rocking them, tummy time, nothing was working. Desperate times called for desperate measures.

Getting up from the floor after making sure the twins were still safe in their playpen in the corner, they both just looked at her red faced, breaking her heart. Birdy made her way to the chalkboard picking up a piece of chalk, writing; Mama HELP! I need you please, I’m having a crisis and I don’t know what to do.

Dramatic? Yes. Effective? Apparently so, because the words 'on my way' appeared immediately under her message. Letting out a breath she didn't know she was holding, Birdy grabbed the pitcher of Orange Blood tea out of the fridge and the shortbread cookies from the jar where she had been hiding them from her husband.

The back door to the kitchen opened and the older Lyra walked in, met by the sounds of her grandbabies wailing their little hearts out. Birdy’s mother looked at her with a soft smile, taking in her daughter's exhausted frame. Her hair was pulled off her face in a ponytail, oversized yoga pants hung loosely on her hips, with a tank and cardigan to match. Birdy looked just about done, but still so beautiful in her mother’s eyes.

“My little Birdy, sit down, I got this.” The mother moved behind her daughter and gently steered her to the breakfast nook, while she went in the direction of the playpen.

“Oh my little cherubs, what seems to be the matter?” Speaking to the babies in a soft voice, the grandmother grabbed Grant and brought him over to his mother, who quickly cradled the bundle of joy in her arms, while she returned for her namesake, cradling her closely, shushing her softly. It didn’t do much but as Lyra sat at the breakfast nook across from her daughter she began to rock the baby in her arms, Birdy copying her mother’s actions, brushing her finger down Grant’s sweet button nose.

“Let’s see… your belly's full, you are clean, warm, nothing seems to be off, I think your Mumma has just forgotten the most important thing, a lullaby!” Birdy looked at her mother with wide eyes, while she simply just smiled at her. “When you were a baby you could be quite fussy as well and the only way to get you to settle down was for me to sing a little lullaby. So I think what these two need is a little diddy and they’ll be right as rain.” Birdy’s mother began to hum one of the ever so familiar songs from her childhood. A song to ease her worries as her mother held her.

“I'm rocking you to sleep, the water's dark and deep inside this ancient heart. You'll always be a part of me.” both babies had stopped crying and were now yawning, holding onto the fingers of the women holding them.

“Goodnight, my angel, now it's time to dream. And dream how wonderful your life will be. Someday your child may cry and if you sing this lullaby, then in your heart, there will always be a part of me.” Little Lyra had drifted off into slumberland, while Grant had gone quiet, his eyes fighting hard to stay open but as Birdy continued to brush her pointer finger down his nose, it was becoming a losing battle.

“Someday we'll all be gone, but lullabies go on and on. They never die, that’s how you and I will be.” Both babies asleep, Birdy looked up at her mother in relief but stopped when she saw the sad look in her familiar eyes.

“Birdy since you were just a Babe in my arms I dreamed this moment over and over again, it never varied until now. I need you to know that I love you so much and I’m so very proud of you, proud of the woman you have become. You are a superhero, not many mothers out there can say their child is a superhero.” it felt as if her heart had dropped to the pit of Birdy’s stomach as she watched her mother put Little Lyra back in the playpen with a kiss to her forehead.

“I’m sharing this moment with you now because I know it’s going to come true for you, but I need you to remember something for me...” Lyra placed her hand on her daughter's cheek, brushing the single tear away. “Remember you were loved by me. That you made my life a happy one, and there is no tragedy in that.” Kissing Birdy on the forehead? Lyra moved towards the back door, her daughter getting up as carefully as possible, hoping not to wake the babies.

“Don’t go please, I love you!”

With a smile on her face Lyra blew a kiss to her daughter and then was out the door.

Birdy gasped sitting up. Wanda, falling off of her, being forced from the comfortable place where she had laid her head on Birdy’s stomach to watch the Breakfast Club in the blanket fort that Peter and Morgan had assembled earlier in the day. The fort took up over half of the New Avengers main living room and sat in front of the television. It's where the duo, Peter and Morgan had hung out and watched cartoons together, waiting for budget meetings and debriefings for the week to be over.

Wanda and Birdy had quickly fallen in love with the fort, and with Peter and Morgan for inviting them inside to help keep the little girl company until her parents were done working for the day. When Morgan had left they had decided to leave it up for a John Hughes movie marathon. Bucky and Steve had come to join the youngest Avengers in watching the films.

All eyes had moved from Breakfast Club to a gasping Birdy. Wanda’s hand was quick to grab hers and give it a reassuring squeeze, trying to pull her from her frantic daze. Birdy’s eyes started to scan the cozy space, seeing that the popcorn was all gone and Peter had stopped mid way to the Jelly Beans, now peering at her in worry. Bucky was on his side looking from her to Steve, as he put his hand on her shoulder, trying to give comfort.

“I’ll go get Mr. Barton and Miss Natasha!” Peter’s quick reflexes had him out of the fort in seconds, without knocking anything down, before anyone could say anything.

Birdy was trying so hard to figure out what was going on. She knew where she was, at the compound. She knew it was Friday, movie nights with Peter and Wanda, and that she had fallen asleep at the end of Weird Science, her least favorite John Hughes movie.

She had been dreaming, yet it felt so real. But she wasn’t carrying a child and she wasn’t even dating anyone, so it made no sense. Also her mother just leaving like that? Strange. The more Birdy thought on the dream the more her head started to hurt. Someone calling her name pulled her from her thoughts and looking up Clint stood crouched above her.

“Hey Kiddo, are you back with us?” Clint held out his hand to Birdy, which she gladly took, letting go of Wanda’s, and allowing the archer to pull her up off the blanketed floor. Natasha stood at the entrance of the fort in her pajamas, looking in, watching as Clint hugged the younger woman. Right away Natasha knew something was off.

“Yeah, I’m sorry you guys, I had the strangest dream and it-” Birdy’s face was scrunched up in almost confusion, as she stared off behind Clint’s shoulder. “-It felt so real.” Her voice died off as Clint hugged her close to him.

“It wasn’t a vision was it?” Natasha moved inside the blanket fort, her question was more of one of concern. Every time that Birdy had a vision, something bad was about to happen or come their way, like the time she had envisioned the meeting with General Ross, the next day the team was torn in two, because of the Sokovia Accords. Birdy just shook her head, it wasn’t a vision that she knew of.

“Well if it was just a dream, I wouldn’t worry too much about it. Wanda and Peter, why don’t you go make chamomile tea. Steve go adjust the temperature? I think it’s a little warm. Bucky do whatever it is you want to do.” Natasha waved the former assassin off, “Clint and I are going to just sit in here with you until you feel better.” Sitting on the loveseat, Natasha patted the empty cushion next to her as Clint guided Birdy to sit next to her.

Before anyone could do what the Black Widow demanded, a gust of wind blew through knocking many of the blankets to the ground. Bucky was up on his feet in flash as none of the windows were open. This gust of wind was not ordinary. Steve moved to the opening of the fort with a pillow in front of him, peeking out into the living room.

In front of the windows facing the vast forestry surrounding the compound, stood Pietro Maximoff and Jasper Valentine, the pair of them holding on to Birdy’s older brother Rory. The trio looked disheveled, eyes bloodshot, and their hair all over the place. Steve felt his body relax when he recognized them, dropping the pillow to the ground. Scoffing, Jasper let go of the warlock first, and made his way forward, hugging Steve.

“Rory Sellar, what have I told you about just portaling unannounced into the compound?” Steve let go of Jasper before he made his way to Pietro, hugging the twin of his teammate, then to Rory, who just cleared his throat and looked to the ground. Pietro shook his head, getting Steve’s attention, immediately the scolding died in Steve’s throat.

“Steve, is Birdy awake?” Rory’s voice cracked as Natasha and Bucky looked out. Bucky gave a slight wave of his hand at the newcomers, while Natasha tilted her head in the direction of the fort. The group made their way inside the massive fort following behind Natasha. Birdy, jumping up from the couch at the sight of her older brother, rushed to give him a hug. Rory took his little sister in his arms, hugging her tightly, as he kissed her on the crown of her forehead.

“I just had the weirdest dream…” Birdy pulled away as she heard Rory sniffle, looking up at him in concern.

“Birdy I’m so sorry, she wouldn’t let me portal to come get you, she said she didn’t want you to see her that way.” Birdy’s face scrunched up in confusion. “I begged her to let me come get you, but she said no, and Dad agreed.” Rory started to let the tears fall.

“Rory, you aren’t making any sense, what is going on?” Pietro was by the warlock's side in an instant, his hand on his shoulder, looking at Wanda, who gasped after reading her twin brother's mind. Wanda looked away with tears in her eyes, hand covering her mouth in shock and sadness.

“What’s wrong? Is everyone okay?” Thousands of questions swam through her head, as her brother grabbed her hand, holding it as Natasha made her way to the younger girl's side.

“It’s mom Birdy, she’s gone.” tears started to build up behind the girl's eyes at her brother's words. Shaking her head, Birdy felt as if the room dropped ten degrees in that moment. “She has gone to be with souls in the great beyond.”

Before anyone knew it Birdy was falling to knees, a cry erupted from her mouth, “No!”

Birdy screamed while the power in the building started to flicker as the walls started to shake. Natasha, at Birdy’s side, pulled her to her side. Steve looked around realizing they needed to get the young witch calmed down or they were going to be in trouble.

“Rory you need to get her out of here, the building isn’t going to be able to handle this sort of shaking.” As he spoke part of the stucco from the ceiling fell on his shoulder.

Rory reached down holding onto his little sister's shoulder and looked back at Clint, “I’ll be right back for you.” In a flash, through a portal, the trio were gone. As fast the shaking and flickering lights had started they had stopped. The rest of the group stood there staring at the empty spot that once was Natasha, Rory and Birdy, feeling a sudden emptiness with the news they had heard. Things were about to change and it was out of their control.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x witch!reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x ofc #bucky barnes fanfiction #fanfic #mcu #marvel #natasha romanoff #pietro maximoff x oc #omc #clint barton x reader #peter parker #peter parker x reader #wanda maximoff #ofc x reader #wanda maximoff x reader #avenger x reader #mcu au #marvel au #steve rogers #captain america #steve rogers x reader #clint barton #marvel fanfiction #mcu fanfiction #the falcon and the winter soldier #tfatws

[lavendersuh]

what a feeling

johnny x fem!reader | badboy!au, too much fluff | 2.4k words

warnings: mentions of nicotine addition, alcohol

based off of this moodboard and au idea created by @neo-cult-ure!! thank you luv for allowing me to play around with this au idea! I originally wrote this bc i loved the idea and just wanted to self indulge in some writing a few nights ago. I probably could’ve fleshed this out more, but i’m in the middle of exams so i probably shouldn’t even be writing fic rn haha (fair warning tho there is so much fluff help) hope u enjoy!!

~~~

“I need your help.”

Haechan looks up to see an unexpected face peering over him. It wasn’t every day that resident bad boy Johnny Suh was asking a drama student for something. While the two of them ran around in slightly similar circles due to their mutual acquaintances, Haechan can’t remember the last time he spoke one-on-one with Johnny.

“What do you need my help with?” he asks curiously, as he shuts his locker. 

“There’s this girl.” Johnny says, rubbing a hand on the back of his neck, “She’s different, Haechan, I need your help.” 

Johnny has always been the most confident person Haechan knows. He always admired him for that, but now it appears that the tall boy has a rosy tiny covering his cheeks, along with a sheepish smile. 

“My help? I can’t imagine being much help compared to Jaehyun… isn’t he your wing man?” Haechan responds.

He begins walking away, heading for his next class. He didn’t hate Johnny, nothing even close to that, but he was a bit suspicious of why he was coming to a self-proclaimed nerdy, drama student for help. 

“This is different…” Johnny mumbles as he catches up with Haechan, “Do you know that diner a few blocks from here? The Neo Zone?” 

Haechan looks over at him, “That neon, throwback place? Yeah, the theater kids go there after practice sometimes.”

“There’s a waitress there.” The older boy says, “She’s pretty, her laugh is like a song, Haechan, she’s perfect.”

“The problem, then?” Haechan asks. Johnny didn’t seem like the kind of person to have trouble with the ladies.

“She wants nothing to do with me.”

Haechan can’t help the laugh he lets out, “Did your usual flirting not work out for you?”

Johnny wasn’t a terrible guy, in fact, he could be very respectful (despite the cheesy pick-up lines sometimes), with a nice sense of humor and friendly smile to go along with it. But he had some bad habits. He refused to buy a helmet for his precious motorcycle. He smoked more than he should. He wasn’t always present during school hours. But underneath the leather jacket and torn up jeans, the boy wasn’t all that bad. He loved to flirt and fool around, but he never took things farther than someone wanted.

Johnny frowns at Haechan’s laughter, “I was hoping you could help me. She’s interested in 80s films, and I know you’re into stuff like that. You have a huge collection, don’t you? Could I borrow The Breakfast Club? Sixteen Candles?”

“Yeah, I can lend you some of them this weekend.” Haechan stops in front of the door to his next class, turning around to look back at Johnny, who’s grinning with appreciation.

“But Johnny?”

“Yeah?”

“It’s gonna take more than just flirting and watching her favorite movies. You gotta get to know her.” 

Johnny throws him a classic smirk, his confidence returning to his face, “Will do, Haechan.”

~~~

“Hey, Y/N!”

You turn around without Johnny seeing the roll of your eyes. After his shameless flirting last weekend you knew he would probably be back. 

His flirting wasn’t creepy; it was actually a little bit flattering. You couldn’t count on your hand the number of men that had spoken their fair share of sleezy comments to you. Johnny’s flirting was refreshing (but maybe that was just because he seemed to be your age instead of thirty years your senior). He asked about your favorite movies when you had mentioned liking 80s films. He complimented the sneakers you painted yourself. 

But alas, he was also a walking stereotype, with the leather jackets and motorcycle parked just out front. When you waited on his table last time, you nearly coughed over the smell of nicotine that followed him around.

“Hi, Johnny,” you say, leading him to a booth in the corner, laying out the menu on the table.

“I watched some of the movies you told me about,” he says, smiling brightly at you, “Got any more recommendations?”

You can’t help but feel a bit flustered at the fact that he watched some of the stuff you recommended. He was paying you a lot more attention than you had previously thought. 

While you take his order and bring out his food, Johnny flirts and makes jokes. You can’t help but smile at some of the things he says, despite yourself. By the end of his meal, you bring out his receipt, showing him the list of movies you wrote on the back in black pen. 

“Thanks! Maybe I could take you out and we could talk about them sometime?” he asks, a hopeful gleam in his eye. 

You roll your eyes at him, “You’re gonna have to do more than just watch my favorite movies for me to change my mind about you.” 

“Am I really that bad?”

“You aren’t bad, Johnny. I just feel like I deserve more than just someone who smokes and rides a motorcycle without protection.” You say, walking off to ring up his order and get his change. 

He huffs as you walk off. What was he to do? 

~~~

‘This is stupid,’ Johnny thinks to himself as he pulls up to the diner, a week and a half later. He was driving Haechan’s car, but that wasn’t the only thing he had borrowed.

When Johnny had reconvened with the boy, Haechan told him he needed to change up his act in order to impress you. 

And somehow this is how Johnny ended up walking into the diner with a dorky sweater and his hair neatly combed on a Friday evening. The neon sign of the diner glowed into the car, casting shadows on the funny pattern of the sweater.

He felt so stupid, but he was also kind of desperate. It was Haechan that had come up with the plan after suggesting he dress a bit nicer. 

“I don’t know if I have any ‘nice’ clothes, Haechan,” Johnny had told the other boy.

“Then you can borrow some of mine!” Haechan looked up at how tall his friend was, “Or maybe my brother’s…”

Johnny knows he went overboard but he also really wants to see your smile again. He supposes it’s worth it. 

“Welcome in,” you say, but as you turn around, you pause, “...Johnny?” 

He smiles, reminding himself that he can be confident without the bad boy clothes and aesthetic. “Does your shift end soon? Could I take you out for ice cream?”

Somehow you can’t help but find the outfit change endearing, so you find yourself nodding. The boy was clearly trying to impress you, so you should at least give him a chance. And ice cream sounded excellent after a long shift. It couldn’t be all that bad, could it?

~~~

It ended up being quite nice, actually. 

Johnny took you to an ice cream shop on the edge of town, leading you to a picnic bench after getting two cones of ice cream. As the sun fully slipped away and the stars started to come out along the purple sky, you both discussed movies, the future, your favorite foods, everything.

He was a good listener, holding eye contact and asking questions, full of attention. He told lovely stories when he wanted to, as well. You couldn’t help but find yourself to be a bit drawn to him when you finally gave him the time of day. His humor, his soft smiles, his contagious laugh. It was clear to see it would be easy to fall for someone like him.

It was hard though, knowing the reputation he held. He did risky things, a cigarette in one hand, his motorcycle keys in the other. From his stories, you knew he cut class. He never wore a helmet, either.

Just because he wore a nice sweater and borrowed a friend’s car didn’t change these things.

“I hope we can do this again, sometime.” 

Johnny lightly holds your hand as he stands outside of your front door while dropping you off.

You looked up at him, his face soft under your front porch light. There was so much hope in his eyes, hope for the idea that you would give him more of your time, more of your smiles.

“Oh, Johnny,” you say, slowly, “This is really sweet, but this isn’t you.”

He looks confused for a moment, protesting, “Of course, this is me. I just cleaned up my act, like you said.”

You frown, “Sure, I did say that, but you changed all the outside pieces of yourself.”

“Isn’t that what you wanted?” he asks.

“What? Johnny, no, of course not!” you exclaim, “I don’t care if you have this ‘bad boy’ act, and drink, and ride motorcycles. I just hate that you are so careless with yourself. You smelled like smoke every time I saw you. You never wear a helmet. You refuse to go to class sometimes. It hurts me seeing someone so bright, someone I’m enjoying getting to know, do nothing but hurt themselves.” 

You squeeze his hand, hoping to offer some form of comfort while you speak your truths. “Just cause you changed your clothes doesn’t mean you are changed for the better.”

“What are you saying?”

“I like you, Johnny. You.” you say, taking his hand in yours, “Not this dressed up, masked version of you. I just want you to care about yourself. So I can care about you, too.” 

Things are quiet for a moment, as Johnny stares at the ground. Finally, he looks up at you, an unknown flicker in his eyes. 

You let go of his hand, “You have some stuff to work through. You’re sweet, Johnny, and I’m happy that we’ve gotten to know each other. Please call me when you figure things out.”

You go inside, leaving him frozen in place. 

~~~

“Has Johnny come in lately?” 

You are startled out of wiping down tables at the diner when you hear someone speak to you. You look up to see a honey-haired boy, who you recognize as Haechan, one of the drama club kids from school. 

“You know him?” you ask, your eyes narrowed.

“Yeah,” Haechan rubs the back of his neck, “We’ve become friends recently. He told me he liked you. Asked to borrow some movies and stuff.” 

Realization dawns on you that Johnny had probably gone to Haechan to get some guidance. The thought makes your heart squeeze. You’d been curious about where Johnny was getting the knowledge from. You recall Haechan being in the after school film club as well. 

“He stopped coming in a while ago,” you say, “I gave him my number after we went out once, but I didn’t hear from him.”

You try to keep the feeling of sadness from washing over you, but you’re surprised at how affected you are by Johnny’s absence in the past few weeks. While his flirting could be a bit relentless sometimes, there was no doubt that he respected you through all of his charming antics.

“Hm..” Haechan seems to be deep in thought at your words. 

You ask him if he wants to order anything, but he declines, thanking you for the offer before leaving nearly as soon as he had entered. 

~~~

“Hey.”

You look up on your way out of the diner after your shift, startled by a voice. Johnny stands in the parking lot, next to his motorcycle, a soft smile across his face. He has his leather jacket back on, but surprisingly, you notice he has a helmet tucked under his arm, too.

“What are you doing here?” you ask, walking up to him, “You haven’t come in for a while.”

“Thought I’d come stop by,” he grins. “I heard you missed me.”

You look down shyly at the pavement, “I never said that… but yeah, I guess.”

It was a surprising feeling as you confessed that small truth to Johnny. It was boring around the diner without his conversations and flirting words. It felt nice to let those words out.

Johnny leans behind him, grabbing another, smaller helmet, “Wanna take a ride? I wanna take you out for another date. I even bought you a helmet. Hope you’re not scared to go a little fast.” 

You nod, unable to keep the smile off of your face. It was nice hearing Johnny’s bluntness again. He seemed more relaxed, more comfortable with himself.

You run over to your car quickly, shoving your bag into the backseat before walking back over to Johnny. You climb on to the bike behind him, feeling him place the extra helmet on your head. While he adjusts it, his fingers brush across your face, sending chills down your spine. 

Once he’s back in position, you boldly wrap your arms around his torso, letting your head rest across his jacket. You take a deep breath, expecting to smell the nicotine that follows him around, but his leather jacket smells fresh.

“Did you quit smoking?” you ask, as he turns on the motorcycle.

“Yeah, I quit after our date,” he explains, “I was kinda unbearable for a while there… That's why I didn’t come into the diner. After a while, I figured you woulda forgot about me.”

You let out a laugh as he pulls out of the parking lot, “How could I ever?” 

You both ride along in silence, aside from your nervous laughs as the motorcycle speeds through traffic. You notice the elevation getting higher as he rides outside of the city.

Finally, he pulls off next to a scenic outlook overlooking the metropolis. The sun is starting to set, casting shadows along the buildings, along Johnny’s face. You can’t tell which you find more beautiful.

“I want to thank you.” he says, wrapping an arm around your waist to pull you to look at him. 

“For what?” 

“For caring about me. I didn’t even care about me.” he tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear, cupping your cheek.

You smile up at him, his soft words making you bold. You lean in, kissing his lips in response. After you pull back, Johnny wraps his arms around you, pulling you into the warmest hug of your life. 

It seemed simple, really. As the sun set with an orange glow, marking the end of a day, it also marked a new beginning. It left you both with a warm feeling. And what a feeling it was.

#nct-writers #neothestars #neo-constellations #johnny x reader #johnny x you #nct x reader #nct x you #johnny scenarios #badboy au #johnny #nct #johnny suh #my writing

[mymedicine]

Occam’s Razor

5.6k of surfer harry and y/n, mostly fluff, frenemies to lovers type beat

moodboard

warnings - marijuana usage, swearing, very light sexual language, lotsa teasing, harry being really sassy

notes - this started as a little blurb for @majorharry‘s 20k fic celebration and then it spiraled out of control into this very self-indulgent fantasy. I used the prompt “You’re lying. I can tell when you look at me like that.” Cass’s work inspired me to start writing harry fic in the first place, so if you enjoy this, you have her to thank! <3

more notes - fair warning y’all, I’m not a stoner by any means. i’ve been high like twice in my life and i cried both times so please forgive any inaccuracies in the smoking department. that being said, I urge you to click this link to learn about the decriminalization of cannabis in the US and how you can help correct the injustices associated with it. ok, yes I will shut up now please enjoy!

Island life was a dream come true for Y/N.

There was no sound she loved more than the crashing of waves against the shore, no smell more lovely than the salty aroma of beach air, and no sight more beautiful than the bright sunrise from her home two blocks away from the sand. She squinted at the rising sun as she rode the familiar route to the beach, surfboard clutched underneath one arm. With the other, she steered her trusty bicycle—the only form of transformation she needed on the island. All she ever needed to do was go back and forth from home to work at the surf shack on the beach and back again, with an occasional Target run in between when she was low on mangoes for her smoothies.

It was a perfect morning for an easy surf. Not too hot, not too windy. Just pale skies and a gentle summer breeze bringing peaceful energy to the tiny shack on the sand. She approached the back of the shop, clutching her board a little tighter as she rode over the uneven beach terrain. When she reached the wooden structure, she deposited her bike and board out back before waltzing inside through the back door.

“Morning, H!” Y/N yelled into the room, gripping the strap of her backpack over one shoulder.

From the main shopping area of the store, a curly head popped into the back room. “You’re late,” he replied, pushing his sunglasses through his already messy hair and perching them on the crown of his head. He sauntered into the back room, following Y/N over to their shared locker in the corner.

“C’mon Harry,” Y/N shrugged him off, “island time.”

In truth, neither of them really cared about her being a few minutes late to their agreed meeting time. The store didn’t open for hours and even then, the owner wouldn’t mind. It also didn’t hurt that said owner was none other than Harry’s mother.

“'S pretty out today,” Y/N continued, shoving her backpack into the locker they stored their stuff in during the day. “Should be plenty of nice hollows to play around in before—”

“My smoothie better not be melted,” Harry interrupted her just as she was pulling two thermoses out of the bag.

He was smirking, obviously uninterested in what she was saying and instead transfixed with the sweet drinks in her hands. Y/N rolled her eyes at him. Harry may not have been the most gracious company, but he was company at least. Island life was simple, relaxed, and perfect for Y/N, but it’d be lonely if it weren’t for him. He also consistently supplied her with decent weed and excellent board wax, which certainly didn’t hurt his case. In return, she brought him a mango smoothie every day. As underpaid and overworked coworkers, symbiosis and a shared love for the ocean kept their friendship relatively intact.

“Just for that, you’re not getting it until after dawn patrol,” she taunted, rattling the thermos above her head. She enjoyed the way his eyes followed the drink like a cat’s would a piece of yarn.

His tanned chest rose and fell as he inhaled an exasperated breath, jaw tight and eyes glinting with playful contempt. Along with his teasing expression, he wore only orange floral board shorts and the pair of sunglasses pushing back his curls. Y/N couldn’t help but notice his lack of clothing, even after months of working and surfing together nearly every day. Fuck, she thought, he just keeps getting hotter.

She couldn’t decide whether the fact that he was an actual work of art was helping her withstand his presence in her life, or if it was just simply torturing her with something she didn’t think she could have. Either way, his beauty was a constant distraction.

“Fine,” Harry taunted as Y/N put the drinks in the mini fridge beside the locker. “But just for that, I’ll out-surf your ass.”

~~~

Y/N laid with her cheek pressed down on her board, sighing as the hot sun gently warmed her wet skin. Dawn had brought plenty of excitement in the form of large, smooth waves, but by mid-morning the sea had calmed to a pleasant lull. She spread out her arms and let her fingers trail lightly in the water, finding comfort and solace in the coldness of it. Her board bobbed softly with the mellow waves, rocking her body like a mother rocking her baby. She could have fallen asleep if it weren’t for Harry’s sudden loud cursing coming from somewhere behind her.

“Y/N! Wake the fuck up!”

“I’m not asleep, asshole,” she called back, not moving from her peaceful position.

“C’mon, we’re already late. And s’ gonna rain so we have to pull in the racks.”

Y/N remembered the way the rising sun had been beating down on them all morning. She felt like she was being roasted out there in the humid air with her back exposed to the rays, not obstructed by even a single cloud. But the island weather was as volatile as it was beautiful, and the start of tropical storm season was imminent.

Y/N picked her head up and pushed her chest up on the board, observing the large, dark storm clouds in the distant horizon. I’ll be damned, she thought, he’s right. There was no way in hell she’d ever actually say that to him, though. Not with the way he was continuously taunting her from his place on his own board—“Y/N! Waaaakeeeey wakey! We have woooork!”

“Alright, Harry, shut up! I’m coming.”

Despite Harry’s incessant nagging, they both paddled to shore at a pretty lazy pace, trying to savor their last few minutes of peace in the water before having to deal with all the daily nuisances of customer service.

Anne’s shop on the beach was a hit with the locals and tourists alike. For years, she and Harry had been providing beachgoers with sunscreen and board wax and rash guards and even souvenir t-shirts and mugs, that sort of thing. Anne finally hired Y/N when they started selling bikinis two months ago and the business went through the roof. Having more customers was great, but it meant there was more work to be done.

Y/N and Harry approached the store, dragging their boards with their hair still dripping wet and feet caked with sand. There was a boy lingering outside, dressed in a tank top and board shorts that both looked half a size too big on his skinny frame. They both recognized him immediately—he was a regular at the beach but kind of a shubie, which deeply irritated Harry. Y/N wasn’t Tyler’s biggest fan either; it pissed her off a little when he’d show up bright and early before Anne, Harry or herself had even arrived to open up. But she was at least less hung up on it than Harry was.

“I got him,” Y/N told Harry. “Can you start on the racks? Don’t need you chasing away our best customer.”

Little did Y/N know, Harry disliked the guy for more reasons than just the facts that he showed up ridiculously early to the store and that he tried to dress like a surfer and hang with the locals but was too much of a pussy to go near the water.

While Y/N was tending to Tyler, Harry begrudgingly began pulling in the clothing racks stocked with t-shirts that Anne liked to keep outside in front of the shop. During last year’s rainy season, he’d have to pull the damn things inside nearly every other day. He glared through the open front door at Tyler while he interacted with Y/N, making her use the pole to reach one of the tank tops hung high up on the wall. “Interacted” was a soft way to put it, he reckoned. It could not possibly be more obvious that he was flirting with her.

It only annoyed Harry because he knew he was about eight thousand times better than Tyler on literally all levels, yet the boy still got to enjoy Y/N’s attention for as long as he wanted (he was a paying customer, after all). All while she was none the wiser. Harry loathed the way his eyes lingered on her chest, especially since today she hadn’t had time to put her coverup on before having to get the fucking tank top for him.

Y/N’s head snapped away from Tyler and his incessant talking when a loud crashing sound rang out. Harry was already looking at her from the doorway, face twisted with irritation. One of the racks was crashed into the wall beside him, leaving a few fallen shirts scattered on the floor.

“You missed the door, H.” Y/N laughed at him. She was amused by the grumbling noises he was making as he struggled to yank the rack through the door frame.

“You wanna do this yehself then? ‘F you just gonna make fun of me…” He frowned, voice getting fainter as he disappeared outside to grab the last rack.

“Sorry about him,” Y/N turned back to Tyler, who was waiting patiently for her to scan and neatly fold the top he was buying.

The boy flashed her a charming smile. “S’ fine. I’m not here for him.”

Y/N was not an idiot. She noticed his flirting, but didn’t take it remotely seriously. He was far too young for her. He was thinner than she preferred. His hair was too blonde, skin too pale and clean of any ink. And, well, he wasn’t Harry.

She kind of hated that everyone had to be compared to Harry in her mind, but she couldn’t help it. He was a masterpiece. Her gaze followed him as he sauntered back into the store, picking up fallen merchandise here and there before strolling right past her, into the back room.

Y/N sent Tyler a tightlipped smile when she realized she’d been inadvertently ignoring him. She felt his eyes on her as she finished the transaction. He took the bag from her outstretched arm, but his presence lingered even after she’d given him a polite yet dismissive “Have a nice day.”

“I’m Tyler, by the way,” he began, and Y/N internally groaned. He’d introduced himself several times already during the past few weeks. She was nicer about it than Harry, sure, but fuck she did not want to entertain this kid’s advances. “And you’re—“

“Y/N!” Harry’s voice called from behind her, interrupting Tyler rather rudely in the middle of his sentence. Harry appeared at her side as if she’d conjured him up by thinking about him. She be lying if she said she minded the interruption. “Here’s your smoothie from the back,” he said with a charming smile.

Harry produced one of the thermoses and presented it to her as if it were a prize. He knew he was the real winner though—one look at Tyler’s dejected expression confirmed that much.

“Oh! Thank you, Harry,” Y/N chirped, trying desperately to thank Harry with her eyes while still remaining diplomatic. “I was just finishing up with Tyler here.”

The blonde boy looked between Harry and Y/N, lingering for only a few more seconds with his anxious fingers twisted in the plastic bag he was holding. “Right,” he stuttered, “er…you guys have a good one…” And he backed away from the store.

Y/N turned back to Harry as their customer left. She took the thermos from his hand before playfully scolding him. “That was rude, Harry.”

"He was being rude first. He wouldn’t leave.” Harry shrugged, sipping his own smoothie and swooping back into the back room before Y/N could tease him on his poor excuse.

The Tyler ordeal aside, the work day passed as all the others did. Maybe a little less busy than usual due to the impending storm. By early evening, the tourist crowd at the beach had thinned considerably. One or two local surfers lingered in the water as the dark clouds began to roll in and slowly hide the sun. Harry and Y/N watched them absently from their places behind the counter, sitting beside each other on matching stools.

Y/N took in the view. Even painted an ominous shade of dark gray, the horizon brought a serene wave of calm over her. This was where she belonged, and she was sure of it.

“Whatcha lookin’ at?” Harry asked, noticing the far away look in her eyes.

“The water,” Y/N replied. It was true—she was looking at the water. But she was really looking beyond it, taking in the entire scene. The lull of the crystal blue ocean, the fading sunlight hitting the palm trees, the soft sand being pelted with raindrops, even the display case of I <3 2 SURF mugs that was mildly obstructing her view out the window. She turned to face him and, of course, he fit right in. He was an integral part of her vision, the beautiful fantasy that she was lucky enough to be living in.

He smiled at her. “’S pouring fuckin’ buckets, Y/N. There’s water everywhere.”

She laughed at his joke, happy to slip back into her real-life daydream.

“What should we do, then? No one’s gonna be coming to the beach.”

“I dunno. Play a game?” Last rainy season, Harry had been alone in the shop. Those past lonely days felt like an entirely different lifetime. In this one, Y/N was his present. His here and now.

He stood from the stool and crouched down to survey the shelves underneath the counter. Anne kept random necessities like water bottles and fruit snacks and a flashlight and…yes! A deck of Uno cards.

Y/N sighed dramatically. With Harry, she knew even a simple little game for kids would quickly spiral into momentous occasion.

“Well if I’m gonna have to play this game with you, there’s no way I’m doing it sober.” With that, Y/N didn’t hesitate to hop off her own stool and head to the back room to retrieve her backpack.

Harry raised his eyebrows, amused by the suggestion. Maybe it was irresponsible to get high when the shop was technically still open for another hour, but what the hell. The crowd had already been thinning for hours. 

“We’re gonna smoke in my dear mother’s shop?” Harry mused.

“We? Did you want one?” Her voice was teasing, growing clearer as she returned from the back room. She perched herself back in her stool and began to prepare a single joint for herself.

“Love, I literally provide you the weed. Of course I fuckin’ want one.”

“Okay, sassy. You can do it yourself if you’re gonna be a dick about it.”

So, he did. And naturally, the task turned into a heated race between the two. The pelting rain outside was an appropriate soundtrack for a race which Y/N, distracted by the way Harry’s nimble fingers packed the rolling paper and pink tongue slipped out to seal the edge, was destined to pathetically lose.

“Hah,” said Harry once he’d twisted the tip, flourishing the finished joint between them for himself to admire.

Y/N rolled her eyes as she finished her own, “Whatever, Harry. I out surfed you this morning and I’ll out smoke you tonight.”

“Well then I’ll have to beat your ass at Uno.”

“Game on.”

They played six rounds of Uno, taking hits in between turns until they were both high as kites. They lost interest in the middle of round seven when Y/N accidentally knocked the deck off of the counter, scattering the cards all over the floor. Even though they each had an even three wins under their belt, neither wanted to pick up the cards, so they agreed to a truce. The pitter-patter of rain and whooshing sound of high winds continued as Harry was muttering in a low voice—something about him dreading having to clean up all the cards tomorrow—but Y/N wasn’t really listening at all.

The high disintegrated the invisible barrier between them, effectively magnifying their usual playful touches into prolonged caresses. Y/N had one leg draped over Harry’s lap, perfectly placed for his massive hands to clutch her calf and gently massage her skin in tune with his soft ramblings. His touch sent sparks flying deep in her belly. He was everywhere, his presence so commanding she was almost disoriented by euphoria. She only fell back down to earth when she realized the comforting din she’d gotten used to had gone silent.

“Listen, H. It’s stopped raining.”

He silenced his mellow prattling and stood from the stool, making Y/N frown a little at the loss of touch. She watched him as he moved over to the window, resting his palms on the sill and peering through the glass at the beach. “Not for long. Look at the clouds.”

She followed his movements, wandering over to him and then tugging one of his arms off the sill. Craving his touch, she effortlessly wedged herself in between his body and the window—a move that would have made sober Harry a little flustered. But his fuzzy brain allowed him to relax into the feeling of her body against his. He lifted his arm to point at the second cluster of storm clouds approaching the beach from the horizon, in turn pressing his bicep to her shoulder.

“Hm,” Y/N surveyed the incoming clouds. “Maybe I should get home while it’s stopped. No one’s coming to the shop when ’s pouring out.”

“Yeh gonna ride your bike high?” Harry mused. “Don’tcha think that’s kinda unsafe?”

She didn’t think so, really. But she’d be lying if she said she didn’t want an excuse to hang out with Harry some more, especially now that they were standing way closer than necessary and she could once again feel his bare skin against hers. “I guess…” Y/N trailed off, distracted by the high coursing through her and the feeling of his arms around her. They were strong from years of propelling himself through the sea water, hot and tan from the hours spent in island sun.

“Fancy a dip to sober you up?”

She paused to ponder the offer, putting considerable effort into focusing on thinking rather than feeling his body. The water did look as inviting as ever now that the rain had let up—temporarily, at least.

“Okay.”

The words had barely left her mouth before Harry was moving eagerly away from her. Y/N stumbled out the door behind him, struggling to keep up while he excitedly meandered down the sand on unsteady legs. Halfway there, Y/N gave up on trying to catch up. She shed her board shorts and sandals right there on the sand, leaving her in her bikini top from earlier and matching bottoms. As she waded into the sea, part of her was regretting skipping the rash guard that morning as the salt water stung the reddening skin on her exposed stomach.

Harry was feeling a similar pain on his own bare abdomen, but he paid it no mind as he bounced through the white water. Instead he took in the twinkling sea and the early evening sunset, appreciating the way the pink clouds reflected in the water. It was so pretty, he thought, endorphins flooding his brain. Might be the prettiest fuckin’ sight I’ve ever seen…

Suddenly, Harry’s reverie was rudely interrupted by a cold blast of salt water slapping him on the back.

“What the fuck?!”

He whipped around and there she was, waist-deep with her cheeky smile and challenging eyes giving her away. Of course she was guilty, there was no one else in the goddamn lagoon five minutes before another torrential downpour. He inched toward her, impishly preparing his own counter attack. She was giggling profusely as she, too, moved backward as if she were his prey.

When she’d backed up to where it was too deep for her to stand, she squeaked and lifted her hands up in front of her face to protect herself. The water was up to her cheeks, flushed with heat, with elation, and alighted by the setting sun. Harry splashed her mercilessly, both giggling like children as her attempts to thwart his attack failed. His head was spinning, melodic laughter and splashes resonating between them. She flung her arms blindly in and out of the water as he moved closer and, foolishly, he underestimated the power of blind luck. Harry spluttered and spat as salt water landed directly in his open mouth. He swatted with his hands, whipping his soaking wet hair around before playfully glaring at her. She was squinting and rubbing the salt water out of her eyes, but she still wore that cheeky, challenging grin.

“Right, tha’s it. Yeh in for it now.” he howled at her. He reached out for her waist, intending to pick her up and throw her into the white water to wipe that stupid victorious smile off her face.

It didn’t work, but how could he be upset when he was faced with her pretty head popping up out of the white water, face lit up with pure happiness? When he was laughing along with her, his heart threatening to burst out of his chest, all with the stunning background of the most beautiful beach sunset he’d ever seen?

The sun had long set by the time they decided to call it quits. It was getting cold and, as expected, it was starting to drizzle again. They marched up the damp beach together, walking side by side with their shoes in their hands. Neither of them had bothered to bring a towel and the once pleasant island wind was now biting their wet skin. Y/N picked up her pace to warm her muscles and keep up with Harry, whose longer legs were trudging through the sand up toward the shop.

“It’s pretty late…” Harry drawled, craning his neck to observe the bright shining moon that had taken the sun’s place.

Y/N took a few seconds to reply, panting from the exertion. “Yeah.”

“And ’s raining again…”

“Mmhm.” Y/N stole a sideways glance at him. He was smiling, as per usual. And he had that playful glint in his eyes that she adored.

“…Aaaand I live just up there…” He swung his arms like a child as he walked beside her, causing one of his flip flops to repeatedly whack one of her sandals in her grasp.

Endeared, Y/N cracked a smile of her own. “Right…”

“Do you wanna maybe…”

She stopped marching then, as they reached the front of the store. She was hit with the sudden realization that part of her fantasy was becoming real. There was no work to be done at this hour, no Tyler to pull tank tops for, no interruptions. Only Harry, her favorite distraction.

Taken with his own thoughtful musing, Harry walked a few more steps before realizing Y/N had stopped. He turned around to face her, and even in the darkness she could see the flush in his cheeks.

“…spend the night at mine?”

~~~

Harry lived even closer to the beach than Y/N in an even tinier studio. Anne of course had a house a few miles into town that Harry frequented, but he was a grown man. It was more than enough to be working for his mum. As much as he adored her, he did not want to live with her.

His place very much resembled the shack they worked in from the outside. Inside he had four walls, a window, a bed in the middle, an armchair in the corner, and a hammock strung out on the porch. Y/N briefly imagined herself lounging in it, maybe sipping a mango smoothie. It would have been very pleasant if not for the fact that it was just exposed enough to be catching the rain water. A brilliant idea sparked in her brain, one she couldn’t ignore.

“I’m g’na sleep in the hammock,” she declared.

“Uh, fuck no yeh not.” Harry replied immediately, equally as firm.

“Yeah I am. It’ll be nice.”

He huffed, setting his backpack on the nightstand and cursing when it slid off. Y/N failed to fight back laughter as she watched him struggle to fit his bag next to the antiquated lamp on the side table. He swore again, finally deciding to push the lamp to the corner of the table and nearly breaking it in the process.

Having successfully removed his shoes, he sat gingerly on the bed and sighed. “But—but…” He paused, shaking his head and letting out a flustered half-laugh. “It’s wet!”

“So?” Y/N teased with a knowing grin, pleased that he’d taken the bait. All she really wanted to complete her real life daydream was to hear him request for her to sleep beside him.

“Do you know what my mother would do to me if she found out I let you sleep outside in a hammock in the fuckin’ rain?”

Oh she knew. Anne would lose her goddamn mind. As kind and gentle as she was, she demanded respectfulness and courtesy from her Harry. She wouldn’t hesitate to fire her own son for misbehaving, or at least withhold his paycheck for a few weeks.

“Fine,” she gave in with a sigh, leaning her back against the far wall, “you’re right.”

He perked up, turning around sharply to face her. “Sorry, what was tha’?”

Y/N rolled her eyes, already knowing what he was getting at. She ignored him and began undoing the clasps on her own sandals, refusing to repeat herself. Admitting he was right once was far more than enough to feed his already giant ego.

“You said I’m… what? Couldn’t hear you properly…” He had the upper hand now, and he knew it.

“Shut up, asshole.” She tossed her shoe at him, and to her delight, it landed directly on his sunburnt face. Y/N laughed loudly as he swatted the air and proceeded to rub his cheek, grimacing.

“That’s not wha’ you said, you little bitch,” He sent her a pointed smirk but didn’t retaliate, too busy tending to his own wounded skin.

Y/N gasped playfully, “What was that you called me?!” she dropped her jaw, committing to the melodrama of it all, “What would your sweet mother do if she were to find out you called me the b-word?”

With that, the ball was back in her court. Victory just within her grasp.

The light pain in Harry’s cheek had faded, but his pride was still feeling it a little. As his hand moved away from his face, Y/N caught a glimmer of mischief flicking in his eyes. “Don’t bring her into this,” he smiled, “she’s an innocent.”

“No one’s safe.” Y/N fired back immediately, a playful grin pulling at her own cheeks.

“Yeah, you’re definitely not safe,” he taunted. He hauled himself off the bed with intent to exact his revenge on her. She had a lot to be guilty of—the shoe incident, the splashing episode she started, the name-calling, the relentless teasing, and mostly the way she was looking at him right then, with fondness and...lust, unmistakable in her eyes, that was making him lose his mind.

He had her cornered against the far wall. Two hands went out to catch her bare waist and release his wrath on her in the form of tickles. Y/N laughed violently, squirming in his arms and yelping, “Stop it, Harry!” Lust clouded his own still foggy brain as he glanced downward, eyes trailing down her bikini-clad chest to her waist where he held her firmly against him.

Y/N caught him, of course. She was staring at him just as intently. As always, she was enchanted by how beautiful he was. His hair was still damp and she was close enough to see bits of sand hiding in the curls. He was grinning wildly, eyes crinkling, cheeks flushed red, teeth adorably poking his pink bottom lip.

Without warning, he ducked his head pressed his lips to hers. Shock melted away as his mouth molded to hers, igniting an inferno in the pit of her stomach. Likewise, flames of passion were roaring within Harry as desperation took over for rational thought. He kissed her with the same eagerness and intensity with which they both would dive into the ocean, head first with no hesitation. His tongue was salty and sweet against hers. He tasted faintly like the sea and weed and mangoes—everything Y/N loved.

Which made it all the more difficult to pull away.

“We should stop,” she sighed but continued to accept the hot pecks he was dotting on her cheek, her jaw, her neck.

“Why?” he muttered against her skin, pruned hands squeezing her waist tighter.

“Because, we’re all salty and gross…” she wrapped her arms around his neck, anchoring his supple lips at the nape of her neck and shivering at the feeling he gave her. His lips were hot on her skin, lighting a blissful trail of fire wherever they went.

“I don’t mind.”

The pelting rain outside sounded distant to her, like background noise against the vibrations of Harry’s husky voice.

“Well...I do. Besides, we should talk about…whatever this is…” Y/N trailed off, thoughts evaporating into feelings, words melting into breathy whines.

“Wha’s there to talk about?” He pulled away from her neck but she didn’t let him go far. She held his sunburnt cheeks in her palms and let their noses brush against each other as he declared, “’S very simple. You’re in love with me.”

Y/N’s eyes widened and she let out a joyful laugh. She pulled away a millimeter, letting the back of her head graze the wall behind her as she continued to softly, nervously laugh, “You’re crazy, Harry. I’m not in love with you.” The lie tasted salty on her lips, as if the universe did not want to let her forget how delectable his own tasted against hers. She let herself gaze into his eyes, helpless against such a force so far beyond her control.

“You’re lying. I can tell when you look at me like that.”

She was sure he could feel her heart racing in her chest as she let out a breathy sigh, “Like how?”

“Like yeh want me to tell you you’re pretty and then fuck yeh into tha’ bed you fought me over.”

He smirked evilly as he said it, loving the way she shivered in his arms. She whined against his skin, way past pretending his words didn’t affect her. She shut her eyes and pressed another deep, languid kiss to his reddening bottom lip, unable to resist. “And what makes you so sure that’s love, H?” she whispered against his mouth.

“You’re kissin’ me like you’re in love with me, you’re looking at me like you’re in love with me, so, says Occam’s razor, yeh must be in love with me.”

“When did you become a goddamn philosopher?”

“‘M fuckin’ baked, Y/N,” he laughed, his breath tickling her cupid’s bow. “But ‘m also right. Yeh said it yourself.”

“Bullshit, you peaked a while ago.”

“Maybe I’m just fuckin’ smart then, Miss not-so-subtle-at-changing-the-subject.”

“Fine,” she deadpanned. And after a deep inhale: “I love you.”

Her voice was even, but a tsunami of feelings crashed in Y/N’s chest as the words left her lips—relief, joy, adoration, love.

An easy, knowing smile graced Harry’s mouth. “Spectaculah. I love y—“

“No,” she interrupted him with a peck on the lips, “tell me in the morning…when you’re sober. Then…”

She felt the heat rise up her throat and a smile pull at her lips at the vivid images running through her mind. The soft rays of morning sunshine peeking through the window, the sound of waves crashing in the distance, Harry’s naked chest against hers, his mouth muttering sweet, filthy praises across her chest, her tummy, the insides of her thighs…

“Sure thing, my love,” Harry laughed lightly. He had a feeling he knew exactly what was going on behind her red-rimmed eyelids. His own imagination was conjuring up dirty images of himself buried between her legs, basking in her salty skin and breathy whines. But there were softer thoughts, too. Fantasies involving sweet kisses pressed to her lips and her cheeks and the dulcet melody of her laughter and the feeling of her soft hands on his face. He saw her face while she was riding the biggest wave of the morning—lit up with a huge smile and eyes twinkling with the ocean’s reflection in them. He envisioned her soft lips stained orange with mango juice. He saw her cheeky, joyous grin when he was splashing her against the powdery pink backdrop of the sun setting into the sea. The prettiest fuckin’ sight I’ve ever seen.

Come morning, the first thing she heard was the crashing of the waves and Harry’s raspy voice in her ear.

“I’m in love with you, too.”

thank you for reading <3

please tell me what you think! I’d love to hear from y’all :D

informal taglist, aka a lovely bean who requested to be tagged: @fortrapsandfordaphne

#harry styles writing #majorharry20k #harry styles x reader #harry styles fluff #harry styles smut #harry styles x y/n #harry styles imagine #surfer!harry

[awackyphdinadorkable]

Cherik Moodboard - Casino AU

As Sebastian Shaw’s security manager at the Hellfire Casino, Erik has seen people gamble their lives away for just another roll of the dice or because they foolishly believe that no one can beat the cards they have in hand. As a result, he never tries his luck with the slot machines or by playing poker. After all, Erik knows the house always wins.

When Azazel and the others inform him that they have taken someone who supposedly cheated at the poker table, Erik is shocked to see the one gambler he ever played against - and lost to - roughened up in the basement.

“Charles?”

Erik makes arrangements for the man’s release. After all, Charles broke no rules by using his innate abilities as a telepath against human scum. Things are only different once you bet among your own kind, the mutants. At least those are the rules in the Hellfire Casino. And Erik enforces those rules with the same iron-clad fist with which he can control metal.

Erik still can’t believe it, though. He thought he’d never see Charles again in a lifetime.

“Vice versa,” the telepath assures him as Erik takes him to his apartment to allow Charles to clean himself up after Azazel and the rest went a bit too roughly on him for supposed cheating. But leave it to Charles to “forget” to tell them that he is a telepath and sport that ridiculous smile even with a split lip.

They met about five years ago, at some bar downtown. Erik only ever went there to get away from Shaw for a while, after the two winded up with an argument about how to handle the “mutant question”. And out of nowhere, Charles sat down next to him and wanted to convince Erik to buy him a drink. And that even though Erik made it very clear that he was not searching for company of whatever kind. But Charles kept at it, arguing about how this was his first time in the city, “finally free, for a couple of days” and how he wanted the “whole experience”.

Long story short, Erik didn’t wake up in his apartment the next morning, and he was not alone in bed. Because apparently, he dared to gamble, and of course, he lost to a gambler. You always lose when it comes to gamblers, one of the first rules you learn in the business, and yet, Erik forgot it when he looked into those big blue eyes, full of hope.

It was a blissful time, against all odds. Room service, playing chess, talking about everything and nothing, and enjoying a seemingly endless appetite for one another over and over again. Charles fascinated him in ways Erik couldn’t put into words even now. There was something mysterious about him, just like it is now. The perfect poker face.

The only thing Erik knows about Charles is his dream and how it came into existence. Charles told him that much the morning he woke up, sitting on the window sill, watching the lights of the casinos fade in the light of dawn. Charles started playing poker “professionally” when he was still a child. He helped his stepfather keep the family estate. Because Kurt Marko was about as good at playing poker as he was raising his son and his stepson. Young Charles had spent numerous nights in the room next to where his stepfather invited wealthy businessmen to gamble with him, forced to look into their minds and learn the game. Charles only ever planted the “inspiration” for his stepfather to raise the stakes or fold, but never told him that he was silently watching on with his telepathy.

“I wouldn’t have wanted him to know that there was a sure way to win. Or else he would have kept at it even more.”

When Kurt Marko passed away, Charles hoped he’d finally gained his freedom, but no such luck. His stepbrother had since learned of his abilities and just raised the stakes. As the oldest, he was in charge, and Charles would only inherit once he was 21. And so, Charles was forced to play along, continue the game without a chance to fold and start over new. That was when he got dragged to the casinos by his older brother, or rather, to tell him what to do, sitting behind the dumpsters while Cain pretended to be the ace at the poker table.

The night he and Erik ended up in bed together was the time Charles ran away from home. Because his brother got an “inspiration” to pursue his dream of becoming a soldier and join the military. Charles just wanted to wait until Cain was gone, so he wouldn’t have a chance to put the family estate on the line at a last round of poker, as he had threatened to do if Charles did not oblige.

“He wanted to go to the military long before he started gambling. It’s merely a push. At least that’s the more comforting thing to think… that we both will be free afterwards.”

Charles came to the city to get a bit of starter money and then pick up his education again. Genetics, Erik learned, because “mutations are groovy”, apparently. Thus, the trip to the city was a way of saying goodbye for Charles. And so, when Erik and he left the hotel room later on, they understood that it was not just a goodbye to the city but to each other as well.

But now, five years later, Charles is back at gambling - and Erik can’t understand why. He thought Charles wanted to make something out of himself, become a teacher, do some good in the world. And yet, here he is, sold on the belief that he can win against the house. Shaw’s house, no less.

“Why are you back, Charles?”

“It’s a free country, you know?”

Still that same smile, still that same attitude. Erik knows he shouldn’t be surprised, but he is shocked. He thought that given the chance, Charles would be smart enough not to try bet away his freedom again.

“I mean it,” Erik insists. It’s not like they are a couple or anything. They winded up having sex - lots of sex - over a weekend five years ago. Erik knows Charles doesn’t owe him explanation the same way he knows it’s not his place to lecture him. And yet, he can’t help himself. Because no small part of him had hoped that Charles would gain his freedom and would keep it.

But it seems that the game’s already swallowed him and Erik just didn’t see the signs.

“I mean it, too, Erik. You of all people should know what a gambler would do in the city this time of the year.”

“You want to take part in Shaw’s tournament.”

Charles just laughs at him, brighter than he should after delivering such news. “And we have a winner!”

Erik can’t understand any of this. Charles is so clever, so kind-hearted, and yet, he sounds like one of the gamblers he watches throwing their lives away as they roll the dice, day in, day out.

Even the short time with him five years ago assured Erik that Charles was an inherently good person, which is rare enough, especially in this kind of domain. While Charles has a wicked side to him, his intentions always come from a good place. At least that was the impression Erik was most sure of by the time they bid farewell. A telepath who spends a weekend with a stranger, for casual sex only, only to then hold the stranger close as he cries for the mother and father he lost, though he didn’t allow those tears for so many years? Such a man can’t be a bad person, can he?

And even if not, Charles is clever. And so he should know that there is no way he can win a tournament in the Hellfire Casino, even less so when Sebastian Shaw himself is playing. Charles won those games because he was playing against humans, people without telepathy. Which makes it not that much of a great gamble beside the danger of being discovered. But things are different from Shaw’s internal tournaments, hosted specifically for mutants and thus adapted to “make them all equal” at the table.

But Charles doesn’t seem to care much, no matter what Erik tells him.

“I thought you wanted to finish up school and become a teacher.”

Charles shrugs. “Been there, done that. You can call me Professor, by the way.”

“Then why would you be here for Shaw’s tournament? If you have your professorship, if you are a teacher?” Erik demands to know. “I thought that was your dream.”

“Dreams change.”

“When did yours change?” Erik wants to know.

Charles just smlies at him, brighter than he should have any business smiling. “Isn’t that obvious? The day I met you, of course.”

“What did that change?”

“Wrong question. Who changed my dream is the appropriate question,” Charles lectures him. “and the answer to that is just as simple: You.”

“Me?”

“Before I met you, I thought I was the only one, I told you. Don’t you remember? I thought I was the only one with such abilities. The dream I had before, of teaching, getting out gambling, it was just about my life, but after I realized that there is people like us out there… I had to raise the stakes. I want to build a school for the likes of us. To train together, grow together. But you know how it is… dreams cost money.”

Erik still tries to wrap his head around what he is hearing. “I thought you prevented Cain from gambling the estate away.”

“I did, but it turned out that Kurt initially used the money out of my inheritance to gamble with his friends. Some loophole in the contract. And he went to their places, so I didn’t know. It was never on his mind. He didn’t care. By the time I wanted to open up the treasure chest, there was a big nothing in there. I have the estate, but I have no means to make it a school. And for what I have in mind, I don’t get federal funding. So… I have to get the money somehow.”

“And so you think winning it by gamble is the honorable solution?”

“In my experience, the people running casinos are no angels. And even if they weren’t… I’d find it about just right that somoene like Sebastian Shaw would come to fund my school. After all, he is such big talk about the mutant question, right?”

“Shaw’s rules will make it impossible for you to use your telepathy. He’s never lost in his entire life,” Erik warns him.

“Well, he will lose to me. It will be a valuable lesson to him.”

“Charles.”

“And it may be one for you as well.”

Erik frowns. “What now?”

“Shaw is not invincible. Even if he likens himself to be one, he is not a god. His opinions are not absoulte. What he thinks about mutantkind doesn’t have to be absolute either. And if you asked me, there is more than just one shady thing about a man who keeps a telepath in his company but is too afraid to take off his helmet in the presence of one. I told you as much already five years ago. It seems I failed to teach you that lesson back then.”

“That man took me in. He raised me as his own son after my mom died. He made me his right-hand man. He gave me a purpose.”

“When it comes to Shaw, you have a perfect poker face, because you believe in the cards Shaw handed to you all those years ago. But once you are ready, open your eyes and think deep if those cards are not biased in any way.”

“Shaw would never…”

“Wouldn’t he? You know, you say that about a guy who runs a casino.”

“And you are a gambler,” Erik scoffs.

“And you are worth more than being some lackey to watch the security cameras for a guy whose only intentions are power and more power, with his means of acquiring it being money and more money.”

“And you just want money.”

“I want money to build a future. Shaw wants money to destroy one,” Charles tells him. “And even if all of that were untrue, you can trust me on that one thing, gambler now or not.”

“Which would be?”

“I am here not just for my dream, I am here for yours, too. So you may choose your own future instead of just following Shaw’s lead. It’s a free country, I told you. I will show you. Because I am a gambler at heart.”

Charles excuses himself shortly thereafter and is gone before Erik can come up with a great rebuttal. What’s it to him anyway? Fine, the two were involved for a short amount of time, and Charles was on his mind more than any other fling he’s ever had since, but Erik knows he can rely on Shaw. That man was him like a father. And even if he does not always agree with the methods, Erik knows Shaw is right about how mutants are superior and have to fight for it.

Much to his dismay, Charles winds up at the tournament despite his warnings, full of himself and absolutely sure that even Sebastian Shaw can’t beat him, even as they put the collar on him to supress his telepathy, even as he sits down at the poker table with the likes he wanted to get away from as he watched dawn wash over the city lights five years ago.

To his credit, Charles keeps winning the first rounds. No less did he expect. Charles spent more time in casinos than most men twice his age have in their entire lives. For better or worse, Charles has played poker for almost all of his lifes, trying to beat the odds. Erik just cannot understand why Charles chose this tournament, why he chose such a risky game. There are other tournaments, against humans, that he could have won in a landslide.

Instead, he is here, back in the city, his eyes always set on the man sitting next to Erik, watching, laughing, enjoying himself, Sebastian Shaw. The man who saved him, the man who gave him purpose, who handed him a deck of cards and told him to shuffle.

For so many years, Erik watched people gamble, gamble their lives away. And so he knows they aren’t to be trusted. People who have something worth keeping shouldn’t be that foolish to give it all away. If it’s worth keeping, you’d have no reason to put it on the line. It should be enough.

Then why does he want to trust the gambler smugly grinning at him whenever he wins another round, gets one step closer to Shaw’s table? And why do Shaw’s words suddenly sound so different in his ears, when he was so sure that they were the groundwork not just for his future but that of mutantkind?

Why does he want Charles to win? After all, Erik knows that the house always wins. The odd thing though is that Erik is suddenly no longer sure whether he wants the house to win…

#cherik #charles x erik #cherik au #moodboard #aesthetic #cherik moodboard #cherik aesthetic #charles xavier x erik lehnsherr #charles xavier #erik lehnsherr #fanfic #in smol

[zaffrenotes]

[TRR x ES] Viewing Party

Book: The Royal Romance & Endless Summer Pairings: Liam x MC (Katrina Bailey), Drake x OC (Alyssa Devereaux), Jake x MC (Laurel) Rating/Warnings: G; mild innuendo Author’s Note: * All main characters belong to Pixelberry, I’m just borrowing them * Katrina Bailey & Laurel are the MCs I use when writing fanfic for TRR and ES, respectively; Alyssa Devereaux belongs to birthday girl @burnsoslow​ * This is my submission for @wackydrabbles​​ Prompt 80: Stop looking at me like that. * Author’s Note 2: * This is a birthday gift for my cheesy, potato loving homegirl Burnsie, who requested her very first Endless Summer/Jake fic, despite having never read any ES fic until now 🙈 for the sole reason being that she and Jake McKenzie are almost birthday twins, and my favorite pilot turns 30 this year. If you’re unfamiliar with canon ES trivia, Jake can hold his breath for 9 minutes, and Estela can hold her breath for an astonishing 14. This isn’t entirely what I had in mind when I set out to write an ES/Jake birthday fic, but I wasn’t about to miss your day because I’ve hit a whole ass writer’s wall, Burnsie! I hope you have an AMAZING day and I’m sending you so many hugs! You’re one of the sweetest ladies here, and I am so very thankful that I can call you a friend 🥰 also my real, real gift to you is coming at a later date, as I still have to work on it 😬 * and yes, that’s DDT in the moodboard - just for Burnsie, again - since I use Barnes as Drake’s FC in my TRR fics, lol * Word Count: 2000 on the dot!

It was nearly 10:00 PM on Friday evening, when Burns arranged things around the comfiest chair in her living room. The rest of her family already retired for the evening, after a small but wonderful birthday celebration in her honor at home. Within easy reach, she’d arranged drinks and snacks next to her laptop - a glass of water, a hot mug of tea, a slice of homemade birthday cake to take care of any sugar cravings, and a small platter of cheese and crackers for something more savory. She grinned softly at the newest addition to her mug collection, watching the steam rise from the contents within. 

The lavender mug arrived in the mail earlier that day from one of her friends, emblazoned with a quote from David Rose. Burns took a sip of the warm beverage before setting it down on the small side table and situated herself in the chair. She flipped open the laptop and pulled up a browser window, smiling at a gift from another friend - there was a sticker next to the trackpad with a drawing of a wedge of Swiss, quoting another memorable line from Schitt’s Creek, reminding her to “fold in the cheese.” Burns glanced to the time on the screen and logged in to her Netflix account, clicking until she arrived at the viewing party, and began typing to join the group chat. 

She was greeted with jubilant messages from Donna, Ella, Brandy, Anitah, and half a dozen other friends, wishing her a happy birthday before the show started. They’d formed an ever-growing viewing party for a new series titled Stranded in the Orchard, which was an odd amalgamation of Survivor and Gilligan’s Island. Taking a cue from reality tv competitions, there were hidden cameras all over the island to monitor everyone and reduce production crew intervention, and in a nod to Hunger Games, there was an omnipresent host that would drop messages to signal when challenges were about to take place. After four episodes, the ladies in the watching party started picking their favorites from the two teams. 

Team Ruby consisted of a group that appeared to have been shipwrecked onto the island. Leo was dubbed The Rogue; his brother Liam was The CEO; Katrina was The Attorney; Alyssa was The Teacher; Drake was The Cowboy; Olivia was The Weapons Expert; Bertrand was The Grump; Madeleine was The Whiner; Maxwell was Bertrand’s brother and The Jester; Hana was The Jill of All Trades. Bertrand and Madeleine had already been voted off when Ruby lost two events. 

Team Catalyst consisted of a group of mostly college students. Jake was The Pilot; Laurel was The Mystery Girl; Sean was The Coach; Michelle was The Doctor, even though she was only pre-med; Craig was The Muscle; Zahra was The Engineer; Aleister was The Slick One; Grace was The Brain; Diego was The Entertainer; Estela was The Huntress. Catalyst lost the last two events, which sent Aleister and Grace packing. 

Everyone settled in to watch the opening credits as they recapped last week’s episode, where Ruby won the immunity challenge and fishing gear by building a makeshift stretcher to rescue and carry Katrina from a jungle crash site to a first aid station on the beach; Catalyst voted Grace out. Burns popped a cheese cube into her mouth as she and her friends watched the two groups deal with day-to-day chores in their respective camps on Day 14 of the show. They chatted about the team members and how much Burns wanted to see Drake take off his shirt to go in the water, despite the knowledge that there were clips of him cuddling with Alyssa; Donna, Ella, and Anitah would keysmash in the group chat any time Liam appeared on the screen, even though he and Katrina were clearly sweet on each other, while Brandy and Alyssa Lauren would ask what was happening or who someone was from the Catalyst team.

—

“Pillows and blankets are nice, but what we could really use is food,” Maxwell said, drawing an octopus in the sand with a piece of driftwood. “I don’t know how much longer I can last on coconuts and rice.” 

“Liam and Drake took the raft out this morning to try fishing with the gear, maybe they’ll get lucky,” Katrina suggested, stirring the pot of rice in the fire. She set the lid on top and stood up from her kimchi squat position, dusting some errant sand off her leg. They both looked out towards the water, as dawn stretched out across the ocean, making out shadowy forms of their friends as they bobbed in the water, just before one of them went under the surface. Behind them, the rest of their friends began to stir awake from the scent of rice cooking. 

Back at the Catalyst camp, Jake sat by the campfire with Estela; they were working on making their own fishing gear from bamboo and camp supplies after losing the previous challenge. Jake fed a length of twine through a handmade fishing pole while Estela sharpened tips on one end of a pile of branches she’d gathered. “Whatcha whittlin’, Katniss?” 

Estela glanced at Jake sideways. “Stakes. Hand over some of that twine, I need it to bind these to make spears.” With a begrudging huff, Jake unfurled the twine and ran it against the edge of the makeshift bench he was sitting on to cut it, before tossing the rest at Estela. 

“How fast can you tie those off? We’re losin’ daylight for a morning catch, if you wanna ride on the raft with me.” 

“Five minutes,” she answered, already working nimbly around a branch to secure the whittled spikes. 

The screen cut back to Ruby’s camp, where Liam and Drake stepped ashore, smiles brighter than the sunrise as Drake held up a fish trap with small rays flapping against one another. 

—

“kjsdhfksjhfksjhfks,” Burns smashed into her keyboard. “Look at my man! With the sea bounty!” 

“mevmnbvmnxb,” Ella smashed back.

“How do you know Drake did all the work? Liam’s just as wet, hahaha,” Donna chortled in response.

—

After killing their catch as humanely as possible - with Alyssa turning her face to Drake’s chest to avoid witnessing it - Leo and Olivia gutted and cleaned the rays before setting them on top of their makeshift grill to cook. Liam and Drake regaled the group with their morning under the water, as they took turns fishing. 

While Team Ruby enjoyed some protein with their rice that morning, members of the Catalyst team glumly spooned rice into their mouths as they sat around the campfire while Jake and Estela dried off; their morning fishing trip had been unsuccessful. 

Later that day, both teams received messages from the host to gather for a reward challenge. Each team made their way to a small lagoon, where they saw a structure floating in the water. A booming voice overhead instructed them to swim out to the structure and await further instructions. Once everyone from both teams had done so, a blue holographic image of the host appeared in the center to explain the rules. “The challenge is simple,” she narrated. “We want to see who can hold their breath the longest. There’s a bar you can use to keep yourself from floating up if you need it. Last one standing earns the prize for the whole team — an overnight trip at the Celestial Hotel, where our rotating film crew goes to rest. You’ll be treated to clean sheets and towels, hot showers, along with a decadent dinner and breakfast menu the next morning, before having to return to your camp.” 

Everyone’s eyes lit up at the incentive of a night away from sleeping on the beach, away from mosquitos, rodents, and the threat of being waterlogged by passing storms. Stomachs gurgled at the thought of hot meals that didn’t consist of rice, and the possibility of cocktails or wine. “Oh, we got this,” Jake murmured quietly to Laurel. “Bet I can hold my breath longer’n any of those Ruby kids.” 

“Is that so?” Leo taunted, overhearing Jake’s comment.

“Just call me Poseidon,” Jake smirked. 

“We’ll see about that,” Leo replied. “You know most of us are from an island, right? We’re basically merpeople.” 

—

“Bets! Bets on who wins this!” Brandy typed into the chat window.

“Sticking with Drake,” Burns typed. “Maybe Hana. She could have another random talent up her sleeve.” 

“My money’s on Liam. Look how broad his chest is,” Anya replied. “He’s got to have massive lungs to match.”

“That makes no sense,” Ella typed, adding a laughing emoji. “But I’m Team Liam anyway.”

“Don’t hate me,” Donna began. “Something tells me Jake isn’t boasting right now.” 

From her screen at home, Alyssa Lauren used Eeny, Meeny, Miny, Moe to choose Zahra. The rest of the group picked their favorites as the castaways donned goggles and got into the water. 

—

“Ready? Set! Go!” 

Sixteen heads dipped under the water’s surface, with contestants pinching their noses and puffing out their cheeks as an underwater camera filmed them. A handful of them - Olivia, Alyssa, Maxwell, Diego, and Michelle - tapped out under a minute. As the sand settled, thirty seconds passed before Katrina, Laurel, Sean, and Drake headed to the surface. Just after the two minute mark, Hana, Craig, and Zahra gave up, leaving Jake, Liam, Estela, and Leo under the water. 

Jake looked positively peaceful, sandy brown hair swaying with ease in the water. Estela tapped her fingers lightly across the bamboo rod, counting each second as it passed. Liam glanced over to his brother, who’d begun to turn pink. Half a minute later, Leo popped up to the surface, muttering to himself out of frustration. 

Three minutes in, Liam surfaced, gasping for air, leaving Jake and Estela to battle it out between themselves. Even though the hologram host blasted a horn to signal the end of the challenge, neither Catalyst member surfaced. Liam ducked down to check on them, and Jake and Estela both signaled that they were fine. Everyone continued to wait as the pair spent minute after minute under the water.

—

“Seriously? They’re on the same team!” Anitah typed. “They won already!” 

“They’ve been underwater for a scary length of time,” Brandy added. “What are they, Navy SEALs or something?” 

“I think Jake mentioned he was actually in the Navy before,” Alyssa Lauren replied. 

—

A digital clock appeared in the corner of the screen as the two Catalyst members continued to hold their breath underwater. With each passing minute, members from both groups began to worry. After eight minutes passed, the host’s voice rang out, advising them to pull Jake and Estela up from the water to end the challenge. Laurel and Craig ducked down, eventually pulling their teammates up. “Congratulations to The Catalysts!” the host exclaimed. “A boat will be waiting at your camp to take you to the hotel.” 

Laurel swatted Jake’s arm as they made their way to the shore. “What’s wrong with you!? You were underwater for nearly ten minutes! Who does that!?” 

Jake looked over his shoulder to her with a grin, mischievous sparkle in his bright blue eyes. “Ten would be a new record, my best is nine.” He leaned down to whisper in her ear. “Imagine nine uninterrupted minutes of me holding my breath, Princess. My birthday is tomorrow, and I know exactly how I wanna celebrate,” he winked.  

Laurel’s cheeks flushed at the suggestion. “Stop looking at me like that, Top Gun.”

—

That evening at the hotel, after a sumptuous feast of lobster, crab, and an endless supply of beer and wine, the Catalyst members eventually went to bed. Much later into the night, Jake was seen sneaking into Laurel’s room. 

—

“I KNEW IT!” Burns typed. She laughed as her friends typed in responses full of lemon, fire, pepper, and eggplant emojis. She popped another cheese cube into her mouth and smiled, watching the rest of the episode play out.

#the royal romance fanfic #endless summer fanfic #choices the royal romance #choices endless summer #liam x mc #liam x trina #drake x alyssa #jake x mc #choices crossover fanfic #wacky drabbles #survivor au #happy birthday Burnsie #birthday fanfic #zaffrenotes writes #there was an attempt #this is not what I planned #lol but I am out of time and don't have it in me to scrap what I've written #🙈 I watched an entire season of Survivor for like...3 scenes to add to the fic

[kpopfanfictrash]

Darkmist (M)

Author: @kpopfanfictrash​ as part of the  Deadly Intentions collaboration with @underthejoon​​ @lamourche​ @floralseokjin​ @prolixitae​ @btssmutgalore​ and @taetaetrashhh​ 

Creative Contributor: @taetaetrashhh for organizing the collab and this wonderful moodboard!

Pairing: Yoongi / Reader (third person)

Genre: Hellhound!Yoongi / Magical!Reader / High Fantasy

Word Count: 30,868

Rating/Warnings: 18+ for mature themes and sexual content. Character death depicted (not main). Violence depicted in both fight scenes and flashbacks. Unprotected sex. 

Summary:  Y/N has always known she was different. A ward in a city where all know their name. A girl apprenticed to a blacksmith. And a shadow-singer –  a magical being who controls the night and sees all within. Even those who would prefer not to be seen.

A/N: There is some Welsh mythology referenced to within the fic, but it is by no means canon.  [ CROSS-POSTED TO WATTPAD HERE ]

In the lone dark of night, a rooster crows to the dawn.

Y/N stirs, warm beneath bedcovers in the tiniest room of Tywll’s only tavern. Her mattress sinks under her weight, holding her equally captive as her dreams. Fingers curling into blankets, she burrows even deeper to feign sleep.

The darkness wraps around her lovingly, as one would a friend. For a moment, she nearly sinks back into sleep, but no – her eyes open.

The rooster does not crow a second time. If Y/N does not wake now, she will miss opening the forge for the day. Gritting her teeth, Y/N swings first one leg, then the other from bed. The floor beneath her feet is freezing, the last dregs of summer but a vague, distant memory.

As she fumbles about for a match, Y/N’s eyes grow accustomed to the dimness. This happens easily for her, just as it is unusually difficult for her to light her lamp. When it finally works, catching beneath her, Y/N exhales in triumph.

Stretching both arms overhead, she walks to her wardrobe and examines her the clothing. Few are suitable for work in the forge. As a fifth-year apprentice of Owen, the town’s blacksmith, Y/N is well-accustomed to the demands of her job. She is also accustomed to returning with singed hair and burnt clothing, which makes her options somewhat limited out of necessity.

Not that her belongings are much to speak of, regardless. As the orphaned ward of Mervin and Rian Talog, Y/N lives a simple life in their tavern. In the morning, she wakes and travels to the forge. In the evening, she returns home to assist as a barmaid. Her life is straightforward, if somewhat unconventional.

At least, it is unconventional in the eyes of the town. For Y/N to be a girl, unmarried and sweating away in a man’s field – well, some see it as close to near sanctimonious. Luckily, Mervin and Rian have never been of that mindset and are not much for gossip.

Still, Y/N cannot deny her time is running out. As soon as her apprenticeship finishes and Owen declares her his successor, she intends to leave and open her own shop. The thought makes her feel somewhat empty though, as if there should be more, but Y/N usually pushes such emotions aside.

Her kind often feel empty.

Straightening, Y/N surveys herself in the mirror. Her leather work apron stays at the forge every night, so for now she dresses in a plain tunic and leather pants borrowed from Mervin. There is no seamstress in town willing to make them for women. Turning swiftly, Y/N grabs her cloak from her chair and blows out the lamp.

The night is not as dark as before.

It is not yet day, though – the sun still hesitates below the horizon. At the edge of earth, the sky lightens a touch, but there is still a half-hour before the sun comes into view.

Exiting her rooms, Y/N stares at the night before climbing downstairs. Her bedroom is the only one at the top of the tavern. When she was younger, she liked to pretend her rooms were a tower – the most luxurious in the town, envied by all. As she grew older though, Y/N ceased in her thinking and saw her rooms for what they were.

Four flights of stairs, and quarters which nobody wants.

Still, the room holds a certain magic to her still. Hand skimming over the banister as she descends, Y/N fastens her cloak upon entering the kitchen.

Mervin sits at the worn wooden table, bent over a pile of books with his spectacles. Rian is behind him, bent over the heat of the fire. Pushing hair back from her face, she frowns at the flames and critiques its temperature.

Y/N nearly smiles, recognizing this stance from the forge. One might not imagine cooking and metalwork to be similar but oddly enough, they involve the same concepts.

When she enters, Mervin looks up. “Morning,” he greets, smiling faintly.

Y/N nods, glancing at Rian. “Morning,” she says, smiling back.

Rian waves a spatula, then continues to stir. “Should I add sage?” She cranes her neck to look at them both. “Or would that be too savory?”

“Never.” Mervin drops a wink at Y/N. “Hard to imagine your cooking could take a wrong turn.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere.”

“It’s not flattery if it’s the truth,” protests Mervin.

Rian gives him a look. “And lies will send you to the wrong part of Annwn.”

Annwn – or, the Otherworld. It is the duty of all in their town, their province, their world to live a full, productive life and pass on in peace. The summation of decisions a person makes in their life will determine where one goes in the next – when they arrive in Annwn.

Mervin chuckles and returns to his ledger. “Why ask my opinion at all? Add salt instead.”

Rian nods, already reaching out for the canister. Y/N smiles, gripping her cloak tighter as she moves towards the door. The tavern is already busy – she can hear guests through the door, chatting and laughing. Y/N has no desire to see them this morning though, so she purposefully leaves out the back door.

When Y/N was twelve, she was already at work in the evenings. She helped when she could, clearing dishes from tables and washing them inside the kitchen. It was not unusual for those her age to work, but most had jobs which did not involve the town drinking.

People say many things when they are drunk; things they otherwise would not say to one’s face. One night in particular stands out in Y/N’s memory – the night she learned what the town thought of her situation. Or, most of them, anyways.

The town drunk – Trevor – brought this to her attention. To be fair, he did not know she was standing there. Did not bother to look over his shoulder and check if she could hear; he merely guffawed at a joke and barreled on with his story.

“Poor Mervin didn’t know what to do with himself, eh?” he roared, slamming beer down on the table.

Y/N flinched when ale flew over the top. She would be the one cleaning it up later.

“It was a late October morning – misty as Annwn, mind you! Mervin goes out early-like.” Trevor leaned in, cheeks ruddy with ale. “He goes to set out the milk bottles and there – on the doorstep! – was a baby. A baby!” he said to uproarious laughter. “Imagine, Mervin with his spectacles an’ whatnot, finding a child!”

Y/N did not see what was so funny about the matter.

She was twelve at the time, not stupid. She saw how the other villagers treated her, how they treated her family. Y/N knew they were different. Most of the men in Tywll were loud, boisterous creatures who frequented their inn – or, they frequented their tavern, at least. From what Y/N could see, they spoke much, complained often and solved very little.

Whereas, Mervin was magic. Not true magic – not the magic which makes villagers light pitchforks, chase down demons and witches at night. No, Mervin was magic in that he could change things. Armed with books and his numbers – admittedly, these seemed like magic to most – he created wealth for the town in the oddest of ways.

This made people regard him warily though, which Y/N did not understand.

On the night in question, Trevor was in an uproar. “Rian did the convincing,” he said, wiping his mouth with one hand. “Mervin took ‘er in, wanted to find a home but Rian put her foot down. Said it would stay with them.”

Hearing this information, Y/N’s eyes widened. “Is that true?” she asked, over the din of the crowd.

Before that night, Y/N had always thought Rian did not like her much. Y/N mistook her gruffness for anger, when in reality Rian was simply not prone to fits of emotion. She did not love magic or fairytales, but she did love Y/N.

Trevor’s back stiffened, hearing her voice. The rest of his table saw Y/N standing there and were suitably embarrassed by the turn of events – except for Trevor himself, who slowly turned in his seat.

“Go on,” he insisted, gaze clouded with drink. “Out with you, now! This place isn’t fit for a child.”

Y/N’s lower lip trembled and she turned around to flee, moving as fast as her legs would allow. It was Rian who found her later on in the pantry; she was the one who knew all her hiding spots. She did not say a word about the incident but gave Y/N a warm cup of tea and for the next month, Trevor was banned from the inn.

When he could return, Rian warned Y/N not to listen to nonsense. This was something Rian said often, and something she said even more to Y/N. Do not listen to nonsense, do not believe in fairytales. Do not search for saviors, magic, or destiny. Do not place faith in the books by her bed, since faith belongs to the gods alone.

Y/N would nod and pretend she understood – until Mervin would sneak in at bedtime to read another story. Their lives worked in this manner. Their family worked in this way, happy in the most unconventional of ways.

Waving at them, Y/N slips out the door. As it falls shut behind her, she looks up at the sky.

The first rays of dawn are slipping over the horizon – not enough to banish the mist, but enough for her to see by. Setting off down the lane, Y/N hums to herself. Tywll is a small town, tiny enough that there is only one road. Still, travelers come often from all parts of the province – it fuels their economy and makes them rarely want for anything.

Y/N’s shadow is cast as she walks, scrunching and stretching over muddied dips in the road. It rained all last night, making Y/N’s feet sink as she walks. Unfortunate, since she has only one pair of work boots.

It took Y/N a month to convince Owen to be his apprentice. It took longer to raise the necessary money for a leather apron and boots. Y/N is rather old to still be an apprentice; nearly twenty and still, she is in her fifth year. At least she is close to finishing, though. Y/N is a fast learner and, given a few more months, she hopes to be able to produce a piece to Owen’s satisfaction.

Luckily, Owen is not one of the many in town who refuse Y/N due to her gender. The main reason he balked was due to the cost of having an apprentice. The effort of slowing down to teach is enormous – although Y/N hopes she has more than made up for this cost over the years.

Ducking her head, Y/N continues on down the lane. She is lucky to have so many sources of happiness. Mervin and Rian care for her as their own. Owen, a blacksmith, is willing to teach her his craft. Truly, it is more than any one woman can hope for – which is why Y/N feels guilty to admit she is lonely.

Outside of the aforementioned people, not many in Tywll enjoy Y/N’s presence. Oh, they tolerate her. Most of them purchase her wares as a blacksmith, accept her ale in the tavern, but Y/N has always been considered an outsider.

She was not born here and so, will never belong.

Of the few who are kind, the only one nearing her age is Gwen – Owen’s daughter. He is a single father, if a doting one and Y/N has never cared to ask for the details. Anytime Gwen’s mother is mentioned, Gwen hastily interrupts with her skilled art of small talk.

Nearing a bend in the road, Y/N adjusts her cloak to glance over her shoulder. The mist in this part is thicker than normal, never fully dissipating even when the sun is high overhead. Tearing her gaze from the shadows, she looks ahead – and freezes.

A pair of red, glowing eyes stare back from the darkness.

There is no one else in the square.

Or, this is what Y/N thought when she entered – the pair of glowing, red eyes seems in direct contradiction to this. Darkness writhes around them, attempting to solidify but before this can happen, Y/N spins around on her heel. Grasping her cloak, she rushes out of the road.

Heart pounding, she darts down the alley which leads to the forge. Not daring to glance over her shoulder, Y/N listens for footsteps which follow, but hears none.

If Y/N has learned anything from her fairytales, it is nothing good comes from a Grim. Grims are hound-like demons who lurk in the shadows, warning of nothing but death and despair. Sometimes, their meaning is even more sinister. Sometimes, Grims are the Cŵn Annwn themselves – the feared hellhounds of Annwn who answer to none but Lord Arawn, ruler of the Otherworld.

The Cŵn Annwn have one job. Find souls which belong in the Otherworld and bring them to their desired location – often painfully, and in the basest way possible.

Fighting a shiver, Y/N continues her journey. As she walks, she almost manages to convince herself it was nothing. It was likely only a dog in the shadows. The red glow probably came from the sunrise. Rian is right – Y/N’s imagination is far too active, drawing conclusions which make zero sense.

Except – she has this feeling in her blood, a singing in her bones. Heat stirs within her, as though seeking an unanswered call.

Ignoring all this, Y/N steps into the yard of the forge. Determinedly, she closes the gate behind her. Gwen looks up at the sound, ceasing her sweeping to give Y/N a wave. Switching her broom to one hand, she fixes her hair clip with the other – a silver and jade pendent Owen bought her last Yuletide.

Seeing her there, Y/N slowly relaxes. Nothing bad can happen in the presence of someone like Gwen. Lovely, serene and admired by all, Gwen is the pride and joy of Tywll. Y/N cannot even dislike her for this, though – Gwen is every bit as kind as she is beautiful.

“Hello, Y/N!” she calls out, smiling brightly. “Lovely weather compared to yesterday, no?”

Y/N shields her face as she walks, blocking the sun which breaks over the horizon. Elongated shadows stretch towards her, the longest they will be until the sun sets again. Y/N smiles, moving to answer when a dissonant crack sounds from above.

Both Y/N and Gwen look up, startled when a branch breaks loose from the tree.

Gwen’s lips part, about to scream but before she can, Y/N jumps into action. She moves without thought, throwing herself forward and wrenching power within. The branch veers off-course, smashing into the window – narrowly avoiding the door where Gwen stands.

Staggering backwards, Gwen drops the broom she was holding.

The window lies in shattered pieces, all over the lawn and the branch sticks grotesquely out of the house. Gwen stares for a moment before whimpering, tremblingly pressing a hand to her mouth – the window could have easily been her.  

Owen appears then, hurtling head-long around the side of the building. He must have been in the forge, since he still wears his apron, only one of his work gloves discarded.

Skidding to a stop, he sees the chaos before him. “What happened?” he blurts. Gwen still has not moved, standing before the doorway. “What happened – are you hurt, Gwen?”

Gwen shakes her head, hair escaping her clip.

She points – finger passing briefly over Y/N – to land on the tree overhead. “It was the branch!” she gasps, eyes wide. “It broke off from the tree and hit the window right next to me!”

Rushing forward, Owen barely notices the glass crunching beneath his feet. Y/N sags, relieved by their distraction but neither one of them notices, too consumed by their relief.

“Gods,” Owen gasps, coming to a stop. He removes his hat, making a hurried gesture over his heart. “To think you were standing there. It must have been the storm,” he adds, glancing up. “Lightning must have struck last night, and rain loosened it further.”

Gwen nods, a bit dazed. “It must’ve been.”

Stepping forward, Owen wraps his daughter tightly in a hug. Y/N looks away, lowering her gaze to the ground. He mumbles into her neck – a prayer, or a thanks of some sort – which does not seem like something she should intrude upon.

Folding her hands behind her back, Y/N closes her eyes. Her heart races, as though she has run a far distance and her hands are badly shaking, which is why she conceals them. It has been a long time since she allowed herself a reaction.

It has been even longer since she opened that part of herself.

At last, Owen breaks free. “Y/N!” he calls, noticing her there. “I’m so sorry to scare you like that.”

“It was nothing,” Y/N says. Crossing the yard, she feigns concern scanning the bright shards of glass. “I’m glad no one was hurt. You’re sure you’re not?” she asks of Gwen, searching her frame

Smiling kindly, Gwen bends for the broom. “Quite certain. Thank you for your concern.”

Y/N nods. “Can I help in any way? Pick up the glass, or…?”

“Oh, yes.” Owen blinks, seeming to notice the mess. “Y/N, could you get pail from the forge? We can gather these larger pieces while Gwen sweeps up the rest.”

She nods in acknowledgement, gathering her cloak to hasten away.

As soon as Y/N turns the corner, she stops and sags against the side of the house. Breathing in deeply, her legs barely hold as they waver beneath her. Head spinning, Y/N chastises herself for such an obvious slip. The last time she lost control in this way, she must have been a child.

It cannot happen again.

Blankly, Y/N stares at the grey wood before her. Her vision blurs, threatening her happiness at having helped in some way. Because even if what she did was dangerous, at least Gwen is safe. At least Owen is happy, and their family remains intact.

It is hard to chastise herself for a result like that. Slowly pulling herself upright, Y/N regathers her bearings and goes to fetch the pail. If she is gone for too long, Owen will be suspicious.

Still, an inkling of worry lingers the rest of the day. Red eyes continue to haunt from the shadows, causing Y/N to wonder if she did the right thing. Each time she looks over her shoulder, there is nothing to see.

The morning passes by in a never-ending list of things to be done. Owen is the only blacksmith in Tywll – a fact not unusual for a town of their size, but due to a steady stream of travelers means he is constantly in demand. He is expected to know a variety of crafts, all of which can be daunting. Locksmith, silversmith, armory – Owen knows them all. It means Y/N, by extension, is expected to know them as well.

She does the menial tasks while he labors – pumping the bellows, replacing coal in the furnace and changing the anvil when Owen begins a new task. She is happy to do this, since it means she is that much closer to owning her own shop.

Around sundown, the work finally slows, and Y/N allows herself a moment of rest. Coming to a stop, Y/N wipes sweat from her brow and pushes hair behind her ear. The forge is sweltering even on the coldest of days, let alone midway through autumn. Still, Y/N has always preferred this to the chill.

Owen finished work nearly an hour ago – now he stands at the counter, wrapping an axe up in fabric. Although their town is too small to have a Lord or a Knight, they have several merchants wealthy enough to imagine themselves both. Cadoc is one of said merchants – a finicky man whose family has lived in Tywll for centuries.

He commissioned an axe from Owen last month, which was notable because Cadoc usually purchases his goods from Dowais –a larger town several kilometers away from Tywll. He rarely buys local, but for Owen, he seems to make an exception.

Wrapping the blade against harm, Owen looks at Y/N. “You’ll be fine closing the shop on your own?” he asks, already grabbing his coat.

“Yes, of course. This isn’t my first time closing. Go on – Cadoc is not the type to be kept waiting.”

Owen chuckles beneath his breath. The statement is true – a fact they both know and yet, few would dare say.

“Alright,” he says, firmly grasping the axe. Pausing on the threshold, he glances over his shoulder. “If you leave before I’m back, take those extra nails home to Mervin. Alright?”

Y/N nods, busy scrubbing the soot from the metal. Once he is gone, she continues to clean. The forge stays open past sundown, but customers rarely stop by so late in the day. It is little risk to Owen if Y/N is here alone.

Glancing around, Y/N sets down her cloth and realizes the shadows are longer than she thought. Already, the day grows to a close and soon enough, winter will be upon them. Listlessly, Y/N wonders how many more seasons she will face in this town. Day in and day out, the same trials and tribulations. Why, it is almost enough for –

“Excuse me.”

Startled by the new voice, Y/N whirls and nearly trips over her water.

A stranger stands in the doorway, hat removed from his head. Y/N notices his hands first. They are large yet delicate, clasped around the brim of his hat.

She next notices his face as he steps into the lamplight. The man is beautiful – there are no other words to describe him. With pale skin and midnight-black hair, he might well be a painting. Indeed, Y/N wonders briefly if this is the case.

Then he blinks, shattering the image.

“We’re about to close.” Y/N drops her rag in the bucket. It seems uncomely to hold suds in his presence. “The master smith recently stepped out for a delivery. He will not return for a while.”

“That’s alright,” he says, glancing around. “I’m in no rush.”

Arching a brow, Y/N surveys his face. The man’s accent is not from around here; there is a formal drawl to it, vowels elongated in a way which speaks of nobility. Curiously, Y/N lowers her gaze to his coat. Finely made.

“Do you have a message I can give him?”

The man’s gaze lifts. “Perhaps,” he allows, laying a hand on the counter. “Might I ask who you are?”

“An apprentice.”

His eyes gleam, since this is not what he asked. “How intriguing.”

“Because I’m a woman?

His brows shoot upwards, withdrawing his hand. “Of course not.”

“Then, why?” she asks pleasantly.

“Actually, I did not come to inquire after your services.” He abruptly changes the subject. “But to offer you mine.”

“And what services are those?”

Rather than answer, the man glances over his shoulder. Through the windows of the forge, Owen’s main door is visible. Most of the glass has been cleared, but evidence of the accident remains.

The stranger’s lip curls. “Odd weather we’re having lately, isn’t it?”

The way he says this makes Y/N’s heart almost stop. It takes her a moment to re-start, a moment to recover and during this time, he looks at her over his shoulder.

“The rain has been unusually strong,” she agrees.

“Indeed.”

The stranger says nothing else and there is no trace of humor to the inky black of his gaze. The rest of his clothing is also well-made, Y/N realizes – again, unusual for Tywll. This coupled with his accent has her hackles raised in alarm. This man is clearly an outsider.

Lifting her chin, Y/N attempts to look down her nose. “Why are you here?” she asks again.

“I’ll confess – I came because I’m curious.”

“About?”

When he leans in, Y/N catches a whiff of a scent not unlike burnt wood. “I arrived in the village early this morning,” he says.

“A lovely time of the day.”

“Incredibly so,” he says, expression inscrutable. “Dawn is the most honest time of day, I have found.”

“That’s an odd way of putting it.”

“Is it? The nighttime can mislead things. Darkness often conceals that which is best left alone.”

“Or,” Y/N offers. “It allows the freedom of no one else seeing.”

The man does not respond, silence growing between them until Y/N realizes she may have said too much. Schooling her face to neutrality, she offers a smile. “As I said. Are you sure there is nothing you wish to purchase?”

“Oh, no. Merely my services. I was traveling this morning and saw the branch in your window – you see, I’m a tradesman of sorts.” He pauses, flashing a smile. “I replace wayward things.”

“Replace?” Y/N’s brow furrows, glancing outside. “Like the window?”

“Amongst other things,” the strange man allows. “Odd, though, for the branch to have fallen that way. Based on the tree above, seems like it would have hit the front door.”

Y/N freezes, glancing up and in that moment, realizes her mistake. 

The man’s smile sharpens – a razor in disguise.

Withdrawing, she shakes her head. “The oddest of incidents. Your concern is noted and appreciated, of course.” Heart racing, she turns to regather her things. “I’m afraid there are others in town who can help, though.”

He chuckles. “None like me, I can assure you.”

“Be that as it may, we have no need of your… services.”

“Of course,” he says, smile widening. “I must respect your wishes on the matter.”

Bowing low, he replaces the hat on his head. Y/N is somewhat surprised to find him giving in so easily. From what she knows of traveling merchants, they rarely take no for an answer. As he begins to leave the shop, the man pauses on the threshold and examines an object. Seeing what he looks at, Y/N stops with one hand in the rags.

“This…” He tilts his head to one side. “Is lovely, whatever it is.”

Y/N tries not to scowl.

She does not think he means this as an insult, but the man’s tone and mannerisms are so strange, she cannot help but react. The object in question is one she made late at night in the forge. It began as a lone ball of metal, but under Y/N’s careful manipulation became molten tendrils of fire which seem to dance in the lamplight.

It is useless, per Owen’s criticism, but still – he did not throw it out.

The stranger considers it a moment, then turns back to Y/N. “Did you make this?”

Y/N straightens. “Yes.”

He returns to the object, surprised. “It is quite good.”

“Truly?” Y/N attempts not to look interested but cannot deny that she is. She finds herself wanting to know more about what this mysterious stranger thinks. The thought catches her off guard.

Hiding a smile, he turns in her direction. “It is,” he insists, offering her his hand. “It was lovely to meet you, apprentice blacksmith of Tywll.”

“Y/N,” she says, holding out her hand in turn.

The moment their fingers touch, a fire blazes through her.

Immediately, Y/N releases him, as if burned. It is too late. She stares open-mouthed at her palm, unable to see any visible damage. Yet her skin feels oddly scalded, her bones ringing with strangeness only magic can forge.

Terrified, she glances up – and finds him staring back.

Darkness swirls in the bottomless depths of his gaze. “Who are you?” he growls, taking a hasty step forward.

“Is there something I can help with?”

Owen appears on the threshold.

The stranger halts, emotions clearly at war on his face. Slowly, logic seems to win out, and he reluctantly turns. Owen continues to stare, clearly unimpressed by his manner of speaking. Y/N assumes he did not hear much, but the little he did could not have been good.

“I apologize.” Genteelly, the stranger bows. “I was merely offering my services to your apprentice, should you need to replace your window. Terrible storm last night.”

Owen does not look away. “I prefer my customers wait outside until I arrive.”

“Of course. My apologies, for any offense.”

“None taken.” Owen watches him go. “You are a tradesman, then?”

The man comes to a stop at the door. “Of a sort.”

“Quite a good one, I’d imagine to be able to afford clothes like those.”

“I do well enough.”

“I see.” Owen still does not move. “Well, then. I would hate to keep you from it.”

The man pauses before nodding, reaching into his coat. “Here,” he says, turning to hand Owen a card. “I will be in town a few days longer. Should you have need, you’ll know who to ask for.”

Accepting this, Owen places it beside him on the counter. “Thank you.”

The man nods again before leaving. He hovers on the threshold, half in and out of the shadows before he enters the night. Owen watches him disappear, waiting until he is gone before turning around. Y/N does this as well, still clutching her hands as if burned.

Owen looks sharply at her. “Did he say anything to you?”

“What? No, nothing.”

“Then – touch?” Owen asks, and Y/N realizes he saw the man take his step forward. “Did he touch you?”

“N-no,” she stammers quickly, uncertain why she defends him. “Nothing of the sort.”

Owen surveys her a moment, then nods and walks past. “No good travelers,” he mutters, shutting the door – he is not looking at Y/N and does not see how the name sends a chill down her spine. “Always thinking they own the towns they stay in, huh?”

Ignoring the calling card on the table, Owen strides towards the furnace. Y/N watches him stoke the flames, oddly embarrassed by the whole interaction. It is not as though the stranger did anything untoward. He was odd, yes, but that hardly constitutes condemnation.

Besides, there is the small manner of his skin, like flames when they touched.

This is not something she can say to Owen, though and so, Y/N shakes her head. “Nothing for you to be angry about, I’m certain.”

Owen pauses, shoulders slowly relaxing. “Alright,” he sighs. Hovering a moment, he turns to meet her gaze. “Why don’t I finish the rest? You can head to the inn, come back in the morning.”

“Are you certain?”

“Yes, yes.” Owen waves a hand. “Go and help Mervin and Rian. Nice night like this, I’m sure the tavern is bustling. I’ll be fine.”

Y/N hesitates, before nodding and undoing the strings of her apron. The garment is covered in soot, but this cannot be helped in the forge. Y/N does her best to wash it with water before hanging to dry in the pantry.

As she exits the forge, she spots the calling card on the table.

Glancing upwards, she sees Owen’s back is now turned. Before she can think, she plucks the card from the table and slides this into her pocket.

Immediately, Y/N pushes open the door and enters the night. The temperature drops several degrees and she stops, wiping sweat from her forehead. Realizing the stranger saw her in such a condition, Y/N frowns as she sets off down the road.

Humming as she walks, Y/N pointedly ignores the events of today. A feat which proves to be impossible when she reaches the inn, coming to a stop in the coolness of its shadows. Fighting a battle within, Y/N slowly reaches into her cloak to pull out the card.

The card is plain – white, with silver filigree letters. The calligraphy is almost too delicate to be real, thin swirls of writing which transcribe only a name.

Min Yoongi.

Y/N flips the card over, expecting to see more, but it is empty. Frowning, she slips the card again in her pocket and resumes her path to the inn. Try as she might, Y/N cannot shake the man’s face from her mind.

The blood in her veins heats, nearly combustive at the thought.

Y/N enters through the back door to change into her clothing. Work in the tavern requires a dress, not pants and her hair up on her head. The new apron is stained with spilled food, not soot but the effect is largely the same.

Hurrying into the kitchen, Y/N grabs a tray by the door. “Where do those plates go to?” she asks Rumilda, their cook.

Rumilda is not of Tywll either, but has worked for the Talog’s since before Y/N was born. Even so, she is still considered an outsider as well. 

“Table under the window,” she instructs with a wave. “The traveling couple with the newborn.”

Nodding, Y/N pushes open the door with her hip. As she enters the front room, she winces at the noise. Owen was correct – the inn is, indeed, busy tonight. Edging around a table of men playing cards, Y/N reaches the window and sets her plates down.

“Here you go,” she says, smiling brightly. The couple voices their thanks, the father gently bouncing a child on his knee. “Is there anything else I can get you?”

“No, no,” says the woman, waving her off. “Thank you.”

Y/N nods, turning around with her tray to exit the room. Rian is at the bar, a large oaken structure which has stood the test of time. Rian always is the one pouring the drinks – she is best suited as gatekeeper, determining when men should be cut off.  Mervin always stands at the front door. He greets guests when they arrive, tallying their bills and determining the price.

On a night as full as this one, Y/N imagines the rooms to be costly. Pushing her way through the crowd, Y/N returns to the kitchen and sets down her tray.

“Lord, the inn is busy,” she remarks, already grabbing a plate. “Lots of strangers, too.”

Rumilda nods, ladling stew into a bowl. “Quite a few coming through town on their way to the autumnal festival in Dowais. Rian mentioned five alone this morning, though she expects there to be more.”

Nodding, Y/N picks back up the tray. “Where is this one going?”

“Table to the right of the fireplace,” Rumilda says. “One of the travelers from this morning, just off the road. Well-off, too, so take care not to spill.”

“Alright.” Y/N is mid-way to the door before her feet falter. “A solo traveler you said?” Wary, she glances over her shoulder. “You’re certain?”

Rumilda continues to stir. “Yes, yes, of course. Mervin gave him the best rooms in the inn. Why – Y/N?” Looking up, she squints through the steam. “You seem as if you’ve seen a ghost.”

Dazedly, Y/N pulls herself from her thoughts. “It’s nothing,” she says, continuing on. “Nothing at all. The table by the fireplace?”

“Yes, that’s the one. Hurry, now – someone that wealthy won’t be kept waiting long.”

Nodding again, Y/N pushes open the door. It swings shut, the noise of the tavern enveloping her smoothly. A solo traveler this morning and wearing finely-made clothes – Y/N cannot help but think of Min Yoongi.

He did say he would be staying in town, and theirs is the only inn in Tywll.

Pushing her way through the crowd, Y/N tries to ignore the pounding beat of her heart. The man asked too many questions about her. Good questions, intelligent questions – ones which gave Y/N pause. Men like that are not to be trusted.

And then, there is the matter of the heat when they touched.

Skirting around the final table, the fireplace comes into view – and Y/N exhales in relief, not recognizing its occupant.

The man is not Yoongi; that much is certain. 

He is taller, with lighter hair and a thoughtful expression. Rumilda was right, though – he is dressed immaculately, clearly in possession of wealth. His cloak is a deep shade of scarlet and he wears gloves on both hands; ones of fine leather Y/N could never wear in the forge.

Y/N stares for a moment before realizing her place and hurrying forward. The man is also quite handsome – this fact cannot be denied.

“Hello,” she greets, setting his stew on the table. “Is there anything else I can get you?”

The man looks up, meeting her gaze.

Y/N blinks, the room slowing around her. His gaze is ice blue, almost impossibly so – it is unnerving, how beautiful his eyes are.

“How kind of you to ask,” he says, smiling easily.

“It’s only my job.” Y/N forces herself to respond. “I work in the tavern.”

“Ah, I see. Then, it appears I am in your debt this evening.”

Ducking her head, Y/N cannot help but be charmed. There is something about him which she finds calming – perhaps the lilt to his voice, or the easy smile to his lips.

“Not at all,” she insists, looking up. “This is my family’s inn. Our job is to make you comfortable. After all, you’ve paid for it.”

The man’s smile widens, leaning back in his seat. “Ah, I see. You make a good point. And what did you say your name was, again?”

“I didn’t.” She pauses. “But it’s Y/N, all the same.”

“Y/N,” he says slowly, rolling the word. His gaze brightens. “A lovely name. Your parents have exquisite taste.”

The man glances up at the bar – to Rian – as if in deference, but Y/N does not correct him. Rian did not name her, neither did Mervin, but that hardly seems prudent to discuss at the moment. The stranger will learn soon enough of her past from the locals, if he decides to stay.

“Thank you.” Y/N manages to keep her voice level. “Now – truly, is there anything else I can bring?”

Smiling back, he lowers both hands to the tablecloth. Most of his clothing is simple, if well-made, except for the bright silver ring on his hand. There is a sigil upon it which Y/N finds oddly familiar. When the man sees her gaze lingering, he pointedly removes his hand from the table.

Y/N’s cheeks heat, gaze lifting to his.

The lines around his mouth seem somehow less genial. “Perhaps more wine? What vintage is known in these parts?”

“None, I’m afraid.” Shaking her head, Y/N tries not to dissect his reaction. Some people are merely private about their belongings, after all. “More ale than wine, unfortunately.”

“I see.” Just as abruptly, pleasantry returns to his face. “In that case, what would you recommend?”

The man’s hand is still hidden, Y/N cannot help but notice.

She hesitates before speaking, finding the entire interaction to be odd. Perhaps she is being too critical. Perhaps she is reading too much into his mannerisms – likely so. After seeing a grim in the shadows, the incident with the branch and meeting Min Yoongi, Y/N is certainly on edge.

“Oh, many things,” she says lightly. “Rian can make anything you like.”

“Sounds wonderful,” he says, sounding like he means it. “I do apologize – I’m being rude, I haven’t introduced myself yet. I am Alvah. I arrived to Tywll this morning and am thoroughly taken with your town.”

“Are you?” Y/N arches a brow. “You’ll have to explain to me why.”

Alvah pauses, as though uncertain whether she is joking before he bursts into laughter. 

Y/N smiles reassuringly. “About that ale,” she says, already turning away. “I’ll be back in a moment.”

Alvah murmurs his thanks as she leaves, but Y/N is already gone, plunging into the crowd. Tywll receives a lot of travelers, especially this close to the autumnal festival. It is not unusual for one or two to stay longer than intended, infatuated by the charms of ‘village life.’

They all leave eventually, though. Only the townspeople ever stay in Tywll.

Stopping at the bar, Y/N lowers her tray to the counter. “One ale,” she says, glancing at Rian. Alvah is hidden within the crowd, so she does not bother to look. “The table over by the fireplace.”

Rian nods, grabbing a glass. “I’ll have the new serving girl take this over to them,” she says, sliding a different cup towards Y/N. “Her other tables are in that area, anyways. I need you to take this wine upstairs. Room seven.”

Y/N blinks, seeing the fine vintage before her. She did lie a bit, telling Alvah they had none of renown. Rian and Mervin save a bottle or two for their most important guests. Rather uneasily, Y/N glances at the stairs.

“Oh,” she says, reluctantly taking the glass. Swiftly, she squashes the disappointment this brings. Alvah was kind, and not bad to talk to. “Room seven, you said?”

“Another solo traveler,” Rian nods. “Although he hasn’t come down yet. Paid a pretty penny though, so make sure he’s comfortable.”

Turning away, Y/N takes the glass from the counter.

Making her way towards the stairs, Y/N nearly spills several times. She is almost glad for the task, as it places her firmly out of reach of loud men and fast hands. The stairwell is a respite, a moment of quiet in the otherwise chaos.

As she climbs, Y/N begins cataloguing all she must do before closing. Help Rumilda scrub the pans, assist the new serving girl in calculating the bills – usher out drunkards before Rian catches wind. When she reaches the door to room seven, Y/N barely hesitates before knocking.

Glancing over her shoulder again, she is almost ready to put the wine down and leave when it suddenly opens.

“Thank you,” says a male voice, “but I – you!”

The inhabitant sounds familiar, if somewhat surprised and Y/N swiftly turns back around. Eyes widening, she nearly drops her wine when she comes face to face with a pair of familiar, dark eyes.

Min Yoongi stares. “What are you doing here?”

“Me?” Y/N blinks, recovering her voice. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m staying at the inn.” Leaning a shoulder to the wall, Yoongi crosses his arms. “Or, are there other places in town to stay?”

“Well, no.”

“Well, then.”

Y/N glances past him, into his room. A flickering fire casts shadows across the floor, illuminating nothing but a black steamer trunk – and Yoongi, who is looking at Y/N as though she might be a stalker. 

Incensed by this idea, Y/N straightens. “I just… I wasn’t expecting to see you,” she clarifies, glaring back.

Yoongi tilts his head. He is dressed more casually than before, in only a plain tunic and trousers. His boots lie abandoned at the foot of his bed – it is strangely intimate, to see him in socked feet.

Yoongi’s gaze moves to her hand. “Is that wine for me?”

“I’m sorry?” Y/N blinks.

“That wine.” He nods to the cup. “Did you bring that here for me, or are you merely doing a mandatory room check?”

“It’s for you,” Y/N blurts, unable to think of a response.

Shrugging, Yoongi turns around and leaves the door open. He pads to the fireplace, removing the iron to stoke the flames higher. Y/N steps into his room, hovering at the edge and wondering what she should do. The shadows seem to leap out, stretching for her – unnoticeable to the untrained eye, but Yoongi does not seem untrained.

Warily, she takes a step backwards.

Yoongi looks over his shoulder. “Come in,” he says, replacing the fire iron. “Don’t just stand there.”

Teeth gritted, Y/N closes the door. When it was opened, she was too shocked by Yoongi’s appearance to think of questions to ask. Now, though, she can think of many things – and most do not require an audience.

“Why are you the one bringing me this?” Yoongi asks, watching Y/N walk closer. “Not that I mind, of course.”

Y/N glowers, handing over the wine. She is careful not to touch his skin in the process – oddly enough, Yoongi exhibits similar restraint.

“The owner of the inn asked me to.” Y/N hesitates. “They – I work for them in the evenings.”

Yoongi gives the wine a dubious swirl. “You work for them.”

“That’s what I said.”

Lips quirking, he lifts the glass to his mouth. Taking a slow sip, Yoongi does not look away and, apparently finding it to his satisfaction, turns to set this on the windowsill. The moonlight casts a pall over his features, making him seem otherworldly.

Glancing at the door, Y/N wonders how much longer to stay. There are still a million things to do before sleep – but still, she has questions for him. Who he is, why he is here, why his skin seems to burn and affect her so dearly.

Yoongi pointedly clears his throat.

Glancing over, Y/N is startled to find his gaze on hers. Strangely enough, she sees just as many questions within for her, as she has for him.

“I wonder,” he murmurs, taking a step forward. While Yoongi stares, his gaze hardens to something like ice. “Do your employers know you’re a shadow-singer?”

Y/N freezes in place, feet rooted to the floor.

She cannot think beyond the pulse in her veins, the thud of her heart and the singular thought in her mind.

Run.

Run, she does.

Barely does she make it two steps before Yoongi appears, materializing easily between her and the door. His cup of wine is still held in one hand – setting this down, he wipes a hand on his trousers.

“You can try to run,” he starts, but Y/N is no longer listening.

Shuddering to a halt, she whips her head sideways. Rushing towards the window, she stops short when history repeats itself.

“Let me save you some time,” says Yoongi, stepping out of mid-air. “Any time you run; I will appear.”

Seething, Y/N pauses to consider her options. Simply put, there are none. None which involve keeping the world as it is, that is. Already, Yoongi knows what she is. It is only a matter of time before he tells the town, so the only thing left is her final defense.

Magic.

Swallowing hard, Y/N resigns herself to a fate long avoided. If her secret is out, she has nothing to lose.

Inverting her gaze, she reaches within. It has been such a long time since she allowed herself to descend. The sensation is akin to stumbling around in the dark, seeking out something which may or may not appear. Eyes clenched shut, Y/N empties her mind to push onward. There is a door always within, pulsing with power and beckoning her near.

It never leaves, calling out to her even when she refuses.

At last, fingers brushing wood, Y/N slowly unlocks it.

For a moment, nothing happens. For a moment, she stands there, body quivering with anticipation – and then.

Shadows burst forth, searing her veins like a drug.

The sensation is akin to fire, to bliss as greedily, Y/N inhales and savors the power. She shudders, overwhelmed by the magic after so long without. Darkness floods her body, searching for weakness, but finding nothing of note. Yanking this back, Y/N reigns in her thoughts and does not relent. Wrestling for control, she demands the darkness obey her, forces it to twist and bend to her will.

Take me away, she demands, teeth gritted.

When she opens her eyes, Y/N finds herself in the Shadow realm.

Unfortunately, so is Yoongi. Teeth bared like a dog, his eyes seem to glow red in the darkness.

The Shadow realm is not one to linger in. It exists, by definition, in between worlds. To her right, Y/N can see the sharpened edge of Yoongi’s bed, the cold black of his steamer trunk. It all wavers though, as if seen from underwater.

On the other side of her is pure darkness.

Growling, Yoongi clenches his fists and strides forward. “Idiot,” he seethes, gripping her elbow.

Y/N inhales, glancing at where their skin touches. Rather than burn, his touch now seems to enhance. Shadows twist around them both, emboldened by the strength of their combined power. 

Yoongi’s eyes widen, staring at this in shock.

Shaking his head, he grips her even tighter and the real world appears.

Stumbling forward, Y/N feels drained by the abrupt lack of shadows – the abrupt lack of power to feed on. The real world feels too harsh, too cold and she longs for the sweetness of night. 

Hissing under her breath, Y/N whirls to face Yoongi.

He stands across the room, picking a shadow from his tunic to fling into the fireplace. It hits a rogue flame with a sizzling sound. “Idiot,” Min Yoongi mutters, under his breath. Accusatorially, he looks at her over his shoulder. “What were you thinking, entering the Shadow realm like that?”

His gaze is intense, stalking forward but Y/N does not allow herself to be crowed. Holding her ground, she pokes his chest with a finger.

“Me?” she demands, stopping him in his tracks. “What were you thinking, coming after me? What… even are you?”

The question tapers off, losing steam at the end. He knows what she is – Yoongi knows Y/N is a shadow-singer, one of the feared brands of magic which thrives in the night. There are many kinds of magic, but shadow-singers are feared above all. Y/N is a human who can travel the Shadow realm, one who can bend the darkness to her will. That is what she did earlier, saving Gwen from the tree branch. The shadows knocked it aside.

Yes, Y/N is a shadow-singer and Yoongi knows it. And still, she does not know what he is.

Hesitancy enters his gaze. Some of his mask has disappeared from the first time they met. As though scrubbed away in the Shadow realm, he no longer seems entirely human. His eyes still glow faintly red, as they did in the shadows.

“Please, Y/N.” Yoongi twists his lips. “Don’t sell yourself short. You already know what I am. You have since you saw me this morning.”

“This – this morning?” Y/N repeats, mind reeling.

Yoongi came into the forge during the evening. If what he says is true, then it was not the first time they met. But Y/N met no other strangers during the day – unless. Slowly, her eyes widen with realization. 

Yoongi is correct. She knows what he is.

“We met in the square,” Yoongi says smoothly, twisting a hand over his chest. Still looking at her, his eyes seem to gleam. “I am Min Yoongi, of the Cŵn Annwn.”

Y/N could not move if she wanted to.

It is so obvious now, in hindsight. Of course, Yoongi is Cŵn Annwn – no other beings travel the Shadow realm so easily. No one else is granted that type of dark magic. The Cŵn Annwn are the final enforcers of the Otherworld, sent to the Real world to resolve the worst kinds of incidents. Namely, those which involve magic.

Seeing her face, Yoongi takes a step forward. “I see you know what I am.”

“I – I know you.” Y/N takes a hasty step backwards. Her back nearly collides with the wall. “I don’t understand why you’re here, though.”

“Don’t you?” Yoongi tilts his head. “You saved someone who was not supposed to be saved, Y/N. Lord Arawn is without a soul, and you are its cause.”

“Am I…” Y/N stares at him, mouth gone suddenly dry. “What... what does that mean? Am I to die in her place?”

Yoongi pauses a moment longer than necessary. “I don’t know.” 

“How... how can you not know?”

“It has yet to be decided.”

“How convenient.” Y/N hesitates. “When will you know?”

Something like amusement crosses his face. “When Arawn decides, I imagine.”

“And when will that be?”

“Uncertain,” Yoongi says. “Until then, I am to keep an eye on the human – and on you, shadow-singer.”

Y/N flinches back from the name. “Stop calling me that.”

“Why? It’s what you are.”

“Not anymore,” Y/N mutters, turning away. She probably should not turn her back on one of the Cŵn Annwn, but she cannot help it. Continuing to look at Yoongi now that she knows what he is seems impossible.

Every time she looks at him, she remembers the Shadow realm. She remembers Gwen, her power and with that power comes memories best left forgotten. She remembers a small village in the woods, the rending of screams in the night, a singed smell of flesh.

Squeezing her eyes shut, Y/N balls her hands into fists. Counting slowly down from ten, she waits until the screams fade from memory. Hastily, she locks the door in her mind.

When she opens her eyes again, Yoongi stands before her.

“Ah!” she yelps, stumbling backwards. “What are you doing?”

Yoongi recoils as well. “I could ask you the same thing! You’ve been silent for several minutes. Why are you trying to suppress your magic, witch?” he asks, seeming curious.

“Don’t call me a witch!” Y/N scowls, striding past him again.

Yoongi stares after her in disbelief. “Why not?”

“Someone could hear!” Y/N snaps. Coming to a stop at the table, she hesitantly drops a hand to its wood. “Don’t you know what those in the Real world do to magic?”

When she looks over her shoulder, he is looking at her.

“I… do know.”

Yoongi sounds almost remorseful and Y/N hesitates, thrown by his answer. “Then...” She pauses, shaking her head. “You know why I can’t admit what I am.”

“I do – to others. However, why can’t you admit it to yourself?”

Y/N stares back, unsure of the answer. There is something in his expression which gives her pause. Something about the way he said I do know, which makes her think he truly does. There are legends about the Cŵn Annwn which say they once were human – although how a human becomes Cŵn Annwn at all is a story not told.

Quietly, Yoongi clears his throat. “I take it your employers do not know what you are, then?”

“No, they don’t. And they are not only my employers – I’m their ward.”

Yoongi looks up in surprise. “You live here? At the inn?”

“Yes.”

He glances past her to the door. “Interesting.”

“And I would prefer to keep it that way,” Y/N interjects, walking until they stand nose to nose. “Which brings us back to you. What do you want?”

Yoongi arches a brow. “I told you. The Otherworld needs a soul.”

“Yes, but which soul? You’re being horribly cryptic.”

His upper lip twitches, unable to help himself. “As though magic could be any other way.”

Y/N’s teeth grit, about to give him a piece of her mind – when a singular thought occurs to her. “How did you know what I was?”

“A shadow-singer?”

“Yes,” she says. “How did you know I have magic?”

Yoongi looks at her a second, then stretches out a palm. “Touch me.”

Y/N’s lips part in surprise. “I beg your pardon?”

“Skin to skin contact.” Gently, he wraps his hand around hers. The center of her palm tingles. “I can tell when someone has magic by brushing their skin.”

Y/N’s cheeks heat, choosing to ignore the feel of his skin on hers. “I see,” she says, glancing down to look at their hands intertwined. Abruptly, she pulls hers away. “So, you knew what I was at the shop?”

“Yes.”

“Then why did you leave?” 

Yoongi exhales. “I – the master smith returned,” he mutters, brow furrowed – as if he does not understand it himself. “Like you said, humans do not react kindly to magic. The instructions I had were to identify the witch, keep an eye on you both – and await further instruction.”

“But what further instructions?” she asks, aware she is toeing a dangerous line. “Why wouldn’t Arawn simply take Gwen’s soul to restore the balance? For that matter, does Arawn come chasing after every soul who is saved?”

A muscle in Yoongi’s jaw ticks. “It is not my place to ask questions,” he says at last. “I know no more than you do.”

With that, he turns and walks across the room.

“Liar.”

His feet falter, coming to a stop. “What?”

“I said, liar,” Y/N repeats, calmly – too calmly. She knows she should not be saying these things, but she is tired. Tired of lying, tired of hiding and tired of feeling as though she has no control.

“Whose soul are you really here for?” she asks.

Yoongi turns slowly, disbelief in his gaze. “What do you want me to say?” 

There is a growl to his words as he speaks, a trace of Cŵn Annwn within. Before, Y/N had almost forgotten to whom she was speaking.

“Do you want me to say your soul is more valuable to Arawn than hers?” Yoongi asks silkily. “Is that it?”

Y/N’s gaze widens as Yoongi comes closer.

“Do you want me to tell you he often does that?” he asks, gaze flashing with night. “Switches out one soul for another – one he deems more valuable?”

“Valuable?” Y/N’s voice is nearly a whisper. “For... what?”

Darkness crosses his expression. “It does not matter,” Yoongi says stiffly. “You already know too much. We all die eventually, Y/N. Annwn is without a soul now and someone must fill it. The possessiveness of Arawn might seem like a bad thing to humans, but it is necessary for reason to hold.”

“What good is magic if I cannot use it to save anymore?”

“What good, indeed?” Yoongi bites. “When you do not use it anyways?”

Y/N falters, having no response to this. He is right – before today, she had not used her magic in nearly fifteen years.

“That’s what I thought.” Yoongi turns, walking away to stare at the moon. “Perhaps we should leave things here for tonight. I think our intentions are known enough, yes?”

“Intentions?” Y/N nearly laughs. “What – that you’re a hellhound, I’m a shadow-singer and only one of us is in control of their soul?”

Yoongi’s mouth twists, looking up at the moon. “Neither one of us are in control of our souls, Y/N.”

Y/N stares at him for a moment. Whatever Yoongi thinks, he does not elaborate and eventually, she decides he is right. There is nothing more to be said – not tonight, anyways. Not with her soul hanging in the balance and Arawn on the horizon.

Turning on her heel, Y/N walks towards the door. “I’ll be going, then,” she says, one hand on the handle.

Yoongi does not respond.

Giving him one last look, Y/N pushes open the door and enters the hall. She pauses on his threshold, a thought occurring to her which needs to be said. Perhaps it is idiotic, but she needs to try.

“What if I offer myself?” she asks, glancing over her shoulder.

Yoongi stiffens, looking at her. “You would do that?” he asks, his expression unreadable. “You would willingly give up your soul up for a human?”

“Not any human. Gwen.” Her jaw tightens. “Would it work?”

“It would be… unlikely.”

Resigned to the answer, Y/N nods. At least she asked – which is the best she can do. Turning away, she again grips the doorknob.

“Out of curiosity.”

Y/N stops, her exit halted again. “Yes?”

“It has been a long time since I met a shadow-singer.” 

There is a note of longing to his words Y/N does not understand. It also is not a question.

“And?”

“It just is odd,” he exhales. When Y/N turns to look at him, he reaches out for the wine. “Odd, for humans to continually hide the things about themselves which are beautiful.”

For a moment, she stares and does not respond. Yoongi does not look at her though, says nothing more and at last, Y/N retreats to the hall. Shutting the door in between them, she stands for a moment before heading downstairs.

The shadows drift beside her in the darkness, begging to be seen.

Y/N does not look.

She rarely does.

“The faerie was greedy, gluttonous and would not be satisfied with mere gold. No, it wanted the child and so, a message was sent to the castle.”

Blearily, Y/N opens her eyes and squints across the fire. The storyteller sits on the other side, completely oblivious to her sudden appearance. Y/N feels both present and not, hollow and whole. Vaguely, she is aware she is dreaming but it is more than just that – this is also a memory.

Flames leap above the fire, disappearing into darkness with bright sparks of light.

Y/N is seated on a log, feet swinging quietly beneath her, unable to touch the ground. She cannot be older than five. Smoke drifts under her nostrils, notes of caramelized sugar beneath. There are treats to be had here tonight, but not until the story is over.

Nuzzling into her father, Y/N’s eyes flutter shut. It is always here she feels safest – here in this dreamworld, with both parents by her side. This place is not real, though. Were Y/N to travel here, she would find nothing but burnt bones and darkness. The village of Crymych no longer exists.

Once upon a time it did, though.

Once upon a time, Crymych was a haven for magic-users. For witches and warlocks, and all manner of beings who lived at peace with one another. In Crymych, no one worried about fairy tales, or told their children not to believe – everyone knew they were real.

On the other side of her father, Y/N can see the blurred outline of her mother.

On the night of the memory, she stared into the fire, absent-mindedly twisting the shadows with her fingers. Y/N watched this eagerly, hoping one day to have that much control.

Magic was hereditary in all families. Whether this came from the mother or father was a flip of the coin – Y/N’s power came from her mother. Her father was not like the two of them; he was a life-giver, a designated healer in the town. His power was the most mysterious of all, since under the right conditions, he could knit breath and bone back together.

At other times, he could not. This was largely why life-givers were despised by humans. Actually –this was largely why magic-users were despised by humans. Nothing at all was consistent about power.

The humans at their fireside that night did not seem to hate them. They all sat across the circle from Y/N, listening to the storyteller and laughing in all the right places. While Y/N watched, one of them smiled and spoke eagerly to Crymych’s leader, Emrys.

Emrys was a light-bearer – a highly prized power, even in a magical community like theirs. Shadow-singers and light-bearers were amongst the rarest of magic and Crymych was lucky to have both.

While Y/N watched, Emrys accepted a cup of wine from the human. The two smiled and talked, looking nothing at all like the enemies they are supposed to be. This particular band of humans claimed to be different. The called themselves the Travelers and wanted to help witches and warlocks reintegrate with society – or, this is what they said.

The Travelers all dressed in a similar fashion, wearing all-black from head to toe. They even wore gloves on their hands; something Y/N found to be strange. In their community, gloves only got in the way of a hard day’s work.

The Travelers were the first non-magical guests in Crymych in Y/N’s young memory. Usually, humans chose to give them a wide berth. Magic was notoriously fickle – not to mention frustrating.

“It is not their fault,” her father murmured to her mother. “Not really.”

Her mother’s hand curled into a fist, effectively stopping the shadows. “No?” she exhaled, brow furrowed.

Y/N’s father’s lip twitched. “Humans know we can do incredible things,” he said softly, unheard by the others over the fire. “They watch us perform remarkable feats. So, when we can’t always help…” He shrugged, trailing off. “In their grief, humans often lash out.”

“And what of our grief?” Y/N’s mother glared at the Travelers. She was never very good at hiding her facial expressions. “What of our pain?”

“People are afraid of the unknown,” he said quietly. “They do not understand our magic and so, they do not understand us.”

“Fools.”

“Perhaps.” Wrapping an arm around her mother, he squeezed gently. “But so are we.”

Y/N’s mother glanced at him, expression softening. It was clear she did not trust the humans, but she did trust Y/N’s father. Even now, many years later, their relationship has always been a paradigm for Y/N of love.

For the rest of the evening, her mother was silent, although her tight-lipped expression was evidence enough of her displeasure.

Y/N stopped listening to the storyteller at some point, too tired to remain awake. As she dozed against her father, she caught snippets of conversation around the flames. The Travelers mingled easily with the citizens of Crymych, pouring them wine and drinking with abandon. They toasted to their magic, to power and insisted it was something to be celebrated, even revered.

Remarkably, they were not lying – the Travelers did revere magic.

They simply considered humans too debased to use it.

That was the night Y/N awoke to a blood-curdling scream. She was old enough by then to sleep in her own room and she nearly fell on the floor in her haste to wake up. Kneeling on her mattress, she pressed her nose to the window – and jerked back in fear when crimson splattered the glass.

Y/N squinted, not understanding – but then saw the crumpled shape on the ground. 

She saw the unseeing eyes of Emrys staring back at her.

Y/N screamed. 

Hearing the sound, Emrys’ murderer whipped around, silver knife held aloft. Seeing her face, he snarled and raced for the door. Y/N did not stop to think, throwing herself off the bed and sprinting fast down the hall.

The front door rattled as she ran, shoulder slamming into it from the other side. At the end of the hall, Y/N skidded to a stop and threw open her parents’ bedroom door.

Her mother’s head snapped up, eyes red-rimmed as she clutched at her father. He was unconscious, held limp in Y/N’s mother’s arms while she roughly shook his frame.

“Y/N.” Dropping her father, Y/N’s mother stumbled from bed. She glances past Y/N to the hall, hearing the disturbance at the front door. “Get out of here. Now. Hide!”

Her father lay on bed, head lolled to one side. A five-year-old Y/N stared helplessly on, not understanding why he did not move. Then, she realized something important. Her mother had not drunk the wine that night. Her father had. Horrified by this realization, her legs froze in place – and the front door flew open, shattering against the wall.

“Hide!” Y/N’s mother yelled, rushing past.

Shadows swirled at her fingertips, yanked from the ground as her mother met him head-on. The intruder screamed, shadow shoved down his throat. Whirling around, Y/N rushed to her father and tugged on his hand. He did not move, drugged and unconscious.

“Wake up, daddy,” she gasped, vision blurring. Her mother screamed, dark shadows rushing through the entrance to the room. “You have to wake up.”

Y/N’s mother stumbled into the room, clutching her shoulder. Blood dripped through her fingers and, seeing Y/N, her eyes widened. “Hide!” she hissed, gathering a thick ball of shadow. “RUN!”

Shocked into motion, Y/N finally obeyed. While her mother gathered the darkness before her, Y/N darted past and into the hall. Their front door stood open, ajar to the night but as soon as Y/N reached it, she shuddered to a halt.

Her town was lit by fire.

Several homes were already ablaze, doused with kerosene and sent up in flames. They stood as terrible lampposts, lighting the carnage within. Blood pooled on the ground in dark puddles, multiple bodies lying limp and twisted between them. Dark shapes darted from the shadows, cackling with laughter and calling out to each other.

Slowly, Y/N took a step backwards.

Glancing over her shoulder, she saw the hallway behind her was clear. Her mother’s shadows were no longer there, which could only mean one thing – turning around, Y/N ran back inside.

Her feet pounded floorboards beneath her, hallway growing longer with each step she ran. When she finally reached the bedroom, Y/N realized in horror her father was dead. His throat had been slit ear to ear, blood ruby-red on the sheets. As for her mother, Y/N arrived just in time to see her gutted through with the knife.

Her mother choked, hands twitching around the steel in her gut.

Someone nearby screamed – in a far-off part of her mind, Y/N realized it was her.

Dropping her mother to the floor, the man slowly turned. Blood dripped from his knife to the ground – his black gloves were stained with it, his silver ring tarnished with crimson.

As he took a menacing step forward, Y/N came to her senses.

She ran.

Sprinting down the long hall, the world seemed to blur. Shadows stretched out to her eagerly, wrapping her body and calling her home. Closing her eyes, Y/N begged for safety – and when she opened them, she had entered the Shadow realm.

No one found her there.

Inhaling sharply, Y/N tears herself from the dream to sit upright in bed.

The only sound in the room is her breath, which is deafening. Hands fisted in sheets, Y/N clenches her eyes shut and wills her heartbeat to slow. Chest rising and falling, Y/N reminds herself over and over where she is.

Tywll, not Crymych.

A tavern, not her parents’ home.

Slowly, her eyes flutter open.

Staring at the wall, Y/N’s cannot help but remember. For so long, she has tried to forget. To forget what she was – what she is – and how she became who she is now.

Haltingly, Y/N tugs back her covers to stand from the bed. Padding to her washbasin, she splashes cold water on her face. Staring at herself in the mirror, Y/N grips the bowl.

A stranger stares back at her.

Well – not a stranger, but Yoongi is correct. She is not a shadow-singer. She is not the person her parents raised her to be – but then again, the person her parents raised her to be is someone who cannot exist. The world will not permit her to.

Y/N does not know if anyone else survived Crymych’s massacre. In theory, they might have. Only the adults drank the wine, but Y/N cannot imagine anyone else lived through that carnage. If her mother and Emrys died, two of the strongest in their generation, it is unlikely anyone lived.

It is an accident Y/N is alive at all. She certainly did not intend to travel to the Shadow realm that night. It took her three days to make it back to the Real world and once she did, the Travelers were gone.

Her parents were gone too, but in a different way.

Swallowing, Y/N tears her gaze from the mirror. It has been a long time since she had that nightmare. She cannot help but blame Yoongi for it. If he had not shown up the way he did, asking about her past and forcing her to relive it, she would not have fallen down this hole once again.

And yet – glancing over her shoulder, Y/N ensures she is alone. No one watches her from the shadows, no one waits in the hall.

Closing her eyes, she reaches slowly inside to unlock the door. It does not take as long as before for her power to flow. Exhaling, Y/N sags in relief as her magic floods through her. 

It has been so long, she almost forgot what a blessing it is.

The shadows twist around her ankles, climbing her arms to slip up her neck. Y/N relishes in it, tipping her head back to better enjoy the burn. The darkness has always been a comfort to her – it has always offered her protection, rather than fear.

Exhaling slowly, tears prick her eyes. Y/N wipes these away. It has been so long since she allowed herself to use magic. So long since she allowed herself to be real, to be true and to embrace what she is. The experience hurts.

It also feels right.

Once sated, Y/N releases her hold on the shadows. They do not flee from her this time. Instead, they seem to hover. She looks at them wistfully – until finally, Y/N leaves the door open and returns to bed.

Slipping under her covers, she draws them up to her chin. Her insides are aflame, but no longer does she find the sensation unpleasant.

Uncertain, she turns her head on the pillow. That spark, the feverish sensation – she realizes it was not Yoongi, exactly, but her magic. 

Like calls to like.

Shivering, Y/N sinks lower and pulls the sheet overhead. Curling in on herself, she wonders if he even needs to sleep. She wonders if Yoongi felt anything at all when they touched. Then, Y/N wonders why she bothers thinking of him at all.

Pushing all this away, she allows the warmth of sleep to pull her under.

For the next week, Y/N distances herself from the inn.

It is not so difficult – claiming increased work at the forge, Y/N simply slips out early each morning and returns in the evening. When she does, she washes dishes with Rumilda and stays far from the tavern. In the morning, she helps Rian in the kitchen until it is time to go.

In this way, she avoids Yoongi.

Y/N knows this to be a hopeless endeavor. Yoongi is Cŵn Annwn – it is impossible to hide if he truly wishes to find her. He can enter the Shadow realm, which is something Y/N finds intriguing, despite her feigned disinterest. She has never met anyone else who could. Y/N, herself has only traveled there twice.

Once, on the night of the Travelers and again, the night Yoongi found her.

Since he does not find her, Y/N assumes he has no need. This also interests her, along with the idea that Lord Arawn plays favorites. Not much is known about the dark King of Annwn, aside from his power and aura of mystery. Equally little is known about the Cŵn Annwn and yet, here Y/N is with one sleeping at her doorstep.

Closing the door to the inn, Y/N pulls her cloak close and sets off down the lane. She is later than she meant to be, due to Rumilda taking ill late last night. As Y/N darts around the tavern, her cloak catches on the edge of a barrel.

“Ah!” she yelps, swiftly jerked backwards. Her hand is already reaching for the clasp when a voice interrupts.

“Here, let me help you with that.”

Glancing up, Y/N is stunned to see Alvah before her. She had almost forgotten his existence. His fingers work nimbly at her cloak and, once free, Alvah takes a step back. 

Smiling at her, light brown hair falls into his gaze.

“I – thank you,” Y/N stammers.

“Not a problem,” Alvah says, wrinkles forming at the corner of his eyes.

He really is attractive. Y/N noticed it the other night in the tavern but now, in the clear light of day, the fact is infinitely more apparent. Tugging her cloak around her neck, Y/N nods and sets off down the road.

Alvah falls into step alongside her.

Y/N looks up, surprised.

Seeing her face, Alvah’s lip quirks. “I’m sorry. You’re probably thinking I’m following you. Aren’t you?”

“Well.” She pauses. “Now, I am.”

He laughs easily. “Rest assured I’m not. I merely have business in town.”

“Business?” They continue to walk, turning down the next lane. “Most of our guests move on from Tywll in a few days. Isn’t the autumnal festival next week?”

“Ah,” Alvah says, as though he understands the confusion. “I’m not most guests, though.”

“Apparently not,” Y/N says, upper lip twitching.

They continue to walk on in silence, Alvah’s gloved hands are clasped behind his back. He glances sideways at her. “I’ll confess, I can’t leave until I accomplish something of worth.”

“Something of worth?” Unable to help herself, Y/N teases a little. “Can it be anything, or does it have to be something specific? Does a long walk constitute ‘something of worth?’ Does sowing a field? Planting a harvest?”

Alvah laughs and tips back his head. “I actually had something in mind.”

“Oh? What?”

“The merchant, Cadoc,” Alvah admits, faltering somewhat. “I need him to offer my father a trade deal. If I can convince him of this, I’ll be granted our land as its heir.”

“Oh.” Something akin to disappointment settles within Y/N’s stomach. The son of a landowner is far above her station. “That is something of worth, indeed.”

“I hope so. If I manage this, I hope I can advance in other aspects of my life.”

“In what way?” 

Absently, Y/N tucks a strand of hair behind an ear. Her skirts drag through the mud and she is woefully aware she walks to the forge. Whomever Alvah’s future wife is, Y/N is certain she will not have hands dirty with soot and steel.

“In marriage, for one,” he says quietly.

It is at this very moment Y/N steps in a puddle and nearly face-plants in the mud. Alvah’s hand quickly steadies her, grasping her elbow before she can fall. Glancing upwards, Y/N’s cheeks heat with embarrassment. 

Yanking her arm free of his, she clutches her cloak. “I’m so sorry,” she breathes, looking back at the puddle. “I, um – I just don’t often speak about…”

“Marriage?” Alvah prompts with a smile.

Silently nodding, she turns down the street to the forge.

“Why not?” 

Alvah follows. 

Now, Y/N knows he is following her. There is nothing else this way but the forge and she glances his way, oddly pleased by the realization. “I would think that’s obvious, no?”

“Not to me,” Alvah says pleasantly.

Although it is still early, the town has begun to wake. Several townspeople throw open their shutters, sweeping their stoops in anticipation of a day’s work. Y/N glances their way, feeling the thrum of life in the air – and yet, none glance in her direction.

“I’m not exactly the sweetheart of this village,” she says, under her breath.

“I don’t know that’s a bad thing.”

Despite the thrill his words give her, they turn the next corner and come into view of the forge. 

Alvah continues to walk, glancing her way. “Was that too forward?” he murmurs. “I apologize, if it was.”

“I – no. I only am not sure I agree.”

“No?”

Y/N sighs. “My current status limits my options.”

“Status?”

Coming to a stop at the gate of the forge, she gestures limply at its doors. “There are not many who wish to marry a woman apprentice.”

Alvah’s gaze brightens, realizing what she is saying. “You work... here?”

Y/N nods, lips tight.

“But that’s wonderful. Why, I – oh. What happened?” Alvah frowns, seeing the boarded-up window.

“Oh, nothing much.” Y/N shrugs, pushing open the gate. “There was a storm the other night. A branch fell.”

Alvah frowns, examining closer. “A storm? I – oh, I’m sorry. I’m being nosy, aren’t I?”

Y/N laughs, shaking her head. “Not at all. Most townspeople would’ve already formed their own conclusions.”

“I don’t wish to be seen as most people to you.”

Y/N’s heart flutters, though she does her best to temper the response. It would not do to be attracted to Alvah. As much as he wishes to believe they could work, Y/N knows they would not. He is the wealthy son of a land-owning man and Y/N is, well, Y/N.

“A branch crashed through the window,” she explains, returning to his original question. “Narrowly missed the smith’s daughter, Gwen.”

“You don’t say.” Alvah resumes staring at the window. “What a lucky break it missed her.”

“Yes. Lucky.”

Alvah pauses, then looks at her cryptically. “This daughter – was she injured?”

Y/N is surprised to find him so interested. “I don’t think so,” she admits, startled into the truth.

Alvah’s expression turns sheepish. “I’m afraid I must apologize again. You’ve now seen me for what I truly am.”

“Which is?”

“Insatiably curious,” he laughs, offering a smile. “I ask far too many questions when I’m nervous.”

“Oh?” Y/N glances at the forge. “What would you have to be nervous of?”

Rather than answer this, Alvah gently takes hold of her hand. Y/N looks down in surprise, thrown when he lifts this to his lips. Brushing a kiss to her fingers, he slowly releases his hold.

Y/N stares at him in shock.

“You tell me,” Alvah says, low and direct.

When her lips part, but nothing comes out, he turns back up the road.

Y/N watches him leave, uncertain how she should feel. She rubs the back of her hand with one thumb, attempting to commit the gesture to memory. As nice as his touch was, it was only that. Nice.

It did nothing to spark the life in her veins.

It did nothing to stir the magic in her blood.

Turning around on her heel, Y/N enters the forge.

At the end of her day, Y/N is thoroughly exhausted.

She stands in the middle of the forge, bellows held in one hand while she strokes the flames higher. Owen left a half-hour prior to make another delivery, directing Y/N to finish up today’s metalwork. It was a large step towards her independence, being left alone in the forge.

Feeling prideful of this, Y/N sets the bellows aside and picks up a large piece of metal. She needs to create several more horseshoes, since the recent crowd of travelers has bled their stock dry. Holding the metal over the fire, Y/N slowly melts it in each direction. Glancing briefly over her shoulder, she ensures no one watches and tempers the edges with darkness.

Yoongi chuckles and steps from the shadows. “Does Owen know you do that?” he asks.

Y/N yelps, nearly dropping the horseshoe in the flames.

Yoongi’s smile widens, walking closer. “What are you doing?”

Scowling, Y/N retracts the horseshoe to dunk in the water. “Creating something,” she mutters, staring into the bucket. “Something you wouldn’t know anything about.”

Yoongi comes to a stop at her shoulder, peering over. “Creating something with magic?”

Y/N’s gaze flies upwards. “Will you please be quiet?” she hisses. “Someone could hear.”

“Someone like Gwen?”

Swiftly, Y/N removes the horseshoe and stomps to the shelf. Satisfied by its shape, she places this down and whirls to face Yoongi. “Touch her,” she blurts. “And I’ll have something to say about it.”

“Like what?”

Ignoring his mirth, Y/N strides past him to undo her apron. The leather is heavy, sticking to her chest in a way she pointedly ignores. It is not as though Yoongi would ever look at her like that. However – when she glances his way, she sees Yoongi look hastily up.

Almost guiltily, he avoids her gaze.

Y/N pauses, uncertain what just occurred. Deciding she is imagining things, she resumes hanging her apron. “Leave Gwen out of this, alright?”

Disappearing from where he stands, Yoongi reappears beside her. “You know I can’t promise that,” he says, low. “Just like you can’t promise not to use magic. It’s not what we are.”

Enraged by his casual use of magic, Y/N lifts her chin. “Since you seem so intent upon continuing this conversation,” she hisses. “Let’s do it outside of my workplace.”

Without waiting for his response, she grabs her cloak to push open the door. Exiting the forge, Y/N sends a dark wave of magic behind her to clean its surface. Ignoring Yoongi’s smirk, Y/N strides down the road.

“So.” He catches up to her easily, sticking his hands in his pockets. “Can we continue our conversation now?”

“What conversation?” Y/N pulls her cloak tighter. “You broke into my place of work and now are stalking me home.”

“To the inn,” Yoongi corrects. “Where I also rent a room.”

“And the breaking and entering part?”

“Doors are... confusing for Cŵn Annwn.”

Scowling, Y/N lowers her voice. “Doesn’t excuse your impropriety.”

Yoongi shrugs.

He becomes uncharacteristically silent as they walk through the town. The town’s lamplighters are almost done for the evening, the contained flames of the lamps casting shadows over the ground. Y/N stares at it all, feeling their tug in her soul.

It seems now she has let magic back in, it will not be denied. If the time should ever come when Y/N must part from it a second time, she is not sure she will be able to do so.

Yoongi exhales at her side. “Actually,” he says, sounding hesitant. “I came by to ask you something.”

“Oh? How bold to ask more, when you already barter my soul.”

He scowls, looking her way. “I’m not bartering your soul, Y/N. You tangled with fate by saving that girl. That kind of thing has consequences.”

“What type of consequences?”

Yoongi pauses, only to chuckle. “Oh, no,” he mutters. “Only the dead and dying know that. You know, for a human, you have a worryingly low sense of self-preservation.”

“Perhaps if you were more forthcoming.”

“Oh, yes. Ask the night to tell you its secrets.”

The corner of Y/N’s lips lift despite herself. It is funny, in a way. The questions she asks Yoongi, the frustration she holds for him – they are in many ways similar to the frustration humans have with witches. She cannot understand him and his rules and so, she thinks him against her.

Subtly, she glances sideways.

Yoongi is already looking back.

Hastily, Y/N jerks her head forward. “What did you wish to ask me?”

“Oh. Right.” Yoongi sounds disappointed, which causes Y/N’s heartbeat to race. She tempers it quickly, scolding herself for being so silly. “I wanted to ask if you’ve seen anything unusual.”

“Unusual?” Y/N nearly smiles. “More unusual than a shadow-singer walking with Cŵn Annwn through the town square?”

Yoongi laughs, a deep rumble. “Yes, more unusual than that. I only ask because, well – before my arrival, did you have any difficulty accessing your magic?”

Y/N pauses at the next street corner. The lamplight does not reach this far, giving them space to remain unseen.

“No,” she says, squinting upwards. “Or – I don’t know. I never really tried.”

Yoongi comes to a stop. “Never?”

“It was out of necessity.”

“I know, but…” Yoongi stares at her incredulously. “Damnation, Y/N. How long have you refrained?”

“Fifteen years, give or take.”

“Fifteen… fifteen years?”

“Yes, well.” Y/N exhales and resumes walking. “We all do what we must in order to survive.”

Seeming troubled, Yoongi falls into step alongside her. “The reason I ask, is many of my messengers have been odd since I came here. Reluctant to travel. One even mentioned this area being cursed against magic. Is that so?”

“I don’t really know.”

“He said a great massacre of witches and warlocks took place some fifteen years ago.”

Hearing her history said so casually aloud, Y/N’s feet falter beneath her. She comes to an accidental stop, staring blankly at his back. Vision blurring, her hands ball into fists.

Yoongi continues several paces before realizing she does not follow. “Y/N?” He turns, gaze widening when he sees her expression. “I – oh.”

He seems to do the math in his head. Fifteen years since she last used her magic. Fifteen years since witches and warlocks were murdered. The reality of her situation dawns on him, but before they can speak further, a door bangs open and drunk men tumble out. Yoongi unthinkingly moves closer, glaring at them as they pass. 

Y/N shivers, rubbing her arms to regain control. “It’s fine,” she mutters, shaking it off. “Let’s just go.”

Yoongi looks at her dubiously but nods, following suit.

As they enter the main part of town, the moon breaks through the clouds. Silvery light casts the square in an otherworldly sheen, seeming to exist half-in and out of reality. Smoke curls over the roofs, grey against the inky black of the night. Tywll is quieter after dark, but only barely.

Across the street, a mother lingers in the door to her household. She chats with the milkman, a toddler clinging to her ankles while another one darts into the street. He does not pay attention, swinging around a lamppost and nearly hitting his head on a carriage.

As gently as she can, Y/N uses her shadows to urge the child back to its mother. When she turns around, she sees Yoongi watching.

“What?” she demands, walking faster. He says nothing, merely following suit. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“No reason.” Yoongi seems genuinely puzzled. “I just don’t understand you, that’s all.”

“Me?”

“You hid your magic for fifteen years.” Lowering his voice, Yoongi glances around. Apparently, her apprehension is catching. “You say it was out of necessity, because these people would have killed you otherwise. And yet – whenever you do use magic, it’s to their benefit. You saved Gwen from harm. You pushed that toddler to safety.”

Y/N’s cheeks heat. “And?”

“And,” Yoongi shrugs. “It’s odd, that’s all.”

“What is?”

“That you would choose to help those who would kill you without hesitation.”

Her eyes widen, feet faltering, but she keeps walking down the road.

Seeing her reaction, Yoongi tilts his head. “What is it?” he asks. “Was it something I said?”

“You just…” Y/N’s brow furrows. “Treat life so cavalierly. That’s all.”

Yoongi seems mildly offended. “I assure you, I do not.”

“But you do.” Y/N finally comes to a stop. “You’re an enforcer. You only deal with the dead, with souls who have already been weighed and found wanting. Souls without an option for redemption. I live here, though.”

“And where is here?” 

“I live amongst the living,” she says. “In my eyes, there is always room for redemption.”

Yoongi’s gaze flickers with something undefined. “There are some who would call you naïve.” 

“I imagine so,” Y/N says, shrugging to walk past. “I’ve never much cared what people thought about me, though.”

After a moment, Yoongi gives in and follows. As they wind their way through the town, the lamps become more and more sparse. The pools of light lessen between them. Rather than be unnerved by this fact, Y/N welcomes it, embracing the night.

When they finally reach the inn, Yoongi stops.

“Well.” Y/N glances sideways, tugging again on her cloak. “Will you be in Tywll awhile longer?”

Yoongi cranes his neck up to examine the roof. “I imagine so.”

“I see. Are you coming in?”

Yoongi looks at her. “In a bit. I need to meet a messenger outside of town.”

His lips part, a question within but before he can ask it, Y/N places a hand on the doorknob. “Well, goodnight,” she says, pushing inside – until her hand is caught in his.

Startled, she looks down.

Yoongi’s hand has slipped easily through her fingers. He holds her gently, steadily, as though she is something to be treasured. When she looks up, she finds his gaze darker than night.

“I don’t wish to harm you,” he says, low and sincere.

This is what Y/N wanted from Alvah’s touch. This heat racing through her veins, this unbearable lightness of her heart – this is what she wanted from Alvah but instead, feels with Yoongi.

Swiftly, she tugs her hand from his grasp. Y/N cannot afford to forget their situation, not for a moment. Yoongi is here for her soul and at any point in time, may be forced to take her to Annwn.

Steeling her spine, Y/N pushes open the door. “Then don’t,” she says, walking inside.

The door swings shut behind her, leaving Yoongi out in the cold.

Y/N leaves early the next morning.

Because of this, Alvah is not waiting to greet her. She did not expect him to be – based on their previous conversation, Y/N holds little hope for a relationship between them. Alvah was nice to talk to, but there is not much more she can ask.

Unlike Yoongi – Y/N’s teeth grit – who somehow manages to get under her skin every time.

Walking fast down the lane, her cloak brushes the ground. The moon has sunk below the horizon, which means the rising of dawn cannot be far off. Rubbing her arms, Y/N fights to keep herself warm.

At the next bend in the road, her feet falter beneath her. 

Something is wrong.

The door to Owen’s home is ajar, left standing open to his front yard. Slowly, Y/N resumes walking and glances side to side. No one else on this street is awake yet, so no one else has noticed the disturbance.

As Y/N draws near, she becomes certain in her assessment. The front gate is unlocked, as though forgotten, or disregarded. Gently, Y/N pushes this open.

“Hello?” she calls, peering into the mist.

No one answers and Y/N is just considering leaving when Owen emerges from around the house. His appearance is off – apron half-tied and hair all askew. He looks past Y/N for a moment, before zeroing in on her face.

“Y/N.” Jerking to life, he rushes across the yard.

“Own?” Y/N frowns and pushes open the gate. “What’s wrong?”

“I – Gwen,” he pants, coming to a stop. “I can’t find Gwen.”

“What do you mean?” Y/N glances around, as though Gwen might pop up any moment. “That doesn’t make sense.”

“I know,” says Owen, frantically wringing his hands. “I can’t find her anywhere. She’s not in her bed, nor the kitchen, nor the forge. I – I looked everywhere I can think of, Y/N.”

“Alright.” Y/N steps forward. “Alright, we’ll find her. Perhaps she went out this morning? Did you need bread, or water?”

Owen simply looks at her, dazed. “No, no. Gwen never leaves before I start work.”

Y/N does not know how to respond. The best-case scenario is Gwen did leave on her own – otherwise, the possibilities take a darker turn. “Let me help you look,” she insists. “Maybe you missed her.”

Slowly, Owen nods and follows meekly behind when Y/N enters the yard.

The two search the house from top to bottom, the yard from back to front, but find nothing. Owen is correct – Gwen is gone and what is worse; her bed remains unmade. It does not seem she slept here last night. This has Owen beside himself, not understanding how he misplaced her.

Y/N assures him this is not his fault – perhaps Gwen left to meet friends. It would not be kind of Gwen to do so, to make her father worry like this. Indeed, it would not be like Gwen at all, but at least in this scenario, she would be safe.

Returning to the front yard, Y/N glances up at the house. “There weren’t signs of a break-in.” 

Owen nods slowly. “A good thing.”

In a way. It means Gwen knew the intruder – it does not mean she is safe. 

“We’ll find her,” Y/N exhales. “Maybe she went to the next village. Or, a friend’s house? Is there any place she might have stayed the night?”

Owen’s gaze sharpens. The implication in her question is clear – Gwen is young, beautiful and has many admirers. She might have run away on purpose.

“Possibly,” Owen says. His shoulders sag. “There was someone she was interested in lately, I know. Very recent. Gwen is a good girl, she really is, but… well, she can be romantic.”

For a girl of their age to be called romantic is hardly a compliment. Often, it means they lose their head when in love.

“Well, then.” Y/N sighs. “Perhaps we keep this quiet as long as we can.”

Owen hesitates because, on the one hand, if Gwen is in danger people should know right away. On the other hand – if she did run off with a man, it would cause irreparable damage to her reputation.

“We’ll give her until the end of the day,” Owen determines, reaching behind him to re-tie his apron. “If she is not home by then…”

Y/N nods, understanding the implication. If Gwen is not home by nightfall, the consequences cannot be stopped.

The day drags on longer than usual. Although much work is done in the forge, it seems to take twice as long. Owen keeps glancing out the window, as though he expects Gwen to return home any minute. 

As the day wears on, the sun rises and falls, she does not appear.

Finally, Owen shoves his tongs in the water. “I’m heading into town,” he announces, undoing his apron.

Y/N looks up, wiping her brow. “You’re what?”

“Going into town,” Owen repeats, hanging his garment up on a hook. “I’ll see the sheriff and tell him what’s happened. Either Gwen is in danger, or she has run away. Either way.” He sets his jaw. “I’m bringing her home.”

“Are you certain?” Y/N does not wish to dissuade Owen, but she does feel a certain duty to point out the risk. “If she’s run off, perhaps…”

Owen stares out the window. A shadow crosses his expression, considering the unthinkable. 

“And if she hasn’t?”

Were it anyone else, Y/N would consider running off the more likely option. Tywll is so small, it is rare someone steals a loaf of bread, let alone a woman. However, Gwen is not just anyone. She loves Owen dearer than anything else in this world – and Y/N knows she would not leave without saying goodbye. There is something very wrong with this picture.

Slowly, she nods.

Owen takes a few minutes longer before slipping out the door. Y/N begins cleaning the forge, but her head is not in the process. She is too distracted by thoughts of Gwen – where she might be, who she is with and what Owen will do, if she never comes home. 

When she leaves for the night, Owen still has not returned.

Gwen does not come home that night either, nor the one following.

Rumors spread like wildfire through the village – malicious ones, dismissive ones. Ones which have Y/N waking from nightmares again, but this time they are not her own. At some point, Rian bans talk of Gwen in the tavern, but this does not prevent them from discussing in hushed tones.

Y/N overhears as she waits on the tables, replacing their ale and trying hard not to listen. At first, the town suspects Alvah, then Yoongi. They quickly move on when neither one leaves, nor their rooms contain Gwen.

It would not make sense to stick around after committing a crime.

And so, the town turns to other culprits. There have been many travelers in Tywll, traveling through for Dowais’ autumnal festival – it is hard to remember all, but the town tries. Y/N stops listening after a while, only caring about Owen and the safety of Gwen.

At the end of the second day with no sign of Gwen, Y/N begins to grow restless. Yoongi has not been seen much since Gwen’s disappearance. To be fair, Y/N has not seen him at all since they walked home from the forge, but his absence the past few days has been noticeable. As though he does not wish to speak and is avoiding her questions.

It would only be natural for her to suspect Yoongi and indeed, Y/N does for a time. Looking at things objectively, Yoongi is the obvious culprit. He was sent to watch over their souls and he warned Y/N that at any moment, he could drag them away.

And yet – if this is so, and Yoongi has taken Gwen’s soul, why is he still here?

For he is here, even if he is often absent. His steamer trunk is still in his room – Y/N checked this once, against her better judgement – and she has even seen him disappear out the front door. Yoongi is still IN Tywll, which makes Y/N wonder what he knows. 

She decides to find out the very next night. Standing at the foot of the staircase, Y/N waits until Rian looks away before slipping upstairs.

The noise of the tavern muffles on the second floor. Y/N walks down the hall, taking purposeful care not to make too much sound. Room seven is at the end, its number in gold peeling letters upon the front door. When no one answers, Y/N tentatively pushes this open.

Yoongi is not here.

A candle sits on the front table, gathering dust. This does not surprise Y/N – if Yoongi is anything like her, he probably prefers the dark. Stepping further inside, she pulls the door shut behind her.

The trunk lies at the foot of his bed, a dark jumble of clothing within. This sight nearly makes her smile, since it seems so horribly human. The Cŵn Annwn should have clothing of shadow, or some otherworldly substance which does not exist in this world.

Speaking of which – shadows curl at Y/N’s ankles as she walks. This seems to happen more and more lately. Darkness spreads wherever she touches and each place she does, Y/N gleans a sense of the object.

Yoongi has not been here for hours.

Paused at the foot of his bed, Y/N looks around. Gwen is not here, that much is obvious – from what Y/N can tell, she never was. This means Yoongi must be equally perturbed Gwen has disappeared. He was supposed to be keeping an eye on her, after all.

Darkness pulses in the corners, beckoning her near. Y/N stiffens, realizing where Yoongi must be. If he is not here in Tywll, if she can find no trace of him in this world – he must be in another.

As soon as Y/N thinks this, the world wavers around her. Y/N forces this back and tries not to travel, but then wonders why. Yoongi told her not to enter the Shadow realm but then, he is not here.

Yoongi does not tell her what to do.

Inhaling gently, Y/N closes her eyes.

This time, she feels the world shift and when she opens her eyes, she is expecting the nightmarish landscape.

Still, the Shadow realm seems different today. Its edges are blackened, crumbled apart at the seams. Somewhere in the distance, Y/N hears a scream. Whirling, she faces the same way she came but sees nothing. The Real world wavers just beyond reach and all that exists here is shadow.

“Hello?” Y/N calls.

Her voice does not seem to echo. This makes sense – there is nothing here to produce the vibrations.

Slowly walking forward, Y/N peers into darkness. Her magic exists here, but less. Or – perhaps it is more. Her magic is stronger, but this place is made out of shadows. Being surrounded by so much makes her somehow feel small.

When Y/N takes another step forward, a shape stirs in the darkness.

“Hello?” she says, coming to a stop. “Who’s there?”

The shape stirs once more, beginning to solidify into something huge, something massive. Y/N’s eyes widen, head tipping back to see the end of it. She trembles, about to scream when –

Yoongi appears, dropping from the dark sky before her.

He snarls, gaze red and teeth bared – canines as sharp as hellfire itself. Yoongi does not glance at Y/N, only having eyes for the monster before them. He growls a second time in warning, one hand splayed to the ground.

The thing rears back, twitching grotesquely before it freezes in recognition. Yoongi stares at it silently, daring it to strike and slowly, the thing reneges and melts into twilight.

Yoongi remains frozen until he is sure it has gone.

His head snaps sideways to Y/N. “What were you thinking?” he growls, pushing himself up from the ground.

As he strides forward, he adopts a more human appearance. The red of his eyes dims, canines shortening but there is still something wolfish to his gaze.

Y/N stares over his shoulder, searching wildly for the thing in the shadows. “I – what was that?” she gasps.

Yoongi comes to a stop. “There are more things which travel the Shadow realm than just you and I, Y/N,” he says grimly.

“You!” she blurts, remembering why she came. “I was looking for you, Min Yoongi. We need to talk about Gwen.”

“Not here,” Yoongi mutters, gripping her wrist.

Before Y/N can protest, they melt away and reappear in his room.

Flinging her hand away, Yoongi strides across his floor. He comes to a stop at his bedside, grabbing a decanter and removing its top. Tipping the bottle sideways, amber liquid pours out.

As the daughter of an innkeeper, Y/N recognizes the sharp tang of alcohol. “What are you doing?” she asks, nose wrinkled.

“I’m drinking,” Yoongi says calmly, replacing the stopper. Turning around, he drinks the glass in one gulp. “I occasionally drink when others test my patience.”

“Your patience?”

“Yes, my patience,” he snaps. “You may be able to enter the Shadow realm, Y/N, but you are woefully unprepared for what you will find there.”

“Why? Because I’m human?”

“I – no.” Yoongi seems bewildered. “Because you haven’t used your magic in fifteen years, Y/N! You’re a child, learning to walk. If that Gwyllion had managed to touch you…” He pauses, refilling the glass without touching the bottle. “Your soul would’ve separated from your body and you would’ve wandered the Shadow realm for eternity. Is that what you wanted?”

A chill travels Y/N’s spine. A Gwyllion. 

She has heard stories about the famed demons of twilight ever since she was little. Gwyllions lurk in the shadows, dwell in the places between realms and rip souls from their bodies. She never once imagined one could hurt her, though – her, a shadow-singer.

Shaking his head, Yoongi surveys her reaction.

“No,” Y/N blurts, trying to remain in control. “That’s not what I wanted.”

He glares at her again before tipping his second drink back.

“I…” Y/N’s brow furrows. “If you can re-fill that with magic, why bother by hand?”

“Why, indeed?” Yoongi mutters. “Maybe because I – unlike you – don’t draw attention to myself in idiotic ways. I finish the tasks I am assigned and when I seek information from others, I don’t take unnecessary risks!”

Y/N pauses, zeroing in on the last part of his sentence. “What information are you seeking?”

Yoongi takes a step closer. Smoothly, he waves a hand to make the glass disappear. “Gwen,” he mutters. “Your friend. The soul I was assigned to watch has disappeared.”

“Yes, I know. That’s why I’m here.”

Yoongi pauses for a moment. “You think I took her.”

“No.”

He blinks, surprised. “No?”

“No.” Y/N shakes her head. “If you had taken her, you would’ve already left. Since you’re still here, I can only assume it was someone else.”

Yoongi stares at her at moment and Y/N wonders if this is the first time someone did not assume the worst of him. 

“Well, you’re correct.” Turning around on his heel, Yoongi walks towards his trunk. “I didn’t take her. That’s why I was in the Shadow realm at all – I was visiting another of the Cŵn Annwn to request information.”

“Did they have any?”

“No,” Yoongi mutters. “She’s gone.”

“I know that. Honestly, Yoongi, what have you even been doing these past –”

With a snarl, Yoongi disappears to reappear before her.

Stumbling backwards a bit, Y/N recovers quickly to glare. “One of these days, that shock factor is going to wear off,” she snaps.

“You don’t understand,” Yoongi insists. “When I say gone, I mean gone. I can’t find Gwen in the Real world. Nor in the Shadow realm. She’s not in the Otherworld. Gwen is gone.”

As Y/N freezes, comprehension dawning, Yoongi deflates.

“There’s something else going on here,” he says finally. “Some kind of magic I’m not taking into consideration. It doesn’t help most of my informants refuse to meet me in Tywll because of the Travelers.”

Y/N responds to this, automatic. “The Travelers haven’t been in these parts for years.”

“No, Y/N.” He looks at her gently. “They were quiet for a while. Recently though, they have been killing witches and warlocks up and down the north coast.”

Suddenly speechless, Y/N stares at him in horror.

“The last they were sighted was near here,” he adds, quiet. “If it helps, it is not as bad as the last time. Most speculate it’s only a few humans, not as many as before.”

Y/N cannot breathe. All this time, she should she was safe. She thought she could just wait out the storm and then, everything would be fine. It would seem the Travelers will not die, though and fleetingly, Y/N wonders if she will ever truly live.

Swallowing, Y/N moves towards the door. “Fine.”

“Y/N,” Yoongi exhales, clearly not believing her. 

She turns back around. “What does this have to do with Gwen?”

“I don’t know. I wish I did.”

He seems to be at a loss. The trunk behind him is still open, as though it might suddenly contain answers. Y/N stares at this and wonders how Yoongi came to be Cŵn Annwn. There are times when he seems almost human and then other time, woefully not.

Like the Yoongi she saw in the Shadow realm, eyes red and snarling with warning.

“Take me with,” she says suddenly.

Yoongi blinks, startled. “I – what?”

“When you go to find more information.” Y/N looks up, taking a step closer. “The next time you go to the Shadow realm, take me with.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Are you serious?” Yoongi looks at her, incredulous. “After everything I just said? You’re a liability, Y/N.”

“A liability you’re in charge of,” she reminds him. “You’re in charge of my soul, too, Yoongi. How would it look if I disappeared, too?”

Jaw snapping shut, Yoongi glowers at her. 

Sensing she has hit a nerve, Y/N continues. “Besides,” she says, pressing on. “I can help. I know this town, I know its people. I can help you. Just – let me. Please,” she adds, voice breaking on the word. “Gwen was my friend. I need… I have to do something.”

Yoongi stares at her for a moment, uncertain. Finally, he exhales and turns. “Alright. When I have another lead, I’ll come get you. Satisfied?”

“No.” Y/N watches him walk towards the window. “I want to go now.”

“Too bad.”

Y/N nearly smiles, but catches herself. There is no condemnation to his tone and Y/N knows he does not mean to be rude. He is only stating the facts – straightening her spine, Y/N wonders when she began reading Yoongi so well.

She wonders when she began trusting him.

Because she does – or, she trusts him more than most in her life. With this realization comes a modicum of guilt because Y/N has now gotten what she came for. She has more information, along with a promise and so, she should leave.

Before anything else can be given. 

“Thank you,” she says, reaching out for the knob.

Hovering there, she considers turning around. The room waits expectantly behind her, as though Yoongi also holds his breath. Steeling her spine, Y/N forces such nonsense aside and steps into the hall.

As the door falls shut behind her, Y/N hears him exhale. The sound is ragged, meaningful but is cut off before she can dissect any further. Hurrying away, Y/N tries not to replay the sound in her mind.

Y/N is not woken the next morning by the rooster.

Instead, it is Mervin’s hand on her shoulder which rouses her from her sleep. He holds a candle above her, the flickering flame illuminating his frame. Seeing him like this, Y/N blearily focuses on his face above hers.

“What is it?” she murmurs, pushing herself upwards.

Mervin’s expression is grave, his features drawn.

Recognizing this, Y/N tenses. “Mervin?”

“It’s… it’s Gwen.”

He does not need to say more – the rest is clear. If this were good news, he would be smiling. If this were good news, Mervin would not be waking Y/N in the middle of the night.

Fingers trembling, Y/N reaches out for her dressing gown. “What is it?”

Taking a step back, Mervin places the candle beside her. “They found her an hour ago,” he says, hollow. “She was in the river.”

Y/N freezes, fingers clutching the fabric.

Mervin does not stay long, leaving soon after to give her a few moments of peace. Changing in a daze, Y/N walks downstairs and realizes halfway she forgot several steps in her routine. Her hair is rumpled, buttons mismatched, but no one in the tavern seems to notice. Much of the town has gathered before Rian’s fire, huddled in groups and speaking in whispers.

When Y/N enters, she sees Rian by the fire. The bread is forgotten behind her, half-risen on top of the counter. Mervin clasps her hand, talking gently into the side of her hair. The sight is so unusual, Y/N comes to a stop.

Looking up, Rian hastily wipes a tear from her cheek. “Owen came by,” she announces, briskly standing to return to the bread. “The forge will be closed for the foreseeable future, so there’s no work today.”

“Alright,” Y/N exhales, having expected as much.

She stares at the kitchen, amazed to find it much the same as before. It seems almost offensive, to continue feeding the town and housing their guests when Gwen no longer exists. It seems their life should also come to a stop, out of respect for hers.

Mervin spared her the details of Gwen’s death out of consideration but as Y/N walks through the tavern, she catches the highlights, regardless.

Gwen was found in the river. She was drowned, with nary a mark on her body. No signs of struggle. No signs of injury – self-inflicted or otherwise. Gwen was merely found dead, eyes glassy and wide as she stared from the river.

Already, there are whispers of magic.

Throughout the morning, Y/N continues to overhear conversations. It was unnatural, the way she died and so, magic is the obvious conclusion. A tragedy of such magnitude has never occurred here before. People have died, yes but not like Gwen.

It seems impossible for her to be gone and so, people look for impossible answers.

For the rest of the week, Y/N throws herself into work. It helps to keep her moving, to stay distracted from the idea of Gwen being pulled from the river. She does not see Owen, though she would like to. He is firmly embroiled in a nightmare of his own and Y/N knows his life will take time to heal. Instead, she busies herself with the tavern, the inn and does not think about Gwen.

Or, she tries. 

This proves to be impossible when her death is the only subject Tywll is willing to talk about. Waiting tables each evening, Y/N hears gossip despite herself. The men all discuss the physical aspects of the death. How her lips were blue – cold, from the water – how her limbs were stiff, to the point where she could not be moved.

The women discuss what it means for their town. Gwen was a sweet girl; a good girl and it cannot be ignored she went voluntarily. There were no signs of struggle at the house. Whomever killed her remains at large and if they are near, everyone else is in danger.

Y/N continues to glance at the staircase, wondering when Yoongi will find her. Arawn cannot be pleased by Gwen’s early demise. Despite the ominousness of his presence, the Cŵn Annwn are never dispatched to intervene – only to bring humans to Annwn for judgement.

Although it may be foolish, Y/N finds herself believing him. This was not Yoongi’s plan, she can feel certain of that much. Yoongi might be many things, but he is not cruel – and the way they found Gwen was cruel.

Squeezing her body in between tables, Y/N comes to a stop at a large group of townspeople. The most important men are all gathered, Cadoc amongst them, and – to Y/N’s surprise – Alvah beside him. He speaks quietly with the older man and Y/N wonders absent-mindedly if he remains at work on his deal.

It would be highly insensitive if he were. As Y/N removes his glass though, she realizes they do not discuss business at all – but Gwen.

“I’m telling you,” Cadoc says under his breath. “You’re wrong. None of the men in this town would’ve laid a finger on her.”

Stiffening, Y/N places the glass on her tray.

“Of course not,” Alvah says, shaking his head. “I didn’t mean to imply they would. Only, it’s difficult to know anyone’s true intentions these days.”

Trevor grunts, from the other side of the table. “Man’s right. Would be madness to rule out the townsfolk, simply because blaming a traveler is easier.”

“Exactly.” Alvah glances over his shoulder. “Although…”

Cadoc squints over his cup. “Although, what? Spit it out, man.”

Shaking his head, Alvah wraps a gloved hand around his glass. The silver ring on his hand gleams in the firelight. “No, never mind. It is a silly thought.”

“What is?”

The rest of the table looks on, waiting for more. Looking up, Alvah realizes they hang on his every word. Y/N lingers too, motions slowed to ensure she hears what he has to say.

Alvah leans in. “Are there any in town who have… magic?”

“What are you implying?” Cadoc says sharply.

“Nothing,” Alvah says – quickly, as though embarrassed. “It is only… I have traveled much, my friends.”

The rest of the men grumble and glance at one another. Y/N finds it strange to see these men trust an outsider so quickly. Alvah has only been in Tywll a matter of weeks and, under any other circumstances, he would be a suspect of the murder.

“And?” Trevor demands, narrowing his gaze.

“And she died with no marks on her body,” finishes Cadoc, glancing at Alvah. “Is that what you’re getting at, boy?”

Alvah nods in relief. “Doesn’t it seem odd?”

“It does.” Cadoc inclines his head, hand tapping the table. “Still. It is rash to assume magic so fast.”

Y/N is surprised to hear Cadoc the voice of reason in this scenario. She has never much liked the merchant – he usually gives Owen impossible deadlines, and then even shorter ones follow when he manages to meet those.

“Obviously,” Alvah nods. “Likely, there is no magic involved. It is only strange, that’s all.”

“It is,” jumps in Trevor, gaze scanning the tavern.

Y/N turns before he can spot her. Reaching the next table, she purposefully remains within earshot. For the most part, they seem to have moved on – but then Alvah leans forward, whispering something to Cadoc. The first part is inaudible but the second, Y/N hears.

“… odd, he hasn’t come downstairs since they found her.”

Y/N’s blood chills when they look towards the stairs.

Glancing upwards, she sees Yoongi descending. He is dressed in his usual black, sparing no glance for the townsfolk before exiting the building. Multiple heads follow him, Y/N notices with alarm.

She is not sure how she missed this before. Of course, now that Gwen has been found, the town searches harder for her killer. It would seem they do not suspect Alvah, but they do Yoongi.

The wrongness of this twists deep in her chest. Yoongi did not kill Gwen; Y/N is certain. She may not know who did, but she is determined to find out. Which means it is even more imperative Yoongi take her to the Shadow realm. They need to find answers, and fast.

Before her expression can give her away, Y/N hurries into the kitchen. She stays there the rest of the night, helping Rumilda and washing the dishes. She cannot face the town now, unable to stomach their deliberate ignorance. It reminds her too much of Crymych, of her people screaming in fright and the horrible certainty those Travelers had when they killed.

Magic is evil and so, must be extinguished.

Scrubbing a pot harder, Y/N’s brows furrow. She cannot help but think yes, sometimes magic is evil – but in many ways, humans can be worse.

The evening is long. People do not want to leave the safety of the inn and its fire. Eventually, Rian is forced to shoo them all out with a rag, telling them to come back when they open tomorrow. Once they are gone, Y/N brings their dishes into the kitchen. She rolls up her sleeves, ready to work but Mervin reaches out to place a hand on her arm.

“No,” he says gently. “I think you’ve done enough for today. Go and sleep.”

Y/N pauses, glancing at Rian but she also says nothing, scrubbing away at the sink. When Mervin arches a brow, Y/N sags in relief.

“Alright,” she says, untying her apron. “But if you need any help, I’m –”

Cutting her off, Mervin shakes his head. “We’ll be fine. Go.”

Despite her protestation, Y/N is glad for their intervention. While work kept her going at first, it now feels a drag on her senses. She misses the forge – the hot yield of iron, the simmering heat of the furnace. She misses creating something. She misses Owen’s quiet humor and eating with Gwen during supper.

It was a haven once to her, but it no longer exists. The weight of this falls upon Y/N’s shoulders with each step she climbs. Once in her room, she slowly undresses. Each layer she sheds gives no relief to her burden. Turning around, Y/N cannot help but think it should have been her.

She is the magical one, she should have stopped this from happening. She should have been smarter, should have seen the signs earlier and done something to stop it. For sure, she should have kept a closer eye on Gwen after the accident.

Their souls were linked, after all.

“Y/N.”

Whirling at the sound of the familiar voice, Y/N clasps a hand to her throat. “Yoongi,” she chastises, willing her heartbeat to slow.

Yoongi winces and steps out of thin air. “I’m sorry,” he says, cloak swishing around him as he walks. “I came as soon as I could.”

“Does this mean you’ve found something?”

“Or nothing,” Yoongi exhales, coming to a stop right before her.

“You found something? Or, nothing?”

“Yes.”

Her frown deepens. “You’re being purposefully confusing.”

“Not purposefully,” says Yoongi. He shoves a hand through his hair. “I have a lead on information. Someone who may know what happened to Gwen – but I’m not sure. Hence the something, or nothing.”

“I see.” Forgetting about undressing, Y/N grabs for her cloak. “When do we leave?”

Yoongi does not respond, so she glances over her shoulder. She finds him staring back at her, gaze oddly pleading.

Slowly, she straightens. “You promised,” she reminds him.

“I know I did.” Yoongi inhales. “I know, but…”

“But what?”

“It’s dangerous. You don’t understand.”

“I do.” Y/N narrows her eyes.

“You don’t,” Yoongi insists, stepping forward. His hands find her wrists, sliding up to her elbows. Wherever his skin touches, a delicious heat thrums through her veins.

“Say that I don’t,” Y/N says, through gritted teeth. It takes everything in her not to be distracted. “I still want to come. You promised to take me.”

His brow lowers in frustration. “Even though your life will be in danger?”

“My life is always in danger,” Y/N says, breaking off. “It always is and I’m used to that fact but Gwen is the one who died. And I…” Exhaling roughly, she swallows.  “It should have been… I could have…”

Understanding dawns on his features. “It wasn’t your fault.”

She looks at him helplessly. “No?” 

“No,” he says sternly.

Y/N looks at him for so long, she nearly forgets what she wants. “All the same,” she says quietly. “I want to come.”

Yoongi returns her gaze, weighing the consequences. Whatever he sees in her expression must convince him because he finally takes a step backwards, holding out a hand.

“Fine,” he exhales, entwining their fingers. “Do not speak once we arrive, though. Let me do the talking.”

Y/N glances at him in surprise. Contrary to most men in this village, Yoongi has always listened to her when she spoke. He has never once tried to quiet her. Knowing he would not offer these boundaries without reason, she slowly nods. 

“Fine.”

Yoongi nods, setting his jaw as they disappear.

They reappear on a damp riverbank.

Letting go of her hand, Yoongi swiftly steps forward. He peers into the shadows as Y/N crosses both arms. Their location is unfamiliar. Y/N does not recognize the place, nor their surroundings. They are not in the Shadow realm – but neither are they anywhere she has been in the real world.

Willowy moss drips overhead, creeping down tree trunks to blanket the ground. Glancing at Yoongi, Y/N wonders why he let go of her hand. Opening her mouth to ask, she remembers his warning and slowly closes her lips.

Yoongi comes to a stop at the edge of the river. “Hoseok?” he calls. There is no answer. “Hoseok, I know you’re here.”

Mist rises gently from the water. This is a wild place, Y/N realizes. She can feel this in her bones and no longer, is she certain they are outside of the Shadow realm. Perhaps this is simply an unexplored part, an unfamiliar part. Rubbing her arms, Y/N glances around and wonders if she has been foolish.

Perhaps she should have asked Yoongi where they were going before leaving – definitely, she should have asked something before blindly following.

A shape solidifies before them, stepping from darkness.

The man wears a dark cloak, like Yoongi, but the similarities end there. He is taller, with a narrower face and distrusting eyes. Inhaling sharply, the man’s nostrils flare and Y/N gets the distinct impression he is scenting them.

Yoongi watches lazily while he does this. “Are you done, Hoseok?”

Hoseok’s head snaps down with a smirk. “Nearly.”

Exhaling deeply, Yoongi folds both arms over his chest. It is the oddest thing – although Hoseok searches the darkness behind him, he does not seem to see Y/N. It is as though she were not present at all, or somehow invisible.

“You stink like a human,” Hoseok says, eyes glowing red. “You’ve spent too much time with the mortals, I fear. Losing your touch?”

Yoongi does not react. “I have a job to do. Unlike you, I follow my orders.”

Hoseok’s gaze tightens. “Were your orders to get that village girl killed?” 

“Someone else interfered,” Yoongi growls.

“Obviously.”

“Enough,” Yoongi drawls, waving a hand. “You know why I’m here. You said you have information. Get on with it.”

Hoseok calmly examines the back of his hand. “I did say that, yes.”

“So, do you?”

The corner of his mouth lifts. “If I tell you, then what will you give me?”

Yoongi’s jaw tightens. “How about I won’t report you to Arawn for interfering with the investigation of another Cŵn Annwn?”

When Hoseok rolls his eyes, Y/N stiffens. Of course – Hoseok is also Cŵn Annwn. Looking closer, Y/N can see the truth of the matter. Hoseok’s red glowing eyes and the way he stepped from the shadows – obviously, he is Cŵn Annwn.

Still, Y/N cannot shake the feeling they are not the same.

“So predictable,” Hoseok mutters, glaring at Yoongi. “Always threatening to run and tell daddy.”

“The information?” Yoongi repeats, sounding bored.

Hoseok sighs. With a wave of his hand, a shadow appears in his palm. While Yoongi and Y/N watch, the darkness swirls and solidifies into a hair clip, lined with silver and jade.

Y/N nearly gasps, recognizing it to be Gwen’s. It is the one Owen bought her for Yuletide last year, the one she rarely removed because of how much she loved it. Remembering her promise to Yoongi in time, Y/N clasps a hand over her mouth. The noise remains stillborn.

Hoseok tilts his head. “Is this answer enough?”

Yoongi takes a casual step forward. “Did you get this from the girl?” he asks, examining the object. “Because I’ll be honest, Hoseok – pulling strange things from shadows has never impressed me.”

“It’s hers,” Hoseok mutters, lips pulling back from his teeth. “I was the one who escorted her to the Otherworld. She drowned, yes?”

“Mm.” Yoongi makes a noncommittal sound. “I’m afraid I need more than that.”

Y/N glances between them, hardly able to believe the callous way they discuss this; as though Gwen were an object, not a person. As though this were mere currency and she, a transaction. In a way, Y/N supposes this to be true.

“Blonde hair, rosy cheeks.” Hoseok arches a brow. “Rather attractive, for a human. Kept speaking of her father. Owen? Said she wanted to see him one last time – a predictable final request.”

“Alright.” Yoongi cuts him off, his distaste for the other Cŵn Annwn obvious. “I believe you. Now – the information?”

“Ah,” Hoseok pauses. “That.”

Twirling a hand, Hoseok conjures a soft plume of shadow. It snakes around his wrist, undulating gently with each twist of his fingers.

“I still don’t know what’s in this for me.” Hoseok smiles. “Until then, I’m afraid I simply don’t recall what Gwen said.”

Yoongi’s lips pull back. “Hoseok, you distasteful piece of –”

“Language,” Hoseok interrupts, holding up a hand. “And don’t try to threaten me with Arawn again. We both know he’s as displeased with you, as with me right now.”

Yoongi glares at him heatedly, clearly displeased by the way things are going. His eyes glow faintly red – not as noticeable as Hoseok’s, but the implication is there.

“I’ll relinquish the next hunt to you,” Yoongi says at last. He spits out the words, laying them at Hoseok’s feet. “The next time Arawn pits us against each other for a soul, I’ll let you win. Does that satisfy your request?”

Hoseok’s eyes gleam with interest. “It does.” He pauses, then laughs and twists the shadows before him. “I plucked this from the girl’s memory before transporting her to the Otherworld. It’s the last thing she saw before she died.”

Y/N watches a gloved fist appear from the shadows. The hand slowly flexes and unflexes, as though clenching life from a body. The hand wears a glove, finely made and on one finger rests a strange, silver ring.

Staring at this, the river seems to fade in her peripheral. 

“Alvah,” Y/N breathes.

Yoongi goes utterly still.

Abruptly, Hoseok straightens and the glove disappears. Glancing over Yoongi’s shoulder, his gaze widens – as though seeing Y/N for the first time. Taking a slow step from the shadows, Hoseok begins to walk forward.

“And who is this?” he asks, focusing in on Y/N.

Y/N swallows, meeting his gaze. Unlike Yoongi, there is no mercy to his expression. She gets the distinct impression this man enjoys what he does, who he is.

Hoseok comes to a stop, letting out a low laugh. “Yoongi,” he purrs, incredulous. “Are you up to your old tricks again? Bending the light. You devilish creature. And yet – also foolish,” he murmurs. “Bringing a human to neutral ground. Free for anyone to take.”

“She’s not yours,” Yoongi snarls, crouching reflexively in between them. “She’s mine.”

Hoseok’s upper lip curls. “Not here, she isn’t.”

Before Y/N can scream, Hoseok lunges in her direction. Yoongi is faster, his hand grabbing Y/N’s wrist to pull into night. Y/N gasps, vision unraveling as the world disappears. The riverbank slackens, Hoseok’s red eyes vanishing as they reappear somewhere else – only to disappear again.

They do this several times, visiting worlds Y/N does not know the names of. She sees an endless sea of metal, the tips of smoke curling from rooftops. This is replaced with a gaping, red maw in the ground. This vanishes too, and she sees Hoseok’s lips pulled back in a snarl. Then he is gone, and they stand on a riverbank, covered with mist – and then they are back in Tywll, stumbling against the inn.

Y/N lets out a noise as her back hits the wall.

Yoongi drops into a defensive crouch. In one hand, he brandishes a strange, silver knife – his other is thrown out, keeping Y/N back.

She blinks, not having seen him when he pulled this. Her back is pressed to the wall, heart beating hard in her chest. Nothing happens for one beat, then two. Hoseok does not appear from the darkness. They stay like that for a moment, breath coming in pants.

Finally, Yoongi straightens. He stares into the darkness, as though waiting for something and then turns around. 

“You,” he blurts, the noise strangled.

Y/N stares back, struggling to comprehend what she just saw.

Yoongi slides his knife into his belt. “Explain,” he breathes, stalking forward. “Explain why you spoke back there, why you revealed yourself! Why you nearly go yourself killed.”

“I– Alvah,” she exhales, barely audible. Out of everything tonight, that vision remains clear. “The ring on the memory’s hand. I... I know it. It belongs to Alvah.”

Yoongi comes a halt inches away from her face. “What do you mean?”

“The ring.” Y/N sags against the inn. Her knees buckle beneath her, barely keeping her upright. “Alvah has one just like it.”

Yoongi is quiet for a moment. “And you’re certain of this?”

“Yes.”

He glances over his shoulder at the town. It lies silent, draped in moonlight while Yoongi considers. “Well, then.” He returns to Y/N. “Alvah is not who he says he is.”

She releases a breath, slowly closing her eyes. “Obviously.”

Y/N expects Yoongi to chuckle, or give some sort of admonishment, so when he does neither, she opens her eyes.

Yoongi stares back at her, inches away from her face.

“Yoongi?” she asks, self-consciously licking her lips.

“I… Y/N.”

He sounds oddly hesitant, standing before her in moonlight. Gaze darkening, his gaze roams the planes of her face. Y/N can feel this heat of this in her body, still pressed to the wall.

“Yoongi,” she breathes in.

Clenching his jaw, Yoongi closes his eyes. “Don’t say that.”

“Your name?”

“Don’t say my name like that,” he repeats, barely audible. Eyes opening, he lifts a hand to slowly place on her cheek. “Don’t say my name like you wish there was more.”

“And what if I do?” she asks, made bold by the dark.

Yoongi’s gaze drops to her lips, unbidden. As though in a trance, he takes a step forward. The hand which was once on her cheek slips to her waist.

“If you do,” he exhales. “I may do something I’ll regret.”

“Do it.”

This is all the coercion he needs to kiss her.

Y/N inhales, breath stolen by the press of his lips against hers. She has been kissed before, but never like this – never with teeth and fire and meaning between them. Her arms twine around his neck before she can stop them, pulling him forward as her spine hits the wall.

Yoongi’s lips bruise her, thrill her and a thousand other contradictions. His tongue is greedy, seeking whatever purchase he can find at the seam of her lips. One hand cups her face, large fingers splayed until he pushes a piece of hair back. Y/N arches against him, assisting in letting him take what he wants. Her hands are equally needy, thoughts a blurred line between logic and sanity.

Suddenly, he gasps and pulls back. 

Yoongi stares at her in shock, reaching tremblingly up for his lips.

Y/N stares in this direction as well.

“I – Y/N,” Yoongi breathes. “We can’t.”

“Why not?”

He looks at her helplessly. “You know why.”

She does know, although she is loath to admit it. Y/N has always been a rational being. Logically, she knows this is the last person for her to fall in love with. Yoongi is not even a person anymore – not really. 

And yet – her heart, the traitorous fool, beats solely for him.

Swallowing, Yoongi does not move. “Please,” he breathes, dragging his thumb down her jaw. His hand cups her chin, his body curved over hers. “You are not yet safe. Please, just… wait until I can ensure that you are.”

“Alright,” Y/N says, finally nodding. Softly, she places her hand over his. “But promise to return.”

“I promise.”

Yoongi bends for another kiss but before their lips can touch, vanishes away into darkness.

Y/N exhales, collapsing against the wall. In all honestly, she understands why he did this. Had he kissed her again, she would not have let him leave.

Slowly pushing herself upright, Y/N enters the house and returns to her bedroom. Slipping inside and up the stairs, she undresses swiftly and slides into bed. After a long moment, she gets up and locks both window and door.

Once satisfied, she crawls under the covers and stares at the ceiling. Her mind refuses to turn off, dissecting each hour with unwavering precision. Each breath of wind against the side of the house makes her turn, certain Hoseok has found her. Y/N begins counting down the seconds until Yoongi returns – or, until she falls asleep, whichever comes first.

At some point, she must doze off because the next time she wakes, it is to black cloth over her nose. Inhaling sharply, no oxygen enters and Y/N flails, jerking against her intruder.

“Hello, Y/N.” Alvah’s smile is calm, cutting through the darkness.

That is the last thing Y/N sees before the drug takes hold and she falls back on the bed.

Head lolling onto her chest, Y/N jerks into consciousness.

Her arms are pulled tight behind her back, rope cutting into her wrists and holding her hostage. Firelight flickers in the corner of her vision as blearily, Y/N squints.

She cannot remember where she is, why she is here.

A roaring fire dances before her. Light from the flames leap over her skin, forming cruel patterns. Cringing away from this, Y/N realizes she rests on her knees. Wobbling, she nearly falls forward but the rope binds her in time, stopping the motion. Exhaling lowly, hair falls in her face.

Across the fire, someone chuckles.

Suddenly remembering the events of tonight, Y/N’s head lifts.

Alvah smiles from the other side of the flames, sharpening a knife in one hand. He is dressed entirely in black – tunic, waistcoat, overcoat and trousers. If Y/N did not know any better, she might think him on his way to a party.

Slowly, he stands. The silver of his knife gleams as he walks closer. “You left me no choice, you know,” he says sadly, stopping before her.

Y/N does not respond, twisting again in her ropes. Reaching out for her magic – she inhales. Nothing happens. The shadows refuse to come, her darkness lies vacant and still. The door remains stubbornly locked in her mind. Panic shoots through her, making her tremble. Each pulse of her blood feels sluggish and slow; Y/N can only assume this is because of whatever drug runs in her veins.

Alvah crouches before her. “Kissing a hellhound in the open like that.” Gently, he tuts and presses the knife to her chin. “Why, anyone could have seen you – and I did,” he says, gripping her hair and yanking back her head. “I saw you, Y/N and truly, I must thank you. Without that, I would’ve kept searching in all the wrong places.”

His hands are still gloved, identical to the mirage Hoseok showed. That strange, silver ring still rests on his finger. The sigil seems so familiar to Y/N and yet, she cannot quite place it.

“What?” Alvah laughs. “Are you choosing now to be quiet? A few weeks ago, you wouldn’t stop giving me information. Couldn’t stop telling me about the town. It’s people. All the… strange happenings going on.”

Y/N’s stomach sinks swiftly. Remembering their walk through the town, she now sees it from a different perspective. Alvah was trying to gather information from her. This entire time, he has been searching for magic.

“Ah.” His lips twitch. “You understand.”

“You,” she whispers, the word scratching her throat. “You thought… Gwen had magic.”

“I did,” he agrees. “I was most displeased when I couldn’t convince her to show it to me. Her death was an accident, you know. I merely thought she needed proper… incentive to perform. I was wrong.”

Y/N’s head spins, realizing what he means. 

He tortured her. Alvah tortured Gwen seeking a confession, but never received one – because she was not magical. He tortured Gwen because he thought she was Y/N and eventually, Gwen died.

“You… monster.”

Alvah’s expression darkens. “Not a monster,” he hisses. “I am merely doing what’s necessary to rid this world of monsters. Of those who hoard their power and refuse help to humans.”

Y/N stares at him fearfully. “What are you?”

Mirthlessly, he laughs and releases her hair. Y/N’s head droops forward. 

“Your worst nightmare, witch. I’m a Traveler,” Alvah breathes. “I was created to take the night from creatures like you.”

Imagines flash before her eyes, unbidden. Her parents’ bodies on the floor, Crymych awash in fire and blood. Her father’s throat slit, a knife plunged into her mother’s gut – and the human who did it, slowly turning around. She remembers him wiping blood from his knife, silver ring on one hand.

Y/N’s gaze flies to Alvah’s fingers.

Seeing where she looks, his lips curl upwards. “You recognize this?”

“Yes.” Y/N stares at the sigil, her knees pressed into dirt.  “I’ve seen it before.”

“You’ve seen it?” Alvah’s brow furrows. “In person?”

Y/N nods. “At Crymych.”

Alvah stares at her for a long moment. “Liar.”

Y/N stares at him, confused by his expression. Alvah looks back at her, as though she is the impossible one. But – the longer she thinks about it, the more it makes no sense. The Travelers who visited Crymych were adults – they were her parents age and older, but Alvah is her age. It is impossible for him to have memories of Crymych.

Unless.

“You killed Gwen,” Y/N says slowly, piecing it together. “But… she was killed by magic. Drowned, by a water-shifter.”

Alvah stares at her a moment before smiling. There is no mirth to the gesture. He starts chuckling, rocking back on his heels and swiping angry tears from his gaze.

Ruthlessly, he whips out his knife to point at her chest. “You,” he exhales, with something like relief. “I’ve found you at last.”

Y/N stares at him, wide-eyed. “Me?”

Alvah nods, frantic. “The child shadow-singer of Crymych. I heard all about you growing up.”

Recoiling, Y/N stares at his long, silver blade. She again reaches for magic, finding none, except – there. Barely anything at all, but something faint stirs in her veins.

Alvah snarls at her expression. “Surprised I remember? No? Ah, I see – you tried to use magic, and found that you can’t.”

When Y/N scowls, jerking forward, he laughs.

“Your magic will return when the drug wears off,” Alvah assures. “But that won’t be for a while. Not until after I kill you. Unless…”

Y/N stops struggling. “Unless, what?”

She needs him to keep talking. She needs Alvah to continue his monologue until her magic returns, or Yoongi discovers her missing. Glancing over Alvah’s shoulder, Y/N stares into the darkness at the edge of the campfire. Alvah must be the threat Yoongi’s contacts were afraid of. It is he who has been ruthlessly carving a path of blood up the coast.

“Come with me.”

Startled, Y/N’s gaze snaps upwards. “What?”

“Come with me,” he breathes, pushing himself upwards to stand.

Reaching behind her, Alvah swiftly cuts her ropes. Before she can fall, his hands grasp her shoulders to lift her to her feet. Y/N stares at him in shock, too confused to run.

“Yes,” Alvah breathes, his grip vice-like on hers. “I see it now. You were spared, just as I was. You were sent to Tywll to live amongst humans and see the good in humanity. You were a child, too – of course you were spared.”

“Spared?” Y/N stares in horror. “Whatever are you talking about?”

Withdrawing his hands, Alvah retreats to stalk around the fire. Once on the other side, he whirls to face Y/N. “I’m a water-shifter, like you said,” he exhales, pulling off his glove.

Flexing his fingers, he stares down at his palm. Brow lowered in concentration, he waits until a pale, spinning orb appears above his fingers. The water dances and glimmers, catching the light.

Y/N stares at this in horror. Gwen was drowned with that water.

“I’m also from Crymych,” Alvah breathes.

It makes sense, in a way. Y/N always wondered if others survived. If anyone did manage to escape the burning houses of Crymych, it would be a water-shifter.

When Y/N says nothing, Alvah closes his fingers. The water splashes over his fist to the ground.

“The Travelers spared me,” he explains. “They took me with them, taught me what a curse my magic was. They explained I would be saved if I joined them. If I used my magic for good, instead of my inherent evil.”

“By… killing those who have magic.”

“Yes.” Alvah steps forward, ecstatic she understands. “Exactly.”

“But how could that possibly be good?” Her words halt him in his tracks, leave him staring at her. “You were in Crymych, Alvah. You saw what the Travelers did. They slaughtered your family… your friends…”

His face hardens. “They did that for the greater good, Y/N. Our friends and family were corrupt, they were evil. They holed themselves up in the forest and refused to help. Y/N,” he sighs, walking back around the fire. “I know it’s difficult to understand. It was hard for me, too. But now I see,” he whispers, stopping before her. “And you can, too.”

He waits, looking at her expectantly and Y/N’s heart breaks a little for the boy he once was.

“Alvah,” she whispers, so pityingly she nearly breaks apart.

She cannot imagine what hell his life must have been. To see his own family butchered, then be taken by his would-be murderers and raised as their savior. A dark messiah turned against his own kind.

Slowly, Alvah pushes up the sleeve of his tunic. He reveals angry, red welts on his arm. “This is what the Travelers saved me from,” he insists. “A fire-starter was drunk that night and lost control. Y/N – you didn’t see what you thought you saw. The Travelers managed to pull me out of the flames. They were only fighting in self-defense, Y/N.”

“No.” Y/N shakes her head. “Oh, Alvah – no. It wasn’t self-defense. I saw them. I watched them murder my parents, I saw them put our elders to sleep. They laced the wine they gave them with drugs, like you did to me.”

Alvah’s gaze flicks towards the handkerchief on the ground. For a moment, doubt crosses his face, but this is banished as easily as it came.

“I – no,” he breathes, re-gripping his knife. “You cannot tempt me with lies. I know my purpose. I will remain true.”

Y/N stares at him, helpless. In her mind, the door is almost open – she wonders if this is Alvah’s first time drugging an actual witch. Either that, or he spoke longer than he meant to when he realized who she was. Perhaps he genuinely does think this is fate, that they are meant to be together.

Either way, the longer she stands here, the more she feels her magic pulse in her veins. Almost enough to fight against his.

“What will you do?” Y/N asks, watching him walk towards her.

“Will you join me?”

Alvah tries to keep his voice even, tries not to seem eager, but Y/N can see his obvious want. His hand flexes on the hilt of his knife and again, her heart slowly breaks.

“No,” she whispers.

His expression breaks, catches and then heals, all in one moment. 

“Then, you must die.”

Alvah whirls, brandishing the knife and Y/N inhales to wrench shadows from darkness. To her immense relief, the darkness obeys. The surge is weaker than usual – she is weaker than usual – but her shadows coalesce before her, knocking his weapon aside.

Alvah curses, spinning and trying again. His knife cuts through darkness, slicing it open and Y/N gasps, stumbling backwards as though she, herself has been hurt.

“You see?” Alvah laughs. His breathing is heavy, light hair askew. “This is no ordinary knife, witch. It cures evil.”

He has returned to calling her witch, a sneer on his face. Y/N falters, grasping frantically for the tree trunk behind her. She glances to the side, searching for a way out because she does not yet have energy to attempt the Shadow realm.

When Alvah lunges, she dodges and stumbles down towards the river. Her feet splash into water, glancing over her shoulder to find him.

His laughter rings out behind her, following suit – albeit at a slower pace. “Ah,” Alvah teases, “you wish to fight on my domain, do you?”

Before Y/N can recognize what this means, the water rises around her. Her eyes widen, the only warning she has before she is dragged under. His water forms claws, grabbing her clothing and keeping her under. Y/N gasps, accidentally inhaling and choking on liquid.

The water enters her lungs, making her cough and in the corner of her eyes, Y/N can see darkness closing in. She wonders dizzily if this is what happened to Gwen – suddenly, her eyes open.

Gwen will not have died in vein.

Reaching deep within her – past the door, past limits she is not even aware of – Y/N tears darkness from the maw of power itself, yanking this to her chest and releasing into her veins. The heat simmers for a moment, unseen – and then she explodes.

Shadows erupts, twisting as they push out the water. Alvah falters at the side of the river, staring at her in shock. Y/N inhales, steam rising from her skin – and she opens her eyes. Her shadows shoot forward, streaming fast towards the bank.

Alvah screams when they wrap around him, binding his limbs and holding him hostage. Slowly, as if in a trance, Y/N walks from the water. Both hands are before her, twisting the shadows in ways she does not understand – she only knows what needs to be done and the shadows obey. It is like something else has hold of her mind, feeding her knowledge she has yet to be taught.

She is furious. And Alvah should pay.

Shadows are shoved down his throat, through his nostrils where they writhe in his lungs. Y/N twists them up, making it hurt and he screams out again. Inhaling sharply, she drags her shadows out to force him to his feet. With another twist of her hand, she scoops his knife from the ground.

Alvah catches this limply.

“Fight me, then!” she yells, tears blurring her vision. “Fight me on even ground!”

Alvah blinks, suddenly lucid as he lurches forward. Y/N dodges his first swipe. Her shadows wrap around his neck, pulling him backwards and she laughs, manic. Spinning, she faces him on even footing. Her darkness coalesces, forming a barrier as something moves in the shadows.

Y/N pays this no mind, too focused on her revenge. Darting forward, she knocks Alvah’s weapon aside. Her darkness is alive, pulsing around her in coils and blades. Whirling, she turns back and – Alvah’s knife sinks into her shoulder.

Blinding clarity bursts through her. Shuddering to a halt, Y/N gasps at the pain.

Teeth bared, Alvah wrenches the knife from her body. He prepares to strike again – until Yoongi appears, shoving between them and flipping his knife.

“Y/N, CLOSE YOUR EYES!”

Hastily, she obeys. Blood trickles between fingers, shadows appearing to wrap around the wound. Squeezing her eyes shut, she turns away from his voice. From beneath her eyelids, she sees the clearing blaze suddenly with light. Y/N winces, lifting her uninjured arm to shield herself from the blow– but even so, it is painful.

Trembling back from whatever Yoongi is doing, Y/N staggers away. Even once the light has faded, the back of her eyelids gone dark, Y/N refuses to look.

Twigs crunch beneath boots, drawing closer.

“You can look now, Y/N.”

Slowly, she lowers her arm. Y/N’s shoulder still bleeds, blood trickling into the sleeve of her tunic. She does not care about this though, staring dazedly at Yoongi. He still holds a silver knife in one hand – when he sees her looking at this, it swiftly disappears.

Alvah is nowhere to be seen.

“W-where is he?” Her teeth chatter, glancing around.

“In Annwn,” Yoongi says simply. “He attacked one of the Cŵn Annwn. His life is forfeit to mine.”

“But…” Y/N stares, still not understanding. “He was attacking me.”

“Not in the version I tell Arawn.”

“Yoongi,” she exhales, an admonishment.

“Not here, Y/N.” Yoongi glances cryptically out at the river. “We must return to Tywll. I’ll need to return to Annwn soon for questioning.”

“Now?”

Yoongi pauses, glancing at her. “No,” he murmurs, stepping forward. Gently, he slides both hands into her hair. “Not now.”

“Then, when?” she asks, head tilting upwards.

Refusing to answer, Yoongi brushes a kiss to her forehead. “Never mind, when. Your soul is still pure,” he murmurs against her skin. “That’s all that matters.”

Y/N’s brow furrows, another question on her lips. “What do you mean by–”

Cutting her off, they dissolve into darkness.

They reappear in her bedroom, walls solidifying around them in a turret of grey.

Y/N exhales, sagging forward as his hands keep her steady. She looks up at Yoongi, weary from blood loss. His gaze darts to her shoulder and swiftly, he frowns.

“I-it’s nothing,” she breathes. “Really, I –”

Yoongi closes one hand over her arm, frowning in concentration. Y/N stares at him in wonder when warmth seeps into her skin. Beneath his palm, her muscles knit together, blood flowing again as her skin heals smoothly over.

Once finished, Yoongi exhales and takes a step backwards. He seems paler, slightly drained and yet, satisfied. His hand gently falls to his side.

Y/N stares at him, speechless. “I – how?” she blurts, gaze darting to his hand. “How did you do that? I mean, how did you find me tonight?”

The side of his mouth quirks. “Is that all you want to ask?”

“No.” Y/N shakes her head, still somewhat dazed. “I have so many questions, I don’t know where to start.”

“Then I’ll start at the beginning. I found you by luck. I tried many places before that one.”

“And you’re… a light-bearer.” Y/N frowns, glancing down at her arm. She can still feel where the brunt of Alvah’s knife went in, where her skin broke apart. “Or a life-giver? What are you?”

Yoongi gives her a sad smile. “I was,” he corrects. “I was a light-bearer.”

“Then how did you heal?” Y/N’s head spins. “The last time I saw someone heal was, well... It has been awhile since I knew a life-giver.”

“The Cŵn Annwn are unique,” Yoongi says quietly. “We each retain the powers we die with, but… for each magical soul we transport, we glean their powers as well.”

It dawns on her then, what exactly Yoongi offered Hoseok. A win on the next hunt. He must have meant this. It is the job of the Cŵn Annwn to return magical souls to Annwn. Based on their conversation, it sounded as though Arawn often pits them against each other. 

Which makes sense. The incentive is that whomever returns with the soul keeps the power.

Y/N’s skin begins to crawl. “So, what you’re saying is…”

“I have many powers, Y/N.”

“I see.” She looks at him for a moment, seeing him in a new light. “And what of the other thing you said? About my soul being pure?”

Yoongi’s lips tighten. “Nothing.”

“Yoongi.”

“You shouldn’t know,” he exhales, shaking his head. “I shouldn’t place that burden on you.”

“Yoongi.”

Swiftly, he turns and walks the length of her bedroom. Y/N’s bed is pushed into a corner, the sheets still mussed from when she was roused from it earlier. Roused is a kind word. Looking at the mattress, Y/N shudders when she remembers Alvah’s hands on her body.

Yoongi comes to a stop at the window. “Have you ever wondered how one becomes Cŵn Annwn?”

“Often,” she says honestly.

For a moment, he simply stares at the town. The moon cuts through the plane, illuminating his face. “You kill someone with magic,” Yoongi admits at last. “And then you die. Instead of going to the Otherworld, you enter Arawn’s possession. It is why Arawn plays these games, you see. When he sees a magical human he wants, occasionally he sets them up to enter his service... later.”

Staring at Yoongi, comprehension begins to dawn – and with it, comes horror. This must have been what happened to him. With a sinking stomach, Y/N realizes how close she came to joining the Cŵn Annwn tonight. She nearly killed Alvah with her magic and if she had, that would have been it.

She would have belonged to Arawn, like he does.

“You see?” Yoongi exhales, searching her face. “I’m telling you things you shouldn’t know. I’m bringing danger into your life you shouldn’t have. I – we…” 

Breaking off, he shakes his head.

“Yoongi.” Y/N walks forward. Coming to a halt before him, she looks up. “You saved my life.” Before he can protest, she adds, “And my soul. You didn’t have to do that.”

“Maybe not.” His expression falters. “But then – maybe I did.”

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t you understand, Y/N?” Frustration enters his tone. “I want you to live. No, need you to live. You deserve more than this half-life, this cursed life – you deserve freedom. Not a half-existence like…”

“Like yours?” 

“Yes. Like mine,” he finishes, somewhat broken.

He does not move away though and so, she places both hands on his arms. Slowly, achingly she slides them around his neck. Her fingers brush the dark hair at the nape of his neck. 

Yoongi swallows. “You deserve more,” he breathes, closing his eyes. 

“And if I don’t want more?”

“You – you don’t know what you’re saying.”

“Oh?” Y/N narrows her gaze. “From what you said, my options are clear. I can die a pure soul and go to the Otherworld – where you are not. Or, I die with blood on my hands and am cursed. But then, I would be with you.”

“Don’t do that,” he murmurs. In contradiction to his words, Yoongi’s hands wrap around her waist. “Don’t act like it would be worth it.”

“Who are you to say it wouldn’t be?”

“Because you don’t know me.”

Her thumb lovingly strokes the back of his neck. “I know you’re honest,” she says lowly. “I know you’re the only one who helped when I needed to find Gwen.”

He pauses. “I had other motives.”

“Don’t be so self-deprecating. There was more to it than that – you saved me tonight when you didn’t have to.”

“Again,” Yoongi exhales, tortured. “Other motives.”

“Not for my soul.” When Yoongi falls silent, Y/N continues. “Ever since you came, you treated me as an equal. More than that – you saw me in ways no one else would. You forced me to see myself that way, too.”

“I hope you do,” he murmurs, suddenly insistent. “I don’t want you to hide, Y/N.”

“You see?” she breathes, tilting her chin. “You say things like that, and then say I don’t know you. I know you’re feared, even amongst the Cŵn Annwn.” Her lips twist in an almost smile. “I know Arawn favors you above the rest.”

Based on Yoongi’s expression, this statement is correct. “It is never a good thing to be loved by the king of hell,” he says.

“Still. Do not pretend my options are clear, Min Yoongi. I know which path is unbearable, and it is the one without you.”

“Y/N,” he whispers, finally breaking. His hands close around her waist, drawing her near. The heat of his breath drifts across her lips.

Y/N’s heart stutters painfully. “Please,” she whispers, lifting her chin. “Please, Yoongi. Kiss m –”

Cutting off the word, he crushes her to him.

Longing leaps through her veins, her gasp eaten by his, swallowed by his kiss. As they collide, hands twining, fists clutching, Y/N loses herself in him.

She forces herself to be still, to not reveal how desperately she wants him. It is hard though, when he is kissing her with abandon, as if they stand at hell’s door. His lips tempt and torture in equal measure, and she is spinning apart.

Forcing himself back, his forehead finds hers. “Y/N,” he growls.

“Yes?”

Yoongi wrenches open his eyes. “Your shadows.”

Startled, Y/N glances down to find tendrils of magic around them. Darkness shifts at her feet, curling and uncurling and slowly, Y/N looks up.

“Is it strange?” she asks, still pressed against him. “I can try and stop it, if –”

Yoongi catches her hand, entwining their fingers together. “No,” he says, earnest. “Never.”

Y/N smiles, relaxing when he walks the two of them back to her bed. Her knees hit the mattress, pausing a moment before he kisses her softly. His mouth teases hers, pressing until her lips part and his tongue slips inside. Her hand moves under his tunic, brushing the skin at his waist.

Yoongi stiffens at this, groan caught in his throat. “Y/N,” he says, biting down on her lip. “Don’t tease me.”

“Why not?” she purrs.

Growling lowly, Yoongi grips her waist and pulls her body to his. Y/N shivers, feeling the firm press of his muscle – Yoongi’s knee parts her legs, watching her lazily as her core aches around him.

“Is that all?” she asks, breath catching.

Yoongi’s gaze turns molten, slowly reaching down to gather the hem of her skirt. “I can barely restrain myself as it is,” he confesses, pushing the fabric up her thigh. “If you continue to tease, I’ll stop trying.”

“Stop, then.”

Yoongi’s lips are at her throat before she can finish the words. He kisses her clavicle, working his way upwards and searing her skin. Grasping her jaw with one hand, he turns her head sideways to gently kiss the crux. Inhaling sharply, Y/N tries not to groan when his tongue laves the same spot.

He does not stop there, descending her neck with carnal sensuality. Glancing up at her bosom, Yoongi awaits further instruction. Eyes lidded and heavy, Y/N looks down at him and nods. Yoongi’s hand slowly works upwards, tangling in the laces of her bodice. His fingers and magic work until they pull back, dropping the string to the floor.

Y/N inhales, hands clasping her dress before it can fall.

Without her laces, her hands are the only thing holding fabric between them. Yoongi’s gaze darkens, intent as heat sinks between her legs. She wants him – badly but cannot of think how to ask. It does not escape her then, how many realms he is above her.

Softer than silk, his palm cups her chin. “Will you let me see you?” Yoongi says gently.

Staring back at him, Y/N slowly nods her head.

Yoongi’s hands slip down, interlacing their fingers to pull hers back. The dress drops to the floor and Yoongi inhales, dazed by the view. He stares at her for a moment, transfixed by her bare skin in moonlight. When he looks back up, his gaze seems to glow.

Not a red glow, like in the Shadow realm, but an unearthly silver – that of a light-bearer.

Y/N stifles a smile. “You said you were a light-bearer?” she whispers, shadows snaking his thighs. “Is this a side effect of that?”

Yoongi shivers, then nods. “Yes and no,” he growls, backing her up to the bed. “It is because of my power, but it is happening because I am indescribably happy.”

Before she can respond, his lips are on hers. Yoongi kisses her eagerly, messily as their tongues intertwine. No longer does Y/N deny what she wants of him. It is obvious anyways, in the needy press of her body to his. In the rutting thrust of his breeches against the silk of her core.

“Oh,” Y/N gasps, hands curling into his hair. “Yoongi.”

He swiftly pulls back to undo his belt. Sliding this free from his pants, it drops heavily to the floor. Staring at Y/N, his knees follow suit – one by one, kneeling before her.

“Please.” Yoongi licks his lips, tortured. “Let me taste you.”

Y/N stares at him in shock.

Yoongi mistakes this silence for hesitance. “I’m sorry,” he exhales, sitting back on his heels. His chest rises and falls against the dark of his tunic. “Are you… have you ever…?”

“Yes,” Y/N says, recovering herself. Swiftly, her hands wrap around the bedpost behind her. “I have lain with men. It is only, no one has ever offered me that… so freely.”

His gaze narrows, as though in disbelief. “Well, then,” Yoongi says lowly, sliding a hand up her thigh. “What foolish men, to deny a feast.”

Barely does she have time to comprehend before Yoongi is at her core, spreading her folds to examine her body. Exhaling, she stares at his crown of dark hair.

Yoongi looks up, a sinful smirk on his face. “I thought so,” he purrs, delicately swiping her mound with his thumb. Y/N shivers, trembling above him. “Already wet and wanting. Just begging to be eaten – I bet you taste sweet.”

He moves before she can answer, pressing a virginal kiss to her thigh. His other hand finds her knee, lifting her higher and pressing her ass to the bed. When his lips brush her core, Y/N slowly inhales. He kisses her gently, wet and open against her sex. It feels good, all his licking and teasing – until he comes to a stop.

When Yoongi smirks up at her, Y/N’s heart stops. She realizes he may be her undoing.

Slowly, his tongue drags up her sex. Repeating the gesture, he gathers her juices up with his mouth – sloppy and eager, until she is panting above him. Yoongi’s hand curls under her knee, opening her wider before he finally gives in and drape this over his shoulder.

Letting out a guttural groan, Y/N releases the bedposts to fist in his hair.

If anything, this spurs him on, tongue laving circles around her clit until she is eager and swollen. Y/N gasps out his name, thrusting against his face without meaning to. She is chasing something she does not understand, every inch of her body alive and on fire. At some point, his hand drifts down to her ass – then to her entrance, circling her core.

“Gods.” Still gripping her waist, Yoongi jerks back and wipes his lips with one hand. His mouth is wet, sinful and smeared with evidence of her arousal. “You’re so wet, Y/N. So perfect and needy. I – I need to be inside you.”

Hearing him say this, Y/N clenches around nothing. “Yes,” she breathes, as he stands from the floor. The front of his trousers look unbearably tight. “I want you inside me. Want you to stretch me out.”

Growling, he clutches her body closer. “I can use my fingers first,” Yoongi says sweetly, licking the shell of her ear. Tugging on this with teeth, he elicits a shiver. “Make it easier.”

“No.” Y/N grasps his chin, returning his lips to hers. “No, I want you inside me. Want your cock,” she murmurs hastily, already undoing his trousers.

Yoongi chuckles, letting her do so. “Do you? Where?” he asks, pulling his tunic overhead.

Lowering herself onto the bed, Y/N looks up and stills.

She has not seen him naked before. Only bits and pieces – the sliver of skin at his throat, a flash of underarm when he rolled up his sleeves. Those mouth-watering veins which wrap the length of his fingers. Y/N was right in assuming those veins wrap other things, too. Now though, he is bare, beautiful and entirely hers.

“What?” Yoongi tilts his head. “What is it?”

“Nothing.” Reaching up, she pulls him down with her. “I only… I do not wish to be parted after tonight.”

Lowering a knee to the mattress, Yoongi’s hands cup her face. “Nor I,” he allows, giving in and kissing her fully.

Falling backwards, Y/N arches against him. Yoongi’s right knee nudges between hers, rubbing her center to provide the friction she craves. Yoongi releases a moan, feeling her slick on his thigh. Grabbing hold of her hips, he forces her still.

“Not like that,” he murmurs, kissing her gently.

Y/N melts forward, hands cupping to roam his body. Yoongi is equally greedy, exploring her skin with unrivaled attention. It is only when she feels his cock, hard on her stomach that Y/N remembers what she is after.

“Oh,” she breathes, looking down.

His cock is pretty, in a way she could not have anticipated. Wrapping a hand around himself, Yoongi slowly slides up and down on his length. Y/N watches this, lips parted as his red, leaking tip disappears and reappears between fingers.

“I want you inside me,” she whispers. “Now.”

Yoongi chuckles and releases himself. “Alright. How?”

Slowly, Y/N turns around to rest on her knees. She looks at him over her shoulder. “Like this. From behind.”

Yoongi stares at her in awe, pupils blown out with lust. “Are you certain,” he murmurs, already moving into position. “It will feel deeper this way.”

“Mm,” Y/N inhales, lowering herself to her elbows. “I – I like that. Like to be stretched.”

“I see,” Yoongi murmurs, bed dipping as he moves into place.

His hand slides up her core and Y/N shivers, ducking her head. Seeing her splayed in the moonlight makes his cock twitch. Her cunt is already dripping – Y/N can feel the arousal smeared on her thighs, dripping down to pool at her clit. Yoongi’s hand slides from her ass, cupping her pussy and feeling her wetness. He holds her like that for a moment, rubbing her clit with his finger.

“You like that?” he murmurs when she groans. Slowly, he slides his fingers apart and begins scissoring her clit. “What about that?”

“Oh,” Y/N sighs, pushing back on his hand. “Please – please.”

Yoongi smirks, rubbing her as she ruts up against him. As he moves forward, her pussy clenches and he presses his tip to her cunt. He inhales for a moment, as though in preparation. Gently gripping her waist, he slowly thrusts inside. Immediately, he is met with resistance. Y/N is wet, that much is obvious – her pussy leaks eagerly around Yoongi’s length, but she is still so tight. Needing to be stretched, like she said.

Y/N moans, arching her back to take him in deeper. Yoongi goes slow, letting her feel every inch. Y/N’s hands fist in the sheets, her mouth open with pleasure. God, it feels so good to have him inside her. Yoongi is only halfway and already, she has never felt this full. Already her body reacts to him in ways she does not understand.

Yoongi lowers a hand to her back, rubbing each side of her ass. “There,” he murmurs, pushing her down to take the last, final inch. “Such a sweet girl for me.”

“Am I?” Breathlessly, Y/N squeezes her walls around Yoongi’s cock. “Doesn’t feel sweet.”

Withdrawing slowly, Yoongi grabs her ass to shove back inside. Y/N moans, lurching forward as his cock grinds mercilessly to her walls. “Maybe not,” he admits, thrusting again. “What’s sweet though, is imagining what you’ll look like full of my cum.”

Whimpering, Y/N pushes backwards again. It is the first time a man has spoken so freely in bed and in response, Y/N feels on fire. Her nipples brush the mattress as Yoongi fucks into her, filling her body with each thrust of his cock.

“Oh – oh – oh!” she gasps, jolted forward.

“Sh,” Yoongi murmurs, hand wrapping around her mouth. “As much as I love your volume, we are not alone in this house.”

His thumb slides down her throat, cock slipping in and out of her body. Spreading her legs, Y/N lets him take it, hard from behind and loses herself to the bliss. His hands are strong and sure on her body – as his hips bruise her ass, his hand cups her breast and roughly pinches a nipple.

When she groans again, louder, Yoongi growls. “Y/N,” he grunts, snapping his hips to her ass. “I meant it – I’ll stop, if you can’t be quiet.”

“Make me,” she gasps.

“Make you?”

“Mhm, make – mmph!” she yelps when Yoongi withdraws, grabbing her waist to flip her on the bed. Hovering above her, he grips her knee, yanks it up and thrusts smoothly back in.

Y/N gasps, lisp parting as she is wantonly split by his cock.

“Make you?” he growls, fucking harder. Y/N gasps, head thrown back when he begins pounding into her body. “With pleasure.”

His lips descend on hers, hot and needy as her arms wrap around him. Yoongi spreads her even wider, pistoning like a madman into the warmth of her pussy. Her walls clench tightly around him as he fucks her wide open. His tongue is in her mouth, hands hot on her body as he pins her to the bed. Y/N cannot think around the blinding, surging pleasure within her.

“Yoongi!” she gasps, head hitting the sheets.

He continues to move, rolling his hips as she shakes underneath him. “That’s it, Y/N,” he murmurs, sliding a hand in between them. “That’s it, darling. Let go.”

His fingers brush over her mound, doing skilled, nimble work as her body clenches around him. Everything in her body is so tight, searing and unbelievably full. Hands clutching his body, Y/N cries out his name as everything breaks apart. A deep, shattering wave arcs through her, eyes rolling back in her head as she loses control.

Fire and magic wrap them both, Yoongi shuddering into her neck as he also comes undone. Sated and blissful, Y/N relaxes against his chest. Softly, her fingers curl into the base of his hair. Yoongi exhales, brushing a kiss to her collarbone and softening inside her.

“I meant what I said,” he murmurs, meeting her gaze. “I do not wish to be parted.”

Her limbs wrap tighter, preventing him from leaving. “Then, stay.”

“Y/N…” Hesitant, he stares and then finally nods. “I will,” Yoongi murmurs, brushing his lips to hers. “For tonight.”

Waving his hand, he conjures a cloth at their side. Cleaning her off, he disposes of the rag. They lie down together, limbs entwined. Yoongi’s arm slides under her waist, her right hand on his chest as his leg drifts between hers.

“I could stay here for days,” Y/N whispers, eyelids already drooping.

Yoongi smiles, watching her shadows drift lazily up from the floor. “Me, too,” he murmurs, curling around her.

They fall asleep like that, two souls entwined.

When Y/N wakes the next morning, he is gone.

Even before she opens her eyes, she knows. She knows from the heavy feeling in her heart and the frigid space beside her in bed. And still – her stomach sinks when she opens an eye and sees nothing.

Well, not nothing. The blanket has been quietly tucked in, his clothing removed from the floor but a smooth piece of paper is placed on her desk. Seeing this, Y/N pushes her covers slowly aside to sit up. The morning air is cold, biting her skin but she largely ignores this, standing up from her bed.

The note is precise, to the point – much like Yoongi. He does not mince words, which Y/N would normally appreciate, but not now. Not when she is staring at lines on a paper and trying not to be furious.

We will see each other again.

That is all.

Y/N stares at this for a moment before the anger overtakes her and she crumples it into a ball. Breathing heavily, she stares out the window – the moves to toss it away but stops short.

Mechanically, she smooths out the paper. She stares at its lines for a second time, waiting for the hidden meaning. Surely, Yoongi would not leave without a reason. Deep down though, she knows what the reason is. Yoongi was unable to convince Y/N she was better off without him and so, he has removed himself from the picture.

Gritting her teeth, she resigns herself to this truth.

Yoongi is gone.

The sun is starting to rise, grey streaks of dawn beginning to light the sky. Y/N is surprised no one has come to wake her yet, although admittedly, she has nowhere to be. Owen has not yet re-opened the forge. It has only been a week since Gwen was found in the river. 

Remembering this, Y/N closes her eyes.

Last night seems like a dream. It seems ludicrous to think only a matter of hours ago she was stolen from bed, dragged to the river and nearly killed in the same manner Gwen was. She did not die, though. She fought back, Yoongi appeared, and – Y/N stops that thought in her tracks.

He is gone now.

Opening her eyes, Y/N stalks towards her wardrobe. Yanking clothes from the drawers, she dresses hastily before heading downstairs. Emotions churn in her stomach, each one grappling for attention over the other. In a way, this is easier – Y/N can push them all aside, forcing herself not to remember.

She does not think of Alvah, nor the manner in which she was taken. She does not think about Gwen, drowned under the river. She does not even think about Yoongi, the celestial being with stars in his eyes.

When Y/N reaches the kitchen, she pauses with one hand on the door. The images threaten to overwhelm then, rising to block out the day, but Y/N has always been good at compartmentalization. Shoving these behind the door, along with her magic, she arranges her skirts and steps into the room.

Seeing Mervin brings Y/N to a stop. Both Rian and Rumilda are gone, which is an oddity in itself. Mervin sits alone, reading his ledgers, an uneaten apple beside him. Rian will likely be alone in a minute to scold him for forgetting.

“Good morning.” Mervin pauses, scribbling something down in a margin. “Did you sleep well last night?”

Forcing herself to move, Y/N walks to the table. Pulling out the chair beside him, she slowly sits. “Well enough, I suppose.”

Melvin’s lips lift. “That is better than nothing.”

“True.”

He is quiet for a moment, turning the page in his ledger. Y/N stares down at the table, listening to the hum of people outside in the tavern. If feels surreal, sitting here as though nothing has changed. And yet, everything has. Gwen is dead, so is Alvah and Yoongi is – well, it does not matter what Yoongi is. 

Yoongi is gone. The certainty of this sits hollowly in her chest.

“You’re reviewing the books now?” Y/N glances over, attempting to distract herself. “I thought you do that in the evening.”

Mervin nods, pushing glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Normally, yes. However, two of our guests departed this morning.”

“Oh?” Y/N fights to keep her voice neutral. “Which ones?”

“Oh, those two wealthy ones. Alvah – well, never caught his last name – and Min Yoongi.”

“I see.” Y/N’s lips tighten, attempting to stay silent – but unable to stop herself. “Did either one say anything before they left?”

“Well, let’s see. Alvah left before dawn,” says Mervin, setting down his quill. “The other stopped by and paid for them both.”

Y/N’s fingers freeze on the table. “He did?”

“Mhm. Said the town was lovely, but his work was calling. He said he would stay if he could, but it was imperative that he leave. Which seemed odd,” Mervin remarks, arching a brow. “I barely remember him leaving his room.”

“That’s true,” Y/N says, turning swiftly away.

She stares into the fireplace, willing herself not to think long on the matter. Yoongi needed to leave, it hardly matters if it was voluntary, or not. He is not here any longer and so, she must move on. They had a wonderful night, but it was only that – a night. He was right to insist they would not work. She is human, a witch and he is – more.

Gently, Mervin lays his hand over hers.

Y/N looks up in surprise.

His gaze is piercing, behind his spectacles. “You know…” Mervin hesitates. “We never expected you to stay here.”

“W-what?” stutters Y/N, dumbfounded.

Mervin smiles sadly. “We took you in, of course – we fed you, clothed you and loved you all these years. But… we never expected you to stay.”

Y/N finds herself at a loss. “You didn’t?”

“Not in a bad way,” he hastens, as though she might misunderstand. “We merely knew you were different; knew you were special.” Mervin pauses, purposefully not saying magic. “This town stifles people like you. Rian and I wanted more for you than that.”

“You both aren’t stifling.”

“Perhaps not,” he allows, smile lilting. “If you’re truly happy here, we would not kick you out. I’m merely letting you know... we understand if you can’t stay.”

“If I… can’t.”

He looks at her meaningfully. “If there’s somewhere else you must be. Or – someone else you must be with.”

Y/N stares back at him, dazed and wonders if Mervin also has magic. Only a mind-seeker could understand as much without her saying a word. Or – perhaps it is only a parent faced with the fate of their child.

“Thank you,” Y/N whispers, feeling her vision blur. “Whatever happens – thank you.”

Mervin nods, smiling gently and withdrawing his hand. Picking back up his quill, he returns to the ledgers and Y/N stares at his books. All this time, she assumed because Yoongi was gone, she had been left behind. However – perhaps she is looking at this the wrong way.

Yoongi is gone, meaning there is nothing keeping her here.

All of a sudden, his note takes on a new meaning.

Boughs of the willow trees hang overhead, dripping to brush the grey banks of the river. Aberbwlch is a lonely stream, narrow where it separates the Real world from Shadow. Steam rises from its surface, curling shapelessly before dissipating to night. If there are any stars, they do not shine here.

On the bank of the river, a shadow steps from the darkness.

Her cloak is dark, trimmed with fur against the emerald green of the forest. She does not look at her surroundings, merely stares straight ahead.

“I know you’re here,” Y/N finally says.

A moment passes, maybe two before Hoseok appears.

He is dressed similarly to the first night they met, plain black clothing hewn from darkness itself. Cocking his head to one side, he regards Y/N warily. She is the one who arranged their meeting, after all.

“I was surprised to hear you sought me, human.”

Y/N’s upper lip curls. “Were you?” she asks. “You’re a terrible liar, Hoseok.”

Surprise flits across his face. Only a moment, before he throws his head back and laughs – it is not a pleasant sound. Lowering his chin, he regards her again.

“You are much younger than I thought,” he remarks, beginning to circle around her.

Darkness curls at her fingers, displeased by his movement. Y/N expression remains stoic, as though this whole interaction is merely a social call. In a way, it is. She has seen many things these past months; things she will never forget, and Hoseok’s actions are child’s play compared to those of the Shadow realm.

Slowly, she looks at him. “Is there a problem?”

Hoseok comes to a stop. “No,” he murmurs. “It is just odd. It is not often one of your kind asks for my help.”

“By my kind, you mean human?”

“No.” His smile flashes in darkness. “I mean pure,” he breathes, caressing the word. “There is not blood on your soul.”

Y/N nearly stiffens. “Then, you must know why I’m here.”

“I’ve heard rumors.” Hoseok raises a brow. “Musings, if you will.”

“Then you know I am serious.”

“Perhaps,” he agrees, gaze sparking with interest. “Or, perhaps I am merely curious of the girl who seeks the Otherworld.” Slowly, Hoseok takes a step forward. “Curious of the human who dares request an audience with Arawn – Lord of all things dead and unseen.”

Y/N stares back. “What would make you curious about that?”

He merely smiles, shaking his head. Closing his eyes, Hoseok deeply inhales. Y/N does not move, tries not react while Hoseok scents out her intentions. It does not last long – his brow swiftly furrows, not understanding what he finds.

“It’s true.” Hoseok’s eyes snap open. He stares at her in wonder – and possibly, a touch of fear. “Your soul remains pure and still, you seek an audience with the devil. A meeting with Lord Arawn. Why?”

For the briefest of seconds, Y/N’s façade slips and Hoseok sees the determination beneath. He sees her raw anger, the soul-wrenching longing and nearly recoils in shock.

“Perhaps he has something of mine,” Y/N says quietly. Just as swiftly, her boredom returns. “And perhaps I am determined to get it back – at whatever the cost.”

Her hand clenches around a note in her pocket.

Author’s Note: This is a one shot at this time! I know, I know, I set it up for a sequel. LOL right now though, I plan to leave this open ended. I hope you enjoyed!

© kpopfanfictrash, 2019. Do not copy or repost without permission. 

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